#and said 'this is my show now ferre you have no say in this.'

[clemencetaught]

I wasn't sure if y'wanted them sent in today or tomorrow, BUT TO NOT MESS UP-- (you mentioned answering ic in the tags so yeeting these directly at Patrick >:3 sorry if they're too many omg)

Patrick (any verse)

What does it feel like when others depend on you, in one way or another?

Are you more prone to assuming someone needs you (in a service kind of way, for aid, for support-) or more likely to think they don't?

If psychics were 120% reliable and you could connect to those long gone… would you?

In which contexts are you more 'do as I say not as I do' and in which will you listen to your own advice?

Do you ever catch yourself growing… a little bitter, maybe, at people describing their comparatively 'mundane' problems? Is it envy?

Do you believe children should be shaped for the likeliest future or the future should be shaped for the children to come?

When is self-sacrifice acceptable?

When is hurting those you love acceptable?

in which the 54th victor of the hunger games gives an impromptu interview ( nosy questions for the birthday enby w/ @mythvoiced )

The tea cup is set on the saucer. Discreetly, Patrick slides his other hand into his pocket, where the synthetic patch on his palm wraps around his pocket knife– a habit of sorts, since he won his games. His pocket watch sits on the table, next to the saucier and on his lap, Sun has wrapped herself into a ball, her paws disappearing into the mass of orange fur. On the balcony outside his apartment in the Capitol, this is the only place Patrick knows he will be granted a modicum of privacy in the viper’s nest. 

The shadow of the balcony covers the upper half of his body. Sun keeps dozing on his lap, in the sun. 

Most times, when the questions are directed at him, they’re expecting an affirmative. Doesn’t matter if it’s coming from a District person or a Capitolite– they go to him for answers, first and foremost. And in the case of the latter, these questions are not questions so much as veiled demands. 

Ones that he must always accommodate, regardless of the nature of the demand. 

But these questions, this voice, is…well they seem genuinely curious. And the questions they’ve lobbed his way, they don’t seem to be expecting one correct answer.

Sun shifts on his lap. His leg vibrates from her purring. Patrick sighs, leaning back on his chair. “That…quite a lot of thoughts you have going on there, hm?” The knife stays in his pocket as he gently scratches the top of Sun’s head. “I’ll answer your second question first: people will always look out for themselves first. If they don’t think you’re useful, that you can contribute something good to their lives, then you’re dead to them, if they don’t kill you first. Make yourself indispensable to them and they won’t hurt you.” At least that’s what he tells himself– it’s easier to simply assume anyone who approaches him that they want something he can give them. “The younger victors will need someone to guide them anyway.” 

And even the ones who vehemently deny needing someone, anyone. Patience is always key in those instances– from Taiyang whom it took almost six years and his tribute’s sanity to finally approach Patrick to María, who still slaps away any hands offered, friend or foe. Ironically, he had to approach her first.  

“…I suppose I don’t think too much about that. If someone was asking for your help, you would be more caught up in what they’re asking, more than how you were feeling no?” A Trojan horse, he’s lobbed in their direction although he’s quick to revise: “...It scares me sometimes.” He confides, fingers pausing in their administrations on Sun’s head. Actually it scares him, a lot. “They’re…they’re relying on me to guide them to the best outcome and I want the same thing for them. I promise you, I really, truly do.” Whether it’s Hyuk, Devora, a tribute he’s been assigned to mentor, or any of the victors. And sometimes even the furball in his lap and yet– “But I…I can’t always guarantee that. But they still trust me, especially the younger ones.” The tributes from District Three– his tributes, the ones who take his hand, look up at him with wide eyes, clinging to every word, every gesture he makes as it will guarantee their survival. “Sometimes I think it would be better if they exercised more caution with me.”   

A smile, bittersweet, if not actually just bitter, graces his lips. He shakes his head though, chuckling at the next question. “...Forgive me, that’s quite a question you have there. ‘Psychics’... I don’t believe that’s information that just anyone, district or Capitol, can get ahold of–  although I have heard of some old religions still practiced in the districts so I suppose the knowledge and belief in such mediums is possible to get ahold of.” He stares down at his tea, the steam still rising. Even if it is a hypothetical question on a medium known to be more shoddy than reputable, he can’t help but pause. If they could contact those ‘long gone’; would that mean, if he asked them to, would he be able to speak to her one last time–

He shakes his head, eye catching his pocket watch, metal beaten and faded, the clock face wearing a crack down the right side. Still, it shimmers in the sunlight. “Even if I could, I…I highly doubt she would want to talk to me of all people.” If they hadn’t met, if they hadn’t fallen in love, she probably would still be alive. Tellessa’s family too. 

After all, he was the first person outside of Tellessa who knew about her forbidden books. “Wherever they are, it’s probably better than here.” Or at least he hopes it is for her. A place where life doesn’t have to be perfect, but it is…easier. A place for souls to rest at long last. If such a place even exists in the first place. He picks up his saucer once more, still careful not to jostle Sun on his legs. She’s taken to loafing now– he knows her eyes are closed even if her head dips every few seconds. But make no mistake, that does not mean she is unaware. Trusting of the one asking the questions. If it was just him, she would be stretched out, a white underbelly waiting for his hand to scratch kindly at the ceiling.

Perhaps the saying is true after all: like owner, like pet. Although Patrick would argue she’s more like Hyuk if anything.

“It depends on the circumstances,” he says as neutrally as possible. A vague answer for a hypothetical question, because that is truly it. “I suppose if one’s life was on the line, it would be better if they followed my lead, no?” 

Not that that’s stopped, those with rebellious tendencies from committing treason anyways. ( And unfortunately, he can name more than one. ) It is ironic in that manner– for someone who knows the system, knows how to work within the rules all, has spent years perfecting his craft in survival arts, it would make more sense to invest on those with similar goals. And yet here he is, worrying about the ones who are decided not interested in survival and therefore would spurn his advice at any given moments. “Not that…that following my advice has ever helped them make it through.” 

(His tributes. All thirty nine of them. No two games are ever the same, the gamemakers would never allow that. If the circus known as the Hungers Games must be reborn over and over again if it wishes to continue.)

He takes a sip of his tea, washing down the momentary displeasure. Or at least he thinks it will be only a moment long. “I suppose what a Capitol citizen would consider a ‘mundane issue’, as you put it, would differ from those of someone from the districts. The former does seem more inclined towards complaining if only to build comradery amongst one another. I’m just glad that they have such means to…channel their frustrations.” 

( It’s in times like those, where he wishes his temper could curdle, the way Devora’s does in the face of the Capitol Elite. How he wishes he could simply let her use the knife to silence those idle complaints. )

Patrick takes another sip of his tea. It burns in his throat. It’s bitter too– he must have let the leaves seep for too long. But the asperity doesn’t just settle on his tongue. “Are we talking about an ideal world or the one we live in now? Depending on who you ask this question to, you’re guaranteed to get quite…different answers.” A smile, as frigid as the shaved ice the Capitol serves as a delicacy during the games, crosses his lips. “Our great nation was built to provide safety and prosperity for the children. To serve them. Although whether the truth is actually the other way around will again, depend on who you ask. As a mentor to my tributes, I suppose…we can’t deny the reality in front of us, no?”

Sun yawns. He puts his tea down and idly, he scratches the underside of her chin and he feels her purring against his finger. “Are you sure you should be asking me that question? I would think there are more…suitable candidates for this question.” People like Hyuk, he means. People like María– the kinds who would gladly make sacrifices, give pieces of themselves for a cause. “Self-sacrifice won’t get you where you need to be– there’s a reason martyrs are only known after their death– they’re even given a chance to be known. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool. They’re only deluding themselves into believing they can make everything better. A…colleague of mine said it best: ‘a martyr works, a survivor works better’. If you want to truly help the ones around you, self-sacrifice will only get you so far.”

Or so Patrick claims. He can hear it though– the sound of Hyuk shouting at him to stop lying. The truth is, self-sacrifice, if it is for a tangible reason, is…well maybe it is not worthwhile, but it can be certainly respected, especially if this tangible reason is a human life. The Capitol will always wonder what spurred Patrick to hold his district partner’s hand even if it burned a hole through his skin, will always wonder why Taiyang insisted on protecting Link in the arena, will always wonder why, why, why would Devora so willingly serve as President Snow’s puppet even if it further severs her ties to the districts despite everything the games took from her.

They would never understand compassion in a dog-eat-dog world– self sacrifice.

“...However, I suppose, if there was truly a good reason to do so…well, I have yet to see it.”

( Like the promise of a better world. If there is even one that exists. )

His hand stops. Sun turns her head towards him, copper eyes watching him. “When do we not hurt the ones we love?” Perhaps the better question for him is: when is he not hurting the ones he loves? He saw it in her eyes and Hyuk’s too. And yet they forgave him, somehow, every time. If not for that, well…would there even be a reason to keep going? “That’s part of caring for someone, no? You are preparing for them to hurt you without retaliation.” He shakes his head, snorting. “I think the answer should be obvious, if it guarantees their well-being in the long run, I think that is a gamble to be considered. That being said–” 

Sun jumps off his lap and stretches, paws facing this curious passerby. Patrick crosses his legs, hands resting on his lap. A veneer, similar to the one he dons in the Capitol flashes through, even if he is not currently in his usual suit. “You wouldn’t want to be close with someone like me. I’ve been known to have…a reputation of sorts. One of burning and you could…no, you would most definitely get hurt, one way or another and we wouldn’t want that happening, no? Just a thought for you to consider.”

He watches Sun make her way to the sliding glass door in the shade. Her tails whips side to side as she looks up at the handle. Then she looks at him and meows. 

Patrick glances at his pocket watch. “It’s feeding time for Sun.” Well, sort of– it’s more like it’s half an hour before her feeding time, but he knows gets antsy the closer meal time gets around. But this person doesn’t have to know that. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking care of business now. If you need anything more, you know where to find me.”

Or better yet, he’ll know where to find them.

[grey-writes-stuff]

Siblings

@divoha4

The last sounds of gurgling and growling died off as the duo killed the undead that surrounded them.

“Ugh. You never get used to the smell…” ”Uhm…Storm…?”

Storm looked over at Ferret, who looked suddenly pale and meek.

“Ferret? What is it?”

Ferret shakily showed their wrist. On their wrist, a clear as day bite, dripping with blood.

Storm didn’t hesitate. They took their clean knife out, and cut the wrist clean off, prompting a screech of pain from Ferret.

Storm apologised repeatedly as the wrapped the arm in a tourniquet and scraps of gauze.

“It hurts!” Ferret squeaked.

“I know. I’m sorry!” Storm repeated a few more times before taping up the gauze.

“Here.” Storm handed Ferret a small bottle of vodka, which the duo had grabbed from a downed plane. Ferret took it and chugged it instantly.

When Ferret discarded the bottle, they noticed Storm acting off. Their shoulder was in an upwards position, their neck slightly tilted to that side.

“Storm? Is something wrong…?” Ferret said in a shaky voice.

Storm hesitated. They let out a long breath before relaxing their shoulder, and moving their neck into an upright position. A deep bite was on their neck, like an undead had tried their best to rip the chunk out.

“S-Storm?”

“I don’t think anyone can cut this off…” Storm sighed, sitting on the ground.

“M-Maybe we could cut around it?” Ferret stammered, but Storm shook their head.

“Already in my blood stream, Fer. I’m done.”

“No! We told Moose we’d make it back safe!” Ferret protested, shaking Storms shoulders.

“And I told him I’d keep you safe.” Storm replied.

Ferret’s shoulders slumped, their eyes filled with Grief and despair. “W-What do we do…?”

“I’m going to get you as close to home as I can. I wanna see familiar places before, well…yeah.”

Ferret let out a whimper, which prompted Storm to tightly hug them.

“Hey. You’re gonna need a hand getting home anyway.”

“Not the puns…” Ferret whimpered.

“Could always say I’m armed.” Storm snickered.

The walk back was slow for them both, due to Storms bite, and Ferrets missing arm, which sometimes sent shocks of pain through them.

“How’s it feeling…?” Storm ask raspily. They had steadily grown weaker during the walk.

“Hurts sometimes.” Ferret admitted “Healing is probably going to be a bitch…”

They then took a breath. “What about you?”

Storm hesitated. “My necks gone a bit numb. Kinda like when a limb falls asleep? But I can feel it pulsing, like a heartbeat. I won’t lie, it’s an interesting experience.” ”That’s…one way to put it…” Ferret mumbled.

Suddenly, Storm stumbled, and Ferret immediately put out their good arm to catch them.

“If you need to take a break…”

“No. We keep going.” Storm insisted.

Ferret lowered their gaze and nodded.

They walked for another two hours, before eventually, Storm fell, and struggled to get back up. Ferret helped them up, and guided them to a tree, that had all of its leaves still despite the coming winter.

“Man, I did not think I was gonna go out like this…” Storm croaked as they were set down against the tree trunk.

“W-What do I do…?” Ferret asked with a small whimper.

Storm nodded to Ferrets gun.

“W-What?! I-I can’t!” Ferret fretted.

“You have to. I ain’t walking around with those things, causing issues. I prefer doing that when I’m alive.”

“You’re my sibling. I can’t…” Ferret’s voice cracked.

“You have to because you’re my sibling, Jo.” Storm replied quietly.

“What am I going to tell Moose? Bes even?” Ferret asked quietly.

“The truth. That my luck ran out, and you gave me the easy way out. Beats all the Lumi crap, I won’t lie.”

Ferret whimpered, and gave Storm a tight hug, hesitant to let go.

“I-I’m going to miss you…” Ferret whispered pitifully.

“Yeah, I’ll miss you too, Ferret.” Storm responded softly.

Ferret withdrew from the hug after a few minutes, and only now noticed just how exhausted Storm looked. They looked pale, dark marks under their eyes.

“Just…make it quick, yeah? Seen too many people miss during their killing blow. Not fun.”

Ferret took out their pistol and took a shaky breath.

Storm gave them a weak smile. “Tell them I wasn’t scared. Not one bit.”

“I will” Ferret whimpered. They aimed the gun and looked away.

A shot fired, and then silence.

“You sure Soap and Ghost would want to go to the warehouse? It’s full of rats, and Soap squealed like a little girl.”

“Moose, you and I both know they’re the quickest we have right now for the Warehouse run.”

Moose sighed, and looked around. “Those two kids should be back by now.. Where’d you send them anyway, Bes?”

Bes hummed for a moment. “Hardware store. We needed some supplies for the walls.”

Moose grunted and looked back at the map, before they heard a familiar screech of the gate opening.

“Must be them.” Bes smiled before turning around. His smile faltered.

Ferret stumbled to them, their head hanging low. In their remaining hand, was what looked to be a collar, part of it frayed and stained darker.

Moose turned, and his eyes widened. “Jo!”

He ran to Ferret, who was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“Where’s Storm?!” Bes demanded.

Ferret could barely meet their gaze. When they finally lifted their head, there were tears in Ferret’s eyes. Shakily, they gave Bes the collar.

“They…” Ferret croaked.

Bes saw the blood, the frayed fabric on the collar, and his heart sunk.

Moose saw the collar, and his eyes widened.

All Bes could ask is “How…?”

Ferret let out a whimper, unable to answer.

Moose knelt down and tightly hugged Ferret, who let out one last whimper before sobbing into the older mans shoulder. “I’m sorry!” Ferret wailed.

Bes watched the two. He noticed Ferret’s stumped arm, and slowly began to piece it together.

“They saved you?”

Ferret meekly nodded. They forced themself to look up at Bes, and saw no anger. Only grief.

They were one member down, and that member, was family.

[ofgentleresolve]

FERRE! HAPPY NEW YEAR! I thought I'd drop by for this and send some positive vibe as the year starts 😊 I just want to highlight what I really like about your writing!! When I read your writings, I always get a sense of your clear grasp on your character profiles or characterizations which may also be rooted on the long years of writing them. It's very natural and interesting. I think that even if your writing partner may not fully read your profiles, they would still be able to catch on what sort of character or personality they carry because you often insert their thoughts or internalization in between the lines, which I think is really helpful. I always enjoy your writing and something I often notice is the weigh on actions as emphasis on their characters. Your narrative and choice of words, too, is something I love to read.

I could say more but for now I keep it up to this length!! Cheers to more writing with you soon 💚

Have a wonderful day and a year ahead!

@thegreenswillcome xia also has ( independently too ) made me go 🥺🥺🥺

XIA MY DEAR FRIEND 🥺🥺🥺

As I mentioned to the wonderful len, when I was coming into this year, I will admit, I wasn’t exactly feeling in the best of spirits, but YOU!! I know you reached out to me to check on me in the last month and that particular part of the year and I just wanted to say?? Thank you so much for doing so, honestly, that really helped with getting through the last of 2022 💕💕💕

But also!! PLS it always means so much to me that you take the time to read my writings and drabbles 🥲🥲🥲 I know that’ s not the point of my rp blogs existing and it doesn’t always involve other ppl muses SO THANK YOU?? 🥺🥺🥺 for reading and also just always?? paying attention to ur partners in the chill way you always do <3 <3 <3 I’ve said this before, but I’ve always gotten a very relaxed and friendly vibe from you and I think in that aspect?? It has encouraged me to be a bit more open with my mutuals on here – loosen up bc at the end of the day, we’re all nerds who love our characters and ( hopefully ) each other’s too!!

I also have been reading ur drabbles as well and I love?? how atmospheric they come off- if mine is supposed to be like stage, then I would consider yours to be really getting in the minds of ur characters, writing them as they were the ones putting down the words. I think that can be SO DIFFICULT at times bc it requires not only knowing who they are but also knowing the exact way they would narrate what they’re thinking 🥲🥲🥲 that and I also just?? love how lyrical they are?? Like each word is carefully picked out and it really shows in the line breaks…every word counts!!

BUT ANYWAYS, thank you so much for taking the time to send this in, but more importantly, thank you so much for sticking with me thru out this past year and onto now- I’m so grateful to have the privilege of writing with you and plotting with you AND being friends with and I can’t wait to see where you bring your characters ( and mine for the ride ) in 2023!! Care you lots xia and please have a wonderful day 💕💕💕

[dannypuro]

Hi! In the last chapter and the 'Combeferre finds out that the idiots got their act together' bit you wrote recently, you mention that Combeferre picks Enjy up when hugging. First of all, that it adorable and I love it. Secondly, what was Enjy's reaction the first time that he did that? Also 'ferre repeatedly bullying bakers to make strawberry cakes for Enjy is perfect. Overall, something telling is awesome! Thank you so much for writing it!

(Hello! This is Something Telling verse (aka time-zapped, 1830s Enjolras, modern-era), and takes place somewhere between chapters 6 and 7. this ask has been sitting in my inbox for months, but i..... forgot that i had the draft sitting in my documents 😬. oops. anyways, thank you for sending it!!!!! here is the first Big Hug and best friends time. also.... exr pining, because it’s something telling and that’s the way it goes. but my asks are always open!!!! i accept all forms of questions and prompts!!!!!!)

“Combeferre’s coming back home tomorrow.”

Enjolras looks up from his book. He would not truly say that he had been reading it, per se, not since Grantaire returned from a morning of boxing with Bahorel in naught but a- a tank top, Enjolras believes he had called it, but the name of it is, in his opinion, much less significant than the way in which it clings to his back with lingering sweat, the way in which he can see the edge of his collarbone, the curve of his shoulders, the way-

Well. He had certainly been looking at his book. For the most part.

He clears his throat. “Pardon?” He manages.

Grantaire, thank the Lord, does not seem to notice his momentary… distraction. He sets his phone down. “Combeferre’s gonna be back from Morocco tomorrow. Joly says his flight comes in at four.”

Enjolras does what he can to parse that--even still, after weeks in this time, he cannot shake the semblance of strangeness, of unfamiliarity, that coats the words of everyone he meets. Even Grantaire, especially Grantaire, sounds, at times, as though he is speaking an unfamiliar tongue. (He wishes--God above, he wishes--to know it as he knows his own. To know Grantaire’s words, to know Grantaire, without the boundary of concentration required, without having to ask questions that must sound hopelessly stupid to everyone else in the world. To Grantaire. But-) “His… flight?” 

Granaire grimaces. Enjolras nearly wishes that he had not asked at all, aside from the fact that he does not understand. “Um. Okay. So.” He looks about himself, swears. Enjolras fights the urge to shrink in on himself, to tell Grantaire that it does not matter, to bury his nose back in his book. Only, then Grantaire sits down beside him upon the sofa, so. Perhaps he will not withdraw his question. “Um. Wait. Okay.” He draws in a breath. “Fuck.”

He flushes hot. “You need not explain if it is troublesome,” he mutters. 

Grantaire swears again. Enjolras fidgets with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “Um. So like. You know a boat?”

“A boat.” Surely, Grantaire is not asking if-

He nods, eyes wide and genuine and- and fucking caring. His shoulders are rather close to Enjolras’s own. He is still wearing no sleeves. 

He forces himself to breathe in, then out. “Yes,” he says, “I know of boats.” He does what he can to keep the ice from his tone--he cannot say for sure whether or not he succeeds.

Grantaire winces. “Oh. Yeah. Fuck. Obviously, sorry, I- Anyways, it’s like a boat that’s in the sky?”

Enjolras clears his throat. “You have lost me,” he admits. He does not feel guilty for doing so, for he is fairly certain that the fault does not fall upon him, in this rare instance. 

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. Um. Picture, like, a giant metal tube?” That means nothing. Enjolras nods, anyways. “RIght, and then imagine that, like, a bunch of people go into it and then it flies to somewhere else in the world really, really fast. And then you get out of the tube.”

And-

Ah. Of course. Grantaire is making some sort of joke, some mockery at Enjolras’s expense. He scowls. “I do not appreciate it when you make light of the fact that I do not understand your time, Grantaire. You know this.”

Grantaire sputters. He looks- not guilty, not truly, but regretful enough that Enjolras cannot help but to regret a bit of the harshness in his words. 

He sighs. “It is not- It is fine. Only- I haven’t really any other way to learn these things, but to ask you, and so I do not-” He shakes his head. “It is fine.”

“No!” It is sudden, just a mite louder than Enjolras had been expecting--he startles, despite his efforts. Grantaire curses, then curses again, but softer, and then says, “Enj, no, I wouldn’t, I’m not, just-” he fumbles for his phone, prods at it for a few moments, then holds it out to Enjolras. “I wouldn’t,” he says, again.

Enjolras squints down at the phone. The glass is illuminated, showing- Well, it does seem to be a large tube, as Grantaire had said, but he still does not-

The vessel in the video lifts off of the ground. He turns to Grantaire with a start. “There- There are people within?”

He nods. “It’s a plane. An airplane. Lots of people take them.”

Enjolras feels rather as though he is going to be ill. He cannot tear his eyes from the phone. “And Combeferre shall be… inside of one? As it flies?” His hands have taken to shaking; try as he might, he cannot seem to still them. He hands the phone back to Grantaire, instead, presses his palms to the cushions of the sofa. 

Grantaire nods again, and keeps talking, but Enjolras cannot- he cannot quite manage to pay mind to what he says, for-

Oh, but he does not fancy that idea at all, of a man being- being propelled through the air, as such. Particularly if the man in question is Combeferre, for Enjolras has only just met him, has only just managed to befriend him, and Combeferre is terribly kind and frightfully intelligent and funny in a way that makes Courfeyrac groan but that Enjolras quite likes, actually, and-

“Enjolras?”

“I-” his voice cracks; he tries again. “I feel I must voice my concern.”

Grantaire pauses, frowns. Enjolras feels somewhat as though he has said something foolish--but then, he often feels such, and this is too important for him to rescind, even if Grantaire does think him a fool, and- “Because of the plane?”

He nods. “I only think that-” he swallows, starts again. “It only seems as though it would be rather- rather hazardous, would it not be simpler for him to travel by ship? Surely- Surely there is much less risk of-” he breaks off, manages a jerky shrug.

There is a pause.

“Oh,” Grantaire says, soft.

He shrugs again, though he is fairly certain that it is not particularly convincing.

Grantaire is looking at him… oddly. Something squirms beneath his skin. “I mean- Enjolras, hey, he’ll be okay,” he says, but-

“You cannot know that,” Enjolras snaps, and he regrets it, as soon as he has, but he cannot seem to make himself stop, just yet, either. “I was not aware that you were an expert in- in aired plains.”

Annoyingly, relievingly, predictably, Grantaire does not even flinch, he just looks a little sadder. Damn it all. (He also presses a little closer, his arm bared against Enjolras’s own, damn it, damn it.) “People fly all the time,” he reasons.

“Foolish people,” he spits out. “Fools and- and geese, only, would elect to do such a thing.” He is being ridiculous, he knows it, but oh, he does not like this one bit, not at all. “Men are not pigeons.”

“Men aren’t fish, either,” Grantaire jostles him, gently. Enjolras fights the urge to lean into it. “We still have boats, though, dude. Continual progress, and all that?”

“And yet, if a boat sinks, its passengers do not find themselves plummeting to the earth, dude.”

Grantaire snorts a laugh.

“I do not find it humorous, Grantaire!” 

“Sorry.” Grantaire draws in a breath, scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

He huffs.

Grantaire hesitates, and then settles an arm about his shoulders. As though Enjolras would ever deny him that--as though he could ever quell that selfish, poorly-hidden bit inside of him that relishes in the warmth, the closeness, the impropriety of the act. “Want me to call him?” he offers, and again, Enjolras is selfish, and he nearly-

Nearly agrees, nearly jumps on the offer like he knows he shouldn’t, for he- he misses Combeferre, and he does not like the idea of him hurtling about through the sky, and yet-

“No,” he says, “You needn’t.” He swallows. “You needn’t bother Combeferre, when he is surely quite busy with his family. I would not wish to impose.” This is the polite thing to do, he reassures himself, Combeferre will be fine, and simply because he is one of Enjolras’s dearest friends does not mean that he does, or ought, hold similar ground in Combeferre’s heart, and it is fine.

It is fine.

Grantaire looks… sad, almost; it makes something ache deep beneath Enjolras’s ribs. “Enjolras-” he begins-

“It is fine.”

“Enj-”

Enjolras opens his book rather pointedly. Grantaire stops talking, but he doesn’t- he doesn’t actually remove his arm from Enjolras’s shoulders. 

And.

Well.

Enjolras certainly shan’t be the one to remind him that it isn’t quite proper.

.

Enjolras is poor company the following morning, he is aware of this. 

Being aware of it does not, however, quite mean that he is able to bring himself to do anything to correct his comportement. Rather, he leans his cheek upon his hand and picks at a whorl in the tabletop and does what he can not to flinch at the sound of a truck being unloaded outside the window, at the spray of grapeshot which fits so seamlessly into each echo that he cannot quite manage to convince himself that it is not real. (It was real, is real, in a way, but he cannot- he cannot think on that, not now, not when he already has so much to think on.)

Grantaire-

Grantaire is speaking to him, he realizes, from the kitchen, but he does not notice it until it is too late, until he can catch no more than “-up to you, really,” and then, because Enjolras has taken too long to speak, taken too long to parse what he would even be talking about, “Enjolras?” He pokes his head out of the doorway. (He is sleep-rumpled, soft, concerned.)

Damn it, damn it.

He clears his throat. “I apologize,” he manages. “I’m afraid that I was not quite listening.”

At times, he wishes- he wishes that Grantaire would just grow tired of him, of his horrid behavior, instead of being so endlessly kind; that, at least, Enjolras would know what to do with. (At times, Enjolras is so afraid that it will happen that he thinks he would give anything not to ever think of it again.) As it is, Grantaire frowns. “I just- I just wanted to know what you want for breakfast, I don’t- Enj, are you okay?”

Oh. He must look rather poorly. He had not, after all, gotten much sleep at all the night before; he supposes that he had been hoping that it would not show on his face. (It is a vain thought, as well, which is vaguely infuriating. Before he met Grantaire, he so rarely thought about things so inconsequential as exhaustion.) “You may cook what you choose. It matters not.”

Grantaire crosses his arms. His shirt is very thin. 

Enjolras presses his wrists to the table to stop his hands from shaking as he glares back. It nearly works.

Grantaire, infuriatingly, says nothing.

He grits his teeth, then sighs. “I slept poorly. This is all.”

Grantaire pauses, at that. Enjolras takes a moment to wonder as to whether he has had any coffee, this morning--likely not. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. “This is about Combeferre,” he says, at last, once he has collected himself.

Damn it.

Enjolras should have elected to become enamored by somebody who is less perceptive. 

Not that-

Not that he is enamored, of course. 

He forces a quiet laugh, hopes that it is convincing enough to draw the furrow from Grantaire’s brow. It is not. “I- I am being foolish,” he admits, eventually. “As you said, Combeferre will be fine.” It does not sound particularly convincing, even from his own mouth. Especially from his own mouth. Part of him wishes that Grantaire would say it again, instead.

His hands are still shaking. Perhaps, he finds himself thinking, they will carry on this way forever; it is difficult to imagine that he could ever fire a rifle straight, anymore.

No matter.

Grantaire makes an odd noise at the back of his throat. 

“It is fine,” Enjolras reminds him, for if he does not stop looking so very wretched Enjolras may- not cry, likely, but- but it stings, in any case. “I simply. Well. Combeferre is a good man, and I- Well. Ah. You see, he- He has told me that I am his friend, and I haven’t terribly many friends, aside from you, and I know that you trust these- these aired plains, but I cannot seem to bring myself to do so, and so I- I am simply rather anxious. It is nothing serious.” (Enjolras thinks of a young man, a boy, far younger than Combeferre, at his feet with his jaw shot off and his hand wrapped like a vise around his ankle, of blood soaking into the seams of his boots, of the spray of grapeshot against brick and against bone, and-) 

Grantaire looks, if anything, more distressed than before. Heavens, but Enjolras is poor at this. “I should call Combeferre,” he says, resolutely. He fumbles for his phone. “Yeah, I should-”

“I would not have you do so.” It comes out just on the side of too sharp, but Grantaire does not startle, he simply winces, as though pained. “There is no need to disturb him by imposing, as such. So kindly do not.”

He returns his phone to his pocket. “Okay. Um.” He does not return to the kitchen; rather, he continues to linger, uncertain in a way in which Enjolras is not accustomed to seeing him. “Do you want anything for breakfast? Like, anything specific?”

And, well, in the spirit of absolute frankness, Enjolras does not--he is not particularly hungry at all, but-

But he is beginning to get to know Grantaire a little better, now, and he is beginning to guess that cookery means a bit more to him than it does to most others, and perhaps, perhaps, this is something that he needs to be able to do for Enjolras, right now.

Enjolras may be selfish, may be too cruel in ways that he cannot avoid, but he can give Grantaire this. He thinks on it, but he does not truly- 

Ah.

Well, perhaps- Perhaps he is not completely without cravings. “Have we any more of the lamb sausage which you purchased at the market the other day?” he hazards.

Grantaire beams. (Enjolras’s heart flutters like a small, helpless bird.) “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, man, totally.”

He returns to the kitchen to make Enjolras breakfast. Enjolras tries very, very hard not to think of the way in which the soft, strong set to Combeferre’s jaw so resembles that of the boy whose hand he still feels around his ankle, before it got shot off. It nearly works.

.

It is not until mid-afternoon that he- that he truly cannot stand it, cannot calm his heart where it hammers out a stuttering rhythm in his chest; cannot still his hands from shaking, even for a moment; cannot bring himself to read, to write, to sit calmly; cannot manage to drive his mind from thoughts of fire and of life lost and of the sharp spray of grapeshot and of horrible, ridiculous contraptions plummeting to the earth, and-

“I would have you call Combeferre now, I believe,” he blurts out, when Grantaire has looked up from his phone to note him standing in the doorway of the parlor. “I- I believe that I- I cannot quite- I-” He forces himself to draw in a breath, but it catches in his lungs, freezes there- “I- that is, I-” He looks to Grantaire helplessly. 

He had not been expecting for Grantaire’s face to drop, so. Or for him to curse, and scrub a hand over his face, and say, “Oh, Enj, I don’t-”

Enjolras does not understand what he has done wrong, but it- it is clearly something, but he does not-

Grantaire curses again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I should’ve- I should’ve told you earlier, but I can’t- Fuck. You can’t call somebody when they’re on an airplane, the call won’t go through. Everybody has to turn their phones off when they’re in the air, and Combeferre’s flight would have taken off an hour ago.”

He does not understand.

“So I… cannot call him,” he begins, for it is easier to start with something that he knows and work backwards, “That- Why?” It makes no sense. What is the use of such- such foolish devices, if one cannot even contact one’s friends when it is necessary?

Grantaire grimaces. “It’s something to do with the networks, I think? Like, the signal from the phone tower messes with the instruments and the navigation and shit. Or, like, maybe it’s too high up to get a signal, or something, but I don’t really know about…” He fades off.

Enjolras feels, oddly, as though he may cry. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, so softly that he does not know what to do with himself, and then Grantaire is on his feet in an instant, and Enjolras finds himself being pulled into an embrace that is warm and gut-wrenchingly close and better than anything he has ever deserved.

He draws in a deep, shuddering breath and lets Grantaire tug him in closer still, presses his nose to the curve of Grantaire’s neck and cannot even manage to think of the impropriety, not when Grantaire’s arms are so warm around his back, his shoulders.

He would apologize, but Grantaire always seems a little bit sadder, whenever he does so, so he figures that it would be rather counterintuitive, all things considered. 

“He’s gonna be alright, you know,” Grantaire murmurs against his hair. “I know you don’t- I know I can’t really do anything to make you believe that, right now, but I promise he is. Planes are safer than cars.”

What a horrifying thought. Enjolras is quite glad that Grantaire cannot drive a car. He does not mention this; instead, he allows himself to wrap his arms around Grantaire in return, to clutch at the back of his shirt and be held closer still. “Okay,” he manages.

Grantaire hums; Enjolras can feel it, deep in his chest. “Wanna watch a documentary?”

“Okay,” says Enjolras, though he does not think that he can bear to do anything, aside from to stay here, like this, with Grantaire’s arm’s around him.

“Cool,” says Grantaire, but he does not move to let him go for a long, long time.

.

They watch a documentary. 

Or. Well. Grantaire watches a documentary. Enjolras sits beside him and leans his head on his shoulder and does what he can to focus on the weight of his arm around his shoulders instead of the weight in his chest. It does very little to calm the way in which his heart races, but it serves, at the very least, as a distraction, as something by which he can mark the hours that slog by.

He would feel guilty for imposing, as such, were it not for the fact that Grantaire holds him so closely that it does not seem possible that it is for Enjolras’s benefit alone.

It helps, he thinks.

There is a crash outside, all metal and glass; there is the jolt of a carbine under his hand and the spray of gunshot against brick, against bone, and he is staring down the barrel of his rifle at a young man with soft features who is staring back at him down the barrel of a cannon, and he can feel the ticking of a pocket watch deep in his palm, and-

There is another sound, sharp and odd, and it takes Enjolras just an instant too long to realize that it has come from Grantaire’s phone. He startles; Grantaire, mystifyingly, takes the moment to run his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, as though gentling a particularly skittish horse, or perhaps a feral barn-cat. He would be rather insulted, he figures, were it not for the fact that it seems to still something frantic beneath his ribs.

“Combeferre’s flight just landed.” It is soft, blurred at the edges, as though Grantaire had been drifting off to sleep over the course of the moving. Perhaps he had--perhaps that would account for the way in which he had settled so comfortably against Enjolras. (Enjolras is not accustomed to people being comfortable around him; he finds he- he likes it. Particularly when it is Grantaire.)

He clears his throat. “Ah,” he says.

Grantaire hums.

“And- And all is well?” he hazards, and he- he does not even know how he would begin to ask more, what he would even say in a demand for more information, but he- 

He-

“Huh?” Grantaire scrubs a hand over his face. (Enjolras becomes more convinced of the fact that he had been half-asleep, only moments before. His heart stutters, uneven, in his chest.) “Oh, yeah, dude, totally normal flight. Everything went fine.”

“Good.” He tries, then, to exhale, to relax, but cannot quite manage it. Damn this new  constitution of his, damn that it never lets him fucking rest, damn that it does not ever leave him be. (Damn that he- that he seems to have lost, somewhere along the way, any shred of the dignity which he used to be able to hold so easily, damn it, damn it. He shall have to work on it, somehow. He shall have to, if he is to keep living alongside Grantaire, and if his heart is to continue to beat such a frantic pace in his chest at his touch.)

Grantaire opens his mouth to speak; Enjolras knows what he will say, what he will offer, before he says anything at all, and- and yes, he wants it, all of it, for he is selfish, and he wishes for Grantaire to call Combeferre, and for Grantaire to embrace him again, and for Combeferre to go out of his way to visit he and Grantaire’s apartment instead of returning to his own, and absolutely none of it is his to ask. “Do you want-” begins Grantaire, and Enjolras pulls himself to his feet despite his every impulse resisting to do so.

“I believe that I shall go read for a time in my own chambers,” he blurts out, before Grantaire can protest, and then he goes to do so. 

He wants for Grantaire to follow him, too, to persuade him back to the sitting room, to call Combeferre anyways, but does not, of course he does not. 

Damn it.

.

And then-

Enjolras makes it three more hours of his heart hammering away in his chest, of gritting his teeth against the feel of a hand on his ankle, of hearing flashes of grapeshot in the rumble of the vehicles below his window. It is a very admirable length of time, in his opinion; his hands have been shaking so hard throughout it that his forearms have taken to aching. 

He ought to wait. He ought simply call on Combeferre tomorrow. There is no need for him to visit unannounced, particularly when he has been traveling, and when Grantaire has assured him that Combeferre has arrived safely, and when there is no reason for concern but for the fact that he seems to have thoroughly lost all sense of rationality, somewhere between the window and the cobblestone, back in June, and-

He sets his book down on the side-table and reaches for his jacket--he was not truly reading it; it is not truly cold. But he- he is frightened, and he is not used to this fucking century, with its- its aired plains, and its bared arms, and he understands none of it at all and he--he tugs on his shoes, does not bother to undo and retie the laces--he is tired, and he would like to see his friend, and-

“Hey, were you reading with the lights off, again?” Grantaire asks, hopelessly concerned, when Enjolras leaves his chambers--and it is jarring, sudden, and he is frozen in place in the hall, for a moment, as he runs the words over in his mind- “Wait, where are you-”

There is a knock at the door.

That-

That is odd.

On the sofa, Grantaire frowns. “Were you expecting-”

Enjolras shakes his head.

“Weird,” says Grantaire.

It is weird. Enjolras goes to answer the door, unlocks it, and-

“Hi,” says Combeferre, who is beaming and who is there, in the doorway, and who is fine, and safe, and-

“Hello,” says Enjolras, and he finds himself unable to keep the sheer relief from his voice, nor a watery smile from rising to his cheeks, and then he is being pulled into an embrace that is so tight his ribs ache.

“I missed you,” Combeferre says, presses against his temple, and then he finds himself being lifted off of the ground, feet dangling, as Combeferre holds him tight. He-

He has never been held, as such, before.

Enjolras’s heart stutters; he swallows down something thick in his throat. “I-” He swallows again. 

Combeferre, then, seems to realize that he has been holding Enjolras some distance from the ground. He sets him down somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, “I wasn’t-”

“I have missed you as well,” he blurts out, somewhat too loud, somewhat too brusque. He fidgets with the hem of his jacket, fingers twitching. “Very much so, I-” He looks to Combeferre, wills him to- to understand, to-

Combeferre pulls him into another embrace, and Enjolras presses his face to his shoulder and holds him in return. 

“How fares your family?” He asks, after a long moment.

Combeferre musses his hair as he lets him go. “Good. Numerous. I’ll show you a picture of my sister’s kid, she just started walking, and it’s- Actually, have you eaten? My mom made me take some pastilla back with me on the plane and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I brought it over here with me.”

He… He has not eaten, he realizes, and he shakes his head. Grantaire must not have wished to disturb him. Which- “Did Grantaire request you visit?”

Combeferre herds him into the kitchen. “No? Should he have?” He pulls a container made of square glass from his satchel; Enjolras fetches three plates, though he does not know if Grantaire has eaten. (He has not, most likely--he has come to realize that Grantaire tends to wait, now, tends not to cook unless it is for the both of them. He does not know what to think of that.)

He shrugs. “I was… concerned,” he admits. “Because of the aired plain. I thought that perhaps Grantaire informed you.”

He frowns. “No, I-” His eyes dip to look Enjolras over, then- “You were totally on your way out the door when I arrived, weren’t you?” It is not a question. 

“It is not of your affairs,” he tries, “Perhaps I was simply on my way to the convenience store. You do not know.”

“You were.” Combeferre is no longer frowning. Instead, a grin has risen to his face; Enjolras has only this as warning before he grabs for him, pulls him into a rough embrace before Enjolras can evade his grasp. “You were, you missed me. Admit it.”

Enjolras feigns struggle, hides his own smile against Combeferre’s arm. “Leave me. Release me at once.” 

“Admit it, admit you missed me.” Combeferre holds him tighter, musses his hair further. “Admit it and I’ll let you go.”

“Absolutely not,” Enjolras says. He struggles a bit more, though mostly only so that he is in a more comfortable position for Combeferre to continue to hold him close. 

“You’ve done this to yourself,” says Combeferre. Enjolras simply rests his forehead against his shoulder and shuts his eyes. Only for a moment. They shall eat Combeferre’s mother’s pastilla in a moment. He can hear Grantaire watching television in the other room; Combeferre’s arms around him are warm and comforting. Just-

A moment.

[cumbercookiebatchs]

Grantaire mostly is able to keep his emotions in check when it comes to his obvious love for Enjolras, but today the jealousy caused by it is hard to mask. It's ridiculous too. Enjolras is always cuddly with the other Amis. He just can't stand it though tonight. The look of the way he climbs onto Bahorel's lap to cuddle and point out everything extraordinary about the man leaves something bitter in his mouth, and he knows it's the bitter taste of jealousy. Which, again, is pretty ridiculous because it's clear that Enjolras and Bahorel view each othet as strictly platonic, like everyone else who he's clung onto tonight. It doesn't stop him from clenching his teeth at the sight.

Besides, Enjolras is drunk. Of course when he gets drunk all he does is espouse and emphasize just how much he loves his friends, getting extra tactile, to the point where he nearly fell asleep on Joly while giving a speech on how great he is. How could Grantaire fault or resent him for being possibly the cutest drunk in the world?

So determined he was to turn away and distract himself from these unneeded emotions that he didn't notice the way Enjolras stumbled over to him and clambered into his lap.

"Grantaire," he breathes, and Grantaire freezes. "Grantaire, how are you?"

He forces a chuckle out his throat. "I've been fine this entire time, Enj."

Enjolras cocks his head and pouts. "But you never came to me."

"You looked like you were having too much fun for me to interrupt."

"But you didn't look like you were havinf fun at all," Enjolras said, lifting his hands to run over the coarse stubble on Grantaire's face. "I saw the way you looked when I kissed Jehan's cheek."

He felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment and shame. "You saw—"

"You didn't look happy, Grantaire, why?" Enjolras sways in his lap as he says this, and Grantaire instinctively circles his waist with his arms to keep him from falling. "Were you jealous, Grantaire?" Enjolras sits in his lap but he's hardly still. His breath comes out in little pants that Grantaire judges with alarm may be Enjolras trying to move for friction.

Alright, so part time cute drunk, part time horny drunk. Good to know.

"Why didn't you come get me, hm? You want to date me, don't you? Why didn't you come get me?" Enjolras is still moving, rocking in little motions in his lap, and Grantaire's own pants are starting to feel pretty tight too, but this really isn't the time because for God's sake Enjolras is drunk!

He cups the back of his head gently and feels Enjolras' head drop to rest on his shoulder. "Hey, I think you should go home with Ferre and Courf now," he whispers softly.

Enjolras, however, makes no attempt to cooperate. "No!" he slurs. "The night is young!" He draws back enough to look Grantaire in the eyes as he frames his face with his soft hands and says, "And I have a lot I want to do," as he closes his eyes and leans in towards his lips.

But he's drunk! So Grantaire halts his movement with a hand to his chest and frantically looks over at Courfeyrac, who rushes over in panic and lifts Enjolras out of Grantaire's lap, to which he lets out whine of protest.

"Alright, time to go now," Courfeyrac mutters as he throws a glance at Combeferre, who nods his head and gathers his stuff as the three head out the door, Enjolras whining about wanting to show Grantaire that he has no reason go be jealous. The words cause a flush to appear on Grantaire's bearded cheeks, and while he did want to have Enjolras get extra touchy with him rather than the others, he wouldn't want it without his full fledged consent. So he tries to calm his racing heart and see what tomorrow brings. He winces out of sympathy when he thinks of the hangover Enjolras will have.

Outside, Combeferre winces as he thinks of how Enj will feel when the memories of the night come back to him.

Enjolras, as usual, betrays all expectations and hisses at Combeferre in the morning on his way out to Grantaire's flat.

He almost kicks the door in with his rough knocking and doesn't even let Grantaire the time to realize who's he's just opened the door to, pushing at his chest until he falls down on his couch.

Grantaire blinks at him, almost sure he's about to die. Enjolras looks like an avenging angel, even more than he usually does- curls flying wildly and cheeks red and hot. He glares at Grantaire and almost growls.

Grantaire's scared, but also really horny and subtly grabs a pillow to put it on his lap. Enjolras seethes.

Grantaire gulps, "En- Enjolras? Are you- is this about yesterday? I didn't do anything I swear - I"

He doesn't get to say more because Enjolras's climbing on his lap, pushing the pillow away with too much strength and curling his hands in Grantaire’s curls. He rubs up against him and breathes in Grantaire’s scent, tugs Grantaire's hands to grab his own hips.

"What do I need to do to make you understand that I want you?"

Grantaire chockes on nothing, "uh?"

Enjolras has started to subtly roll his hips and it's doing nothing to calm down Grantaire's raging hard on; he clings to Grantaire's neck and hums, licks his lobe, "Grantaire, I'm aware there's much to talk about but please, please I need you to fucking take me right now before I lose my mind".

[f-ferrari-forever]

Incandescent - Chapter 1

Summary:

Time is running out. The Deathless is waiting. His best friend is slipping between his fingers.

Lucien Vanserra has stopped caring about what his eldest brother has to say a long time ago. And yet, the male's words keep ringing in his ear. Seek assistance in the Day Court...

Eris Vanserra has stopped wishing for his brother's forgiveness. He doesn't deserve it. And yet, if he could bring some joy into Lucien's life—show him the way Home—he'd gladly do it.

Vassa counts the nights. 6 months until her freedom is over. With every day she spends burning from within, more so the dreams come. If the way out means betraying her people, then so be it.

A tale of three siblings. One Unloved. One Unworthy. One Unmade.

High Lord. High Lady. High King.

A rewrite and continuation of Leaflets in the Sun after ACOSF.

AO3 link: here.

Notes:  The song Jurian sings is the Irish ballad Carrickfergus.

This is a rewrite and continuation of Leaflets in the Sun.

Chapter 1

Lucien squinted at the page he was reading, ignoring the clicking sound of his whirling metal eye. He scratched at his scars, turning the page after what felt like an eternity staring at the same cramped words. He tapped his foot on the wooden floor, his good eye moving faster on the page. He had to decide if this lead was worth pursuing or not...

"Would you fucking stop?"

Lucien jerked his head up. Vassa was glaring at him, dark brows furrowed. She dropped the pen she'd been scribbling with and crossed her arms over her chest, looking at him expectedly.

His right foot froze midair, before resuming its light tapping. The woman standing across from him groaned. "Like you don't slam things around every time they prove to be useless."

"I slam things around to cover that," Vassa said, waving her hand to the upper level of the study, where Jurian lay sprawled in an armchair, humming to himself as he nursed a half-empty bottle of wine. The occasional lyrics spurred from his mouth, so out of tune that Lucien contemplated ripping his ears off.

"And I tap my foot to cover your slamming." Vassa huffed before shutting the book she’d been studying and slamming it on their shared desk so hard her notes scattered.

Lucien shook his head as she rose to her feet and began sorting through her papers. From the way she was stacking things atop each other without a second glance, Lucien wondered if she was helping the situation at all.

"Oh, 'm gonna find me a han'some boatman, to ferr' me over to my luv 'n die!" Jurian's belt on that last note had Lucien cover his ears, hands digging into his scalp.

Vassa whirled around, papers forgotten as she beheld the former general. "If you don't shut up right the fuck now, Jurian —"

Whatever reply the general could stammer died in his throat as three quick knocks echoed out into the manor. Lucien shot to his feet, nostrils flared. He pushed through the stinging smell of alcohol and the sharpness of metal as Vassa drew two daggers, blue eyes fixed on the study's double doors.

The smell of chestnuts and burned wood hit him at once, knees buckling as thoughts of Home filled his mind. And yet, there was an edge to that sweetness, something damp and pungent – the smell of wet dog. "It's Eris," Lucien said, his brows furrowing as he aimed for the study doors.

"Again?" Vassa asked, not letting go of the daggers as she made to follow him. A loud thump had both of them stop in their tracks. Lucien glanced to the spiralling stairs of the study, where Jurian lay on his ass, eyes wide as he stared down at the remaining steps.

"Make sure he doesn't break his neck," Lucien said to Vassa, ignoring her curses as he stepped into the dark hallway to greet his brother.

***

"You were at the lake?" The human queen gaped at him. Eris might have enjoyed the way she was drinking in every word out of his mouth if it weren't for those unnatural eyes bearing into his own.

He glanced around the manor's study. They were sitting at a long mahogany desk, books and papers almost covering the entire surface. There was a spiral staircase leading to a sitting area and pink curtains blocking out any starlight visible in the night. Lucien was sitting across from him, fingers tapping on a piece of paper as he glanced between the pacing queen and the man passed out in a chair at the far end of the desk.

Eris picked up one of the open books and flicked through. "Does Tamlin know you've been stealing from his library, little brother?"

Lucien stiffened. "She asked you a fucking question."

Eris sighed, dropping the book and turning to the mortal woman. He ignored the way his hands twitched as he met her eyes. Too blue. They were as deep and blue as a storming sea, and Eris had the feeling he might drown in them if he stared too long. "He said he's waiting for you."

Something eased in his chest as the woman shuddered, backing away from him and resuming her pacing across the room. "And Briallyn?"

Eris hissed at the crone's name, barring his teeth as he said to the back of Vassa’s head, "Very, very dead. Nesta Archeron Unmade her, or so the brute told me."

"Shouldn't that have made her human again? Not kill her?" Lucien asked, rubbing at the back of his neck as he leaned back in his chair.

Eris paused, weighting the brute's words again. "Perhaps," he mused, "Intent matters. I am not entirely sure how that silver flame works."

His brother only hummed in response and Eris glanced at the mess scattered across the desk again. Volume upon volume on spellwork and warding, passages on breaking through barriers copied in Lucien's neat handwriting—

Eris blinked, the whirling of his brother’s metal eye snapping him out of his stupor. "Are you trying to break her curse?"

Lucien's head whipped towards him, russet eye darkening. "So what if I am?"

Eris stilled. He remembered sitting in this same manor just months ago, Cassian losing his temper at the mere mention of Briallyn 's name. His brother's words rang in his ears now. Easy. Easy. The sheer dominance in that one word, knocking the brute out of his killing spree as fast as he'd entered it—

Eris wondered if he'd lost his mind as the words left his mouth before the thought was fully formed. "I think you should seek assistance in the Day Court."

Lucien sighed, rubbing his forehead. Eris frowned. Cauldron be damned, why wouldn't he want to go to—

"Absolutely not," the human queen spat, blue eyes blazing as she stalked towards them.

"Why the fuck not?" Eris asked, curling his lips as the woman came to a halt in front of him, fists clenched at her sides. She glared at him, and despite those roaring waves that threatened to sink him in, Eris glared back.

"Because she's a superstitious nut case, that's why," Lucien snapped, his hand dropping from his face with a thud on the wooden desk.

Vassa gritted her teeth, chin held high as she and his brother stared each other down. Of course Lucien had already figured out what the fastest way to solve this was. And yet—

Eris cleared his throat, drawing the queen's attention back to him. "Explain," he said, willing his body to remain still as the woman's nostrils flared.

"There is…history between my people and the Daylighters," she said, at last, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked down at him.

Eris resisted the urge to gape at her. Mother spare them. "So you would rather remain cursed than ask the one person who may know of a way out because of — tradition?"

"He doesn't know shit," Vassa said, her voice high enough that the human general shook from his slumber.

Eris rose to his feet, brushing past the mortal queen without sparing her a second glance. He stopped next to Lucien's chair and nodded his head. "I pray to the Mother you won't be driven insane by the time her time is up, brother."

He ignored the woman's huffs and Lucien's muttered curses as he aimed for the exit of the study. The general rose on shaky feet and Eris wrinkled his nose at the stinging smell of alcohol that rose from the man.

Jurian's mouth spread into a wide grin as Eris passed him by. "Look V," he shouted. "My han'some boatman 'as arrived!"

Eris whirled towards the man, who had his arms wide open as he stepped forward. The human queen giggled, and Eris eyed his brother as Jurian made to wrap his arms around him. And stumbled upon a pile of books stacked on the floor.

If his feet weren't still sluggish from having his nails ripped off, he would have dodged the falling body in a blink. Jurian collided with him and then Eris was falling, back hitting the hard floor before heavy hands pushed into his chest, his bruised ribs protesting as the human male fell atop him. High pitched laughter burst through the room. Eris was going to split this man's throat. He was going to—

Jurian made to jump to his feet, eyes wide, hands shaking—and stepped right on Eris's right foot.

The scream tore through him, pain clouding his vision, the darkness sending his mind spiralling back to his chambers at the Forest House, his father towering over him, claws digging into his skin, burning poker too damn close—

A gentle hand grasped his shoulder. Eris blinked. He wasn't in that Cauldron damned House but the pink-curtained study of his brother's manor. It wasn't Beron leaning over him, but Lucien, his russet eye wide, mouth open as his brother muttered his name. Lucien looked so much like their mother at that moment that Eris had to tear his gaze away. He couldn't break down in front of Lucien as he'd done in front of Mother. Not after what he'd allowed his brother to endure. Not with the two humans gawking at him.

The human queen's hands were covering her mouth, and she was refusing to meet his eyes as he turned towards them. And to the man cowering behind her, face white, eyes staring into the distance as if he was reliving some horrors of his own.

"Koschei?" Lucien asked quietly, hand still resting on Eris's shoulder. "Or—"

Eris pulled away too fast. For in the jerking of his arm, the trembling of his hands as he steadied himself on the floor, Lucien read the truth. And Eris had to restrain himself from gagging at the way his brother's face softened.

"I don’t want your pity," he spat as he rose to his feet. He had to get out of here—away from this kindness he didn’t deserve, away from those gaping mortals—

"I have a friend in the Dawn Court who could—"

"Or your help," Eris forced himself to ignore the hurt look that passed Lucien's face. Instead, he took one last look around the study, bearing his teeth at the general.

"Get some fucking wards around this place," he growled as heat began to flow through him. "You're practically begging for an ambush."

And then he winnowed away.

***

Lucien grasped the leather armrest, working over the last few minutes in his head. What the bloody Cauldron could he have said to make Feyre and Rhysand gawk at him like that? He sunk into the chair, scratching at his scars.

"What?" he finally asked, eyebrows raised. He hated knowing they were talking about him, judging him, and yet he was able to do nothing at all to defend himself.

Rhysand cleared his throat, consternation swiftly replaced by the cold mask of the High Lord of the Night Court. "Just making living arrangements," he waved his hand dismissively, and Lucien frowned. "Helion confided in me that there is some—tension in his court. I think it's much better if you two had these meetings here—in the Night Court."

"Living arrangements?" Lucien echoed, suddenly regretting not calling in his deal with Dennis Zana. The eccentric winter suddenly seemed easier to deal with.

"Of course," Rhys said. "You'd meet at the House of Wind, and rest and eat there should you need—"

"With Nesta there?" He should have gone to Zana. Fuck that, he could still contact the courtier—

"Nesta's a sweetheart," Rhysand dismissed him again, nodding to himself as he began writing what Lucien could only assume was a message to Helion. Feyre was frowning at her mate.

"Has he been like this since—?" Feyre began nodding before Lucien could finish his question.

"I'll have you know parenthood is a wonderful and eye-opening experience," Rhysand said, eyes going over the letter in his hands. "You should try it sometimes, although in your case I would suggest waiting until—"

An embroidered pillow flew straight at the High Lord's head. But Lucien had already grasped the meaning. His neck heated, and he kept his eyes on the floor as he rose to his feet. "Eye-opening indeed," he muttered as he aimed for the door.

"That's not what I meant—" Rhysand seemed to have won the battle with the pillow, but Lucien was not in the mood to hear how he should get over Elain and their bond.

"Just get this settled already," Lucien said, not looking at the High Lord and Lady. "We're running out of time."

Gritting his teeth, he passed walls decked with Feyre's paintings, yearning to step into the sunlight, away from the river house so he could winnow home. Home. To a queen whose days were numbered and a general whose nightmares kept them all awake at night. At least they didn't tell him to get over her, at least they didn't talk about him as if he weren’t in the room, at least—

Lucien stepped onto the streets of Velaris and came face to face with his mate.

Elain started as he blocked her path. Her face flushed, looking away, and Lucien almost winnowed away right then and there. His eye caught something white shimmering in the sunlight. Pearls. She was wearing the pearl earrings he'd gifted her.

Elain's blush deepened, and she gestured wordlessly to the house. Lucien blinked and stepped aside, letting her pass by. He stared after her as she went inside, wondering if he'd imagined it all.

[wtfockinternational]

An article about wtFOCK translated from Dutch:

How wtFOCK conquers taboos through trial and error

wtFOCK: for one person a key player, for the other a rather strange combination of consonants. Young people can’t seem to stay away from the successful web series. The new season has started, so we can look back at the previous one. For three months many fans were glued to their screens for a sixteen-year-old’s coming-out. Did this pave a way for more and honest representation of LGBTQ+-problems, or did they occasionally stray from that path?

“‘Secret’ series wtFOCK became the most popular search term on Google in 2019”, various media reported in December. This news seemed to come as a surprise, because many people seemed to have never heard of the term, let alone the web series. And still the series could crown itself the proverbial king of last year’s Google. How did that happen?

The online series that arrived here from Norway mostly seems a hit with teenagers and young adults. In nine weeks’ time the third season got about 11.8 million online views, SBS Belgium said. In total around 400,000 young people between 15 and 34 would be watching the series.

The presumed reason for the success? Young people can follow the characters daily via their smartphones through short, real-time updates and real Instagram-accounts. So ideal in a world where watching linear television, especially for the younger generation, becomes more out of the question. Besides that the series is kept out of the media consciously, to preserve its authenticity and let young people discover it on their own. So far, so good, it seems.

Homosexual main character

Concretely wtFOCK follows the lives of young people in secondary school, where all kinds of teenage troubles don’t get avoided. Since the previous season more social problems are being discussed, too. The series tackled a topic that still hasn’t completely removed itself from the taboo atmosphere: homosexuality, a coming-out, and everything that comes with it. From absolute peaks to the sometimes painful lows we are witnesses to the bumpy road towards self-acceptance that sixteen-year-old Robbe experiences.

But is that a new thing, an LGBT-character in Flemish fiction? Florian Vanlee researches the LGBTQ+-representation in Flemish television series at Ghent University. He clarifies: “About 20 percent of productions is said to have a prominent LGBT-character. Regarding supporting characters, it’s about 33 percent. That’s a relatively large part.”

It does seem the first time that in a commercial youth television the full attention of the main character goes towards homosexuality. “It’s remarkable how instantaneously the focus explicitly goes towards homosexuality. wtFOCK is therefore a very valuable program”, Vanlee says. The question therefore arises how the new form of representation was received by the LGBTQ+-community.

About recognition and self-acceptance

Amver Maselis, a 20-year-old bisexual student from Hove, has been a fan of the original SKAM. When the series ended in Norway, she started to follow the other remakes. Therefore her interest also brought her to wtFOCK. Passionately she talks about a series which she clearly values a lot. “I’ve been following the project for several years, and despite the subtle differences between shows, the main topics are always portrayed nicely.”

Out of all the remakes she thinks wtFOCK is the best one. Then again, the Flemish version connects the most with her own environment. “Now that the series has arrived in Antwerp, in my own culture, it suddenly feels very close to home.”

It helps that she really recognizes herself in Robbe, the main character that comes out of the closet to his friends and family in his teenage years. “It touches me, because I notice that I’ve sometimes said or felt the same things. Back then it was a huge secret I kept to myself. Now I know that it’ll all be fine,” says Amber. ‘ For other young people the series could be encouraging, like SKAM was for me three years ago, when I had just come out of the closet and I has to learn to accept myself.”

22-year-old Fabio Olivieri from Antwerp seems to share that opinion. As a teenager he barely saw a gay character to which he could relate. It comforts him to know that that’s different for the youth today. Besides that he commends the portrayal of the fact that members of the LGBT-community often have to learn to accept themselves, too. “sometimes it’s hard to learn how to deal with it, to know how you feel and if you want to feel that way. That’s portrayed beautifully.”

“Do you have questions?”

So the storyline can be a comfort to youth who can relate to it. wtFOCK also consciously wants to focus on that aspect. Not only by pushing the subject forward, but also by working together with the online platform WAT WAT. This initiative of the Flemish Government is a bundling of forces of more than 70 organizations to inform the youth. Together, those organizations want to make sure that “all young people are confident and can develop their identity in a positive manner.” On the website, youth can find answers about exam stress, problems at home, but also about sex, sexuality, … you name it.

After every clip of wtFOCK the possibility to visit watwat.be is shown, “in case you have questions”. That initiative pleases Ferre Lamber, a 25-year-old man from Antwerp who remembers how he also went to the internet for questions about his homosexuality when he was younger. “Sometimes it’s just hard to tell someone directly that you’re doubting your sexual orientation. So I can definitely imagine that young people will look online for answers.”

This way, wtFOCK wants to do more than just entertain. “Even though it’s fiction, which automatically entails the aspect of entertainment, that is not the essence of our show”, screenwriter Bram Renders says, incidentally also the writer of youth series W817. “We mostly want to show the youth that they’re not alone. That element is strongly present, and it’s nice that we can convey that message like this.”

The harsh reality

Thus, the series carries an important reality, which can be harsh sometimes. Fabio isn’t sure if he can always appreciate that. “I thought that the homophobia in wtFOCK was pretty cruel sometimes. Somehow that’s a good thing, because real life is like that, too. I’ve already experienced that myself. But in series the focus is generally on all the problems gay characters come into contact with. It would have been nice to see that this wasn’t the case. It has two sides.”

One specific scene that, for the same reason, caused a bomb of critical reactions on Twitter to explode, was when gay bashing was shown shortly, but very explicitly. The choice to portray it, is understandable based on the fact that it’s still a real and current problem today. At the end of December, two LGBT-boys in Ghent became victims of gay bashing. In Het Nieuwsblad they called for other victims to not stay silent, but to report such senseless violence to the police. However, in wtFOCK it’s shown how the main character and his boyfriend decide not to go to the police.

Ferre can understand that decision. “As a victim you want to avoid even more trouble and je need the strength to do something about it. I understand that not everyone would have that. One single right way to deal with gay bashing doesn’t exist.”

Ferre is concerned by, is the way in which the show depicted the incident as a while. The scene depicts how Robbe and his boyfriend get verbally abused and attacked. It end abruptly with the two left injured. Only the next day do we as viewer get to know if everything is okay. “Two years ago, when I hadn’t been with my boyfriend for that long, we were followed, too. After, we cuddled, drank tea, and watched a series, … at moment like that you just want to be together lovingly. You want to know if everything will be okay. But in wtFOCK nothing happened on the night itself and the matter was resolved quickly afterwards.”

Criticism

So more clarity would have been appropriate. The possibilities that you have as a victim after such an incident weren’t emphasized enough according to Ferre. Especially not for a show that has the support of a platform like WAT WAT.

This is clearly not the first time that Bram Renders hears this criticism. He has already given up on reading reactions on Twitter, he jokes. Hesitantly he does admit that they could’ve handled the scene better.

‘How it was protrayed, is more intense than how I imagined it during my rose-colored writing process.’  He says. ‘ That’s no criticism towards the director, because you can never know something like that beforehand. But in hindsight it would have been appropriate to show a follow-up-clip, in which they come home for example. As writeryou always have moments of which you think that it would have been better if you handled them differently; this is one of them.’

Besides that it was a conscious decision to make wtFOCK more heavy than the original SKAM. That decision came after prior conversations with people from the LGBTQ+-community. ‘According to the most people I talked to, was the internal struggle of the main character in the original version too small en was the world around him to rose-colored. So we made that world more raw.’ said Renders.

Ignorance

Then again, benefit of such heavy scenes is the awareness it brings about in viewers outside the LGBTQ+-community. “If you don’t know anyone who’s gay, then you also don’t know how we feel and how we experience certain things,” Fabio emphasizes. “I think that because of wtFOCK people can become more aware. Especially with the amount of young people that watch the series, it can provide more understanding and tolerance.”

Ferre also thinks that larger audiences are show what LGBT-people have to deal with. “Nowadays we don’t know enough about each other’s lives. I noticed that when colleagues or friends asked surprised if certain scenes are really like that, and if I’m really scared to hold hands with my boyfriend in the streets. The different seasons of wtFOCK provide good insights into different problems and how people handle them”, he decides.

Of course, purely scientifically it’s hard to determine such an impact on the audience. But intuitively speaking, that impact is already very logical, researcher Florian Vanlee (UGent) clarifies. “On one side, it can be important for people who do not meet the social standard to see their own experiences portrayed. On the other side, it can make those experiences for those who have less knowledge about it more obvious.”

New insights get subtly imparted throughout the series, but sometimes also in a more explicit manner, like in the part about the Gay Pride. At one point Robbe sneering tells his homosexual roommate that he isn’t the kind of person to dance around at Prides with “plumes in his hole”. That roommate is a more extravagant character that is mostly portrayed as support, with wise advice. He offers Robbe (but mostly the viewer) rebuttal with a short, but emotional history lesson. “Do you know that those people had to fight to be who they are?”, it sounds.

The show is undoubtedly referring to the protests of Stonewall which later grew into the Gay Prides all over the world. Something that is often forgotten, gets emphasized here: that people in the LGBTQ+-community had to travel a long and difficult path to have equal rights today and to be able to completely be themselves.

Amber thinks it’s very important for that history to be highlighted. “That people would rather die than not be able to be who they are, is the basic principle of the Gay Pride. There’s more behind it than semi-naked, dancing people, as some still see it.”

Better representation

Referring to the Gay Pride, Ferre admits to be somewhat disappointed about the type of main character in this season of wtFOCK. According to him it also could’ve been a more pronounced type for once. According to him, LGBTQ+-representation is focused on the so-called ‘mainstream’ LGBT-people too often.

At the start of September the topic got a lot of attention, when radio-dj Wanne Synnave (MNM) made the following statement in the talkshow Vandaag: “The biggest problem is that all the role models you see conform to the cliché image. I’ve never been able to identify myself in that area. I think that there’s a need for more mainstream LGBT-role models, the normal man and woman in the street. So not those flamboyant role models, which are pretty cliché.”

That statement caused a lot of outrage in the LGBTQ+-community. Many people didn’t agree, and had the opinion that there were already plenty of LGBT-people portrayed according to ‘hetero standards’. Florian Vanlee (UGent) confirms that in Flanders very little stereotypical characters are portrayed. “You could almost go so far as to say that the majority of the LGBT-characters are a sort of reverse-stereotype. For example, you will very rarely find very flamboyant gay characters.”

So television program makers represent (admittedly with good intentions) in a very general manner. “But exactly because of that, a large part of the LGBT-community are kept out of the picture”, Vanlee says. So there is need for more varying representation.

Balance

In the specific case of wtFOCK we can argue that the show follows the original format from Norway, and takes satisfaction in the extravagant gay character Milan, the roommate. “It’s hard to find a good balance”, screenwriter Bram Renders says. “In this case I thought that that balance with the ‘out in the open, take it or leave it’-roommate was enough.

In addition, according to Florian Vanlee, it’s not fair to judge individual series on those choices. “That’s not the right way to deal with what we want to see in media and popular culture”, Vanlee thinks. “Nowadays, in Flanders, it’s normal to represent LGBT-characters, for example Kaat in the soap Thuis. That was already an important step. What could be better, isn’t the responsibility of the television-industry, but also the discourse it generates,” he decides.

Finally, representation in Flemish media doesn’t just concern LGBTQ+-characters. It’s also important to look at the portrayal of people with a migration background or with different religions, for example. But wtFOCK doesn’t shy away from that either. In the fourth season, the show takes a new taboo by the horns by making Yasmina, a Muslim character, the main. It remains to be seen how the young, but critical audience will find the new theme.

[sentinelstars]

Since I haven’t figured out how to work AO3 as a writer yet, here is a mini Courferre bullet fic thing that popped into my mind. Enjoy :)

Courfeyrac who is friendly and charming, and who flirts with his friends until they get flustered as a way to show affection.

No, seriously. He’s even made Enjolras blush and stammer on a few occasions, although admittedly he’s not as good at it as Grantaire. 

Courfeyrac who treats it like a game, even if he always wins in the end, it’s the initial challenge that makes it fun. 

Courfeyrac showing up early to an ABC meeting and shouting a pick up line at Joly and winking, only quitting once the doctor slaps him gently in protest and Musichetta hands him his drink with a warning look. 

Courfeyrac being told off by his best friend Combeferre, who is clearly not in the best of moods today

Courfeyrac draping himself across Combeferre’s shoulders and making kissy faces, throwing out a compliment that would make a nun pass out 

Combeferre reacting icily and motioning for Courfeyrac to sit down so that they can begin

Courfeyrac realizing, with horror, that Combeferre hadn’t even flinched at his valiant attempts at flirting.

Worried that he is losing his touch, Courfyerac walks over and sits with Bahorel, Bossuet, and Feuilly, missing the glare that Combeferre shoots at his back

Courfeyrac wrapping his arms around Bahorel and whispering in his ear until the man turns red. Courfeyrac sitting down with his drink, relieved that he is still just as charming as ever

But why didn’t Ferre react, then?

Courfeyrac slowly realizing that Combeferre has never reacted to any of his shenanigans, never blushed or stammered. The guide only ever looked at him over his book sternly until Courf backed off.

Courfeyrac making it his personal mission to get Ferre to react somehow, refusing to leave his friend alone for the duration of the meeting.

I mean, he tries everything. Cheesy pick up lines, physical affection, his trade-mark smile and wink- nothing works. Combeferre only reacts with a stern look that makes something in Courfeyrac’s chest hurt. He redoubles his efforts

“Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk past you again?” “Courf, we’ve known each other for 10 years,” Combeferre sighs, before continuing. “Sit down, you’re embarrassing yourself.” 

It’s cold, even for Combeferre, but something in Courfeyrac’s gut won’t allow him to give up. He only sits down and stops when Enjolras walks over, looking like he might actually murder the both of them

 Ferre gathers up his stuff and exits quickly, before Courf or Enjolras can say a word to him.

Courf sits at the bar and has an internal crisis, trying to figure out why- why Ferre won’t react, and perhaps, more importantly, why Courf cares so much, why he gets that feeling when Combeferre looks him in the eye. It feels like Courfeyrac is freezing and melting all at once, like that single stare has trapped him in a cage, yet his heart seems to be soaring far away, leaving him behind. 

Grantaire is next to him, rambling on about what classical figure Enjolras reminded him of today, and Courf isn’t really listening. Well, until Grantaire suggests that they go to a club with some of the others and get drinks. “Yes!” Courfeyrac blurts out before he can stop himself

At the club, Courfeyrac can almost forget about Combeferre, with all of the attention he’s getting. He has four sets of numbers written on his arm, although they’re all blurred by the sweat from dancing. He’s tipsy and laughing, with Bahorel’s arm around him, and yet he still has a nagging feeling at the back of his mind

Courfeyrac leaves to get another drink and as he’s waiting at the bar, alone, the hair on the back of his neck stands up, like he’s being watched. He turns around and there’s his best friend, Combeferre, standing at the edge of the club and quickly looking away

Courfeyrac walks over to him in disbelief. “Are you seriously trying to hide? It won’t work, I’ve never seen somebody look so out of place at a club!” 

Ferre cooly explains that he’s there as a designated driver for Joly, Bossuet, and Jehan, and it drives Courfeyrac absolutely crazy that even after Courf caught him staring, he still acts calm, collected, and unashamed

That feeling in his gut is back, and Courf follows it, flirting with his best friend as though he’s some common stranger at the club, not ceasing his efforts even when Grantaire tries to pull him back out to go dance

He becomes so desperate that he goes for horrible, awful lines that he hasn’t used since middle school. “I hope you know CPR, because you take my breath away,”

“I’m a doctor, Courf. Listen-” 

But that matter of fact statement sets Courf over the edge. He groans, waving his hand dismissively, “Fuck you, then! I’ll go find someone else to take home tonight!” He means it as a joke, he really does. But he can’t help but notice the air of finality there is as he begins to walk away

Combeferre grabs his arm and fixes him with that look, and Courfeyrac, is for once, at a loss for words. Suddenly, they’re walking to the hallway where the bathrooms are, and Combeferre’s lips are on his and he’s kissing him insistently. Courfeyrac, temporarily stunned, stands there, alcohol-addled brain taking a few moments to comprehend that Combeferre, his best friend, is kissing him

Once he does figure it out, however, Courfeyrac kisses back with enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around Ferre tightly, clinging on to him like he might leave any second. Courf feels like, without Combeferre there, steadying him, he’d collapse, because his knees are weak and his balance is all off

Suddenly, Ferre stops kissing him and pulls away. Courfeyrac looks up at him with a grin slowly starting to form, but his cheeky comment is cut short when he notices the look of absolute horror on Combeferre’s face.

“We should get out of here-” “I’m driving you home.” “And coming inside after?” Courfeyrac asks hopefully, wiggling his eyebrows.

Ferre blushes, he actuallly blushes, and Courfeyrac thinks that now he can die happy. That is, until Ferre says firmly, “No. You’re drunk. You’re going home to Marius and I’m going home to my bed.” 

“We can have a sleepover like we used to-” “No!” Ferre looks distressed, horrified at himself, and Courfeyrac feels his heart breaking. “Ferre-” he pleads gently, reaching towards him, but Combeferre holds him at arms distance. “You’re drunk. I can’t- How could I-?” the doctor pulls at his hair, before pinching the bridge of his nose and groaning.

Courfeyrac doesn’t even know how to react, he just follows numbly behind Combeferre as the doctor searches the crowd for someone. Vaguely, Courf wonders how one could go from being so elated to however he’s feeling right now in a matter of minutes.

He realizes that Combeferre is handing him off to Bahorel, who is sober, to take him home, like he can’t even bear to be in a car with him right now

As the guide goes to leave, sheparding Bossuet, Joly, and Jehan with well practiced skill, he glances back apologetically at Courf, and mouthes something that Courf can’t decipher amid the flashing lights.

When Bahorel gets him home and Marius brings him some water while he lies in bed, Courfeyrac can hardly drink it, too preoccupied trying to figure out everything that happened, and he drifts off to sleep. 

Courfeyrac wakes up with a headache, but he doesn’t think it’s from the hangover. He can practically feel Combeferre overthinking whatever happened last night, even from blocks away, and it pains him. He knows his best friend, and he can tell that he’s suffering.

He doesn’t even bother to change his clothes from last night, leaving a note for Marius and then practically running to Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment.

He raps insistently at the door, and he’s about to start yelling when Enjolras answers, coffee in hand, golden hair askew. 

“What happened last night? Combeferre came in all in a flurry, totally interrupted my studying, and said something about you- being drunk, him taking advantage of you? He hasn’t left his room all morning!” Enjolras demanded an explanation, blocking the doorway. 

“Oh no, Enj, please let me through, I’ve got to talk to him, please,” he begged, making a pouty face before Enjolras sighed, moving to let him by. “You owe me an explanation and an energy drink,” the leader grumbled as Courf ran past him, knocking on Ferre’s bedroom door. 

It opens and Ferre looks horrible, as though he hadn’t slept all night. Enjolras, as tired as he is himself, stands and tenses immediately, about to walk over, but he pauses when he sees Courf wrap Combeferre into a hug. 

Ferre hugs back hesitantly, before saying, “Courf, listen, I don’t think-”

“Good. Stop thinking. Please, you’re driving me insane. Just let yourself- let us- have this. I’m begging you.” Courf pulls away just enough to grab him by the back of his head and kiss him insistently, and Ferre only resists for a moment before kissing back. 

Enjolras nearly spits out his coffee. “You- I-”

Courfeyrac can’t even hear him, too busy grinning up at Combeferre who is smiling nervously, and a blush, a blush!, Courfeyrac thinks with giddiness, is spreading across Ferre’s face. 

“Um- Sorry Enj-” the doctor starts sheepishly, and he’s stuttering, flustered, and Courfeyrac’s heart just about bursts. 

“I’m not!” Courf shouts excitedly, kissing Combeferre again, and pushing him back into his bedroom. 

Enjolras sighs, hiding his fond smile with his coffee mug and mumbling, “I’ve got to call Feuilly.” 

Later, with satisfaction, Courfeyrac thought that he really could get anyone to fluster, but he didn’t think he’d ever need to see it from anyone other than Ferre ever again. 

[accio-that-gay-shit]

I swear, Malfoy. || Drarry Oneshot

5th year where Harry and Draco get themselves into a little bit of a sticky situation ;) ;) 

"You're doing it wrong, Potter!" Draco snapped at Harry, smacking his hand away from the potion.

"I'm following the damn instructions, you git!" Harry retaliated, causing Draco to merely roll his eyes.

"You're following them wrong, obviously. You're stirring it the wrong way, cutting the vegetables wrong, and you're even adding them in, in the wrong order! Do we need to get you new glasses Potter? Because it doesn't seem like you can read!"

"God damn, Malfoy! I know what I'm doing! Just trust me."

"And why in the bloody fucking hell would I do that..?"

"Because-"

"Because you're the chosen one? Because you have a bloody scar on your forehead? Because you're a Gryffindor? Why in the hell should I listen to you?"

"Well if you'd let me finish-"

While the two boys argued, they left the potion simmering too long. It started to bubble, and bubble. Until...

A loud explosion like sound filled the room. The shimmery green potion blasted onto the two rivals. The entire class turned their heads, to see the cause of the noise.

"Let go of my hand, Potter!"

"I can't! You need to let go!"

"If I could've, i would've done so long ago!"

The two boys tried to tug their hands apart, but they seemed to be stuck together by a force, that the two of them were not powerful enough to overcome on their own.

The two stomped up to professor Snape and glared daggers at one another. If looks could kill, these two would be even more dead then Lily and James on that Halloween night.

"Professor!" Draco whined, tearing his eyes away from Harry. "We have a problem!"

Harry glared at the blonde Slytherin and rolled his eyes. Severus Snape raised a brow at the two of them, and looked them up and down.

"This is nothing new, Mr. Malfoy." The drawling voice of Severus Snape spoke sarcastically, causing Draco to groan.

"Professor! Now is the time!" Draco held up their hands and glared at it, as if it would magically allow their hands apart.

Snape had to stifle a snort as he saw the boy's hands. The two were always at each other's throats and this sight, was a priceless moment that he'd never let them live it down.

"Let me see your hands" Snape said as the boys slowly moved their conjoined hands to the greasy adult. He pulled out his wand and ran a few spells over it. "Well, the good news, is that its not permanent. "

"How long?" Harry demanded.

"A month."

"A month?!" The boys exclaimed at once.

"I can't be touching this for a whole month!"

Harry glared at Draco and rolled his eyes. "Is there any way to shorten the time we spend like this..?" He questioned, moving his gaze back to the Potions master.

"no. So get used to sleeping in the same bed, taking the same classes, and sitting at the same table in the great hall for the next month." The two boys groaned at once, causing Snape to roll his eyes.

At dinner, Harry immediately pulled Draco towards the Gryffindor table, much to Draco's dismay. Students stared as the two walked in, hand in hand. Harry sat down, and pulled the blonde down next to him, earning a yelp from the Slytherin. Hermione and Ron raised a brow at the pouting Slytherin then moved their gaze to Harry, demanding answers.

"Potions accident caused our hands to be like this" Harry held up their hands "for a month."

Hermione and Ron gave him looks of pity.

Draco stared at his plate and rolled his eyes. Harry glanced at him and raised a brow. "You can still eat one handed, you know."

Draco rolled his eyes once more and scoffed. "I know, that. I'm not stupid"

"I beg to differ.." Ron muttered and Draco glared at him. "What?"

"Don't you dare, Weasel. Don't act all innocent."

"I'm not acting innocent, ferret."

Draco's glare deepened and he clenched his fist that wasn't holding Harry's. Harry noticed, however and did the thing that first came to mind to stop them from fighting.

"Don't call me ferr-" he stopped and looked at his and Harry's conjoined hands, where Harry was rubbing circles on the back of Draco's. "What in the bloody fuck are you doing?"

Harry just shrugged, but didn't stop. Hermione and Ron eyed Harry curiously and he waved his hand to dismiss any ideas that they had.

After dinner, Snape then showed them the room they'd be staying in. It was a nice room, with scarlet colors (much to Draco's dismay) with one king sized bed.

"One bed?" Draco said with disgust, looking up at his godfather.

"Well, yes. Seeing the circumstances there's no other way" Snape said with a roll of his eyes.

"We could push two beds together." The blonde muttered and the two others in the room rolled their eyes.

"It's basically the same thing, Malfoy. You'd still have to sleep next to me either way" Harry raised a brow

"Precisely." The professor agreed before leaving the room.

Draco sighed and looked around. He scoffed. "Disgusting choice of colors."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just, come on. I'm tired and in need of sleep."

"Potter?"

Harry looked at him. "Hm?"

"How do we get changed?"

"I swear, Malfoy. It's not that hard. We simply Diffindo the sleeves, and then fix them right after. You're a wizard aren't you?"

Draco rolled his eyes and looked away. "Shove off Potter. "

After immense amount of struggle, they are dressed and in bed. Draco is facing away from harry, and Harry is facing Draco's back.

Harry stared at back of the blonde's head. He sighed and fell asleep.

The scarred male was jolted awake by his arm being pulled. His eyes shot open. He was about to go off on Malfoy about waking him up, when he saw the condition he was in.

The Slytherin was shaking and was curled into a ball. He tried to force back the tears, but that wasn't working. He had his other hand over his mouth the muffle the sobs.

"Malfoy..?" Harry whispered softly. Draco just shook his head. Harry tried to rub circles on the back of his hand once more, and it seemed to work a little.

They sat like that for a few minutes, Draco trying to calm down. He had woken up from a nightmare about his father, and he couldn't stop himself.

After he calmed down enough, where he wasn't spilling tears and the sobs weren't threatening to sound. He was still shaking, but not as much.

"What happened..?" Harry asked quietly.

"Nothing." Draco snapped back harshly and Harry sighed.

"Mal- Draco it was obviously something, you were-"

"Shouldn't you be enjoying the experience of seeing me vulnerable? Great, now just don't tell anyone."

Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't enjoy that, I don't want to see anyone as scared like that-"

"I don't need your pity."

Before Harry could say something back, Draco stood up, as an effect, Harry was pulled up as well.

Draco grabbed his wand and recklessly cut the sleeves so he could slip it off his arm. Harry grabbed his wand hand with a look of worry on his face.

"Careful! You're going to hurt yourself!"

Draco just glared at him and rolled his eyes. After he finished changing he looked to Harry. "Aren't you going to change...?"

Harry shrugged, and the blonde groaned. "I will not be stuck to someone who doesn't change out of their dirty clothes"

"Oh well, you're going to have to, because you can't make me." Harry said

Draco glared and took that as a challenge. He unbuttoned the other's shirt with a stern look. He carefully Diffindo'd the sleeve and pulled it off of Harry, he grabbed another shirt and threw it at the boy.

"There. Now you have to put this on, or else people will question why you're holding my hand, and without a shirt. It'll be suspicious, don't you think?" Draco smirked and Harry rolled his eyes, glaring.

Harry put it on, mumbling something about him being a prat.

"Now do I need to do the same with your pants?" Draco's smirk grew and Harry blushed.

"No. Turn away"

Draco obeyed and looked away, letting the other change one handed.

After they were changed, they headed down to breakfast.

"My table" Draco said pulling Harry before he could argue. They sat down in front of Pansy and Blaise.

"Potter." Pansy addressed with a nod.

"Parkinson" Harry looked at her. Blaise was smirking at Draco who was glaring daggers.

"How's this incident treating you two?" Pansy asked as Harry took a bite of his food.

"It's a struggle" Harry shrugged as he glanced at Draco, who was pushing his food around with a fork. "do I need to feed you? You didn't eat dinner."

Draco looked at him with a raised brow. "What? No."

"Then, eat."

Draco didn't respond and tried to make conversation with Blaise. Harry glared and pulled Draco's plate closer to himself. He took the fork, put a bit of food on it and raised it. He took his chin and forced Draco's gaze onto himself. Harry squeezed their conjoined hands tightly.

"God damn! Careful Po-" Harry took the chance of Draco's mouth being open and pushed the fork inside. He glared at Harry and chewed it up before muttering "prat."

Harry smirked. "Now continue to eat, or I'll continue to feed you"

Draco rolled his eyes but took the plate back nonetheless. Pansy and Blaise shared knowing looks.

Back in the dorm, Harry and Draco were sitting on the bed in silence.

"Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you do that, at breakfast?"

"Because."

"Do you care about me?" Draco asked in a mock tone

Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't respond.

"Potter?"

"What?"

"You care about me."

"... I swear, Malfoy-"

"And I care about you."

[despisydraws]

Okay, so this went from headcanons to a one-shot draft real fast and I'm 100% not sorry to fill your entire timeline with trans Courfeyrac's first meeting with the Amis and his coming-out story

Enjoy this mess of a bullet point half-oneshot that has somehow gotten the length of 1,7k words, with no beta because we die like men

-It took Courf quite a long time to figure out what it was that made him so uncomfortable with himself and even once he came to conclusion he just tried to repress it

-He used to dress in extremely feminine clothes (mostly out of fear that nobody would want him anymore otherwise)

-Yep, right, he was super scared of being alone in the world and he constantly needed the assurance that he was needed

-He had a bunch of super shitty boyfriends who treated him like dirt and only wanted him as a status symbol, to have 'a hotter girlfriend than the others'

-He was so tired of being cheated on and used, but he felt so alone and helpless that he tried to hold on to every. single. one. of those douchebags

-That made them even greater assholes, of course, like a confidence boost (disgusting)

-He got rid of them only by them getting rid of him, what happened after a fairly short time (because 'He was just so clingy' and 'they never wanted a long-term relationship they just wanted some fun') (I repeat: disgusting)

-After an especially bad breakup, which he reasoned by himself not behaving enough as the girl he should be ('shitty-ex also said that, so it's true, right?'), his almost frantic femininity got even worse

-That was the phase in which he met Combeferre

-Courf was sitting in the corner of a very empty cafe, staring into his cup without drinking

-Ferre has to deal with the Amis, so he's kind of a hobby-therapist, he came over immediately and asked to sit with him

-He just sensed that something was off about 'the girl who constantly shoves her beautiful long curls back as if they were tiny snakes trying to bite her, who kneads the hem of her short dress nervously, trying not to let anyone see, who shifts her feet in her heels as if she stood on needles' - it reminded him of Enjolras, but in less furious and more hurt

-They chat a little and Ferre gets him to attend one of the amis' meetings

-They go there together, there is a mirror in the corridor of the cafe next to the coat rack, where Courf stops dead and just gazes at what has become of him

-Ferre just tries to calm him by saying 'don't worry, you look wonderful.' And Courf immediately clenches his jaw, because 'oh, great, another one of those guys...'

-Anyway they attend the meeting and Courf is absolutely in awe over Enjolras, about his strength and confidence, generally just his aura which is almost visible to him, red and burning

-Feuilly, who is a hobby-hairdresser and cuts cuts the hair of all of the Amis for free, takes one look at him and immediately goes "wooow, I'd love to cut your hair, can I cut it? Look at all those cool and sexy hairstyles over here *gestures to Bahorel* and here *gestures to Joly who grins and waves at him*, okay, over here I messed up *gestures to Bossuet, who notices Courfs mortified expression and goes 'no, don't worry, I'm naturally bald he's just joking!'* and Feuilly laughs and goes on with his rambling" but Courf is like 'no way, you're not gonna touch my hair, wtf?' And he avoids Feuilly because he has a vague feeling that the redhead is a huge creep...

-Enjolras takes one look at Courf and then turns to Ferre with a raised eyebrow

-They have something like a telepathic discussion about Courf, Ferre desperately wants to keep him because he just feels that it's right but Enjolras can't stand him because his behavior seems so fake (he can't get behind it yet, he tends to judge people immediately, like an instinct, and he really doesn't want a 'little prom queen Ferre wants to go off with' in his activist group. He should really know Ferre a little better than that, given the fact that they grew up together, and know that he's got his reasons, but Enj had a very bad day so he goes with whatever his mind tells him)

-Courf gets along quite alright with the others, especially with Bahorel, Grantaire and Jehan (even though he thinks they're a little weird) and 'that Joly is cute I guess'

-After the meeting they all get ready to go home and most of them have left already, Jehan suddenly comes up to him and hugs him deeply, saying how much they wish for Courf to stay with the group

How? How could anyone resist that?

-So Courf comes back a few times and when they plan to go on vacation with the group to strengthen the team spirit and mayyybe just have a chill weekend for once Courf is already included in the plans without them even asking him

-They go by train to a summer cottage Jehans parents own at the coast of Spain, right at the beach

-Courf shares a room with Grantaire and Joly and Bossuet, Enj and Ferre share a smaller room and Jehan sleeps with Feuilly and Bahorel on a huge extendible couch

-Let's say this is at a point where Courf has already gotten so much queer influence from this group that he is just confused and absolutely can't tell anymore who he is, because, apparently it's okay to not feel the same way your body lookw?? But that's colliding with everything he learned from the shitty douchebag boyfriends and his clique he had a few years ago????

-His mind is absolutely overwhelmed and he doesn't know what to do anymore, the assumption he had about himself is proving true at an alarming speed and he can't repress it anymore.

-Even though his is with such an open minded group now, he still fears to be cast out once he opens up

-He fears that they would think he was shamming himself again to fit in more ('I presented myself so different when he first met them, it would be strange, right? It would seem like a lie if I told them!')

-He sleeps less and cries a lot, this holiday should have been relieving but it has become the horror to him

-Everytime he sees Joly and Bossuet kissing, everytime Enjolras lifts his shirt in the heat, showing his scars and Grantaires' longing gazes, he excuses himself. He sits in the bathroom quietly, staring at the wall, until a person comes along who has to use it

-One night he can't take it anymore

-There's Grantaire and Bossuet snoring to both sides of him and Joly shifting in his boyfriend's arms the entire time, sometimes pressing a pillow on his face to stop the noise

-There is too much sound, too much movement around him so the thoughts that need to be thought, if not at daytime, then at least at night, get even louder

-He stands up with his blanket underneath one arm and quietly leaves the room into the dark hallway. His knees are shaking and all he wishes for is to break down on the floor but his body just can't pass that point of desperation, so he stumbles around until his hands find the next doorhandle and pushes it

-There is a muffled voice, saying "Don't even try it, Jehan, I hid your notebook. Go to sleep, write that thought down tomorrow..."

-When there is no reaction a bedside lamp is switched on, revealing Combeferres sleepy face

- "Ferre, turn the goddamn light on one more time and I'll kill you" Enjolras grunts from the other bed, turning his back to the room

-Combeferre just quietly signs for Courfeyrac to lay down next to him after he took one look at his face and he does (Ferre is after all still the one he trusts most)

-He crawls underneath Ferres blanket and buries his face against the latter one's chest and then everything just starts streaming out of him, all of his thoughts, all of his feelings, he just talks about everything for the first time

-As he ends there is silence and Combeferre places a kiss on his head when he starts to cry again

-Enjolras just quietly apologizes for being rude to him all the times before and stands up, moving over to the two of them

-He starts to tell Courfeyrac the story of his own coming out, how he got kicked out by his parents and had to move out of the city and live with Combeferre and something about the story calms him down

-He falls asleep sandwiched between Ferre and Enj after they had to promise to not tell anyone about it yet

-The next night he feels better but he is still restless

-He's up again, quietly shifting to the living room where he shakes Feuilly awake

C:"Can you help me with something?"

F:"Sure, what is it?"

C:"Cut my hair..."

-Feuilly is out and about in an instant and soon there is light in the kitchen, Courf is sitting on a stool they found in a small storeroom and Feuilly comes in with a grin and a pair of scissors

-The next morning the others almost don't recognize him anymore, if not because of his looks then because of his aura. He is genuinely happy for the first time in what feels like an eternity

-Even Enj is grinning when he sees him and stands up from the table where they are eating breakfast, putting an arm around his shoulders

"Listen here my boy, you don't know what danger you just put yourself in. Look at them, they're all gay and ready to eat you alive"

-The entire table bursts in chaos, Joly spits out his juice, Bahorel is screaming from the top of his lungs, Grantaire is muttering "I'm so in love, I'm so in love, I'm so in love" over and over again and Bossuet jumps up from his chair so suddenly it falls over "Enjolras made a joke?! Enjolras is funny?! My life is a lie!"

-Courfeyrac just laughs with them, glad that Enjolras saved him from all the awkward questions for now

-He sits down next to Combeferre and shoots him a small look

"Are you also, you know... gay and ready to eat me alive?" He chuckles and Combeferre turns his head into his direction with an amused smile "Eating you would be a little harsh, don't you think? But I admit, I have been thinking of eating with you this evening" "Are you... asking me out?" "What else could I have intended with that?"

And they all live happily ever after, finish, yaaay

[permets-tu-means-i-love-you]

ExR: "God, I missed you"

Hope this suits your needs anon.

Summary: Enjolras returns home from college nervous that nobody will remember him.

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, tell me if you need anything else listed/tagged.

Enjolras was worried. Even though he should be celebrating, he couldn’t shake the anxiety that stuck with him. He had just graduated from law school after seven excruciatingly long years. Now, he was moving back home. This wouldn’t be so much of a problem, except for the fact that he had a large group of friends he hadn’t seen for, what, three years now? Sure, he’d kept in contact, but that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t seen them face to face in forever.

He tried to visit them every once in a while, but as uni progressed he’d had less and less time to do so. Instead, regular texting was how they had to communicate, but even that had slowed down as more and more work had been piled onto Enjolras’ workload. It’s not like he’d been avoiding them, he just hadn’t had much time to do anything other than schoolwork.

As he taped the last of his moving boxes, he looked around his now empty dorm room. Seeing it so lifeless only made him more anxious about leaving. He had lived in this room for seven long, stressful years. Now he had to go back to a place he barely remembered. 

A tiny, nagging voice in the back of his head appeared, bringing unwanted thoughts with it. “And you’re back to people who barely remember you. They haven’t seen you for three years, why would they want to see you now?”

“That’s not true,” Enjolras said, thinking aloud. “I texted them last night and they said they were glad I was coming back.”

“But remember how long it took them to reply? It took them an hour to just read the text. And Combeferre was the only one who replied. Sure sounds like excitement to me. They don’t want you back, they only replied out of pity.”

He tried to argue with the intrusive thoughts, but anything he did only made them worse. He tried using various distraction tactics Jehan had showed him, but those didn’t help either.

“What if when you get back everyone hates you? What if you get back and nobody remembers you? What if you get back and you blackout and murder everybody? What if-”

Overwhelmed with anxiety, he instinctively started tapping a rhythm against his leg. He focused on that until he couldn’t hear the thoughts anymore, then picked up the last box and walked outside.

Once the last box had been neatly arranged in the back of his car, he sat down in the driver’s seat but hesitated before turning the key. There was still one train of thought that stuck with him.

“What if when you get back, Grantaire hates you? What if when you get back Grantaire doesn’t remember you? What if you get back and something’s happened to Grantaire?”

These thoughts had been plaguing his mind for longer than he’d like to admit. He’d been in love with Grantaire for some time, but he’d never told him. He’d kept his feelings bottled up for years, and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass. His anxiety increased every time he thought of how reuniting with his friends, but more specifically, Grantaire would go. He decided to stop thinking about it, but that didn’t do much to calm his fears.

He started the ignition and began the hour-long drive, only his thoughts, and The Greatest Showman soundtrack for company. It was going to be a very, very long drive…

~~~

Grantaire woke to the sound of his phone going off like a siren, a million notifications screeching to be acknowledged. Still half asleep, he reached over to grab his phone, almost dropping it in the process. He turned on his phone to see more than 100 messages in the group chat, all of them probably important. He glanced at the time and almost fell off of his bed. Now wide awake, he scrambled to throw on some clothes.

“Courf is going to kill me,” he thought as he rushed out the door, scrambling to get to the Musain. “It’s 1 am and I just woke up. I thought I had an alarm set…”

While it wouldn’t be much of a problem any other day, today was the day Enjolras finally got back from uni. It had been years since he last saw him, and he had been texting less and less. It was understandable, given that he was in his graduating year, but it had still hurt when a text went unanswered for days.

Grantaire burst through the doors of the Musain to find everything arranged perfectly, waiting for Enjolras. Then he heard a voice from the other room.

“Is that Grantaire? Move aside ‘Ferre, I need to commit a crime.”

Courfeyrac entered the room, glaring at Grantaire with a murderous rage. 

“And just where have you been? You were supposed to help make the decorations! And help with the baking!”

“Would you believe me if I said I got… uh… caught in… traffic?”

“You live, like, a block away. Wait, do you even have a car? Nevermind, I don’t care. What I do care about is you showing up hours late! What is wrong with you!”

“Many things, but the relevant problem would be that my alarm didn’t go off when it was supposed to. Either that or I slept through it.”

Courfeyrac sighed, looking disappointed but not surprised. “At least you came… Well, since there’s nothing left to do, I guess you can just hang out until he gets here.”

Courfeyrac walked away and Grantaire sat down at a table, wondering if it was too early to start drinking. Suddenly, Combeferre rushed in through the door carrying a bag of chips.

“He’s coming! Everyone get out here, quick!”

Everyone scrambled out into the open, smiling excitedly and chattering loudly. After a few seconds, the noise died down as everyone waited in anticipation for Enjolras to walk through the door. Grantaire couldn’t see him come in over the crowd, but he did see the top of the door swing open and everyone rush toward him as they yelled “Surprise!”

The place erupted with laughs and smiles, talking about things they’ve missed out on and things to update Enjolras about. After everyone backed off and stopped crowding him so intensely, Grantaire tried to see him through the crowd with no luck. He wasn’t going to stand and try to push to the front, he wasn’t even that sure if Enjolras even wanted to see him.

He heard Eponine loudly announce how much she’d missed him and how she hated him for leaving her alone to deal with Courfeyrac, earning a very indignant “Hey!” from a fake-insulted Courf. He heard Enjolras and Eponine talk some more, not quite making out what they were saying. He zoned out, tuning back in when he heard his name.

“...Where’s Grantaire,” Enjolras said, sounding… anxious?

“Knowing him, he’s either still asleep or off somewhere drunk already,” Eponine said, trying not to laugh.

“Truly inspiring words, ‘Ponine. I can see how valued and noticeable I am in this friend group,” Grantaire said, voice dripping with sarcasm. The crowd parted as they turned to face him, and he could see Enjolras staring at him, a strange expression on his face.

“God, I missed you,” Enjolras said softly, almost too softly to hear. Grantaire smiled and stood up. He walked over to Enjolras and took his hands in his own.

“I missed you too.”

“Can I kiss you,” Enjolras asked, nervous but hopeful.

“Yeah,” he replied, not quite believing what was happening.

Then Enjolras’ lips were on his and everything else vanished. It felt like they stayed that way for years, but when Enjolras pulled away it was still too soon. 

“I told you something would happen.”

“Shut up Courf!”

Grantaire turned round to see a smug Courfeyrac receiving twenty dollars from a disgruntled Bahorel.

“Wait a second, did you guys bet on this,” Grantaire asked, shooting a glare their way.

“Yeah, and if you’d been here on time like the rest of us, you would’ve known,” Courfeyrac replied with a smirk.

Grantaire looked back at Enjolras who seemed embarrassed but not surprised. Grantaire rolled his eyes at the others, earning a small laugh from Enjolras.

“Alright Grantaire, don’t think that because you two idiots finally did something about those feelings of yours you’ll get to hog Enjolras. Especially because I called first dibs,” Courfeyrac said.

“You can’t call dibs Courfeyrac,” Combeferre replied.

“I can and I will,” he said, skipping over to Enjolras and Grantaire. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to steal my best friend for a moment.”

Courfeyrac grabbed Enjolras’ elbow dragging him away. Enjolras shot an amused look back at Grantaire before being hauled back into the crowd, Grantaire close behind him.

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

Halloween prompt: Politically themed costumes, Les Mis.

Rating: G 1,043 words Gen AO3

“I thought we agreed that we weren’t doing Halloween this year?” Enjolras half grumbled, half called up the steps. “In light of the fact that there is a global pandemic and we’ve been responsibly quarantining and social distancing this whole time.” Despite his complaints, he still fixed the ridiculous headband he wore as part of his costume. The halved wiffle ball glued onto it made pretty decent looking fly eyes, but the weight was weird and the whole thing kept slipping as a result.

The thud of footfalls preceded Enjolras’s view of Courfeyrac as he loped down the stairs. “Yes,” Courf sighed, “we agreed not to host a party this year and not to hand out candy but that does not a cancelled holiday make!”

Triumphantly, Courf jumped the last two steps to land in front of Enjolras. This forced Enj to step back and the space gave him a full view of the sparkly corset, booty shorts, and fishnet stockings that Courfeyrac managed to work into a costume every Halloween. This year with a clear plastic raincoat over top. He raised an eyebrow as Courf kept talking.

“Besides, we already decorated and there’s enough people living here that we can have an inhouse house party. And enough alcohol.” Courf nodded sagely before eyeing Enjolras. He smirked and leant against the banister, “For someone who is seemingly against this you put a lot of effort into your costume. I was wondering what the red paint in the grass was from.”

Enjolras felt his ears heat. “I spray painted the wiffle ball. And the pipe cleaners and plastic wrap to make the wings wasn’t that much work.”

Impossibly, Courfeyrac’s eyebrow crept higher into his poof of curls. “Right.”

“But what are you supposed to be anyway?” Enjolras deflected in a huff.

Courf’s grin brightened and a spark of mischief lit in his eyes. He shouldered past Enj towards the living room. Enjolras followed as Courf picked the sheet of paper off the top of the printer and the roll of tape from the table beside it. He’d heard the whir of the printer earlier but hadn’t bothered to question it, he should’ve known it’d have something to do with Courfeyrac.

Paper suitably taped to the front of the raincoat, Courf spun with a flourish. Enjolras leaned forward slightly to read it. He crossed his arms with a frown when he saw the “Purell” logo.

Smile widening, Courfeyrac proudly said, “I’m sexy hand sanitizer!”

“I’d say your costume is in bad taste except you clearly have no taste,” Enj told him drolly.

“Boooooo,” Courf stretched it out into a couple syllables and playfully batted at Enjolras’s shoulder. “It’s funny. And this rain jacket was an investment! Now I can keep my outfits dry and still show them off.”

Having no suitable response to that, Enjolras rolled his eyes. A crash sounded from above them and saved him from having to respond further. They shared a look and rushed back to the steps. Courf beat him there and started up as Combeferre called out “Everything’s fine!”

“Are you sure?” Enjolras wasn’t one to question Ferre’s judgement but that hadn’t sounded good.

“Yes!” This time Ferre’s voice was joined by Grantaire’s. Enjolras exchanged a meaningful look with Courf but they both backed off.

Heading into the kitchen, Enj settled on a stool at the island and pulled his phone out to text Eponine. The Thenardier siblings had gone out to pick up extra snacks earlier despite the House’s other occupants’ protests. She’d silenced them with that steady gaze of hers and said that it was to be considered their contribution and thanks for the past eight months of hospitality and generosity. That prevented further protests and prompted Enjolras to hand her the keys to his Jetta. He was starting to get nervous that they hadn’t returned yet.

His phone beeped with her response but an odd sound coming down the hall distracted Enj from reading the text. He turned to see Grantaire in a ridiculously large cowboy hat sitting in the rolling office chair from his studio. The sound came from the fact R was seated in the chair and scooting down the hall in short bursts. He managed to make it the last stretch into the kitchen with an eager smile. Too eager. It was bordering on smug.

Enjolras blinked as R spun to face him and Courf fully. “Are you zipped tied?” Enj’s voice lilted upwards in shock and incredulity.

“They’re loose.” To prove it, Grantaire slipped his hands out of the loops of plastic that had attached his wrists to the arms of the chair.

R’s smile had crossed over to land firmly in the territory of smug but whatever face Enjolras was currently making had it inching steadily toward manic delight.

Then it hit Enjolras. He closed his eyes and kneading at his temples, making his fly eyes slip further back on his head in the process. “I cannot believe you,” he muttered.

“What?” Courf asked, still confused. For his part, Grantaire just cackled.

“He’s that guy from Idaho who was protesting having to wear a mask and strapped himself to a chair in the state capitol. They had to take the chair with them when they removed him,” Enjolras explained. He opened his eyes in time to see R wink at him.

“I thought it was funny,” Ferre’s voice floated down the hallway. “Though we dropped the chair when trying to adjust our grip.”

Enjolras froze when he saw Combeferre standing in the doorway. Ferre’s surprised expression mirrored his own. Grantaire chuckled lowly as Courf said, “Well one of you are going to have to change. Despite SNL’s sketch, Pence only had one fly on him during the debate. That we could see.”

Combeferre began laughing, hands pressing against his mouth but not quite covering his smile. Enj bit his lip but couldn’t stop his own grin. He and Ferre were indeed both wearing – fairly well done in his opinion – homemade fly costumes.

“Great minds think alike?” Enjolras offered. Ferre nodded and walked over to sling his arm around his friend’s shoulder. Careful of both their wings.

“And you didn’t want to do Halloween this year,” Courfeyrac tsked and shook his head.

[ofgentleresolve]

ferre!!! we may have been mutuals, non-mutuals, following, unfollowing.. like over the course of so many years?! but i'm just here to say that ur legit one of the hardest working writers out here. and i luv when u show up on my dash. the passion and love for your characters, your creations??? amazing, ty for showing us ur creative side.

@moonspower !!!!!

diren!! we have known each other for a while, haven't we? at least for me, it's been quite the journey going from just calum's blog to three rp blogs, and i have to say, I'm quite happy with where i'm at right now....

that being said, thank you for saying that!! honestly that's the main reason i keep coming back to tumblr rp- it's a space where i can explore my characters in a way that prose doesn't quite fulfill and i do admire!! how long you've kept with writing and developing virote and also how fiercely you advocate for virote's wants and needs- it really shows how much you genuinely adore him and want to write him true to who he. i look forward to seeing where you take and may we keep bumping in each other on this hellsite <3

[jabbers-of-jay]

omg if you want to write headcanons...how about courferre going on vacation to like disneyland or something

Oh MY GOSH. Courfeyrrac would be OVER. THE. MOON.

So courf has a yearly pass thing for Disneyland Paris and he goes at least once a month. He drags one of his friends with him and he does different things with each of them

But combeferre never goes. It’s just not his thing. He’d rather stay home and not be in monstrous crowds on his days off. So Courf goes without him

It always makes him a little sad because he just loves Disney so much and he wants to share that with him. So finally. on their 8th anniversary, Combeferre grudgingly agrees. He says he’ll go to celebrate their anniversary and he’ll even do one of those cheesy packages if Courfeyrac wants.

Courf is over the moon and so he spends months planning what rides they’ll go on and he asks Combeferre how many pictures Ferre will willingly agree to be in so that he can plan what places to get the photos he wants.

The day comes and Courf is all energy, up well before they have to go while Combeferre is groaning about the time and 5 more minutes. But Courf promises him coffee and is throwing his clothes at him

Ferre hides a smile while he drags his feet and pretends to be not enjoying this

Combeferre relaxes some once they’re in the park and he even admits some of the rides aren’t so bad and he doesn’t mind sharing the cheesy snacks with Courf

The character meal they did was way over the top and absolutely not Combeferre’s cup of tea  but whatever, Courf is having the time of his life

At one point when they’re in a candy shop getting something Courf swears he sees Enj and Grantaire on main street

Why the hell would enj and grantaire spend a date here? Combeferre asks. This is the kind of think Enj hates with a passion. Courfeyrac agrees and decides that he just saw some people that looked like them 

They’re on mainstreet and Courfeyrac is happily eating cotton candy and occasionally feeding a piece to Combeferre.

“Thank you this was the best day of my life.” Courfeyrac tells him. Combeferre smiles because that’s exactly what he was hoping for. And he had to admit to himself he had enjoyed seeing the delight play across Courfeyrac’s face all day and chase after him as he skipped through the crowds on cloud 9

Combeferre looks around and notices it’s almost sunset. “I’ll give you one more photo.” He says a smirk playing across his face and nods his head. Courfeyrac looks in the direction he nodded his head and notices it’s the castle, which he had been avoiding all-day

“Wait.. really? You said it was too cheesy!” Courfeyrac said Combeferre shrugs. “Cheesy isn’t so bad when it’s with you.” He says. and Courfeyrac squeals and starts leading them that way. 

Combeferre catches the eyes of the man who was, in fact, Enjolres and gives him a nod.

Suddenly their friends are materializing in front of them and Courfeyrac is beyond confused. They each start handing him flowers as they walk closer to the castle. Courfeyrac looks up at Combeferre with a questioning look, and Combeferre just winks at him as they keep passing their friends and Courfeyrac is given more flowers

Courfeyrac is so distrcted he forgets to get his phone out. Then Combeferre is turning to face him and he looks down at him.

“Courfeyrac, we’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember and the past 8 years that I’ve officially called you my boyfriend has been the absolute best in my life. I can’t believe that I’m doing this because it’s the absolutely most absurd, cheesy thing, to do. But that’s what you love, and you’re the only person who has ever been able to get me to do absurdly cheesy things.” He said, before he got down on one knee. “Courfeyrac, I am so glad this has been the best day of your life. And I only hope that I can make the coming days even better. But, will you also make this the best day of my life, and agree to be my boyfriend forever? Will you be my prince charming? Courfeyrac, Will you marry me?” He asks. 

By now, Courfeyrac is absolutely bawling. He can’t believe that Combeferre put this all together and gave absolutely nothing away all day. But he nods his head.

“YES!” He shouts. And Combeferre smiles, but before he can put the ring on Courfeyrac’s finger, Courfeyrac is pulling him up to kiss him. The kiss is wet and full of tears, but it’s the best kiss Combeferre has ever had and he doesn’t even care thatit looks insanely cheesy because they’re kissing in mickey ears, in front of the castle, at sunset. It’s Combeferre’s new favorite photo. When the two break apart, their friends are surrounding them and congratulating them. Combeferre agrees to Courfeyrac’s demand for 5 more photos in front of the castle and only stops when the sun finally and completely sets. 

All of the friends leave the park and head to the Corinthe to continue the celebrations. Combeferre takes off the Mickey ears, but Courfeyrac keeps his on and is showing the ring off to anyone who will look

“For someone who hates cheesiness, you went all out.” Enjolras comments as he sits down next to Combeferre. Ferre shrugs. “It was all for him. He loves it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He says, his eyes trained on Courfeyrac and a smile playing at his lips. And Enj can’t argue with that. He’s just happy for his friends

[cumbercookiebatchs]

I loved your hc about Enj's cousin having a crush on R, so, let's have this:

-Enjolras favorite cousins (Maximilien and Eloise) are staying with him for a bit.

-Max goes out for a walk one day while Enj and Eloise stay home, and so Max meets Grantaire.

-They hit it off right away, but Max forgets to ask for R's name, so he spends the following days daydreaming and lamenting not even asking for his name.

-It's bad, like Marius before Cosette noticed him bad.

-Enjolras is a bit suspicious at first because he does know a tall, tattoed, and totally hot guy with dark curly hair, but he lets it go because, what are the chances?

-Come Friday,and the three of them are on their way to an ABC meeting.

-Enjolras introduces his cousins. Eloise makes fast friends with Jehan and Musichetta, while Max sits near Enjolras, and starts conversation with Cosette and Feuilly.

-R comes in laughing at something that either Bossuet or Joly could have said, and all eyes are on him.

-It's then when Enjolras feels Max tugging hard on his sleeve, and murmuring in half wonder, half excitement "that's him, that's the guy!"

-And Enjolras doesn't need more clarifications, because Joly is so terriefied of needles he'd faint before getting a tattoo, and there's no hair on Bossuet's head. So that's it, it must be—no, it is Grantaire.

-R approaches, and he greets Max first, and Enjolras blood boils.

-He spends the rest of the week and the following one acting a bit cold towards both Max and Grantaire. Les Amis each take a turn to show Eloise and Max a cool activity to do in Paris, and to Enjolras chagrin, Max and Grantaire are inseparable.

-Next Friday comes, and it's Grantaire's turn. He chooses hide and seek in the Louvre.

-Enjolras feels a little wary, but even Combeferre is excited, so he gives it a try. Rules are simple, one group searches, one hides, hiding in bathrooms is forbidden, and everyone must be out before the museum closes at 11pm.

-The teams were chosen by putting all names in a hat.

-The ones who search: Bossuet, Eponine, Combeferre, Max, Musichetta, Bahorel, Feuilly and Marius.

-The ones who hide: Grantaire, Eloise, Cosette, Joly, Jehan, Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Gavroche.

-The game is going well, but Enjolras knows very well the sound Ferre's shoes make, and they sound closer every second. Enjolras tries his luck by darting across the hall as fast as he can until he finds a door, enters, and shuts it behind him.

-Enjolras tries to catch his breath, and of fucking course he is not alone

-Grantaire is there too, in case you couldn't guess

- There's a bit of awkward silence between them for a while, and when Enjolras is about to break it, Grantaire suddenly has him pinned against a wall with a hand on Enjolras mouth and making a "sh" sound.

-Enjolras stays as still as he can with Grantaire that close, he doesn't understand what's happening, but then he hears Eponine's muffled voice from outside the room.

-Grantaire stays close even long after Eponine is gone, and Enjolras isn't thinking when he gets up his tip toes and kisses the corner of R's mouth.

-He regrets that instantly and goes on a ramble about how Max is in love with R and how Grantaire is in love with Max, and how it's stupid that he is jealous and—

-Grantaire kisses him, fully on the mout now, and Enjolras lets him, because gosh how much he wanted that, and so Enjolras lets Grantaire kiss him and— (yes again)

-The door flew open and Max is there, wide eye, looking, and Enjolras thinks he will faint from shame... that is only Max starts to laugh and congratulates R "you did it bro!" and proceeds to close the door, not before assuring that he will pretend to see nothing.

-Enjolras is confused as ever, and Grantaire then explains at first Max was actually interested in him, but upon discovering his crush on Enjolras, Max and R created a kind of scheme to get them together.

- "so you don't like him?" "nope" "and he doesn't lile you? " "not anymore" "okay... now come back and kiss me"

-Grantaire kisses him again, after a while, the door opens again, but this time is the security guard, who's not very happy about the two students making out in the supplies closet.

-"and how did it go?" Max wiggles his eyebrows suggestively towards Enjolras on the way to the blond's apartment. "How went what?" asks Eloise, "nothing!" Enjolras says almost instantly, but Eloise is faster and points out the bruise on Enjolras neck, "so that's why you were nowhere to be found!" she laughs, and soon the three cousins are laughing underneath the the stars of the Paris night-sky.

(Sorry if it's too long, and sorry for the typos)

I. Am. Combusting.

THIS IS SO GOOD OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU I ADORE YOU OH MY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🥺😭😭😭

[goodbyecringe]

(Un)Natural Selection Chapter 20

Enjolras

“Julien, do you normally propose to girls while they’re concussed and have previously disclosed their lack of romantic feelings for you or is this a new tactic?” Courfeyrac mocked as he handed me an ice pack.

“Your humor never fails Courf,” I groaned, placing the ice on my already swollen eye.

“Then allow me to ask, what the hell were you thinking?” He shouted, startling Combeferre, who was still trying to tie his robe.

“I was thinking about the future of Illeá. I’m sorry for putting my country’s interest at heart.”

“That’s the problem! You only ever think about your country! You weren’t thinking about Éponine, who has already told you that she doesn’t love you. You know we’re not all marble statues that don’t have feelings,” He yelled, pouring himself a glass of scotch.

“Is this why you didn’t eliminate her when she told you that she was a Six?” Ferre asked.

“No, I’ve known for a while that she was from one of the Lower Castes. It was obvious from how the other girls and my parents talked about her that most people are uncomfortable with her being at the palace. I didn’t eliminate her when she told me because I didn’t want to,” I explained.

“You mean because you love her,” Courfeyrac corrected.

“No, I don’t love her. With her upbringing, she can represent a signal of-”

“That’s exactly your problem, Julien,” Combeferre cut me off. “This is all you ever think about. The skipping meals, lack of sleep, all of the stupid things you do that are going to cut your lifespan by fifteen years. They’re all things that you do because you think you have your country’s best interests at heart but you’re going to kill yourself!”

“Which wouldn’t please your wife. Oh wait, the closest you’ve gotten to a wife punched you in the face. You can’t tell a girl that she’ll serve as an important political asset and then propose. Women want to marry for love, Julien.” Courfeyrac said, sitting on the table.

“I would have thought that she would have loved to serve her country like this. I mean, isn’t that the whole purpose of The Selection?” I asked, remembering the many conversations we had about how I needed to find a wife.

“Are you sure that’s why you asked her Julien?” Courfeyrac asked, finishing his glass of scotch.

“What do you mean? Why else would I have asked her?”

“Because you love her and you don’t know how to express your feelings,” Courfeyrac mumbled.

“That wasn’t funny Courf. That was actually quite rude,” I said, looking to Combeferre for confirmation.

“I agree with Courfeyrac. Whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve always treated Éponine differently from the other girls. You’ve visited her every day and allowed her to come to meetings at the Musain-”

“Because she’s interested in our philosophy!” I corrected him.

“And there are eight other girls here that are passionate about something that can better Illea,” Courfeyrac yelled.

“I thought you all wanted me to marry Éponine? I thought you’d be happy that your marble man finally decided to settle.”

“We wanted you to address your feelings. Letting your passion for Patria control your love life was the last thing any of us wanted,” Combeferre said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“Why did you really ask Éponine to marry you?”

I sat down at the table again and put my head in my hands while I tried to come up with an answer to Combeferre’s question.

“When I meet with the other girls it always seems a little awkward to me. I mean, you can only talk about the gardens and horses for so long. Everything with Éponine just comes easier than with everyone else. I think I could tolerate the rest of my life with her, but she obviously feels different about the subject. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was packing her things right now,” I sighed, as Combeferre and Courfeyrac both put a hand on my shoulders.

I waited all night for a butler or guard to tell me that Éponine was requesting to leave, but they never came. Even after another week of only leaving her room for lessons, Éponine still stayed, even though we hadn’t seen each other since she punched me in the face. According to Joly, she was only taking meals in her room because she was still suffering from side effects of her concussion, but Joly didn’t seem to be too bothered. For the most part, I had accepted this as Éponine and mine’s new relationship, if it could be called one. I spent more time with my Father’s advisors trying to find a way to appease all of the caste levels, which was much more comfortable for me then going on dates with the other girls. Apparently, the press was beginning to become uneasy that there wasn’t any evidence that I had become physical with any of the Elite. Naturally, I wanted to seek advice from my closest confidants, however, I felt like this issue would be handled better by the Friends of the ABC as an entirety.

“I would like to thank everyone for their input on Illea’s current issues. Now if you’ll forgive me, I would like to bring up a personal issue that has come to my attention,” I addressed them, feeling the color rise in my cheeks.

“According to several sources, the press is beginning to become uneasy about the lack of physicality between the Elite and myself,” I continued.

“So you just have to kiss one of them?” Pontmercy clarified.

“Yes.”

“Why can’t you just kiss the girl you like the most?” Pontmercy asked.

“Because the girl Enjolras likes the most doesn’t like him back,” Courfeyrac rebutted.

“Why don’t you just kiss the girl that likes you the most?” Bahorel asked.

“I don’t think it would be fair to play with a girl’s emotions like that. What if I don’t harbor any romantic feelings towards her and I decide to send her home next week?”

“You could try to be honest with your intentions,” Feuilly responded.

“How would he go about doing that? ‘Excuse me, I don’t love you but the paparazzi are demanding a show. Will you let me kiss you?’ That girl would probably expose Enjolras on the Report the second she got the chance,” Courfeyrac said.

I turned to Jehan, who had remained unusually silent during this conversation.

“Prouvaire?” I asked as he scribbled in his notebook.

“You should already know where I stand, Enjolras. You need to stop making decisions with your brain and start making them with your heart. You’ve been letting politics control this entire Selection, which is why you haven’t opened up to any of the girls yet. Turn that big rebellious brain off for an hour and see what happens,” Jehan said.

I stood and processed what he had just said and the silence in the room showed that the rest of the men were also processing what they had just heard. Several more ideas were thrown out into discussion, but no one was able to come up with a full proof solution. As the men began to pack up their things I checked over my notes to make sure I covered everything.

“One more announcement, my friends. My mother will be hosting a Christmas Eve Ball one week from today. The Royal Planner has requested that The Friends of the ABC join the Elites for dancing lessons every day after lunch. This way everyone will be able to have a partner and you all might avoid any potential catastrophes at the Ball,” I announced.

There was a mixture of groans and cheers from the men as I put on my jacket. As I drove back to the palace I debated whether I should go and visit Éponine to clear the air before we attended the lesson together tomorrow. I knew ��ponine wasn’t the type of person that would cause a scene in front of other people, so I mainly worried about making sure she felt comfortable dancing with me. As I walked towards her room I could hear a few voices from around the corner.

“Lady Éponine will not see any members of the guard. If you have orders please bring a signed copy from General Javert,” I heard a woman say.

“Don’t make me bother Javert at this time of night. It’s just a quick sweep of the room to make sure her windows are secure,” a man responded.

“If it’s just that then I’ll do it myself and relay the information. Do you know what time it is? There is no reason for you to have waited until this time of night to do your job. Lady Éponine shouldn’t have to be bothered because of your inability to prioritize your duties”

From the sound of angry footsteps approaching me, I gathered that the guard had stormed off. When he passed me I recognized him as the guard that initially recovered Éponine and brought her to the infirmary. As I approached her door I recognized that the woman that sent him away was a maid named Elise. Normally when I visited Éponine, Elise seemed like a shy and quiet girl, but it was comforting that she could stand her own to serve Éponine.

“Your Highness,” she curtsied.

“Elise, could I possibly see Éponine?”

“I’m sorry Your Highness, but Éponine’s currently in the bath,” she said, almost shaking.

“Would you just let her know that I stopped by?” I asked before thinking.

“Of course, sir. Can I relay a message for you?”

“Could you just tell her that I’m sorry,” I said, realizing that if we were going to talk at all tomorrow I would have to swallow any of my pride and apologize.

“Of course, Your Highness. Enjoy the rest of your night,” Elise curtsied before going back inside Éponine’s room.