cherry valley forever
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Janaina Medeiros
noise dept.
Product Placement
★
Andulka
Peter Solarz
pixel skylines
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Xuebing Du
d e v o n
KIROKAZE
Cosimo Galluzzi
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
ojovivo
Mike Driver
#extradirty
art blog(derogatory)
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@agoldenantinous
Apologies for the corny filtered background, I got lazy. Well, lazier.
Anyway; a realistic version of my modern AU Grantaire design based on an image of Louis Garrel that I photoshopped to be less handsome (but it didn’t work). I’ve included a version without the naff background for the sake of it.
Candy Clouds Of Lullaby || Enjolras & Grantaire (Asylumverse thegoldenantinous)
The smile that the other man offers confirms Etienne’s thoughts – he’s most certainly god-like. He has to be. No one but a god could look that attractive, that handsome and perfect. There’s no doubt anymore in his mind. But which god is he most like? Etienne isn’t entirely certain, really. His eyes trail around the area around them, the darkness of the burning embers, the deep black of the air around the monsters that threaten them, that inch closer to them moment by moment.
But then there’s Hyacinthe. Hyacinthe is like a light in the darkness of this world that his mind has created, a bright spot despite the blackness that threatens to envelop them both, and it makes Etienne smile the smallest bit more. He’s like a star, or the sun, expelling his light to the world around them to chase away the hungry humanoid monsters that wish to tear at Etienne, to pull him apart limb from limb and leave him in pieces for someone else to find come morning.
It’s in that moment that Etienne decides – Hyacinthe will be his Apollo.
The question Hyacinthe asks pierces through the hazy growling again, making the monsters seem distant and echoing rather than as if they’re right there to swallow him up, and it makes Etienne let out a quiet, relieved sigh, dragging his hand through his hair. “It was my dad’s name,” he responds softly, shrugging a shoulder slightly. “I was never really close to my dad or anything. He was actually kinda a jerk, if you ask my opinion. But that’s just me. They tell me I’m a little biased in that.”
When the man settles beside him at last, Etienne isn’t sure if it’s just his mind or if it’s actually Hyacinthe’s warmth that hits him, making him lean a bit closer. The monsters have backed off now, retreating away from the brightness of his Apollo, and Etienne can’t even verbally express how thankful he suddenly is that the other man’s joined him in the music room, that he’s opted to sit beside him rather than going to find one of the other patients to speak to. It’s a blessing that Etienne is far from believing he deserves.
Taking a deep breath at the introduction, he offers a smile, nodding. “I might know a few things,” he said softly, thinking through the repertoire of songs that he’d learned over the years. Music was one of the few things remaining that Etienne hadn’t let be swallowed up by the darkness of his mind. Without it, he was certain he’d have succumbed to his monsters long, long before now, or that his liver would have failed from the alcohol he’d once used to smother them.
His eyes tilted back up to Hyacinthe after a moment, looking thoughtful. “You’ve chased the monsters away,” he said quietly, as if uncertain that the other would believe him. “I’m… I have schizophrenia, and most of the time I see… I see these monsters. The room’s burning right now, on the edges, and it’s wicked dark, and there’re monsters in the corners of the room, just… Just waiting for you to walk away so they can get to me again. But you chased them away. It’s… It doesn’t happen often.”
Clearing his throat after the admission, Etienne’s eyes shifted back to the piano, his fingertips pressing against the keys lightly as he attempted to think of a song he could play before a small smile overtook his face again. “Do you know Over The Rainbow?” he questioned, looking back at Hyacinthe for a moment before starting to press the keys in a simple, lilting chord progression. “Or, better question. What kind of music do you know? I’ll pull something out of my pocket from whatever genre you know.”
Hyacinthe feels a bit of shame at mentioning it then- the last thing he wants to do is bring up a sore topic of conversation with Etienne. The man has been nothing but kind, even in just the few minutes they've been talking. Hyacinthe has long been accused of having awful people skills when it comes to interpersonal relationships. One of the little ironies of his life, he supposes, that he should be so talented with words and with talking and be so charming- and yet be so off putting in conversation at first. Maybe he is made for speeches and not niceties or mildness, or jokes about the weather. His parents always used to tell him that he was far too severe. Though he'd never bothered to listen much.
"I apologize. I didn't mean to bring up a sore subject." He said quietly, though in place like a mental hospital, Hyacinthe figured that perhaps quite a few subjects that were sensitive. He would have to be a little bit more gentle. Hyacinthe didn't believe much in having topics that were off limits, after all, he surrounded himself, buried himself into his work and his work, his life's work actually was dealing with the sensitive topics that others would rather ignore.
As for his own relationship with his parents- well, it was strained at best. A case of utterly mismatched priorities had done their job to drive a distance between him and the people who'd raised him.
He straightens in seriousness at the talk of monsters, an eyebrow going up as he glanced around with wide blue eyes. Hyacinthe thought for a moment that maybe he was just misunderstanding and the other man was trying to imply that the staff and doctors were monstrous or beastly. No, he clarifies himself and he can only stare in surprise. Etienne doesn't seem that crazy- a little sad, lonely but he wouldn't have guessed it to be as severe as that. He's touched for a moment, though he doesn't see how he could do something like chase away the demons in Grantaire's head. He reaches out and puts a hand on his wrist, a tangible physical presence to tie him to the promise he makes. "I won't let them get closer then." He assures him with a nod. "I promise." He adds, and it's with the solemness of a vow.
Hyacinthe can only give him a slightly surprised look at the question though. "I know I'm not really a lexicon of Pop Culture but I have seen most of the Classics you know." He says, he can't imagine there is a person in the world who hasn't heard Somewhere Over the Rainbow at least once.
"I know it very well, you'll have to excuse the rustiness of my voice. My choir days are behind me and it's been a while since I've used it for anything more than speeches." Those have their own beauty of course, but public speaking isn't the same as singing, though he had been able to apply a lot of the proper breathing technique he'd been taught as a singer when he'd started to really pursue his politic leanings into activism.
“ However, this sceptic had one fanaticism. This fanaticism was neither a dogma, nor an idea, nor an art, nor a science; it was a man: Enjolras. Grantaire admired, loved, and venerated Enjolras.”
one day i will draw something other than portraits but today is not that day
to illuminate the world | Enjolras & Charles
The quote is right- the world doesn't end with a bang but with a whimper. Not that the world ended, but- in the sense that his life changed completely, revolutionized seemingly overnight. There had been no warning, no 'bang' to speak of. No event that had suddenly kicked something inside of him, it had been like the flicking of a switch, like something inside of him suddenly humming to life.
One day- Hyacinthe Enjolras had been like any other teenage boy- well, at least to outward appearances. The next he had woken and everything had changed, because he was something different. Something beyond human- or perhaps below it- as it seemed from how people treated him. He was something frightening and abnormal, something that people shied away from.
So his world as he had known it, had ended with a quiet whimper when he was 15 and the world had dawned anew after it. It had started small, his pale complexion had taken on a golden hue, then a discernible light, a visible glow like a candle in the dark.
It had been about that time that his parents had quietly pulled him out of private school- restricted his ability to leave the estate. Tutors who could be paid for their silence came to the grounds and taught him instead.
One day- it had seemed that Hyacinthe had been the apple of his parent's eye, the only son, the heir, the blooming bud of flower at the peak of the family tree- and then he had become a secret. He'd been squirreled away- kept away from people seeing him and- worst of all, kept out of the sunlight as much as possible. It was quite a thing, to go from the pride of a family to something they were ashamed of.
All of it blooming from one single blip, some tiny bit of a code in his genetic makeup somewhere. At least, that was what the theories and science books all say about it. Not that there is much material to be found on what exactly he is.
Hyacinthe knows how to control it- or, he at least understands what it is he can do and can hide it for the most part. What he can do is this- absorb light and heat into his body. Sunlight is best, but artificial light is enough if he starts to feel ill.
He doesn't glow anymore, or accidentally expel the light and heat he's stored up like a miniature supernova. That had only been the one time he'd lost his temper and well, his parents had hardly been pleased at having the content of their basement incinerated and the walls bearing scorch marks of it.
He's got control enough that he can go to school and they'll still pay for him to pursue his degree. It's not that he thinks he should have to hide- it's that it's hard to find people who are sympathetic to his issues. People like him- aren't generally keen about talking about it. Everybody hides it like so much dirty laundry.
The ignorance is really starting to wear on his nerves, especially considering the scientific community has yet to embrace or research the possibility. Hyacinthe knows he's rare and far from average but- the rules of probability mean he cannot be the only one.
So of course- Hyacinthe had been more than just a bit intrigued when he'd gotten a letter from Professor Xavier, considering he seemed to be one of the few who had a theory about abilities like his own. He's been eager to meet him though, and there was no way he was going to deny the invitation to meet somebody whom he feels like might just understand him. There's a library on his school campus, often deserted on weekend afternoons, and that's where they've arranged to meet. Somewhere public, but where they don't have to worry too much about eavesdropping.
Not that he has any idea what they're going to discuss, the Professor had been vague in his writings, but Hyacinthe is more than curious enough to not question his good fortune about having a genetics expert's brain to pick. Hyacinthe isn't stupid by any meanings, but he's not a scientist by trade either.
He looks up from his book, glances around his empty table a bit nervously before he checks the gold watch at his wrist. The Professor should be here any moment now, and he won't say he's not a bit anxious to meet him after reading his thesis.
Good morning sunshine! This is a message from one who adores you IC and OOC, who loves your writing and your characterisations, who admires and respects you as a person. Remember that you're wonderful, beautiful, and strong, no matter what people may say sometimes. I want to hug you because you're you and you're here and that's reason enough to celebrate. I'd wish you a day as lovely a you are, but I don't think so much loveliness can exist in a day, so I'll settle for the loveliest day ever.
Anon you are lovely, thank you for your love, I hope you have the loveliest day possible as well.
Now that good sense has prevailed- let’s get back to RP related stuff. Basically, there needed to be more Bahorels on tumblr. I was helpless to resist. Please follow.
-Laur
Thank you, this has been a shameless self promotion!
“—Enjolras.”
Hyacinthe straightens, unconciously, the voice is soft but- but yet it's not soft at all. It's like something that slips inside his ear, bouncing around in his head and gaining a reverberation and an echo. It's odd, but- he's always believed in grace under fire, to an certain extent at least. He likes to keep his calm exterior, even when he is slightly thrown off- which is not often at all.
Enjolras though, it's his name- and he thinks perhaps it's baggage of the soul and not the body. It was his name nearly a century ago, and again- he is Enjolras. He'll always be- even if he goes by some other name. You could change the name of a fire without altering it's blaze, after all.
He adjusts the scarf loosely slung around his neck, fighting off a shiver, it's not that the man frightened him or anything like that. It's just that there is a feel to him- something that commands a subtle but deep running power. Hyacinthe respects that, tilts his head slightly, offers the beginnings of a smile.
"Yes- that's me." He confirms. "Do I know you?" He asks, wondering why his body is vibrating inside like a tuning fork shaking on one perfect note. It's- a first really.
put me through the wash (maybe I'll come clean) | Enjolras & Grantaire
Hyacinthe struggles to drag his mesh laundry hamper with him to the elevator and he bangs on the button with one hand. The elevator in this apartment building is iffy at the best and at the worst, seems like a death trap just waiting to drop you into the basement. However, he's on the 12th floor out of 16 floors and he's not about to haul a week and a half of laundry down the stairs to the community laundry room in the dank basement.
Beside, Hyacinthe has never shied away from risk and danger. It's all about calculated risks, really. He lives on the edges of the world and considering he's always had something in his spirit of the revolutionaries of old, he has no problem in living in the margins, burning at the periphery and skirting with illegality. Hyacinthe doesn't need a penal code to live by to make him a good person, he has his heart and his moral center.
In his mind, there is goodness to be found in behaving simply to avoid jail. If a law is unjust- if a person is unjust, then they should be disregarded. If it's a person in a position of power- then they must be brought down and shown that nobody- nobody is above anybody else. Corruption- in all of it's forms, must be fought, it must not be tolerated by the society that breeds it, if it is allowed to grow it will spread it's seeds everywhere. That's why Hyacinthe is willing to live a life of danger- because every victory against corruption gives him heart, reminds him of why he sacrifices his own safety.
Hyacinthe had been an activist in his youth and he still has the spirit of one- he goes to protests here and there and loans his eloquent voice and waves signs and helps to organize. He got fed up with feeling as though his words, his passions were being poured into a hole. Like they were pressed out of him and put into the ether and they got lost and disregarded.
Then he'd thought- in this age, the modern of technology. So much is digital, and people who control and can use technology have a way around the power structure. So Hyacinthe had become a hacker- once he'd learned the skills- it had been easy to do really. A rush, a thrill, a feeling of tingling that only came from feeling like he was finally fighting- finally working. That his passions were finally being used to bring real results.
That had been the birth of Les Amis, and by now plenty of people on the internet know their name, they know their mission. They don't know who they are though, and they each live a sort of double life- a cover to conceal and protect. That's why Hyacinthe in this place, an apartment a few steps up from shitty, and it's why all his neighbors live under the impression that he's a rent boy of some description. An easy ruse to pull off, and one that gets him lots of privacy without many prying questions as to his career.
He sighs his frustration, leans on the button for the elevator. "Honestly- come on you crappy death box." He mutters to himself. At least he doesn't live in one of those famous New York City walk ups, there are small miracles.
The People Too Must Rise -> Les Misérables Wizarding World AU
Fifteen years after Voldemort and the Battle at Hogwarts, that period of history has faded out of common conversation and slipped into the textbooks used in History of Magic classes; all seems to be well in the eyes of many, yet a new and much more subtle threat begins to emerge. With the sudden appointment of a seemingly-charming man as the new Minister of Magic, an institutionalized prejudice begins to be instated. Hidden behind smiles and claims for a “better, more organized world,” blood and ancestry is given greater importance than ever before. Pureblood, halfblood, and muggleborn become labels that systemically define and categorize people in unfair ways, effecting their wages, their families, and their lives. With a campaign that’s becoming increasingly more sinister, the Ministry of Magic claims it is all for the better, and so many blindly follow or are too scared to defy those who lead.
Enjolras, a halfblood Gryffindor student, intently follows the news and sees this systemic oppression for what it truly is. The catalyst for change comes when one elderly Ministry worker named Lamarque dares to try to speak out, and he “tragically dies” in an “accident” for his trouble. Enraged and determined, Enjolras begins to spread active awareness amongst those at Hogwarts, and students from all houses begin to listen. His impassioned speeches lead to the formation of a group, which is appropriately named Lamarque’s Army. House hostilities are forgotten in the face of a larger prejudice, and the group quickly comes to care for not only their cause but each other. Amongst them are Enjolras’ closest friend, a clever halfblooded Ravenclaw whose straightforward strategies keep them all organized; the pureblooded Slytherin girl who always fights for the good, though her parents are in Azkaban; the muggleborn Hufflepuff, who strings together beautiful words to inspire everyone and is perhaps the fiercest of them all; and the Gryffindor boy who is publicly labelled a blood traitor by his wealthy pureblood family for fighting for the cause. Their efforts catch the eye of the Ministry and The Daily Prophet, and a Ministry worker named Javert is sent to discourage such “unruly misconduct.” Headmaster Valjean, who is clearly on the revolutionaries’ side, consistently attempts to dissuade Javert and keep Hogwarts in line, as other students take the Ministry’s words to heart and become violent.
Forced to be stealthy and work in secret, hated for fighting against hate, Lamarque’s Army makes the Wizarding World wake up, take notice, and consult history. Though many have not forgotten the horrors of fifteen years prior, even more don’t truly understand or weren’t taught the whole story. Voldemort’s evil began with his own prejudices, and though this threat does not have his mark, it is not any less of a danger.
sets you off against the planet’s last dance
Wish these two would get back together, Ron Sharpe is by far my favorite ValJean, their confrontation is amazing.
This is a chain we’ll never break
Believe me this is love scene <3
That Valjean is my boyfriend's vocal coach. He's like the sweetest guy. I am friends with his daughter. Just...hehe amusing.
Grantaire tried to shove Enjolras out of the way. He really did but the alcohol had slowed his thought process and all he could do was watch in horor as the bullet pierced his chest. Dropping to his knees he pressed his hands over the wound. (1/2)
"You're gonna be okay Apollo." He whispered dialing 911, "help is on the way okay. God dammit stay awake. Talk to me please." He choaked out as sobs wrecked his body. "I love you dammit. Don't close your eyes please! Please!" But that was it. (2/3)
His eyes fluttered closed and Grantaire collapsed on his chest, sobbing like a child, holding his love against him and breathing in his smell. "It should have been me.." he whispered
-------------------------
He could not say why he had done it. There had been no great internal debate. No careful weighing of possible actions and the likely consequences. That in and of itself isn't like him. He's not know for being thoughtless or rash. Even when he is frequently bold, he's never rash. There had only been a moment and upon seeing the gun pointed at Grantaire, had no other thought but to be between them. It hurts, of course it does, he's been shot. But more than pain, he feels numb, a sort of creeping cold. He tries to speak but- at the end words fail him and there is only the wet rattling whisper of 'It's ok.' It's not okay and he knows it, but it's done and if he's going to die. Then he just wants Grantaire to know that it's alright for him to die here, for a friend. Combeferre and Courfeyrac will carry on with all the rest, and really- he just wants Grantaire to live well. It's okay as it's ever going to be.
“There was an insurgent whom I heard called Apollo.” A National Guardsman who had taken aim at Enjolras, lowered his gun, saying: “It seems to me that I am about to shoot a flower.”
Enjolras . Les Misérables
Reblog if you feel you aren't quality
My muse just took a fatal blow for your muse. Tell me how they respond.
