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cometomecosette · 6 years

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How I picture the characters of “Les Mis”

This meme made me decide to write out my mental images of what all the main characters look like. Most of them are vague, based on a blend of Hugo’s descriptions and stage casting traditions. None of them are based on the movie cast, which has made it feel strange in the last several years to see most fan drawings of the characters become movie-based.

I hope other people will see this and share their images of the characters too. I’d love to read them, especially if they’re very different from mine.

Jean Valjean

Medium hight, barrel chested and bulky – not overweight, but more “big-boned” than “ripped.” At most the same height as Javert, more likely shorter, but heavier and more strongly built. Straight, longish, light brown/later white hair and a beard. (Yes, the Brick implies that he gets rid of the beard after breaking parole, but the musical’s stage history makes me picture it throughout.) Eyes either hazel or blue. A roundish face with solid, homely features (not ugly in the least, just completely ordinary) and a reserved expression. If you passed him on the street you’d be struck by his bulk, and by the stark whiteness of his hair in his later years, but he’s far from a Hugh Jackman-style eye-catcher; just a big, strong, average older man.

Javert

Tall, strongly built and imposing, as per Hugo, though more slender and less powerful than Valjean. Rigid posture. Dusky skin, in keeping with his Romani heritage. Dark brown hair; short in the Brick-verse, but musical-Javert has the long, elegant ponytail of stage tradition, regardless of anachronism. Huge forest-like sideburns, as per both Hugo and stage tradition. Brown eyes. A longish, rectangular face with a big square jaw, a snub nose as per Hugo (though less cartoonishly snub than Emile Bayard drew it) and a severe, dignified expression. The rare occasions when he smiles or laughs are, as Hugo tells us, terrifying.

Fantine

Medium height and slender. Long, luxuriant, sunny blonde hair, either wavy or curly; later messily chopped and extremely short. Bright blue eyes. Strikingly beautiful, with a slender face (though I can imagine a roundish one too, at least before she gets sick and loses weight), pale skin, a small straight nose, high cheekbones, and as per Hugo, pretty white teeth. A very classical, dignified type of beauty (as opposed to cuteness or, God forbid, sexiness), influenced in my mind both by Hugo’s references to Greco-Roman goddesses when describing her and by Ruthie Henshall’s look in the TAC. Though of course by the end of her arc, it all turns to emaciated, ashy ghostliness.

Cosette

At 16/17: Medium height and slender. A soft, roundish face like Raphael’s Madonnas, as per Hugo. Medium chestnut brown hair, worn in long ringlets. (Yes, I know she would have more likely sported a curled up-do, but decades of stage tradition have left their mark on my mind.) Bright blue eyes like her mother’s. A small cute nose – probably aquiline, given Hugo’s “Parisian” description, though I don’t always picture it as such. Innocently beautiful, in a way that blends her mother’s natural dignity with girl-next-door cuteness.

As a little girl: See Bayard’s iconic illustration. Just color the hair brown. (Though I’m also open to it being blonde at first, but darkening when she hits puberty, as sometimes happens.)

Marius

Medium height and slender. Boyishly handsome with rounded facial features, as per Hugo, and of course with “wide, passionate nostrils.” Pale skin, with no freckles (sorry, Eddie). Short hair, which I almost always picture as thick, curly and jet black, as per Hugo – though sometimes when I’m thinking only of the musical, I picture it straight and brown instead, or occasionally even blond. Brown eyes are my default image, though I’m open to blue too. As per Hugo, a generally reserved, serious expression, but with a wide, adorable smile when he’s happy; since musical-Marius is warmer and more outgoing than Hugo’s, I imagine that smile appearing more often from him.

Thénardier

Short, scrawny and bony, as per Hugo, though I’m open to picturing musical-Thénardier as slightly taller and/or more solidly built. Longish, stringy brown/later gray hair. No clear idea of eye color: probably either brown, green, or pale blue. A thin, angular face with a wide mouth, a sharp nose and bad teeth; I’m prone to picturing his nose as prominent, but I know that’s a cliché for greedy characters based in hateful Jewish and Romani stereotypes, so sometimes I force myself to imagine it smaller. Brick-Thénardier grows a long, scraggly beard in poverty, as per Hugo; musical-Thénardier just has a permanent five o’ clock shadow.

Mme. Thénardier

Huge and intimidating, as per Hugo. Obese, tall (taller than her husband in the Brick, though musical-Mme. T. might be the same height or slightly shorter), frumpy and masculine looking. Thick, wavy cascades of red/later graying hair. Blotchy skin, as per Hugo. Big, walnut-smashing, child-punching fists. A big face, either squarish or round (Hugo’s description of her as both “fat” and “angular” is hard to imagine, so my brain often defaults to the roundness of most stage actresses), with a snub nose and small, piggy blue eyes. As per Hugo, Brick-Mme. T. has a few chin hairs and a protruding lower tooth, but I don’t picture those details in the musical.

Éponine

Tallish and very thin. Light to medium chestnut brown hair (lighter and more reddish than Cosette’s), naturally straight but stringy with filth. (This is fluid, though – now and then I picture her with dirty strawberry blonde hair instead, or with thick, wild dark curls). Eyes either blue or green. Tanned skin and maybe some freckles. Bony, angular features with a fairly strong nose and wide mouth like her father’s, though musical-Éponine’s face is softer. Brick-Éponine has all the ugly marks of poverty Hugo describes: wasted figure, missing teeth, bleary eyes, etc. Musical-Éponine is prettier, but not a striking beauty either, just an average girl who’s prettiness you’d notice if you looked past the layers of dirt.

Enjolras

Tall, slender and lightly muscular. Angelically handsome, just as Hugo writes, in the vein of a Greco-Roman statue. Luxuriant blond hair; I most often picture it long, wavy and in a ponytail (since I saw that look onstage first), but I can easily picture it short and curly too, especially with Hugo’s Antinous comparison. Bright blue eyes. Pale skin with rosy overtones “like a young girl’s,” as per Hugo, yet with clear masculine strength in his build. A slender, eternally youthful yet dignified face, with a straight nose, strong chin and quietly stern, ever-determined expression. Again, see the statues of Antinous as a reference.

Gavroche

Average height for an 11- or 12-year-old, but scrawny. Tanned and maybe freckled, like his sister. Light to medium brown hair; I instinctively picture it short and straight like most boy actors’ hair onstage, but I know Hugo saw it as a thick, crazy tangle of curls, so I can imagine that too. No fixed idea of eye color: probably the same as his father’s. A thin face, plain yet bright and expressive, with a wide and loud mouth like his father’s and sister’s. I admit, I imagine him better looking than the wild, ugly little thing Hugo envisioned, but that’s probably true for most of us.

Grantaire

See above: I know my vision of Grantaire isn’t nearly as ugly as Hugo’s, and I don’t imagine him with the huge mustache Hugo sketched him with, but at least I’m not alone in that. I picture him medium height to tall and on the slender side, though I can possibly see him as heavier too. Long or at least longish hair, medium to dark brown, straight yet messy. Brown or hazel eyes. A nondescript face, either round or squarish: I don’t exactly have a clear vision of it, because I know he should be ugly, but I’ve never seen an ugly actor in the role. Based on stage tradition, I tend to picture him with a permanent 5 ‘o clock shadow.

#les mis #les miserables #characters #physical appearance #tw: child abuse

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thedeviljudges · 6 years

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based on this adorable comic where spf chapstick prevents an area of skin - in the shape of lips - from being burned.

Billy remembers the grief he’d gone through when his summer tan slipped away slowly as fall, then winter, then spring hit Hawkins. He’d been used to golden flesh, how easily it remained in California year-round because soaking up the sun had always been easy living in a state where there wasn’t anything less.

But now- now he feels it on his skin again for the first time in two years. The sun in Hawkins, despite Dustin’s insistence that the world used the same source of light, differed greatly. It was warm there, but not enough, always a lingering chill in the air from harsh winters that chapped his cheeks red, turned his lips pale blue.

Billy sighs under shrieks of laughter in the distance, under the sun on a hot day, thankful to be away, to be gone from Hawkins and its misery. There had been good moments, couldn’t deny the fact that he’d built a small family unlike anything he’d ever known, but sometimes the worst drowned out the good, fought tooth and nail not to let it completely ruin him.

And it almost did. It almost ate him whole, so when Billy nudges Steve’s shoulder, catches those deep brown eyes in the glow of the sun, he thinks how lucky he survived it all so he could have this.

“What’s on your mind?” Steve asks softly. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, dampening his hair. It falls loosely against his face, unruly yet soft, and there’s a shine to it, a glaze of red undertones that aren’t noticeable anywhere else. The ends are curling, too, and Billy wonders what it’d look like if it coiled a little more.

Eventually, he settles his gaze on Steve’s rosy red cheeks, knows he’s probably burning from the heat he isn’t used to, and yet he looks happy nonetheless. “Nothing,” Billy says against the backdrop of the waves swimming towards the shore.

It isn’t a lie, per se, but he’s content for the first time in a long time. Billy doesn’t feel the burn in his veins anymore, almost like the fire within him had been dashed out as soon as they’d crossed the Indiana state line. Where the Come Back Soon! sign mocked him through feigned pleasantries that only existed in the vacuum of a small-town. He’d felt regret, of sorts, for leaving Max behind – for leaving all the kids behind, if were honest – but Steve had promised him they’d be okay, that phones existed and so did airplanes.

“You wouldn’t be looking at me like that if it was really nothing.”

Billy ducks his head, grins sheepishly at the accusation. “I’m happy,” he admits, lifts his head up only to cock it to the side, at the wonder of how easily that had slipped off his tongue. Billy doesn’t like emotions, doesn’t like admitting he has them because it means tackling the unsavory selection alongside the good ones. It’s a work in process, the tension that clings to him when he admits defeat, it a strong contender against Steve’s reminder that he’s safe, and he’s loved and that Billy’s not going to be punished for feeling.

He opens his mouth to take it back, to attach another slew of words to keep the moment from turning on its head, though quickly realizing that if he does that, that might actually be what does it anyway.

But Steve’s there with his hand against Billy’s knee, fingers curling around the jut of the bone. He scoots himself closer, unapologetic for doing so, especially around other people on the beach. Billy instantly relaxes against him.

“Yeah?” Steve says softly, tone drifting into exasperation, like Billy hasn’t looked him in the eye and specifically told him he loves him, like Steve’s hearing the echo of love in Billy’s voice for the first time all over again.

Billy’s maybe not said it in so many words, but he’s shown it in the best way he knows how. He likes handholding, and he likes Steve’s hugs. Billy loves it most when he traces Steve’s freckles, counts them over and over again like he doesn’t already know the exact number across the length of Steve’s body, the one hiding just behind his ear. When they’re together, Billy swears he smiles a lot more, feels his toes curl when he wakes up next to Steve in their bed, loves kissing every inch of exposed skin.

With deep blue eyes, Billy blinks his sharp gaze across Steve’s, sketches this moment to memory before nodding. “You say it like you had nothing to do with it.”

Steve snorts, nudges Billy’s shoulder again, grinning back at him before looking out to the water, out to the horizon. “Can’t take all the blame for that one,” he says.

Billy knows what he means when he says that, how Steve can’t be Billy’s entire stepping stone. Billy also can’t give away his progress, the one he worked on himself, but it’d be unfair to say that Steve hadn’t been an influence. Billy knew that one or the other would win out – loving Steve like he deserved or crashing and burning, used and withered in self-hate as alcohol become the only friend he’d have left to abuse.

The sharp pain from biting his lip brings Billy back around, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever rid of gratification. Out of every path he could’ve stumbled down, he’d like to think he chose the right one. It certainly feels like the right one.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, this time with confidence bleeding out the nerves. Billy knows he could’ve fucked off to god knows where all on his own, without Steve by his side. He could’ve ended up in any state, in any city, and Billy hadn’t actually been positive he’d wanted to come back to California after he’d been forced to leave it, but he remembers the day the wind blew Steve’s hair across his face - the way he cursed, ran his fingers through it, mumbled that he needed a haircut – and Billy asked him if he’d like for them to be together.

The moment Steve stammered out the inevitable I’d follow you anywhere, Billy felt obligation leak into his system. “Would you mind California for awhile?” he’d asked. “Got some things to show you.”

Steve’s grin couldn’t’ve been anything less than perfect.

Now though, Billy has shown Steve his hometown, has led him across the best shops, the hideaway restaurants that serve the best food. He’s taken him to visit his mother even if all that’s left is a simple gravestone kept tidy by the groundskeeper, Billy expressing his regret for not visiting sooner.

They haven’t settled here permanently, at least Billy doesn’t think so, but right now, he thinks he could stay here forever.

“Well, it’s good you think so,” Steve counters, taps his fingers against Billy’s knee. He’s pale – they both are, still – but Steve insisted on sunscreen, on protection because we both know who’ll look a lobster, Billy, and that is not a look I’m willing to rock, even for you. There’s white specks in between his fingers where Steve’s forgotten to rub the lotion in all the way. It’s made him a little ashy and sticky all over, but Billy hums as he presses a finger into the dip between two knuckles, rubbing away. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

Here on a sunny day, Billy knows they should still be careful, but he’s a lot laxer than he was before. It’s why when Steve leans over and presses pink, chapstick-lined lips against Billy’s arm, he doesn’t make a scene, doesn’t pull away from the affection that Steve so easily gives. He feels thrilled, pleasantly at ease without the burden of hate waiting for him back home because the best thing Billy gets to go home to now is Steve and their apartment and their life they’ve built for themselves far away from insular traditions.

“You hungry?” Billy says in reply, squeezes Steve’s hand atop his knee to let him know his words did not go amiss. But his stomach growls in between that, Steve snickering between curling his toes in the sand one final time and standing up.

“Yeah,” Steve says, looks at his shorts and immediately knows it’s a lost cause trying to sweep off the sand. “Then you can take me home.”

Billy knows it as soon as Steve looks at him that his eyes aren’t glittering brightly just from the sun now. He crooks a brow, says nothing more, but presses his lips against the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Then c’mon, pretty boy. Let’s get you fed.”

They don’t hold hands on the way to the car, but Billy feels Steve’s presence right behind him, feels him close as gravity keeping him grounded, feels Steve’s warmth almost as liquid fire as the sun’s. It’s how Billy feels two days later when the pink of his skin has faded into a light shade of brown in the early morning light just before work, when he’s toweling off and picking his hair into loose, stringy curls.

Billy almost misses it, the distinct difference in color against the top of his arm, but he swipes at the mirror, water droplets falling until he’s left with a clear view.

“What’s that?” Steve says sleepily, interrupting Billy’s scrutiny by shuffling into the bathroom. Billy doesn’t think he has a favorite version of Steve, but if one ever beats out the rest, it’s usually this one, Steve half-naked because Jesus, Billy; you could’ve said how fucking hot it is here, and hair a wild, unruly mess that Steve almost always gives up on taming.

“I don’t know,” he says, turning back to the mirror. He doesn’t get to it first, feels his hand fall away from his skin as Steve’s thumb rubs against the mark. With each blink of his lashes, he slowly wakes, mouth twisting into a frown first, then into a delighted smile.

“Oh.”

“Oh? Just oh?”

Slowly, Steve’s gaze slides up to Billy’s, satisfaction fusing with the rise of his brows. “It’s uh,” he shrugs, thumbs the mark again before nudging Billy to turn to the side. “It’s my lips.”

It’s not hard to miss them as soon as Billy looks in the mirror. His eyes widen just a fraction, stares down at his arm and snorts. “This isn’t what I meant when I said you could mark me, Harrington.”

Steve’s face blooms into full enjoyment, a little flush in the cheeks, falling forward until he’s pressed into Billy’s back, muffling everything but the vibrations of his amusement. “I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he means it at all, sliding his hands around Billy’s waist. “I’ll find a Band-Aid, something more to cover it.” Gently, Steve rests his chin on Billy’s shoulder, squeezes him once before letting go.

Billy doesn’t let him go, though, not yet, not when he still has a few minutes to spare, unwilling to distance himself from Steve’s orbit quite yet. He turns, gently pulls Steve by his wrist until they’re pressed together again, only this time, Billy smiles kindly. “Couldn’t think of a better way to start my day.”

“I could think of one,” Steve says off-handedly, sliding his hands across Billy’s chest, encircling his neck.

“Is that a dare?” Billy meets Steve halfway, palms on his hips, pressed close, the steam of the shower a distant reminder that he’d gotten up for work, that that’s a thing he does now so he and Steve can have many more moments like this together.

He’s met with a shrug, though, nonchalant but enticing. “Did it sound like one?”

When Billy’s hip meets the corner of the cold sink, he feels the prickle of goosebumps crawl across his skin. He also witnesses the patient gaze on Steve’s face, like he’s got all the time in the world. “You’re very tempting,” he says inevitably, hates how Steve makes his knees weak, makes his heart jump even after all this time.

“I’m always tempting.” Incredulity colors Steve’s tone, like Billy would ever think he isn’t. But the truth lies in the confidence of Steve’s embrace, how he doesn’t pull away but rather leans in to press a lingering kiss against the sharp line of Billy’s jaw.

Sometimes Billy feels like maybe there will come a day when that might wane, when they’re older, grown used to each other’s habits. Billy thinks of the future differently, in varying hues of color and vibrancy, that maybe they actually have a chance of making it that far. The thought alone makes him melt, lets his body linger against Steve’s before he’s nudging the other boy out of the bathroom, back into the bedroom.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly as the gentle shove he gives Steve lands him sprawled out across the bed. Billy joins him, settles in between Steve’s thighs. “Yeah, you kinda are.”

#harringrove #x

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dromaeocore · 6 years

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5, 7, 13, 15, 41, 55, 60, 63, 79, 84, and any other you feel like answering :3

5. What's your favorite color? Green! Also any warm, earthy colors, and pastels.

7. Do you have any pets?Two family cats! A weird LONG jet black siamese mix who's a total lovable IDIOT WEIRDO who Eats Everything, and a muscular diluted calico who's an ESCAPE ARTIST - she enjoys running near the roads and Killing Everything. She's a huge sweetie though, despite the Killing. Such a loud purr!(obligatory psa to please adopt or rescue adult cats, and spay/neuter!)

I also have a 3 gallon planted cherry shrimp tank that's... uh, mostly juvenile shrimp and hundreds of tiny "seed shrimp" that are seemingly IMPOSSIBLE to get rid of - and also like to Devour any unsuspecting cherry shrimp. It's a hellish Tiny Overgrown Ecosystem; finals rolled around and I forgot to feed everyone... so they went for each other... :(

13. What talents do you have? Drawing Stuff. I also have a weird knack for making fursuit heads?? And I'm pretty decent at writing and researching animal care.

15. Favorite song? *links to my entire spotify playlist while crying* I can't decide. I don't have one. Here's a shameless plug for an under-appreciated artist: "Myth" by Tsar B.

41. Are you a good liar?If it's super, super important, I can be decent enough at it- just not Great. But otherwise... no. I can't keep a poker face, and lying gives me a guilty conscience. :(

55. Most used phrase?I KNOW there's some but I can't remember. I say "Radicool" and "Ya'll" and run my words together a lot. Also: CONSTANT SWEARING and UNENDING SARCASM and WAY TOO MANY JOKES ABOUT ME COMMITTING CRIMES (coming from someone who legit feels like they're stealing taking TIP JAR MONEY at work)

60. Do you talk to yourself? CONSTANTLY and LOUDLY when there's no one around to hear. I love!!! Chatting!!! but humans are scary and I'm bad at hearing!!! It's a crap combo so I chat with myself when I Need interaction. (When there's people around I either mutter under my breath or just wind up sporadically mouthing random phrases. Subtle.)

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? Oh god, hell no. I'm the most nonconfrontational person on the planet. Unless it's something REALLY minor and quick - like, if they're following a recipe and forget to add something, I'll gently remind them. But for big stuff I keep my mouth shut and quietly clean up after their mess when they're not looking.

79. Who was your first real crush? All my real crushes were on very good friends. (I actually haven't had a Serious Crush in like two years past like... a casual "Oh!!! She is so beautiful!!!" for three days.)

84. What color is your hair?Naturally dark brown, but right now it's got some kind of ashy blonde/brownish ombre thing goin' on at the top, from when I tried to dye it silver and all the silver washed out within a few days. xD It looks pretty cool, but I miss how I looked with my natural color; I passed more, and dark hair is so beautiful!

#Ace-mccree #ask

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