Far away, long ago,
Glowing dim as an ember,
Things my heart used to know,
Things it yearns to remember…

Or, Les Mis Reincarnation au

anonymous asked:

"kick his ass for me." enjolras/grantaire x

I have this Prince!Enjolras and Fencing Master!Grantaire AU I’ll never write in my head so have a bit of that

Behind the heavy oak doors, Enjolras could hear swords clinking and muffled instruction he couldn’t quite make out. It would be his turn in a couple of minutes and quite frankly, he couldn’t wait. Fencing lessons had lost their charm when the student had surpassed the teacher. What thrill was there in disarming a predictable sixty year old man?

“A drop of new blood will do well in your education,” his father had said.

According to the bustle raging behind the door, the new blood took their position incredibly seriously. Enjolras lowered his hand to the hilt of his sword, checking that it was immaculate, before realising the thought in itself was ridiculous. What grime could stick to it? His father refused to let him lead on the battlefield. Slicing apples with it would have made it more useful.

The door opened abruptly, the wooden panel crashing against the stone wall. An out of breath and significantly sweatier version of Courfeyrac stood by the opening, doing his best to regulate his laboured breathing. His shirt was sticking to his skin. He bent over, supporting himself with his hands on his knees, panting heavily.

“Are you going in there?” he asked Enjolras, his voice wheezing as he spoke.

“That’s what my schedule says.”

Courfeyrac looked up and smile. As crown prince, Enjolras’ day was as regular as clockwork, and his best friend knew it well. Fencing lessons had been in and out of that schedule for a while, Enjolras claiming that he didn’t need them anymore, that his technique was perfect and his skills unmatched. Evidently, his father didn’t think so.

“How are they?” the prince asked eagerly.

“Relentless is what he is! Do me a favour and kick his ass for me, will you?”

The door was still open, and the fencing master had no doubt heard the comment loud and clear. Surely, this was a promise Enjolras could take. His technique was perfect after all. He gave a warm pat on Courfeyrac’s shoulder as he walked past him.

“Take a bath, my friend. You and I have urgent business to attend to this afternoon.”

Courfeyrac disappeared when the door slammed back in place. The training room had not changed since Enjolras’ last lessons. There were still the same shields hanging on the walls, the same wide array of swords on display. The only thing that had changed was the person waiting for him. His old teacher was long gone. A much younger man was standing in his place, seemingly not overly impressed by the presence of the crown prince. Unlike Courfeyrac, he was not dripping with sweat. His breathing was barely more roughed up than Enjolras’.

“Your Highness,” he greeted, offering his prince a customary bow. “I believe the king has informed you of my affectation to your service. I’m Grantaire and I will be your fencing master for as long as you will have me.”

Enjolras nodded, and proceeded to unsheathing his sword.

“You won’t need that,” the fencing master said. He took two wooden swords from the wall and threw one to Enjolras who caught it in the air.

“A training sword?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you afraid I may hurt you?”

Grantaire smirked, rolling his sleeves up. Enjolras caught a glimpse of his arms. The fencing master was built to wield more than wooden swords.

“I’ve heard tales of your skills,” the latter said nonchalantly. “Apparently you worked your previous teacher to exhaustion. But it’s not me I’m worried about.”

Oh really? Enjolras cocked an eyebrow, somewhat piqued by the remark. He knew the extent of his skills. He just wished his father knew it as well as he did. Serving on the battlefield to defend his people was all he aspired to. What use was he, stuck between stone walls?

Out of the blue, Grantaire gave the first onslaught, taking Enjolras by surprise. He managed to counter the blow with the edge of his sword, but the movement was awkward and lacked precision. It only took him an instant to focus on the task at hand. Courfeyrac was right: the man was relentless. Not only that, he was unpredictable. His frame would never suggest he possessed so much grace in his steps. Enjolras, to his utmost frustration, had the greatest difficulty to keep up. His previous teacher had been easy to counter, always where he was expected. Grantaire was an enigma.

A single false move and Enjolras’ sword flew across the room. The edge of the other was pressed against his throat, solid proof of his defeat. Contrary to what he expected, Grantaire was not gloating, but merely observing him with interest. Enjolras couldn’t tell if the blush on his cheeks was due to embarrassment or exertion.

“Your technique is good, it’s true,” the teacher said, assuming a professional tone, “but you think too much. You anticipate too much. Sword fighting isn’t an exact science, especially on the battlefield. You need to learn to adapt and be more instinctive, to get out of your head.”

“What do you know of the battlefield?”

Grantaire couldn’t be a couple of years older than him.

“That will be for another time. Pick up your sword, your Highness.”

anonymous asked:

Do you still ship Courfius? If so, could you write a cute Courfius confession involving kittens and a jumper.

I will ship courfius until the day I dieTBH. ***Warning: Tooth rotting fluff***

Courfeyrac tried to keep his romantic thoughts about his roommate far at bay. He’d take cold showers, sing show tunes until the walls shook and he couldn’t hear his thoughts, and tried desperately to think of other people.

But it was too no avail. He was much too far gone. It definitely did not help things when Marius would innocently and naively do things that people more than roommates would do with each other. He climbed into Courfeyrac’s bed whenever he had nightmares, would cuddle up to him on the couch during a movie, and now- God help Courfeyrac- he was wearing his clothes!

“Marius?” Courfeyrac asked stopping his roommate in his tracks. “Is that my jumper?”

Marius stuttered and blushed, hugging himself around the middle. Courfeyrac tried to keep his internal scream from the overload of adorableness become external.

“Well… Yes… It’s just that- it’s so nice and warm and your clothes are so much nicer than mine and they smell so nice… I hope you don’t mind?” Marius said with a wince. 

“Of course not!” Courfeyrac said fondly. trying not to get too excited over the fact that Marius thought he smelt nice. “What are roommates for?”

Or boyfriends. His traitorous mind supplied. He shook the thought away. Mairus shook too, or more accurately- wiggled. Courfeyrac blinked and realised that Marius was still hugging his middle, his jumper wiggled again and a lump beneath it moved up to the collar, until finally a very fluffy and very tiny kitten’s head popped out.

“Marius, are you smuggling cats?” 

Marius winced once more. “I’m so sorry courf! It’s just… He was all lost and alone and it looked like it was about to rain and he kept mewling and then he rubbed himself against my leg and I just thought… I mean… You took me in when I was lost and alone and I thought I should do the same for him!”

“You know our landlord doesn’t allow pets.” Marius was pouting. The kitten was rubbing it’s head against his neck. Courfeyrac’s heart was melting. He sighed in defeat. “But he also doesn’t allow roommates that aren’t listed on the lease so we’d be screwed either way.”

“He can stay?!” Marius’ face lit up in hopeful bliss. If he had a tail, Courfeyrac was convinced it would be wagging right now.  

“I let a poor, lost puppy stay with me. A kittens no different.”

Marius leaped at him, wrapping his arms around his neck and planting an enthusiastic mess of kisses on his cheek before withdrawing with a blush. 

Courfeyrac was blushing too and let out a nervous laugh. “If I knew all it took for you to kiss me was to get a cat-” He snapped his mouth shut before he could embarrass himself further.

Marius looked down at the floor, his face almost as red as his hair. “It wasn’t entirely to do with the cat…” He said shyly.

Courfeyrac pulled at the hem of his jumper before his fear had a chance to tell him not too. Pressing Marius lips against his, they relaxed against each other and sighed contently as the kitten mewled happily between them.

What she says: I’m fine
What she means: In the 2012 movie adaptation of Les Mis, why does Grantaire go from sitting on the front of the carriage wearing a coat and a hat to sitting in some random cafe with a girl on his knee in a matter of seconds? Was George Blagden acting as an extra and the directors just hoped we wouldn’t notice? Or were they suggesting that Grantaire couldn’t bear to see Enjolras die so as soon as the conflict started he ran away to bury his sorrows with wine and a girl? If that was the case how did it happen so quickly? How does time work in the Les Mis movie universe? At the start of the film Fantine is shown to go from fairly ‘normal’ to having a cough in just a few scenes which are probably set over a matter of days, weeks at most. Does time pass differently in France? Do they experience shorter days and shorter years? Back to Grantaire, when he kisses Mme Hucheloup off her chair why does he go from wearing a sash around his waist to not wearing one even though the shot didn’t change? Is Grantaire always doomed to have trouble in the wardrobe department?


Personally my favorite Les Mis AU is the one where Jean Valjean picks up the barricade and walks away

So this is your friendly reminder that every time a cannon fired at the barricade, Courfeyrac said, “Bless you!” And Les Amis found it hilarious. Mind you, this is at the literal barricade, amidst all the bloodshed and turmoil. Les Amis are so incredibly dorky and I love them. Allrighty bye.