Until the earth is free

Hello, I'm Enjolras, a student of Political Science and an advocate of the people. A society liberated is a society concord. [Hey, you've happened upon the blog of a modern AU Enjolras! For the time being, this is a semi-private blog, because I'm in my final year of university and free time is a rare commodity. That said, feel free to drop me a line if you'd like to start a thread and I'll let you know whether I can squeeze you in! I'm afraid I do not ship Enjonine, but don't be afraid to pal up with Enjolras as a platonic Eponine. All other ships are fair game, I guess. The ask box is always open for questions and general pesterings. Sidebar image courtesy of georgeknightley]

[grandarr]

Grantaire shrugged with one shoulder as he stepped through the door and squeezed past Enjolras with as much casual confidence as he could muster. ”It’s okay,” he said, smiling sheepishly, ”I left in a hurry.”

After peeling off his soaking jacket and hanging it on the coat peg, he found himself standing awkwardly in the middle of Enjolras’ hallway; droplets of water were already dripping from his wild, wind-blown curls and pooling in puddles on the floor. Even under his jacket, his t-shirt had soaked through. Self concious, he shifted from one foot to the other, and winced when his shoes squelched. 

"I, er, don’t suppose you have a towel I can borrow? It’s just — I’m kind of dripping on your stuff."

[enjolweiss]

Enjolras knew, somewhere in the recesses of his addled brain, that he ought to be doing something other than gaping at the poor man causing a small flood in the hallway, but his limbs didn't feel like they belonged to him anymore because Grantaire was there, in his house, and there was no protocol for that.

Some molecule of useful thought inched through after a moment and Enjolras nodded as if someone else was moving his head. 

"Yeah-- yeah, god, you're soaked. Okay, towels, uh. Through here." 

Mercifully, the message had reached his legs soon enough for them to move properly, heading into the kitchen to the basket for clean washing that he had dumped next to the dryer in lieu of any actual motivation to put things away. He began to rummage through it, various articles of clothing tumbling out as he pushed them aside; t-shirts and socks and - oh god, underwear.

He grabbed the boxers, before they could make a bid for freedom and display themselves like a bright red beacon of mortification, and stuffed them under a bedsheet, revealing the towel he'd thrown in there several days previous.

He pulled it out, handing it to Grantaire with half an apologetic smile.

"Towel," he said, as if it might not be an irrefutable fact. He cleared his throat in an attempt to dislodge the notion that he was rapidly turning into a senseless moron, "Do you want a coffee or anything? Might warm you up a bit."

[grandarr]

After spending almost a full minute frowning at his laptop screen and processing Enjolras’ invitation, Grantaire finally exhaled, hastily logging out and exiting his browser. Well, fuck.

He stood, grabbing his jacket and keys, and darted out of his room and into the hallway. He paused in front of the mirror there to run a shaky hand through his hair and stare at his own bewildered expression.

"This is fine," he told himself. "We’re fine."

We’re really not.

Groaning, he stepped out the door, anxiously peering into grey, heavy skies that promised rain. He briefly considered taking the bus, but decided that maybe, just fucking maybe, if he walked to Enjolras’ place he could work off his ridiculous nervous energy, and if he was quick, he could miss the rain.

When he finally found himself outside Enjolras’ front door, knocking softly with white, stiff knuckles, he was soaked to the bone.

[enjolweiss]

The sound of knocking should not really have sent Enjolras into orbit, considering he had watched the familiar shape of Grantaire appear behind the crystal glass, his blurred figure taking more human form as he stepped closer to the door.

By that point Enjolras had almost convinced himself that it wasn't creepy that he had been perching on the bottom stair, heels tapping a frenetic rhythm, and staring a hole into the front door since Grantaire had accepted his invitation to come round.

And so he shot to his feet - and promptly plopped back down again because it was creepy to be waiting by the door like an impatient puppy and he really ought not to fling it open before the poor guy has even finished knocking.

He congratulated himself on the three seconds he managed to pause before rising to his feet again and stumbling a half-attempt at a casual gait towards the door. All trace of his pride evaporated, however, when opening the door revealed Grantaire looking less human and more drowned rat.

"Jesus, Grantaire, don't you own an umbrella?" He shook his head suddenly, stepping aside, "Sorry, I didn't mean to be brusque, come in." 

[vr55555555-deactivated20250319]

[Robespierre’s] so-called dictatorship, it was argued, was not so much a reality as a political insult, and became a retrospective justification propagated by those who destroyed him.

William Doyle and Colin Haydon, “Robespierre: After 200 Years” (via crookedsin)

[desotapop-deactivated20131127]

[deerinspotlight]

Because a lot of guys seem to get this wrong, so I made it a bit more simple for you. 

[sprouting-colours-deactivated20]

THIS

[fuckyeahmercury]

Happy 67th Birthday Freddie! We love you!

[combeferrifying]

Echo || @enjolweiss

[combeferrifying]

Tension jolted through Combeferre’s muscles at the unexpected touch, but less than a second later he recognized Enjolras’s warmth and leaned into it, expelling the breath he’d just yanked in.

"I, um."  He stopped when his voice rippled like touched water.  [Sweat.  Gunpowder.  Red, deep red.]  He rubbed his damp eyes across his sweater sleeves.

“Nothing, I just had a nightmare.”  He managed to keep his voice level this time, but it was thin.  [What others?]  “I’ll be fine.”  [Bullets.]  He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, he pulled his knees closer to his chest.

[enjolweiss]

"A nightmare?"

Enjolras tightened the arm around his friend's shoulders in an attempt to quell the shaking. He pressed a hand to Combeferre's forehead; something he had seen Joly do once when Grantaire had woken suddenly, flushed and sucking in wheezing breaths.

He reached the same verdict as Joly had that day - Combeferre was warm, but certainly not feverish. He was in no state of delirium. Still, having nightmares was uncharacteristic.

(Past experience, too, had taught him to be highly suspicious of Combeferre's own diagnosis of being fine')

"Would it help to talk about it? Tell you what, let's get some coffee down you first, that always makes you feel better."

[fuckcolonialism]

First indigenous Australian to graduate from Cambridge looks to rewrite history

Lilly Brown was in Year 12 studying Australian history when she got angry.

As an indigenous Australian, there was a lot that bothered her growing up in the Eastern Hills of Western Australia, notably what she described as “mind blowing” racism.

But it was her high school history text book and seeing that the total history of her race and culture had been relegated to effectively a single page at the back of the book that fired her up.

She decided that rather than express outrage, she would do something about it.

Today, the 27-year-old leaves the UK having completed a Masters of Philosophy in Politics at the prestigious Trinity College of Cambridge University in England, the first indigenous Australian to complete a degree at Cambridge.

And now she will return to Australia to help others not only follow in her footsteps into tertiary education, but also look to take a greater leadership role in national indigenous affairs.

[enjolweiss]

Found this little fellow sitting on the kitchen window, so I thought I'd snap a picture for you, Combeferre.

[awesomepeoplereading]

The Southern Humanist reminded me of this picture, that APR posted some time ago. But it is time to visit it again, I think.

King reads.

[enjolweiss]

grandarr replied to your post: grandarr replied to your …

oh. an apology? that’s new. hold on, let me savour this moment. no, i’m not busy. why? do you need my shitty art for your leaflets again?

Yes, it is, isn’t it? So, here, have another one for the fact that I’ve neglected to apologise so often in the past.

Grantaire, your art is brilliant. And you have such fantastic ideas. I appreciate everything you do for us - and I haven't told you that nearly enough, either.

But no, it’s not that. It’s— It’s a very serious matter.

[enjolweiss]

grandarr replied to your post: so i think i've figured out who this guy you have such a boner for is!!!! it's totally saint-just, right? i can't imagine you mooning over anybody else. i bet you print out those little portraits and kiss them goodnight, don't you?

whatever you say. sheesh, goldilocks, remind me not to make jokes near you before you’ve had coffee. the weight of your inevitable scowl is almost physically painful. i bruise easily, y’know.

No, you're right, that was unnecessary. I'm sorry.

Are you.. busy at the moment? There's something I ought to discuss with you.

[wasdwasdd-deactivated20241203]

Les (a)Mis - Combeferre

I STLL DON’T KNOW.

[pilferingapples]

OH GOSH that’s totally the  right colors for moth-watching! And the teeny glasses, so cute, awww.XD

[enjolweiss]

so i think i've figured out who this guy you have such a boner for is!!!! it's totally saint-just, right? i can't imagine you mooning over anybody else. i bet you print out those little portraits and kiss them goodnight, don't you?

I do not have a—

I do not feel that way about him. Or anyone, for that matter, I don’t know where you got that idea from it’s absurd and I’d thank you not to make such inferences there are much more important things to focus my time on

Now, if you don’t mind, I’m really very busy.

[bunniesandbeheadings]

Yes, I was the friend of Saint-Just! But Saint-Just was not a conspirator; if he had been, he would still be in power and you would exist no more. Ah! His crime, if he committed one, was his failure to form a sacred conspiracy against those who plotted liberty’s ruin! 

…O day of Fleurus! You must blend your laurels, which nothing can wither, with the funeral cypress that shades my friend’s tomb. And you, Pichegru, Jourdan, companions of his exploits and glory, you will do him justice. You are warriors, you should be frank. Good faith has always been the virtue of heroes. You will tell what the fatherland owes his virtues and his courage. You will not betray the truth, you will not serve envy, for one day you would be victims of the crime whose accomplices you had become. You will tell what he did against traitors and how he exercised the national authority with needful severity; how he gave an example of frugality and courage to the troops, of activity and prudence to the generals  of humanity and equality to all those who approached him…Pliant and sociable in private matters, he was sometimes irascible, severe, and inexorable when the country was involved. Then he became a lion, listening no longer, breaking down all barriers, trampling all considerations under foot, and his austerity imparted fear to his friends and gave him a somber, ferocious air with manners despotic and terrible, forcing him afterward to reflect on the immense dangers involved in the exercise of absolute power, when it is entrusted to men whose heads are not as well organized as their hearts as pure.

Such was the man who, hardly twenty-seven, was cut down by a Revolution to which he has consecrated his existence and who has left long regrets to his country and to friendship.

 When Gateau wrote to the authorities asking why he had been arrested, he received a single sentence as reply: ‘Friend of the Conspirator Saint Just.’ Gateu responded with the above eulogy. 

[vr55555555-deactivated20250319]

A man before his time - Quinet said of [Saint-Just] that he sprang, like a Pallas of bronze, full-armed from the head of the revolution - his passion for equality was supplemented by a genuine love of the poor. Gateau speaks of him walking in the roads in all weathers to bring help or consolation to needy families.

JB Morton, Saint-Just (via crookedsin)

[stackedbooks]