'I admire Enjolras,' said Bossuet. 'His impassive boldness astonishes me. He lives alone, which makes him perhaps a little sad. Enjolras suffers for his greatness, which binds him to celibacy. A man without a woman is a pistol without a hammer; it's the woman who makes the man go off. Well, Enjolras has no woman. He's not in love, yet he finds a way to be intrepid. It is an incredible thing that a man can be as cold as ice and as bold as fire.'
Enjolras did not appear to listen; but any one who had been near him might have heard him murmur, in a low voice, 'Patria.'
ace enjolras finding it funny when his friends experience sexual attraction and laughing at them for "being weak" for someone. Also him refusig to take sexual attraction as an excuse because it's hilarious and like generally him being all ace and confident about it (prompt)
lmao i already project so much onto enjolras lets make this even more self insertish by making him aggressively asexual (love a smol greyaro ace)
Enjolras wasn’t the type to be quiet about his sexuality. It wasn’t something he was ashamed of, nor did he think he should be. He found it extremely funny when anyone felt sexual attraction.
To Enjolras, it just felt unnecessary. He had told Courfeyrac this many times when the man was drooling over Combeferre.
He wasn’t apposed to sex either. Enjolras was a people pleaser. He wanted to make people happy and have them live the best life they could. That’s what he told Grantaire when they started dating.
Being sexually attracted to someone doesn’t make them have any right to the person they’re attracted to is one of Enjolras’ main philosophies. This is what he said to a random guy harassing a woman on the street. The man had said that Enjolras must be attracted to her to. The last thing the man heard before he got punched was Enjolras yelling, “I’M ASEXUAL AND YOU’RE A DICK!”
Being ace is kinda shitty sometimes, with the discourse and all. That’s what Enjolras says to people who says being ace is easy.
I love being ace, and I’m not ashamed of that. That’s what Enjolras says to everyone.
Hi! I'm a huge fan of your art, especially your use of color. If you could draw some ~ summer vibes ~ enjolras it'd be grrrrreat. Maybe a crop top, maybe a frappucino, the possibilities are endless. 🌞
!!! thank you so much for all the love ;;;
Here is Summerjolras (I hc him as ace, hence the crop top, if it makes you uncomfortable in any way you can message me and I’ll change it)Hope you like it, thanks for requesting <3
Ever since I've watched Les Miserables (2012) a year ago, I've grown immensely attached to the character Enjolras.
Not only is he a patriotic revolutionary fighting for liberty, who would die for what he believes in (and eventually does), he also truly loves his friends and has a good heart.
But what truly sealed the deal on me being so emotionally attached and invested in him was his character being written as completely aromantic and asexual in the original novel by Victor Hugo (unfortunately haven't read it yet, but have done a lot of digging through the internet about that subject). This unfortunately isn't seen in the movie, only possibly hinted at: Enjolras completely not understanding Marius' fascination with Cosette or why anybody would choose love over revolution (relatable btw).
Most people probably don't really care about this, but I'm always looking out for characters which I can relate to, which can be difficult since a lot of shows, films and books focus (at least in some part) on romance or at least getting all of the characters in romantic relationships.
okay but i headcanon ace!enjolras so strongly now i get really weirded out when i come across fic where he's not it's like finding not-non-binary!jehan at this point or something
This is the first in a series of drabbles I'm planning to write based on the collection of nonsexual ways to be intimate with someone found here. Read below the cut or on AO3.
Enjolras, intent on the paper he was writing, didn’t notice for quite some time that something was bothering him. Even when he realized that half the reason he was getting so frustrated with the argument he was responding to was that there was something physical annoying him, he’d been blocking out his physical surroundings so intently that he had no idea what the thing was. He wasn’t hungry--well, all right, a little, but not enough to be distracting--and he’d been steadily drinking a big tumbler of water along with his mug of coffee, so it wasn’t that he was thirsty, either. Unable to determine the cause of his annoyance, he returned his attention to his paper, and only ten minutes later, as he brushed his bangs out of his face once again, did it hit him: His hair was falling into his eyes.
He got up from the table and went into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. When had his hair gotten so long? (Well, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had it cut, so perhaps surprise was not the appropriate reaction to its length.) It was shaggy and curled around his ears and the nape of his neck in a way that made him look unpleasantly like a 14-year-old wannabe skater. He got out a comb and tried to slick it back from his face with water, but even Enjolras’s largely indifferent eyes could see that it was not a fashionable look. Nor was it going to keep the hair out of his eyes for long.
It was time to get it cut. But going to a barber would take forever--and anyway it was a quarter to midnight and he wanted to take care of the problem now so he could go back to writing his paper without the extra annoyance. And Enjolras hated paying into the beauty industry, especially twenty dollars for a few snips of scissors when all he wanted to do with his hair was have less of it. He frowned at his reflection, assessing, then went to Combeferre’s desk to search for scissors.
Combeferre came home to find Enjolras still standing in front of the bathroom mirror, holding the scissors and staring at his reflection. An inch-wide section of his bangs had been snipped off, the fallen hair lying in the sink basin, but he hadn’t gotten any farther.
“Are you cutting your own hair?” Combeferre asked, slipping behind him to get at his contact solution.
“I was going to. It’s . . . I thought it would be easy, but I have no idea what I’m doing.” Enjolras stepped aside so Combeferre could have the mirror to take out his contacts. “It seems like it should be simple, right? But then as soon as I started I got cold feet. It’s so . . . permanent. I mean, not really, it grows back. But I don’t want to look like an idiot for six weeks or however long hair takes to grow out.”
“I’d imagine it’d be pretty challenging to cut your own hair and have it come out well--especially since you can’t see the back.” Combeferre rubbed his eyes with a contented groan. “God, I had those in way too long.” He blinked several times and groped on the counter for his glasses.
“Here,” Enjolras put them in his hand.
“Thanks.” He settled the glasses on his nose. “Do you want me to cut it for you?”
“Would you?” Enjolras asked eagerly. “It’s not a big deal, it’s just that it was getting in my eyes and driving me crazy, and I couldn’t focus.”
“I can try.” Combeferre hesitated. “I actually don’t know if I’ve ever cut someone’s hair before. I . . . can’t promise it’ll come out very great. You might want to get Courfeyrac to do it.”
“I just want it shorter and not massively uneven, that’s literally all I want. I have no doubt you can do that. It’s so curly it’ll even itself out anyway.”
“That’s true. Here, let’s go to the kitchen, there’s more space there. Grab a towel to put around your shoulders.”
They pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and Enjolras sat with an old towel around his shoulders as Combeferre ran the comb through his hair, gently tugging out the tangles. He filled a glass at the sink and used the water to wet down Enjolras’s hair in an attempt to tame it a bit. The water was warm against Enjolras’s scalp at first, then quickly cooled.
“How short do you want it?” Combeferre asked him.
“Um. Shorter than Courf’s. Maybe about the length Feuilly has his?”
“Okay. I’ll do my best.”
“You’ll be fine. I trust you.” Enjolras grinned up at him, and Combeferre, smiling, pushed his head back to face forward.
“Don’t move while I’m cutting, I’ll take your ear off.” He ran his fingers through Enjolras’s hair a few more times, pulling one lock of hair straight and then letting it spring back without cutting it. Finally, he opened the scissors and slowly cut across a lock of hair.
The night was dark against the windows, the small room silent except for the scrape of the scissors and the humming of the refrigerator. The linoleum was cold under Enjolras’s bare feet. Combeferre snipped off another lock of hair, and the dam curls slithered against the nape of Enjolras’s neck before drifting down to the floor.
“How was your day?” Enjolras asked as Combeferre moved methodically around to the side of his head.
“Not bad. Long, but when it is even not? I got to get outside for a bit at lunchtime; that was nice. The little garden area they’re putting in at the hospital, the one they started back in the fall, it’s almost done now. The statues are still sitting there just inside the gate, all wrapped up in plastic, and the fountain’s not running yet, but there’s a picnic table there, and some bushes and a little tree. And it was so warm out today, almost like spring weather.”
“That sounds really nice.”
“It was. I think I’m going to try to eat lunch there every day, at least whenever I’m on the day rotation. I felt so much better just getting out in the fresh air for a while.” Combeferre moved around to the other side of Enjolras’s head. “How was your day?”
“Stressful. I had a meeting with Professor Byron about the independent study I want to do next semester, instead of that ridiculous seminar, and she didn’t seem particularly keen on the idea. I think they think I’m just trying to get out of the seminar--”
“--which you are,” put in Combeferre.
“Which I am,” Enjolras agreed. “But with good reason, that seminar subject is completely irrelevant to anything I’m ever going to do with this degree. And it’s not like I picked some blow-off subject for an easy three credits; that independent study would be a ton of work, a lot more than the seminar would be.”
“Are they going to let you do it?”
“They haven’t decided yet. I have to write a detailed proposal arguing why the subject I picked is worthy of a three-credit independent study and outlining in more detail what materials I would use and what I would do with them.”
“That sounds like a good sign,” Combeferre said, gently untucking Enjolras’s curls from behind his ear. “Surely they wouldn’t make you go to all the work of planning it out if they were just using the whole proposal thing to placate you before saying no.”
Enjolras tried to suppress his involuntary flinch at the sound of the scissors right next to his ear. “I hope so. Because the last thing I need is to put hours into planning a semester-long class that isn’t even going to happen.”
“That’s true. Stop talking, now; I need your face to not be moving.” Combeferre crouched down in front of Enjolras, frowning at his hair. “I’m not sure this is entirely even.”
“‘m sure i’s close enou’,” Enjolras mumbled, trying to speak without moving his face.
Combeferre scowled critically, then moved over to Enjolras’s right to take off a little more. Returning to the front, he drew the comb through Enjolras’s bangs a few times, then gently stretched them out. Enjolras closed his eyes as the scissors snicked through his hair, sending hair clippings fluttering down his face. They tickled Enjolras’s nose, and he tried to focus on the sensation of hair against his bare feet and the sound of the scissors as Combeferre continued across his bangs. Combeferre’s hand brushed his cheek, and more hair clippings tumbled down into Enjolras’s lap.
“All right, go take a look,” Combeferre said after a minute.
Enjolras opened his eyes and stood up, carefully removing the towel from his shoulders and brushing the worst of the hair clippings from his clothes onto the linoleum. He stepped carefully around the hair and went into the bathroom.
“I hope it’s okay,” Combeferre called from the kitchen. “I think it came out a little shorter than you wanted it, but it was uneven and I had to straighten it out. If you see anywhere it’s still uneven, let me know and I’ll try to fix it.”
Enjolras studied himself in the mirror, trying to turn far enough to see the back of his head. It was a fine haircut--nothing particularly fashionable or interesting, just a general shortening all around--which meant it was exactly what he’d wanted. “It looks great, absolutely fine. Thank you, Ferre.” He ran his fingers through his curls, enjoying how different and short they felt.
Combeferre came into the bathroom behind him. “Wait, there’s one piece of hair I missed in the back, it’s about half an inch longer than everything around it. Come back into the kitchen for a minute.”
“It’s fine,” Enjolras protested, but he stepped back into the kitchen and let Combeferre do a few last adjustments. “Thank you,” he said again, when Combeferre was satisfied. “I really appreciate it.”
“Any time.” Combeferre pulled the dustpan and broom from the cupboard, but Enjolras took it from him.
“You’ve had a long day, go take your shower. I’ll take care of this.” He shoed Combeferre out and bent to sweep up the piles of hair clippings, marveling at just how much hair had been on his head. A few minutes later, he was sitting back down at his computer to finish to essay, his vision beautifully hair-free. In the background, the old pipes whined as the hot water for the shower rushed through them, and he could just hear Combeferre singing quietly. After the brief break, the argument he was opposing seemed both less annoying and more easily refutable, and the whole essay a less daunting task.
