#sweet jehan

[wastrelwoods]

one half orc and one half guy....

[toby-du-coeur]

o my gods the fandom hivemind thinks alike

happy (late) barricade day

who has been unhooking the stars without my permission and putting them on the table in the guise of candles.

[id in alt text]

[demiurgee]

💟 solidarity from the peoples of brazil to the people of palestine—

last year, @fairuzfan suggested that people make art in support of palestine. i planned something that was supposed to be posted on the last strike, but it took me longer than expected.

it's finished now! this is in solidarity with palestinians, including palestinian-brazilians, who have been working tirelessly for justice in brazil as well.

i chose to highlight aspects of the land that are important to palestinians and the palestinian cause: the olive trees, jaffa oranges, the figs, poppies, faqqua irises and the palestinian mountain gazelle. the figure of the woman itself is wearing the traditional thobe and headwear of ramallah, which i found! so beautiful!

for the brazilian figure i asked my grandma what she used to wear and what our family used to plant decades ago, when she lived in the northeastern countryside (she is way more familiarised with the land than me). had some help from friends of the region as well, so i drew a jaguar, manioc roots, corn, cashews, sweet potatoes, a carnaúba palm tree and mandacaru flowers.

some of those, such as manioc roots and mandacaru cacti, remind me of resilience and the sustaining of life in difficult times, and what they may allow to flourish and to go on:

vida e não apenas sobrevida. that is, "life and not only survival!"

may palestine and it's people live! live free from every form of oppression that allowed this genocide, this nakba to take place.

inspirations & sources bellow the cut.

inspired by the art of sliman mansour and dana barqawi, as well as palipunk & orangeblossombitch @ tumblr and nadasink @ instagram.

the books recommended by @palipunk (much thanks to you for making them available)

♥️ palestinian costume por jehan rajab ♥️ palestinian costume por shelagh weir ♥️ traditional palestinian embroidery and jewelry por abed al-samih abu omar

al-jazeera documentary about the preservation of palestinian thobes (i do not understand arabic yet but! it allowed me to have a closer look at the coins and headwear):

sites about tatreez

♥️ https://www.folkglory.com/ (i based the chest pannel on this item from their shop here.) ♥️ https://www.tatreezandtea.com/ ♥️ https://tirazain.com/archive

and the palestinian museum digital archive!

♥️ https://palarchive.org/

[ueinra]

Victor Hugo's fathers and their adopted children:

Claude Frollo and Quasimodo:

[ Then it was that he approached the unhappy little creature, which was so hated and so menaced. That distress, that deformity, that abandonment, the thought of his young brother, the idea which suddenly occurred to him, that if he were to die, his dear little Jehan might also be flung miserably on the plank for foundlings,—all this had gone to his heart simultaneously; a great pity had moved in him, and he had carried off the child. When he removed the child from the sack, he found it greatly deformed, in very sooth. […] Claude’s compassion increased at the sight of this ugliness; and he made a vow in his heart to rear the child for the love of his brother, in order that, whatever might be the future faults of the little Jehan, he should have beside him that charity done for his sake. ]

Vol.I - Book.IV - Ch.I NOTRE-DAME DE PARIS (1831)

Jean Valjean and Cosette:

[ Jean Valjean had never loved anything; for twenty-five years he had been alone in the world. He had never been father, lover, husband, friend. […] When he saw Cosette, when he had taken possession of her, carried her off, and delivered her, he felt his heart moved within him. All the passion and affection within him awoke, and rushed towards that child. He approached the bed, where she lay sleeping, and trembled with joy. He suffered all the pangs of a mother, and he knew not what it meant; for that great and singular movement of a heart which begins to love is a very obscure and a very sweet thing. Poor old man, with a perfectly new heart! ]

Vol.II - Book.IV - Ch.III LES MISÉRABLES (1862)

Ursus with Gwynplaine and Dea:

[ "Well done, Homo. I shall be father, and you shall be uncle." ]

Vol.I - Book.III - Ch.VI L'HOMME QUI RIT (1869)

Cimourdain and Gauvain:

[ Cimourdain had conceived a passionate love for his pupil. Childhood is so ineffably charming, it absorbs all love. All the power of loving in Cimourdain's nature had, so to speak, concentrated itself upon that child; the heart, condemned to solitude, fed upon this sweet and innocent creature, which it loved with the combined tenderness of a father, a brother, a friend, and a creator. To him he was indeed a son,—not of the flesh, but of the soul; he was not his father, the author of his being, but he was his master, and this was his masterpiece. […] The only being on earth whom he loved was this pupil,—child and orphan as he was. ]

Vol.II - Book.I - Ch.III QUATREVINGT-TREIZE (1874)

[yuri-is-online]

Saw your "Yutu judging Yuu's taste" ask and thought about Rollo!Yutu being especially judgy about his parents taste in men. At the ball after the whole Fire Flower Fiasco, he tries gently broaching the subject with Yuu only for them to look at him like this

"What, you think just because this twerp thinks Im special for being magicless I can overlook him trying to start WWV"? Which only confuses Yutu more because he's here, isn't he???

(Bonus points, if you don't count the Groovification Card lines as canon, then the only student to ask Yuu to dance at the ball is Azul. Imagine Yutu trying to digest the type of man his father is while watching his other parent dance in the arms of Azul freaking Ashengrotto).

He's watching his hands just waiting for him to be aborted from the timeline because clearly he messed up somehow, when in actuality his parents romance is a slow burn enemies to lovers fic that starts years later, like, during the apprenticeship in Senior Year/After Rollo gets counselling for his brothers death.

*Bonus bonus point, I imagine Rollo!yutu's real name is Rollo's brothers'name. Yuu can't remember why it eas so important to name their kid that, just that it was.

the exact opposite of the usual dynamic lol

That bonus point is totally true, we don't know what Rollo's bother's name is but in the book it's Jehan/Jean and that does sound like a fitting name for Rollo! Yutu. Jean likes knowing that his name was important somehow, it gives him a connection to his father that he desperately wants. Doubly so when he's at NRC and no one knows anything about him because he went to a different school. He wonders what they would have had to say if they knew the truth... seeing Yuu dance with Azul doesn't help. Seeing them dismiss Rollo outright makes him lethargic, wondering if there's anything he can do to prevent the bad future before he ceases to exist. Should he try telling Idia what's up before he dies? He doesn't know anymore...

The idea of Yuu and Rollo's relationship being a slow burn is not something I have played with before? As I am thinking about it now, the idea of Rollo having a strong instantaneous attraction to Yuu that he swallows in favor of his world ending plan, only for it to be all that he's left with is sweet in a diabolical way? Maybe he tries to learn how to use magicam in the hopes of talking with them and then he feels stupid about it because he sucks at it, but then Yuu actually starts talking to him? Maybe Yuu just wants to encourage him to seek help, and they still do that, but they really like talking to him and appreciate how aware he is of their struggles. Maybe Rollo talks to the magicless people of his city and forwards their advice, anything to get to know them better. Yuu leans back and thinks about what Yutu asked or implied and has the unfortunate realization all on their own that maybe their taste in men is bad... and desperately brushes it off as him being just a... good unique friend? Something they denied all the way up until they were doing an internship in the City of Flowers and were meeting up for coffee every single morning in a way they couldn't pretend weren't dates. Who knows how long Rollo cultivated those flowers, Yuu is something he's willing to cultivate a lot longer.

In the original timeline anyway, who knows about this one (｀ω´)

[kmclaude]

Something something Jehan probably does have a mommy domme kink (women are hot + he is so used to, and kinda likes, being acted on rather than facing his own wants) that 1000% Annemarie could and would easily fulfill in their shared afterlife (she does like bossing people around, though please be a service top thanks)

Tiefer doesn't have a mommy domme kink (hates women) but does have an exception in that he gets insanely jealous when his sister is being sweet and tender, even and especially sexually, with Jehan (and not JUST because she's touching what is his...)

In a backwards way Annemarie always gets to have men fight over her

[hannahhook7744]

Descendants Background Characters Names (Redone) Part 1;

Judy the guidance counselor.

Nessie, daughter of Marlon (Ariel's cousin).

Elle Athanasiou of Tirulia, Eric and Ariel's adoptive daughter.

Christopher 'Topher' Thompson, great nephew of Smee.

Hershel Fenner, son of Harvey Fenner.

Tsunami, niece of Ariel.

Cascade daughter of Ariel's friend, Coral.

Beryl, daughter of Attina.

Harmony, youngest daughter of Ariel.

Jamilah, daughter of Jasmine and Aladdin ( @cleverqueencommander 's oc).

Hilda Bjorgman, daughter of Kristoff Bjorgman and Anna.

Jacoba/Coba, daughter of Bernadette.

Nora Nattura, daughter of Honerymaren and Elsa.

Catharina/Cato Bones, daughter of Katrina and Brom Bones.

Addy Colyar, is the daughter of Buford (from Princess and the Frog).

Demurra Foxworth, daughter of Nibs and Jenny Foxworth.

Sappy the tall Dwarf, Coach Jenkins's husband.

Coach Reese Jenkins.

Girls in the back:

Chi Fu's daughter, Min.

Roger and Anita's daughter, Amy.

Chien-po and Su's daughter, Chao.

Girls in the front:

Jehan Frollo's daughter, Jeanette Frollo.

Prince Lars Westergaard and Charlotte La Bouf's daughter, Princess Carolina Westergaard la Bouf of the Southern Isles.

Ling and Ting-Ting's daughter, Tyra.

First girl is Naveen and Tiana's daughter, Nina. Twin of Tyrone. @cleverqueenchild 's oc.

Girl behind Chad is Chi-fu's daughter, Min.

Girl behind Doug is Prince Lars Westergaard and Charlotte La Bouf's daughter, Princess Aloisia Westergaard la Bouf of the Southern Isles.

Guy behind Doug is Prince Lars Westergaard and Charlotte La Bouf's son, Prince Brendan Westergaard La Bouf of the Southern Isles.

Guy next to Doug is Naveen and Tiana's son, Tyrone. Twin of Nina.

Girl behind Audrey is Ling and Ting-Ting's daughter, Lian.

Demurra Foxworth is the daughter of Nibs (From Peter Pan) and Jenny Foxworth (Oliver & Company).

Princess Aloisia Westergaard-La Bouf is the daughter of Lars Westergaard (Prince Hans' brother) and Charlotte La Bouf (from Princess and the Frog).

*Chow is the daughter of the Matchmaker (from Mulan).

Becca Colyar is the daughter of Buford (from Princess and the Frog).

Princess Reyna Olympian-Westergaard is the daughter of Alana Olympian (Ariel's sister) and Maximilian Westergaard (Hans' brother).

Princess Shi is the daughter of Prince Jeeki.

(I only named the ones who faces you can kind of see).

Sheldon is the son of Mole.

Ronan is the son of Maudie (Brave).

Zoey Marquez-Madrigal is the daughter of Isabella Madrigal and Bubo Marquez.

Inaya is the daughter of Prince Achmed.

Mary-Grace is the daughter of Vladimir.

Mary-Ellen is the daughter of Phil.

Macarla is the daughter of Megara and Hercules.

Ronnie is the son of Phlegmenkoff.

Kaiyah is the daughter of Raya.

Kaida is the daughter of Raya.

Cesar is the son of Malina and Kuzco.

Spencer is the son of Mole.

Sawyer is the son of Mole.

Shen is the son of Mole.

Tanya is the daughter of Colette Tatou and Alfredo Linguini Gusteau.

Braxton is the son of Joshua Sweets.

Robbie is the son of Audrey Ramirez.

Gabe is the son of Vinny.

Fatima is the daughter of Kida and Milo.

Agatha is the daughter of Vidia.

Zara is the daughter of Maui.

Topher Thompson is the Great Nephew of Smee.

Cassius 'Cash' Clayton, son of William Clayton.

Shan Deja, daughter of Shan Yu.

Gemma LeGume, daughter of Gaston LeGume and the Enchantress.

Raymonda Snoops, daughter of Madame Medusa and Mr. Melvin Snoops (who is under Harriet's care).

Kathleen 'Cat' Bimbette, daughter of Claudette Bimbette.

Top Row:

Claire Bimbette, daughter of Claudette Bimbette.

Domonic Salt, son of Damien Salt.

2nd Row:

Everton 'Evie/Ev' Montgomery, son of Susan Montgomery (A Corrupt Mayor). Not to be confused with Wilson 'Will' Clayton, son of William Clayton, who looks and dresses similar.

Chantelle and Imani; they are the children of petty criminals.

3rd Row:

Hassan, bio son of Mozenrath and Sadira, and adopted brother of Reza.

Axel Huntsman, son of the huntsman.

Lamar, son of one of the Jolly Roger's Crew.

Last Row:

Alya and Omar, adopted children of Mozenrath and Sadira, and adopted siblings of Reza.

Top Row:

Henry McLeach, son of Percival McLeach.

Edith Olympian, daughter of Eris.

Mako, son of Sharky.

Middle Row:

Nova, orphan girl under Harriet's care.

Lin, Su, and Fen; daughters of the Huns.

Sean, son of the Sheriff of Nottingham.

Anais, orphan under Harriet's care.

Last Row:

Wolfrick Wolfe, son of Big Bad Wolf and enemy of Harriet Hook.

Jia, orphaned daughter of one of the Huns.

Top Row:

Raven Bog, daughter of Chernabog and enemy of Harriet Hook.

Na’vi, orphan boy under Harriet's care.

Middle Row:

Kingsley King, son of the Horned king and enemy of Harriet Hook.

Queenie Bog, daughter of Chernabog and enemy of Harriet Hook.

Last Row:

Holiday 'Holly' Sinclair, daughter of Helga Sinclair.

Donnie Salt, son of Damien Salt.

Rory Ratcliffe, son of Governor Ratcliffe.

Top Row:

'Mark' and 'Misha' Mullins, twin sons of Mullins from Hook’s crew and member of Uma’s crew.

Steward Starkey, son of Mr. Starkey from Hook's crew.

Middle Row:

Annalise, orphan girl who is Rachel's bestie.

Rachel Ratcliffe, daughter of Governor Ratcliffe.

Last Row:

Brigitta, Annalisa’s sister.

Alvar, son of Vor.

Raina, daughter of Prisma.

Aj Slade, daughter of Amos Slade.

Wilson 'Will' Clayton, son of William Clayton.

Magnus, son of King Magnifico.

------------------------------------------------------------

More will be added later as I come up with them, as will ages.

Feel free to suggest ages for any of the characters or potential parents.

Thanks for the help @casinotrio1965 .

[avavkh]

I was studying for my penultimate exam and was very tired, so I needed to draw something extremely sweet. Esmeralda and Jehan UPD: pathophysiology done ✅

[singsongsapphic]

thinking about i saw the tv glow and how last night i went back to my old favorite les mis fanart from 2012 and i think les mis is my pink opaque

i was writing myself into barricade boy fic, giving myself not only queer community but quite specifically boy comradery with forms of non-toxic masculinity. my self-insert characters were best friends with jehan prouvaire and courfeyrac, who are very sweet and gay. jehan was nonbinary transfem in my head before i even knew what that was.

and then ten years later i randomly got recommended to read a major les mis fic that came out after my big les mis phase and it felt like home. and i was looking at this fanart yesterday and i think these are my isttg universe. like, looking at courf and jehan and the similarities with media i love and connect with now, i think they and les mis are just at the core of my being in this way i want to act on but don't totally know how to outside of online or in d&d lol

[serialadoptersbracket]

Round 2, Match 5: August vs. Claude Frollo

Submitted kids:

August: Hisoka Mikage, Chikage Utsuki

Claude Frollo: Jehan and Quasimodo

Propaganda under the cut!

August:

1. "august is the adoptive older brother of hisoka mikage and chikage utsuki. for context, these characters are all spies, and were invited into the organisation by august. (also known as misha sometimes). hisoka is december, and chikage is april! their collective group name in fanon is ""gekkagumi.""

the first interaction we see of him in game is him adopting hisoka off the street. he was a dying homeless child, and august invited him to join the organisation. at first he declined, but august kept coming back to him until he followed (despite chikage's protests about it) he fed fed hisoka gingerbread, and declared ""we're a family now.""

chikage was adopted before hisoka, but we only learned more about it later in the story. chikage was living in a ""facility"" when he runs into august who lives in the organisation.

despite their very harsh life, august really did everything he could to give hisoka and chikage the best life he could. he loved the idea of family, and always encouraged them to celebrate christmas and birthdays, and play games!

august had a cover job where he owned a candy store. despite it just being a cover, august loved it and had a genuine care for the children. he used to give away free sweets to the point his shop was actively going out of business, and whenever he saw a sad kid he'd try his best to cheer them up. people around the town came in just to talk to him, to the point where hisoka said when he was covering the shop for him, the first thing people would ask was ""where's misha?""

in his shop, he also used to have a myth that if you wrote a wish on a certain brand of cookie's wrapper, the wish would come true. august spoke excitedly of the wishes kids would wish for.

events in the story lead up to august's untimely death. years later, hisoka runs into a kid who used to go to his shop. this child had wished to be a painter, and was now painting. he actually ended up in possession of a wrapper august wrote on which said ""a happy family."" however, the boy couldn't read japanese and didn't know what it said. despite that, he held onto the wrapper for years after august's disappearance. he also manages to draw a picture of him from memory. :(("

2. “he's so . gwahh he just wants to give them a nice family”

Claude Frollo:

“Jehan's Claude's baby brother he raised after their parents die (Claude is 18/19 by then, and something like 37 during the books) and he doesn't kill Quasimodo's Mom in the original. Instead, he takes in Quasi, who has been left on the cathedrale's doorsteps. (Don't worry he also has a lot of faults and you still wouldn't want him to raise your kids)”

[wastrelwoods]

in a game where you can be any number of ethereally beautiful young elf maidens the rush of making your player character middle aged and green and kinda fucked up in the face and body is really unparalleled. that is the power of jehan to me

[pyromaniacbibliophile]

Bricktober day 20-Supernatural

@lesmis-prompts

____________________________

Do you know what happens when a god falls in love with a city? 

Paris, disenchanted and cynical, red lines around his neck from the guillotines and a thousand scars from a thousand battles. Green eyes that have seen too much war. Hands that always seem, to him, as if they’re stained by blood. The burns curling around his sides from Jeanne. 

Apollo, shining and golden, playing at mortality with all of his heart. So fed up with godhood and pointless gold laurels. Despite his many losses he chooses to be hopeful and young (still so young for a god.) Caught up in these students and their revolution. Uses his silver-tongue to spin tales of victory, of overthrowing the monarchy. Somewhere along the lines he believes it as well. 

When they meet it is with fire and sharp glances, arguments cut and reshaped. Paris laughs at the plans, says it will never work, calls him naive and foolish. Apollo snarls words made to hurt and defends his stance, says that the people will rise. Neither really suspects the other of being supernatural. Neither would really care. 

It is weekly now. They each look forward to it, although they say they don’t. Apollo doesn’t like the cynic who calls himself R, he doesn’t understand how someone can choose to drown in wine instead of fighting. Paris loves the man who says his name is Enjolras, loves him fiercely. He hates him as well, of course, but Enjolras is fighting for liberty, for Paris, and how can a city not love this light? (For once, he accepts the scars this man will indubitably leave on him, accepts them as tribute) 

Then they are alone when they next meet, at night wandering the city. Paris hates to sleep, knows what sharp memories will fill his mind if he dares to dream. Apollo knows sun gods aren’t meant for the night, yet wanders it anyway. They collide in a dark street. They walk, they talk. It turns into wild arguments but this time they feel more like teasing debates. They keep going until the sun rises. Afterwards Apollo thinks he’s falling in love.

The next night they meet again. This time- this time they debate on anything under the sun and they somehow end up kissing in a dead-end alley. It’s incredible, of course it is. When Paris meets Apollo there can be nothing other than sparks. Only neither of them know who the other one is… So when Paris tastes sweet, burning, fruit and realises his tongue and lips are stained gold with ichor, and when Apollo feels red scars circling Paris’s neck and knows, just knows, that they’re from a guillotine…. 

Why, then they both run. 

The next day is a meeting. Paris and Apollo spend the whole time decidedly Not Looking At Each Other and Not Talking To Each Other. Their friends are worried but don’t push. 

They don’t meet in the nights again. 

Apollo, whenever he’s talking to Paris, uses insults he knows will sting. Paris uses sharply weaponised flirting and odd knife-blades of taunts about ‘Apollo’, mostly to Jehan or Ferre. 

It lasts for what seems like forever, but they’re slowly slipping back into their old ways, arguments and disagreements, cynicism and optimism. The arguments are softer and softer by day and Apollo is thinking that he might still love Paris. Paris, of course, never faltered in his. 

Only then the revolution becomes real. Lemarque is dead. Apollo grieves for such a man who believed in change. Paris grieves because his people grieve. A barricade is planned. Things are becoming real and neither entity is sure what to do about it. 

They’re at the barricade. Everyone is dead. Apollo is backed into a corner by guns and Paris sees red and p u l l s. The guns turn on their owners and fire. Blood begins to drip. 

Later, they realise they have matching scars. A city gains the wounds of its people and a god only is wounded if it means something to them. 

The bullet scars are in the middle of their chests. A god and a city, a leader and a cynic, Enjolras and Grantaire, Apollo and Paris. 

That is what happens when a city loves a god. Scars.

[dolphin1812]

“All surrounded Marius, and Courfeyrac fell on his neck.

"Here you are!"

"What happiness!" said Combeferre.

"You arrived just in time," said Bossuet.

"Were it not for you I should be dead!" Courfeyrac remarked.

"Without you I should have been gobbled!" Gavroche added.

Marius asked,—

"Who is the leader?"

"Yourself," Enjolras replied.”

This scene is so sweet after such tragic chapters! We get to feel that Marius has friends! And while I think Enjolras means that there is no leader and that everyone can decide for themselves, it still feels like a nice recognition of Marius.

It’s important to note, though, that Marius is terrified by all of this. I don’t want to say he has no commitment to this cause or his friends, but he did wander to the barricade because of his emotional state first and foremost, and it seems that combination of desperation, despair, and grief is now adding horror to the mix. Everyone else is scared, too, of course, but Marius is the one vacillating between reality and a nightmare.

And the joyful beginning doesn’t last long. Jean Prouvaire is the second Ami to die, and he gets a fitting end for a poet, crying out a message (“long live the future!”) before he dies. His death is still brief, though, keeping us in that chaotic environment that doesn’t permit grief.

We also see a major point of contrast between the barricade members and the National Guard. As prisoners, Javert and Jehan somewhat parallel each other. Javert is slated for execution, but as soon as Jehan is captured, that plan switches to a prisoner exchange, which Combeferre and Enjolras rapidly plan. The Guard, on the other hand, shoot Prouvaire as soon as they capture him, either not realizing that one of their number has been captured or not caring. It’s true that Javert was kept alive this long because they were low on resources (another difference with the National Guard), but the Amis checked on each other personally and not just in numbers. They notice Jean Prouvaire is missing not just because they’re down a fighter, but because they’re down a friend. No one cares about Javert that way, suggesting a lack of comparable camaraderie (and possibly even a desire to get rid of Javert). The actions of his supposed allies are his death sentence.

[dropofbittersea]

Someone is trying to woo Steve.

Every day in February leading up to Valentine's Day, Steve is sent an expensive, if a bit impersonal, gift from a secret admirer. And while he's less than impressed by this covert attempt to win his heart, he's very impressed by the sweet, funny, and deeply attractive delivery driver who brings these gifts to his door every day.

Bucky is amazing, and Steve is falling for him hard and fast, but each day that goes by is another day closer to Valentine's Day, and the expected end of his secret admirer's gifts. Steve had better figure out soon if Bucky's clear flirtation with him is serious, or if he's just in it for the chase. Because if he's serious, there are Things Steve would like to do....

[little-arcadia]

Tagged by @jehan-d-art

The last song: Closer, JayB & Youngjae (LOVE THE SONG)

Fav colour: Pink

Last book: I can't remember. I have read several graphic novels this year, and more fan fiction than ever, but I can't remember the last actual binder book I have picked up.

Last movie: Layla, written and directed by Amrou Al-Kadhi. So needed to see a movie with a non binary protagonist, directed by a non binary artist.

Last TV show: I am currently rewatching Goblin. My mood swings are strong lately and Goblin helps every time. I am also about to hit the last episode of Strange New Worlds season 2.

Sweet/spicy/savoury: Savoury, but I will never deny a desert after a nice meal. Or for tea time. Getting into K culture also helped my tastebuds getting more tolerant to spicy food.

Relationship status: Single

Last thing I googled: Casta Diva (wanted to check how that would translate in english according to google).

Looking forward to: GOT7 COMEBACK. But also meeting my goddaughter this weekend, Drag Show tomorrow evening, Hadley Fraser & Ramin Karimloo's show on Sunday and January 2025 ♡

tags for @blueatelier @ladydorian @clawbehavior who I haven't poked in a while

[akumastrife]

'I didn't wish for snow (but it's better with you)' // Les Mis - Snowed In

Rating: Teen (language) Pairing: E/R, BahorelFeuilly, Courferre, Eponine/Cosette/Marius, Montparnasse/Jehan, Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta Fandom: Les Mis Word Count: 4k It was Sunday. Sundays were for meeting with L'ABC for the cause of the season. This Sunday was thwarted by approximately two feet of cold, white bullshit. {ALSO ON AO3} (Yes, this was something I started Dec 2022 for my Holiday Fic Advent Challenge. Yes, it could've easily been 40k. But I'm practicing restraint and trying to be more realistic with my abilities, and hey! better late than never.)

Grantaire glanced up from pouring himself another cup of mulled wine, and smiled softly despite himself. “E, darling,” he teased, “I don’t think they’re going to make it.”

“We always meet on Sundays,” Enjolras muttered. He crossed his arms, shifting, and didn’t move from the window.  A golden sentinel. Grantaire let himself look while Enjolras sulked. Just for another moment or two.

Grantaire sighed, but humored him by coming over to stand beside him.

Outside, the world was a blur of fast falling snow, drifts building high on the sidewalks and encroaching on the streets. “We’re supposed to get another ten inches at least.”

And then snorted, a joke primed on his lips—

—let it pass at the withering look Enjolras shot him, pressing his smile into a thin seam and shaking his head, eyes wide in faux innocence.

“I think everyone’s snowed in. Or out, depending on where they are. Face it, Étoile, just you and me today. Probably tomorrow. As long as it takes to be shoveled out.”

“Horrors,” Enjolras mused, but the corner of his mouth flickered and betrayed him. He sighed, long and tortured, and took the mug from Grantaire’s hand, sipping it with a pleased hum. “This is the best batch so far.”

“More orange,” Grantaire agreed. He took Enjolras’ elbow and tugged lightly. “Come on, away from the window. Let’s watch a trashy, disgustingly heterosexual hallmark movie, and you can tell me everything wrong with it.”

“I do enjoy that. Be better if Courfeyrac was here, though.”

“Everything’s better with Courf,” Grantaire agreed indulgently. “Maybe we should invite him into the bedroom next time.”

Enjolras hummed in general agreement, because he wasn’t listening, already texting Courfeyrac.

Grantaire laughed to himself and turned on the tv, pulling Enjolras down by his belt loops.   

Across town, the door to the cafe blew open on a gust of wind, a swirl of snow, and what appeared to be an honest-to-god Yeti.

And then, upon a second and much longer look, it was only some fool caked in snow from trying to carry out a normal day in this very-abnormal Sunday Blizzard.

“Look like you could use something to warm up with,” Feuilly called across the lobby. He abandoned his broom to slip back behind the counter and tighten his apron strings. At least if he was stuck here for capitalism’s ever-grinding-machine, he’d get a tip out of it.

“Witch’s Tits, it’s a mess out there,” the yeti grunted.

Oh.

Oh, that was his fool.

“What on earth are you doing out in the storm!” Feuilly snapped, putting down the paper cup and coming out into the lobby once again. This time with a dishtowel for Bahorel’s… snowy everything.

Bahorel, the idiot, just smiled at him, shaking himself off like a dog and beat his snow crusted hat on the back of a chair. “Coming to pick you up.”

“My shift doesn’t end for another two hours,” Feuilly reminded him, much less frightening that he’d intended. It was a sweet, if stupid, gesture. He tossed the towel at him so he could properly fold his arms and pretend not be exasperatedly charmed. “It’s messy out there, you said so yourself.”

“Whole city’s shutting down.” Something muffled under the towel. And then Bahorel reappeared with a grin. “Figured even your bosses would have to comply.”

“You figured wrong.”

Bahorel’s glee melted away with the snow in his locs.

Feuilly frowned, but sighed anyway and reached to rub warmth into Bahorel’s cheeks. “But I suppose it’s sweet you came anyway. How was campus?”

“Oh, same as same. Showed my face at the study group, passed out some of Enj’s fliers since I was already there. Tried to duck out early but none of the buses are running with everything.”

Feuilly nodded as he listened, drifting back behind the counter to make Bahorel something warm to drink. Habit and comfort, hands working mechanically as he made something off menu, listening to Bahorel’s animated story-telling just like when they were at home. Only the empty cafe and its softly humming appliances were their captive audience, instead of all his plants and their cat.

“Sorry, wait,” he interrupted, “did you just say you taught a class? Who’s class? What class runs on a Sunday? Aren’t there, I don’t know, laws about that?”

Bahorel sat at a stool, crossing his arms on the counter. “Well, you see, as I was saying, I was trying to leave campus but I came across a classroom in which there was no teacher and a dozen students talking about the fifteen-minute rule.”

“Baz…”

“So, I thought, what the hell, I’m already here, might as well do something. Marched in, said they’d sent a Sub, and got to teaching.”

Feuilly pressed a hand to his mouth, choking back laughter. “You? You barely go to classes, and now you’re teaching them? What was it?”

“Ancient Roman Law.”

“There’s a historical law class… on Sundays?” Feuilly slid a mug across the counter to him, leaning on it himself.

“Oh, don’t know what class it was, but that’s what I taught.”

Feuilly sputtered, coughed, and then couldn’t help the peal of genuine laughter. “You’re terrible. Those poor undergrads are going to think it’ll be on the test!” He leaned to hit Bahorel’s shoulder hard.

Bahorel only flinched so much as to protect him mug from tipping, and grinned, cheeks flushed with cold and joy, eyes twinkling. “Ah, it’ll be good for them. If they thought I was a real teacher, that’s on them.”

“Wait, if the buses aren’t running, how’d you get here?”

“I walked,” Bahorel said, eyebrows raised in the pointed obviously.

Feuilly hit him again. “Then how did you think you were going to ‘pick me up’ with no transportation?”

“I admit, I hadn’t thought that far. It was more about the gesture, really.”

“Here’s a gesture for you,” Feuilly said, and flipped him off. “What if we’re stuck here all night?”

“Could be romantic.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes. “That’d break so many food service regulations. Absolutely not.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Well then I suppose it’s good you’re fun enough for the both of us,” Feuilly sighed, and gave into that cheeky grin by leaning across the counter for a kiss.

“Looks like that’s the last of everyone,” Cosette said, wiping her hands down her powder blue apron and looking around. The food drive had been busy, but not like years previous, and she was dismayed to realize it was because how much snow was falling and more than likely no one not at the shelter itself could get there.

“We should start cleaning up and get out of here,” Eponine said, handing her a rag, “before we get stuck here too. R’s been texting, he and his golden candlestick are stuck at the apartment. Proper lovebirds,” with an insincere sneer.

Cosette giggled.

Gavroche wriggled between a wall and the trash cans, breathing hard and face flushed with cold.

“What’s wrong with you?” Eponine asked, as Cosette brushed snow from his hat, face, and shirt collar.

“Marius’ car’s stuck,” he said, muffled behind Cosette’s hands. “He went off to get help.”

“Oh dear.”

“He’ll be dead in a ditch before dawn,” Eponine said.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Cosette said, but even she couldn’t sound as optimistic as she’d like. “We’ll clean up and see if anyone needs anything else, and maybe by the time we’re ready to leave, it won’t be on homemade snowshoes.”

It didn’t take too long, all in all. The cooks and kitchen helpers mostly had everything wrapped up and ready for deliveries (that likely wouldn’t happen with the weather) while Gavroche flitted around throwing more festive decorations up on any ledge or wall that seemed too depressing.

Eponine changed over laundry and passed out more blankets, and smiled too fond when she found Cosette sat on the floor with a little girl, hand-mending her doll’s dress.

“This is very pretty,” Cosette praised. “I love this color of green. And it’ll hide my stitches beautifully.”

“Did you do that?” the girl asked, pointing and poking at the sprig of forget-me-nots embroidered on her apron strap.

“I did, would your doll like some too?”

The little girl nodded and Eponine smoothed a hand over Cosette’s hair, sitting down beside her to rest her feet for the first time all day.

Cosette had embroidered not only flowers but a tiny bird on the girl’s own sleeve by the time her phone chimed in her pocket.

“Grab that, love?” she asked, hands busy and thread caught in her mouth as she finished.

Eponine slid out her phone and snorted at the ID, before answering it, getting to her feet and looking towards the door. “Is this the man who’s kidnapped my boyfriend? We don’t have any money for ransom, you know.”

Marius’ breath hitched down the line in surprise before laughing softly. He sounded winded, and a little giddy, but mostly probably all right. “Car’s stuck in the snow, I’m sorry, and the buses aren’t running, but I’ve come with a chariot for the ladies none the less.”

“So gallant,” she drawled, glancing down at Cosette’s curious expression, and rolling her eyes in answer. She reached down to help her up. “We’ll be right out, it better be warm, Pontmercy.”

“I’ve done my best.”

She gathered their bags, her little brother, and her girlfriend’s porcelain hand, taking all of it out front of the shelter.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Oh my,” Cosette echoed, entirely charmed and fluttery because she was actually a Victorian Lady born in the wrong year.

“That’s so cool!” Gavroche exclaimed, and bounded through the snow to clamber up into the sleigh next to Marius. “The horses are real?”

“Yes,” Marius laughed, looking hopefully to the girls. “Called in a favor at the country club. We’ve got them until midnight.”

“They’re beautiful,” Cosette sighed, struggling through the snow to come up beside the pair of chestnut brown horses, patting their necks and down their harnesses, all lined in shining bells. The sleigh was massive, varnished wood, and utterly unbelievable.

“You rich fuck,” Eponine said. “We’re taking this and delivering the rest of the meals to everyone who couldn’t make it.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Marius said. He leaned out of the sleigh for their bags, and set them in the deep back end. “Plenty of room, go get the baskets.”

Cosette climbed into the sleigh and grabbed his face in her mittened hands, kissing him soundly and laughing bright like the sleigh’s bells. “You’re a dream. Absolutely wonderful.”

“I’d hoped you’d like it,” he admitted, spreading a fur blanket over her. Glanced to Eponine. “Both of you. The roads are mostly empty, we’ll finish the rounds in no time.”

“Unbelievable,” Eponine said, but she couldn’t help smiling after all.

Courfeyrac pouted and slid lower in his chair.

All of it was so commonplace, Combeferre didn’t even bother to look up.

“E and R are having a movie night,” Courfeyrac said, thrusting his phone across the table for Combeferre’s perusal. “You said the weather was going to cancel the meeting.”

“Hence, they’re not having a meeting,” Combeferre said, flipping a page in his book.

“Ferre, I don’t think I can study anymore. Every time I read something it just spills out of my ears like spaghetti. I would like to watch movies.”

Combeferre sighed, but pushed his current book back a little and checked the time. Used Courfeyrac’s phone because it was still under his nose, and then took it rather abruptly.

It was… much later than he expected. He’d planned on getting there early, cramming as much as inhumanly possible, and then beat it out of the library before the storm hit in earnest and they were forced to make a bed and campfire from books (only the damaged ones, of course, headed for the bin anyway.)

Instead, he’d spent the whole day at this tiny table in a cramped corner, surrounded by too many empty coffee cups, and Courfeyrac. The very sweet Courfeyrac who hadn’t complained once while sitting with him for six hours.

“Is that really the time? Gracious, Courf, I’m so sorry,” as he jumped up and began organizing his papers and books in earnest.

Courfeyrac’s fluttering fingers appeared under his nose, slowing his hands physically and helping. “Ferre, settle, it’s alright. Really. I needed it too. And I’m only mildly wasting away from starvation, really, easy enough to fix.”

Combeferre frowned, but when he looked up Courfeyrac was smiling at him, not a hint of malice, just fond exhaustion. He was owed that, Combeferre supposed.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Courfeyrac smiled wider and winked at him, standing to gather his own possessions.

Predictably, Combeferre blushed, but that wasn’t new, either. “I just have to return these to the reference desk, and then we can go.”

“Excellent.”

There wasn’t anyone at the reference desk, so they just stacked their various tomes behind the lip on the counter.

There wasn’t… anyone anywhere, really. The halls were quiet, the computers all idly bouncing around the city logo screen-savers.

Descending the main, winding staircase found no one else. Not a giggle or shriek from the children’s area, not any sulking teens in the lounge, not even late afternoon stragglers in line at the coffee cart.

“Ferre…”

Combeferre knew. It hit him all at once with a creeping sort of icy dread that matched the horror on his face reflected in a frost-coated window.

He pulled on the main doors. Once. Twice.

Several more times in quick, panicked succession.

“They’ve locked us in,” he whispered.

“We’re going to die in here,” Courfeyrac whimpered. “What are we supposed to do? Ferre? I don’t have any cash for the vending machines. Do we break a window—”

“No!”

“-call the fire department? Go upstairs and see if they have any vintage porn on VHS?”

Combeferre yanked on one of his curls quickly. “All your ideas are terrible.”

“I don’t hear you coming up with any. This is your natural habitat.”

“Let me think.”

Courfeyrac quieted obediently, even if he pressed his face to the doors and whimpered to the outside world at large.

Even they did manage to get the doors unlocked, or find a particularly forgotten and unsecured window, the snow was already thigh high with no signs of stopping. They’d be lost in a winter wasteland before they made it to the main road.

“Well, I think there’s really only one thing for it.”

“Hmm?”

“We have to call the Mayor.”

Courfeyrac squawked. 

Snow continued to fall thick and heavy outside the wall of foggy windows. Jehan stood on the warm side of it, and watched the activity of an unfamiliar airport. An unfamiliar city.

They picked up their carry-on bags and moved against the stream of people up to one of the service desks.

“This isn’t my city,” they blurted before the attendant was able to even to fully focus on them. “I don’t know where this is, but I’m not supposed to be here.”

It was a fraught several minutes of back and forth, arguing with the attendant that yes, they understood how unusual this was; yes, this should’ve never been able to happen; yes, it was possibly up to them to cover the cost of their appropriate return home, if there were even any seats available, which there weren’t; yes—

A well-manicured hand studded in rings appeared on the counter next to them, distracting both into silence.

“I don’t mean to eavesdrop,” a smooth and melodious voice said. And then what followed was the most beautiful, possibly vampiric, gentleman Jehan had ever seen. “But you seem to be in a spot of distress.”

“I am,” Jehan said immediately, eyes only for this… this… specimen.

They were being ridiculous, like some damsel on a romance novel cover.

But they were also a million miles from home (give or take a few), stranded, and being smiled at by a gorgeous model of sharp gothic refinement.

The airlines attendant said something, but it was lost in the muffled background.

Montparnasse, as he introduced himself, was there on business. What business, he was coyly avoiding mentioning, and every time Jehan tried to circle back around to it, there was another bit of pretty flattery to distract them, another kind question about their travels, and their desire to just go home.

“I’ve always wanted to visit,” Montparnasse said, like it was nothing. Like the concept of changing a plane ticket when there were none to be had, was only a matter of whimsy.

A man all in black edged into their field of vision. Montparnasse glanced over lazily, quirked a smile, and waved him away.

“Do you know him?”

“Friend of a friend. Now, let’s see about if anyone’s wanting to switch flights.”

Jehan couldn’t fathom that being possible at all. The airport was packed, the weather was getting nastier, flights were being canceled left and right. Everyone just wanted to get home. What could Montparnasse possibly have to convince anyone like that?

“You’re so sweet,” Musichetta crooned, gently mopping up the bloody cut at Bossuet’s temple. “A sweet fool.”

“Your fool, at least,” Bossuet said dreamily, beaming up at her. “Sorry I got hurt.”

“Ah, ah,” she said, “what did I say about sorrys?”

“Don’t apologize for what you didn’t do,” Joly said, smiling tight as he focused on the open box of medical supplies. “That’s another quarter for the jar. Why were you trying to shovel? The way it’s coming down, by the time you finished, you’d be right back at the start.”

“I didn’t want you slipping on the ice,” Bossuet said. His smile faltered only until his eyes were able to focus long enough to slip to Joly. Enough to catch Joly wrestling back a fond sigh.

“Ah, so you decided to slip for me.”

“Happy to. I would slip every day so you wouldn’t.”

“Idiot,” Joly sighed, threading a needle. “We should take you to the clinic. Clearly you’ve hit your head too hard, talking like that.”

“Can’t, in this weather,” Musichetta mused. She kissed Bossuet’s head softly, cradling him close to her chest. “You’ll have to do, doc.”

“Only a student,” Joly reminded her, as he always did. “This will sting,” he warned.

“M’used to it.” Bossuet closed his eyes, relaxing into Musichetta and humming at the lovely way she rubbed his head and his chest, fingernails drawing light designs.

Bossuet simmered in it, drifting in the warmth of touch and care, the comforting sting of antiseptic, the soft chatter of his two favorite people, the jingle of bells—

Bells?

“Do I have a concussion?”

“Likely,” Joly said. He still picked up a flashlight to flash in Bossuet’s eyes.

“Do I hear bells? Am I dying? Why are there bells?”

“Bells, what do you—Oh, oh my, there’s bells?”

She stood in a flurry of skirts and hair and Bossuet nearly fell back on his head at the sudden shock of cold at his back.

“It’s Eponine and her boys,” Musichetta said in delight, throwing the front door open wider. “They have a sleigh.”

“Like Santa?” Bossuet asked.

Joly laughed.

“We’re here to pick you up!” Cosette called from the street.

Bossuet couldn’t wait for his ears to stop ringing so he could say hi to Marius.

“Good,” Musichetta said, “we can stop by the clinic on the way.”

“Bossuet?” Cosette asked.

“Isss allll about me,” Bossuet sang cheerfully.

Joly’s cool fingers tugged the end of the suture knot, playing carefully over the perfect little line of stitches. “Hmm, you’ll live.”

“Nice. Can I have a kiss?”

“Hmm.”

“Chetta always kisses me better.”

“That’s because she has healing kisses,” Joly said gravely. He finished wiping Bossuet’s cut and finally leaned back for his cane to push himself up. “You sit there a moment, get yourself settled. Chetta and I will get our stuff for the evening.”

“Bring the heated blanket. We might get stuck there.”

Joly leaned down to kiss Bossuet’s head after all. “So foolish, and yet so smart. I’ll get it. And some painkillers.”

Enjolras had only just gotten his perfect hand into Grantaire’s pants when there was a great and sudden clatter on their little apartment porch.

“The door—”

“Probably buglers,” Grantaire mumbled, tugging Enjolras back into another kiss. “They’ll find their own way in.”

Enjolras pushed away and up, and was across the room before Grantaire could think of anything fun and interesting to keep him. He groaned and flopped back against the back of the couch, limbs akimbo and feeling very pathetic.

“Have we missed it?” Combeferre asked, over several voices all exclaiming at once.

“Did you get the baskets?”

“Oh, here’s more blankets.”

“Do you think we should just stay here? Surely everything will be closed tomorrow.”

“Did you—oh thank fuck, here’s all the leftovers from Feuilly’s.”

It made Grantaire smile, eyes closed, at the ceiling despite himself. Their friends. All here after all. Against all odds.

“How’s the weather out there?” he called.

“Fucking atrocious,” Bahorel said, alongside the sounds of beating snow off his gloves. Possibly against someone’s shoulder, by the following squawk. “We’d been here earlier but Freckles insisted on finishing his shift, and then we helped pull out… I don’t know how many cars.”

“With what?” And then wheezed with a curse, all of Gavroche’s not-insubstantial weight body-slammed into his stomach.

“Marius got us a sleigh! With horses and everything!” Gavroche said.

“Great,” Grantaire croaked. “Your knee is eviscerating me.”

Gavroche giggled and scrambled down, darting off to assault someone else.

Grantaire didn’t care as long as he could breathe.

“You look like a bad morning after,” Eponine said, sliding her fingers through his hair, tugging a few snags out. “Slut.”

“Was trying. No thanks to you. There’s mulled wine in the kitchen. Suppose I should make more, if the Brady Bunch is here.”

“I have to go find a place to, uh, park the horses?” Marius said, and ducked back outside.

“I didn’t know if you’d make it,” Enjolras was saying, voice bright and deeply awed. When Grantaire looked, he was holding Combeferre by the shoulders, gazing into his eyes like they were on a TV special.

“Of course we did,” Combeferre said. “It’s Sunday. The Revolution waits for no one, and certainly not snow.”

“We’ve done our good deeds for the day,” Courfeyrac said, pushing bodily between them and taking Enjolras’ face in his hands. “I heard you were watching movies. I want to watch bad hallmark movies and drink about them. Please, E, I’ve been studying all day and then being good all the way here. Please,” he whined.

“Oh, this is a good cheese.”

Grantaire popped up out of the couch and over it towards the kitchen. “Stay away from my fancy cheese! I was supposed to be wooing Enj before you all crashed.”

Feuilly slanted a flat look at him. Pointedly put the cheese back in the fridge and took out a box of leftover pizza instead. “I will return the coffee I brought you, then.”

“Wait—no, no, wait—”

“Oh, Grantaire,” Cosette admonished sweetly, hand on his arm as she floated by. “It would be such a lovely spread. Let me and Feuilly throw something together, and I’ll buy you even better cheese next week.” She held out her pinky finger, smiling as sweet as any angel he didn’t believe in.

Who was Grantaire to deny a pinky promise? Who was Grantaire to deny Cosette?

The door hit the wall and Jehan, standing square in the opening, flinched. “Sorry! Wind’s picking up. But we made it!”

“Jehan!” Joly called from the armchair. Looked like he would’ve gotten up if he wasn’t weighed down by several people.

“I thought you were stranded?” Musichetta asked. “How did you make it home?”

“Terrible spot of bad luck,” Bossuet sympathized.

“We?” Enjolras set about counting heads, but no—

 “You,” Eponine breathed, frozen in the hall, a mug in each hand.

The man behind Jehan ducked into the small entryway, brushing snow from his black hair with his black leather gloves. “Thank you for allowing me to crash your evening plans.”

“Everyone, this is M—”

“Jehan!” Eponine screeched, her pallor of surprise flooding with purpling anger. “You brought the mafia home with you!”

“Huh?” Jehan turned, peering up at his companion. “Don’t be ridiculous, ‘Ponine, he’s not…”

Montparnasse smiled, somehow smoothly confident and sheepish at once. “I didn’t think it was first date appropriate.”

“Was-was this a date?”

Grantaire swore, dragging both hands down his face. “Might as well. Why not. Baz, get out more wine, it’s going to be a weird holiday.”