Enjolras Rising

Enjolras Rising is a multi-media Les Mis fanfic written through tumblr. Please note: This blog contains content dealing with violence, death and mental illness. Read From The Beginning  

[enjolrasrising]

Just letting you know that i have binge read your blog and i am emotionally devestated <3

But serously good job, of course i would love to read more but i understand life gets in the way and all that

Hey! Thank you for reading! Have you read my other blog @textingenjolras?? That one is actually complete and has waaaay more content than this one 😊 This was actually gonna be a rewrite of that!

[enjolrasrising]

Eli I love you but you cannot leave us on a cliffhanger like that

Cliffhanger? It can’t be that----

*checks to see the last post* 

holy shit i’m so sorry 😅😅😭😭

-ModEli

[enjolrasrising]

15 June

hey it’s R

you guys wanna hear something wild? like 10-ish months ago I filled out an application for a college roommate. they asked me if I was messy, I said “yea kinda”, they asked me if i partied, I said “i’m an attender, not a thrower”, they asked me if i wanted a “high energy roommate”, I said “please god no”. And in the last box that said “about me” I wrote the following--

“I like to draw and dance and argue and I sort of wish it rained all the time, but i know it it did, i’d get sad af. XO -R”

and then the school matched me with a roommate who was clean, organized, didn’t go to parties, was high energy, and wrote a fucking five paragraph essay in his “about me” box. i didn’t read it all the way through and instead snapchatted bahorel a pic of it and made fun of him. 

my roommate was the complete opposite of me for some reason and i was pissed.

Except three weeks into school he was so busy with classes and extracurriculars that he wasn’t all that clean. I kept running into him at random parties where he’d be passionately convincing a high group of students to try and unionize. And sometimes his super high energy would make him crash hard late at night and i’d hear him crying when he thought I was asleep.

Then he stole a painting for me, and introduced me to a new group of friends, he made my heart crazy beat in my chest. I got shot because I was dumb and didn’t want to leave his side. And then he inspired a city-wide revolution, which I chickened out of because I’m a coward, and now....

ugh

Dear College Roommate Deciders,

You fucked up big time. did you even read the applications you made? why did you think a guy who was trying so hard not to invest any feelings in anything would be good roommates with someone who literally cares so much about everyone and everything?

You are the reason I’m sitting in a chair next to his bed while he slowly dies. You are the reason I have to listen to my friends argue about how best to take a bullet out of him. You are the reason I’d give anything to see him open up the dorm room door, throw his bag down and go “hey, how was your day?”. You are reason I care so damn much about him.

tomorrow I will stand by and watch as “Allow us to introduce you to your new roommate: Alexander Enjolras!” gets a bullet taken out of him. And if he dies, I know you’ll want to pair me with someone else. And I’m telling you right now that I don’t want anyone else. I only want him.

fuck you roommate committee 

-R

[enjolrasrising]

Heyyy do you think you'll ever get back to this? No pressure I was just really invested in it and it would be real nice if you could update again (ily eli)

I really really want to!! I went back to school for my masters in screenwriting so that’s been eating up my time 😭 But I think about this blog all the time and might start doing weekly or bi-weekly updates kind of like people do for fic and not try and post in real time.

It’s great to know that people are still interested in this story cause that certainly boosts my motivation to start it up again!

-ModEli

[allthatsleftofus]

Episode one is here! 

CC is available. 

The second episode will be posted soon.

— 

All That’s Left of Us, is a 7 part Les Amis web series centered around Marius Pontmercy’s experiences after the barricades when he discovers that he is not the only member of Les Amis who is still alive. 

[enjolrasrising]

Hey guys! So this is the reason I took a hiatus from this blog. We’ve been working on this web series for like seven months and it’s finally being released!

The first and second episode are already up and if you want to support us please consider reblogging the episodes and telling your other Les Mis friends about it! Our cast/crew worked hella hard on this and we’re so excited to share it!

Once all the episodes have been released, I should be able to get back to this story! Thanks so much for your continued support, it’s why I love this fandom so much 🙏🏼🚩💕

[enjolrasrising]

Brief Hiatus

Hey lovely followers, I’m going on a brief hiatus for personal reasons, but will hopefully be back soon!

-ModE

[enjolrasrising]

[enjolrasrising]

13 June

This is Combeferre. I’m not usually the one who makes these posts but Enjolras...can’t right now. 

We (Joly, Bahorel, and I) made it to Bahorel’s apartment safely thanks to Éponine. It was tough because the police have set up industrial lights on the streets near where the barricades happened to be sure no one can hide in the darkness. We had to take the long way round. It took us about an hour, but we made it. 

Enjolras is alive. But he hasn’t woken up since Grantaire and Éponine administered some pretty powerful pain meds into his system. He’s still breathing, his heart is beating, and that’s...all we can ask for at this point. He has a bullet in his stomach after all. 

I...don’t know what else to write. I feel tired. It’s a new kind of tired. I’ve never felt it before. It’s like an anxiety attack, a stomach ache, total despair, and heartbreak all mashed up together. 

If he survives this, if we take the bullet out, and keep the wound from getting infected, and he somehow lives, what’s next? What do we do after this? 

What the fuck do we do?

I’ll come up with something. Just...not right now. It will be okay. It will. 

Goodnight. 

-Combeferre

[enjolrasrising]

[enjolrasrising]

Splinters

Enjolras.

Grantaire jolted awake to the sound of him sobbing. He rolled off Bahorel’s couch, scrambling to his feet, still dizzy from sleep. Hurrying to the bedroom, he blinked stars of malnutrition and exhaustion out of his eyes.  

The bedroom felt like a cave. It dripped with darkness and unknowability. The electric fans they’d brought in to cool the space down droned on like a monster just waiting to step out of the shadows. Enjolras laid, crumpled, on the bed. The sheets around him were bloody and wet with sweat.

Éponine, the woman he knew nothing about but somehow already completely trusted, was standing next to the bed, holding a bucket they’d found under Bahorel’s kitchen sink. Enjolras was getting sick into it, heaving and sobbing at the same time. Grantaire stood in the bedroom door, horrified at the sight. Death loomed over his injured friend, the monster in the shadows.

“Breathe,” Éponine said, softly.

---

I’m running out of energy.

Grantaire stared into the sink, watching the water wash away the contents of the bucket. It had been five days since June 6th. Five days of keeping Enjolras alive, five days of little to no sleep, five days of closing his eyes and seeing Enjolras fall, five days of cleaning the damn bucket.

“I gave him soup.”

Éponine’s voice shook Grantaire out of his daze. He turned off the faucet and looked over at her.

“Soup?”

She leaned against the counter. “He needs to eat. So I gave him tomato soup. It didn’t take.”

The room was silent. Grantaire tried to dig up some emotion other than despair, but he came up empty.

“Fuck.” It was all he could think to say.

---

He’s running out of breath.

Enjolras’ chest rose and fell unevenly. Grantaire could remember the struggle of breathing with a bullet wound. It was like a chore, a puzzle. What was the best way to breathe without moving your body at all? It was a trick question, obviously. You’re not supposed to be able to breathe with a bullet in your stomach. You’re supposed to be dead.

Éponine walked into the bedroom, carrying Enjolras’ deep red jacket in her hand. “Does he wear anything on his upper body?”

Grantaire looked up from staring at Enjolras, who was deep in a restless slumber. “What do you mean?”

Éponine held up the jacket. “He’s got three different trans pride pins on his jacket, and like, I know I shouldn’t assume, but I think it might be important to ask--”

“Yeah, he wears a--” Grantaire sat up in his chair, his eyes wide. “Oh. Shit, you’re supposed to take those things off, right?”

Éponine whipped out a knife from her combat boot and made her way over to the bed.

“Whoa hey, what the fuck?” Grantaire stood. “What the hell are you gonna do?”

The knife glinted in the dim lamplight. “Do you think he can manage to sit up while we get it off of him?”

“He…” Grantaire rubbed his temples. “No.”

Éponine knelt by the bed. She quickly reached up Enjolras’ bloody shirt and sliced open his binder with her knife.

Enjolras jerked awake. Éponine was only just able to pull her knife away before it cut into his skin. The wounded boy scooted away from her the best he could, wincing, gasping, “Wh...what…”

Grantaire touched Enjolras’ arm. “Hey, it’s ok--” Enjolras flinched away from him. “Oh shit, sorry, sorry…”

Éponine put her knife back into her boot. “It should be easier now.” She leveled her gaze at Enjolras. “Breathe.”

---

We’re running out of food.

Éponine laid out on the couch, her arm covering her eyes. Grantaire walked into the living room and slowly sat down in the chair opposite her.

“Is he sleeping?” she asked.

“I guess?” Grantaire sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “It looks more like he’s just unconscious.”

“Same thing.”

“Sleeping means he voluntarily went unconscious. And that’s definitely not what happened.”

“Are your friends coming soon?”

“No… I don’t know. The police keep closing off roads and setting up checkpoints and it’s making everything more difficult.”

Éponine pulled her arm off her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “We’re already rationing food.”

Grantaire let out a long breath through his nose, and remained silent.

“So what was your plan for this?”

Grantaire gritted his teeth. “There was no plan for this.”

Éponine looked over at him. “Isn’t that always how it is? You plan to overthrow the government, it fails, and then you starve to death before your gut-shot friend bleeds out.”

“Alright, if you’re so fucking smart, what would you do?” Grantaire snapped.

“Not try and overthrow the government.”

Grantaire sat up in the chair. “Why the fuck are you helping us? You were able to help get here, rob a hospital, and get more rations, so I’m sure you’d be able to leave just as fucking easy.”

“You’re Marius’ friends, right?”

Grantaire blinked. “Marius? Pontmercy? Yeah, I mean I guess. You know him?”

“Yeah.”

“So...that’s it? It’s just cause you know Marius?”

Éponine shrugged. “That and once my friend got shot in the abdomen by the cops.”

Grantaire’s whole body stiffened. His own side twinged, the months old wound making itself known again. “Really? What...What happened to them?”

“We took the bullet out ourselves and then burned the wound closed.” She didn’t break their eye contact. “They nearly died three times, but we kept them alive. Because fuck cops, man. Fuck the government. They can’t get rid of us just because we’re thorns in their sides. And you know what my friend did to that cop when they got better?”

Grantaire grasped at the fabric of his shirt near his side. “What?”

“They killed him.” Éponine’s expression was sharp. “You and your friends have crossed a line. You are no longer citizens, you are wanted criminals. Just like my friend.” Grantaire looked down at the floor. Éponine didn’t. “Just like me.”

---

Enjolras.

Grantaire was stuck in his dream. It was the worst kind of dream, too, the kind that mirrored reality perfectly. It was a memory, and it was playing on repeat.

His hands covered his ears, trying to shut out the sounds of war. He was hiding in the restaurant behind the barricades. He was next to the dead bodies. He would join them soon.

Then Bahorel was there, pulling him up to his feet. “We have to run,” he said.

Outside, the air was hazy and difficult to breathe. The streets were slick with blood. The barricade was a withered mass of destroyed furniture and cars. People were running. People were getting shot. People were dying.

Through the haze, Grantaire could see him. Enjolras was helping people up and getting them to run for cover, getting them to run for their lives. Once everyone was cleared, he stopped to look at his phone, ducking behind a bullet-ridden Volkswagen.

“We need to take Enjolras with us,” Grantaire said.

Then Enjolras stood up, and so did a cop down the street. A shot rang out, striking a piece of metal near Enjolras’ head. That made him turn, and hold up his gun, and fire, and…

Two shots. The cop went down and Enjolras stayed standing.

Damn, what a shot, Grantaire thought. How the fuck did he get that lucky?

Enjolras’ cries woke him up, and Grantaire was somehow thankful. Reliving that memory was nearly worse than reality.

--- We’re running out of time.

“You have to stop moving! You’re hurting yourself more!” Grantaire held down Enjolras’ arms. “Enj--”

“Don’t touch me!” Enjolras gasped out. He tried to squirm out of Grantaire’s grip.

Grantaire felt tears pulling at the back of his throat. If he let go, Enjolras would try and curl in on himself again. It was just an instinctive reaction to the pain in his gut, and that instinct was making everything worse. “You’re hurting yourself.”

“Stop…” Enjolras looked up, his eyes glazed over. “Hit me...all you want! I’m not...not sorry.”

Grantaire’s fists tightened around Enjolras’ shirt. He leaned in closer. “Enjolras. It’s Grantaire. I’m not your father--” He pulled his face back in time for Enjolras’ weak punch to sail by his face.

“Let me GO!” Enjolras brought up his legs and tried to kick at Grantaire’s stomach. He let out a high-pitched noise of distress as his wound started bleeding again.

“Éponine!” Grantaire yelled towards the door. “Help! He’s--God, for fuck’s sake, Enjolras.” He climbed up on the bed and brought both of his legs down on top of Enjolras’, pinning them to the bloody sheets. He was straddling Enjolras’ torso, being careful not to put any weight on his wound.

Enjolras fought back weakly, but  blood was slowly trickling out of his mouth, staining his teeth red. “Feuilly…”

Grantaire crossed Enjolras’ arms over his chest and pinned them there with his hands. He blinked the tears out of his eyes. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Éponine ran into the room and skidded to a stop in the doorway. “Holy shit…” She quickly approached the bed. “Tristan, the fentanyl--”

“Get it.”

Éponine pulled open the bedside table and removed a small bottle of clear liquid and a syringe. She stuck the syringe into the top of the bottle and drew out a small quantity of the drug. Grantaire pulled one of Enjolras’ arms away from his chest and extended it towards her. The syringe touched Enjolras’ skin and he tried desperately to yank it away, but Éponine’s grasp was like iron. The syringe plunged into his arm.

There was a moment, a split second before Éponine pushed down the top of the syringe. Enjolras’ red, exhausted eyes met Grantaire’s. And something old and familiar surfaced. A tear from Grantaire’s eyes fell and landed on Enjolras’ cheek.

“Not like this,” Grantaire whispered.

Éponine administered the drug and Enjolras went limp, his eyes already threatening to close. Grantaire lessened the weight on Enjolras’ body and let out a small sob. He leaned forward, towards the person he cared for infinitely more than anyone else in the world, and pressed their foreheads together. “Sleep,” he said softly. “But please, wake up again.” --- Punishment…

In his dream, Enjolras stood alone in the empty street. The world spun around him, like he was standing in the center of the universe, and all of the cosmic stardust was gathering like an oncoming storm, building up energy, threatening to explode.

He’d just killed a police officer, not thirty feet away from him. Their simultaneous shots had echoed between the buildings, then disappeared in the swirling vortex around Enjolras. He was trying to stay standing, trying not to move, trying not to breathe. He was about to shatter. He felt the blood quickly spreading across his shirt, dripping down his body, splattering against the cobblestone street. They’d both hit their marks, he and the police officer. Enjolras had just been the more efficient killer.

The blood burned his throat as it bubbled up past his lips. He coughed, and it ran down his chin. He couldn’t stand anymore, he couldn’t push down the impending collapse of his entire state of mind.

The universe was just this street, the stardust just the smoke of carnage. Enjolras fell on his knees and the world stopped spinning, instead splintering into anguish.

--- Please, wake up again.

Enjolras’ limbs felt like jelly, his brain like mush. Something was coursing through his veins, something artificial. It made him forget the excruciating pain in his gut, made him want to fall, fall, fall asleep. Forever.

He turned his head, slowly. He could see Grantaire in the corner of the room, and … who was that? The girl who helped him to the bed, the one that held the bucket, the one that told him to…

“Breathe,” she said. She was rubbing Grantaire’s back. He was crying, hyperventilating, scared.

That made two of them.

“Breathe,” the girl said.

Enjolras did. He closed his eyes.

“He’s gonna die.” Grantaire’s voice was small, crushed.

“Breathe.”

Enjolras did.

Breathe. And please, wake up again.

[enjolrasrising]

[enjolrasrising]

Is Feuilly okay?

dude no. Feuilly is dead -R

[enjolrasrising]

[enjolrasrising]

Courfeyrac slowly lowered her phone down on the table, tears flooding her eyes. She put one hand up to her chest, clutching her shirt as she heaved big breathes. Her other hand covered her mouth as she tried to stifle the sob that rose up in her throat. She couldn’t stand to see any of her friends in pain, and Enjolras, the youngest of all of them, was currently experiencing more pain than she could ever imagine.

Nothing would be the same after this. For any of them.   

[grantaireneedstochill-blog]

Talk to us man! What’s going on? are you safe? Has the barricade fallen??

uh yeah..all the barricades are fuckin obliterated. so many people are dead. feuilly….well i wasn’t there but enjolras wont stop talking muttering about it in detail 

we made it to Bahorel’s apartment and we’re safe for right now

but enjolras is fucked up. i don’t know if he’s like…gonna last the night..

[enjolrasrising]

i guess i’m posting this here too just so you know what’s going on and like how massively i’m freaking out -R

[enjolrasrising]

6 june

im sorry 

for leaving you behind. but I think i’m dying too so....

maybe you wont be alone.

i miss you..i’m sorry

-enj

[enjolrasrising]