Enjoltaire FallenAngelAU HC that Grantaire has this tattooed on his body somewhere (because he liked the idea of a useless-but-for-a-single-use letter) and when Enj sees it he is very uncomfortable because a) why does the mortal have that does he KNOW?! and b) it’s kind of…intimate? Like it kind of makes it look like r….belongs?? with enjolras??? somehow??? like getting his mortal name would have been less personal than this (submitted by @she-s-a-shy-one)
Enjolras is legit so stressed? Like?? Out of all the tattoo designs Grantaire could have picked, this is the one he chose? Why? Did he figure it out? Did he figure Enjolras out? He can’t even imagine what happens to humans who figure out angels are walking in their midst! What if Grantaire gets smitten, gotten rid of because he knows too much? What if angels erase his memory?
“Your tattoo,” Enjolras asks once, trying to keep his voice steady, “what does it mean, why did you get it?”
“It’s like the Cyrillic equivalent of the
👀 emoji I guess.”
Neil opened his eyes slowly to a sun-filled room. It was bright out, clearly past his usual rising hour, and for a moment it worried him. For that moment he didn’t recognize the room; couldn’t name the country he was waking up in, let alone the city. It was natural to force the panic to settle by looking around the room, picking up specific memories from objects placed strategically in view of the bed. As Neil scanned, forcing himself to breathe normally, the world pieced itself back together again in front of his tired eyes.
On the dresser at the far end of the room was a framed photo of the Foxes’ first championship win, Neil’s first year on a Class I team. From there his eyes drifted slowly to the the bedside table, where there was a familiar set of keys – the keys to the house in Columbia – placed close to him for this exact reason. Just above, hanging on the adjacent wall, was Neil’s jersey from his first professional Exy team, when he played for New York. At the end of the bed was a cat, Sir, and the memory of taking him home rose to the surface of Neil’s mind. The last movement was a natural progression. It was instinct that came from going over this same list every morning.
But when Neil rolled over to check the other side of the bed, it was missing. The last piece had been removed from the board before Neil could manage to finish the puzzle. He looked back at Sir, at the end of the bed, and it was almost ridiculous how long it took his mind to finally make the connection.
Andrew wasn’t beside him.
Instinct told him to panic. A feeling of dread washed over Neil’s body like a tsunami devastates a city.
When the war in Narnia ended, they honored the veterans. They honored those who fought for what they believed in. They were celebrated. They were war heroes. And for every single day, Lucy despised it. They honored those who had been better killers, or those who avoided the killing all together. People on the streets thanked them. Offered their gratitude. Said that without them no one would be alive. And Lucy met them. And she thanked them too. Because she knew they had fought for something she believed in. The fight wasn’t won by her brothers alone. Nor all the lieutenants. It was the citizens. The people of Narnia who had won. But in war no one wins. Everyone loses. The question is only about who lost more. Every day she met with widows. With kids that had lost both of their parents. With single fathers who had no idea how to raise their kids, and single mothers who knew as little as the single fathers. She met with grandmothers who were the sole survivors of their families. She felt the grief. and grieved with them. When the second Spring in Narnia rolled around she declared for anyone that would like to hear it.
“Today we honor those we have lost. Those who have family left that grieve every single day. We honor those who gave the highest price for all others freedom. We honor the fallen. We honor their family. For the memory of those lost will never be forgotten.”