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heliianthus-annnus · 4 years

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Brave New World

~Notes: A Reblog is worth a thousand stars<3

You’re your mother’s son in in all the soft lines and flat planes of your sculpted face. You have her winsome smile and they tell you that you have her heart too— one that’s so big that it throbs for all the hurt you can’t see but know is out there.

But you’re not just her son, and that too is just as clear.

Sometimes you lace your hand into her’s, see that you both have long fingers and smooth nails, but where her skin is a gorgeous brown that makes you think of warmth and softness and reminds you of when she use to laugh right along with you while you taught her a new nursery rhyme you learned in pre-school that day. One where you had to shake your arms and bounce your legs, and point out all the body parts you know. (She would always play along and you love her for that). But your skin is shades lighter, neutral undertones of pinks and olives, where her’s are warm ones of yellow.

You hate it most days, hate the reminder that you have a father out there who walked out on the both of you. You’re young, sure, but you’re not an idiot. Your father isn’t lost out in sea, or whatever stupid little fib your mother told you the first night you saw Kyle B’s dad pick him up early one day. You know your father walked out on you guys because the kids in your school tell you as much with mean smiles and voices that act as if they know so much more.

You’re your mother’s son, and you think that’s the most important part of you.

Sometimes those very same kids who tell you that you’ve got no father also wrinkle their noses at you, say that Sally Jackson isn’t your ma, say that you’re a freak and a liar. Those are the days you come home with no smile on your face, or song in your heart. Those days you wait for her to come home from the candy shop and pick you up from Lynda next door’s. You know that she’s SuperWoman because your ma can always tell when it’s one of those days by only looking at you.

“Oh Percy my boy, my love,” she croons, folding you into her arms. You’ve always been able to recall the smell of peppermint and snickerdoodle that danced on her skin— can taste it when you eat the ambrosia of the gods a decade later.

“I hate school,” you declare with all your might, tiny fists clenched.

“I know sweetheart, she says, sympathetic.

She doesn’t have to ask why because you’re already telling her. You rant about their taunts, and the laughter, and how your teacher never believes it when you talk about the weird man who stands outside your gate during recess and tries to convince you to come play with him and his brothers.

“But I never do mama because you always tell me never to talk to strangers.”

She smiles down at you, but you can see the way something worrisome passes across her gentle brown eyes.

“Shh, I know my love. I know.”

She rocks back on the wooden chair, and you prop your head on her shoulder, eyes shut and hand knotted in her dark, curly hair. Everything is alright for now.

You never go back to that school, but the incredulous looks never stop.

Gabe’s an ugly man inside and out.

He’s selfish, and mean spirited and when he talks to your ma, short-tempered and condescending, it makes your skin crawl.

Your mother is beautiful, that’s an objective truth you’ve always known. She’s small, with a heart shaped face, and big smile. Her eyes light up when she’s happy, and she has a voice that can sing any song, (Your favorite is when she sings Aretha).

Your mother is beautiful, and Gabe is ugly and you never understood the night a month after your seventh birthday when she sat you don and explained, with an excitement that confuses you to this day, that Gabe’s asked her to marry him.

“My love, can you believe it? We’re moving up town! No more cramped space or a heater that’s on the frits!”

“I like queens,” you sniff, affronted by the thought that your mother doesn’t.

“I know baby, but Gabe lives in Manhattan! We can get you into one of those schools with the posh uniforms and—“

“I hate school,” you interject, frowning, miffed that she’s somehow forgotten that very real truth.

Your mother’s smile goes thin, and it’s the first time you look at her and think desperate.

Desperate for you to be excited about this move. Desperate to make herself want it too. Desperate in ways you don’t even know yet.

“Please, my love, my boy. Be happy, this is good for us, I promise.”

You’re not happy, and you don’t pretend. But you tell your mother that if this is what she wants then you’ll want it too.

She kisses your forehead, and you feel the wetness on her cheeks when she pulls you close.

“Such a brave boy,” she almost sobs. “Please Percy, my Percy, stay brave.”

You don’t say anything because you don’t understand the meaning behind it yet, but you do snake your arms around her, and squeeze just as tight.

You guys are almost the same size. You guys are both far too small for everything this brave new world is trying to throw your way.

It’s kind of ridiculous to you that the first time you really knew violence, violence that was meant for you to feel and to paint your skin an ugly purple that fades to blue and green in the aftermath— is such a mundane experience.

It’s the spring break of your third grade year. your eighth birthday is in a few months, with it also marks the one year anniversary of Gabe becoming a permanent fixture in your life.

Your classmates— white kids with superiority complexes and trust funds for days— are jetting off to St Barts or The Hamptons or some other ridiculously lavish vacation spot. You’re slightly petty over it, but none of them have your ma, so you reckon it’s fair.

You take the A train from your boarding school and ignore the strange lady who hisses at you while you walk off, but can’t help but marvel at how her hair literally looks like it’s made of feathers.

Gabe’s place— not really yours or your mother’s— smells like stale beer and when you step through the threshold it literally feels like a layer of smoke wraps around you and lodges in your throat.

It feels like you’re drowning with contempt.

“Hey there wise guy,” is the first thing he says to you, shuffling over with his fat legs and protruding belly. You can’t help but liken him unfavorably to a pig. “You back?”

You never could stomach talking to him, especially without the buffer of your mother, so all you do is nod in acknowledgment.

“So how many classes you actually manage getting a passing grade in? Huh? Or you to busy acting up like a punk to bother??” He asks, snide and falling short of anything close to clever.

You hate him.

You’ve never known hatred before, having been brought up by a mother who always told you that loving thy’s enemy was always the strongest approach. A mother who held up men like Dr Martin Luther King and President Mandela as some of the best amongst us because they believed in peace and compassion and equality for all races and sexes and people.

And you know, God do you know.

You believe all the same things too, but Gabe’s a creature all his own, and you hate him, you do, and you’re not afraid to say as much.

You hate him.

You breathe in slow, decide not to respond and instead just walk past him to the tiny room that they’ve designated as yours for when you’re not at school.

“Oy, I’m talking to you kid.” He barks, anger sudden and grasp tight when he grabs for your arm.

“Get off of me you pig!” You scream from somewhere inside you that you didn’t even know you had.

“Hey! Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your loser friends!” He bellows, jostling your arm with a good amount of force.

It’s a bit of a ridiculous sight you think. This man, all meaty hands and face like a bull’s, targeting a kid that’s a third of his size, and is built like a bird— narrow and lithe. But that doesn’t stop you from fighting back. It’s like you can feel the pulsing in your veins and how with every breath your fury only heightens.

“Let go!”

It’s quick and startling when his fat hand smacks across your face, making your teeth rattle and something like your spirit seep out of you.

You mildly think that it must be a nasty looking bruise because Gabe’s snarl falls to a confused pout, like his dumb brain couldn’t exactly figure out how he had done it.

The sound of keys jingling can be heard through the door and you know as well as him that it’s your mother, finally returning from her shift at the candy shop to welcome you home with snickerdoodle hugs and sugar smiles.

A nasty, vindictive part of you revels in the moment. It’s excited over Gabe’s abrupt nervousness of your mother seeing what he’s done. You can’t wait to run up to her and show her the blotching of color on your face and then the both of you could finally move out of this place and back to queens and back to where it’s just the two of you against the world.

But you know it in your bones that she wouldn’t want to move back there, that for right or wrong she thinks that this life, one with Gabe, is somehow better than the one you use to live. And besides you meant it last year when you told her that if this’s what she wants you wouldn’t fight her on it.

You love your mother and you’d do anything for her, that’ll never change.

So when she steps indoors and her beaming face morphs into one of horror, and Gabe’s looking at you with a strange mix of hatred and apology, you tip your chin up high and tell your mother about the nasty fall you had at the subway and how much you missed her and asked if you guys could have blue brownies tonight for dessert.

Your mother kisses you and Gabe never stops hitting you, and it’s okay because you’re staying brave, like you’re suppose to do.

#I’m fucking crying #this is so good #but so sad #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #sally jackson

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heliianthus-annnus · 4 years

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Let’s talk about love

Hey, guys. Bit of a rant thing here so you’ve been warned.

There’s a lot of negativity in the universe right now so it breaks my heart to see negativity within the RWRB fandom. If you’ve read the book, you know that the whole point is love, unity, and kindness. It surprises me, honestly, to see people so blatantly disregard that message and instead choose to treat others with rudeness and disrespect them.

In a world full of such darkness, shouldn’t this fandom be one of the things to bring some light? Shouldn’t we all be united by our love for this book and the creativity of the members of the fandom? It makes me sad to see negativity like the negativity I’ve seen today. It makes me sad to see people who seemingly take joy in bringing other people down. It breaks my heart, honestly.

Love wins. That means that your love for your friends wins. That means your love for humanity wins. Hate doesn’t win. Hate doesn’t win in this book, certainly, as we see in Richards and Queen Mary. Love wins––not hate. Do you really want to be a Richards? A Mary? I certainly don’t.

Guess how much it costs to treat someone with respect and love? Nothing. Not a dime. It’s completely free to put love into the world and, when you do, I think you’ll find that you’ll get love in return. Isn’t that wild? I didn’t realize it was still so controversial––that treating other humans with respect and love and kindness was still up for debate, especially in this fandom.

Treat someone with kindness and respect. It’s not that hard. Put a little love out there and see what happens––I’m sure you’ll be nicely surprised. :)

#rwrb fandom #love #rwrb #alex claremont diaz #prince henry of wales #firstprince

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heliianthus-annnus · 4 years

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I did a thing.(that thing is a poem)

So i made a kinda shiity kinda angsty poem about Enjorlas and Grantaire dying.

Broken smiles and a magic laugh

Poison desire for a ferocious god

Liquid nights lead to dark mornings

Red rain wakes the cynic

Love guides to his idol

Between the blazes linger hands

A red eternity is what remains

#exr #angst #sad #poem #plz be niceee #les mis

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heliianthus-annnus · 4 years

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The idea for this lovely ramble of my 1am writing is courtesy of @courfeyrank who wanted Enj and Bahorel being buds.

All mistakes are my own. And i apologize in advance for my atrocious spelling.

Tw: mentions of police brutality, drinking, and smoking.

Bahorel always felt guilty for leaving his family to go help with other causes but Enjorlas assured him repeatedly that it was more than okay and the Amis could take care of themselves. However when he walked into their customary meeting on the Saturday after a protest he was ready to never leave them alone for more than a day.

Everyone was sporting bruises, cuts, and Grantaire even had a broken arm. Bahorel knew it had a chance of going bad. His Amis always seemed to get on the wrong side of the police despite never actually doing anything wrong.

“R what the actual fuck happened?” Bahorel hissed as he slid into a seat next to the cynic.

“As you can see,” R gestured grandly with his arm that wasn’t in a sling, “my fiancé couldn’t outthink the police this time.” R gave out a heavy sigh. “No, that’s not fair to him. The fucking pigs decided to go to every known protest location and then some just to catch us off guard which they obviously did. They attacked us before we even got a chance to protest what we went there to protest.” Bahorel could cry at the defeated look in R’s eyes.

“How’s Enj?”

“Not good Baz. Not good at all. He…” R trailed off at the sight of Enj at the front of the room to where he had started to speak and pace.

Normally proud shoulders looked slumped under the weight of the world. He ran his hand through hair more often than he usually did making his curls stand on end. Perhaps most concerning of all, Enjorlas had an arm firmly clutched to his side where a bruise was visible through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Police baton to the ribs. He swears they are only bruised and wouldn’t let the nurse take a X-Ray even after I was discharged.” R whispered noticing where Bahorel’s gaze had fixed.

“Is he insane?” He desperately tried not to shout.

“To be determined.” R said grimly and turned to watch his Apollo with concerned but encouraging eyes.

The meeting continued on like that until Enjorlas finally adjourned it, trying and failing to disguise a wince as he lifted his arm to ring the bell at the front of the room.

“‘Aire can I stop by your apartment later?” Bahorel asked not taking his eyes off of Enj who was pale and swaying as he talked to Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

“Uh… yeah...sure” Grantaire said distractedly.

“I’ll be over as soon as you manage to get him home.”

“Thanks Baz.” R flashed him a tired, toothy grin as he went to wrangle his fiancé.

Bahorel went to talk to Cosette. Apparently Eponine was still with Marius at the hospital because he had gotten a severe concussion and Grantaire had broken his arm trying to keep more police officers away from him.

Bahorel was silently planning how he was going to rain legal hell on the precinct that was behind this offense on his family.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from R saying that he had gotten Enj home. Bahorel seemed to either have lost track of time or Enj really was in bad shape.

When Baz got to the door of their apartment it swung open before he even knocked. There was a wild eyed R in the doorway and in the distance he could see Enj on their balcony.

“Are you okay R?” Bahorel confronted the immediate problem.

“Me? I’m totally fine. I’m about to lock myself in my studio until he stops drinking.” Grantaire moved to let him in and went immediately to go lock himself away without another word from Bahorel.

He knew R would be fine but he knew how hard it was for him to stay sober especially on nights like these. Nights where he desired to gain comfort from the bottom of the bottle like Enjorlas seemed to be doing. An activity that was very out of character for the golden leader.

Bahorel walked slowly over to the balcony.

The cool night air could be felt through the open doors. Enjorlas was leaning over the balcony railing propped up on his elbows. He had a bottle of wine in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other.

“Don’t start. I am well aware that I shouldn’t have either of the things that I do but R and I talked the wine through and this is the only cigarette I own.” Enj said without looking behind him.

“I’m not here to nag you about your habits. I’m here because I’m concerned about you Enj.” Bahorel took the spot next to him on the balcony with a sigh.

“Which part? The injuries or the fact that I kinda hate myself at the moment.” Enjorlas let out a bitter laugh that turned into a grimace.

“Both. But let’s start with the ribs.” Bahorel said level headedly. He knew Enj was looking for a fight but no one was willing to give it to him. “Are you absolutely sure they are not broken.”

“ I am. I had Joly check them while R was sleeping after the protest.”

“Did you tell him that you did this?” Enjorlas’s eyes went glassy for a second.

“I...uh… Maybe?” He said.

“No. You didn’t. He is extremely concerned so talk to him in the morning.” Bahorel told him gently.

“ I will. I guess I got too caught up in the aftermath that I forgot.” Enj ran his hand with the cigarette through his hair seeming to forget that it existed.

“You're lucky that it isn't lit.” Bahorel said nodding to the cigarette.

“Ugh fuck it.” Enj said and threw it into a trash can that was on the balcony.

“Enjorlas. Tell me what’s wrong. It’s eating you up. “

“ It’s just...it’s my job to protect the people who come to our protests. Or at least make sure they are prepared. But I wasn’t so they weren’t.” Enj took a pull from the bottle in front to him. “I love the world and the people in it. It’s just… they don't seem to like me very much back.” Enjorlas’s face was distant. “I just want a better future for those that come after us. I don’t want them to have to get beaten by cops just to make a small dent in the minds of others. I don’t want them to have to go through the things we’ve had to. I don’t want my kid to grow up in a world like we did.” Enj looked so old in that one second that Bahorel was struck speechless. He knew Enjorlas held these convictions but he never knew how much the lack of progress killed Enj.

“Enjorlas,” Bahorel said softly, “I know you want it to, but the world isn’t going to change all at once overnight. It takes years for change to happen. And in the years the Amis has been running we have done so much you have done so much.” He said with conviction. He powered on before Enjorlas could interrupt him. “You helped start a youth shelter. The bail fund that you brainstormed and got up and running is thriving. Hell because of the Amis our shitty mayor was forced to step down and you spearheaded the campaign for the mayor who is changing things for the better to take his place. You have done so much you just can’t see it because you see so much at once.” Bahorel gave him a brilliant smile “Every once and a while you need to look at what you have directly in front of you because where I stand you are pretty fucking great and I know so many people who would agree with me.”

“Baz…” Enj said before setting his bottle down and hugging him extremely tight. Bahorel hugged him back as hard as he dared for the sake of Enjorlas’s ribs.

When Enj pulled away his eyes were red and there was a wet spot on Bahorel’s shirt.

“Thank you Bahorel.” Enj smiled at him. This time it looked a little less sad and a little more hopeful.

“It’s no problem Enj. You are my friend. More important you are family. Whatever you need.” He hesitated. “I need to go before the bus stops running. I can stay if you need though?”

“Go home Baz. You need rest. Can you take the wine with you when you go? And there is one in the refrigerator if you can take that one as well?” Enj asked.

“Yessir” Bahorel said with a grin and a sarcastic salute.

When Bahorel went inside he saw R leave his studio and go to where Enj was. He didn’t know if it was some magic couples intuition or if Enjorlas had texted Grantaire but either way he was glad that they had each other.

Bahorel however was extremely glad to have two mostly full bottles of expensive wine to keep him company.

He’d talk his own feelings out with Enj another day. A day when Enj wasn’t so stressed and when he wasn’t so scarily calm. But for now watching shitty TV and drinking expensive wine would have to do.

#enjorlas #bahorel #best buds #softness #hurt #comfort #background exr #i couldnt help myself

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heliianthus-annnus · 4 years

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Hey uh how are you so incredible and talented and beautiful 🥺

It’s not fair of you to ask me questions you should be asking yourself 💛

#pwetty #asks #lovely #soft #you are actually amazing #tell me how you do it #i need tips

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heliianthus-annnus · 4 years

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Give me an a prompt and a ship and I’ll give you a ramble! My asks will be open until they aren’t.

#asks #fan fic #rambles

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heliianthus-annnus · 4 years

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credits to @courfeyrank / @hozierhoe for the prompt! enjoltaire, but R finds Enjolras clearly not okay in the Musain.

•••

He’d come back looking for his wallet, of all the things to leave on a table in a bar. The meeting ended late and everyone hurried home, and for once he didn’t stop to consider Enjolras until he got a few blocks away and realized there was no familiar weight in his back pocket.

He’d come back for his wallet and instead found Enjolras, sitting on the floor with the peanut shells, head down on his arms folded atop his knees, slumped in defeat. He’d been fiery today, a thousand souls in one mortal body, and Grantaire hadn’t pressed him for once. How strange, now, to see him like this, hunched on the floor.

Grantaire could see his wallet in the table in the corner, but Enjolras—well, Enjolras always came first, to him. His footsteps felt horrifyingly loud on the sticky wooden floor, and he winced as Enjolras turned his head to glance at him. Red-rimmed eyes.

“Go ‘way,” Enjolras muttered into his knees, “‘m fine.”

He’d heard that a hundred times before, said it himself twice as many, and crossed the rest of the way to where Enjolras leaned against a table leg. He settled in next to him, just close enough that if he shifted to meet him Enjolras would wind up pressed against his side.

“I’m here, and talk to me.” Truthfully, Enjolras didn’t need to talk; it helped him, at least, to simply have someone nearby, though their largely tenuous relationship meant it was fifty-fifty whether or not this would help him.

Enjolras sniffled. “Don’t make me,” he said, and sniffled again. “‘s too much.”

He leaned over, lifted his head a bit, and settled lightly against Grantaire’s shoulder, pressing his cheek into him softly. Grantaire reached an arm around his waist, and Enjolras shifted in closer. “Won’t make you.”

He never did find out what went wrong, what broke proud Apollo so completely, but he helped him to his feet after a few eternities of minutes passed and Enjolras collapsed in his arms for a hug that Grantaire could only reciprocate fully, running one hand over the knobs of his spine softly.

He nearly forgot his wallet again, but Enjolras yanked him back to the table in the corner before they left, a grin betraying his tear-stained face.

•••

hope y’all enjoyed! follows/reblogs GREATLY appreciated!

#omg #so good #i cried from joy #exr fic #ahhhhhhh

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heliianthus-annnus · 4 years

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This is my AO3! Go wild. It’s not updated suuuper often so don’t get too attached!

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heliianthus-annnus · 4 years

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Have some Les Mis rambles to start!

It’s their first Valentines Day together. Enj has had it planned for weeks. Months. Maybe even years. He wanted it to be perfect. He knew R didn’t always believe him when he said ‘I love you’ but maybe just maybe he could show R how much he loved him.

He had reserved a night in a gallery that R liked. He had ordered from their favorite restaurant. It was perfect except he had forgotten one important detail. R. He didn’t know how to get him there at all without giving it away so he called Chetta, who called Bousset, who called Joly, who called Jehan, who told Bahorel to get R to the Soiel Gallery.

When Bahorel dropped R off Enj was sitting at a table in the middle of the gallery trying not to mess up the hair he tamed into a bun but failing.

He loved R so much but R rarely let himself believe it. He wanted R to belive it so badly.

“Enj....” a hesitant voice asked from the door. Enj practically leaped out of his chair to meet R at the door.

“Hi, love.” Enj said giving a bright smile.

“Did you do this for me?” R’s green eyes were glistening with tears and Enj was so afraid that he’d fucked up.

“Yes I did. I wanted to give you an amazing Valentines Day. I wanted to show you how much I love you because I love you so so so much.” Enj took a breath and powered on “I know you don’t always believe it when I say it so I wanted you to have physical proof of my love for you. And - hmph-“ he was cut off by R’s lips on his. The only thing that managed to always turn his normally loud brain to mush. He couldn’t think anymore but all too soon R broke the kiss. He didn’t go far though. He touched foreheads with Enj.

“Enj. Never doubt that I know you love. I could never forget a miracle like this.” R gave Enj a smile that could light up the world. He never got why R called him Apollo especially when R was his sun.

For the rest of their night and into the morning their smiles never ended.

#les mis #enjoltaire #enjorlas #grantaire #they’re in love okay #valentines day

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