#what even is the ship name between feuilly and enjolras

[hater-era]

they’re on a little date (people watching but they have different definitions of it)

[fixaidea]

OH I HOPED YOU WOULD DO THAT ONE. I would please like to know about "Cruise Trip", "ExF _East", and I'm torn between "witch wwx" (which I suspect is more Discworld??? ^_^) and "dumb villain" (because I always enjoy your dumb villain stories), so maybe both of those? ^_^

Cruise trip

This is a supernatural mystery, that takes place on a cruise ship. It stars one of my all-time favourite OCs, Dr. Ali Rana and his boyfriend Anton Szalóky (who just unexpectedly inherited a large sum of money).

Here’s the prologue:

The thing about stories, is that sometimes it’s hard to pin down when exactly they started. Take this very story, for example: it would be easy to say it started in a busy port in New Orleans, but it wouldn’t be quite true. You could also claim it started in a courtroom, and even though it would be somewhat closer to the truth, it still wouldn’t be quite correct.

No. If you wanted to get to the bottom of it, you’d find that, despite having seemingly nothing to do with them at all, this story started with an army of Soviet tanks in 1956. It started with a failed revolution and a man called András Szalóky who seized his chance and, using the general mayhem snuck out under the Iron Curtain and escaped to the United States to seek a better life.

He found it, at least in terms of material comfort, if not so much in domestic happiness. In that, he was quite unlucky, as he managed to marry into the most unpleasant of families – the kind that tends to serve as the backdrop and subject of some quirky private detective, as someone inevitably ends up poisoned for their money. Mr. Szalóky escaped this fate, but the older he got, the more bitter he grew towards his new relatives. By the time he turned 80 his resentment was right off the scale.

He took certain measures. He consulted a lauded psychiatric professor who officially confirmed that he was, indeed, in full possession of all his faculties. He hired the quirky private detective himself, but this time mostly to trawl through Facebook and check birth certificates.

The certificate confirming his sanity and an e-mail containing the name and address of the nephew twice removed he never knew he had arrived the same day.

Mr. Szalóky smiled. He signed his newly constructed will and testament.

His only regret was not getting to see the faces his family would make.

ExF_East

Probably disappointingly this one is the more-or-less publised ‘Enjolras, Feuilly and the Great Roadtrip of 1832′ which still needs and epilogue, and so is technically unfinished.

witch WWX

...Is the working title of the technically still ongoing ‘Of Hats and Flutes’. Here’s an excerpt from a possible future chapter:

‘Here’s the thing though, and this is something I learned the hard way’ said Wei Wuxian ‘Presentation and reputation are double edged swords. See, when they send someone after you people took to calling Light-bringer Lord, that’s pretty impressive, right? You know you’re in it right up to your eyeballs. But since you know it, you have your guards up. No such thing when you’re facing down someone nicknamed Sweeper. And so you may not have the time to realise that you are in much, much bigger trouble.’

 Once it was just the two of them left, Nanny added a hefty shot of brandy to her tea and nudged Granny.

‘Wonder which way he meant that little tirade. Did Lu Tze mop the floor with him, or was he just an example and he wanted to say he’s better off known as a lil’ village witch, and not for what he really is?’

Granny peered over the rim of her cup.

‘Both, I reckon.’

dumb villain

Answered! But here’s another excerpt:

Xie Lian was meditating on his own, among the ruins on Taicang Mountain. Ever since his amnesia incident, both him and Hua Cheng were trying to come up with a way that would allow him to keep his cultivation base while freely enjoying his marriage. Finally Xie Lian had some promising theories, though none were solid enough to put into practice yet. It was high time he worked out something though, because once again, he found himself with no spiritual power.

[shitpostingfromthebarricade]

@pilferingapples brought to my attention the fact that I never made a masterlist for the submissions for this challenge back in May, so I'm remedying this egregious error now.

The prompt was, "I'm afraid you're going to have to carry me."

(This was not a competition nor judged in any way; these are simply in order of submission to the challenge.)

[[MORE]]

[[MORE]]

The Five Stages by PiecesofCait ( @thepiecesofcait )

Turns out grief isn't the only g-word that takes a bit to process.

Tell Me Why by ShitpostingFromTheBarricade ( @shitpostingfromthebarricade )

Enjolras finds a list that he was never meant to.

Warnings: language, scalding take on (and spoilers for) The Breakfast Club

Seating Arrangements by AnnaBolena ( @annabrolena )

“Enjolras has decided to take drinks with us in celebration tonight!” Bahorel’s voice booms across the room. One of his hulking arms is wrapped securely around the girl tending to him, the other is raised in victory.

“Lest Bahorel give anyone a false impression: Enjolras was persuaded with great industry to take a single cup, that is all. No need to make a spectacle of it,” Feuilly placates those already cheering, though no one's joy is truly tempered by the revelation.

a.k.a. Enjolras celebrates with his friends :)

Images in Red by OpensUp4Nobody ( @opens-up-4-nobody )

Enjolras is a grad student having a bad time.

Drink to Forget by whowillbestrongandstandwithme ( @whowillbestrongandstandwithme )

Grantaire finds Enjolras, alone and drunk, after a meeting. He takes Enjolras home and tries to prevent him from saying anything he'll regret- but then Enjolras shares a secret that he has kept even from Combeferre. Somehow this night brings them closer together. The two realize they aren't so different after all.

non-asleep things by Rhyolite ( @rhyolight )

The city wasn’t asleep. It never was, really, at any hour of the night a carriage might rumble past, or a loud and happy group of people might pass under one’s window, talking loudly, or any of other (usually loud) non-asleep things.

Enjolras was also not asleep.

Against All Odds by BookDragon6127

Enjolras is too stubborn for his own good and Grantaire is the one who needs to make sure the leader in red doesn't accidentally kill himself in the name of the revolution

The Way of Fools by temperamental_mistress

“The way of fools seems right to them, but the wise listen to advice.” (Proverbs 12:15)

Carry Your Beliefs by kjack89 (@kjack89 )

Alternatively titled, Grantaire and the parable of the toad.

But the toad did not speak, and in fact did not move, still crouched against the stone.

Grantaire gaped at the small creature, who didn’t seem at all concerned that it had somehow spoken, and he shook his head slowly. “Too much wine,” he muttered. “Joly warned me this might happen one day, but I must confess, I did not believe that a wine dream would manifest as—”

He waved a vague hand at the toad, which just stared back at him, unimpressed.

About the bothersome discrepancy between word and deed by Gr_malk_n ( @theravensgrin )

In which there is pining, painting, smoking, a lack of clear communication and headaches for everyone, but especially for Combeferre.

Oh, and they try to save a community centre.

Finally, I Understand by edgy_fluffball ( @edgy-fluffball )

After a rally gone wrong it is Grantaire who sees himself having to take on more responsibility than he ever planned having. Unfortunately, that means dealing with both Courfeyrac and Enjolras.

I am Wilderness and Waves by mariuspondmercy ( @mariuspondmercy )

Musichetta is the captain of her own ship, master of pirate crews sailing the seven seas for her own agenda - wilderness and the oceans were her home.

Join her and her lovers on a journey through the Seven Seas.

Carry Me by HMS_Chill ( @hms-chill )

The silence wakes Grantaire after the barricade has fallen, but he's not going down without a fight.

(Based on this post from @g-hostly-g on tumblr)

Theatrical Tragedy by BadassIndustries ( @badassindistress )

Courfeyrac grinned happily. His dearest friends, come together in celebration of him, getting together harmoniously and all nicely dressed, if a bit sombrely. Enjolras had even submitted to having his cravat retied and Marius at last accepted the gift of an old waistcoat. Combeferre looked as neat as ever and had not mentioned cadavers or unsightly diseases even once. To top it all off, Courfeyrac’s curls were behaving admirably and his hat had graciously consented to stay with him for a fortnight already. After the performance, those of his friends more inclined to dance were to meet him at a public ball and altogether this would make a perfect night.

like real people do by bleulily ( @eponinearchive )

“So what’s the plan?” Grantaire asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. He placed a hand on Enjolras’s arm, warm and gentle against Enjolras’s skin.

Enjolras gave his phone a last glance before turning his attention to the hand Grantaire had placed against his arm. He realised Grantaire was covering him from the guides in case they turned back to see them. Enjolras smiled. “We have to pretend to be dating whenever we’re near them,” Enjolras explained. “You know, do those cheesy things Marius does whenever he has a new fancy. I don’t want to disappoint my mother or ruin your night.”

Grantaire regarded him, his head tilting to the side as an eyebrow quirked curiously, his lips turning upwards into a sly smile. “So you think Pontmercy is the model of excellence for a healthy and romantic relationship?”

Things that go bumping in the night by adorablecrab ( @adorablecrab )

The wise thing to do would be to silently lock the door and hope whoever was outside wasn’t too determined to get in. Possibly escape through the window...

Will the World Remember You if You Fall? by pirates_and_candles

Courfeyrac realizes that he loves Jehan. The only problem is that Jehan is in love with Montparnasse and there's a revolution coming...

Flowers in my lungs by decayingliberty ( @decayingliberty )

There are flowers growing in Courfeyrac's chest and he can't breathe.

For Want of a Book by WilwyWaylan ( @wilwywaylan )

Bahorel needs a book from the library. Bahorel certainly does not need to see Feuilly. Sadly, it seems that you can find way more redheads than the book you need in that library...

[eirenical]

A, J, L please

[If anyone else would like to send letters, feel free!]

A - Ships that you currently like a lot. (They don’t have to be OTPs because not everyone has OTPs.) Friendships, pairings, threesomes, etc. are allowed.

AHAHAHAHA, OMG.  WHERE DO I START.  XD

Guardian: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan, Chu Shuzhi/Guo Changcheng

The Untamed: Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen/Nie Mingjue, Lan Jingyi/Lan Sizhui, Jiang Yanli/Jin Zixuan, Jiang Yanli/Wen Qing, Jiang Cheng/happiness (I KNOW IT’S A CRACKSHIP, I DON’T CARE, IT’S MY OTP FOR THIS FANDOM).

Les Miserables: Enjolras/Feuilly, Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Courfeyrac/Marius, Cosette/Courfeyrac/Marius, Courfeyrac/Feuilly, Enjolras/Courfeyrac, Enjolras/Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Bahoral/Jehan

Star Wars: Anakin/Obi-Wan, Anakin/Obi-Wan/Padme, Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan, Bail/Obi-Wan, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan, (yes, Obi-Wan is my little black dress for this fandom, what’s your point...), Baze/Chirrut, Finn/Poe, Finn/Poe/Rey.

I THINK THAT’S ENOUGH TO BE GETTING ON WITH.  XD  The curse of being a multi-shipper.  XD

J - Name a fandom you didn’t think about until you saw it all over Tumblr. (You don’t have to care about it or follow it; it just has to be something that Tumblr made you aware of.)

...honestly, most of the fandoms I’m currently in, I think qualify?  Guardian, The Untamed (though Netflix was reccing that pretty hard, so I might have found it on my own, but who knows?), Les Miserables wasn’t one I found through tumblr, but tumblr definitely is what dragged me into the fandom side of things, and many, many others.

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves. (Characters you’re neutral about are fair game, as are characters you merely dislike. Characters that you absolutely loathe with the fire of ten thousand suns are exempt, as there is no point in giving yourself an aneurysm over a character that you hate.)

Huh.  It is... harder to think of a character that fits those qualifications than I thought.  O_o;;;  ADHD gives me a very much all-or-nothing attitude towards most things, so I generally either love or hate and there’s not much in between?  And the ones who I truly am neutral about, I give SO LITTLE FUCKS ABOUT that I honestly can’t even remember their names.  XD

OK, I actually kind of do borderline loathe this character, but I literally can’t think of any characters I’m neutral on or just mildly dislike.  O_o;;;

So... Xue Yang.

...he has nice hair?

And to steal an idea from @orestesdreams-pyladesloves, here’s another good thing about him: “He dies.”

XD  SORRY.  XD

[emptymasks]

How can I live when you are gone?

so this is what happens when you don't watch or listen to les mis for seven years even though it's one of your favourite musicals and then you watch the all star cast recording and empty chairs gets you as much as it did the first time you heard it and you instantly have to write this as soon as the musical is over. because it would seem all i am able to write now is angst.

and it's in first person? and present tense?? i gave in and wrote first person for that and then idk i got so into marius' head that this just came out in both first person and present tense. writing friends don't shoot me for writing in present tense, i never do and i don't know what happened this just came spewing out without my even thinking about it.

warnings for: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD | Night Terrors | Nightmares | Anxiety Attacks | Survivor Guilt | Heavy Angst

I awake in a sweat. This is the usual way I awake now.

The guns echo in my ears: hold, fire, hold, fire, hold, fire, fire, fire. The air is sawdust and gunpowder as everything splinters to fragments. Splinters of wood and bone. And they fall like hail from the sky and then from all sides.

And everything runs red. Red, our desire and our love now running and trodden through in the gutter, between the cobblestones. Red: the flag is torn to shreds. Red, the blood sweeps through our waistcoats. Red, Enjorlas topples lifelessly over the barricade. Once so full of life, glory and determination never leaving his eyes as his hair bounced in the wind and his smile was wild and inspired every one of us. Enjorlas, my dear friend... my friend... my friends...

Enjolras, Grantaire, Feuilly - their names are a mantra in my head that will not be forgotten - Joly, Courfeyrac, Combeferre - they will not be forgotten - Jean, Bahorel, Bossuet - I can not let them be forgotten - little Gavroche, Epoinine...

My fingers clutch at the sheets and pull them to my chest, against my skin and ribs and my heart beating out of my chest. And I curl in on myself. My legs thrash. The sheets are too white, too clean. Everything is too clean. Too clean and too soft.

Soft. Soft hands, softer than sheets reach for me and try to hold me, but I shake. I shake violently and sob. I weep and weep and the bed is too soft and I all but crawl out of it and fall to my knees on the floor. The painful thud against my knees is something to cling too.

Her soft hands are there again and she is on her knees too, kneeling before me and beside me like a saint. Her hands sooth my forehead. She does not try to touch my body as we have both learnt how I react to that when I’m in this state. Hands, even as gentle as hers, once upon me feel like the bodies and the rubble and the sheets over me feel like the stinking water I can scarcely remember in the day but in the hours of the night creep in like the chill of the wind through an open window; I cannot see it but feel it in my bones.

"Hush, Marius," She whispers and sings a vibrato through my nerves. Her thumbs sweep the sweat from my brow, down my temples, my brow, my cheekbones. Fingers flutter against my eyelashes as she pulls me from myself and draws me to look at her.

And when my eyes can bear to move and let her face grace them, she smiles.

I do not deserve her.

My Cosette, sweet Cosette. Mine and I am hers, and was hers since our eyes first met. But I am not that man, not now, perhaps not ever.

Though through my broken spirit her smile lights up every dark corner. How could it not? I cry and I scream and I shake and she is patient and kind.

And she loves me.

Despite it all, she loves me and praises me each, looks at the small things I barely manage to do and sees some triumph in them. That as if for me to merely get out of bed is a great feat.

Well... isn't it?

I have heard of men ending their lives who've less death than I. Not that I blame or judge them. But she reminds me to think of what I have lost, and that by still being here it only shows how strong I am.

I think it is she who is strong, to be thrust into my pain after hardly knowing the world at all, and taking it all in her stride. She's so graceful with it, as if everything that should cause her doubt and turmoil only makes her hold her head higher.

And I love her.

I love her, I love her, I love her.

And my breathing slows as her fingers ripple through my hair and she coaxes me back onto the bed, doesn't force my body under the covers nor my head under the pillow. She lets me fall onto her lap as she hums song old familiar tune.

I will fall back to sleep again soon and I will not wake until morning.

And tomorrow night this will happen again.

But she will be there, ready to hold the pieces of me together until I find the strength to do it myself.

also the 'enjorlas falling over the barricade' comes from the musical and in particular i was thinking about this performance with drew sarich as enjorlas (i love him as enjorlas i don't care if he was an understudy) in the 2006-2007 broadway revival where instead of the set parting to show enjorlas' body on the cart, the whole barricade spins around and shows him fallen and laying on the otherside of the barricade's wall (video link in the replies to this post if you’re interested) is the clip that inspired the enjorlas description. marius in this is inspired by rob houchen in the 2019 ' all star' concert.

it's also been brought to my attention by an american friend of mine that the enjorlas/grantaire interactions are played down in the broadway versions compared to the west end so i'm sorry you guys don't get to see them hug every night.

also while i was writing this i got slight marius/enjorlas vibes and i have no idea if that is a ship or how popular it is if it is one but i sort of like it? the idea of determined enjorlas trying to get this hopefully romantic to not get himself killed. idk.

just searched around and found only one post for marius/enjorlas and it was someone asking if anyone else shipped it. well done beck you’ve done it again, gotten into a ship with zero content

*big sigh* i guess now that means i have to make said content don’t i

[kcrabb88]

In a Mirror Dimly

Summary: Enjolras and Valjean bond at the barricade, discussing love and something they share in common. Written for Ace Mis Week 2019. 

Note: Aromanticism and asexuality definitely overlap here! That’s my personal experience/orientation, so that comes naturally for me when writing about ace things. Also, the title is a reference to a verse from 1 Corinthians. Thanks to @aflamethatneverdies and @librarianladyx for beta’ing! 

Valjean knows he shouldn’t get attached to these boys.

Because these boys will probably be dead soon.

Young men, he corrects himself, because they’re not children. But he has a habit of making any youth a child in his head.

He can’t help but feel fatherly toward them.

Perhaps he can convince them to run? Then again, maybe not. And how could he lead them through the dark of Paris unnoticed, even if he got them out?

Surrender? He flinches, digging his fingernails into his palms. That might mean prison. He swallows, unwilling to imagine these vibrant young men under that weight.

He looks over, seeing the one called Enjolras whisper something in Combeferre’s ear, a soft smile sliding onto the chief’s face.

He remembers seeing the tear running down the lad’s cheek after he shot the artillery sergeant. He remembers watching him step away for a moment and take a deep breath, because there isn’t time for grief.

Not here.

Enjolras brushes a stray strand of astonishing fair hair out of his eyes, not yet noticing Valjean studying him. Paris feels dark in this space before true daylight comes, clouds sweeping across the sky as a slice of blue edges into the black night, just a hint of red lingering on the horizon. There’s no light from the usual window lanterns, the few they have near the barricade emitting a dull yellow haze. The scent of gun smoke lingers in the air, never allowing Valjean to forget where he is.

He’d sensed the revolt in the air for weeks, months, before he heard news of the barricades today, but France has been roiled so many times since his birth that he can never tell when a spark will turn into something or when it won’t. The revolution was in progress when he was shipped to Toulon, and he remembers hearing news of the changes inside France: the revolution ending, Napoleon’s coup, and years later, his disastrous defeat in Russia. Then, Waterloo.

Nothing changed inside the bagne.

Valjean’s surprised when he glances up and sees Enjolras looking at him.

Then walking toward him.

“I was grateful for your help with the mattress to block the grapeshot, citizen,” Enjolras says as he approaches. “And for your bravery in giving your uniform to send another man away. My friends and I are thankful.”

Always citizen, rather than monsieur. Valjean’s intrigued again, even if he doesn’t quite know what to say. He can’t really say why exactly he’s here, though he’d heard Marius say I know him, so what might the other men here suspect? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps that Marius has only seen him in the street.

He realizes how much he’s used to keeping secrets. Always secrets, because he carries Toulon with him everywhere. The secrets grew heavier when he tore up his yellow passport and became someone else, when he took the bishop’s silver and started a new life. But with his secrets he also gained a sort of freedom. The freedom to be someone other than Jean Valjean and the damage that name carries with it. He’s only Jean Valjean at night, when he’s alone with his scars. Wearing another name gives him the chance to help others. It gives him the chance to love his daughter.

Valjean folds his hands together, praying he can get Cosette’s young man out of here even as the National Guard gets closer and daylight breaks into the night, the first hints of dawn reaching the barricade. He recalls Enjolras’ words from the speech he gave not long ago, the words cutting into Valjean’s heart because he doesn’t want these young men to die.

We are entering a tomb all flooded with the dawn.

Enjolras sits down on the paving stones, the first strains of morning light creeping toward his feet through the shadows as if drawn to him. The glow casts his youth into relief and washes the gravity from his face, the knowledge that this lad might perish—and soon—making Valjean’s chest ache. Smudges of gunpowder stain Enjolras’ hands black in places, but he’s bafflingly free of even a small injury.

“Do you have anyone worrying over you at home?” Valjean asks, because he doesn’t know what to say. He so often feels like he doesn’t know what to say, only what to do.

Enjolras pulls his gaze away from the sunrise. “My parents are at home in Marseilles, but hopefully they aren’t worrying yet because news won’t have reached them.”

“No wife or children like those men you sent home?”

Valjean wonders if there’s any way he might convince Enjolras to go home. He looks barely more than seventeen or so, even if he must be a good bit into his twenties. Valjean isn’t opposed to the politics, because he knows just how desperate so many people are, right now. How desperate they’ve been for years. He understands the inequalities and the cholera and the poverty. Those were the things he was trying to fix, in Montreuil, before it all went wrong. Those are the things he wants to help alleviate now, where he can, person by person.

But he doesn’t want these young men dying over this. He wants them to find another way, because there’s enough death in these streets already.

Enjolras smiles, possibly catching onto to Valjean’s motives. “No. I have never been very interested in romance or the…” red creeps into his cheeks, and Valjean suspects he doesn’t blush often. “…the other activities my friends occupy themselves with. So no mistress waiting, either.”

Valjean shifts the gun resting between his knees. “Too busy wanting to change the world?”

Enjolras runs a hand through his over-long fair hair, and the small movement makes Fantine appear in Valjean’s mind with a flash of vibrant, tangible memory, her golden hair cut short and ruined by the cruel edge of a knife. All these years later and he still aches over the fact that he couldn’t save her.

He probably can’t save all these boys either, only the one he’s come for, the one his daughter loves, and it hurts.

Truth be told he doesn’t even know if he can save Marius.

Even in the last excruciating moments, there had been hope in Fantine’s eyes, hope that she might see her daughter again. Even as she died, Valjean saw the life in her bursting at the seams with nowhere to go. He never had the chance to know Fantine, just as he won’t ever know Enjolras, but despite their differences in circumstance and age and gender, he recognizes the same radical, indestructible hope in both of them. In Fantine’s last days he sensed that she was never just surviving, but always looking for the tiniest fragment of joy in the dark, even if she was only holding on by her fingernails. He senses that same spirit in Enjolras, watching it shimmer in the air around them like a living thing.

If he could, he would give some of his years back to Fantine, so she could see her daughter again.

He would give some to these lads, too, and save them from the bullets awaiting them on the other side of the barricade.

But he can’t.

Enjolras’ voice draws him back toward the moment at hand, every second feeling precious, because death’s shadow creeps over the barricade even as the orange-red glow of the sunrise bursts over the Parisian skyline. “That is always time consuming, but my friends also find plenty of hours in the day for both their mistresses and their politics. I suppose I never felt the impulse.”

“I thought I heard one of your friends teasing and saying you were rather intrepid for a man who had no woman he loved,” Valjean says, finding himself talking more with Enjolras than he does with most people other than Cosette. “But I thought perhaps they just might not know that you did.”

Enjolras laughs softly, but there’s grief within the sound. “Oh, no. I keep no secrets from my friends. We are a family, after all. Bound together by love of the same cause, and years of friendship.” Enjolras’s voice cracks ever so slightly, his words growing heavy.

“You’ve lost good friends today.” Valjean almost clasps Enjolras on the shoulder, but he isn’t sure if the touch would be welcome, so he refrains, for now. “Not just compatriots.”

“Two of the best men I knew.” Enjolras glances over at Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Combeferre, Bossuet, and Joly, who stand nearby, a gleam of deep love in his eyes. “Bahorel and Prouvaire. Bahorel had a laugh you could never forget, and a formidable loyalty to those he chose as his own. Prouvaire had an absolutely astonishing soul, and poetry that could make any man cry, even if I don’t understand the finer points of the art form.” Enjolras touches his undone cravat, a bright-red against the more muted colors of the rest of his clothing. Perhaps a gift from the friends he mentioned. Then, his voice goes deeper, a dangerous anger puncturing the words. “Some of the national guardsmen executed Prouvaire point blank. It’s why I’m afraid the police inspector inside will meet his end here.”

Valjean tenses at that, Javert’s presence is a problem for him in a million ways even as he wishes to get him out of here unscathed. Javert is a thorn in his side. Javert could turn him in. Javert keeps turning up, and yet Valjean doesn’t want to see him killed. A strange sympathy for the police inspector wells up in Valjean’s chest, a sympathy of which he doesn’t entirely understand the root.

“I’m sure some people find it odd,” Enjolras continues, his words holding the ring of a confession. “My lack of a mistress or interest in marriage. But I have all I need with my friends.”

Valjean pauses, hesitant to share anything about himself with anyone, the instinct ingrained so deeply within him he doesn’t know how to undo it. He’s afraid to undo it.

“I understand.” Valjean speaks the words before he’s ready, but he does understand, and it’s almost a relief to hear Enjolras make his own admission. Their lives are very different, but that feeling is the same. “I have a daughter, you see. Not my blood, but…” Valjean trails off for a moment, an image of Fantine coughing until her whole body shook overtaking his memory. “…but my own nevertheless. The life I’ve led has never truly offered me the opportunity for marriage and the like, but then again I also haven’t found I desired any of that. So I don’t find it odd at all, if you want the opinion of an old man.”

Concern floods Enjolras’ face, his eyes widening in alarm. “You have a daughter and yet you gave yourself up for another man to leave? I didn’t know…I…” Enjolras is inarticulate now, and it’s a far cry from the beautiful ease of his earlier speech, the words he spoke to the crowd like a hymn caught in the wind. Valjean remembers how those words sunk into his old soul, watching as the flames of hope came alive in the eyes of the men surrounding him. Not hope for their own lives, necessarily, but hope for the future they all believe in.

Valjean does clasp Enjolras’ shoulder now. “Easy, lad. I know what I’m doing. I’ll be all right.”

Enjolras frowns, the earlier gravity returning. “I am far from certain that any of us are going to be all right, I’m afraid. I hate to see your daughter lose you. I’m sure she needs you.”

“I’ll be all right,” Valjean repeats.

He cannot say I faked my own death to escape a prison ship. He cannot say I once snuck into a convent by hiding in a coffin. He cannot say I have been through stranger things, and somehow survived. He’s honestly not sure if he will survive. But he has to try. He has to try to get Cosette’s young man back to her. Even if it means losing her, Valjean wants her happiness. She deserves her happiness. She deserves more than an old man like him.

Valjean’s eyes flick to Marius for the briefest of moments, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Enjolras. Enjolras looks at Marius and back at Valjean again, some kind of recognition flashing in his face that he doesn’t voice.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way I can convince you and your friends to leave the barricade?”

Valjean speaks before Enjolras can, hardly knowing what he’s saying.

A sad smile graces Enjolras’ features as the sun comes up fully over the barricade, gold dripping from the ends of his hair when the light strikes him.

“We will not surrender. My friends and I will do this together as we have so many other things in our lives these past years. We will survive together, or we will not.”

There’s a finality in Enjolras’ words among the grief and the hope and the unshakeable love Valjean hears.

“That kind of family is a beautiful thing to possess,” Valjean says, his words turning tremulous, and he clears his throat against the wave of emotion crashing over him. “That kind of family, and something to believe in.”

Enjolras blinks, wiping away a stray tear falling from his eye. “Those two things are all I have ever needed. Perhaps some might say that my lack of a mistress means I do not love, but that is not the truth.” Enjolras glances over at his friends again, and then at the sun casting the barricade in a golden glow, the light of a new day dawning. The dawn of the sixth of June. “I love so much I feel it might burst out of me at any moment. And sometimes it does.”

“I understand.” Valjean stands up at the same time as Enjolras, putting out his hand for the lad to shake. “I truly do.”

Enjolras accepts the handshake, his hand warm with life and kindness. “I hope that you find your way back to your daughter, citizen. Her name is?”

“Cosette,” Valjean says, something powerful filling him up as he says his child’s name, even more determined to get the Pontmercy boy back to her. He has never felt the kind of romantic feelings for someone like she possesses for that young man, but he does know what it is to deeply love, because she taught him.

“Cosette,” Enjolras repeats, handling the name with care. “Thank you for sharing a piece of yourself with me. It’s always nice to share something in common with someone when you didn’t expect it.”

Valjean nods, letting go of Enjolras’ hand. “It is. Thank you for talking with an old man.”

Enjolras smiles again before going back over to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who each put an arm around him.

There’s still the matter of Javert inside the Corinthe. There’s still the matter of getting Cosette’s young man out of here. There’s still the matter of surviving long enough to do that. But Valjean marvels at the life on this barricade that is so obviously destined to end in death.

He marvels at the love all around him.

More words from Enjolras’ speech echo in his head, louder than the footsteps of the soldiers and the cannon fire on the other side of this chaotic, mismatched pile of wood that is the only thing standing between them and eternity.

Whence shall arise the shout of love, if it be not from the summit of sacrifice?

[idiopath-fic-smile]

Fic: The Curious Case of L’Ami

Fandom: Les Mis/Starship Iris crossover

Pairing: Enjolras/Grantaire

Summary: Some say L’Ami is a legend, a figment of a void-addled imagination, like that former gambling boat turned ghost ship, or the giant astral squids floating in The Deep.

Notes: Commission for Brynn. (Prompt: Enjolras, Grantaire, and any other amis that strike your fancy in the Starship Iris universe.)

Fic: 

Officially, Adrien Enjolras and his fellow conspirators are dead, killed in an accidental explosion during the failed student protests of 2180. No bodies were ever recovered from the site, but there are eyewitnesses, death certificates, security camera footage which places Enjolras and the others at the scene moments before the fatal detonation.

Unofficially, though--Mathieu Combeferre was always top of the class when it came to hacking video feeds, and it’s true that during his brief stint at the school’s drama department, Sebastien Courfeyrac demonstrated an almost disturbing flair for pyrotechnics.

Beyond that, well, people have a knack for seeing what they expect to see.

Enjolras hates being called a pirate, so naturally, Grantaire does it as much he can.

“What we do is not piracy,” Enjolras insists at dinner that evening. They’re down to only protein tablets again, but Bossuet insists on nightly crew meals anyway, citing some half-remembered psychology paper on the importance of group cohesion. “They were out for gold--”

“--and glory,” Bahorel cuts in.

“And other, non-gold forms of wealth,” Prouvaire offers from the corner, where he’s sharpening knives. “Jewels. Silver. Tobacco.”

“Really, this piracy thing is sounding better and better all the time,” Grantaire declares. “And we haven’t even gone into the clothes yet. Those long swoopy coats? Those hats? They don’t even make saboteur hats.”

“Not yet, they don’t,” says Joly, a needle and thread in his hands and a troubling gleam in his eyes.

Some say L’Ami is a legend, a figment of a void-addled imagination, like that former gambling boat turned ghost ship, or the giant astral squids floating in The Deep.

Others claim to have seen it firsthand. These people are, for the most part, lying.

Feuilly and Musichetta worked for many hours in Joly’s lab to create a series of light wave-neutralizing panels which, when applied to the outside of the ship, render it close to invisible in flight. Scanners are a little harder to fool, but it’s not impossible to scatter a signal, and anyway, Combeferre didn’t get his reputation for nothing.

When the Regime’s local radio fails, when a supply line breaks down, when a piece of unjammable IGR tech becomes hopelessly jammed, when satellites plummet from the sky like shooting stars, a low-level lackey will sometimes blame the crew of L’Ami. Sometimes, this person will be correct.

The thing is, sometimes they’re wrong. Sometimes, the resistance comes from much closer to home: orders not carried out, protocol ignored, a devastating weapon left to suffer a mysterious number of production setbacks. When a simple functionary of the Regime acts out of conscience, allows the gears of the machinery to grind close to breaking, even for a moment, L’Ami is there to take the blame. That’s half the reason it exists.

Grantaire calls it The Good Ship Plausible Deniability, but that’s just Grantaire.

Éponine has a job for them. This is not unusual; Éponine is the one with the most contacts on the ground. Scouring the ‘net is one thing, but she’s the one who picks up on the whispers, the thoughts nobody dares commit to keyboards or transcribers.

A prominent politician on New Jupiter has been working with the mafia since before Neuzo.

“The Estonians?” asks Bahorel; “The Sicilians?”

“More small-time than that,” Éponine tells him. “They call themselves the Jondrettes.”

Cosette turns from her pilot’s chair to frown at Éponine. The two share several seconds of complex eye contact, the kind with multiple layers of meaning, and then Cosette reaches up and squeezes Éponine’s shoulder, supportive.

“We go back a ways,” Éponine explains to the others. “But it’s fine. Won’t be an issue.”

“Are you sure,” says Enjolras.

Éponine smiles wolfishly. “I think Bossuet would say it’ll be good for my sense of closure.”

The mission is complicated. Wiretapping mob lines from the air is a no-go; criminals have the best encryption on the market. Planting a bug in-person means infiltrating either the Jondrettes’ headquarters, or the offices of a minor chancellor.

“Chancellor’ll have less security,” Bahorel points out. “Fewer armed guards--”

“But we’ll need a better cover story,” Éponine finishes. “High clearance. You know what that means.”

Enjolras does.

Grantaire shows up to the briefing wearing thick black eyeliner. “It’s my form of protest,” he explains. “I will rock this look until you at least give me a small plank to walk people off.”

Enjolras, who has consumed more piratical factoids than he’d really care to admit, says absently, “They didn’t even do that” before he’s thought better of it.

“Aha!” Grantaire shouts. “So by not allowing me a plank, you admit we’re pirates!”

“In other news,” Courfeyrac interjects brightly, “the briefing!”

To pull off this latest mission, the crew will need at least two sets of convincing ident cards, badges, and scannable contact lenses to create the illusion of a bodyguard and a mid-level aide. (Bahorel and Courfeyrac, respectively. Éponine is out due to the chance she could be recognized by one of Jondrette’s thugs. It remains to be seen if the Chancellor is brazen enough to invite known criminals directly to his office, but it’s not beyond the realm of possibility.)

“Simple,” says Grantaire. “Child’s play. A grievous waste of my talents. I could be counterfeiting money on a tropical planet, sipping absurdly conceptual cocktails on a hover-beach, and here I am instead--” “And why is that, exactly?” Enjolras fires back. Grantaire just shrugs one easy shoulder, eyes shockingly blue against all that black. It reminds Enjolras of the way Earth stands out in photos taken from space.

“Who’s got the attention span to stay put?” Grantaire replies. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my quarters.” He reaches the door, spins, and adds with a grin, “mateys.”

The irritating thing about Grantaire--and there are many, but the chief one among Enjolras’s concerns--is that it is almost impossible to get a straight answer out of him.

Grantaire of a dozen years ago would never so casually take orders, would certainly never then turn around and perform the tasks required. Maybe he just prefers fucking shit up over trying to rally the people. But then again, the work Grantaire does--falsifying records, forging credentials, crafting careful replicas of retinas--is not just an act of creation but an act of incredible precision.

Everyone aboard L’Ami has made sacrifices. Everyone left behind people, places, the chance for anything resembling a steady life. They are all legally dead, after all. Most did it from a place of deep conviction, the same conviction that once drove them to pledge their lives to the cause back on Corinth.

Grantaire was not one of them then. The only change between those days and the day Grantaire chose to run with them was the total failure of the student uprisings.

Why this, why now? Certainly, Enjolras has other things to think about. They’ll need more rations soon, and both Cosette and Feuilly have been after him about some new engine part that should be able to up their speed by something like fifteen percent. Combeferre is only a year’s worth of work away from being able to implant a virus inside the Regime’s intra-government mail system. Courfeyrac’s disguises get more promising every day. And if nothing else, there’s an endless expanse of stars out the window, endless thoughts to have about the scope of the universe and the promise of a brighter dawn.

Most of the time, this is more than enough to keep his mind occupied.

Most of the time.

Enjolras is waiting by the comms when word comes that the plan’s gone south. Fifteen minutes after Courfeyrac successfully managed to slip into the Chancellor’s office and plant the bug inside of his desk, Bahorel was spotted and recognized by a freelance guard.

“How,” says Cosette, calm tone belying her white knuckles on the dashboard.

“Not sure.” Courfeyrac’s voice comes in a whisper; from the sounds of it, he’s ducked behind a corner. “I know he was on the amateur boxing circuit, back in the day--”

The name on Bahorel’s ident card won’t match up with the name he went by then. It’s a matter of time until the small talk branches off into questions and they are discovered.

Enjolras has to fix this. It was his call to send Courfeyrac and Bahorel, his call that put them in danger. He paces the cockpit.

“I’m going in after them,” he announces.

“No,” says a voice from the doorway. Grantaire is standing there, shoulders tense, still wearing that ridiculous eyeliner. “We don’t have the numbers for a confrontation.” His voice is quiet, devoid of irony or sarcasm. Somehow, that’s the strangest part of the whole scene.

“I’ll keep it covert,” Enjolras says. “I’ll pretend to be Bahorel’s superior--we’ve still got that spare IGR uniform, right?”

“We do, but we’d still need a new ID for you,” Combeferre replies. “It’s the same problem.”

“The guard’s less likely to check the credentials of a superior, you know that,” Enjolras snaps. Every second they debate is a second Courfeyrac and Bahorel lose.

“Let someone else do it,” Grantaire adds, grave. “We’ve got four or five working aliases between us--”

“Nobody with the clearance to extract them,” says Enjolras. He sighs, rakes his fingers through his hair. “How fast can you make a new ID, Grantaire.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “Not fast enough.” “Then I’ll have to go without.”

“Please don’t do this, Captain.” Grantaire swallows, stares unblinking at Enjolras. “We can’t lose you.”

Later, Enjolras thinks. Later he will pause to examine this moment, the way Grantaire’s voice cracks on ‘you,’ the way his own throat aches in sympathy. Later, because there will be time, because this plan will work.

“Cosette, get ready to make a fast exit,” says Enjolras, already peeling off his captain’s vest. “Tell Feuilly to stoke the engines. Bahorel, keep stalling. Courfeyrac, make your way back to the ship as discreetly as you can. And Grantaire? Have a little faith.”

Grantaire’s choking, hysterical laughter follows him out of the cockpit.

The sun is bright and surreal in his eyes after so many days shipside. Enjolras strides forward, trying to make his speed look commanding and not desperate.

“You there!” he shouts at Bahorel and the guard. “You’re not paid to stand around chatting!”

“Sorry, sir!” Bahorel barks.

“Sorry, sir!” the guard echoes.

“Report back to your stations immediately!” says Enjolras.

“Yes, sir!” Bahorel jogs off, and Enjolras’s heart lightens.

The guard blinks back at him.

The best way to stem critical thinking and divert suspicion is to play into strong emotions. Fear works well. Enjolras launches into a lengthy, furious lecture on the importance of professionalism, of duty and obedience and manning your goddamn post.

“Sir,” says the guard slowly, “I was on break…”

An actual official of the IGR would know this. An actual official of the IGR would be able to access the roster.

“Meadows dismissed me at 09:00,” the guard continues, “Senior Officer…?” One hand is on his radio. There are people everywhere, no way to stop him without making a scene. Enjolras prays that Courfeyrac and Bahorel are already back on the ship.

“Sir!” someone is yelling from behind him. “Sir!” Enjolras spins around. Grantaire is running towards them at full speed. He’s wearing Feuilly’s mechanic coveralls with Musichetta’s leather gloves, to hide the knuckle tattoos, and a pair of goggles jammed over his dark curls to cover the eye makeup. “Sir!” Grantaire calls, “beg pardon, but you left this in the transport!”

In his outstretched hand is a pristine new ID card, emblazoned with the words Major General Hugo.

The guard looks a little pale.

“Would you like to continue to question me,” asks Enjolras, deadly calm.

“No, sir!” The guard executes a sloppy salute and turns on his heel.

Grantaire is doubled over, breathing raggedly. He must have sprinted the whole way. Feuilly has a slighter build; the mechanic suit strains at the shoulders and biceps.

“Thank you,” says Enjolras, as dispassionately as he can, mindful of the crush of people on all sides.

“No...tip...necessary,” Grantaire manages between pants. “Just...glad...to be...of service.”

Once they are safely back in space again, the mood on the ship is messy and ebullient. They may be down to protein tabs, but it turns out there’s still wine.

Bahorel is cheerfully regaling everyone with the story, including a spirited impression of Enjolras as a tyrannical senior officer. Enjolras half-expects Grantaire to be in the thick of the festivities, but he is absent from the mess hall. Nor is he in the cockpit or the engine room or the training room.

Enjolras finds him, finally, in the hydroponics lab.

“Thank you,” he says, and Grantaire jumps.

“You already said,” Grantaire replies with a crooked smile. There is a measure of truth in that smile, but something else, too. Enjolras allows himself to remember that argument in the cockpit, and it’s as though that glimpse of the slipping mask has granted him a better sense of it now.

“I mean it,” Enjolras pushes. “You risked your life, and I appreciate it.”

He’s not sure what he expects, but it’s not laughter. “God,” says Grantaire, bitter and amused, “don’t. Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Act like this represents magnificent sacrifice on my part. I acted with extreme selfishness.”

Enjolras frowns. “I don’t follow.”

“Do you really?” Grantaire’s voice is climbing. “Come on, Enjolras, I refuse to believe you’re this obtuse. You must know.”

It’s beyond confusing. “Know what?” Enjolras repeats. “If you’re going to talk in riddles, at least make it rhyme.”

“Well, fuck,” says Grantaire, and an edge of that hysterical laughter is back. “Fuck, what rhymes with, ‘I’ve been desperately in love with you since I very first heard you preaching fire and brimstone and freedom on the quad?’ It’s a little, it’s a little tough to make that scan, but Jesus Christ, give me a second--”

There is a long pause as every neuron in Enjolras’s brain swivels, reconfigures, sputters back into life. Several things suddenly make more sense. Several things also make less sense, but he’ll have time to sort that out.

They’re alive. They have time.

“Grantaire,” he says, hears himself say, “will you go out with me?”

There is a much longer pause. “...say again?” mumbles Grantaire.

“Grantaire, will you please take off those stupid goggles and go out with me?”

“Wow, uh.” The goggles land on the floor, and Enjolras watches those blue eyes widen.

Enjolras fits his hand to the side of Grantaire’s face because he can, because they’re both still breathing and the skin of Grantaire’s jaw is warm and rough with stubble. When Enjolras presses their mouths together, Grantaire’s lips are soft, almost hesitant until something inside him seems to snap and then they are kissing with abandon as the hydroponic system softly mists the air around them.

Presently, Grantaire pulls away. “Are you sure, I mean, are you one hundred percent sure this isn’t just gratitude at how I totally saved your ass?”

“I’m sure,” says Enjolras. “Although, I do think you deserve a reward for that.”

“Yeah?” says Grantaire.

Enjolras takes a deep breath, carefully schools his face. “Shiver me timbers,” he says, totally deadpan, before reaching out to reel Grantaire back in.

Grantaire’s grin is brighter than a supernova.

[grandrsachilles]

Here is my Les Mis experience

(its really long but what the hell)

I was sat on the 2nd row so I was so close to the stage and at times the cast were no more than 5ft away and it was crazy

As soon as the first note to ‘Look Down’ played I was crying 

Valjean and Javert screaming their names at each other

The way they had the stage rotate as Valjean was walking round finding work was so awesome

The Bishop and Valjean ?? Is this a ship?? There was definitely something going on there, the way they looked at each other whilst the Bishop had his hands on Valjean’s chest (Valjean had his hands over the Bishop’s) and when the Bishop went to leave the stage they still held hands until they couldn’t anymore

‘Valjean’s Soliloquy’ was amazing, the first time we really got to experience Valjean’s vocals and Dean Chisnall’s voice is AMAZING and I teared up

I loved how in the factory Fantine had one friend who stuck with her and held her hands and tried to reassure her when she had been thrown out until she was dragged away off stage by the other women 

Also the factory workers were a mixture of men and women though it was only the women that were horrible to Fantine

‘I Dreamed A Dream’ was pretty emotional, Carley Stenson’s voice was so powerful

‘Lovely Ladies’ was done really well I liked how the prostitutes were all in the centre stage and there was smoke and it was really cool with all the effects and how they had Fantine coming back with short hair

AND BAMATABOIS I cannot stand that man he was so horrible to Fantine and how the women rallied against her trying to comfort her after she attacked him and he threw her onto the floor

The cart scene was incredible, how everyone was running around the stage and then when the cart had fallen some of the cast were practically right next to me like rolling and tumbling 

How they did ‘Who Am I?’ was pretty cool, how he was alone but then he was standing before the court showing his 24601 brand on his chest

Fantine’s death scene was really sad, how she got out of bed and collapsed and Valjean carried her back to bed and she died in his arms and that bright white light that shone on her once she had died got me real good

THE CONFRONTATION I loved this part and how they chased each other around Fantine’s bed?? And Valjean picking up a chair and smashing it on the floor and then threatening Javert with a chair leg what a man

Little Cosette was so adorable, her voice was incredible for someone so young 

The Thenardier’s were so funny throughout the entire thing, just small comments and actions

‘Master Of The House’ was really good and there were multiple laughs during the performance 

‘The Bargain’ was also pretty funny, the things the Thenardiers did when Valjean wasn’t looking like the faces they made at each other and afterwards when they had the money and Mdm Thenardier was rubbing it on herself and Thenardier grabbed her and they ran off stage

THE DANCE SCENE VALJEAN AND LITTLE COSETTE HAD AFTERWARDS WAS SO BEAUTIFUL and how she changed super fast into a nice dress and Catherine

‘Look Down’ was really good again and when Enjolras and Marius appeared !! And some of the ensemble were right next to me again which was awesome

Marius and Cosette meeting each other was really cute and he tried to help her during the robbery scene

Montparnasse like grabbed Eponine during the robbery and she attacked him and pushed him away but then he helped her with the robbery and his outfit was just so Montparnasse?? Like top hat and a better tailcoat than all the others??

When Javert appeared during this and Valjean had gone, Patron-Minette and the Thenardiers were all on the floor next to Javert and Thenardier crawled towards Javert’s feet as he sung ‘in the absence of a victim dear inspector may I go..’ And Javert just glared at him and he shuffled back towards the others really quickly and whispered guess not to the others

‘STARS’ WAS AMAZING once again the vocals were incredible, the Javert was an understudy played by Lee Van Geleen and he was an amazing Javert

‘Red and Black/ ABC Cafe’ was soo good, Samuel’s voice he’s such an awesome Enjolras like his voice was just perfect for this role and THE HAIR he was amazing but when Enjolras said ‘dont let the wine go to your brains’ he stared at Grantaire who stared back in disbelief and pointed to the guy behind him 

Grantaire then continued to lovingly stare at Enjolras throughout the song (minus the parts when he was annoying Enjolras with his lines)

GRANTAIRE PUT THE BOTTLE DOWN 

Grantaire literally sulked and sat down and read a newspaper for the rest of the song whilst everyone else was gathered together listening to Enjolras

I LOVED how this transitioned into ‘Do You Hear The People Sing?’ how they moved from the cafe into the streets to rally people, and Enjolras in the cart omg 

‘In My Life/ Heart Full Of Love’ was so cute and how Marius just climbed the gate and held Cosette, it was also really cool how the gate rotated to fit where the scene was more focused AND Toby’s Marius was so well played like his Marius was so awkward and adorable

‘ONE DAY MORE’ OMG I’m still not over this, how Enjolras came onto the stage wearing the red vest and went between Cosette and Marius and then when they were all doing THAT walk across the stage and the last couple lines got to me SO BAD 

Also Valjean handing Catherine to Cosette and packing her into her bag to leave for England omg

‘On My Own’ was pretty good and again emotional 

And at the barricade when Javert had been found out and Gavroche the little savage has no chill 

And Grantaire whilst singing ‘bravo little Gavroche you’re the top of the class’ picked him up and put him on his shoulders

When Eponine came back to the barricade and was shot it was SO sad like a ‘Little Fall Of Rain’, the blood and Marius’ sobs as he hugged her body and after she was carried away during ‘Night Of Anguish’

During the first attack Grantaire tried to protect Gavroche and everyone screamed get down and everyone did except Grantaire who stayed stood on top of a box with his arms wide and he said bring it on and Feuilly and Courf I think kept shouting at him to get down and he eventually did when they dragged him down

Them gunshots though every time I would full on jump they were SO loud and sharp 

And ‘DRINK WITH ME’ afterwards holy hell, during Grantaire’s part Courf pointed him out to Enjolras who then ran down the barricade and grabbed his shoulder before standing in front of him and they stared at each other for a while before Grantaire literally THREW himself into Enjolras’ arms and they hugged for a few seconds and I cried

Grantaire and Marius also hugged multiple times

‘Bring Him Home’ has always been my least favourite song but Dean’s performance was just INCREDIBLE and I LOVED it and how Marius went to sleep hugging Eponine’s hat just broke my heart

Gavroche’s death omg, just before when Marius and Enjolras were talking Grantaire made sure Gavroche was okay and safe and two seconds later he had run around the barricade and then he was killed once he had thrown the ammunition over the barricade and it was really sad

Marius was then shot and Grantaire was crying over him trying to wake him up

And then he and Enjolras shook hands and Enjolras smiled (which I guess in a way was do you permit it?) 

Enjolras then ran to the top of the barricade and tried to take the flag but was shot and the epic death fall??

BUT then Grantaire ran up to the top after Enjolras was shot and threw his wine bottle at the National Guard and was then shot and killed

How that bright white light shone on each one as they died, was that really necessary???

When the barricade rotated and Enjolras was fallen backwards over the barricade it was so sad but looked SO awesome

The sewer scene was also really good, like how a light would shine on Valjean and Marius and each time Valjean was carrying Marius in a different way it looked awesome

JAVERT’S SUICIDE WAS DONE AMAZINGLY

First off the vocals again, and secondly how it was performed?? There was a bridge on the stage and he climbed over the railings and as he stepped from the bridge to the stage the bridge went up and Javert ‘fell’ and it just looked so amazing?? 

‘Turning’ was so sad and ‘Empty Chairs At Empty Tables’ when they all came and stood behind Marius omg my heart

The wedding scene was so beautiful, some of the barricade guys came back to dance and the dancing was really pretty 

When Thenardier sang ‘this ones a queer but what can you do’ the guy who was Grantaire (Raymond Walsh) stopped dancing, let go of his partner and once again stared in disbelief at Thenardier and the audience

The ending will forever get to me

When Fantine appeared and I started to tear up and then once he had gone and Marius was holding Cosette as she cried and Eponine appeared behind them

THEN everyone reappeared and I SOBBED badly it was so sad yet beautiful 

Don’t even get me started on the bows at the end

I started crying even more I was so sad it was over but soo happy with the cast and the entire thing 

The entire theatre gave a standing ovation and Id never experienced that with a show and it was incredible and that made me cry even more

AND during the final bows the cast were SO close and they all looked so happy and thankful and I cant 

Im SO glad I got to see the new cast in one of their first weeks they were seriously incredible and I recommend it so much

I also got to meet some of the cast afterwards and they were all SO nice 

BEST NIGHT EVER