#live from the musain

[monsieurenjlolras]

Reaching the part of the worm day where I fully give up and just watch a documentary while pretending to work

#live from the musain

[fivie]

I keep thinking about how well grantaire and anna would get along (before she gets re-brainwashed)... i know you've moved away from spn canon with UMW but do you have thoughts on how your characters would theoretically interact with spn characters?

ah yes, the re-brainwashing was very unfortunate 😔

my main headcanon re. UMW characters meeting SPN characters is that if Enjolras and Grantaire met Sam and Dean, based on Enjolras's personality and him having the sword, they would absolutely assume he was the angel of the pair 😂 Dean would probably commiserate with Grantaire about the challenges of hanging out with a socially challenged angel, and Grantaire would absolutely go along with it. Then Cas would show up and be like 'hello brother 😐' and spoil his fun.

I think Enjolras and Dean would butt heads, but Sam and Combeferre would probably get along quite well. I hope the spirit of Victor Hugo can't see me typing this.

Ages ago I actually started writing a little crossover story just for fun but I found it really weird 😂 I don't know if I'll ever write any more of it so I'll put what I have under a cut here if anyone wants to read it lol

(it is definitely not UMW canon 😂)

Grantaire is in a long-abandoned barn in rural Belgium, idly sweeping up the ashy remains of the shapeshifter that had been terrorising the nearby village in the guise of a local cryptid legend, when Combeferre pops into his mind with a bemusing prayer:

Don't come back to my apartment right now.

Grantaire pauses, awaiting further details. If Combeferre were in danger, he's sure he wouldn't bother beating around the bush, so Grantaire isn't overly worried, but Combeferre has never told him to stay away before and so he waits, curious. A minute or so later, an even more bemusing continuation:

Or if you do, make sure you come in through the front door like a human would.

Sometimes Grantaire desperately wishes that the prayer communication line went both ways. Combeferre feels distracted, like there are many other things demanding his attention and he is snatching at quiet moments to send Grantaire fragmented intel. Finally:

Other hunters here.

With that, the pieces slot together. Grantaire personally thinks it would be kind of funny for him to drop in on a room full of Musain hunters, especially the ones who'd written him off as a drunken waste of space years ago, and he could always erase their memories after if it was going to cause problems, but he supposes that Combeferre's solution of just keeping him away for a while is simpler. He finishes his clean up and is just about to return to Jehan's house when Combeferre reaches out again.

Could use your expertise for this. Come back if you're able? But please be discreet.

Grantaire snorts. He thinks he'll enjoy having a conversation with Combeferre later about why it's okay to pretend that he's human to other hunters, but not to Enjolras or Combeferre himself. He's well aware of the difference and the reasoning, of course, but he does like watching Combeferre wrestle with a moral quandary.

Enjolras is here, too.

This last part sounds like a warning, and Grantaire supposes it is, and one he should be thankful for. He braces himself before flying back to Combeferre's building, going up the stairs with pointed emphasis and hoping everyone in the apartment can hear his very normal, very human footsteps approaching. He opens the apartment door, calling out a greeting, and he steps inside and the world stops.

The other angel in Combeferre's living room stares at him, his human face registering only mild surprise even as his luminous true form roils and sparks in shock and alarm and, of course, horrifyingly, recognition. Grantaire stares back for a wild, world-tilting moment, and then he flies in a mad flurry, grabbing Enjolras and Combeferre and taking them to the furthest side of the room, pushing them behind him. Combeferre, who had just expressly told Grantaire to be on his best and most human behaviour, calls his name in confused dismay, and Enjolras is saying something too, demanding to know what he's doing, and there are two other humans here too, making their own noise, but then—

"Hello, brother," Castiel says, and all the humans in the room fall deathly silent.

Grantaire doesn't answer. His hand instinctively twitches to curl around the handle of a blade not currently in his possession. He can feel the presence of his sword burning in Enjolras's coat pocket and he wonders if the split second it would take for him to get to it will mean fiery death for all of them.

Three thousand years, he thinks. Three thousand years he successfully kept his head down, and then Combeferre goes and invites another angel into his living room—!

"Aw no, brother?" one of the new humans repeats. Grantaire doesn't dare take his eyes off Castiel, but the human sounds exasperated. He also sounds American, which raises many questions but also answers the one of why they are all here and not at the Musain. Grantaire can only imagine the Musain hunters' reaction to Americans descending upon their home base. "Cas, are you serious?"

"He's pretty clearly serious." The other human puts himself in Grantaire's line of vision, stepping between him and Castiel with one hand raised placatingly. He's uncommonly tall and more than broad enough in the shoulders to be considered physically imposing by human standards, but his posture and expression are currently extremely non-confrontational—he looks nervous, and sort of concerned. He looks at Grantaire first but then, clearly finding no invitation in his stony face, tilts his head to look past him at Enjolras and Combeferre instead. "So, uh. Got yourselves an angel."

"As do you, it would seem," Combeferre says with measured calm. It's strange to hear him speak English. Out of the corner of his eye, Grantaire sees him take half a step forward and hisses back at him, "Don't."

"Hey, who are you? Do we know you?" the first human says suddenly. "Are you an old douchebag in a new meat-suit?"

"Dean," Castiel says in quiet admonishment.

"What? It's not like we can tell."

"You don't know him," Castiel tells him before turning back to Grantaire. "This isn't necessary. I'm not going to harm you or these humans. You should calm yourself."

"And if you want to harm Cas then we're going to have a problem," the tall human says.

Grantaire makes no attempt to calm himself. "Are you alone?" he demands of Castiel, whose vessel affects a faintly puzzled expression.

"I'm here with Sam and Dean," he says slowly, and Grantaire scowls.

"I mean," he says, "where is your garrison?"

"I no longer serve Heaven, Rachmiel," Castiel says in oddly gentle tones, as if he's just realised why Grantaire would be so horrified to see him.

"Do not call me that," Grantaire snaps with a sharp shake of his head. "You—what do you mean?"

"I am...fallen." There's a strange mixture of pride and shame in Castiel's voice as he says it. "My loyalties were tested and I found them to lie more with humanity than with our brothers and sisters."

"You…" Grantaire's mind, emerging from the initial shock, starts to piece things together, starts to remember. "I saw you. Last year. You were killing angels and humans. Hundreds of them."

"Hey, that wasn't Cas," one of the humans, Dean, starts to protest, while Grantaire hears twin sharp intakes of breath from Combeferre and Enjolras as they apparently make the connection between the God-Monster they'd seen on screen all those months ago and the mild-mannered man standing before them now.

"Look, okay, let's...We didn't come here to fight," says the other human, whom Grantaire assumes, through elimination, to be Sam. "It's complicated, okay? But Castiel is with us. He's not the bad guy. He's saved our lives more times than I can count and—hell, he helped us stop the apocalypse."

"Did he say the apocalypse?" Grantaire hears Enjolras mutter behind him.

"What did you two have to do with the…?" Grantaire looks at the two strangers properly for the first time and feels a fresh wave of hysteria. There is a lot to be read from their souls that he will unpack later, but most pressingly, he can see who they are—what they are. "You're the vessels." His undoubtedly wild-eyed gaze swings back to Castiel. "You're walking around with Michael and Lucifer's vessels? You brought them here?"

"Michael and Lucifer are both in the cage," Castiel says. "I do not expect they will be coming looking for their vessels."

"And they already know that they do not have consent to take either of us for a ride," Dean says with a grimly sardonic smile.

Grantaire's head feels like it's going to explode, which wouldn't kill him but would undoubtedly be very distressing for Enjolras and Combeferre to witness. He wills his vessel to hold it together.

"Grantaire," Combeferre says quietly—even that makes him jump. Combeferre speaks to him in soft, rapid-fire French that the Americans clearly do not understand and that Castiel politely pretends not to hear. "If he's really broken with Heaven, isn't that a good thing? For you to not be the only one?"

Grantaire casts a somewhat tortured glance back at him, not anywhere near ready to accept the idea that running into anyone from his family could ever be good, before looking inevitably back to Castiel, unable to keep his eyes from returning to the perceived threat in the room.

"It is good to see you," Castiel says, horribly earnest. "I believed you dead."

"Yeah, that was the idea," Grantaire snaps. Castiel tilts his head to one side like a confused puppy, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

"You've been in hiding," he hazards finally.

"Pretty successfully, up until now," Grantaire says.

"Hey, just like Gabriel," Dean remarks. "You gotta wonder how many other angels flew the coop."

"Gabriel," Combeferre repeats in tones of disbelief that match Grantaire's own feelings. "The archangel? He also…?"

"Gabriel is dead," Grantaire says bluntly.

"Yeah, but he had a good run hanging out down here pretending to be a trickster god," Dean says with a smile that suggests not-so-fond remembrance. "What've you been hiding out as? Some other deity?"

There's an agonising sort of pause, and then it's Enjolras who says, not without bitterness, "A human."

Dean whistles. "That's a bold choice."

"Rachmiel," Castiel says, and Grantaire wants to scream. "Heaven will not hear of any of this from me. You and your humans are safe. Please. I—Here."

He puts one hand up as if in surrender while his blade falls from the sleeve of his coat into his other hand. He holds it up, slowly and demonstratively, before setting it down on Combeferre's coffee table and stepping back.

There is a very strange, very awkward moment where Castiel and his two humans look at Grantaire expectantly, waiting for him to return the gesture and disarm. Finally, Enjolras steps forward. He catches Grantaire's eye questioningly and, at his nod, takes Grantaire's blade out of his own coat and lays it next to Castiel's. Dean and Sam's eyebrows shoot up and Castiel gives a slow, considered blink, but mercifully all three of them refrain from saying anything about the matter.

#umw stuff

[emotionallydrainedtrash]

L'art d'aimer

Masterlist

Enjolras x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, suggestive banter, PDA.

Summary: The Revolution long over, Enjolras found a girl and settled down. Him and his wife enjoy his birthday at home with old friends.

A/N As is evident, Enj and his mates lived. I hate death, especially theirs so they made everybody else eat dust instead.😤 Reblogs and feedback is so greatly appreciated! And I know Enj is very homo, me too, but this is very self-indulgent and I guess this makes it a notcanon OOC Enjolras but so be it! I needed a lil' bit of revolutionary x his wife in my life. I also wrote this picturing Aaron Tveit's Enj as opposed to Joseph Quinn's cause to me his version seems more likely to be hetero/fem attracted than Joe's but hey, whatever suits you.

"There's the happy couple!"

"Courferyac, you are in our house. Where else would we be?"

Courf chuckled, clearly tipsy as he spoke, "Forgive me. Your champagne is a little too delicious."

Laughing at his friend, Enjolras moved to sit down. Another trip around the sun had passed for him and his wife had organised a celebration. Marriage was hardly something the Enjolras of six years ago would've considered but times were different now. He'd met the love of his life and devoted himself to her, so clearly changed from his youth.

Even now she could feel his eyes on her as she moved to refill her teacup. Looking up from the teapot in her hands she met his gaze and smiled, eyes sparkling at the grin he returned. This was a new, softer, more relaxed Enjolras and she was proud to have been the one allowed to peel back the layers of strength and stoicism he flaunted around the tables of Le Cafe Musain.

Grantaire tapped on his own flute of champagne to bring everyone's attention to him.

"To our good friend and leader, Monsieur Apollo, joyeaux anniversaire! And may you have many more." And everyone cheered, applauding the golden man.

"And to his equally amazing wife, Madame Aphrodite, who planned this joyful event and will likely be getting very little sleep tonight!" And Grantaire threw her a dramatic wink as the room erupted into fits of giggles.

She shook her head and leaned on the table exasperated but clearly smiling.

Grinning from ear to ear, Joly called out to her, "I don't suppose you have one more present waiting for Enj upstairs do you?"

Enjolras found great amusement in the way his wife's jaw fell open in mock horror. Deciding to play along, he chimed in.

"Oh do tell my darling."

She rolled her eyes before retorting, "why on earth would I share that sort of information in such a setting."

"They are family after all love," Enjolras teased.

"Oui, but would you tell your maman what we did on our wedding night?" she shot back.

Enjolras flushed a deep red as Gavroche slapped him on the shoulder amongst his raucous cackles.

"Non, I suppose not."

Proud of her work, she took her cup and made to sit by her husband's side. He who had other plans, pulled her into his lap instead. Curling into him, the two observed the room of chosen family as they all turned to separate conversations and felt their hearts grow full at the love that was so prominent between each of them.

Shifting her hair to one side, Enjolras leaned forward to his lover's ear and spoke lowly, "About your sleep, R wasn't wrong you know."

She blushed and replied in equally hushed tones, "Neither was Joly."

And they shared a smile that only the two of them could decipher, as the candlelight sent shimmers of gold through their hair and made their eyes shine like silver. A portrait of true love if there ever was one. A loud cheer erupted as Enjolras touched his lips softly to hers and there was such adoration in the way his hand cupped her jaw and her fingers threaded themselves through his curls.

Breaking away with noses touching, they whispered the words that changed their lives all those years ago.

"I love you."

"Not more than I love you."

Monsieur Apollo couldn't help but feel like a god sometimes, and it was never without his goddess by his side.

A portrait of true love indeed.

#les miserables #enjolras #enjolras imagine #enjolras x reader #aaron tveit #aaron tveit imagine #aaron tveit x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader

[dolphin1812]

Poor Marius is once again sad, even if this sadness promises to bear fruit. We return, though, to light:

“To stand between two religions, from one of which you have not as yet emerged, and another into which you have not yet entered, is intolerable; and twilight is pleasing only to bat-like souls. Marius was clear-eyed, and he required the true light. The half-lights of doubt pained him.”

From Marius’ introduction, it’s been stressed that he himself has “light.” Then, it was from his innocence as a child, but now, it’s one of righteous conviction. He still adheres to his Bonapartist beliefs, but he can’t avoid questioning them for long because he cannot tolerate “doubt;” the strength of his convictions demands that they be built upon certainty. “Clear-eyed” also implies that he sees exactly what Les Amis see and that his emotional attachment to Bonapartism is what keeps him from abandoning the ideology. 

That being said, I feel a lot of sympathy for him here. Part of what he’d have to internalize to stop being a Bonapartist is that the idea of the “great man” shouldn’t be a guiding principle politically, and his thoughts surrounding that are bound up with his grief over his father. Unlearning one’s politics is hard, but processing loss is difficult, too, so doing both at once is a real challenge. Although his absence from the Musain is understandable, it also leaves him really isolated in a point of emotional and intellectual turmoil.

On top of that, Marius is poor (by his standards, at least). We don’t know how much Marius was given a month before he was kicked out of the Gillenormand household, but the 600 francs his aunt sends him are a considerable sum; Fantine made 9 sous a day, and Valjean made 15 sous with a day’s work on his way to Digne (Lm 1.5.10; LM 1.2.9). Even a workman without a criminal history would have only made 30 sous (about 45 francs per month, assuming he worked every day) (LM 1.2.9). Even Tholomyès, who was rich, only had 4000 francs a year, highlighting just how much the Gillenormands are offering him (LM 1.3.2). The workers we’ve seen were also outside of Paris, so it’s possible that the expenses of the city weigh more heavily on Marius (Tholomyès is not a good indicator of expenses, since he intentionally lived lavishly). It’s also likely that, given his family’s wealth, he doesn’t know how to save. Fantine, who was already lower class, went through that learning process after losing her job, so I can only imagine how difficult that would be for someone who’s never had to think about money. That being said, Marius is a man and a student (therefore, he has some education), so his “badly paid work” is probably a lot more than Fantine ever made. 

I like how Hugo chooses to convert the 60 pistoles sent from the Gillenormands to francs here (600 of them). Since the majority of the money in this chapter is measured in francs, the conversion emphasizes the gulf between their wealth and that of a student without financial support. It demonstrates just how much Marius is rejecting as well, as all the money he gather doesn’t even add up to 100 francs, much less 600.

I also love the tiny details about spending here. It’s fascinating that rent was so, so expensive (it’s expensive today, too, but it still hurts to see in the context of Marius’ calculations), and clothes had a lot of value as well (seeing clothes as a sizeable fraction of rent is more shocking, given that they’re often a lot cheaper than rent today). 

#les mis letters #lm 3.6.6 #marius pontmercy #I live in terror of Marius' translations though #if I can't translate French #then there's no way he can translate English when he's just starting it #along with german #some poor French guy is reading the most strangely phrased and incoherent encyclopedia imaginable #just because Marius really needed money for food #he had to do it but he and future readers will definitely suffer

[lys-9-10]

On AO3: "A Second Chance to Live"

Preview: Grantaire was at his usual post when they first met: nursing a bottle of absinthe and gazing across the room at the fiery, golden-haired Enjolras. There was a dreadful gale outside. Some of Les Amis who’d come in later were still trying to get warm by the fire. Consequently, many of them uttered cries of dismay when the door blew open, and rain and wind alike penetrated Le Café Musain. 

“Shut that blasted door!” Bahorel barked irritably.

The small, thin figure who’d been responsible for the door’s opening obeyed – but not without first displaying a middle finger. 

Grantaire eyed the new arrival with mild interest. It took him a minute or two to decipher whether he was looking at a boy or a girl, for she was a homely thing and too undernourished to have any curves. Her hair was tucked up under a cap when she came in, but now she shook it loose and water droplets sprayed everywhere. It was lifeless, unkempt hair that seemed to have no distinguishable colour.

The ugly girl stood by the door for a few moments, glancing about the room with interest. Appearing not to find what she was looking for, she sighed. She chewed her lip indecisively for a moment, then straightened her shoulders and walked over to the fire, pulling up a stool in between Bahorel and Feuilly. Grantaire lost interest in her and returned to his drink. 

A moment later, however, there was a piercing shriek. Grantaire, looking around in alarm, saw the girl launch herself at Bahorel, striking and clawing at him like a vicious feline. Shouts of displeasure broke out from the other Amis. Combeferre seized the gamine by her thin, bony shoulders and wrenched her away from Bahorel. 

“Calm yourself!” He gave her a disapproving shake, while she writhed and fought against his grip. 

“What is going on?” 

The ruckus was quelled instantly and even the gamine stopped struggling as Enjolras strode over to the group, exuding his usual aura of command.

Bahorel snarled. “That street wench set upon me –” 

“He splashed his drink at me, on purpose!”

Grantaire looked on with renewed interest as Enjolras glared coldly at both offending parties.

“Arrêtez d’être des imbéciles,” he said sharply. “The revolution is no place for ces bêtises.” With that, Enjolras turned on his heels to go, but a moment later paused and looked back at the girl. He looked her up and down, taking in her tattered appearance. “You may stay, if you don’t cause any more disturbances.” 

Grantaire watched in admiration as Enjolras strode off. What a splendid statue!

Eventually, he turned his attention back to the gamine and the recently stamped out fray. Combeferre had released her, and she stood there with glowering eyes and slumped shoulders, dripping wet not only with the rain but with the contents of Bahorel’s beer glass. Les Amis had regrouped by the fire, and she stood outside of the circle, clearly unwelcome. 

Grantaire called out to her.

“Mam’zelle.” 

Her gaze snapped over to him. 

He grinned at her in his usual ambiguous way (was it a friendly, mocking, or simply drunken grin?) and nodded sideways towards the chair next to him. “You may sit here, if you like.” 

The girl eyed him suspiciously for several seconds, but finally shrugged. Walking over, she settled into the indicated chair.

“I’m Grantaire,” he said, extending a hand with that same ambiguous grin.

She cocked an eyebrow at the proffered hand, but took it. “Éponine.”

“Enchanté, Éponine. Would you like some absinthe?” 

She shrugged again. “I prefer whiskey. But yes, thanks.”

With that, she reached across to his bottle and helped herself to a sip – without wincing. The smile that sprang onto Grantaire's face at that was not ambiguous. It was certainly sheer delight.  Read the full fic on AO3

See all my Grantaire & Éponine friendship fics here (i love their friendship way too much)

#epotaire brotp #les miserables #les mis fanfic #grantaire and eponine #grantaire #eponine #enjoltaire #marponine #unrequited pining #best friends #grantaire & eponine #exr

[annachum]

Some more things about Cosette regarding to her interactions with mice and such

. Okay, this defo has a real Disney princess vibe here

. So during those horrid years at Thenardier Inn, even with such cruelty, little Cosette unexpectedly made some mice friends

. It all started with her stealing some food from the Thenardiers' fridge for herself for lunch, and then she saw some mice. Now being born and spent her earlier years at the slums, Cosette already isn't that squeamish about mice. Yet when she saw the hungry mice, she offered a little bit of the food she stole to them

. And that's how Cosette made mice friends

. In her many escape attempts, those mice friends are the ones who helped her escape

. Cosette never told the Thenardiers of her mouse friends in those years. She is terrified thar they may hurt them

. Yet as Valjean and Cosette left the inn, Monsieur and Madame Thenardier turned to see some mice peeking from a hole to wave goodbye to Cosette

. Cue little Eponine and Azelma SCREECHING in terror cuz of mice, and Monsieur and Madame Thenardier grabbed brooms to chase them to try beat them

. The mice fled for their lives!!!!!

. And the mice did have several other residences and avoided the Thenardiers as much as possible

. Cosette herself isn't that much squeamish of flies, mice and such. She wouldn't opt to beat or slap them - just gently remove them from another place

. In her convent school years, while a number of her classmates may SCREAM at the sight of a mouse, Cosette would try her best to reassure them that the mice are usually harmless.

. When her friends and several of her classmates ask Cosette why she isn't afraid of mice, Cosette smiled and explained that a certain group of mice helped her escape multiple times

. Fast forward to rhe June Rebellion era, and the Thenardier Sibs eventually lodged into the Cafe Musain Inn

. That is also where those mice from the Thenardier Inn also recently moved in

. Now none of them can ever forget Eponine and Azelma bullied them.

. Yet when they saw the Thenardier Sibs first showing up to that Cafe Musain, all brutally beat up and weeping, they feel heartbroken

. They look at each other and got reminded of little Cosette who has a similarly horrific experience

. So they started to treat the Thenardier Sibs with care

. Now those 5 aren't as squeamish as about mice as before ( due to 8 years of wandering and all ), yet Eponine at first is wary of the mice and works to protect her sibs

. Yet little by little, the 5 managed to form a bond with those mice

. FYI the mice at Thenardier Inn ALL helped save little Cosette from starving to death MORE THAN ONCE

. The mice also did whatever they can to help save Marius

. They actually guided Valjean to the sewer shortcut as he carried an unconscious Marius away from the barricades.....and then Marius got a type of fever from the sewers cuz Valjean took a wrong turn before a mouse squeaked and guided Valjean to a right direction

. Those Thenardier Sibs mice are all so thrilled to see Cosette again as they have seen Cosette secretly helping to have the Thenardier Sibs' time at Cafe Musain basement as comfy as possible

. And those mice also witnessed And celebrated Marius and Cosette's wedding from outside!

🤩🤩🤩🥺🥺🥺🥺

#cosette #les mis #les mis hcs #yes cosette reminds me of disney's cinderella and aurora in some ways #cosette is such a sweetheart #mice friends

[aromantic-enjolras]

Ten first lines game

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.

Thank you for the tag, @pumpkinspice-prouvaire! This is going to be so funny, too, I'm pretty sure a few of these are actually collabs with you...

I'm going to do only my Les Mis fanfics, because let's be honest, that's what you all care about. ;)

It is a warm day in early September, and all the Amis are having a picnic at the Batignolles garden to celebrate the arrival of Grantaire’s sister to town.

'Shall we Dance?', platonic Grantaire&Musichetta, Gen, 1.6K

2. Combeferre walks down the streets of Paris, his gait long as he hurries towards the metro that will take him to his apartment, to his comfy couch and his books and his cat.

'Still Crazy After All These Years', (past) Courferre, T, 8.5K

3. Combeferre dragged his suitcase through Charles de Gaulle airport, his tired gaze looking for the exit signs.

'Leave me where I am (I'm only sleeping)', platonic Triumvirate, Gen, 817 words

4. Enjolras closes the laptop, cutting the Congressmen from France Insoumise singing the Marsellaise and the voice of the reporter with a definite click.

'Sous les Pavés, la Rage', political Amis, Gen, 531 words.

5. Courfeyrac is just starting to get undressed to go to sleep when there's the sound of the outside of the tent unzipping, and then some muffled swears as Enjolras all but throws himself inside.

'Mess Me Up (Noone Does it Better), FWB Courfjolras, E, 5.1K

6. Enjolras has never been scared of Grantaire.

'Stronger than lovers' love (is lover's hate)', ExR, T, 1.5K

7. Enjolras hums as he tidies up the Musain.

'Dîtes si c'est vrai', platonic ExR + Amis, T, 9K

8. It had started out fine, or so Enjolras had thought.

'I wanna ruin our friendship', FWB ExR, T, 5.8K

9. The first time Enjolras saw him, they were at a demonstration.

'In the crowd', platonic Feuilly&Enjolras, Gen, 8.9K

10. It’s a Friday night, and the Amis are gathered at the Corinthe, a queer bar in the Marais.

'Gimme, Gimme, Gimme (A Man After Midnight)' FWB Courfjolras+ platonic Triumvirate, T, 11.2K

... Putting these all side-to-side is making it really really obvious that I really do not write romance, huh. I am living up to my "-but make it platonic" reputation... The only thing that goes up from Teen is our collab, and the only present-day-relationship is a spinoff from a fic of yours. You're a bad influence!!

Tagging @shamedumpster, @p-trichor, @peoplearescary, @storyweaverofgondor, @cx-shhhh, @quillsand, @uppastthejelliclemoon

#les misérables #text posts #tag game #my posts #my writings #enjolras #grantaire #courfeyrac #combeferre #musichetta #feuilly #courferre #FWB Courfeyrac/Enjolras #triumvirate #ships #platonic friendships

[la-pheacienne]

What about me?’ said Grantaire. ‘I’m here.’

‘You?’

‘Yes, me.’

‘You? Rally Republicans! You? In defence of principles, fire up hearts that have grown cold!’

‘Why not?’

‘Are you capable of being good for something?’

‘I have the vague ambition to be,’ said Grantaire.

‘You don’t believe in anything.’

‘I believe in you.’

‘Grantaire, will you do me a favour?’

‘Anything. Polish your boots.’

‘Well, don’t meddle in our affairs. Go and sleep off the effects of your absinthe.’

‘You’re heartless, Enjolras.’

‘As if you’d be the man to send to the Maine gate! As if you were capable of it!’

‘I’m capable of going down Rue des Grès, crossing Place St-Michel, heading off along Rue Monsieur-le-Prince, taking Rue de Vaugirard, passing the Carmelite convent, turning into Rue d’Assas, proceeding to Rue du Cherche-Midi, leaving the Military Court behind me, wending my way along Rue des Vieilles-Tuileries, striding across the boulevard, following Chaussée du Maine, walking through the toll-gate and going into Richefeu’s. I’m capable of that. My shoes are capable of that.’

‘Do you know them at all, those comrades who meet at Richefeu’s?'

‘Not very well. But we’re on friendly terms.’

‘What will you say to them?’

‘I’ll talk to them about Robespierre, of course! And about Danton. About principles.’

‘You?’

‘Yes, me. But I’m not being given the credit I deserve. When I put my mind to it, I’m terrific. I’ve read Prudhomme, I’m familiar with the Social Contract, I know by heart my constitution of the year II. “The liberty of the citizen ends where the liberty of another citizen begins.” Do you take me for a brute beast? I have in my drawer an old promissory note from the time of the Revolution. The rights of man, the sovereignty of the people, for God’s sake! I’m even a bit of an Hébertist. I can keep coming out with some wonderful things, watch in hand, for a whole six hours by the clock.’

‘Be serious,’ said Enjolras.

‘I mean it,’ replied Grantaire.

Enjolras thought for a few moments, and with the gesture of a man who had come to a decision, ‘Grantaire,’ he said gravely, ‘I agree to try you out. You’ll go to the Maine toll-gate.’

Grantaire lived in furnished lodgings very close to Café Musain. He went out, and came back five minutes later. He had gone home to put on a Robespierre-style waistcoat.

‘Red,’ he said as he came in, gazing intently at Enjolras. Then, with an energetic pat of his hand, he pressed the two scarlet lapels of the waistcoat to his chest.

And stepping close to Enjolras he said in his ear, ‘Don’t worry.’

He resolutely jammed on his hat, and off he went.

#ship to end all ships #this is a sex scene you cannot convince me otherwise #this is revolutionary sex #and btw grantaire is my all time blorbo #i need a jaime grantaire parallel analysis rn immediately #les miserables #grantaire #enjolras #grantaire as jaime #enjolras as rhaegar #where is IT how could nobody think of this people come onnnnnnnn #asoiaf #this is so heavily jaime coded I may actually scream #enjolras x grantaire

[kjack89]

Only Fools Rush In

E/R, modern AU. Pure fluff.

“It seems ironic,” Courfeyrac called airily, as if they were out for a jog instead of bolting away from a protest scene that had erupted into chaos.

Enjolras didn’t bother looking over at him. “What seems ironic?” he asked shortly.

“That the armed-to-the-teeth riot police would break up a peaceful protest calling for increased gun control.”

“You and Alanis Morisette may want to have a conversation about the definition of the word ironic,” Combeferre interjected. “Because from where I’m standing, the militarized police system is working exactly as intended by those in power.”

“Except you’re not standing,” Courfeyrac said, in the same blithe, unconcerned tone. “You’re running.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth. Seemingly nothing, not even running away from the cops, was enough to get Combeferre and Courfeyrac to shut up. 

Not that Enjolras really had any leg to stand on (or, in this case and before Courfeyrac interjected otherwise, to run on), but luckily for him, Grantaire had chosen a different route to flee the scene, which kept Enjolras from participating in any post-riot bickering.

On that particular day, at least.

Still, running pell-mell down side streets and alleys was one of those things that would never not remind Enjolras of Grantaire, which was one of those things that Enjolras was fairly certain he should never mention out loud to another person as long as he lived or else subject himself to mockery or, worse, the kind of cooing that Courfeyrac did whenever he saw a baby animal.

Maybe Enjolras just needed better friends.

As if he could read his mind, Courfeyrac asked, voice saccharine sweet, “What are you thinking about that has you smiling like that?”

Enjolras was just glad that his cheeks were already flushed from running. “Nothing,” he muttered.

He didn’t look over at Courfeyrac but could tell he was grinning just from the delight in his voice when he asked, “Ok, so then who are you thinking about that has you smiling like that?”

In lieu of an answer, Enjolras gave him the finger before finally slowing down to a more reasonable walk, having deemed that they were far enough away from the scene. Courfeyrac and Combeferre followed suit, with Courfeyrac immediately looping his arm through Enjolras’s. “You can’t tell me you weren’t thinking about Grantaire.”

“Last I checked, I don’t have to tell you anything at all,” Enjolras grumbled. He gave Courfeyrac a pointed look. “And considering what a mistake it was to tell you that Grantaire and I hooked up in the first place, I doubt I’ll be telling you anything ever again.”

Courfeyrac pouted. “It’s not my fault that you two have a glorious, epic love story for the ages!” he protested.

Combeferre snorted. “Last I checked, Enjolras and Grantaire have fooled around a handful of times. That does not a great love story make.”

“Only because you’re choosing to focus on the physical aspects only,” Courfeyrac shot back. “But when you look at their journey from sworn enemies to reluctant friends to illicit lovers to—”

“Grantaire and I were never sworn enemies,” Enjolras said. “Nor, for that matter, would I refer to our relationship as ‘fooling around’. And I would greatly appreciate it if we could change the subject to something, anything, less patently ridiculous.”

Courfeyrac scowled and pulled his arm away from Enjolras. “And here I thought you getting laid on the regular might improve your mood,” he sniffed.

Enjolras rolled his eyes but decided against saying anything, letting Combeferre and Courfeyrac fall back into their usual pattern of bickering as they finally reached the Musain. Once inside, the bickering fell by the wayside as they went into their usual post-protest routine: posting on Twitter and instagram to call out the unnecessary police presence and subsequent abuses, coordinating press responses, and making sure everyone made it back in one piece.

Since Enjolras focused mostly on the first two, it took him longer than usual to realize that while most of the remainder of Les Amis had trickled in, there were a few notable faces missing.

One notable face in particular. 

Enjolras glanced at Combeferre before looking around to make sure Courfeyrac wasn’t in ear shot. “Where’s Grantaire?” he asked, keeping his voice down.

Combeferre didn’t look up from his computer, but the tips of his ears burned red the way they did when he was lying. “I’m sure he’s just taking his sweet time getting back,” he said, in a deliberately vague way.

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced around the room again, his chest suddenly feeling like it was being squeezed when he realized that the only other person missing was Joly. Which meant—

He was out of his chair before he realized it, making a beeline for Bossuet, who was talking in an undertone to Jehan. “Where’s Grantaire and Joly?” Enjolras asked, not caring that he was interrupting.

Bossuet and Jehan exchanged glances. “Look,” Bossuet started, something almost soothing in his voice that set Enjolras’s teeth on edge. “It’s nothing. Everything is fine.”

“No one says everything is fine when everything is fine,” Enjolras snapped. “Where are they?”

“There was an – incident,” Bossuet said carefully. “Joly took Grantaire to get checked out at Memorial Hospital.”

Enjolras’s blood ran cold. “What kind of an incident?” he demanded, gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles turned white.

Jehan placed his hand delicately over Enjolras’s. “Grantaire was hit in the face with something,” he said. “There was some blood, but even minor head wounds tend to bleed. There’s no reason to think—”

But Enjolras didn’t wait to hear more, turning to head to the door. Bahorel sidled into his path, his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking for all the world like a bouncer. “No,” he said firmly.

Enjolras stared at him. “Move.”

“No,” Bahorel repeated. “First rule of post-protests, no one goes anywhere until the heat dies down. Cops are still out rounding people up. And before you give me any shit about it, it’s your rule.”

“If it’s my rule, then I should be allowed to break it,” Enjolras muttered mutinously.

Bahorel ignored him. “Secondly, the absolute last thing Grantaire needs right now is to be worried about you. So you need to stay here until we get more information.”

“Bahorel, you know I love you,” Enjolras said, as calmly as he could manage, “but if you don’t get out of my way, I will beat your ass.”

Bahorel looked almost amused, and for a moment, Enjolras was pretty sure he was going to take him up on that. But then Combeferre called, “Let him go.”

When Bahorel looked over at Combeferre, assumedly to protest, Enjolras slipped past him, stepping out into the sunshine and immediately making his way to the nearest major street to hail a cab (significantly safer than taking a Lyft or Uber – cabs still accepted cash, after all) to take him to the hospital.

He called Joly as soon as the cab dropped him off at the Emergency Room entrance. “Where’s Grantaire?” he demanded.

“Bed 6,” Joly said, sounding bemused. “But Enjolras—”

Enjolras hung up, jogging past the front desk and the intake nurse who tried to stop him, looking wildly around for Grantaire and Joly. “Why the hell aren’t the beds fucking numbered—”

Then, he spotted them, Grantaire sitting on a gurney, an ice pack pressed to his head, as Joly sat in a chair next to him. Enjolras hurried over to them, opening his mouth to say something when Grantaire spotted him. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, dropping the ice pack from his head and revealing a small bandage at his hairline.

“Bossuet told me you were here, and—”

“And there’s probably, what, four warrants out for your arrest?” Grantaire interrupted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Get out of here.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “There are no warrants out for my arrest,” he huffed, before amending, “Well, no active warrants, anyway. I didn’t even do anything. The fucking cops saw to that.” 

Grantaire didn’t look convinced. “Ok, but still, don’t you have work to do?”

“Of course,” Enjolras said impatiently, “but that’s not important—”

“Since when?”

Enjolras paused, taking a moment to unclench his teeth before letting Grantaire suck him into one of their usual arguments. “Are you going to let me get a complete sentence out at any point today?” he asked instead, struggling to keep his voice mild.

Grantaire sighed, raising the ice pack to his head again. “Sorry. It’s the pain meds. They make me terse.”

“Pain meds?” Enjolras asked sharply, looking at Joly.

“Non-narcotic NSAIDs,” Joly said without looking up from his phone. “He’s on glorified ibuprofen.”

Enjolras looked back at Grantaire, who had the grace to at least look slightly shame-faced. “I wanted morphine, maybe fentanyl, even a goddamned Tylenol with codeine, but Jolllly said no.”

“Good.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “But I am again assuming you didn’t come here to make sure I maintained my sobriety, so…”

He trailed off pointedly and Enjolras sighed. “Not so much, no.” He wet his lip before squaring his shoulders and starting, “Grantaire, I—”

He had practiced this in his head so many times on the cab ride over, but now that he was standing here looking at Grantaire, he couldn’t seem to choke the words out, even if he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he meant every single one. Grantaire half-smiled before prompting, “Grantaire, you…”

Enjolras managed a smile and took a deep breath. “I came here because I have something that I wanted to tell you, something that I should have told you a long time ago, but better late than never, right? Especially since you got hurt—” His voice broke on the word hurt, and Grantaire reached automatically for his hand, his smile long-since disappeared, replaced by a confused look. “So I came here to say it now. Grantaire, I lo—”

He didn’t even get the entire word out before Grantaire yelped and dropped his hand. “What the fuck?” he half-shouted, and Enjolras raised both eyebrows.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you – did you – what the fuck?” Grantaire spluttered, all the color drained from his face.

Enjolras blinked before glancing at Joly. “Is he having a stroke?” 

“Doubtful,” Joly said, looking and sounding like he very much wanted to be literally anywhere else besides there.

Enjolras looked back at Grantaire, who was staring at him with wide eyes. “Are you ok?” he asked carefully. “I promise I didn’t come here, to upset you, I came here to tell you—”

“Stop!” Grantaire yelped. “Don’t say it!”

Enjolras stared at him. “Don’t say what?” he asked blankly. “Don’t say that I love you?”

Grantaire groaned, covering his face with both hands and flopping back on the gurney. “Yeah, that,” he said.

Enjolras’s brow furrowed, trying to figure out why Grantaire was acting like he had just told him his cat had died. “Well, it’s a little late for that,” he said, his voice rough, and he shifted awkwardly, beginning to feel like this had been a mistake in more ways than one. “So I guess I’ll just—”

Grantaire sat up again, dropping his hands from his face to scowl at him. “I’m sorry, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and then leave, any more than you get to rush over here and tell me that you love me just because I’m dying!”

“You are not dying,” Joly said in a bored voice before Enjolras could even ask.

“Just because I have a traumatic brain injury!” Grantaire amended.

Joly sighed. “You barely have a bruise.”

“Just because I have an ouchie!”

Grantaire’s voice was a little strangled on the last one, and under different circumstances, Enjolras might’ve laughed, but he was too pissed that his attempt at a grand romantic gesture had fallen apart so spectacularly. “Did it ever occur to you that I’m not just saying it because you’re hurt?” he demanded, glowering at Grantaire. “That I’m saying it in spite of you being severely and likely irrevocably brain damaged?”

“Do either of you actually care that he’s not that injured?” Joly asked.

They both ignored him. “If you’re not just saying it because I’m hurt, then why did you wait until now?” Grantaire asked, meeting Enjolras’s glare with one of his own.

“Because I’m an idiot!” Enjolras snapped. “For waiting as long as I did, mostly, and for a lot of other things too.” Grantaire’s lips twitched, just slightly, but it was enough for Enjolras. He took a step closer to the gurney, reaching out for Grantaire’s hand. “But even though Joly is about to roll his eyes so hard they’ll fall out of his head, you did get hurt,” he continued, his voice softening. “And even if the chances of your ouchie causing any lasting damage are probably slim to none—”

“Like, literally none,” Joly said. “I made him get a head CT. He does not even have a concussion.”

“—If there was even a chance that you could leave me before knowing, I had to tell you,” Enjolras finished. “Because I love you enough to sprint over here like a moron and stand at the side of your gurney and tell you that I love you. Because even though you deserve me telling you this at a romantic candlelit dinner, this could’ve been the only time we had.”

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Grantaire whispered, but he was grinning, and he tugged Enjolras in to kiss him.

Enjolras was grinning as well when they broke apart, though he hesitated before asking, aiming for casual, “Do you, uh, have anything you want to tell me, besides that I’m an idiot?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’ve loved you since the day I laid eyes on you,” he said impatiently. “It’s not my fault that it took you forever to figure that out.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything else, someone cleared her throat from the foot of the bed. “Dr. Joly?” an older woman in a white coat asked, sounding amused. “Dare I ask why we appear to have a scene from a romantic comedy playing out in my ER?”

Joly scrambled to his feet, blushing almost as much as Enjolras. “Dr. Simplice,” he said, slightly higher pitched than usual. “These are friends of mine. The patient presented with a head lac, and I had the neuro on call clear him for TBI. We’re just waiting on discharge paperwork.”

Dr. Simplice let out an inscrutable hum. “Why don’t you pop over to the nurses station and see about expediting that paperwork?” she suggested, her voice sweet but with a razor sharp edge.

“Yes ma’am,” Joly muttered, hurrying to do so.

Dr. Simplice gave Enjolras and Grantaire one more piercing look before sweeping off, and Grantaire whistled under his breath. “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen,” he muttered.

“I thought she was going to give us detention or something,” Enjolras said under his breath.

Grantaire laughed. “Well, that’s what you get for rushing over here and causing a scene,” he teased.

Enjolras snorted. “Don’t remind me,” he said with a sigh, before glancing at Grantaire. “You’re really ok?”

Grantaire nodded and squeezed his hand. “I’m really ok,” he confirmed.

“So are you going to tell me how you hurt yourself in the first place?” Enjolras asked.

“Oh, no,” Grantaire said decisively. “Absolutely not.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “What? Why?”

“Because it’s super embarrassing.”

Enjolras frowned. “Did you miss the part where I sprinted here to tell my boyfriend who barely has a bruise that I love him just in case he dies?”

“Yeah, and that’s super embarrassing for you,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “I do not need to add to that.”

“What if I take it back?” Enjolras asked sourly.

Grantaire just smirked. “You can try, but I have witnesses. Like, so many witnesses. An embarrassing number of witnesses, honestly.”

“I hate you.”

Grantaire grinned. “Love you too.”

Enjolras sighed. “So you’re really not going to tell me?”

Grantaire hesitated for a long moment before sighing as well and looking away. “I tripped.”

“You tripped,” Enjolras repeated, a little incredulous.

Grantaire nodded. “And I fell.”

“You fell.”

Grantaire traced a finger along the seam of the gurney pad. “And as I fell, I bonked my head.”

It took everything in Enjolras not to laugh. “You bonked your head.”

Grantaire nodded and sighed heavily. “I bonked my head,” he confirmed.

Enjolras wet his lips before asking, “On what?”

Grantaire deliberately avoided looking after him, squinting off into the distance as if he was trying to read very tiny print. “On my own protest sign. That I was carrying. As it were.”

Enjolras very rarely gave himself credit for being even remotely good at interpersonal relationship of a romantic and/or sexual nature, but he was fairly certain that he deserved a boyfriend of the year award for not laughing at that, even if the only thing he could manage to say without laughing was a choked, “Wow.”

“Yep.”

It took a long moment for Enjolras to manage, “Bossuet must be so proud.”

Grantaire snorted. “Bossuet was so busy laughing that he ran face first into a brick wall so I’m going to give him a pass on this one.”

Now Enjolras did laugh before leaning in to kiss the top of Grantaire’s head. “So we both made complete fools of ourselves today.”

Grantaire shrugged, his smile returning. “Pretty much.”

“Well, thank God.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I didn’t want to be the only idiot in this relationship.”

“As if I haven’t made an idiot of myself many, many times over,” Grantaire said dryly.

Enjolras nodded slowly. “That is true,” he murmured. “Well, now I feel better.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “And here I thought you were supposed to be making me feel better,” he said sourly.

Enjolras rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Do you want me to kiss your ouchie?” he offered.

“Do you want me to punch you in your perfect teeth?” Grantaire returned through clenched teeth.

Enjolras snickered but composed himself enough to ask, mostly serious, “Do you want me to tell you I love you again?”

To his surprise, Grantaire hesitated, his smile fading, just slightly. “Are you sure you still love me?” he asked quietly, and Enjolras frowned. “Even though I tripped and bonked my head?”

He couldn’t quite finish without laughing, and Enjolras rolled his eyes. “It would take a hell of a lot more than that to make me stop loving you.”

“God, you are a fool,” Grantaire sighed, but he was grinning.

Enjolras stuck his tongue out at him. “Takes one to know one.”

“You are not wrong,” Grantaire agreed, before adding, “About this, at least.”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” Enjolras ordered. “Idiot.”

“Takes one to know one,” Grantaire said before kissing him.

And Enjolras found that he didn’t have it in him to argue that point any further.

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #les amis #les miserables #fanfiction #modern au #fluff #developing relationship #love confessions #minor injury #idiots in love

[francisnt]

Nearly Historic: A Play

Happy Barricade Day to those who celebrate! I am just stopping in to tell you all about a project I have been working on for the past months. 

So since I was in like fifth grade, I have been obsessed with Les Mis, wow this is like my eighth Barricade Day in the fandom. But besides that, my passion has always been playwriting and directing, so I have been working on adapting the chapters about the Barricade Boys into a play. Today was our staged reading and I would love to share it all with you. 

I will also attach the pdf of the script if you want to give it a read, but if you like want to produce it or something just tell me please and give me credit.

Anyway to start here are my set pictures

I wanted the Cafe Musain to feel very lived in, so I put up the posters and told the cast to vandalize them. My theme throughout the whole project was how timeless the stories of the revolutionaries are, how even today students are willing to fight and die for the things they believe in. So I accomplished this on the set by combining French protest posters from many different periods. 

Here are the costumes, I didn't get one for Prouvaire because they came in late. Again I was going with slightly modern and slightly historical, so I utilized modern pieces to create historical silhouettes. 

Here’s Marius

Combeferre

Bossuet

Courfeyrac

Feuilly

Joly

Grantaire

Enjolras

Bahorel

Gavroche

And a couple of miscellaneous pictures

And here’s the script! I had to take the sex jokes out because it was for school, but you guys get the unedited, dick sucking joke copy. 

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1QOwUHruYJvlBgYUpuNtqW-D_EZSmNG8U/view?usp=sharing

#les mis #les miserables #enjoltaire #barricade day

[crazyhappycat]

Afternoon with the Amis

Grantaire: Now Enjolras, you’ve never been Married so you never had your own bachelor party, but Let’s look ahead

Gavroche: The year is 1842. France have turned into a democrary, and our current prime minister is Jacques Tremblay. And tomorrow, Julien Enjolars is getting Married.

Grantaire: Who is the lucky lady? Maybe she works with teaching kids self-defence?

Gavroche: Maybe She’s someone nuts about politics?

Marius: Maybe She’s Cosette

Marius: Maybe i die… Arson. And Then you go Marry Cosette. And it makes me sad, but if she has to be with Anyone, I’m happy it’s you.

Enjolras: Thanks i guess…

Marius: Only i didn’t really die. I was faking. I spy on you from the roof of Cafe Musain, waiting to kick your but.

Enjolars:…

Marius: But i see how happy you makes her, and i have to go away. I have to. And i do, slowley, in a rain storm.

Grantaire: This isn’t really in spirit what We’re trying to do.

Marius: But as time goes by, it wars me away. Your out there, living it with my wife. And I’m alone, in a cave. Training.

Gavroche: Anyone Else want to chime in?

Marius: i thought you Where my Friend, Enjolras. I thought you Where my friend

#gavroche #les mis #the les amis #marius pontmercy #enjolras #grantaire

[lys-9-10]

Posted Ch. 3 of In which Enjolras spurns Grantaire's affections and Éponine gives him a piece of her mind... possibly prompting him to reconsider

We could call this chapter "In which Grantaire realizes Enjolras is lonely, and convinces his best friend Éponine to open up their friendship duo to him"

Preview:

The slightest flicker of a smile crossed Enjolras’s face. Then, he looked down at his feet. “Well. I should leave you to your grocery shopping. I hope Azelma enjoys her birthday party.”

He turned to leave. Grantaire, panicked and aching to hold onto Enjolras a moment longer, called out to stop him before he could think of a pretext for doing so.

“Wait!” 

Enjolras turned around, his head cocked slightly to the side and his eyebrow lifted inquisitively. 

Grantaire stammered. “Um...” He looked around himself for something that could justify his ejaculation. “You... should really buy one of these cakes. They’re very good here.” 

Enjolras’s mouth twisted into a joyless smile. “I have no purpose for a cake,” he said. “I’m not exactly one to host parties.” 

Enjolras’s eyes trailed down to Grantaire’s grocery cart, which was stacked with birthday-themed napkins, bags of chips and bottles of soda, and other festive purchases. Grantaire’s own gaze tracked Enjolras's  — and suddenly he found himself comparing his own teeming cart with Enjolras’s nearly empty basket, which contained only a few produce items. Grantaire frowned.

“Wanna come to Azelma’s birthday party?” The invitation popped unreflected from Grantaire’s lips, startling himself. Startling Enjolras too, it seemed, whose eyes widened as he took a small step back. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

Grantaire hesitated a moment — was this weird? But it was too late to retract the invitation. So he simply smiled at Enjolras and continued.

“It’ll be all Azelma’s school friends, so Ép and I will mostly be hanging back in the kitchen, prepping the food and staying on top of clean-up and whatnot. You could come hang out with us if you like. I know that doesn’t sound like the most enticing party invitation — but we’ll still get to eat all the good food and stuff...” 

Grantaire had to stop talking, because Enjolras’s killer blue eyes were fixed on him in such a way that he felt his head might reel and fall off his shoulders. Rendered senseless by the intensity of those eyes, Grantaire had to take a moment to recall what they were talking about when, after a long pause, Enjolras finally responded.

“Alright,” the blue-eyed man said, nodding slowly. “I will come.” 

------

“You WHAT?” Éponine gaped at her best friend in shock.

“Are you angry?” Grantaire asked anxiously. “I’m sorry, I know it’s Azelma’s thing. I shouldn’t have invited him without asking her if she minded — but I figured he could just lay low in the kitchen with us...” “I’m not angry, but... I mean why? What would Enjolras want to hang out in my kitchen for? At my little sister’s birthday party?” Éponine shook her head in disbelief. “He actually said yes?”

“Yeah... He did.” A pensive look crossed Grantaire’s face. “Ép... I think Enjolras is lonely.”

“Excuse-me?” “I think he’s lonely. He keeps saying really weird things with these weird expressions on his face... Like, he said he doesn’t know how to socialize... and that he’s not the type to host parties... and when we went for coffee, he asked me about my friendship with you. I didn’t really think about it at the time but... I think maybe he’s never had that, Ép. You know what I mean?” 

Éponine frowned. She did know what Grantaire meant. She’d insinuated as much to Enjolras when she ripped into him at Le Café Musain. It wasn’t difficult to surmise that Enjolras lived a lonely life — from the perspective of a normal person, that is. But Enjolras wasn’t a normal person. So Éponine never supposed he cared. She never supposed he would want it to be otherwise. 

“I think he’s lonely. He keeps saying really weird things with these weird expressions on his face... Like, he said he doesn’t know how to socialize... and that he’s not the type to host parties... and when we went for coffee, he asked me about my friendship with you. I didn’t really think about it at the time but... I think maybe he’s never had that, Ép. You know what I mean?” 

Éponine frowned. She did know what Grantaire meant. She’d insinuated as much to Enjolras when she ripped into him at Le Café Musain. It wasn’t difficult to surmise that Enjolras lived a lonely life — from the perspective of a normal person, that is. But Enjolras wasn’t a normal person. So Éponine never supposed he cared. She never supposed he would want it to be otherwise. 

“It’s strange really,” Grantaire continued, rubbing his chin. “Courf was the one who suggested the name ‘Les Amis de l’ABC’, and I remember Enjolras initially resisted it because he said that’s not what the Society was. It wasn’t a group of friends. I thought he was just being hoity-toity — 'We're not just a group of friends, we're a band of revolutionaries!' kind of thing...  but what if he also just doesn’t feel Les Amis are his friends? I asked him how he and Combeferre became best friends and he got all weird then too... as though he didn’t know what I was talking about. I always assumed that’s what he and Combeferre were, Ferre being his right-hand man for all things Society-related. But I dunno... I mean, can you see Enjolras and Combeferre chilling on a Friday night and watching Netflix together or something?”

Éponine snorted. “Definitely not.” 

Grantaire hummed and continued brooding. Éponine watched him for a few moments — then huffed impatiently and tapped her foot. 

“So what are you saying, Taire? That we should befriend Enjolras?”

Grantaire barked out a laugh. “You don’t have to sound so overjoyed about it.” 

Éponine scowled. “You know me, Taire. I love you and all, but Enjolras has never been my cup of tea. And with the way he treats you, I can hardly look at him without wanting to triple-smack him about the face.” 

“Oh, that’s right! He apologized for that too. When we were talking at the grocery store.” Éponine blinked. “He did? What did he say?” 

“Well, he apologized for being ‘unkind’ to me, in his words... He made a point of clarifying that he was apologizing for all his unkind behaviour in the past, not just for banning me from the ABC Meetings the other day. And then he said some stuff about...” Grantaire pinkened slightly and looked to the side. “Something about how he understands there’s more to me than he initially thought.” 

Éponine raised her eyebrows. “Wow...” Against her will, she sounded impressed. But she quickly shook it off and resumed her glower. “Good,” she said roughly. “He should apologize.” 

Grantaire smiled. He seemed to consider for another moment, and then his expression shifted and became supplicatory. It was the kind of supplication that he exclusively displayed to Éponine — a disarmingly open, trusting kind, which simply said, ‘This is important to me.’

“Ép,” he said softly. “I’d love for us to try to befriend Enjolras, if he’s open to it. Would you do that for me?” 

Éponine groaned, loud and long, and threw both hands over her face. She knew —he knew — that she would never deny Grantaire anything if he asked her like this. But at this moment, she kind of hated him for that. (Not actually. She could never hate him.) “Can’t you just date him and leave me out of it?” Éponine grumbled — but it was a mere token resistance.

Grantaire chuckled. “Believe me, I’d date him if I could. But maybe he doesn’t need a date right now. Maybe he needs friends.” 

Éponine heaved a sigh and dropped her hands from her face. “Fine.” she huffed. “You’re lucky I love you, Taire.”

Grantaire’s face split into a glowing smile. He seized her, tugged her towards him, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. 

“Damn right I am.” 

Read more here.

#enjoltaire #epotaire brotp #les miserables #les mis fanfic #modern au #grantaire & eponine #enjolras x grantaire #grantaire #eponine #enjolras #eponine and grantaire

[enjolras-the-revolutionary]

Come What May (part 1)

Note: First chapter of Come What May, there may be 5 more, at most. Hope you all like it, and Happy Barricade Day!

June 1st 1832

I cannot say what lead me to the meeting at the Musain today. It was not a normal meeting, the tension could be felt in the air. Raised voices, in discussions I paid little to no attention to. For it is not my revolution, but theirs, and they believe in it more than I ever will, or ever have. I do not believe in that they will succeed, I would rather say I doubt it. The leader of it all, Enjolras, believes, and his faith in their success is as high, or higher, than my belief that they will fail. In comes Marius now, late. They tell him so, but he is in love, and does not seem to care. With a girl he just met, and, as far as I know, never even spoke to. We are alike there, but Marius does not know it. It is a change of pace from their revolutionary talks, and I for one welcome it. Even encourage it. I have not known Marius to talk of girls, but here he is, doing so. She must be special, at least to him. I can not help but wonder, if she feels that way about him as well. Since I know that no one will read this, apart from me, since I keep this book well hidden, and live alone, I can confess. I have never loved anyone as I love, and admire Enjolras. If anyone read that, I am absolutely certain that they would think I am a sinner, and perhaps I am. I probably am, in most people's eyes. I believe, if Enjolras knew, he would despise me even more. Enough about Enjolras... for the time being. A while after Marius' confession, the street urchin Gavroche, came running in, yelling at the others to listen to him. Eventually, they listened, as he told them Lamarque was dead. This sparked a discussion again. Enjolras, seemed ... pleased, in a way. This was a good thing. This was what they had been waiting for. A sign that would surely rally the crowds. I do not know if they will join them at all. I will just wait and see, I suppose. All I know is that... likely, they do not have many days left to live. Can I go on, if Enjolras, whom I will, secretly, love until the day I die, is gone? I cannot say what I will do, if he.. 

- R.

#barricade day #les mis #enjolras #enjoltaire #grantaire #les miserables #barricade boys #les amis #barricade day 2022 #les mis fic

[aromantic-enjolras]

i know this isn't exactly your thing but it's definitely mine, so do you have any headcanons for qpr ExR with aroace enjolras?

Okay, you are right that this isn’t exactly my thing, I’m sorry it took me so long to answer this, anon (I just checked and this ask is from April!)! This isn’t exactly what you asked, either, but I hope it’s enough for you.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about “friendly exes ExR”, and it’s close-ish to a QPR, so I’m just going to talk about that.

Enjolras and Grantaire date for a while when they are in their mid-twenties. Enjolras knows he’s ace, by that point, it’s one of the first things he tells Grantaire, but he’s still working through the internalized acephobia, and that means he feels very guilty about “taking sex away from R”. He kind of overcompensates by going full in the “romance” part of it.

And you can imagine, Grantaire is over the moon about it. They power through the early stages of a relationship. There are flowers. Anniversaries. Public Displays of Affection. They are living together in less than a year.

Enjolras is trying, really trying, but after a point he can’t keep denying that the whole thing is just stressing him out. He’s not proud of the fact that his first reaction  after they break up is relief.

Not long after their breakup, Enjolras comes out as aro. Grantaire consoles himself on the fact that he wasn’t the problem.

They keep a level of physical closeness that makes R’s partners squint suspiciously at them. Grantaire has a tendency to ruffle Enj’s hair whenever he goes past his chair, and Enjolras thanks him with cheek kisses whenever he does something nice.

Because of a misguided attempt at reconciliation at one point, Enjolras is the only Ami who has met Grantaire’s father in person. The man is all the way up with fascists in Enjolras’ “would happily shoot in the face” list.

Sometimes, when Enjolras is very tired, or feeling burned out, he approaches Grantaire and goes “can I have a hug”, very quietly. Grantaire doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but he opens his arms and lets him burrow his face in his chest. R laughing and joking with Joly and Bossuet with his arms around a curled up Enjolras is a pretty common image in the Musain. He’s soft and warm, you know?

On the other hand, Enjolras has gotten very good at recognizing the early stages of a dip in Grantaire’s mental health. He doesn’t usually handle them himself, because he knows he might make things worse, but he will absolutely warm Joly and Bossuet to go give him a hand.

On a happier note, they still go out for dinner a couple of times a month, or meet at one of their places if the money is tighter. They always make sure to have a free morning the next day, because they have rambly conversations/debates that span way into the next day.

I hope this scratched your itch a little!

#Answer time #Les Misérables #text posts #my posts #my headcanons #headcanons #Enjolras #Grantaire #aro!Enjolras #Queerplatonic relationships #kinda #I have anon love! #ace!Enjolras

[devoutpriest]

antinousxorestes:

He looked at the man once again as he pulled his hand back and bowed his sunbeam blond head a little, it was always something that he wanted to happen, for people to come to the side of the cause, for the people of France to want the same thing he did, to see a Glorious future to see France the way he did. “ There is no need to thank me Monsieur, for i should be the one thanking you on behalf of what you are doing, and not right now, but you are more then welcome to meet with a few of us at the Musian, for that is where i am heading” He oft went to the Musain, where he and his fellow students drank coffee and biscuits, as well as talking about the situation in Paris. The government was cruel, oppressing the poor, and the people in general felt at unease simply walking in the streets for fear of rebuke or retribution. He cries at the beauty of Paris likening to a sewer, of people needing help as they sat on the ground, homeless on the dirty ground, vulnerable to disease and weather.

“I want to help in any way I can, monsieur.” Athelstan had witnessed one of the speeches they had been talking fervently to the public. The blond haired one had been with his crew, amongst there, was a Asian man he had called Cassian, Eponine's cousin. The leader of the crusade knew Eponine from Marius' speaking of her. The speech had interested Athelstan, pulled him in with the passion in which they spoke. They spoke of soldiers in battle, of the beautiful passion they had, and of the recruited destruction of their body and spirit the government had asked as a basic price for their enlistment. “ I would be glad to meet at the Musain.” He says, and starts to walk toward said café. “…May I ask if you are the leader of this crusade?”

enjolras says he is the leader, also having a dog with a red and black ribbon who he lives with. life had been quite hard with running his crusade, he seeing a fellow citizen in distress and afraid of society ; speaking in small confusing intervals, his heart palpitating in fear, yet not knowing how to help. he thinks to just understand one trainline of thought from this citizen, just hearing what they had to say, without causing any further distress to them, one he was already talking to.

#rp partner | antinousxorestes #ic #overall known as: #rp partner | orxstxs

[kjack89]

Wish Upon a Star

For @themiserablesmonth Day 11: Wish.

Established E/R, modern AU, all fluff.

Read on AO3.

Enjolras and Grantaire strolled hand-in-hand down the street, enjoying a leisurely walk back to their place from the Musain. Neither said much, both enjoying the crisp autumn air as well as the comfortable silence of each other’s company. Then, abruptly, Grantaire stopped and pointed up at the sky. “Look, a shooting star! Make a wish!”

Though Enjolras followed his gaze, he didn’t look nearly as excited. “Are you sure that’s a shooting star?” he asked, somewhat doubtfully. “I’m pretty sure that was just an airplane.”

Grantaire pouted, but quickly rebounded. “Fine, then make a wish on the inbound United Airlines flight from New York.”

Enjolras glanced over at him, amused. “How’d you know it was an inbound United Airlines flight from New York?”

“Are you going to make a wish, or not?” Grantaire asked, ignoring the question.

Enjolras just rolled his eyes affectionately. “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “What, don’t you believe in wishes?” he asked with a joking tone. When Enjolras didn’t respond right away, he frowned. “You don’t, do you?”

Enjolras took a long moment to reply, though when he did, it was more hedging than an actual answer. “I’m trying to think of a way to answer this that doesn’t make me sound cynical, so as not to give you something to lord over me for the rest of my natural days.”

“You really think I would do that?” Grantaire asked, mock-affronted, and when Enjolras just gave him a look, he laughed. “Fair enough.”

Enjolras took a deep breath before saying carefully, “I think wishes fall in the general category of hopes, or dreams. Which means they may be beautiful ideas, but they mean exactly fuck all without the work behind it to make them come true.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Interesting.”

“I’ll assume you disagree,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Ordinarily, no, but the fact of the matter is that we’re here, holding hands, dating, living together, and all of that is something that I very much wished for.” He squeezed Enjolras’s hand. “So while it’s my turn to try not to sound like a believer, when presented with the evidence in front of me, it’s hard not to conclude that sometimes, wishes come true.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Enjolras’s mouth. “That was a carefully crafted statement.”

Grantaire gave a mocking bow. “Thank you.”

“We’ll make a politician out of you yet,” Enjolras told him.

“Like you would ever deign to date a politician,” Grantaire said with a snort.

Enjolras pretended to consider it. “If I could use him to my personal ends, maybe.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes before glancing up at him. “You know what I’m not hearing?”

“What?”

“A rebuttal of what I said.”

Enjolras paused, something almost troubled in his expression. “You really want me to refute that our relationship is a wish come true?” he asked, somewhat doubtfully.

Grantaire winked. “Well, I’d like to see you try at least.”

“Clever,” Enjolras said. “But there’s nothing to refute, because I don’t believe anything that you said contradicts what I said.”

Grantaire frowned slightly. “How so?”

Enjolras just gave him a measured look. “You think that you didn’t put in the work to make this particular dream come true?”

“If you’re going to start accusing me of putting work in for anything, then we’re veering dangerously close to slander,” Grantaire said lightly, very notably not answering the question.

Enjolras gave him a look of affectionate bemusement. “As if insinuating you were a believer hadn’t already crossed that line.”

“Touché.”

Enjolras cleared his throat before continuing, “So seeing as how I’ve already crossed the line into slander, and to pad said slander with calumny and lies, you absolutely put in the work.” He said the words plainly, as if they were obvious fact, and didn’t give Grantaire the opportunity to squirm away from them with his usual sarcasm-laden bromides. “You took the time to actually get to know me as a human instead of just a porcelain doll or however you used to describe me.”

Grantaire lips twitched. “A marble statue.”

“I was close, at least,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire arched an eyebrow at him.

“Were you?”

Enjolras ignored him. “The point still stands,” he said stubbornly. “You figured out my interests and my beliefs—”

“Mostly so that I had ample ammunition to argue with you over,” Grantaire murmured, though Enjolras ignored him.

“And then you’re the one who made the effort to show me what a relationship could actually look like,” he continued doggedly, “that it wasn’t going to be me having to devote one hundred percent of my time to you, that there could be something resembling work-life balance. Which is actually quite the achievement considering that prior to you, my work was my life.”

Grantaire made a face. “One could argue that it still is.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But now there’s another part of my life, and a really great one at that: you.” He tugged Grantaire close to him to kiss his forehead. “So whether you want to call it persistence or effort, you still put the work in to convince me to give this a try. And that’s what made all the difference in getting this particular wish to come true.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “I guess…”

“I mean, imagine if you hadn’t,” Enjolras added. “You’d still be sitting at the Musain right now, drunkenly staring at me and sighing to yourself like you used to do.”

Grantaire winced. “You knew about that?”

Enjolras gave him a somewhat pitying look. “You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“Well, that’s mortifying.”

“It’s fine,” Enjolras assured him. “I know you didn’t mean anything creepy by it.”

“No, not for me, for you,” Grantaire said cheerfully, and Enjolras scowled. “You knew I used to do that and you still went out with me? How desperate were you?”

“Obviously extremely desperate,” Enjolras dead-panned. “And what, pray tell, does that say about you for lusting after me in the first place when I was so clearly that desperate?”

Grantaire grinned. “Touché.”

They started walking again, Enjolras putting an arm around Grantaire’s shoulder before saying mildly, “Anyway, for all this grief over me not believing in wishes, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you never actually made a wish on the inbound flight from New York.”

Grantaire just looked up at him, his grin softening. “Why would I need to?” he asked simply. “All my wishes already came true.”

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #established relationship #fluff #short one today lads #writing today was A Struggle #but we got it done! #and that's the important thing #the miserables month 2022