28, Courfjolras

seagreeneyes:

Maria you truly do know me! 

Also I’m tagging this for #LesMisRarePairsWeek because I’m just in time before the end of the week 😀

28. Stop pinning this on me! You started it!

It is a peculiar sensation, to wake up in a world you don’t quite recognize. Courfeyrac has only felt it a few times before, mostly in the throes of truly spectacular hangovers.

Actually, the one thing that’s reassuringly familiar, this time around, is the hangover itself.

The unfamiliar things: the hotel room, which isn’t his. Enjolras pacing the length of said room, talking way too loudly for Courfeyrac’s pounding head. The ring on his finger which has already started to turn his skin green.

“I can’t believe,” Enjolras says. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

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I don’t know if you’re still writing LM at all, but “you don’t care, nobody cares, just leave.” for Enjolras and Courfeyrac? (Or if you’re not writing Les Mis, then for any fandom and characters of your choice. ^_^)

hoseokked:

I’m not writing anything at the moment, so Les Mis is as good as any! I’m. So rusty, though, what a throwback this fandom is. 


“Courfeyrac?” 

Courfeyrac pays him no heed, throwing clothes into a satchel with ill-disguised rage. He shoves past Enjolras to his desk, sweeping all the papers into the bag with one fell swoop. 

If Enjolras couldn’t already tell that something was very, very wrong, the fact that Courfeyrac doesn’t seem to care about the fact that ink is rapidly spreading all over his favorite linen shirt, staining the insides of his bag. 

“Courfeyrac–” 

“Go away, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac snaps. “I don’t have time for revolutionary business.” He spins around, snatches an errant sheaf of papers off the floor and shoves it into Enjolras’s chest, making him stumble backwards. “Here. Your maps.” 

“Courfeyrac, stop.” Enjolras snaps his arm forward before Courfeyrac can rush off again. “Tell me what’s happened.”

Courfeyrac is livid, his normally sunny face twisted into a snarl. “You don’t care,” he hisses. “You don’t care, nobody cares, just leave.” 

“No.” He tightens the fingers around Courfeyrac’s list. 

No?” 

“Do you honestly think I care for nothing but politics?” Enjolras asks quietly. “That I’d do anything for my beloved Patria and nothing at all for my beloved friend?” 

Courfeyrac sags in his grip, and Enjolras leads him to sink into the chaise, wordless. He waits. 

“It’s my family,” Courfeyrac whispers, licking his dry lips. “There’s trouble.” 

“You have to leave.” 

Courfeyrac nods. “I’m sorry.”  

“Well.” Enjolras looks at him solemnly. “I will do my best to throw documents into the fireplace in a fit of dramatics while you are gone.”

Courfeyrac bursts into laughter, and the room brims with sunshine.  

send me hurt meme prompts!

tatooime:

ok but can we please talk about combeferre with a beard for a moment

combeferre, clean-cut and professional combeferre, who has been so busy with his shifts at the hospital that he has had no time to shave so he walks into the musain for the next meeting, apologizing for being late and enjolras stops talking immediately. all of les amis turn and look at him. jaws drop. there is not a sound to be made

and finally courfeyrac just curses and stands up like “I GIVE UP. YOU LOOK HOT EVEN WHEN YOU HAVEN’T SHOWERED OR SHAVED IN THREE DAYS. I GIVE UP” and walks right out

and combeferre just stands there horrifically confused until grantaire breaks the silence “eh, it’s alright

Enjolras and Courfeyrac, ♙?

robertawickham:

Enjolras looked up from his reading to see that Courfeyrac had listed over from where he’d been propped up on the pillows on Enjolras’s bed.

No wonder.  Courfeyrac had been up since dawn.  They had helped some of Enjolras’s friends from a different print shop, and one or two of Feuilly’s fellow fan painters, flee the city a few steps ahead of the police.  Charles X was trying to tighten his grip; many of their allies were feeling it close around them.

And now it was past midnight.  Enjolras put his book down.  He removed the papers from Courfeyrac’s lap and laid him down on the bed, pulling the covers over him.  Courfeyrac had already rid himself of boots, coat, waistcoat and cravat.  They were strewn about the floor, Enjolras noted in fond exasperation.

He tidied up and changed for bed himself.  As he slipped under the blanket, he felt Courfeyrac stir next to him.  “Mmmm.”

Enjolras kept silent, hoping Courfeyrac would go back to sleep, but it wasn’t to be.  Courfeyrac’s eyes snapped open.  “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said, sounding bleary.  “I–where’s that letter–I wanted to–”

He flailed out with his arm; Enjolras caught his wrist, and drew it back to the bed.  “It needn’t be done right this second, whatever it was.”

Courfeyrac made a soft, harrumphing noise.  “I suppose you’re right.”  He flopped back down on the pillow and closed his eyes, managing to look sulky about it.

Half-smiling, Enjolras lay down beside him.

“In my defense,” said Courfeyrac, “I didn’t intend to bring it home.”

bootsselbst:

“In my defense,” said Courfeyrac,
“I didn’t intend to bring it home.”

Marius continued to stare at his
roommate without saying a word.  Finally, he managed to respond,
exasperated, “Then please explain what exactly you intended to do
with it?”

“I merely intended to placate my
father, whose insistence that I marry and carry on the family name is
exhausting; as well you know, I have no intention of passing along
that damned particle.”

“So you intended to give it to
someone with whom you have no chance of… of procreating.”

Courfeyrac grinned as he held out the
ring, “So, may I take that as a yes?”

somuchbetterthanthat:

“There’s one thing I cannot quite figure out yet,” said Courfeyrac behind her suddenly. Eponine tensed, glancing at him. He was staring at the newly weds, an odd, wistful expression on his face. “Are you in love with Marius, or with Cosette?”

If Eponine had played the lady as well as she wished she could, she would have probably left, after making sure that Courfeyrac knew he had greatly offended and scandalized her; as it was, Eponine was still ill-suited to the role; she could barely fit right in all the dresses she had now and had dreamed of for years, and she could pretend even less that she was as respectable as she ought to be; she’d seen too many things. Courfeyrac wouldn’t have been able to shock her even if he tried, and – if she’d judge the man properly, he wasn’t that kind. 

“Neither,” she said, honestly, and when he looked down at her, blinking dubiously, she shrugs an amended, defensive: “A little bit of both, perhaps. I don’t know. What about you?” 

“I thought it was just Marius,” Courfeyrac answered, genuine and almost pensive.

It figured, Eponine thought, nodding. Cosette was like that; one minute you hated her, and everything she was – everything you thought you’d be, one day – and the next she was smiling at you and your heart was beating just a little too fast. Or maybe that was just Eponine. She didn’t like thinking about feelings too much; she got wistful if she lingered on it too long; No Marius for her; certainly no Cosette. Still, it was beautiful, the way they looked at each other like they were each other’s entire world. Eponine couldn’t even be properly jealous. 

Glancing back at Courfeyrac again, it wasn’t hard to see he wasn’t jealous at all either.

“It’s improper, to stand so near a lady, and not making her dance,” she told him, abruptly, a bit too sharply. 

He startled, and then, he smiled, amused and charmed. 

“Of course,” he told her and hold out his hand after a brief curtsy, every bit the gentleman. “Mademoiselle -”

Eponine still got a thrill every time she was called “Mademoiselle”. It was nice, feeling proper and respected and all that. It felt right, even, more and more. 

“Monsieur,” she said, and took his hand.