#hadrianuscorruit

Put a word in my ask and I will write a Headcanon about it for my muse (x) (ACCEPTING)

     He is six. The storm shatters the peace of the night, cloaks the stars in darkness and leaches into his sleep. The echo of thunder becomes the footsteps of unknown creatures pounding after him, the flashes of lighting flares of fire reaching hungrily for his skin. He wakes screaming, with anxious hands swiping across his sweat-slicked hair. It takes two hours for the hammering of his heart to slow, and for an uneasy slumber to claim him within the arms of his mother. 

     He is seventeen. The rush of Paris takes his breath away. The whispers of rebellion do not yet catch his attention. In the dark of the night, he dreams of being buried, of being swallowed up in the crowd and disappearing silently; he dreams of losing his way, of being alone, of never finding his way back home. 

     He is twenty-six. The sky is grim, pelts down sheets of hard rain that seeps into his clothes, converts the upturned streets into pits of mud, ruins the precious barrels of powder. His ears still ring from the endless echoes of gunshot, and his eyes still sting from the smoke that filled the air. A fine tremor claims his fingers, and they slip from the trigger of his carbine. Mere hours later, the serene dawn is shattered by screams, the ground stained in pools of deep red, every surface littered with lifeless bodies. 

I have a whole angst playlist but it’s on my computer. Try take me to church by hozier

 hadrianuscorruit, hey!!!

Grantaire yawns, shifting slightly in his soft slumber, and resting his hand on the baby’s back. He’s unaware of the other’s presence, having fallen asleep, and simply continues breathing easily, contented by the warmth of Aurelie.