Grantaire had risen. The immense gleam of the whole combat which he had missed, and in which he had had no part, appeared in the brilliant glance of the transfigured drunken man.
I’m tired of people being like “Enjolras sucks at giving hugs” stop saying that. Enjolras is the greatest at giving hugs. They’re rare. Sometimes he forgets people just need a good hug, he’s so wrapped up in his cause that he just forgets how nice hugs are. But then someone’s sad, like Feuilly, or Jehan, or Grantaire. Or maybe Gavroche did really well on a test and he’s so excited because he studied really hard with Courfeyrac! So they hug him, and he’s a little surprised like “Oh!” But then he wraps his arms around them nice and tight, bunching their shirt in his fist, pulling them closer and he nuzzles his face in their shoulder and he whispers about how much he cares. He tells them how much they mean to him and his cause (because really they’re one and the same, at least in his mind) and he kisses their cheek, and strokes the hairs at the nape of their neck so intimate and so very fond, to the point where they break apart and he goes on his merry way and there’s a longing in the other person’s chest for another hug from the chief.
Enjolras is a tactile person. This comes as a surprise to those who do not know him well, to those who see him only as a statuesque embodiment of the spirit of liberty, somehow removed from the plane of ordinary human experience. To those outside his circle, it seems almost sacrilegious to imagine touching Enjolras, as though the brush of flesh against flesh would cross some unspoken barrier or somehow infect him with something profane.
His friends, who as a rule view unspoken barriers as challenges rather than restrictions, quickly lost those impressions. Enjolras communicates as much through touch as through words, underscores his points with clasps of shoulders or grasping of hands, draws attention to himself through touches on the wrist or shoulder nudges, seeks to convince skeptics by drawing them close so that they can feel the vibrations in his body as he speaks of freedom and of tyranny and of hope. (Grantaire, after the first time Enjolras had interacted with him thus, had stumbled back and gone straight to his wine, looking as though he might shake apart from the sudden seismic activity in his soul. He had not touched Enjolras since.) To be touched by Enjolras feels, at times, like receiving a blessing, but it is more usually a simple invitation, an offer between equals to join him in his passion and his enthusiasm, to share in the love he feels so strongly that he can only barely stand it alone.
Despite this proclivity for physical contact, Enjolras rarely thinks to offer hugs. He expresses his concern through gentle hands on the nape of a friend’s neck or questioning touches on the shoulder, sits close to a friend in pain and holds their hand and allows them to rest their head on his shoulder, but without prompting he does not think to offer more. Only when another initiates does he seem to recall that it is customary to embrace a friend in times of joy or difficulty, and after a moment of surprise he turns the entirety of his attention to the task. Enjolras is a creature driven by his intensity of focus and of passion, and when the task before him is to embrace a friend he sets about it with as much dedication as he would any other task vital to his cause. He wraps his arms around their body and draws them close, one hand rising to cup the back of their head, his palm somehow fitting perfectly around the base of their skull no matter whether he is commiserating with Bahorel over the narrow-minded stupidity of theatre critics or celebrating a particularly exciting scientific discover with Joly. It is hard to feel anything but safe in Enjolras’ arms, difficult to feel unworthy or uncertain when faced with the tangible expression of his faith and his love. To be hugged by Enjolras is to receive a promise from a man who disdains insincerity that he loves and cherishes you, that you are an object of the divine, and, moreover, that you are his equal, his brother, his friend.
i need to write a motivation letter
i have no idea what to say apart from “this job sounds like exactly the kind of thing i’m looking for like it’s almost completely perfect and i need the money please hire me?”
i hate motivation letter so much, you’ve got to sell yourself and if there is one thing i really suck at it’s this
revolution got no time to remember bringing umbrellas.
The Struggle for Survival of the Roma People: Europe’s Most Hated
So, I’d really like as many of you as possible to watch this and to find out what life is really like for the Roma in Europe.
On a side note, one of the most infuriating things about living in the UK is the sheer fucking hypocrisy in the idea that for a country that colonised a HUGE percentage of the world, pillaging, stealing, and draining the resources of as many countries as possible “for the glory of the Empire”, we’re pretty fucking precious about who “steals” from us.
the part that makes me absolutely seethe with anger is when they’re talking about trying to pass a law against us referring to ourselves as roma, a word of OUR OWN LANGUAGE, because its ‘confusing to other europeans and it makes romanians look bad.’ guess what, it works both ways.
they took our language from us once, and now they want to do it again.^^^^^
"MAN THIS STORY I’M WRITING IS GONNA BE SO GOOD I’M SO PUMPED"
"I CAN’T WAIT TO DEVELOP THE SHIT OUT OF THESE CHARACTERS"
"HOT DAMN THAT ONE SCENE NEAR THE MIDDLE IS GONNA BE BITCHIN’"
"THIS PLOT TWIST IS THE SINGLE BEST IDEA I’VE EVER HAD IN MY LIFE"
~one hour later~
the story of my life in one post
these nerds feat. affectionate!jolras will be my downfall i just know it
friendly reminder that you are
allowedencouraged to spam me with headcanons at any time of the day or night.