little fantine,

nobody's innocent, now that the chips are down.

[faentine]

COURAGE WAS NECESSARY; SHE POSESSED IT, AND HELD HERSELF FIRM, FANTINE, AS WE SHALL SEE, HAD THE FIERCE BRAVERY OF LIFE ...

FAENTINE, a private & highly selective writing blog for fantine of victor hugo's les misérables. exclusively novel and headcanon based. critical of the boublil-schönberg musical & the 2018 bbc miniseries. extremely low/sporadic activity. established february 2022, revamped april 2023. as written by anya.

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[faentine]

things i need to do before anything else:

remake icons

redo tags

recap east of eden (for icon/editing purposes)

reread fantine's parts of the brick

revamp carrd

do a more thorough deep cleaning of this blog

possibly move sideblogs (?, tentative)

remake promo (also tentative)

[soracities]

The Wizard of Oz (1939)

[faentine]

some general aesthetics to set the mood

[faentine]

actually impulse revival incoming now let me just tidy the place up

[faentine]

vine vc honey you've got a big storm coming...

[faentine]

fantine

[faentine]

𝑊𝐻𝑌  𝐷𝐼𝐷  𝑇𝐻𝐸  𝐴𝑈𝑇𝐻𝑂𝑅  𝐾𝐼𝐿𝐿  𝑌𝑂𝑈  𝑂𝐹𝐹?

death by newberry medal.      this is a coming of age story, and you are the painful reminder that growth so often comes hand-in-hand with pain. not always, of course, but writers are keen to show this. you were bright, understanding, an almost relentless force of good, and quite possibly a beloved pet nearing the end of your lifespan.  with your death comes shock, bitterness, and the breaking of countless hearts. but your loss will likely impart a fair few important life lessons onto those who read about it.  more than that, there is a grand chance that the author is using this story to cope with the death of a real loved one. take pride in knowing that you are love turned to grief, filtered and diluted back into love.

tagged by:   @vasilievna tagging:   you!   (steal it).

[faentine]

Monsieur Laurent felt his heart swell with pity, and a soft, sad, yet genuine smile appeared on his face. He could not believe that such a gentle creature had come from the gutter; that, in spite of the misery — the absence of love — that befell these wretched children, a kind nature could still prevail in the end. He had seen what became of these children, what happened to their lost souls once they’d wanted too far into the darkness. He saw them scurrying inside the alleys, pickpocketing the wealthy, mugging whoever appeared to have enough money so they could afford to live another day. Misery had turned these children into shells of their former selves, knowing nothing but the bitterness of poverty.

It was as if Fantine’s very existence was an affront to nature itself.

[alicedrawslesmis]

Fantine sketch dump

@fantinefanfest

[pureanonofficial]

LES MIS LETTERS IN ADAPTATION - A Merry End to Mirth, LM 1.3.9 (Les Miserables 1925)

An hour later, when she had returned to her room, she wept. It was her first love affair, as we have said; she had given herself to this Tholomyès as to a husband, and the poor girl had a child.

[ouroborosmotifs]

the journey home is an endless one

may sarton “letters from maine” // james baldwin “giovanni’s room” // neil gaiman “the graveyard book” // @wordsnquotes-net // anne carson “men in the off hours” // miriam adeney // “no longer fits” // han kang “the vegetarian” // “garden state” dir. zach braff // richard blanco “mexican almuerzo in new england” // mitski “there’s nothing left here for you” // julian barnes “a history of the world in 10 1/2 hours”

[faentine]

@vasilievna​​:         ❛❛      not ready to divulge that information just yet?      ❜❜        ( ʳᶤᵈᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʸᶜˡᵒᶰᵉ )

❛❛      and if i was?      ❜❜         her weary voice drags,   as if pulled down by the air growing thinner at every passing minute.      fantine gathers her composure,   her hands still trembling as she meets hélène’s gaze.      long gone were the bright,   carefree days of parisienne youth,   caught in her daydreams.      when she probed the then-princess about moscow,   how she promised to come when she and félix were to be wed.      how young and bright she once was;   how foolish she was.      WOE TO THE DREAMER WHOSE YOUTH REMAINS ONLY AS STUBBORNLY CLUTCHED-TO MEMORIES        –––       torn from them by the tempest of misery!      the ship rocks,   the man falls overboard,   but who will be there to rescue him?      who can hear his thrashing against the raging waves?

❛❛      tell me,   hélène,      ❜❜         she asks,    her ire subsiding into cruel,   agonizing honesty      –––      it was as if she were pleading rather than probing the countess for an answer.      a blonde tendril,   still delicately curled,   falls from her white cap      –––       galatea’s former beauty haunts the living   (undead)   statue,   her animation,   ultimately,   becoming her own undoing.          ❛❛     would it matter,   truly,   if i were to tell you what has become of me?      if i had not been cursed by misery,   but instead,   blessed with all the riches i could have ever wanted?      ❜❜           a beat passes,   her lips purse,   her eyes now filled with nothing but anger.           ❛❛     ...        get out.      ❜❜