#canon era

[fruity-pontmercy]

So I drew Enjolras for the first time in a loooong time! I’ve had really bad art block for the better part of the past two years but ahh man! It’s so good to be back to my roots!!!

Hope you like it teehee my style had changed A LOT since I last posted art to this blog :)))

Also peep the little kissy guy in the corner, my friend drew it on my tablet and I didnt have the heart to erase it so I guess it’s a part of the art now

[wangxianficrecs]

Inter-Sect Politics for the Absolute Beginner by Elpie (Horribibble)

Inter-Sect Politics for the Absolute Beginner

by Elpie (Horribibble) (@elpiething)

M, 3k, Wangxian

Summary: Today, with a formal missive from Koi Tower in hand and Zonghui staring at him with open concern, Nie Mingjue throws his head back and laughs and knows that no request will ever bring him such joy: Sect Leader Jin Guangshan has been brutally assaulted and, due to a conflict of interest, the Jin sect begs the assistance of the Honorable Sect Leader Nie Mingjue in the search for justice. - Wei Ying was raised in a brothel in Yunping, and Sect Leader Jin is having a very bad day. Kay's comments: Incredibly funny! Had me grinning the entire time. AU where Meng Shi was the one who found Wei Ying and took him in, offering him a home in the brothel. So, he grew up alongside Meng Yao and one day, when Jin Guangshan visits the brothel, Wei Ying is not going to stand by and look as his adopted family gets mistreated. Rest in pieces, Jin Guangshan's nuts. Excerpt: Without missing a beat, the young man laden in silks and ornaments and the almost tangible love of every courtesan in the room laden upon him like so much armor looks Sect Leader Jin dead in the eye and says, “A shitty lover, an angry drunk, but most of all an asshole.” Personally, Mingjue could not have asked for more. Except, perhaps, to borrow one of Huaisang’s fans to hide his face. “Young master,” Lan Xichen speaks up, ever the voice of gentle reason. “This is perhaps not the best defense…” For a moment, the youth stills, blinking at the elder jade, surprised by the sound of genuine concern. But then he takes a deep breath and plants his hands on his hips, clearly not having any of it. “It’s the truth.” He levels his gaze, once more, upon the gilded pervert. “You’ve got twenty kids at least, including A-Yao, so I know you know how a brothel works. You’re not new. If you’re coming into our houses to be a rotten bastard, you should just leave.” The only other man among the courtesans glaring death upon Jin Guangshan, has the spine to call, “Ying’er.” But Nie Mingjue suspects very little has ever deterred this man, least of all being called little baby.

pov wei wuxian, pov nie mingjue, canon divergence, canon era, wei wuxian isn't adopted by the jiangs, non-yunmeng wei wuxian, courtesan wei wuxian, brothels, bamf wei wuxian, jin guangshan being an asshole, justice, families of choice, crack treated seriously, humor, different first meeting

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[thepiecesofcait]

[thefabledpheasant]

It was then he was reminded Uther has a key to his chambers

Reference:

[demonfowl]

Jäätävä kasa swäppi/lottajuttuja :DDD vihdoin pakotin itteni saamaan nää kutakuinkin tehtyä. He on mulle kovin kovin rakkaita. Lisää seuraa.

[somedayonbroadway]

Ok so: Oscar gets pushed into the semi frozen Hudson river by a gang of bored rich kids. Morris was held back by them until they decided they were bored and leaves. Morris get Oscar out of the water but doesn't know where to go that was near and warm because Oscar was experiencing hypothermia, they go to the Newboy Lodge House. How would the Newsies react?

I think it would go a little something like this…

Jack was putting the littles to bed when he heard the knocking on the door. He immediately went into protection mode. He stood up straight and rushed to the door, ready to peak out and fight off the bulls. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d tried to raid this place and take the boys for nothing. Race was behind him, ready to get the kids out if he needed to. But when Jack looked out through the crack in the door, he froze.

The knocking came again, harder this time. “Kelly! Open up! Come on!”

Race squinted. “Morris?” he asked.

Jack shushed him, reaching to open the doors. He was dumbfounded at the sight before him. Morris was standing there, holding a shivering, nearly blue Oscar against his chest. The younger boy was soaked to the bone and Morris had tear stains on his cheeks, but looked fairly dry despite the water dripping off of his brother. Morris looked up at Jack and Jack could see that the older boy had a bruise forming on his left cheek and a split lip. “S-some assholes pushed him into the fucking river… h-he can barely talk— I have nowhere ta take him,” Morris insisted.

The newsie looked over the brothers again. Oscar was definitely dazed. He didn’t even seem to know where they were. So Jack turned back to his second. “Racer, go get all the blankets we have. Get the littles into one bed to keep warm, Specs! I need water on the fire! Al, any extra clothes you can find!” Jack barked out before he rushed to help Oscar inside. He wrapped one of Oscar’s arms around his shoulder and Morris supported him from the other side.

They got him inside close to the fireplace and Jack helped lay him down, quickly taking out a pocket knife. Morris immediately scowled and grabbed his wrist, ready to fight but Jack looked up at him as his boys squared up behind him. “Hey!” he hissed. “We need to get him out of these clothes. I’m not gonna hurt him, okay?”

Race rushed back down the stairs with blankets and Morris grabbed him by the collar. Race gasped and immediately went wide eyed as Morris backed him into a wall. “Jack!” Race cried, not expecting the attack.

Jack raised his hands up in surrender. “Morris! What the actual hell?!”

The older boy’s eyes were watery. A tear fell down his cheek as he tightened a fist in Race’s shirt. “Don’t… I swear Kelly, I’ll—“

“No one is gonna hurt anyone, Delancey! Race brought blankets for Oscar, that’s all, I have ta get these clothes off of him before he freezes to death!” Jack hissed.

Morris tried to scowl through the fear, but he sniffled as tears began to freely fall down his cheeks. He shoved Race back as he lowered himself back down to his brother’s side. He slowly began to undress him, shoving Jack’s hands away when he tried to help. “Don’t touch him.”

Jack watched as Morris shakily unbuttoned Oscar’s vest. Oscar was trembling violently, his eyes trained on his big brother. “M-M… M-Mo—“

“It’s okay, we’re gonna get you warm,” Morris promised, stripping Oscar down to his undergarments until he could conceal the younger boy beneath some blankets. He then let Jack help wrap Oscar up in about seven blankets.

The other boys did as Jack had asked and soon Morris was holding fast to Oscar as Jack sat with them. Race was whispering with Albert about how poorly Morris had treated them after simply trying to help, but Jack knew better than that. Morris was scared. He wasn’t sure he remembered ever seeing Morris like this. “What happened?” he whispered finally.

The older boy scowled. “Some rich bastards think it’s funny ta push a kid into the Hudson.”

Jack bit his lip. “They hurt you too?”

“Don’t pretend like you give a shit, Kelly. I came here cause of Os, I wouldn’t have asked if I had anywhere else ta go. This don’t make us friends—“

“I get it, Delancey, Jesus Christ, I’m sorry I asked,” Jack insisted, standing up and walking over to his boys. “Get up ta bed. Now,” he said before turning back to the brothers who made his life a living hell. “Your welcome, I guess. Feel free ta leave whenever,” he muttered, headed towards the stairs.

But Morris looked down at Oscar and sighed. “Kelly,” he called, causing Jack to pause. “Thanks…”

Jack didn’t respond. He just sighed and rushed up the stairs.

Morris sniffled and hugged Oscar a little tighter as he tried to warm up the boy.

“Well… this was a shit night, huh?” Morris muttered to himself.

Oscar snored slightly and cuddled up a little more to his brother’s chest. Morris wasn’t exactly sure what to do. He’d never been the touchy feely type. But he managed to brush a hand over the boy’s hair and sniffle as he let out a long breath. “We’re okay…” he promised. “I’m so sorry, Ozzie, it’s gonna be okay…”

And he just kept repeating it over and over again, praying it was true.

[dapandapod]

Fake dating Geraskier Pt1

WHY HELLO THERE!

I was thinking this will be ONE list. And then I took a look at how many treasures I collected. Now I’m thinking there will be TWO lists!

GERASKIER FAKE DATING REC LIST! 

Various ratings and word count! There are so many, please forgive me not doing a little personal note on everything like I meant to, I’m just so excited to share!

Oh! And if you find one you think I should read, yours or others, please send them my way? <3  PART 2 HERE

- we could be married (and then we'd be happy)      akindofmerrywar - E - WC: 50 222

Jaskier reached into his pocket, fingers grasping around the little box. He pulled it out with what he hoped was a romantic flourish, flipping it open to reveal the simple gold band inside. “Geralt,” he said, confidently, cooly, like this wasn’t terrifying, “Will you marry me?”

 -  Bardic Idyll 

Lisztful - M - WC: 13056

Pretend boyfriends fic, with battling bards, well-meaning friends, and fluff and angst in equal measure.Jaskier is certain he can win the Continent's annual bardic competition, but he needs to be accompanied by a dashing romantic companion in order to enter. Enter Geralt, who is definitely, for sure, only interested in the free food, and not at all in staring lovingly into Jaskier's eyes.

- A Valentine's to Remember  

JaskiersWolf - T - WC: 3593

For Valentine's Day Jaskier has arrived to walk alpacas with his very best friend in the whole wide world... the catch? They have to pretend to be dating to get the Valentine's Day discount.

-winnings and weddings 

shestepsintotheriver - M - WC:16 262

Jaskier and Geralt have to pretend to be engaged.Surprisingly, it's Geralt's idea.Everything is simultaneously the most hare-brained scheme and the most thorough production in the world.

-A Fake Boyfriend Christmas  

LovelyRita1967 - M - WC: 6917

Jaskier has just found out—via Instagram, for fuck's sake—that his ex, Valdo Marx, is now dating his sister. And it is the day before the huge Pankratz family Christmas party. He knows it's cheesy and ridiculous, but he convinces his roommate Geralt to come to the party as his fake boyfriend. Turns out, they are REALLY good at fake dating. A little too good.

- I Scream a Truth, You Hear a Lie 

I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee T - WC: 21131

“I need you to be my husband.”Geralt’s thoughts came to a screeching halt and his mouth went dry. He couldn’t have heard correctly. All of those stupid wishes and hopeless dreams must have made him mishear.

“Not really, of course,” Jaskier added hastily and rubbed his fingers together. “I… please don’t be mad at me, Geralt.”

Geralt’s brows knitted together and his heart sank. “What did you do?”

“I – I might have said that we were married.” Or: When some bigoted man insists that Geralt can’t feel love, Jaskier blurts out that they are married - which they very much aren’t. So naturally, Geralt and Jaskier have to pretend to be husbands to convince people that Geralt is lovable, though no one doubts that more than Geralt himself.

- Open Season

ghostinthelibrary - M - WC: 1446

When Geralt needs Jaskier to help him fend off an overly persistent sorceress, Jaskier is only too happy to help a friend in need. But pretending to be madly in love with Geralt hits a little too close to home.

- expectations 

acheforhim - E - WC: 2629

“What did you tell them about me?” he asks, and Jaskier sighs.

“They asked if you were good.”

“Good to you?”

“Just if you were good.”

“Ah,” Geralt says eloquently. “And what did you say?”

“I said yes, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

-Love, Run 

Unknown - M - WC: 54526

Jaskier's and his partner's presence are requested at his sister's wedding - which is all well and good, except well. Jaskier may have made up a fake partner to keep his nosey family satisfied. Good thing Geralt is his best friend in the whole wide world and suggests they go together under the guise of a married couple. Which is also well and good, except... well, Jaskier may already be for real in love with him. What is being fake-married going to do to the poor bard's heart? Add a scheming, well-meaning Yennefer and an amused Ciri to the mix of Jaskier's exuberant family and it's definitely going to be an interesting week leading up to the wedding.

- Handsy Strangers and Clever Bards 

dhwty_writes - T - WC: 1287

"What do you want, Jaskier?" he muttered and took another swig of his ale.He chuckled and sat down on Geralt’s table, planting his feet on either side of his chair. "Nothing, my love, but the sweet reward that is your lovely company," he singsonged, looping his arms around his neck and pulling him close.. "Let me rephrase my question,” he said slowly, “what did you do now?"OR: Jaskier is hit on by a stranger and asks Geralt to be his pretend boyfriend.

- Fake Dating  

lesdemonium (winnerstick), winnerstick - T - WC: 2431

Jaskier is invited to his parent's annual banquet, and to keep the nobles (and his parents) off his back, he asks Geralt to pose as his husband. Geralt completes this task a little too well.

- No Think, Only Panic 

bi_aragorn - T - WC: 3043

In which two idiots end up pretending to be together and do some thoroughly ridiculous pining. Because apparently clear communication isn't an option for either of them.

-A Marriage of Convenience 

valdomarx - M- WC: 2811

Geralt, being the good friend he is, offers to help him out by marrying him.What could possibly go wrong? 

OR: Jaskier has some trouble with his inheritance: if he's not married by the age of 35, he'll be cut out of his family's will.

- His Kiss Still Thrills 

mintedwitcher - M - WC: 6273

5 times Jaskier and Geralt kissed because they had to. +1 time they kissed for fun.

ENJOY!!! <3

[blinkinbrothershark]

It's random headcanon time!!

Spot got his nickname because when he first joined the Brooklyn newsies he had a face full of prominent freckles, but as he grew older, they gradually faded until they were a very pale brown.

Albert had been given a lot of different nicknames over the years, but he hated all of them so he never let them stick. Eventually the newsies just settled at calling him by his name or a shortened version of his name (eg. Al, Albie).

[riotstarruika]

Chapters: 27/28 Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables) Characters: Enjolras (Les Misérables), Grantaire (Les Misérables), Les Amis de l'ABC Additional Tags: Canon Era, Museums, Art History, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Foils to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Artist Grantaire Chapter Summary:

Outside, the streets had shaken off the last vestiges of their winter slumber; the café tables were out in force, and full till late into the evening with citizens enjoying the pleasant weather, despite the air of trepidation and uncertainty that the cholera continued to inspire. It was a peculiar mood, though one that might yet be turned towards a greater purpose – a sense of directionless, restless anticipation; a waking and shaking out of the dust and cobwebs of the previous year's disappointments. Life stubbornly persisting, despite it all.

[nametheshadows]

A Merthur fic? In the good year 2024?

Prince and Pyre

potterwatch

Summary:

Tonight they raise the pyre. Tomorrow someone dies. Ever since he knew shapes he could pick them from the landscape – the gallows, the pyre, the drowning pond – Arthur is an expert of them all. He has seen the flames go up – seen the crackle spark of tinder, the rush of flame to fire – heard the screams and the sobs and the pleas for mercy. He has even heard the prayers. He pretends he has not heard the prayers – focuses instead on the sharp slice of wood catching light, the flames that dance, and leap, and crawl – ember-clawed – up leg and arm and chest and torso. He can pick the point when hair catches light – knows the temperature at which skin melts, the point at which the prayers stop – when the syllables fall to wails to sobs to silence. It takes days to wash the smoke from his skin. Faced with Merlin's magic, Arthur must chose -- His or his father's Camelot.

[rpmaniac]

Les Mis canon era hairstyles

Javert's hairstyle as described in the brick with a fringe matches turn of the century styles, when he would have been around 20.

[wangxianficrecs]

Overwhelming Enthusiasm by Shadaras

Overwhelming Enthusiasm

by Shadaras (@shadaras)

M, 1k, Wangxian

Part of the MDZS Casefic Exchange

Summary: When the library’s alarms went off, Lan Qiren wearily expected to arrive to find an apologetic Wei Wuxian—possibly with one of the young disciples who looked up to him—explaining that No really I didn’t mean to touch that, I’m so sorry, let me reset that for you. Kay's comment: This was actually really funny, though I would give it a light gore warning. Really enjoyed it and the flavour of a good uncle Lan Qiren who has considerably warmed up to Wei Wuxian post-canon. Excerpt: “Shufu.” Lan Wangji let out a long breath. “A creature attracted to Yang energy appeared unexpectedly. We may have, ah. Overfed it. Until it burst.” There was a wealth of understatement in Lan Wangji’s words. Lan Qiren stared at the lattice-worked carvings that edged the library’s ceiling and attempted not to imagine the sequence of events. Or how Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian had ‘overfed’ such a beast. “I see,” he said neutrally. “Have you identified the source of this creature? I’m surprised it could appear within the wards.” “I think it snuck in with us,” Wei Wuxian admitted. “There aren’t any obvious holes in the wards, and I don’t think it manifested from any texts in here, though admittedly I haven’t had time to check yet. Also, um, you can turn around? If that would help.”

pov lan qiren, post-canon, canon era, blood and gore, aftermath of violence, coitus interruptus, good uncle lan qiren, nerd wei wuxian family feels, slice of life, everyday means everyday

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[thepiecesofcait]

In our final week of shows we all came down to the theatre one night to take group shots from any major ensemble scenes in full costume, to make sure we could all appreciate the fully-lit efforts of the costume team for years to come.

This was our biggest group - the Beggars in Paris. It's still only about half of our cast. The full cast were genuinely never all in the same room at the same time!

[bellamyblakru]

(the one thing i can say is that) i’m going to be by your side.

ch. 1 - if i am given a second life,

day one: royalty + angst

ch. 2 - i may live and breathe differently compared to now.

day two: knight!merlin + protective!others

ch. 3 - among the streets, we’ll walk past each other without knowing.

day three: soulmates + hurt/comfort

ch. 4 - i hope we remember each other

day four: reversal roles au + humor

ch. 5 - even in our next life,

day five: bamf!merlin + angst with a happy ending

ch. 6 - even at that time,

day six: “please forgive me” + dragons

ch. 7 - i’ll go to you.

day seven: magic reveal + canon era

[kjack89]

Say Don't Go

E/R, canon era. Some light angst for your Friday evening (or whatever your timezone equivalent). Implied canonical character death, blood mention.

The candle in the back room of the Musain flickered with increasing unsteadiness, its melted wax having long since overflowed from the holder. Shadows cast by its inconsistent light danced along the walls, accompanied solely by the sound of Enjolras’s pen scritching across paper and the methodic dull thud of Grantaire’s wine bottle as it was lifted to lips then returned to its place.

Without warning, the candle spluttered out, plunging the room into darkness.

“I suppose we should take that as a sign,” Grantaire said, a moment later, and Enjolras sighed.

“You may,” he said shortly, standing and fumbling to light another candle. “Would that my work ceased with the absence of light.”

He successfully lit another candle, lighting the room once more, and Grantaire just shook his head. “But does your work not bring light into the world of its own accord?” he mused.

Enjolras glanced at him. “Coming from you, that is almost a compliment.”

Grantaire laughed. “Only if we are in the business of considering drunken rambling to be complimentary.”

“Again, from you…”

Enjolras trailed off and Grantaire laughed again, a somewhat gentler sound this time. “That I suppose is the most potent sign yet that I should take my leave, before my words somehow bring offense, intended or otherwise.”

He stood and Enjolras glanced up at him. “You need not leave on my account,” he said.

Grantaire paused, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Truly?”

“Grantaire, if I made a point of removing you every time you caused offense, you would never again attend another Les Amis meeting,” Enjolras said patiently, already looking back down at his papers.

But still Grantaire hesitated. “There remains a difference between my presence at one of our meetings versus my presence here, after hours, with just you as company.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Grantaire worried his lower lip between his teeth before blurting, “Would you permit any other attendee of our meetings to stay late into the night with you in this way?”

“No other attendees are brave enough to attempt it,” Enjolras murmured.

“Or fool enough,” Grantaire countered.

Enjolras glanced up with a small smile. “That too,” he agreed.

Grantaire hesitated for a moment more before shrugging. “Very well,” he said, taking his seat again. “If you truly do not mind.”

“I have far more important things to concern myself with than how you choose to spend your evening,” Enjolras told him.

“Yes,” Grantaire said, reaching automatically for his bottle of wine. “I imagine you do.”

— — — — —

“Sit,” Grantaire ordered, in a tone that brooked no argument, pointing at a chair as he crossed to the washbasin, rolling his shirt sleeves up. 

To his surprise, Enjolras sat without complaint, which in and of itself was evidence that forcing him to sit and stay still was the best move. Joly might have additional advice, but he had been swept up in the crowd after the National Guard had interrupted their assembly, leaving Grantaire alone to close his hand around Enjolras’s wrist and bodily drag him from the scene.

But not before Enjolras managed to get himself hit in the temple by the butt of a musket.

It was with slightly shaking hands that Grantaire managed to wet a cloth in the washbasin, and he took a deep, steadying breath before turning back to Enjolras, and the blood that matted the entire right hand side of his face. “I’m certain it looks worse than it is,” Enjolras murmured, though he didn’t quite meet Grantaire’s eyes as he said it.

“And I am certain that you do not find yourself in a position to determine as such,” Grantaire said, reaching out to tilt Enjolras’s chin just slightly with two fingers before finally reaching out with the wet cloth.

Enjolras winced at the touch and would have flinched away were it not for Grantaire holding his head steady. “I can do that,” he protested, his voice little more than a mumble, as Grantaire began washing the blood from the side of his face.

Grantaire made a small dissenting noise, his eyes not leaving the gash at Enjolras’s hairline. “You certainly can,” he murmured. “But I have little faith that you would if left to your own devices.”

“To be fair, you have little faith in just about everything,” Enjolras returned evenly.

A smile twitched at the corner of Grantaire’s mouth. “Well, save for—”

“Your full glass, yes,” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes. “Do you ever grow weary of making the same jest?”

“Haven’t yet,” Grantaire told him, straightening to return to the washbasin and rinse the cloth. As he did, Enjolras stretched and made the tell-tale signs of beginning to stand, and Grantaire whipped around instantly, scowling. “Did I say you could stand?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes once more. “I am fine,” he told Grantaire, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Grantaire pursed his lips. “I did not say otherwise.”

“Well enough to stand, at the very least,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Now that remains to be seen.” He pointed again at the chair before ordering, for a second time, “Sit.”

Enjolras sat, scowl firmly in place. “I think you are enjoying this,” he said, a little sourly, and Grantaire’s shoulders tensed as he hunched over the washbasin, the water in it pink with blood.

“You think that I enjoy tending to your wounds?”

Grantaire’s voice was quiet but Enjolras still flinched as if he had shouted. “I did not mean—”

Again Grantaire turned to him, his face impassive as he took his previous spot at Enjolras side, pressing the cloth once more to Enjolras’s head. “My preference would be that you not be harmed seemingly every time you get it in your head to set foot out your door, but my vote, it seems, does not carry much weight.”

Enjolras winced, though it did not appear to be from the pressure Grantaire was applying. “I—”

“What?”

Enjolras sighed. “I apologize.”

Grantaire blinked, his hand not moving. “There really is a first time for everything.”

For a long moment, they sat like that in silence before Enjolras rolled his shoulders and tilted his head, trying to catch Grantaire’s eye. “I do mean what I said earlier, though.”

“Which part?” Grantaire asked.

“That I can do this myself,” Enjolras told him, reaching up to rest a hand on top of Grantaire’s and the cloth still pressed to his temple. “You need not stay.”

Grantaire just made a small humming noise of what could have been agreement or dissent in equal measure. “I shall take that under advisement,” he murmured, making absolutely no move to pass the cloth to Enjolras or otherwise move.

Enjolras sighed, his hand dropping to his lap. “You shall be the death of me,” he said sourly.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Grantaire’s face. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

— — — — —

Grantaire sat upright, swinging his legs over to the side of the bed but making no attempt to stand. He glanced back at Enjolras, sprawled next to him, the light from the moon filtering through the window casting Enjolras’s usually golden curls with a silver sheen. “What?” Enjolras asked, something languid and almost sleepy in his tone. 

“Nothing,” Grantaire said, his fingers twitching against the bed sheets.

A frown puckered Enjolras’s forehead. “And yet you look as though you are waiting for me to say something.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Perhaps I am.”

Enjolras sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Would it not be easier to tell me what you wished to hear?” he asked, something like frustration coloring his words. “I am—” For the first time that evening, even more so than when he had asked Grantaire to accompany him to his bed hours earlier, Enjolras hesitated. “You know that I am not experienced in this regard, so if there is any set of usual platitudes I should be offering—”

Grantaire let out a noise like a snort, shaking his head. “After all this time, you think I seek mere platitudes?” he asked, his voice low.

Enjolras rolled onto his side to face him. “Truth be told, I know not what you seek,” he said, matching Grantaire’s tone. “From me, from this, from any of it.”

Grantaire just shook his head. “All this time, I have sought only one thing.”

He said it simply, evenly, and Enjolras frowned, looking away. “That is what I feared most of all,” he said quietly. “That you should seek the one thing that I cannot offer.”

For one long moment, Grantaire just looked at him, something unreadable in his expression. Then he sighed and drew a hand across his face. “I know what you presume I wish to hear, but you are wrong,” he said. “Never have I expected to hear those three sweet words from your lips in this or any lifetime.” He leaned over so that his lips were practically against Enjolras’s ear. “I would settle instead for two.”

“Two?” Enjolras breathed.

Grantaire nodded. “Don’t go,” he murmured.

Enjolras shifted away slightly so that he could frown at him. “You wish for me to tell you to stay?”

Grantaire shook his head. “No. I wish for you to ask me not to go.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened. “I see no difference—”

“I suppose you wouldn’t, so used are you to having every request treated as an edict,” Grantaire mused, straightening once more. “And that is what telling me to stay would be: a command. You and I both know I have had no great success at following commands, even the ones given by you.” He paused, his eyes searching Enjolras’s for a long moment. “But while you have commanded many things of me, all of which I have failed, never once have you asked anything of me. So if there are only two words I could hear fall from your lips, it would be that request alone.”

Enjolras looked away. “Must I ask for something that is offered freely?”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression, but his voice was even as he replied, “Only so that the person offering knows that it is not he alone who wants it.”

Silence stretched between them for a long moment, broken only by Enjolras’s eventual sigh as he rolled over onto his other side, his back to Grantaire. “If you wish to stay, stay.”

Grantaire swallowed and nodded with unspoken understanding. “And I think it best that I go.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “If that is what you wish.”

— — — — —

Enjolras ground his teeth together, frustration palpable. “Go home, Grantaire.”

Grantaire just smirked, lifting the bottle of wine in his hand but not drinking from it. “Give me one compelling reason why I should,” he challenged.

“You are drunk.”

Enjolras said it flatly, his disappointment clear, and Grantaire’s smirk sharpened. “That has never hindered my staying in the past.”

“Fine,” Enjolras said impatiently. “You are drunk and you are annoying me.”

Still Grantaire looked amused. “Again, never before have you found that a hindrance.”

“Well, I find it one tonight.”

Grantaire set the bottle down, propping his chin on his hand as he looked thoughtfully at Enjolras. “I don’t believe that you do.”

Enjolras scowled. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard what I said, unless you have suffered yet another injury, this time to your ears,” Grantaire said, before repeating, enunciating every syllable, “I don’t believe you.”

“You think that I speak falsely?” Enjolras asked, with a dangerous sort of calm.

Grantaire just shrugged. “It is less that I find your words false and more that I understand your meaning to differ from what you speak.”

Enjolras scoffed, looking down at the pamphlet in front of him. “I don’t believe even you know what that means.”

Grantaire’s smirk became brittle. “It means that you say one thing, knowing that I will understand what it is you truly wish to say but cannot allow yourself to.”

Now Enjolras looked up sharply, his lips pressed together into a flat line. “You know not of what you speak,” he said, the same dangerous edge to the words.

A dangerous edge that Grantaire did not heed. “Don’t I?”

“No.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s face and he leaned forward, urgency in every line of his body. “I, who have spent every day of the past few years deconstructing every sentence you have ever uttered?” he asked quietly. “I alone who has spent uncountable hours at your side to hear what words you do not share with even your closest friends? You think I know not of what you speak?”

His volume had risen considerably by the end, and Enjolras just lifted his chin, meeting his glare coolly. “You have deluded yourself into believing this is more than what it is. You may lace your words with hidden meanings and double entendres, but that does not mean—”

Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh, scrubbing a hand across his mouth. “And now you accuse me of not saying what it is I think!” He stood abruptly, taking only a few automatic steps toward Enjolras. “My God, man, I could not be any more transparent with my thoughts, with my feelings, if I tried. I ruminate and I ramble and every thought that has ever existed in my head has seemingly also passed my lips, but you—“

He broke off, shaking his head, equal parts admiring and grudging. “Every word that passes your lips is weighed, measured, considered,” he said. “Each sentence as carefully constructed as any of your plans. And so I have taught myself to read between your pauses just as surely as your words, to find meaning in each breath and every hesitation. Call me deluded if you must, but do not sit there and tell me that I do not know of what I speak, in this instance at the very least.”

Enjolras said nothing, and Grantaire took another step towards him, reaching out for his hand. “There may only be two words I have ever wanted to hear, but it does not mean you have not said them in every way that matters. And that is why I do not believe you find my presence a hindrance, on this or any night.”

But Enjolras just pulled his hand away, his expression carefully neutral. “Go home, Grantaire.”

Grantaire’s hand fell to his side. “So be it,” he said. “But returning to my home will not change the meaning of any words said here tonight – or anything left unsaid.”

“I know,” Enjolras said quietly, so softly that Grantaire almost could not hear him. “I only wish that it could.”

— — — — —

There was no moon in the sky, and the only candle in the room had long since extinguished itself.

Still, Grantaire moved with practiced ease, finding his clothes where he had flung them a few hours earlier. He shrugged into his shirt, doing up the buttons with long, nimble fingers, pale against the stark blackness of the room.

Enjolras watched with hooded eyes as Grantaire tugged his trouser on and then stood, disappearing a little at a time under each additional layer, the hastily buttoned waistcoat, the sloppily tied cravat.

Neither man made any attempt to speak.

Perhaps all that needed to be said had been.

Or perhaps both feared breaking the tentative, unspoken truce that had led Grantaire again to Enjolras’s bed that night.

In any case, Grantaire turned to the door without sparing Enjolras an additional glance, and only then did he hesitate, his hand on the doorknob.

Without warning, he turned, crossing back to the bed and reaching for Enjolras, his hand gentle against the back of Enjolras’s neck as he pulled him up just enough to press a single long kiss to Enjolras’s forehead, the kiss like a benediction, a sacrament.

Penance and absolution in one.

His fingers carded through the wispy curls at the nape of Enjolras’s neck, but still he made no attempt to speak, or otherwise break the moment.

A moment that was not enough, and could never be enough, but the only moment that Enjolras had ever granted.

He held onto the moment as though he could somehow force it to be enough.

Then he straightened, and this time, when he left, he did not turn back.

— — — — —

Grantaire, roused by the silence, stumbled forward, his eyes fixed on Enjolras and only Enjolras. Just as always.

He brushed past the National Guard as though they were no more than mere specters, for in that moment, they were. One final impetus for the unspoken conversation that had ruled what little he had forged with Enjolras over the years.

“Do you permit it?” he asked, the simple question that defined their entire existence, that narrated the way their lives were forever entwined and hurtling towards this moment no matter what either man had tried to wrought along the way. 

Enjolras’s answer to the question was as immaterial as ever, because Grantaire had always known what the answer was, or would be. Had known it as certainly as he knew that it would end like this.

His answer was in the soft smile Enjolras gave him there at the end of all things. It was in the gentle press of his palm against Grantaire’s, just as it had been in every kiss, every touch, every gasp wrung from Enjolras’s body. Grantaire had heard what he so longed to hear in every way that mattered, in the end.

He only hoped that Enjolras knew it, too.

There was no time now to ask, no time to speak, but so much of them had lived in the unsaid that it mattered not.

The final volley of gunfire sounded, but Grantaire did not hear it. His eyes were still fixed on Enjolras, and he heard but one thing, one final time:

Don’t go.

[demonfowl]

6-Rintamalotta

Tää on vaan niin erinomanen shotti ja suren joka kerta menetetyn potentiaalin takia sen nähdessäni :/