#well some of them anyway. Bahorel definitely

[pilferingapples]

OK there's definitely other things to discuss in this chapter but I gotta highlight this bit:

Courfeyrac said to Bahorel:— “Would you believe it? Marius comes home nowadays at one o’clock in the morning.” Bahorel replied:— “What do you expect? There’s always a petard in a seminary fellow.”

especially because it's a bit where some translations I otherwise love and cherish Fail Me Utterly

Because yes on the one level it's a pretty standard "it's always the quiet ones" kind of comment

but also: Bahorel is straight up saying Marius is an explosive/carrying an explosive

you know. Like a powder keg, say

this is how Marius is going to show up at the barricade

Bahorel Knows The Future

(also I very much love that everyone really DOES sit around gossiping about Marius' love life, if only because Courfeyrac won't shut up about it XD)

[aromantic-enjolras]

This is a Drink With Me gift for @gay-rad-desert! You asked for Courfeyrac and Marius, and. Well. This turned out a little heavier than I was expecting it to go, but I hope you can enjoy it anyway! I love these boys, and I was happy to do something for them <3

Marius is a good Christian boy. He is 20 year old virgin, still does altar boy duties, helps at his local church every Sunday. One day, when he's playing waiter at a church event, a beautiful young man (everyone notices when a man is beautiful, right??) comes sauntering by and starts flirting outrageously.

Courfeyrac, who is a rogue and a bit of a fuckboy, was walking around with some friends when he spotted a cute boy at a church event, and decided it would be very fun to try and get a fling out of this. If it turns out badly, Bahorel is in the nearest bar, and they are definitely enough to rescue him should the boy turn out to be a homophobic straight dude.

But then, instead of either responding to his flirting or getting pissed off and defensive, the cute boy looks at him with scared eyes and says "I'm not- I don't- I don't do that" in a voice so unconvincing that Courf immediately changes directions. This boy doesn't need a fuck. He needs a friend.

Marius is very relieved when the pretty boy seems to back off. "Okay. You don't do that. Do you do friends? Because I'd love to have one of those," he says, and it should have felt condescending, but he has such a disarming smile that Marius can't do anything but say "I guess I can do that, yes."

They don't hang out that much at first: Courfeyrac swings by a few church events, being friendly (but not overly friendly) and charming, and Marius enjoys his company a lot, but he also conspicuously never attends any masses, and people are starting to talk...

So he asks Courf if he would be up for coffee, and that's how they end up going out more and more together. Nothing big, nothing flashy, always public places, but it's just the two of them, and it feels so nice??

Courfeyrac is aware that he is on very shaky ground. He likes Marius now, and he wants to push him into being more comfortable with being gay, but he knows a false step and Marius will bolt. So he never hides the fact that he likes boys, but he only does it in very casual ways: never draws attention to it, lets Marius ignore it for as long as he needs to.

When Marius starts asking tentative follow-up questions, he takes his chance. "My friends and I have a queer space. Do you want to come by? No pressure, we can go at a weird hour, just have a coffee, talk to a few people. See for yourself."

Marius says yes, and that's how they end up going to the Musain, collectively-owned, alternative queer bar/café extraordinaire, at 4pm on a Thursday.

Everything seems to be going well, until Marius starts getting heated about God, and he makes a little speech of his own. "What is better than being loved by God?" he asks. "To be free." answers Combeferre.

And look, he is terrified of Combeferre, but he also can't help but admire the little he saw from the man, and he doesn't want to back down. Something draws him to these people, to that place, and if he can only convince them, if he can help bring them back to the light.... It can't be a sin, now, can it?

Slowly, very very slowly, he starts loosening up. He gets more relaxed, he enjoys himself, and where Courf made him comfortable with the idea of being around gays by letting him get passively used to it, these people challenge him, questioning his beliefs to his face.

It all comes to a head when he slips out of his house on a Saturday night. Courf is performing at the Musain for a drag show, and he has promised he will be there to cheer him on! And he does, and Courf is wonderful, and he has had a few drinks, and when a boy asks him to dance he is just high enough on the magic of the evening (and Courf's enthusiastic thumbs-up) that he goes for it. And then the boy kisses him.

And he can feel the panic grow in his throat, because a boy is kissing him, and he likes it. He likes it way more than he ever liked kissing Cosette, who he dated for years, who was pretty and funny and he thought he was going to marry someday. And this kiss, from a random man he doesn't even know, in a gay bar, feels so much better.

Courfeyrac shoos the man away, also in a panic, because he can see Marius' thousand yard stare from the other end of the bar. But it's too late: all Marius wants is to go home.

And he tries to rationalize it: maybe Courf just rubbed off on him. Maybe all this talk of gay people has influenced him. Maybe if he stops talking to all of them, if he doesn't think about it, the feelings will go away. But then he goes back to the church, to his old friends, and he realizes talking to them is not comforting anymore. He can't tell them anything that's bothering him. And now that he knows what it feels like, the idea of kissing men doesn't seem to go away: it only seems to grow stronger.

At last he ends up calling Courf, asking him to come over while his grandfather is away, and unloads everything on him. "I can't do this, Courf. I can't. You can be- you can be brave, and be you, and have it all, but I can't. I can't be- gay".

And Courf's heart is breaking, but what can he do? So he holds his friend, and comforts him, and tells him he is loved and worthy and that he's done nothing wrong; and that if push comes to shove, his door will always be open. "For a day, for a month, for a year. Anything you need. I promise."

And so, when Marius appears at his doorstep, one duffel bag on his shoulder and one suitcase dragging behind him, and says "I have come to sleep with you", he doesn't need to ask. He just smiles a sad smile, drags Marius into a hug, and lets him in. Into his life, and into his heart. Forever.

@drinkwithme-exchange

[midasinc]

The Amis have a video game night: what do they play? Who knows every move and is better than they have any right to be? Who buttonsmashes and gets annoyingly good results? Who prefers sitting back and commenting to actually playing? Who keeps falling down the side of the screen? Who says "oh, I don't play that much" and then is really decent at it? Whose controller keeps running out of battery at the worst moment (Bossuet)?

it definitely all starts with feuilly and combeferre complaining about some character added to smash that they think is lame. feuilly is a gamer and has been really into video games since he was a kid and this is a topic he gets very heated over, combeferre is similar. anyway, bahorel is sort of listening in and argues that he's played the character and they arent even that bad. this ends up in the three arguing and enjolras is a little annoyed bc he's never played smash and he doesn't see why it's a big deal so he says "why does it matter?" which ends up being the wrong thing to say bc feuilly goes around taking a poll of who likes them and who doesn't. half of them dont know what he's talking about, and to educate them, combeferre ends up having everybody invited over one night to play

-right at the start, feuilly is superior at games. he's been playing for so long that he's got it down pat. no one wants to play smash against him because they get their ass beat so hard. well, grantaire plays him because he's overly confident and has a joint hanging out of the corner of his tight mouth bc he spent the past ten minutes talking about how this shit was a "cake walk" and he's getting his ass handed to him on a silver platter

-jehan and enjolras are both afflicted with "omg this character looks pretty/cool/sexy" and chooses them without knowing how they work and both lose miserably bc they only choose characters based on how sick they look

-enjolras also falls off the edge all the time. bless his heart he isn't great at button smashing

-MARIUS on the other hand... oh this is infuriating. marius has never played smash in his life, nor has he really heard of it. he grew up in a really old-fashioned household and never played video games but courfeyrac brings him along and jfc

-he smashes every button. he doesn't know what they do or which character he is. he is so unbelievably good and he makes feuilly lose like three times in a row. it gets so bad that feuilly has to shove the controller into someone else's hands and storm off into another room to calm down. marius is upsettingly good but he SHOULDNT BE. HE HAS NO REASON TO BE GOOD AT ALL

-bossuet does the same thing but he's ass. he sees marius play and is like "omg wait i could do that" and unfortunately he cannot LMFOA

-joly and bahorel are really competitve with each other but in a fun way. they arent tryharding and getting mild (or extreme if you're feuilly going against marius) gamer rage bc they're having fun and genuinely playing instead of being bad or infuriating on purpose

-courfeyrac is lowkey a tryhard. he's just really good with strategies in general and he's a fast learner. he's absolutely like "lol ive never played this im gonna suck" and then is really good after the first round.

-smash becomes either a person's suggestion or hard limit for hanging out afterwards. feuilly never ever wants to play with them again (he'd rather just play online w combeferre) because he claims "it's not fun" (which means it isnt fun losing to marius). enjolras always ends up wanting to play bc even though he was ass he had a lot of fun... falling off the edge

-bahorel was right- the character is cool. feuilly and combeferre are just haters

-anyway, the final verdict of players is this:

a.) the people who are upsettingly good via practice and only fun to play with if you're also upsettingly good: feuilly, combeferre

b.) the people who are good but fun to play with even if you suck: courfeyrac, bahorel

c.) mid, good-sport. fun to play with: joly

d.) mid, bad-sport. annoying to play with: grantaire

e.) cannot play for shit but fun to play with bc they make you laugh: bossuet, enjolras, jehan

f.) shouldn't be able to be good but is really fun to watch bc of how good they are: marius

[restlesswasteland]

Miserables Month Day 6: "Paralyzed"

Written for the Miserables Month @themiserablesmonth It was unlike him.

Enjolras couldn’t remember the last time he was scared.

He knew this had been a bad idea.

--- “I’m busy,” Enjolras said too quickly. He heard the words come out of his mouth before he’d processed them.

“On a Saturday night?” Ferre raised an eyebrow over the morning newspaper. Courf just crossed his arms and pouted.

“There’s a lecture that’s being livestreamed. I wanted to catch it,” Enjolras turned away so that his friends wouldn’t see his face flushing. He picked up his empty breakfast plate and brought it over to the sink.

“A lecture at 10pm?” Courf asked.

“It’s at Berkeley. They’re three hours behind, so. Yes. At 10pm. I’m busy.” He insisted as he washed his dish. He felt the lie crumbling around him.

“But everyone is coming,” Courf sounded dejected.

“You could record the lecture,” Ferre suggested, and Enjolras picked up the skepticism in his voice. It didn’t surprise him. Enjolras was already a bad liar, but why did he even bother when Ferre was around?

“Yeah,” he continued, reaching for an excuse. “I was looking forward to it, is all,” he said lamely, scrubbing away at his already immaculate plate.

“You’re never any fun,” Courf whined.

“You know what I think?” Ferre asked, and Enjolras’s heart sank. “I think you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.” Enjolras tried to be firm.

Courf laughed behind him. “Oh my god, you are.” He said, delighted. Enjolras resisted the urge to turn and throw the plate at his head. He placed it in the drying rack instead.

“Okay, fine,” he said, turning to face them. “I don’t want to go to a haunted house. They’re supposed to be scary, that’s the entire point. They are actively trying to scare you. So maybe I’m not interested in putting myself in that situation. I don’t see the problem with that.”

Courf burst into laughter, doubling over at the indignant look on Enjolras’s face.

“Fearless leader,” he said in between fits of giggles, “scared, of a, of a haunted house,” he managed to get out. Enjolras crossed his arms and waited for him to finish.

“Are you done?” He asked when Courf managed to get himself under control.

“Not if you keep looking at me like that,” Courf grinned.

“I’m sorry, Enjolras, but it really is quite funny,” Ferre said, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a small smile.

“Fuck both of you,” Enjolras huffed.

“God, I can’t wait to see this,” Courf looked ready to burst into another bought of laughter.

“I told you, I’m not coming.” Enjolras stood his ground.

“Yes, you are,” Courf asserted. “You aren’t busy, everyone will be there, and it’s almost Halloween. You’re coming with us.”

“Look at it as facing your fears,” Ferre smirked. Enjolras groaned in response.

“Come on, live a little,” Courf badgered him.

“Fine,” Enjolras caved. When it was two against one, he didn't stand a chance. He knew from experience.

“I can’t wait to see this, oh my god,” Courf said, ecstatic. Ferre just grinned and returned to his paper.

Enjolras was sure he was going to regret this.

---

And regret it, he did.

Paralyzed by fear in a dark corner of some freezing cold nightmare of a building, Enjolras wondered why he hadn’t been more resolute. This had been a mistake.

He didn’t like to think of himself as someone who scared easily. He didn’t mind heights or small spaces; god knows he’s passionate when speaking to a crowd. He couldn’t care less about spiders, and the sight of blood doesn’t make him squeamish.

But holy fuck if one more dollar store vampire jumps out at him, he is going to kill himself.

His friends had split up into smaller groups of two or three to go through (It’s so much scarier that way, Bahorel had said gleefully), but they all got split up anyway once they got inside. And Bahorel had been right, of course.

He knew that the longer he stood there, the longer he’d be stuck inside this hell house. But the idea of continuing forward just wasn’t going to happen.

He listened to people pass through the room, some giggling, others silent. He shuddered as he heard a scream in the next room over.

Chancing a look at his phone, he figured he’s been standing here for nearly twenty minutes. Eventually, his friends were going to wonder where he is. And then he was going to have to admit what had happened. Or maybe he could just say he got lost in the house? It was massive, with no clear path through. Maybe they would buy it.

Another ten minutes passed. They were definitely not going to buy it. He was never going to live this down.

So he squared his shoulders and took a breath. It was a haunted house. It was designed to be scary, but nothing could actually happen to him. He would be fine. It could all be over quickly if he would just leave his safe little alcove.

He took a few determined steps. If he moved quickly, it could be over even sooner.

He turned the corner to move into the next room, and found himself face to face with a young woman painted up to look like a doll. She was splattered with fake blood. He froze. She starred at him as she sung Ring Around the Rosie under her breath. He felt a shudder run up his spine.

He backed away, not taking his eyes off of her until he was safely around the corner. He turned and retreated the measly ten steps he’d managed, back to his alcove.

He took a deep breath when he made it back to safety. Stupid, he thought, annoyed with himself. Stupid fake doll with her stupid fake blood can’t even-

“Enjolras?” He jumped as his thoughts were interrupted, Grantaire materializing from the darkness.

“Uh,” Enjolras looked at the ground, trying to think of a solid excuse for standing here. This didn’t look great. “Hi,” he mumbled, no explanation coming to him. Of all the people to find him, why, why did it have to be Grantaire. He’d never let this go. The teasing will be merciless, the jokes unbearable.

“What are you doing? Cause I saw you come back here from the next room over-”

“I was just looking around,” Enjolras cut him off. He couldn’t meet his eyes.

Grantaire looked around the tiny alcove. “Not much to look at,” he said, a hint of a smile crossing his face. “Come on, let’s keep going,” he gestured for Enjolras to follow him.

“Yeah, no, you go on without me, I’ll catch up,” Enjolras shrugged, trying and surely failing to look casual.

“Enjolras-” Grantaire started.

“Don’t worry about it,” Enjolras cut him off again, willing him to just go away.

“Enjolras, are you scared?” Grantaire asked, a smirk creeping into his voice.

Enjolras finally looked up at him. “No-”

“You are. Huh. Definitely wouldn’t have guessed-”

“Please don’t start,” Enjolras pleaded. Couldn’t Grantaire at least wait until this ordeal was over for the jokes to begin? Grantaire just looked at him for a moment.

“Oh,” he finally said.

“What?” Enjolras asked defensively.

“You’re serious,” Grantaire’s smirk fell a little.

Enjolras worried the inside of his cheek. He looked up at Grantaire.

“Yeah,” He shrugged again. He was grateful for the dark that covered the blush on his cheeks.

“Okay,” Grantaire said simply. “Come on, let’s go,” the mirth in his voice had been replaced by something softer.

“I really don’t-”

“Your options are to stay here by yourself for another two hours until the house closes, or to try and go through it by yourself. Which I think we both know isn’t happening at this point.” Grantaire smiled, but it wasn’t mean. “Or you can come with me.”

Enjolras knew he was right. He just didn’t want him to be.

“Fine,” he sighed. Grantaire looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t move. “Could you just,” he cringed at himself, not wanting to say it. “Could you just not mention this? To everyone else?” He asked, feeling childish.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Apollo,” Grantaire chuckled quietly, and Enjolras fought to keep the surprise off his face. “Come on,” Grantaire said again.

Enjolras stepped out the alcove. Grantaire put an arm around his shoulder and tugged him close.

“If you want to cling to me because you’re scared, I won’t blame you,” Grantaire smirked, and Enjolras rolled his eyes.

But if he did, well. Neither of them would tell the others that, either.

[kjack89]

Man I always get whiplash from your blog layout, it's great. Anyway, 44 (Tentative kisses given in the dark.) for exr *eyes emoji*

Sorry not sorry about the blog layout XD

Anyway, this was supposed to be something else, something sweeter, but then this happened, and, well...

ExR, modern AU, developing relationship.

Enjolras dumped his bag on a table in the backroom of the Musain and started unbuttoning his coat, though he paused when he saw Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet at a table in the corner, their heads together as they discussed something with what looked like urgency.

His curiosity piqued, Enjolras wandered over to them. “Not to use ableist language, but if you believe that, you’re cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs,” Bossuet said dismissively, as Joly nodded in agreement.

Grantaire snorted. “Not entirely sure that’s ableist, though General Mills may sue for copyright violations. Besides, I’m not the one who’s apparently lost what’s left of my marbles.”

“Look, copyright violations aside, I think Bossuet’s got a point—” Joly started, but Grantaire cut him off.

“Oh, sure, take his side like always,” Grantaire sniped.

Enjolras cleared his throat and all three startled before looking over at him. “Dare I ask what you three are arguing about?” he asked mildly, and to his surprise, Joly blushed.

“I wouldn’t call it an argument,” he hedged, glancing sideways at Bossuet, who nodded emphatically.

“Right, it’s really more of a disagreement.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Fine, what are you disagreeing about?”

Grantaire smiled blithely at him, the only one of three who didn’t look remotely abashed. “Whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie or not.”

Enjolras blinked. He had not been expecting that. “Uh...what?”

“You know, the holiday classic starring Bruce Willis,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “Which I maintain, if you’re going to allow films like It’s a Wonderful Life and Holiday Inn, which, let’s not forget, features actual blackface, to be counted as Christmas films, you also have to allow Die Hard, which is arguably even more Christmas-y since it actually takes place fully at Christmas.”

Grantaire said this all with absolute confidence, which bewildered Enjolras almost as much as Joly, who leaned forward to tell Grantaire, equally heated, “Christmas-y is not a word, and also, the point isn’t whether they take place solely at Christmas time, but whether they’re filled with, y’know, Christmas spirit. Which Die Hard is not.”

Bossuet cleared his throat. “What do you think, Enjolras?” he asked loudly as Grantaire stuck his tongue out at Joly.

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “Believe it or not, this is one area where I don’t really have an opinion.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows as he did what he clearly thought was a comical doubletake. “I could die of shock.”

“Well, try not to, at least not until we have your mockup for the mutual aid fundraiser flyers,” Enjolras said sourly.

“And here I thought you didn’t value my contributions,” Grantaire said with a grin. “But seriously, you don’t have an opinion on Die Hard?”

“Oh, I have opinions,” Enjolras assured him. “I just don’t think they’re relevant to this particular debate.”

Grantaire fluttered his eyelashes at him. “As if that’s ever stopped you before,” he said sweetly.

Enjolras scowled. “You really want my opinion on if I think a movie featuring an extrajudicial cop qualifies as having the spirit belonging to a holiday devoted to capitalism and religious imperialism?” he asked sharply, and Joly and Bossuet had the good sense to look a little embarrassed. “Because in that case, I do have some fascinating insights on the ties between the military industrial complex and evangelical Christianity.”

Joly and Bossuet grumbled and turned away, clearly ready to continue the conversation without Enjolras, but Grantaire propped his chin on his hand and smirked at Enjolras. “Fascinating though your use of big words may be, you didn’t actually answer the question.”

“The question of whether I think Die Hard is a Christmas movie?” 

“Yeah.”

Enjolras looked at him flatly. “Is ‘I don’t give a flying fuck’ an answer?”

Grantaire’s smile widened. “Not so much, no.”

“Oh, so when you give me that as an answer during Les Amis meetings, I’m just supposed to accept it, but when it comes to inane debates about Christmas movies, it’s not good enough?” Enjolras asked sourly.

Grantaire nodded. “Pretty much, yeah.”

For a moment, Enjolras considered telling Grantaire that he should focus on more important things, but he could only imagine all the ways that would backfire on him. “Fine. Then Die Hard is not a Christmas movie. Happy?”

Grantaire cocked his head slightly. “I’d be happier if you could explain why you think that.”

Enjolras stared at him. “Because it just...it isn’t.”

Grantaire’s smirk was back, and his tone turned teasing. “C’mon, cite your sources, this isn’t your first debate, you know better than that.”

“I don’t have to cite anything!” Enjolras snapped. “It’s not a Christmas movie. End of discussion.”

“Then why did Bahorel wear a sweatshirt with ‘Now I have a machine gun, Ho-ho-ho’ written on it in red paint to an Ugly Christmas Sweater party last week?” Grantaire countered.

Enjolras blinked. “Wait, that was from Die Hard?”

“Of course it was from—” Grantaire broke off, something like glee lighting up his face. “Wait a minute, have you actually seen Die Hard?”

“I’ve seen parts of it…” Enjolras hedged.

“That does not count.” Grantaire stood up. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“My place,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “We’re watching Die Hard.”

Enjolras stared at him. “What? Why?”

“Because you claim to hate it but you’ve never even seen it,” Grantaire said, as if it was obvious.

“And what part of my description of it would make you think that I would enjoy it even if I did watch it?”

Grantaire snorted. “No one said anything about enjoying it. I just think you should actually have an informed opinion about something if you’re going to wade into such hard-hitting debates as ‘Is Die Hard a Christmas movie’.”

Grantaire’s tone was innocent, but Enjolras ground his teeth together, recognizing that he had said the same exact thing to Grantaire during a Les Amis meeting the previous week in regards to a debate on restorative justice and an article that Grantaire hadn’t actually read. “I don’t exactly have a spare two hours to waste on this right now,” Enjolras snapped.

“Sure you do,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “What else do you have to work on?”

Enjolras immediately blanked on any of the things he could possibly have to work on. “That’s– that’s not the point,” he spluttered, but it was too late. Grantaire had already taken his arm and was steering him towards the door. 

“We’ll be back in a little over two hours and twelve minutes,” Grantaire called over his shoulder, and Enjolras sighed resignedly.

“I am so going to regret this.”

----------

Die Hard, as it turned out, was everything Enjolras had suspected, and then some, and about a half hour into it, he shifted on Grantaire’s couch and tossed a look over at Grantaire, who had thus far been more silent than he’d ever been at any Les Amis meeting. He could barely see Grantaire’s face in the dark room (Grantaire had insisted they leave the lights off for a ‘true cinematic’ experience), and was sorely tempted to elbow him or many any number of snide comments when he noticed Grantaire’s lips moving, just slightly, in time with Alan Rickman’s character speaking on screen.

“Are you...mouthing the lines of the movie?” Enjolras whispered, and Grantaire waved a dismissive hand.

“Shh,” he said. “And yeah, so?”

“So of all the movies in all the world, Die Hard is the one you have memorized?”

Grantaire gave him a look. “What part of shh don’t you understand?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same question during every Les Amis meeting,” Enjolras said, a little sourly. “Besides, since you clearly have the movie memorized, it’s not like you’re going to miss anything.”

Grantaire sighed but relented, half-turning to face Enjolras. “Fine, if you must know, Die Hard happens to be my favorite Christmas movie and, honestly, one of my favorite non-Christmas movies as well.”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “Ok, but...why?”

Grantaire made a face. “You’re going to think it’s dumb.”

“Dumber than the movie itself?” Enjolras asked, only half-joking.

Grantaire gave him a look. “Because responses like that are so likely to make me want to confide in you.” Enjolras held his hands up defensively and Grantaire sighed again. “Honestly, it’s my favorite movie because of John McClane, because...well, because he reminds me of you.”

“He – what?”

Enjolras wished he had come up with something more eloquent to say, but luckily, Grantaire didn’t seem to notice, as he was busy avoiding meeting his eyes. “Well, y’know,” he said, shrugging uncomfortably. “Saving the world, or at least Nakatomi plaza, by any means necessary because you realize that sometimes the system is broken and to do the most good, sometimes you’ve got to do it yourself.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to respond and immediately closed it again, mostly to swallow his immediate reaction which was to vehemently deny any similarity between himself and a cop, because despite himself, he knew that wasn’t what Grantaire meant.

Or at least, it better not have been.

“Well,” he said, after the silence between them had stretched to almost uncomfortable, “the comparison to a police officer aside, thank you for, y’know...saying that.” Grantaire nodded stiffly and Enjolras cleared his throat to try to make the moment less awkward. “So, uh, if I’m John McClane, who does that make you.”

Grantaire snorted. “Oh, Argyle, definitely.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Be serious.”

Grantaire smiled, but it was a pale imitation of his usual smirk. “I am wild.”

Enjolras nudged him with his elbow. “So who?”

Shrugging slightly, Grantaire leaned back against the couch arm rest. “I dunno, probably one of the hostages that dies or something.” Enjolras just looked expectantly at him and Grantaire sighed. “Fine, I always thought if I was like anyone, I’d be most like Holly.”

Enjolras blinked. “John McClane’s wife?”

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah, she’s badass and not afraid to give heroes and villains alike a piece of her mind.”

“You do have that in common, I suppose,” Enjolras said with a light laugh.

“Yeah, but more importantly than a mouth that won’t quit, she doesn’t have to be the hero,” Grantaire continued. “She’s there to help and do what she can, but at the end of the day, it’s John McClane who saves the day, and she’s just along for the ride. And when it comes to Les Amis, and saving the world, well…” He trailed off. “I may be a lot of things, but I think we can both agree I’m not a hero.”

“I don’t know about that,” Enjolras said automatically, and it was hard to say whether he or Grantaire was more surprised. Grantaire stared at him, wide-eyed, and Enjolras flushed before adding, “I mean, uh…”

He trailed off, not able to actually find the excuse he was looking for, and after a long moment, Grantaire forced a laugh before looking pointedly back at the TV. “Well, in any case, spoiler alert Holly also gets the hero in the end, and that we can definitely agree is not in the cards for me.”

“It could be.”

Enjolras would never know what made him say it, but as soon as he did, he knew he meant it. They’d been dancing around this, and each other, for years, and if he didn’t say something now, he wasn’t sure there was any other time that it could happen.

Even if it was happening with John McClane killing vaguely European henchmen in the background.

“Enj—” Grantaire breathed, but Enjolras had already closed the space between them, cupping Grantaire’s cheek with one hand before kissing him lightly.

It was a quick kiss, light and fleeting and a little hesitant, because awkward kisses in the dark while Die Hard played was like something out of high school and Enjolras hadn’t been any more sauve in high school than he was now, but then Grantaire’s lips parted with a sigh and he kissed Enjolras back in earnest.

They broke apart sometime later, Die Hard long forgotten in the background, and Grantaire’s grin was so bright that Enjolras almost forgot the lights were off. “If this is your idea of Christmas, I gotta be here for New Year’s,” Grantaire murmured, and Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?” he asked, amused.

Grantaire’s grin didn’t so much as flicker. “It’s a line from the movie,” he said. “We can always watch the rest of it, if you’d like.”

“If only there wasn’t something better to do,” Enjolras said dryly before leaning in and kissing him again. 

When the movie finally ended, Grantaire pulled away from Enjolras and fumbled for the remote to turn the TV off. He looked back at Enjolras, a slow smile spreading across his face. “So, uh, what’s the verdict - is Die Hard a Christmas movie?”

Enjolras pretended to consider it. “You know, honestly, I didn’t actually see a whole lot of the movie.”

“Shame,” Grantaire said, grinning.

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah. Guess that just means we’ll have to try it again sometime.”

“I’m pretty sure that can be arranged.”

Grantaire leaned in to kiss him again but Enjolras stopped him, resting his hand lightly against Grantaire’s chest. “You do realize we’re not going to watch Die Hard every time we want to do this, right?”

“Of course not. There’s also Die Hard 2, Die Hard with a Vengeance, Live Free or Die Hard—” Enjolras groaned and Grantaire laughed, leaning in and kissing him lightly. “Well, we’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, kissing him again. “I’m sure we will.”

[dannypuro]

You said your askbox was open so!! From Something Telling I am very invested in the mutual pining of Feuilly and Baz and just that individually they were like. Whispering their feels to their friends. I am parched for any details of. Them. If you are amenable. BYE <3

YOU!!! YOU UNDERSTAND!!!! YOU AND YOUR WONDERFUL ASKS AND GIANT COMMENTS UNDERSTAND THE IMPORTANT PARTS OF SOMETHING TELLING ma’am i owe you my life. i adore you. and yes, without further ado... A Very Long Post about the boys.

feuilly moves into bahorel’s apartment building when he first moves to france, like, five or six years before the start of Something Telling. and he doesn’t speak a lot of french at ALL, at first, because he wasn’t expecting to move, but he got an opportunity with a gallery kind of last minute and he only had time to panic and duolingo it up a little bit. but he moves into baz’s apartment building, all the way up in the tiny attic apartment, and he doesn’t hire any movers because he’s broke, and that would be fine, except the elevator breaks sometime between when he goes out to find some furniture and when he gets said furniture delivered to outside the building. and now he has to figure out how to get this stupid second-hand couch up five flights of stairs and he doesn’t even know anyone in the country he can call for help. 

cue bahorel, coming back from the gym and all sweaty and gross. (nasty.) and he’s never seen feuilly before, but he is CERTAINLY seeing him now. 👁👁. and they have an awkward little conversation--all “hey, dude, do you, like, need a hand?” and poor feuilly desperately trying to remember his duolingo to figure out what the fuck this hot guy is saying to him. bahorel is instantly enamored--feuilly is fucking pretty, okay, and he’s funny and his accent is cute and baz just fucking knows feuilly’s smarter than him and he’s so fucking into it. just. he’s so into him.

and the thing is, baz is pretty sure feuilly’s maybe into him, too--he helps him drag the couch up the stairs, and they make conversation, and he thinks that he’s flirting, a little, and he’s definitely ogling baz up a bit. and, like, yeah, sure--he knows he’s hot, and feuilly’s smoking hot, in an overworked, tired, starving artist way, so... yeah. he’s totally gonna sleep with his brand-new hot neighbor.

only, then they start talking about why feuilly’s moving into the building--he tells baz that he’s new to paris, new to france, and he doesn’t know anybody, doesn’t even really speak french, and he moved for work but he doesn’t really know what he’ll do outside of that, and he’s just so! fucking! charming! and smart! and baz is like. right. well. 🥺, dude. 

they get up to feuilly’s apartment (and HOOOO, feuilly’s pretty strong, actually 👁👁 wow 👁👁 what a coincidence bahorel is shredded as well👁👁 maybe we can hook up and be shredded together👁👁) and set the couch down. and bahorel looks around his empty little attic apartment and takes in his nearly-empty kitchen and his one beautiful houseplant in the middle of the room, because that’s where the most light is, and he can’t just LEAVE. not when feuilly doesn’t have any friends. feuilly’s awesome, baz already knows it! he should meet baz’s awesome friends!

only, feuilly’s kind of- feuilly’s kind of leaning in, a bit, and bahorel has hooked up with enough dudes to know when someone’s putting on the moves. and he’s SO into it, and he almost just kisses him, almost hooks up with him on the couch that they just hauled up five flights of stairs together, only-

only, if feuilly’s a one-night stand, he won’t want to meet baz’s awesome friends, and he seems so lonely. so bahorel takes one for the team. and instead of leaning in to make out with the hottest dude he’s ever met, he’s just like HEY MY FRIENDS ARE HAVING A GET-TOGETHER TONIGHT WANNA COME YOU CAN MEET THEM THEY’RE SUPER NICE AND COOL. (oh, god, he really hopes feuilly wants to.)

feuilly’s a little taken aback, for obvious reasons, but- but he does want to meet bahorel’s friends, and mostly, he wants to spend some more time with bahorel, and it’s a shame that he wasn’t reading the room right when he thought baz was into him, but, well, you can’t have everything. maybe he can’t get laid by his super-hot neighbor, but hey, if he can meet some people who don’t mind that he doesn’t actually speak french yet, and if he can get to know bahorel a little better, he’ll take it.

feuilly goes to the party. jehan adores him, obviously. feuilly doesn’t, like... get what’s up with them, yet, since he didn’t watch french media growing up and therefore missed all of their child-stardom, but he likes them just fine, anyways. jehan’s like 20 and is blazed out of their mind and is having a medieval phase (one of many). feuilly is confused, but also within 90 minutes realizes that he would INSTANTLY throw hands with ANYONE if it was for jehan’s sake. so. 

jehan’s all like “go talk to grantaire! he knows all sorts of things about art! he’s working on painting me naked!” so feuilly goes to talk to the lump in the corner but like. listen. grantaire’s having a hard time. he doesn’t make an awesome first impression. not awful, just... he’s having a hard time. feuilly gets it. they become better friends a little later, mostly because bahorel keeps dragging feuilly around with him whenever he’s free. (not like feuilly minds)

but feuilly doesn’t make a move on bahorel again. because he must have misread the situation, right? otherwise they would have fucked. they’d BE fucking. too bad bahorel doesn’t like him like that. oh, well, at least they’re friends!

bahorel DOES like him like that. duh. feuilly’s awesome. but he hasn’t made a move on bahorel since that first afternoon. he’s probably just not that into bahorel, past the one-night-stand type stuff. oh, well, at least they’re friends!

life goes on. they hang out a lot. like, a LOT. they’re totally each other’s best friends. feuilly learns more french. (baz is actually super relieved when he can’t quite manage to get rid of the accent, even though he would never say so, because that would hurt feuilly’s feelings. baz tries not to act like a dick around feuilly, even though he kind of is one around other people, sometimes. he just... wants feuilly to like him.) feuilly gets absorbed into the group. he picks up another job, in addition to the work he’s doing for the gallery, and he’s making a little more money, which is good for both of them, because feuilly can afford meals that aren’t mostly rice, sometimes, and bahorel doesn’t have to spend all day every day wondering how he’s going to be able to get feuilly to let him pay for his food this time around. (if they were dating, baz thinks, if they were dating, he could take feuilly out for dinner and pay for it and pay for the wine and for the dessert, too, and feuilly wouldn’t be able to give him that look he shoots him whenever baz “accidentally” orders the wrong dish from the thai place down the road, so what if it always happens to be feuilly’s favorite, shut up, man, it’s a coincidence)

but feuilly’s making more money, so he decides to move out of his shitty attic apartment, because it kind of sucks, and it’s miniscule, and he’s an adult, damn it. he finds a new place that is marginally larger and marginally less shitty, and it’s not even that far away, just a couple blocks, and he tells baz he’ll be moving when his lease is up that year. 

bahorel just wants to beg him to move in with him, but he only has the one bedroom, and feuilly’s not his fucking boyfriend. so he helps feuilly move, because he’s a good buddy, and he gets hammered with grantaire, after, because grantaire is lonely for someone he hasn’t met yet and bahorel is terrified that feuilly isn’t going to want to hang out with him now that they aren’t neighbors anymore. 

feuilly, meanwhile, is across town at grantaire’s apartment (sans grantaire) getting blazed with jehan because he’s terrified that bahorel isn’t going to want to hang out with him now that they aren’t neighbors anymore. (jehan’s all 🥺You Are Always Welcome At My Humble Abode🥺 and feuilly’s very touched but he’s pretty sure he’s totally in love with bahorel and he’s scared and he’s also not sure that jehan even pays rent. so.)

they totally keep hanging out. obviously. (maybe a little bit less than they used to, but if baz thinks about that he’ll fucking cry.) bahorel feels a little bit like his heart is going to break, which is totally lame and which was not the plan when he agreed to help move a couch three years earlier. it’s just... there’s nobody like feuilly. there’s nobody even CLOSE to being like feuilly. and feuilly doesn’t like him. and so he spends a lot of time at grantaire’s place, and jehan finally gets their own apartment, so he’s free to cry into grantaire’s shoulder all he fucking wants.

feuilly goes on dates, sometimes. bahorel could totally treat him better than any of those dickheads. damn it.

bahorel hooks up with people, sometimes. feuilly could totally fuck him better than any of those dickheads. damn it.

and then grantaire gets a weird new roommate, or something. baz doesn’t know, fuck, nobody tells him jack shit. but he stops hearing from grantaire for a couple weeks, for the most part, and then he gets the party invite in the groupchat, and fuck, if there’s a housewarming party, he shall attend. feuilly mentions something to him about R’s new roomie being some philosopher, or something, but bahorel was kind of busy watching him fold up little origami flowers out of newspaper, so he missed all that. it’s cool, he’ll catch up.

apparently, grantaire’s roommate is from the 19th century. apparently, grantaire also has a massive fucking crush on him. huh.

when they first meet, feuilly and enjolras are kind of hilariously enamored by one another. not in a romantic way, just in a Very Intense Admiration type way. after they meet at the housewarming party, enjolras is like “I Must Find A Way To Speak With Feuilly Again, For He Is A Brilliant Mind And A Good Man” and combeferre is like... want me to invite him over? and enjy is like “No, I Must Pen Him A Letter. Yes. This Is A Good And Rational Plan.” (he spills coffee all over the letter right when he’s almost done and almost cries. ferre just invites feuilly over anyways.)

feuilly, of course, is freaking out about whether or not he can find a way to hang out with enjolras again. because! ahh!!! that’s François-Marie Enjolras, political revolutionary and philosopher!!!! feuilly’s read his essays like five times!!! what reason would he have to want to talk to feuilly? but also, like... he did want to talk to feuilly--at the party, he’d talked to feuilly for hours, and he’s so smart and a little funny and he’d listen to Feuilly go on and on about slavic history and he hadn’t looked bored once, and just- Ah!!!! and he’s trying to figure out if it would be weird if he asked enjolras if he’d want to meet over coffee when he gets combeferre’s text. (it’s something like, enjolras just composed a letter trying to ask you if you’d want to hang out with him do you want to come over before he uses up all of my printer paper? and then, also, don’t tell him i told you about the letter he’s kind of freaked about making a good impression) and feuilly’s just like. :o

and both grantaire and bahorel see enjolras and feuilly embarking on this sweet, awkward, smart person friendship and they’re like. Oh Shit. They’re In Love With Each Other. Shit. because of course feuilly would fall in love with enjolras--feuilly’s too smart for bahorel, anyways, baz has always known that, and it makes sense that he’d fall for someone who can keep up with him. and of course enjolras would fall in love with feuilly--feuilly is kind and super smart and he knows all sorts of things about modern philosophy and he’s hot, okay, and enjolras is too smart for grantaire, anyways. ugh. baz and R get hammered and cry about it together, but the shitty thing is that they can’t even be too angry, because it’s so obvious.

meanwhile, enjolras and feuilly are across town talking about their stupid crushes on their hot beefy friends. commiserating, yanno? feuilly’s all “sometimes i wish i just kissed him that first day i met him, sometimes i wish i hooked up with him at that party, maybe he would have started liking me after” and enjolras is all “why does he never wear shirts with SLEEVES, i do not know what to DO with myself!!!”

and then one day feuilly and baz are hanging out and baz is like “haha grantaire has the biggest crush on enjolras” (because he can’t keep a secret to save his life.) and feuilly’s like.... “grantaire likes enjolras?” and baz is like “uh YEAH dude. DUH” and feuilly’s like. “that can’t be right--enjolras told me grantaire doesn’t like him back” and baz is like... “bACK?” and then he’s like “WAIT ENJOLRAS DOESN’T LIKE YOU?” and feuilly is like... no?

they realize that their friends are idiots. and they try to help, really, they do--feuilly keeps suggesting that maybe, maybe, enjolras can’t know that grantaire doesn’t like him if he’s never actually asked, and he keeps pointing out things that grantaire does that nobody actually does if they’re not totally gone for somebody; bahorel is straight up just like “R bro enjolras wants to be your boy so bad” and R is like I Am Electing Not To Listen To You.

and then-

and then, they all go out to a bar together. they get hammered, etc. etc. and they’re laughing about how grantaire and enjolras are oblivious, how could they not know that they like each other, everybody keeps telling them to go for it, and then-

hold on.

hold on, because- because that’s what everybody tells bahorel about feuilly. that he should just go for it. that maybe it’s not as hopeless as he thinks. and feuilly’s just sitting there, and he’s so fucking pretty, sometimes, honestly, and bahorel loves him so much, and he’s drunk, and he can’t stand not knowing even a second longer. 

[everyonewasabird]

Brickclub 1.5.13 ‘Solution of some questions of the municipal police’

The first thing that strikes me is how Fantine and Javert both know the script. Others have spoken about how sex workers and police would have been in constant interaction--sex work was legal, but regulated, and everything sex workers did was subject to such constant and contradictory regulations that they could be arrested at any time.

Now that things have gone bad for Fantine, Javert follows his script, and Fantine goes meekly, because her side of the script has been drilled into her by now. They’re both part of the group of people who suffer from the law and who are harmed by it; Javert has made sure to rise to the top of that group, but the fact remains. Bamatabois is not part of that group and slunk off with no repercussions. Only the people downtrodden by the law need to have memorized its scripts.

I always think of Javert as someone who really likes scripts. Here, he’s bought into it so fully that he thinks in following it perfectly he’s being just.

Poor Fantine knows there’s no justice here, but there’s no way to explain that to Javert. There’s no argument she can make.

(How on earth is Bamatabois a voter? The text made it clear he was well off but not even well-off enough to be very notable in Paris--iirc, his income is half of Bahorel’s. Voting was restricted, I believe, to one half of one percent of the population.)

Both their reactions to Madeleine are so fantastically telling.

Fantine is just “Oh, so YOU’RE the mayor?” *spits in his face*--which just emphasizes that he’s been so hands off and distant with his workers that she doesn’t even know him by face.

And with Javert, we see yet more confirmation that his ideal has never, ever been the letter of the law as written but rather this script of common roles used in policing. Madeleine pulling rank on him doesn’t break the law, it breaks the script--as does the notion that Bamatabois (a Property Owner) could possibly be in the wrong.

I’d forgotten how affected Javert is by this scene! He’s described as experiencing the most violent emotions of his life, and as being “a statue waiting to be put back into position.” I love so much how gradual Javert’s fall is. I’m not sure this is the absolute first step on the descent--that might have been when he started harboring suspicions of a Mayor (GASP), but this is the first time it starts to break him.

(We’ve talked about autism spectrum Fantine, but... you know. A character just froze and went nonverbal because his script was taken away, and it’s all far too relatable. Anyway.)

Everything about Valjean has always kind of broken Javert from the very beginning. I love the unbalancedness of that dynamic: Valjean spends a decade disrupting Javert’s sacred status quo, throwing him off balance, and Ruining Everything, and as far as Valjean as concerned, Javert is more or less interchangeable with every other police officer.

Fantine’s vision of Javert and Madeleine as warring giants matches Valjean’s vision of Valjean versus the bishop the night after the candlesticks. LIke him, she has been given over to hatred and misery, and like him she has a vision of the struggle for her soul.

And she has the same initial resistance he did--her spitting in his face is either Valjean’s theft of the silver after the bishop’s kindness or it’s Petit Gervais.

Both of them experience this struggle as external. The bishop took Valjean’s soul in some sense forcibly, and though Valjean envisioned Jean Valjean as one of the participants in the hallucinatory struggle, he perceived him like some monster who was not himself. For Fantine, the struggle literally is waged by two other people, but it may be that the parallel is pointing in the other direction: that while this literal argument is happening, Valjean and Javert personify her own internal struggle over what to do with this mercy. Shall she remain in the law paradigm, or return to the humane one?

..Fantine is so much better at processing new information and acting on it than Valjean and Javert are. She just seems mentally flexible in a way that they aren’t. She’s not sure what’s going on, but she’s definitely getting out of this room as soon as she’s heard someone authoritative say she can. And when Madeleine saves her and she has to realize that, and then he tells her she has always been holy before God, and that she can be reunited with Cosette, she believes him. She has a level of faith Valjean has never had and a level of flexibility Javert isn’t capable of.

[demonsonthemoon]

Sunkissed, Sunburnt, Soothed

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

Read it on AO3.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He loved Enjolras.

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

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

He loved him all the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could Grantaire have said no ?

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

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

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

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

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

At least for a while.

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

Then Enjolras and Grantaire had a fight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's just the alcohol talking.”

“No. It's really not. I wish it was.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounds like you, yeah.”

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

“I missed you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It's not.”

“Will you take me back anyway?”

“Of course I will.”

[dameferre]

would you post all the descriptions you wrote for the les amis quiz? would love to read the ones for the characters i didn't get!

absolutely!

it’s pretty long so under the cut, here is the official results list for:

which member of les amis (&co.) are you? [quarantine edition]

enjolras

You’re loud in your politics and opinions and quiet in your affections. You love the friends you surround yourself with, you love people you’ve never met, and you’re willing to do whatever you can to make the world even a little bit better for them. You choose your words and actions carefully, though you do occasionally find yourself in fights you know you can’t win. You fight anyway. During quarantine, you should:Try to avoid feelings of helplessness. Direct your passions towards something you can change, even if it’s just a small improvement. If the improvement is for the benefit of someone else, even better.

courfeyrac

You don’t do, or feel, things by halves. You make your presence, opinions, and feelings known. You’re a confidant and shoulder to cry on, as well as a go-to partner in crime. You’re so confidently yourself it allows others around you to be more authentic versions of themselves, and those close to you never doubt that they are loved. During quarantine, you should:Let your vast stockpiles of confidence take a hit and try something new that you might not be great at right away. You’ll have plenty of time to practice until you’re as amazing at whatever it is as you’re sure you are at everything else.

combeferre

You're a voice of reason and the calm before the storm. You're methodical and constantly curious, always investigating, always learning, forming and reforming opinions and hypotheses. You're quiet but firmly supportive of the people in your life, and are always at hand to provide a steady voice, solid ground, and common sense. During quarantine, you should:Try not to overwhelm yourself with this abundance of time. Sure, zipping through your Goodreads yearly book goal in a week seems like a great idea in the moment, but you'll burn out quick. Just because you have the time doesn't mean you have to constantly make the most of it.

jehan

You find wonder and poetry in everything. You especially appreciate things that are complex, beautiful, well-worded, theatrical, bold and grand. You're soft-spoken but never at a loss for words. The world is full of poetic possibilities and fascinating discoveries and you're happy to drift through it, quietly observing them all. During quarantine, you should:Try to help others find the same poetry in the ordinary as you do. It's more important than ever now that we're all seeing the exact same ordinary. Every day. Indefinitely.

feuilly

You're just like. A really good person. Congrats! You believe that family is something you choose, and that there is always good in the world worth fighting for. You've never let hardship slow you down or take away your optimism. You're always trying to better yourself, your circumstances, and those of others.  During quarantine, you should:Indulge your need for community, and family, in whatever way that manifests. Don't let the isolation get to you.

bahorel

You live loudly, and passionately, and you love to make a statement (in any number of ways). Walking away from conflict has never been your strong suit, but making an entrance might be. Making friends comes easy to you, keeping them even easier.  During quarantine, you should:Reach out to your friends. Being stagnant doesn't come easy to you and interacting with others will help. If that doesn't work, maybe try a TikTok dance challenge.

joly

You've got some anxieties. Who doesn't, really, during times like these? But what's important is that you don't let them consume you, don't let them dull you. You balance taking some things a bit too seriously by not taking other things seriously at all, and this ability to balance makes you a lively presence and treasured friend. During quarantine, you should:Make sure you, and those around you, know the facts about what's going on. Weed out the fake news, and all the lies and bullshit meant to induce mass hysteria.

bossuet

You've got a distinctive sense of humor that's integral to the way you go through life. Either everyone thinks you're hilarious, or only you do. Either way, somebody's laughing, and that's really all that matters. Making the best out of less-than-ideal situations is probably your purpose in life, and you're always there when a friend needs a pick-me-up. During quarantine you should:Reach out to those people who may need a little help looking on the bright side of things.

grantaire

You maintain a vaguely unhealthy balance of not taking some things seriously enough and taking some things way too seriously. You have a lot of good qualities, but you'd be the last person to say so. Your friends would probably be worried about you, if you'd let them. You might have a tendency to push away the good things in your life, but at least you're having fun and living on your terms. Right? During quarantine you should:Acquire a new skill. You probably already have a bunch, but this specific skill is called loving yourself and convincing yourself that you deserve the good things in your life. And for the love of god, don't text your ex.(alternatively, say: 'grantaire is not the character i should be relating to.' in the mirror a few times; see if it helps)

eponine

You're a bit rough around the edges, and maybe depend on others for your happiness a bit too much. But you're clever, interesting and unique and when you find your people, you're loyal to them. You know how to spin difficult situations to your advantage, and are quick on your feet. During quarantine, you should:Take some time for self care and self love.

musichetta

You're the ultimate definition of a background character taking centre stage. You don't sell yourself short, and aren't afraid to go after what you want. You find comfort in humor, you're pragmatic, and you've got an easy-going nature that puts others at ease. During quarantine, you should:Remember to find ways to lighten the experience, even in unexpected areas.

cosette

You've been through a lot, but you're still smiling. You live your genuine truth, and refuse to let a cruel world dim your light. You take pleasure in the little things, and believe that beauty and love can be found anywhere, if given the right circumstances to grow. You know that while things may never be perfect, they can always get better, and there's something beautiful in that possibility. During quarantine, you should:Not force yourself to be always positive all the time. Maybe you've been through shittier situations, and maybe some people have it worse, but it's okay to acknowledge that this specific situation sucks, and you wish you could just fucking go outside.

marius

Sure sometimes you can be a) a goof or b) a bit basic, but you've got a good heart, and life's hard. No one can fault you for living it in your way. You might not always know the right thing to say, or do, but you're sincere and your heart's in the right place, so you always seem to make it work in the end. Your feelings exist in extremes, and there's little you wouldn't do for the people you love. During quarantine, you should:Expand your horizons a little bit, see what's out there. You've got the time. Also, please don't text your ex.

[pilferingapples]

Hi!! I'm so sorry if this question comes off as stupid or uninformed, but I've always had it since I've read Les Mis... how does Bahorel manage his expenses? He comes from a peasant background and I'm guessing his parents weren't able to endow him with much wealth. Yet, he's been enrolling (though not attending) in law classes for eight years, so he must be paying for each year's tuition. I don't have the book on me, but I think I remember it saying that he had a fair bit of money to spend (or maybe I'm remembering that wrong.) But where does he get all this money from? Does he have a job? Or maybe I'm just stupid and farmers do get paid well? I don't know.

..Ok, you know what, Nonny? Not only are you not at all stupid, attempting to answer this question has rocked the very foundations of my understanding of what's going on here! Herein is a Mystery!! Indeed I cannot give you an answer, but I hope you'll journey with me as I explore some New (to me!) Questions!

So , first off, the Known Facts:

Bahorel's parents are peasants! The narration in 3.4.1 says so:

Il avait des parents paysans (he had peasant parents)

and Bahorel, in 3.4.1 , says so :

Il disait d'eux: Ce sont des paysans, et non des bourgeois; c'est pour cela qu'ils ont de l'intelligence (he said of them: They are peasants, and not bourgeois; that is why they're intelligent)

And peasants are of course kind of famously Not Very Wealthy ,but...

Il mangeait à rien faire une assez grosse pension, quelque chose comme trois mille francs.

and here the plot thickens and i enter the land of Linguistic Mystery!

Hapgood translates that line as :

He wasted a tolerably large allowance, something like three thousand francs a year, in doing nothing.

Donougher says

He consumed quite a considerable allowance, something like three thousand francs a year, doing nothing.

Rose:

He ate up a fairly large allowance, something like three thousand francs, doing nothing.

FMA:

Doing nothing he ate up a rather large allowance, something like three thousand francs.

Now I don't have my Wilbour with me, and I don't care what Denny says, but either way, the trend is clear, right? Every translator says "allowance" . Every translator says "allowance" ! And in modern English (and Rose and Donougher at the least are very definitely trying to be modern English friendly!) "allowance", in this context, would mean money from the family-- the allowance for a young adult in college. Right?

This is what I assumed! This is what everyone I know assumed !

BUT IT MIGHT BE WRONG?!?

look again at the French:

Il mangeait à rien faire une assez grosse pension, quelque chose comme trois mille francs.

The part being translated as "a large allowance" is "une assez gross pension". And that is not the French word for allowance! At least, not in the "money from home" sense.

What IS the word for "allowance" (in the money-from-parents sense)? Well, there are a lot of options. Allocation, indemnité, (those two are the words specifically used in examples about students getting money from home!) argent de poche. But pension doesn't seem to be it!

What does "pension" mean? Well, it can mean the money paid to a school or hotel for upkeep--but that would be money that was paid to the school , not something Bahorel was free to use on "nothing" (and also Paris law school was not a boarding school!); it really really doesn't work in context here, and seems to have been an unusual usage anyway.

Aside from that, and a far more common use, a pension was almost always used to mean...well, a pension ! an amount of money paid regularly by the government or a former employer, or paid out regularly from an individual's personal savings/investments.

So if I'm right about this reading of it (and I might not be!) , I think the question hidden in Bahorel's intro isn't "how can his parents afford to support him" but "how the heck is Bahorel, who is , realistically, all of 29 at most, and has been a student for 11 years, already getting a pension ??"

Most of the options seem iffy-- a job he did well enough at that they felt obligated to give him a pension at 2- years old, but didn't want to stay at?? a careful savings accumulated when he was what, 10?? --but there's certainly room for ideas there! (and yes I have indeed been having a lot of fun batting ridiculous theories around with friends today, but--)

I suspect the easiest answer on this is the one Hugo was probably thinking of-- a pension from the government for some sort of Art. That was the first source of financial stability for Hugo when he was in his 20s, after all-- a small but reliable pension for his first volume of poetry-- and he does frame Bahorel as being a very active Romantic, which sort of implies some sort of artistic output.

(...if that's right, it means Bahorel is fighting passionately to overthrow the government that's paying him a regular stipend. He can't be bought out!XD)

Anyway! I was going to get into theories on how Bahorel's parents could be supporting him, but now I think..honestly...they may not be?? Thank you for this question , you've caused me to reassess a very well-known passage! (sources used: Linguee, Wordreference, the 19C word enteries from this collection of dictionary entries over the decades!)

[mysunfreckle]

i don't know if you're taking requests right now, but if you are, would you please write some more ace!enjolras? (i love your writing by the way!)

I don’tthink I’ve ever written and Enj that wasn’t ace-spec, but I’m guessing youmeant my Modern Means Less Miserable Enjolras, so here you go! ^^

The cocktail party

ExR Pining, Friendship Fluff, 1.7k, cw alcohol.

Enjolras isnot really in the habit of questioning why parties happen. Partly because hegrew up with Courfeyrac, but also because it doesn’t really matter. Not as longas it means that his friends are happy and he gets to be around them.

For thisparty, however, Enjolras is very aware of the reason. The reason is that Jehanand Bahorel are of the opinion that adult life did not include as many cocktailparties a they had been led to believe and this is an attempt to remedy this.

Which iswhy Enjolras is currently drinking third (?) strawberry daiquiri and happilywatching Feuilly teach Bahorel how to juggle with limes.

They’re atBahorel’s house, of course. The only place with enough  actual party space for all of them. There’s noone to bother them here either, since the last of his roommates also seems tohave taken off last month. Weird, that.

Enjolrastakes another sip from the pretty glass.

“Enj! Enj!”

Enjolrassmiles at the sudden presence of Courfeyrac’s arms around his middle.

“Hey Courf,having a good time?”

“The best,”Courfeyrac beams, letting go after one more tight squeeze. “I’m gonna fetchBaz’ guitar.”

He dartsoff again before Enjolras can stop him and that’s really rather disappointingbecause Courfeyrac gives good hugs and hugs are nice and if Courfeyrac couldstay still for more than a minute at the time Enjolras could hug him back. Thatnever happens until much later at the parties though, when Courfeyrac has gonea bit sleepy and feels like leaning on people.

Actually,that sounds like a wonderful idea. Because he’s not sleepy, but he is tired, and he wants another hug.

Enjolrasputs his empty glass down on the nearest flat surface, deciding that he’sdefinitely had enough to drink for tonight. Those were a bit stronger than what he’s used to. He should go get a glass ofwater. And find someone to hug, or lean on, or both. Except Courf is so muchsmaller than him. Too small to comfortably lean against. Or maybe that isn’tright. Because Grantaire is also smaller than him – not that much smaller, but still – and he looks like the perfect sizeto lean against. He certainly does now anyway, sitting hunched over in a cornerwith Musichetta.

Enjolrascan’t quite see what they’re doing, but he cansee Grantaire is wearing one of his soft sweaters. He’s leaning his head closeto Chetta’s and Enjolras can just see the edge of a grin as he talks.

The smileon Enjolras face is as undeliberate as the decision to move towards them.

…

“Honestlythough, Chetta,” Grantaire tuts. “I’m disappointed in you. What is even the point of doing my nails if they don’tglitter.”

“Listen,”Chetta sniffs. “When you boys stop using my purse as a cargo bay, I may haveroom to bring more than three colours.” She traces the edges of Grantaire’sthumb nail with expert precision. “Anyway, you’re getting the bi flag, so don’tcomplain. And stop twitching your fingers!”

Grantairemakes an effort to keep one hand still while snapping the fingers of the otherand Chetta gives him an exasperated look. It’s one of her best, and Grantairemeets it with a grin. There are very few things more comfortable than beingfussed over by Musichetta. Grantaire is low-key convinced that’s the reviewthat all her clients would give her, if they felt like they could get away withit: “A+ wedding planner. 10/10 would be fussed over and shepherded again.”

Before hecan put this into words in an appropriately witty and teasing manner, however,something happens that he isn’t prepared for in any way.

Enjolrascomes out of nowhere, sinks down next to him like the sun setting after atiring day and…drapes himself against Grantaire from behind to look over hisshoulder.

He smellslike strawberries.

That is asfar as Grantaire can get his brain to supply anything even slightly informativebefore he freezes completely.

“What areyou guys doing?” Enjolras asks and Grantaire may not be able to move or thinkright now, but he’s still very awareof the fact that Enjolras’ breath is ghosting past his neck.

The nextthing he’s aware of is that Enj sounds…

“I’mpainting R’s nails,” Musichetta says pleasantly. “You okay there, Enj? Yousound a bit wobbly.”

“I’m fine,”Enjolras mumbles. “I wanted to sit down, and I wanted to sit down here,because…”

There is ashort pause for a deep sigh and Grantaire’s eyes meet Chetta’s for a moment.There is a smile pulling on her mouth that is a few steps ahead of Grantaire’s,he’s still stuck on the simultaneously hilarious and frankly distressing notionthat Enjolras is drunk.

“…because Ilike you both so much,” Enj finisheswith a sigh.

He restshis chin on Grantaire’s shoulder and it is literal torture to Grantaire that hecan’t move right now. Not to push Enj off, of course, that would be heinous.Probably a crime of the same calibre as moving when a cat has curled up on yourlap. But Musichetta is still stubbornly painting his nails and Grantaire needsto have photographic evidence of what is going on right now, because he’spretty sure that his brain is going to do it’s best to convince him it neverhappened in the morning. Enjolras is mutteringto himself for fuck’s sake.

On the onehand, part of his brain is definitely still malfunctioning at the fact thatEnjolras is literally pressed up against him all of a sudden, but on the other,Enjolras is drunk and mumbly and trying to cuddle him. For lack of a betterword. And that is the strongest proof he’s had so far that at some point,somehow, he has actually managed to convey to Enjolras that he can be trusted.That he can be his friend and nothing else.

“Enj, you’rea treasure,” Musichetta says warmly. “And you’re keeping R still for me, thankyou for that.”

Grantaireis halfway through narrowing his eyes at her, when Enjolras shifts and says:“Oh, should I move? I didn’t–”

“No,”Grantaire stops him hastily, and he adds, quickly switching to his jokingvoice: “By all means, use me as a recliner.”

“I’m not,”Enjolras protests, but he stops pulling away and that’s all Grantaire wantsright now.

“You havenice hands, Chetta,” Enjolras yawns. His hair is tickling Grantaire’s face withthe way it’s nearly leaning against him.

“Thankyou,” Musichetta smiles, and Grantaire makes a mental note to ask her what kindof superpowers she taps into to keep from making the gleeful noises ofamusement he can see in her eyes.

“They’re sosmall compared to R’s.”

This timeMusichetta doesn’t reply, she just bites her lip, and Grantaire takes a fullthirty seconds to curse his former self for not actually taking out his phoneand not just taking a picture, but filming the whole damn thing. Especiallysince Enjolras seems to be trying to hide his face in his hoodie at the moment.

“Enj,” hesays, trying to cover up the fondness in his voice with as mockingly serious atone he can muster. “If you fall asleep on me, I will ruin this nail polish just to take a picture of you and getBossuet to caption it with a pun. This is nothing personal, it is just aninevitability.”

Enjolraschooses not to turn his head before he replies and Grantaire wishes he couldunderstand the indignant answer muttered into his hoodie, he really, reallydoes.

…

The thingwith having a fairly low alcohol tolerance that makes him go very lazy and verycuddly early on, is that Enjolras rarely actually has hangovers. And hecertainly never wakes up the next day with fuzzy gaps in his memory.

So when hedoes wake up the following morning, he gets to remember absolutely everything.Only now, with his sober self present and in a position to re-evaluate everysingle thing he did last night in terribledetail.

Enjolrasgroans and hides his face into his pillow.

He shouldnot have done that to Grantaire. Not after all the effort it took them to getwhere they are today. It’s selfish, and completely inconsiderate of Grantaire’sfeelings. Because Enjolras is awareof Grantaire’s feelings. There’s just a sort of unspoken agreement that theywill both act as if he doesn’t. Because. Well. His feelings are…different.

Outside hisbedroom door Enjolras can hear the sounds of Combeferre having a sternconversation with the coffee maker. They both have work to do today. So thatprobably means Ferre will come wake him up soon.

He rollsover, making a genuine effort to actually wake up. And push those regretfulthoughts from his mind. What’s done is done. He could text Grantaire toapologize, but it wouldn’t do any good. Probably wouldn’t do anything but callattention to it all and what use is that. Maybe Grantaire doesn’t mind as muchas he should. He rarely does…

He canapologize by watching himself more closely next time. And, possibly, watch Jehan a little bit more closely whilethey’re mixing the drinks. So he doesn’t end up doing something like thisagain.

Except, itreally had seemed like Grantaire didn’t mind. He had made jokes like he alwaysdid. He hadn’t laughed that tense, slightly too-harsh laugh he so often used to awhile ago. He had just been the way Enjolras had come to know him lately. JustGrantaire. Not nervous around him or provoking him or upset with him. Just,good. And it’s been like that. Good.

Maybethat’s why he did it. Because Enjolras can’t quite recapture what exactly wasgoing through his head just before he made the decision to slump againstGrantaire and stubbornly refuse to move in favour of warmth and softness, buthe does remember what it felt like. Allof it. And he’s not going to do it again, of course, he shouldn’t. He won’t. But,he kind of wishes he could.

[lenezdansleruisseau]

Pilfering apples is all right, as long as it’s blessed by Aphrodite

This fic had been inspired by this post by @grand-r-siecle (today you’re being a great source of inspiration apparently). Hope you like it!

There had been some long and warm summer days in Athens in the last weeks. A handful of students of the Lyceum had decided to escape the heavy and sultry atmosphere of the city in the orchards just outside the walls. 

There, between the trees, the air seemed lighter and cooler and subjects that had seemed impossible to remember in the stagnating classroom’s air came to their minds easily and quickly and soon the young students had found themselves discussing Socrates and Protagoras or Euripides’ last plays and even about the best ways to write about history. 

They were all bright and passionate students and they were able to discuss all the more contemporary subjects using the more in-fashion arguments of their time. And even if one of them preferred to cry over Socrates’ death, while another was happier declaiming Achilles’ menacing speech in front of Ector Shining-Helmet and another one still could not stop talking about Pericles’ politics, they were a tight-knit group of friends and they enjoyed each other company more than anything else in Hellas. 

Only one of them, usually the first to throw himself in a discussion about the decadence of satire or ignite an argument on the last popular architect, remained aloof, some feet away from the others, legs dangling down from an apple tree’s branch, head hidden in the leaves and eyes lost in a sky as blue as Athena’s irises. 

“I’m ready to bet my other shoe that that apple isn’t yours,” Bossuet commented leaning on the apple tree’s trunk on which his friend was hiding. 

Grantaire looked down and noticed that Bossuet was missing his left sandal. 

“Did Zeus, looking down from his bed of light and clouds, noticed your godly beauty and finally decided to steal you away only to lose you because of those broken and old-as-the-Tartar sandals?” he asked with a smirk on his face.

Bossuet laughed amused by R’s usual extravagant narration and shook his head with false distress.

“Unfortunately, I merely tried to hit Bahorel on the head with it and instead I hit a donkey that decided to munch on it as revenge,” he explained.

“You have to be careful with donkeys, my friend, they are the sacred animals of some mystical Egyptian deity and you never know what they may scheme against you,” Grantaire said thoughtfully and then went back to do whatever he had been doing before Bossuet came to disturb him. 

“May I know what is so important to you that you completely dismiss your friends to devote all your attention to it?” Bossuet asked. His words were reprimanding, but his voice was understanding: R sometimes needed time alone with his own thoughts and if that was one of those times, Bossuet was more than ready to leave him be. 

“I was thinking today,” Grantaire said after a long stretch of silence, “that I’m pretty sure that Aphrodite Destroyer-of-men hates me.”

Bossuet sighed silently, that was something he had already heard coming from his friend’s mouth. 

“I mean, yes, she blessed me with this breath-taking face and a body that could easily be mistaken for one of the statues of the Parthenon, but still it seems that not even one of the Gorgons themselves would want to share his bed with me,” he went on dripping sarcasm from every word.

Bossuet thought to remind him of the boy from the gymnasium he was bragging about just the day before but he quickly changed his mind: first of all, being R, well, R it was not impossible that that had been a lie and, secondly, Bossuet was pretty sure Grantaire wasn’t sulking because no one would share his bed, but because a very specific someone wasn’t. 

A very specific someone who at that moment was passionately talking about what Golden Age could enter the entire Hellas if only Athen and Sparta could look past their difference and build a union of free cities with a democratic government. 

“So you thought the best course of action was to become a crow and pilfer some apples from a tree which is definitely not yours,” concluded Bossuet trying to cheer him up a little. 

“Magpies are the ones that steal stuff, not crows,” Grantaire corrected, his eyes still focused on the apple on which he was carving something with a small knife. 

“But crows are the ones who sulk,” Bossuet replied quickly and R grunted, but his friend could tell he was hiding a laugh. 

“I decided to write the marriage vow on this apple and the first unfortunate girl who’ll happen to pick it up will be bound to me forever.”

“You truly are an evil and sulking crow,” Bossuet said teasingly. He mused if the best way to comfort his friend was to climb on the tree with him, but, remembering the last time he tried to climb a tree, decided against it. 

“I’m not sulking,” Grantaire protested.

“Oh, my friend, just because Enjolras...”

“And who are you to talk? You and Joly have been blushing after that seamstress for months now and with what results?” Grantaire said accusingly moving his hands with an exasperated gesture in the air. 

The apple flew away from his grip, forgotten in the heat of the moment, a disappeared among the green leaves. 

Bossuet had the perfect response on the tip of his tongue, but it died there because not even a moment later an unmistakable voice exclaimed: “Ouch!”

And in an instant, Enjolras was at Bossuet’s side holding the carved apple in his hands and with a confused expression on his face. 

“If you didn’t want me here, you just needed to ask instead of throwing fruit at me,” he said aiming maybe for some humor, but mostly missing the mark. 

“It wasn’t like that, I didn’t mean to throw it,” Grantaire hurried to explain frantically, “could you please give it back to Bossuet now?” 

Enjolras wasn’t listening though, he was too distracted by the words carved on the apple’s skin. 

“What is it?” he asked squinting at it. 

“Nothing!” exclaimed both Grantaire and Bossuet with different level of panic, but it was too late. 

“I swear, on the sanctuary of Aphrodite, that I’ll marry Grantaire,” Enjolras read out loud and then stopped abruptly. 

Long seconds of tense silence stretch on while the meaning of what he had just done dawned on Enjolras. Grantaire was contemplating if deciding to spend the rest of his days on that tree wasn’t, in fact, a more merciful idea than actually have to face what had just happened. 

The Bossuet started laughing loudly, bent over with the force of it, and broke the tenseness of the moment. 

“I’d be too young to marry without my father’s consent anyway,” Enjolras murmured red as the apple still in his hands with a small smile which probably meant he was aiming for a joke again. 

“Yes, yeah, of course... too young,” Grantaire stuttered. 

“Well, I’m going back with the others then. Are you two coming?” he asked trying to watch everywhere but Grantaire’s direction. 

“We’re just behind you,” Bossuet answered still out of breath from the laugh. 

Once Enjolras had disappeared once again behind the trees, Grantaire jumped down from his branch looking sort of disoriented. 

“You can never talk about it with anyone,” he said menacingly to Bossuet. 

“Yes, of course, I’m absolutely going to keep this story a secret,” he replied with the voice of someone who was just waiting for the right moment to tell exactly everyone what had just happened. 

“Juno, Heracles, and all the Olympians I have the worst friends in the whole cosmos,” Grantaire complained throwing his hands in the air and he hurried to follow Enjolras amongst the trees. 

Bossuet just smiled.

Maybe it wasn’t the right time to make him notice that Enjolras had kept the apple, after all. 

[midasinc]

les amis and toxic traits (affectionate and derogatory):

-courfeyrac has a bad habit of being on his phone when he's with friends. he's mostly either just swiping through his dating app or texting someone on his dating app and he isn't aware that it's really rude. he's also really bad about borrowing money and not giving it back. if he asks for a couple euro for the metro, you will never get it back. he comes from a rich background and money is something that he forgets not everybody has. feuilly is the only one who holds him accountable for it because "i bought you a drink at the pub two weeks ago and you still owe me and i need to pay rent this week :/"

-enjolras is a pen clicker. oh. my god. he clicks pens at the speed of light and if someone asks him to stop, he'll apologize but then start again like thirty seconds later. it is so. fucking. annoying. also i love him but he's really self-righteous and won't admit when he's wrong. when someone has an opinion that differs his own, he can only see things in black or white. you're on his side, or you're wrong. this also applies to other's and their choices in what they do. he always donates the extra euro when he's checking out at a store for whatever donation project is going and if you don't he will give you the stink eye and publicly ask why you won't. no recyclable grocery bags? he will call you out and badger you until you buy one. you accidentally left the light on when you exited the room? oh my god. he has such good intentions but he forgets that not everybody might be as financially secure as him and not everybody is thinking about it at all times. he wants what's good for the world but it really gets on other people's nerves sometimes

-joly is really similar to enjolras in the sense that he calls people out for their health choices without thinking about their situation. he's getting better about it, but he has criticized grantaire to hell and back about all of his bad habits and not in a nice way. he's really harsh when someone is self-destructive or literally just picks like a soda at a restaurant over water. he wants his friends to be healthy but jesus fucking christ dude. no one asked for your opinion, now is not the time.

-feuilly only eats frozen meals. he only lives on lean cuisines. JEHBJWEHRWJH but also this dude smokes cigs a lot and forgets that smoke and tobacco makes some people feel sick or nauseated. he smokes in his apartment even when people are over and doesn't really think it's that big of a problem. enter: enjolras, who has asthma, and just walked through a cloud and starts hacking. anyway, he also gets really defensive when people call him out on it. it's his choice to smoke and whenever someone is like "hey maybe you might want to cut back" when he's buying a new pack of smokes after buying one three days before, he'll get super snappy and rude because it feels like an attack on him

-speaking of nicotine! jehan vapes and i have no room to speak on this subject bc let's not talk about my juul but they are in denial that it's also a problem. they're like "it's healthy shut up" but will go through pods so fast that it's genuinely comparable to feuilly's same bad habit. they started juuling bc they thought the flavours were yummy and it was cool and oh my god. jehan is also really blunt with their sense of humour and doesn't realize that not everybody thinks its funny. walking into a room and just being like "lmaoooo grantaire you look like shit today" and everybody is kind of like "...hm". combeferre is actually good about calling them out on that sort of stuff, though. if jehan realizes they're in the wrong, they'll apologize

-combeferre is. such. a fucking. movie talker. he just has so much to say at every minute of the movie and it's the worst (this is also me so self-roast). nobody likes to watch movies with him because "dude we just want to watch the fucking movie oh my god". he's also really pretentious and a gatekeeper. if you like the same band as him "oh really? well name three songs-" in a way that makes whoever he's feeling to feel stupid. combeferre really prides himself on his intellect, but it goes too far most of the time and it just comes across as super condescending and a lot of people get annoyed talking with him because it just feels like he's talking down at them the whole time

-marius is also super blunt but not in a way that's meant to be funny. he has absolutely walked into a room and gone "oh enjolras your haircut looks so bad im so sorry :(". and similarly to courfeyrac, he forgets the value of money. he's definitely asked people to go somewhere and has said like "yeah! the concert tickets are like 250 euro which is actually super cheap :)" and feuilly is just. dying inside. he intends to be nice, he just says so much stupid shit. he isn't purposely being a bad guy.

-bossuet never re-fills a roll of toilet paper if he's the last to use it. you do not know how annoying it is to room with this guy. grantaire has absolutely shouted "HOW HARD IS IT TO GRAB ANOTHER TUBE???" from the shitter and bossuet just denies it because it embarrasses him. he's also bad about cleaning dishes and will leave a cup in the sink for weeks if it isn't cleaned by someone else or threateningly left in front of his bedroom door. i love u bae but please clean up after yourself

-grantaire is the fucking worst. i love him but he is the worst. he is so self-deprecating to the point where a lot of people just won't be around him because you can only take so much self-pity before it becomes annoying as hell. he's never accepted a compliment and is one of those "omg no my art is so fucking ugly i hate it so much" when someone says they like a sketch or a painting he did and it is just. so annoying. he's also just super bad about caring about him self. baby forgets to shower and wash his hair and wear deodorant and it's like babe. baby. listen- we are not 13 year old boys anymore, we are men and we need to shower. take your zoloft and let's clean up your room <3

-bahorel is a babe but he's too rough with people. he'll slap someone on the back so hard that they choke on their drink. he's also bad about jokes going too far and just being kind of an asshole he'll snatch up something courfeyrac is holding and hold it up high and courf is 5'5 and bahorel is 6'3 and it is just unfair and unfunny and courfeyrac is not laughing and it just gets old so fast. he thinks people are having fun with him but baby they r not. everybody here is givin you the stink eye, just let the bit die

[revolutionnaire-farouche]

Eleutherios (Enjolras x Reader)

I don't own the image!

Summary: It's Grantaire's birthday and the best way to celebrate it it's a thematic party.

Warnings: None!

Notes: This is for @writingsoftheloser 1k Challenge, you probably passed that mark already, but congratulations, you really deserve it, I'm so proud ♥️ My prompt was Ancient Greece and I really had fun making it! I'll try to be more active, but I'm lacking on inspiration lately, sorry. I hope you'll enjoy this!

"There's no way I'm going out like this," a voice said behind the bathroom door, with a very obvious complain tone in his voice.

"C'mon! It's Grantaire's birthday and he really wanted to do this costume party. Don't be so grumpy, I'm sure you look good" you said to the closed door. It was already kind of late, but you were already ready.

Grantaire had planned this party weeks ago, it was his twenties party, and he was really excited about it and its theme. It was a Greece thematic party. You already had your costume on: you were going as Nyx in this one. You had a long black dress with long sleeves that had details in golden and, on your head, you had a golden stars crown. Your make up was already done and it matched your dress with black lipstick and gold and black eyeshadow and some golden highlighter. The only thing that was holding you from going to the party was Enjolras, who was supposed to be dressed as Apollo - thing that Grantaire found very funny. In that moment, it sounded like Enjolras didn't like the idea that much.

"I seriously look ridiculous" Enjolras added from inside the bathroom.

"Maybe if you come out of there I could see you and give you my own opinion" you said while rolling your eyes.

Finally, he came out of there. He had a white toga, with little details in gold as well. A pair of sandals, and his hair was adorned with a laurel wreath between his blond curls. In his hands, he had a lyre. He looked adorable.

"You look beautiful and I look like this" he said, and you could see a little blush in his cheeks.

"What are you saying? You look amazing," you grabbed his hand, squeezing it a little bit. "I'd kiss you, but I'll ruin my makeup"

"Do I really need to wear this?" he added a last complain, even if he knew that he had to.

"Yes, you do. Everyone is going to be dressed up too" you smiled at him, before checking your phone. "And we're kind of late already, let's get going."

Enjolras just rolled his eyes and followed you downstairs from his apartment. You had to pick up Courfeyrac and Combeferre on your way. Grantaire had given each of you the name of a greek god on a piece of paper and nobody could tell the others what god you've got, so it'd be a surprise at the party.

Once you were outside Combeferre and Courfeyrac's house, you send a message to Combeferre, who always answered more quickly, and in just some minutes you could see them both stepping out of the door. Combeferre had a hat with wings, combined with sandals with wings too and a white toga. Courfeyrac, on the other side, had a white fabric wrapping around his waist, a quiver on his back and a bow on his hand, and his face had lipstick kisses’ marks all over his face. You and Enjolras couldn't help but laugh.

"I would not laugh so much!" Courfeyrac said while he entered the car.

"Say hello to Eros and Hermes" Combeferre said, almost in a solemn tone, "Pleasure to see you again, Apollo and Nyx"

"It was pretty obvious you were going to be Apollo, chief" Courfeyrac said with a smile, peeping from the back sit and gaining a glance from Enjolras.

"Yeah, but it doesn't get old" you said, while touching the laurel wreath over the blond's head.

Enjolras kept driving to Grantaire's house for a few minutes, until you finally got there. You got out of the car, followed by the others; you showed Courfeyrac your full costume and he did the same, while Enjolras and Combeferre walked to the door, waiting for you both. Once you joined them, you saw how the door was decorated with bay branches and a sign that said "Olympus" in golden letters; you could even hear music already coming from inside. Combeferre finally rang the doorbell, while you were still convincing Enjolras that he didn't look stupid - conversation that gained laughs from Courfeyrac.

A few minutes passed before the door finally opened. Grantaire appeared with a white toga, a bottle of wine in his hand and a leaves’ crown decorated with grapes. He was definitely Dionysus. He was already really happy, but you couldn't tell if it was him or the wine.

He quickly greeted all of you and invited you to come in.

"We were expecting you! You were the last ones left. What took you so long?" Grantaire said, and he started laughing when he saw you discreetly pointing at Enjolras.

"I see. Anyway, you all look amazing" he said looking the costumes from top to bottom.

"You too! Not as amazing as I look, but you look cute anyway" Courfeyrac said winking.

"Rude" Grantaire added laughing, "Let's join the others in the garden"

Grantaire guided you outside, even if you already knew how to get there. All the others were already there. Cosette had her blond hair decorated with pink flowers and she had a pink dress that combined really well with it: of course she was Aphrodite. Eponine, on the other hand, had her hair tied up and she had a crown with a moon on it, with golden sandals, a light green short dress and a bow and arrow on her hand: she was Artemis. Bahorel had something that looked like an armor, a helmet on his head, a red cape, a spear on one hand and a shield in the other: Ares goes pretty well with his personality. Jehan quickly greeted you and called you mom in a playful tone; he had a light blue toga and a silver crown: after some thinking you came to the conclusion he was Aether. Joly had a toga and his cane decorated with a fake snake, which made pretty obvious that he was Asclepius. He had Musichetta grabbing his free arm. She had a white dress, a wreath of ivy in her hair, golden boots and she had a smiling mask in her hand: she looked just like Thalia.

Not far from them, Bossuet was taking a sip of his drink; he had a crown of orange leaves and a pair of wings on his back: he was the god of the unlucky east wind, Eurus. Marius had a toga decorated with a few white flowers and a bridal torch on his hand: you thought it was clever of Grantaire to make him Hymenaios, god of marriage. And last but not least, you saw Feuilly - or Hephaestus in this occasion - with a hammer on his hand and a toga with drawings that imitated fire.

"Well, now that everyone is finally here we can get this started!" Grantaire screamed while climbing to a table, with a bottle in his hand. Immediately everyone cheered him.

After a few minutes almost everyone had a drink in their hand and even more happiness was showing. You stopped just to stare at them and your heart filled with joy. You were so happy and lucky to be part of that beautiful group, that family. But you left that cheesiness aside, and enjoyed the rest of the night.

[thevagueambition]

Bahorel, Fantine, and Grantaire (of course R is here)

Bahorel: Have you ever been in a fight?

As a child, definitely. My response to being bullied was kicking the person doing the bullying lmao (I was never that badly bullied, but I was an easy target for upperclassmen because I got really angry really easily). 

And as a teenager I felt the need to proof I was tough so I would like bro hit guys in the shoulder without actually getting that you’re not supposed to put much force behind that and anyway I def got into some playfights that ended up closer to actual fights because I was an idiot lmao

Not as an adult, though. I definitely think the last times I was in anything close to a fight was when I was 16 (well, discounting fencing matches, but a formalised match =/= a fight). 

Fantine: What’s the biggest sacrifice you’ve made for someone?

I don’t think I’ve ever really sacrificed anything tangible. One time I had work really early in the morning but one of my friends was really upset so I let them come over and talk it out and sleep at my place. But you know, I often went to work on very little sleep back when I had that job. I also once left a lecture to go to the hospital with a friend. Those sorts of things, you know? 

If a friend or my brother or whoever needs me, I’m going to do my best to be there for them. But I haven’t really had to give anything up for anyone thus far.

Grantaire: What is one thing that inspires you?

Fiction, I guess? That’s why fanfiction (and art) is such a thing for me; very often existing fiction gives me countless ideas for other scenarios in that world or with those characters or just in that genre. Like even my original works often have direct reference points from existing works. 

And history inspires me too, of course. I love learning about the type of systems people lived under because then I can imagine interesting people who lived under them. Also, historical clothes is a lot of fun to draw/take inspiration from when drawing fantasy. 

I suppose one of the reasons I’ve always felt like more of a craftsman than a capital-A Artist is because when I feel most inspired, what I’m drawing is characters, not like… complete paintings or illustrations. What I think can inspire me about art is interesting pose or maybe the colour use more so than anything else. I might like certain landscape paintings but they usually don’t inspire me in any real way.

I really like taking walks around the city as well since the simple act of looking at the places around me (particularly all the older buildings along the canals *O*) is inspiring to me. 

I’m known for taking ages in museums because I’m always like “well now that I’m here I’m going to get as much out of this exhibition as is humanly possible” so I’d say museums as well (see “history” and “art” lmao).

So… the world around me in general, I guess, lmao? Nature isn’t generally a big source of inspiration for me aside from the ocean, but that might just be because I’m rarely around much nature aside from it. 

(This answer is worthy of R because it’s the longest and most rambly yes this is the justification I’m using)

[akallabeth-joie]

Episode 5

Well, here goes nothing. This week is hot chocolate with schnapps, for fortifying comfort.

*JVJ is on wanted posters. Because almost twenty years ago he stole 40 sous and no-showed his parole. Thank you, Officer “Lampshade” Rivette for mentioning the ill-defined discontent among the populace, but old bread crimes are definitely the best use of police resources.

*No larger issue? I mean, I was going to add 100 words for OOC (though the single-minded hunt for JVJ instead of doing any other work is basically in character for this Javert), but they actually went ‘JVJ is responsible for all revolutionary activity’ which is it’s own level of WTF. +500, because this just jumped the shark. Somehow.

*A tender moment with Madame T still caring for her daughters. I guess they aren’t in the Madellonettes if the girls are with her (are they all together in Saint-Lazare?)

*Weeks? Cholera doesn’t work like that, Enjolras.

*Also, you really don’t have the numbers for a serious rebellion. And, I’m taking this weak-sauce ‘strategy’ as evidence that the 1830 Revolution didn’t take place in this universe.

*I’m probably not supposed to be flashing to Holy Grail’s plague village, but that’s absolutely what this scene is reminding me of. Also, I’m disappointed in Patron-Minette’s jailbreak. I want Montparnasse bringing in an expert, ie, Gavroche, for wall-climbing shenanigans! +100

*Are there no leeches among you, O Parisian jail guards? 

*If you must have a side-part, Cosette, add a second one, and angle them to center for that V line which is actually fashionable. Also, please dress your hair already. +100 fashion, but I’m limiting this to 1/offense/episode.

*No, Eponine, Marius is a booby. He does not understand anything. I will give this Marius credit for doing some pontmercying.

*Javert is still on about JVJ. This is totally vindicating that one intrepid author who is responsible for half of this series’ AO3 tags being Javert slash.

*For a moment, I though this was the court of miracles, and Thenardier just decided he was in Notre Dame de Paris instead of Les Miserables. At least they’re setting up the attempted attack on the Rue Plument.

*Toussaint! I love her.

*Love notes on the bench. No strutting Theodule, but my expectations have been suitably lowered.

*THE KIDS SHOWED UP!!! GAVROCHE IS EVERYTHING I HOPED FOR!!! THEY DID THE BAKERY SCENE!!!

*Nice job hiding your weapons for the insurrection, boys. +100 

*Aw, Grantaire and Courfeyrac made a couple of friends. Is the red waistcoat a secret Bahorel reference?

*Random named worker guy is not Feuilly. Nor is he a guest appearance by Charles Jeanne. Why do I keep hoping? Anyway, congrats to Guy-Whose-Name-I-Didn’t-Catch for making an almost coherent argument in favor of revolution. It’s not entirely clear why our Named Students are involved, and they certainly aren’t coming across as leaders. +100 disappointment

*Grantaire looks so sad. Enjolras is earnest, but just not in the right way. This whole interaction is wrong for who these characters should be: advocates of education, heavily conversant in political theory, sympathetic to the working classes, veterans of ‘30, been preparing for 4 years at least, constantly making bad puns but very serious about their politics. [Remember how Courfeyrac moves from the Latin Quarter to the Marais in order to be well-placed for riots?]

*Apparently Marius moved in with Courf off-screen. No “I’ve come to sleep with you” peak pontmercying. (+100 because that was the scene we were all looking forward to). They sort of shoe-horned in the “Marius doesn’t hang out with us anymore” info, but there’s no barriere du Maine incident.

*Time out to elaborate on the last two points: Enjolras dismissing Grantaire for not being committed is a hard sell here because the rest of them are only just committing to it now. It’s not that R’s still messing around like it’s 1828 while everyone else is really getting down to business, and he’s already blown his chance to help. Enjolras’s strategy basically just seems to be “hope for reinforcement”, not “recruit heavily, coordinate with other groups, gather weapons, [get additional reinforcement as in 1830] and make the future we want to see”. And then E and R immediately reconcile?

*La Marseillaise. Andrew Davies knows another French song!

*The Royalist reaction. I mean, Gillenormand’s supposed to be retired from society, and Madame T’s salon is supposed to have died out, leaving him a relic of a bygone age, but apparently Paris is just full of guys wearing wigs likes it it’s 1788. They need to spell out that the ultras oppose the left, after all. +100 

*Those sleeves still look ridiculous without support. +100.

*Why is that vest laced all the way down the back? Just...does VJV has Hulk-powers that regularly require him to adjust the fit of his waistcoat through the upper shoulders? Back-lacing is used in the 1830s-1840s to achieve ideal fit through the waist, but I’ve never seen anything like this. +100

*This is not Patron Minette. No scouting? No one on guard? Half the numbers? These are rank amateurs. +100.

*Could someone of Cosette’s acquaintance actually talk to her like an adult? Also, I’m feeling a bit cheated that we aren’t getting Marius’s over-the-top-Romantic-reaction (no greater tyranny!), Cosette’s solution (you can also emigrate at the drop of a hat!), and Marius banging his head against a tree for hours. +100 where is the pontmercying we were promised.

*So, no one noticed Eponine’s screaming earlier, JVJ somehow did not overreact to a stranger busting into his house, and then he failed to recognize Eponine from the day he nearly got murdered. +300

*Gillenormand is... in character and this scene actually mostly goes the way it’s supposed to.

*Apparently the guys-who-are-not-our-Amis all hang out at Courf’s house when not playing backgammon in a-tavern-which-may-be-the-Corinthe-or-the-Musain. Of course, we can’t have Eponine instigating Marius’s presence at the barricade, because that’s too much agency and complication for a female character. +200 annoyed

*Enjolras is invoking Marius’s dead Napoleon-allied father? +100 because I don’t think the writers understand him at all.

*”We don’t need any romantic day-dreamers?” Well, I guess that’s were we lost the rest of the group. ALMOST ALL OF THESE GUYS ARE ROMANTIC FIGURES OR WRITTEN AS ROMANTICS THEMSELVES.  HUGO WAS A FRICKIN’ ROMANTIC! +100

*New headcanon: the missing amis are either chllin’ at St. Merry because Jeanne has his shit together better than Enjolras, or else they’re making their own Romantics-only barricade.

*”Provoke the army to attack”...that’s one way to read it. I guess. They were planning on a funeral becoming a riot leading to a revolution, but this phrasing comes across as simplistic and ill-conceived. Especially without any background context.

*Why is this Enjolras so exclusionary about who gets to die with him? Even if it’s leading up to an epic E/R reconciliation and death scene, this Enjolras is leading into the St. Crispin’s Day speech, not The View From A Barricade. +100

*So Cosette doesn’t know about the apartment in the Rue de L'Homme Arme? Or JVJ hasn’t been routinely switching addresses out of paranoia? +100

*And now they have Cosette bring up forwarding addresses instead of just writing her note to Marius. For complaining that she’s boring and inactive, they sure managed to strip away the agency and activity she does have. +100

*Ok, she does get to write the note, and Eponine intercepts it. Maybe this can still happen.

*Bonnets, Cosette. You have some. Wear them. +100

*So, the police are just chill with a bunch of civilians walking around with longarms? Ok.

*Seriously underwhelmed by this fight scene. Can we have drunk Bossuet yelling out the window to Courf instead? 

*Yeah, you should have started recruiting years ago, Enjolras. Also, up the quality of your speeches, ASAP. This whole dynamic is just wrong: Enjolras should be leading a bunch of already-dedicated people, not trying to whip up support on the fly.  Remember when he tries to send them home and they won’t go?

*Matelote makes an appearance. So, we are in the Corinthe?  No Hucheloup or Gibelote sightings, yet.

*The city’s rioting, and Javert’s still going on about JVJ. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do the job? He’s voluntarily spying instead of dutifully doing something that he’s terrible at (because dissembling is out of character for him)? +200

*Pere Mabeuf is here. Despite none of his relevant backstory being included.

*Can this just be the all-Gavroche show? He’s infinitely better than anything else that’s going on.

*JVJ physically restraining Cosette? “I hate you?”. ...Is it even possible to misunderstand their relationship dynamics this badly? +200

*Eponine does direct Marius to the barricades, but she’s not in disguise and Marius recognizes her. I wanted cross-dressing Eponine! +100

*Considering the great detail in which the Rue Chanvrerie barricade is described (the road intersections, height, omnibus, paving stones, Gavroche’s glass door) I’m going to be petty and observe that this isn’t an exact book match.

*What is Javert even doing? Why?!?! +100

*Grantaire should be passed out upstairs because he was upset by Enjolras not inviting him. Just in case anyone was trying to be authentic to a particular book and not, say, copy the popular musical based off of it.

*Mabeuf raises the flag. RIP, Pere Mabeuf and his dreams of indigo cultivation. Too bad we never got any backstory on him which might explain who is, how he came to be here, and why his death is so poignant. Or anything.

*Marius saves Gavroche! Marius saves the barricade by being an over-the-top despairing Romantic hero comparable to Werther! 

*Drawing out the powder scene actually makes it less tense. +100 awful pacing, but plus +300 for that yell.

*And then everyone reacts...with weird cheers and Enjolras scolding Marius? Where’s “Marius is now the spiritual leader of the barricade (for being a complete drama llama)?” +100 for ‘what is characterization or mood’

*Eponine’s death was actually handled pretty well--for all that she should have been cross-dressing, and “I really did love you” has a completely different tone from “I think I was a little bit in love with you”. 

*Hey, the blotter made an appearance! Too bad nothing about this JVJ makes it seem like he’d put himself in harm’s way to save a person he actively dislikes on behalf of his beloved daughter.

*Gavroche! Too bad JVJ is an ass here. Give Gavroche money for ice cream and tell him to stay safe, already! +200

*Idea: cut out all the boring OOC angry men, and just follow Gavroche around as he helps children, lives in an elephant, sings at everyone, breaks streetlights, and pilfers random stuff for building barricades. Maybe include the “attack on the Royal Printworks”?

Overall, I found this episode less infuriating, though it’s hard to say whether that’s because of lower expectations or the odd way they muddled canonical activity with OOC speech and motivations.