Hi-------atus?????
Not for long! Just till the semester lets up for me because oh god deadlines oh god finals. oh GOD.
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:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::
Losses comes in threes, he remembers. It does
nothing to comfort him-- Apollo Burning needs up
to six months of repairs, he finds himself saying 'no
comment' to everyone not in the Shatterdome, he
sits by Combeferre's bedside--
But no, no he is not lost yet.
He cannot be.
Hope is a fragile, fearful thing. It seeps through
your bones and settles heavy into your lungs. Hope
doesn't dare peek into the real world, hides in the
lining of your stomach with despair and pessimism
and lets them beat it down. Hope grows wings but
never uses them. Until now.
He's awake!
And in his excitement, Enjolras forgets that hope
can be blinding. Hope is powerful and not always kind.
Hope makes him grip the bedsheets and remain just
one step behind as he goes, "How are you feeling?"
his first conscious thought is that everything hurts;
his lungs despite the efforts of the oxygen tube in his
nose, his eyelids as they fight to flutter open, his head
( which he will later realize is bandaged tightly with
pristine white gauze that hides the fact that the man
has suffered, only days ago, a traumatic bran injury ).
his fingers twitch as he fully wakes. the monitor next to
him beeps steadily, the IV in his arm a reliable drip, drip of
what he assumes are sedatives into his system. ( but why sedate
him ? why wouldn’t they want him to wake up ——
he glances up when he hears some kind of commotion in the
hallway ; two unfamiliar faces peer in at him through the window,
and he stares back at them just as blankly. then, despite the
obvious efforts of several nurses, they enter, eyes wide and
shining as they stare over him.
he is nothing short of perplexed. green eyes stare upward,
eyebrows creasing in the middle as a surge of pain shoots
through his head ; he grits his teeth and bears it. the pain isn’t
what is important to him right now.
( what is important is that he can’t seem to remember what his name is. )
” —— you two don’t look like doctors. “
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les amis taking the “tis the season to be jolly” thing literally and showing up on christmas eve all dressed as joly
(same glasses, same coat, bossuet even finds wigs that look like his haircut)
joly takes one look at them and laughs himself silly
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:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::
Enjolras knows with utmost certainty
that the hand under Jehan's head will fall
asleep before their naptime is up. He finds
himself utterly looking forward to it even.
Once settled with his hands around
their waist, legs hopelessly tangled and
sharing bodyheat, Enjolras grins down at
Jehan. He repeats the sentiments with a
little rueful tease in his tone.
"We should celebrate with really
good takeaway. Get Grantaire to pick
it up on his way home. Whataya say?"
His voice, soft as it is, is the only sound.
Jehan grinned, all to eager to bounce onto the bed, crashing down beside Enjolras’s body.
They lied down, stretching their own arms across him. Long legs awkwardly curled around his, and their hands lightly ran over his hair.
"Cuddle time is indeed right now."
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this is what pressing shift + ?, a physical reference of all tumblr short cuts. i just cut it out for a quick & easy physical / save-able reference.
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:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::
they should talk about this, he thinks
in the cosmological seconds that reside
between one breath and the next, in the
hazy galaxy he's traversing to in his mind,
body present and caught in the point of
connection between their lips.
( his fingers build a second spidery
bridge, caressing combeferre's wrist
before branding the skin with its weight. )
when they part, its like a universe is
born, cradled by the distance between
their faces. Enjolras has eyes like stars.
"To be fair, your ass looks great in sweats."
( there is something breathless in his
tone-- it renders the teasing ineffective. )
Another grin cuts across dimpled
cheeks, a laugh escaping him.
” you know, courfeyrac just might be up to that.
me —— i think i’ll stick to scrubs and sweatpants. “
and then, his lips are closer still ; combeferre
can’t help but press his own to them, a bit less
gently than the times previous.
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{ text message ‘Ferre’ }
Deal.
{ text message ‘Ferre’ }
No takebacks and you can't attack me when I return them.
[ sms; enj ]: christ. i will do the full on titanic routine if this is what it takes.
[ sms; enj ]: please just give me my clothes back. it’s cold :(
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:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::
"It's a metaphor."
Oh, honestly Enjolras-- no one can
tell if you're joking or not when you
look like that. Pardon him, darling.
"And a really good incentive to
make people listen to what they
might have to say." But mostly,
M E T A P H O R.
&. libertexenrouge
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#WTF IS HTIS BULLYING #STOP THIS #FUCK THOSE ABS AND FUCK YOUR URL #FUCK ME TOO #I CAN'T BELIE V #WTH IS HTIS HIS STUPID FACE AND HIS STUPID SHOULDERS AND HIS STUPID #YOU'RE STUPID YOU'RE DU MB #I HAET THIS #STOP EMMS 2K15 #LIEBE RB EBT EBTE EB EBXRED #THATS UR NEW URL IDC IDC #TBD #(TO BE DONE) #(*CACKLES*)
05/03/15: The day I made Lily break down. Mission ACCOMPLISHED.
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#TBD #LIBERTEEXENROUGE #I CANT BELIEEV E IT #HOW R RUDE
Read More
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:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::
"A good thing then that I have
learned to care not what he thinks."
Enjolras tries to pass it off as a
joke but it's sharp, a little wry and the
way he smiles doesn't quite convince.
He doesn't look at the dragon again.
( it is not jealousy-- maybe.
no one told him he wasn't allowed. )
"None, as far as I'm concerned.
When has His Majesty ever needed
a reason? His will alone can change
the course of history. A few gems are
of little thought to him."
So, bitter, Enjolras. No love lost.
But he bites his tongue (too late) and
chances a glance to present company.
Fell is far from royal stock—
or at least royal upbringing.
Grantaire has no idea what Fell’s egg might have
been destined for in another life. He hadn’t exactly
asked too many questions, half convinced the egg
was nothing but a glittering rock.
( Would the king even make a fuss if one of
the eggs from his dragons’ clutches had
been stolen? Or would that be admitting
a weakness he didn’t want to show? )
Fell’s breath makes the flames of their dwindling bonfire
stutter and one glance at the dragon is enough for him to
know he’s doing it on purpose. Grantaire rolls his eyes
and leans back against him again.
”I would guess your father most likely
thinks so. What’s the point of the gems?”
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:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::
Angela Davis once said, 'You have
to act as if it were possible to radically
transform the world. And you have to
do it all the time.'
It's a vicious cycle. Being resistant
to change and using it as a crutch to
preach about the lack of change-- as
if all the progress made in the last half
a century is a happy little accident.
Enjolras should know better than to
try and change his mind. But mayhaps
it is his ego that drives him to want to
do so-- to make Grantaire patient zero
in the long line of cynics.
It gets tiring, is all.
A laugh. "No, I simply can't bear the
unpleasantness of your voice anymore.
Combeferre will be glad to know I have
learnt the art of walking away. Good day,
Grantaire. I can't say I'm looking forward
to seeing you next week."
But with his luck-- a shake of
his head. Enjolras had better get home.
He has a list of things to do and none of
them involve present company.
"It is if no one’s listening, or if the the world
has no interest in changing.” Grantaire shrugs,
all but raising an eyebrow at the vitriol in Enjolras’
words.
"Did you actually just say that I’ve proven my point?
Who are you and what have you done with Enjolras?”
Part of him doubts that this is the end of the conversation,
since one of them always has to have the last word—
but the gesture is surprising enough.
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{ text message ‘Ferre’ }
You're a braver man than I am.
{ text message ‘Ferre’ }
Will you do the impersonation too? Can I record it?
[ sms; enj ]: that is not true. i would trust bossuet with my life.
[ sms: enj ]: …….probably
[ sms: enj ]: i could sing celine dion on karaoke like that one new years eve???
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