chatteringbluemagpie

[chatteringbluemagpie]

Send me a character and one of the five (traditional) senses, and I’ll tell you my headcanons:

Sight

What’s their favorite color?

Do they have any art on their bedroom walls?

(If applicable) What would their fashion sense be like if they weren’t limited by money, uniform regulations, animation budget, etc.?

Taste

What’s their favorite food?

How are they at cooking? Do they enjoy it?

What’s their coffee order?

Smell

What’s their favorite smell?

What do they smell like?

What smells do they associate with memories, good or bad?

Sound

What’s their taste in music?

(If applicable) What would their taste in music be in a here-and-now AU?

Can they sing? Do they sing? (Two different questions!)

Can/do they play any instruments?

Dance?

Touch

How are they with cuddling/holding hands?

Do they like to be hugged?

Do they fidget?

[chatteringbluemagpie]

Fanfic Ask Meme

A: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

C: What character do you identify with most?

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

E: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?

F: Care to share a favorite hurt/comfort fic?

G: Care to share a favorite crack fic?

H: How would you describe your style?

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic].

K: What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

L: What's the weirdest AU you've ever come up with?

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you'd care to share?

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

O: How do you begin a story--with the plot, or the characters?

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an "architect" or a "gardener"? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

S: Any fandom tropes you can't resist?

T: Any fandom tropes you can't stand?

U: A pairing you might like to write for, but haven't tried yet.

V: A secondary (or underrated) character you want to see more of in fic?

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones?

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

Y: A character you want to protect.

Z: Major character death--do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can't tolerate?

[chatteringbluemagpie]

Bedtime Headcanons 💤

[chatteringbluemagpie]

send me a ship with a heart and i'll tell you...

❤: who is more affectionate in public? in private?

♡: who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly?

❥: who is more likely to plan something big for valentine's day?

ღ: who is more likely to initiate hand-holding in public?

💕: who is more likely to make huge declarations of love in front of other people?

💘: who developed a crush on the other first?

💝: who spends more time (possibly overthinking) what presents to get the other?

💓: who initiates most physical contact?

💌: who is more likely to send cutesy texts to the other?

💟: who spends time reading their zodiac compatibilities?

💙: who is more protective?

💚: who tends to get sick more often? who is better at taking care of the other?

💜: who said "i love you" first? or, if neither has said it yet, who is more likely to say it first?

💛: who believes in soulmates?

[chatteringbluemagpie]

The Sidhe of Dublin Town Headcanons

I'll add more as they appear in the story ^_^

Enjolras - Eámhín Cináed (Aiv-een kin-ahj) - A leannán sí, or 'barrow lover' traditionally depicted as a beautiful muse who offers inspiration to artists in return for their devotion, though this frequently leads to madness for the artist. Eámhín seems less interested in these traditional pursuits, fighting in the Irish War of independence during the early half of the 20th Century in Tralee and the South West, and continuing to fight for the rights of downtrodden groups. He has an almost glowing quality in his fair skin, with golden blond hair and dark blue eyes.

 Courfecyrac - Lóigaire Ó Ruadháin (Low-Gair O Roo-AWN-n) - A gancanagh, of the same tribe as the leprechaun but instead personifying love traditionally known for seducing women. It was considered unlucky to meet him, and his possesses an addictive toxin in his skin. Lóigaire wears gloves to counteract this, possessing many bespoke pairs for every occasion and being careful a. Enjoys trying new things, and has taken on many jobs in his time. He has ruddy skin, with freckles and dark curling hair. His eyes are bottomless and welcoming.

Bossuet L'Aigle - Indra Lakshmana (In-druh Laek-sh-mahnuw) - A Yaksas, part of a broad class of nature spirits who protect  the woods and mountains of India. His family fled their home during deforestation and emigrated to Ireland. Muscular but stocky, dark skinned, bald with near black eyes.

Joly - Rónán Mahoney (Ro-nan Muh-hOH-Nee) - A human doctor, not sighted who encounters the Sidhe after being rescued by Indra. He was hit by a car during his teens and lost his leg to his thigh, so maintains a growing collection of walking canes to aid him on his prosthetic. He has mousey brown hair, pale freckles and blue-grey eyes.

Bahorel - Ultan Kassem (Ul-tin Q-ah-s-ehm) - An elemental elf with power over fire. While he needs a fuel source he is otherwise free to produce fire at will, and can affect fire over a short distance. He also runs warmer than most, and can heat parts of his body. While elves are now considered ambivalent and able to help of hinder mythology has varied greatly in early texts. Born of an immigrant family from Egypt, he is tall and well built, with dark tanned skin and dark hair that he grows slightly long to cover his pointed ears. His eyes are dark brown with a slightly orange edge. Useless at practical magic such as glamours.

Feuilly - Caolán Ó Braoin (kay-o-lan O Bri-on) - A cruthaitheoir físeanna, or vision creator. If he's touching you he has the ability to produce hyper realistic visions, which can be broken if the other person tries to touch them, being a product of imagination. His palms glow like embers, flaring if he is producing a vision, so he frequently covers these with gloves. He has dark hair, ruddy skin and amber eyes with flecks of gold. He also enjoys dabbling in runes and casting circles.

[chatteringbluemagpie]

Send me a character and a number for a headcanon.

Holiday headcanon

Cooking headcanon

Sleeping headcanon

Driving headcanon

Bathing/showering headcanon

Hugging headcanon

Kissing headcanon

Sex headcanon

General physical contact headcanon

Physical appearance headcanon

Wardrobe headcanon

Jewelry headcanon

Nickname headcanon

Dancing headcanon

Singing headcanon

Anger headcanon

Soft spot headcanon

Favorite possession headcanon

Favorite photograph headcanon

Relationship with/thoughts on _____ headcanon

[chatteringbluemagpie]

Fanfiction Work-In-Progress Guessing Game

Send me a word, if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in

[chatteringbluemagpie]

fic author Never Have I Ever

Send me an ask about whether I’ve written a thing [ship, trope, dynamic, category of fandom, etc.] and if I’ve written it, I’ll link you. If I haven’t written it, I’ll tell you how I would write it if I did.

[chatteringbluemagpie]

Put a ship in my ask and I will tell you a bit about how each of the following scenarios would go down for them:

Fake dating/marrieds

Bodyswap 

Telepathy

OH NO only one bed at the hotel

Accidental time-travel

Their first kiss

Meeting the parents

Moving in together

A crossover of my choice

An au of my choice

If you like, another trope/scenario of your choice

[chatteringbluemagpie]

This is possibly my favourite tag on my work I've ever seen

[chatteringbluemagpie]

Talkin’ ‘bout a Revolution: Alley Way

Summary: “Well that could have gone better.” Enjolras mutters, cracking his knuckles, already stiffening beneath purpling skin. “Oh come on it wasn’t that bad.” Grantaire rolls his eyes, one of them a bright blue against the purple bruise along his cheek, because someone couldn’t resist talking, couldn’t resist it even if it would ruin everything he’d spent the evening working on. “I had to punch the guy because you screwed up.”

Warnings: Smutty Smut

Pairings: Technically Enjolras/Grantaire 

Characters: Enjolras, Grantaire

                                                                   “Well that could have gone better.” Enjolras mutters, cracking his knuckles, already stiffening beneath purpling skin. “Oh come on it wasn’t that bad.” Grantaire rolls his eyes, one of them a bright blue against the purple bruise along his cheek, because someone couldn’t resist talking, couldn’t resist it even if it would ruin everything he’d spent the evening working on. “I had to punch the guy because you screwed up.” “I hardly screwed up.” “Well I was doing fine until you opened your damn mouth!” Enjolras whirls round to face him, and Grantaire’s watching him so impassively, like he honestly doesn’t give a damn. “You think you’re so bloody clever.” “Well I do have some exam results to say so.” He shrugs and Enjolras groans, pushing a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. We don’t even have to work together, it wasn’t even my bloody idea and yet here I am stuck with you!” Grantaire’s face doesn’t change, and it only makes him more annoyed. “You stroll in looking so damn cocky, like you own the damn world, like you know so much better than anyone else, more than those of us who have been working on this for years. And it’s just bloody infuriating watching you being king of the world, and then messing everything up and pretending it doesn’t bloody matter!” “If you know I’m like that, why do you let it get to you?” Enjolras shakes his head incredulously. “You think you’re so-“ “So?” Grantaire quirks an eyebrow and Enjolras wants to punch him, but all at once he finds himself grabbing the front of Grantaire’s shirt and pulling him into a rough kiss. Grantaire’s hands find themselves tangling into Enjolras’s hair to pull him tighter to himself. “Well, this wasn’t the confession I was expecting.” “Oh would you just shut up for one minute.” Enjolras mutters, pulling him back again, and their teeth knock together but neither pull away, instead Grantaire slides a hand down his back, skimming his fingers over his skin. Enjolras slips a hand under Grantaire’s shirt, moving him back against the wall. “God I’ve been waiting to find something to actually stop that smart mouth of yours.” “Well there aren’t any complaints here…” Grantaire murmurs breathily, then exhales roughly as Enjolras worms his knee between his legs. “You want me to fill my pretty mouth with something else?” Enjolras moans as Grantaire nips at his earlobe, and he can hear the smirk in his voice. “For fucks sake please do.” Grantaire spins them, Enjolras’s shoulder blades crashing against the brick wall behind him. Then he tugs at his hair, to expose his throat and place a line of kisses and bites along the skin, while his other hand moves to work the button of his jeans. Enjolras shifts into his touch as Grantaire’s fingers dip beneath the material. It briefly crosses his mind that they’re in public, only just hidden down the alley way, but they Grantaire moves to kneel and his mind goes blank because oh god his mouth isn’t just good at talking complete shit. “Fuck…” Enjolras’s hand tangles roughly into his curls, and receives a hum of contentment. “Fuck-“ “Such foul language… I’ve waited so long to get you to put your voice to better use than just ordering people around.” “I thought you were being quiet?” “Sir.” Grantaire grins at him, and Enjolras tightens his grip, and watches as Grantaire’s eyes flutter closed and he dips his head again. It doesn’t take long, and Grantaire manages to make the whole thing all the more obscene by licking his lips as he watches Enjolras, leaning heavily against the wall. “Well this is a turn of events.” Enjolras sets his jaw, pulling himself together enough to push himself away from the wall. Something about Grantaire’s face, his knowing expression that Enjolras actually wanted and enjoyed that, absolutely infuriates him. “Don’t think this means anything.” “Oh yeah, my first assumption was that blowjobs in back alleys meant true love.” Grantaire has a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are still flirtatious, hooded and dark. “And already you’re right back to being so bloody cocky.” “You gonna shut me up again?” Grantaire raises an eyebrow, and Enjolras stares at him. “Oh you think you’re so clever.” He mutters before he turns to stalk toward to road. “Hey! You kissed me.” Grantaire calls. “And what a bloody mistake that was! Why are you following me?” “We live in the same direction! Jesus…” Enjolras pauses, then decides to just continue stalking down the road. “If you didn’t want to do it then you should have fucking said!” “Would you just let it go?” “Hmm, let’s see… You kiss me out of nowhere, we do that and now you’re even more pissed at me than before… No.” Grantaire puts bluntly. “It shouldn’t have happened.” “No shit. But it did.” Grantaire shoves his hands into his pockets and for once he actually looks annoyed. “And I rather enjoyed it, and I know that you sure as hell did so be an adult and deal with it!” “Come back to mine.” Enjolras says impulsively, because he’s still coursing with adrenaline and dopamine and right now he doesn’t want to be having this conversation. “Jesus Christ it’s like emotional whiplash with you Apollo.” “Are you complaining?” Enjolras folds his arms. “We’re having sex right?” “No, we’re baking cookies.” He says dryly, tapping his foot. “You’re trying to get out of talking.” Grantaire grins. “I think we both do enough of it day to day.” He receives a shrug in return. “When we can talk without yelling, then we can talk. Until then…” “Gonna be a long time coming Apollo.” Grantaire’s grin turns crooked, but he places a hand on the wall next to Enjolras’s head, to better lean into the inch or so between them and close the gap. “But I can wait.”  

He wakes up before Grantaire the next morning, by some miracle apparently because the instant he moves Grantaire groans and shifts so he freezes until he drops back to sleep. He carefully extricates himself, and decides he can’t risk trying to find any decent clothes so he grabs his jeans and a t-shirt from the top of his clean laundry and puts them on in the lounge. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Grantaire it’s just that… He really doesn’t want to see Grantaire. So instead he slips out of the house, grabbing his wallet and keys, and jogs down the stairs. His favourite coffee shop is too close to home, too many windows, so he walks on until he finds a small establishment that looks like it’s probably frequented by truckers, but it’s clean enough. He orders a cappuccino and scrambled eggs on toast from the smiling waitress. It’s only when he’s staring at the sugar slowly vanishing into the milk froth on his coffee that he allows himself to pause and call himself an absolute bloody idiot. For starters he doesn’t even like Grantaire. He wouldn’t say he hates him, but the guy just has a way of getting completely under his skin, winding him up. Possibly the nearest thing he’s ever had to having his blood boil, if he’s honest. He just has such a way of talking, of getting in the way even that Enjolras can’t quite bring himself to consider him a friend, even the others from his rag-tag of vigilantes Enjolras would be beginning to consider friends and yet Grantaire hasn’t quite made it there. But you slept with him, he reminds himself and he’s about to tell himself to shut up for gods sake when the waitress reappears from the chain-mail kitchen curtain with his food. “I really love your tattoo.” She comments as she places the plate down. “Huh?” “The swallow. I’m not brave enough to get one, right wimp me.” She laughs. “Oh, right. It wasn’t so bad…” He smiles awkwardly, and she retreats behind the counter to sip her tea. He looks down at himself, completely confused by the fact that the girl is apparently seeing tattoos… And then he spots it, a swallow flying over the curve of his wrist bone, part of a trail, as it turns out, of fading birds curling down his wrist. “Shit…” He hadn’t realised Grantaire could even draw on skin, let alone how permeant this might be. What if he sees a friend, what if they see, what if they figure something out. It’s not like they’ll judge but, well, he will. Which sounds totally backward even in his own head but having anyone know about this would just… He feels ashamed. That’s the best word, he decides, cutting the corner of his toast. Not ashamed that he had sex, but ashamed that he strung someone along, someone who he doesn’t like and who doesn’t particularly like him either, and that he let it get that far. That he didn’t stop it at a kiss, at a quick touch, even at Grantaire going down on him. He took the guy home, hell now he’s gone and left a basic stranger in his house in the hope that he’ll be gone when he returns, and for what? Some fun? Stress relief? Enjolras groans, resting his head on his hand. He looks ridiculous, lying with his head next to a plate of eggs, on what is probably a very questionable table, but he probably couldn’t give less of a damn. Which is an unusual feeling. He stays in the café as long as he dares, or as long as he can before the waitress looks like she’ll come over and start chatting in the lull of the mid-morning. His flat is remarkably empty by the time he gets back, with not a thing out of place, though his bed has been made. He exhales in some sort of hideous relief, he knows eventually he’ll have to face it, next time they work together because he can’t avoid the guy forever. He supposes that’s why they always say to never sleep with your co-workers, though they never mentioned anyone who winds people up as much as Grantaire. He goes on with his day with a sense of tense relief. By the time he makes it back to his flat, shopping in tow, he’s all but released the tension weighing across his shoulders. He’s just debating what to make for dinner, pulling a few items out of his bags, when he realises that there’s someone else there with him. Grantaire is watching him from the sofa, a smirk winding its way across his features. Enjolras nearly drops the tin he’s holding. “Jesus Christ Grantaire!” “You made it back.” Enjolras put down his tin far too heavily. “Did you break into my house?” “Of course not. I just climbed the fire escape.” Enjolras doesn’t even justify that with a response, turning back to his cupboard. “Oh don’t be mad Apollo.” “I’m sorry, am I not supposed to be the slightest bit annoyed at the fact you climbed in through my window? Or that you’re just sitting here and that I could have… Hurt you?” “Oh you wouldn’t do that.” Grantaire grins cheekily. “Grantaire you know what I do for a living. You’re lucky I realised it was you!” Grantaire shrugs. “I trust you not to shoot me or whatever your preferred method would be.” Enjolras exhales roughly, running a hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?” “Well you ran off so quickly this morning I had no choice.” His smile is still infuriating and Enjolras does his best to ignore him, putting his various groceries away. “You could have just done the normal thing and forgotten the whole thing.” “Forget last night? Oh never… That was far too much fun.” “Oh good, so this is going to be my life now is it? You breaking into my house to remind me we had sex.” “I told you you wouldn’t get out of talking.” “I had to hold out some hope didn’t I?” Enjolras mutters. “Can you cook?” “What?” Grantaire chuckles. “If you insist on talking I may as well get something out of it.” Grantaire pauses, shrugs and the pushes himself up. “What do we have to start with?” To be fair, Grantaire does start cooking, but he never gets any further than chopping because somehow standing in the kitchen together turns into a stolen kiss or two which devolves further into kissing against the cabinet and then someone may end up bent over the work surface amongst breathy moans and nips and bruising fingers. “Fuck me Apollo…” Grantaire exhales shakily. “I thought I just did.” Grantaire rolls his eyes, dropping another kiss on his lips. “Talk.” “Why? This is fine.” “And here I thought you never want to see me again?” “I didn’t want to talk, if we can do that every time I can’t complain as much.” “You want a set up…” “Something like that.” He hears himself say and Jesus Christ does he actually mean that? Grantaire watches him carefully, with a look both perplexed and amused. “Do you have to do that?” Enjolras mutters, folding his arms. Grantaire only raises an eyebrow. “You may be the only person I’ve ever hated.” He tells him, scanning around to find his t-shirt. Grantaire turns to begin chopping food, completely butt-naked. “So this is all hate-fucking?” “You put it so nicely.” “Releasing all your pent up rage at the world, and directing it at me. And let’s be honest, there’s probably a lot of other pent up frustrations going on there because hoo boy have you see you? Such a workaholic. I think I’d be doing a service.” “Are you performing a ‘service’ now?” Enjolras asks, folding his arms as he leans on his counter and most decidedly not looking anywhere but the back of Grantaire’s head. “I mean I like to think I have a pretty good physique.” Grantaire shrugs. “You’re trying to wind me up.” Enjolras states. Grantaire glances over his shoulder with an infuriating hint of a smirk curling his lips. “Is it working?”

[chatteringbluemagpie]

Love, Ire & Song

Summary: Working on a political radio station when you've not thought about politics since you were 15, entirely by choice I might add, hardly seems a good vocational choice. But then neither does taking on the 1-4am slot when you have work from 9 the next morning so one of the options had to be the more sensible. And so Grantaire, for the sake of Feuilly's health and sanity finds himself filling in on the ABC radio, despite not having a political bone in his body. He has been reliably informed that he has an excellent taste in music however, so he's part of the way there.

Warnings: None

Pairings: None yet

Characters: Grantaire, Feuilly, Bahorel, Jehan 

“Good evening folks! Or should that be good morning? It’s 2am here on ABC radio and all over the UK and you’re here with me, Grantaire. That’s a new name I hear you say, a new and complicated name. So, if that’s too much for your 2am self to handle feel free to call me R. Now that was Paul Simons ‘You can call me Al.’” “But R, you say, over the last bars, this doesn’t tell us who you are and what you’re doing here on ABC radio? Well seeing as you ask I’ll tell you. I just so happen to be the friend of your friends Feuilly and Bahorel, and I also have a chronic inability to sleep before about 4am, and, seeing as I run my own business I don’t have to be up before 12 so here I am. There is only one issue, I’m about as political as a potato, but it’s 2am, none of you care about that stuff at this time. Well, I wouldn’t. If you do give me a call and I’m sure I can rustle something up. Well, that’s the introductions over so let’s get on with the show! I’ve got a host of old classics to take you through till 4 or so, whether you’re ending your day or just starting it.” Grantaire sits back in his seat with a stretch as he starts up the next track, rather enjoying the power he has to play whatever he fancies. He’s sure he probably should have had a track list ready, but he’s had the song stuck in his head all day so he’s taking liberties. Besides, Feuilly said it was next to impossible to find anyone to fill the late slot, so he doubts he’ll get fired. There’s probably no-one listening in anyway. He’ll freely admit working on a political radio show is hardly his thing, he hasn’t been involved in politics since school, in fact he tries to actively avoid it. But Feuilly works the earlier shift in the shop, and he used to cover the post-midnight slot, which had led to lots of napping during his shift, Bahorel installing a bell and quite frankly terrifying dark circles. So when he’d eventually been persuaded to take on a different slot Grantaire had volunteered to take over – ‘but only if I’m not forced to talk politics.’ He sets to work sketching out a new tattoo design for one of his regulars while he waits for the song to end – at least he can be productive and listen to music without his neighbours complaining – but he’s only just flicked the page open when the phone next to him rings. Obviously someone is listening, he thinks as he tries to calm his heart down a little. “Hello, hello! R speaking, how can I help you fellow late-nighter? How about we start with a name.” “Hello, R… I’m Luc.” The man on the phone sounds confused, tired even, as if they’re not used to spending so much time awake. “And what brings you to our airwaves?” “I’ve been a long time listener. I heard ABC were taking on someone new so I thought I might call in to welcome you aboard.” “Oh now you didn’t need to do that, 2am is far too late for courtesy calls.” “Well, I was interested.” Luc sounds slightly put out. Grantaire grins, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, I see. You’re checking up on me.” He teases. “I- I wasn’t.” The man sputters. “Relax would you, I’m teasing. It’s nice to have the company. While you’re here do you have a song request?” “U2, Sunday Bloody Sunday.” Luc says after a pause. “Coming right up.” Grantaire finds it, turning off his mic. “You know I’m not actually checking up on you right?” “Of course I do, but you’re also not a night owl by the sounds of your yawning. I must really intrigue you.” “In as much as you’re new.” “Ouch.” “I didn’t mean that like- I just wanted to see what you were like. And if you’d keep the same tone as the rest.” “Oh… Oh dear, you’ve not come hoping for politics have you?” “On a political radio show, surely not.” Luc’s voice drips in sarcasm and Grantaire has the overwhelming desire to know exactly what his expression looked like at that moment because that’s nearly Bahorel levels of sarcasm. “I’m just here to help Feuilly get some sleep, but if you can provide me with some interesting topics maybe you might draw me in.” Grantaire returns to his sketchbook, beginning to sketch out a stork, wings outstretched, neck reaching as if toward a hidden fish. “I thought you were the one presenting.” “I can’t have all the fun.” Luc snorts. “Goodnight R.”

“Hello, Hello! It’s somewhere around 3am and you’re listening to ABC Radio. This morning you’re with me, Grantaire, because my insomnia knows no bounds and won’t let me sleep until the sun’s up anyway. Seeing as I’m absolutely crap at politics no matter how much my boyfriend tries, and, let’s be honest, if you’re tuning in at this time you’re not so worried about that, we’re skipping over the ABC’s usual shtick. So settle in fellow insomniacs, and those night shift workers, or whatever other reason brings you to these radio waves, we’re in for a couple more hours of rocking tunes interspersed with some of my brilliantly witty commentary and who knows, maybe I’ll fit some late night news in there if you’re lucky. First up for our 3 o’clock session we have Suzanne Vega with Luka.”

“How was your first night on the job?” Feuilly asks as he swings into the back room at lunchtime. His colleague is scanning an image, hopefully for the woman currently trying to persuade Bahorel to dye the ends of his hair – again. She’s a regular, a hair dresser by trade and apparently right now ‘mermaids’ are all the rage, from the brief snippet he caught as he passed through. “It wasn’t half bad, I even had a caller.” “After 2? I never had any.” Feuilly folds his arms. Grantaire grins cheekily, shrugging off his jacket. “I’m pretty sure it was a regular checking in on me, don’t get too jealous. What’s the design?” “We’re adding to her space sleeve.” He gestures to the sketch, Virgo in fine dots beneath an outline of her constellation. “I think she’s putting off getting her elbow done.” “I don’t blame her. I’ve still only got the one done.” “Don’t remind me, I will do the other in your sleep one day.” His unfinished sleeve, classically themed with sweeping clouds and gods, is a bone of contention with his friend. His elbow, reserved for Atlas with his globe, remains stubbornly bare along with the back of his forearm. “You’d never be awake when I finally went to sleep.” Grantaire grins, digging through the fridge for something to eat. “That’s not something to be proud of.” Feuilly reminds him, then shakes his head as he sees what Grantaire’s discovered in his fridge hunt. “Please tell me that’s not your breakfast.” “Says Mr ‘I once had frappuccinos for breakfast for over two weeks’.” Feuilly’s mouth opens, closes again and then twists into a pouty frown. “You know I’m right.” “The difference is I learn from my mistakes.” “Hey, mine has veggies in, it’s balanced!” “You tell yourself that. I, meanwhile, have to get back to my client.” Feuilly waves the stencil at him as he vanishes through the door. Grantaire settles on one of the chairs to eat his find cold, flicking through a home magazine that Bahorel was reading yesterday. There’s only so much staring at pastel yellows and greys and ‘the next big thing’ headlines that you can manage however, and he quickly tires of an article on peonies, throwing the container in the bin and the fork in the vague direction of the sink. “You’re on call for walk ins remember.” Feuilly tells him, without even looking up, as he passes through the shop. How he knows exactly what Grantaire’s plans are he’ll never know, but he spins on his heel and continues walking backwards. “Then send Bahorel out on a recce, I’m only gonna be at Jehan’s.” Feuilly raises an eyebrow. “He won’t complain about the chance to visit.” Feuilly sighs, wiping his needle and his client relaxes just a little, her feet lowering just a tad. “Tell them they still need to get that flower coloured would you?” “Roger. Because your pedantic-ism will never let you leave something unfinished.” Feuilly doesn’t even comment, spinning back on his chair. Grantaire grins cheekily, waving as he sidles out of the door. Jehan’s their next door neighbour, though they’ve been here longer than their tattoo parlour, in fact when Grantaire was thinking of opening his own place they’d been the one who found the retail space, as well as worming in with the landlord to tell him just how good their friend was at being a tenant. Maybe not all true, but he pays rent on time so it’s not all bad. The florist is a contrast to their own shop, narrow and painted in a shade of pale teal, giving a sense of whimsy to the otherwise unassuming window. Grantaire helped with the signs, and to their credit Jehan boosts the attraction of the shop with a tier of plant pots on the pavement. The bell above the door jingles as he walks in, and god knows how Jehan can put up with that every day. Jehan glances up, realises who it is, and returns to their work. “Do I not even deserve a reaction?” “You come round every day.” Jehan points out, trimming the stem of a gerbera and tucking it into an extraordinary orange and purple bouquet. “Come in sporting a flamingo hat and I might pay more attention.” Grantaire grins cheekily and Jehan raises an eyebrow over their work. “Don’t tell me you have a stupid animal hat.” “No, alas. But I’ll bear it in mind for next time. Are you not going to ask me how last night went?” “I know how it went, you’ll have played your wonderfully bizarre collection of music and talked complete bollocks for two-“ “Three.” “Three hours. It was made for you.” They grin. “And I had a caller.” “My oh my, did you get a booty call?” Their green eyes have a wicked glint that tells him they’re smirking, one eyebrow quirked. “Hardly, I think the guy was checking I wasn’t ruining the reputation of his favourite show. Not the start of the most sexy of calls.” “Shame,” they sigh, with more melodrama than strictly needed. “You really could do with a good lay.” “I’m so glad it shows.” Grantaire replies dryly, but he knows Jehan is teasing. To be honest he’s not that bothered by his current lack of love life, sexual or otherwise. He’s always been a bit of a misnomer, being able to count the amount of times he’s actually been attracted to someone on one hand, and the amount of times that’s been actable dwindles further still. He’s always much preferred the intimacy of sexual contact to the act itself, putting him in stark contrast with his old friend. Jehan tucks a strand of mousey hair behind their ear. “Leading me to a proposition. I happen to have some rather excellent weed that’s just begging to be shared. I was thinking you, me, a bowl or two, you can finally design Bahorel’s new piece. I can write…” “Radio, remember.” “I can be quiet.” They tease. “Newbie gets high and stinks the place out on second night doesn’t really rank highly on the employee of the month list does it?” Jehan twists their lips in an exaggerated disappointed pout, looking more than a little like a five year old. “You can tour another night.” “I’d better. And you’d better go before you get Feuilly on your back. He’s more the boss than you.” “He’s actually cut out for it, I’m entirely unsure how I got on before he showed up. He wants you to go back with that flower though.” “I’m waiting on him getting good at watercolours.” Jehan says, rustling around to gather a few flowers together. “So if he hurries up with that…” “I’ll tell him.”” Jehan holds out a bouquet of red blooms. “Another?” “The ones on your counter look sad. And Bahorel will love them anyway.” “Why not deliver them yourself?” “I’m busy, and you’re a good little messenger boy. So run along.” They shoo him. “You didn’t give me a message.” Grantaire points out cheekily. “Then ask if he’s interested in being sociable tonight.” They grin, with a knowing look.

The flowers go down well, and are now sitting pride of place on their reception counter, being lovingly rearranged by Bahorel. To look at him, a rugby guy, short shaved down the side, styled beard, tattoos swirling up his arms, you wouldn’t think flower arranging would be his thing. Grantaire’s pretty sure he’d defect to Jehan’s if he could. He’s also pretty damn sure they’re screwing each other, but that’s neither here nor there. He turns his attention back to the stork he’s etching on his customer’s shoulder. He thinks the guy might be regretting such a complex, coloured in design, but he grits his teeth and keeps quiet. The tattoo parlour was his ever so slightly drunken idea, about three years ago in some fancy too expensive bar with Bahorel. He’d been working in a little place since university, perfectly lovely but he was low on the ladder, still getting mostly simple designs – wings, words, lines. It was great, but frustrating when he knew he could actually design better things, and he only got the chance when Bahorel came in for something new. So he snapped, proposed an idea to the fresh out of uni Bahorel – he studied law, not that he wanted to actually do it, so the idea of a distraction seemed perfect. A shop was found, loans taken out, gradually they decorated with rubbish found in charity shops and donations from Jehan. Feuilly came along after a year, when Grantaire was secure enough to actually think about hiring someone. He’d walked in, presented his designs and by the end of the day he was hired and Bahorel had a new tattoo. The Three Aces – renamed by Bahorel about 6 months ago in a fit of rebranding mania – is an eclectic place. Red walls, a couple of old chesterfield style sofas, more photo frames than the really have room for littering the walls, bearing old designs. Business is steady, it has off days but so does any business, the most important thing is that they keep afloat. His beanie is suddenly lifted from his head, pulling his curls with it before they’re unceremoniously dumped over his eyes. “Oi!” He whips around to find Feuilly adjusting the hat over his loosened ponytail. “I’m off.” “With my hat?” Grantaire raises an eyebrow. Feuilly shrugs in return, hitching his bag back onto this shoulder. “It’s chilly outside.” “It’ll be chillier when I leave!” Grantaire protests. “You live closer.” Feuilly counters. “And the radio station is warmer than my flat. Bigger too.” He adds with a chuckle.

[chatteringbluemagpie]

Send me a pairing and a prompt:

-Send me a "Confess" and I'll write a drabble about one character confessing to the other

-Send me a "Kiss" and I'll write a drabble about their first kiss

-Send me a "Hush" and I'll write a drabble about one character comforting the other (from fear or grief)

-Send me a "Peace" and I'll write a drabble about them spending a quiet moment together

-Send me a "Together" and I'll write a drabble about them spending their first night together (platonic, just sleeping)

-Send me a "Sleep" and I'll write a drabble about one character watching the other sleep

-Send me a "Guardian" and I'll write a drabble about one character swearing to always keep the other safe

-Send me a "Important" and I'll write a drabble about one character explaining why the other is so important to them

-Send me a "Surprise" and I'll write a drabble about one character discovering something surprising about the other

-Send me a "Cute" and I'll write a drabble about something one character finds cute about the other

-Send me a "Birthday" and I'll write a drabble about them spending their first birthday together

-Send me a "Unrequited" and I'll write a drabble about one character longing for the other

-Send me a "Stay" and I'll write a drabble about one character making the other promise that they will stay with them

-Send me a "Loss" and I'll write a drabble about one character dying while in the arms of the other

-Send me a "Mourn" and I'll write a drabble about one character mourning the death of the other

-Send me a "Stop" and I'll write a drabble about one character calming the other down (from anger, jealously, etc)

-Send me a "Tickle" and I'll write a drabble about character discovering the other is ticklish

-Send me a "Congrats" and I'll write a drabble about their first anniversary

-Send me a "Realize" and I'll write a drabble about one character realizing they love the other

-Send me a "Sorry" and I'll write a drabble about one character apologizing to the other (hurting the other's feelings, do something that angered the other, etc)

-Send me a "Hold" and I'll write a drabble about one character just wanting to hug the other

-Send me a "Come back" and I'll write a drabble about character asking the other to return (they parted after a fight, the other has been missing for a while, etc)

-Send me a "Push" and I'll write a drabble about one character pushing the other against a wall and kissing them

-Send me a "Grab" and I'll write a drabble about one character grabbing the other and kissing them

-Send me a "Lick" and I'll write a drabble about one character licking the other in a specified location

-Send me a "Roam" and I'll write a drabble about one character touching the other all over

-Send me a "Bite" and I'll write a drabble about one character (gently) biting the other

-Send me a "Undress" and I'll write a drabble about one character watching the other get naked

-Send me a "Whatever" and I'll write whatever you ask for

[chatteringbluemagpie]

Cuddling prompts

Because that’s the kind of mood i’m in today.

In bed

On the couch/loveseat

On the floor

In front of the fireplace

In the back seat of the car

For warmth

For comfort

Reluctantly

Totally platonic

Totally romantic

Post-coital

Just waking up

Falling asleep

In public

In the dark

With rain outside

With snow outside

While someone’s crying

While someone’s sick

Post-proposal

In the water/in the bath

Congratulatory

Reunion

Between strangers

With a first kiss

In lieu of kissing

First cuddle

Familiar cuddle

Last cuddle (if you’re feeling super angsty)

Out of necessity (trapped in a small space, etc.)

[chatteringbluemagpie]

In honour of it having been Alexis's first birthday today come ask me Complications questions!

[chatteringbluemagpie]

Reblog and Tag with your ocs' Names

<b>And then for every name you get in your askbox, you must fill out the following character profile for said oc:</b>

Full Name: Gender and Sexuality: Pronouns: Ethnicity/Species: Birthplace and Birthdate: Guilty Pleasures: Phobias: What They Would Be Famous For: What They Would Get Arrested For: OC You Ship Them With: OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Talents and/or Powers: Why Someone Might Love Them: Why Someone Might Hate Them: How They Change: Why You Love Them:

[chatteringbluemagpie]

"Why," Grantaire asked, from where he was chained to a lamppost, "Do we always end up like this? While naked?"

“It was once.” Bahorel replied curtly, “And as I recall I was still in possession of my trousers.” Grantaire glared up at him.

“I seem to recall that the handcuffs were your partners idea. Why do you even have- Actually don’t answer that.” He added at Bahorel’s grin. “I thought the groom was supposed to be the one that this shit happened to.”

“Well when the groom vanishes at 11 it’s hard for anything to actually occur.” Bahorel said dryly, “Apparently Courfeyrac text him because he was worried and he’d actually gone home.”

“So that leaves us to be… The stand in? Which one of us is Cosette?”

“Well…” Bahorel considered, “I am the prettiest.”