the skeptic. the saint.

qui donc a décroché les étoiles sans ma permission pour les mettre sur la table en guise de chandelles? la réduction de l'univers à un seul être, la dilatation d'un seul être jusqu'à dieu, voilà l'amour. indie les mis & good omens | JEAN VALJEAN & GRANTAIRE. | penned by dami | 18+

[reverdies]

hommesdechires‌:

Valjean nearly burst out laughing at Javert’s obstinance.

“Defend yourself, hm? Javert, dear, you make it sound like I’m forcing you to have a Christmas present.” An urge to kiss the other man’s cheek surfaced, which Valjean quickly suppressed (they weren’t under the mistletoe anyhow). “Have you not considered it might actually be something you’ll like, or want? Thank you for this, though— may I open it?”

This holiday in particular raised his defenses without even trying. Yet another foreign country whose customs he didn’t know, let alone understand; but this one came with expectations. He couldn’t just coast along in the wake of others. Javert’s scowl stayed in place— the glacier moved in fractions of an inch. “Well, that is the point.” The closest he would come to a “yes” for now. But something else equally unexpected squeezed through: “Thank you. For the gift.”

[hommesdechires]

“It is the point, yes. I didn’t know if you wanted me to open it in private or... something like that.” Valjean fiddled with the box, rough fingers tracing over a patchwork of wrinkled paper. At least he had tried (somehow, he could not find the courage to say how endearing he found this to the other man’s face).

“There is no need for thanks, Javert. It is Christmas, and it’s a gift, one you deserve. Why don’t we open ours at the same time, hm? Then we won’t be staring at each other.” A soft package was placed gently in Javert’s hands, a hand-tied bow placed on top.

[schattenwerfenkeineschatten]

@hommesdechires | continued from x

“It is alright, my child, I have you…”

Valjean did not consider himself a paragon of fatherhood, particularly when it came to caring for an ill Cosette. What he would try to do was recall how his own mother had cared for him and Jeanne, how Jeanne had cared for her own children— but those memories felt as if they were three lifetimes away. Each time he would reach for them, he would jolted back into his harsh reality— the reality of Cosette’s head laying on his lap, pain visible in her face.

“I am here, Cosette– tell me what you need and you will have it.”

Cold panic clawed at the pit of her stomach. She tried to breathe through it, gripping Valjean’s hand tightly, though she struggled to draw comfort from his closeness. Her own inexperience with being cared for matched his. They would have to improvise, like they always had.

“C-could you describe what you see?” It was a nonsensical request. She knew what Valjean saw, had memorised the house down to every nook and cranny. But it was as though the darkness had spread from her eyes to her mind and filled it to the brim until there was room for nothing else. And this fret her more than any pain.

[hommesdechires]

The first time he had seen Cosette ill, he had nearly panicked. The poor child he had just saved from the grasp of that wretched couple had been trembling, curled into herself on his own bed. He had never felt so helpless since then — until now.

“Of course, my dear, of course...” Valjean steadied himself with a breath, turning his own gaze toward the room. “On your nightstand, to our right, I have lit two candles. Your window is cracked open, but there is only a gentle breeze, so the flames do not move.” A hand came to rest on Cosette’s forehead as he continued to speak, checking for a temperature.

“I believe night is falling... I cannot see the time from where I sit. You have flowers that you are drying, I can see your abandoned embroidery... your blotter still sits on the mantle. Your room is a reflection of you, my dear... does that help?”

[thetowersystem]

Jean Valjean + descriptions from Les Misérables, tr. Charles E. Wilbour

[doubleprogress]

@hommesdechires

Continued from here.

It was a lie to say that Valjean did not often have nightmares.

In the bagne, on parole, in the bishop’s house, in Montreuil — every night, the lash was felt upon his back. When he had taken in Cosette, he had nearly forced himself to stop having them. She had her own bad dreams, and he was her father now, and he would take care of her at any cost to himself.

Cosette was grown now. If she still had nightmares, she did not tell him. His had returned in full force, and he did not tell her in the same way.

Tonight, he felt the worst whipping he had had in a long time. He had fallen asleep in his chair, window propped open, book open upon his lap. He almost looked peaceful— until a scream of “I am just a tree pruner from Faverolles” was heard, nearly resounding throughout the neighborhood.

She’d been curled up under the blankets, having trouble nodding off while her mind ran wild. Her father and mother were probably still in prison, she knew. She didn’t fear either of them but she did miss her mother from time to time. Azelma she had no idea about, they’d lost track of each other in the large city. 

The shouting made her sit up just slightly and then glance across the room to where Cosette lay still peacefully asleep. Lingering a moment, she wondered if the girl would wake up to check on him. It wasn’t like Éponine was his beloved daughter, after all. Since she hadn’t, the gamine sighed and got out of the bed, wearing nothing but her thin nightdress. Quiet as a ghost, she walked through the property to reach the separate building that the charitable criminal, or so she thought of him, slept. 

“M'sieur? You’re going to get the cognes called like that.” She said as she slowly pushed open the door. “I could hear you clearly from my bed do you think the neighbors would too in that case?” She walked a few steps toward the chair but stayed out of reach, lest he woke up swinging his arms around. 

[hommesdechires]

“I am only a tree pruner, m’sieur, sir, please—” Over and over again, that is what the guards wanted to hear, they thrived on the debasement of their fellow men— no, he reminded himself, I am no longer a man, I am only an animal—

He was suddenly awoken by a young woman’s voice — Cosette? No, it wasn’t her, the voice was not as light, not nearly as quiet or bell-like. He jolted upright with a gasp, frowning at the girl before him. Some nights, he almost forgot that he was no longer alone with Cosette.

“Les cognes—? I— I beg your pardon, Éponine. Forgive me.” He set his book aside, running a hand through his white hair with more force than necessary. “I must have fallen asleep without realizing. Do return to bed, now...”

[thepiecesofcait]

So way back in July (I think?) @deboracabral posted about commissions and I decided to gift myself an extra early Christmas present! This is based on a scene from the hopelessly fluffy holiday rom-com fic that I literally just posted the last chapter of and still can’t actually believe I finished writing.

So if you’re after 20k+ words of festive fun this Christmas, look no further than The Twelve Days of Les Amis-mas!

[yourleastfavouritefriend]

“This holiday sounds like it was made by someone on crack.” (from R)

“Stop being so grumpy.” Jehan responded with a laugh, nudging Grantaire’s side gently and shaking his head as he pushed a slice of cake across the table towards Grantaire. “I think you just need someone who is willing to show you how to celebrate properly. I will allow you to walk me home, monsieur Grantaire, and we will put on some special cosy pyjamas and watch festive movies, mm? Maybe I’ll even make you some mulled wine.”

He took a sip of tea and looked at the other man over the top of his cup, looking lost in thought for a moment. “I have a lot of baking to do, you could always help me, maybe I’ll sing some songs to you and bring some cheer to your heart.”

[hommesdechires]

Grantaire resisted the urge to rest his head on the table. He didn’t mean to hate this time of year, but with everyone and their mother and baby bustling about, being dicks to low-wage employees like him, while still proclaiming the ‘holiday spirit—’ it got under his skin. And of course his ridiculous anger ended up getting taken out on the sweet Jehan— this is what gave him cause to drink.

“Mm, you’ll allow me to walk you home, how chivalrous,” he mumbled, picking at the cake, only raising his eyes just in time to see how much of an angel Jehan looked like. “I’d like to see you try and thaw my cold, dead heart, dear. But I suppose I could be wrangled into your baking.”

[yourleastfavouritefriend]

“I don’t think your heart is as cold or dead as you claim it to be, mon ami.” He responded with a warm smile, “I think that you are a very warm hearted and kind soul anyway.” He grinned and reached across the table to squeeze Grantaire’s hand gently.

“I do think it is very sweet of me to let you walk me home though.” He added, winking at him as he saw Grantaire was looking back at him. “I won’t force you to celebrate but if you’re willing to help me bake I’m not very good at the decorating part. We don’t have to have a Christmas-y time, we can just have a nice snuggly winter night in, how does that sound?”

[hommesdechires]

“A warm-hearted and kind soul? Jehan, what did I ever do to hurt you that you’d slander me like this?” He faked a tear, brushing it away his his free hand while kissing Jehan’s own. “I suppose it is sweet of you. And God knows you’re such a damsel that you neeeed me.”

Grantaire gave a soft hum of affirmation; the prospect of merely being together instead of trying to force artificial cheer sounded much nicer. “Alright– but only if you’ll let me decorate your cookies or whatever as ghosts and the Romantics.”

[reverdies]

“Here.” The box was shoved into Valjean’s hands with no sign of ceremony, grace or even tact. Javert thought it was astonishing enough he’d managed to get him a gift and wrap it. Asking for holiday cheer was going too far. “It’s nothing big—” or expensive— “but I had to defend myself. I knew you’d do this.” He gave a glance to the package he’d received. “So. Now we’re even.”

@hommesdechires / merry starter call.

[hommesdechires]

Valjean nearly burst out laughing at Javert’s obstinance.

“Defend yourself, hm? Javert, dear, you make it sound like I’m forcing you to have a Christmas present.” An urge to kiss the other man’s cheek surfaced, which Valjean quickly suppressed (they weren’t under the mistletoe anyhow). “Have you not considered it might actually be something you’ll like, or want? Thank you for this, though— may I open it?”

[starlene]

For nyranor, my awesome friend from the other side of the globe. I miss you!

Les Mis themed, because we first got to know each other thanks to Les Misérables (and that lead to all sorts of excitement, travel, adventure and insanity). But come on, Javert! Be nice. I’m pretty sure Valjean made that thing all by himself.

[hommesdechires]

A moment of weakness - Apollobred

12. My muse is kidnapped and yours has just rescued them. @apollobred

Grantaire trembled behind the blindfold.

Days of not being fed, hit for no reason, the sounds coming from every direction, if he could only tell what it was, what they wanted—

Now he felt hands upon him, removing unnecessary manacles, reaching for the blindfold across his face. It was all he could do not to scream.

“Don’t touch me.”

[songandflame-archived]

❛❛ I made some tea. Now, do you need to talk? Or should I just put on some music? ❜❜ (from Valjean)

Sad and Soft  {Sentence Starters}

@hommesdechires || hello and thank you!

Her eyes flickered from the floor to his face, but only briefly. Her eyes were painful and puffy; at least the tears had stopped now. Still, it didn’t stop the feeling of utter embarrassment following close behind her grief.

She couldn’t quite remember what her nightmare had been this time— she had never suffered with them before. Yet she didn’t have to remember when the feeling of lingering hands remained on her body. Fantine was trying desperately not to squirm.

Yet the idea of talking brought nothing but panic to her throat. Perhaps she wished she could; perhaps she wished nothing more than to share the darkness so Valjean could reach out a hand and pull her out from it. Like having light in a dark room.

“Just some music.” Her voice came out no louder than a whisper. 

She hoped Valjean had heard her, she wasn’t sure she could ask again.

[hommesdechires]

Valjean had been occupied in his armchair, reading a book by a dying fire when he had heard commotion come from Fantine’s room. He had lived through too many of his own, of Cosette’s and Javert’s nightmares to think that jolting her awake would be a good idea. Instead, he prepared a hot cup of tea, knowing that she would, most likely, not wish to return to sleep.

“Music, of course, dear.” The tea was placed gently in her hands, ensuring she would not drop it. The touch did not linger for more than a second, familial concern on Valjean’s face, before he turned to a dying record player and put on the first record he saw— an instrumental Christmas. This time of year should not be so difficult for anyone, but for Fantine, Valjean could only imagine how often thoughts of those desperate winters haunted her.

“Tell me how to help you, Fantine...”

[yourleastfavouritefriend]

“This holiday sounds like it was made by someone on crack.” (from R)

“Stop being so grumpy.” Jehan responded with a laugh, nudging Grantaire’s side gently and shaking his head as he pushed a slice of cake across the table towards Grantaire. “I think you just need someone who is willing to show you how to celebrate properly. I will allow you to walk me home, monsieur Grantaire, and we will put on some special cosy pyjamas and watch festive movies, mm? Maybe I’ll even make you some mulled wine.”

He took a sip of tea and looked at the other man over the top of his cup, looking lost in thought for a moment. “I have a lot of baking to do, you could always help me, maybe I’ll sing some songs to you and bring some cheer to your heart.”

[hommesdechires]

Grantaire resisted the urge to rest his head on the table. He didn’t mean to hate this time of year, but with everyone and their mother and baby bustling about, being dicks to low-wage employees like him, while still proclaiming the ‘holiday spirit—’ it got under his skin. And of course his ridiculous anger ended up getting taken out on the sweet Jehan— this is what gave him cause to drink.

“Mm, you’ll allow me to walk you home, how chivalrous,” he mumbled, picking at the cake, only raising his eyes just in time to see how much of an angel Jehan looked like. “I’d like to see you try and thaw my cold, dead heart, dear. But I suppose I could be wrangled into your baking.”

[as-was-written]

"make me feel" (from JVJ; let's fluff/angst this up)

@hommesdechires

your muse finds mine drowning their problems in alcohol

The Doctor wasn’t a fan of alcohol, especially not in this body. But it had been a rough week and she needed something to push away the pain. Right now alcohol would do the job.

Leaning against the bar and ignoring the stairs from the other patrons, she finished her glass of ginger beer before just grabbing the bottle and pouring it out again. She was so upset she didn’t notice the door open.

[hommesdechires]

Valjean had never supposed the Doctor to be one to indulge in drink— from time to time, perhaps, or with the friends she mentioned so often. But never alone. The last time Valjean himself had indulged had resulted had resulted in a night of broken sobs, reliving memories from the past that were far better buried.

He had been grateful Cosette and her Marius had never been one to drown their problems— but it gave him even less experience when it came to the Doctor. “Hello, Doctor... ginger beer. That is quite festive.”

[hommesdechires]

a moment of weakness (for Ep And Valjean?)

10. My muse is having a vivid nightmare and is crying out in their sleep. @doubleprogress

It was a lie to say that Valjean did not often have nightmares.

In the bagne, on parole, in the bishop’s house, in Montreuil — every night, the lash was felt upon his back. When he had taken in Cosette, he had nearly forced himself to stop having them. She had her own bad dreams, and he was her father now, and he would take care of her at any cost to himself.

Cosette was grown now. If she still had nightmares, she did not tell him. His had returned in full force, and he did not tell her in the same way.

Tonight, he felt the worst whipping he had had in a long time. He had fallen asleep in his chair, window propped open, book open upon his lap. He almost looked peaceful— until a scream of “I am just a tree pruner from Faverolles” was heard, nearly resounding throughout the neighborhood.

[albindraws]

les amis christmas icons!

feel free to use however you like. credit me, anywhere is good. as long as it’s there. oh and liking/reblogging if u use would be appreciated!! <3

bonus!! little gavroche:

update 2014/12/06: remade grantaire a bit. added glitter to bahorel, ferre and enjolras.

[reverdies]

“Aha!” The high-pitched exultation arrived ahead of its source, a thin boy whose home was clearly the streets. He pranced in front of his target and produced an empty shoe. (Its partner rested in his pocket, while his feet went bare.) “You must be Père Noël!” The urchin stood with shoe outstretched, waiting for a gift. Unconventional methods, but if he tried the tradition at home he’d wind up disappointed at best.

[hommesdechires]

The most joyous time that Valjean could recall being Père Noël was nearly ten years ago, the first time he put a golden louis into little Cosette’s threadbare shoe. The look of pure joy and elation on her face (surely, for the first time in a long time) was more than enough reward for the old man to live the rest of his life peacefully. But somehow, he had been given the gift of having the girl in his life since then, and putting a golden louis in her shoes every Christmas since.

He similarly gave alms on the street in a regular fashion, but he had not before seen such a technique used for begging— it, of course, pulled at his heart. Although, it never took much for the old man to be convinced to give alms, especially to the children.

“I suppose that is what you may call me, my boy. And this must be your gift— it’s been weighing my pocket down.” He reached his own threadbare gloves (a contrast to the rest of his outfit) into his pocket, procuring two golden louis, placing them in the boy’s shoe.

[memeroundups]

Send ‘a moment of weakness’

and the generated outcome will be used for a small drabble scenario or starter. { tw violence }

Your muse is emotionally compromised and breaking down.

My muse is emotionally compromised and breaking down.

Your muse is smashed drunk and incoherent.

My muse is completely drunk and incoherent.

Your muse is tied up (how and why is up to the mun)

My muse is all tied up (how and why is up to the mun)

Your muse is surrounded by thugs up to no good and mine happens to pass by.

My muse is surrounded by thugs up to no good and yours happens upon this.

Your muse is having a vivid nightmare and is shouting out brokenly.

My muse is having a vivid nightmare and is crying out in their sleep.

Your muse is being kept hostage and mine has just rescued them.

My muse is kidnapped and yours has just rescued them.

Your muse has been beaten badly and is in bad shape, mine happens to find them.

My muse is been beaten badly and is in bad shape, yours finds mine in this state.

Your muse falls very ill and continues activities even if they seem on the verge of passing out.

My muse is sick and continues daily routine even though they seem on the verge of passing out.

Your muse is in a frightened or nervous state (why is up to the mun)

My muse is in a frightened or nervous state (why is up to the mun)

Your muse is temporarily blind.

My muse is temporarily blind.

Your muse has suddenly sprained an ankle and can’t walk.

My muse has suddenly sprained an ankle and can’t walk.

Your muse has blackmail over mine.

My muse has blackmail over yours.

Mun chooses.

[hommesdechires]

///

starting to put things in the queue now!!! happy christmas and hanukkah!