libertexenrouge-blog

[libertexenrouge-blog]

Hi-------atus?????

Not for long! Just till the semester lets up for me because oh god deadlines oh god finals. oh GOD. 

[libertexenrouge-blog]

:: { 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. “

[libertexenrouge-blog]

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

[libertexenrouge-blog]

:: { 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."

[libertexenrouge-blog]

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.

[libertexenrouge-blog]

B E A U X B A T O N S   A C A D E M Y  

Thought to be situated somewhere in the Pyrenees, visitors speak of the breath-taking beauty of a chateau surrounded by formal gardens and lawns created out of the mountainous landscape by magic. Beauxbatons Academy has a preponderance of French students, though Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, Luxembourgians and Belgians also attend in large numbers (both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have a larger studentship than Hogwarts). It is said that the stunning castle and grounds of this prestigious school were part-funded by alchemist gold, for Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel met at Beauxbatons in their youth, and a magnificent fountain in the middle of the school’s park, believed to have healing and beautifying properties, is named for them.

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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. 

[libertexenrouge-blog]

{ 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 :(

[libertexenrouge-blog]

​:: { 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​

[libertexenrouge-blog]

#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.

[libertexenrouge-blog]

[libertexenrouge-blog]

#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?”

[libertexenrouge-blog]

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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???