Me: *settles in* *opens book* this will be amazing I’m so excited Me: oh look, a sarcastic little shit *falls in love* Me: my babies are having issues whyyyyyy Me: OTP FOREVER PROTECT THEM AT ALL COSTS Book: *throws drama, death and heartbreak* Me: *rocking back and forth in a corner* this isn’t happening this isn’t happening Me: *cries* Me: *cries some more* Me: I trusted you, book. Why you do dis Me: *cries again* Book: *throws plot twists in the last 30 pages* Me: HOLY SHIT WAIT HOW DID THAT DUDE WHAT EVEN WAS THAT WAIT Book: *ends in a cliffhanger* Me: noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo I neeed more Me: well. I’m fucked Me to a friend: you should really read this book it’s so good
We’re all crying about Enjolras and Grantaire dying together, but imagine if it had only been Enjolras.
Imagine if neither the “silence” nor the gunshots had been able to wake R up in the first place, and he had gone unnoticed by the guards from his spot behind a table. Imagine R waking up dazed and hungover only to find the love of his life crumpled against the window, terrifyingly still, his shirt and vest soaked through with red. R would stagger over to the window, kicking aside any table or chair that stood in his way, before frantically pulling Enjolras into his arms as he checked for a pulse, a heartbeat, breathing, anything. But Enjolras’s skin is already cold and there’s nothing R can do except sob into his bloodstained vest because it was his fault he couldn’t be there beside him, it was his fault that he was too useless and drunk to fight on the barricade, and it was his fault that the beautiful god in his arms was cold and silent and dead.