#courfeyrac is a little shit

[autumnalmess]

To anyone struggling with their mental health this holiday season: read Les miserables by Victor Hugo

it won't help, but at least then you'll know about the sewers

[permit-it]

[kjack89]

Timeless

Because it may have been almost a month, but what is time, anyway.

The air in the antique shop was thick with dust, and Combeferre coughed into the crook of his arm before giving Enjolras a look. “Remind me again what we’re looking for,” he said, picking a particularly tacky snowglobe off of the shelf without bothering to hide his look of revulsion.

“A gift for Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated for easily the twelfth time as he examined the spines of a stack of ancient books with yellowed pages.

“Right,” Combeferre said, replacing the snowglobe and sharing a knowing glance with Courfeyrac. “Why?”

Enjolras glanced up at them and away again. “Does it matter?”

Courfeyrac leaned against a shelf that creaked ominously, and he hastily straightened. “Well, it’s not Christmas,” he reasoned.

“Not Grantaire’s birthday, either,” Combeferre added.

“And no judgment, Enj, but it’s a little late for Valentine’s Day.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together, glaring a garish painting of a sad clown as if it had personally offended him. “It’s an apology gift,” he said sourly, staring determinedly away from Courfeyrac and Combeferre so that he didn’t have to see the look they inevitably gave each other.

He was already familiar with it.

“Uh-oh,” Courfeyrac said, with barely suppressed glee masquerading as concern. “What are you apologizing for?”

Enjolras sighed. “I said something stupid.”

“No shit,” Combeferre said, uncharacteristically blunt, not that Enjolras didn’t likely deserve it. “But what specifically?”

Enjolras sighed again, raking a hand through his blond curls before telling them reluctantly, “We were watching some movie, or at least, it was on in the background while I was doing work. Some kind of rom-com thing and it ended with the couple old and happy together, and Grantaire made some comment about how maybe that’d be us someday and—”

Courfeyrac stared at him, all traces of amusement vanished. “Don’t tell me.”

“I just pointed out that statistically—”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre and Courfeyrac groaned simultaneously. 

Enjolras winced. “I mean, the world’s probably going to be uninhabitable long before we’re elderly—”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes so hard it looked physically painful. “Mm, yeah, whisper that in his ear, see how it goes.”

“I didn’t realize he was trying to be romantic,” Enjolras muttered, the tips of his ears flaring as red as his favorite hoodie as he continued to avoid meeting Combeferre or Courfeyrac’s eyes. 

“Of course you didn’t,” Combeferre sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Enjolras huffed another sigh. “And now I need to make it up to him,” he said, determined to force the conversation back to something productive.

Combeferre just gave him a look. “And you decided an antique shop was the best place to find a gift because…?”

Shrugging, Enjolras picked a small ceramic ornament off the shelf, turning it over in his hands as he tried to figure out what the hell it was supposed to be. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He loves this place, so I figured there must be something here worth getting.”

Courfeyrac made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a hastily-stifled cackle. “Pretty sure he likes the bar next door better,” he said.

“Probably,” Enjolras said, “but I can’t exactly get that for him, can I?”

Though at the rate he was going, that might actually be the only gift big enough to make it up to Grantaire.

“Fair enough,” Combeferre said, ever the voice of reason. “Why don’t we split up, cover more ground?”

Enjolras made a face. “Why does this feel like the start of a slasher movie?”

Courfeyrac smirked. “Probably because if you don’t succeed, your relationship’s going to be the first thing to die?”

Enjolras glared at him. “Thanks for your support,” he said dryly.

“Anytime,” Courfeyrac said, saccharine sweet.

Enjolras rolled his eyes as he turned to survey the assorted crap that evidently passed for antiques. He knew he should be more grateful that his friends were willing to put up with him and his now decades of emotional incompetence, but in his defense, they didn’t have to be such assholes about the whole thing.

Though, in this case, Enjolras definitely deserved it.

He scowled as he drifted somewhat aimlessly down the aisle, not even sure what he was looking for. His eyes fell on a tattered cardboard box perched precariously on the end of one shelf, or more accurately, on the neon green postcard taped to the front.

PHOTOS AND LITHOGRAPHS, it proclaimed. TWENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH.

Enjolras had no idea who in their right mind would buy random old photos of people they’d never met or places they’d never been, but he intrigued enough that he pulled the box off the shelf, shuffling through the untidy stacks until he pulled one out at random.

It was a black and white photo of two young men in dinner standing next to each in front of an old-fashioned car. He flipped it over and he could just make out, written very faintly on the back, ‘Before the big dance, 1944.’

He frowned as he turned the photo back over, but before he could toss it back in the box, he caught sight of the familiar half-smile the shorter of the two men wore. A smile that Enjolras had kissed more times than he could count, and without warning, he could see it in his head like a memory he didn’t even know he’d had.

“Hey, kid,” Grantaire said, giving Enjolras that little smile as he leaned against the fence.

“Don’t call me kid,” Enjolras said, breathless. “I’m eighteen, and besides, I graduate soon.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, raking his eyes slowly down Enjolras’s body, his smile sharpening. “Besides, you don’t look much like a kid tonight.”

Still, Enjolras hesitated. “You don’t have to come with me, you know. I know you’re shipping out soon, and I doubt you want to spend your time with a bunch of kids…”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “Didn’t we just establish you’re not a kid?” he said easily. “Besides, someone’s got to keep an eye on. Especially if Courfeyrac spikes the punch again.”

Enjolras half-smiled at the memory, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wish I was going with you.”

“I don’t,” Grantaire said flatly. “Hard enough fighting the Nazis without having to worry about you getting shot or blown up.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “You’ll write?”

“As often as I can,” Grantaire promised, reaching for his hand. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

It was a hollow promise – they both knew too many young men who would never return from the war in Europe. But before Enjolras could point that out, Grantaire dropped his hand, straightening. “Mr. and Mrs. Enjolras,” he said with what he clearly thought was a winning smile.

“Oh, Grantaire,” Enjolras’s mother said. “I didn’t realize you were going tonight.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Thought I’d give the kids a little treat,” he said easily.

Enjolras’s father laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “And hopefully keep them out of trouble,” he said.

“Of course,” Grantaire said, winking at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes.

“Wait, before you go, I want to get a picture!” Enjolras’s mother said, and Enjolras groaned.

“Ma, not tonight—”

“Just one,” she said, and Enjolras’s father frogmarched them both over to pose awkwardly in front of the car. “See, all done.”

Enjolras just sighed and looked at Grantaire. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered.

Grantaire grinned. “I’ll make sure I bring him back in one piece,” he promised Enjolras’s parents, who both just smiled and waved.

Enjolras and Grantaire made it all the way down the sidewalk and around the corner before Grantaire pressed Enjolras up against the side of a garage to kiss him. “Sorry,” he said. “You really do look good, kid.”

“So do you,” Enjolras murmured, and Grantaire kissed him once more before releasing him.

“What do you think?” he said, casually. “Make an appearance at the dance and then you can come back to mine to say goodbye properly?”

If Enjolras had his way, he wouldn’t say goodbye at all. But since that wasn’t an option, he settled for nodding. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds like a plan.”

Back in the antique shop, Enjolras shook his head, feeling almost dizzy as the memory – or whatever it had been – faded, leaving a strange sort of buzzing sound in his ears. He set the photo down with trembling fingers, and then, like an idiot, reached back into the box again for another.

This time he emerged with a color photograph that looked like someone had torn it out of a book based on the caption in tiny print underneath the picture. ‘Portrait of a young man writing a letter,’ the caption read, dry and boring like any art book Enjolras had the misfortune of flipping through, ‘ca. 1650. Artist unknown.’

Enjolras frowned down at the picture, letting out a sigh of relief that it didn’t look anything like Grantaire.

At least, until he realized that it did look, at least a little bit, like himself.

Enjolras’s chest felt tight as he scanned Grantaire’s latest missive. Where most of his friends sent updates on how their efforts were going to liberate Enjolras from the cursed marriage his parents had foisted upon him, Grantaire’s alone were like a balm in these dark times. They weren’t full of hope, as Enjolras would never expect from the cynic, but they were full of certitude, of no promises but instead guarantees that no man could stand between Grantaire’s blade and Enjolras.

“Patience is a virtue neither of us possess, but I must beg you for what little you can spare me,” the latest letter read. “Dark is the night but soon we shall be reunited in the dawn. And should we fail, know that my heart will belong to you for the rest of time, and none may cleave my soul from yours when we depart this earth.”

Enjolras traced his finger over the scrawled ‘R’ at the bottom of the page, lifting his finger to brush against his lips. Only then did he sit up in his chair, straighten his shoulders, and grab his own quill to begin to write his response.

Again, Enjolras resurfaced in the antique store, and he reached out automatically to grab the shelf, steadying himself against it. His head swam, and he had no explanation for what was going on, save for the obvious that he’d finally cracked under pressure and lost his entire mind.

It didn’t feel like he was going crazy, though. He was still him, still in this cursed store, still trying to find some kind of apology gift and instead unearthing bizarre memories of, what, alternate lives?

A hysterical giggle rose in his throat and he did his best to tamp it down, instead reaching for the box to return it to its spot on the shelf. 

Instead, he caught sight of a lithograph on the top of the pile of pictures, a charming little scene of what could only be a Parisian café a century or so ago, and despite now having two very distinct reasons to know this was a bad idea, he lifted it out of the box.

He couldn’t even pretend to be surprised at what happened next.

Enjolras squinted up at the sun, too high in the sky already for how much he had to accomplish that day.

But as he strode past a café, someone hailed him, delaying him all the further. “Enjolras! Join me, won’t you.”

Enjolras scowled at the dark-haired man seated at a table outside of the café, his chin propped in his hand as he grinned at him.. “I see you are putting your morning to good use,” Enjolras said sourly. “Alas that some of us have more important matters to which we must attend.”

Grantaire’s grin widened. “And yet what may be more important than sating your hunger and thirst?” he asked with feigned innocence. “Even gods take the time to feast with mortals.”

“I suppose it is well that I am not a god, then.”

He turned to leave but paused when Grantaire called after him, “All the more reason to join me, then. As I doubt I merit the company of gods regardless.”

Enjolras sighed, turning back to again refute him, but before he could say anything, Grantaire straightened, his grin sobering into something more genuine, something that made Enjolras’s chest feel inexplicably warm. “Please,” he said, something soft and almost sweet in the word. “Would the world cease to spin should you spend a half hour letting someone take care of you?”

“Is that what this is?” Enjolras asked, forgetting to be harsh.

Grantaire shrugged. “A first attempt, at least.” His grin returned. “How am I doing thus far?”

“That remains to be seen,” Enjolras said, hesitating for only a moment before, reluctantly, sitting down across from him. “Very well. You have a half hour. Do your best.”

“For you, I always do,” Grantaire said, his voice low, and Enjolras was suddenly aware that the warmth on his cheeks had nothing to do with the sun.

At least this time, he didn’t feel like he was going to collapse upon returning to himself, which was a small sort of comfort. He did feel a little shaky, which probably explained how his renewed attempt at putting the box on the shelf instead sent it falling to the floor.

Enjolras groaned as he bent to pick up all the pictures and shove them back in the box, hoping this didn’t mean he’d suddenly experience a hundred memories at once. Luckily, he remained entirely in the present, and he hastily gathered all the photos, placing them back in the box, which he successfully returned to the shelf.

Only then did he notice a photo he’d missed, and he sighed again as he bent to pick it up, glancing automatically at it. This was a color photo, much more recent if a little out of focus, of two older men kissing, and he flipped it over to see if anything was on the back. 

In bold Sharpie strokes, someone had written ‘FINALLY! Fifty years in the making. June 29, 2015.’

Enjolras felt the breath catch in his throat. Three days after Obergefell.

He waited for the memory to overwhelm him yet again, but this time, it didn’t come, and he frowned down at it, a little surprised. Maybe it was because neither man particularly resembled him or Grantaire.

Or maybe it was because he and Grantaire had to live this memory themselves.

It was a stupid thought that somehow still had tears pricking in Enjolras’s eyes, and he shook his head, starting to return the photo to the box before hesitating.

He knew what he needed to give Grantaire.

— — — — —

“I bought these.”

Grantaire glanced up from where he was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “Hell of an opening,” he said mildly, sitting up as Enjolras sat down next to him. He accepted the paper bag that Enjolras held out, his brow furrowing, and he carefully shook out the four pictures Enjolras had purchased from the antique store, fanning them out across the table.

He blinked down at them and back up at Enjolras, his brow furrowing, just slightly. “I don’t understand,” he admitted. “You bought four random pictures?”

Enjolras jerked a nod and then took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize.”

Grantaire looked up at him, his expression neutral. “I’m listening.”

Enjolras wet his lips before telling Grantaire, “I meant what I said.”

Grantaire sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ok,” he said, with something like patience, “maybe we need to first circle back to what the concept of an apology means—”

But Enjolras refused to be deterred from his point. “You and I both know that we aren’t guaranteed to get old together, let alone separately,” he said, and Grantaire fell silent, something tightening in his expression, something that Enjolras wanted desperately to smooth away with his fingertips. “Hell, we’re not even guaranteed to make it to next week, let alone past November, or five years from now or what have you.”

“Stirring oration as always, Enj—”

“But what I should have said,” Enjolras continued, “and didn’t, is that it doesn’t matter how much time we have together. What matters is that we have any time at all.” He reached for Grantaire’s hand, a little surprised when Grantaire let him take it. “Whether it’s five years or fifty years, any time that I have with you will be worth it. I don’t know if we’re going to get a happy ending, but I’ll be damned if we don’t get a happy right now with each other. And that– that’s what I should have said.”

He had faltered a little at the end, but it was worth it regardless for the look in Grantaire’s eyes, for the small half-smile that lifted just one corner of his mouth, for the way his fingers tightened around Enjolras’s.

Enjolras took another deep breath before telling him, “I went to the antique store to get you a present to say that I’m sorry, but instead I got these.” He gestured at the pictures still spread across the coffee table. “Something about them– I can’t explain it, but I look at them, and I see us.” He shrugged, a little helplessly. “I know that between the two of us, I’m the believer, but I have to admit, until I saw these, I don’t know if I truly believed that it really is me and you, forever. Whatever that forever ends up looking like.”

He squeezed Grantaire’s hand before telling him, “So I didn’t get these for you. I got them for me, to remind myself of that. Because the only gift that I can give you that matters worth a damn is time.”

Grantaire’s smile was soft and his eyes were just a little bit wet, and he shook his head. “Enjolras—”

He broke off as if he couldn’t quite decide what to say, and Enjolras added, “And I really am sorry that I didn’t say this the first time around.”

Grantaire shook his head again. “Well,” he managed, his voice thick, “you said it now. C’mere.” He tugged Enjolras to him, reaching up with his free hand to cup Enjolras’s cheek, to brush his thumb along his jawline as he leaned in to kiss him. “I love you.”

Enjolras kissed back before telling him, “I love you, too.”

Grantaire kissed him once more, his lips curving into a smile against Enjolras’s before he leaned back to ask, innocently, “So does that mean you didn’t actually get me a present, or…?”

Enjolras sighed, the exasperated, endlessly fond sigh of a man in love with the biggest pain in the ass he’d ever met. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

And for once, Grantaire did. After all, they had time to worry about presents later.

They had all the time in the world.

[libbys-braincell-loss]

hear me out yall

les mis. as muppets

jean valjean and javert are the humans but like everyone else is a muppet

and yknow what fuck it, fantines a human too

Kermit is Marius, Miss Piggy is Cosette, and for a bit i struggled to decide but i decided that Eponine would be played by Denise (idk shit abt denise i just know she was kermits love interest when he and piggy broke up for a bit, and i find it so funny cuz. Another pig)

The student gang would be Gonzo as Enjolras, and Fozzie as Grantaire.

Who would be the other students, you ask?

The rats.

Rizzo can be whoever he wishes to be, but the rest of the student gang are all the rats.

If the rats arent your fancy, then instead we could have Sam the Eagle as Feuilly, Rowlf as Joly, Scooter as Lesgles, Pepe the King Prawn as Courfeyrac, Animal as Combeferre, Walter as Prouvaire

But the student gang being all rats is insanely funny to me

Gavroche would either be Robin the frog, Bean the rabbit, or a human child. All would be equally heartbreaking i think

The little girls representing Young Cosette and Young Eponine would have to be like. miss piggy's nieces that are shown in muppet christmas carol. Or a muppet specifically made to be young Denise/Eponine

The Thenardiers would obvi be Statler and Waldorf. Idk who is representing Monsier or Madame, but it doesnt matter. They should also be able to rob corpses together

The Thenardier gang could be Electric Mayhem, but i also see the Electric Mayhem playing the music for the show off to the side

Beauregard the janitor is the old man who gets run over by a cart

Dr. Honeydew can be the Bishop (and Beaker can provide background vocals to his music)

if theres any other characters i missed lmk but these are all the ones i believe are most significant

The visual makes me chuckle so hard, jim henson studios hire me please

[combeauferre]

like the back of my hand

les miserables, rated t, 2.9k words

“Do you of-often drop after a scene?” Enjolras asks quietly, after a moment of silence between them. “Sorry?” “Do you drop?” he repeats, “like th-this?” “Oh,” Combeferre pulls a face and waves his hand dismissively, “I’m not dropping, don’t worry.”

or

after their spontaneous, mildly kinky threesome, combeferre has some feelings to work through

a little follow-up fic to picture us with tongues entwined

read on ao3

Cozy and sated, Enjolras lies on his side, staring at his phone. He is close enough to feel Courfeyrac’s warm, steady breaths on his hands, to just make out the shape of him in the darkness, the rise and fall of his side as he sleeps. Beyond Courf, Combeferre lies still, breathing almost tense, heavy but regular.

Hair still damp from the shower, Enjolras removes a hand from his phone to comb his fingers through it. In the darkness his phone illuminates his face in dim, filtered yellow light, his text conversation with Feuilly open as he waits for a reply to his message.

00:25 – Sébastien: I need to tell you something.

Feuilly is at work, he knows; his break will be in a few minutes, and then they can talk properly. He never expected to be having this conversation, but it’s better for it to be out in the open and, knowing Feuilly, he’ll be interested in the sordid details, anyway.

00:31 – Antoine: Okay

00:31 – Antoine: Should I be worried?

There’s a small, quiet part of Enjolras that whispers he should have discussed this with Feuilly first, should have made sure it was okay before jumping into bed with his two best friends. He needn’t have, of course. That’s what the non-exclusivity is for. That’s what their shared sentiment of don’t feel obligated to tell me before you fuck someone else is for.

Not that Enjolras had been anticipating fucking anyone other than Feuilly.

He’s always thought of Combeferre and Courfeyrac as attractive, at least as long as he’s understood what attraction looks and feels like. He can’t pretend like there wasn’t at least a bit of ulterior motive that led him to Courfeyrac at 18 years old, propositioning him for the first time, citing Courf’s understanding of gender dysphoria as a reason for wanting to experience his firsts with Courf specifically.

Of course, Courf had seen right through him.

Eight years later and some more exploration of his sexuality under his belt, and Enjolras can finally appreciate that his two best friends are hot. Hot in the way that he would fuck them if they asked, he had told Feuilly just a few short weeks ago, as they lay in the sweaty, sleepy afterglow and Feuilly had asked who else in their group Enjolras might be interested in. Hypothetically.

00:38 – Antoine: Seb? Are you okay?

Shit. Enjolras’ mind, he’s found, has a tendency to wander once it’s begun down the road of lying in bed next to Feuilly, naked and panting. Heat stirs in his belly, and he briefly considers whether it’s weird to get yourself off in the bed beside your two best friends, even after they’ve come in your mouth.

00:38 – Sébastien: Yes. Sorry.

00:39 – Sébastien: I slept with Luca and Gabriel.

The moment of silence that comes next has Enjolras chewing his lip gently, watching the three dots appear and disappear for a moment.

00:40 – Antoine: That’s not what I was expecting.

00:41 – Antoine: How was it?

Worrying at his lip once more, Enjolras considers. How was it? He hasn’t really attempted to process… any of this. How quick it was, how easy it was to let go and give in to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, how much he wanted to push it further but couldn’t quite figure out how.

00:43 – Sébastien: It was really good. Strange, in a way. But fun.

00:44 – Antoine: Good. You were safe?

00:44 – Sébastien: Completely.

Another moment’s silence.

00:45 – Antoine: That’s good.

00:45 – Antoine: You better fill me in properly on everything tomorrow.

Enjolras smiles to himself.

00:46 – Sébastien: Of course. ;)

00:47 – Sébastien: I mean, I’ll have to check with them that I can share it all with you. It wasn’t completely vanilla.

00:48 – Antoine: Oh?

00:48 – Antoine: I mean, it sounds hot.

Blushing slightly, Enjolras squirms, legs rubbing together uselessly.

00:49 – Sébastien: It was. Really hot.

00:50 – Antoine: How long before we can start planning a foursome?

He huffs a quiet laugh at that, but is pulled quickly from his phone screen by the dark shape he can make out moving just beyond his phone, which he realises after a moment is Combeferre’s arm, lifting to run his fingers through his hair. He must not see the dim light of Enjolras’ phone as he turns away, sitting up. Two hands lift as if to rub his eyes, before he reaches out to take his glasses from the nightstand and put them on.

Enjolras considers letting him know he’s awake, but in that moment Combeferre stands, taking a shirt from the floor and pulling it over his head. Before Enjolras has gathered his thoughts enough to speak, Combeferre has padded out the room in slippers.

A few moments later, Enjolras hears the muffled rumble of the kettle boiling in the kitchen.

Frowning, he sits up slowly, trying not to jostle Courfeyrac. Once he’s sure Courf is sufficiently swaddled in blankets, he pulls on a shirt he thinks is his and steals a pair of boxers from Courf’s drawer. Following the noise, he steps into the light of the kitchen to find Combeferre sat at the table, staring diligently at the kettle as if it will boil faster that way.

“Gabriel?”

Combeferre starts, turning to look at Enjolras with a wide awake but weary stare.

“Bas,” he breathes, straightening up a little, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to wake you, sorry.”

“You d-didn’t.” He pulls a chair out from the other side of the table and sits down. “Is everything okay?”

Combeferre looks down at the mug in front of him, not moving to fetch the now boiled kettle, instead just staring at the dry teabag.

“I’m fine,” he says eventually. His voice is tired, but more worryingly, flat, and Enjolras frowns.

“Y-you don’t sound i-it.”

“What are you doing up?” Combeferre asks, blatantly evading as he finally gets up to take the kettle. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, th-thank you,” Enjolras replies, watching the steam rise as the mug fills, “I was jus-just filling Antoine in on… everything.”

Slowly, stiffly, Combeferre puts the kettle back in its place and sits down, stirring the mug and leaving the teabag in to steep. The smell wafts up to Enjolras’ nose and he recognises it fondly as one of Courfeyrac’s orange-flavoured sleep teas.

“Do you regret it?” Combeferre’s voice is level but he doesn’t attempt to look Enjolras in the eye.

“Wh-what?” he frowns. “No, not- not at all.” A pause. “Do you?”

The second pause hangs between them a moment.

“I regret how I handled it.”

“How do you mean?”

Combeferre looks up then, the look in his eyes cold and distant, almost numb.

“We never even stopped to talk it through,” he says bitterly, “how ridiculous is that? Of all people, you and I always stop to think.”

“Gabriel-”

“You couldn’t talk by the end, Bas,” he continues, “that was completely unexpected.”

“That’s nor-normal for me, I told you,” Enjolras defends gently, fingers itching to reach out and reassure him, “talking is hard for me at th-the best of times, I don’t have the energy for it at the end of a s-scene.”

“That’s the point, though,” Combeferre says, dropping his head into his hands and pressing his fingers down into his eyes. “I should have known, because we should have discussed it.” He moves his hands away, but his eyes stay fixed downward. “Honestly, it kind of scared me.”

Enjolras does reach out now, a hand coming to rest on Combeferre’s shoulder, thumb rubbing gently.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, squeezing Ferre’s shoulder gently, “I promise I w-was fine. I enjoyed it, Luca enjoyed it. I-I was under the impression you enjoyed it t-too.”

“I did,” Combeferre says weakly, hands twisting together. “But we never negotiated anything. I still don’t know your limits, or what you might have wanted from the scene; hell, what if you’d gone non-verbal in the middle and not been able to safe word?”

“It was alright.” Moving his hand, Enjolras gently takes one of Combeferre’s and squeezes. “You checked in on us, you were att-attentive, we both knew we could have stopped a-at any time.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Gabriel,” Enjolras says firmly, twining their fingers together. Combeferre looks over at him begrudgingly. “We both trust you. More than any- anything. It’s not like you were conducting a s-scene with two subs you’d never m-met before.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Turning away, Combeferre scowls at the table. “Luca and I always discuss our scenes beforehand. It’s more than just trust and familiarity.”

“I know that,” Enjolras replies, “but this was o-one time. It was just us. Th-there was no point at wh-which I was scared you would do something I might n-not like.”

“And what about Luca?” Combeferre carries on as if Enjolras had never said a word, “obviously we talked about this, but not about every possibility. What if this affects our relationship?” his breathing quickens, “this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. We were supposed to ask you, negotiate, set a date, cook dinner-”

He pauses at the sound of Enjolras’ chair scraping against the floor, hand letting go of Ferre’s as he moves behind him to place both hands gently on Combeferre’s shoulders.

“Sh-should I not have been so forward?”

Combeferre sighs.

“It was hot,” he says quietly, “I didn’t even think about stopping to check everything. And then Luca came in and I wanted to make it so good for both of you. I think maybe that took over everything else.”

“It was good for both of us,” Enjolras confirms, hands rubbing gently over his shoulders and upper arms, “but i-if it wasn’t good for you, then-”

“It was,” Combeferre interjects, “it was good for me. I had fun. I want to do it again, you have no idea. But it has to be negotiated; we have to talk about this properly. I should have stopped us to do that.”

“Any of us c-could have,” Enjolras says, sitting back down in the chair next to him, “it was a-all our responsibility. We ch-chose not to.”

“But I’m the dom, I’m the one who should be checking we’re all on the same page.”

“Were we not?” Enjolras asks, “because I def-definitely felt on the s-same page as you, and I’m sure Luca did as well.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it?”

Combeferre huffs, taking a sip of his tea and holding it close. He glares into it like it’s withholding all the answers, before finally opening his mouth again.

“I was a bad dom.”

“Gabriel,” Enjolras chastises, “You were not. You w-were in sync with us the entire time.”

“Still, I should have-”

“And next time you will,” he says, reaching back out to rest his hand on Combeferre’s arm. “Wh-what happened, happened. No one was hurt, we had a good time, and w-we all w-want to do it again. What good is- is beating yourself up over this going to do?”

Grumpily huffing again, Combeferre catches Enjolras’ eye out of the corner of his own and glares, no heat behind it. Enjolras simply smiles back, raising an eyebrow.

“Next time, I want us to sit down,” Ferre says firmly, looking away, “and have dinner together, and negotiate properly. I want to see a full list of your limits, and for you and Luca to discuss between yourselves what you are and aren’t comfortable with. And if we ever, ever do something non-negotiated again, it stays completely vanilla.” He finally looks back at Enjolras, only now realising he had let go of his tea to gesticulate. “Does that sound fair?”

Enjolras grins.

“Yes, sir.”

Combeferre attempts to fix him with a stern glare, but there’s nothing in it.

“Do you of-often drop after a scene?” Enjolras asks quietly, after a moment of silence between them.

“Sorry?”

“Do you drop?” he repeats, “like th-this?”

“Oh,” Combeferre pulls a face and waves his hand dismissively, “I’m not dropping, don’t worry.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” Combeferre says, “I’m just frustrated with myself for being so thoughtless. I should have done it differently, I mean– I’ve been doing this for years, and the one time I do it with my best friend, everything goes out the window.”

“But it’s not drop,” Enjolras says, with just a hint of sarcasm. He gives Combeferre a knowing look, which is brushed off once more.

“No,” he shrugs. “I’m fine.” He sounds anything but fine.

“Have you e-ever dropped before?” Enjolras presses, “do you have any-anything to compare this to?”

“No,” Combeferre replies, “But I would know. I’ve seen Luca drop before, and Joly. I know what it looks like.”

“Do they act the same wh-when they drop?”

“Not really,” he says, “but why would they? They’re so different from each other, and-”

He pauses when he sees the corner of Enjolras’ mouth quirk up sympathetically.

“What?”

“Gabriel,” he takes Combeferre’s hand again gently, “I think you’re dropping.”

“I’m not, I don’t drop.”

“Do you want to wake Luca?” Enjolras asks, “I-I’m sure if he knew, he’d jump at the chance to squ-squeeze you in the middle of a cuddle pile.”

“No!” Combeferre all but snaps, before collecting himself and sighing, “I’ve already done enough, I’m not waking him up as well.”

Enjolras frowns, dropping all semblance of teasing, squeezing Combeferre’s hand gently.

“Gabriel,” he says, running his thumb over the back of Ferre’s hand, “listen to yourself. You kn-know as well as I do, it’s not l-like you to be so uns-unsure of yourself.”

Combeferre gives him a grumpy but almost anxious look, curling in on himself in a way Enjolras has never seen before.

 “It’s alright if you need to be t-taken care of, Gabriel,” Enjolras soothes, other hand coming round to cup Combeferre’s own. “You can let us.”

“What if I’m not even dropping?” Combeferre asks quietly, “and you’re doing all this for nothing?”

“Oh no,” Enjolras teases, letting go of his hand to wind an arm around his shoulder, “my best an-and oldest friend has been given too much of my v-very limited affection. Now wh-what shall I give him wh-when he is truly sad?”

Combeferre lifts his head and, in a moment of uncharacteristic childishness, sticks his tongue out.

“You really pick your moments to be sarcastic,” he grumbles.

“Do you think this is a ch-chore for us, Gabriel?”

Combeferre makes a vague, grumpy sort of sound and rests his head back against Enjolras’ shoulder.

“Gabriel?”

A grunt comes from below him.

“I’d like t-to take that as a no,” Enjolras says fondly, “but I fear I sh-shouldn’t.” He pets Combeferre’s hair gently, gentle scritches on his scalp running down to the nape of his neck. “We like giving you affection. Th-this isn’t one sided. Domming isn’t just about giving, just as subbing is-isn’t just about t-taking.”

“I know that,” comes the grumpy, muffled response.

“Well it s-sounds like you need reminding.”

Combeferre raises his head to glower at him, but Enjolras’ returning smile is solid and steadfast, and Combeferre sighs.

“Maybe,” he says finally, “it would be nice to be held a while.”

“There,” Enjolras murmurs, fondness dripping from his voice, “was that so hard?”

His arm pulls Combeferre closer and holds him tight and firm, and Ferre sighs, leaning back into him.

“Would you like to w-wake Luca, or shall I?”

Breathing deeply, Combeferre sighs and closes his eyes.

“I will,” he says, after a moment.

Enjolras smiles, pressing his lips gently to Combeferre’s temple and rubbing a thumb over his shoulder. With one more squeeze, Enjolras removes his arms and guides Combeferre up, letting him lead as they both trudge back to the bedroom.

In their absence, Courfeyrac has shuffled on to Combeferre’s side of the bed and buried his face in the pillow. It fills Enjolras with fondness, and for a moment he is overcome with the honour of seeing his two best friends like this, so in love with each other, unable to go without the other’s essence, even in sleep.

Kneeling on the bed, Combeferre reaches over to brush a stray curl away from Courfeyrac’s ear, Courf’s face turning from the pillow to follow his touch. His eyes stay firmly closed, and Combeferre leans down to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Mm, Gabi?” Courfeyrac’s voice is thick with sleep.

“Hey, Lu,” Ferre murmurs gently, climbing properly into the bed beside him, “shuffle up a bit?”

“S’wrong?” he mumbles, “what’re doin’?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he whispers back, settling in close to Courfeyrac and reaching out for Enjolras, who fits in on his other side.

“Your turn for cuddles?” Courfeyrac asks when he sees Enjolras’ arm wind round Combeferre’s middle.

“Yeah,” Ferre says quietly, resting his head down on the pillow, “if that’s alright.”

Courfeyrac promptly but sleepily shuffles closer and rearranges them until Combeferre’s head rests on his chest.

“Jus’ like this,” he mumbles, one hand coming up to play with Combeferre’s hair.

Enjolras can feel the change in breathing as his front rests against Combeferre’s back, and he smiles softly. Pressing his forehead into Combeferre’s neck and running his nails over the top of his shirt, over his chest and belly, Enjolras feels the tension ebb away from Combeferre’s body as he slowly drifts to sleep.

“Bas?” Courfeyrac whispers, a few minutes later.

“Mm.”

“Is Gabi okay?”

Enjolras takes a moment to decide how much he should disclose to Courfeyrac. They’re still Combeferre’s feelings, after all, and he had been so shy to admit them.

“He’s alright,” he says finally, “Just n-needs some extra loving, I th-think.”

“Tha’s okay,” Courf murmurs, other hand resting on top of Enjolras’ over Combeferre’s stomach, “I like lovin’ him.”

Smiling, Enjolras closes his eyes once more.

“Me too.”

[transrevolutions]

les amis & co. as penelope scott songs:

enjolras- born2run- here's a little fact I cry all the time / about the state and healthcare and the grand design / sometimes it's sad sometimes it's bittersweet / but it's how you'll know I'm me

combeferre- shitty song to listen to after a shooting- I don't have to read anything you ever read or wrote / you're not special just for torturing the poor / you unoriginal spineless monster it's been done before

courfeyrac- 7 o'clock- so it hits me real hard round 7 o'clock / drink a coffee and floor it and get ready to rock / but there's nobody here and nobody downtown / if nobody hears you are you really around

jehan- drizzle the categorical imperative- trees lose their leaves when they flower I grieve / and everything always feels wrong / the state kills the innocent / god picks on job

feuilly- montreal- and I don't wanna die / but I'll jump before I'll fall / and did you really think so I mean / no one fucking thought I'd make it to montreal

bahorel- lukewarm- throw a punch watch it sail through the air / keep talking but there's nobody there / can't remember anything that you say / slit your throat and die and wake up the next day

joly- american healthcare- I fucking helped people / I thought that I could save the sick / but if it's all the same to you there's one more thing I gotta do / with god as my witness you corporate fucking prick / I did not become a doctor for this

bossuet- lavender- trying my best / giving my all / but it turns out that's not very much at all / what am I gonna do / when you leave me too / what am I gonna say / when you walk away

musichetta- soap- there's salt inside my veins / sugar on my tongue / freckles on my cheeks from goddamn fucking west coast sun / I feel so beaten up and bruised / I don't know what I'm gonna do / I can't keep anything at all from slipping through my raccoon claws

grantaire- moonsickness- fuck I'm not a marxist / I'm not a fucking democrat / but because of all this bullshit I'm not anything at all / all I wanted was a framework / none of them can live here / there's nothing to believe in and there won't be til we fall

marius- hammerhead- all I really know is that I'm never coming home / and I'm sorry that I didn't tell you so / I'm gonna go and get an internship / and then I'll get a job / and then I'll pack all my shit up and fucking go

cosette- honeysuckle- there will be many kinds of trees / there will be plenty of bees / all the movies will be free to watch / we'll sit in the garden with our bunnies drinking honeysuckle lavender butterscotch

eponine- rat- I loved you I loved you I loved you it's true / I wanted to be you and do what you do / I lived here I loved here I bought it it's true / I feel so stupid and so used

gavroche- this night will not suck- I miss my home / take bullshit to the face and just let it go / the system is fucked I'm alive by sheer luck / but with god as my witness this night will not suck

montparnasse- cigarette ahegao- trash on the walls trash on the floor / liquid eyeliner stuck to the door / screwing everything up and doing everything wrong / in my defense I wasn't supposed to be around this long

[breath-of-fresh-grantaire]

les amis except what games i think they’d play

Enjolras: Wordle. Definitely see him saying he doesn’t have the time to play video games. He goes onto the New York times one day and sees them talking about Wordle and goes “what in the world is this?” His excuse is that it exercises his brain... or something.

Combeferre: Hidden Object Games/Management Sim Games. ‘ferre definitely just gives off the vibe. Hidden Object Games are for when he wants to relax. When I say Management Sim Games, I specifically mean Rimworld. Rimworld is an unforgiving game and requires a lot of real-time management skills, and in a lot of cases you can easily get fucked over. He enjoys the risk of everything being taken from him in very little time if he fails to plan/strategize correctly.  Courfeyrac: Minecraft. Without a doubt this guy has the biggest addiction to Minecraft. I’m slightly projecting when I say I think he’s ADHD/Autistic and fixates for hours. He prefers playing modded versions of the game as it gives him more to do and keeps him busy. He LOVES playing with others, and tries to convince Combeferre and Enjolras to join him... you already know Enjolras’ reason for not trying, but Combeferre just says “I don’t get it.” 

Jehan: Stardew Valley. I really don’t think he’d do too well with FPS games, and definitely prefers games like Stardew. Loves tending to his little digital crops and making friends with the NPCs. Grantaire: Red Dead Redemption(1+2). You can not tell me this guy would not play the shit out of Red Dead Redemption. Look me in the eyes and tell me he wouldn’t admire Arthur Morgan. Fuck you if you think otherwise. I’m insulted I should even have to explain this to you.  Bahorel: Horror Games. I’ll be honest I had a really hard time trying to figure out what type of game he’d play? I tried looking through the Steam store for a good 30 minutes and the only thing that stuck with me was horror. He’s not.. the best with horror? However, he enjoys the rush of getting scared.  Feuilly: Civilization. I’m hoping you know why I picked Civilization for Feuilly if you know anything about the game. If you don’t know what Civilization is about, it’s a turn-based strategy game where you take on the role of being a ruler of a civilization, and compete against other civilizations. It's one of those games that invites you to think about how the world works, and with Feuilly being the type of person to have interest in foreign affairs and history, this seems like his type of game.

Joly: Animal Crossing. Joly is the type to not be the biggest gamer, but he loves to play Animal Crossing. Every time his hypochondriasis acts up, Musichetta just hands him her switch and tells him to do certain tasks, and it easily takes his mind off of whatever he was just worrying about. 

Bossuet: Not the type to play games. He usually just watches Joly or Musichetta. He does, however, enjoy card games.

Marius: League of Legends. Derogatory. 

Bonus...

Gavroche: Fortnite. Look me in the eyes and try telling me he doesn’t play Fortnite. Either that, or he plays Minecraft with Courfeyrac and convinces Grantaire to join them.

[combeferres-mothematics]

4, 20, 69 😈😏

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

Like I just told Ella, mostly my friend group's chaos! XD But also stories from when my siblings and I were little too, I don't think I mentioned that one

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc.

Yes. Babies or small children are a common theme lol (they're hilarious to write), as well as Ferre being a constant little shit when alone with Enjolras/Courfeyrac

69. What work of yours, if any, are you most embarrassed about existing?

Do works that only exist in private docs count? XD If so, there is one I have projected heavily on Combeferre that will likely never see the light of day (Ao3) I love it... But it's also a lot lol

[pumpkinspice-prouvaire]

Enjolferre deserve indeed more epic fics, you're right. In consolation, do you have any headcanons about them?

they deserve so many fics and they deserve to be soft and deserve to be in love. I am writing the fic I want to see in the world. Should take between a week and 11 months

Consolation Enjolferre headcanons below:

It took forever for the two of them to finally fall in love. Combeferre is very very aroace spec, and for a long time he thought his feelings for Enjolras were the same platonic feelings he'd always had. It was only after talking to Courfeyrac when he was like "Everyone wants to have hour long make out sessions with their best friend! Right! Right?????" And Courf was like. Combeferre. Do you want to make out with me. And Ferre was like oh shit.

Meanwhile, Enjolras is very very arospec, so his realisation is a lot less "I want to make out with my best friend" and a lot more bolting upright in the middle of the night like "I want to fall asleep next to my best friend and wake up next to him and hold his hand and maybe also marry him for reasons that aren't tax related?????? I don't know what to do with this????!!!!!"

Courfeyrac is so tired of getting middle of the night calls from both of them. Just kiss, you morons.

(I can't be bothered explaining how they actually end up together lmfao so consider this a timeskip placeholder)

Their first date was very simple and sweet but it had a somewhat unexpected ending. They were walking back from the restaurant and some guy trips and smacks his head off the pavement right in front of them so Combeferre had to go into Doctor Sexy MD mode right there in the middle of the street while Enjolras sat on a wall 20 metres away because medical stuff makes him kind of queasy lol

Enjolras is the one person who can locate Combeferre's glasses at all times. Ferre literally just has to say "Where are my-" and they're already being handed to him, unfolded and cleaned.

So many stupid little inside jokes. Someone will make an offhand comment about cucumbers or something and Ferre will turn and raise his eyebrows and Enjolras will be stifling giggles into his palm, and no one else has any idea what is going on. They don't bother trying to explain- You just had to be there

They date for three months and then one day they just decide "Marriage for tax reasons? Marriage for tax reasons." Good for them.

Everyone thinks they're kind of an odd couple because their idea of date night is going to the library together and stopping off to volunteer at the soup kitchen on their way home, and they're also not the most physically affectionate of people, but they also exude this warmth together that nine times out of ten, people can tell they're together just from looking at them interacting

[syrupsyche]

1, 2 and 16 for fandom asks ✨️✨️✨️

hehe ty for the ask

1. List 3 positive things about your current fandom

I love how supportive everyone is of fanworks 🥺 I'm an artist in every fandom I enter and the Les Mis fandom so far leaves the nicest comments on my art <3

So many people are into the meta/analyses of the story, which is always my favourite part of participating in any fandom! Though that may just be the English major part of me talking.

And finally I love how strongly the fandom advocates for real life movements as well. Events like Barricadescon and the Bishop Myriel Fundraiser helps real organisations and people, which I think helps to keep the message of the story alive, even 162 years after its publication. It's very heartening!

2. A headcanon you weren't sure about at first but came to like

Not really a headcanon? But I remember coming across Courfeyrac/Cosette and being confused as to why they'd be paired, but then I read Some Friendlier Sky and man....that shit HITS. And now I need more Courf/Cosette in my life

16. A tiny detail in canon you want more people to appreciate

That's a tough one; I adore so many tiny details in canon, some because I think they're really important to the characters and some because I think it's just a fun little trait. Guess I'll just list a few that I always like to incorporate into my fics:

Enjolras being "subject to hours of pallor" (3.4.1); thus I often described him with a pale/white face.

Joly being "the gayest of them all" (3.4.1); so he's always happy in my fics, even as he's fretting about his health.

Grantaire's love for his friends, for "his joy was to see these forms go and come through the fumes of wine" (3.4.1), particularly for Joly and Bossuet! So I try to emphasize his love for them, over his more cynical nature.

Young Cosette's 'ugliness', for "injustice had made her peevish, and misery had made her ugly" (1.4.3).

Cosette's headstrong and witty personality, seen in her conversations with Valjean whenever she wants him to do something (having a fire in his room, eating white bread etc.) (4.3.4); I try to make her sharp and persuasive in my fics as a result!

Sorry for the long answer but yes; I just love incorporating bits and pieces across the book to make the characters feel more Real yknow 🥲 I love em

[courfee]

kiss me with words pls 🥺

ok so this is a les mis fic where grantaire paints a beautiful stranger he met on a bus, jehan nearly fails his art class because he is too busy writing poetry about the figure drawing class model, courfeyrac has a sexual identity crisis, and marius is a soft roommate with a shit grandfather

a little snippet:

Jehan smiled brightly, nearly smirking as he nudged his best friend. “You only enjoy drawing that mysterious blond god anyway.” He was met with a gentle shove. “He's not mysterious, it's fucking Apollo.” Grantaire groaned, “And drawing him is honestly the biggest pain in the ass- this is not an innuendo Jehan, you don't need to grin like that, have you ever tried drawing blond curls? The. Worst.

[spikeymarshmallows]

Fic Reading - Jan 2023

I used to write, and thus posted "Writing Updates" each month. I'm now onto like... year fucking THREE of a writers block that is destroying my soul.

But someone suggested to find different ways to enjoy fandom. I have a few friends that track their fic reading so... I'm giving it a shot. I'm also gonna add some fic-recs because I think that's important :) Where possible, I'm gonna TRY to rec fics that I don't see all over the place, getting rec'd left-right-and-centre, or I simply think are spectacular.

Jan 2023

Total words read: 580 961 Fics read: 75 Podfics listened to: 6 Did not finish: 9 Rereads: 12

*

Recs for the month:

I'll Be the Shadow, You'll Be the Light by jesskier - 60k, explicit - a 10-part really fun, sexy, at times angsty kink series. It plays heavy on the kinks, which I LOVE, with the aftercare and the complexities of feelings being so strong and just... it feels very real, you know? But also, it's hot as hell. I've reread some of this series 5+ times. Oops??

Eddie Munson and the Dreamboy by pukner - 8k, not rated - Look, I am a slut for anything pukner writes. "took you for a working boy" is one of my favourite fics. But EM and the Dreamboy just.... wrecks me. Features baby!Steve in teddy bear socks that makes both Eddie and I want to eat drywall.

On the Frozen Lake, Jagged and Beautiful - by kayeslin - 74k, explicit - I haven't finished this fic because I am listening to the ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE PODFIC. This is a fun fic, and Eddie makes Steve solve DnD style riddles every time he sells him weed. It's just... it's just fucking great, and you should all gobble it up.

international garbage man, i've decided that's what i am - by fenellacapella - 7k, explicit - so for those that know me, I really fucking love kink that... IDK, plays hard? that isn't just the standard "handcuffs and spanking" (I mean, I love those too! but I ReALLY love things that get a bit different too). This fic does that. The shower sex... face slapping... lowkey sexy-drowning-steve-with-a-showerhead... yeah, that's my kink. the Via Chicago series is great, tbh. >:)

Dustin Henderson and the Lovebirds - by pukner - 9.7k, not rated - Look, I'll try not to rant and rave about how amazing pukner is EVERY time I put together a rec list, but like, they never miss. They never. fucking. miss. This fic just gets you in the happiest spots and makes the world a little brighter.

*

Fics I'm "keeping my eye on" (ie, they're WIPs but hot DAMN do I fucking love them):

dumb bunny, I'm wild for you by honeyvenom - 13.9k, WIP, explicit - I've written in my notes "Steve is a subby baby, and Eddie offers to platonic Dom him. It has a dark non-con fantasy, and the whole thing is REALLY REALLY GOOD, HOLY SHIT". So uh, that's my rec lol.

A Year in the Life of Chip Harrington - by courfeyrac and sourpastels - 51k, WIP, mature - I haven't read the most recent chapters because brain function? Haven't heard of her. BUT the first two chapters are just GREAT and this fic just feels like a warm hug in your heart. Based on the tags, I don't think it'll emotionally cripple me either, so yay!!

getting lost in the dark is my favorite part - by QueerOnTilMorning - 18k, WIP, explicit - AHHHHHH. Eddie decides to go be rid of his pesky virginity post-S4, and look, there is a scene that makes you wanna DIE (of embarrassment. for Eddie). But it's SO GOOD and has Steve and Eddie uh... learning things about themselves heh.

Trouble Looks Good on You - by indelicate - 25k, WIP, explicit - Steve is Strong and Eddie is a chaotic gremlin who likes to launch himself at Steve. There are ~awakenings~ and honestly, the author is REALLY fucking good at writing their sexual tension, holy shit.

*

Goals for Feb 2023 Reading:

Read a (Stranger Things) fic 4+ months old, with fewer than 500 kudos

Read a fic with >80k words

Cross off 25 tasks in the Fanfic Reading Challenge

(2 AU categories, 2 Author categories, 4 Content tasks, 1 Minority task, 5 Fic Type tasks, 3 Numbers tasks, 1 Ships tasks, 1 Titles category, 3 Tropes tasks)

*

Got any steddie recs I should read? (I ask, as if my TBR list isn't >250 fics now...). I'm particularly into podfics right now, and will hopefully be putting together a good list of those in the future too!

[whourfeyrac]

mistletoe - enjoltaire

okayyyy so im back with a quick festive fic featuring courf being a meddling little shit and grantaire and enjolras FINALLY admitting that they like each other

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43435057

if that didnt convince you to read it, maybe this will:

‘As your festive fairy godmother, it appears I have granted both your Christmas wishes at once.’ Courfeyrac replied smugly, knowing that neither of the two could say anything about his statement as all three of them knew it to be true.

Grantaire leaned into Enjolras’ side, pausing briefly as he wrapped an arm around his waist.

‘It looks like you did.’

[kjack89]

Clothes Make the Man

For my 10 year anniversary/4k giveaway, for @ionlyrunfromshame, who requested "modern au, established relationship, soft, fluffy", and well...you'll just have to wait and see.

“You’re here early,” Courfeyrac said in lieu of a greeting, standing back to let Enjolras into his apartment. 

Enjolras managed a weak smile. “I brought coffee,” he said, handing one of the coffees he was holding to Courfeyrac. “And I have a somewhat time-sensitive favor to ask.”

Courfeyrac arched an eyebrow and gestured for Enjolras to sit down. “Well color me intrigued,” he said lightly, plopping down in the armchair as Enjolras perched on the couch. “So what can I do for you?”

Enjolras hesitated for only a moment before sighing and saying, almost as if he couldn’t believe the words he was about to say, “You know how you’ve always wanted to treat me like a life-size Ken doll and dress me up to suit your whims?”

“Barbie.”

Enjolras blinked. “Pardon?”

“I’ve always wanted to dress you up like a Barbie doll,” Courfeyrac said sweetly. “You’re too pretty to be Ken.” His smile sharpened into a smirk, and he leered at Enjolras as he added, “And besides, I know what you’re packing down there and it sure as shit ain’t plastic.”

Enjolras scowled. “If I could go back in time and undo one thing from my past, do you know what it would be?”

Courfeyrac considered it for a moment. “Getting frosted tips in the year of our lord 2006?” he suggested blithely.

“No, sleeping with you,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth.

Courfeyrac just smirked. “Liar.”

Enjolras flushed slightly. “Well, maybe if I could go back in time and undo two things,” he mumbled.

“Mmhmm,” Courfeyrac hummed, in a particularly self-satisfied way., and he leaned back against the chair to give Enjolras a measured look. “So you want me to dress you up, make it tight, you’re my dolly?”

“Under very narrow parameters only,” Enjolras said. “Specifically, I need your help buying one outfit.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes narrowed, and he took a sip of coffee. “Just one? What’s the occasion?”

Enjolras’s flush darkened. “I have a date.”

Courfeyrac gaped at him. “With a human male?” he managed.

Enjolras’s scowl returned in full force. “As opposed to who, your mom?”

“That’s a bit juvenile for you, don’t you think?” Courfeyrac asked with a snicker.

“Fuck off,” Enjolras said, without any real heat. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Well when you ask so nicely…”

He trailed off and Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Courf,” he said impatiently. “Answer the question.”

For a moment, it looked like Courfeyrac was actually going to, but then he hesitated. “Only if you answer this first: did you tell Grantaire?”

Enjolras just stared at him, confused. “Why would I tell Grantaire?”

Courfeyrac fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup for a moment before setting it down decisively on the end table and standing. “I’m afraid Courfeyrac’s modiste is closed for business, but I would be happy to refer you elsewhere.”

It took a moment for Enjolras to follow suit, scrambling to stand as he frowned at Courfeyrac, his confusion deepening. “You mean you’re not going to help me?” he asked, a little indignantly.

“Not so much, no,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully.

“Why the fuck not?” Enjolras demanded.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “My reasons are many, and complex, and you should ask Jehan.”

If Enjolras looked confused before, now he looked downright baffled. “For your reasons?”

“No,” Courfeyrac said patiently. “To help you.” 

Enjolras’s confusion disappeared, but it was quickly replaced by hesitation. “Don’t you think Jehan’s taste in clothes is a little, uh…”

He trailed off, clearly searching for the nicest way to put whatever he was thinking, but Courfeyrac didn’t wait for him to find it. “Quite the contrary,” he said instead, his grin sharp. “I think he’s just what you need.”

— — — — —

Jehan drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, staring at Enjolras, who had the good sense to look uncomfortable. Not that Jehan was usually intimidating, but he could pull it off when he wanted to.

And at the moment, he very much wanted to.

“So you want my help,” he said, finally breaking the silence, and Enjolras jerked a nod.

“Yes.”

“Picking out an outfit.”

Again Enjolras nodded. “That is correct.”

It was hardly the most bizarre request Jehan had ever received, but the combination of the request and requester that was giving him pause. He was half-wondering if he was on some kind of Les Amis version of Punk’d. “Why do you need a new outfit?”

Enjolras sighed before telling him reluctantly, “I have a date.”

Now Jehan was certain that he was being Punk’d. “You know, I don’t think you’ve ever asked for my help before,” he said with a note of something like warning, which he figured would at least do the job of letting Enjolras know he was on to him. 

But Enjolras just made a face. “I’m not exactly known to be the asking for help type.”

That was a true statement if ever there was one. Still, Jehan couldn’t quite resist. “The words ‘toxic masculinity’ are flashing in my mind right now,” he said sweetly.

Enjolras scowled. “Because I’m definitely known for being a paragon of masculinity.”

Jehan’s smile widened. “And now I’m seeing that Garfield meme, only instead of propaganda, it says, ‘You are not immune to toxic masculinity’.”

“Well, something more to discuss with my therapist, I guess,” Enjolras said, with just a touch of impatience. “But in case you missed what I said earlier, this is somewhat time-sensitive, so if you’re willing to help me, I kind of need an answer sooner rather than later.”

Jehan arched an eyebrow. “Never thought you’d find a date more important than dismantling the patriarchy.”

Enjolras just shrugged, looking almost a little embarrassed. “Honestly, neither did I,” he muttered, in a fond but rueful sort of way.

Something about this whole situation wasn’t quite adding up, and while under normal circumstances, Jehan probably would’ve agreed almost immediately to Enjolras’s request for help, he felt like there was a piece of the puzzle he was missing. He narrowed his eyes. “Why exactly do you want my help?” he asked, and Enjolras just raised both eyebrows before looking pointedly down at himself.

“I feel like this really speaks for itself,” he said, deadpan, but Jehan wasn’t deterred.

“No, I mean, why my help specifically.”

Enjolras flushed. “You’re…fashionable,” he said, the pause between his words speaking volumes.

“Uh-huh,” Jehan said skeptically, and Enjolras’s flush deepened.

“You’re more fashionable than I am,” he said defensively, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Jehan gave him an almost pitying look. “So are most fourth graders.” Enjolras scowled but didn’t refute it, and Jehan decided it was time to rescue him. “So who else did you ask before you asked me?”

Enjolras’s flush had darkened to a somewhat mottled shade of fuschia. “No one,” he mumbled, though he didn’t even wait for Jehan to tell him he didn’t believe him before adding, “Just Bahorel. And Joly. And Courfeyrac.” 

Jehan really should’ve guessed as much. “And all of them said no?”

“Bahorel said he’s busy,” Enjolras huffed, clearly put out, “but he oh-so magnanimously offered to pay one thousand dollars to whomever does if they take video. Joly is out of town. And Courfeyrac told me to ask you.”

And there it was – the missing piece of the puzzle. Jehan nodded slowly, knowing that if Courfeyrac had suggested Enjolras ask him, there was a good reason for it. “I see,” he said slowly, cocking his head slightly before asking, “And you didn’t ask Grantaire for his help?”

Enjolras’s scowl came back even darker than before. “Why does everybody keep asking me if I asked Grantaire?” he said, not waiting for an answer before telling Jehan, “No, I didn’t ask him to help me pick out an outfit.”

And there was Courfeyrac’s reason. “So Courfeyrac told you to ask me,” Jehan said, trying and likely failing to tamp down his smile. “Well, I think he made a good call, and I will be more than happy to help you.”

Enjolras blinked, clearly confused by this sudden change of tenor in the conversation. “Really?” he said, somewhat skeptically.

“Of course,” Jehan assured him. “Anything for our fearless leader.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Why do I not believe you?”

“Probably because you’re paranoid,” Jehan said cheerfully. He stood, brushing a non-existent crumb off of his shirt. “Now if memory serves, you said this is time sensitive, so we might as well get going.”

For one moment, it looked like Enjolras might argue, but then he made the wise choice to just shrug before also standing. “Alright. Let’s go.”

— — — — —

Roughly thirty minutes later, he looked very much like he regretted that decision. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, clutching the handle in Jehan’s car with both hands.

Jehan glanced over at him, amused. “You sound like you’re being kidnapped, not driven to a store.”

“At this point I’m beginning to feel like I’m being kidnapped,” Enjolras muttered.

“Who would have thought the man who has stared down the police in full riot gear would be scared of shopping,” Jehan said with a grin.

Enjolras glowered at him. “I’m not scared of it,” he snapped. “I just hate it and avoid it whenever possible. And you’re not answering my question about where you’re taking me, which is not helping me feel better.”

Jehan rolled his eyes. “I’m taking you to the thrift store,” he informed him.

Enjolras stared at him. “To the – why?”

“Because I wanted to get the Macklemore song stuck in your head all day,” Jehan said dryly. “Because I thought you would appreciate a more sustainable approach to shopping.”

For a moment, Enjolras did in fact look mollified, but then his expression shifted. “As long as it’s not run by the Salvation Army or Goodwill—”

“Locally owned and operated, don’t worry,” Jehan interrupted, having already seen this argument coming from a mile away. “Haven’t you ever shopped at a thrift store?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time I set foot in a clothing store,” he admitted, “what with sweatshops and non-union labor and God only knows what else.” He gestured again at his own clothing. “I mean, why do you think I basically wear seven variations of the same outfit each week?”

“I will perfectly honest with you, I don’t normally give that much thought to what you wear,” Jehan muttered, though at Enjolras’s somewhat affronted look, he quickly added, “Up until today, at least.” Thankfully, he was saved by the appearance of the thrift store, and he had never been more relieved to announce, “And here we are.”

He parked and together they walked up to the store, Enjolras eyeing it with increasing trepidation. “I feel like I’m walking to my execution.”

Jehan was deeply tempted to roll his eyes but settled for opening the door for Enjolras. “Be intrepid,” he encouraged. “I have faith in you.”

Enjolras gave him a withering look but didn’t say anything, just staring balefully at the racks of clothing stretched in front of them. “Alright,” he said resignedly, “so where do we start?”

“At the very beginning, a very good place to start,” Jehan quipped.

Enjolras scowled at him. “Getting Macklemore stuck in my head wasn’t enough for you? You had to resort to Rodgers and Hammerstein?” 

Jehan just winked. “It got you to relax, right?”

For a moment it looked like Enjolras might deny it, but then he shook his head. “I hate that it worked,” he said sourly. “But seriously, where, uh, where should we start?”

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about what you were thinking for tonight?” Jehan suggested, eyeing the clothes thoughtfully. “I mean, are you looking for a suit, or just shirt and tie, or…”

“Um,” Enjolras managed, and Jehan arched an eyebrow at him. 

“Eloquent.”

Again Enjolras scowled. “How about a button down and pants of some sort?” he said through clenched teeth.

Jehan nodded approvingly. “See, and you were worried,” he teased, grabbing Enjolras’s arm and all but dragging him in the direction of the racks that seemed to boast the most amount of button-down shirts. “If we had time, I’d get your measurements so that we could do this properly, but we’ll have to resort to trial and error.” He nodded towards the far end of the rack. “Why don’t you start at that end, and see if there’s anything that catches your eye.”

Enjolras obediently shuffled to the end, starting to sort through the hangers. Jehan did the same on his end, though he didn’t pay much attention to what he was sorting through since he would know what he was looking for when he saw it. Instead, he decided now was as good a time as any to press for information. “So you didn’t ask Grantaire for help.”

“Is there a question in there?” Enjolras asked, not looking away from the clothes he was rummaging through.

Jehan just shrugged. “I mean, if you wanted someone who’s at least somewhat fashionable, I would have included him in your desperate pleas.”

“It’s not really something I wanted to admit to him,” Enjolras muttered, the tips of his ears burning red. “Admitting it to Courfeyrac and knowing that he will hold it over my head for the rest of my God-given life was bad enough. Grantaire would never let me live it down.”

Jehan nodded slowly. “I thought there might have been another reason.”

He said it casually, but Enjolras glanced at him, frowning. “Like what?”

“Because then you’d have to talk with Grantaire about your date.”

To his surprise, Enjolras just rolled his eyes. “Please,” he scoffed. “As if Grantaire, of all people, would care enough to talk about it.”

Jehan frowned. “He cares a lot more than you give him credit for.”

“I know that, I just meant—”

“What are you doing with that?” Jehan interrupted, and Enjolras jerked his hand back from the rack, startled.

“You told me to grab anything that caught my eye,” he said defensively.

Jehan had, but he also hadn’t thought Enjolras would actually do so. “Yes, but that’s so…”

He trailed off, trying to find the correct words, and Enjolras frowned down at the shirt in his hand. “I thought I’d look good in blue.”

Despite himself, Jehan grinned. “Who told you that?”

Enjolras flushed. “No one.”

“The same no one you’ll be seeing tonight?” Jehan guessed.

Judging by the way Enjolras’s flush darkened, he had guessed correctly. “He said blue brings out my eyes,” he mumbled.

Jehan hummed noncommittally. “Sounds like a man trying to get laid,” he said with a smirk. “Or like someone who’s watched a few too many episodes of Queer Eye.”

“Or both,” Enjolras muttered. He frowned, looking down at the shirt again. “So no blue?”

Jehan hesitated. “Maybe just not that shade of blue,” he hedged. “Besides, that shirt looks like it’s way too small for you.”

“Really?” Enjolras asked doubtfully, holding it up to himself.

“Yeah, you’re probably looking for more of a large, or an extra large,” Jehan told him.

Enjolras brow furrowed. “But I normally wear a small or medium.”

“Vintage clothes run small,” Jehan assured him.

For one long moment, Enjolras just stared at him, and Jehan held his breath. Then he shrugged and put the shirt back on the rack. “Ok,” he said, and Jehan exhaled. “So what do you suggest?”

Timing was on his side, as Jehan spotted the absolute perfect shirt right as Enjolras asked. He tried, and failed, to stop his grin. “You know, prints are really in right now,” he said casually, edging towards the shirt in question.

“Prints?” Enjolras repeated skeptically. “What, like a check? “

“I was thinking more of a polka-dot,” Jehan said, picking the shirt in question up and holding it out to Enjolras. “What do you think of this?”

Enjolras stared doubtfully at it. “I think it’s, um, yellow.”

“I’d describe it more as goldenrod,” Jehan said brightly.

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “And are the polka dots purple?”

Jehan glanced at the shirt. “I think they’re magenta.”

Despite his clear misgivings, Enjolras took the shirt from Jehan, looking at it without anything remotely approaching enthusiasm. “And you think this will look good on me?”

“I think the only way to truly tell is for you to try it on,” Jehan told him. “But we should find you a pair of pants to accompany them.”

Enjolras looked even less enthused by that prospect. “Can’t I just wear my jeans?”

“You could, but you were the one who said button down and pants,” Jehan reminded him, before really deciding to twist the knife. “And I hate to break it to you, because I know how deeply your love for them runs, but skinny pants are out.”

Enjolras now looked something closer to despondent. “So what are my options, then?”

Jehan tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well, there’s always khaki cargo shorts.”

Enjolras looked horrified by the prospect. “It’s a little cold for shorts, don’t you think?”

But Jehan was not so easily deterred. “How about cargo pants, then?”

Enjolras made a face. “I don’t think I’ve worn cargo pants since junior high.”

“Fashion is cyclical,” Jehan assured him. “Everything once in fashion comes in again.” Enjolras didn’t look even remotely convinced but Jehan resolutely steered him towards the pants. “C’mon, let’s see if we can find something.”

A few minutes later and they were following the same routine as with the shirt, though with a noted lack of enthusiasm from either party. Jehan cleared his throat. “So…tell me about your date.”

For the first time, Enjolras actually looked something like excited. “He wants it to be a surprise, so he won’t tell me where we’re going,” he told him. “Because clearly he doesn’t care that some of us like to be able to adequately prepare for these things.”

Despite his words, Enjolras’s tone was fond, and Jehan almost felt bad for what he was about to do to him.

Emphasis on the word almost.

“So what made you decide that now was the time?” Jehan asked, and when Enjolras threw him a sharp look, he amended, “For dating, I mean. I just know you’ve never been particularly interested in it, so it seems to have come a little out of left field.”

Enjolras’s expression turned contemplative. “I don’t know,” he admitted, but a small, half-smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he thought about it. “I didn’t go looking for it, obviously, but sometimes something just – you know, clicks. And once you realize it…” He shrugged, still smiling. “I mean, yeah, the world is ending and everything’s falling to shit, so no time like the present, right?”

“Sure,” Jehan agreed, trying to curb his own skepticism since the world had been falling apart since Reagan. “And you like him?”

Enjolras’s smile softened and he nodded. “I do. I really, really do.” He gave Jehan a measured look. “And while I normally loathe prying, I do appreciate you asking.”

Jehan jerked a nod. “Right,” he said, his tone turning brisk. “Well. These looks they’re about your size.”

He grabbed a pair of cargo pants from the rack, which looked like they were straight out of 2001. Enjolras eyed them warily, showing somehow even less enthusiasm than he had for the shirt. “Those are green.”

“I’d call them olive.”

Enjolras stared flatly at him. “You want me to wear green pants with a yellow shirt?”

As a poet, Jehan knew how to finesse a phrase, but this was a whole new level of diplomacy and tact, and for not the first time that day, Jehan wished Combeferre had a better sense of style than he did. He would be perfect to handle this. “Generally speaking, it’s good to keep things in the same section of the color spectrum,” Jehan said carefully. “That way you don’t have to worry about opposite ends of the spectrum clashing.”

This time, Enjolras didn’t bother hesitating, just shrugged in a slightly defeated way before grabbing the pants from Jehan. “Well, I trust you.”

“Great,” Jehan said cheerfully. “So go try it on, and then I want to see.”

Enjolras heaved a sigh before slumping in the direction of the fitting room. Jehan watched him go, holding his breath as if waiting for Enjolras to change his mind, to turn back around and tell him that this was a stupid idea, and these clothes were absolutely horrendous.

But he didn’t, and when the door closed after Enjolras, Jehan let out a relieved breath. He allowed himself a small, triumphant grin, and pulled out his phone to text Courfeyrac. Probably too soon to make this call but I’m gonna pull a George W. Bush and say…Mission Accomplished.

Only a moment later and his phone dinged with a text from Courfeyrac. Hero, Courfeyrac said, followed almost immediately by, Do you think you can get a pic?

Jehan’s grin sharpened. I’ll sure as shit try.

— — — — —

That night, Jehan and Courfeyrac sat together at the bar the Musain, enjoying a well-earned drink. “I still think you should’ve tried to get him to buy the plaid pants,” Courfeyrac said, clinking his beer bottle against Jehan’s.

Jehan laughed. “I think even Enjolras knew those were hideous,” he said. “Besides, the puke yellow shirt and green cargo pant combo is enough to scare off any self-respecting gay.”

Courfeyrac nodded before pausing, something contemplative in his expression. “Of course, that means we’re banking awfully hard on someone both being into Enjolras and having self-respect.”

Jehan snorted into his beer. “That is true,” he said with a chuckle, taking a swig of beer before his smile faded slightly. “I do almost feel a little bad.”

Courfeyrac glanced at him. “For the guy?” he asked. “For making him see that outfit with his own two eyes? Because I know it’s an image I’m not going to get out of my head anytime soon.”

The thought of the picture Jehan had managed to surreptitiously snap of Enjolras in his date night outfit was enough to bring his smile back, even as he told Courfeyrac, “For ruining Enjolras’s date with the world’s ugliest outfit. Obviously I know we all want him and Grantaire to end up together, but he seems to actually like this guy. And we should probably try to support him in that.”

“And not try to sabotage things?” Courfeyrac asked wryly.

“Yeah.”

Courfeyrac sighed. “Well now I feel bad,” he said, though he didn’t particularly sound it. “On the other hand, if it means Enjolras ends things with this guy before Grantaire finds out…”

Jehan shook his head. “The ends justify the means?”

“Something like that,” Courfeyrac said.

Jehan shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I asked Grantaire if he wanted to grab a drink with us tonight but he said he had plans,” he said bracingly. “So maybe he’s moving on, too.”

Courfeyrac didn’t look even remotely convinced. “Yeah, maybe.”

Jehan’s phone buzzed on the bar and he glanced down at it, brightening. “Oh, speak of the devil…Hey Grantaire.”

“What the fuck?” he squawked, borderline hysterical in Jehan’s ear, and Jehan’s smile froze.

“Grantaire, what—”

Grantaire made a sound that Jehan pretty sure was a sob, and Jehan’s heart plummeted to his knees. “Jehan, I cannot – this is – oh my God—”

“Grantaire, are you ok?” Jehan asked worriedly, trying desperately to flag down the bartender. “I don’t understand—”

“Enjolras’s outfit,” Grantaire wailed, and for the first time, Jehan realized that what he had interpreted as sobs were in facts gales of hysterical laughter. “I didn’t think it was possible to make a man this gorgeous look this ugly but holy fucking shit—”

Jehan’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “But how did you…” He trailed off as realization hit him like a ton of bricks, as did Enjolras’s perpetual confusion about why he would ask or tell Grantaire anything about his date.

His date, assumedly, with Grantaire.

“Oh my God, I didn’t even think—”

Courfeyrac looked like he was about to yank the phone out his hand and ask him what was going on, but Jehan waved him away as Grantaire hiccuped, “This is the best thing to ever happen to me,” while in the background, he could just hear Enjolras growl, “Prouvaire, the next time I see you, I swear to fucking God—”

“Leave him alone, it’s hilarious,” Grantaire said with a chortle.

“To you!”

“Grantaire, I had no idea,” Jehan told him, a little weakly, feeling his face flush. “I thought Enjolras was going on a date with some rando, so…”

“So you decided to sabotage it,” Grantaire said, and Jehan could hear the grin in his voice. “I appreciate it, I really do, though we’ll have to revisit at some point the fact than none of you thought I might actually have scored a date with him.” Jehan winced, but Grantaire added, a little softer, “Besides, I was a bit nervous, and now I am emphatically not. In fact, for the first time, I’m beginning to believe this might just work.”

“Then it was almost worth the ass-kicking Enjolras is going to try to give me later,” Jehan said solemnly.

Grantaire just laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him,” he assured him.

“Enjoy your night,” Jehan said, hanging up.

Courfeyrac waved his arms. “So what the actual fuck?” he demanded. “What the fuck is going on?”

Jehan couldn’t help himself – he laughed. “So remember what you said about the end justifying the means?” he asked. “Well, funny story about that…”

[avantgarderp]

𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐓 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑.

NAME: Quinton (or Q)

PRONOUNS: he/they/fae

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: for plotting DMs, I also don’t mind little things mentioned in tags. If you just wanna chat you can DM my main @cuttingroomfloorofmemories or add me on discord: avantgardebard

RP PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS: not communicating when you want to change or stop a thread. Like you don’t even necessarily need to tell me why, just let me know if you wanna drop something, especially if you’re continuing to write other things/with other people. I have anxiety so it can really stress me out when people don’t tell me what’s going on.

MUSE PREFERENCE: Apollo and Johnny are both so much fun, I really like the contrast in going from one to the other.

PLOTS OR MEMES: I tend to like starting with memes because I don’t usually have specific ideas for threads, but I do like plotting once things get going.

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: a few sentences usually, not sure what that counts as, but it really depends what’s happening. If it’s action or smut I keep them a little shorter so things kinda happen step-by-step. I also tend to mirror what my writing partner does length-wise.

BEST TIME TO WRITE: l tend to write just before going to bed at whatever absurd hour that is, but it truly depends on my energy level throughout the day.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE: I think Apollo is kinda what I would be like if I was a high-energy extrovert with less anxiety. Johnny is like my opposite though, I strive for kindness and care about things a lot, meanwhile he outwardly gives no shits and will actively bully you.

Tagged by: @w-o-r-d-s--f-a-i-l (thank you for tagging me!! Love you too 💜)

Tagging: @child-of-the-amis and @courfeyrac-apaladin

[unionrags123]

Modern AU, Courfeyrac is a teacher at the school where Enjolras and Grantaire’s kid goes.

Combeferre, to Enjolras: “I’ll pick the kids up from school today”

Enjolras: “R and I only have one kid, Ferre...”

Combeferre: “You have one kid and I have a Courfeyrac.”