Five Times Enjolras Almost Proposed to Grantaire, and Twice He Did
@ionlyrunfromshame, your wish is my command. Established ExR, Modern AU, fluffy as fluffy can be.
Grantaire bounced on the balls of his feet, barely able to contain his excitement as the line into the Louvre inched forward. “So I know I’ve said it like a bajillion times, but I really appreciate you coming here with me.”
“It’s not like it’s a hardship for me to spend time with you on our vacation to Paris,” Enjolras said, amused. “I may not be as into art as you, but there’s some great pieces in the Louvre – Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People; Meissonier’s The Barricade, rue de la Mortellerie, June 1848; Vien’s The Triumph of the Republic…I could go on.”
Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Grantaire looped his arm through Enjolras’s and leaned his head against his shoulder. “Naturally, I should have guessed where your interest would lie. Just promise me you’re not going to pull a Bastille reaction and start crying.”
Enjolras scowled at him. “Look, it was our first night in Paris, I had had a bit too much wine at your insistence, I would remind you, and it’s an emotional part of history.”
An excerpt from a longer Enjoltaire “get together” slash “Enj has anxiety” fic that will probably never see the light of day
⚠️: Panic attack
Enjolras presses the tip of his tongue against his teeth and counts - 1 2 3 in, 1 2 3 4 hold, 1 2 3 4 5 out. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And -
“Are you okay?”
Enjolras jolts his head up. Is he okay? Enjolras wants to snort.
Oh sure. Fine. Just - losing his mind on the subway but he’s fine. 1 2 3 in. Everything will be okay. 1 2 3 4 hold -
“Hey,” the guy, the one who spoke before, moves closer. “Are you, uh. You look like you might pass out.”
Enjolras tries to focus. Green eyes and a frown, brown leather, and curls and - breathe Enjolras, you know how to breathe, it’s easy, in and out and in and out and
“Maybe you should sit down?” The guy says, like it’s a question.
“I should ..?” Enjolras breaks through the panic for a moment and realizes he’s hunched over, “Yeah, yes - okay.”
He sits heavily and tries to calm down. He can’t stop his breath from stuttering. He rips off his scarf, and his fingers scrape against his neck. Fuck, it’s hot. And loud.
The R train screeches through the tunnel, metal on metal, a high, shrill noise that cuts the air.
Enjolras flinches and a few people stare openly. His whole body must have jerked but he can’t tell, he’s never, fuck, he’s never had this happen underground before.
“Hey are you..having a panic attack?” The guys looms over him.
Enjolras nods tightly. Yes, he thinks, I’m having a panic attack. He’s having a panic attack and Combeferre is laying in the hospital and now he’s stuck on the subway, left trying to recycle stale air when he can barely unclench his teeth.
“Okay, that’s okay.” The guys says. “Do you know where you are?”
“Yes,” Enjolras grits out. He doesn’t want attention, he wants fresh air, and a cell signal. Fuck; what if someone tries to call him and they can’t get through. It’ll go straight to voicemail. What if there were complications and now Combeferre is - is - no, he can’t go there.
“Cool, that’s good” the guy sits next to Enjolras.
Enjolras takes a shuddering breath in and tries to hold it. Instead, he’s left with small gasps that scrape against the back of his throat.
“Can I touch you?”
Enjolras tenses - he doesn’t like being touched. But touch is what helps ground him, and some small scrap of logic left in him outweighs pride. Enjolras nods.
“I’m just going to take your hand, that cool?” Enjolras doesn’t respond but the guy must see some affirmation because he takes Enjolras’ arm and guides a hand to his chest. “Cool, that’s great, can you try to match your breath to mine?”
The guy takes a deep exaggerated breath in, and then exhales slowly. Enjolras tries to match. They sit together and the train inches along.
A few stops go by and Enjolras can finally breathe enough to feel the low ache of shame taking up space against his ribs.
“I’m okay now,” Enjolras says, and his voice is steadier than before.
“You’re shaking,” the guys says, but releases Enjolras’ hand.
“Yeah I know how that goes.”
They sit in silence. The train doors open, and a few people step in.
“Thank you,” Enjolras says, and meets a pair of vivid and searching eyes.
“Hey sure, glad I could help.” The guy glances at him, sidelong. “Are you…okay?”
“Yes,” Enjolras says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “they’ll stop shaking in a second.”
“I kind of meant - did something happen?”
Enjolras fidgets. He doesn’t know how to answer. What Enjolras can’t do, or at least, what Enjolras can’t do well, is talk about his feelings. He’d rather choke on anxiety than share it. On the best days, he can pack anxieties into a backpack, shoving guilt and grief deep inside. On the worst days, the weight of it all slumps his shoulders so much that his back might break.
“My best friend is in the hospital.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
Enjolras nods once, and searches the guy’s face. There’s no pity there. His forehead is scrunched up and his lips pursed, he looks concerned - maybe a little confused. Enjolras’ shoulders drop.
“A taxi side-swiped his bike. He hit his head. They’re not sure..”
“Fuck. Fuck, man I’m sorry. Really.”
“Thanks,” Enjolras says. He means it.
They ride in silence for a little longer.
“My stops next,” the guy says.
“Thank you,” Enjolras gives the most genuine smile he can muster.
“I - uh. I’m Grantaire. By the way.”
The train screeches loudly again and then shudders to a stop. Their knees brush and Grantaire stands up.
“Bye, I guess” he says. “Take care of yourself.”
He walks off just as the doors close.
Enjolras takes a deep breath. And then another, and another, and watches through the subway window stained with fingerprints as a head of dark, curly hair gets swallowed into the crowd.
(I also got an E/R “Faery AU” prompt from an anon, so I’m rolling these up into one!)
“You saved my life,” says the strange man into the sudden silence. “I owe you a debt.”
Enjolras shakes his head immediately. “You owe me nothing. I’m only glad that I was here to get you out of the way in time.”
The man steps out of the shadows, and suddenly he looks much less human. “I owe you a debt,” he says again, and this time Enjolras knows what it means, and knows to his bones what the terror on the man’s face means. “You can call me R to my face, but if you need me, if you want me to pay the debt, call for Grantaire.”
I wrote something else!! I feel alive again. I thought I’d share it on here but it’s posted on my ao3
Grantaire was little more than a myth to Enjolras. Almost all of his friends knew him.
Bahorel met him during a bar fight; Jehan met him at a poetry reading; Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta had been friends with him since high school; and Feuilly worked at a candle store with him for a while.
The point is, Grantaire had started to intrude on Enjolras’ life a long time ago, and he was constantly hearing stories of his escapades (punching a cop in the face for harassing Jehan and then actually escaping the police, accidentally acquiring a sugar daddy and using his money to pay for pole-dancing lessons, living in a random frat house for two weeks before anyone realized).
It didn’t exactly paint a portrait of what to expect when Enjolras first meets him. To Enjolras, although he’s erratic, Grantaire seems to be a person worth being friends with, if the way Jehan’s eyes like up when they speak of him is anything to go by.
Bahorel’s shouting them all drinks at the Corinth because he finally gave up on law and decided to pursue his dreams of being a chef, and when Enjolras hears that Grantaire will be there he decides to finally sate his curiosity.
There’s a large uproar, mainly Bahorel’s booming voice, when Enjolras and Combeferre walk in, and Enjolras gives his friends a polite smile. There’s people he doesn’t know - a girl with dark hair and hungry eyes, a man wearing inappropriately-fashionable clothes and a coldly happy expression, and another man, drinking from a bottle and talking with Feuilly, his cheeks and ears red from the warmth of the bar, his black hair curly.
“That must be Grantaire,” Combeferre points out mildly as they near their friends.
“I’m going to introduce myself,” Enjolras announces, watching and trying to match the man to the legend. He’s certainly lively, laughing joyously at whatever Feuilly says.
WIP - Snowballs and Sheer Luck (Lin-Manuel x Reader)
Summary: You got hit with a snowball out of the blue and universal law states that you must return fire
Word Count: 1,420
A/N: I wrote this ages ago (during that one snowstorm, this was actually the original snowfic I wrote) and then abandoned it. But here’s an abandoned fic for everyone who was so kind and so understanding about me being MIA. _____________________________
“Fuck you, man! I have to meet with Sherry and Greg still. Some of us have to be responsible adults!” Tommy laughed at Lin who had insisted on tagging along as Tommy walked to this meeting. He also insisted on detouring through the park to appreciate the large patches of untouched snow and Tommy was always one to oblige his more romantic-minded friend.
It was always a given to budget more time than usual when Lin tagged along on commutes, but the snow made it ten times worse. Lin had decided that his source of entertainment during their journey was to launch snowballs at Tommy, making himself burst into a fit of laughter every time one met his target. When Tommy had agreed to let Lin join him on his trek through the snowy city he had also accepted the possibility that he would not reach the meeting with his clothes as dry as when he left for it. But that did not mean that he appreciated Lin’s attack.
“You’re gonna be late anyways, might as well let me have my fun” Lin’s laughter rang through the park before he bent down to pack another snowball - this one larger than all the others.
Summary: No one usually pays you any attention when you’re in the shadow of your older sisters, but all that changes when you manage to slip away from them to listen to the young revolutionaries shouting in the square
A/N: I love this request! It’s slightly inspired by the Schuyler sisters, because the reader is a bit like Peggy (but there’re also some Angelica vibes there?). I called the reader’s sisters Adrienne and Colette by the way. Enjoy reading, and please leave feedback!
For liberaldisaster, who requested a fic about Enjolras and his service dog. Written on my phone since my computer is still dead, so please forgive any weird autocorrects I didn’t catch.
Developing E/R, modern AU. Warnings for brief mentions of violence/injury and injury recovery.
Both Enjolras and the labradoodle at his feet lifted their heads as Grantaire clattered into the room, but as soon as the dog saw who it was, he set his head back down on his paws. “Enjolras,” Grantaire panted, out of breath. “A bunch of us are getting coffee and I–” He broke off, wheezing. “Christ, I’m out of shape.”
Enjolras hid a smile. “You’re getting coffee and wanted to invite me?” he guessed. “You know, you own this thing called a cellphone that allows you to text or call me instead running all the way over here.”
Grantaire shrugged, still breathing heavily. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” he asked. “Besides, I’m better at guilting you in person than over the phone.”
“Fair enough,” Enjolras said after he rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. “So where are you planning on going, anyway?”
Okay so I talk a lot about Grantaire and trans boy Enjolras having a child but please take a moment to imagine -
- Their son with a mop of dark curls and Enjolras’ eyes being a force to be reckoned with because he has Enjolras’ temper and conviction but armed with the wit and sass of Grantaire.
- Enjolras and Grantaire getting a phonecall from his confused teacher because ‘We asked the children to draw a picture of their family and there’s a LOT of people in this picture?’ because small citizen has included all of Les Amis.
- Feuilly teaching him how to make paper fans and origami swans that end up being left everywhere around the house and the Musain and basically everywhere.
- Bahorel who, as the tallest member of Les Amis, lifts the little one onto his shoulders during meetings so he can watch his papa speechify even though he’s too young to understand what Enjolras is getting so riled up about.
- Jehan teaching him how to make flower crowns. It becomes mandatory for Les Amis to wear them during meetings. Enjolras manages, somehow, to look terrifying even with a badly made string of daisies in his hair.
- Enjolras being interrupted mid-speech by small hands grabbing at his pants to get his attention and being proudly presented with a drawing his son has made. Enjolras for once in his life dropping everything to praise him and kiss his forehead before firing right back into his rant with his son in his arms like nothing happened.
- Enjolras coming home one day to find the kitchen is covered in paint. Grantaire is covered in paint. The child is covered in paint. ‘We made posters for your rally!’. Soon Enjolras is also covered in paint.
- Combeferre gets him one of those star projector things and he adores it and makes his parents leave it on for him every night when he goes to sleep.
- Courfeyrac hosting tea parties with him, in full princess regalia. Enjolras is outraged by the implication that his son is being taught to be sympathetic towards the concept of monarchy (He goes off on a rant about abuse of power that Courfeyrac and Small Citizen do not listen to as they are quite busy eating imaginary cake)
- Grantaire absolutely adoring his baby and proudly proclaiming that he was the best thing he’s ever made, joking that he’s his ‘masterpiece’. Grantaire slowly getting better at loving himself because this small child looks at him with so much awe, like he’s the greatest thing in the world, and it’s impossible not to believe it sometimes.
- Marius and Cosette babysitting him. Cosette thinks he’s a darling and Marius is slightly intimidated by him because this small human has Enjolras’ genes and that’s terrifying and also oh god if he loses so much as a hair on his head I’ll have to face Enjolras’ wrath…small child think Marius is hilarious.
- Eponine who is the best babysitter ever as far as the child is concerned because she always sneaks around sweets (I mean nobody has to know she shoplifted them, she can’t exact afford luxuries) and sometimes her little brother comes over too and he’s so much fun…
- Joly being the baby’s favouite doctor to go to because he manages to make shots not scary because afterall ‘Joly was the gayest of them all’
- Joly, Chetta and Bossuet looking after him some days and having the best playdates known to man that always go a little awry because terrible luck manages to befall Bossuet, usually in harmless and comical ways.
- Trans girl Chetta who helps Enjolras explain the gender thing to him, and proclaims herself fearsome mother bear to him should anyone ever give him any trouble.
- E and R’s son growing up fully aware of the situation with Enjolras and being taught about gender at a young age. He gives a very serious speech about it in his class when he gets questions about why he doesn’t have a mother.
@fixaidea Either Enjolras or Grantaire remembering the other’s birthday?
This prompt was offered when I was in a Space Mood, so this story randomly happens in space, for reasons. You can, if you wish, admit this happens in the same universe as the last two stories.
The most surprising thing was to find Grantaire on the deck alone; it seemed to Enjolras that Grantaire was always in the midst of other people, on the edge or at the center of a group, mingling, laughing, talking. Seeing him standing on his own, quiet and staring quite literally at the universe expanding outside of the ship, felt almost wrong. Enjolras frowned but moved forward, taking long steps to reach Grantaire, who blinked several times when he finally noticed him, before grinning broadly.
“Enjolras,” he said, his voice almost a song. “I feel suddenly blessed; Years of pouring luck out of Lesgles has finally paid off I see: no need to look up at stars anymore, though you are still annoyingly tall, like the rest of our crew; Courfeyrac and Joly alone were nice enough to grow up a normal size, we should all spend more time being thankful to them; ha, I’ll buy them a drink tonight. Dare I ask why you are here? It’s very rare to see you alone these days. And nothing I remember has warranted a conversation between us, which makes me very curious about what you have to say; cause surely you didn’t came here without a purpose: that particularly brand of walking belongs to people like me. So..?”
The thought that they’d had the same reflexion about one another made Enjolras raise an eyebrow, but he didn’t speak of it. Instead, he merely said:
could you pretty please write a drabble or something about R with kids because I srsly need that rn thanks! 💕💕
Les Amis volunteer at Gavroche’s school carnival
R runs the face-painting booth
Enjolras ends up spending most of the evening watching R and seeing him make all the kids so excited because
he can more or less transform them into whatever they want.
They leave his booth very happy and he’s never seen R so happy. He’s smiling and laughing and genuinely enjoying himself with all the kids.
R notices Enjolras watching him and at the end of the carnival calls over to him, “Come over here Apollo and I’ll paint a French flag on your cheek.”
Enjolras hesitates and R says, “or I can paint whatever
you want instead.”
Enjolras looks at the floor while quietly responding, “could you make me a
R represses a grin and says sure. Enjolras sits down and has
trouble dealing with how close R has to get to his face while painting it.
Enjolras ends up staring at R’s lips the whole time and how did he never notice how attractive they are…
he definitely does not want to kiss
“So you like kids, huh?” “Yeah…they remind me of you actually.” Enjolras raises his eyebrows. “I mean, they’re still optimistic and see the good in world. It rubs off on me.” Enjolras snorts, “More than I do it would seem…you think everything I do is pointless.”
Grantaire remains silent until he finishes painting and responds, “nah, I believe in you…” then he taps Enjolras’ nose with the paintbrush while saying, “mon petit chat.”
My favourite Enjolras is the Enjolras who adores his friends. The Enjolras who confuses everyone who isn’t in the group because from the outside it looks like he is dating all of the les Amis.
Enjolras who never stops talking about how great Feuilly is, both in front of Feuilly and behind his back. Enjolras who jumps into EVERY fight bahorel gets in around him, like Enjolras is tiny but he bites like a motherfucker.
Enjolras who will spend hours with Courfeyrac talking and will go to every single event he plans without complaint because he knows courfeyrac loves these things. Enjolras who fake dates Marius with the sole purpose of pissing off his grandfather because he is the only one who isn’t terrified of that man. And when Combeferre adopts a cat Enjolras keeps his allergy secret and has to sneak tons of medicine to keep from sneezing constantly.
Enjolras being the first person joly bossuet and Musichetta come to with their relationship because they know he will not only accept them without question but also be at their side for every other time they tell people and he has a strangely comforting presence. And every time Eponine or Montparnasse need somewhere to crash for the night his couch is open and he always buys breakfast for them in the morning.
And when jehan has a poetry reading Enjolras is always at the middle front seat getting way too into it and making jehan blush afterwards with all the compliments. Enjolras who showers his friends with compliments, thanking them for every contribution they make and getting this earnest face on as he tells them how much their dedication means to him.
Enjolras not being the best to come to with personal problems, but he will always listen, just don’t ask for advice. I mean just picture Enjolras with his serious face on looking Cosette in the eye and nodding along as she tells him all the fluffy details about her date with Marius. That’s a great mental picture okay?
I want to see more of Enjolras who knows all of his friends coffee orders and will buy them one whenever he has a chance, or Enjolras who will see something in a store and absolutely light up because it reminds him of one of his friends and immediately he buys it. Enjolras just being the most affectionate person, sometimes inconveniently so, calling his friends at three thirty in the morning to tell them how important they are to him, or pressing kisses to their cheeks and hugging them tightly every time he sees them as if they had been parted for years while it’s really been moments. And this often leads to people thinking he is dating multiple, if not all the members of the Les amis, this assumption is not refuted by the way he will sometimes find a friend and just hold their face and tell them how amazing he thinks they are.
Also in assemblies Enjolras is that annoying person yelling over everyone to find his friends so they can all sit together, and reserving a whole row with his books, bags, jacket, scarf and anything else so they wont be separated.
And when Enjolras actually starts dating Grantaire people find out that he was actually being somewhat reserved before.
“Go with solidarity, my brothers, and soon we will see all of Paris roused to our Cause and rallied to our Call!”
Enjolras’s words were met with a round of cheers, bringing the meeting to a close. Enjolras shared a smile with his closest lieutenants before sitting for the first time in over an hour. His break would be only temporary; time was a luxury only the bourgeois could afford and more preparation was needed. But even as Enjolras gratefully accepted a cup from Combeferre and took a sip, he scanned the room, something amiss even with his mind otherwise occupied.
It took him a long moment to realize that there was no glaring error present; rather, what struck him as wrong was the absence of a constant: Grantaire, the libertine and resident cynic who nonetheless was as consistent a presence as darkness to the night. It took him a moment longer to scan his memories and realize that he had not seen Grantaire some four meetings hence, an oddity that he felt remorse at not realizing earlier. “Where is Grantaire?” he asked Combeferre in an undertone, hoping not to draw attention to the question.
Combeferre shook his head, not looking up from the pamphlets spread in front of him. “He has not been here a few weeks, I don’t think,” he said, confirming Enjolras’s realization. “Surely you noticed? There is a reason our meetings have gone undisturbed of late by the fumes of wine and rants of nonbelievers.”
A/N: sorry im like two days late but i didn’t have any sleep last night and i had a long day at school.
The soldiers were climbing on the barricade, it was in the heat of the moment when you run up the barricade to protect your friends and got a sword in your stomach. The pain was indescribable, you looked at your wound while the rest was, still fighting. You decided to cover it up with a towell and not talk about it, it would heal itself, you thought.
The fight was over, the boys climbed of the barricade tapping each other on the shoulder. You forced a smile and walked with them to the cafe, ‘y/n, are you alright? You don’t look so well.’ It was Enjolras. You looked at him, not sure what to say, you wanted to tell him you got injured but you didn’t want them to be worried about you when they had something bigger to worry about.
When you stumbled towards the cafe you were feeling dizzy, things were starting to get blurry and vague. You felt yourself slip away ready to hit the hard floor, but that didn’t come. You didn’t really care about it anymore and you closed your eyes. ——————————– 'Come on, y/n. Stay with me, wake up.’ You heard the beautiful voice of Enjolras. You slowly opened your eyes to see the face of Enjolras, 'Thank god.’ He sighed and pulled you into a tight hug.
'What happened?’ You asked, Enjolras looked at you, 'honestly, I don’t know. You have a huge wound on your stomach, but don’t worry I’ll take care of you.’ A soft smile appeared on your face. Knowing you were in good hands, Enjolras had cleaned and disinfected the wound.
'You know y/n, I- uh’ Enjolras stuttered a but, you’ve never seen him like this, where was this going? 'I’ve never felt this way about someone, and I want you to know that I care about you. A lot. I just want you to be with me.’ Enjolras looked away, his cheeks were red like his jacket.
You reached towards him, touching his flushing cheeks gently. 'Enjolras I love you, and if that means we’re going to die out there then so be it. But I only want to be with you.’ You looked him straight in the eyes. Enjolras face changed from shy and even a bit scared to hopeful, he leaned in. Then at last his lips meet yours, it was soft but passionate, this I’d all you’ve lived for.
“Fine, right, sorry.” Courfeyrac said as he flopped on the couch. “But you get my point!”
“And you /don’t/ get mine. It’s not about one date. It’s about the fact that I’d be leading him on.”
Courfeyrac got back up, took Enjolras’ face in his hands and forced him to look at him. “Listen. Are you listening? Unless you open with ‘Hey, we’re tots gonna have sex later’ you’re not leading him on.”
“If we continue on dates, he’ll expect it.”
“Then bring it up! I don’t understand why you’ve always been so skittish about this topic.”
Enjolras sighed. “This is Grantaire we’re talking about. You know what he’s like. He’ll want it at some point, and I /can’t/. Maybe it it was a stranger and I could cut them off if I had to…but he’s part of the group…”
Courfeyrac looked ready to bash his head against a wall. “He went two years thinking you /hated/ him. If it doesn’t work out, I’m pretty sure he’ll get over it.”
“Nothing with Granatire is easy,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “Not when it comes to things like that.”
Enjolras glanced at the clock and groaned. “I have to finish this essay. If I promise to have a coffee date, will you /please/ leave me alone?”
So I was thinking about the anons (and isa) saying what characters I remind the of and I was like “eeehhh maybe not, I mean where would you get the idea that I’m like enjolras, joly, jehan, and Pidge???”
The reaction is instantaneous. The blond guy spins around, turning to face Grantaire fast as lightening. His eyes are wide and he looks startled.
Grantaire returns the stare and sings the rest of the song, ignoring the way Courfeyrac and Combeferre are staring and muttering. When he’s done he sets the guitar down on the ground and stands up, raising one eyebrow at the stranger, a challenge.
“Tell me if I do anything you don’t want, or if I’m not doing anything you do, okay? We’re going to have cliché soulmate sex and stare in each other’s eyes and probably trace our names a lot, brace yourself.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Jehan laughed. “You can’t be together because your marks don’t match?”
Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Right.”
Jehan propped up his chin on his hands. “He’s fond of you.” He smiled. “I mean it,” he added when Grantaire gave him a doubtful look. “Those marks don’t mean anything. That’s what he’s fighting for, he doesn’t want them to constitute who people should be with. He wants everyone to be able to choose. And you do the same.”
Enjolras feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he slowly turns to face the barista. By some early morning miracle they are the only two people in the shop, so there’s no chance that the question might have been directed to someone else. He stares hard at the barista as he reaches for a cup, his eyes darting between the guy’s dark curls and stubbled jaw before finally settling on the nametag he’s wearing (Grantaire, Enjolras notes distantly, and that looping scrawl spelling out his name looks horribly familiar), and finds himself speechless for the first time in his life due to sheer panic.
“You can’t be serious,” he manages after a long moment, because a) is this really happening right now, b) how does someone not know how to spell Tom, and c) is his soulmate really someone that can’t spell Tom????
From the expressions on their faces alone, Courfeyrac would’ve known what had just happened between Enjolras and Mystery Wallet Returner. But he’s seen Enjolras in his boxers (and less because what trio of friends hasn’t dared each other to skinny dip in a canal at some point) and so he knows just what the tattoo on his thigh says. And judging from Mystery’s face, he has Enjolras’ pained protestations somewhere on his body.
“Ohhhh,” he says, sliding off the tabletop he’s sitting on. He grabs Combeferre’s sleeve and tugs enthusiastically on it. “This is it! That’s his soul mate!”
“I don’t see why you mean to go. Enjolras and ‘Ponine can sort things on their own, can’t they?” Montparnasse crossed his arms.
Prouvaire gave a small nod. “But my parents have friends in New York. Connections. I think I could be a help.”
An exasperated sigh from the assassin. “You’re coming back? You won’t stay in America?”
“Of course not.” The poet smiled at him, fiddling with Montparnasse’s waistcoat.
A few feet away, Cosette and Musichetta were embracing Éponine.
“You know whom to see? Who’ll help us?” Cosette’s eyes were wide, nervous.
“Of course,” Éponine scoffed. For once, her hair was neatly combed and pinned up, and she was dressed, if not lavishly, then neatly.
“Good.” Musichetta pressed a ticket into her hand.
“Ooh, get me. First class and everything!” Éponine laughed with delight.
“Hmmph.” An indignant sound from Enjolras. “Passengers oughtn’t to be divided by class. This is the twentieth century, for heaven’s sake.”
“And what a shame, Apollo, that things are no better than in the last.” Grantaire caught his hand and Enjolras levelled an affronted stare at him, prompting a laugh. “You’ll be careful? Refrain from doing anything stupid?”
“Of course. When have I ever-”
“Would you like a comprehensive list, or simply the most spectacularly badly thought out?” Combeferre grinned at his friend.
Enjolras heaved a sigh. “That’s…”
“Accurate.” Grantaire nodded sagely.
“And you’ll have to conduct yourself properly, 'Ponine! That means you have to wear shoes. You’re representing us, and you’ll be following in the footsteps of Elizabeth Cady Stanton,” Musichetta admonished Éponine.
“Yes, and the Pankhursts!” There was excitement in Cosette’s voice as she chimed in.
Éponine grinned. “You needn’t worry. I’ll behave like a lady.”
“I’ll miss you, you know.” Prouvaire leaned closer to Montparnasse.
“I should go with you.” A serious frown from the assassin.
“A street criminal wouldn’t make a good representative for the French suffragettes.”
Montparnasse laughed. “I suppose. But you’ll write?”
Prouvaire nodded. “Every day.”
“Good.” The serious expression returned to Montparnasse’s face as he straightened the purple flower in the poet’s buttonhole.
Meanwhile, Grantaire pressed a kiss to the back of Enjolras’s hand. “I mean it. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Musichetta looked Éponine over a last time and then nodded. “It’s time, 'Ponine.”
Éponine smiled. “Alright. Thank you, 'Chetta. I won’t disappoint you.”
She pulled Cosette and Musichetta into one last embrace and then squared her shoulders.
“Gentlemen! Time to be off!”
Enjolras sighed and leaned in to kiss Grantaire’s cheek. “I won’t be away very long.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Apollo.”
Grantaire gave him a last smile.
Montparnasse reluctantly let go of Prouvaire. “I love you. Remember that, will you?”
Prouvaire smiled happily up at him. “And I love you, too.”
Combeferre clasped Enjolras’s hand, and finding it too impersonal, he embraced his childhood friend. “Good luck, Enjolras.”
Courfeyrac was the next to embrace Enjolras. “Stay out of trouble, alright? We’ll be here when you get back.”
Enjolras nodded, trying not to cry.
There was another round of goodbyes from the Friends of the ABC, 'good luck’ and 'don’t forget to write,’ embraces and poorly disguised tears.
And then they were watching Prouvaire, Éponine, and Enjolras hurry up the gangway.
Once they had boarded the ship, Prouvaire leaned worryingly far over the railing to wave to his friends. Enjolras restrained himself only a shade more, shouting to Combeferre and to Courfeyrac, and Éponine saluted Musichetta and Cosette with a mischievous grin.
'Ferre leaned in to whisper to Courf in an excited tone: “A week! Isn’t that amazing? It’s- it’s historic, that’s what.”
Courfeyrac grinned at him.
They were distracted from the conversation by a loud blast from the ship’s foghorn.
“Good luck!” Courfeyrac waved so hard it felt as if his arm would fall off, jumping up and down as the ship started to move away from the dock.
“Enjolras! Remember what we talked about! Good luck!” Combeferre craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Enjolras on deck.
Montparnasse let his hand fall to his side, a worried look on his face as he watched the distance between him and Prouvaire widen.
Courfeyrac nudged him. “Don’t look like that! Nothing to be afraid of.”
Combeferre nodded seriously. “She’s unsinkable, the Titanic.”
#13 this wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home…
Their friends left hours ago.
Grantaire doesn’t think it is actually hours, as in plural with an s, until he happens to glance at the clock and realize that that’s not the big hand hovering between the two and the three, it’s the little one, and the big hand is steadily making its way towards the eight.
“Fuck, is that the time?” He hates analogue clocks and pulls out his phone, 02:37 flashing up at him.
Enjolras starts as if from a reverie, craning his neck around to look at the clock. When he turns back to face Grantaire, there’s a flush creeping up his cheeks, and he smiles sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.”
“No, no!” Grantaire flaps his hand quickly, “I was having fun, I didn’t even notice!”
The smile Enjolras gives him widens a little, and then becomes small, but his eyes remain crinkled up and warm. “Me too,” he says, and looks down at his hands curled in his lap.
They started out on opposite ends of the couch, but over the past few hours have gravitated towards the middle, legs drawn up to their chests or leaning against the back of the couch, their knees brushing when they shift positions, and Grantaire tries not to show how much of a thrill it sends through him every time they do.
AN: Based on a prompt from Ceara based on the word “brontide”, the low distant rumble of thunder, and the request that I break her heart. Also, I’m bummed Heathers closed so this is my way of coping. This is more of a mash-up of the movie/musical…but as usual I put my own spin on things so it’s not exact.
Warning: CRACK FIC. I was commanded to break hearts. Murder, fucked up relationships, lots of sex, and Terrible!Jolras as JD, so some OOC-ness too.
She lit her cigarette on the burnt embers, her ears still ringing and the taste of ash in her mouth. Eponine coughed, once than twice, and then sucked in the smoke, swirling it on her tongue and swallowing it whole. Her eyes watered and when she wiped her forehead, her hands came back sooty, thin lines of dirt stuck under the pale crescents of her fingernails.
“You fucking idiot,” she muttered, staring at the charred black stump as she took another long drag. “Of course I did.”
The day Gabriel Enjolras showed up in the cafeteria, his nose buried in battered copy of Nietzsche, was like the start of a sweet nightmare that she wasn’t sure wanted to wake up from.
He’d been buried in the corner, almost hidden from sight. The collar of his black trench had been turned up so that it hid the lower half of his face. She noticed him because his red Chucks were kicked up onto the table, his tray left mostly uneaten, and his long blonde hair was messed just-so. God, if ever Eponine Thenardier had a type, he was it.