you can see the amis ~enjolras and combeferre~ getting more and more exhausted

Confession: I’ve been itching to try my hand at writing Strep Throat for quite some time now!

More Confession: I’m trash, so he will be reaching out to R because it’s lowkey really hard for me to not write Enjoltaire in some way.

When Enjolras woke Monday morning with a slight tickle coloring the back of his throat, he pegged it on the slow shift from summer to fall. The temperature was bouncing around like crazy, and many university students were fighting off the tell-tale signs of allergies.

However, half-way through Enjolras’s first class, the tickle had grown and spread, leaving his entire throat feeling raw and sore. He spent the entirety of class quietly clearing his throat and rubbing gingerly at it as if that action alone would soothe the dull throb.

By the time he met with his friends at lunch, his muscles were aching fiercely, and he was sweating yet shivering. The throbbing in his throat had only continued to grow, and one bite of food told him he wouldn’t be eating much for hot pain flared across his throat when he swallowed.

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katexcelsors  asked:

is there a cheat sheet for the basics of les amis like?? the ships, the characterizations, the headcanons? i mean i've read les mis quite a few times but i need help w the expansion the fandom has brought to life. help

Disclaimer : I’m compiling the general fanon and what comes back the most on my dash, so it’s mostly Modern AU. If I’ve understood your question well, it seems to be what you’re asking for, since you know the canon. You are free to add those headcanons to your own or not, we all experience a fandom differently. Same goes for ships, there are no such thing as “more important” or “mor valid” ships. We’re literally gushing over fictional dead people, and we’re all equal when we’re dead, as Gavroche would say. Keep in mind that you can ship whatever you like. Also, I’ve listed some ships but they are not all the ships out there, this isn’t meant to be exhaustive, they are just the ships that come back often. This is the broad outline, the characters are of course more complex once you get into it. That being said :

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anonymous asked:

E/R "Could you repeat that?"

Sorry it took me awhile! My computer was being an idiot and I only just got to itI! Thanks for the prompt!

It had been a relatively tame Amis meeting. No one had broken anything, thanks to Joly’s insistence that Bossuet remain seated due to his sprained ankle. Bahorel was too tired to get into a fight and Courfeyrac had to study for a test, so his usual vivacity was somewhat subdued. Enjolras was able to get through the meeting rather quickly, even though Grantaire put up passionate resistance as usual, but Enjolras had planned that into his speech and was relatively pleased at the points he had made and the criticism that would help him make his arguments stronger. He started collecting his papers, the unofficial cue that the meeting was over, and all but Bossuet began to get up and mingle. 

Enjolras looked up just in time to see Grantaire starting to get up and leave, and hurried his movements in order to catch him before he left. He muttered a rushed goodbye to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who were too absorbed with each other to do more than nod in his general direction and then resume their mutual adoring expressions towards each other. Enjolras left with his coat half on and his bag thumping against his side as he took brisk steps after Grantaire. He caught up, then took a moment to finish putting his coat on and smooth his hair somewhat before falling into step beside him. Grantaire looked somewhat surprised, but didn’t say anything. “Can I walk you home?” Enjolras asked, glad the twilight hid his darkening cheeks. 

Grantaire quirked his left eyebrow, and looked him over. Enjolras felt his face heat even more. “It seems that I have little choice in the matter,” Grantaire smirked, but he sounded vaguely pleased, which Enjolras took as a positive sign. He let the silence fall between them, interspersed with their footsteps and Grantaire’s occasionally whistling. Enjolras wondered what Grantaire would do if he reached through the empty space between them to clasp their hands together, as he had wanted to do for months. He contented himself with stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat and doing his utmost not to stare at Grantaire’s profile for too long, as that was generally frowned upon. Courfeyrac had been working with Enjolras on social cues, and he got the stop staring, you are scaring other people quite often from him. 

Enjolras wondered how Combeferre and Courfeyrac had done this, had managed to remain friends for so long when they were secretly in love. How could the spend every minute of their time together and not cross the line into lovers, how could they stop themselves from gazing too long, from touching the other’s hair, from blurting out the fact that their heart was lost to the other? In the past few months in which Grantaire and Enjolras had gotten closer, a consequence of Combeferre and Courfeyrac spending more time alone together, Enjolras had come to an important realization. That warm feeling that he had before thought was friendship had expanded, encompassing his chest and his stomach, twisting it into knots that left him on edge during the day and sleepless at night as his brain whirred with the possibility of Grantaire

This dangerous emotion had made Enjolras all the more aware of the grace that Grantaire possessed when he moved, be it the hand delicately painting a canvas, the casual drag of a cigarette between his full lips, or a boxing match that Enjolras had been privy to, or the arch of his neck as he lay on his couch, contradicting Enjolras’ ideals with a lazy and practiced air as Enjolras paced the room, desperately keeping his eyes trained on the wall, the ceiling, the window, anything but Grantaire’s prone figure. 

“Calm down, I can feel you thinking from here and it is quite exhausting.” Enjolras jumped slightly as Grantaire’s voice pulled him from his pondering of the very man that ambled alongside him. 

Enjolras smiled at Grantaire. “Heaven forbid that you die of secondhand thinking. I’ve heard it kills almost as many as secondhand smoking.” A few months ago that comment would have been caustic and cruel. Now it was delivered lightly, and with a soft shoulder nudge. Grantaire’s eyes flickered and he pulled himself up, holding himself carefully, as if he had to stop himself from saying or doing something. 

Before Enjolras could truly comprehend what had happened in that millisecond, Grantaire was opening the door to his apartment building and Enjolras was following him up the stairs. While Enjolras did occasionally accompany Grantaire home, it was unusual that he would physically accompany him into his apartment. Grantaire’s shoulders were tense, and his eyes darted nervously as Enjolras stepped into his flat. 

“Enjolras, what are you doing here exactly? You have a seven o’clock class tomorrow morning and it’s getting late. I know you’re going to go home and revise stuff for the cause, but you need to get some decent sleep tonight and you sitting here isn’t going to get you there-” Grantaire broke off suddenly as Enjolras pushed him against the door that had just shut behind them, crowding Grantaire’s personal space and gazing intensely at his face as the initial shock was followed by confusion and a flash of lust, before being masked by a carefully neutral expression. 

Enjolras reached out, curling a strand or raven hair around his finger, admiring it’s rough texture. He inched his face closer to Grantaire’s, lifting his other hand to cup Grantaire’s chin. “Do you permit it?” The words left Enjolras’ mouth in a soft breath of air that resulted in a reverent whisper. Grantaire’s eyes widened and nodded, his hands working their way up Enjolras’ back as Enjolras leaned closer.

Their lips met and the curl wrapped around Enjolras’ hand wasn’t quite enough, so he moved his hand to grab a fistful of Grantaire’s hair as he explored Grantaire’s chapped lips for the first time. He felt his heart pounding, heard it in his ears as he tasted wine, a tang of mint and a rush of Grantaire on the warm lips that moved delicately beneath his. He registered the fact that Grantaire had a hand on the base of his neck, pulling him even closer, and he was oh so aware of their bodies pressed together from one end to the other. He pulled away, feeling lightheaded. 

Grantaire cleared his throat and examined Enjolras’ face before saying. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get it the first time. Could you repeat that?” Enjolras grinned and proceeded to show him just how willing he was to repeat it until Grantaire got the message thoroughly. 

Enjolras was also quite late to his seven o’clock class.

pilferingapples  asked:

Feuilly, and Coming Home? (happytimes please I need happytimes)

can do happytimes! :D

Five times Feuilly came home; and one time he didn’t, but it was okay

1.

It’s small, and dusty, and the one window is too dirty to see the street below; the austere beige that covers the room is discoloured in places, and there’s a draft coming from under the door. The walls are paper thin, and the neighbours aren’t quiet.

But there’s also a bed in the corner of the room, which is miles better than the haystack of a mattress Feuilly had been sleeping on at the workshop; a little table, a chest to put his clothes in, a cupboard for bread and cheese and bowls, and a small but serviceable stove. It’s not too far from the workshop, but far enough not to encounter coworkers when he doesn’t want to. The drafty door has a lock, and the landlady, a Mme. Jackowska, has a kind and warm smile.

All in all, it seems to be a better place than anything Feuilly has ever lived in - and most importantly, it’shis.

“Home,” Feuilly whispers. He sets his bag on the bed, and looks around. He doesn’t quite feel it, not yet - perhaps he could hang some curtains on the window, find a little rug to place near the bed - but in his fifteen years, it’s the first time he is anywhere close to having a home to himself, and he smiles.

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