#cosette's past in her own words

[lemurious]

[mme. euphrasie pontmercy pays her respects]

A belated fic for @lesmis-prompts. October 24: girls of Les Mis; October 25: reflections; October 30: love.

Here on AO3 and below the cut (it is on the long side).

She swore to remember them all. She would tell Marius of how they had looked, calm and victorious in the morning light.

It is the early morning on the day after the barricades fell, and Cosette quietly slips out of her house and walks towards the square where the guards are cleaning the rubble.

Cosette knew what Paris looked like at dawn only too well; she’d never been able to kick the habit of waking up while it was still dark, and didn’t try that hard either. Secretly she was almost grateful for the ball of anxiety that inevitably unraveled inside her, pushing her out of bed to scramble into the pre-dawn mist, where she could almost see the silhouettes of the nuns walking over to Matins, almost hear Mme. Thenardier yelling at her to get to the housework already.

It provided her with the only hour when she could slip out of the house, as long as she didn’t make noise, but that was easy, she’d had a lifetime of learning to be quiet. It wouldn’t have occurred to her father that Cosette could’ve been doing anything other than sleeping peacefully, so he'd remained insensible to the little creaks of the floor and a click of the key turning in the lock.

In any case, this morning he was half dead with exhaustion from the previous night, which had brought him home dripping with black sludge and stinking like, Cosette smiled wryly to herself, in a manner her father still had never noticed, well, like the sewers. Well, that wasn’t anything a good bath, or a dozen, couldn’t fix.

And Marius was alive. Her father had told her as much, followed by a dejected sigh, before he slunk off to bed. Marius – her Marius – was fighting for his life, over at M. Gillenormand’s.

From the games of Azelma and Eponine back in what had seemed like another life, Cosette had managed to gather snippets of fairy tales where princes, or perhaps, princesses (she wasn’t too sure about the details) were able to lure their lovers from death’s own threshold with a kiss. That said, it was unlikely that M. Gillenormand would accept Cosette showing up at his doorstep before dawn with an offer to kiss his grandson, and it didn’t seem that sitting at the bedside of an unconscious Marius would be able to achieve much in terms of helping him anyway.

When he woke up, though, Cosette was going to wrap him in her arms and tell him that he was safe, that she would keep him safe, and mean it too, but she already knew that regardless of what he would say to her in response, no reassurances that she could give him would be sufficient.

There was a special kind of a hole that opened in the heart when there was no gravestone where one could go to mourn, and she had enough of those already. There was no need for another one in what was soon going to become her family.  

So well before the seventh of June dawned over Paris, Cosette put on her outfit with great care: a black gown, complete with a hat and a pair of gloves, and she would’ve sold her soul for a veil. At least she was pale enough from the sleepless night to have lost the rosy glow of youth, and the rest had to be in the bearing.

When the vocal mothers of the Petit-Picpus were taking one of their yearly baths, they didn’t look any different from the most pathetic, half-mad sisters, and, as one of Cosette’s own ditties had said, they didn’t fart in words of scripture either. Even so, the briefest motion of their hand could make any of the girls freeze on the spot, terrified that she had been found out in some nebulous sin, and one single look could turn the worst troublemaker in the crew into a trembling child, asking for forgiveness.

Cosette had watched, and she had remembered, and she had practiced, alone in the cemetery, scolding one gravestone, and praising another, until she knew she got it. The way to wear the clothes, the correct modulations of voice, the set of shoulders, the spacing between the steps. Much later, on a bench in the Jardin du Luxembourg, she had added to her arsenal the power of a shy glance and a fleeting smile, and a shower of ringlets sent over her shoulder with a shake of her head, which, when wielded with skill, could win her the heart of any young man who wasn’t otherwise inclined.

This morning, she tied her hair back in a severe bun instead, and hoped with all her heart that it would be sufficient.

When Cosette slipped through the gate and strode towards the Place Saint-Michel, watching the sky turn pale grey behind her, she was struck by the silence.  

Not a cart in sight, nor even the morning postman. Not a bakery door open, with the baker singing tunelessly as he was kneading the dough, getting ready to start serving the morning crowd before they went off to work. Not a passing lady of the night, her eyes blank, her feet dragging her home at last. Not a shadow of a worker standing in the corner, hoping to be hired to a construction crew for the day. Not a beggar asleep on a bench in the garden before he was turned out by a guard. Not a single gamin, darting around the corner just out of sight.

Cosette had been used to the sights and the smells of the mornings, and the early risers had known her as the girl who couldn’t fall asleep, who’d come in for the first bun of the day, and give it to the first gamin she met on the way out of the bakery, so it was rare for her not to have a trail of those ever-present kids of Paris, the younger brothers and sisters of the ones she had known when she was a kid herself, and the girls of the convent had devised a complicated system of sending messages, love letters and overripe pears back and forth over the wall, a system that had been carefully guarded and transmitted between generations of students.

Today the streets of her city had turned into a graveyard, and even the birds sounded muffled in the pre-dawn light, as if they, too, were in mourning.

Cosette straightened her hat, and with a look behind her to make sure that she wasn’t being followed, hurried on.

The street-sweepers hadn’t come out yet.

Only the guards were standing around their cannons next to a pile of broken furniture that was slowly getting dismantled.

The captain was giving orders in a hoarse voice to a pair of soldiers barely older than Cosette herself, who were carrying what looked like heavy packages, wrapped in cloaks, and placing them on the ground outside the café, its entire front now pockmarked with bullets.

The last one had finally been brought in, much smaller than the rest, and the soldiers began to argue about which of them would have to go upstairs into the café.

--

Cosette walked straight up to the captain, and with the exact mixture of politeness and disdain that she had learned from a courtesan who stopped by Cosette’s favorite bakery every morning on her way home, bade him a good day, and asked him for a chance to spend a moment alone with the bodies.

“And what does Mlle…? need to do with the bodies?” he asked, clearly bewildered by Cosette’s sudden emergence from the mist.

“Sir, that would be, Mme  – it wasn’t even a lie, not really, she would start wearing the name soon enough, this was just trying it on, like a dress at the tailor’s before it is done  – Mme. Euphrasie Pontmercy, and I would like to pay my respects, thank you.”

It wasn’t what one said. It was how one said it.

Cosette stared down her nose at the captain until he appeared to accept her statement, which in truth had explained absolutely nothing. Perhaps ready for a break himself, he called off the guards and told them to go get breakfast before returning to cleaning the site.

--

Cosette kneeled next to the first body in the line.

The man’s figure was slight, almost as if he’d gone hungry with passing frequency. He had luxurious brown hair and was dressed in a waistcoat embroidered with flowers.

The lavenders and peonies were barely visible through the dark brown of the congealed blood, and the man’s eyes, which were the shade of dark blue that was more striking than any flower, were staring at Cosette with a mixture of surprise and disbelief, as if it was a remarkable inconvenience, and not at all acceptable, that one so beautifully dressed should find oneself dead on this fine June morning.

Cosette stretched out her hand and gently closed his eyelids. She arranged his cravat, and crossed his arms over the chest, and buttoned his coat around the waistcoat, until he looked no less dead and scarcely less bloody, but dignified enough to be lying in state before a solemn funeral, not merely as one of the bodies thrown on the ground.

Cosette stood back to look at the man, made a sign of the cross, pulled up her sleeves and went towards the next body.

She swore to remember them all. She would tell Marius of how they had looked, calm and victorious in the morning light. She would draw them, as best she could, and she would learn their names, and she would ask the sisters of Petit-Picpus to put them in their prayers.

The one whose glasses were all askew, and she had to snap them into shape before she put them back on his head.

The one whose hat she had to climb the barricades to find, and she knew it was his because its band was the exact same shade of purple as his waistcoat.

The one whose hands were holding a gun so tightly that it was easier to arrange it by his side instead of removing it.

The one who had been shabbily dressed, with the right shoe beginning to gape open, and his face blazing with determination undimmed by death.

The one who had a book in his coat pocket, and after Cosette closed his hands over it, she noticed that she was arranging a treatise on fighting infections in the slums as if it were a holy book, and it was entirely appropriate.

The one right before the end.

Her arms were so thin that her wristbones were showing. Her crooked smile made her face look more peaceful than all the rest, and her hat couldn’t quite cover the messy strands of hair falling over her shoulders.

Cosette had met her before. She had used to carry messages for Marius, and even then Cosette could easily see that all she had wanted was to be loved.

“Maybe you had it the easy way,” Cosette whispered, her mouth dry as the dust on the pavement.

“Myself, I will have to live for him instead. I’ll try to do it for both of us.”

She took off her own cloak and covered her tattered dress with it. After rearranging the hair and pinning the hat back on, the woman looked so suddenly beautiful that Cosette surprised herself by smiling at her, as if they were going to exchange little compliments and confidences any time now.

The smile vanished as soon as Cosette had turned to the last body in the line.

This is why the gamins were absent this morning.

There was little that Cosette needed to do. The boy looked perfectly presentable. Someone had arranged his clothes and closed his eyes already. He must’ve died earlier than the rest.

The guards were still at breakfast.

Cosette turned towards the wall, stuck two fingers into her mouth, and let out a high, shrill whistle, echoing down the streets.

It used to be their sign, back at the convent, the one that had warned the boys on the streets that something important was going on, so the girls wouldn’t make it to their meeting place across the wall.

Of course, this had been years ago, and words and signs on the streets change faster than the costumes at the opera. But if this was the only way Cosette could show that the boy was remembered, was loved for who he had been, before what he must’ve thought of as just another adventure, and perhaps, well, perhaps it was –

Cosette brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. There would be time enough for tears later, when she would see Marius, when she would have to help him mourn, and then, help him find joy again. But this morning was hers, and hers only.

The previous night she hadn’t even tried to get out to the barricades, aware that there was little she could do but die, gloriously or otherwise. Instead, she had decided that, should they fall, she would have to live to be worth of the memory instead.

--

Cosette suddenly remembered that before the guards were told to leave, they had been talking about going into the café.

After a short prayer, over the boy whose name she was now going to have to find out together with the rest, she opened the door of the café and stepped inside, to the rubble of the broken furniture, thrown aside to make a path to the stairs.

She found two bodies on the second floor.

While it’s been a while since Cosette had last carried buckets of water for miles, she wasn’t frail by any accounts. Still, it took her the better part of the hour to drag the bodies back down, and lay them side by side, the one in the green jacket right next to the boy, the one in the red vest, who had been held against the wall by the bullets piercing his chest, at the end of the line.

By the look on his face, which could inspire others to follow him even in death, he must’ve been the leader.

The golden light of the morning fell on them all, but the leader’s smile was more radiant than the dawn.

Cosette had noticed that he had looked as if he had been reaching for the other man, the one who had been lying on the ground, and after a brief consideration, she placed their hands into each other.

For a moment, it seemed that the man in the green jacket glowed with the same radiance, but perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

There was only one thing left to do.

Stumbling with weariness, Cosette turned back into the café.

When she climbed up the stairs, to collect what she had left behind while she was taking care of the bodies, she noticed two handprints, clearly marking the wall near the window, and the floor under it.

A heavy dresser stood in the corner of the room, having somehow survived the wreckage. Cosette pulled and pushed at it until she got it wedged under the window, covering both handprints and preventing the soldiers, or the women who she suspected would be ordered to clean up the debris, from washing them off.

If the gamin who Cosette usually found near a bakery in the mornings returned the following day, she would tell him about the handprints, and where he could find them.

Somehow, she felt that it would be more appropriate than telling Marius. The handprints didn’t quite belong to the revolution, nor to the group of friends who had started it. They belonged to the bright June sunrise when the city was in mourning.

Cosette’s skirts were dusty and torn, and smeared with old blood from dragging the bodies. The guards were not going to let her stay around much longer; after the last glance around the room, she grabbed the flag, torn and stained, and folded it until she could tuck it under her arm.

Cosette had thought to arrange it under the flowing golden hair of the leader, or put it in his hand, but then she realized that it would only ensure that the flag would end up in whichever mass grave to where the bodies would be carried.

Instead, she was going to take it home.

--

And after Cosette Fauchelevent truly became Mme. Euphrasie Pontmercy – even though she felt that it had already happened somewhere between the pre-dawn light in her chamber, and the cold skin of the dead bodies under her fingers – she was going to put it on the wall, so that the new friends of Marius and of her own would be able to see it, and hear the story of where it had come from.

And when another barricade rose again, because it was always when and never if, not in this city she loved with all her heart, then the flag would fly over it one more time, and Mme. Pontmercy would stand close behind.  

[headfulloflettuce]

The Human Who Fooled All of Prythian

22. A Very Polite Non-political Conversation

Note: So, what happened outside with Aquilo? Short answer; neither Morrigan, Cassian or Aquilo know how to use kind words.

Also, just some food for thought; is “I would like to speak to a High Fae?” a thing faeries say in ACOTAR? Especially within the active government of a court? 

Aquilo leaned in as his subordinate whispered to him.

“There’s trouble outside.”

“Trouble?”

“Lady Morrigan and Lord Cassian of the Night Court. Our men have stopped them but they’re…persistent. We would appreciate your help.”

You need a High Fae to intervene. Regardless of whether the Night Court truly believed in equality and treated their own Lesser Fae well, High Fae were still expected to be the ones to make the final decisions.

I knew I should have brought more high ranking soldiers. If it weren’t for Kallias’s insistence that they get to rest today I’d have half of them out here. Although, I’d prefer Cassian and Morrigan to take out their anger on me rather than my men, so I’ll give them the verbal sparring they so desperately desire. 

Amelio sighed.

Did they not get enough of it at the solstice?

“High Lord, my presence is required outside. May I leave a replacement?” Aquilo said.

“Of course, we’ll be fine here.” Kallias dismissed Aquilo.

The Captain of the Guard left the office, the soldier who came to give him the news remaining in his stead. 

Aquilo carefully walked down the stairs of the shop and to the front door, trying to avoid spots that creaked the loudest.

The floors could really use some replacing.

Stepping outside Aquilo inhaled the cold air, his eyes quickly finding the two responsible for his men’s concern. Approaching the scene Aquilo could hear the dispute.

“I still don't understand why we can't meet with Miss Cosette.” Lady Morrigan sighed, dressed in a warm red coat with white fur around the edges.

“I have already informed you: Miss Cosette is in an important meeting with the High Lord and Lady of the Winter Court.” One of Aquilo’s men explained.

“What could the High Lord possibly have to discuss with a mere perfumer?” Cassian quipped.

To the Cauldron, Aquilo had grown to despise Illyrians over the past half a year. Anytime they passed through their territories he always wanted to strangle them.

Granted, I'd take dealing with Cassian in a heartbeat over Lord Devlon. Or any other Illyrian warrior else for that matter.

“I could say the same thing to you two.” Aquilo approached the Night Court duo.

“Aquilo, my friend, good to see you.” Cassian patted the Captain of the Guard on the shoulder.

I am not your ‘friend’.

“Can you believe it, Aquilo? Your men are preventing us from going into a basic perfumery! It’s quite sad.” Morrigan shook her head.

“Hm, unsure if I agree with your opinion.” Aquilo said dryly, “It’s true that my High Lord and Lady are currently in a meeting with Miss Cosette, and they have requested to not be disturbed.”

“But we just want to purchase a perfume.” Morrigan batted her eyelashes sweetly.

To the mother, I gave up spending time with Ophelia for this. 

If only the two of us weren’t inside the office we could have had a chance to talk. Unfortunately duty comes first. I can’t be acting all buddy-buddy with a fae when my bosses are talking to her boss. But that’s okay, I’ll settle for being in her presence.

Wait, that's called staring. Oh no, I haven’t freaked her out, have I!?

Aquilo coughed, realizing he had remained quiet for too long.

“The perfumery is closed.” 

“It can’t be if the High Lord and Lady of Winter are in attendance.”

“It is. Theirs is a personal call.”

“Oh? Are Kallias and Viviane close to Miss Cosette then?”  Mor smiled, bringing her fingers to gently stroke the white fur on her coat.

“I would not dare to describe the relationship my rulers have with a business person within their court.” Aquilo gave a diplomatic answer.

“Aw, and here I thought as friends we could drop the shyness.”

“I am on duty Lady Morrigan.”

“We’ve known each other for so long, acting professional seems unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“Lady Morrigan, I appreciate your willingness to interact with the people of Winter Court however we prefer you to get to the point of what you actually want rather than dancing around it.” Aquilo snapped, tired of the blonde attempting to persuade him with fluff and politeness.

“Watch your tone Captain.” Cassian growled, his wings spreading slightly.

What happened to me being ‘your friend’?

“My Cassian, breathe. You wouldn’t want to get banned from another court for destruction of property, right?” Aquilo replied, his voice filled with amusement.

Cassian’s wings spread out fully but Morrigan placed her hand on his shoulder as a calming gesture.

“Of course, we wouldn’t want that.” Morrigan’s voice lost its saccharine tone, her teeth gritting, “But really Aquilo, isn’t this an abuse of power? Is the perfumer even aware of your efforts to ‘protect’ this meeting, hm?”

“The High Lord and Lady are well within their right to instate this security detail.”

“Hmm, isn’t this extreme even for Kallias?” Cassian thought aloud.

“I doubt it’s Kallias, Viviane is more likely.” Morrigan smirked, “Her husband has always been a bit slow.”

“Watch your language.” Aquilo bristled, his men responding in kind to the insult.

“What, can't you take a little bit of criticism to your High Lord?” Cassian leaned back, crossing his arms, a smug look on his face, realizing that he had struck a nerve.

Like you all are any better.

Aquilo took a deep breath.

I need to remain calm. If I get angry, my troops will follow. 

“You don’t even have a counter argument.” Cassian accused.

“No, you're just insulting my rulers, and I won’t entertain that conversation.”

“I mean considering this scene you should be more angry.” Morrigan giggled.

Aquilo stared back at her silently.

“Aren't you insulted? Your kind, amazing High Lord and Lady have you standing out here like some street hound.” Morrigan giggled, “My, my…sorry, that's rude. You're too handsome for that. Do they instead hire you and your men as pretty decorations to just stand around?”

Aquilo bit his tongue to restrain a growl.

“You know what this whole situation reeks of to me?” Morrigan leaned in, running a finger down Aquilo’s uniform, “Desperation.” she whispered

Aquilo took her hand, removing it from him gently. The Captain didn’t miss the way Cassian’s eyes narrowed at the physical contact.

“I am going to ask you to leave.” Aquilo said coldly.

“What, do you not trust your good ally Night Court? We simply want to meet the poor girl. Can you imagine how scared she is meeting the rulers of a Court she’s only lived in for a couple months?”

So you’ve done your research.

“We trust our allies, but this is a matter of security. I am sure you two can understand.”

You wouldn’t have even bothered with these pleasantries in your court if you were on guard duty.

“Pity.” Morrigan sighed, turning away, snow crunching under her feet.

“Wait, we’re leaving?” Cassian looked shocked.

“Yes, we are.” Mor gave her friend a look, “This conversation is going nowhere.”

Cassian grumbled, following after her, casting glances back at Aquilo and his men every once in a while.

Aquilo exhaled.

“Finally.” one of the soldiers muttered.

Aquilo shot them a glare to keep quiet and they immediately obeyed.

I feel you, but you can’t show frustration on the clock. 

The Captain of the Guard walked back to the perfumery, waiting downstairs for the group to finish, which didn’t take long.

“Is all well?” Viviane approached Aquilo, her silver gown swishing elegantly.

“Of course Lady Viviane.” Aquilo straightened his back, “All is well.”

“Good.” Kallias spoke, turning back to Cosette, “Please have a good rest of your day.”

“You as well. Thank you for visiting us.” Cosette bowed as they exited.

“What happened?” Kallias immediately asked once the door closed to the perfumery.

“Lady Morrigan and Lord Cassian tried to pay a visit. They said they wanted to purchase a perfume, but we sent them away claiming security reasons.”

Viviane gave Kallias a pointed look, “See? Good thing we came today and didn’t put this off.”

“Yes, it seems your intuition was correct.” Kallias helped Viviane and Briar into a carriage, getting in after them. 

“How did the rest of the meeting go?” Aquilo got in last, instructing the rest of the soldiers to remain as regular guards.

“It went well.” Kallias said, looking out the window of the carriage.

“Cosette is humble and gives credit to others when it’s due.” Viviane spoke with an approving tone.

Kallias nodded, “Yes, I thought she’d show off but she had a nice sense of decorum for a novice entrepreneur.”

“She also remained calm despite our unannounced visit.” Viviane complimented.

“Let’s not be too generous, she was definitely nervous.” Kallias smirked.

“Okay, she handled the whole situation better than most Lesser Fae would.” Viviane argued, “A surprise visit from us is nothing to scoff at.”

“She seems cool!” the human exclaimed.

Of course you’d think that Briar.

Aquilo glanced at the young woman. The human looked happy, excitement bubbling in her eyes.

“Did you see how I got her to agree with me?” Briar said proudly.

“Yes we did, dear.” Viviane smiled gently.

Those etiquette and political history lessons clearly didn’t do much to teach Briar subtlety.

“When do you think she’ll come to visit?” Briar wondered.

“Perhaps,” Aquilo piped in, “You should visit her first.”

“Eh? Why?” Briar looked at Aquilo.

“I agree with the sentiment; Briar doesn’t have to visit. She has invited the perfumer, so Cosette should be the one to go.

I can’t tell if you genuinely think Briar only wants perfume from Cosette, or if you don’t know how normal faes make friends.

“Well, Cosette might feel intimidated. Remember how you felt when you first came to the palace Briar?” Aquilo explained.

Briar nodded, “But I thought all fae were used to palaces, or at least some form of luxury?”

Aquilo took a deep breath.

Briar wasn’t intentionally oblivious, but the damned ideologies of Children of the Blessed still had a strong hold on her. It was frustrating, and judging by Viviane’s and Kallias’s pursed lips, the feeling was mutual. 

“Although the general fae population have a better lifestyle than humans that doesn’t mean everyone has or is used to luxury. It might be more accessible for Cosette if you visit her first in the perfumery or a neutral place like a cafe.” Aquilo kept his voice even, “She might also be busy with the farming project, so it would be good to accommodate her time schedule.” 

The last part seemed to convince Kallias as his expression turned thoughtful 

“I don’t want to send you into the city alone though.” Viviane voiced her concern.

“I can be a chaperone.” Aquilo offered.

Viviane hummed.

“I'll bring a few soldiers just in case. The perfumery is also in a safe part of the capital, there are plenty of soldiers around if something goes wrong.”

“Well, if Aquilo accompanies you I’ll know you’re safe.” Viviane conceded.

Yes! Operation to get to know Ophelia is in the works!

“Maybe I should surprise Cosette with something yummy when I visit.” Briar proposed.

“You don’t have to.” Aquilo quickly said. 

When you first came here you kept trying to give all of us offerings.

Briar rolled her eyes, “I am not going to give her an offering. I just want to do something nice for her. Get on her good side, you know?”

Aquilo nodded, calming down slightly.

“Kallias, is Amelio in town?” Viviane asked

“He’s home for the solstice.” Kallias nodded, 

“Really? I didn’t see him at our party?”

“He didn’t attend our gathering since he has been away from home for a while and wanted to spend it with his wife.”  Kallias gave Viviane a smile, “I couldn’t fault the male for such a wish.”

Viviane blushed, muttering “A wonderful desire but it would have been better for our image if he had shown up.”

“Fair point, but it’s not out of the ordinary for him to not be present. The fae is constantly on the move across our court.” Kallias said, “How is Solene anyways?”

“Oh she’s doing well. Apparently Amelio got her a custom perfume from Cosette.”

“That cheeky bastard…he always finds the new trends before us.”

“That’s exactly why we work with him.” Viv giggled. “Anyways, I think we should send Amelio to visit Cosette.”

“Oh?”

“She said she hasn’t decided where to produce the farming tool, so it’s best if the project remains within our circles.” Viviane explained, “I want her to have supervision as insurance that the project is successful, or at the very least isn’t lost to an opposing faction.”

“Yes…losing it to an opposing family would be bad to put it lightly. On the topic of opposition; Aquilo, were there any problems during the Winter Solstice?” Kallias looked at his Head of Guard.

“Besides the usual tension, no. None of the remaining opposing families did anything.”

Thanks to Lady Viviane’s efforts during Kallias’s absence she had managed to maintain power over the court, however, there are still plenty of distant relatives who are eyeing the throne. The couple regained the majority favor within the court once Amarantha’s reign had ended.

“Good to hear.” Kallias nodded approvingly, with Viviane relaxing slightly at the news.

“Um, wait I am confused, so you’re sending Amelio to watch her?” Briar clarified.

“Basically yes. I want someone who knows what they’re doing to keep an eye on her. Guide her in the right direction if need be.”

A soft way of saying; “I am sending him to monitor her actions and ensure she stays politically in line with our vision for the court.”

“Oh, I see.” Briar nodded understandingly, “Do you think she and Amelio will get along?”

“Absolutely.” Viviane nodded, “If there is anyone that fae will find common ground with, it’s Amelio.”

Next: Chapter 23 - I Present Thee With This Muffin of Friendship

Back: Chapter 21 - New Acquaintances

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[black-rabbit-razumikhin]

Raz Reads Les Mis (VII)

Fantine - The Champmathieu Affair

"By now the reader has obviously worked out that Madeleine is Jean Valjean"

No, Hugo

No, this reader had not worked it out

I yelped at your book, Hugo

The implications! Bishop Charlie would be so proud! And he's looked at Fantine all abandoned and unloved and full of loathing and he must have recognized his own loathing within her because they were both forsaken by what they had been promised would protect them

Anyways, there are nuns looking after Fantine round the clock now because Fantine is really not looking alright

And Valjean goes looking for a horse and cart to take him a considerable distance overnight

Me, assuming his plan was to find Cosette

When actually he wants to save this man Champmathieu who everyone believes is him and who is going to be condemned under Valjean's identity soon

Valjean has a whole panic attack over the situation, going back and forth about how he promised to always do good and so can't have Champmathieu condemned under his name... but if he leaves and is thrown back in jail nobody will be there to look after Fantine

In part of his panic and his rage, he throws into the fire everything of his live that makes him Jean Valjean, including the two silver candle holders bishop Charlie gave him

That detail made me unexpectedly emotional

Also in this fire he sees the silver piece he stole from the marmot kid a while back

But finally the morning comes and the carriage and horse have arrived and away he plunges off into the night to be the form of Champmathieu's salvation

When Fantine finds out Valjean is gone because he hasn't come to visit her at his usual time, I wanted to cry

She has so much hope! She's so happy and she tells the nun everything about Cosette and how much she can't wait to see her again because that's obviously where Valjean is going in such a hurry

She asks for a bed to be installed next to hers so Cosette can sleep near her

The doctor who visits her is shocked because she seems to have made a miraculous recovery and may actually be getting better

Maybe, maybe, maybe Fantine is going to be alright

On Valjean's route, he meets a whole host of delays and issues that he didn't expect

He gets stuck in a small town after his wheel is damaged and when it looks like he may have to turn around, he is elated

He doesn't want to be here, and if he can't get past this town, well, he tried and God said no

God did not say no

God found him a new, albeit winding, route to get to the courthouse where the Champmathieu proceedings are happening

At first he is elated, because when he tries to see the proceedings, he's told that they're over

They're over? The man has been convicted?

What man? This was a little old lady

Wrong trial, Valjean's trial is still running nicely, but it'll be over soon

He's told there's no space for witnesses, but upon telling the staff at the court that he is a public official, the esteemed and mini-famous Mayor Madeleine, they direct him to special priority seating behind the judge

Valjean has another panic attack

But once he's calmed down, he takes his place at his priority seating

The trial has ended and Champmathieu is given the chance to say any closing words in his defense

And he goes on a whole long story about how he is not Valjean and how he did not steal anything

And so he's cross-examined

It's like the had an informal appeal trial before the initial trial was even completed

But three convicts come out and all attest that Champmathieu is Valjean and they were all in prison together

To their defence, even Valjean thinks Champmathieu looks like him, if only a little older and a little more world-worn

And just as the sentence is about to be pronounced as 'guilty', Valjean stands up in this grand entrance and tells everyone that he is in fact Jean Valjean

You go, drama queen, have your main character moment

He has gained such a positive reputation in his eight years as Madeleine that the first reaction is for a physician to be called to put him to bed - gramps has had one too many glasses of port recently

Valjean laughs this off and proves what he says by announcing personal characteristics of the three witnessing convicts that only someone in the galleys would know

But nobody moves to arrest him

So Valjean shrugs and turns to the prosecutor like "You know where I live if you need me" and trots off

Champathieu is found not guilty and set free

So, Madeleine is Jean Valjean. That Jean Valjean, so maybe Javert was right. He also mentions in the trial that it sucks that Javert isn't there because he's the only person who would recognize Valjean on sight and without hesitation. It is honestly impressive how far he has risen in eight years - almost exactly comparable to how far Fantine has fallen. But one has power over his circumstances and the other constantly has all her power ripped from her. And then there's the other underlying fact that Valjean must have made a massive impression on Javert. How many prisoners are you seeing all the time but then Big Strong Man made that much of an impression on you?

I am far too invested in a book that I have barely started.

[christelightlavo]

Expand : part 1 (manhwa)

If you like

Then try,

In order to receive love from her father, Keira tried her hardest to live the life of a perfect, submissive daughter. However one day, Cosette appears claiming to be his real daughter and Kiera is executed under the assumption that she is a fake.

In the last moments of her life, Cosette whispers to Kiera, “Truthfully, you were the real one.”

Kiera, recalling those words, returns to the past. Although revenge is important, what does it matter who is fake and who is real?

Now that I have been given a life again, I will live it freely for myself!

A cute female protagonist’s coming of age romance who has never made friends.

My note : the rivalry between Kiera and cosette is pretty good. Both actually scheme against one another, which is entertaining to watch.

Princess Marianne is the light of the Edenverre Empire, and just like the rest of her family, Princess Alisa adores her sister above all else. But when she is framed for attempting to murder Marianne, Alisa is cast into the dark dungeons. Not a single person will listen to her pleas of innocence. As the victim Marianne weeps pitifully in fear, Alisa is the only one to see her cruel smile of glee.

Consumed by betrayal, hopelessness, and despair, Alisa suffers the torturous removal of her sight until her scheduled execution. That should have been the end for her, but she awakens as a baby in the neighboring Elmire Empire. Now known as Princess Aisha, she seems to have been born with a silver spoon as well as a loving family.

Despite the warmth that now surrounds her, Aisha cannot forget the pain and darkness that consumed her previous life. While she still clings to the grudge that festers in her heart, Aisha learns to treasure those who hold her dear and walks steadfast into the light of her future.

My note : you will come to adore Aisha's new family. how they unknowingly help her through her trauma is so heartwarming. Especially her brother.

× I became the male leads adoptive daughter ×

"I will adopt a child."

Pelio Borreoti's impulsive decision flipped the entire duchy upside down.

He brought a child, who harbored the darkness just like him, from an orphanage.

Not only did he make her his daughter, he even gave her the name of a 'beast' that only the direct descendants of the family were allowed to succeed.

Featuring the strongest, most awesome father in the world.

A daughter with a corrupted(?) childhood innocence.

And lastly, a stepmother(?) with a peculiar secret.

My note : don't let the cover fool you, both father and daughter are psycho's in the best way possible. Out of all the female leads, This one is the funniest in the most dangerous way possible. Also she LOVES muscles.

× I shall master this family! ×

The great Lombardi family was once at the top of the empire. After the death of its patriarch, the fate of the family and that of Firentia, born from a Lombardi and a peasant, fall to ruin at the hands of her useless and cruel cousins. But when she’s reincarnated as her seven-year-old self, she’ll work to protect the family’s honor, gain her grandpa Lulac’s favor, and prevent her own father’s death. In this lifetime, there’s only one way for her to win: become the head of their mighty household.

My note : say it with me now, the BEST manhwa daddy. The best.

[aftershocked]

would love to see number 10 🥺🙏

(And if you’re up to it, here’s some others that caught my eye: 18, 35, 49, 54)

so. i was going to wait and answer these all at once but the first prompt came out to 1,487 words. so.

Valvert - #10, hair/caressing/braiding; 1.5k, rated G leaning briefly on T:

“Oh, let me get that, my dear.”

One of Valjean’s large hands reaches forward to cover Javert’s own, still pinching a bit of ribbon between his fingertips.

Javert huffs soundlessly as he passes the ribbon to Valjean without complaint, lowering his arms and settling more comfortably onto the small upholstered stool they keep next to the little desk in their bedroom.

He is already dressed for a brisk, wintry day, despite the few scant rays of dawn just now peeking past their curtains—still nervous, even now, whenever he accompanies Valjean to visit Cosette and her husband and their children. He cuts a handsome figure to Valjean’s eyes, wrapped in warm trousers and pleated woolen shirtsleeves, layered with the embroidered waistcoat that Valjean had gifted him the previous Christmas, its back panel a deep navy satin that hugs Javert’s waist with a delicately knotted bow.

Valjean forces his eyes away from the cinched fabric to note where the folded heap of Javert’s cravat yet lies on top of the desk, and beside it the simple, battered wooden hairbrush that was one of the few items Javert had brought with him to the Rue de l’Homme Armé all those years ago. His long waterfall of hair has been neatly brushed, and now needs only to be tied back into its customary queue; of late it is more grey than black, fanning out from his temples to fall in interlocking layers of iron and silver and gunmetal down nearly to Javert’s mid-back.

Valjean gently gathers the silky cascade of loose hair into his hand, stomach fluttering at the simple pleasure of his callused skin snagging on the thin strands—impossibly soft to the touch, and smelling faintly of the lavender and rosemary of their little bottle of hair oil.

He cannot resist sinking his fingers into where the hair grows thick at the other man’s nape, nails lightly scraping over Javert’s skull as he tugs a little more firmly at the hair clutched in his palm, the better to keep it straight and tidy for Javert’s queue—but a smile tugs at his lips at the quiet gasp Javert makes in response; the way Javert’s head tips back to follow the movement of Valjean’s hands in his hair.

“Do you have a second riband?” Valjean asks, enjoying the luxurious weight of Javert’s hair within his hand. His other rests at the juncture of Javert’s neck and shoulder, the heat of Javert’s skin seeping slowly through the material of his collar, Javert’s pulse strong and steady against Valjean’s palm. The impressive bristle of his whiskers brushes Valjean’s fingertips, and he looses a shuddering, indulgent exhale as Valjean’s thumb begins to rub in tiny, aimless circles; catching on the wisps of hair there, relaxing muscles that are always too tense, even so early in the morning.

“Another one?” Javert replies, bemused; even as he tilts his head into the tempting caress of Valjean’s fingertips, heedless of the way the angle pulls a lock of hair free of Valjean’s hold to tumble down his back, and Valjean ducks his head to press a kiss to the crown of Javert’s head.

“Perfect,” he says, withdrawing his hand from Javert’s throat to pull at the escaped hair. “I needed to separate it anyway; it’s been too long since I got to braid your hair for you.”

“It’s only been a few days, you old con,” Javert says, voice rasping faintly at the edges, shivering at each new touch of Valjean’s hand along his neck, the hinge of his jaw.

“Exactly,” Valjean agrees, “Nearly an eternity.”

He parts the thick layers of hair into sections, still running his hands through the glinting tangle shaded as mercury and coal and stardust. If Valjean could put a color to the glimmering constellations the other man will speak so fondly of—in that spare, gruff way of his whenever it is a matter of any importance to him—surely it would be here, in Valjean’s hands, coiled sleek and gleaming between each stout finger.

He carefully pulls and twists the familiar river of Javert’s hair into an orderly, uniform plait; resisting the urge to dither too long with the soft strands between his fingers, knowing it will only result in lopsided loops and frayed, frizzing ends. And while Valjean would hardly mind starting right back over from the beginning, Javert would likely insist on doing it himself the second time, for the sake of efficiency.

And so Valjean applies himself to the task as scrupulously as he knows the other man would do himself, the well-known rhythm soothing and intimate and over entirely too quickly by Valjean’s reckoning; the finished braid slipping easily from his hold to thump softly against Javert’s back.

“I don’t suppose you could grow your hair out longer still,” Valjean says, not entirely sure himself if he means it in jest. “I do so love to brush and braid it for you.”

The other man turns his head to look up at Valjean over one broad shoulder, his thin lips pulled down into a considering moue, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I would have no strong objections,” Javert says, his voice now steadied to its usual deep and resonant baritone. “Though it seems impractical. But you already know you may brush or braid it as often as you wish, whatever the length of my hair.”

“If I were to do this as often as I wished, I would need to be the one brushing out your hair morning and night,” Valjean replies, grinning in earnest now. He allows himself to tug gently at the tail of Javert’s plait, thinking ahead to the evening, when they prepare themselves for bed:

Javert changed from this more formal attire into his long, ruffed nightshirt, stockings yet in place in deference to the cold night; loosing the ribbons in his hair and fastidiously unwinding the individual strands until they fall in snaking waves down his back, enticing Valjean’s fingertips.

Valjean would want to trail his hands through the curls left by the braid; clasping messy handfuls in his work-roughened palms as he hauls Javert around to meet the other man’s mouth with his own, fingers buried in hair the color of quicksilver and glimmering to match the starlight falling through their bedroom window.

He would want to lace his fingers through the jumbled tresses falling around Javert’s shoulders and pull the other man closer to him, pressed chest to hip to thigh before walking Javert to their bed, slowly lowering the other man to lie beneath him on the plush duvet, Valjean’s hands still pulling at Javert’s hair as it spilled across the bedding, and—

“—jean,” Javert says. He sounds very much like this is not the first time in the past few minutes that he has called Valjean’s name. “Jean.”

Valjean blinks. The sunlight peeping through their curtains looks, perhaps, brighter than he last recalls. It is still early in the morning, with a long day yet ahead of them; and Javert’s expression has drifted somewhere between fondness and an amused exasperation as he says, “Are you still tired? It’s early yet, you could nap for a while longer…”

“No, no,” Valjean waves the suggestion away, cheeks heating as he determinedly sets aside his wandering thoughts and their decidedly inopportune nature; it will do him no good to keep thinking that way, with a trip to the Pontmercy-Gillenormand househould and a half-dozen errands ahead of them before nightfall—and any potential reenactment of his imaginings. “I’m not tired at all; I simply was a bit lost in thought, planning out our day.”

He pauses, and adds, with an attempt at nonchalance he knows will not fool Javert for even a moment: “But I may take you up on your earlier suggestion, if you will permit me to brush your hair out tonight.”

An eyebrow creeps up Javert’s forehead, deepening the creases cut across it by time and age and experience, and the ghost of a smirk plays around the corners of his mouth as he replies with a knowing, “Indeed?”

He tosses his head, braid swinging over his shoulder as he faces forward once more, picking up the cravat lying on the desk before him to loop it around his neck. The cravat had been a gift from Valjean as well, to match the waistcoat—and Javert slips it beneath the rope of his braid and edges of his collar, to fasten it expertly at the hollow of his throat. Once complete, his hands pull away from his neck, and he swallows; the elegant knot of the cravat bobbing in time with the motion.

Javert glances at Valjean from the corner of one eye, where a single coil of hair has been missed by Valjean’s handiwork; now lying tucked against the crow’s feet that deepen when Javert smiles. He murmurs: “As I said; whatever you wish, my Jean.”

[pyromaniacbibliophile]

Bricktober day 24- Girls of Les Mis

@lesmis-prompts

They  were parallels really, mirrors of each other only changed. They were what each other could have been, could have had.

In another world it would be Eponine who got rescued, Eponine who would have a loving father and maybe even Marius. In that world Cosette would have run from the Thenardiers as soon as the others were old enough. She, Azelma, Gavroche, Louis, and Michel would find their way to Les Amis and to the barricades eventually. Of course, in the real world Eponine didn’t leave, couldn’t. They were her parents, after all. Cosette, in this other world, would have no such problems.

Would that have been a better world? It is hard to tell, as it is not our world. Reversing roles often changes little but one person’s suffering. 

Cosette and Eponine, Eponine and Cosette. Both mistreated. Both in love with the same boy. Both were tied to the barricades by their family. Both had family who they would die for. Both hated adults shouting. Both would protect others despite their own pain or fear. 

How odd it is that they are so different even for that. Cosette, knowing the reasons for secrecy, for pseudonyms and alter egos. Cosette with a father who would give the world for her. Cosette who loves openly and freely, but protects her soul with well-hidden walls and layers of defence. Cosette who knows at any moment she may have to leave all behind, shadows in the past rarely stay in the past. 

Eponine, in turn, who knows why people fight, why they turn to violence and pain and drinking. Eponine whose brother and sister she would burn the world for. Eponine who loves guardedly and secretly, her heart locked away where none can guess at its contents. Eponine, who knows well her limits, knows exactly what it would take for her to get her siblings and run. 

The people they truly like and trust speak for themselves. Aside for family, Cosette has few who she truly opens herself to. Musichetta one of them, the beautiful Italian woman her only real positive female mentor. Courfeyrac the other, she sees how his laughs often are hollow, how his eyes are dead when he smiles; she knows well those feelings. Knows the importance of maintaning your act even as you die inside.

Eponine has one. Grantaire, the cynic, is the only person aside from Zelma and Gav she trusts. Like calls to like, those wildly and secretly in love. Those with white scars crossing their wrists and burns on their hands. Those with bruises and fingerprints dark purple from hands too big to be their own inflictions. Those whose parents have sneered at them and hurt them so that they bar their heart and thoughts from anyone's view save themselves. 

It happens that Enjolras makes them both tense whenever he’s around. It’s not his words, nor his actions, nor his friends, nor his behaviour. But both girls have learned the hard way that loud voices mean pain, never anything good. 

In the end, after everything, one dies for love and the other lives for love. The same love. Eponine takes a bullet meant for Marius, dies while her brother watches at that red, red barricade. Cosette forces herself to live for Marius, for if he wasn’t there she would turn to death.

Mirrored till their ends.

[everyonewasabird]

Brickclub 5.8.3 “They Remember the Garden in the Rue Plumet”

I hate this. I’m having trouble even participating in Valjean’s grief that Hugo wants me to feel, because the way this book treats Cosette at this point is so fucking bad it’s all I can focus on. There are absolutely ways of talking about the disparities that happen when one person has a whole life and a person they genuinely love has only them and nothing else; that’s a hard situation, that leads to tensions. But the way the narrative talks about Cosette is as if she makes no observations and has no opinions or thoughts other than how great Marius is. The narrative is absolutely bent her having no negative reaction to anything that’s going on, as if her head is perfectly empty.

Fuck you, Hugo.

Every time we see an actual record of her dialogue it becomes clear that’s not the case, but we’re not getting that this chapter.

I hate it so much.

Marius’s crimes here are at least deliberate on Hugo’s part:

"We have said that we would go to see our garden in the Rue Plumet again. Let's go. We mustn't be ungrateful.”

He’s using that devastatingly loaded word “ungrateful,” manipulating Cosette into going away to the garden and forgetting her father the way his grandfather manipulated him into forgetting his own. “Ungrateful” isn’t a particularly important word for Cosette--yet--but she’s happy to go out with him. It doesn’t occur to her that this is all a ploy to separate her from her father because why the fuck would it, that’s fucking nightmarish, and she’s seventeen or eighteen years old and not automatically looking for ways her new husband is lying to her and isolating her.

Was there, then, some truth in that comparison of the chrysalis which had occurred to Marius? Was Jean Val­jean indeed an obstinate chrysalis, who came to visit his butterfly?

This feels to me like a deliberate, ironic callback to the use of “ungrateful” above. A butterfly’s chrysalis is just like the rotting fish, or the wilted flower, and so on--it’s another one of those items from the convent passage about used up things demanding to be loved as if they were current, threatening their discarder with “ingratitude” for not needing them anymore. Marius has always been incredibly weak to that argument, so it’s pretty rich of him to say Valjean is a used-up thing that shouldn’t presume on old acquaintance.

I do really believe the text knows Marius is being fucking awful here. The problem is, the text knows he’s being shitty to Valjean--I don’t think it has any idea he’s harming Cosette. Which is terrifying: Cosette’s manipulative, underhanded asshole of a husband is trying to perpetuate on her the abuse that was done to him--for exactly the same reasons it was done to him: your father is a brigand! I want you all to myself! I want total control over you!--and all this book can think about is how that impacts her FATHER?

Fuck you, Hugo.

Valjean’s dialogue gets weirder, imitating the things he thinks Cosette wants to hear now: how she should buy herself pretty things because wealth makes everything better (is everybody gonna imitate Gillenormand this chapter?) and extolling the virtues of Marius, because he’s a subject she likes.... it’s bad. I hear the depression talking, obviously, but I wish we got some indication of how fucking weird it is for Cosette to talk to a father who’s trying to phase himself and his own opinions out of his dialogue. And, of course, he talks about the old days with Cosette, because he can only focus on his past with her, he’s cutting himself off from the future.

And then Marius escalates his slow campaign to ice Valjean out of Cosette’s life entirely, sending passive aggressive unwelcome signals through the furniture, talking about eschewing Valjean’s money. Again, Marius refuses to explain anything to Cosette, so she goes to Valjean hoping he’ll actually talk to her. Valjean, of course, upholds Marius’s bullshit and tells her nothing. Meanwhile, he takes the blame for all Marius’s horrible furniture moving, because obviously it’s better that Cosette think her father doesn’t care about her than letting her know that her husband is a fucking manipulative nightmare who’s ending the other most important relationship in her life via some underhanded bullshit with the chairs.

Between the two of them, they gaslight Cosette very effectively... and again, the narrative sees zero problem with that.

Finally, Valjean stays away two days, which is his own bullshit test of Cosette: she doesn’t realize it was two days rather than one, she doesn’t call him father when she inquires instead of the thing he asked to be called, she sends a servant (as is normal and customary) instead of coming herself--therefore it’s over, she doesn’t give a shit and she doesn’t get to have a dad anymore.

If any of this fucking book involved acknowledged that any of what happens in this chapter was shitty to Cosette specifically, I would be on board for it.

It doesn’t, and I’m really fucking not.

[textsfromthefifthbasement]

Fanfiction Masterlist

Les Miserables/Phantom of the Opera Crossover--Gen

Hope

An older Cosette lives through yet another revolution in Paris. One night at the beginning of the semaine sanglante, she has a mysterious visitor. Written for POTO Commune Week 2022. G, 709 words.

Marvel Cinematic Universe (Falcon and the Winter Soldier)--Sam/Bucky

Night Terror

Falcon and the Winter Soldier fanfic. Bucky wakes up after having a nightmare about his time as the Winter Soldier. Written for Lovetober 2022. Pairing: Sam/Bucky. G, 253 words.

Phantom of the Opera--Gen

Angel of Death

Madeleine and Erik had to flee Boscherville. Now in Paris, Madeleine has decided to do to other unwanted children what she should have done to Erik years ago... Written for POTO Dark Week 2023. Pairing: Gen. T, 983 words, Chose Not to Warn.

The Bridge Is Crossed

The ambush during Don Juan Triumphant goes terribly wrong. Originally written in 2021 as part of the Touch Prompts on tumblr. Based on Prompt #19, Because I Am Dying. Pairing: Gen. T, 679 words, Major Character Death Warning.

Grace in Your Heart and Flowers in Your Hair

Christine and her father have a picnic together. Written for POTO Fluff Week 2022. G, 230 words.

I Found It, All on My Own

Christine was prepared to spend Christmas alone, but her friends had other plans. Written for POTO Fluff Week 2022. G, 1432 words.

Les Flambettes

As children, Raoul and Christine roamed the village of Perros together, listening to various folktales. As an adult, Raoul decides to pursue Christine through the mirror when the Voice takes her. Written for paperandsong's Légendes Rustiques event. T, 1215 words, Major Character Death warning.

Never to Keep

Erik dreams that Christine returns to him. Originally written in 2021 as part of the Touch Prompts on tumblr. Based on prompt #23, In a Moment of Sadness. G, 245 words.

Preparation for Mortality

Christine wasn't sure what to expect after Erik took her down to his lair beneath the opera house. But this was most definitely not it. Written for POTO Crack Week 2022. G, 768 words.

Phantom of the Opera--Carlotta/Christine

When Will the Blood Begin to Race

Carlotta has had enough of Christine Daae trying to take her place as prima donna. She follows her up to the rooftop. Written for POTO Queer Week 2022. T, 806 words.

Phantom of the Opera--Erik/Christine

All the Things Yet to Come

For the past four years, Christine has struggled to live in Paris amidst a deadly, society-upending plague. One night, an encounter completely rattles her world. T, 34/34 chapters, 25k words.

Open Your Eyes

Encanto meets POTO. The de Cordova family has looked after the valley using their magical gifts for decades now. After an accident, they adopted Cristina, and she is expected to marry Raul de Cordova. However, in the days after his youngest cousin's gift ceremony, everything begins to fall apart...literally. Will she be able to save the magic? And what about the man in the walls? T, In progress.

Offer Up Your Daughters

When Christine arrived at Silas University, she was prepared to be focused on getting her degree in vocal performance. However, she is soon thrown into a world of mystery while dealing with possibly the world's worst roommate. Based off the Carmilla Webseries, genderbent Raoul and Erik. T, 45k words.

No Spell for you to Right This

After saving Silas University from the dean and her cult of vampires, Christine and Erika want nothing more than to take time to explore their new relationship with each other. But then, when murders begin to happen and new threats appear, they have to deal with enemies both within and without. Based off the Carmilla Webseries, genderbent Erik. M, In Progress.

All Hallow’s Eve

Christine sings for her father on All Hallow's Eve and has an unexpected audience. Originally written for POTOber 2021, reposted for Lovetober 2022. G, 666 words.

And All the Things You Thought That I Should Be

Erik receives a phone call letting him know that his mother is dead. To plan her funeral, he returns back to his hometown. Written for POTO Queer Week 2023. T, 1180 words.

Begin Again

Christine waits for her blind date at a coffee shop. Written for Lovetober 2022. G, 359 words.

Blind Date

When Meg set Christine up on a blind date with a guy she worked with, Christine didn't know what to expect. Originally written in 2021 as part of the Touch Prompts on tumblr. Based on prompt #6, to say goodnight. G, 1244 words.

Dance the Night Away

Erik takes Christine to the masquerade ball at the Palais Garnier. Sequel to Unspoken Secrets. G, 2623 words.

Dark Stories of the North

Christine tries to share a part of her childhood with Erik. Written for POTO Fluff Week 2022. G, 333 words.

Decided

Erik's thoughts before leading Christine through the mirror. Originally written in 2021 as part of the Touch Prompts on tumblr. Based off prompt #24, To Say Hello. G, 247 words.

A Gift

Christine returns to Erik’s home under the lake bearing a special gift for him. Written for Kinktober 2022. E, 988 words.

Healing

Christine and Erik have a short conversation at night. Written for POTO Queer Week 2022. G, 379 words.

Hellfire

Christine is going through a stressful senior year of high school. When she fails to make it on the school's orchestra, that stress comes to a head and she decides to do something about it. Written for POTO Fluff Week 2022. T, 2107 words.

Help Me Say Goodbye

Christine's thoughts during the Final Lair. Originally written in 2021 as part of the Touch Prompts on tumblr. Based on prompt #25, to say goodbye. G, 503 words.

In the Morning

The morning after Christine and Erik sleep together goes very differently. Originally written in 2021 as part of the Touch Prompts on tumblr. Based on prompt #2, With Relief. G, 597 words.

In Your Skin and Bone and Blood

Ten years after the events in the final lair, Christine is a single mother working as a violinist when people from her past begin to enter her life again. Written for POTO Fluff Week 2022. G, 1359 words.

Mending

Christine finds Erik after the Final Lair. Originally written in 2021 as part of the Touch Prompts on tumblr. Based on prompt #5, With an Apology. G, 783 words.

Merry Crimes

While waiting on a flight back home for Christmas, Christine joins Sorelli, Meg, and Erika in town. But then, an unfortunate incident with the mayor leads them to take shelter in a mysterious bakery. Takes place between the final chapter and the epilogue of Offer Up Your Daughters. Genderbent Erik. T, 1951 words.

Night Terrors

Gustave wakes up after having a nightmare. Originally written in 2021 as part of the Touch Prompts on tumblr. Written for prompt #16, After a Nightmare. G, 319 words.

The Ones She Had Lost and the Ones She Had Found

Ten years after the incident at the opera house, Christine returns for a performance. Written for Lovetober 2022. G, 1355 words.

Red Rope

Erik and Christine experiment with his red rope and shibari. E, 654 words.

The Saints Can’t Help Me Now

For years, no performance was held in the Palais Garner on a full moon. When the new managers change that policy, disaster strikes. The Werewolf AU probably no one was asking for but here it is. Written for Lovetober 2022. T, 1816 words, Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings.

Stray

Christine comes down with the flu and comes up with an idea of how to bond with Ayesha. Originally submitted to @a-partofthenarrative's 13 Nights of Halloween event on tumblr. G, 709 words.

Sweet Music’s Throne

Christine ties Erik to his throne and has her way with him. E, 613 words.

Unspoken Secrets

While staying at Erik's house by the underground lake, Christine stumbles across some of Erik's sketches. G, 1435 words.

Phantom of the Opera--Erik/Christine/Raoul

All This Devotion

After Christine kisses him, Erik spares Raoul. But now the boy is sick, and neither he nor Christine can go anywhere. Written for Whumptober 2022. G, 1218 words.

A New Life

The final lair takes an unexpected turn. Written for POTO Queer Week 2022. G, 453 words.

Phantom of the Opera--Erik/Christine/Meg

Fine As We Are but We Want More

When Christine comes to New York, Meg wishes to tell her that she loves her, but is afraid to do so and believes it's too late when she sees Christine kiss Erik. Written for POTO Queer Week 2023 and Multiamory March 2023. G, 1053 words.

Phantom of the Opera--Erik/Meg

Before We Get Too Old

A year after Christine left Coney Island with her husband and son, Meg and Erik are both left still picking up the pieces after her return. T, 1045 words.

Phantom of the Opera--Erik/Raoul

Fear Can Turn to Love

After the final lair, Raoul returns to settle things. Pairing: E/R. Written for POTO Queer Week 2022. E, 746 words.

Can’t Let Go

After Erik lets Raoul and Christine go, Raoul can't get him out of his mind. Written for POTO Queer Week 2023. G, 100 words.

Phantom of the Opera--Meg/Christine

Quiet Hours

Christine and Meg snuggle in bed. Written for POTO Queer Week 2022. G, 145 words.

The Truth You Can’t Hide

A heat wave is rolling through Paris. Meg and Christine go buy ice cream to keep cool. Written for POTO Fluff Week 2022. G, 615 words.

New Ballet Shoes

Meg's feet are sore after getting new en point shoes. Christine tries to help. Written for POTO Queer Week 2023. G, 100 words.

Phantom of the Opera--Pharoga

Best Laid Plans

Erik and Nadir's escape from Persia goes horribly wrong. Originally written in 2021 as part of the Touch Prompts on tumblr. Based on prompt #18, Because You Are Dying. T, 741 words.

I Don’t Care if You’re Lying

At night, Erik and Nadir spend time together in Nadir's bedroom in Persia. Written for POTO Queer Week 2023. E, 503 words.

Loneliness

Nadir cares for Erik after he is injured in Persia. Written for POTO Queer Week 2022. G, 211 words.

No Way Out

Nadir is summoned to see the Little Sultana. Written for Whumptober 2022. T, 565 words.

Old Friends

After ten years, Nadir reunites with Erik in the midst of the chaos of the semaine sanglante. Refreshed date to 05/21/2022 for the Paris Commune Week. Written for POTO Queer Week 2022. G, 808 words.

Setting Fire to Our Insides for Fun

Several weeks after Erik lets Christine go, Nadir gets worried and goes to check on Erik. Written for POTO Queer Week 2023. T, 592 words.

Phantom of the Opera--Raoul/Christine

The Child

After the incident at the Palais Garnier, Christine and Raoul disappeared into the forests of the North. But they did not live happily ever after. For POTO Dark Week 2021. T, 899 words, Major Character Death warning.

The Morning After

Christine's thoughts the morning after the final lair. Originally written in 2021 as part of the Touch Prompts on tumblr. Based on prompt #14, On a Bruise. G, 311 words.

A New Day

After the chandelier crash, Christine and Raoul get away from the opera house for the evening. Was a submission for Day 4 of Raoulstine Week. G, 410 words.

A Secret Engagement

Several months after the chandelier crash, Christine spends Christmas with the de Chagny family and must come to terms with her emotions towards both Raoul and Erik. Written for Timebird84's 2021 Advent Calendar. G, 773 words.

To the Rooftop

Raoul's thoughts as he follows Christine to the rooftop. Originally written in 2021 as part of the Touch Prompts on tumblr. Based on prompt #8, To Protect. G, 308 words.

Star Wars--Gen

Breaking Out

Star Wars fanfic. After Luke is captured, he has an unexpected rescuer. Written for Whumptober 2022. G, 680 words.

Hiding

Star Wars fanfic. After escaping Zygerria, Anakin starts thinking about what has happened to him. Written for Whumptober 2022. T, 311 words.

Star Wars--Anidala

Stargazing

Star Wars fanfic. Anakin and Padme watch the stars on Naboo. Written for Lovetober 2022. G, 228 words.

Star Wars--Obikin

The Third Option

Star Wars fanfic. Obi-Wan's confrontation of Vader in the season finale goes a bit differently. Written for Whumptober 2022. G, 384 words.

Stranger Things--Eddissy

Don’t Let Me Be Lonely Tonight

Stranger Things fanfic. Chrissy doesn’t want to go home tonight. Instead, she meets Eddie at his trailer. Written for Lovetober 2022. G, 1137 words.

The Witcher--Gen

Undo this Storm

Witcher fanfic. Geralt comforts Ciri after what happen at Kaer Morhen. Written for Lovetober 2022. G, 180 words.

[torn-butterfly-wings]

Like A Lost Memory

@lovehungered: Cont. from X

Sanji has been down here before, a mind’s eye trying its damnedest not to revisit three cold walls closed off by metal bars, the mere thought of the cell in which he had been kept in during his childhood creating a wave of nausea that threatens to aggressively take hold, a sensation that had been present from the very moment he had set foot upon Germa, only to now be exacerbated. The pair draw to a halt and the blond can't help but fear the worst as the entrance swings open, Cosette's meek smile doing little to assuage him, confusion edging over curious features whilst straining to view the subject present with the light cascading over it them, a sight that comparably contrasts with the hallway and route in which the pair have taken. He sets a foot inside the room and immediately falters in recognition, a startled expulsion of air being the sole means of indicating that something may be wrong, knees growing weak as the man finds himself overcome by shock and an overwhelming means of sentiment. ㅤㅤThe blond hair may be of a similar shade to his own with a familiar texture from afar, but the passage of time that has swept past since their last encounter means it's ever so slightly lighter than he remembers, dumbfounded surprise giving way for internalised regression, suddenly feeling incredibly small within his own skin despite towering over the seated figure ( son cœur sur le point d'éclater ). It's with slow tentative steps that Sanji approaches, gaze tracing over the repetitive motion of the woman's graceful yet skilled hands, recollection setting in of the gentlest of touches laced in patience and care he had ever had the honour of experiencing, simultaneously not wanting to disturb her yet practically on the verge of throwing himself at her feet. Palms waver by his sides as the prince manages to overcome all instinct, instead opting to stand beside her in silent reverence, an amalgam of melancholy and elation taking root in a heady mess of emotion. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ"Maman?" It's the smallest Sanji's voice has sounded in a very long time, two sole syllables that crack under the pressure of hardship and over a decade of absence.

Monotony weighed around Sora's neck like a collar made of stone. Her prison, though beautiful, was tiresome in its sameness. Often she felt her sanity slowly wear away like stone that suffered the ocean's lapping waves hundreds of times a day. Each day a routine of actions so similar to that of the day before that it brought tears to her eyes and a scream to her throat.

A scream that no one would hear.

This was all a lie, a figment. Or so it felt. To the world outside these familiar walls, she no longer existed. She was nothing. Not even a wisp of an image in her children's memory, so she believed. Because what else could she be?

Were she to be asked why she clung so desperately to what was left of her sanity, she would have no answer. At least one that she had a name for. Perhaps it was hope. Hope that she would see and hold and love her children just once more after all these years.

But, perhaps it was simply defiance.

Defiance of her husband. Oh, how she loathed that word, that man. That demon that crawled its vile way into the flesh of a human and parade itself as a man.

But Judge was no man. He was nothing but a devil. A slithering thing that made its way to her room each day to bathe her in proclamations of ownership and pretenses of affection.

Oh, how he brought the bile to her tongue with each visit these last thirteen years.

Today was no different. As she sat in her chair, knitting some nonsense thing simply for the sake of difference, she awaited that creature's arrival once again. She could hear the gait of two pairs of footsteps on the stone floor outside her door. The familiar gentle way in-which Cosette would unlock her door three times a day for meals. It was all so routine and Sora simply ignored it all.

Lost into the monotony and familiarity of her task, she blocked the happenings of the room from her mind. Still, somewhere deep at the back of her mind, she swore she heard an unfamiliar breath being expelled.

No. It must be her dwindling sanity. Because this was not a place for change. She continued in her crafting, even as she feels a presence draw near.

"Maman?"

It's the voice that drew her back from the depths of her own mind. Hands slow as she quickly loses the rhythm of needle tips slipping into loops of yellow yarn. A tremble settled swiftly into her delicate digits as she tried to process what she has just heard.

The voice was unfamiliar. Deep yet so light and small. Almost brittle under the weight of emotion. Like some thing to be gently gathered into her arms and cradled. That very fact was like a foreign dream. Emotions did not exist in this kingdom.

Slowly, so bitterly slowly, Sora turned her head. An unfamiliar figure filled her vision. A body, thin and almost wispy, stood at her side. Her gaze trailed up to a face changed with time yet so heartbreakingly familiar. An eye, perfect mirror of her own, swam with emotion and framed in bangs of tender sunlight.

Sora's mouth slowly opened as she stared up at her stolen child. No sound fell from her parted lips. Yarn and needles fell from her quaking fingers. Rolling from her lap to clatter on the stone floor. Muscles stiff and unresponsive as she turned more to face him. Fingers outstretched as her hand reached for him. She can't breathe a single sound as gasps desperately for him.

She needs to feel him. To feel he's real. To know that she has not lost what little she has left of herself.

[theladyragnell]

So @dollsome-does-tumblr did a thing based on this self-rec meme where you link a story of yours that best fits some words, and I am a follower, so I am going to do it as well and send some of my fics out into the universe! And I encourage other people to do it too, you never know who hasn’t read some of your work!

hug - Never Bitter and All Delicious (Les Mis, Enjolras/Grantaire): In which fairy godmothers grant wishes in different ways these days, and we get a peek at their workplace. I don’t think there’s actually that much hugging in this one but it just feels like a hug.

crown - The Dreams of an Impossible Princess (Agent Carter, Peggy/Angie): Absolutely ridiculous frothy self-aware Hallmark AU, where Angie is cast as the lead in a holiday romcom about the real-life lost princess of Vengia.

repulsed - All The Seeds Lie Below (The Campaign of Five Dragons, Valira/Haoti): A Pride & Prejudice AU for my first D&D campaign, which seems like precisely the kind of thing the word “repulsed” is meant for.

blood - beautiful and afraid of nothing (Les Mis, Cosette/Eponine(/Unnamed Man): Eponine and Cosette are grifters who seduce and violently murder asshole men. MIND THE WARNINGS.

flower - Raised Roots (Original Work, f/f): An original fantasy romance novella with cottagecore vibes, a pegasus farm, and a witch whose bees make very specific honey, thus the flower comparison.

clothing - The Second Hand Unwinds (Les Mis, Enjolras/Grantaire): Grantaire does the sewing for a time travel agency, and Enjolras wants to change the past.

god - Big Enough to Hold Your Love (Killjoys, Dutch/Johnny): A Cupid and Psyche AU with a traveling house and a thief and a goddess who wants to be known for herself and not her domain.

dance - You Dance Dreams (Les Mis, Enjolras/Grantaire): A 60k modern college AU where they put on an opera that’s a sequel to A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Puck is a dancing role, with lots of dance and choreography and also pining.

music - Concerto for Two Violins (Merlin, Gwaine/Morgana with background Arthur/Merlin): Modern orchestra AU where Gwaine and Morgana are friends with benefits and Arthur and Merlin might be breaking up, but a new symphony might change some of that.

magic - The Future Soon (Merlin, Arthur/Merlin): Visions of the future that lead to attempts to spite destiny, plus fighting anti-magician discrimination.

kiss - Just Want Your Extra Time (And Your Kiss) (Vikings, Athelstan/Lagertha/Ragnar): 3k of almost nothing but kissing in a modern AU, with a kissing booth donation as an excuse.

ending - not afraid of all the reasons that I shouldn’t try (The Wild Swans/The Frog Prince, The Youngest Brother/Iron Henry): Two minor characters from their tales after the end of the story, starting their own.

Go forth and do likewise!

[songandflame-archived]

❛ but you have been happy here. you have been happy here with me ? ❜ (from Valjean)

@reverdies || thank you!

At times, Fantine felt suffocated by her own psyche. Of course she was happy, how could she not be? It was everything she could have ever wished for and more! Yet despite the highs, shadows lingered around her peripheral; anxiety and preemptive grief of the good things coming to an end like those before them; the tucked away past folded neatly away in the hardest to reach places.

When it began to unravel, so did Fantine. In moments like these in which she suggested she should depart, leave Cosette under his care alone and Annelise in the care of her wet nurse. No child should have such a poor excuse of a mother, especially when Fantine herself was competing against the nuns' divine mother. Cosette would be disappointed and her teachers were already so disapproving.

She snatched in a breath when he spoke, shaking hands unable to cease and growing even more erratic despite interlinking fingers in an effort to stop it.

How could she put into words that this profound sadness, this anxiety, was not him or his doing, but the result of finally being safe enough to realise the trauma she endured? She thought she had escaped its impact in being too sick to remember - even before arriving at death's door - but night fell with silence and her body refused to forget. If it was not the baby waking up the wet nurse, it was Fantine's screams.

"I am happy." Perhaps he would think it a lie, Fantine was inclined to believe it so as well; the tears that gathered in blue eyes seemed to suggest otherwise. "I just thought this would be easier."

There, an admission.

"I thought once we left Montreuil... I thought... I thought I could leave it all behind. There has not been one night I've not dreamed of the place!"

She exhaled, stubbornly wiping her eyes so resting tears could not fall.

"I've never had anyone to ask for help and I am struggling, struggling to ask for yours. This security, it feels fleetingly unsafe for me and that is not your fault. How silly I should fear abandonment when it is all I've ever known."

[longingthoughts]

It’s Golden, Like Daylight

𝅄  ✧  .˚ fandom: game of thrones

𝅄  ✧   .˚ focus: cyrus lannister, cyrus lannister/cosette allard

𝅄  ✧  .˚ content warnings:  kissing

𝅄  ✧  .˚ tags: fluff, inspired by taylor swift, i could picture it like a movie, will probably make an edit someday, angst mentions, past and nonspecific mentions

𝅄  ✧  .˚ music: daylight by taylor swift

𝅄  ✧  .˚ word count: 1,149

𝅄  ✧  .˚ originally posted: 2021-10-10  

       Cyrus rarely had days like this, days where he felt like the world melted away around him and became just him and the person he was with. But that was what today was, with cosette. He had not even wanted to get out of bed that morning, knowing that like every day of his life in this castle there seemed to be drama and theatrics. So instead of giving in and letting the people around him decide he was weak, he had decided to take today into his own hands.

       He got out of bed earlier than most people in the castle did and got ready for the day while he asked Adrian to do a few tasks for him, he decided that today would be a good day and rather than be in the castle all day he would go out to have a picnic of sorts out in the garden. He hoped that Adrian would be able to get Ariettey to get Cosette to meet him there. This part of the gardens he would use was a part that was out of the way and rarely used especially when there were more refined parts of the garden that were easier for the noble people to partake their tea at. Cyrus had found it when he first came and knew that it would be perfect for today.

       Cyrus made his way to the garden a book in hand, his teeth biting the inside of his lip worry of the place being right for Cosette worrying him. He had given up on the idea of not being in love with her, especially considering that he would be expected to marry her. It wasn't even the expectation of marriage that made him realize. No it was the little things, the way she smiled, the way she laughed, and how she never once left his side when he was hurt. He was a goner, and he knew that she was the girl he was head over heels in love with. So he wanted this picnic to be perfect for her. He wanted them to have one happy day, away from the noise and fear that surrounded them.

       Finally he made it to the area of the garden he had Adrian set everything up at. There was a red blanket of sorts covering the ground, a color that reminded him of her, with little pillows for them to sit on while they ate and talked to make sure she was comfortable and happy. There was a basket with some pastries Cyrus asked if they could get and it seems on such short notice they were able to get a lot of it out to the area.

       He heard sound behind him and though he was expecting Adrian he saw Cosette coming from around the foliage. "Oh hi, I uh, I thought it would be nice to take the morning and be together in the daylight." God he was acting like a child with a crush. But he supposed that was part of the field when you knew your feelings were real. "Cyrus," He could hear the genuine happiness brightening her tone as she took in the scene around them. "this is beautiful" She seemed momentarilly like she didn't know what to say before she spoke again. "What made you want to do this?" He heard her ask, curiousity light in her tone as she walked closer to the little picnic. He breifly took her hand and helped her down to one of the cushions he had had out for them to sit on. "Well I thought we could both use some time away from court, I know things are stressful there and I thought we could take some time to be together just us."

       It was unspoken what they were out here hiding away from but mostly the prying eyes of people, who wanted to use their thoughts and feelings against them. The only thing this may show is how much he cared about her, but considering they were to be married soon enough he wasn't too worried about what people would think about that. Cyrus made his own way to the other cushion and sat down smiling at her, "I sent Adrian out to help get things together for me this morning, but I made sure to ask for the strawberry cakes you liked last time we ate breakfast together." He said, before realizing that maybe noticing things about people was unnerving and he just gave a small smile. "This is perfect." She replied her eyes looking into his like she was happiest in the world just to sit with him. "I'm so happy you love it." He replied genuinely excited to spend the morning with her.

       That was how that morning was spent, the two of them together talking and laughing together. At one point he laid his head on her lap and read her the book he had brought, eventually her hands made her way to his hair playing with his hair while he read the story of a prince and princess who met against all odds, and came together. In reality the two of them could have spent days worth of time there together, reading, talking, smiling but it eventually had to end.

       "I'm afraid if we stay out here longer, people will come looking for us." He said to her a small gentle smile on his lips, "Let me walk you back to the castle?" Cosette didn't look like she wanted to leave the small garden with a great view of the sea but she stood nonetheless. "I would love for you to take me to the castle." She replied a wry smile on her lips.

       She looked so beautiful, and he knew if he didn't take this chance he would never take it. He lifted her chin up a bit and asked. "Cosette, may I kiss you" He asked his grasp on her chin so gentle that she could easily break from his grasp if she wanted. "Please." She replied softly like she had wanted nothing but that this whole day. Cyrus closed the distance between them with a gentle but passionate kiss, one that couldn't happen in the castle until they were married one he wanted to give her for a long time. Cyrus pulled back wishing nothing more than to keep kissing her in this garden as the morning turned into afternoon but he knew he was originally had the right idea and that they had to get back. "Let's go, before the whispers get too far." He said using all his willpower. There would be plenty of time for mornings spent together eventually. "Oh, alright." Cosette replied, a little exasperated by needing to leave he guessed. He took her arm gently and lead her back towards the castle, away from their little alcove.

[honorhearted]

Benjamin flinched as though struck. Opening and closing his mouth, he huffed before allowing, "Yes, there are many who use the word of God for their own personal designs -- this much cannot be denied -- but I would ask that you not make assumptions about my father, madam. He is a good man...far better than I. Though I suppose that means little to you."

Brushing past Fantine, he moved to help the eager Cosette into bed, given how small and malnourished she was in contrast to what was necessary to heft herself atop the mattress. The bed was large and tall, and pulling back the downy covers, he carefully lifted Cosette until she was burrowing within its warmth.

"Don't forget your doll," he encouraged. Chuckling, Benjamin tucked it into the crook of her arm, then pulled the blankets up to her chin. "Your mother will join you in a little while. In the meantime, why don't you close you eyes?"

Cosette seemed as though she wished to ask a million questions, as young children often do, but her exhaustion won out as her eyes flickered, then closed in half-obedience, half-weariness.

Fantine posed her request -- a simple one, really, yet she sounded oddly ashamed.

Straightening to his full height, Benjamin offered what he hoped to be an appeasing smile. It was about time that they were on the same page again -- she hadn't seemed happy with him ever since their introduction. Of course, that hadn't been the real Fantine, so much as an act, and with a sharpness in his chest, he reassured, "I'll see that it's done."

--

Accompanying the handmaiden into the room, Benjamin indicated Fantine, and then headed over to the copper tub before filling it with a bucketful of steaming water. Behind him, the servant approached with a bucket of her own. Between the two of them, they filled the requested bath, and then after the handmaiden provided some castile soap and oils, she was dismissed.

Wiping his hands off onto a towel, Benjamin nodded toward the tub and encouraged, "It's yours. I naturally don't presume to stay, but if for whatever reason you or Cosette need me, I'll be in the room across the hall." His expression softened. "We can be friends, can't we? The world is already cruel enough...must we be harsh with each other, too? I am not trying to trick you, nor entrap you -- though I'm also not arrogant enough to think I can earn your trust without valid reason."

"Ah, a man who preaches about God and his mercifulness. Who will allow wars in His name but punish a woman merely surviving." Fantine's smile was entirely mirthless. It explained a lot about the man without the need for much else. Unfair? Yes, entirely. But when had anyone been fair to her?

The smile faded, but her lips remain pressed into a thin line as he spoke to Cosette. Any observer would think the scene touching, but Fantine felt a layer of manipulation she couldn't determine was real or imagined.

Fantine followed them both, her eyes on the floor even as he opened the door. It wasn't until he spoke that Fantine dared lift her chin. Cosette clung to her legs once more, and Fantine struggled to find a suitable response.

It was an actual bed alongside a lit fireplace... Fantine had only ever known this once before with Cosette's father, but it had been years since she had felt comfort such as this. Something as simple as a burning fire.

Her eyes stung with conflicting emotions before she was gladly distracted by Cosette's voice asking if she may climb onto the bed. God, Fantine had not done her daughter any favours leaving her behind. "Of course, darling. Get comfy, yes?"

Breakfast. The concept of food let alone set meals was foreign to her, but overwhelmed by new environments and information, Fantine found herself simply nodding in response. "If I am to be around strangers, may I bathe?" her voice faltered, swallowed by her embarrassment and anxiety. "It's the only thing I will ask for."

[crackspinewornpages]

Les Misérables 270/365 -Victor Hugo

261

Meanwhile Marius was with Cosette who was crying because they have to move soon. “When one is at the end of one’s life, to die means to go away; when one ids at the beginning of it, to go away means to die.”p.648 (stop being so melodramatic) Over six weeks Marius took over possession of Cosette, it seemed they intermingled souls and for her to go away meant she wasn’t his and he harshly reentered life. She doesn’t know when they’ll leave or return from England, she will go where her father goes and she will tell Marius where so he can follow, but he has no money. He tells Cosette not to cry, he feels if she goes away, he'll die and he’ll return the day after tomorrow he has to see someone and tells her his address, Rue de la Verrerie.

262

Gillenormand just turned ninety-one, he was still standing but his daughter noticed he was less crochety, for the past six months he was dejected, internally giving away. He waited for Marius for four years, now he realized he doesn’t have much longer to see him. He thought himself above going to him, he never loved someone as he did Marius. He looked at the portrait of his dead daughter, the likeness is strong to Marius and Mademoiselle asked if he was angry at him, he calls him a scoundrel, a vain ingrate and turned away to shed a tear. Three days later he told her not to mention Marius and she assumes he detests him now as he detested his mother for her folly of marrying that colonel.

The substitute for Marius, Theodule, wasn't a success and Gillenormand was tired of his chatter of love affairs and found his cockade intolerable and won't see him anymore. He didn’t have the love for his grandnephew as he did his grandson and he only made him regret Marius more. June 24, he was alone thinking of Marius, how he won't see him again when his old servant said he was there.

When seeing the young man Gillenormand almost swooned and felt to embrace him but in contrast harshness came out when he asked what he came for. (dammit Gillenormand) To beg pardon and acknowledge faults, thinking it would put Marius right but he said no, he wants pity from him. The words came out too late and Gillenormand was angry over having to wait so long and Marius knows it’s displeasing to see him, he’ll ask one thing and go. Gillenormand didn’t want him to go but for Marius to throw himself at him for pardon and felt Marius was repelled by him and how harshness, his grief turned to wrath, Marius didn’t understand and it made him furious. (you’re ninety-one maybe learn to communicate)

He goes off that he destest his grandfather and left his house in despair to live a bachelor and contract debts for him to pay. Marius wanted his permission to marry, Gillenormand has his daughter called just to tell her and sends her away. Gillenormand asks who, Marius didn’t answer and when probed says he owns nothing and the girl also isn't rich and her father is a nobody. Marius begs him to let him marry her, Gillenormand laughs at the absurdity, to do as he likes and tells him never.  

Hopeless, Marius goes to leave when Gillenormand flings him back into a chair, he had called him father and now wants an explanation stunning Marius. He begins to tell Gillenormand how in love he was and where she lives. He knows where Rue Plumet is, next to Theodule’s barracks, he prefers Marius as a lover than a Jacobin and tells him not to marry make nor a mistress. Insulted for Cosette and already insulted over his father he’ll take no more and left. Gillenormand stood stunned then ran after him worried that this time he won't come back and Marius ignores his calls and he falls into a chair in despair. (clap clap clap great job Gillenormand)

BOOK NINTH WHITHER ARE THEY GOING

263

That same day Valjean was in Champ-de-Mars, his trouble over Cosette dissipated. In disguise he saw Thenardier and was certain he was looking for him so he came to a decision. “More over, Paris was not tranquil: political troubles presented this inconvenient feature, for anyone who had anything to conceal in his life, that the police had grown very uneasy and very suspicious,”p.660 They were going to leave for England by the end of the week and it troubled him one morning he saw carved in the garden wall 16 Rue de la Verrerie, (why would you carve it in the wall to be seen by anybody) was it a signal for something, a warning. A stranger had been in the garden and recalled other incidents and didn’t tell Cosette so as not to scare her. While thinking this a passing shadow dropped a note that warned him to leave his house and he looked to see the figure disappear. (wonder who this could be)

264

Marius left Gillenormand in despair as he was in an age not to see evil, he didn’t think of his cousin Theodule. He wandered before returning to Coufeyrac’s and fell asleep in his clothes and woke again with the Friends in his room ready to go out to General Lemarque’s funeral. He left a bit after them with the pistols Javert gave him and prowled about unaware until it was time to see Cosette and heard a strange noise periodically. (wondered if there was fighting) He rushed to the garden but Cosette wasn’t there and the shutters were closed, no one was home. With Cosette gone he could only die, (rolls up newspapers beats Marius with it again STOP BEING STUPID) when a voice called to him that his friends were at the barricade of the Rue de la Chonvrerie. (wonder who this could be)

265

Mabeuf wouldn’t accept the gift from the stars of Valjean’s purse and took it to the police commissioner as lost, so he continued downwards. He owed rent and sold his possessions and gave up his indigo garden, he still had a few books and it seemed people avoided him. “The wretchedness of a child interests a mother, the wretchedness of a young man interests a young girl, the wretchedness of an old man interests no one. It is, of all distress, the coldest.”p.663 When they had no money for dinner, he sold a book and so each day selling for much less than what he bought them for (buy college texts for $$$ and get pittance in return) and hoped he would die before he had none left. One day he bought a book over five sous and had no dinner. His destitution was known to the Horticultural Society and they spoke to the Minister who invited him to dinner, but no one spoke to or recognized him. Several weeks passed, Plutarque fell ill and he had no more books to sell except Diogenes Laertius on June 4 1832 for a hundred francs. The next morning, he sat in his garden in the rain and in the afternoon heard shots from the riots in Arsenol.

BOOK TENTH THE 5TH OF JUNE, 1832

266

A revolt was about nothing and everything, voices, souls, youth, indignations, a taste for change, the elements of revolt. “Revolt is a sort of waterspout in the social atmosphere which form suddenly in certain conditions of temperature,”-”Woe to him whom it bears away as well as to him whom it strikes! It breaks one against the other.”p.665 If we believe cracks of politics a little revolt is desirable from the view of power, it strengthens governments, it doesn’t overthrow. In the Revolution of July, one was sensible of deliverance after the riots, conscious of catastrophe as the public is shaken and destitute. Historically uprisings have beauty as legions clash, the only difference being age and race being the same men died at twenty for ideas and at forty for families, but it is worth the bloodshed, in France uprisings have been disastrous. (yeah they are pretty infamous) Why battle in the first place, are all uprisings calamities, is war less of a scourge and if it cost a hundred twenty million.

267

Uprisings and insurections are two phases of wrath, one is wrong the other is right in democratic states, they are founded on justice. “Sometimes the populace counterfeits fidelity to itself. The masses are traitors to the people.”p.667 Rise if you must but it must be to grow great and insurrection must be forward, only violence is a revolt, insurrections can be resurrections. In most cases riots proceed from fact, insurrections are always a moral phenomenon.  A riot is always wrong, it leaves behind corpses of all without knowing why, the protests of August 10 and July 14 began the same. Universal suffrage dissolves riots to give vote to insurrection and deprives it of arms. “The disappearance of wars, of street wars as well as of wars on the frontiers, such is the inevitable progression. Whatever today maybe, tomorrow will be peace.”p.669 But the bourgeois knew no difference, so, what is June 1832, the book only shows one side in one episode.

268

The 1832 cholera outbreak has been on the minds for three months and Paris was ripe for commotion, the death of General Lamarque was the spark. Lamarque was beloved of the populace and his death was expected and dreaded and afflicted the government. His burial on the 5th people were armed due to rumors and men were collected and watchwords exchanged. Lamarque’s procession traversed Paris with military pomp as the agitated sectionaries and refugees came forth. The procession slowly proceeded as people shouted long live the Republic and the throng began to agitate. The hearse passed the Bastille and halted on the bridge of Austerlite as a crowed circled it, a man with a red flag and people began to drag the hearse and the municipal calvary and Layfayette called out the dragoons as they drew their weapons and allowed Layfayette to pass through. No one can say what happened next but shots were discharged and the tempest loosed, the barricade begun. “Wrath spreads abroad the riot as wind spread of fire.”p.673  

269

When a riot breaks it’s extraordinary everything bursts at once, terror then gaiety, isolated shots, all across Paris in twenty places at once. Guns were taken and men took positions, barricades were made and the bourgeois were forced to assist. Epaulets were torn from officers and chased by mobs. In an hour twenty-seven barricades were up the center was NO 50 with Jeanne and six hundred companions by Saint-Merry and had three streets. A horseman passed out money, a young man carried passwords, another placed sentinels, the interior wine shops were guard houses, a third of Paris was in the hands of rioters. “the combat which had begun with the throwing of stones was continued with gun-shots.” p.675 At six Passage du Sauman became a battle was this revolution the insurrection made Paris a torturous citadel. The soldiers were uncertain which added to the crisis, the Government hesitated, the Nation Guards rushed up in haste, solitude of Tuileries left Louis Philippe serene. (so the king doesn’t even give a fuck the city is basically in a civil war)

270

Paris had more than one insurrection over two years, but Paris accustoms to anything, it’s only a riot, a small matter. (how used to riots revolts and insurrections were they) Those that didn’t expect much were in shock by the firefight, June 25 1832, the city felt fear, the streets were empty, this time it was serious, why is Marshal Soult hesitating, he sensed something in the gloom. Eight hundred suspicious persons were arrested, anxiety was everywhere, an unknown tremor in Paris. Women uneasy, their men had not come home and people listened for rumors waiting for the first shot, over time Paris became more mournful.

(TEN MORE POSTS LEFT!!!)

NEXT

[bestfriendforhire]

Children of BFFH, Entry 186

 After a wonderful dinner fixed by Aid and Eléa—Aid was primarily there to supervise team Eléa due to her lack of cooking experience—we unanimously voted to continue playing the game the quadruplets had made, since it was new to us and exceptionally beautiful.  To my surprise, even the adults were joining in as their own team.  Ben’s parents hadn’t tried a virtual reality game before, not that I was surprised to hear it.  Emma and Cosette had insisted on having them try, given that Ben’s parents were actually gamers too.

 Messy handled making suits for the adults with absolutely no effort that I could see.  Within a second of hearing the request, the suits were sitting next to each person, appearing in a puff of darkness, but that was Messy.  Having spent far more time with the other kids for the past half year, I was used to them, as much as was possible for someone who didn’t live there.

 Though typically a team by herself, Eléa was stuck on my team with Stormcrow, Aika, and myself as some sort of rock-studying person.  Stormcrow was our medic, Aika was security, and I was the pilot of the Artemis V spacecraft, who now acted as extra hands for any project.  Apparently, I was also supposed to be some type of engineer, but piloting was way cooler.  I loved flying.  If the quadruplets had made a VR suit for my bird form, I’d be acting as a scout for the group, flying around right now.

 “Wow.” muttered Stormcrow, instantly getting my attention.

 “What is it?” I asked, kneeling down to look at the plant he was holding.

 “I obviously don’t have a name for it, but the compounds in this plant would cause paralysis if even a little were eaten.  A nice size bite would kill a person quickly.  I really don’t feel like this planet is a good fit for humanity.” stated Stormcrow with a grin.  He was having as much fun with this game as I was.

 Looking around at the vibrant blue and purple trees, I said, “But it’s beautiful!”

 “Sure, but beautiful and deadly still doesn’t sound too great for humans.  That’s the type of combination you want to lure us here to be killed.” he stated, trying to look serious despite still having a slight smile.

 I rolled my eyes at him before saying, “Maybe, but the quadruplets meant for this game to be survivable.  There has to be…”

 “Incoming!” exclaimed Aika, interrupting our conversation.

 I didn’t see anything until I followed her pointing finger where a… thing… was rapidly approaching us.  I quite nearly changed forms out of reflex after the creature easily knocked over a crooked tree that was slightly in its path.  The creature’s shape was somewhat like a huge gorilla, but its hide was lizard-like with scales of different shades of green and brown.  The giant arms of the creature ended in four-fingered hands that were tipped with enormous claws.  Large eyes sat too high up on its head, and there were only slits for a nose.  Aika took a few shots with her firearm before jumping and rolling out of the way.  The creature’s face practically split in half as it roared, revealing a couple rows of sharp teeth.

 “What do we do!?” I asked Stormcrow in horror, knowing he couldn’t just zap it for me.  His magic wouldn’t affect the game world.

 Without saying a word, he grabbed my hand and pulled me behind a tree with him.  I could tell from his face that he was trying to solve our problem, but he actually looked a little panicked too.

 “Guys, what is that thing!?” exclaimed Eléa over the suit’s radio.

 “A monster!” I told her immediately, earning an amused look from Stormcrow.

 “More like…” started Aika before a loud roar interrupted her.  “A very… angry… animal.”

 “You stick that thing in any horror movie, and it’s a monster.” I insisted, easily imagining people running from the creature.

 “Any ideas on how to stop it?” questioned Stormcrow before she could argue again.

 Aika was continuing to shoot at the creature off and on, but it only seemed to make the thing angrier, considering it wasn’t dead yet.

 “Hiding.  Hiding is still good.” I told him, not really wanting to go out there.

 Eléa then said, “Normally, I’d distract it and run away, but I can’t really do that now.  If bullets aren’t even hurting it, I don’t know what would.”

 “It is bleeding.” insisted Aika as she dodged around and continued taking shots.

 “Why doesn’t this game have drones?” asked Stormcrow.  “I could try force-feeding it some of the deadly flora.”

 Still fighting, Aika managed to stay with the conversation as she moved.  “Excellent suggestion… but we’d… have to… know which plants… to make the lost drone… worthwhile.”

 Grabbing Stormcrow, I said, “Be a doctor!  Tell her how to hurt it, quick!”

 “That’s not what medical doctors do, but…” he considered, looking like he was reading something on his display after taking another peek at the creature.  “Huh.  Space doctor.  I am supposed to have extensive knowledge of numerous anatomies.  The skull’s probably too thick to shoot through easily with your weapon.  Aim for the neck or just below the neck.  I guess its heart is there.”

 “Okay.” stated Aika.

 To my surprise, she stopped firing as much.  When I peeked out, I saw her dodge a swipe of the creature’s claws.  Then she jumped up onto a boulder before dodging again and jumping onto an even higher boulder.  Right when the creature looked up at her, she unloaded her weapon into it.  Despite seeing the creature fall over, I couldn’t help feeling surprised that she finished it off that easily.  Had she been holding back this whole time to see what we’d do, or was shooting it where Stormcrow said just that effective?

 “So Mr. Medic, want to try salvaging anything useful from this thing?” questioned Aika with a grin.

 Stormcrow shrugged and pulled out his toolkit.  Then Eléa and I took up position to help Aika keep an eye out for any more raging monsters in case her fight drew attention rather than scaring creatures away.  No matter how much time I spent with these kids, life just wasn’t dull.

[milkteahoe]

An In-Depth Guide to Les Mis Adaptations (Part 3)

[part 1], [part 2]

1. 2012 movie musical

You read that right. Even considering the concert recordings, the 2012 film is the best English language screen adaptation of Les Misérables in terms of the novel’s characters, themes and spirit.

The best thing about musicals is it is a feature of the medium for characters to articulate their innermost feelings. Every central character, Valjean most of all, is allowed to reveal their complexity and humanity. Éponine and Cosette who were ‘children together’ are lonely in different ways as adults, in the middle of a crowded street and isolated in an empty house– ‘On My Own’ and ‘In My Life’ are much more than simple romantic declarations. It also removes the need for the inclusion of minor characters like Tholomyès, who only served a minor role in Fantine’s story. The downtrodden are also represented in an unprecedented way through the ensemble numbers. ‘At The End of the Day’ illustrates that the plight of the poor is not unique to Fantine, but a suffering that is systemic and inescapable. There are minor inaccuracies that the movie and stage musical share, a sleazy foreman fires Fantine in the musical. In the novel (and 1998 film), Madame Victurnien is the supervisor that fires Fantine without Madeleine’s knowledge, showing that both men and women can uphold oppressive systems by taking advantage of the little power they have. Nonetheless, the advantages of a musical adaptation far outweigh such changes.

Sticking to one’s knee-jerk reaction as fans of the musical does the film a disservice. I agree that the vocal performances are nowhere near as strong, on top of cinematography that is not to everyone’s tastes. It is not a 1 for 1 transposition from stage to screen– there are changes, cuts and additions, but the result is a more faithful and equally moving adaptation of Hugo’s novel. To those familiar with the musical, the most obvious change is the positioning of ‘I Dreamed a Dream’. An overlooked aspect of this change is what took its place– the cart crash where Madeleine saves Fauchelevant and sparks recognition in Javert. Fantine is given time to exhaust her resources before ‘Lovely Ladies’ and ‘I Dreamed a Dream’, during which Javert opens an investigation into Madeleine. This allows Javert to confess his wrongdoing and ask to be discharged, his submission to authority a part of his character missed by the stage musical. Book Javert reveres the law in the place of religion; his musical counterpart treats the law and the Lord as interchangeable yet unchangeable objects of veneration. His worldview is confronted by Valjean’s, whose religion defines his morality, but is entirely separate from legality.

Speaking of Valjean, no other adaptation has gotten him even close to this right. In the stage musical the time jump from 1823 to 1832 happens immediately after Valjean fetches Cosette from the Thénardiers. I have gone on record saying that ‘Suddenly’ was a mediocre add-on, but after seeing so many adaptations butcher Valjean’s character I have no choice but to eat my words. In ‘Suddenly’ we hear Valjean find hope, life and love in becoming a parent. He sang of himself as prisoner and mayor in ‘Prologue’ and ‘Who Am I?’, it is only right that Valjean contemplates his new fatherhood through song. This is the role he commits to until the end of his life after all. From that point on he puts Cosette above his wants and needs– he barely hesitates to find Marius though he knew he would take away his one happiness. Once Valjean had ensured she would be taken care of, he willingly withdrew from her life because his past could have the potential to ruin it. When Cosette describes him as ‘loving and gentle and good’, you are inclined to believe her.

The movie musical does not place pressure on Marius to be simultaneously revolutionary and romantic. Gillenormand’s presence, although brief, tells that he is a student who is at odds with his rich family. His stubbornness towards his family grants him more complexity than just a flaky, lovesick fool or ‘leader’ of Les Amis. Enjolras takes up the mantle, especially as ‘Do You Hear The People Sing’ is shifted to open the film’s second act. Les Amis being an experienced activist group is alluded to in the removal of the line ‘they were schoolboys/ never held a gun’. Their idealism and camaraderie are clear even in the little screen time they had. The concert and stage versions of Les Mis are unmatched musically, but differ wildly from production to production (removing the revolve on the West End was a terrible decision). The movie musical is not only well done, but remains constant.

The 2012 film is devastating, uplifting, and beautiful to look at. Some say musicals are the most manipulative art form, and while I am happy to report that Les Mis is one that weaves in Hugo’s message flawlessly, it does not remove the need for at least some critical thought. The worst thing about the musical is not that it does not do the novel justice, but that with its popularity, a large portion of its audience only gives a passing thought to the message behind their entertainment. Theatre audiences are able to go about their days while its music has been used in protest movements around the world. The myth of continuous upward progression blinds the best of us, but ‘ignorance and poverty’ is as present as ever. The Les Misérables musical ends with the same call to action Hugo’s novel begins with.  Are you interrogating oppressive systems that persist today?

Bonus! 2007 anime

If you would like to watch a book-accurate adaptation of Les Misérables and musicals are not your jam, never fear! Shoujo Cosette is a 52 episode anime that contains the most detail of them all (including Jehan, if you know you know). Aimed at young women, there is no over-sexualisation, nor does it condescend or shy away from the heavy themes of Les Mis. One notable departure is the addition of a pet dog to Valjean and Cosette’s household, which let’s be honest, only adds to the story.

If you have reached this point in the page, might I suggest you try reading Les Misérables? I heard it is a nice little novel about a man who stole a loaf of bread.

[x]