Happy Birthday James! Your prompt reminded me that I still had ideas about the Enjolras and Grantaire in my Faerie AU. No background knowledge needed though, as these two are both human.
Enjolras’ apartment is a nice place to be. Grantaire has always thought so, but nowadays that is extra true. There’s still a little nervousness in his chest though. Luckily he’s not the only one, at least judging from the rather sudden way Enjolras says:
“Do you want something to drink? Or…something?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Grantaire grins.
“Okay,” Enjolras smiles. He grabs the coat he just shrugged off to put it away. “Why do you never wear a coat?” he asks, shaking his head as he ducks into the little hallway.
“Sarcasm keeps me warm,” Grantaire quips. He strolls over to Enjolras’ photo wall. It’s the defining feature of the living room. The pinboard basically covers the whole wall. It looks even more crowded than it did last time. Grantaire glances past the glossy pictures and his eye falls on a photo that is unmistakeably Combeferre and Enjolras…only with braces and backpacks. Grantaire lets out a surprised sound, he has seen a few pictures of Enjolras as a kid, but not many. He always figured Enjolras didn’t want to share them.
“Dad came by with a box of old photos,” Enjolras explains, appearing in the doorway.
Grantaire looks back at him over his shoulder.
The nerves in Enjolras’ eyes are much more obvious now.
“Cute braces,” he smirks. Whatever Enjolras is worried about, Grantaire hopes a little teasing will do away with it.
Enjolras’ eyes flash, apprehension fading. “Shut up,” he huffs, coming to stand beside him. “Everyone had braces.”
“I didn’t,” Grantaire snickers.
“Urgh,” Enjolras grunts, but he’s smiling.
They both look at the pictures. Normally Grantaire would be looking for the ones of them together. Most of them brand new. Together at the café. Together in the university garden. Together wherever they can find a moment. They have to make up for lost time. But right now he’s looking for the old ones. He really wants to see what-
“You used to dye your hair!” Grantaire splutters.
“Yes…” Enjolras sighs, turning his gaze skyward.
“Oh my god,” Grantaire laughs. “What is that?” He points at a picture where Enjolras must have been about fifteen. “It looks like you accidentally dipped the ends of your hair in neon pink.”
“It was a thing,” Enjolras grimaces. “I think every single girl in my class had hair like that at the time.”
“Oh I like the red,” Grantaire grins, graciously moving on to a picture where Enjolras’ hair is cropped short and dyed dark red. He looks more like Grantaire knows him there, shoulders squared and laughing at the camera.
“Thanks,” Enjolras laughs. “I did too at the time.”
Grantaire glances sideways at his boyfriend. Boyfriend. Even thinking it still makes a burst of happy nerves shoot through his stomach. “Was that the first time you cut it short?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Enjolras hums, eyes passing along his childhood memories.
When Grantaire met Enjolras he has short blonde curls. Now they are nearly down to his shoulders, longer than Grantaire’s hair at least. Only Enjolras’ hair is fine, it doesn’t turn into a wild mane like Grantaire’s, but the curls frizz when he doesn’t take care of them. Grantaire blinks. Yup, he’s staring. Enjolras’ eyes laugh silently at him. He gives him an apologetic grin.
“This is the first time I’m growing it out again,” Enjolras says, running his fingers through his hair.
“Yeah,” Grantaire says with a comically thoughtful expression. “I can’t say I ever put that much thought into my hair. I’m too lazy.”
“Liar,” Enjolras grins. “You’re proud of your hair. If you were lazy you’d shave it off every once in a while.”
Grantaire just manages to keep his face straight. “That’s a pretty good idea actually.”
The horror sparking in Enjolras’ blue eyes makes him burst out laughing.
“I won’t,” he chuckles. “Promise.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Enjolras protests. “You should do whatever you want with your hair.”
“So should you,” Grantaire says, turning away from the photo wall with a crooked smile. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t secretly hope you’ll keep your golden curls. Doesn’t make a damn difference for how I feel about you…but I do like them.”
A faint blush passes across Enjolras’ cheeks. “I like your hair too,” he says, smiling slightly.
Enjolras huffs, but Grantaire quickly leans forward to press a kiss on his cheek. The blush comes back and he laughs.
Grantaire can practically feel the world glowing. He can make Enjolras blush and laugh with a kiss. How preposterously wonderful is that?
“Does that mean I make the long hair worth your while?” Enjolras teases.
“You definitely do,” Grantaire grins. “Besides,” he grimaces, remembering his last year of high school. “I do not look good with short hair.”
“Oh, you should not have told me that,” Enjolras says delightedly. “You saw my pictures, now you have to show me yours.”
“Who says there are pictures?” Grantaire protests. There are so many pictures. He has a hard time imagining his aunt and mother without a camera in their hands.
“There’s always pictures,” Enjolras says, thoroughly enjoying the half-hearted embarrassment on Grantaire’s face.
“Damn,” Grantaire mutters, trying to look pained. “Will you forget about it if I kiss you?”
“No,” Enjolras laughs.
“What if I make it a really good one?” Grantaire coaxes, leaning towards him.
Enjolras nearly bites his lip.
A moment later Grantaire’s mouth is on his, hands cupping his face. Another moment and Enjolras’ fingers are tangled firmly in Grantaire’s hair as he’s being leant back against the wall.
This is going to turn into a valuable lesson in a minute or three: making out against photo walls means putting photo’s back up afterwards. But right now neither of them cares.
“Still haven’t forgotten about the pictures,” Enjolras laughs breathily when Grantaire pulls away for a moment.
“Well I have,” Grantaire grunts and he buries his face in Enjolras’ neck.
Enjolras’ laughter rings out warmly and the first picture slides to the floor.
Happy Birthday @stopcallingmeapollo !! I hope this fulfills your soulmate and pining needs! I should have the second half done... after college apps are due. But I hope you have a lovely birthday! <3
--
He is holding tickets. Tickets that Courfeyrac handed to him moments ago. Tickets to the Paris Opera Ballet.
“Happy birthday!” Courfeyrac beams at him, sliding across Combeferre’s open chair between them, almost knocking over a computer, three mugs of coffee and 2 very important stacks of files Enjolras just finished organizing. Lovely.
Most of the amis were out refilling their drinks after their regular weekly meeting, before the second, unofficial, meeting began, in honor of Enjolras’ birthday.
“I was going to wrap them but, paper waste.”Courfeyrac continues, the words seeming to tumble out of his mouth without the man noticing. “They’re for a week out, it's the opening night of the last show this season, and I’m not sure yet, but I think I can get us backstage with the dancers!” The excitement in Coufeyrac’s eyes dims for a moment, as he takes in Enjolras’ less-than-ecstatic expression. “Do you like them?”
Enjolras, sitting frozen, curses himself internally, before smiling broadly at Courfeyrac. He loves the gift, it’s wonderful.
It-- it-- just isn’t what he was expecting.
He was expecting his friends to go the route they normally go- most donating to charities in his name, Combeferre and Courfeyrac buying him aid him in sleep, or relaxation.
Not...theater tickets.
But trust Courfeyrac to go above and beyond. It’s a thoughtful gift, not something bought the night before in a rush of panic; the way Enjolras himself had sometimes bought gifts for others whose birthdays coincide with big printing days.
It’s no secret that Enjolras loved theater and goes to local shows all the time. And it’s very Courfeyrac, noticing something Enjolras quietly enjoys and taking it upon himself to step up.
It’s just... Enjolras isn’t seeing the shows because he particularly...enjoys the performances. The shows are relaxing, and he has come to appreciate the finer points of a director's intention but...he started going for a for something else:
The line of script worked along the lower line of his shoulder blade. Thank you for coming tonight- I didn’t think anyone would.
The first words his soulmate will say. The one he is supposed to spend his life with, the one who is meant to compliment him, the one chosen for him by the stars. His other half will utter those words, presumably at some small showing when no one is expected to turn up.
So Enjolras goes to shows he doesn't think will be well attended, shows where he knows that he will get a chance to meet the performers afterward, shows where he knows someone may say those words to him.
Courfeyrac is looking at him nervously, and Enjolras knows that the tickets can’t have been easy to get. Courfeyrac prides himself in his ability to give good presents- and this is a good present. The show will be lovely, Enjolras can have an evening without work or searching for his soulmate, just for him and his friends. It’s sweet and thoughtful and so, so nice-- he was just caught off guard but something a little outside the norm.
He reaches over to clasp Courfeyrac hands and pulls him into a hug. “Thank you. Thank you so, so much, and I’m excited, I didn’t expect something this nice. What's the show?”
Courfeyrac leans back in his chair, placated by Enjolras’ latent response and the physical contact, and begins a rambling speech once more. “Well, it's not an official opera, but it's the company doing pop songs? To ballet? I have a friend who's in the company and is working on it, and it's not like the standard fare for a ballet but everyone in the ‘dance community’ is really hyped about it.” His grin spreads even wider. “And, that friend may be able to get us in backstage! Did I mention that already? But yeah, he upgraded our tickets so we’re in the orchestra circle, and he isn’t positive he’ll be able to get us backstage, but I'm still really excited! I have tickets for you, me, and Combeferre.”
Enjolras smiles at his friend's excitement and leans back in his chair to listen to him ramble about the restaurant they would be going to, and the critical response to this season, and whatever else that came out of his friend's mouth, simply basking in his friend's excitement.
The rest of the night is spent in much the same way, with friends coming up to congratulate him on turning 25, handing him envelopes with printouts saying that money had been donated in his name, and, in Bahorel case, teasing him about not holding a proper birthday party again.
It’s basically the perfect birthday.
--
It wasn’t that Enjolras was obsessed with finding his soulmate. He went to work, and meetings, and attended parties with his friends; all without sparing a second thought to finding his second half. It didn’t consume him.
But when he has a moment to himself, an evening without deadlines, his mind often wanders to the letters worked along his back, and the lips that may say them. The tattoos appear when a person turns 22, but you may have met your soulmate before then. If the phrase is small, in a hard to see spot it may take days for a person to find their words, but that had not been the case for Enjolras. He noticed the moment they appeared and felt the same determination he often felt tugging at him as he read the words aloud. This is my soulmate. I need to find them.
Enjolras didn’t know if his burning desire to find his soulmate was a symptom of his normal passion, or something else, the secret romantic Marius swore was hidden somewhere. Jehan was the only of his friends who wasn’t bonded and openly flaunted their soul mark, an almost cliche I thought the only pretty things in graveyards were the flowers. Jehan would wear crop tops to poetry readings and slam nights at local cafes so all could see the words lining their lowest set of ribs, encouraging others to ask or touch.
Unless someone had their mark somewhere that was hard to hide (Bossuet's are under his eyebrows That looks like it hurts! and what does your eye makeup say- wait!) people tend to hide tattoos under clothing. Enjolras doesn’t even know the words for most the amis.
For most people, soulmates are a quiet fact of life, most people meeting and settling down without a fuss. Less than 0.5% of people don’t find their soulmates, and they are often aromantic, or it turns out their soulmate died, or some other tragedy. It’s quiet, and steady, and simple. It would be nothing like the rest of Enjolras’ life-- and he wants it.
He wants to have someone to go on dates with, someone to hold and someone that will hold him. He wants to go to their performances on Friday nights and have them come to his rallies on Saturday. Nothing in Enjolras’ life is easy, nothing is simple, and he wants this one thing.
He wants to give himself to something he won’t need to fight for.
--
The theater is packed. Older, richer couples dripping in jewels looking distinctly uncomfortable at the younger crowd the unorthodox show has drawn, young couples, groups of friends, even a few families with children. Everyone is dressed up, matching the gold gild walls and the impractically large chandelier hanging from the ceiling draped in a string of cut glass. Enjolras himself is in a suit for the first time in months, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre are also dressed up- wearing matching ties and so sickeningly adorable that even Enjolras found it in himself to tease them.
Combeferre and Courfeyrac never experienced the yearning that accompanied most people's tattoos, having been dating when Courfeyrac got his mark-Hi I'm Combeferre and I'm five and I love butterflies! Looping around his ankle, the first words Combeferre said to him 15 years prior. They are an odd pair, to have known each other for so long, even been dating before getting their tattoos. They are odder still because they are not monogamous, Courfeyrac has flings with many others, even if he does go home to tell his soulmate about it each night. But, they are happy, and that is all that really matters, though others scoff and gasp.
Enjolras cranes his neck to look up at the balconies -three of them-- filled with even more visitors, students, and families who couldn’t afford floor seats but love theater all the same. Each group chattering over the light music playing, exclaiming over others outfits, or the songs playing that night, or a hundred other mundane things. It was a cross-section of the city, a thousand people taking a night off to enjoy the art, the city and each other. It was hard to not love humanity when surrounded by it. Enjolras leaned back in his chair, nothing to do but enjoy himself for a few hours.
Combeferre reads from the playbill noting the different songs and dancers that would be featured that night. “After intermission, the second half opens with a solo dance by René Grantaire-”
Courfeyrac grabs the playbill out of Combeferre’s hand, breaking in “That's him!! Grantaire is who got me the ticket upgrade!” his voice fills with wonder “ He’s such a good dancer, Enjolras, Ferre, you're not going to believe it.” He sighs, draping himself over the seat handle and half into Enjolras’ lap, wrinkling both their suits in the process “It’ll be amazing. He’s been practicing for months.”
Enjolras looks down at the man half laying on him, debating if pushing him on the floor would cause a larger scene, or letting him continue to flop around however he pleases. He lightly pokes Courfs shoulder and he obligingly sits up off Enjolras’ lap; before proceeding to lean all the way over Enjolras to look at the playbill Combeferre had stolen back.
“What other songs is he in?” Enjolras asks. Being this close to the stage is incredible, and Enjolras wants to thank the man who upgraded their tickets. Enjolras had hoped the mysterious gifter would come to a meeting, and let Enjolras thank him. He knows tickets this nice can’t be easy to get- even for a member of the company. Courf had said it was impossible, the man, Grantaire, wasn’t a fan of activism. A shame. Enjolras would love to see if he could be convinced to come to a rally or two.
Combeferre turns back the first half of the show, quickly skimming the list of dancers for each song. “ He’s in the first song, Bohemian Rhapsody, then the fourth song, then the fifth” He raises his eyebrows as his eyes travel down the page. “And the seventh and eighth as well. The only songs he isn’t in are the other solos and the female-only song. Other than that, he’s onstage.”
As he finishes the lights go down, signaling the beginning of the show, the music and chatter falling to silence. Courfeyrac sits up, and the three friends oriented themselves to the blank stage. After a moment of apprehension, the first notes begin to play, and a line of dancers file onstage, slowly spinning as they reach center stage. A measure later the male dancers dance on stage as well, just as delicate; until sets of couples were scattered around the stage. As the lyrics begin, they move in unison.
Enjolras drinks it in. He never understood the love of dance, attending local communities centers dance performances he was lucky to get through a performance without someone breaking a hip or losing a finger-- but looking at the dancers now it’s clear. They’re beautiful, each movement precise and with intent. His eyes are drawn to the couple on the end of the stage farthest from them, the man has a practical birds nest of dark curly hair, spinning his partner around him with ease, counterbalancing her movements with grace, his face is shadowed, but at times, when the music swelled, the barest hint of a smile could be made out.
The song gets faster and faster and the movements get larger and less precise as the dancers throw their entire bodies into the song, spinning and leaping faster and higher. Try as he might, Enjolras can’t tear his eyes away, he kept on returning to stare at the man at the end of the stage.
As that last few notes of the song die out, the audience enthusiastically claps, filling the auditorium, as most of the dancers, including the man, leave the stage. Courfeyrac leans over and whispers “happy birthday” as the remaining dancer, a tall woman, takes center stage.
She’s beautiful, and the song Enjolras has heard before but is in a language Enjolras doesn’t understand, Spanish perhaps. She takes long slow turns across the stage as the bass pumps out a quick beat, making it seem as if she’s suspended in jelly. After her, another solo dancer comes on dancing to some song that Courf had set as his ringtone a month or so ago, then a group comes on again, smaller than the first, only about 6 dancers.
At the same time, Enjolras and Courfeyrac sit up, the dark-haired man was back! He had changed out of the minimalistic costume he had been in before- all the dancers were wearing capes made of some flowy, multicolored fabric that trailed behind them. It only served to highlight the sharp angles of his face, the negative space of his hair. Courfeyrac leans over again, “that's him! Grantaire! He's the one that got us the tickets!”
The dancers begin to dance, something full of jumps and lifts that had the audience, including Enjolras, on the edge as the tempo upped itself over and over. He whispers back “Which one? With the red hair?” The man in question is currently standing closest to them, slowly turning as the slighter man he was partnered with spun around him in a faster circle.
“No. The one in the back, holding the girl with blonde hair”Courfeyrac says, indicating the man that had transfixed Enjolras in the first song, who was slowly lifting someone and moving toward center stage, close to them for the first time in the show.
“Oh.” Enjolras breathes, transfixed equally by the sight before him and the idea that the best dancer in the company, he must be by how he had transfixed Enjolras, had invited them here tonight.
The rest of the show passes in a blur of swirling bodies and music. Enjolras can hardly blink when Grantaire was on stage, can hardly breathe when the other was close to their side of the stage, so close he could touch. When he took center stage, alone, Enjolras felt as if he was watching something sacred. He wanted to look away, or hide his eyes for how intimate and open the dance made the man seem, rolling around on the stage as a piano seemed to pound out Grantaire’s own heartbeat.
The show comes to a close, with one final group number the dancers holding their pose as the last chord gives way to silence. Enjolras jumps to his feet, breathing hard even though he has been sitting for hours. He and the rest of the house applause for long minutes as they try to put the emotions they have experienced into pure noise. Enjolras hopes they succeed in at least letting the dancers know that they are appreciated.
As the audience quiets down Grantaire, with a towel wrapped around his shoulders, steps forward and accepts a microphone from a stagehand. Enjolras’ breath catches in his throat as he looks at the man, static for the first time all night. Smiling Grantaire brings the mic closer to his mouth and says “Thank you for coming tonight- I didn’t think anyone would.”
Oh.
Enjolras can’t hear anything beyond the words going round and round his mind, those are my words. My words, my soulmate, he’s here, I need to tell him, he's beautiful those are my words, My words my soulmate. The girl standing next to him, his partner in the last dance Enjolras realizes distantly, takes the mic and begins to properly thank the audience. The dancers file off the stage, and Enjolras stands, ignoring Combeferre as he calls to him, walking towards the front of the house need to tell him, he’s beautiful. My words, my soulmate, he’s here
“Enjolras where are you going?”
Enjolras walks as if a daze, out of the theater, taking a small hall, the crowd grows scared as he moves, taking any hall that seemed to lead deeper into the theater, that may bring him closer to the one he’s been searching for, the birds nest of hair, the mouth that forms his words, his soul mate, he’s here--
He’s accompanied by others, who also seem to be looking for someone, including a younger girl who is confidently pointing down the hall , tugging a friend behind her. “I think that the green room is this way, that’s where the dancers should be. Enjolras follows her, she seems to know where to go, maybe she’ll be able to help him find Grantaire; Enjolras’ soulmate. They turn one final corner, just Enjolras, the two young girls, and an older man clutching a playbill and almost crash into a woman wearing a badge. Security.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s company members only beyond this point.” She smiled tightly at them, standing in front of a door labeled ‘green room’. They can see indistinct movement through the frosted glass, can hear voices.
One of the girls he had been walking with, the louder one, began to protest, walking closer to the door. “No, you don’t understand I need to meet the dancers--”
“I’m sorry Miss,” the guard spoke through her pasted on smile,“ but if you want to contact the dancers, you can contact them online. This area is for company members only.”
Enjolras felt himself step forward. “I'm sorry ma'am, but, one of the dancers, Grantaire, René Grantaire he’s my soulmate, I have his words on my back, I just saw him, I didn't know, I didn’t even know about this company, but I need to see him, ”
The guard meets his eyes- checking him for something- does she not believe him? She has to, he’s telling the truth, she has to let him through-
“René Grantaire is your soulmate?” she asks
“Yes,” he breathes.
She smiles, less artificial, something sharp in the curve of her mouth. “ well how incredible! You see, René is a very lucky young man. You are the fourth person today to come tell me so! In fact, he has so many soul mates, that he prefers it when they contact him on social media instead of trying to barge into his green room. This area is for company members only.” She moves to pull her walkie-talkie out of her vest, but the others have already begun to file around the corner, back outside to the main hall.
“He really is my soulmate.” Enjolras protested weakly, beginning to move around the corner. The women looked at him with soft eyes, but his sense was already returning, the adrenaline of finally meeting his soulmate dying down. “No, no, I don’t mean to make you into a villain, it’s your job to keep me out of the green room, but” He searches for the right words. “I’ve been looking for him for three years.”
Before she can respond he walks the way he came- pulling his phone out to call Combeferre to ask where he and Courfeyrac are.
--
Okay.
Enjolras hadn’t anticipated this.
He stares at the boiling pot of water, before slowly pouring a cup of pasta in, watching as the bubbles dissipate.
He found his soulmate. His soulmate is real, and a famous dancer, and he had sat not 10 meters away from him and heard him speak-
But then he had been unable to get to him.
Enjolras grabbed his phone and checked twitter, where R, as he apparently goes by, had posted a photo of him and some of the other dancers laughing at some bar, faces flushed and happy.
All he has to do is send a message.
@GrandeEnL’air I’m your soulmate. Hi--
@GrandeEnL’air I saw you last week and you were amazing. I think you have these words somewhere----
@GrantEnL’---
He can’t even type out the username before he closed the draft. When he imagined, it would always be somewhere subdued. Something magical and soft, and easy. Something that wasn’t Enjolras making pity mac and cheese alone in his apartment, without his soulmate who doesn't even know that Enjolras has found him.
And social media is all wrong-- it’s so cold, so casual. Enjolras wants to do something romantic, something that is magical and would leave Grantaire, R, with the same feelings he had felt when Grantaire first spun close to him, the wonder as the words crossed his lips.
Enjolras stirs his pasta. This isn’t that hard. All he needs to do is take a step back. He has built his life of being objective, presenting facts with as little bias as possible. All he needs to do is apply that here, not get distracted thinking about how stupid that security guard was, and how hard it had been to answer Courfeyrac and Combeferre questions, and how incredibly fuzzy he feels scrolling through Grantaireś twitter, watching him be happy.
Is this how Courfeyrac feels all the time?
Well, Enjolras supposes, Courfeyrac tends to do the same thing each time he tries to ‘woo’ someone. Enjolras could try to just...follow that. What would courfeyrac do?
“Probably tell him he’s has a cute butt” Enjolras mutters to himself, not thrilled at the prospect.
Or.
Courfeyrac was also a fan of gifts. Not three weeks ago, he had been moaning over some lovely girl who always rode the bus to university, and courfeyrac had given her a cup of coffee, each day, for weeks until she agreed to take him on a date.
Of course, she had promptly fled when finding out that he already had found his soulmate and was simply looking for another friend with benefits (“if they want!” Courfeyrac always insists, ‘only if they want”)
But Enjolras is looking to find his soulmate, not for something in addition to his soulmate.
Gifts could work.
But what to get him? Enjolras grabs the pan of water and dumps it out in the sink, running through the various gifts that had meant something to him. Grantaire isn’t an activist which doesn’t leave Enjolras with much personal experience, and he doubted he could get Grantaire tickets to his own show, but-
Oh.
Enjolras was not a man that had been in many relationships...but there had been one. A girl, in college, who had given him flowers, a big bouquet of roses, accompanied by a note hey wanna go out for coffee some time? Enjolras had denied the gift-- no sorry, it was really sweet but I’m gay…¨
Would Grantaire like roses? What should he say? Was he allergic to flowers?
It was better than nothing. Glancing at his phone, Enjolras though, it was better than a tweet.
As he began to eat dinner, he pulled up his laptop and searched for a flower shop nearby, one, Flowers and Curios by Malouf, would deliver. Enjolras pulls up an order form for a dozen red roses to be delivered to René Grantaire at the Paris Opera Ballet. He hesitates over the ‘individual message’ section of the form. It was the tweet all over again, he had a choice of the first words he would ever say to his soulmate-- in some ways a choice as to what Grantaire had on his body. He and Combeferre had debated the relative free will of those who get know they are talking to their soul mate- do they really have free will if the words are written on someone's else's body? - but now wasn’t the time for a philosophical debate, something Enjolras’ was sure he had never thought before, it was just time for him to write something- anything.
His fingers ended up writing almost without his brain’s input. You look perfect onstage.
He smiles. It’s perfect. Simple, and not presumptuous. He sends the order form of and settles down to work on a draft of his next article. And if his mind wanders to his soulmate, the man who will soon know that he and Enjolras’ and cosmically intertwined, Grantaire--
i drew things for my friend’s birthday!!! happy birthday @stopcallingmeapollo!! it’s some of les amis in their halloween costumes!!!!! the triumvirate is the marauders (minus peter) and jbmr is the kids from duck tales!!!!!
At long last, here are the winners of the #jamesturns20 contest!
Grand Prize Winner: @in-love-and-liberty, for their Soulmate AU
Angst Winner: @euphra-sie, for her Trans!Enj
Fluff Winner: @mysunfreckle, for her Trans!Enj
Honourable Mention: @prettypettypansexual, for their Trans!Enj
Message me to arrange for your prizes to be sent to you. If you created anything for the contest, send me an ask with your favourite character/ship (or another prompt) and I’ll create a special moodboard just for you.
Thank you so much for participating! It was so wonderful spending my birthday scrolling through such gorgeous fanworks.
I'm getting home from SA so late tonight my parents have taken pity and set out my gifts to be opened tonight, since I won't be back til after midnight anyway
