#courfiusweek

[pontmercyingtil]

Tumblr has informed me I need to post more content, so, please enjoy my AU Marius and Courfeyrac, as illustrated by @linneart!

[weisbrot]

Hey thanks anon!!  as you can see i really enjoyed the request ;^) hope you like the boys with marius wearing courfs jacket hope thats sufficient entry to courfiusweek 🌻

[maximproving]

Courfius Week Day 3 - Canon Era | Dance Finally back to some art. I missed like...millions of prompt weeks and to get myself drawing again I picked sth for courfiusweek. A very flustered Marius and a Courf who teaches him how to slow dance.

[aka-noodleart]

Courfius week 2018 day 2: Soulmates

AU where the last words your soulmate will ever say to you are written on the palm of your hand. He didn’t realise til it was too late...

Trust me to make a cute prompt like soullmates angst-y but I mean, it is Les Mis

[courfiusweek]

Thank you, everyone for participating in Courfius week!

We had lots of fun and we hope you did too! Thank you to everyone who created fanworks, posted recs, reblogged and liked other people’s creations, helped up promote the Week, or even just lurked and sent good vibes <3 Keep shipping and creating and we hope to see you all next time!

[pontmercyingtil]

Prompt: Supernatural

“Marius” Courfeyrac drawled in the middle of the night. His roommate had the perfect name to be drawled in a mixture of disbelieving and frustration, seasoned with a little more fondness than the dandy Courfeyrac would ever admit. So he said it again, as he lay, blinking at the light of the candles, which had suddenly materialized in the small apartment. Indeed, it seemed every bit of wax with the smallest semblance of a wick he’d ever had had reappeared on the trunk which served as dresser and table. They burned like little stars, and their glow threw rather sensual shadows onto Marius’s form, as he came to bed.

Which was truly a rather impressive gift the candles offered, as one did not often think of the darling little potato of a fool that Marius was as sensual. But tonight, in a stark white shirt, borrowed from Courfeyrac, and loose linen trousers that were thankfully not borrowed, as Marius, being shorter, always got the cuffs of his borrowed trousers scuffed, and with his dark curls all tousled from the cold October air outside, Marius Pontmercy did look quite sensual.

And also very foolish.

 “I know that money, in all its glittering glory both confounds and terrifies you, but surely even you, lord of bubble-land, must realize that sleeping while candles are lit is terribly dangerous, expensive, and frankly rather gauche.”

Marius, on his side of the mattress, mumbled something.

“What was that? I can’t hear you over the sounds of my father’s fortune disappearing as candles melt to wax.”

A slightly louder mumble.

“Hmm? I’ll have you know my father did not affix that damn particle to his name for his money to be spend upon little scraps of wax. Why, if it is a fire you want, we should have a grand one! A bonfire of the very vanities of the government! We could--”

“Scared.”

“Of politics? Yes, we all know that.”

“nuhh...” the noise was a little like a no, if a no was said when one’s face was smushed against a Courfeyrac’s shoulder. 

“you have a very cold nose, Monsieur.” Courfeyrac gave in to temptation, and let his hand ruffle through the inky dark curls, the only part of Marius above the line of the scratchy green wool blanket they both shared. “Is your cold nose the reason you wanted candles? For I’ll have you know, there’s a wonderful invention called a hearth, in which a fire far larger than a candle might burn, and provide us with delightful warmth. Say the word and I shall re-acquire the supplies needed to keep us toastier than chestnuts. Or, even better, let us go out and acquire chestnuts, roasted fresh in one of those darling carts.”

“Not cold. ‘Fraid.”

“Fraid of what?”

“Ghosts.” he finally mumbled.

“What?”

Marius had the blanket back over his head and the words muffled into incorrent rumbles. Sighing, Courfeyrac moved to hold him a little closer. “Speak, or I shall start tickling you.”

When that was met with silence, Courfeyrac let his fingers twich over Marius’s ribs. The dark-haired young man let out a soft laugh.  It was that sound that did him in, every time. The sort of laugh that made one put up with things like listening to lectures on Napoleon, and terrible fashion sense, and a general fear of every woman over the age of thirteen and under eighty. The sort of laugh that was bright like a star in it’s sudden appearance.

The sort of laugh that was all the sweeter, and to the listener, sadder, because it was apparent it had not occured often.

It was a mystery Courfeyrac tried not to ponder, how one could grow up so devoid of joy, and still laugh like that.

So, instead of pondering, he got to tickling, and only after Marius was laughing hard enough that tears of humor sparkled in eyes as dark as the night sky, did Courfeyrac blow out the candle.

Silence.

And then.

A creak of a floorboard. A whistle of the wind.

Courfeyrac whispered. "perhaps we should light the candles after all.”

[pontmercyingtil]

So, this Courfius week drabble turned into... a lot more. Rated PG, feels abound, enjoy!

Courfeyrac did not look up as Marius entered their apartment. He knew it was Marius, because his friend, and now roommate, was the only person who not only took off his shoes at the door, but also apologized.

Perhaps to the floor? Or to the shoes? Surely not to Courfeyrac himself, as he’d told the Linguistics major multiple times he didn’t give a damn if Marius wore shoes inside.

After all, his parents paid for the off-campus apartment, not him.

“All done apologizing to the thin air?” he teased, still looking at his phone.

“I just… sorry.” Marius mumbled, coming to sit on the other side of the couch, always seemingly trying to leave room for eight other people, which was ridiculous, because the Amis met at Combeferre’s house these days, as Joli had decided he was allergic to cats.

“Marius, you know, you can spread out on this couch. Oddly enough, our cat has decided she only likes sitting on it if you are already quite comfortably arranged, so don’t save space on her account.

Courfeyrac was perched on the arm of the old thing, which had once been a sort of mauve but now was rather grey with cat hair. Perhaps he should get a vacuum.

But then Joli would claim to have won the debate over the cleanliness of the apartment. No. better to leave it as is.

“Sorry,” Marius said again. He did not move.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Courfeyrac replied, his thumb swiping across the screen quickly. “No, no, definitely no, hmmm. No.” His commentary made Marius lean over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“I am sadly not doing anyone, hence my need for this app.” He slid the phone into his pocket, and laughed, because Marius’s face had turned a lovely shade of pink. “It’s called tinder, dearest roomie of mine.” “I’m your only roomie. Unless you count Madam Gris.”

“His name is Smaug.”

“You can’t name a kitten after a dragon, Courfeyrac.”

“Have you seen her fangs?” he replied. “She is vicious. I shall raise her to be my attack cat! She shall defend us from all who might wish to break into our fine abode and abscond with our property.”

“Your property,” Marius muttered, glumly.

Ah, damn. Just like that, Marius’s good humor vanished. In the weeks they’d lived together, Courfeyrac had tried multiple tactics to keep that goofy smile on the young man’s face, loved the way it light up his face and made his eyes sparkle.

But between heartbreak, homework, and complicated familial relationships, keeping a smile on Marius Pontmercy’s seemed a nearly impossible task. Luckily, Courfeyrac thrived on doing the impossible.

“Come now. Someone might want to steal that nice backpack of yours. You know, the one with your name appliqued on it.” he elbowed his friend, trying to get him to laugh. “I’ve heard the name Marius is very trendy now. Everyone would want to have an item that granted them that wonderful name.”

“Do you really think my name is wonderful?” Marius looked up at him with such hope in his eyes it practically glowed. It was as if he was a plant that someone had forgotten to water for weeks, and survived only on the tiniest bit of rainfall. Who had given this handsome young man so few compliments in his life?

“I think you’re wonderful,” Courfeyrac blurted out, and hastened to add “at being my roommate. You’re quite good at it. Most aren’t, I’ll have you know.”

“I can’t imagine why…” Marius said, but lightly, as he surveyed the disaster of an apartment. There were an assortment of abandoned coffee mugs on the table, wine bottles of dubious origin waiting for next week’s party in a row, a pile of dirty laundry Courfeyrac had meant to get to… yesterday.

It wasn’t that he meant to be messy, and in fact, he quite liked when his apartment was spotless. It was just… lately he’d been distracted. Unable to focus. He found himself staring aimlessly at the wall in class, or meandering down hallways he had no reason to go down, or worse yet, forgetting to go to the gym, and instead sitting home, watching Great British Bakeoff.

Courfeyrac, in short, was due for a romantic entanglement.

It was either that or run off to England to try and impress Mary Berry with his only functionally recipe: Rice Krispie Treats, but made with Lucky Charms, for extra marshmallow action.

No, surely, a rendezvous with an amorous person was a far better idea, and not just because he’d burned through the only mixing bowl they had when he’d tried to make pancakes for himself and Marius last sunday.

Which was why he’d skipped class to perch on the couch and swipe through candidates on Tinder. A task he should get back to.

A task he needed to get back to, instead of watching as Marius sang to the cat-with-the-disputed-name as he poured her a helping of kibble. The one thing more pathetic than him had been that bedraggled cat he’d brought home last week, tucked safe in his soaked-beyond-repair coat.

But the little scamp had blossomed into queen of the home, happy, healthy, and quite delighted to take up space anywhere she chose.

Maybe Marius could learn a thing or two from that cat.

The next day, Marius came back from class to find Courfeyrac sitting in one of his usual positions on the couch, legs up in the air, back against the place most people sat. He’d never quite figured out why the russet haired man preferred to sit in a thousand unusual ways, but he found it rather charming. But also, like so much about Courf, baffling.

And then, he sniffed the air.

“You cleaned!”

The apartment was now spotless. All coffee mugs had vanished, the carpet appeared a few shades lighter, and even Madame Gris, where she sat on the window, watching birds outside, looked rather cleaner.  Though, seeing as she washed her paws more than either of her roommates washed the dishes, that was probably her doing.

“Ah, yes. I did.” Courfeyrac said. “Does it look nice? And smell nice? There’s this new lavender spray I found.”

“It does.” Marius said. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’ve got a date. Or rather, I have five dates, and I just have to make up my mind which fine person I shall bring back here.”

“Five dates? In a day?” Marius found himself staggering backward. “How?”

“It’s called tinder!” Courfeyrac neatly tumbled off the couch, and bounced over to Marius. “Check it out. You see people’s faces, and you swipe them right if you like them?”

“Swipe. Them?” Marius stared down at the screen. A rather familiar young man stared up at him, his chiseled jaw seemingly made out of marble. “Oh, I’m in French 201 with him.”

“Ah, no! That won’t do.” Courfeyrac quickly swiped his thumb to the left on the screen. “I banish thee, friend of Marius! I shall never match with you as surely, we shall kiss, and you shall pine for me forever, ruining your friendship with dear Marius.”

“I don’t think he’s the pining type…” Marius started, but he felt a smile pulling at his face. Courf’s antics always had a way of making him forget his courseload, his own lack of love, and well, everything that made him, according to Grantaire, a bit of an Eeyore. (when, really, it was rather hypocritical for that scruffy six-year-senior to be calling out anyone else’s lovelorn moping around.) “and um, we’re not friends, I mean, if you did want to kiss him…”

“Nonsense. I shall not impinge upon your friendship with the golden haired Hercules of Corinth College.”

Madame Gris bounded over to Marius, mewing, and he picked up the young kitten, scratching her under her chin just like she liked. “So, this Tinder. You can use it to… meet people?”

“Well, yes, meeting is sometimes an end game. Me? I find it fun! It’s like... “ Courfeyrac threw out his hands. “It’s like making a collection! Of people! Who are attracted to me, and I to them! What could be better?”

Marius thought perhaps a long walk on the beach under a moonlight sky with just one person might be a little better.

He also thought Courfeyrac might not appreciate it. “Well, good luck, um, finding your soulmate.”

“Soul mate? Pffft.” Courfeyrac leaned in to pet Madame Gris’s back. Unlike most cats, she seemed to thrive on the attention, and started to purr.

“You don’t believe in soul mates?”

“I don’t believe they’re found on Tinder, that’s for sure.” Courfeyrac replied. “Isn’t that right, Smaug?”

“Madame Gris.”

“Smaug.”

Courfeyrac looked directly at Marius, challenging him to a staring contest. And Marius stared back, finding those green eyes unexpectedly deep, with little flecks of gold in them that sparkled like summer sun. Courfeyrac’s smile grew. “You’ve blinked a bunch, my dear monk-like roommate.”

“I… have?” he wet his lips, finding them suddenly dry. “Um. Teach me to use Tinder?”

Anything to distract from how those eyes made him feel.

Courfeyrac was delighted to share with his roommate, who usually asked so little of him, even though Courfeyrac had much to spare. In fact, Marius’s own phone was Courfeyrac’s own. He’d claimed that he was due for an upgrade, and no longer needed it, but that wasn’t… exactly true.

But it only had cost seventy dollars to break his contract, and Marius didn’t need to know that. It was more important that his friend had a way of being reached that wasn’t the ancient flip phone he’d bought with the last of his work study pay check. Marius’s work as a tutor was dependent on just how many students needed translating help, which seemed to rise and fall with the proximity to midterms and finals.

Other than that, Marius had nothing.

Courfeyrac had noticed cards marked “return to sender,” that were certainly that oblong rectangle shape of the weirdly-specific gift cards that older folks used to mail checks in. But whoever sent the money, Marius did not like.

And not dislike in the way Courfeyrac felt terribly embarrassed by his own fathers, who decided to “embrace the old country” by adding some obscure participle back onto their name. Courf was quite sure that the participle was utterly made up, and therefore utterly embarrassing. As embarrassing as those “google your own family crest” things, or socks with sandals or Hawaiian print shirts worn unironically… or any other fashion his fathers sported.

Two dads meant twice as many pairs of Dad Jeans in the house.

Which was why he rebelled with carefully selected outfits. Tailored trousers, perfectly fitting jackets, crisp shirts, and soft sweaters in just the right shade of green. Even his workout clothes were ensembles, with tees carefully selected to match various pairs of tennis shoes.

Marius had, as far as he could tell, three shirts, one pair of black jeans, and one pair of blue. Not that he’d cataloged what his roommate wore, of course.

Not that he’d notice how sharp Marius looked in that white tee that clung to surprisingly well-sculpted shoulders, before he’d pull on an ancient green sweater that Courfeyrac had insisted he take to not freeze in the November air.

“Have you taken a selfie yet? You know you can add more. It’s not supposed to be a work of art” Courfeyrac leaned over Marius’s shoulder, feeling his roommate's stubble brush against his own smooth cheek. He cleared his throat, unexpectedly “I mean. Unless you want it to be. You could be a work of art, you know.”

“Why? Because this sweater is old enough to be in a museum?”

“Hah. Hah.” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, but blushed, glad Marius hadn’t heard the compliment that slipped out. “Right. So you’ve got your selfies, you've got--- goodness, Pontmercy, did you have to write a textbook for your bio?”

“I wanted to share my political beliefs.”

“It begins “Live, Laugh, Love.”

“Those are very political things! The pursuit of happiness!”

“Yes, sure.” He tousled Mariu’s hair, feeling the soft inky curls glid over his fingers. It was more an excuse to play with his hair than anything else. “Now, all you have to do is this: swipe left on the people you don’t like, and right on the people you do.”

“Then what?”

Then, he’d met some new love of his life, some shiny new soulmate, and never shut up about her, probably. Courfeyrac used the generic people, but he’d never heard of Marius being interested in anyone other than Cosette, who dumped him for his friend Eponine

Maybe this was a terrible idea.

Oh, why did he never think before he did things?

“Um, well, you can’t message them unless they’ve already swiped right on you too.”

“Ah. So we have to mutually like each other before we can speak.”

“Yup. have fun!” Courfeyrac said, and even to his own ears, he sounded false cheerful. He sprang up from the couch, scooped up Smaug, and headed to the other side of the room, intent on studying so he didn’t have to watch the roommate-he-was-certainly-not-crushing-on pursue a new soulmate.

PART TWO COMING SOON!

[courfiusweek]

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