#COURFS FRECKLES MAKE ME SO HAPPY

[you-are-constance]

Day 6 of Ship mas: Combeferre/Courfeyrac from Les Mis

unfortunately this is the only les mis ship to make it into the top 12, but they are a consistent favorite. i especially love how this one turned out, using slightly updated designs and more canon-era clothing. this one was actually giving me such a hard time, but now it’s actually become one of my favorites. I just think they look so cute

[kjack89]

Personal Gain (Chapter 6/6)

Sorry this is so late! Life got crazy. But hey, better late than never.

Modern magic AU, developing E/R and Courferre. Read Chapter 1 here, Chapter 2 here, Chapter 3 here, Chapter 4 here and Chapter 5 here (or catch up on AO3).

The knock on the door was quiet, almost cautious, and Courfeyrac called out, “Come in!”

The door creaked open and Combeferre poked his head in. “Dare I ask what’s going on?” he asked mildly, stepping inside after he saw that Courfeyrac was alone.

“Well, for starters, it turns out that Enjolras and Grantaire didn’t need any magical help getting together, seeing as how they’ve been dating for six months.”

Combeferre blinked. “Well,” he said, taking a few steps towards Courfeyrac. “That certainly explains a lot.”

“You think?” Courfeyrac asked dryly.

“So you came here to disable the spells?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Well, seeing as how the binding spell had the unfortunate side of effect of making Enjolras want to stay here instead of the apartment he and Grantaire got together…” He trailed off, smiling slightly at the look of surprise on Combeferre’s face. “Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction, too.”

Combeferre shook his head slowly. “Wow,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and shaking his head slightly. “I...did not see that coming.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “Me neither,” he muttered. “Then again, seems there’s a lot that I haven’t seen coming these days.”

Combeferre eyed him warily. “That sounds ominous,” he said mildly. “Something on your mind?”

“You tell me,” Courfeyrac said, matching his tone and meeting his gaze evenly. “You’re the one who put a love potion in the Jäger.”

More emotions than Courfeyrac could possibly track flashed in rapid succession across Combeferre’s face, and Courfeyrac couldn’t quite stop his slightly smug smile as Combeferre opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to speak the denial he clearly wanted to. After a long moment of struggling, Combeferre swallowed, his expression neutral. “You didn’t get rid of the honesty spell,” he said finally.

Courfeyrac shrugged again. “I thought it might do us both some good to finally have to say it like it is,” he said. “And before you even start, you were the one preaching about consent before slipping me a love potion. What did you do, skim a little from the cauldron when I wasn’t looking?”

“Yes,” Combeferre said, not bothering to try to deny it this time.

Courfeyrac blinked, a little taken aback by how willingly he admitted it, even with the honesty spell. “And you put it in the Jäger.”

Again, Combeferre didn’t try to fight the lingering honesty spell. “Yes,” he said. “I put it in the Jäger.”

Courfeyrac bit back his immediate question, the why he had been holding back this entire time, because looking at Combeferre, standing not even two feet away from him, he knew why.

They both knew why.

Courfeyrac had been the one to say it, when he was explaining why he was doing this for Enjolras and Grantaire – because they would both be so happy with each other if they would just admit how they feel – but Combeferre had been the one to act on it.

And took a leaf out of Courfeyrac’s book to do so – rather literally.

So he managed to contain the grin he felt twitching at the corners of his mouth, glancing down at the floor for a moment before looking back at Combeferre. “And?”

“And what?” Combeferre asked, his brow furrowed. “And it didn’t work.”

Courfeyrac cocked his head slightly. “Who said that?”

Combeferre’s brow furrowed even further. “No one,” he said, “I just— You didn’t—”

He broke off, flushing slightly, and now Courfeyrac did grin. “What, didn’t jump you?” he asked cheerfully.

“Sure, if that’s how you want to word it,” Combeferre said sourly, something tightening in his expression before he looked pointedly away, and Courfeyrac’s stomach dropped as he realized Combeferre thought they were having a very different conversation than they were.

“No, I didn’t jump you,” he said quickly, “but—”

“Which means there weren’t feelings there,” Combeferre said flatly, still not meeting Courfeyrac’s eyes. “You said it yourself, a love potion doesn’t make someone feel a certain way, it just...amplifies feelings that are already there.”

“And you think that because I didn’t jump you, that there are no feelings there.”

Courfeyrac’s voice was incredulous, and Combeferre’s flush deepened. “Well, logically speaking—” he muttered, but Courfeyrac interrupted him.

“What part of my magic, of magic at all, has ever seemed logical to you?” he demanded.

Combeferre shook his head slowly but didn’t try to answer the question, instead looking at Courfeyrac, his expression unreadable. “So what are you saying?”

Courfeyrac arched an eyebrow. “I’m saying you miscalculated.”

Combeferre frowned. “I followed the instructions in the grimoire to the word—”

“There’s more to magic than just following instructions,” Courfeyrac said, exasperated. “It’s not a science experiment that you replicate with identical results every time!”

Combeferre’s scowl was firmly back in place. “Well then why don’t you tell me what I did wrong instead of lecturing me about it?” he snapped.

Courfeyrac couldn’t help himself – he barked a laugh, scrubbing a hand across his face before grinning at Combeferre. “You really are an idiot, you know that, right?”

“You said—”

“I know what I said,” Courfeyrac said.

Combeferre shook his head. “No, you said that the potion would fill the drinker with feelings of desire and possession, and—”

“Yeah, I know.”

Combeferre threw his hands up in frustration. “Ok, so then what did I miss?”

“You missed that I have spent every single day of the past few years pretending that I didn’t have feelings of desire and possession,” Courfeyrac said honest for the first time, and the spell had nothing to with it. Combeferre froze, staring at him. “You missed that I never needed a love potion for that. You think that I didn’t want to jump you after drinking that? Of course I did. But I’ve gotten really, really good at pretending that I don’t.”

Combeferre’s mouth opened and closed again as he gaped at Courfeyrac. After a long moment, he managed to pull himself together enough to croak, “Then why—”

“Because…” It was Courfeyrac’s turn to blush, just a little. “Because I didn’t think you felt the same.”

Combeferre stared at him, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Well now who’s the idiot?” he asked.

In lieu of answering, Courfeyrac closed the space between them and kissed him.

For just a moment, Combeferre froze, but then he melted against him, kissing Courfeyrac back almost fiercely, his hand fisting in Courfeyrac’s shirt as if he could pull him closer. 

When they broke apart, neither man moved far, and Courfeyrac reached out to cup Combeferre’s cheek, tracing his thumb across the spray of barely visible freckles across his cheek. “I think we can probably agree we’re both idiots,” he said quietly.

Combeferre laughed before kissing Courfeyrac again. “Maybe,” he allowed. “But at least we figured it out eventually.”

“Yeah, and it only took three spells and two potions for us to figure it out.” He kissed Combeferre once more before taking a step back. “Speaking of, there’s one more thing I need to do.”

“Get rid of the honesty spell?” Combeferre asked.

Courfeyrac. “Ok, two things,” he said, bending down to pick the crystal up from where he had hidden it on the coffee table, blowing on it gently to neutralize the spell within. “And now just one thing.”

“And what can you possibly have to do that’s more important than, well, me?” Combeferre asked, but Courfeyrac wasn’t deterred by the innuendo.

“I owe someone an apology.”

----------

Courfeyrac waited a few days before he made his way to Enjolras and Grantaire’s new apartment, figuring both men could probably use a little time back together now that Courfeyrac had gotten rid of the spell that had driven them apart. 

Judging by the satisfied smile Grantaire wore when he answered the door, he had figured right.

“For you,” he said, using just a little magic to make a bouquet of flowers appear, and he presented them to Grantaire with a flourish.

“Flowers?” Grantaire asked mildly, taking the bouquet from Courfeyrac. “Have you been taking advice from Jehan?”

“Something like that,” Courfeyrac said. “Consider them an apology of sorts.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Grantaire asked, gesturing for Courfeyrac to come inside. 

Courfeyrac shrugged, glancing around the apartment. He was completely unsurprised to see the cat that used to live behind the Musain curled up on the couch, along with a perfect mismatch of items from Enjolras and Grantaire’s former apartments. “Well, you know,” he said, glancing back at Grantaire. “I probably should’ve figured it out sooner.”

Grantaire laughed lightly, taking the flowers into the kitchen. “Or maybe you don’t give Enjolras and I enough credit for keeping it a secret.”

Courfeyrac laughed as well, meandering over to the bookshelf, gratified to see pictures of Les Amis dotting the shelves, along with one selfie of Enjolras and Grantaire that he had never seen, Grantaire kissing Enjolras’s cheek as Enjolras grinned at the camera. He picked the frame off the shelf, smiling down at it. “I definitely didn’t give you two enough credit,” he said as Grantaire rooted around for something to put the flowers in.

Before he could say anything else, the front door banged open and Enjolras came inside, typing furiously on his phone. “They can’t rescind an election certification,” he muttered to himself, toeing his shoes off at the door without looking up. “Hey R, what do you—”

Courfeyrac cleared his throat and Enjolras looked up at him. “Oh, hey, Courf,” he said vaguely, looking back down at his phone before his head snapped up again, the blood draining from his face. “I mean, uh…”

Courfeyrac smirked. “Good to see you, too.”

Enjolras looked frantically around, clearly looking for Grantaire. “I, uh, I can explain.”

“No need,” Grantaire said, coming out of the kitchen with the flowers sticking out of what Courfeyrac was fairly certain was a hurricane glass. “Courfeyrac knows.”

“I was planning on telling you,” Enjolras said, a little desperately, and Courfeyrac grinned, setting the picture frame back on the shelf.

“Are you telling that to me or to Grantaire?”

“Both,” Enjolras muttered, and Grantaire laughed, setting the makeshift vase on the coffee table before crossing over to Enjolras and kissing him lightly.

“Don’t worry, you’re forgiven,” he said, and Enjolras sighed in relief before immediately bristling.

“Hang on, what in hell do I need forgiving for?”

Courfeyrac coughed lightly. “Well, I just wanted to bring you the flowers,” he told Grantaire, “and now I’ll leave you both to it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Enjolras muttered grumpily, though he was fighting back a smile as Grantaire kissed him again. “Are you and Combeferre still on for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Courfeyrac said, inching toward the door as Grantaire pulled Enjolras toward the couch. “And, uh, we have something to tell you tomorrow, too.”

Grantaire sat down on the couch and pulled Enjolras down with him. “Sure, sounds good,” Enjolras said distractedly, and Courfeyrac laughed before letting himself out, closing the door after him.

He made his way to the street and Combeferre straightened from where he had been leaning casually against the building, waiting for him. “Did they like the flowers?” he asked, leaning in to kiss Courfeyrac cheek in greeting.

Courfeyrac nodded. “I think so.”

They walked together for a moment before Combeferre glanced at him. “Did you put a spell on the flowers?”

“I am aghast that you think so poorly of me.” Combeferre just arched an eyebrow and Courfeyrac laughed. “Flowers don’t last forever,” he said. “Not worth wasting a spell on, though I did wind some ivy and yarrow in there, for love and healing – my version of an apology.”

“Ok, so you didn’t spell the flowers,” Combeferre said, undeterred. “But you did cast a spell.”

“Maybe,” Courfeyrac said with a grin, thinking of the small, nondescript stone he had slipped behind the picture frame on the bookshelf. “Just a little something.”

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Combeferre asked, mock-sternly, though he also couldn’t seem to stop himself from asking, “And what was this spell for?”

Courfeyrac took Combeferre’s hand, lacing their fingers together and lifting them to his mouth to press a kiss to Combeferre’s knuckles. “Happiness,” he said simply.

Combeferre’s smile softened. “Well, I can’t fault you for that. Just as long as you don’t try the same thing for us.”

“I think you and I have had more than enough magical interference for a lifetime,” Courfeyrac said. “Besides, we don’t need a spell to be happy.” He leaned in and kissed the corner of Combeferre’s mouth. “Now c’mon. Let’s go home.”

Together, they walked down the street, still hand in hand when, abruptly, Combeferre said, “You know, I don’t want to jinx it, but I do have to say it.”

“Say what?” Courfeyrac asked warily.

“I told you so.”

Courfeyrac glanced over at him, trying to place what, exactly, Combeferre was gloating about this time. Then it hit him. “Oh my God, are you serious?”

“You can’t use your magic for personal gain,” Combeferre said, a little smugly. “It never turns out the way you want it to.”

Courfeyrac nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. “Technically speaking, you used my magic for personal gain.”

Combeferre considered it and shrugged. “And it didn’t exactly work out the way I planned either, now did it?”

“No,” Courfeyrac agreed. “And I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

[edith-writes]

pumpkin promises

on ao3 here

word count: 1528

pairing(s): Enjolras/Grantaire

The funny thing about Halloween is that each year it seems to come about faster and faster.

At least, that’s the first thought that crosses Grantaire’s mind when he opens his front door at some ridiculous hour of the night to a rather flustered Enjolras. The second thought is that he looks really, really good in the red jumper he’s wearing.

Which leads him to his third thought, that it honestly would be better not to think at all.

Enjolras is still standing on the doorstep looking up at him because, evidently, he hasn’t invited him in yet- he’s only had the time to consider that Enjolras is there- not why, and really, he thinks faintly, he ought to invite him in.

“Do you want to come in?” he asks, then almost kicks himself- of course he does- and moving out the way he gestures a, notably, silent Enjolras through into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” Grantaire finally says, and when Enjolras nods he stands and moves to the cupboards, “We have bread and biscuits and some tea and orange juice?” He should really go to the shops. “Oh, and some…” he squints at the package, “some… Creme EggsTM, God knows how long they’ve been in there.”

He throws them down on the table before opening the packet and helping himself to one, allowing the noise of the tinfoil to fill the silence.

But really, there’s only so much he can take, so Grantaire opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong- because Enjolras still hasn’t spoken yet and is looking a little mournful when Enjolras himself answers the question before it can even be asked.

“Did you know Courf and Ferre were dating?” He asks, with all the manner of a slightly bedraggled kitten.

Grantaire just manages not to choke on his Creme EggTM, “I was-” he pauses a moment to regather himself, “I was aware in a way, it was, it was rather obvious? Wasn’t it?”

Enjolras stares at him like he’s from the moon, and then frowns slightly and shakes his head. “Not to me.”

And really, Grantaire thinks, he shouldn’t be allowed to look like that.

Enjolras is still looking at him, the resemblance between him and a lost kitten growing every moment, and, well, if Grantaire stares at him any longer he will cry, so, with great determination and strength of will, he stands.

“Shall we watch a film?” He asks, gesturing through to the other room, nodding absently, Enjolras follows. Dimly, somewhere in the slightly rational part of his brain, Grantaire knows he will regret this, but in the more prevalent part he recalls that Enjolras can’t stand horror films, so Parasite and The Shining are off the table, and well, it is Halloween, and he’ll be dammed if he’ll let them watch anything too cheesy.

He, for some reason, decides that Gremlins is the best choice and as he presses play he becomes aware that Enjolras is on the sofa beside him.

Not only that but Enjolras is really quite close.

Now, that in it self would not be such a problem if it wasn’t, well, Enjolras, for Grantaire’s vague crush on him is, for the most part, just that, vague.

But when he is really very close indeed, and when his hair is catching the light from the screen just so, the whole situation becomes a little less vague and a little more of a really quite pressing issue.

Of course, throughout Grantaire’s thought process, the film has progressed- as films tend to do- and Enjolras is now leaning on his shoulder.

Grantaire does not like the way this is making his heart skip.

Of course, thinking about the crush you harbour on someone when said someone is, literally and metaphorically, leaning on you is not ideal. But, he thinks belatedly, when has he ever done ideal?

It all started when he first saw Enjolras.

Him and Jehan had been walking through a park on a bright sunny day, and had stopped for a moment to listen to a speaker. They’d ended up staying for rather longer than intended, as the next speaker had a thick head of golden curls and a ringing clear voice, and Grantaire was struck still. They’d asked for information about the group and Jehan had teased Grantaire about it for days.

It was impossible to deny that the attraction was anything but purely physical at first, they were always at odds to begin with. But somewhere inbetween the jabs and angy glares a kind of rivalry they grew used to had formed.

Hurtful words turned into playful jokes and more than one conversation found shared interests and common hobbies. By that point Grantaire could safely say that his feelings were past purely physical.

It took a particularly nasty demonstration for Grantaire to realise just what he felt. The panic and relief seeing Enjolras safe and unharmed confirmed his worst fears. What he felt was most definitely, if not love, then something very close.

Of course, being a rational man, Grantaire was under no illusions as to the possibility of his affections being returned, and decided right then and there that he would not let this get in the way of their friendship.

As nearly every other ami paired (or in the case of Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta: tripled) off, Grantaire’s affections only grew, until at last it had all come to a head.

Grantaire hopes that perhaps his feelings towards Enjolras aren’t to obvious, but the many knowing glances he receives from friends almost constantly suggest otherwise.

Although, Enjolras hadn’t cottoned onto the fact that Courfeyrac and Combeferre were dating, so perhaps this obliviousness may counteract his own obviousness.

It must be quite distressing, he reflects finally, to be a third of a trio only to find out the other two have paired off without you. So he supposes he can understand the odd way Enjolras has been behaving around them recently. It must be an very strange time for him.

All of which leads him to the very important question: Why did Enjolras visit him?

A valid question, and one he may have had time to ponder if the film had not just ended.

As the credits fade to black Enjolras shuffles closer, sighing slightly into Grantaire’s chest, and Grantaire simply stares in the half light coming from the kitchen.

“Enjolras?” he says, fool, he thinks, but the damage is done. He hums and looks sleeply up at him, “why did you come here?”

A small frown forms between Enjolras’s eyebrows. “I- I’m not sure I follow?”

“Why did you come here of all places? I mean, after the whole thing with Courf and Ferre? You could have gone to anyone else’s.”

“It’s Halloween,” he says, “Everyone else was either out or busy.” He mumbles something else, and Grantaire’s curiosity wins out before he can fall back onto the ‘last choice’ narrative.

“What was that?”

“I said,” and Grantaire swears he sees a blush, “I would have come here anyway.” Enjolras suddenly finds the pattern of his shirt very interesting, “you always make me feel safe.”

Oh. Grantaire thinks faintly, well. And then he’s bending down hesitantly, and Enjolras is closing his eyes and they meet somewhere in the middle. It’s soft and sweet and dimly Grantaire knows it’s better than he ever dreamt of, but it’s over too soon.

Enjolras’s eyes are still closed and his breathing is light but shaky. His face is flushed but he’s smiling softly. He sighs before falling back onto the sofa laughing.

“Oh my god,” he says, still laughing, “Jesus Christ, I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

His eyes are still closed, and when Grantaire leans down to kiss him again his nose wrinkles slightly at the feel of his hair brushing it, and his hands grab at the front of Grantaire’s shirt.

The kiss last a little longer and when they come up for air he laughs again, Grantaire thinks it might be the loveliest sound he’s ever heard.

“What?” he smiles.

“I was just thinking about how different tonight may have been- if I hadn’t realised, or hadn’t reacted quite so dramatically to Courf and Ferre’s news, or gone out with the others instead of coming here… I imagine I would just be tipsy and a little sad.” He grins, “but now, we can get tipsy and very happy.”

Grantaire laughs at him and counts the freckles on his nose before leans down again.

“You,” says Enjolras when they break apart for a thrid time, “are kind and funny and beautiful.”

“And you,” says Grantaire, sounding only a little breathless, “are smart and good and perfect.”

“Not perfect.” Enjolras says quietly.

“Practically.”

He grins up at him, hands still curled in Grantaire’s shirt front, “Mary Poppins.” He says, then giggles. Honest to god giggles.

Grantaire smiles and leans down to kiss him before beginning to chuckle quietly, “What?” Enjolras asks from somewhere below him.

“What are Courf and Ferre going to say about this?” Grantaire asks.

“Well,” Enjolras holds his gaze steady with his own blue one. “Lets hope they don’t run away to.”

[probably-enjolras]

Skepticism, and Other Descriptive Words: an Enjoltaire Canon Era fic

Scene One - AO3 Link

The wind chilled Grantaire down to the bone as he walked along the Parisian side street. Courfeyrac had invited him to a meeting with a friend of his, mentioning something to do with rebellion. Grantaire couldn’t help but chuckle, his friend meant well by asking him to come along, but what place does a cynic have in a revolution aside from taking the piss out of it. Nonetheless, he agreed, spending time with his friends took the edge off the bleak reality he lived in.

Grantaire was lucky, if you could call it that, to have a one room flat on the outskirts of Paris. It wasn’t much, and the man who owned the building put rent far too high in his opinion, but it was better than living on the streets, a reality that Grantaire knew all too well. He had a decent job, he was paid enough to keep some food on his plate and wine in his hand.

He chose not to go to school, a decision that came at the dismay of his parents. Art was the only thing he would like to do, and he would rather not sit through lessons of how it should be done, when he could spend his time asking what could be done instead.

As he continued his walk, Grantaire thought about the group he was on his way to meet. He knew some of his other friends would be there, Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel to name a few. He also knew the names some of Courfeyrac’s friends, he had heard Courf speak about Combeferre in great detail, as well as an eclectic character named Jehan. He knew there were probably more and the thought of having to make small talk made him cringe, but it couldn’t hurt to spend one day talking with new people.

Finally, Grantaire made it to address Courfeyrac had given him. It was a cafe, the Cafe Musain as it said on the sign, and it had two floors, the first filled with patrons, and the second was where the meeting was being held. Grantaire climbed the stairs and looked out onto the scene before him.

Courfeyrac waved to him, smiling once he saw Grantaire arrive. Bahorel gave him a surprised but not unwelcome look, a look mimicked by Joly and Bossuet. Grantaire made his was over to Courfeyrac, standing by the table.

“Ah, you’ve made it. I wasn’t completely sure that you would come!” Courfeyrac clasped Grantaire’s hand, pulling him into a hug.

“What can I say, I’m a man of my word,” Grantaire said, letting go of Courfeyrac to turn to his other friends. He scanned the scene around him, catching the eye of a few unknown faces.

To his left, Joly sat in a chair, talking happily with Bossuet and another man with long, fiery hair that was partly tied into a braid, while some strand stood framing his face. He wore a clearly worn in waist coat, topped off with a flower on his chest, and. His face was covered in freckles, and he stood tall and proud, his eyes sharp but not unkind.

At the table next to him Bahorel was deep in conversation with another man, who had the same red hair as the one talking with Joly, but his hair was cut short, and had more of a red tint to the short ends than the long orange waves falling down the other man’s face. He seemed happy enough, though seemed more subdued than the eccentric energy Bahorel was giving off as he talked. He sat in his chair with crossed legs, and a fan on his lap.

Sitting next to him was another man who was lost in a book. His dark skin contrasted the other man’s pale complexion, and his hair sat in short, tight curls on the top of his head. He wore glasses that he kept having to push up onto his face as they were sliding down the bridge of his nose as he read. He dressed heavier than most in the room, choosing to keep his overcoat on while he sat, instead of leaving it at the door like the rest had. His warm brown eyes caught the light of the candles as they darted across the page, quickly gathering in the information before him.

Finally, Grantaire’s eyes flicked to the center of the room, and he was left breathless as he stared at the man before him. He had golden blonde hair, long enough to go past his shoulders and was tied in a loose ponytail with a red ribbon, resting comfortably on his shoulders. His face was calculating but not cold, as he went over the notes he had in his hands, his lips mouthing the words before him. He had striking blue eyes, the kind of blue he’d only seen in the open sky of a field when he visited the south of France once. The man wore a red waistcoat, accented with gold fibers in it, and wore his white undershirt open at his neck, exposing his collarbones. A french flag was wrapped around his waist, resting happily on his hips. In all, he was beautiful, strikingly so.

Grantaire must have been staring pretty hard as Courfeyrac nudged him, and when he turned to face him, Courfeyrac was grinning. “So I see you’ve noticed our fearless leader, hmm?”

Grantaire blushed but rolled his eyes, hoping Courfeyrac would think his red cheeks were just the trick of the light.

“That’s Enjolras, he’s quite something. I don’t particularly have a better way of saying that. You’ll see for yourself, once this gets started.”

Grantaire nodded, absentmindedly turning to back to look at Enjolras. He played it off by turning to look at the other unknown faces. “So who’s who, with the people I don’t know, obviously.”

Courfeyrac pointed at the man with the long hair talking with Joly and Bossuet. “That’s Jean Prouvaire, but he goes by Jehan or just Prouvaire most of the time. No one really knows where the nickname ‘Jehan’ comes from, but it’s just peculiar enough to fit his personality.”

“That’s Feuilly,” Courfeyrac said, pointing at the other red-haired man. “He’s similar in personality to Enjolras, though he comes from a much less well off family, so he’s a bit more grounded in reality. Still is a bit eccentric sometimes, I hear he has a sword at home, and he’s definitely a people person.”

“And then there’s Combeferre,” he said, pointing at the black man. “He works closely with Enjolras, mainly with the technical aspects of what we do here. I deal with the people, Enjolras leads, and Combeferre keeps us all grounded in reality.”

Grantaire nodded, gazing across the room. Everyone seemed to have their own little place in the grand scheme of the group. There was that thought in the back of his mind that made him wonder, where would he fit in?

After a few moments, Enjolras called everyone to sit down, and the meeting began. As it turns out, with no surprise to Grantaire, when Enjolras talked, everyone listened, enraptured by his words. The tone of his voice commanded respect, and as he stood in the light of the candles surrounding him, he looked almost godlike.

Enjolras gave a quick summary of the last meeting, apparently they had all talked about where to store ammunition without looking suspicious for having such a large arms supply. Something about that struck Grantaire as odd, they were just going straight to violence? He thought Combeferre was to be the voice of reason, why hadn’t he challenged that notion.

Before he could stop himself, Grantaire raised his hand. Enjolras paused, looking slightly confused at his presence. “Yes?”

“This may just be because I haven’t had the pleasure of attending your meetings before now,” he began. “But why go straight to fighting? I understand that it’s necessary sometimes, but isn’t there a diplomatic option before hand?”

Enjolras looked confused, almost taken aback by Grantaire’s question. “Revolutions aren’t won with kind words.”

“I understand that, and I even agree with it, but before there’s a revolution, couldn’t there be an attempt with words. I’ll stand behind you if it goes sour, and I’ll let you say that you told me so as many times as you want, I just feel as though you’d be respected more if you didn’t come out guns blazing at the get-go.”

Enjolras made a sour face, as though he had bit into a bitter lemon. “Who are you? If you’re going to come here to challenge my views, nay, our views, I’d at least like to know who I’m speaking to.”

“The name’s Grantaire, but R works too. And don’t worry, I’d challenge anyone without them knowing me.”

“Well Grantaire, I see your point, but I have to respectfully disagree. The people have tried diplomacy before and not once have we been listened to. Until this government is completely democratic, we must do what is necessary to get there.”

Grantaire held his hands up, a symbol of peace. “As I said, I understand that I haven’t been here to understand. I just want to make sure that I agree with the methods of your revolution before I get myself involved. Besides, Apollo, you make a compelling case.”

Enjolras froze at the nickname. “What did you call me?”

“Apollo. It suits you, you have the look of the god Apollo as described in myths, I must say.” Grantaire gave him a winning smile, but Enjolras just frowned.

“I refuse to take a title of a god, in this room we are all equals.” Enjolras held his head up in defiance.

“Whatever you say, Apollo.” Grantaire grinned at him and sat back in his chair. He watched as Enjolras’ face twisted as emotions flickered across his face, rage, confusion, disbelief, and finally, a bitter acceptance.

“If you insist on acting this way I hope you’ll at least make yourself useful when the time comes, before that would be even better,” he said, turning his attention back to his notes.

Enjolras continued on with the meeting, though Grantaire wasn’t too focused on what he said. Courfeyrac was looking at him like he’d gone mad, and finally, Grantaire had enough. “If you insist on watching me, you might as well make a better face.”

“I cannot fathom what must have gotten into you to do something like that. I’ve never seen Enjolras get rattled before.”

“He’s not just been around someone who’s willing to challenge him before. Besides, I think it’s cute when he gets all flustered. I think I might just continue coming to these meetings of yours,” Grantaire smirked.

Yes, he thought, looking at Enjolras, he just might have to continue.

[marthas-feral-cat]

I want all the Jehan/Combeferre/Courfeyrac!! Please and thank you!!

ANDTHEN THERE WERE THREE

 The first time Jehan walked into the Musain,Combeferre’s heart skipped a beat, and then he felt guilty beyond all measure.He was with Courfeyrac, how could his mind have reacted that way, especiallysince he loved Courfeyrac more than anything in his whole life? He tightenedhis hold around Courf’s waist and kissed the top of his head, trying to pushthe thought of the adorable ginger with flowers in their hair out of his mind.He somehow still found himself glancing their way throughout the rest of themeeting, each time feeling more guilt-ridden, as Courf was seemingly obliviousto Ferre’s distraction.

Once the meeting was over Feuilly stood up, “Heyeveryone! This is my foster sibling, Jehan, they’re going to be joining us fromnow on!” he announced rather excitedly.

Jehan stood up and waved at everyone, blushingsoftly, “Hi,” they nearly whispered.

Courfeyrac looked up to see what Feuilly was saying,and his mouth fell open slightly before he caught himself and quickly shut it.Jehan was one of the cutest people he’d ever met, excluding Combeferre ofcourse, he reminded himself. He stepped a bit closer to Ferre as he looked Jehanup and down, trying not to blush or change his expression in any way as henoted how their freckles looked just stunning. “Take me home, love?” he lookedup at Ferre.

Ferre nodded, “Okay, my sunshine,” he took his hand,“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Courf smiled and stood up on histoes to kiss his cheek.

The two of them went home. Months went by and thingsonly got harder for them both, though neither of them would admit it to oneanother. They found themselves growing closer to Jehan and spending more timewith them, even outside of meetings. Ferre would go with them now and then tothe observatory, and Courf would go with them to the gardens for lunch. Itseemed that they couldn’t go one day without one of them seeing Jehan.

Late one night they were lying in bed, Courfeyraccurled up against Ferre’s side with his head on his chest and his boyfriend’sfingers in his hair. Combeferre broke the silence, “Joly Bossuet and Musichettaare really happy together now that they’ve finally made it official.”

Courf smiled and nodded, “Indeed they are, they weremeant for each other.”

Combeferre took a deep breath, “Have you everthought maybe you could be polyamorous? I mean at any point in your life haveyou questioned that about yourself?”

Courfeyrac looked up at him, “Yes, um…recentlyactually…I’ve been thinking a lot about someone, but that I wanted that someoneto be with both of us…”

“What person is that?” Ferre asked him, “Because I’vebeen thinking about that kind of thing too…”

Courf looked away, “I’ve been thinking about Jehanthat way.”

“Oh thank God,” Ferre sighed in relief, “So have I…butI was afraid to tell you.”

Courf kissed him and smiled, “Let’s have them overand ask them about it, right now.”

“Right now?” Ferre laughed softly and ruffled Courf’shair, “It’s late, are you sure they’re up?”

“Yeah, Jehan does their best writing after midnight,”Courf reminded him.

Courfeyrac texted Jehan and asked them to come over,to which Jehan replied that they would be over in an hour.

Jehan paced back and forth for most of that timetrying to pick something out to wear that both of them would like. They’d beensecretly pining over the two of them for months, but they were such a cutecouple that Jehan didn’t have it in their heart to tell them and ruin it. Butthey wanted them to come over, and Jehan had a nasty habit of getting theirhopes up.

Jehan knocked on Combeferre and Courfeyrac’sapartment door and nervously played with their hair as they waited for it toopen.

Combeferre was the one who wound up answering, whileCourf was in the kitchen brewing a pot of Jehan’s favorite tea, “Hi, Jehan,come on in, Courf’s making us some tea to keep us awake so we can all chat,” hesmiled.

“Hey, Ferre! Oh it smells like the lavender honeytea I like,” They smiled brightly, “What do we need to talk about so late atnight? I mean I was up already, you two didn’t wake me or anything.”

Courf walked in and set the tea down, “Well, Jehan, Combeferreand I need to ask you something and it’s a pretty big thing.”

“We were wondering, well hoping,” Ferre started, “Thatyou were, or that you would consider being…I mean that you and us could—,”

Courf interrupted him, “We want you to be in a poly relationshipwith us.”

Jehan smiled from ear to ear, “You…you both want me?Like…romantically? Both of you?”

“Yes, both of us,” Ferre assured them, “We want youto join us in our relationship.”

“So, will you?” Courf asked.

“Yes, I will, I would love to be with you both. I’vehad such a crush on the two of you,” they admitted, “But I didn’t want to breakyou up, or have you hate me for liking you.”

“Why don’t you stay the night, Jehan?” Courf smiledand kissed their cheek.

Ferre kissed the other cheek, “That sounds like agreat idea to me.”

Jehan nodded, “Okay, I think we can find some way tooccupy ourselves for the night.”

And they most certainly did.

[yoghurtslut-blog1]

To Be Blunt...

To be blunt, dying sucked. It really did. Ignore all of those people who claim that dying is beautiful and that you will be going to G-d or whatever afterwards. Who knows if that shit is true? The nurses waking you up at ungodly hours, multiple times a day, to prick you or to cut off the circulation to your hand while they checked your heart beat wasn't even the worst part of the entire thing. Try instead thinking about the fact that you don't have enough energy to move. Or how you can't keep anything down, not even water, so you have to get an IV to keep you hydrated so you don't die even quicker. Try not being able to control your bladder or your bowels, so you piss or shit yourself daily. Try not being able to look at your parents or your doctors, due to the looks in their eyes, the "holy shit, my son is going to die, and we don't know what to do or how to tell him." Guess what, Mamma and Papa, I already know.

Courfeyrac sighed as he let himself go limp. Just for a moment, he wanted to relax. It was one of those rare times when the room was both dark and quiet, although just enough light shined in through the hallway to allow him to barely see his lighting. The thin, plastic curtain was certainly not a blackout curtain, and if he strained, he could see the faint sillouhette of his roommate, propped up with something in his hands. Probably a book, knowing Enjolras.

"I fucking hate this," Couf said, though his voice was scratchy and quiet. He wasn't necessarily talking to Enjolras, but he had hoped that the blond would reply for the sake of his sanity.

He heard a small noise from the other side of the curtain-- so Enjolras was reading a book, just like he had thought. Then, a short sigh came, followed by the other's response.

"Do you want to do something?" Enjolras asked, though there was a slight edge to his voice.  He was overly cautious, Courfeyrac knew, even from the short amount of time that they had known each other. He was overly cautious, but strongly opinionated, thus resulting in the intense personality that so few had managed to control, but that Enjolras was an expert on.

"What can we do? I'm on bed rest, you can't feel your legs. We can't go anywhere."

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Enjolras suggested. He heard the other shift in his bed, probably turning onto his side as though he could see through the curtain and was looking at Courf.

"We can't see each other, dumbass."

"Wow, no need to be so rude. I can open the curtain."

"Why would you do that?"

There was a slight pause. "So we can see each other?"

Although Enjolras spoke in a quiet tone, Courfeyrac could hear the mild accusations in his voice. The tones that he so often heard in school or hanging out with friends. It screamed, "Duh, isn't it obvious?" and Courf could feel his cheeks heating up. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"You know, maybe we shouldn't," Courfeyrac sighed after a few beats of borderline awkward seconds. He could almost hear the face Enjolras made; the look of disappointment, with his lips pressed together and a slight crease between his brows.

The night shift nurses, whom he always forgot the names of, knocked on the door and then burst into their room, flipping on the intense bright lights. He heard Enjolras groan.

"Sorry, bud; I know how much you hate the lights," one of the nurses said; it was a male nurse for Enjolras. Courfeyrac hoped that he got a female nurse, so he could woo her with his piss-stained sheets and translucent skin, as well as his beautiful bald patches. Who knows? Maybe he'll even vomit on her.

Mentally, he added to the list he had started earlier. Dying sucked for another reason, as well-- people pity people who are dying. The looks they give are one of the worst reasons, in Courf's opinion. Of course, when he saw the nurse come from the other side of the curtain, the first thing he noticed was the dreaded look.

Otherwise, the nurse was really cute. She was very tall; if Courfeyrac stood up, she'd probably be around the same height as he was. Her eyes were a dark hazel and she had a hooked nose. Her very curly red hair was back in a bun, but a few strands had fallen out. The shade of red almost clashed with her tanned, olive tone skinned, but the reddish tint in her freckles warmed her looks up enough that the hair looked really good. She was really pretty. Courfeyrac had to actively force himself to look away when she turned around to set some of his shots up-- he didn't want to disrespect her by staring at her ass.

"Okay, you know the drill. Can you sit up?" she asked as she turned around. She had the sphygmomanometer in her hands. Courf noticed her nametag, hard to miss from the bright stickers that covered it. For a moment his vision blurred as he propped himself up, but as soon as he was still, he was able to read it: Yana. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Had this been a bar and not a hospital, he totally would have stepped up his game to buy her a drink or two, then maybe take her back to his place. Pour her some wine. Then he'd turn the stereo up, listening to classical music, because he was a classy fellow. Then, he'd lean in and let her lean into him to complete the kiss. Once he had her approval, he would--

"How do you say your name?" she-- Yana-- asked. She had a slight accent, but Courf couldn't place where she would be from.

"Coo-fehr-rahk," Courf said, slowly, and over-exaggerating the syllables. He watched as a blank smile spread across her face as she repeated the name over silently.

"Courfeyrac. Okay, I got that," she smiled again, but this time, the corners of her eyes wrinkled. Courf grinned a bit at that. Without having to be told, he hold out his arm. Yana wrapped the blood pressure checker around his arm and then pressed a button on the machine-- clearly, this was a high tech hospital. She scowled a bit at the screen when it yielded the results, but she didn't say anything. She scribbled something down on her sheet.

"How are you doing pain wise?" Yana asked as she took the sphygmomanometer off of his arm. Courf noticed that she smelled sweet, like citrus and vanilla. It was a beautiful scent. Of course, then he had to answer the question, because he wasn't rude.

"Oh, you know. They same old. Hurts to breathe and be alive. Maybe a 7 or something?"

"The classic number scale, coming to the rescue, I see."

"You know it, baby. Now, give papa his drugs so he doesn't stab himself."

Yana snorted. "Stabbing yourself is against the rules. However, if you do stab yourself, do it on someone else's watch so I don't get in trouble," she paused for a moment, then added: "Also, if you refer to your drugs like you're some kind of addict, I might have to fill out some paperwork. Don't make me do that."

She put something into his IV. Courfeyrac pressed his lips together. Before she leaved, he wanted to take a moment to compliment her, because people love compliments. It makes them happy; Courfeyrac loved to make people happy.

"Yana, has anyone ever told you how georgous you are? And your looks aren't the only thing that make you so stunning. I don't know you, like, at all, but you have a ridiculously cute smile. Also, you seem like you have a great sense of humor and you are very kind. You are amazing at your job."

Yana stared at him for a moment, and then a pink blush spread across her face. She looked down at her shoes and giggled a bit nervously. "Wow, what a womanizer you are, huh?" she said, trying to keep the mood light. When she looked him back in the eye, he saw the look again. The look of pity, and sorrow, and maybe a touch of longing. Courfeyrac wanted to scream. Could not one person look at him like he was a puppy?

"Do you need your sheets cleaned, Courfeyrac?" she asked. Courf nodded, but he didn't make any attempt to move. Suddenly, he felt really tired, and really numb. All he could do was lay there.

"Maybe you can come back later to clean them, Yana," he said. Yana placed a hand on his forehead, doing a quick temperature check. She wrote down the rest of his vitals and then left.

The lonely life of those who are doomed to die, huh?

[decayingliberty]

Okay but what if Courfeyrac teaches Marius how to dance for his wedding with Cosette? And like it's really cute and they do the cliche "almost kiss while dancing" thing. At the wedding Cosette is wondering how Marius learned how to dance (she loves him, but last time they danced together it didn't end well) so Marius is all like "Courf taught me of course" and Courf spends most of his time drinking at the wedding ( a happier note, Courf is Marius's best man and make a really embarrassing speech)

ANON, this is my absolute most self-indulgent favourite scenario, I have started several fics leading up to a wedding like this and ugh, I love this so so much. Pining!Courfeyrac and happy!Marisette is my guilty pleasure ship. THANK.

Also, I’m having “Satisfied” from Hamilton feelings.

Everyone cries at weddings, except Courfeyrac.

The location is beautifully decorated, with flowers of white and blue and yellow and it looks and smells like the first days of summer, still refreshingly cool from soft spring breezes and warm enough to walk around with short sleeves. Musichetta has truly outdone herself this time, and surely who would not want to give their best for the wedding of this pair that seems like a match made in heaven. Happy, joyful and incredibly adorable.

Courfeyrac has done his part, too, by teaching the groom, his bumbling, gangly, awkward and freckled friend called Marius Pontmercy how to dance.

“May I?”

“Of course.”

The dance lessons have paid off, Courfeyrac thinks, as he watches how they twirl across the room, carefree and happy, and when Marius looks over to him, mouthing a silent thank you, Courfeyrac raises his glass and grins. He downs his drink when Marius is not looking.

“Follow my steps.”

“I’m trying.”

There is another duty waiting for him, a best man certainly has to give a speech and Courfeyrac is not one to disappoint. He has prepared this speech carefully, asking Combeferre and Enjolras and Joly and Jehan to look over it, and they have sat with, patiently adjusting his speech until it has seemed safe to give.

“Be gentle.”

“How?”

The speech is not off, at least that is what Combeferre assured him and Courfeyrac stumbles through it, lacking his usual eloquence and charm but they forgive him, it is a once in a lifetime occasion after all and no one can fault him for being nervous. He recounts the first time he and Marius met on the entrance to the law building when Bossuet has shoved him and send him flying into Courfeyrac’s arms and how Marius has asked for shelter one night, declaring that he has come to sleep with Courfeyrac.

There are other things in the speech, talks of friendship and love and longevity. Courfeyrac raises a glass to them, to Cosette and Marius, that their marriage may last and be open and fulfilling.

Courfeyrac feels dirty.

“Let’s stop. It’s no use.”

“I won’t give up on you, Pontmercy.”

There is not a lot that Courfeyrac regrets and he likes to pretend that this is not one of his regrets, likes to pretend that Marius’ happiness does not come with a price that he is barely able to pay, but this is not a fairy tale even though most people might think so, this is life, and in this life he has chosen to let go. Courfeyrac has to convince himself that this wedding is not penance but merely consequence and he hates himself for it.

“This feels like a goodbye.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Weddings are not really his thing but he will attend for his loved ones. If the expensive champagne is his only comfort, if being buzzed makes a formal gathering like this a bit more bearable, he is not one to refuse.

“Courfeyrac…”

“Let’s not keep dear Cosette waiting any longer. It’s quite rude, don’t you think?”

They all clap for him, for this wonderful speech and this wonderful friend, with smiles and tears of laughter in their eyes, and Courfeyrac thinks that they are wrong. He is not the good friend that they all think he is. He does not deserve their cheers.

Courfeyrac keeps his smile but the glass in his hand is trembling.

“Thank you for everything, Courfeyrac. You’re a good friend.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Everyone cries at weddings, including Courfeyrac.

[ironicandpunny]

Some Les Amis Headcanons

(Part 3 of however many I want)

>Courfeyrac: Courfeyrac is also small and pale, much like Enjolras, but is taller than Enjolras by exactly 2 and a half inches (something he throws in Enjolras' face All. The. Time). Unlike Enjolras, Courfeyrac at least looks like he can handle the sun, and gets cutely tan and freckle-y in the summertime. As we all know, the boy goes mostly by Courf, and not much else (Although Joly once called him Courfey the Rac Johnson and Courf HATED it). Also!! Courf loVES space!! He's a Space nerd, he owns at least nine NASA shirts of varying colours and put glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling of he and Ferre's bedroom. (Ferre pretends to hate them but Courf knows that he actually loves them.) Courf has brown hair that is really, REALLY curly, and brown eyes to match. He hates it because he says it looks plain, but Ferre is constantly telling him how beautiful he is. Also! Courf is like, really bad at self care. He nonintentionally skips meals and forgets to bathe sometimes, which is really just another reason he needs Ferre around because Ferre will just smile, take his hand, and say "Come on, little one, you need to (insert thing here)". Every. Single. Time. It makes Courf smile and blush, and he just loves his boyfriend so much, he loves how supportive he his and Courf personally thinks that he is the luckiest of the Amis for "scoring Ferre". Also!! Courf is made of sass, anxiety and not much else. He's just always sassing the other Amis, especially Enjolras when he says something that he especially dislikes. Courf jitters when he gets anxious, his leg will bounce and he'll tap his fingers on the nearest surface, including but not limited to tables, arms of chairs, Ferre, and his own thighs (Just to name a few). He forgets to take his meds sometimes, and it will get real bad and /of course/ Ferre notices, and he'll just take his hand and smile softly and whisper sweet nothing's about everything being okay until they get home. Courf is also definitely the touchiest of the Amis, his love language is physical touch and you cannot tell me otherwise. He's constantly touching everybody in reassurance, be it a firm hand on Enjolras' shoulder or tickling Gavroche til his face turns pink. Courf just loVES EVERYBODY SO MUCH, HE WANTS THEM ALL TO FEEL REASSURED AND HAPPY. Also!! Courf was one of the earliest members of the Amis, and will hit his chin out and call himself "The Founding Father of Les Amis de l'ABC". Enjolras wants to smack him every single time (and Grantaire stops him from doing so). Courf is so proud of how far the Amis have come, and he's constantly bringing in New members! He's like the little recruiter!! And he'll drag Ferre along to do his recruiting and Ferre will just sigh and take his hand and go because, really, who could argue with that face? Okay, that was a shit ton about Courf so..there ya go. Stay tuned for more shit.

[dameferre]

omg i did not even know you would write a thing if asked?? that is maybe the sweetest thing ever and i don't even really know what to ask for except something where ferre is being particularly gentle? he is my favorite. something really horrible happened to me recently and i'm trying so hard to keep moving but have mostly just been scared and hurt and lost? but i am trying to hold on very tightly to the stuff that cheers me up.

oh gosh of course i’d be happy to- i’m sorry you had to go through something that's making you feel like that but i’m so glad you’re concentrating on your happiness during rough times and i hope things get better soon- moving forward is all you can do sometimes, and i wish you all the best

here’s a little courferre for you, and anyone else who might need it right now :) [inspired by You Can Sleep While I Drive by Melissa Etheridge, which happened to come on when i started writing and is a song very close to my heart]

Combeferre finds Courfeyrac where he left him, curled up in blankets on the sofa, not really watching tv, just sort of staring at it. Things have been... hard. On all of them. But Courfeyrac has been worse off than anyone, and Combeferre’s never felt more distant from him. Courfeyrac doesn’t ask for help when he’s hurting, Combeferre knows this. He’s spent so much of his life being the one others lean on that his impulse, when things get rough, is to isolate himself, so as not to burden others, and can’t be told that he isn’t a burden. He’s pulled away from everyone closest to him, and Combeferre doesn’t know how to fix things, but is resolved to try.

“I need to get out of here.” He says, mind made up, and Courfeyrac turns to look at him. “Some new surroundings might provide a different perspective.”

Courfeyrac nods, slowly, unblinking and blank. “It’ll be good for you.”

“For us.” Combeferre clarifies. “I think you could use a change of scenery.”

Courfeyrac frowns. “‘ferre, I’m not- I won’t be good company.”

Combeferre shrugs, pulling on his coat. “You don’t need to be. I just- we both need some air, some time away from this apartment. We don’t have to talk about- anything. We can just get away from things for a while.” 

“It’s the middle of the night.” Courfeyrac murmurs, but stands, slowly, and wraps his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“You can sleep while I drive.” 

Courfeyrac does. Combeferre is grateful they have the relationship they do, formed by years of shared experiences and history, that make it possible for Combeferre to decide to go on a spontaneous pseudo road-trip at eleven at night, and for Courfeyrac to agree to come along with very little hesitation. It’s not a love for spontaneity, as most people would assume of Courfeyrac. It’s trust. He climbs wordlessly into the passenger seat and wraps himself in his blanket, turning towards Combeferre. Courfeyrac reaches out to hold Combeferre’s hand almost as an afterthought, and Combeferre runs his thumb along the back of his hand until Courfeyrac’s grip softens, and Combeferre knows he’s fallen asleep.

Combeferre pulls his hand away, places it back on the steering wheel. He drives. He drives with a restless intensity, and lets his mind focus fully on the endless stretch of road in front of him, and nothing else. He doesn’t want to think, or dwell, just drive.

He doesn’t notice how far they’ve gone, barely registering when the city skyline fades away into open road, where you can actually see the horizon and the sky, no matter which direction you turn. He does notice, belatedly, when the sun begins to rise, and pulls over on the side of the road, letting the engine still as his heart beat pounds in his chest. His hands tap agitated against the steering wheel, and he turns to look at Courfeyrac, curled up in the passenger seat, the morning light tinting his warm brown skin pink. 

He watches him for a few minutes, memorising the rise and fall of the blankets covering his chest. Combeferre has never felt less sure of himself- he doesn’t know if he can be any help, can make Courfeyrac feel less like his world is crumbling; all he knows for sure is that staying cooped up in their apartment wasn’t good for either of them. And if Combeferre had the choice of being anything in the world, he’d pick good for Courfeyrac every time. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s trying.

Combeferre inhales, exhales, and gets out of the car. The air is cold, but not harsh, a temperature that suits new beginnings. He sits on the hood of the car and breathes, watching his breath swirl, and the sun light up the clouds, relishing the silence and the morning mist that turns everything hazy, makes the world less immediate. He no longer has any concrete concept of time, but it’s a while before he hears the door slam and Courfeyrac shuffles around the car and joins him on the hood.

Courfeyrac slides the end of his blanket over Combeferre’s shoulder and presses close to his side. “It’s cold.”

“I barely feel it.” Combeferre responds, wrapping his arm around Courfeyrac’s waist. 

“How long have you been out here?” He says softly, voice still rough from sleep.

Combeferre exhales. Something inside him settles comfortably with Courfeyrac’s presence, which is unsurprising. Courfeyrac did always bring a feeling of rightness to Combeferre’s life. “Not long.”

Courfeyrac looks up, towards the sky, which has turned a bright, molten yellow underlined by a deep red- the clouds a soft purple. He sighs, resting his head on Combeferre’s shoulders. “The sky has always reassured me. Like, it’s one of those natural, beautiful things that reminds you of the good in the world. So much can go wrong, but there will always be something beautiful, too.” His tone betrays the underlying message- Courfeyrac needs a lot more than the sky to reassure him, this time. “If that makes any sense.”

“Perfect sense.” Combeferre hums thoughtfully. “It’s what I think when I look at you.”

Courfeyrac sits up, slowly, and looks into Combeferre’s eyes, assessing. “That’s a good line.”

“It’s the truth.” Combeferre exhales, reaching out, needing to be grounded in Courfeyrac, and lets his thumb rest along the line of his jaw. “Sometimes, I just get so- tired. And everything seems so overwhelming and insurmountable and hopeless, and the logical answer would be to give in to something so much bigger, and older, and stronger than we are. And then I look at you. And I remember why I love this world so much, when there’s so much pain, and intolerance, and evil… it gave me you.”

Courfeyrac blinks, tears welling in his eyes, and presses his palms hard against his eyes. “I’m sorry,” He grits out, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders.

“For what?”

“I just-” Courfeyrac makes a noise of frustration. “I haven’t been the most fun to be around, lately. I could feel myself pushing you away, and I didn’t want to but it’s been so- hard.” He inhales. “Everything’s been really hard.”

“Hey, no, look at me.” Combeferre brings his hands to Courfeyrac’s, gently pulling them away from his face until Courfeyrac meets his eyes again. He starts rubbing slow circles into Courfeyrac’s palms. “You need space, I understand that. Your importance to me isn’t conditional on whether or not you’re going through a hard time.”

Courfeyrac smiles shakily. “You still love me even when I’m an emotional wreck?”

“Courf.” Combeferre says slowly. “Maybe I haven’t made it clear enough, but I will never stop loving you. I don’t know how to stop loving you. In a million years when all that’s left of me is particles and dust, they won’t even be sentient, but they will love you.”

Courfeyrac gives a watery chuckle. “Your particles will love me?”

“My atoms love you.”

Courfeyrac nods, slowly, and swallows, rough. Combeferre reaches behind him to pull out the blanket, spreading it along the roof of the car, and gestures for Courfeyrac to lie down. He does, slowly sinking back and turning on his side, facing Combeferre, curled in on himself. Combeferre slides one arm around his waist, the other tracing the lines of his face. Courfeyrac’s eyes flutter shut, and Combeferre takes in every detail of his face, every sparse freckle, the curve of his nose and the texture of his lips. 

They stay like that until the sky brightens around them, sparse tears trailing down from Courfeyrac’s eyes, shut tight against the world around them, and Combeferre brushes them away in silence. Combeferre keeps his touch light, not because Courfeyrac is fragile, but because Combeferre wants him to know that he is precious. He is worth the world to Combeferre, worth so much more than he could ever put into words, so he tries to communicate it through the pads of his fingers, his reverent touch.

When the bright blue of the morning has burnt away all traces of red from the sky, Courfeyrac opens his eyes and leans forward, arms wrapping around Combeferre tightly as his head is tucked into Combeferre’s chest. Combeferre hugs him back, and things begin to make sense again. The world shifts under them, or it stays the same, but Combeferre will never know for sure because nothing else exists in that moment, his reality begins and ends with Courfeyrac, warm and trusting in his arms, letting Combeferre support him. It’s progress. Not a solution, but a step in the right direction.

Courfeyrac pulls away, and kisses Combeferre softly. The world has been long forgotten, replaced with the soft warmth of Courfeyrac’s lips, pressing against Combeferre with a delicate urgency. It’s the first time they’ve kissed since- well, since everything, and it sends a rush through Combeferre like the relief of curling up in bed after a long day mixed with the euphoria of finding something you thought you’d lost.

Courfeyrac’s lips hover against Combeferre’s, his eyelashes tickle his cheek. “My atoms love you, too.”

[vivalamusaine]

I've always had this headcanon where Maruis and Cosette are each other's first love, and it's as sickening cute as it is in the book and everyone thinks they'll be together forever. Then they both realize they're bi and not actually in love anymore (two separate discoveries). They break up, stay BFFs and fall in love with other people. (namely Courf and Ep)

Hey, this speaks to me on a veeeery personal level, friend. This post will be long and have feelings and stuff.

June.

Cosette had been thinking about things for months. Unpleasant things, things that made her mood change and her mouth curve downwards in an uncharacteristic mope.

She could deny and try to pretend for as long as she wanted. But when it really came down to the quiet moments like these, she knew in her heart that her relationship with Marius had run its course. They felt much more like friends than lovers, more like roommates than cohabiting partners.

The worst thing about it was that everybody perceived them as perfect. She’d lost count at the amount of times somebody had aww’d in their general direction, described them as goals or told them they were perfect for each other.

But they weren’t, and it hurt- but Cosette was sick of pretending. She was also sick of fantasising about dates with other, pretend people. 

It was an awful call of judgement, to make such a sudden decision to break things off over a petty squabble over dinner. But it wasn’t the little thing that broke her, it was the collection of little things that became a mountain of one big unspoken thing. She was unhappy, and they had stopped bringing out the best in each other a long time ago.

There was crying and frustrated arguments and desperate attempts for each of the other to understand what they were saying, but by 9:00PM that night, they were done.

Marius & Cosette the perfect couple were no more.

Marius and Cosette the individuals were just beginning. 

When Marius came to Courfeyrac’s door, eyes red and slightly swollen, an overnight bag clutched tightly in his arms and a broken look upon his face, Courfeyrac didn’t need to ask him what had happened. Instead, like any good friend, he offered him a place on his couch and a kind ear to ramble to.

“I’m never going to find anybody else as perfect as her.” He said in between sobs. Courfeyrac’s heart broke for him, and he lent a comforting touch to Marius’ shoulder.

“Marius,” Courfeyrac said with his patented ‘everything will be okay’ smile. “You’re perfect, you have nothing to worry about. You’ll find your perfect match.”

As Marius moved onto another insecurity, Courfeyrac’s smile faded only slightly.

He thought sadly how unfortunate it was, that Marius would never know those words were not of empty comfort from a friend who just wanted to make their other friend happy. Instead they were words spoken genuinely, from a man who’d been hiding an unrequited crush for his dear friend.

July.

The last month had been incredibly difficult for Cosette. People always expected the person who initiated the break up to be more okay than the breakee, but for Cosette it was as though she’d lost a large part of herself.

It had taken almost all of her energy and self restraint to not reach out to Marius and break their mutual agreement of no contact. It was hard to adjust to the change. She had invested almost every day for the past 5 years into him, into them. To suddenly not have Marius to talk to was the biggest challenge of them all. Sometimes she just wanted to reach out to him, and tell him about the silly dog she’d seen on the street. Only to pause and remember, she had no right to do that anymore. 

White noise was all that was left, and all she was owed.

It had been a month now, and it wasn’t as hard anymore. There were nights where it would get lonely, but ultimately she didn’t regret her decision, and she found herself quite enjoying her time alone. 

She had finally decided it was time to come out of her homebody cocoon she’d built for herself by taking a trip to the nearest thrift shop for more knitting supplies. She was absentmindedly wasting time rifling through old vinyl records when her attention was caught.

“Eponine?” She said before thinking, and Eponine turned around to face, clearly she had not intended to see anybody she knew here.

“Oh, hey.” she replied, walking over to her.

“I haven’t seen you around in ages.” Cosette said, filling in the awkward silence. “You stopped going to meetings.”

Eponine rubbed the back of her head with a sheepish look. “Yeah, I um. I was busy. It was never on when I could go.”

The truth of the matter was that it was getting far too painful for Eponine to keep coming back and seeing Marius and Cosette so perfectly in love. She admittingly didn’t know why it had bothered her so much- she’d gotten over her crush on Marius a long time ago. But for some reason seeing them both together brought out something incredibly ugly in her. An untameable monster of petty envy and jealousy.

Cosette nodded. “I actually haven’t been lately either.” she admitted. It had been precisely a month since she’d last attended. She shot Eponine a grin. “Poor Musichetta must be sick of being stuck to deal with all those boys alone.”

Eponine laughed at this, a sound Cosette was fond to hear more of. She found herself grinning from ear to ear- the first time another person had made her genuinely smile in a month. 

“So, how’s Marius?” Eponine asked politely, and Cosette felt herself outwardly flinch. This was the conversation she had been dreading to have. A conversation that would possibly follow her for months on end, considering the amount of people they’d woved their lives into over the course of their relationship.

“We’ve actually broken up.” Cosette said looking down at the old unamed vinyl in her hands. The uneasiness in her stomach swelling slightly.

“Oh,” Eponine said sounding genuinely shocked. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Cosette said, forcing herself to look at Eponine’s eyes- her wonderfully gorgeous eyes- and smile despite the overpowering feeling of wanting to flee and hide in her bedroom for another month. “It’s for the better.”

They continued to talk, even after making their small amount of purchases and leaving the thrift shop, when they rounded the corner of the street where they needed to go their separate ways, neither of them seemed enthused to be leaving the others presence.

“You know,” Eponine said, a little uncertainly. “Enjolras still sends me those meeting invites like clockwork. There’s one on tonight if you wanted to go.”

Cosette thought about seeing Marius again, in a room with their mutual friends. She couldn’t do it. Not yet anyway.

Eponine seemed to know the answer before Cosette had a chance to think of an excuse. “Or if you’d prefer, I’ve got a cheap bottle of wine and a boxset of trashy TV at my apartment.”

Cosette smiled at Eponine. “I’d like that a lot.” She replied. 

August.

Marius hated moving. With the exception of the time he moved in with Cosette, every time he had moved his life had been a personal tragedy. He had been crashing on Courfeyrac’s couch for a month now, and regrettably it was time he moved on.

Especially because he felt that he had crossed an unspoken boundary, and cursed his hopeless romantic heart, for making him fall so quickly and so easily in love.

“You’re going?” Courfeyrac asked when he broke the news. “But why?”

“I just... Think it’s time I stop bothering you.”

“You’re not bothering me!” Courfeyrac said letting out a sort of desperate sounding laugh. “I told you that you can stay as long as you want and I meant it.”

“It’s not-” Marius sighed, he didn’t want to explain it to Courfeyrac whilst he was still under his roof. 

“Did I do something?” Courfeyrac asked uncertainly. Marius looked at him sadly. Took in his overgrown and luscious hair, the cute freckles clustered at the end of his nose and the pout that was threatening to form on his face.

“You haven’t done anything.” Marius replied dejectedly. “I just- I think I have feelings for you and I don’t want to make things weird by staying here. I need our friendship too much for that.”

When Marius finally found the courage to look up at his soon to be ex-roommate.

“Wait- so you’re not straight?” Courfeyrac asked.

“I- I don’t think so? I like you, so-”

“You’re not straight and you like me?!” Courfeyrac asked, his voice becoming high pitched.

“Yes?” 

Courfeyrac was laughing in relief as Marius frowned at him. This was a conversation he would rather be having when he’d secured another place to stay and wouldn’t have to be subjected to an awkward night in his company.

“Marius?” Courfeyrac said after a while. “You’re more than welcome to stay here with me, as long as you are comfortable with the fact, that I have feelings for you too.”

“Then why were you laughing?” Marius asked with relief.

“Because Bossuet owes me 20 euros.”

September.

It was a rare day of warmth and sunniness- Courfeyrac’s favourite weather, and a well needed break from the pre-Autumn chill. Marius couldn’t help the smile he found upon his face as the took what was supposed to be a leisurely stroll through the park. Nothing was ever leisurely with Courfeyrac though, he was getting excited at every little thing and taking Marius by the hand and dragging him over to join him in excitement.

Marius couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed by this. This last month had been the happiest he had been in a long time. He had never felt more like himself in Courfeyrac’s company.

“Marius!” A voice called out to him, he turned to see for the first time since their breakup, Cosette, waving to him from a picnic blanket. Eponine was sat comfortably beside her in sunglasses and shorts.

He approached her whilst Courfeyrac busied himself at the ice cream stand, and was surprised and oddly glad to find that it didn’t hurt to see her happy, and from the way she was leaning against Eponine, with somebody else.

“Hi.” He said, and as awkward and uncomfortable as it was, it was also liberating.

“Hi.” She said back. Eponine muttered an excuse about ice cream, and left to join Courfeyrac on the other end of the park.

The small talk that followed was short and to the point. By the time Courfeyrac and Eponine had made their way back over, Marius and Cosette were laughing with each other.

When it was time for Marius and Courfeyrac to depart, Cosette gave Marius a tight hug.

“I’m glad you’re happy.” Marius said to her, and meant it.

“Me too.” Cosette said with a grin. “Friends?”

Marius smiled back at her. “Friends.”

[revenjolras]

The 'RED’ exR AU nobody asked for:

Okay so Don’t Judge Me. I was tired and sat on the tube after a night shift - which can only be described as feeling like you are stuck between two planes of existence.

Here is how you can arrange Taylor Sw.ift’s album ‘Red’ into a tale of exR reincarnation!au.

Now not every song fits perfectly. Because Taylor didn’t actually write an exR reincarnation au with her music (someone should tho??)… But each song has enough lyrics to make my brain connect the dots.

Right so backstory: It actually all started with a song that’s not on the album (I’d Lie). On this post (which has inexplicably become one of my most popular posts ever xD)… When I was asked to do a sequel I felt it was only fitting to stick with the theme so I listened to some more Swift to find one I thought would work.

I ended up writing ‘Know You Better Now’ posted it to ao3. Based on the song ‘Everything Has Changed’ which served as a happy-ish canon era follow up…

“ All I knew this morning when I woke Is I know something now, I didn’t before And all I’ve seen since eighteen hours ago is green eyes and freckles And your smile in the back of my mind making me feel like I just wanna know you better, know you better now”

Now… It could have ended there but then one day I was heavily sleep deprived and existing only on some parallel dimension (the London tube) and I was listening to the album again and each song seemed to fit itself into this idea that despite getting together before the end… They do still die in the rebellion… But what if they were reincarnated with limited memories of the events.

Coming at it from that perspective ‘Red’s’ lyrics (which seriously guys are all already so exR) could be heard as both going through life with maybe very vague memories of their past life in general but really clear memories of each other and their relationship despite knowing they’ve never even met… And the feeling of it is so strong it’s hard to let go of and be in other relationships.

“Forgetting him is like trying to know somebody you never met. But loving him was Red.”

“Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes. Tell myself it’s time now gotta let it go. But moving on from him is impossible when I still see it all in my head. Burning Red.”

We follow up by circling back to ‘Everything Has Changed’… But different inspiring lyrics. It seemed important to tired me that there be symmetry in their actually getting together.

“All I know is we said hello. And your eyes look like coming home. All I know is a simple name. And everything has changed”

“Come back and tell me why. I’m feeling like I’ve missed you all this time. And meet me there tonight. Let me know that it’s not all in my mind”

So this is them meeting again for the first time and recognising each other instantly even though it seems impossible.

Next comes ‘State of Grace’. Which is them reflecting to themselves on re-meeting and how unexpected it was and resolving to make up for lost time.

“So you were never a saint and I loved in shades of wrong. We learn to live with the pain, mosaic broken hearts. But this love is brave and wild.”

“And I never saw you coming. And I’ll never be the same. This is a state of grace. This is the worthwhile fight.”

We move on to ‘Treacherous’. Which is them getting to know each other… physically… again =P. But also expressing doubts… Is this a good idea. They don’t really know each other now. Is it too fast? But also… Being kind of excited by that…

“I’d be smart to walk away. But you’re quicksand.”

"I can’t decide if it’s a choice. Getting swept away. I hear the sound of my own voice. Asking you to stay.”

“Your name has echoed through my mind and I just think you should know. That nothing safe is worth the drive.”

Next on the agenda is the first fight with ‘Stay Stay Stay’… Still in the honeymoon period of the relationship so even though they fight they make up pretty fast.

"I was expecting some dramatic turn away but you stayed”

"Stay. I’ve been loving you for quite some time. You think that it’s funny when I’m mad. But I think that it’s best if we both stay”

The thing is that they don’t really get to the route of their problems so this is probably (definitely) gonna come back to bite them later.

So we move on. Maybe through all this they have been finding the rest of Les Amis… So interlude fun chapter for ‘22’. Probably led by Courf because… Of course it would be. He just wants to have fun with his re-found friends.

Then obviously the inevitable happens. The little fights build up into a big fight … maybe Enjolras gets super busy … maybe R withdraws into himself… maybe they both just panic that neither is quite the same person they were in the previous life… or all the above but anyway… they break up!!! Angst-city from here onwards!

So we head into ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’… I feel like this one fits the least well unless you look at it as coming from a place of hurt and anger… So it’s not really the honest truth but rather bitter feelings. Maybe also looking right back to a time before they ever saw past their first impressions.

“And when I fell hard you took a step back. Without me.  And he’s long gone when he’s next to me And I realize the blame is on me”

“No apologies. He’ll never see you cry, Pretends he doesn’t know that he’s the reason why. You’re drowning”

So they’re apart and they’ve gone through being angry for the most part. What’s left is pain. So next comes ‘All Too Well’ which follows them trying to deal with not being together any more and pretending they’re fine which they really aren’t. Earlier in the story the memories described in this song would have happened so… Visiting family. Dancing round the kitchen etc

“Maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much, But maybe this thing was a masterpiece ‘til you tore it all up.”

“You call me up again just to break me like a promise. So casually cruel in the name of being honest.”(psst this is R calling Enj for his stuff and being cruel as a defence mechanism because I’m tired of casual cruel Enj.)

So it moves on like that and slowly the pain becomes a dull ache and they start to think maybe they were too harsh to one another but they each believe the other is over them/better off without them. We have ‘I Almost Do’ here.

(so hard to filter these lyrics they’re all perfect)

“And I just wanna tell you It takes everything in me not to call you. And I wish I could run to you. And I hope you know that every time I don’t I almost do”

“I bet this time of night you’re still up. I bet you’re tired from a long hard week. I bet you’re sitting in your chair by the window looking out at the city. And I hope sometimes you wonder about me”

“I bet you think I either moved on or hate you ‘Cause each time you reach out there’s no reply. I bet it never ever occurred to you that I can’t say “Hello” to you And risk another goodbye.”

Enjolras is the first one to make a decision to try and reconcile. This is where ‘Holy Ground’ comes in. He finds himself outside the cafe where they first ‘re-met’ and it reminds him of all the good, but when he rushes off to find R he sees him with someone else and assumes he’s moved on (psst he hasn’t he’s still very sad) so he leaves. 

“I was reminiscing just the other day While having coffee all alone and Lord, it took me away Back to a first-glance feeling on New York Time Back when you fit in my poems like a perfect rhyme”  “ And I guess we fell apart in the usual way And the story’s got dust on every page But sometimes I wonder how you think about it now And I see your face in every crowd”

Just for fun you could dip into 1989 here and also have ‘I Wish You Would’ as that moment of realisation that they really do want to be back together. R would obviously be the one to instigate it now and Enj is so surprised to find him on his doorstep and they’re both a little scared (but also so happy =)).

“I wish you would come back. Wish I’d never hung up the phone like I did I… Wish you knew that. I’d never forget you as long as I live and I wish you were right here right now.”

“I wish we could go back. And remember what we were fighting for I… Wish you knew that. I miss you too much to be mad anymore.”

“2 A.M., here we are See your face Hear my voice in the dark  We were a crooked love In a straight line down Makes you wanna run and hide But it made us turn right back around”

So they make up and agree to take it slower this time and really get to know the people they’ve become rather than just the people they were before and so they arrange a coffee date and we round off with ‘Begin Again’

“And you throw your head back laughing like a little kid I think it’s strange that you think I’m funny 'cause he never did I’ve been spending the last eight months Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end But on a Wednesday in a cafe I watched it begin again”

TLDR: I hate myself. I am deeply ashamed. But damn it. It fucking WORKS