#okay in order: courfeyrac

[callmebyourgnome]

Straight friend groups be like: *blonde girl* *chad* *the funny one* *kyle* *brunette girl* *frat boy*

Gay friend groups: *the center* *the guide* *the leader* *the cynic* *the hypochondriac* *the bald one* *the poet* *the worker* *the eccentric* *the fucking pontmercy*

#les amis #les miserables #les mis #okay in order: courfeyrac #combeferre #enjolras #grantaire #joly #bossuet #jehan #fueilly #bahorel #marius obviously #im sorry

[orange-artist]

Brainworms: Sabo x Yonji

Hello little people in my phone. Today I bring you new update in the Good!Yonji AU (AU where Yonji defects from Germa at age 15 after learning about Emotions and starts a clothing store instead. more here)

Woke up this morning and my brain said to me "you know what would be funny? Putting Sabo and Good!Yonji into a room together." AKA Orange talks herself into another rarepair

Apparently, the conclusion my brain came to was that they would kiss. I presented the thought to my little buddies, @nosongunsung11 (rubber duck and feedback loop) and @courfeyracs-swordcane (hypeman) and the idea devolved and now I just ship them whole heartedly.

Let me present too you my newest agenda, Yonji x Sabo. (Target audience: 5) I will give yall the elevator pitch, but this is the longest elevator ride of your life and the music is terrible. Strap in.

Okay, SO- Yonji is a fashion nerd right? And one day, a tall, blonde, hot and most perfectly proportioned man walks into the store in an impeccably well kempt suit. The simp/artist genes kick in. Yonji wants to make a suit for this man so bad.

Yonji would just be a puddle in the floor like "please sir I will do anything. Let me make a suit for you."

Then he find out this guy is a runaway noble? (Who ran away at age 5!) Who is now fighting the world government? (Second in command!) Has brothers he hasn't seen in 10 years and is rebuilding their relationship? Survived Trauma and is living it up now causing problems for people of power? Yonji is so far gone.

On the flip side, Sabo does not like Yonji at first. Thinks he's a hooligan. Tries to scare him off by using big words™️ but Yonji is also an ex-prince and is not intimidated but swoons harder because hot and smart? Holy shit. He is also peak autistic swag and deadass does not pick up on the fact that Sabo is trying to bully him. Also, Sabo is undercover.

Yonji does succeed in convincing Sabo to let him make a suit and they end up becoming buddies. (They both have brother complexes and the other reminds them of the brothers and its bad I hate it but it is true)

One day Yonji gets caught in a revs fight and Sabo's like "I need to protect this totally normal and helpless civilian who has nothing to do with this" and Yonji is like "holy shit, a chance to show off in front of the cool guy". Anyways cue both of them going feral and insane in a fight and Yonji, wiping blood from his hands with a handkerchief because he was raised as a prince and habits die hard looks over at Sabo and it like "Anyways that was fun, wanna grab coffee? Oh, I know some very good ways to get blood stain out of wool. :)"

And Sabo realizes "something is deeply wrong with him and I dig it." Or as @nosongunsung11 puts it: "I can't see the simping working on Sabo what would Work is Yonji going fucking feral on a bunch of random marines"

They also get attached to the other on the basis of Yonji's AuDHD swag reminds Sabo of Luffy and and Sabo's blonde suited runaway energy reminds Yonji of Sanji. Both of these idiots have massive brother complexes and they are working on it-

They're both stupid and have issues and it works. Anyways, Yonji ends up joining the revs.

He makes disguises. He also gets a fedora.

Also more chances to be unhinged and feral.

Other things. Yonji is a big foodie and always wants to try everything on the menu but is unable to finish it and he's learned to Not Waste Food, however, Sabo already orders everything on a menu anyways so Yonji just takes a bite of everything.

The both carry around little notebook/sketchbooks, Sabo for his notes on random things and Yonji for his designs. Yonji is sometimes allowed to illustrate Sabo's notes.

Bonus: Sabo models for Yonji.

(inspired by irl event of being an art student and sometimes you need your friend to do emergency weird poses)

Please give relinquish your opinions about this I need to know.

#good yonji au #yonji one piece #vinsmoke yonji #sabo one piece #yonji x sabo #yonbo? yonsa? yonsabo? saboyon? sayon? #idk ship name #sabo x yonji #my art #vinsmoke yonji x sabo

[jesuisserieux]

Prompt 1: Costumes

This is my first fic for the Hoes for Enjolras server's Halloween bingo! It's very soft and silly, just exr being idiots in love but with a Halloween background. I hope people enjoy! You can read it here, or here on ao3. Let me know if you liked it!

Get the Horns

“I look like a goat,” says Enjolras.

“But a very cute goat! Make all the boy goats go WAAAAA!” A silence. Courfeyrac looks between him and Combeferre. “The Princess Diaries 2? Nobody? Okay then.”

“To be honest, I just thought you’d finally lost it,” says Ferre.

“Oh honey, that was years ago.”

Enjolras snorts, “Are you sure this looks right? Like, you’re the fashion expert, but I really do feel like people will think I’m a goat.”

“You’re wearing red,” says Combeferre. “I feel like everyone knows red and horns equals devil.”

Enjolras frowns, “I guess.”

“You don’t have to be a devil,” says Courf, “I just thought it’d be cute if we were matching. Or, not matching. You know what I mean.” He motions to his angel costume.

“Yeah but you have a sparkly halo. No one is going to be confused about your costume. Plus, won’t it be weird if we’re matching and Ferre is just… Luke Skywalker?”

“That was his choice,” says Courf, “I told him he could be an angel with me.”

“That would be weird,” says Ferre, “One devil, two angels? Makes no sense. Plus, I promised Musichetta I would do the Skywalkers twins with her like, nine months ago.”

“I guess until we meet up with everyone we can just say we’re the devil and the angel on your shoulders.”

“The Jedi and the Sith,” suggests Enjolras.

Ferre and Courf say “Nerd,” in perfect unison, even though this is obviously hypocrisy of the highest order.

He scoffs, “Whatever, are we ready to go now?”

“Oh so now you want to go to the party?” teases Courf. “I wonder what changed…”

“I still don’t want to go to the party. But you talked me into it, so I’m at least going to be on time.”

“It’s not because R said he could come after all?” Ferre raises a skeptical eyebrow.

Enjolras shoots him a betrayed look. “I already agreed to go before he said that.”

“Yeah but you weren’t nearly as eager, before.”

“Your face is the same color as your costume,” says Courf, looking at him in the mirror as he applies mascara.

“Are we going or not?” Enjolras pretends to be looking at something on his phone, to hide his face.

Courf snorts, “Nice subject change. Subtle. But sure, I’m done with my makeup, let’s head out.” He straightens up, and in his heels, he’s face level with Enjolras.

“It’s weird to see you at this angle,” he says.

“Oh fuck off,” says Courf lightheartedly.

“You’re both still short to me,” says Combeferre.

Enjolras protests, “You’re like, three inches taller than me.”

“Four.”

“Oh my god.”

“Okay!” interjects Courf, “let’s go.”

~

The party, when they get there, is in full swing. It’s not the loudest party ever- Enjolras and Combeferre wouldn’t have come if it was- but the bass is still loud enough, that they have to get close to yelling to be heard. Enjolras isn’t actually sure whose house this is. Presumably, somebody Courf knows, but that doesn’t narrow it down a lot. Whoever it was, they went all out on decorations. There are fake spider webs and skeletons everywhere, and everything is bathed in slime green light.

Courf gets them each a cup of punch from a bowl that looks like a cauldron. He takes a sip from his own cup and winces. “Don’t drink that fast, it’s sweet but it’s strong as fuck.”

Enjolras really hadn’t been planning on getting drunk in the first place, so he just nods and takes a sip. Goddamn. Courf wasn’t kidding. “What the fuck is in this?”

“What isn’t?” says someone from behind him. He turns around to see Grantaire, only a few inches away from him and looking way too hot, despite being dressed as-

“What are you?” he asks, taking in the fishnets, the makeup, the lampshade under one arm-”

“Oh!” R takes the lampshade and perches it on top of his head, “I’m a sexy lamp.”

The unfortunate thing is that any costume Grantaire wears would be sexy in Enjolras’s opinion. Including a fucking lamp.

“You’re something all right,” says Combeferre, saving Enjolras the embarrassment of saying any of that out loud.

“What the fuck are you supposed to be?” asks R. I can tell with these two but how does yours connect?”

“It doesn’t. I’m Luke Skywalker. Musichetta is Leia.”

“We would have included him,” says Courf, “but apparently he and Chetta planned this months ago. So now we just look like we’re excluding him.” Ferre scoffs. “We do! Everyone is going to think we’re terrible best friends, and we left you out of our Halloween costume.”

“I don’t think anyone here is sober enough to think that,” says R.

Enjolras searches his brain frantically for something clever to say in response, but he comes up empty, still too preoccupied by Grantaire, and more specifically, Grantaire’s legs in fishnets.

“You good Apollo?” asks R, “I didn’t think the punch was that strong.”

Enjolras blinks. He’s just been staring into space. This is why he doesn’t go out. “Sorry! I’m good. Just… spaced out.”

“Can’t take you anywhere,” says Courf affectionately. He ruffles Enjolras’s hair, and Enjolras smacks his hand away. He looks to Ferre for support but he’s already making his way across the room to Musichetta, who’s brandishing a lightsaber.

“You fucked up his horns,” R says Courfeyrac. He reaches out to fix them, his hands rearranging Enjolras’s hair.

“I’ll see you guys later,” says Courf, not even pretending to have an excuse for leaving. Enjolras can’t even say anything as he leaves, because his brain is devoid of words on account of R touching him.

“There,” says R, tucking some hair behind his ear, “all good.”

“Thanks.” His mouth is so dry.

“So did Courf choose the costume?”

“Uh… yes! Yeah. I think I look like a goat.” He tries not to outwardly wince listening to himself.

Luckily, Grantaire seems to find it funny, thank god. He laughs loudly and gives Enjolras a skeptical onceover. “Why on earth would anyone think you were a goat, Apollo?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. Horns.” He can feel his face heat up. “I’m not wearing red face paint.”

“Even so, why would they assume ‘goat’ instead of ‘devil’ for a Halloween costume?”

“Well when you put it like that it sounds stupid…”

R laughs again. “You’re such a weirdo.” It’s said so affectionately, Enjolras can’t meet his eyes.

“You’re the one dressed as a sexy lamp,” he mumbles in the direction of his shoes.

“Touche,” says R. There’s an awkward silence. Enjolras takes another sip of his incredibly strong punch for lack of anything better to do. “You wince every time you take a sip of that,” notes R.

“It tastes like windex mixed with juice.”

“You’re probably not that far off. Here,” R takes the cup from him and sets it down. “They have ciders in the fridge, that seems more your speed.” Absentmindedly, R grabs his wrist to pull him through the crowd of people. Enjolras is going to combust.

The kitchen is brighter and quieter thank god, although the light means Grantaire can see how red his face is.

“You okay?” he asks, as he hands Enjolras some rose cider drink from the fridge.

“Huh? Yeah good.” Grantaire smirks. The bottle feels good on his warm face.

“You sure you’re not drunk already?” asks R.

“From two sips of punch? Even I’m not that much of a lightweight.”

“No?” R puts a hand to his face, “You’re really warm.” He can probably feel Enjolras’s heartbeat in his fucking forehead with how fast it’s going. He looks down, hoping R won’t see the flush creeping up his ears. Being this pale is a curse. “Apollo?” R taps his cheek and he looks up reflexively. He’s so close.

“I’m fine! Just- nervous.” He wants to melt into the kitchen floor. Why would he say that! Literally anything else would be better, now R’s going to ask why he’s nervous and he’s not going to have a good answer besides it’s really hard not to stare at your mouth right now.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah. I mean you- this- uh, just isn’t my scene. Parties. You know?” Oh god he needs to find a way out of this conversation before he keeps talking.

“Do I make you nervous, Apollo?” asks R in a tone that seems half joking half- flirtatious? That’s probably wishful thinking on his part.

“Uh-” he opens his mouth but only a few nonsense syllables come out. He shuts it again, tries desperately to think of something cool and funny to say. It’s taking too long. Oh god it’s taking too long why can’t he say something?”

“It’s okay,” says R, “you’re cute when you’re flustered.” Hang on what? “Plus, people will definitely know what your costume is.” He pats Enjolras’s burning cheek. “You don’t even need red face paint.” He looks far too proud of that little quip as he slips back out of the kitchen. Enjolras doesn’t even attempt to say anything. It’s just static up there anyway. Courf was right earlier, his face does, in fact, match his costume.

#enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #les amis #les mis #exr #courfeyrac #combeferre #my writing #halloween bingo 2023 #hoes for halloween bingo challenge 2023 #fluff #idiots in love #my wriitng

[pumpkinspice-prouvaire]

Hi there! Do you have any enjolsette sibs headcanons?

hiiiiii this ask is from literally forever ago lol anyways

(older brother Enj younger sister Cosette, kind of vaguely inspired by my current wip)

Cosette goes to university in Paris and goes a bit wild at first. She's never really had the chance to be independent or rebel before, but now she finally does and she is going to...drink soooo many wine coolers about it. Subsequently, Enjolras (newly graduated, long-suffering) keeps getting calls at 3am like "Enjjjjjj I lost my key can I stay at your place.....Enjjjjjj can you come pick me up I can't get a taxi.....Enjjjjj I'm in the hospital my friend needed her stomach pumped but don't worry the doctor says she's gonna be okay". Enjolras is so tempted to block her number and leave her to fend for herself (he won't).

When Cosette was younger she had a lil bby crush on Courfeyrac. He loves bringing it up to her now, even if she punches him on the arm every time he does. It's worth it for how red she goes.

Neither of them can cook for shit. They had a maid growing up, and it's not like their parents were going to teach them. They also were never allowed takeouts when they were growing up, so when they move to Paris and out from under their parents' thumbs, every time they hang out they use it as an excuse to order from a new place.

Cosette of course becomes a regular at ABC meetings, and everyone loves her because it's Cosette, how can you not??? She's especially good friends with Jehan, they love to get coffee and go to bookstores and the cinema together. The first time he saw Cosette, Marius walked into the corner of a table because he was so distracted. He became a bit more subtle about it when he noticed how Enjolras was looking at him though (he's constantly fighting a war in his head between 'it's none of my business' and 'anyone but Marius god please I beg') (he's got nothing to worry about Cosette is hella gay)

#answered #headcanon #modern au #enjolsette siblings brainrot #this is my first headcanon post in a million years lmao

[darkgreenandbloodred]

4 and 20 from the angst dialogue prompt for Enjoltaire, pretty please 🥺 in my head this sounds a lot like dark!enjolras but go wild with it, it can be anything you want ❤️

"I'm sorry I'm not who you thought I was." Enjolras says dryly, leaning against his doorframe. “But I’m not going back there. I can’t. I’m done.”

“Please, everyone wants you back. I want you back.” Grantaire pleads with the man, who is wasting away with track marks on his arms. “It isn’t the same without you, and your friends are losing hope at this point.”

“Let them.” Enjolras sneers, standing up straight now. “There is no hope.”

“Listen, I know nothing I can say will bring Combeferre back bu—“

“Don’t you dare come to my home and invoke his name in order to emotionally manipulate me into coming back to leading the meetings so you can look at me or whatever the hell.” Enjolras growls, practically standing over him as he grabs him by the shoulders. Grantaire could almost be attracted to him right now if he wasn’t so scared. “He’s fucking dead, you drunk! Don’t you understand?! He’s dead and it’s my fault!”

Grantaire doesn’t react, unsure of what to say. Enjolras knows he has been sober for two years, and he just brushes that off. Enjolras was a charming guy but he was capable of being…scary. He didn’t come with the intentions that had just laid out, but he was interested in at least seeing Enjolras every other week to know he’s safe. The guilt that lay on Enjolras’ shoulders scared him more than whatever drugs he might have been doing. Combeferre had gotten fatally shot at a protest, right where Enjolras told him to be. It was a fluke, nobody saw it coming.

Suddenly, his face softens and he lets go of the shorter man. “Just go, Grantaire. Please.”

“No.” He says bravely. “Not until you promise to stop shooting up. And…and stop this. It isn’t your fault, dumbass.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Enjolras scoffs, turning around to go back inside. Grantaire somehow catches the door firmly with his palm.

“No, no. I’m not going to. It isn’t your fault.”

“Yes…it is.” Enjolras replies, but the anger seems to be gone from his voice now.

"I don't know who you are anymore, Enjolras.” He shakes his head. “But I think you can return to the hope that you once had. It’ll just…take some time. And Courfeyrac-“

“Oh, god…” Enjolras reacts to hearing the name, tears forming in his eyes.

“And Courfeyrac needs you. You three used to be there with each other through everything.” He swallows. “And you didn’t take Combeferre from him, but you are taking Enjolras away from him, and that? That’ll be your fault. He needs his best friend right now. And…and I think you do too.”

Enjolras feels his knees wanting buckle in grief, and he clutches the doorframe. “I’m…I’m fucked up, ‘Taire.”

“I…I know.” Grantaire says, holding out his arms for the taller man who practically falls into him.

“I’m scared.” He says, voice shaky and broken. “It just hurts so much…”

“I’ve been there.” R replies. “I know. You’re gonna be okay, though, okay?”

“Okay…” Enjolras replies, hoping that he can be forgiven.

#les mis #les miserables #les amis de l'abc #enjolras #grantaire #les amis #enjoltaire #combeferre #courfeyrac

[shitpostingfromthebarricade]

No gods, no masters.

-Courfeyrac, 3.4.4

#okay but he literally was like 'no offense Combeferre but uou're wrong' #AND SET THE CHARTER OF 1814 ON FIRE THE ABSOLUTE MADMAN #I knew he'd done that I just nevwr read the preceding rant #fucking wild #also I literally looked up this quote to double-check that I got it right #assuming it was a meme #and discovered that it is an anarchist and labor slogan #which is incredible #apparently it dates back to 19th century England #and I choose to believe that Courfeyrac had rubbed elbows with enough people to have said it at least once in his life #les mis #les amis #courf #courfeyrac #shitposting through les mis #except out of order so no but yes #thicc bricc #anarcheyrac

[cx-shhhh]

God, okay, forgive me @castles-in-the-eyre for basically scrolling through your blog, but I need to put down my boba hcs for Les Amis.

Enjolras: Literally a heathen. Walks in and orders boba at 0% sugar and without the boba. Everyone is offended, but he’s there because Grantaire is cute anyway. He might order hot drinks every once in a while too.

Grantaire: Taro or matcha or caramel brûlée, if he’s feeling fancy. Cheese foam or extra boba if he’s willing to spend more. Sago or jelly, depending on his mood. He’s a self-proclaimed boba addict and a boba connoisseur, and he’s rightfully horrified at Enjolras’s order.

Combeferre: Does he drink boba? Probably, like, once a year, and when he does, it’s usually oolong milk tea.

Courfeyrac: Boba fanatic. Perhaps the most addicted aside from Grantaire himself. He’d do 100% sugar and extra ice too. Always gets stuff like Oreo or ice cream milk tea. He has a reusable straw and cup.

Joly: Gets his drinks perfectly balanced, as all things should be. He’d get 30% sugar and no ice just to say it’s “healthy”. He’s not fooling anyone.

Bossuet: He tries poking his straw in, and the drink either explodes or the tip bends in that really annoying way. And then he drinks it all as quickly as possible, to his bladder’s dismay. At least his boba orders are sensible.

Feuilly: A hardcore mango fan when he decides to splurge. His go-to is a mango latte with white boba and mango chunks. He always goes when it’s discounted because boba inflation is fucking real.

Bahorel: He makes stupid jokes about having balls in his mouth all the time. Nobody can escape them. Once, he shot tapioca pearls out of his straw to see how many he could stick on Feuilly, and Grantaire slapped the shit out of him for wasting precious boba.

Jehan: They order everything. All at the same time. And the thing is, they seem to genuinely enjoy it, even if it’s grass jelly and brown sugar and cheese foam slowly dripping down. Basically, they’re a bobarista’s nightmare, but bobaristas can’t bring themselves to hate them.

#les mis #les miserables #grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #exr #les amis #les amis de l'abc #les amis as

[transrevolutions]

Les Amis Childhood Headcanons: Part One (Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac)

Enjolras grew up in a suburban upper-middle class family, cookie cutter house, yard, etc. His parents both were pretty high up in the tech industry (you know, the kind of jobs where they pay you a ton but also treat you like shit), so materially, he was pretty privileged. (Of course if we're talking about like, how his childhood was from an emotional standpoint, it was shit.)

His parents were big on the whole "respect authority" stuff, there was a lot of "know your place" talk around the house. It was kind of the beat-it-into-the-child philosophy, except the beating was emotional rather than physical. Except it backfired, because instead of making a kid who learned to keep his head down and follow orders, it made a very, very, angry kid who learned that authority was never to be trusted and would do pretty much anything to protect the little guy.

Enjolras's parents would tell him that they were mild compared to most parents, and the fact that his first friend was Eponine, whose parents literally neglected her, accidentally drilled this into his head more. It wasn't until about high school that he met a wider group of people and realized, oh. It's not until college, when he finally moves out, that he can take a step back and say never, ever again, I'm free, they were wrong, never again.

Combeferre, on the other hand, grew up in a family living paycheck-to-paycheck. He never went hungry, or got evicted, but money was a little tighter. His parents encouraged him to pursue academics, and he liked it, so it worked out well. They weren't touchy-feely parents at all, and that was mutual, so Combeferre was generally a pretty quiet, independent kid, and that was fine by everyone.

Combeferre always had a very keen sense of right vs. wrong, and he hated things like wars and killing, which set him apart from the rest of the rowdy elementary schoolers. He was the kid who would sit on the bench at recess reading his book instead of playing. He did get angry sometimes, especially about when things weren't fair, so you'd have this quiet good little student who all of a sudden would stand up and blurt out this cutting remark before sitting back down and continuing to do his work.

Combeferre as a teen/young adult never caught the tear-it-all-down-and-build-it-back-better attitude that Enjolras (and to a degree, Courfeyrac) had. He was always for peace, unity, and negotiation rather than tearing down buildings. But sometimes, in the dark, when nobody else is watching, he thinks burn it down burn it all down they need to pay, and that part of him bubbles just under the surface, but he pushes it down, because what good will it do?

Courfeyrac grew up rich. His family went way back with lots of money and he was totally that kid whose parents took him to Hawaii every summer and he'd tell people about it, and they'd just look at him like wtf kid how because he didn't understand that other people don't live that way. He had a big, warm family who sheltered him from the more ugly parts of the world, so as a kid he was naïve and affluent. He had a great childhood, until the other shoe dropped.

Around middle school was when he had his YA protagonist moment, because that was when he switched from a private school to a public one. And he realized, fuck. And he was torn between being shocked and ashamed when he realized that he had his giant house with the backyard pool and the kid who sat next to him in art class literally lived on the streets.

He didn't cut off his family. He loved them, they loved him, he didn't like their extravagance but he cared about them too much to just walk out on them. He and Enjolras had a huge row about that in college, because Enjolras (who wasn't even on the level of Courfeyrac, wealth-wise, but still grew up with quite a bit) was pissed that he was so fucking indulgent a literal Danton while people were fucking starving, and Courfeyrac was like well what the hell do you want? For me to abandon my family? Like that philosopher guy you basically worship? Some people have a life outside of your fucking cause, okay? (They did work it out, later, after they'd both cooled down. They still fought and bickered, but they both promised to never, ever go that far again.)

#les amis #modern au #headcanon #les mis #les miserables #enjolras #combeferre #courfeyrac #childhood headcanons #analysis #character study

[midasinc]

modern era marius hcs:

-before he moves in with courfeyrac he is so fucking broke. his entire diet is pasta with butter and garlic. like, three meals a day. even after he moves in with courfeyrac it's still routine for him to boil a cup or two of rotini in the mornings and courfeyrac will walk into the kitchen at 7am to see him doing so like ??? okay

-he knows a lot about cars. a weird amount. he and courfeyrac went to the bmw museum one time when the entire group went to münchen for a protest and he could go on the entire time about the history and anatomy of the cars without needing to read the plaques. even so- marius cannot drive. at all. he can't even ride a bike.

-marius dresses like a schoolboy in ww2 era england. one day during a meeting, grantaire leaned over to point it out to bossuet and bossuet laughed so hard that he cried and had beer come out of their nose because oh my god it's so true

-he also smells like a grandma. in, like, a nice way. it isn't a conscious effort that marius makes, but his cologne makes him smell like a very kind old lady who likes to grow her own herbs

-marius is left handed and whenever he writes anything, his hand gets all smudged from ink for the rest of the day

-oh he's such a sweetie. he get's very empathetic during movies and he'll cry so easily at them. it's just like "marius it's a happy ending why are you crying" "they- they just- they just deserve happiness so much!" and courfeyrac will have to pat his shoulder and tell him it's okay

-MARIUS DID GYMNASTICS WHEN HE WAS YOUNGER! he is VERY flexible and bendy and has never lost at twister. ever. he can also do flips into a pool which all of les amis find very cool and they make him do over and over again bc YOOOOOOOOO- BACKFLIP!

-he's also really good at puzzles! marius is essentially just a grandma. he likes to sit down and hum and put together 1000 piece puzzles and then take a picture to send to his friends when he's done. for his birthday, joly got him a puzzle that was a picture of all of them together. when he finished it yes he did cry and it is framed and hanging in his bedroom

-marius was raised with very traditionalist views. he struggles a lot with fixing them when he first meets everybody, but over time it really helps to have them around because he can unlearn what he used to know and join them in on what's right. he also finds out he's bisexual in this way and it's really emotional for him when he does realize who he is and he comes out to everyone (and they're vv supportive bc <3)

-he and courfeyrac like to go out and play tennis on weekends. marius is pretty good and courfeyrac is a really bad sport and makes up rules as they go along. it always gets super intense and they shwack the balls way harder than they're supposed to because it's fun and it will go on and on and they're not really being careful and- that's how marius gets a black eye in the shape of a tennis ball

-marius is really fucking good at super smash on the nintendo switch. he can play any character and just smush buttons in no particular order until he wins and he doesn't really have any strategies and it pisses feuilly off so much. feuilly fucking hates how good he is and they've played together a lot before and occasionally feuilly will rage quit and have to step into another room for a moment

-he was a history major and now he works in the archive and labeling labs of a museum and he really really really likes his job. his name tag has a little neon pink smiley face sticker that courfeyrac stuck on before his first day and marius never took it off because he thinks it's cute. anyway, for every holiday and birthday he'll get people trinkets and books and shirts and stuffed animals from the museum's gift shops. enjolras has an impressive collection of museum pens from over the years, because marius is still mildly terrified of him and doesn't know what else to buy him

-nobody tell him, but bossuet and joly are getting him and courfeyrac an air fryer this year because the butter noodles situation is too much to not address

#les mis #les miserables #les mis headcanons #marius pontmercy #marius doing marius things #i love him!!! so sue me i like marius #babe #bae asf #OPs Les Mis HCs #modern era #modern au

[andromedaa-starss]

who 'r' you?

Miserables Month Day 1: Coffee

for @themiserablesmonth! prompt is coffee. i remember reading this idea in a server but i cannot find it for the life of me. so. full thing under the cut bc this'll get long.

"I'm telling you, he's not like any customer we've ever had!" Enjolras said, leaning against the counter.

"Uh huh. And he's got lovely blue eyes, and luscious hair, and the moment he walked in, you fell in love."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "No, Courf. He's annoying and I kinda hate his guts, but he really is something else."

Courfeyrac smirked. "I'm still willing to bet that you fell in love."

"Courfeyrac, I do not fall in love with annoying assholes."

"Sure you don't."

"Courfeyrac!"

"Okay, okay, fine." Courfeyrac held up their hands. "Did you at least get his name?"

Enjolras frowned, and thought back to a couple minutes ago, when said annoying asshole had walked right up for a drink.

He let out a sigh of frustration. "Has anyone ever told you you're annoying?"

"All the time," the other person said. "In fact, I pride myself on it."

Enjolras bit back a scathing remark, and instead asked, "What's your name?"

"Sorry?"

"What's your name? So I know who to call for?"

The other person rolled his eyes. "You could just call out order number? Like, you don't need to know my name."

Oh, he was really getting on Enjolras' nerves now. He was half tempted to strangle the man. "Look, I don't make the rules. Just tell me your name, for God's sake."

The person smirked. "R."

"Just R?"

"Just R." He showed no hint of joking.

"Alright then."

He shrugged. "He said his name was R."

"R?" Courfeyrac blinked. "Okay then."

"I mean . . ." Enjolras shook his head. "I've heard worse names, I honestly have. Actually, scratch that. I don't think R's a bad name."

His friend nodded. "Yeah, that's actually a pretty cool name."

"You think that stands for anything?"

Courfeyrac looked at the clock before shrugging. "You could ask him."

"I don't even know if he'll come back!"

They shrugged again. "Who knows. Come on, our break is almost up."

The next day, the mysterious R came back, which Enjolras was pretty surprised about.

"You're back," was all he could say, despite the many words rattling around in his mind.

"Missed me?" R asked.

Enjolras should have said no. He would've said no. The answer was no, technically. Instead he said "Yes," because truth be told, he was kind of curious about him. Curious about his name, to be exact.

R gave him a smirk, and if he didn't know any better, he would have said R was straight out of those books where the girl dated the bad boy with a flirty smirk and a motorcycle. Except R didn't look like he rode a motorcycle and also he didn't look like the stereotypical bad boy. And Enjolras wouldn't date him against his better judgement. Enjolras didn't even like stereotypical bad boys or riding motorcycles. But if he did, he still wouldn't date R. (Later he would wonder why he would ever think about this. R was a stranger. Why would the thought of dating him even cross his mind?)

"What do you want?"

"You know."

"I do not."

The man sighed. "Black coffee, no sugar, extra cream, all that jazz."

Enjolras raised his eyebrow. "Same order as yesterday?"

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for consistency." R shrugged. "Besides, I'm not keen on trying new flavors."

He thought that was a bit strange, until he realized that he stuck to one (and only one) flavor of ice cream. "Okay then. Black coffee, no sugar, extra cream. Anything else?"

"Nope."

"You're less talkative than yesterday."

"What, you miss my speeches?"

"I can't say I do," he replied, rolling his eyes as he remembered R's spiel about the world was shit or something like that.

"Hm." He leaned on the counter. "Suppose I don't feel like talking today."

Enjolras was about to reply when he saw the customer behind R tap their foot impatiently. "We can talk later. You're holding the line up."

It turned out that Enjolras did not have a chance to talk with R that afternoon, as work was busy and he really didn't want to speak with anyone until well after his shift was over.

As soon as he got back to his apartment, he collapsed on the couch.

"Bad day?" his roommate asked, not looking up from his computer.

"No, I'm just tired."

"Ah. Do you want me to get you--"

"No no no, I can make myself something," Enjolras said, springing up from the couch and rushing to the kitchen. He loved and appreciated Combeferre, he really did, but he always felt guilty when the latter had to make something for him because he was just too damn tired.

Combeferre sighed. "I've told you a million times. I don't mind making something for you if you're too tired."

"I'm not though," he retorted. "Besides, I don't want to impose."

"You're not imposing. You're literally my roommate. It's your job to impose."

"Still . . ."

"Enjolras," he said in that tone of voice that meant the debate was over. "You are tired, and you should rest. You're not going to get anywhere if you push yourself too hard."

Enjolras, who had heard this entire speech about burning himself out, had to keep from rolling his eyes, as if he was a child and Combeferre was his mother. But he couldn't be too angry with his roommate, who took care of him when he couldn't, who reminded him that he was human, and who conpleted him in a sense.

And Enjolras completed Combeferre too.

Indeed, he did his part to take care of Combeferre, as the latter was also wont to staying up late, or trying to prove he could work while sick.

For now, however, he was content with curling up and talking with Combeferre about his mystery customer.

"Are you sure the R even stands for anything? For all we know it really could just be his name."

"I dunno, it sounds like it's short for something," Enjolras said, scratching his head. "It can't really just be R, right?"

Combeferre rolled his eyes. "Enj, you barely know the guy. Why are you assuming you know more about his name than he does?"

"I am not!"

He shrugged. "I mean, if you want, it could be worth asking."

"Hm."

The next time Enjolras was on break, he sought out R.

"So you do miss me," he said the moment he saw Enjolras.

"I do not." He sat down at the table. "I've just been meaning to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"Does R stand for anything?"

R raised his eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Your name. R."

"Oh--yeah, it does," he replied, the surprised look disappearing as fast as it appeared. (At least that proved that R had an expression besides the smug one he wore around Enjolras.)

"What?"

R leaned in, just as he had, with that same damn expression. "Guess."

"Guess?" How was he supposed to guess? There were dozens of names that started with R, how was he supposed to guess. Impulsively, he blurted out, "Richard."

R blinked, before bursting into laughter. "Oh, that's a good one," he said, after calming down enough. "Oh my God, imagine if my parents were old fashioned enough to name me Richard. Oh my God. No, it's not Richard."

Enjolras opened his mouth to guess again but Not Richard held up his hand. "One guess per day," he said. "Them's the rules."

So now it became a sort of game to guess what R's name actually was. He consulted Courfeyrac, who came up with increasingly bizarre names.

Reginald. Regina. Raptor. Rigging. None of which were correct, but to mess with him, R simply wrote them down on a name tag, every day, and slapped the new guess on top of the old one. Enjolras secretly found it entertaining.

Every day he would guess, with Courfeyrac's help. Every day he would get it wrong, but R would respond to that name and that name only. Every day he only became more determined.

"Why are you so determined to find out?" Combeferre asked, to which he only replied that if R was going to be stubborn, he was going to be stubborn right back. "Be my guest," Combeferre simply said.

And so the cycle continued. Ryan. Reynold. Ross. Rosalie. Raquel. Rhinoceros ("It's a possibility!" Courfeyrac said.)

No, no, no, no, no, definitely no. The more Enjolras got them wrong, the more he grew annoyed as well. One day R came in, only to discover that Enjolras looked quite irritated indeed. "What's the matter?" he asked, with genuine concern.

"I dunno, it's just. Your name. It eludes me. I don't have any more guesses."

R thought for a minute, before leaning in and whispering, "Capital R."

"What?"

"That's your hint. Capital R."

"Huh." It was certainly new information, if not very helpful. He toyed with the idea throughout the day but found nothing that might work.

The next hint was even more confusing. "Think French." That helped even less. Think French? What was he supposed to do? As he drove home, he ran through all the possibilities, trying to recall his high school French. Capital R. Think French. Was it just Capital R in French? He was going to punch himself and R if it was.

Capital R . . . Grand R . . . Grand . . . what was French for R? R, r, r, aire? Grand aire?

"Grandaire?" he asked on a Monday, the moment R walked up to the counter.

"Close," R said. "Grantaire."

"Oh my God, I'm actually gonna punch you."

"Why?"

"Your name is a fucking pun."

"Did you just realize?"

"Yes!"

R, or Grantaire, smirked. "So now what are you gonna do, now that you've figured out my name?"

Enjolras blinked. He didn't think he'd get this far. But he knew that he'd miss their chats after his guesses, so be simply said, "I'll talk to you during my break."

Judging from Grantaire's smile, he suspected he missed it too. "I'd like that very much."

#les mis #les misérables #enjolras #grantaire #the miserables month #nova writes fics #anyways im never doing this again #sorry but i do not have the energy to write a full ass fic every day

[restlesswasteland]

Miserables Month Day 4: "Pride"

Written for the Miserables Month @themiserablesmonth High School AU. His hands shook as he painted the three little lines across his cheek. Staring himself down in the mirror, it took a few tries to get it right.

Just three stupid lines, Enjolras thought as he leaned back, turning his head to examine it again. That’s all they are. Three lines.

He took a breath. Went to get his keys. Made sure his parents were still out before heading to the garage to grab his bike. He avoided his reflection in the front hall mirror.

The closer he got to town, the more he considered turning back. But he couldn’t. Courfeyrac had begged them to come to Pride with him. Of course, they’d all said yes immediately, but Courf begged anyway. Enjolras had no real intention of not showing up to support his best friend.

He could just wipe the flag off his cheek. No one would have to know.

But he knew he wouldn’t do that either.

Courf had come out three years ago. No one was surprised. No one cared that he was gay, obviously. Jehan and Grantaire had both come out in their own time, as well. Ferre had admitted he was questioning. And each time, no one showed anything but love towards them.

Enjolras had spent many sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, wondering if the same beautiful indifference would be offered to him.

He’d always known, deep down. But he waited. Hoped things would change, maybe. When he hit puberty. But it didn’t. He wasn’t surprised about that, either.

And he was sick of sleepless nights. He was exhausted. He didn’t want to wonder anymore. He was done.

So he drew the stupid flag on his face and went to see his friends.

He was relieved when he finally got downtown. Any more time to think and he might've ended up just steering his bike into a ditch. Instead, he locked it up and went to find his friends outside the coffee shop that they’d picked for the meetup.

When he got there, he didn’t recognize anyone. He checked his phone, and of course he was early. He was always early when he was nervous. Bad habit.

He ordered a black coffee from the barista and went to sit on the bench outside. He watched as people passed him, decorated with flags and pins and so many rainbows. He spotted a girl with a flag like his printed on her shirt. When she passed the coffee shop, he tried to smile at her, but she didn’t notice.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Courf essentially bounced up to him, grinning and covered in glitter. Enjolras turned to him, noted the rainbow flag tied around his neck like a cape. Courf slowed down as Enjolras looked up at him.

“Oh,” Courf said, a look of surprise crossing his face.

Enjolras braced himself.

Courf took the spot next to him on the bench.

“Enj-”

“No, it’s just-” Enjolras didn’t know what he was planning on saying, searching frantically for an excuse. His brain wouldn’t work fast enough, and he sort of felt like he was going to be sick.

“Enj, I love it. Those colors really suit you, you know,” Courf’s grin returned to his face.

“I- uh, yeah?” He asked, his brain trying to catch up with the conversation.

“Yeah, it’s great,” his smile softened. “Breathe, Enj. You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

Enjolras did as he was told. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been holding his breath. Years, maybe.

“Better?”

“A little,” he heard himself saying.

“Hi,” Combeferre said from behind them. Enjolras turned to look up at him.

“Hey,” Courf said, and Enjolras could hear the smile return to his voice.

Combeferre looked studiously at Enjolras for a moment.

“I like your flag,” he said simply, sitting next to him.

“Thanks,” Enjolras said weakly.

“Where’s everyone else?” Ferre asked Courf, already moving onto the next subject.

“Jehan just texted me that they’re headed over. Should be here any minute.”

“Good, I want to make sure we get a spot on Main Street.” Ferre plucked Enjolras’s forgotten coffee from his hand and took a sip.

“I want some,” Courf whined, reaching across Enjolras to grab the cup. He took a sip and pulled a face. “Ew. Black coffee. Shoulda known,” he handed it back to Ferre.

“That’s mine, you know,” Enjolras protested.

“Mhm. You want some?” Ferre asked.

“Not really.”

“That’s what I thought,” he took another smug sip.

“Hey guys!” Jehan called, waving at them as they crossed the street. Courfeyrac returned it enthusiastically.

Enjolras took another breath. It was fine. He had his two best friends next to him. It was going to be fine.

And then Jehan squealed.

“Oh my god, Enj! I love it! I didn’t know,” they were absolutely beaming.

“Nice, welcome to the club,” Cosette offered him a high five, which he tentatively returned. She had the bi flag on her shirt. He hadn’t known that, either.

He offered a small smile to them all.

“Come on, we should get going. Ferre is very concerned about getting a good spot,” Courf teased, standing. He offered Enjolras a hand, and he took it.

Enjolras let his friends chatter wash over him as they made their way towards Main Street. He slowly came back to himself as they walked, his head clearing. It was okay. It was all... okay.

“It looks good on you,” he heard from behind him. He turned to find Grantaire, wearing an understated shirt (by the standards of those around them), just a graphic of three pantone paint chip cards in the colors of the bi flag.

“Thanks,” Enjolras answered.

“Sorta looks like you did it with your eyes closed, though.” He laughed. “I can redo it if you want? I did Jehan’s before we got here, and I told Cosette I would do hers, too.”

“Oh. Uh, sure?” Enjolras was surprised by the offer.

Grantaire pulled a small set of face paint out of his backpack before dropping it at his feet.

“I don’t, uh- I don’t have anything to take it off with,” Enjolras stated eloquently.

“I’ll just paint over it, straighten out the edges. No pun intended,” he half-smiled before stepping into Enjolras’s personal space. Enjolras reflexively closed his eyes. He felt Grantaire steady his hand against his cheek, then the paintbrush.

“It’s the ace flag, right?” Grantaire asked.

“Yeah.”

“Very cool,” Grantaire said. The paintbrush disappeared for a second, and then was back again. Enjolras tried to stay still.

“Done,” Grantaire announced a few moments later, stepping back. Enjolras opened his eyes.

“Thanks,” Enjolras smiled, still bewildered by him. By the entire last hour, really.

“My pleasure,” Grantaire said, packing his bag back up.

“Parade’s starting!” Cosette called back to them.

Enjolras joined the others by the side of the road. As he caught sight of two rainbow-clad baton twirlers at the head of the parade, he smiled to himself.

He knew he was going to sleep well tonight.

#the miserables month #day 4 #pride #les mis #high school au #they're all gay!! #I never headcanon this but it just needed to be written and gives me joy #surprised myself with this one haha #writing//mine

[spinningelectro]

Jean Prouvaire is the sweetest, whose dreams are blessed in all pleasantry of florals and poetry, yet not even him is a stranger to bad dreams.

(Or Jehan had a nightmare about their ends in 1832 and his friends soothe him)

He wakes in a frantic jolt, eyes snapped opened with tears welling in them. Enjolras comes to notice immediately as his friend has been reclining on his side to read, before falling to a horizontal position with his head situated on his laps as he drifted off half an hour ago; it jolts him as much as it did Jehan, and it only takes Enjolras a second to look at the state of him to instinctively wind his arms around the little poet.

It seems like a good choice, because Jehan breaks down in tears in his embrace.

The air in the room is closing in as all their friends stand from their place to rush over.

Jean Prouvaire is crying. Jean Prouvaire – who cries for the littlest of things, like the end of a soap commercial or an episode of Downton Abbey – is crying, wetting the front of Enjolras’ hoodie with his tears and wrinkling the folds of his sleeves with too tight grasps. Grasps that seem almost desperate. Enjolras likes his hoodie. He couldn’t care less about it.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

Enjolras’ arms around Jehan close in tighter. There is also a hand on his shoulder, and another on his hair, smoothing in soft gestures. Then another weight adds in on the sofa somewhere near his feet, and there are hands cradling his legs up to rest on their laps as well, soothing up and down. If Jehan opens his eyes, he would reckon that the hand on the shoulder is Courfeyrac’s, the hand on his hair is Grantaire’s, and his legs are on Bossuet’s laps; with Joly and Feuilly kneeling tentatively at the foot of the sofa, Combeferre and Bahorel hovering over them.

Combeferre furrows his eyebrows as Jehan’s crying becomes sobs, but less erratic and panicking. He hates it when Combeferre furrows his eyebrows, it will crease his forehead. He hates it even more now that he is the reason. Combeferre speaks from somewhere above Enjolras’ head. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, he was just sleeping, so I thought a nightmare,” Enjolras says, a hand moves up to rub small circles to Jehan’s back. He likes it when Enjolras is gentle to him. Enjolras is always gentle to him, lets him braid his hair, reads to him with that magnificent voice, and doesn’t move an inch when Jehan sleeps on him. Then the image choses that moment to slip into his mind, one from his dream, one with Enjolras’ beautiful marble face, icy blue eyes rigid, standing so alone in a posture stricter than stone, gun in hand and a bloody corpse at his feet. He feels himself claw at Enjolras’ sleeve harder, vaguely recalling the warmth in Combeferre’s palm fleeting where he clasped his finger with in the dream, and whimpers.

“I’ve never seen nightmares this bad,” Courfeyrac speaks and Jehan think he can literally hear the sound of his heart clenched. The hand on his shoulder now has smoothed down to catch his white-knuckled fist, and coaxed his hand to open. Jehan opens his eyes vaguely, sniffs once, allowing Courfeyrac to slip his fingers into his palm and circles it. He holds onto Courfeyrac, because Courfeyrac has the capacity to hold the entire world.

Bahorel seems to agree with him, Joly as well as the questions start shooting. Jehan’s cries have slowed and eventually stopped completely, only shaking here and there and hick-ups. And hearing Joly being his doctor-self is actually something both amusing and obnoxious, and for the time being Jehan is not sure which to feel, but he is more comfortable to loosen his cling to their leader and his poor, poor hoodie.

By the time Feuilly becomes too much of a worrywart for his own good and Bossuet starts to stumble around to get the tea and calming medicines to Joly’s order, it’s Grantaire who shushes them to stop freaking out and clearing up a bit for Jehan to have room to breathe.

“Shh, whatever it is, you’re okay now.” Grantaire speaks, rubbing gently through his loose braided curls with a rough hand. Jehan never needs reminded that he loves those hands, the hands that carry magic with them. When Jehan detaches himself from Enjolras now with a sniffle, he sees Grantaire sprawling over the top of the sofa, one hand on him and the other arm flung atop Enjolras’ side. He looks transparently concerned, always too much for his friends rather than his own good; what Jehan always tells him. The last time he saw him – in his dream – Grantaire was sleeping dead, drifted off in a drunken mania, resting at their barricade, resting anywhere with Enjolras in sight, refusing to leave with stubborn annoyance. He seemed too broken, giving up as they charged forward, because in Grantaire’s eyes tomorrow was dark when his sun should perish.

Jehan looks at them all, his friends around him, trying not to think back. Of that dream, of what seems too truthful to be a fantasy, of the smoke and fire, of shouts and screams. The red burned bright blood on an old tattered coat, and that was their flag, and it was too far, too far from Prouvaire, too high up the barricade with him standing on the wrong side, held at gunpoint and head holding high. Jean Prouvaire could hardly hear what the uniformed men were saying, he could not care less. He drank in the sight of a sleeping Paris and gazed at the stars, and he drew in a breath, filling his lungs with air smoked by fire, a fire that was raised from the oppressed, by the oppressed, for the oppressed.

“Viva la France! Long live the future!”

He shouted, and the musket shot him awake.

Bundled in his friends, Jehan felt calmer. They are here, they are real, they are alive and well and all too riled up for their own good. The year is 2013, it is Friday, and Courfeyrac decides they need a boardgame fun night, a break from weeks and weeks of too many petitions and NGO projects. And he is here too.

He hugs his friends, one by one. Starting from Enjolras, where he cups his pretty face in his hands and kisses him thrice. He squeezes Combeferre and lets Courfeyrac squeeze him. Feuilly presses a few dotting kisses atop his head when Jehan nudges him, and he decides to go straight into kissing Bahorel instead of letting that man crush him. Grantaire still smells vaguely like Courfeyrac’s wine and Joly is still very much concerned when Jehan nudges into him, but Bossuet bats him down and pulls them all into a group hug, where he is snugged between too many chests and smooched by too many lips.

He is here, and he is loved, embraced in such loving fire bubbling in their linked arms and joined hands, and no longer alone.

And whatever it is, bad dream or not, it has already passed.

“I love you. All of you. A love too deep for words.”

Jean Prouvaire breathes out a laugh, and his laugh is joyous, regardless of his puffed red-rimmed eyes, or his slightly stuffed nose from all that sniffles and cries. His friends blink at him in a ridiculous harmony, more surprised at the sudden exclaim rather than the claim itself, which feels like a call for more explanation, which Jehan doesn’t provide any rather than more and more love confessions.

And for the rest of that evening, no more explanation is needed. Courfeyrac’s boardgame night becomes watching-Jehan’s-favorite-movies night, where Jehan gets to snuggle between Combeferre and Feuilly (aka just the best seat anyone can find), weaves Enjolras’ hair into an old French braid, and enjoys his old period dramas while his friends drop in tentative mocking, raise arguments here and there, and then slowly fall into alcohol-induced coma.

And when Jehan’s eyes feel heavy again, not even the darkest nightmare could threaten to scare him awake.

___visit me sometimes on AO3___

#les mis #les miserables #fanfic #les mis fanfic #short fic #light angst #memories of 1832 #soft #a lot of fluff #a lot of friendship #soothe jehan because he's a smol baby #jehan #jean prouvaire #enjolras #grantaire #combeferre #courfeyrac #bahorel #feuilly #joly #bossuet

[fremedon]

Brickclub 3.4.1, Almost Historic, 4/?

Okay, I am accepting that I am just not going to find anything new to say about Prouvaire (who has never done anything wrong in his life) or Bahorel (who is the one person we know for a fact has tried peaceful protest, and. Welp.) And I’m not going to come up with anything better to say about Courfeyrac than @everyonewasabird did here. So I’m just going to dump some thoughts about Feuilly and move on.

Bird also summed up Feuilly really well in his post here:

There’s a gaping wound at the center of Feuilly’s psyche, and he’s intuited that it’s the same wound that all abandoned and displaced people have. He’s willing to spend his life fighting for a world where nobody grows up like he did and educating himself and everyone else in order to do it.

In 1832, the progressive defense against communities being abandoned and displaced en masse is nationalism--Feuilly is explicitly the voice of the world outside France, and the way he champions the rest of the world is by promoting the cause of national identity and of the nation-state. Which, 200 years later, is almost incomprehensible as a leftist cause.

But in a time when the Great Powers basically traded parts of Europe like baseball cards, power was almost everywhere experienced on the local level as something foreign, imposed from outside. Supporting nationalism seemed like a necessary correlate of opposing monarchy.

And not only out of mystical ideas about where sovereignty lies. The most arbitrary exercise of imperial power was redrawing boundaries and reassigning that sovereignty. So not only did you have to worry about your present king being succeeded by a worse one, you had to worry about your home being traded or ceded to a worse one as part of a treaty or a marriage settlement and being made part of a polity that didn't speak your language, or allow the practice of your religion and customs. This is what nationalism was meant as the antidote to--it was meant as the most grassroots possible level of self-determination: the ability to decide what political entity you are even going to be part of, based on existing community ties.

Obviously this worked out differently in practice.

But also--Hugo's presenting the progressive version of this, but he has some giant blind spots. I am pretty sure that the  line about the Partition of Poland being the kill and the Congress of Vienna being the division of the spoils is talking about the reassignment of the lands added to France by the conquests of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic armies, as part of an attempt to expand France to its "natural borders”--i.e., everywhere French or something like it was spoken. (And all these places would naturally greet the invading French as liberators and embrace Revolutionary values.)

So. Even Hugo's attempt to paint the most utopian vision of nationalism possible still ends up lumping together "local self-determination" with "the acquisition of neighboring lands by conquest, because they should totally have been ours in the first place,” as well as lumping together the post-revolutionary formation of French national identity, largely by Napoleon, with nationalist movements elsewhere which started out in resistance to Napoleon.

#brickclub #lm 3.4.1 #feuilly

[pumpkinspice-prouvaire]

3 for the touch meme, dealer's choice on who!

3. hiding face in neck

this is your daily reminder that the courfius ship is ✨top tier✨

(tw for some mild horror imagery, I guess?)

Marius supposes that knocking on your date's door for your first real, official date feels a lot more significant...when said door isn't right next to your own bedroom.

Courfeyrac opens it quickly, with a smile so wide his deep brown eyes are crinkling at the corners. They'd agreed to take it slowly, casually, so he's not dressed up, just wearing the pair of soft grey sweats he wears round the house, and a hoodie. Marius is dressed similarly- They're staying in tonight, just ordering pizza and watching a movie on the sofa.

Slow. Casual.

Dinner goes well, although the look Courfeyrac gives him for asking for pineapple on his pizza is far too judgemental for Marius' liking.

"Shut up," he mutters, when Courfeyrac stares at him, "I like it."

"Of course you do," Courfeyrac replies, and the fondness in his voice and the kiss he presses to Marius' cheek heats him from the inside out.

Things go downhill after dinner.

"Want to watch a movie?" Courfeyrac asks. "I bought popcorn."

Marius knows it's stupid to not want the night to end when he's sitting in his own living room, but that's how he feels, so he tells Courfeyrac he can pick a film and goes to the kitchen to make the popcorn (Courfeyrac always burns it).

When he comes back with the popcorn, Courfeyrac has a Netflix title card loaded and paused onscreen.

"You're okay with horror movies, right?" he asks, "I've wanted to watch this one for ages."

Hm.

Marius isn’t sure what the movie is about- It’s something to do with ghosts, or maybe demons, and a big family home where the children start acting weird and doors keep slamming at random moments. There might be a haunted doll, he’s not sure. He’s trying very hard to watch the movie without actually watching it, focusing on the top right corner on the screen and the feeling of Courfeyrac’s arm around the back of the sofa. He always slings it there casually when they’re watching TV together, but the knowledge that they’re technically on a date right now, and the way it’s slightly closer to the back of his neck than normal, gives a weight to the action that wasn’t there before, and Marius wants to lean into his touch. 

Before long, he ends up doing more than that. Marius chances a glance at the screen at the completely wrong moment- A demon or monster or something leaps out of no where and drags one of the characters into the darkness- and he gives a strangled half-scream and turns away, ending up with his face buried in the smooth skin of Courfeyrac’s neck.

The sounds of the movie pause, and then Marius feels gentle fingers under his chin, pushing it up until his eyes meet Courfeyrac’s. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “Is the movie too much for you? We can turn it off and watch something else if you want? Sorry, I didn’t mean to force you into it if it’s not your thing.” 

Marius swallows. It’s nice of Courfeyrac to offer, but if he can’t be brave when it comes to horror movies, he can be brave for this. 

“You didn’t force me into anything. It’s okay, you can finish it,” he says, and leans across and presses a kiss, quick and chaste, to Courfeyrac’s lips, before settling down against his side and pressing his face into his neck again. He smells of cologne, and a little bit like popcorn. “As long as you don’t mind me staying here.”

Courfeyrac laughs and tightens his arm around Marius’ shoulder, and Marius hides his face in Courfeyrac’s neck again, and holds him a little tighter during the jumpscares

#my writing #modern au #courfeyrac #marius pontmercy #courfius #fluff #answered

[eight-bullets-for-you]

Grantaire was having a bad day. He had just barely passed his college chem test, Courfeyrac had been bugging him all morning about finally going grocery shopping, and he had run out of colored pencils last night. At this moment he was walking down the sidewalk to the grocery store, hoping to grab things from the list Corfeyrac had given him. He was so busy examining the list, and trying to figure out exactly why Courf wanted sesame seeds and lavender essential oils that he didn't see the man walking towards him.

"Oh, sorry, watch where you're going." The man laughed.

"Yeah, sorry!" Grantaire muttered, looking up.

The man in front of him wasn't so much a man, as an actual angel. Within seconds Grantaire had memorized his face, he knew that face would stick in his head for days, even weeks to come. The man, however, obviously didn't feel the same connection and he nodded at Grantaire and kept walking. Grantaire sighed and kept walking, he pocketed the list and shook his head. Why would this man, who was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on, think twice about Grantaire. Grantaire stopped at a craft supply store, where his friend, Jehan worked.

"Ah, my dear R, and what can I get you today?" They asked.

"Hey Jehan, I just need colored pencils. Like, a whole bunch of colored pencils, because I have worn them all down." Grantaire explained.

"All of it? You burned through your supply of colored pencils in a span of two weeks?" Jehan questioned.

Grantaire nodded and went to walk around looking for the pencils. He kept thinking about the god he had seen on the sidewalk and found himself picking out colors that matched what the man was wearing. He paid, said goodbye to Jehan, and decided to stop for a coffee. The grocery list was now completely forgotten. Grantaire walked into his favorite spot, the Cafe Musain. He got his usual order and sat at a table in the corner, watching all the people. The bell on the door jingled and Grantaire looked up. His jaw dropped when he saw who walked through the door.

"Hey, 'Ferre!" The man said to the barista.

His voice sounded like music to Grantaire's ears, it was beautiful. The voice fit the man's appearance perfectly. As he stood at the counter ordering, Grantaire began to sketch the man on a napkin. He tried his best with the delicate napkin and his dull #2 pencil. Grantaire wasn't satisfied with how the drawing looked as he finished his coffee, so he left it on the table. Grantaire threw his cup in the trash and walked out of the cafe.

Enjolras thanked his friend Combeferre for his coffee and walked towards the door. Something on a table caught his eye. Enjolras walked over and picked up the napkin. Sketched onto the piece of paper was a wonderful drawing that looked familiar.

"Ooh, that's you!" Combeferre said, peeking at the napkin.

"What? No, it's not. Why would it be me?" Enjolras asked.

"I don't know, Enj. I think I know who drew it. He always sits at that table and he just left." Combeferre muttered.

"Who?" Enjolras questioned.

"I think his name is R, he's in here a lot." 'Ferre replied.

"That's literally no help. Okay, I should head out." Enjolras told Combeferre, pocketing the napkin.

Combeferre smirked as Enj left the cafe.

When Grantaire got home he flopped on the couch, groaning. Courfeyrac walked out of his bedroom.

"You are lying on the couch, there's a bag of art supplies, but no bag of groceries. What happened, R?" Courf asked.

"Ah, shit. Sorry, Courf but I saw the most beautiful angel on the sidewalk!" Grantaire exclaimed.

"And how did that stop you from getting a list of seven things from the store?" Courfeyrac asked.

"I don't think you understand! He looked like...Apollo! He was glowing Courf! He was beautiful." Grantaire replied, a bit of sass.

Grantaire was afraid that Courfeyrac was not grasping the attractiveness of the man on the sidewalk.

"Okay, I'm going to the store, since you did not. Try not to fling yourself of the balcony while you lust over this mystery man." Courfeyrac said, grinning.

"I'm not that dramatic!" Grantaire defended.

Courfeyrac shook his head as he walked out the door. As soon as the door shut Grantaire leaped off the couch and grabbed his sketchbook from his room. By the time Courf had gotten home, Grantaire had almost filled up the rest of his sketchbook with drawings of 'his Apollo'. Each was drawn in detail and showed the man perfectly. His golden hair, his deep blue eyes, cerulean, Grantaire corrected himself. He perfectly resembled the god, his lips, his nose, the light freckles that peppered his face, all of it was perfect. He was so entranced in what he was drawing he didn't notice Courf peeking over his shoulder.

"You weren't wrong, he's very good-looking." Courfeyrac stated, startling Grantaire.

"Yes, he is, but you shouldn't scare me like that, I thought you were a murderer." Grantaire scolded.

"If I was a murderer you'd be so dead by now."

"Ever the realist, aren't you, my dear friend."

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and went to prepare a meal. Grantaire continued filling up his sketchbook. The book was full before long with pictures of the sidewalk angel. Courfeyrac called Grantaire to the table and made sure he ate. To say Grantaire was distracted was an understatement. After Courfeyrac made him do the dishes Grantaire confined himself to his room. He was tormenting himself about the beautiful god, but a god would never look twice at someone like Grantaire. He fell asleep after spending a long time looking out the window.

The next morning Grantaire woke up and had to get out of the house. He packed his spray cans into his backpack and took off out the door. Grantaire wasn't sure if he even wanted to paint something, maybe the inspiration was just for last night, it might not have carried over. He walked past an alleyway and turned around. Grantaire went into the alley and set up his stuff, looking at the wall, his blank canvas. The entire idea seemed to appear on the wall, ready for Grantaire to bring it to life. That's exactly what he did, he took out his cans and began to create.

Enjolras had been on his way to the Cafe Musain as he walked past an alleyway. Something bright and colorful in the otherwise plain alley caught his eye. He took a few steps backwards and saw a beautiful painting that looked quite familiar. Enjolras then spotted the man hunched over his backpack under the drawing. There were words on the picture too, 'Apollo'.

Grantaire put all his cans back in his backpack, zipped it up, and turned to walk away. He stopped cold in his tracks when he saw the same beautiful man from yesterday. His beautiful cerulean eyes scanned the picture and Grantaire felt nervous. He was prepared for the man to yell at him, or call him a creep. Grantaire had, after all, painted this random man in a very public place. The golden-haired angel pointed at the painting, trying to speak.

Oh god, he's so mad he can't even speak, Grantaire thought.

"Is...is that me?" He finally managed.

Grantaire looked where Enjolras was pointing and looked back at him, then Grantaire nodded.

"You painted...me?" Enjolras asked.

Grantaire nodded again.

"Apollo?" Enjolras questioned, pointing at the name.

"The Greek god, god of music, dance, truth, the Sun..." Grantaire started.

Enjolras cut him off.

"I know- I know who he is, is that...why did you...um...sorry, just- it's really good. You're a really good artist!" Enjolras stuttered.

"Thank you! It's easy when your subject is a living work of art. I'm Grantaire." Grantaire said, he was thrilled the god wasn't mad.

Enjolras blushed.

"Oh- I don't...no, that's not-" Enjolras stuttered.

Enjolras suddenly remembered the napkin and pulled it out of his pocket.

"Did you draw this too? I found it at the Musain. If you didn't that's fine, it's just that the styles look similar..." Enjolras quietly questioned.

Grantaire looked at the napkin and then at his feet, he nodded. Enjolras smiled. Grantaire was in awe, he didn't think Enjolras could become anymore beautiful, but his eyes were actually twinkling.

"I was going to the Musain for a coffee...would you...um, would you want to come with me?" Enjolras asked.

Grantaire nodded.

"I'd like that."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

jesus this is complete shit because i wrote it two years ago but i needed to post something right? do people still ship enjoltaire?

#enjoltaire #is this still a thing? #les miz #les mis #les miserables #jehan prouvaire #grantaire #enjolras #barricade boys #have you seen hawkeye #because i have #and it’s great and i have theories #so please talk to me #also i wrote this on wattpad two years ago so you already know it’s shitty

[barricadebops]

As I'm about 99.9% positive you would agree, I will never understand why people say that Enjolras isn't a good friend or wouldn't be a good boyfriend. Like I get that the revolution and his work was important to him (I personally believe that he would balance his friends and work to the best of his ability), but you cannot tell me that he wouldn't drop everything, including his work, at a moment's notice if a friend needed him. This is something that I believe wholeheartedly, and someone would have to pry this head canon/belief/whatever you want to call it out of my cold dead fingers.

Yes, I of course agree with this 100%. I really don't understand why people would say that either, it is just not him! The thing about Enjolras is that he cares so much, enough to the point where it was what got him killed. Some may argue that he cares more for his cause than for people, and I would say that is because they are viewing the cause and people as two different concepts, when, in reality, they are actually one and the same! Because Enjolras' cause is the people and that includes all people—the common man Feuilly, his (probably previously) wealthy friend Combeferre, and even the man who on several occasions has let him down, disappointed him, and given him all the reason not to trust him, Grantaire. If his cause is the people, how could he ever feel cold towards the people who matter most to him?

I think the idea a vast amount of people have that Enjolras doesn't love comes from the fact that canonically Enjolras does not experience romantic love, and frankly, this sort of thinking is rather dangerous, because it erases the fact that love comes in so many more forms than just romance. Enjolras is filled with an incredible amount of love—love for his friends, love for the people around him, and love for the future, and every one of those aspects links back to the love he feels for those who surround him. It is the love for the people he would encounter everyday while walking on the streets, it is the love for the people he would meet when he would go to buy his bread, it is the love for the friends who would look to him as their beloved friend and leader—it is his love for these people that he launches an entire rebellion— and subsequently dies for it, too. His ideals are defined by the motto of France—liberty, equality, and fraternity—but these ideals are driven by his greatest ideal of all, the one he hold key above others: love, and he makes his value of the ideal abundantly evident in his speech following the execution of Le Cabuc when he says:

"This is a bad moment to mention the word 'love.' I mention it anyway, and I glorify it. Love, the future belongs to you... In the future there will be no killing, the earth will be radiant, the human race will love." (5.12.8.)

From this, it is quite clear that Enjolras does not just experience love, but feels one of the highest and most greatest forms of it, so the characterization that he knows not of the feeling of love is quite unfounded.

He absolutely does love his friends to death. The one time we see him ready to forsake his ideals is when rather than keep the valuable spy Javert, who holds information about the rebels at the barricades, he is willing to hold an exchange so that they may bring back Jehan Prouvaire.

"'Yes,' replied Enjolras. 'But not as much as by Jean Prouvaire's life.'" (5.14.5)

He also sees so much good in his friends, he believes in them wholeheartedly, and for Enjolras, his belief is his expression of love.

"He composed, in his own mind, with Combeferre’s philosophical and penetrating eloquence, Feuilly’s cosmopolitan enthusiasm, Courfeyrac’s dash, Bahorel’s smile, Jean Prouvaire’s melancholy, Joly’s science, Bossuet’s sarcasms, a sort of electric spark which took fire nearly everywhere at once." (5.1.6.)

I've always loved this passage because it allows us to glimpse into Enjolras' mind and see how he truly thinks of his friends, and the way he sees them is incredibly sweet. He sees these people as his brothers who are capable of amazing feats, who are just as passionate as he is, and will be the ones to help him fight for the future. The love he holds for them is incredible, and though we get to see inside of Enjolras' head so little, this passage here is quite enough to inform the reader of just how much Enjolras draws joy from his friends.

In terms of the canonicity of the brick, I have always seen Enjolras' final moment as him realizing and accepting Grantaire's love for him (I would also argue that this moment is also when Grantaire himself, having not known exactly what it was he felt for Enjolras, also realized what exactly he felt for him), but dying with him only as a friend, but the fact that he smiles, and that it is him who extends his hand towards Grantaire says a lot about how strong his platonic love for his friends is. And of course, once again it is not just for his friends; far too many people see Enjolras as a man willing to sacrifice whoever and whatever in order to accomplish his goals, but his words once he discovers that Paris has abandoned their barricade say otherwise. When the rebels stubbornly insist that they all remain, no doubt fantasizing of dying "heroic martyr deaths," rather than encourage them, he instead essentially chides them by reminding them that:

"Vain-glory is wasteful[,]" (5.1.14)

so to paint him as merciless holds no merit. I feel as if this image comes from the quote:

"Enjolras was a charming young man capable of being terrible." (4.4.1.)

While yes, it is very capable for Enjolras to turn ruthless, the key word in that sentence is capable. The word that preceeds it, the one that follows after the definite word was, is the word charming, and the fact that charming is put before terrible holds great significance. Enjolras' first instinct, what comes to him naturally, is to do good, to be good, to be charming. He can be terrible, yes, but he must put his mind into doing so, whereas being a good person comes to him without thinking. Many tend to ignore the first part of the sentence in favour of the second, and they twist it to mean that his first instinct is to do bad instead of good, which really does not define his character at all.

Perhaps the biggest contributor to the misinterpretation of Enjolras' character is the way people have read his dynamic with Grantaire, and the way the lines between canon and fanon Grantaire have been so thoroughly blurred that it has ended up distorting Enjolras' image while erasing major parts of Grantaire's character that makes him the character and to a greater extent, metaphorical representation he is. I will not lie; I write fanfiction, and the version of Grantaire that I write into my stories is most definitely his fanon image; in other words, he is a vastly improved version. But it is incredibly important to acknowledge the way the two concepts deviate from each other, or you'll end up with a situation in which the character you have in mind isn't really the original character itself. It's okay for people to have different perceptions! Everyone understand literature differently, and that's the beauty of the arts! I think it's totally cool that everyone believes in characters in different ways! But for me, it really bothers me the way the fandom tends to paint Grantaire as a saint while portraying Enjolras as a character who always seems to know less than Grantaire, always is on a lower platform than Grantaire, and is always harsh and unjust towards Grantaire, because it simply is not true. A lot about Grantaire is ignored in terms of the canonicity of the brick. For example, it is true that Grantaire is, in fact, ugly, and he's described that way for a specific element of the narrative that Victor Hugo is writing in (@lilys-hazel-eyes is writing a great analysis on morality represented by beauty, which is exactly the point here—you should definitely go check it out!) In the brick, Victor Hugo describes Grantaire's cynicsm to be the "dry-rot of intellect" (4.4.1.) Hugo's stance on nihilism and cynicism is made quite evident in the way he portrays Grantaire, a character meant to represent the physical manifestation of cynicism (some say that he's the physical embodiment of Paris itself and I think that's a really neat reading on that!)

"A rover, a gambler, a libertine, often drunk... Grantaire, with insidious doubt creeping through him, loved to watch faith soar in Enjolras... his soft, yielding, disclocated, sickly, shapeless ideas..." (4.4.1.)

From these descriptions, it is quite clear what sort of opinion Victor Hugo holds of cynics, which is why Grantaire's characterization is so deliberate. He is trying to make a commentary here about the harm those who do not hold passion or belief can do, to both themselves and society. It is why Grantaire's redeeming moment is the one in which he finally comes to accept the hope of the revolution and proves through action his belief in Enjolras.

In terms of what is presented in the brick, Grantaire does not exactly have much to really defend him. Often drunk, he expends his energy into drunk rambles rather than meaningful meeting contributions, (though admittedly, he does say some rather valid and eloquent things within his rambles—the quote "Take away 'Cotton is King,' what remains of America?" [4.4.4] comes to mind) he deliberately pokes and bothers people as seen when he calls Enjolras "heartless," (5.1.6) and when given a task, does not hold up his end of the deal and ger it done despite having asked for it in the first place. Enjolras' doubt in him is actually entirely understandable; after all, what has Grantaire really done to prove himself trustworthy and reliable? When Enjolras asks if "[he is] good for anything" (5.1.6) the question is, likely in his eyes, genuine rather than insulting. And even when he has every reason not to, Enjolras still puts his faith into Grantaire to get something of extreme importance done for him, which I do think says a lot about Enjolras' willingness to believe in the best in people.

Victor Hugo ends the chapter right before we can see Enjolras' reaction to Grantaire's failure, and while this part, I will say, is up for interpretation, personally I have always extrapolated that the most emotion this would draw from him is disappointment—though it is disappointment that he definitely thinks he should have seen coming, rather than imagining him as getting insanely mad at Grantaire.

Their next interaction is during the rebellion itself, during which Enjolras is put under quite a bit of stress and Grantaire's behaviour really is not helping matters, so him snapping is actually very believable, if a little harsh.

The Enjolras seen in fanon, derived from these interactions, always seems so harsh, so rash when he speaks to Grantaire and therefore is characterized as rash and reckless in general, and generally seems to not understand emotion very well, which is very unlike him. Rather than harsh, I would say that with the exception of course of the rebellion at the barricade and the lead up to that time, Enjolras actually seems to be quite calm.

"All held their peace, and Enjolras bowed his head." (4.4.5.)

Rather than instantly explode at Marius for his rather awful beliefs of Napoleon, instead, Enjolras keeps calm and silent, which demonstrates what an incredible depth of patience he has. And as for Enjolras not understanding emotion, when it comes to fanworks, I'm generally tolerant of people holding different perceptions for different characters, but of all perceptions, this one is one I cannot begin to comprehend, and this is one that I will say that to say he knows not of emotion is to have wrongly read his character.

"And a tear trickled slowly down Enjolras' marble cheek." (5.1.8.)

I simply cannot allow myself to believe that the man who cried at the prospect of having to shoot the artillerman, who calls him his "brother," who is no doubt thinking that had circumstances been different, the action he would be taking would not be necessary—I do not believe this is a man who would not understand feelings and emotions.

The Grantaire in the book who has "the dry rot of intellect," (4.4.1) only ever makes unnecessary rants during meetings, and is very much untrustworthy, is a far outcry from the Grantaire who bases his cyncism on being what he would say is being "well informed," often makes valid points in meetings, and proves himself reliable. Similarly, the Enjolras that is thoughful, as he proves himself to be in his "Outlook from the Top of the Barricade" speech, still chooses to believe in the best in others despite being given every reason not to, and is actually quite patient, is very different from his rash and reckless, short tempered, seems-to-hate-Grantaire, fanon counterpart.

Of course, if you take characters who are shaped by their surroundings and circumstances in the nineteenth century and adapt them to fit the scene of the twenty-first century, it's obvious things are going to change! However, I think it's important to keep these key traits in mind when doing so, and more often than not, it is these key traits that end up getting mangled. When one sticks to these traits, it's easy to say Enjolras would be a wondeful friend/boyfriend (if you see him as having one.) Enjolras' whole deal is loving and caring immensely, and to put his absolute one hundred percent effort into everything he does, and that includes into his friendships and relationships.

Once again, I'm not bashing on the fandom here, I'm part of it. I'll repeat again, I too write with the fanon image of Grantaire in my head. Everyone takes away different things from literature, and that's fine! This is simply how I have interpreted it.

One more note on Enjolras.

Les Amis de l'ABC absolutely love Enjolras. The way Enjolras' character has been misinterpreted has ended up having an effect on the way the Amis are looked at as well. The Amis are all so passionate about the revolution, they attend meetings because they truly do believe in the change they can create in their world, so I'll never truly understand the characterization of the Amis as laughing at Enjolras' devotion to the cause, or finding his passion for it stupid or bothersome. Victor Hugo himself describes just how passionate of a group they are:

"All these young men who differed so greatly, and who, on the whole can only be discussed seriously, held the same religion: Progress... The most giddy of them became solemn when they pronounced that date: '89... the pure blood of principle ran in their veins. They attached themselves, without immediate shades, to incorruptible right and absolute duty." (4.4.1.)

Everyone here, with the exception of Grantaire, is here because they believe wholeheartedly in the revolution. This is not something Enjolras forced upon them, this is not something they groan when thinking about, it is something they all believe in so passionately. It is not something they make fun of him for.

"Affiliated and initiated, they sketched out the ideal underground." (4.4.1.)

They are all here by choice, by will, and by the values they hold close to their heart, and so to say Enjolras is someone who constantly whines about his cause and the others think he needs to lighten up is both an insult to him and the rest. Furthermore, the Amis really love Enjolras, and not just as their leader, but as a beloved friend, and as strongly as I believe Enjolras would drop all of his work to help any of the Amis when they are in need, I believe the Amis would do the same for him. The unity of Les Amis de l'ABC says a lot about the kind of charismatic leader Enjolras is, and his friends most definitely adore him.

So yeah, anon, I 100% agree, and rest assured, if they try and take this canon fact away, they'll have to pry it from both our sets of our cold dead fingers.

#les miserables #enjolras #les amis de l'abc #enjolras talk #character analysis #les miserables meta #woah this turned out to be long #I'm so sorry anon you just wanted to express your feelings and I just...went off #I couldn't help it I had been meaning to write up a defence on Enjolras for a while and the opportunity just presented itself #GRANTAIRE STANS BEFORE YOU COME FOR MY BLOOD PLEASE LISTEN TO ME I DON'T HATE GRANTAIRE #This is simply my interpretation of things if you don't agree feel free to ignore it #I fear the Grantaire stans #also I am by no means an expert I'm a teenager not a literature prof or anything so like this might not all be right #so like sorry if it's not completely accurate #this is my interpretation of it #please don't attack me I'm sensitive