1 - 20 of 43 Bookmarks
Pages Navigation
List of Bookmarks
-
The Roots of Heaven are in the Heart by LordofLies
Fandoms: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
29 Jun 2014
Tags
Summary
Javert’s observing of Valjean as the older man toiled in the garden had become an experience almost akin to reverie. This impossible man became something else as he knelt amidst the stalks and brambles of the rosebush. He walked among trees and flowers like a god among children. He was Demeter, and summer followed in his footsteps.
-
Bookmark Tags:
-
Bookmark Collections:
-
Bookmark Notes:
A few days earlier, when Valjean had been pruning the great apple tree in the center of the garden, he had reached up into the branches, plucked an apple—large and red, its waxy skin shining in the sunlight—and held it out to Javert. There had been a smile on his lips as he said, “For you, Monsieur l’Inspector.”
Javert had taken the gift with trembling fingers. It was far too early in the season for an apple to be so ripe. It seemed to him that the green of Valjean’s eyes had become a serpent wrapped around his forearm, fangs bared above the crest of the apple, ready to strike should Javert dare to take it. He had taken it, but Valjean had continued to watch him, as if waiting for something. Javert brought the apple to his lips and felt the coolness of its skin. Saliva flooded his mouth as he anticipated the sweet crunch of its flesh. He opened his mouth and sank his teeth in, feeling juice run down his chin. Valjean’s eyes had not left him, and as he swallowed the white flesh of the fruit, he felt his heart begin to race and a heat which was not the August air rise in his cheeks.
-
Bookmark Tags:
Bookmark Notes:
喜欢这篇 够直接
有着非常美妙 的形容 -
Bookmark Notes:
Javert’s soul cried out to think that this gentle man—this peaceful gardener who cradled roses in his hands, who murmured softly to bees and butterflies, and who watched lilies unfold and melons sprout with such love and tenderness in his eyes—had ever been shackled to a pit like Toulon, where nothing grew and no birds sang; where the sun was harsh and unyielding; where the softness of grass and the coolness of the morning dew never touched.
Well me too the fuck? (dot gif)