JBM, 12?

theladyragnell:

“So
my roommates wrote a book, and they are fucking geniuses,”
Grantaire says on a phone call that is supposed to be them arguing
about Grantaire’s illustrations for the latest middle grade book she
has him working on. Musichetta should have known when he actually
agreed to the phone call without bribes that he was going to
instantly derail it.

“Oh?
Do they have an agent?”

“I
… guess that’s me? I don’t know if they’re going to submit
anywhere, but it’s fucking charming and it’s for our age bracket, and
I will draw whatever illustrations you want, I will draw whatever
cover art you want and I will not complain about any of it, just give
it a read.”

Musichetta
sighs. “You are not an agent.”

“I
could be!” he says, mock offended. Or she hopes he’s not actually
offended, anyway. “Come on,
just give it a try. It’s about space.” He lowers his voice. “There
are puns.”

She
is far more predictable than she ought to be. “Fine, fine, send it
over,” she says, and Grantaire is feeling so triumphant about it
that he lets her talk him into all sorts of edits on his
illustrations that normally he would whine about for half an hour at
least.

*

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