enjolras making a distressed noise every time grantaire lets go of his hand
#enjolras and grantaire sleeping together #they start off just holding hands but when they wake up they’re like a giant pretzel #and still holding hands #and grantaire makes a joke about carpel tunnel syndrome and arthritis #amd enjolras just laughs but keeps holding on #because there’s something in the back of his mind #an old memory of fingers falling from his
whoa excuse you
Little twelve year old Grantaire already so worn down and tired and sad about life that when an owl drops him a letter telling him he’s a wizard he thinks he must be dreaming.
Little twelve year old Grantaire who wears his father’s horrible ratty hand-me-downs and spends all…
It sucks when someone you have feelings for doesn’t share those feelings; it happens to women all the time, too. We hear “I just want to be friends” and “you’re like one of the guys” and “you’re like a sister to me” just as often. But you’ll never hear a woman complain that guys just don’t appreciate a Nice Girl because we’re taught it’s our own fucking fault when we’re rejected—we aren’t pretty enough or thin enough or sexy enough, we weren’t sexual enough or were too sexual, we put out too much or too little or too soon or not soon enough, we didn’t wear our hair the right way or our skirt the right length, we’re “too tomboyish” or “too butch” or “too feminine”, or we’re “not their type”, or we’re otherwise not good enough in various ways to entice the man to grace us with his affection.
But when we’re not interested in someone, we’re vilified. We’re the bitch that lead them on, the bitch who let them buy us dinner but didn’t want to date them, the bitch who doesn’t appreciate a nice guy, the bitch they were nice to and then got nothing in return from.
And, frankly, fuck those people. Showing interest in me, being friendly with me, getting close to me, or eating a meal with me (even if they paid for it) doesn’t obligate me to open my heart or my legs. And anyone who doesn’t appreciate my friendship sure as hell doesn’t deserve my love or my pussy.” —
READ IT. READ IT ALL.
My life. Thank you.
Yes ma’am….bra-freaking-vo…..return to the stage for more applause please
A friend and I were out with our kids when another family’s two-year-old came up. She began hugging my friend’s 18-month-old, following her around and smiling at her. My friend’s little girl looked like she wasn’t so sure she liked this, and at that moment the other little girl’s mom came up and got down on her little girl’s level to talk to her.
“Honey, can you listen to me for a moment? I’m glad you’ve found a new friend, but you need to make sure to look at her face to see if she likes it when you hug her. And if she doesn’t like it, you need to give her space. Okay?”
Two years old, and already her mother was teaching her about consent.
My daughter Sally likes to color on herself with markers. I tell her it’s her body, so it’s her choice. Sometimes she writes her name, sometimes she draws flowers or patterns. The other day I heard her talking to her brother, a marker in her hand.
“Bobby, do you mind if I color on your leg?”
Bobby smiled and moved himself closer to his sister. She began drawing a pattern on his leg with a marker while he watched, fascinated. Later, she began coloring on the sole of his foot. After each stoke, he pulled his foot back, laughing. I looked over to see what was causing the commotion, and Sally turned to me.
“He doesn’t mind if I do this,” she explained, “he is only moving his foot because it tickles. He thinks its funny.” And she was right. Already Bobby had extended his foot to her again, smiling as he did so.
What I find really fascinating about these two anecdotes is that they both deal with the consent of children not yet old enough to communicate verbally. In both stories, the older child must read the consent of the younger child through nonverbal cues. And even then, consent is not this ambiguous thing that is difficult to understand.
Teaching consent is ongoing, but it starts when children are very young. It involves both teaching children to pay attention to and respect others’ consent (or lack thereof) and teaching children that they should expect their own bodies and their own space to be respected—even by their parents and other relatives.
And if children of two or four can be expected to read the nonverbal cues and expressions of children not yet old enough to talk in order to assess whether there is consent, what excuse do full grown adults have?
Okay so immortal!R. He dives in front of a bullet for Enjolras at a rally and they escape quickly, taking him to E’s apartment because it’s closest. Enjolras is frantic, he can’t get a hold of Combeferre or Joly and he’s tried his best but he just won’t stop bleeding, so he pours out all the things he never said to him because he’s afraid he’ll never get another chance. He tells him he doesn’t think he’s useless, or a coward, he thinks he’s brilliant and he kisses R on his dying breath.
Ten minutes later Enjolras is in the other room on the phone to Combeferre, trying to hold it together as he tells him what happened and where they are, when Grantaire walks in groaning and complaining that his head hurts.
When Enjolras shakily whispers “You died,” R replies, “Yeah, I do that sometimes. Got any coffee?”
And Grantaire thinks he’s going to kill him when he comes towards him but instead he just hugs him really tight and calls him an idiot at least seven times. He asks why he didn’t tell him when he was dying and R says he was saying such nice things he didn’t want to ruin it. So maybe he gets hit for that. But later he just smiles really shyly at Enjolras and asks, “So ‘brilliant’ huh?”
*grantaire holds camera*
"hi my name’s bahorel and welcome to jackass!"
*shot of bahorel changing the flyer font to comic sans and intense giggling behind camera*
*cut to a shot of bahorel sitting at a table with combeferre and enjolras standing over him, holding freshly printed flyers and berating him like disappointed parents*
Watch me | e/R Youtubers AU
The first time Grantaire saw Enjolras, he didn’t think much of him at all.
As a professional youtuber, Grantaire began his day with a mug of coffee and going through his youtube feed. There were, as always, new comments on his videos, some declaring their love for his voice, others calling him ugly or telling him he ruined the song. The positive feedback usually outweighed the negative and after his first few weeks of nervous breakdowns he had started to only briefly skim the negative ones to poke fun at them.