#;orion

[solar-born]

[hahaha so I wanted to try and edit that ask, but deleted it instead so take this @fireteamryoriora !!]

[melodicwitchlight]

starfalled ☀️ francis :

They’re lying on the roof again, under strings of fairy lights. Somehow, this place has become a safe haven — a place protected by the warm, velvet blanket of the night, and the stars that hide under the light pollution from the city, but are not forgotten.

He shifts, rolling to his side from where his head had been nestled gently on own arms while Mary had napped beside him. It’s new. They spend too much time together to invest it elsewhere, and so, coursework follows them for naps and idle moments. But Media and Communications essay is put aside easily as one might place a bookmark between the pages of a book.

He smiles, “Does that make me Juliet, dear Romeo? Will you climb a tower for me, and profess your undying love?”

mary is dancing under the fairy lights decorated through the roof landing ; as francis is working on an essay for university. he is wearing a black ribbed turtleneck as it was rather cold and sitting cross-legged on the grey cement ground. a boom box ( radio ) is in landing playing music, for ease of francis’ studying.

he had invited mary over too so they could hang.

his study room was next to the roof, white curtains floating. he had his dashboard open, of where he looked at pictures and text, and then tabbed to olivia, a girl he had loved when she was in court. he studied her on a desktop computer where it modestly sat on his light brown table, with no wires or high-tech equipment.

as she spins her black dress around ( tartan pattern a deep red and blue ) and dancing to the jaunty jazz tune. a trumpet 🎺 colours the air ; reminding her of her time with the scots. we’ve got the love in automatic.

francis smiles as he sees mary dance, as he writes in his essay of music humming in the atmosphere of the french rebellion. bookmarking the essay with a light pink ribbon, he asks mary a question of romeo and juliet.

mary turns, smiling, a white jewel tiara in her head, as the song continues ( hang on, hang on to yourself ) and says,

‘ I remember watching romeo and juliet in our class ;; I enjoyed it, juliet kissing romeo with her fairy wings is very romantic. ‘

[melodicwitchlight]

starfalled ☀️ julien enjolras :

"And yet, still so little has changed,” son of the Revolution mumbles quietly. And it’s not all true — not as black and white as he makes it. Nearly 200 years ago, he had not thought of what it would mean to be in love. He never imagined Courfeyrac sprawled like a cat over them both, with Kassandra’s fingers stroking through his hair as their third lingers in a world of wine-induced dreams. He’d wondered even then how he could sleep through it all, when there’s so much to be done. And in the end he’d lost them both.

Some days, it feels as though it was for nothing. On the darkest days, he wonders if it’s still for nothing, what they’re doing. And then he walks outside and sees rainbows, sees the glitter that covers every godforsaken surface of their flat. What he’d stood for all those years ago was not exactly this. But it hadn’t exactly not been this either. Each night, the window is open, and he can hear the people in the streets shouting, singing. Born this Way. Yes. Yes.

There have been so many bad things that have happened since a group of students had tried to change the world. There are so many bad things happening now, while they try to do it again. But their numbers are growing. Love for the people is growing. And perhaps, he thinks, it was always about people, more than the idea of a country. About all people. About equality that they still haven’t reached, but that more are reaching toward. He wants to lift their voices up. And he would die again to see the world be reborn in equality, in tolerance. But he thinks, perhaps he’d rather not, if it can be avoided. Each day is a new battle that he will proudly fight. But each night...brings him closer to home. He retracts. “Everything has changed. But there’s still so much to be done. You’ll stay with me this time? Don’t leave so soon.”

athena hears what the blond-haired revolutionist says as she sits at a sofa booth with him at the dilapidated cafe musain once radiant with light and laughter. there was an eerie haunting misting the place, they hearing distantly of the wind, and perhaps… a man’s voice? empty chairs at empty tables, where my friends are dead and I sit here… where I live and you are gone.

they had been reincarnated from the final battle, yet with timeline differing to when marius sung his song. the blood 🩸 pooling like red paint ( crude and predative, athena mused ) had ran a river in the ashen asphalt ;; they theorising why and when of this phenomenon.

courfeyrac was spinning a pistol in his hands casually, he being cheerful among the students. his friend enjolras had called him a kitten 🐈‍⬛ due to this.

the barricade comprised of mattresses, chairs, tables and doors was just outside, she seeing it through the dusty window. she is leaning her hand on her cheek ( feeling the warm sleeve of her jumper ).

as she looks and mutters under her breath on the interesting barricade once more, enj hears and says, ‘ the wheels of the wheelbarrow ; the civilian who bravely joined our crusade, jean valjean, donated this to our cause, he divulging it was from saving his fellow man from being crushed to death ‘ ( he then nods in fervent affirmation ).

she remembered she had met him while walking in the streets of paris ; he querying if she was lost perhaps due to the haunted look in her eyes. he had been holding a cup of coffee, coffee ☕️ which the grains were darkening brown, near black ( as he wanted to stay awake ).

she had recognised him to be the man talking about revolution speaking passionately about the freedom of the people of paris. she was quieter than the other students, and had started training to be a soldier, reminding her of her time with the vikings. she nods when he asks her if she would stay. ‘ yes, I’ll stay. ‘ as she found a family here.