#enjoltaire winter week

[cumbercookiebatchs]

Grantaire was confused.

Grantaire was confused and he’d been like that since the night prior, when an over exited and -quite frankly- adorable Enjolras had knocked on his door, demanding him to be up and ready to head out by seven in the morning.

Well-

Grantaire had been a little taken aback, not used to being the focus of Enjolras’s furore like that but really, there was no way he could have said no.

He’d been done for the moment Enjolras had jumped on his bed, wearing what probably was the ugliest pair of pyjamas Grantaires’ eyes had ever had the disgrace to land upon, blue flannel and tiny white buttons and well, it was just unfair to look good wearing that. Enjolras’ curls jumped all around as he sat himself on the heavy quilt, just shy of Grantaires’ leg, looking up at him with what looked like a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“I have a surprise for you- he said, and- you might want to bring your camera along”

And that’s how Grantaire found himself prancing around, seemingly with no direction, through the trees surrounding their cabin at seven in the morning.

It was incredibly cold, even for his standard; a high mantle of snow covering the ground and the sun still too low to give off any warmth. It made for a wonderful landscape, that was for sure, with the pink hue of the early morning and the mist and the stillness of it all, the low branches curving and bending under the heaviness of the snow.

The frigid air filled his lungs and seemed to wake him up a little bit more, and he wrapped his scarf more tightly around his neck, peeking at the blond beside him.

Enjolras’s nose had managed to turn as red as the down jacket he was wearing. He was wearing a scarf and an hat and mittens, too, because Enjolras and the cold had never gotten along well and the more layers he could wear, the better it was for his circulation.

And the better it was for Grantaire’s sight, too. Not that he’d say it out loud but yeah, he was cute. Really cute. So cute that Grantaire felt himself slide in one of his Enjolras-induced-daze, which prompted him to try and start a bit of conversation, just to avoid getting lost in the numerous shades of Enjolras’s hair and how they brushed his cheeks, something that would have him inevitably fall down on his butt in the middle of the woods.

“You know, I still can’t believe you’re out there in the cold at this ungodly hour. Are you sure you’re alright, Jo?”

It was a bit mocking, he knew, but hey, it earned him a grin from Enjolras, and what could maybe be considered a wink- “I told you, I have something to show you”

“No, no- I got that, just, why so early in the morning? it’s a lot colder and we both know you crave heat.”

Enjolras shrugged a bit- at least Grantaire thought he did, it was hard to say with how bundled up he was – “I’m sure you’ll want to spend the whole day there once we arrive, that’s all”.

The wind picked up then, the faintest bit, and its gentle whisper muffled Enjolras’s voice and had him moving closer to Grantaire for the bite it held. Grantaire, too, moved subtly closer, trying to cover as much of Enjolras as he could with his body- “Okay, but where exactly is there? It seems to me like you’re trying to get rid of me and leave me in the middle of the woods.” That earned him an eyeroll and a snort,

“Miscreant.”

Enjolras was right, Grantaire ended up speechless for once in his life when they took a sharp turn to the left and ended up in dreamy winter land.

He blinked, taking in all that was around them, from the pebbled path to the ramshackle houses and the abandoned little square they were currently in, the frozen fountain in the middle and Enjolras just beside it, his hat now gone just as gone was his scarf. He looked up at him as he put them into his backpack, flashing Grantaire with a smile so bright it made him flush.

Oh well.

“How did you find this place?” And, yeah, Grantaire could already feel the smugness radiating off Enjolras as he strolled to stand in front of him and raised a finely arched eyebrow “I asked?”

Grantaire huffed, “You know what I mean” he said, and buried his hands in the pockets of his coat, just to do something that wasn’t kissing the grin off of Enjolras’s face.

“Do you remember a few days ago? When Courf told us about the village’s history and how it’s really not that old?”

“Yeah?”

Enjolras nodded at him, “Well, that’s because the old village had to be abandoned after an earthquake.”

“And this is the old village.”

Enjolras nodded, “And this is the old village.”

Grantaire scrunched up his nose, leaning toward Enjolras a bit before realizing what he was doing.

He cleared his throat, “You still have to answer me though. How did you find this place?”

Enjolras shrugged again, “Jean and I went for a walk yesterday, remember? Well, we asked around a bit. It wasn’t such a hard thing to do, you know?” -He winked.

He winked and Grantaire felt his heart jump up in his throat, and Enjolras walked even closer to him, his boots squeaking on the pebbles under his feet; his breath came out in little puffs of steam and the sun was now high behind him, and Grantaire had never seen him look as radiant as he was in that moment, his nose still red and his cheeks well on the way, too. “Do you like it then?”

Grantaire gulped, then he gulped some more. “I - I love it.”

Enjolras smiled at him again, from up close this time, and well, Grantaires’ soul was ready to leave his body and fly away from Enjolras, and his eyes, and his curls, and his cheeks, and his nose and his mouth that was moving and had Grantaire focusing once again on the conversation at hand.

“That’s not even the best part, you know?”

He blinked, “No?”

Enjolras just shook his head and – fuck- took his hand, leading him through the abandoned village and its snow-covered streets, until they reached the highest point where an old church stood.

Even just the outside of it was breath taking, the light falling down and sculpting every nook, every stone, the gargoyles up above and the twisted pillars beside the portal, down to their bases, playing with the broken windows and what was left of the rosette and suddenly Grantaire understood what Monet must have felt, what had him painting the Rouen Cathedral over and over again.

His chest felt heavy and Enjolras’s hand was warm in his own, but he only became aware of it when Enjolras let go to push open the heavy doors, disappearing behind them a moment later.

Grantaire shook his head and went after him, losing his breath all over again as soon as he sat foot inside-

He turned to face Enjolras, and something in his face must have shown, because Enjolras looked at him with so much tenderness that his knees went weak and he had to sit down, overwhelmed with everything surrounding him. It was so decadent; the fallen pillars, painted red and purple and blue by the light filtering through the leaded windows, what was left of them at least, and Enjolras in the middle of it all, calling Grantaire’s attention back on him with the trill of his laughter and by God, even then, when Grantaire was on his knees, surrounded in beauty, even there nothing could compare. Enjolras was shaped in light, and Grantaire could only blink.

“…why?”

Enjolras’s voice was soft, tender and shooting and everything holy when he spoke back at him, and Grantaire for a moment was ashamed of his own voice. “I knew you would have loved it”.

Grantaire was too far gone to answer, nodding as Enjolras sat on the cold ground at his side, so close their shoulders ended up pressed together. His nose was back up in the air though, and he pressed closer to Enjolras with a mournful grumble, “I wish I’d brought my sketchbook”. There was a bit of rustling then as Enjolras moved, but Grantaire did not pay much mind to it, too taken with how the statue in the far corner of the nave went from red to blue. He did turn around in the end though, when Enjolras tapped him on his jaw and placed a package between his hands, “You might want to open your Christmas present then.”

Grantaire looked from the brown wrapping to Enjolras’ eyes a few times before realization washed through him, “You didn’t”

“Just open it, you Muppet”

But Enjolras had, and he found himself holding a brand new sketchbook and a pencil set. He was so moved, he couldn’t speak, but Enjolras was still smiling at him, and he bumped their shoulders again. “Go ahead, start drawing. There’s a wonderful light this morning, don’t you think?”

Grantaire could only nod.

-----

Looks like i finally wrote something i actually like for the @enjoltaire-winter-week

yay me.

[2wnikiangel]

Hello ♥️ I'm sorry to bother you, I was wondering if the Enjoltaire Winter Week will happen? I read the prompts and I loved them, and it felt like such a sweet idea honestly, to soothe this 2020 with something sweet and good♥️

Anyway I hope you have a great day ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Hi! Don't apologize, you aren't bothering me in any way! Don't worry. 😊

Yes! The Enjoltaire Winter Week is starting next week on Monday - 7th December. I will reblog every work with tags (#EWW and #Enjoltairewinterweek) on official page @enjoltaire-winter-week ! 😊

I'm so glad you're looking forward to this week. I was - and still a little am - anxious how it will turn out, but this ask made my day soooo much better. Thank you! ❤️ I hope at least 10 people will join and more will enjoy the final works.

Have a nice day! ❤️ And I guess - see you soon! 🤗

[enjoltaire-winter-week]

Starting tomorrow!

Don't forget to let me know about your works. You can do it with:

1. Directly tagging this account

2. Put one - or all - of the tags under your work. Tags for this week are - #EWW, #EWW2020, #Enjoltairewinterweek or #Enjoltaire Winter Week .

3. Both!

I'm excited to see all your works. 😍

[your-angle-of-music]

Let Me Sleep Here

Angsty canon-era Enjoltaire conversation, although neither of them quite know it.

Keep reading under the cut or on AO3 :)

Grantaire is a careless man. He is careless with his money, especially on those nights when he can feel his father’s fingerprints on every sou. He is careless with his life, especially on those nights when he rediscovers that absinthe kills quicker than air. He is careless with his canvases (when he can get them), especially on those nights when he dares to believe he is capable of making something beautiful. He is careless with his words, his sticky, staining words, which seem to flow from him like blood from a wound.

But the one thing that Grantaire is very, very careful about, though, is not getting caught sneaking into the Cafe Musain every night, just after one. 

So it is to his utmost surprise, indeed, indignation, that when he enters the familiar back room, he finds Enjolras sitting at the table, writing by candlelight.

“Grantaire?” The other man looks up sharply from the array of papers in front of him. “What are you doing here at this hour?” His tone is neutral, but Grantaire still flinches at the reminder that he is the only member of Les Amis de l’ABC whom Enjolras addresses as vous.

He arranges his features into something resembling a smile. “Late night wanderings are good for the constitution, don’t you think? Besides, we shall all be ghosts someday, perhaps some of us sooner than others, and I do believe it serves me well to practice haunting familiar places at unfamiliar hours. And I am not so presumptuous as other ghosts. Hector’s ghost asked Aeneas to start a city, the King of Denmark’s ghost asked the Prince to end a life, but all I ask is that I be allowed to stay where a while, and bring a little chill to the air. Come now, am I such a great bother? Truly, I shall be as silent as the gra—”

“Grantaire.”

“What are you doing here, then?” Tu, of course. Always tu.

“I am drawing up plans to deliver food and clothes to the poor of Paris. If the government will not give aid, we will. Winter is coming on fast, and I’m calculating all the supplies we can afford, only, finances have been tight this month, and Combeferre is usually the man who does the numbers, but he has been ill all this week, and so very tired. Madame Hucheloup was generous enough to let me work here tonight, instead of our flat, so that I don’t wake Combeferre with my scribbling. ” Enjolras gestures towards the spare key lying on the table. “Oh, and I must remember to lock it up afterwards. It seems she never does.”

Before he can stop himself, Grantaire blurts out, “Please don’t.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Don’t lock up tonight.” 

“Why not?” 

A pause. 

“What, do you plan to pillage Madame Hucheloup’s wine cellar? Is harassing her waitstaff not enough for you?”

“No, I don’t,” says Grantaire, very quietly, and he sinks into the chair across from Enjolras.

“What’s going on, Grantaire?” 

He means to say something funny, something false, something cruel. But as he looks into that face, those cheeks brushed by angel-wing lashes, that marble brow carved in shadow, that hair haloed in candlelight, all he can say is, “Let me sleep here.”

“What’s wrong with your own rooms?”

Grantaire stares at him, and Enjolras’ eyes widen. 

“Oh. Oh! I am so, so sorry. Please forgive—”

“It’s fine,” Grantaire cuts in, too sharply. 

Enjolras nods once, with uncharacteristic uncertainty. “How long?”

“More than long enough to decide that the streets of Paris are not worth the effort of saving, and that I am bored and tired and dying and dead and—”

“But can you not stay with Joly?”

“Ah, but to stay with Joly would be to stay with his Eagle of Meaux and their pretty little nightingale, too, and by God, you should hear their mating calls at night! No, I wouldn’t sleep a wink.” He doesn’t mention that last time he stayed with them, Joly tried to stop him from downing a bottle of brandy before breakfast and Musichietta smacked him when he did anyway.

“And so you sleep here,” says Enjolras.

“And so I sleep here,” says Grantaire, and then he has to look away from the strange gentleness in Enjolras’ eyes. Under the table, he squeezes his hands into fists that he wishes could smash the whole world.

“Grantaire?” 

God, he hates himself for the warmth that blooms inside him when Enjolras says his name. He refuses to glance up at him.

“You…” Enjolras swallows audibly. “You may stay with Combeferre and me. If you please. Until you save enough to pay your rent again.”

Grantaire’s nails are digging so hard into his palms that he feels the slick wetness of blood upon them, mingling with the paint stains in the creases of his hands. He imagines it — a clean and ordered room, a mattress on a bone-cold floor, Enjolras’ soft late-night whisperings with Combeferre. Books and bullets and not a bottle in sight.

 The winter sunlight on Enjolras’ face. The imprint of his hands on the door. The washbasin water sparkling like dew on his rose petal mouth. The space between a floor-banished mattress and a golden-haired man on a bed.

“No, Enjolras,” he says, in a voice that he prays isn’t shaking with the weight of the other man’s name. “There are so many things I want, but your lofty pity isn’t one of them.”

“As you wish,” says Enjolras. If he is offended, he doesn’t show it. He pushes his spread of papers into a neat stack with one hand. With the other, he slides the Cafe Musain key towards Grantaire.

Grantaire snatches it up wordlessly as Enjolras stands and tucks his documents into a satchel. In a handful of heartbeats, Enjolras has disappeared out the door.

The next morning, Madame Hucheloup finds Grantaire curled up in the back room, with an empty wine bottle from her own Cafe’s cellar clutched to his chest. When she wakes him with a kick to the ribs, he barely stirs, but manages a slappable smirk. 

Gone is his sense of sneaking propriety. Let them see. Let them all see him. 

Grantaire is a careless man, and there shall be no exceptions.

[elwingflight]

@i-am-no-man-bitch tagged me and probably knows all of these already but

Rules: Tag 9 people you want to know better

Relationship Status: Single, has never dated anybody, would like to in theory I guess?

Lipstick or Chapstick: chapstick. I’ve never worn lipstick, but I need chapstick in winter.

Last Song I Listened To: Moana soundtrack (infinity/10 would recommend)

Last Movie I Watched: The Normal Heart. It broke me.

Top 3 Shows: at the moment, Agent Carter, Firefly, Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Top 3 Characters: again, this is what’s on my mind right now... FitzSimmons, Kaylee, Cassian Andor (and the rest of Rogue One tbh)

Top 3 Ships: (have I mentioned these are basically flavor of the week) Enjoltaire, FitzSimmons, Solangelo

I’m tagging @earendil-was-a-cosmologist because you haven’t done it yet (sorry Charles) and @finickery because you’ll hate me for it but you should do it anyway

[damnfinecupocoffee]

Reprise - Chapter 1 (exr)

An Enjoltaire / JBM+R friendship fic for @williamvapespeare​, promised far too long ago for how long chapter 1 has taken me to write.

Rated T for now, higher rating in later chapters.

The cottage at the end of the lane seemed to sit outside the boundaries of normal life. Grantaire had spent more long, lazy days and warm, comfortable nights under starry skies in the garden of that cottage than he’d spent settled in any other place in the last few years and every moment he’d lived within the charming, private world his friends had built there had changed him in ways he couldn’t begin to explain. It made sense, he supposed, that it felt like home; Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were the closest thing to family he had in left in France.

Four years ago, Grantaire walked away from Les Amis for his own sanity. He stayed in touched with everyone but Enjolras, the only person he couldn't bear to speak to, but with the passage of time friendships have grown thinner and time apart has grown longer. He's travelled, worked, and tried to find his place in the world.

He's always got a home at Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta's cottage in the French countryside, and heading there this time might just set Grantaire on the road to recovery he's always needed to walk.

READ ON AO3

Chapter 1 (of 10) (3,437 words)

The cottage at the end of the lane seemed to sit outside the boundaries of normal life. It was as though the long grass and wildflowers and hedgerows surrounding it kept time from moving within the old stone wall around it, the winding path down to the pastel door - too narrow and overgrown for anything larger than a bicycle - creating a threshold into the unfading warmth of the building’s embrace. Grantaire had spent more long, lazy days and warm, comfortable nights under starry skies in the garden of that cottage than he’d spent settled in any other place in the last few years and every moment he’d lived within the charming, private world his friends had built there had changed him in ways he couldn’t begin to explain. The night was muggy and silent save for the sound of his own footfall on the tarmac and the peaceful buzzing of summer insects drawn to the streetlights. Even the potholes were familiar as he navigated the quiet single lane roads of Auvers-Sur-Oise on the way to the closest place he had left to a permanent home. It made sense, he supposed, that it felt like home; Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were the closest thing to family he had in left in France.

Years had passed since their small group had been whole but of all of Grantaire’s friends, the three of them were a constant he could always count on to welcome him back with open arms. Not to say that he didn’t miss every member of their old student society. From Courf’s good sense of humour to Combeferre’s deep and life-changing conversations, Jehan’s endless light, Bahorel - the best of drinking buddies - and Feuilly, who’d never once judged the way Grantaire used to be. Even Marius, who’s foolish love sickness that had once driven them all mad had by some miracle culminated in a beautiful wedding to an even more beautiful bride, the two of them had moving out of Paris years before anyone else.

And Enjolras, of course Enjolras.

After everything that had happened between them, after all the pain and the longing, after having to cut and run from the entire city for the sake of his own sanity, Grantaire still missed Enjolras. Even though he’d made himself believe over time that he’d made the right choice, the air had never been cleared. There was so much left unsaid that still stung to think about, weighed him down to carry around with him like a song unsung. He doubted he’d ever say it now.

It was already far past midnight, but Grantaire had a spare key nestled permanently into the coin pocket of his wallet and if the three of them were asleep when he arrived, they’d know he’d was there when they saw the guest room door closed in the morning. Joly had declared it Grantaire’s room over a year ago, a place to store some of the possessions he didn’t want to travel with and a place he could always hide away in when the world got too much to bear.

As it was tonight. As it had been for the last few months.

Grantaire had turned thirty three five weeks ago - he’d passed his birthday quietly, in nobody’s company but his own - and hadn’t seen his friends since two months before his thirty second birthday. Only now he was close did it really hit him what a stretch of time that was; how he’d watched the seasons change but not seen the relief on Joly’s face as winter ebbed away, or how the colour of the fallen leaves matched perfectly with Musichetta’s hair whilst she walked in the park, or heard Bossuet’s laughter as he stretched out like a cat in the late summer sun. Time was like that - every passing year that aged him brought more loneliness and misery. His chest physically ached with every step towards them, a longing for closeness to the people he cared most for that he’d never forgotten, but had tucked away in the back of his mind somewhere along the way.

The last year and a half had been a chaotic whirlwind of opportunities, inconveniences, successes and failures. Grantaire had set out across Europe chasing work, without any real idea of what he was doing: taking photographs and selling them to magazines and websites to make money with hopes of turning it somehow into a career, sleeping in bus stations and hostels when he couldn’t afford anything better. He’d mostly been alone at first. He’d made plenty of friends in passing, but friendships on the road were always fleeting. Ships passing in the night. He’d stayed a while for free in an artists colony, which were the happiest six weeks of all his travelling, surrounded by people that reminded him of his friends from back home. There his days were packed with laughter and philosophy and creativity, and the long nights spent drunk and high, and almost always in someone else’s company. But then he’d almost picked up a paintbrush again, and so he’d moved on quickly before he fell prey to the temptation. And then, of course, there’d been love. Or would-be love, he supposed. Eight whole months of trying to feel something that was never quite there with someone who was only nearly what he wanted. It was symptom of getting older, he supposed: a painful awareness of time that urged him to settled down, to do things the way he thought he was expected to, to ‘find’ himself. Find happiness.

Grantaire rebelled against it as violently as he tried to conform to it, and in that constant internal tug of war he’d found himself more uncertain than ever. The smallest of disagreements blew out of control until the relationship he’d hung all his hopes on had worn thin like butter over too much bread. Like every time something went wrong in his life, Grantaire did what he did best: he ran.

This time, at least, he’d run back the way he came.

Tarmac gave way to gravel underfoot, and gravel became dirt as Grantaire found the turn to the lane, the sign for Bird’s Nest Cottage nearly entirely hidden in the ferns growing along the path. He made a mental note to cut them back for his friends as soon as he found the time. They wouldn’t ask him to but he liked to pull his weight when they let him stay and stored his belongings for free. He was utterly exhausted from the journey. He’d been met with delays and cancellations on almost every public transport service west of Stuttgart, and an already epic day of travelling had become sixteen hours of dull, slow-moving hell all the way from Prague back to France. His stomach was turning with hunger. The ache in his shoulders under the weight of his rucksack, stuffed with everything he’d taken with him on his travels, grew with each step but before long he could make out the squat building: the sloping clay tiles of the roof, the green shutters with paint peeling in a few too many places, the brick work hidden behind a curtain of ivy. A dim light in the kitchen window guided him in like a ship welcomed back to harbour after years at sea.

Grantaire paused on the doorstep to breathe in the warm night time air one last time before he stepped inside. He could hear someone moving around in the kitchen and the muted clattering of crockery and pans was as comforting as a lullaby, knowing he was home.

He imagined it was Bossuet clearing up long after dinner - perhaps Joly and Musichetta had fallen asleep leant against him on the sofa and he hadn’t wanted to move them. Or perhaps Joly had simply been home extremely late from his job at the tiny town’s doctor’s surgery, often held up after hours updating records or doing home visits because he didn’t have the heart to turn any patient down. Musichetta cooked most of the time, not because her boys couldn’t, but because she loved to do it. She was a great cook to boot. Grantaire’s mouth watered a little at the thought of her cooking, and as he knocked on the door - quietly, so as not to disturb anyone already asleep - he found himself hoping there were leftovers in their fridge that he could dig in to.

No answer. He frowned, pausing to listen again. The kitchen was suddenly quieter, but no one was coming to the door. Probably because of the late hour. No one expected a knock on the door at nearly one a.m. But if someone was up, there was a chance that- yes, the door was unlocked. Grantaire pushed it open and revelled in the silence as it swung back. Someone had oiled the hinge after years of creaking.

There it was. With it came all the memories. The front door opened straight into the sitting room, a crowded asymmetrical space that managed to look cosy with its terracotta tiled floor and piled up rugs, mismatched bookshelves and vintage furniture, lit by a few small lamps scattered throughout the space. The room was punctuated by a wooden column supporting the upper floor of the cottage. Grantaire remembered dancing around that column with Bossuet on a spontaneous karaoke night, Musichetta laughing so loud in one of the armchairs that she almost drowned out the music. Every corner of the room was filled with similar memories - enjoying the sunshine by the patio doors, quietly opening up to Joly sat on the staircase in the far corner, moving all the furniture to make room for a giant dining table on a weekend almost all of their friends had managed to make it for Sunday lunch. Grantaire’s despondent heart began to fill again as he reminisced, a smile curling at the corners of his lips; the cottage was already working its magic, threading him back together piece by piece, so gently that it didn’t hurt at all.

“...Grantaire..?”

That wasn’t Bossuet.

Or Joly, or Musichetta.

All the warmth flooded out of Grantaire’s tired body at once as he turned towards the sound, towards the kitchen doorway, towards something he definitely was not ready to deal with.

Enjolras.

There he was in all his golden-haired glory, red shirt hanging off his broad shoulders, bright eyes wide in the low light as he looked Grantaire up and down. In one hand he was holding a box of cereal, the other hand buried inside it.

He was as beautiful as the first day Grantaire had met him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Grantaire said, snappier than he probably should have been. The hair on the back of his neck prickled up. He was clutching one strap of his backpack, had been about to take it off, but with all his defenses suddenly sky high he found himself squeezing it until his knuckles turned white.

Enjolras looked a little taken aback, but recovered quickly. “I’m staying here,” he said. The cereal box rustled as he extracted his hand, empty.

That was a spanner in Grantaire’s plans. He drew in a sharp breath, mind racing for a solution. He couldn’t stay here with Enjolras. He couldn’t stay here with Enjolras.

“How...long for?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras answered, with enough hesitance that Grantaire heard ‘indefinitely’ in the subtext. “At least until Bastille Day. Possibly longer.”

It’d been so long since they last saw each other, last spoke, that Grantaire couldn’t even begin to guess at why Enjolras would be staying with friends for the foreseeable future, especially this far outside of Paris. He’d always known Enjolras as a part of Paris, as if he’d grown naturally from the cracks between its paving slabs like the flowers. He belonged there and Grantaire couldn’t imagine him spending too long outside city limits, lest he collapse from the separation. Of the friends he and Enjolras shared, Grantaire would have pinned him as staying with Combeferre, or Courfeyrac, or Feuilly before Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta.

But they didn’t know each other anymore.

Grantaire shifted on his feet. He had no idea what else to say, or what to do. There was definitely nowhere else he could stay this late at night - the town only had one guest house and he couldn’t show up there at one in the morning - and he was exhausted, aching, starving. His legs would likely give out beneath him if he tried to go anywhere else.

“I suppose you’re staying too,” Enjolras said, gesturing to his bag. His words were stilted. It was only be expected, the way they’d left off before. “They hadn’t said.”

“They didn’t know I was coming,” Grantaire rebuked quickly. “I have my own key. I can come and go as I please.”’

“Oh. I see.” This was strange. Enjolras had to be feeling it to. Nearly four years with no contact, they were basically strangers, and yet Grantaire couldn’t escape the surge of feelings creeping up his throat.

Studying him, he found Enjolras’ hair was a little shorter than he remembered, his cascading curls barely brushing his shoulders. His own was a little longer though, he supposed. Besides that he couldn’t see any change in Enjolras’ face, no lines to give away the passage of time like Grantaire was sporting at the corners of his eyes. He looked younger than his years, as he always had done; no older than twenty-three, although after all this time he had to be skirting his thirtieth birthday. Of course he’d be blessed with eternal youth. If anyone was, it’d be Enjolras.

Before Grantaire could think of anything else to say, there was a creak on the staircase. They turned in sync to look over at the corner of the room and found Joly hovering a few steps up, resting on his cane, robe wrapped around himself and pinned in place with an arm folded over his chest. He was barely awake.

“Hello stranger,” Joly said, tired smile breaking out on his face as he realised Grantaire was standing there. He made his way carefully down the last two steps. Grantaire couldn’t help grinning back, finally shedding his heavy pack off his back carelessly, as Joly approached and pulled him in a tight hug.

God, this was what he needed. The dread of seeing Enjolras out of the blue seeped from his body as Joly’s arms enveloped him. He buried his face into his shoulder, wishing he could hide there forever.

“Missed you,” he mumbled into the fabric of Joly’s robe, returning the hug with equal vigour. “It’s been too long.”

“Far too long, my friend. We’ve missed you too. All of us. So, so much.”

Grantaire was distantly aware of Enjolras still stood beside them but he refused to care. This was what he’d come for. If his heart was still beating a little too fast, if he was a little dizzy at their closeness, he’d keep that close and let no one else know.

“Are you just passing through? Or staying a while?” Joly asked once Grantaire finally released him. “Chetta’s asleep but she’ll be made up to see you in the morning. Bossuet’s out until Friday but if you stay, he’ll be over the moon, I’m sure.”

He gave Grantaire a look, too. It was a look filled with silent questions: is everything okay? Do you need anything? Do you need to talk? Only Joly could see through him so easily, but Grantaire schooled his own expression and hoped his easy smile would keep his friend content for the time being.

“I don’t know. Seems you’ve got a full house already,” he shrugged, glancing over at Enjolras.

Enjolras was already staring right at him. Meeting his eyes caught Grantaire off guard and threatened to unnerve him all over again. They were so very blue, and striking against his porcelain complexion; Grantaire knew that already, but he’d shoved the knowledge somewhere deep down inside. They were also…vulnerable, almost. Or at least less guarded than Grantaire remembered.

“There are two beds in the guest room,” Enjolras suggested honestly. “I don’t mind-”

“Or Chetta’s office,” Joly said quickly. Not for the first time, Grantaire was extremely thankful Joly understood him so well. “You can take the pull out, it’s pretty comfortable. And private.”

Enjolras looked slightly put out to be cut off, but he didn’t say anything. Grantaire breathed a silent sigh of relief - the thought of sharing a room with Enjolras struck an unwarranted amount of fear into him.

“That’d be fine, thank you,” Grantaire said. He was already thinking of where else he could go once the morning rolled around - perhaps the guest house in the town, or he could suck it up and move somewhere else entirely. He didn’t have to stay with Joly and the others - not if Enjolras was already taking up their hospitality. He’d overload them and he’d hate himself if he became a burden. Not on the people who cared the most for him.

He climbed the stairs quietly after Joly, Enjolras remaining thankfully downstairs. Grantaire was sure he didn’t stop to take a breath until they were in Musichetta’s office and Joly had showed him how to fold out the spare bed.

“How are you doing really?” Joly asked, a gentle hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about...I would have warned you, if I’d known you were coming.”

Grantaire leaned into the touch. “I’m alright.” I have to be. “I promise.” He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “You know what I’m like, last minute decisions and all that. I’ll find somewhere else to stay tomorrow.”

Silent for a long moment, Joly just squeezed his shoulder harder.

“You don’t have to, you know. You’re always welcome here.”

“I don’t want to be a bother-”

“R.”

When he looked up, Joly was staring at him firmly. He trembled a little under the scrutiny - not pity, but real, genuine care and love that even Grantaire couldn’t deny was real. He couldn’t meet Joly’s eyes for long before he had to look away.

“Just that this was...seeing him is-” Fumbling over his words, Grantaire fell silent and rubbed his hands over his face.

How could he put into words how it felt to see the man he’d considered the love of his life after four long years purposefully as far away from him as he could be? After he’d fled from him before the infatuation killed him? How many nights had he spent crying on Joly’s shoulder over his unrequited feelings for Enjolras and his desperate loneliness and the resolute feeling of life not being worth living? And now - now Grantaire would have to explain that despite all that, everything he’d put his friends through and after no more than ten minutes of strained conversation, he still felt the same way he always did. His heart was fluttering. He was light-headed. He thought that he might cry, although the exhaustion may have played a part in that particular pitfall.

He desperately wanted to tell Joly he was sorry, but words failed him.

“I know,” Joly said, patting his shoulder before he let his arm drop back to his side. “Get some sleep, okay? We can talk it out tomorrow.”

Grantaire nodded and tried to swallow the lump in his throat with little success.

Biffing Joly goodnight and stripped down to his underwear and t-shirt, too tired to even dig out his toothbrush. The sofa bed was comfortable enough; he probably would have managed to sleep in a bus stop if he’d had to, he was that worn out. Yet laying there, staring up at the ceiling with a million thoughts turning inside his over-tired brain, Grantaire started to worry he wasn’t going to get to sleep at all.

Especially not when he heard Enjolras coming quietly upstairs and slipping quietly into the guest room. (My room, he thought. The one with the bed he’d come to think of as his own, and now Enjolras was sleeping in it. In the place where he slept.)

He’d get through this, just like everything else. Tomorrow was another day, he told himself, and he would handle it because he had to. He could handle anything where there was no other choice.

Or he’d just run away again. That decision could be made later.

Grantaire fell asleep around three a.m already knowing Enjolras would haunt his dreams, as he had done every night all those years ago, wondering if Enjolras ever dreamt about him too.

[cumbercookiebatchs]

Okay, so, this is my first time joining something like this and im pretty nervous, but here’s my take for @enjoltaire-winter-week

7.12- Family x Colors

Everything started when Combeferre had a break down.

Right.

Enjolras still couldn’t think about it, but between university, his job and the numerous project he was carrying to top it all, even Combeferre had fallen under the pressure, unleashing a concatenation of events that had found its end in Courfeyrac’s offer for them all to go and spend Christmas at his family’s cabin.

“Won’t your parents object?” He’d asked because, yeah, with a cabin on the alps ,Enjolras guessed they’d want to spend Christmas there, with snow and all that.

“Nah, they’ll spend Christmas with my aunt”

So, it was settled, and a week later the amis found themselves on the road, so early in the morning the sun had yet to come up.

Enjolras didn’t mind that much though, sat as he was, plastered against Grantaire and his warmth. He didn’t even know how he’d ended up there, but coming to think of it, it could have been because of Cosette and the scheming she started as soon as she’d learned about his crush on Grantaire.

Oh well.

The chattering from the front seats was low and steady, and soon he was asleep again, blinking his eyes open when something tickled his nose.

It took him a few seconds to realize what was really going on, how he was hugging Grantaire’s arm, with his head on his shoulder, but when he did his whole face went ablaze.

Grantaire didn’t seem to have a problem with it though, and just smiled at him that cute little smile of his, “We’re here, Jo” and, yeah, right, the car wasn’t moving anymore.

He tried to get a grip on himself and moved away to free Grantaire’s arm, stifling a yawn in the process and definitely not peeking at Grantaire and at how well his coat framed his shoulders. Uh.

Another smile, and Grantaire stepped outside on the snow-covered soil. He stretched his legs and bent down, smug face grinning at Enjolras through the car’s window “Oi, did you know that you snore?”

Enjolras gasped, throwing his hat at his face, “Liar!”, he screamed, but Grantaire was already jogging inside, leaving Enjolras in the car, blushing and without his hat.

And, yeah, that coat was really something.

Sighing at himself and at his horrible romance skills, he got out of the car too, taking in the landscape before him for the first time. Everything was white and silent, the snow shined under the bright sunlight and jumped into his eyes. Enjolras filled his lungs with the icy air  before stepping inside.

 The cabin was a bit of a dusty mess, but by night everyone was settled, the whole place cleaned up and on its way to look like Santa’s village.

On the far side of the room, the Christmas three glittered red and green, just like the lights Jean was draping everywhere. Courfeyrac moved around the room spreading tinsel and chocolate and kisses alike, and it  felt  so much like home, the laughers, the warmth, filling his chest with love and affection. A sweet smell of cookies came from the kitchen, and suddenly everything was too much, melancholy wrapping around him like a cloak.

Sighing, he rested his temple and shoulder on the frigid window, confused by himself and his treacherous mind.

It was so dark outside, the sky filled with stars.

He shivered but he paid it no mind, watching his own breath fall humid on the window.

Something fell on his shoulders – a blanket, he noticed- and Grantaire sat down beside him right after, rubbing his palms on his jeans. He was wearing antlers toppled with bells, and they giggled when he leaned down.

“Is everything alright?” he murmured, as if catching the strange daze overcoming Enjolras, and he was just so, so endearing, with his warm ugly sweater and his crocked nose, it was so hard for Enjolras not to curl up beside him and bask in his warmth, but he settled with a tiny shrug of his shoulders instead. “I’m just, not used to spend Christmas like this. Makes me notice what I’ve missed, I guess”

“Your family’s not much for the holidays?”

“My family’s not much for family.”

“Oh, I see.”

Grantaire’s voice was soft, his eyes warm as he scooted closer, cradling Enjolras’ palms and playing with his fingers. He wasn’t looking at him, his gaze on their intertwined hands, but Enjolras ‘eyes were fixed on him, on his fringe and how it fell on his forehead, on his little smile that showed off his dimples, and another wave of feelings washed over him, made him falter as his heart sped up.

Grantaire ran the rough pad of his thumb on Enjolras’ knuckles, looking at him from under his lashes.

Enjolras felt his cheeks heat up violently, feverishly so, breath hitching when Grantaire leaned in again,“You know, - he said- as a wise man once said, family doesn’t end with blood, and it seems to me that we both did a pretty good job in finding our own family, don’t you think?” and, his smile was so tender, doing all kind of things to Enjolras’ heart.

His eyes even watered, just a little bit.

“You’re right. You really are.”

Grantaire gasped playfully, maybe to lighten up the mood, Enjolras didn’t know but was glad anyway, subtly wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“Yeah, you’re right, but don’t think I missed the Supernatural quote” he said, chuckling and leaning his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, in what he hoped would pass as a simple show of gratitude. Their hands were still intertwined, resting where they were on Grantaire’s thigh, and Enjolras squeezed them. He felt the rumble of Grantaire’s voice right on his skin, “well it was fitting, don’t you think?”

And, yes. It was.

It was fitting, and true, and Grantaire was warm and soft beside him, left Enjolras with no choice but to lean up and kiss his cheek softly, uncaring of their surroundings and his own reddened cheeks.

Grantaire blushed too, though, so Enjolras considered them even.

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

okay so, this is some sort fo an hybrid thing? Like- i wanted this to be a multichapter, but it turned out more like a collection of one shots, some of them (maybe all, if i can) sharing this same setting. 

anyway, i hope you like this and i didn’t went off theme.

[cumbercookiebatchs]

Day two of @enjoltaire-winter-week with the prompt “Fire x snow”, this is kind of a second chapter for the oneshot i posted yesterday, but can be read as a stand alone <3

The amis had programs for the whole day ahead, a nice hike to take a look around and spend their day between nature, snow and clean air. The weather report was on their side as well, with a bright, sunny day and no clouds in sight. So, bags were packed the nights before and alarms were set.

That’s how the cabin’s kitchen came to life at six in the morning, slowly filled by still half -sleeping  amis in their warmest pyjamas.

It all went on well in stumbled silence, until someone decided to unlock the shutters and peer outside.

Oh well.

Mountain weather was asshole weather and that’s was a well-known thing, but to expect sunny and be faced with a raging snow storm was something else entirely.

General groaning for the useless early rise filled the air, everyone marching upstairs again to go back to sleep with Eponine first in line. Grantaire mournfully looked at them from the kitchen counter, cursing the weather and his insomniac self, ready to face a one-on-one rendezvous with the living room’s couch.

He turned around to make himself a nice cup of warm coffee, only to realize that, well, he really couldn’t with Enjolras standing in the way, frowning at the coffee maker in all his rumpled morning glory. He looked more asleep than he looked awake, eyelids sliding close repeatedly ,and Grantaire called his name softly to bring him back into the world of the living. Enjolras just hummed without turning around, still frowning and grumbling at the coffee maker and at how still it was.

Grantaire had never seen him like that and he was glad for it, he was. He wouldn’t be still alive otherwise. Enjolras was adorable, heartachingly so. Even more, his hair up and held inside a bandana made him look like the Grouchy Smurf, the thought alone had Grantaire biting the inside of his cheek to avoid laughing out loud.

“Enjolras- he repeated- wouldn’t it be best for you to go back to sleep? You look quite tired still.”

“I can’t”

“Why’s that?”

Enjolras huffed, rubbing nervously at his tired eyes, “because if I go back to sleep, then I’ll wake up by midday at least, and it would fuck up my sleep schedule and-” “Okay, okay- Grantaire raised his hands in surrender- “why don’t I make you coffee instead?”

He went to reach for the coffee then, but was quickly showed off by an irate gesture of Enjolras’s hand and a hissed “do not coddle me” and, okay, if he wanted to be like that then Grantaire had no problem at all. No matter his hurt, what a nice fall back into their old routine.

He stomped into the living room and fell on the couch, both arms and legs crossed in irritation, all because of stupid Enjolras and his stupid face and his stupid hair. He didn’t deserve Grantaire and his wonderful coffee.

He didn’t.

Except that he did.

Grantaire groaned and reached out for the remote, zapping through the channels to distract himself from his treacherous thoughts.

It was still dark outside, the snow falling heavy and violent, turning the outside world in a twirl of white. He was still there, bundled in blankets, when Enjolras padded into the living room, a fuming cup in each one of his hands. He raised his eyebrow when Enjolras handed him one, “What’s this?”

“An apology. I can get a bit- cranky, in the morning.”

Grantaire snorted, “Well that’s one way of putting it” and, yeah, it was legit. It was, but it made Enjolras flinch, and Grantaire really wasn’t used to seeing him like that, and it made him feel like an asshole. So, he moved around on the couch a bit, lifting a corner of the blanket to beckon Enjolras beside him, “Alright, come here.”

Enjolras looked hesitant still, though, and there was still a tiny frown on his face when he bit is lip, “ I could go back upstairs”

Try as he might, Grantaire was fucked and with no way out. Really. Because he smiled like an idiot when Enjolras started shifting from foot to foot, cups still in hand and a blush on his cheeks, “Enjolras, do you want to stay?” a nod, “Then come here.”

And he did, and Grantaire was kind of tense, with Enjolras resting against him for the second time in the span of few days, drinking  the warm coffee Enjolras had made just for him.

Oh God. Maybe he was in a coma. Maybe he was still dreaming or maybe he was just shit drunk but Enjolras felt pretty real where he was.

Pretty real, and pretty cold, too, now that Grantaire noticed it.

The windowsills were all covered in snow, it piled up there turning the glass into ice. With no more blankets lying around there was only one thing to be done as he lightly nudged Enjolras’s shoulder with his own.

Enjolras blinked up at him sleepily, and really, it wasn’t something Grantaire could take, not that early in the morning, and not while they were cuddling.

“Are you cold?” he asked, and Enjolras nodded, “a bit.”

“Alright then, will you chop my head off if I offer to throw some logs into the fireplace?” That, at least, pulled a laugh from Enjolras, who slapped his shoulderand pushed him off the couch.

So he went to work on the fire, and it took him more than he would’ve liked to admit, but maybe it was worth it, because when he turned around again, the fire finally piping bright and hot behind him, well, when he did Enjolras’s bandana was gone, golden curls tumbling down his shoulders in ringlets, painted red by the light of the fire.

Grantaire’s mouth went dry-

fuck, but he was beautiful. He was so beautiful, and when Grantaire got back on the couch, Enjolras decided it was time to try and kill him for real, cuddling fully against him and making him gulp, “Enjolras?”

“You’re really warm” was the answer he got and yeah, that was it, Grantaire’s brain was mush now.

Grantaire’s brain was mush and Enjolras was soft and nestled against him, and Grantaire draped his arm around him to bring him even closer, both of them falling into slumber in a matter of minutes.

[2wnikiangel]

Day 2: Fire / Oheň

Fandom: Les Misérables/Bídníci Lengt: Oneshot, 2.500+ words     Rating: G (General) Warning: None Parning(s): Enjolras/Grantaire Character(s): Enjolras, Grantaire, Joly, Bossuet Tag(s): Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friendship, Fluff, Pre-relationship, Sick fic, Not Beta Read For “Enjoltaire Winter Week” by @enjoltaire-winter-week​.

Grantaire, nasáklý nejen vínem a dobrými vtipy, ale také notnou dávkou sarkasmu, ironie a cynismu; se tentokrát kousnul do jazyka a předtím, než mohl říct nějakou hloupost, si jen zhluboka oddechl, což způsobilo další příval kašle. Joly ho opatrně pohladil po zádech v naději, že mu trochu pomůže. Bossuet se podíval na jeho prázdnou sklenku s horkým vínem a okamžitě se zvedl, aby mohl objednat další. Nebo raději nějaký bylinkový čaj. Enjolras se ještě více zamračil a nervózně poklepal nohou. Když přestal černovlásek kašlat, oddechl si. „N-no, asi moc ne,“ přiznal. „Jsi nemocný?“ zeptal se ho Enjolras opatrně. x  Grantaire, soaked not only with wine and good jokes, but also with a good dose of sarcasm, irony and cynicism; bit his tongue this time, and before he could say any nonsense, he just took a deep breath, causing another rush of cough. Joly stroked his back carefully, hoping to help him a little. Bossuet looked at his empty glass of hot wine and immediately got up to order another. Or rather some herbal tea. Enjolras frowned even more and tapped his foot nervously.  When the brunette stopped coughing, he breathed a sigh of relief. “W-well, probably not much,” he admitted.  “Are you sick?” Enjolras asked cautiously.

Read online on AO3 in [czech original] or [english translation].

A/N CZ: Povídka měla vypadat trošku jinak, ale jelikož by se jednalo o jedinou, která by porušovala G/T rating, rozhodla jsem se to trochu upravit a nakonec mi z toho vznikla tahle sladká povídka. :D Líbí se vám?

A/N ENG: The story was supposed to look a little different, but since it would be the only one that would violate the G/T rating, I decided to adjust it a bit and in the end this sweet story came out of it. :D Do you like it?

[2wnikiangel]

Day 3: Hot drink / Horký nápoj

Fandom: Les Misérables/Bídníci   Lengt: Oneshot, 2.000+ words     Rating: G (General)   Warning: None Parning(s): Enjolras/Grantaire Character(s): Enjolras, Grantaire Tag(s): Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friendship, Fluff, Pre-relationship, Enjolras Has Feelings, Not Beta Read For “Enjoltaire Winter Week” by @enjoltaire-winter-week​ .

„Už bych měl jít. Venku to nevypadá dobře,“ zasmál se. Jen co nadzvedl své pozadí z pohovky, Enjolras se ho znovu zeptal: „Nechceš se podívat na film?“ „Ehm, já bych ale opravdu měl—“ „Nebo si klidně něco zahrát.“ Enjolrasův tón zněl monotónně, kdysi ho dokonce Grantaire považoval za nudný, ale po letech, co se znali, pochopil, že musel dávat pozor na hlasitost a lehkou intonaci, kterou do svých vět dával. Věděl, že Enjolras, byť se to tak na první pohled nemuselo zdát, se o něj opravdu zajímal a chtěl… Grantaire zmateně zamrkal. Chtěl s ním strávit večer. x "I should go now. It doesn't look good outside," he laughed.  As soon as he lifted his back from the couch, Enjolras asked him again, "Don't you want to watch a movie?"  "Um, I really should—"  "Or play something." Enjolras's tone sounded monotonous, Grantaire once thought was boring, but after years of knowing him, he realized that he had to pay attention to the volume and light intonation he put into his sentences. He knew that Enjolras, although it may not have seemed so at first glance, was really interested in him and wanted to…  Grantaire blinked in confusion. He wanted to spend the evening with him. 

Read online on AO3 in [czech original] or [english translation].

A/N CZ: Dnešní část prošla lehkou úpravou, neboť jsem se ke psaní dostala dost pozdě a ani mi nebylo úplně nejlépe a cítím, že dnešní psaní nedosahuje takové kvality, jakou bych chtěla. :) I tak doufám, že se vám bude tato část líbit a na další den se pokusím více rozepsat! 

A/N ENG:  Today's part underwent a slight adjustment, because I got to writing quite late and I wasn't even at my best, and I feel that today's writing does not reach the quality I would like. :) Even so, I hope you will like this part and I will try to write more next day!

[2wnikiangel]

Day 5: Church / Kostel

Fandom: Les Misérables/Bídníci     Lengt: Oneshot, 2.000+ words       Rating: G (General)     Warning: None   Parning(s): Enjolras/Grantaire Character(s): Enjolras, Mabeuf, Grantaire Tag(s): Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Established Relationship, Enjolras Has Feelings, Not Beta Read For “Enjoltaire Winter Week” by @enjoltaire-winter-week​​ .

A dnes, stejně jako poprvé před třemi lety, seděl blonďatý mladík na konci lavice a díval se na své spojené dlaně, ve kterých měl položený zlatý prsten. Mabeuf přešel k němu, položil mu ruku na rameno – kabát měl celý chladný, musel zde sedět již několik desítek minut – a jemně jej stiskl. Enjolras – jak znělo mladíkovo jméno – jen hlasitě polkl, zvedl se a zastrčil prsten do kapsy. „Jsem připraven,“ oznámil mu. x And today, as for the first time three years ago, a blond young man was sitting at the end of a bench, looking at his joined palms, with a gold ring in them. Mabeuf walked over to him, put his hand on his shoulder - his coat was cold, had to sit here for tens of minutes - and squeezed it gently. Enjolras - as the young man's name sounded - just swallowed loudly, got up and tucked the ring in his pocket. "I'm ready," he told him.

Read online on AO3 in [czech original] or [english translation].

A/N CZ: Uf, tohle bolelo.

A/N ENG: Ugh, it hurt.

[2wnikiangel]

Day 4: Ice / Led

Fandom: Les Misérables/Bídníci   Lengt: Oneshot, 3.000+ words       Rating: G (General)   Warning: None   Parning(s): Enjolras/Grantaire   Character(s): Enjolras, Grantaire Tag(s): Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friendship, Fluff, Pre-relationship, Enjolras Has Feelings, Idiots in Love, Not Beta Read For “Enjoltaire Winter Week” by @enjoltaire-winter-week​​ .

Už z dálky si všiml zářivé rudého kabátu. Jeho majitel seděl na lavičce u břehu a díval se nepřítomně před sebe. Grantaire přimhouřil oči. Byl si jistý, že zpod černé čepice viděl pár blonďatých pramenů vlasů. Muž vytáhl ruce z kapes – obě měl v černých, elegantních rukavicích – a podíval se na hodinky. Zlaté, zářivé, s rudým kamenem nad číslovkou 12. Tyhle hodinky by poznal naprosto všude. Nosil je—„No to snad ne!“ Byl hlasitější, než zamýšlel. Mladík se otočil a jakmile se jejich oči střetli, blonďáček si hlasitě povzdechl a pozdravil ho: „Grantaire.“ „No to se mi snad jenom zdá, já na tebe narazím prostě všude, a to se říká, že je Paříž velká,“ zasmál se Grantaire, když došel k Enjolrasovi a podíval se mu do očí.  x  From a distance he noticed a bright red coat. Its owner was sitting on a bench by the shore, looking absently in front of him. Grantaire's eyes narrowed. He was sure he saw a pair of blond strands of hair under his black hat. The man pulled his hands out of his pockets — both in black, elegant gloves — and looked at his watch. Gold, shining, with a red stone above the number 12. He would know this watch everywhere. This belonged to— "Don’t tell!"  He was louder than he intended. The young man turned, and as soon as their eyes met, the blond sighed loudly and greeted him, "Grantaire."  "Well, it just seems to me, I'll just run into you everywhere, and it's said that Paris is big," Grantaire laughed as he walked over to Enjolras and looked him in the eye. 

Read online on AO3 in [czech original] or [english translation].

A/N CZ: Jak jsem slíbila, tak také konám! :) Dnes delší povídka s lepším tématem a i trochu spokojenou autorkou. Na tohle téma jsem se těšila ze všech nejvíce, možná kvůli tomu, že mi bruslení chybí... :)

A/N ENG: As I promised, I did! :) Today a longer story with a better theme and a slightly satisfied author. I was looking forward to this topic the most, maybe because I miss skating ... :)

[2wnikiangel]

Day 6: Tradition / Tradice

Fandom: Les Misérables/Bídníci     Lengt: Oneshot, 1.500+ words         Rating: G (General)     Warning: None     Parning(s): pre-Enjolras/Grantaire Character(s): Enjolras, Mabeuf, Grantaire   Tag(s): Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Pre-relationship, Mutual Pining, Enjolras Has Feelings, Not Beta Read For “Enjoltaire Winter Week” by @enjoltaire-winter-week​​ .

Tohle všechno začalo před třemi lety. Jehan tenkrát zůstal poprvé na Vánoce sám, a tak se všichni z Přátel Abecedy rozhodli, že ho musí rozveselit. Sešli se v kavárně Musain a oznámili mu, že každý z nich udělá jednu věc, kterou po nich bude chtít. Bez odmlouvání. Bahorel naříkal, že toho jistě nejmladší člen jejich skupiny využije, ale Grantaire ho upozornil, že na rozdíl od nich, je ještě stále dost nevinný. Jehan, který měl od té doby zorničky roztažené vzrušením a zapisoval si do svého notesu všechny různé nápady, pak najednou vykřikl: „Lovci pokladů!“ x It all started three years ago. At that time, Jehan was left alone for the first time at Christmas, so all of the Friends of the Alphabet decided that he had to cheer him up. They met at the Musain Café and told him that each of them would do one thing he wanted. Bahorel lamented that the youngest member of their group would certainly take advantage, but Grantaire warned him that, unlike them, he was still quite innocent. Jehan, who had had his pupils dilated with excitement ever since and was writing down all his various ideas in his notebook, then suddenly shouted, "Treasure hunters!"

Read online on AO3 in [czech original] or [english translation].

A/N CZ: Také by se vám taková vánoční tradice líbila? :)

A/N ENG: Would you also like such a Christmas tradition? :)

[enjoltaire-winter-week]

AO3 Collection

Enjoltaire Winter Week 2020 is coming soon! If you’re planing to write drabbles, fanfictions or any sort of stories and you’re AO3 user, then you can upload your work for offical “Enjoltaire Winter Week 2020 Collection”!

Open: Monday, 7th December Closed: Sunday, 20th December

Can’t wait for your works!

[2wnikiangel]

Year 2020 is, in one word, chaotic. All of us are looking forward to the end of the year in hope that another one would be better than this weird one we were living whole 12 months. But let's this journey make a little bit happier thanks our favorite chaotic mutual pining couple Enjolras and Grantaire!

I present you the first year of Enjoltaire Winter Week!

Enjoltaire Winter Week 2020 themes:

Day 1 || 07.12. || Family x Colors

Day 2 || 08.12. || Fire x Snow

Day 3 || 09.12. || Present x Hot drink

Day 4 || 10.12. || Wish x Ice

Day 5 || 11.12. || Light x Church

Day 6 || 12.12. || Journey x Tradition

Day 7 || 13.12. || Your favorite winter headcanon

How to participate? Rules are simple: 1) Choose one theme for one day 2) The work needs to be focused on Enjoltaire or Enjolras / Grantaire (but others characters are accapted too if they don't overshadow them) 3) At least mentioned or somehow suggested winter season. 4) Tag your works with hashtag - #EnjoltaireWinterWeek2020 , #EWW2020 or both to make it simple find your work. 5) Every work is accepted - fanfictions, fanarts, fanvids, fanmixes, cosplays, moodboard artists and much more.

A week before all of this starts I’ll make a new account only focused on this week. :)

I'm little nervous because this is the first challenge I'm trying to make for this fandom. But at the same time I'm so excited to see all of your works!

Let's make this year a little bit brighter together!

[2wnikiangel]

Day 1: Family / Rodina

Fandom: Les Misérables/Bídníci Lengt: Oneshot, 2.800+ words   Rating: G (General) Warning: None Parning(s): Enjolras/Grantaire Character(s): Enjolras, Grantaire, background - Éponine, Jehan, Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet, Gavroche Tag(s): Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friendship, Fluff, Light Angst, Winter, Christmas Fluff, Kissing, Not Beta Read For “Enjoltaire Winter Week” by @enjoltaire-winter-week​.

Když dával do trouby další plech, zazvonil mu telefon. Utřel si zamazané ruce od mouky a těsta do zástěry, kterou měl uvázanou kolem boků a sebral ze stolu telefon, který už netrpělivě poskakoval. Jakmile uviděl známé jméno na displayi, široce se usmál. „Enjolrasi,“ řekl radostně, když hovor zvedl. „Čemu vděčím za zavolání?“ „…Máš čas?“ „Na tebe? Vždycky.“ „Mohl bys vyjít ven před svůj byt?“ x His phone rang as he put another plate in the oven. He wiped his smeared hands with flour and dough on the apron he had tied around his hips and picked up the phone from the table, which was already hopping impatiently. When he saw the familiar name on the display, he smiled broadly. “Enjolras,” he said happily as he picked up the call. “What do I owe for the call?”  “…Do you have time?”  “For you? Always.”  “Could you go out in front of your apartment?”

Read online on AO3 in [czech original] or [english translation].

A/N CZ: První část výzvy je tady! Budeme se teď vídat celý týden. Těšíte se? :) 

A/N ENG: The first part of the challenge is here! We'll see each other all week now. You are looking forward? :)