One thing I love about the Les Mis fandom is that we’re such flexible shippers. Like, most of us have favorite ships that we really love, but I don’t think I’ve seen a single ship-hate post in any of the tags; the ‘worst’ I’ve seen is, “I don’t really ship it but, hey, whatever.” Pictures and headcanons sometimes get reblogged by people who don’t normally ship something, because they acknowledge the cuteness of the post. There’s plenty of multishippers. It’s just been, as far as I’ve seen, a really safe shipping space, and that makes me so happy.
“I’m fine, R.” Enjolras gripes as he tactically pushes up on his left foot, arm extending high above his head to reach for a coffee mug placed on the highest shelf in the cupboard.
And, he thinks, he is fine. Sure his foot is slightly swollen and colored an impressive purple after a particularly nasty tumble down the steps at Marius’s dorm building, but he doesn’t need a keeper. He’s fully capable of doing everything himself. The pain isn’t even that bad; he finds its maybe a six on a scale of ten. Completely manageable.
His balance suddenly teeters, and he finds himself falling to the side without the cup. He would have crashed to the floor if it weren’t for a sudden, lean arm wrapping around his waist to steady him from behind. Another arm reaches past his head to easily grab the mug he’s been attempting to get for the better part of two minutes.
“You clearly aren’t,” Grantaire says, voice rumbling against Enjolras’s back, and Enjolras ignores the slight shiver as warm breath brushes across his neck in favor of pursing his lips out into a pout and breathing out a low huff.
When Grantaire steps away to place the mug in the Keurig, Enjolras hobbles toward the table, bracing one hand on the back of a chair as he glares daggers at Grantaire’s back.
“I am fine,” he spits out, voice dancing across a dangerous flame threatening to burn the brunet’s back.
Sighing, Grantaire turns until he’s facing Enjolras with an arched brow. “Will you just sit down before you fall down? E, I love you, but you are being an idiot.“ When the Keurig chimes right after his words, he turns back to it to finish preparing the coffee.
Enjolras blinks absently, focus zeroing in on the small, four-letter L word that Grantaire just used as if it’s nothing. He pulls a chair out and drops down into it, chair legs creaking loudly under the sudden weight.
He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts, gaze boring a hole into the wall, that he fails to see the coffee mug placed on the table beside him, and his mind is so absorbed in tracing each letter of the word “love” that he fails to notice when Grantaire drops into a crouch in front of him.
Love, Enjolras thinks as he picks apart each letter in steady calculations. Since when?
They’ve been dating for only a few weeks. Isn’t it too soon to say the L word? He’s not sure; he’s not very experienced with dating since Grantaire is his first boyfriend.
Jumping, Enjolras’s eyes snap toward the worried face hovering in front of him. His eyes dance across Grantaire’s face, as if searching for some sort of explanation, but Grantaire appears to only be worried about him.
“Are you alright?”
“You love me?”
Grantaire jerks back, stumbling over his feet until his back is pressed against the counter. “W-what?” He sputters out as a burning blush creeps up his neck to his cheeks.
Enjolras carefully gets to his feet, leaning heavily against the table to spare his injured foot. “Just a minute ago. You said you love me.” He watches with narrow eyes as Grantaire’s face briefly falls as if thinking before he cups one hand over his mouth just as his jaw practically drops to the floor.
“I said-” Grantaire says, voice slightly muffled by his palm.
Enjolras limps toward the brunet until his face is inches from Grantaire’s. He latches fingers around the brunet’s forearm and pulls until he can see all of his face.
“I said I love you,” Grantaire breathes out, voice reflecting the surprise coloring his face.
Enjolras leans forward, pressing his lips flush against Grantaire’s. He can feel Grantaire’s arms find his waist, and he melts into the touch as their tongues dance about one another.
When Grantaire pulls away, Enjolras drops his forehead against the brunet’s. “I love you too,” he says quietly, and next thing he knows, he’s falling backwards as Grantaire tackles him with a hug.
The two collapse to the ground, and Enjolras winces as his foot is roughly jostled about. Instantly, Grantaire is off him, weight lifted from Enjolras’s chest by two hands pressed against the floor on either side of Enjolras.
“Are you alright?” Grantaire asks, voice laced heavily with a deep-rooted concern.
Despite his foot throbbing, Enjolras laughs and nods. “You love me,” he repeats, heart swelling when Grantaire’s worried face brightens with a wide smile.
THERE NEEDS TO BE MORE CANON-ERA FIC THAT FEATURES BOTH THEODULE GILLENORMAND AND MARIUS because seriously
Theodule: Marius’ cousin, National Guardsman, FOUGHT AT THE BARRICADES!!! Did he see Marius there?? Did he know who he was shooting at???
and what about June 7th, what if he came home from the National Guardsmen’s base all exhausted from battle but not really that badly injured. what if he saw Marius on the couch still looking like death incarnate?
“Sacrebleu, grandfather! What happened to poor Marius here?? Did someone jump him in an alleyway? This city is full of villains…”
headcanon that bahorel mentioned his gf’s name to the rest of the Amis exactly once, and then proceeded to talk about her using only pet names for the next two months or so. consequently, when she finally shows up to a meeting…
bahorel: “hey guys, this is my better half, who needs no introduction!”
…no one remembers what her name is, and they’re all too afraid to ask.
my brain: always out there, cArryINg thE bAnNer-the sun’ll come out tomorrow, one day more. another day, another- look out my window, theres a view of other windows- WAVING through a windowwwww IM FLYING HIIIIGH defyyyyyying gravvity-GoTtA GeT GoTtA GeT gEt YoUr HEaD iN tHe GaMe TWO PLAYER GAAAAAAAMMEE theres nothing like summer in the city- IM SINging in the raaaaaiinn ORLANDO orlando I LOVE YOU orlando, SEASons of loooooovvveee-GoTtA FinD mY coooooorneeer of ThE SKyyyyyy-VeRoNicA, open the OPEN THE DOOR PLEASE- anatole is HOT he spe-
I’m so sick of this stigma that theatre geeks’ favorite musicals can’t be High School Musical or Les Mis or Wicked or Phantom or Hamilton or any other popular musicals. Like. There is a reason it is popular, and that’s because it’s good.