Combeferre: Everyone brings their own unique strengths to the table. Some that even I don’t have.
Courfeyrac: You shut your mouth! You have ALL the strengths!

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“for how long? how long were you bottling this up?“ said to Courfeyrac? Scene partner(s) of your choice. ^_^

reysaglass:

“Combeferre, have you got a minute?”

Combeferre rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses.  He’d been staring at his stupid computer for way too long, but he only had until midnight tonight to finish this lab report.

“Not really,” he said without looking up.  “Can it wait?”

“Sure,” Courfeyrac said, but even from deep within his own mind Combeferre could hear something tense in his tone, like a rubber band pulled too tight.  Combeferre looked up to better appraise the situation, but Courfeyrac was already slamming the door behind him.

“Shit,” Combeferre muttered, rising to follow him.  “Courfeyrac!”

Keep reading

27 for maybe Courfeyrac and Combeferre for the meme? Unless there are others you’d prefer idk

takethewatch:

27. Things you said through a closed door

“Courfeyrac.  Courfeyrac.”

There’s no sound but the shuffling of his feet on the uneven wood floor of the hallway.  He tries again.

“Courfeyrac, come on.  I didn’t mean it.”  And then, because if he can’t be charming and he can’t be good with people and he can’t be naturally kind, at least he can be honest, he adds, “That way.”

“You meant it.”  Courfeyrac’s voice is stretched thin and uneven.

“I didn’t mean your family.  Courfeyrac.”

“Combeferre, go away.  I don’t want you here right now.”

Combeferre has never been able to read people well, but even he knows that this is Courfeyrac’s serious voice.  And yet.  He can’t bear to walk away, to leave things be when they are so terribly Wrong.  Not when it’s Courfeyrac on the other side of that door.  “I’m sorry,” he tries.  “It was rude and unthinking of me.  I didn’t–I’m not like you, Courf, I’m not good with people.”

The door is wrenched open, and Courfeyrac is there.  His eyes are wet but Combeferre knows he’s not really crying–he’s just angry.  (He knows him that well, God, he knows him so well, how is it that there is one person in the whole world who he actually gets and he’s still managed to hurt him?)

“I’ve heard that–that cowardly excuse from you too many times,” Courfeyrac snaps.  “It’s not good enough, Combeferre.  There’s a difference between being awkward, and being cruel, and you like to pretend you don’t see it.”

Combeferre ducks his head, heat rising to his cheeks.  Courfeyrac runs on, flinging out the words with frighteningly precise ennunciation, even as his tongue’s going a mile a minute.  “It doesn’t take any kind of social acumen to recognize when something you want to say might hurt someone–it just takes a little bit of logic and enough caring to actually stop and think about the facts.”

Unspoken: Combeferre literally has a master’s degree in logic.  Combeferre is a slave to logic.  Combeferre is the one who is constantly pleading with Enjolras and Courfeyrac to stop and think about the facts.

Unspoken: Combeferre doesn’t care about Courfeyrac.

It’s not true, Combeferre’s brain protests–and yet it’s where all the facts are pointing.  Given what’s gone down this evening, the logical conclusion is that Combeferre is a selfish bastard who likes people only for how they benefit him and doesn’t actually give a shit about Courfeyrac’s feelings.

And Combeferre is a slave to logic.

He turns away, and the door slams behind him and he can still hear Courfeyrac’s restless pacing around the room.  And he knows Courfeyrac well enough to know to text Joly with the suggestion he and Bossuet drop by to channel Courfeyrac’s angry energy into something less destructive than what he’ll come up with on his own.  He’s sent the text and received an affirmative reply (bless Joly, he doesn’t ask what happened), and has already let himself out of the apartment before he realizes that he’s once again proved that he knows Courfeyrac so well.

He really has no excuse.

As he turns up his collar against the cold, spitting rain that feels more like November than April, it occurs to him that he might also be being a little overdramatic, about the whole thing.  He said something shitty; now, twenty minutes later, he’s come to the conclusion that he’s an inhuman wretch with a rotted-out soul who’s probably going to die alone and deserve it.  It pains him to realize that that part of his personality is a fairly recent grafting, courtesy of Courfeyrac.

27 for maybe Courfeyrac and Combeferre for the meme? Unless there are others you’d prefer idk

takethewatch:

27. Things you said through a closed door

“Courfeyrac.  Courfeyrac.”

There’s no sound but the shuffling of his feet on the uneven wood floor of the hallway.  He tries again.

“Courfeyrac, come on.  I didn’t mean it.”  And then, because if he can’t be charming and he can’t be good with people and he can’t be naturally kind, at least he can be honest, he adds, “That way.”

“You meant it.”  Courfeyrac’s voice is stretched thin and uneven.

“I didn’t mean your family.  Courfeyrac.”

“Combeferre, go away.  I don’t want you here right now.”

Combeferre has never been able to read people well, but even he knows that this is Courfeyrac’s serious voice.  And yet.  He can’t bear to walk away, to leave things be when they are so terribly Wrong.  Not when it’s Courfeyrac on the other side of that door.  “I’m sorry,” he tries.  “It was rude and unthinking of me.  I didn’t–I’m not like you, Courf, I’m not good with people.”

The door is wrenched open, and Courfeyrac is there.  His eyes are wet but Combeferre knows he’s not really crying–he’s just angry.  (He knows him that well, God, he knows him so well, how is it that there is one person in the whole world who he actually gets and he’s still managed to hurt him?)

“I’ve heard that–that cowardly excuse from you too many times,” Courfeyrac snaps.  “It’s not good enough, Combeferre.  There’s a difference between being awkward, and being cruel, and you like to pretend you don’t see it.”

Combeferre ducks his head, heat rising to his cheeks.  Courfeyrac runs on, flinging out the words with frighteningly precise ennunciation, even as his tongue’s going a mile a minute.  “It doesn’t take any kind of social acumen to recognize when something you want to say might hurt someone–it just takes a little bit of logic and enough caring to actually stop and think about the facts.”

Unspoken: Combeferre literally has a master’s degree in logic.  Combeferre is a slave to logic.  Combeferre is the one who is constantly pleading with Enjolras and Courfeyrac to stop and think about the facts.

Unspoken: Combeferre doesn’t care about Courfeyrac.

It’s not true, Combeferre’s brain protests–and yet it’s where all the facts are pointing.  Given what’s gone down this evening, the logical conclusion is that Combeferre is a selfish bastard who likes people only for how they benefit him and doesn’t actually give a shit about Courfeyrac’s feelings.

And Combeferre is a slave to logic.

He turns away, and the door slams behind him and he can still hear Courfeyrac’s restless pacing around the room.  And he knows Courfeyrac well enough to know to text Joly with the suggestion he and Bossuet drop by to channel Courfeyrac’s angry energy into something less destructive than what he’ll come up with on his own.  He’s sent the text and received an affirmative reply (bless Joly, he doesn’t ask what happened), and has already let himself out of the apartment before he realizes that he’s once again proved that he knows Courfeyrac so well.

He really has no excuse.

As he turns up his collar against the cold, spitting rain that feels more like November than April, it occurs to him that he might also be being a little overdramatic, about the whole thing.  He said something shitty; now, twenty minutes later, he’s come to the conclusion that he’s an inhuman wretch with a rotted-out soul who’s probably going to die alone and deserve it.  It pains him to realize that that part of his personality is a fairly recent grafting, courtesy of Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre! :)

ratheralark:

  • who steals french fries off the other’s plate
    Courfeyrac, of course.
  • who jokingly moves in for the kiss when someone asks if they’re a couple
    Maybe Courfeyrac in the right company, but mostly they just both look bemused.
  • who has to bust or bail the other out of jail
    Like Jehan and Bahorel, they’re probably there together, but… you know, I’m going to go with Courfeyrac. I think he’s the stealth dadfriend, in bed by ten while Enjolras lures Combeferre into smuggling treasonous pamphlets in the middle of the night. 
  • who gives the other advice/comfort about dating issues
    Combeferre doesn’t have time for dating (imo), and Courfeyrac doesn’t trust Combeferre’s advice. 
  • who shamelessly cheats at games by reaching over to cover the other’s eyes
    Courfeyrac. Combeferre pretends it’s not happening.
  • who immediately calls dibs on the top bunk
    Courfeyrac. 
  • who starts and who wins the pillow fights
    Courfeyrac starts them, Combeferre amasses far wider array of weapons (bed pillows, couch cushions, throw pillows) and is more technical in his methods, and so wins.
  • who says “your pants would look better on their floor” to the other’s potential crush
    Combeferre. Everyone except Courfeyrac is stunned.

maraschinocheri:

Right, so I found that delicious barricade build photo larger, and oh, how in love with this crop from it am I, exactly? My love is boundless. I cropped to this part of it because, well, a) Combeferre; b) Courfeyrac; but probably most important, c) Courfeyrac, you tiny growling muffin of delight and revolutionary fervor, one could surmise from this photo that you seem to have successfully—if thankfully just slightly, though also clearly quite painfully—injured Combeferre with your chair heave, and once the bruising and swelling go down on the bridge of Combeferre’s magnificent nose—a nose which nearly missed being historic— there are going to be repercussions.

how about combeferre in a pacific rim au haven’t seen one of those in a while

takethewatch:

“You know, most Mission Control techs don’t have to deal with their pilots bickering with each other while in the drift.  I mean, I know it’s an amazing phenomena and yes Joly and I are fascinated at how you two can manage to act in perfect synchronicity and carry on an argument at the same time, it’s a goldmine for our research.  I’m just saying.  Most Mission Control techs don’t have to deal with this shit.”  Combeferre takes a sip of his coffee and sits back, waiting.

Courfeyrac’s answer is a little delayed, as it always is when he’s drifting, but the glint of laughter is still there: “You know you love it.”

He makes sure the com is on mute before muttering, “I do.”