She Simply Loved

She realizes as soon as he offers that she can’t tell him where she lives. Her father would be cross with her for days, she felt sure. She takes a moment, trying to think of a way to get home without telling him exactly where home is.

"The-the little shop! It’s a shop, it’s on… I haven’t any idea, but a very small old gentleman owns it and he keeps sweets for his customers. He always sneaks me an extra. He sells bread, mostly.”

She could only hope this was a good enough description.

#agreatidleforce

She won't let you see her, but she will speak with you through the door. She presses her eye very close to the little peephole to peer out at Grantaire. "You've come to visit again..." - wildbutcourageous (( You absolutely know what AU this is, I bet. ))

((fkjdsnfansfks!!))

Grantaire glances up, smiling slowly at the sound of the other’s voice as he turns in a small circle in the middle of the room. "Well, of course I did— you told me to, didn’t you?” he replies, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. He wonders where she could be hiding… He places himself on the couch and then takes to glancing at the ceiling, looking thoughtful.

”Would you mind telling me a little about yourself this time?” he asks, fingers picking at the nice pair of pants he was wearing. He hopes this is worth the money he’s been paid.

Grantaire looks up quickly when he feels her push past him, and he spins quickly to face her, calling after her. "Cosette—! Cosette, please, no, I didn’t—”

Of course she wasn’t going to stop. Why would she? After what it must have seemed like…

He bolted after her, stumbling a bit thanks to the alcohol in his system. He had to talk to her— he had to say something to let her know that he didn’t think she was hideous. Not at all. She was… beautiful. Inside and out. "Cosette, please—”

He stopped and pushed his fingers through his hair, breath rough. He hoped she would listen to him… She had to know. He couldn’t let her think that he’d seen her as ugly— who was he to talk?

Cosette spins to face him, although she is reluctant and afraid to look at him again. But he is chasing her, isn't he? Calling for her.

She stands very still and slowly, quite slowly, she lowers her hand from her face. Her gaze lowers with it. She is unable to meet his eyes, not wanting to know what she'll find there. Any trace of disgust might just kill her, and any kindness would make her worry that he was faking.

"A question then--"

"I want no explanations or apologies. Only a yes--" She pauses, taking a breath and trying to stand tall, "--or a no."

"Are you going to marry me?"

#capitalr #penelope au

Montparnasse glanced at her, smiling widely at her excitement over traveling. He’d traveled some— not too far out of France, really, but he’d crossed the border a couple of times for business. Nothing exciting— nothing relaxing. One day he was going to take a vacation, however, and he was going to go wherever the hell he wanted…

He did not care to look as studious as she did. In fact, he let a little pout settle onto his lips as a form of looking thoughtful, and he tightened his hold on her arm.

“I suppose I’m not sure. Something will hit me one day,” he decided, nudging her playfully with his elbow. He already ran a business, of course, and it was one he was content enough with. It got him the things he wanted, and so it was good enough.

This pleased her just fine, and his pout earned a quiet laugh from her, although she tried to hide it by pulling her scarf up over her face. She thought for a minute, surprised that he was in school without being sure what he wanted from his life.

"--Maybe something will hit me too," she said thoughtfully.

It had never seemed very important before, not knowing what she wanted to do, but now she thought it was perhaps a little strange that she'd never thought beyond her time with her father. She wanted to do something, but that hardly seemed to be a concrete plan of action.

asinnersdereism

"Help! Someone help me!" - wildbutcourageous

"Nobody’s coming, love" Montparnasse whispered, a breath away form her ear, as he ran his fingers through her long, dark hair. She was such a pretty little thing - all pale, slender limbs and deep, kind eyes. It was all very hard to resist. "You’re so beautiful," he murmured, holding her close to his chest, his other hand roaming freely over her tiny body, exploring every curve with an eerily soft touch. Her clothes lay discarded in a corner, torn to shreds. Such simple clothes did not belong on such an exquisite creature, he’d told her. "Isn’t she beautiful, Joly?" he asked, playing with the ropes around her wrists, holding her in front of him so his other pet could see.

Joly was looking anywhere but at the girl. He had fallen silent, remaining completely still in the small corner of the room. His cheeks were sore and red, and his lip split but no longer bleeding. There was something wrong with his eyes; something hollow and dull and lifeless. It had been eight days since he was brought here. And he had long since stopped trying. Trying to escape, to get out, to live. His ankles were bleeding from the initial struggle where the thin, strong rope had dug into them. He had broken a couple of his fingers, too, but hardly seemed to notice anymore. The ropes had remained tight since he first got here, and his hands and feet were numb. He doubted he would be able to walk if asked. “Yes,” he said automatically, not wanting trouble for her.

#asinnersdereism #omg cosette bb no i didn't mean to do this to you ; n ;

Cosette's breath was rapid and shaky, but she tried not to let any fear show on her face. Every time his fingers touched her skin she jolted, her entire body tensing up in response. He had seemed so kind when they'd met. It had been quite easy to trust his smile, his voice--even his eyes had shone with kindness.

She couldn't explain to herself how she'd ended up here, like this. She had only followed him a short way, and then...

He'd tricked her. Her father was always telling her that she ought to stay away from strangers and that she shouldn't leave the house without him. He'd been that way since she was a child; she'd just thought he was overprotective.

Oh, he must be so worried about her already...

She regretted disobeying him now, for both her own sake, and for the pain she would cause her father when he realized she was missing.

Even so, she tried her hardest to wear a brave face, her jaw clenched, her shoulders stiff. She did not look at Montparnasse, nor at Joly, and most importantly, she did not cry. She wanted to, certainly--she was frightened and felt very alone--but she would not dare let herself cry for the horrible young man with the innocent face who had stolen her away.

"... I would li... like to get... dressed now," she said, angry at herself for the way her voice caught in her throat.

agreatidleforce

She has become very lost in a very short period of time, and though she knows she cannot be all too far from home, she sees nothing familiar. What she does see is a very large man, and it takes her several moments before she approaches him. More than anything, she worries that her voice will not reach him. "Monsieur!" she calls, as loud as her lungs will allow. - wildbutcourageous

Guelemer was surprised by the sound. After all, he was not used to people screaming to get his attention— especially not on the streets. He glanced down and blinked at the girl who’d called for him. He was not going to complain about her methods— she was beautiful, wasn’t she? He smiled a bit and bent his knees some so that he was closer to her level. "—Yes?”

She was quite relieved when he took enough pity on her to lower himself so that she might not have to yell again. As it was, she felt rather embarrassed for her own volume, unused to shouting for things.

"Yes--yes, hello! I am--"

A pause.

"... Well I'm lost, aren't I?"

#agreatidleforce

masquesous

Masquerade || Open

masquesous

Claquesous bowed for her as soon as his hand was taken, and brought her hand up to his mask. He couldn’t kiss the back of it, but his lips lingered there for a moment until he rose again to look her in the eye. How pretty this mask looked on her, so demure and poised as a contrast to her wide, doe-like eyes. Were she half as sly as her mask suggested, her eyes would be more shaded by her lids, so scantily made-up that it seemed as if she were only a child wearing her mother’s finery, several sizes too large for her and not quite her colour.

This, Claquesous decided, would be an easy target. Though she was not who they intended to kill tonight, she appeared as if she was unchaperoned and had some money to spare judging by the state of her mask. So much could he figure out simply by looking at a thing that was supposed to hide who one truly was! A feeling of pride swelled in his chest. Yes, he would be very lucky tonight indeed if he could only get his hands on her coin purse. How choice that would be.

And so it was that the creature of the night took this dainty thing in one arm and swept her away on to the dance floor, straight off her feet for a few moments, until they had spun into a place near the center. Usually, he would never go here — it drew too much attention — but the mass of bodies around them and the anonymous nature of the masquerade made him comfortable.

In what felt like one smooth motion, they were dancing, with Claquesous naturally falling into the lead and expecting this masked beauty to keep step with him. That would be one surefire way to find out of she was really as elegant as she looked: did she have the kind of proper upbringing to spend money on her dancing, or was she merely a pretender trying to fit in among people she had no business being around?

He had taken her hand, like a proper gentleman must, and she tilted her head as she watched, thinking it both curious and charming to receive what was not quite a kiss from a faceless man. She thought that this alone would have made quite the story, if she had anyone to tell it to. She told most of her stories to her father, but this one she suspected he would not appreciate.

And then suddenly she was lead--no, lifted!--along to the center of the crowded floor where the other guests twined around each other and spun to the music. She thought they looked quite a bit like pieces on a music box. What a lovely night this was turning out to be... Just the atmosphere filled her lungs with something new, as though she could breathe in the quiet excitement of the party, and she loosed a light peal of laughter when her feet were once again solid on the ground.

Cosette did know how to dance, and though there was something timid in her step, it was not all too difficult for her to follow this stranger's motions. She'd had no one save her father for many years now, and as a girl she had tugged and pulled at him quite frequently until he would give in and dance with her. The motions here were the same--someone larger than her, with a surer step and a sturdier frame leading her along--but she found that there was something quite different about dancing with a man she didn't know. Something she had done since childhood suddenly felt brand new, and her cheeks pressed into smooth porcelain as she smiled behind her painted expression.

With every moment, she grew more comfortable in her surroundings, even if those surroundings included the arms of a stranger. She simply knew now that she had not done anything so very wrong tonight. Her companion's thoughts on the evening were far beyond anything she could possibly comprehend. He'd seemed quite nice when he'd spoken, after all, so she believed him to be kind. Deceit was nothing she had met with up until now, not since she was very young indeed, and she had not been treated with kindness then.

#masquesous

Since she moved from the convent— oh, dear, this one is even more innocent than he’d imagined. And that was impressive. He manages a smile at her and tucks his hands into his pockets as he walks, still holding her arm in his.

“Well, not currently— I’m taking a year off in the hopes that I’ll get to travel. I’ve always wanted to explore the other parts of Europe.”

“When I am in school, however,”— he pretends to be in school because if he were as rich as his appearance suggests, then surely he would attend classes— "I study business. I would like to run my own one day.” At this, he smiles.

"Travel!" she repeats, her eyes alight at the very word. But wouldn't she just love to travel! Her exclamation flusters her slightly and she presses her lips together, determined to reply more maturely to the rest of his story.

A business student--

It sounds so terribly clever to be a business student, and she wonders if his classes are difficult. She tilts her head to peer at him, hoping her expression is as studious as it ought to be. She has never discussed business before.

"And what kind of business shall you run?"

masquesous

Masquerade || Open

For once in his life, the fact that Claquesous was wearing a mask didn’t make him stand out at all.

In fact, a bare face would attract scorn in this crowd. Everyone donned masks that hid their faces and shrouded their eyes in shadows. He perhaps liked this best — no one would ever look twice at him. Though he donned an elegant tuxedo complete with diamond cuff links and leather gloves he hadn’t shed upon entering the building, this sort of finery was required to fit in with the crowd. In a sea of black bow ties and pompous dresses, he had needed to shed his street clothes in favor of these monstrosities.

He glanced to his left. There, the majority of his gang was laying low as the members downed glass after glass of 2003 Dom Perignon and spoke in voices too quiet for a grandiose affair. Yes, Claquesous thought himself better than them. He stayed silent and stood up tall against the wall of the large ballroom. If the murder tonight was to go off without a hitch, it would require everyone to be in place by the time the clock struck twelve.

That was until one of his compatriots shot him a pointed glare: fit in, it said. He was the only wallflower at the party, and surely that would at least attract someone’s attention?

So he dutifully took to the dance floor and gently let gloved fingers brush against someone’s hand. “Pardon,” he said, voice low and dark, “but may I have this dance?”

#masquesous #omg i'm sorry i wrote so much #i told you i liked this starter #; u ;

This was not where she was supposed to be tonight. She was supposed to be shut away, safe inside her home, as she was supposed to be every night. She knew, although she had never known exactly why, that places like this, places with crowds and noise and eyes all around, were not meant for her father and herself.

Oh, but she had cheated, hadn't she? Certainly there were eyes to see her, but what would they see? A mask! Nothing more. He couldn't be cross with her for that, could he? She had been so clever to come to a masquerade, of that she felt quite sure. Of all of the social revelries she had never taken part of throughout the years, this had to be the one that her father simply could not disapprove of.

Of course, he could disapprove quite a bit of her actions preceding her arrival at the masquerade, which included sneaking out of the house in her finest clothes and taking the small purse that was meant largely for emergencies to purchase for herself quite an elegant mask. It was porcelain and delicate, but its expression was nearly aloof, and its cheeks and lips were each painted rouge over a smooth white glaze. It made her feel as though she could pretend to be the woman whose face she wore, a collected, mature woman, unaffected by the world around her.

She supposed it was only because of the mask that she could sway her palpitating heart to a steady rhythm, forcing herself to swallow her nerves at being where she oughtn't. She needn't worry, she thought. Her father had been asleep long before she had left home, and she would be back in her bed well before light with only a pretty porcelain mask as a souvenir to her adventures this evening.

Her father worried far too much for her. How unlikely she was to meet anyone undesirable at such a pleasant party!

No sooner had she come to this resolute conclusion than she felt a hand skim across her own, and she spun abruptly to face the man responsible for startling her so when she was supposed to be as indifferent and inflexible as glass.

She softened as she saw him, though it showed only in her eyes. She'd thought she had hidden her face quite well, but he had succeeded far beyond her own efforts. How hard it must have been to see, she thought, but he seemed not to struggle at all. She pressed her lips together to fight a smile as she thought perhaps he had practiced wearing this mask before tonight so that he might not trip over himself. But of course it was only her silliness at play. No one simply wandered around in a mask.

She wondered if it would be impolite to deny his request, but she remembered then that she was not Cosette, who must keep to herself and stay close to home. She was a mysterious porcelain woman with red lips and high cheek bones, with black painted lace for eyelashes. She could dance with whomever she liked, so let it be a stranger.

Cosette took the offered hand and curtsied politely (for she was not an actress and she could not shake the mannerisms she had learned for so long at the drop of a hat.) She did not speak, however, for fear that something in her voice would belie her charade.

She won't let you see her, but she will speak with you through the door. She presses her eye very close to the little peephole to peer out at Grantaire. "You've come to visit again..." - wildbutcourageous (( You absolutely know what AU this is, I bet. ))

((fkjdsnfansfks!!))

Grantaire glances up, smiling slowly at the sound of the other’s voice as he turns in a small circle in the middle of the room. "Well, of course I did— you told me to, didn’t you?” he replies, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. He wonders where she could be hiding… He places himself on the couch and then takes to glancing at the ceiling, looking thoughtful.

”Would you mind telling me a little about yourself this time?” he asks, fingers picking at the nice pair of pants he was wearing. He hopes this is worth the money he’s been paid.

Grantaire stares at her for a long moment, completely silent. He is unsure what to say, because… well, because she is not hideous at all. In fact, she is far more beautiful than he is, and yet people run from her and merely turn their noses up at him. He takes a step forward, eyes taking in not just her nose, but her entire face— soft pink lips, perfectly smooth skin, stunning blue eyes, and… a perfectly okay nose.

The drunkard reaches out, slowly, large, calloused fingers aiming to touch her face. He wants to make contact with her, gently show her that she’s alright, and—

Chh-chh.

Grantaire jerks his hand away, cursing beneath his breath and reaching up to clutch at his coat, wanting to rip the camera from it and smash it. If he did, he would be exposed, and he couldn’t do that— he couldn’t let her know why he was really here.

Cosette draws her hands close to her chest and her heart is pounding so hard now that she's starting to think that something is wrong with her. She holds her breath. She watches him as he watches her, and inexplicably she wants to cry--but she doesn't. She doesn't want to seem any more strange than she already is.

He's staring at her. Even her father doesn't stare at her.

More than staring now, he is reaching for her and her whole body is alight with anticipation. She has not been touched by anyone other than her father since she was a very small girl, and even then she was not hugged or petted, for the family she had stayed with before being taken into Valjean's care had not loved her.

She is wondering if Grantaire's hand will feel the same as her father's once it brushes her face when he jerks back. She has not heard the click of the shutter, and she doesn't understand his cursing. Perhaps it has only just now hit him as to what she is. Perhaps he has realized that his time has been wasted.

She lays her hands over the bottom half of her face as she pushes past him, running from the room where they've shared so many pleasant conversations. She wishes she hadn't let him see her.

She had wanted so badly to keep him.

#capitalr #penelope au

radianceofthefuture-deactivated

??

Send me ?? for a strange/vague text

[ t e x t ] : When do you think it will happen? I have been trying to figure it out and I’m afraid I haven’t any clue at all. How disappointing…

[t e x t]: I'm sorry?? When will what happen??

#radianceofthefuture #vague text

[ t e x t ] : Will you laugh if I say that I have been thinking quite seriously about kisses?

[ t e x t ] : I have been watching old movies since yesterday evening. I'm not certain I've slept.

.

#i get really excited when i get new followers on this account #even though i don't have very many at all #but i like my cosette and it makes me so happy that there are other people who like her enough to follow her #or at least don't hate her

??

Send me ?? for a strange/vague text

[ t e x t ] : When do you think it will happen? I have been trying to figure it out and I’m afraid I haven’t any clue at all. How disappointing…

#radianceofthefuture #vague text

askboxmemes2013

Send me a symbol

Send me ~ to learn my muse’s reaction to yours suddenly kissing them

Send me * to learn my muse’s reaction to yours slapping them on the butt

Send me <3 to learn my muse’s reactions to yours confessing to them

Send me + to learn my muses reaction to yours trying to get in bed with them

Send X to learn my muses reaction to yours trying to break up with them

Send $ to learn my muses reaction to yours asking to borrow money

Send me % to learn my muses reactions to yours yelling at them for no reason

#meme

roleplayermemes

Texting Meme:

Send me ☺ for a loving/affectionate text

Send me ♣ for a drunk text

Send me ♥ for a sexual/naughty text

Send me !! for a threatening text

Send me ☼ for a morning text

Send me ?? for a strange/vague text

Send me ► for a text not meant for you

Send me ↕ for a scared/worried text

#meme

Cosette—

The name is as sweet as the girl it has come from, he supposes, and it suits her well. She is quite a little thing. Not only is she short— everyone is short compared to him— but she is also rather thin and fragile, and he is very aware of how easy it would be to break her.

Physically and emotionally.

"Well, Cosette, it’s a pleasure, truly.” He thinks of other questions to ask her, and decides to stick with basics for now, so it doesn’t seem like he’s moving too quickly. Perhaps her father has warned her about men who only want her for their pleasure, and certainly he wants to avoid reminding her of that talk. He only wants to see how long it takes to have her completely wrapped around his finger. "Are you in school right now?”

"Oh no, not any longer," she tells him brightly, a bit of a skip to her step now. She can't think of the last time she got to speak with someone she didn't know at all. She wonders what he'll think of her, and is terribly pleased to have met someone kind straight away.

"I haven't been in school since I moved from the convent," she explains to him.

"And what about you? Are you in school now?"

Perhaps it's the clothes, but he doesn't seem to her the type to study at university. Then again, she isn't sure what she thinks the type to study at university actually is. And she is certainly unsure what she thinks Aristide is.

She won't let you see her, but she will speak with you through the door. She presses her eye very close to the little peephole to peer out at Grantaire. "You've come to visit again..." - wildbutcourageous (( You absolutely know what AU this is, I bet. ))

((fkjdsnfansfks!!))

Grantaire glances up, smiling slowly at the sound of the other’s voice as he turns in a small circle in the middle of the room. "Well, of course I did— you told me to, didn’t you?” he replies, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. He wonders where she could be hiding… He places himself on the couch and then takes to glancing at the ceiling, looking thoughtful.

”Would you mind telling me a little about yourself this time?” he asks, fingers picking at the nice pair of pants he was wearing. He hopes this is worth the money he’s been paid.

Grantaire waits for a response, and from the silence he’s receiving, he’s sure he’s somehow offended her. Perhaps she’s realized that he will never stop talking once she gets going, and maybe she’d like to talk, too. His smile fades and he glances around the room, waiting…

That’s when he hears what sounds like a door opening, and his head turns quickly in the direction he heard the noise from. He stares at the open door, wondering if she’ll come out, waiting…

He takes a few steps forward, eyes locked on the door, and slowly another smile crosses his lips as he remembers his words.

Won’t you let me in?

He stops at the opening of the door, resting his hands on the frame and sighing softly. “… Mademoiselle Cosette— I would so like to meet you.” He’s heard that she’s ugly— he knows from his own face that he cannot possibly judge her for that. He’s not here to judge her— only get his money. But he’s forgotten all about his obligations— about why he’s come here in the first place— and all he wants is to see the girl who has such a beautiful personality…

What will he do when he sees her, she wonders, hesitating in that last moment of secrecy. She still has the option to back out. She still has the option to run. She can still get away without him ever seeing her face.

She has visions of each and every person ever to lay eyes on her turning and fleeing from her, and suddenly she's scared, quite scared. She doesn't want to lose his company--he has certainly made her smile these past few days--but she wants so badly to believe that he will look past her curse.

Finally she steps towards him, standing in the doorway and facing him.

She says not a word. Will he stay? Will he run?

#capitalr #penelope au

Montparnasse smiles at her response and holds his arm out for her, tipping his head to the side. “Then won’t you join me for lunch?” he asked, changing his plans a bit. He could shop tomorrow, couldn’t he? His chance to woo a beautiful, secluded rich girl apparently only happened when she snuck out of her father’s home.

He holds her arm in his as they walk to his favorite restaurant, and he absolutely adores the looks that they’re getting from people. Looks of jealousy, looks of admiration— they are two absolutely beautiful, high-class people walking together down the street. At least, as far as anyone knew.

On the way, he turned his face to look at her, a smile crossing his lips. He wanted to at least seem like he cared, and so he asked, “What’s your name? Mine is Aristide.” A fake name, of course. He often went under the alias Aristide Desrosiers, so that if anyone happened to see him and mention his name to someone else who had met him, then there would be no confusion. The only time he used any other fake names were when he was doing business.

She looks around as though she's never seen the streets of Paris before. This is untrue, but there is something quite different about it today. She has often walked and held onto her father's arm for guidance, but this feels distinctly different. She wonders if he is older than she is.

She smiles at the name. It suits him, she thinks.

"Aristide," she repeats, pushing her hair from her face. "You're welcome to call me Cosette. It's what everyone has called me, ever since I was a little girl." She is unaware that she has, quite fairly, offered a fake name in exchange for a fake name.