#had this with grantaire in mind

[thatisntverycombefair]

'We're going on a bear hunt' but make it a trans masc taking his t shots for the first time

[kjack89]

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Here?” he asked, resting a hand on the back of the chaise Grantaire had dragged in front of the fire.

Grantaire’s throat bobbed, and he jerked a nod. “Yes,” he said, his voice strangled, and he cleared his throat before repeating, “Yes.”

Enjolras nodded, and stepped to the front of the chaise. He was about to sit when Grantaire blurted, “You need not do this.”

“I said that I would,” Enjolras said, sounding braver than he looked. “And what am I without my word?”

“Me, I suppose,” Grantaire murmured, shaking his head as he reached for his charcoal. “Very well. When you’re ready, you may disrobe.”

Enjolras blinked. “I may – what?”

Grantaire glanced up at him. “Disrobe,” he repeated.

“Beg pardon?”

“You do realize that I asked you to model for life drawing,” Grantaire said slowly.

Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest. “So?”

“So, I need to see the—” Grantaire waved a vague hand, his face beer red. “—the life.”

Enjolras glanced down at his groin and back at Grantaire, his brow furrowed. “The life?” he repeated.

Grantaire groaned, covering his face with his hand. “I did not mean—” He broke off, throwing his hands up in the air. “Why did you think I had you change into the robe?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I thought you wanted me to be comfortable!”

Grantaire groaned again. “I never should have let Courfeyrac talk me into this.”

“How queer,” Enjolras said, pulling the folds of the robe tighter around himself, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

you cannot convince me that grantaire has never tried to make enjolras model for him to paint and that it went HORRIBLY

[uponthebarricade]

i'm always delighted by an enjolras who is stupidly oblivious to his feelings but on the other hand please give me an enjolras who is painfully aware of them.

give me an enjolras who is acutely aware that he is different to the other amis, that he will never be able to express himself in the same ways that they do.

give me an enjolras who watches les amis drinking and joking around and smiles along passively, but always feels a pit in his stomach and a heavy weight on his shoulders, anticipating the rise of the revolution and knowing that their happiness could shatter at any moment.

give me an enjolras who knows he isn't a fun person to be around, who knows he seems distant and untouchable when there a million thoughts running through his head, who deflects concern and masks his fears with a stoic and prideful facade.

give me an enjolras who observes everything happening around him but never finds enough time to join in, who realises just how much of his youth he is missing out on but never gets the chance to grieve it.

give me an enjolras who dismisses marius not because he cannot comprehend the idea of romance, but because he is tired of everyone obsessing over something he knows he will never experience.

give me an enjolras who is acutely aware of his beauty and charisma and ability to manipulate others, who feels no guilt for using it to further their cause, but wonders if anyone ever sees the real him.

give me an enjolras who can't stop himself from ridiculing grantaire because he reminds him of himself on his worst days, when in the back of his mind his faith dares to falter and a tugging in his gut whispers of what is to come.

give me an enjolras who knows he can be cruel and terrifying, but who understands it is sometimes necessary to be terrible for the greater good.

give me an enjolras with so much to do, always in a state of go, go, go, who then stares at the ceiling in the middle of the night, unable to fall asleep when there is no longer anything to distract him from the fact that he is very, very scared.

give me an enjolras who at some point realises he is leading his friends to ruin, who is overcome by a staggering guilt for each and every of them, but who knows he has nothing to live for and everything to die for.

give me an enjolras who, for a split second, hand in hand, feels a kind of love for grantaire in his death that he had never felt for anyone or anything in his life.

[aaronstveit]

To whom did this anarchical scoffer unite himself in this phalanx of absolute minds? To the most absolute. In what manner had Enjolras subjugated him? By his ideas? No. By his character. A phenomenon which is often observable. A sceptic who adheres to a believer is as simple as the law of complementary colors. That which we lack attracts us. No one loves the light like the blind man. The dwarf adores the drum-major. The toad always has his eyes fixed on heaven. Why? In order to watch the bird in its flight. Grantaire, in whom writhed doubt, loved to watch faith soar in Enjolras. He had need of Enjolras. That chaste, healthy, firm, upright, hard, candid nature charmed him, without his being clearly aware of it, and without the idea of explaining it to himself having occurred to him.

— Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

[rstarsk]

sometimes I'm fine but suddenly I just go: However, this sceptic had one fanaticism. This fanaticism was neither a dogma, nor an idea, nor an art, nor a science; it was a man: Enjolras. Grantaire admired, loved, and venerated Enjolras. To whom did this anarchical scoffer unite himself in this phalanx of absolute minds? To the most absolute. In what manner had Enjolras subjugated him? By his ideas? No. By his character. A phenomenon which is often observable. A sceptic who adheres to a believer is as simple as the law of complementary colors. That which we lack attracts us. No one loves the light like the blind man. The dwarf adores the drum-major. The toad always has his eyes fixed on heaven. Why? In order to watch the bird in its flight. Grantaire, in whom writhed doubt, loved to watch faith soar in Enjolras. He had need of Enjolras. That chaste, healthy, firm, upright, hard, candid nature charmed him, without his being clearly aware of it, and without the idea of explaining it to himself having occurred to him-

[idiopath-fic-smile]

If you are still taking Halloween fic requests:

Member of a monster-themed novelty band Grantaire x Actual Vampire Enjolras

oh HELL YEAHHHHHH

i'd apologize for the ensuing silliness but you can probably gather that is a hallmark of the fledgling "monster-themed novelty band x actual literal monster" genre. this is part one; i may write more tomorrow

“Grantaire,” Joly panted, “come quick, it’s a party emergency!”

Grantaire, who might as well have lived inside a glass case labeled BREAK IN CASE OF PARTY EMERGENCY, flipped himself right side up from where he’d been about to attempt a keg stand, and nodded solemnly, clapping his hands together. The blood rushed back to his head in a giddy wave.

“What do you need?” he asked.

Joly nodded at Bossuet to explain as the three of them barreled down the hallway.

“Here’s the thing,” said Bossuet, “we hired a band tonight, but the lead singer got way too high and now he thinks he needs to liberate all the notes from his guitar.”

Grantaire cocked his head to one side. “Does that explain why someone’s spent the past hour loudly and determinedly playing scales?”

“I don’t pretend to understand the inebriate’s mind!” Joly shouted, gesticulating wildly. The effect was slightly undercut by the bottle of gin in his hand.

“Point is,” said Bossuet, still walking at an almost-run, “we already rounded up Eponine and Bahorel. We need you guys to take the stage and salvage what’s left of tonight. C’mon, Bahorel says your sound is really getting there.”

“We’re not a band,” Grantaire insisted. “We’re a support group that keeps getting noise violations. We’ve never even played a gig.” He knew he probably sounded whiny but it had been a long week. His minimum possible math requirement was kicking his ass. “Besides, I had plans for tonight. I was gonna get laid.” Or at least, he was going to do his damnedest. Believe in yourself. Manifest your dreams. No I in team.

Bossuet simultaneously peered at Grantaire and pulled him through a door. “Is that why you’re dressed as…god, I don’t know, what do you call all this?”

“I thought he was an Animorph,” announced Joly. “Like, at a midpoint in the transformation to some kind of hairy animal.”

Grantaire coughed.

“Sorry,” said Joly easily. “A Sexy Mid-Transformation Animorph.”

“Shit, take in some culture once in a while, this is embarrassing,” said Grantaire. He gestured at the wolf ears on his headband, the fur glued to the cuffs of his shirtsleeves, the canine nose he’d drawn over his own with Eponine’s eyeliner pencil, the strategically ripped shirt and jeans. “I’m a Sexy Wolfman,” he said. “Obviously.”

He and Eponine, who had watched Ginger Snaps every day for the past month, had agreed to go as a pair of werewolves, but then Eponine had abandoned their pack of two to go make out with Cosette, which he really should’ve seen coming. He couldn’t even hold it against her; Eponine had been “casually” memorizing Cosette’s general weekly schedule for the past couple of semesters, when she wasn’t watching Cosette moony-eyed from the other side of the Quad. It was all probably very cute.

“Well, Wolfman,” said Bossuet, nudging Grantaire in the direction of the makeshift stage, where Bahorel was taking a seat behind the drums and Eponine was—reluctantly, by the look of it—re-tuning her borrowed bass. “You three have about thirty seconds to think of a band name.”

Grantaire picked up the electric guitar and raised his eyebrows at Eponine, whose lupine makeup was now marred by bright red lip marks, like something from a cartoon. Her own lips were smeared crimson, which was to be expected, but.

“She stopped to kiss you multiple times on the cheek?” he muttered.

“Shut up,” said Eponine, visibly blushing. “How’s your quest for a meaningless hookup?”

Grantaire let out a long breath. “Not even the furries are biting,” he admitted as Eponine snickered.

“Band names, people,” said Bahorel. He adjusted a cymbal. “I don’t have all night.”

“Hello,” Grantaire intoned into the microphone. “We are Not Even the Furries Are Biting! This first song—”

“Gonna kill you and make it look like an accident,” Eponine crooned low in his ear. “The embarrassing kind. Toilet-related.”

The thing was, in their capacity as a very loud sort-of group therapy session, with October 31st on the horizon, they had actually been talking about the appeal of wolves as a metaphor for the parts of oneself that felt wild or lonely or unlovable. To that effect, they’d been toying with a couple songs.

Maybe, thought Grantaire, this would not be a complete and total clusterfuck.

They played “I was a Teenage Werewolf” by The Cramps. They played “I’m The Wolf Man” by Round Robin. They played “Werewolf” by The Frantics. Any time he, Bahorel, or Eponine ran into a snag—a fumbled note, a missed beat, a patch that wasn’t perfectly memorized—Grantaire attempted to cover for them by throwing back his head and wailing, as if he was losing more and more of his grip on his humanity.

They were just finishing the first verse of The Black Keys’ “Howling for You” when Grantaire saw him: a tall, handsome stranger lingering at the back edge of the room, with intense eyes and an even more intense air of stone-cold sobriety. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t frowning, just—looking. Disapprovingly? Apathetically? Saddled with a bad case of heartburn? It was hard to tell.

The chorus started up, and Grantaire sang along with Eponine and Bahorel:

“Da da da da da, da da da da da da—”

Grantaire grinned as more and more of the crowd joined in—pulled along less by the band’s general prowess or charisma and more by a drunk college student’s inherent love of an easy earworm, but Grantaire wasn’t splitting hairs at this point.

“Da da da da da, da da da da da—”

A sea of bobbing, singing partygoers, and there on the fringes, Offensively Sober Guy stood perfectly still, watching Grantaire so intently that Grantaire almost forgot the words to the refrain.

Or rather, the word.

Or rather, the single repeating syllable.

To Offensively Sober’s left, two guys attempted to clink their beer bottles together and somehow lost their balance, careening into him. He maintained his impeccable posture as if they weren’t even in the room, never breaking his stare. It was honestly a little creepy.

For reasons Grantaire would later not be able to fully reconstruct, he decided the funniest thing to do would be to wink and smirk and generally pretend like Sober was really, really into him.

[enjolraspermettendo]

I finally saw Les Miserables live in Milan yesterday so obligatory yap:

Okay first of all: KILLIAN DONNELLY?!?!?!? I was already excited that I was going to see him as Valjean but god that man's voice is just so beautiful. He played a spectacular Valjean, he dominated the stage and the crowd went wild every time he sang. I have no words. Just. What an experience. The whole cast was amazing but jesus, this man could do a one man show of Les mis and id give my first born to see it. Also, he carried around Marius's actor like he weighed nothing, that's so Valjean of him. Also, his soliloquy broke me, how he tried to give back the candlesticks after the bishop gave them to him, how he let the bag fall on the floor and picked it up only later. The emotion he put into his singing constantly brought tears to my eyes. What a voice. Indescribable

JAVERT!!!! Bradley Jaden was amazing. I love how much rage he gave to his character, it felt very true to the novel, on how he's compared to a wolf. In stars he's so devoted but the part that literally shook me was after he let Valjean and Marius go: he literally lost his mind and shouted "WHO IS THIS MAN" with such a wild air I literally gasped. He was unhinged during that song, so outraged and bitter and I loved it. It almost felt like he was killing himself to take Valjean's act of mercy away from him instead of his internal turmoil and honestly? I loved it. He had such a presence on stage it literally felt like he was the law. Also let's be honest, he rocked the coat

I LOVED Channa Hewitt as Fantine, She had such a warm and soft voice it felt like a mother's embrace. I cried 4 times during the show and 2 of those were Fantine's death and Fantine's part during the finale. She was perfect

Nathania Ong as Eponine????? I don't think I've ever heard someone sing her parts as perfectly as her. What a voice. Honestly I think the applauses for her were some of the longest and they were completely deserved. She made me cry. Amazing. Spectacular. I fell a little bit a lot in love. Unfortunately she missed the "He was never mine to lose" line but I think it was because her microphone wasn't connected?? Never mind she was perfect.

I know you all want to know about our boys Enjolras and Grantaire so. There wasn't much enjoltaire going on tbh but I didn't mind, I still think the actors (James D. Gish and Raymond Walsh) were perfect and I love their performance. Enjolras was completely focused on the revolution and keeping the others on track, while Grantaire mainly stuck with Gavroche all throughout. Enjolras's most positive reaction to grantaire was ironically clapping with the others at R's jokes once during Red and Black, but apart from that he was fairly hostile to him. During Drink With Me he tried to stop R from singing and bringing down morale by getting close to him and roughly saying "That's enough!" into the same microphone; after he stopped singing and everyone started moving away Enjolras tried to stop Grantaire or talk to him, he seemed kind of apologetic, but R Simply raised his bottle to him in a mock toast and then turned his back to him and I loved that, I love a bitter and petty Grantaire. Grantaire at the beginning was very amused by the whole situation and the excitement of the others, during red and black and the building of the barricade he kept hyping Gavroche up and parting his shoulder, nudging him towards the others as if it was all a game. When the first shots sounded he seemed to realize the gravity of the situation and started nudging Gavroche away and motioning for him to go away; later when the shooting for the fall of the barricade started sounding he lifted Gavroche in his arms and held him as the others started to fall until only them and Enjolras stood; then Gavroche went limp and R died with him, Enjolras died last. For the rest of the show and for Empty Chairs at Empty Tables Enjolras, Grantaire and Gavroche were on the small balcony/platform over the centre of the stage and to be honest it had a very "Father, Son and Holy Spirit" vibe in my opinion.

One Day More was absurd, it gave me chills all throughout.

When Valjean died and the bishop came in the hugged each other very hard, Valjean basically fell into the bishop's arms and that hit me hard.

Gavroche was so sassy I loved him.

Honestly everyone was perfect I literally have nothing bad to say. I think Enjolras's actor lost controls of his voice on a sillable but who cares, it was all amazing.

I also got merch! (It was all so expensive????? But I couldn't help myself). I got a tote bag with Cosette's famous illustration, a magnet and a brochure with the history of Lea Miserables and information and interviews of the World Tour cast. I also got 2 of the paper bags (they were cute okay) and my mum grabbed a literal handful of the bookmarks they were giving away lmao.

I'm sure I had something else I wanted to say but after these last 3 days my brain is completely scrambled. If any of you were at the show yesterday or are going in these days feel free to hit me up so we can go crazy together lmao

[la-pheacienne]

Mystery of "Night begins to descend upon Grantaire" solved (continuing this post)

@everyonewasabird @pilferingapples So because I am insane and couldn't sleep I went through hundreds of pages of the manuscript on Gallica and finally found the text and it's CANON. What Grantaire said with an "indescribable sweetness" was not "let me sleep here", it was "you know I believe in you" (tu sais que je crois en toi) but Hugo wrote it on the margin of the page and so faintly I almost missed it but thankfully I spent 1 hour scanning every centimeter of this page because I'm nuts.

Also if anyone wonders (no one) Grantaire said "you'll see" only once, not twice as some translations show, and here is the proof:

Two remarks:

At first the "you know I believe in you" seemed random to me, because I was not used to it (since my version doesn't have it). Then I realized that ACTUALLY it has to be there. When Enjolras says "you're incapable of believing, of thinking, of wanting, of living and of dying" he's referring to two things Grantaire said : that he believes in him, and that he's willing to die there, for him. "Believing", and "dying" are the beginning and the end of his phrase. He's wrong in both, as we know. Grantaire is capable of believing (in Enjolras) and of dying in the barricade. The text has a perfect harmony this way.

What is driving me absolutely crazy is that Hugo added probably the two most meaningful exchanges E x R had on the margin as an afterthought, as a correction, and I'm talking about "you know I believe in you" and "you'll see". Like he wrote the draft and then was like, that's mid. I'm not going for mid, let me throw a phrase there to give it an extra oomph that will make tumblr girlies lose their minds and their sleep 200 years later. You don't get it, he was working for us. First incident of fanservice recorded in the history of human kind - and the editors MISSED IT. CRIMINAL BEHAVIOR

[enjolrasoftheday]

Hello!! Do you know any good Enjolras/Grantaire fics ? Asking for scientific purposes only, naturally

Well, if it's in the name of science...

I do have some recommendation lists in my fic rec tag, and I absolutely still stand by those. But! Here are some more recent fics, in no particular order, that I've enjoyed (and may or may not have speed-read in the last week since receiving this ask, I swear I wasn't ignoring you, I was just conducting important research lol). I’m not going to include the tags/warnings for each fic, so remember to take a look at those on ao3!

Also if anyone else has any recs, feel free to add them in the comment or reblogs!

Happy reading!!

Seek and Destroy by pumpkinspiceprouvaire (27,102 words)

Because Grantaire doesn’t feel that way about him. Grantaire is his friend, and Enjolras will love him from a distance, and that’s the way it’s always been, the way it’s always going to be. Enjolras’ blood freezes in his veins. It’s so obvious. This isn’t Grantaire.

restoring the balance by televisionbodies (14,427 words)

“How long are you stuck here?” He thinks for a moment. “The next train is in about five hours time. And then I’ve got work again, tomorrow.” “No wonder you wanted a coffee,” the bartender murmurs. “Well, then. You’ve got plenty of time to let me show you around.” — It’s 12:36am on a Wednesday and Enjolras, consumed with his work, has missed the last train home.

Les beaux cheveux que voilà by GayAvocado (9,184 words)

One should always have a hair tie around their wrist. If not for their own hair, for others’, or for the multitude of mundane situations that require a hair tie. So of course Grantaire has a hair tie around his wrist tonight. A pink one that might have belonged to Jehan or Azelma or both at some point. The neon colour will look lovely in the middle of Enjolras' golden curls. Or: For some reason, Grantaire finds himself braiding Enjolras’ hair way more often than he thought he ever would. Things change between them.

And Pages To Go by femmebingley (5,441 words)

Grantaire loses his sketchbook. /// “You’ve had it this whole time?” Grantaire couldn’t even find enough indignation to cover his growing terror. “Did you open it?” Enjolras sighed, and that was it. Grantaire’s life was over.

Lost in All of Our Vices by cx_shhhh (11,220 words)

“You will be banished for an indeterminate amount of time and stripped of your godly abilities,” Javert announces, voice booming in the echoing hall, not unlike the thunder he represents. “Until you learn that order is necessary for the gods to stay in power, that the respect of mortals is valuable to us, and until you learn to love them wholeheartedly, you will live like one.” Basically, Enjolras is banished from the heavens, and he learns that a god can, indeed, fall in love.

The Worst First Date by kjack89 (3,443 words)

Enjolras sat down at his desk, fresh mug of coffee in front of him, and took a moment to adjust the ring light behind his cellphone before taking a deep breath and pushing record. “So, um, I hope no one minds but we are taking a break today from our usually scheduled ranting at various governmental institutions because one of my best friends wants me to do a TikTok that’s part of this viral trend.” Or, the one where Enjolras makes a TikTok about his first date with Grantaire.

Green Rushes by loverism (6,043 words)

The mermaid, Enjolras, bites his lip, glaring at Grantaire like he's trying to determine whether he's serious. Grantaire supposes he was probably raised on stories of how evil the cave-witches are, how deceitful; how they mock everything they speak of; how they're driven only by profit; and above all, how striking a bargain with one of them is never, ever worth it. Grantaire can't exactly call those stories inaccurate. or: grantaire is a sea witch chilling in a cave, mixing potions and trying to mind his own business. enjolras has other ideas.

Love is Blind by kjack89 (32,982 words)

Enjolras sat down in front of the camera, and the producer just off-screen gave him a reassuring smile. “Nothing to it,” the producer promised. “Just introduce yourself and tell everyone why you’re here.” Enjolras jerked a nod before looking into the camera. “My name is Enjolras,” he said. “I’m 31 years old, and I’m here because this is the first season that this show has been open to queer contestants.” The producer cleared his throat. “So do you believe Love is Blind?” he prompted. Enjolras gave the camera a smile. “Well,” he said. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

Love Bites by ShameDumpster (9,557 words)

"What—" Enjolras says, breath hitching at the sight, “What are you doing?” Grantaire immediately freezes, and then pulls back, slightly. Even still, it’s closer than they’ve ever actually been, barely a foot between their faces. "I…need to bite you?" he says, managing to sound both wry and nervous at the same time, "How exactly did you think this worked?" In which Grantaire has recently been turned into a vampire, and Enjolras offers to help him. For the Same-Prompt Fic Challenge 2022

Tell Me Why (Ain’t Nothin but a Heartache by cs_shhhh (3,281 words)

It starts slowly, of course. Grantaire already pays too much attention to Enjolras, so it’s easy to spot the white petals, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. Enjolras seems to grow angrier and angrier when the coughing starts interrupting his speeches, so much that Combeferre has to take over after pushing a glass of water towards him, and he casts the flowers to the ground, glaring at them.

anything you want, boy (i can make it happen) by thewalrus_said (3,545 words)

As he’d been falling asleep, he’d expected to feel devastated, or heartbroken, or something negative after a clearly one-off night with the object of his long-held desires, but instead he just feels...satisfied, almost content. Enjolras clearly finds him at least physically desirable, and he’s apparently in Enjolras’ head at least a little bit, and that turns out to be enough for him. He’s finally had sex with Enjolras, and while it hadn’t been what he’d secretly hoped for, it had still been good, and so the memory doesn’t drag him down like he’d feared it might. So when he answers a knock on his door a week later to find a breathless Enjolras, who immediately pushes his way into Grantaire’s apartment and says, “I think we should have sex again,” he’s more than a little taken aback.

The Arms of the Ocean, so Sweet and so Cold by ShameDumpster (11,867 words)

Sirens attack the crew of the dreaded pirate ship, the Musain. They send out Enjolras to deal with it, as in the past, he’s proven himself to be unaffected by their song. Unfortunately for him, as he’s told Grantaire many times, things can (and do) change. And this change may leave his life, and heart, in the balance.

It Only Takes a Meow-ment by cx_shhhh (7,158 words)

“The prince is finally putting out a challenge for his hand. He has a very loyal cat, you see. Whichever suitor, man or woman, can obtain the ring attached to the bow around its neck will be given the time of day.” Or Enjolras is oblivious, and it impacts everyone around him in the best way possible.

neon loneliness by dyhtps (4,345 words)

He lets his gaze fall around the kitchen. A coffee mug left out on the side, a tea-towel hung over the oven handle, even one of those awful kiss the cook aprons that he figures must belong to Enjolras’ boyfriend. Grantaire blames the concussion for the sudden, awful sinking feeling in his stomach. He decided he hates the mystery boyfriend, maybe he's been an arse to future Grantaire before and it's just his subconscious warning him to get away from the guy as quick as he can. or Grantaire loses his memory, is jealous of Enjolras' mystery boyfriend and finally realises that's actually him.

visiting hours by televisionbodies (5,731 words)

”I guess I’m just surprised you’re still in here at all.” “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Enjolras says smoothly, knowing exactly what Grantaire means. “Two months?” One side of Grantaire’s mouth is turning upwards. “I didn’t think you were capable of sitting still that long.” — 5 times grantaire visits enjolras in prison, and 1 time he doesn’t have to.

[kjack89]

Dial Drunk

5 times Enjolras bailed Grantaire out of jail, and one time, well...

The door of the holding cell clanked open and as one, the nine men sitting inside glanced up. “Alright,” the booking officer said in a bored tone, glancing down at his clipboard. “Bail’s been posted for arrestees Bahorel, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Feuilly, Joly, Lesgle and Prouvaire. You’re free to leave after you sign out at the front desk.”

There were a few grumbles as the men started to get to their feet, but Enjolras remained resolutely seated, his brow furrowed with a frown. “What about Grantaire?”

The man in question chuckled darkly, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell. “Is that actual concern for me that I hear, Apollo? I could die happy.”

Enjolras ignored him. “Pontmercy was supposed to post bail for all of us,” he said instead, aiming his words at Courfeyrac as if the man was somehow still responsible for the actions of his former roommate some five years after they had stopped living together.

Courfeyrac just shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I mean, we all know Marius is a bit of an idiot, maybe he miscounted.”

Combeferre shook his head. “I’m probably wrong and should defer to the lawyers amongst us but I thought I remembered reading something in one of the articles about reforming pre-trial detention that an individual can only post bail for 8 detainees at a time.”

“And so I must’ve drawn the short straw,” Grantaire sighed. “Story of my fucking life.”

Bossuet clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. “On the other hand, you could take it as a compliment that Marius thinks you’re the one most likely to survive an extended stay behind bars.”

Bahorel snorted so loudly the bars of the cell almost rattled. “Sorry but literally not a single one of us would survive an extended stay behind bars.”

“Speak for yourself,” Feuilly said. “I know how to whittle.” At the blank looks he received, he huffed a sigh and added, “So I can make a shank. No wonder none of you would survive in jail.”

“This is making our goal of prison abolition seem oddly self-serving,” Joly murmured in an undertone to Jehan, who stifled a laugh.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Not that I’m not sympathetic to Grantaire having to be stuck in here, but I’d just like to remind everyone that since Marius posted bail, we’re technically now here voluntarily.”

“Yeah so GTFO,” Grantaire said with a grimace masquerading as a smile. “Let me rot in peace, etcetera.”

Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue more, but Combeferre muttered something in his ear and he made a face before filing out of the cell. “Serious miscalculation on Marius’s part with this one,” Courfeyrac said brightly as he followed everyone else out. “Because God knows you’re going to complain about this for the rest of all time.”

Grantaire gave him the finger and Courfeyrac winked as the officer closed the cell door behind him.

Sighing again, Grantaire sat upright, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before settling back against the bench. “You need anything?” the booking officer asked.

Grantaire shook his head. “Nah,” he said dismissively. “Not my first rodeo. Hopefully I won’t be stuck overnight, but I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Oh, yeah?” the officer said with mild interest.

Grantaire nodded. “Central booking at the 16th Precinct is a piece of shit,” he said brightly.

The officer barked a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gave Grantaire a long look. “Should I ask what you were picked up for previously?”

Considering the answer to that question was a vast litany of misdemeanors (and felonies reduced to misdemeanors) that the boys in blue tended not to appreciate, Grantaire hesitated. Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer at all by the crackle of the officer’s walkie-talkie. “Just a moment,” the officer told him, heading out of the booking area and Grantaire let out a sigh of relief as he slumped on the bench.

“You’re free to go,” the officer said upon returning, and Grantaire looked up, surprised.

“Really?”

The officer nodded, opening the door to the holding cell. “Bail was posted. So I guess you’ll have to save your rap sheet for the next time you’re in here.”

Grantaire snorted a laugh. “I’d say there won’t be a next time, but…” 

He ducked out before the officer could respond to that, making his way to the front desk, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras leaning against the desk, clearly waiting for him. “What’re you doing here?”

Enjolras straightened. “It didn’t feel right leaving you in there,” he said with a shrug that didn’t quite come across as nonchalant as he’d probably intended. “And I happened to have some cash on me, so…”

“Between this and being worried about my welfare, you’re gonna give me the wrong impression,” Grantaire said.

“Guess that depends on what impression you’re getting,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire’s eyes flickered to his and away again, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. Enjolras cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Anyway, we should get to the Musain to debrief.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”

Grantaire just shook his head, and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. “After you,” he said, his voice low, and together they walked out of the precinct, their arms just brushing against each other as they headed to meet their friends at the Musain.

— — — — —

“Jesus Christ,” Enjolras muttered as the booking officer removed the handcuffs from a sheepish-looking Grantaire. Well, as sheepish as a man sporting the beginnings of a pretty impressive black eye could look, anyway. “Here,” Enjolras said roughly, holding an ice pack out to Grantaire. “I posted your bail as well.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered, taking the ice pack and wincing as he pressed it against his eye.

Enjolras pursed his lips as he gave him a once-over. “Any other injuries I need to worry about?” he asked.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own.”

“Because that’s reassuring,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead, but when he looked at Grantaire again, there was something almost soft in his expression. “You didn’t need to do that.”

What he could see of Grantaire’s expression tightened, just slightly. “You didn’t hear what that guy called you.”

He said it calmly, evenly, but his hand automatically balled into a fist at the memory. Enjolras reached out automatically to rest his hand on Grantaire’s fist until it relaxed. “It doesn’t matter what he called me,” he said, his voice low. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” Grantaire scoffed. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Enjolras just shook his head, running his thumb across Grantaire’s bruised knuckles, a testament to the fact that despite the black eye, he’d emerged from the fight victorious. “I should’ve brought another ice pack,” he murmured.

Grantaire just half-smiled, twisting his hand so that he could lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “It doesn’t really hurt at the moment anyway.”

Enjolras cleared his throat and looked away, but he didn’t try to untangle his fingers from Grantaire’s. “Well,” he said, “we should, uh, get out of here.”

“Before they realize you have about a half dozen outstanding warrants for your arrest?” Grantaire asked with a smirk, his voice quiet enough that only Enjolras could hear.

“You’d be amazed what having a multi-million dollar settlement pending against the city will do to the police’s willingness to bring you in,” Enjolras said with a smirk. “Not that I want to test that, of course.”

“Liar,” Grantaire said, grinning. “But better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

He started toward the door, pausing when Enjolras didn’t immediately follow. “Thank you, by the way,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire glanced back at him.

“Anytime,” he said simply. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

Enjolras gave him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Just don’t go making a habit of it,” he warned. “One day I won’t be here to bail you out.”

“Only because you’ll probably be locked up with me,” Grantaire said.

“Well,” Enjolras murmured, not quite able to stop his smile, “you’re not wrong.”

— — — — —

Grantaire rested his elbows against the bars of the holding cell, his arms dangling into what was technically freedom on the other side. The booking officer, some new guy he didn’t recognize, gave him a look but didn’t say anything, which he took as a small victory, and he allowed himself a small smirk.

A smirk that faded as soon as he saw Enjolras, escorted by another officer. “No dice on bail?” Grantaire asked, seeing the look on Enjolras’s face.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, they’re going to go through the whole arraignment rigamarole. I’ve already let Pontmercy know.” He made a face, casting an irritated look at the booking officer who was pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Apparently they take battery of a police officer pretty seriously these days.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras sighed and Grantaire gave him a look. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “This wasn’t about you not being able to take care of yourself—”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Enjolras interrupted, his voice tight. “I’m well aware that cop would’ve bashed my head in if you hadn’t intervened.” He shook his head and sighed again. “I was going to say thank you.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, managing a tight smile. “You’re welcome.”

Enjolras just shook his head again. “You still shouldn’t have done it,” he continued, “because honestly, I’m not worth all that—”

“You are, though,” Grantaire said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Enjolras scowled and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine, then why don’t we make a deal?” he said. “I’ll stop defending you when you stop bailing me out.”

“At the rate you’re going, I won’t be able to anyway,” Enjolras said sourly. “Not without putting up some major collateral.”

Grantaire shook his head. “And I’m definitely not worth that,” he said.

Enjolras’s eyes met his. “You are, though.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue. Instead, he reached for Enjolras’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles through the bars of the holding cell. “No touching,” the booking officer barked, and Grantaire rolled his eyes as he reluctantly let go of Enjolras’s hand. 

“Will you be at my arraignment?” he asked.

Enjolras shrugged. “Someone’s got to post whatever bail amount the judge decides,” he said.

Grantaire half-smiled. “In that case, I’ll be the one in the front.” 

“Pretty sure that’ll be the judge,” Enjolras murmured, grinning when Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”

“It’ll be the only thing that gets me through spending the night in here,” Grantaire told him, and it was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes, though there was obvious affection in the motion.

“Pretty sure Bahorel was right,” he said. “You definitely wouldn’t survive in jail.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Only if you were in there with me.”

Enjolras shook his head, reluctantly backing away toward the door. “Still time,” he said, and Grantaire’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you dare do anything stupid while I’m locked up in here.”

Enjolras just smirked. “See you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder as he left, and Grantaire sighed, though there something strangely content in the noise, despite, or maybe because of, the circumstances.

— — — — —

Grantaire didn’t meet Enjolras’s eyes as he rapped his fingers impatiently against the front desk at the precinct, waiting for them to bring him his personal effects. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. Grantaire looked pointedly at the conspicuous clock on the wall and Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Exactly, it’s 2 in the fucking morning. I have a 7 o’clock meeting, which you knew damn well, so why you had to go pick a bar fight with some guy twice your fucking size—”

“So sorry to be an inconvenience to you,” Grantaire drawled, slurring his words just slightly. “Can’t imagine what it must be like to have made plans that get interfered with by someone else’s priorities.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Are we really doing this here and now?” he asked.

Grantaire just jerked a shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Do you have something better to do?”

Enjolras sighed and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. “I’m sorry that I had to cancel tonight,” he said, with as much patience as he could seemingly muster, considering the circumstances. “But I needed to get this proposal done ahead of the meeting tomorrow, and I don’t really see what the big deal—”

“You never do,” Grantaire interrupted, still not looking at him. “That’s the problem.”

“You knew going into this—”

“Just like you knew going into this that I’m a drunk and a disaster,” Grantaire interrupted, finally looking at Enjolras, his expression hard. “Well, congratulations, Apollo, it looks like we both knew what we were getting into and yet somehow, we’re both still disappointed.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I’m not,” he said tiredly. “I’m not disappointed, Grantaire, because that would require me to actually expect better from you, and I learned my lesson on that a long time ago.”

Grantaire just grinned, a horrible, twisted grin. “Right back atcha.”

The officer returned with Grantaire’s belongings, and Grantaire grabbed his phone, wallet and keys, returning them to his pockets. Enjolras took a deep breath, but whatever he clearly wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, and he looked away. “C’mon,” he said instead. “Let’s go home.”

Grantaire nodded once, shoving his hands in his pockets as he slumped after Enjolras, neither man touching the other.

— — — — —

“He’s not technically under arrest,” the cop told Enjolras as he led him back to the holding cell. “But that’s because we couldn’t really mirandize him when he was passed out.”

Enjolras eyed Grantaire, sprawled across the bench in the holding cell, and sighed. “So once he’s coherent, he’ll be charged with, what, drunk and disorderly?”

The officer nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Enjolras. “Look, it’s not my place, but, uh, maybe look into getting your friend some help?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras murmured, his expression drawn. “Maybe.” He sighed and turned. “Guess I’ll go preemtively pay his bail—”

“Apollo?” Grantaire croaked, and Enjolras sighed again.

“Give us a moment?” he asked the officer, who just shrugged.

Enjolras crossed to the bars of the holding cell, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. “Tell me,” he said, his tone clipped, “were you trying to get hit by a car by passing out in the street, or would have just been a fun little side effect of this spectacular attempt at blowing up your life?”

Grantaire groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position. “Honestly don’t remember if it was deliberate or not,” he muttered, swaying slightly as he blinked unfocusedly at Enjolras.

“There are easier ways of killing yourself,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire managed a small, sharp smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve considered those as well.”

Enjolras’s expression tightened and he looked away. “You used your one phone call for me,” he said.

Grantaire shrugged. “Didn’t know who else to call.”

“Probably anyone besides your ex.” Grantaire flinched and Enjolras sighed before telling him, as firmly as he could manage, “This is the last time. Do you understand?”

Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh. “If there’s one thing I can promise, Apollo, it’s that this won’t be the last time.”

“Maybe not for you,” Enjolras said. “But I’m done. So the next time you get picked up for a bar fight or public intoxication or whatever suicidal shit you decide to get yourself into next time, call someone else.”

He didn’t wait for Grantaire to answer, just turning on heel to leave him in the holding cell while he went to go pay his bail.

One last time.

— — — — —

The phone rang, and rang again, and Grantaire’s grip on the phone tightened. “Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Come on, pick up, pick up.”

But the phone just rang until the tinny, robotic voice informed him that no voicemail had been set up for this phone number, and he heaved a sigh as he hung up, a headache blooming in his temples that had absolutely nothing to the better part of a handle of whiskey that he’d worked his way through that evening. 

“Nothing?” the booking officer asked, and Grantaire ground his teeth together at the fake sympathetic tone.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’, and he scrubbed a hand across his face before heading back to the holding cell.

The booking officer trailed after him. “Do you, uh, want to try calling someone else?”

Grantaire just shook his head. “No,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as the officer opened the door of the cell for him. “I’ll try again later. He’s probably asleep.”

The officer glanced up at the clock that showed it was barely 10pm, and he shook his head as he closed the door after Grantaire. “Your choice,” he said with a shrug.

Grantaire sighed heavily as he slumped down onto the hard metal bench, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for an absent glass or bottle of beer, or else for a hand that used to be his to hold. His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell.

He closed his eyes against the tears that he could feel prick in the corners of his eyes, though he honestly didn’t know if he was crying because Enjolras hadn’t picked up, or because there was a part of him that still thought that maybe, in the morning, he would. One more time.

[notebookmusical]

however, this sceptic had one fanaticism. this fanaticism was neither a dogma, nor an idea, nor an art, nor a science; it was a man: enjolras. grantaire admired, loved, and venerated enjolras. to whom did this anarchical scoffer unite himself in this phalanx of absolute minds? to the most absolute. in what manner had enjolras subjugated him? by his ideas? no. by his character. a phenomenon which is often observable. a sceptic who adheres to a believer is as simple as the law of complementary colors. that which we lack attracts us. no one loves the light like the blind man. the dwarf adores the drum-major. the toad always has his eyes fixed on heaven. why? in order to watch the bird in its flight. grantaire, in whom writhed doubt, loved to watch faith soar in enjolras. he had need of enjolras. that chaste, healthy, firm, upright, hard, candid nature charmed him, without his being clearly aware of it, and without the idea of explaining it to himself having occurred to him.

for @aaronstveit 🤍

[fivie]

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

ah yes, the re-brainwashing was very unfortunate 😔

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

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

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

(it is definitely not UMW canon 😂)

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

Don't come back to my apartment right now.

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

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

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

Other hunters here.

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

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

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

Enjolras is here, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dean," Castiel says in quiet admonishment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gabriel is dead," Grantaire says bluntly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[vivalamusaine]

Me: my heart is cold, my spirit weakened, my mind cynical. Romantic love is unimportant, it's fraudulent and the pain it brings is too immense to be worth the small spoils

Victor Hugo: Nobody loves the light like the blind man. However, this sceptic had one fanaticism. This fanaticism was neither a dogma, nor an idea, nor an art, nor a science; it was a man: Enjolras. Grantaire admired, loved, and venerated Enjolras. To whom did this anarchical scoffer unite himself in this phalanx of absolute minds? To the most absolute. In what manner had Enjolras subjugated him? By his ideas? No. By his character. A phenomenon which is often observable. A sceptic who adheres to a believer is as simple as the law of complementary colors. That which we lack attracts us. No one loves the light like the blind man. The dwarf adores the drum-major. The toad always has his eyes fixed on heaven. Why? In order to watch the bird in its flight. Grantaire, in whom writhed doubt, loved to watch faith soar in Enjolras. He had need of Enjolras. That chaste, healthy, firm, upright, hard, candid nature charmed him, without his being clearly aware of it, and without the idea of explaining it to himself having occurred to him. He admired his opposite by instinct. His soft, yielding, dislocated, sickly, shapeless ideas attached themselves to Enjolras as to a spinal column. His moral backbone leaned on that firmness. Grantaire in the presence of Enjolras became some one once more.

Tears streaming down my face, my heart open and vulnerable, my body destroyed: God..... Mr Hugo I am a fool... a tired, ignorant, fool. You are so right. Love is real.

[amber-angel]

Okay! I saw Les Mis performed by the current US cast with my roommate a few days ago, and I wanted to share some of the details that I liked (this is going to be long). Some of these I wrote down during intermission, some are things I remembered after, so some stuff is a little less specific. Also this will be two parts

PETIT GERVAIS! I gasped at this part, such a good detail to include

Valjean can SING, that high note on "24601" during Who Am I was incredible, the breath control is evident. His RANGE

Fantine's voice was amazing. I Dreamed a Dream was so good, and Haley Dortch owned that stage. Every song that had Fantine was a good song, and I had tears in my eyes during her death scene

Lovely Ladies was beautiful, the woman in the red dress has a pretty voice and the staging worked really well

I think there was a detail during the scene between Fantine and the guy who tries to get her arrested that I liked, something about the way Haley Dortch sang it, but I can't remember it exactly, sorry

I loved Valjean's "my race is not yet run" (he did a vocal run) during the confrontation, and his harmony with Javert was so satisfying

Little Cosette was so good, loved the detail of little Eponine mocking her melody and that the Thenardiers harmonized with her as Valjean walked her back, I don't think I've seen that done before, and it worked really well

Thenardier saying something (I didn't catch it, I think it was "die"? Not their fault, I'm hard of hearing) to Cosette and her just going limp was hilarious

Valjean and Cosette bowing to each other and dancing was adorable

Madame Thenardier has great comedic chops, loved her bits, especially in Master of the House. And of course Thenardier himself was hugely entertaining

ENJOLRAS

SIR

HE CAN SING. I can't even describe it better than that. Devin Archer teach me your secrets please

Kyle Adams hi. The way he plays Grantaire feels so real. There was a lot of coat swooshing and looking at Enjolras. The amount of tiny details and things that just he was doing makes me want to have this show with this cast imprinted in my mind so I can rewind and watch every person on stage individually

There will be more Grantaire details in part 2 (he's one of my favorite characters, so I did pay attention to him more)

Marius was great, his little "tease..." when Eponine threw his book was funny and endearing. Jake David Smith had some really good moments where he turned lines into a funny bit ("I'm doing everything all wrong") or a moment to make the audience connect with the character

Sometimes it can come across like Marius doesn't actually care all that much about Eponine, but Jake David Smith and Mya Rena Hunter did a fantastic job of showing real affection towards each other. All the props to them

I love, love, love the character details, the fact that they're evident in the performances says so much about this incredible cast

Also the set design was absolutely perfect, One Day More with Valjean in one balcony and the Thenardiers in the other looked amazing. I loved how much even the pieces that are usually just backdrop or setting were used in the staging

Also also the costumes were beautiful. I especially liked Cosette's dress and the outfits for the wedding

My roommate liked Javert's hat a lot

[pyromaniacbibliophile]

Courfeyrac had come to him a few weeks before Lemarque's death. He had warned Enjolras off the barricade idea. Enjolras had laughed 'why, what else will change people's minds but death?' but he was reconsidering now.

Now, lying in bed with Grantaire curled against him, black hair wild against the mostly white pillows, he felt that death might not be the only way after all.

'You're thinking too much, I can tell.' said Grantaire, pulling him lower down the bed and kissing him.

'I have to think. There is- his funeral, the barricade, it can't..' a week ago, he would have jumped into the Seine if it meant something would happen. Now, the idea of dying- the idea of Grantaire dying- it sickened him.

Grantaire sighed and sat up. 'What's going on, Apollo?' he asked

'I- I don't know. The barricade will change things, it will- but I don't want any of us to die.'

'Then don't do the barricade? Marius and Ferre both are lawyers in a few months, obviously it's against our whole ethos but both the Courfeyrac and the Pontmercy names have respect, Eponine and Gavroche know the whole of Paris' criminal underworld, Jehan seems to have friends in every profession imaginable... There are other options available for you. '

'Are you sure?' Enjolras asked, a little dazed from the list Grantaire had reeled off like it was common knowledge. Maybe there actually were more ways.

'Sleep, Enjolras. Discuss this in the morning.'

@permetutotheworld this count as fluff?

[idiopath-fic-smile]

i dunno if that counts as a wip, but personally i've been thinking abt the "conversation at the dinner table of enjolras' family" series for years now so i gotta jump on the oppurunity

oh my gosh, sure thing! when i checked my WIP folder, i learned i'd actually already written a second whole installment (and then completely forgotten about it) so i'll post that too, and then my new chunk after it.

first bit is here. throwing this under a cut bc it's not short!

Two

“So,” said Dad as he ladled the first round of Saturday morning pancake batter onto the griddle, “tell us about this boy you’re dating?”

Enjolras consciously steadied his hands, took a sip of green tea to stall, and reminded himself that if the relationship was real, he would have been dying to share everything he knew about the boy in question. With an unpleasant lurch, he realized this was almost nothing. He wasn’t even sure what grade Grantaire was in.

“He’s…great,” said Enjolras, hoping that with any luck, his panic could be read as lovestruck embarrassment.

Mom curled her hands around her coffee cup and leaned in, conspiratorial. “Is he cute?”

Between Friday afternoon and now, Enjolras had dedicated a staggering amount of thought to the situation, but he hadn’t made much forward progress. Any time he tried, his mind tended to get snagged, or caught in loops, or lost on wild tangents like, Did Grantaire really mean it when he said he would be okay kissing for the sake of this pretense? How could he possibly be alright with that? Was he kidding? But it honestly didn’t seem like he was kidding. But how would it even come up?

One of very few conclusions Enjolras had reached: he needed to find a way to lie to his parents as little as possible. The thought of deceiving them on purpose for months already made the pit of his stomach feel heavy.

“Yeah,” he said weakly, “he’s…got cool hair.” This was true, if asinine. “And um, a good smile. A really good smile.” Also true, although Enjolras mostly saw it either accompanied by a lot of sarcasm or directed at other people.

“So.” Dad craned around to face him, spatula in hand. “Good at smiling. What else?”

Really, Enjolras thought, he should have been able to anticipate this. He could’ve drawn up his talking points beforehand, like he had with the detention. Set aside the time to brainstorm something better than ‘cool hair,’ for crying out loud. He wondered what Grantaire himself would’ve thought of this conversation, the face Grantaire would’ve pulled at Enjolras’s ludicrous attempts to sound like a person with a boyfriend.

Come to think of it, he wondered what Grantaire was telling his own parents about the whole affair. Maybe nothing. Probably nothing. Grantaire didn’t strike him as the kind of kid to spend weekends bonding with his family. Besides, given the demographics of the area, it was unlikely that they’d be supportive of Grantaire’s—fake coming out? Real coming out under fake circumstances? Enjolras didn’t even know whether or not Grantaire was gay. On one hand, it was a pretty outrageous thing for a straight guy to do. On the other hand—well. It was a pretty outrageous thing for a closeted gay guy to do, too.

With no conscious input from his brain, Enjolras’s memory rewound itself, yet again, to the sight of Grantaire calling his name yesterday in the cafeteria—eyes flashing under that mop of wild dark hair, back straight, fists clenched at his sides like he was about to take on the whole school in one go and win.

Enjolras had seen him and thought, ‘This is why Nicolas Sparks books work on people. This is why half the songs on the radio are the same insipid story over and over again.’ Novelists and songwriters wasted all those words trying to capture a sensation and tame it into words but really it was just Grantaire—smartass Grantaire who was annoying and disruptive and weirdly moody sometimes, who refused to take anything seriously, who didn’t even like Enjolras—it was just Grantaire striding forward with Enjolras’s name on his lips, fury on his face, throwing away every scrap of popularity to back up a cause he had bitterly ridiculed just days ago, for no reason Enjolras could see.

It was a lot to think about.

God, Enjolras was in so far over his head.

“Are you blushing?” said Mom.

“No,” said Enjolras.

“Frank,” she said, “Frank, he’s blushing.”

Enjolras slumped down in his chair. “He’s—funny,” Enjolras blurted, because any line of inquiry was preferable to this, even admitting out loud that he wasn’t totally immune to Grantaire’s jokes. More than once, Enjolras had walked out of a meeting with a raw spot on the inside of his cheek from an hour of trying not to laugh at his most recent shenanigans. If anything, it was more of a liability than a point in Grantaire’s favor. He never would have been able to bring everything grinding to a halt by just shouting out quotes from Family Guy or whatever passed for humor among most of their peers. He was quick and clever and creative—and he used it to make everything infinitely harder than it needed to be.

He’d been different at lunch, though, Enjolras thought, squinting unseeing at the syrup. Once the initial shock of are these the next two and a half months of my life had started to wear off, one of the first things Enjolras had noticed was how much energy Grantaire put into making the table laugh.

“Sense of humor,” said Dad. “That’s crucial.”

“Yeah,” said Enjolras. “And—a good artist.” This was something he only knew from Jehan, since the contents of Grantaire’s notebooks were apparently top secret to the rest of the world. “A really good artist,” he added. It might’ve been true, at any rate. Enjolras couldn’t picture Grantaire concentrating that hard at anything but maybe he had natural talent. “He can draw anything. And he plays the drums.”

“A musician!” Dad called over his shoulder. “Let us know if he has any gigs coming up.”

“What did you say his name was?” Mom asked.

Enjolras told her. She grimaced around a mouthful of coffee.

“What?”

“I’ve met his mom,” she said. “She’s in my Jazzercise group. She’s—well, maybe he takes after his dad.”

“Why,” said Enjolras, “did she—” He frowned at his empty plate, but of course there was no way to end that sentence without scraping too close to the truth. Try to make you feel ridiculous for caring about anything? Roll her eyes at you for reacting? Mock and defend your friends in the same breath?

“What?” said Mom.

“Nothing.”

Mom pursed her lips. “I want to be fair, maybe I caught her on a bad day, but she—struck me as pretty phony. A very Stepford feel. Plus, when I told her I had a teenage son, she laughed and said ‘I’m sorry,’ which—you know how that kind of thing burns me. Like, look, lady, I’ve got a kid I feel great about, who I love spending time with. Don’t project your issues on me.” She took another sip of coffee. “I thought her son was younger. She didn’t really mention him but she had one of those middle school honor roll bumper stickers?”

“Does he have a little brother, maybe?” Dad suggested, flipping pancakes with practiced ease.

Enjolras shrugged.

“How did you meet him?” said Mom.

“He’s—he goes to all the meetings, for the ABC,” said Enjolras, because stressing their shared history of detention felt like an unwise move and anyway this, too, was technically accurate, just in that slippery politician way that Enjolras hated—dropping breadcrumbs and letting the listener fill in the lie for themselves.

“He’s dedicated, then,” said Mom.

Completely dedicated. Not dedicated at all. I have no idea. “Yeah,” he said. “And smart.” Truthful, if misleading. “And—nice.” Maybe truthful? Enjolras seemed to be the only person he went out of his way to annoy, at any rate. “I don’t know,” Enjolras mumbled, which was, he thought wryly, the most honest claim he’d made so far. “I just—I just like him a lot,” he finished, and nothing in the words or how he said them was an act.

That was the problem.

Three

“So,” said Mom brightly, “how was Joly’s party?”

Enjolras chewed his black bean burger and fought the urge to tug up the neck of his T-shirt over the completely obvious bite bruise blooming slightly north of his clavicle. 

He swallowed. “Fine,” said Enjolras. “Good.”

“How are things with Grantaire?” she added and okay, yes, only a fool wouldn't have seen this coming.

Enjolras set down his bun. He couldn’t deal with Mom or Dad thinking he had been pressured in any way. The thought was not only abhorrent, it was completely out of character for Grantaire. Who, regardless of where he actually sat politically, had way more principles than he’d let on.

Enjolras summoned up all the sincerity he could muster. “Great,” he said, thinking of how Grantaire talked to Joly, goofy and kind, without an ounce of condescension. He could feel himself starting to smile. “Really great.” Dad cleared his throat. “You know,” he said. “When you came out to us as asexual, we assumed it meant we could skip over some conversations, but now, uh." Mom and Dad exchanged the slightest of looks.

"It's a spectrum," said Enjolras, face flaming. He hadn't articulated to them where exactly he sat on that spectrum, because for one thing he hadn't known for sure, and for another thing he could think of nothing more painful that tracing the exact topography of his attraction with his parents, for crying out loud.

"Well, there's no harm in knowledge, right?" Dad continued. His voice had the slightest practiced quality to it. Enjolras could imagine him going over his argument out loud before dinner, searching for the best way to make his case. Enjolras found this obscurely comforting. "Plus, you know," said Dad. "Kids talk about these things with each other and there's so much misinformation out there; you might appreciate the chance to be a resource for your friends. About dating or relationships, or the things that happen in a relationship. Is it okay if we go over a few things?”

Enjolras swung his foot under the table and carefully didn't think about Grantaire determinedly giving him a hickey in the kitten-wallpapered bathroom of Joly's basement.

"Sure."

"Great," said Dad, relief rushing into his face. He stood. "If it helps, I have some handouts I can go quick print out."