#How Many Cosette's' are still around the world...?

[see-arcane]

It's a special day in Dracula!

Jonathan experiences a flashback to the Horrors, Mina experiences bisexuality in the wild, and the poor nameless Pretty Girl in Piccadilly rides out of the story, parcel in hand and chic cartwheel hat on, oblivious to the Count stalking after her. In honor of the anonymous young lady who proves for a third time that Dracula and Mina have literally the exact same taste—Jonathan, Lucy, random beauties on the street—I wanted to take a crack at giving her an identity.

But I am also indecisive as hell, so she can be one of a number of pretty persons of note. For example…

Miss Piccadilly #1: Clarimonde

My original favorite choice, if only because I love the idea of Clarimonde still cruising around after the heartbreak she left behind in her own story, “La Morte Amoureuse” (The Dead Woman in Love), aka “Clarimonde.” She is now and always the undead Parisian party queen of my heart, but I could see her traveling around to dabble in hedonism in other corners of the world. Naturally she has to go and catch the attention of the local aristos. Human or otherwise.

But, of course, she is psychic and can read Dracula like a bloodstained book. Keep walking, bat bastard. Her vampiric voluptuousness is reserved for VIPs. (Maybe that fetching mourning couple she saw gawking in the park…)

Miss Piccadilly #2: Helen Vaughan

Oh, Helen Vaughan, elegant hostess and demigoddess horror supreme. I don’t care what Arthur Machen says, your story did not end with the conclusion of The Great God Pan. You were life and death and human and beast and all the hideous realities in-between and a mortal end could never keep you down. Especially not when you have so many paramours left to entertain! So many secrets profane and maddening to share! One of these days you’ll catch one who won’t dissolve into madness and self-destruction after a little innocent eldritch chit-chat.

Like this charming Count here! Count? Count, where are you going? Count, she just wants you to meet her dad—why are you running? Why are you running?

Miss Piccadilly #3: Luna Blue

What’s this? An OC?

Well, of course. No one’s actually naming their child Luna Blue in the late 1800s; that’s just her professional pseudonym. It’s amazing how well the spiritualist movement can work out for a girl with a knack for shuffling painted cards or chatting with the night sky and the occasional planchette. She can even boast something more than showmanship behind her skill. The sort of ‘something’ that worried Transylvanians might whisper about in fear on a certain haunted date while a likewise worried solicitor breaks out the polyglot dictionary.

She recognizes Dracula for what he is as surely as he recognizes her. No, she is not interested, voivode. Even if she was, she’d be out a benefactor within—a hard look at him here; cold and far—oh dear. Scarcely more than a month. At least by her guess. But oh, there is good news in his future too! He shall cross paths with an old friend soon! How lovely. She’s certain these things are not connected. Don’t even worry about it.

Miss Piccadilly #4: Cosette Marchand

The fourth and final young lady in the roster is one more original character and she deserves absolutely none of the horror coming her way. This is Miss Cosette Marchand, an artist by hobby and profession. The parcel received from the jeweler’s was a commissioned necklace and earrings she designed herself. A glittering birthday gift for her mother who will chide her for such an extravagance, Cosy, she has no place to wear such things! But they are lovely…

She’s so lost in her daydreaming that she doesn’t realize the hansom behind her has been following the victoria since leaving Piccadilly Square. All the way home. Home, where there are no bloodletting suitors, no wise professors, no divine or diabolic powers to forestall the natural progression of things between predator and prey. There is only a nightmare waiting for her, unobstructed.

…By anything other than my own bleeding heart. I’m too attached. She has to make it.

So.

How does Miss Marchand’s story go?

Turns out, her mother has some experience in these matters. Her mother being one Laura Marchand, who left a thirsty terror of her own behind twenty years ago. One she has mourned as much as feared in the time between the love of a husband eaten by war and the sharper kisses of a girl far more than a friend or living being. She recognizes the sour reflection of Carmilla’s eagerness in the Thing pretending to be a nobleman at the door. She still has General Spielsdorf’s axe. She has kept the steel sharp. Tonight she will whet it sharper still, from dusk until dawn.

You see all that yellow in her dress. It’s recently become one of her favorite colors, owing to a most diverting play she happened to read. Such lush storytelling! What decadent inspiration! She simply had to design something fine in honor of it. She does hope her mother will appreciate the artful way the gold was wrought, twisting in echo of the Sign. A mother who has gone so strangely still since she happened to glance at the second act of the play. Still and cold. Perhaps she will be cheered by her gift and their guests. There is a nobleman at the door, Mother! And there, see, leaking from the yellow damask wall is His Tattered Majesty—oh. Where has their visitor gone? He shall miss the masquerade! Ah, well. His loss.

Scheherazade…2! In which Miss Marchand pulls a Jonathan by stalling via playing to charm and utility. She wears many hats beside the cartwheel when it comes to the arts. Portraiture, fashion in fabric and ornaments. Surely the Count can savor the spider-and-fly game a little longer for that and some pretty panicked smiles. Look how much patience and frustration he burned on Lucy! Yes, yes, a little while longer to draw things out, play at flirtation between artist and patron, isn’t this nice? Ha ha. (Please don’t drink me please don’t drink me please don’t drink me.)

Well. She got drinked. And maybe succumbed to death before the Count could get slain. But the bat bastard does get put down eventually and she still gets to pop back up! Good news: She’s not under the Count’s thrall! She can think and act for herself! Nice! Bad news: Vampire. At least she can drink her problems* away. (*Problems with names like Atherton, Wotton, Gray…)

Her neighbors are the other three Piccadilly girls. Dracula makes his way downtown, walking fast, walking faster— 

Werewolf free space.

[jelepermets]

Today, as a treat, I am going to walk on well-tread ground and rant about how Grantaire symbolizes the People of France. And how it is this that makes this chapter so sublime.

Three chapters before this one, Hugo speaks about how Revolution does not always find a welcome audience. How, without the People. an emeute is just that. It may have loft ideals attached to it, but it must fail. If the people aren't ready, if they lock their doors and rail at the revolutionaries outside in fear and apathy and anger, then nothing can be done.

Hugo admits that this is natural. We must let humans care about their own lives and not just the future. All of this can be handled, as long as in the end Progress continues.

"A people, like a star, has the right of eclipse. And all is well, provided the light returns and the eclipse does not degenerate into night. Dawn and resurrection are synonyms. The reappearance of the light is identical with the persistence of the self." [5.1.20]

This is reflective of Grantaire's apathy, his defining trait as a nihilist. It also reflects Hugo's implication that this is not Grantaire's natural state of being. Remember:

"Besides Enjolras, Grantaire became someone again." [3.4.1]

Not only does this tie Grantaire's existence inextricably with the Revolution, but it implies that this existence is superior, is more natural than his current one.

Grantaire also has more interactions with the People than the rest of les Amis do. See when he was meant to stir up revolutionary ideals and instead went to play dominoes. Yes he failed, but he also reflects the prevailing thought. France was not ready for a revolution. Enjolras ignored this. Lofty ideas could not reconcile themselves to the reality.

‌

All this paints a very bleak picture of course. And yet, in Grantaire's death we get that undeniable hope, which makes it all so beautiful.

We, as real people reading this book, understand that Grantaire is probably still drunk. Yet Hugo impressing upon, insisting upon Grantaire's clarity is so crucial. This, at the moment of his death, is the most lucid Grantaire has been.

Another thing that strikes me, is that thought Grantaire asks permission to die with Enjolras, he seals his own death warrant before doing so, by crying out 'Vive la Republique.' He doesn't actually ask permission to join the movement.

When the People rise, they will do so spontaneously. That crucial ingredient that is missing amongst the population has been lit in Grantaire, and it is a sign of what is to come, it is hope. He's leading the pack with his singular death, and like he measured the mood beforehead, his death can be (and to me is) read as an omen of what is to come. The eclipse - in Hugo's words - will end.

Of course, asking permission to die with Enjolras is also crucial. Not only because of the poetry of them being narrative foils, but because it works as a surrogate for the people of Paris acknowledging the bravery of those who push forward towards Progress while they refuse to budge. Again, as Hugo writes:

"However that may be, even when fallen, particularly when fallen, august are the ones who, all around the world, with eyes fixed on France, struggle for the great work with the inflexible logic of the ideal; they give their life as a pure fit for progress; they accomplish the will of Providence; they perform a religious act." [5.1.20]

Through Grantaire's death, the People come out of their fear and recognize this. Not literally, but in spirit. And if not to all of us, then to Enjolras.

Because Enjolras is, of course, crucial to this reading. Speaking of Grantaire as the People when he is merely one of many characters who are the People, it's important to ask for whom is he? Because he's certainly not for Valjean. Or Marius. Or Cosette. Or Javert. Or even the National Guards or the King or perhaps not even to the audience (if you think I'm overdoing it I respect it). But he is to Enjolras.

Enjolras is stoic throughout the whole ordeal. He speaks of glory in death. He is still devoted to his mistress, Patria. And yet his ideals have been shattered. The People were not ready. The Revolution will not come. He will die bravely, but he will have failed.

But then Grantaire stands up and says he's with them and requests permission to die by Enjolras' side.

And in that moment Enjolras' convictions are justified. If someone who has been the object of scorn, who has been apathetic, who has done little at all except annoy Enjolras and fail to stir up revolutionary thought; if Grantaire can rise up and die with him, then others will too. Perhaps not now, but in the future.

Grantaire becomes someone again when he dies next to Enjolras. And someday the people will rise.

[pyromaniacbibliophile]

Bricktober day 7 (with half an hour to spare)- Chains

@lesmis-prompts

Did i create a soulmate AU out of nowhere and finish it at 23:30? Yes. Yes I did.

___________________________________

In this world there are soulmates. How it works is thus: from the second you meet your soulmate till the second you kiss them, you have a feeling like chains are wrapping around your neck. Simple enough to realise, you would think, and in most cases the answer is yes. Not, however, in this one. 

Javert met his soulmate when he was transferred to Toulon. His superior officer led him around the yard, telling him things about various prisoners. All was well until he called across to one of them. “24601!” The prisoner in question walked over, defiance tucked in his eyes like a secret. “24601, this is the new officer, Javert. I trust there will be no problems?” 

“None at all… Sir. Can I go now?” 

The prisoner was dismissed and the officer’s attention was back on Javert. 

“Are you alright, Monsieur?” 

No. No, Javert was not at all alright. He had the distinct feeling of being practically strangled by chains. No. His soulmate could not be a convict. It must have been a fluke. An anomaly. His soulmate could not be that- that criminal!

Valjean, already bound with physical chains, didn’t notice the addition of soulmate ones. Prison collars were tight and left no room for feeling. 

When Valjean was released, he didn’t even notice the collar being removed. In hindsight, that should have been the first clue. Yet twenty years of imprisonment affected him and why shouldn’t the feeling of the chains remain? 

In M-sur-M, he finally realised that he had met his soulmate. By this point he was the mayor, he had met many, many people and to tell the truth he had little care to find his. After all, that would either be one more person to lie to or one more person to keep safe. 

He had other things to worry about; his factory was growing and his town improving; he saw Javert near-daily, every time his heart was in his throat, yet somehow the inspector never realised. 

Life carried on as usual- that is, until he was nearly caught by Javert. He had been expecting it, to be fair, yet now he had a child to find. He overpowered the other man and ran, never noticing his chains tightening around his throat. 

Javert noticed, of course he did. He’s spent years thinking about his chain and his soulmate, trying to deny it. It never worked, in his heart he knew it to be true; Valjean was his soulmate. 

The inspector’s blood boiled as he realised that Valjean had escaped once again. He would not let this stand for much longer, he would find 24601 even if he had to search all of France! 

He purposely didn’t think about the man’s hands on him, how the chain around his neck loosened for a second then tightened when he was flung to the floor, Valjean running out the door. 

Years later and he is returned to Paris. There is more to do here, arrests to be made daily. He still tries both to find and to forget about Valjean, neither works. Well, not until he comes upon Thenardier harassing a gentleman, a gentleman who turns out to most likely be Valjean. He is a bloodhound fresh on the scent, he searches every alley, every street, every shop. 

Does he want him or does he want to capture him?

Valjean has barely thought about Javert or his soulmate for a long while, focused on keeping Cosette safe and happy.

He only really remembers that he has a soulmate somewhere when Cosette is laughing and talking at lightning speeds, saying that she met him, he spoke to her, it must have been him for he clutched at his throat and she felt chains around her wrist. 

If he had been more focused he would have pointed out that your soulmate’s chains are on your neck unless you have more than one, and she would have told him that there had been chains on her neck for nearly as long as she can remember, since she was left at the Thenardiers’. 

However he doesn’t, too distracted by thoughts of Javert. Decided, he tells Cosette that they must move to England. They will leave in a few days. 

Javert has to halt his relentless searching as news spreads of a barricade being made near the Musain. At the day of Lamarque’s funeral it will rise. He decides that he should be there, fool them into thinking he is on their side. 

He is found out, damn that gamin Gavroche! Tied up, he waits in the cafe, watching the students move around. Either one of them will shoot him or he will be used as a hostage. Neither concerns him, he doubts they have the spine to shoot him in cold blood and at least hostages must be kept safe. 

A boy climbs over, bleeding. He is revealed to be a girl, a girl in love with the feeble Pontmercy at that. She dies in his arms. How.. tragic.

Then Valjean is there. He is afraid then. Revolutionary students are one thing, a man with every right and desire to kill him is another. Never mind that he is his soulmate, he doubts the criminal is aware of that at this point. 

It doesn’t take too long to come to terms with his death. He has wanted to die on many occasions, to tell it truly, but always evaded it. Valjean has every right to kill him, none would fault him for it. 

He has readily accepted his imminent demise. He has no problems with it, although he cannot resist spitting hateful words at the man. The man who then lets him go. 

He is struck dumb. 

This convict, this criminal, his god-forsaken soulmate who has every right to kill him, who should want his death fervently; Javert is the only person who has hounded his footsteps through his life, moreover the only who knows his current identity as Fauchelevent thanks to the lovesick mutterings of Pontmercy. His death would free Valjean. Then why- 

He refuses to believe Valjean is a good man, despite the nagging voice in his head reminding him how M-sur-M thrived under his mayorship, how many gamins, prostitutes and beggars were given his money, how many people he helped… 

What is there for him to do? He cannot arrest the man, regardless of the address he was given. He cannot return to the police station, he could not. Not now he owes this thief his very life. 

He agonises for hours before his decision is made clear to him. Soulmate or not, he will not let another have his life. Therefore he must take it himself. The solution is simple. 

He leaves and begins to walk to the river Seine. No-one will miss him. 

Valjean has barely got Marius to the doctor when his soulmate chain pulls sharply, cutting away all of his breath. With little idea what to do he lets it lead him through the streets of Paris. 

He arrives at the bridge over the Seine. He looks around, curious, then notices the figure standing on the parapet. 

A figure he knows very well. 

Everything clicks into place. His soulmate chain must have been formed that day in Toulon. That explains why he never noticed it. Javert, his soulmate? The idea is not as ludicrous as he first thought. After all, who else knows his true identity, who else has followed him throughout his life, who else has been the one constant presence when everything constantly changes… 

He looks up and sees Javert fall. All thoughts leave his mind as he pulls off his greatcoat and jacket and dives into the icy depths of the river. 

The river which no man has ever escaped alive, but if anyone could do it it would be Jean Valjean. 

[syrupsyche]

Hi! I don't know if you've talked about it before, but I have been reading some kid fics and got curious.

Do you have any marisette as parents headcanon? Or if you think they'll have children at all

ooo Marisette headcanons 😍 okay so I have three sets of headcanons here: one for canon, one for my OFEAverse, and one of modern AU bc well....I just think about them too much 😔

Post-canon I do think that Marisette would still be quite the prototypical bourgeois French family and have at least 1-2 children, but not for a while. They would have to settle some shit first (re: Marius' treatment of Valjean) and I'd like to think that Cosette would take this chance to explore and investigate more about her past and her mother. Once they're ready I'd imagine them having a son and a daughter, and Cosette will raise them on stories about their family – her father, her mother etc. while Marius would raise them on stories about his friends. I truly, truly believe Marisette would be at the barricades of 1848, and their children will learn all about it.

In OFEAverse (my fic where Cosette and Enjolras are siblings), they would only have a son because [REDACTED] and once again, he would be raised with so much love and learn a LOT about the uprisings that his family has taken part in. He looks like Marius, but with Cosette's eyes, and he's an absolute Mama's boy lol (but who can blame him; his mother is Cosette!).

Modern AU is a little trickier; I'm not sure if Marisette would wanna be parents. They give me fur parents vibes, so I'm sure their house would be filled with lots of weird pets before they even consider a child. If they do ever decide on kids, it'd be years after their marriage and probably only just one.

As to how they'd be as parents in general: all of their children will have Marius wrapped around their little fingers. He'd take any opportunity to give them little trinkets and presents, and shower them with so much love. He wants to be with them in a way that he'd always wished he could be with his father! His children help him grow to be a better person. Cosette would have a good understanding of the best type of parent to be, emulating Valjean's parenting, but would be a little less protective, knowing how important it is to let them explore the world themselves! Marius, meanwhile, would be an absolute worrywart about them.

I'm so sorry for such a long answer; I just have many thoughts about Marisette <33 tysm for the ask; here is a little doodle of the potential Pontmercy children ^^

[canadiankazz]

Throwback Thursday 16.

This is going to be a big one! In light of me having a musicals marathon over Easter, I'm going to write about a musical I was in.

In April 2005, I was in my high school production of Les Miserables. It was a LOT of work, but a lot of fun too. I kept my folder of the music, and it's become a kind of scrap book for the show. I even still have my parents' tickets in there from when they saw it. I can't include every photo in this post I wanted to, alas, but hopefully these will be enough. They'll be below the cut.

The photos start with the program. For our production, someone photo shopped the classic Little Cosette from the Les Mis poster over one of the historical buildings from my school. On the last night, we all went around with our own copies of the program and got as many cast members to sign it as possible. I got all of the main cast, and all of my friends who were in the chorus. (Including @gated! ) They signed either "their" song (like, our Javert signed "Stars") or where their character was introduced. Our Jean Val Jean signed in the middle, haha.

Then we have my rolls in the musical. I was the Bishop's sister (seated in the middle of the scene with the table,) one of the nuns for Fantine's death, a factory worker, and a "street woman" for scene like, at the barricade and in the Thenardier's Inn. I also still have the DVD that was filmed of the show and @cravatfiend can attest that it's over-all pretty good for a high school production. Several of the musicians and performers in it have gone on to professional careers in music!

Also, I think enough time has passed now (20 years. Yikes) that I can admit that I 100% had a crush on the actor who played our Val Jean. My heart was hammering every scene I had on stage with him.

Another favourite memory of mine, is a little acting choice done by our Enjorlas. After Val Jean's prayer over Marius at the barricade, we all wake up and Enjorlas sends "all the women and fathers of children" away. He would make eye contact with me every time he said that line, and I don't know... I liked it. We were in the same homeroom together, so I guess he knew he could rely on that little emotional beat from me.

To finish off, I'm going to share a bit from a journal I kept during the rehearsals for a school assignment. This is my reflecting after all of the performances were over:

It was fantastic. The shows kept getting better as we went along. We were buzzing after the first show. It really gives you a rush. I think the last two shows were the best, because by then we had gotten the hang of doing everything. We did have a few mess-ups. One person said his line too early and had to improvise a bit, we had a sudden black out that was the fault of someone backstage, some of the revolves were slightly late, and I had trouble with my nun's costume one night, but really, it doesn't matter. The audience cheered at the end of each show, and we received glowing reviews. The after party on Saturday night was fun. There was a lot of food and a group of us all gathered around with our cans of soft drink and sang "The Night." ("Drink with me, to days gone by...") We also had gifts for the directors and other helpers in make up, costume and music. Mr. Sawade received a "World's Best Director" trophy. Things I took away from being in the musical, other than the great experience and memories, include some new skills, such as how to put my hair up into a bun and how to do my own eye liner.I also have tighter friendships and some new friendships as well with some of the cast... I've also developed to a degree my confidence on stage and my acting and singing skills. I also have a new respect for the talent at my school. I really was lucky to be involved in a project such as this and I'm grateful that I made it in the auditions all those months ago.

[annachum]

Some Soft Goth Cosette HCs cuz I LOVE Soft Goth Cosette :

. As she grows, Cosette seems to sometimes sense spirits around her and in her head

. Several people at the Petit Picpus Convent call her a ' Spirit Whisperer ' cuz Cosette sensed that it is as if she can hear the voices of the saints presented in statues and portraits of the convent

. She came to have a heart-wrenching yet beautiful spiritual relationship with her mother after Fantine died. She regularly tells Valjean and her friends that it is as if she can regularly sense her mother's spirit consoling, guiding and speaking to her. 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭

. She defo loves black dresses, catholic and gothic shawls and veils, beautiful headscarves, flowers on her hair, and has several rosaries and becomes a devout Catholic, all the while becoming to have a collection of gothic novels and poetry books

. She actually becomes not scared of ghosts in general. Rather, she believes that there are friendly ghosts as well as nasty ghosts ( like people in general, really )

. She defo learns to reconnect with herself and re open to make new friends ever since Valjean saved her entire existence

. She first saw a certain dark haired lad in a dark coat across a street and her heart can't help but pitter patter at the first sight of seeing her eventual husband

. Her friends all love her for who she is and love her quirky goth tendencies

. She came to have a mix and match of Valjean's goth styles ( he is more edgy goth, but still ) and Fantine's predominantly pastel cottagecore styles.

. She defo encourages her loved ones to embrace their uniqueness. Bless.

. She defo spares no expense in laces and pretty black dresses in Post Convent Eras, and actually ENJOYS regularly styling herself CUZ SHE DIDNT EVEN GET TO DO THAT DURING THOSE HORRID YEARS AT THENARDIER INN?!

. Also also she defo loves visual arts related matters and regularly likes to visit art museums and such since she and Valjean left the convent, and I can totally see her eventually becoming an art teacher after she and Marius got married. AAAAAAAH

. And and she definitely sees a number of things so new and exciting after she left the Convent and becomes fascinated with the summer fairs of Paris, the clothing stories in Paris and thinks so many things are just so exciting and thrilling. And then Marius who is more law and journalistic geared gets just REMINDED how wonderful and exciting the world can be?! Cosette defo gives her post convent era friends a more unique outlook of life and is a reminder for Marius to EMBRACE THE BEAUTY OF LIFE. And that is so beautiful

. Cosette defo becomes an associate of children's rights activists in France after she left the Convent, especially considering all she been through as a kid.

🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭🤩🥺🥺🥺

[lesmisscraper]

Vol. 2, Book 3, Chapter 2.

Clips from <Il cuore di Cosette>.

[dolphin1812]

And the sadness continues.

(Almost) everyone immediately abandoning Valjean because of his past? Fantine being buried in an unmarked grave in spite of Valjean’s attempts to care for her? Absolutely devastating.

There were many highlights as well, though. I think it’s very funny that some people continue to think Valjean’s punishment is just not because he’s an ex-convict, but because they think he’s a Bonapartist. I also love that he casually talks about breaking out of prison and specifically takes the bread with him. Even better, it’s referred to as the “prison-bread” and is used as evidence of his flight.

Sister Simplice lying for Valjean – in spite of her beliefs – is also really moving, although I wish it hadn’t come after Hugo said the recent shock had made her return to being “a woman” rather than “a nun.” Given that he specifies she should be in Heaven, though, I think it can still overall be understood as a statement on the dangers of being absolutist in one’s morals. Sister Simplice’s refusal to lie is admirable in most cases, but we’ve already seen how she has to stretch what counts as a lie to be merciful; she let Fantine believe Valjean had gone to find Cosette so that she would have hope, even though she didn’t know if that was true or not. And here, the truth would have been cruel. She would have condemned Valjean when he was trying to make sure Fantine (who she regards as an innocent) was cared for after her death and that his money went to a good cause. Her lie is described as a sacrifice, but it ultimately remains a moral one.

In contrast, Javert’s sense of morality and order is so rigid that he thinks it’s impossible for Sister Simplice to sin just because of her identity (a nun). Knowing the situation she was in, we can tell that for her, either option available would have been sinful: lying to conceal Valjean (the sin of dishonesty) or revealing his presence (a sin against Fantine, and against Madeleine as she has always known him). Regardless of one’s goodness, it’s always possible to face a dilemma with no good choices. (We’ve also seen this with Valjean, who had to choose between condemning Champmathieu or himself; while his ultimate decision seems to be the right one, he wasn’t wrong to weigh the loss of Mayor Madeleine in that, given how quickly the town’s focus on his ideals disappeared). Javert is unable to understand that because he sees the world in absolute terms: the law is good and disobedience to it is bad. Everyone’s identity is fixed, with the poor risking becoming criminals at any moment (and thus meriting worse treatment) and the authorities (religious, political, economic, etc) are permanently respectable.

I also like the distinction made between what Valjean requests of the curé and what he does (even if it’s sad). Although he does at least give the money to the poor, we also see how he automatically devalues Fantine and Valjean for their social status, rather than acting on their inherent worth as people. He’s not the most corrupt religious official we’ve seen mentioned; he’s not even corrupt, exactly. But he’s subject to the prejudices of the society around him, and that affects his ability to be equally compassionate to everyone.

[everyonewasabird]

Brickclub 5.5.6 “Each in his own way, the two old men do everything so that Cosette may be happy”

Do they. DO THEY???

I mean, “in their own way” I guess, if you say that Valjean’s way is literally erasing himself out of Cosette’s family and Gillenormand’s way is trapping her in his awful world by overwhelming her with unbelievably expensive gifts.

Does Hugo know? I really, really, really can’t tell. Everything in this chapter is so BAD, does he know it’s bad?? The bad keeps piling up!!

Valjean is being very clever with his mayor’s toolkit, building up a respectable background for Cosette so that Gillenormand and/or Marius won’t refuse the wedding--because he knows they might if they found out who Cosette really is. I like that little nod to the status of misérables, especially since we don’t see any others except maybe through the extreme contrast, since these chapters are very, very far away from the milieu of the rest of the book.

But Valjean isn’t thinking about Cosette’s feelings and what it must be like for her to have this ambiguous, highly questionable story suddenly appear around her, and for her father to suddenly not be her father anymore. He thinks he doesn’t matter, and his actions on the basis of that assumption are incredibly cruel. “I’m not your real father, but I’ve always loved you as if I was” is NOT an impossible thing to say! Might’ve helped!!

But all this would be great characterization and a fascinating arc if Hugo acknowledged it was happening! Horribly, I’m never sure he’s that much more aware of Cosette as a person than Valjean is.

Cosette learned that she was not the daughter of that old man whom she had so long called father. He was only a relative; another Fauchelevent was her real father. At any other time, this would have broken her heart. But at this ineffable hour, it was only a little shadow, a darken­ing, and she was so joyful that this cloud was quick to disappear. She had Marius. The young man came, the good old man faded away; such is life.

wtf wtf that’s not how anything works.

It’s so strange the ways the ending of the book seems to both take Valjean’s view and also doesn’t: the book surely knows that Valjean doesn’t deserve to waste away in isolation, and it surely knows Cosette loves him. But it does also keep trying to confirm Valjean’s frankly fucking abysmal view of her, that she doesn’t have enough attention span to remember the existence of more than one male family member.

What the absolute fuck.

And, like. Hugo sucks, but Cosette’s characterization doesn’t. It makes perfect sense here that Valjean’s shifting status is less momentous to her: everything is happening so fast, and is so entirely directed by the old men, that she barely knows which way is up, and she’s barreling towards a wedding that’s two months away. It makes sense that being inundated with wealth and fashion is a weakness of hers, and that she’s learned not to ask questions when things feel weird.

And yeah, relationships to parents do change when you build your own life, move out, maybe partner with somebody, and also, that doesn’t have to be LITERAL DEATH. But there may be a problem here where Valjean’s issues are way too close to Hugo’s own, and so the narrator is shifting confusedly between “Valjean’s view is wrong” and “No he is literally right about daughters marrying” without being able to find a stable place to stand.

I hate it so much.

I do appreciate the follow-up paragraph:

And then, for many long years Cosette had been used to seeing enigmas around her; everybody who has had a mysterious childhood is always ready for certain renun­ciations.

She continued, however, to say "father" to Jean Val­jean.

Yes, please, let’s have more of Cosette living with the ramifications of her past, drawing conclusions based on it, and sticking to her guns. Still wish Valjean had taken her aside and bothered to have ANY kind of conversation with her before he dropped the bomb of her new legal ID on her.

Valjean is being self-effacing and practical, and meanwhile Gillenormand is aggressively winning Cosette over with absurdly expensive cloth and the promise of fashion at a level she’s never been able to achieve before. Again, if this is meant to be part of an arc where we eventually reckon with the falseness of what’s currently seducing her, it's fantastic. Is that supposed to be what’s happening???? Unclear! We definitely definitely never get that reckoning, because Cosette’s internality somehow isn’t something this book cares about!

Marius, eerily like his grandfather, has changed who he has his opinions about but not the nature of those opinions. He says:

"The men of the Revolution are so great that they already have the prestige of centuries, like Cato and like Phocion, and each of them seems a memoire antique [antique memory].”

The men of the revolution (and, I imagine by proxy, his friends) have entered his mental category of the Dead Who Need Worshiping. He’s never altered his assumption that the dead need worshiping, or that the past is better and more worth looking at than the future. He’s still stuck in the death-like paradigm of the convent.

Again, if this is a gothic horror about how Cosette is trapped in this world, we’re doing absolutely fantastically.

Speaking of which, in the middle of a long, long speech about how much more fun everything is when you have excessive wealth and an ancien régime noble title (Hugo must know! He MUST. Mustn’t he??), Gillenormand says:

Who loves well lashes well.

Girl, RUN. Just fucking run from this fucking household, we’ve seen several times over that Marius is way, way, way too much like his grandfather already. Don’t tie a knot you can’t untie, RUN NOW.

And it really is disturbing how much of this show Gillenormand is running. His idea of a wedding is exactly what they’re going to have for their wedding--and his idea of being a husband afterwards is very, very terrible. Is that going to follow, once Cosette is drawn into the trap? Maybe it’s just his flaws on display and not Marius’s.. but these kids are not managing to do much to escape the world he’s setting up for them, and Marius has behaved like his grandfather under pressure in he past, and Valjean’s efforts to efface himself and vanish into thin air are Not Helping.

Meanwhile Mlle Gillenormand is floating around the house as a barely-living shadow, disregarded and petty, like a sign of what living in this house under a man like Gillenormand will turn you into.

WHY isn’t all this the prelude to Cosette finding herself in some kind of Lotus Eaters story, or some kind of Bluebeard story? Everything is setting her up to wake up a little ways into marriage and realize “Oh God what did I get trapped in??” and yet the story never ever gives her that moment, and as far as I can remember seems to actively discard the possibility of it.

WHY.

[archerjyn]

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby [part VII]

pairing: jean kirstein x f!reader

genre: angst angst angst

summary: despite their strained relationship, the two travel together under the guise of a newly married couple that moved to the countryside of Liberio. Their mission keeps them in Marley for months, and the two keep a close eye on Eren. However, what will they do when they run into an old friend? How will Jean react upon seeing them again, and how will he break the news to ____. Will he break the news to her?

warning(s): mild cursing

word count: 1.7K

mast | aot mast | prev | next

You didn’t know how you found yourself in this situation. Charlotte combed your hair, humming happily.

“Don’t be nervous Cosette.”

“How can I not be? Everything just happened so fast and I really wasn’t expecting to go to the festival tonight,” you looked at yourself in the mirror. You’ve never worn makeup before, nor did you ever bother to put flowers in your hair and wear perfume. Such things were trivial in the military.

Your lovely neighbors hatched up a plan to make Jean take you to the festival tonight. Charlotte asked if you could help her in her garden, seeing as you had become so “well-versed” in gardening and the language of flowers, and in that time, Oliver had gone over to your house to “speak to that husband of yours.” Eventually, there was a knock at the door, and because Charlotte was busy, you answered.

“Hey, Cosette,” the air between you was still awkward from this morning, “Why don’t we go to the festival tonight?” Jean looked over at Oliver, who simply nodded with his arms crossed.

“I don’t–“

“I bought you this dress. I thought it matched your eyes and it’s really pretty and shiny. There’s even flowers on it,” Jean was a muttering mess and you couldn’t help but smile a little at how cute he was being.

“Okay.”

“R-Really?”

“Of course. After all, Oliver went all that way to help you find a dress for me and it’d be a waste of his time. Not only that but Charlotte had to pretend to not know how to garden for the past 3 hours and that must have been tiring,” you noted. Charlotte and Oliver stiffened, causing you to laugh.

“You must have been popular back home. Claude is lucky to have you,” Charlotte smiled at you through the mirror.

“Please, you flatter me Charlotte,” memories of your trainee days flashed in your mind. You once never considered yourself beautiful, but your comrades didn’t seem to agree. Many of them asked for your hand in marriage, and there was a time when one of your close friends even proposed with a loaf of bread. All these faces and smiles, names and memories you held dear to your heart, caused your heart to throb. Was this war really worth it?

“Let’s go downstairs. I’m sure they’re ready for us.”

Downstairs, Jean paced anxiously.

“What if she doesn’t love me anymore? I’ve broken her heart so many times. It’s only a matter of time before someone snatches her away from me.”

“Calm down Claude–“

“She’s just so beautiful. What am I supposed to do when I see her? I’ve never seen her in such a lovely dress before.”

“Claude, please. You’re being–“

“Oh my god, what if my breath stinks? I-Is my hair sticking up? Does this suit look a little tight? Why is it so hard to breathe?”

“You’re doing great my love,” you wrapped your arms around him, placing your head on his shoulder blade. Jean froze as he felt you behind him, embarrassment washing over. Tonight was the closest thing to a date he’s ever experienced (or rather, about to experience). Being a commanding officer meant he had more duties now, and with the world being in the turmoil that it was, dating was hardly an option, even if…no, even though he wanted to.

Jean took this moment to turn around and kiss your hand. Despite everything that’s happened here in Marley, and whatever is to come, he felt comfortable with you. The heartbreak written on your face was no longer there for some reason. And, for some reason, he felt it in him to forgive himself for having hurt you to the extent he did. Neither of you needed to speak to know what the other felt. The past few years that you two spent hating yet loving one another seemed to have been erased from your memories as you stood in silence.

“Come. Let’s not be late to the festival,” you were led outside, the cool air hitting your skin. You wondered if you could make it to town in your heels and if you could enjoy the festival in them. You had never really worn shoes before. Suddenly, you heard a whine. Looking up, your gaze was met with that of a beautiful black stallion with a curly mane. The horse had brown spots sprinkled on its body, and the loveliest eyes you’d ever seen, second only to your–

“Oh my,” you gasped, looking up at Jean, then back at the stallion before you, “this looks just like–“

“Cherie,” you and Jean spoke at the same time. He looked down at you, smiling softly.

“I saw her in town today. Looked just like your Cherie back home,” Jean took your hand and led you to her, placing your hand on her long face. You looked at each other in silence, her big black eyes looking into yours.

Cherie was your horseback in Paradis. She always went on missions with you, and because you had grown up on a farm, you spent more time with her than you did with your friends sometimes; it was just what you were used to. Because of that, you formed a strong bond during your time in the Scouts. It was hard to leave her behind.

“You’re lovely. You look just like my Cherie, except with smaller ears,” you kissed her snout.

Jean pulled you up, placing you between his legs. With your pretty dress and hair and makeup done, you felt like those princesses in Armin’s stories. You liked to imagine Jean as your prince, but he was too rough around the edges for that. Maybe he could be a knight that saved you from the dragon. You chuckled at the thought and corrected yourself. You were your own knight, and Jean just happened to be in love with you. That was better.

“What’re you chuckling about?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head.

The town was decorated with lanterns and banners. People were singing, dancing, laughing, and drinking. The music was lively and none like any you’ve ever heard before. Marleyan music was different: it was filled with excitement and wonder, and most of all, happiness, something you didn’t hear much of back home.

“I’m gonna go buy something to eat,” Jean looked down at you and you nodded. He wasn’t wearing his fedora today, and you were glad. As handsome as he was in it, you liked seeing his hair dangle over his lit-up face in the night.

“Cosette, it’s been a while,” Jacques appeared beside you, crossing his arms.

“So it has been,” you weren’t interested in talking to him. At first, you were elated to have made a new friend, but Jacques never cared to hide his feelings for you and often came off as rude. You usually joked around his advances, especially when Andre tried setting the two of you up. Yet the few times you actually rejected him, he would bring up how Jean “wasn’t half the man he was” and how Jean “probably sleeps with other women when you aren’t home.” Oh brother.

“You’re alone again today. Don’t you ever get tired of doing this?”

“What is it exactly that I’m doing Jacques?” You spared the man a glance before watching the children dance before you in a circle.

“Being the only one in a marriage.”

“Aren’t you tired of asking me out?” you bit back. The man only laughed, raising his hands up in the air.

“I must admit, I’ve been too forward. But I can’t just sit by while a beauty like you gets her heartbroken.” Okay, ouch.

“And you know, I’ve never seen that husband of yours lift a finger. I’m sure he can’t even protect you against those island devils.” You scoffed. The audacity he had to bring up your people as if you weren’t from the same ancestors. The audacity he had to call your people island devils and act as if you were disgusting for having been born. You wondered, then, where he learned to be so brave to tell you Jean wouldn’t be able to protect you.

“Who’s this Sweetheart?” Jean snaked an arm around your waist, offering you some of the food he bought.

“I love him, Jacques. You’re wrong to think that I need a man to protect me, and even more so to think you’re half the man my husband is,” you leaned into Jean who only chuckled and kissed your head.

“Did ya really mean what you said back there? That you love me?”

“Oh shut it; I’m not in the mood,” you took a bite out of the kebab and chewed angrily.

“Must have been hard on you all this time to not punch him in the face,” Jean leaned back on the wall behind the both of you.

“Like hell it was. Being here is really a test of patience.” The ash-brown-haired man beside you laughed. Being gushy and sweet with you was nice, but he missed the banter.

“Don’t laugh you ass. You look ugly when you do,” you rolled your eyes.

“That language is not befitting a lady,” Jean mocked Historia’s voice. The both of you made sure to say goodbye to her before you left. Before she was your queen, she was your friend and you missed her dearly.

“Oh shut it you–“ you spotted a head full of black hair. In a sea of people, you were unsure how you were able to spot him so easily.

“How tall was he when you saw him?” You looked up at Jean, eyes narrowing, waiting for an answer.

“Don’t run after him.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. Answer my question Kirstein,” you grabbed his collar, forcing him down to your height.

“A little shorter than me,” Jean sighed and grabbed your wrist before you were able to run away.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he let go of your wrist.

Jean knew that no matter what he said, you were going to go after him anyway. But it was worth a shot. He worried, naturally, but he had a feeling you’d be okay, which is why he let you go alone. It was your first time seeing Marco in years. He had changed, but maybe his love for you still remained. Though he was unsure, he knew that Marco no longer saw Jean as a friend but rather as a threat. And he’d hate to have to “fight” him again.

[weaselandfriends]

it's been a while since i last proposed that dress-up doll game idea for sister, and although my drawing device got busted, i have an old scan of my original idea? the final version was intended to look like the game Love Nikki- Dress UP Queen, with a sidebar showing each different outfit component and more hairstyles/dresses. sadly it was not meant to be...

cxc really interested me with its ideas about art(ifice) and so many of the descriptions of fashion in the consortium interested me. the alchemist is a galatea clad in gold, van der gramme is mysterious and wreathed in smoke, and sister is- a small anime girl in lolita clothing? all of their styles are intensely unique, so it ties in with the thematic extremes of hot vs. cold, civilized society vs. the spirited individual, etc. sometimes i feel like my brain is a bit too small for all of this when it is so interested in the cute clothes.

still, something that really haunted me about certain non-fashion-related scenes were how they were brought back throughout the novel. for one, the first roleplay scene is depressing in hindsight. harper's alienated childhood is akin to the emptiness of space, her domestic fantasy with kyosuke is just as superficial as the kinkade painting, and the seraph is a break in the dream world just as terrifying as her nightmare about the cottage door opening. all these suppressed fears and desires bring some sympathy to her character imo, despite her self-professed selfishness/utter disregard for those around her.

it's kind little hard to imagine that the porn scenes were hard for you to write, because they were awfully eloquent and most of the time they didn't feel sexual at all, especially not later on. more like sublimated representations of the characters communicating or trying to exert control over each other? it feels explicit in, say, the allison apple rp when the participants cut in out-of-character, but setsuna's scene also struck me as a confession of weakness between harper and sister that wouldn't have happened without the masks of setsuna and the comtesse.

but hey, you are the author after all! i'd hate to be blathering on like this and still be misinterpreting what you meant. hopefully you enjoy the artwork, as rough as it is ^-^

I couldn't be more pleased with this art of Sister, finished or not. I feel like you did a great job of capturing of capturing her different outfits throughout the story; I particularly want to shoutout the "original Comtesse" design that so accurately captures the aesthetic of that early 00s era of gothic lolita (Petite Cosette, Rozen Maiden). Also I'm always gonna say "yea" to the Mami hat.

As for your commentary on the story itself, I don't think you're misinterpreting at all. When writing CxC I was heavily influenced by Rebellion, a film I've seen at least 10 times, which handles storytelling significantly via motifs and recurring visual elements as much as traditional forms of storytelling like plot/character/dialogue/etc. Rebellion is so jam-packed with details that twist and change shape and context throughout the narrative and I always get something out of rewatching it because I always make a new connection that I didn't notice before. I wanted to do that with CxC; that's the purpose of motifs like the spider and alchemy and so on. In Ch 4 Harper accidentally stumbles on a bit of poetry by an Armenian author regarding the Armenian genocide; in Mimmy's final chapter this poem returns in reference to the Armenian censor and is extended to refer to Mimmy's own prophecy of a populace "masturbating to death"--which is itself a phrase that appears three times throughout the story, all by different speakers in different contexts.

I hope the people who enjoyed CxC--or even the people who thought it might have had a spark, but didn't quite get it--will take the time one day to reread it, picking up on some more of those elements seeded throughout the story, deriving more meaning out of what's there. I think if you put in that effort you'll be rewarded for it.

[geekghoul]

The Éps & Cos Sister Fic

She knew her early childhood was a nightmare. She tried not to linger on it but it really had a bad habit of creeping into her mind. She hadn’t precisely been an unusual case, the poor of France were many and the living conditions of the dregs, ghastly. She knew this but it was still heartbreaking, she had only recently arrived in Paris after spending so many of her formative years in the convent and had become unaccustomed to suffering. Still, there was this grief in her heart that lingered unabated. Giving alms to the poor was one of those gifts in her life that allowed her to feel fulfilled, even if it could only last her a short time. Whatever aid her father had the power to give must make these people’s lives even the slightest bit better. Cosette looked up, she had just walked away from a beggar she had greeted when her sisters crowded either side of her.

“Look how pensive you are, aren’t you just darling?” teased Éponine.

“What’s on your mind?” Azelma replied softly, but she always spoke softly.

Cosette tried a smile but she was sure it came out quite guilty and half-formed, “nothing really,” she tried.

“Pensive indeed,” said Azelma conspiratorially.

“She’s lost in the past again,” Éponine realized, eyes widening. Their father called to them then. He was entering a curtained building to help a woman and her child it seemed. As Cosette spoke to her sisters a young man walked past and saw them.

She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen but there was a shout on the street just then and he ran.

Éponine gasped, father was fighting a bunch of men as they left the small building. Then she saw the woman who had followed behind and she felt the air leave her chest as if she had sustained a blow. She grabbed at her sisters’ arms and drew them back. They would not be seen, they could not, not by her or her husband. A policeman barreled into the square shouting for order, as he passed Azlema ripped free from her and ran to Father. She clung to his arm. Éponine could do nothing but hold onto her twin for dear life. She could tell Cosette had put the pieces together as well and was doing her best to hold her composure. They saw as a boy who had been observing the drama attempted to flee the scene. He didn’t make it far before the policeman lifted the gamin up by his lapels. Éponine saw that Cosette looked indignant. As soon as he was set down he ran near their direction so Éponine stopped him.

“Are you alright?” Cosette asked the boy.

“Yeah, the Thénardiers might get it this time though. Not that I care 'bout my no-good parents.” he sounded so flippant but Éponine’s world began careening further.

“What is your name” she demanded.

He scowled but replied “Gavroche”.

Cosette realized then that this was the baby boy she used to take care of as a child; she felt slightly sick. She looked up then to see the policeman, Javert, turn away from her father. Even if their father had never said so outright, all three girls knew he was wary of lawmen and had some complicated past. It broke her heart to see him so anxious, not unlike a trapped animal. She locked eyes with Azelma and motioned that they should go. They could get back home just fine she indicated, whether or not that was strictly true. They had developed some communicative gestures as adolescents that they still were able to use and adapt. Azelma bit her lip but nodded. She asked when they would be home and Éponine replied that they would be home by midnight. Azelma whispered to their father and he seemed almost to say no but then they turned and were gone.

“Gavroche” Cosette invoked, getting his attention. “How well do you know the city?”

“It’s me personal theatre. I run everything, I can get anywhere” he declared.

Cosette looked Éponine in the eye and grinned. Éponine realized then that she was at the mercy of her sister’s mischievous side.

“Would you show us around then?” she cajoled.

Gavroche did show them around, sort of. It was more like they followed as he went on about his day, him occasionally providing commentary. It was fun though, magical even, Éponine wasn’t sure she had ever been this free with Cosette. They were chatting and laughing and running. Their lives at Petit-Picpus had been blessed but also so very contained. There was so little physicality to it, an hour to play a day? But here, in the busy streets, even if they did look respectable and clean they could just, roam. It was so different. Father was a very contained and secretive person and dear Zelma was so passive, she had few opinions and never fought. Cos and she had pretended to be twin sisters during their time at the convent but, at some point, it stopped being an act to keep them safe and just became their reality. Their faces were quite different but they had the same chestnut hair and most people didn’t choose to question it further. Cosette had a wonderful wicked streak, mischievous and raucous for brief moments before remembering her manners and upbringing and returning within herself and becoming quiet and thoughtful. Éponine loved her sister and seeing this freedom grace her she felt alive. So far as she knew, Éponine remembered their childhood better, more vividly than Cosette. She remembered how Mme. Thénardier had pitted them against one another and how cruel she had been in turn. She had a certain lingering guilt about that so she couldn’t help doing whatever she could to make Cosette smile. They had entered an, evidently, wealthier part of the city when Gavroche was flagged down by a group of gamin rushing at him.

Cosette had been so engrossed in the sights of the city and her delight in seeing so many people and interactions and life she hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten, their father would be so fretful. “Éponine, it’s nearly sundown, we really must head home. Gavroche, can you escort us?” Gavroche barely looked at her, just grabbed her hand and started running. Éponine caught up with them moments later and Cosette grabbed her hand. The bustle on the streets paired with the sound of her pounding heart was almost deafening. Everyone was starting to talk. “Éps, are we going the right way?” she shouted.

“I don’t know, I don’t remember” she called back. As dire as this should perhaps have seemed they were both smiling and she couldn’t stifle a giggle even with how out of breath she was quickly becoming from running. 'Ponine burst out laughing then too. They weren’t running too long, fortunately. They seemed to have arrived where Gavroche intended them. They appeared to be in front of some sort of cafe, the name Musain painted on its front. It was emitting bright, warm light and excited chattering and laughing and perhaps some music.

Éponine wasn’t sure this was a good idea, as restraining as it sometimes felt they were still proper young ladies, whatever sort of place this was they almost certainly had no business being within it. Gavroche split with them then, running into the building. She may have had reservations but she also wasn’t about to lose their only guide. She ran after him now dragging Cosette with her. As soon as she started climbing the stairs she realized she had made a mistake. The men in this place were preparing to revolt, they were looking for a revolution. Gavroche started shouting for attention when they were halfway up the steps. Silence befell when they were at the top and Gavroche proclaimed the death of General Lamarque. Cosette gasped and Éponine realized that must have been why the children had accosted Gavroche.

Cosette watched from beside the stairs with Éponine as the men all started talking over one another again. Then a young-looking blonde man raised up his hand and the room went quiet again. He looked momentarily crestfallen but he pushed forward, “Lamarque is dead.” A startling determination came forth on his face then and he shook his head, “Lamarque, his death is the sign we await,” a rallying cry was building up in him and it infected her. She knew that much was broken in this country, in her country. She was a newcomer to Paris but she was aware of the significance of Lamarque, his name was a buzz in the street, an ever-present whisper on the wind. His death would be a tragedy to the powerless of this place. And these men, though many were well dressed and likely from well-to-do families, seemed intent to do whatever it took to bring justice to the people. The apparent leader spoke on though, they planned to use the general’s funeral to stage a protest. Most of the men looked fully enraptured, there was a man on either side of the leader, one tall and serious, the other round and jovial. There were three men talking in the back, one drinking tremendously, staring at the leader, the other two looking vaguely concerned. Many other men were talking or listening, hearts nearly beating as one.

The round man split from the leader’s side then and approached them, “I feel I recognize the pair of you, have we met?” he asked with a broad smile.

Cosette held polite eye contact, “I’m afraid I think not.”

The man looked closer at Éponine’s face then and a spark of recognition alit his eyes “The sisters Lanoire! I remember; the four of you used to sit for hours in the Luxembourg. A friend and I saw you often on strolls, he is not here tonight. You have both grown quite lovely.”

Cosette blushed faintly at having been remembered as such. Éponine picked up the conversation from there, “Thank you for saying so, Monsieur…”

“Courfeyrac, you can just call me Courfeyrac. But what brings you here this night? Were you lost?” His eyes were kind but Cosette was also wary of outsiders.

“We were just walking with Gavroche, he brought us here.”

He seemed to contemplate momentarily before deciding “Seeing as you are friends with little Gav, would you like to stay to observe the meeting? No one here will give you any trouble I can assure you.”

Éponine was wary, she sensed true kindness within this man but how could she truly trust the other men here? She looked to Cosette and saw the yearning plain on her face. “Are you sure Cos?” She nodded and Éponine sighed. She looked Monsieur Courfeyrac in the eye and said “It would be our pleasure.” Cosette beamed and the Monsieur escorted them towards an ill-dressed man with red hair. Éponine let Cosette choose most of her dresses after she had a brief spell of studying all the fashion plates she could find and dedicating herself t understanding the day’s fashions some weeks ago, but even she could tell his outfit was disastrous. He turned out to be immensely wonderful though, called Jehan. He wrote poetry in a little leather-bound book. After her time in the convent, Éponine had become a vociferous reader and the man seemed ecstatic to talk with her about poetry and recommend her some poetry collections and political works. He wrote a little list and tore the page out of his book. She was momentarily surprised he would defile the book as such but he smiled and her heart melted. He flipped to another page and peeled a piece of pressed rosemary from the page and folded it within her page. She didn’t know what to do so she asked him another question about one of the essays he had been praising.

Cosette was wonderfully surprised by how fast Éponine engrossed herself in the conversation with Jehan. She was usually so wary of strangers and generally shy but she hardly noticed when Cosette walked away to talk with some of the other men so she counted it as a win. Courfeyrac introduced her to the tall man, Combeferre, and the leader, Enjolras. They were both perfectly lovely but also too busy to really engage with her. Courfeyrac looked across the room, his eyes landed on the three men she had noticed in the back earlier but he decided against it and led her instead to a broad man in a flashy waistcoat. She was surprised realizing how much older he was than the other men she had met but took it in stride. Courfeyrac made the introductions and excused himself to attend to other matters. Somehow emboldened by his sizable stature she decided to be frank and told him how much she appreciated his waistcoat. He preened somewhat and returned the compliment. She explained her recent escapades into the world of fashion after having lived with nuns for so long. He described his red waistcoat in turn and she began to pepper him with questions about politics, inserting her own observations along the way. At one point when the topic of history and other countries came up a man named Feuilly entered the conversation. She drifted between many of the different men, asking questions and posing different perspectives and hypotheticals. Even Enjolras took some time from his planning to speak with her upon prompting by Courfeyrac who had returned to the conversation. Two of the three men from the back of the room also got curious and made their introductions, Bossuet and Joly. She was thoroughly occupied for at the least, two hours. She regularly checked up on Éponine who had decided to remain seated with Jehan.

Éponine had begun to realize how late it was when the drunk man with dark curly hair she had been wary of sat down at the head of the small table between Éponine and Jehan. He whispered something in Jehan’s ear and he giggled.

“Grantaire, don’t be impolite, introduce yourself to the lovely lady,” he laughed. It seemed this Grantaire fellow might not have been as drunk as he should have been considering all she had seen him consume but he spoke clearly if not entirely logically. He ranted about the fruitlessness of attempting the revolution until the blonde leader, Enjolras, sat down across from him and took up the argument. Cosette sat down beside Éponine and smiled at her.

Éponine laughed, “You’re enjoying this entirely too much, aren’t you?”

“So are you,” Cosette tried to tamp down a laugh but it bubbled up out of her. Courfeyrac took the last seat at the table across from her and smiled at them. Grantaire and Enjolras barely noticed them over their debate. Cosette turned in her seat to face Éponine and began pointing out each individual she had spoken to and what they had seemed interested in and what they had discussed. Éponine listened intently as her sister recalled her different conversations. She was intrigued by the variety of temperaments and interests of the group. They all seemed so in sync towards this one goal, excepting Grantaire she supposed. Her body chose that moment to rebel against her mind and she couldn’t stifle a great yawn from emitting. Jehan giggled again and Cosette patted her arm. Gavroche approached them, appearing from nowhere as children like he tended to do.

“It’s quite late now misses. D’you wanted me to walk ye home?”

Cosette took the initiative to reply “That would be absolutely lovely, thank you Gavroche.”

Éponine huffed a little but rose when Cosette prompted. Enjolras and Grantaire seemed too occupied to notice their departure but both Courfeyrac and Jehan rose to wish them well. Courfeyrac played at charm and chivalry and places a kiss on both their hands. Cosette laughed and Éponine couldn’t help roll her eyes. Cosette bid her farewells to the rest of the Amis and Éponine waved to them.

Cosette noticed that unlike Courfeyrac, Jehan had not yet said his goodbyes and returned to the table they had left. He hovered a short distance behind her sister towards the stairs. When she concluded her goodbyes she prompted Gavroche to lead the way and almost made to follow but instead turned to Éponine and Jehan. If her sister trusted him, which she so clearly did, then she also trusted him. She put on a winning smile and asked if he would also like to accompany them. He beamed and agreed immediately, Éponine blushed. She smiled and quickly caught up to Gavroche. Letting Éponine and Jehan trail behind them. Would never forget this day, she could already tell.

I don’t think I described the table layout that well so have this:

J___C

R |____| E

É, Cos

[descendantofthesparrow]

Poly sea three x reader - oneshot - Lonely

*as i finished this i realized this has no dialogue...which is kinda cool i’ve never written a no dialogue fic, so enjoy!* ((y/n) is Jack Sparrows kid btw if you couldn't guess from the compass on the moodboard) 

=

After Uma left, her life was harder…harder than it was before. Uma was the rock of the crew, always there, always steady, and ready to command the lot at a moment's notice. The crew saw a polished rock, hard and smooth, shining like the stars in the galaxy.

Only three people in the crew saw the rough edges. Uma only trusted three people to see behind the polished glaze, exposing the rocky terrain within her. On nights where it had just been too much stress at the chip shop, she would retreat to one of three rooms, sometimes even gathering all of them to be in her room so she could just relax with her favorite people.

Her head rested on her first mate's chest, his solid heartbeat and even breathing lulling her to sleep, her body tangled with her war chief, arms wrapped around each other like snakes and thumb gently rubbing her back. Her legs coiled around her second mate, his hands pressed against her calf and thigh, always letting her know he was there.

Uma didn’t know how much she relied on them until she couldn't get back behind the barrier, eyes wide with helplessness as she called out for them on the other side, Harry when he would nab some fish from an unsuspecting fisherman, (y/n) when they sat on the docks, carving whatever they felt like into their dagger, Gil when he was skipping rocks.

They never heard her, and she didn’t try again as she watched them walk around on the deck of her ship.

She missed them, she realized that almost as soon as she hit the water outside the barrier, stopping for a moment to look back, watching as the barrier closed and she was separated from her friends.

Sometimes, she would see things that reminded her of them, the scarlet ribbon of a disregarded dress, a sparrow flying above her, a broken arrowhead at the bottom of the sea.

Uma just wanted to be with them again, her heart ached every night she went on without the sound of Harry's heart, the feeling of (y/n)s hands gently scratching at her back, the feeling of Gil's hands gently massaging her legs. She realized she loved them, all three of them, the longer she was away from them.

She missed them all, so much.

And she hoped that they missed her too.

-

After Uma left, the isle was harder…harder than it was before. Uma was the rock of the crew, always there, always steady, and ready to command the lot of you at a moment's notice. The crew saw a polished rock, hard and smooth, shining like the stars in the galaxy.

Only three people in the crew saw the rough edges. Uma only trusted three people to see behind the polished glaze, exposing the rocky terrain within her. And she saw the inner workings of them behind closed doors, rusty cogs and scratched glass resting before her eyes.

Harry got more…twitchy, after Uma left, his usual controlled rage that used to bubble beneath his skin bursting out more often, scaring the crew sometimes, but never you and Gil. you both knew he’d never hurt either of you, he’d throw himself off the edge of the world before he even thought about doing so.

Harry was just so angry that Uma was gone, stuck on the other side of the barrier, he had no doubt she didn’t abandon any of you but that didn’t stop him from screaming and destroying the training dummies.

He shut himself away from everyone soon after the anger burned out, even Harriet hadn’t been able to convince him to unlock his door. It had taken almost a month for him to let you and Gil inside, and he looked awful, his skin was pale and his nose and cheeks were red, his eyes puffy and dull. The only reason he wasn’t skinny was thanks to you and Gil leaving trays full of food in front of his door at mealtimes, and leaving it there for him to grab it.

During those months of anger and depression, you and Gil took over the crew, you ascended into the role of captain, being the most knowledgeable about the position thanks to your lineage and Gil becoming first mate, all temporary until Harry recovered and Uma returned.

Though once Harry started to slowly return to his “normal” self, he didn’t care to try to take back his role as the first mate or become the captain as his first mate duties proclaimed, that alone told you and Gil and something was still wrong with Harry.

One night you and Gil dragged Harry into Uma’s empty quarters, and just laid in her bed in a tangle of limbs, Gil laying between Harry's legs with his head on Harry’s stomach, while Harry curled up into your chest, hands clutching onto your shirt. That night was one of the few times you saw Harry cry, choked sobs ripping from his throat as he attempted to muffle them in your neck.

You and Gil let your feelings out that night as well, assuring Harry that he wasn’t alone in missing Uma, you all did. So.damn.much.

Harry had always been in love with Uma, never afraid to show it, but that night you and Gil finally proclaimed the same after years of hiding your feelings in fear they would be used against you. And you loved each other too, it was hard to deny, not after revealing your feelings for Uma.

You all vowed that when Uma returned you would shower her in the love that you had all been deprived of for many years.

It was over a year later before you saw her again, Gil and Harry had jumped out of the barrier behind Mal and her goons plus Celia, Harry knocking the blue gem out of Mal's hand.

Your breath escaped you when a turquoise tentacle caught it, and Uma, looking more beautiful than you remembered, emerged from the water, dressed in an altered version of her turquoise cotillion dress, the sweetheart neckline showing off her glowing shell necklace.

Uma and your boys reunited, but she didn’t look at you, probably because you were back behind the tunnel and she couldn’t see you through the barrier and the darkness of the tunnel. But that was fine, you could wait just a bit longer before you looked her in the eyes again.

You would wait a thousand years for her.

But you wouldn’t have to wait that long, the next morning you awoke to the crew loudly celebrating, cheers and chaos echoing through the halls of the ship from the main deck.

You slipped out of bed, quickly changing into your gear and racing up to the main deck, unable to keep the smile of your lips as you saw Uma, who continued to glow with an echo of her magic, being lifted by the crew, all cheering and celebrating her return.

Her eyes locked onto yours, and as the crew set her down on her feet, you walked toward her, taking off your tri-corn hat and kneeling in front of her. You said her name like a prayer to the gods, a whisper on your lips. Uma shivered at the tone, feeling something wash over her at your worship.

As she looked around at the crew, Harry and Gil standing only a few inches from her, not wanting to be far from her, she realized that while Auradon had everything one could want, riches, good food, magic.

It was nothing compared to the warmth she felt surrounded by her crew and the three people she loved with all her soul.

Uma grabbed your face as you stood up, biting back a smile at your confused look, and pressed a kiss to your lips, the crew around them exploding into cheers.

Uma pulled back from you, smirking at your dazed look as she spun around and grabbed Harry's jacket, pulling him down to her height for a kiss, laughing into it as he slumped into her and groaned. She pulled away one last time and turned to Gil, grinning at his ‘excited puppy’ look, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, smiling as he picked her up by her waist to give her better access.

The crew celebrated and cheered, Bonnie handing Desiree a wad of cash when you and Harry kissed as Gil set Uma down and pulled the four of you into a hug, Uma pressing a kiss to his cheek as he did.

All was well again.

Uma wasn’t lonely anymore.

-end-

lowkey kinda proud of this one hehe, tell me what yall thought! this was originally going to be a under the sea kinda fic but it turned into them all missing Uma and Uma missing them and then they all reunited and kiss and just asaoishdahsda i couldn't help but do the fluff at the end 

permtaglist

@queer-cosette​ @sephiralorange​

@lunanight2012​ @daughter-of-the-stars11​

@musicarose​ @remembered-license​

@random-thoughts-003​  @imtryingthisout​

@rintheemolion​ @thecaptainsgingersnap​ 

@verboetoperee​ @jatp-rules-my-life​

[coelenterata]

ooooh if you're writing! Fantine getting some kind of nice Magic Power or Three Wishes or something would be lovely?? :D

I'm sorry again for how late this is!! But here you go, a fairytale trope that isn’t quite three wishes but close enough.

—

“Don’t,” Fantine said, “don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t die, you’ll be alright, you can live, do you hear me, you can’t just die—”

It was more words than she had said at any other point that day. It was more words than she thought were in her, after Felix’s words in that letter had taken all of the few words she had and laughed at them.

All of these words and the only one she was talking to was a horse that was dying, and somebody nearby could hear her probably and these words would be laughed at too, but, but. She could not bear anything dying, right now. Not ever, but especially not right now.

Felix and his friends had left them behind, Favourite and Zephine and Dahlia had left Fantine behind on their own way back home, maybe not on purpose, maybe Fantine had been too slow and stayed behind, she didn't really know, it was all very blurry, she was feeling very unclear, and the horse was dying.

The horse that had fallen earlier, she was very sure, maybe only because she didn't want there to be yet another unhappy thing, but it was the same place, she wasn't that confused or lost, she could still see.

"Don't die," she said, silly, and then, "What do you need, what can I do," and then—

I'll be alright.

This, then, was her mind giving up on her and on her silly heart, maybe, but so many things were not what they had seemed, and the things she thought were true about the world had only gotten her… here.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

I’m sure. If you could get me some water?

“Of course,” Fantine said, “of course.”

She stood up, and she looked around, and she noticed for the first time that it was getting dark, and she stumbled on her hurried way back to somewhere someone might give her a bucket of water, and she was too tired to be embarrassed at their bewildered looks, and she got the water, and she got back.

Her dress was already dirty, and she knelt in the dirt again, and was unsure what to do next.

“I have water. Can you… what can I do now?”

Thank you.

“What can I do?” Fantine repeated, because it felt like things were pressing in on her again, if she didn’t have anything to do then there were so many things that were just… happening.

Slow down. I am alright. You will be alright.

The horse moved, finally, into a slightly more upright position, though still careful about the leg, obviously, obviously, and Fantine pushed the bucket closer, and the horse drank.

Was Fantine going to be alright? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t think so. And in any case, she was in a hurry because Cosette was waiting for her, Cosette who needed her too, Cosette who at least was too young to understand the enormity of everything that had happened today.

Thank you. I will be alright now.

“Are you sure?” Fantine asked. Again.

She did not want to leave anyone alone today.

I’m sure.

Reluctantly, Fantine got up, first because she still felt like she could not leave anyone, and then because it was difficult to stand on legs that were a little unsteady from kneeling on the ground.

But she did stand, and there was nothing else to do, and the horse was starting to look impatient, and Fantine walked backwards a few steps, and then turned.

Wait.

She stopped. Turned back. Felt worry in her throat again immediately.

If you ever need help, call for me, and I will be there.

—

“I’m sorry,” Fantine said to the bird, “I’m sorry that I cannot keep feeding you, I hope you will be happy out there, and safe. I hope you have a better life than I have here.”

It was quite simple, in the end: she could barely feed herself, and letting a bird share her misery just so she could have company… it wouldn’t do.

She opened the cage and opened the window, and the wind blew in, cold, but the sun was shining, and her little bird hopped to the door of the cage and fluttered onto the windowsill and looked so happy to be seeing the world.

“I’m sorry,” Fantine said, and meant it really, suddenly knew it and felt sorry and wanted to cry for the bird, “Oh, I shouldn’t have kept you in here in the first place, should I? I’m sorry.”

You did feed me, and it was warm in here.

It was like that other time, and Fantine wasn’t sure if that made it more likely to be true or more likely to be voices in her head.

She shook her head.

The bird tilted its head, quick, amused.

It’s not anything compared to the whole sky, you’re right. Comfort against freedom, a hard question, if I understand humans correctly.

It would have been nice, Fantine thought, to have either.

If it’s any consolation, I could have left anytime I wanted. Only I do enjoy comfort a little too much.

Fantine didn’t know what to say to that.

The bird sang a little tune.

In any case. Is there anything I’m forgetting? Is there anything you want delivered to someone? Provided it is small enough, mind you, I’m very little, as you might have noticed.

It wasn’t new to see this bird moving incessantly, little twitches and hops, it was as always, but it was strange now that it was part of its conversation with her.

But. Something to deliver.

“Can you deliver a message?” she asked, before she could even think the words properly, stumbled over them, they were coming out so urgently. “Can you tell my daughter something?”

A head tilt.

What do you want me to tell her?

Fantine hadn’t thought about that, and she thought about it now, and she thought and she thought, and there was nothing that would help.

Her love was worth so little if there was nothing else, if Cosette even remembered her, Cosette had been so little when she left her, and Fantine did not have any promises to make about a better life that she had faith she could keep.

And so there was nothing.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t think I have a message to send after all. You do not have to do anything for me.”

Alright then.

The bird hopped a little on the windowsill, and moved its wings, ruffled its own feathers, stretched a little, it seemed, in the sunlight that was at least a little bit warm.

It turned around once more before it flew away.

If you do ever need that message delivered, or something, call for me.

—

“Shhh,” she told the cat, even though she too was shaking, but the cat was warm and alive and didn’t judge her, and she very desperately did not want it to die, “Shh, we’ll be alright, you’ll be alright, I don’t know about me but you will be, I’ll find you a place that has mice enough to feed you your whole life, you’ll see, and you’ll be fine.”

She felt so cold, and she knew the cat was too thin and too near freezing to death to itself be feeling anything but cold, but the cat’s body was warm against hers and she hoped hers was enough, as little as there was of it, to warm the cat.

Warm. Thank you.

The cat was moving closer to her, Fantine thought.

Very weakly, but it was.

She folded her arms carefully around it, bent her head to put her face in its fur even though it was dirty, matted, wet from snow.

“We’ll go somewhere warmer soon,” she said, “Just as soon as I can, and I promise there will be food for you.”

There were barns not far away, she knew, and a cat would be allowed to live there if it took care of the mice, and she was warm for now and then she would go home and she would not freeze to death there, she hadn’t yet and she wasn’t going to, and Cosette needed her, and the cat and her would both be fine.

She tried to get up, and she was only a little shaky, not shakier than she usually was, but she did have to carry the cat.

The cat squirmed a little.

I don’t like carrying.

Fantine stopped, and leaned against a wall to let herself have a moment of rest.

“Can you walk far enough?”

No answer.

“Can you? I don’t want you to feel worse. I want you to get there and be alright.”

The cat buried closer into her arms.

Alright. Fine.

Fantine smiled at it, helpless to do anything else, and started walking again, towards the barns, the general direction of where she thought they were.

It was a long way, and the cat was a strange travelling companion, and Fantine had to stop many times, but they got there, they did.

There wasn’t a way for Fantine to get in, but there was a gap that she thought a thin cat would fit through, hoped this cat could fit through, to go into a warm place, where there would be food to find for a cat.

She set the cat down.

It stood there stretching awkwardly for a very long moment, in the snow, and then it looked at the gap in the door, and looked back at Fantine, and stumbled over to her to rub against her leg.

Thank you.

Fantine crouched, carefully, to scratch the cat’s ears.

“You’ll be alright. Go now, it’s warmer inside. Go and recover.”

The cat bumped its head against her hand, and her leg, and then it turned to go towards its new home.

If you ever need help, call for me.

—

Help, Fantine thought, when the man was bothering her and she was so cold again and he was being so horrible.

Help, she thought, very loudly, into the nothing, into the uncaring universe, please something.

The man kept saying things to her, loudly, meanly, and she was turned away from him and ignoring him and he kept getting louder and then suddenly he stopped in a strange noise, and Fantine stopped in her tracks and turned around.

There was a cat making itself as large as it could in front of the man, and the man recovered from his confusion and tried to kick the cat out of the way and the cat jumped.

And the cat scratched him and hissed at him and bit him and screamed at him and the horrible man ran, because he was a coward after all, wasn’t he, and the cat was very big, and then it sat down and wiped its face, and then it stalked over to Fantine, but she wasn’t afraid.

Hello, the cat said, and then, I think you should have called for help earlier, you do not look well.

It hadn’t even been long since she had met the cat and been offered help, but things had already been bad then.

“I am not well,” Fantine said, “I am not, but what can I do?” and then she remembered manners, and she realized that she was safe for now, and she realized the enormity of the situation, and she sat down in the snow.

The cat sat next to her, leaned into her, and it was so warm, it was so warm and so kind and such a strange miracle.

“Thank you,” Fantine said. “Thank you, cat.”

I do not know how to help you from here. I can stay, but I don’t know what to do for you. What is it that you need?

“I don’t know,” Fantine said, “I don’t know, anything, everything.”

She was going to cry, she thought.

The cat bumped its head against her arm.

If you don’t know and I don’t know, what do we do then? I don’t suppose you have any friends who know things, because they should have helped you by now. Or I will scratch them too.

“Oh,” Fantine said, before she had really finished realizing, and then she was calling again, in her heart.

And before she could explain, her little bird was swooping down to land on her leg, and fly up again as the cat leaned forward, and the cat bent its head apologetically, and the bird landed again, more twitchy.

It looked at her, assessing, and Fantine could see it didn’t like what it saw, before it commented at all.

Done looking, the bird made a noise, unhappy.

What happened to you? What have they done to you? What makes humans leave each other out in the cold like this?

The cat made a noise, too, derisive.

All kinds of things make humans be terrible. You know this. We all know this.

The bird ignored, pointedly, that anyone had spoken.

Who runs your stupid human world in this place? Someone should talk to the mayor. If nobody else is going to, I will talk to the mayor.

Fantine laughed, almost despite herself.

“I will not stop you. But do you know a place where I can go? I know it’s not a message, but if you could do this for me...”

The bird puffed itself up a little.

Let me think, let me think. Humans who will help you, right? There are some who are less bad than others. I have been talking to a few. Hate talking to humans but I do keep needing answers to questions they make me ask myself.

“Someone who will help me?” It seemed too good to be true, but many things were true now that should not be true.

The bird turned its head this way and that, jumped down into the snow and walked a few steps.

It’s not far, but too far for your legs, I bet. If you don’t have a horse, or a cart, which I suppose also needs a horse. Well.

Again Fantine laughed.

Such a strange world she was living in now.

She closed her eyes briefly, again, and called in her heart for the horse she had brought water to so long ago.

And there was the sound of hooves just a breath later, and then there was the horse standing in front of her, in front of all of them, looking at their little council with some confusion.

“Where are we going?” Fantine asked the bird, and the bird which had settled down a little made itself all important puffed up again.

There is a farm, not far, I will tell your horse the way, I don’t trust your human sense of direction.

“We have to get Cosette first. And then… who lives there? What is their name, when I ask to make sure that they are who you mean, what name will they tell me?”

I’ll probably be there soon too, but if you insist on knowing everything, which I suppose I can’t fault you for. Their name is Bahorel.

[ferret-not-microwave]

Les Amis Modern AU: What They Wish Others Believed About Them (Part 5)

[I kind of wrote this in response to some general trends in characterising the Amis. There are some stereotypes which I'm not quite comfortable with.]

[Hey, y'all! I'm so sorry for not posting this series for a long time, I was flattened for the past 12 days by COVID-19. We have Cosette and Marius today, and I'm so glad that I am feeling better enough to write about them. Cheerio!]

Cosette:

• Is fed up of being considered dainty, fragile, weak and excessively nice, a bit of a pushover. She is anything but. Living with crappy foster parents don't really let you do that. She can stand up against bullshit with biting sarcasm if necessary. It's just that Cosette doesn't rise to the bait very easily, because she has trained herself to ignore battles which don't need her attention. But that doesn't mean that she needs to be protected all the time.

• Is sick of having to relate her childhood traumas in order to not be judged as being a privileged airhead. Cosette likes buying nice things. She likes fashion, and she has some habits from Catholic school, still. She spends a lot of money on her friends and loved ones. She is sunshiney and injects bougie humour and fun into meetings. That doesn't mean that she knows nothing about the shitty world, and that she doesn't actively try to make ethical choices in her consumer behaviour and social commitments. She really dislikes the "Ohhhhh" moment coming from someone judging her for her privilege when someone tells her story to them. Why presume that people are shitty for no reason, damnit?

• Is sick of being mistaken as straight. On one memorable Pride, she was called "straight passing". She dislikes the term immensely. She thinks that people do not have the liberty to immediately assume that she is heterosexual because Marius is her partner. Similarly, people do not get to assume her sexuality because she presents stereotypically femme.

• She feels insecure and uncomfortable when people fix too much attention on her in relation to someone else, as if to scrutinize her. It happened twice amongst the Amis, once when Marius introduced her as his crush for the first time, and once when they came to know that she and Eponine knew each other since childhood, and that Eponine's parents were her abusive foster parents. She likes it better if she were befriended for being herself.

• She feels a little frustrated that people didn't get her conflicting feelings towards Eponine. People immediately assumed that she forgave and forgot everything Eponine had done or said when they were children, in her "characteristically sweet way". Actually, the first time she saw Eponine, her fear reared its ugly head again and she almost ran out of the Musain. There was much dancing around Eponine (who seemed worn out and super uncomfortable as well) and it is only with Marius and Courfeyrac's help that Cosette could start a conversion with Eponine. She did it not be particularly forgiving (though she eventually forgave her anyway), but because she needed to leave her emotional baggage behind and move on.

• A large part of Cosette's forgiveness towards Eponine was fuelled by the knowledge of Eponine's own abuse at her parents' hands. As someone who had faced quite a bit of the same abuse, she needed to put her foot down. Cosette was extremely angry about it, and her anger made sure that Eponine could separate from her parents faster, and eventually get custody of her siblings.

• She hates, hates, hates it when people remind her that she's lucky to get an adoptive father like Valjean particularly after she has a row with him. Just because her foster parents were shitty doesn't mean that she cannot speak against some of Valjeans imperfections! And children often disagree with their parents. She doesn't need to be dampened with the idea that she should basically think Valjean to be perfect because of her past. She is fiercely loyal to Valjean, and doesn't need anyone to test that.

• Cosette is protective of Marius. No one gets to mow Marius over with judgements and snide comments. In fact, Marius found himself being not so much the butt of jokes anymore after Cosette teaches him to stand up for himself. At the same time, Cosette does not helicopter parent Marius. She does tease him within limits, and does not usually interfere when he has disagreements with the Amis. It is a fine balance which does exhaust her sometimes.

• Cosette can be mischievous, even impish. She can land punches (whether they hurt or not doesn't matter), ace paintball/mudslinging matches, play the best pranks on April Fool's Day and curse like a sailor if needed. She is especially proud of the wide-eyed look she still gets from some of the Amis at her antics. She can also get people out of trouble faster than you can say "bail".

Marius:

• Marius feels scared of being judged. It is really, really difficult to understand your own privilege when you come from a super rich, super bigoted family (read grandfather). He has taken lots of embarrassing knocks and call-outs every day till now, but he is learning, and learning fast. The Amis know, and for them he isn't some peripheral person anymore, but an integral part. But sometimes he wakes up with nightmares of being kicked out as a wokeboi and a fraud by the whole group. He often stumbles over his words because he panics that maybe what he is trying to say is problematic. It takes him months to take any initiative in the Amis because he suffers from imposter syndrome all the time.

• Marius hid all information about his favourites (he loves strawberry rosé macarons and silver needle tea, for instance) because he thought that he would be judged as a rich brat. Funnily, it was Ferre who had figured these out and was the first Amis to give him a small tea chest and a box of macarons as a birthday gift (followed closely by Courf and Jehan with a huge birthday party). It took time for Marius to understand that just because he got a bit panned for his political opinions the first time, it doesn't mean that the Amis hate him.

• Quite unlike popular belief, Marius and Ferre do get along very well. They share a lot of niche interests (poring over etymology dictionaries and having a love of museums and trivia nights). They did discuss that first "to be free" moment, and Marius had placed his request to be given more chances to undo his problematic stances. (There was also another "to be free" moment that had left Ferre stunned, but it's a them thing). It hurts Marius when people immediately think that he's probably annoying Ferre when they hang out.

• Marius is not stupid. Please. The whole idea people have that he is stupid because of his awkwardness and shyness is plain mean at times. No, he doesn't need to be talked to slowly, like talking to a child. Whenever he has the courage, he brings up a lot of valid points in Musain meetings. He is extremely resourceful in handling money and talks with boring rich people, and fundraisers have never been better without him. He is juggling a double Masters degree with internships and volunteer services, and picks up languages at the drop of a hat (including Elvish).

• Marius has also had that dangerous phase when, in a bid to be as radical as possible, he fell into trouble way too many times. Even the most even-tempered of them all (read Jehan) has outright cried in exasperation on finding Marius glaring at a policeman in a protest, promising to burn the place down with a flare if they didn't back off from hitting protestors. Marius has similarly taken punches and hits, and there was a time when Joly would hover around him to administer first aid as quickly as possible. It took Enj and R a whole day to explain to him the merits of self-preservation and that revolution today does not necessarily involve a militant loss of life.

• Marius has also that phase when he drove a college sophomore to tears with his radical speech. Aka attacking the heck out of the kid's problematic Facebook post. Cosette had to give him a talk. Marius is learning about how to be a zealous but kind activist every day.

[evildeadgf]

coffee & tv.

Gabriel Enjolras never necessarily believed in miracles, no, but what else could explain what would eventually lead him to her? Perhaps he had let Jehan's preachings of "no coincidences" force itself within the boundaries of his well established skepticism, like an invasive thought, intruding into the high walls of his crumbling kingdom. Whatever the case - miracle, fate, coincidence; Éponine had come into Enjolras' life when he had needed it most, and for that, he was grateful, grateful to whatever had crossed their paths.

Seated towards the back of the tiny yet comfortable and cozy club that was neatly hidden away in its obscurity from the public, Enjolras dragged a hand over his face, tired, looking over the documents on his laptop. Prouvaire hollered loudly next to him as they welcomed the next musician to the little stage, causing the exhausted golden boy to look up towards the commotion. A woman with an acoustic guitar was approaching the mic-stand, a sheepish dimpled smile growing on her face. She coughed, brushed a stray hair out of her face before introducing herself and looked out toward the crowd. "Thanks for that." There was a laugh in her voice. Something probably to do with nerves, Enjolras thought to himself. He'd definitely be nervous if someone were to place him front of a crowd where they most definitely expected you to have the voice of a god or goddess, or anything in-between. Lecturing to hundreds of students? Sure, he was capable. Singing? He'd rather opt out of that one, only the trusty shower knew how he sounded in that regard.

"Name's Éponine, hope you're all enjoying your night. Here's a little something I wrote." With that, the woman with the dimpled smile filled the club with her music; a voice escaping her that made even Enjolras blink to himself, she sounded professional, the likes of which you'd hear on the radio. What was someone with a talent such as that doing in a club that was hidden, known to only hipsters like Jehan? He shook his head and focused back on his work, letting the girl's voice become a lullaby of sorts; it was definitely relaxing, he'd be lying if he were to say it wasn't, his shoulders weren't so tense as they'd been before, and the wrinkled lines on his forehead probably had calmed some. When the song had finished, he looked up toward her again, a half-smile unknowingly pulling at his lips. Éponine smiled at the patrons, looking specifically toward her - he noticed - at a bug eyed blonde who whistled for the singer, and a brunette, small, clapping with the glee of someone who looked as if they still held a childlike view of the world, he was good at picking up these things. He clapped along with them, looking directly at the musician again, she awkwardly stood there for a moment before grabbing her guitar case and rushing off stage, making way for the next.

Little did Enjolras know, that this would become a new routine - get a coffee after work, sit with Jehan at the back of the club, and listen to her whenever she came in. This was solely for finishing work with a clear mind, obviously, there was absolutely no other reasons whatsoever, you'd be mad to even suggest as much. Two weeks into the routine, Éponine looked toward him and Jehan after her song was over, a sort of glint in her eye, and for someone such as Enjolras, who mastered at reading others like a book; he couldn't discern that look in her eye. With a cough, he had broken the stare, looking over the finished exams of his students. Jehan coughed back at him, earning a roll of the eyes from Enjolras. "Would you mind?" Enjolras quipped at the poet, which gave him a nudge of Jehan's arm to his own. "What're you doing right now, Prouvaire? I'm trying to work. I come here with you to work, I could do this at home just as easily." Jehan was now the one to roll his eyes at him, gesturing over to the three women; Éponine and her two friends. Enjolras feigned clueless for a moment, putting on a portrayal as if he had no idea as to why Jehan was not so subtly looking over at the three with the giddiness akin to a schoolboy.

"Don't play dumb with me, Enjolras. You like when that woman sings. You clap! You look to her in awe! It's almost like something out of a play. Romantic, no?" Enjolras simply deadpanned at him in response, letting out a sigh. "Ah, who am I kidding, hm? You know nothing of romance." A grin played out on Jehan's face as he took another sip from his latte, and Enjolras merely furrowed his brows at the man, not wanting a moment of this. Nothing could have prepared him for what was about to unfold, however, as Jehan rose from his seat, walking over to the three women in question. That smug asshole. The entire world could probably see the pure look of horror on Enjolras' face. "Enjolras!" Jehan called out, "Come over, say hi!" He sat with the ladies as if he knew them, and the realisation of the fact he most likely did crashed over him in waves. With the looks aimed toward him, he swallowed up his pride and quickly zipped up his laptop inside the case with a force that was a tad bit too strong, making his way other to the table - a routine that was comfortable for him had suddenly become a nightmare. "Here he is. This my friend with the stick up his arse that I've all been telling you about. 'Ponine, Cosette, Azelma - meet Gabriel Enjolras, he doesn't interact with women all that much; so apologies on his behalf." The small brunette barked with laughter at Jehan's remark, Éponine looking over to her with raised brows and a smile whereas the blonde greeted him with a quiet 'hello', much appreciated over roaring laughter.

Éponine looked away from the small one and directly toward him instead, "Azelma can be a bit loud, sorry about that." No kidding, but for the sake of politeness, Enjolras simply brushed it off and told her that it was okay before he formally introduced himself, noticing now that Jehan was chattering away with Azelma and Cosette, leaving him to speak to the singer alone. He clung to his laptop almost as if for dear life. "You've been here a lot these past few weeks with Jehan and never once stopped by to say hi, you always leave early. Now what's up with that?" There was that glint in her eyes that he didn't know how to place again, he felt heat building up in his throat - that was one way to be confrontational, he thought, and not to mention more observing than he had originally thought her to be. He had no clue that she had even retained knowledge of his existence outside of this little hole in the wall coffee club, in a rare turn of events he supposed he had now become the oblivious one. What two weeks could do to someone. Éponine rested her head against her hand, elbow propped up against the table, doe eyes staring up at him.

She reminded him of both a kitten and pup, mixed into one person, how was that even remotely possible? He had never made that distinction about a person before, new experiences seemed to be happening all around; what a world. He couldn't help but groan quietly to himself, his thumb unconsciously rubbing at a tear-duct before clinging to his laptop again, he suddenly had no idea what to do his hands nor himself. "I don't know if one could count the early morning hours as early, per se. I think of anything after midnight as 'it's time to go to bed', but that has definitely not stopped me before from working until five in the morning." A perfect brow perked up at him, a cheeky sort of smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. At the back of his mind, deep down in there (you'd need to go very deep before coming back with this fleeting thought) he couldn't help but think of her many facial expressions to be cute and, well, attractive. It would be a blatant lie to not admit to himself that Éponine was attractive, that much was very obvious to anyone who was blessed with vision.

"Five in the morning! Far out. How do you cope? I mean yeah, I've absolutely stayed up past my schedule once or twice playing The Sims because, c'mon, that's honest work when you've got a whole family who works to earn that bread and butter, and the hours just fly by and then what d'ya know? It's accidentally almost six, not PM, but AM." She had him laughing, genuinely laughing, and it's so foreign that it surprises him before he'd caught himself. Jehan was in too deep with the two girls to even notice what had just transpired. Enjolras couldn't remember the last time he had let himself unwind like this, to properly relax and take his seemingly always busy mind away from his work - to laugh, to smile, to integrate himself with new people. It was a good, welcoming feeling - warm, rather.

The pair who had been left alone to their own devices had ended up speaking to one another for a long while; Enjolras had learned rather quickly that Éponine would die of embarrassment if she were to busk; she already had a day job, there was no need for anything else - in her own words, busking reminded her too much of her father, and that was that, she wouldn't delve too deep into that topic, and Enjolras was understanding, the last thing he wanted was to prod into places where he had absolutely no business in the first place. He learned that the small brunette, Azelma, was her younger sister, who currently lived with her in her apartment temporarily until Azelma could get back onto her feet and land a new job. It was apparent that she and her family were not well off, which saddened him some, but she was a woman of determination, and stern, at that, he didn't need to ask her to know that she didn't want help from anyone that was well off. It wasn't as if Enjolras was a billionaire himself, though he had a steady income and a roof over his head that he could pay the rent for, and that was more than you could say for the less fortunate. At fifteen minutes past two, the group said goodbye to one another, and Éponine forced his phone into her hands, putting her details into his contacts. "Don't be a stranger."

And he would prove to her that he certainly wouldn't be. He couldn't help but message her during the week days, asking her how she was, what she was up to, the early pleasantries. Three months had gone by, and during those three months, there was a point where Éponine, as Jehan would say 'ghosted' him for a week because of a disagreement they had over a phone call; it had been over something minuscule, yet she would not double down, and it had infuriated him to no end. She was sarcastic, stubborn (just as much as he was) and loved to correct him whenever he was "wrong" about something, and yet, there was something about her that had him coming back. He had been genuinely upset when he had been 'ghosted', and reacted by not showing up to the coffee club that weekend, which had been a stupid move on his part. After work that following day, he would go see her at her day job, working at a clothing retail store, with a bag of her favourite things - a very specific brand of chocolate and a bottle of cheap rosé (which she would constantly say outshone any other type). She had almost choked upon seeing him walk into the store, that dimpled smile he had missed gracing her face upon digging into the bag. "Wow, what's this? My birthday?" She had scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head. "But in all seriousness, thank you, Gabriel. You didn't need to do this for me, you know how I get sometimes. I was gonna say something, reach out and say sorry for how bratty I was being but, hey, I s'pose I'll just take this instead." With another smile, she had thrown her arms around him in an embrace for the very first time, and he went home thinking about it until he had went to sleep that night.

He had no interest in any sort of romantic relationship, always deeming himself too busy for them, much to the dismay of his family. No one had caught his eye nor interested him, and he had been fine with that up until Éponine had become this force in his life to reckoned with. It was pathetic how long he thought about that hug for, about how nice it was to be entangled with her in such a manner, about how comfortable it was, about how warm she felt, about how much she smiled afterward. It was thought after thought after thought, and they were definitely not going to let up. Five months now of knowing Éponine and she had him completely wrapped around her finger, he would go so far as to even message her during his breaks after lectures, it was becoming a bit too much to the point where he knew she ought to have realised something. Everyone that knew Enjolras prior to meeting Éponine knew, he was perfectly aware, and they chose to say nothing, because they knew he knew, even the loudmouth Grantaire, of all people, had not harassed him about this. This was suffocating, suffocating up until that six month point where he was there with her at the club after her performance, he completely broke and had blurted out to her, "Do you want to have dinner with me on Friday evening?" She let out a breath in return, deep dimples with that beautiful, breathtaking smile.

"Who do you take me for, Gabriel Enjolras?"

That Friday evening, they enjoyed a night in his apartment with Chinese takeaway and movies; sure, it wasn't anything fancy, but Éponine had wanted this, and who was he to refuse her? At some point in the night, she had rested her temple against his shoulder, getting comfortable, and he was suddenly very hyper-aware of the fact that Éponine Thénardier was in a close proximity to him, leaning on him, his heart almost skipping a beat when her hand began to rest atop his knee. He seemed to be frozen in that moment, he knew what she was doing; she was making the first move, and yet he sat there like a marble statue, unsure of what to do with the beautiful woman that was currently getting comfortable on his couch. His palms surely sweating, he reached out to place his hand over hers, locking their fingers together. He swallowed harshly, heart racing. This was it, he had to admit to himself how he felt, that he was absolutely head over heels for Éponine in the most uncharacteristic fashion. In response to their entwined fingers, she only got more comfortable, a dreamlike sigh escaping her.

Without thinking, he kissed the top of her head, heat engulfing his whole form, his face burning. Éponine broke their hold, and just like that, her lips were pressed against his, the coldness of her palm resting against his cheek greatly appreciated in that moment. Embarrassingly enough, he had no recollection of the last time he had kissed someone, but hopefully for her sake, he had not become an awful kisser in the time he had for the lack of a better word, abstained from the act of doing so, though he did return her kiss with the same sort of vigor, an arm wrapping around her waist. He was nervous, probably messy - but she didn't seem to care, smiling and giggling to herself more times than he could count on one hand during their shared moment of passion. When they finally parted, Éponine merely looked up at him with that cheeky catlike grin on her face that he couldn't help but adore. "God, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that."

He could most definitely say the same.