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not-wholly-unheroic · 4 years ago

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Viewing Disney’s Peter Pan Through the Eyes of an Adult

Recently, I’ve seen several posts floating around talking about how Disney’s Hook is difficult for people to take seriously and is much too comical for what Barrie had intended. I grew up with Disney’s Hook. He was my first introduction to the character and the reason why I became interested in reading classic literature, writing fanfic, and seriously delving into the analysis of complex villainous/antagonistic characters, so he has a very special place in my heart and I’m prone to be quick to defend him. Rather than writing a long-winded reply to these individual posts, I decided to just make my own explaining why Disney’s Hook can be viewed as just as tragic and sympathetic as any other version. (You can also read some of my earlier posts defending Disney’s Hook here and here.)

*takes a deep breath* *cracks knuckles* Buckle up kiddos! You’re in for a long ride!

My view of Disney’s Hook as a tragic character lies primarily in my sympathy for him when he switches from a proud, elegant, dangerous character to a shivering mess of a man when the crocodile comes around. Let me attempt to elaborate--but first, a bit of a necessary digression.

Every film/book/play, etc. can be viewed from several perspectives. Typically, there is one character that we are meant to like and who becomes the primary focus of the story. Anyone who opposes that character is automatically an antagonist, if not a villain. Usually, even if the point of view is omniscient, we can still tell that it is not, perhaps, entirely objective in its portrayal of certain characters. This sort of situation happens all the time on the evening news--the interviewer is, in theory, supposed to be a neutral reporter on an incident, but it is often obvious that they favor one side of an issue over another, and as a result, the public's view of the situation and those involved is skewed. The lens through which we view a certain character tends to do the same thing. For instance, in Les Miserables (another favorite story of mine), Javert is viewed as an antagonist because the book is primarily concerned with the redemption story of Valjean; however, if the story was flipped and instead focused on the inspector's character and his transition from a strict legalist to a man so broken by the idea of morality that he commits suicide, he would, perhaps, be viewed instead as a tragic HERO instead of a tragic ANTAGONIST. Javert likely does many GOOD things in the name of the law as well during his career, but we don't see most of them because he isn't the main focus of the book. Similarly, I think Disney’s Hook can be more greatly appreciated as TRAGIC instead of COMICAL when we consider the lens through which we are viewing him.

Disney has always been geared toward children, so naturally, when they tell a story, they want the material to be attractive to a younger audience. This means not only that certain more frightening or upsetting elements of a story may be left out, edited, or altogether changed, but also that WE VIEW THE CHARACTERS THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHILD. (For example, in The Little Mermaid, King Triton's opposition to Ariel going to the surface world is presented in such a way that he seems extremely harsh when, in reality, he is father trying to keep his daughter safe. True, he DOES overreact, but remember, Ariel is only sixteen--not even LEGALLY an adult--and wants to run off with some guy she hasn’t even had a conversation with. But kids can relate to overbearing parents who, in a moment of disagreement, seem like they are being "mean," so that is how the audience sees Triton.) Peter Pan, especially, with its protagonist(s) as a child/children, really magnifies this perspective to the point where, unfortunately, some of the characters become almost caricatures of themselves. When children are legitimately afraid of something, they react one of two ways: Either they run from it/avoid it altogether, or they make-believe that whatever is frightening them is actually a lot less terrifying than it is so that they appear brave. I remember when I was younger, I used to be TERRIFIED of Monstro, the whale from Pinocchio. I couldn't watch the film without getting nightmares. But I didn't want to be afraid of watching the movie, so with my overactive imagination, I decided that I could fix that by turning him into a less scary version of himself and making him into an imaginary friend who more closely resembled Willy the anthropomorphic opera-singing whale from Make Mine Music than the terrifying creature we see in Pinocchio. Anyway, getting back to the point--I overcame my fear of the character by choosing to imagine that he was less scary than he was. This is what a lot of children do, and I think it's why Disney's Hook comes off as being comical.

The first time we see Disney Hook on screen, he actually comes across as pretty terrifying. He literally shoots his own crew member just because he didn't like the guy's singing! Rarely do we actually see Disney villains successfully kill another character on screen, but Hook does not even five minutes into his introduction. Immediately, we get the impression (or at least, a child should get the impression), that Hook is a genuinely dangerous guy. He also seems to regard his loss of a hand as "a childish prank," which further gives us the impression that he apparently has a pretty high pain tolerance and isn't afraid to do horrible, gruesome things to his enemies. If chopping someone's hand off is "childish," then what sort of serious damage does he inflict on his victims? However, this is Disney, and rather than having Hook gut someone or do something else which might scar a kid for life, we soon see he has a weakness...the crocodile. At this point, the Darling kids have been watching Hook for several minutes from their perch up on the cloud and are, probably, starting to have some second thoughts about fighting real pirates when they seem so scary...so what do they do? They do the same thing I did and turn him into a less-scary version of himself. They find his weakness and latch onto it. And since we're viewing things primarily from their perspective, that's how WE start to see Hook too. Hook's fear of the crocodile becomes comical for the audience because the Darling kids are trying to focus on that aspect of him so that they are can forget how terrifying he really is. We see this more frightening side of Hook come out a few more times, such as when he plans to blow up Pan's hideout...and at this point, we even catch a brief glimpse of the more sinister part of Smee when he asks Hook if it wouldn't be more humane for them to slit his throat...AND THIS IS SMEE WE'RE TALKING ABOUT HERE!!! The LEAST frightening of the pirates in ANY version. But I think Disney throws this in just to remind us that Smee is still a pirate, and if HE'S willing to do something THAT bad, Hook is a thousand times worse. However, for the most part, Hook still remains a rather softened, comical version of himself because we are viewing him through the child-lens. Remove that lens, though, and things become more complicated.

Forget, for a moment, that we are supposed to be rooting for the Darling children and Pan, and look again--not as a frightened child who is trying to laugh in the face of danger but as an adult who can feel Hook's pain. I remember one time when I was driving back from the airport in a busy city in the dark and the road was icy...I'm not used to driving in ice, and I'm a naturally nervous driver...At one point, I skidded into the next lane... I literally spent about the next hour hyperventilating, practically rocking myself back and forth, praying, and trying not to cry because I knew if I did I wouldn't be able to see the road. It was horrible... Take that sort of feeling, and I believe it's what Disney Hook is experiencing when the crocodile shows up. Through the "child-lens" it may be funny to see a frightening character in a vulnerable situation, but viewing it as an adult who understands just HOW helpless and terrified one feels in such a situation, you can't help but empathize with Hook. Every move he makes, every tremble in his voice, every look of absolute horror in his eyes tells you that he is not mentally or physically really functioning at the moment. He's on autopilot--he's in survival mode like a wild animal that freezes in hopes that it won't be seen by the approaching predator. Take away the crocodile's obviously silly "theme-music" and Hook's slightly overdone expressions, and you're left with something similar to what we see Hook experience in the novel near the end of the chapter, "The Pirate Ship." ("Very frightful was it to see the change that came over him. It was as if he had been clipped at every joint. He fell in a little heap...he crawled on his knees along the deck as far from the sound that he could go...'Hide me,' he cried hoarsely.") Now we can start appreciating him for the tragic villain that he is supposed to be.

Viewed through the eyes of the Darling children, Hook represents all that is frightening and bad about the grown-up world. If Peter is ice cream parties and summer vacations and catching fireflies in the dark, then Hook is cancer and broken dreams and being worried about being able to make enough money to put food on the table. Barrie, however, tells us that there is much more to both characters than that. Peter has a dark side--a selfish streak that forgets all pain at the cost of never learning from the past, never growing from his experiences and becoming a better person. He is stagnant not only in physically growing up but also in mentally facing reality, which is just as damaging as Hook's attitude of regretting a childhood apparently gone too soon. Hook, too, has a lighter side that loves soft music and flowers and other such things (representative of the good things about being an adult--falling in love, pursuing one's passions in a professional sense, having children of one's own). Disney, of course, doesn't quite do this to the same extent as Barrie since we're given a skewed view of the characters, but it DOES still make a few points which, when stripped of the "child-lens" effect, gives off a similar impression. Peter, for instance, brags to the mermaids at one point about cutting off Hook's hand and feeding it to the crocodile. Though we never get to hear him finish the tale, it is rather unsettling to think that Disney's Pan is capable of such horror. (Personally, no matter WHAT the circumstances of the situation were, I think any real-life child who took such great pleasure in slicing off a body part of another person and then having the presence of mind to feed said body part to a dangerous wild animal would probably be considered a psychopath in need of some SERIOUS counseling.) Disney, of course, glosses over this little inconvenience by having Hook show up before he can really get any further into the story. Again, the child-lens is going up; Wendy doesn't want to see this side of Peter, and neither does the child-based audience, so they choose to look away. However, we see a brief glimpse of this side of Pan again at Skull Rock. First, we see it resurface when he hands Smee a gun and then flies up directly in front of Hook--knowing that he can move out of the way in time. Again, through the child-lens of the audience, it seems funny to watch Smee doing his best (and failing terribly) to aim at Pan...but when you think about it from an adult's perspective, it's actually pretty disturbing. Peter legitimately wants Hook dead and doesn't care if it happens to be at the hand of one of his own crewmen (and arguably, in the Disney universe, Hook's only real friend). When Hook "dies," Peter simply takes the hat and says nonchalantly, "What a pity, Mr. Smee. I'm afraid we've lost the dear captain." It doesn't even phase him that a man might have just died and poor Smee is probably feeling absolutely HORRIBLE because it was (sort of) his fault. Even Wendy's child-lens falters a little here... While Peter is celebrating Hook's death, she at least, has enough of an adult's heart to have compassion on their fallen enemy and turn her face away with an, "Oh, how dreadful!" It happens again a few moments later when Peter is getting ready to kick Hook's hook off the ledge so that he falls into the waiting jaws of the crocodile. (The captain, at this point, is of course, squirming like--to use Peter's phrasing--"a codfish on a hook.") Again, Pan has no sympathy, but Wendy, who is starting to gradually open up her eyes to the truth that maybe staying a child forever isn't all it's cracked up to be and maybe adulthood isn't entirely bad, is losing her "child-lens." Not entirely. Not to the point where she doesn't continue to view Hook as comical to keep from being afraid. But enough to know that what Peter is about to do is wrong. She expresses this verbally when she shouts, "Oh, Peter, NO!"

It is at this point, shortly after the crocodile chase, that we start to see Hook become more of a legitimate threat (and a legitimately sympathetic character) again. Why? Because Wendy, as the protagonist and the one whose eyes we are looking through even more so than Pan, is starting to grow up and face reality for what it is--scary or not. As she sings "Your Mother and Mine" and tells her brothers that they NEED a mother--that Neverland has been fun but they NEED to go home--Hook is throwing Tinkerbelle in a lantern and planning to kidnap the kids and blow Pan to smithereens. And then we get the "slit his throat" reminder (mentioned above)... Also, as a side note, when Hook is ill after the crocodile chase, we hear him lamenting how Pan has made him look like a fool yet again. This is also something that I think we can appreciate more as adults. All Hook's crew wants is to go back to haunting the Spanish Main, but Hook refuses to leave Neverland because he feels that he has to remain there until he can regain his pride...which in and of itself is admirable, since many people who have been played the fool simply hang their head and walk away in shame. Here's this guy who has been bested by a child no more than twelve or thirteen--and possibly much younger... How must that feel? I have been in an emotionally abusive relationship where I was constantly reminded how I couldn’t do anything right, and it felt SO degrading. I literally just wanted to go hide away in my room and cry because I felt so incompetent and useless and just plain stupid. So how does Hook feel? Probably the same way. But he doesn't give up. If there's one thing we can say for sure about Disney Hook, he's a fighter. So, I guess you could say that, in part, one reason I find Disney Hook so sympathetic and tragic is because I can identify with him in his crippling reaction to fear and admire him for his bold attempts to reclaim his pride.

Anyway, getting back on track with the storyline... As we near the end of the film, Hook once again appears to lose face at the final showdown. At first, this doesn't seem to make sense if Wendy is, in fact, beginning to lose the child-lens. However, although Hook is defeated, we are never actually shown that he dies (and obviously, from the second film, in the Disney universe, he doesn't). I remember reading somewhere that when they were originally working on Peter Pan, Walt Disney chose to keep Hook alive and just have him "going like hell" rather than actually dying because, "the audience will get to liking Hook." And by this point, we have...those of us still looking through the child-lens love to hate him as a character we can laugh at, and those of us who are more grown-up love him for being just like us--an adult who is STILL growing up, in some ways, who is STILL afraid of certain things and hasn't always learned his lessons and isn't perfect but also isn't willing to give up even when everything is against him and everyone is laughing at him and nothing seems to go right.

Now, I said that at first, it doesn't seem to make sense for us to view Hook in a comical light in this scene if we are viewing the movie primarily through the eyes of the Darling children--particularly Wendy, who is starting to grow up and realize that adults are supposed to feel things like compassion for one's enemies. However, Wendy is still a child. She IS still afraid of growing up. In fact, she's terrified. And that comes out when the kids are all mocking Hook. He's still frightening to them. They still need the security blanket of pretend sometimes, of focusing on his more comical, vulnerable side...but they don't defeat Hook by killing him in this version, and I think that's significant. As representative primarily of the "scary" parts of growing up, Hook is temporarily cast aside and shoved to the back of their minds, but he IS NOT DEAD. The kids (and even Pan) know he may come back. They know he isn't gone for good. One day, they will have to face adulthood. One day, Hook--in the guise of mortgages and taxes and wars and sickly older parents--will return. But for now, they have defeated him...not just by pretending but by choosing to accept the responsibility of growing up eventually, in their own good time. Even Peter starts to reflect this theme by beating Hook, "man to man" without the use of flight. Wendy, who wants to be the good grown-up but who isn't quite ready to let go of childhood, warns Peter against it, thinking that it may be a trap. She even goes so far as to shout at him to fly when he has the chance even though he has promised not to. But Disney Pan is a bit more mature than some (maybe Wendy's better judgment is wearing off on him), and he keeps his word. He beats Hook "like a man" NOT like a boy. Pan's victory here symbolically reflects the Darling children's decision to face adulthood by going back to London. Thus, Hook is defeated because adulthood is no longer an obstacle which causes a fear is so crippling that the kids can't face it. When Wendy returns home, we get one last glimpse of this truth in Mr. Darling--the real-world representative of all things frightening and frustrating about growing up and, as I'm sure you know, also (significantly) voiced by Conried--who has done some "growing up" himself. Mr. Darling, it seems, is willing to allow Wendy a bit more time to enjoy life as a child, remembering his own childhood fondly, even as Wendy has chosen to accept the responsibility of growing up. Mr. Darling, who much like Hook, was viewed previously by the kids (and by extension, the audience) as a bit of a bully and an object of ridicule, is now the object of Wendy's affection as a mutual understanding is reached. Adulthood is frightening in many ways, but Wendy has also come to realize that it is necessary to take responsibility for one's actions and feel compassion for others just as Mr. Darling has realized that sometimes, it's okay for kids to be kids and enjoy the moment. Essentially, what I'm saying is--borrowing the idea that Hook and Mr. Darling are two sides of the same coin--Hook in Neverland, chased away by the crocodile, appears as comical in the last scene only because he effectively gets one last serious scene through his London counterpart, staring wistfully out the window with a loving wife and child by his side. Wendy isn't quite yet grown up, so she still sees through the child-lens on occasion, but she is learning, gradually, to embrace that which she once feared. She no longer needs Hook, an imaginary figure, to personify that fear. She now has her father back, and though she now RESPECTS what he stands for, she is no longer so terrified of growing up that she can't appreciate the GOOD side of the future (such as having a husband and a family of her own someday) and look forward to it.

#peter pan disney #disney peter pan #captain hook disney #disney captain hook #disney #disney villains #captain hook #james hook #captain james hook

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meta-squash · 4 years ago

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Brick Club 1.6.2 “How Jean Can Become Champ”

I’m sorry if some of this is muddled, I wrote some of this post to avoid doomscrolling yesterday (not that it worked). It’s also long.

First of all I gotta say, I do love how Hugo manages to get everything to slot into place, when he doesn’t use his handwavy magic. The chapter opens with Madeleine settling some “pressing business of the mayorality” just in case he decides to go and collect Cosette from Montfermeil himself. Obviously this doesn’t happen, but the fact that he’s arranged stuff in advance means he’s able to go to Arras etc and mayoral matters are settled even when he’s revealed his true identity.

Hugo calls Javert “this savage in the service of civilization, this odd mixture of Roman, Spartan, monk, and corporal.” I’ve always assumed the term “savage” was another reference to his Romani ancestry, as well as his origins within a jail. The rest of the references have to do with different types or levels of self-discipline and sense of duty. Essentially, this phrase is saying that Javert carries his sense of duty with him everywhere and rarely strays from it. I’ve nicked this straight from the wikipedia page on Roman pietas, but I feel like it fits so well: “A Roman with the virtue of pietas did not leave his religious duties at the door of the temple, but carried them with him everywhere, following the will of the gods in his business transactions and everyday life.”

"His whole being expressed abasement and steadfastness, an indescribably courageous dejection.” Weirdly I love this description. Javert hates being wrong, but to admit it is to act justly and according to duty, so he does it. Which is just so interesting because he could easily not even bother to tell Valjean about any of this, and just go on with his life as normal, and Valjean would be none the wiser. But that’s not how Javert functions. The difference between himself and other cops is that his sense of duty and justice extends to himself, which he says much more directly later on in the chapter. I just like that this description includes both his steadfastness to duty and his humiliation and self-frustration at being wrong and admitting it. “Courageous dejection” is such an interesting phrase, but it makes sense. It takes courage to admit you’re wrong, and even more when it’s something as egregious as informing on a superior.

Javert interrupts Valjean here, which I can’t decide what to think about. Part of me assumes that he interrupts Valjean because Valjean hasn’t even started to speak, so it’s still sort of....socially allowed for Javert to tack another bit of explanation onto what he just finished saying. Part of me wonders if Javert feels okay about interrupting Valjean either because he assumes he’s going to be dismissed anyway, and so this small rudeness of interrupting a superior doesn’t really matter, or because despite his sense of duty, he still feels quite a bit of aversion towards Valjean (which Hugo tells us a paragraph prior) and so is less bothered by interrupting him due to his dislike. Either way, it’s interesting that Javert is so keen on duty and correct conduct and yet he interrupts Valjean here.

“...you were severe to me the other day, unjustly. Be justly so today.” Wow okay so. Javert directly disobeyed and contested authority, argued with Madeleine and attempted to undermine his command to let Fantine go. Madeleine reacted accordingly, sending Javert away. And yet Javert feels that this treatment was unjust. I think the reason he sees it as unjust is because he sees himself as defending the honor of a mayor or authority figure (as well as a well-to-do citizen, Bamatabois) against a lowly prostitute. Despite the fact that Valjean specifically defended Fantine and offered her help, he’s still going to see his defense of authority and justice as being in the right over Valjean’s empathy towards her. (Sidenote: I love that he says “the other day” even though Fantine’s arrest was almost two months ago.)

Again, we get another concrete passage of time. It’s been six weeks since Fantine’s arrest. She’s still in hospital. Hugo isn’t huge on indicating exact passages of time. Lots of “eh, about three weeks later” or “maybe four months ago” in this book. Also the absolute mess of the Thenardier boys’ timeline. Anyway, these continuous references to how much time has passed is important. Hugo wants us to know how long Fantine was a sex worker for, and now how long she’s been languishing in bed, still sick.

Javert lists off things that he recognized in Valjean. All of these make sense to me except “information you obtained at Faverolles.” When has Madeleine ever mentioned being from or going to Faverolles? The Hapgood translates this as “inquiries which you had caused to be made at Faverolles.” This makes it sound like he actively tried to find his family. Hugo specifically tells us that by the time Valjean left prison, he had forgotten his family entirely. And yet, it seems here as if he made an effort to find them, or find out what happened to them, once he had the means. What’s interesting to me is that Valjean would do that at all. Part of me says, well of course he would, he still cares about his family, and probably wants to know what happened to them, not to mention he has this thing about rose-colored glasses and probably was hoping he’d get some information despite knowing deep down that they were lost to him. But another part of me wonders why he would do that, considering that it could compromise his identity. Also I can imagine he might associate his past self, even his pre-bread robbery self, with his convict-Valjean self and his past as a “Bad Person,” so I’m not sure he would want to think about or associate with his convict self in that way. Just the idea that he maybe sent to Faverolles for information about his family is an interesting little piece of information.

We also learn that he has a leg that drags a little (and at the very end of the novel we learn it’s because he spent 20 years with a chain on that leg). Something that I’ve sort of written about before, when I reread the book in February last year, is how much information about Valjean we don’t get from Hugo’s narration. Despite much of the book being from Valjean’s POV (or Hugo looking over Valjean’s shoulder, which is how I always imagine it), Hugo always stays respectfully distant compared to his narration of other characters. The post I wrote was mostly re: Valjean’s true Thoughts And Feelings, but it also goes for a lot of his physical aspects and actions as well. Hugo doesn’t tell us about Valjean’s dragging leg when he describes him, Javert has to reveal that to us. We are told a lot of his aspects or actions through other characters interpreting him to him (wow jesus does that phrase make sense?) rather than Hugo showing/telling us while narrating through Valjean.

“He was very poor. Nobody paid any attention to him. Such people get by, one hardly knows how.” So my first thought is that this line is sort the opposite of what I talked about above. Javert knows how such people get by. Partly because he sees it every day, and partly because he grew up like that. While we just got evidence of Valjean remembering his past, this is evidence of Javert rejecting and forgetting his own. And my other thought is again how applicable this is to modern day. Cops, rich people, etc turn away despite knowing how hard poor people struggle. They know “how these people get by,” which is barely, and they know why and they know what can help or fix it, but they turn away and absolutely refuse to see it.

“Such people, when they are not mud, are dust.” This is such a pretty and poetic way of declaring such a gross opinion. But also it’s such an interesting pair of descriptors. When you’re poor the way Valjean was, or the Thenardiers will be, you are in a position to be blown away by society and by poverty, to be dirt that disappears and spreads far and wide with the gust of wind, and if you’re trying to locate a certain speck of dirt that you had been looking at before the wind blew, you wouldn’t be able to identify it. Or you’re in a position to be bogged down, to be stuck packed together, trying to survive, begging and stealing off of others around you because there’s no other way to survive, being stepped on and scoffed at by people in a better position than you, and then scraped up and tossed in a gutter or the galleys when it gets to be too much.

We get an age! Valjean is fifty-four. I feel like this is important mostly for his hair later on. Fifty is old enough to be greying but I think this makes us aware that he’s not yet old enough to be totally white-haired, and the change is a shock for that reason as well.

Holy shit this is the most adjectives I’ve seen used to describe a single character within a single chapter so far. Words describing Javert or Javert’s actions in this chapter: respectfully, conscientious, clearheaded, straightforward, sincere, upright, austere, fierce, violent, soldierly, cold, patient, genuine humility, tranquil, resigned, serious, calm, gloomy, sad, abasement, steadfastness, courageous dejection, solemnity, incorruptible, supplicating, simplicity, dignity, unenlightened, stern, pure, desperate, resolute, bizarre grandeur, oddly honest. The biggest takeaway from all of these, I think, is how much Javert’s pious loyalty to justice and morality is not corrupt, at least in the usual sense. It’s misguided, it’s unsympathetic, but he genuinely believes in his own actions. He is aware of his severity, but he doesn’t see it as cruelty, he sees it as justice. He doesn’t acknowledge the evil of his actions because he doesn’t see them as evil. He is (and I want to go into this later for 1.8.3) a personification of the “evil of good,” and an illustration of how justice can go too far. But he does everything with that air of honesty and cold dignity, because he genuinely believes that his morals and his dedication to justice is in the right.

“And now that I see the real Jean Valjean, I do not understand how I could have believed anything else. I beg your pardon.” So we’ve already established that Javert does not change his mind or admit wrong easily. We also already know he doesn’t like Valjean anyway. The only reason, it seems, that he is admitting to this mistake and asking for dismissal, is because of Valjean’s position of authority. Javert does not do mercy; once he believes someone is bad, they are forever bad. The exception is those in power, those who he sees as authority figures, even when he questioned them just a chapter or two earlier. His sense of duty overrides his morality. Which I think is a major point for him. This is what screws him over later on at the end of the book. When his morality drastically changes, he can’t change his sense of duty to fit it. The issue in this chapter a mistake which is fairly excusable: there is another person he can transfer that moral judgement onto (Champmathieu) and Valjean’s position as an authority figure overrides any of the moral suspicions Javert had about him before this transfer of moral judgement. If Madeleine-Valjean had been just a regular merchant, I wonder if Javert would have admitted to his identity mistake but also continued to be suspicious, simply because his instincts told him that if you think someone is bad, they’re probably bad.

Oh okay so this actually potentially answers my question from last chapter. Javert says “Scaling a wall and theft includes everything. It is a case not for a police court but for the superior court.” So does that mean the police could just toss people into prison for however long they liked if the crime was a misdemeanor?

Javert mentions that the police have not found Petit Gervais. I mostly want to note this because Hugo told us earlier on that Valjean gives money to every Savoyard that passes through M-sur-M and asks their name, and it seemed to imply that in doing that he’s maybe secretly hoping Petit Gervais will turn up. If Valjean hasn’t found Petit Gervais yet, I doubt the cops will.

Javert fundamentally misunderstands how Valjean is sly and cunning. Because Valjean is quite clever and cunning, but the difference is nearly all of his cunning comes not from direct lies or playing dumb the way that Javert is implying, but by using his surroundings and other people’s assumptions to his own advantage. (Plus disguises and wigs, but we don’t see that until Paris.) He buys himself time through things like the fake address trick during the Thenardier encounter, or wandering and disappearing into the woods like Boulatruelle observed, or taking advantage of incomplete information, like becoming Fauchelevent’s brother or burning his passport and becoming Father Madeleine. Valjean’s whole thing is being able to very quickly scan a room, register things, and then adapt and/or react to his situation quite quickly. (Side note: What’s interesting to me is that he’s great at adapting and acting when it comes to action but he is rather stilted and slow when it comes to emotional reaction or adaptation.)

“...tell her to make her complaint against the carter Pierre Chesnelong. He is a brutal fellow, he almost crushed this woman and her child.” Whenever Hugo mentions carts there’s usually symbolism there. In this case it sounds to me like a parallel of Javert, Fantine, and Cosette. At this point, Fantine is still alive though very sick, and Valjean is planning to go to Montfermeil himself to get Cosette. Javert’s imprisonment of Fantine would have destroyed Cosette along with Fantine, just as Chesnelong’s cart nearly crushed Mme Buseaupied and her child. She gets to make a complaint, she has the potential for Chesnelong to be punished. Fantine doesn’t have that, not to the same extent. She dies before it could happen anyway, but even if it could, she’s a prostitute who would be complaining against a cop, there’s not a lot of power on her side, even with Valjean vouching for her. But at this point, she’s only been “nearly” crushed; her child will be with her soon, at least she get that reunion despite being mortally ill, and Javert’s punishment for nearly crushing Fantine and Cosette is, weirdly, Valjean’s refusal to acknowledge his sense of duty and dismiss him.

“Besides, this is an offense that concerns only me.” This almost exactly parallels Valjean’s comment on Fantine insulting him: “The insult is to me. I can do what I please about it.” This is the second time that Valjean has denied, to his face, Javert’s sense of justice and duty by claiming offenses as a personal matter rather than a judicial one.

“In my life I have often been severe to others. It was just. I was right. Now if I were not severe toward myself, all I have justly done would become injustice. Should I spare myself more than others. No. You see, if I had been eager only to punish others and not myself, that would have been despicable!” I mentioned it above, but this is just so telling. Javert knows how severe he is, but he doesn’t see it as cruelty or lack of empathy, he sees his severity as totally in the right because it is for the good of justice. He especially sees it as good because he is willing to treat himself in a similar way. But this does make me wonder, like, would any treatment he got be as callous as the way he treats others? He’s a cop, and while he’s not the favorite of the other cops, he’s still an authority figure. So if he asked for others to be severe to him the way he had been severe to others, would they be? Or would they treat him better because he is or was an authority figure? Anyway, this line really establishes how entrenched in his own morals Javert really is. I feel like these lines here are the entire setup for his conflict and death at the end of the book. If he didn’t believe in treating himself with the same severity as others, the stakes wouldn’t be as high re: the consequences for letting Valjean go free.

Javert calls the defense of a lower person against a higher-up “ill-begotten kindness,” which I think is a really good indication of the way his view of justice works. Defending someone like Fantine, who has been beaten down and nearly broken by the system, isn’t empathy or charity to him, but kindness that shouldn’t be. He seems to think that in situations like this, the person who is being pardoned or defended shouldn’t be, and is sort of like gunning for special treatment by accepting that kindness.

“Good God, it is easy to be kind, the difficulty is to be just.” Maybe this is a weird way to look at this line, but I can’t help but think about Valjean’s conflict after leaving Digne when I read this. At that point, for Valjean, the difficult was in choosing to be kind, rather than choosing to continue to ride his old instincts that would lead to more crime. Javert learns at the end of the novel how difficult it is to be kind when all you know is being “just,” and it kills him. But here Javert equates kindness with moral leniency or maybe even moral abandonment, rather than with empathy and aid. To Javert, people who have done something criminal or morally bad cannot change and cannot be rehabilitated and will always be bad. Which makes me wonder what he thinks kindness actually is. What is Javert’s version of kindness, since he sees kindness in the form of aid or sympathy as reprehensible?

I wonder if Javert is thinking of Fauchelevent when he says, “I have hands, I can till the ground.” Would Javert have changed if he’d gone into labor work for a while, like Fauchelevent? Would work as someone who has no power over others have changed him?

Javert describes himself as a spy in a derogatory way. I think this is the only time he ever references spying in a derogatory way towards himself. However, he has been described as a spy or having spy-like qualities more than once by Hugo. For just a moment, he agrees with the narrator and reader about what he’s like, only it’s from a completely different angle. We can see that he’s “like a police spy” because he’s merciless and inflexible and generally unwilling to change any of his ways at all. He sees himself as “like a police spy” because he has breached a social contract and not only falsely suspected but reported on a superior.

A thought on Tome 1.6: I find it really interesting that despite the fact that this tome is titled “Javert,” it doesn’t include 1.5.13, which contains more of Javert’s narrative than 1.6.1 does. In 1.5.13, we see the drastic effect Valjean’s actions have on Javert, and the emotional turmoil he goes through in questioning authority the way that he does. And yet, that chapter is contained in “The Descent.” Instead, the Tome starts with “Now, Rest,” and Javert’s only role in this chapter is to write the letter to the prefect of police. So despite the Tome being titled after him, Javert is really only emotionally and narratively relevant for the second chapter. I would think that it might have been better to bookend the Tome with two chapters that were most relevant to him, 1.5.13 (which would be 1.6.1 then) and 1.6.2. Instead, 1.6.1 focuses more on Fantine’s condition which, though caused by Javert, doesn’t actually include or affect him at this point. At the same time, the last Tome was titled “The Descent.” This descent of Fantine’s levels out once she has fainted, which is a good transition into the next Tome.

#les miserables #les miserables meta #brickclub #lm 1.6.2 #les mis #les mis meta #also ugh i'm sorry i use valjean and madeleine interchangeably and i've given up trying not to

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jeogiyall · 5 years ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞; 𝒎.𝒕𝒍

✪︎︎ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷𝟶.𝟺𝟺𝚔 (𝚜𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚕)

✪ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗋𝖾! 𝖺𝗎; 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗮𝗲𝗶𝗹 <3

✪︎︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗋𝗌 (𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍)

✪︎︎ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ: 𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗌! 𝖺𝗎, 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌! 𝗁𝖺𝖾𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇 + 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇, 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗎𝖼𝖺𝗌, 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗐𝗂𝗇, 𝗑𝗂𝖺𝗈𝗃𝗎𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗋𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝖽𝗌.

✪︎︎ᴀ/ɴ: 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗋𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈 𝖿𝗎𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾!! 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 "𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗋𝗒" 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗀𝖾. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗶𝘀 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗍 here, 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗋𝗒. 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒!! -𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Theatre Glossary

Callbacks: Second step of the audition process, almost like a second audition but you focus on a certain character

Blocking: Movement and positioning of actors on stage during a performance

Dance Captain: An actor in the show (typically ensemble) that helps with anything dance related. Can help choreograph some numbers, usually runs dance rehearsals

Stage Manager: A crew member who is in charge of crew as well as everything backstage during a show. Whatever they say is a direct extension of the director

Stage Door: A door where the actors, crew, and staff can enter and exit the theatre

Tech Week: The week leading up to opening where the cast and crew do the full show each day in full costumes and makeup. It is extremely physically and mentally challenging and you can often end up at the theatre for 6+ hours

“Thank You Five”: Whenever the stage manager gives a direction back stage, actors should reply with “Thank you (direction given.)” This is to let the stage manager know that you heard their direction

Mic Check: Before the show each actor that uses a microphone will get the levels and placement on them checked

Notes: After a performance or rehearsal the director will give commentary (critiques or praises) to the actors

—

Ever since you were a little girl, bouncing in the velvet seats of your city’s theater while watching Les Miserables, it was your dream to play Cosette. From the lilting notes of ‘In My Life’ to her character that leapt from the countless pages of the book, the character (and show) took over your brain. It was a genuine miracle that your parents hadn’t hidden your copy of the cast recording, or that your best friend (Lee Donghyuck) didn’t duct tape your mouth when you’d go to his house after voice lessons and force him to listen to you sing ‘Castle on A Cloud’ with countless different interpretations.

After years of being obsessed with the show, you felt that it was a sign when your youth theatre announced the summer musical. An email with Les Miserables in huge red, white, and blue letters. It was challenging to not get your hopes up, even throughout callbacks. Even as the director tested different boys and kept you on to read for Cosette, you forced yourself to swallow the thoughts of ‘It’s me!’. When the cast list was finally posted you had to force your hands to quit shaking... Then made Haechan open it because your will didn’t work.

”Why are you even nervous, you know you got the part.” He grumbled, fishing through his pants pocket and trying not to throw up.

“The same reason you’re nervous, now open the damn list”

“I’m going as fast as I can!” If it weren’t for his panic, you’re sure he would’ve slapped you, “Okay, I have it.”

“Give it to me straight, Doc.” He rolled his eyes and scrolled, undoubtedly skipping past a lengthy message from your director.

“You are such a dork,” It was easy to tell how nervous he was, so you bit the side of your cheek and allowed him to read, “okay. Xiaojun is Valjean, Jaehyun is Javert..” You nod with your jaw clenched, twiddling your hands where they sit in your lap.

“That’s good, they’ll be good in that.” He nodded in agreement, swallowing hard.

“Yea, they will. Lucas is Thenardier, that’ll be funny.” It was becoming increasingly harder to speak, so you hummed an answer and hoped that he understood what you’re trying to say, “Oh no!” he groaned, causing your heartbeat to falter in it’s place.

“What?!”

“The girl who got Cosette! She’s so annoying, but also really talented. As well as hardworking, and she’s wanted to play this role for forever, and-” Realization slowly sunk into the lines of your face as you slapped your best friends arm.

“Shut up!” He started laughing, something huge and sparkly forming in the space between your bodies.

“She’s also my best friend, so...” It was impossible to not hug someone in that moment, so you threw your arms around Hyuck’s shoulders and hoped that he didn’t notice the shake of your shoulders, “Are you crying?”

“No...” You had sobbed into his shoulder while fat tears were fall onto his cotton t-shirt, “A little bit.” He laughed, a sound that’s familiar and comforting and wraps you up like a blanket.

“I’m proud of you.” Hyuck breathed, squeezing your body tightly.

“Thank you, me too.” The smile when you pulled away was beaming, soaring as high as your full heart.

Playing Cosette was everything you’d ever dreamed, except for two tiny things. For starters, there was the wig. Of course you knew that you’d have to wear a wig, almost everyone who plays Cosette has to wear a wig. You just weren’t expecting yours to be so... Ugly.

It was a nearly five pound mop of thick blonde curls, that would spend every single rehearsal tickling the back of your neck. It didn’t help that you were still a little confused on how to put it on, which caused the terrifying object to slip and slide around constantly. Pretty much at any chance it could get. The first time Xiaojun saw it happen he laughed so hard that he cried.

(”Xaiojun!” You had whined, trying desperately to straighten the blonde rat tail on your head.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I was just trying t-to sing at you a-and your wig-”

Needless to say, the most that came out of that rehearsal were some cursed images of your wig mishaps and one scene being blocked.)

The second, and much more pressing, issue was your love interest. Moon Taeil was a newcomer to your theatre company, but no one was shocked when he got Marius. His voice is technically perfect, you and Xiaojun had analyzed every note of his audition while waiting for the cast list. There was not a single flaw, then when you factored in his emotion... Any director would be lucky to have him in a show.

Based just on his callback, you figured working with him would be a dream. It was for the most part; he came in already memorized every single rehearsal and his voice was just immaculate. His chemistry was stunning... With every one else.

Maybe it’s because you’re spoiled with your lists of love interests, which consists entirely of your closest friends, but you just could not get used to Taeil. It was clear he felt the same way, causing all of your blocked scenes to be stiff as a board.

(”He’s not like that with Donghyuck! Why is Marius more in love with Enjorlas than Cosette?!” You lamented during an after rehearsal Sheetz run. Donghyuck had rolled his eyes while snatching Sichengs milkshake out of his hands.

“Hyuck, I have literally never hated a person more-”

“Stop whining, we’re talking about (y/n)!” He quipped, passing the drink back to your peeved dance captain, “It’s probably because he doesn’t have to kiss me, which is a real shame for him.”

“But he also kisses Emily, and they seem fine.” Jaehyun commented while taking his seat next to you. His addition caused you to groan, head sinking into your hands.

“Why can’t I act with my Marius! It’s so awkward and I can’t even get to know him! He just shows up, does the work, and leaves. Which is fine, whatever, but really? That’s it? No Sheetz afterwards? No McDonald’s? Not even a bag of chips from the vending machine outside the auditorium?! How am I supposed to get to know him when he’s just in and out like a ghost, are we even sure that he’s real?!” You’re breathing has turned heavy while your hands are gripping your wig cap braids almost violently, “Also my wig is so ugly and I don’t know how to put it on!”

“What’s wrong with (y/n)?” Lucas whispered, popping a chip into his mouth and chewing slowly while waiting for someone to answer his question.

“She’s having a mental breakdown for no reason.” Sicheng answered, snatching his milkshake back from Jaehyun. You were so busy ranting that you didn’t even notice the theft.

“It’s not for no reason!” You snapped, chin catching on the straw of your drink.

“(Y/n)?” Donghyuck began, eyes wide and sincere, “Shut up and drink your slushie.”)

The scenes were so flat, in fact, that you and Taeil were called for a characterization meeting. Alone. If you thought you and Taeil were awkward on stage, sitting on the leather couches of the green room while waiting to talk about how awful you were together was much worse. Plastering on a smile when your director entered was physically challenging.

“Okay!” She started, dropping files onto the cofee table in front of you, “For the record, you are both doing great. I mean really, love love love the effort. Taeil, you and Donghyuck are just hilarious, and (y/n) and Xiaojun almost made me cry the other day!”

“Thank you!” You both answer simultaneously, Taeil nodding his head while twiddling his thumbs.

“Of course, that being said there are some issues regarding chemistry.” A shiver runs up your perfectly straightened spine, “I just remember at call backs you two were mind blowing together, like seriously. Those voices were made to sing with each other, and your characters were just what I wanted. A true directors dream, so what happened to that?” Your eyes flick to Taeil, internally begging him to speak first. It almost looks like he’s going to, but the words die on his lips, “I know it’s awkward to talk about, but we need to be open if we’re going to make this work.” You look at your Marius one more time, willing him to speak.

“Personally, I think it’s challenging for me because all of the boys who have previously played my love interests were really close friends. Like Jaehyun, I’ve known him since we were in diapers so it wasn’t... Weird, for either of us.” You turn to Taeil, who’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “It’s not that I don’t like you or anything, I do! You’re very talented; I just don’t know you, y’know?” From a force of habit, your eyes flick to your director. She’s nodding, ink pen tapping the tip of her nose.

“Okay, Taeil?” She prods after a silence that takes forever. The boy fidgets, one hand coming up to scratch the nape of his neck. For one brief moment you notice how beautiful he is, with his sharp jawline cutting perfectly against his soft cheeks and high cheekbones. His eyes glisten while he thinks, then they flick to you. It makes everything feel red.

“Um, I agree... You’re really sweet, and funny, I just don’t know you. Or anyone, really.” The warmth on your skin dissipates and is replaced with a heavy swirling in your gut. Is it always going to be this hard to make him talk to you?

“Okay,” Your director starts, dropping her pen to the table, “so it sounds like for (y/n) to be more comfortable you have to get to know each other, and for Taeil to be more comfortable you need to get used to the environment; nod if I’m right.” Taeil looks at you with the same expression of a deer in headlights, but you’re used to this form of communication. He watches as you nod, then follows timidly, “Alright, I have an assignment. I want you two to go on a date.”

Let’s just say, if you thought your ego wasn’t damaged by having to do this meeting it was definitely damaged by Taeil’s incredulous sputtering.

“Excuse me?” He asked, cheeks flushing beet red. You bit off the hangnail on your thumb, stomach churning again.

“I don’t think she means a real date.” You muttered, embarrassment threatening your cheeks.

“You’re right, (y/n), I don’t. I just mean that I need you two to go out somewhere, sit down, and get to know each other. Not as Marius and Cosette, but as Taeil and (y/n), okay?” You nod eagerly despite the redness flushing your face, because you’re a directors pet first. Taeil is a little (read: a lot) more reserved.

“Okay, we can go after next weeks act one vocal run through?” You suggest. He smiles, it’s the same one he uses while acting.

“Yea, I’ll drive.” You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to look so scared about it. It’s not like you bite.

“Perfect!” Your director sighs, clapping her hands while popping up from her chair, “It’s a date.”

You wish her words sounded less like a threat.

There were few things worse than choreography rehearsals. One thing was choreography rehearsals lead by Dong Sicheng. Especially when they happened on Haechan’s (more commonly known as your ride) sick day. Even worse? Having to wear a blonde rat tail on your head.

“I’m really sorry (y/n), I just can’t even-” His words were cut off by the sound of him retching, you prayed that it was into a toilet, “Yea. That.” You chewed anxiously on your thumb nail, eyes tracking to the slowly dwindling parking lot.

“Don’t even worry about it, I’ll bring by some soup tonight.” You could hear his mom ushering him back into his bed, “Okay?”

“Sounds good.” He groans out, making an ‘oomf’ sound as he drops into his bed, “I gotta go before I get something gross on my phone. Love you.”

“Love you too, bye bye!” As you dropped your phone back into the rehearsal bag slung across your shoulder rain started to drizzle outside. It wasn’t a long walk from the theater to your house, and if you ran there was a small chance of actually getting wet (you had learned this with Donghyuck and Jaehyun back in middle school, after many unfortunate weather days.) You could always wait until the stage crew is done and see if one of your friends was on today, but the rain was already turning from drizzle to downpour. Besides, it felt wrong to talk to someone just because you needed a ride; running would be perfectly fine.

“Who were you talking to?” A voice asked. You yelped, whipping around to see black hair and soft cheeks.

“Oh, Taeil!” Your voice comes out so fake that it makes you cringe, “It was just Donghyuck, he’s sick so I’m here. Why are you still here?” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, eyeing the rain where it falls behind you.

“I was talking with Henderey. He’s stage manager, do you know him?” Slight irritation itches the back of your neck.

“Of course.” He swallows roughly, hands briefly coming out of his pockets to brush through his hair.

“Oh, well our dads are friends. So...” Silence settles awkwardly in the room, so thick that you could spread it on toast, “So if Donghyck’s not here how are you getting home? Doesn’t he usually take you?” A sigh escapes your lip as you turn around again, noticing the rain that’s beginning to come down in sheets.

“He does, I think I’m just gonna... Walk?” Taeil’s face twisted, jaw going slack while his eyebrows furrowed.

“Y-you know I can’t let you do that, right?” A small laugh bubbles in your throat as you suddenly understand why he’s the perfect fit for Marius. The only word that can be used to describe Taeil in this moment (other than awkward) would be pretty. His lips are puffy and twisted with concern, soft cheeks pulling downwards with a frown. He’s pure lover boy material, which makes you even more frustrated that you can’t act with him.

“It’s fine, you clearly don’t want to be around me. Or go out with me, and if I run-”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, taking a step closer to you, “who said that?” a blush rises all the up to your ears, you almost move to cover them.

“Well, you didn’t say it but-”

“ME?!” His eyebrows are raised, they’re so perfect that you wonder if he’s ever had them done.

“Yes! Last week, you all but spat on yourself at the idea of going out with me. I mean you don’t have to get married to me or anything, but seriously? Is it that revolting?” His cheeks are the color of the daylilies that bloom in your front yard. Running in the rain doesn’t sound too bad at this point.

“I didn’t mean- it wasn’t like th- I just don’t know you!” For some reason those five words are what make the pot in your brain boil over.

“I don’t know you either! You aren’t the only uncomfortable one!” His expression is softening, it makes you want to scream... Or cry, “I don’t know you, anything about you! I try to joke around backstage, ask about your favorite shows, I even gave you permission to make fun of my wig! I won’t even let Donghyuck do that! You literally just won’t talk to me, so it’s safe to assume you don’t like me very much. Which is whatever, that’s all up to you, but you have to work with me! Which means you have to not, oh I don’t know, spit on yourself when the director says we have to do something together!” The expression of concern on Taeil’s face had twisted into one of sadness. It was unbelievable to you that he was sad, you were the offended one! With a frustrated sigh, you turn to the glass doors and brace yourself for the rain.

“Wait!” He calls out. You turn back around to see that he’s taken a step closer to you, one arm outreached as if he wants to touch you. Something flips in your stomach, “I’m really sorry. And I promise it’s not like that, I do like you.”

“Sure have a funny way of showing it.” You mumble, arms folding across your chest. He froze for a moment, lips forming a straight line on his face.

“I know, I’m sorry. Let me drive you home and make it up to you?” You’re about to say no when thunder booms outside, “I’ll even pull up and get you.”

“Does your car have seat warmers?” A smile starts cracking at the corner of his lips, you can’t tell if it’s endearing or infuriating.

“Yes.”

“Okay, fine. I’m still upset though!” The smile finally spreads, it looks like sun rolling over hills. He nods and moves past you.

“Noted.”

The moment you decided that Taeil was okay (probably more than that) was when you were sitting in his mom van underneath the cover of a Kangaroo gas station while listening to your musical theatre playlist. He was eating sour patch kids and sipping on a mountain dew while laughing at your answers to ‘twenty’ questions (twenty in quotations because in reality the two of you had far surpassed that number. It had been almost an hour of asking questions back and forth while chewing on gummy candy.)

“Okay... What’s the best role you’ve had?” You ask, stomach fluttering at the way his face lights up.

“Other than Marius,” He playfully sticks his tongue out at you, causing a giggle to bubble in your throat, “Tulsa in Gypsy. That was super fun.”

“You can tap?” You ask, shooting up out of your seat. He chuckles, stealing a gummy worm from the bag in your lap.

“Is that your question or...”

“No! Don’t count that; and stop taking my worms!” He laughs again as you protectively cradle the colorful bag.

“What’s your best role? And yes, I can tap.” You mull it over for a second, sucking on the red and blue candy in your mouth.

“Probably Sarah Brown in Guys and Dolls, that was really fun. I got to do it with Jaehyun, too, so that was nice. My turn?” He nods while taking a long sip from his green can, “Okay, what’s your favorite musical?”

“Oklahoma.” He answers definitely. It makes you want to gag.

“Why?!” He answers with a ‘tsk’ sound, wagging an index finger towards you.

“It’s not your turn anymore.” He shoves a clump of blue sour patch kids into his mouth before continuing, “What do you think is the best movie musical?”

“Easy, Mama Mia. And swallow before you talk.” He smiles, poking one blue blob in between his teeth, “Why Oklahoma?” He sighs, plopping back into the drivers seat.

“It was my moms favorite.” His voice has taken on a softer tone, it makes you want to turn down the music.

“Permission to pry?” He looks towards you with glassy eyes, then nods, “Was?”

“Yea.” He breathes out, head tilting backwards. The motion exposes the elegant lines of his throat (it takes everything in you to not stare,) “Was, she passed when I was nine. Stomach cancer. I started theatre pretty soon after that.” Your heart softens at his words.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea.” He locks eyes with you and grins.

“Don’t you dare go and forgive me because I have a dead mom!” The strict words make you bust out in laughter,doubling over so quickly that you almost push his drink out of the cup holder. He chuckles too, pushing playfully at your shoulder, “Come on, sit up.”

“That isn’t why I’m forgiving you.” You answer through laughter, placing a hand on his arm, “I’m forgiving you because you’re actually really funny, and kind, and... You’re like a pomegranate person. They seem so ‘meh’ on the outside, then you have to work really really hard to open it up, but once you do it’s worth all of it.”

“Thank you, I think?” He chuckles, putting his free hand on top of yours, “Did you just call me ugly?” The laugh that comes out of you is so aggressive that it could be classified as a snort. It makes your gut clench.

“No!” You gasp, running one hand across your face, “I was saying that... I’m glad you forced me to let you take me home.” He gives you a soft smile, your ears turn pink.

“Yea, I am too.”

Being part of a theatre company in a small town resulted in two things; a lack of crew and strange traditions. The lack of crew was a direct cause of the lack of people auditioning, but after ten years that was proving to be less of a problem. However, the traditions (thankfully) had still yet to die out. There were countless examples, but amongst your favorite was the pajama sing through.

It started in the very first show, ‘The Little Mermaid’ (you were participating at a ripe eight years old, in the groundbreaking role of ‘Clown fish’.) The girl playing Ariel decided that a pajama party would be fun, someone even brought a waffle maker. You remembered sitting next to Donghyuck in matching onesies and sharing a waffle with whipped cream and strawberries, and so the tradition was born.

(He had laughed his butt off when you got into the car that morning.

“You look ridiculous, it’s perfect!” You wanted to slap him, but in a caring way. On one hand, he made you wear a Mike Wazowski onesie. On the other, you wouldn’t want anyone else to be your Sully.

“Shut up and drive! Also, are you feeling better?” He chuckled again, punching your shoulder the way an older brother would.

“Much, it was just food poisoning. Let’s go!”)

Everyone cheered when you and Hyuck entered the green room with a rusty waffle maker and fresh strawberries. It was a heartwarming sight, thirty kids all sitting on the floor of a shabby room with neon green walls dressed in over the top fuzzy pajamas.

“Where’s the waffles?” Jaehyun called out from across the room. He wore a black cotton shirt with fuzzy plaid pants, an outfit that fondly reminded you of your middle school sleepovers.

“Will you get your bag off the counter please?” He stuck his tongue out at you, slinging the leather satchel over his shoulder. You smiled sweetly at him then immediately got to work setting the machine up, “Sicheng should be here soon with the batter.”

“Um, why are we all in pajamas?” A voice asked from the door, one that you quickly recognized to be Taeil. He was in a white t-shirt tucked into a well fitted pair of jean shorts. all tied together with a brown leather belt.

“Did no one tell him?” Jaehyun whispers, the room falling quiet. Everyone’s staring at him, it almost makes you embarrassed.

“Um, we always wear pajamas to sing through’s. I guess no one told you, but don’t worry! I brought extras!” You walk towards the door, grabbing his arm as you pass by, “Did Hendery really not tell you?”

“Guess not, it’s weird to have everyone stare at you for not going out in pajamas.” His face when he makes a joke is so pure, particularly the way he softly laughs to himself. You make a point to laugh as well.

“Yea, it’s a tradition that we started at the first sing through. It’s always fun, kind of like a movie night. We’re parked this way.” You pull him towards the stage door.

“Aren’t we supposed to not use this door?” You scoff and push it open.

“No one follows that rule, also the pj’s are Hyuck’s. They should fit fine, if anything just a little long-”

“Okay you can call me annoying, or rude, or say that I have the personality of a door knob. But if you start calling me short I won’t hesitate to dropkick you.” A laugh escapes your mouth, coming out bubbly and kind. Like something you’d share with a friend.

“Relax! I wasn’t calling you... The s-word. I was just saying, Hyuck is a little bit tall-” He slaps your shoulder as you move towards your friends silver car.

“Not another word!” He punctuates each word with a short slap to your bicep, it makes you giggle.

“Okay, okay! I call mercy!” You laugh out while retrieving the fuzzy pajamas from Hyuck’s car, “Here you are, one pair of pj’s!” When you turn around to hand them off he’s standing just a little bit closer than before, you can almost feel his breath.

“Thank you,” He sighs, taking the fuzzy green pants and white hoodie into his hands, “I guess we’re not going to a restaurant after this?” You laugh again, softly pushing his shoulder.

“Are you trying to say my Mike Wazowski onesie isn’t good enough for the public?” He gasps and clenches his chest, perfect eyebrows furrowing.

“(Y/n)! I would nev-” He’s interrupted by the stage door swinging open, Donghyuck poking his head out ever so slightly.

“(Y/n)! Waffles!” You smile widely, like a little kid on Christmas morning. You slam the car door behind you shut and begin moving towards the door.

“Coming!” You sing in response, turning back to motion at Taeil, “Come on, there’s waffles!” You see him smile, something about it looks reserved.

(What you don’t see is the longing glances he cast to you throughout rehearsal, the clench in his gut as you feed Donghyuck the piece of strawberry that had fallen onto his Sully onesie. You don’t see his eyes cast downwards as you nestle into Donghyuck’s side and stay there for the rest of the sing through.)

It turns out Taeil’s plans consisted of eating Taco Bell in the trunk of his mom van while listening to the Mamma Mia cast album. You passed around questions and laughs while stuffing your faces with burritos and chips that were too greasy.

“You really don’t think I would play Harry?” He asks through a mouthful of burrito.

“No, you’re definitely a Sky. Also, swallow before you speak!” He laughs, threatening to fling a piece of lettuce at you, “Don’t you dare!”

“I won’t. You’d probably be Sophie.” You flash him a bright smile, doing an over exaggerated hair flip.

“I think so too.” He rolls his eyes, the sunlight spilling from his car windows highlight a honey colored undertone in his pupils. A part of you wishes you could bottle up this moment and keep it forever, “Permission to pry?”

“Is it about my mom?” He asks knowingly. You nod meekly as he smiles a gentle smile, “Go ahead.”

“Yesterday, when you said that you started theatre soon after your mom passing, was... I don’t know, was there a reason for that?” The words coming out of our mouth feel heavy, threatening to shatter the bubble. You had never worried about shattering a bubble before, but something about the memory of Taeil’s glassy eyes from yesterday makes your stomach clench.

“She was an actress. A really good one too, there’s tons of pictures and stuff. We actually have one cast recording from when she was off Broadway, but I can’t listen to it anymore.” He takes a deep breath, tilting his head back again. You’re starting to think that’s a habit when he talks about his mom, “I did Suessical right after she passed because I wanted to... I don’t know, feel closer to her? I stayed because of the whole family thing, since my family had actually fallen apart. Like, unraveled. Then I found out I was kind of good at it, so here we are.” It’s tempting to reach out and grab his hand, so you do. Your eyes lock as you offer up a gentle smile.

“That’s sweet, I’m sure she’s really proud of you.” He smiles back and breathes out. One strand of black hair swoops over his eyes, you think that he looks like a love story.

“She was a lot like you, actually.” You cock an eyebrow, eliciting a breathy laugh from the sweet boy, “I’m serious! She was so sweet, and funny, and like... Stubborn, but in a quiet kind of way.” Warmth blossoms in your chest.

“I’m glad you think of me that way, does that have anything to with why you wouldn’t talk to me?” He laughs again, unwinding his hand from yours. The answer is hesitant, you choose to believe it’s because he was laughing.

“Sure.”

You stay in the back of his car until the sun sets, wrapped up in the feeling of being with Taeil like it’s a warm bathrobe and you just stepped out of the shower.

“Where to this week?” You ask while bouncing over to the mom van. Taeil smiles, unlocking the door so you can climb in.

“I’m feeling ice cream, so Dairy Queen?” You smile and nod enthusiastically.

“Dairy Queen, absolutely!” He flashes you a smile while settling into the drivers seat, immediately connecting his phone to the aux and flipping through countless cast recordings.

“What are we feeling today? Maybe some Phantom?” When he looks over he’s greeted with a hazy smile, one that’s exclusively reserved for post rehearsal sappiness, “What?” (You pretend to not notice the goofy grin catching on the plane of his face.)

“I’m just really glad that we’re doing this weekly now. It’s almost like we’re friends.” He laughs, punching your shoulder. You think that it feels different than when Hyuck does it.

“We are friends, now text me your order.”

“Where are we headed, Miss?” Taeil questions, mustering up a rancid British accent. You would’ve laughed less if his hair wasn’t stuck to his forehead with sweat. The entire cast had been hoping Sicheng would lighten up on choreography rehearsals as you got closer to show week, but sadly you were all dead wrong.

“How about Dunkin’? I need the caffeine after that torture session.” He smiles widely, you pretend to not notice the bead of sweat that drips down his nose.

“Sounds great, text me-”

“My order, already on it!” He pinches your cheek before putting the car in reverse; you try to ignore how it makes your skin burn for the rest of the day.

“I can’t believe we’re one week away from tech.” You lament while Taeil sinks his teeth into a Five Guys burger. The idea of inhaling fast food while sitting in the back of this boys car would’ve once been so foreign to you, but now it’s a routine, “It feels like just yesterday we were stuttering our way through every scene together while Hyuck roasted me in our group chat.”

“Would he really?” A laughs spills from your mouth, along with a single shred of lettuce from the bite of cheese burger you had just consumed. Taeil immediately points at the spot where it landed on your thigh, laughing along with you, “Swallow! Swallow before you speak! Laugh? Either!” He’s shaking a finger at you, it reminds you of something your father would do.

“Stop! It’s your fault for making me laugh!” You whine, reaching up to grab his still waggling finger, “I swear we’re gonna have to fight!” His laughter has permeated the air, it makes something flutter in your stomach.

“I can’t believe your manners are so bad! Get it together, (y/n)!” He brings his other hand up, but doesn’t get very far before your hands are wrapped around both of his index fingers.

“Keep this up and Marius is going on with eight fingers.” You manage through a laugh, trying not to notice the pink spreading across his high cheek bones. (The same way you tried to not notice the freckle on the shell of his ear, or how his skin looked like honey against his black sweatshirt,) “I’m not kidding!”

“Forgive me for finding a girl who was wearing a blonde pom pom on her head an hour ago less than threatening.” He teases. You pretend that your heart doesn’t clench at his mischievous smirk.

“You’re so lucky that I like you too much to hurt you.”

When Jung Jaehyun moved in down the street you were six years old. It immediately resulted in countless days of riding your bikes up and down the street and stuffing your face with traditional Korean food at his house. Over the years the activities have changed, but the accessibility was always the same.

Which is how you ended up knocking on his front door at midnight exactly eight hours before tech rehearsals were set to begin. He opened the door wearing an expression of concern, as well as a bright green face mask.

“(Y/n)? It’s kinda late, isn’t-”

“I think I’m in love with Taeil.” You blurt out. His jaw drops open, light cracks forming in the green goop on his face, “I don’t really know how it happened, but we have those weekly dates or whatever, and he makes me laugh, a-and I don’t know! He’s just so kind and gentle, so so gentle, and our stage kiss! That, that used to be something just like... Whatever, you know? Like how I’ve kissed you and Hyuck. Just a stage kiss, but with Taeil it leaves chills all over my body! I literally forget my lines, which I’ve never done before! At least not because of a kiss!” Your eyes are wild (though, the fact that you’re donning fuzzy plaid pajama pants and bed head definitely adds to that.)

“Um... I’m not really in a position to talk right now, why don’t you come inside?” You nod, chewing nervously on your lower lip. He ushers you into the house, immediately seating you on the couch with a warm cup of honey tea, “I’m gonna go wash this off, but I promise I will be right back. We can talk then, yea?” You nod shyly, sipping the hot tea as he exits the living room.

The thoughts of Taeil had been dwelling in your head for weeks, causing your romance scenes to flourish. Receiving adamant praise from your director was nice, but you always left the stage with a hole in your chest. A gaping hole that only closes up in the solace of Taeil’s mom van with his eyes trained on you and everything feeling warm.

Jaehyun reenters the room with a clean face, immediately plopping next to you on the couch. His hair is pulled back from his forehead with an elastic headband, causing it to poke out in every direction. You think he looks like an octopus

“The tea’s good.” You breathe, face taking on a tired expression. You think Jaehyun doesn’t notice until he places his ring finger on the space between your eyebrows.

“Relax, we don’t need tech week wrinkles before tech has even started.” You roll your eyes dramatically, running a hand across your face.

“I’ll never forgive Hyuck for teaching you about skin care.” You groan as he playfully punches your shoulder.

“Whereas I am forever grateful. So, Taeil?” You whine like a peeved child at his comment, head falling onto his shoulder. He let’s out a squeaky laugh while pushing you to sit up, “Come on, tell me everything!”

So you do, mouth letting out words faster than you thought was possible. You tell him about the first day he drove you home, how he ate sour patch kids and sang along to Mean Girls. You tell him about taco bell, about how your weekly outings have become almost sacred. Most importantly, you tell Jaehyun about the moment you started to fall. Sitting in the back of Moon Taeil’s car with a mouthful of burrito; ‘She was a lot like you, actually’. It was so certain, so meaningful.

“I don’t know. He just make me feel so calmed, like... Like when we’re together there’s a pink bubble around us, and nothing can penetrate it.” A soft smile has taken on home on your friends face, one of his hands holding his heart as he pouts. It’s maddening how a moment like this with Jaehyun (or with any of your friends) makes you feels so different compared to a moment like this with Taeil. He’s just a boy like the others, but his hand on your thigh would make your head explode.

“That’s really sweet, (y/n). And it seems like he really likes you too.” You groan again, eliciting a warm laugh from your friend, “What? Why’s that bad?” You drag your hands down your face, pulling dramatically on your cheeks.

“Because! I’ve never liked anyone this much before, let alone someone like Taeil! He’s so hardworking, and sweet to everyone. I just don’t know if...” He leans into you, raising one eyebrow.

“You don’t know what?” A lump forms in your throat, you want to vomit.

“I don’t know if I’m good enough.” The words are breathy due to you uselessly fighting back tears. One slides down your cheek, Jaehyun passes you a tissue, “A-and it’s scary because I’m not used to not knowing that, I’m always good enough! But for him, f-for him? He deserves the entire world, and I can’t give him that! I can’t even drive!” Jaehyun laughs softly, pulling you into a comforting hug while patting your back softly.

“Well the driving thing isn’t your fault, or relevant,” A whimper escapes your lips as you cuddle into your friends chest, “And if you two are meant to be then you will be enough. No matter what you have to give physically, if you two really love each other you will always be enough. Now let’s get you home, can’t have Cosette showing up cranky on the first day of tech.” You laugh; it’s a depressing, watery noise. Sitting up, you wipe the tear tracks from your cheeks and inhale snottily.

“No, I guess we can’t. Would be a shame to have a sleepy Javert, too.” He laughs while standing in one swift motion, offering you a hand.

“Yes it would... (Y/n?)” You stand up, stealing one last hug from your kind friend.

“Yes?” You ask while nestled in his arms.

“I love you so much. You’re like my little sister, and I’m really really proud of you.” A sigh leaves your chest, your whole body feeling like a weight’s been lifted.

“Thank you, big bro.” He smiles brightly, “You’re gonna tell everyone about this, aren’t you?” He laughs again, head tilting back. You think of the way Taeil does that, and then you think of the way his laugh sounds (soft and high, almost like how a fairy would laugh.)

“Sweetie, we already knew. We were just waiting for you to admit it.”

1:27 am

Incoming text from; xiaojun <3

‘(Y/N) AND TAEIL SITTIN IN A TREE’

‘K-I-S-S-I-N-G’

1:49 am

Incoming text from; seecheeng

‘thank u for confessing jae owes me $30′

1:52 am

Incoming text from; luke ass

‘AYEEEEEEEEEE’

6:05 am

Incoming text from; donkey yuck <33

‘if u don’t make a move by the end of tech i’ll eat your toes :)’

There were four dressing rooms in your theater, usually divided between principle and ensemble due to the amount of costumes. While the boys and girls were separated, you would freely go between your dressing room and wherever all of your boys were. You were all so familiar that you could come in wearing nothing but a sweatshirt and your spanx. Which is exactly what you did, business as usual.

“Happy t-” Your voice leaves as soon as you see Taeil sitting in front of a mirror with an eyebrow pencil in his hand. He looks at you, and it’s almost comical how quickly his cheeks turn pink, “I’m gonna go put my pants back on.”

(You can hear Hyuck laughing through the walls.)

“Welcome back!” Lucas calls out as you reenter the dressing room, “Happy to see your pants this time.” You shoot him a sleepy glare and plop into the seat next to Donghyuck.

“Will you do my falsies for me?” You ask the boy, already knowing that he’ll agree.

“Yes, but I’m not tying your corset.” A laugh falls from your lips as you pump primer onto the back of your hand. It’s going pretty well until you notice Taeil watching you, eyes trained on your every move. It makes you blush.

“What?” You ask, remnants of laughter settling in your chest. The room is bustling, people arguing over where to put costume pieces, music blaring from Xiaojun’s speaker, Lucas screaming over... Something; but nonetheless you can feel a bubble form around you and Taeil.

“Oh! Nothing, just... Your makeup looks so good. Mine always looks gross.” His eyes are sparkling, along with the teeth that poke from his small smile. You laugh lightly, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“Do you want me to do your makeup?” His eyes immediately go wide, the small smile now spreading cheek to cheek. The way he nods like an energetic kid makes your heart clench, “Okay, just let me finish this really quick.” You pack powder onto your forehead, then slide up onto the counter in front of where he’s sitting, “Where’s your foundation?” He reaches behind you to grab the small glass bottle, hand lightly brushing your hip bone in the process. It would be a joke to say the two of you don’t develop blushes redder than a fire engine.

“Um, here!” He shoves the bottle into your hands, driving a wedge between your bodies.

“Thanks.” You sigh, spreading the liquid goop onto the back of your hand, “How are you feeling about your first tech day so far?” The boy smirks, a giggle playing on his lips.

“It’s fun. My favorite part was when you came in without pants.” From across the room Hyuck cackles, causing both you and Taeil to turn and stare.

“Sorry, I agree!” You roll your eyes and return to the former position. The first thing you notice is how smooth Taeil’s skin is, then the solemn expression that it wears. Your eyebrows crinkle while spreading blending foundation into his cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” You ask while moving onto the boys forehead. He shakes his head dismissively, causing you to promptly slap him, “Don’t move your head... Or lie to me.”

“I’m fine!” The boys sighs, a smile finally verging on the edges of his lips, “And I wouldn’t lie to you.” Something clenches inside of your chest, something that let’s you know he’s still not okay. You’re about to push even harder when Xiaojun calls your name from across the room, shouting that it’s your turn to pick the song.

“Anything from Waitress!” You reply while lightly dabbing blush onto Taeil’s cheeks. The bubble is officially popped, but the weight of Taeil’s face in your hands is too comforting for it to matter.

“Five to places!” Hendery calls into the girls dressing room. You (and three ensemble girls) are currently trying to shove your gut into a corset while not damaging the curly blonde wig on top of your head. Yet still, you drone ‘Thank you five’ in response, as if you’re all actually going to be ready by then.

“I got it!” One girl shouts as she fastens the eye and hook on your back, “Okay, breathe in really hard.” You barely have a chance to breathe period before she fastens the ribbons so tight that you see stars.

“Thank you.” You wheeze as she backs away, moving quickly to put on your first dress. It’s a gorgeous thing, with sleeves that puff like clouds and a huge violet silk skirt. The first time you pulled it over your head it felt like you were the same little girl who bounced and cheered in the seats of the Les Mis national tour, like thousands of wishes on stars had come true. You felt the same way now as you gazed into the mirror.

“Where’s your bonnet?” The girl playing Eponine asked, eliciting a curse from your perfectly painted lips.

“I left it in the boys room.” You drop your hands from where they’re adjusting the gown and head for the door. Rushing into the boys dressing room while wearing a dress shaped like a cupcake and character shoes is probably a sight for sore eyes. You actually know that it is, if Xiaojuns aching laughter is anything to judge by.

“Has anyone seen my bon-” The sight of Taeil standing alone in the center of the room with your bonnet twirling on his fingers makes your voice stop. You smile and walk towards him, reveling in the stars in his eyes, “Thank you, I was looking for that.” You say as you take it off the boys fingers. The room is a heavy kind of silent, one that waits for someone to say something, “So are you-”

“We have to stop this.” He states, turning to face you head on. Something clenches in your chest, causing confusion to rise up on your face.

“Stop what, I’m just getting my bonnet-”

“Please don’t do that,” He groans as sadness settles into the lines of his face, “don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. It’ll just drag this out.” He moves to turn away, but you grab him by the shoulder and flip him back to you. There’s no way that he’s getting of this that easily.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, so tell me!” You’re begging, but there’s something snapping in your heart telling you to not care. He sighs deeply, running one hand over his face. It’s infuriating how hard his action makes your stomach flutter.

“This! Th-the feelings! The way that we talk a-and touch, it has to stop.” You feel a lump harden in your throat, but you swallow it down and grip him tighter.

“Why?” He groans, trying again to move away, “No, tell me why? If it’s because you don’t feel how I do then I at least deserve to know!” His eyes go sad, a single tear rolling down his cheek. You want to tell him that it’ll ruin his makeup if he cries now. You want to wipe it away.

“It’s not that, I-I do feel the same. But I can’t, and I shouldn’t, so we have to stop this.” Tears are flowing down his cheeks, you want to cry too. It’s actually becoming hard not to.

“Yes, but why?” Your voice sounds like a sob.

“Because! Because I don’t want to hurt anyone, least of all you, so we have to stop this.” Well, that wasn’t any less confusing than this outburst. You’re about to say something when the door swings open.

“Places!” Hendery calls into the room. Your stomach goes cold at the realization that you still have to do the show.

“Thank you places.” Taeil calls back as you drop his shoulder. He wipes the tears from his cheeks, you want to tell him that he’s going to get foundation on his sleeve. Before he leaves he casts you one last glance with watery eyes, it almost looks like he’s going to apologize. He doesn’t, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the room.

The silence settles heavy again, enveloping you entirely. There’s no sound as you sob, no sound as the overhead microphone turns on, no sound as Hyuck and Lucas enter the room to envelope you in a bone crushing. No sound except for the boiling anger that turns your ears red and the erratic thumping of your heart that leaps into your throat.

You do your makeup and put on your wig in the boys dressing room everyday, yet still manage to avoid talking to Taeil until final dress. It was challenging to say the least, but Hyuck’s terrible jokes and watching Lucas try to do his stage makeup was the perfect distraction from the brick that Taeil left in your gut. Unfortunately, neither of them were here now. Just Xiaojun (who was sitting in the cushy chair by the door with earbuds in,) Taeil (who was buttoning the collar of his ruffled shirt,) and you (who’s shoving all of the hair on your head into a wig cap.)

“You were really good yesterday.” He says, mocha brown eyes moving to where you sit. It’s frustrating how quickly you blush, “Not that you’re not always really good, you are! It’s just-”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, hands dropping from your head and onto the makeup counter, “First you say that you won’t... Whatever for god knows why, and that’s fine! I’m trying to let that be fine, even though I have to kiss you but it’s not like I’m actually kissing you. It’s fine, it’s fine! Until you start trying to make small talk, that’s just cruel.” You can only imagine how non-threatening you look with all of your hair shoved into a lump on your head, yet he still looks like he’s been scolded.

“Oh, um... I’m sorry.” You turn back to the mirror and pull the wig onto your head, securing it with a huge clump of bobby pins.

“I have to go and get my costume on, I’ll see on stage.” You exit quickly, with something angry, sad, and ugly forming in your stomach.

The feeling of opening night is one that eludes a description. It’s like there’s a pit in your stomach, but the pit is lined with glitter and fireworks. Wonderful and happy and relived, but still anxious.

“Happy opening!” You sing while waltzing into the boys room, wearing a pair of sweatpants over your already fastened corset.

“Happy opening!” They chorus in response. The room is already in perfect chaos, with Hyuck and Lucas doing full fledged reenactments of whatever song comes on shuffle while Jaehyun stands between them and struggles to brush on mascara. You laugh at the scene while settling into a makeup chair.

“How are you feeling?” Xiaojun asks from his seat next to yours. A smile spreads on your face at the question, causing your hands to hiccup while they unpack your makeup bag.

“Excited... Nervous. Happy, but also a little bit sad. Everything, I guess.” He laughs in a way that let’s you know he feels the same, and that he also has no idea how to describe an opening night.

“Everything about sums it up.” He responds with a short laugh, turning in his chair to face the mirror, “I’m really proud of us, you know? Like... You make me cry every night, (y/n), we used to not even be able to get through the death scene without cracking up.” The memory of your wig sliding away from your scalp like a fried egg makes you giggle while you cast a soft smile towards your onstage father. The bright feeling in your stomach turns sour as you see Taeil’s reflection, but you swallow it whole.

“I’m proud of us too, dad.” Your friend visibly cringes, a hearty laugh escaping his smiling lips.

“Nope, nope absolutely hated that!” He whines, pushing you back towards the mirror.

“Aw come on-” You stop talking when Hendery pokes his head into the dressing room, already knowing the exact words he’s about to say.

“Mic check in five!” He calls, the words feeling different than they did the day before.

“Thank you five!” Everyone answers.

It had never been a problem that Taeil’s mic check was done right before yours. Sure, you both had to go back to the dressing room at almost the same time, but it usually never mattered. Xiaojun, Lucas, and Jaehyun were always done far before you and you could find them in the dressing room finishing up their makeup and starting to get in costume. It had never been a problem, until today that is.

You enter the dressing room hoping to immediately jump into a Lucas led dance party. Instead the room is empty except for Taeil, who’s quietly singing while patting blush onto his smooth cheeks. His back goes pin straight when he hears you pick up your makeup bag, moving towards you quickly. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, it’s frustrating how right it feels.

“(y/n), please just-”

“Taeil, I already told you. I can’t do this.” The expression on his face is one of soft determination, small creases forming next to his pretty eyes.

“I know, I know. I just want you to know that... I love you, (y/n), and I have to tell you why. Can I tell you why?” You can feel him looking at you with a gaze that weighs a thousand pounds, so you nod, “I love you because every time I pass a Taco Bell now I think of your sweet laugh in the back of my car. I love you because whenever I drop you off at your house my car still smells like your perfume for hours. I love you because when you blush it goes up to your ears. I love you because every time that we sing together I think of New Years Eve with my mom, when we’d sing around the piano after dinner. And I know, I shouldn’t do this because you have a boyfriend and that’s just... Wrong, but if I didn’t say this-” Your eyebrows furrow hard at his comment, a boyfriend?

“Who’s my boyfriend?” You ask, causing confusion to rise on the boys face, “Taeil, who’s my boyfriend?”

“I-I thought- Donghyuck?” A hodgepodge of emotions bubbles in your chest. It’s like an elation and confusion sundae, topped with disgust sauce and a cherry.

“Taeil, you beautiful, beautiful idiot! Donghyuck’s not my boyfriend, he’s just my friend!” You exclaim as the boys eyes go wide. You grab his face by the cheeks, then remember that he’s wearing a full face and settle for his shoulders.

“He is?!” You nod excitedly as his confused expression is replaced with realization.

“I’d rather eat my own toes than date Hyuck, he’s an asshole!”

“Yea see you’d say stuff like that and I’d get really confused-”

“Taeil, we’re going to kiss now. Okay?” He nods, bringing his hands to curve around your neck.

“Oh, okay. More than okay-”

The first thing you notice is that his breath tastes like cinnamon. He tastes like cinnamon and clover honey, and you think that you could get addicted to it. You think you are addicted to it. The way that his hands hold your face like it’s a diamond, the way that his soft lips engulf yours, the way that the taste of him has you subconsciously following him while he pulls away. You think that kissing Taeil is one of those things that only takes a taste to make someone addicted.

“I love you, so, so much,” He breathes, foreheads resting against one another. You’ve never felt more in a bubble than you do right now, “I don’t know what to say...”

“So don’t.” You sigh while moving forward, securing his lips in a second kiss. His lips are moving with yours within seconds, his tongue briefly slipping into your mouth. It takes every ounce of your self control to not melt in his hands.

He’s moving his hands down to your waist when the door opens. You don’t even notice, too lost in the weight of Taeil’s mouth and the motion of his hands. You two are completely lost in each other, until Lucas let’s out a high pitched scream.

“Damn it! Hyuck, you won!” He shouts, causing you and Taeil to jump away from each other (and for Taeil to hit his tailbone on the makeup counter. You jokingly offered to ‘kiss it better.’)

“Finally!” Hyuck says, entering the dressing room with an arm slung around Xiaojun’s shoulder.

“It’s only been a week!” You cry defensively, settling into Taeil’s side. You take in his warmth and think to yourself, ‘I could get used to this.’

“We’ve been betting on this since the read through.” Jaehyun states blankly while grabbing his costume from the rack.

“Yea, we were starting to think Sicheng was gonna win with ‘after the show.’” Xiaojun jokes, holding his hand out to silently ask Jaehyun to pass him his first costume, “I’ve already lost, act one sing through.” You laugh brightly, slapping Taeil’s chest with one hand. He’s staring at you like you’re made out of a million dollars, for the first time you can notice it.

“I think after you explain this I might have to dig your grave.” He laughs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You decide that you like it when his kisses are gentle, too.

“Yea, probably. Now go get your wig on, cutie.” Your friends gag loudly as you give him a short peck and bounce away over to where your wig sits on the other side of the dressing room. You don’t want it to be any other way.

“You know, the wig actually looks kinda pretty with the whole costume.” Taeil says, pushing an artificial ringlet off of your face. You laugh while rolling your eyes and grabbing his hand.

“Just like how you don’t look stupid in that ruffle shirt?” He smiles in a way that makes his eyes crinkle, you add the sight to a list of things you never want to forget.

“Exactly!” You’re going to kiss him again, but sadly you’re interrupted by Hendery poking his head into the dressing room.

“Places in five!” You suddenly remember that it’s opening night, then you think of how easy it’ll be to portray Cosette’s story tonight.

“Thank you five!” You both respond, Taeil bringing a hand to cradle your jaw.

“I’ve never dreaded leaving a dressing room more.” You whine, giving your boyfriend a sad glance. He smiles in a way that makes your whole body feel warm.

“Don’t worry,” Taeil whispers before pressing a quick kiss to your lips, “we’ll have plenty of time to do this after the show. Now go to your dressing room, I’ll see you onstage.”

Later, during notes, your director says that the first glance between Marius and Cosette was the best one yet. You know it’s because the entire time while cooped up in your dressing room you thought of nothing other than Moon Taeil’s lips on yours.

When the cast list for Grease was posted you were checking out at Sheetz with Taeil. Jaehyun, Xiaojun, Lucas, Sicheng, Hendery, and Donghyuck were quietly waiting for you two at a table, speaking anxiously amongst themselves. Well, until everyone’s phones went off at the same time. The only thing you could make out was someone yelling ‘cast list!’ and Xiaojun dropping his phone face first onto the tile. Along with people harassing Hendery for information.

(”Don’t act like you don’t know!” Lucas accused while offering a hand to Xiaojun who was assessing the damage on his phone. While on the floor.

“I’m telling you, I’m just the five guy!”)

“Here’s your receipt, have a great day!” The cashier chirped while handing the receipt to your boyfriend. There was a knot forming in your stomach as you walked over to your friends table with three bagfuls of snacks, but it released as Taeil put a hand on your shoulder.

“Relax, Sandy.” He whispered into your ear. The words made you blush all the way up to your ears.

“We haven’t seen the list yet Danny!” You quip back, hoping desperately that he didn’t notice your red cheeks. (He noticed, your cheeks got a firm kiss along with a boyish giggle.)

“(y/n)!” Haechan squeals while running over and grabbing you by the shoulders, “Look at the list!” A nervous giggle slips past your lips as you move to grab your phone. You stop when you notice that Taeil’s already on it, turning to face him while inhaling deeply.

“Give it to me straight, Doc.” You deadpan, causing him to let out a breathy laugh.

“Cute.” The way he says it makes you want to explode, “Okay, we’re looking.”

As always, you bit your cheek and nodded along while he read out everyone’s roles. For the next three minutes, the only words that your brain could conjure were ‘mhm’, ‘oh, that’s great!’, and ‘that’ll be fun!’ Other words don’t exist until Taeil gasps dramatically.

“What is it? Is it good, is it bad. You know what? If it’s bad I want Jaehyun tell me, because-”

“It’s good!” He interjects, effectively cutting off your rabbit tail, “We are the cool couple at a made up high school in the fifties!”

“Oh,” You say, heart rate slowing, “that’s good. We’re good!”

“We were already good though, right?”

“No, yes! I just meant like... Good at theatre!” The eclectic bubbling in your chest is making it hard to talk, but the way that your sweet boyfriend is smiling makes it okay.

“Oh, yea. I guess we are.” He smiles a goofy smile, and your stomach does back flips. In that moment it doesn’t matter that you’re in a Sheetz dining room while surrounded by all of your screaming friends, you want to kiss Taeil more than you want to breathe. So you do, effectively forming a perfect and pink bubble around you two. You’re about to pull away for air when Hyuck screams.

(“Get a room!” )

You were all now sitting at the table, everyone talking excitedly about the show and their parts. It was a happy conversation, filled with laughter and remembering Les Mis.

“Remember that terrible wig you had?” Donghyuck starts while shoving a potato chip into his mouth, “You looked like a poodle.”

“I think she looked pretty.” Taeil comments quietly, wrapping an arm around you.

“Aww,” You coo, nestling into the boys side, “thank you honey.” You’re about to kiss his cheek, but then Donghyuck gags dramatically.

“Hey, who do you think’s gonna fall in love this time around?” Sicheng teases while budding into the conversation.

You think that sitting there with everyone is the way that life was intended to be lived.

#Moon Taeil #taeil x reader #taeil imagines #taeil fluff #taeil ff #nct #nct fluff #admin reid #yall this took me forever to write bc id periodically have to get up and sing mt songs #i am WEAK #also i love taeil so much he is prettiest boy #im insanely happy to finally post this pls pls enjoy <3 #the writing tag

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jamlocked · 5 years ago

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C, J, U, V and X :))

C - A ship you have never liked and probably never will.

Ohhhh, boy. I could go three ways on this really...or maybe two, idk. I feel like my answer will be taken as problematic - - and I’m going for it anyway, because it’s just my opinion.

The ship I dislike the most is Sherlolly. It’s not because I don’t like Molly - I do, a lot. It’s not because that would make Sherlock straight or bi - the whole argument that used to fly about that Sherlolly = homophobic is fucking gross. It’s just not a ship that does anything for me. I used to think that I just found it boring (and this is NOT me saying that Molly is boring, or het romance is boring, or any of that), but I’ve come to realise it’s mostly because it vibes with the part of Sherlock’s narrative I like the least. The whole, ‘Sherlock was weird and abnormal with no friends, but now we’re going to turn him into a complete human being’, thing. Which, VOMIT.

Again, I’m not saying that het romance is too ‘normal’ to fit here. Sherlock could have a massive thing with Irene, and that would have a vibe I like far more. The issue I have with Sherlolly is that Sherlock has always been an extreme type of character in whatever canon. Molly, in BBC canon, is this wonderful character Sherlock came to find a great friend in. The notion that he could ‘learn to be normal/complete’ seems to be the arc of the four seasons, complete with the whole ‘I love you’ scene in TFP, where they full dangled the possibility of future!canon!Sherlolly by at least making Sherlock think about it seriously. It seems to equate with ‘the more we teach Sherlock to fit into ‘normal’ society, the more chance he has of having a ‘normal’ relationship, with someone...’ - okay, I’m not going to hold Molly up as a bastion of normality, given she falls for sociopaths and does autopsies, but even if you take that into consideration, it’s still the most ‘normal’ relationship the writers could put him into. A casual viewer would go, ‘he’s got a girlfriend now, he behaves better, he gets on with his family, he’s straight/white/upper middle-class = totally a character I’m easy with’.

And that’s just not what interests me when it comes to relationships I want to watch. Now, if we’re talking about dark!Molly who’s into Glee and cats, but also runs a black market organ business and wants Sherlock to help sort out the competition - I’m totally here for that. If Molly likes her knitted cardigans and secretly wants to kill Sherlock, while he likes his suits and is madly in love her but also wants to use her to get to her criminal mother who harvests dead bodies and practices necromancy? I’m all ears.

But ‘Sherlock gets a girlfriend, solves crimes, learns manners and is never obnoxious again, and OH LOOK WE FIXED HIM’ - fuck, no. ...that was a lot of words, and I didn’t explain it very clearly, but I’ma stop now.

J - Name a fandom you didn’t think about until you saw it all over Tumblr. (You don’t have to care about it or follow it; it just has to be something that Tumblr made you aware of.)

Tumblr has made me aware of BTS, The Witcher (although I had seen adverts for that on Amazon, but idk anything about it), Hamilton, Moomin, MASH, The Mentalist, Kyo Dir en Grey, Elementary ...oh man, there must be more, but I forget. I’ve been here a few years now. I’d heard of most of these shows/people before Tumblr, of course, but didn’t know much about them. And still don’t on some of them, but am definitely aware of them now.

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

Jim Moriarty, obviously. HE IS SO FUN. And there is such pain under the smirk, and THOSE SUITS, BABY. I am the biggest sucker in the world for obsession, and ...well, see my answer to X in a minute. There’s nothing about him I don’t ove. So much scope to play with in fic as well.

An old fandom of mine - Les Mis. My fave character is Javert, because of course I love the most awful dick of them all. Again, with him, see X below. And also again, so much to write about. I literally nearly based a PhD proposal around him, and his representation, his place in 19th century France, his attitudes and where they came from. Did you know the character of Sam Gerard in The Fugitive is based on him? He’s relentless, he’s unforgiving, and he collapses at the end in the most spectacular way possible. Total prick, and I fucking love him. :D

I’m really trying to think of character I love who isn’t a total douche, just for the sake of variety. But I can’t, so lets go with Gene Hunt from Life on Mars.

I expect most people won’t have heard of/seen this show (but omg they might be making a new series, sa;ldfkjsalfksj I CANNOT :D), but if you can watch it, you should. Gene Hunt is awful - a 70s cop with all the faults of the time. Corrupt, mostly alcoholic, sexist, violent, homophobic, racist...but also hilarious, and there’s a really big heart under there. You learn that he might do nothing but call people the worst names in the world, but he always ends up doing his job in. If you watch this four minute video, you’ll get the gist. If you’re a fan of the Discworld series and you like Sam Vimes, you’ll recognise Gene. He’s the arshetype of Copper, and he goes on this great arc from being the stereotypical bad copper of the 70s, to being something quite different. And he really is hilarious, with insane charisma. He and Sam Tyler are the perfect double act. :D

V - Which character do you relate to most?

Jim Moriarty. I may not be a criminal mastermind, but only because I’m not that smart. And don’t have his level of swag, because c’mon. Who does?

X - A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom.

AHAHA. My bulletproof trope is ‘two sides of the same coin’. Sherlock/Moriarty. Javert/Jean Valjean - who, incidentally, were two characters based off one man; Vidocq. (A man who more films should be made about, incidentally.) These two are literally two sides of one man. Even Gene Hunt represents part of Sam’s psyche in Life on Mars, as well as the more obvious old vs new, forensic vs gut instinct.

But yeah, in literally any fandom, you show me a protagonist and an antagonist that are more or less the same person, and I’m there. Cannot get enough of it.

#anti-sherlolly #sherlock #life on mars #les mis #javert #fandom #all about meme #omg that got so long I'M SORRY

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kjack89 · 6 years ago

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Testimony

This idea popped in my head and I couldn’t not. This could easily be the start of something longer, a series, perhaps, if there’s any interest in me continuing it. And if not, well...the potential it sets up is sweet in and of itself ;)

ExR, Modern AU.

“Case number 246-01,” the bailiff read in a bored voice. “The State v. Enjolras. Judge Madeleine presiding. All rise.”

Enjolras stood, smoothing the invisible wrinkles from the immaculate suit he wore for the occasion, one of the ones his mother insisted on buying for him before she gave up on speaking to her son altogether. Luckily, his measurements hadn’t changed much in the years since and the suit still fit well.

Very well, if the looks a few of the women on the jury had tossed his way when he walked in were anything to go off of.

Judge Madeleine entered the chamber to begin the second day of the trial against Enjolras and took a seat. “You may be seated,” he said, glancing over the notes in front of him. “Is the prosecution ready to begin?”

District Attorney Javert stood, looking even more dour than usual, and it took every ounce of self-control that Enjolras possessed not to glare at the man who, during opening arguments the previous day, had referred to Enjolras as a homegrown terrorist who would settle for nothing less than the total destruction of all government institutions.

Which was hyperbolic even for Enjolras’s standards. At best he wanted to destroy a solid half of governmental institutions.

Maybe two thirds.

Public libraries could stay. The rest was on thin fucking ice.

Javert cleared his throat and Enjolras blinked. “The State is ready to call our first witness,” Javert said, and Madeleine nodded.

“You may proceed.”

For the first time, Javert glanced at Enjolras, something like triumph in his expression as he announced, “The State calls Sebastien Grantaire to the stand.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth as Grantaire swaggered into the courtroom, trying not to look like he was seething. He had known it was coming, but still — seeing Grantaire take the stand, seeing him raise his right hand to swear to tell the truth against Enjolras—

“Objection.”

Marius Pontmercy stood up, looking almost unconcerned as murmurs broke out in the courtroom. Madeleine blinked, looking almost amused. “You have an objection before Mr. Javert has even asked a single question of the witness?”

“I do,” Marius said.

“On what grounds?” Javert spluttered, looking indignant.

“Spousal privilege,” Marius said. “Mr. Grantaire cannot be compelled to testify against his husband.”

No sooner were the words were out of Marius’s mouth than all hell seemingly broke out in the courtroom. Javert was shouting something, looking positively apoplectic, and as the bailiff hurried to restrain him, Grantaire turned and winked at Enjolras.

--- Four Weeks Earlier ---

Marius looked unusually grave as he stood in doorway of the backroom at the Musain. “I have bad news,” he announced, and the general babble died down as everyone looked over at him. “There’s a warrant out for Enjolras’s arrest.”

Bahorel snorted. “Not the first time,” he said dismissively.

“Not likely to be the last time, either,” Joly added with a grin.

But Enjolras could tell by the look on Marius’s face that this was more serious than his usual brushes with the law. “On what charges?”

“Terrorism,” Marius said grimly, and the room fell silent, “in addition to making a terroristic threat and providing support for an act of terrorism.” He paused. “And a host of other things, too, criminal conspiracy, inciting a riot, assaulting an officer of the peace, and, uh—” He checked his notes. “Seventy-five unpaid parking tickets, apparently.”

Courfeyrac winced. “Oh, man, most of those are mine,” he started, but Enjolras gave him a look.

“I very highly doubt the parking tickets are the state’s highest concern,” he said dryly, before looking back at Marius. “They don’t have enough evidence to make the most serious charges stick, so—”

“Actually, they do,” a tired voice said from behind Marius, and Combeferre steered an exhausted-looking and evenly more dishevelled than usual Grantaire into the room. “I just picked Grantaire up from a Grand Jury proceeding.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said, his eyes never leaving Enjolras’s. “They had a subpoena, and Combeferre told me that if I lied on the stand, he’d have Bahorel kick my ass.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “If you had lied, I wouldn’t need Bahorel to kick your ass,” he told him, a low growl in is voice. “I’m not worth that.” Grantaire snorted but didn’t contradict him and Enjolras looked back at Marius. “So that’s it,” he said tiredly. “Any one of us being compelled to testify would spell the end of Les Amis, and we all knew that going into this.” He straightened, squaring his shoulders. “When do I turn myself in?”

But Marius was looking between Grantaire and Enjolras, something calculating in his expression. “You have 72 hours,” he said slowly. “But there’s a lot that we can do in 72 hours.”

For the first time since arriving, Grantaire looked away from Enjolras, turning to arch an eyebrow at Marius. “What do you have in mind?”

-----

“This is outrageous!” Javert burst as they were ushered into the judge’s chambers and Judge Madeleine sighed, settling himself down at his desk. “Spousal privilege — assuming these two are even legally married — only covers privileged communication after the marriage, and Mr. Grantaire and Mr. Enjolras sure as hell were not married when the incident—”

“Alleged incident,” Marius interjected smoothly.

“When the incident in question,” Javert ground out, throwing Marius a nasty look, “took place.”

Madeleine steepled his fingers and gave Marius and Enjolras both a measured look. “Is this true?” he asked.

Marius shook his head. “No,” he said. “My client was married to Mr. Grantaire at the time of the incident. In fact, they’ve been married for six years.”

“Seven,” Enjolras interjected, before hastily adding, “Sorry, Your Honor, but I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I got the anniversary wrong.”

Madeleine chuckled and Marius smiled slightly. “Sorry, yes, seven years,” he said. “I have their marriage certificate right here, signed, dated and notarized by a licensed justice of the peace.”

“But not filed with the state!” Javert snapped, as Marius handed the marriage license over to Valjean, who looked at it with interest. “Or else it would have come out during discovery, and therefore the validity—”

“My client was married in 2012,” Marius said, “before United States v. Windsor or Obergefell v. Hodges. With whom would you have liked them to file their marriage certificate, when their marriage was not, at the time, legally recognized?” Javert scowled but didn’t reply and Marius continued, “Things have changed so rapidly since then that Mr. Grantaire and my client simply forgot to file the documentation until recently.”

Javert let out what sounded suspiciously like a snarl. “Then why didn’t Mr. Grantaire bring this up during his Grand Jury testimony?”

“That was my fault,” Enjolras said, apologetically, and everyone turned to look at him. “We’ve been — well, we were fighting at the time, for lack of a better term. And so he took it out on me by testifying at the Grand Jury. But he didn’t realize— he never thought this would happen.” Enjolras lifted his chin, something defiant in his expression. “We love each other. And he would never testify against me.”

Javert glared at Enjolras before switching his glare to Madeleine. “You can’t seriously be buying this!” he protested.

“I have no reason not to,” Madeleine said lightly, passing the marriage certificate back to Marius, who looked like he was trying very hard not to grin. “The state is welcome to continue its case against Mr. Enjolras, but you’ll be doing it without Mr. Grantaire’s testimony.”

Javert looked positively furious, and Enjolras let out a breath it felt like he’d been holding for weeks.

-----

A few hours later, Enjolras walked down the stairs in front of the courthouse, grinning at Marius and Grantaire waiting for him. “Wish I had been there to see Javert’s face when he dropped all charges,” Grantaire said a little mournfully as Enjolras reached them.

“It was a beautiful sight,” Enjolras assured him. “Where’s everyone else?”

Marius rolled his eyes. “You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, remember?” he said, with somewhat fond exasperation. “Now you two get out of here. I’m going to swing back by Madeleine’s office and thank him—”

“He wants to go make eyes at Madeleine’s secretary,” Grantaire told Enjolras. “That’s all he’s been able to talk about while we were waiting for you. While you were busy almost going to jail, he was busy ooh-ing and aah-ing over some poor girl.”

“I was not!” Marius protested, beet red, and Enjolras just shook his head.

“Go,” he ordered. “I need a word with my husband anyway.”

They both watched Marius head back up to the courthouse before Grantaire turned to Enjolras, his smile softening. “Husband,” he said mildly. “I’m still not used to hearing that.”

“And I’m still not ok with this.”

Grantaire cocked his head slightly. “Being married to me? I don’t blame you.”

“No, lying,” Enjolras said, glaring at him. “I told you—”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “That you’re not worth it, yeah, I remember.” He gave Enjolras a pointed look. “Thing is, I didn’t lie. I said not one word of falsehood in that courtroom, on the record, or anywhere else.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “A lie of omission is still a lie.”

The corners of Grantaire’s mouth twitched. “Barely.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Still—”

“You are worth it,” Grantaire interrupted, something soft in his expression. “Forging a marriage license, lying under oath — you are more than worth it.” He paused. “You’re the only one that’s worth it. To me, at least.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t quite seem to find any words to say, so he settled for ducking his head and swallowing, hard. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “So, uh, how long do you think we need to stay married?”

“That depends,” Grantaire said lightly. “When does the statute of limitations run out?”

“Not sure that there is a statute of limitations for terrorism.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Ah well,” he said cheerfully. “Thankfully I didn’t have any better offers.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes again, but it was with an almost begrudging smile. “You sure you can handle being married to me for that long?”

“For the rest of my life?” Grantaire asked, with a breathy laugh. “I somehow think I’ll manage.” He arched an eyebrow at Enjolras. “The question is, can you?”

Enjolras met his eyes squarely. “Have you ever known me to back down from a challenge?” he asked.

Grantaire’s grin widened and he slowly shook his head. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go tell everyone the good news.” He turned away then paused, glancing back at Enjolras before holding out his hand, a small smirk crossing his face. “Do you permit it?”

Instead of answering, Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand and laced their fingers together, giving Grantaire a smile that was entirely too soft to be the ‘challenge accepted’ grin he intended. “Let’s go.”

#Enjolras x Grantaire #ExR #Enjoltaire #Enjolras #Grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern AU #developing relationship #fake marriage #trial #crime

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toomuchawesomenessforyou · 5 years ago

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Thank you @ifindus for tagging me 🌼 and sorry about the 9. question: I couldn’t describe the situation wtih any less words 😅. Still, I had fun with all of this!

🌸🌸🌸

1) What’s your favourite place in the world?

Stony shores and raised bogs: just a good broad red-coloured raised bog full of cranberries and hare's-tail cottongrass and if you bother to look a little closer then you’ll notice the tiny pink sundews glistening in the sun. And the smell of both the raised bog and the sea is just the best. So soothing.

2) What’s your favourite book?

“Pokuraamat” (“The Poku Book”) by Edgar Valter probably XD Idk but it was my fave as I was a child and the aesthetic is still deeply engraved into my heart <3 I actually adore “Memoirs of Ivan Orav or the Past as Azure Mountains” by Andrus Kivirähk as well. I love history so a good parody about our tragic past is just my jam. I mean what else there is to do to just laugh about it all and move one. No one cares about the little nations anyways.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

3) What’s a guilty pleasure you have?

I wouldn’t deem it that guilty of a pleasure since I’ll always stay a child in my heart (I promised Pippi!) but anything “childish”, if you may, I still enjoy even though I’m a grown up now. Like playing on a playground or tag with friends. The only tragic thing is that I don’t have anyone to “play” with since everyone is too busy being “grown up” and thinking about their image in front of strangers. Well, at least I know how to still enjoy life. 😛

4) What’s your favourite snacks?

Blueberries, blackcurrants and gooseberries. Sadly it’s the type of snack you won’t get fresh the whole year.

5) Do you have any musicals you like?

To be honest I haven’t seen that many but the most recent ones I adored were Hamilton and Les Misérables. The last one I got to see in real life and damn the actor for Javert and his costume were hot! (Guess his songs helped to create this chilly atmosphere full of authority)

6) Do you have any games you like?

Since it’s me we’re only talking about board games. I love Dixit a lot. There’s like four extensions to it on my shelf.

7) What are you most looking forward to do after this pandemic is over?

Since my time during the quarantine was dedicated to Zoom seminars and writing my thesis I’m planning on resting when I’m finally finished with the latter. I’d like to go hiking and dedicate more time to drawing and writing fanfiction since I’ve come up with so many new ideas for stories over this time under quarantine.

8) What’s your favourite disney movie?

🐉🗡️ MULAN !!!!!! 100% NO questions asked! It always was and always will be my favourite. Still, an honorary mention will be given to Atlantis as well.

9) What are you most proud of in your life?

In the 7. grade I went to the German Department in my school which basically meant that all the main subjects were in German with German teachers from Germany. So the 7. grade me was quite shooketh with the sudden intense German 24/7 and when my Math teacher asked me a question and I didn’t know the answer to it I went red in my face. The teacher noticed it and with a loud voice told the whole class “Haha, your face is as red as a lobster!!” ...okay, teacher. It happened once more only this time it was “Haha, your face is as red as your deskmate’s sweater!!” Since that day I decided to hide my emotions from that teacher as well as I could and never speak in his class or else he’s gonna comment on something that I can’t really change in front of everyone again. I mastered the art of “I have no emotions” and actually never spoke in his class again. The thing was that this type of handling the teachers I soon started to practice in other German subjects as well because most of the teachers happened to be difficult persons which meant that the perfect way to deal with them without any problems was silently obeying. I mastered that as well. Now, the problem was that for Germans speaking is apparently a very important part of the class. 50% of the grade of one subject consisted of only speaking in class. And I HATED that. Still do! Because it didn’t matter if you perfectly and carefully summed up everything in one sentence. The only way you were valid in the eyes of the German teachers was when you talked a lot, even if it was just straight up bullshit. I’ve never been the type of a guy to just talk about something, I need to get straight to the point and that didn’t go well with the teachers. Basically, everyone thought that I just wasn’t good enough in German so that’s why I never talked.

Now fast forward to the end of the 12. grade where we were taking our Abitur and specifically the speaking part of the German exam which consisted of 20 min non-stop talking about a literary piece we were handed 15 min prior. No doubt no one had any faith in my German skills because I had never talked in the class that much. And boy how everyone in the room was shook when the results were announced and I actually was the second best with my score in the speaking part in the whole class full of literal geniuses. My German Literature teacher seeked my out twice, once even during the after-party of our graduation, to ask “How did you do that?” The second time he asked I decided that I’ve had enough with playing this obedient silent student and told him that I started learning 3 days before the exam day (which was outrageous by the standards of my German teachers) and that I actually never read more that one chapter from one of the four books that were chosen for our Abitur because I hated it so much. And you know how he answered? He said a tiny “oh” and walked silently away. No comments. No nothing. I felt so empowered. So alive suddenly. It was the last day I had to see those teachers in my life and I actually threw away my shackles and for once said what I actually thought into their face. I’ll probably always deem this moment as the proudest moments I’ve ever had.

10) What makes you happy?

🎶 Singing. I have been in a choir since I was 3, for two years I was in a school band and every now and then I would perform during public ceremonies in school or for the important guests there. I’ve never officially learned singing anywhere but experience is a good teacher as well :) Singing is one of the few things that always helps me forget my problems and makes everything feel so much better.

Hiking in nature makes me content as well. I dare to say that I am quite a nature loving person. Just hand me my camera and the normally 30 min long stroll through the woods will turn into a 3 hour long session of capturing the tiniest details the forest has to offer.

Travelling is a passion of mine as well but I’m not rich so yeah there’s that…

🌸🌸🌸

I’m tagging @justajojokejobro, @kakashis-kunoichi, @sand-rose, @succulentbutt, @who-let-the-deans-out-doctor-who, @louiserandom, @hokutodecuisine, @raven1aris and anyone else who wants to participate!

My questions for you can be found under the cut:

1) What is your favourite kind of cake?

2) What language would you want to magically learn overnight and why?

3) What do you think about Eurovision? (Do you have any favourite performances?)

4) What is the best food your mother/grandmother makes/has made?

5) Do you have any people in your family tree whose history is interesting or about who you know a funny story you would like to share?

6) Do you collect anything?

7) What are you good at?

8) What is something you are trying to achieve or master at the moment?

9) Is there something weird/uncommon that you like/do?

10) What makes you happy?

#tag game

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wilwywaylan · 5 years ago

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In only seven days (or the life and times of a sullen convenience store employee) - part 2

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern AU, mainly Montparnasse x Jehan Prouvaire, 7453 words

Poor Montparnasse is still stuck at his job at the convenience store, and people are still coming in, weirder and weirder. But not everyone is out to upset him, and he may even get some customers he might enjoy.

Dedicated to @kujaku-myoo, @jesvisfarovche and @aux-barricades

Part 1 here.

Also on AO3 !

On Thursday, Montparnasse is surprised to wake up minutes before his alarm. He grabs the mirror always faithfully put on the box that serves as his night-stand, checks his face under every angle. Not a blemish, not a hint of a red mark. His skin is tight and as fair as ever, his eyes perfect, without the slightest red marring the white. He was expecting a bad night, what with that strange fever yesterday, and to wake up tired, disoriented, or worse, with a sore. Which would have make him call in sick, and then trouble would have been knocking at his door. Or Javert. Same thing.

This time, he takes all the time he needs to go through his beauty regimen, first for his skin, then for his hair, styling it properly. He ponders on the use of a little make-up, but that shop is not worth him putting his best. Mussed-up hair will do. A trip in the kitchen brings him only a slightly hit apple. Not very good. He takes it anyway. He'll have to grab some snack from the shop later. The owner will berate him for that, but he'll just have to bat his eyelashes at him to get him off his back. Montparnasse shrugs his jacket on, ignoring the shivers running up his back at this thought, and out the door he goes.

He walks through the streets leading to the shop, his shoulder hunched up a little to block the wind sweeping through the streets even as the sun is still shining on him. It's cold, fall is not that far away. He'll need a new coat sooner or later, something warm and solid that will last him a year or two. He glances at the students around him, eyeing their clothes up and down, but none of their pricey coats catches his eye. Some of them may feel warm, but they are horrible, badly cut, in horrid colours. Overpriced hipster rags.

Thinking of crappy rags brings the image of the person from yesterday to his mind, and he almost stops. Why is he now thinking about that hippie reject ? Probably that style. Those shirts were so awful they probably burnt his retinae, and he'll see them everywhere he goes, an awful plaid pattern overlapping everything he sees. He shudders. What a cruel twist of fate that would be. To only be able to see everything in plaid. Tartan. Tartan everywhere. He'd rather be strangled to death with a scarf made of synthetic yarn rather than live in a world of gaudy stripes. Well he'll just have to close his eyes next time Flowerchild comes in the shop, and he'll be find. If they do. Which they will probably. Not that it is of any interest for him, of course.

The daytime clerk looks at him funnily when he comes in, but he doesn't spare her a glance, just goes to take his place behind the counter. He ponders for a moment if it's worth ruining his hair with his cap. But he needs to be on his best behaviour, and it means wearing that horrid thing. He puts it as slowly as possible, trying to keep his hair in place. He'll need to check in a cooler door later if it's not too mussed, but he's sure it's still better than those last days. Anything would. So he puts on his most polite - well, his less aggressive - attitude, and waits.

And waits. And waits more. But the doorbell rests silent, as does the rest of the shop. It's... eerie. The neon lights flicker to life, instantly banishing every shadow, bathing everything in a crude, blueish light. Perfect, now I'm a horror movie, Montparnasse snickers. Still better than a teen flick. He wants to look as unimpressed as he can, but the stillness everywhere around him is starting to run on his nerves. It weights on him, and he suddenly feels very lonely and not that strong. The reds of a nearby pyramid of cans is assaulting his eyes, way too bright and cheerful. Almost looking like.... Don’t think like that. Nope. It's not blood, it's a fucking ton of coke, and you're not in a horror movie. Now stop being an idiot.

The scolding doesn't do much for his mood, but fortunately, the doorbell breaks the quiet around him, chiming happily when the door opens, letting a bit of the outside buzz, reminding him that he's not alone in the world. A whirlwind of colours crosses the door, and Montparnasse's heart gives a small tug. He ignores it ; there's no reason to be affected by the person (boy ? man ?) who just came in. Nothing interesting to see in a bundle of energy zooming between the shelves. Montparnasse walks back to the counter, as leisurly as possible.

The other is back two minutes later, with an armful of sugary snacks he dumps on the counter. If he was the least worried for him, Montparnasse would advice to cut on the sugar, maybe it would help with the bouncing ; even as he's just standing in front of him, the man - because despite the small stature and wild curls, it's a man, around his age - is almost jumping up and down. He's babbling, too, Montparnasse doesn't know if he's talking to him or just vocalizing his thoughts, but he doesn't care beside a very dire need for him to shut up. Why would he care about the person he's buying a snack for and who, if Montparnasse is following, is too precious a person to let them wait and can't eat some lower-quality chips, and certainly not those soggy peanut-flavoured thingies and blah blah blah. He needs to tune him out, or he'll probably strangle him with his bowtie. Yes, because he's wearing a bowtie. Montparnasse has to applaude his courage, because he didn't think people between five and seventy-five years old still wore bowties outside of the circus. He should introduce him to the other dude with his sweater vest, they'd look amazing together... except that not, they'd look awful. Awful-er. Not that Montparnasse cares, of course, he just wants that nuisance in a pink polo shirt out of his shop.

Finally, finally, the pink babbling nuisance is gone with his sugary poison, and Montparnasse can go back to his... well, nothing, since he needs to wait for the next customer, and he really, really doesn't want to go musing in the aisles about how everything looks awful under those lights and a setting for a horror movie and... No. Better go back to fix his hair or try to commit suicide with a Mars bar wrapper. Anything to help doing his time faster.

He's munching on his second chocolate bar of the evening, trying not to think too much about the telltale effect of chocolate on one's skin, when the door opens again, causing another little hitch of his breath. Because he's surprised by the violence it opens with, hitting the stand behind it, and the small tornado that dashes inside and out of his sight in an instant. Great, another weirdo. He really missed them. That one sounds familiar, though. And he thinks "sounds" because, like the one before him, he's babbling. This, and a glimpse on the anti-theft mirror above the shelf shows him a very, very colourful scarf. Very long. Cool. So Bandage Guy is back with a vengeance.

And with the whole stock of rubbing alcohol, more bandages, an elastic one for sprained ankles, and at least a dozen bottles of sanitizer. Montparnasse must make a very surprised -or stupid - face, because the guy stops his muttering to give him what could be an endearing smile if Montparnasse did have an iota of interest in anyone here.

- My friends tend to get hurt easily, he explains.

What do you have to answer to that kind of things ? Montparnasse just shrugs, and hopes the guy is not launching in a tirade. He doesn't, just piles his stuff in the messenger bag that seems bottomless. He smiles again, waves goodbye and leaves in a whirlwind of multicolour yarn. Montparnasse just stares after him. What was that ? Why is that guy so cheerful and nice ? He almost sounds like he likes Montparnasse. Weirdo. But not really in a bad way. Not that much.

People come and go, after that, and Montparnasse is kept busy enough that he doesn't have too much time to reflect on his looks, the atmosphere of the shop, or people's clothes. Who is he trying to kid, he always has time to judge people's clothes. It doesn't ask for much concentration, and it's always really fun to do. Especially since the shop is located in what could be the most hipstery place in town, with all those students around, and the bars and shops and everything else that forms their natural habitat. Perfect breeding ground for hipsters. And thus, for some really awful outfits. But none to the level of combining several plaid patterns. Not to mention the denim overalls, the army boots, and the... whole of them. Luckily, none of his patrons offends him with their clothes as Flowerchild did with that outfit. Thank God for small miracles. But each time the doorbell chimes, his heart gives a little off-rhythm beat, and his annoyance level shots up. When will he be in peace ? Probably never.

It's a little past eleven, and the shop is a little less populated now. Montparnasse enjoys a bit of rest on his cellphone, when a flash of orange catch the corner of his eye. Immediately, he gets up and turns around. But his

(hopes drop)

mood changes slightly when he notices that the hair is short, in curls, and very orange instead of coppery, and if the person is wearing plaid, at least it's only one. Okay, it's purple, and clashing a lot with the hair. But far from the train-wreck that was Flowerchild. He's smaller, too, but he's always been smaller, for as long as Montparnasse has known him.

He doesn't move from his spot against the wall of cigarettes, but he gives him his trademark lazy grin, the first genuine smile he's given all week.

- Hello, Alexandre.

- Do not call me Alexandre, Feuilly answers automatically, but there's a hint of a smile lost in all those freckles.

- So, what does bring my baby brother in this den of... whatever ?

- Do I have to remind you again that I'm older than you ?

- Whatever. You'll still be my baby brother.

Feuilly rolls his eyes, but Montparnasse wants to think there's a fondness here. Well hidden, of course.

- So ? he asks. What can I serve my baby brother ?

- Gimme a pack of smokes and cut the "baby brother" crap.

Montparnasse turns to grab a pack. He's kinda amazed to remember which ones Feuilly prefers, it's been a while since they've spent time together.

- Here, he says, putting them in front of him.

Feuilly grabs them with the hast of the thirsty man suddenly being offered a glass of water. He rips the cellophane away, then seems to remember that he's still in a shop and can't just light inside. Sighing, he puts the packs in his shirt pocket. Montparnasse watches him, amused.

- These things can stunt your growth, you know ?

- Fuck you, comes the automatic answer, assorted with a raised middle finger.

- And, Montparnasse asks as he cashes the cigarettes in, how is life treating you ?

Because fuck it, Feuilly might be the only person outside of Patron-Minette he feels like making small talk with.

- As usual. Lots of work, homework, lessons, you know the drill.

He shrugs, as if Montparnasse can't see the rings under his eyes. Feuilly has always been very ambitious, driven by his will to get better, to make himself a better place, by his work and efforts, while Montparnasse has always cruised by and opted for a life of leisure. He's tempted to diss Feuilly's efforts, tell him that he's killing himself and shouldn't work so hard when you can earn a living by just a flick of a knife. But he doesn't, because he does respect Feuilly, if not his choices, and he doesn't want to hurt his feelings. Also, Feuilly probably knows that he's working too hard and is exhausted, better than Montparnasse. So he just nods.

- Working where ?

- Library, mostly. The coffee shop beside the library, too. And a few shifts here and there.

- Got any free time, with all that ?

- I make do.

- How is the art going ?

Feuilly looks pleased that he did remember, a bit puzzled too. Montparnasse pointedly looks at the ink-stained fingers. They chat about art for a few minutes, and Feuilly even gives him his Instagram to see what he makes, before the need of nicotine becomes too strong to resist. As he's turning to leave, Montparnasse notices the bright red pin on his bag. In white is written "les Amis de l'ABC". It rings a bell somewhere in Montparnasse's mind. Maybe he's heard the name somewhere, or seen it, or...

It finally hits him : it's that stupid little clique of students that likes to cause mayhem in the town center, block everything with their protests and wave those stupid signs. He's seen them around once or twice, a bunch of students with way too much time in their hands, protesting this or that. They are led by a not-bad-looking blond who's always furious at the world. Montparnasse's opinion is that they just like to make life difficult for anyone and get arrested. He couldn't give two shits about them, but maybe.... He can try.

- Say, he starts in the most offhand tone he can find, still hanging around those students ?

Feuilly looks at him like he's searching on his face the reason of this question.

- Yeah, he finally answers.

Montparnasse starts arranging the sweets beside the register, in the most casual way.

- Saw one of your friends, earlier that week.

- You're gonna need to be more precise.

Feuilly's tone is suspicious, now.

- Let's see. Tall, ginger, braid, dressed in the dark...

- Gingerbread, uh ?

He's smiling when Montparnasse glares at him.

- I know him, yes.

And he doesn't have anything. Fuck, he's going to play hard to get. Well, to talk. And Montparnasse doesn't know how to get the information out of him. He already got that the person in the gaudy shirts is a man, but he can get more.

- Kind of a hippie, really. Who still wears overalls ?

Feuilly just looks at him, and Montparnasse has the uncomfortable impression that he's reading through him like one of his favourite books.

- How about you cut the crap and tell me what you really want ?

Montpanrasse abandons his sweets to face him.

- You know what I want.

- Maybe I just want you to tell me.

- And maybe I don't want to tell.

- Then maybe I don't want to disclose personal informations about my friend.

They glare at each other for a few moments. Montparnasse doesn't even know what to say. They dress funnily ? I want to know where the last shop aimed at clowns is in this town ? I need to know their name to curse them with better fashion sense ? Not that it's a curse, but for them it'll probably be. No, that doesn't make any sense. He doesn't really know why he wants to learn the name of Flowerchild. But there's something in him that jumped at the occasion and asked, before he could acknowledge it and bury it in the depths of his mind. And now Feuilly is thinking things he's not supposed to think, he's having ideas about him, and Montparnasse doesn't like it. Feuilly is going to think he cares, he has an interest in someone, and he really doesn't. Not at all.

He's ready to jump on Feuilly to poke him in the ribs or some equally cruel punishment, when the door opens again. He doesn't look right away, because he doesn't want to give Feuilly the satisfaction of averting his eyes. But there's a new flash of orange, or rather, copper. Copper hair in long curls. Copper hair he's thought about a lot. Today, it's gathered in a bun, held in place with some kind of very fine net, the small flowers caught under the silvery strings. It's a relief not to see the dreadful assemblage of plaid, but they replaced it with a heavy cardigan in a very bright peach colour. Judging by how long the sleeves are, and how lopsided some parts are, they probably knitted it themselves. There's still some denim, in the form of cut-off barely reaching their thighs, leaving way to expanses of liberty pattern. Lots and lots of liberty patterns, spreading above on a shirt two sizes too large for them, and below on long, leggings-encased legs diving right into those army boots. They walk to the counter, politely greets Montparnasse, then start chatting with Feuilly, leaving him all the time in the world to look at them and wonder why his heart rate is suddenly twice what it was before.

From up close and when he's not busy counting money and keeping control of his hair, his face and his speech, they look even more like some kind of badly-dressed fairy. The curls hanging around their face turn the ugly light into strands of gold. The freckles climb on their high cheekbones, gather on their forehead, and stumble down their upturned nose, because of course they do have an upturned nose. A touch of purple eyeshadow brings out their eyes in a way that's totally not interesting at all. With their shiny hair strewn with silver, and their long fingers waving around as they talk, they look like a fairy who'd lost their way and found shelter here, between the colorful candies and the drain cleaner.

Finally, after ten minutes of a chat that Montparnasse didn't hear, they hug Feuilly goodbye, wave at Montparnasse, and away they go. Montparnasse almost expects to see them float above the floor, but no, they walk in that fairy bouncing pace of them. He knows he must be gaping, and Feuilly is looking at him again, and he must look like some kind of very stupid goldfish, but he just can't find the will to pick his jaw up and get his countenance back. In a few seconds, certainly.

Feuilly's voice finally cuts him out of his reverie.

- He really has an effect on you.

Montparnasse wants to retort something smart, but he's still under the spell, and all that comes out of his mouth is a strangled noise. Feuilly studies him for a bit longer ; just as Montparnasse comes back to his senses, he gathers his stuff, flings his bag on his shoulder.

- Don't worry, he says with a grin that's not entirely sarcastic, Prouvaire has this effect on everyone.

And with that and a salute, he's gone, leaving behind a smell of paint and cigarette, and a confused Montparnasse. Prouvaire. So the fairy is named Prouvaire. Probably a family name, since Feuilly always uses them and even insists that Montparnasse does the same. Then again, hippie child could have hippie parents, who would totally be able to call their baby "Prouvaire" or some other weird flowery name. Not that he knows of any flower named Prouvaire. Except one whispers a snide voice that sounds a little bit like Eponine, but he does a very good job of squashing it.

The rest of the night is a daze. People come and go, things move, Montparnasse presses buttons and sorts coins, but he couldn't for the life of him recount anything. He must have done things right, because no one is yelling at him, or running after him when he leaves. He has better things to think about anyway. So the fairy is apparently a fairy boy, his name is Prouvaire, and he has a very cute smile and a very horrid fashion sense. Montparnasse still tries to think he doesn't care, but he can't even convince himself. Fairy Boy has him under his spell, and he can't believe it. He has a crush. He. has. a crush. on some kind of fairy boy. who can't even dress himself. He doesn't want to admit it, he can't admit it. It's not possible. How can he ? They didn't even exchange more than two sentences ! And he doesn't believe in that "love at first sight" bullshit, because the world doesn't work like that. Maybe for other people, it does, especially when faced with someone as beautiful as Montparnasse, of course. But that's because he's dashing. But that Prouvaire... Well he's cute, there's no need to deny it. And he looks quite nice, friendly, even. And the eyes.... Okay, he does have a crush.

And he's totally lost. What's one supposed to do with a crush ? He's always been the one people crush on, the one seducing everyone. Never has he been the one with feelings. He's supposed to act on it, that he knows. But he'd be damn if he knows how. The only solution would be to ask someone, but who ? It's not as if he's surrounded by excellent references. Eponine is forever pining after her Pontmercy (or after Cosette, he's not too sure sometimes), and it's not as if the rest of Patron-Minette knows anything about love. Or feelings. Or fairies. No, this is something he's going to have to deal with on his own. Fucking fantastic.

~*~

On Friday, Montparnasse is awaken, not by the sweet, shrill sound of his alarm, but by the unmistakable sound of someone rummaging around in the next room. Seeing as the soundproofing in their flat was probably made with butter or something, it kind of sounds like someone is digging a tunnel just under his head. He glances at his phone, groans. He should have been able to sleep half an hour more. Well, what an amazing start of the day.

He crawls out of bed, his eyes still full of sleep. The last images of the dreams still dance in his mind, blurry visions that doesn't want to leave him, despite the loud voice he can now hear through the door and wall. He makes his way down the cramped hallway, and barges in the living room. Babet doesn't even look up, sprawled as he is on the sagging, lumpy couch.

- Why don't you just shut up and work, kid ?

Claquesous, lying on the ground in front of their old battered wardrobe, sends a nod to Montparnasse, and gets back to dig in.

- Can you tell me what's the ruckus and why you think it's a good idea to ruin my beauty sleep by yelling so early ?

- It's 7 PM, Babet answers. As for your beauty sleep...

Montparnasse sends him a glare scary enough to send lessen men running and crying to their mothers, but Babet is used to it and just turns his attention to Claquesous, who's trying to pull something out of the lower door. Seeing as he's not going to get an answer, Montparnasse makes his way to the kitchen. Of course, there's no coffee left, and he has to make some more. Scoundrels, all of them. You can't even count on your partners in crime to leave you some coffee. Talk about a tight knit group.

He's walking back to the living-room when something white runs through his legs, almost knocking him down. He hardly prevents his cup from tipping over, then the thing has already disappeared. Immediately after, Claquesous rams into him, sending his coffee on his shirt. This time, he drops the cup, trying to get the cloth off before it burns him. Claquesous doesn't wait for him to exact revenge, and runs after the intruder.

After a long string of curses, and once he's not in danger of being badly burnt anymore, Montparnasse turns to Babet, who hasn't moved an inch.

- What the fuck ? he asks eloquently.

- Do not fucking swear.

- What the fucking fuck is that fucking thing, and what does it do here, and what is that fucking mess ?

- Remind me to wash your mouth with soap, kid.

Montparnasse kicks him when he walks by him, and goes to rummage through a pile of clothes and other things in the corner of the room, trying to find something correct to wear. Throwing Gueulemer's gigantic shirts and Babet's hideous purple tees aside, he asks again :

- So ? What was that ?

- Something went awry.

- No shit. I could have guessed that myself.

Montparnasse waits, but nothing more comes. Usual with Babet. He probably messed up and doesn't want to acknowledge it. He won't say anything, not even under threat of torture.

Claquesous walks in five minutes later, out of breath and empty handed. Montparnasse looks at him and raises a quizzical eyebrow. Instead of answering, Claquesous turns to Babet.

- It escaped.

- Told you.

- Yes, well, maybe it wouldn't have if you had done anything else than sitting there.

- I brought it here. The rest was up to you.

- Excuse me, Montparnasse cuts them, but could someone tell me what happened before I start kicking your ass ?

- You're welcome to try, kid.

- It happened, Claquesous explains, that Babet here decided that stealing expensive things would be a good way to earn a bit of money. Trafficking goods is always a sure value. Sadly, he decided that the most expensive thing he could be his hands on was a goose.

There's a very long, very heavy silence.

- A what ? Montparnasse finally asks.

- A goose.

He turns towards Babet.

- You stole a goose.

- Yes, kid. I stole a goose.

- What in heaven's sake went through that brain of yours to steal a goose ?

- It was a very prized goose. Important bird.

- So you decided to steal it.

- Do you know what "prized" and "expensive" mean, kid ?

Montparnasse is ready to bite, but Claquesous doesn't let him.

- The thing that he didn't take in consideration is that this bird is a real nuisance. As soon as it was here, it started pushing things off the table and pulling every cable it could put its beak on. Then it hid in the cupboard and... well, you know the end.

- And now ? Babet asks. Where is that fucking thing ?

- Away. It jumps through the window, and went down the emergency ladder with its little flappers. And if you want to run after it, please, be my guest. But I'm not going near that thing again. Ever. It bites.

- Scared of the little bird, maybe ?

Claquesous answers by a very rude and very creative gesture. Babet shrugs and lays down on the couch again, muttering about kids and missed opportunities. Montparnasse finally unearths a shirt out of the laundry pile, and puts it on. It's a bit rumpled, and it's not that young, but it'll do. The ruffles around the neck are a nice touch. Not that he needs to wear his Sunday best to go to work, but the Devil and seduction have this in common that they are in the details. And Montparnasse is always ready to seduce. He throws his jacket on and leaves, abandonning Claquesous, Babet and Gueulemer to their goose problems.

The other clerk looks at him funnily when he strolls in, but he doesn't pay her any attention. Can't he look good ? One can manage a register and not look like a bum. Sadly, he remembers too late that all those goose shenanigans early in the evening didn't gave him the opportunity to get properly ready. A glance in the nearest reflection surface tells him that his skin hasn't been properly moisturised, and his hair is sticking in every direction, to the point that he looks like someone has glued a hedgehog to his head. To think that he's crossed town like this !! Any lesser man than him would probably hide in the back to try and fix that disaster with fingers and water. Not Montparnasse. He pulls the emergency set he always has on his bag, and sets to work. He'll never congratulate himself enough for thinking of keeping some gel, a comb and a bottle of moisturiser on him after last time's disaster. He's still lacking his hair products and favourite cream, but he can't really afford to buy a second jar just to keep in his bag. The basics will have to do. Finally, he's back to his beautiful self, and he can go back to lean on the counter and wait, knowing that he looks his best.

It's around nine o'clock when the door opens, and who comes in, but none other than the man that Eponine is pining after, Marius "Dork in love" Pontmercy. Montparnasse doesn't sneer at him, but he thinks about it very hard. The boy is cute, in a way. A face that can be looked at, clear eyes, healthy hair that deserves a cut. If only he didn't dress like a dork. Old sweaters are only endearing to one's grandmother, and his shoes are worn. There's also the small problem of his expression ; he always looks like he just fell from a cloud or just came out after being locked in a cave for twenty years. All in all, Eponine could do worse. She could do better, of course, but he's not going to tell her that.

He's not on his own, there's a girl with him, and Montparnasse is ready to hate them just because of the way Pontmercy looks at her. Also, she's pretty. Long, brown hair, very shiny, gathered in a bun, a skin to die for, eyes blue as the sky. Her outfit is not something out of the extraordinary, just a blue sundress and a leather jacket, with a pair of boots. But she has customized it well, and there's something in the way she walks... Montparnasse understands a little better now. Not that he wants to be even a second in Pontmercy's mind, but... that girl has something. She's special. And Pontmercy probably things the same, because he's giving her the most disgusting puppy eyes as she goes through the shelves. He's almost drooling at the sight. That dude's self-respect is probably nil. It's almost embarrassing. Montparnasse can only congratulate himself that's he's not as pathetic. He'd rather wear an ugly Christmas sweater, complete with fake antlers, and let people take pics than act like him.

Up close, it's even more obvious. That the girl is charming, first. Her make-up is a work of art, Montparnasse, as an aesthete, can see it. He's never seen sharper eyeliner, except maybe in his mirror, and that's not even sure. She's all smiles while she pays, but he doesn't let it fool him. Should he disrespect her, he'd get his ass kicked in no time. It's also obvious that Pontmercy is head over heels for her. He's still looking at her and only her, and almost trips on his own feet to carry her purchase. Disgusting, but he can't blame him as much as he would like to. Of course, he's an idiot, and he can't see that his best friend has a crush on him, but the girl is worth it. Which makes things so much more complicated. He probably won't tell Eponine that he saw them, he doesn't want to hurt her feelings. Or think about that idiot in love again. Surely that was the worst of the evening.

He's wrong, of course.

He's known Grantaire for a while now, meeting him here and there. They tend to frequent the same places where one can find cheap alcohol, cheaper entertainment and wallets without surveillance. They are what one could consider good acquaintances. Not friends, of course, Montparnasse doesn't do friends. But he's part of the very exclusive group of people that Montparnasse doesn't mind spending some time with, even if it's just to pass the time. And Grantaire is not that bad of a company. He has a tendency to ramble for hours on end if one lets him, about everything and anything that crosses his mind, ranting about things and waxing poetry at the same time. He can be annoying sometimes when his ravings lead him in the direction of some blond guy that leaves in his general area and he becomes downright lyrical, but Montparnasse has learnt to tune him out quite effectively. It's still not worse than Babet.

It's no wonder that Grantaire pushes the door of the shop a little after eleven. It's probably the only one where one can find alcohol at this hour without paying the extremely steep prices in bars around. Grantaire probably needs his daily dose of poison, and discovered too late that his bottles are empty. It's just surprising that he didn't see him earlier. Or more often. But when Grantaire emerges, his arms are full of bottles of lemonade and white-chocolate-coated biscuits. He smiles at Montparnasse, his usual lazy smile, but there's something else in it.

- See that ? he remarks. I'm straightening my act. Soon I'll even be respectable.

- You, respectable ? Does this mean I finally became the Queen of the Underworld ?

- What you do during your free time doesn't concern me. But yeah, I'm cleaning up. Lemonade from now on.

- You became allergic to alcohol or something ?

Grantaire throws his head back and laugh. Montparnasse is a bit afraid that he's going to launch in a tirade about his blonde and how he doesn't like to see him drinking or whatever. But he has to ask something so it's not awkward. That's what not-friends-but-quite-acquainted do.

- Ah no, Grantaire answers. That would be the bane of my existence. No, I've taken up drawing again, and I can't do both. It messes with my hand.

Montparnasse diligently looks at the hand he's shown. There are some drops of paint here and there, but remarkably steady. He must look a bit confused, because Grantaire explains :

- For drawing.

Ah yes. Montparnasse remembers his tendency to draw on everything he can put his hands upon : tablecloths, napkins, receipts, people, .... Montparnasse once got a black rose on his arm, and he was almost sad to see it go. Grantaire sometimes talks about art school and how he spent his time sleeping and stealing the models ("food models" he always specifies with a wink), but it's been a while since he last mentioned it. He must have started again. Then again, either this, or he loves rolling around in paint in his free time. His hoodie was probably green at some point, but it's so stained in paint of all colours that it looks like a unicorn vomited on him. Even his jeans are multicoloured. Montparnasse doesn't want to know how he does it, but it's impressive. In a way.

- So what are you doing ?

The door opens again as Montparnasse listens to Grantaire talk about the painting he started, while ringing the biscuits. He doesn't pay him attention, but Grantaire does, because his speech abruptly ends in a weird, strangled sound. Ah. So this is the man he can't shut up about, except of course when said man is around, the leader of the revolution or whatever. Montparnasse has heard so much about him, he's kind of imagined some sort of god carved out of stone, ready to step down from his pedestal, lightning bold in one hand and sword in the other to smithe down his enemies. To see the man in flesh is.... underwhelming. First, he's... tiny. Like, 50 pounds soaking wet. He doesn't look a day older than seventeen, except that Grantaire wouldn't be head over heels for someone so young, and he may have mentioned one day that they were around the same age. He's cute, Montparnasse hates to concede that, with round cheeks, a small mouth with plump lips, large blue eyes lined with long lashes, and long, blond hair barely held in a ponytail. A pretty face, but nothing to write home about.

Montparnasse steals a glance while the blond goes through the aisles, trying not to be noticed. Then again, compared to Grantaire who seems transfigured by the apparition, anything would be discreet. The guy is more a pretty doll than a vengeful god, but he could be so much better if he wasn't scowling at labels as if they personally offended him, or if there weren't purple shadows under his eyes. Boy probably thinks so much about justice and things that he only sleeps three hours per night. So much for his beauty sleep. And from here, his hair looks... frizzy. Did no one talk to him about conditioner ? It's a shame, really, a waste of pretty blond hair.

When he finally comes to the register, Montparnasse can attest how tiny he really is. Grantaire could lean his chin on the top of his head. Judging by the way he gazes at him, he probably dreams of doing it. Blond Guy doesn't even pay Montparnasse any attention, the nerve, and starts chit-chatting with Grantaire, who looks like Christmas came early. Montparnasse starts ringing the purchases, and takes advantage of the distraction to better observe him. He may not look the part of the Sun deity, but... there's something, now that he's talking, that draws the eye to him. Some kind of... magnetism, even as he talks about nonsense, meetings, weather and the like. Something that pushes people to listen to him. Montparnasse understands a little better what Grantaire can see in him now. His words are convincing, full of fire, and Montparnasse almost wants to join his little clique of students. Almost, of course. Not that he cares. But Blond Guy is convincing.

Finally, as Montparnasse is sure he can't take any more blinding idealism, Blondie gathers his stuff, nods goodbye and leaves. Grantaire and Montparnasse both watch him go, Grantaire with starry eyes, Montparnasse with surprise. The blond hair might look frizzy and in need of a good mask, but it falls down to the small of his back in heavy curls, like a golden cascade. Montparnasse is proud of his hair, how soft he is, and he can't help but feel a little jealous. He turns to Grantaire, who hasn't lost the smitten expression, and remarks :

- I can see why you like to see him.

- If you fancy him, we may have to duel at dawn, you now.

- As if, Montparnasse scoffs. I just said I see why you like to see him. Or rather, see him go. Does he need assistance to take those jeans off ?

Grantaire scowls, but there's a smile tugging at his lips.

- I have to concede, those jeans fit him perfectly.

- Does he really wear some ? They look... painted on.

- That, my good man, is a secret only he knows. Well, I'd like to talk about Enjolras' pants all night, and everything that's insde them, but I'm afraid that won't do any good to my work. So see you at the next biscuit shortage.

He takes his snacks and leaves, in a pace slightly faster than usual. Probably to catch up with Blondie and try to seduce him with white chocolate or talk of paintings. Montparnasse doesn't think it'll work, not with what he's seen of Blondie. But Grantaire's awful pining none of his business, after all.

Hours pass, slowly as ever. Montparnasse has taken residence in the newspaper section, reading each and every fashion magazine he can put his hands upon. With a bunch of chocolate bars and a cup of coffee from the machine in the back, it's almost comfortable. He only moves from his spot when the door opens again. And Prouvaire comes in. This time, they're dressed almost like a normal person, with cargo pants and a denim shirt open on a black t-shirt. Of course, the pockets on the pants have apparently been collected on several pants, shirts, and jackets, and sewn here and there, and no one is the same colour as the others. The denim has been embroidered with multicolour lines forming delicate arabesques on the collar and the sleeves. It's almost underwhelming that his black shirt is only wearing a Ghostbusters logo, and nothing weirder. Furthermore, their hair has been gathered in a hasty ponytail, far from the elaborate hairdos they sported the two first times. They look like they had to run to the store and just threw on whatever was at hand.

They are back at the counter barely two minutes after coming in. With three large bags of coarse salt. Montparnasse wonders what their cooking must taste like, but he doesn't say anything. Not when Prouvaire looks so rushed, and almost... out of breath ? It can't be from running through the aisles, they must have been speeding to come here too. But what could deserve so much salt ? Are they so bitter about something ? Do they need to fight a sudden ice age in their fridge ?

They're looking at him. Oh no, they are looking at him, with those pretty eyes of them. Like they can read through his mind and know that he's wondering about them. Quick. Say something. Say something cool.

- French fry emergency, maybe ?

Oh great. Bravo, Montparnasse. This is smooth. But Prouvaire smiles at this, and it's beautiful even if it's tired.

- I'm not part of the French Salt Connection, if you're wondering.

- French fries are belgian.

Even better. Just shut up before say anything more stupid. If you can. He tries not to facepalm too hard. But Prouvaire just keeps smiling.

- I know, they say softly.

Montparnasse knows he should shut up, but he just can't help himself.

- So ? An emergency exorcism, maybe ?

He laughs, to show that he's not serious. But Prouvaire's face stays serious. They gather their salt packets, give Montparnasse a new, soft smile.

- Good night, Montparnasse.

They have a second of hesitation, then they hand him one of the packets.

- Here. It doesn't hurt to have something to protect yourself with.

And with this, they are gone, their long hair flowing behind them. Leaving behind a very bewildered Montparnasse and a packet full of coarse salt. Montparnasse looks at the packet, but it's, of course, a packet, made of cardboard and full of salt and nothing else. It doesn't even have googly eyes stuck on it to make it look like something else that this : a packet of salt. How it can protect him, he can't say. Or what he's supposed to do. What he knows is that the person who's been haunting his daydreams for several days now just gave him a present, and, according to what they said, they might be partially or totally fae. Which means that, if he accepts their present, he's doomed to... something, he's not really sure. He needs to brush up on his fae knowledge. Then again, it's a packet of salt, nothing more. Then again, it's a present.

When he goes home that morning, the salt is stuffed at the bottom of his bag. He tiptoes through the flat as to not warn the others of his presence. It's useless because they are snoring so loudly he could tap-dance through the hallway while singing the entirety of The Phantom of the Opera, and they wouldn't notice a thing. He makes his way to his room, manages to go through his whole beauty regime without being disturbed. With great delight, he slides under the covers. Just before turning off the light, he grabs the cardboard box still in his bag, and puts it on the night-stand. Then he turns on his other side and tries to forget that he did in the fog of sleep.

#les miserables #montparnasse #jehan prouvaire #jehanparnasse #feuilly #and so many others !#sibling bickering #idiots in love #so much pining #jehan is a fae

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annachronistic · 6 years ago

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In which Joly discovers why he cannot be a coroner

18 September, 1830

The sphere of medicine was one of the more difficult fields of higher education. Unfortunately, Joly had found that out the hard way, as exemplified by his experience in medical school. Many of the diseases that were read about, he believed to have had himself. As a result, he had often skipped classes under the false pretense of being ill. Showing up to class worry-free would be a challenge for him, as the past few days he had complained of vertigo and believed himself to have erethism.

This day in particular showed the adverse effect of Joly skipping more than twenty five percent of lectures. While other students breezed through the lesson, Joly was slower at it, having to stop and check his pulse or look up chemical elements and technical jargon that he had not heard of before. One of the professors had noticed Joly's odd behavior and consulted him after class.

“Monsieur Joly, you have been absent from many classes,” professor Desrouleaux remarked.

“I have never been truant, professor Desrouleaux, I have been sick. And many a time I fear my maladies to be of the contagious type, so I avoid class when possible in the interest of others,” Joly said apologetically.

“Because you're so riddled with disease,” the professor said sarcastically. “Having a limp does not mean you're at death's door.”

Joly sighed at that, as he was getting an idea that his maladies were perceived as excuses to forfeit school.

"I know that you have potential because you are still here. If you truly believed yourself to be chronically ill, then certainly you would check yourself into a hospital instead of attending school. You are a bright student and I want you to do well."

"You are right. I shall attend as many classes as possible," Joly declared.

Richard Gâteaux, a man studying to be a coroner who went to the same medical school as Joly, had overheard Joly's conversation with the professor.

"It was rather rude of him to bring up your physical impairment like that," Gâteaux said.

"Yes, what did that have to do with anything?" Joly said snarkily.

"But he is right, in a way, about your unwarranted absences," Gâteaux pointed out.

“Yes, he is. And I am hoping to resolve this,” Joly said. “But ridding myself of anxiety is easier said than done.”

"I can see your perspective, Joly," Gâteaux said. “I'm studying to be a coroner, while you are studying to be a doctor. You clearly have the harder job of the two. I only have to deal with patients after they are dead, while you have the stress of handling patients who were living and could potentially die.”

"Excellent point. You cannot kill a dead person," Joly said. “Unless you are that death-crazed writer Mary Shelley.”

Gâteaux snickered at that. “See, that is one way to cope with anxiety: making jokes. Enjoy the company of the people you love, my friend, and I tell you that your worries will lessen.”

"Thank you for the advice, Gâteaux," Joly said.

20 September, 1830

It was another day at medical school for Joly and his fellow students. The unit that they were focused on now was the anatomy of the skeleton. Due to a lack of resources, the skeletons for the students' lessons were acquired through some dubious legal loopholes. The laws regarding exhumation were much more lax for graves of the poor or of those who were outcast from society. These particular skeletons they were studying were exhumed from graves at the crossroads of a busy Parisian street, which were typically reserved for executed criminals and suicides.

"Be careful with the skeletons, students," said professor Desrouleaux. “The owner of the cemetery's land has allowed us to temporarily exhume them. They shall be reburied by the end of next week.”

Each student was given a large box with a name on it, so that they would know where to rebury them. Joly and Gâteaux were both eventually given boxes of bones.

“Now see, this is an example where your field of study is more difficult than mine,” said Joly. “You actually have to find out how they died, while I merely have to identify what each bone is.”

"You are right, my friend. I guess I am one of the people who must solve that mystery."

Gâteaux opened up a box he had been given labeled "Jerôme Rémy Rideau 1772-1799" and looked particularly intrigued.

"Hmm, dead at 27. You can tell the age from the sutures in his skull. His hyoid bone is broken, which means that he was probably hanged at the gallows," Gâteaux observed, carefully holding the two tiny pieces that the boned had fragmented into.

"It is impressive that you could discern the cause of Monsieur Rideau's death solely from the bones. I did not know that was possible. If I do die of some disease, then I hope you'll have the pleasure of autopsying me," Joly said.

“I assure you that will never happen,” said Gâteaux.

Joly had a box labeled "Corbin Régis Javert 1754-1823". He pulled out a bone that he was sure he could positively identify.

“Hopefully this is the tibia?” Joly inquired, hoping to be right.

“Actually that is the humerus. That is not his leg bone, it is his arm bone,” Gâteaux corrected.

“That is a long arm bone,” Joly said, holding it next to his own arm.

“From the length of that bone, it seems this man was very tall in life. We can estimate this by comparing this humerus to bones of individuals of known height,” said Gâteaux. Joly picked up a slightly shorter bone an examined it.

“And this is the radius,” Joly said. “Possibly.”

“Yes, that is it,” Gâteaux assured him. “It has several healed fractures that were many years antemortem.”

Joly was glad that he got at least one bone correct, but once he saw the skull, he was brought back to reality. The sides of the skull were cracked surrounding two distinct holes on each side, and there was a single bullet in the box along with the bones. Despite not being anywhere near an expert on skeletons, Joly knew how this man had met his demise, and was taken aback by it. It certainly made him aware of why he could not be a coroner.

“Once us ninny medical students are done learning about skeletons, you shall be returned,” Joly said, his voice less cheerful than normal. “It won’t be long, Monsieur Javert.”

Gâteaux smiled. “You talk to corpses too? I am glad I’m not the only one. I thought I was crazy. In an odd sort of way that I can’t explain, it helps.”

“I guess that whatever will aid you in your science is a good thing to implement. This is definitely the job for you, but not me. You’ll be a good coroner, Gâteaux.”

“Thank you, Joly.”

The professor went on with the lesson. "Our focus will be primarily on the axial skeleton, since that is the place where the most severe injuries typically occur..."

This is a subplot from the fic “Broken Wings”.

#les miserables #fanfic #fanfiction #joly appreciation day #joly #19th century medicine

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kcrabb88 · 6 years ago

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In a Mirror Dimly

Summary: Enjolras and Valjean bond at the barricade, discussing love and something they share in common. Written for Ace Mis Week 2019.

Note: Aromanticism and asexuality definitely overlap here! That’s my personal experience/orientation, so that comes naturally for me when writing about ace things. Also, the title is a reference to a verse from 1 Corinthians. Thanks to @aflamethatneverdies and @librarianladyx for beta’ing!

Valjean knows he shouldn’t get attached to these boys.

Because these boys will probably be dead soon.

Young men, he corrects himself, because they’re not children. But he has a habit of making any youth a child in his head.

He can’t help but feel fatherly toward them.

Perhaps he can convince them to run? Then again, maybe not. And how could he lead them through the dark of Paris unnoticed, even if he got them out?

Surrender? He flinches, digging his fingernails into his palms. That might mean prison. He swallows, unwilling to imagine these vibrant young men under that weight.

He looks over, seeing the one called Enjolras whisper something in Combeferre’s ear, a soft smile sliding onto the chief’s face.

He remembers seeing the tear running down the lad’s cheek after he shot the artillery sergeant. He remembers watching him step away for a moment and take a deep breath, because there isn’t time for grief.

Not here.

Enjolras brushes a stray strand of astonishing fair hair out of his eyes, not yet noticing Valjean studying him. Paris feels dark in this space before true daylight comes, clouds sweeping across the sky as a slice of blue edges into the black night, just a hint of red lingering on the horizon. There’s no light from the usual window lanterns, the few they have near the barricade emitting a dull yellow haze. The scent of gun smoke lingers in the air, never allowing Valjean to forget where he is.

He’d sensed the revolt in the air for weeks, months, before he heard news of the barricades today, but France has been roiled so many times since his birth that he can never tell when a spark will turn into something or when it won’t. The revolution was in progress when he was shipped to Toulon, and he remembers hearing news of the changes inside France: the revolution ending, Napoleon’s coup, and years later, his disastrous defeat in Russia. Then, Waterloo.

Nothing changed inside the bagne.

Valjean’s surprised when he glances up and sees Enjolras looking at him.

Then walking toward him.

“I was grateful for your help with the mattress to block the grapeshot, citizen,” Enjolras says as he approaches. “And for your bravery in giving your uniform to send another man away. My friends and I are thankful.”

Always citizen, rather than monsieur. Valjean’s intrigued again, even if he doesn’t quite know what to say. He can’t really say why exactly he’s here, though he’d heard Marius say I know him, so what might the other men here suspect? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps that Marius has only seen him in the street.

He realizes how much he’s used to keeping secrets. Always secrets, because he carries Toulon with him everywhere. The secrets grew heavier when he tore up his yellow passport and became someone else, when he took the bishop’s silver and started a new life. But with his secrets he also gained a sort of freedom. The freedom to be someone other than Jean Valjean and the damage that name carries with it. He’s only Jean Valjean at night, when he’s alone with his scars. Wearing another name gives him the chance to help others. It gives him the chance to love his daughter.

Valjean folds his hands together, praying he can get Cosette’s young man out of here even as the National Guard gets closer and daylight breaks into the night, the first hints of dawn reaching the barricade. He recalls Enjolras’ words from the speech he gave not long ago, the words cutting into Valjean’s heart because he doesn’t want these young men to die.

We are entering a tomb all flooded with the dawn.

Enjolras sits down on the paving stones, the first strains of morning light creeping toward his feet through the shadows as if drawn to him. The glow casts his youth into relief and washes the gravity from his face, the knowledge that this lad might perish—and soon—making Valjean’s chest ache. Smudges of gunpowder stain Enjolras’ hands black in places, but he’s bafflingly free of even a small injury.

“Do you have anyone worrying over you at home?” Valjean asks, because he doesn’t know what to say. He so often feels like he doesn’t know what to say, only what to do.

Enjolras pulls his gaze away from the sunrise. “My parents are at home in Marseilles, but hopefully they aren’t worrying yet because news won’t have reached them.”

“No wife or children like those men you sent home?”

Valjean wonders if there’s any way he might convince Enjolras to go home. He looks barely more than seventeen or so, even if he must be a good bit into his twenties. Valjean isn’t opposed to the politics, because he knows just how desperate so many people are, right now. How desperate they’ve been for years. He understands the inequalities and the cholera and the poverty. Those were the things he was trying to fix, in Montreuil, before it all went wrong. Those are the things he wants to help alleviate now, where he can, person by person.

But he doesn’t want these young men dying over this. He wants them to find another way, because there’s enough death in these streets already.

Enjolras smiles, possibly catching onto to Valjean’s motives. “No. I have never been very interested in romance or the…” red creeps into his cheeks, and Valjean suspects he doesn’t blush often. “…the other activities my friends occupy themselves with. So no mistress waiting, either.”

Valjean shifts the gun resting between his knees. “Too busy wanting to change the world?”

Enjolras runs a hand through his over-long fair hair, and the small movement makes Fantine appear in Valjean’s mind with a flash of vibrant, tangible memory, her golden hair cut short and ruined by the cruel edge of a knife. All these years later and he still aches over the fact that he couldn’t save her.

He probably can’t save all these boys either, only the one he’s come for, the one his daughter loves, and it hurts.

Truth be told he doesn’t even know if he can save Marius.

Even in the last excruciating moments, there had been hope in Fantine’s eyes, hope that she might see her daughter again. Even as she died, Valjean saw the life in her bursting at the seams with nowhere to go. He never had the chance to know Fantine, just as he won’t ever know Enjolras, but despite their differences in circumstance and age and gender, he recognizes the same radical, indestructible hope in both of them. In Fantine’s last days he sensed that she was never just surviving, but always looking for the tiniest fragment of joy in the dark, even if she was only holding on by her fingernails. He senses that same spirit in Enjolras, watching it shimmer in the air around them like a living thing.

If he could, he would give some of his years back to Fantine, so she could see her daughter again.

He would give some to these lads, too, and save them from the bullets awaiting them on the other side of the barricade.

But he can’t.

Enjolras’ voice draws him back toward the moment at hand, every second feeling precious, because death’s shadow creeps over the barricade even as the orange-red glow of the sunrise bursts over the Parisian skyline. “That is always time consuming, but my friends also find plenty of hours in the day for both their mistresses and their politics. I suppose I never felt the impulse.”

“I thought I heard one of your friends teasing and saying you were rather intrepid for a man who had no woman he loved,” Valjean says, finding himself talking more with Enjolras than he does with most people other than Cosette. “But I thought perhaps they just might not know that you did.”

Enjolras laughs softly, but there’s grief within the sound. “Oh, no. I keep no secrets from my friends. We are a family, after all. Bound together by love of the same cause, and years of friendship.” Enjolras’s voice cracks ever so slightly, his words growing heavy.

“You’ve lost good friends today.” Valjean almost clasps Enjolras on the shoulder, but he isn’t sure if the touch would be welcome, so he refrains, for now. “Not just compatriots.”

“Two of the best men I knew.” Enjolras glances over at Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Combeferre, Bossuet, and Joly, who stand nearby, a gleam of deep love in his eyes. “Bahorel and Prouvaire. Bahorel had a laugh you could never forget, and a formidable loyalty to those he chose as his own. Prouvaire had an absolutely astonishing soul, and poetry that could make any man cry, even if I don’t understand the finer points of the art form.” Enjolras touches his undone cravat, a bright-red against the more muted colors of the rest of his clothing. Perhaps a gift from the friends he mentioned. Then, his voice goes deeper, a dangerous anger puncturing the words. “Some of the national guardsmen executed Prouvaire point blank. It’s why I’m afraid the police inspector inside will meet his end here.”

Valjean tenses at that, Javert’s presence is a problem for him in a million ways even as he wishes to get him out of here unscathed. Javert is a thorn in his side. Javert could turn him in. Javert keeps turning up, and yet Valjean doesn’t want to see him killed. A strange sympathy for the police inspector wells up in Valjean’s chest, a sympathy of which he doesn’t entirely understand the root.

“I’m sure some people find it odd,” Enjolras continues, his words holding the ring of a confession. “My lack of a mistress or interest in marriage. But I have all I need with my friends.”

Valjean pauses, hesitant to share anything about himself with anyone, the instinct ingrained so deeply within him he doesn’t know how to undo it. He’s afraid to undo it.

“I understand.” Valjean speaks the words before he’s ready, but he does understand, and it’s almost a relief to hear Enjolras make his own admission. Their lives are very different, but that feeling is the same. “I have a daughter, you see. Not my blood, but…” Valjean trails off for a moment, an image of Fantine coughing until her whole body shook overtaking his memory. “…but my own nevertheless. The life I’ve led has never truly offered me the opportunity for marriage and the like, but then again I also haven’t found I desired any of that. So I don’t find it odd at all, if you want the opinion of an old man.”

Concern floods Enjolras’ face, his eyes widening in alarm. “You have a daughter and yet you gave yourself up for another man to leave? I didn’t know…I…” Enjolras is inarticulate now, and it’s a far cry from the beautiful ease of his earlier speech, the words he spoke to the crowd like a hymn caught in the wind. Valjean remembers how those words sunk into his old soul, watching as the flames of hope came alive in the eyes of the men surrounding him. Not hope for their own lives, necessarily, but hope for the future they all believe in.

Valjean does clasp Enjolras’ shoulder now. “Easy, lad. I know what I’m doing. I’ll be all right.”

Enjolras frowns, the earlier gravity returning. “I am far from certain that any of us are going to be all right, I’m afraid. I hate to see your daughter lose you. I’m sure she needs you.”

“I’ll be all right,” Valjean repeats.

He cannot say I faked my own death to escape a prison ship. He cannot say I once snuck into a convent by hiding in a coffin. He cannot say I have been through stranger things, and somehow survived. He’s honestly not sure if he will survive. But he has to try. He has to try to get Cosette’s young man back to her. Even if it means losing her, Valjean wants her happiness. She deserves her happiness. She deserves more than an old man like him.

Valjean’s eyes flick to Marius for the briefest of moments, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Enjolras. Enjolras looks at Marius and back at Valjean again, some kind of recognition flashing in his face that he doesn’t voice.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way I can convince you and your friends to leave the barricade?”

Valjean speaks before Enjolras can, hardly knowing what he’s saying.

A sad smile graces Enjolras’ features as the sun comes up fully over the barricade, gold dripping from the ends of his hair when the light strikes him.

“We will not surrender. My friends and I will do this together as we have so many other things in our lives these past years. We will survive together, or we will not.”

There’s a finality in Enjolras’ words among the grief and the hope and the unshakeable love Valjean hears.

“That kind of family is a beautiful thing to possess,” Valjean says, his words turning tremulous, and he clears his throat against the wave of emotion crashing over him. “That kind of family, and something to believe in.”

Enjolras blinks, wiping away a stray tear falling from his eye. “Those two things are all I have ever needed. Perhaps some might say that my lack of a mistress means I do not love, but that is not the truth.” Enjolras glances over at his friends again, and then at the sun casting the barricade in a golden glow, the light of a new day dawning. The dawn of the sixth of June. “I love so much I feel it might burst out of me at any moment. And sometimes it does.”

“I understand.” Valjean stands up at the same time as Enjolras, putting out his hand for the lad to shake. “I truly do.”

Enjolras accepts the handshake, his hand warm with life and kindness. “I hope that you find your way back to your daughter, citizen. Her name is?”

“Cosette,” Valjean says, something powerful filling him up as he says his child’s name, even more determined to get the Pontmercy boy back to her. He has never felt the kind of romantic feelings for someone like she possesses for that young man, but he does know what it is to deeply love, because she taught him.

“Cosette,” Enjolras repeats, handling the name with care. “Thank you for sharing a piece of yourself with me. It’s always nice to share something in common with someone when you didn’t expect it.”

Valjean nods, letting go of Enjolras’ hand. “It is. Thank you for talking with an old man.”

Enjolras smiles again before going back over to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who each put an arm around him.

There’s still the matter of Javert inside the Corinthe. There’s still the matter of getting Cosette’s young man out of here. There’s still the matter of surviving long enough to do that. But Valjean marvels at the life on this barricade that is so obviously destined to end in death.

He marvels at the love all around him.

More words from Enjolras’ speech echo in his head, louder than the footsteps of the soldiers and the cannon fire on the other side of this chaotic, mismatched pile of wood that is the only thing standing between them and eternity.

Whence shall arise the shout of love, if it be not from the summit of sacrifice?

#Ace Mis Week #My fic #Enjolras #Valjean #Canon era #Les Miserables #Les Mis #Ace things

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pilferingapples · 6 years ago

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Les Mis BBC 2: WHAT

I can’t I can’t write a recap yet so this is just..this is Things That Happened in That Episode under the cut for Spoilers and me maybe crying while I write it

-okay the timeline gets SUPER confusing--Fantine seems to have spent YEARS in Paris post-Tholomyes now, because Cosette was a baby when he left and she’s three as they’re out walking? how were they living, why leave now, why--I don’t know, not answered

- the note about Georges dying gets brought in to a salon while Marius is still the same age he was? but also ...I think it’s while Cosette is now ..four? Five? I don’t KNOW I can’t track this timeline; anyway Nicolette takes tiny Marius to see his dad and of course he can’t go do his Bonaparte Research Conversion now, IDK how that’s gonna play out

- Monsieur Thenardier just. beats Mme T. Just. Right in front of everyone. And she mocks him for being a bad business owner and he BEATS HER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE INN and tiny Cosette is watching and Mme T goes all “what are you looking at” and?? I don’t know?!?

-Valjean interviews Fantine directly; Fantine suddenly has a last name (Thibault??) ; Valjean and Victurnien (who is also the forewoman now?) hound her about whether she has “a husband?” “a lover??” “a child??” and then lecture her about how they Demand Honesty and Valjean is LOOMING at her and kind of ?? CREEPS on her? it’s really uncomfortable

-even the other workers joke about how the Mayor has his eyes on Fantine?? like the lines about the Foreman in the musical but now about Valjean, so the vibe is definitely intentionally there, god, WHY, why was this--

-Victurnien goes to see the Thenardiers and they all gossip in front of Cosette about how her mom hates her and never wanted her and then Victurnien goes home

-and DRAGS FANTINE TO MADELEINE AND HE. FIRES HER. TO HER FACE. WHILE SHE PLEADS FOR HER JOB AND HER DAUGHTER’S LIFE and he CALLS HER A LIAR and lectures her?? and tells her to get out town??? and then when she says she has debts he tells her to find Other Work??? he just

he looks at her sobbing and he KNOWS she ACTUALLY HAS A CHILD because VICTURNIEN TOLD HIM and he

he fires her and basically insinuates she should whore herself out

it’s like RIGHT after the cart scene and he?? saves Fauchelevent just to damn Fantine??because he’s Angry about Javert?? I GUESS???

but he sees a poor parent begging for their child and he

WHAT

- this kicks off everyone in the damn show telling Fantine to whore herself

-also I just..hate everything about this Descent . How long does it take?? We don’t know! A season? a month? what is Time but it’s all spent with the most lovingly lingering depictions of Fantine being taken apart and assfucked and everything . Because. We really need to see her getting taken down in bloody dropping detail. Every moment. and every idea has to be given to her. We don’t want to spend any time on her, like..making friends with Marguerite or slowly cutting down her limited living situation or singing in defiance to the people who mock her.

..actually I’m going to say it: I hate what this show has made of Fantine. She’s treated as just a misery puppet, not the fierce, wild, survivor I love in the novel. I am really not up for talking about it yet, because I’m too upset , but GAD

- Javert’s timeline is all over-- he reports Madeleine BEFORE he arrests Fantine? and then he finds out about Champmathieu and then after the confrontation over Fantine when they are just yelling over her like she’s a doll they both want to grab he goes and apologizes to Madeleine and resigns

and Valjean doesn’t stop him at ALL so there is

that

- the only voice in Valjean’s head when he’s having his Tempest in the Brain is PETIT GERVAIS like screw Fantine and the Bishop I guess!!!

-also Valjean already buried all his goods in the forest long before this so the candlesticks!1! Aren’t even there! but by gum he has his yellow paper and his CRIME COIN but NOT HIS BISHOP REMINDERS and I

don’t know

what is happening

also Valjean yells at everyone including SIMPLICE? and there is ZERO setup for Fauchelevent and god the pacing is a disaster and I don’t understand! Why! It’s Like This!

..the actors continue to be doing their best but to What End, I don’t even know?!?

Where Do We Even Go From Here

#Les Mis BBC Salt #Les Mis BBC Staring In Stunned Horror #seriously if you Love This Series just...you won't like this post #I am Genuinely Upset #And not being Analytical #now is Crying Time #long post #Beeble Mis

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rosesutherlandwrites · 6 years ago

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I Miserabili (1964)--episode one

Holy crap. I am so glad I’m watching this (and a huge shout out to @adorablecrab for helping me make it happen with my incredibly awful tech skills) Especially after watching episode one of....erm...certain other adaptations really recently. This is SO MUCH BETTER! I tried to (kinda sorta) live tweet my way through so I’d have at least a record of what i thought, but i made a bit of a hash of it. But here is some kind of order of thoughts on the first episode (there are ten in total so hooray i have something to keep busy with for a while):

Even before getting into the adaptation part of things, this is making my occasional filmmaker heart happy. It’s just SUCH GOOD FILMMAKING. The pacing is amazing, the lead actors are KILLING IT, and even the things that are a little weird from todays perspective are interesting (no incidental music at all! Nothing trying to manipulate your feelings, everything you get is JUST THE STORY and i am telling you, i choked up bad for Fantine.) or weirdly entertaining (sudden changes of location without a transition, the non existent special effects in the Cart Incident ).

They definitely didn’t start with waterloo. But I was also surprised that they didn’t go to Toulon either? But it was really smart(and also from a budget perspective saved a ton of money) to start in the village of Digne, which has the sort of silently suspicious inhabitants that wouldn’t be out of place in a transylvanian village downhill of a vampire castle. All the key points get hit here...JVJ is a big guy btw. I have never seen a Valjean who so truly looked like he could indeed perform superhuman acts of strength.

Both Mme Magloire and Baptistine made it into this adaptation! The bishop is really great. Quite gentle and saintly, but firm in his beliefs...he isn’t quite as humorously unconcerned about things as Derek Jacobi was, which i actually kind of missed? But really, he was great. He and JVJ have such a good conversation that i thought at one point: how the hell is he gonna turn around and steal the silverware? I should have trusted it would make sense, this is a damn good adaptation. (aside--when JVJ sees the candle sticks, his reaction to them cracked me up) After everyone goes to bed JVJ got a full on Shakespeare-style soliloquy! Which was unexpected and maybe odd by todays standards, but i loved it--a great way to give all the history of his crime, the what and the why of it and his punishment, and that he agrees--he was guilty--but that he feels the punishment was unjust (well yeah) and that society is to blame. Anyhow...the rest goes as it always does. (the silverware basket!) The stunned reaction and confusion of Valjean when the bishop doesn’t narc on him is amazing, and i have the feeling that it’s going to come around in a nice parallel much later when Javert is released. The bishop has bought his soul for god and

incredibly jarring transition (i.e. none) to Fantine and her girl gang (time and place well labelled, btw, 1815). They are having a picnic and their boyfriends have just left for a surprise--a relief to me in that i will be spared having to look at a second rat-face Tholomyes this week. So, Fantine’s friends are meant to be more girls she knows that Real Friends but WOW these are FIRST RATE MEAN GIRLS and they spend all their time talking about how dumb Fantine is, even to her face. and to be fair, she does seem naive to the point of being not all there to start? At the reveal of what’s happened the rest of them, after a moment they start laughing about this trick, but fantine just can’t and it is heartbreaking. In one major change--she is pregnant NOW and has not already had cosette which i suppose could make felix a bit less of a schmuck if he didn’t know but frankly i don’t care. he’s still trash. jump to just before she and suddenly 3 year old Cosette are about to leave Paris. She is a lovely sweet mom and baby Cosette is adorbs and it is just sad as hell...also the longer we see Fantine the more obvious her acting skill gets.

Thenardiers: the swing! Eponine and Azelma! (Baby C is Zelma’s age here, and Ponine is older) These Thenardiers are not looking likely to be played for laughs. The Thenardiess is a hard looking lady...not much indication of how bad they’ll be from the outset, but how quickly they start adding numbers together is a MASSIVE RED FLAG and personally i don’t trust anyone who can do math that fast just on principle.

On to M-sur-M where we get an INFODUMP from the mayor’s...i dunno, secretary? overseer, something. whoever his is, he is an uncomfortably close talker in the sort of way that says he maybe wants to wrestle you into a broom closet somewhere. It’s ooky. He is like this with Javert, and...yeah. I would not. But anyway. Javert is clearly WELL CAST. He just seems perfect. there’s some talk of his law and order vibe that is bang on and also disturbing in how very cut and dried he sees things. Will he and the Mayor agree? He’s the mayor, so therefore he is not wrong. eeee. They do some really clever storytelling stuff here--we don’t see Javert and JVJ talk together(and the mayors identity stays secret from unknowing viewers a bit longer, too!), instead we go watch Fantine’s factory stuff play out for a bit--no fights over the letter, she has a girl who reads the letters for her and knows about her child, and this girl seems like...probably not the wisest choice of confidante...maybe Fantine IS a little dumb tbh? When Javert comes out of the mayors office we get Infodump Part 2, The Dumpenning. I think i like this device with the weird secretary? We get a lot of stuff about the mayors backstory, but it all feels really urgent because Javert Has Suspicions.it’s also all very brick accurate--including the mayor having gone into mourning at the death of the Bishop of Digne.

The firing plays out differently from the brick but in a way i enjoyed it because it is, stunningly, Even More Unfair. Also, she has a real reason to be bitter and think Madeleine is a hypocrite (her word here), when actually douchbag secretary is the problem! The girl who is the cause of everything apologises to her on the way out and Fantine’s reactions in extreme close up killed me: It is us little miserable people who always end up hurting each other. This is not a subtle show at times? But it does what it does really well.

The final event is the cart sequence (starring M. le Maire’s glorious hair, Hugoesque high forehead, and a mud mask that truly has to be seen to be believed. We end on Javert’s assertion that he has only ever seen one person who could do what he has just done. A convict, Jean Valjean. End of episode,you cliffhanging bastards. I bet in 1964 there were some SHOOK Italian people freaking right out that they had to wait a week to see what happen next.

So far this is seriously the best adaptation I think i’ve ever seen? It’s super faithful to the source material in both events and tone, and the things that are cut or added are all in service to good story telling. Like--the petit Gervais thing? You don’t need it--you can see Valjean’s whole world shifting in the conversation with the bishop! No need to even show Tholomyes and co, they’ve already left and in four sentences and a ridiculous letter we truly know all we had to about their useless hides. I’m really looking forward to (crying my face off during) Part 2!

#ugh its so long #im sorry #i don't know how to put things behind the cut #les miserables #adaptations #i miserabili #does anyone even WANT to know what i thought about this or am i just being a twit #self indulgent film reviewing #guess what no one peed in a damn park thank god #bbc les mis salt if only in tags #abject nerdery

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bbclesmis · 6 years ago

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Town & Country: David Oyelowo on Javert's Tragic Suicide in Les Misérables

The Masterpiece PBS miniseries ends tonight—and Javert meets his familiar, unfortunate end.

For many fans of the Les Misérables musical, Masterpiece PBS's new adaptation fills in the gaps. Where previously, they'd only heard a song lyric or two about Fantine's first love, the miniseries offers the whole story; the audience watches Jean Valjean toil as a prison laborer, rather than just seeing him newly freed.

The same holds true for Javert, Valjean's dogged nemesis. Here, the actor behind him, David Oyelowo, explains why it's so important to experience Hugo's narrative in its entirety (or at least, in six full hours).

Why did you want to be a part of this series?

Because I feel it's revelatory... People love this story because of the musical, because of those songs. Some of them have read the book. Some of them have a vague notion of what it is and maybe are intrigued to know more. But the point being that most people have a sense of what Les Miserables, so [it's great] be able to give them six hours of context and depth, and also history.

Victor Hugo does an incredible job of showing you what happened in the wake of the French Revolution. How socio-economically, culturally, and in terms of societal hierarchy, there was a very specific dynamic in place that enabled revolution. Enabled someone like Fantine, as played by Lily Collins, to fall through the cracks. Enabled someone like Javert, who starts as a prison guard and then works his way up to the higher ranks of being in the police force. And Jean Valjean, who starts in prison and becomes a mayor.

What was it like to play one of the most famous villains in literature?

Well, it was a privilege because I had more runway to bring context to him and why he is the way he is. Most people know that Javert obsessively purses Jean Valjean and that he meets a very sticky end at his own hand. But not necessarily why.

What kind of context did you hope to bring?

I wanted to analyze the juxtaposition of a kind of character who's very Old Testament, [against] Jean Valjean's character, who's very New Testament. [Valjean] feels very much like he is not worthy of redemption, and then goes on to accept redemption, and then goes further to be able to be generous towards other people. To take in Cosette. To be so human and fragile. He's very aware of his flaws, but he's also able to accept that he's worthy of being forgiven for any sins of his past.

Whereas Javert is very black and white. If you're a criminal you are a criminal, you are a criminal forever. That's born out of his own very complicated relationship with criminality; having been born in prison to criminal parents, resenting that fact, and so therefore wanting to push that side of himself away... Unbeknownst to him, [he is] even transposing that criminality that he feels is in himself onto Jean Valjean, and feeling the need to destroy it. It's not until he realizes that Jean Valjean is not still a criminal, is worthy of redemption, is a better person than he ever thought he was, that he realizes he is dedicated his life to something erroneous. So therefore he can't live with himself, which is why he ends himself.

When you were working on the show, did you think about how to draw allegories to today's political strife?

I think it was the tone of what we were trying to do. I'm a producer on it as well, and one of the things we consistently talked about was it feeling very raw and gritty and edgy; those smells and that dirt, to really feel that. There should be nothing chocolate box about it. There's a version of this that would be very presentational and very sedate... But it's a very real adaptation of it, which I think always makes something feel more relevant. But some of the themes that we pull out as well—Jean Valjean is in prison for 19 years for stealing a loaf of bread. You only have to look at the prison industrial complex here in America right now to know that there are a disproportionate amount of people of color and socio-economically deprived, or economically deprived I should say, people in prison for crimes that don't warrant the sentences. But it's because labor is needed to... it's also become a business, the prison industrial complex. It's not dissimilar to what was going on back then.

What was the vibe like on set?

It was a real privilege to do that because everyone was there for the right reasons and with the right attitude. We started, and it was incredibly cold. I mean, unbelievably cold in Belgium and northern France. By the time we were finishing it was brutally hot. So you needed a level of humor and dedication to not feel bogged down by six months of shooting it. It never felt old or tired. There was never any acrimony on the set because I think we all really believed in what we were doing and felt we were very lucky to be doing it.

How did you all tough through those conditions?

It was helpful. There were certain scenes that were very uncomfortable. I have a scene in particular where I shake Lily [Collins] off and she goes flying. She weighs about a bag of sugar. I threw her and she landed on her hip terribly, and I could tell within the take that she was really hurt. She kept going. It was a rainy night, it was cold. We were on slippery cobbled street. She kept going. I, of course, completely dropped out of character, thankfully the camera was not on me. But she got up and had the most enormous bruise on her hip. But we soldiered on.

These were all the things you had to endure but at the end of the day no one sees that at home. They just wonder whether you tell the truth or not.

Dominic West, who plays Valjean, said you two wanted to subtly suggest a sexual attraction between Javert and Valjean. How did you figure out how to do that, without making it too overt?

I think it's a testament to how attractive I am that Dominic thinks that and I didn't for one second. [Laughs.] I wasn't for one second to play any kind of sexual attraction towards him. I don't see any evidence of that in the narrative, but to me Javert is actually quite an asexual character. I think he is so dedicated himself to this singular thing, I don't think he has room to think of that kind of stuff. So I'm very happy that Dominic was playing that, and that we didn't discuss it.

https://www.townandcountrymag.com/leisure/arts-and-culture/a27485075/david-oyelowo-javert-les-miserables-interview/

#les mis bbc #bbc les mis #david oyelowo #javert #Interviews #articles #town and country #pbs

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margridarnauds · 6 years ago

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Director's Cut: Paradise Lost?

Thanks! I know I mentioned it before, but I’m really excited to talk about this one!

Paradise Lost

My newest child, whom I love even though I have no idea how I’m going to feel about it in a couple of months.

The full backstory to it is that me and @janetcarter were talking Terra Nova, as we are wont to do, since we have our own batshit insane version of that show that only really makes sense to us. (It involves bondage dinosaurs, authoritarian regimes, oppressed Americans, spray bottles, 1789, and about 867% more gay than the original show could have possibly conceived of.) And they’ve been rewatching it, so they’ve been kind of liveblogging it to me, and we were discussing Taylor being an authoritarian bag of dicks again. (This is an ongoing conversation; it’s great.)

And they made the mistake of saying this:

And it eventually led to me doing a half-mad rant that would form the skeleton of Paradise Lost. In the annotations, see the original text in italics VS the final text.

“YEP.

“DIRTY WORK.”

“THERE’S NO OTHER WAY I CAN INTERPRET THAT ONE” “MAYBE SHE DOESN’T KNOW THE FULL DETAILS ABOUT PHILBRICK BUT YOU CAN BET YOUR ASS SHE KNOWS *SOMETHING*”

And, from there on, it was all Paradise Lost. I ended up copying and pasting those messages in a GDocs file, edited it, added some description and a few plot points, and within a day I had a one-shot.

So, I accidentally wrote a one-shot out in a Tumblr pm and I was just like, “You know what? Fuck it. I need to write a one-shot out of this. My productivity’s been low recently, anyway. Merry Christmas, Avery, hohoho. Have some angst.”

It was actually really exciting, in a sense, because this is a totally different setting than I’ve been working with for the last year and it was a chance to expand my horizons, even though, as has been HELPFULLY pointed out to me, it’s still set in the past. Just…millions of years ago as opposed to just hundreds. I played myself there.

(Annotations under cut)

Taylor’s kid talks when he’s drunk.

Pretty much the first new sentence that I knew I was going to include. I really like the idea of Mira addressing Lucas mainly as “Taylor’s kid,” like, despite him being a pretentious little prick who thinks he’s a genius, she still views him as a whiny kid.

It’s something they put up with for the sake of the mission, he comes in, gives them their marching orders, and takes a bottle or two of moonshine, the pink-purple liquid spilling across his lips along with the stories.

The fruit they come from is called “Frut” and it’s an ongoing joke between me, Avery, and @elluka, so it only made sense for me to include it here as an in-joke. Lucas loves that sweet frut juice.

Also: It is 100% canon that they make alcohol from it. I ended up having to look up what dragonfruit juice looks like to make sure this would be as authentic as possible.

Not that she cares enough to make sense of the stuff, to Mira they’re all the same as those calculations he draws out on the rocks in bold white chalk, rambling on and on.

Most of the others, they’re smart enough to avoid him, they’ve been out here long enough to know a Slasher in the woods when they see one. So, that means Mira’s the one to keep him company, giving him another when his stock runs out, praying that there’s enough left over to keep up morale, because that’s always a problem in a hellpit like this.

People get lonely, start thinking about the past, wanting things that they can’t have. The alcohol, even if it’s weak compared to the real stuff, helps them drown it out for a little while, though she doesn’t take it.

Sadly enough, we get so little Sixer development that we don’t really know what morale’s like in-camp, the show’s too busy telling us that these are Bad People because they oppose God Emperor Taylor, but I would suspect that, given that unlike the colony, they only ever intended to be here temporarily, it would have to be pretty miserable. How long were they told it would be? A couple of months, a year? After all the years it would be, I can only imagine the homesickness from some or the resignation from others.

Tl;dr: Yeah, I suspect they would be bargaining with Boylan for some of that frut juice or they have a still in-camp, though it probably has to take a backburner to more important things like medicine and food.

Instead, she keeps Sienna’s face in her head at all times, wrapping herself around it, thinking of her bright smile as she’d walk through the door, dropping the raggedy toy that Mira’d got her after a mission as she ran to greet her. (She tries to think of whether it was a T-Rex with the faded red fabric and the drooping limbs with the stuffing worn out of them or a spinosaurus, and when she can’t, she feels the need to get out of this place and back into the real world like a jolt in her brain.)

The reference to Sienna’s toy came in fairly late, but I actually really liked it, because (1) It adds that worldbuilding as far as Mira’s economic situation and (2) It reminds me of a bit from the original script where Terra Nova was HUGE, so of course dinosaurs would be a big thing now, and there’s a certain irony to Mira being sent to destroy something that her daughter loves so much in order to give them a better life. Also, I’d just seen a review for various spinosaurus plushies, so I might have been inspired.

It’s also really important that she refers to 2149 as “the real world,” as her way of distancing herself from whatever she does in Terra Nova, as well as distancing herself from Wash and her feelings for her. “This isn’t real, this is a job, it’s not the real world, it’s an alternative timeline.”

This time, there wouldn’t be another time. She’d get the job done, get home, and give Sienna the life that she deserved. And she doesn’t give a damn about what she has to do to get it. That’s what she tells herself, and it’s what she’ll believe.

One of the things that I really admire about Mira is how FOCUSED she is. That’s something that can be both a major pro, since it means that she’s very driven to get her goals, but it also means that she can be harsh when she feels like other people are falling behind and not focusing, even, say, to a young child like Leah Marcos.

Until then, she’d keep giving Lucas Taylor the moonshine, quietly hoping he’d choke on it, until he wound up drooling on the floor before going off to brood in a cave for the next six months.

In case no one can tell the level of respect I have for Lucas Taylor, Boy Genius.

Alright, but judging from Mira’s interactions with him, she is clearly deeply unnerved, and even though his calculations are necessary for getting her back home…well, if he chokes, it’s not really HER fault. It’s this terrible situation where she’s stuck with him even as she’s clearly scared by him and would probably want him dead under any other circumstances.

“You know what? Those people-I-I feel sorry for them! They’ll never know the truth about the Great Nathaniel Taylor,” he raises his arm suddenly, as if he was trying to give a clumsy toast, spilling moonshine everywhere.

“Seriously, WHY THE HELL wouldn’t Lucas at least tell the Sixers? He knows that to the colony, it’s The Great Nathaniel Taylor, but the Sixers don’t have any stake there”

Uh huh. Daddy Issues story #326 - Been there, done that, she thinks as she wipes some of the sticky liquid off of her cheek.

This was honestly one of my favorite lines to write. One of the things that I mentioned to Avery while I was live-blogging writing this is how much I honestly LOVE Mira’s POV, given how incredibly snarky she is. It’s like she’s aware of what show she’s a part of and she’s dedicated herself to ripping it apart.

I’m so used to working with viewpoint characters who were born centuries ago it was honestly a bit refreshing, as much as I love Lazare “Javert was busy so they booked me instead” de Peyrol and Solène “Women’s motherfucking March on Versailles” Mazurier. Mira is just so fundamentally DIFFERENT, being very blunt and no-nonsense as well as the aforementioned snarkiness, that she was really a treat to work with.

The way the kid talks, you’d almost think that this kind of thing was unusual . They were all soldier’s kids, these days. They’d all had to do what they had to to survive, and not all of them had mommy and daddy propping them up through the early years, either. Going from home to home, place to place, hoping that a bomb wouldn’t explode over their heads, holding a gun in their hand from the first time they could salvage one.

“Lucas was there, and in between crying about his daddy issues…why wouldn’t he expose Taylor to the world?”

It’s always been a pity to me that we really didn’t get all that much backstory development for 2149, except for that it’s a Very Bad Place, pollution, wars, etc., so it was a bit of fun trying to imagine what Mira’s past might have looked like given she’s obviously not as privileged as the Shannons or the Taylors, the former of whom are definitely INSANELY privileged. I have to think of when Taylor’s doing his whole “I survived 118 days in the wilderness” thing and Mira snaps back, “Yeah, we’re going on 1000.” There’s this…edge to her, and it takes a lot to impress her, and I have to think it’s because she’s survived so much that there’s really little that can surprise her.

She makes a non-committal sound in response.

“You don’t believe me, do you? Nobody else does, but you see -” Lucas laughs as he leans forward, and Mira wonders if he’s really lost it this time and what to tell Phoenix Group if their golden boy’s finally cracked under the pressure. “I was there. When my father killed him. And now-Now he wants. To kill me. I know everything, about how General Philbrick tried to get my father to step down, and my father killed him as if he was some carno that’d gotten lose. He buried him under Pilgrim’s Tree, he buried him there and let it rot, but-” Lucas smiles, sharp and predatory, and it hits Mira in the gut that he believes this “He couldn’t kill me. I know the truth.”

She eyes him as he is, trying to run it through her brain. Taylor’s a son of a bitch, but not a murderer. As if he doesn’t notice, he goes on, slamming down his bottle with a dramatic flourish as he spreads his arms out wide, “The great Taylor family tragedy-The mad king, the exiled prince, and, as always, no one listens to the oracle. But it’s all here,” he taps his head, “It’s all right in here. Don’t believe me?” He says, with the smug self-confidence that makes Mira want to punch his teeth out, even smugger with the alcohol. “See for yourself. Remember the name: Richard Philbrick.”

“'Don’t believe me? See for yourself.’ Lucas would say, with that smug self confidence that makes Mira want to punch his teeth out, settling instead for ignoring it.

I really, really hate writing Lucas, because it feels like no one would ever say this, but then I remember that he described his relationship with his father as “A Shakespearian drama that borders on Greek tragedy.” Like a pretentious douche who strings together important-sounding words. But, I do kind of like the idea of him treating himself and his father as just…players in a larger game.

Mira finds herself thinking of it long after he’s back to drooling on the floor, with a hell of a hangover coming in the morning. The kid’s been loose in the wild for too long, everyone knows it. It’s like playing with a tiger to get anything out of him, and most of the time, he speaks in equations, not words, as he holds his brilliance over everyone else’s head. God knows what goes on in his mind.

“And at first Mira wouldn’t believe it, because Lucas is demonstrably unstable + would make up ANYTHING to discredit his father, but as time goes on it makes more sense. And, after all, Philbrick has dropped off the grid”

The line about equations, not words is exactly how I feel whenever he appears on screen and the rest of the characters have to pretend that the words he’s piecing together actually make sense.

And he hates his father. Not that you need to be a genius to know that one. He’d say anything about him, so long as it’d rain on Taylor’s little “big bright beautiful tomorrow” parade. Taylor’s an optimist, always going on about that bright new future for everyone. Peace, love, the American way, all that bullshit. Murdering someone-It’s not his MO. There’s nothing in the three inches-tall dossier they handed off to her the week before she went through Hope Plaza that’d say that.

I had to get “There’s a Big, Bright, Beautiful Tomorrow” stuck in my head for this.

She turns in her hammock, watching the tops of the trees sway gently in the wind through the little netted opening that’s as close as she’s got to a window, as a pteranodon flies across the moon. There are times she could almost get to like this place. She thinks of Sienna and frowns. Almost.

You will never know how pissed I am that we never got to see “Mira’s Lair” as Taylor calls it. I think that they would have to have some form of netting to keep out the mosquitoes and any other creepy crawlies, but yet again, the worldbuilding was shit there and I’m sad.

(She remembers the first time she’d seen the moon, without the pollution there to cover it up or a million lights to dim it, white and gleaming and so big, Wash’s arm, strong and warm, around her as they’d made their way to the colony.)

The kid’s lying, she tells herself, there’s no point in taking the bait.

In the morning, he’s back to scrawling more equations on rocks, and she’s back to taking care of her colony. That should be it.

It isn’t.

It sits there in the back of her mind, buzzing like a little mosquito that she can’t quite swat. She hates that about the kid, how he can get under her skin, make her think.

Taylor as a murderer? It doesn’t fit with that squeaky-clean, messiah complex image he’s tried to work up. Not that he’d be the first. Everyone has their demons, and God knows what’s underneath that benevolent dictator image. But if he was, then…

If he was, then Wash is involved, too. But of course she can’t say that, because that would be admitting it to herself.

I have to think that given the amount of corruption in 2149, Taylor being a bitch wouldn’t be a surprise, and that’s something I tried to show, but that it doesn’t fit HIM (and, more importantly, Mira’s still trying to protect Wash in her mind.)

She ignores it, and ignores it, but it’s still there, in the back of her mind, and finally, she gives in.

“She ignores it, and ignores it, but it’s still there, in the back of her mind”

Is Taylor really capable of that?

“Is Taylor capable of that?”

So she checks. Still being in contact with 2149 has its perks, and she doesn’t have to run that kind of thing by Taylor (convenient, the voice whispers in her ear, that he controls the access to the outside world. She’d always thought it was so no one decided to get stuck on something dangerous like “democracy” or “basic human rights,” but it’d be useful as Hell if he was keeping something a secret.)

“And keep in mind: The Sixers can CONTACT THE OUTSIDE WORLD AND GET THAT INFO”

Philbrick’s missing they say, but there are holes in the record. Missing in South America? It’s the new “went on a long vacation and never came back.” And even if she’s not out there writing equations on rocks, she’s not stupid. Stupid gets you killed, where Mira’s from. Her employers play the evasion game, remind her what she has to lose if she presses, and she folds. Officially. But she knows one thing: Richard Philbrick’s dead, and wherever he is, it’s not South America.

So she checks. Philbrick’s missing they say, but there are all those little holes.”

Honestly, I hate writing any kind of detective work, because it all feels like a reach, so this was a hard section to write. But also absolutely necessary.

Boylan seems to know everything that goes on in the colony, for the right price, and she corners him one day after they’ve just gotten ahold of some medical supplies.

Thank God for Boylan providing the plot-convenient information. Or not providing it, as the case may be. He actually wasn’t planned, but when I was writing it, it felt like I needed more between the web search and Mira making her realization, so Boylan got to make an appearance. Yay, Boylan.

He just shakes his head, “Isn’t enough money in the world to make me tell you that.”

You know it’s bad when Boylan’s not willing to haggle for information. You know, it’s sad when you think of it: Boylan guarded Taylor’s secret faithfully for years, and only gave it away by accident…because he was tortured by the man he’d once considered a friend. Taylor deserved all the fallback from that one.

“You and he used to be old war buddies, now you can’t stand each other. So what happened?” She tilts her head as she stares him down, the way she knows makes her people stand down when they’re being stubborn.

He just shakes his head head again, walking away, and that’s all the confirmation she needs that something’s up.

Philbrick’s disappearance.

Taylor turning on his own kid.

Taylor turning on Boylan.

It all starts to make sense.

But there’s one thing left, one thing she needs: Proof.

The next time Lucas shows up, she glares at him, “The body. Where is it?”

He smirks in response and takes her to Pilgrim’s Tree.

I really debated including this section, because it seems to go against canon, but I couldn’t imagine anything LESS than that convincing Mira, when she knows that the body’s there.

That’s the thing with secrets: They never stay buried, especially if you leave someone alive to tell the tale.

“The thing with secrets is that they NEVER stay secret long” - Literally the first line of the rant that kicked this off.

And the body of a man, missing a limb in just the right place, well, that tells a story all on its own. There’s no point doing anything with it, when all they have’s the word of Taylor’s unstable son and a corpse against a legend. Better to put him back in the ground and wait for when it can be useful. As they cover the body again, spreading dead leaves across the upturned soil so it looks undisturbed, Mira feels her gut twist.

This was my haphazard attempt at keeping things consistent with canon, as much as it could be.

It’s never been personal between her and Taylor. It’s just a job, just like it always was (she tells herself as she thinks of trusting dark eyes sparked by the firelight as Wash sat opposite her, stretching a black hairband absently between her fingers, her black hair loose around her shoulders. That night, she’d forgotten her mission for a moment. Just a moment, but it was enough.)

“And slowly, but surely, things make sense. And honestly, Mira’s horrified, because it was never PERSONAL between her and Taylor. It was a job (she tells herself as she thinks of trusting dark eyes by the firelight).”

It doesn’t really make sense for MIra to have that undercurrent of bitterness that she has towards Taylor in canon; my girl’s a mercenary at nature, I can’t see her taking it personally. But this? Was honestly the first time Mira’s character clicked for me.

Also Wash + her hairband is one of my favorite things, in no part because of the 1789 crossover meaning that she and Laz get to bond over their ponytails. As is Wash sans hairband, because I’m gay. And imagining Wash’s younger, idealistic self honestly hurts, because Mira’s betrayal took so much of that from her.

She knows why she didn’t want to believe it: For Taylor to be capable of it, that means that everything Wash told her, all that bullshit about a better future, is a lie. Wash is always there by Taylor’s side, saying “How high?” even before he says “Jump.” (He doesn’t deserve it, she thinks; if she was with them, she’d be raking in a solid 2 or 3 figures more as a medic alone.) There’s no way she doesn’t know.

“And maybe she doesn’t want to believe it because for Taylor to be capable of it, that means that EVERYTHING Wash told her, about a better future, is a lie. Wash is as complicit as Taylor, she’s always there by his side, there’s no way she doesn’t know.

Also, props to Mira for STILL thinking about how much Taylor doesn’t deserve Wash even as she’s realizing that Wash is complicit in human rights violations.

She’s never been one for the new, better future that Taylor goes on about, about second chances and fresh starts, she has to spend her time on solid ground with what they have now rather than chasing after rainbows and unicorns. But when Wash talked about it, hope in her eyes, Mira’d almost…

And as it all comes together Mira feels a little bit of her heart (which is already mostly hardened, after years of war, years of eat or be eaten only a few inches of red pulsing muscle remain, and it’s for her daughter and Wash) calcify.

And as it all comes together Mira feels a little bit of her heart (which is already mostly calcified, years of war, years of eat or be eaten hardening it, only a few inches of red pulsing muscle remain, and it’s for her daughter and Wash) calcify.

This is one of the bits that remained virtually unchanged from concept to final product, mainly because I really, really liked it, and it’s probably the reason I ultimately ended up writing it down in the first place.

“Still doing Taylor’s dirty work?” She’ll ask, several years later, as Wash looks up at her in-Hatred? Anger? Surprise? Mira blames the smudged black eyeliner for hiding her eyes.

‘Still doing Taylor’s dirty work?’ I know the truth now, is what she’s really saying, I’m not naive anymore.”

Not that it matters. Not anymore.

She’s trying to say that it doesn’t matter what Wash thinks and that she’s over it, but she isn’t. She was still hoping, on some level, for Wash to say something. But then she doesn’t, and so Mira uses her as leverage for what she wants, telling herself that it doesn’t matter because it’s all for the mission, anyway.

I know the truth now, is what she’s really saying, I’m not naive anymore.

I know.

And somehow, it doesn’t feel as good as she thought it would.

This line was the only thing I could think of to end it on, even as I didn’t like it overly much, but I wanted it to be a very bittersweet at best ending from Mira’s perspective. She’s broken free of the lies Taylor told, at least she thinks so, she’s brought Wash down a peg or two, but it can’t be a victory because she really didn’t get what she really wanted, which was for Wash to renounce Taylor and jump in her arms.

My other alternate title was “Prometheus” [which I discarded because (1) It was Lucas levels of pretentious and (2) it centered Lucas rather than Mira], and I feel like both of the titles kind of encapsulates the idea there: You get the knowledge you want, but at what cost?

#long post #my writing #fallenidol-453

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