The Enjonine Collective @theenjoninecollective - Tumblr Blog

Marius gestured to the young woman who appeared, clutching a letter, “Enjolras, my friend Eponine.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle.”

“Oh,” she breathed out, blushing fiercely at the gallant man in red.

For @viridescentlights who claimed a colored sketch from the @bishopmyrielfundraiser

I have 1 more artwork slot up for grabs! You can claim it by joining the fundraiser :)

#art #Hiyas #hihiyas #hiyasdoodles #enjonine #e/e #enjolras x eponine #eponine x enjolras #enjolras #eponine #rise fe/els fandom #you are my revolution

shadows-of-1832

His eyes flicker to her, distant, as if looking for words to say, knowing what he wants to say, but the phrasing of them fails him. He takes a deep breath, looking to the horizon. “Mornings like this, they feel rather few, do they not? Compared to the storms we weather, being at the mercy of the ocean’s waves?” he asks, eyes flickering to her then back to the water. “You never can predict if she will spare you or pull you to her depths. Steer the ship and do what you will with the masts, but there remains still the uncertainty if you will see the storm end. You and her, I see the similarities.”

She turns her head, raising an eyebrow.

He takes a few breaths. “You and her share an unpredictability that make you both dangerous, as well as the ability to leave men breathless in your wake, and yet, there is a certain stillness within you both that causes a struggle in one’s mind that either of you are as lethal as you are.”

- “This Cold, Uncertain Day”

FF.net - AO3

Fic Inspiration

#art #fics #shadows-of-1832 #saoirse-victoire #enjonine #e/e #enjolras x eponine #eponine #enjolras #eponine x enjolras

les-amis-against-napoleon

His Patria--An Enjonine Fanfiction

The part where Marius tells Eponine about Cosette isn’t canonically accurate, but whatever.

~~~

It was said of Enjolras that nothing aside from revolution had a prominent effect on him, that no flower, no bird in flight, and least of all no woman could make him any more sentimental than if he were looking at a clod of dirt. But those who said these things were, in fact, wrong. Enjolras could be affected by things, although it seemed when it came to women that that was an impossible case. But much of the latter reason was due to the fact that Enjolras was thoroughly confused by women. They surrounded him, babbling about the weather and food and all kinds of stupid things, until he was quite beside himself as to how he should escape from their chatter. There was, to be truthful, only one woman he had come across who did not fall all over him, more a girl, in truth, than a woman.

Every day, for the past few months, he had seen her, that unknown, troubled soul, sitting in the same area thrice or four times in a week. He would not really have noticed her the first time other than to nod his head politely if it had not been for her eyes. They were what captured his full attention. The instant she raised them to his face, he was struck by the sorrow of a thousand dead hopes, the agony of a life wasted by circumstances that could not be changed. In those half-veiled orbs Enjolras beheld everything he was fighting against: hunger, poverty, illness, life on the streets.

He began to notice her more as he went about his weeks, getting into the habit of slowing his pace as he walked past her and nodding and smiling. He would have offered her money, but to him it did not seem that she was the type of person to accept charity. So he only nodded and smiled and went on his way, his thoughts occupied by the sadness in her eyes and the solemnity of her face.

As time went on, Enjolras began to see in her all the people of France joined into one, a unity of suffering souls and silent cries for help. Before long, this girl, this stranger, began to represent, in his eyes, not just the people of the country, but France herself: glorious, sorrowful, and free. Patria. He began to call her that in his mind, to imagine what her voice sounded like. To him she spoke with rough music, not light and bubbly like decent young women but harsher, more free and careless, a voice stained by the hardships she had seen, tainted by all she had known. He began to be filled with a longing to speak with her, to see her in some other position than that which he viewed her in every day he saw her: feet tucked beneath her, arms clasped about her knees, her fragile soul portrayed in her eyes. He wished he could speak to her, but what business did he have? And what right?

One day as Enjolras stepped from the cafe Musain, thinking these things over, he spotted Marius ahead of him. Marius, that somewhat skeptical, sometimes ridiculous young man, was striding towards…Enjolras froze. Curiosity, however, propelled his feet forward, until he stood unnoticed a few feet behind Marius.

He was looking down at her. As Enjolras watched, a miraculous thing happened. She glanced up, and instantly the utter sorrow in her eyes was replaced by an unspeakable joy. A smile lit up her whole face, giving her a sort of glow, as she got to her feet and gazed at Marius, with her ragged brown hair tumbling over her shoulders. It was such a different sight from the sad, lonely waif who sat by herself that Enjolras’ knees felt slightly weak. Was she really the same person?

He frowned suddenly. The light in the girl’s eyes was slowly fading, the smile sliding down from her face as she listened to Marius speak. He was currently saying, “—the most beautiful creature I think I have ever seen! Her hair, like gold, her eyes, like violets! She is splendid! Oh, if only I knew her name, where she lived, then I could summon the courage to speak to her!”

Enjolras continued carefully watching the girl. By now, all the joy was wiped from her face, and a new kind of sadness filled her eyes as she listened to Marius talk. Her head dropped slightly onto her chest, and her eyelids fell across her eyes, long lashes sweeping her cheek. Enjolras realized in that moment how blind Marius was to the obvious love this girl had for him. He wanted to shake Marius, to shout, “There is a perfectly beautiful creature before your very eyes! Do you not see her?”

Suddenly the girl did something that proved to the utmost her love for Marius. She glanced up, the flash of her eyes filled with a wound of mortality, and then she spoke. Enjolras gasped. Her voice was exactly as he had imagined it: rough, yet delicate, full of the trials of her life but lovely to listen to. When he focused on her words he was struck even more.

“I can find her for you, Monsieur Marius.” Her eyes flitted downward again to the ground, and almost fearfully she backed against the wall and slid her hands along it. Her posture was slumped in a gesture of defeat, and tears sparkled in her emotion-drenched eyes, but Marius saw none of it. Instead he grabbed her by her shoulders and cried, “Will you?”

The girl looked at him, startled, and then at his hands resting on her. A strange sort of flush suffused each cheek as mildly she whispered, “If that is what you wish.”

“Oh, I could kiss you!” Marius cried, and Enjolras flinched at the effect his words had on the girl. Was Marius really so oblivious? How could he not see how madly in love she was with him?

The girl looked up at Marius again, her eyes shimmering, and said roughly, “Well, I will find her. And I will let you know when I do.”

“Thank you, thank you, Eponine!” Marius said jubilantly. Enjolras paused. Was that her name? Eponine? It fit perfectly, better than any name he could have thought of. Eponine. It rolled across one’s tongue so freely and smoothly. He repeated it several times to himself so he would not forget, then looked again at the odd pair before him.

“Of course, Monsieur Marius. Anything for you,” she answered, and Enjolras detected a faint stress on the last words. Marius did not notice, of course, and released the girl, turning away.

“You don’t know how much this means to me,” he said anxiously, a thrill of excitement in his tone, as he turned and headed in the opposite direction.

“Don’t I,” she said softly, stepping after him and halting in the margins of the road. Her arms hung limply at her side, and her head slid downward. With an air of defeat she walked away, in the opposite direction, almost bumping into Enjolras as she did so.

“Beg pardon, Monsieur,” she said in a low tone, continuing past him without a second glance.

And Enjolras, the marble lover of liberty, he who advocated only the downfall of tyranny, stood staring after that symbol of tragic freedom, his mouth slightly open as though he had been about to call out, his eyes wide at what he had just witnessed, his heart aching for the lonely soul walking only a few feet away.

#fics #les-mis-against-napoleon #enjonine #e/e #enjolras #eponine #enjolras x eponine #eponine x enjolras #rise fe/els fandom #you are my revolution

saoirse-victoire

“If I called you Sparrow, would you respond to it?”

The girl dropped her gaze back to her lap and, for a moment, he worried that perhaps she would again accuse him of mocking her. In the past, her accusations were valid. But today, he had decided, the girl would be renamed.

“‘Sparrow isn’t a girl’s name.”

“No, it’s a bird’s name.”

When the girl raised her face to him, he saw, for the first time, the smile of a young girl. The way her eyes opened wide in surprise, the way she bit her lower lip as though he had embarrassed her. But she was happy, he could tell.

“I think I would. Respond, I mean. If you were to call me that.”

“Good. Everyone should have a name, even if it’s not the name we’re born with. It’s the most important thing you can have.”

The girl - Sparrow - laughed. “I think food and a bed might rival it.”

But Sebastien shook his head. “Food and a bed can be taken away. But your name is only gone when you give it up. No one can take it away from you. No one can ever tell me that I am not Sebastien, just as no one can tell you that you are not Sparrow.”

“Sparrow,” she echoed, testing the name on her lips. “Sparrow. I could fly with a name like that.”

- “Lilith Reborn” Ch.4, by @clearascountryair

AO3 - FF.net