a [generic] multi-fandom fanfic blog

"We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely." ~ Oscar Wilde. (The Picture of Dorian Grey, Preface) Dabbles & indulgences include: Whitechapel. Les Misérables. Good Omens. Sherlock (BBC). Game of Thrones. Merlin. X-Men. Being Human. Doctor Who. Sherlock Holmes (ACD/Granada). Wicked. Torchwood. (Anything you could ask me for.) Click "Six out of Seven Dials" for more.

[phantaire]

"The clouds took the shape of Gorgon masks in the immensity of the heavens; every possible form of terror appeared." Victor Hugo, Toilers of the Sea.

Grantaire lives under a dark cloud, his snakes writhe and twist and hiss, and under their scaled bellies blisters start to swell. He is rotten.

fourth in the current gorgon!grantaire series, third in series of modern au.

[phantaire]

In an unexpected turn of events, I appear to have written a new part in the gorgon!grantaire series, so I suppose I better try and proof read it and get it up and posted soon. Perhaps I’m going through a fic renaissance. That would be nice.

[phantaire]

Kevin shouldn’t have started this conversation, and he didn’t know what had settled in his gut to force his hand. All he knew is that five minutes ago he couldn’t not have said those words to Elder McKinley, but now he would have turned the tide to have held them in check. Perhaps this was what Arnold felt every day, that he was built of words and thoughts and feelings that had to be let out, damn the consequences.

Because 'turning it off' is not, and has never been a viable solution to anything, and feelings exist to be expressed and thoughts need to be put into words, otherwise they fester away into doubt and misunderstanding.

[phantaire]

This time two days ago I’d just got out of the Eugene O'Neill Theatre having seen The Book of Mormon on Broadway (with @slightlytookish!) I am now back in the UK, and timezones are mysterious and cruel things and so I have inflicted my jetlag on everyone’s favourite Elder Price. Wikipedia states that jetlag can have “cognitive effects include poorer performance on mental tasks and concentration, increased fatigue, headaches, and irritability” so I thought I’d be mean. (Once I’ve got over my jetlag and had this beta’d I’ll AO3 it.)

Plus Nine Kevin Price centric. (McKinley/Price pre-relationship if you squint/want)  Canon compliant.

Sleep came easily to Kevin Price, it always had. His bedtime routine had been set in stone since he’d been a young boy; he would say goodnight to his mom and dad, he and his brothers would brush their teeth huddled around the bathroom sink – Lucas helping Ethan, Jack elbowing Michael, and Sarah using their parents en-suite rather than sharing with the boys -  and then Kevin would say his prayers, lay down in bed and think of Planet Orlando until those thoughts turned into dreams. Almost always of Planet Orlando.

And, apart from the one time that he snuck out of bed, and the consequences and dreams which followed, that had been Kevin’s night-time routine for nineteen years. He got into bed, he slept, he dreamt and then he woke up. He didn’t oversleep or complain about having to get up in the mornings, always getting at least eight hours, if not nine. He’d make his best crisply first thing in the morning after he work up, and plumped his cushions ready for the night ahead.

Sleep had come easily at the Missionary Training Center too. The days had been full of work, rewarding and sometimes repetitive, but not hard, and Kevin had always been ready to learn. He couldn’t be the best if he didn’t know more than everybody else, so he applied himself and at night dreamt of the Epcot Center and having his photograph taken with Mickey Mouse. The framed picture of Kevin, all teeth and sunburn with Mickey’s hand on his shoulder - taken when Kevin was nine and learning the wonders of Orlando for the first time – had the rest of his siblings in too, and Kevin didn’t think that it was too selfish to want a picture that was just for him.

He’d never flown internationally before. Kevin had slept all the way to Orlando, and it had appeared out the plane window like a dream in his childhood, and there was part of Kevin, that part that was still a child and not a man grown and about to go and spread the word. There was a part of Kevin that expected his mission to start in the same way, a fresh slate. Scene change and suddenly, Uganda.

That wasn’t, it turned out, how international travel worked. It had seemed very civilised for their flight time to be at 4:26, they could sleep on the plane and wake up fresh faced and ready to start the most important two years of their lives. It was Wednesday afternoon when they left Salt Lake City, and Friday evening when they arrived in Kitguli. Flight delays, nearly missed connections and two plane transfers not to mention the late bus meant that they had been travelling for nearly 42 hours, and his new companion had been talking almost non-stop. When Elder Cunningham hadn’t been talking, or filming – “Elder, what do you think about the fact that we might miss our next flight?” “Elder Price, look they’ve got Star Trek on the inflight entertainment system, we should totally watch it together!” “Best friend! Can I have your snacks?” – he had been snoring. Loudly. But Kevin couldn’t sleep, they had been forever chasing sunrises but he couldn’t afford not to be present, this was where Heavenly Father said that he should be, and Heavenly Father wasn’t wrong. There had to be a reason for this, and that reason would be found in Uganda.

Kevin is tired down to the very bones of himself, but, this – men with guns rifling through their cases and stealing their belongings, a blasphemous deprived people who have dismissed the presence of the Latter Day Saints in their village for months - somehow is what Heavenly Father wants of him so that he can get everything that he’s always wanted. And so he has to work for it – if it were easy then it wouldn’t be incredible? Right?

It’s overwhelming and loud, and the village is bustling and bright even at this hour, and for a moment Kevin imagines that the Mission Hut is going to be an oasis of calm, they are Mormons after all. The Elders should be settling down to get ready for sleep, the District Leader, McKinley, should meet them, shake their hands and give them a gentle introduction to progress in the village. And then Kevin can sleep. Once he’s slept, then he can start again. He doesn’t know what day it is.

He finds himself dancing. He wonders, briefly, whether this is twisted take on a Hell Dream. Could this be his punishment for contemplating the complimentary coffee on the plane? Or for judging his new companion? Elder Cunningham isn’t really that bad, and Kevin is tired, and confused. But no, he is unfortunately awake and the dancing is really happening. At least his District Leader appears to be pleased by it. It must be hard to be having gay thoughts, Kevin admires him. He also wishes that he would be quiet.

The bedroom issued to Elder Cunningham and himself is cramped, pokey and dark. It blessedly has two uncomfortable looking single beds, he imagines that Elder Cunningham will want the bed nearest the window – and at this moment Kevin could care less, as long as he can sleep. His prayers are silent, conducted as he undresses, surely Heavenly Father can’t begrudge him for that, and he’s almost settled into blissful silence, when Elder Cunningham starts talking. And Kevin is tired, and exhausted, and starting to run out of patience with his companion, but he can’t not acknowledge Elder Cunningham’s uncertainty. Elder Cunningham has tried to bolster his emotions, not that he needs it, but he’s reminded Kevin that he can do something incredible, and Elder Cunningham’s father should be proud of his son, Cunningham isn’t a bad person, just… intense. He hopes that Cunningham calms down in the morning, that a night’s sleep will be good for both of them and that the world will align itself properly tomorrow.

It doesn’t.

Kevin wakes up tired with a faint headache pounding at his temple, and the day doesn’t get better from there. He should be snappier with his answers, he’s practiced and learnt and he knows these stories and the best ways to introduce people into the Church. But he stumbles when Dr Gotswana starts talking about maggots in unsavoury places, taking longer than he should to pull his concentration back.

Cunningham isn’t helping, and that isn’t fair and he knows it because he can see how much Elder Cunningham is trying to help, but Kevin is light headed and tired. The noise of a gunshot is enough to startle him into semi-consciousness. The sensation of blood is a strange one, warm and tacky. When he yawns he gets blood on his palm. He was standing in front of Elder Cunningham when the General shot the village’s butcher in the face – Kevin can’t remember his name, and he wants to cry and he’s never been an expressively emotional person, at least, not for negative emotions, he should always wear a smile, but he just can’t at the moment, it is too much here – so he is drenched and tired and shocked, while Elder Cunningham is dry, and alert and why had Elder Cunningham’s prayer been answered?

It shouldn’t have been so hard to work out what the right thing to do was, granted, these circumstances were exceptional but there were rules and Kevin had always followed them. But those rules had led him here. They should have led him to Orlando. His incredible journey should have led him there.

And then, it did.

A Hell Dream isn’t restful at the best of times, and these are the worst of times. The dream is vivid, and bright, feathered and sequined, and horrific. It seems to last and lifetime, at least ten hours of his life has been lost to the redness. He’s almost euphoric when he awakens; fear, adrenaline and righteousness pounding through him.

The village is going to be saved, and Kevin is the one who is going to do it. Up until Kevin needs to be saved, and it turns out that it is the village who does it. The village and Nabulungi, and the pageant, and Arnold Cunningham, his best friend.

The days between the events of the General, and the hospital and the baptisms and the Mission President’s visit blur into one. Kevin can’t rest, and when he finds himself stopping then he can’t bear to stop. It’s too much to try and think, it feels as though he hasn’t slept in weeks, and that he hasn’t felt peace in far longer. None of what has passed makes any sense, his head pounds, his body aches he feels violated and confused and - “of course you woke up, you drank twelve cups of coffee!”

But he hasn’t slept.

When they were seven years old Jack had stayed up all night. He’d tried to make Kevin stay up too, saying that it would be fun that they could tell scary stories and sneak around the house, maybe watch some TV or play games while the rest of the house was sleeping. But Kevin had said his prayers and tucked himself into his neatly made bed. The next day Jack was giddy with lack of sleep, he’d rocked on his hands and giggled into his cereal and he’d been sent to bed early without any dessert the next day. Kevin felt like that, watching the car-crash of the pageant unfold in front of him he could barely contain his giddy joy at the misfortune they found themselves in. As though it was happening to somebody else, as though other people were going to suffer for this, as though there were no consequences for them.

And then, at McKinley’s and Cunningham’s and Nabulungi’s faces he felt the true magnitude of the action rock into him like the swell hitting the bow of a boat.  Understanding, actual understanding, like Joseph Smith at the moment of his death, you have to believe the words because of what they can do for you, and not just what they say or who said them. Arnold Cunningham had created an Orlando, it had never been about getting Planet Orlando, but about making that within yourself.

Kevin smiled, delirious.

When Kevin woke up he was twisted onto the couch in the living quarters of the Mission Hut, a grown man curled up under a soft pink blanket that wasn’t his. Kinks in his back and a crick in his neck, eyelids still heavy with sleep, a dry mouth, a rested body and a ready soul. It was time to wake up, something unexpected and incredible was about to begin.

[phantaire]

[phantaire]

I haven’t written fic with any consistency in what feels like, forever, so if anyone still follows this blog, let’s have a go shall we?

ASK BOX HERE.

[phantaire]

for the fic prompt thing: Nabulungi/Arnold (can be gen if you like), university setting :D

The first friend that Arnold had made at university had been Kevin Price - not intentionally mind, but when Professor Monson had assigned the pairs for the icebreaker activity randomly it had been “Price, Kevin” with “Cunningham, Arnold” and that had been that, Arnold had a friend.

And to be honest, Arnold hadn’t really felt that he’d needed any other friends, Kevin was brilliant and the workload was hard and Arnold had never been much good at slowing down and paying attention, and he really didn’t want to disappoint his parents.

And then a cute girl texted him - Hi Arnold, I got your number from Kevin because you and I share the course with Dr. Gotswana and I was wondering if we could go over the reading together, N x - and she’d signed it with a kiss, if only she’d signed her name. (He should have paid more attention in that elective’s orientation class.)

[askboxmemes]

1) Give me a pairing.

2) Give me an AU setting.

3) I will write you a three-sentence fic.

[cardamomsage]

Feel free to sub in prompt of choice for AU setting. I have some time off work and feel like writing short stuff between projects… :D 

[phantaire]

I haven’t posted fic here for ages, I haven’t watched the new Beauty and the Beast film but I really like the instrumental in the middle of the new Gaston track and I haven’t proof read this. Now that we’ve all got all the facts, enjoy.

A Man Among Men Kevin & Arnold friendship. (Background Arnold/Naba, Kevin/Connor) Kevin gets jealous sometimes.

It was getting to the point, Arnold thought, that something had to be done about it. He knew that he wasn’t the most... delicate person, but for the life of him – sworn on the Book of Arnold even, he’d go that far – he could not work out why Kevin was angry at him.

Because he had to be angry. He hadn’t spoken to him in hours, which, wasn’t really that long. But Arnold still knew that something was up. They had a Saturday morning tradition, they always had done after they moved into their pokey little apartment. Saturday mornings were best friend time. It had been Arnold’s idea, and Kevin had picked it up enthusiastically. They both had proper jobs, like real adults, and Arnold had a girlfriend and Kevin had a boyfriend, so he’d thought it would be nice to make sure that they hung out with each other. Sometimes they watched films – Kevin had shown him Fantasia and he’d got to be there when Kevin had watched Star Wars for the first ever actual time, which was amazing – but normally they just hung out for a bit. It was nice.

But now it was 11:59am on a Saturday, and Kevin hadn’t replied to Arnold’s shouting, or his banging on Kevin’s door or to his whatsapp message. He’d been worried that Kevin was very dangerously ill or dying behind his closed door. Maybe he could have got food poisoning, Connor had said that they were heading to that open air bistro after the film and he’d been really worried – except Connor had replied to his string of texts. And Arnold liked Connor, he really did, but Kevin was his best friend and he didn’t understand why he wasn’t talking to him.

The only time he’d got a response was when he’d stood outside Kevin’s door and called out in a sing-song voice, but even then all he got was a pounding on the inside of the door and being told roughly to stop singing.

Which was hardly fair. Kevin normally loved singing.

Arnold could only think that he was in fact, somehow, to blame for Kevin’s horrible mood. But that was hardly fair. Arnold hadn’t done anything differently to normal, and Kevin was usually good at explaining when Arnold had gone too far. No one had ever done that for him before, to help him understand why he shouldn’t say or do something, not just berate him afterwards for doing something that he couldn’t understand.

Naba was out of town for the week, sightseeing with friends from her illustrating course and her texts back had been prompt and helpful and full of emojis and advice. But Arnold knew that she was busy and that Kevin was his friend, and that made this his problem.

Alright, so this called for serious action.

He opened the door to Kevin’s room.

Kevin never locked it, Arnold wasn’t even sure if their apartment had locks for anything other than the front door and the bathroom, but even so. It felt that Arnold was taking a step unto the unknown. Except it wasn’t that unknown as it was a relatively familiar sight in front of him.

Kevin’s reasonably tidy room, complete with vintage Donald Duck poster and, was that one of Connor’s sweaters on the bed? It certainly didn’t look like it was Kevin’s. Sweet, thought Arnold. But most notable was Kevin himself, face first and clearly in the middle of a grand sulk.

Perhaps Arnold should have thought ahead and brought Kevin in an appeasing cup of coffee.

“Why are you here?” And Arnold couldn’t see if Kevin was pouting, because he was still facing his pillows as opposed to his friend, but Arnold would have been prepared to swear it in court. Sometimes Kevin was very predictable. Which made this current behaviour, slight odd. To say the least.

“Kevin, buddy, are you seriously still not talking to me? I can only get better if I know what I did?” He didn’t expect it come out as a question towards the end, but as he said it Arnold realised that it was true. And perhaps it was slight pleading in his voice which finally caused Kevin to turn towards him.

It was strange, he felt vulnerable around Kevin and he didn’t like it. He wanted things to go back to how they had been, it was been easy and fun and then something had happened and now Kevin was sad, and angry and that made Arnold sad.

Connor hadn’t been able to say anything about why Kevin might be in a bad mood, apparently they’d had a lovely evening, and Kevin had cried at the film, but in a nice way and Connor hadn’t thought anything was wrong. Yes, Kevin had been a bit sullen, but he’d smiled and kissed Connor goodbye, so Connor hadn’t thought that he was to blame.

It was all too confusing.

And it was now officially Saturday afternoon. Time was up.

"Why do you get to be a Disney character?" Kevin muttered.

And it was quiet, but Arnold heard it. And he was sure that his face did something strange. He was sure that he’d realise if he was in a Disney film? I mean, that sort of thing was more likely to happen to Nabulungi, she was almost a princess, Arnold wouldn’t be surprised if she came back from her trip with lots of little fluffy animals as her friends. Maybe some of them could fit in the apartment?

There was a moment of befuddlement while Kevin seemed to realise that Arnold actually didn’t have a clue what he was talking about before he drew out his phone and after poking around for a few seconds held it out to Arnold, who took it sheepishly.

Arnold squinted, turning his head and even going as far as taking his glasses off to try and give them a clean against his t-shirt. It didn’t really work, and the world was a bit smearier afterwards. But still, he sort of got what Kevin was getting at.

"Kevin buddy, you know I'm not actually LeFou right? ... Right?" He asked, but even before he’d finished the sentence there was a faint blush and Arnold thought that he’d caught out the problem. And Kevin had been really looking forward to Beauty and the Beast as well.

Time for some quick thinking to save the day… that wasn’t exactly Arnold’s strong point. But he’d been getting better at it lately, somehow circumstances had forced him quite neatly into it. Like a proper story telling convention. But Kevin was still sad, even as he was starting to smile, just a little bit – well, it was ridiculous – and so Arnold had to get to work.

He wasn’t the best as Disney, Kevin had been trying to teach him but sometimes thing got muddled, but he was pretty sure he was right with the villain, and it was time.

“And like, if I were LeFou – which I’m not by the way – then that would make you Gaston, and that would absolutely suck. You’re so much better than him. Gaston, boo!”

And Kevin sat up. It was the ultimate achievement only beaten by him smiling and gesturing to the empty space where he’d been prostate moments before. Arnold sat down happily with a bounce, wrapping an arm around Kevin’s shoulder. It seemed to be the right thing to do.

“Thanks Arnold. You always know just what to say.”

Arnold beamed. It had worked.

“Well, there’s no one as easy to bolster as you.”

Kevin groaned, and fell back on his bed laughing, pulling Arnold with him.

Arnold still didn’t know what was going on, or why this had got such a reaction, but at least Kevin was laughing this time. He couldn’t help but laugh along. Perhaps they’d watch something other than Disney later though?

[ellebeecie]

enjolras fencing w/ r on a regular basis by @enjoloras 

Enjolras loves it. He’s focused and determined, the way he is in all things, and that’s a useful trait in fencing. On top of that, he gets to vent any pent up rage he’s feeling in a healthy manner. ‘Just imagine I’m the bourgeoisie’ Grantaire taunts, and regrets it. It becomes a regular thing for them, once a week. Enjolras finds himself starting to wish he could kiss that smug look of Grantaire’s face.

exr comic by @tevinterwolf

“I didn’t know you fence”

the laurels of doing is enough (3k) by phantomreviewer

“You won.”

Grantaire nods, still feeling Enjolras’ fingers entwined tightly in his hair, as though he doesn’t know how to let go.

“I won.”

Like Electricity, Sparks Inside of Me (1k) by CautionaryTales / @canadiancosette

“Swords?  They’re fucking foils, for fencing.  Do you know what happens when you fence?  You stab people and there’s no blood because the foils aren’t fucking sharp.”

Enjolras sighs, “I know that they aren’t, but they’re still viewed as a weapon by our guidelines, so you need to board them as luggage.”

“I can’t do that,” the man’s voice has taken on a desperate edge.  

*More EXR rec posts

[phantaire]

[phantaire]

I haven’t written fic with any consistency in what feels like, forever, so if anyone still follows this blog, let’s have a go shall we?

ASK BOX HERE.

[ellebeecie]

Angels, demons, gods, goddesses, genies & gorgons!

In the Gutter, Looking Up (6k) by thatbug  

The heart of a star is a powerful thing, and after hearing Enjolras talk, Grantaire was almost convinced he had one. He didn’t look like an awkward young man with no friends and an impossible dream; he looked like a warrior, a god. Like he could change the world every bit as much as he said.

There was only so much Grantaire could do. He had none of Enjolras’s conviction, his confidence, his blind faith. He just had the heart of a star, and it wasn’t doing him any good.

Enjolras would use it.

R is a genie (1k) by @theladyragnell

“Oh, fuck, tell me I’m not your new cause—what’s your name? I should know the name of my master.”

He winces. “Please don’t call me that. It’s Enjolras. And you aren’t a cause. You just deserve to be free. How long have you been in there?”

Silence Is the Speech of Love (50k) by Lady Ragnell

To his surprise, when he stands, Enjolras does too, without keyboard or tablet, and gives Grantaire a firm hug, the kind he does—well, the kind he does for his friends. For Combeferre and Courfeyrac and Jehan and Joly and all the others, and even Marius a few times, but never Grantaire.

“Oh,” says Grantaire, in a tone that would give him away to anyone with any observatory skills at all. Enjolras just pats him on the back and releases him. “You’re welcome.” That has to have been Enjolras’s thanks. If it’s just something he expects to do now Grantaire may not survive.

*Also check out the author’s tag for the mythology AU

Under My Wings You Will Find Refuge (91k+) by @fivie

“This is Enjolras,” Combeferre offers when the man himself does not.

“And I’m not one for telling tales,” Enjolras says shortly. Some added insult along the lines of ‘not to an apparent wine-guzzling layabout such as you’ is unspoken but heavily implied.

“Not even in exchange for a glass of wine after a hard day’s hunting?” Grantaire says, uncorking the bottle. He’s being irritating and he knows it, but he also knows that to back down now would be to lose Enjolras’s attention completely, and that can’t happen. That soul is the brightest and most beautiful thing he’s seen in too many long years, and he can’t allow it out of his sight again.

*Also check out the author’s tag for it

Snakebite and Black (5k) by phantomreviewer

Something changes after that night, and Grantaire’s snakes are the first to react to it. Where they had once been marginally docile, the only whims that they tenuously obeyed being Grantaire’s, now they beckon towards Enjolras unprompted. No longer content to knot across Grantaire’s head - leaving the impression of chin length curls - instead they elongate, they twirl and they hiss spontaneously, with no impetuous other than the proximity of Enjolras. It is almost as though they smile in the presence of Enjolras, suddenly they reach out, coiling loosely to his shoulders, sliding out and over. It is almost hypnotic, he has caught Enjolras staring more than once.

you were made to meet your maker (6k) by @sarah-yyy

He recognises the naked man. And it’s not even because he’s a widely televised serial killer. Grantaire recognises the naked man because he’s spent the last two months of his life carving said naked man out of marble.

“Oh my God,” Grantaire says again. “Apollo.”

“I don’t like that name. I never liked that name,” Not-A-Serial-Killer says. “Can I have another, please?”

*More EXR rec posts

[renaroo]

Fanfic Day Meme

I thought along with Fanfic Rec Day it’d be a good idea to start up an ask meme for writers so they can gush about writing and words and everyone can have a platform to ask writers some burning questions about their work.

Be proud and spread word about your hard work all around, writers! Today’s a day for all of us to appreciate you and your efforts : ) 

What is your favorite fic you have under your belt?

What is your favorite snippet of dialogue?

What inspired [insert fic]?

Do you prefer writing long or short fics?

What’s your favorite headcanon you use in fics?

What’s the detail you wait on bated breath for readers to notice?

How much do you like symbolism in your fics?

How often do people catch onto your little details?

What’s the fic you like the least?

What would you change if you had it all to do again?

What’s a fanfic idea you haven’t done yet?

What’s the hardest thing to write for you?

Do you have a favorite character to write for?

What’s your favorite shipping fic you’ve written? Favorite gen fic?

Give us a snippet of something from your WiPs!

[nerds-are-cool]

if you’re struggling for AU ideas take a look-see at this list i wrote for my friend who dubbed it “better than the 10 commandments" 

1)     Coffee shop AU

i)       Barista and person who has a ridiculous coffee order

ii)      I’m worried about your coffee dependency

iii)     you accidentally poured boiling hot coffee over me so you’re responsible for taking me to A&E

iv)     you give me a different fake name every time you come into starbucks and I just want to know your real name bc ur cute but here I am scrawling “batman” onto your stupid cappuccino

2)      Flower shop AU

i)       You buy a weird amount of flowers and I’m concerned as to why

ii)      I’m allergic to flowers but I work in a flower shop – you’re a customer who’s very confused as to why I’d do that

iii)     (this is also a good way to incorporate flower meanings eg, buying certain colours/types for person to represent feelings etc.)

3)      Library AU

i)       You’re overdue on this book and I want it so I’m tracking u the fuck down

ii)      I work in the library and I’m a little concerned for your health bc you never stop studying

iii)     The library’s pretty empty save for you and me and OH that couple making out loudly in the shelves somewhere

4)      Awful first time meeting

i)       I accidentally punched you in the face when I was too overexcited about something

ii)      I thought you were my friend who’s just done something awful to me (read: cut my hair while I slept, dyed all of my clothes pink, etc. etc.) because you look similar from behind so I stormed up to you and shoved you from behind while calling you an asshole

iii)     You get the gist to this one

iv)     Oooh when you told me your name I thought you were joking because it’s fucking awful and I made a joke about it and things got awkward real fucking fast (perfect for a Hannibal au just saying)

5)      Weird places to meet/awkward meetings in general

i)       We live in the same block of flats but haven’t ever talked and Sunday morning we were both doing the walk of shame and had to stand in the lift together

ii)      “okay I know that being in the woods at 2am is a weird thing to be doing but my friend called me and- wait, why are you in the woods at 2am, fuck I’m going to die aren’t I?”

iii)     A personal favourite of mine – first day at a new job and oh fuck my boss is the person I drunkenly hooked up with last weekend/night

iv)     We keep accidentally running into each other I’m not a stalker I swear

v)      You live across from me in our apartments and we smile when we see each other but we don’t really know each other and oh you’re the stripper at my friend’s stag do/hen night fuck this is really uncomfortable

vi)     “My shower’s broken but I’ve got a date tonight could I possibly use your shower please?” “Oh sure (neighbour that I’ve been crushing on for the past six months) of course you can use my shower to get ready for your date (fuck fuck fuck)”

6)      Friends to romance – pining and all that wonderful shit

i)       You’ve got a date tonight and you asked for advice on what to wear but I’m so in love with you and damn you look good in the outfit I picked out for you

ii)      I really like you but you’re my best friend’s ex

iii)     You’ve liked me for ages and were really obvious about it and I didn’t like all the attention but now you’re over me I really miss it and fuck I think I like you too?

iv)     Somewhere along the way of getting into bar fights together, staying up all night with movie marathons, other friendship things, I’ve fallen in love with you but oh my god this could ruin EVERYTHING

v)      Friends with benefits oh wait I like you

7)      FAKE DATING HOLY SHIT I LIVE FOR THIS

i)       It’s my highschool reunion and I need a hot date so I can rub it in the faces of the people who hated me

ii)      My homophobic parents are coming to visit will you pretend to date me as an extra “fuck you”?

iii)     There’s a person who won’t stop bugging me will you pretend to be my partner so that they’ll fuck off?

iv)     I told my sister I have a boyfriend so she’d stop trying to set me up with people but now she’s coming to visit and I’m in too deep I need a fake boyf ASAP

8)      Soulmate aus

i)       The first words your true love(s) will say to you are tattooed on you and why the fuck are their first words something really ridiculous like ‘I’ll pay you a tenner to punch me in the face’ or ‘quick what’s your favourite animal’ or ‘fucking shit hell holy fuck wow oh my god jesus h Christ fuck me’ etc. or even worse a really ridiculous song lyric like  the opening lines of uptown funk or a high school musical song or smthing did you have to serenade me the first time you saw me asshole?

ii)      You get an ‘impression’ of your soulmate when you turn 18 or something but all I got was a strong smell of bananas or an overwhelming feeling that Thatcher was a good prime minister or an image in my mind of a fucking unicorn

iii)     The more ridiculous the better actually

iv)     Something like whenever your soulmate sings a duet you can’t help but join in and my fucking soulmate is in a goddamn band but I can’t sing for shit

v)      Or maybe something like soulmates always sneeze at the same time and I cant be sure but me and this kid in my French class just sneezed at the same time are we soulmates or was it a coincidence (proceed w character trying to make themselves sneeze around said person to see what’s what)

9)      Alternate universes for real

i)       Mermaids

ii)      Siren and asexual pirate who doesn’t understand why all his crew are losing their shit that person has a nice voice sure but what the fuck is happening

iii)     Hogwarts

iv)     We live in a world where the greek gods are real and you went and got yourself cursed and now I have to go on a fucking quest to sort this shit out why do I love you again?

v)      Pacific rim au (either they’re drift compatible or one of them is a ranger and the other stresses constantly bc what if they die yes I have read a fic like this no I didn’t come up with this one but it’s fucking good) (also if you haven’t seen that film go watch it now)

vi)     Literally any movie or book universe you like tbh just go for it

10)   Other aus that I like

i)       I wanted to go on the ferris wheel but there has to be two people to a cart come on random person let’s go oh wait are we stuck at the top? Fuck

ii)      We work in the same office and you have a goddamn squeaky chair and you wONT FUCKING STOP SQUEAKING IT BECAUSE YOU KNOW IT ANNOYS ME

iii)     Our mutual friend set us up on a blind date and I thought I’d hate it but you’re actually… kind of funny? But because I expected to hate it in no way am I going to let you change my mind just because you’re gorgeous and funny and intelligent oh no my friend is not winning this

iv)     It started to snow and I’m the only one of our friends who would go outside with you – I soon found out why none of the others would go out in the snow with you (this works best if they’re new friends who don’t know each other all that well) when you shoved a handful of snow down my back and declared snow war

v)      It’s nowhere near Christmas it’s literally still November would you calm down about Christmas wait no why are you getting the tree out no stop please stop (if you do this pre-relationship you can have the grouchy one secretly finding the other’s excitement endearing and falling in love with them actually that works for established relationship too)

vi)     Current partner got a new job in America (or other country far away) and we’re getting by on skype calls and emails but it’s not easy and then I met someone new (can be poly or can be finding the OTP person)

vii)   You want us both to get in shape and I hate working out/running but your ass looks really good in shorts oh the things I do for my friends and their nice asses

viii)  Carrying on from 10.vii. you’ve caught me checking you out in what I thought was a subtle way too many times and now you’re calling me out on it what do I do???

ix)     You’re an actor/other famous person that I really admire and I just saw you in the street and as I was debating whether or not to say hi you came up to me and started flirting what do I do??

x)      You were waving at your friend behind me but I got confused and waved back at you and now I’m dying of embarrassment but you think it’s cute

xi)     I sat down in the wrong class and I’m panicking but don’t want to get up and leave because the class has started and you think it’s hilarious and shut up you dumb fuck you don’t know me aahhh

xii)   I’m a waiter at this wedding and you’re a drunk guest who will not stop hitting on me please I’m trying to work no I can’t dance with you omg let me find you some water

xiii)  Our best friends are that awful ‘cute’ couple that make-out in public and call each other “sweetie” and “sugar” and “babe” and god they’re awful let’s talk about how awful they are – develops into “shit we’re the awful couple now”

xiv)  You pissed me off in class so I threw a book at your head and now I’m in detention and jesus fuck I hate you so much and the teacher made me apologise and wait you’re cuter up close and the way you talk is kind of nice actually oh fuck no

Okay I could go on forever but this is over 1,500 words of auing already I have too many ideas christ

send me some to @theskyis-forever

[phantaire]

I present a fic excerpt that’s too short for AO3, but it’s fluff. And let’s be real @slightlytookish told me I should post it, so I did. Very unbeta’d.

Salted Caramel McPriceley Pointless (and blessedly short) fluff.

All things considered, Connor had just sort of expected that he would be good at cooking.

He’d always had a sweet tooth, and it had taken the hard work and high stress of Uganda to finally burn off the last his puppy fat. His face was still slightly rounded, but he had matured into his body and it was harder to get granulated sugar and chocolate spread in Kitguli.

And afterwards, well.

There were stereotypes for a reason, and Connor wanted to embrace all of them. He was a gay man, decked in sequins and smiles and no longer even wished to turn anything off. Which meant embracing everything.

(Including Kevin Price. Especially Kevin Price.)

And so here was Connor McKinley, ex-Mormon in pink shorts and a theatre graphic tee in his own kitchen, in his own tiny flat and waiting for his own boyfriend to get in from classes.

It was as good as it got.

And Connor wanted cupcakes.

Kevin had stocked up his kitchen for him, and Connor had swooned a little inside seeing Kevin ladened down with plastic bags of his favourite brand of coffee, of Connor’s preferred cordial alongside what Kevin deemed the essentials. They had stocked up his kitchen in mason jars and nifty wooden boxes and Connor couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

So, cupcakes. He had the internet on his phone. It wouldn’t be hard to find an easy enough recipe, blast some show tunes and then make a treat for himself. And for Kevin. Kevin would need a treat after class. He worked so hard, and what could be better than freshly made cake?

He was sure that there was a ‘kiss the cook’ apron around here somewhere.

Half of the Hamilton soundtrack later and there were cooling chocolate minicakes on the counter. Connor had almost, almost given into temptation and eaten the remanence of the batter. But no, he was an adult. He had been a District Leader, he was responsible and he wasn’t going to make himself sick before his dinner.

Just as King George III was questioning what came next, the last of the washing up was drying and the cakes were almost cool and starting to get quite tempting.

“Empires Rise, Oceans Fall—Kevin!”

Kevin was smiling at him, it wasn’t a laugh and it wasn’t cruel and Connor had never felt self-conscious about his musical inclinations, not even back in the days when he turned everything off but Connor gestured to the cakes in order to divert Kevin’s attention.

Connor was caught mid-song and mid-dance almost daily. Cake was much more exciting.

“I made cakes.”

Kevin’s eyes lit up. So Connor had been right that cakes after class would be well received.

“Have I told you that I love you yet today,” Kevin asked picking up a cupcake and shoving it in his mouth in one, and Connor knew that he was blushing.

And Kevin had. Kevin Price wanted to make the world feel loved, he’d told Connor that he thought that loving the world would be the most incredible thing he could think of. Connor thought that Kevin was the most incredible person.

Kevin coughed, jaw working around the muffin.

“Err, Connor?” Kevin grimaced, and Connor’s stomach fell. He’d clearly done something wrong.

“You did follow the recipe for these, right?”

“Yes.” He said indignantly, pointing at each ingredient in turn, “butter, eggs, flour, sugar-”

“Oh,” Kevin said. Understanding. Connor was still none the wiser. Until.

“Connor, that’s the salt.”

Oh.

Kevin must have seen his face fall – he had been trying to do something so very nice for them and it had all gone wrong – because he tossed his bag off his shoulder and stepped forward, rolling his sleeves up.

“Nevermind, though I say so myself I make awesome pancakes. You can even help.”

Oh well, Kevin would look delectable in a kiss the cook apron. Maybe Connor could convince him to take his shirt off as well.

[phantaire]

"My parents are really looking forward to meeting you," Kevin had said the last time they'd skyped, "My siblings too, especially Jack, but the younger ones are mostly wrapped up in their own lives, so I don't know if we'll be their main focus at the party." "That's fine. I don't know if I want to be anyone's focus at the party." "Well, you'll be mine,"Kevin had said, and it was sweet enough that Connor had almost forgotten to worry.’

Connor is, for the first time, heading down to Utah to spend 4th of July with Kevin and his extended family. To say that he’s nervous would be an understatement, but, really, what could go wrong?

Twice Blessed, a 10 chapter McPriceley ‘The Book of Mormon’ fanfiction detailing the post-canon annual Price Family 4th of July extravaganza. Recently completed, and co-authored with the wonderfully talented @slightlytookish. Enjoy! (Link in picture.)

[phantaire]

I came across your Gorgon!R fics on AO3 and I'm completely enamored with them. I'd never heard of Medusa as a symbol of revolution before, and I think I'm basically going to be researching this for at least the rest of the weekend now because it's amazing. (Err, yeah. There's not actually a question in this, just letting you know.)

Thank you! I’m really glad that you’ve been enjoying my Gorgon!R AU.

To help get you started, here’s a section of my revolutionary gorgon bibliography:

The Medusa Reader

Medusa Uncovered: The French Revolution

Medusa’s Head: Male Hysteria under Political Pressure

The Politics of Medusa: Shelley’s Physiognomy of Revolution

Mesmerism, Medusa, and the Muse: The Romantic Discourse of Spontaneous 

Ekphrasis and the Other

On the Medusa of Leonardo Da Vinci in the Florentine Gallery 

Enjoy!

[phantaire]

Author’s Commentary: extraordinary, to the commonplace

It has been two years (!) since I wrote extraordinary, to the commonplace and in the a/n of that fic I mentioned that I had an Author’s Commentary for it planned. And so, selected highlights of that commentary.

Firstly, this fic had many names throughout the writing process, it started off as ‘ugly!fucker Grantaire fic’, progressed through to ‘inordinately homely’ and then finally, after the fic was completed I realised I needed something else.  I was torn between Thomas Hobbes’ “nasty poor brutish and short” from the nature of humanity from Leviathan or a quote from Philip Larkin (poet of “they fucked you up your mum and dad” fame, but nothing seemed to fit… and then I found the Marquis de Sade.

From The 120 Days of Sodom and Other Writings came this quote:

“Beauty belongs to the sphere of the simple, the ordinary, whilst ugliness is something extraordinary, and there is no question but that every ardent imagination prefers in lubricity, the extraordinary to the commonplace.”

I then took this quote and looked and it and broke it down in the following way until I found the combination that I was happy with.

extraordinary, the commonplace.

the extraordinary to commonplace

the extraordinary, to the commonplace

extraordinary, to the commonplace.

This quote was chosen because of the dual meanings, between which character was the represent the ‘extraordinary’ and which the 'commonplace’. The intention was to be that Enjolras’ ardent imagination wishes for the extraordinary, which Grantaire processes. Other than that  The 120 Days of Sodom and Other Writings had no impact on the narrative!

And so, to the fic itself...

There’s almost definitely a hipflask somewhere about his person, but no-one’s got close enough to find it. Not even Courfeyrac.

I wasn’t exactly subtle with my symbolism and the juxtaposition between Grantaire’s social life and his inherent loneliness. 

Grantaire’s smile was something that you had to get used too; it was too much like something broken.

And so the start of the gargoyle imagery. Throughout this fic Gratnaire isn’t made beautiful by love, or happiness, his ugliness is a part of him. But it certainly exacerbates his unhappiness.

Enjolras had been doing his damnedest not to look in Grantaire’s direction as he spoke, but at Grantaire’s groan he turned sharply to the older man with a scowl.

The age difference between Enjolras and Grantaire in this fic is between 3 to 5 years.

He’d never had female friends as he’d grown up, going from private single sex school to another until he’d reached university. His sexuality had been another barrier in having female companions, as he’d never felt the impetus to reach out to anyone beyond his- inexcusably male- social circle and his activism.

In which Enjolras learns that there is such a thing as a woman, even though he does not love them. Trying to bring the (unfortunate) levels of canon era sexism into the present day, it’s far easier to make Enjolras analyse his own emotions and thoughts. 

And it is Cosette who is on speed dial, surpassed only by his parents, Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

I wanted Cosette and Enjolras to be friends. They compliment each other, and I am sure that she helps to smooth down the relationship between Marius and Enjolras too.

(Courfeyrac, but once Combeferre after Bahorel had spiked the eggnog at their last Yuletide celebration)

Hardly worth the author’s note, but the eggnog reference comes from a real life event during my undergrad, in which terrible vegan eggnog was made and drunk and I imagine that it was that very same banana and brandy slightly cold mushy mix that was made for Yuletide. Bousset should not cook.

It’s been weeks, and Enjolras feels physically sickened in Grantaire’s presence; like his stomach is knotting over.

Enjolras has a crush and doesn’t know how to deal with it. He really doesn’t now how to deal with it. Also, as this is as good a place as any, although it is never mentioned in this fic Enjolras is on the autistic spectrum. Unless I specify in narrative, my Enjolras is always on the spectrum.

Enjolras has always had his health, has always recognised his hearty body as the commodity that it was.

There are still scars from chicken pox across Grantaire’s brow, deep, indented and obvious.

The linking of Enjolras’ thoughts and Grantaire’s physicality was very much intended as both Enjolras’ subconscious as well as a narrative device to link them. An insistence of ‘the reader knew first’ with regards to Enjolras’ feelings.

Joly had been more concerned for rescuing Grantaire from the torrent, but unwilling to leave the shelter of the Musian himself.

“He’ll catch his death, he’s already ill, what if he gets pneumonia?”

“His nose might drop off and he’ll thank you for it Joly, stop fussing.”

I loved writing Joly in this, the balance between loyalty, hypochondria and humour. And yes, Grantaire’s friends do love him and mock him in equal measure. It isn’t out of malice. Grantaire’s physicality is a fact, as opposed to a cruel opinion. Enjolras’ supposed concern for Grantaire’s health and his act of returning his jacket is both a sign of his affections, but also his not quite registering the same style of humour as his friends (as previously mentioned Enjolras is on the spectrum.)

the meeting that Grantaire hadn’t attended

Grantaire isn’t very forthcoming about his depression, and his questioning of his self worth (only exaserbated by questioning why Enjolras had helped him) and thus only Bousset and Joly are fully aware of the facts, thus why Joly stays with him afterwards.

He knows better than to go without human company though, and once Tuesday rolls around he emerges from the library, blinking into the unexpected sunlight, to meet Bahorel for lunch.

I wrote an Enjolras/Bahorel fic once (a year after this fic was written) and the dynamic that emerged in this fic was an influencing factor. When wriiting pairing focused fic (especially when it’s Enjolras/Grantaire) I always try and emphasise the friendship relationships in the narrative, as it can be easy to let them fall by the wayside. 

Enjolras has become used to the ease of Combeferre and Jehan’s relationship, and to the ease at which he has slipped into the middle of it.

Surprise Combeferre/Jehan. It’s a pairing that I’d written previously, and I had enjoyed the idea of it. I’m not wed to a lot of my Les Mis pairings, so am more willing to play about with the idea of them. In this setting, with the need of a little conflict regarding relationships with Enjolras, if it was Combeferre/Courfeyrac that may have gone too smoothly. 

He’d remained a part of Combeferre’s life, as he ever had, the only mark to change was that Jehan was there when he was needed; and absent when he was not.

A sub-point of how I try to focus on friendships when writing romantic relationships, Enjolras shares my fears.

Momentarily Courfeyrac looked abashed for interrupting, but the movement soon returned to his features as he bounced into the flat, pressing his lips to Jehan’s cheek, to Combeferre’s lips and then being stopped from reaching Enjolras by one soap-sudden marigold.

FRIENDSHIPS. Courfeyrac is a treasure who knows his friend’s boundaries and respects them

Jehan stretched out like a cat, spine popping and braids appearing black against the beige carpet [...]

Combeferre was cross legged on the double seater sofa, warming his hands around his masala chai, and sighing contentedly.

These characters are not white as the default. That was intentionally done, I can’t remember who - if anyone - I imagined as Enjolras, but to the best of my memory I didn’t describe his race in the fic, although he is implied as being non-white. In contrast, Grantaire is depicted as white, and this was intentional. As a white person, writing with emphasis on the physical ugliness of this particular character I simply did not feel comfortable or proper depicting him as anything but white as there would certainly be unfortunate implications. 

Jehan is CyKeem White.

He likes to work off tangible paper, computers are important and he’s got his laptop folded in his bag, but for now he likes to trace the sensation of ink gilding over paper.

Now I’m re-reading this fic for grabbing quotes for the commentary the amount of ‘Enjolras on the autistic spectrum’ subtext is getting a little intense.

And the atmosphere deadens for a moment; only Feuilly can keep Éponine’s eye, and Cosette and Musichetta flock to their sister.

Éponine is fierce in her independence, but as she leans into Musichetta’s embrace, it is clear that she is pleased for their wordless support regardless.

There is an inherent social class problem within Les Amis, and a gendered one, and while this fic was not designed to frame them in the centre of the narrative, there is the space for acknowledgement and discussion.

But Grantaire smiles through his ripped lip, and the blood on his teeth makes them look yellower than normal.

Grantaire’s happiness is not dependant on his physical appearence, and instead on his friends. And Grantaire’s story about medication is my own.

Dennet René Grantaire

Full name time, Dennet: “from Denys or Denis, the medieval French forms of Dionysius”  (also: The Idyll in the Rue Plumet and the Epic in the Rue St. Denis), René: born again or reborn. I went heavy on the symbolism.

purple with the bruise and mottled with port-wine

Oakwood and Wine was really the first draft of this fic, and Grantaire with the port-wine stain is so much of my vision of him that I find it hard to picture him without. As I said, heavy on the symbolism and the irony.

Combeferre’s hand squeezing his shoulder, Feuilly’s fluttering fingers in lieu of words, Courfeyrac blowing a kiss, but the steady trail of amis leaving into the darkened street hadn’t contained Grantaire.

Enjolras is a tactile creature when he is happy. 

“It doesn’t look too bad, not too noticeable.”

The smile has plastered itself back onto Grantaire’s face before Enjolras’ hesitant words had filtered through from his mind to his mouth. There’s something unsettling about Grantaire’s smile, it’s more misshapen-teeth than soft eyes. A fake smile.

“What, my face? Most people have learnt to live with it by now.”

Enjolras has more power over Grantaire than he possibly can know. This was one of the scenes that I wrote very quickly. Normally I write my fics in order, but this scene was one of the scenes that really stood out as important.

“You are purposefully and wilfully misinterpreting me. You are nothing to be so easily dismissed. You… You throw me into relief, I’m grateful.”

Enjolras has a crush and he doesn’t know how his words work.

“Just, just don’t think about it too hard. Everyone else manages just fine. Don’t look too hard either; you won’t like what you see.”

Grantaire has an unhelpful habit of talking half in the real world and half in symbolism. This causes a few problems later down the line...

Enjolras appreciates art. People don’t expect it of him, with his focus on the attainable and achievable within the political sphere, but there’s power in art. Not just in the posters that Feuilly designs for them, or in the ironic cartoons that Grantaire doesn’t appear to realise the satirical potential of, but the type of art that is strung up in galleries with  books dedicated towards their understanding and upkeep.

I loved writing this scene. Giving Enjolras a little more depth, than only giving him his friends and his revolution as characterisation. Enjolras loving art, not only as metaphor for Grantaire but also to give himself some rounded characterisation.

Enjolras has always held with the importance of truth. But where Enjolras’ truth lies in his words Grantaire’s lies in his actions. And both are subjective according to audience and intention. Enjolras thinks that he’s beginning to compartmentalise his own truth, and the shape of his world that inexplicably has Grantaire trapped within its orbit, but he is nowhere close to understanding Grantaire himself.

This fic became very introspective, and possibly a little purple. But as this fic quite firmly (with a few exceptions) became Enjolras’ narrative, it required a little more thought regarding Gratnaire’s appreacence. Espeically as that isn’t something that Enjolras paces heed too.

The garden is actually the window-boxes hanging out the back of the spare-bedroom; flowers that rarely get the right sunlight being coaxed into life by Jehan’s hand.

This garden was my favourite piece of world building in the entire fic.

“Happiness is fleeting and temporary, but then, what isn’t Enjolras?”

“Pain.”

Enjolras and Jehan are a pair who I would love to write more dialogue for.

“Grantaire isn’t beautiful though. Oh, he’s the waves crashing over the thundercloud and the rocks breaking at the foot of the cliff, but he isn’t beautiful Enjolras. And Grantaire knows that as well as I do, and as well as you do. Your words can hurt, even though you didn’t mean them too, and when he stands next to you, Enjolras, with you so magnified by the sun. Well, to be frank he’s beyond plain; he’s the functionality of a key in a lock as opposed to the splendour of the mechanism. Not all in this world are built to be admired; there must be a base element from which to work on.”

In fact I just want more excuse to write Jehan.

“And a philosopher; a student of Hobbes, in all the worst ways.”

The reason that a Hobbes quote was one of my choices for title.

“Ah, there you are.”

Combeferre knows Enjolras’ subconscious before Enjolras does. 

Enjolras had intended to leave a thought through and put-together voicemail to Cosette, but his plans had been scuppered by her bright and cheerful voice coming through the handset after only two rings.

Enjolras is not a spontaneous talker, he likes to plan and be in control at all times.

...one brown and one grey... 

Grantaire with heterochromia is another of my headcanons, with the port-wine stain added an uneven presence to his appearance. I don’t think that any of the physical attributes of Grantaire in themselves denote ugliness in themselves, of course not, but the putting together of all them alongside Grantaire’s perception of himself, is intended to give Grantaire a disjointed appearance, one which contrasts with the supposed socially accepted perfection of his friends.

Heaven forbid what would happen should Combeferre and Cosette team up and choose to use their powers for evil.

I want this AU.

It’s raining and Enjolras is standing out in the street, clutching his phone, damp to his bones, and he’s laughing. So he does the only thing he can think to do at this moment.

He goes to Grantaire.

Except it is for Courfeyrac’s flat that he buzzes for entry.

Enjolras needs his friends. He isn’t a lone wolf and he needs support of his friends. And also, he doesn’t know Grantaire’s address. (I had to retrospectively work that section in, as Enjolras needed a tangible excuse to want to talk to Courfeyrac at this moment.)

Courfeyrac knows how to listen when the time is right, but he also knows when to talk, and at Grantaire’s name he launches back into speech, as though he knew that Enjolras had already run out of words.

This Author’s Commentary is just becoming very self-indulegent. But I just love Courfeyrac here.

“Enjolras, is this what I think it is? I could kiss you-”

“Wouldn’t that go rather against what I am trying to achieve here Courfeyrac?”

Enjolras can’t quite bring himeslf to vocialise it, but luckily, Courfeyrac knows.

“You’re not going through pon farr are you?”

He brought Pacific Rim for everyone to watch, Courfeyrac is a nerd.

The skin around Grantaire’s grey eye has yellowed, the bruised fading into a sickly colour, sensitive and unsightly. He hasn’t shaved, and the stubble highlights the redness of his jawline. He looks tired, he looks sad.

The pattern of just adding elements to Grantaire’s apperance to creature ugilness, and not a Hollywood (or George Blagden) ugliness, but something real.

It’s still too quiet in Grantaire’s kitchen, and suddenly Enjolras doesn’t want to talk. He wants to turn around and walk out, taking back his words; he wants to take off his coat, roll up his sleeves and do Grantaire’s washing up for him; he wants to take the bottle that Grantaire had just taken up out of Grantaire’s hands and rally at him, a one man crusade for Grantaire’s self-worth.

This kitchen scene is the very heart of this entire fic. The dialogue exchange between Enjorlas and Grantaire, the mental unravelling of Enjolras’ feelings - not all positive about Gratnaire, but all, painfully human. The understanding which is also caught up in Enjolras’ desire to contradict Grantaire. His inherent optimism contrasted with Grantaire’s pessimism. The contrast between the softness of Enjolras’ feelings and the harshness of Grantaire. Grantaire who has always spoken softly towards Enjolras before finally cracking. And the tense nature of the descriptions.

It’s harsh and mocking, and Enjolras wants to shake him to make him stop. But when he catches Grantaire’s mismatched eyes he is frozen. His traitorous brain supplies him with of all things the curse of Medusa, and Enjolras doesn’t think in mythology, that is Grantaire’s influence on him, Grantaire’s shocking visage. Grantaire is to blame, and he stills.

Even years before Snakebite and Black, Warm Blooded and hue of beauty, glare of pain I clearly had ideas about Grantaire and gorgons.

And Grantaire knows no burdens like those Les Amis attempt to right, but he does have demons of his own, and they are wearing him down.

Enjorlas isn’t quite right here, but he’s trying.

Words are almost not enough, but they could be too much at the moment. So instead Enjolras kneels between Grantaire’s spread knees, and he knows that this could look like, but Grantaire is haloed against the halogen bulb, and the angle isn’t flattering to him at all. His face, already in permanent shadow is only highlighted as dramatic. As something to be feared.

This moment, if the kitchen scene is the heart of this fic, then this paragraph is the heart of this scene. I wanted, desperately, to have Enjorlas sink to his knees in an almost entire platonic scene. The light, the dark, the contrast with the implications of ‘I’d black your boots’ in the Brick. It was the moment I could see most clearly while writing. If even a fraction of that made it into the narrative, then I’m glad.

“You are not hated Grantaire, and we are striving for a world in which black and white, in which night and day themselves can afford to embrace, to be born again anew.”

“This barricade is made neither of paving stones, nor of timbers, nor of iron; it is made of two mounds, a mound of ideas and a mound of sorrows. Here misery encounters the ideal. Here the day embraces the night, and says: I will die with you and you will be born again with me.”

“You are not hated Grantaire.”

[...]

The outpouring of emotion is never a pretty sight. Even less so on Grantaire.

I was determined for Grantaire not to be made beautiful by love.

The movement is so sudden that Enjolras couldn’t have predicted that he would be the one to make it, but the hitch in Grantaire’s breath is followed by him rising to his knees and wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s hunched shoulders. The angle is wrong, and uncomfortable, Grantaire’s hair is greasy against his neck and his knees ache, but he doesn’t think of that, and doesn’t think of Grantaire’s breath against the skin of his neck as he breathes unevenly and harshly, and beautifully.

Enjorlas on his knees embracing Grantaire. The imagery has been somewhat taken from the 2008 bootleg of Drink With Me with David Thaxton (Enjolras) and Keith Anthony Higham (Grantaire) but reversed, and developed. This action, as commented above, is at the heart of this fic. The unspoken is supposed to denote everything.

For a very long time this fic was going to end with the kitchen scene, but I found that even though it was incredbily powerful it didn’t have that concluding factor. So the final kitchen scene.

Grantaire is as much himself as he ever is at these events, laughing and drinking and acting as though he hadn’t declared himself worthless to Enjolras only days ago.

Enjolras is seeing beyond Grantaire’s facade. 

They didn’t used to draw names out of Marius’ battered top hat – apparently it’s a family heirloom.

There is history to the Pontmercy family, they probably have direct links back to the Revolution itself.

Built up from clay and the world around them, Grantaire is a creature of the world, as much as he claims Enjolras is a celestial being.

Enjolras is thinking in metaphor, and it’s because of Grantaire.

“Do I? You astound me that you claim to know me this well.”

“I know you as well as I ought to, but not as well as I want to. It is sunset, the embrace of night and day. You understand what I mean by that, do you remember?”

Gosh, Enjolras, stop harking back to your own monologues, both in the Brick and in this fic. He’s being very forthright, again, Enjolras being on the spectrum.

He is sombre, if not sober.

Grantaire will never be perfect, the essence of this fic.

“You are not hated. You are loved. By them-”

“- And by me. You are loved by me.”

And that is the conclusion, he is loved regardless of his flaws.

Perhaps Grantaire will believe them. Perhaps he’ll taste of smoke.

Enjolras thinking about Grantaire physically isn’t about the visual but instead the sensual.

“I am hideous.”

“You are mine.”

It’s a blanket statement, and Enjolras is shocked by himself for classifying his relationship to Grantaire like property ownership, and Grantaire’s eyes widen, one mud brown and the other sky grey. They do nothing to flatter his face, wide and encased in week old bruising, looking like his port-wine stain had bled across his face.

This is ‘Be Serious, I am Wild’ of this fic, except, clearly it is Enjolras who is being wild and Grantaire who is serious.

Grantaire’s skin is rough beneath his palms, but it doesn’t matter because it is beneath his palms and he’s feeling the warmth come off Grantaire’s skin and the pigmentation and fragmentation that makes him who he is, and ah, it is Grantaire who kisses him. Grantaire who goes on tiptoe before Enjolras can think to bend down to greet him, and Grantaire who presses thin, chapped lips against his own.

And they kiss. The moment is sealed. Again, Enjolras’ perception of Grantaire is sensational and tangible, as opposed to visual. And Grantaire is shorter than Enjolras, which may not have been noted before in this fic.

And Grantaire is still not what society would deem attractive, but smiling and biting his lip and holding Enjolras’ hand under the table, and happy. Love does not make him beautiful. Love brings out the truth of who he is. And that is not beautiful. But it is Grantaire.

And again.

“You are so beautiful.”

Grantaire whispers into Enjolras’ hair, like a secret. And he tightens his grip across his shoulders, as though he expects Enjolras to get up and walk away, Enjolras relaxes further, thinking that the emotional comfort of an immovable deadweight would surely surpass the physical one of Enjolras pressed against Grantaire.

[...]

Grantaire values actions, and Enjolras values Grantaire, so he smiles, and says nothing in reply.

And again. Beauty is not mandatory, love is sufficient and it would sully the narrative for Enjolras to counter his accidental description of Grantaire as ugly, with an untruth about beauty. Grantaire’s looks have everything and nothing to do with his feelings, they are an objective fact. He can love Grantaire and want Grantaire without objective beauty. Whether, later on in their relationship subjective beauty is discussed, that is another matter. 

But the story ending on Grantaire calling Enjolras beautiful, and Enjolras saying nothing at all. And that being good, that I am pleased with.