#justasketch

shhh he is fast asleep

anyways read starstruck https://mspfa.com/?s=68891&p=1

Their apartment is a mess. A sink full of unwashed dishes. Half-empty wine bottles scattered on the counter. The dining table, where Enjolras often works, is cluttered with paintbrushes and crumpled sketches. Enjolras stands in the doorway, his jaw clenched, arms crossed tightly across his chest. Grantaire lounges on the couch, a bottle of cheap wine dangling from his fingers, his eyes half-lidded but watchful.

Enjolras’s voice is low and tightly controlled, the calm before the storm.

“You said you’d clean up. Three days ago.”

Grantaire shrugs, taking a lazy sip from the bottle. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” Enjolras snaps, stepping further into the room. “Busy doing what? Drinking? Painting half-finished canvases you won’t even look at tomorrow? Or was it your busy schedule of avoiding anything remotely meaningful?”

Grantaire smirks, but there’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes. “You’re one to talk. Is this about the dishes, or is this about my failure to meet your impossibly high standards again?”

Enjolras exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t about standards. It’s about respect. For me, for yourself, for this—” He gestures broadly to the apartment, to the space they share. “I’m tired of being the only one who cares enough to try. You think this is just about the dishes? It’s not. It’s everything.”

“Everything,” Grantaire echoes mockingly. “Everything is such a big word, Enjolras. I didn’t know dirty plates were the collapse of our entire—what, relationship? Partnership? Whatever this is.” He waves his hand dismissively.

“That’s exactly it,” Enjolras fires back, his voice rising. “You treat everything like it’s a joke. Like nothing matters. I can’t keep carrying us both while you sit there, undermining everything I’m trying to build. Every time I look at you, I feel like I’m trying to pull you out of quicksand, and you just—won’t—move.”

Grantaire sits up straighter, his smirk vanishing. “Maybe I’m fine in the quicksand. Did you ever think of that? Maybe I don’t want to be dragged onto your pedestal of perfection, where nothing is ever good enough, where I’m just another failure in your eyes.”

Enjolras’s voice cracks, but his fury doesn’t waver. “You think this is about perfection? About me wanting to fix you? No, Grantaire. It’s about wanting to be with you, but you make it impossible. You hide behind your cynicism, your drinking, your—your endless excuses for why nothing can change. I can’t—I won’t live like this.”

Grantaire stands now, the wine bottle set down too hard on the coffee table. “You knew what I was when you picked me, Enjolras. Don’t stand there pretending I tricked you into thinking I was someone else. If you wanted a partner who could match your world-changing dreams, you should’ve gone for someone like Combeferre. Or Jehan. Or literally anyone who’s not a walking disappointment.”

“That’s not fair!” Enjolras shouts, the words finally breaking through his composure. “I chose you, Grantaire. I’ve always chosen you, despite—despite everything. But I can’t keep choosing you if you refuse to choose yourself. I don’t need you to be perfect. I don’t need you to agree with me or march in my rallies. But I need you to care about something. About us. About yourself.”

Grantaire falters, the weight of Enjolras’s words sinking in. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come.

Enjolras’s voice softens but is no less firm. “I’m exhausted, R. I’m exhausted from fighting the world every day and then coming home to fight you, too. I need to know this is worth it. That we’re worth it. But I can’t be the only one trying anymore.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. Grantaire looks away, his jaw tightening, his fingers flexing like he wants to reach for Enjolras but doesn’t know how.

Finally, Enjolras shakes his head, his expression a mixture of heartbreak and resignation. “I can’t keep doing this.”

He turns and walks toward the door, grabbing his coat from the hook. Grantaire takes a step forward, his voice hoarse.

“Where are you going?”

Enjolras pauses, his back to Grantaire. “I don’t know. But I can’t be here right now.”

.....the last day, I legally had to create one minor piece of fanart. derek is a trash man but have my nod of general approval in his horrible, horrible direction

Then

Azira's morning halo

A lil something before it gets digitalized

Because reblogging apparently gave crappy images, here is the better resolution sketch from this ask I saw on @blackkatmagic s tumblr