I hope that in the future they invent a small golden light that follows you everywhere and when something is about to end, it shines brightly so you know it’s about to end.
And if you’re never going to see someone again, it’ll shine brightly and both of you can be polite and say, “It was nice to have you in my life while I did, good luck with everything that happens after now.”
And maybe if you’re never going to eat at the same restaurant again, it’ll shine and you can order everything off the menu you’ve never tried. Maybe, if someone’s about to buy your car, the light will shine and you can take it for one last spin. Maybe, if you’re with a group of friends who’ll never be together again, all your lights will shine at the same time and you’ll know, and then you can hold each other and whisper, “This was so good. Oh my God, this was so good.” — Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You (via themaraudersaredead)
→ Erik/Charles AU;
One lonely night they meet at a party line service. Things end up better than expected.
rise up like the sun (labor til the work is done) — in honor of june 5th, barricade day, and june 6th, the ten year anniversary of hot fuss, this is a mix recreating the story of les miserables with the music of the killers. this could not have been done without bahorel's help, and the caps are from here and here. inspired by queercarlos’ mix here.
"I like the one on your forearm," Enjolras offers, because everyone is talking about Grantaire’s tattoos, trying to decide which one they like the most, which is ridiculous, because obviously the sun on his forearm takes the cake.
Everyone goes quiet. Grantaire himself is gaping at Enjolras.
"Enjolras-" Grantaire starts, and then swallows, and then continues gaping at him.
"What?" Enjolras asks, because everyone is still staring at him, and he’s feeling oddly conscious. He’s just always liked that tattoo the most, and maybe it’s not the most artistic or the most colourful one on Grantaire’s body, he’s entitled to like whatever he likes.
"E, there is no tattoo on Grantaire’s forearm," Combeferre tells him quietly.
Enjolras’ eyes shoot up to Grantaire’s. He hold Grantaire’s gaze as he unbuttons the top three buttons on his shirt. His own tattoo is there, a tangle of vines in the centre of his chest, and he knows that Grantaire can see it when Grantaire draws in a sharp breath.
"Oh," he says.
"Oh," Grantaire echoes.