#enjoltaire good for the heart

[purrvaire]

black sails + shitpost I have on my phone (pt. 4/?)

3

[syrupsyche]

“Are you good for anything?”

“I have a vague ambition in that direction,” said Grantaire.

“You do not believe in everything.”

“I believe in you.”

“Grantaire will you do me a service?”

“Anything. I’ll black your boots.” — les mis, 4.1.6

Ahh yes three iconic Enjoltaire quotes back-to-back 👍 However, what I found even more interesting were the following quotes:

“Well, don’t meddle with our affairs. Sleep yourself sober from your absinthe.”

“You are an ingrate, Enjolras.” — les mis, 4.1.6

I remember someone somewhere had posted that what makes exR's dynamic interesting is how Grantaire gives as good as he gets. He may be a 19th century equivalent of a simp (see: black your boots) but he throws insults to Enjolras' face too, even though there isn't any true fire behind it. At this point, their arguments are almost playful. Heck, all Enjolras does is just repeating: You?? You going to try and talk to them about revolution??? You?????? like he's simply gobsmacked at Grantaire’s gall of volunteering himself.

Overall, this is a pretty funny scene BUT it also foreshadows and parallels their penultimate scene together. At the barricades, Enjolras also snaps at Grantaire to sleep his alcohol off elsewhere, but his anger this time is red-hot as he delivers his "incapable of dying" line. Similarly, Grantaire isn't able to respond playfully anymore; he replies with a solemn: "You will see". That scene feels so much more tragic and cruel BECAUSE we got to see a more light-hearted version earlier here in 4.1.6. Hugo loves his parallels, man.

[vinelark]

do you have any whumpy fic recs (ideally romance, but gen would do in a pinch)? Open to any fandoms. I feel like I used to see them a lot more, but they are harder to find these days. Bbts really hits the spot tho btw haha.

ANY fandoms? oh boy do i.

Hotel Heart by Laughsalot3412 (and its sequel Safe as Houses): not quite romance but not NOT romance ot3 leverage psychics au where eliot is a hitman who used to be under the control of a horrible empath who left him with major mental scars and huge trust issues. he reluctantly ends up protecting another empath (hardison) and thief (parker) and sloooowly starts to work through the aforementioned trauma while they take down the aforementioned evil empath together. excellent series with excellent pangy plot. also i knew nothing about leverage when i first read it and it’s what got me to watch the show.

Hold my Eyes to the Sky by myrmidryad: an enjoltaire/les mis longfic set in a 1970s(?) wizarding au in which grantaire is a very sad and lonely werewolf and the idealistic activist he’s hopelessly in love with just got himself turned as well, and grantaire has to help him navigate the changes while dealing with his own self-worth issues and tragic backstory. you want whump? look no further.

Occultation by Geese_in_flight & pineapplesquid: a novel-length au of the book Winter’s Orbit, in which the main difference is that kiem, not jainan, is the one dealing with a previous, horrible arranged marriage. somehow this simple switch brings so much fresh potential to the characters (i loved seeing how this played into kiem’s self-worth issues, and also loved this exploration of what jainan’s character would be like if he had been able to flourish the last few years), with a whole new set of pangs. i recommend both the book and the fic!

爱不释手; never let me go by yiqie: a post-cql wangxian getting together fic with the classic amounts of yiqie pain & pining & h/c & devastatingly beautiful writing about the devastatingly beautiful experience of being in love. also blood. honestly most fics by yiqie probably fulfill this request (are you into vashwood, perhaps?)

Morning, keep the streets empty for me by feyburner: a wangxian modern au oneshot with self-sacrificing wei ying getting into trouble and landing himself in the hospital while pining very very hard for his cultivation partner. i’m reccing this one out of all feyburner fics because it has the obvious physical hurt but fey is so good at weaving pangs into fic that tbh there’s emotional whump to be found in most of them. also, god-tier writing in general.

the kite string and the anchor rope by fleurdeliser: a wangxian canon-divergence au that falls into the sickfic whump subgenre. the pangs! wangxian’s love for each other and for a-yuan and the way wwx’s desperation and powerlessness in the face of a sick child (and his own illness) clash with how the world perceives him at the time is so 🤌🤌. this is saved in my h/c favs folder for a reason.

The Long Way Home by itsnatalie: extremely whumpy batfam tim & jason fic, which i’ve definitely rec’d here before but if i’m reccing whumpy longfics it HAS to be on the list. good god this fic is a masterpiece, both for the angst and for the absolute beautiful worldbuilding/navigation of its horror tropes.

and since you like bbts, i’ll also self-rec a few of my older fics! i think you’d probably enjoy this river runs to you, a wangxian/mdzs modern cultivation longfic feat. (sort of) identity shenanigans, angsty backstories, self-worth issues, and the main character getting all manner of hurt. also: you’re the trouble that i always find, a wenzhou/shl dreamsharing/amnesia/sort-of-timeloop fic in which the main character is supposed to dream about killing his love interest but said love interest keeps dreamcrashing to change the plot.

this reclist could’ve been dozens of fics long tbh. i live for The Pangs which usually go hand in hand with good whump, and seek those fics out whenever possible, so as always this is a super incomplete reclist! also i welcome any and all recs in return.

[poetry-and-revolution]

EVERYONE. “Tommyinnit” by cg5 fits enjoltaire. Wtf??

the tone is way off, yea, but the LYRICS.

“Pushin’ my my patience to the limit”

“you’ve been getting a small percent of my heart lately”

“I laugh through the pain but it hurts me too much”

“I don’t want to admit it: if you died I’d be feeling good”

THE ANIMATIC POSSIBILITIES.

[kjack89]

9 & enjoltaire for the spotify meme 🦛💖

9. "illicit affairs" by Taylor Swift

E/R, Modern AU. It's a break-up fic, y'all.

The sun glinted off the melting snow and ice in the parking lot, but despite the hint of spring in the air, Enjolras felt more like the half-melted pile of dirty gray slush. His throat felt unexpectedly tight as Grantaire stepped out of his car. “Hey,” he said, his voice strange to his ears.

“Hey,” Grantaire echoed as he popped the trunk of his car and pulled out a cardboard box that matched the one Enjolras was holding.

For a moment, they both just stood there, holding their cardboard boxes and avoiding each other’s eyes. Then, gruffly, Grantaire said, “Here,” at the same time Enjolras started, “Let me—”

Both broke off, and Grantaire let out a dry, humorless laugh. “How about you put yours in my trunk and then take this one?” he suggested.

“Good call,” Enjolras said.

He did just that, swapping the boxes and trying not to let his fingers linger on the soft green of Grantaire’s hoodie, folded at the top of the box he put in Grantaire’s trunk.

But all too soon he had no other choice but to straighten, and take the box of his things that Grantaire held, his heart clenching painfully at the sight of the french press he’d bought perched precariously on top. “You could’ve kept that, you know,” he said, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Grantaire’s brow furrowed in momentary confusion before realization dawned and he looked away. “Nah,” he said dismissively. “I think going back to shitty drip coffee is probably better to limit my caffeine intake anyway.” He cleared his throat. “I did keep the coffee, though.”

“Oh, no,” Enjolras deadpanned. “What ever will I do without half a bag of clearance coffee from Costco?”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might laugh, but then something tightened around his eyes. “I guess we’re both going to have to figure out how to get by without a lot of things,” he said quietly.

Which was true, but that didn’t mean Enjolras needed to hear it. Again. 

He had no clue what to say to that, so settled for setting his box down on the ground and shoving his hands in his pockets. “So this is it, huh,” he said.

Grantaire nodded. “This is it.”

And yet, despite the finality of that statement, neither man seemed willing to leave, Enjolras to go back inside, Grantaire to drive away. 

It would be cleaner, Enjolras thought, if they didn’t still love each other. 

But that had never really been their problem, as this current awkward silence had only thrown into sharp relief.

Grantaire huffed a sigh and scrubbed a hand across his face. “I wish there was something more to say,” he admitted, and Enjolras barked a laugh.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” he admitted.

“But I guess we both always knew it would come to this,” Grantaire said, something wistful in his voice.

But Enjolras paused, searching Grantaire’s expression before asking, with just a little bit of last minute-desperation, “Do you think it would have made a difference?”

Grantaire frowned. “What?”

“If we had decided to actually do this thing for real.”

Grantaire flinched. “What part of this wasn’t real for you?” he asked, his voice low.

“That’s not—” Enjolras broke off, swallowing against the emotion he could feel welling in his chest. “It was real for me,” he said softly. “But what I meant was, if we had decided to go public. To tell our friends.” His voice hardened. “To not treat this thing like some kind of an affair even though neither one of us is married.”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened. “You know why we did.”

Enjolras did. He could replay every moment that had landed them here in his mind as if they had happened yesterday, all the way from the very first night Grantaire had walked him home from the Musain—

Even though the walk to his place was close to forty-five minutes, Enjolras felt like barely any time had passed since he and Grantaire had left the Musain, the conversation flowing as easily as Grantaire’s wine usually did. 

But no amount of easy conversation would make Enjolras’s apartment any farther away, and he had no choice but to reluctantly stop, turning to face Grantaire. “Well. This is me.”

Grantaire nodded, glancing up at the building. “Nice place,” he remarked, in a way where Enjolras couldn’t really tell if he meant it, or meant it ironically.

It was a good thing he’d long ago stopped trying to interpret Grantaire’s tone. “Thanks,” he said, hesitating before asking, “You, uh, you want to come up? Have a nightcap?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Do you even have any alcohol in there?”

Enjolras scowled. “Of course.”

“Any alcohol that someone didn’t give you as a gift?”

The corners of Enjolras’s mouth twitched toward a smile. “I plead the Fifth.”

Grantaire laughed, but it quickly faded, something almost like regret flashing across his face before he shook his head. “It’s not a good idea.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “Coming up for a drink?”

Grantaire shook his head again. “Coming up at all.”

“Oh.” Enjolras had been assured by anyone who had ever interacted with him and Grantaire that Grantaire had feelings for him, but maybe everyone in the world had collectively lost their minds. “I thought—”

“I do,” Grantaire said, a little too quickly, and Enjolras was gratified he didn’t have to try to explain. “But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened. “Why not?”

Grantaire hesitated, searching Enjolras’s expression for a long moment before sighing. “Because you’ll regret it,” he said, an air of finality in his tone.

“I don’t think—”

“Maybe not today,” Grantaire interrupted, “maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.”

It took Enjolras a moment to place the quote, and he scowled at Grantaire. “Are you quoting Casablanca at me?”

Grantaire just smiled, that crooked little half-smile he only ever seemed to save for Enjolras, and he leaned in and kissed Enjolras’s cheek. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

But Grantaire’s will, it seemed, was slightly less than Rick Blaine’s, maybe because the stakes weren’t quite as high, or maybe just because he wanted it more. But while it had taken only a few more times walking Enjolras home to cave and join him upstairs, and even less time than that to spend the night, he had always stubbornly insisted that this had to be secret, a thing kept just between the two of them. 

There were no dates, except for what late nights they spent together just as they always had at the Musain, or when they ordered delivery to one of their two places, or early mornings when neither of them seemed to want to get out of bed. They celebrated no anniversaries, and made no promises to each other, and what little they had built together could be easily packed into two cardboard boxes.

But Grantaire had a point – none of that made this any less real.

And the worst of it was that Enjolras knew exactly why Grantaire had insisted, knew that he had planned for this exact moment because he always prepared for the worst. While Enjolras was busy falling in love, Grantaire was busy preparing for the inevitable fallout. 

Which had been Enjolras’s point. Had they ever really given it a chance when one side was preparing from the beginning for it to end?

As if sensing Enjolras’s train of thought, Grantaire cleared his throat before asking quietly, “Would it be easier? Having to tell everyone, having our friends take sides?”

Of course it wouldn’t be, but Enjolras wasn’t convinced it would be any more difficult. 

And now it was too late to find out. 

“Well,” he said instead, bending down to pick up his box once more, “I’ve monopolized enough of your time today.” And for the last year. “I, uh, I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said. “See you around.”

Enjolras hesitated, wanting to say something more, but settled for jerking a nod, and turning to head back inside.

Without warning, Grantaire’s hand flashed out, grabbing his arm and holding him in place, and for a moment, they both just looked at each other. Then Grantaire stepped forward, closing the space between them to kiss Enjolras one last time. For a brief moment, he rested his forehead against Enjolras’s before taking a step back, that small, crooked smile back on his face. “Here’s looking at you, kid,” he managed.

Enjolras blinked back tears. “We’ll always have the Musain,” he said, his voice shaking, just a little.

Grantaire nodded. “And hey, who knows,” he said, something forced in his voice. “Maybe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said softly. “Maybe.”

Grantaire let go of Enjolras’s arm and finally went back to his car. Enjolras watched him go, his throat tight.

He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this wasn’t the start of anything. 

But it was certainly the end of something beautiful.

[recchan]

You love him, you idiot (Enjoltaire)

It was springtime when Enjolras realised that, oh, he was in love with Grantaire.

A short modern Enjoltaire

Ao3

It was springtime when Enjolras realised that, oh, he was in love with Grantaire.

They had been dating for nearly a year now, both of them knowing that Enjolras’ feelings weren’t on the same level as Grantaire’s. Not yet. He liked Grantaire, he adored being with him, his wit, his many talents and even his flaws. He just needed some time to reach Grantaire’s level, to love him back properly. He didn’t want to lie to him. The art student was always telling him how much he loved him -after their first kiss, on their second date (and the third, the fourth, the fifth one…), every morning before an important exam at law school, during their first time- and everytime he smiled, grateful of course, and a bit embarrassed because he didn’t know how to return Grantaire’s feelings properly, except for a kiss or a tight hug. And he really hoped it was enough for him, at least for a little while more. Grantaire never said anything about it and welcomed Enjolras’ affections with a soft smile and arms wide open.

It was an ordinary day, except for the fact that he was beginning his internship at a law-firm. He had left earlier that morning to catch his train and wasn’t surprised to see the underground crowded, even at that hour. Students and workers rushed in and out of the trains, while tourists chilled or searched their maps, looking for the fastest route to reach their destination. Enjolras had imagined that the realisation would have struck him in some way or another, just like it happened for Marius -then again, when did he start to trust Marius’ speeches about love? From Marius’ words, he had imagined to see fireworks behind his closed eyelids, the spark of something at least, and hear sirens screaming “YOU LOVE HIM, YOU IDIOT”. It hadn’t been like that at all -and, frankly, he preferred it that way.

He was already on his train when Grantaire sent him his usual “good morning selfie”. It was something they did when one of them had to leave early in the morning, for university or work, and didn’t want to wake the other up -except that Grantaire began to send him selfies every morning. Enjolras didn’t complain at all. From his messy curls and the light marks of the pillow on his right cheek, Enjolras could tell he had just gotten up. His left hand was curled around a mug of something that was probably coffee, with a lazy grin on his face. “Bonjour <3” was the only caption on the pic. If he focused a bit he could hear Grantaire’s voice whispering it to him, lips brushing his ear and arms around his waist. It had been so easy to smile at the screen of his phone and think “I love you”, so easy he had almost missed it. He blinked a few times tapping absent-mindedly the picture of his boyfriend. It felt right, like it was something he used to think every time everyday. He had to grip the handle over his head when the train took a sudden curve. He briefly wondered when he had started to feel that way towards him, or if he had loved him all along but hadn’t realised it -he was known to be a bit oblivious about the matters of the heart. It didn’t really matter either way. He had been waiting for this moment, both of them had, and he felt the words settling comfortably in his mind and in his heart so easily it was almost surreal. He loved him, and he found himself loving the idea even more.

He needed to say it. He needed to say it to Grantaire.

He called him as soon as he was out of the metro, and listened as Grantaire picked up his phone “Hey” his voice was still sleepy and a bit surprised. Enjolras smiled. Restless, he began to walk, crossing the busy streets “I love you” he sighed into the phone. He could feel his chest warming up at the idea he was saying those words to Grantaire for the first time ever. It was something new, the oddness of it lasted only mere seconds before being replaced by the certainty that his feelings were true, and, true to himself, he had to speak them. His ears ringed as he heard Grantaire take a sharp breath, he could almost imagine his shocked face -Grantaire had learned not to hide his emotions in front of him, not anymore. He came to a stop as he watched a stream of faceless people emerging from the next metro stop. Enjolras shifted on his feet, he hadn't expected to be that nervous “I just realised it and I…” he briefly bit his bottom lip “I had to let you know. I couldn’t wait, you know me.” His voice came out shakier than he had hoped to. There was a long pause -maybe it wasn’t that long but Enjolras couldn’t really tell in that moment- before Grantaire groaned and huffed a laugh at the same time “You say it like you just had a mystical experience over there.” Enjolras grinned “Maybe.” and then Grantaire was laughing properly. Lovely, he thought. His feet were moving again “I love you.” he repeated and it was so simple to confess, in the middle of a street full of people, kilometres away from his boyfriend. It felt like he had done it a million times before. If only Enjolras had realised how he felt earlier… but they had time. He had days, months, years to compensate for the lost confessions. Suddenly, Grantaire’s voice was low and serious “You sure?” there was the faintest doubt in his question, a habit he couldn’t overcome. Enjolras didn’t mind, he would gladly reassure him always and forever. “Of course, you idiot.” the blond scoffed “I always am.” Grantaire hummed, as if considering his answer, before softly saying “Tell me again.” Enjolras smiled “As many times as you wish.”

I love you.

[delilah-briarwood]

WIP Title Ask Game

the rules are: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it. And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Tagged by @spottedenchants

Absolutely breaking the rules as I have 100+ wips but tagging @elledritchorror @fandoms-are-my-lifestyle @queerbutstillhere @kas-chronicles @theparallaxview @bisexualoftheblade

Far Too Many WIPs under the cut

dreams of tension

home is where the heart is (but what a shame)

safe from the dark things that wait

Dog Days

This Fire In My Skin

Only Piece of Luck

From Her Heart’s Apocalypse

No Way I’ll Make Heaven

live with me now (forever)

in a world without gold (we might have been heroes)

Only Human

august

for you (there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do)

Our House (In The Middle of Our Street)

take this pink ribbon off of my eyes

don’t you fret

Remember Me

And They Were Roommates

Keeping Watch In The Night

Of Greek Gods And Vigilantism

The Second Born

when do you think it will all become clear?

devil is in the details

For My Brother

Childish Endeavours

Demon Resources

The Kryptonian and the Zombie

Welcome Home

Iced Coffee

this is real (this is me)

not like the others

viscountess

sweet child of mine

Five of Hearts

For The Greater Good

Unequal Odds

Godly Revolution

Everything’s Just Wonderful

Brother of Mine

Defy

one of me, one of you

The Toad

Red Skies In Brooklyn

Swan Song

cheap rent

Love Frayed By A Knife

Name of the Game

the blackest night, the brightest stars

it burns beyond the grave

Gasoline Skies

Beauty Through The Pain

From High School To Olympus

Godly Green

You’re Still My Brother

Smiling With Immortal Mirth

Who Dares To Love Forever?

Throw Up Your Arms Into The Sky

Put Your Faith In Me

Once Lost In Hades’ Halls

must be believed to be seen

children of science and gods

shadow of no worth

The Worst Shade of Purple

family approval

to the future

Nobody’s Birthday

come to us and you will see

These Family Ties

Make Believe Hearts

Sister Mine

Names

Always Home

Venomous Tricks

in which everyone is gay and hates capitalism

Calling Card

i made a point to burn all the photographs

A Hopeful Heart

A Pack of Wolves

A Strawberry Milkshake

Acting Debut

After Some Consideration

Her Name Was Sasha James

Gears & Glory

safe in your arms

Out In The Darkness

Too Close To The Sun

ready. aim. fire.

if only the clockwork could speak

head above water

the truth about the moon

the rage of spring

Stand And Face Me

A Family Loud, Proud, and Entirely Unexpected

learning to fly (learning to fall)

A Maid’s Heart

when the battle is done

Once And Future

Untitled QPP AroAce Toy Soldier

where will you run to?

tell me if you’ve heard this one before

A Love Letter To A Gentleman Thief

Jürgen Leitner Hoards Shinies

Widomauk Soulmates AU

Time-Travelling Caleb and Nott

The Mighty Nein College AU

until the morning comes around

tomorrow is another day

Enjoltaire Star Wars AU

hands touch, eyes meet

Jupeter Victorian AU

Accidental Wedding

whatever time, whatever place

Vox Mafia

Beau Is A Disaster Lesbian (Beaujester)

Heartbeat

JayRoy Kiss to wake up

‘You have to let go’

Find Mollymauk Tealeaf (Simulacra AU)

Taken Hostage

Critical Role Hunger Games AU

“Do you trust me?”

i gave you my heart

to those that came before

Vaxleth Twilight AU

three types of people

i only wish i knew your secret

First Encounters

Ashrym Shadowhunters AU

Vampire College AU

take my hand (take my whole life too)

Vaxleth Stardust AU

the last one standing

are you coming to the tree?

growing up

Statement Begins

dancing gracefully across my memory

remains of the day

the price of victory

return from the ashes you call

tightrope

the waiting seems eternity

Robin & Eddie being besties

a hand you shouldn’t shake

Mighty Nein Assassin’s Creed AU

Mighty Nein Kington Hearts AU

Mollymauk Tealeaf Daemon AU

Skysolo, failed Order 66. Jedi!Luke

M9 Brakebills AU

[ladswithflags]

Christmas morning

[cumbercookiebatchs]

He's going through the fourteenth birthday message, when the bedroom door opens.

"I thought you were still asleep."

Enjolras balances the tray of food with one hand, and closes the door with the other. He's still wearing pyjama pants and Grantaire's shirt, he's beautiful.

"You did that yourself?" Grantaire asks, as he gives the tray a look, there's pancakes, coffee, toast, a little cupcake with a candle and a single flower in a little vase.

He tries his best to avoid laughing; Enjolras looks very offended.

"Yes," he says, annoyed, but bites his lip "the cupcake is store bought, I didn't want to risk it."

Grantaire gets serious now. "My love, come one, it was one time!"

"But it still happened! Do you have any idea of how embarassing that was? " Enjolras puts the tray on the bedside table, and mimics to talk into his hand as if it were a phone.

"Yes, oh I'm sorry I won't be able to get to the meeting...well, my husband is in the hospital right now because of food poisoning. The reason?  I tried to make him some fucking cupcakes!"

Enjolras has this pout on his face, and Grantaire's first urge is to kiss it away. "Come here" he says, and wraps his arms around Enjolras as soon as he's in his lap.

A sweet, nice silence floods the room for a few minutes. Grantaire drinks his coffee while Enjolras traces circles in Grantaire's chest. Mornings like this make Grantaire wonder what kind of good he did to deserve this.

"Happy birthday, old man" Enjolras says once he's sure Grantaire is done with the coffee.  Grantaire can feel Enjolras smile, even if his husband is hiding his face on Grantaire's chest.

"Old man? I'm only three years older than you!" Grantaire answers, smiling as a few stray blond hairs tickle his nose.

"Exactly," Enjolras says, matter of factly, looking into his eyes. " When you're 70 and need a cane to help you get to places, I'll be 67 and full of life."

"Seems like it" Grantaire smirks, and kisses Enjolras, two, three, four times times, and things started to get heated.

But just Grantaire starts leaving a trail of kisses down his husband neck, the door knob turns slightly but goes back into place.

"It was about time. Ow, Grantaire stop it! " Enjolras laughs, and Grantaire pulls back with a smile from the bruise he was sucking on Enjolras neck.

Enjolras climbs down his husband lap, making his way to the bedroom door, and as soon as he opens it, their daughter rushes to the bed and hugs Grantaire.

But she's also very soon distracted by the food on the tray.

"Hey! What do we say to Daddy?" Enjolras asks Marianne just before she takes a bite of the pancackes.

"Happy birthday Daddy!" She threw her arms around Grantaire's neck once again. "Can I eat pancakes now?"

"Of course you can." Grantaire took the plate and cut the pancake in small pieces for Marianne to eat. "Oh, and what's this?" Grantaire asks her.

"That's a drawing of you!"

"No talking with your mouth full, Marianne." Enjolras says, sitting on the bed next to his daughter and husband.

"It does looks like me! We both are very handsome, right Angel?" Grantaire says wiggling his eyebrows. Enjolras rolls his eyes and Marianne laughs.

"Funny Daddy!"

They finish breakfast in bed, Marianne ocasionally sharing her pancakes with Grantaire, and being nice enough to let him blow out the candle in his cupcake.

"Wait!" She screams. "How old are you turning, Daddy?"

Enjolras laughs loudly, and teases. "Oh, Daddy is really old."

"How old?"

"How old do you think I am, Sweetheart?"

"Um, twenty? That's very old."

Enjolras almost chokes on his water.

"Come here, kiddo, let me tell you a secret." Grantaire says.

"Oh my God, you're very old!" Marianne exclaims again and Enjolras stomach already hurts from laughing so hard.

Grantaire nods at his amazed daughter. "Yes, I am very old."

Enjolras wipes a few tears from his eyes and adresses Grantaire. "Happy birthday."

They kiss, for as long as their five-year-old allows them. "Daddy! Papa! That's gross!"

Grantaire's phone rings with a new notification, and two pairs of blue eyes look at him, not entirely wishing for the moment to be over.

Grantaire puts the phone back.

There's many phone calls and messages he's yet to answer, his friends will probably show up with a cake and gifts and wine in the afternoon, and his sisters would most likely send him a plane ticket so he can spend the weekend with them back in Italy. But Grantaire leaves the phone, and for the next hour or so, he goes back to his blue-eyed duo.

Grantaire blows raspberries into Marianne's belly, and together they tickle Enjolras. They all laugh, and Grantaire hugs his husband and daughter tightly, it feels like he's holding the world in his arms.

I'll consider this a birthday present for me, and i might be a little teary at the moment.

[midasinc]

modern era enjoltaire hcs:

-it takes them a really long time to actually start going out because grantaire has the LOWEST self-esteem you've ever seen in a person and enjolras is too prideful to admit that he has it bad. it takes six years of knowing each other to start dating, but the fact that they get together when they're in their mid to late twenties honestly is a lot healthier for their relationship because they've grown a lot more as people

-grantaire is an animator and enjolras is an attorney and together they both work absurd hours and it doesnt occur that it might not be healthy until joly talks about how he balances hospital work with his domestic life and they kind of look at each other like ("is that a problem?" "i have no idea, do you think it's a problem?") and it takes a while to balance their priorities and schedules and now they're both a lot happier both in their relationship and their lives in general (and they both went to a massage place because oh my GOD the tension in their shoulders-)

-grantaire is usually their date coordinator because he knows every possible activity to do in paris. they have a bucket list of ideas he came up with that they tore out onto little slips of paper that now sit in a jar in their kitchen. enjolras adds a slip every now and again too when he comes up with an idea but is too shy to tell grantaire to write it. whenever they're bored, one of them will close their eyes and fish for a slip in the jar. whatever is written on the paper has to be done unless it's closed, not the right season, etc. they've done a lot of stuff together- bouldering at the gym, ice skating at a christmas market, going on a wine-tasting trip, and even people watching at a hookah bar. they have fun together no matter what the slip says

-enjolras is really big on reading. he's been a reader ever since he was a kid and it's a portion of the reason why he needs glasses so bad. it takes them a year or two to start doing this, but enjolras always reads in bed and grantaire gets kind of curious of what he's reading and after a while he asks enjolras to read out loud. enjolras has a really good reading voice and he's always been good at reading out loud, so he'll play with grantaire's hair and read until he notices that grantaire's fallen asleep. then he marks the page and turns out the lights- they can finish the chapter tomorrow night

-they're a judgy couple. the funny thing with them is that they're both judgemental in different ways, but it's perfect to have the other around because if somebody does or says something stupid, they are absolutely turning to give each other The Look and cross their arms over their chests at the same time

-enjolras finds himself being anatomy practice for grantaire a lot. if he's working on animating a certain action and it just looks wrong, he'll ask enj to do the action in real life. most of the time, he'll take a video so he can replay it a ton see frame-by-frame what this should look like, but other times enjolras will willingly do it over and over again to give him different examples, or just because he's bored

-they both have very similar very curly hair types and mooch off of each other's hair products. grantaire has a really good hair diffuser that enjolras absolutely uses every morning before work because it feels so good on his scalp and enjolras has a really good hair mask that grantaire likes to use because it smells like coconut and His Man and it makes his hair shiny and soft

-they're both also just fuckin grumpy old men before they even hit middle age. grantaire gets the worst heart burn ever and he has carpal tunnel and enjolras has old man eyes and a bad back from his posture and sitting at a desk all day and everyone compares them to the old guys from the muppets that sit in the booth and heckle everyone (but never to their faces. bossuet is so tempted to say it but everyone tells him not to)

-they mellow out a lot with each other. grantaire learns to be more open minded and less pessimistic and enjolras loses his saviour complex and they both kind of help each other realize the good and the bad things about each other. grantaire helps enjolras with his service projects now and goes to meetings and when he disagrees he doesnt sit there and call them losers under his breath and drink, he speaks up and brings a new perspective to the table. at the same time, grantaire helps enjolras calm things down when he's working too much for one person. he can help him take the time to sleep and eat and relax because yes enjolras wants to fix the world, but he's a person and not a robot. they help each other

-grantaire watches lotr with enjolras and lets him talk about how cool middle earth is without calling him a lame nerd

-enjolras watches animated movies with grantaire and lets him talk about different animation styles and techniques without getting bored

-being on opposite ends of the spectrum works more than everyone expected. at first they're intense and fight and don't know what they're doing, but they also balance each other out. both of them go to therapy separately and it's helped them both as people and as a pair

[therenlover]

Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk (A Young Revolutionary!Zemo x Non-Binary Reader Oneshot)

(a/n: so, in honor of barricade day, have this young revolutionary!Zemo fic, which is basically just canon Enjoltaire dynamics but with a Zemo/reader twist on it, because that dynamic is literally my whole heart. Consider this a weird twisted Les Mis au if you want to, but you don’t need to know the book or musical to enjoy this, if it can be enjoyed...) 

Synopsis: Helmut recalls the story of how he came to be the ruthless man he is and, more specifically, how he came into possession of his strange purple mask. 

Tags: Canon Compliant, Angst, Young!Zemo, Non-Binary!Reader, Death, Enemies to Friends With Benefits to Lovers????, Implied Sexual Content, Friendship, Pining, Revolution, Speedrunning A Slow Burn

Rating: M (+16) 

Warnings: Major Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Drinking, Minor Homophobia/Transphobia (it’s one sentence near the end and it’s very vague coming from Heinrich), Swearing, Survivor’s Guilt, Really Just Death Everywhere

Word Count: 10,200~

“What’s with the mask?” 

The question was innocent enough.

Sam posed it while lounging on the expensive couch of Zemo’s Riga apartment, head tilted back and eyes closed in silent contemplation. 

Bucky remained silent as Zemo glanced over from his place at the counter. Outside, the sun was long gone, giving way to a stunning moonrise over the city that poured through the stained glass windows and lit up the night with its glow. It was quiet, much quieter than things usually were between the trio. Still, things being quiet didn’t mean they weren’t tense.

Clenching his teeth, he took in a long breath through his nose. “I am unsure what you mean by that, Sam,” 

“The mask,” Sam pushed, “you know, the one you wore during the fight in Madripoor. What’s the deal with that?” 

“Ah yes. That mask,” As if on cue, Zemo took a long swig from his glass. It burned all the way down. He didn’t speak again, though, instead choosing to let his gaze fall on the elaborate tilework above his countertops, tracing the patterns with his eyes. Anything to divert himself from the thoughts that rushed back into his mind at the thought of the knit piece of cloth that sat firmly in his inner coat pocket. 

Unfortunately for him, Sam wasn’t satisfied with letting the topic fizzle out. “Come on man,” he griped, rubbing a hand over his face, “we got you out of prison, so you owe us one. In fact, you owe us a lot. So, spill. What the hell is the deal with it? Were you Sokovian batman or something?”

That urged a dry laugh from the baron’s lips as he set his crystal glass on the counter with a little more force than was necessary. “Are you always so interested in your captives’ personal lives?” 

“Usually,” Bucky chimed in dryly. 

“I suppose I’m outnumbered,” Zemo sighed. The bile rising in his throat was easy enough to force down as he turned himself out on his stool to face the room. It wasn’t the right time for true weakness, not yet, but he couldn’t deny that painting himself in a desirable light and offering the pair honesty might give him the upper hand. So, he folded. 

Slowly he retrieved the purple mask from his coat and turned it over in his hands. It still fit after all the years it had sat gathering dust in his storage unit which was a blessing in its own right. It still served its original purpose too. That mask had seen horrors beyond imagination, had been washed clean of blood more times than could be counted. Did it hold the memories of the things it had seen within its fabrics as Zemo did in his mind? Or was it as naive as he had been at the time of its creation? He let out a bitter laugh. That was a question they would have asked him. 

As he exchanged his literal mask for one entirely emotional, Zemo leaned back on his stool and managed a smile. “How educated are you on Sokovian politics?” 

Sam shut his eyes again, letting his head lol back once more. “I went to public school, so I don’t think I even knew Sokovia existed until it didn’t,” 

“I know enough,” Bucky added. From his place leaning against the way, ever vigilant and ready to jump into an imagined battle, he turned to face Zemo and crossed his arms. “Hydra had fingers in the government there, more so than other places. There was a big power struggle in the ’90s when the king died, right? Because people wanted democracy, and they didn’t want the little shithead prince to take over,”

“Yes,” Zemo nodded, “My cousin Emil. I’m glad you’re familiar,”

 A spluttered laugh escaped Sam’s lips as he shot up. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised by this stuff anymore, but damn,” 

“He and I weren’t close,” Zemo waved his hand dismissively, and yet there was a strange sadness in his eyes. It wasn’t for his cousin, though. Not in the least. “But James was correct, there were riots in the streets when the king died. They were shut down quickly by the National Guard, though, who had more than a little help from Hydra’s favorite supersoldiers once they realized just how much power the citizens held. What street were you assigned to, James?” 

Bucky sucked in his cheeks, eyes falling to the floor, but before Sam could butt in and defend him he had muttered an answer. “I cleared the barricade at 18th Avenue, the second largest. Those kids fought valiantly,” 

Zemo hummed lowly. “And so they did,” 

“Okay, what does any of this have to do with your stupid purple mask?” Sam exclaimed.

He was sitting up fully now, face turned to where Zemo had stood from his stool and begun to round the bar. His mask still sat in a small ball on the marble. It seemed to be a member of the conversation all its own, silent and sure, drawing all three men together as it weaved a story from the past into the present with its very presence. 

“That mask served me well and hid my identity when I stood against the very men that were serving my family,” Zemo muttered, letting his fingers brush the fabric gently. The names of the lost sat heavy on his very soul even if they would never pass from his lips. 

Hans, Andrei, Ivan, Vladimir, Anton, Lazlo, Nicholas, little Sebastian… 

Y/N. 

“I was young then, too young for my own good,” he said softly, “naive and hopeful and convinced that the world was able to change for the better if I simply willed it to be… so when I discovered the connection between my family and Hydra I packed up my things, emptied my bank account, and moved into a tiny apartment with another like-minded friend, Hans Perlitch,” a soft laugh escaped him, genuine and youthful and all too honest, “We preached to the hungry masses of a world free from the thumb of the elite and all the while we would return home to a heated apartment and a stocked pantry. Still, we were well-liked and gathered a bit of a following. That was when everything changed, the early fall of 1997…” 

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

“You know, for someone who claims to be as smart as you say you are, you’re quite a fool,” 

The voice came from the back of the room, smoke still hanging thick in the air from the cigarettes shared by the masses of students that had packed the tiny repurposed stockroom of the bar while Helmut had given his speech for the week.

He didn’t give the interloper the dignity of his full attention as he gathered a few of his scattered notes from the table that served as his soapbox. Still, he was in a generally good mood. Almost double the usual students had shown up for the meeting and a few had even chimed in to ask questions, so he took a deep breath and resigned himself to the fact that rooting out one ignorant opposer now would mean less work in the long run. “I’ve never claimed to be smart, so I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to,” 

A scoff came from the back of the room, but the person made no effort to come closer. “You can change your last name and present yourself as a member of the public all you want, but someday someone is gonna recognize that pretty face of yours, and your whole revolution is going to come crumbling to the ground,” 

Now that was enough to make him pause.

“How did you-”

“How could I not?”

It was sardonic, biting and harsh in the worst of ways. Everything about the tone made Helmut’s blood boil beneath his skin. He was not one who enjoyed being threatened or outdone. Still, the play was out of his hands now, should this strange intruder choose to ruin him. 

Biting his tongue, he finally turned to face them. “You have my attention, now what do you want?”

Across the room, the stranger remained unphased. They were relatively unremarkable, a bottle of cheap beer held firmly in their grip as they toasted to nothing and drank down the remaining dregs. With a smile and a chuckle, they propped their feet up on the small, round table before them. Something about that sight lit a fire in Helmut’s chest. He didn’t know who they were, or why he was there, but he was certain that he despised them already. 

“I don’t want anything,” They replied, and with a certain grandness reserved for a gamin mocking the bourgeoisie, they flourished with their hands, letting their booted feet drop to the ground as they stood and bowed. “I’m just saying that if you’re trying to convince people that you’re not the missing baron while you’re pretending to be all impoverished and rallying us commoners, you might want to change more than your last name and your fashion sense,”

Helmut gritted his teeth. “So what? Did you come here just to rub my face in it, or are you going to help me make a change?” 

That elicited a small snort from the stranger, but they did take the opportunity to traipse up to meet him at his table, leaning on the edge as they gazed up at him with a strange look in their eyes that he couldn’t quite identify. Their face was soft upon closer examination, alive and bright with a merriment that only came from intoxication. It made Helmut sneer involuntarily. 

Licking their lips, they murmured, “Make a change? Is that what you think you’re doing?” and as they let a giggle escape their parted lips Helmut lost it. 

He gasped them firmly by the front of their baggy sweater and dragged them in close. “At least I’m trying! What are you doing about it? Extorting the only person who might be able to actually make a change in this shithole of a country? That’s so much more helpful!” 

Their faces were inches apart as Helmut spat his words like venom and yet the stranger never stopped smiling. It was almost dopey, the grin that made its way across their lips. Helmut couldn’t stand it. 

“You know, baron,” they purred, setting down their empty bottle on the table beside them, “I like you. I might just stick around here for a little while, see what else about your little plan I can pick apart,” 

Never in his life had Helmut been less thrilled for someone to join his cause. 

“Why are you here anyway,” he groaned, releasing their shirt, “don’t you have something better to do with your Friday night than bother me?” and, as an extra jab, he added, “besides drinking yourself to death, of course,” 

The jab didn’t land, though. 

Taking it all in stride, the stranger simply grinned as if they too knew how badly they stank of cheap alcohol and was thrilled that someone had noticed. “Anton invited me. He said I should get out more, make some friends. It’s just a coincidence that I happened to recognize you while writing down an itemized list of all the things you got wrong while you grandstanded,” There was a pride in their words, a giddy energy burbling just beneath the surface of their skin, and suddenly it all made sense. 

Anton was newer to their group, a poet and a free thinker, something hard to find in the slums of Novi Grad. Still, he lightened the impromptu meetings up with his smile and would often spend the hour scrawling away fervently in his notebook as he immortalized each and every word that was said “for posterity”. Helmut was sure that only someone as accepting as Anton would ever choose to spend their time with someone quite as insufferable as the person before him. Suddenly, and uncomfortably, he became aware that he didn’t even know their name. 

Swallowing down a nasty barb, Helmut sighed and offered up his hand, which the stranger took after a moment of pause. “And you are?” 

“Y/N,” They replied.

“Well, Y/N,” he spat their name from his mouth like a cherry pit, “I suppose I’ll have to get used to having a man like you-”

“Don’t call me that,” 

Helmut cocked his head to the side. “Pardon?”

“Don’t call me a man,” Y/N replied, “and before you ask I don’t want to be called a woman either. I’m just… I’m just Y/N, at least for now I am, it’s not like I’d give a rich brat like you my legal name while we’re mixed up in all this illegal, halfway-treasonous nonsense you insist on spouting. Maybe next week I’ll be something completely different and new. Until I tell you otherwise, though, I’m just Y/N, your highness,” 

“Do I dare dream that that means you might learn to respect my ideas?” Helmut sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face and choosing to ignore the sarcastic address in the hopes of letting such things fizzle and die without encouragement. Unfortunately, the goofy grin he got in return told him that was wishful thinking. 

Suddenly, the door opened and Helmut jumped away from his newest tentative ally (if you could call them that) to find Hans standing in the doorway. At his side was Andrei, the third in command of their little posse and final member of the leading triumvirate. They seemed shocked at his lateness and he was quick to try to gather himself up lest they see him as undone as he had found himself while facing the smallest taste of Y/N’s antagonistic nature. 

What had he even been doing when they interrupted him? It took him a moment to even gather himself together enough to remember. Scanning the room, his eyes fell on the papers 

Oh yes, he had been gathering up his notes…

He was quick to finish the task as Y/N sauntered away towards the door, preparing to push past the two men who stood beyond it. 

“You’re Anton’s friend, right?” Hans asked, back stiff. When Y/N nodded he did little more than give a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat. He had always been good with making things impersonal as he crunched the numbers and calculated probabilities. That was why Helmut liked him so much. 

Andrei, on the other hand, provided a needed warmth to their leadership in his outreach. 

He smiled warmly at Y/N and clapped a hand on their shoulder. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of you around,” 

Y/N was quick to offer one of their signature grins before winking back at Helmut in a way that made his stomach turn. “Oh, you’ll be seeing plenty of me from now on,” 

“We’re glad to have you,” Andrei replied as they passed. 

Before they fully left, though, they turned one last time to shoot Helmut a final smile. “Till next Friday, fearless leader,” 

Then, Y/N was gone, lost in the crowd of revelers beyond the small, smokey storeroom and, more importantly, beyond where Helmut’s eyes could follow. Somehow, despite everything, he missed having them there. He quickly chalked the feeling up to wanting to keep a close eye on people with the ability to thwart his best-laid plans and left it at that. Besides, he had no room in his heart for anything besides the betterment of Sokovia. 

Attachments meant the possibility of other priorities, and other priorities got people killed. He couldn’t have that happening on his watch. 

Thankfully, Hans snapped him out of his melancholy quickly. “Do you have everything sorted?” 

Helmut gave a short nod before tapping the pile of papers against the table and setting out towards the door, abandoning his thoughts and feelings about his interaction with Y/N at the table as he exited the room and gathered himself once more into the man his friends needed him to be. 

He could only hope that as long as he ignored Y/N’s jabs, they would soon grow tired and be gone within the month once they realized he was anything but afraid of their little games. 

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

Much to Helmut’s abject disappointment, Y/N did not, in fact, stop showing up. 

They did quite the opposite. 

Instead of leaving him well enough alone, they showed up to Helmut’s meetings every single Wednesday and Friday for months, always piss drunk and happy to jeer at him from the corner, shouting their unwanted opinions and throwing off every meeting with their nonsense.

It was as if they did it just to get on his nerves, and get on his nerves they did.

As the seasons changed, from spring, to winter, to fall, and, finally, to the very beginnings of summer, so did the types of jabs Y/N decided to throw. 

In the beginning it was all business, comments on the idiocy of his plans for a protest based on common police routes or mocking jokes about his unending optimism when it came to fighting the national guard on a large scale, but as things began to get more and more serious on the path towards a full-fledged revolt, they seemed to aim more and more of their vitriol towards Helmut personally.

Sometimes it was a comment on his face or voice. “Ease up pretty boy,” they’d jeer, “keep talking like that and a guardsman might just do more than knock out a few of your perfect teeth,” Other times, which Helmut found infinitely worse, they’d throw a jab at his ability to lead them to victory. “The only thing that waits for us at the end of this is a painful death, especially if you’re not joking about those fucking super soldiers they supposedly have on ice,” 

The worst part was that half the time, Y/N was right. 

Helmut hated to admit it but it was true. More than once he had to go back and edit his plans to take into account a valid point thrown in by Y/N that he had never even considered. Hell, if it had been anyone else picking him to nothing he would have been grateful, but it wasn’t a well-meaning contributor trying to make the world a better place, it was a drunk who seemed to have one solitary life goal: making his life as miserable as possible. Perhaps that’s why they had devolved to frantic angry fucks behind crates of wine and massive cans of chocolate spread after the worst of their arguments…

Not that Helmut cared for them. 

No, he didn’t do attachments. Neither did Y/N. They hated each other, after all. 

It was just a way to release their tensions at the end of stressful meetings and nothing more. They were dealing with matters of life and death after all. It was only normal to seek comfort in the warmth of a companion, if he could even call Y/N a companion.

Whether he liked it or not, though, they were they to stay, even if they rarely made themself useful to the cause.

By early June, the drunkard had become close friends with all of the remaining students that still gathered at Helmut’s location for meetings instead of ending up at the offshoots that began to form once the group got too big to pile into the storeroom. Helmut loathed thinking about it, but Y/N was probably invited to more birthdays and Saturday night get-togethers than he ever was. There was something about their smile that drew people in. It made them feel wanted, welcome. Helmut hated that he never got those smiles from Y/N, only ever the mocking, blithe kind that they handed out freely to friends and enemies alike. 

He didn’t have time to think about that, though. Not with so much fast approaching as the first pears began to hang from branches down in the royal orchards, soft and ripe and ready to be harvested. Their growth marked King Hugo’s daily weakening. His death could come any day, and when it did, Helmut knew he would need to strike quickly if he truly hoped to overturn the system before the coronation of his cousin. That meant every meeting, now more frequently held throughout the week, was filled to the brim with preparations and planning. 

Well, preparations and planning and a healthy dose of Y/N and Helmut yelling at each other about nonsense across the room until Anton or Laszlo stepped in to pull Y/N down into their chair once more so the meeting could resume and they could all go home before things got too late and they were questioned in the street on why they were possibly out and about at such an hour.

Things were no different on that Friday meeting on June 4th. 

“Is there anyone here who isn’t already passing out pamphlets in the dorms at NVU tonight?” Helmut asked the room, scanning for a hand that didn’t belong to his least favorite member of the group. Unfortunately, none came up. “Come one now, at least one of you has to be free,”

Y/N groaned. “It’s like you don’t even see my hand waving up here, oh great one,” There they went again with the ridiculous terms of address that made Helmut’s blood sizzle in his veins. He remained composed, though. At least, as composed as he could be given the situation.

“I’m ignoring you because I remember the last time I asked your drunk ass to pass out pamphlets. What round of dominos were you on by the time I showed up to check on you, five or six?” 

The scalding remark was enough to get Y/N to sheepishly lower their hand, eyes downcast. It was getting easier and easier for Helmut to manage to shut them up the more frantic meetings got, and he couldn’t say he was displeased by that fact no matter why it was the way that it was. A quiet Y/N meant less chance for mistakes which meant fewer future casualties. Fewer casualties were good, it was what he strived for. 

Thankfully for Helmut, a new hand came up. 

It belonged to Vladimir, the oldest of the group by a year rounding out at an even 26 years old. He was dependable, definitely the kind who could be trusted to run an errand as important as the one Helmut needed to have done. The thought that Vladimir would be the one to pick up the shipment of smuggled guns was a relief. He made as much evident while explaining their next moves. 

Throughout the remainder of the meeting, though, Helmut couldn’t help but feel watched. It didn’t last long, half an hour at most. Still, there was the creeping itch on the back of his neck that told him there were eyes on him that he wasn’t aware of. Only when the group was dismissed and the feeling didn’t go away did he realize exactly who was staring at him so intently.

“I hope you know I really did intend to hand out those pamphlets,” Y/N said once they were the last one remaining, the rest of the group having trickled out to get food and drinks before heading home for the night. It wasn’t unusual for Helmut and Y/N to be the last two remaining at the end of a meeting. That didn’t mean he was happy about it though. 

So, instead of offering up an acknowledgment, he busied himself with plotting out a few potential spots to barricade the roads and hunker down when things got messy in highlighter on the large, laminated map of Novi Grad that had found its home on the big front table.

Y/N didn’t let up, though. They never did. “I know you don’t believe me, why would you, but I did. I just wanted to loosen them up before I started talking about overthrowing the damn government, which is a terrible plan, by the way. Have I told you that lately?”

“Only every time you see me,” Helmut sighed. 

Somehow, that made Y/N smile, soft and sarcastic and all too honest. Helmut didn’t know how they managed it. Secretly, he envied their neverending veracity. He’d never say that though. No, not while they crossed the floor and offered up a large bottle of whiskey. 

“A drink, dear leader?” 

“Absolutely not” He griped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How many times do I need to remind you I don’t drink?” 

“Too many,” 

“For once, I agree with you,” 

A laugh passed through Y/N’s plush lips and, regrettably, Helmut couldn’t help but look up at them and relish in the sight. Their hair was a bit longer than they usually grew it out, a particularly unruly piece tucked behind their ear. Helmut hated that he noticed little details like that, despised the way he had come to know the soft dip of their cupid’s bow and the warmth of their palm. It was still Y/N, after all, for better or worse. He couldn’t help but allow himself those small recognitions though. It made him feel human, or something close to it. 

Still, all good things must come to an end, and they did when Y/N decided to speak again. “You know, the longer I show up for these stupid meetings, the more I think you’re actually gonna try to go up against those bastards,” 

Helmut should have known the barb was coming, but perhaps his better nature, if it truly existed, prevented that. Nevertheless, he sighed into his hands as he dropped his highlighter. “If I didn’t intend to actually try to change things, why would I have spent the last year of my life living in a shitty apartment and putting up with you?”

“You’d be surprised the things people do and never finish. Not everyone is as driven as you are,” Y/N huffed. They were quick to seat themself on the table once Helmut wasn’t actively working over it, smearing the highlighter away on their corduroy pants. “Nobody would blame you if you did tap out, you know. There are plenty of ways to make a change that don’t involve trying to take down the entire local Sokovian military force until they decide to give you what you want,”

“The changes we could make without a revolt wouldn’t really be changes, they’d just be the illusion of changes. You know that as well as I do,” Helmut replied with a groan. 

Two of the fingers from Y/N’s free hand, the one that wasn’t gripping their bottle like a lifeline, pointed towards the closed door behind them. “Is living under our current system and knowing they have fingers in a few less-than-savory organizations really worse than leading all of your friends to their deaths?” 

That struck a nerve in Helmut’s chest.

“And who says that has to be true?” 

“Come on, oh benevolent and giving baron,” Y/N’s voice was light yet pointed, like a million minuscule particles of glass flying through the air, “Do you really think we’re all gonna make it out of a fight with the big guys? And even if all of us do, can you say the same for the poor kids fighting where we aren’t?”

“I never said there would be no casualties-”

“What about Sebastian? The kid is barely 12 and I know you’re going to say that if he tries to show up, you’re gonna send him home, but I think you underestimate how many people will want even someone as young as him dead if they catch him in the street. Are you really going to let him risk his life for this? A half-assed plan for you to get revenge on your asshole relatives for making your childhood shitty?” 

“You know that’s not what this is about,” 

“Do I?” Y/N asked, and for just a second, no, a millisecond, Helmut wasn’t sure anymore. It was only a brief moment though, nothing more. The fact that they could make him doubt himself do deeply though… it was a problem. Calling it that was an understatement, but there was no other way to put it that truly worked. 

Helmut growled lowly and nodded, pushing the doubt from his mind. He was right. He had to be right. What would he be if he was wrong? A spoiled rich boy who was leading his friends to their dooms for nothing? 

No.

He had to be right, so he was. It was as simple as that.

“Is there anything else you need to critique, or can you leave me to work now?” Helmut asked. His patience had long since worn thin. That didn’t matter much to Y/N, though. They liked to wear him down thin, see just how far they could push without breaking his resolve. It was a game they were both intimately acquainted with. 

They played their hand expertly. “In fact,” Y/N smiled while they spoke, another mocking little grin that made Helmut’s stomach turn in the best and worst of ways, “there is one last thing I needed to ask about,” 

“I shudder to think what it might be,”

“How are you going to hide your face?” 

The question caught Helmut off-guard as he leaned back on his heels, letting his forearms brace against the edge of the table, his face scrunching up in thought. “What?” 

Y/N gestured absently towards his face before bringing their bottle to their lips. “I’m betting that your family will expect you to be out there whenever we actually stage our attack. If I’m right, that means the soldiers will be looking for you as their top priority, and if they find you, they’ll kill everybody around you just to get a chance to drag you back to mommy and daddy. Even if they don’t kill us on sight we’ll be charged for harboring you without turning you in to the proper authorities. So, how are you going to hide your face?” 

Once again, Helmut found himself thinking that, despite their drunken stupor, Y/N might just be right, and he hated it. He hated that he hadn’t thought of it first, hated that it was a valid point, hated that he had no satisfying way to answer the question they had posed. He hated it all. 

“I’ll just throw on a bandana,” He managed to grumble, and that was that. 

Or, that should have been that, but Y/N scoffed at the idea, setting down their bottle and leaning in close to Helmut’s face. After a moment of contemplation, they brought their hand up to his face and let their thumb come to rest on one of his largest beauty marks, the mole that rested high on the left side of his nose. “I’m afraid that a bandana isn’t going to cover up your absolutely blinding radiance, fearless leader,” There was a softness to their voice, a gentility Helmut was unused to. It made his chest hurt. He hated that too. 

“Are you going to offer a solution or are you just going to sit there telling me I’m stupid,” His words were a low groan. 

Much to his surprise, though, Y/N reached into their back pocket only to pass him a crumpled purple ball. It was obviously fabric, though the outside seemed to be coated in some sort of weatherproofing, and upon closer inspection, once unraveled, two distinct eyeholes became visible. 

“Is this-”

“A mask?” Y/N finished his sentence for him, “Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t think about it, so I whipped something up with some old polyester-based yarn and then I coated it so it wouldn’t be a problem if it got wet. It should still be breathable, though,” 

For the first time since he’d known them, Helmut looked up at Y/N and thought that they were incredibly valuable. He still hated them, of course he did. Y/N was Y/N and he was himself and they hated each other because they were, at their basest, entirely incompatible. 

At his silence, Y/N looked away, almost nervous. “I hope it’s alright,” 

“It’s more than alright,” Helmut said as kindly as he could possibly manage, “I hate to say this, but owe you one,” 

“Could I collect on that debt now?” Minutely, Y/N leaned closer, eyes falling to Helmut’s lips. 

He swallowed thickly. “You’re drunk, Y/N,” 

“I know I am. Isn’t that wonderful?” 

“Why would that be wonderful?” 

“Because that means I won’t remember this,” And, with that, they closed the gap between the two of them and captured Helmut’s lips in his own. 

Kissing Y/N wasn’t a new thing. They had kissed plenty of times during their frenzied hookups; soft kisses and hard kisses and long kisses and short kisses. Still, Helmut would never get used to the thrill of it. That was yet another thing he hated about Y/N. He could never quite get used to them. Every single interaction always felt as fresh and raw as their first. 

With a fervor only he could muster, Helmut kissed back and pushed at Y/N’s hips, pressing them harder into the table below, and just as quickly as he had gained a physical mask, he had lost his emotional one. 

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

In the end, that was the last time Helmut had slept with Y/N.

They had fallen together, two sweaty half-dressed bodies laid out over the laminated map of Novi Grad, and then Y/N had gathered themself up and left with little more than one last kiss pressed to Helmut’s temple. By the time he himself had gotten home to Hans, the news of King Hugo’s death was almost an hour old.

After a few phone calls to lay the final plans and keep every sect of their band of revolutionaries on the same schedules, things rolled into motion like a finely tuned machine. 

On the morning of June 5th, the barricades rose and Helmut wore his mask proudly as his people fought for freedom in the streets he had walked since childhood. Y/N was beside him. 

By the early hours of June 6th, they were the only barricade that remained. 

Helmut should have known that once things got too challenging that the super soldiers would be released, he should have anticipated that they’d be waiting for the backlash once king Hugo passed, and yet he hadn’t. He had blindly walked into the disaster with his eyes wide open. There was no one to blame but himself. 

Little Sebastian, just one month shy of 13 years old, was dead, shot at long distance when he had attempted to grab a fallen box of bullets that had toppled over the peak of the jumble of hoarded furniture and scrap metal. Anton was dead too, taken at gunpoint while he stood guard at a side street and executed with his eyes bound and a sonnet on his lips. Even Ivan, stoic and strong Ivan who bound his knuckles in boxer’s tape and sparred with Helmut when he needed to clear his head, had been caught in the initial fire and bled out over the course of the day, dying with a smile on his face as he leaned on a discarded chair.

I never said there’d be no casualties.

His own words rang in his ears, taunted him with every bullet he shot and every breath he dragged into his aching lungs. How had he ever been so naive to believe that even one life could be expendable?  

The real lowest point came at almost midnight when Helmut picked up a call from a student on another barricade only to met with screaming. “Winter is coming!” They had wailed, “Winter is coming!” and then they had died, right there over speakerphone. Helmut had the good sense to hang up once it got to the worst of it, the strangled gurgled growing to be too much for the group. 

As things truly settled, in those hours so early that the world still considered them night, Helmut still stood vigilant. That’s when Y/N finally approached. 

They wore no smile, not like usual. Instead, their face was stoic as they came to stand beside Helmut and waited silently for a moment. He took the chance to beat them to the punch. 

“You don’t have to tell me you were right. I know you were,” I hate you for it.

Y/N offered a gentle, humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t rub it in at a time like this, but yeah, I was,” I know you do. I hate myself for it too. 

Slowly, Helmut brought a hand to his face, scrubbing the exhaustion away from his eyes. How had it all come to this? 

“How much time do you think we have,” Y/N was speaking before he had a chance to say anything more, saving him from having to elaborate on his admission. He was grateful. Grateful to not be alone, grateful to be spared more shame, grateful to see Y/N’s gentle smile one more time. He’d never show it though. No, he was to be the fearless leader till the end. 

So, he sucked in a deep breath and stared out into the starry sky. “A few hours at most. I’m surprised they haven’t made another advance after the last big push in the evening when we lost…” he swallowed thickly, “when we lost Anton,” 

Licking their lips and pushing back their hair, Y/N sighed. “For what it’s worth, for a minute there I really believed you could do it,” 

It was a bigger compliment than it seemed and they both knew it, but neither acknowledged it. Instead, Helmut gestured absently towards the half-full bottle of wine in Y/N’s hand. “You mind if I have a drink of that?” 

A grin spread across their lips, but it was as far from mocking as was possible as they passed the bottle over. 

“I never thought I’d see the day,”

Lifting the bottom of his mask to take a swig, Helmut groaned at the deep, bitter burn of it. “Don’t get used to it,” He replaced the fabric quickly before passing the bottle back. 

“I’ll try not to,” 

“Happy 20th, by the way,” Y/N added, “this is a hell of a way to celebrate, but it’s very you,” 

Helmut froze as the realization sunk in that it was, in fact, the 6th of June, even if it had only been that way for a couple hours. 

There had been a party planned. It was just an intimate thing, cake and a few card games in the afternoon with his closest friends, but that was long behind them now, forgotten in favor of the larger cause. To Y/N, though, there was never a larger cause than Helmut himself. He was realizing that slowly. In a bitter moment of realization, he laughed. 

“What?” 

“You weren’t invited,” 

They quirked up an eyebrow. “Huh?” 

“To the birthday party. I didn’t invite you,” 

“Well, I’m here now, and this is a pretty good party if I do say so myself. You and me and the revolution all jam-packed together in the middle of a street. Wouldn’t it be cool if the new democracy was born on the same day you were?” 

He smiled softly. “It was meant to be,” 

“I got you something, you know, even though I knew I wasn’t invited to the party,” Y/N added breathlessly. “It was stupid, just some dumb sweater with a whole bunch of random ass quotes from Machiavelli all over the back, but Anton and I saw it when we visited the better side of town to hang up those fliers for the march a few weeks ago and we knew you had to have it. It’s sitting all wrapped up on my front table,” 

“It’s a shame I won’t get to open it today,”

They nodded distantly. “Yeah, a real shame…”  

Then, they were quiet again, staring up at the stars mere feet away from each other and yet miles apart, farther than they’d ever been. 

Y/N cut through the soundless night first, but not before several silent minutes had passed, filled with only the distant chatter of their surviving friends and the gentle whistling of the breeze over the rooftops above. “When everything goes to shit… with the universe, I mean, not now. Everything’s already gone to shit now. But that notwithstanding, when the world goes kaput and the sun explodes, we’re all gonna be starstuff together, right? You and I and Sebastian and Andrei and Anton and… all of us. We’re gonna be nothing but matter and dust out there in space,” 

“Is there a point to this or are you just having an existential crisis?” Helmut muttered, but there was no bite to it. 

They just chuckled as their eyes scanned the sky. 

“I was just thinking, if all of us are gonna be nothing more than matter and dust and star stuff, it only makes sense that someday, even if it’s a billion years from now, a little part of each of us will be together again as part of some supernova in the sky to be seen by somebody else, and, when that day comes, I think I’m gonna know, and everything is gonna be alright,” 

He hummed thoughtfully, running a hand absently over the thick purple knit of his mask, relishing in the gummy softness of the coating on his bare fingertips in the cooling air. “That makes no sense,” 

“Do you think I don’t know that?” 

“Still, it’s a pretty thought. Anton would have liked it,” 

“Yeah, he would have…”  

Helmut let his eyes fall from the sky to his companion. They looked so fragile, so broken, that he could barely stand himself, because, if he hadn’t made the stupid choices to lead them here, they never would have felt that way. They’d be curled up in bed somewhere, asleep and safe, far from the cold darkness of the night at his side. It made him sick. 

How could he possibly put that to words? How could he apologize for denying every nudge, every chance to turn around? He couldn’t, and it made him as bitter as the wine that Y/N sipped from absently before turning to face him once again. 

“Hey, Helmut,” they whispered, and his breath caught in his throat because how dare his voice sound so sweet on their lips? How dare they keep that joy, the joy of hearing his name whispered with reverence on the early morning breeze, real and caring and perfect, away from him for so long? “Do you think I could take a chair from the barricade?” 

Just as soon as it had come, the joy was gone. “Why would you need a chair?” 

Y/N shrugged. “I want to go sleep,” 

“Why can’t you sleep out here?”

“I don’t want to be woken up,”

“We wouldn’t wake you until the fighting was starting back up again-” 

“Oh, my darling fearless leader,” their voice was empty, tinny and cold, “I don’t ever want to be woken up,” 

Their words pierced Helmut straight through the heart he didn’t know he had. It made him feel so much, so many emotions he had simply not allowed himself out of a misplaced sense of self-preservation. “But we’ll need every able body ready to fight when they send in the super soldiers if we even want a chance at making it out of this,” 

The smile that crossed Y/N’s lips didn’t come from a place of joy, nor did it mock Helmut for his blind and dying faith. It was simply there because they did not know how to do anything else. “There’s no making it out of this. Not for me, at least. For you, though… you still have a chance,” 

Denial and anger went hand in hand as Helmut sucked his teeth, grinding his molars and letting his hand ghost over his pistol hanging at his hip. 

“So you’d really rather die like a coward than take a stand against the evils in the world?” he spat, harsh and cold as the air around them. “Pathetic,” 

“Don’t do this now, Helmut, not after we were finally getting somewhere. I don’t want to die with things like that,” 

“I’m not the one who’s giving up,” he snapped.

He just needed… something. A reaction. A reason to keep fighting when the war was already lost. Anything. Why couldn’t Y/N light the same fire in him that they’d kindled for months? The fire that had driven him to spend sleepless nights poring over maps and plans and speeches and guns. If he just pushed a little harder, just hit the right button, they’d light it again, he just knew it. 

“Please,” the word fell fragile from Y/N’s lips. Not a beg, just a soft plea. 

It fell on deaf ears. 

“You know what? You can take your chair!” Helmut was shouting then, loud enough that the remaining students on the barricade could hear every word. “Take your chair and leave us to fight while you die in your sleep. If we make it through the day I’ll put the bullet between your eyes myself. Now get out of here! I don’t want to see you again,” There was a cruelty to it, an edge that he thought might just push them off the edge. Still, it wasn’t cruel without reason. Helmut thought that maybe, if he was lucky enough, Y/N would simply leave. 

They had no stakes in the results of the revolt, no serious lasting ties that would get them hunted down in the weeks to come if things came to a gruesome end. If he bid them to leave, to disappear from his sight, there was a chance, however small, that they would disappear into the shadows with a chance to live. 

Against all odds, though, Y/N smiled one of those empty smiles again and drank down the very last of their wine.

“As your baronship commands,” they whispered, before departing to gather up a chair and disappearing into the restaurant where they had met so many times before. 

Then, they were gone, and Helmut was free to sink to the ground as his heart broke and mended and broke again. 

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

As expected, the super soldiers arrived only a couple of hours past Y/N’s departure.

Their arrival was silent, only marked by the slow thud of retreating national guardsmen in the distance. They weren’t needed there anymore, and the less they saw the better. 

Helmut watched his friends fall one by one in the panic, the barricade falling to ruin as the soldiers- if they could even be considered that, soldier seemed a far too human term for the monstrous creatures before him- pulled it apart with their bare hands. From there it was just a game of who was caught first in the insanity that ensued. 

Nicholas; caught a bullet through the neck. 

Vladimir; thrown against a solid stone wall at a speed near impossible.

Lazlo; impaled on a bit of broken wood as the wood exploded. 

Andrei; shot 3 times point-blank in the chest as he held the door closed to buy Hans and Helmut a little more time with a love confession for his closest companion falling from his mouth. 

Hans…

Helmut didn’t know how Hans died. 

He had never asked. All he knew that the shots had come as he wailed Andrei’s name, and then there was a deathly silence in the golden light of the morning sun as Helmut stood alone at the back of the storeroom, taking in the 4 walls that had held the best year of his life. 

What remained now? 

A failed dream? A pile of bodies? A single survivor waiting for his death?

Helmut didn’t know. He couldn’t fathom it. 

The two soldiers sent to finish the job were nameless and nondescript as they slipped through the door, armed with long, silent rifles and hidden by masks not too dissimilar from Helmut’s own. They did not speak, not a word. Instead, they simply raised their guns and took aim at Helmut as he closed his eyes and thought of-

“Wait!”

The word rang out heavy and made the two executioners snap to the side.

“I’m with him! I’m with the revolution! Down with King Emil! Down with the monarchy!”  

There, hidden among the crates and shelves of canned goods and glass bottles, was Y/N. 

They looked objectively awful, eyes rimmed red and hair mussed up and coated with oil. Still, it was the most beautiful sight Helmut had ever seen. 

It was only right that they go together. 

Slowly, Y/N made their way across the room to take their place at Helmut’s side. “I know you said you never wanted to see me again, but I assume you’ll make an exception for the circumstances,”

“I never meant it,” he whispered back, and Y/N smiled, “You have to know, I never meant it,” 

“Even if you did, I never would have listened-”

Suddenly, one of the soldiers spoke, taking aim straight for Helmut down the barrel of their gun. 

“Quiet,” 

Y/N only paused for a moment before pressing their hand into his. “Kiss me, Helmut?”

Who was he to deny them? 

Pulling off his mask, he pressed his lips to theirs and clasped their hand like it was the last thing he would ever do. When he pulled away, they were smiling one of their old, mocking, joyous smiles. 

“Oh, fearless leader… I win,” 

The words were a whisper of air against his lips. Before he could fathom the true meaning of them the pair was peppered in a spray of gunfire as Helmut closed his eyes to the world for what should have been the final time. 

When he opened them, Y/N was struck dead at his feet. 

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

It was their final winning move, he later realized, the checkmate to a game of chess he never believed would end. 

In the end, Y/N had been as correct as they always were.

All the same, he hated them for it. 

Some nights, in the darkness of his room back at the summer estate where his father has imprisoned him until further notice, he wondered if Y/N had kissed him because they wanted to or if they had done it to get him to remove his mask long enough that the soldiers would recognize him and spare him. It wouldn’t surprise him. Y/N did have a tendency to be right about things like that. 

Ghosts haunted him often.

Not full specters, he would wish for something so merciful. Instead, he saw flashes in the periphery of his vision. Outside his window, he’d hear a child’s laugher and be so sure it was Sebastian until he looked out to find that it was simply a group of the staff’s children playing ball. Or, when the assigned guardsman brought him his dinner, he would glance down the hall and be so sure that a man at the other end was Lazlo, preparing to face a board of proctors as he delivered a thesis he would never write. It never was, though. It never would be. 

Worst of all, when he laid awake in his bed as the clock struck twelve, he would feel them beside him. 

They had never slept together in the literal sense. Whatever they had shared (love, Helmut would come to realize after many, many years with Heike, painfully hollow without the same kind of flame. He had loved them and simply never known how to show it) was purely physical and contained within that bloody, bloody storeroom that he was sure would be torn down someday soon as they glossed over the casualties and stamped out the evidence. Still, he could feel Y/N beside him in the darkness despite the fact that they had never been there. 

Their head on his chest, their body pressed flush to his side, their hot breath fanning over the fabric of his nightshirt, creating a patch of damp warmth in its wake…

It was maddening, an eternal punishment he was doomed to endure for his stupidity. Nevertheless, if he let his brain wander to a better place, a different lifetime, it was almost comforting to feel their ghost wrapped tightly to his side. 

When he woke, though, the loss of the dream was more maddening than living through it. 

Almost a month after the failed revolution, in the hot and heady days of early July when the wasps buzzed loud at the window and the skies were filled with thunderclouds most of the time, his father finally came to speak to him.  

“I trust you spent your birthday how you wished to,” Heinrich said plainly. There was no question to it, just an empty sentiment. 

Mockery wasn’t nearly as pleasant when delivered by his father and not his lover, Helmut thought distantly. 

“On the contrary, I spent my birthday watching everyone I cared about die,” he snapped back. 

Heinrich didn’t offer any sort of commiseration. He simply shrugged and continued on with what he was there to say, not that his son minded much. The less time he spent there the more time Helmut would have to himself, which was preferable to listening to his father’s droning. 

“You’re lucky to be alive. The family is on thin ice thanks to that stunt you pulled, but with time we’re all sure that you’ll become an asset if you simply learn to use that fire for something more… productive,” 

Who the ‘we’ was went unspoken. It didn’t need to be.

Helmut sighed and looked out the window at the rain falling on the garden. Nicholas would have loved the gardens at this home. He would have pressed every flower at least once in the little book he kept beside him filled with the pieces of the world that he collected as he passed through it. Where would he be kept and collected now that he was dead? 

“I’ve called in a favor and enrolled you for military service. You’ll be tested to find your strengths, sent where you’re best suited, and trained from the ground up. Once we know you can be trusted, you might even lead your own squadron and make some friends more of your caliber,” 

It took all Helmut’s strength to clench his teeth and hold back the rage he felt in his chest. “When do I leave?”

“As soon as you’re married,” 

Married. 

The word struck a bolt through the rage and dissolved it, giving way to pure shock. “What the hell do you mean?” 

Crossing his arms, Heinrich took to pacing a 2-foot line back and forth in front of the door. “We’ve found a suitable match from a good standing Sokovian family, and they’re willing to look past your little misstep as long as their daughter becomes a baroness and is adequately involved in society. She’ll be here in three days time and you’ll have a week to get acquainted before the wedding,” 

“I never said I was going to get married,” Helmut growled, “You can’t make me get married,” 

His father stared down at him from above like he was a little boy again. “I can make you do whatever I want. Don’t think I didn’t hear about what happened with that freak they shot down at your side! No son of mine is ending up with someone like-”

In an instant, Helmut had rushed across the room and punched his father square in the jaw. As blood poured down the man’s face, a hiss escaped his son’s lips. 

“Never talk about Y/N like that again,”

“So it had a name!”

That earned him another punch, but Heinrich escaped Helmut’s grip quickly, cupping a hand beneath his nose to catch the redness that poured from his face. As he retreated out the door, he turned to deliver his final verdict. “You have three days to get your act together, and maybe, just maybe, if you don’t fuck this up, I’ll let you know where they dumped all your little friends to rot,” And with that, he shut the door behind him and left Helmut to pick up the pieces of his soul.

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

The tale Zemo wove was a sad one (sans most of the details about Y/N. That was a story whose finer details he would take to his grave) and as he came to a close, the purple fabric between his fingers was a tether to reality. The coating was a bit old, thinner in places than it should have been, but it had remained steady and strong for over 20 years and he didn’t know the first place to start repairing it. 

Y/N would have known, they’d been the one to do it in the first place after all, but they were long gone, not even a ghost anymore. Just a name and a face forgotten to time as all the other impoverished students were, buried in an unmarked grave in a place he never learned. It was all that remained of them. The only thing that proved they were ever there at all. 

“You know the rest of the story,” he added firmly. “I married Heike, climbed the ranks of the military, had my son… and they were simply lost, an unwritten page in the history of a country that no longer exists,” 

Suddenly, though, a deep voice cut in through the heavy air between them. 

“Ciczheni,”

“Pardon?” Zemo asked softly, pouring himself a final tumbler of whiskey and stuffing the mask back in his pocket. 

“We buried them in Ciczheni,” 

He nearly dropped the bottle in his hand. 

Bucky was quick to continue, voice low and eyes clouded with memory in a way that only the two of them would ever truly understand. “It’s a tiny town along the border to the Czech Republic. There’s a big open field there, or at least there was, marked with a flat grave marking it as a burial site. I don’t remember the name on it, some random pseudonym, but they’re all there, all 57 dead and buried in the ground under that rock,” 

Helmut gave a stiff nod. “I see,” Then, in one long gulp, he downed the whole two fingers of whiskey straight and relished in the way it burned down his throat. When the glass was empty and set down safely on the counter again he was quick to school his expression as he turned away. “I’m afraid all that excitement has exhausted me for the day. Goodnight, gentlemen,”

He was gone down the hallway into his bedroom before the pair had a chance to say another word. 

Ciczheni. 

As he undressed, he smiled softly, letting a few errant tears drip down his cheeks. 

They had been born and raised in that tiny farming town. Sometimes, when he had let himself listen in on their conversations with some of the other members of their small, tight group, they would talk about how much they wanted to return someday, once they’d made enough money to live on for a while if they supported themself by growing a small garden and maybe keeping some chickens. The thought, even then, had always made him smile. Just Y/N and a cottage and a chicken or two. 

Sometimes, if he was especially indulgent, he would imagine himself there with them. Sharing a home. 

Making a family. 

His biological family, the one he had created with marriage and his own flesh and blood, was something different entirely. He had loved them. God, how he’d loved them. Still, it was never the same. He was never at peace. He was never home. There would always be a bitterness there, as bitter as the dark summer wine he’d drunk the night he’d turned 20, a resentment that came with the obligation of creating a place in his heart for them when there never should have been. 

For Y/N, though... 

He sighed, wrapping himself in his robe and slipping on a pair of fleece pajama pants before crawling between the sheets and laying flat on his back, eyes to the ceiling. 

Things wouldn’t have been happy all the time. Hell, they probably wouldn’t have been happy even most of the time. Still, they would have been where they belonged, seated firmly at his side for the rest of their long, wonderful lives. 

Ciczheni, he repeated in his mind, then the memorial for Novi Grad. It was a minor detour, adding barely 2 hours more to the whole trip when he had plenty more to spare. 

Ciczheni, then Novi Grad, and then, finally, peace. 

Beside him, he could feel the phantom limbs wrap around his body, resting their weight firmly on his chest where the guilt and shame and terror built by the day, and for the first time in almost a decade they were not Heike’s. Perhaps, if all went according to plan, they wouldn’t be phantom much longer. 

Or, if not, he would wait. He would wait a billion years to disintegrate into stardust and spread across the cosmos in search of them. 

Either way, when they were together again, he’d know. 

They both would. 

--------

a/n: I’m not crying, you’re crying. 

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[purrvaire]

11, 14, 18 for the fic recs my darling 🤍

DARLING DEAREST 🤍🤍🤍 ask and you shall receive 🤍 this will be probably very random fandom-wise brace yourself

(all links are to ao3 both for fic and author's page!!)

🛳️ A fic that brought you aboard a new ship

• There's something wretched about this by boom_slap

First place bc not only it threw me into the berlermo tunnel but it also made me watch the show THIS!!! WORK!!! OF!!!! ART!!!!! i re-read it an embarrassing amount of times and I always cry IT'S SO GOOD you witnessed my lcdp lockdown on twitter and you can blame this fanfiction specifically and my love for tragedy generally

• you mourn, but your blood is flowing by genenuinely

my bi jon snow agenda began with the obvious crush for jaime lannister (and who tells otherwise is a fool.), the I read "the pretty eyes" comment that Jon makes about Satin (your bi is showing) and went to investigate further. Found this, became obsessed, I don't care who's sitting on the throne, I care about Jon and his boyfriend that's all

🤩 A fic that made you SLAM that “subscribe” button

• if i only knew by wanderlove

now it's important to understand something: I rarely read multi-chapter fics if they're not finished. WHEN I TELL YOU IT'S ONE OF MY FAVOURITE OBIKIN EVER!!!!!!! I would die for this fanfiction I'm never been more serious.

• Nessun coro by itsthesamesky

no cops at pride just i caramba minchiuni siciliani ❤

😭 A fic that ripped your heart out (but it hurt so good)

• Paris Burning by thecitysmith

my favourite enjoltaire. destroyed. me. completely.

• All the Young Dudes by MsKingBean89

Of. Fucking. Course. 🤍

send me an ask for the Fic Recs (Ask Meme)

[kjack89]

TimeTravel! Au where established-relationship modern Enjoltaire accidentally go back in time to barricade day and meet canon-era-reluctant-frenemies Enjoltaire with a series of awkward misunderstandings. Or include all of the Amis, or a fluffy kidfic(or not, since they're in a middle of a warzone), idk you decide.

So I really let the ‘idk you decide’ do a lot of heavy lifting here in terms of what this prompt became. Sorry Nonny!

Time Travel AU (kinda/sorta), E/R, established and also not, Modern AU and also Canon. Referenced/implied canonical major character death.

The crowd was suffocating, a mass of bodies that jostled Grantaire from every side as he tried his best to push through, but he didn’t care. He had one singular goal: he had to get to Enjolras. 

He caught flashes through the crowd of Enjolras, using the hood of a car as a makeshift stage, shouting something into a megaphone that was drowned out by the roar of people, and though Grantaire’s temper was soured by having to shoulder his way through the masses just to get to his boyfriend, as always, even the briefest sight of Enjolras in his element was enough to make him smile.

A smile that quickly faded as Grantaire finally made it to the front of the crowd, only to see a platoon of police officers in full riot gear approaching.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire shouted, but his voice was lost over the noise of the crowd, especially as others had caught sight of the approaching cops. 

Enjolras glanced over his shoulder, his expression hardening as the police drew closer. “Citizens, stay calm,” he shouted through the megaphone, but the crowd was already beginning a panicked scattering.

Grantaire was knocked almost to the ground by folks trying to flee, and by the time he struggled to his feet, it was to see a police officer drawing up behind Enjolras, baton at the ready. “Enjolras!” Grantaire called, but it was too late: the police officer clubbed Enjolras in the legs, and Enjolras pitched forward, off of the hood of the car and out of Grantaire’s line of sight.

Grantaire’s blood ran cold, and he immediately started pushing back through the crowd, but he couldn’t seem to make any headway against the masses of people. His heart raced with pure terror as the cops all but surrounded the car that Enjolras had been standing on.

“No!” Grantaire screamed, clawing at the people dragging him in the opposite direction, away from where Enjolras had fallen. “No, Enjolras! Enjolras!”

He struggled in vain, wordless sobs punching from his chest as he watched a cop yank Enjolras upright by his hair, a trickle of blood running down Enjolras’s pale forehead. Somehow, Enjolras’s eyes found Grantaire in the crowd, and he mouthed something that Grantaire couldn’t quite make out. “No,” Grantaire gasped, as the cop raised his gun to Enjolras’s head.

And pulled the trigger.

“NO!”

Grantaire sat bolt upright in bed, his chest heaving, drenched in sweat. “Grantaire?” Enjolras asked sleepily. “Grantaire, what—”

He broke off when he saw the state Grantaire was in, sitting up immediately and gently touching Grantaire’s arm. “It’s ok,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, just loud enough to be heard over Grantaire’s harsh breathing. “You’re ok. It was just a nightmare.”

Grantaire swallowed, hard, and shook his head, but no words came. Instead he turned and buried his face against Enjolras’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of the man who was very clearly still alive, still here, still next to him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice muffled against Enjolras’s shirt.

“For what?” Enjolras asked, stroking Grantaire’s hair. “For having a nightmare? I’m not entirely sure that’s something you can really control…”

Grantaire shook his head again and pulled away from Enjolras. “No, for not getting to you in time,” he said hoarsely.

Enjolras frowned. “In your dream?” he asked, and Grantaire nodded. “What happened?” Grantaire made a face and Enjolras’s frown deepened. “You dreamed I died again.”

It wasn’t a question, and for good reason. This was the fifth or sixth time in the past few weeks that Grantaire had been besieged by nightmares of Enjolras being killed, frequently enough that it was becoming a habit. And not one of Grantaire’s fun habits.

Not that Enjolras would consider most of Grantaire’s habits fun, but that was an argument Grantaire supposed could wait for another day.

He realized a moment too late that Enjolras had asked him something, and blinked at him. “Sorry?” he said, his voice still hoarse.

“I said, who was it this time?”

Enjolras’s voice was light, almost joking, and Grantaire knew that he was trying to make him feel better, even if it didn’t actually do anything to slow his still-racing heart or calm his still-shaking hands. “Cops,” he said.

Enjolras didn’t look surprised, just nodding slowly. “EDCAB,” he said, pronouncing each letter with no small amount of venom, and Grantaire gave him a startled look. “Even Dream Cops Are Bastards.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Pretty sure dream cops are included in the ‘all cops’ part of ACAB,” he said.

“Sure, but it doesn’t hurt to specify.” Grantaire didn’t laugh and Enjolras’s forehead puckered with concern. “This is becoming a pattern,” he said. “Maybe you should talk to someone about it.”

Grantaire made a noise in the back of his throat, imagining the field day his therapist would have with this revelation. “I am talking to someone,” he said dismissively.

But Enjolras didn’t so much as a crack a smile. “You know what I mean.” He ran a hand up and down Grantaire’s arm. “There’s only so many times that I can tell you that you’re worrying for nothing, that I’m perfectly safe, that nothing’s going to happen to me. Especially since your subconscious doesn’t appear to be getting the hint.”

“In fairness, my subconscious is probably a better judge of the relative danger you put yourself in than you are,” Grantaire muttered, sliding away from Enjolras and standing up, grabbing his t-shirt from where he had shed it the night before and shrugging it on. “Between the cops, the far-right groups—”

“Which are really one and the same,” Enjolras said sourly.

“—and the regular fringe groups with an axe to grind, and just the fact that you make a pretty easy target—”

Enjolras scowled. “Are you victim-blaming?” he asked.

Grantaire rolled his eyes, heading into the kitchen to start the coffee. “No,” he said. “But that doesn’t also mean that you can’t take some reasonable precautions for your own safety.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mom,” Enjolras called, and Grantaire rolled his eyes again, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard as he waited for the coffeemaker. Enjolras padded into the kitchen a minute or two later, leaning against the fridge as he watched Grantaire. “You said that you couldn’t get to me in time.”

“Huh?” Grantaire said distractedly.

“In your dream. You apologized for not being able to get to me in time.”

Grantaire braced himself against the counter and shook his head. “Not just this dream,” he said quietly. “Every dream.”

Enjolras frowned. “So is that what this is really about?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” Grantaire said tiredly. “Look, just...just drop it, ok?”

“Fine,” Enjolras said, though his tone indicated that it wasn’t. Grantaire could feel his eyes on him as he poured them both cups of coffee, and when he passed him the mug, Enjolras asked, “Are you ok?”

Grantaire shrugged, resting his hip against the counter as he took a swig of too-hot coffee. “I’m fine.”

Enjolras didn’t look convinced. “Well, look at this way,” he said bracingly, the teasing tone back in his voice, “even if you had gotten to me, what would you have been able to do to stop it? Going down in a hail of bullets together is only romantic when Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid do it.”

Grantaire stared at him, his heart in his throat. He knew that Enjolras was only joking, but somehow, that made it worse, that he would dismiss this as nothing more than a joke. “Maybe there’s nothing that I can do,” he said, his voice low, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

Without another word, he went out onto the balcony, closing the sliding door after him with more force than was necessary.

This time, Enjolras didn’t follow him right away, which was probably for the best. Grantaire knew he was being ridiculous, just as he knew that Enjolras had only been trying to make him laugh. It was an effort he would normally appreciate, if the image of Enjolras with a gun to his head wasn’t seared on the inside of his eyelids. 

A few minutes later, Enjolras poked his head out from the sliding door. “Can I come out?” he asked.

“Pretty sure you didn’t ask permission to do so back in junior high, so Lord knows I’m not going to stop you now.”

Enjolras laughed lightly, stepping out onto the balcony. “Cute,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Grantaire said with a sigh, turning to rest his elbows on the balcony railing. 

Enjolras leaned on the railing next to him. “I didn’t mean—” he started, but despite his reaction earlier, Grantaire didn’t really need to hear it.

“I know,” he repeated instead, a little gentler this time, and Enjolras nodded.

“We’re ok, right?” he asked, studying Grantaire carefully.

Grantaire turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “You already asked me that.”

“No, I asked if you were ok,” Enjolras said. “Now I’m asking about us.”

Instead of answering, Grantaire snaked an arm around Enjolras’s waist, pulling him close and kissing him lightly.. “We’re—” he started, breaking off when there was a horrible sound of groaning metal. “Was that—?”

Before he could even finish the question, the railing they were both leaning against gave out with a horrible shriek, sending both men tumbling to the ground twenty feet below.

----------

Grantaire groaned, feeling like he had been hit by a semi-truck. “Enjolras?” he muttered, feeling with his hand since he wasn’t quite ready to open his eyes. “Enj—” 

His hand landed on something soft and he did finally open his eyes when he heard Enjolras groan, “You can stop molesting me at any time.”

“Oh thank God,” Grantaire said, realizing for the first time that despite the ache that seemed to permeate his body, nothing seemed broken or even bleeding. He carefully pushed against the ground to sit up, realizing for the first time that they weren’t lying on the sidewalk outside their apartment building. Instead, they were in some dark alley, lying on… “Cobblestones?” Grantaire asked, rubbing the back of his head as he looked around. “Where the hell are we?”

Enjolras sat up slowly, looking just as confused, though after a moment he froze, staring at Grantaire’s chest. “I think the better question is when are we,” he said, nodding towards Grantaire’s shirt.

Grantaire glanced down and let out a yelp. He was not dressed in the t-shirt and boxers he had previously had on. Instead, he was wearing a loose linen shirt with a green vest and matching cravat. He looked quickly at Enjolras, who was similarly dressed, though his vest was red. “What the fuck is going on?”

Enjolras braced himself against the wall as he stood, wincing the entire time. “If I had to guess,” he said, glancing around them, “we’re both hallucinating from our fall.”

Grantaire scowled and leaned forward, pinching Enjolras’s thigh. Enjolras let out a high-pitched noise and glared down at him. “What was that for?!”

“Proof we’re not dreaming,” Grantaire said. “Help me up, would you?”

Enjolras glowered at him but nonetheless helped him to his feet. “I didn’t say we were dreaming, I said we were hallucinating. There’s a difference.”

“Potato, po-tah-to.”

Grantaire winced as he brushed his pants off and Enjolras frowned. “Are you ok?”

“I’ve had hangovers worse than this, don’t worry,” Grantaire assured him, glancing around them as well. “So when do you think we are?”

“Judging by the clothes, sometime in the first half of the 19th century,” Enjolras said with a shrug.

“Care to narrow it down any?” Grantaire asked dryly. “Other than night time in what I’m guessing is Paris?” Enjolras ignored him, instead snagging a discarded pamphlet from where someone had tossed it. “What’s that?”

Enjolras shrugged, not looking up from the pamphlet. “Some kind of pamphlet,” he said vaguely.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Well no shit, I can see that. But a pamphlet for what?”

“For General Lamarque’s funeral.” Realization flashed across Enjolras’s face. “I know what date it is,” he said, his eyes wide. “It’s June 5th. Or early in the morning June 6th.”

Grantaire stared at him. “You got that from some random dude’s funeral?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Sure, when the ‘random dude’s funeral was the major catalyst of the June Rebellion?”

“The June Rebellion?” Grantaire asked tiredly, certain he was in for a lecture on how those who don’t remember history were doomed to repeat it.

But Enjolras seemed willing to save the lecture for a different time. “Short rebellion that took place in Paris at the beginning of June, 1832. An unsuccessful uprising, obviously.” He squinted at the street name written on the edge of the building at the end of the alley. “And if I’m right, we should head in this direction so that we don’t get stuck in the crossfire.”

They set off slowly down the alley and turned right onto a deserted street. Grantaire glanced over at him before remarking, half-fond and half-exasperated, “You and your knowledge of every obscure uprising in western civilization’s long and sordid history…”

Enjolras laughed lightly. “Hey, I’m not the only one who remembers it,” he said. “I heard a rumor that someone was going to make a musical out of it.”

“Out of the June Rebellion?” Grantaire asked, incredulous. “Bit dark for a musical, don’t you think?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Well, after the success of Hamilton, I think we’re going to see a lot more musicals based on historical events,” he reasoned.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure, but the June Rebellion? What are they gonna sing about, cholera? Deplorable working conditions? The prison-industrial complex in early 19th century France?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Enjolras said good-naturedly. “There’s a reason I’m a political organizer and not a musical writer—”

He broke off and Grantaire snorted. “Sure, including the fact that you can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but—”

Enjolras caught his arm. “Grantaire, shut up,” he ordered quietly. “Someone’s coming.”

Sure enough, out of nowhere, a figure popped up, holding a rifle aimed at them. “Identify yourselves as friend or foe of the Revolution,” the person called, and Enjolras and Grantaire exchanged startled glances.

Because it sounded like…

But it couldn’t be…

“Courfeyrac?” Enjolras managed as the figure approached. 

Sure enough, as the figure approached, they were able to make out his features, which matched Courfeyrac’s almost identically. Even stranger than that, when he saw them, the man who looked like Courfeyrac immediately relaxed. “Ah, Enjolras, Grantaire,” he said, lowering his rifle. “What are you doing this far from the barricade? When last I saw you, Enjolras, you were planning for tomorrow with Combeferre, and of course, Grantaire, you’ve been sleeping off the drink for hours now in the Corinthe.”

“And it was time that I got back to it,” Grantaire said quickly, glancing up at Enjolras. “Come find me when you can get away,” he said, his voice low, and for a moment, it looked like Enjolras would argue, probably to tell him that it was better that they stuck together.

But Grantaire suspected that it would be easier to figure what the hell was going on if they split up, or at least less obvious that both of them had no clue what was happening.

Enjolras hesitated but then nodded. “Be safe,” he said, leaning in automatically to kiss Grantaire’s forehead like he had hundreds of times before.

“I doubt that even in 1832 I’m the one who needs that reminder,” Grantaire said with a small smile, and he squeezed Enjolras’s hand before heading off to the building that Courfeyrac – or the man who looked exactly like him – had indicated.

Enjolras fell in step next to Courfeyrac, following him in what he could only assume was the direction of the barricade. But if this was Courfeyrac, he was unusually quiet for the man that Enjolras knew. Then, abruptly, Courfeyrac said, “I did not realize that you and Grantaire…”

He trailed off, but his meaning – and the reason for his unusual quiet – was clear. Enjolras realized that in this time, he and Grantaire must not be together. “It is...not something we’ve been, uh, public about,” Enjolras said carefully, watching Courfeyrac closely.

To his surprise, Courfeyrac laughed lightly. “Well, perhaps you’ve not been,” he said with a grin that was eerily familiar, “but there is none who could doubt the depth of Grantaire’s feelings for you.”

Enjolras was uncomfortably reminded of those first few years of barely managed friendship between him and Grantaire, when Grantaire had gone out of his way to get under Enjolras’s skin and how it had taken him forever to realize that it was because Grantaire liked him. “Apparently I’m not a quick study,” he muttered, and Courfeyrac laughed again, though he broke off quickly, growing more somber as they approached the barricade.

“Combeferre was just up there when last I saw him,” he said, pointing toward the barricade. “I must return to the watch lest we lose any others.”

The heaviness of his words hit Enjolras hard, and he wordlessly gripped his shoulder before letting him go. He wondered who they had lost, if it had been any of their friends who also existed in his own time.

It was a chilling thought.

He clambered up the back of the barricade to the small enclave Courfeyrac had pointed out and peered down, less surprised to see a tall man who looked just like the Combeferre from his own time.

But what he didn’t expect to see was that Combeferre was not alone.

And as both men turned to frown at him, he definitely did not expect to see that the man crouched next to Combeferre was...himself.

----------

“Uncanny,” Grantaire breathed, watching his own shoulders rise and fall lightly as he – the other he, the one clearly from this time, this universe, whatever it was – snored softly from where he was slumped over the table in the Corinthe.

The man had the same messy dark curls, the same bump in his nose from when he had broken it – though Grantaire doubted very strongly that this version had broken it falling off his skateboard in elementary school – even the same crooked fingers wrapped loosely around a green glass bottle.

It was like looking at a mirror image, and was one of the strangest things Grantaire had ever seen.

And he had once taken LSD with Bahorel.

The man shifted slightly in his sleep and Grantaire hesitated. He knew that he himself would hate being waken, but at the same time, there really wasn’t any other option.

So after another long moment, he leaned in and poked himself – the other himself – in the side. “Grantaire?” he half-whispered. “Grantaire, wake up.”

The man opened one eye. “Go ‘way,” he mumbled.

“Grantaire, wake up,” Grantaire said, louder this time, and it was enough to make the man open both his eyes.

“Enjolras?” the other Grantaire slurred before blinking and focusing on Grantaire. “Oh,” he said stupidly. “It’s you.”

----------

Enjolras stared dumbly down at the copy of himself, who frowned slightly. “Citizen,” the other Enjolras said. “Have you come to join our Cause?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Enjolras managed, wondering how in the hell he was going to possibly explain this.

Not that it mattered – at his words, the other Enjolras jumped down from the barricade, gun at the ready. “Then speak plainly,” he growled, grabbing Enjolras by the lapels with his free hand. “We have had our fill our spies and—”

He broke off when he finally saw Enjolras’s face, surprise followed by confusion crossing his own. Combeferre followed him down, his weapon also in hand, though he stopped in his tracks, his own eyes widening when he saw Enjolras. “What is this?” he asked, looked at the other Enjolras for explanation.

An explanation that either Enjolras was very clearly lacking.

To Enjolras’s surprise, the other Enjolras recovered first. “My cousin,” he said, a smoother lie than Enjolras would have managed. “From the country.”

“Right,” Enjolras said, nodding quickly. “His cousin, uh, Maximilien.” It was the first name that popped into his head and both Combeferre and the other Enjolras arched identical eyebrows. “I, uh, I was afeared that too late I might have been to attend to the barricade.”

He flushed when he realized he was talking like Yoda mixed with some kind of medieval knight, but thankfully, neither Combeferre nor the other Enjolras appeared to have noticed, or else were too caught up with confusion over what exactly was happening to care.

“Give us a moment,” the other Enjolras ordered quietly, and Combeferre hesitated.

“Are you certain?” he asked, eyeing Enjolras warily.

The other Enjolras nodded. “This man is no traitor or spy,” he said. “On that, I would stake my life.”

Combeferre hesitated for a moment longer before bowing his head and nodding. “Be quick,” he told the other Enjolras. “We have much to discuss before dawn.”

The other Enjolras nodded again and Combeferre left, though not until after one last furtive glance at Enjolras. The other Enjolras finally released Enjolras and set his gun down, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Who are you and why do you bear my face?” he asked bluntly.

Enjolras licked his lips before asking, a little desperately, “Would you believe me if I told you that I was you from the future?”

The other Enjolras considered him for a long moment, his brow drawn and his expression impassive. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said. “I would not.”

----------

“So I am you,” the other Grantaire said slowly. “Or, more accurately perhaps, you are me.”

Grantaire nodded. “Right.”

The other Grantaire shook his head slowly. “I would believe that I had drunk too much absinthe,” he said, squinting at Grantaire, “save that I know not why my drink-addled brain would supply this particular vision.”

He raised the bottle in his hand to his lips, letting out a small noise of disappointment when he realized it was empty. “Just like that?” Grantaire asked skeptically. “You believe me without any explanation?”

“What other explanation is there?” the other Grantaire grumbled, tossing the empty bottle aside. “When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

Grantaire gaped at him. “And now you’re somehow quoting Star Trek?” he spluttered.

The other Grantaire leaned back in his chair. “I do not know what trek through the stars you reference,” he said, scratching his chest and yawning, “but do you suppose the stars you see in your time are the same as in mine?”

Grantaire resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and made a mental note to rein in the philosophizing the next time he, Joly and Bossuet got drunk. How neither of them had hauled off and decked him yet… “I guess so,” he said with a sigh.

“In your time, is there also…” Grantaire braced himself for what many questions the other Grantaire inevitably had for him, but to his surprise, all the other Grantaire asked was, “Is there an Enjolras?”

“Oh, yes.” 

Grantaire didn’t hesitate in his answer, but something in the two words had the other Grantaire leaning forward again, his expression unreadable. “And you and he are friends?”

The other Grantaire sounded slightly surprised, but Grantaire just shrugged, a little helplessly. “Friends, lovers, partners...Enjolras is my everything.”

He knew he sounded like a lovesick idiot, but he learned long ago not to bother trying to hide it. The other Grantaire looked even more surprised by this. “Lovers,” he repeated, shaking his head slowly, before peering at Grantaire closely. “But you are not his everything.”

Grantaire blinked, surprised (though he supposed he probably shouldn’t be) by how perspective the other Grantaire was, even three sheets to the wind. “No,” he said. “But he and I understand that. He has the Cause, and everything that comes with it, and he would not be the Enjolras that I fell in love with without it.”

The other Grantaire shook his head again, something like awe creeping into his tone and across his expression. “So you have found a way to be together in spite of – or perhaps because of – who he is.”

The other Grantaire didn’t word it as a question, but Grantaire nodded nonetheless. “Yes,” he said. “It took a lot of work – I mean, it still does – but we have found a way to work it out and be together.” He paused, his heart sinking just slightly at the look on the other Grantaire’s face. “I’ll take it you and your Enjolras…”

“He despises me.”

The other Grantaire said it so plainly that Grantaire flinched at the starkness of the words. “I’m sure he doesn’t.”

But the other Grantaire didn’t appear to have heard him. “Maybe it’s enough,” he murmured. “Enough to know that in another lifetime, we found a way…”

He trailed off again and looked up at Grantaire. “Do we die here?”

The abruptness of the question took Grantaire aback. He didn’t know if he was referring to we as in him and the other Grantaire, or the other Grantaire and his Enjolras, but it didn’t really matter since he didn’t know the answer either way. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. 

The other Grantaire nodded heavily. Then, abruptly, he muttered, “If Enjolras’s time is come, let us hope mine is as well. There is no life worth living without him in it.”

Grantaire worried his lower lip between his teeth. As much as he wanted to tell the other Grantaire that he was wrong, hadn’t he had a similar thought just that morning? “I don’t think your Enjolras would be pleased to hear you say that,” he said instead.

To his surprise, the other Grantaire managed a ghost of a smile. “Nor yours, I’d imagine,” he agreed before looking at Grantaire plainly. “But you understand, do you not?”

The breath seemed to catch in Grantaire’s throat, and he nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, I understand.”

For one long moment, the other Grantaire studied him closely before his shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily. “Well, it has been strange and yet surprisingly pleasant to meet such an apparition as yourself,” he said, already leaning forward to again rest his head against the wood of the table. “Now you should leave me to my slumber.”

Grantaire stood, before hesitating. “Will you promise me something before I go?”

The other Grantaire cracked one eye open. “What would you ask of me?”

“If the worst that both you and I fear comes to pass, if you are to lose Enjolras on this barricade, will you go to him in the end, and die with him?”

He honestly didn’t know what made him ask it, other than the lingering memory of his dream from what seemed like so long ago and yet like no time had passed either. That and what the other Grantaire had said, lingering just the same: Maybe it’s enough to know that in another lifetime...

“I do not think he would want me there,” the other Grantaire said, lifting his head off the table.

Grantaire shook his head. “I think you might be surprised.”

A small, sad smile lifted the corners of the other Grantaire’s mouth. “Forgive me, but your Enjolras seems much gentler than mine. And while he might want you by his side when the end comes, I do not know if I can believe the same for my own.”

“Then don’t do it for him,” Grantaire said bluntly. :Go to him for yourself. Because you deserve to know that he dies knowing that you loved him enough to die by his side”.

“Perhaps I will,” the other Grantaire murmured, closing his eyes again. “But only with his permission. I owe him that much, after all the ways I have failed him.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to argue more, but closed it again when he heard a soft snore coming from the other Grantaire, and he shook his head again. “Good luck,” he whispered before turning to leave the other Grantaire to sleep off the alcohol.

He had no idea if the other Grantaire would even remember the conversation when he woke up.

But he hoped he would.

And regardless, he knew he would never forget it.

----------

He had barely taken two steps from the Corinthe when he almost ran smack into Enjolras. “Enjolras,” he gasped, before hesitating. “It is you, isn’t it? Not, uh, some other Enjolras?”

“Considering it’ll be well over a century before cloning is invented…” Enjolras said with a tired smile, and Grantaire sighed in relief. “I’ll take it you also met your doppelgänger?”

“If that’s what you want to call him,” Grantaire muttered.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “What would you call him?”

Grantaire considered the question for a minute. “Weird as fuck,” he said finally.

Enjolras laughed before glancing over his shoulder, his smile fading. “C’mon,” he said, taking Grantaire’s hand. “We need to get out of here. The National Guard will be attacking soon.” 

They walked together in silence for a good distance until Enjolras judged them relatively safe. “Here,” he said, shouldering a door open. “We should be safe in here.”

“You can’t just break into someone’s house!” Grantaire hissed, even as he followed Enjolras inside.

“I’m not,” Enjolras told him. “Didn’t you see the sign outside? This building is abandoned. Now c’mon, if we can get up to the roof, we should have a pretty good view.”

Together, they headed up the stairs; from there it was a quick scramble up to the roof, Enjolras pulling Grantaire up after him, and they sat down together. “So, what, we’re just going to watch ourselves get killed?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras sighed. “Believe me, if I could think of an alternative…”

He trailed off and Grantaire sighed, resting his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “It was weird, wasn’t it?” he asked softly. “Meeting different versions of ourselves. Seeing what we could have been like.”

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “My other self didn’t believe me, at least not at first.”

Grantaire laughed lightly. “Strangely enough, the other Grantaire believed it immediately.” He nudged Enjolras gently. “Who’d’ve thought that I’d be the believer and you’d be the cynic.”

Enjolras half- smiled. “Certainly not me,” he agreed. “Speaking of, what did you and the other Grantaire talk about?”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “Not much,” he said. “A little bit about what’s going to happen. A little bit about what he should do if it does happen.”

He didn’t specify what the ‘it’ was that he was referring to, but Enjolras seemed to understand, since he nodded slowly. “And what did you tell him?”

“That even if there is nothing that he can do to stop it, being with you in the end is enough.”

“Grantaire…” 

Enjolras’s voice was pained, but Grantaire just shook his head. “Don’t,” he said.

“But there is so much in your life worth living for—” Enjolras started, his voice heated.

“Of course there is,” Grantaire said easily. “A million things to live for. But the only thing in my life worth dying for is you.”

Enjolras ducked his head but didn’t try to argue further. After a long moment, he turned to kiss the top of Grantaire’s head. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Grantaire tilted his head back to kiss Enjolras properly before asking, “What about the other Enjolras? Did you tell him that he would, y’know, fail?”

Enjolras squinted toward the horizon and the sun that was slowly starting to break over the buildings. “No.”

Grantaire lifted his head off of Enjolras’s shoulder so that he could look at him. “So you lied to him?”

“No,” Enjolras repeated. “I told him the truth. Just...not all of it.” He sighed, glancing back over at Grantaire. “I told him that no matter what happens on the barricade, he will have done his part in changing the world.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “I’m not sure I would call that the truth.”

Enjolras gave him a ghost of his usual smile. “Yeah, well, as already discussed, you always were a cynic.”

“In all other lives besides this one, anyway,” Grantaire said, setting his head back on Enjolras’s shoulder. “So now what?”

Enjolras sighed, wrapping an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders. “Now we wait, I guess.”

It was over almost as quickly as it began, and even though they were shielded from witnessing the worst of it, Grantaire still shuddered at every cannon blast or gunshot they could hear. When it finally died down, Grantaire glanced up at Enjolras. “Is it finished?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Enjolras just shook his head, his brow furrowed. “I’m not sure.”

Suddenly, there was one final barrage of gunshots that sounded through the stillness of the early morning, and then…

They woke up.

----------

It somehow hurt even worse than before, though Grantaire wasn’t sure that was physically possible. “Ow,��� he croaked as a bunch of EMTs loaded him onto a stretcher.

“He’s awake!” one of them called before leaning down to tell him, “Sir, there’s been an accident. Your balcony collapsed. We’re taking you and your friend to the hospital.”

“Don’t—” Grantaire started, though his voice was muffled by some kind of mask over his mouth.

The EMT shook her head. “Don’t try to talk,” she told him. 

But Grantaire reached up with a shaking hand to pull the mask off just enough to tell her, “Just...keep us together.”

She replaced the mask and squeezed his hand. “I promise,” she told him. 

Grantaire nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as he passed out again.

----------

When he woke up the next time, Grantaire was in a hospital room, feeling a lot less like he’d been hit by a semi-truck. A quick glance at his hand told him it was likely whatever was in his IV that was doing the heavy lifting. “Oh good,” a familiar voice said, and Grantaire turned his head to see Enjolras in the hospital bed next to him. “You’re finally awake.”

Grantaire smiled slightly at him. “Mmm,” he agreed. “And they gave us the good stuff.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Enjolras warned, wincing slightly as he readjusted to lie on his side so that he could see him. “You broke your arm and fractured your ankle, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, is that what those casts are for?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “How can you possibly manage to be sarcastic while on morphine?”

Grantaire shrugged, wincing as he did. “Experience,” he said dryly. “What about you?”

His eyes flickered over Enjolras’s body, but he didn’t see any obvious injuries besides some bruises and scrapes. “Cracked a few ribs,” Enjolras said. “You apparently broke my fall.”

“Figures,” Grantaire muttered. “Well, at least you’ve had broken ribs before.”

Enjolras snorted. “Yeah, I think there’s a punch card I can get. Ten broken ribs and the eleventh one they’ll set for free.”

Grantaire laughed, though he stopped when it made his own ribs ache. Enjolras half-smiled. “Thanks for catching me, though.”

“Anytime,” Grantaire said with a wink that too quickly turned into a wince.

Something shifted in Enjolras’s expression, and he hesitated before asking cautiously, “Did you, um, did you have a dream while you were...out?”

Grantaire blinked, sluggish memories slowly coming back to him, images from a dream he couldn’t quite remember, like they were just out of reach. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I did. Something about…” He thought about it for a long moment before snorting a laugh. “Something about the June Rebellion, of all asinine things. Clearly I’ve been spending too much time with you.” He looked over at Enjolras, tracing his features with his eyes. “You were there, I think.”

Enjolras managed a smile. “You were in my dream, too.” He paused before asking, “Was yours a happy dream?”

Grantaire shrugged and winced. “We were together,” he said simply. “That’s enough to make any dream happy.”

“Good,” Enjolras said. “I just...I didn’t want you to have another nightmare.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “I think…” He frowned slightly. “Don’t ask me how, but I think I’m done with those dreams now. Like something happened in my dream that made it….I dunno, ok somehow.”

“Yeah?” Enjolras asked, watching him closely.

“Or maybe I’m just high as balls on morphine.”

Enjolras laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably more like it,” he said. “You should get some rest.”

“So should you,” Grantaire said with a yawn. “Besides, there’s something I gotta do first.” He stretched his hand out from his hospital bed toward Enjolras.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked.

“Trying to hold your hand, you dolt,” Grantaire said sleepily. “Since I can’t hold all of you right now.” Enjolras hesitated and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Do you permit it?” he asked sarcastically.

Enjolras scowled but nonetheless took his hand, lacing their fingers together, and they stayed that way until both of them fell asleep again.

Together.

[maxmagi]

A List of My OTPs

because it's 11 and I can't sleep.

Enjolras x Grantaire a.k.a. Enjoltaire a.k.a. ExR- Les Mis

How I fell into this I don't remember now. I vaguely remember reading a crackfic of this and then everything just went sideways.

This was also the fandom that helped me realize that I wasn't exactly straight and that it's okay to not be loud about my sexuality, that I can just be.

I think that explains my attachment to this ship, not to mention just the movie's Grantaire (played by George Blagden) also shipped the characters and played his character like how he thought it should be, Grantaire loving and pining after Enjolras without the revolutionary knowing it.

Except in the fan fics, Enjolras returns his feelings and they work it out, even though it's not easy because they're both stubborn as mules. Ah, ultimate fantasy I guess. And the number of great fics here, *whistle*

Also, the Les Amis? Is amazing? Especially in the modern AUs? Like they're great friends? I love this fandom so much! Permets-tu!

Shen Wei x Zhao Yunlan - Guardian / Zhen Hun

C'mon, Zhu Yilong & Bai Yu's performance and emotions? Plus just the fact the fanfic writers of this ship are absolutely amazing? Please, escape from this pairing is impossible!

Best opposites attract trope for me. An academic by day, superhero by night in love with a roguish police chief who has no powers but whose charisma, wit, and heart can get him to toe to toe with the legends.

Also, Professor Shen Wei constantly acting like an innocent civilian and lying badly? Gold!

Loki x Tony Stark a.k.a. FrostIron - Avengers

How did I honestly get to this ship? I really can't remember what started it all. I think it must have been a Loki redemption fic where Tony Stark and Pepper broke up and something something happened. Let me tell you, the writers of this ship have written sagas and ballads of epic and sometimes confusing proportions, and that is why I fell deeper into the pit. I mean, they gotta give justice to two brilliant but chaotic characters, right? Angst. This ship has sooooooooo much angst.

Eiji x Ash - Banana Fish

My god, if you want to keep your heart intact and not be reminded of all that's ugly in the world, DON'T WATCH OR READ BANANA FISH. YOUR HEART WILL NEVER HEAL!

If you're gonna watch/read it anyway, make sure to watch something fluffy and sweet after. There's a reason that people from this fandom go, "If you've seen Banana Fish's ending, then you can handle whatever angsty show you're watching now." ~ or something to that effect. Another thing we like to say in this fandom is, "Other fandoms: Let's write a Mafia AU! Banana Fish fandom: We are the Mafia AU." Yes, all of us in this fandom is dramatic af.

Yuuri x Viktor - Yuuri!!! on Ice

Uh, does this really need an explanation? Aside from the fact that you will surprisingly find a lot of Mafia AUs here because we all know that hiding behind that beautiful face of Viktor Nikiforov is a devil capable of... tearing down your self-confidence, like WTF Viktor, don't make Yuuri cry! Also, their dance together at the end, such beautiful love.

Magnus Bane x Alec Lightwood aka Malec - Shadowhunters

I never read the books and have no plans to in the near future. I just saw a video on Youtube about why Malec is life and now here I am, still reading some Malec fics from time to time.

Some stuff on the show were WTF but overall they were a really good couple who supported each other. Plus, they're a Power Couple.

Erwin x Levi aka Eruri - Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin

Not to be confused with Ereri, which is Eren x Levi, which I don't generally ship except for that one time when a writer wrote an epic fanfic series with Eren in his mid 20s and Levi in his late 20s/early 30s, reincarnation AU. Boy was that one a surprise. I did not expect that.

Anyway, I'm an Eruri fan through and through. Especially with that promise that Levi made to Erwin. And the reason he gave the serum to Armin. HE DIDN'T DO IT FOR THE KIDS YKNOW. HE DID IT FOR ERWIN. Plus, Levi, Erwin, and Hange are my special trio. Erwin's batch was really amazing.

Also, I really like the fact that the shorter and slighter person is the more badass fighter while the taller, bigger one is the more calculating and strategic one. Rocks the boat of stereotypes and all that. Bonus: how these two met. My god, what a meet-cute! 😂

Dani x Jamie aka The Au Pair and the Gardener - The Haunting of Bly Manor

It really is more of a love story than a ghost story. I dunno how to feel about this. I loved these two characters so much and I wished they had a better ending but I wasn't SO surprised because it was a horror series (Like, I was still hoping at the end that they'd be together forever but yknow...). In any case, Jamie was just awesome. And her nickname for Dani? Poppins?! God, what a lover and fighter. She was not afraid to cock a gun in a ghost's face.

... and now for my flexible BROTPs

Merlin x Arthur aka Merthur - BBC Merlin

Yeah, my brain is so chaotic multiple OTPs and BROTPs of the same pairing exist at the same time without clashing with one another or having major identity crises.

I actually really like BROTP Merlin and Arthur and also like reading OTP Merthur.

And when Merlin is paired with Morgana or Freya or sometimes even Gwaine, that's fine with me too. As long as his bromance with Arthur stays intact, because that's what drew me to the show in the first place. Personal preference. I see them as platonic soulmates.

*Shout-out to the Merthur writers though, you kept me sane during my "Post-Merlin Depression," which is actually a term thrown around in the fandom because of that horrid final season (not saying it's a good term but it's what it was called). A lot of amazing fics here, too, both Magic Reveal and Modern AU ones. Full of action and adventure too! I mean, there are boy-band-looking Knights and magic-wielding badasses!

Tim Drake x Conner Kent/Kon-El aka Red Robin x Super Boy - DC Comics

More like flexible otp. I dig Stephanie Brown and Tim Drake BUT I really really also dig Tim Drake and Conner Kent. When they're TimKon, it's like an entirely different entity from TimSteph. Ugh, hard to explain.

I mean, Kon telling Tim, "You'll always be my Robin" and Tim telling Kon, "And you'll always be my clone boy" is the shit. Also when Kon could pick out/recognize Tim's heartbeat. And when Tim nearly went mad scientist trying to bring his bestie back. Like, dudes, wtf. And at the same time, hell yeah.

Liu Kang x Kung Lao aka LiuLao - Mortal Kombat

- I see these two as more like ride or die best friends connected by fate/platonic soulmates. But also like their dynamic is so awesome, cute, sweet, badass, can't-live-without-you vibes.

Basically the same way I feel about Merthur. I like reading both romantic and platonic relationships between these two characters. Like, the LiuLao fan creators peeling off the layers of this relationship and exposing every raw nerve is beautiful.

They love diving into the characters' psyche, emotions, motivations, fears, and doubts and you get really amazed because... Aren't they just characters from a video game, you ask? Well yeah, but MK video game has several interesting storylines and the Mortal Kombat 2021 movie was just the perfect jumpstarter to this beautiful blaze.

I mean, "We swore that if we were to die, it would be together"? Hell no, you're not dropping that on us and not expecting us to create our very own spin-offs and 12-page essays on that shit. That's what we fans do, baby. And also, really, we need a shaolin monks/white lotus spin-off/prequel. We're starving here.

As this ship is the newest one on my list, it's the one I'm looking forward to the most. Not enough fan content, I tell you. Not enough. One of these days, I just might add my own.

But right now, it's past 1 and so I shall attempt to sleep.

***No images for TimKon and LiuLao coz apparently I've gone past my 10-images allowance 😤

[bookgeekgrrl]

My media this week (5 Sep-11 Sep 2021)

📚 STUFF I READ 📚

😍 From This Day On (BrighteyedJill, hobbitdragon) - 43K, The Witcher: Eskel/Geralt - lots of good, chewy emotions - I think most of the Witcher fics I have read are more on the tv show side of Geralt so this was a different characterization (to me) since I don’t consume any of the source materials. I quite liked it.

😍 Til The End Of Time (fandomfluffandfuck) - 66K, Stucky; 1 Steve, 2 Buckys - 🔥💦🔥💦

😍 Mixing It Up - 40K, Zimbits - baker!Bitty AU - never tired of baker!Bitty/NHL’er Jack AUs. Give me all of them. 

😍 Blue Scales (chaya) - 52K, mer!Steve AU - labelled 'crack treated seriously' and it's seriously good - loved the worldbuilding details and the 'everyone-lives-in-the-tower (and-raises-merbabies)' found family vibe - *chef's kiss* 

plus 120K of shorter fic so shorter work shout out:

The Way To A Man's Heart (HaniTrash, art by kocuria-visuals (kocuria)) - MCU: shrinkyclinks, 11K - absolutely delighted that someone has written the fic where pre-serum Steve is basically Dylan Hollis. adored this.

You Like What's in My Head (dontcallmebree, art by kocuria-visuals (kocuria)) - MCU: shrunkyclunks, 15K - 100% always here for the ‘Accidental Sugar Baby Acquisition’ tag

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered (mardia) - Ted Lasso (TV): Trent/Ted, 22K - really thought that a kind of dwell and welcome was gonna be a one-off fic in this pairing for me but here we are again because these writers just keep delivering the absolute fucking BEST. [side note: my headcanon ted lasso is not really a cat guy but i absolutely accepted it for fic reasons]

Folie à quatre (Ark) - Les Mis: Enjoltaire & MCU: Stucky, 3K - a lovely little fic that points up the similarities in these pairings. My fave line: “[Grantaire] winks at Bucky. Then he gets up to shake Steve Rogers’ hand, which is an experience. Steve has an iron grip and a dazzling smile, and the sort of blue, blue eyes that say trust me, I’m here to save your life. It’s hard not to fall right into those fathomless depths. Grantaire feels great sympathy for Bucky Barnes. He only has to handle Enjolras and his gaze that reads trust me, I’m here to blow everything up.” 😂😂😂

AND ALSO THESE ESSAYS/ARTICLES I REALLY LIKED

NPR’s Linda Holmes’ Ted Lasso recaps - astute observations, excellent writing

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

Ted Lasso - s1, e2-6 -- successfully got my dad & bonusmom hooked on TL, so go me.

Star Trek: Discovery - s1, e1-4

Wicked In Concert - this was all entertaining but Amber Riley was 100% the standout here

Off-Script with Sohla - How to Make Any Kind of Pound Cake

New British Canon - Before Riot Grrrl: X-Ray Spex & "Oh Bondage Up Yours!"

Ted Lasso - s2, e8 [3x]

Stanley Tucci: Searching for Italy - s1, e1

Hacks - s1, e1

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

This is Good for You - Ep 15: Running Is Good For You

Big Gay Fiction Podcast - High Seas Adventure with Author C.B. Lee

Pop Culture Sociologist - The Best Queer Pairing You'll Never Watch: Root/Shaw on Person of Interest

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Arecibo Observatory

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Milo Bitters

Ologies with Alie Ward - Maritime Archaeology (SHIPWRECKS) with Chanelle Zaphiropoulos

Films To Be Buried With with Brett Goldstein - Hannah Waddingham

Strong Songs - "Mr. Blue Sky" by Electric Light Orchestra

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Atlas Obscura 101

Twenty Thousand Hertz - The Wilhelm Scream

Pop Culture Boner - Fixing Fandoms ft. Ngozi Ukazu

Pop Culture Sociologist - Is there a right way to write a matriarchy?

99% Invisible - 457- Model Organism

Ologies with Alie Ward - Eudemonology (HAPPINESS) with Laurie Santos

Song Exploder - Mustafa "Air Forces"

Strong Songs - Clave, Chorus & "Careless Whisper"

Twenty Thousand Hertz - Sonic Bubbles

Films To Be Buried With with Brett Goldstein - Toheeb Jimoh

Twenty Thousand Hertz - ASMR

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Million Dollar Point

Strong Songs - "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen

Twenty Thousand Hertz - Spooky Sounds

Films To Be Buried With with Brett Goldstein - Nick Mohammed

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - World’s Loneliest Tree

Films To Be Buried With with Brett Goldstein - Brendan Hunt

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Big Bertha Drum

Twenty Thousand Hertz - The Windsor Hum

Ologies with Alie Ward - Oceanology (THE OCEAN) with Ayana Johnson: Encore Presentation

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Magical Summer Memories Vol. 1

🎶 MUSIC 🎶

Instrumental Soul Grooves

The Wrecking Crew

Easy Street, Fat City

Classical Focus

My Supermix

Reggae Runners

Throwback Workout

Eric Bittle's Pregame Playlist

[shamedumpster]

redownloaded tumblr just to yell at you because your fic is too good. it’s not allowed. stop being so good. i should not go to read a silly little enjoltaire fic, and then FEEL actual EMOTIONS. illegal.

oh man oh fuck

thank u anon i owe u my heart!! <3 aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAA