Anonymous asked: ♫ Enjolras/Grantaire
RIGHT,
so I got Third Eye by Florence + the Machine (also I super love this meme and
more people should do it.) I ain’t even a little sorry. Canon era, motherfuckers, because I can.
Grantaire was arguing
with him again. Most of Enjolras’ mind
was occupied with ripping down the other man’s case, almost enjoying the
familiar pattern, but that quiet part at the base of his skull, the part that
had been getting louder of late, was distracted. It was discomfiting and foreign, as if he no
longer quite knew himself. It did little
to inhibit his argument—they were second nature by now, he could spare that
scrap of attention—but he was bothered by its persistence. Just when Enjolras believed he had shaken off
the strange abstraction, Grantaire would tip his head back and laugh at something
Joly had said, his wild curls falling back from the line of his throat, and it
would return with a vengeance.
He’s
brilliant, the
quiet voice noted now. It was true,
something Enjolras had noticed before.
For all that he dulled its edge with wine and other, stronger spirits,
Grantaire’s mind was as keen as the edge of broken glass, quick and incisive,
and he soaked up information as effortlessly as he did liquor. Grantaire claimed to know nothing—nothing but love and liberty, he had
said—but he could hold his ground against Enjolras, and quote Greek and Roman
writings without so much as a pause to recall.
He spoke rapidly, as if the thoughts piled up behind his tongue and
pressed to be first through his lips, and was prone to winding, tangential
thinking, but his points were good and clear and glittering.
Keep reading
Anonymous asked: I saw that you were open to fic requests. Do you have any Amis Mutant!AU headcanons?
I HAVE ALL THE MUTANT!AU HEADCANONS. Listen, children, Auntie Moran has been an X-Men devotee since she was very wee, I have mutant AU headcanons for basically everything I’ve ever seen. I think we’ll just do headcanons for this rather than a fic, though, you can hit me up later if you want actual plot.
Okay so I’m thinking that the Mutant Registration Act is going to have to be the big issue Les Amis are protesting–they’ve got to have something to be against, it’s Les Amis for God’s sake. And I’m thinking that a number of them are in a peculiar position because a lot of them are from wealthy upper-class families and have invisible mutations, so they could have just gone on with their lives without ever telling a lie. This is probably vaguely modern–hell, maybe the X-Men are kicking around somewhere. Aaaaanyway, here, it got long.
- Enjolras can glow. Actually it’s called electromagnetic manipulation, and he can do more than glow, but that’s the most common manifestation–when he’s impassioned or excited or angry, it’s as if particles of sunlight coalesce around his skin, a harsh and brilliant golden-white halo. He can control it, but it takes some concentration. With some practice, he learned to do other things with light, like setting off bursts of light to catch the attention of a crowd or throwing lightning-bright flashes from his hands to baffle the police and hide their escape. It’s beautiful, watching him speak at the Musain or at a protest, his whole body outlined in not-quite-blinding light so that there isn’t a single shadow on him, like an angel or an ancient god. It’s why Grantaire started calling him Apollo–god of the sun, of rapture and beauty, of eloquence and elegance. It drives Enjolras up the wall, but Grantaire persists and Enjolras’ light is all the brighter in the heat of his anger.
- Combeferre has a small psychic ability, although not in the sense of reading minds. He can share senses, specifically vision–look through the eyes of another animal. He likes moths and butterflies for this, because as calm and logical as he usually is, Combeferre is creative and loves art and moths and butterflies have five color receptors rather than three, they can see a whole spectrum humans can only dream of. When he’s drunk enough or exhausted enough, Combeferre will sit with his head on Courfeyrac’s shoulder and try to describe the other colors he can see through their eyes. (He has absolutely never started crying about it, and anything Courfeyrac says to the contrary is nothing but lies and slander.)
- Courfeyrac is an empath. I think I’ve used that one before, but I am VERY committed to Courfeyrac being an empath, y’all can fight me at dawn on that. He’s not much good at projecting, he can only manage it in a moment of strong emotion, although once he does manage it, he can swamp everyone around him and send them reeling into hysterical sobs or blind rage or, on one memorable occasion involving Combeferre, pure blazing lust. (They don’t talk about that one much, it’s a bit of a Noodle Incident, but suffice it to say Enjolras reacted…poorly, when they came out of it and he realized he’d kissed Grantaire. It was a messy week until he apologized for his reaction.) Courfeyrac is much better at receptive empathy, at reading the people around him, and he’s a master at balancing it all, knowing which emotions are his and which aren’t. It does make being around Enjolras a little exhausting, with all that fiery passion roaring through him all the time–Combeferre, much steadier in nature, is a good balance, though. That’s part of the reason Courfeyrac likes Gavroche so much. He’s not a complex kid, he’s very direct and up front with his thoughts and emotions. It’s restful to be around, unless you’re on his hit list.
- Bousset’s mutation is probability manipulation. Nothing so large-scale as the Scarlet Witch–he’s not going to be rewriting reality any time soon, nor eradicating mutant-kind–and instead of being able to shoot bolts, he can sort of attach it to people like a curse. It’s relatively shortlived, but he can grab someone, skin-to-skin, and attach his power to them for a while, giving them ‘good luck’ or ‘bad luck’ depending on his preference. Problem is, entropy demands a balance, so he deals with the backlash–if he makes someone lucky, he deals with correspondingly strong bad luck until his power falls away from them, and vice versa. He’s always having runs of really terrible luck because he’ll tag (he calls it ‘tagging’ someone) his friends with little drips and dabs of good luck whenever they’re having a bad day or a rough week or he’s feeling particularly affectionate, and little drips and dabs add up really quick when you’re doling them out to almost a dozen people. (He did very quietly make an arrangement with pretty much everyone except Joly and Musichetta, tagged all of Les Amis with bad luck, waited for his luck to turn up, and then went and asked the pair of them if they wanted to date him. They haven’t let him forget it yet. They said yes.)
- Joly’s a healer, of course. More specifically, he can alter physical functions on a molecular level through physical contact, which means that he can do anything from cure cancer to cause someone’s body to break down where they’re standing. He’s a little wary about physical contact, consequently–it’s never happened, but he worries that if he’s touching someone when he’s angry or scared he might hurt them. But he always kisses Bousset’s bumps and scrapes better–literally–and he aced the fuck out of his anatomy and physiology classes. He loves medicine, really loves it, because yeah, he can make all this stuff happen at hyperspeed, but it’s so cool to learn how it works. He can’t heal himself, though–he could, but there’s a mental block that he can’t get around, because when he first broke his leg and tried to heal it, it didn’t work, so he’s convinced himself it’s impossible. The limp doesn’t bother him, most of the time, but every once in a while he sits there and chews on his lower lip and wonders what went wrong.
- Musichetta can draw the future. She’s a talented artist, and she likes to work in paints when she has the money–some of her paintings were hung in a gallery and Bousset drenched her in good luck that first time, so she does pretty well for herself, and can work in oil paints more often now. She and Grantaire have very different styles–he has a warm pre-Impressionistic style, real and living and firelit, where she paints with sharp contrasts and comic-book-esque figures and buildings–but they love to look at each others’ work, and they tease each other about the paint splotches left on their skin after a day in the studio. She has a whole sketchbook full of pencil sketches of the future–waste of good paints, she says dryly–and it travels everywhere with her, always ready to be yanked out when she feels a flash of insight coming on. She saves the lot of them from being arrested almost monthly, and there was one time where she saw a train wreck and called the company in a panic, and they found a loose bolt that would have come free and killed everyone on board. It doesn’t always go that well, though–Joly lets her curl up in his lap when she can’t stop a vision, and she’ll put her head on his shoulder and cling to his shirt, Bousset’s hands gentle and soothing down her back, until she feels better.
- Feuilly is easily spotted as a mutant, because his skin is streaked in places with smooth, beautiful black scales. They arch over one of his cheekbones, down the line of his spine and up the inside of one of his wrists. It’s snakeskin, black mamba specifically, and he has a host of other tricks up his sleeve–he’s never felt the need to find out if he’s venomous, though. Black mamba venom is one of the most lethal in the entire world, and he’s just as happy to never know. But he can sense heat, taste/smell/something in between infinitesimally small particles and his skin is so sensitive that he can feel the print on a page or sense the change in vibration when an engine is low on oil. He works as a mechanic, because he can turn on a car and put his hands on the hood and feel and smell and sense, and know what’s wrong in no time flat. His coworkers are generally proud of his brilliance (he’s also working toward graduating summa cum laude with a Master’s in Engineering) but every so often they get a customer who’s an A-grade dick.
- Bahorel is a muscle-mimic–he can watch someone do something physical and replicate it perfectly. He uses it for what he calls ‘cheap tricks’ more often than not, like the time he watched Feuilly fold a paper crane and settled down to folding a thousand of them. (He gave them to Feuilly when the man came in with a bruise on his face, his scales raw as if someone had scraped them along the ground, and won a smile before Joly pounced on Feuilly to heal him.) But it makes him unspeakably useful in a tight spot, because Bahorel’s spent so much time watching how the police fight in a riot that he can use it against them like it’s second nature. He’d almost rather die than watch any of the others get banged up, and Joly spends almost as much time healing him as he does Bousset, just because Bahorel has no apparent self-preservation instincts to speak of.
- Jehan can talk to plants. He’s like Layla from Sky High and I have no shame about that comparison. He wears cuttings of flowers in his hair and they’ll grow through his braid and bloom happily and just kind of live off his energy until he puts them in dirt, and when he’s feeling particularly effusively affectionate tendrils of his plants will reach down his arms toward whoever’s closest to him. Also, he’s normally very gentle and his plants are all pretty flowering vines and dandelions and things, but when shit gets serious during a protest or on the street, everyone is reminded very quickly that tree roots can crack open mountains.
- Grantaire can animate shadows. He’s one of the unlucky ones–anyone can take a look at him and know he’s a mutant, his eyes glassy black and his curls shifting as if in a low wind as the shadows shift on his skin. He’s been told all his life that it’s ugly, that the way the shadows curl lively along his jaw and under his curls and beneath his brows. It’s useful sometimes, being able to summon a shadow army to get between the police and the fleeing Amis, or being able to animate a sparring partner out of his own shadow, but Grantaire is always the first one to call Enjolras out on being naive. Easy to talk about how humans will trust you when you look like an angel–less so when you deal in darkness. Enjolras is perpetually furious with Grantaire’s cynicism, but he’s more furious with the world that created him, that convinced him that his mutation is something ugly and irredeemable. He thinks (but never says) that Grantaire’s shadows are beautiful, like ink spilled over his skin, and once they finally work their shit out (Gavroche is the one who makes it happen, probably, because he’s a sneaky little shit), he discovers that Grantaire can let his shadows spill on Enjolras’ skin, leaving dark pools against the golden radiance.
- Gavroche and Eponine (and Azelma, wherever she is) have a modification of the same mutation, which is, according to Thenardier, the only reason he knows they’re all his children. They’re all pyrokinetics, although at different levels–Gavroche is a manipulator, able to shape heat and fire into any shape as long as he has something to work with, and Azelma is a firestarter, but Eponine is the only one of them who can do both, just like their father. They’re all easy to spot as mutants, too, with eyes that flicker red with flames when they catch the lights and core body temperatures well north of 200 F. She’s terrified that somehow her power’s going to corrupt her, turn her into Thenardier, and Marius is the first person who shows nothing but pure delight at the sparks that crackle out of her hair and the flames that lick her fingers. She can’t help but love him a little for that.
- As long as we’re on the subject, Patron-Minette. Montparnasse’s mutation is 100% out of his control, he can’t turn it off or strengthen it at all. When asked, he tells everyone his mutation is being beautiful. In reality, he doesn’t really understand it, but it’s something to do with pheromones–just about everyone who sees him, who draws close enough to talk, is clobbered with a metaphorical two by four of attraction. It’s very useful in the killer-for-hire business, and he’d never admit how uncomfortable it makes him sometimes. Eponine, her skin always just this side of burning, is one of the only people unaffected, and he’d kill to keep her around. Claquesous is a teleporter, and Babet is a metamorph, able to look like anyone he wants, and Gueulemer has superstrength.
- Marius isn’t a mutant. He did get booted out of his grandfather’s home and disinherited for starting a fight in polite society about mutant rights, though, so Bahorel and Courfeyrac take to him immediately. But he also had the misfortune to walk into a conversation about the concept of a mutant ‘cure’ and open with “Well, some mutants might need it” and that went over a treat. He managed to redeem himself, though, although Enjolras eyed him with suspicion for a while.
- Cosette! My sweet girl! Has wings! They’re not the crisp white wings of an angel or a dove, either–they’re broad and angled and bronze fletched with dark red, the wings of a hawk. She normally hides them by binding them down under her clothes–her mother had wings too, she remembers vaguely, wide and soft and wheat-pale as a songbird’s, and it was Mama who taught her to bind them down, hide them, before she went away. Marius saw her for the first time with shed feathers braided into her hair until she looked like a spirit from another world, and she’s strong enough to take him flying (bridal style, of course).
- Valjean’s not a mutant, but Javert is. He’s also neck-deep in denial.
Anonymous asked: heyyyyy, i would love an exr au where one of them has to teach the other how to dance and it's so frustrating because "he won't fucking cooperate" and there's the deal with sexual tension so one of them just snaps and. . . i'll let you decide their fate ;)))) (love your work btw)
Heeeeeeey,
sorry this took a little while, life…is happening to me. But!
Abuse of the fact that Grantaire is canonically a dancer! Sexual tension! Here we go!
“One-two-three,
one-two-three, that’s-my-foot, one-two-three, one-two—Enjolras!” Grantaire huffed,
doing an awkward sort of two-step to back up without releasing his grip on his
partner’s hand and waist. “There are actually nerve endings in my toes,
do you mind?”
“I’m trying, you’re not telling me what to
do!” Enjolras scowled down at the floor,
brow furrowed as he tried to place his feet, and tugged his hand out of
Grantaire’s. Grantaire released him
without a fight, dropping his hand from Enjolras’ hip and immediately missing
the warmth.
“It’s a waltz, not brain surgery,” Grantaire
said. “I told you what to do when we
started. There are literally three steps
to this dance.” Enjolras stopped, his
frown deepening until it seemed etched into his face, and Grantaire sighed. “Come here, we can try again,” he said,
holding out his hand again. “Your hand
on my shoulder, the other like this,” he coached, pulling Enjolras in
again. “Come on, Apollo,” he said with
an attempt at an encouraging smile, “weren’t you valedictorian in high school? You can do a waltz.”
Keep reading
ghostdog401 asked: If you're still looking for fic prompts what about e/R and a secretly royalty AU? Or just anything with a fairytale type feel?
Okay
I see what you’re saying there but WHAT IF WE DID BOTH??? This got so long, I’m sorry, I got
overexcited about fairy tales and I wrote 5K in like a day. (No for real this is almost 5000 words,
Jesus, self, what are you doing.)
Enjolras is a
wished-for child, and he’s told as much every day by his mother, who bought his
life with a few drops of blood on white silk in a gold embroidery hoop. From the minute he learns to talk, he’s as
fair as the sun and as sharp as her needle, and his country adores their young
prince with their whole heart. His
mother Queen Lamarque is a good ruler and her Prince Consort is nice enough so
all is well, and Enjolras grows up believing passionately in the rights of the people. His tutors despair of him as a monarch but
are delighted with him as a politician—it’s very strange for everyone.
And then the Queen
dies, and everything goes to pieces, because the dowager Prince Regent isn’t a
ruler by nature and Enjolras is still too damned young to take her place and
it’s all quite a mess. Vital government
services are falling through, taxes are going uncollected or over-collected,
the generals of the army are making warning noises about neighboring countries
taking advantage of their weakened state, and everything is teetering on the
edge of chaos.
Keep reading
lathori asked: ExR for the ship And the AU is from a post you previously reblogged: "Everybody in the world has a superpower that compliments their soulmates superpower. When together, both their powers increase in strength exponentially. You have the most useless power ever, when one day……" Go forth and write me more ExR
Everyone look at how awesome my platonic soul mate is, she sends me fun prompts when I’m bored. My concept of ‘complementary’ powers might be a little weird but whatever! We’re going with it. To the shock of no one, this got out of hand.
- Grantaire
has the most useless power ever. Ever.
He’s confirmed this with everyone he knows.
- It’s not nifty as
hell, like Eponine’s talent for making tiny storms between her palms—if she
ever meets her soulmate, that’s going to be awesome. It’s not even one of those powers that seems
useless or trivial in the moment but will obviously turn into something amazing
when the person meets their soulmate.
Like Joly, for example. The
ability to cure headaches and hangovers?
Not very impressive, although eminently useful. Flash forward, enter Bousset and Musichetta
and one skin-to-skin touch, and boom, one fully-fledged healer, on a silver
platter.
- And then there’s
Grantaire. Who can make pictures
move. As long as he’s the one holding
the pen. What the hell is that?
Keep reading
darkphoenext:
guys, you know how in the brick grantaire falls at enjolras’s feet?
grantaire is standing next to him; they’re facing the guns, though enjolras, at the moment the report resounds, has his face turned to grantaire and is smiling.
grantaire would have to fall across and in front of enjolras to be ‘at his feet.’
when someone is shot, they either go straight down, fall straight forwards, or straight to the side. enjolras himself is pinned to the wall, after all.
guys
guys
i think grantaire may have made one last desperate effort to save enjolras’s life, even subconsciously, by falling across him instead, trying to block the bullets.
i think that might be what hugo was going for.
shit tits fuck my life with a chainsaw.
(Source: bigenderalexsummers, via enjolrarses)
enjolraaaaaaaaaas:
fun drinking game: enjoltaire (two friends share 8 shots, holding hands)
(Source: kiprie, via princehal9000)
