#monsieur-de-courfeyrac

[kim-the-miserable-rat]

LES MIS AS INCORRECT QUOTES I FOUND IN PINTEREST (part 1)

ENJOLRAS

THE THENARDIERS

JAVERT

JEHAN PROVUAIRE

EPONINE (about Gavroche)

JOLLLLY

BAHOREL

COURFEYRAC (response by les amis)

MARIUS PONTMERCY (about cosette)

COMBEFERRE

[thebrickinbrick]

Gavroche as a Profound Calculator of Distances

Marius kept his promise. He dropped a kiss on that livid brow, where the icy perspiration stood in beads.

This was no infidelity to Cosette; it was a gentle and pensive farewell to an unhappy soul.

It was not without a tremor that he had taken the letter which Éponine had given him. He had immediately felt that it was an event of weight. He was impatient to read it. The heart of man is so constituted that the unhappy child had hardly closed her eyes when Marius began to think of unfolding this paper.

He laid her gently on the ground, and went away. Something told him that he could not peruse that letter in the presence of that body.

He drew near to a candle in the tap-room. It was a small note, folded and sealed with a woman’s elegant care. The address was in a woman’s hand and ran:—

“To Monsieur, Monsieur Marius Pontmercy, at M. Courfeyrac’s, Rue de la Verrerie, No. 16.”

He broke the seal and read:—

“My dearest, alas! my father insists on our setting out immediately. We shall be this evening in the Rue de l’Homme Armé, No. 7. In a week we shall be in England. COSETTE. June 4th.”

Such was the innocence of their love that Marius was not even acquainted with Cosette’s handwriting.

What had taken place may be related in a few words. Éponine had been the cause of everything. After the evening of the 3d of June she had cherished a double idea, to defeat the projects of her father and the ruffians on the house of the Rue Plumet, and to separate Marius and Cosette. She had exchanged rags with the first young scamp she came across who had thought it amusing to dress like a woman, while Éponine disguised herself like a man. It was she who had conveyed to Jean Valjean in the Champ de Mars the expressive warning: “Leave your house.” Jean Valjean had, in fact, returned home, and had said to Cosette: “We set out this evening and we go to the Rue de l’Homme Armé with Toussaint. Next week, we shall be in London.” Cosette, utterly overwhelmed by this unexpected blow, had hastily penned a couple of lines to Marius. But how was she to get the letter to the post? She never went out alone, and Toussaint, surprised at such a commission, would certainly show the letter to M. Fauchelevent. In this dilemma, Cosette had caught sight through the fence of Éponine in man’s clothes, who now prowled incessantly around the garden. Cosette had called to “this young workman” and had handed him five francs and the letter, saying: “Carry this letter immediately to its address.” Éponine had put the letter in her pocket. The next day, on the 5th of June, she went to Courfeyrac’s quarters to inquire for Marius, not for the purpose of delivering the letter, but,—a thing which every jealous and loving soul will comprehend,—“to see.”

There she had waited for Marius, or at least for Courfeyrac, still for the purpose of seeing. When Courfeyrac had told her: “We are going to the barricades,” an idea flashed through her mind, to fling herself into that death, as she would have done into any other, and to thrust Marius into it also. She had followed Courfeyrac, had made sure of the locality where the barricade was in process of construction; and, quite certain, since Marius had received no warning, and since she had intercepted the letter, that he would go at dusk to his trysting place for every evening, she had betaken herself to the Rue Plumet, had there awaited Marius, and had sent him, in the name of his friends, the appeal which would, she thought, lead him to the barricade. She reckoned on Marius’ despair when he should fail to find Cosette; she was not mistaken. She had returned to the Rue de la Chanvrerie herself. What she did there the reader has just seen. She died with the tragic joy of jealous hearts who drag the beloved being into their own death, and who say: “No one shall have him!”

Marius covered Cosette’s letter with kisses. So she loved him!

For one moment the idea occurred to him that he ought not to die now. Then he said to himself: “She is going away. Her father is taking her to England, and my grandfather refuses his consent to the marriage. Nothing is changed in our fates.” Dreamers like Marius are subject to supreme attacks of dejection, and desperate resolves are the result. The fatigue of living is insupportable; death is sooner over with. Then he reflected that he had still two duties to fulfil: to inform Cosette of his death and send her a final farewell, and to save from the impending catastrophe which was in preparation, that poor child, Éponine’s brother and Thénardier’s son.

He had a pocket-book about him; the same one which had contained the note-book in which he had inscribed so many thoughts of love for Cosette. He tore out a leaf and wrote on it a few lines in pencil:—

“Our marriage was impossible. I asked my grandfather, he refused; I have no fortune, neither hast thou. I hastened to thee, thou wert no longer there. Thou knowest the promise that I gave thee, I shall keep it. I die. I love thee. When thou readest this, my soul will be near thee, and thou wilt smile.”

Having nothing wherewith to seal this letter, he contented himself with folding the paper in four, and added the address:—

“To Mademoiselle Cosette Fauchelevent, at M. Fauchelevent’s, Rue de l’Homme Armé, No. 7.”

Having folded the letter, he stood in thought for a moment, drew out his pocket-book again, opened it, and wrote, with the same pencil, these four lines on the first page:—

“My name is Marius Pontmercy. Carry my body to my grandfather, M. Gillenormand, Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, No. 6, in the Marais.”

He put his pocketbook back in his pocket, then he called Gavroche.

The gamin, at the sound of Marius’ voice, ran up to him with his merry and devoted air.

“Will you do something for me?”

“Anything,” said Gavroche. “Good God! if it had not been for you, I should have been done for.”

“Do you see this letter?”

“Yes.”

“Take it. Leave the barricade instantly” (Gavroche began to scratch his ear uneasily) “and to-morrow morning, you will deliver it at its address to Mademoiselle Cosette, at M. Fauchelevent’s, Rue de l’Homme Armé, No. 7.”

The heroic child replied

“Well, but! in the meanwhile the barricade will be taken, and I shall not be there.”

“The barricade will not be attacked until daybreak, according to all appearances, and will not be taken before to-morrow noon.”

The fresh respite which the assailants were granting to the barricade had, in fact, been prolonged. It was one of those intermissions which frequently occur in nocturnal combats, which are always followed by an increase of rage.

“Well,” said Gavroche, “what if I were to go and carry your letter to-morrow?”

“It will be too late. The barricade will probably be blockaded, all the streets will be guarded, and you will not be able to get out. Go at once.”

Gavroche could think of no reply to this, and stood there in indecision, scratching his ear sadly.

All at once, he took the letter with one of those birdlike movements which were common with him.

“All right,” said he.

And he started off at a run through Mondétour lane.

An idea had occurred to Gavroche which had brought him to a decision, but he had not mentioned it for fear that Marius might offer some objection to it.

This was the idea:—

“It is barely midnight, the Rue de l’Homme Armé is not far off; I will go and deliver the letter at once, and I shall get back in time.”

[alenaphale]

so guys a little while ago i came up with a les mis artistic au that I think would be interesting for you to acknowledge! so basically the idea of it is this:

everything takes place in modern france. les amis + cosette + eponine (basically the youngsters mentioned in the second volume (maybe even montparnasse)) are studying in the académie des beaux-arts on two different faculties, visual arts and music. i am yet to figure out who studies what, but some things are already obvious to me, so I would like to share some of them with you

• first of all the dean of the faculty of visual arts is valjean, the dean of the one of music — javert. their approaches to what is art and how one should give a proper education on it are quite different — opposite, even, because where valjean strives for freedom in self-expression and his students’ own unique understanding, javert is equally devoted to precision (which is, for every performer who I have a misfortune to be myself, is as beneficial as it is painful, sometimes even destructive to the very purpose of performing music)

of course it would be silly to expect such a confrontation would not affect their students.

• so, very vaguely: enjolras, combeferre, courfeyrac (because i couldn’t force myself to separate the great trio of The leader, The guide and The centre™), jehan, marius and cosette are all in the orchestra.

- enjolras is a conductor, of course

- combeferre is the first violin. sometimes when enjolras by some miracle is not present at the rehearsal, he fulfills his duties — and, believe me, his tolerating attitude really is a blessing to the musicians

- courfeyrac is either a timpanist or a pianist-accompaniator (both options make perfect sense in my mind and I cannot decide)

- jehan is a harpist (feel free to make your own suggestions, but I tried to express his passion for middle ages, romantism and his poetical nature with this choice)

- marius is a violinist because I thought it would be hilarious for him to play soppy melodies whenever he’s pining on cosette

- cosette herself is a cellist. at first, i was going to make her an opera singer (soprano), then i was contemplating on her being a violinist as well, but then I thought — goddamn it, i love women who play cello, and it would reflect her character so well (which i of course am planning to develop a bit from what monsieur hugo provided us with), and I just don’t want to see her as something high-pitched! the solemn and a bit sorrowful, yet so noble and beautiful timbre of cello seems to suit her image in my mind.

• as for the artists, here we have OBVIOUSLY my man grantaire, eponine, joly + bossuet, feuilly and bahorel. most of them are painters, with few exceptions: for example, joly is a sculptor in my mind, and feuilly does decorative art (also I am sorry he is also a student here and joly is not a medic it is all only for the sake of the composition)

i don’t want to make this post too long so I shall continue in the next ones! i hope this idea is entertaining enough for you my fellow readers. also i think it is pretty obvious that i have little to no knowledge at all about visual arts so please be free to comment your own thoughts

(also i am new to the fandom (although I’ve been into les mis for quite some time now) and I would really appreciate any sort of communication) :)

[oldbookist]

cherubs and cherubim

pairing: enjolras x fem!reader

rating: gen

tags: canon compliant

summary: As a grisette living in the Latin Quarter, you’re used to short-lived dalliances with wealthy students…until a certain revolutionary catches your eye. Things go exactly as you might expect. (Or not.)

The street was crowded with a throng of students as you walked home to your flat on the rue Saint-Jean-de-Beauvais. It was one of the hazards of living so close to the university, although you had to admit the proximity of so many good-looking Parisian students more than made up for the inconveniences. After moving to Paris you started working in a dressmaker’s shop to pay the bills, adding embellishments to gowns made for wealthier ladies, but gifts and dinners from students with generous incomes helped to maintain a more fashionable lifestyle. 

The crowd blocking your path was surrounding something. Curious, you pushed your way in to see what the fuss was about. 

“The prime minister has been replaced with the prince de Polignac,” cried the speaker at the center of the crowd. “This regime has no interest in moderation. How long until the rest of our meager gains are stripped away?”

Just another street orator, you thought with annoyance. But then you saw him. 

He looked like a wingless angel. His chiseled features might have been carved out of marble; he looked like he belonged in the Louvre, not a dirty street corner. His perfect curls billowed in the wind as he spoke, and you found yourself nodding along to every word he said as though entranced. You felt a sudden lightness in your chest like seeing the sun rise in the morning, and a desire to possess that beauty, to have him as your own, dug its painful claws into your heart. 

In short, you were screwed. 

As the crowd began to disperse after the speech, you mustered up the courage to try to speak to him. Get ahold of yourself, you scolded. It wasn’t as though you were blushingly inexperienced, and you’d been called one of the most beautiful women in the Quartier Latin by people who ought to know. Still, you felt close to fainting as you approached him. 

When you reached him he was conversing with two other men, and god, he was somehow even better looking up close. 

You smiled, trying to hide the nervousness you felt. “You speak very well, monsieur,” you said. 

He inclined his head. “Thank you,” he said gravely, then turned away. 

His shorter friend grinned. “You are interested in politics, mademoiselle?”

“I may be persuaded to be,” you replied cheekily, “Monsieur…?”

“Courfeyrac,” he said, taking your hand and kissing it. You giggled. Courfeyrac was handsome, but not nearly as much so as his friend. (Though much more fashionably dressed, you thought.) “And you, mademoiselle?”

“Y/N,” you replied. 

“Y/N,” he repeated, putting a hand to his heart. “The very word sounds like music.”

Poor Courfeyrac, you thought, that luck should place him next to such incomparable beauty. You felt certain you would have given him a chance otherwise, yet you could hardly tear your eyes away from the statuesque man beside him. 

Courfeyrac noticed where you were looking and added, “These incorrigible brutes are Messieurs Enjolras and Combeferre, respectively. He looked at them pointedly. “My apologies for their rude behavior.”

“Enjolras,” you commented, “what a charming name.” But Enjolras appeared entirely preoccupied with whatever his other friend, Combeferre, was whispering in his ear. 

You were nonplussed. His utter lack of reaction was strange, to say the least. Perhaps he was just shy? The way he avoided your gaze and stared at the ground would certainly seem to indicate that. 

You turned back to Courfeyrac. “Do all of you come here often?”

“Yes, although I can’t tell you exactly when, I’m afraid.”

“Do you think I’m a spy?” You pretended to be offended. 

“If you are, you’re the prettiest police spy I’ve been in trouble with,” he said with a devilish grin. 

It was evident you would get nowhere with Enjolras with his friends around. But at least you knew his name, and that there was a chance you might see him again here. 

“Well, then. Until next time, messieurs.” You smiled brightly. 

~

A week had passed, and though you hurried home every day from the shop hoping to catch a glimpse of him, there had been no sign of Enjolras or his friends. You were beginning to ponder actually going by the law school (was he a law student?) to catch him when a familiar-looking student crossed the street to the wine shop in front of you. It was Enjolras’s other friend—Combeferre, you recalled. 

You hurried after him, not caring about the indignity of the situation. 

“Excuse me, monsieur,” you called. 

He turned around, surprised. 

“You are Monsieur Combeferre, yes? I believe we met last week.” 

“Yes, I remember.” He looked at you expectantly. 

“I’m looking for your friend,” you said, then immediately winced at how foolish you sounded. 

“Courfeyrac? I don’t know where he is.”

“No, Enjolras.”

“Enjolras?” He smiled in a manner that seemed gently mocking. “What business do you have with Enjolras?” 

“My own,” you retorted. 

“No matter,” he said coolly. “I can guess.”

You frowned. “I just want to know where I can find him, that’s all.”

“He won’t be interested,” he said flatly. 

You felt your face heat up. “And how do you know? Is he attached?” 

“No.”

“Then—“

“Furthermore, I’m not in the habit of revealing his whereabouts to strangers.”

You folded your arms crossly. “Me? How could I possibly be dangerous?”

He looked at you coldly over his spectacles. “Perhaps you are not aware of the current political situation. However, I can assure you it would be imprudent for me to tell you when Gisquet, our esteemed préfet de police, has lately deemed it necessary to raid private gatherings of citizens.”

Now you were really annoyed. “You cannot actually believe I’m a spy.”

Combeferre shrugged. “Not really.”

“Then why—”

“I told you. He won’t be interested.”

“I mean no harm to him, honestly,” you said, despondent. “You needn’t be so cold towards me.”

He scoffed. “I’m doing you a kindness.”

“A kindness!” You clasped your hands. "Are you not without pity for love?"

Combeferre raised his eyes towards the heavens.

"You believe you love him?"

"If I didn't, would I be standing here humiliating myself? You cannot tell me he's not absolutely the most brilliant, most beautiful man you've ever met."

"He is," Combeferre said with amusement.

"Then what, if he's not attached? Why won't he be interested? Is there something wrong with me? I don't understand."

He softened slightly. "Mademoiselle, it is no fault of your own that does not recommend you. But I can promise you he's not what you're looking for."

"Let me find that out for myself," you said fiercely. "You don't know what I want.

Combeferre regarded you with impassive percipience. "You are remarkably persistent," he said finally. “But I will not help you.”

At that moment, the door to the wine shop opened. A rather balding man walked out. “Combeferre!”

At second glance, the man seemed younger than his thinning hair suggested, but he had an overall appearance of misfortune, as his coat was wearing out badly and his shoes were scuffed. Combeferre recognized him. “Ah, Bossuet, good afternoon.” 

“I was waiting for you. My apologies, I didn’t know you had a lady friend with you today.” He inclined his head to you. You huffed. The very idea of being with this obnoxious, arrogant pedant. Bossuet did not seem to notice.

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “She is not. She is looking for Enjolras.”

“Enjolras?" Bossuet scratched his head. "I saw him not half an hour ago in that little café on the rue des Anglais.” 

Combeferre gave Bossuet a disbelieving look. 

You smirked triumphantly. “Thank you!” Victorious at last, you dashed off.

It was a short walk to the rue des Anglais, but you prayed he would still be there by the time you made it. Admittedly, you hadn’t really thought this out. You were glad you were wearing one of your favorite bonnets, and had spent extra time arranging your hair that morning. What were you going to say to him? You decided it didn’t matter. All you needed was to see him again. And surely, he just needed to see you again too. 

As you approached the café, a familiar head of blonde hair ducked through the door. 

Your heart skipped a beat. It was him. You had almost missed him—but this was perfect, you could make it appear as though you were just casually passing by. 

If anything, he seemed even more beautiful than before. He was tall and fair like a gallant knight in a fairytale. His golden curls framed the sweetly delicate features of his face, with long lashes hiding his downcast eyes and rosy lips you desired nothing more than to kiss.

He seemed absorbed in thought, but as you approached from the opposite direction, you “accidentally” dropped your reticule directly in front of him. 

After a moment of hesitation, he bent down and picked it up. Your hands brushed as he handed it to you. The slight touch sent your heart pounding, but you tried to maintain your confident exterior. 

“Thank you,” you said, and gave him your most winning smile. 

He nodded. And continued on his way. 

“Wait,” you called, trying not to sound too desperate. “Have we met before, monsieur?”

He stopped and briefly looked over you with his intense blue eyes. “I…do not know, mademoiselle.”

So he did not remember you at all? You felt a little crushed. “Yes,” you continued valiantly, “I heard you speak last week. I have never heard anything like it.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he said. “The Republic will need many allies.”

He was talking to you, at least. “I don’t think I’ll be much help,” you replied with a laugh. “Since I can’t fight or fire a gun. Does the Republic need a seamstress?”

“Of course,” he said earnestly. “Women may be helpful in different ways—sewing, doctoring, mothering. All citizens should be able to contribute their abilities to the fatherland.”

What a passionate man, you thought. You liked that. Passionate, yet so cold, like stone. His strange and reserved nature compelled you, something about him was entirely unlike any man you'd ever met. You yearned to possess him.

With sudden boldness, you touched his arm. “Then I will be happy so long as I can be useful to you, monsieur.” You batted your lashes at him slowly in your charming manner that had never failed to ensnare a man before. Surely he could not mistake your intentions now.

His gaze turned forbidding. His cold, pale eyes turned your insides to ice, and you instinctively took a step back. There was a severe and dreadful fierceness to him. That terrible glance seemed to reveal a profound and unfathomable abyss, and suddenly, you found yourself frightened of falling into it. 

An angel, you had thought, and now you knew you were right—a mighty angel of the flaming sword, divine and terrifying.

You averted your eyes, stunned, as though blinded by harsh sunlight. When you looked up he was gone. 

As you slowly walked home to the rue Saint-Jean-de-Beauvais, you considered that there might be a lesson to be learned here. Or not.

[syrupsyche]

⭐ i'd love to hear your director's commentary on how marius won the hand :D

THANK U for the ask!! You probably already read my dir. commentary on Ch. 5 and Ch. 6 of How Marius Won the Hand [...], so I'll jump back and do a commentary on Ch. 4 of the fic!

I confess: I had no idea what to name Courferre so I picked the two names I feel I've heard the most often when it came to fan-assigned names. And not to give any spoilers, but Courfeyrac's name will come into play again in the future!

Also not to pull a Hugo but I wanted to emphasize how pretty Cosette was lol. Needed to give her and Enjolras some physical similarities first (beauty, etc.) before some spiritual similarities later on in the story!

Cosette canonically loves to tease Marius! See:

Ten years later, with the love of Marius in her heart, she would have answered: “A pedant, and insufferable to the sight! You are right!” (4.3.7)

“Monsieur, you are handsome, you are good-looking, you are witty, you are not at all stupid, you are much more learned than I am, but I bid you defiance with this word: I love you!” (4.8.1)

“Don’t cough, sir; I will not have people cough on my domain without my permission. It’s very naughty to cough and to disturb me.” (4.8.1)

And so I needed Cosette to have her spunk here as well!

Ninny mention!! *cue cheers and applause* Wanted the Valjean reveal to be Hugo-esque ("omg who could this mysterious old man be 🤭") and I'm glad ppl noticed it! Also, Valjean hates Marius so much that I NEEDED to include it, though I suppose Ch. 6 is a lot more obvious with it.

Pilf wrote an excellent post about what Valjean's dynamics with the Amis would be like. Though the context in this fic is quite different (Courferre + Marius having to gain Valjean's favour) but I still think it fits! Courfeyrac would be far too Courfeyrac-ish to gain Valjean's immediate liking, in contrast to Cosette who would love Courf immediately (which only just worsens Courfeyrac's standing). Combeferre, however, is able to stick to safer topics! They're just Two Polite Men. This fic has also only just hinted at Enjolras' and Valjean's father/son dynamic so far but it's very close to Pilf's post on it too. They do not talk to each other at ALL; they will sit in silence together for hours and enjoy it. That's their father/son bonding time babey!

A call back to an earlier part of the chapter when Marius tried to make sure that "his palms were not slick with sweat". Mission failed!

I like to write Courferre stumbling over each other trying to impress Cosette. Idk I just feel like they have that sort of energy à la Tulio and Miguel from The Road to El Dorado.

I'm really glad ppl liked this scene ehe. How did Marius drink soup with a fork? Just part of his Pontmercying shenanigans I suppose.

Cosette being shocked at Enjolras taking her hand is the same energy as someone getting shocked when a particularly introverted cat suddenly comes up and sits on their lap. I hc that Enjolras isn't a very tactile person (which could be canonically derived from his only-two-kisses moment), so Cosette appreciates any physical displays of affection she can get!

I argue that the main thing Marius lacked in canon that could have given him a proper 'character development' was the belief that he could have a solid support system outside of bourgeois circles. He was so close to connecting with Les Amis de l'ABC but he ultimately fell back into a self-deprecating hole once his world views were challenged. In this fic I hope to get Marius to reconnect with Les Amis on a personal level first (via Cosette and Enjolras) before attempting to push him towards connecting with them politically (and he's already beginning to, in Ch. 5!).

And it's no surprise that the first person he reaches for when he realises that he DOES have actual friends is Courfeyrac! Writing this fic and rereading les mis letters has got me in my Courfius feels; Courf was such a good friend to Marius and (fic spoilers?) is definitely deserving of being his chief groomsman!

—

And that's it for my Ch. 4 analysis! Sorry for the late answer lol; immediately after reblogging the post I got thrown 5 different assignment deadlines.

If anyone wants any other fic analysis (or even an AU analysis as a whole!) feel free to ask! I'm only one message away from blabbering like an idiot <3.

[interview-with-the-vlfote]

“please, monsieur de courfeyrac was my father, call me closed captions”

BSNSBSNANNSNANNNSNSNS CLOSER CAPTIOSNSNSNSBSN

"and this is my friend anton"

[blooming-lily-petals]

Musicals Put On By Night Raven College

Drama Teacher: Ratton (OC based off of Ratigan from the Great Mouse Detective):

SIX:

(The first names are the singers, the second names are their dance partners as creative liberties for this musical playing Henry VIII or just the men mentioned in the songs).

Catherine of Aragon - Vil + Juna (1/8 MCs).

Anne Boelyn - Jinsuke (7/8 MCs) + Silver

Jane Seymour - Lilia + Idia

Anne of Cleeves - Riddle + Floyd

Katherine Howard - Norito (5/8 MCs) + Sebek

Catherine Parr - Rinsay (2/8 MCs) + Rook

Heathers:

Veronica - Rinsay (2/8 MCs)

J. D. - Rook

Heather Chandler - Vil

Heather Duke - Jinsuke (7/8 MCs)

Heather McNamara - Cater

Ram - Ace

Kurt - Deuce

Ram’s Dad - Trey

Kurt’s Dad - Arthur (An oc, big brother of Riddle)

Martha Dunnstock - Kalim

Ms. Fleming - Epel (imagine him saying “And Steve, I’m ending our affair” in his actual voice).

Sweeney Todd the Demon Barber of Fleet Street:

Sweeney Todd - Malleus

Mrs. Lovett - Isara (8/8 MCs)

Anthony Hope - Silver

Johanna - Jinsuke (7/8 MCs)

Judge Turpin - Leona

Beadle - Ruggie

Toby - Ortho

Pirelli - Floyd

‘Old Woman’ / Lucy - Vil

Les Misérables:

Valjean - Dante (oc based off of Drizella; Prof. Trien’s oldest child)

Javert - Sebek

Fantine - Vil

Child / Adult Cosette - Epel

Monsieur Thénardier - Floyd

Madame Thénardier - Jinsuke (7/8 MCs)

Éponine - Cater

Gavroche - Ortho

Enjolras - Ace

Grantaire - Deuce

Marius - Hiraku (3/8 MCs)

Courfeyrac - Rook

Combeferre - Trey

Joly - Pippa (strong oc based off of Panic from Hercules)

Bahorel - Jack

Feuilly - Ruggie

Bossuet - Isara (8/8 mcs)

Jehan - Riddle

The Forman - Althea (oc based off of Pain)

The Bishop - Kalim

Hamilton:

Alexander Hamilton - Ace

Aaron Burr - Leona

George Washington - Malleus

Thomas Jefferson - Arthur (oc; Riddle’s older brother)

James Madison - Azul

John Laurens - Deuce

Hercules Mulligan - Dante (OC based off of Drizella)

Marquis de Lafayette - Rook

Angelica Schuyler - Vil

Eliza Schuyler - Anteros (OC based off of Meg from Hercules)

Peggy Schuyler - Polkus (OC based off of Iago from Aladdin)

Philip Hamilton - Ruggie

King George III - Floyd

Samuel Seabury - Pippa (Panic from Hercules)

Charles Lee - Kalim

George 1 Eaker - Jack

Maria Reynolds - Norito (5/8 mcs)

James Reynolds - Jamil

Hadestown:

Orpheus - Hiraku (3/8 mcs)

Eurydice - Epel

Hermes - Ace

Hades - Idia

Persephone - Lilia

Fate 1 - Kiza (6/8 mcs)

Fate 2 - Norito (5/8 mcs)

Fate 3 - Rinsay (2/8 mcs)

Beetlejuice:

Beetlejuice - Floyd

Lydia - Norito (5/8 mcs)

Lydia’s Dad - Juna (1/8 mcs)

Lydia’s Step Mother, Delia - Vil

Barbara - Cater

Barbara’s Husband, Adam - Trey

The Landlord - Azul

The Dead Woman, Ms. Argentina - Jinsuke (7/8 mcs)

Girl Scout, Sky - Ortho

Below is where my fiancé and I don’t have any ideas but if you guys do, they will be appreciated! ☺️🫰

Dear Evan Hansen:

Evan Hansen -

Evan’s Mom -

Connor -

Connor’s Sister -

Connor’s Mother -

Connor’s Father -

Evan’s Friend -

Be More Chill:

Jeremy - Idia

Michael -

Christine -

Rich -

Jake -

Popular Girl 1 -

Popular Girl 2 -

Popular Girl 3 -

The S.q.u.i.b -

The Greatest Showman:

B. T. Barnum -

B. T. Barnum’s Wife -

B. T. Barnum’s Children -

The Right Hand Man -

The Acrobat -

The Bearded Lady -

The Opera Singer -

Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief Part 1:

Percy -

Percy’s Mom -

Grover -

Annabeth -

Luke -

Clarice -

Chiron -

Dionysus -

Ares -

Poseidon -

Hades - Idia

Zeus -

Hermes -

Chronos -

Alecto -

Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog:

Dr. Horrible - Idia

Penny - Lilia

In The Heights:

Usnavy -

Vanessa -

Sonny -

Nina -

Benny -

Nina’s Mom -

Nina’s Dad -

Abuela Claudia -

Hairdresser Woman -

Teenage Girl -

1776:

John Adams -

Benjamin Franklin -

Richard Henry Lee -

John Dickinson -

James Wilson -

Edward Rutledge -

John Hancock -

Charles Thomson -

Robert Livingston -

Roger Sherman -

Dr. Lyman Hall -

Reverend John Witherspoon -

Lewis Morris -

Stephen Hopkins -

Andrew McNair -

Charley McNair -

Billy Hartford -

Abigail Adams -

Martha Jefferson -

The Book of Mormon:

[foeofcolor]

jean valjean: IF I DIE LET ME DIEEEE

courfeyrac, keeping watch: .... m. monsieur leblanc-

[teenagedirtbagbaby87-blog]

Which Les Mis character are you and why?

I'm Marius because I'm always in love and there's always something wrong with my lonely soul

[wellntruly]

So to follow up, since I didn't even get a check there as that was JUST one chapter, (lordy la), the rest of Vol. III, Book 4, which begins in this manner exactly:

“On a certain afternoon, which had, as will be seen hereafter, some coincidence with the events heretofore related, Laigle de Meaux was to be seen leaning in a sensual manner against the doorpost of the Café Musain. He had the air of a caryatid on vacation.”

Well, we’re off to the fucking races.

The thing is, you cannot blame anyone. No one can be held at fault for this! These young men show up and are promptly SO funny and delightful and myriad, no one can be blamed, no one! With this stuff??:

“‘It is to you that I am indebted for it, Monsieur Pontmercy. I intend to pay a solemn call of thanks upon you. Where do you live?’ ‘In this cab,’ said Marius. ‘A sign of opulence,’ retorted Laigle calmly. ‘I congratulate you. You have there a rent of nine thousand francs per annum.’ At that moment, Courfeyrac emerged from the café. Marius smiled sadly. ‘I have paid this rent for the last two hours, and I aspire to get rid of it; but there is a sort of history attached to it, and I don’t know where to go.’ ‘Come to my place, Sir,’ said Courfeyrac. ‘I have the priority,’ observed Laigle, ‘but I have no home.’”

You cannot blame them!

“Marius, up to that time solitary and inclined to soliloquy, and to asides, both by habit and by taste, was a little fluttered by this covey of young men around him.”

You cannot!

“Bossuet, extending his hand toward him, tried to impose silence on him, and Grantaire began again worse than ever, ‘Aigle de Meaux, down with your paws. You produce on me no effect with your gesture of Hippocrates refusing Arteraxes’ bric-a-brac. I excuse you from the task of soothing me.’” 

You can blame no oooonee!

Oh also something occurred to me here, I had an Occurrence of Thought, that I just need to like, Express…. okay here we go let me know what you think:

Listen here’s even a development into narrative: Consider: partly Grantaire is Like That because he’s been dying at the barricades hundreds of times in a row. Ho ho it is very funny I generally care for AUs not and yet: I require the Grand R-ussian Doll AU

Meanwhile, across this roomful of waistcoats, Combeferre is weakly trying to defend the new charter, already knowing he’s lost, while Courfeyrac just flashily chatters it down, and, defenseless to drama, unstraightly tosses it straight into the fire. The energy of those two together by the way, and I’ve actually had this particular connection all this past nine, to the point of a certain overlay:

This is going to be a fairly niche reference but holler if you know. (..please.)

Miscellany

Grantaire was a pupil of Antoine-Jean GROS???! Get out! 

Marius pulling the most goober manueve anyone here has ever seen actually honestly kind of breathtaking. When he just walks up to the map and goes: “Corsica”—the size of foreboding that takes over one. I am eating the popped corn.

“Bahorel, replying to Bossuet, was just assuming an attitude of the torso to which he was addicted. He gave it up to listen.”

Book 20 (at last) /48, ✓

Also: Brumaire reference!!!! Check check check!!!

[Brickolage]

[midautumnnightdream]

"Oh no," Cosette murmurs, carefully stretching out her hand. A fluffy gray kitten, the smallest and shiest of the litter, gives her fingers a tentative sniff. "Oh nooo."

"I know, right?" Courfeyrac replies, crouching down carefully, so as not to disturb the tiny black explorer, who is clutching at his coat sleeve with all the might of eighteen needle-like claws.

"To think anyone could abandon such helpless creatures," Cosette continues, her voice still soft to avoid frightening their unexpected charges, but with an undercurrent of anger that any man with sense would be wary of. The gray kitten has made her way out of the makeshift nest of Courfeyrac's hat, followed by inquiring meeping of her remaining siblings.

"Such is the state of social condition," Courfeyrac pronounces solemnly, holding back a wince as the black kitten takes an experimental pounce at his curls. Apparently even a baby cat thinks such declarations unbearably pompous. Perhaps Combeferre had a point after all. He turns his attention back to Cosette. "I'm sorry for bringing them here like this; your house was close and I couldn't very well carry them all the way to rue de la Verrerie in a piece of haberdashery, for all that they make very fetching accessories. Moreover I do not have enough room. But if you could kindly provide me with a basket, and a blanket perhaps, I can start making inquiries among my friends –" he trails off, realizing he is being confronted with a pair of indignant blue eyes looking down from unexpected height.

"Monsieur Courfeyrac." Cosette is standing at her full height, with a gray kitten in her arms, skirts ruffled and eyes blazing with a blue fire. Courfeyrac has a most absurd thought that he should introduce her to Enjolras. "Monsieur de Courfeyrac. I absolutely forbid you to remove these kittens from my house."

[thebrickinbrick]

An Attempt to Console the Widow Hucheloup, Part 1

BAHOREL, in ecstasies over the barricade, shouted: "Here's the street in its low-necked dress! How well it looks!"

Courfeyrac, as he demolished the wine-shop to some extent, sought to console the widowed proprietress.

"Mother Hucheloup, weren't you complaining the other day because you had had a notice served on you for infringing the law, because Gibelotte shook a counterpane out of your window?"

"Yes, my good Monsieur Courfeyrac. Ah! good Heavens, are you going to put that table of mine in your horror, too? And it was for the counterpane, and also for a pot of flowers which fell from the attic window into the street, that the government collected a fine of a hundred francs. If that isn't an abomination, what is!"

"Well, Mother Hucheloup, we are avenging you."

Mother Hucheloup did not appear to understand very clearly the benefit which she was to derive from these reprisals made on her account. She was satisfied after the manner of that Arab woman, who, having received a box on the ear from her husband, went to complain to her father, and cried for vengeance, saying: "Father, you owe my husband affront for affront. The father asked: "On which cheek did you receive the blow?" "On the left cheek." The father slapped her right cheek and said: "Now you are satisfied. Go tell your husband that he boxed my daughter's ears, and that I have accordingly boxed his wife's.”

The rain had ceased. Recruits had arrived. Workmen had brought under their blouses a barrel of powder, a basket containing bottles of vitriol, two or three carnival torches, and a basket filled with fire-pots, "left over from the King's festival." This festival was very recent, having taken place on the 1st of May. It was said that these munitions came from a grocer in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine named Pépin.

They smashed the only street lantern in the Rue de la Chanvrerie, the lantern corresponding to one in the Rue Saint-Denis, and all the lanterns in the surrounding streets, de Mondétour, du Cygne, des Prêcheurs, and de la Grande and de la Petite-Truanderie.

Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac directed everything. Two barricades were now in process of construction at once, both of them resting on the Corinthe house and forming a right angle; the larger shut off the Rue de la Chanvrerie, the other closed the Rue Mondétour, on the side of the Rue de Cygne. This last barricade, which was very narrow, was constructed only of casks and paving-stones. There were about fifty workers on it; thirty were armed with guns; for, on their way, they had effected a wholesale loan from an armorer's shop.

Nothing could be more bizarre and at the same time more motley than this troop. One had a round-jacket, a cavalry sabre, and two holster-pistols, another was in his shirt-sleeves, with a round hat, and a powder-horn siung at his side, a third wore a plastron of nine sheets of gray paper and was armed with a saddler's awl. There was one who was shouting: "Let us exterminate them to the last man and die at the point of our bayonet." This man had no bayonet. Another spread out over his coat the cross-belt and cartridge-box of a National Guardsman, the cover of the cartridge-box being ornamented with this inscription in red worsted: Public Order. There were a great many guns bearing the numbers of the legions, few hats, no cravats, many bare arms, some pikes. Add to this, all ages, all sorts of faces, small, pale young men, and bronzed longshoremen. All were in haste; and as they helped each other, they discussed the possible chances. That they would receive succor about three o'clock in the morning, that they were sure of one regiment, that Paris would rise. Terrible sayings with which was mingled a sort of cordial jovialty. One would have pronounced them brothers, but they did not know each other's names. Great perils have this fine characteristic, that they bring to light the fraternity of strangers.

A fire had been lighted in the kitchen, and there they were engaged in moulding into bullets, pewter mugs, spoons, forks, and all the brass table-ware of the establishment. In the midst of it all, they drank. Caps and buckshot were mixed pell-mell on the tables with glasses of wine.

In the billiard-hall, Mame Hucheloup, Matelote, and Gibelotte, variously modified by terror, which had stupefied one, rendered another breathless, and roused the third, were tearing up old dish-cloths and making lint; three insurgents were assisting them, three bushy-haired, jolly blades with beards and moustaches, who plucked away at the linen with the fingers of seamstresses and who made them tremble.

The man of lofty stature whom Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras had observed at the moment when he joined the mob at the corner of the Rue des Billettes, was at work on the smaller barricade and was making himself useful there.

Gavroche was working on the larger one. As for the young man who had been waiting for Courfeyrac at his lodgings, and who had inquired for M. Marius, he had disappeared at about the time when the omnibus had been overturned.

[homosexual-fast-dancer]

So... I ended up catching feelings for a Les Miserable character right after Barricade Day (I swear I am so late)

But like here’s my new S/I :D

Noémie LaRue

Age: 20 (although really she acts like a teen)

Partner: Courfeyrac

Friends: The entirety of Les Amis de l’ABC and Eponine

Family:

Adoptive Brother Enjolras

(Unknown) Uncle Jean Valjean

Deceased Mother OC (kinda)

Father OC

Lore:

(Not very good as I have only watched the movie but...)

In May 1812, a young Noémie was born in Paris to her mother and father, Monsieur and Madame LaRue. Just after she had turned one her mother had died of typhoid fever and so was left in the care of her kind yet rather ill equipped father. While he loved her truly, he had no knowledge of how to take care of a child especially in the financial predicament he was in and so he never really spent time with her, always busy at his numerous jobs.

Luckily when she was around she had met a very kind boy named Enjolras who treated her much like a little sister. And eventually his parents enquired about adopting the girl as their son had become so fond of her. Although it was with a heavy heart the father agreed knowing that it would be the kindest deed he could do for his beloved daughter and so Enjolras and Noémie officially became siblings. 

She occasionally did visit her father and would bring him food as she had quite a gift when it came to baking. She was also a relatively large bookworm spending her time, if not in the market with her brother, reading all the books in the library. It was uncommon but it gave her more knowledge than a female around that time would have had. 

As a child she thought that love was a silly thing, and while she enjoyed romantic books could just never herself in a situation such as that. Yet when Enjolras had created Les Amis l'ABC and Noémie had landed her eyes on a young man she felt a sort of, reawakening and for the first time in her life a purely deeply romantic love for a man. That man’s name was Courfeyrac and she started to spend every waking moment thinking about him, wondering why he made her feel so deeply when no other man had before. He wasn’t that aesthetically pleasing, nor was he a word smith by any means. But then it struck her… he was kind and that was simply enough. Being a good, charming, kind person had been enough for him to worm his way into her heart and set it ablaze. 

After a while of prodding from Enjolras, Noémie had finally conceded that she indeed have feelings for Courfeyrac and while he started to tease her about it, he was also supportive just wanting to see his sister happy. And so she started to spend more and more time with him, and on the barricade she had confessed her feelings, feelings he gladly and eagerly accepted and so they started to court. Yet, as we all would know, said courting was very short lived.

Moodboard:

[fremedon]

Brickclub 4.9, “Where Are They Going?”, Chapters 1-2

Posting for today and tomorrow, since these chapters make a good pair. This is a short book--three chapters, titled “Jean Valjean,” “Marius,” and “Monsieur Mabeuf,” following each of them over different but overlapping parts of June 4 and 5.

And they’re all in terrible shape. Valjean is the most together, in that he’s the only one of the three who is not actively suicidal. But his survival instincts are about the only part of him that’s noticing and interacting with the world--he’s noticed Thénardier skulking about the Rue Plumet; he’s noticed the growing political unrest, which increases his chance of being swept up in a mass arrest--but he hasn’t noticed that anything has happened with Cosette in the six weeks she’s been secretly meeting Marius. (Maybe if he’d slept in the main house, he’d have heard voices in the front garden, but they don’t reach him in the Shame Hut.)

And he’s not questioning the promptings of instinct telling him to flee--to the point where he doesn’t question Éponine’s “MOVE OUT” note--which is folded in four, and falls into his lap out of a shadow cast by the sun that’s behind him and out of his sight, two bad signs--but just obeys it, because it’s telling him what he’s already decided to do. And he’s worried by the address scratched in his wall, but he doesn’t investigate it. (I love to read a fic where Valjean’s response to finding it is to go find out who lives at 16 Rue de la Verrerie.)

Marius, meanwhile, takes the pistols with him without having a plan for using them--but even when he still expects to see Cosette one more time, he doesn’t see his life continuing after that: “He had only one clear idea, that at nine o’clock he would see Cosette. This ultimate happiness was now his whole future, followed by darkness.”

It rains; he doesn’t notice: “Apparently, he bathed in the Seine without being aware of it.” The rain is the revolution--as we’ll see more explicitly in “The Atom Fraternizes with the Hurricane,” and in the way the rain ends immediately when the barricade’s first stones are laid--and it already isn’t touching him. But it’s also the drowning imagery that has been hanging around Éponine, touching him for (I think) the first time.

This story is very clear that someone is going to drown in the Seine, and that someone is going to attempt a romantic murder-suicide--but it hasn’t decided who yet. (The drowning will be as pointless and awful as we expect; but I do wonder if there’s some magical calculus in which Éponine changing her mind and saving Marius at the last minute is what enables Grantaire and Enjolras to die together in sublime perfection.)

Other details: Marius scratched Courfeyrac’s address on the wall above a tuft of nettles, which are covered with plaster dust. I don’t know if this is a significant example of nettles or not.

[plushieinsurgents]

11 or 18? Whomever you please :D

T h a b k y o u ! 🦉 Why not both, at once?

One of the great terrors of life is to feel, on finishing one's toilet, a hand on the back of one's still-wet neck - in this case, the uncannily materializing hand on the nape of M. Pontmercy's neck belonged to his roommate - we must make it clear that it was not, in any way, the iron grip of M. Enjolras. In that case, the situation would have graduated from a terror to a living nightmare, and the victim should pray for his life before dropping into a dead faint.

But, after all, the current situation still sufficed for great terror. Pontmercy squawked, slipped, dropped his towel and smudged shaving soap up his nose.

At which point he realized it was merely M. de Courfeyrac, bent double in hysterics.

"Choke on your tongue and save me the trouble of yelling at you." Marius sniffled with a coldness, only to accidentally inhale a puff of soap suds. Courfeyrac flopped sideways onto his mattress and clutched his sides to avoid rolling onto the floor. Then, remembering what he scared the living daylights out of Marius for, he stood up, suppressed a giggle, and begun.

"I was going to say - Monsieur l'Abbe, you oughtn't scrub so hard at your chin. Not unless you wish to create the hair-shirt effect on your face instead of your back, at which case you are beyond help and not even Bahorel himself could bring you back."

Marius stared at him in shock and outrage.

"It wrecks havoc on your pores. See -" he pinched at the soft part of Marius's left cheek with great delicacy, and laughed aloud again. "Why, still all nice and tender! You'd better treat it gentler, or find some gentler soap -" He threw Marius's current bar of soap over his shoulder. "- or it wouldn't be anymore."

His sheer audacity had a stunning effect on Marius, in that he froze on the spot and flushed like a cooked lobster.

"Ruining a face this delicious should be a sin. In fact, I absolutely forbid it! From now on you are to use my soap," he produces an indulgent little bar smelling faintly of lavender and chamomile. "-and my soap only. Is that understood?"

"I- what!" Marius spluttered with great indignance.

"Does Monsieur l'Abbe find it too hedonistic?"

"Monsieur DE Courfeyrac!" Marius burst forth, splattering cheap soap everywhere. "First you decide to prey upon me at an unholy hour, when I'm not quite awake enough to deal with your likes... and then you insult my skin!"

"Particle, Monsieur de Pontmercy." Courfeyrac wagged a finger, quite insolently. "Secondly, it was hardly an insult. I said you had d-e-l-i-c-i-o-u-s skin. Delicious. Since when was that an insult?"

Marius, speechless, attempted to assume a suitably annoyed expression. He ended up with a little pout. Courfeyrac, never particularly good at self control, took the chance to poke his puffed cheeks in.

The result was explosive. Cheap soap speckled Courfeyrac's forehead, and perfectly curled hair.

"Now this is an insult!" He cried, wiping the suds off with disgust. "How very abominable! You ought to rinse this thing off at once! And after that, let me show you how to rub in the right soap - small circles, always..."

I need better friends. Marius thought as Courfeyrac splashed him with relish.

**********

And then of course, Courfeyrac would vanish in a puff of sparkles and lavender blossoms into a bar of PROFESSIONAL SHAVING SOAP because this is AN AD! EVERYTHING IS AN AD AND WE SHALL NEVER BE FREE FROM THE SHADOW OF ADS

nay

but this is still highly inspired off this ad (sorry for the cantonese: but you don't have to understand cantonese to understand the vid):

[everyonewasabird]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Combeferre & Enjolras (Les Misérables), Javert/Jean Valjean, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables) Characters: Enjolras (Les Misérables), Combeferre (Les Misérables), Grantaire (Les Misérables), Jean Valjean, Javert (Les Misérables), Les Amis de l'ABC, Éponine Thénardier, Azelma Thénardier Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, can be read as romantic or platonic, More serious than was necessarily warranted, Hopeful Ending Summary:

The two old men say it has happened before.

They both died long ago, they claim, after a barricade built by Enjolras and his friends. The story is absurd, but the old men's tranquil certainty raises it from risible to unsettling.

"Monsieur," Courfeyrac protests, "I'm twenty-five."

"So were you then," says Valjean. "Every time."