#Grantaire may be the one who turns on my interest the most after Enjolras

[kjack89]

To Light Your Way Home

For @themiserablesmonth Day 12: Lantern.

E/R, canon divergence, light angst.

Read on AO3.

Courfeyrac raised his voice to be heard above the general noise that permeated the back room of the Musain. “General Lamarque is dead!”

At once, all noise ceased, and everyone turned to look at Enjolras, who drew himself up, his pale face set with determination. “This is the hour for which we have waited—”

But Courfeyrac interrupted. “Enjolras,” he said heavily, and all heads swiveled to stare at him.

All heads, that is, but Grantaire, who had eyes only for Enjolras.

“More news?” Combeferre asked sharply.

Courfeyrac jerked a nod. “We are discovered,” he said gravely.

If it had seemed silent before, it was nothing compared to the hush that now fell over them. “What do you mean?” Bahorel asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“The National Guard is headed here, now, to arrest us all.”

Panicked murmurs broke out, but Enjolras remained calm even as he raised his voice to tell them, “You know what we must do. We have prepared for this setback just as we have prepared for a battle that still may come. Do not tarry, do not yield. “

As one, everyone stood, most rushing to the door in anticipation of following the meticulously devised plan should their sedition ever be discovered. Grantaire, of course, lingered, hovering anxiously as Enjolras swept the remaining evidence of their meeting together.

“You should go,” Enjolras said without looking up at him, and Grantaire shook his head.

“You should let me come with you,” he countered.

Enjolras glanced at him then, his expression unreadable. “You know that I cannot,” he said, his voice low. 

“Cannot or will not?”

A brief, pained expression flitted across Enjolras’s face, so quickly that Grantaire was not certain he had not imagined it. “The Guard will not be interested in you,” he said. “You will be safer returning home. Accompanying me means risking arrest, or worse.”

Grantaire shook his head. “It is worth the risk,” he said simply.

“No,” Enjolras said, a little sharply. “It is not.”

He crossed to the still-lit fire to toss the remnants of papers into the flames before finally crossing to Grantaire, eyes searching his for a long moment before he reached out to touch Grantaire’s face. “Please,” he whispered. “For my sake. Let me know that you, at least, are safe.”

Grantaire raised his hand to rest it on top of Enjolras’s. “And what of me?” he asked. “Must I spend however long we are to be parted not knowing if you are arrested, or worse?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said simply, his hand falling to his side as he took a step backward, his expression hardening. “Accept that this is the one thing I insist that you do, for whatever Cause you find it in yourself to believe in.”

With that, he started toward the door, though he paused when Grantaire called after him, “The only Cause in which I believe remains, as ever, you.”

Enjolras half-turned, his expression unreadable. “For my sake, then,” he repeated. “Go home, Grantaire.”

Then he was gone, and Grantaire was alone.

With Enjolras gone, he had no reason to linger, so he, too, left, as soon as he had recovered the willpower to move, his legs seeming numb as he forced himself in the direction of his home, number still as they climbed the stairs to the room which he had spent many nights – though not nearly enough – with Enjolras.

He hesitated for only a moment before crossing to his window, and the lantern that stood on his windowsill. With trembling fingers, he lit the candle within.

Then he turned to fall onto his bed, and sob brokenly until sleep finally claimed him.

— — — — —

The evening following the very first night that Enjolras and Grantaire had spent together, Grantaire had lingered after the Les Amis meeting broke up, most of their compatriots dispersing to their sundry tasks, sidling closer to where Enjolras sat, seemingly absorbed in some pamphlet or another.

After a long moment, Enjolras glanced up at him, his brow knit. “May I assist you?” he asked, his tone polite, detached.

As if he were speaking to a stranger, and not—

“It is not your assistance I seek,” Grantaire said easily, refusing to play along with whatever Enjolras was attempting. “I merely wished to extend an invitation.”

Enjolras sighed, looking again at the pamphlet in front of him. “Whatever it is, it must wait. I find myself occupied this evening.”

Grantaire just arched an eyebrow, refusing to be deterred. “Surely not all evening,” he said, his voice pitched low.

The tips of Enjolras’s ears flared red, though he managed not to flush. “Long enough past the hour for whatever you plan on suggesting.”

“Will you not even look at me?” Grantaire asked quietly, and Enjolras did look up at that, his eyes meeting Grantaire’s. “I know what you will say, and what excuses you will make. I know you will insist that what occurred between us last night will not again occur, that it was at worst a mistake, at best a temporary distraction.”

“I was planning on saying no such thing,” Enjolras mumbled, and Grantaire gave him a look.

“Only because I believe you were hoping to avoid speaking to me at all.”

Enjolras made no subsequent denial, and Grantaire allowed himself a small, victorious smile, though it quickly faded. “Whatever excuses you must make to yourself to justify last night, I know differently. And all I wished to say is if you find yourself in similar need of company, tonight or any other, my bed is always open.”

Though Enjolras looked away, he also jerked a stiff nod. “I appreciate the offer,” he said, a little stiffly. “But I meant what I said about the likely hour, and I would not rouse you from your sleep.”

“You underestimate the hour I attend to my bed,” Grantaire said with a light laugh. “But if that is your sole concern, then I shall leave a lantern lit in my window until I do go to sleep. Should you happen by and see the lantern lit, you will know that I am awake still and you are welcome to come up.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Enjolras murmured, looking determinedly back at the paper in front of him.

Grantaire had let it be at that, returning home.

He had not been surprised when, later that night, he had heard a tentative knock on his door.

From then on, it became their pattern, Grantaire leaving the lantern lit on nights when he went home sooner than Enjolras (though just as often, they made their way to Grantaire’s together, in the companionable fashion of two men who knew each other quite well by that point). 

On nights when they had fought, Grantaire would pointedly refuse to light the lantern, even as he stayed up long past the time his body urged him to sleep. Still, he would always eventually relight the lantern, even if he and Enjolras would never speak of what had caused their temporary reprieve.

They had discussed it once, too, what would happen should Les Amis’ sedition be discovered. “I shall have to flee,” Enjolras murmured. “Out of the city, perhaps even the country. I am too well known a figure, and they would seek to make an example of me.”

Grantaire traced a finger down Enjolras’s side, feeling the indents between his ribs. “Then I shall go with you,” he said.

Enjolras had said nothing more, his eyes dark as he had rolled onto his side to kiss Grantaire.

Of course, what had been a hypothetical then was all too real now, and as the days stretched into weeks, Grantaire’s hope that Enjolras would return dimmed.

But still, he could not find it in himself to douse the flame of the lantern, burning like a beacon from his window.

So he left it lit, night after night.

Just in case.

— — — — —

Grantaire woke with a start, still half-drunk, and it took a long moment to place the creaking sound that had roused him as the sound of his door opening, and longer still to turn onto his side, squinting towards his door.

He could barely trust himself to hope, but seeing the familiar silhouette in his doorway, still he whispered, his heart in his throat, “Enjolras?”

Enjolras took a step forward into the lantern’s light, looking tired and drawn but otherwise healthy, and whole, and far more importantly, there. “I saw the lantern,” he said, in lieu of a greeting. “I apologize, I thought you would still be awake—”

But Grantaire was already on his feet, crossing to him in an instant and pulling him into a crushing embrace, relishing in his scent and his warmth and his beauty again returned. “You came back,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Enjolras told him, reaching out to brush a dark curl from Grantaire’s face. “The threat was deemed past, so I have returned.” He paused, searching Grantaire’s expression for a moment. “Have you kept the lantern lit every night?”

Grantaire saw little point in denying it. “Yes,” he said simply. 

Enjolras was silent for a moment. “That is a remarkable show of hope from one such as you who claims to be a cynic,” he said finally, his voice thick with unspoken emotion.

Grantaire just shook his head, pulling him close again, determined not to let him go so soon after his return. “I told you once, did I not,” he said, his voice muffled against Enjolras’s chest. “I believe in you.”

“Even now?” Enjolras asked, with just a hint of doubt, and Grantaire wondered what had befallen him during his absence, such that his confidence in Grantaire’s belief – in something that to Grantaire was as constant and predictable as the sun rising each day – seemed shaken.

“Until the end of my days,” Grantaire told him.

For just the hint of a moment, it looked as though Enjolras might argue, but instead he wrapped his arms even tighter around Grantaire. “Thank you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the top of Grantaire’s head.

Grantaire took a step back but did not let go of Enjolras, instead taking his hand firmly in his own. He led him to his bed, then hesitated before finally stepping over to his window to blow the lantern out before joining Enjolras in bed.

[arrivisting]

would it be rude to ask about "to the sound of trumpets"? like, obviously no pressure and every understanding, but i'm still interested :D thank you!

you can ask, but I'm not sure I can tell! I would if I could! that one stalled out when I started my PhD - I didn't have the brainwidth left over for finishing a long, chaptered wip - and I don't remember most of the intended plot or beats now, eight years later. Obviously Enjolras/Grantaire got back together, but...

It was a few computers and many losses ago, so I don't have much left of what I had that wasn't published. If you'll forgive my rough prose from 2013(!), here's a scrap I do have:

The oracle has dropped a word into other ears than Grantaire's, it seems. When he shows up at the offices the next day, Enjolras sends Marius back to his cubicle to deal with paperwork and the grilling starts before Grantaire's even sat down.

“Do you enjoy keeping things I should know from me? Is it pleasurable for you?”

“Pardon?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about.”

“I truly do not,” Grantaire says, sprawling in his accustomed chair and opening his eyes to impossibly innocent limits.

“Everything that happens with Patron-Minette is my business,” Enjolras grits out. “They're not supposed to have any form of contact with you, direct or indirect, except through me. When they breach that, I need to know.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says. The little present in his hotel room. “That.”

“That,” Enjolras echoes, with a sweet sarcasm almost worthy of Grantaire himself. “You didn't think that was something I should know about?”

“Frankly, Apollo,” Grantaire says, and enjoys the tiny little twitch he gets at the word frankly – the oracle has spoken, indeed – “No, I didn't. I didn't think I needed to. It's not like it was a secret. I told Combeferre straight away, and he is part of the firm, isn't he?” Probably not a good idea to mention that Combeferre had consequently told Éponine, unless he wants to reopen the whole conspiracy of silence thing that had made Enjolras so angry last time. “And he told you – admittedly, a little later than I thought he would – so I fail to see the problem.”

Enjolras looks at him. The high colour in his face is fading, but his lips are pressed together. If he's not still mad, he wants to be. “You should have come to me, not Combeferre. If you don't trust me, I shouldn't be handling your case.”

Grantaire stares back – unfair, unfair – and after a moment, Enjolras's furious blue eyes drop. “You don't trust me, is the problem. What difference would it have made, calling you over? Would it have made you believe me? I already told you I was clean.”

Enjolras's mouth compresses further, then suddenly decompresses. “You did,” he says. “I should have – I may owe you an apology.”

“You definitely owe me an apology,” Grantaire says. He could draw this out, wallow in triumph and rub Enjolras's perfectly straight nose in his un-lawyerly jumping of conclusions, his own very good reasons for returning distrust for distrust, but a sudden rush of generosity prompts him to add, “I may owe you one, too. You should have had all the facts from the beginning.”

“I definitely ought to have had all the facts,” Enjolras agrees, and the equation balances. Sort of. “That part wasn't wholly your fault. You had some help.”

Grantaire shrugs, more mocking than bitter. “What can I say? They worry.”

They stare at each other. This is another turning-point, but Grantaire's not quite sure where it could lead. After a moment, it's Enjolras who moves; he holds out his hand, like he did after that first meeting in this office.

“A new start,” he says. “A better start. I want to help you, Grantaire. I want to flay Patron-Minette to the bone and take your freedom-price out of their hide. I want to tell the DA in New York to go to hell, and to stop trying to claim jurisdiction in my city.”

“I want to be helped?” Grantaire says. “It's not much of an equal bargain. I can't really give much back – filthy lucre aside, obviously, I know you don't count that.”

“Just - trust me, next time there's something to deal with,” Enjolras says. “I promise that I won't betray it.”

That's usually my job, Grantaire thinks. He doesn't say it, but grasps Enjolras's hand. It's been waiting, offering, and if Grantaire was younger and pettier, he'd slap it down. No, that's a lie; a younger Grantaire would be on his knees already, begging to kiss that palm.

They shake. It's business-like, and then Enjolras's fingers tighten around his. “Will you stop being so muted now? It's been disturbing.”

“I thought all you wanted was for me to keep my mouth shut,” Grantaire says. “Now you're telling me you like it better when my mouth is open?”

“That's exactly the kind of thing– if you could refrain – no, restrain yourself from that kind of expression – Remember that we're in a place of work, and that we have a professional relationship. But don't shut down. It was... uncanny. And unpleasant.”

“So you want my mouth a little bit open, but a little bit closed?”

“Yes - in a professional sense.”

“Oh, and now you've gone right back to insulting me. I'm not that kind of whore.”

“You know perfectly well that that's not what I meant,” Enjolras says, sounding exasperated, but a certain relief leaks through his voice. His fingers loosen, and Grantaire's hand drops away.

He feels a certain relief, too, that the worst ice is broken, that if Enjolras isn't offering him his body – or his heart – he's at least offering him a real chance. He feels a certain dread, too. He hadn't been lying when he told Éponine that there was a comfort to hopeless pining. Back in college, he'd been okay, if not happy, in those distant days when the idea of the perfect, shining Enjolras coming to him and asking for anything ever had seemed completely impossible. Grantaire would have been the first to laugh hysterically at the idea. When you have even a little, you're not only more starkly aware of what you don't have; you have something to lose again. To get back the fraction of warmth and regard he'd pulled out of Enjolras in the first week or two of taking his case means bracing again for losing it. He'd like to trust that he won't fuck it up somehow, but he doesn't.

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, after all; singing the song without tune, and never asking for a crumb.

Grantaire's life didn't wholly suck before he walked into <i>EC&C</i>. He had a dark five years of self-destruction after college; but after that, it got better. It was empty and grey, compared with the bright warmth and light and glitter of the ABC en masse, but it was tolerable, and there had been art again. His deal with Patron-Minette hadn't chafed for years; he'd had security, financial and otherwise. A roof over his head, enough money to indulge in little charities of his own. A stability he'd never really had before – the kind of equilibrium you couldn't hold onto once you started hoping or trying for anything. He'd been stable enough to get clean, finally, and stick to it; and then foolish enough to snap at the chance of actual and measurable critical glory, held out to him in a letter from the Galeries d'Arcole, the kind of real success he'd given up on back in college. That had been the first slip on a path from fuzzy grey mediocrity to this real and sometimes happy, sometimes incredibly painful state: he'd finally been stable enough to start thinking, to do more than the frantic paddling of someone trying to keep their head above the water, and he'd finally looked around and thought, where does this stability come from? How does this work? What's going on?

Coming into <i>EC&C</i>, back into the warmth – Grantaire had never ever intended to stay. He still doesn't, exactly, but he can't imagine leaving completely again either. It terrifies him to have something to lose.

-

[sometime later] Enjolras turns Grantaire's hand in his grasp, running his thumb over the skin just inside the curl of his wrist, the inky curl of an old tattoo. “I haven't asked you about this. You didn't have that before.”

“Oh, now we're talking about before?”

“That's not fair. I wanted to talk. You're the one who wanted to–” Enjolras breaks off.

“Suck your cock,” Grantaire fills in helpfully. “But I always want to suck your cock, and you weren't exactly complaining. I never do get any complaints on that front, it's very peculiar... Anyway, that's not what I meant. You never wanted to talk about what we were doing back in college when we were doing it, let alone after. Why should I think that you had changed your stripes? If we talked, I probably would have punched you. If you shut up, you got your dick sucked. It wasn't much of a choice.”

Anyway not what I meant After - we never talked about it back in college , during or after I was angry, enjolras said simply and okay that's fair, g could take that, but then he goes on - and it had been - suggested to me that It would be better to leave you alone, if - if I didn't, if I wasn't serious about what I was doing with you. It was suggested, in fact, that I'd done enough damage G - does his usual bitter light thing -

-

Grantaire feels most comfortable in places where alcohol flows freely; places with a bit of character, with a few scrapes and the sharp edges knocked off them. Therefore, he feels desperately uncomfortable waiting for Marius's errant wife in what is possibly the most upmarket ice-cream parlour he's ever imagined; it's enough to make him break out in a nervous sweat. It's just so – fancy. The walls are a glossy oxblood, the colour pink wants to be when it grows up, the tables are spread with white linen, and one side of the restaurant – can it be called a restaurant if it only serves sweet confections? – Is nothing but elaborately carved black screens backlit with white light, sending tangled lacy shadows across the room. The effect is partly briar-rose, and partly jungle.

Grantaire likes the screens. They remind him of Islamic art, curlicues and arabesques, a thousand delicacies of patterning. They remind him of his own frantic doodling these days. He still can't bring himself to draw or paint anything without feeling violently ill, but there are only so many cigarettes he can smoke, and drawing is a compulsion; without it he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Impossible patterns and tangles are where he starts when the urge kicks in irresistibly, on any available surface, but they tend to end up obliterated by furious jagged strokes of pen.

He could live with the parlour, but the name sets his teeth on edge – Sucre – and the other patrons are watching him. He could be imagining some of it, but the guy running the place, an Abercrombie model with thirties-style short-sides, definitely is. He can't blame them: he's the unshaven guy in the corner in an old t-shirt and plaid shirt, ratty jeans and sneakers, he clearly doesn't fit in here. Maybe it's not even the outfit as much as it is the fidgeting. He can't smoke and he can't drink and he can't draw: the waiting is torture.

Grantaire

bored bored bored bored

Enjolras

This number is for emergencies.

Grantaire

thats why im using it

Enjolras

What do you expect me to do?

Grantaire

tell me im wasting yr time. tell me im a mess.

Enjolras

You want me to tell you that?

Grantaire

obviously

Enjolras

We seem to have been operating at cross-purposes if that's something you actually enjoy.

Grantaire

im revealing all my secrets and youll never scold me again?!

Enjolras

This number is for emergencies. Please stop wasting my time with personal communications inside working hours. If you want diversion, try Courfeyrac.

Grantaire

thank you <3

Enjolras

Please reread the previous message.

Cosette is nearly twenty minutes late, altogether, and by the time she arrives Grantaire's put away two teeny-tiny espresso-flavoured macarons and started on a black forest Bombe Alaska, also disturbingly minute. He's trading bad puns with Courfeyrac by text when someone takes the seat opposite him, and looks up, startled, into Cosette's face.

“Hello, Grantaire.”

“Mme. Pontmercy.”

“Dr. Fauchelevent,” she corrects him.

Grantaire laughs. “Changed your name back already? Fast work. Or, wait – did you ever change it? No? Odd, I had you pegged as one of those sweet old-fashioned girls – you modern women,” he says, and shakes his head in mock despair. Éponine would punch him lightly, to keep him in line; Musichetta would laugh. Cosette simply looks at him.

At thirty-two, she's nothing like the sophomore Grantaire remembers Marius falling so wildly in love with so many years ago. What he remembers about Cosette at nineteen is almost purely visual; blue eyes and fresh pink cheeks and hair like spun-gold from a fairy-tale. What he thought about Cosette could have been reduced to fairy-tale archetypes, too. Toiling goose-girl; Aschenputtel stealing the prince's heart with one look, one dance; impossible princess on a glass mountain, placed out of reach of all suitors.

He'd never thought about Cosette as a person, he realises, confronted with Cosette the person, neither Cosette the picture nor Cosette the fable. Cosette is still impossibly beautiful at thirty-two, no longer pink-and-white, but faintly tan from the sun. She still has the sad eyes of a little girl, but when she raises them to look at him, he's sharply aware of the strong will behind the lovely face, the peremptory force of her personality without the former softening of extreme innocence.

“It's been a long time,” Grantaire says, dropping the light babble. “Sorry I missed the wedding, and everything. It's great to see you, don't get me wrong, but why are we here? We were never – I mean, you were a sweet girl, but we weren't exactly close, so the whole catching-up-on-old-times thing doesn't really apply.”

Cosette doesn't answer; she signals to the Abercrombie model instead. Once she's ordered, she looks back at Grantaire, fixing him with her great blue eyes again. “Marius told me quite a lot about you at dinner the other night,” she says. “About you, and about your past, and about your current predicament.”

“Yes?” Grantaire asks. Poor Marius, eternally wrung for information like a sponge. “It's not exactly great dinner conversation, but these lawyers, getting them to stop talking shop – sorry, I guess.”

“You don't understand,” Cosette says. “I think you might have a piece of the puzzle I'm putting together, and I might be able to give you a piece of yours, too.”

“I fail to see how.”

Cosette Fauchelevent with her pearl-drop earrings and cream silk shirt is a thousand worlds removed from his life and his problems, whatever she thinks she might be able to do, whatever she wants. Which is – what? He has absolutely no idea. A miraculous cure for addictive personality, discovered somewhere in the tropics? A test case for some kind of herbal supplement? He'll try anything once, but playing guinea pig is not at all his thing.

“I'm going to tell you a story,” she says. “That might help to explain.”

“ A fairy-tale?”

“If you like,” she says. The Abercrombie model brings her her coffee, and she gives him one of her well-bred little smile-and-nods, thanks and dismissal at the same time. The silence draws out after he's gone; she stirs her drink with her long-handled spoon until Grantaire is twitching with impatience. This is so completely not his bag. “Do you know anything about Sarawak?”

“I know that it's not the same thing as Sarajevo,” Grantaire says, and gets a polite smile-and-nod of his own. “I think that's something. I mean, it's not exactly in the public consciousness, is it?”

“It's part of the island of Borneo," Cosette says, "which is one of the biggest non-continental islands in the world, and it has one of the very oldest rainforests on earth, although it's disappearing fast – so fast I'm afraid to blink.” Her voice has gone sweet and creamy, like her coffee. “The island's divided up into territories – Sarawak is one of Malaysia's, but it used to be a little individual kingdom of its own. For just over one hundred years, it was ruled by the White Rajahs of Sarawak, who started with an adventurer called Jim Brooke. Isn't that strange, this wild corner of the world ruled over by an Englishman who had absolutely no right to it, and no real claims of birth back in England, because he killed quite a few pirates and pleased the Sultan of Brunei? Victorian England loved that story. They loved to read about the Great White Father with grateful natives kneeling at his feet and taking their problems to him, but it wasn't at all like that. They had this idea of him as a kind and loving god and father, but he waded in blood to the knees to claim it, and he was equally ruthless in putting down attempts at rebellion and self-rule. His name is even stamped all over the native species. Plants - Rhododendron brookei and Nepenthes rajah – a butterfly, Trogonoptera brookiana – and a squirrel, Sundasciurus brookei.” She sips at her coffee, meditatively. “It's rather cute, actually. Slightly more lizardy than the grey squirrel common to North America.”

“Is this a metaphor?” Grantaire asks. “Who's the White Rajah standing in for? Marius? Your dad?”

“Not Marius – well, neither of them, precisely,” Cosette says, stirring with her spoon. “It's only a story. They tell other stories about Brooke, too. He never married. He was supposed to have fallen in love with this beautiful heiress back in England, but he'd been mysteriously wounded in his war against the pirates in a way that meant he could never honourably be a husband to her, so he swore to stay silent and be faithful to her memory forever. That's another lovely fairy-tale that doesn't seem to have been at all true. The current scholarship suggests that, in fact, he was madly in love with a Sarawak prince. It's funny, isn't it, these mythic stories that have so much power and turn out to be something entirely else?”

“Cosette,” Grantaire says, although she hasn't given him her name to use, because Dr. Fauchelevent seems ridiculous, and he's pretty sure she was just making a point with it. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I'll show you,” she says, and sets her purse on the table. She takes out a manila folder, leafing through its contents with the tips of her fingers until she finds what she's looking forward. It's a photograph, and she holds it framed in her hands for a moment before she passes it over to him.

Grantaire takes it.

It's a photo of a girl, somewhat dated. She's staring into the camera like a challenge. She has a strange and compelling face; a thin face, in which the features are slightly exaggerated and not quite balanced. Huge dark eyes and full mouth. Sharp cheekbones and a collarbone you could cut yourself on. Dark hair clipped close to the shape of her skull at the nape and left a little longer on top, almost the hint of a fauxhawk. The whole photo has that faint touch of punk: the torn jeans and beat-up boots completely at odds with the frail, ungainly body.

“My mother,” Cosette says softly.

Grantaire would never, ever have guessed. She doesn't look anything like Cosette. Cosette's features are all perfect and harmonious; her chin is the only thing that saves her from the boring perfection of an angel on a Victorian chocolate box. It's a touch too pointed, a touch too strong, and it gives a foxy look to her features. Grantaire can't see anything of Cosette in her mother. Maybe if the girl in the picture had been less thin; maybe some of the features that seem strangely put together in the mother are similar to the ones that balance in Cosette. There's still a yawning distance of time and space between her daughter's clean, well-kept hands with their shell-pink nails, and the ragged and fiercely alive girl with her dirty fingerless gloves.

(Cosette is still wearing her rings, the distant, note-taking part of Grantaire's brain registers. The little sweetheart ring with its tiny pearls, all that Marius had been able to afford at twenty-one, and which he'd promised fervently to replace with a diamond one day; and a narrow gold band that matches the one Marius himself still wears. And Grantaire, himself, he was wrong in his diagnosis: this isn't a case of daddy issues, but mommy ones).

“Her name was Fantine,” Cosette says, tilting her head so she can see the photo too. Her expression is more suited to a mother looking at her daughter than a daughter looking at her mother. She looks like a Raphaelite Madonna. “She was an orphan, like me. I only have a few pictures of her, and this one is my favourite, because I think you can see something of who she was in it.”

“She's striking,” Grantaire says, and passes the picture back. He's careful with it, the way Cosette was. “Do you remember her at all? Have you found her?”

“She's dead. She died when I was about six. I don't remember her. I was in foster care from the time I was two or three. No one ever told me what happened to her. Not until last year, when he finally told me.”

Grantaire quirks his mouth, trying to remember. “Papa Valjean, he's not – he adopted you, right? He's not your actual–”

“No,” Cosette agrees. Her voice has changed again, to something crisper. “He knew her, though. I always wondered – he never spoke of her at all to me, not even her name. All he ever told me was that she had loved me very much, and that she had had a very hard life, and he had promised her he'd take care of me. He didn't like talking about it, and growing up, I thought – it seemed like it hurt him to talk about, very much.”

“Was he in love with her?”

“I thought he must have been,” Cosette says. “I wanted to know about her, but I never pushed him. I respected his pain. It hurt him, but it didn't hurt me because I didn't remember her, so it seemed kinder not to ask. I trusted him,” she adds. “I thought that if he didn't want to talk about it, he must have a very good reason.”

“Did he?” Grantaire asks, and he still has no idea where the hell this is going or what the hell it has to do with him, but he's hooked now; he's been hooked since he met the tragic eyes of the girl in the photograph. Whatever else it is, it's a good story. Stories, little windows into other people's lives, are one of his enduring fascinations. The lost Fantine looks like someone he would have painted.

“He thought so,” Cosette says. “I don't agree. She did have a very hard life, and she did suffer. He didn't lie about that.” She looks down at the photograph again, and now she looks more like the mourning Pieta than one of Raphael's doting mamas. “He was her appointed lawyer; that's how he met her. She was arrested for prostitution and solicitation, over and over again. Possession, too. He got her off, mostly, but she died of pneumonia in a hospital bed, too weak to lift her head from the pillow. She had something – an auto-immune disease, they thought, but we call it something else now.” She looks up at him. “That's why I wanted to reach out to you, you see. I thought you'd understand.”

Grantaire doesn't know exactly what he's supposed to have in common with a young prostitute junkie who lived and died on the streets of New York City in the dirty eighties. “Right,” he says uselessly. “Because... I understand addiction? Do you want me to talk you through it, or something?”

“No,” Cosette says. “You're still not listening.”

“You're not explaining.”

“I'm getting there.”

“What brought this all up, anyway?” Grantaire asks. Privately, he finds himself agreeing with Valjean, high-handed and paternalistic as the decision may have been; Cosette had been happy without this knowledge, married and settled and blithely unaware. Now she's anything but happy, and her marriage is in tatters, and her relationship with her father seems to be shattered.

“He got married,” Cosette says, “my father,” and her voice goes all ruffled and hurt.

Grantaire knew that. He still fails to see why it matters, even knowing Cosette's all-consuming bond with Papa Valjean. Even knowing that as a little girl she treasured some sort of fairy-tale about her unknown mother and her adoptive father, imagined some sort of sacred perfect love resting in the tomb. It seems extreme, but Cosette is starting to strike him as an extreme kind of person; actually, all things considered, she was an extreme sort of person even back in college, the same way Marius was, falling in love for the first time and deciding it was for forever and always, something worth devoting her entire unknown adult life to.

Grantaire prides himself on his judgment of character, so it's a problem that he took her for the china doll she looked like; that he dismissed her as a harmless sort of butterfly rather than the scientist who grew up to catalogue butterflies and stick them to cardboard with pins. Do they still do that? He can't really imagine Cosette stabbing butterflies, even all grown up and in the name of science.

He must roll his eyes a little more obviously than he supposes, because Cosette fixes hers on him again – really, there's no other way to describe the clamping power of her stare. Maybe that's something she does have in common with her mother, although Fantine's gaze had been combative, aware she would have to do her own fighting against the world alone; Cosette's is more convinced of her own ability to persuade.

“Do you have any idea who he married?” she asks. It's rhetorical. “As soon as it was legal, they went to the registry office and did it quietly, like it was just something they'd been waiting for. He married the police officer who arrested my mother so many times. He married the police officer who made his life and his clients' lives hell, all through his time in public defense. He married the police officer who followed us out here when I went to college – I thought to continue persecuting Papa – the one who authorised the use of batons and rubber bullets.”

And that – well. That's a good reason. That's a fuckton of reasons, a metaphorical cornucopia; never-ending, constantly spewing forth, a bottomless pit with no end in sight. Grantaire genuinely doesn't know what to say. Bahorel's nose got broken for the second time by one of those batons during the protests, and most of his friends had ended up covered in knots of red and purple, turning slowly into black and blue. There were cracked ribs and concussions, and even Enjolras had ended up on a hundred front pages of newspapers painted in blood; Combeferre still breathes a little funny in the cold, he'd told Grantaire that while they were watching television the other night.

Whatever she sees on his face, something of her intensity lets up, like all she was waiting for was someone who would agree that everything about that marriage is a terrible betrayal. Her mother's sad history aside – her mother's history alone – Javert is not someone you want your father to marry; Javert is someone who, if your father marries him, you salt and burn the earth.

“Does Marius know?”

“Of course.”

“He didn't tell me – he said your father had gotten married and that you'd been upset, but not that it was - Javert–”

“He doesn't know that Javert was my mother's arresting officer.” She's playing with the little pearl ring, twisting it on her finger. “I didn't find that part out until later – but he certainly knew what that man did to all of you. Isn't that enough?”

“More than enough for me,” Grantaire says, and a little more of Cosette's fierceness slips away in gratitude. “Jesus. I got him to tell me – to talk about why your marriage broke up, and he had all sorts of reasons, and none, but he gave me the impression it was a mystery. Jesus.”

“It probably is a mystery to Marius,” Cosette says, and the bitter edge is new, and all kinds of interesting – to Grantaire, anyway. “He thought Papa deserved to be happy. He and my father were very close, you know. More like father and son than father-in-law and son-in-law. It's funny, given how they started, but they formed a bond, I think, when he persuaded Papa to represent the ABC after the protests – well, after I persuaded Papa for him – and then followed him around like a puppy, helping. When Papa got sick, Marius was happy to leave everything and go to him when I asked. I loved him so much for that.”

“Are you still in love with him?” Grantaire asks.

It's amazing how he feels like it's something he can ask, that he knows already that Cosette will tell him. Cosette is a very straightforward person, and she has decided, for whatever reason, to talk to him. He's not asking out of schadenfreude, or even an ulterior desire to pass information back to Marius; he just wants to know.

“Of course.” Cosette says it the way Éponine said it back in the dive bar – god, Éponine – a blank statement of obvious fact that needs no embroidery or qualification. “I've loved him all my life. Since I was nineteen, but it feels longer; when I met him I felt like I'd already been in love with him forever.”

“But."

“But,” she says. “Even if he'd minded Papa's marriage as much as I did – Children grow up basing their ideas of love and marriage on their parents' model, I think. For good or bad, as an example of what to do, or what not to do. I had this base, bedrock idea about how my father thought and felt and loved, and then everything turned to quicksand under my feet. How could I not question my own conception of love? How could I not look at my marriage, built on that? It's a long time, between nineteen and thirty-two – thirty-one, then. You grow, and you change.”

“It's not normal to love someone like that,” Grantaire says. “I mean, it's just not – if it's not working out, it's not surprising. It's not your fault. Teenage love doesn't last like that.”

He wonders, for a moment, if this is why Cosette thought he would be the right person to talk to, despite being almost a complete stranger to him, for all their shared friends; because Cosette fell in love as a teenager and decided to make it last her lifetime, and Grantaire was struck by a bolt of human lightning at eighteen and decided to make Enjolras the one true thing in the universe he did believe in.

He still does; it's another of his fucked-up little habits, one he can't quit.

“We were supposed to start our family this year, before it all happened,” Cosette says. “We'd planned it out, and waited until we were in the right place in our lives – I want to go back to that possibility, I want what I had before all of this, but –” She looks at the manila folder on the table. “I can't leave it.”

“What can you do, though?” Grantaire asks, and for Cosette, for Marius, he tries very hard to be the kind of sage giver of wisdom Marius had claimed he was. “She's been dead a long time, Cosette. You can't bring her back. You can only go on.”

“And now we're finally at the part of the conversation I wanted to get to,” she says.

Everything so far has just been backstory?

Cosette opens up the manila folder, and inside are the gathered documentary traces of her mother: pages and pages of photocopies stapled together, arrest records, ancient typewritten notes and faded leaves from legal pads, mug shots. One torn-out photo from Fantine's high school yearbook that's so grainy it could almost be anyone: any dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked teenager with her life ahead of her. Under the records of her mother, there are more pages, wads and wads of them, and it's those she gives Grantaire, separating them from her private materials with precision.

“What is all of this?”

“My research,” she says. “What I've been doing since I found out about my mother.”

“II thought you were murdering butterflies in Sara-whatever,” Grantaire says. “You weren't?”

“I was,” Cosette says. “For three months. It really is a very valuable and very threatened ecoregion. The other three months–” She shrugs. “My mother didn't end up on the streets because of an accident or an addiction, Grantaire. That was a reaction to her situation. She ended up there because she was left with no other choice, and she was forced to make that choice by a little criminal group that was just starting up in New York at the time. They didn't start calling themselves Patron-Minette for many years later, but that's where it began.”

He just stares at her, and she reaches across the table and sets the masses of paper in his hands.

“There's nothing I can do to them right now,” she says. “I can't punish them for what they did to my mother; I can't prove anything. I only have what she told my father about how she ended up where she did. Even he couldn't use it. And since then they've spread, they've come here, and they've come up in the world. They're a lot flashier now than they were then, and they didn't cover their tracks as smoothly as they do these days. They've diversified their interests, I think the expression is. I want them gone.”

--

I don't remember much else! they had to confront the past - the past then, the past at college, the protests, everything, as they settled Patron-Minette's has and got Grantaire free and Valjean and Javert crashed the narrative with the fruits of their own investigation. I just don't remember! I am sorry.

[ellasadventuresinfandoms]

Okay, back in May @isolatedphenomenon asked me if I had an les mis fic recs and I went "oh boy do I !" and then promptly fucked off and disappeared from tumblr for like 6 months...

Anyway on the off chance people are interested, here is my vastly too long list of  my favourite les mis fanfic (that I'm almost 100% sure I'll have accidentally missed some of my favourites off of...)

The vast majority of these are main pairing Enjolras/Grantaire, so I've put those first, divided into multi-chaptered and then one-shots. Below that will be other pairings!

Multi-chaptered

• Witch Boy Series : magic AU, starting with Grantaire solving Enjolras' curse - this is just Incredible world building which gets better as it goes on - my favourite is the Babet interlude

• World Ain't Ready : you know how fandoms tend to have a fic that is just associated with it ? in my experience, for les mis this is it - and well deserved ! High school, fake dating AU with some of the most engaging writing

• BE : Enjolras is dragged back into theatre production, helping Eponine put on a production of Hamlet - really love the characterisation in this, and this is really one of those modern AUs that actually feels like real life - really good writing

• After the End : the definitive apocalypse AU in my eyes - les amis are an underground resistance to the dystopian government - really wonderful characterisation of Grantaire and the amis

• You never have to wonder; you never have to ask. : I tend to find fic by scrolling through bookmarks of a pairing, which means I often see repeats; this is a fic that if I see I just re-read cause I know I'll enjoy it - the amis sparked a failed rebellion, and now 18 months later Grantaire ends up staying at Enjolras' after returning to Paris for Marius and Cosette's wedding

• Your Heart on Your Skin : Soulmate AU with flower tattoos marking important emotions and events - wonderful concept and world building 

• Impatient to Be Free : Daughters of Bilitis AU - if that doesn't make you excited I don't know what else to say to convince you (aside from saying the author is a simply wonderful writer)

• You Dance Dreams : Okay. Not to be over dramatic, but this fic did genuinely qualitatively change my life, in that it was the first thing that got me looking up contemporary ballet and now that's like one of my favourite things and big hobby So. Also its really great writing; music/creative arts school les amis with Grantaire choreohraphing the ballet for Combeferre's opera, with a heavy emphasis on Grantaire realising he really never actually got over Enjolras

• philia : this one is an absolute classic to me, but not given nearly enough recognition - one of the more realistic college AUs ever written, and the writing of Grantaire is so good because it hits the perfect balance of sympathy and annoyance about his behaviour (that's a genuine compliment) 

• Coffee Hooligans : fucking tragedy this never got properly finished, Enjolras leads the amis as social justice vigilantes and tries to hide the criminal bits of his life from R

• Fighting the Hurricane : Pacific Rim AU that's less an AU and more just placing the les mis characters in the Pacific Rim universe. Really good and riveting read, also super interesting depiction of Grantaire

• Weaving Olden Dances : Fairy AU - Grantaire "claims" Enjolras to prevent his execution - really good writing, love Grantaires characterisation 

• Paris Burning : canon era (sort of) where cities have a physical being - Grantaire is Paris and becomes entangled in Enjolras' revolution - oh the world building is truly *chefs kiss*

• Euphoria is You For Me : Enjolras and Grantaire keep meet cuting in a wonderfully written Brooklyn - feels like a love letter to Brooklyn at times, and I really like the characterisation of Grantaire 

• so please just fall in love with me this christmas : Enjolras works for the environmental company Grantaire volunteers at, and keeps getting secret gifts at Christmas - I sound a little like a broken record but the Grantaire characterisation is very good

• You Are the Moon : Wild West esque Space AU - Grantaire has to call on the amis to help rescue Valjean and Cosette, despite Grantaire leaving the amis 6 months before. On re-reading the Enjolras characterisation feels a little rushed, but overall fantastic story telling and the Grantaire arc is a Delight 

• Pandemos : Enjolras is aphrodite, and seeks peace from all his suitors in R/Hephestus' cave

• Pining for You : Hallmark christmas romance - Grantaire returns home to work on his father's tree farm, and Enjolras is the lawyer helping prevent the farm being sold - cute as shit imo

• Once We're Kings : Fantasy AU - a country hosts a ball to marry Prince Enjolras and the rival country sends Grantaire as a fuck you - one of the best ways of doing Enjolras as a prince in a fantasy and just really nicely written

• Never Bitter and All Delicious : Fairy Godmother AU - yes really, yes its genuinely a very good read

• On One Condition : Fantasy AU - Enjolras is a bored knight who finally goes to check out the local dragon, which turns out to be Grantaire - I really like how they capture Enjolras' stubborn nature and it's such a well written soft growth of love between them

• That's How Easy Love Can Be : Les Amis work at a primary school; and its secret santa time! very fun portrayal of Enjolras

• The Lark and Her Lieutenants : re write of canon where Cosette is the leader of the revolution - just *chefs kiss*

• If You Tickle Us, Do We Not Laugh : Grantaire is Enjolras' secret android - really good at writing a relationship that's incredibly loving but just keeps being antagonistic and coming off wrong 

One Shots

• True Colours : AU where you leave colours on the people important to you - Enjolras and Grantaire falling for each other is so soft and gently written its lovely, this is genuinely one of my favourites

• Keep It Kind, Keep It Good, Keep It Right : this one is so good to me, because it builds off my pet hatred of everyone assuming Enjolras doesn't care about (or at least actively show he cares about) his friends

• blooming : very soft post-dystopian utopia that has just a really wonderful sense of hope and light to me

• and the wall leaned away (or: The Pros and Cons of Tilling) : perfectly realised characterizations of the amis, Grantaire needs a date to her final year art exhibition - deals with anxiety over protest in a way that actually hits for me

• not just one of the crowd : R helps run a leftist bakery and bike repair shop - very cute characterisation, and I think more les mis fanfic should link to anarchist essays

• Lovesickness : Enjolras is an idiot and thinks he's sick rather than having a crush - the writing of Joly and Combeferre in this is some of my favourite depictions of these two

• If there's a rocket, tie me to it : absolutely heartbreaking sci-fi AU about the amis as doomed mecha pilots

• Where I Fall is Where I Land : Enjolras is a Roman commander as Rome's power is leaving England, and then meets the pict Grantaire (+ fun soulmark stuff !)

• You Started Foreign to Me : Enjolras moves to america and R is the overnight grocery clerk who helps her learn Spanish - cute fluffy lesbians with a wonderfully written driven Enjolras

• Love Is Touching Souls : very cute soulmate AU - and one I really love for really truly considering the implications of soul marks and creating historical lore around it

• Ten Years : R is a musician, and it non-linearly charts his relationship to Enj from high school to 10 years later

• put up with me then I'll make you see : Grantaire lives above Enjolras, and its christmas - I find it to have a very fun interpretation of pining Enjolras

• A Cat Called Trash Can : this was one of the first les mis fics I ever read (yes I know it says it was published in 2020, but I think it has to be a re-upload or something?) and it does still have a special place in my heart - Grantaire rescues a cat, but Enjolras is the only one with an apartment free to look after it 

• Still I'm Begging to Be Free : inception AU where les amis have to rescue a sleeping R from his own brain

•I'm in it for You : cw: illness, cancer - R has cancer and is being a martyr about telling his friends so Enjolras drives him back from chemo

• walls come tumbling down : sky high au - a very good high school AU with the perfect level of campy superhero powers

• This brave new world's not like yesterday : Enjolras needs a job, so ends up working in a bowling alley with Grantaire and bonding

Enjolras/Grantaire/Combeferre

• In Defiance of All Geometry : les amis are a student co-op house, Enjolras and Combeferre are pining friends and Grantaire is the newbie

• Still the Same : this is very good writing and very compelling - if you can get over the (imo) plot hole of Enjolras working for the FBI. R was an art thief Enj put away and is briefly helping the FBI out, and Combeferre is Enjolras' husband

• To Kingdom Come : cw: war and PTSD from that, Enjolras and Combeferre are part of a group of refugees that have crossed into a more fantasy land, and Grantaire is a lone traveller from that land that attempts to help - that was a shit summary of this very emotional, wonderfully written fic about war and love in all forms

• Gonna need (a spark to ignite) : I always love a twist on a classic trope, and this is a very fun take on the soulmate AU - Enjolras loses feeling in his soul mark as a child, falls in love with Grantaire and then his soulmate, Combeferre, turns up

Eponine/Cosette

• Pretty Girls Don't Know the Things That I Know : simply stunning writing - perfect example of soft writing about a harsh world

• she knows her way around : Eponine and Cosette bond, ostensibly so Eponine can find out about her for Marius, and their interactions are so playful and realistic, its wonderful

• always find me floating on oceans : Cosette stows away on Eponine's pirate ship - I do always have a soft spot for eposette fics (not just cause I ship it) because they truly characterise Cosette in a really considered and interesting way

• There's No Making Love : I'm putting this under eposette even though there is some significant enjolras/grantaire content, because the Cosette characterisation is so fun and cute

• round and round again : this fic really beautifully translates Cosette's bad childhood and then isolated teenage years, and the impact that would have on her as an adult into a modern AU

• Underwater Thunderheards : this is based off the book The Scorpio Races, and is just a really nice short fic  about longing

• How To Change The World Without Taking Power : Marius has a crush on Cosette and she's tried being polite and subtle in turning him down, so just ends up fake dating Eponine instead

• blood red fruit and poison's kiss : Snow White AU - Cosette as Snow White

• The Winters Cannot Fade Her : Snow White Au 2.0 - Eponine as Snow White - this was written as a pair to the one above which is just so cute to me

• marriage à la mode : Cosette and Eponine run a bridal shop together and it's very cute !

• Temporary Hold : I personally find this a really fun and very unique take on Cosette - with exams coming up she decides she needs to get laid on the reg and so hits up Eponine to act as if they're already long term girlfriends

Combeferre/Courfeyrac

• better than you had it : fake dating but kick it up an emotional notch - Courf and Ferre pretend to still be together after breaking up for a family event

• take flight, come near : nice and cute low fantasy, where Combeferre runs a dragon sanctuary and Courf finds an injured dragon

Rare Pairs

• The Future's Owned by You and Me : cute Enjolras/Feuilly with actual radical politics and real life organising difficulties and wins

• First Dates and Other Dangers : Combeferre and Grantaire agree to go on a blind date and it's awkward until it isn't - just cute !

• after midnight : Combeferre has insomnia and meets Grantaire in various all night fast food chains

• as you are : Bahorel and Jehan getting ready together

• Almost Romantic : Jehan works at a museum, and takes Combeferre on a little tour

• Understudy : Jehan/Combeferre, with Combeferre's insecurities regarding being seen as second best to Enjolras

• Here There Be Dragons : Courf/Enj/Ferre - Courf and Enj are superheroes and Ferre is the doctor that patches them up

• To Let it Occur (Laisser Faire la Nature) : Feuilly has a stupidly long stopover in Paris and meets Enjolras

• rule of three : Courf/Enj/Ferre as spies and loving boyfriends

• Good Rhetoric : snapshots of cute cuddly courf/enj/ferre

• subluxate, dislocate, replace : found family and chronic illness with Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta

• Strike stone, strike home (like lightning) : so this fic took one minor piece of lore about Tolkien's dwarves and made a beautiful j/b/m fic from it

• Almost Inevitable : Bahorel/Feuilly friends-with-benefits

• god only knows (what I'd be without you) : Bahorel/Feuilly with a closeted Feuilly and a beautiful Feuilly and Eponine friendship

[pilferingapples]

for @shitpostingfromthebarricade , who very nicely asked for an elaboration of my partial disagreement with the idea that Grantaire represents “the people”  of France or Paris: 

First let me say again it’s a partial  disagreement; I do think he represents a specific segment of the people. But one which is not ~~**~~ The People~~**~~  which I will hopefully be able to explain here?

- As far as “the people” goes, that term-- that specific  term, “the people” detached from other qualifiers-- especially in Hugo’s specific  political-social group-- seems to have been used mostly to mean the workers-- workers, small artisan-merchants, maybe peasants. If someone in a socialist-writer text of the period is called a “child of the people” it means they’re from the working class; if they’re a Man Of The People , ditto. Feuilly is the representative of The People in the Amis’ group-- Enjolras even specifically says so, in the middle of one of his full-on visionary speeches--Feuilly,vaillant ouvrier, homme de peuple, hommes des peuples” (valiant working-man,man of the people--and then the transition/combo that can be read as “man of all peoples”  or “men  of the people” , plural (or, actually, as “the people’s man”, depending on what you’re choosing to focus on. Lamarque song rewrite go!) .  For a guy with very few lines, Feuilly is specifically carrying a LOT of social/political representation here :P (and of course it’s even more Symbolic because Feuilly has no known human parents; his class background is also his family background, he’s of The People, full stop, not of any more specific background. )

We’re never given Grantaire’s exact socioeconomic background, and certainly working-class kids could go into art studies in certain circumstances-- but Grantaire also has no apparent job and has a lot of middle-class-kid hobbies (boxing, singlestick, dancing, etc etc). Everything about Grantaire marks him as middle-class in background, currently choosing to vie-boheme it up. He’s definitely not a representative of “the people” in this sense. 

I also can’t go with Grantaire representing Paris, at least not Full On Spirit Of Paris.  Leaving aside that Grantaire specifically disavows Paris and his own Parisian-ness in Preliminary Gayeties, Hugo sets up very specific symbolism and character for Paris in Les Mis, and he’s pretty direct about it!

 Hugo’s Paris is wild, bold, anarchic, laughing, unafraid of violence, sometimes lazy or careless but essentially generous, bold, insightful and daring, and always  inherently inclined to liberty (and also essentially Romantic at its heart, because this is a Hugo novel and anything good has to be essentially Romantic at heart:P)  (and Hugo has a Lot of Feelings about Paris). Paris in miniature--Paris Atomized, Paris made human-- is Gavroche,  not Grantaire. Even among just the Amis, the one closest to being Hugo’s Paris Avatar is Bahorel, who shares so many echoes of the gamin chapters in his intro, the group’s flâneur-- flâner est Parisien!--and connection to the city,  in the same way Feuilly is their connection to the wider world and internationalist causes.  

But like I said, I do  really think Grantaire represents a part of the population of Paris! An important part! 

Specifically, he’s representing that part of the population that wants to take a damn break.   The part that feels that “of great events, great hazards, great adventures, great men, thank God, we have seen enough, we have them heaped higher than our heads”,(4.1.1) the part that having found a seat wants to sit.  The perhaps selfish, but very understandable, part of the population that is secure enough itself to feel like it will do nothing but lose in another revolution, that “some one whose name is all” that says “I am young and in love, I am old and I wish to repose, I am the father of a family, I toil, I prosper, I am successful in business, I have houses to lease, I have money in the government funds, I am happy, I have a wife and children, I have all this, I desire to live, leave me in peace.” (5.1.20)

That is to say...Grantaire is representing the apathetic, the burned out, and the bourgeoisie. 

This is certainly not the most flattering thing to be representing, but then Grantaire isn’t a particularly aspirational  character--not until the very end of his arc, when he stands up and announces himself For The Ideal. Like the people who close their doors,like the bourgeoisie who just wants to rest, he doesn’t hate the ideal, really...but he’s had Enough Trying, he wants peace and security and to not die or see his loved ones die,  and all of that is very understandable! But if he were genuinely happy  with that...well he wouldn’t be with the Amis at all. He also wants that Ideal, a better kinder world, and unfortunately to get that he’s going to have to stand up.

..Well, not him, personally,of course. When he  stands up he’s-a-gonna die, albeit in a super symbolic transformational/salvational way.  But the Not Very Subtle At All implication is that this is where the revolution wins: when the comfortable people , and especially  the bourgeoisie (well, as Hugo defines them), who have been sitting down, sleeping, wake up and take part. 

(This is of course true in a grand sense-- revolutions need mass participation! -- and it’s also true in the very specific sense of what went down in 1830 vs 1832. In 1830, a lot of the bourgeoisie did  get involved , and it’s a big part of why that went as smoothly as it did. But in 1832, by and large they said No Thanks We’re Good; a handful of students and some wild Romantics really was about all participation outside of the working/poor classes. But this is already so freaking long and this is not a Barricade Day post!) 

So: all of that very  long ramble is to say, yeah, I think Grantaire is symbolizing not The People (who are , symbolically and historically, already on the barricade)  but a specific and crucial subset of The People Of France (Or Wherever), which is why I never feel like I can go either “Yeah!!” or  “Ugh No” when I see a “Grantaire is the people” mention. :P

--sorry I can’t put them under a second cut >< , but these are relevant longer chunks of some of the quotes above!

Of great events, great hazards, great adventures, great men, thank God, we have seen enough, we have them heaped higher than our heads. We would exchange Cæsar for Prusias, and Napoleon for the King of Yvetot. “What a good little king was he!” We have marched since daybreak, we have reached the evening of a long and toilsome day; we have made our first change with Mirabeau, the second with Robespierre, the third with Bonaparte; we are worn out. Each one demands a bed.Devotion which is weary, heroism which has grown old, ambitions which are sated, fortunes which are made, seek, demand, implore, solicit, what? A shelter.”(4.1.1, Well Cut) 

The bourgeois is the man who now has time to sit down. A chair is not a caste.

But through a desire to sit down too soon, one may arrest the very march of the human race. This has often been the fault of the bourgeoisie. (4.1.2, Badly Sewed)

And it appears that they are going to fight, all those imbeciles, and to break each other’s profiles and to massacre each other in the heart of summer, in the month of June, when they might go off with a creature on their arm, to breathe the immense heaps of new-mown hay in the meadows! Really, people do commit altogether too many follies. An old broken lantern which I have just seen at a bric-à-brac merchant’s suggests a reflection to my mind; it is time to enlighten the human race. Yes, behold me sad again. That’s what comes of swallowing an oyster and a revolution the wrong way! I am growing melancholy once more. Oh! frightful old world. People strive, turn each other out, prostitute themselves, kill each other, and get used to it!

... I don’t think much of your revolution,I don’t execrate this Government. It is the crown tempered by the cotton night-cap. It is a sceptre ending in an umbrella. In fact, I think that to-day, with the present weather, Louis Philippe might utilize his royalty in two directions, he might extend the tip of the sceptre end against the people, and open the umbrella end against heaven. ” - (Grantaire, from Premliminary Gayeties, 4.12.2)

What, then, is progress? We have just enunciated it; the permanent life of the peoples.

Now, it sometimes happens, that the momentary life of individuals offers resistance to the eternal life of the human race.

Let us admit without bitterness, that the individual has his distinct interests, and can, without forfeiture, stipulate for his interest, and defend it; the present has its pardonable dose of egotism; momentary life has its rights, and is not bound to sacrifice itself constantly to the future. The generation which is passing in its turn over the earth, is not forced to abridge it for the sake of the generations, its equal, after all, who will have their turn later on.—“I exist,” murmurs that some one whose name is All. “I am young and in love, I am old and I wish to repose, I am the father of a family, I toil, I prosper, I am successful in business, I have houses to lease, I have money in the government funds, I am happy, I have a wife and children, I have all this, I desire to live, leave me in peace.”—Hence, at certain hours, a profound cold broods over the magnanimous vanguard of the human race.  (5.1.20, The Dead Are In The Right and the Living Are Not Wrong)

[not-a-christmas-tree]

i just watched the dallas theatre company les mis here are my observations

IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THIS PRODUCTION I SUGGEST YOU DO! DON’T READ THIS IF YOU DON’T WANT SPOILERS THOUGH!

so, in case you didn’t know: in 2014, Dallas Theatre Company did a modern interpretation of les mis. i just watched it on youtube (i will link it later, i promise) and took SO MANY GODDAMN NOTES so here they are!

ACT ONE 

(Look Down-WHID)

starting out strong! we got some HARSH TRUTHS ABOUT THE JAIL SYSTEM!! blatant police brutality happening BASICALLY the entire first part of the song. it hurts me. 

note on the cops costumes: they legitimately terrify me and they are dressed in like. full riot gear.

okay so,,,valjean wraps the rope from his bag around his neck at the end of WHID. this is interesting bc, a) he’s trying to find a solution as to what he should do after the Bishop and that’s a direction I’ve surprisingly seen no one take, but b) this part has the same melody as javert’s suicide, when javert is ALSO trying to figure out what he should do after his perception on life is altered. for a moment there, they both are on the same page, the page being suicide. however, only one of them takes that choice.

the above makes the lines (in both songs) “i’ll escape now from that world / from the world of valjean” ESPECIALLY interesting because. in two different ways, they did escape, but they ALMOST had the same conclusion for a brief second.

(At The End Of The Day)

in ATEOTD fantine ends up being the last one working, causing everyone to look at her with varying degrees of annoyance or frustration. She do be hardworking doe

OH SHIT KIDS IN THE FACTORY!! three little kids run up to the foreman when he’s giving daily stipends to the ladies!! (they’re also the last to be paid, giving significant sass to foreman who also sasses back)

Girl #5 mockingly calling fantine “innocent sister” when 5 is white and fantine is a WOC...that’s kind of interesting given that that can be read as SERIOUS racial profiling on 5’s part

foreman looks like bob’s boss in the incredibles but like. tall lmao

(I Dreamed A Dream)

her look of like,,shock-but-not when everyone from the factory exits and she takes off her bandana,,,that. that is good acting

her transitions from chest to head voice are so good

i’m kinda sad she isn’t younger?? or just. doesn’t look super young bc fantine is supposed to be like. early twenties. she’s not 45 and had a decently long life before she died, no, she’s young. she was taken advantage of. that’s the whole point. but that’s sUPER little like this lady is way too good

she has the perfect mix of sadness and regret plus anger and shameless hope. like. kudos to you allison blackwell you’re a dope fantine 

the cry on “killed the dream i dreamed” brb sobbing

(The Dock Scenes)

MALE PROSTITUTES I REPEAT!! MALE PROSTITUTES!! (no idea what wig he’s wearing tho. he was done dirty in the wig department) 

oh male prostitute is prostitute #1! 

oh damn there is. lady def on some bad drugs with her kid passing behind fantine on the bench. ouch.

hoo okay they did n o t censor lovely ladies!! (mini note: camera person has the camera down an AWFUL LOT on these docks scenes lmao)

there are cops on the docks. gross.

(Who Am I-Confrontation)

OH SHIT THEY HAVE A FALSE JVJ IN THE BACKGROUND OF WHO AM I 

jvj comforts not-jvj for a second!! (money note was FANTASTIC btw)

fantine being WOC and DYING in a modern hospital also is,,yeesh because. you know. racist doctors. 

jvj cries after fantine dies JUST STAB ME NOW OKAY—

confrontation is really funny when u see that javert has a GUN and jvj has A CHAIR

JVJ DID THE LIL RUN ON “live within my care” YAAAAY

(COAC-Master Of The House)

oh boy baby cosette,,so small,,so pure plus classic baby head shake when she sings I STAN

MADAME T LOOKS—OH GOOD GOD

DID SHE SPIT ON MY BABY--

cosette: “please do not send me out alone—“ madame t: “oooooh my gOOOOOD” omg 

what the fuck is thenardiers hair i—

WHAT THE FUCK IS THENARDIER IN G E N E R A L

random idea regarding thenardier’s prison tattoo: he has the same number on his chest that jvj has. Meaning he was in jail too. so why isn’t he as messed up as jvj? i wanna say maybe he was in for less time, but like. I doubt it. However, he has a whole ass gang. did the thenardier gang break their boss out of jail? please say yes 

him listing things for baby éponine to charge i love it

OH MY GOD THENARDIER FLAUNTS HIS NUMBER WHILE JVJ DOESNT!! jvj hides his past because he believes it will get him into better places (it does, he becomes mayor for god’s sake) while thenardier shows off his past with stubborn pride. while thenardier cheats his way to success, jvj lives an almost honest life where he ultimately suffers due to the stress all the hiding he does gives him

i love that éponine looks like neither of her parents,,,madame t got around huh? 

(The Bargain)

I JUST REALIZED THE STAGE HAS A CATWALK DOWN THE CENTER INTO THE AUDIENCE THAT IS THE COOLEST OMG

Instead of madame correcting thenardier on cosette’s name he asks cosette herself which prompts the CUTEST ANGRY YELL OF “it’s cosette!” I HAVE EVER SEEN

also thenardier fuckin MANHANDLING cosette i’m DYING

JVJ LOVES HER SM I AM SOFTTT

(The Beggars)

omg marius is so ADORABLE i love him

gavroche is a style icon

kid holding sign saying “my mom got laid off” POOR BB

i love éponine

that’s it that’s the note

wait a sec was that montparnasse with the prostitute earlier in beggars??

ALSO I SEE AZELMA AND OTHER THENARDIER KIDS PRESENT FOR “turn on the tears!!” THANK YOU FOR UTILIZING THAT LINE PROPERLY

why does enj have a bat?? If it;s not a bat then,,,what is it? someone please help me

marius saves cosette from bad guy gang!! 🥰🥰

bruh javert misses jvj running by like,,,MAYBE two seconds that is hilarious 

jav looks so done when thenardier is trying to get out of this lmao i love it

javert looks so cop-like it scares me

(Stars)

the line “safe behind bars” in stars kind of kills me here because as the audience you SEE the cruelty that the convicts face. you see the guy on the ground getting beaten you SEE the chains around their throats and yet. yet javert still somehow thinks that putting jvj in jail is safe? i think the thing to focus on here is not whether it’s safe, because it obviously isn’t. the focus is who it’s safer for, jean valjean or javert?

has it always been “your father” rather than “her father” when marius asks éponine to find where cosette lives?? if they changed it that is SMART because yk. jvj would be ALARMED if he found out he’d been found by éponine but he wouldn’t hurt her. he’s not the guy she has to worry about, it’s her own father. thenardier gave her a job and she’s straying from it, he’s what would endanger her.

THE PLAYFUL BOOP AND SHOVE FROM MARIUS 🥺🥺🥺

(The ABC Café)

“note-ruh daym”

hee hee pretty enjolras

pretty enjolras in skinny jeans even better

OOH we have,,,angry enjolras in this version o k a y

grantaire raises his hand before agog/aghast part omg

“i’ve never heard him ooOOOOh and aAAAAh *excited squeal*

“dan joo-wan” i love texas

bossuet spotted :)

longing gay looks NOT spotted :(

i love enjolras okay but this one is just,,,a little too aggressive. enjolras isn’t just angry all the time, he’s not that one dimensional. of course, there is more of the show to see and i hope he changes a little bit, but so far red and black isn’t doing much for me. enjolras is hopeful, not just angry.

A CAPELLA SECTION IN RED AND BLACK?? I think YES

the amis finding out lamarque is dead has “fuck trump just won the election” energy

okay i was hoping that enj would change his aggression thing when they find out lamarque is dead (bc that’s when most enjolrai figure out what may happen and kinda sober up yk) but. it doesn’t look like he did. there is hope for barricade scenes

OMG LIL NOTE ON COMBEFERRE GIVING OUT FLYERS TO AUDIENCE MEMBERS: that is fucking pERFECT and yk why?? because it’s a call to action!! it’s less obvious in DYHTPS because they’re mostly singing to each other but later in epilogue when the words and melody is repeated, it’s meant as a call to action! “will you join in our crusade, who will be strong and stand with me?” is a cALL TO ACTION AND THEY ARE HANDING FLYERS TO AUDIENCE MEMBERS—that’s officially the only way to break the fourth wall THANK YOU 

hey fantine doubles as a student i think!!

HARMONIES ARE C L E A N OOOOH

(In My Life-Heart Full Of Love)

okay yes i already love cosette because she plays awkward-teen-in-love-for-the-first-time PERFECTLY. 

book-ish cosette hell yes a cutie

father-daughter forehead kisses 🥺

awkward mARIUS TIMEEEEE

placing marius, éponine, and cosette in a triangle is a MARVELOUS decision thank u for that symbolism

marius checking if he looks good and ép giving him a thumbs up omg

*aggressively tries to sit normally* same cosette

*awkward curtsy* also same cosette 

(Attack On Rue Plumet)

robbery time let’s see how they do this

ooh marius and cosette run off but i can’t tell if they notice gang before running

thenardier fuckin SLICES éponine after her scream

NOOOO HER LIL WHIMPER AFTER BEING THREATENED AGAIN

(One Day More)

this lil part between robbery and one day more is interesting bc i legit have NO idea what jvj is thinking here. he keeps looking between his watch (i think it’s a watch idk) and cosette after she runs off to pack so like. what. is he doing here bc he looks like he’s choosing between two things but i don’t,,know,,what things

red berets on the amis are dope btw

i think marius is discussing what to do with éponine here, which is FUN because we all know why she goes to the barricade in the brick :’) éponine might be convincing marius to go to the barricade knowing this is her chance to die with him like in the book

omg

OMG

OMG

that stomp bit with the students was the coolest fucking thing i’ve ever seen

END OF ACT ONE

act two will be posted shortly :D

[writteninsunshine]

You Made Me A Believer - Grantaire/Enjolras - SFW

Title: You Made Me A Believer 

Author: Reno

Fandom: Les Misérables

Setting: The Musain

Pairing: Grantaire/Enjolras

Characters: Grantaire, Enjolras

Genre: Romance

Rating: K

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 738

Type Of Work: One-Shot

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Fluff

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.

Summary: Grantaire poured his heart and soul into his gifts, and even if Enjolras did something last minute, he was still grateful that it had happened at all.

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have Twitter and Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunnywritings, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD I can PM it to people who want it on FFN, for everyone else, it’s here: https://discord.gg/FyaWw25

I have fanfic requests up on my tumblr! Link Here: https://writteninsunshine.tumblr.com/post/633894090732421120/requests-open

I have too many soft ideas for these boys. I just want them to be happy, but I know what happens to them. Still, I really wanted to write something super duper soft for them. I hope you guys don’t mind! Please enjoy!

Les Misérables Fic Masterlist

You Made Me A Believer

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Honestly, Grantaire, it doesn’t matter what our hearts may or may not want.” Enjolras was lecturing him again after he’d been an idiot and brought him flowers. Red roses, to symbolize his love as well as Enjolras’ love of red. Grantaire’s love burned brightly and he wanted to show and share it. Of course, Enjolras didn’t seem interested. “We have a grander purpose.”

“You may.” Grantaire replied with a sigh, “Please, just… Accept them?” He asked, holding out the small bouquet. Enjolras took them, shaking his head.

“What even is the occasion?” He asked, sniffing them out of habit as he counted them out. Eight, not a dozen, but he had a feeling it had a deeper meaning than Grantaire just not being able to afford a full bouquet. 

“Did you not notice what day it is, mon coeur?” Grantaire nearly purred, leaning forward as he produced an 8x10 stretched canvas from his bag. The colors of the French flag caught Enjolras’ eyes first, and his eyes started with the red stripe. In black was the foggy details of a man standing higher than a group of other men, his arm outstretched and the other presumably on a sword. A strip of blank canvas sat in the middle, and on the blue side was a single man, looking towards the others with what could only be described as desire. A small red bloom was painted over his heart, a deep red rose. 

While Enjolras had never been a patron of the arts, this was something he could appreciate. Maybe he didn’t understand the full meaning, but he did note that this was them. The red, there was no mistaking himself, with his curls done in charcoal over the red paint, and he was positive the touseled figure in blue was Grantaire. 

“You made me care more.” Grantaire said by way of explanation, and Enjolras’ eyes finally left the canvas. Smiling softly at him, he pet a thumb over the blue paint, avoiding the charcoal entirely. 

“You never did tell me the occasion.” Despite the assumed demand, his voice was gentle, his features tender as he looked the other over. Seeing his passion was an eye-opening experience and he couldn’t help but find the painting to be the most important piece of art he’d ever seen. 

“It’s Valentine’s day.” Grantaire laughed softly. Of course Enjolras wouldn’t know that. Enjolras’ eyes went wide and he sputtered for a second, looking at his gifts with wide eyes.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s alright.” Grantaire waved the thought away, “I didn’t expect anything.” With a love-drunk smile, he turned to head to his usual table. Enjolras gripped his wrist suddenly, and he glanced at him.

“Why me? I have never returned your affections.” His words were soft, quiet, and that was odd for Enjolras. Grantaire was used to everything that left his mouth being impassioned and loud. 

“You’re important to me. I still haven’t fallen out of love with you.” Grantaire replied, and Enjolras snorted at the sentiment.

“I don’t think anyone is that important to you. I’m hardly a bottle of wine.”

“Actually, you’re the most important person in my life right now.” Grantaire replied honestly, his green eyes shining with something that caught Enjolras’ breath in his chest. That was an oddly amazing response, somehow, and he couldn’t quite draw his eyes away from the other.

“Truly?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about this.” Grantaire leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on the other’s cheek, and Enjolras allowed it for the first time in their lives together.

“...Thank you.” He whispered, touching his cheek gently and feeling the tingling sensation he didn’t think would ever leave. Grantaire nodded his acknowledgement before heading off to his table, sitting down and pulling out his leatherbound sketchbook. Setting his gifts aside, Enjolras walked downstairs with purpose, only returning with a bottle of wine with a red ribbon wrapped around its neck. It wasn’t the most thoughtful gift, but he knew that Grantaire would appreciate it regardless.

Setting it beside him, Enjolras smiled slightly before disappearing, leaving him in silence before the speech started, a particular comment from Marius getting him going. Grantaire hardly minded, enjoying the sight of Enjolras losing himself to his intense devotion to democracy and France. 

For days afterwards, Enjolras was distracted by the red ribbon tied around Grantaire’s wrist. He told himself it was in support of his revolution, but he knew, deep down, it was only in support of him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

AN: Here we have another one! Sort of short but I just have to go where the muse takes me. I’m really happy with this one, actually, I hope you guys enjoyed it! Writing soft things for the boys seems to be helping me cope. The eight roses represent how long Grantaire has been in love with him, and that Grantaire was saved from his depression somewhat by Enjolras’ light in his life.

Prompt: “Actually, you are the most important person in my life right now.”

Translations:

Mon Coeur - My Heart

[demonsonthemoon]

Sunkissed, Sunburnt, Soothed

Fandom: Les Misérables Pairings: platonic Jehan & Grantaire, romantic Grantaire/Enjolras Word Count: 2607 Summary: "The first time Grantaire met Enjolras, he felt for a second like he was going blind. Meeting Jehan had been far less dramatic." Or: the story of not-so-healthy relationships, what they give and what they take, the ways they have of being too much and of being not enough. (Featuring Aromantic!Jehan) Note: Dedicated to my friend Caro (@anastasiapullingteeth), forever the Grantaire to my Jehan and a star in my constellation. This fic was a bit rushed to I could put it out in time for #AggressivelyArospecWeek. I definitely feel like the concept deserves a far longer exploration than I gave it here. Also I have no idea whether the POV and style shifts actually work. Do the paragraph breaks work??? I don't know. I just didn't want to think of how to fix them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and don't hesitate to let me know what you thought!

Read it on AO3.

The first time Grantaire met Enjolras, he felt for a second like he was going blind. Like he had just stared at the sun and was about to pay for it. Like the other was a new version of Medusa, turning people to ashes instead of stone.

To be fair, the whole experience may have had something to do with the fact that Grantaire had been well on his way to drunk at the time. Although that didn't explain the continued feeling of being on fire everytime Enjolras looked at him.

Meeting Jehan had been far less dramatic. If Enjolras was the threatening light of the sun faced head on, Jehan was a soft beam peeking above a cloud. He didn't command attention, instead drew it gently with patterned tights, pastel-colored skinny jeans and chunky cable-knit sweaters. Grantaire had taken one look at him and decided he wanted to befriend him. It had something to do with the way Jehan had kept half of his hands hidden in his sleeves, the way his smile had seemed just that little bit uncertain before he let himself be drawn into conversation by Courfeyrac and Bahorel.

Enjolras was so beautiful to look at it often seemed painful. Jehan was a mess of clashing color and haphazard hairstyle, and he was so real it made Grantaire's bones sing.

He had been drunk the first time he had met Enjolras, the first time he had witnessed one of their little meetings from a hidden corner of the Musain. He had been drunk the second time too. Part of his brain had convinced him that the angel, the burning god, would not be there if he came back sober. Part of him had been too scared to face that kind of passion without the flimsy protection of alcohol. Part of him had just been looking for any excuse he could get.

He'd been sober when he'd met Jehan. The young man had joined the group of revolutionaries after Grantaire, although he had been accepted as a friend much more easily. Grantaire hadn't been jealous of that. He could admit he had never made it particularly easy for the other to find him likeable.

Smart people do not bare their skin to the sun at its zenith. They put on a hat instead.

But Jehan had looked past the wide brim of his, had spotted the freckles hiding on Grantaire's nose and had offered to kiss them.

The young man was free with his affection, in that he thought that love should be free. Free to roam and explore, free from the shackles of expectation and propriety. He was free with his love, because he had been told once he could not love right. He had then decided that if he couldn't do it right, at least he would love a lot. Even if it wasn't enough, it would make the world just a little kinder.

Grantaire hadn't ever thought he was able to love in a way that didn't destroy. He had loved laughter once, until laughter had turned into the price he paid for attention. He had loved learning, until learning became the thing he did to prove his parents he was still worth something. He had loved people, and the people had turned into bottles, so fragile between his fingers.

He had loved art. It was the one thing he had managed to renounce before it turned into a blade.

He loved Enjolras.

The truth of that was a block of ice constantly floating around his stomach. It was the kind of cold that burned, and numbed all other feelings at the same time.

Jehan loved him. Not like ice, and not like fire. Not like one romantic lead loved another in all the novels he read.

He loved him all the same.

And Grantaire loved him back, in a way that – for once – didn't feel dangerous. Jehan was the wick of a candle instead of a forest. Sometimes Grantaire resented him for it. Most of the time he was relieved.

They moved in together one day. It made sense for a lot of reasons. Mostly because it was cheaper. But also because they could be there for each other more easily this way. They could keep each other accountable. Keep each other standing. They could promise each other the warmth of another body when they came home.

When one of them offered to share a bed and turn the second bedroom into an art room, it made sense too. So much so that neither of them remembered who came up with the idea in the first place.

It was good. It was nice. In the way that drinking hot chocolate under a blanket while watching the rain outside was nice. It wasn't the same as lazing in the sun, but it was comforting in its own way.

Grantaire hadn't felt like he needed anything else. The grey weather was what he knew, and he would make the best of it. There was a voice in his mind, like the rumbling of far-off thunder, that told him he didn't deserve anything else anyway. That told him he had no choice, that he could learn to swim or drown.

When that voice spoke, when the pain of it flashed like lightning through his veins, Grantaire made Jehan some tea in a quaint little cup, with a hint of honey, and he baked lemon and basil cake.

Then one day the sky caught fire in the most magnificent sunset that Grantaire could have imagined.

Enjolras asked him out for coffee. Not to talk about politics. Not to berate him about his latest interruption during a meeting. Ey asked him out.

Grantaire thought it was a joke at first. He genuinely thought it was a joke, got mad about it and started ranting about how it wasn't funny and he'd expected better from Enjolras.

But it had been real. And Enjolras had been as impassioned as ever when ey had convinced Grantaire that ey was taking this really seriously, that ey was genuinely interested in Grantaire and wanted to give the both of them a shot.

How could Grantaire have said no ?

So they had gone for coffee. And it had been weird at first, but then it had gotten better. If he was honest with himself, Grantaire would admit that he would have gone much further than weird to get a shot at being so close to Enjolras. He called the other Apollo, and laughed when Jehan started calling him Icarus, not noticing the genuine note of concern in his friend's tone.

The one coffee turned into dinner two weeks later, then drinks a week after that, then Grantaire staying at Enjolras' place for the night, then them starting to officially date.

When Grantaire moved out of Jehan's bed and back into their little art studio, he told the other man that it wasn't something Enjolras had asked for. It was something Grantaire had chosen to do himself.

Jehan didn't have the heart to tell him how much it hurt that Grantaire would pick Enjolras over him even when ey hadn't asked him to choose.

That didn't mean that Jehan wasn't happy for his friend. He was. This was what Grantaire had always wanted, and his joy at finally tasting the honey he had coveted for so long was infectious.

At least for a while.

For weeks, for a few months even, Grantaire was glowing. Jehan felt his closest friend drift further away from him, but he happily swallowed his bitterness in the face of Grantaire's smile. It was painful to admit that Enjolras might really have something more to give that Jehan would ever be able to provide, but that didn't mean he would be as selfish as to take it away from Grantaire.

Then Enjolras and Grantaire had a fight.

Jehan hadn't been worried, at first. The couple had always had fights with each other, sometimes in quite spectacular ways. They clashed on many different subjects, partly because they were both opposite and alike to each other. Their ideas often had the same roots, but life had made them grow in contrary directions.

So one more fight hadn't been a cause for worry. Even the fact that Grantaire had grabbed a beer in the fridge right after coming back to their shared flat hadn't really been enough to spook Jehan. It was far from unusual, for Grantaire.

The fact that Grantaire was quiet as he drank, more sad than angry, was a hint that something might be amiss, but not enough to panic. Grantaire was prone to melancholy, a mood which Jehan knew well enough to respect in others.

All this to say that, no, Jehan hadn't been worried. Not at first.

Not after that one fight, and not even after the next one.

Grantaire and Enjolras always made up. They always went back to one another. After all, Enjolras was Grantaire's singular belief. You did not just one day decide to stop following the Northern star when it was what had always guided you home.

The moment when Jehan started getting concerned was after he noticed that the times between arguments were just... less. On the one hand, Grantaire started spending more time with Jehan again. They would huddle up on the couch with one of Jehan's handmade infusions and watch weird documentaries well into the night, and it was nice to have that again. On the other hand, Grantaire wasn't coming home with a dopey smile on his face and apologies for how time had gotten away from him while at Enjolras' the evening before.

Grantaire didn't talk about it. Jehan didn't press, although he did... hover. Just a little.

Then Grantaire announced that he was going to spend a little while at Enjolras' place, longer than usual, because they needed some uninterrupted time as a couple, just the two of them.

Jehan tried to be happy for them, happy that they were trying to make it work, happy that they still believed in one another. He tried not to dwell on how their own appartment had started feeling more and more empty, even when Grantaire was here. He stopped himself before he could make a bitter comment about using Grantaire's room as an art studio again.

Instead, he lead his friend to the door, kissed him on both cheeks, and wished him well. He watched him go like one sits by the sea and waits for the light to sink.

The thing was, Jehan wasn't a saint. He was a human being with needs and desires of his own, and maybe he couldn't love Grantaire romantically, but he did love him. And for a year he had had everything he thought he would never be allowed to get, a best friend, a roommate, someone he could share his bed with at night and who would share Shakespeare-based puns with him over breakfast in the morning. And then a sungod had come in and ripped all of that from him, and he'd been forced to smile through it because Enjolras was his friend and Grantaire was happy.

But there had been something tense in Grantaire's shoulders as he'd packed his bags, and it had made Jehan want to scream. He didn't know how to tell the other man that he wanted him to come home without making it about his own pain and the feeling burned in his stomach like acid.

Jehan cried in his bed that night. He would have done it in Grantaire's, but he couldn't bear to step into the room that was now only a shadow of what it had once meant.

When Grantaire called him, three days later, in tears, there was a part of Jehan that felt vindicated. It wasn't enough to stop his stomach from twisting into knots as he whispered comforting platitudes until he could grasp anything coherent in Grantaire's distressed babbling.

“I don't understand what's happening, I don't understand why we just... why we can't... It's like ey can't hear what I'm saying, and I don't understand what ey wants me to tell em, I just...”

“It's okay. It's okay, Grantaire, you don't have to understand everything, just calm down a little. Right now you're panicking. You can't see things clearly if you're panicking.”

“I haven't seen anything clearly in weeks, Jehan. Everything's all blurry now.”

“That's just the alcohol talking.”

“No. It's really not. I wish it was.”

When Jehan saw Enjolras the next day, as they met up with all their friends, he couldn't even be angry. Ey look frazzled. Not in a dramatic way, but anything less than perfection was already dramatic when it came to Enjolras.

Grantaire had made Jehan promise not to say anything to em about their phone call, and Jehan respected that promise even if he didn't like it. That didn't stop him from watching Enjolras intently. There was a weariness to eir gaze that perfectly echoed Grantaire's for the past few days. Eir eyes kept drifting across the room, and Jehan didn't doubt that ey was asking emself the same question that was on his own lips: where was Grantaire?

At one point in the evening, Enjolras' eyes settled on Jehan. He met the gaze face on. He had nothing to hide. He wasn't ashamed of the pain and the fear he felt. It wasn't anything he didn't know he had a right to.

Enjolras didn't recoil. Ey bore the brunt of Jehan's attention and the accusation that sat hiding there. Ey looked on, weary, lost. There was a taste at the back of Jehan's throat that felt like pity, but he swallowed it.

When Grantaire finally came back to their shared flat, he was completely drenched from the storm outside.

“I had an umbrella with me, but I thought this would be more fitting.”

“That sounds like you, yeah.”

Grantaire stayed in the hallway. The sound of water droplets dripping from his hair and hitting the floor echoed ominously.

“I missed you.”

Jehan didn't reply. He didn't know what to say.

“I'm not feeling very good. I think I haven't felt very good in quite a while. I think I didn't realise that you made me feel that way. Good. Like I was good.”

Jehan breathed in. He breathed out. He stopped the screams that were trying to fight their way out of his mouth.

“I got everything I ever wanted. It was supposed to be perfect. It was, I guess. Or it felt like it. For a while. Now it's just... Hell is too warm a word. It's just something rotten. It's taken so much away from me. It's taken you away from me. I thought I couldn't have you both, and I picked em and it... you know that thing about boiling frogs by raising the water's temperature so slowly they don't even try to escape? It was like that.”

Jehan was fighting back tears. Between the two of them, they were about to flood the entire building.

This wasn't what he'd wanted. This was never what he'd wanted. He only wished for Grantaire to be happy. With or without him. Jehan had accepted his fate, he was okay with being left behind if it was for the greater good.

This didn't feel like the greater good. He suddenly wondered if refusing to raise his weapons hadn't been giving up the fight too soon.

“How is it fair to you that I only come back in pieces?”

“It's not.”

“Will you take me back anyway?”

“Of course I will.”

[thevagueambition]

I was tagged by @antirococoreaction to talk about five male characters I love

(God, only five? However will I choose between my boys >_< ?!)

This is most certainly not going to be a literary as your offerings, lmao. When it comes to literary fiction I mostly like Kafka and Kafka, by the nature of his writing, writes thoroughly unlikable characters.

This got way too long bc I’m incapable of not gushing about my faves when given the chance lol 

Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender

It is my enduring opinion that if you want to see a redemption arc done right, look at Zuko’s arc in The Last Airbender. He’s a scared, abused kid who managed to build up personal morals in a system that discouraged them, and was harshly punished for daring to voice them. He’s someone who always wanted to be good, but struggles with defining what good is, given that his culture and upbringing has taught him one thing, but his heart (and his uncle) tells him another, and his new experiences reinforces that. After he figures out what “good” looks like, he’s always held accountable for his past actions. He makes amends, and he accepts it, for the most part, when people aren’t ready to receive them. His anger issues, as well as how he sees himself as someone who had to be hardworking because he isn’t talented (however far from the truth that may or may not be in reality) are also aspects of him that appeal to me and indeed that I relate to. 

Anakin Skywalker from Star Wars

My love for Anakin is not dissimilar to my love for Zuko, though the quality of the writing in question certainly is. I love an edgy boy, is what I’m getting at, I guess :’D More seriously, Anakin’s story is ultimately one about control, which is a subject that interests me quite a bit. Anakin is never, at any point, really in control of his own life. He’s never really truly free. He’s born a slave, he joins the Jedi Order and he becomes Palpatine’s apprentice. He always exists within rigid systems of control, until his very lasts moments with Luke before he dies. With how Palpatine essentially groomed him, thinking of Anakin as equally a victim of Palpatine and a perpetuator of his (metaphorically speaking) abuse is also interesting to me. Certainly his clearly distorted thinking (eg convincing himself he can’t trust Obi-Wan, for instance) is also hugely important to his appeal to me. Also? He’s SO EXTRA I can’t with him lol 

(That’s your LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM you turned off, Anakin!!! I know you’re depressed and dissociated and also The Drama but damn!!!!!!)

Nicodemus Ravens from The Shamer Chronicles (Skammerens børn)

The Shamer Chronicles is a series of Danish fantasy books for kids, and probably the most popular books of that type (particularly the first book, The Shamer’s Daughter). Nico is a major character, though never a POV one. 

Nico was, essentially, abused by his father for not living up to the male gender role. He didn’t want to learn to use a sword, he didn’t want to kill, and his father hated him for it. As a result, he’s a teenage alcoholic and profoundly at war with himself. He constantly have other people telling him narratives about who he is/should be: first, he’s the younger son who should bring his father glory, then he’s the heir unfit for the throne, then he’s, depending on the political position of the character in question, either a monstrous murderer who must be killed by the glorious leader or the rightful heir to throne, a hero ready to bring war to his enemy and liberate his people, then rule them in benevolence.

Nico doesn’t want to be any of those things. He knows who he is, is stubborn about it, but also can’t shake the belief that his relative pacifism is really just cowardice. I’m just going to quote one of my favourite scenes here (forgive the translation, it’s my own, I don’t have the official one at hand):

“[...] They want a hero, I think.”

“Is that so bad? It’s better than being a monster, at any rate.”

“You think? Have you noticed how often heroes die in battle? Of course everyone mourns them afterwards and write beautiful ballads about them, but the heroes remain dead. Stone-dead. And I’m in no hurry to get on my white steed and start slaughtering people until someone better or luckier than I sticks a sword in me. No, thank you.”

He looked both obstinate and shameful, as if he thought he really should get on his white steed and all of that. I could understand why he didn’t want to die, and yet… Well, I think I’d always expected him to return to the Lowlands to fight Drakan at some point.

“What do you want, then?” [...]

“I just want to be me,” he whispered. “Is that so terrible? I just want to be Nico and not a lot of other people’s hero or monster.”

Anyway there are Two Crimes when it comes to Nico: the fact he isn’t gay in canon and how so many adaptations turns him into the Generic Fantasy Hero he’s a very conscious subversion of in the books (the other principle male character is essentially someone who’s hurt by toxic masculinity as someone who buys into it, while Nico ofc is hurt by it because he doesn’t/can’t, so the series certainly had an opinion about it). 

Albus Dumbledore from Harry Potter

Dumbledore is, to me, someone who chose what was good for the world over his own happiness. He chose to be the one to dirty his hands, the one two make the terrible decisions, do the terrible things, that were necessary in the battle against facism. There is something very brave and admirable about that to me. It’s not that he never did anything wrong, he certainly did, but again, I think he was very aware of the terrible things he was doing, and part of the reason he keeps everything so close to his chest is because he doesn’t want anyone else to have to make those decisions, to have to feel that blood stain their hands. Dumbledore loves the people in his care profoundly, he loves Harry profoundly. And it kills him to have, as Snape puts it, “brought him up like a pig for slaughter”. 

Whether something is morally justified and whether it’s necessary to prevent evil are two different questions, and I don’t think Dumbledore feels particularly justified, but I do think he does what he perceives to be necessary to prevent facism. And hates himself for the decisions he takes along the way. And all of that comes back to, to some extent, his survivor’s guilt over the death of Arianna and the profound wake up call that was Grindelwald 1) turning on his family 2) being a very violent fascist, rather than just a theoretical one like teenage!Dumbledore was. In his mind, Dumbledore is already condemned for what happened when he was 18, so it’s better that it be he who takes the terrible things upon himself than an “innocent.” It’s better that he try to atone. Dumbledore is working towards a redemption he never (to his mind) arrives at. 

In regards to his sexuality, Dumbledore was certainly written with the trope of a “tragic old closeted gay” in mind, but of course JKR never made anything much canon aside from his “flamboyant” sense of style (that the movies have ROBBED us of >:( ) and hobbies, so to a certain extent, I get to ignore that homophobic intent. In the books themselves, the only thing you can really read between the lines is that Dumbledore was in love with Grindelwald, not whether it was 1) reciprocated 2) acted upon, so with only the canon, we also get to mitigate some of the Implications of “Dumbledore dated Wizard Hitler for a while”.... 

I mean I do Love Mess(tm) so Dumbledore having that terrible wake up call is certainly also part of the appeal for me. Personally I enjoy the interpretation that Grindelwald deliberately manipulated Dumbledore’s feelings. 

Captain Flint/James McGraw from Black Sails

BE GAY DO CRIME BE GAY DO CRIME BE GAY DO CRIME BE-- *coughs*

As you might guess from my description of Dumbledore, a lot of the reasons I love Flint are similar to why I love Dumbledore (and Solas, but we won’t go in to Solas rn lol). Flint is also someone who chooses to do the terrible, necessary things, who chooses the fight over his personal moral cleanliness. In a more obvious and extreme way than Dumbledore, certainly, but the principle is essentially the same. Of course, Flint’s fight is personal in a completely different way from how Dumbledore’s is. Flint’s fight is simoultaneously his revenge, a fight against the corrupt system that ruined his life and a fight for something better. Dumbledore is defensive, Flint is offensive. 

The self-integrity he has is truly amazing. He’s cast aside by everyone but Miranda, and yet he never starts thinking he has anything to apologise for. To ask for a pardon would be to ask for forgiveness, and he doesn’t think he needs to be forgiven. Not for loving Thomas, not for anything he did while he was still English. He perceives the reality of the situation, he sees what is right and what is wrong, and he knows that he is the wronged party. He stares at the behemoth of the entire social structure of his world and says: No. You move. I am not in the wrong. England should apologise to me.

Flint is my angry gay dad and I love him. 

I tag (as always, completely optional ^^ ): @teddy-stonehill​ @thebearmuse​ @andvaka​ @solitarelee​ @gallifreyanathearts​ @sinni-ok-sessi​ @melle93​ @papanden​ @seimsisk​

I feel a bit dishonest leaving Grantaire off of this list, lmao, but I talk about him enough as it is. 

Other honorables mentions go to: Enjolras (Les Mis), Captain Jack Harkness (Doctor Who/Torchwood), Solas (Dragon Age), Fitzwilliam Darcy (Pride and Prejudice), Kim Kitsuragi (Disco Elysium), Harry Potter, Remus Lupin (Harry Potter) and my soap boys Robert Sugden (Emmerdale), Richard “Ringo” Beckmann (Unter Uns) and Ben Mitchell (Eastenders). 

[stressedlady]

2,5k of god knows how to call this Enjoltaire fic...

The Portrait

He didn't want to be there. The light, the colorful dresses the ladies around him wore, the alcohol he had been practically forced to drink...he felt dizzy and slightly confused.

However, the blond wasn't going back home by any means. He had had a fight with his father and was not willing to give that bastard the satisfaction of thinking that he was dependent of him in any way.

How had Enjolras ended in that famous brothel? Well, in the second he told Courfeyrac that he couldnt return home for the night his friend dragged him and  Combeferre to the Moulin Rouge. They stared  for a while at the beautiful ladies dancing for a while, both of his friends were quite interested but Enjolras face expressed nothing more than indifference, deep resignation and anger.

"This is inmoral." declared the blond.

"That's what a priest would say, and you hate the clergy..."  replied Courfeyrac with a wide smile.

"Well, my arguments are quite different, this poor girls are treated like objects to play with by those rich men because they need their dirty money to survive in this society who shames them as if they criminals. Some of them are probably being forced to work here and have to give the most of their earnings to someone else"  He sighed. "And we are just contributing this injustice by coming to this place."

"Hell, now I feel guilty" snorted Courfeyrac, considering his friend’s words. But seconds later a man who was about their age approached them.  

"Goodnight, Monsieur Courfeyrac" said the man with bright blue eyes and curly black hair. "I just came to say hello before leaving, I see you are in company, I don't want to bother you."

Saying this, his eyes went in a fast gaze from the lad he already knew to the one wearing glasses and to the blond. He smirked at Enjolras' serius face before turning his eyes back to Courfeyrac.

"Grantaire! Goodnight my friend. Don't leave yet, it's uncommon to see you out of your study, and sober..."

"Well, I wanted to take a break from all the comissions and projects, leave the oil paints aside for a couple of hours." He sighed. "But it seems that I've grown used to be alone or with very little company and now this much people and noise is overwhelming."

"Do not lie, you've never been a friend of crowds." He said with a grin. "Let me introduce you to my friends: Monsieur Combeferre, Monsieur Enjolras, this is Grantaire, one of the most brilliant artists of Paris."

Grantaire laughed "Oh, you are the one who lies to them. I don't even reach the rating of artist. Now I should leave to home and get drunk, nice to meet you..."

"Wait!" exclaimed Courfeyrac. "Would you mind to take my friend, Enjolras, with you?" The artist raised his eyebrows, and the blond one frowned. "He wants to do the morally right thing and leave this place but of he is left alone in the streets he will probably get killed by some robber, you are leaving and if you are not in company, you'll probably drink youself to death. Am I wrong?"

Grantaire looked at Enjolras again, trying to scrutinise his beautiful features with the dim light of the place. Then answered smiling "Not at all."

"Then it's done, Enjolras, you may go with Monsieur Grantaire." he said, practically pushing Enjolras off of his chair. "Wait, what?" sputtered Enjolras out of confusion.

"Just follow me, unless you want to stay here." Indicated the artist, with a smirk.

The atmosphere into the Moulin Rouge was really heavy, people flooded every single room and it was so warm that it was hard not to feel dizy. But the two young men went through and, when they crossed the main entrance and stepped into the cold empty streets, they sighed of relief.

  "Would you want me to scort you home? This streets are dangerous at night and, without any intention of offending you, sir, you don't seem very able to defending yourself..."

"Being true, going home is the last thing I'd like to do tonight and, trust me" the blond boy raised slightly the lap of his jacket, showing the artist a small revolver he had in a inside pocket, his face turning serious "I'm not as naïve and helpless as I may seem."

"Good" replied Grantaire quite surpraised "Then, may I invite you to spend the night at my apartment? I mean, chatting and that stuff..."

"Won't I bother you?" Asked Enjolras a bit concerned. "You said you had work to do and, well, you look pretty tired."

"If I go back home alone I'll probably get drunk and stay awake until the alcohol beats me down which may happen around four in the morning...so I would be rather pleased to have company.” he smirked. “And more if it's company of a man who wanted to get out of a brothel because he thought it was inmoral." They had already headed to the artist's flat. "And, don't take me wrong but I'm dying in desires to paint you a portrait, you are really beautiful."  

Enjolras blushed slightly but remained composed. “It’s okay for me...”

Grantaire’s flat wasn't the most luxurious or tidy place he had ever been into but, Enjolras thought, was much better than to stay at the Moulin Rouge. The flat was composed by two big rooms. The first one, in which you entered from the front door, was a kind of small and pretty precarious kitchen. There were a small table with two chairs, a wooden old cupboard in a corner and a firewood kitchen, everything surprisingly clean if you let the five empty wine bottles on the table go unnoticed. Grantaire guided Enjolras to the next chamber and inmediately mumbled something like "Sorry for the mess, I wasn't specting any visit tonight..."

That room was a bedroom, livingroom and studio all together. The funiture was composed by a single person bed in a corner in front of one of the big windows which pierced two of the walls, a desk which filled the space next to the bed and in another corner there was a old wardrobe.  The rest of the stuff were basicaly art supplies. Big white canvases and stands were splayed across the place, paintbrushes of every sizes and textures and a lot paint could be found everywhere in that chamber. Some finished portraits and paintings rested in a corner against the wall and some others, unfinished, filled the stands.

Enjolras entered in the room, followed by his host, and after looking at the composition the previous elements formed, he drived his attention to the finished and ongoing paintings. Portraits of some men who, by the way they looked, would pass as what his father would call a 'respetable gentleman' and he would define as an 'elitist bastard', some still alives and one or two religion themed paintings.

"These are really good." said the guest as Grantaire setled the necesary material to paint the blond boy.

"Thank you, but those are mostly commisions, I actuallyi hate them. They are unoriginal, and ordinary, but is what rich people like to put in their walls covered with silk... and a man needs to eat."  he sighed with a resignated smile, staring at Enjolras who had turned to him. He set a wooden stool which Enjolras had not even seen and approached the blond to take his jacket and hat and put them aside. But first he pointed at the jacket, smirking.

"Your weapon is still here, are you sure you trust me enough to stay unarmed?" Enjolras giggled in a way that made the other man grin sweetly.

"Keep that thing away from me, please. I would hate to fire that crap if is not for a really good reason."

"Okay, then I won’t give you any good reasons." said the artist with a smirk and pointed the stool. “Could you, please, sit here however you like and talk as much as you want?”

“Of course.” Enjolras hummed, doing as he was told, a bit confused but smiling pleasantly and watching the artist disappear behind a canvas of 1m x  50 cm "And what would you like to paint then?" The answer was simple, "Whatever the hell I want and however the hell I want. For example, now I want to paint you like the fine marble you seem to be combined with the impression I get of you as you talk."

" ...great" said Enjolras. The man of dark curls had awaken his curiosity.

"So, l'm curious, why would you think going to the Moulin Rouge is immoral, if I may ask?"

"Well, first of all..." he described a long list of reasons which could perfectly answered Grantaire's question: the public shaming and the terrible treatment fo the costumers to the women who worked there, the miserable pay they had, how ephemeral was their work and so on. He went on his ranting for a half an hour or so, the artist painting his features serious and quite focused. Was surprised that the boy was aware of the injustices of the world surrounding him and was not afraid to put them down in words. However, a sudden doubt crossed his mind.

"Okay, I understand, our society is hypocritical and unfair but..." he lifted his eyes from the canvas and set them on the boy's bright blue eyes. "why the hell should you care at all? "

Enjolras' expression turned serious, but not of anger or anoyance, but with the severity of a man who speaks of his beliefs. His blue eyes seemed to be filled with passion, and so did his voice. "Because I am unable to turn my back to the misery in which a big part of the french citizens is living,  I can't spend a hundred francs in a coat while there are families starving in the streets of Paris, and will never think myself or anyone better or supperior because of how rich or powerful they are."  His words were frivolous and he knew it, but were as honest as a drunk man's. Later he smiled, looking into the artist's eyes. "I believe that all men and women on earth are created equal and shall live in freedom, and I will fight for it."

Grantaires eyes were wide open, staring at the man in front of him. Enjolras wasn't a god or an angel like he had thought at first, he was something he felt more distant and foreign, an idealist with the will to change the world, to make it better.

"Yours is a lost cause, my friend." The artist finally said, hiding himself back again behind the canvas, sighing. "You know it, don't you?"

"Probably, but I don't care, I will defend it with my life." he replied. 'You'll die young, then.' Grantaire thought to himself, feeling a sharp sting in his heart.

The conversation went on quite normal, Enjolras told Grantaire why he didn't want to go home and why he had argued with his dad. The artist told him about the pedant rich old men, their arrogant wives and even more arrogant descendency who commisioned him and how much he hated them. He also talked about his younger sister and how smart she was. They enjoyed their time together and around six in the morning, when the sun had just started rising, painting the sky of beautiful yellow, orange and pink-ish colours and filling the room in which both young men were with a warm light, the portrait was finished.

"Done, come and see."

Enjolras stood up and walked next to the artist.

He looked at the painting and his eyes sparkled like stars, but remained silent.  "Well, do you like it?"

In the painting, his clothes were quite different. He wasn't wearing a white shirt and an expensive vest, made with the finest fabrics, but some more modest, a plane white shirt with puffed sleeves and a red vest. There was a detail Enjolras loved and which made him smile warmly: in his chest there was pinned a cockade with the colours of the French flag.  This was a common accessory for French revolutionaries and rebels, who Enjolras admired and respected. In the portrait he looked quite calm, with a smile, but his eyes sparkled with passion and decission. His blond curls and pale skin seemed to have their own light because around him, over the dark background, a light like the ones around gods and angels had in classicist paintings surrounded him.

"I love it, it's...perfect." Enjolras said out of pure joy. Grantaire observed him tenderly and  felt his heart pounding in his chest when Enjolras set a hand on his shoulder  "You are a really good artist, Grantaire." 

"Thanks, and you a really good model." Answered his compliment. Both of them were slightly blushing, staring at each other. When he noticed this,  Enjolras' cheeks turned completely pink and turned his sight to the canvas again.

 "And how much will it be?" asked suddenly the blond.

"How much will it be, what?" Grantaire looked confused.

"The portrait..."

"Oh, you don't have to pay me."

Enjolras jumped in the place "No way, I can't have you up this late, painting me  and later giving you nothing in return!"

"Of course you can, I'm doing this mostly for fun, and you have stayed there, awake, as I painted. I am not rich but I can afford to paint with no ecconomical profit in return."

"I don't care, I want to pay you." answered Enjolras stubbonrly.

"I won't take any money or anything material." said the artist with a smirk . "I swear the is no need to pay me, Enjolras."

"But-"

"Look, just come back, that will be enough. Come back, pose for me again... I don't know if you can tell but I'm a pretty lonely man and some company won't make me any bad. Only if you want, I mean." he looked quite nervous and embarassed by his own request. "You can't take your portrait with you yet, the oil paint takes a week or so to get dry, you should come to pick it next Sunday."

"I can come earlier if you'd like..." said Enjolras tentatively as he took his jacket and was scolted by Grantaire to the front door.

"Whenever you want, I'm always here."

"Is tomorrow okay? I have some work to do today but I'll be free tomorrow."

Grantaire smiled widely, noticing that the boy had liked him a bit.

"Yes, tomorrow will do."

Enjolras reached out to give the artist the traditional French kiss-on-each-cheek, which took Grantaire quite out of guard. "See you tomorrow, then." and he left. 

Grantaire sighed, walked back to his bedroom and turned stood in front of the finished portrait, wondering if such a beautiful creature was real or that boy was just fruit of his imagination and the last hours had been a dream or a illusion. Maybe he had met an angel or a god, a son of Apollo, or Apollo himself, perhaps.

He put his hands into his pockets, before empty, and hummed when he felt four small heavy objects inside his left pocket. Grantaire took them and couldn't help feeling surprised as he looked at the four 20 franc gold coins on his hand. He rapidly deduced that Enjolras had put them there while giving him the two kisses. He smirked.

"That little motherf-"

[goodbyecringe]

(Un)Natural Selection Chapter 21

Éponine

“But you haven’t worn the flats in months Éponine,” Laila called from my closet.

“I’ve never taken dance lessons before. I want to be as comfortable as possible today,” I said, watching Miriam put the necklace Justine gave me around my neck.

“Or you need to be as comfortable as possible because this is the first time you’re seeing Enjolras since-”

“Why don’t you go clean the bathroom mirrors, Elise?” Miriam interrupted, which quickly sent Elise scurrying away.

“You didn’t have to do that, Miriam,” I shook my head.

“Ma’am, If you need another day we could say that your concussion is still bothering you,” Miriam suggested as I stood to put on the flats Elise set out.

“I can’t use it as an excuse forever. If Enjolras was going to send me home he would have done it already,” I said, mostly to ease my anxieties.

“Well, no one can say that you don’t look like a princess on your first day back,” Laila smiled.

As I looked at my reflection I realized that Laila was right about me looking like a princess. Claudia requested that during our dance lessons we were to wear tea-length dresses so our feet would be visible for easy corrections. The dress was a deep shade of emerald green that matched the upcoming holiday. Even though I had skipped breakfast in the Banquet Room Laila did a favor by putting my hair in a simple braid that made the gorgeous dress look more simple.

“Would you like me to walk with you?” Laila asked.

“Thank you but I don’t think Montparnasse has the guts to come out during the daylight,” I laughed, even though I knew I was lying.

Since the moment I told Miriam the truth about Montparnasse and my father it was like a weight had been lifted from my chest. She handled the entire situation better than I could have ever imagined. Unless I asked her about him directly she never mentioned him, which was something Elise and Laila picked up on very quickly. And even though I knew Montparnasse would come at me during any time of the day I needed to be alone before I was thrown back into the Selection. For once it wasn’t the girls that made me worry, but the press. I knew they would be filming our first day of lessons and I could only hope that they had no interest in interviewing us. I held my breath as a butler opened the door to the Banquet Room where most of the girls were already seated in anticipation of lunch. For once, I didn’t feel any eyes on me as I moved towards my seat between Cosette and Musichetta.

“I’m so glad that you’re able to join us!” Cosette said in her usual giddy tone.

“You came just in time to watch me take a swing at the Royal Brat,” Musichetta almost growled.

“Chetta and Teresa have had a few disagreements this week,” Cosette whispered while we stared at Musichetta.

“About what?”

“Does it even matter anymore? She thinks that every one that isn’t her is dirt. It’s beyond her usual Caste discrimination, which we’re all very sick of,” Chetta growled.

“Adele and Harley have been the most recent victims of Teresa’s harassment. Adele swears Teresa got one of her maids to ruin her ball gown so she might have to wear one of her old dresses,” Cosette explained.

Even though Teresa had always been rude to me she had never gone as far as blatant sabotage towards me. As lunch was served I began to piece together that Teresa probably wasn’t threatened by me, a Six. On the other hand, Adele and Harley were both Fours that come from relatively successful families that could pose a threat to her competition if they continued to gain traction with Enjolras. The most interesting part surrounding all of Teresa’s bullying was that I had never once heard her declare her love for Enjolras. Of course, she and every other girl would gush over his body, but I had yet to hear someone declare their love for Enjolras.

Thankfully I didn’t have to spend a long time mulling over the problems with the Selection since Claudia began to give an instructive lecture on ballroom dancing while lunch was being served.

“Ballroom dance is a necessary skill for any young woman that aspires to be a princess. It provides benefits in intellectual and social wellbeing that are conveyed to those dancing and watching the dancing. Dance is its own language that has brought together countless countries that were once at the brink of war,” Claudia explained passionately.

“I think she’s exaggerating a little,” Cosette giggled.

“I think Claudia’s last name is over-exaggerating,” I smiled.

Just as Claudia was entering an explanation of how a person’s teamwork skills are improved through ballroom dancing, Grantaire interrupted with the announcement of our dance partners. One by one the Friends of the ABC made their way into The Banquet Room, each with varying expressions of excitement and nervousness. We were instructed to mingle with the men while several butlers cleared the floor.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I step on your foot ‘Ponine. I haven’t been to a ball since I was twelve,” Marius said from behind me.

My stomach did a backflip at the thought of dancing with Marius.

“I’ve never been to a ball so I hope you're okay with your shoes getting scuffed,” I blushed.

“I debated wearing my steel-toed shoes, but I decided that I have total confidence in you,” Marius smiled before staring off at something behind me.

“Earth to Marius,” I laughed, waving my hand in front of his face.

“Éponine, who is that?” He asked, pointing to Cosette who was laughing at something Courfeyrac said.

“That’s Cosette.”

“She’s breathtaking,” Marius said, continuing to stare at her.

“Yeah, she’s beautiful.”

Before we could continue our conversation Grantaire was announcing the presence of Enjolras and we were being directed into a large circle. Before I could say anything Marius was rushing over the switch with Courfeyrac, who was originally partnered with Cosette.

“It’s so good to see you Éponine,” He bowed, holding out his hand.

“It’s good to see you too Courf. I’ve missed seeing everyone,” I said, curtseying.

“You have an open invitation to the Men’s Room whenever you’d like,” he smiled, putting his hand on my waist.

Claudia explained that every Elite girl would get a chance to dance with every Enjolras and that the men would rotate after every round. After looking around I realized that I would dance with Marius right before I danced with Enjolras, who was currently partnered with Liberty. Marius’s face was lit up like the Christmas Tree in my bedroom and Cosette’s face was light pink. Even while I struggled to dance with Courfeyrac I couldn’t stop staring at Marius. He had never looked at me the way he was looking at Cosette. But his face changed when he walked over to dance with May.

“Is everything okay?” Combeferre asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, looking at my feet, which were badly off tempo.

“Well, what I always try to do when I have too many things going on is focus on one thing at a time. I don’t mean to imply that whatever else you’re thinking about isn’t important, but these lessons will have a direct correlation with how well you do in front of everyone at the ball.”

As per usual, Combeferre was right. Claudia was going to tell the King and Queen about how badly I did during the lesson, which could affect how I stood among the Elite. I had already missed two weeks on history and etiquette lessons, and I knew those two weeks would make a difference. I tried to push Marius out of my head, but the pain I felt in the pit of my stomach was preventing me from prying my eyes away.

“I never thought I’d live to see the day Enjolras wore makeup,” I heard Ferre say, which snapped my attention away from Marius.

“Excuse me?” I asked in a panicked voice, turning my attention to Enjolras for the first time since his arrival.

It wasn’t very noticeable unless you knew where to look. I could barely make out that the right side of his face was more swollen then his left. And I could only imagine the color of his eye beneath the concealer Combeferre claimed he was wearing.

“I also never thought I’d see the day when someone finally gave what was coming to him.”

“He told you?” I asked, grinding my teeth together.

Combeferre nodded in response.

“I really don’t know what came over me. I never should have done that to him. If I would have taken time to process it my life could have been everything I’ve ever wanted. Now my sister is still suffering because of me.”

“He’s not mad at you if that’s what you’re worried about. In hindsight, it was probably a good thing that you said no,” Ferre smiled.

“How could turning down the Crown Prince be a good thing?”

“You would be getting married for all of the wrong reasons. You would only be thinking about helping your sister and he would only be thinking about his beloved Patria,” he explained, spinning me around.

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“You can start with being honest with him about your situation,” he said, giving me a very serious look before we switched partners.

None of the other conversations with my other dance partners were as serious as the one I had with Combeferre. From what I gathered Combeferre was probably the only other person that knew about what happened between Enjolras and me, which didn’t upset me. Most of the men were able to distract me from the worry in my stomach about Marius. Joly was more eccentric than usual and had me sanitize my hands before we could touch while Bossuet was actually better at dancing than I was.

“It’s the only thing I’ve been blessed with,” he smiled before moving on to his next partner.

I watched Marius smile as he made his way towards me. His smile brought me some comfort, but it wasn’t the smile he gave Cosette.

“‘Ponine, I feel like I could dance forever,” he smiled, placing his hand on my waist.

“Why is that?” I asked, fighting the butterflies in my stomach.

“I feel like I was just reborn into this Earth,” he said, spinning me.

At first, I couldn’t help myself but giggle while Marius twirled me around like a princess. And then I remembered the conversation I had with Cosette during the flight to Carolina.

“Isn’t Cosette the most lovely woman you’ve ever met?” Marius asked, bringing me back to reality.

“She’s great,” I almost whispered, staring at my feet.

Did people really fall in love this fast?

“I need to talk to her again. Do you think I would be able to visit her in private?”

“Only if you want to be executed,” I mumbled.

“Of course, I could never risk putting Cosette in that kind of danger. I could write her a letter!” He beamed, like a kid in a candy store.

“But you just met her? How do you know that your feelings are real?” I asked, tears threatening to fall from my eyes.

“I just know. She is the only thing I can think about, and now it’s like the world has more colors. Would you be able to help me with the letters, Éponine?”

There was no benefit to me helping Marius. Why would I help someone that was causing my heart to break into a million pieces?

“It’s the perfect set up ‘Ponine. You’re the only person that can go to Cosette’s room and the Men’s Room,” he carried on.

“What if I got caught?” I asked, still looking at my feet.

“I would take all of the blame, and if I caused you to experience any harm then I promise to compensate you for what you lost here.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want your money.”

“It doesn’t have to be money. I can get you and your sister out of Illeá. You can live on one of my grandfather’s properties and do whatever you want to in France,” he smiled.

How could I refuse him? And if this didn’t work out with Cosette, maybe Marius would see that I was the person he belonged with.

“Okay,” I mumbled as the song ended.

“Come by the Men’s Room after dinner and I’ll have it ready,” he said, bowing.

At least I had a few seconds to wipe the tears away before I had to face Enjolras.

[queer-cosette]

Coco Writes

OK, so I know I’m not always great about summarising my fics on here; I usually just post links. But here is a masterpost of all my fics!

Les Miserables

The Leader And The Cynic

Rated T

1/1 chapter; 1226 words

Summary:

A series of moments from the relationship of Enjolras and Grantaire. Because now my happiness depends on the happiness of fictional revolutionaries. Modern AU

Read on FF.net

Series - On Se Sent Comme Par Magie

The Destiny Of Cosette

Rated T

No Archive Warnings Apply

22/22 chapters; 88,475 words

Summary:

Cosette is an ordinary Parisian teenager - until one day, she stumbles across a powerful Faery being attacked by an ogre! And when she inadvertently uses magic to protect the Faery, Enjolras, she realises that she’s maybe not as normal as she thought. Enjolras invites her to attend Faery school in another dimension with him, where they become friends with three other faeries - Courfeyrac, Jehan and Éponine - and form Les Amis. But all is not well in the Magic Dimension -

What’s the deal with Grantaire, Marius, Bahorel and Combeferre - four cute wizards from another school?

What are Patron-Minette - a trio of witches - planning?

And who is Fantine, the mysterious Nymph who keeps appearing in Cosette’s dreams?

Read on AO3

The Shadow Phoenix

Rated T

No Archive Warnings Apply

26/26 chapters; 165,435 words

Summary:

Les Amis start their second year at Musain College for Faeries, and right off the bat, strange things begin happening in the Magic Dimension. Musichetta, a water Faery, arrives at the school begging for help to rescue her friends, the Piskies, and Patron-Minette have busted out of rehabilitation with the help of a strange skeletal knight - who matches Musichetta’s description of the Piskies’ kidnapper. With the help of Musichetta, Feuilly - a Wizard and new member of Les Amis -, and Professor Mabeuf, the wise new philosophy teacher, this year promises to be as exciting as the last!

Read on AO3

The Warlock Of The Flame

Rated T

Major Character Death

18/25 chapters; 122,516 words

Summary:

Cosette’s life is going great! With Lord Méchant defeated, her final year at Musain College for Faeries is going to be normal (for once); her relationship with Marius is going spectacularly (and it looks like there’s a proposal in the pipeline!); and there’s nothing to suggest that the Magical Dimension is in any danger. But then news of something horrible happening on Musichetta’s home planet reaches the ears of Les Amis - and according to Headmaster Myriel, there’s only one Warlock who could have caused it. As Cosette and her friends face off with the culprit, it becomes more and more apparent that his true nature and past are darker than any of them could have imagined...

Read on AO3

***

Total Drama

Dear Diary

Rated M

Major Character Death, Reference To Eating Disorders and Attempted/Implied Sexual Assault

9/? chapters; 27,617 words

Summary:

"Dear Diary - My teen angst bullshit now has a body count."

Heather Chandler. Gwen Duke. Lindsay McNamara. Courtney Sawyer. Together they make up the most powerful clique at Westerburg High. Most people would die to get into it.

Courtney would kill to get out of it.

Enter Duncan Dean. He has a way with women, a way with words, and a very special way with a gun.

"It's God versus my boyfriend, and God's losing..."

Read on AO3

Read on FF.net

A Little Fall Of Rain

Rated T

Major Character Death

1/1 chapter; 663 words

Summary:

In the midst of the July Uprising, Gwen Thénardier takes a bullet for long time friend Duncan Pontmercy, despite his love for Courtney and his obliviousness towards her feelings for him. Gwen as Éponine, Duncan as Marius. Based off the scene in the musical. I don't own TDI or Les Mis. Warning: Character Death.

Read on FF.net

Freak Out, Let It Go

Rated K+ (G for AO3 users)

1/1 chapter; 271 words

Summary:

Alternatively called ‘What Happens When I listen To Avril Lavigne For Three Hours Straight’. One-shot starring our favourite crazy redhead. Enjoy.

Read on FF.net

Bubblegum Bitch

Rated T

1/1 chapter; 539 words

Summary:

Heather is shiny and perfect on the outside, but on the inside she's a backstabbing user - a mess.

Read on FF.net

I Wish

Rated T

Implied Character Death

1/1 chapter; 357 words

Summary:

When Courtney doesn't show up after TDWT's finale, Duncan does some serious thinking about the past.

Read on FF.net

***

Miraculous Ladybug

mArinette

Rated T

No Archive Warnings Apply

7/8 chapters

Summary:

Marinette tells a lie. A pretty big lie. And soon one lie turns into another, and before she knows it, she's going out of her way to keep the lie going.

When Lila lies, it's sloppy. But Marinette's lie is all too believable.

At least no one else is getting hurt by her lie.

But Marinette's about to find out how hard it is to be known as the school slut.

An Easy A AU.

Read on AO3

Series - A Miraculous Musical

Cute Boys With Short Haircuts

Rated G

No Archive Warnings Apply

1/1 chapter

Summary: 

Marinette sees Adrien and Kagami kissing and jumps to conclusions. Hurt and upset, she heads up to her balcony to do the one thing that cheers her up: singing a really angsty song.

Adrien had nothing to do with the kiss. He just wants to ask Marinette out. He passes her balcony as Chat Noir and hears the most beautiful singing voice... but the song is so sad. And then he sticks around just a little too long, and catches sight of something he shouldn't have...

Read on AO3

Act One: Whalesong

Rated T

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

2/? chapters

Summary:

Marinette's family receives tragic news, and suddenly her cousin becomes her roommate. With her only possessions being a small suitcase of clothes and a bizarre hair-clip, anyone connected to María Sugrue-Dupain begins to become infected with some sort of singing virus - in which they have no choice but to sing about their problems. Ms Bustier, ever resourceful, takes the opportunity to direct the class in a production of the musical 'Heathers', and there is drama on-stage and off it.

But why does the singing virus exist at all? Why is Gabriel Agreste suddenly so interested in Adrien's schoolmates? And seriously, is Nathalie OK? The Gorilla wants to know if he should call someone. Should he call someone?

Read on AO3

Series - Let Me Be Loved

More Adventurous

Rated G

No Archive Warnings Apply

1/1 chapter

Summary:

"And it's only doubts that we're counting On fingers broken long ago. I read with every broken heart We should become more adventurous..."

As Marinette sings at a Kitty Section concert, Adrien starts to notice her in a new light. Unfortunately, he's too late, even if he's not quite sure what he's too late for.

100% inspired by 'More Adventurous' by Rilo Kiley

Read on AO3

***

Equestria Girls

Dazzlings

Rated M

Contains Major Character Death, Reference To Eating Disorders and Attempted/Implied Sexual Assault

13/13 chapters

Summary:

"Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw! Nancy Drew is onto you, Sunset."

Sunset Shimmer wished she was popular, and she became popular -

And suddenly she wished she wasn’t popular.

When Sunset is faced with a fate seemingly worse than death, mysterious new kid Flash Sentry suggests she take matters into her own hands and use drain cleaner, Ich Lüge bullets, and adult ignorance to make the world a better place.

But is his vision of a world without bullies really worth the cost?

Read on AO3

Read on FF.net

***

Original Work

Our Relationship Was A Rainbow

Rated T

No Archive Warnings Apply

1/1 chapter

Summary:

An original piece following the course of a relationship that in spite of glowing all the colours of the rainbow, ended grey and cloudy.

Read on AO3

An Anthology Of Verse, written by a traumatised (yet certified) idiot

Rated G

No Archive Warnings Apply

2/? chapters

Summary:

I asked my followers on Tumblr if they'd be interested in reading some of my original poetry if I posted it here. Four likes and a comment saying "Yes please!!" is more than good enough for me. I hope you enjoy it!

(Note: A lot of this was initially written a few years ago - or even longer. Some of it has - naturally - been edited since my initial draft, but some of it may have a different style to my more recent writing.)

(Another Note: I will be posting new poems as they come to me, or I rediscover them. I will also update tags as I go.)

Read on Ao3

[kjack89]

Testimony

This idea popped in my head and I couldn’t not. This could easily be the start of something longer, a series, perhaps, if there’s any interest in me continuing it. And if not, well...the potential it sets up is sweet in and of itself ;)

ExR, Modern AU.

“Case number 246-01,” the bailiff read in a bored voice. “The State v. Enjolras. Judge Madeleine presiding. All rise.”

Enjolras stood, smoothing the invisible wrinkles from the immaculate suit he wore for the occasion, one of the ones his mother insisted on buying for him before she gave up on speaking to her son altogether. Luckily, his measurements hadn’t changed much in the years since and the suit still fit well.

Very well, if the looks a few of the women on the jury had tossed his way when he walked in were anything to go off of.

Judge Madeleine entered the chamber to begin the second day of the trial against Enjolras and took a seat. “You may be seated,” he said, glancing over the notes in front of him. “Is the prosecution ready to begin?”

District Attorney Javert stood, looking even more dour than usual, and it took every ounce of self-control that Enjolras possessed not to glare at the man who, during opening arguments the previous day, had referred to Enjolras as a homegrown terrorist who would settle for nothing less than the total destruction of all government institutions.

Which was hyperbolic even for Enjolras’s standards. At best he wanted to destroy a solid half of governmental institutions.

Maybe two thirds.

Public libraries could stay. The rest was on thin fucking ice.

Javert cleared his throat and Enjolras blinked. “The State is ready to call our first witness,” Javert said, and Madeleine nodded.

“You may proceed.”

For the first time, Javert glanced at Enjolras, something like triumph in his expression as he announced, “The State calls Sebastien Grantaire to the stand.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth as Grantaire swaggered into the courtroom, trying not to look like he was seething. He had known it was coming, but still — seeing Grantaire take the stand, seeing him raise his right hand to swear to tell the truth against Enjolras—

“Objection.”

Marius Pontmercy stood up, looking almost unconcerned as murmurs broke out in the courtroom. Madeleine blinked, looking almost amused. “You have an objection before Mr. Javert has even asked a single question of the witness?”

“I do,” Marius said.

“On what grounds?” Javert spluttered, looking indignant.

“Spousal privilege,” Marius said. “Mr. Grantaire cannot be compelled to testify against his husband.”

No sooner were the words were out of Marius’s mouth than all hell seemingly broke out in the courtroom. Javert was shouting something, looking positively apoplectic, and as the bailiff hurried to restrain him, Grantaire turned and winked at Enjolras.

--- Four Weeks Earlier ---

Marius looked unusually grave as he stood in doorway of the backroom at the Musain. “I have bad news,” he announced, and the general babble died down as everyone looked over at him. “There’s a warrant out for Enjolras’s arrest.”

Bahorel snorted. “Not the first time,” he said dismissively.

“Not likely to be the last time, either,” Joly added with a grin.

But Enjolras could tell by the look on Marius’s face that this was more serious than his usual brushes with the law. “On what charges?”

“Terrorism,” Marius said grimly, and the room fell silent, “in addition to making a terroristic threat and providing support for an act of terrorism.” He paused. “And a host of other things, too, criminal conspiracy, inciting a riot, assaulting an officer of the peace, and, uh—” He checked his notes. “Seventy-five unpaid parking tickets, apparently.”

Courfeyrac winced. “Oh, man, most of those are mine,” he started, but Enjolras gave him a look.

“I very highly doubt the parking tickets are the state’s highest concern,” he said dryly, before looking back at Marius. “They don’t have enough evidence to make the most serious charges stick, so—”

“Actually, they do,” a tired voice said from behind Marius, and Combeferre steered an exhausted-looking and evenly more dishevelled than usual Grantaire into the room. “I just picked Grantaire up from a Grand Jury proceeding.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said, his eyes never leaving Enjolras’s. “They had a subpoena, and Combeferre told me that if I lied on the stand, he’d have Bahorel kick my ass.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “If you had lied, I wouldn’t need Bahorel to kick your ass,” he told him, a low growl in is voice. “I’m not worth that.” Grantaire snorted but didn’t contradict him and Enjolras looked back at Marius. “So that’s it,” he said tiredly. “Any one of us being compelled to testify would spell the end of Les Amis, and we all knew that going into this.” He straightened, squaring his shoulders. “When do I turn myself in?”

But Marius was looking between Grantaire and Enjolras, something calculating in his expression. “You have 72 hours,” he said slowly. “But there’s a lot that we can do in 72 hours.”

For the first time since arriving, Grantaire looked away from Enjolras, turning to arch an eyebrow at Marius. “What do you have in mind?”

-----

“This is outrageous!” Javert burst as they were ushered into the judge’s chambers and Judge Madeleine sighed, settling himself down at his desk. “Spousal privilege — assuming these two are even legally married — only covers privileged communication after the marriage, and Mr. Grantaire and Mr. Enjolras sure as hell were not married when the incident—”

“Alleged incident,” Marius interjected smoothly.

“When the incident in question,” Javert ground out, throwing Marius a nasty look, “took place.”

Madeleine steepled his fingers and gave Marius and Enjolras both a measured look. “Is this true?” he asked.

Marius shook his head. “No,” he said. “My client was married to Mr. Grantaire at the time of the incident. In fact, they’ve been married for six years.”

“Seven,” Enjolras interjected, before hastily adding, “Sorry, Your Honor, but I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I got the anniversary wrong.”

Madeleine chuckled and Marius smiled slightly. “Sorry, yes, seven years,” he said. “I have their marriage certificate right here, signed, dated and notarized by a licensed justice of the peace.”

“But not filed with the state!” Javert snapped, as Marius handed the marriage license over to Valjean, who looked at it with interest. “Or else it would have come out during discovery, and therefore the validity—”

“My client was married in 2012,” Marius said, “before United States v. Windsor or Obergefell v. Hodges. With whom would you have liked them to file their marriage certificate, when their marriage was not, at the time, legally recognized?” Javert scowled but didn’t reply and Marius continued, “Things have changed so rapidly since then that Mr. Grantaire and my client simply forgot to file the documentation until recently.”

Javert let out what sounded suspiciously like a snarl. “Then why didn’t Mr. Grantaire bring this up during his Grand Jury testimony?”

“That was my fault,” Enjolras said, apologetically, and everyone turned to look at him. “We’ve been — well, we were fighting at the time, for lack of a better term. And so he took it out on me by testifying at the Grand Jury. But he didn’t realize— he never thought this would happen.” Enjolras lifted his chin, something defiant in his expression. “We love each other. And he would never testify against me.”

Javert glared at Enjolras before switching his glare to Madeleine. “You can’t seriously be buying this!” he protested.

“I have no reason not to,” Madeleine said lightly, passing the marriage certificate back to Marius, who looked like he was trying very hard not to grin. “The state is welcome to continue its case against Mr. Enjolras, but you’ll be doing it without Mr. Grantaire’s testimony.”

Javert looked positively furious, and Enjolras let out a breath it felt like he’d been holding for weeks.

-----

A few hours later, Enjolras walked down the stairs in front of the courthouse, grinning at Marius and Grantaire waiting for him. “Wish I had been there to see Javert’s face when he dropped all charges,” Grantaire said a little mournfully as Enjolras reached them.

“It was a beautiful sight,” Enjolras assured him. “Where’s everyone else?”

Marius rolled his eyes. “You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, remember?” he said, with somewhat fond exasperation. “Now you two get out of here. I’m going to swing back by Madeleine’s office and thank him—”

“He wants to go make eyes at Madeleine’s secretary,” Grantaire told Enjolras. “That’s all he’s been able to talk about while we were waiting for you. While you were busy almost going to jail, he was busy ooh-ing and aah-ing over some poor girl.”

“I was not!” Marius protested, beet red, and Enjolras just shook his head.

“Go,” he ordered. “I need a word with my husband anyway.”

They both watched Marius head back up to the courthouse before Grantaire turned to Enjolras, his smile softening. “Husband,” he said mildly. “I’m still not used to hearing that.”

“And I’m still not ok with this.”

Grantaire cocked his head slightly. “Being married to me? I don’t blame you.”

“No, lying,” Enjolras said, glaring at him. “I told you—”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “That you’re not worth it, yeah, I remember.” He gave Enjolras a pointed look. “Thing is, I didn’t lie. I said not one word of falsehood in that courtroom, on the record, or anywhere else.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “A lie of omission is still a lie.”

The corners of Grantaire’s mouth twitched. “Barely.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Still—”

“You are worth it,” Grantaire interrupted, something soft in his expression. “Forging a marriage license, lying under oath — you are more than worth it.” He paused. “You’re the only one that’s worth it. To me, at least.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t quite seem to find any words to say, so he settled for ducking his head and swallowing, hard. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “So, uh, how long do you think we need to stay married?”

“That depends,” Grantaire said lightly. “When does the statute of limitations run out?”

“Not sure that there is a statute of limitations for terrorism.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Ah well,” he said cheerfully. “Thankfully I didn’t have any better offers.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes again, but it was with an almost begrudging smile. “You sure you can handle being married to me for that long?”

“For the rest of my life?” Grantaire asked, with a breathy laugh. “I somehow think I’ll manage.” He arched an eyebrow at Enjolras. “The question is, can you?”

Enjolras met his eyes squarely. “Have you ever known me to back down from a challenge?” he asked.

Grantaire’s grin widened and he slowly shook his head. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go tell everyone the good news.” He turned away then paused, glancing back at Enjolras before holding out his hand, a small smirk crossing his face. “Do you permit it?”

Instead of answering, Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand and laced their fingers together, giving Grantaire a smile that was entirely too soft to be the ‘challenge accepted’ grin he intended. “Let’s go.”

[salamanderergfanfictions]

Les Mis, snippets, Enjolras is an actor hired by C&C

Enjolras is the pretty face of the revolution, and not much else.

Enjolras is just the figurehead for the Les Amis because he's attractive, in reality he doesn't care about politics one lick.

-

Combeferre looked a little sickly after hearing Courfeyrac's plan.  Not because it was one that was so farfetched as to not work, but because it was—

"It is genius," He admitted, "A figurehead, a mouthpiece, for our rebellion who does not actually know anything and keeps our identities secret."

Courfeyrac grinned, "And you have not even seen him yet, Combeferre, he is a spectacle."

"You have found someone already?" Combeferre questioned with surprise.

"Found and hired, my friend.  He will come on the morrow," Courfeyrac started buzzing around the desk, fluttering papers in his hands and to the floor in his excitement. "He will perform our speeches in public and at the meetings, in return for food and lodging."

"And can you afford food and lodging for another person, Monsieur de Courfeyrac?"

Courfeyrac wrinkled his nose in disgust at the given last name, "That will work itself out in time, Combeferre.  You have not seen this boy yet."

"He is a boy?  No one on the street will stop to listen to a child, Courfeyrac."

Courfeyrac waved him off, "He is of age, though a few years younger than us.  I found him playing a most deceiving Doña Sol.  Hardly anyone knew he was not actually a woman, even forgiving the lack of bust in favor of his beauty."

"Ah," Combeferre exclaimed in enlightenment, "That is the main reason, is it not?"

Courfeyrac grinned broadly, "Who stops to look at a dead tree on the side of the road?"

"And who can resist one in full bloom?" Combeferre added. "Courfeyrac, I must say again, this is some form of genius.  But can he act?"

"He is skilled as a performer as well, I have no doubt he will be a convincing orator for a rebellion.  Do not fear, you will meet him soon."

"And what is his name?"

Courfeyrac beamed, "I thought we could call him ‘Enjolras’."

--

Grantaire rose from his seat, keeping eyes that only blurred slightly on the figure in red sitting on the floor.  There was some special thread pulling Grantaire closer, one that had no power to string fabric, but could string people just as easily. Grantaire hoped he would be one of those people, though the man looked utterly untouchable as he closed his eyes in exhaustion and leaned against the wall, no doubt fully aware of the debate going on between the rest of the group despite not participating.  Grantaire could no longer hold his tongue and so slid himself down on the floor next to the man with a grunt.

He licked his lips quickly, "If the Rights of Man—”

"Oh, I beg of you, do not speak to me any more of politics.  I have got such a headache from the previous speech and cannot take anymore."

Grantaire raised his eyebrows, "So even the steadfast grow weary.  I had not thought it possible."

The blonde snorted, "Anything is possible with enough stage direction.  Monsieurs Courfeyrac and Combeferre are good directors."

"I must admit, I do not understand.  Or, rather, I am beginning to understand and in doing so fall deeper into confusion."

"Give me a drink first," Enjolras said, nodding to the bottle in Grantaire's hand, pressing their shoulders together with a smile, "And I may choose to lend you a hand out of that pit of confusion.”

--

“I like ugly men,” Enjolras stumbled into Grantaire’s shoulder, letting out a loud laugh.  He was quite drunk, as he often was after performing a speech or attending a particularly trying meeting, and Grantaire did not look comfortable at the situation. “They are much more honest than pretty ones."

"Fitting, as you yourself are quite pretty."

"Exactly,” Enjolras drank deeply from Grantaire’s bottle, having snatched it right out of the other’s hand. “Take me to bed.”

"I do not wish to."

"Liar," Enjolras blurted out, before his tone turned cajoling, "Take me out of this bar, let the cold air sober me up, and I will play your doomed revolutionary for you.  Hm?  How does that sound?"

"That...” Grantaire mulled over the word, “Does not sound appealing to me."

"Liar."

"You have mistaken my adoration for something else."

"And your longing glances?  And your timid touches?” Enjolras smirked, “Have I mistaken those as well?"

"You have mistaken much, thrice you have called me a liar after proclaiming hideous men to be more honest.  What say you to that?"

"I say I am very pretty," Enjolras answered haughtily, "And therefore not to be trusted."

--

"What a glorious trick," Grantaire greeted Combeferre as the other walked into the Musain, tipping his cup in salute.  Combeferre's face turned into a frown and he paused his stride.

"A trick?"

"Oh yes.  Your beautiful actor was good enough to tempt me into listening to him, I almost became a true believer," He winked. "Though I suppose this is something like Noel, discovering the face of Les Amis is a fake, a pretty mouth paid to siren people into listening on the street.  It is manna for a cynic like me."

Combeferre swore under his breath.

--

"—when you spill our secret to anyone that asks!" Courfeyrac yelled, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.  His coat and hair had already suffered, the former thrown in a corner, rumpled with sweat stains, and the latter wild from fingers pulling at it.

"You hired me to talk, is it any surprise that it is what I am best at," Enjolras shrugged, unfazed by the show.

"So what are we paying you for?”

"You pay for my acting skills, my ability to use my tongue and lips to tell pretty little lies from a script.  Not my ability to keep secrets behind them.”

"So you reveal yourself to the drunken outlier of our group.  You could not confide in someone else?"

"Grantaire will not tell anyone," Enjolras waved the concern off with a lofty hand and took another drink. "He is quite enamored and seeks to know me," Enjolras smirked delicately, letting his eyes drift to Courfeyrac as if awaiting the other's reaction, before finishing, "In the way of the Greeks."

Courfeyrac huffed in renewed frustration, pacing the floor in order to forget the public utterance of too intimate information, "This is comparable to telling your mistress of the problems in your relationship.  Only trouble will come of it!"

"Is that a problem you have often, Monsieur Courfeyrac?" Enjolras questioned lightly, seeking to change the subject.

“Grantaire is good for nothing, he seeks to tear down our progress!  One wine bottle at a time!”

“He is not that bad,” Enjolras waved Courfeyrac off, “He offers you no advantages, yes, but he does not hinder you.”

“And at the Café Richefeu? How was that not hindering?”

Enjolras leveled Courfeyrac with a stare and began to laugh, “I sent a drunk to talk to other drunks about something he has no interest in, of course he ended up playing dominos!  I had no expectation of him completing his task.”

“He asked for a job, he asked to be useful.”

Enjolras scoffed, “He asked for Enjolras to think him useful.  I told you, he is enamored, he craves Enjolras’ attention, his approval—Grantaire would happily stand in front of the National Guard if that was where Enjolras was standing as well.  There is nothing more to him than wine and ‘Enjolras’,” He chuckled wryly.  “He tells me great tales of Greek lovers in passionate and sprawling prose—were his face not so unappealing, he would have made an excellent actor—I have been compared to many of them, yet he never appoints one to himself.  There comes a point in the evening when I must remind him I am not a statue or demigod, nor am I so upright, clean, and chaste.  The last challenges me to find more and more creative ways of stopping his tongue, which is quite exhausting.”

"I hope your silence extends to those ways of stopping his tongue,” Courfeyrac muttered wearily, rubbing his head.

"He has fallen in love with the part," Enjolras said seriously, staring Courfeyrac in the eye, "It is this love that will keep him quiet.  He admires 'Enjolras', disagrees with the rhetoric, of course, he is not here for revolution, but finds himself drawn anyways.  I have played your part of pious, staunch student too well," Enjolras laughed, a bitter edge tingeing the words, "How sad that he has fallen in love with a lie.  It is the role he wants to be with, yet can only settle for the actor."

There was a beat, and then, quite against his instincts and mostly out of curiosity, Courfeyrac questioned, "Am I right in assuming the actor similarly adores his audience?”

Enjolras shrugged, throwing out an answer that required him not to think too hard, "All actors adore their audience, receptive ones the most, without them there is no reason."

“And vice versa.  Though that did not answer my question.”

Enjolras leaned back in his chair, making the effect of looking down his nose at Courfeyrac even more severe, “We are not friends, Monsieur Courfeyrac, we will not share hopes and dreams in the midnight hours, and if this revolution of yours comes to a head, do not count mine amongst it.  I am here to be paid, I cannot spend your money if I am dead, and that is surely where I will end up if I continue playing this part.”

“Enjolras—”

“That is not my name,” The other man sneered, the waning candlelight no longer casting an appealing glow on his face, but deepening shadows that Courfeyrac had not even known were there.

--

End

[ilovemybarricadebabies]

My incredibly personal story of how I fell in love with Les Mis, and by extension, Enjoltaire.

I was first introduced to Les Mis through singing “Castle on a Cloud” when I was an 8th grader in my junior/high school choir. At this time, the film of the musical had just been released. After hearing my choir director talk about it, I had an interest in seeing it in the movie theatre, but was never able too. However, that summer, on either July 12th or 13th, 2013 (I only remember the date because I distinctly remember watching it, and then learning about Cory Monteith’s death (despite never watching Glee), my mother came home with the DVD of the film, and we watched it. At first, I didn’t really understand what was going on, but I ended up falling in love with “Do You Hear The People Sing?” and I listened to that song on repeat for days following. Apart from “Castle on a Cloud”, “DYHTPS?” was the first song that I truly knew from the musical.

Then, my freshmen year of high school, we sang “Bring Him Home” at our Fall Festival concert, and then, in the weeks following leading up to Christmas/holiday break, we watched the film in choir class. But that still wasn’t what made me fall in love. I enjoyed the music, but at this point, I wasn’t big on musical theatre. But that all changed that holiday break.

When holiday break came around, I sat down with my laptop, and pulled up The Phantom of the Opera from my iTunes account (now, I know this my LM story, but we need to go through my POTO phase first), and I absolutely fell in love with POTO. It was like a switch flipped and my whole world had came into focus. POTO was my segue into the world of musical theatre. Everything revolved around POTO for weeks. As I went through my POTO phase, I introduced myself to more musicals. I started first with the more mainstream (POTO, Wicked, Les Mis, and so many more that are considered mainstream) and then, I found the musicals that weren’t as popular. And I went through a time were I felt that my love for theatre needed to remain a secret because there was another girl in my school who was obsessed with musical theatre and I felt somewhat intimidated by her, so I kept it secret from everyone except my family. There wasn’t a day that went by that I wasn’t checking the Playbill website or reading about musicals on Google. I followed all the musical accounts on social media that I could. During this time, I had listened to the entirety of Les Mis and I had also understood the story better thanks to Google. Les Mis quickly became my second favorite musical, but nothing was going to take POTO from this spot.

But as I entered my sophomore year, my POTO phase had pretty much ended, and my Once Upon a Time phase began, but that only lasted for about six months. I was still obsessed with musicals, but my main focus was know OUaT. Then, I was in between phases for a while. Finally, that spring, after begging my parents for months and months, they gifted me with a trip to New York City in May 2015 (my second time going to that city, my first was in June 2013 with my mother on a mother/daughter bonding trip, where we saw the musical, and my first Broadway musical, Once), and I was able to see POTO on Broadway.

However, nearing the end of my sophomore year, my entire world turned upside down when my parent’s divorced and everything that I knew had changed.

But then, on Saturday, June 6th, 2015, I found my way to FanFiction.net (I had been reading Wicked fanfiction, but I was getting tired of it), and I found my way into the Les Mis category on FFN.net, and I found my way to reading Enjoltaire fanfiction. Granted, I soon learned that most of the fanfiction on there was Enjolras/Éponine, and that wasn’t at all what I wanted.

Now, when I first watched Les Mis way back in June 2013, I didn’t really care for the characters, yet. I watched it for the entertainment reasons. However, once I entered the world of musical theatre, and I watched Les Mis again (this time it was the 25th anniversary concert), my eye caught on to the dynamic that Enjolras and Grantaire had and what Hadley Fraser and Ramin Karimloo did with said dynamic in the 25th anniversary. That was when I started shipping it, and it became my Les Mis OTP.

After making my way through the Enjoltaire category on FFN.net, I made my way over to Ao3, and that was where the rabbit hole began. Every spare moment of my time was spent either reading Enjoltaire fanfiction on Ao3 or in the Enjoltaire tag on Tumblr. If my phone was in my hand and my eyes were to my phone chances it was Enjoltaire fanfiction that I was reading. I went to the lake with my mom’s side of the family at the end of June 2015, and while I did chat with my family, most of the time my phone was in my hand while I continued to read Enjoltaire fanfiction. I had also shown my cousin the 25th, someone who had never seen it, and even she started to low key ship it. Also, at this time, I had watched the movie more times than I could count, and I had also gone down the rabbit hole that is loving Aaron Kyle Tveit. I had learned everything that I could and I had watched everything that I could get my hands on that had him in it. I also discovered that while the dynamic that Hadley and Ramin had in the 25th was nothing compared to what the movie portrayed, or I should say what George Blagden portrayed, in the movie. My Tumblr account was covered in all things Enjoltaire, it was wonderful. My life revolved around Enjoltaire. I started writing and gaining many, many, many ideas for Enjoltaire fanfiction (I have 8 stories on Ao3. One in the process of being published, seven are complete and available for reading). I loved both Enjolras and Grantaire, separately (Enjolras I loved just a little bit more because he was my favorite character, still is and will always be my favorite character of the musical and of all-time, but nevertheless I loved them both) and I loved them as a couple. They were, and still are, my babies and OTP of OTP’s. They are the couple that I have stayed with the longest. When I’ve entered my fandom phases in the past, I usually lasted with the couple that I shipped for about six months. I still loved them after that, but not to the extent of what I had. My love for Enjoltaire has stayed for over four years and is still going strong. These two will probably stay with me forever.

Now, by this point, I still hadn’t seen it live. It had been revived on Broadway in March 2014, with Ramin as Valjean. At this point, the show in London didn’t hold any of my attention because I had had no hope of ever seeing it there. I did my best to keep up to date with it, but I failed miserably at that. Most of what I knew about the London production came from Tumblr or Google. I did follow the London actors and the Les Mis London account on Twitter. I was also aware that it was the original production in London, but like I said, I had no hope whatsoever that I would be able to see it there. I would have loved to see it, but living in the U.S., I doubted that I would ever see it. The only version that I wanted to see and could afford to see at the time was the one on Broadway, and I wanted to see that version BECAUSE of the fact that Ramin was Valjean, and I had already loved and adored him because of POTO and the 25th anniversary. I followed this production as much as I could. I was rooting for it during the 2014 Tony Awards and was absolutely pissed when it didn’t win. I had had the opportunity to see Ramin as Valjean at the same time that I saw POTO in May 2015, but instead, I decided that the other show that we would see during that NYC trip would be Wicked because Matt Shingledecker (the Fiyero (who is my favorite Fiyero) at the time was someone that had caught my attention through Kara Lindsay’s Broadway.com Wicked vlog, “Think Pink”) and I just wanted and was desperate to see and meet him, so I chose Wicked, a decision to this day that I still don’t regret. And overall, to me, I didn’t care that it wasn’t the original version, to me it was a story that I loved and adored.

Now, we are getting into the personal part of the story. My junior year of high school, my parent’s divorce had grown to the point where I think the best word to describe it would be bitter. My dad was butting in to my mom’s business, and my mom wanted nothing to do with my dad unless it had to do with me and my two siblings or my two nephews. My dad would drag me into the middle of all of it because I was the only one of my siblings still at home. My parent’s divorce was a mess. Some of my teachers knew about the divorce, but they didn’t know that I felt like I was drowning. I had kept up with my schoolwork and still had good grades, but I didn’t talk about the divorce because I didn’t want to drag people in to something that they had no reason to be part of. I was clearly in pain and I felt so alone, but I was good at hiding it, that no one knew. The one thing that I clutched to, the thing that was my absolute fucking lifeline was Les Mis/Enjoltaire.

Whenever I needed it, Les Mis was the thing that was there for me. To be honest, it felt like it was the only thing that was there for me. The story, the music, and of course, boatloads of Enjoltaire fanfiction. The only thing that got me through the day was repeating the line: “Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise”, every minute of every day. If I was having a bad day or cheering up, the only thing that would pull me out of it was either Les Mis or Enjoltaire.

It was because of this that Les Mis became my absolutely favorite musical of all-time because it was the reason that I was still living. The story and music gave me hope and it was because of those two things that I knew that everything was going to be okay.

All while I was feeling like I was drowning, it was announced on December 2nd, 2015, that the Broadway revival was closing (by this time, Ramin bad left the production, Alfie Boe was Valjean, and John-Owen Jones has been announced as the replacement for Alfie once he left and would continue with the production until it closed) on September 4th, 2016. After this was announced, I told my father that he had nine months to take me to see the show, and he did because on May 14, 2016 at the Imperial Theatre, I was witnessing for the first time ever the story and hearing the music that I loved so much live. I was absolutely in awe of what I was seeing. To me, it didn’t matter that it wasn’t the original production, all that mattered was that I was seeing the story and the characters that I loved so much play out 100 feet in front of me. I was sobbing and my breath was taken away. My eyes didn’t leave the stage, once. I loved and adored every moment of it. On the day, the revival closed, I was working, and I was taking my lunch break when they live streamed the curtain call for the final performance on Facebook. I was sobbing as I watched it.

Then, I started my senior year of high school, and unlike my junior year, it was so much better. My junior year was my worst year of high school. Part of what helped me make it through my senior year was that my sister (who hadn’t been talking to my family for over 12 years) came back to the family. I now had someone to talk to about what had happened, and it made me feel so much better.

Now for the last year or so, I knew that my father had been planning to gift me with a trip to anywhere in Europe that I wanted to go for my graduation present. It was originally that I wanted to go to Italy, but then I changed my mind and decided on Paris and London. I chose Paris mostly because it’s one of my favorite cities in the world and it’s the settling of my favorite time period in Les Mis. Then, I chose London because I had always wanted to go there too, plus like Paris and NYC, it’s one of my favorite cities in the world. While we were planning the trip, my dad asked me what shows I wanted to see. The only shows that I knew for sure were Les Mis, POTO, and Wicked. Now, like I said earlier, I knew that Les Mis was the original production, but while that was part of the reason why I wanted to see it. The other reason, the much, much, much bigger reason, was because I knew that I would be once again witnessing the story and characters that I loved so much come alive 100 feet in front of me. And I got those three shows, as well as seven more, on the trip itinerary.

On June 5th, 2017 at the Queen’s Theatre, I was able to witness, my favorite show and characters that meant so much come alive, once again, 100 feet in front of me. While I was amazed with the revolving stage and how the original production was put together, it wasn’t what made the story special for me. Like the Broadway revival and every version of the story that I have listened to/watched, I was sobbing by the end and my breath was taken away. At the end of it, I didn’t care that what I was seeing was the the original production. All that mattered to me was that it just my favorite musical. On the plane ride home from London, I needed to experience it again, that I watched the movie on my iPad through Amazon Prime. Like with Broadway, I had been in a Les Mis slump, that all I wanted was too watch/listen to anything regarding my favorite show.

As the next year went on, I started college and I had to deal with people asking me why such a mainstream musical was my favorite, I didn’t know what to say. They had no business in knowing why it meant so much to me. Before I started college, the announcement of the U.S. tour cast was announced, and while I had already been hoping to see it if it came anywhere near me, once I discovered that Matt Shingledecker would be playing Enjolras, I was more determined than ever to see the tour.

When it was announced that the tour would be coming at the Orpheum Theatre in December 2018 in Minnesota which was the closest that it’s come to me, it took quite a lot of convincing from me for my father to get me tickets to see it for my birthday in December. He was reluctant because I had already seen it twice already, but all I needed to say was that it was my favorite musical and he got me the tickets.

And on December 29th, 2018, I saw my favorite musical for the third time, and once again, not caring what production it was, I was seeing my favorite characters and story come alive in front of me. I was sobbing and breath was taken away. After the curtain call and the lights came up, I cried for like another five minutes. And once again was in a Les Mis slump for days afterward.

Now, not to bring up a bad subject, but with the change that is occurring in London, while I am heartbroken over it, I also don’t really care. The staging of the show doesn’t hold any sentimental value for me, not like I know it does for some people. What part of Les Mis that holds the sentimental value for me is the story, the characters, the music, and of course, Enjoltaire. Without the story, without Enjoltaire, I wouldn’t be on this Earth anymore. This story had already meant so much to me that when I saw it live, it was just the cherry on top of a beautiful, wonderful, delicious ice cream sundae. I have/will watch/listen to the musical no matter what staging it’s given, or even lack of.

Now, while I am slowly, like snail’s pace slow, making my way through the book. I am determined to finish it one day. All of my knowledge that I know from the book is from the people that I follow on Tumblr, who have read it. While I’m slowly making my way through the book, I have read other passages in it, and from just those I know that I will love the book, and it will give me even more reason to love it more than I already do.

This musical has meant to so much to me that when I finally get the money for my first tattoo, it will be “Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise” on my upper arm between my shoulder and elbow, written in the logo’s font. That quote is my favorite in the musical and it’s the quote that has meant the most to me. It was my mantra my junior year. And after that tattoo, I want to get another Les Mis related one, but I want that one centered on Enjoltaire, but I’m not sure. Either way, I know that I will get the first one for sure.

And I think that pretty much covers why this musical means so much to me. And this story is obviously incredibly personal, just like I’m sure everyone else’s story regarding this musical is. But this one is unique to me because it’s my story.

[lenezdansleruisseau]

I Miserabili, Piccolo Teatro - Review (act II)

So, here I am with the review of the second act of the I Miserabili (I kept you waiting, I know, life is getting in the way, as always). First thing first, if you have no idea of what I’m talking about but you interested anyway here is the link to the review of the first act (where I also explain a little bit more what is this). Now, let’s start with a general talk about the second act. It didn’t work as well as the first act. I can’t tell if it was because in the part that they left of the brick for the second part more things happen or if it was because they used less the monologues strategy, anyway they made a lot more changes in the plot and a lot of Choices that made the whole act flow a little less easily. I’ll get more into detail under the cut. (This is not a spoiler-free post so if your intention is to go see this, don't read.)

The act opens with Valjean and Cosette eating in Valjean’s rooms. She complains that he treats himself badly and even threatens him to eat the same black bread that he's eating, instead of the white one, if he doesn't it the white one himself.

Now, a couple of words on the portrayal of Cosette: I really, really, enjoyed the actress' way of portraying her (I heard someone at the exit say that she was a bit "fake" and it's kind of true, but I don't think it hurt her performance that much), she was able to make the audience understand that even under the kindness and gentleness Cosette was a strong young woman who, after seeing how much the world could be terrible, she still decided to be soft and selfless. I think it was also the writing that helped with this, especially in this scene with Valjean it was clear they were trying to understand this part of Cosette's character and I really appreciated it. 

Kudos to Romina Colbasso for the performance and to Luca Doninelli who wrote this adaptation. (You see, Davies? You can make a Cosette who's gentle and complex, you just need to understand the novel).

Back to the play. Cosette says she dreamed her mother and she looked like a saint, Valjean confirms that Fantine was a saint and tells her how much Fantine loved her. Cosette says that in her dream her mother was beautiful and she wished she was beautiful as her, but she knows she's not, you know who was beautiful? That girl at the convent named Marguerite, she wishes she was more like Marguerite, but, alas, she is not, the other day she heard two guys saying "What a beautiful girl, it's such a pity she dresses so badly" and she turned around to see of whom they were talking about because it couldn't be her at all. In all this speech Valjean looks kind of sad that his daughter would think that she's not beautiful, but says nothing. It's only when Cosette starts talking about this guy that smiled at her at the Luxembourg's Gardens that he starts asking questions. Cosette, sensing his worries, tells him that he's being silly and that "if they asked me to chose between you and Heaven, I'd already made my choice" which is very sweet, they hug and Cosette says that if he wants they can stop going at Luxembourg's Gardens.

We move to the Thénardiers' room where Mr. T is trying to write the letter to Marius. To include his grammatical mistakes they make Madam T correct them which prompt him to get mad at her and then send away Gavroche (who in this adaptation lives with them). When the two of them make up, Mr. T talks about the robbery he's organizing against the "the rich, old man always giving to charity at the church" (spoiler: he's talking about Valjean).

The other side of the stage gets illuminated (to make us understands we're in the same building) and there it is! Our Marius, whining and sobbing because the love of his life isn't coming to the Luxemburg's Gardens anymore and he doesn't know how to find her. Out of the blue, because the handkerchief's accident never happened, he decides that he will call her Ursula with no reason at all. Eponine arrives and the scene is literally identical to the one from the brick. 

Here it's needed a little digression about the character of Eponine in this adaptation: first, the actress (Valentina Violo) was unbelievable, she was, in my opinion, the best of the whole cast, and they were all great; second, Eponine was the character who went under fewer changes in this adaptation, they kept all of her scenes and I think most of her dialogues, even her clothes were identical to the ones described in the brick (at least until she goes to the barricades). It was interesting that they decided to focus so much on her character.

So, we have the Marius-meet-Eponine scene, then we change scene again and we see the Superintendent Gisquet asking Javert why the fuck did he gave two pistols to Marius Pontmercy who, and I swear I'm quoting here, "is a dangerous Bonapartist." Ah, I always find so funny when in adaptations Marius is treated as some kind of competent and dangerous person. I mean, he does threaten to blow up an entire barricade in the brick, but still.

Anyway, Javert explains that he did that because he intends to capture the famous Thénardier's band (yeah, no Patron-Minette in this adaptation, they're called the Thénardier's band) and also, and here I'm quoting again and I hope you're sitting down, that dangerous criminal named Valjean who escaped the claws of the law too many times already! And Gisquet reacts as if Valjean is actually a Terrible Criminal whom he can't believe Javert has been able to find! Valjean is such an important criminal that Javert gets promoted to commissioner just for having a plan to capture him. I really don't understand where this fixation for Terrible-and-Really-Important-Criminal-Valjean comes from.

By the way, now it'll start a sort of running gag where every time a character refers to Javert as Inspector, he'll correct them with a very offended tone and all these characters will make a point of ignoring him. I also don't understand why we try to turn Javert in some kind of comic relief.

But we don't have time to reflect on this too much because there is a dramatic change of scene and Valjean now is moping around his house sad because he knows he's losing Cosette and that it's right because he does not deserve happiness because he is The Worst Person Who Has Ever Lived and Touissant who is there with him for reasons, says to him that that is all bullshit, he's a great man and he deserves happiness.

Cut again to the Musain! Here Enjolras is having a meltdown because Marius is helping the cops. He gets really shouty and even pushes Marius and Combeferre (who is still a strange mix of Ferre and Grantaire) has to hold him back before he tries to punch Marius in the face. Courfeyrac is able to calm Enjolras down and make him understand that Marius is doing the right thing, Enj doesn't sound convinced but stops trying to hurt Marius at least. Gavroche arrives and they talk for a bit about the fact that Lamarque (the hero of the people!) is going to die soon and that will prompt a rebellion. Marius seems a little distracted and Enjolras, after scolding him again follows Combeferre and Gavroche out of stage left. Marius whines with Courfeyrac about the disappearance of the love of his life and reveals that he asked Eponine to find her.

We don't get to see the robbery at the Gorbeau House, only Javert dragging Mr. T on stage and asking him about the man they were trying to rob and where did he go. Mr. T says that he doesn't know where or who he is (but tells all about what happened in detail) and when Javert threatens to send him in jail forever he just answers that there are people made of fire, like Valjean (a reference to the fact that he burned himself with a piece of scalding metal) and people made of water like himself and water always finds its way out.

Here we have the scene of Marius and Eponine meeting again with Eponine bringing him to Cosette's house. As for the other scenes with Eponine is identical at the one in the brick.

The first meeting between Marius and Cosette is cut pretty short: they have barely the time to introduce themselves and enounce a couple of the poems that Marius writes for Cosette in the novel and then they are interrupted by the "Thénardier's band". Eponine tells them to hide and, as always, we have the same identical scene of Eponine sending away the Patron-Minette as in the brick. Apart maybe for the fact that she calls Montparnasse "my sweet Montparnasse" like 18 times which I don't remember it being in the book, but I suspect it was because they wanted to make us understand they were involved "romantically" somehow.

The Thénardier's band goes away and Marius and Cosette come out again. Cosette reveals that after the Gorbeau House's affair, her father wants to leave for London, they kiss very dramatically and Cosette suggests he should come with them, but Marius can't because he has no money, so they kiss dramatically again and Marius hints vaguely that he will probably seek death going to the barricades that have never been mentioned before.

They may have not been mentioned, but here it is: the barricade! We know it's a barricade because the furniture forming it is in weird positions and because Enjolras is standing on it giving a speech.

If you're waiting for any one of the speeches Enjolras gives in the brick you'll be disappointed, he gives a completely different speech where he practically explains the meaning of Liberté, Egalité et Fraternité at the Italian audience (which by the way is slightly anachronistic because it wasn't an expression really diffused during the 1830s, if I'm not mistaken).

Combeferre(/Grantaire) brings Javert in as a prisoner and explains to Enjolras that they were able to discover that he was a spy thanks to Gavroche. Enjolras wants to shoot him, but Combeferre reminds him they don't have bullets to spare and decide to wait after the end of the rebellion. Enjolras asks where Gavroche is and Marius answers that he send him to give Cosette his last letter. In that moment Gavroche comes back and says that he didn't deliver it to her but to her father which prompt Marius to say "Luckily I'm going to die soon." Very dramatic.

Gavroche suddenly decides to launch himself on the barricades (screaming the name of Eponine?), Marius and Eponine who appeared from nowhere (well, actually from stage left, but they had never explained that she went after Marius) follow him and Eponine runs in front of Marius to save his life.

The scene of the death of Eponine and, you guessed it, it's the same as in the brick. I cried. You have no idea how good Eponine's actress was.

Enj, Ferre, and Courf arrives and here we have the moment where we should be able to see the humanity and softness of Enjolras and understand how young and maybe also a little bit scared he was, but it lasts 30 seconds and then Eponine's body is brought out of the stage and Valjean arrives climbing the barricade.

They ask him if he is a spy and why should they believe him and he answers that he doesn't know how to make them trust him, but also gives them the suggestion of the mattresses on the barricade so I guess they're fine with that. He sees Javert, but barely take notice of him because they hear Gavroche screaming Vive la Republique on the barricade and they all run to stop him. Gavroche is on top of the barricade, singing his song about Rousseau and Voltaire and waving the French flag for absolutely no reason and of course they shoot him. Enjolras is the first to arrive, he hugs Gavroche's lifeless body and promptly starts doing exactly what Gavroche was doing, so, of course, he's shot too. (I'm not even starting on the fact that this behavior was completely out of character for Enjolras who is a competent leader and knows that he needs to survive to give orders if he wants the barricade to be successful, but it was clear the characters of Les Amis where put in only to give a vague idea of the political climate of the period, so I shouldn't really have expected more.)

Valjean comes back to Javert and tells him they give him permission to shoot him. Of course, he doesn't do that and frees him instead, Javert asks him to just shoot him, but Valjean answers that his revenge will be to force him to die as a free man. Javert runs away and Valjean shoots in the air to pretend that he killed him. Right one second later, Marius appears and thinks Valjean killed Javert and gets mad because Javert saved his life (when? You may ask. I think he was talking about the robbery at the Gorbeau House). Valjean doesn't correct him and Marius threatens to kill him. Valjean then reveals himself as the father of Cosette and encourages Marius to shoot him anyway because if they were to exchange places, he would shoot him. Jee Valjean, calm down. (Also, it almost seems as if Valjean is already sick? It wasn't very clear.) Before Marius can take a decision though, he gets shot and Valjean takes him on his back and runs away from the barricade.

Out of the sewers, Valjean meets Thénardier and Montparnasse who are talking about the 25 000 francs that Paris loses in the sewers (yeah Paris' sewers' digression baby). Valjean pays Thénardier to open the door of the sewer for him, but then they hear Javert approaching and run away. When Javert sees Valjean with Marius on his back asks him what the fuck is he doing and, after hearing the answer, not only opens the door for them but also helps Valjean to carry Marius home.

Javert comes back to the stage alone. There is a homeless person sleeping and Javert starts monologuing to him about how Valjean is making him reconsider all is life. It's a really great monologue with a lot of good acting, he says something that really hit me: "God is the new superintendent." In the end, Javert gives his coat to the shivering homeless person and goes away strongly implying that he's going to kill himself.

We skip directly to after the marriage of Cosette and Marius, the two of them are on the stage lamenting the absence of Valjean from their life, they both know everything about him, even the fact that it was him who saved Marius from the barricade.

Suddenly, Touissant arrives on stage to tell them that Valjean is dying and they all run home to him. Cosette lectures him for not letting her know that he has fallen ill and he says that he was too ashamed for his past to be part of her life (which is kind of strange because she already knew everything about him, right? I mean, they made a point to make this clear in the first act so why should Valejan feel so guilty now?). Valjean dies between the arms of both Cosette and Marius urging them to love each other deeply because love is what saves us all.

Fin.

As I already said in the last post, I really enjoyed the play, my biggest problem with it was that I couldn't understand why they decided to do that: if you decide to do something as difficult as making a play about Les Mis, you should at least have a message you want to pass, a goal maybe, but in this play, it wasn't clear at all what they were trying to convey. It was easy to understand that the writer looooves the brick, he tried to keep most of the original text and even a big part of the digressions which can only indicate a great love for the novel, but that was all, a nice exposition of the novel.

My opinion is that they tried to focus on the message of love and that love is what saves us all in the end: both the two acts end with a quote of Hugo about love and the two characters who gets fewer changes are Eponine (the girl who dies for love) and Javert (the man who dies because he is not able to accept love in his life, more or less, I know is more complicated, forgive my simplification), so I think this was the direction they tried to follow, but it was lost between the dozens of monologues and details they decided to put inside. All in all, though, it was a pretty nice play so if you're able to catch it, go seeing it.

If you have questions, want clarifications, are interested in some more details, send me an ask! Thank you for reading!

[idiopath-fic-smile]

have you ever put any thought into what's going on with the ABC gang in WAR a decade on? like, a lot of high school aus that use homophobia as a plot point are deliberately set in the 70s or the 80s, so it gets a little depressing because they'll have to wait decades for things to really get better - but you set WAR in 2006, which is *so cool* because in less than 10 years it goes from, well, 2006, to obergefell v. hodges.

this question is a bit complicated by the fact that i’m still working on adapting WAR into a novel, and the characters are a little different (i combined a lot of people, and also made most of them female) so this is specifically for the Les Mis fanfic version. 

also, this is more just my overall headcanon for the epilogue of WAR. take it with a grain of salt, none of this is True Canon, death of the author, etc

-it is my cherished secret headcanon that the members of the ABC gradually realize (in some cases, YEARS later) that actually none of them were straight, cis, and allo, with the possible exception of combeferre. 

ex) high school jehan ID’s as gay, but once they’re in the place to have more vocabulary for it, they come out as trans, nonbinary but femme-leaning (while continuing to be mostly into dudes). i think that eponine is bi (and also realizes pretty late that she’s nonbinary.) joly and bossuet are both bi. cosette is a lesbian. marius is ace. (their relationship worked in part because neither ever pressured the other, for anything. it was kind of more like playing house.) bahorel ID’s as straight for the longest time, but there’s a couple of male celebrities he jokes about as his “exceptions” until he realizes one day, hmm not really a joke. courfeyrac in high school considers himself gay, but after jehan comes out, realizes in retrospect he doesn’t fall perfectly on one end of the kinsey scale, either.

-molly keeps the ABC alive once the others graduate. gavroche joins when he becomes a freshman, and by his senior year, the club is double its original size. (he jokes it’s because he made LGBTQ rights cool, but really, a tide is turning.)

-enjolras stays politically active and does a lot of nonprofit and organizing work all throughout college. in ‘08, he joins one of those groups that goes door to door registering voters (so does jehan, who attends the same university). enjolras’s experiences with other people, people NOT from affluent suburbs, open his eyes in a good way and make him a little less intense about his own point of view.

-most of the ABC kids are swept up in the excitement of the first obama campaign. combeferre actually gets emotional, talking about it; he writes some very eloquent op-eds in the school paper about what obama means to him, and how fucked-up all the racist scrutiny really is. joly, musichetta, and bossuet phone bank. eponine starts taking photos at rallies, one of which becomes kind of well-known and helps launch her interest in pursuing photography for real. courfeyrac organizes theatrical productions to raise money for the campaign, which are a weird and wild success. bahorel is a minor social media star, and he leverages his dubious fame to try to help get out the young people vote.

-(eponine is gavroche’s legal guardian, and she balances work with community college. she was honestly more of a hillary girl, but obama wins her over eventually.)

-grantaire and enjolras stayed together post-high school, and after a year of attending a nearby community college, grantaire has the grades to transfer to the same university as enjolras. 

grantire spends most of his early college years bouncing from one major to another; he likes art but more as a release than as an area of academic focus. like, getting a bad grade on an art project is fucking devastating. they start fighting a lot that first september in the same school because enjolras is so sure of his path and grantaire feels guilty and defensive for not knowing where to go with his life. it makes grantaire feel like a worthless burnout again (which is frustrating because he thought he’d WORKED THROUGH IT, dammit), but he also resents enjolras’s attempts to help him, which eventually makes enjolras pull away in hurt, which terrifies grantaire so much that he pulls away too, and they break up very early sophomore year of college.

-the night obama wins the election in ‘08, even despite the blow of prop 8 passing, all the old ABC members are calling each other, yelling into their phones with delight. combeferre is literally crying.enjolras is jubilant, but grantaire, who had never seriously thought that obama had a chance, honestly feels like he’s high again.

enjolras and grantaire wind up at the same celebratory party and, under the influence of all that victory, they hook up. holy shit have they missed each other. they briefly get back together, but it’s not like it was in high school, before they knew quite how badly they could hurt each other. when enjolras does study abroad for a semester, they break up again, amicably, rather than do the long distance thing. they drift apart even when he gets back. it’s nobody’s fault.

-jehan switches to they/them pronouns and puts out a chapbook of poetry about feeling connected to the words of dead authors. bahorel becomes a college radio DJ, and is so good, his show gets picked up by local stations and he eventually starts working as the “bad boy of NPR”. courfeyrac realizes that more than acting, his real joy is stage managing. musichetta goes into business, advocating for greater diversity. 

-grantaire winds up at the last minute, majoring in psychology. studying this stuff in an actual class makes him realize just how dysfunctional his family dynamics have really been, and how little of it had to do with him. it’s both freeing and terrifying. he makes friends in his advanced psych courses (mostly idealistic young feminist women), and dates one for a while. ironically, she’s also bi. he has more of a chance to unpack all the stigma he’s been carrying around for years, how frustrating it was to be seen as “the gay kid” in high school when that wasn’t really true.

-combeferre decides to get dreadlocks after graduating undergrad and becomes “that hot World Lit TA with the dreadlocks”

-grantaire starts kind of considering going into counseling. the members of the ABC he’s still in touch with keep urging him to write Mr. Myriel a letter, and grantaire keeps dragging his feet, but one night he’s in town to visit Eponine, and runs into Mr. Myriel at the grocery store, and basically word-vomits all this gratitude, and the two become penpals. Mr. Myriel eventually writes one of the recommendation letters that gets grantaire into a sociology master’s program.

-combeferre gets fed up with the ivory tower of academia and joins a startup that teaches coding to kids, particularly girls in low-income areas. (He’d long been interested in coding, but more as a fun side hobby.)

-grantaire moves to the city (uh, let’s say chicago) to get his master’s, where he also reconnects with bossuet, who by then is a hippie engineer and just a solid, low-stress friend to have. they become super close in a platonic bros way, and grantaire may actually be the one to say, “oh btw, did you have a crush on joly, or did you guys both just like musichetta?” (answer: YES and YES). grantaire rents a bedroom in bossuet’s apartment (bossuet has more space than anticipated because he just had a rough breakup) and in his starving student days, grantaire pays some of his rent to bossuet by cooking him dinner and stuff. in this time, grantaire actually learns how to cook, beyond just fucking up the occasional frozen pizza.

-kind of to his surprise, grantaire winds up really enjoying counseling (or at least, finding it rewarding; talking to people with such intense problems be rough) and particularly working with youths. they never expect his sense of humor, which turns out to be a pretty useful tool in connecting with them.

-bossuet sometimes, long-distance, donates his time to combeferre’s coding project. grantaire hears through bossuet, through combeferre, that enjolras is moving to chicago for law school.

-at first, grantaire and enjolras are awkward around each other, but the weird thing is, their positions are kind of reversed because grantaire by now feels pretty confident in his role as a counselor, and is doing good work, while enjolras is under a ton of stress in law school and still not always 100% sure it’s the right move. grantaire is living alone by now, and he misses hanging with bossuet (who is in a complex poly triad now, and has a lot less free time) (part of me feels it’d be way too big of a coincidence if it’s joly and musichetta, part of me yearns for it, so you decide for yourself i suppose). so grantaire starts coming over to cook dinner at enjolras’s apartment as enjolras studies. this is partly because grantaire’s own kitchen in his studio is really insufficient, but mostly an excuse for them to hang out in a low-cost, low-pressure way. they eat and watch Parks and Rec.

-in theory this is a great system, and in practice it’s the same kind of agonizing romantic tension from high school. enjolras is really into this more confident, happier, more balanced grantaire. grantaire appreciates that enjolras has gotten  a little less overbearing, a little lighter even as he’s also so clearly fraying at the seams. grantaire just wants to, like, give him a massage, but whoa boundaries. they sit on the same couch and SOMETIMES THEIR ARMS BRUSH.

-enjolras decides first that he wants to get back together, that they’ve grown enough in the time they were apart that they could build something healthy and balanced now. he’s not totally sure how to make his case to grantaire, and he feels a little weird being the less stable one of the pair. 

-enjolras decides that he’s gonna make grantaire dinner. grantaire doesn’t really get why; enjolras generally does the dishes so it’s not like anything’s really owed here??? enjolras slips into way overachiever mode and prepares like a whole three-course spread of painstakingly researched recipes. grantaire is VERY confused. “I thought I was hot shit, dude, where did you learn to cook like this?” enjolras has to shamefacedly confess he taught it to himself for this night. “Damn, are you proposing or something?” grantaire blurts in an ill-considered joke, and enjolras’s ears turn red. they get together again. it’s really good this time.

-in 2013, when the supreme court rules that gay marriage is legal in all 50 states, enjolras actually finds out because grantaire texts him the minute the news breaks with simply, “Holy fuck, you were right all along!!!!!” and then some hearts.

-they’re married a year later. one of their wedding photos is them kissing, both raising a middle finger to the imagined haters, like “bring it on, assholes” you’d think this would’ve been grantaire’s idea, but nope, enjolras. it’s framed over their mantle.

-by november 2016, enjolras is a lawyer for the ACLU, and grantaire is a counselor at an organization that primarily works with LGBTQA youth. after the election, enjolras doesn’t get out of bed all day. then he’s a whirlwind of activity. trump-era enjolras is a hybrid of the wisdom and confidence of obama-era enjolras, and the “fuck these motherfuckers” pinpoint focused ferocity of bush jr-era enjolras. grantaire’s work is frequently draining as hell, but he’s drawing again (making a webcomic with joly, actually), and they’re getting by.

-sometimes, at low moments, they remember how it felt at their wedding reception, when bahorel cued up Ted Leo’s “Shake the Sheets” and all those friends and loved ones danced their brains out (enjolras’s parents have some MOVES as it turns out), and grantaire got super choked up, and then enjolras leaned over while they were dancing and whispered in his ear, “Probably better that he didn’t go with our prom song,” (which, as you’ll remember, is Fifty Cent’s “Candy Shop”) and they both burst out laughing in the middle of the dance floor. If they survived high school, they can survive anything.

-bossuet, grantaire, joly, eponine, musichetta and sometimes enjolras have a long-distance D&D game wherein a ragtag crew of outcasts battles the odds as they attempt to take down an evil totalitarian kingdom. (joly’s already got notes for the graphic novel version.)