Apr 5, 2014
“ I am pretty sure that you have a tattoo.”
"I am pretty sure that you’ll have to find it first."
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“ I am pretty sure that you have a tattoo.”
"I am pretty sure that you’ll have to find it first."
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Hard in the middle, but soft around the edges.
"And you’re absolutely sure about this?"
"Absitively, posilutely." He brushes her hair from her eyes, a slow series of kisses pressing to her forehead. "You need to be with your family, darling. They’re important too; and your sister and brothers need you. I can hold down the fort here on my own."
eponinnys:
Éponine rushed over to catch him as he fell to the wall, taking his arm and guiding it around her shoulder. “Hey…” She cooed, “Just lean on me, let’s get you to a couch or something.” She didn’t push him towards answering the millions of questions that were running through her mind at the moment, but simply stayed quiet as she sensed his irritated state.
"Did they take your keys?" She asked briefly, wanting to know whether she could return him home for the night. "Actually, maybe you should stay with me tonight. I don’t want you to be home alone…"
Grantaire leaned against her gratefully, he was loath to admit it but he really did need the help. His head hurt too much and he was sure he was going to be sick at some point, or at the very least: feel like it for a while, and really, both of those options were terrible.
"I didn't have my keys on me," he replied quietly, "I didn't have anything on me actually, I think that's why they decided to hit me over the head instead of just try and scare me into handing things over..."
"Oh god, is that blood?" ((I s2g I'm going to reply this time))
Grantaire blinked at the question and then rolled his eyes even though his head screamed at him not to ever do something like that again, it was a pointless one in his mind, pointing out the obvious when it wan't needed -- though he couldn't really blame her. He'd most likely have done the same had their positions been swapped. Had it been Éponine standing in his doorway, hand pressing over her head as she tried so hard to stand upright and fight off the nausea that threatened to wash over her and rock her completely.
But it wasn't Éponine in that position, it was Grantaire, and God forgive him for feeling a little bit irritable in his constant state of distress."Yes," ground out the artist, the arm that had been bracing him against the door frame slipping so he fell against it instead, "it's blood. Some arsehole jumped me for money that, hah, I did not fucking have."
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Send me a ‡‡ if you like how I portray my muse.
---- [[ Oh, gosh. I dunno what to say except (thank you !!!) don't feel bad about that at all because you're wonderful, really <33 ]]
"I want the K"
15: Kiss in the Rain.
They didn’t say much to each other, and Grantaire couldn’t help but think back to all the times he’d picked Éponine up from her parents place — if you could even call it a place, a home. It looked like none of those things once inside, and felt the complete opposite, he really didn’t understand why she had kept going back. He’d wanted to ask her, of course, and if he did she would have most likely told him the answer. But oddly enough whenever he found just a little bit of courage to bubble to words up his throat finally, they’d find themselves simmering into the tip of his tongue. He was scared, he realised that time, of what, he wasn’t really sure (and by that, meant that he was not willing to admit). But he found he was completely sure that he would not like what the girl would come out with.
It was at these times that he realised how good, yet bad of a friend he could be. Not doubt, anyone else would have asked and sorted it out by now — but Grantaire kept quiet, brought her back to his, and repeated it again and again.
The weather fit the mood perfectly, as life was sometimes prone to do: it was raining. Not very hard, more of a drizzle that got them wet but not drenched, and oddly enough that seemed to fit it even more wonderfully. The sceptic had his arm around the little wolf’s shoulders, keeping her close to his side as they walked. As he knew, there were a million fitting things he could say to her, could ask her, or have her ask him, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to say any of them — Maybe later, he told himself, when we’re safe and dry. If I can find the courage to—
”Hey,” called Grantaire suddenly, though his voice was calm and quite enough for only her to hear. He had stopped walking, stopping her footsteps too as he did, and turned both their bodies to face one another. She looked sad. There was no better word to describe it. Unhappy — sorrowful — downcast — miserable. They were all too much or not enough. So sad was what he thought, and sad was what made him lean in a press a soft kiss to Éponine’s lips. And suddenly, when something clicked in his mind, it became that of a simple promise: “You’ll live with me.”
eponinnys replied to your photo:happy-by-will-pharrell.mp3 I’m in such a lovely...
EXCUSE ME WHAT IS THIS IM BLUSHING. YOU HAVE BO RIGHT TO MAKE ME BLUSH, YOU ANGEL.
i make everyone blush. shush.