#les m

[permit-it]

Grantaire: So you and me, huh?

Enjolras: Who would've thought?

Courfeyrac: Everyone..?

[takemyhandexr]

IT'S POSTING TIME!

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[somuchbetterthanthat]

fixaidea Les Amis at Marius and Cosette's wedding?

“Friends,” said Grantaire as they moved towards the Church, “I must make amends to the heavens; here I was, merely a few months back, a complete unbeliever, disdaining God like one disdains the mud stuck to his boots after a rainy day, knowing escaping it is impossible, but thoroughly discontent to have no escape from it, and here I am now, stunned, bemused, in awed! in front of his Eternel Power. Was there any way to predict a day like this? We’re well in February and the day is warm like in April, Monsieur Bahorel is about to set foot in a Church on his own free will, Monsieur Prouvaire has taken off the Middle-Ages to try out the Renaissance, Monsieur Pontmercy is on the verge of being married to a sweet creature who deserves much more, certainly, than him, and yet seems blind to all his numerous flaws and - and I praise the Lord most infinitely, for I would have never thought the day would happen - our Monsieur Enjolras is wearing an outfit bolder than any of his ideas; say, Enjolras, have you finally realized how well red suit your mind?”

Enjolras, who’d been waiting on the Church’s steps and talking with Feuilly and Combeferre, seemingly ignorant of the three young ladies giggling a few meters away from him behind their fans, turned and raised an eyebrow in the direction of Grantaire, Bahorel and Prouvaire, who had just arrived at their level. 

“Courfeyrac seemed to think necessary to purchase a new waistcoat for me for the occasion,” he answered Grantaire. “I’m unconvinced, but this was a big occasion for him, and I could hardly refuse him this.”

“What a friend he is, our Courfeyrac,” grinned Bahorel. “Seeing how he planned this whole wedding, you’d think he was the enamored groom after all;”

“Isn’t he?” asked Prouvaire lightly, staring at the flowers decorating the Church door approvingly. 

“Jehan, Bahorel,” said Combeferre, “I doubt this will be taken well, if someone hears you speak like that on Miss Fauchevelent’s wedding.”

“Or Monsieur Pontmercy,” pointed out Grantaire with a sly grin and a waggle of his eyebrows. “And, to continue on a completely unrelated matters, where are our two birds and the lovely song that follows everywhere they go?”

“A gamin came by, just a few minutes ago,” said Feuilly. “Joly and his wife will be slightly late; I assume Bossuet is with them.”

“How much are we betting that none of them are going to be here by the time the ceremony end?” asked Grantaire around. “God seems to like all of us, apart maybe our eagle.”

“You and your God!” exclaimed Bahorel. “When should we expect to see you become a priest, Grantaire? Now, that would be something to see -”

“Excuse-me, young men,” said a voice behind them. 

They all turn at the same time. A woman of maybe forty or fifty stood behind them, dressed in an unassuming but elegant dress, her eyes sharp, her hands clasped together in front of her. They recognized her as the mysterious aunt of the bride. 

“We’re asking the guests to come in, now,” she said once she had their attention. “The wedding will start very shortly.”

They all moved together in a buzz of witty remarks and disjointed conversations and laughter, going to seat all together in two benches in the middle of the Church, on the groom’s side, where they were met by several disproving glances. Courfeyrac and Marius had already taken place at the end of the aisle, and Courfeyrac was whispering something in Marius’s ear with a grin; whatever it was, Marius’s cheeks turned pink, and stayed pink right until the music began, and the doors of the Church opened, letting through the bride, surrounded by her father and mother. 

“What a dress,” whispered Bahorel. “Damn, what a lucky boy that Marius is - that girl has probably the sharpest eye for fashion in Paris, and I include myself in the comparison.”

Madame Fauchelevent gave away her daughter to her future son-in-law, and stood on her side. Marius and Cosette turn toward each other, holding hands, beaming at each other; the priest cleared his throat, and they glanced at him finally, as if suddenly remembering that there was to be a third man mingling in this instant at last; 

Prouvaire took out of his pocket an handkerchief somewhere in the middle of the ceremony; when Marius pronounced his vows, Enjolras discreetly offered his own to Grantaire, whose eyes were oddly shiny. 

“If someone wishes to raise an objection to this wedding,” said then the priest solemnly, “then speak up now, or be quiet forever.”

There was a silent beat; the priest opened his mouth, ready to continue, when the doors opened once more, abruptly and loudly; everybody turned around, the Church filling with sudden and excited gossip, as a tall, lean man appeared, and then stopped as he caught everybody’s eyes on him. He looked like he’d ran, had no hat, and a torn coat. 

“Um,” he said, clearly his throat, and turned his head wildly behind him. 

The priest look quite lost for a second; he looked at the bride’s father, who looked wary, and then at the future husband, whose mouth had fallen open with surprise; then, when even the grandfather didn’t voice an opinion, he asked, uncertain: 

“Do you have anything you wish to say, sir?”

His voice carried on; the apparition looked startled, opened his mouth, and closed it again when, right behind him, another man, leaning heavily on a cane and out of breath, as well as pretty young woman appeared at his side. 

“I’m... sorry we’re late?” he finally said, into the deafening silence that followed their arrival.  

[grantaire-the-drunken-artist]

Pure blood Slytherin Enjolras writing home and telling his family about his Ravenclaw boyfriend who he’s bringing home for break

They all assume its Combeferre but no

They get scruffy mud blood Grantaire who Enjolras steps off the train with holding hands and smiling like that boy is the only person he’s ever cared about

[grantaire-the-drunken-artist]

Grantaire: I’m going to get into Harvard Law

Ferre: what you want is no easy thing if you’re gonna swing it it’s going to wreck your senior spring yeah it’s true first you’re going to need an LSAT score of more than 174-

Grantaire: Done

Ferre: Wait wha-

Grantaire: I got a 178 whats next?

Ferre:.. Honestly I didn’t think you’d even get this far

[grantaire-the-drunken-artist]

I just had SO MUCH SEX i didn't have TIME

Courf after finding out a project deadline was due in class

[grantaire-the-drunken-artist]

Grantaire as Lemony Snicket writing his beloved Enjolras

[grantaire-the-drunken-artist]

A Series Of Unfortunate Events AU in which Grantaire is Lemony Snicket