U’re Not The Only 1

Yennefer, to Geralt: You need to compliment Jaskier more often.

Yennefer: I never stop showering him with all sorts of compliments.

Jaskier, staring at Geralt: That's right. She never fails to tell me how amazingly soft my hair looks or how pretty I'd look with a collar and a leash on.

the “I will commit war crimes” nerd and “please let me love you” punks

Doctor Doom rounds up the gang for a fun filled day of exacting revenge on their enemies.

The other night dear, as I lay sleeping I dreamed I held you in my arms But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken So I hung my head and I cried

i-

ten year old dick: i know who you are, bruce

bruce, sighing: i'm bat--

dick: you're a tsundere

bruce:

bruce: go to your room

THE SIGNAL / DUKE THOMAS ICONS

🖤fav/rt if you are going to use/save🖤

I-

Living together snippets:

That time Grantaire's brush got stuck and then broke into Enjolras's hair. Enjolras's curls got twisted so bad around it it took them hours to detangle.

"I'm afraid we'll have to cut them Jo"

"Grantaire, I swear, cut my hair and I'll cut your dick".

enjoltaire fic idea

(ik it’s wrong, it’s just a first draft)

enjolras starts out as political activist in the same way that lindsay bluth is from, “arrested development.” until he meets his first love, who shows him true faith & passion. eventually their relationship ends somehow, (i haven’t figured it out yet, but i’m thinking something tragic.)

then flash forward to a few months, or years into the les amis. he knows about grantaire’s feelings, & grantaire is doing that’s thing, that for some reason, guys do in tv shows where he’s trying to convince the girl, (well in this case the guy, but u all know what i mean,) to fall for him, & it kinda works after a little while. but enjorlas is confused by his attraction to grantaire, because he’s so different from the guys he’s dated before. he even feels ashamed that he could ever fall for someone like grantaire.

then he, “realizes,” that he must do the same thing to grantaire that his first lover had done to him. r thinks of it as just some playful banter, & their relationship evolves into something more serious.

r takes enjorlas to go stargazing one night, upon a beautiful hill covered with hyacinths. grantaire throws down a blanket right by a laurel tree. they look towards the stars. enjorlas’ pale golden ringlets lay within correspondence of one another, upon grantaire’s chest. r plays w/ each curls whilst expressing his adoring love for this beam of warmth & light, composed of a flaming crimson. finally resting his powers upon a cynic’s heart. not even truly saying the phrase, for it had felt almost as another breath. something he hadn’t the need to think about, something that was just done, “i love you, enjolras.” that’s how you knew if he was serious, if grantaire ever used the name engolras, which was infact an absurdly rare occasion. as brown met blue, with the slight upwards tilt of thou’s blonde head, the secrets in which it had been keeping began to spring out. “as do i for you.” although the cynic was poor, he had felt the power of all the king’s riches in his possession; once having seen that slight, yet enriching smile spread across a prophet’s face. “even though your progress aa been stunted due to your cynicism. i am willing help as we claw our way through, & i am extatic for the end result”

“my progress?”

“why yes, you’re progress.”

“enjorlas, what do you mean by my progress?!” enj could have sworn he had seen the flowers wilt, & the tree branches shake, as result of grantaire’s anger. “well, i thought i could help with create an exponential growth in your faith, your faith of the cause.” you could see the sense of betrayal consume r’s eyes, “i-i should’ve known,” that same betrayal had spread, creating a ripple through his voice, “i knew this was all too good to be true!” “how could i have let myself believe that you would ever truly be attracted to me?”

“no r, it’s not like that!”

“what then? what was this some beauty & the beast stalkholme syndrome bull crap? you know, you can leave the flat whenever you’d like! no one is keeping you there! you’re the one who insists on staying put to work on the cause, not me, not combferre, not couferyac, just you!”

“taire, you don’t understand!”

“i’m not your test subject, enjorlas! i’m not your next project!”

“r, you where born broken, & you don’t know how to work fixed. i just want to help you, & show you.”

“broken?” enjorlas had realized what he had done. his eyes widened with shock, as a result of his actions. “no no, not like that,” he started to stumble, “y-you know what i mean.”

“oh ya, i know exactly what you mean. oh & by the way, dr. enjorlas. you made an error in your last report,” “the patient’s faith did in-fact increase, it just wasn’t for the cause. it was for you.”

the fact that my friends would 110% do this 2 me XD

18?

“That’s not what I meant!”

“I can’t believe this.” Grantaire slumped back in his chair, his hand over his heart as if he’d just been stabbed. “My own best friends are calling my art bad.”

Joly rolled their eyes, not amused in the slightest by Grantaire’s theatrics. “Grantaire, all I said was that a poster depicting the President as a rotten tomato probably wouldn’t be an effective persuasive tool.”

Grantaire ignored his friend, continuing to wax poetic about the bitter sting of betrayal. “You know, you might as well just drive a stake right through my heart.”

“Dude.” Bossuet‘s voice was deadpan as he spoke. “How high are you right now?”

“I’m not high.” Grantaire protested, causing both Joly and Bossuet to raise an eyebrow. Seeing this, Grantaire repeated himself. “I’m not.”

Joly and Bossuet gave each other a look of exasperation. If there was anything they’d learned from their time in college, it was this: whenever someone repeatedly insists in a defensive tone of voice that they’re not high, there’s a 99 percent chance that person is higher than a fucking kite.

“Just saying, dude.” Bossuet held his hands up in a gesture that was almost reminiscent of surrender. “Last time you got high, you went on a forty-five minute rant on how you hated Italy because it was a dumb shape.”

“It is a dumb shape!” Grantaire protested. “It looks like a fucking boot! I mean, who authorized that shit?”

With a sigh, Joly turned back to Grantaire, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Say antiestablishmentarianism and walk in a straight line.”

Grantaire opened his mouth as if to respond, but closed it when he realized that anything he said or did was probably not going to convince Joly and Bossuet of his sobriety. “I don’t like this game.”