#sorry Joly and Lesgle

[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.

[fillsta]

Les Amis and how good they're with plants :)

I should be asleep lol

Enjolras:

Terrible. Don't ask him to water your plants when you're away. Seriously. France is more important than weeds, smh.

Combeferre:

You know he's a methodical man. Obviously he can keep them alive and take care of them. I mean, he's Combeferre, should this even be discussed?

Courfeyrac:

Maybe? Prolly forgets to water them. More than he should. They would last for a bit before they eventually die, oops

Grantaire:

Bro can't even take care of himself, let alone a plant. Probably doesn't even own any. Jehan got him a small cactus. He forgets he has it because it's like, rly small so he never waters it or anything.

Jehan:

OF COURSE. They are a certified plant mom. Probably grows weed. Take care of everyone's plants when they're away. Their house is like, full of them. They refer to them as "their children". As they should.

Bahorel:

No, although he would like to. He is terrible with it. Jehan help him out though. Knits scarves for the pots because he's extra like that.

Feuilly:

Yes! Paints the pots. Sometimes he over waters them though.

Joly:

No, they're too preoccupied with serving cunt daily and being obsessive over sicknesses. Musichetta usually waters their daisies because she's awesome. And yes, he owns daisies.

Bossuet:

Let's be real, no matter how much he tried, given his luck, the plant would just die anyway. Maybe even catch fire, anything is possible with him. Poor Lesgles.

Gavroche:

Too busy playing Minecraft and annoying his sisters for plants.

Eponine:

Tries her best? She likes succulents because they're hard to kill tbh

Musichetta:

I have a hc that she and jehan are besties so they prolly passed their plant mom energy to her. Loves unique flowers. And like, large leafy plants. I don't know much about plants, I'm sorry

Marius:

Oh god, no. Bro's an absolute mess. You think he stops to think about plants? Until he moves in with Cosette and wants to be nice so he waters hers whenever she asks.

Cosette:

You know she is. Her balcony is so full you cant even stand in it. But she keeps up because she's Cosette and Cosette is fucking great.

[baba-the-yagaa]

"#The dynamic between two paladins would be INSANE#and so fun" Hello , I saw your tags, tell me more about your Ideas about the TTRPG Amis -slash-Les Mis?:D

dear god im sorry i let your ask marinate its been a Time man anyway

(im a mathematician) so we gotta look at two cases: Les Amis play a ttrpg like dnd together, or we make ttrpg based on Les mis/and Les Amis

case 1: oh my god dont get me started (well you did, so here we go) we all know how dramatic ttrpgs can get, so maybe a modern au where the barricade is ttrpg and everyone is playing various characters, except for marius who is new and very obviously playing himself. which is why he like that. anyway!! this can also give rise to the two paladins dynamic i was yapping about, so lemme yap some more. The tension would be unparalleled. Courf and Enj arguing about who serves whos god better and being the same kind of divine but different would be bonkers. Grantaire would try to roll so many times to seduce Enjs character and fail and Enjolras is oblivious so its Courf who confronts him about it and is like 'yo. whats up with all that' and R is just like 'wouldnt you like to know, weatherboy' etc the other half of the table (Combeferre, Joly, Lesgle, Jehan, Feuilly) (Bahorel is more partial to the above mentioned drama) is on about something more sciency and shit (except for the occasional glances and giggling about the rest) which all begs the question, who dms? and the answer is simple. Gavroche. he would be a very, very good dm i feel like. kid's got crazy ass ideas they're perfect (also dm candidates are: Valjean) this au is generally very on point to the book i feel like because of how most characters are symbolic and extraordinary but also its just fun

case 2: again, right after i got the ask i started ruminating on this. came up with stats even! so regular dnd 5e has 5: strength, dex, int, wis, and charisma. Les Mis ttrpg: decided to merge strength and dex into one, but maybe we split em up, dunno. Charisma we obviously keep, and add two more stats: religion and revolution. religion works kinda like wisdom/int, bc les mis is heavily influenced by religion and its fairly self explanatory revolution is a scale of 0-20, with 10 being 'i dont give a shit', 20 is Enjolras and 0 is Javert. other than that, mechanically i have no idea lol but it should be also very fun

thanks for coming to my TED talk lmao hope this wasnt too long

[expired-applejuice]

Group chat... part 1?

Courfeyrac added Bahorel , Bossuet, Cosette, Combeferre, Enjolras, Eponine, Feuilly, Grantaire, Gavroche, Javert, Joly, Montparnasse, Musichetta, Prouvaire, and Valjean to the chat

Courfeyrac changed the Chat's name to "French gents"

Courfeyrac: there we go!

Enjolras: Courfeyrac, why is Inspector Javert in this chat.

Courfeyrac: he seems chill.

Eponine: OI! There are more than just "gents" in this chat!

Musichetta: as long as I'm included I don't mind.

Javert: what is this?

Valjean: this seems like a way to send online letters to multiple people at once.

Bahorel: I just aged, like 50 years, reading that.

Joly: something is missing.

Bossuet: snacks?

Cosette: where is Marius

Courfeyrac: CRAP

Combeferre: don't add him

Valjean: ^^

Javert: agreed with the smart man.

Combeferre: What does he contribute to our group?

-

R: I hate you all so much! I'm leaving.

Flowerboi: you can't.

Bah: this is a family!

Center: you're already on the Revolutionaries holiday card.

Ferre: you're one of us.

Jolllllly: we're your idiots forever.

Bald-uet: and you'll never escape!

Poland: NEVER

Inspectdeez: still don't understand why Poland joined the French gents chat...

Monty: I just realized Feuilly is Poland's biggest fan

Monty: get it?

Monty: FAN

Poni: out.

24601: Javert arrest him

Apollo: I don't get it.

R: blonde.

LiteralAngel: Because he makes fans.

Apollo: Cosette... I'm sorry for everything you may think I said about you. You live up to your name.

Ferre: in reality it was all about Marius being an idiot.... how did he pull you? Like Eponine I get, but Marius?

LiteralAngel: he makes me laugh.

Flowerboi: lol they really be talking about him like he's not in chat.

Disowned: it's bad enough they named me after my trauma

Monty: we could have named you DeadDad.

Jolllllly: you guys are so mean.

Bald-uet: stop picking on him

Queen: Marius want a free coffee on the house?

Disowned: Thanks Musichetta.

Queen: no problem

24601: ..... I agree with Combeferre.

LiteralAngel: Papa!

Pup: BAHHAHAHAHA

Poni: Marius has some good traits.

Inspectdeez: name 3.

Poni: he is kind

LiteralAngel: he is smart.

Ferre: yeah right.

Poni: passionate.

Disowned: thanks babes.

Center: never say that again Pontmercy.

Bah: please.

Poland: I actually liked the joke Monty.

Monty: :D

Bah: ...

Jehan: run

Apollo: seriously... run

R: you're in danger mon ami.

Monty: o_O

Bald-uet: stop with those weird faces.

Monty: :p

Bald-uet: please.

Monty: okay.

-

Inspectdeez: which one of you dumbass, walking dead looking children took my new sword

Ferre: I'm not saying it was Valjean... but he has a history.

Valjean: it was just a loaf of bread!

Jolllllly: and the silver from the bishop.

Pup: and petit Gervais's money.

Apollo: and the French uniform.

Poni: according to father, Cosette.

LiteralAngel: that was a lie.

Poni: I know... I felt left out.

Inspectdeez: my heart.

Inspectdeez deleted a chat...

24601: ... still it wasn't me.

Bah: one time R stole apples.

R: that's it! I'm no longer going easy on you in boxing.

Bah: oooo I'm so scared.

Pup: someone record it, please.

Center: I got you.

Queen: honestly, when have you used a sword?

Inspectdeez: when a certain someone tried to guilt trip me into letting him go.

24601: I OFFERED FOR YOU TO COME WITH ME

Inspectdeez: so defensive. Only guilty people are that defensive.

24601: you said we should forget the past. Have I brought up the fact that you recognized me from my muscles.

Pup: that's pretty gay

LiteralAngel: papa, javert please don't start again.

Inspectdeez: sorry Cosette.

24601: sorry Cosette.

Inspectdeez: I know you didn't steal it. I'm sorry.

Jolllllly: Lesgle is crying

Queen: like super hard

Bald-uet: it's just so beautiful.

Flowerboi: Cosette really is talented. She straight up told wolverine and gladiator to shut up.

Monty: she could beat all our asses tbh

Disowned: and than Eponine would beat you for even trying to hurt Cosette.

Ferre: it's good to know who wears the pants in the relationship

-

Poni: where did you get that sword Gav?

Pup: from the inspector while he put it down to pick a flower.

Inspectdeez: WHAT?!

Flowerboi: flower power!!

Inspectdeez: IT WAS THE CHILD

Pup: told you not to underestimate me. This only goes to show what little people can do.

R: lol he said "i have the high ground"

Apollo: perhaps I was to quick to judge Gavroche.

24601: Gavroche please don't hurt yourself

Center: ^^ please

Ferre: you need some training.

Jolllllly: not by Bossuet

Queen: he'd probably stab someone. By accident of course

Jolllllly: or himself.

Bald-uet: no faith in me

Bah: you shouldn't take it personal

Poland: I've seen him hurt himself by walking

Bah: that's not that surprising.

Queen: either way I love you.

Jolllllly: as does I.

R: ima throw up

Flowerboi: R don't ruin their moment.

Disowned: see there so much love!

Apollo: shut up marius

Ferre: oh Enjolras <3

R: Questo stupido nerd mi sta dando sui nervi. Faresti meglio a dormire con un occhio aperto stanotte. Perseguiterò i tuoi sogni e ti porterò io stesso alla ghigliottina. Tiro la leva anch'io con un sorriso.

Disowned: mamma mia

Ferre: ...

Apollo: what did he say

R: Se vuoi vivere non dirglielo, Combeferre

Ferre: he told me about his art... what great art it is.

Center: Picasso

R: Buona

Bah: he knows how to speak Mario?

Poland: MARIO

LiteralAngel: what did I miss?

Poni: a lot, mon amour

LiteralAngel: I can kind of see that

Inspectdeez: kid can I have my sword back.

Pup: what do I get in return

Inspectdeez: a full pardon.

Pup: I'm a child.

24601: I should have taken advise from him.

Inspectdeez: fine. I will let you ride the horse into your school.

Pup: I'm on my way now.

Monty: I fear that kid.

Bah: same.

-

Ferre: settle a debate. Is barbie a lesbian

R: DUH

Center: TOLD YOU

Ferre: how is she gay what about ken

Poni: she has all those women in her life, and she hasn't had one lesbian lover? Unrealistic. She was a queer.

Ferre: ITS A KID'S PRODUCT!!!

Inspectdeez: they are banned in many different countries.

Center: HA

Center: I'm sorry, please still love me.

Ferre: of course I do. Now I see it.

R: her closet was bigger than jehan's

Flowerboi: don't judge me.

R: I'm just saying you both have style.

Flowerboi: well it doesn't mean much coming from you. I've only seen you in 4 different outfits.

R: don't judge me.

Bah: I felt the heat on that burn.

Poland: that was barley a burn you himbo.

Bah: what?

Apollo: by saying what you proved his point

Jolllllly: check and mate

24601: do you guys often get into stupid arguments?

LiteralAngel: papa that should be a given.

Queen: if they don't something is wrong.

Bald-uet: one time Bahorel swore that he saw a UFO

Bah: I'm just saying, there was a bright light and than a weird noise.

Inspectdeez: you live in one of the worse part of town. All those could have been crazy drug addicts.

Poland: see told you. There's nothing to be afraid of.

Bah: I'm not scared.

Monty: you literally blew up our phones to ask if you can stay with me and Jehan.

Bah: you know what, Montparnasse? I'm getting real tired of your shit now.

LiteralAngel: language.

Jolllllly: there are kids in this chat.

Pup: I don't give a damn.

Bald-uet: I think the kids will be alright.

Poni: who the fuck taught him those shitty ass words?

Ferre: ...

Disowned: TV.

LiteralAngel: yeah definitely.

Center: Eponine.

Disowned: shush

Poni: oh... lol eh. I'm not his mother.

Apollo: okay back to the barbie thing- did you now watch the movies??? That is a homosexual

Center: thank you!

Queen: how did Combeferre not see that?

Ferre: because... I was to worried about Ken.

Ferre: do you think Ken was gay.

R: yes.

LiteralAngel: for sure.

Poni: no doubt.

Poland: did you see toy story 3?

Center: cried My eyes out.

-

Poni: COSETTE COME GET YOUR SON!

24601: WHAT!?

Inspectdeez: I WILL KILL MARIUS.

Disowned: I didn't do It I swear.

LiteralAngel: oh calm down everyone. My furby.

Poni: YOU MEAN YOUR DEMON! THIS THING JUST TALKED AND I TOOK THE BATTERIES OUT! COME GET IT OR ITS GOING IN THE FIRE

Flowerboi: burn it.

Ferre: even I can't explain this.

R: it's simple. There's another battery in the toy, so the batteries you take out charge the one inside so when you take those out, it still works.

Apollo: how did you know that?

R: Google is free.

Bah: still its creepy throw it in the fire.

Inspectdeez: I told Valjean not to get her it.

24601: SHE GAVE ME THE EYES

Jolllllly: the eyes always get ya.

Pup: it's true I want some food? I flash my puppy eyes to Courfeyrac and boom! Food.

Center: you don't have to do that. I'll get you it either way.

Poland: the don't work when you get older.

Bald-uet: maybe not for you, but let Jolly or Musichetta give me puppy eyes I will give them the world. I would either way but with those eyes, I'd have tears down my face.

Queen: I love my bald Boi <3

Jolllllly: as do I.

R: I'm guess none of them have hair pulling kinks.

Queen: no but if we did, I'll get grippy socks and suction cups, we'll make it work.

Monty: ...

Poni: that's going to be an image I can't get out of my head.

R: Apollo have a hair pulling kink

Poni: it got worse

Disowned: TMI R.

Ferre: can we get off this subject.

Apollo: GRANTAIRE!

Jolllllly: that is something I never needed to know about our leader.

Bah: someone Google how to forget

LiteralAngel: did you know you can turn your furby evil

Poni: WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO DO THAT

Disowned: that really is creepy

Bah: chuck. It. Into. The. Fire.

Monty: take it back to where it came.

Flowerboi: hell.

Poland: I want one.

Bah: no!

Poland: 🥺

Bah: no?

Poland: please

Bah: fine

Poland: My God they do work

Pup: can I have an evil one?

Poni: absolutely not.

LiteralAngel: anything you want Gavroche

Pup: can Cosette be my big sister insead?

Jolllllly: oof.

Apollo: no words

Poni: I'm hurt. Oh so very hurt. All because I won't get you a demon advertised for children.

Pup: it's not that you won't GET me one. It's that you won't let me have one. I can get it myself.

Inspectdeez: no stealing.

Pup: can't prove nothing inspector

Monty: he has the text.

Pup: and you need to shut up.

Bah: You can say that again

LiteralAngel: I'm flattered Gavroche, but your sister loves you. And to be honest furbies are mid.

24601: mid what?

Inspectdeez: I think she hit 'send' to soon. She probably ment middle or something.

R: you two are so old.

Queen: Be nice R.

Flowerboi: mid means average.

24601: oh.

Inspectdeez: hmm.

Bald-uet: R you don't ever meet the requirements to be mid, you're just 'ugh'

R: this is drunk abuse.

Poni: you abuse drinking.

Bah: everything is better with alcoholism... that how my dad said I got here.

Jolllllly: self burns.... those are rare.

Disowned: sucks to be you.

Bah: Marius look at your name.

Disowned: ...

Bah: exactly

Pup: so no furby?

Poni: no.

Poland: if they are mid I don't want one either.

-

Poland: did anyone else see Bossuet walk face first into a wall and than fell over a chair.

Flowerboi: I did... he justed laid there.

Poni: mood.

Inspectdeez: same.

R: wish I was there to see.

Bald-uet: shut up Grantaire.

LiteralAngel: where are you r?

Grantaire: Narnia

Jolllllly: back in the closet already?

Grantaire: I'm going to slap the Mcshit out of you and your bald partner.

Bald-uet: oh God, I almost gave a fuck.

Apollo: R is at the library I checked his location.

Queen: you need to know how to read to be in a library.

Center: Musichetta!! Don't be like that.

Center: they have picture books.

R: I'm absolutely done with your guys' bullying.

Bah: oh no. Don't do something jurassic!

Disowned: how would we live with ourselves

Poni: Marius you're not good enough friends to pick on Grantaire like this. Stick to being nice.

R: everyone be ready tomorrow.

Flowerboi: *gasp* you're going to beat our ass?!

Monty: oh no!

R: no the trash is picked up tomorrow, you guys can't miss y'all's ride to the dump.

R: except you Cosette.

LiteralAngel: thanks r.

Ferre: lol you know we're just picking on you. We know you're super smart.

R: I know.

Jolllllly: he's just saying that so you don't hit him.

R: I think he really means it. We've really bonded since then.

Ferre: yep!

Inspectdeez: let's not do anything gay here.

Poland: than let me tell ya, you're in the wrong chat.

24601: definitely.

Inspectdeez: you're about as annoying as little kids asking to play games on people's phones.

Pup: hey!

24601: and you're blind as Dora. How many times did I get away.

Inspectdeez: leave it in the past Valjean.

24601: why do I get in trouble when I bring it up?!

Bald-uet: because you're an ex-con.

Bah: because Javert is a dick.

24601: I'm going with the latter statement.

LiteralAngel: I will take away both of your walks in the park if you don't get along.

Queen: once again Cosette serves.

Inspectdeez: sorry Cosette.

24601: sorry.

Pup: did anyone video Bossuet falling?

Flowerboi: no sorry, it happened so quickly.

Poland: we should really have our cameras on when he's around. We could make a montage

Bald-uet: wow. Just wow.

Monty: we could be famous

Bah: we could be rich

Jolllllly: leave him alone.

Jolllllly: it's not fault he was an accident who keeps doing things on accident

Apollo: pffffft

R: I'm agog.

Queen: he came in this world an accident, he'll go out on accident. It's his way of life.

Jolllllly: love you Lesgle <3

Queen: I love you more. <3.

Bald-uet: love you guys too. But it was on accident.

Center: AHHAAHHAH

Disowned: :o

Bah: SHOP WITH THE FACES

-

Flowerboi: were you dropped as a baby?

Ferre: who is he talking too?

Poland: No I was not! I just think that your garden isn't good as last year.

Disowned: TAKE COVER!

Center: CLEAR THE ROOM

Poni: it's a good day to die.

R: I'm always ready to die

Apollo: that checks out.

Flowerboi: my flowers are beautiful! The weather just got cold and they thought it was time to die. You're just mad because they look better than you on a good day.

Poland: please, I look better than you and your flowers! You human version of sparkling water

Jolllllly: should we stop this?

Centers: absolutely not.

Bah: fight fight fight.

LiteralAngel: don't fight. The flowers look great. You take good care of them, Jehan. And Feuilly you look amazing.

Poland: I know.

Flowerboi: thanks Cosette.

R: Cosette you can solve any problem but can you solve myself loathing?

LiteralAngel: you hate that you keep your feelings to yourself causeing what you want to slip away. You tell yourself that you would fail so you don't try and than drink to make yourself feel better. Grantaire you're capable of so much, and you have so much love. Just put it out there.

Queen: she hit the nail on the head.

R: damn... she's right

Monty: I come on the behalf of Bahorel.... will he ever get bitches.

Bah: listen here you crusty, stale, cold McDonald's fry. I got a lover, who is not a bitch.

Poland: :)

Bah: though he needs to stop making those weird faces in chat.

Poland: :(

Bald-uet: same.

24601: is it all drama with you kids.

Ferre: you're one to talk.

Inspectdeez: lol

Apollo: sometimes I wonder if any of you have a brain, it's nice to know you don't.

Apollo: except Cosette, and Musichetta and Gavroche

Jolllllly: no fair Musichetta also throws insults.

Apollo: but she does it with class.

Queen: mhm.

Center: pft, class is chocolate milk in a wine glass with a crazy straw.

Disowned: what tea party did you go too? Can I go.

R: sorry only people who don't like Napoleon can go.

Ferre: I'm not sorry.

24601: me either

Poni: lol

Disowned: thanks for the help Eponine.

Poni: no problem.

[the-queer-classic-lit-ship-ever]

for the asks, 1, 5, 6, 12, 17, 41?

OH! uh, sorry for answering this so late ^^' 1) Who is/are your comfort character(s)? so um, i think lesgles, claquesous, joly and feuilly from les miserables (by victor hugo), andrei and anatole from war and peace (by leo tolstoy),

5) What colour are your eyes? brown!! but, like, really dark brown. basically black :)

6) Why did you do that? i have no idea what that means :). if you mean reblog this ask thingy i'd say i was bored.

12) What kind of day is it? here in england it's boiling and sunny, which is strange considering it's april, and we live in england. emotionally? i'd say that it's another day of trying to gain back my sanity /j

17) are you far sighted or near sighted? without my glasses i can see in extreme detail up close, but things more far away would be really blurry. with them on i can see far and close properly, but it's not as detailed.

41) How do you take your coffee? unfortunately, i don't really like coffee. however, i like it if it has like caramel sauce, milk and like 1000 packets of sugar /j :)

[mo-moomin]

Welcome the late interepisodial chaos that is part four of @thebreadseries​ and onion headlines!

Yeah I am aware that word took you two times to read but whatevs - there are edits from episode 2 as well as episode 9. No I don’t know why am I making it so chaotical either and why am I POSTING IT NOW INSTEAD OF, LIKE, TWO WEEKS AGO O..o

Part One / Two / Three

[plushieinsurgents]

For the touches prompts: 22 with Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta or any two of the three if that’s easier :D

It was cloudy at five, threatened to rain at six, and Joly's hand hovered threateningly to feel his own pulse at half-past six, on the ride to Saint-Cloud.

Bossuet assured him that they will not catch their deaths; Musichetta added helpfully that any deaths they catch will be a collective death, which is not quite as terrible as dying alone.

Joly snorted with laughter, and the skies cleared in almost perfect unison. A miracle indeed, but they had better take advantage of it now.

They went to see the cascade and drew their hands through the water when nobody was looking, breakfasted at Tete-Noire and discussed the potency and uses of acetate of morphia. A game of ring-throwing ended in a lost corsage and a twisted ankle, so it took them little over an hour, much pain and much lamenting in the form of increasingly terrible puns to climb Diogenes' lantern; by then the skies blotted over with surprising abruptness and the next moment rain was blowing into their faces. The descent, and the dash for shelter was long and equally painful, and by the time the merry trio reached the Pont de Sevres a particularly unlucky individual had twisted his other ankle, another was sneezing pitifully and the third had lost a slipper. They consoled themselves over a quick gamble over macarons at a little roulette establishment, replaced lost corsages at Pateaux, looked mournfully at reed-pipes quite outside their budget if they were to eat that evening, and shared a single apple turnover. They gawked at Indian plants and nearly broke a swing with their combined weight, on their way back.

And then, like a certain double quartet, eleven years ago, they dined at Bombardas, and Musichetta found with great pity that the dinner was drawing to a close.

Conversation languished. L'aigle - Lesgles - Bossuet, had cut an oration for the good Charles X himself short in favor of laying his (still balding) pate on her lap, both feet elevated as per a young physician's instructions on a windowsill. Joly, bless him, had fallen victim to a terrible cold and had snuffled into one of her billowing sleeves, more dramatic than miserable.

("Mind you, one particularly joyful summer, perhaps," Another seamstress from the Rue de Rivoli - was it Zéphine or Stephine? - had warned her. "and they'll be on their way. Every single one of them. You mustn't linger.")

"Mmmph." Joly murmured into one of her extravagantly padded sleeves, "jusd like a billow."

He promptly sunk one side of his cheek into the cushioning, making a valiant attempt to not blow his nose into the printed damask. Bossuet pressed the front of his face indulgently into her left sleeve and let out a moist, beautiful yawn.

(Any moment now, they'd rise, and press their kisses to her forehead, and clatter down the staircase laughing. Maybe there'll be a note, maybe there won't, but they'll never see each other again, and she'll start the week with a song, alone, alone.)

Yet neither seemed quite ready to move. Lesgles pushed his knees up on his seat, curling into place by her side. "We could do this again." he slurred.

"Neber again-" Joly chirped in mock horror, cutting off into a yawn, softer, squeakier. "- We'll gatch our deaths, I sbear! You haben't quide dried oud..." With that he reached out to feel Musichetta's forehead, only to catch his fingers in a tangle of wet ringlets.

"Oh, I'm not quite sure." She said, the huskiness of a yawn gathering at the back of her throat. "Holidays like these are splendid, no doubt. But-"

She stopped to yawn again, and ponder. "I'd much prefer sleeping late together on a weekend morning... with one of your ridiculous leech jars somewhere where you'd trip over - no limbs though. No organs."

Bossuet made a sleepy little noise and she turned her head to press her cheek to his. "Or we could fix up a plot to save you from Blondeau's clutches - head to the opera galleries now and then, and laugh, and have the rest glare at us. No doubt you'd get yourself in some dire mess and end up in a duel with the concertmaster, but no matter... we'd defeat him with the power of our..."

"Well-crafted sword canes?" mumbled Joly.

"Well-crafted sword canes." she laughed.

"To well-crafted sword canes, then." Bossuet murmured, hand around the flute of an invisible glass. "to sleeping late, and Blondeau, and-"

And there he slurred off, as the three drifted off to sleep with brilliant plans for days to come.

*************

At 10:35 p.m. they were woken most indecorously and driven out in the rain back to Joly's lodgings. By the next morning they were missing several hats, and have caught a collective death, as Musichetta so accurately prophesized. Sleeping late, muffled orations, faux-miserable sniffling and pastry-sharing ensues.

[ive-dawnwind]

Death’s POV

Sorry for the angsty mood, but I’ve been inspired by @artdalek’s old arts with personified Death (this one and the whole series). I haven’t watched Elisabeth so Death’s portrayal is my imagination. By the way, Death is a “she” in my case (as the word is feminine in my native tongue and in French). Hope you don’t hate me for reminding you of the barricades.

Life and Death have always had different opinions on what’s important and what’s not. My careless sister is quick to forget the ones I take, and that’s only reasonable – I won’t give them back anyway. But sometimes she forgets the very events which involve me. And people forget with her. But I always remember.

I remember, for example, that page of human history which goes under the number 1832, the way it was in Paris. There was an outbreak of cholera first, and then these two days which I’m left to remember, because Life doesn’t want to. The cholera was tiring. The doctors, doing their best, exhausted, but not succeeding – I understand them too well. So don’t think we fight against each other, it’s just that sometimes I’m the only one who can end suffering. The sick people understood that, and I cooled their burning skin, closed their eyes, took them in my arms… I was tired. That’s probably why I ended up at the barricades sooner than I needed to.

My presence reached the people there way before the nightfall. They grew more concentrated, serious, started to seem older, if it was possible at all considering their blooming youth, their burning hope for the better world, their will to fight for it. You may think, “Why does she care, this awful ancient witch, who ends such brilliant lives, who takes the best away from us?” But I am not evil, not heartless and, for that matter, not even old. My hair is gray only because of all the things I see in the human world.

The young rebels fought for the better future for their people. But they themselves didn’t have a future. Life lit fire in their hearts, and led them to the barricades, and left them there without help. Without other burning hearts to stand together with them. People abandoned them. Where would they be, had I not taken them? They would be left desperate, their fire dead, would be imprisoned or exiled. And the trumpet-tongued History doesn’t like survivors, but likes to honour martyrs. Have I convinced you that I did the best for them? Probably not. But I will tell their story, because they touched me deeply. I remembered ten of them most vividly.

When I entered, seven of them were reciting poetry. I love poetry and poets. They respect me, take me into account, many of them even seek me before their time. This poet didn’t want to meet me. He sang his praises to my sister and her eternally young friend Love, the poets’ favourite I can never compete with. But I think he saw me as I approached.

Another one, the leader, challenged me. He was beautiful, beautiful and fragile, despite the incredible power of his soul. No wonder that my sister’s kisses burned on his cheeks.

I took first of them after the nightfall.

The first one, a recklessly brave man, made my job easy. He rushed towards me, not thinking about me for a moment. He almost knocked me down. But a sharp piece of metal (I think people call it a bayonet) pierced his heart. I caught him even before he fell to the ground.

The second one was the poet. People made him wait, blindfolded him and left him alone in the darkness. Only I stood by his side. I stroked his hair and his lips, which were not saying verses any more. The lips grew pale, but he only pressed them tightly together. His last cry deafened me. And made me admire him, so gentle and so strong.

The next was a young boy. I didn’t want to take him, but the soldiers with the guns made me. And he… he met me with a song, can you imagine? He was singing under the shower of bullets, as if he was happy, as if he didn’t have worries in any of these worlds! I was the only one who heard the end of the song. And I swear, as he finished singing and saw me, he just gave a whistle and stuck out his tongue to tease me.

Another one, a young doctor, was quite familiar to me. During the cholera days and before, I sometimes saw him in the hospital. I knew my presence was hard on him, he was afraid to fall victim of a terrible illness one day and to surrender to me like he saw people do. But at the barricade he didn’t fear me. When my hand lay on his shoulder, his thoughts were with his friend. Wounded himself, with blood quickly leaving his body, he was still trying to help the one he cared for. I embraced them both at once.

Then was the worker I had seen once as a child. I had taken his parents then, but Life had insisted on him staying in this world. He was her protégé, the people’s adopted son. They all abandoned him, but he still stood unafraid and hoped against all hope that he didn’t fight in vain. A bullet pierced his chest, he let out a small gasp, as if surprised, and fell forward, one arm outstretched, hugging the barricade which had led him to me.

Not for everyone the end was that easy. I saw a merciful man with the mind of a scholar and a philosopher, who tried to help the wounded enemy. The answer to his kindness were stabs of the bayonet, one after the other. I rushed to him as he struggled to take another breath and look up at the sky, and I let his head fall on my chest, resting at last.

The curly-haired young man, graceful as a cat, was the one I avoided for as long as I could. I must confess, I’ve always had a soft spot for cats. Even people have noticed that and have imagined that cats have nine lives. It’s not exactly so, but they do have some privilege. Not fair? Maybe. But don’t we all have favourites?

After all, I couldn’t let him stay. I just wanted to take him with me carefully. So I stole the hat from his head, distracted him, otherwise vigilant, swift and strong, and he didn’t expect the final blow that came.

The beautiful leader was the last man standing. He was cornered and soldiers made him wait, as they had made the poet. But I couldn’t approach him for his flame burned too bright. I didn’t notice another man sleeping in the corner until I touched him with the lap of my coat. And as he woke up, as he noticed the heavy silence of my presence, he pushed me out of the way with amazing power. Now they stood there together, their hands clasped tight, a subtle smile on the one’s lips, tenderness and determination in the other’s eyes, united and unafraid. Just like I will always remember them. All of them.

[bookwyrrm]

heartbreaking headcanon of the day: 

"did you see them lying side by side" is sung by musichetta referring to the bodies of joly and bossuet 

[breath-of-fresh-grantaire]

LES MIS DISCORD JACKBOX GAME NIGHT

IT WILL BE HOSTED FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 29TH AT 9PM EST!!!

JOIN THE DISCORD <---- art done by my oomble doomble @jolys-cane

[lesamisasthings]

les amis as mcr songs

enjolras: save yourself, i’ll hold them back combeferre: welcome to the black parade courfeyrac: party poison prouvaire: disenchanted joly: cancer bossuet: i’m not okay (i promise) bahorel: teenagers (except he always changes it to “lawyers”) feuilly: famous last words grantaire: the jetset life is gonna kill you

(bonus) marius: the ghost of you

[percyjacksonwriter]

My first fic for @jolyweek . Prompt: First meetings.

Joly leaned heavily on his cane as he walked across campus, looking carefully down at the ground to avoid the patches of ice that covered the ground. It was terribly cold out, and his bad knee didn't much like the cold. Well, he didn't like the cold, in general, really.

He glanced up to see a man walking briskly in his direction. The man was tall, and he took long strides. He wore a jacket that Joly did not think looked warm enough at all, and an extremely fluffy hat. He looked down at his watch and broke into a run. Just as the man was passing Joly, he stepped on a patch of ice and his feet went out from under him. He fell flat, and took Joly down with him. 

He sprang to his feet, looking embarrassed and apologetic, and held out a hand to help Joly up. "I'm terribly sorry," he said. "Are you alright?" 

Joly retrieved his cane, took the man's hand, and pulled himself slowly to his feet. "I'm alright" he said. "But you really shouldn't be running, you know, especially in bad weather. Why were you running anyway?"

The man smiled slightly. Joly thought he had kind eyes. "I'm going to be late for class." He glanced down at his watch. "Or, rather, I am late for class. I must be going, if you're alright."

But Joly had noticed something. "No, you won't! Your chin is bleeding! And your hand!"

The man looked surprised at Joly's concern. "They're only small cuts, they'll be fine. Happens all the time. I'm rather clumsy."

"Nonsense" Joly said. "I have bandaids, and disinfectant. The sidewalk is quite dirty, you know." He waved his hand toward a nearby bench. "Sit." 

The man raised an eyebrow, but did so, as Joly sat beside him and pulled his first aid kit from his bag. 

"What is your name?" The man asked, "and do you carry that everywhere you go?" 

Joly disinfected the cut on the man's hand. "Mathieu Joly. And, yes, I do. I like to be prepared. What's your name?" 

The man smiled brightly. "Charles Lesgle. But my friends call me Bossuet. Thank you for patching me up, and I'm sorry again that I ran into you." 

"Its quite alright" Joly said. "But do be more careful in the future. Next time, you might sprain your ankle, or get a concussion, or…" 

"I'll try" Lesgle said. "I do wonder whether its even worth it to go to class, now." 

"I think you'd better," Joly said. 

Lesgle nodded. "You're probably right. Perhaps I'll see you again, sometime." 

"Some of my friends and I are having a meeting tonight in the cafe Musain" Joly said, "if we're not all snowed in by then." He glanced at the sky. "It may snow any minute."

Lesgle grinned. "You're from that activist group, The Friends of the ABC, aren't you? I've seen the fliers, and I've been planning on attending a meeting and seeing what its all about. I'll be there tonight. Now I really must go."

As Joly watched him walk away, he had a feeling that they would become great friends. 

[kjack89]

Both

For @akallabeth-joie, as the first of my fills for the @bishopmyrielfundraiser. Based on the prompt “JBM getting together, and somehow a game of rock paper scissors is involved.” 

Needless to say, J/B/M, modern AU, developing relationship. And lots of fluff.

Joly checked his watch and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he still had twenty minutes before he had to be at the hospital for his rotation. Plenty of time for a coffee, which he desperately needed if he was going to make it through his first pediatrics shift.

He opened the door the coffee shop just down the street from the hospital and gave his order to the barista before making his way down to the pickup area. He had just started scrolling through his phone when a sweet-sounding voice called, “Cinnamon latte with soy milk for Jolly?”

“It’s Joly,” Joly said automatically, reaching out for the cup when his hand brushed against the barista’s, and he looked up at her, his eyes widening when he saw that the hand, and the voice, belonged to a remarkably beautiful woman, her dark eyes shining as she smiled at Joly.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “I’ll remember for next time.”

“Uh,” Joly said, particularly eloquent. “Right. Next time.”

Her smile widened, just slightly, and she ducked her head before going back to make the next drink, and Joly stared at her for a long moment before blurting, “What’s your name?”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Not because he didn’t want to know her name, but because he didn’t want to be that guy, hitting on someone at work when they had no means of escape.

So he did the only thing he could think of in his panic: word vomiting in a desperate attempt to walk it back. “I mean, uh,” he started, his eyes wide, “you don’t have to tell me that, not if you don’t want to. I really wasn’t trying to hit on you at work or anything, or at least, well, it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable, and, uh, consent is, you know, a two-way street, and just be by being an employee here, you inherently aren’t in a position to consent, and—”

“It’s Musichetta,” the barista interrupted, still smiling and now looking distinctly amused.

Joly blinked. “What is?” he asked stupidly.

“My name,” Musichetta told him patiently, tucking a dark curl behind her ear. “It’s Musichetta.”

“Musichetta,” Joly repeated, his face now burning red. “Right. Well. I’ll, um, I’ll see you later.”

He retreated with his coffee before he could somehow make an even bigger fool of himself, vowing never to return to the coffeeshop, no matter how conveniently located it might be.

----------

He didn’t even make it a week.

Thankfully, on his second attempt at ordering a coffee like a regular person, Joly had mostly succeeded, and had even earned an extra-wide smile from Musichetta, topped off with a wink when she called his name correctly. “Told you I’d remember,” she told him, and Joly knew he was well and truly sunk.

It became a weekly habit, and then a bi-weekly habit, and before long, Joly was stopping by the coffeeshop every time he had a shift at the hospital (and, occasionally, when he didn’t). He started arriving earlier, too, so that he could sit in the coffeeshop and try not to be as creepy as he sometimes felt.

Which meant he spent a lot of time buried in his books to give him something to do instead of just staring dreamily at Musichetta, which was also how he didn’t notice the man who sat down at his table one day until the man said cheerfully, “You too, huh?”

Joly blinked over the top of his anatomy text book. “Excuse me?” he said, more startled than anything.

The man, who was almost entirely bald, winked at him. “You’re excused,” he said with a grin. “But I was referring to your reason for frequenting this fine establishment.”

“It’s close to the hospital, and I’m a med student—”

The man waved a dismissive hand. “Sure, sure, and it’s just around the corner from the law library. But don’t pretend like you’re not also here so that you can ooh and ahh over the lovely barista, Musichetta.”

Joly felt himself blush. “That’s not– I mean, I’m not–”

“Sure you’re not,” the man said genially, holding his hand out for Joly to shake. “I’m Lesgle, by the way, though my friends call me L’aigle or Bossuet.”

Joly cocked his head slightly. “Do I want to know the story behind either of those?”

Bossuet’s grin widened. “Probably not,” he said. “Anyway, I just figured it was time I introduced myself before this whole thing becomes a problem.”

He gestured vaguely between them and Joly stared at him. “What whole thing?” he asked, suspicious.

“What, you think you’re the only one working up the nerve to ask Musichetta out?” Bossuet asked with a grin. “Of course, you’ve got a better chance than I do, no doubt about that—” At Joly’s raised eyebrow, Bossuet sighed and added, “I’ve got terrible luck. That’s why I haven’t asked sooner.” He made a face. “Well, that and the inherent power imbalance that comes from asking out someone when they’re at work and can’t readily leave.”

Despite himself, Joly smiled slightly. “I had the same exact thought,” he said. His smile faded when he glanced over at Musichetta, who was handing a coffee to a customer and smiling that same smile that made his stomach do somersaults. He looked back at Bossuet. “So what are we going to do about it?”

Bossuet shrugged. “Dunno,” he said unconcernedly. “But I figured we might as well hang out with each other while we figure it out.”

Joly laughed. “Deal,” he said, clinking his coffee cup against Bossuet’s.

----------

Just like that, a new routine was born. They started hanging out at the coffeeshop whenever both of them were in there, and then Bossuet asked Joly if he wanted to take their coffee to the library, where the seats were more comfortable and the power outlets more plentiful (Bossuet always seemed to pick the seat in the coffeeshop that wasn’t by any open power outlet).

Then Joly asked Bossuet if he wanted to come back to his for Chinese food. Or to watch a movie. Or because Joly had just scored an ounce of really good weed and needed someone to share it with.

It was during one of these times that Joly realized that, despite their hanging out ostensibly to figure out how to ask Musichetta out, they were instead spending a lot of time with each other.

And Joly liked spending time with Bossuet.

He really liked it.

He really liked him.

Joly was well aware that he was bisexual, but he had no clue if Bossuet was, or if he was misinterpreting what had quickly become one of Joly’s best friendships, and the very last thing he wanted to do was ruin that, especially since there was still a very attractive barista in the hypothetical mix.

“Earth to Joly,” Bossuet said, his voice low in Joly’s ear, and Joly jumped before looking over at Bossuet sheepishly. 

“Sorry,” he said, suddenly aware that they were sitting far closer on Joly’s couch than was even remotely necessary. 

“I could practically hear you thinking,” Bossuet told him before lifting his phone and showing Joly the food delivery app he had open. “And to repeat my question that you completely ignored as you were staring off into space, do you want Chinese or sushi?”

Joly blinked. “Both,” he said, his heart beating a little faster in his chest. It wasn’t actually an answer to Bossuet’s question, but was what he had just figured out for himself.

He wanted them both.

And he definitely wasn’t talking about what food he wanted to eat that evening.

Bossuet shook his head, looking back down at his phone. “Fine, but then I don’t want to hear you complaining that you’re so full an hour from now—”

Joly cut him off by kissing him, and Bossuet’s phone fell to the floor with a clatter, food delivery very quickly forgotten.

----------

The next day, Joly waited nervously, sitting at the bar of the coffeeshop and fiddling with the lid of his coffee cup. Bossuet had left early that morning, muttering something about an early lecture he had to attend, which meant they hadn’t had a chance to talk about...well, about any of it.

He perked up when he saw Bossuet come through the door, though he shrank down in his seat slightly when Bossuet made a beeline for him, a determined look on his face. “Right,” he said decisively, sitting on the stool next to Joly. “We’re ending this.”

Joly blanched. “Ending?” he repeated weakly, and Bossuet shook his head.

“No, I don’t mean—” He broke off, and gave Joly a smile before reaching out and squeezing his hand gently. “I just mean that we have to decide, one way or another. So we’re gonna do it the old fashioned way.”

He slid his hand away from Joly’s and instead closed it into a fist, holding it out to Joly expectantly. Joly just stared down at his fist. “What am I supposed to do with that?” he asked blankly.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

Joly couldn’t help himself – he laughed. “What are we, six?”

But Bossuet didn’t smile. “Take it or leave it,” he said seriously.

Joly held out his fist as well but hesitated. “Hang on,” he said, “what exactly are the stakes here? What are we playing for?”

Bossuet shrugged. “Winner gets to decide if they want to ask out Musichetta, or if they want to ask out…” 

He trailed off, but Joly got the picture, and he suddenly felt very tongue-tied. He looked down at his fist for a moment before nodding. “Ok then,” he said. “Rock, paper, scissors. Let’s do it.”

In unison, they both muttered, “Rock, paper, scissors—” but Bossuet flattened his hand on ‘scissors’, while Joly’s made his hand into scissors a beat later.

Bossuet’s hand fell to his side. “What are you doing?” he asked, exasperated.

“It’s rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” Joly said defensively. 

“No it’s not,” Bossuet shot back. “You throw on scissors, everyone knows that.”

Joly glared at him. “What backwards ass place taught you that?” he huffed. “It’s clearly—”

“Fine, fine, whatever,” Bossuet sighed, rolling his eyes. “We’ll do it again, and this time, we’ll both go on ‘shoot’, ok?”

Joly nodded and again they squared up, fists outstretched. “Rock, paper, scissors—”

This time, Joly kept his fist closed, while Bossuet made his hand into the scissors motion. He scowled, but before Joly could even begin to gloat, or at least claim victory, out of nowhere, a hand reached out and covered both of theirs. “Paper beats rock,” Musichetta said, and both men swiveled to stare at her.

“So it does,” Joly managed, and Bossuet added, probably unnecessarily, “Looks like you win.”

Musichetta propped her elbow on the counter and rested her chin on her hand as she examined them both. “So based on what I overheard, winner gets to decide who to date, right?” she asked, her smile sharpening as Joly spluttered on his coffee and Bossuet’s mouth opened and closed silently as he gaped at her. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said brightly, straightening. “And in that case, I pick both of you.”

“What?” Bossuet asked weakly, at the same time Joly croaked, “Both?”

“Yes,” Musichetta said, leaning in to kiss first Joly and then Bossuet on the cheek. “Both. Pick me up when I get off work at six?”

Bossuet and Joly glanced at each other, a slow smile crossing both their faces. “Deal,” they said in unison.

Musichetta grinned at them as she turned back to work, and Joly glanced at Bossuet once more. “So what do you want to do until 6?” he asked.

Bossuet grinned and held out his hand. “Your place or mine?” he asked simply.

Joly thought about it. “Part of me wants to say both, just to be an ass,” he said, grinning when Bossuet groaned. “So how about this instead – either.”

“Now that I can work with,” Bossuet said, tugging him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

[mygreenknittedsweater]

My absolute favorite pictures of Les Amis and also Cosette to exist

the stuff i get my serotonin from (some is art, some are pictures, theres a mix of modern and period, ect, its varied and horrible and a mess, but i want to, so...)

pretty long post I think so..

JOLY - my perfect boy: https://batcii-archive.tumblr.com/post/177407080228/a-couple-jolys-for-the-weekend 

ENJOLRAS - whenever Im sad I look at this dude’s cosplay and then Im not sad anymore: @enjoloras​

BAHOREL - look at that man in his favorite red waistcoat. I’m prouder of him than I am of my own family; look at him go

GRANTAIRE - the shading? the colours? fucking superb love it. i seem to have lost the link for this one and I’m so sorry about it

COURFEYRAC - hes the nicest frat bro ive seen

COSETTE - my favorite picture of her is my own unfinished painting so sue me. I can’t finish it bc my sibling lost their pen to the drawing tablet :(((

LESGLE - love this dude hes cute: @thebreadseries​ everyone go watch the BREAD series id sure appreciate it

[jarenka]

Since I was rereading chapters with les amis for a fic, I decided to write down what we know about every of them except Enjolras and Grantaire. I used 1828 for counting age because it is the year Marius was introduced to them. 

Why are everyone fucking lawyers and medics?!

Not like they had a lot of choice. According to French wikipedia there was only 5 faculties in Sorbonne in 19th century: Faculty of Science (biology, chemistry, physics), Faculty of letters (philology and philosophy), Faculty of theology, faculty of law and Faculty of Medicine.

Also all of them are from the south of France except Laigle (he is from Meaux)

Combeferre

- age: unknown, but he finished his internship by the 1832

- medic (these two aren't widely known, it's from the part 5, book 1, chapter 4)

- knows fucking everything, walking wikipedia

- goes to public lectures

- loves theater (but theater was a very common entertainment in XIX century like TV and videogames now)

- believes that proper education and popularization of science is the way to make world better

- believes in some "unbelievable" for his time things like anesthesia, photography, telegraph and flights

- nice and gentle person

- has influence on Enjolras' political believes

- "murder by words" - 100

- against using dirty methods for the good cause

Jehan

- age: unknown

- the only son of very rich parents

- always in love

- very compassionate for oppressed groups

- loves Middle Ages and defends paganism

- "his voice was ordinarily delicate, but suddenly grew manly"

- plays flute

- poet

- learned 4 foreign language only for read his favorite poets

- very shy and very brave at the same time

- constantly blushes

- he is very into social issues; he study alot to understand how society works and how it can be fixed (unfortunately he didn't live long enough to read Marx and Engels)

- dresses badly

- stops being shy when he exited and becomes laughing and lyric

Feuilly

- age: unknown

- workingman, a fan-maker ("Feuilly, with his fingers skilled in painting the delicate sticks of fans", awww)

- orphan- self-educated (Feuilly never been taught to read and write, not very common in Paris, but he wasn't from Paris)

- for him education was a way to freedom

- the only one who was very concerned about other countries than France and was very intense in his speeches

Courfeyrac

- age: 21 or 22 in 1828 (4-11-5 and some math)

- despite of his leftist view he is a bourgeois in his soul (sorry but Hugo said so)

- can make friends in two days

- "Enjolras was the chief, Combeferre was the guide, Courfeyrac was the centre. The others gave more light, he shed more warmth; the truth is, that he possessed all the qualities of a centre, roundness and radiance".

- a tactful and very helpful friend (he never asks Marius uncomfortable questions but always helps him)

- passionate and dramatic (he literally trow the copy of Touquet Charter in the fireplace)

- witty

Bahorel

- age: unknown but he has been a student for 10 years in 1828 and he participated in "the bloody tumult of June, 1822, on the occasion of the burial of young Lallemand", so he is at least 27 years old in 1828

- studies law

- good-natured and kind but brazen and scrappy

- squanders the money

- chaotic good (very chaotic)

- loves fights

- wears waistcoats of very bright colors (a bold fashion statement by the way, but very inelegant)

- his parents are peasants but wealthy ones

- doesn't want to study but enjoys student life I guess

- draws caricatures on his professors

- "he had a penetrating mind and was more of a thinker than appeared to view"

- has connections with different groups of revolutionaries

- has no preferences in places to hang out

Laigle/Lesgle (Bossuet)

- age: 25 in 1828

- studied law before was kicked out

- bald

- extremely unfortunate

- lost all his money and house because of his misfortune

- despite of it he is very optimistic and cheerful

- clever and well-educated

- even his surname is an awful mess of misspelling

Joly

- age: 23 in 1828

- medical student

- most likely has a "medical students' disease". Also he is afraid of the cold but it's not like "lol Joly is worrying about simple disease like that" or "omg he has a terrible medical anxiety". It XIX century, guys, every complication after the cold can kill you. 

- he has a cane. I saw a lot of people interpret it only in "Joly is disabled" way but most likely he just uses a cane as an accessory because he wants to look fancy.

- cute, cheerful and very eccentric

- perceptive

(also Enjolras is 22 and Grantaire is 25 in 1828)

[midautumnnightdream]

Please ramble more about your les Mis/LOTR crossover concept! Where does each ami find themselves when they wake up, how/where/in what order do they find each other, what do they do upon finding themselves in Arda? I want to know all about this.

Friend! I'm being Very Enabled :D

(uh sorry it took me so long to answer; the last couple of weeks turned out to be A Lot, but the EXTREME WALL OF TEXT of this ramble might at least justify the delay. Consider yourself warned!)

Anyway!

Okay, as I said before, the basis of this concept is Pure Aesthetics, so any "logic" is derived from moving backwards from the result that I wanted. But! There is a sort of method to the madness, which is that the Amis are distributed to Middle-Earth in the same order as they die, spiraling outwards from the central point of somewhere-in-Rohan on the same date they die –so Prouvaire and Bahorel appear closest to each other on the 5th of June 3018 and Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet, Courfeyrac and Combeferre land in a loose circle around them a day later, increasingly further away from each other, but not super far. Grantaire and Enjolras, For Reasons, get propelled a lot further away in separate directions. But more of that later.

So! Bahorel and Prouvaire find each other pretty quickly and establish that something Extremely Weird has happened. Being themselves, they are more excited than confused or upset about the situation and immediately set about exploring this new world. In a way, out of all the Amis they are perhaps the most suited for it: Rohan with vast countryside and mountains and mysterious forests, with the oral culture that honours the poet and glorifies the warrior; the horses, the tapestries, even the shadow of some great evil they do not yet understand but can feel in every unspoken concern – it's something of a Romantic medievalist's dream, isn't it? Sure, they also hear Some Bullshit about the way this country is run and have every intention of doing something about that in the future, but for the time being they are satisfied wandering about the countryside, exchanging songs and stories and exploring that forest they have been warned away from by everyone they meet. (Yes, they totally make friends with the ents, is what I'm saying.) They don't search for the other Amis because they have no reason to assume anyone else died –as far as they know, they're busy living happily in a new Republic. They learn otherwise soon enough, however.

What exactly happens with the next four Amis at first is the part that i'm least clear about – they'd have the same kind of initial confusion about the situation and P&B, but they each know for sure that all their friends should also be dead, and would try to look for them. Probably causing some Unsettling Rumours to spread a bit further than is strictly speaking ideal, but i also want most of them to find each other reasonably quickly, because the group dynamic is more of what i'm into here (esp because Bossuet probably landed somewhere terribly unlucky, poor dude.) Other than that I'm not sure, except that I want Feuilly somewhere with Dunlendings for a little while, because I can just *see* him having Unpopular Dunlending Opinions and getting glowered at by every Rohirrim he stubbornly voices them to.

Anyway, eventually I want that group to come together and... not quite settle, but to have something like a temporary home they can share and come back to, as they figure out what to do next. A place just outside of Edoras, perhaps? The kind of community that is getting increasingly twitchy about the state of affairs in Meduseld, enough to shelter this incredibly weird but friendly and helpful bunch of strangers whom Wormtongue is oh-so-curious about and to help dispel wilder rumours about them ("look they are just foreigners okay? From, um, Lake town. Yeah, Lake town"). Of course, healers are appreciated wherever they go, and so are bards, especially when they have a whole repertoire of songs and stories no one has heard before. Bahorel and Courfeyrac probably know their way around horses, for different reasons, Feuilly also has the kind of skills that would be appreciated and Bossuet, for all his bad luck has the resiliency of a cat who always lands on his feet. And if the lot of them get a bit Sarcastic about monarchy and tend to express the kind of ideas that might get everyone involved into a lot of trouble, well. People are Not happy and they'd welcome anything that goes counter to Orthanc influence in Edoras. Bahorel and Prouvaire still go wandering sometimes, leaving with the herders taking horses to pastures, in effort to find out more about what's going on and how they can help to influence events. But mostly, the Amis stick together.

Things are a bit... tense, once the inital shock passes. There is a lot of unspoken grief between them, for the home and people that are lost to them, for the revolution that could have been, for the future they cannot quite see themselves having in this world, and in a strange way, for each other. The whole situation is just so weird they have no idea how to process it and nothing to measure it against. On top of that, there are people missing in their group: by the time all seven of them come together, it's pretty clear it's just Amis showing up in this world, not everyone who dies, and knowing that the barricade was on a brink of a collapse, it'd make sense for Grantaire and Enjolras to be there too. Still, there is a possibility that they survived, by being taken prisoner or in R's case for being missed because he was asleep – and at this point, no one can quite figure out which option they should be hoping for. Not to mention, Enjolras absence shifts the group dynamic around quite a bit and each of them finds themselves having to pick up some emotional slack – which they do, quite well, but in addition to obvious obligations of coordination and decision-making, there is stuff like Bahorel having to pick fights with Combeferre when he's stressed, so he could argue his heart out without having to hold back, or Courfeyrac and Lesgle taking extra time to attentively listen to Feuilly when he's having Dunlending Opinions. On top of that, they are still trying to find a place in this new world and there is this sense of tense expectation, of coming storm.

Grantaire though. He takes Enjolras's hand, he smiles and when he wakes up, he's in Gondor of all places, all alone and very far from everyone he ever knew. "Now why would you do this, you monster??" you might think. And the answer is, well, symmetry. Aesthetic. Enjolras finds himself alone. So Grantaire must be alone too. On top of that, there is the appeal of our guy Grantaire, just after his big moment of revelation, being put into a situation where he has to live with the full implications of it, without being able to revert back to the expectations as he might if he was surrounded by his friends. Gondor is complicated sort of place. Denethor... is not going to miss a universe-traveler landing in his backyard. Nor would he neither dismiss him out of hand or trust him fully. He knows there is a reason for this, but there is no way to figure out what it could be, no more than he can figure out Grantaire; still reeling with the exhilaration of taking a leap of faith, in some ways a transfigured man, but still with all his foibles. Including talking too much, in references that no one in this world could possibly decipher.

So what happens is, once Faramir catches on to what's happening (because no way is Faramir either going to miss an universe-traveler in his backyard) Denethor pretty much hands R over to him, like "Yeah keep an eye on him and figure out what he's on about, or at least get him to shut up." and whooo boy do i have Thoughts about this character combination. Because Grantaire would be like. Reminded of half of his friends within minutes of meeting this guy (which, ouch) but also.. those sure are some Politics he's got there. Would there be A Debate? Sooner or later, probably! Probably despite Grantaire's better judgement! When on one hand you've got someone who is very convinced of the moral righteousness of his opinions, but is also very open to discussion and very very curious and discerning about what people are not saying, and on the other hand a person who is riddled with guilt over convictions unspoken, who perhaps feels like he owes the arguments to those who are not present to speak them, who's just... not good and not being contrary and shutting up ever. It could get really interesting – not in the sense of anyone getting Converted here, but I feel like both of them would end up with lot to think about (and Grantaire would end up as part of the team going to Ithilien at Important Moment)

And that's the other point – what would Grantaire do here, other than cautiously trying to express A Conviction? Well, mostly he'd try to keep himself afloat. In a moment of irony, in this situation he'd be the only Ami to never doubt that he's not alone in this world: partly it's the context of people around him immediately deciding his presence must serve some kind of Divine Purpose – and well, surely no Divinity would pick him to fulfill some destiny and not the other Amis right? But more than that, it's the fact that he Believes, so utterly, not only in Enjolras but in all of them, to the point of just Knowing they'd never abandon him in such a place. So he waits. And hangs on. And tries his best to fight the darkness on the horizon that seems to physically fog his mind and spirit, because he told Enjolras he's one of them, he's got to at least Try, right?

Onwards to Enjolras then! Okay this is the part that I've thought through the most and (**looks back over the length of the post so far**) Cripes. Umh, I’ll try to keep it concise?

Enjolras ends up at, or very close to Rivendell: this is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it's as good a place as you're ever going to find if you get dropped into a different universe with no idea what happened or how anything works, and also a very good (and very Aesthetic!) place to heal both physically or mentally but on the other hand, it's very far from where everyone else ended up and no rumour reaches him. So he has no idea what to think: he certainly hopes the others are also around somewhere, but for all his soaring faith, this is not something he can control, so he tries his best to find a way forward regardless of what happens.

So he keeps trying to learn everything he can about the world he is in, mostly with the help of a chatty old hobbit who tells him all the histories and helps him figure out the writing systems (look, everyone can just magically speak Westron okay?) And as fantastical as everything seems, and sundry dark lords notwithstanding, there is a lot that is broken about this world which is perhaps not so different from the one he left behind. All the same, it's clear that fighting Sauron must take the first priority.

(This is what he keeps telling himself when he finds out about the Heir of Isildur thing. Please just take a moment to imagine his expression.)

Anyway! The actual plot of the book would catch up soon enough, the Council of Elrond happens and as the Fellowship is being composed, it would become pretty damn clear for anyone with eyes what the Divine Forces were expecting Enjolras to do here. However, that brings me to the other point of curiousity which prompted this AU, and that is Enjolras and the Ring. Because I do feel like in his own painfully pragmatic, bright-burning idealistic way he would be pretty vulnerable to the Ring's influence. Not for a lack of self-awareness, or overconfidence, or for thinking that such means could ever be justified, but from the same impulse that had him shoot Le Cabuc: he's the sin-eater, he'd take that fall to spare the others in full expectation that they'd have to overcome him and render him harmless. And the Ring being what it is, it could use any opportunity to force such a decision, making it seem like the only option available whether that is the case or not. Even so, I'd think Enjolras would be quite self-aware – and also pretty upfront – about his own vulnerabilities and oh, it'd be such an interesting conversation to have between him and Frodo and Gandalf before a decision is made. Also, bonding with the hobbits! and the rest of the fellowship! Gimli would immediately adopt him, idk it's just the Truth. Having people ask him “are you an elf?” multiple times, which he’s so confused about! Hella awkward bonding time with Aragorn! xD

Oh and then The Plot would happen but Geez, this is already horrifyingly long. If you are still reading this and haven’t been bored to tears yet I might tell you about it another time!