“You really were a cat in your past life, weren’t you?”
Enjolras smiles at the sound of Grantaire’s voice, but doesn’t take away the arm that is covering his eyes. He is lying on a towel on the wooden pier overlooking the lake, basking in the sun while listening to his friends’ chattering not far away.
I wish I had more time because in my head this was gonna be beautiful with the prettiest lighting from the sun through the slats of the dock and the reflection from the water bUUT… I’m afraid this is it. do you want the fluffiest fluff? do you want cute kisses in the summertime on the beach??? do you want enjolras making a dorky dorky pun????? OF COURSE YOU DO. this is the fic for you! written by the amazing the incredible the brilliant @adorablecrab whom I love and treasure so perhaps I am a little biased but!! it was exactly the gorgeous happy escape I needed today and you’ll love it too.
Are you trying to murder me?? Because this is how you murder me.
I like thinking about Grantaire talking in his sleep. It’s usually just gibberish and unintelligible murmurs, but he often says words or complete sentences out loud.
Enjolras found out the worst way possible: one of the first nights he and R slept together he woke up hearing his boyfriend whisper:
“..Who’s the little girl standing in the corner?”
He obviously freaked out and switched on the lights, just to see Grantaire peacefully sleeping next to him.
Obviously Grantaire never remembers anything in the morning, so Enjolras reports his gems:
“What time is the swan leaving?”
“I can’t remember where my kidney is”, “Don’t turn off the light while I’m dabbing”…
It’s not always that fun, though. Many times Enjolras wakes up hearing Grantaire cry. “It’s not my fault…”
“Please, don’t leave me alone…”
“I’m trying..I swear I’m trying”…
Those times, he holds Grantaire as close as he can, stroking his hair trying to calm him down.
Once Grantaire was almost screaming in his sleep, so Enjolras woke him up to make the nightmare go away, and tried to reassure him in any way he could. He waited to hear Grantaire’s breath slow down again before allowing himself to close his eyes and go back to sleep.
Just then he heard the whisper:
“Thank you for staying always by my side. I love you so much.”
Whether Grantaire was sleep-talking in that moment or not, he didn’t really care.
biggest mood head cannon: Enjolras isn’t half the serious killjoy he makes himself out to be he just refuses to laugh at anything Grantaire says because then he has given the man too much power.
Okay but imagine R and Enj falling asleep and R sleepily murmuring some Greek myths to Enj and he casually throws in a really fucked up one in there (like Ixion or Pasiphae) and then Enj is essentially startled awake, sitting upright abruptly with the sheets pooled around him and the most alarmed look he’s ever had on his face, and just all he can say is “Grantaire what the actual fuck”
As soon as the faint rattling of the carriage
wafted up the promenade out of the fog rising from the river, the bell on the
main tower began to toll. The nightmarish sound echoed back from the moors,
leaving the will-o’-the-wisps shivering over their marshes. It reached the
edges of the dark forests where it got caught in the threatening arch of
spindling branches and trunks of the black barked beeches, birches and oak
trees in the rustle of a gust of wind. The last leaves clinging to barren twigs
sailed to the muddy ground on its back, long dead before they touched the bare
earth around roots that desperately hang on for what little footing the gaunt
earth promised them. Lastly, the eerie peal drifted down to the shimmering
lake, swirling above the surface for a moment before dipping under water,
muffled by the crystal waves. The sound of the bells resounded over the abandoned
manor house, clinking the window panes in their setting. It chased a couple of
ravens off their perch on the bell tower, followed them through the abandoned
gardens and settled on the wall surrounding the graveyard beyond the hill.
The ornate wrought-iron gates creaked open,
moved by an invisible hand to allow the carriage to enter the courtyard. Its
wheels scattered the light gravel in all directions as it took a turn in front
of the main entrance, a pale lantern dangling from the coachman’s seat. The figure
perched on it was swathed in a cloak that obscured both head and body, leaving
nothing to see but the gleaming eyes under the hood. Gloved hands held onto the
reigns of four black horses that seemed eager to run on, steam billowing from
their muzzles and ears dancing in excitement. The coachman restrained them with
obvious struggle. For a moment, the fight seemed undecided, then the horses
settled, huffing more steam into the crisp evening air. A door was opened, the
carriage house tilted to one side and gravel scrunched under boot soles.
¯_( ಠ_ಠ)_/¯ 