Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

Anonymous asked: Hello friend, I just wanted to ask if you were ever going to update your R avatar fic... not to rush you or pressure you or whatever. I know you are super busy and such but I just wanted to ask because I like it and just wanted to know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

MY BUDDY, MY DUDE, SORRY FOR THE DELAY ON ANSWERING THIS ASK BUT NOT THAT SORRY BECAUSE HERE, I FINALLY FUCKING GOT MY SHIT TOGETHER

CHAPTER SEVEN OF THINGS WE LOST IN THE FIRE, THE AVATAR GRANTAIRE AU THAT I CAN’T BELIEVE PEOPLE ARE STILL READING

*THROWS SELF ON GROUND AND GROVELS FOR TAKING TWO MONTHS TO UPDATE*

(hey just be grateful it’s not my Eponine Reincarnation fic, that one is actively on hiatus because the chapters are so long, I’m the worst)

piggybunny12 asked: EXR--Point of No Return from Phantom...or really anything from Phantom. I saw it last night and all the sudden it's sophomore year of high school again for me...

Not gonna lie, baby, I have not…actually seen Phantom of the Opera, but I googled the song and Tried. Yeah, yeah, I’m a heathen, I know. I am Trying.  And this.  Oh god. I make SUCH a rule about not writing smut except on specific request, so I just…stopped before it progressed to actual sex.  But rest assured that’s where this goes, and if you’re interested I’m glad to write it.

“Combeferre, make sure our weapons are prepared,” Enjolras was saying, the sort of rapid-fire rattle that commanded effortless attention.  He’d worked his way through every present member of Les Amis and then some by now, even little Gavroche getting instructions as they readied themselves for the next day’s march.  That just left…  “And where the hell is Grantaire?”

“Madame Houchloupe commandeered him as waitstaff,” Courfeyrac said with a wicked grin.

“What?”

“He means that she asked him to fetch more wine from the cellar, it’s crowded tonight,” Combeferre translated with a sigh.  “He’s probably still down there.”

“We are—this is not the moment for his antics,” Enjolras snapped, a scowl writing itself deeply into his features.  

“He’s been gone barely ten minutes,” Joly said, waving a hand.  “If you’re so thrice-blasted worried, go find him yourself.”

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courfeyr:

harveyspeckles:

wanweirds:

do you ever just think about the fact

that when Grantaire dies

Victor Hugo says he’s been hit by a coup de foudre

and in english we read that as him being struck down by lightning (in the penguin translation it just says he falls at enjolras’ feet) but

eugh coup de foudre is a EUPHAMISM FOR LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

fucking

victor

hugo

and cry

#s t rUCK TO THE BONE IN A MOMENT O F BREA TH LES S DELIG HT

I’ve seen this post a whole bunch of times but something only just clicked-

Early on during the introduction to Les Amis, Grantaire is described as not understanding exactly what he feels for Enjolras, bar knowing it’s a fascination. Hit by a coup de foudre at the very last second, Grantaire finally realises that what he’s feeling for Enjolras is love.

And then he dies.

(Source: isnothingsacredsmh, via enjolrarses)

lathori asked: Babe. THE smut fic. You know the one. E x R, what we've been talking about. /Please/ write it? /Please/ <3 E

Aaaaand here we go with the smut.  I don’t write smut much, mostly just on request.  So I dunno how this came out.  But it’s definitely smut.  NSFW. Possibly NSF-Anywhere.  Also it like…cold opens to sex, so.  There is no plot here.

Grantaire tugged at the long ends of the cord, tightening the coil winding about the outside.  It scraped along the taut length stretching to the headboard, a faint but audible sound, and he glanced down.

“Too tight?” he asked quietly, letting his fingers trail down to slip into the gap between Enjolras’ wrist and the five loops of white cotton binding him to the bed.  He could still fit two fingers comfortably beside Enjolras’ delicate wrist, and the touch made Enjolras’ eyes flicker open.  The usually bright honey color was a little hazy, distracted.  “Mon ange,” Grantaire prompted.

“You’re fine,” Enjolras said, blinking until his gaze was clearer.  Grantaire nodded and finished tucking the loose ends away until the knot was secure. He ducked, pressed a kiss to the long, deft fingers, and saw Enjolras close his eyes again.

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Anonymous asked: Prompt: les amis princess protection program au

*Aaron Burr voice*  Sure!  So it took me a long-ass time to write this because I saw PPP like once, like ten years ago, and I just now had the time to google it and brush up.  As payment for the delay, it’s SEVEN PAGES.  Also I wrote this at two in the morning and I haven’t looked over it since, so…  I wandered off from the movie plot.  Sorry.

• Prince Gabriel Alexandrè Enjolras Apollinaire—he usually opts out of the lengthy full name for just ‘Enjolras’, to the ongoing dismay of his entire staff—is literally getting crowned as king of the small country Rive Lune when Inquisiteur Javert, the right-hand man of the neighboring Rive Astre, comes crashing through the door.  Turns out being extremely determined to transform a hundred-year monarchy into a democracy makes the local dictators edgy.  Despite his best efforts to the contrary, Enjolras is (quite literally) hauled away by Monsieur Valjean, a member of the Prince Protection Program.  His mother and the queen of Rive Lune, Her Royal Majesty Juliette Ameliè Lamarque Apollinaire, is not so lucky.

• Enjolras puts up a very legitimate fight against being ‘packed off like so much spare luggage,’ as he puts it in his lengthy tirade. The PPP has never had to handle such an…opinionated prince—normally, they’re so shocky from an attempt on their life that they don’t question much.  Enjolras is something else.  He spins such a compelling speech about personal responsibility and care of the people and my country that, honestly?  They almost go for it.  And then Valjean clears his throat and politely reminds everyone of the situation, and Enjolras is packed off to America without further ado (and over his continuting protests) because Valjean has that effect on people.

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Anonymous asked: oooooh, i would love a exr shortie where e has to teach r how to dance and it's very frustrating and they feel thINGS, please?

*hides face* Oh my God, it’s been like a MONTH, I am so sorry, but HERE.  There is dancing and feelings and kissing and Enjolras actually having a social life because Courfeyrac forces him to.  Also, I seem to have a tendency to write ‘getting their shit together’ ficlets so if you want…not that, feel free to ask.  And if you want the reverse of this where Grantaire teaches Enjolras to dance, it is here.

Enjolras goes to clubs.  It’s not especially common knowledge, because he’s usually too busy, but whenever Courfeyrac feels like it’s necessary, he’ll drag Enjolras out to a nightclub, pour a few shots into him, and turn him loose for a few hours with instructions to not think too much.  This time, it’s a group outing, all of Les Amis laughing and tactile with alcohol, hands on arms and cheeks flushed with the triumph of their latest protest.  

Joly, giggly with his second rum and coke, is the one to start the dancing, pushing Musichetta and Bousset onto the dance floor ahead of him.  The three of them fit together like puzzle pieces, Musichetta’s petite body pressed back against Joly’s chest and Bousset’s broad shoulders behind the pair of them.  They’ve clearly done this before, because Bousset and Musichetta know just how to move so that Joly can dance without aggravating his limp.  It’s fluid and sensual, Musichetta’s head tipped back on Joly’s shoulder and her smile dazzling up at her boys, and Enjolras feels the brief pause around him, the rest of them caught up in the trio’s giddy joy.

“Aw, they’re cute,” Cosette says, and Éponine smirks, finishes her scotch, and pinches Marius hard in the side.  He yelps and flails—not a graceful man at the best of times, and less so with alcohol—but gets the hint, shyly offering his hand to Cosette and letting her tug him onto the floor.  Éponine is still snickering when she darts out herself, bouncing and coiling like a ribbon in the dim club lights.

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Anonymous asked: ♫ Enjolras/Grantaire

words-writ-in-starlight:

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.

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Reblog for the daytime crowd.