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[andthatsallshe-wrote]

Grantaire has a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

Enjolras loses a bet and has to wear a skirt to class. Grantaire cannot stop staring.

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Bahorel owns a bakery and Feuilly is 110% done with everything.

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Grantaire's parents send him to spend the summer with friends of the family. Their son, Enjolras, is probably the last person he'd want to spend his summer with.

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

Enjolras has heard all the stories about bonded pairs, but he's always dismissed them as propaganda. Half the work is already done for the oppressive system when they can package your commodification as a fairytale, make you kiss your chains.

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

Enjolras is being uncharacteristically mellow and affectionate, Grantaire is increasingly confused, and pretty much everyone has issues they really should discuss (what else is new?)

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

Grantaire thinks he's the only one of the the group who remembers. He can still feel the bullets pierce him, can still remember the warmth of Enjolras' hand in his, the sound of his friends' voices. That's why he's so surprised when he meets the rest of Les Amis.

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

Grantaire's homophobic parents are coming to visit, and Courfeyrac volunteers Enjolras to pretend to be his boyfriend. Enjolras doesn't do things halfway.

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

Courfeyrac falls in love too easily. Everyone knows it. But in his fourth and final year of university, no one really expected him to fall in love with one of his professors. His room-mate, Enjolras, thinks he's asking for trouble -- but Enjolras has enough problems on his plate with his new art professor, a dark-haired cynic of a man named Grantaire. Their friends fill in the gaps, offering advice on classes, relationships, and even poetry as the boys struggle to make it through the semester without getting arrested or expelled. (Arson isn't inappropriate behaviour if your intention was artistic, right?)

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

From this post on Tumblr:

"AU where Enjolras is a mind-reader who learnt how to keep everyone out of his head, but then one day he’s tired and he let his guard off and Grantaire’s thoughts hit him and Enjolras blushes like an idiot because nobody never ever thought such nice and dirty things about him"

by http://drunkpylades.tumblr.com

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

Modern AU. Everyone falls in love, but it's not going to be an easy ride. There will be falling outs and parties along the way, but everything's OK as long as they have each other.

(Changed the summary because it was bugging me, but I still suck at them)

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

This is all Grantaire’s fault.

He should never had made whatever bet it was with Bahorel, and he should never have lost it. It’s such a ridiculously tacky dress. And it’s sure not to have been sourced from an ethical source. Grantaire should have known better.

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

“Lighten up, mon ami,” Grantaire laughed pressing a bottle of vodka into Combeferre’s hand.

"Honestly, Grantaire. You might need to cut back a bit." Grantaire laughed and shook his head.

"I think we're giving Courfeyrac a tattoo in a little bit. You should join us." Combeferre shook his head.

“You just told a premed student that you’re giving someone a tattoo in your apartment and literally Grantaire, your apartment is trashed.”

“Maybe you should drink some of that vodka and you’ll care a bit less,” Grantaire winked, kissed Combeferre, and left the room. 20 minutes later, Combeferre was at the kitchen table, staring at his hands when everyone came into the room.  Bahorel was carrying a laughing Courfeyrac over his shoulder, and when he set Courfeyrac down on the table, Courfeyrac grew serious.

Grantaire came in a few minutes later, dragging a small cart behind him.

“Is that all your tattoo stuff?” Combeferre asked, and Grantaire looked at him, then the bottle of vodka (which Combeferre had drained) and back at Combeferre before nodded, a grin spreading across his face.

“Courfeyrac, what do you want me to tattoo?” Courfeyrac thought for a moment, his fingers stroking his chin lightly.

“A fucking unicorn,” Courfeyrac said. Bahorel steadied himself on the counter because he was laughing so hard. Grantaire started sketching out a unicorn under Courfeyrac’s guidance.

“No, fuck that man the mane and tale have to be pink. The horn has to be purple. But the unicorn has to be white. Also, fuckin’ draw a lens flare on the horn man.” Grantaire shook his head as he finished the sketch and showed it to Courfeyrac, who nodded.

“Where do you want it?” Grantaire asked, grabbing his gloves and ink. Bahorel plugged in his tattoo machine and Courfeyrac’s eyes lost focus as he thought (which happened when he got drunk and lost in thought).

Courfeyrac grinned, and looked at Grantaire, and stood up, and said: “On my ass!” Grantaire put his hands on Courfeyrac’s arms and said,

“Are you serious?” Courfeyrac nodded and pulled his pants down. He climbed on the table and laid facedown, his arms under his chin. Grantaire grabbed his stencil and looked at Courfeyrac, who was humming quietly. “What cheek?” he asked and Courfeyrac looked up at him.

“Surprise me?” Combeferre leaned back in his chair and looked at Grantaire, pushing his glasses up his nose. Grantaire stenciled the unicorn onto Courfeyrac’s right asscheek and started pulling his gloves on.

“Dude,” Combeferre said. Everybody in the room looked at him (partially because he never said dude). “Courfeyrac is naked on your kitchen table. His junk is on the table, Grantaire. Does anybody eat of his table?” Grantaire shook his head no and started tattooing. He had to pause a few times because either he or Courfeyrac was laughing so hard and he didn’t want to fuck up and if Courfeyrac was going to have a unicorn on his ass for the rest of his life, it might as well be a good looking ass-unicorn.

He was finished in no time and Courfeyrac stayed still as Grantaire cleaned the ink off his ass and rubbed in ointment before covering the tattoo.

“I just fucking caressed your ass, Courf.” Courfeyrac got off the table and jumped onto the counter. Combeferre stood up and took his shirt off.

“I want one, too!” He said through his shirt because somehow he managed to get stuck. Grantaire chuckled and helped him.

“Are you sure, Combeferre?” Combeferre nodded and grabbed his chair, sitting on it backwards.

“I want it on my shoulder blade!” He said, nodding. “I want one of those ones that look like the paintings!” Grantaire raised his eyebrow and Combeferre narrowed his. “Watercolor! I want watercolor!” Grantaire nodded and Combeferre grabbed his wrist. “But I want an iris.” Grantaire chuckled and nodded.

“You’re a fuckin’ nerd.”

To be fair, Combeferre only hissed in pain a few times. Most of the distractions were caused by Joly, who was having a literal panic attack in the corner of the kitchen, yelling about statistics with getting tattoos in kitchens. Then Grantaire was rubbing in ointment, and covering the tattoo and less than twenty minutes later, he was passed out face down on Grantaire’s couch while Courfeyrac was still running butt naked around the apartment.

That was six years ago.

Combeferre was just getting home from the office – his office, he had his own office now – when he got a call from Enjolras, asking if he could come over.

“I’m inviting everyone,” Enjolras said. Combeferre sighed his assent and kicked the door shut behind him. He said his goodbyes to Enjolras and dropped his things on the couch and going into the kitchen. He saw that Courfeyrac had left him a note on the table, politely asking if they could have enchiladas for dinner. He sent a picture of the note with a ‘not tonight, but I have tomorrow off’ to Courfeyrac and went to the kitchen, planning on making something quick when he got a call from Courfeyrac.

“Bonjour, mon cher,” he said when he answered the phone. Courfeyrac laughed.

“Are you just now getting home?” Courfeyrac asked, and Combeferre hummed.

“Yeah. Can you grab pizza on the way home? I have to get groceries tomorrow.”

“Are the guys coming over?” Courfeyrac asked. Combeferre hummed again and grabbed a two litre of soda out of the fridge. “So I actually need to get like ten pizzas and a box of condoms to throw at Enjolras and Grantaire.” Combeferre laughed as he pulled a cup out of the cabinet.

“Only if you throw each condom individually and from different parts of the room.” Courfeyrac laughed.

“I’m leaving the office in a few minutes; I’ll call in a pizza. I gotta go if I want to get out in the next five minutes though. I love you.”

“I love you too, Courfeyrac.”

“I will never get over hearing you say that.” Combeferre blushed.

“Likewise, mon amour.” Courfeyrac laughed, said ‘I love you,’ again, and hung up. Twenty minutes after that, Combeferre was enjoying a glass of wine when there was a knock on his door. The door opened and Enjolras came in, Grantaire attached to his hand, and the rest of his friends behind him. He drained the wine glass and put it in the sink.

“Where’s Courfeyrac?” Enjolras asked.

“He was leaving work about twenty minutes ago.” Enjolras nodded and everybody seated themselves around the kitchen table, chatting amongst themselves until Courfeyrac came in with the pizzas. He set the pizzas on the counter and kissed Combeferre before burying his face in Combeferre’s neck. Enjolras cleared his throat.

“We have something to show you,” he said, standing up and taking off his jacket. He held his arm out, proudly, revealing a shiny tattoo; the exact same tattoo Combeferre had gotten on that drunken night at Grantaire’s in college, and the same one that Courfeyrac had gotten after they’d been together for a year. Combeferre looked at the tattoo, and up at Enjolras’ face, and Enjolras’ face fell. “I mean, I can understand if it was your thing,” he said, gesturing towards Courfeyrac and Combeferre. The couple shared a look and Combeferre shook his head.

“I’m touched, really.” He said. Enjolras grinned and sat down, and next Grantaire pushed his shirtsleeve up to reveal the same tattoo on the opposite arm. Bahorel’s hand was shoved in his face and Jehan showed off his sandaled feet. Courfeyrac buried his face in Combeferre’s neck and sniffed, and Combeferre wrapped his arms around him. Cosette and Marius were next, showing off their linked hands, until Combeferre saw their wrists. Eponine pushed her hair behind her ear to show the same tattoo, but smaller. Joly and Bossuet lifted up their shirt sleeves, revealing the tattoo on their left shoulders and Joly spoke up.

“It was terrible and unsanitary but Musichetta got it, too.” Combeferre’s eyes pricked with tears.

Feuilly burst into the apartment, out of breath. “I’m late, I’m sorry. Got held up at work.” He came into the kitchen and took off his jacket before pulling up his t-shirt to reveal an iris over a watercolor background over his ribcage.

Courfeyrac wiped at his eyes after pulling away from Combeferre’s neck. “I hate you. Eat my pizza and get out of my house.” Combeferre’s grin split his face.

“Honestly,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You lot are the best group of friends any man could ask for.” Bahorel’s cheers drowned out the sound of Jehan bursting into tears. Cosette wiped at her face and Marius wrapped his arms around her.

“We love you too, Combeferre,” Grantaire said, standing to hug him. “You’re one of the best friends any man on this earth could ask for.” And if Combeferre ended up crying into Grantaire’s hug, it really didn’t have to leave the kitchen.

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

The universe is a bitch, apparently they are reincarnated French revolutionaries, and suddenly physical separation from Enjolras is actually painful and hazardous to your health.

Grantaire hates his life. Lives. Both.

(A modern AU with a reincarnation and soulbond twist, or: everything and the kitchen sink is against Grantaire. It ends well, though.)

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

There are days when Grantaire needs this, even though he hasn't yet learned how to ask (the good thing, the best thing is, usually he doesn't have to).

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

I was asked to reblog this on my personal today, so if any of you write les mis fic or would like to beta les mis fic, let this blog know, yeah?

Les Mis beta search!

Earlier today I was looking for someone to read a fic that I’m stuck on and, after a discussion with nothing-rhymes-with-grantaire and their followers, I realized that I’m not the only one. 

Hence, a new blog! The likes of which has never been seen! (or at least, I couldn’t find another one.)

The premise: to connect people writing Les Miserables fanfiction with people who are willing to read and edit it. 

The blog: lesmisbetasearch

Please submit if you’re looking for a beta or if you’d like to beta!

[andthatsallshe-wrote]

Enjolras wears lipstick to school one day. Grantaire spends the better part of that day sexually frustrated to hell and back.