more of a lark than a dove.

cosette fauchelevent by anya.

[lahnoire]

this blog is officially an archive.

[lahnoire]

we’re moving :)

[killjoystuff]

BoJack Horseman Prompts ;

TW for existentialism, depression, drugs and sex references.

❝ We’re just tiny specks that will one day be forgotten. ❞

❝ I’m responsible for my own happiness?  I can’t even be responsible for my own breakfast. ❞

❝ I know I’m a piece of shit.  That at least makes me better than all the other pieces of shit that don’t know they’re pieces of shit, doesn’t it?  Or does it make it worse? ❞

❝ You’re a real stupid piece of shit, and everywhere you go you destroy people. ❞

❝ Of course your mother never loved you.  What do you expect? ❞

❝ Sometimes I have this tiny voice in the back of my head that goes like, ‘Hey, everyone hates you!  And they’re not wrong to feel that way.’❞

❝ That voice…  the one that tells you that you’re worthless and stupid and ugly…  it goes away, right? ❞

❝ Now I spend a lot of time with the real me and believe me, nobody is gonna love that guy. ❞

❝ Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a shower so I can’t tell if I’m crying or not. ❞

❝ It’s amazing to me that people wake up every morning and say, ‘Yeah!  Another day, let’s do it!’–  how do people do it? ❞

❝ Usually when people ask me how I’m doing, the real answer is that I’m doing shitty.  But I can’t say I’m doing shitty because I don’t even have a good reason to be doing shitty. ❞

❝ It’s fine!  I mean, it’s not–  fine, but…  it’s fine. ❞

❝ I want you to know that your actions have an effect on others, and I HATE YOU. ❞

❝ You not understanding that you’re a horrible person doesn’t make you less of a horrible person. ❞

❝ He’s so stupid he doesn’t realise how miserable he should be.  I envy that. ❞

❝ Do you think it’s too late for me? ❞

❝ I need you to tell me that I’m good. ❞

❝ I’m so tired of squinting. ❞

❝ I feel like I was born with a leak, and any goodness I had just slowly spilled out of me, and now it’s all gone, and I’ll never get it back in me.  It’s too late. ❞

❝ Life is a series of closing doors, isn’t it? ❞

❝ Nobody completes anybody.  That’s not a thing. ❞

❝ If you’re lucky enough to find someone you can half-way tolerate, you sink your nails in and you don’t let go. ❞

❝ One day, you’re going to look around and realise that everybody loves you, but nobody likes you.  And that is the loneliest feeling in the world. ❞

❝ Nothing on the outside, nothing on the inside. ❞

❝ That small act of kindness showed me more compassion than my mother gave me her entire goddamn life. ❞

❝ How hard is it to do something nice for a person? ❞

❝ I’m your son!  All I HAD was you! ❞

❝ My mother is dead, and everything is worse now. ❞

❝ Everything is worse now. ❞

❝ I never hated you, did you hate me?! ❞

❝ There is no other side.  This is it. ❞

❝ I wish I could’ve known about the view from halfway down. ❞

❝ If it doesn’t matter, can I stay on the phone with you at least? ❞

[ueinra]

The man, on perceiving all the open-air booths, asked Cosette:—

‘So there is a fair going on here?’

‘No, sir; it is Christmas.’

As they approached the tavern, Cosette timidly touched his arm:—

‘Monsieur?’

‘What, my child?’

‘We are quite near the house.’

‘Well?’

‘Will you let me take my bucket now?’

‘Why?’

‘If Madame sees that some one has carried it for me, she will beat me.’

The man handed her the bucket. An instant later they were at the tavern door.

Vol.II - Book.III - Ch.VII

[lahnoire]

also just in case i end up forgetting to do this tomorrow... happy (early) birthday cosette

[lahnoire]

if you think cosette is dull, a boring character, or as just marius' love interest then you missed the entire point of les mis lmfao.

[lahnoire]

why is cosette literally the ugly duckling.

[lahnoire]

“Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wing; for he did not know what to do, he was so happy, and yet not at all proud. He had been persecuted and despised for his ugliness, and now he heard them say he was the most beautiful of all the birds. Even the elder-tree bent down its bows into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and bright. Then he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, ‘I never dreamed of such happiness as this, while I was an ugly duckling.’”

“At last, one day when she was in the garden, she heard poor old Toussaint saying: “Do you notice how pretty Cosette is growing, sir?” Cosette did not hear her father’s reply, but Toussaint’s words caused a sort of commotion within her. (...) The consciousness of her beauty burst upon her in an instant, like the sudden advent of daylight; other people noticed it also, Toussaint had said so, it was evidently she of whom the passer-by had spoken, there could no longer be any doubt of that; she descended to the garden again, thinking herself a queen, imagining that she heard the birds singing, though it was winter, seeing the sky gilded, the sun among the trees, flowers in the thickets, distracted, wild, in inexpressible delight.”

[lahnoire]

𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 ,      cosette  was  not  very  timid  by  nature.      there  flowed  in  her  veins  some  of  the  blood  of  the  bohemian  and  the  adventuress  who  runs  barefoot.

[lahnoire]

cosette bday bash on thursday

[lahnoire]

the  heart  of  paris  was  a  never - ending   labyrinth ,         with  its  winding  roads  and  hidden  crannies ,      tucked  away  in  the  shadows  of  the  city’s  slums.         it   was  here  that  two  figures  walked  side  by  side ,         illuminated  only  by  the  moon  that  shone  above  them         ——         though  her  face  remained  shadowed  beneath  the  hood  of  her  bonnet        ——         making  way  for  the  stars  close  enough  to  see ,      𝑦𝑒𝑡  𝑡𝑜𝑜  𝑓𝑎𝑟  𝑡𝑜  𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐𝘩.      cosette  didn’t  dwell  on  it  much ,      however ,      being  quickly  tugged  along  by  éponine’s  gangly  figure  as  they  dawdled  deeper  into  the  parisian  slums.         they  walk  in  silence ,      despite  night’s  eerie  quietude  that  made  her  skin  crawl.         here ,      on  a  lonely  road ,      tucked  away  where  not  even  the  most  valiant  of  heroes  would  venture ,      was  where  doubt  was  born ,      manifesting  in  the  dreams  of  the  innocent  and  the  dwindling  hopes  of  the  cynic.

❛❛          are  you  sure  you  know  where  we’re  going ?          ❜❜            she's  quick  to  ask ,      albeit  hesitantly ,      as  the  once  bustling  streets  grew  further  and  further  from  view.      her  mouth  hung  agape ,      as  though  she  were  to  ask  again ,      though  the  continuous ,      agonizing  silence  between  them  had  been  all  the  confirmation  she  needed.          𝚘𝚏  𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 ,      she  thought ,      and  left  it  at  that.

it  would  take  years  for  a  person  to  know  each  one  by  heart  and  perhaps ,      even  then ,      with  the  city  at  the  back  of  their  hand ,      they  would  not  uncover  its  deepest  secrets  in  their  lifetime.         still ,      even  in  the  darkest  of  nights ,      someone  would  manage  to  find  their  way  through  the  city’s  streets         ——         perhaps  then ,      it  was  no  coincidence ,      𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡  𝑖𝑡  𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑑  𝑡𝑜  𝑏𝑒  𝑒́𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑒.

the  stone  wall  towering  over  them  had  stopped  them  in  their  tracks ,      her  heels  leaving  small  tracks  of  dirt  as  she  skidded  to  a  halt.         she  stared  up  at  it ,      her  heart  in  her  throat ,      squeezing  her  companion’s  hand  to  ease  her  newfound  disquiet.          ❛❛          do  you  think  we’ll  be  able  to  climb  over  ?          ❜❜            she  says ,      rather  awkwardly ,      whatever  fear         ——         𝒅𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒕        ——         she  once  bore  having  dissipated.         in  its  place  sprouted  certainity ;          𝚜𝚑𝚎 ,      unlike  𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘯 ,      would  not  lose  her  glass  slipper.          ❛❛          i  mean ,      the  gaps  between  the  stones  could  support  our  feet  well  as  we  climb.         perhaps  it  just  looks  harder  than  it  is ,          ❜❜            then  again ,      𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔   would  be  easier  than  climbing  the  walls  surrounding  the  rue  plumet.

 ﹠          @lespersonnes​      ( 𝑒́𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒́𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑟 )

[lahnoire]

2.

2. What was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

to begin, cosette has a very vague understanding of fantine, with her entire childhood practically being wiped from her memory; all she knows is that her mother left her in montfermeil, promised to come back, and then died. it’s very ‘there was and then there wasn’t,’ but added onto the fact that valjean tells her nothing of fantine except for very vague, abstract anecdotes from time to time, fantine’s presence lingers despite her being dead. i think i describe this best in my “change of gate” drabble.

“Her mother had become a confused recollection of scattered memories clouded by time, an apparition she had seen once and never again, though its first and only appearance had been enough to sear herself onto her heart.” ¹

with that being said, cosette loves fantine, despite not remembering her. there’s always a part of her lingering in cosette, even before valjean revealed the details of her mother’s life to her. in a way, i think cosette also holds the responsibility of keeping fantine’s memory alive; the only piece of her left, the child she loved so deeply, who she fought to keep alive despite it ultimately being at the price of her own life. of course, this also leads to a lot of guilt on cosette’s end, mainly questioning her own survival at the price of her mother’s, although, in the end, she ends up being more curious about her in the long run, even though her questions would always remain unanswered, especially following valjean’s death.

[lahnoire]

@lespersonnes​​   ( éponine   thénardier ) :      it   is   unkind   of   me   to   try   and   play   a   trick   on   you.

❛❛             𝑜ℎ           ——               ❜❜            she  huffs ,      a  rather  anticlimactic  response  to  the  preceding  events.         she  stands ,      wide - eyed ,      petrified  by  the  shock  that  had  yet  to  dissipate.          ❛❛             of  course ,      𝘪’𝘮  𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 ,      it’s  just  that  you  startled  me ,               ❜❜             she  says ,      rather  matter - of - factly           ——               subtlety  was  never  her  strong  suit ,      anyway.          ❛❛             besides ,      we’re  not         . . .               ❜❜            kids  anymore.

montfermeil  had  been  a  dream           ——              𝑎  𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡  𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑦   soon  forgotten  once  she  reached  the  cusp  of  juvenescence.         even  the  smallest  of  details  had  been  fogged  by  time ;        though ,      she  had  little  desire  to  recall  them  in  the  first  place.            she  sighs ,      as  though  she  were  contemplating  her  next  course  of  action.          ❛❛             it’s  just         . . .            ❜❜             mind  what  you  say ,      toussaint  barked  whilst  chiding  her  months  prior ,      and  still  she’s  not  quite  sure ,      in  retrospect ,      whether  it  came  off  as  an   𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯    rather  than  an  inquiry.         ❛❛             ——               what  are  you  doing  here  ?            ❜❜

[socalcostumes]

Lilian Matri as Cosette in the German Concert of Les Miserables.

[lahnoire]

why is cosette literally the ugly duckling.

[lahnoire]

“Forgive you… After all you have done for me, monsieur?” he began. “Cosette, do you hear this? It was just as I said, your father is a saint. He saved my life and he brought me home to you. What has he done now? He has come here… for what reason? I’m not quite sure. He carried me away from the barricades, into the sewers, the cesspool— all for me. No, for you, Cosette.”

“Silence, my boy,” her father croaked. “Why would you tell all that?”

Marius frowned. “Why did you not tell me? You saved my life, monsieur, why keep it from me?”

“I told you the truth,” he replied.

“No, you didn’t,” Cosette retorted. “We learned the truth — the whole truth — from the wicked man, Thénardier. He told us everything you did not, albeit, in a twisted way. So, why? Why could you not tell us before, papa?”

A beat passed before he spoke again. “Because if I had, it would have ruined you. I had to go away.”

Of course you did, she thought, her lips curving into a sad smile.

He ran away again, just as he always did. From what? She didn’t know, and for a time, she was fine with never knowing. She had run with him too, of course; it was as if she had been running away for her entire childhood. First, from Montfermeil, from the wicked shadows in her dreams and the well in the woods. Then, it was from the Gorbeau House, into Paris and the city’s slums — into the night. For a while, there was peace, and Cosette had been certain that she would never run away again. The Rue Plumet had been their home, after all, built from the ground up by their own hands. Sure, the house had stood there for centuries prior, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t theirs nonetheless.

It was only a matter of time before they ran away again — she was foolish to believe their tranquility would last forever. So, they fled to the very house that they stood in now, with hopes to make it to England in the forthcoming days. It was those days where anxiety threatened to consume her completely, as did the loneliness. Marius was gone, and soon, her father was too, and for the first time in years, Cosette was alone. Truly, utterly alone. Within that empty, silent house, all she could do was hope.

Perhaps, in some way, it was her hope that brought them back.

But her father — her papa — had fled once more, away from the root that, only now, did Cosette figure out; the truth. She ran after him, of course, how could she not? He knew how to hide from the world, seal himself away so that no one would find him, but they weren’t watertight enough; she knew his hiding places far too well. She always seemed to have a knack for finding lost things.

[lahnoire]

headcanon   based    𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒   𝑓𝑎𝑢𝑐𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡    of   victor   hugo’s    les   misérables.        heavily   selective      ⅋      private ;         unless   i   know  you   or   we   are   mutuals   on   another   blog ,      do   not   follow   first.         entirely   novel   compliant   with   no   musical   influence.      est.   2O19.         re.   2O22.         written   by   anya      (  she / her  )         primarily   on   @faentine.

   pinterest.           sideblog.          wikipedia   page.      ( in  lieu  of  a  carrd. )

[lahnoire]

i want to hold her face