About halfway thru darker shades of magic and it just now occured to me that lila and kell have not seen each other in the daylight and 90% of their interactions have been kell covered in blood and halfway to passing out
holland has a Russian accent. a sexy deep Russian accent. I will die on this hill (mind u both kell AND rhy were thirsting over the accent, rhy publicly and kell privately)
Oh american accent for red London is so good ive been reading it like half french half british because idk vaguely european accent?? but american kell is perfect
The idea that he's survived actual plagas infection, getting his spine broken several times, falling, getting thrown, getting shot, etc. etc. etc. But he misses a step going downstairs while wearing socks ONE time
You're getting it all wrong! See, Grantaire is the extrovert, and Enjolras is the introvert! Grantaire has no shame at all in public, while Enjolras only talks if necessary and would rather keep quiet and listen to others' talk.
(I'm only 50% sure the book mentioned something similar, so take that part with a grain of salt)
Awhile ago there was a post about how Enjolras is like actually socially very shy and kinda quiet but when he needs to stand up and make a speech in front of a crowd he can do it because he's got it written out and its more a performance than a conversation, but then when he's just out and about he's very introverted and quiet and I really like that R opposes this by being loud and outspoken in public
what if you were my boybestfriend and we're finishing up our rookie season together and you said i was quiet at rookie camp at first but then i opened up 'real quick' to you. what if our perfect day off together involved golfing, grabbing a bite to eat, watching films and sitting in the hottub. what if we enjoyed trying out different coffee places and doing nothing but 'people watching' together and spending every waking moment of every day at each other's houses. what if we ordered milk and cookies every roadtrip and reduced ourselves to tears laughing playing sewerball before every game. what if we watched rom-coms together on long plane journeys, binged tv series together and had a joint favourite video game. what if we had matching suits that we sometimes accidentally coordinate on gamedays. what if we spend so much time together that people start conjugating our names. what if you make me laugh harder than anyone else. what if we were maybe moving in with each other next year.
Not a question but if the scene you're referring to is the one where Mav sings "You've lost that loving feeling" that was filmed in the ballroom at The Lafayette hotel in San Diego. I don't think it was ever a club though
Ok yeah that's what I found online too. I saw someone on reddit mention it as just "the bar" and I'm trying to figure out if they used different bars for different internal scenes or not?
Also you are correct, the Lafayette hotel was not ever a gay club, at least according to wikipedia lol
Hey does anyone know if it's true that they filmed the bar scene with Ice and Mav meeting in top gun 1986 in a queer club?? I need this information for a research project (I'm so serious this is for a final project where I'm talking about how gay TG 86 is)
Mav: "I'm so tired, will you come and tuck me in?"
Goose: "No, I will flip your entire bed over though."
Hollywood: "Just avoided the biggest binder explosion ever. Gripped that thang like I've never gripped before. Don't take that out of context or I'll kill you."
Viper: "If you're not sure it the journal is peer reviewed what should you do?"
Mav: "... peer review it?"
Viper: "... No."
Phoenix: "What do we need from the store? Oreos, tissues, wine..."
Rooster: "Yeah, that's it."
Phoenix: "Ah. This is mostly a cosmetic run."
Ice: "Women love me, fish fear me... wait"
Slider: "Fish fear you, women fear you-"
Ice: "Fish love me, women... are confused by me. Men... confuse me."
Slider: "You confuse yourself."
Hangman: "I would do to him what Heather... what JD did to...Veronica?"
Coyote: "You're speaking gay again. I don't speak that."
listen i'm a violinjolras purist but i saw a post once that said something along the lines of "jehan as 1st chair flute and enjolras as 2nd chair flute" and now all i can think of is jehan finding bathymetric terrains by derek charke and the two of them listening to movement 4 together and jehan just straight up vibing while enjolras is so utterly confused about what he's hearing
Saxophone enjolras who's parents tried to get him to learn the french classical repertoire and instead he learned hard bebop and free jazz and terrorizes the local parisian jazz scene with his tenor sax and knows flute because of doubling in a big band and he and jehan like try to translate different flute rep to each other
Bonus for a les mis big band/musician au: bassist ferre, drummer courf, guitar or piano R, who is lead alto i hear you ask? Feuilly.
Do you think Leon sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night, out of breath and sweaty, grasping at invisible hands around his neck and throwing blankets off of him after one was laying a bit too high up his neck and chest? Do you think he wakes up and can't find who was grabbing him and has to reach for the flashlight in the drawer next to him and scan the room, breath catching as it passes over the curtains and window, ready for something to come in and grab him? Do you think he chokes down screams and sobs even in his sleep because what if something hears him, what if someone finds him, what if someone needs him to save them, what if what if what if?
I'm back with another Les Mis enjoltaire thing because i'm plagued with visions.
"Well, obviously my color is pink," Cosette hums thoughtfully from where she's perched on one of the Musain's backroom's tables, swinging her legs lightly. It makes her long skirt, the one she hand-embroided light pink flowers on, sway prettily. "Enjolras' is-"
"Reeeeed," the whole of les Amis complete in chorus, earning a huff from where the man in question is hunched over his computer, only lending a distracted ear to the conversation. The papers scattered around him take up most of the space on the table he claimed for his work, and his reusable coffee cup is long empty. Gold splashes on his features, dying sun filtering through half lowered binds. Grantaire almost sighs dreamily at such an heavenly sight.
"Right," Cosette goes on, "red for Enj. Combeferre is dark blue. Almost navy but not quite."
The man in question seems pleased by that, pushing his glasses up his nose with a content smile. Dark shadows bruised under his eyes, but his grin is sincere.
"In that case, Jehan is yellow. Sunflower kind of yellow," Ferre decides, leaning back more comfortably in his chair and allowing Courfeyrac to kick his feet up on his lap. It's been a long day, for everyone, for various reasons, so tonight's meeting got shortened, friendly banter replacing politics earlier into the evening than usual. Even Enjolras isn't typing away that fast, tell-tale sign that he'll probably call it a day and shut his computer soon enough, harsh blue light to vanish the second he's done.
Grantaire isn't sure why Cosette brought up associating colors with les Amis, but he finds pleasant to debate about it. Besides, so far, it all makes sense. Jehan, flattered by the color they've been assigned, leans further against Grantaire in the bench they, with Bossuet and Joly, claimed as their own for the evening. They gesture with rainbow nails, not one painted the same shade.
"What does your artist brain say, R ? What color would you give Ponine ?"
Grantaire takes a moment to consider. Despite what people might think, Éponine is so colorful in his mind : the red of scrapped knees, the blue of freezing lips after especially harsh nights, the pink hue of embarrassement whenever she's faced with Marius, the dark brown of tired eyes. It's all a bit anecdotical, though, so R thinks further, less practical, more sentimental. Cross-legged on the windowsill closest to the door, a shadow cut out of a blinding backdrop, Éponine waits for his verdict, more invested than she let on.
"Mmh. Dark purple, you know, like the outside of figs ?"
For a second, R catches Ponine's small, private smile, before she schools her features again. Good, then. Quickly, Marius is attributed pale blue, Bossuet orange, Feuilly pastel green, Joly lavender, Bahorel rusty orange ("not orange like Boss, hipster orange"), Courfeyrac bright purple ("Like a peacock though, without the good taste of Éponine's purple" "Peacocks don't have purple on them, dumbass"), and Musichetta, who popped in once her shift was over, ended up with a shade none of them agreed on wether it was orange or yellow. Which only leaves-
"I think R would be-"
"Forest green."
Every heads snap toward Enjolras, who's face finally lifted from his screen. He arches an eyebrow at the sudden silence, while Grantaire tries to will his stupid blush away (pink, incriminating pink, turning darker by the second). Seriously, all Enjolras did was give him a color. Why does it have to have any kind of effect on R ? Except now Enjolras' (blue, sky blue, dream blue) eyes latched onto him and Grantaire has to stop himself from squirming. He's not sure how to interpret the expression etched on marble-carved features, but it's softer than usual.
"Whoa, man, he didn't even hesitate," Bahorel laughs, trampling the moment. Feuilly, plopped on his lap, shakes in time with his chuckles.
"I know right," Courf grins, not one to pass up such an opportunity to tease their glorious leader. Enjolras mutters something that could be "and here we go", as Courfeyrac springs up to reenact the moment. Grantaire briefly wonders if he could get away with chucking his shoe at him, but he then remembers he's currently wearing Hello Kitty socks (hot pink, dissonant dash of bright color against black jeans and paint stained navy blue hoodie), and he is not about to give Courf more amunition.
It's nice to see the energy rush back to Courfeyrac after he showed up moping in the first place, attitude soured by rude customers and prickly coworkers. But now there's that glint in his eyes, bright sparkles in chocolate irises washing away unpleasant memories. It's probably the reason Enjolras isn't trying to stop him, Grantaire muses, he knows he himself wouldn't have the heart to do it. Encouraged by whooping sounds from his friends, Courfeyrac spins in the middle of the room, only avoiding a painful hip check with the corner of a table thanks to Combeferre's hand flying to cushion the impact just in time.
Bathed in the dawning light, hues of orange dancing across his skin, Courfeyrac grins at Enjolras, who pushed off his seat to actually meddle with the group.
"C'mon Enjy, now we need to know why you were so sure of yourself," Courf presses, slinging his arm around the blond's shoulders to guide him toward a free chair. Enjolras tilts his head toward Grantaire, pale eyebrows furrowing slightly.
"It suits him, does it not ? I guess green comes to mind when I think of him."
Grantaire's treacherous heart thumps, so as not to linger on the sensation, he leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees with a shit-eating grin.
"Think about me often, Apollo ?"
Anticipatory silence, only broken by a low hum of "oooooohhhhs" and "shhhhhs". Pink again, dusted over high cheekbones. Enjolras shakes his head so golden tendrils of hair partially hide his face.
"Is there a way not to ?"
Grantaire's jaw actually drops. What the fuck do you mean is there a way not to ? Maybe he's just dreaming. Yeah, has to be that. There's no way in hell Enjolras of all people just implied he couldn't stop thinking about Grantaire. Right ?
"That, was the gayest shit I ever heard," Éponine mumbles, making Grantaire jump. When did she sneak behind him ? He doesn't have time to answer, though, because with the initial shock passing, the room errupts. Bossuet tumbles from the bench in surprise, dragging Joly with him, as various versions of "Did he just-" bounce off the walls, general surprise colouring everyone's tone. Enjolras, though his face is turning as red as his beloved coat, stands his ground.
"What ?"
"You can't-' Grantaire's voice crack. Sweet baby Jesus, just let the floor open up and swallow him already. His brain is mush, his palms clamy, his tongue heavy in his mouth, and it seems his stomach is trying for this year's olympics. "You can't just say that, Enj."
Something on Grantaire's face - probably his own shade of crimson - seems to help the blond regain some form of composure, as he squares his shoulders and clears his throat.
"Why not ? You are exceedingly hard to ignore, Grantaire."
"Am I that much of a nuisance, oh dear leader ?" R jokes, desperately trying to steer the conversation in a more familiar direction, biting banter instead of dangerous earnestness. Enjolras, though, doesn't let himself be distracted.
"You know that's not what I meant."
Keenly aware of their friends' eyes burning holes in the sides of his face, Grantaire swallows, traped in the unyielding glint behind stark blue. Shit. He can handle rage-fuelled Enjolras, can handle snappy, annoyed Enjolras, can handle "on the verge of a mental breakdown that might make him either murderous or miserable" Enjolras, but Grantaire cannot for the life of him deal with this sweet, earnest, strangely shy version of his favorite little ray of righteous fury. His breath catches in his seemingly shrinking lungs, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.
"You- I mean-"
Enjolras' little head tilt and encouraging nod, the way his eyebrows raise in a way that clearly reads "yes ?" are not helping Grantaire's current predictament in the slightest. Now is so not the moment to notice the color that welled up in the center of the blond's bottom lip, just where he always sinks his teeth when he's deep in thoughts, but there is something so hypnotizing about the spot of bright pink- shit, Grantaire's just staring like a creep now, isn't he.
"Oh, for fuck sake, I can't witness a second more of that shit, this is painful," Éponine groans, pushing off the bench's backrest to make for the door. "I'm getting a drink. Or two."
"You know what, I owe you one, so i'll just..." Feuilly mumbles, jumping to his feet to follow her out.
"Yeah, just remembered I need to, uh, water my cat and feed my cactus-"
"Dad just texted, he sprained his...eyeball, Marius and I need to go check on him-"
"He what we what- oh, yeah, yeah, of course, we, uh...."
"I have a date with my bathtub, actually, so..."
One by one, every les Amis makes their hasty exit with a half-assed excuse, leaving Grantaire and Enjolras still rooted to their respective spot, just an arm's lenght away. It's only when they're completely alone that R clears his throat.
"I like it. Green, for my color. I...yeah. It's nice."
Like the sun rising above the ocean, Enjolras' answering grin, like light bouncing off the water, bliding and utterly beautiful.
"...good. It's...yeah, that's good. Matches your eyes."
It's uncharacteristic of Enjolras, this stuttering, the hesitation, but it tugs at Grantaire's heartstrings, to be allowed to see him under such a different light.
"...your eyes are nightmares to draw."
Great, wonderful Grantaire, what a totally normal thing to say to your years-long crush, not at all creepy and vaguely insulting, good job. The need to bash his head in or down a bottle is becoming incredibly stronger by the minute. Enjolras' face does something complicated, so R scrambles to salvage what can be salvaged.
"I mean- I can never get the colour just right, and they never seem- lively enough, you know, you get that...that glint, when you're ranting, like you could set the world on fire, or mend it together, all in one breath, and it kind of lights up your whole face, but it's all in the eyes, and I can never replicate that, and I'm sorry I didn't ask before drawing you, I should have asked, I know-"
"Grantaire-"
"-really I understand if it bothers you, or, like, creeps you out, it's just-"
"R !"
Grantaire's babbling comes to a screeching halt. Enjolras- doesn't look upset, at all. He's smiling, no, grinning, those damn eyes so soft where they settled on Grantaire's face.
"I'm honored, that you drew me. Truly."
...Oh.
"Oh."
A beat.
"I didn't mean to insult you by saying- about your eyes- they're beautiful. You're beautiful."
Shit, okay, what the fuck is wrong with Grantaire's brain-to-mouth filter tonight, he hasn't even touched a drop of alcohol yet. He's sure his face must be a deep, deep shade of crimson now. Nothing could have prepared him, though, for Enjolras' answer.
"You too."
Instinctively, Grantaire scoffs, dismissive. He knows what he looks like, and, come on, it's not even his self-hatred speaking here, just common sense.
"You are," Enjolras insists, eyebrows furrowing.
"You sure you don't need glasses ?"
That doesn't seem to sit right with Enjolras, who crosses the space between them to - dear Lord above - crouch in front of Grantaire, between his widely parted knees, eyes relentlessly searching until they meet R's. Slowly, as to leave him all the time he needs to pull away, or maybe afraid he might spook him, Enjolras reaches up, until he can craddle Grantaire's face in his delicate hands. Pianist's hands, writer's hands, violonist's hands, with long, elegant fingers, cool agains his over heated skin. Enjolras runs a thumb along Grantaire's cheekbone, traces the crooked bridge of his nose, brushes the purple shadows on the delicate skin under his eyes, smoothes his thick eyebrows.
"You are," whispered with all of Enjolras' steely determination, usually reserved for politics.
Then those deft fingers slide lower, over unshaved stubble, the scar on Grantaire's chin, so close to his bottom lip, and R's skin is on fire, his breath comes out in short pants, his heart might give out, his legs probably would have already if he hadn't been sitting.
Ah, but Grantaire, so used to Enjolras as he is when the fire of revolution burns bright in his veins, tends to forget how gentle the man can be. A charming young man, when he wants to, and a dedicated friend, too. It's almost unbearable, in the most delicious way. R's brain is void of anything that isn't Enjolras, that isn't red and gold and blue, that isn't careful touchs and soft words.
It's almost againts his will that Grantaire sways forward, whole nervous system stuttering when Enjolras joins him in the middle to press their foreheads together. His eyes flutter shut, pale lashes faning over still rosy cheeks. Grantaire's hand finds Enjolras' on top of his own cheek, and he tangles their fingers together, earning a low hum of contentment.
They shift, closer, intimate, and it's no surprise when their lips meet, when Enjolras buries his free hand in inky curls, when Grantaire makes a small noise, when he tugs the blond up and on his lap.
Their friends are probably pilled behind the door, ears pressed against it. Grantaire and Enjolras have much to talk about. There is still work to be done, responsabilities to deal with, a lifetime to live ; but here, right now, there is only the two of them, red and green tangled, mouths pressed together for as long as they'll want them to be, and the world is quiet.
Okay so what do you think actually happened between ID and Damnation for Leon to go from seemingly doing relatively okay, to being almost suicidal?
From a psychological perspective, I think that was pretty much bound to happen given his circumstances. He's not even almost suicidal, he's actively suicidal in Damnation, and the novel realizes he was contemplating killing himself on the mission.
Leon's been suicidal since post-RE2 so as unfortunate as it is to say, it's really nothing new. Given his whole "got so drunk he passed out at a motel and was subsequently late to his first day of work" backstory too, I don't think Leon was ok even before RE2-- and if his original backstory was/is still in play, he was definitely not ok then.
I think his main issue after RC is that he never got to heal from that. He still carries so much guilt and shame for surviving but not being able to save everyone in RC and that haunts him throughout the series. He never got the chance to work through that because he was immediately kidnapped by the government and forced into working for them, which led to him being retraumatized over and over again with every mission on top of the fact that he was there against his will.
grantaire living in his little hut in the french alps, with his goats and his chickens and his donkey, basically uncaring of whats happening in the world
one fine day one of his friends asks him to hide a partisan of the resistance and he agrees because why the fuck not, its not like he cares about the nazis and what they might do to him, hes just doing his friend a favor
and so he finds himself “living” with enjolras
fierce but frazzled, bone-tired enjolras that sometimes burns hot and bright but some other times just looks so ground down to nothing that grantaire just wants to wrap him in his arms
origamiaround
titsay
ellievsbear
germansingergirl
