Short exR fic, kinda angsty and shitty. Canon era, after the barricade w/ only Enj and R surviving.
TW: Mention of self-harm
Insp. in part by @enjoloras fic Chasing a Ghost, def go read that, it’s incredible.
Noise. Blood. Smoke. Suffocating smoke. He heard screams, gunshots, tasted iron and the copper tang of blood on his lips. Where were his friends? He could see nothing beyond an arms length away, bodies twisting and writhing in the fog and dirt. Voices. Pleading.
“Help”
“No!”
“Please”
Begging over and over and over until, one by one, they fell silent, their bodies collapsing at his feet, blank eyes staring up at him.
He was alone.
Enjolras awoke with a strangled scream, throwing the blankets off as he sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. He could still taste the smoke. Beside him, Grantaire stirred, raising himself half up on one elbow, looking at Enjolras through heavy-lidded eyes. He reached out, brushing Enjolras’ trembling wrist, then took his hand, pulling him against his chest, running his other hand through his boyfriend’s damp curls.
“Shhh. It’s okay. It was just a dream. You’re safe. You’re home.”
Grantaire repeated these words over and over, holding Enjolras’ shaking body close. Enjolras relaxed slightly at the touch, but tensed up again immediately, turning away from Grantaire’s embrace and shaking his head.
“Don’t.”
Grantaire reached out for him, running a hand along his back.
“What is it?”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes. I do.”
“It happens so often now, you shouldn’t care anymore.”
“I will always care.”
“Don’t pretend.”
“I am not pretending.”
Grantaire slid up the cuff of Enjolras’ shirt, running a finger over the scars on his wrist. “I can’t let this happen to you.”
“You would gladly kill me if you knew what I’ve done.”
“You could never, in a thousand years, do anything to make me hurt you.”
Enjolras pulled free of Grantaire’s grasp, turning to face him with tears in his eyes. “You don’t understand. I killed them. I killed them and I watched them die. I killed them as surely as if I’d held a gun to their heads. I’m the reason they’re gone. The reason for grieving sisters and widows. I’m a monster, Taire!”
His tone escalated through the sentence until he was screaming, tears streaming down his cheeks, hands blindly snatching at thin air as though it could bring his friends back. Grantaire reached for him, only to have his hand slapped away.
“Stop!” Enjolras wrapped his arms around his own heaving chest, rocking back and forth, trembling from head to toe. “I don’t deserve to have you hold me and tell me that I’m safe, you’re here for me. I don’t deserve your love!”
“Everyone deserves love, no matter what. You are my love, for life, and nothing will ever change that.”
Enjolras’ only response was to bury his head in his hands, fingernails digging into his forehead, a ring of angry red crescents marring his pale skin.
Grantaire waited, murmuring reasurences to the trembling figure, feeling more helpless than ever.
He reached out, hands brushing across Enjolras’ back. This time, he did not pull away. Grantaire slid across the bed to gather him in his arms, holding him tightly to him, stroking his back and hair. Enjolras turned towards him, burying his face in Grantaire’s chest.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For this, for the mess that I am, for making you deal with me.”
“You are not making me do anything. I have chosen this, and would not trade it for the world. I love you, all of you, no matter what happens.”
“I should not be like this. I am weak.”
“Everyone is.”
“I can’t live like this, Taire.” Enjolras looked up at Grantaire, tears dripping down his face. “Will they ever go away?”
“I can’t promise they will. But I won’t either.”
Grantaire pulled Enjolras into a tighter embrace, clasping him against his chest until he could feel the other’s racing heart. He kissed the top of Enjolras’ head, stroking his hair and rocking him until he felt him relax and lean into him.
We like to think the internet within the past half decade or so has honed shitposting down to a science but racing horse names have us beat by decades
This is a case of necessity is the mother of invention- for both race horses and purebred show animals, every.single.animal. needs to have a unique name for record keeping purposes.
Imagine trying to come up with a cool username if you aren’t allowed to add random numbers and underscores- only pronounceable words. Now imagine that this website has had tens of millions of users, and even after someone leaves the site their username can never be recycled.
WELCOME TO PEDIGREE SHITPOST BINGO
Pedigree Shitpost Bingo would make a great horse name
The best one I ever heard was someone sent in a list of possible names, and then at the bottom of the list, wrote, “This is a damn stupid way to run a business.”
All the possible names were taken. Guess what the horse’s name was registered as?
When asked, Ms. Frizzle denies that she “knows everything”
However, Ms. Frizzle always knows what her students are up to, knows the answer to every question they ask her, and never shows fear even when in extreme mortal peril, as if she’s experienced this all before
Although we know she was in a rock band called the Frizzlettes and was a Shakespearean actress, Ms. Frizzle’s childhood remains mysterious
Ms. Frizzle is EXACTLY the sort of person to travel back in time to teach herself, and is in fact the most likely fictional character to do so
Nobody is ever named “Valerie Frizzle” at birth
Ms. Frizzle dresses queerly and laughs at her own bad jokes
A lot of the series is about Arnold learning to take chances, make mistakes, and get messy – that phrase is more or less targeted at him as a student
Ms. Frizzle looks a lot like a grown-up Arnold
Holy shit???????
She literally has a giant storeroom full of barrels of pickles because she loves pickles so much what more evidence do you need
What relation do pickles have with the transgender community?
One of the medications used in hormone therapy for trans women (spironolactone, which counteracts testosterone) has the side effect of, putting it crudely, making you have to pee all the goddamn time. That causes dehydration and loss of electrolytes.
Pickles and pickle juice turn out to be a fairly convenient and flavorful way of satisfying an electrolyte craving. Those who’ve been on spiro a long time can develop a nigh-spiritual bond with ‘em.
dope
LIZ IS TRANS TOO BC SHE HAS HORNS AND FEMALE JACKSONS CHAMELEONS DONT HAVE HORNS
Wanting not to be touched doesn’t make you a mean person. Wanting people to respect your personal boundaries doesn’t make you annoying. You shouldn’t have to put yourself through things that hurt or upset you just because other people think they are harmless.
¯_( ಠ_ಠ)_/¯ 