amy's story

I feel like indulging myself ;

Enjolras woke up earlier than Grantaire, by necessity if not by personal choice. Grantaire made a sleepy sound when she got up, her hand reaching out for her still-warm pillow, but her eyes stayed close and when she found nothing but air where Enjolras had been a moment before, she only curled up on her side and squeezed the blankets around her. Enjolras, who had thought herself above such sentimentalities, lingered near the bed, just a few more moments, observing Grantaire as if she’d been transformed in a whole new person suddenly.

She hadn’t, of course; it was absurd to think that because Enjolras had heard her moan and plead the night before, flushing profusedly when Enjolras found the right places to kiss, that there would be anything different between the Grantaire from today and the one who had followed her home the night before. Still - Enjolras thought, and then stopped, almost uncertain. The unknown had never scared her, but this was so far from all she had imagined herself doing of her life, that agitation seized her.

Had she truly a lover, now? A mistress? Was that what Grantaire was going to be to her? And, if so, what did it mean about Enjolras? Was she a mistress too? Or was she to consider herself fully a man, now that she’d crossed the last barriere, taking a woman to bed with her?

“Enjolras,” muttered Grantaire, her voice muffled by the blankets. “You are tempting me, and that is unfair of you; must I keep sleeping or come to you? Must I beg again, seeing you like that, hovering over me as gracious and fierce as Artemis, to convince you to come back besides me? You must tell me here what there is to say; i have a billions words for you, they’re all from Lesbos, stolen from the lips of a great poet who knew how to love better than most, but you know worshippers don’t choose, they mereley follow and -”

Enjolras, hesitating between fondness and amusement, decided not to choose; she decided not to think too much either. She sat back on the bed, let Grantaire blindly grab her fingers, and with a heart beating perhaps just a tad too much, she bent over and pressed her lips against Grantaire’s forehead, smiling against her skin as Grantaire hummed silently.

“I cannot stay,” she murmured. “But i have no doubt you’ll make do with this place while I’m gone.” She took a short breath, wondered if she was making the right decision and then, she brushed her Grantaire’s hair out of her face and she added: “feel free to come tonight. I know Joly and Bossuet, at the very least, will only be happier to have you by their side.”

A couple thoughts about Ghost...

1. I think Ty being stuck in the hospital was supposed to go with Ghost’s story. Amy said Ty was going stir-crazy. Then, she told Georgie that Ghost hated being cooped up. So Georgie holding Ghost against his will, was like the hospital holding Ty against his will.

2. Georgie was concerned that Ghost was lonely. Amy should have told her- he’s not alone, he has a family. I doubt Georgie would have tried taming him if she knew she was taking him away from his own little horse family (who I believe are still around, but just weren’t coming too close Heartland).

Enjolras moved first, until his arm was brushing against Grantaire’s shoulder. When he turned his head, his eyes were pensive, and warm, and Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat. He stood still when Enjolras’s lips pressed down against his forehead, but his hands were shaking.

“What’s that for?” He managed to ask.

“I don’t know,” said Enjolras, kissing his brow. “I think I just appreciate finally seeing you.”

I’ve been here for years, Grantaire didn’t say, because deep down he understood what Enjolras meant. In a way, he felt the same, rediscovering all over again everything he’d thought he knew by heart about Enjolras all this time. His belief for the world; his fight for his country; his love for his friends; his quiet moments, and his brightest; his laughs; his speeches; his touches.

The kisses, however, were brand new. Enjolras’s lips were on his cheekbone, now, and their noses bumped gently against each other. Grantaire let out a shaky breath. His fingers went to rest upon Enjolras’s chest.

“Enjolras -” he whispered, overwhelmed.

Enjolras froze, but didn’t move away. He raised a hand, slowly, until it was resting upon Grantaire’s neck, his thumb caressing Grantaire’s jaw ever so slightly. Grantaire’s eyes fluttered.

“Yes?” Enjolras asked.

“Yes.” Said Grantaire. “Yes, yes, yes -”

Enjolras’s mouth was on his in a moment, stopping him from making a fool of himself. His lips were soft, but the kiss held no hesitation at all, and Grantaire, as always, felt his whole being swallowed by the firmness of Eniolras’s decision, his skin burning, his mind illuminated, his chest expanding, more and more and more -

“Enjolras,” he said again, but this time there was nothing but naked love in his voice, and Enjolras’s answering smile before he moved to kiss him again was the best answer he could have hoped for.

Oggi non so più bene cosa provo. Però una cosa, comunque vada, non la scorderò più e non importa chiamarlo o non chiamarlo amore. Tu eri dappertutto, dentro e fuori di me. Tu eri in ogni mia intenzione, pulsazione, direzione. Tu fabbricavi gioia pura in uno sguardo e io dimenticavo tutto quando ti ero accanto. Tu eri il mio sorriso d'improvviso passeggiando per la strada, quando nei momenti più impensati mi venivi in mente. Tu così vera da non sembrare vera eri la mia follia e la cura alla follia. Questo rimarrà, le emozioni non hanno date di scadenza sul retro. Tu sei stata, sei e sarai. Resterai sempre il mio segreto più bello. Riguardo al futuro oggi rispondo così a chi ha paura e sente cuore congelato. Fa’ che la tua voglia di amare sia sempre più forte della paura di soffrire ancora. Trova un sentimento per cui “valga l'allegria e non la pena”. E a chi ti dice che tutto ha una fine rispondi ridendo: “Andrà tutto bene. Le cose belle finiscono? Quelle brutte non iniziano neppure
—  Massimo Bisotti (via deadinside3695)

Combeferre probably let Feuilly come in without much fight because he was surprised; he had expected, of course, to see one of his friends before the day was over- he’d been too sharp earlier, and too fast to leave, for them not to have understood he was genuinely upset over their behaviours, but he’d thought Enjolras or Courfeyrac would come, or perhaps Prouvaire. Not Feuilly.

Now they stood awkwardly in the middle of Combeferre’s kitchen, as Combeferre tried to remember when he had last used his tea cups, and where they might be hiding now. Feuilly looked pensive, his head bent down, his hands pressing his hat, almost nervously. Combeferre kept waiting for his annoyance to come back - but Feuilly had been the only one not to speak against that women’s group, earlier - though, Combeferre tried to remember, he hadn’t spoken in its favour either.

“You said good things,” said Feuilly at last. “About those women, and their obvious interest in our cause.”

“I said the truth, no more,” corrected Combeferre. “It pains me to think that my dearest of friends, who are so far ahead in so many things, cannot seem to understand this.”

“They might learn, with you as a teacher,” said Feuilly. He looked preoccupied and hopeful all at once. Combeferre stared a moment.

“Do you… Agree with me, Feuilly? About women being able to join our group, or at the very least work with us?”

There was a pause, and then Feuilly looked right back at him, and offered him a guarded smile.

“Do you, Combeferre?” He asked instead. “Do you truly? I have known men before who defended women’s rights as you do, but felt immediately uncomfortable when those same women tried to speak for themselves and took actions on their own.”

“I dare hope,” said Combeferre, “that I am better than those men. And if I happen not to be, I want to think that the women i know will be able to tell me.”

Feuilly’s smile grew bigger, and gentler. He took a step forwards, then stopped, breathed out slowly, and put his hat on the table, reaching for his waistcoat with trembling fingers.

“I trust you,” he said, slowly. “And If you must know, I agree with you more than most, about women joining the cause.”

Combefeferre froze, opened his mouth, and then closed it again when Feuilly added, quietly, as he took off his waistcoat, revealing for the first time underneath a white shirt, and the hint of curves that shouldn’t have been there-

“My friend, I must tell you a secret I’ve been keeping for a very, very long time now…”

We talk for a while

trying something new here. this is my first ever original story i’ve written and i really love it and want to share it! (tagging @clearascountryair @marvelthismarvelthat @buckysbears @bioforensics AND @inevitablyfitzsimmons for reading this and betaing and @superirishbreakfasttea, @lapiccolina @bookedbyfandoms because you guys said you would read it if i posted and I LIKE VALIDATION )

We talk for a while

I have just pulled out yesterday’s leftovers from the refrigerator when someone knocks at the door.

‘Knocks’ probably isn’t the right word. ‘Knocks’ suggests that I was expecting someone, maybe my parents arriving—cooing and boisterous—excited to see how their daughter’s changed her childhood home. Or maybe a boyfriend, bringing homemade apple pie for dessert and cuddling and maybe something more.

But my parents are gone, I don’t have a boyfriend, and I hate apple pie.

And whoever was at my door was banging on it so hard and so urgently that for a moment I feared it was the police, even though the police probably wouldn’t knock at all.

“Coming!” I call over the noise as I make my way to the front, clicking my tongue when instead of stopping the pounding just seems to grow faster and harder.

I crack open the door and peer outside even though it’s almost too dark to see anything anyway. “Hello?”

The overhead light automatically clicks on and everything is illuminated.

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