#taire that can dance

[maxxi-the-procrastinator]

Reflections

Canon. College days. Pierre x male Avery.

Ink drips on the empty page spread under my idle pen. The inky dot stark against the white paper, taunting me with my lack of focus. I clench my jaw as my traitorous eyes slowly return to the window, rivets of rain streaming down the glass, blurring the darkening sky and college grounds below. Peering past the gloomy scenery outside, I lock onto the view reflected within the classroom. 

My pulse speeds at the clear reflection of Avery further within the room, hunched over his desk. Illuminated by the flicking candle next to his identical blank notebook, his pen discarded long ago. 

Avery plays with the small flame, his fingers catching the warm glow as he mindlessly dances his fingers over the heat surrounding the candle. Propping his head up with his other hand, his head lolling as he huffs through pouted lips. The flame dancing within his half lidded eyes.

My fingers twitch with the involuntary urge to mirror Avery, to feel the heat of the candle on my desk, warm my fingers that have gone cold from where they hover frozen above my forgotten book.

Avery fidgets in his seat, losing interest in whatever entertainment his candle was providing. Gaze lazily flickers around the room for someone else to bother with his distractions, but only finds others with their noses in their books, scribbling away with a focus that Avery is hard pressed to find. A focus that I should have, but find that I’m yet again letting myself get distracted by him.

His gaze settles and that infuriating spark returns to his eyes. Heat rushes up my neck as I realise who has the unfortunate luck of catching his attention. I tense, still locked on the window’s reflection even as the side of my face tingles under the phantom touch of his roaming flame licked eyes.

Avery pushes back from his desk, languidly hanging off his chair with an infuriating growing sardonic grin. 

“Psst… Moreau.” Avery whispers raucously. “Moreau. Psst. Oi-“

I pointedly ignore him, scowling at the window, praying that he would shut up.

“I know you can hear me.” I needn’t see his pestering face, his voice quivers around his smirk, but the sight riles me all the same. “Quit playing cute and stop ignoring me.”

I turn from his reflection and cut a look to his simpering self, the flame winking more vibrantly within his eyes here.

“What?” I snap. 

“I’m bored.” 

I scoff. 

“That’s really too bad.” I sneer.

“Come on, Pierre. Entertain me… please~.” 

I freeze, my stomach warming. I violently push down the feeling that hearing him say my name invokes.

“I’m not your personal jester. Go bother someone else.” 

Perhaps that clown that follows you around like a puppy. I turn away, glaring at his reflection instead.

“Why would I do that when I’ve got you.”

“Cet imbécile ne sait pas quand se taire.”

Avery blinks.

“Aww. I love you too.” He gushes.

“That wasn’t what I was saying at all.” I deadpan, agitated by how I find myself turning back to look into his twinkling eyes.

“Keep telling yourself that. I don’t need to know French to understand the language of love. And that, Monsieur… was a declaration of love.” He places a hand on his heart. “I felt it, right here.”

“Si seulement il ne pouvait pas parler.” I mutter.

The door slams, startling us both, Avery almost falling out his chair. 

“Moreau and Sinclair, why is it always you two?” Our professor bemoans.

“Come on, Sir. Don’t act like we’re not your favourites.”

The student next to Avery groans.

Avery shrugs. “Sorry, the truth hurts.” 

Our professor can only sigh in exhaustion, having long ago grown used to Avery.

I return to my empty page, staring down at the lone ink dot, determined not to let myself become distracted again. My hand drifts to the candle of its own accord, my cold fingers brushing over the flames heat. 

It’s heat tantalising within the cool room, despite the looming risk of being burnt, I keep finding myself drawn back to it.

My gaze inevitably flickers back to the window’s reflection, where Avery animatedly chatters his seatmate’s ear off.

Heat crawls back up my neck, a warmth that I quickly label as hatred. 

Anything to avoid being burnt.

~

[batobob-blog]

my aesthetic: grantaire might be drunk but he’s still the most impressive person in the room

[to4ix]

Dating ville valo headcanons

Summary: just some Ville valo headcanons:) it is guitarist!reader but really only talked about in the beginning

A/n: there’s not enough (there’s absolutely non) ville vallo writing on here so I had to do what was very much needed and plus who doesn’t want to be Villes hot guitar player gf!

•. •. •.

•. •. •.

•. •. •.

So for starters you two met behind stage at a festival you both were preforming at.

You were sitting on the ground tunning your guitar before you had to go out and preform when ville saw you

What got him first was you were sitting on the ground rather than a chair, he thought it was kinda funny in a way.

Granted mige had to talk him into going an talking to you because honestly he was nervous. He’d forgotten all about the show he had in a hour and was now only thinking about you.

“Mige, do you know who that is” Villes deep voice rang as he was observing the way you fingers moved over the strings of your black guitar.

Mige glanced over at you then at ville, who was still looking at you. “Why?”He asked with his eyebrows pinched suspiciously seeing the look his friend was wearing.

Ville sighs

“no reason” tairing his eyes from your figure he looks back at mige who was now smiling. “What?”

Miges smile grows as ville tries to play it off.

“Oh don’t you act dumb, I see the way your staring at the poor girl.”

“You’re being ridiculous” looking away from his friend, crossing his arms over his chest.

“If you think she’s so pretty why don’t you just go talk to her?”

Ville didn’t deny the statement, he looks back at where you sit for a second. Its almost like he’s admiring you. The focused look on your face as your fingers dance across the strings, the way your hair fell in front of your eyes from time to time. He’d only seen you maybe 10 minutes tops and he was already picking out little things.

The headphones you wore over your head connect to a small amp so the sound wouldn’t bother anyone. But ville wanted to hear what you were playing, listen to what you were so focused on. From the way your hands moved across the frets he guessed it sounded amazing and he did not want to wait till your band preformed, hell he didn’t even know which group you played for.

Coming back to reality ville answers mige “she looks focused, don’t want to distract her”

“Fine, talk to her after she preforms then”

“I don’t even know what band she plays with”

“You’ll find out when you see her on stage” sarcastically midg said.

Ville thought for a moment breathing out heavily.

“What would I even say to her”

“Well you can tell her how well she played, I don’t know!” Throwing his hands up walking away from his stubborn friend.

And that’s how it started

And mige was right Ville did in fact see you get on stage and play.

Seeing as your band played first, before HIM, ville was already anxious to preform let alone talk to you

He watched you from the side stage mesmerized 

Literally heart eyes

 so after you had gotten off stage, you started to put your guitar gear away and clean up some stuff when ville offers to help

You look up to see ville and instantly got a funny feeling in your stomach

You swear he’s the prettiest person you’ve ever seen

Ville would say the same for you

You say yes of course

As you both work the two of you have the biggest smiles

He might be nervous but try’s not to show it

I mean who wouldn’t be nervous talking to a girl like you

And while helping he did in fact complement how well you played

“You we’re amazing out there, you know that” ville says looking up through pieces of his hair as he zips up the guitar case.

You blush at the complement a smile coming to your face as you both lock eyes. “I do my my best.”

You two instantly click

But time was cut short when ville had to go preform

At this point ville would rather stand there all night talking to you instead of going out and singing

But he goes anyways against his own will

Walking away Ville turns around to face you “will you still be here after the show”

His bright eyes stair back at you awaiting your answer. Hoping it would be yes.

“I think I might have to” your smile slowly growing

Villes eyebrows pinch together, your smile making his stomach flutter

“And why is that?”

“Well to hear that voice of yours obviously”

A light blush rises to his cheeks but he keeps up his appearance as he smirks.

“so be it then. I’ll be dedicating this show to you then rakas.” He throws a small wink at you and then he’s gone

As soon as he stepped on stage he becomes a different person

He’ll throw glances at you while singing once in a while

Which makes you blush

And after the show the two of you talked about everything and anything

He found himself drawn to you

When it was time to part ways he gave you his number and the rest was history

You guys talked every day after that night

And spent a lot of time together

It was just you two at one another’s house spending time together

Ville liked watching movies with you because you always fell asleep on him and you both would wake up holding each other

He also liked when you laid your head on his lap while reading so he could play with your hair.

You guys never officially said you were a couple but every one new

About 2 months went by. you and ville had gone to this small book shop you had found.

Ville had come up behind you while you were looking at the summery of a book you had found. He smiled at the focused look on your face, the same one you wore the night you had met.

He rest his chin on your shoulder as you continued to look at the book. He thinks about the small ring in his pocket.

It was a simple ring, small, silver, with a dark purple gem that sat in the middle. He had saw the ring one night and thought of you. It was beautiful and had an antique look to it.

His hand played with the ring in his pocket thinking about when he should give it to you. It wasn’t anything big, it wasn’t like he was asking for your hand in marriage, though one day he’s very likely to. It was just to show the love he had for you and to make things a little more official then they were, if you will. It was more like a promise ring of sorts.

“Find anything?” You ask, turning your head a little to look at ville. You laugh a little at the look of admiration his face holds while looking at you.

“No” a simple response which was sort of odd.

Sometimes you two didn’t share many words with how chaotic your lives were, just being around one another was enough but this was different.

“Whatcha thinking about?” you fully turn around as ville lifts his head from you shoulder.

He’s quiet for a moment, he bites his lip as he looks down at his shoes. He looks back up at you pulling the ring from his pocket. “I just wanted to give you this”

Your eyebrows scrunch a little “for me?” As you look down at the beautiful ring ville held in his hand

“Well who else would it be for” ville laughs a bit but the look of shock lingers on your face

“Why?” You search Villes bright eyes.

“Because I wanted to give you something that showed my love for you and as a promise that I will always love you”

“Ville it’s beautiful” you say breathlessly as he slides the ring on your finger

You look up from the ring, placing you hand on Villes cheek and kiss him.

Which he in return places his hands on your waist as he smiles into the kiss.

You pull away slightly from the kiss “I love you ville”

“and I love you”

When it gets out that the two of you are dating people go nuts

You two are literally the hottest couple ever

You two have done a few magazine covers together seeing as you both are in bands

There definitely are the jealous fans from time to time though

Villes favorite thing is when you two are laying down and you trace his arm tattoos

Sharing cigarettes all the time

As well as lightning each other’s cigarettes

Stealing his clothes because they smell like him and he has amazing style

You 2 for sure have matching tattoos

This man will write a hole entire album about you

What can he say, your his biggest inspiration

Always asks for your opinion on something

Doing each other’s eyeliner for fun

Make out seshes before shows

You’ve definitely gone on stage with hickeys before

You both still get nervous before shows no matter how many the both of you have done.

So to calm both of your nerves you listen to music together.

Always holding hands

He likes to trace his thumb over your hand from time to time

Playing with his rings before shows because of nerves

His favorite thing about after shows is getting to see you

Playing with his hair all the time

He doesn’t mind he actually loves it

Ville will come up from behind you and just connect his hands around you waist and rest his chin on your shoulder

He will put his head in the crook of your neck and just stand there

He’s pretty neutral on pda

He just wants to be near you at all times

Again, whether that’s holding hands or his arm over your shoulder.

I feel the way he shows love would for sure be physical touch

Forehead kisses all the time!

He’ll find little nik-naks an trinkets that he thinks you would like, and gives them to you

He loves listening to you play the guitar

Reading together

He dose his best to teach you Finnish but you two just end up on the floor laughing

Will let you paint his nails

His favorite names for you are darling and sweetheart.

If neither of you can sleep you’ll go to the living room and watch movies till the sun comes up then sleep the day away

Trying to bake together is very messy

You nor ville can take things seriously around one another

And end up covered in flower and sugar

You two have a vintage record player set up in the living room and will buy each other vinyls that you think one another would like

If you don’t have any shows coming up Ville will drag you to his, you don’t complain though

He likes having you near him

You both could go hours with out speaking to each other and be content

You both have very busy life’s so just being around one another is enough.

༒.• ༒.•༒

[luc3]

At night, full of battles - all lost - reluctantly, Parasitic nightmares - my forbidden body ; then the flesh, weary, weak, without having read all the books - Bitch ... Yes, you! Sacred or not sacred (I don't care), but Whore of the World always, you lick the sins of those who feel too clean, eh? Please, be my guest! Your emptiness fills me with an uncontrollable wild fire which will soon devour everything in its path; but the other, the child, this innocent prey, already dead, isn't it? She is the half-word that bathes in her cold sweats, weeping, writhing in shame, embracing her silence, this one, sad and useless. Make her shut up. You are better off with me.

(I dreamed about you so, if it's to wake up alone again, then I'm willing to let the dementia come back...)

Yes it's me, take what's left, I'm guilty, in the morning my bed was dirty, cold and soaked, probably with his semen, that's it, take me, take me somewhere where the night is just The Night, where there are not so many grimacing masks talking to me at the same time, take me away, I don't want this pleasure anymore, nor this storm, this knot pain that pierces me, you know my fists still compressed against my lower abdomen, and the Other who brutalizes her with kicks so hard that she shuts her mouth, SHUT YOUR MOUTH kid, we haven't asked you anything.

After desire grips your skull so tightly in a vice, you tear your hair out, then there are sudden flashes of a face against, His face, but impossible to reach it, it disappears in the shadows, fleeing and silent. Rely only on yourself. Rely only on God.

So what ? Thirst for God this morning in front of the altar; unquenchable thirst, envy, desire so pure, but watch at the  same time, the other bitch jerking off in the middle of a discharge, you speak of a thirst for perfection ! She, thrown at random from a street, no, still look at this flesh that you knead, compulsively, look at the jerks of her body, yours, the tensions that threaten you with final burn, so I continue to blaspheme in your name kid, yes you can sigh, moan, yes you can, moan, twist, who cares, just let it go, keep letting it go, Kid, cause we're stuck here, aren't we?

And where are you, yes You, all of the Masquerade of that night, the savage frenzy, dancing in circles around me upside down as I twist this unbearable and vain desire, where are you now, children, monsters, wandering Nature, where are you, who pierced the veil of my Nights, I would not be your prey, filthy people, leave me alone, it is the Other that I want but, I am not sure that he exists, take him to your sacred dances, maybe we'll meet?

.

.

.

Again here’s a very poor translation of my french text wrote this morning, and who follow below. Also, before you ask, I’m ok, it's the work with the Datura spirit that has started, so it comes out like it can. I repeat that this blog is a personal experience, not a showcase.

La nuit, pleine de batailles - toutes perdues - à contrecœur, de cauchemars parasites, à mon corps défendu ; puis la chair, lasse, faible, sans avoir lu tous les livres - Salope… Oui, toi! Sacré ou pas sacré (je m'en fiche), mais Putain du Monde toujours, tu lèche les péchés de ceux qui se sentent trop purs, hein? S'il te plaît, fais toi plaisir! Ton vide me remplit d'un feu sauvage incontrôlable qui dévorera bientôt tout sur son passage; mais l'autre, l'enfant, cette proie innocente, déjà morte, n'est-ce pas? Elle est le demi-mot qui baigne dans ses sueurs froides, pleurant, se tordant de honte, embrassant son silence, celui-ci, triste et inutile. Fais la taire. Tu es mieux avec moi.

(J'ai tellement rêvé de Toi, si c'est pour se réveiller seule encore, alors je suis prête à laisser la démence revenir...)

Oui c'est moi, prends ce qui reste, je suis coupable, le matin mon lit était sale, froid et trempé, probablement de son sperme, ça y est, emmène-moi, emmène-moi quelque part où la nuit est juste La nuit, où il y a pas tant de masques grimaçants qui me parlent en même temps, emmène-moi, je ne veux plus de ce plaisir, ni de cette tempête, ce nœud de douleur qui me transperce, tu sais mes poings encore comprimés contre mon bas-ventre, et L'autre qui la brutalise avec des coups de pied si forts qu'elle ferme la bouche, FERME TA BOUCHE gamine, on t’a rien demandé.

Après que le désir agrippe si fermement ton crâne dans un étau, tu t’arraches les cheveux, puis il y a des éclairs soudains d'un visage contre, son visage, mais impossible de l'atteindre, il disparaît dans l'ombre, fuyant et silencieux. Ne compte que sur toi-même. Ne compte que sur Dieu.

Alors quoi? De la soif de Dieu ce matin devant l’autel; soif inextinguible, l'envie, le désir si pur, mais regarde en même temps, l'autre conne en train de se branler au milieu d'une décharge, tu parles d'une soif de perfection ! Elle, jetée au hasard d'une rue, non, regarde encore cette chair que tu pétris, compulsive, regarde les saccades de son corps, le tien, les tensions qui te menacent de la brûlure définitive, alors je continue de blasphémer en ton nom gamine, oui tu peux soupirer, gémir, oui tu peux, gémis, tords toi, on s'en fout, laisse faire, continue de laisser faire, Gamine, car on est coincées ici, n'est ce pas?

Et où êtes vous, oui Vous, tous ceux de la Mascarade de cette nuit, la frénésie sauvage, qui dansent en cercles autour de moi à l'envers tandis que je me tords de ce désir insupportable et vain, où êtes vous maintenant, enfants, monstres, nature vagissante, où êtes vous, qui avez percé le voile de mes Nuits, je ne serais pas votre proie, peuple immonde, foutez moi la paix, c'est l'Autre que je veux mais, je ne suis pas sûre qu'il existe, emmenez le dans vos danses sacrées, peut être qu'on se croisera?

[jewish-privilege]

What is a home?

In Jewish history, with its centuries of wandering and ritualized longing for a land most never actually saw, circumstances created not so straightforward answers to this question. For the creators of modern-day Israel, the answer was to be found in a state.

But for some Jewish refugees that arrived in this new place, it did not feel like a home, either.

“Our great-grandmother came to Israel only to be put in a tiny, crowded shack in the desert,” says Tair Haim of A-Wa.

The Tel Aviv-based band A-Wa, comprised of three sisters that fuse Yemenite folk with hip-hop and electronic music, frames its answer around what the sisters’ great-grandmother Rachel, a refugee from Yemen, said about the question of home: “bayti fi rasi” – my home is in my head.

A-Wa’s new concept album, Baiti Fi Rasi, released on May 31st, shares many of the stories they heard as little girls of Rachel, a single mother facing hardship in Yemen as a Jew, a woman — and after she arrived in Israel during Operation Magic Carpet, as an Arabic-speaking Yemenite refugee. As children in the Arava Valley, Tair, Tagel, and Liron Haim would “milk from” their elders the spicy food, the henna and those limb-turning folk tunes of Yemen they had been encouraged to leave in the past. Though they never met her, Rachel became a guiding force in the sisters becoming proud, Jewish Yemenite women.

A single mother and feminist long before the term came in vogue, Rachel never found in her wandering a place she could call home, even after she came to Israel a refugee. But she cried out for “ya watani,” my homeland: Yemen. In spite of her suffering there, it was the sights, the sounds, the smells of Yemen that signaled home for her.

After their 2016 debut album, Habib Galbi, the A-Wa sisters travelled the world, encountering Syrian refugees on the streets of Europe. War ravaged Yemen. Thousands of African asylum-seekers in Tel Aviv continued to be denied refugee status and deemed “infiltrators” by the Jewish state.

“We saw all the refugee issues in all the world, in Israel, in Paris, and it made us think of the journey [Rachel] made,” said Tair “Being musicians seeing so many places, we thought — what is a home to us? Is it a certain person? A village you grew up in? The country? So we decided to put this idea into a concept album.”

The sisters used the childhood stories they heard of Rachel as the basis for the album’s content.

“Her family would hide [this history] – don’t talk about the past, etc. – but for us, we felt our great-grandma in the studio,” said Tair, the eldest sister, at a café in her suburban neighborhood of Ramat Aviv, just north of Tel Aviv.

Though the album includes stories from their great-grandmother’s past, it wasn’t nostalgia A-Wa sought. As they were always told growing up, the past is the past. But as A-Wa conveys through their music, the past can shed light on what’s happening today, interact with it, even become something entirely different — and downright groovy.

The album’s festive but fierce music takes listeners on a hip hop journey of funky keyboards accompanied by rustic tin drums and Yemenite Arabic melodies. “Everything that is a silver plate or whatever, you can drum on it,” said Tair. “The Yemenite woman would sing about lovers and drum on plates, anything they had while they worked, so we wanted to bring that vibe into the studio.”

The band also decided for the album to decidedly bring together fashion of then and now —adorning Yemenite gold necklaces over Adidas shirts and Nike sneakers — to create a new urbo-traditional fusion aesthetic.

“With our fashion, we don’t want to keep it in the past,” said Tair. “We want to bring the tradition and statement to nowadays and make it relevant. There is no use to just bringing something as it was.”

...Even for a Jewish Yemenite refugee, Rachel was resilient, and she was courageous. As her great-granddaughter Tair recalled, Rachel was married off at the age of 12. It was an unhappy arrangement. Soon after giving birth to her daughter, Shama’a, she decided to divorce her husband — norms be damned. She married a second time, but still, luck was not on her side, so she left the man “tight like an old shoe.” Rachel met another man, and they did fall in love, but the daughter of a local sheikh seduced him, and he left Rachel — a story retold in the reggae blues-like song “Bint Al Sheikh.”

Throughout Yemen, Rachel went from village to village, a single mother struggling to find a place they could call home. 

...Neither in Ibb nor Sana’a nor the ma’abarot refugee camps of Israel could Rachel find shelter she could call home. So “what is a home?” A-Wa asks again. “Bayti fi rasi,” is their response –

My home is in my head A refugee for my heart Wherever I go, it is with me.

Poor and fleeing persecution, Rachel brought from her homeland only what was intangible, possessions that she kept in the mind and soul. “She took her daughter, her loneliness, her Yemeni food, her father’s weaving and her mother’s tongue,” said Tair. “This is about identity… it’s what every refugee brings.”

The pressure to bury that identity upon arriving in a new place is widely felt among refugees, but in the album, A-Wa takes the story down the particular, dark path that Israel set Mizrahi refugees like Rachel on.

This marks new territory for the band. In their 2014 debut album, Habib Galbi, A-Wa’s music was revolutionary in Israel by its basic nature: three Jewish sisters, born and raised in southern Israel, singing modernized versions of Yemenite folk songs in Arabic. The band’s very existence is an act of rebellion against suppression of Mizrahi culture...

...The call-and-response section of refugee hopes and discriminatory reality — which Tair said was inspired by West Side Story’s similarly themed “I’d Like To Be In America” — describes in stark terms the Yemenite experience after arriving in Israel, including decrepit, overcrowded tent conditions in the ma’abarot, or refugee absorption camps, and the phenomenon in which thousands of Yemenite children disappeared and families say hundreds were abducted by the state and given to childless Holocaust survivors. From those earliest days, MIzrahim were confined to the lowest rungs of Jewish Israeli society, compelled to abandon Arabic and their native culture.

The A-Wa sisters dutifully avoid politics, but their decision to address this past feels timely following last year’s passage in the Knesset of the Nation-State Bill, which downgraded Arabic in Israel from an official language.

“A lot of Jewish people came from Arab countries, and to try to erase their language or identity, it’s really sad,” said Tair. “When Rachel and our grandma, Shama’a, came to Israel, [Israel] wanted to change their names. Shama’a [Arabic for “candle”] became Shoshana, which means rose, not a candle. So [with the Nation-State Bill] we observe it now even.”

By releasing this daringly personal album, the A-Wa sisters resist the forces they had sometimes felt even within their own family. “Maybe our grandparents were ashamed of their culture,” said Tair. “But not only are we not ashamed, we are proud of who we are. We celebrate the many identities that we wear. I’m a woman, I’m a Yemenite, I’m Jewish, I’m a sister… it goes on.”

Through the sisters’ music, however, a revival has taken place.

...For the narrative- and genre-bending A-Wa sisters, the past is no more — but memory isn’t static. It is alive, dynamic and changing with the times so a Yemenite headdress complements sneakers and tin drums turn up the dance-floor in a modern-day hip-hop production. This process that manifests in Baiti Fi Rasi’s music and aesthetic – fusing the cultures of there and here, then and now — is happening among refugees all over the world.

I wondered how the Haim sisters — second-generation Sabras with Hebrew as their native tongue and a wide but sorely incomplete Yemenite vocabulary — would relate to Rachel’s profound words. What can baiti fi rasi mean to them? “We feel we are luckier than the last generations. Israel is a home to us. The village we grew up in the Arava Valley is a home to us. My husband is a home to me,” said Tair. “But the idea of bayti fi rasi means I’m taking my home to everywhere I go. Home is a feeling. It’s a spirit.”

[ao3feed-lesmiserables]

A Study in Movement

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2YByZsv

by two_days

Enjolras is a sophomore dance major, the one everyone is terrified of. Head of class, practices before and after rehearsal, somehow has his own key to the studios, you name it. It’s his entire life. His entire life. It’s been a few months and if you dare to ask Enjolras will very plainly tell you ‘no, it doesn’t bother me’ but after his two best friends, dramatic writing major Ferre and acting major Courf start dating and Enjolras starts to become a third wheel...he’s absolutely not jealous. He’s not. He’s alone with his dance, no distractions. It’s perfect. Now if only he could convince himself of that every time he’s dragged to one of the group hang outs and has to see Grantaire. A photography major that seems to like everyone but him. Figures. All the more reason to dissolve his overwhelming crush far into his subconscious and keep on dancing. But when Taire is assigned to Enjolras for a photography project how long can he keep his subconscious buried before it’s time to move on.

Words: 5906, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (2012), Les Mis Big Bang - Fandom

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Enjolras (Les Misérables), Grantaire (Les Misérables), Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Combeferre (Les Misérables)

Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables)

Additional Tags: dance au, Photography AU

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2YByZsv

[enjoltaire-is-canon]

The Stars Will Guide Us Home

It’s just another night

And I’m staring at the moon

It’s another night without you ‘taire. I honestly don’t know how I’ve managed to go on since then. I’d like to think you’re helping me from the other side, but I’ll never know. It seems cruel that when you die you still get to spend time here on Earth, so you’re probably up in heaven -hush, don’t argue with me, you’re not going to hell. And I know I can’t see heaven from here, so the moon is the closest thing I have.

I saw a shooting star

And thought of you

But it’s also pure evil to have no contact with the world of the living, so you probably have a way of seeing us. I think it’s through the shooting stars. You fall from heaven to get a glimpse of the world you left behind.

I sang a lullaby

By the water side and knew

If you were here, I’d sing to you

Jehan had insisted that well all come to this place the Seine passes through, he said the water inspires him. Remember when we came here once? It had also been close to midnight and the grass had been damp from the previous night’s rain, just like now. You made me sit with my back facing the Seine and took out your sketchbook, spending hours drawing under the moonlight and insisting that I sing, claiming that my ‘angelic voice’ soothed you and helped you draw.

You’re on the other side

And the skyline splits in two

Miles away from seeing you

But I can see the stars from America

I wonder, do you see them too?

When you had to go to Italy for a treatment and I couldn’t go with you, you told me that no matter how far we were, we were under the same sky, meaning that we saw the same stars. I wonder if that is still the case. Are there stars where you are?

So open your eyes and see

The way our horizons meet

And all of the light will lead

Into the night with me

And I know these scars will bleed

But both of our hearts believe

All of these stars will guide is home

It’s just cruel how the world still goes on. You’d think that everything would come to a stop, but no, the Earth still spins and the moon still shines and it’s not fair. It’s not fair that you’re gone. It’s not fair that you got only a few years will others get decades and decades. It’s not fair the sun didn’t explode when the heart monitor flatlined, and it’s not fair that I have to be mature about it all. I want to stand at the top of a mountain and scream to the world what an amazing person you were, what an angel they lost. But I guess angels belong in heaven.

I can hear your heart

On the radio beat

They’re playing ‘Chasing Cars’

And I thought to us

Back to the time

You were lying next to me

I looked across and fell in love

So I took your hand

Back through lamp-lit streets and knew

Everything led back to you

Courfeyrac in insisting on blasting this song on his new speakers, and they’re trying to get me to dance with them, shouting to me from across the grass. But I just want to lie here and immortalize your memory, as much as I can, at least. God, I remember when you made me listen to it the first time, I hated it. But then you kept playing it on loop for a week, and… It grew on me. It’s the only thing I listen to now.

So can you see the stars over Amsterdam?

Hear the song me heart is beating to?

I’ll never forget Amestrdam, the whole trip was out of a fairytale. Shame we had to go back so soon. But it gained a couple more days here, and that’s something I’ll never be able to regret.

So open your eyes and see

The way our horizons meet

And all of the lights will lead

Into the night with me

And I know these scars will bleed

Both of our hearts believe

All of these stars will guide us home

You can’t see the stars, that I’m sure of. You’re up above, above the moon and the stars. You’re where you were always meant to be. And it hurts, but you’re happier there, I know you are, so I have to be happy for you.

And, oh,I know

And oh,I know, oh

And I know oh oh oh

I know that it’ll always hurt, and I know that this isn’t some movie where I’ll always think of you and smile. I know I’ll collapse on the ground and cry my eyes out, but I also know that you want me to live. So I will, if only to make you happy.

I can see the stars from America

You’re above the stars, you can see them from above. We’re looking at the same stars. And a shooting star is passing right now, is it you? If yes, then I love you.

[aerwindale]

Got a sketch of my Redguard gal from Tair Faradjov! This woman came to life during one roleplay event, DMed by me, she was one of the characters that later got strong personality and so, I created her.  She calls herself “Nightingale” and not much yet known about her. She is a mystery, telling nothing of her past. She is an artist: a dancer and a singer, also mastered all instruments. But make no mistake, she is good with blades and poison. So while you can, just watch and enjoy this enchanting dance! Artist’s credits: https://www.deviantart.com/arttair

Also can be followed on: https://www.instagram.com/_arttair_/

https://twitter.com/_ARTTAiR_

Please, follow and support!

[shirbertficrecs]

Fake relationship shirbert

Fake/ pretend relationship fics

Tragical Romance at a Winter’s Ball

Anne is not allowed into a Christmas ball as an unaccompanied female. Good thing Gilbert is there to pretend to be her fiance so she can be allowed in! Cuteness, dancing, fake courting and a whole lot of feelings ensue!

avonleaace | complete | 1/1 | 3k

something good and right and real

"You think that the way to magically turn our friends into reserved people -- people who would never dream of starting rumors about our personal lives on the internet -- is pretending to date and therefore doing the one thing that they started rumors about on the internet?"

---

There are two ways to move past the stage of pre-friendship awkwardness where both people are too stubborn to apologize and forgive.

The first way is to let time and kindness heal the wound, gradually finding your way to friendship and understanding.

The second way? Band together as unlikely partners and mount a harebrained scheme involving half-truths, ambiguous tweets, and sniping at each other over seasonal drinks from Starbucks.

CrimsonPetrichtor | complete | 1/1 | 9k

modern

real or not real

“I could do it.” Gilbert said, looking straight ahead.

Anne stopped. “What?”

He turned to look at her; they were just outside Green Gables now. “I could do it. I could court you.”

“What- We- You- I- You don’t like me like that.” Anne sputtered.

Gilbert smirked at her. “Well we could pretend. I could court you and be your fake boyfriend.”

For one of the few times in her life, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was speechless.

thearkdelinquents | complete | 1/1 | 12k

say my name, don’t ever stop

The gossip in Avonlea is insidious, making Gilbert think it’s a good idea to initiate a fake courtship of Anne.

Anne makes him promise it won’t affect their relationship (because, obviously, they’re just friends).

Plot twist: it affects their relationship.

anbethmarie | complete | 5/5 | 13k

c h a n d e l i e r 

Anne Shirley asks her *best friend* Gilbert Blythe to accompany her to the Halifax orphanage reunion party as her supposed fiance in order to show all the people who had made her life a misery that she's got her love life together.

And then, when she gets drunk, the consequences are both unexpected and disastrous.

Or are they?

anbethmarie | complete | 12/12 | 26k

modern

                                                    UNCOMPLETE

sol i taire

Gilbert Blythe, a student of medicine struggling to make ends meet, is accosted by a desperate red-headed stranger who promises to pay him over and above what he needs if he agrees to marry her immediately.

anbethmarie | uncomplete | 9/? | 21k

Tragical Romance and All

"Anne would later attest, loudly and to anyone who would listen, that her response to finding out her secret love letter had been sent out was the response that any rational person would have. She fainted. Late that night, when she was running over the terrible events of the day in her head for the millionth time, she realized she had already made her decision. That she had decided when he first asked. Fuck. She was going to fake-date Gilbert Blythe. Her life really was going to shit."

grasslandgirl | uncomplete | 1/? | 3k

modern

Love Letters

"You see, these letters aren’t just any letters. These are letters to every single boy that I’ve ever had a crush on and not just any little crush, no, a crush so incredibly major that I had no idea how else to get it out of my head. A crush so big that you might even be able to call it love. There are four in total. Moody Spurgeon, from 1st grade, Cole Mackenzie, 3rd grade, Gilbert Blythe, 7th grade, and Jerry Baynard."

Anne had always been so careful with her letters. But what happens when they accidentally get sent out? (Based on To All The Boys I've Loved Before)

TheProudPrincess | uncomplete | 1/? | 2k

[shitpostingfromthebarricade]

Actually, in the brick, Grantaire mentions studying at Le Gros which was a really prestigious art school. (Or 'under Le Gros' who was a really famous artist, I don't actually remember, but I know Grantaire + Le Gros = Artistaire) Anyway, why can't he be both? He's already really skilled at pretty much everything else.

I will assume that this is in response to this shitpost:

I always heard Le Gros mentioned in fics, but I never saw any passages, so I look up what you said and found this:

“It is a shame that I am ignorant, otherwise I would quote to you a mass of things; but I know nothing. For instance, I have always been witty; when I was a pupil of Gros, instead of daubing wretched little pictures, I passed my time in pilfering apples; rapin[24] is the masculine of rapine.” (V3 B4 C4)

(apparently “rapin” is a slang term for “painter’s assistant”–rapine means to violently seize, so it’s a fucking pun about stealing as a painter’s assistant, Vicky you beautiful bastard)

Important takeaway: Nonny is actually right.

And now I’ll be able to sleep at night knowing that artist!taire didn’t spring forth from nowhere.

HOWEVER!

I stand by my feelings that artist!taire, particularly paint-covered and messy and smelling of oil paints and linseed oil, is tired–especially in modern AUs. And I will now get on my soapbox and tell you why, because I finally have a platform on which to complain about this.

First and foremost: have you been to an art store? Oil paints and canvas? In this economy??? Traditional is nice and all, but art supplies are expensive. If you’re an artist in this day and age you’re probably doing most of your work digitally: buy your hardware/software once and be done with it (until it breaks at the least convenient time) rather than constantly having to replenish materials as you use them up, easy to carry around and work anywhere, clean…sure, he’s probably still sketching and stuff, maybe doing some paintings or scuptures or fiber arts on the side, but if you’re writing R as a broke graduate just getting by on commissions and barely affording rent and his drinking addiction, he probably can’t also absorb the costs of his art painlessly. And also, who is spending hundreds on the oil paintings of a twenty-something year old? Microtransactions is where it’s at these days.

Secondly, as you point out: he can be both. But most people don’t represent him that way. He has so many talents and skills, but most often he is boiled down to three main traits: his alcoholism, his obsession with Enjolras, and his role as an artist. What about his boxing? His musicality? His dancing? They often get listed in the same breath if they come up and rarely have any bearing on the plot or character progression, not the way his artistry always seems to. And thisnis assuming it’s allowed to be a trait of his without it having to be a full-on AU where every is a dancer or a chef. It’s a convenient crutch, and when you consider all of the other things we know about Grantaire it just feels boring and a little lazy.

Note: I am not saying that artists/writers who portray R as an artist are lazy or bad at what they do. I myself have done it (though jury’s still out on whether I am a lazy or bad writer, to be fair). Tropes exist because they’re fun, because people enjoy them–both creating and consuming. There’s nothing wrong with playing into that.

I just wish that being an artist wasn’t the role R always fell into just because Huge-hoe wanted to set himself for an absolutely terrific pun.

(Sorry Nonny, this isn’t intended toward you with any mailicious feelings–I am really glad that you did point this out to me and feel all the more educated for it. I’ve just been looking for an excuse for this ramble for a long time. Thank you so much for the ask!!)

[kaikaughosts]

Kiss The Girl

It starts off with an on-beat hum. Not quite the best in his sober state, but after a few notes it’s clear what he’s humming. The meeting hasn’t started, by some grace of God- and a well hidden planner somewhere in Enjolras’ satchel. Everyone’s here, chatting and laughing, waiting for the damn meeting to finish so they can actually drink.

(“No more alcohol during the meetings. I’m tired of you and Bahorel damaging the cafe- and each other.”)

But Grantaire sees it, during the chorus to I’ve Got No Strings, he sees it.

No matter how little, Enjolras is swaying. Grantaire stops, and so does the sway.

If that isn’t a challenge wrapped in a blonde bow.

He isn’t the only one to notice. Grantaire starts humming Hakuna Matata, a bit louder now. It takes all his willpower to not screech the Circle Of Life instead, and it pays off when Bossuet starts pounding a little drumbeat on the table.

That little sway is back. Enjolras ducks his head, but Grantaire swears to the gods he sees a smile. Enj turns to Combeferre, his entire bag emptied onto the table, and whispers something- surely about the missing planner, and Combeferre huffs before handing over his own bag.

Joly jumps in with Aladdin- little harmonies and scratching at the wood in beat, and Jehan vocalizes on Tangled. It’s not long before they’re actually singing, stomping their feet, banging the beat into the table.

Enjolras is standing at the front of the room, quietly sorting through papers and doing god-knows-what on Combeferre’s laptop, making a point to keep his face turned from their concert. The meeting should have started a song or two ago, but from the way he’s swaying to Why Should I Worry? - the little tap of his foot and the relaxation in his shoulders- tells the Amis to milk this for all they can.

Bahorel and Grantaire’s rendition of Cruella De Vil, accompanied by a swing dance neither of them knew how to do, breaks something in the universe. They’re too loud to ignore, swinging across the floor and overall making fools of themselves. Grantaire over-estimates his strength(or underestimates Bahorel’s weight, tomato tamoto), and drops Bahorel on the dip. There’s an eruption of laughter, but-

Grantaire hears- surely, his hearing is gone. He looks up, and his heart explodes.

Enjolras is laughing. fucking teeth-showing, eyes brightening, head thrown back, curls bouncing laughing- holy ShIT does this nerd have the dorkiest laugh he’s ever heard. A giggle-snort, dying penguin, broken Abba vinyl of a laugh that shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

Their eyes meet- Enjolras covering his mouth, shaking, a blush creeping up his neck. Grantaire trips over lyrics, trying to help Bahorel up. There’s no hidden annoyance in his eyes, no begrudging resignation, no fiery passion, just… happiness. Enjolras smiles, and it’s a good look on him.

But it’s Courfeyrac’s “sha-la-la-la-la” that breaks the dam. Because, much like the death of Caesar, Grantaire feels the room flip against him. The song dies in his throat, he can’t tear his eyes from Enj.

“There you see her, sitting there across the way”

Enj shushes up, never losing the entertainment in his eyes. He turns back to Ferre’s laptop.

Courf wraps an arm around Enj, singing to his heart’s content. There’s a knowing look in his eye. An unspoken smugness coming over the room.

“Yes, you want her

Look at her, you know you do”

Courf leaves Enj’s side to drape himself across a table, and it’s soon a duet with him and Jehan. Jehan’s humming in R’s ear. They pulls at Taire’s shoulder, finally tears his eyes from Enj. Jehan says something, drowned out by Joly’s “WAH WAH WAH”

“What?”

“I said, he would love a boat date.”

These bastards. This counts as treason, he’s pretty sure. That stupid smirk on Bossuet’s face, the small snaps Feuilly’s doing, that fake horn Bahorel’s blowing. Complete traitors, the whole lot.

“Looks like the boy's too shy

Ain't gonna kiss the girl”

Combeferre looks up from his book, turns his body towards Enj. “ Now's your moment,”

“Hm?” Enj looks up, he catches Grantaire’s eye, and quickly turns to Ferre. “I’ve misplaced the planner, but! Now would be a good time to discuss the mistreatment of Disneyland employees in Paris.” 

“Are we doing that today?”

Eyes wonder back to the mass of sober drunks, more specifically to the ravenette hiding behind Bossuet. Enj cracks a smile, ducking behind the laptop when Grantaire looks up. 

“Let’s give Courf one more solo,”

[gr4ntair3]

125: "Quit moving, I’m trying to sleep. Wait…are you…what?!” Please

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG KWJDHJKDHFSF IM USELESS WHEN I HAVE UNIVERSITY WORK TO DO, again, this is ExR because I’m incapable of writing anyone else without accidentally writing about them anyway.

______________________________________

For the third time in thirty minutes, Enjolras felt an elbowdig into the small of his back. The mattress had been constantly shifting formost of the night, as Grantaire tossed and turned trying to make himselfcomfortable. What had started as sympathy for the other man’s sleepingdifficulties had very quickly dissolved into pure fury – did he not understand Enjolras had things to do in the morning?!

“Grantaire, quit moving, I’m trying to sleep!” He snapped.It was filled with more contempt than intended and he winced at himself,hearing Grantaire gasp as the words fell out of his mouth.

“I… didn’t know you were awake,” wait, Enjolras’ brain worked furiously, why does his voice sound so raw? It took a moment for his sleepdeprivation to catch up and he felt guilt twist around his stomach at therealisation. Grantaire was crying. Enjolras noted now the way the mattressshuddered slightly every time Grantaire moved, as if he was shaking.

“Wait… are you… what?!” He wrapped an arm around Grantaire’sstomach to coax him to turn over and face him. There was a moment ofhesitation, and Enjolras’ chest tightened at the sight of his friend when hesaw him.

4:58AM didn’t suit Grantaire at all. Dark circles cloudedhis eyes and his cheeks were stained pink and purple – from trying to hide this from me,the thought was like a pinprick, jolting Enjolras into action.

“Hey, c’mon Taire, what’s up? I know you didn’t want toshare a bed with me, but I didn’t think our friendship had devolved so much youcan’t even bear to be next to me? Is this because of what I said in the meetingearlier?” Enjolras had perhaps been a little too harsh. Grantaire had trippedover the doorway into the Musain, the stench of whiskey and cigarettesbillowing in after him, and announced he’d been kicked out of his flat.

This was a surprise to exactly nobody – Grantaire spent allof his money on whiskey and wine and Pall Mall Superking Green’s (“A packet of 20 cigs for 7 euros is the bestI can hope for these days boys”) and his landlord had come to expectpayments two, even three months late (payments that were usually borrowed fromBahorel or Joly). Apparently four months was a step too far, and the landlord hadbeen waiting that evening when Grantaire returned from work, having alreadylined up another tenant, with a notice saying Grantaire’s contract wasterminated effective immediately. So instead of making any attempt to resolvethis situation (that would be far toomuch to ask) Grantaire had made his way to the closest bar and bought twobottles of top shelf whiskey with the rent money he had been about to give hislandlord.

Grantaire had been inundated with offers to stay with peopleupon announcing his new state of homelessness – Eponine had offered her sofa, Bossuetand Joly had offered their spare bedroom, even Bahorel had offered his bathtub(“Well it’s better than the street!”)but the whole room had been stunned into silence when Enjolras had piped up.

“I’m the closest to here, stay with me tonight Grantaire,then we can take you to get some new accommodation sorted tomorrow – I’ll makesure you don’t sign up for anything that’ll give you a disease like that lastplace,” Grantaire had guffawed at this. Everyone else looked like they wantedto follow suit but were slightly more concerned about the way Enjolras wouldreact than the drunken man. “What’s so funny Grantaire, sharing is caring?”

“Why would you offer your home to me? I’ve had offers fromthe others, let’s not pretend to like each other simply because I’ve outdonemyself in the fuck up department Enjolras,” there was no hint of a joke inGrantaire’s voice, he stated this as a matter of fact. It riled Enjolras morethat Grantaire seriously thought he wouldn’t help him than the fact that he’dgotten himself in this situation, and he told him so.

“You are incapable of living, you act like a child. I don’ttrust that you’ll do yourself any favours this evening without someone watchingover you that ISN’T Eponine, Bossuet or Bahorel,” he turned to his friends ashe said this, “I mean no offence to you all, but you know how easily you canall be convinced by him that drinking yourselves into stupidity is the bestoption.” It was true. Of all the people that could have offered, the three thathad were the worst offenders when it came to encouraging Grantaire’s drinkinghabits. He would never find somewhere else to live given somewhere to stay withthem. He wheeled back around to Grantaire, brow furrowed. “You need to staywith me because I won’t let your dumb ass drink yourself into oblivion tonight,I won’t let you get away with putting this off for weeks because I do not wantto share a bed with you for that long, and I will march you around everyletting agent in the city tomorrow and pay your damn deposit on a place thatyou will not fuck up because you will OWE ME.” He spat the last two words witha little more venom than intended and watched Grantaire pale.

“…Sharing a bed with me? Wh-why would we be doing that? I-I’llsleep on the couch,” Grantaire stuttered his way through the sentence, and ared flush was rising against the white of his cheek.

“I live in a studio apartment Grantaire, my bed is my couch,does anybody else have anything to say on the matter or are we all in agreement?”Enjolras dared them all to question him with a slow spin, looking at each ofthem in turn. Nobody did. “Good, then let’s begin the meeting.”

The meeting was less than successful. Enjolras had put everyoneon edge with his cutting words about Grantaire and nobody wanted to be the oneto push the button that caused full-blown volcanic eruption. Enjolras adjournedthe meeting and waved them away with a sigh, collecting his papers and damninghimself for his temper when he noticed Grantaire hadn’t moved, his head on thetable.

“Can you help me gather these papers?” He asked, Grantairestill didn’t move. He balled up a blank sheet of paper and bounced it at theother man’s head. He shuffled, but again, made no effort to move. He’s fucking asleep, Enjolras realised,feeling fury course through him. “GRANTAIRE!” He yelled, forcing all of hisfury into the name and hoping it would make Grantaire more alert. Grantairelifted his head, noticed his friends were gone and stood up slowly.

“Are we going then?” He smiled lazily, completely ignoringthe shorter man who’s blonde curls were almost static with electric anger.

“Pick these papers up for me, please, then we’re going,” thatwas all he said for the rest of the evening, save hissing in Grantaire’sdirection every time he complained he couldn’t find a drop of alcohol anywherein Enjolras’ tiny flat. He fished a Harry Potter movie out of the cupboard andput it on to entertain Grantaire whist he settled under the covers and sleeptook over. He managed an hour of sleep according to the digital clock on hiswindowsill, before Grantaire’s shuffling had roused him. It had continued likethis for four hours.

Grantaire’s face looked gaunt, none of the pink that haddanced across his cheeks at the thought of sharing a bed with Enjolras earlier.His hands were trembling and his eyes darted between them and Enjolras, as if frightenedthey would do something of their own accord if he didn’t keep looking at them.

“It’s not about what you said,” Grantaire replied, his eyesdrifting downwards. His voice was thick with something Enjolras couldn’t quitegrasp. “I need a drink.” He buried his head in his arms at that and Enjolrasunderstood. He was ashamed.

Enjolras felt his own shame flame up in his chest. He’dknown Grantaire for months, had seen him once a week plunging himself into thebottom of a bottle and heard countless stories about drunken escapades but hadnever even once considered that Grantaire did it because he needed to. He’d assumed his friend didit because it garnered attention and there was always a good story to be hadfrom it. He hoped his next action would speak, because his brain couldn’t comeup with anything to express how terrible he felt about not realising, andpulled the other man towards him, wrapping his arms around his neck and lacinga hand through the dark curls on his head. Grantaire dipped his head intoEnjolras’ neck and Enjolras felt the warmth of tears sliding down onto hisshoulder.

“I don’t do this on purpose, to rile you up, I didn’t losemy flat on purpose,” Grantaire whispered into his skin, “I need help… but I don’tknow how to get it.”

Enjolras sank back into the mattress, pulling his frienddown with him until Grantaire’s head was laid across his chest.

“I… I’m sorry Grantaire. I didn’t even consider that youwere struggling with this kind of thing. I don’t like sharing my bed at allbut, if you need to, you’re welcome to stay until we can find you a place andsomeone to talk to about this that has a lot more experience than me,” Enjolrassqueezed at Grantaire’s shoulder, “does that sound okay?”

Grantaire sat up, still shaking, and pulled himself out ofbed, shaking his head ferociously. He pulled a black hoodie on and stepped intohis jeans. Before Enjolras could process what he was doing, Grantaire was gone.

[feuillysuggestions]

hi feuilly! can i have a happy story?

Alright here’s a happy story about Enjolras.

One upon a time there was a man named Enjolras. And he decided to go out with his friends.

Obviously being the chief of our little band of orphans and misfits he never backs down from a challenge- it goes against his nature.

So our lovely friend Mister Grantaire decided to challenge E to a shot competition and well; to Enjolras a challenge is a challenge.

Half an hour and 6 vodka shots later both the cynic and the leader in red are both drunk off their asses. With Enjolras being held up by me and R being held up by Eponine we drag the two men up to the second floor of the musain where we hold our meetings (with much difficulty mind you)

“R, you’re so pretty.” Enjolras slurs as I sit him in a chair. The poor sod can barely hold himself upright . “Pretty pretty ‘Taire”

And Grantaire was quick to respond as usual. “Oh Apollo, ladybugs are pretty too but they’re nothing to a garden.”

“Actually gardens are nothing without ladybugs, they’d die.” I chimed in. Enjolras pointed at me, but jerked his arm too hard and ended up throwing himself onto the floor with a loud crash and a whine.”

R let out a loud obnoxious drunkard laugh. “Even injured in the floor you’re beautiful.” He rested his cheek on his hand, smushing his face around.

“The only thing that’s beautiful enough for me is Patria!” E shouted in a barely intelligibly.R stumbled his way over to sit on the floor at Enjolras’ feet and rest his head upon his thigh.

“This morning, I woke up with a feeling, and didn’t know how to deal with…” E slurred and numbed put the beginning of ‘I think I love you by the Partridge Family.

“And so I just decided to myself, I’d hide it to myself, and never talk about it, but didn’t I go and shout it when you walked into the room.” Grantaire teetered to his feet before sloppily pulling Enjolras to his.

“I think I love you!” They both shouted horribly out of key.For the next couple minutes the pair of them stumbled about the Café Musain singing the old song horribly off key, shirts drunkenly unbuttoned and thrown away as they got too warm to dance with them on.

If you could call it dancing, it more resembled a tug of war, but neither side could keep their balance.

Needless to say both of them woke up with raging headaches, and shirtless on the Musain floor, with almost no recollection of went on the night before, but Ponine and I never forgot.

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

So I am in /desperate/ need of an injured Grantaire because of a bar fight (maybe ‘protecting Enjolras’ honour’ type thing in which he tells some idiot to stop badmouthing his sun) and Enjolras not knowing until he walks in to find Grantaire bleeding all over the place with broken or bruised ribs like ‘it’s nothing’

(Combined bc these prompts are similar!! Ok real talk I love this prompt a lot tho?? I had a lot of fun with this!)

It’s quarter after one and the all the buzz of earlier that evening has died down considerably. The Cafe Musain is relatively calm, quiet with the exception of the slight and quiet chatter of those who remained. It’s nice, and Grantaire is calm.

He takes this time for himself as he walks aimlessly around the area, appreciating life for a moment. Grantaire watches the other happy people, their laughter leaving a warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach. There is something so cozy about being inside a warm cafe during a cold winters night and the slight warmth from the one beer he had that night. He thinks about the glee of those surrounding him, and when he heads his way down the stairs ready to walk home, listen to the music along the cobbled pavement, he sees his main source of glee, glowing with all that he is.

Butterflies flutter in his stomach and he feels like he is flowing when he sees bouncy golden curls hunched over a seat. Grantaire can’t help the idiotic, smitten smile that laces his lips as he inches closer to who he wished was his.

Grantaire swings onto the chair next to him with a charming, a little sloppy, grin on his face, prepared to say something sly or playful, when his smile is suddenly wiped off his face when he realises his beloved is not glowing as bright as he usually is.

There’s a few tears falling down his flushed face, a massive contrast against his complexion. Strewn about him is a collection of cans of alcohol. He normally smells of coffee and chocolate cake but now he reeks of what seems like a concoction of Kronenbourg and Guinness.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire immediately says, concerned and alarmed.

Enjolras jumps, only now broken out of his own world. He becomes aware of the world around him and he wipes away his tears quickly, turning to face him with a shaky smile.

“Hey ‘Taire,” He singsongs, but his timbre is wobbly and there’s something behind his eyes that aren’t quite as bright as he intends.

“E..what’s going on sunshine?” Grantaire asks softly, his gaze drifting towards Enjolras’ shaking hands.

Enjolras shakes his head, clearing his throat, but it doesn’t stop his voice from cracking, “Nothing. Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Then why are you drinking so heavily? C'mon E, this isn’t you. We’ve talked about this before; you don’t need to repress your emotions from me, or from anyone. It’s no use bottling it all up. Please talk to me,” Grantaire encourages, there’s a steadiness and firmness to his voice but gentle enough. He knows Enjolras so well. Grantaire eyes his shaking hands again and he gestures towards them.

“Yeah, yeah, you can hold them, a-actually please do,” Enjolras whispers as to keep himself from bursting into tears again. Grantaire reaches in and laces his fingers with Enjolras’s, holding firmly but gently, strong but loving. He tries to ignore the lovesick voice at the back of his head, screeching for more.

Enjolras lets out a shaky breath and nods, gently fiddling with Grantaire’s fingers in a blissfully absentminded way. He subconsciously clings onto Grantaire for support, and the way Enjolras’ fingers brush against his make the butterflies in his stomach wildly dance and his chest soar.

“I just..I’ve had an off day. I just woke up this morning..feeling really blue, you know? I mean, I have them often and it doesn’t really faze me as much now, you know, I was getting through the day. But since I feel so empty I was empty at the meeting earlier and I was lifeless and dull, and pathetic, nothing like a leader should be and I fucked up earlier. Loads of people weren’t listening and I don’t blame them because why would they, and I just feel like I’ve failed miserably and now I’ve tuned the other Amis off the cause because I can’t fucking feel happy and–”

Enjolras can’ tbite back the sob, he slaps a hand over his mouth to stop himself. Grantaire gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

“And to make everything worse I saw two guys from my high school–they’re the sons of my dad’s business partners and they tormented me so many years and they still are–they’re passing through town and they saw me and I could hear them talking about all these horrible and disgusting creepy stuff about me and all these homophobic bullshit and how much of a failure and disgrace I am to my family and now I keep thinking of my father and maybe he was right all along, maybe they are right, maybe they’re–”

Hearing all of the people who have hurt his sunshine made Grantaire’s blood boil. He could feel a fiery passion building up within him, an anger that was begging to be released. Grantaire cups Enjolras’s face and brought it over so they were looking at each other, looking at him intensely.

“They are so wrong about you. You are strong, and brave, beautiful, intelligent..You incredibly bright and talented and the world has to brace itself because you’re here to take it by storm. You are not a disgrace, E. We all love you, we all look up to you. I know you don’t see it but you’re a great leader, because you have bad days, because you have bad days but you persevere and you live for another day. Don’t let anybody take that away from you. And if these guys give you any trouble again, let them know there’s a very angry Grantaire ready to show some fists,” Grantaire promises as he carefully wiped tears away from his face.

Enjolras manages, a chuckle, and he could begin to see a little bit of that bright, spectacular smile again.

Grantaire couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, “There it is.”

Enjolras leans in to give Grantaire a hug, nuzzling his nose into Grantaire’s hair, whispering a breathy and loving, “Thank you.”

It sent shivers up his spine and he felt like a chilly but somehow cozy winter’s breeze brush against him.

“Lets go home, okay? I’m driving you–you are far too drunk to be walking. You need your rest, Apollo, we’ve got a big day tomorrow,” Grantaire remarks, at hoisting Enjolras onto his feet and slinging his arm over his shoulder, holding him close and he feared the moment he’d have to let go.

Despite all the love and warmth he could feel soaring all throughout him, Grantaire couldn’t quite shake the anger still boiling in his heart and the burning passion for justice for the wrongs done to his sunshine. He could not rest.

“Hey Bossuet! You seen Enjolras?” Grantaire calls out to his friend as he jogs up to him, slightly flustered and out of breath.

“Yeah! He’s just over there, getting ready for the speech–he’ll be on in about 5 minutes so you better get to him now!” Bossuet says quickly as he walks off to get his seat in the audience and watch.

Grantaire nods and heads over to Enjolras who is waiting for his queue to go on. His face is blank, breathing deeply to try and get himself into the right headspace. He’s gathering energy, building up the fire. Creating just the right spark.

And Grantaire knows he hasn’t quite got it.

Enjolras lets out a frustrated sigh and stings his hands anxiously, until he realises Grantaire’s presence.

“Oh! Hey ‘Taire,” Enjolras greets.

“Hey you, how you feeling?” He asks sweetly.

“Not great. I don’t have it, I can’t get the fire started. Yesterday just..kinda extinguished it. I’m not sure if I can get it back,” Enjolras admits quietly.

Grantaire gives him a reassuring smile and holds him by the soldiers firmly, “You’ve got it. It’s right inside you. But you gotta let go of these thoughts and voices and people who are withholding you and your entirety. Once you do that, I know you’ll get it.”

Enjolras smiled softly and kisses Grantaire on the cheek quickly, so sweet that Grantaire could have melted into a puddle. He felt a little bit shaken after that, swept off his feet, light as a feather.

“Think of someone who makes you feel safe.”

With that, Grantaire leaves with a thumbs up and heads towards the audience to watch his beloved. And unbeknownst to him, Enjolras had thought of him the whole time.

When Enjolras steps onto the stage, he’s still a little out of it. And before he can even speak a voice echoes, loud and harsh and cold. It freezes him.

“It’s the fucking disgrace!” A man yells.

Then comes the homophobic comments, the disgusting remarks. The words are like nails against a chalkboard for Grantaire, and it makes his blood boil and he can feel the fire rising in his body and he feels the anger sizzling within him.

Grantaire finds his attention averting towards the noise and ruckus and he finds his target, eyes of venom as he sees the two men guilty of this crime. He has company, Combeferre is glaring and Jehan is too while holding Courfeyrac back.

Enjolras is frozen, and the crowd watches on, a mixture of confusion and pity and discomfort. He sees his sunshine scan the crowd anxiously, he can see the breathing pick up but suddenly like this magnetic inclination, this electric attraction, this connection, they meet eyes.

Enjolras’s gaze locks onto his and suddenly he thaws. He steadies himself with him as his anchor and Grantaire is all he sees. The rest of the world does not exist. The fire is lit.

And Enjolras burns with fire as he speaks, and the crowd roars with him.

The energy is soaring high when the speech finishes. There’s this pulsating adrenaline in the air afterwards, this beautiful high and everyone’s light and breezy, celebrating this victory. This enlightenment.

But Grantaire seethes in his anger, there seems to be a thunder cloud looming above him and the lightning is striking.

Grantaire wishes he could be calm because he wants so badly to find Enjolras and hug him and tell him he told him so, celebrate with his friends, but he can’t quite shake that bitter feeling of injustice stinging at his heart.

He takes a swig of the Kronenbourg he has in his hand and relishes the metallic warmth as it slides down his throat, the heat in his stomach only seeming to progress the fury building within him. Grantaire sits there with himself and his anger, in a world of his own with his fiery thoughts rampaging a storm until he is pulled back to reality with a grating voice that cements him back to this reality.

“What a fucking queer..You know, he’s actually smart, he could have been working for his father at this stage.”

“God yeah, he had it all. He had girls lining up to even talk to him. To be fair he is good looking–he just had to go that way, it’s so disgusting. And he had to pursue that stupid English degree–which is so fucking stupid.”

Grantaire tenses more and more as more and more slurs piled up, until he just couldn’t anymore.

He had reached a breaking point, something inside of him snaps and he loses control.

Grantaire liftshimself off the bar and plonks his beer onto the table, shoving himself off his seat. He pushes through the crowds of people, and as he gets closer and closer he can hear better and the insults get louder and Grantaire gets angrier, picking up pace and his fury  builds up onto this climatic crescendo.

He pushes past until he makes it to the table where the two perpetrators sit. Fiery rage ablaze, panting. The two look over at him and raise an eyebrow.

“Who are you?”

And Grantaire’s fists meet their faces.

Grantaire lunges and pounds with fire, he feels this fire come ablaze and spread, he punches with force and he feels the adrenaline pump. It feels great.

Until he is kicked off, and he feels a sharp, stinging pain rise up hid body and he yells out in pain. Firsts come into contact with his face, and he feels the rough and hard bones like concrete against his face. He cries out as a a sharp and tremendous blow explodes by his rib cage, the pain and hurt radiating like tremors throughout his body. Grantaire hisses in pain and spits the metallic taste of blood onto the floor of the bar.

Grantaire groans, unable to pick himself up from the floor, but he manages to look up to see one of the guys standing, looming over him, preparing for the last blow. But before he does he kicks him off balance and lunges, pouncing on him and punching him repeatedly. The two scramble out, limping, leaving Grantaire leeched of all energy and dropping onto the floor.

He can hardly hear the commotion before him because all he can think of is the impending and worsening pain by the second. But through all the madness and noise he can hear a familiar voice calling for him and it sounds like a sweet familiar melody calling him home.

“Grantaire?! Grantaire–’-TAIRE! Oh my god!” Enjolras screams, pushing violently past the ring of people that have crowded around him and he slides onto the floor by his side.

He holds Grantaire up with so much warmth, his touch so loving and secure, like he’s determined to never let him go.

“Oh god, R, I was so scared–I couldn’t find you and–fuck! What’s happened to you?! Where does it hurt?!”

Grantaire gruntsvin pain, reaching out for Enjolras’s hand to cement him back to earth, as a lifeline, squeezing it tight, “My ribs.”

“Oh fuck, why’d you do this?!” Enjolras cries out frantically, placing an arm around him to try and support him.

“For you,” Grantaire chokes out, a few spatters of blood flying from his mouth.

Enjolras freezes, bewildered, confused. “Me..? Why would you..?”

“Because I love you–aaAHH!!” Grantaire yells as his ribs scream out to him, a intemperate scorching pain pulsating throughout his ribs. He cries out in pain, hissing as the pain ravages him.

For a second Enjolras is frozen, but soon after his instincts kick back in and he hoists Grantaire to his feet, away from here, to a place where he can be fixed up again.

“Stay with me sweetheart, you’re going to be fine,” Enjolras repeats over and over as he drives frantically to the hospital, Grantaire groaning out in pain in the backseat, squirming, hissing. He’s not really sure if he’s saying it for Grantaire or for himself.

Grantaire cries out as a new tidal wave of pain comes in with a vengeance and washes all over him. Enjolras bites back his tears, loathing the amount of pain his beloved was in, and how it was because of him.

“You shouldn’t have done this for me,” Enjolras whispers, and it doesn’t quite reach Grantaire and in a way he’s glad it didn’t.

But he can’t quite ignore that persisting feeling within him, the three worded sentence echoing in him repeatedly like a mantra. He doesn’t quite feel like he’s here, like he’s gone on autopilot, because his world has just been shaken and it cannot go back to how it used to be ever again.

Enjolras is not sure how long he’s waited but each moment lasts forever and it feels like he’s known nothing but this torturous limbo.

The ticking clock seems to be taunting him, playing with his heart. He breathes in ragged breaths and wrings his hands anxiously, tapping his foot to a syncopated rapid rhythm. He cannot rest until he knows Grantaire is okay.

He springs up to his feet when the doctor comes out of the room.

“Is he okay?!” Enjolras yelps.

The doctor is taken aback a little, “He will be just fine, sir. He has pretty severely bruised ribs, and quite a few more bruises. He’ll be in a lot of pain for the next few weeks but we’ve loaded him up on some painkillers. You may see him if you wish.”

Enjolras nods quickly and pushes past the doctor to meet Grantaire, sitting up on the bed with an ice pack pressed against his cheek.

The sight of him–his blackened eye, bruises face, scratches and swollen all over, in pain, brought him to tears.

Enjolras bit back the sob that threatened to leave him, and he aggressively swiped the incoming tears from his eyes.

“What the fuck?! Why did you do that?!” He cried out, angry, shaky, trying not to succumb to his tears.

“What? Because–E, they were disrespecting you!”

“And so?! You didn’t have to! Leave them be–they will always disrespect me, it didn’t do anything, did it? Now you’re hurt without reason! Don’t fucking do that!”

“Without reason?! You are reason enough, E! Do you not appreciate what I’ve done?!”

“No! No I don’t! I do not appreciate you bloodied and screaming in pain my arms, I do not appreciate the anxiety and fear taking over me in fear id lose you! I do not appreciate my heart pounding out of my chest in a rush to make you okay again!”

Grantaire softened, “E..”

Enjolras couldn’t help the tears flowing freely now, “You don’t understand. You don’t understand, seeing you hurt hurts me.”

Grantaire sighs heavily, “Of course I understand. You don’t understand why I did it. You should’ve seen your eyes. You are sunshine, Enjolras. You’re radiant. You glow. Yesterday you were full, dark, like all the life and light had been sucked out of you. You were empty and it hurt me too. I couldn’t let it happen ever again, because I..i..”

A silence fell upon them.

And suddenly Enjolras leans in and his lips collides against his, sparks flying between them in this wonderfully electric connection. He can feel a fire, a blazing fire full of life. Grantaire is glowing.

Enjolras pulls away, “I-I’m sorry, I..”

Before he could speak any further Grantaire pullsback in, grabbing by his shirt and kissing him like it would be his last, letting the warmth rush through him once again. He shivers as Enjolras puts his hands through his hair, and it’s like the air has locked into place for the first time really.

“I-I’m sorry to interrupt..” A nurse calls out with embarrassment.

The two quickly pull away in shock, looking at each other with bewilderment until they end up in giggles.

Enjolras straightens up, unable to wipe the stupid grin off his face, “Sorry. I’ll..be on my way.”

He gets up to leave, but not without giving Grantaire one of those beautiful smiles that melt him all over.

“How’re you feeling, sir?”

“I don’t know m'am, like I’m a lot lighter.”

“It must be the concussion–”

“No m'am, I think it might be my heart.”

[blackpoliglota]

“Dodo” by Stromae addresses a rather dark life theme: domestic violence.  Interestingly (and perhaps disturbingly) enough, that was not what brought my attention to the song.  What brought my attention to it was the fact that there was this French music producer titling his song as “Dodo”.  In other words, the word “Dodo” sparked my interest in the song, and here’s why:

I proudly hail from New Orleans, Louisiana, where the now-seriously-endangered language of French/Louisiana Creole used to flourish.  While the language itself is on the brink of going extinct, there are still some vestiges of it that survived the tides of time and continue to thrive in New Orleanian society.  One of these vestiges involves lexical entries of words like “dodo” and phrases like “fais dodo” into the English on this particular region of the US. 

“Dodo” is the noun for “sleep” in French, and “fais dodo” literally means “Go to sleep!”, something parents would tell their children who would happen to be found still awake when they shouldn’t/weren’t expected to be.  However, the term “fais dodo” transitioned from Standard French into Louisiana Creole semantically to denote the name of a dancing event usually held on weekend nights in Southern Louisiana, an event during which children should be asleep so that adults can enjoy the night.  These are things I learned throughout my years of schooling, but before all of that I was first exposed to “dodo” via a short lullaby that my grandparents would sing to their children, who in turn would sing to their children, who would also sing to their children: “Nooo no, no bè, do; nooo no, no bè, do”.

Despite being such a simple word, I had a rather strong nostalgic, cultural tie to “dodo”, which would ultimately transfer to Stromae’s song.  So in honor of such a strong tie to this one word, I'm going to start my series (hopefully) of song posts every Friday from now on with Stromae’s “Dodo”.  For this post and every other song post, I will provide the lyrics in both the original language (in this case, French) and English.  Throughout the original language lyrics you’ll see certain words in bold; those are words I don’t know that I’ll make a vocabulary list for below the song lyrics.  So without further ado, take a listen and see if you can follow the lyrics while listening to the song! 

French Lyrics/Paroles en Français

Eh petit bébé, il faudra se taire Ouai même si papa frappe ta mère Bah il faudra s'y faire Je sais qu'il fait mal Même quand il s'en va Mais c'est tout à fait normal Car papa a les plus gros bras Et si monsieur louche sur toi Il faudra se taire pendant et après que monsieur te touchera Chut, chut Il faudra se taire C'est dur, ouai, c'est dur, ouai Mais il faudra s'y faire

Dodo, l'enfant do Bébé dormira bien vite Dodo, l'enfant do Bébé dormira Dodo, l'enfant do Bébé dormira bien vite Dodo, l'enfant do Bébé dormira bientôt

Et puis tu verras Que maman n'est pas mieux que papa Car maman aime voir d'autre monsieur Et même si c'est bien fait pour papa Tu n'aimeras pas Quand papa la tapera elle criera Car il se fâchera encore une fois Et il te feras ce qu'on lui faisait Et il te diras que c'est de ta faute à toi Que les grands hommes mâles ne pleurent pas Mais qu'ils se battent, enfin battent leur femme Mais surtout leurs enfants et tu pleureras Oui c'est pas grave Oui tu oublieras Tu veras tu feras

Dodo, l'enfant do Bébé dormira bien vite Dodo, l'enfant do Bébé dormira Dodo, l'enfant do Bébé dormira bien vite Dodo, l'enfant do Bébé dormira

Plus que quelques fois dormir Pour que papa ne se lève pas Même si tu ne seras qu'un peu moins triste quand il disparaîtra Et encore beaucoup de fois dormir Et enfin tu te reposeras Pas tout de suite mais dans longtemps, très longtemps tu dormiras Enfin tu dormiras Enfin tu dormiras

Enfin tu dormiras

Vocabulary/Vocabulaire

Se Taire - To be quiet/keep quiet

Frapper - To hit/strike

Loucher (Sur) - To eye/ogle/lust after/covet

Toucher - To touch/feel (in this case, physically with the hands)

Chut - “Shh”/”(S)hush”

Taper (=Frapper) - To hit/strike/bang/whack

Crier - To scream/cry out/yell

Faute - Fault/mistake/error

Mâle - Male

Se Reposer - To (have a) rest

This will be the French vocabulary I’ll be focusing on throughout the week.  If you’re interested in the English translation just click on “Keep Reading”; I also have sources for the info presented in this post beneath the English translation.  Hope you guys learned something today and enjoyed this post!  Let me know what you think of it in the comments!

English Translation

Hey little baby, you'll have to keep quiet Yeah even if daddy beats your mom Well, you have to get used to it I know it hurts Even when he leaves But this is quite normal Because daddy has the biggest arms And if he eyes you up You’ll have to keep quiet during and after he touches you Hush, hush You’ll have to keep quiet It's hard, yeah, it's hard, yeah But you have to get used to it

Sleep, the child will sleep Baby will sleep very soon Sleep, the child will sleep Baby will sleep Sleep, the child will sleep Baby will sleep very soon Sleep, the child will sleep Baby will sleep soon

And then you will see That mom is no better than dad Because mom likes meeting other men And even if it serves dad right You won’t like it When daddy hits her she'll cry Because he will get angry again And he’ll do to you what was done to him And he'll tell you it's your fault That the manly don’t cry But they beat each other, ultimately beat their wives But above all their children and you will cry Yes it doesn't matter Yes you will forget You will see you will go like:

Sleep, the child will sleep Baby will sleep very soon Sleep, the child will sleep Baby will sleep Sleep, the child will sleep Baby will sleep very soon Sleep, the child will sleep Baby will sleep soon

Only some time left to sleep So that dad doesn't wake up Even if you’ll only be a little less sad when he disappears And still much time left to sleep And finally you will rest Not right now but in a long time, very long time you will sleep At last, you will sleep At last, you will sleep

At last, you will sleep

Resources

Dodo Lyrics (FRENCH): https://genius.com/Stromae-dodo-lyrics

**Dodo Lyrics (ENGISH TRANSLATION): https://lyricstranslate.com/en/forum/dodo-stromae & Google Translate

Vocabulary Definitions: WordReference & Linguee

**I edited some of the lyric translation because I felt parts of the original translations were not accurate; feel free to tell me if you still find parts of the translation inaccurate!

[le-musain-rule]

Feuilly and boardgames

- LOVES CLUEDO with all his heart

- silently, quickly and brutally destroys all the other amis every. single. time. he has no mercy

- has only ever been beaten once by grantaire of all people (who is accidentally amazing at boardgames when he isn't doing couples yoga with Joly in the background)

- feuilly is sweet and precious yes. but he has a not-so-secret stubborn streak and he has never forgotten this defeat

- enjolras plays boardgames with his entire SOUL and still can't understand why Fee always wins and he always loses (enj is still convinced deep down that he cheats but has never been able to catch him at it)

- this is because Fee refuses to cheat EVER due to said stubborn streak. he will win but he will do it HIMSELF and he will do it with HONOUR

- never celebrates winning loudly (unlike bahorel, who has a choreographed victory dance routine) - instead, he has his secret winning smile. one eyebrow slightly raised. the left hand corner of his mouth slightly turned up. he has been known to continue doing this all evening (and Bossuet once caught him doing it at his reflection in the window of the Musain the next day)

- this is when being the only ami apart from Taire to be able to raise both eyebrows independently comes in handy (enjolras can only do both at the same time, but this never stops him from trying, and he has never yet been able to force Taire to delete the MANY photos)