#I LOVE SMALL COSETTE I LOVE HER SO MUCH SHE DESERVES THE WORLD

[alphazed]

Les Mis october Day 4: Pumkins

I'M SORRY ITS NOT VERY WORKED OUT BUT THIS IDEA WAS TOO CUTE NOT TO DRAW

i've had a busy week

@lesmis-prompts

[marshmallow-phd]

Heart of Thorns

Genre: Beauty and the Beast!AU, Romace, Angst

Paring: Tao x Reader

Inspired by: These moodboards created by @xui-n-soowillbethedeathofme (x) (x) and my absolute obsession with Beauty and the Beast

Summary: Lost in a forest during a storm, you find shelter in a crumbling castle that had been hidden away for years. The master of the house shut himself away, refusing to engage with the world. Too intrigued and running away from your own fears, you refuse to leave no matter how much he tells you to, wanting to try and find the heart within the beast.

Part One I Part Two I Part Three

**

Everyone knew the story of the man in the forest mansion. He’d once been the son of a prominent and just lord. The people of the land praised the lord’s name as he was always fair and practiced justice amongst all his subjects. It was a month of mourning when he passed away from sickness, but there were high hopes for his son to carry on his legacy. And at first, all was well.

But something happened that changed his heart.

A woman appeared; beautiful, alluring, and sweet. She captured his heart and they say he adored her, showering her in gifts of gold, jewels, and fine cloth. No one knows what happened for sure, only that the lord’s son went mad. There was a fire and the woman died. Most say that he started it with the intent of killing her.  

Soon after, the son turned out all the servants and secluded himself from the rest of the world. Whispers popped up that the woman he killed was a fairy or a nymph and for killing her he was cursed. Some say that he was now a beast, sporting fangs and claws where his human teeth and fingers once were. Others say he was now a creature of the night and stalked the forest when the moon is high for wandering prey.

No had seen the son or the castle where he supposedly lived in years. The excuse that the grandmothers gave was that the forest had grown too thick from the trees and vines for the castle to be found. Since the son had turned out all the servants and land workers after the fire and there was no one to keep the paths clear.

You didn’t believe a word of it. A man with fangs and claws hiding up in a castle to terrorize anyone who came too close was utter nonsense; a fairytale to scare the children and keep them within the town walls. Even if there were such a man, you hardly considered the possibility that he was cursed.

“It's only because you moved here a few months ago,” Mrs. Mooney crooned. As the wife of the town butcher, she was privy to all the gossip that passed by the family shop. She often stood outside, keeping the stall for the smaller scraps or animals they hadn’t managed to sell to the more prestigious customers. “But we older folk remember the little boy who used to run around here while his father conducted business. Spoiled little thing. Always had a pretty pony and the finest clothes. Stuck his nose up at playing with the other children just because they had dirt on their sleeves. Serves him right, what he got.”

“You don’t know what he deserved and what he didn’t,” another graying woman chimed in haughtily. Her dress, though still rough like a peasant’s, was much nicer than the other villagers. Silver curls spilled out from under a white bonnet. Her hands looked coarse from hard labor and her skin kissed for years under the sun. Crinkles stayed permanently in the corners of her eyes, letting you know that she did smile on occasion. You’d never seen her before when you came to the market, but Mrs. Mooney seemed to know her well.

“You would know better than anyone, Feifei,” Mrs. Mooney sneered.

Though now you were intrigued, Mrs. Mooney did not elaborate how the other woman would know anything about this make-believe man.

“That tongue will get you into trouble someday, Johanna.” Adjusting the basket hanging from the crook of her arm, the old woman spared no glance at the meat as she walked away.

Mrs. Mooney clicked her tongue. With a shake of her head, she turned back to you. “So, milady, do plan on any wares today?”

“No, my father already sent Claudette earlier this week,” you said. The smell of the meat was starting to get to you, but you tried your best to keep it off your face. “I simply came down to escape the confinements of home.”

A huff pushed past her lips. “Oh, yes. I’m sure that large stone house must be suffocating.”

Though lashing out would have been easy, you bit your tongue. This butcher’s wife didn’t know your history. She didn’t know that compared to your previous home in the city, this new place was a shack.

It was your mother’s inheritance that kept you, your siblings, and your father afloat. The home, bought long ago by your grandfather who was now passed, was a honeymoon paradise for your parents. After your mother died giving birth to you, the house was locked up to be a refuge only to spiders and rodents since your father couldn’t bear visiting the place alone. He’d poured himself into his work, curating business as he brought investors and merchants together. When a major client lost his ships at sea, one of his managers took off with most of the assets and funds, leaving debts and loans in their place. To pay off the leeches, most of your possessions had to be auctioned off and the home that had sheltered you since childhood was sold to a new family.

Life away from the bustling city wasn’t too awful. You didn’t have to worry about being run over by a carriage since most of the residents here couldn’t afford one. Everyone seemed to know everyone, which was both intriguing to you while also a little bothersome. At first your family, being new, was the center of all the gossip. Rumors of your father or brother gambling the fortune away or you and your sister having scandalized the family and caused you all to hide away ran rampant. Eventually, the mill settled down and you were left in peace. Some of the villagers still gave side eyed glances, but you’d learned to brush them off.

Thinking it was time to head back home, you said goodbye to the butcher’s wife and followed the brown dirt street beyond the wall that surrounded the town until the scenery turned to fields of wildflowers and small farms. You took a right at the fork, already seeing the two-story country home come into view. The tan brick was a bit faded from the sun and thick vines grew up the sides and around the windows. A small garden grew out in front. There was a fairytale essence to the home that made you love it more. In the back, Claudette would be hanging the laundry to dry in the subtle breeze. Father was most likely in his study, shuffling through papers and letters to find a way out of this place. Cosette was probably lying on the old couch in the front parlor, constantly fanning herself as she whined of the woes she was forced to live through. Your brother, Lu, would be sitting on a log, writing in his journal when he was supposed to be chopping wood.

Cosette was right where you had guessed she was. As soon as you walked through the door, she jumped up and hurried to you with her skirt crumbled in her hand.

“Where have you been?” she screeched, her dark hair pulled back into an intricately braided bun. You tried not to be annoyed. She must have had Claudette do her hair when both of them were supposed to be helping with the washing. “Father has news that he’s been dying to share with us, but he refused to divulge what it is until you were here.”

You rolled your eyes at your sister’s impatience. “Surely, you must have known I would have been home eventually.”

She “hmphed” at you before whirling dramatically and stomping off towards your father’s study. You followed her slowly, your stomach swishing with nerves.

Truth be told, you didn’t mind it out here. The country was a great deal quieter than the city, the air cleaner too. The greatest unexpected gift, however, was how often you saw your dear father. As a child, you had to savor every dinner, every private concert in your living room, and the short moments you were able to spend with him in between his travels or meetings. Claudette never carried as she was more invested in the connections she was making with the other well-to-do families and Lu was often tagging along with your father as the eldest and heir apparent. Now the four of you felt more like a family. If you were, by some miracle or fashion, to go back to the city, routine would fall back into its previous structure and you would be alone again.

Lu surprised you by already being in the room when you entered, seated in a corner with a hardened look on his face. It was strangely out of place given his boyish looks often kept his expression soft. Your father looked up from the papers that were neatly piled up on the desk. “Aw, (y/n)! You’re back from town. Did you have a nice walk?”

“Yes, I did,” you aswered cautiously. “The market was full today.” Your eyes flicked towards Cosette, who had taken the only other chair, continuing to fan herself even though the temperature wasn’t anywhere near that drastic. “I heard you wanted to see us all together?”

“Yes! Yes! Um.” Your father looked around, perhaps to see if there was another place for you to sit. As there was none, he went on. “I received a letter from Lu’s old friend, Lin Gao.” Lu perked up at the mention of Gao. None of you had seen him since you came here, thinking that he, like the others, had abandoned you all when the money was lost. Now, that didn’t seem to be the case. “He has worked with several connections and can bring us back into good standing with society. He’s even convinced a few merchants and investors to allow me to broker deals again.” Your father cleared his throat. “There is, however, one condition.”

“What is that, Father?” Lu asked.

“He asked for (y/n)’s hand in marriage.”

The quietest gasp escaped your lips. Gao wanted… to marry you?

As the baby sister, you tended to follow your brother and his friends around, begging for attention and often they obliged you, as long as the setting was appropriate for a child. All of his friends had treated you as their own sister, equally protecting and caring. You’d never suspected them to have thoughts that led into the contrary as you’d grown up.

Lu’s eyes landed on you for a split second, studying your face enough. “Did he say (y/n) specifically?”

“Yes, why (y/n)?” Cosette scoffed. “I would be more than willing.”

“He specifically asked for (y/n)’s hand.”

Cosette closed her fan with a snap. “Well, then. Arrange the wedding so we can get out of this dumpy town.”

But wait. Did you not get a say in this?

Your father leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “The help from Gao would be tremendous. But I will not force anything on to any of you. (Y/n),” he looked at you with conflict in his eyes, “if you do not wish to marry Gao, I will send him a letter politely declining the offer. I can find other means on my own.”

He was giving you a way out, if you so wished. But you couldn’t deny the help this would bring for all of you.

“Can I think about it?” you asked in a quiet voice.

“Yes, of course.”

“What do you mean, think about it?” Cosette nearly flew out of her seat. “What is there to think about? If we are to get our fortune back, then (y/n) must marry him. I would in a heartbeat if he had asked for me.”

“But he didn’t ask for you,” Lu said.

Your father insisted. “Let your sister think about it. To force this upon her would break my heart. I will not have her live unhappily.”

“And what about me! Why should I live unhappily?”

“Enough!” Your father stood to his feet and he slammed his fist down on the desk. You flinched at the noise the collision created. Rare was it for your father to get upset like this. He was usually very levelheaded. “I am still head of this household and you will accept my decision. Now, go!”

With a stomp of her foot, Cosette stormed out of the room like a spoiled child told that she couldn't have a piece of candy. Eyes trained down on the floor, you quietly excused yourself and went upstairs to your room.

Your favorite place in the house was your room, the smallest besides Claudine’s on the first floor. But the trade for it was the reading crook by the window, overlooking the garden. You liked the isolation you could feel when you sat on the bench, knees pulled up close to your chest as your skirts fell over the side. The window was cold as you laid your forehead against the glass. A breeze was moving through, swaying the leaves in the trees and rattling the vines against the stone walls of the house.

What would living with Gao be like? You had never thought of your brother’s friend in a romantic light. Would there be any romance between the two of you? Or would you be condemned to a loveless marriage like so many other girls? Could you live like that?

You had no answers at the moment. You weren’t sure if you would ever have an answer. But a compromise was coming to the forefront of your mind. You didn’t have to say yes right away. Maybe you could meet with Gao, get to know him more, in a different way that how you knew him before. And, if you decided that he was not the kind of man you wanted to spend your life with, if there was no possibility of love between the two of you, perhaps you could convince him to help your father anyway, for sake of his friendship with Lu.

You pictured Gao’s face in your mind, willing yourself to love it. But all that did was churn your stomach.

**

Your father had sent the letter asking if a visit to the city would be possible for you. Gao’s reply came back quicker than expected: yes. He made all the arrangements; he hired the carriage, sent money so you could rest in an inn for a night before arriving in town the next day. Barely a week had gone by since you were first told of this offer and now you were traveling by yourself for the first time in your life.

Cloak wrapped tightly over your shoulders, you kissed your father goodbye on the cheek. Tears were swelling behind your eyes, but you refused to let him see them.

“Be on your best behavior,” he teased. You were the last out of the three to get into trouble. “Write to me as soon as you arrive. Alright?”

“Of course,” you smiled.

Lu patted your shoulder. When you were a child, he showed you affection freely, but now that you were grown, he’d become a bit awkward when other people were watching. Cosette didn’t say a word. She simply fanned herself at a quick rate as smirk rested on her lips. All she carried about was getting back to high society, to the parties and the searching for a husband who possessed a fortune large enough to keep her satisfied.

Your father glanced up at the sky. “Better go now, my dear. The clouds are growing darker. I want you at that inn before the storm comes through.”

“The only way to do that is to go through the forest,” the driver commented from atop the carriage.

Your father seemed unnerved by that observation but gave no protest. “I will wait to hear from you.”

You gave one last kiss to his stubbled cheek. “Goodbye, father. Take care of him, Lu. Will you?”

“Naturally,” Lu said with a chuckle.

You merely nodded to Cosette before stepping into the carriage. The cabby lurched forward and you allowed the small smile that had been straining on your lips to fall away. Anxiety settled in your stomach. You wanted to have a positive outlook on this whole thing. It was better to possibly marry a friend of the family rather than a complete stranger twenty years your senior.

Unclasping the hook that held your cloak together, you let the soft fabric fall behind you on the seat. The literal weight off your shoulders helped you to breathe easier. You closed your eyes and leaned back. There was still a long journey until you would arrive back in a city that you hadn’t seen in months, although it felt more like years. That was another life to you, a past self. One you had been okay with letting go. And now you were uneasily walking back into its arms.

The ground shook, rattling the walls of the carriage. You pushed the curtain out of the way and peaked out the window. Flashes of lightning so bright that not even the thick trees of the forest could keep them back splintered across the sky. The storm had come quicker than anticipated. Raindrops splattered against the dirt floor, starting out slow then growing in pace. Soon it was impossible to see more than five steps in front of you.

The wind grew untamable. The carriage rocked from side to side, the thin wheels ricketing against the strain. A bolt of lightning screamed too close for comfort. The horse reared back in fright as the carriage passed by a ravine. It was all too much. The carriage toppled over, falling down the side of the ravine. You were tossed around the cabby like a rock between a group of children. When the falling finally stopped, you let out a cry of relief. A second cry left your lips, this time for the driver. But no reply came.

The carriage had landed on its side, but thankfully, it had another door to escape through. You clasped the cloak around your shoulders once more and pulled up the hood before pushing the door open and climbing out.

You were soaked as soon as you stepped out of the carriage. The driver was gone. You didn’t know if he was dead or if he had ran away. The horse, the poor thing, didn’t move or whine. Water was slowly rising in the creek from the rushing rain. You had to get out of here. With what little strength you had, you managed to climb back up the side of the hill. A chill froze your fingers and chattered your teeth. You walked in the opposite way that you thought the carriage was heading. Getting back to your home was your only hope. You had never been in these woods and the sky was too dark to tell directions from the sun. The rain was pouring down harder. Each step you took grew weaker. An unseen tree root stuck out of the ground, catching your foot. Shock ran up your arms as you tried to catch yourself when you fell. You couldn’t go anymore. You were too cold, too tired. So you lied there in the mud, wishing for a miracle. The rain soon came to a stop, but you were still too exhausted to push yourself up. Your eyes grew tired. Finally, the lids closed. The sound of horse hooves against the mud grew near, but you couldn't be sure if it was real or simply your imagination clinging to hope.

“We can’t just leave her here, Xao.”

“But what would the master think if we showed up with her?”

“So, you would leave her to die?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then we take her with us! The castle is big enough that he would never even have to know.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Someone lifted you up from the ground, but before you could discover who it was, you lost consciousness completely.

**

You weren’t sure what woke you up. It could have been the splitting headache that pounded at your skull. Or it could have been the shouting coming from the other side of the door.

“Get her OUT of here!”

“My lord, please, see reason. The poor child was dying in that storm.”

“I don’t care. She’s alive now, so get her out!”

“But she’s still sick. The poor thing has a fever. She’s been sweating all night.”

“I do not want her here. No one is to come here, you know that!”

“Let me take care of her. Once she’s on her feet again, I’ll take her back into town.”

“Fine!”

Heavy foot stomps echoed off the floor. One side of the double doors opened and inside stepped the old woman from the market.

You?

“You’re awake,” she sighed. “I can only imagine what had woken you up.” In her hands was a silver tray of different morsels and a tea kettle slowly letting out a flow of steam. Seeing you struggle to sit up, she hurried to set the tray down on the nightstand and help you. “Don’t overexert yourself, miss. You’re not fully recovered from that awful storm yet. You’ve been asleep for two days now.”

Two days! Your father must have been losing his mind when he never received word that you had arrived in town. A coughing fit of your own started up. The old woman gave you a glass of water to calm your throat before adjusting the pillows behind your head. You took in the bedroom that you were housed in. The light gray drapes that hung from the bedposts were old and a little faded but still made from an expensive velvet fabric. The blanket that covered you was soft and warm and smelled of lavender. Cosette would squeal at the size of this place. It was even bigger than her room at the old house in the city.

“Where am I?”

The old woman’s hands stopped before she could pull out the warming pan from the foot of the bed. “You're at the lord’s estate.”

You frowned. “What lord?” As far as you were aware, the closet lord was at least several days ride from town. And you doubted he would have allowed a room to go untouched like this one obviously was.

Sadness fell upon the old woman’s face. “He’s a good man. A good man with a tragic past.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the old woman folded her hands and laid them in her lap. “Do you remember the story Mrs. Mooney was telling you at the market?” You nodded. “This is his home.”

“He… exists?”

“Yes. Though the awful rumors….” She shook her head. “Anyway, yes. But his lordship isn’t accustomed to visitors. I apologize for what you might have heard.”

Perhaps it was the fever, but your curiosity was now out of your control. “Why doesn’t he want anyone here?”

The old woman stood up. “Never you mind. We’ll get you back on your feet and then Mr. Chan will take you back into town.” She poured a fresh cup of tea, handing it to you carefully.

“Do I have to go back to town?”

“We don’t really have a choice, dear. You heard the master.” She eyed you as you sipped on the warm, caramel colored tea. “What is it? Why don’t you want to go back to town?”

You finished off the tea before explaining. “My family wants me to get married, to help the financial situation. At first, I thought I was willing to at least try, to see that man again and find out if I could love him. But… now I’m grateful for the storm.”

“If you don’t wish to marry him, why not say so?”

“Because if my father never restores his reputation and our family falls further into ruin, it will be all my fault.”

The old woman shook her head. “You poor thing. That’s too much weight to bear.” She let out a long sigh. “Try to eat and then get more rest. Your eyes look heavy. We’ll see if we can’t delay your being cured by a few more days.” She headed for the door. After opening on side, she halfway turned back around. “I’m Mrs. Chan, by the way. If you need anything, pull on the cord by the bed. I’ll hear the bell and come to you. Now, rest.”

As soon as the door closed and you were alone again, you felt the weight of your lids growing. Reaching over to the tray, you tore off a piece of the bun and chewed on it slowly. Eventually, you nodded off into a dreamless sleep.

**

Over the next several days, you passed between peaceful sleeps and uncomfortable awareness. Your fever broke on day two, but you still felt weak. Mrs. Chan checked up on you often, keeping you well fed and making sure there was a fresh pitcher of water or tea for you to drink. When you stopped sleeping as much, she brought you a book to occupy your time. But you read through the comedic romance quickly. A tingling was coursing up and down your legs. They needed to move, to be used. You’d been lying in bed for so long you weren’t sure if they even worked properly anymore.

Earlier, Mrs. Chan had stopped by to say she was going into town to pick a few things up at the market. Mr. Chan was to be out on the grounds so if you needed anything it would have to wait for her return.

Curiosity was a dangerous thing. On one hand, you could find nothing of interest in this ancient castle. On the other hand, you could find yourself in the absolute wrong place and have yourself thrown out into the cold before Mrs. Chan could come back and rescue you.

Silly. All of it was. A little walk wouldn’t do any harm. You would make sure to stay near your room and if you heard footsteps, you would run back here in an instant.

With your feet bare and the nightgown Mrs. Chan had given you made of a thinner material, you were a bit cold as you left the comfort of the blankets. But you pushed forth with your curiosity. This grand room was all you had seen of your haven. You wanted to know more about the home of the lord whose memory haunted the village. You stuck your head out first, looking down the hall from either side. It was empty save for the polished suits of armor that lined the sides, sitting between old portraits previous tenants. As quietly as you could, you closed the bedroom door behind you and softly stepped further into the hall. Through the long space you made your way, glancing at every painting as you passed. Some had chipped paint while others’ frames had dulled over the years, but each one was still magnificent, the subject stunningly beautiful in their own unique ways. You weren’t sure if it was the magic of the artist or if the family was truly blessed in that manner.

Every so often you would peer into a room when the door was unlocked. Most of them were bedrooms or small studies. By the collection of dust gathered on most of the furniture, they hadn’t been used in quiet a while. Soon, the hall took a turn, spilling out into the Grand Hall where the other hallways met. You started to go right when a set of double doors down a shorter hallway in the other direction caught your eye. They were bigger than any of the other doors you had seen so far. You hurried to that one instead, intrigued by what might be behind it. Barely able to get it open with your weak arms, you squeezed through the space and stumbled inside. Then you gasped.

When Mrs. Chan had described the library to you, she had said that the family had a fair collection of books. You might have to clarify with her what a “fair amount” really meant.

The library was housed in the back most tower, the shelves built into the walls and going higher than your eyes could see. Ladders made of wood and metal were attached to the spaces between the shelves. They moved freely from side to side to put any book within reach. As a child, you thought your father had the biggest collection of books by any one person in the world. How silly you were. This place could hold twenty of your father’s old library. You whirled around and around, taking in every detail. It was like a fairy tale.

You stepped closer to the wall and ran your hand over the leather bindings. It had been so long since you’d been able to take in the smell of old books. You had only been able to save two of your favorite novels from the auction. They were currently hidden under your bed. If Cosette ever got a whiff of them, she’d sell them to pay for a new dress. As you made your way around the library, you spotted another door, one that nearly blended in with the shelves. Feeling brave from your latest discovery, you tried the handle. It turned with ease. You pulled the door towards you. Sunlight spilled into the library. The secondary room was mostly empty – save for one object. A piano.

Bang!

The door shut in your face, startling you backwards. You stumbled into something hard. Turning to see what it was, you gasped in fright

A tall, dark hair man with the left half of his face covered in a white mask glared at you.

“What are you doing in here!” he shouted, face glowing red with fury.

“I-I-I’m sor-sorry,” you stutter as you scurried back. The door to the room stopped you from going any further. You were trapped with no way to escape. “I didn’t mean to-”

“You were supposed to say in your room,” he continued to bellow, not concerned at all with your fear. “Stay away from this room! Go!”

That last command was enough to send you running, passing the man and leaving the library. You hurried to the Great Hall, to get back to your room as quickly as possible. Looking back over your shoulder, you checked to see if he was coming after you. The hallway was empty behind you. Once safely back in your room, you scurried under your covers as if they would protect you from the masked man.

**

Mrs. Chan gave no indication that she was aware of your little adventure. If the masked man – the lord of this castle, you presumed – had told her, surely you would have been thrown out by now. She did, however, seem upset about something.

“Is everything alright?” you asked before she could leave the room with your empty food tray.

“Oh, it’s nothing I want to trouble you with, dear,” Mrs. Chan said.

You smiled at her. “I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.”

A second went by and then Mrs. Chan sighed. “It’s just the master. He wasn’t been sleeping well. He’s been wondering through the west wing lately and I’m worried about him.”

The west wing? That was where you were headed before the library stole your attention. “What’s in the west wing?”

“Nothing of importance,” Mrs. Chan snapped. It was a harsher tone that you were used to. You lowered your gaze remorsefully. “Oh, dear. I’ve upset you. Don’t worry about and try to get more rest. You need color back in your cheeks.” She left the room, blowing out the lamp before shutting the door and leaving you in darkness.

You woke a few hours later to a loud bang. At first you thought of ignoring it. Then the thought of something happening to Mrs. Chan came into your mind.

Throwing a blanket around your shoulders, you carefully relit the lamp and stepped out into the hallway.

“Hello?” you called out softly. Another bang answered you. It was faint, not coming from this hallway. You followed it, occasionally calling out again. No human ever replied.

You passed through the Great Hall and into the west wing. You should learned, really, from your earlier excursion. But the thought of someone being trouble refused to let you turn back. Now that you were closer to the source, a soft moaning could be heard among the silence. You pressed your ear from door to door, trying to see if it was coming from behind one of them. It was the door on the very end that held back the sound. With enough moonlight coming from the wide window at the end of the hall to see by, you put the oil lamp down on the floor out of the way and went inside.

Even in the darkness, you could see the smoke and soot stained walls. The remnants of a bed stood in the middle of the wood. Hanging behind it was a portrait of a beautiful woman with golden hair and rich brown eyes that stuck out even with half of the painting burned and curled.  

“What are you doing in here!”

You gasped as the lord of the castle stepped out of the shadows. His mask was gone, but he kept the left side of his face covered with his hand. In his other hand was a small torch. With its light you could see the scars on the back of his hand, the tight and lifted skin usually caused by fire. You said nothing, too stunned to find words.

Dropping his left hand, he reached out and grabbed you by the wrist. The scars on his face were now partially visible, but still mostly hidden in shadow and by the locks of hair that had fallen. From what you could see, they matched the scars visible on his hand. “I asked you why you are here!”

“I’m sorry!” Your voice came out in squeaks, fear running you cold despite the proximity of the flame. “I heard noises. I thought someone might be in trouble.”

He sneered at your answer. “If you’re well enough to walk around then GET. OUT!” He practically threw you out of the room.

You landed on your knees but didn’t stay there for long. You scrambled up to your feet and took off down the hall, leaving the oil lamp behind. The nightgown caught on your foot in your haste as you passed the staircase. You went tumbling down the marble stairs, a scream piercing your throat. You couldn’t stop no matter how you tried. When the bottom of the staircase finally came, you were out cold.

[addictedtoeddie]

The full Esquire Spain interview translated from Spanish:  

Eddie Redmayne trial: guilty of being the most talented (and stylish) actor of his generation

The Oscar winner talks about what it means to premiere a film with Aaron Sorkin (The Chicago 7th Trial on Netflix) and filming the new part of the most famous saga of all time under the watchful eye of its author, J.K. Rowling.

By Alba Díaz (text) / JUANKR (photos and video) / Álvaro de Juan (styling) 10/23/2020  

At the Kettle’s Yard Gallery in Cambridge, stands alone and leaning on a piano Prometheus, a marble head made by Constantin Brâncusi, and the only piece of art that Eddie Redmayne (London, 1982) would save from possible massive destruction. He tells me about it as he leaves the filming set of the third installment of Fantastic Beasts in the early days of an autumn that, we suspect, we will never forget. It begins to get dark as the actor nods seriously: "I promise to do my best in this interview."

Eddie Redmayne made himself in the theater despite some voices warning him that he could not survive in it. "Many people were in charge to tell me that it would never work, that only extraordinary cases make it and that I would not be able to live from this professionally." Even his father came home one day with a list of statistics on unemployed young actors. Redmayne, who is extremely modest, polite and funny, adds: “But I enjoyed theater so much that I got to the point of thinking that if I could only do one play a year for the rest of my life… I would do it. And that would fill me completely.

Spoiler: since then until today he has participated in many more. He set his first foot in the industry when he debuted at the Shakespeare’s Globe Theater and won over critics and audiences. He then landed his first major role in My Week with Marilyn opposite Michelle Williams. And then came one of the roles of his life, the character he wanted to become an actor for, Marius. With him he sang, led a revolution and broke Cosette's heart in Les Miserables. “I found out about the Les Misérables auditions when I was shooting a movie in Illinois. Dressed like a cowboy. I picked up the iPhone and videotaped myself singing the Marius song. I always wanted to be him ”.

Now Redmayne is an Oscar winner - thanks to his portrayal of Stephen Hawking in The Theory of Everything - and the protagonist of one of the most important sagas in history, Fantastic Beasts. He plays the magizoologist Newt Scamander in it. When I ask him what it means to him to be the protagonist of a magical world that is so important to millions of people, Eddie sighs and takes a few seconds to answer. “I have always loved the Harry Potter universe. Some people like The Lord of the Rings or Star Wars ... But, for me, the idea that there is a magical world that happens right in front of you, that happens without going any further on the streets of London, that. .. That exploded my imagination in another way.

During the quarantine, J. K. Rowling, who has been in charge of the script of the film, sparked a controversy through a series of tweets about transgender women. Redmayne assures that he does not agree with these statements but that it does not approve of the attacks of some people through social networks. The actor was one of the first to position himself against Rowling alongside Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and other protagonists of her films. "Trans women are women, trans men are men, and non-binary identities are valid."

After having spent a while talking, Redmayne confesses to me that he has never been a big dreamer not to maintain certain aspirations that ended up disappointing him. So he has always kept a handful of dreams to himself. One of them was fulfilled just a few weeks ago with the premiere of The Trial of the Chicago 7, a film written and directed by Aaron Sorkin that can already be seen on Netflix and in some - few - cinemas. “I was on vacation with my wife in Morocco and the script arrived. I think I called my agent before I even read it and said yes, I would. She probably thought the obvious, that I'm stupid. After that, of course I read the script, which is about a specific moment in history that I knew very little about. I found it exciting and a very relevant drama in today's times. "

And it is that having a script by Aaron Sorkin in your hands is no small thing. Eddie Redmayne has been a fan of his work ever since he saw The West Wing of the White House. “His scripts have delicious language and dialogue. As an actor, it's fun to play characters that are much smarter than you are in real life. That virtuosity is hard to come by. I really hope that audiences enjoy this movie and feel that there is always hope. " He remembers that since he released The Theory of Everything he has recorded, to a large extent, English period dramas, “and although the new Aaron Sorkin is not strictly contemporary,” says Redmayne, “to be able to wear jeans and shirts and sweaters instead of so much tweed is great ”.

Besides acting, art was the only thing the actor was interested in, so he ended up studying Art History at Cambridge University. “My parents are quite traditional and when I told them I wanted to act they gave me free rein but on the condition that I study a career. And I'm very grateful for that because ... Look, beyond that, when I play a real character I usually go to the National Portrait Gallery in London quite often. There I lock myself up. Now, for Sorkin's film, I went through a lot of photographs and videotapes. Art helps me to be more creative, to get into paper ”. If he were not an actor, he would be, he says decidedly, a historian or perhaps a curator. "Although I think he would be a very bad art curator."

Against all logic, Eddie Redmayne is color blind. But there is a color that you can distinguish anywhere and on any surface: klein blue. He wrote his thesis on the French artist Yves Klein and the only shade of blue he used in his works. He wrote up to 30,000 words talking about that color with which he became obsessed. “It is surprising that a color can be so emotional. One can only hope to achieve that intensity in acting. "

Like his taste for art, which encompasses the refined and compact, Redmayne seems to be in the same balance when it comes to the roles he chooses. When I ask him what aspects a character he wants to play should have, he takes a few seconds again before answering: “I wish I had a more ingenious answer but I will tell you that I know when my belly hurts. It's that feeling that I trust. In my mind I transport him to imagine myself playing that character. When I read a script I have to really enjoy it. You never fully regret those instincts. It's like when you connect with something emotionally. "

So we come to the conclusion that all his characters have some traits in common. "You know what? I never look back, and this is something personal, but I do believe that there is a parallel between Marius in Les Misérables trying to be a revolutionary, someone who is quite prone to being distracted by love but at the same time is willing to die for his cause, and Tom Hayden from The Chicago Trial of the 7 who was a man who had integrity and was passionate and fought for the things he believed in. So I suppose there may also be similarities between a young Stephen Hawking and Newt Scamander. There are traits in common in all of them that I don't really know where they come from ”.

When we talk about the year we are living in, in which it is increasingly difficult to find hope, we both let out a nervous laugh. "There must be," Redmayne says. “There is something very nice that Tom Hayden, the character I play in Sorkin's film, said to his former wife, actress Jane Fonda, just the day before she passed away. He told her that watching people die for their beliefs changed his life forever. In that sense, I also think about what Kennedy Jr. wrote about how democracy is messy, tough and never easy ... As is believing in something to fight for. I look at history and how they were willing to live their lives with that integrity to change the world and I realize that somehow that spirit still remains with us. " We fell silent thinking about it. "There must be hope."

I tell him about my love for Nick Cave's blog, The Red Hand, and one of the posts that I have liked the most in recent weeks. In it, the singer affirms that his response to a crisis has always been to create, an impulse that has saved him many times. For Redmayne there are two activities that can silence noise: drawing and playing the piano. “When you play the piano your concentration is so consumed by trying to hit that note that you can't think of anything else. Similarly, when you draw something, the focus is between the paper and what you are trying to recreate ... There I try to calm my mind.

Before saying goodbye, I drop a question that I thought I knew the answer to, but failed. What work of art would you save from mass destruction? "How difficult! I could name my favorite artists but still couldn't choose a work. Only one piece? Let me think. I am very obsessed with Yves Klein, but I would stick with a work by Brancusi. There is a sculpture of him, a small head called Prometheus, in Cambridge's Kettle’s Yard, on a dark mahogany piano. The truth is that I find it very ... beautiful ”.

Before leaving, he confesses to me - with a childish and slow voice - that he would like to direct something one day. We said goodbye, saying that we will talk about his next project. Next, the first thing I do is open the Google search engine. "P-r-o-m-e-t-h-e-u-s". Although Eddie Redmayne has trouble distinguishing violet from blue, he doesn't have them when choosing a good piece. He's right, that work deserves to be saved.

* This article appears in the November 2020 issue of Esquire magazine

Source: esquire.com/es/actualidad/cine/a34434114/eddie-redmayne-juicio-7-chicago-netflix-entrevista/

[descendantofthesparrow]

encore- Harry Hook x reader - taking care of business - part 15

two story parts in one day?!?! am i being....productive?!?!

--warning!!! Talk of rape and sexualizing a minor, beginning and end of the scene will be marked with bold words!---

 @musicarose​

=

Harry woke up the next morning to an empty bed and a note from you, he yawned and clumsily grabbed the note, rubbing his eyes as he read your hurried scrawl.

-going to auradon for a bit, taking care of things be back soon, love you

- love, (nickname that harry gives you)

Harry smiled softly and fell back onto the bed, yawning once more and rolling over, hugging your pillow to his chest.

=

You sighed, pulling your hair into a ponytail, smirking as you caught your reflection in the mirror.

(y/n), the war chief of the lost revenge, the one who took care of Captain Hook. You wore your long red coat, the ripped grey shirt, ripped black pants, scuffed boots, fingerless gloves, skull studded belt, and your multiple rings.

You took your sheath and swung it over your head, setting on your (non-dominant) shoulder and sliding your cutlass into the sheath.

“alright” you muttered with a smirk, flipping your hat onto your head. “les do this”

=

You felt your lip twitch as you stared down at the disgusting gang of older men. All talking smack about harry.

--warning! Talk of rape and sexualizing someone half their age!--

-----

----

----last warning!---

“hehehe, you think his ass is tight after all these years?”

“ohohohh I bet it is, god what would I give to get my hands on him”

“Remember when he would cry? Oooh that would make me shiver~”

“ha! I remember the blood on my dick from when I popped his cherry!”

One of the disgusting man whipped the beer off his chin, a large grin on his face “I saw him yesterday, still, as yummy as when I last had ‘im, too bad the king was around, I would have gone after him and givin him a treat~”

“its also too bad that that war chief of Umas is around him all the time too, shes a scary one”

“thank you for the compliment~” the men screamed, looking up, catching your glinting sword.

“how-how you get-“ the lights shut off, the men screaming again as you disappeared.

“pigs like you don’t deserve to live”

“W-WAIT WERE SORRY WE WONT-AHHHHGGGH”

----end of the scene! Made it quick---

----

----

-you may continue reading!-

Uma tapped her fingers on her arm, staring ahead as she listens to the bloodcurdling screams of the gang.

You walked out 10 minutes later, scraping the blood off your sword on the wall. “thanks for the assist captain” you smiled at her, she grinned back and snapped her fingers. The blood disappearing from your clothes and skin.

“no prob, no one talks about harry that way” you laughed and fist-bumped her.

“true that!”

“come on, I need to check up on other things” you nodded and dutifully followed her, sheathing your sword and glancing around, smiling as you saw flowers and natural grass beginning to grow around you.

“seems the isle is becoming healthy” you spoke up, grinning as Uma nodded.

“yep, its finally getting sun and rain for the first time in 22 years” Uma was proud, knowing she was apart of the reason that it was happening.

Ben appeared around the corner, his face pale and his hands clenching onto his phone. “did you hear the screams?!”

You and Uma glanced at each other quickly before nodding “yeah, it was just one of the bands here playing one of those horror movies screams with their music”

Ben scrunched his face up confused “bands wha-?”

You chucked and patted his shoulder as you walked past him “you still have much to learn about the isles way young padawon~” Uma smirked and followed you.

“there's a couple of bands here, but they’re notoriously bad” she laughed, gesturing for Ben to follow the two of you.

“oh….alright but they sounded pretty real” Ben muttered nervously, glancing behind him to the warehouse where you had found the gang.

“they usually do” you laughed, walking into the tunnel connecting the warf to the main Isle.

You sighed, smiling as the rotting fish smell had long since disappeared and was replaced with the saltwater of the ocean.

“captain, (y/n)!” the crew yelled, most of them chilling on the rails while the others were having a sword fight.

Bonnie leaned back, grinning widely, pointing her thumb at the deck “Gonzo and Desiree are fighting who you bettin’ on!”

“DESIREE!” you yelled back, walking down the deck and  up the gangplank “20 bucks!” Desiree grinned, spinning away from gonzo.

“won't steer ya wrong chief!” she cheered, parrying another attack from gonzo, he pouted and kept trying to get a solid strike on her, but she was small and fast, so it was hard.

Uma grinned “go Desiree!” gonzo turned to look at Uma quickly, a horrified look on his face.

“capt’in!?! But- ah!” Desiree flipped him on his back and stood on his chest, grinning down at him.

“I win~”

The ones who bet on Desiree cheered, you hollered and cackled as Bonnie chucked a wad of $20 at you. “thank you~” you cooed, stuffing it in your pocket.

Just enough to get Harry some cold stone!

=

When you arrived back in your world, Harry was still asleep, so you took off your hat and sheath and walked out to your car, humming to the Hamilton soundtrack as you drove to Coldstone.

Arriving at the ice cream shop you hopped out of your car and walked in, smiling as there was no line.

“Hello! I'll have a gotta have it birthday cake remix and a love it (fav thing at cold stone)” the worker smiled and nodded, getting to work on your order.

“I love your outfit by the way!” they complimented you, scoping out the cake batter ice cream.

“thank you! I like your headscarf!” she blushed and thanked you, asking you if the ice cream was to go “yep, thank you”

She capped the ice cream and started on yours.

You walked out of the shop minutes later and unlocked your car, placing the bag in the passenger seat and driving back home.

You unlocked the front door and smiled as you saw harry sitting on the couch, watching the last Jedi.

“liking it so far?” Harry jumped slightly, breathing a sigh of relief as he realized it was just you.

“aye, I like the kylo r-……uhhh” Harry's jaw dropped as he caught sight of you, it had been so long since he had seen you in all your pirate gear.

You laughed and did a little spin “you like? Felt appropriate for what I had to do in Auradon.”

“u-um” he coughed into his hands, shifting in his seat slightly “y-yeah, looks good on yeh” you mentally did a fist pump as you could tell he was a little hot and bothered.

(for you smut lovers I might do an a03 exclusive smut chapter? But yall gotta ask for it~~~)

“thank you~ I got ice cream by the way!” harry perked up, making grabby hands at the bag he finally noticed.

“thank you thank you now gimmie!” you snorted and opened the back, handing him the large cup of ice cream.

“your welcome, don’t get it on the couch.”

You plopped next to him and (sipped ate) at your dessert, grinning as harry muttered that he wanted a lightsaber.

Now you knew what to get him for his birthday~

--end of part 15--

@queer-cosette​

@sephiralorange​

@lunanight2012​

@daughter-of-the-stars11​

@amorathegamingkitsune​

@random-thoughts-003​

[hms-chill]

@owlface28 also asked for #5 and #36 for Les Mis, so have some useless wlw because I love them

5. “Why do you hate me?”

36. “I’m so in love with you.”

It happens after an outdoor meeting, in the gathering twilight of a summer night, a bonfire slowly dying behind them. The stars are just starting to come out, and she’s walking down a park path toward home when she hears a sound behind her. When she turns, Cosette is there.

“Eponine? Can...” she’s not sure she’s ever seen Cosette like this. Cosette is usually so sure of herself, so open and happy. She’s always small, sure, but usually that smallness is eclipsed by her excitement at the world. Now, though, she just looks small and unsure, and Eponine isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do other than turn, stepping off the path a bit in case anyone else needs to pass.

“What is it?”

“Why... why do you hate me?” 

It’s such a bizarre question that Eponine has to fight the urge to take a step back. “What?”

“I... I know you probably have lots of reasons to be upset, and I’m sorry things were so hard after I left, but is... is there anything I’ve done personally to make you mad, or anything I can do to fix things? I... I’m sorry for everything growing up, but if we’re going to be friends now, and I... I do want to be friends, and keep having the same friends and doing things like this a lot, I... I think maybe it’ll be easier if I can fix things.”

“I don’t hate you, Cosette. I don’t think anyone could hate you,” Eponine says gently. “You... you’re such a good person, even after everything growing up... if anything, you should hate me. I was awful to you.”

“No, you... you were hurting, too. You didn’t deserve parents like them. Neither of us deserved that,” Cosette says. Eponine is staring at the ground, but she sees Cosette’s dark hand reach for her, then pull back, hesitating. “But if... if you don’t hate me, then why... you avoid me. In meetings, and at rallies, and that day we did the mural, and even tonight, you ignore me, or you leave when I show up. Tonight as soon as Grantaire started playing his guitar for me to sing to, you left to get more marshmallows and all but waited until we were done to come back. I... I thought you hated me still, from when we were kids. But if... if you don’t, why do you always leave?”

Eponine wonders briefly if this is some new kind of hell dimension. Maybe she’s fallen through a portal out of the shitty parents circle of hell and into this one.

She risks a look at Cosette, her pink braids and her brown eyes and the earnestness in her face. And every last one of her brain cells dedicates its final moments of life to studying this goddess in front of her. Cosette frowns a bit, and Eponine realizes she’s staring. She’s being weird. Oh god, she needs to stop being weird. She needs to say something.

“I... I don’t... when I’m around you, it’s like... like I can’t think? it... I don’t know, my brain gets all...”

“Ponine? Am... am I a trigger for you? I’m so sorry; I can--”

“It’s not that. It’s not... it’s not a bad thing. It’s like everything...” Eponine takes a second for a deep breath, trying to get her thoughts together. “It’s so much. In my head, I mean, there’s always so much happening. Because there’s work, and class, and where we’re going to get food or rent money from, and if we can afford to keep the lights on this month or if I’ll have to pick up a shift, and if I buy this textbook will we be able to make rent. But when I look at you, that all... stops. And I... a lot of times that’s scary. Because if I’m not thinking about the things that are going to keep me and Gavroche as stable as we are right now, then I don’t... but now, it’s... I don’t hate you, I just... I’m sorry; can we sit?”

There’s a bench nearby, and they do sit, but Cosette still looks worried. She’s turned to face Eponine, one leg on the bench itself and her back resting against the arm.

“I’m... if you don’t want me around, that’s alright. I won’t be--”

“I do. I do want you around. But I just... ugh, I don’t know how to say it.” There’s a hand in hers, tentatively, giving it a little squeeze.

“Take your time. I can be patient,” Cosette says gently. Her thumb is rubbing the back of Eponine’s hand. Eponine’s entire brain narrows down to that one point of contact, the gentle earnestness and sincerity. Slowly, it all fits into place like the pieces of a puzzle. Cosette’s kindness. Her patience. Her quiet strength. The way she makes Eponine’s mountains of stress all but vanish. It’s something Eponine’s known for a while, but she’s never let herself consider it, never dared to imagine...

But Cosette is holding her hand. Cosette is being patient and thoughtful and gentle, and she’s always those things, but it feels different this time. Bigger.

“I think... I think maybe it all feels like this because... because I’m so in love with you.” The words tumble out one after the other, and Eponine realizes them a minute later. She shoots to her feet. “I’m sorry. I... I’ll just...”

“Ponine, wait.” Cosette’s hand is on her wrist, and she could physically pull away, but she’s rooted to the spot. Cosette tugs her back to the seat gently, and Eponine sits like a puppet whose strings have been cut. She can’t look at Cosette, not after something like that. She can’t do it. 

There’s something on her temple. A split second later, she realizes it’s a kiss, and she’s turning to look at Cosette incredulously. Cosette just smiles.

“I... I like you, too.” Cosette’s skin is too dark to tell, but she might be blushing. Behind her, a firefly twinkles, then another, tiny stars hidden in the grass.

“You... you do?” Eponine bites back the ‘why’. Cosette nods.

“Ever since we met again. Maybe even as kids, but things... things were harder then. But when you first came to a meeting with R, and I saw how tough you were, and how... how smart, and good at things, and how you loved people so fiercely, I... I wanted that. I wanted to be someone you would fight for.”

Cosette’s small. She’s always been small, even if she hides it behind an abundance of love and joy and excitement. But right now, her smallness means that it’s easy for Eponine to pull her into her lap, easy for her to kiss her like she’s the most beautiful being alive. Cosette smiles into the kiss, and Eponine smiles right back.

On AO3

--

Someday I’m going to write a fic of these two coming together and healing from their shitty childhoods and finding peace and it’s going to be beautiful.

-- 

Want to support the Hannah Makes Art Fund? You can buy me a ko-fi here!

[barefoot-pianist]

Les Mis – Sondheim Theatre (New Production) – 28/01/20

** HUGE HUGE SPOILER ALERT! CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED**

**second disclaimer: it is nearly half midnight and I’ve been on the go since 5:30am, please forgive rambling, meta commentary to myself, and bad grammar. I just wanted to get this all out whilst it was still fresh**

General

YES the new staging was 90% a hit. I liked it. It was great to see Les Mis performed in a radically different way, I think, and enough was kept (like, for example, the basic structure of One Day More) that it didn’t feel totally alien and I didn’t miss the turntable all that much?. The opening scene is now on a ship, rather than in a mine. More on specific stagings below.

THE. SET. WAS. BEAUTIFUL. There is literally no other word for it. The original Les Mis set is quite minimalist, I think, whereas this one was lush – heavily centred on the idea of houses, which really gave more of a feel to the Paris streets. They had tenements and posh houses, the barricade was still huge, don’t worry, and they had a staircase which was in the café and the Thenardiers’ inn, etc. The scale really worked as well – like in Who Am I, the courtroom felt enormous as opposed to the little mobile thing they had before.

A preface to this point is that I don’t think I’m the right person to offer a critical commentary on race & the cast of Les Mis, but I think it is worth flagging – will 100% defer to folks with more experience/expertise. There were four black cast members – Éponine, Gavroche, and two of the chorus, which is way more than I’ve ever seen in the West End in this damn show. I’m under no illusions that Les Mis in the UK hasn’t got a bit of a problem with race. It is slowly inching its way better – when the Bishop came out and he was black right at the beginning I had a moment of “finally? Are they finally doing this right?” but the diversity wasn’t quite as much as I’d hoped. Especially as in my head, I’ve developed a huge, very multi-racial dream cast for the show, so…yeah. I’d love to see some of the characters who always get played by white people played by folks of colour – Enjolras, for example, Grantaire, Valjean himself. Or have both Éponine and Cosette be not white? For once? This would be great? Please let me know what you all think?? (this is West-End specific, I know there have been some productions working on this elsewhere).

The general mood seemed a bit darker? More violent? Perhaps that was the updated lights and set, idk, but more fake blood abounded I felt, and yeah – more actual deliberate fight scenes. It worked, ngl, the world feels like it’s gotten to a darker place, and the new Les Mis reflects that in a way, doesn’t gloss over the violence. Again, I think more thinking will let me know what I actually think about this, but we’ll see.

ONTO SPECIFIC CHARACTERS & SCENES!

Valjean

·       Jon Robyns – he was brilliant, like, nearly as good as my holy grail (Killian Donnelly). Voice incredibly on-point – I’ve seen some Valjeans with really harsh voices which I don’t think fits the character – his Bring Him Home started so softly and gently and then really soared (until some twat decided to take a FLASH PHOTOGRAPH of him mid-song, whoever it was should have been ASHAMED of themselves).

·       He was so sweet with little Cosette! At the end of the curtain call, he and the actress had their own mini bow and then hugged, and he carried her off into the wings.

·       He really made more of Valjean’s physicality than other actors I’ve seen – perhaps to do with staging too – but his and Javert’s interactions were much more physical, violent, and in your face than they have been. It wasn’t OTT on his end I don’t think, but you definitely got the sense that he was trying to rein himself in and that the violence was still there? You know? But ofc NEVER towards Cosette or anyone unlike SOME adaptations I could mention (yes I am still bitter about the BBC trashfire, sorry to anyone who liked it but eh, imho, gross).

·       At the end, he and the Bishop have a hug in heaven! It was very sweet!

Javert

·       This is the second time I’ve seen Bradley Jaden in the role of Javert and I am a blessed human being (really want to take my Dad to see him too) because he has officially ruined every other Javert for me. Like ever. His characterisation feels very book Javert, very stern and uncompromising but more so than other Javerts, idk, it’s just his sheer stage presence as well, and his facial expressions and his general look…I can’t put my finger on it. He’s just phenomenal.

·       Stars was on this beautiful Parisian bridge (fake stone balustrade-style complete with four hanging lanterns) that came down from the flies, incredible backdrop, and he just brought the house down again.

·       Ngl – they have him actually holding a legit chain during the Confrontation and maybe I’ve read too much ship fic, but it certainly gives a whole new dimension to the line “Msieur le maire, you’ll wear a different chain!” Also especially as the Confrontation was so much more physical as well, they were properly fighting each other instead of just circling.

·       He was much more bloodied at the barricade, and there was this moment where he was being taken offstage as a prisoner and he’s on his knees in front of Enjolras, who’s very blonde hair is all you could see from where I was sitting, and they’re both in a spotlight, and the mood just really reminded me of the dynamic in the fic Les Hommes de la Misericorde by Kchan88 (which is great and you should read if you want to).

·       After the barricade, they incorporated that heartbreaking idea from the movie – Gavroche is lying dead in the front of the stage and Javert bends down to shut his eyes and crosses himself. There’s then a total reversal of the moment with Enjolras described above, but I’ll get to that in more detail in the Enjolras section.

·       In Javert’s Suicide, he did the complete breakdown thing again – which worked as he actually had blood on his face and long hair loose everywhere from the barricade scenes. Back on the pretty bridge, which split in two and he legit FLEW for the drowning scenes, so was thrashing suspended in midair as the lights and backdrop swirled around and behind him. That was something special.

Fantine

·       The one, the only, the Carrie Hope! She played a very understated Fantine? Which…I liked more than I thought I would? Like the voice came out at the end of I Dreamed a Dream, Lovely Ladies etc, but she was so…controlled? It perhaps felt odd after seeing her as Éponine and Veronica in Heathers where she let loose a lot more, but her Fantine just felt a little more mature, a little more resigned?

·       Her Fantine also gets put through the bloody wringer, jeez – the fight with the factory woman is much more physical (and when I say more physical, I actually think they were properly choreographed?) and with Bamabatois, who is just as grim but less slimy than the last actor I saw play him?

·       I’d kind of almost forgotten about her by the time she came out as a ghost at the end, but that bit was lovely, as it always is.

Éponine

·       Shan Ako was a scene stealer. Bloody hell she can sing – she put some pretty riffs in On My Own (small, but noticeable if you know the song) and her belting voice was unbelievable.

·       With the new set, you really get a feel of the Gorbeau tenement – she’s hanging around up there a bit. Also in Attack on the Rue Plumet, with the set the way it is (a house with a wrought iron balcony and a door, with the gate and fence extending out towards centre stage) you again get a feel for the scene in the book when Éponine basically says to her father and his gang that they’re dogs but she’s a wolf and she’s not afraid of them because she’s standing guarding the door with her arms wide…yeah, it really worked.

·       She and Gavroche are either friends or it’s a subtle nod to their siblinghood, as they fist bump right when Gav introduces Éponine.

·       On My Own was a tour de force – second standout of the night after Stars, for me.

·       Her A Little Fall of Rain was also gorgeous, and she had a real fizz with Marius, which was cute.

·       A rather large niggle – Shan Ako is black, and Young Éponine was white. Perhaps there was a last-minute emergency, but surely they could have got a little black actress to play Young Éponine? Idk, it just bothered me.

Cosette & Marius

·       Oh my god, Harry Apps as Marius – he Pontmercied around the place, and was so awkward and adorable! In Éponine’s errand, when he tried to go up the stairs, he banged into the set! During his bit in Red and Black he gets up on the staircase and starts full on declaiming, arms wide etc. His scene with Cosette in Heart Full of Love was gorgeous – he chucks a stone at her window, and she comes out, sees him, and disappears and he’s like “oh god I’m doing everything all wrong” and then she comes hurtling out of the front door instead and then stops and they stare at each other and it’s so cute! And then he’s just so self-conscious for the entire scene? And what’s so interesting is in the reprise at the end and the wedding, he’s so much more sure of himself – I really loved all the little nuances like that?

·       He’s also really young! He’s the complete unknown they cast off the open auditions for the UK tour, and he is bloody amazing – totally deserved that!

·       Lily Kerhoas was very charming as Cosette. I adore the character, but sometimes actresses play her too girly, which drives me a bit nuts, but she managed to pull off young/innocent/naïve/very soprano with a bit of practicality, heart, and edge. And there was a great moment when she and Éponine are both in the garden after, and getting that look in at each other without the gate in the way was really powerful.

·       Cosette and Marius had chemistry! It was lovely!

·       Empty Chairs – wow. So basically Turning (my underrated fave) was a range of women dressed in black who leave candles dotted all over the stage. Marius sings Empty Chairs surrounded by them, and (you guessed it) the dead Amis come in and all pick one up and Marius does too, and then they blow them out and leave and Marius is left holding the only lit one and blows it out then raises it like a toast and WOW MY FEELINGS WERE NOT PREPARED.

 Gavroche

·       This kid STOLE THE SHOW. LITERALLY. He was black too (like Éponine) and they had a proper little thing going, it felt like it really drew on the brother-sister Brick canon. He also felt very book-Gavroche, so cheeky and so serious at times.

·       They’ve changed his first set of lyrics in Look Down to be those from the movie, which…sure. Worked.

·       OKAY – in The Robbery, when Javert is like “everyone about your business/clear this garbage off the street” everyone scatters APART FROM GAV who’s pootling around behind Javert yelling “go on! You heard the man! Go away, even you!” and then when Javert turns to face him, Gav just does this irreverent little salute and saunters offstage and Javert just…lets him?? It was a FANTASTIC moment.

·       At the barricade when Gavroche busts Javert’s disguise, he goes right up to him and on “this only goes to show what little people can do” just cheerfully gives Javert a big old middle finger. Which was SO GREAT.

·       When Éponine is dying, he spends most of a little fall of rain loitering next to Marius and not really knowing what to do and my heart just BROKE.

·       He and Grantaire had a cute bromance going – after Drink With Me, when Grantaire nonverbally tells Enjolras to go fuck off and goes off to the side of the stage, Gavroche just goes over to him and starts hugging his back, and then they have a cuddle on the side of the stage together for Marius’ solo.

·       Because no turntable – Gav didn’t die alone on the other side of the barricade, he makes it just back to the top, gets shot with the bright white light (which they kept) and then just falls over into Enjolras’ arms, who then carries him down the barricade and puts him in Grantaire’s arms who just stands there, centre-stage, cradling a dead Gavroche for a few minutes before lying him down at the front of the stage.

·       At the end, Gavroche gets dumped unceremoniously into the cart with dead Enjolras and idk, it’s just a moment.

Enjolras

·       Right – instant disclaimer that I am incredibly biased and Hyoie O’Grady is and will forever be my Enjolras and I measure everyone against his performance.

·       This guy, Ashley Gilmour, – mostly had the look and the hair and general icy beauty. I was initially disappointed with his voice, but he did grow on me – he just really didn’t have the presence I associate with a great Enjolras. This was especially evident in the speech bits like in Red and Black?. Like, you know they’re not right for the role when you don’t particularly have much to write home about. Maybe I’m being unfair – other people who’ve seen him – what do you think?

·       The one bit of changed staging I didn’t like was Do You Hear the People Sing. I think Enjolras being towed around on the cart (which did come back during the beginning of the barricade) gives the song the momentum it needs & deserves? Whereas they were just marching round a staircase they’d shoved in the middle of the stage which Feuilly got up on for his verse, so…

·       Aside from a few handclasps, there was basically no E/R. Not even a hug during Drink With Me. It wasn’t even like “no homo” bullshit whatever, it just…didn’t happen. Actors didn’t have chemistry, and it’s a fair reading – this Enjolras read ace/too busy for romance quite strongly, I guess, and also very young, but yeah. After the joy that was Sam Edwards, even a bit more chemistry with Hyoie O’Grady (even though he said he didn’t really like that reading (I think??) which totally fair), and some actors I believe ACTUALLY KISSING OMG in other productions (one Enjolras also wore a Pride sash instead of a revolutionary one in Brazil, I think???) it really wasn’t anything. I would love a cast with an outwardly gay & together E/R, but I think the West End has a while to go before that becomes reality.

·       Enjolras’ death: obviously no turntable, end of that iconic spin to reveal him draped across the front of the barricade with his flag. In this version, he basically yeets himself off the front of the barricade very dramatically (there is no other word for it, I promise I’m not using “yeet” gratuitously) and then when Javert comes back after the fall of the barricade, there’s a soldier with the cart from the building of the barricade with a very dead Enjolras on his flag, arms akimbo out the end. Which worked. It was more quiet and understated, but it worked. No complaints from me.

·       At the curtain call he gave us a little hand heart, Taylor-Swift-circa-2010 style. It was cute and I should probably stop being a cow.

Les Amis

·       They’ll never cast them as diverse as they are in my head (I can only hope one day, perhaps, PLEASE!) but they were a good bunch. Their Feuilly looked more like a Jehan to me, but eh. Again, just no real…buzz. Not in the way I’ve seen them performed before? And I think Les Amis depends on a good Enjolras and a good Grantaire, because as the two main Amis in the musical, they set the tone?

·       When the soldiers’ final announcements were happening during the Dawn of Anguish, one of the boys (idk which, they were basically all blonde) was having a very obvious panic attack on the floor by the tables, and one of the others was comforting him and it was like that horrible powerful scene in the 2012 movie and I didn’t like it because it was heartbreaking but it was very effective.

·       They all seemed a bit less tolerant of Grantaire, who wasn’t even that disruptive by other actors standards, which I didn’t like?

·       Grantaire was, again, eh? Funny, fine, but didn’t have interesting things going for him (like Adam Filipe’s pacifism, for example, or any kind of chemistry with Enjolras) in the way others have done, but it was a solid performance.

The Thenardiers

·       Yes, they were great! Master of the House built to Thenardier being given the birthday bumps, which was funny.

·       Madame Thenardier’s solo in Master of the House was delivered in the kitchen all by herself as a bitter monologue, rather than the drunken rowdiness you used to get in the old show.

·       They were a pretty typical funny Thenardier couple, and I’m getting tired, I might remember some more about them tomorrow.

 So yeah. Those are my thoughts. Would love to hear what other people think, and I definitely want to go back and see it again, perhaps with a different cast (a different Enjolras, argh). I’m off to bed, I have class in ten hours. Oops.

[juno-but-not-steel]

Day two: Drinks

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Paring: Jontim

Word count: 1432

Drink with me to days gone by

Sing with me the songs we knew

Tim, Jon, Basira, and Daisy sat around the small table, each staring into their drink, not meeting the others’ eyes. They knew that they could very well die tomorrow, but they had to do this. They had to stop the Circus from destroying the world.

“Anything anyone wants to say before we die?” Tim asked jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t work.

Jon chuckled wryly. “For what it’s worth, I am going to miss you guys if any of you don’t make it back. I know I’ve been awful lately, and I don’t need any of you to say it back-”

Tim laughed and cut him off. “You did some awful stuff, boss, but life is too short to hold a grudge.”

Jon looked stunned, that obviously wasn’t what he was expecting, and Tim patted him on the back.”

“Do you guys remember when I first came to the Institute, and everyone thought Jon and I were dating?” Bassira laughed.

“I told him that wasn’t what I meant when I said ‘fuck the police’,” Tim said, hitting Jon playfully.

“You hypocrite,” Jon muttered, but there was a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Here's to pretty girls who went to our heads.

Here's to witty girls who went to our beds.

“I sure am going to miss those interns,” Tim said thoughtfully. Daisy punched his arm.

“I feel bad for Martin,” Jon said softly, staring into his drink. “Even I know he’s in love with me.”

Tim patted Jon’s shoulder. “It’s okay, boss. He’ll get over you.”

Jon sighed. “I know. I just wish I could give him the love he deserves.”

“Basira, weren’t you and that other assistant a thing for a while?”

“Who, Sasha?”

At the mention of Sasha’s name, everyone went silent, a black cloud of grief coming over the table.

“Yeah, we went on a couple dates,” Basira finally said. “I miss her.”

Here's to them and here's to you!

Tim raised his drink. “To Sasha!”

The others raised their drinks and echoed him.

He smirked, “And to us, for saving the world!”

The others laughed, but there was no mirth in their eyes.

Drink with me to days gone by

Can it be that you fear to die?

Will the world remember you

When you fall?

Could it be your death

Means nothing at all?

Is your life just one more lie?

“Do you guys think this will work?” Jon asked, looking worriedly at his companions.

“It has to,” Daisy said resolutely.

“I will not let the Stranger take this world. It has already taken too much from me,” Tim growled.

“Whatever happens, we must succeed,” said Basira. “Even if we die, we cannot let this be in vain.”

“Do you think the Stranger can erase us like it did Sasha? Will anyone remember us?” Jon muttered, thinking out loud.

The table went quiet again. No one had any comment on that subject.

Drink with me to days gone by

To the life that used to be

“Remember when it was just us, Jon? Before all this Archival craziness?”

Jon smiled, the light of nostalgia in his eyes. “Remember that we dated back then?”

“Why did we stop?” Tim breathed, then blushed with the realization that he had said that outloud. Jon blushed too, and looked away.

Basira seemed to not have seen, or to not care. “Remember before we were Sectioned, Daisy? When we were just normal officers?”

Daisy chuckled, a far away look in her eyes. “I miss arresting drunk teens. Life was so much easier back then.”

They shared a look, and simultaneously thought that they wouldn’t give up knowing each other just to be normal again.

At the shrine of friendship, never say die

Let the wine of friendship never run dry

“I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you guys,” Jon said. “I might not be here if I didn’t have such good friends.”

“To friends,” Daisy said. “I will never forget you guys.”

They drank to that, and Jon got up to get them another round, and gave Tim a look as he walked away. Tim got up to follow.

Here's to you and here's to me

“Do you still have feelings for me?” Jon asked when they were at the bar.

Tim considered his choices. He could say no, deny everything. Go into battle, possibly to his death, without Jon ever knowing that Tim still loved him after all these years. But he couldn’t lie to Jon. Not then, not now.

“Yeah,” he finally admitted. “It's fine if you don’t feel the same way, I just thought I should tell you in case we die.” He turned away to head back to the others, but Jon grabbed his wrist.

“I still have feelings for you, too.” Jon’s eyes were wide and hopeful as he looked up at Tim. A stray piece of hair had escaped from his ponytail and curled around his cheek. Tim reflexively pushed it behind his ear, and Jon leaned slightly into his touch.

“Can I kiss you?” Tim asked softly.

Jon smiled, and nodded. “Thank you for asking.”

Tim leaned down, breathing shallowly. It had been ages since he last kissed Jon. He was about to pull back, hide his feelings and deny everything again, when Jon pulled him down the rest of the way and kissed him.

It was just how he remembered, chaste and euphoric. Jon smelled of old books and coffee, and Tim never wanted to leave this moment. He hesitantly put his arms on Jon’s waist, and when the other man didn’t pull away, he wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer.

The kiss ended too soon for Tim’s liking, but Daisy and Bassira were cheering from across the room. Jon sheepishly hid his face in Tim’s chest, and Tim flipped the girls off.

“Come on,” he said softly. “We should bring them their drinks.” He kissed the top of Jon’s head and pulled away.

Jon nodded and picked up the drinks, blushing furiously all the way back to the table.

Do I care if I should die

Now she goes across the sea?

Life without Cosette

Means nothing at all.

Later that night, Tim and Jon lay in bed, cuddling. Jon had brought an adorable pair of pjs, a set covered in tiny stialized tape recorders, and Tim had harmlessly teased him for it.

“Do you think we’ll die?” Jon asked out of the blue.

Tim tilted his head to look at Jon, but he was staring straight up at the ceiling.

“Well,” Tim began, “I suppose it’s a possibility.”

Jon turned to Tim, completely serious. “Promise you’ll stay alive for me.”

Tim felt a sinking feeling. Promises like this never end well. But Jon had asked, how could he say no? “I promise.”

Jon snuggled closer. “I can’t lose you now that we’ve just found each other again.”

Tim stared at the ceiling as he listened to Jon’s soft breaths, unable to fall asleep. “I promise,” he said again, this time a whisper.

Would you weep, Cosette,

Should Marius fall?

Will you weep, Cosette,

For me?

Tim lay on the floor of the museum, discordant music all around him. He choked as blood trickled out of his mouth. He grasped at the plank of wood that had impaled him through the stomach. He knew he wouldn’t make it.

“Tim!” An agonized scream came from across the room.

“Jon,” Tim choked out, his voice barely more than a whisper.

A second later, Jon’s face was hovering above his own. Something wet hit his face, and he saw through the blurry haze that Jon was crying.

Tim smiled weakly. “Hiya, boss,” he rasped out.

“No, this wasn’t supposed to happen!” Jon cried. “You promised me! You promised me you would stay alive.”

Tim closed his eyes. He was crying too, now. “‘M sorry,” he slurred.

Jon took his hand. “It’s okay,” he said hysterically. “I won’t let you die.” Jon grasped the wood and tried to pull it out. Tim screamed in agony, and Jon stopped.

“Please! Help me!” Jon screamed at the ceiling. “You can’t let him die!”

Through the haze, Tim saw Jon go stiff, and thought he saw his eyes go white. He stayed like that for a second, and then started trying to pick up Tim. His vision started to go black around the edges. He heard Jon screaming for help, and saw nothing.

Disclaimer: They all live, just wanted maximum angst. If people want I will write a part 2 later!

[emptymasks]

How can I live when you are gone?

so this is what happens when you don't watch or listen to les mis for seven years even though it's one of your favourite musicals and then you watch the all star cast recording and empty chairs gets you as much as it did the first time you heard it and you instantly have to write this as soon as the musical is over. because it would seem all i am able to write now is angst.

and it's in first person? and present tense?? i gave in and wrote first person for that and then idk i got so into marius' head that this just came out in both first person and present tense. writing friends don't shoot me for writing in present tense, i never do and i don't know what happened this just came spewing out without my even thinking about it.

warnings for: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD | Night Terrors | Nightmares | Anxiety Attacks | Survivor Guilt | Heavy Angst

I awake in a sweat. This is the usual way I awake now.

The guns echo in my ears: hold, fire, hold, fire, hold, fire, fire, fire. The air is sawdust and gunpowder as everything splinters to fragments. Splinters of wood and bone. And they fall like hail from the sky and then from all sides.

And everything runs red. Red, our desire and our love now running and trodden through in the gutter, between the cobblestones. Red: the flag is torn to shreds. Red, the blood sweeps through our waistcoats. Red, Enjorlas topples lifelessly over the barricade. Once so full of life, glory and determination never leaving his eyes as his hair bounced in the wind and his smile was wild and inspired every one of us. Enjorlas, my dear friend... my friend... my friends...

Enjolras, Grantaire, Feuilly - their names are a mantra in my head that will not be forgotten - Joly, Courfeyrac, Combeferre - they will not be forgotten - Jean, Bahorel, Bossuet - I can not let them be forgotten - little Gavroche, Epoinine...

My fingers clutch at the sheets and pull them to my chest, against my skin and ribs and my heart beating out of my chest. And I curl in on myself. My legs thrash. The sheets are too white, too clean. Everything is too clean. Too clean and too soft.

Soft. Soft hands, softer than sheets reach for me and try to hold me, but I shake. I shake violently and sob. I weep and weep and the bed is too soft and I all but crawl out of it and fall to my knees on the floor. The painful thud against my knees is something to cling too.

Her soft hands are there again and she is on her knees too, kneeling before me and beside me like a saint. Her hands sooth my forehead. She does not try to touch my body as we have both learnt how I react to that when I’m in this state. Hands, even as gentle as hers, once upon me feel like the bodies and the rubble and the sheets over me feel like the stinking water I can scarcely remember in the day but in the hours of the night creep in like the chill of the wind through an open window; I cannot see it but feel it in my bones.

"Hush, Marius," She whispers and sings a vibrato through my nerves. Her thumbs sweep the sweat from my brow, down my temples, my brow, my cheekbones. Fingers flutter against my eyelashes as she pulls me from myself and draws me to look at her.

And when my eyes can bear to move and let her face grace them, she smiles.

I do not deserve her.

My Cosette, sweet Cosette. Mine and I am hers, and was hers since our eyes first met. But I am not that man, not now, perhaps not ever.

Though through my broken spirit her smile lights up every dark corner. How could it not? I cry and I scream and I shake and she is patient and kind.

And she loves me.

Despite it all, she loves me and praises me each, looks at the small things I barely manage to do and sees some triumph in them. That as if for me to merely get out of bed is a great feat.

Well... isn't it?

I have heard of men ending their lives who've less death than I. Not that I blame or judge them. But she reminds me to think of what I have lost, and that by still being here it only shows how strong I am.

I think it is she who is strong, to be thrust into my pain after hardly knowing the world at all, and taking it all in her stride. She's so graceful with it, as if everything that should cause her doubt and turmoil only makes her hold her head higher.

And I love her.

I love her, I love her, I love her.

And my breathing slows as her fingers ripple through my hair and she coaxes me back onto the bed, doesn't force my body under the covers nor my head under the pillow. She lets me fall onto her lap as she hums song old familiar tune.

I will fall back to sleep again soon and I will not wake until morning.

And tomorrow night this will happen again.

But she will be there, ready to hold the pieces of me together until I find the strength to do it myself.

also the 'enjorlas falling over the barricade' comes from the musical and in particular i was thinking about this performance with drew sarich as enjorlas (i love him as enjorlas i don't care if he was an understudy) in the 2006-2007 broadway revival where instead of the set parting to show enjorlas' body on the cart, the whole barricade spins around and shows him fallen and laying on the otherside of the barricade's wall (video link in the replies to this post if you’re interested) is the clip that inspired the enjorlas description. marius in this is inspired by rob houchen in the 2019 ' all star' concert.

it's also been brought to my attention by an american friend of mine that the enjorlas/grantaire interactions are played down in the broadway versions compared to the west end so i'm sorry you guys don't get to see them hug every night.

also while i was writing this i got slight marius/enjorlas vibes and i have no idea if that is a ship or how popular it is if it is one but i sort of like it? the idea of determined enjorlas trying to get this hopefully romantic to not get himself killed. idk.

just searched around and found only one post for marius/enjorlas and it was someone asking if anyone else shipped it. well done beck you’ve done it again, gotten into a ship with zero content

*big sigh* i guess now that means i have to make said content don’t i

[letteredlettered]

anon ask: you know those scenes - in films or books or television - that stick in your mind? Like, for example, I think about a scene in Jane Eyre (when she sneaks in to see her friend Helen) all the time. Do you have a scene like that? More than one? I'd love to hear you describe them and tell us your thoughts about them.

I gotta say concepts from books/movies/shows stay in my head more than scenes. Like. In Jane Eyre, there are a lot of great scenes, but what sticks in my head is the radical idea that pursuit of love and your own happiness can be a greater good than pursuit of conventional ideals of good. But omg yeah when she sneaks in to be with Helen and there’s like, all this Christian imagery but Jane just wants her friend--I mean. That’s the crux of the book right there! Other people go off to God and Jane puts her foot down and says, “No! I want love right here on Earth! I want happiness right here on Earth! And I deserve it, dammit, and so do you!” Goddamn. I still love that book after all this time.

Okay but here are a few:

Set up for the scene: In Les Miserables, there’s this nun who never lies. Pages and pages are spent talking about not only about how this nun never lies but how lies are truly sins and evil, and in a lovely Hugo fashion these thoughts seem to belong to Hugo/the narrator but also to the nun, because lying is so goddamn bad, and about how this nun is truly capital G good because she would never ever lie; she is so GOOD; she is so JUST so PURE so RIGHT, a true CHILD OF GOD. Then Fantine is dead and Valjean has to go get Cosette and Valjean is just about to go do that.

Scene: Javert walks into the room where Valjean and the nun are. I thought Valjean hid in like a cabinet but I just checked on the book and it appears he just stood behind the door that Javert just opened in a dark corner of the room. And Javert goes to the nun, “So, are you alone in here?”

And nun goes, “Yup.”

END FUCKING SCENE (that is not the actual end I don’t care)

My thoughts about this:  Hugo is a GODDAMN TROLL who did all that just to get you to think about the goodness and important and like, virtuous NEED for truth, and to show us as important as all that is, it is never ever as important as simple human decency. Still one of my favorite moments in fiction ever. (But like. Most of Les Miserables is like that for me.)

*

Set up for the scene: In A Little Princess, Sara Crewe used to be rich and used to pretend she was a princess. She then falls upon hard times and people treat her badly, but in her head she still pretends she’s a princess. She is walking through the street one day, cold and wet and starving. Sara finds some money on the ground and realizes she can buy some hot buns with it. Lemme tell you these hot buns are the most goddamn exciting part of that book because by now you are FEELING how cold and hungry she is and it is EXCRUCIATING. So she buys four whole buns and you are like YES! SARA! BUNS! 

Scene: Sara, exiting the bun shop, sees another little beggar girl, colder and wetter than she is. Sara, thinking about what a princess would do, reaches in her bag and takes out a bun, and lays it in the girl’s lap. Then thinks again about what a princess would do, and takes out another bun, and lays that in the girl’s lap too. Then looks in her bag and thinks about how cold and wet and hungry she is. Then reaches in, takes out a third bun, and lays it on the girl’s lap. SHE ONLY SAVES ONE BUN FOR HERSELF

END FUCKING SCENE

My thoughts about this: Sara feels sorry for herself a lot and sometimes vindictive and petty but is always, always trying to be someone bigger and better and because she is trying so hard, usually succeeds at being good and kind in her outward actions. There’s this line in that book that goes, “There’s nothing so strong as rage except that which makes you hold it in.” I think it’s okay to let out your rage sometimes, and you should, but for me, knowing I could be stronger because I tried to be kinder changed my whole life forever and continues to change me.

*

Set up for the scene: In It’s A Wonderful Life, George Bailey has always wanted to leave his little town and travel, see far off places, and do something big and great and creative that has a serious impact on the world. Instead, various things happen that mean  he gets roped into his father’s little Savings and Loan company over and over, which builds housing for low income immigrants. George keeps trying to leave but his heart won’t let him walk away from those people, and then there’s Mary, whom he loves, but she wants other things, so if he commits to her he’d also have to compromise on his dreams. But he loves her so dang much and she loves him so dang much that they get married, and they got a lot of $$$ as wedding gifts, so at least they get to travel for their honeymoon, and they’re both so excited because George has dreamed of traveling so desperately. So on the way to the train station to their honeymoon from their wedding, George sees people rushing into the Savings and Loan, and stops to see what’s happening. Once inside, George finds out there’s a run on the banks--everyone wants to get out the money they’ve invested because of the big financial scare, but the company literally can’t give them all of their cash at once because it’s invested in different housing projects. The money is safe, just not accessible all at once all at the same time. The big banker in town is saying he’ll give everyone their money, but for half of what it’s worth, and this would take all the money out of the housing projects. So George tries to convince everyone to only take out what they need for just right now, instead of everything. But it’s still too much.

Scene: Fucking Mary shows up from out of fucking nowhere and holds up all of their honeymoon money and says, “How much do you need?” END OF SCENE I’m fucking crying as I write this

My thoughts about this:Like one, someone made a fucking movie that’s about things like housing projects and bank loans and the small monotonies of bureaucracy that actually make a huge fucking difference in people’s lives into a feel-good love story with a sci-fi ending what the fuck. Second. Just. George is so good; he immediately stops thinking about himself and all his dreams the second he finds out what is happening. And all we know about Mary up to this point is she’s super in love with George. But idk what means so much to me about this scene is I think we finally see why she’s in love with George: she’s in love with George because she cares about all these people too; she wants to help them too; doing this thing together with him is more important to her than a honeymoon. I just, idk, find you a someone who loves the thing you would die for more than they love their love for you. Or something.

*

one more let’s see.

Set up for the scene: In Star Trek, the original series, in “Devil In The Dark,” the crew goes down to help a mining colony. There’s this creature killing the miners, and the head of the mining colony is all, “Kill the beast!” and Kirk is like, “Idk we might have to.” And Spock is all, “No, we can’t; it’s the last of its kind and it’s important to SCIENCE!!!”

Scene: Kirk comes face to face with the creature, and Spock, sensing Kirk is in danger, is immediately, “Kill it kill it die die die!” and Kirk is like, “It’s not attacking me. Let’s wait and try to communicate, have a discussion, see what it wants, and see if we can compromise.”

END SCENE. I weep

My thoughts about this: This is just the most solid and beautiful juxtaposition of theoretical principle against practical compassion I’ve ever seen, paired with extreme Kirk/Spock feels. TOS is about the tension between the rigidity o fpure science/logic and the flexibility of feelings. Spock is one, but it is Bones who is the other, and Kirk is the compromise between them--someone who always uses Spock’s logic and intelligence to inform a situation but then makes decisions based on an intuition for compassion and a greater good. I feel like this scene epitomizes how logic is never pure, because it’s must always be rooted in a thinking feeling person--in this case Spock, who lets his feelings and instinct to protect his captain override his principles in the heat of the moment. Meanwhile, Kirk, who follows his feelings not into rage but into justice and patience, is--when confronted with another being face to face--able to believe that compromise and mutual understanding can result. It’s so beautiful I like, can’t even deal with that whole show.

[centrifuge-politics]

Brick Club 4.2.2, 4.2.3

Montparnasse is just wholly committed to the aesthetic and you have to respect the law dodging powers that grants him. He’s made a warlock pact with an ancient aesthetic eldritch being because prison is just so plebeian. Always a Némorin, never a Schinderhannes.

Claquesous escapes, to the shock of no one. Maybe that’s the problem, the police have a mental block and aren’t trying as hard as they really can. If you expect failure, how can you succeed? I’m not sure what exactly the symbolism of him escaping only to be executed at he barricade later is, but we can spitball a few options. The success of the new republic over the attempts of the old monarchy? The elimination of organized crime in the new world order? The excising of a festering infection? The general triumph of light over darkness? Paladin beats rogue? Leave your interpretation below, the more ridiculously improbable the better.

We get a fun little Magnon cameo and it’s nice to see her, except it’s depressing to realize that being dismissed from the Gillenormand house forced her into a life of organized crime. Maybe she just indulged in too much reverie? Eponine, the real hero of this arc, manages to halt the sinister plans for Valjean and Cosette with nothing more than a hunk of gluten. This is after she effectively (though indirectly) stops the Gorbeau raid with a pen and paper. Ponine, please, sit down, it must be exhausting having to hold aloft the entire story while everyone else bumbles around underneath it. I want to make some extended metaphor around canaries in coal mines, but it feels like reaching. Do we remember why Patron-Minette is even aware of Rue Plumet or what affair they believe to have there?

Mabeuf is having a hard time of it. And yet again I feel the need to censure Hugo for insisting it’s reverie that leads down the path of despair. Mabeuf is laboring, he’s always shown to be doing whatever labor he can to get by (and even if he wasn’t, he doesn’t deserve to starve!) and, yet, it’s not enough. This is the same fallacy that stains the Escousse and Lebras example. Idleness is simply no good explanation for the misery the characters in this book face.

“It is a bitter thing that there should be a moment when misery unbinds!” [Cupping my hands around my mouth] ALIENATION!

“Stars everywhere! Not the smallest cloud! Not a drop of water!” Hmm, I recall...

“Water, water everywhere, and all the boards did shrink. Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.”

The albatross is...capitalism? Everyone is sick of hearing me go on about this.

I love Eponine as a friendly garden goblin, I actually love this more than anything. She steps from the faerie world to water your garden in exchange for a small favor and off she flits again. And we know how Hugo feels about gardeners: “you are an angel, since you care for flowers.” All the same “he was decidedly frightened.” Yes, Eponine has such an effect.

[bbclesmis]

NY Times: A New Version of ‘Les Misérables’ Has Less Singing, More Misery

Vilvoorde, Belgium — Lily Collins, dressed in a mud-colored linen shift, tried to hide the small piece of jewelry she had crafted, as a hatchet-faced factory supervisor approached.

The camera moved in for a close-up of her pale, anxious face. “Sorry, Lily, just one more time,” said Tom Shankland, the director of the new adaptation of “Les Misérables,” a coproduction with BBC and PBS’s Masterpiece. “Listen, my deathbed scene was on Day 2,” said Ms. Collins, who was playing the ill-fated Fantine. “It’s all uphill at this point.”

There is not much that’s looking up for any character in Victor Hugo’s epic 1862 novel “Les Misérables,” which has provided the subject matter for dozens of theater, television and film adaptations, most famously the blockbuster musical that zillions of fans affectionately call “Les Miz.”

But this six-part television adaptation, which first aired in Britain from December to February and arrives on Masterpiece on Sunday, might come as a surprise to those who only know the musical. This version hews much more closely to Hugo’s book, a five-volume, 365-chapter novel that over the course of its complex plot explores history, law, politics, religion and ideas about justice, guilt and redemption. Set in a grimly realist France, its abundant starving poor and oppressed are entirely disconnected from the wealthy classes. (The aptly dreary set here, in a dilapidated, gloomy former prison, might as well have sported a sign saying “Likely to Perish Within.”)

Unsurprisingly, the musical, which got a lavish Hollywood adaptation in 2012, focuses mainly on the central characters and plot lines. “I thought the musical a very feeble representation of the book,” said Andrew Davies (“Bridget Jones’s Diary,” “War and Peace”), who wrote the screenplay for the new series. “It very much reinforced my idea that we needed a proper, old-fashioned long-form television adaptation.”

The story (skip ahead if you are one of the millions who have seen a previous incarnation) begins with Jean Valjean (played here by Dominic West), a peasant who has almost finished his sentence of 19 years hard labor for stealing a loaf of bread for his starving relatives. Brutalized by his jail time, he is transformed through an act of kindness, and becomes a wealthy and respected citizen, with a new identity. When he discovers that one of his former factory workers, Fantine, has become destitute after being fired, he adopts her daughter, Cosette, who is living with the evil Thenardiers (Olivia Colman and Adeel Akhtar in the series).

Editors’ Picks

Pursued over the years by his former jailer Javert (David Oyelowo), a police officer obsessed with bringing the former criminal to justice, Valjean raises Cosette (Ellie Bamber) who eventually falls in love with Marius (Josh O’Connor), a student taking part in the revolution against the monarchy in the June Rebellion of 1832.

Let’s just say that very few characters get a happy ending.

“I think we managed to include everything that was really important,” Davies said, adding that he had streamlined some of the narrative’s twists and turns, notably Valjean’s repeated returns to and escapes from prison, and Javert’s uncanny reappearances wherever Valjean is to be found. “I think this has made it feel less improbable and more believable in modern terms,” he said.

In a series of conversations, Davies, Shankland and a few of the principle actors talked about three important aspects of the mini-series that set it apart from the musical. Here are edited excerpts.

Valjean vs. Javert

DOMINIC WEST The first question is obviously, what is Javert’s problem? Why is he so obsessed with Valjean? You do wonder what’s going on there, and we sort of hinted at it in one glance where I am naked in front of him when [Valjean] is released from the prison hulks. It always helps to bring things down to love and sex, and I think there is a homoerotic thing going on, perhaps the love of the jailer for his prisoner. It’s a modern, reductionist view to bring it down to that, and we didn’t emphasize it. But it’s there.

That they are alter egos, in a way, was the biggest clue to why Valjean felt so guilty, so unworthy. I realized that anyone who is brutalized and treated like an animal eventually becomes that. Valjean’s belief that he doesn’t deserve anyone’s love in the real world is central to his sense of self, and that is an important political point. Javert believes criminals are born that way, and Valjean is evidence that criminals are products of their environments.

DAVID OYELOWO My first interaction with “Les Mis” was with the musical, and when I read Andrew Davies’s script, it seemed very apparent that I could bring real layering and complexity to this character, who in the musical is a much more one-dimensional villain. I suddenly understood this man, born to criminal parents in a prison and filled with loathing for that world. It became apparent to me that he had transposed a side of himself onto Jean Valjean, and needed to destroy that part of himself he saw there. You need six hours of television to explore that complex idea!

Oppression and Politics

TOM SHANKLAND I am one of the few people in the universe who wasn’t really aware of the musical and the story, beyond the posters. When I read the script and novel, I really got a sense that this was a story of revolution, of social injustice, about people who felt disenfranchised. I wanted to find a way to interpret the story in a way that felt respectful to Hugo, but also politically relevant. It has wonderfully big moral questions: What does it mean to be good in a cruel world? What is meaningful action?

Drawings from the period — etchings of that revolution and others, images of urban warfare — were important in creating visual imagery, but I also drew from my memory of the 2011 London riots, and from the gilet jaunes in Paris. I didn’t want it to be just big images of the barricades, and I didn’t want it to be stiff and costume drama-y. There is nothing romantic or picturesque about those experiences; they are frightening and chaotic.

OYELOWO Hugo shows the fragility of the class system so well. Fantine starts off just above the underclass and falls catastrophically. Javert is the reverse, rising to prison officer and policeman, forcing his way up through the social hierarchy, but always feeling precarious. This idea of the fragility of many people’s social and economic positions feels very relevant today. In our society, the gaps between the haves and the have-nots is widening and people’s lives can be stripped away, just as they are in this story.

The Dark Side

LILY COLLINS There are parts of each character’s story line in “Les Misérables” that doesn’t get into film versions or the musical, because there just isn’t time. A song lyric can try to tell the story in one line, but here we show Fantine’s early life, how she falls in love, is deceived and has a baby. That makes her fate all the harder because we have discovered that side of her life, her trusting and joyous personality.

We shot my death scene first. I did a lot of research about what France would have been like for women at that time. What were the diseases, the symptoms of the disease she might have died from, what that would look like for filming. It was pretty grim, especially the scene when her teeth are pulled out because she is selling them for money for her child. It really made me push myself and find out what I could withstand physically and emotionally.

WEST I hadn’t seen Valjean played as initially completely unredeemable in other versions of the novel. I wanted to really show that brutal, callous side that Hugo depicts, and we wanted to make his leap from that to romantic hero as big as possible. That really gets your pulse going as an actor. In a way, I went back to my childhood. I wasn’t a street urchin, but I was a fairly coarse Yorkshire kid, and I tapped into that. In the same way, the Thenardiers are usually treated in a more comic vein, but they are really evil. It’s interesting and remarkable that the novel hasn’t been treated in this kind of depth for a very long time.

DAVIES The series ends with an image of two little boys, who we have seen begging earlier, and who Gavroche, a street urchin, takes under his wing. Gavroche is killed, and the little boys are still begging at the end, as a reminder to the audience that although the story ends happily for some, the suffering and brutality goes on.

x

[checkmate-cherik]

River of Tears pt. 2

Ayyyyy there’s more!

“How were your days, pups?” Erik asked his children easily as he gave all three of them hugs. It was their joke, from that time a child with no filter had said Erik had a smile like a shark. It still made his kids smile, though Pietro wriggled uncomfortably when Erik gave him his brief hug.

“Fine,” Wanda answered serenely.

“Okay,” Pietro said with a shrug.

“Aunt Raven has two boyfriends!” Lorna blurted excitedly.

Erik raised an eyebrow. Raven was Lorna’s tutor, and she and Erik sometimes got beers with Emma to complain about their lives. He’d known Raven was getting serious with Azazel—they’d had a kid together, after all, who would be about the twins’ age now—but he hadn’t known there was a second man in the picture. “Did she tell you that you could tell others?” Erik asked, tweaking Lorna’s nose gently.

“No.” Lorna pouted a little, knowing that her papa would not let her regale them all with tales of the two boyfriends if she did not have permission.

“Alright then.” Erik kissed her forehead. “Get her permission and tell me everything.”

Lorna brightened at that.

The three children and Erik squeezed into the tiny kitchen of their small house and made dinner all together. Lorna practiced her control with knives and the peeler, Peter and Wanda bickered about some school gossip, and Erik hummed softly as he made spaghetti sauce from scratch.

He’d had a good day at the steel mill. They had tried to promote him three times, but instead he’d just asked for a raise, and gotten it; and now he was the highest-paid quality checker at the mill. He deserved it. Even his enemies grudgingly admitted that Erik was the greatest asset. He could do literally any job at the mill, his mutation was instrumental in keeping everyone safe and the machines working properly, and he genuinely enjoyed the work. He was a little pissed that they still hadn’t replaced the machines so they would be safer, but not enough to do more than send periodic memos.

Erik smiled to hear Lorna squeal gleefully, “Papa, I did it, I did it! None of them warped!”

“Excellent!” Erik turned and hugged Lorna, checking the metal of the knives just to be sure; but they were still sharp and in perfect condition. “I’m proud of you, pup.”

Lorna grinned up at him.

Dinner was eaten around the tiny table, with barely enough elbow room for all of them. But the children talked easily to their papa, and he spoke gently to his pups, in a way that would’ve made his coworkers gape in shock. He blinked in surprise, though, to hear Pietro casually mention, “Oh, that Haller kid who abandoned his dad, I told him off for it. He’s an ass.”

“I did, too!” Wanda exclaimed, surprised. “He’s still a selfish little kid. I hope he grows up soon.”

“How old is he, again?” Erik asked.

“Sixteen,” the twins said in unison, then glared at each other. When they were younger they would laugh when they spoke in unison; now they were eighteen and tired of it, but it seemed like it was just something that was going to happen forever. Erik and Lorna had made their peace with it.

Erik hummed thoughtfully. Then he told his children, “I don’t think you should bring it up to him again. He might listen, he might not, but it isn’t your problem.”

Pietro scowled, but nodded. Wanda sighed and nodded too.

After clean-up, the kids all got out their homework and Erik worked on the new porch. He was putting in a newer, better ramp up to the front door for his mother’s visits, and he wanted to build a porch to match. He trusted his children to work hard and help each other while he wasn’t there, and they had never betrayed that trust. The thought warmed him, and he hummed Star Wars songs as he finished anchoring the ramp to the new porch.

When Pietro came out for his evening run, Erik packed up his tools and materials and put them away in the garage. Then he went in, to see Lorna lounging on the couch with a book and Wanda still at the table, scowling as she chewed her pencil. Erik ruffled Lorna’s hair in passing and sat beside Wanda.

“What’s stumping you?” he asked.

Wanda shoved her book at him. He raised his eyebrow, recognizing Les Mis when he saw it. “I’m supposed to write an essay about Marius and Cosette,” she muttered, “But they’re boring to me. I wanna write about Enjolras.”

Erik smiled. He’d always identified with Enjolras far more than anyone else, too. But he felt more like Valjean these days; protective of his children, trying to redeem himself…

No, better not to think of that.

“Alright. So do that,” he told Wanda.

She stared at him. “But the teacher said we had to write about Marius and Cosette,” she protested.

“Break the rules,” Erik said in a reasonable tone. “You told me this teacher is fairly conservative; shake him up a little bit. Write about Enjolras and his struggles. Write about his charisma, how he drew together Les Amis de l’ABC. Write about his relationship with violence. Write about whatever you want.” Erik smiled to see a fire begin in Wanda’s eyes, as she began to grin. “Break the damn rules, Wanda.”

She lunged and hugged her father tightly, then turned back to her notebook and began to write at a furious pace. Erik kissed her head and stood to go check on Lorna.

~

Charles was exhausted when he got home to see David playing video games and a grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich waiting on the counter, still warm.

Charles went first to David and leaned down to kiss his head, earning an annoyed grumble, then turned and went to eat. It was much better than he could’ve done. He got out the papers that needed to be graded, and spent three hours on them. Then he sighed; he couldn’t put it off much longer.

“Dad?” David called warily.

“It’s fine,” Charles answered, a little too quickly. “Everything’s fine.” He kept his shields up and tight. But he took a deep breath and got out the thirty-page manifesto an anonymous professor had sent him about how he was inherently vile and an abomination and deceptive and all manner of bad things. There was plenty of “You cheated to get your PhD’s” as well. He forced himself to read through it more thoroughly, putting more layers on his shields the further he went so he wouldn’t leak out and hurt David.

Because this did hurt. Reading that people hated him for something he didn’t ask for, something he never used out of fear of retaliation, it was worse than—well, no, it wasn’t worse than his own mother screaming and throwing things when he first showed signs. But it brought up the same fears, the same self-hatred, and he closed his eyes and tightened his shields so hard he couldn’t feel or hear anything but his own thoughts.

But that took up all his concentration, so that he didn’t notice until David had picked up the manuscript that his own son was less than a foot away. Charles gasped out a tiny, “Don’t--!”

And then he lost his grip on his shields.

They didn’t just drop, they crumbled, until there was nothing between himself and the world—and there was nothing between himself and David, because David’s shields broke too under the pressure of Charles’ mind.

Too much to put into words, images flashing past so fast, fear and anger predominant and wild, so many other people that they seemed to meld together, so much horror Dad Dad DAD!

Physical pain broke the connection. He blinked, and realized his wheelchair had tipped, and he’d hit his head very hard on the wooden floor. David was bending over him, terror pouring out of him, and Charles couldn’t breathe, that terror squeezing him as if it were his own—and beyond David, beyond this house, thousands, millions, billions of minds, bleeding into his own—

Shields, shaky and spun out of pure fear, enclosed on his mind, and he slumped on the floor, panting and dazed.

“Oh god oh god oh god, Dad, Dad, say something, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, I’m sorry, Dad—“

Charles reached up and David grabbed his hand. “I’m—I’m fine,” he croaked, the biggest lie he’d ever told. “I’m fine, Davey.”

“You are not fine!” David spat, and began to cry. “Why do you keep saying that?! You’re not fine!”

Charles didn’t need to tell him. David had read everything, just as Charles had. It was love, and cowardice, and blind optimism, because if he kept saying it and kept working towards it, surely it would come true. Everything was going to be fine.

He opened his mouth to say this, then thought better of it, and set about calming his mind. It was hard. It was harder than anything he’d ever done before. His heart was still pounding, and his head was beginning to ache. But he managed, somehow. He pushed his own emotions aside, and gently removed those of everyone else, and rebuilt his shield. When he was done, he was exhausted, and David had stopped crying, and was just staring at Charles’ hand, still gripped by both of his own.

“Help me up, please,” Charles murmured.

David scrambled to help him, and when Charles was set straight he stood there in front of Charles and looked at him, his own expression so helpless that Charles couldn’t stop from thinking of that little six year old whose mommy had dropped him off at his daddy’s house and never came back. Phone calls and letters and shipped presents, those weren’t enough for a small child.

Charles held out his arms automatically, but David backed away, shaking his head. So Charles put down his arms.

There was a silence, heavy and uncertain and unhappy. Then David turned and went to his room.

Charles bit his lip and refused to cry for his son.

~

Peter was surprised when David curled up on the wall, hugging his knees and hiding his face, and refused to be goaded, threatened, or entreated into participating. Peter approached cautiously, and slowly sat beside David, not too close. He didn’t want David to lash out. Not that Peter couldn’t avoid him easily, but it was the thought that counted.

“Dude,” Peter said, and David responded.

“Go away,” he croaked, voice cracking.

“No,” Peter responded. But he didn’t say anything else. He just sat there, watching the class, and feeling irritated with the world. At least Dad let him take runs.

He was aware of tiny pushes to go away, to forget David even existed, to leave him alone, but they didn’t feel like his own thoughts, so he ignored them easily. Aunt Emma had taught him plenty about learning what his own thoughts felt like, him and Wanda. Lorna was still learning, but she was getting there.

Peter smirked when the pushes stopped.

~

Wanda had conferred with Peter over lunch, and was therefore prepared when David shuffled in looking like Death warmed over. Wanda was better at sharing thoughts than Peter; when David sat down, Wanda sent him a tiny bit of warmth.

His head snapped around and he gaped at her. She gazed back calmly, and carefully formed the words, Are you properly sorry?

David nodded.

Wanda sent another little bit a warmth and a single word; Good. Then, for good measure, she wrapped her arm around David’s shoulders and gave a quick squeeze before letting go and going back to her worksheet as if nothing had happened.

At the end of class, she heard a soft voice in the back of her head; Thank you.

You’re welcome, she replied.

~

David wondered if the Maximoffs knew what they had done. Probably not.

Dad was still dealing with the assholes who were trying to get him fired. David hadn’t meant to hear the fight Dad had had with some of the other professors yesterday, it had just—it had just happened. He still didn’t know how their walls had broken at the same time, but he knew Dad’s had fallen a split second before that terrifying pressure had cracked David’s shields like a nut.

David had never heard that many voices before. If that’s what Dad had dealt with, what he’d always tried to protect David from—David was glad of his protection. It had been so scary, though, to—to basically be in his own father’s head, to see everything, hear everything, even the dark and private things David had never known about his dad, and then see Dad’s eyes glaze over and his face go blank and he just fell and David had been so scared, hadn’t known what to do—

David sat in his car after school and stared at the steering wheel, shivering, automatically making people look away from him without really thinking about it. He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to go anywhere. He wanted to hide in his car all night and in the morning drive away, just—just drive so far away.

Someone tapped on his window.

He jumped and his head snapped up, to see the Maximoff twins standing there, looking grave. Gingerly, he rolled down the window.

“You need help?” Peter asked bluntly.

“No,” David tried to say firmly, but it came out ragged. He could feel determination radiating off them. It made him feel small and weak. Dad had always said he was strong, but—shouldn’t he be able to control himself, if he were strong?

“Yes you do,” Wanda corrected. “Meet us in the gym after school tomorrow, and we’ll have help for you.”

Then they walked away.

David gaped after them. Then, when they had climbed into the van and driven away, he rolled up his window and drove home very carefully.

[textsfromumbridge]

sweet dreams are made of this (who am I to disagree)

Belated bday fic for the amazing @hihiyas, who asked for sharing a bed and mutual pining, and since I sometimes live in a bed-sharing fic myself, I had to do this. 

Hon, I know it’s a week late, and maybe it’s a little all over the place, but I love you and you deserve all the fics because you’re an awesome friend and I’m lucky to have you. *HUGGLES*

ZERO

When she met Gabriel Enjolras for the first time, she never expected him to eventually become her friend, let alone the person she would secretly refer to as her best friend.

Neither of them made a great first impression when Marius introduced them. He was distant - not good with new people - which made her think of him as an elitist prick. It took them a good long while to get over those first impressions.

It didn’t help that they were both stubborn as fuck - neither was willing to make the first move towards reconciliation.

Marius once claimed they’d make him prematurely gray. As if, the dork would be a ginger forever, probably.

So, yeah, the so-called Enjonine friendship (thanks for that Courfeyrac) took a while to reach peak potential. They spent a few months hating each other’s guts - and then they all went to see a Thor movie and Eponine spent the next week talking about Lady Sif and Darcy Lewis. For some reason that made Enjolras realize she wasn’t all bad - well, she was kind of glad that her appreciation for seriously awesome female characters got through to him.

One group movie hang-out turned into weekly movie nights with just Enjolras on his couch, watching everything from PBS documentaries to cliched rom-coms. He always had something to say about everything, whether it was the underlying themes of LGBT+ rights in the X-men movies or an in depth discussion of the politics of girl world after watching Mean Girls (he had no idea how much realism was in that movie).

A few months went by just like that, and she started becoming comfortable with calling him her friend, instead of just referring to him as a friend of a friend. Azelma joked about being proud her big sister actually made a friend for once, and Eponine flipped her off.

That was real sisterly love, honestly.

She showed her appreciation for Enjolras’ friendship much the same way: by making fun of him all the damn time. Of his need to use punctuation and spelling properly in every damn text - honestly, abbreviations were just so much easier (and so much faster!). She teased him about his overly formal clothing - trying to goad him into wearing jeans and a t-shirt at least once.

Well, that one definitely came back to bite her in the (amazing, thanks so much) ass.

He showed up on her birthday in tight jeans and a fucking Hamilton t-shirt that appeared to be slightly too small on him.

She had her first naughty dream about him that very night. She tried to tell her lady bits about friendship without benefits, but they definitely weren’t having that.

And so the terrible, awful years of pining began.

ONE

The first time they sleep in the same bed it is purely convenience and about 99% awkwardness. Maybe even the full 100%.

A storm is hitting the city, and she is still over at his place at 11 PM. Public transport has given up on navigating through the pouring rain and hail and strong gusts of wind. She needs to get home, but there is absolutely no way that her dork friend is going to let her leave his apartment.

Yeah, the great Enjolras is also a grade A dork - she wants to tell all her friends.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a guest room,” he actually apologizes. “I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I’ll sleep on the floor, or the couch.”

Oh yes, surely the tiny couch will be comfortable for this six feet tall specimen. He is going to fuck up his back so bad - she doesn’t want that on her conscience. And really, she’d sleep in the same bed as Cosette, so why would it be that much weirder if it’s Enjolras?

“Don’t be an idiot,” she tells him for the umpteenth time.

He waits patiently to hear what he’s being moronic about this time - she’s taught him well over the past few years. It’s weird, but here’s this guy who actually listens to everything that she has to say - even when she’s teasing him, but especially when she is completely serious about something.

She calls the shots most of the time - and he doesn’t get offended, and he even changes his behavior when she thinks he’s genuinely being an asshole.

“You’re not sleeping on that chair you call a couch,” she finally continues, rolling her eyes at him. “You will fall off in the middle of the night and hurt yourself. Just get in bed with me. It’s only weird if we make it weird.”

It’s so mature of her, honestly people might be surprised.

Enjolras however, is not surprised at all - well, he might be surprised they will be sharing a bed, but he’s never surprised at her level-headedness.

Oh, this crush is definitely getting way out of hand.

Minutes later, they lie awake together, side by side. She’s almost afraid to breathe too loudly, not wanting to bother him more than she already is - he’s probably half asleep already and she does not want to wake him.

So she stays completely still, muscles tensed, listening to the rain hit the bedroom window with an alarming volume.

“This is ridiculous,” Enjolras mutters in the dark of his bedroom. “Why is this so awkward?”

Eponine breathes out a little huff of a laugh. Thank God he feels it too.

TWO

The first time was weird and terrifying, he has to admit that much. Suddenly there was this person all up in his personal space. He woke up a few times that night because there was someone breathing next to him, and that one time she accidentally touched him he almost couldn’t go back to sleep.

It was just her leg bumping his, but it has been so long since there was someone close enough to touch. Has he ever really shared a bed like this, just sleeping?

And of course it’s Eponine. She’s started to mean way too much to him in a matter of months - and now it’s been years. If he were to talk about his feelings towards her with people, they might even call it pining. He hates that word, but he knows it’s accurate.

She’s funny, and empathetic, and so much smarter than anyone knows. And sometimes he just gets distracted thinking about what it would be like if he just leaned in and kissed her - she would probably hit him.

But still she lets him sleep in her bed.

This time the reason is less clear than the previous time - there is no storm, and it’s not even all that late. This time, he is just hanging out with her on a Friday night, and since they have standing plans for Saturdays, Eponine decides that he might as well sleep over instead of going all the way to his just to sleep.

He could never say no to that.

“At least we’ve figured out you don’t snore,” she tells him.

She’s changing into her pajamas in the bathroom, and he’s already in her bed, dressed in just his boxers - he’ll need his gym clothes tomorrow for the dance class they’re taking. He mentions one time how he likes to dance and she just runs with it.

“You get cuddly,” he blurts out.

Last time, he woke up with her arm wrapped around him - they have both been pretending that it never happened, but that can’t last forever. Especially not because he likes it a little too much.

“At least you won’t get cold,” Eponine steps out of the bathroom.

She seems to favor sleep shorts and a tanktop, and it is wreaking havoc on his nerves. Her long, bare legs possibly tangling with his under her soft sheets… And he’s only wearing boxers - he made sure to wear a shirt last time, even though he hates wearing clothes to bed. This is his normal sleepwear, and it’s scary.

“Won’t you get cold?” he makes it a point not to look at her too much.

“Says the guy wearing just boxers,” she responds quickly.

He runs hot, he knows that much, but any comment on it might take this night to a whole new level of awkwardness. So he just murmurs agreeably and pointedly does not watch her climb into bed next to him.

“Good night,” he whispers.

He knows he’s blushing in the darkness of her room.

“Good night,” she returns.

She sounds like she’s smiling.

THREE

It’s making them closer outside of the bedroom too.

He seems much more casual about his personal space, comfortable with her leaning into him a bit on his tiny sofa. She can poke him teasingly and he doesn’t even flinch away from her touch.

They have never been the touchy-feely kind of friends before, and people are noticing. Both Cosette and Chetta have asked her if she’s fucking him yet - she never even told them about the stupid crush and how hot he looks in just boxers.

She gets to see him in most states of dress and undress - he doesn’t bother changing in a separate room when she’s already seen him in his underwear. Maybe soon she’ll follow that lead, when she isn’t dreaming about how he’ll react when he sees her in her best underwear - she’ll be prepared next time so she’s actually wearing her best underwear.

Because once again she is not prepared to stay at his. Sure, she has a pair of emergency panties in her bag, but those are not made for him to see.

Once again she ends up wearing one of his gym shirts and no pants - the shirt is big enough and she likes the feeling of her mostly bare legs tangling with his in their sleep.

Her previously secret cuddling tendencies have become obvious to him, and while she is super subtle about untangling herself from him a few times each night, she’s sure he’s woken up with her wrapped around him at least once or twice. Still, he hasn’t said anything about that specifically - just like she has never said a word about those times when she was totally pressed up against his boner.

Friends keep awkward secrets from each other, right?

No one knows about their sleeping together, and normally she would be able to talk to her best friend about anything (even this weird relationship stuff), but now everything she wants to talk about involves him.

She knows what he looks like in the morning, the gravelly sound of his voice when he’s just woken up, and how he’s barely functional until he’s had a big cup of coffee. The usually so eloquent dork can barely form a full sentence for at least five minutes, and the full sleepiness only fades after a lot of coffee from his favorite mug (the one she gave him for his birthday two years ago).

It is getting so damn difficult to contain this stupid crush. She doesn’t want to fuck up her relationship with the best friend she’s ever had, but these feeling won’t go away.

The smart thing to do would probably be to keep her distance for a while, but nobody ever said she was smart.

Except for Enjolras.

Damn it, not helping.

FOUR

It’s gotten to the point where he sleeps better when she’s next to him, on her side of the bed, breathing softly and occasionally reaching out for him.

He used to sleep like a starfish in the middle of his bed, but now he sleeps on his side of the bed even when he’s alone, reaching for someone who isn’t there. When he’s alone, he fills her side with blankets and pillows so there’s something there at least.

Yes, he is fully aware of how pathetic he is.

It’s not just the loneliness - it’s her. It’s Eponine.

“It’s nice to have someone there,” he tells her one night when they hang out on his couch together. “It’s nice to have you here.”

Oh, any second now she is going to punch him in the face and walk out - he is getting way too close to revealing his stupid feelings for her anytime she’s around. This is not something that is usually said with completely platonic intentions.

His intentions are platonic, they really are. His dreams, the ones that will never ever come true, are the things that are far away from platonic. Sometimes he wakes up blushing, with her right there only miles away from where he wants her to be. She can keep cuddling him whenever she wants.

“I know what you mean,” is all that Eponine says.

And now his heart is about to pound right out of his chest, because she understands. But does she really? Or is she just scratching the surface?

But then she leans into him, curling up against him on his tiny little couch, and he no longer cares how much she understands. He just wants her to stay just like this.

He slips an arm around her shoulders and she slings her legs over into his lap, her head almost leaning on his shoulder. They are almost entirely wrapped around each other now, and while his body is screaming out at him to just make a move already, his heart is perfectly content for once.

Later that night, when they go to bed early even though neither of them appears even the slightest bit tired, she resumes her cuddling right away. Her bare legs tangle with his, and her arm is slung casually over his bare chest. She can probably feel his heart pounding underneath her fingertips.

“We always end up like this,” she whispers in the darkness. “We might as well own up to it and start out like it.”

He murmurs in agreement, too afraid that words will ruin this perfect bubble of happiness.

FIVE

It’s been a month of cuddling almost every night. Either he is already at hers, or she lets herself end up at his at the end of the night - sleeping alone has never looked worse when she has the option of sleeping in his arms.

People are starting to notice - Chetta showed up to her apartment a few times, and she either found no one there or both Eponine and Enjolras. And in those cases they’d barely managed to untangle themselves before Chetta barged in - if they made it in time at all, so Chetta had some things to say to Eponine.

Things that do not bear repeating - because obviously Chetta picked up on her stupid crush right away.

She still wants so badly, wants even more than she’s been lucky enough to get from him. Really, she should have learned by now never to ask for more, never to need more than she’s getting. She is Eponine Thenardier - she doesn’t deserve any of this. She doesn’t deserve a best friend who cares for her this much, who holds her through the worst parts and doesn’t mind her being all over him all the damn time even when the paint on her skin has barely dried.

Sure, she understands why that stuff makes Chetta think that the stupid feelings are mutual, but Eponine knows better than that. They’re just really close best friends - platonic soulmates or something. They are not a couple, no matter how often she dreams about that at night. Dreaming about something does not make it so - she has to remember that.

It’s just really hard to remember when they’re wrapped around each other and his hand has once again made its way under her top - he’s halfway to second base with her and he’s still sleeping! She only wishes he’d make a move like this when they are both wide awake.

The fact that he never will is what is keeping her up at night - the clock on the bedside table reads 2:43 AM. She is perfectly comfortable with his hands where they are, but her mind will not stop racing and making her read into this.

She has a momentary lapse of judgment, a moment of weakness that makes her shift in his grip so that his hand slips even higher up her shirt. One more shift, and…

Wait!

The tension in his body increases suddenly, and she knows she managed to screw everything up. He’s awake and he is just about to take his hands off her and never touch her again.

“I’m so sorry,” they both start at the same time.

Then, silence. He’s sorry? She should be sorry, trying to make him grope her in his sleep just so she can believe the fantasy for a little while longer.

He pulls his hand away slowly, so slowly that it’s almost a caress. She just can’t seem to stop the wishful thinking - she wants him not to be sorry for touching her, she just wants him to want her a fraction of how much she wants him.

“I know I crossed so many lines just now,” Enjolras is brave enough to continue.

Not nearly enough, actually.

“Not really,” she shrugs, trying to keep casual.

“You didn’t,” he stammers. “I mean. Did I - did you?”

She could step in, she should step in. But watching him squirm like this in the dimly lit bedroom has a whole different kind of appeal. Because it’s starting to seem like he is just as scared as she is, for all the same reasons.

“Did you want me to move?” he asks then, bold again.

“Not in the direction you just did,” she admits.

His eyes will be wide, probably, but she cannot tell. All she can do is wait for him to respond, to push them both over the edge they’ve been dangling on for what seems like centuries.

Slowly, his hand moves back underneath her shirt, as if waiting for her to protest. He is inches away from his goal when he stops.

“Just kiss me already,” she can’t wait a second longer.

He listens to her, as he always does.

[wilwywaylan]

Friendship tokens

Written for @benihime-aratame who needs all the hugs and pick-me-up !

Modern!AU, Bossuet & Eponine friendship (and others), 697 words. Prompt : Tournesol.

Bossuet stumbling into the upper room in the Musain, arms flailing and books falling from his bag, wasn't an unusual event in the Musain. And so his fall, scarf floating after him like a flag announcing his demise, was only saluted by a few nods, some amused smile, one raised eyebrow, and Joly running to his help, his own scarf almost getting stuck under a chair. A few band-aids, magic kisses and advices on how to escape gangrene and tetanos later, the law student was back on his feet, and immediatly announced :

- Rejoice, people, for I am bringer of presents !

From his coat pocket, he pulled a small bag that had miraculously not got lost between his flat and the Musain, opened it, and started showering his friends with small, colorful strips of fabric, humming all the way. Grantaire watched with interest a scarlet one landing on Enjolras' head. Gently, he picked it up, admiring the delicate pattern of red, white and blue.

- Friendship bracelets ? he asked.

- Yes ! I figured that my bestest friends in the world deserved a little token of my affection. So I made each of you a friendship bracelet in lovely colors !

With a large gesture, he presented Grantaire with a green one. Said artist admired his present, then remarked :

- When you say lovely colors, o Eagle, did you mean "I just made a reproduction of some famous paintings using only thread and my fingers" ? Because that bracelet looks a lot like Monet's Water Lilies.

Bossuet dropped a bracelet that bore a strong ressemblance with Poland's flag on Feuilly's lap, and grinned :

- Once again, nothing could go past your proverbial observation, dear Capital R. You're right, I tried to find some patterns that would fit everyone of you.

- It must have taken you some time, remarked Enjolras in an admirative tone.

- Well, you know what they say about idle hands and the devil. At least, that way, I only get to cause the bare minimum of catastrophes.

Seated, or rather slumped in her chair, Eponine watched Bossuet sprinkle his bracelets on the others like some kind of crazy, bald Santa Claus, Joly trailing behind him and asking about those "the bare minimum of catastrophes". She didn't think much of their antics, until a strip of fabric landed on her lap (and almost in her drink). She unfolded it with a groan, studying the yellow spirals on a black and blue background.

- Starry Night ? she asked, eyebrow raised. Not even something with skulls ?

- I could have, was the cheerful answer, and it would have suited you perfectly. But I know how much you and Cosette would love to have matching ones.

He brandished another bracelet under her nosen wuth  blue and yellow knots forming an accurate reproduction of Van Gogh's Sunflowers. Eponine grabbed it, and held it beside hers, since that Starry Night one was now hers. She had to admit that it was... quite cool. Not very punk, but quite cool none-the-less. Satisfied, she handed back the bracelet, and ordered :

- Put it on.

Bossuet obliged. Two knots (the first one accidently caught a thread of his coat) later, the beautiful bracelet was secured around Eponine's wrist. Immediatly, Bahorel demanded that his be knotted by his friend too. Bossuet bounced up to his table, leaving Eponine to finish her drink. The beautiful bracelet kept catching her eye, and she thought once again that it was quite nice. Not her style at all, but the only one who would be bold or stupid enough to say anything to her about it would be Montparnasse.

And Bossuet probably had one for him too in his bag, probably matching the one currently sitting on Prouvaire's wrist. So probably gaudy. She would have to be in the room when he'd get his present, just to see his face. And Cosette's too. Not for the same reasons, obviously. She would be happy. After all, was it anything more romantic than matching bracelets, even Van Gogh ones ? Even if, honestly, skulls would fit her better... and Cosette too.

Thank you @lumeha for your idea and that wonderful bracelet !!

[descendantofthesparrow]

two part Commission work - Harry Hook x Reader - Happily Ever After- part 2

@musicarose​

=

Ben stood with Harry, a pained look on the pirates face. “well get her back, I promise Harry” ben tried to comfort, flinching as Harry growled and glared at him, his eyes shiny from tears.

“it's my da, knowing him, there are two options, kill the babe ta get back at me or disappear and turn my little girl against me!” Harry's voice cracked as he thought of his father corrupting his little girl who wasn’t even a year old yet!

“we will get her back Harry, we’ve beat every challenge we've faced, maleficent, my mother, Audrey, Cruella, we can beat some old washed away flimsy pirate” Uma walked over to him, rubbing his shoulder in a comforting way.

“All we need to know is where he is-“

“FOUND HIM!” Mal popped up from her crunched position on the Auradon map, the glow from her eyes fading “Hes at skull rock!”

“Let's go” Harry growled, starting to walk towards the door before you stepped in front of him, wearing a black leather jacket with a lost white top, black pants, and tall boots, a sword strapped to your side.

“i’m coming with you!” you pressed, frowning as Harry shook his head and tried to push you back into the living room.

“no lass I can't lose yeh-“ you slapped his hand away and got in his face, mentally smirking as he blinked in surprise.

“do you forget you guys are not the only ones with legendary parents! I am the daughter of the captain of the flying Dutchman! The daughter of the KING of the brethren court! I am (y/n) Swann-Turner-Hook, and I will go with you to get OUR daughter back!” you roared at harry, breathing heavily as you ended your rant.

Harry sighed, tears burning at his eyes “i-I jus’ can't lose yeh too, my love” he whimpered in a low voice, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest.

“I know, and I can't lose you too, we have to protect each other, and save Arella” harry sniffed and nodded, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“okay” he muttered, perking up as Uma and Gil joined you in the hug. “wai-ack!” gil squeezed and cut off Harry's breathing, you laughing softly under the protection of Harry's arms “Gil-can’t- breathe!!!”

“oh!” he quickly released him and smiled sheepishly “sorry!”

“as cute as this is, we have a baby to save don’t we?” Mal offered, smiling as you and Harry shared a quick kiss.

“Right let's go!”

=

James laughed insanely to himself, staring down at the exhausted baby that was his granddaughter “at least, I will have a worthy heir~” he ran his hook across the pudgy cheek of the babe, her eyes flashed open and she began to scream in panic and terror.

“bloody brat” James muttered, curling his lip, and quickly ripping his hook away, a small cut appearing on Arellas cheek, causing her to scream even louder. “shut up! God, now I remember why I hated yer father-“

The door slammed open, and there, standing in the doorway, was a VERY pissed off harry Hook. “get away from meh daughter” he snarled, drawing his sword and stepping towards his “father”

“oohohoho! Becoming brave boy!” James taunted, drawing his sword “I remember when you would cower at the sound of my boot!”

“too bad i’m much older than back then and much stronger than yeh!” harry launched himself at his “father”, knocking him away from Arella, Evie dashing in and grabbing the screaming girl.

“DADA!” Arella screamed, almost making Evie drop her. Harry stumbled for a split second, letting James slice at his arm.

“argh!” Harry yelled, stepping back to avoid another swing from the blade.

“face it, boy! You’ll never amount to me! The greatest pirate to ever sail the seven seas! Woah!” all of a sudden you blocked a swing from James, starting to battle with the old pirate.

“well that’s quite a claim, but I don’t believe it” you taunted with a smirk, easily parrying and dodging his attacks.

“ah, you’re the bloody brat he married” you swung and nicked his neck, James stepping back and running out of the room.

“This ends now” you mutter, running after James, Harry just behind you, unhooking his hook from his belt.

“aye”

Harry quickly caught up to his dad and grabbed the back of his jacket, tossing him away from Evie. “this is between you and me da” Harry growled, flipping his hook in his hand.

“Alright son, let's go!” Harry spun out of the way of James’ hook, blocking a swing from his sword with his own.

Catching another swing with his hook and pressing down on James' sword with his own and pushing his dad against the rail.

“yeh hurt me, little girl, yeh tried to hurt my wife, yeh don’t even deserve to live…. I should just kill yeh” he growled, reveling in the fear that begun to grow in his father's eyes. “but Im not like yeh” Harry quickly stepped off, causing his father, who was pushing back, to trip forward and crash to the floor. Harry quickly disarmed him and placed his foot on his back, glaring down at the pathetic man that was his father.

“you rotten-I should’ve-“ James speech devolved into a flurry of swear words. Harry looked up, shoulders sagging in relief as he caught sight of a now calm Arella, her bright blue eyes staring back at him in wonder.

He looked over to you, raising his brow as you were just staring  at the water with a puzzled look on your face. “love?” he carefully stepped off of his father, keeping an eye on him as he walked over to you. “what’s wrong?”

“thought I heard….never-HARRY LOOK OUT!” harry whipped around, eyes widening as his fathers hook descended on him, you spun around him and kicked him in the chest.

James fell back and went over the rails, splashing into the water.

-TIK-

Harry stopped, he knew that sound

-TICK TICK TOCK-

He heard his fathers screams, pleading for harry to save him from the devil crocodile. Harry walked over to the edge, looking down at the water.

There it was. Tick-Tock the crocodile, the 12 foot best seemingly grinning as it chased his father.

-TICK TOCK TICK TOCK- his father started to swim away, Tick Tock's tail happily wagging as he cased hook out of skull rock.

“well….that's a way to get rid of him” you joked, taking Arella from Evie and holding her close, breathing a sigh of relief as she pressed her head into your cheek. “hello my little love” you breathed, slowly rocking back n forth as you held her.

“dada” you stopped, blinking quickly in surprise as you heard Arella speak.

“did-did you just say dada” you squealed, looking up at Harry who looked as if he was blessed with all the riches in the world. “she said dada!”

Harry sniffed, letting a few tears slip as he speed-walked over to you, tugging you and Arella into his arms.

“I love yeh both”

“I love you too” you whispered, leaning your head into his shoulder, feeling Arella grab at Harry's jacket and pull herself into his chest, babbling her new word as she did so.

“dada~!”

=

5-year-old Arella stared in amazement as she stared down at her little brothers face, she had been told she looked very similar to him when she was firstborn. But she wasn’t a tomato!

“wasth hith name?” she said as well as she could with a missing front tooth. You smiled at her, sweat still drying on your forehead, Harry sitting at your side, cooing down at his first son.

“We were going to let you name him sweetie” you instructed her arms, letting her hold her little brother. “so what do you think”

Arella stared down at her brother, mesmerized by his pudgy cheeks and the tuft of black hair on his head.

He opened his eyes, matching ocean blue eyes staring back into her own.

“Killian!” Arella chirped, “his name is Killian!” you grinned, reaching out and stroking Killian's cheek.

“that’s perfect, isn't it Harry?” he grinned kissing your cheek and leaning over to kiss Arella's forehead.

“its perfect, Killian Jones hook”

--end of part 2--

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