Private and selective multi-muse featuring characters from Les Misérables, the works of Oscar Wilde, and more! Please read my guidelines before interacting and if you’d like to reach out, shoot me a message or fill out my interest tracker! Also found at my Patroclus sideblog  @chironiides​ .

STATUS:   sporadic activity, semi-hiatus CARRD .   //   INTEREST TRACKER .   

The return of the handkerchief, and Enjolras accepted it with a quiet bid of “ thank you ” . He could, at the very least, use it in attempt to help tidy his hair. In the state it was, he could surely use the assistance. It meant, of course, that he would owe Joly a not - damp handkerchief, but such was a price he was willing to pay in the rescue efforts for his papers ( and to keep Madame Houcheloup from being cross over the puddles on the floor, even with how departed she had become over the state of the back room ) .

“ Science can explain a great deal, that is true enough. ” Enjolras tilted his head in an accepting half - nod. Tossing his somewhat dry ponytail over his shoulder, he moved onto the attempt of a rescue mission for his books. “ There are some parts of the world that which cannot be explained by it, however. As Bossuet has so kindly pointed out for me, the soul is of another question entirely — the heart, too. Emotions, in their essence, have scientific explanations for how they occur, but it is impossible to definitely define their natures. One cannot use science to determine a person’s true being, nor how one may react to any given circumstance. It can be predicted, on occasion, but never guaranteed. ”

“I wouldn’t say never,” Joly mused, though it was an interesting question. He liked to think that science did, in fact, explain all. “But you may be right. Regardless I would still argue that science as a means is the only one we have to learn of absolute truth. It is the closest to certainty we will ever get.” He twisted his cane in his hand, smiling as he watched Enjolras try and dry his things. A soft laugh fell from his lips at the sight of him. “My poor friend, you really did let yourself get soaked!” Bossuet snorted at this too.

@praenunti​ asked:  ❝  the night doesn’t have to end here,  you know.  ❞ Eros & Dio

Dionysus was in a stupor, a wonderful little stupor. They’d imbibed a great deal, he even dragged Eros out to dance on the beach at one point, his maenads all laughter and joy around them. He loved dancing with them, with anyone who let themselves go so much, but Eros especially. Eventually, he let them wind down, gently coaxed his madness out of them but left it in himself and Eros both, just for the thrill of it. 

Kicking up sand, his arms came to wrap around Eros’s neck and he threw himself at him, pushing him down onto the sand, into the salty water that washed up and down the beach. He was all laughter and joy. “You wish to keep me here longer, do you? Darling, it’s been days. Many days.” But one more night would be alright, and it was not as though either them particularly needed sleep, pleasant as the sensation was.

Just like that, the argument ended. Henry wasn’t well, and Francis couldn’t bring himself to continue the argument. What did it matter anyway? It was done now, he supposed, and no amount of bitterness or regret or anger on his part would change that, and it sure as shit wouldn’t change Henry. Nothing would. 

He sank back into his chair and pulled off his glasses to scrub a hand over his face. He felt so tired all of a sudden. He couldn’t remember what had inspired him to start this argument. What did it matter if Henry admitted he was wrong or not? Francis knew he was, but knew just as strongly that Henry had done his best, as he always did. He’d done what he had believed was best, at any rate. He would never stop wishing for Henry to cease acting on everyone’s behalf without their say, but he didn’t know if that was possible. If it was between that and not having Henry at all, Francis knew he’d put up with it until the end of time.

Or so he’d thought.

Henry’s declaration, coming at the tail end of that thought, was a punch to the gut, so strong that a strangled noise got caught in the back of Francis’ throat. “What?” He gasped the word, choking on the sound. “Moving where? Why–?” There were too many possible ends to that question to just pick one, and they all seemed to tangle together when he tried to choose. Why now? Why are you going at all? Why are you telling me this? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? 

Francis had to stop to light another cigarette, and his hands were trembling again ever so slightly. That declaration terrified him. Henry hadn’t said it directly, but there was a finality to it, and ending that Francis was neither ready nor remotely prepared for. He tried to take a breath, and when he spoke again it was still strained, the words filtering through his teeth. “What do you mean you’re not returning? To school, you mean? Or do you intend to abandon us forever? Is this your way of telling me I’m never going to see my best friend ever again? Because if that’s your idea of a goodbye, I–” 

He looked away, cutting himself off sharply. He refused to raise his voice or dissolve into panic when Henry wasn’t well. It was hard to speak slowly and calmly though when that sort of thing was just dropped on him casually. He didn’t know what to say, and could only look at Henry helplessly and hope he cared enough to explain. The problem with that was that he wasn’t sure he did.

Henry didn’t understand why those words warranted a dramatic response but he knew that they would. He knew Francis wouldn’t like it, that he might try to talk him out of it or hell, maybe invite himself along. Henry supposed he wouldn’t mind it if he did. He wasn’t leaving Francis, wasn’t even leaving Camilla and Richard, just Hampden. There was no reason to stay. Julian was gone. Francis had to know this was coming. Henry wasn’t going to waste his time on an English degree, nor would he stay somewhere that offered so little. None of them liked Hampden, except for Richard, perhaps. Its single redeeming quality had left and though Henry tried to leave it too, he failed that go around.

“Portland,” he answered, obviously meaning Maine. He would never live on the west coast. “Most of the paperwork is done and I have movers scheduled.”

He raised a brow as he inspected the lenses of his glasses and put them back on. If he truly never wanted to see Francis again why would he tell him at all? It frustrated him that it was asked, frustrated him too how big of a deal he was making this into. He shouldn’t be surprised. He wasn’t. He closed his eyes and pressed his knuckles to his brow once more. “Not to Hampden,” he answered. He didn’t think about his words when he said it, that Francis was there, that Camilla was, whatever their relationship was these days, Henry wasn’t sure. 

@praenunti​ asked:  ❝  please don’t go—  i need.  i need someone—  i need you.  ❞ Edwart

Artie stilled. He so hated seeing Edward troubled about anything, hated not knowing what to do to fix it. He slowly brought an arm around his shoulder and drew him up to his chest, pressed a kiss to his temple. “Who said I’m going? I was just going to find a harmonica somewhere and play you a sad song, give you something to suit this mood, you know?” He smirked, his fangs peaking out from his lips. Of course he wasn’t going to really do that, Edward knew it too. He just wanted to get him to smile and laugh again.

Edward didn’t really understand at first what was in Artie’s head. Abstract thought was difficult that way. He was learning to associate Artie’s moods with different kinds of thoughts, but there were no words to his mind just then, only impulse. Artie had that a lot, and Edward never minded of course but this was strange. No sooner had he gotten back into bed with him, expecting Artie to be inclined to sleep, than his lover rose again and walked across the room. He watched him, frowning and confused, but didn’t yet suspect anything. Artie didn’t seem to understand it himself.

As soon as he did though, Edward’s cold dead heart jumped into his throat. Light, real sunlight, was coming in through the window. He must have left it too long, even if these were the first morning rays, not as harmful but still dangerous. He knew Artie felt warm and comforted and in absolute awe, heard it ringing true in his mind instead of pain and fear. He was always afraid of the sun, and Edward was too now, but why didn’t he move? That horrible thought, that terrifying, threatening thought left him chilled. I want to watch the sunrise.

He could only leave it a second before he moved himself, faster than human eyes could follow. He ran across the room and lifted Artie with his arms around his waist, and twirled him around to push him into the corner, Edward’s body between him and any light that might have reached the dark corner. “What are you doing?” His voice was tight with panic and worry. “The sun is rising! These are just normal windows, Artie, what are you thinking?” Did he want to die? He hadn’t been thinking that way. He’d been happy, contented, openly in love just seconds ago, it didn’t happen that fast. How could it? He grabbed Artie’s hand and turned it over, but there were no burns on his skin, not even the faintest pink of what looked like normal human sunburn–the first stage of the sun’s violence. Edward frowned, then took Artie’s face in his hands, inspecting his skin just as closely. “What..?” He looked over his shoulder at the windows. Was he wrong? He didn’t think so. He could usually tell the difference just by looking and these were normal windows, just plain unfiltered glass. What the hell?

Although he tried to get Edward to listen to his thoughts so that he might follow along, he really wasn’t thinking. It was just the immensity it all, he couldn’t string anything together with his lips or his mind. It was so long ago that he watched the sunrise, so long ago that he felt inspired by it instead of tired and scared. The warmth of even the cold light of dawn on his skin was such a foreign thing, he forgot what it felt like. He might have stayed there a long while, too.

He yelped when he felt himself being pulled by Edward. It was so impossibly fast even for him and unexpected enough that he was startled by it. “I’m fine!” He promised. “I’m fantastic.” He grinned, placed his hands the sides of Edward’s face, looking behind him toward the window. Dammit, Edward, I can hardly see it now. 

A laugh fell from his lips as he watched Edward’s panic dissolve into confusion. “I tried to tell you!” Artie was rather confused himself but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter why, he just wanted to go and watch. He wanted to go outside. He turned his face and kissed Edward’s palm. “Let’s get dressed,” he said, “I want to be in it. Edward, it doesn’t hurt. I’m not tired, it’s not even too bright for my eyes. It’s like- Wow! It’s like if I was human again.” he pulled a hand back from Edward and brought it to his teeth, pressed his finger to his fangs. No, he definitely wasn’t human again. He didn’t seriously think so but it was the first possibility that jumped to mind. They could figure it out later, he didn’t want to miss anymore than he had. He pressed his lips to Edward’s and then ducked underneath his arm to squirm his way out of the corner. 

@tewwor​ asked:  “ perhaps i don’t say it enough, but… i’d like you to know that i’m always here, if you ever wanted to talk. ” ( hypnos / charon )

Hypnos sank down upon a soft, plush couch and let his body relax easily into it, heavy eyelids falling upon Charon as a sigh fell from his lips. He smiled, soft and warm. “Yes, Charon.” He acknowledged. “I know.” He didn’t feel a pressing weight to talk, comfortable as he was, content as he was, but Charon seemed to want him to. 

@praenunti​ asked: ❝ i'm not staring at you, i'm admiring you. ❞ Eros to Dio also

Dionysus enjoyed playing with his appearance, enjoyed shifting into different looks, different presentations of himself, whether he looked human or not. Sometimes, he quite liked being a lion. It was often without thought, without intention, his features and body changing in the moment to suit him then. No matter what was changed he always looked like himself, somehow, even as a lion. It was impossible to place what it was that was distinctly Dionysus, what it was that transferred between each of his forms, but he’d be recognized whether Eros had seen him look that way before or not. 

@tewwor​ asked: “ we’re a good team, you know. “ ( hermes / charon )

The wings upon his sandals seemed almost to buzz, lifting him just a few inches off the ground as he smiled brightly at Charon. Hermes never minded the underworld, never minded the ferryman that so many mortals feared. Charon was far gentler than most gave him credit for. He preened at the compliment, how casually Charon said it. A shining Olympian befriending a deity bound to the Styx was an odd pair, but Hermes could only think of fond things to say of his quiet companion.

@praenunti​ asked:  ❝ do you want your good luck kisses ? ❞ Eros to Dio lmao

Dionysus had done it and it seemed, somehow, that he was bigger for it. He had always been a powerful god but after throwing himself into the underworld, after dragging his mother from it and setting her before Zeus, he had already the power and standing that one would expect from an Olympian. He seemed more powerful. Whether that was just confidence or truly a change he couldn’t say but there was an air around him, one so much stronger than that of a young god barred from Olympus. He always said he would be there, one day. He always knew that he would. Now it was really happening, he was going before Hera and Zeus, and it could only be for one reason. It could only be to finally accept him, to offer him that twelfth seat he had craved for so long. 

He came to visit Eros before going to meet them, wanting to tell him about his recent adventure. About the slavers he cast into the ocean, about the underworld, about the mother that he’d only just properly met. Of course, about his meeting with the king and queen, too. He was ecstatic, glowing, and hopped around Eros’s palace free as a bird for what was to come next.