#f: Les Mis

[books]

Writer Spotlight: Rose Sutherland

Rose Sutherland @rosesutherlandwrites is a Toronto-based writer who grew up a voracious reader with an overactive imagination in Nova Scotia (where she once fell off a roof trying to re-enact Anne of Green Gables!). She's been to theatre school in NYC, apprenticed at a pâtisserie in rural France, and currently moonlights as an usher and bartender—in between writing queer folktales, practicing yoga, dancing, singing, searching out amazing coffee and croissants, and making niche jokes about Victor Hugo on the internet. She's mildly obsessed with the idea of one day owning a large dog, several chickens, and maybe a goat. A Sweet Sting of Salt is her debut novel.

Keep reading for more about character arcs in A Sweet Sting of Salt, Rose's favorite fanfic tropes, and some excellent reading recs 👀

Can you tell us about A Sweet Sting of Salt and how you came to write it?

A Sweet Sting of Salt is a queer (f/f) historical reimagining of the classic folktale of the selkie wife, set in 1830’s Nova Scotia. I call it a “reimagining” because while it draws on the folktale, it’s not a retelling of that tale so much as a story playing out in relation to that mythology. I’d wanted to write something centering a love story between two women for a while, but the initial spark came from a Tumblr post! It suggested the idea of selkies testifying before the UN as victims of human trafficking, which reminded me of all the things I disliked about the original folktale and its inherent darkness that is generally glossed over, starting me down the rabbit hole toward finding my own story.

How did you approach research for A Sweet Sting of Salt, and what is a favorite historical fact you learned?

I joke that I did a lot of research by osmosis: I already had a lot of base knowledge about the location, having grown up in Nova Scotia, and then set the story in a period that I’ve been absorbing information about in a low-key way for ages—1832 is also the year of the student rebellion in Les Mis, so I’ve been gleaning tidbits about this era since I first got into the musical and book back in high school. However, I had to do more specific research into things like British divorce law, period midwifery, and animal husbandry. I also visited some small, hyper-local museums on the South Shore that gave me an invaluable glimpse into daily life. I also did some fun practical research into things like “How long does it take to walk from x to y?” and “How cold IS a plunge into this body of water in March?” (Spoiler: Very.) 

A fact that fascinated me but didn’t make it into the book was that some early European settlers in the area were granted lands by luck of the draw, pulling from a deck of playing cards: Each card was assigned to a specific 50-acre lot, and whatever you pulled, you were stuck with it.

When we meet them, Jean and Muirin are isolated for different reasons. What do you hope readers still searching for their people take away from A Sweet Sting of Salt?

That there’s always hope. It’s valuable and important to keep reaching out to the world around you, to be open, and not cut yourself off—the biggest reason for Jean’s loneliness at the beginning of this story is the way she has come to keep everyone around her at arm’s length, shutting herself away out of fear, and refusing to let anyone truly get to know her because she thinks that’s the best way to protect herself from being hurt again. Reaching out to others can take a real act of courage, especially if you’ve had bad experiences in the past, but “your people” will reach back to you.

Found family elements play a strong role throughout the novel, within supernatural and mundane settings and across species. Was this something you intended from the beginning, or did this grow out of writing the relationship between Jean and Muirin?

I always intended for Jean to have a found family of this type, which is something that a lot of queer people identify with, but those bonds also got stronger and more meaningful as I wrote, especially once Jean and Muirin began growing into their own family unit—their new relationship and the real danger that comes along with it put pressures on Jean’s other relationships that I hadn’t originally considered. Disagreements with Anneke and Laurie over Jean’s choices arise from their deep concern and love for her, and her own love and care for them, reflected in her responses, is a big part of what made them feel like a real family, for me. Jean and Laurie always having each other’s backs while also being the first to call one another out on their bullshit ended up being one of my favourite dynamics in the whole book.

The selkie myth carries an inherent element of transformation. What is a character transformation you most enjoyed writing, and why?

On a character level, the change in Jean’s worldview following a conversation with her childhood sweetheart meant a lot to me—it heals an old wound for her. I love how grounded and self-assured she is afterward, in spite of the daunting task still ahead of her. But my favourite transformation to write was the antagonist’s mask-off moment, where they directly threaten Jean for the first time. It’s so sly and coded so that only she will understand the menace behind it, a real dun-duh-dunnn moment, which was a lot of fun for me—I also enjoy the foreshadowing elements in that exchange.

This is your debut novel. Did anything surprise you about getting it from manuscript to published book?

Oh my gosh, how LONG it took! After I finished the original draft and decided it was worth attempting to publish, I spent over a year revising based on my own thoughts, input from beta readers, critique partners, and my mentor, Maureen Marshall (whom I connected with through the now defunct Author Mentor Match program, and whose book, The Paris Affair—about a young gay engineer attempting to help Gustave Eiffel secure the funding to build a certain celebrated Parisian landmark— is coming out in May). After that came a full year of querying agents and getting rejected. A lot. People loved Salty but weren’t quite sure what to do with her or where the book would fit in “the market,” which was hard to deal with at the time but is hilarious in retrospect: Salty was snapped up less than a month after she finally went out on submission! But that was back in 2022, and the book is only coming out now. Publishing can be painfully slow.

You’ve written fanfic in the past—do you have a favorite fanfic trope?

I’m not sure either of these counts as a trope, but I adore a character that’s “pure of heart, dumb of ass”, and love a truly unhinged Fanon Explanation For Canon Object. As a longtime Les Mis stan, I ship Tholomyes/Getting Punched. If you know, you know.

Do you have any favorite queer retellings of folktales you can recommend?

Right here on Tumblr, I’m a huge fan of @laurasimonsdaughter, who writes delightful riffs on classic folktales, truly inventive urban fantasy spins on old lore, and her own original folktales. 

I’m currently reading Spear, an amazing queer, gender-bent, Arthurian novella by Nicola Griffiths. Anna Burke’s books Thorn and Nottingham are up next on my TBR. Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of brilliant queer historicals that aren’t retellings (I recently loved Suzette Meyr’s The Sleeping Car Porter and Heather O’Neil’s When We Lost Our Heads) and wonderful historical retellings that aren’t queer (I highly recommend Molly Greeley’s beautiful, heartbreaking Marvelous, about the real-life couple that inspired Beauty and the Beast). Queer, historical retellings aimed at adults seem to be considered quite niche, still, and can take some digging to find! So, throwing this out to Tumblr: Do you have recommendations for me?

Do you have a writing routine? Is there a place/state of being/playlist you find most conducive to your writing practice?

My routine is chaotic at best, but I find I do my best work earlier in the day, so I usually scribble in my journal while I have breakfast, and then progress to working on my current project as I drink my second cup of coffee. I’m lucky—my day job is an evening gig, which mostly allows me to write on my preferred schedule… but I’ve also been known to have a bolt of inspiration strike at 10pm and dash home to write until well past midnight on occasion. Nothing quite like the hyperfocus zone!

What’s next for you? Are you working on anything you can tell us about?

No official news yet, but I’m currently working on a story set in 18th-century provincial France based on a true unsolved mystery of the past. It has me delving into a very specific branch of French folklore, and I hope future readers will pick up on common threads with one popular fairytale in particular. I’m really excited about where this one is headed, but keeping the details close to my chest for now!

Thank you Rose for taking the time to answer our questions! If you love queer fantasy and old folktales, grab yourself a copy of A Sweet Sting of Salt, and be sure to share your queer folktale reading recs with Rose on @rosesutherlandwrites!

#writer spotlight #writers' room #booklr #writers on tumblr #writing community #writeblr #creative writing #debut author #reading #rose sutherland #a sweet sting of salt #selkies #myths #fanfic #Les Mis #queer fiction #f/f fiction #queer folktales

[breath-of-fresh-grantaire]

hi

#f slur #not les mis #my art #captain laserhawk #captain lazerhawk #dolph laserhawk #sarah fisher #bullfrog #rayman

[ruedesfillesducalvaire]

[me entering the les misérables fandom]

victor hugo really said gay rights like...literally every gay ship goes so hard.

valvert? redemption....remaking oneself....the shifting hierarchy....punish me monsieur le maire....bondage chicken at the barricade....the decades-long pursuit....enemies to lovers...

rating: SLAPS.

enjoltaire? canon comparisons to achilles/patroclus....not to me not if it's you....be serious i am wild....anything for you....

rating: SLAPS.

éposette? we grew up together but never really knew each other....i was cruel to you but we were children...do you even recognise me now...you are kind to me even though....

rating: SLAPS.

courfius? well obviously when marius doesn't get with cosette, he absolutely hooks up with courfeyrac after he's done sulking. marius is the epitome of a useless bisexual.

rating: SLAPS.

#i started with the old men. now i have.....more #[arms full of fictional 19th century french people] I Just Think They're Neat #also to be clear i definitely have m/f ships in other media?? there is just...something inherently gay about this book #i can't explain it #it's a certain je ne sais quoi #les mis #les miserables #les misérables #les mis memes #les mis shitposts #the brick #valvert #enjoltaire #eposette #courfius

[luiwritings]

nadie:

nadie:

@qernn: voy a probar el nuevo sistema con un dadito de corrupción 😃

#JAJAJAJA #pa' mi que leyenda sabía qué pj estaba tirando #y le quiso dar durísimo #rip mirein #encima vayan a leer el tema porque uf #todo mal #f: kaelkoth

[coquelicoq]

if there is a god watching over jean valjean i bet he's just super exhausted. when valjean takes javert out behind the barricade and pretends to execute him god's probably watching that like okay you could have just saved his life and let him go, you didn't have to also give him your address so he could come arrest you later. like come on dude. just don't do that part. it is a full-time job looking out for you, would it kill you to throw me a bone here? ben affleck smoking dot jpg.

#les mis #lm 5.1.19 #my posts #it's been a while since we've had a 'let's take a look-see inside jean valjean's brain and see what this wacky guy is thinking!' chapter #so i'm just like dude wyd?? wyd bro???? why are you doing that???? #he's currently carting marius's dead weight through the parisian sewers and he just laid him down so so so gently and bandaged his #wounds and then 'looked at him with an inexplicable hatred' #kay cool. like what is going on in that there noggin of yourn sonny boy? #f

[landfilloftrash]

once again; the thoughts strike, and they strike fast.

#my art #graphite scribbles #Les Misérables #Les Mis #Jean Valjean #Inspector Javert #Javert #Valvert #Ft. The Dresden Files #Harry Dresden #Donald Morgan #The Dresden Files Les Mis AU #I’m working on an AU. it’s hell. #I thought too long about a magic au with les mis and then went ''ahaha what if I combined the dresden files with it-- #wait Morgan is LITERALLY just Javert with a big fuckoff sword hold on they GOTTA meet BUT WAIT HE'D BE DEAD BEFORE THEY MEET #well ! can't have that ! I just gotta expand the timeline a bit and add all the characters as creatures and practitioners throughout ! #gotta add the canon TDF stuff too-- that would be badass considering all the shit that happens or that COULD happen at my decree #aaaaannnd this has now become a three century length timeline that I'm planning on writing the entirety of-- F U C K'' /jov #I have a normal amount of thoughts I'm writing down for this AU #IDs in the alt text! #rea rambles in the tags #rea's trash

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part Twenty - Five

Summary: Reader mingles on the ship while facing a fear.

Notes/Warnings: Fluffy, enjoy! Dated notions on marriage & Father/daughter relationships. Mention/Example of Physical Abuse. Discussions of sexuality.

❤️s, reblogs, comments & feedback is always welcome.

English to French in this chapter: Wife of the young and bold Julien - Madame du jeune et hardi Julien

Go away, rat - va-t'en, rat card game - belote

You had managed to make it to the heavy door that opened to the parlor suite. Through the door, you could hear the your husband and the others. They all sounded so happy and in good spirits. It pleased you to hear such merriment. It had felt like a lifetime since you heard joy in his voice that you had not been the source of.

You paused. Glancingp down at your gloved hand, you opened and closed your hand; you raised it to knock then lowered it. A grimace curled your lips.

“Oh? Madame du jeune et hardi Julien?”

You turned. You attempted a winning smile. “Yes?”

“Will you we grace us ladies with your presence ?”

“I suppose, I could for a short while.”

“Wonderful.”

********

You sipped at the spicy wine, they offered you.

“You are a lucky one. Your husband, is young and beautiful.”

You flushed and looked down, nodding.

“Oh, don’t be shy about that. Your father was kind to give you such a husband.”

A knot formed in your stomach at the word father. Though you were certain he would have approved of Enjolras.

“Tell us, is as kind to you as he is beautiful.”

You tilted your head to one side. “What do you mean?” You looked over the three other ladies.

They shared looks.

A slender one who looked as if a shadow had fallen over her youth spoke. “Mine, loves to have affairs with the ladies of soldiers. He feels he is giving something back to our military for their efforts. One didn’t take to kindly to it. And that is why we are on this ship.”

Your heart lurched.

The older one, she was pale and eyes as clear as pond a clear spring day spoke next. “Mine, will hit me if he feels I am not up to his standards of behavior. I finally bore him a son, he is coming with the nanny on another ship.”

“Show her.” Said the young one.

She nodded, she let her scarf dip from her shoulders and lifted up the sleeve on on arm and sure enough there was a vivd blue and purple bruise.

You swallowed hard, you grew ill.

“And well,”

Finally the woman that could have been as old as your mother or Greta who had invited you to join them in the salon spoke.

“I am actually pleased with what is not customary to find out about a husband.”

She took a sip of the spicy wine.

“He loves beautiful, young men.”

There was a scuff and suppressed chortle.

“Hey now, at least I don’t have to worry about him having any bastards begging for money and at least he doesn’t hit me.”

The others nodded at that.

“And well, he’s happy so I am happy. We have a good life.”

She fretted on one of her sleeves.

“I get to have a nice house and nice things”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “Though, he did have an affair with a lord’s son and killed the man’s father in a duel. So off to London for us.”

You were pleased this wasn’t so terrible. And you knew Greta had been very happy with one of the maids before she had passed of a high fever. It had been tragic. It one loved who they loved. Her father taught her that.

“So dear, tell us your husband almost looks like he could have walked down the clouds of heaven. As beautiful as an angel. Is he as saintly as one?”

You chuckled at that. “No but he is a good man. Loves his ale, a good card game.”

“Then is good we whisked you away. He deserves to have a good belote and a tankard of whatever they are passing as ale on this ship.”

******

Feeling a twinge of warmth and cloying nature of the wine you decided to retire back to the cabin you shared with Enjolras.

Hands fluttered and glasses clinked at your departure.

*******

Squeak, the sound was far louder then it should have been. In the flickering light the candle valences you spotted a large rat directly in your path. He looked up at you. You took a step back.

Unease twisted in you.

In your minds eyes you could see your father urging you to be brave, Enjolas’s gentle teasing but encouragement was there as well. You could do this.

You stepped up and shook your skirt in its direction.

“Va-t'en, rat!” You shouted.

He rubbed his front paws and squeaked again.

Once again you shook your skirt and shouted even louder. “Va-t'en, rat!”

Warm hands glided from your elbows to your wrists. “Allow me to rescue once again, my angel.”

You would have screamed if the raspiness of Enjolras’s voice had not filled your ears, or if his touch did not always bring you comfort. His beard, however trimmed earlier tickled your cheek. “Watch how I handle it.”

You both glanced at each other and shared a nod before he pulled away from you.

His coat flapped as he brought down his black booted foot down close to it. And his shout exploded from his lips. It even made you tremble.

The rat hissed but then turned and walked a little lower along the corridor floor gave a final squeak and disappeared once again into the shadows.

He turned to you, his lips curled into a smirk. “That is how you do it.”

******

He was barely able to slide the lock into place as you grabbed him by then lapels of his coat. You had a flush in your cheeks and your eyes twinkled.

“You are the best my love.” Your voice, bubbled from you and filled the small room.

Wobbly from the warmth of his own ale, he held his ground before managing to sit down on the bed. With sheer delight he watched as you gathered up the skirts of your dress and soon placed yourself in his lap. Happily, he wrapped his arms around you.

“I am glad you feel so inclined.”

“I do.”

You gently tugged on his lapels before moments later he felt your warm breath, he distantly smelled something spicy. Did you have wine while the two of you were apart? He found it amusing. He also relished the feel of your soft kisses you planted them all over his face. Laughter in his pure amusement poured from his lips. Now if only he could catch you with his own kisses.

@aftertheglitterfades-blog1 @corrodedcoffn @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @kindablackenedsuperhero @amethyst-serenade @moondev1l @samunson83 @julieteagk @little-wormwood @wafflepixie @shadyhamiltonfanatic @gretavankleep37 @peacefroggg23 @capailluiscedove @poisoned?uphoria

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn fanfiction #joe quinn imagine #bbc!enjolras #bbc! enjolras x fem!reader #enjolras x reader #enjolras x you #enjolras x y/n #enjolras x f!reader #enjolras fluff #enjolras angst #enjolras smut #bbc les mis #bbc les miserables #les miserables #les miserables fanfic #les miserables fanfiction #les miserables imagine #a time to love and to fight #part 25

[ongakunotenshi]

I am so happy to see Korean phans have recorded the final curtain call after all 🥹🥹

👎🏻 Boo S&Co producers Boo 👎🏻

#Jae-rim couldn’t be there because he had to do Les Mis 🥺 #Finally some curtain call photos for everyone to see!!! #F U S&co for their unreasonably strict policies… F U #오페라의 유령 #the phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera korea #poto korea #phantom in korea #Cho seung-woo

[trejean]

please monsieur she's but that high

#les mis #i'm fine i'm fine don't look at me i'm completely fine i'm f #rat scrawlings

[polyamarhousgarden]

Mon petite Donia,

It is my sincerest hope that this letter finds you not only in good health and good cheer but indeed, that it finds you with a changed heart regarding staying in Paris instead of leaving with your mother for I swear to you, with every fibre of my being and upon every star above, that my own heart has changed irrevocably since you justly reprimanded me for my previous insensitive behaviour toward you. I can only hope that these past few days together have proven this, but if you wish for further evidence of this change within me, all I ask is that you keep reading and allow yourself, please, to set aside your warranted hurt feelings to see that all I speak is entirely from my heart.

Because I am speaking from the heart, I shall speak candidly. Indeed, I admit, in the very beginning, my heart was not entirely where it should have been. I have not had the pleasure of meeting and taking people as sincere and stalwart as yourself out and about. I am used to a more laissez-faire approach to courtship, abstaining from proper courtship and although you may be swayed to believe otherwise, I mean it when I tell you I only ever go as far as exchanging an occasional kiss when I greatly fancy a person, never anything more. That is why I was shocked when you expressed distaste in my natural sway of easy, carefree courting as you no doubt saw in my countenance when you rejected my request for a kiss but I assure you it is only because of how novel the situation was for me. Please understand that, and please forgive me for the unintentional and unfortunate implications my shock must have inherently had regarding your good character- indeed, yours is much greater than my own and I feel I have so much yet to learn from you.

After much reflection, I understand now the egregious error I had made by requesting a kiss from you when I did. I had acted as an ass. While I sorely regret that I had upset and made you uncomfortable, I must confess I am grateful that by doing so it revealed to me just how deeply true and sincere you are as an individual and the standard you demand and deserve from a partner worthy of you. I beseech you to please consider staying, to please consider me, despite my recent blunder, as someone who could possibly earn such a coveted and honourary title such as ‘Yours’.

Lastly, I want to thank you. Thank you, mon petite Donia for this rare opportunity for me to seriously reflect upon my own feelings. Regardless of what you decide to do with this letter and what you have read within, I am forever touched by you. Your smile, your laugh, your views on freedom, your decorum and grace, you have changed me for the better. While I grieve at the thought of you sailing away forever, I understand it is your choice to make and indeed, I only hope you will write to me, think of me, and know my memories of you, of our time together, will never leave me. Part of you will always be right here with me walking these streets of Paris alongside me, dining with me, accompanying me to the opera house. I love you; soul and all. Please, allow me to prove it. Please, stay awhile. If you find you still cannot bear to stay, all I ask is that you give me time to come to you once the Revolution is won so that I may see you and have one more chance, please. I'll be waiting anxiously for your reply.

Sincerely,

Courfeyrac

@sincerely-your-fo

M. Courfeyrac,

This one does not know how best to respond to this letter.

It had only been moments ago that Gavroche had come to me with this letter, urging me to read it before he ran off to God only knew where.

Your ward is a quick and shrewd one.

I had my reservations about doing as he said, I must admit. After the way things ended during our last excursion together, I did not think it wise to correspond with you.

Still, I found it difficult to deny Gavroche anything.

Though my upset has not yet faded from your request of a kiss, I find myself... In conflict.

It is as if my soul is in conflict with my mind. I know I must leave, yet I find my own feet faltering.

Though my heart sings for my homeland, my immortal soul cries for your presence by my side.

Though I cannot make promises to stay, I can at least promise to delay my leave. Another ship is set to leave for my homeland in the next five months, I shall delay my departure until then.

Until I discern what we feel for each other.

I hope you know the depth of my regard for you.

Yours,

Chelidonia

#self ship #self shipping #f/o #fictional other #self ship community #selfship community #les mierables #les miz #les mis #courfeyrac #Chelidonia #Sincerely your fo

[chloreen]

Love is many pt.1 (where are you on the desire-defiance-devotion-destruction scale?)

#jesus christ superstar #jcs 2000 #someone great #requiem for a dream #the dreamers #imitation game #les mis #fight club #cloud atlas #the fountain #f you st.Valentine but also I sacrifice these gifs to you

[ineffable-gallimaufry]

i didn't know dr doofenshmirtz was a young girl in a 19th century french convent

#les mis liveblog #i haven't watched p&f but like. i know

[selfshipping-haven]

I've always felt my selfshipping experience feels like this song. I pretend they're there but in reality, it's in my mind, and I know that they'll go about living their fictional life without me.

#i chose lea salonga too because her voice is amazing #i haven't even seen le mis idk how i found this song really #self ship #self shipping #selfship #selfshipping #f/o #Youtube

[luiwritings]

@vixy-ki

#hola vengo a fangirlear en los tags #y a inmortalizar este pedacito de rol #porque auspicia siempre piensa que es lo peor del mundo y la mujer más terrible por tener un par de fantasías #nunca habiendo hecho nada malo de verdad y se azota a si misma como si fuera una pecadora horrible #mientras tanto Ezekiel es literalmente un asesino que de verdad ha hecho cosas malas y mantiene eso bajo control *relativamente* #y es capaz de ver a auspicia por lo que es: una niña jugando #que le tiene una envidia brutal a aleria #cuando Ezekiel se cosifica yo gritooo #y auspicia ve a ezekiel y ve literalmente a un servidor super ejemplo a seguir sin saber la verdad #de que auspicia se ve a si misma como lo que ezekiel es el realidad #las capas de la cebolla #no puedo #no cordino mis palabras en mi mente tiene sentido adiós #(also auspicia obsesionada con los hombres de aleria? calmate mujer) #pero la historia de aleria esta llena de adulterio e infidelidades so... #f: kaelkoth #🪦

[coquelicoq]

victor hugo ended one chapter on the word "merde!" and then wrote a three-page follow-up chapter to justify including such a bad word in his book. and the best part is that i just looked up a contemporary translation and discovered that the translator (isabel f. hapgood) replaced the "merde" with "-----". so she ended a chapter on a bleep and then went ahead and translated the next chapter about why she shouldn't bleep out that word. incredible.

#like reading the translation you would read AN ENTIRE CHAPTER about the necessity of including that word and you wouldn't even #know what the word is!!!!! #literally the translation goes: ''an English general [...] shouted to them‚ 'Surrender‚ brave Frenchmen!' Cambronne replied‚ '-----!''' #END OF CHAPTER #next chapter begins: ''If any French reader object to having his susceptibilities offended‚ one would have to refrain #from repeating in his presence what is perhaps the finest reply that a Frenchman ever made.'' BUT U DIDN'T REPEAT IT THO????? #U BLEEPED IT OUT????? #the gutenberg version has this great note at the end of the merde chapter: #{EDITOR’S COMMENTARY: Another edition of this book has the word “Merde!” in lieu of the —— above.} #yeah someone figured out that didn't make any sense‚ did they? lol #les mis #swears #translation #my posts #f

[kjack89]

The Only Honest Art Form

The Lenny Bruce-esque sorta-kinda Mrs. Maisel AU that I just couldn't resist writing.

1950s comedian AU, E/R, developing relationship.

Enjolras glanced almost nervously around himself before descending the few stairs to the grubby-looking door underneath the flickering neon sign. He pushed the door open and was met immediately by a veritable screen of smoke, both cigarette and otherwise, and the particular smells that always seemed to accompany bars.

Not that Enjolras spent much time in bars, save for on the rare occasion when he was dragged somewhere, usually by Courfeyrac, to meet someone, usually an attempted date being disguised as a comrade.

But Joly and Bossuet had cornered Enjolras one night after a Les Amis meeting to tell Enjolras that there was a comedy act he needed to check out. “Comedy?” Enjolras had asked, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t think—”

“Believe me, whatever you think is wrong,” Bossuet had said.

Joly had nodded. “Seriously,” he said, clearly picking up on Enjolras’s lingering skepticism. “This guy is a helluva lot more than just a comic. He’s saying things about free speech that I’ve only dreamed of having the balls to say at one of our protests.”

So despite his better judgment, Enjolras had made the schlep on a Saturday night to the nondescript comedy club in the Village to see—

“That’ll be a buck-fifty.”

Enjolras shook his head to clear it before realizing that what he had assumed was a pile of coats just inside the doorway was actually a young man. Or woman. It was hard to tell, and seemed rude to assume one way or the other. “Pardon?” he said politely.

The woman – Enjolras was more convinced now that the figure was a woman, despite the unlit cigar chomped firmly between her lips – rolled her eyes. “Door charge,” she said shortly, mumbling around the cigar. “It’s a buck-fifty, and a two drink minimum.”

Enjolras had expected a drink minimum, even if he wasn’t thrilled by it. “What if I give you five bucks, and we skip the drinks?”

She looked distinctly unimpressed. “What if I shove my foot up your ass and tell you to pound sand?”

“A buck-fifty and two drinks it is.”

He passed the money over to her before asking, in what he hoped was a casual way, “So has Grantaire gone on yet?”

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Who do you think is fellating the microphone as we speak?”

The man onstage was in fact doing a fair impression of oral sex, presumably as some kind of punchline, given the way that the audience was falling over themselves, and Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “So much for saying things about free speech,” he muttered to himself, making his way over to the bar where he asked the bartender for two beers, neither of which he intended on actually drinking.

As the bartender poured, Enjolras sat on a barstool and for the first time took a good look at the man onstage. He looked to be a few years older than Enjolras, and was wearing a rumpled suit with a loosened dark green tie. He didn’t look much like what Enjolras had expected, not that Enjolras knew what he had expected in the first place. A beatnik, maybe, complete with the black turtleneck and sunglasses and—

Dear God, Enjolras was beginning to sound like his mother.

The bartender slid the beers across the counter to him and Enjolras took a grateful swig from one, happy to have the distraction from his impending mental breakdown at the comparison to his mother. 

He took another sip as he finally tuned into what Grantaire was saying. “So anyway,” Grantaire said, clearly wrapping up a bit, “as I told my manager, that’s the last time I’m going to San Francisco.”

That statement was met with enough laughter and applause that Enjolras almost wished he had heard the joke that preceded it. “Which is a shame,” Grantaire continued, “because it’s a great city full of lovely people. But apparently they operate under a ‘three strikes and you’re out’ policy for obscenity arrests, which, y’know, is very All-American of them, but does pose a problem for me.”

The mention of obscenity arrests piqued Enjolras’s interest, and he sat forward on his barstool. “And which seems especially odd given that San Fran is full of fags, but hey, what do I know.” Grantaire said the word so casually that Enjolras almost didn’t flinch, and he immediately glanced around to see if anyone else had caught it, or his reaction to it, but no one was looking at him. Nor did anyone seem remotely surprised by Grantaire’s casual use of the word. “Well, this is what I do know: even if that’s true, you apparently shouldn’t say it. Not unless you’re calling someone a fag, at least. That, people get free passes on.”

“Joe McCarthy called me a fag once.” Low murmurs broke out throughout the club but Grantaire just waited them out, seemingly unconcerned. “Yeah, I know. It was a surprise to me, too. So I took my dick out of his mouth and I said, ‘Joe, don’t talk with your mouth full.’”

The laughter that met that was startled but uproarious, and Enjolras couldn’t help but whistle and clap along with the rest of the crowd, somehow feeling a weight slip off of him. Enjolras had spent so much of his life trying to avoid being called that, or being connected to those kinds of sex acts, that he could hardly believe that someone was standing on a stage, mentioning it as casually as remarking on the weather, and not only were people not fleeing in the opposite direction, but they were actually cheering for him. 

Grantaire waited for the crowd to calm down before continuing, “Interestingly, that joke got me arrested the last time that I was in DC, again on obscenity charges. I asked them which was more obscene, the dick sucking or Joe McCarthy.”

More laughter, but this time, Grantaire spoke over the crowd. “I know, I know, you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead. So in that case, let me just say, to his credit, the absolute best thing that Sen. Joseph McCarthy ever did was die.”

Enjolras didn’t expect that line to get as much raucous applause as it did, but then again, Joseph McCarthy had become a bit of a laughing stock following his censure a few years back. If only that meant his ideals had become an equal laughing stock, but Enjolras wasn’t about to hold his breath on that. 

“But hey, let’s not overstate his legacy, right?” Grantaire said, taking the microphone off of its stand before resting his elbow on top of the stand. “Because this is America, and we have that little thing called the First Amendment, which says that I can stand up here and say whatever the fuck I want…” He paused, rather deliberately. “And then promptly be arrested for it. The American Experiment, brought to its knees by a joint fear of communism and homosexuality.”

Gone was Grantaire’s previously sardonic tone, replaced by something more like bitterness, and he took a moment, seemingly to gather himself, before continuing, in a slightly more upbeat way, “Listen, I respect their aim of conflating communists with homosexuals, but I just don’t think it works in practice. I mean, have you seen a gay man when there’s a sale at Bergdorf’s? Hell, Liberace’s practically single-handedly supporting the sequins industry.” He paused before adding, “That is, of course, a joke, lest Mr. Liberace comes after me like he went after the Daily Mirror. I’m less concerned about the implications of that because I’m not a British citizen and have in fact been banned from entering the UK as an ‘undesirable alien’.” Again Grantaire paused, this time to wink at a woman sitting towards the front of the club. “Which is what my last girlfriend called me, too.”

The laughter that met that was somewhat gentler than before, and Grantaire straightened, strolling casually toward the left side of the stage. “But seriously, I’ve been told that it’s because homosexuality is an affront against God, and communism is antitheist, so they go hand-in-hand, apparently.” He shrugged. “Personally, I think God’s probably got more important stuff to deal with than communists, and Jesus was a confirmed bachelor who traveled around with 12 other guys, so. I’m gonna let you draw your own conclusions on that one.”

“Besides, if anything, in my experience, homosexuals help turn people away from godlessness. Or at least, that’s sure what it sounded like when the guy I was fucking last night kept screaming, ‘Oh my God, oh my God.’”

That joke drew enormous laughter, and Grantaire allowed himself a smile before pointing into the audience. “That cat knows what I’m talking about.” He wandered back towards the microphone stand. “Of course, that’s another joke that got me arrested, once again for being obscene.” He returned the microphone to its stand as he asked, “Have you heard about this thing, the Roth test? Yeah, the Supreme Court said that Congress can outlaw anything that is ‘utterly without redeeming social value’.” He gave the audience a knowing look. “I look forward to Congress outlawing the Supreme Court under the same guise.”

“But seriously,” he continued, “who decides what has social value? I get up here, I tell some jokes, you fine people laugh. How is that not social value?” 

“Of course, probably the biggest example of no redeeming social value that the various authorities has tried to pin on me was for making a joke about the Pope, which, I mean. Have you seen the hat?” This time, the joke was met with a few boos and shouts, and Grantaire grinned. “I see we’ve got some Catholics in the audience tonight, folks, so I apologize in advance to each of you and your dozen siblings. But that’s what I mean – the jokes write themselves. You can accuse me of being a lazy joke writer if you want, but I don’t think you can say it’s obscene to point out the obvious.”

He paused. “Which is that the Pope’s hat is uncomfortably phallic.”

“Again, lazy, but obscene?” He shrugged. “I dunno.” He shook his head. “People get weird about religion though, man. Specifically Christianity, or, Christ, Catholicism, Jesus, don’t get me started. And like, they can dig if you’re a Jew, or a Muslim, maybe, just as long as you don’t talk badly about Christianity. Let alone if you make the fatal error of saying that you don’t believe in the Christian God.”

His tone had again slipped into something less joking, and Enjolras found himself leaning forward in his seat again. “Because the thing is, you gotta pay attention to the wording, y’know? Our friend the First Amendment, it says free exercise of religion, not free exercise from religion. People in this country, they get very uncomfortable when you start talking about beliefs, but they get even more uncomfortable when you talk about not having any beliefs. Like, how can you not believe in God?”

Grantaire’s expression twisted. “And I look around at the world and I ask, how can you?”

He forced a chuckle and shrugged again. “But seriously, questioning the existence of God is actually a religious act in and of itself, if my grandmother’s rabbi is to be believed, and as someone who is kind of Jewish on my mother’s side, I say that the First fucking Amendment should protect my right to just kind of shrug and say, ‘I dunno’ when asked about my beliefs.”

“And as someone who’s kind of an alcoholic on my father’s side, I honestly couldn’t give a fuck what you believe as long as you keep pouring.”

That garnered the loudest applause yet, and Grantaire laughed lightly before saying, “Listen, I don't know if God is real or not. I don’t really care one way or the other. But belief – I wish I had that kind of confidence, honestly.”

“Truth is, I believe in one thing, and one thing only: my full glass. And since mine is looking a little empty, and since I haven’t yet said anything to get me arrested, it’s probably as good a sign as any that it’s time to wrap it up.”

He spoke over the applause that greeted that statement, lifting the empty glass in question. “You guys have been a wonderful audience. Tip your waitresses, tip the bartender, tip me in beer and pills if you want. Just don’t call the cops and remember: fuck Joe McCarthy.”

Grantaire walked offstage to applause and whistles, and Enjolras craned his neck, watching as Grantaire accepted a beer someone offered him before slipping out of a side door. Enjolras stood, heading toward the door before doubling back to grab the beer that he hadn’t yet touched, carrying it towards the door.

He was cut off by the woman from the door, who blocked his path with crossed arms. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

Enjolras stared at her. “I, uh, I wanted to…” He trailed off, not sure of the best way to get around her, or through her, or whatever. “I wanted to tip him in a beer,” he offered weakly.

Her eyes narrowed. “Uh-huh,” she said skeptically. She looked him up and down and shook her head. “Well, you’re lucky that the beer you’re offering is accompanied by that mug.” She took a step to the side and gave Enjolras a nod, letting him slip past her. “Just don’t keep him out all night.”

Enjolras didn’t bother replying, just shouldering the door open and stepping outside, the crisp air almost knocking the breath out of him. And if the cold didn’t do, almost running smack in Grantaire certainly did. “You ok?” Grantaire asked, looking amused, as Enjolras cursed at the beer that had slopped all over his hand.

“Yeah, I’m…” Enjolras trailed off, flushing when he realized Grantaire was standing all of a foot away from him, his jacket slung over the railing of the steps, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he felt his mouth go dry. “I mean, uh, I wanted to, uh…”

“Did Éponine send you back here?” Grantaire asked, saving him from his stammering, and he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Up close, Grantaire looked exhausted, his shirt rumpled and stained, and Enjolras tore his eyes away to ask, “Who’s Éponine?”

“My manager,” Grantaire mumbled around the cigarette he’d just stuck in his mouth. “She was manning the door.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, setting the now half-full beer down on the lid of a nearby trash can. “Uh, yeah, or at least she didn’t stop me, and—”

Grantaire snorted. “And she knows my type.” He took a drag from the cigarette before telling Enjolras, “Listen, I appreciate the thought but I’m not exactly in the mood tonight, as much as I would love to see what you look like without your clothes on.”

He leered at Enjolras, who recoiled, his expression darkening. “Excuse me?”

Grantaire just looked amused. “Isn’t that what you came back here for?” he asked.

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean—” Enjolras flushed. “Listen, all I wanted was—”

But Grantaire cut him off. “Look, kid—”

“I’m not a kid,” Enjolras interrupted, wincing when he realized that’s exactly how he sounded.

Grantaire had the nerve to laugh. “No? How many nights have you spent behind bars?”

Enjolras glared at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but twelve.”

Grantaire whistled. “No shit. Pretty little thing like you? For what?” He grinned. “No, let me guess.” He took another drag from his cigarette as he eyed Enjolras appreciatively. “Clean cut kid like you, can’t imagine it was a drug rap. Or indecent exposure, more’s the pity. But given how you’re glaring at me, you’ve got a righteous anger thing going on, so I’m gonna guess causing a public disturbance, maybe inciting a riot.”

Despite himself, Enjolras felt a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. “You forgot contributing to the delinquency of a minor,” he said, leaning against the brick wall of the club as he added, “and, of course, obscenity.”

A slow grin crossed Grantaire’s face. “No shit,” he repeated. “We have that in common.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “We have more than that in common.”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened and he mimicked Enjolras’s position, leaning against the wall entirely too closely to Enjolras to be accidental. “I sort of put that much together,” he said, giving Enjolras a crooked half-smile, “but seeing as how I don’t exactly relish adding sodomy to your list of illustrious charges…”

Enjolras shook his head, but he wasn’t quite able to look away. “That wasn’t what I meant,” he said, but his words came out a little breathier than he intended.

No wonder Grantaire didn’t look convinced. “Wasn’t it?” he asked, reaching out to brush a blond curl off of Enjolras’s forehead. “Because what I said earlier, about not being in the mood…Well, let’s just say I can be convinced otherwise.”

Enjolras swallowed hard before blurting, “Actually, I wanted to invite you to join me and my friends.”

Grantaire blinked. “What, like an orgy?”

“No!” Enjolras snapped, straightening. “Not like an orgy. For one of our meetings.”

Grantaire’s expression fell, and he shook his head, stabbing his cigarette out on the wall. “Let me guess, you’re a bunch of activists? You want me to join one of your little protests?”

Enjolras bristled at his dismissive tone. “Well, yeah, given everything you said about the First Amendment, I just thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Grantaire said flatly, grabbing his jacket from the railing, though he didn’t put it on, just draping it over his arm. “Or did you miss my last bit about not believing in anything?”

Enjolras felt stung. “I thought that was about religion.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Religion, politics, what’s the difference?”

“So, what, you’re happy getting busted on obscenity charges every other day?” Enjolras asked, incredulous.

“What’s the alternative?”

Enjolras stared at him. “Well, for starters, if we get different people in office—”

“They’ll eventually just uphold the exact same power structures,” Grantaire said dismissively. “But seriously, if you can point to any concrete achievement that your little friends have actually gotten…”

“So is it all just an act?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. “Just something to get some laughs? You don’t actually believe in free speech?”

“It’s not me that doesn’t believe, kid,” Grantaire told him, his crooked smile back. “But until the Supreme Court says otherwise, there’s not a helluva lot any of us can do.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”

“Then you’re braver than me by far.”

Enjolras looked at Grantaire closely. “I don’t believe that, either.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door to the club. “What you did in there, what you said in there, those weren’t the words of a coward. Nor, for that matter, were they the words of a man who doesn’t believe a better world is possible.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe not. But regardless, I’ve got better things to do than waste my time on activism.”

“Like what?” Enjolras challenged.

Grantaire winked. “Like finding someone who will sleep with me tonight, for starters,” he said. “Since I think we can both agree that ship has pretty much sailed.”

Enjolras glared at him. “That ship was never even in the harbor.”

Grantaire just laughed. “Keep telling yourself that, kid.”

He started to brush past Enjolras back into the club, but Enjolras reached out to grab his arm. “Wait—” he started, breaking off when his thumb brushed against a series of marks on the inside of Grantaire’s arm. “What’s this?”

Grantaire yanked his arm away from him. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about, sweetheart,” he said, rolling his shirtsleeve down and buttoning the cuff with unexpected dexterity. 

“Is that the better thing you have to do?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire grinned. “Well, one of many,” he said. “But again, it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “You could be just what the movement needs,” he told Grantaire, his voice low. “Your humor, and the things you have to say about obscenity, about free speech – people would listen to you.”

Grantaire shrugged. “They already do,” he said simply. “Maybe I’ll see you at another show.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, feeling oddly deflated. “Maybe you will.”

“And who knows,” Grantaire said, “maybe you will end up changing the world…”

He trailed off expectantly, and Enjolras realized for the first time that he had never actually introduced himself. “Enjolras,” he said. “I’m Enjolras.”

Grantaire grinned. “Enjolras,” he repeated. “Well, it’s better than Apollo, which is what I was calling you in my head.” He winked again. “I’ll see you around, Enjolras.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras echoed. “I’ll see you around.”

Grantaire slipped back into the club, and Enjolras stared after him for a long moment before shaking his head and slowly starting in the direction of the subway, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d expected from this, what he’d expected Grantaire to be like, or whether he’d actually believed that Grantaire would come to a Les Amis meeting, but he knew he’d expected more than that.

He’d expected more from Grantaire.

Of course, Enjolras had never been one to just roll over and accept defeat, and as he walked toward the subway, he felt a familiar feeling rise in his chest: determination.

Yeah, he would see Grantaire again.

One way or another.

Because Enjolras wasn’t done trying to convince him.

#exr #enjoltaire #enjolras x grantaire #enjolras #grantaire #eponine #les mis #fanfiction #1950s au #comedian au #f slur cw #time period homophobia #though seeing as how we live in hell it's not far off #from modern day #anyway #marvelous mrs maisel AU #kind of sort of #Lenny Bruce!Grantaire #because I couldn't resist #implied/reference drug use