what do you say when someone asks what you’re doing and you’re reading homosexual fanfiction based off of a book written 150 years ago
Tell them you’re reading a transformative work based on late Victorian literature that questions traditional views of gender and sexuality.
That was fucking beautiful
Grantaire is an art student. On his first day at university, he falls in love a tiny bit. Enjolras is a politics student. On his first day at university, his life begins to get very interesting.
Modern AU obviously. Enjolras may be a bit out of character but who knows what Enjolras would be like without a revolution to lead.
Grantaire wants to kiss Enjolras. Enjolras wants to do anything but kiss Grantaire. Set in some bizarre alternate reality in which Enjolras has a sex drive even during the rebellion.
In modern terms you’d call this friends with benefits. It would probably sound better in French. Pretty much what the summary says. Most E/R fans think Enjolras is either asexual or at least not interested in sex during the revolution since France is his mistress and he ain’t getting any from her.
WIP? Modern AU.
Part one is phonesex with Enjolras being unaware it is phonesex, part two is Grantaire calming Enjolras down with a text before a debate. I’m still waiting for the getting together so I think there might be more parts coming up.
“When a king has been annihilated by the people,” Grantaire says eventually, his tone now less steady, “who has the right to resuscitate him in order to make of him a new pretext for rebellion?” Enjolras steps off the bed and gets on his knees.
Basically Enjolras gets turned on by Grantaire reciting Robespierre. Genocide and republic. Is anyone surprised?
Grantaire is a classics minor and suggests they throw an ancient Greece-themed party, and everyone else gets really into it. Or, Enjolras is Artemis incarnate, and Grantaire carries the apple of discord in her hands.
Modern AU, Genderswap
The Amis are all in a sorority and Enjolras is the leader.
Enjolras will never stop finding causes to die for, and Grantaire will never stop dying for Enjolras.
If you don’t read any of these, read this one. The best, best, best one. It’s so terrible sad but so well written and such a gorgeous idea. Basically Grantaire can’t die until he dies for something he believes in. Enjolras keeps getting reborn as a revolutioneer in different times but never with his previous memories. So Grantaire is doomed to lose him over and over.
In which Grantaire is an unacceptable Pylades.
What’s the price for Grantaire’s loyalty? A kiss.
To Thorin’s great despair, a beardless female dwarf insists on joining his company. (What would actually happen if a Mary Sue dwarf with no beard because “she’s different from all other female dwarves” joined Thorin and co.)
Umm…I have literally no idea where this came from. I guess it’s inspired by all the Hobbit Mary Sues who are rapidly appearing? Be warned; I haven’t read the novel for a very long time, so I’m relying on my recollection of the movie to do this.
Nill was no ordinary dwarf. The child of Rorin the Ironfoot and his consort Myryan, many had expected that Nill would be both a great warrior as well as a possessor of the famed beard that had been in both sides of the family for generations. However, in the years after Nill was born, the dwarves were appalled in their realization that Nill was in fact, beardless.
“Thorin Oakenshield,” Nill breathed, her large sage-green eyes blinking rapidly as if to conceal tears, “I hear you wish to lead a company. May I join you?”
Thorin, son of Thrain, renowned for his ferocity and prowess in battle, turned his head slightly. He grimaced, hoping that Nill would not move closer to him and expose her face. “I know not what you speak of.”
Nill clasped her slender hands (another physical trait that had seemingly sprung out of nowhere as both her parents had meaty, capable hands) and pleaded. “I beg of you! I have nowhere to go and my past haunts me at every turn.”
If Thorin was facing Nill, she would have seen him roll his eyes. “I offer my sympathies, but I do believe my burden to far outweigh yours.”
“Thorin, you know nothing!”
“I see no need for you to yell when I am standing right next to you.”
“You do not understand, Thorin. My dark past plagues me every day and every day I am subjected to horrid memories of other dwarves mocking me!”
“If your past plagues you so, do not think about it. Also, no dwarf mocked you. You just made that up.”
“My beardless face!” Nill ignored Thorin and continued her tirade. “A beauty among elves is a curse among the dwarves! You, with your fabulous, silken beard cannot possibly comprehend the sadness I feel every day of my life!”
I love fanfic writers because fanfiction is just so kind and selfless. You give us really enjoyable stories completely free of charge and I am really, really grateful for it.
Sometimes, he looks in the mirror, and he almost doesn’t recognize the person staring back.
He’s an actor. He changes his shape to fit the role. He’s a chameleon. They all are. It comes with the territory. His hair could be black or blonde or ginger or dark brown. His eyes could be anything. Contacts are nightmares, though. He’s grateful that most of his roles have never required them.
As he finishes brushing his teeth, Tom glances into the mirror again, then looks down. He’s too thin, his hair looks too dry and brittle, his eyes have near-permanent bags underneath the lower lids, his skin is too fucking pale. It looks like he hasn’t set foot outside in six months.
He feels exhausted. Not physically, really, just completely and utterly gone, mentally. If given the chance, he could probably sleep for a month.
After scrubbing a hand through his overly-dry hair, he wanders back into the bedroom of the suite, only to find Chris perched on the edge of his haphazardly-made bed. That’s an unexpected development. He’d thought Chris was still due out for more photo calls, but apparently they ended early.
Chris is equally as nude as he is, completely unselfconscious in his nakedness. There’s a hint of soft artificial light playing across his face and chest, making him look oddly ethereal.
Tom feels completely inadequate by comparison.
They don’t say anything. But Chris just reaches out, fingers curled loosely as he waits for Tom’s to lace between them.
They fall together as naturally as two puzzle pieces, twining in amongst the white sheets and getting their limbs tangled up at awkward angles.
Chris laughs softly, then kisses him before he can complain. Tom finds he doesn’t want to complain. Not about this. Especially not when Chris is reaching between them with fingers slicked from lube that probably came out of the dresser drawer he’s kept it in for the last week.
He falls into a daze while Chris fingers him open. It feels fantastic, sort of floating in this space between sleep and waking while the warmth of Chris’ body reminds him that he’s not alone and is being looked after incredibly well.
What seems like hours later, Chris is bending his left leg up almost double, stretching muscles that haven’t seen this much work in a few weeks. Tom exhales sharply, then relaxes, letting the distant burn feed the embers in his gut as Chris bends closer and pushes into him.
He loses all his air at once, but it’s a glorious sensation.
He feels alive for the first time in a month. His skin feels hot and too tight, like it’s about to come to life at any moment. His heart is pounding, and he can feel a mirrored rhythm where their bodies are pressed together.
Tom’s eyes slip closed as Chris keeps fucking into him. His teeth capture his lower lip and hold it as he rides out the thrusts, wanting to memorize every second of this.
One hand finds its way to Chris’ nape blind, long fingers twisting in the blonde strands. His other hand lands on an impossibly strong arm, curling tight around a straining bicep.
He must lose track of time somehow, because suddenly Chris is whispering his name, making it sound like a prayer, and Tom’s eyes snap open, his orgasm slamming into him sideways.
He rides it out, clutching desperately at both hair and sinew as the aftershocks begin to abate. Chris pulses inside him and the sensation is nothing short of obscene. He loves it.
“Mmm,” Tom hums wearily, tucking himself against Chris’ chest as they separate and settle further into the sheets. “You’re amazing.”
“So you tell me,” Chris sounds amused, and Tom can feel the smile pressed against his throat.
He squeezes the fingers laced through his own over his stomach, then closes his eyes, utterly content for the first time in ages.
I accidentally death!fic. I’m sorry. Listened to THIS on repeat till I finished it. Takes place far and away post-Avengers and Thor: TDW and any foreseeable sequels.
“It’s strange,” Loki muses, rubbing a hand over his lips as though puzzling out a difficult spell. “I thought we really would live forever.”