#space bahorel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

expired-applejuice · 9 months

Text

Based on:

Dark paradise by Lana Del Rey

Grantaire takes the bullets.

Enjolras pretends to be shot but he was spared. No words were spoken. None could be. Grantaire was choking on his own blood, while Enjolras was trying to keep his sobs quiet. Still they had a conversation. Grantaire smiled, holding Enjolras hand. Enjolras kissed his head while squeezing his hand tightly. He felt useless as Grantaire slowly died in pain.

When the women came to clean, one, who resembled Grantire, found him still clinging on his hand whispering a tearful apology. She too started to weep and helped the young leader up, pulling him into a silent hug. Enjolras apologized for getting blood on her dress, but she said not to mention it.

Days later Marius found the leader in the abandoned Cafe setting in a chair. The place was empty besides the furniture and two school boys. Marius sat across from him. He took note of Enjolras's bloodshot eyes, and his tear stained face. He held a tight grip on his handkerchief as he stared off into the room. He no longer wore his red coat, nor was his hair at his shoulders. No, he wore a black trench coat that was buttoned, with his hair pulled back into a low ponytail.

Marius looked no better with his bullet wound, broken bones, and shattered heart. Cosette, who took care of him, said he had gain some color back but was still awfully pale. His hair seemed to darkened, and he felt like he aged 20 years. He wasn't sure if he was alive without a soul, or just lost.

"What are we to do now?" Enjolras's weak voice broke Marius from his thoughts. He looked back at the blonde, who was still staring into space.

"I'm not sure, brother," Marius answered as they fell back into their silence.

After a sad sigh, Marius turned to the door. He haft expected their friends to walking into the door laughing. He waited for it, but they never came.

Enjolras found that he missed their laugher the most. The roar of it after one of Combeferre's remarks. The not so hidden chuckles when Bossuet trips. The gleeful victory "haha"s when Bahorel or Grantaire won a sparing match. The sneaky snickers that accured when a prank was being played. Their smiles. Their voices. Their presence. Them.

Feuilly always worked hard. Harder than any other in Paris. Joly was so compassionate and helpful to everyone. Jehan Prouvaire was simply a bright star that always helped them get through rough patches. Bahorel would always have your back in the best and worse way. Courfeyrac could influence anyone to do anything, but was still respectable. Combeferre, with his smarts could outwit a sly fox. Bossuet could give some of the best hugs. Grantaire, as much as he hid it, would have done anything for the group. Oh and how could he forget Gavroche? The little guy had more spirit in him than any of them. And poor Eponine, she was tougher than any of the national guards' men.

Enjolras spent so much time on the revolution that he had no idea who or what he was without his friends and movement. Really he didn't want to remember who he was, because it wasn't. It was not him. Not anymore.

"Their funeral is tomorrow," Marius reminded him still looking at the door.

Enjolras finally pulled his eyes towards Marius, "Yeah. Musichetta promised to help cook the food."

"That's nice."

"Yes, and Montparnasse promised to help Bury them."

"I'm thankful for him," Marius looked at him, "How's Grantaire's sister?"

Enjolras looked down at the table, "She saying it wasn't my fault. I'm just glad she agreed to move in with me, you know? With out Grantaire she probably wouldn't be able to make rent."

Marius nodded.

A few months later, Enjolras walked to the graveyard. He said hi to each of his friends, and even Javert, placing a flower on each stone. He stopped at Grantaire, sitting by his headstone in the snow. The blonde, who wore a green heavy coat, pulled out a bottle of wine and placed it by his stone.

"Marius' wedding is today," He said out loud, "I just got back from the tailors. I'm honored to be his best man."

The wind blew into his face making a roar in his ears. It was freezing, but Enjolras didn't leave, "We've helped each other a lot in these past few months, Marius, your sister, Musichetta, Montparnasse, and I. Talked a lot about old times. It's been hard."

Snow started to float softly down around him. It was beautiful and peaceful. "People say we should move on, past the revolution, love, and friendship. They tell us to forget the songs and memories."

Enjolras laid down in the snow, feeling as numb as his legs. He looked at the sky, "Sometimes I close my eyes, you lot are still here. You're drinking your wine. Courf' and 'ferre are talking about something Courfeyrac said to get Combeferre heated up. Joly and Bossuet are talking about Bossuet's soup he made for him. Jehan, Feuilly and Bahorel are singing a song. And 'Poni and Gavroche are happy. I feel save in this place behind my close eyes."

"That's when it scares me. It scares me because when I go to join you one day, will I see you? Will I be punished for causing this to happen? Will you guys want to see me?" Tears fell from the corners of his eyes making his face colder.

He closed his eyes and he was still there, everything was the same. The only difference was Grantaire laying beside him, holding his hand, "Red, you say the stupidest things. We're waiting for you guys."

"Are you really here?"

Grantaire smiled sadly, "I love you Apollo."

Enjolras opened his eyes and he was alone.

"I love you too, Icarus."

#grantaire #enjolras #les amis de l'abc #exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #e x r #rxe #combeferre #courfeyrac #bahorel #bossuet #eponine thenardier #marius pontmercy #joly #jehan prouvaire #feuilly #Grantaire's sister #les miserables

54 notes · View notes

aromantic-enjolras · 5 months

Text

The Amies of the HRT headcanons

This is based on a brainrot with @shamedumpster a long time ago, and a continuation of this post. I won't go into Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet because they are all that post.

Enjolras is really in-your-face about being trans. She is not trying to pass, she doesn't have to pass to be trans. If cis women can be butch and still be women, she can go around with a five-o-clock shadow and not go on HRT and still be a woman. One time during one of their fights Grantaire accuses her of saying that "because you already look like a girl to begin with" and she almost decked her.

Combeferre is your classic case of the person who went into a STEM major as a boy and came out as a girl. She jokes that she should have been tipped by the fact that she always played girls on RPGs. She's thankful that her coworkers are not overtly transphobes, but also sometimes they're..... they've got the spirit. That's what she tells herself. The Amies are her safe space. Also, the moment she realised she was trans she started digging into the literature. Any question you can have, she will whip out an answer, with peer-reviewed citations and footnotes.

Courfeyrac is a theatre kid. She started playing with gender at theatre, putting on dresses and makeup at rehearsals. She went down the he/they->they/them->she/they-> she/her pipeline. Her family is relatively supportive and also loaded, and she started her transition relatively young, which means she has the most complete passing out of all the Amies. She's very hot and she knows it; but she is also very careful around cis guys. She has been called "a trap" enough times to be wary.

Feuilly is mostly closeted. She can't, or doesn't dare, to be out in her blue-collar job. She can't lose her source of income, no matter how uncomfortable she is. One year she gets the courage to go to Pride, staying in the middle of the Amis and trying to stay invisible from the outside, when she hears a voice calling her deadname, and sees a girl from work looking at her. Before she can react, though, the girl is apologizing for misgendering her at work and asking for her real name. After that point, at least she has an ally.

Bahorel started her gender realization as an almost ironic thing. She became a drag queen because "wouldn't it be funny if a guy that looked like me pretended to be a girl???" and somewhere along the way she realized that actually no, it isn't funny. And she's not pretending. Now she's the biggest defender of "cringe is dead". Do things wholeheartedly or don't do them at all.

Jehan is a witchy trans. She knows everyone's star charts (or she thinks she does, Grantaire gave her a fake one to mess with her), and she swears that she can tell who is going to be trans by their star charts alone.

I hope you enjoyed this!!

#les misérables #text posts #my posts #headcanons #my headcanons #just trans things #enjolras #courfeyrac #combeferre #bahorel #feuilly #jehan

30 notes · View notes

kingedmundsroyalmurder · 1 month

Text

Okay, I'm not done cross-posting, but I've reached page 8 of my fic tag and still need to go through the asks, and I've started thinking mean things about past!Tamara, so it's time to stop! I ended up cross-posting 15 fics, most of them actually recognizable as fics rather than headcanon rambles or ask games. For the curious, here they are. I didn't go for composer-style titles, but given how I devolved into random single verb titles by the end, maybe I should have...

The Family Stuart (Askbox game in the key of Robin Stuart)

And yet they persist (Duet for Immortal Bahorel and Ghost Jehan)

History's Eyes (Philosophy in Barricade Day Major)

The Element of Surprise (Space AU in Battle Pillow Major)

Now the fighting's done (Dirge for Fallen Leader in the key of dysfunctional survivors)

Demons (Askbox game in the key of Sirius Black [This one would be Duet for Solo Voice except I have an actual fic called that])

A doctor's heart (Sick fic in C/C minor)

The burden of evidence (Modern AU in author projection major)

Sealed in starlight (Character study for a single twin) [HP fic]

History of Magic (Mutual Appreciation Society in HP fusion major)

Take these wings and learn to fly (Wingfic for Feuilly and Courfeyrac)

Maybe it's magic (Headcanon in Americana major)

Bigger than us (Daemonverse #11)

Silence (Projection in Blorbo major)

Entangled (3 sentence fic for Enjolras)

#thoughts from the fire escape #this is why i don't recognize any of my own fics by title #the titles are so often random words or phrases #because i'm bad at this #and don't even talk to me about tagging!

15 notes · View notes

pilferingapples · 1 year

Text

just a quick doodle of Bahorel and Prouvaire, mostly to play around with Romantic fashion statements (and lack of personal space) a bit

(mostly for @deboracabral for egging me on <3)

#HAT RIBBONS HAT RIBBONS #I need to use them Moar #Poetry Smash

105 notes · View notes

transrevolutions · 1 year

Note

Casting ask game: Les Miserables

(forenote: casting is genderblind)

jean valjean: @hecho-a-mano

fantine: hmmmmm. @stalinistqueens

javert: @saintjustitude but like not in a cop way. you have a very strong sense of right and wrong like javert, it's just your morals are way better.

cosette: @grahminradarin or @the-random-witch or @gueniver... I can't decide!!!!

eponine: @the-butter-churner

marius: @butterednuggets17

enjolras: me or @a-book-dragon

combeferre: @lorata or @antique-ro-man

courfeyrac: @space-arson

grantaire: @hadleyfrasergender (in the best way possible)

feuilly: @werewolfetone

jehan: @revolutionfairies

bahorel: @catgirlmarxism ik you're a girl but.... the vibes. the vibes.

joly: @usergreenpixel

bossuet: @luckysheikah. your username has 'lucky' in it. can it be any more obvious.

gavroche: @cactusbontigue :)

montparnasse: @coryo /pos

#ask game #cym #asks #grahminradarin #les mis

27 notes · View notes

justgayrevolutionnaries · 11 months

Text

It's still more sweet if it's all in vain

As the end is getting near, Combeferre and Courfeyrac discuss hope and loyalty at the barricade.

Aka my fic for barricade day ! I was originally going with something else entirely (see tags / notes for more info) but I am very happy how this one turned out

And yes it still counts as a barricade day fic because it's not midnight yet shhh

Find it on Ao3 here !

Usual tw warning for barricade day : mentions of violent death, main character death and graphic descriptions of violence. Stay safe guys <3

It was all calm. Maybe too calm.

Combeferre was sitting on top of the barricade, looking down at the street, empty and lifeless before him. It was only dawn, and everything was bathed in an orange glow. Ironically, Combeferre was facing west, meaning that the sun was rising behind the barricade, and that end of the street appeared surrounded by a halo of light.

Next to Combeferre was Courfeyrac, his chin resting on his knees, a thoughtful look in his eyes as kept fidgeting with his hat, putting it either on his head or in front of him. Both of them had been sitting in a comfortable silence for a while, which was more than uncommon for the latter.

At the other end of the barricade stood Enjolras, silently contemplating alternatively the street and the space in front of the café. He, too, had been silent since the five men had left the barricade. His face was as unreadable as usual, but Combeferre knew him well enough to perceive that, behind his severe attitude, his look could almost be qualified as melancholic. When his two friends had tried to call him, it was as through he couldn't even hear them.

Courfeyrac was once again the first one to break the silence.

"You know, if this is to be the end of the world, I always imagined it to be different. More sensational, at least. So we could enjoy it properly."

Without moving, his friend answered with a small smile on his lips : "And in what ways does this disappoint you now ?"

Courfeyrac shrugged in response : "It is taking too long." He tilted his head on the side to look at the entrance of the café. "And some of us can not even be here to enjoy it."

Combeferre didn't need to turn, nor did he even want to. He knew what his friend was looking at. The table at the other end of the Corinthe; the bodies they had no choice but to lay down on them, covered by a white blanket Enjolras had found God knew where.

Bahorel.

He could still remember the agony that had filled his heart as he watched Bahorel fall back in the barricade, the fatal wound that had killed him almost invisible on the red of his shirt. His only consolation was knowing that he would most likely get to see his friend again in less than a few hours.

Still not taking his eyes off the street in front of him, Conbeferre simply answered :

"Enjolras would tell you that is the cost of freedom. We know some of us have to die, only because we wish for a better future for this world."

Courfeyrac turned to him with an inquisitive look in his eyes.

"And what would Combeferre tell me ?"

So many things.

Combeferre was about to answer that he agreed with Enjolras. That freedom, and the light of the future, were all he had ever looked forward to ; that all of them had always known their life was the price they must be ready to pay for it. Because after all, what else was there to die for ? Except at this moment, he knew this wasn't the answer Courfeyrac was waiting for.

Looking back to the Corinthe he could see Enjolras, an austere look still on his face. He had been joined by Feuilly, who was gesturing to the top of the barricade and, from what Combeferre could make out of his voice, inquiring about the number of men and weapons they had left. His heart clenched as he remembered the one thing that had really been on his mind since the previous day : the face of his best friend, one he had known for so many years, looking down at the man he had just killed, an overwhelming sadness in his eyes.

Back then Combeferre had claimed he would always follow him, no matter what fate this should lead him to. And as much as Combeferre hated violence, he still believed those words.

So, as Courfeyrac placed a soft hand on his arm, still looking at him in expectancy, all he could answer was :

"I couldn't think of any other people I would rather die with."

For a moment here Courfeyrac seemed ready to add something, a strange glint in his brown eyes that were focused on Combeferre's face. However, he let his hand fall down and, biting his bottom lip, simply nodded in acknowledgement.

As he stood up and seemed about to leave and go back inside the café, Combeferre tried to hold him back by grabbing his left wrist.

"It is too late for us to have regrets now anyway, my friend. By noon-"

Combeferre found himself unable to finish this sentence. It seemed useless now, to try and conceal what both of them already knew. Yet like the others, he wanted to preserve a spark of hope, to think that the men inside the barricade still had a chance. Because at the end of the day, if they couldn't even believe in that, how many of them would have the strength to keep on fighting ?

By noon this may all be over.

"No one is coming anymore, are they ?"

The question called for no answer, yet Combeferre turned to his best friend with a bitter smile. He couldn't even tell how much it broke his heart that even Courfeyrac, ever the optimistic, had given up on hope. But before he could answer, Courfeyrac spoke again, his eyes fixed on the horizon and a new, softer light in his eyes :

"You know what Prouvaire would tell us if he were still on this barricade ?"

Following his look, Combeferre could do nothing but nod, his throat tightening at the mention of their friend, as Courfeyrac added :

"It's still more sweet if it's all in vain."

Combeferre softly answered : "But it is not in vain, my friend. This is why we are here, you and I. This is why Prouvaire and Bahorel have already left us. This is what Enjolras told us earlier, what we truly believe in. We must die here, yes, but do not think that will be in vain. A sacrifice is never in vain. We are like the light of the star, a light that hasn't reached the earth yet. But it will one day, and this day all will be changed, just like a new dawn, a new sun rising. And this day, I promise, men shall be truly happy."

In response Courfeyrac offered him a sad smile, so far from the beaming, humorous one Combeferre had grown to be used to over the years, yet still a smile. And at this moment, it seemed bright as a star.

As Enjolras and Feuilly started making their way toward them, Combeferre muttered Enjolras's words to himself once again, his gaze fixed on the clouds dotting the morning sky, now turning to a pale blue color.

"We shall be happy..."

That was what he thought later when he saw, down the street, the national guards bringing in not just one, but two cannons, and felt his heart miss a bit as the realization finally struck him.

None of them was going to make it out alive.

That was what kept him from screaming his heart out when he saw Gavroche fall down one time, then get up only to fall down again. Only a few meters away from the barricade, yet too far to run to him and bring the boy back to safety. All he could do instead was cling to Courfeyrac as hard as he could, refusing to let another of his friends die in front of his eyes.

That was the only thing that kept him from going mad as he had to watch, through his tears, Joly fall down, his face red with blood, followed shortly by Bossuet, shot trying to run to his best friend.

Those were the words he heard when the bullets pierced him, over the screams of his friends, over Enjolras yelling his name, over Courfeyrac's agonizing cry, as he looked up to the sky that was now as bright as his friend's smile had been, so little time ago. An eternity ago.

We shall be happy.

And even if he couldn't be here to see it, he knew it was a sight worth dying for.

#so for the context last year i decided i was gonna write a cool marius-centric fic for barricade day 2023 #well unsurprisingly it has been sitting in my drafys untouched for 12 months #so instead i wrote this today #hope you guys enjoy because i still really liked writing it !#barricade day #barricade day 2023 #les mis #les miserables #combeferre #courfeyrac #enjolras #barricade boys

11 notes · View notes

aflamethatneverdies · 1 year

Text

Wrote the nichest of crossovers for the dearest of friends! Happy Birthday dear Autumn @midautumnnightdream

Am really pleased about all the Romantic references I managed to squeeze in this so putting it here too, because why not.

There was a knock at the door to the captain’s cabin. The flourishing strokes of the pen on the paper cease. The ship, which was a rather large Frigate, was equipped as such, except, it would perhaps surprise the readers a little that it was floating in space. The stars stretched out across, as guiding lights, where lighthouses would have served that purpose on the rough seas.

“Enter.” The captain’s tone was brusque.

“Captain,” the boatswain began hurriedly, before the cook moved forward.

“Look what we found, stowing away. A little bilge rat.” The cook held up a small struggling child by the scruff of his collar. “Want me to throw him out into space?” he grinned looking at the child’s face which turned pale.

“I may be a rat, but you’re a pig, the way you give the entire crew so little grub and keep the rest of the ingredients to sell at the nearest ports for ready money.” the child retorted.

“Captain, we can’t have a child onboard the ship,” the boatswain said, ignoring this remark and the cook’s look of outrage. “What should we do about this?” The captain paused and chuckled a little, “Young man, I don’t know how many ships you’ve been on but the number one rule is to never antagonise the ship’s cook.”

“I like you.” the child said, still struggling in the air and trying to free his collar.

“What’s your name?”

The child paused to consider, “Why should I tell you that? What’s yours?”

The captain for his part laughed loudly, “Oh, put him down, Berric.”

The child stood tall and brushed his dark blue cape with his hands, in the background the dark expanse of space was visible from the porthole while the wooden interior was brightly lit.

The captain smirked, “Leave us Berric and Laron. I want to have a discussion with this young man.”

The child grinned as he looked at the disgruntled faces of the boatswain and the cook, who nodded and then closed the door.

“Jehan, I want to know your opinion on this matter too.” the captain turned round and addressed the air languidly. With a shock the child saw an apparition emerge in a sailor’s coat and he was left stunned for a moment.

“What?” the child whispered to himself looking around in confusion.

The apparition or the strange figure, who had an intensely sorrowful look in his eyes was dressed in a long frock coat which was perhaps more maroon than red and a doublet or a vest of a bright purple colour and long sailor's boots; this would have made him stand out everywhere and he attracted attention here too, and a feeling like he had walked out of a play or a medieval pirating expedition.

“He reminds me of Gavroche,” the captain sighed, stroking his beard and gazing far away into the depths of an unknown past, it seemed to the child, “I’m inclined to keep him around. But the crew–”

He is certainly very interesting as a study,” Prouvaire whipped out his magnifying glass to observe the small child who was gazing at him defiantly, hands folded across his chest.

“Ah! This locket is very charming. And perhaps very old. A family heirloom?” Prouvaire asked.

“Don’t touch this!” the child retorted loudly glaring at Prouvaire, his face scrunched up in irritation, and then tried to gauge the captain’s face and see if this would make him throw him out. Prouvaire seemed delighted by this response.

“I think we should keep him, Bahorel.” Prouvaire said. “We can be the guardians of this unfortunate child.”

“We don’t know anything about him. Besides, he looks far too young to even be a cabin boy.”

“I’m not. I’m–” the child searched around for an age he could give and settled on seventeen because that seemed to him a large enough number in human years (he assumed they were humans from a backwater planet Earth he had heard about, they did not seem to belong to any of the regions of space he was familiar with). Twenty was also the limit to which he could count currently, his space faring people relying on a mixture of mathematics and music to gauge distances, “I’m seventeen.”

“No you’re not, I’m sure of that.” Bahorel grinned, “Though I appreciate the lie. And won’t ask how old you are.”

“I can do the work on ships, I'm used to it.” The child looks at them defiantly, “And the name’s Marvelous by the way.”

“Well, you have put me in the second serious situation. With your age and us being pirates against the Zangyack now.”

“What was the first?” The child was sneaking glances at this captain.

“Oh, dying I suppose. More than twice at least in the span of two hundred or so years. Wouldn’t recommend it especially, but old wounds now, eh Jehan?” Bahorel placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

The ghost-like figure had tears in his eyes, which he finally let flow, making the child, Marvelous, shift a little, feeling sorry for the ghost he had met. He moved forward to pet the translucent figure’s hand and the bird-like ghost acknowledged it from his seat near the window, holding Marvelous’ hand in his.

“It makes one weary– this living and dying on this mortal coil. This loss of the most beloved of friends.” The ghost gave a sniffle as his mind drifted to a hot June morning, the 5th to be precise, of the year 1832 and to a particular gathering of friends in Corinthe (we will learn later why), and then went back to being cheerful, “I am Prouvaire by the way, Jean Prouvaire, sometimes known as Jehan among those of a poetic disposition.”

Bahorel laughed and translated, “Jehan is a poet so he adds an affectation to his name.”

“It’s not just poets who do that. Marvelous is quite a name. Tell me where did you find it?” Prouvaire turned his gaze to the child. Marvelous grinned, “It fell from space.” He wasn't sure if he should as yet share that he had chosen it as his space pirate identity deliberately.

Prouvaire nodded approvingly at this response, it seemed if not completely poetic then at least mysterious and he appreciated that quality in a pirate recruit, “Tell me young space pirate, have you ever visited the moon? I have some affection for it, such that I am writing an epithet in its honour. Two more verses and then my agonies will have ended, until a new beauty captures my heart.”

Bahorel laughed, “Jehan, Marvelous will not care for your poetry about the newly discovered moons of Planet Eistla.”

"Why not? To think they are always discovering new moons and different phenomena, even almost 200 years after the first time we died. It makes you excited and almost makes the Immortality worth it."

Bahorel turned towards the boy, “Why were you stowing away so dangerously on this ship? You could have died. Do you really not have any place to go?” He walked over to the porthole and looked beyond the deck, “I suppose not, for you wouldn’t be here in this way, hiding in between our-- the crew's possessions.”

Marvelous tried to make his voice seem casual, but he couldn’t help the quiver that was visible, “The Zangyack burned our ship. I snuck into a freight ship and they burned that too.” He looked ahead, a hollowness present in his eyes that made Bahorel’s heartache fiercely and his voice want to howl against the miseries.

“So I’m here.” Marvelous shrugged his shoulders.

“Palsambleu! Those bastards do seem to get around a lot across the Universe, taking over everything that doesn't belong to them. Colonising every planet.” Bahorel nodded sympathetically.

“Which is why we seem to have acquired a pirate ship and are apparently wanted pirates, eh, Jehan.” He placed his hands on his hips. "There are posters of course with our names and faces plastered all over several planets. I must say it makes for quite an adventure requisitioning a ship and being known as pirates. Much better than the skeleton prank we once pulled in Paris."

“I’m also a pirate to make a fashion statement, Fashion being political of course and nothing more political than being a rebel pirate against the Zangyack Empire, right now.” Prouvaire said, turning around and showcasing his long dagger which he unsheathed from its case, his eyeliner and several earrings, rings and bracelets. The young Marvelous’ eyes shone with excitement at Prouvaire’s look.

“I’ve never seen someone look so much like a pirate. Like how I would like to be one.” He said, admiring Prouvaire’s look and moving around him. “I want to be a pirate in search of treasure and to fight the Empire.”

“You shouldn’t really be a pirate.” Bahorel placed his hand on the child’s head and shook it a little playfully.

“Well, I am,” the kid puffed up his chest. “They are calling all the rebels as such from now on to stop anyone from supporting us. You should know if you are one.” For a moment, Bahorel and Prouvaire appear distracted thinking of the reports they have heard from spies and smugglers and groups of anarchist rebels working against the Empire.

“Oh no you don’t,” Prouvaire said running after the child, “Give me back my gun.”

“I saw you,” Marvelous said looking Bahorel straight in the eye, “In the market town of the trading post GJ-148 down below, tearing up posters and picking a fight with the Goumin and Sugoumin on the planet to save people from being killed by the Zangyack, so I followed your ship. I want to fight with you all.”

Bahorel grinned, the child knew how to flatter him. Also he was holding Prouvaire’s large (for Marvelous) gun.

“Tell me young Marvelous, do you know how to fight?” Bahorel asked, his feet casually on the table, the dagger in his hand, waving in the air lightly away from him.

Marvelous held up the gun, adopting a posture he had seen and taken several times before and shot the dagger cleanly out of Bahorel’s hand.

“Not bad. Could do with some improvements but not bad.” Bahorel said, patting him on the back. “Where did you learn to shoot?”

‘With another group of rebels. They were arrested and executed by the Zangyack.”

This time there were tears in Marvelous’ eyes. Bahorel walked to comfort him and Marvelous grabbed his long pirate coat and hugged it tightly to him, his lanky body shaking a little.

“Well, I guess, he will just have to stay.” Bahorel said, hugging the small child back. Considering how many younger brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews he had helped raise or rather spoil, he was hoping that one pirate rebel would be easy enough to show the ropes. Relatively.

“We did say we were working on gathering a new crew.” Prouvaire pointed out holding his flower pot in his hand and contemplating the small petals it had sprouted even in space.

“And there are a lot of unsavoury privateers along many spaceports.”

They watched the child the next couple of weeks, Marvelous as he called himself dart and run across the ship’s length, never more at home that when on the deck of their Corinthe, taking flight everywhere; he had even made up with the cook and now they seemed to be on good terms. He had managed to make purser bend to his will. He was boisterous, helping the boatswain with the checking of the knots, or the navigator to spy on the open darkness that lasted as far as the eye could observe. The Navigator had warned him from looking at the stars with the telescope when they were close to them.

His sense of justice Bahorel had noted, was pretty strongly tilted against the Zangack due to circumstances, he had seen so much earlier in his life and in favour of the wretched and the planets that had been destroyed or colonised across the galaxy.

He had seen Marvelous fight because he didn’t like how a poor family was being treated and knocked around by space authorities, when they made port to pick up a few supplies and had quickly intervened on his behalf along with Prouvaire who loved the thrill of the fight and who even now in his ghost like state was smashing street lamps wherever he found them- more out of old habit.

Slowly Marvelous was opening up, he had never been to school, he told Bahorel. He had never seen the necessity of it. School had been spending time with his family and their crew and the crew's children who were all treated equally as him.

School had been learning how to navigate using the spacefarer’s songs and melodies. Bahorel felt a sense of pride at how much he knew about navigating ships and he ruffled the kid’s hair. Marvelous for his part loved spending time with Bahorel.

Bahorel took him and his concerns seriously and did not dismiss them for coming from a child. Bahorel had given Marvelous lessons too. His sabre handling wasn’t nearly as sharp and clean as his pistol shots and Bahorel showed him the right way to hold his sword, the footwork he should use, the thrusts and parries that should be part of his arsenal when he was planning to attack a Zangyack.

Prouvaire amused Marvelous with his many eccentricities and his recitations on board the ship. “I am memorable at least.” He murmured one day, sitting on the bow of the ship casually. The boy climbed up to follow him.

“What are you doing, Marvelous, you scamp?” the quartermaster yelled, but the kid focused his attention on the narrow edge of the bow and kept walking, his balance precise and calculated. He made it to the edge to observe the comet that Prouvaire wanted to show him, its icy green tail causing him to become mesmerised for a while.

After some moments he jumped down.

“I have jumped onto the masts before too, to raise and lower sails,” he grinned as he reassured the quartermaster who shook his head and went inside his cabin, where half the crew were playing cards and drinking rum.

An off-tune melody was struck and Marvelous too joined, his boyish voice mixing in well with the rest of the crew’s baritone, bass and tenor voices. Marvelous was wearing the vest and several more necklaces and rings that Prouvaire had lent him. He smiled at the Captain and Bahorel ruffled his hair a little again, while Marvelous with his cat like grin leaned against Bahorel's large coat, watching the card game till he fell asleep with the rocking movements of their spaceship.

#happy birthday dear friend #yes this will probably get more sequels because a lot of characters need to be introduced slowly #and also I have promised whump which I need to deliver #this is after a certain movie and precanon lmao because I love missing scenes #feeling weird about posting but also don't care #I wrote it for Autumn and other people may or may not read or like I wrote it for us<3 #space pirate blorbos well one blorbo the rest to be revealed later and poetry smash

12 notes · View notes

thelawsofdaylight · 5 months

Text

Ten first lines game

I was tagged by both @pumpkinspice-prouvaire and @aromantic-enjolras to do this ask game a while ago but am just now getting around to it! It's made me realise how much I actually published this year which is a not insignificant amount, so thanks for the tag, this was fun!

Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have.

kisses of fire (bruning, burning), the exr smut fic that i published literally about an hour ago, it doesn't really have much of a plot it's just smut:

The first obstacle comes in the form of a heavy, iron-clad gate that's so rusted Grantaire always finds himself surprised it hasn't crumbled to dust.

obstacles, the modernised retelling of jean valjean's journey to arras, it's very silly but also required a ridiculous amount of research:

If a person were to walk down the Rue Saint-Gengoult in the early hours of the morning, they would find it quiet and empty, as often happens before a town has commenced its business for the day.

the art of translation, written for the drinkwithme platonic exchange, about feuilly and jehan's friendhsip:

“-and anyway,” Feuilly is explaining to Enjolras and Combeferre, “we scarcely have time to organise it before we meet with the medical students.”

a new day dawning, the ghost!triumvirate fic i wrote for the discorinthe exchange:

Anabelle Pontmercy dies on a Thursday afternoon, twenty three years and three months into the twenty first century.

until the stars burn out, another discorinthe exchange piece about space pirates enjolras and grantaire sharing a traumatic experience:

They’ll later learn it was an act of sabotage.

these roads were made for me and you, this is the first line of the car share au!!!!!! my in-progress fic that i just updated!!!

Fate has always been a cruel mistress to Grantaire, and today is no exception.

strikin' around the christmas tree, my holiday exchange piece, a silly political take on a classic hallmark fic:

The day is cold, the ground sparkling with newly formed ice.

the art of merriment, my bahorel and enjolras friendhsip piece for last year's drink with me platonic exchange:

The first time Bahorel sees Enjolras fight is during an ambush.

we know what it's like to be reckless, another discorinthe exchange piece about jehan and grantaire and some late night graffiti:

Jehan has always loved the sound of spray paint.

under the eyes of the revolution, a same prompt fic challenge fill that focuses on enjolras and feuilly after the execution of le cabuc:

Enjolras sat upon a loose paving stone, his back to the Corinthe's walls.

What we have learnt from this is that klee aka thelawsofdaylight aka quillsand tends to go with shorter sentences for opening lines. Interesting!

I was tagged quite a while ago so I'm not sure who has and hasn't done this yet but if you haven't but have been wanting to, consider this your tag!

#writing tag #i currently have 6 published fics this year! that's a lot!#aiming for one or two more before the end of the year but we'll see #thank you both for the tag!!!!!#it also made me realise there are fics of yours i haven't read so like... i'm gonna get on that!!

5 notes · View notes

fremedon · 2 years

Text

Brickclub 4.12.6, “Waiting”

IT’S PROUVAIRE’S POEM. It made me cry this time, which it’s never done before, but the more I learn about the time period the harder this piece of nostalgia hits.

It’s a love poem about the days when the oldest of them were new in Paris and young--so, the early 1820s, but mostly their early 20s, and late teens.

These characters are, at most, early 30s: Courfeyrac is 25, Enjolras--the one (awake) person absent from the poetry recital--is 26, Joly is 27, Bossuet and the unconscious Grantaire are 29, Bahorel’s age is unstated but he’d been in school for 11 years as of four years ago. The poem is youth looking back on youth, with a grave but indulgent sense of nostalgia, as though already looking forward to how little space there will be between these events and their recollection from the distance of age.

Some of that is Hugo’s own age and years of exile seeping through. And the Romantics just liked nostalgia. They indulged in it as early and as often as they could. Looking back on the carefree days of 20 from the mature heights of 29 is a very Romantic mood.

But it’s also a poem about commonplace experiences being--and being remembered as--epochal because one is experiencing them for the first time, within a nostalgic frame that’s already wistful. It’s casting them as great and triumphal moments because it understands that as time passes and the poet--and the audience--live their lives, there will be and have already been more moments like these, that these memories are important not because they are unique but because they are universal.

And the men reciting it are never again going to go home to their mistress’s garret, and drink from mismatched cups and eat chestnuts off a folio Dante in lieu of a table. Those moments have to be universal, now--they have to stand in for all the others they’ll never have.

They don’t know that yet, not for certain. This is the moment where they wait for the city to rise. They know it may take time: In 1830, most of the barricades went up overnight, after the first of the Three Glorious Days. This is, itself, a nostalgic moment for them, at a distance of just two years. They have no way to know, and no overwhelming reason to fear, that sunrise will show them a city already beaten.

But they know the risks; and for this moment, they are looking back on their lives in full appreciation of what they are ready to lose.

...and I was going to list more images from the poem a few paragraphs back, of things they’ll never do again, but then I got to this stanza:

Je t’obèissais, tu m’étais soumise O grenier doré! te lacer! te voir! Aller et venir dès l’aube en chemise, Mirant ton front jeune à ton vieux miroir!

...and realized that, except for Prouvaire and Bahorel, they will all be up and about in their shirtsleeves at dawn, while Joly examines himself in Mère Houcheloup’s old hand-mirror, and I had to go cry again.

#brickclub #lm 4.12.6

29 notes · View notes

aromantic-enjolras · 1 year

Text

Demon Amis, Part II

The Bible states that the first rebellion occurred because some angels didn't want to bow to humanity. But as Enjolras (also called the Lightbearer, Lucifer Morningstar, Prince of Darkness, Father of Lies and more simply "The Enemy") will tell you if you ask, history is written by the winners...

Although the Amis didn’t have specific areas of influence when they started, they have gravitated towards different ways to relate to the world and to approach the people in it since then. Also, they have fashioned Hell over the years to reflect them, with each Ami having a different circle (yes, Dante was right about the circles.. although that was pretty much all he was right about).

Enjolras is the original Rebel. The church teaching he tackles primarily is the idea that you should put yourself in God’s hands and hope he solves the issue. He pushes people to question authority, find a community and fight for their own beliefs. If you want something done, you should do it yourself. His circle is mostly made of empty rooms, places where people can meet up and make things together. People who sell their souls to him in particular tend to end up brainstorming ways to win over people to their cause.

Combeferre is the Demon of Curiosity. His war is principally with blind faith. He encourages his targets to ask questions, never take an answer at face value, try their damn best to understand the world around them. He’s the Serpent of Eden, and Hypatia of Alexandria was one of his favourite wards. His circle consists of sprawling libraries and laboratories with every condition and technology you could possibly need.

Courfeyrac is the Demon of Lust. His target is the idea that your body is just a carnal prison you should try to avoid as much as possible. Although he will freely admit that he likes sex a lot, his domain isn’t just that: it’s everything that has to do with celebrating your own body and the pleasure you can get from it. His circle has week-long orgies and every sex toy in existence, but also sleep piles and cuddles and back rubs and kisses and hugs.

Bahorel is the Demon of Wrath. The teaching he goes against is that you should always put your other cheek because the meek will inherit the Earth. He’s the demon equivalent of the “don’t you ever just want to go apeshit” meme. He usually goes for women and children, which have been told all their lives that they should be submissive and accept their fates, and helps them find their inner rage at the injustice of their situations. His most proud moment, though, is the Roma uprising in Auschwitz. His circle has rooms full of things you can shatter, on any scale (ever wanted to be Gozilla and wreck Tokyo? Bahorel has you covered) and can reproduce any person you might want to yell at or hurt.

Feuilly is the Demon of Pride. His war is with the idea that everything you can achieve is God’s work. He pushes people to be proud of their own achievements, to know their worth and fight for it to be recognized. He works with Bahorel a lot, and a lot of worker’s riots and strikes are their joint work. His circle is a museum-like structure, where people in Hell can come and put the things they’re proud of up for show: physical objects (their first painting after deciding to take classes, a work of a lifetime), but also memories (making their little sister smile, winning the war). Feuilly has his own room in the middle of his realm, a small space with stuff his wards have given him over the centuries. In the center of it, though, there’s a small pedestal with the memory of the Amis, bloodied and hurting after their Fall, helping each other up.

Jehan is the Demon of Self-Expression and Unpious Art (he decided on the title himself). What’s that about art having to point to God? No, art is about making yourself heard and making beautiful (or not beautiful, beauty is relative) things. He goes for people sometimes, but he mostly occupies himself with movements and currents. You can bet the Bahaus are his people. He also works the most alongside other Amis: the country subgenre of angry women getting revenge on their abusive partners and fathers is his favourite joint work with Bahorel, and you can bet the entire LSD scene of the 60s is a collab with Grantaire. His circle in Hell is a mix of museum (”please do touch!”), concert hall and art studio. In it your paint never dries prematurely and you never run out of supplies.

Grantaire is the Demon of Gluttony (and Safe Drug Trips). As he will tell you if you ask, the whole “abstinence and self-restraint” thing is bullshit. Life is short, and it’s here to be appreciated in as big chunks as humanly possible. Why wait to indulge tomorrow when you can indulge today? His circle resembles quite closely one of those Roman banquets (Roman orgies are one of his favourite collabs with Courfeyrac), but with more drugs. You will never have a bad trip nor a hangover while you’re in Grantaire’s realm. Keith Richards is his favourite ward.

Bossuet is the Demon of Joy. But wait a second, you say, isn’t religion all about joy? No, he answers, this religion is all about suffering in silence, as much as possible. Honest happiness is always viewed with suspicion and guilt, and he’s having none of it. He will fight for the right to be unbridledly joyful of every human on Earth. His laugh is contagious, and his humour could make anyone happy. He works a lot alongside Grantaire. His circle is.... well, this one is escaping me, so if someone has ideas I’ll happily take them.

Lastly, Joly is the demon of Selfishness. His personal enemy is the idea that we should be self-sacrificing all the time, that putting ourselves first is a terrible, unforgivable thing. He helps people establish boundaries, say “this is enough”. He’s very good friends with Grantaire and Bossuet, but his circle is at the opposite end of Hell (as much as Hell has “ends”). It’s structured a little bit like a spa (Joly is very fond of those), with saunas and massages and soft clothes; but also there are chambers that are empty and silent in case someone feels overwhelmed, and beds with weighted blankets. Putting a foot in his realm already makes you feel better, to the point where “go to Joly’s” is a common phrase in Hell.

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! Again, big shoutout to @shamedumpster for coming up with a good chunk of these!

#Les Misérables #text posts #my posts #headcanons #my headcanons #Enjolras #Combeferre #Courfeyrac #Bahorel #Feuilly #Jehan Prouvaire #Grantaire #Joly #Bossuet #religion #long posts #alternate universe #Demon AU

38 notes · View notes

a-heart-full-of-dumb · 2 years

Note

💭🧨🎶 for bahorel <3 and 🦇🔮🌅 for feuilly !

I am sorry this took so long! I was really struggling with finding mental space lately and when I finally found it my brain decided to use it on hyperfixating on writing a fic instead, oops 😅. But it is here now and I hope you like them.

Bahorel

💭 - what's something embarrassing they did that actively haunts them at night?

So believe it or not, but Bahorel was actually quite an anxious kid when ae were young. So at one point, ae must have been around the age of 10, Bahorel was playing outside during a school break and the strictest teacher was looking over the kids. Bahorel realised halfway during the break that ae needed to pee. However ae has to ask permission to the teacher to go to the bathroom and ae is anxious to do so. Especially since said teacher is known for saying no. So Bahorel decided that ae just had to wait. Well.. the break ended up going on for too long, and ae ended up peeing their pants and had to try and hide aer wet pants for the rest of the schoolday as ae was too embarrassed to tell anyone.

Ae might have been 10 when it happend, it still keeps them up at night at times.

🧨 - are they a good dancer? what sort of dancing do they know if yes? do they enjoy dancing in general?

Surprisingly yes. Bahorel is a great dancer. Ae used to go to ballet classes when ae were younger and never lost some of the skill. Only Grantaire knows about this though. R also has a background in ballet and sometimes they have little dancing sessions together.

Bahorel is also quite skilled in more hip hop style dancing. Something ae picked up later in life. This is a skill that's more well known about in the group, but it's not something ae brag about. Ae just pull it out as a partytrick sometimes.

🎶 - i'll give you one song that reminds me of them and one song i think they would listen to

A song that reminds me of Bahorel, umm Revolution by The Score. This is a song that honestly could also fit Enjolras because of it being about revolution and the energy that comes with that (I hope that made any sense), but the overall vibe of the song with the instruments and all reminds me more of Bahorel than Enjolras honestly.

A song that ae would listen to is Repeat by Grace Vanderwaal. I don't even know really why, I just think ae would vibe to the lyrics. To me it just feels like a song Bahorel would listen to a lot.

Feuilly

🦇 - would i rather this character be a vampire or a werewolf?

Oh vampire absolutely. I mean you don't need sleep, so you have more hours in your day to work and put time and effort into passions. Something Feuilly only sees as a good thing honestly. He doesn't really see the benefit of changing into a wolf every full moon.

I mean who would choose turning into a wolf when you can turn that same time and energy into fighting for the right of the people and making sure you can make it through a day by working.

🔮 - what part would they play in a D&D campaign?

I am gonna be completely honest, I don't know enough about D&D to really answer this one. I've been meaning to get into it again and I did look up stuff to try and answer this, but I don't feel like I have enough knowledge still to confidently answer this one.

If you do have any knowledge or like want to teach me more about D&D, please do, like I said I've been meaning to get into it again, I just need to find a way to not associate it with a toxic ex friend.

I am so sorry to disappoint you

🌅 - what time do they wake up? what time do they go to bed? what do they consider to be "late" at night?

Bold of you to assume Feuilly sleeps. People are usually worried Enjolras overworks himself and let's be real that concern is more than valid, but Feuilly is someone who is really good at overworking himself too. Something he doesn't even always notices. You see, Feuilly hyperfixates a lot so he can be completely engulfed into his work and passions and therefore often forgets to take care of his basic human needs like sleep. This means the man pulls all-nighters quite often and when he doesn't it's still often like 2 am by the fact he goes to bed and due to their busy working schedule they have to get up at 5 almost every day. His friends are suprised he hasn't just randomly started passing out yet, and Joly is fussing about him the moment he spots any signs of tiredness on Feuilly's face. Which honestly is almost always.

#they are a bit of a mess #I am sorry #river answers #headcanon answers #les miserables #les mis #les mis headcanons

1 note · View note

midautumnnightdream · 4 years

Note

Ooh how about poetry smash in space?:D

The spectacle is, admittedly, magnificent: the clouds of space dust, resplendent in the dull shine of the distant stars, seem to come alive even as they are dragged into the deadly dance by the approaching black hole. Still...

"A royalist conspiracy?" Jean Prouvaire complains, leaning back from the viewscreen to get a better look at his companion's face. Around them, the stolen spacecraft gives one last shudder as the engines take on an unhappy whine before ceasing altogether – a failing rattle of a swansong. "After everything we have done, after everything we have been, this is going to be our undoing? An accusation of an accursed royalist conspiracy?" He gives a despairing shudder. To be sure, the artist in him couldn't fail to appreciate the sublime irony of their cruel fate, but this? This is mortifying.

"Eh." There's a strange softness to Bahorel's features, the fire in his eyes gentled by a thoughtful contemplation usually reserved to the marvels of nature and the most heartfelt works of art. But it's not the mesmerising embrace of the waiting death that holds his attention – his gaze hasn't wavered from Jean Prouvaire's face. "Worth it."

#Autumn writes #Jehan Prouvaire #Bahorel #Poetry Smash #Bahorel/Prouvaite #Space AU #One (1) very tiny and sneaky Teater Odeon reference #(are they going out in a blaze of glory or is this a setup for their meetcute with the rest of Les Amis? who knows!)#aflamethatneverdies

20 notes · View notes

anneangel · 2 years

Text

Handwriting Analysis

I was analyzing the signatures of each of the amis following this image I found on the french wiki, the person who did this is kind of perfect;

image available in: https://les-miserables.fandom.com/fr/wiki/Les_Amis_de_l%27ABC

Handwriting Analysis

Grantaire's signature is large and with many sinuous curves, in addition to taking up much of the leaf. Large letters signal an outgoing, sociable person who likes the spotlight, larger letters indicate receptivity to other people and new experiences. Roundness means that he likes to keep people close to them happy, and curvy letters show he tend to be a creative and artistic person. Exaggerated roundness like the one shown in your R can also suggest ingenuity, communicability, loquacity, exaggeration or pedantry, but on the other hand it can also indicate false self-confidence and a desire to be who he are not. Another thing is that his handwriting is smooth on paper, lighter writing and less marked denotes sensitivity and compassion, usually accompanied by apathy.

Finally, the way he takes the role disproportionately compared to colleagues may indicate a distortion in his own image, a need to be seen and/or a search to meet socio-affective needs.

Combeferre has a very small signature, small letters signify shyness, perfectionism and great ability to concentrate. His handwriting is strong too, that is, he uses pressure with the pencil and marks the paper more: People who write strongly take things seriously and tend to be inflexible. This shows how he is the sage, the guide, the philosophy of the group.

Enjolras's signature is kind of pointed: pointy signal someone who works hard and has ambition, also pointy letters represent intensity of feelings, aggression and intelligence. One thing to watch out for is that the end of the writing feels more rushed next to the rest: this could be impatience and appreciation for efficiency. Another notable thing is that the first letter E is well marked, pointed and bigger than the rest, this means a more aggressive initial presentation, and the rest letters however it appears more shy, withdrawn and soft afterwards. The rest of the letters are smaller and much closer and glued together, which may indicate that he like to be together with friends rather than alone.

Feuilly and Courfeyrac have signatures spaced out and in ample size, a larger spacing between words means that the person is independent and likes open spaces. They like freedom. It seems that they are free and creative spirits. Possibly childish and/or witty. Feuilly in particular has a very readable handwriting that demonstrates someone safe and content with themselves. Coufeyrac, on the other hand, has a very soft handwriting that even seems to get softer at the end, lighter and less marked writing denotes sensitivity and compassion.

Jehan writes in a punctuated and well-structured and detailed way, which speaks of his person, lyrics that are very ordely of methodical and orderly connection, in addition to a careful signature that means that it is a person independent and accurate. The lyrics also get closer which can mean softness and compassion, and a little apathy or melancholy.

Bossuet, he marks the end of words well, end marks and a tendency to go to the right side of the margin can indicate people who prefer to think about the future than stick to the past (This may explain why Bossuet has several unlucky experiences, but he is always witty).

Joly and Bahorel have illegible handwriting, an illegible signature can indicate a reserved person who values privacy. Bahorel, comes with a strong letter that marks the role more, strength indicates people who take things seriously and tend to be inflexible. Joly, on the other hand, being a doctor, this can influence and indicate that his quick and irregular signature show impatience and appreciation for efficiency.

P.s: keep in mind that this is superficial, a real analysis is much more thorough, detailed and analyzes more than one document in several different situations and dates, in addition to doing other tests and interviews with the person.

#les amis de l'abc #les amis #les miserables #les mis #enjolras #combeferre #courfeyrac #grantaire #R #joly #bossuet #bahorel #jehan prouvaire #feuilly

125 notes · View notes