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bookloover35 · 2 years ago

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Enjolras x fem reader- Forgive me.

YNs POV:

YN I have to finish writing this speech.

Yn I can not right now.

These are exactly the sentences my fiancé Enjolras says every time I try to talk to him or when I try to get him to take a short break. I know that the revolution is important to him, it is important to me too. But I'm not trying to kill myself like he does. And when I tell him to try to rest for a while, he just replies "I promise darling soon" but it never happens. I love him and I'm worried about him and right now he's making me feel completely useless and unloved. And today is a special day but it seems that he has forgotten it because it has started to get night out. My thoughts were interrupted by my brother Grantaire coming and sitting next to me at the table I was sitting at in the Café.

Grantaire: Hello My beautiful little sister.

How are you doing this wonderful evening?

Yn:I'm fine Grantaire how are you then dear big brother.

Grantaire: Yn Do you think I'm completely stupid in my head or something I may not be so smart but I'm not completely stupid. And must I remind you that I'm your big brother I know you, so tell me what's weighing you down.

I knew I could not hide anything from him, I should have understood. People think my brother seems stupid but he is actually very smart.

Yn: I'm worried about Enjolras he just works and works and I know that the revolution is important but his health is probably more important. Grantaire he barely sleeps and barely eats he eats very little. And I get worried but when I tell him to try to rest he says he has no time or later darling. He makes me feel completely useless because I just want to help him and right now he makes me feel unloved.

Grantaire:What makes this day so special.

Yn: Grantaire Today, a year ago, Enjolras proposed to me.

Grantaire: WHAT.

He said to me and almost choke and started coughing a little, I started patting him on the back so he stopped coughing. Then he looked at me in shock.

Grantaire: What is it today. It feels like it was only yesterday when he asked me how he would propose to you.

Yn: Ha ha yes it really feels like it was only yesterday but yes today it was a year ago. But it seems that I get to celebrate our anniversary myself.

Grantaire: Wow I can not believe that you have not gone mad at each other yet. Um, you want me to talk to him.

He asked me and I replied back to him that it was okay and that he did not need to and that I was going to talk to Enjolras himself. I did not want Grantaire to go and talk to him because he can be very overprotective, especially when it comes to me.

Yn: I'm going home now.

But it's probably best to tell Enjolras that I'm going home or trying to tell.

I got up from the chair but before I had time to leave, Grantaire hugged me and said.

Grantaire: Love you little sister.

Yn: Love you too.

We interrupted the hug and I started walking towards the table where Enjolras was sitting and talking to Marius. Hope he does not get angry because I interrupt them. But I'm with Enjolras then it's probably best to tell him I'm going home otherwise he's so worried about me. When I got to the table, Marius looked up at me and smiled kindly at me.

Marius:Good evening Yn how are you?

He asked me and Enjolras looked up at me as soon as he heard my name and smiled at me. It seems that he did not get angry so that's good.

Enjolras: Hello my love.

Yn: Hello Enj.

Hello Marius, I feel good. Sorry if I disturb but just wanted to let my dear fiancé know that I was going to go home to the apartment because I'm a little tired.

Enjolras:Are you okay my love you are not sick right?

He asked me anxiously and took my hands in his. He still loves me. I told him I was fine and that I was just a little tired. I did not want to start talking to him about this now that we were not alone. I know I should not lie to him but if I stay here I will start crying.

Enjolras: Okey see you at home love you very much.

I said I love him back then I gave him a kiss on the cheek and then I said goodnight to everyone. Just when I came out of the Café the tears started to flow I know he loves me but I can not help but feel like this. I stood there a while ago, I started walking towards my and Enjolra's apartment. Hope Grantaire does not beat Enjolras. One thing I had not counted on was that my brother had seen me crying from the window.

Enjolras POV:

Marius: You're a very lucky guy.

Enjolras: I know I really love her.

Grantaire: Then maybe you should show it more.

I looked up at Grantaire's direction what he meant by that.

Enjolras: What are you talking about Grantaire you know I love your sister more than anyone else in the world.

Grantaire:I know, you really think i would let yourself be near her if you did not. But I did not let you stay with my little sister to hurt her. I promised Yn that I would not talk to you but now I'm going to do it.

He sat down with me and Marius and told me everything that she was worried about me and that I had made her feel worthless and not loved. I never wanted to make her feel so she's not useless. She's the best thing that has ever happened to me. And not loved I love her more than anything I love her even than France.

Grantaire: And Enjolras, what did you ask my sister a year ago today.

One year ago today? Did I asked her something then, come on, think now Enjolras. Then I flew out of the chair because I suddenly remembered what day it was today. A year ago today I proposed to Yn, now I started to remember how happy I was that night when she said yes.

(Flashback).

Yn: Enjolras where are we going?

Yn asked me and laughed while I had her hands in mine and led her to my surprise.

Enjolras: If I tell you then it's not a surprise anymore, trust me darling.

Yn: How can I trust you when I see nothing.

She had a shawl around her eyes. I did not want to reveal the whole surprise.

Enjolras: Just trust me love.

We walked a bit until we arrived at the same park as we had our first date hoping she likes this the stars resolved strongly and I had arranged a small picnic with blankets and lit candles. (OMG I WANT THIS).

I stopped her and stood behind her then I put my hands on her shoulders and whispered to her.

Enjolras: Are you ready love?

She nodded to me and I removed the shawl from her eyes I heard her gasp then she said.

Yn: Oh Enjolras it is very beautiful.

Then she turned around and saw me standing on one knee with a ring in her hand and held it out and put her hands to her mouth and started crying I hope it is joy tears. Now there is no return it is now or never. Hope she says Yes.

Enjolras: Yn I love you with all my heart, before you came into my life I think love was just a joke and nothing to me. But then when I met you, everything changed. I never want to let go of you so I ask you here and now if you want to do me the great honor of taking me as your husband.

She nodded at me and threw herself into my arms and kissed me I almost fell over. Then she said the most wonderful words I have ever heard.

Yn: Yes!

I kissed her back she said yes now I'm really happy.

( End of Flashback).

What have I done, what have I done. I quickly put on my jacket and started running out of the cafe. I could hear Marius calling to me.

Marius: Good luck.

I started running as fast as I have ever run. Hope she forgives me.

(Arrived in the apartment)

When I entered the apartment, it was dark and completely silent. Wondering where she can be somewhere.

Enjolras: Yn!!!!!

Hum No answer. Wondering where she is, I took off my shoes and closed the door. Then I started walking towards our common bedroom and opened the door very carefully. And there I saw my beautiful Yn it seems that she is sleeping. I went into the room and closed the door very carefully because I did not want to wake her. When I got to the bed I saw my beautiful fiancée sleeping very peacefully. She looked like the most beautiful angel in the world. I took off my jacket and put it on the chair that stood next to our bed then I lay down under the blanket and took her in my arms and kissed her on the head and said.

Enjolras: Oh Yn my angel forgive me please forgive me. I did not mean to make you feel this way. You are not useless and I absolutely did not want to make you feel like I do not love you. I love you so much so it hurts I care more about you than the revolution.

You are mine Patria.

Yn: Do you really mean that?

Did I hear Yn ask me she must have woken up without me noticing. I took my right hand and held it up to her warm cheek and stared deep into her beautiful eyes.

Enjolras: I really meant every single word my darling. I love you so much please please forgive me.

I said to her with tears in my eyes.

Yn: I forgive you but promise to never make me feel like this again.

Instead of answering her, I kissed her and I was so happy when I felt that she kissed me back. After a while I pulled back and looked at her and said.

Enjolras: I promise I will never do it again and I promise I will start taking care of my health again. And what if we do this tomorrow, I'm taking time off from everything. no talk about the revolution only you and I and you get to decide what we are going to do throughout the day.

Yn: Really.

I answered yes and she kissed me again and I kissed her back then I kissed her on the forehead and said.

Enjolras: happy one year anniversary darling love you.

Yn: happy one year anniversary Enj loves you too.

She said and yawned and cuddled closer to me and began to close her eyes. I felt that I was also starting to fall asleep, I did not even bother to change into pajamas. What I only cared about was that I had Yn in my arms and that she forgave me. I can not wait until I get married to her. This woman is my weakness.

#enjolras x reader #enjolras x y/n #enjolras x fem!reader #enjolras #les mierables #les mis #aaron tveit #my own work #my own words #wattpadstories #wattpad story #wattpad

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taire-inupmyheart · 4 years ago

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Enjolras jealous of Grantaire’s new work colleague, and dear sweet R is too oblivious of his attractiveness/ too in love with only Enjolras to notice

This is too short for a proper fic, I just have a lot of feelings

Enjolras and Grantaire had two mugs of tea on the table in front of them as they read their books on the couch that evening. Enjolras was sitting upright with his legs tucked under him. Grantaire’s head was in his lap, his legs dangling over the armrest.

Enjolras wasn’t sure when he’d stopped reading but he found himself just staring down at Grantaire agitatedly chewing at the inside of his cheek.

“Alexis seems nice” he said, turning one of Grantaire’s curls in his fingers as he looked down at his face, gauging his expression- which, very inconveniently, didn’t change at all.

“Doesn’t she?” he hummed lazily as he turned the page, “She’s been a godsend, actually. I’ve never seen someone so excited to learn how to work a milk-steamer,” he laughed.

I’m sure that’s not all she’s excited about, Enjolras thought.

“She’s very pretty too” he offered, in a casual, nonchalant, conversational tone that wasn’t at all searching.

“Ugh, I know” Grantaire replied, “I mean, I designed those aprons, why don’t I look that good in them?! It’s so unfair. She shouldn’t be able to pull it off that much better than I can.” Even though his tone was completely envious of her fitness and in no way lustful, all Enjolras heard was that Grantaire had noticed she was good-looking.

“I think you look good in the apron” Enjolras offered softly, and Grantaire looked up at him with a warm smile.

“Thanks, babe,” he said affectionately before turning his attention back to his book, Enjolras’ agenda for the conversation still completely lost on him.

“So,” Enjolras persisted with his totally innocent conversation, “I’m assuming she’s just part-time, right? Just weekends and stuff? You know, when it’s busy and crowded, and you’ll be super occupied with tonnes of other people in the café?”

“I mean, yeah, the position was just part-time” Grantaire replied, turning another page, “But thank god she told me she’s fully flexible”

“I’ll bet she did.”

It was only when Enjolras heard his own bitter laugh that he realised he’d said that out loud. Grantaire craned his neck to look up at Enjolras’ blushing face, his book falling on his chest.

“I’m sorry?” Grantaire said in mock innocence, an edge of giddy mischief in his voice, “What was that tone?” he swung his legs round so he was sitting up on the couch facing Enjolras. Enjolras blinked innocently and rolled his eyes as if Grantaire was being ridiculous.

“No, I just… all I meant was...that...I know how competitive the job market is and I’m sure she wanted to make sure you knew how...available she is” he said, looking at him pointedly.

“Oh, I see, is that all you meant?” Grantaire replied, trying to suppress a grin as he held Enjolras’ gaze.

“Look, you can't tell me you haven’t noticed the way she acts around you,” he began, “the laughing at all your jokes, the smiling…” Enjolras looked to Grantaire for him to agree and felt a little guilty at the surprise on Grantaire’s face.

“Wow. Didn’t know it was so suspicious to actually find me funny,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“‘Taire, no, come on, you know that’s not what I meant,” Enjolras whined, and placed both his hands on Grantaire’s strong forearms, squeezing them affectionately, “You’re adorable and charming and of course she’d laugh at your jokes. But this is….giggling at your jokes.”

“Oh, I see. Giggling,” Grantaire repeated in the same grave tone Enjolras used, “and this would have nothing to do with maybe sucking up to her new boss, no?” he offered, to Enjolras’ frustration.

“Believe me, Taire, that girl is looking for more from you than employee of the month” he said with a cynical laugh which made Grantaire stare at him in shock.

“Wow, you are catty when you’re jealous!” Grantaire cried, almost a little bit impressed, and entirely entertained. Enjolras huffed and refocused on his book, shaking his head in disappointment at Grantaire’s immaturity. Grantaire sighed and placed a hand on Enjolras’ thigh, trying to be more comforting, “My dear sweet baby Ange, a girl like that would never be interested in me, okay? She could have anyone she wants!” When Enjolras’ book snapped shut and Grantaire found himself on the business end of a murderous stare he realised how that statement might not have been as reassuring as intended.

“So you do think she’s attractive!” Enjolras accused, in a panic now.

“Where the hell is that coming from?!” Grantaire cried defensively, “When did I say she was attractive?!”

“When you said she could pull off your apron!” Enjolras shot back.

There was a second of silence when they both heard the obvious joke. Enjolras saw Grantaire’s eyes narrow mischievously and his lips quirk, readying to form the words. Just as he opened his mouth, Enjolras shot a finger out to him warningly

“Taire, I swear to god…” he threatened, his voice low and murderous.

Grantaire pressed his lips closed to hold back laughter, and gazed at Enjolras with the fondest smile. He knew he shouldn’t be enjoying how upset his boyfriend was, and he wouldn’t have dreamt of making light of his pain were it not so ridiculous to him, and if Enjolras wasn’t so impossibly cute when he was pouting.

“Enjolras. My darling,” Grantaire said, lovingly but firmly, as he took his face in his hands and looked deep into his eyes, “I love you. You have absolutely nothing to worry about, okay? She could walk in wearing nothing but my apron and I still wouldn’t care. I’d probably just be thinking how good that outfit would look on you,” he teased with a wink. Enjolras blushed at that and relaxed his posture, nuzzling his face into Grantaire’s hand so he could reach to kiss his palm and wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras sighed, “I’m being crazy, I don’t know what came over me. You’re right, I know it doesn’t matter how many people make passes at you. I trust you with my life, you know that, right?” he looked up at him with wide worried eyes.

Grantaire replied with a soft kiss and a smile before pulling Enjolras into his arms and nestling back into the couch.

“You’re thinking about me wearing just your apron, aren’t you?” Enjolras asked after a moment of happy silence.

“-I am, yes.” Grantaire replied, before he’d even finished the question.

Damn right you are, Enjolras thought as he nuzzled closer.

#i'm just very fond of jealous flustered Enjolras #and himbo R that doesn't know he's a Hot #exr #enjoltaire #enjoltaire fic

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dannypuro · 4 years ago

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i have been in the process of adopting cats for like. months now. so it is on my mind obvs. anyways pls tell me about something telling gang and pets?? who grew up with them? who wants them? what kind of animals do they all vibe with? who feeds a colony of feral cats that lives outside of their apartment and needs to learn about TNR?

ohooohooohooo!!! yes!!! this is not actually what you asked for but it is what i felt like writing i think that it is what jehan deserves and this is my strongest pet opinion for the gang. i hope you are having luck on your cat search!!!

(Something Telling verse: modern au with canon-era, time-zapped enjolras. Takes place some time post-Something Telling, and probably after Something Else Telling, but honestly, the time frame doesn’t matter. Bon Appetit!)

Combeferre gets the call during his lunch break, and it’s a testament both to his dedication to friendship and to the lackluster nature of his sandwich that he doesn’t let it go straight to voicemail.

“Hello, Combeferre,” Enjolras says, over the line, once Combeferre has picked up despite the best interests of his lunch break. “What do you know of cats?”

Um.

He sets his sandwich down and scrubs a hand over his brow. “Like. In general?” he hazards. He’s no expert, but he’s pretty sure that cats have existed in France for a good long while. At least since before 1832. Not that he hasn’t been surprised before, but. Cats are cats, he’s pretty sure.

“Yes, in general.” His voice is low, hushed, and Combeferre is… wary, to say the least. He’s not sure if he’s wary of Enjolras or of his situation, but it’s definitely one of the two.

He sighs, takes a glance at the clock in the corner of the break room. “Enj. Can you please be a little more specific? I’ve got about fifteen minutes left before I’m back on shift, I don’t have time to go through it all alphabetically.”

There’s a pause. “Are you at work?” Enjolras asks.

Combeferre hums.

“Ah. I did not intend- I could call at you later, if you are occupied, my friend.” The worst part is that he sounds genuinely remorseful; the worst part is that Combeferre wouldn’t be able to say no to him, even if he wasn’t.

The things he does for friendship, honestly. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, but he does resign himself to speed-eating his sandwich in the 45 seconds before the end of his break. “What’s your cat question?”

He can hear Enjolras drawing in a breath on the other end of the call. When he speaks, it’s in a whisper. “Jehan has obtained a cat,” he hisses. “I fear that it is horribly ill.”

Well.

That’s.

“What do you mean, ill?”

“It is very poorly,” Enjolras says, “I do not know much of animals, but it is not well, I can see that much. And I have tried to convince Jehan of that, but they simply do not seem concerned. And I am, quite frankly, concerned for its health.”

“Huh.” That’s- Okay. Combeferre can work with that. “I didn’t know Jehan was getting a cat.”

“Nor did I,” he says. “Nor did the cat, evidently. Given how very little it has mustered itself.”

Combeferre snorts a laugh. So does Enjolras, after a moment.

“It is not humorous,” Enjolras says, once he’s stopped laughing.

“Of course not.”

They both take another moment to laugh, anyways. “I can come over to Jehan’s place to check the cat out after work, if you’re worried,” Combeferre offers. He’s not quite sure why he offers it, since he’s a human doctor, not a cat doctor, but such is life.

He can hear Enjolras’s sigh of relief over the phone (and, oh, yeah, that’s why, actually). “Thank you.”

“‘Course.”

There’s a moment of silence. “Eat your lunch,” says Enjolras.

“Yeah, yeah,” he stretches, groans. “See you this evening?”

“Indeed.”

There’s a pause.

“I know not how to stop the phone from calling,” Enjolras admits, after a few long seconds.

Combeferre smiles into his palm. “Yeah, okay. Bye, Enj.”

“Good day.”

Combeferre hangs up, checks the clock, and starts eating his sandwich very, very quickly. It still isn’t very good, but at least it’s fucking soggy, now, too.

Honestly.

That evening, Combeferre gets off the Metro at Jehan’s stop instead of his own and walks the two blocks to their apartment from there. Enjolras answers the door when he knocks.

“Good evening,” Enjolras says. He looks very, very frazzled; he’s wearing one of Grantaire’s old tee shirts and has a barrette in his hair that is distinctly Jehan’s. “Thank you for coming, my friend.”

Combeferre pulls him into a hug, brief but warm. “Where’s the cat?”

He frowns. “I will show you. You will- You will see that it is unwell.” He leads him through the hall to the salon, where-

Jehan sits on the sofa, talking softly to a hairless cat in a sweater. It doesn’t look particularly unwell, but it does look a little odd and very fleshy. They look up when Combeferre enters, smile. “Oh, hello!”

“I heard you got a cat,” says Combeferre.

“I did get a cat.” They hold the cat out for Combeferre to see. It’s a little scrawny. Combeferre’s pretty sure that the sweater it’s wearing is one that used to be Grantaire’s, and has since been upcycled. “Her name is Darling Béatrice.”

Of course. He sits down next to them on the couch; Jehan deposits Darling Béatrice onto his lap. She’s kind of greasy. He pets her absently as he contemplates the fact that a veterinarian would really be a lot more useful, right about now.

Enjolras sits down in the armchair next to the sofa and scowls.

“I mean,” Combeferre hazards. Darling Béatrice nuzzles against his hand. “She looks healthy enough. I think.”

“She’s gorgeous,” Jehan agrees. Combeferre wouldn’t necessarily go so far as to say that, but she’s definitely okay.

Enjolras makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “Surely you jest, the both of you.”

Darling Béatrice yowls. Enjolras, if possible, grows a little tenser. Both he and the cat wear the same identical face of displeasure--Combeferre’s got the sinking feeling that he’s probably going to end up attached to Darling Béatrice, too.

To mollify Enjolras, Combeferre prods at Darling Béatrice until he can feel a pulse. It takes a while, since he’s never had to find a pulse on a cat before, but he gets it eventually. It’s steady, and, he assumes, cat-tempo. “I really think she’s fine, Enj. All cats are a little weird.”

“It has no hair,” Enjolras grits out. “It is bald. Like an ailing old man! Cats have hair.” He leans in, peers at the cat. “It is clearly ill, if you would use your eyes-”

“She’s not supposed to have hair, I told you!” Jehan grabs the cat back from off of Combeferre’s lap. She burbles a little until she settles in their arms like a grey, wrinkly chicken. “She’s not sick!”

Enjolras looks to Combeferre, half-desperate. “All cats are meant to have hair, Combeferre, tell them that their cat is unwell.”

Combeferre sighs. “Enjolras.” He shuts his eyes, just for a moment. One day, he will successfully explain genetics to a Romantic-era revolutionary. Maybe not on this particular day, but one day. “I promise, the cat is fine. She’s- Some cats just don’t have hair. That’s the point of them.”

He grimaces. “Why?”

Huh. Well. That’s more of a Jehan question, Combeferre thinks. He turns to them.

“She does not have hair,” they say, primly, “because that is her natural form.”

Enjolras does not look particularly convinced. “Jehan-”

They bestow the cat upon Enjolras. Neither Enjolras nor Darling Béatrice seem particularly enthused by that decision. Darling Béatrice kneads at his thighs with her naked little toes; Enjolras winces, readjusts her gently.

“Something,” Enjolras announces, “has gone awry in this cat’s parentage.” He scratches behind her ears, anyways.

“She likes you,” Jehan offers.

He huffs. “I imagine that she would like her natural pelt rather a lot better.”

“Don’t be rude to Darling Béatrice.”

“It does not matter either way,” says Enjolras, “as cats do not understand French, even the naked ones.”

Jehan sputters. Combeferre takes the moment of distraction to snap a photo of Enjolras and the cat. If anything, Grantaire will thank him for it. He’ll probably stick a copy of it up on his own fridge, too.

#give jehan a hairless cat #they deserve it #something telling #enjolras #combeferre #jehan #les miserables #les mis #les miserables fanfiction #writing #eldritchw1tch

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kowlsy · 3 years ago

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Cleaning out my google drive and this wasn’t even long enough to transfer. I didn’t even really proofread it and it just ends whenever I stopped writing it in 2017

but. uh. Enjoy?

Enjolras hadn’t even wanted to go dancing. The loud music he didn’t know, the loud people he didn’t know, the strong smell of spilt beer and desperation-- it wasn’t his scene. But Grantaire loved it, loved to lose his body to the music and down shots and forget about the world outside the dance floor. So when Grantaire asked Enjolras to come with him, as a date, just to try, Enjolras agreed. Because Grantaire went to stuffy restaurants to meet his parents and rolled his eyes and smiled when Enjolras tried to pass off some extra night lecture as a date- back in their college days, when they were still trying to figure it all out.

So Enjolras went to the club, and tried the bright pink drink Grantaire bought him, and even tried dancing a little, curling his fingers around Grantaire's shoulders and trying to forget about everything but him, and the music.

And now Grantaire is sitting hunched next to him on the late bus and Enjolras doesn’t know what he did wrong.

“Grantaire, sweetheart? Are you feeling okay?” Maybe it wasn't him. Sometimes anxiety stuck to the grantaire in a way Enjolras barely understood-- wrapping around him and sticking. Grantaire sighed, and leaned farther away. They only touched where the thin seats forced their legs together.

Grantaire closed his eyes, then opened them again. “I don’t understand you.” He still doesn’t meet Enjolras’ gaze. “I know I don’t need too, but-- sometimes.” He breaks off, before leaning back in the seat.

“Like, I know that there are more important things, and that it's your decision but--Enjolras” Grantarie meets his eyes, before signing again, a half laugh breaking free. “I'm doing a shit job explaining this aren't I?”

“Hey, we’re working on it” Enjolras, half teased--but not wanting to get away from the moment, asked “what is it about me you don’t understand.” He reached for Grantaire's hand at the same time, fingers clammy.

“It’s so stupid, and I know its stupid, but-Enjolras-” Grantarie paused a second, looking down at his hand in surprise, as if he hadn’t noticed Enjolras grab it. He squeezed tighter. “There were so many other men there, Enjolras, who are so much more attractive than me. We were actually surrounded by very very beautiful people, and they were all looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen, and I agree, but you were just looking at me and--” He seemed to run out of words right there, slumping back again. “How can you look at me like, that, when there are so many examples surrounding you of how ugly I am.”

Enjolras hadn’t thought of it like that. Grantaire looked lost, and all he wanted to do was ease the frown lines around his mouth, work the tension out from his shoulders. Of all the things Enjolras thought the Gantaire might have been thinking, this wasn’t it.

Which perhaps was stupid of him. Even after almost a half decade of dating, years of dancing around each other, Enjolras still didn’t even begin to understand the dark corners of Grantaire’s mind.

But then Grantaire had just confessed to not understanding his mind at all either. Enjolras leaned forward, almost absentmindedly, and pressed a kiss to Grantaire's forehead, right between his eyebrows that he sometimes plucked out of a unibrow and sometimes didn’t. “I'm just trying to gather my words, love, give me a second” he mummers, before untwisting. The bus was almost empty, still a few stops til they needed to get off.

Grantaire began to speak again. “Don’t have a crisis about our relationship, or about my sanity or how much you support me, darling. I know that you love me” his voice brightened, and Enjolras felt a little flare in his chest, a little warmth just at hearing Grantaire confirm it, “you can love me despite my looks, but sometimes I just don’t know how you cant...notice. How ugly I am.”

“Grantaire that’s not it at all--I

I don’t love you despite your looks, R, not even a little bit. I just, don’t notice, really, what you look like objectively. That sounds awful But R, fuck, i still find you so, so beautiful. It’ s just. Different. I don’t notice your acne scars on your chin, or how chapped your lips are, i just know that i love how they move when you smile, or i don’t notice like, i don’t even know, the stretch marks on your thighs, or anything, i just love how graceful you can lift up when dancing, even if it's in our kitchen, at three am, and i really need more coffee and you're blocking the machine. R, when i look at you I don’t see like, this sounds weird, a percheron, or like, a collection of ratable characteristics; I just see you. MY boyfriend that I'm in love with, with arms that give the best hugs, or hair I always just want to pet even when I know you haven't washed it in like, 2 weeks, and I think I'm a little drunk but. I can't see like, the objective attractiveness of some mans ass or abs or whatever, because i know what your eyes look like when your too tired to keep them open any longer, and I've seen your fingers learn a new instrument faster than seems possible, and that's why I love you, and that's why you’re beautiful.”

Enjolras took a deep breath, looking at Grantaire out of the side of his eye

Yeah that’s where it ends and I don’t know where it was gonna go and I’m on my punkjolras bullshit so This Aint It right now but if you read this far ty! ily <3

#Enjoltaire #Exr #my wriitng #or fuck was the tag #my fics #Grantaire #Enjolras

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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter Four - Part 6

Anti finds out about the missing medication.

Tws for severe abuse/torture, bruising, blood, imprisonment, and hypnosis.

Part 6 - Grantaire

“Ro?” says Blue carefully, stepping slow so as not to disturb a potentially out-of-his-mind older brother. “You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing?”

Red laughs. “You sound like you’re wondering if I’ve lost it.”

“I might be.”

“Well, I might have,” replies Red cryptically, and then turns to grin at him. He puts the shovel into the ground beside him and smacks his gloved hands together to rid them of dirt, standing over the hole he’s made in the front lawn.

One of at least five you can see.

“Diggin’ traps!” says Red. “So if anybody tries to come to the house, they’ll break their dumb-ass ankles.”

Blue breathes out an amused snort, shaking his head at him. “Better than doing nothing, I guess.”

“You doing okay? Come sit with me and I’ll dig if you want.”

Blue wants to tell him he’s okay, but it’s not been true for a few days. “Yeah, I’ll sit with you. Need some sun.”

“You do,” agrees Ro, frowning over at his moon-pale twin with his foggy, tired eyes. “Yeah.”

pine-storm-season asked: Hello Red, and hello Blue! Has today been uneventful so far?

“Yeah, pretty quiet, which I am more than grateful for,” says Ro, brushing sweat off his forehead. There’s exercise equipment in the basement and the motivation to be strong and fit again is one of the small things that keeps him going. “I think Dapper’s the only one who’s not going a little nuts with the confinement, though. None of us have, like, things to do, really. Usually we help Dok with a clinic or Anti sends us out to do shit. But now we’re just stuck. I gotta get out of this houseeeeee.”

He draws the word out, stabbing into the earth with greater ferocity, but he keeps a warm smile on his mouth, because in all honesty things could be a lot worse. Blue looks at him, thinking. He doesn’t really know where his brother’s at in his head these days, really - he just knows that Red tries to pretend he’s not as sad as he is, and that his priority is always their safety, and that he hasn’t laid a cruel hand on anyone since the day Anti stole him away again.

“If you have any other ideas for how to keep people out, please let me know,” says Red. “I’ll do it. At this point I’m up for anything. I think Dapper’s sharpening spikes on the porch, but in all honesty, I didn’t even think to question the little nightmare.”

Anonymous asked: Where's trick now? Is he still with Anti?

You find Dok at the bottom of the stairs.

He doesn’t even look up at you, just nods.

—

“There are reasons I do the things I do, you know,” says Anti.

You only have to look once to see that he has Trick in a deep thrall. Trick is practically in his lap, letting Anti sew up a hole in his shirt, his arms around his brother’s neck.

“You slapped Dapper,” says Trick, unhappy despite the glaze over his eyes and the faint sway of his head. “Please don’t hit him. I think maybe you’re also… I need you to not do that.”

“Tricks, if there isn’t a little force, everybody falls out of line. There’s a lot of control issues in this family, a lot of personalities that clash and problems in their heads. If I didn’t use a little force here and there, everyone would fall apart, pet. Dapper would have to go to a mental hospital and Red would run off with that guy he barely remembers and Dok - well, you’ve saved him from himself enough times to know what Dok does if no one’s there to save him from himself.”

Trick shivers, shaking his head. “I don’t want Dok to get hurt.”

“Okay, so don’t be so scared when I have to shove everybody around a little or when you have to shove somebody around a little, for that matter. Weren’t you obedient for Red when he used a little force?”

“Yeah, always.”

“You’re Red now. So don’t be so chickenshit. You have to protect the others from themselves. You’re right. If Dok would just take off those necklaces, wouldn’t everything be so much easier?”

“So much easier.”

“Don’t let him get all weepy with you just cause you had to put him in his place. He’ll get used to it. Without it, he would run off or hurt himself. All of them would. And then you’d be alone, Trickshot. You’d be all alone in the world again. No one would care about you. Is that what you want?”

“No,” insists Trick, shaking his head harder. “No, no.”

“Okay, then,” purrs Anti, stroking his hair, his pretty green hair, curling at the front. “Then everything’s good, my darling, isn’t it?”

Trick smiles at him, touching his cheek. Anti closes his eyes at the feeling of his little brother’s fingers in his beard, tangled up with him.

“Everything’s good,” agrees Trick. “Everything’s perfect, Anti.”

Anonymous asked: Geez Anti, you really got him in the palm of your hand uh? That much hypnosis can't be good for trick in the long term

“Hmmm,” grumbles Anti, dissatisfied. He hates thinking about that. Right now, he just wants to know that one of them is his without a doubt, without hesitation. And he will keep this one close to his chest - no matter what it takes. “He’s okay.”

“I feel good,” chirrups Trick. “I feel okay.”

“Yeah, sweet boy. You’re okay.”

Anonymous asked: Hey, Dok. You doing alright, bud?

“Everything’s great,” he says.

And it’s probably meant to be sarcastic, but really he just looks tired. Dapper ducks his head into the entryway, finding his brother sitting alone on the stairs, as he has all morning, without moving.

Anonymous asked: Oh dok... I'm so sorry. It seems like Anti keep burrowing his hold deeper into trick. You're probably going to be alone for a bit

Dok buries his face in his hands.

Very tired. Very tired of this fight. Very ready to be gone. Maybe for good. Very ready for something to change. But it never does. It never does. It never -

A hand descends on his shoulder, enveloping it. He looks up, eyes wide.

“You’re not alone,” signs Dapper, sitting down beside him. “You are never alone.”

Anonymous asked: Is blue alright? ":(

“This is my fault. I should have been watching you. I should have known the sun would be too much for you. It’s like thirty degrees out here.”

Red helps Blue towards the house, clutching him to his chest. Blue wants to tell him his constant self-blame is hardly ever deserved, but he’s feeling - hell, he doesn’t know if unwell even begins to cover it anymore. He’s faint and nauseous and that feeling is back - like there’s something beneath his skin. Like there’s something inside the folds of his brain. Like he’s a stiff white puppet on taut, tight strings, choking.

He’s tough. He is. He always has been. He always tries to be.

Right now, he just wants his big brother to make everything stop hurting.

“Red,” he cries, slumping down against his bed. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Red paces around the room, stressed, wetting a washcloth in the bathroom next to the sink.

“I want to stop feeling bad, Red, please touch me, please put your hands on me, this isn’t my skin…”

Red recognizes the mantra with a sharp fear. He had hoped that night where Blue was clinging to him and begging for his hands on him would be the only one of its kind.

The realization that the damage Anti is causing could be lasting terrifies him.

“I’m here,” he says, putting a washcloth on his head and his hands on his sides, stroking him through his shirt. “I’m here and so are you. Blue. Azul. My twin. My brother. You’re the only one here with me.”

Anonymous asked: So when is trick going to be allowed back downstairs? Are you going to keep him with you for much longer, Anti?

“I just want to hang out a little,” says Anti, setting Trick down beside him as he finishes the hole in his shirt. “Play a game with me, Trick. Or play a game and I’ll watch. I like to hear you talking. Sometimes it’s quiet with just Dap and I up here. I like to hear you talking.”

Anonymous asked: hey, blue, love. it's just you. it's just you, buddy. how about you curl up with red and we can talk to you, and try to distract you. would you like that, blue?

“Fuck, I can’t think straight,” whispers Blue.

“But that’s not new,” whispers back Red.

There’s a moment of confusion from Blue - and then the most begrudging smile Red’s ever seen.

“Fuck you,” laughs Blue, touching his hair. “Goddamn. When I throw up all over you, it’s because of that.”

Red snuggles down next to him in bed. “That’s fair.”

“You can talk with us as long as you like,” says Blue.

His voice is weak and tired. Pressed against his ribs, Roser can feel just how thready his heartbeat is.

It’s a new kind of fear for him. In the past, the best way to survive has always been to outlast Anti’s temper tantrums, protecting his siblings as best he can as they happen and taking care of any injuries, trusting that Anti and Dapper would not let one of them die, no matter how cruel their master can be.

But ever since that night Blue wouldn’t let him let go of him, Red has begun to wonder -

Maybe this is a storm we cannot sail through.

Maybe we should go.

He loves Anti.

But not enough to let him do this to his heart.

Anonymous asked: hey, blue! birds or reptiles? (in other words, the cat-or-dog question but with animals you probably hadn't thought about before.) and what about you, red?

“Ah.” Blue laughs weakly. “Um, birds, yeah. For sure.”

“I want a snake,” says Red.

“Fuck’s sake.”

“I do.”

“You’d have to feed it little baby mice.”

“That’s nature! I am ready and willing! Or maybe a skink.”

Anonymous asked: hell yeah, bird gang! snakes are pretty cool though, too. my family has a bunch of really silly chickens, sometimes they'll do stuff like sleep outside in the rain,,, while literally sitting on the door to the henhouse,,,,, or steal all the plums from the plum trees we have. they're good birds though, although they are dumbasses sometimes. does noodle do dumb cat things like that, too?

“I don’t know, I think he does,” says Blue, shaking his head a little. “Um. He falls off the bed sometimes.”

“Let’s let Blue have a lie-down for a while,” sighs Red, sitting up beside him. “You’re looking so pale.”

“Really don’t feel well,” he murmurs. “Really don’t.”

Red looks down at him, his hand across his white face, his eyes closed.

“Okay,” he says, beneath his breath. “We’ll go to the hospital tomorrow, then. And if Dark catches me… then Dark catches me.”

Anonymous asked: Yeah, we're here, Dok. We're with you, bud. We're supporting you however we can.

“Thank you,” sighs Dok. “You, at least, never seem to fall for his tricks. I’m grateful.”

Red steps into the hallway, a slightly dazed look in his eyes.

“Red?” asks Dapper, cocking his head at him. “Everything okay?”

Red blinks and then nods. Dapper doesn’t need to know. It’s safer if he doesn’t. “Yes, buddy, no worries.”

He’ll pack. He needs til tomorrow to try and steal the IDs out of Anti’s room - assuming he’s made new ones since the fire. He’ll get snacks and ready a lie.

He’ll get his twin help. No more waiting around. He is big brother, and he makes his own decisions.

Anonymous asked: do you want to try to sleep a bit, blue? that might help.

Blue does end up sleeping. He sleeps deep and hard, and Red is grateful. He hopes Blue is getting used to being himself at night again. He is still sleeping while Red gets his backpack and begins to shove things inside.

He puts brownies and apples and granola into their own little ziploc bags, and damn, isn’t that a privilege in its own right after all this time? He never thought he’d feel rich holding ziploc bags. A couple changes of clothes for both of them follow their snacks in, as well as what little money he has - Colombian pesos, already near worthless in their own country, now worth even less wherever he is now. He gets a camera and a charger and tucks it away just in case. Their toothbrushes. A comb. Deodorant. A blanket. Bag’s full.

“What else, what else?” he mumbles. “Can you think of anything? I’ll need to get the IDs out of Anti’s room if he’s made more. Most of the time, I’d try to go without them, but my fear is - ”

He gives a deep, mournful sigh, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“My fear is we might be in America.”

“Dun dun dun,” mumbles a sleepy Blue from his bed, and Red barks out a laugh.

“Go back to bed, dumbass. I got this handled.”

“I just let you do your own thing.” Blue turns back over and goes back to sleep.

Anonymous asked: what's your plan here, red? that might help with figuring out anything you've missed.

“I just - I’ll just get him to the hospital. I know where the road is, I think I remember. I can carry him if he’s tired. I’ll carry him the whole way if I have to, but I’m hoping we can hitchhike. We’ll get to a hospital. Sneak him out if I gotta cause we don’t have insurance. And if Anti comes to get us, at least he’ll have gotten a little help by the time he - ”

There’s a crash from upstairs and a short scream.

Red stiffens and stills, listening.

Anonymous asked: bringing him into the forest? do you think that is a safer option than waiting another few days?

Red sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I… I don’t know. Maybe I’m being hasty. I - ”

Trick rushes past the door. Red looks up, startled. “Bud? What’s going on?”

“Where’s Dok?”

“Downstairs, I think. Hey, wait! What’s happening?”

“Dude,” says Trick, shaking his head. “Man, I’d hide.”

He tears down the basement stairs.

Red looks up.

Anti’s staring down from the banister upstairs, holding a half-empty bottle of small, white, anti-psychotics.

Anonymous asked: what is it, anti?

“Oh, nothing much, nothing much, nothing much,” says Anti, voice completely unglitching. “Not that much at all.”

Red backs up and returns to his room, standing in front of Blue as he sleeps. Anti stalks down the stairs step at a time, step at a time, step at a time. He puts his lips together and whistles a pretty old song you’ve heard Dap whistling a time or two - daisy, daisy, give me your answer, do…

“Where’s my little boy at?” he says, but the whistling keeps going even as his mouth moves, echoing around the walls of the house. “Where’s my dapper darling? That was silly of you, Monochroma. That was silly. Thinking you could steal from big brother.”

Anonymous asked: dapper did nothing, anti. he did not steal from you.

“Mm-hm, mm-hm, mm-hm,” nods Anti. “Definitely. Definitely. There you are, sugar.”

Dapper looks up from the piece of sourdough bread he’s eating, covered in golden butter. He’s sitting on the kitchen counter in Dok’s shorts and one of Blue’s t-shirts, his hair curling up from his eyes, his black eyelashes shining in the morning light. He sees the look on Anti’s face and sets his bread carefully down beside him, sitting up straight on the kitchen counter.

Anti steps forward and pulls him down by the collar until they’re nose to nose. He grins coldly at his pet, stroking the soft curls on the back of Dapper’s neck.

He leans in and puts his mouth against Dapper’s ear.

“I’m going to ask you this once,” he whispers, voice jovial and easy-going. “And you’re going to tell me. Or you won’t like the consequences very much at all. Where’s your Haldol, little mister? Huh?”

Dapper does not swallow or shake. He stares dead ahead, silent, unmoving. Trying to find a way to answer.

Anonymous asked: ??? Anti are you not HOLDING his haldol right now? What are you talking about?

“Don’t play dumb,” growls Anti, the faux pleasantry wearing off a little. “I know there was more. I have footage.”

Your screens all flash and you can see him the morning before Red stole it, sitting in his bedroom, sulking and rolling the Haldol around in his hands. “There was more of it. You disobeyed me directly. That wasn’t very clever.”

Dapper stares at him, pursing his mouth.

pine-storm-season asked: Is it not with you, anti? If it's not, i don't think Dapper knows where it is.

“No,” signs Dapper, shaking his head. “Okay, I give up. I’m sorry. I stole it.”

“So where is it?”

Dapper is stuck again, letting out a low, trembling breath.

“Unless someone else stole it for you?”

pine-storm-season asked: Red, where's Dapper's medicine? Anti's questioning him.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” whispers Red, pacing for a second before he darts out into the hall and stands in front of the kitchen, trying to get a look. Anti turns and looks right at him. He’s pressing Dapper into the back of the wall behind the counter, his hands gripping too tight at their little brother’s knees. Red feels a wave of revulsion for him and can’t even put a finger on why.

pine-storm-season asked: Anti, can you let Dapper go? I'm sure he gets the point.

“He’ll get the fucking point if he doesn’t start talking,” snarls Anti, slamming Dapper back against the wall.

There is a weak clattering as eleven more Haldol pills fall onto the table. Dapper and Anti turn to look at Red, holding out his hand.

“It was me,” he says. “Dapper didn’t have anything to do with it. Punish me, Anti, not him. He didn’t even know. He didn’t know where I hid them or that I was going to steal them. Leave him alone.”

Anti steps back from Dapper, letting him go. He stands in the middle of the kitchen, staring down at the little white pills. He pauses and turns to the sink, spitting out blood. It tastes like betrayal in his mouth. Like weakness in his mouth. He straightens up again, eyes gleaming, and Red feels a chill up his body.

“First I’m going to torture you,” he says, pointing at Red. “And then I’m going to string your little brother up to show you what happens when you work against me.”

“No! Anti, he wasn’t a part of - ”

Anti slams into Red and grabs him by the head, tearing out strands of his hair.

pine-storm-season asked: Dapper was not involved, Anti. Dapper didn't even know it was happening until it already had.

“He should have goddamn told me,” yells Anti. “He would have known the second that Red gave it to him what had happened! He thinks he can pretend he’s always so fucking innocent! He’s sneaky, I know that, you think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know, you little brat? You get it from me!”

Dapper is on Anti’s shoulder, trying to yank him off his older brother. Anti slams his elbow into his face and throws him back, dragging Red towards the stairs.

“Ro!” croaks Blue from his bedroom door. “Anti, don’t!”

“You want to be involved, you little witch? I’ll use you for goddamn kindling. Come here, Blue, I need a body.”

Blue’s eyes widen in alarm and he rushes towards the basement.

“You can’t get away from me! You all belong to me! You’ll do what I fucking say! Little traitors, little rats! You think you can outsmart me, think you can beat me down to the earth again? I’ll strip you into leather! Think Jack made you all stronger than me? Clever? More sly? I’ll rip you apart!”

bupine asked: trick? where are you? anti's upset, your brothers are in trouble. i suspect you can calm him down.

Trick is in the guest bedroom, him and Dok playing with pieces of string for Noodle to chase. He knows his brother hasn’t heard the commotion upstairs, because he looks happy and calm, laughing when Noodle leaps after his piece of string. Trick gets up and goes to the door. He hears the dull thud of someone striking the floor and steps back, looking at Dok.

“Haha, he gets so frustrated, look at his face!”

Dok is smiling, wide and calm. He hugged him when he came back downstairs and won’t stop holding his hand. He’s here. He’s okay.

His twin is okay. Sometimes the others need a little force.

“Haha,” repeats Trick flimsily. “Ah, yeah. Yeah. He’s cute.”

He shuts the door behind him and goes back to sitting with Dok.

cest-mellow asked: trick you NEED to go upstairs. anti is going to possess blue again and he’s gonna torture red. is that the force you think they deserve? all for getting dapper his medicine he NEEDS? should they be punished for taking care of one another? is this the force you agree with??

“There’s nothing I can do,” whispers Trick, pushing you away.

Anonymous asked: Trick, the scar on your hand, the sting in your cheek, he slapped Dapper right in front of you. He's not "using a little force". He's hurting them because he's angry and violent and he wants to see them in pain and no other reason! He's done the same to you and your twin for years.

Trick rubs anxiously at the burn on his hand, using his other hand to rub at Dok’s shoulder. They’re so used to casually touching each other it doesn’t even make his twin look up.

Yes. Anti has hurt him and his twin for years. But not today. Today, he is the favorite, and he can keep his zwilling safe.

Anonymous asked: Trick I need you to understand that whatever anti told you, this isn't "force" or"punishment" he explicitly used the word "TORTURE"

Trick’s face seems to break. He grits his teeth hard, shaking his head and curling in on himself.

“Hey,” murmurs Dok, looking over. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Trick doesn’t answer. Dok glances over at you, seeing the camera flash, and takes it carefully into his hands. Within moments, he is on his feet, headed to the door.

“No, no,” cries Trick. “Stay down here, Dok.”

“What’s going on?” Dok’s voice is afraid.

pine-storm-season asked: Trick, Anti's mad because Red got Dapper his medicine, and I think he might go after Blue, who did nothing. At least calm him down so he won't hurt Blue too, okay? Blue did nothing to deserve that, even if you believe the others did.

“Shit,” hisses Dok, tearing open the door.

Trick is there, grabbing him, a second later.

Dok stares down at the hand wrapped around his bruised wrist, his heart thudding hard in his chest. Slowly, he turns to his twin. Trick’s eyes are blue flames.

“My love,” says Henrik. “It is time you start making choices about the man you are becoming.”

“Don’t go,” says Trick. “This isn’t about morality. This isn’t about me. He will hurt you again.”

Something inside Henrik’s chest breaks clean open.

“Again?”

Trick turns his eyes away.

“You knew. Or guessed, anyway. You suspected.”

Trick cannot look him in the eyes. Something in Henrik’s chest is oozing hurt. Crimson as the sun when the trees are burning.

Anonymous asked: Trick, I know how much Dok means to you. Trust me, I know how much this kills you. You just want to do what you can to keep your twin safe. But everyone else, they're your brothers, too. Red sat with you at night, y'all talked about serious stuff and silly stuff like the dorks you are. Blue sat with you after YOU attacked Dok. They don't want you to be hurt. They would try to keep Anti away if he ever wanted to "punish" you, or worse. Brothers shouldn't hurt each other, Trick. I think you can believe that if you really try. Brothers shouldn't hurt each other. And you can help.

“I don’t - I don’t want…”

Dok can’t tell if he’s stammering or just trying to find the words. Trick is looking at him. Trick’s hand rises slowly and his fingers touch Dok’s throat, wrapping loosely around, but just like the other night, Dok doesn’t protest or fight. Trick pushes him back just a little and Dok goes, hitting the wall.

“I don’t… want to be something that hurts you. Or any of them. I don’t… think brothers hurt each other?”

Henrik doesn’t know why he sounds confused, but he sees the truth still alive in his brother.

“Let me go, Chase,” he says. “Please.”

cest-mellow asked: trick, loving your brothers doesnt just mean cooked sausage and cakes and holding them in their sleep. it doesn’t just mean getting them water when their hands have been mangled and it doesn’t just mean calming them down. you have to protect them and defend them from what’s hurting them. and what’s hurting them is anti. he told red “i am going to torture you, and then string your little brother up.” protect. your brothers.

“But that - that - that’s what I want it to mean, Deutsch,” Trick says. “That’s what I want it to mean cause then nothing would ever have to change.”

“Was that happiness, Trick?” asks Dok, shaking his head. “Was that all you hoped for?”

“You besides me while I sleep? Your hands against my shoulders while I keep guard over us? You eating sausage and playing with our cat? Yes, that’s all that I hope for. That’s everything I hope for.”

Dok’s face contorts with tears, but still he smiles.

“I want better for you - for all of us - than having to live in fear all the time. I want you to want for more than my companionship. I want you to hope for things, to live for people other than me. I want you to know you’re not so worthless that you have to chase the love of someone who hurts you all the time.”

Trick shakes his head hard, tears running down his face. “He does love me.”

“I want you to find your babies again, if you can.”

“No, don’t talk about them!” cries Trick, letting go of Dok’s neck and falling back. “Stop it, Dok! My head hurts!”

“I think you do want for greater things, desperately so. I think you just pretend because you’re scared of things not staying the same. But Trick, no matter what happens, I’m here and I love you.”

“No, you’re wrong!” shouts Trick. “You’re wrong! There isn’t anything more than this for me! If you leave, if you all go, if Anti lets you escape - I’ll be alone! Don’t go! I just want you to stay. I just want everyone to stay. Stop talking about things beyond this. There’s nothing beyond this.”

“Then here we are,” says Dok, his voice raw. “But one way or another, whether or not things are changing, Blue and Red and Dapper are upstairs, about to get hurt, and it would be wrong of us not to try and help them. I’m going upstairs. Are you coming with me?”

bupine asked: trick, this is really serious. red, blue and dapper are in danger and you're anti's current favourite, so you could maybe try to help. please, trick. i know you're having fun and i'm sorry to have to intrude, but they're going to be really badly hurt. red especially. he took medicine for dapper to prevent him from going into a psychotic episode and anti's very, very angry. is there anything you can do?

“Does Dapper deserve to be without his medication? Can you call that right? Acceptable, appropriate? Do you think Red deserves to be hurt than for no other reason than that he tried to keep his youngest brother healthy?”

Trick turns away from him, shaking his head, rubbing at his temples.

Dok turns his eyes away and steps through the door.

Trick’s hand is on his wrist again, stopping him.

Anonymous asked: Henrik, stay here please. It's safer for Trick to go, yeah? Trick will help them.

“I’ll go,” says Trick. “If you stay.”

Dok’s tongue flicks out to wet his tongue. “You promise me you will try to help?”

“I promise,” says Trick. “On my life.”

He touches his hand to Dok’s chest, above his beating heart.

“On my life.”

Anonymous asked: trick, i'm worried. i know you want dok safe and protected, but you deserve to be protected too. you deserve to not hurt. and i'm worried anti will hurt you, either physically because he doesn't want you to try to help or by hynotizing you again, really badly. he's already the reason it's so hard to keep your thoughts sometimes, and to imagine better things for yourself. if you and dok are together, you can have each other's backs. your safety is not less important than dok's.

“Well, theirs isn’t worth less than mine either,” says Trick, heading up the stairs. “So if I can share the pain with them a little, or at least make it less, I will try. Or we just all get hurt. But sometimes you die with your friends instead of running away, yeah? Let Dok be Marius and I’ll be that loyal drunk-ass Grantaire. Cause you know, Grantaire didn’t ever give a damn about the revolution, not really. He just loved his friends that much. Deutsch loves that book, you know. He loves a lot of books. Nerd. I had to make him stop reading Hamlet so much, once… he would whisper the lines to Horatio when he thought I was sleeping. Had them memorized. Had the whole thing memorized. Horatio, I am killed… ah, let Dok be Horatio for a hot minute, and the rest of us all go down in pointless sword fights. But not pointless, either. Not pointless. Or that’s what Dok said.”

cest-mellow asked: thank you trick. but. please hurry.

Upstairs, Anti is already wearing Blue’s body, and any fatigue he had seems to have fallen away - to be remembered, of course, next morning, with interest added. He has Red in the bathroom upstairs, the rosey one that stinks of lotions and bathbombs, holding him over the tub to let the blood fill it up, the tub stoppered and filling with dark lines of venomously dark crimson, the lot of Dapper’s white pills scattered along the porcelain floor. Red bleeds from a deep cut in his throat, his eyes closed, his face silent. He has always survived like this - sitting as quiet as he can, not protesting, waiting for Anti’s rage to blow over. It’s the closest thing to safety he can have right now. He knows that through long years of experience.

In his head, he’s far away. Dermot Kennedy is playing. Max’s hands are at his waist. There’s still the pain, and the sticky sensations of blood and skin against his own, but they’re more bearable with the image of Max in front of him, smiling at him, swaying. He leans close and whispers something Red can’t hear. Ro tastes Starbursts.

“You think you’re better than me?” shrieks Anti, scratching Blue’s white nails down the cut in Red’s throat. “Cause he made you so perfect? You think you can disobey me? I’m the one in control now, Jackie! I’m the one who won! You’re nothing! Look at you! Pathetic! Lying there as I bleed you. I’ll teach you to try and undermine me, to try and hurt me. You’re never pulling that hero shit again. Fucking traitor. You belong to me, not him! You’re never making me mortal again!”

Dapper is slumped against the bathroom floor, unmoving, his eyes closed, a yellow bruise appearing on the whole left side of his face.

Anonymous asked: Okay. Thank you, Trick. We'll be with you, bud.

Warm arms wrap around Anti’s shoulders, pinning his arms to his chest for a second. He whirls, snarling - and Trick’s eyes, unhappy and scared, look back at him.

Jack’s eyes.

“You gotta stop, man,” says Trick, and that’s all. “You gotta stop, like, yesterday.”

Anonymous asked: Anti stop it. Dapper had nothing to do with it first of all. Second, what good is possibly going to come from torturing your two strongest when you're playing games with Dark? You're just handicapping yourself by injuring Dap or Red. Plus, it'll drive them away, make it easier for Dark to worm their way in because they have a hatred for you already.

Anti grinds his teeth so hard you do, in fact, see one fall apart. He regrows it as a fang, a deep growl thriving in his chest.

“You shut the fuck up,” he hisses. “And you get off me. Right now, Trick.”

Trick shivers, but doesn’t let go. He hides his face between Anti’s shoulder-blades, whimpering.

Anonymous asked: Anti, please leave Red be. I know you want him to suffer, and to punish him for what he did, but this could easily kill him. At least, if you will not stop, do something else to hurt him? This is going to seriously damage him, and I don't know how long it's already been happening.

“I - I wouldn’t kill him,” protests Anti in a snarl.

“You can be a little out of control sometimes,” mumbles Trick against his back. “You could.”

“Well, if I did…” Anti trails off, looking down at Dap, unconscious at his feet. No turning back til he wakes up.

Anonymous asked: please, anti?

“Please,” snarls Anti. “Please, they say. As if that… as if… please, they say. Huh.”

But his voice is getting weak and he knows it, so he shuts himself up. For a moment, there’s just Anti with his eyes closed, and Trick rubbing his hands into the muscles of his back, just like Dok always did for him. Anti leans back slightly, his head faltering onto Trick’s shoulder.

“You did used to just say that, when I was scaring you,” he says. “Like you had nothing else to say.”

Trick doesn’t know what he means. He just stands there, massaging his back. He lets one of his hands intertwine with Anti’s hair, hoping to keep him in place.

Anonymous asked: Blood loss is a dangerous thing, Anti. Red might end up struggling somewhat to survive, and he's one of your strongest. I know you wouldn't purposefully kill him, but you might not catch yourself until too late.

“You have to be careful,” agrees Trick quietly. “I don’t think this is what you meant by force.”

Anti stares down at his hands for a second, riddled in blood. He has cut throats too deeply before in the past. And he wasn’t able to amend for that.

He just wanted to feel that Red was as weak as he sometimes feels. Being weaker than Red is not an option. Not again. Never again.

But at least he has his little brother under his heel. Anti rubs distractedly at Trick’s waist, panting harshly in the cold emptiness of the bathroom.

Anonymous asked: Come on, Anti. Let's let Dok bandage Red up now, and he'll most likely survive, okay? Red has suffered enough for what he did. You beat him, yeah? Let Dok help him now.

“No, no,” growls Anti, shaking out his head, stepping away from Trick a little. “No. You don’t have any control over me. Any. You or you.”

He turns and gives Trick a dark look. His little brother makes his posture small and re-buries himself in Anti’s back, hugging him around his waist. Anti fumes, torn. Now that he’s stopped he’s a little worried that Dapper hasn’t woken up. Did he drop him that hard?

No! He shakes it off again, snarling and biting his teeth at nothing at all, because he sees threats everywhere and always, and any amount of control shared is weakness to him.

“I’ll get chain. Stay here.”

“No, please, Anti, please. Let Dok see them. And let Blue go, please.”

“Trick,” he warns, voice low and dangerous.

Anonymous asked: No one is trying to control you right now, Anti. We're scared, we're the weak ones begging at you to just not kill them. To just not hinder your assets like this. No one is trying to control you, we are literally simpering and grovelling.

Anti stares at you for a second.

Then he laughs, shaking his head, and suddenly he just looks bewildered and tired and maybe a little younger than he did a moment ago.

“I don’t… get it?” he laughs. “I don’t… I… you never stop trying to help? Fuck’s sake, I had thought you would all fall off, one by one, as you realized you couldn’t do anything. But fuck, you’ll do anything for them. What the hell? It was going to be my last little defeat over you. Not just that you lost them, not just that Jack’s story stopped. You walking away from it - giving up on them - moving on? That would have been the sweetest victory. But you never do quite go. I don’t get it…”

He drops his knife on the ground, shaking his head.

Dapper and Red said that maybe, with the timeline broken, only the people who really loved them could still remember who they are.

What does that make you?

Anonymous asked: Anti, we're asking you because you have all the control here. We don't. We're asking to let Red be helped, because we're very worried about him, but we can't do anything if you say no. I just think that Red might die if you don't let him be helped.

“But I can’t just let them go, no way,” says Anti, shaking his head and sighing. “They still gotta learn their lessons - and you pansies never like to let them sit with a little well-deserved pain. I’ll go get chain and I’ll look after them myself. Trick, don’t go anywhere. You can be a little shit too, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Anti paces off, running a shaky hand through his wild green hair.

Trick falls to his knees at his big brother’s side, taking Red’s face between his hands and trying to lift him up without hurting him worse. The wound bleeds heavy, but it isn’t as deep as it could be. Trick feels carefully around the cut and knows that it won’t be fatal. Dok taught him how to check. How to look after them.

“Oh, Ro, fuck, it must hurt like crazy. Are you okay? Are you with me?”

Red smiles faintly, eyes still closed. Max is kissing the side of his hair.

“I’m with you,” he whispers.

pine-storm-season asked: Anti, can you at least let Dok or someone bandage the cut on his throat? It'll still hurt just as bad, but it'll stop bleeding.

Trick tears his shirt apart without hesitation, tying the closest approximation to bandages he has without leaving this bathroom.

“Won’t be perfect, but it might slow it down a little,” he soothes.

“Ohh, no, Trick, please, I’d rather have the pain than a tight collar. I hate things rubbing against me that tight.”

Trick winces. “You might not like what Anti’s got planned for you, buddy.”

“Just check on Dap, I can take the rest…”

pine-storm-season asked: Red, hang on, buddy. You'll be okay, yeah? You'll be okay. Can we help you with anything, Red?

“I’m good, I’m good, I’m bleeding, what else do you want from me?”

Anonymous asked: ohh, man, well done trick. scary as shit. i'm glad you're okay. itll mean a lot to them that you're there and watching over them how you can, thank you.

“I don’t know that I did much at all,” says Trick. “But I think things could have been a lot worse.”

Anonymous asked: Have you noticed some of us haven't given up on /you/ either, Anti? We always mediate and try to calm you when you rage because some of us haven't given up on you either. Always searching for good somewhere in that sewage pit heart heh.

“Awww! So stupid of you!” He shape-shifts his pupils into sweet black hearts and then rolls his eyes.

pine-storm-season asked: We just want to help. Is there anything Trick can do to fix the makeshift bandages on your throat, Red?

“He, um. He put them on me! They are there and slowing down the blood loss. But if you have any ideas - ” He coughs as his voice breaks. “I am open to them. Fuck, I think I better sign.”

pine-storm-season asked: When Anti comes back, we can try to convince him to let someone bandage your throat properly. And we can talk to you unless Anti takes the cameras. Does that sound alright, Red?

“Okay, buddy,” he signs, giving you a fragile grin.

Anonymous asked: i guess just take deep breaths for now, red, buddy. keep moving that oxygen around. try not to move a lot, and focus on keeping calm. uhhh as much as you can. because, granted, shit's fucked atm

“In my family, when is shit unfucked?”

“Lie still,” begs Trick. “Come on, man.”

But the reality of what happened is beginning to hit Red. He leans back against the tub, eyes welling, and sighs as he tries to stay calm.

Anonymous asked: Feckin A+ with the heart-eyes-motherfucker move, mr. sewage pit. 10/10.

“Thanks,” answers Anti testily, taking thin chain from the drawer beside his bed.

Anonymous asked: things definitely wouldve gone way worse if you hadn't come, tricksy. you came up here to help, that's so huge. and you helped calm anti down a little, kept his focus away from them for a bit. you did a lot, trick. i'm sorry the burden was put on your shoulders but you handled it as well as you could, and i'm really really happy you didnt get hurt

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I should have… I should have come sooner, but…”

He turns away from you, shaking his head. Not ready to talk about it.

cest-mellow asked: dapper? are you awake too?

“No, he’s out,” mumbles Trick, touching his little brother’s neck for a pulse. “Oh, tell me he didn’t…”

Turning Dapper onto his side does not make things look better. He kicked him, curled up there against the floor, until Dapper could barely breathe, and then slammed him down against the ground. Dapper is bruised black and blue, his whole body looking small and fragile, and the gash in his wrist has come open and bleeds slowly against the floor. Trick pulls his little brother to his body, hot shame washing over him. He should have come up sooner. He wasn’t going to come at all. He could have killed him. What does Anti know about ribs piercing lungs and head trauma? He reaches down to begin re-wrapping Dapper’s wrist, but then Anti is back, silver in his hands.

Anonymous asked: All this screaming about traitors and sneaks sure does make you seem... weak, honestly. Like you don't even trust that your own strings are still wrapped tight. Like come on Anti, this is the smallest ""betrayal"" that I could possibly imagine and you're having a temper-tantrum. It's okay man, chill down just a bit.

Anti’s face draws back in a snarl - an expression that is fast becoming his norm. His nails dig into his palms as he glares at you, drawing his own blood.

Anonymous asked: Heads up for a bit of maybe-too-soon humor, Red, but last time I gave blood, I got to eat starbursts after to keep my blood sugar good! So, once you all get out of this, I'll owe you some starbursts. You can eat all the pink and red ones but I demand the orange. And Max gets stuck with the yellow ones 'cause he didn't get his throat slit and he can deal with it. Very exclusive club of blood-losers-getting-yummy-candy.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Red whispers before Anti kicks the camera away from him, scowling. You sit across the room, spun around to look back at the tub where Red is lying, coughing.

Anonymous asked: Anti, dude, are you literally so paranoid and overdramatic that Red just getting some pills for him counts as "working against you" in your brain? Calm down, man, you're making yourself look weak.

“I’ll show you goddamn ‘weak,’” hisses Anti, grabbing Red by the hair and dragging him up, to his feet, shoving him down in the tub.

“Anti!” begs Trick, but his brother ignores him. He wraps the chain tight, tight, tight around Red shoulders and legs and shoves the other side against the metal of the tub faucet, using Blue’s fire to melt the two together, chaining Red securely to the tub. Red is crying by now despite a firm, defiant smile on his mouth, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Anti huffs out a bitter laugh and shoves his head before turning to get Dapper too.

“Don’t chain him in there, come on.”

Anti shoves Dapper’s body against Red and ties him into the chains. For a moment, Dapper, disturbed by the movement, awakens and looks dazedly up at his brother, wondering if this is real - he’s never been tied up with anything more than a little rope for as long as he can remember, and Anti hasn’t done much more than slap him around a little or, once, toss him down the stairs since his snap. Usually he’s too scared to do anything more than that. Dapper feels a thrill of alarm. Anti’s fear of Dapper snapping has finally been out-weighed by his fear of losing control over him.

“What?” bites Anti, slapping him. Dapper jolts and shivers, sinking down against Red’s body, letting himself fade away again inside the belly of the bathtub.

scunneredzombie asked: Anti, please be careful with the chains on Dapper... He could potentially have cracked ribs that could puncture his lungs with any excess pressure and kill him, and with that level of head trauma something could be seriously wrong. All I ask is that you let him see dok soon as you feel... okay with that. He could die from this, and there would be no way to fix it.

“It’s just around his neck,” sneers Anti, as if that makes things any better. He rises to his feet and beckons to Trick.

“You. Come with me.”

“Anti, I…”

“I said. Come with me. NOW, Trick.”

Trick hastens to his feet and, trembling, follows after him, casting one last look on his tired brothers, who have fallen quietly together, Dapper unconscious, Red weeping in silence, in pain.

Anonymous asked: yeah, i know, red. we can distract you, if you'd like. do you want us to do that, or to just leave you with trick?

“I… I think,” says Ro, his voice whimpering. “Um. I think I’m just going to take a nap, if that’s okay. I don’t want to be awake right now.”

aether-mae asked: Red buddy, it’s best you do that with all the brothers (minus anti) for the best results. They all need it

Best you run with all his brothers, you mean.

Not just Blue. Not just a short trip to the hospital.

Take all your brothers and run.

Ro turns his head, his breathing struggling with quiet sobs no matter how quickly he tries to bite them down.

“I was just going to take Blue away for a few days,” he cries. “And then maybe come back, if he was okay. Or find a way to get him out of here and then come back myself, to keep looking after the others. The best way to protect them has always been to weather the storm, to weather as much of it for them as I can. Always. Always.”

He turns his head as best he can, coughing on his weak throat, and if he twists his body, he can see: bruises, black and yellow, bruises and blood from the open wrist of his little brother. Tears pour down his cheeks. He rocks himself carefully in the tub, trying not to cry out aloud. Pain and fear. Pain and fear.

That’s his brother.

That’s his lonely, brave, funny, disabled, beautiful, courageous, kind, deadly, perfect baby brother.

And Anti beat him til his whole body was one big bruise.

Jackie opens his mouth and lets himself cry loud and ferocious, tears making his face hot, sobs ripping from his ripped throat. His whole chest shakes with it. He cries so hard it hurts.

“JJ, I’m going to get you out of here,” swears Jackie, pressing their heads together. “My little brother, I promise. We’re all getting the fuck out of here, and we are never coming back.”

Anonymous asked: If you torture or hurt Trick (or Dok for that matter) for doing quite literally nothing but stopping you from killing your two strongest, then I hereby proclaim you have officially lost your gourds. You've won already tonight, Anti. You've won, and they are all hurting and weak. Let it rest.

“No, no, no,” purrs Anti, drawing Trick carefully into his bedroom and putting a hand on the back of his neck, stroking gently at his hair. “No, you stopped me before I did something stupid. That was probably good, huh?”

Relief washes over Trick. He nods eagerly, touching Anti’s arm. “Yeah, I just didn’t want you to hurt anybody!”

“Innocent enough for now,” says Anti, a little bit of a growl in his voice making Trick grovel politely a little, smiling sweetly up at Anti, like a kid embarrassed but also proud to have been caught doing something both clever and against the rules. “But let’s not pretend that you didn’t let the cameras and Dok talk you into this.”

Trick’s faux innocence - a trait he is learning much as Dapper once learned it - falls swiftly away, leaving him nervous and small. “Sorry, Anti.”

“It’s okay,” sighs Anti, stroking his hair. “It’s okay. But I can’t just let this… rift in you continue. You belong to me. Not to Dok. Not to them. To me.”

Trick nods quickly, pursing his mouth and stroking his fingers along the bend of Anti’s elbow. “Okay, master, yes. I’m sorry.”

“No worries, darling. I just want you to do something for me that’s going to be good for everyone involved, alright?”

“Oh?”

Anti smiles, humming. He leans forward, knocking their foreheads together, and looks Trick dead in the eyes.

“Get those necklaces off your twin in the next three days,” says Anti, sugar-sweet, his eyes drizzling to black. “Or I will murder him in his sleep and leave his corpse in the bed beside you.”

Trick freezes solid, eyes blown wide. He looks into Anti’s eyes and finds no lies.

Not this time.

“Okay, pumpkin?” chirps Anti, pulling back. “How’s that sound?”

Trick opens his mouth to protest - and then the power of Anti’s eyes drowns him, and he hears himself giggle without any reason to laugh, and feels himself lean eagerly forward, hugging Anti earnestly to his heart, his arms wrapping deliriously around him.

“There you go,” sighs Anti, sinking back onto the bed and bringing Trick with him, holding his warm body to his chest. “There’s my Jack.”

Anonymous asked: That's okay, Red, love. You sleep. We'll do our best to keep you safe.

And Red sleeps.

Pressed to his little brother. Chained up, cold, in that bloody bathtub, agonized more by the sensation of the chains than of the cut in his throat. But he dreams of Max and safety and his siblings, and that is all that matters.

Dapper, in his sleep, shifts closer to him.

You will do your best to keep them safe. You promised.

From this point on in the story, it will be possible to permanently lose major characters.

#chapter four

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fremedon · 3 years ago

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ooh-1,6, and 8, for the writing asks?:D

1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

It’s sometimes hard to tell what’s a project and what’s a file of notes, but in order of Definitely A Project-ness: 1.) “To Make the Right Peacefully Interpenetrate the True” is the WIP I’m currently posting; it’s set to wrap up May 31, assuming I can finish the epilogue in time, and will be somewhere around 32K words of sex pollen aftermath and July Revolution aftermath. I am really proud of this story; I feel like I’ve seriously leveled up as a writer on it. I love a lot about it, but I think I love the banter the most. There’s a lot of really heavy emotional processing in this fic, and it’s so nice to have it coming from the same characters who will absolutely stop the action to make a stupid pun or go off on a wild tangent.

2.) “A Heap of Dreams” is the Sandman/Les Mis crossover comic I’m storyboarding. This one’s going to go in fits and starts, I think, but I’ve got a lot more planned--it’s scripted out to just before Mabeuf plants the flag, and fairly vaguely outlined beyond that. I’m having a lot of fun with this one--I have a tendency towards perfectionism (*insert shocked pikachu face*), and it’s turning out to be really helpful for me to have a project in a medium I have never worked in, where I have no expectations, and I can just embrace Making Shitty Art. I think my favorite thing in the parts I’ve posted so far is Delirium’s single sleeve plumper, but I am really looking forward to getting Death on the scene. Death has some good lines coming up :).

3.) There are also several untitled sequels to “To Make the Right"--I’ve got scenes and partial outlines for two separate sequels, as well as ideas for two stories after those. I have no idea how long it’s going to take to finish them; “To Make the Right” took me nine months and I’m going to have to do lot more research for these. The scenes I have are motivating me strongly to write the rest, though. There is an exchange between Enjolras and Joly that I cannot wait to share with the world, and also a scene In Which Marius Finds Out About Sex Pollen.

4.) And in outlining more of the sex pollen verse, I’ve broken down about half of “Temporal Powers,” the huge time agents story, for parts. I feel pretty okay about that--my ideas about the characters have changed immensely since I started it and I would need to completely reconfigure it anyway, so I might as well salvage all of my darlings that I can. (Mostly, that’s one serious conversation, at least three sex scenes, and a Latin pun about chickens. I am going to keep writing in this fandom until I can give Grantaire this chicken pun. It’s worth it.)

But that does leave large swathes of the initial kernel of “Temporal Powers” untouched, and I do still want to do something with it. I’m not sure what, though. It is possible the Valvert content will end up transposed into some other post-Seine story and the worldbuilding will become its own thing.

#asked and answered #writing #ask meme #pilferingapples

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theverakeller · 4 years ago

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Tag 9 people you’d like to get to know/catch up with.

I was tagged by @onelungmcclung! Thanks darling! We haven’t talked much really but I’d love to get to know you! And thank you for the tag!

3 ships: omg three? Okay, so like I have so many it’s gross but I think definitely my top three that come to mind immediately (ride or die status) would be:

Enjolras/Grantaire from Les Miserables (THEY DIED HOLDING HANDS)

Niall Horan/Harry Styles (you take away one direction but you can try to PRY THIS SHIP AWAY FROM MY COLD DEAD HANDS)

Babe Heffron/Eugene Roe (what can I say. iconic)

last song: Velvet Elvis; Kacey Musgraves

last film: It was a Hallmark movie I think. The one with Aaron Tveit and Laura Osnes, ‘One Royal Holiday’.

currently reading:

- Dancing in Combat Boots: And Other Stories of American Women in World War II

- Light This Candle: The Life and Times of Alan Shepard

currently watching: The Right Stuff

currently consuming: Water & Dr. Pepper (not mixed together obvs)

currently craving: I’ve really been wanting chicken and sausage gumbo lately. Ooh and dirty rice. I’m just really craving some cajun food okay. I haven’t had any in so long. Sad sigh.

I’m not going to officially tag anyone bc I’m the worst and I think everyone has been tagged since it’s been so long but I’m going to at least tag the usual @carolinemathildes.

#i was tagged so long ago but here I am!#i always like the post and then forget bc my likes get buried omg but i remembered!#thanks again for the tag let's be friends #tagged #*h says stuff

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pentopaperhandstokeys · 5 years ago

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Grantaire leaned against the wall, the brick cool against his skin. He breathed in deeply, letting the smell of rain enter his lungs. He was covered under the awning of Courfeyrac’s house but the drops splashed insistently at his boots, big heavy drops that the garden opened up to. Grantaire opened up to them too, sighing.

The party was in full swing, he could hear the music drifting outside like a muffled conversation. It was peaceful out here, he would take a moment.

“Fly me to the moon, hmm hmmm the stars” he sang to himself softly. The moon was almost full tonight, enough to see by even with out the lights from inside spilling out into the yard. The stars shone too, stubborn against the black of the sky.

“Hey.” A voice came from behind him.

Grantaire turned, “Hey.” He replied, as Enjolras came to stand next to him.

“You doing okay?” He asked, letting his head rest on Grantaire’s shoulder. “I wasn’t sure where you had gone.”

“Well you’ve found me,” he said, patting the side of Enjolras’ face softly. Enjolras said nothing. “Just needed a moment of quiet, I swear I’ll be in their soon, dancing shoes ready.”

Enjolras hummed. “Do you want me to leave?”

Grantaire shook his head slightly so as to not dislodge Enjolras, “No.” He tangled their fingers together.

Enjolras squeezed his hand, “You know Grantaire, we could dance out here if that’s better.”

Grantaire grinned softly, took his partner by the hips, fingers still intertwined. He rested his forehead against Enjolras’ and began to sway. “In other words, hold my hand,” he sang, his voice soft and low and a little slower than the music inside. “In other words, darling, kiss me.” He was obliged, smiling at the interruption. “In other words,” he said, watching the stars just as bright in Enjolras’ eyes, “I love you.”

#les mis #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #ficlet #my writing #soft

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ijustreallylovezebras · 5 years ago

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Hey, I'm back😅 sorry about the other one. It's okay though! I just really love your writing and I was wondering if you could do an Enjolras one from the miscellaneous list with either 7 or 12. If not, that's totally fine!!! Again, sorry about the other one, I really didn't know 💖💖💖

Sure thing darling

Miscellaneous 7 - “Care to explain why you’re naked?”

----------------------------------------------------------

“I bring pizza!” Y/N grinned as soon as Enjolras opened the door.

“Hey, darling,” Enjolras said, taking the boxes from her hands and leaning over to peck her lips in greeting.

“Hey!”

“What’re you doing here, anyway?” Enjolras asked, leading her into the kitchen.

“Oh - sorry, Marius came over and... him and Cosette aren’t exactly... quiet,” she joked, seating herself at the island counter.

“Oh... gotcha - where’d Eponine go?”

“She’s out of town anyway,” Y/N shrugged. “I figured if I brought pizza then you’d be okay with it,” she grinned.

“I’m always okay with you being here,” Enjolras argued, leaning over the counter to kiss her again before turning to get out two glasses from the cupboard.

“Yeah - you better be,” she agreed, watching Enjolras’ shoulders shake with laughter. “I was thinking in terms of R,”

“Oh - you’re nice, bribing my roommate to like you,” Enjolras teased.

“R! Grantaire! I brought pizza!” Y/N shouted.

“Pizza?” The man repeated and the two of them giggled as they heard the sound of him stumbling down the hallway.

“Holy shit!” Y/N gasped, her eyes widening and she looked away immediately.

“Grataire!” Enjolras shouted, shielding his own eyes.

“What?” He asked innocently.

“Care to explain why you’re naked?” Y/N asked, laughing a little from the absurdity of it all.

“Oh - I was going to shower but then I heard pizza and came running,” Grantaire said.

“Well - take the pizza back to your room and get some clothes on for fucks sake!” Enjolras scolded.

Finishing blurbs from my celebration!!

#courts 2.5K celebration #courts blurbs #blurbs #Les Miserables #enjolras #enjolras fanfiction #enjolras imagine #enjolras x reader #Modern Enjolras #enjolras blurbs #requested

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songbird-musing · 5 years ago

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Virtuoso: Chapter Two - Recitative

Enjolras is Saint-Michel Academy's brightest young composer. He runs the orchestra, the Musician's Rights board, chairs the scholarship program, teaches free classical music to children, and is in the middle of his dissertation. He has never been anything less than a prodigy, until his teacher forces him to write a pop song.

Enter the effortlessly cool Grantaire, with his smudged eyeliner and lovely guitar-playing fingers. He really digs Enjolras' "vibe," whatever that means.

Enjolras tries to tackle his pop-song-nightmare, and enlists the help of Grantaire.

Chapter One

Recitative

The world exploded around Enjolras as he awoke. Combeferre was in the kitchen, coffees in hand grinning widely beside the ‘Morning Gong.’

“Why do I let you keep that godforsaken gong?” Enjolras complained, the imprint of computer keys ridged in his cheeks. He had fallen asleep at the kitchen counter with the machine a stand-in, whirring pillow.

“Morning, sunshine!” Combeferre said brightly, and Enjolras cursed himself for ending up with morning people for roommates. “Any sign of Courf?”

“Negative,” Enjolras yawned, “I think he went to an after-party last night, he could literally be anywhere. He might not even be in Paris.”

“He’s probably not even still in France,” Combeferre laughed, placing a mug beside Enjolras. “I will never understand how he can still party like a first year... When did you get back?”

“About one,” Enjolras stretched out and brought his computer to life, tapping impatiently on the mouse pad, “I was working on the pop nightmare until about five, though.”

“Ah, I had almost forgotten about your pop dilemma... How my day has been brightened!” Combeferre beamed, coiling himself around his mug. “I’m heading off soon, so if you’re ready in twenty minutes we can walk together...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Enjolras said, still not fully awoken. He yawned widely, noticing that it was already ten past eight and hurried to shower away the scents of the previous night.

It was an overcast day, grey skies neatly connecting to the grey Parisian pavement. Combeferre and Enjolras walked side by side, an impressive array of instruments strapped to them.

“Okay, but how about...” Combeferre interjected, swerving the topic of their heated morning debate, “How about you could either write an utterly commercial pop song that goes immensely successful, and your name is forever linked, so, like, everyone in the world will be like ‘Oh Enjolras? That guy who wrote that pop song?’” he put on a silly voice, crossing his eyes underneath his glasses, “Or you write a crazily successful classical piece that changes the world of classical music forever but nobody ever knows who wrote it and it goes down as a musical mystery forever. Which would you rather have?”

“Can I not just tell everyone I wrote it?” Enjolras asked, scrolling through his phone and nearly colliding with a lamppost.

“Uh... No,” Combeferre confirmed, “You tragically die and nobody knows who you were.”

“Wait... am I dead in both situations?”

“No.” Combeferre pondered, “Actually, scratch that, you’re not dead, you just can’t tell anyone you wrote it.”

“Well obviously the classical one,” Enjolras said flatly.

“Authenticity over fame... I could have guessed,” Combeferre said, not bothering to conceal a yawn. They were just going through the motions. Often they filled the space of morning silence with pointless conversations to wake their brains. “Okay so the situation is the same but with the pop one you also do loads of classical as well, but when all of your millions of fans come to your concert they just want to hear your top hit.”

“I’ll take that, then. An audience of millions is better than none, besides I’m sure I could change their mind.”

“You can’t.”

“Oh,” Enjolras stretched out his neck and they fell into silence. Enjolras’ mind drifted to the pop song he had been working on. The piece sounded spiky – filled with diminished and augmented chords – in short, it sounded nothing like a pop song.

Pop music, to Enjolras, was foreign – but not cross-the-border-to-Germany foreign, it was more of a outside-of-our-known-galaxy foreign. He had hurried past shop fronts that blared warbling voices and fuzzy synths, as if the sound was shameful. His parents raised him on a strict diet of music composed before the 1900’s. Even his more rebellious high school friends viewed pop music warily – that was private schooling for you. Now, at Paris’ highest esteemed classical university – pop was an insult.

“I hate pop music,” Enjolras grumbled, heaving an almighty sigh. “It’s inane.”

“That’s the point,” Combeferre poked.

They bid their farewells at the gates of Saint-Michel’s and headed to their separate classes.

Enjolras weaved through the crowds, dodging instrument cases, almost receiving a trumpet to the forehead. He stopped. The throng of people behind him huffed and split around him, as he hopped back down the stairs and turned to the smoker’s area. In his first year he had held an enormous campaign to turn the area into a community garden.

“Instrumentalists should never smoke,” he had argued to the board, “It’s counterproductive to breath support. If you’re training the next generation of musicians – they shouldn’t be given the resources to destroy their lungs.”

His fury had been met with blank stares, and Enjolras had avoided the area out of principle. In the morning glow, the pavestones glistened, the ivy was burnished gold. It still looked like the perfect place for a community garden. Enjolras had to force himself to stop mentally planting sunflowers.

Tucked in the corner, Enjolras found whom he was searching for... he also found Courfeyrac.

Grantaire and Courfeyrac were sat on the wall, chatting too animatedly for nine in the morning. Grantaire, dressed in dark green, blended into the ivy, looked as though he had been stolen from the middle of a woodland nymph painting. He turned, catching Enjolras’ eye, and beamed – Enjolras wondered what Grantaire saw as he stood there.

“Enj!” Courf said, reaching out a hand.

“Please don’t touch me, you’ve been wearing the same clothes for three days.” Enjolras commented, a grin playing on his face, “Courf, our flat is literally ten minutes away, just grab some spare clothes!”

“No, you’re right, it is so gross. I am definitely coming back tonight, though. I just couldn’t give up on the chance to go to an after-party... Especially not a Patron-Minette one, those guys are absolutely mental. Montparnasse tried to get off with me, but I think I offended him when I said he reminded me of Arthur.”

“Why? The young Arthur was a dreamboat,” Enjolras said.

There was a very long pause.

“What?” Courfeyrac spluttered.

“Arthur Rubinstein was really hot in his youth,” Enjolras eyed Courf with suspicion.

“On what planet was I talking about Arthur Rubinstein? What is he? A pianist?”

“Yeah...” Enjolras squinted, “Which Arthur are you talking about?”

“The aardvark thing.”

Enjolras looked blank and Grantaire started to sing the theme tune. Enjolras could only blink in response.

“I’m so confused,” Enjolras said, “Montparnasse looks nothing like an aardvark.”

“Yeah... I coulda been hallucinating pretty badly,” Courf said and hopped to his feet, “Are you coming, Enj? Fantine won’t like it if you’re late...” he tried to put on an intimidating voice, but by third year lateness seemed wholly inconsequential to everyone, even the professors.

“I’ll be there in a second; I just wanted to have a quick chat with Grantaire about the pop thing.”

Courfeyrac cackled in response. “Good luck,” he kissed both Enjolras and Grantaire on the cheek, and wandered inside the building, scuffing his cigarette out beneath his shoe.

Grantaire squinted against the sun. “How’d you enjoy Patron-Minette?”

“I liked them a lot more than I thought I would,” Enjolras said without thinking, he turned red. “I didn’t mean that I... It’s just, pop isn’t really my thing.”

“Éponine doesn’t like the word pop. It’s psychedelic, contemplative, indie, punky folk, darling.”

“Well, then I guess I am a fan of psychedelic, contemplative, indie, whatever else it is,” Enjolras said lightly, a smile creeping onto his lips. “Sorry to ambush you, and feel free to say no...”

“I love a good ambush, sometimes,” Grantaire laughed, “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras sighed. “Well, Prouvaire said you were doing this pop project, and my teacher is forcing me to write a pop song, and I have absolutely no idea what to do, and it’s all a bit of a disaster, and I was wondering if you wanted to collaborate?” Enjolras blurted, taking an embarrassingly large gasp for breath at the end of his ramble.

“Yeah, sure, sounds cool.” Grantaire scribbled a number on the back of a receipt and held it out, “Here’s my number, text me when’s best for you... Or you could Facebook me, I’m sure there aren’t many ‘Grantaires’ on there, it won’t be too hard to find me.”

“Oh, brilliant! Thank you!” Grantaire seemed like he would have needed more convincing than that. Enjolras pocketed the receipt.

“Do you have a setup at your flat?”

“Um,” Enjolras faltered, “I have a couple of leads and a microphone... And about three-quarters of an orchestra.”

“Huh,” Grantaire shielded his eyes from the sun to look at Enjolras, “Not really helpful for pop... you can come to mine, I have everything there for the Patron-Minette recording and stuff. I’ll text you my address when you text me.” He tilted his head and laughed wolfishly, “I can’t imagine you at the flat... It will be interesting.” He grinned, “Let me know,” and sauntered away before Enjolras could say another word.

Performance class called for Enjolras to sit at the front. His arms cradled around the cool wooden curves of his cello. He bowed his head, pulled his bow taut, and felt his fingers fall into a familiar position, strings indenting his callused fingers. The whole classroom inhaled together, and Enjolras felt electric. His eyes fell shut, and instinct tugged at his muscles, creating the smooth, elegant dance around the instrument. The song was a duet between his body and the cellos. It was as intimate and in tune as a lovers waltz. Moments like this, lost in lines of manuscript and drowning in notes, that time ceased to exist. Enjolras felt like he did not exhale until the piece resolved, its final cadence dousing the room. The sweet, warm oasis of music cascaded as the class applauded.

Enjolras breathed raggedly against the neck of his cello, daring a smile at his classmates.

Fantine stood, roses in her cheeks. “Simply delightful!” she beamed, “Will you perform the piece at the concert next Friday? I know you’re incredibly busy, but we’re missing a cello solo...”

Enjolras pencilled it into his diary, trying to ignore the vaguely frustrated glances from the rest of the class.

Courfeyrac’s flute solo went down well, and he flushed with pride. Enjolras grinned at him genuinely, wondering how he had managed to compose such a lovely piece when he hadn’t even had time to return home.

“I feel like you need an accompanist,” Fantine said brightly, “It’s very sweet, but I think it needs a bit more depth... Do you know Combeferre?”

Enjolras and Courfeyrac shared a grin.

“You could say that, Fantine...”

“Ask him to accompany you. He’s very good at that.” She clapped her hands together without waiting for an answer, “Marius, what do you have for us today?”

~*~

Once Enjolras had sent the text to Grantaire, his fingers couldn’t stay still. They traced over the table in triplet rhythms, danced over invisible keys, tensed as the pulse of music within him swelled.

A message returned in minutes and Enjolras dragged his eyes from Courfeyrac’s antics to read it.

I finish at 4 today, could do something after that if you’re free –R x

He sent back an affirmative and planned to meet the almost-stranger outside the school gates later that afternoon.

Combeferre was astutely trying not to laugh, cheeks molten with joy, as Jehan and Courf tested their ranges.

“My whistle pitch is literally the best. I’m probably the best in the school,” Courf said, emitting a high-pitched scream. “Maybe the world.”

“That is so not whistle pitch,” Jehan said, snorting loudly.

“Yeah it is,” Courfeyrac shrieked again and the table of four collapsed into all encompassing laughter. Through delight-tinted eyes, Enjolras remembered again how much he adored his friends.

~*~

“Hey,” Grantaire said, stamping out a cigarette under his boot heel. He noticed Enjolras’ lingering gaze on the smouldering stub and said, “Nasty habit, I know. Especially when you’re a singer,” he lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“You sing?” Enjolras said, carefully arranging his face into a passive, non-judgemental mask. To Courfeyrac and Jehan he often lamented the early loss of their vocal ability and breath control that promised to swoop in with every cigarette and joint they smoked.

“I do,” Grantaire said with a grin, “I also play guitar, bass, keyboard, a little bit of drums and whatever else I can get my hands on.”

“Sounds...” Enjolras floundered, “Pretty pop-based.” He grimaced. Compliments had never been a strong point of his.

“That’s why I’m the man for your job, right?” He smiled, looking like he had been rendered on a canvas, all wilderness and Dionysian thrill. “What do you play? Harp?”

“Why does everyone say that?” Enjolras enquired.

“Am I wrong?” Grantaire directed them down the stairs to the Metro station.

“No.”

“You’re such a harpist... everything about you screams it. How many times have you been forced to wear angel wings, a halo and a toga at weddings?”

Enjolras shuddered. “Way too many times,” he said with a hiccup of a laugh.

“That’s what I want at my wedding.” Grantaire said, hopping down the escalators carelessly, “Apollo the harpist, golden everything, even gold suits, the priest dressed as a cherub...” He dashed onto the train and held the beeping door open for Enjolras.

“Really?”

“No,” Grantaire grinned, “Couldn’t imagine anything worse... Sorry!” He careened into Enjolras as the train started and apologised again, pointing out the short route to his place on the map.

“I do not know what it will be like in here, so beware, in advance,” Grantaire said ominously, turning the key in his lock and giving Enjolras a warning stare. “Hello?” he called, cracking open the door by an inch. Silence poured around them. “They must be out. Welcome to Chez Patron-Minette.”

“You live with the band?”

“I’m supposed to just live with Ép and Montparnasse, but yes, I basically live with them all,” he paused and flicked the lights on, looking around disdainfully, “The other three unofficially moved in without really consulting me.”

“How awful!”

“Nah, it’s fine. I have the biggest room, anyway.” Grantaire smiled, a sheen of politeness glazing his eyes, “Drink?”

“Um, I’ll have water, please,” Enjolras said, trailing one hand on the kitchen counter.

Grantaire looked up from the fridge, a spark of mischief playing in his eyes. “We’re living the rock star life tonight,” he said, “Cheers to that!”

Enjolras wasn’t sure if he was being made fun of.

“Sorry it’s a mess, I didn’t realise this was happening, of course.” Grantaire chucked a few items of clothing around and surreptitiously shoved an armful of cans into his bin. “Afterparty...” he said as a way of explanation. “So...my friend...” he grinned into his cup of water, “I am fully at your service, what can I do for you?” he did a silly bow, dark hair bouncing around his shoulders.

“Valjean is making me write a pop song and I have no idea what to do,”

“Harps don’t usually translate well to pop, no.”

“I can play other instruments, as well,” he was quick to confirm, as if Grantaire would care in the slightest about his pedigree of musicianship, “But only classically.”

“Have you made a start with anything?” Grantaire asked, flexing his fingers around the neck of his guitar.

“I...” Enjolras grimaced, “I have... But... it’s not... well, listen for yourself.”

He plucked his phone from his pocket, searching for the audio file. It took two chords for Grantaire’s forehead to crease. It took just three more before his lips pursed, a laugh ill-hidden behind them.

“I know!” Enjolras protested, hastily muting the piece. “It’s terrible!”

“It isn’t terrible...” Grantaire rubbed the bridge of his nose and coughed, “It’s just not pop... like, at all...” A laugh bubbled out from his hand. “Sorry! It’s a lovely piece... but did you modulate twice in one bar?”

Enjolras looked sheepish. “Sort of.”

Grantaire laughed, throwing a palm to his forehead. “Oh, bless you. This is going to be harder than I thought. Let’s start again, and let’s start simple,” Grantaire said, his words not what Enjolras wanted to hear. “So we’ll do a four chord song, okay?”

Enjolras paled.

Enjolras hunched over the keyboard, fingers splayed on smaller keys than he was used to, Grantaire nimbly tuned up his guitar, strumming once when he was finished and letting the discord rattle around them.

Inner pianist screaming, Enjolras stilled and offered, “Does it have to be four chords? I mean we could add some embellishments, a modulation here and there, and still have it be pop, right?”

“Nope, pop thrives on simplicity...”

“But there are exceptions...”

“Yes, and they are known for being exceptions. You wanted straight up pop, so we’re using four chords,” Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“But...”

“I could make us do a three chord song, if you wanted?” Grantaire laughed as Enjolras drooped, “Come on, Enjolras, let me lead you to the wild side.”

The pair looped four chords over and over, Grantaire humming a melody over the top. Enjolras’ eyes glazed over.

“What do you want to sing about?” Grantaire asked.

“I don’t sing,” Enjolras snapped out of his stupor, much closer to Grantaire than he thought he had been.

“Well what do you want me to sing about, then?” Grantaire slid his palm against his guitar and pulled open a scruffy notebook.

Enjolras pondered, still playing the chords in auto-pilot, the simplest thing he had played since he was five. “The disparity of classical music,” he said, turning to Grantaire with fire in his eyes.

“Woah,” Grantaire said, recoiling a little, “Not really a great subject for a pop song.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and pushed back from the keyboard, “That’s why this whole assignment is a waste of time. You can’t talk about what you want to talk about, unless all you want to talk about is sex and alcohol.”

“Two very delightful subject matters,” Grantaire responded, mischievous glint in his eyes. When he noticed Enjolras’ stony expression he backtracked. “No, it’s not just like that... Well, okay, for the most part it is, but you can write about whatever you want, really.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, “Okay, a pop song about the disparity of classical music, let’s... give it a go.”

Enjolras glanced at him carefully, still unsure whether Grantaire was mocking him. The dark haired boy gave a genuine smile, almost bashful as he ducked down to watch his finger position on the guitar. Enjolras blinked. He watched Grantaire astutely, taking in the curve of his neck and the curve of his nose, the ink-spill of eyelashes across his cheeks and the length and dexterity of his slender fingers.

They played together for a while, Grantaire improvising melodies and lyrics over the top of the basic chords. Enjolras nodded seriously and scribbled down notation in his trusty manuscript paper pad. “So for the chorus we can use the same four chords but just mix the order up,” Grantaire said, strumming once across the neck of the guitar.

Enjolras sighed and spectacularly collapsed onto the keyboard, a dissonant crash echoing throughout the room.

“You alright, Enjolras?”

Enjolras merely groaned.

With a gentle clunk, Grantaire placed his guitar down and wheeled over to Enjolras on his chair.

“Enjolras,” he sung, drawing his knees to his chin. “Is it all getting too much?” Enjolras rolled his head and sent another chord ringing.

“I don’t mean to sound dramatic,” Enjolras said dramatically, “But I would literally rather be shot twenty-seven times than write a pop song.”

“Ah. Not a great state of mind to be in.” He wheeled away and spun slowly in the centre of his room, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not exactly what you had in mind, but instead of getting shot, we could get shots.” He laughed, the sound lovely and carefree and curling around Enjolras’ edges like smoke.

“I never drink alcohol when I’m composing,” Enjolras said, drawing to his full height and stretching out his limbs.

“Mozart did.”

“What?” Enjolras said after a beat.

“I’m just kidding, I have no idea what Wolfgang’s drinking habits were. I know mine, though, and there’s a lovely happy medium of being just the tiniest bit wasted and creating amazing stuff.”

“Does it still sound good the morning after?”

“Ahh!” Grantaire said in a stage-yell, “I didn’t want to hear the voice of reason tonight.” Enjolras’ lips broke into a smile, the phenomenon looking like sunshine on his face. “Okay so both getting shot and getting shots are out of the question, then. I guess we’ll just have to carry on composing.” He put a hand on Enjolras’ arm, his face edging a little closer than expected. “It gets better, I promise.”

“Stop,” Enjolras said with a groan, “I’m getting war flashbacks to bullying in high school.”

Grantaire paused. Where he had made to move back to his guitar, he turned to face Enjolras again, perplexity playing over his features.

“Bullying? You?” he gaped, “I’m aghast! Kids can find fault in Apollo reincarnate. No wonder my high school days were doomed.”

“I came out at like the age of seven, I was a pretty easy target.”

Enjolras noticed Grantaire’s eyes shift over him.

“Seven, wow! It took me ten years longer to get the courage,” Grantaire shrugged, “People were still idiots about it.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, realising that he had automatically assumed ultimate straightness after hearing Grantaire’s rumoured popularity with women. The silence permeated for seconds too long and he added, “Right! Pop music!”

~*~

Enjolras kind of hated to admit it, but the song was actually going pretty well and not sounding as horrific as he had imagined it would. Sure, its harmony was brain-clawingly annoying, and the lyrics eye-rollingly inane, but it wasn’t that bad.

“Honey, I’m home!” came a loud voice from outside Grantaire’s door. “Have you seen Claque? He has stolen my tobacco, piece of - ” Éponine barged through, “Oh,” she said, catching sight of Enjolras and backing out. “Oh!” she said again and re-entered. “It’s you! Enjolras, darling! Sorry I just saw the blonde hair and thought R was trying to impress a girl with his beautiful guitar fingering.”

“That joke wasn’t funny the first time you made it,” Grantaire said, barely looking up from his guitar. He executed a perfect, intricate riff.

“Nah, it’s like a fine wine. It gets even better each time.”

“Not how wine works,” Grantaire deadpanned. “And besides, you laugh, but girls love it! They think ‘ooh wow, look how long and quick his beautiful fingers are...’ and imagine them tangled in their hair as I take on the role of their ravishing lover.”

“Well... Is it working Enjolras?” Éponine asked.

Enjolras froze a little bit. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but... he turned his gaze to Grantaire’s fingers.

“Don’t tease, Ép,” Grantaire said, a mischief oozing from his every pore.

“I just don’t feel as special now that I know it’s not just me you’ve seduced with your fingers,” Enjolras said, pushing his lower lip out.

Éponine cackled and sloped further into the room, socks padding across the hardboard flooring. “What are you boys up to this fine evening?”

“Writing pop,” Grantaire said with a flicker of his eyebrows.

Éponine’s face suddenly contorted and she looked at Enjolras in disbelief. “Huh, didn’t expect that from you, babe.”

“I’m writing his first pop song with him,” Grantaire interjected, “Popping his pop cherry, it could be said.”

“It could be said,” Éponine laughed, “But it shouldn’t be.” She looked at Enjolras with a grimace, “I’m sorry you have to work with this loser.”

“Ugh, get out,” Grantaire said quickly, humour dancing in his eyes, “Can you not see we’re in the middle of a very serious and important task.”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, echoing Grantaire’s levity, “He’s still in the middle of trying to seduce me with his fingers... It’s very important and serious.”

Both Éponine and Grantaire laughed raucously. Enjolras glowed with warmth.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Éponine stood and made to leave, she leant into Enjolras conspiratorially and mock-whispered, “Montparnasse’s hands are much nicer.”

“Lies!” Grantaire scoffed, “Begone you deceitful scoundrel!” He shot a look at Enjolras, “She really is lying, Montparnasse’s flowery fingers have nothing on mine.”

“Don’t let him hear you call them that. It’s floral, darling, not flowery. Much more trendy.” Éponine traced Grantaire’s epic eye roll and added, “Okay, okay, I’m going. See you later!”

Grantaire’s head bowed as he laughed to himself, features shadowed by his dark hair falling forwards. “I love her,” he said, fingers sprawling effortlessly over a complex guitar melody.

Enjolras tore his eyes from Grantaire’s hands, licking his suddenly very dry lips. “We could perform this live in class, if you’d like...” Enjolras said. Grantaire looked at him, eyes calculating.

“Would you want me in your class?”

“What do you mean?” A surprised giggle fell from Enjolras’ lips.

“I mean you’re a classical god and I’m sure all the teachers are in love with you. I am a mere mortal second year who’s honestly just a bit mediocre.”

“Mediocre? Are you kidding, Grantaire?”

What followed was a shift of energy that was hard to describe. The look that the two young men shared suddenly became heavier, the silence felt louder and Grantaire, usually the master of words, couldn’t form a sentence.

“Ha,” he said loudly, a hint of blush creeping across his cheekbones. “That’s how my parents liked to describe me,” he joked, stretching out languidly and dragging a hand through his hair. “Should we break? Do you want a snack or a drink or something?” Grantaire stood and threw his head back to elongate his muscles, only the way his eyes flickered shut and his lips slid apart made it look almost obscene.

“Do you have coffee?” Enjolras asked, trying to look anywhere else in the room.

“We have cheap granules, if that’s cool with you.” Grantaire laughed raucously, “It’s okay, darling, I can see from the terror in your eyes that cheap granules are not cool with you. Tea?”

“Do you have soya milk?”

“Oh you sweet boy,” Grantaire couldn’t stop laughing, “I don’t even know if I have regular milk that’s in-date. I think we have a box of green tea somewhere... Are you a green tea kinda guy?”

“Absolutely,” Enjolras said, “The extent of me being a green tea kinda guy is actually quite concerning.”

“Well I’m afraid I’m quite a bad influence, I can only feed your addiction. One green tea coming up!”

While Grantaire was out of the room, Enjolras properly looked around, eyes drifting across the debris that was scattered. A grubby looking mug held an array of drumsticks and paintbrushes, loose guitar strings were coiled in a messy pile, a precarious stack of records balanced an old gramophone. Pictures were tacked to the wall, stopping abruptly where Grantaire’s arms couldn’t reach.

Enjolras’ eyes caught a series of photographs of Grantaire and Jehan. In one picture they were meditating, the others doing intricate looking yoga poses: if joy could be captured, these pictures were evidence of it. Wide, lazy smiles and dopey shared glances were rife throughout the set.

“Here we are!” Grantaire said, carefully cupping a steaming mug. “One green tea! I’m going to go out for a smoke, want to join?”

Enjolras, took the hot tea in his hands. Grantaire cracked open the door, throwing a backwards glance at him. Enjolras felt suddenly very warm, and reckoned the cool air would do him good, second-hand smoke lung damage be damned. “Sure,” he said. Grantaire beamed, and Enjolras wondered how a word as simple as ‘sure’ could illicit such a response. He liked it. “Sure,” he repeated, and followed Grantaire into the cold.

A/N: Hollaaa chapter 2! Like I said in chapter 1, I’m transferring this from my ao3, which is almost finished here if you want to read further! Hope ya enjoy! These classical nerds fill my heart with joy! Please let me know all your thoughts!! <3

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