#( :: antoine enjolras. )

[safrev]

Saint Just for my school art assignment

[josh-lanceero]

R. 

Inspired by that one fic with R being Maximilien’s child what-if

[leverontdemain]

Enjolras and Mirror

[thebrickinbrick]

Index Post of Brick Illustrations

4.12 Corinthe

4.12.1 A History of Corinthe from its Foundations Part One Part Two

4.12.2 Preliminary Gayeties Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

4.12.3 Night Begins to Descend Upon Grantaire Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

4.12.4 An Attempt to Console the Widow Hucheloup Part One Part Two

4.12.5 Preparations

4.12.6 Waiting

4.12.7 The Man Recruited in the Rue de Billettes

4.12.8 Many Interrogation Points Concerning a Certain Le Cabuc Whose Name May Not Have Been Le Cabuc Part One Part Two

4.13 Marius Enters the Shadow

4.13.1 From the Rue Plumet to the Quarter Saint-Denis

4.13.2 An Owl’s Eye View of Paris

4.13.3 The Extreme Edge

4.14 The Grandeur of Despair

4.14.1 The Flag: Act First

4.14.2 The Flag: Act Second

4.14.3 Gavroche Would Have Done Better To Accept Enjolras’s Carbine

4.14.4 The Barrel of Powder

4.14.5 End of the Verses of Jean Prouvaire

4.14.6 The Agony of Death After the Agony of Life

4.14.7 Gavroche as a Profound Calculator of Distances

(4.15 The Rue de l'Homme Armé - omitted)

5.1 The War Between Four Walls

5.1.1 The Scylla of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine and the Charybdis of the Faubourg du Temple - omitted

5.1.2 What Is To Be Done in the Abyss If One Does Not Converse? Part One Part Two

5.1.3 Light and Shadow

5.1.4 Minus Five, Plus One Part One Part Two

5.1.5 The Horizon Which One Beholds From the Summit of a Barricade

5.1.6 Marius Haggard, Javert Laconic

5.1.7 The Situation Becomes Aggravated Part One Part Two

5.1.8 The Artillery-Men Compel People To Take Them Seriously

5.1.9 Employment of the Old Talents of a Poacher and That Infallible Marksmanship Which Influenced the Condemnation of 1796

5.1.10 Dawn - omitted

5.1.11 The Shot Which Misses Nothing and Kills No One

5.1.12 Disorder a Partisan of Order

5.1.13 Passing Gleams

5.1.14 Wherein Will Appear the Name of Enjolras’s Mistress

5.1.15 Gavroche Outside

5.1.16 How From Brother One Becomes Father - omitted

5.1.17 MORTUUS PATER FILIUM MORITURUM EXPECTAT

5.1.18 The Vulture Become Prey Part One Part Two

5.1.19 Jean Valjean Takes His Revenge

5.1.20 The Dead Are in the Right and the Living Are Not in the Wrong

5.1.21 The Heroes Part One Part Two Part Three

5.1.22 Foot to Foot Part One Part Two

5.1.23 Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk Part One Part Two

5.1.24 Prisoner

Other Posts

A preview with cat pictures

Posters

“He could be your brother.”

The retreat

The first assault

Defensive line

Places

“Think or pray.”

[adri-atics]

@barricadebops and I were hanging out one night and decided that the Les Amis need first names. So we took it upon ourselves to name them, and here is what we settled on:

Antoine/Julien Enjolras Etienne Combeferre Jean-Pierre Courfeyrac Mathieu Joly Bernard Bousset Rene Grantaire Szymon Feuilly  Jehan Prouvaire Charles Bahorel

Bonus: Claude Montparnasse

(We could not agree on a name for Enjolras, the first pick is Annie's, the second one is mine.)

Feuilly has a Polish name for obvious reasons, and we threw Jehan in there so he doesn't feel excluded <3

This list is a gospel we will live by now (and if anyone wants to use it for a fic, you're more than welcome to).

[elijah-loyal]

les amis pinterest boards!!

FINALLY got around to making pinterest boards for my Les Amis Middle Eastern (Jordanian) high school AU fic here!! (NOTE: they still go by their last names in the fic, but I had a fun time coming up with first names for them all)

Musichetta Keaton

Marius Pontmercy

Antoine Lesgle

Clément Courfeyrac

Jack Bahorel

Daoud Feuilly

Robin Joly

Ambrose Enjolras

Étienne Combeferre

Gavroche Thenardier

Cosette (Euphrasie) Fauchelevant

Jehan (Jean) Prouvaire

Éponine Thenardier

Fahad-Rayyan (R) Grantaire

Laila (Lei-Lei) Grantaire

[artsy-hobbitses]

ZOOMING INTO YOUR FEED it’s Mobian Enjolras a very rad hedgehog! The Les Mis soundtrack came on while I was working on Sonic here, and my brain goblin was all “Dress him like the revolutionary hero he’s meant to be DO IT” so let’s just HC that the sweet, sweet vest is a Friendship Gift from Antoine, to which Sonic is like “Dude this is bougie as fuck, but also NO TAKE BACKS awww I knew you liked me ❤️” 

Sonic’s (I’m going with ‘Sonntag’ as his birth name) speed is a bit of an enigma in-universe, though it’s proposed that one or both of his parents came within radiation vicinity of a particularly powerful chaos emerald prior to conceiving him on one of their sojourns into an unexplored region of Mobius.  However, they didn’t manifest until he was quite a bit older, specifically around nine when Robotnik’s forces were seeking out Charles after the coup, and Charles told him to run, RUN SON AND DON’T LOOK BACK.  And so he did.  Using his newfound powers to evade capture on the streets in the search for his uncle once he’s strong enough to defend himself from Swatbots. he strikes up a lifelong friendship with another street urchin, Bunna-Marie ‘Bunnie’ Rabbot, with whom he starts out a little gang (including Mina Mongoose and Tails) stealing supplies and food from Robotnik’s forces to deliver to underground refugees and liberating prisoners during transport runs.  When Bunnie herself is captured during one of these missions gone wrong, he’s unwilling to lose someone again the same way he lost Charles (deciding this time he wasn’t going to run away from, but towards the danger) and on this rescue mission, runs into Sally and Antoine who were conducting their own rescue mission for Rotor.

Initially he wants nothing to do with these noble-class newcomers, but relents to joining them momentarily for Bunnie’s sake (the aid she needs is the kind he nor his gang have the capability to provide) and eventually ends up staying as their saboteur when he sees how Sally’s a genuinely compassionate princess of the people and how Antoine helps Bunnie through her recovery.

He isn’t aware of what exactly happened with his dad, and Rotor is quite reluctant to tell him, considering Charles’ unnwitting role in what happened (but Rotor will eventually, since he’s owed the truth).

[combeauferre]

all i could ask for

les miserables, 5.4k, rated t

Feuilly doesn't feel like he's a regular enough attendee to be considered a true member of Les Amis. New Years is the perfect time for Les Amis to show him how wrong he is.

written for @wilwywaylan for the @lesmisholidayexchange !

read on ao3

“Fuck, I am tired,” Feuilly huffs as he lets himself into Bahorel’s apartment, flopping right down on to the couch, his head landing heavily on Bahorel’s thigh.

“Ow, watch out!” Bahorel whines, lifting his hands quickly to avoid getting hit. “That was almost my dick!”

Looking up at him through ginger curls, Feuilly lifts his head only to nip playfully, grumpily at Bahorel’s thigh through his jeans.

“’M nowhere near your dick,” he grumbles, burying his face back into Bahorel’s thigh and sighing. “I swear I barely get a second to breathe, I fucking hate Christmas.”

“I hope you’ve made time for next Saturday night,” Bahorel says, running his hands through Feuilly’s hair. There’s a sharp hiss when he hits a knot, and he begins working it out, as gently as he can with his thick, clumsy fingers.

“What for?”

“For the New Years party.”

Feuilly looks up at him, yelping again when Bahorel fails to let go of his hair in time.

“What New Years party?”

“At Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s,” Bahorel says, “I told you about it.”

“You said it was for Les Amis only.”

Bahorel laughs.

“Yeah, I did. It’ll be quiet, chill, come on, you never make it to Les Amis events, everyone will want you there.”

“But I’m barely Les Amis,” Feuilly says, frowning.

“What?”

“I’m hardly ever there, you said so yourself,” he continues, rolling on to his back and resting his head back against Bahorel’s leg, “I’m nowhere near as active as the rest of you. Being your boyfriend and their contact to the working class doesn’t make me one of you, Alf.”

“No, being our friend and someone we respect and enjoy the company of makes you one of us,” Bahorel deadpans, tugging on Feuilly’s hair again. “Where’s all this come from?”

Feuilly pulls a face.

“It’s not come from anywhere,” he says, “this is how it is. I love going and contributing, but I’m not there often enough to be part of your inner circle.”

“You are, Antoine,” Bahorel says, pushing Feuilly up by his shoulders until he’s sitting up properly, “they want you there, I swear.”

--

“Can you do me a favour?” Bahorel asks, after a full ten seconds of reading over his textbook.

“What part of shut up and do your studying do you not understand?” Courfeyrac grumbles, looking up from their own textbook. They have a whole three bullet points of notes after half an hour of studying with Bahorel, and compared with their usual sessions with Enjolras, this is the least productive they’ve felt in months.

“This is important!” Bahorel whines. “I tried to tell Feuilly to keep next Saturday free for the party, but he thinks he’s not part of Les Amis.”

“What?” Courfeyrac says, putting down their pen. “That’s ridiculous, of course he is.”

“That’s what I told him,” Bahorel says, “but he’s adamant, he says he doesn’t go enough.”

“There’s no attendance grade!”

“I know!”

Courfeyrac sighs.

“I really want him there, I want us to finally have a complete photo for our wall.”

“I told him that,” Bahorel says, “but he’s never seen your photo wall, he thinks I’m bullshitting. He’s running himself into the ground at the moment, Jules, he needs the break as much as anything.”

“Maybe I can get Enjolras to talk to him?”

“As much as I love Enj,” Bahorel says, “Feuilly might just think it’s courtesy if it comes from him. I was thinking you could ask him?”

Courfeyrac thinks for a moment, then pulls out their phone. After a few quick taps, they lift it to their ear.

“Fee, my love, I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time?”

There’s a muffled sound on the other side, and Bahorel smiles despite himself.

“Lunch break, great! Okay, I’m just trying to get a head count on food for Saturday, so I wanted to check what you’re bringing and that you know about everyone’s allergies and stuff.” Another pause. “For the party, obviously! You are coming, aren’t you?”

There’s a longer pause, and Bahorel’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out to see a text from Feuilly.

>Little shit.

Bahorel grins.

<I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“You are coming?” Courfeyrac says, “Okay, great! So anything you want to bring is fine, we just have a few ground rules to keep everyone safe, obviously.” They put Feuilly on loudspeaker and pull up the notes app on their phone, clearing their throat. “Okay, so: no pork, no shellfish, no beef, for various religious reasons; every other kind of meat is okay, though. And we’re keeping the kosher separate from the halal, don’t worry. Anything veggie is good too. No gluten, because of Joly, no nuts, because of Enjolras, and- oh! How strictly do you keep kosher?”

There’s a brief, hurried spurt of talking on the other end, and Courfeyrac frowns animatedly.

“Oh stop it, it’s not a bother!” Courfeyrac’s telling-off tone of voice is rarely ever heard by anyone in Les Amis, until, of course, they say something truly outrageous. Like “oh, I don’t want to be a bother, anything is fine, I can just eat before”, or any of the other multitudes of things Bahorel knows Feuilly might have said. “So we can cook the meat and dairy separately – we can do dairy earlier in the night and meat later? Okay, and it’ll have to be in the same fridge, but we’ll keep them on separate shelves, is that okay?” After another pause, Courfeyrac beams. “Okay, great! Thanks, Fee, we can’t wait to see you!”

They hang up and grins at Bahorel.

“Thank you, thank you,” they say, bowing from their seat. “No one can say no to me.”

“I’m gonna get so bollocked when I get home, I hope you know that,” Bahorel laughs.

“It’ll be worth it to have you both at the party,” Courfeyrac says, “Ferre’s gonna be so happy when I tell him. It never feels complete without Fee, Alf, you know it’s the truth.”

Bahorel smiles crookedly, and shrugs.

As Courfeyrac turns back to their textbook, Bahorel opens his mouth again.

“Courf, can we-”

“God, what now?” Bahorel just laughs when Courfeyrac looks up and stares daggers at him. “I know you don’t care about this kind of thing, but this case work is due tomorrow.”

“All the more reason to put it off,” Bahorel says with a grin, “Anyways, maybe we could do something special for Feuilly? You know how he is, he’s going to spend the whole party thinking you’re all just being polite and go right back to keeping well out of your way once it’s over.”

Courfeyrac chews their lip and closes their textbook again.

“You’re right,” they say, sighing, “Enj and Ferre should be back soon, let’s talk to them about it?”

Bahorel nods.

“Thanks Courf,” he says, finally opening his own textbook, “I just want him to feel welcome, you know? I want him to feel wanted.”

Courfeyrac smiles at him softly.

“You’re a big sap under all that muscle, Alf, u know that right?”

Bahorel flips them off.

“Do your work,” he grumbles.

“I’m trying!” Courfeyrac laughs.

A half hour later, Courfeyrac finally managing to take a page of notes and Bahorel huffing, getting up to make more coffee, making origami swans the way Feuilly had taught him, and only briefly irritating Courfeyrac with a paper aeroplane, Combeferre and Enjolras walk in the door.

“Saved!” Bahorel cheers, jumping up and throwing his textbook back into his bag.

Courfeyrac rolls their eyes and closes their textbook, looking down sadly at their notes.

“It’ll have to do, I suppose,” they say, standing up and going to give Combeferre a peck on the lips, “hey, love.” They turn and kiss Enjolras’s temple before going into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Yes please!” Bahorel yells.

“You’ve had enough, dickhead,” Courfeyrac yells back. They don’t see Bahorel flip them off, but they laugh good naturedly anyway, because they knows it’s being sent their way.

When Courfeyrac returns a few minutes later with two steaming mugs, Enjolras is leaning over their notes, adding his own adjustments and comments.

“Oh God, thank you,” Courfeyrac says, laughing, “I’ve gotten nothing done thanks to this asshole.”

“Hey, you should be thanking me!” Bahorel says indignantly, “I’m trying so hard to save you from the horrors of law school, I’m doing my best work here!”

Courfeyrac rolls their eyes.

“Anyway,” they say, “we have something to discuss.”

They bring their own coffee back into the kitchen, as well as a begrudging mug of decaf for Bahorel, and snuggle in next to Combeferre on the couch. They explain their situation, and Enjolras frowns and stares solemnly into his coffee.

“I’ve always tried to make Feuilly welcome,” he says, “I always ask for his opinion, he’s the person I go to any time I need some help reaching people, and he’s so good at contacts-”

“I think that might be the problem,” Bahorel says, smiling sadly, “he thinks that’s all he is, a contact. And obviously we all know he’s not, but…”

“We need to set some ground rules,” Courfeyrac says firmly, “No shop talk. Looking at you, Enjo.”

“What?” Enjolras folds his arms, “I managed the no shop talk rule last year, what’s all this?”

“Oh please,” Bahorel laughs, “we had to drag you and Combeferre out of the kitchen last year because you were stood over the pan arguing about some philosophy bullshit while the latkes burnt.”

“Hey,” Enjolras waves an accusing finger in Bahorel’s face, “I was in there trying to convince Ferre to ask Courf out, I’ll have you know.”

“Not when we came in, you weren’t,” Courfeyrac says, “You’d sailed right past that conversation and into some kind of ridiculous discussion of ethics.”

“We’re getting off topic,” Bahorel says, raising his hands, “Enj, you spent way too long shop talking with all of us last year, not just Ferre. No shop talk at all this year, okay? None.”

Enjolras snaps his mouth shut and glares at Bahorel, who rolls his eyes.

“Maybe we should drop the secret Santa this year too,” Courfeyrac says, “if it’s not too late? I know Fee struggles for money, and we’re already asking him to bring some food, I don’t want him to feel pressured.”

“You’re right,” Bahorel says, “I’ll spread the word.”

--

Feuilly is halfway through peeling potatoes when Bahorel walks in from class, immediately dropping his bag and walking into the kitchen to wrap around Feuilly and kiss his cheek.

“Hey there,” Feuilly smiles, leaning into him, “How was class?”

Bahorel laughs.

“How are your potatoes?”

Feuilly grins, rolling his eyes.

“Not peeling themselves,” he replies, trying to shake free from Bahorel’s hold. “Come on, here’s the recipe, measure out all those flours, will you?”

Bahorel sees the recipe and raises his eyes.

“Four different kinds of flour?” he asks, his voice high pitched.

“I had most of them lying around the cupboard,” Feuilly shrugs.

“Oh yeah, I know I too have tapioca flour just hanging around in the kitchen,” Bahorel deadpans.

“It’s from when Jehan helped me make boba!” Feuilly says indignantly. “That whole bag of flour cost less than one fucking drink, and it tasted better too.”

Bahorel rolls his eyes and does as he’s told, pulling out the scales and measuring the tapioca flour.

“When did you make boba with Jehan?”

“A couple of months ago,” Feuilly says, “it came over with me after a meeting. It was nice.”

“Jehan loves you, you know,” Bahorel says, “Did I hear it say it’s coming to help you get ready on Saturday?”

Feuilly smiles.

“Yeah,” he says, cutting up his potatoes and putting them into his steamer. “I don’t know what it thinks it’s gonna find in here, but apparently I’m gonna be getting all dolled up. It asked me how I felt about makeup yesterday.”

Bahorel grins.

“What did you say?”

“That I’ll try anything once.”

“Well I for one think you’d look killer in eyeliner,” Bahorel says, leaving his scales to lean over and pull Feuilly into a kiss, “Do you have Sunday off work?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Feuilly grins, leaning back in to nip Bahorel’s lip. “Why? Got something planned?”

“Maybe,” Bahorel shrugs, turning back to his flour, “I think we deserve a lazy day in bed, don’t we?”

Feuilly grins, rolling his eyes and going back to his potatoes.

--

When Saturday rolls around, Feuilly is distinctly more uncomfortable about Jehan’s coming over than he had been. His wardrobe is barren, the most fancy thing he owns being his old, tattered, patchwork interview jacket. It’s worn through places from years of use, and it’s still smart enough to wear every now and then, but it’s nothing compared to what he expects the others will be wearing. As he’s convincing himself that this is ridiculous and he should text Jehan and make up some emergency or late call into work, there’s a knock at the door.

Taking a deep breath, Feuilly makes his way over to the door.

“Fee!” Jehan grins as the door opens, raising its hands above its head and pulling Feuilly into a hug. It looks like it must be freezing, wearing only a crop top and shorts, with a thinly crocheted cardigan over its shoulders. It’s simpler than Feuilly expected, and he feels his anxiety begin to ebb away.

“Do you want something to drink?” Feuilly asks, welcoming Jehan in and heading straight through to the kitchen. “I still have that weird herbal tea you brought over last time.”

“Oh, yes please,” Jehan grins, following him into the kitchen and perching against the countertop. “How are you feeling about tonight?”

“Honestly?” Feuilly asks, turning back to Jehan, “kind of nervous. It doesn’t really feel like I’m meant to be there.”

“Of course you are,” Jehan replies, smiling warmly and opening the cupboard to get the honey. “We love having you around, Antoine, and you know Courf hasn’t stopped going on about how they’re finally going to have a complete photo of Les Amis for their wall?”

Feuilly laughs.

“I haven’t stopped hearing about the wall since this all began,” he says, “it must be impressive.”

“They’ve cleared a space for our big group photo,” Jehan says, “but it’s amazing, they have photos from way back when they were little, I think they have photos of every event we’ve ever had. And there’s a couple from their first protests with Combeferre and Enjolras. They’re very proud of that wall.”

“It sounds nice,” Feuilly says quietly.

“Now,” Jehan says, picking up its finished mug of tea and walking out the kitchen, “Let’s go see what we’re working with for clothes, shall we? And I’ll do your makeup.”

Feuilly’s nerves creep into his stomach again, and he takes a deep breath as he follows Jehan through.

“It’s not a lot,” he admits quietly, when Jehan opens the closet.

“Nonsense,” Jehan says, waving an arm, “we have plenty here, let me just look through.”

It takes Jehan all of two minutes to find Feuilly’s one nice jacket, and it pulls it out and grins.

“This is perfect,” it says, holding it out, “the patchwork is amazing, I never knew you could sew.”

Feuilly blushes, smiling softly.

“I’m saving to buy myself a machine,” he says, “I took some lessons at school years ago, but I’m kind of rusty now.”

“I have a machine,” Jehan says, spinning around, “but I’m only really just learning to use it. Maybe we could figure it out together?”

Feuilly lights up.

“I’d love that,” he smiles genuinely, “I have a quilt under the bed that I’ve been waiting to finish for years, maybe I could bring it to yours some time?”

“Absolutely,” Jehan says, grinning. It pulls out a plain shirt, some old jeans and a belt and lays them down on Feuilly’s bed. “Maybe we could even try and teach the others. Bossuet knits, you know, and Combeferre embroiders. We could have little get togethers when we’re free. A good ol’ stitch and bitch session, yeah?”

Warmth spreads through Feuilly’s body, and he rests his head on Jehan’s shoulder while he tries to hide how wide he’s smiling. Maybe it’s just Jehan’s usual, welcoming personality, or maybe he might actually be able to fit in with Les Amis, after all.

By the time Bahorel pulls up to take them to the party, Jehan is finishing the final touches of Feuilly’s makeup, which consists of sharp winged eyeliner, some highlighter, and black lipstick. His nails are painted blue and purple, and he can’t tell if he feels out of place, or if he feels hotter than he ever has in his life.

He texts Bahorel to come straight up and Jehan insists he stay in the bedroom until they’re ready for him.  

“He has to see you walk out,” Jehan says, standing up when the door opens. “It’s important. He’s gonna die when he sees you.”

Feuilly laughs and rolls his eyes but does as he’s told, sitting on the bed whilst Jehan and Bahorel talk animatedly in the next room. Jehan picks up its own Tupperware box of food and finds Feuilly’s in the kitchen.

“Antoine!” he calls, when he and Bahorel are ready to go. “Come out here please!”

Feuilly takes a deep breath and stands, walking out slowly into the front room. The first thing he sees is Bahorel, jaw dropped, eyes shamelessly dragging up and down Feuilly’s body. Feuilly blushes across his cheeks and neck, and raises an eyebrow at Bahorel.

“Well?”

“I- goddamn, Feuilly.”

He laughs, walking over to loop his arm through Bahorel’s.

“You can thank Jehan,” he says, offering his other arm for it to take, “It’s been here for hours getting me ready.”

Jehan laughs and shrugs.

“It’s nothing,” it grins, “consider it a Christmas present.”

“I will,” Bahorel says, wrapping his arm around Feuilly’s waist and pulling him close.

--

The apartment building they walk inside is big and tidy, and Feuilly feels out of place in his silly patchwork jacket, but Bahorel puts a hand on the small of his back and guides him to the elevator. When the three of them step out into the hallway, there’s an open door and a considerable amount of music and laughter coming from inside it.

“Hey! Will you lot keep it quiet out here?” Bahorel yells. Courfeyrac’s beaming face sticks out the door and they flip him off, laughing.

“Get in here, asshole,” they say, reaching out to pull him into a hug. “Feuilly!” they exclaim, pulling away from Bahorel and opening their arms again. “I’m so glad you came! I love your jacket! And God, your makeup! Jehan’s work, I assume?”

“You assume correctly,” Jehan says, stooping to kiss their cheek.

“Come on in, guys.”

The flat is bigger than Feuilly’s, but not as big as he’d imagined. He sees Courfeyrac’s photo wall immediately: photos of different members of the group and of Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s family, the stand-out one Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and another person he thinks must be Enjolras. Years prior, at some kind of sleepover, they look just as animated as they are now. Combeferre and Courfeyrac look similar to how they do now, but Enjolras looks distinctly more feminine, and less radiant, less confident. It makes Feuilly shrink back a little, to see their fearless leader, small and visibly uncomfortable.

“Enjolras won’t let us take that one down,” Courfeyrac says, appearing behind him. “It’s from our school years, right after I moved to France. I hadn’t even known them that long but I was their best friend. That was our first sleepover.”

Enjolras and Combeferre are cuddled together on a double bed, Courfeyrac below them, huddled in a sleeping bag on the floor. The photo is rushed, and Feuilly can imagine them getting ready for a timed photo on an old camera, Courfeyrac’s blurred hand making a peace sign right as the shutter closes.

The rest of the photos are just as haphazard, speedily taken, often candid, of different members of Les Amis and of people Feuilly assumes are Courfeyrac’s family. He notices right away that he is in none of these photos, and his heart aches. There’s space in the middle of the wall, however, for a new photo.

“We have a camera for tonight, too,” Courfeyrac says, pulling Feuilly away, “so you can take as many as you like. I want to get some with you, if that’s okay. I’d love to add some photos of you with everyone to my wall.”

He reaches over to the coffee table where his camera sits, and turns it around to take a selfie.

“Smile!” he says, wrapping an arm around Feuilly and grinning so wide his eyes scrunch closed. Feuilly laughs as the trigger pulls, and Courfeyrac turns the camera around to see a blurry photo of them laughing together.

“Perfect!”

Feuilly smiles and shakes his head. Jehan comes bouncing over, Combeferre in tow, still holding their Tupperware boxes.

“Oh, my food!” Feuilly says, taking the box from Jehan. “Where do I put it?”

“Ah,” Courfeyrac says, “come and see where the magic happens.”

The kitchen seems to be in some kind of organised chaos, three pans on the stove and another waiting, the oven on, a slow cooker set up to the side, and a mini fridge on the floor marked “halal”. The pans on the stove each have “dairy” written on their handles, and Courfeyrac pulls Feuilly over.

“Let me give you the grand tour,” he says, pointing to the first pan, “this is chai on the go, it’s Bossuet’s mother’s recipe, it’s really good,” they turn to the next pan, frying what looks like doughnuts – “this is gulab jamun, Bossuet’s again. He and Joly have been here for a few hours, and Musichetta will be over soon. She’s bringing veggie samosas.”

The next pan is boiling some pasta, and Feuilly stares over it, watching it intently.

“I tried my hand at gluten free pasta for the first time this year,” Courfeyrac says, “it’s gone pretty well, considering. That’s trofie, I have some pesto to go with it. My nonna’s recipe, although I had to adapt it to have no pine nuts for Enjolras. She was horrified the first time I told her, but she likes Enjo well enough to let it go.”

Feuilly laughs.

“Ferre says you have to wait a few hours between eating dairy and meat, right?” Courfeyrac says, opening the fridge before they get a reply, “so we have a few dishes waiting for later in the night, or maybe tomorrow if we get that far. Some chicken wings and turkey, and a leg of lamb in the slow cooker.”

“This is…”

“A shit tonne of food?” Courfeyrac asks, grinning. “Last year we barely had enough to go round, so everyone’s kind of overcompensated this year.”

“I’ve never seen so much food in my life,” Feuilly says sincerely, “I might not be able to manage much, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Courfeyrac says, putting an arm around him, “there’s no judgement about how little or how much you eat, and there’ll be leftovers anyway if you want to take some how with you. No pressure at all, we just want you to enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks, Courf,” Feuilly says, relaxing a little. “What should I do with this?” he lifts his Tupperware box and Courfeyrac smiles.

“What did you make?” they ask, opening a cupboard.

“Knishes,” he says, passing Courfeyrac the box, “They’re gluten free and vegetarian, I hope they’re okay.”

“That sounds great!” he says, laying them out on the plate. “You wanna put them on the table? I have a challah to put out too that my sister made. I’m so glad she can bake, the last time I tried to make gluten free challah it came out like shortbread.”

Feuilly snorts.

“It was meant to be a surprise for Ferre last year,” they say, “but I had to get Chiara to send some over from Marseille in the end. She’s lucky she got the good baking genes.”

Enjolras and Combeferre make their way into the kitchen soon after, Enjolras carrying a bag of drinks for the fridge. He sees Feuilly and smiles warmly.

“Ah, Feuilly,” he says, putting the drinks down, “I was hoping I could catch you in private for a second, if that’s okay?”

“Uh,” Feuilly laughs nervously, looking at Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “I guess, is everything okay?”

“Oh, yes! Everything’s fine, I just wanted to clear something up with you.” He doesn’t stop looking nervous, and it makes Feuilly’s stomach churn with worry. Maybe he shouldn’t have come after all, maybe he’s out of place here.

He follows Enjolras into the spare room, where he shuts the door and sits on the bed, inviting Feuilly to sit next to him.

“Sorry to drag you away like this,” Enjolras says, finally looking him in the eye. “I promised everyone there’d be no shop talk so I’ll keep this quick but I think it’s important.” He takes a deep breath. “Feuilly, it’s come to my attention that you’ve been feeling isolated from the group? Like you’re not one of us, or you’re not wanted at our events, or something?”

“Oh,” Feuilly says, looking away and blushing. “Well, it’s all been cleared up now, it’s not a big deal. I just didn’t realise you all wanted me around as much as you do, it’s nothing, I promise. It’s behind me, I’ve been made welcome, I swear.”

“Don’t worry,” Enjolras says, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. “I just wanted to know, so we can find a way to make you feel more welcome. We thought it was obvious you were part of the core group, I’m sorry we’ve neglected to make it clear to you.”

Feuilly shrugs.

“It’s not your fault my schedule is so tight, I just can’t always make it to meetings, or to meals out, or… that’s not your problem.”

“We’ve been pushing you away,” Enjolras counters, “and we didn’t realise. We’re going to try and work with your schedule better in the new year, and we’re going to do some more budget-friendly things that you can attend. We want you there, Feuilly, we always miss you when you can’t make events.”

“I don’t want to make things overcomplicated,” Feuilly says, pulling at his nails. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to us,” Enjolras says, the frown evident in his voice. “We’re going to make it work, for all of us. Please, promise me you’ll tell one of us if you feel excluded like that again?”

Feuilly thinks about it a moment, and then nods.

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, smiling. “Now, shall we go back and join the party?”

“Fee!” Jehan comes bouncing over when Enjolras and Feuilly walk back into the front room, opening its arms for him. “Combeferre is breaking out the charades and me and Bahorel need a third, would you do the honours?”

“I take it that means I’m with Courf and Ferre?” Enjolras asks, tiredly.

“I’m afraid so,” Jehan says, grinning, “you’re already spoken for, I’m afraid, no escaping.”

“You don’t seem the charades type,” Feuilly says to Enjolras.

“I’m not,” he laughs, “but Combeferre and Courfeyrac won’t take no for an answer, and we can at least understand each other in times like this. It’s just awful when I have to mime. You guys are going to beat us, easy.”

Surprisingly, they don’t. Despite Feuilly’s best acting and gesticulating (“it’s a fucking kangaroo, Bahorel, what else has feet like this and bounces like this and has a pouch?” “Oh, that’s what it was, I thought you were pregnant”) Bahorel is terrible at guessing. Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, on the other hand, are unstoppable. They have some kind of psychic connection, and the second one starts acting, the others are on their exact wavelength, guessing after seconds.

After an hour, Feuilly, Jehan and Bahorel retire, thoroughly decimated, leaving the other three to bask in their glory. Even with Enjolras’s terrible miming, they overwhelmingly won. Watching the three of them together, Feuilly smiles. They move around each other and interact like they know each other’s every move inside out, like a well-oiled machine. One day, he thinks he could be like that, with all of them.

“Fee, Baz!” Jehan grabs each of their hands and tugs them over to Courfeyrac’s camera. “Come on, let’s get some photos.”

He squishes Feuilly and Bahorel together tightly to get some clumsy, cheesy photos of them, some with Bahorel kissing Feuilly’s cheek, and one where Bahorel kisses him hard and Jehan captures the surprised-but-delighted look on Feuilly’s face. Courfeyrac watches them from the other side of the room, Combeferre falling asleep on his shoulder. They see Jehan turn the camera around to them and grin, leaning down to kiss Combeferre’s hair for the photo.

When Grantaire and Musichetta finally arrive, Jehan bounds over and gives its partner a sound kiss on the lips, pulling him in for more photos with the three of them. Feuilly makes sure to get as many cheesy ones of them as Jehan did of him and Bahorel, and by the end he’s sure Courfeyrac’s camera must be full of just photos of the four of them.

Finally, Courfeyrac wrangles the camera back and calls for everyone together.

“Come on, Feuilly to the front, please!” he says, putting the camera on a tripod and setting the timer. Feuilly blushes, looking nervously at Bahorel.

“Oh, come on then,” Bahorel laughs, dropping down on his knees in front of Joly and Bossuet so he doesn’t block anyone’s view from next to Feuilly.

“Okay, everyone smile now,” Courfeyrac says, pressing the shutter and running to the front next to Feuilly just in time for the photo to take.

“Oh, come on, Bossuet was blinking,” he grumbles, adjusting the angle and motioning for them all to squeeze in closer. “Okay, one more.”

“Yes, dad,” Bahorel grins, receiving a middle finger and a ruffle of his hair.

The second photo is more successful, and Courfeyrac jumps up again before they have time to disperse.

“Wait, wait!” they say, and the resounding groan makes them laugh. “Come on, just one more! A silly one, we have to do a silly one!”

The silly one ends up being a mix of laughing and groaning faces, and Courfeyrac diving in front of Enjolras just in time to be a blur on the photo.

“Okay, this one goes on the wall,” he says, after flicking through the few he has. “It’s perfect, half of you are having a great time and half of you are ready to kill me. That’s the way it should be!”

When most of Les Amis have dispersed, Enjolras, Feuilly and Bahorel sit cuddled on the couch with some steaming tea, Courfeyrac and Combeferre on the floor in front of them.

“Well this was a success, wasn’t it?” Courfeyrac asks, leaning into Combeferre and sipping their tea. “The best one we’ve ever done.”

Combeferre snorts.

“The second one we’ve ever done.”

“Hush, you,” Courfeyrac grumbles, “I think what made the biggest difference was having you here, Fee.”

Feuilly blushes and shakes his head.

“Shut up,” he laughs, “I don’t make that much difference.”

“You do too,” Bahorel grumbles, knocking him with his elbow.

“You complete us, Fee,” Courfeyrac says, smiling. “You’re the last piece in the puzzle, you temper the rest of us. Especially this one.” He gestures to Bahorel and receives an obscene gesture in return.

“It really has made a difference,” Enjolras says, “and I hope you’re able to come to more meetings in the future. We’ll make it more accessible for you, Feuilly, don’t hold back on telling us whatever changes you need.”

Feuilly smiles warmly, closing his eyes and resting his head on Bahorel’s shoulder.

“You guys can stay here tonight, if you want,” Combeferre says, “We have the couch, and the spare room.”

Feuilly thinks about it a moment, then looks up at Bahorel. Bahorel, in turn, is subtly smirking down at Feuilly raising an eyebrow.

Feuilly rolls his eyes and kisses Bahorel’s shoulder.

“Thanks, but I think we’re gonna head back to my place,” he says, standing and pulling Bahorel up after him.

Courfeyrac grins wolfishly.

“Yeah, you two look like you have something real important to get back to.”

Bahorel flips Courfeyrac off with one hand, winding the other arm round Feuilly’s waist and pulling him close.

“Good night, dickhead. Happy new year.”

[transrevolutions]

amis & co pet headcanons:

enjolras and combeferre's place:

enjolras has a black cat named antoine that he adopted at a shelter. he picked him because he was scheduled to be put down soon and he last-minute offered to foster him instead. we all know how fostering cats goes sometimes, so long story short, enjolras ended up with a cat. combeferre has a mutt dog that he found on the side of the road and nursed back to health. her name is laika, and ironically she spends most of her time bothering enjolras.

courfeyrac and marius's place:

courfeyrac is allergic to everything with fur, pretty much, and so he and marius keep fish and give them funny names. so far they've had fish of varying degrees of strangeness named after several US politicians.

feuilly and bahorel's place:

feuilly can't afford/doesn't have time for a pet of his own, so he just mooches off bahorel's dogs. bahorel has two dogs, a massive pit bull rescue named baxter, and a tiny shih-tzu named mitch. the amis suspect that he named them those things so he could call them "bastard" and "bitch", which he neither confirms nor denies.

joly, bossuet, and musichetta's place:

bossuet bonded with a pigeon and now it's basically a house pet. he named it homer, because get it? homing pigeon? but also a classics reference? IT'S A PUN! joly was terrified of it at first but calmed down once he learned that pigeons are unlikely to carry diseases that are transmittable to humans. musichetta wants a cat but joly's allergic, so she feeds the local strays instead.

jehan and grantaire's place:

jehan has a big snake. it's a ball python named percy, named after the mythological hero perseus but also percy shelley. they've had it ever since they were a kid, because those snakes live fucking forever. bahorel is secretly terrified of it, especially when the freeze dried rats are involved. grantaire has a cat that he calls trash can (I saw this in a fic once and it stuck). the snake and the cat have a pact of mutual non-aggression.

cosette's place:

cosette rescues guinea pigs. her father always kept them when she was a little kid, and she has a fondness for them. she always makes sure to have at least two at once, because she read that they get lonely otherwise. this means she's caught in an endless cycle of guinea pigs, but she doesn't mind.

eponine, azelma, and gavroche's place:

they have a scrawny little cat named rat. well, it's technically gavroche's cat, but you know how kids are with taking care of their pets. the story behind the cat is that gavroche found it on the street being ganged up on by about a half dozen rats, so he "rescued" it. and then named it "rat" in a fit of irony. nobody knows if rat is a boy or a girl, and even the vet couldn't tell for sure.

[fremedon]

Ten first lines game

Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have.

Tagged by @thevagueambition; no-pressure tagging @kcrabb88, @shitpostingfromthebarricade, @white-throated-packrat, @riotstarruika, @artificialities, and anyone else who wants to consider themselves tagged.

1.) After they left the apartment in the Rue de l’Ouest, the young man from the Luxembourg did not find them again, but Jean Valjean remained discontent. (In Which Is To Be Learned the Name of Enjolras's Fake Fiancée, Les Misérables.)

2.) The spring before Cosette’s sixteenth birthday, the handsome young man of the Luxembourg Garden returned, after an absence of six months or so, to his habitual walk along the chestnut alleys. The Rose Realizes She Is an Instrument of War, Arm Joe / Les Misérables)

3.) In December of 1815, Jacques-Antoine Manuel, once a Deputy of the Hundred Days, returned to the Hôtel d’Otrante to pay a last call on his patron Fouché before the latter’s removal to Dresden. Les oiseaux que l’hiver exile, 19th Century French Politics RPF)

4.) The mask makes its first appearance just after the press trials. (Chanticleer, Les Misérables)

5.) Combeferre is down to his last two cartridges when first the artillery and then the distant crackle of rifles fall silent. (The Hieroglyph of Truth, Les Misérables)

6.) Combeferre woke first—little surprise that, after sleeping on Enjolras’s floor. (To Make the Right Peacefully Interpenetrate the True, Les Misérables.)

7.) Character naming, the way I or you go About it, is more than some holiday game, So you may think I’m mad when I say that, to Hugo  No misérable can have more than one name!  (The Naming of Cats, Les Misérables)

8.) Hi, folks! Hilda here. Big news, and I do mean big—I said last week I said if we got 25 new subscribers by Friday I would buy that sousaphone, and, welp. (Hilda Shelters in Place, Hilda the Plus-Sized Pin-Up) (Okay, that's technically more than one line.)

9.)

I’ll be teaching Intro to Figure Sculpting all summer, 9:30-12:30 Wednesday and Saturday mornings at the Community Center! 

-Cost: 450G/session or 3000G for the whole summer -You will make two terracotta figures OR one clay maquette and one wooden carving. -Includes materials, model fee, and anatomy lessons from Dr. Harvey! Firing extra.

Big thanks to Emily for modeling, Robin for the wood and for making our stands and turntable, Seren of Nebula Farm for the clay, and Gunther for our skeleton.

--Leah

(Roman à Clef, Stardew Valley) (And that is definitely more than one line, but I'm not sure how you define "line" in this one; it's found-footage epistolary.)

10. Three gods shared a branch bare of leaf, snow, or blossom: the owl Salos’a, the sharp-eyed hawk, and Raven between them. (Blood From a Stone, Elemental Logic | Laurie J. Marks)

[virgosjukebox]

Current AUs:

Modern Poppy

Soulmate AU: In which Poppy and Enjolras are tied together through the past and signature tattoos that mysteriously appeared one day. They never realized what it meant until a stray cat came to Enjolras' place and while at the pet store getting supplies, they pretend they're married with particular ease. Simply because two young children thought they were.

Canon/Historical Poppy

Fake Dating + Cafe:

Enjolras and Poppy meet by chance at the cafe. They stay until nightfall and they walk home. She insists he stays at hers since it is late, and thus begins a friendship. Poppy brings up how her mother has been persistant in her finding a match, and proposes that when she goes to fetch her favorite and only horse Chaos, that she and Enjolras pretend that they are dating.

Royalty:

In which Poppy is a princess who is soon to be bethrothed to another. Everyone would expect her to be happy but she is not. All she wants to do is be free from all the responsibility. Little do she and her best friend, Enjolras, who happens to be one of her guards, is the one she's bethrothed to.

Vampire!Poppy

Louise Antoine

Canon/Historical Louise

Beyond the Curtain Call/Credits(Moulin Rouge)—Friends with Benefits turned Lovers:

While Christian is still mourning the loss of Satine, he finds himself in the Antoine family cafe where he meets Louise by chance.

A Baker's Aid(AMC's Turn):

Louise's aid is requested in terms of helping out the Continental Army with creating provisions for the soldiers to eat. With food being scarce she has to be creative in what she makes.

[barbaroux]

all these characters are basically my gender

[thebrickinbrick]

An Attempt to Console the Widow Hucheloup, Part 1

BAHOREL, in ecstasies over the barricade, shouted: "Here's the street in its low-necked dress! How well it looks!"

Courfeyrac, as he demolished the wine-shop to some extent, sought to console the widowed proprietress.

"Mother Hucheloup, weren't you complaining the other day because you had had a notice served on you for infringing the law, because Gibelotte shook a counterpane out of your window?"

"Yes, my good Monsieur Courfeyrac. Ah! good Heavens, are you going to put that table of mine in your horror, too? And it was for the counterpane, and also for a pot of flowers which fell from the attic window into the street, that the government collected a fine of a hundred francs. If that isn't an abomination, what is!"

"Well, Mother Hucheloup, we are avenging you."

Mother Hucheloup did not appear to understand very clearly the benefit which she was to derive from these reprisals made on her account. She was satisfied after the manner of that Arab woman, who, having received a box on the ear from her husband, went to complain to her father, and cried for vengeance, saying: "Father, you owe my husband affront for affront. The father asked: "On which cheek did you receive the blow?" "On the left cheek." The father slapped her right cheek and said: "Now you are satisfied. Go tell your husband that he boxed my daughter's ears, and that I have accordingly boxed his wife's.”

The rain had ceased. Recruits had arrived. Workmen had brought under their blouses a barrel of powder, a basket containing bottles of vitriol, two or three carnival torches, and a basket filled with fire-pots, "left over from the King's festival." This festival was very recent, having taken place on the 1st of May. It was said that these munitions came from a grocer in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine named Pépin.

They smashed the only street lantern in the Rue de la Chanvrerie, the lantern corresponding to one in the Rue Saint-Denis, and all the lanterns in the surrounding streets, de Mondétour, du Cygne, des Prêcheurs, and de la Grande and de la Petite-Truanderie.

Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac directed everything. Two barricades were now in process of construction at once, both of them resting on the Corinthe house and forming a right angle; the larger shut off the Rue de la Chanvrerie, the other closed the Rue Mondétour, on the side of the Rue de Cygne. This last barricade, which was very narrow, was constructed only of casks and paving-stones. There were about fifty workers on it; thirty were armed with guns; for, on their way, they had effected a wholesale loan from an armorer's shop.

Nothing could be more bizarre and at the same time more motley than this troop. One had a round-jacket, a cavalry sabre, and two holster-pistols, another was in his shirt-sleeves, with a round hat, and a powder-horn siung at his side, a third wore a plastron of nine sheets of gray paper and was armed with a saddler's awl. There was one who was shouting: "Let us exterminate them to the last man and die at the point of our bayonet." This man had no bayonet. Another spread out over his coat the cross-belt and cartridge-box of a National Guardsman, the cover of the cartridge-box being ornamented with this inscription in red worsted: Public Order. There were a great many guns bearing the numbers of the legions, few hats, no cravats, many bare arms, some pikes. Add to this, all ages, all sorts of faces, small, pale young men, and bronzed longshoremen. All were in haste; and as they helped each other, they discussed the possible chances. That they would receive succor about three o'clock in the morning, that they were sure of one regiment, that Paris would rise. Terrible sayings with which was mingled a sort of cordial jovialty. One would have pronounced them brothers, but they did not know each other's names. Great perils have this fine characteristic, that they bring to light the fraternity of strangers.

A fire had been lighted in the kitchen, and there they were engaged in moulding into bullets, pewter mugs, spoons, forks, and all the brass table-ware of the establishment. In the midst of it all, they drank. Caps and buckshot were mixed pell-mell on the tables with glasses of wine.

In the billiard-hall, Mame Hucheloup, Matelote, and Gibelotte, variously modified by terror, which had stupefied one, rendered another breathless, and roused the third, were tearing up old dish-cloths and making lint; three insurgents were assisting them, three bushy-haired, jolly blades with beards and moustaches, who plucked away at the linen with the fingers of seamstresses and who made them tremble.

The man of lofty stature whom Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras had observed at the moment when he joined the mob at the corner of the Rue des Billettes, was at work on the smaller barricade and was making himself useful there.

Gavroche was working on the larger one. As for the young man who had been waiting for Courfeyrac at his lodgings, and who had inquired for M. Marius, he had disappeared at about the time when the omnibus had been overturned.

[areuils]

Saint-Just/Enjolras (don’t look at me)

I manifested this earlier, and the supreme being did give me some abilities to draw, and so I put pen to paper and thus this was born

It’s 12am here and I don’t have an eraser nor the will to make this actually good

Here’s the significantly better and cuter work I did for empereur’s mercy. I refuse to draw Bonaparte well out of spite

[roseinapril]

Ok so I’ve found this old fanart of a story I was writing about les Amis. These are the drawings for the first chapter. Here we have little Combeferre (Antoine) and little Enjolras (Gabriel) reading. 

[just-french-me-up]

Jehan and Enjolras getting in fights with playground moms, like. "If he's a boy, why don't you dress him like a boy?" And Jehan just. Stares. "What exactly does a boy dress like? Because my boy dresses like that because he picks it. And if he decides to tell me he's not a boy, then, damn, I'll help them change their wardrobe, and so will their father." While Apolline is in flannel and jeans because she dresses like Grantaire, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop her.

Apolline wants buzz cut when she’s 6 because it looks so cool on Uncle Ferre and Uncle Ferre is so cool, so if she gets one she’ll be twice as cool!

While Antoine likes his soft wavy black hair, they fall in gentle curls and frame his face nicely. They’re Extra soft and smell really good after bathtime, too. Plus he looks really damn cute.

“Ooooohhhh what a cute little girl you have there!” “Actually, Antoine’s a boy.” “Oh, you should cut his hair then, no boy wants to be mistaken for a girl, that could scar him.” “????? I didn’t know “girl” was an insult??? Perhaps you should check in the dictionary, Marie-Louise??? Look up “guff” while you’re at it????”

Jehan brings baked good to the playground often, and when Suburban Moms compliment them on it they’re like “I hope you can taste the passive-aggressivity, it’s the main ingredient.”

“You know, I don’t think you should push your lifestyle onto your child, it’s not fair.” “Your son is wearing a “Womanizer” onesie, Sharon.”

Grantaire taught Apolline to respond “Whatever, Susan” whenever an adult bothered her, so picture 3 year old Apolline saying “Whatever, Susan” when told she’s not being ladylike