#seditiosuspueros

[optxmiste]

[Text:] This is not a drill. I need a cape. And a tuxedo. Simultaneously. Repeat. NOT. A. DRILL…. -courf {i saw ur promo, hope this is is cool???}

[ text: courfeyrock ] why? are you dressing up as tuxedo mask or something?? halloween was last month, dude

[respirertousamort]

“I need one of those hugs that turns into sex.” from courf lmao

PFFT COURF) “Forward, huh?” R coos in response, pulling the other man to him, flush against his chest. “You alright? That seems a little bold for you~”

[respirertousamort]

“Ssh. Stop fussing. I’m just braiding your hair.” from jehan

“S’not enough to braid,” Grantaire protested, trying to lean his head away, though he was a little too inebriated (no such thing in his mind but it certainly showed). “You’re by the bad ear.” 

[respirertousamort]

@seditiosuspueros

There were few things more infuriating than something repetitive on this level- Rene Grantaire could not think of those few things in the moment, his flat unnervingly cleaned. That could be one of those things. Never since his inhabitance had it appear so organized-- but that was what happened when one had too much time on his hands. 

And “too much time” was exactly what Grantaire had. 

It had started about-- two weeks ago. The last meeting he had attended, something someone (he would say someone in the way that suggested he knew precisely who because oh he did, and anyone who truly knew him would not be hard pressed to figure it out, as though it needed figuring) had said sparked like flint in a gun. All at once, the flood gates were opened. He hadn’t even finished his brandy (had anyone noticed?) and he was gone before it was over. 

The first few days were hell. He couldn’t even get himself to drink. And then he awoke with a strange clarity, but it felt like watching himself in third person. In his mind, he’d taken to narrating himself, long fingers moving this here and that there and throwing that out and cleaning this bit up and-- 

He wasn’t entirely sure how long it had taken. He might have started on a Tuesday, and finished by Saturday, but Grantaire was not keeping track of time like that. It was more like how many sun ups did he witness sober. 

How long had it been since he was sober? 

That was the question on his mind once again, two weeks after the last meeting he’d been seen at. Surely no one had noticed his absence-- he did not bother to check. He had left once, the most recent Friday (or maybe Thursday?) to find a place to box. He had a surprising amount of energy. He barely made it home the following morning for the dizziness in his head and the impaired vision. Being drunk would have been more fun and probably less violent. 

He mulled it over, nursing his black eye. Things were still wobbly-- turned out the mostly-deaf ear could still cause him a good bit of trouble. He moved to what would be a room for entertaining, covered in papers, piles of books, mostly read three and four times over. A half finished painting of a golden man-- it would never be done. Grantaire simply could not motivate himself for that, and for the fifth time since sobering up, he entertained the idea of tossing it. 

Yes, he decided, that’s what he would do, and he brought the suddenly offensive piece of art to the front to throw it out. He was still in his skivvies from sleep, lacking the shirt entirely. The morning was brisk. 

[reserections]

“if you loved me, you could’ve asked me to stay.” courf @ jehan why am i like this

    “courf, we’ve b-b–” they take a deep breath, fighting every urge to close their eyes against the pain. they hate hurting people, especially people they care about. but honesty is the best policy, and courf deserves better than them. “been through this. if i loved you, i w—would have.”

[slippedthebonds-blog]

seditiosuspueros replied to your post:-whispers- there’s so much sin on my dash

but listen u Are sin

i will LITERALLY fight you

[petermotherhuggingparker]

@seditiosuspueros​ re: bruises

Peter frowned, squinting at the computer in front of him. No. No no. This wasn’t right. See, Peter was the one who was supposed to get hurt every night weather it be bullies or super villains. It wasn’t uncommon for the teen to skype his boyfriend while nursing a black eye, but Jehan having them was not normal.

“What the hell are you doing in gym?” Peter asked, leaning towards the screen a little more to get a better look, “Hit each other with some hammers for a few hours?”