nickywrites

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Jean Valjean in Les Misérables 5.9.5/The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry/Saturn, by Sleeping At Last

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It is the 200th anniversary of Jean Valjean adopting Cosette!!

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Hey so—

“Maybe I’ll save you” and “I’ve never been so happy in my life” have the same music

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50th anniversary: “I know where I’m going, where I’ve always been going— home. The long way around.”

60th anniversary: “You changed your face, and then you found me… do you know why?” “No.” “To come home.”

You did it, Doctor. You made it.

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The Doctor has gone from being a granddad to having a granddad

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via @bebx (♡)

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Ok, so after The Star Beast, my thoughts now are that it has to do with the Doctor’s emotions, more specifically how he expresses them.

Under the cut for some spoilers:

Fourteen is coming across to me as a very emotional Doctor, which is very similar to how Ten was! The difference is that Fourteen expresses them. This also makes him a contrast to his direct predecessor Thirteen, who was an expert at repressing things… The Doctor often learns lessons from previous incarnations and it seems this might be something they learned from being Thirteen— that hiding the way you feel ultimately won’t do you any favors.

Ten would bottle things up a lot, which typically resulted in the pressure building up until all his feelings exploded outward. (Or sometimes, they didn’t “explode” they just kinda overflowed, like his tears in Doomsday.) Fourteen doesn’t do that. He lets himself get upset— he rages about the unfairness of it all in regards to Donna (“WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE THIS?”) and is nearly brought to tears when he thinks Wilf has passed.

Perhaps most notably, he’s much more open about sharing how important people are to him; he says about both Wilf and Donna that he loves them, and even notes that it’s a new thing. Compared to Ten, who’s infamous for not being able to say “I love you,” it’s a significant difference.

I’m genuinely fascinated to see exactly what he means by this

Especially because Ten was very human, and I’m unsure as to how Fourteen will surpass that (but boy am I looking forward to seeing David Tennant go crazy with this role)

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I’m genuinely fascinated to see exactly what he means by this

Especially because Ten was very human, and I’m unsure as to how Fourteen will surpass that (but boy am I looking forward to seeing David Tennant go crazy with this role)

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When you can’t decide on a header image so you just—

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Freddie Mercury in a bar, 1975, meets a drunk redhead babbling about how his angel broke his heart. Freddie offers his sympathy to the guy, who eventually stumbles off.

Immediately after, this brunet guy wanders in, also apparently drunk off of something Freddie’s relatively certain is not from Earth. Guy (who looks weirdly similar to redhead) vents about how the girl he loves is “in another universe.” Freddie nods understandingly and offers the guy a handkerchief.

Freddie Mercury starts writing “Love of My Life.”

[nickywrites]

Just as an FYI—

If you have an empty blog, or a blog that’s completely empty except for a picture of a conventionally attractive woman— you look like a bot. If you look like a bot, I’ll block you. Therefore, I’m instituting a policy: if you’d like to follow me, please put something else in your blog. Give it a title, reblog some posts. Because to me, and other users, you look like a bot. If you’re a new user and haven’t gotten set up yet, that’s fine— but if it’s been a week and nothing’s changed, I’ll be blocking, in order to preserve this blog as a bot-free zone.

[nickywrites]

Again— I don’t care if you’re a human or a bot. If your blog has explicit pornographic content, I will be blocking you immediately and with no hesitation. Take that shit somewhere else.

Porn bots PLEASE FUCK OFF

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Not so friendly reminder from your local sapphic autistic person with an undiagnosed chronic digestive disease— July is not Pride Month 2.0, it is Disability Pride Month. If you take issue with this, grow the fuck up.

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Joyeuse Fête des Pères to Jean Valjean 💙

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My entry for @valvertweek!

I went for a fluffy (possibly downright tooth-rotting) untitled one-shot about Post-Seine Valvert with the theme “constellation” and some random musical references. My anxiety’s been trash lately so I’m just going to post it before I chicken out of it.

For much of Javert’s life, the stars were a reminder— a warning. Stay in your place. For if you fall, like Lucifer… They had been a comfort and reassurance. By the stars, he knew that he was faithful and true, and would be always. Then there had been the Seine, and the stars had had no pity for him, but looked down upon him in judgment.

The stars had taken on an entirely new meaning after he’d found himself falling in love with Jean Valjean.

It had been March of 1834— and Valjean had just received his pardon. Those days stood out vividly in Javert’s memory; Valjean had been simultaneously overjoyed and terrified, completely at a loss of what to do with himself now that he was a free man under the law. Over the next several months, Valjean had transformed, like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. Happiness became him beautifully. But this had been before that transformation. This had been back when Valjean was much more vulnerable. And Javert had been dearly, desperately in love with him, and absolutely clueless of what to do about it.

~~~

“I must confess I feel… lost,” Jean said. “It’s been so long…” He didn’t elaborate further, sinking into a melancholy silence.

They were outside, sitting on the garden wall— a favorite spot of Jean’s after darkness had fallen. It was a warm night, and the skies were clear. So, as he often did on such nights, Javert looked up. He couldn’t quite explain what drove him to speak— the stars seemed to drive him into a sort of lunacy where he said things he ordinarily wouldn’t.

“I have always been… fascinated by the stars, you might say. When…” He paused, the words catching in his throat. “When I was very small, my mother would show them to me. We— we could not see much, through the bars, you know, but she would point out what she could, and tell me their names, and she had stories about the shapes they made. That one, there,” he said, pointing upwards towards one of the constellations, “she called Orion, the hunter. And there, Ursa, the bear, and her little cub, whose tail is the North Star.”

“It has an awfully long tail for a bear,” Jean pointed out.

“She said that God had picked the two bears up by their tails and pulled them into the sky, and their tails got all stretched out.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

“That one— the North Star— was always my favorite. It stays there, fixed and constant, while all the other stars rotate around it in their courses. But now…”

“And now?” Jean prompted after several moments of silence.

“I have… I used to strive to be like that. Never-changing, unmoving. You know how that ended,” Javert said, now beginning to feel a little awkward.

Jean tipped his head back to gaze at the sky himself. “They are beautiful. Could you tell me more about them? You seem to know much more than I do.”

“After Daia passed— Daia. That’s what I used to call her. It means ‘mother,’ in her— in our language…” He stopped again, and took a deep breath; these were not memories he had allowed himself to revisit in quite some time. “After Daia passed, they put me out on the streets. I was lucky— the other gamins of Toulon found me amusing, and taught me how to be one of them. And I was afraid I would forget about my Daia, so I talked about her to the other boys. After a while they said, ‘Alright, Javert. Your maman’s dead, you have to learn to live with that.�� So I stopped talking about her, but I still told her stories. I told them all about the stars, and the constellations… I could go in about them for hours. And I did, until so was a bit older and I realized nobody wanted to listen for hours, so I stopped.”

“I’d listen to you talk about the stars for hours.”

“Yes, and that is because you have the patience of a saint.”

“Your mother loved you very much, didn’t she?” Jean asked, sounding strangely sad.

“Yes, I suppose she did.”

“How old were you… when…”

“It was consumption, that got her… I was six.”

“So it’s been over forty years, since someone told you they loved you.”

“…Yes. I suppose it has.”

They were silent for a while, gazing up at the sky.

Javert stole glances at Jean, feeling a bit like a schoolboy with a crush. Jean’s white hair gleamed in the dim light of the street lamps; he looked as if he were wearing a halo made of the stars themselves. Oh, I’m in so much trouble… he thought to himself. Somehow, he had no doubt that, if he only asked, Jean would take the very stars from the sky and give them to him.

Before his rationality took over again and stopped him, Javert spoke. “I used to look at the stars and think about you.”

“Oh?” Jean answered.

This was a bad idea. This was an absolutely horrible idea. Jean would be disgusted— would never want to see him again— “I used to swear that I would find you, someday. I told myself, back then, that it was because I wanted to arrest you. No other reason. That the yearning I felt was just a desire to see you back where I thought you belonged. I didn’t know— I think a pet of me realized, after the barricades. I realized that I sympathized for you. That I… cared about you. And I couldn’t bear it, so… I jumped. But I still didn’t understand it, not really. It wasn’t until that day, when you took me out into your garden…”

“What do you mean?” Jean asked, leaning in to hear Javert’s lowered voice.

“I—“ They were very close. Without thinking, Javert leaned in and closed the distance between them. The kids lasted for barely half a second before he realized what he was doing and abruptly shoved himself away from Jean.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to—“ he stammered. He slid down off the garden wall, landing on the little stone path with a thud. Wringing his hands, he turned away from Jean and prepared to flee. “I just— I’m sorry— you were just— you’re so— I didn’t think— I am so—”

Just as he was about to escape out the gate, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He turned back, confused; Jean pulled him in, clinging to him and crushing his lips to his. It all happened so suddenly— he felt as though he were drowning— and then his hands found Jean’s waist and wrapped around him tightly, and he felt his eyes flutter shut, and all that mattered in the world was them.

After what felt like years of this rapture, Jean gently pulled back. They stood together, foreheads touching; Javert could hear Jean breathing heavily, and was certain that his own pounding heartbeat was audible.

“I wanted to tell you— but I didn’t know how,” Jean murmured. Javert opened his eyes to see Valjean’s staring back at him with something ineffable in them; his lips were ever so slightly swollen and Javert felt he would fall to his knees at the sight.

“Tu es… tu es comme une étoile. Tu es mon étoile,” he breathed, and it felt like a prayer.

Jean nestled his head on Javert’s shoulder. “Je t’aime.” They both shivered.

~~~

After that, Jean had been determined to never let a day go by without telling Javert he was loved. Javert felt much the same. Soon, they both learned to say “I love you” without being afraid of the sky falling down around them. And even if the stars did fall in flame, everything would be alright.

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Porn bots PLEASE FUCK OFF

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did you guys know that les mis is one of my favorite musicals