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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
YOU ARE THE REASON
Noah Kahan
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@withcruelpatience-moved
wow can you believe im not dead
hey guys, I’m going to archive this blog -sad trumpet noises-
AND IM REALLY EMO ABOUT IT
I’ve had this blog for years, probably about 4 now rifp, but I’ve found it too difficult to manage all of my new blogs so I’m going to move chetta to my multi muse @rosewrists
pls come follow me over there, having her there means that I can devote my full attention to her !!!!
( she’s also joined by joly if that’s an incentive )
Pregnancy sentence starters
“Y’know, with all your symptoms, it kind of sounds like you might be pregnant.” “There’s no harm in taking a test, just to know for sure…” “Morning sickness still pretty bad, I’m assuming?” “Do you… think you might be pregnant?” “I know you’ve been feeling pretty shitty, want me to skip work and rub your back?” “You have to take it easy.” “Oh my god, we’re going to be parents!” “Are you pregnant again…?” “Loving another baby with you would be easy.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “How far along are you?” “If you’re tired you need to sleep, honey.” “What did the test say?” “Do you think it’s a boy or a girl? Or both? Or two of each?” “I’m pretty sure they call it morning sickness because they want to lie to you and say it’ll only last in the morning so you’ll procreate.” “Did you throw up again? I can come home early and cuddle with you.” “I should be recording this for the baby.” “I mean, someone has to hold your hair.” “Oh my god! I just felt it kick!” “Are you SURE it’s a boy/girl or is this just another one of your intuitions?” “Are you excited?” “Yeah, growing a person inside you doesn’t sound fun at all.”
optxmiste:
Bossuet doesn’t even notice that Chetta’s taken the coffee pot from him until he realises that its weight is missing from his hand. He turns, leaning his back against the edge of the counter and rubbing at his eyes. “God, this is what it must be like being Combeferre.” Except Combeferre stays up all night falling down a never ending spiral of interesting Wikipedia articles; the only reason Bossuet had been awake all of last night was because he’d been Skyping with his Australian cousin. Why do time zones have to be a thing?
His response to her reaching up and touching his forehead is to squint at her in confusion, but he makes no move to shrug her off. “Everything is peachy, why do you ask?”
damn timezones. they are the reason he was still awake at 3 am. the reason that chetta and joly were forced to evict bossuet to the sofa. he’s paying the price for it now. maybe next time he should get onto skype when it’s the middle of the night in australia. his sweet face, twisted with confusion, made her chuckle softly as she moved back down to her feet ( why is he so tall ?!?!?!?? ). ❝ you just seem a little more ... detatched than normal. ❞ at least combeferre fuels his chronic exhaustion with coffee and bitterness. she reaches to take his hand - not for any particular reason - and sighs. ❝ this isn’t healthy, babe. maybe you should go back to bed. ❞
bravcycungsuitcr:
“I told them not to disturb us,” Raoul hissed under his breath, as he quickly worked on smoothing the wrinkles of his jacket’s sleeves and straightening his cravat. “We’re not done yet,” he murmured, alluring, while pressing a seductive kiss to the corner of Musichetta’s mouth. The fire burning inside him hadn’t died out.
With a sigh, and running his hand down his face, Raoul opened the door to find himself face to face with one of his servants, who looked at him nervously, something that wasn’t normal. Meeting his gaze, the servant wrung his hands. “Je suis desolé, monsieur le vicomte. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I simply wish to know if you would like to have dinner tonight.”
The young aristocrat gave the other man a smile and shook his head. “Non, Pierre. I thank you for your concern, but I’m not hungry enough to eat. Now, if you excuse me, I have another matters to attend to,” he emphasized the last word somewhat impatiently and his boot tapped on the floor.
The servant agreed and nodded, before excusing himself once more and leaving. As he closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a brief moment, Raoul didn’t recognize himself. The man who had just spoken to his servant, had little to do with the kind young nobleman that everyone knew at the Opera house.
But he quickly brushed those thoughts away with a shake of his head, looking up at Musichetta with bright eyes. “We may pick up our interrupted pleasures, my dear. Now, where were we? Ah, I remember,” he uttered softly before pressing his lips against hers, his tongue already tracing across Musichetta’s bottom lip.
she chuckles to herself, placing a hand over her mouth to hide any noises and prevent giving herself away. he’s so different when he’s with her. when she first met him he was so polite and genial -- all the marks of a man raised the way he was. particularly his obvious naivety towards anything remotely sensual or passionate.
flash forward a few months to where they are now and he is much changed. his newfound forcefulness and dominance was beginning to make its way out of their bedroom and into his every day life, something that musichetta was not entirely sure he wanted, as evidenced by his standoffish encounter with the poor servant attending on him.
after the door has been closed and the man has hurried back down the hallway, chetta lets out a laugh and claps her hands together. delighted by the whole experience. ❝ that was awfully curt of you, my love. ❞ she doesn’t get the chance to say much more before she’s tugged into his arms and his lips are on hers.
she instinctively moves her arms around his neck, cradling the back of his head and pulling him even closer to her. she moves her hands down and begins to tug at his shirt in an effort to get it off of his chest. eventually she manages to pop open all the buttons and pull the shirt open, her hands stroking his chest.
she cries out in laughter as he picks her up and lays her back down on the bed, curling up on top of her mess of blankets. as she’s laying down, she manages to wrestle the dress off her and throw it to one side, ducking underneath the covers and smirking back at him. ❝ come and get me, monsieur. ❞
for @optxmiste, continued from x:
she stares at him in silence for a few moments, waiting for any kind of response. when none comes, and she’s been staring at her boyfriend staring at the counter for a few minutes, she leans over and takes the coffee pot from his hand, placing it on a clean portion of the counter. ❝ I’m not sure pulling an all nighter is a good idea, sweetie. ❞ she places a hand on his shoulder, her other hand moving to his forehead. ❝ have you been feeling okay recently ?? ❞
tfw you can only get historical icons from a really bad quality boot of the Hunchback of Notre Dame and so all your icons are blurry af
legacyborne:
he doesn’t BOTHER speaking; the look he gives her is more than enough. sighing, mark pockets the bills and tugs on his gloves—because winter in new york is BRUTAL and he doesn’t want to get frostbite. another glance was cast at roger and his heart leaps. he was so GLAD that he was back…safe. and playing his guitar again. mark thinks he will never get tired of hearing roger play.
❝ keep an eye on him, yeah? just make sure he….doesn’t have an OUTBURST or something. keep him safe. ❞ he smiles at chetta and then his brows furrow; he notices her shivers. ❝ i’m sure i have a clean sweater you could borrow. you know where they are. you can start up the stove, too. if ya want. ❞
❝ well now I’m gonna go find the nicest one and steal it. ❞ she chuckles softly, her hands yet again moving to slip the straps back up her arms. she’s really stretched out this cami. if she had money to spare she’d replace it. she smiles at the loving look he sends roger’s way -- it’s one she recognises, back from her time in paris. the look her friends would give their boyfriends after seeing them home safe after a long night out. it’s comforting to see again. ❝ don’t worry about me and roger. we’ll start up a fire and chill, probably. go have fun, you crazy kid. ❞
"i'm already hearing voices!"
❝ well, stop smoking it then.❞ she sighs irritably, hugging her knees to her chest. a bad day of misfortune topping off with coming back and seeing thenardier sitting on thee couch getting high with none left for her was too much. ❝ where the fuck did you even get it ?? the normal stuff doesn’t make you hallucinate. ❞
“It’s not supposed to make you hallucinate. You only start hallucinating when you’ve been awake for 72 hours on it. Fuck-” He rubbed his eyes before picking up the baggy and examining the little shards left inside it. “The guy never showed up and some random came up to me and offered. I desperately accepted…”
❝ you go to sleep then. means I don’t have to speak to you. ❞ her tone was much more clipped than she intended it to be, more than he really deserved. she was much more annoyed that she couldn’t get high with him. she sighs bitterly, hugging her knees tightly and wafting the smoke away from her face. ❝ god, where is ‘parnasse ?? if anyone can get me fucked up tonight, he can. ❞
under the cut are 89 plain icons of jennifer lawrence from various sources !!! feel free to use, crefit is not necessary but appreciated !!
"i'm already hearing voices!"
❝ well, stop smoking it then.❞ she sighs irritably, hugging her knees to her chest. a bad day of misfortune topping off with coming back and seeing thenardier sitting on thee couch getting high with none left for her was too much. ❝ where the fuck did you even get it ?? the normal stuff doesn’t make you hallucinate. ❞
continuation for @bravcycungsuitcr from x !!!
she places a hand on his arm as he whispers to her, her eyes slipping shut. when he tugs her back around and places his lips on her own, she instinctively wraps her arms around the back of his neck, her hands moving to toy with strandss of his long hair. as he moves his tongue over her mouth, asking silent permission, she accepts and opens her mouth, her own tongue slipping into his mouth as his moves into hers.
as quickly has his lips wre on hers they have left, trailing down her face to her neck where he works his teeth and lips on a sensitive point. her breathy gasps are coupled with the movement of her hands, as they move up from his neck to tangling within his hair, not tugging but applying a gentle pressure.
❝ such a charmer ... ❞ she laughs softly at his almost comical line. there’s the beautifully naive man the world knows. such a stark contrast from the pleasurable. powerful man that musichetta knows. ❝ monsieur le vicomte, you may make love to me as many times as you wish tonight. I shan’t be returning home until the morning, so I wish to waste as little time as possible, and to be as wicked as I can until that moment. ❞ she chuckles slightly at the feeling of his lips, tracing different parts of her body.
at first she moves her hands behind her back to fiddle with the laces on her dress, but finding his hands already there and very much capable of the task at hand, she moves them to the hem of his jacket and begins to tug it off his shoulders, practically feeling how tense his arm muscles are. she can sense how much he wants her, and she very much wants him too. she gets the jacket halfway off his arms, with her lips pressed to his neck, when there is a knock at the door and they are rushing to tidy themselves up.
👕
@withcruelpatience
It was one of the many nights they had spent together at his estate, in a room out of the sight and hearing of the servants who worked for him; to grant them of needed privacy and yet, of enough familiarity for both of them to feel at ease.
The drapes were down, the night had fallen upon the sky and an oil lamp lit the bed chambers with a faint light. Raoul was finished with dressing back up, even if his mind was still occupied with thoughts about what had just happened between the two of them under the silky sheets of his bed, and sat by the window, looking at the night sky.
Musichetta had decided to remain in bed for a while more, and he didn’t object. How could he say no to the woman who had helped him discover a side of himself buried so deep within him, leaving aside his shyness and naivety to succumb to his darkest desires?
Suddenly, a creak on the floor broke the silence in the room, and he looked up from his place to see that Musichetta had gotten up, with a gown in her hands that she soon started buttoning and tying up, replacing the one she had worn before their encounter had taken place. The delicate fabric wrapped around her figure loosely, but tight enough to reveal most of the secrets her body hid, and he watched, entranced, how the hem of her dress fell to her ankles with a graceful, slow movement.
At the sight, he felt his breath become short and heavy, his mouth feeling dry and his heart pumping wildly inside of his chest. The desire in him had awoken once more; Musichetta’s voice still rang in his ears, with moans of his name leaving her breathless, her feverish touch still burnt in his skin and Raoul could still taste her furtive kisses on his mouth as they unleashed their passion for one another.
Without knowing how, he found himself standing next to her, gently grabbing her by the arm and slightly tugging at her so her eyes would meet his. “Musichetta, I–” he ran his tongue across his lips, his voice growing husky and low as he spoke. “I wondered… if you would like to stay with me tonight.”
the lamps filled the room with a warm yellow light, illuminating the curves of raoul’s body in the best way. musichetta lies on her front in the bed that has become theirs – their bed, their drapes, their room. her head rests against the pillow and shifts comfortably under the sheets.
she smiles as he sits in the window seat, looking up at the night sky with a wonder and a fascination that looked so beautiful on his face. it’s a delicious contrast from the raoul she knew a few hours ago, lust-filled and powerful.
the bed is so comfy but she knows she can’t stay there forever, so she sighs and pulls herself up, the sheet falling from her naked body. she shivers slightly – the room is colder than she thought it would be. she takes the gown resting over the chaise longue, the new one he gave her earlier in the day, and begins to slip it on, the silk gliding over her skin like it’s made of glass. she fiddles with the small buttons along the bodice, finding them a little stiff.
she jumps when she feels a hand on her arm, but breathes out in relief when she sees his face again. her eyes move to his mouth, and oh, how she wants to kiss him again. how she wants to put her arms around him and make love with him, to rip the shirt from his chest again. she settles for taking his hand in her own, raising it and pressing a kiss to his palm.
he catches her off-guard when he asks her to stay. she should be getting back to the theatre. everyone will be heading to bed and people will be wondering where she is. but as she looks into his face, once again darkened with lust, she knows she doesn’t care. ❝ raoul, I … ❞ she hesitates, but presses another kiss to his hand. ❝ yes. I’ll stay here with you. ❞
🍸 ( sorry )
trash for the trashcan
My Muse witnesses your Muse accidentally spilling ice cold water down their front
He wasn’t the only witness by any means. At least half a café full of goggling onlookers had noticed too. Javert couldn’t help that even if for some reason he’d wanted to. He wouldn’t like to be in her place, he knew that. But actual sympathy wasn’t part of his skill set. She only had her own clumsiness to blame. He stared around, but no one else seemed inclined to help her.
“So what happened, did you see a ghost?” he asked as he bent to pick up a stray ice cube.
she’s not particularly bothered by it – even if she does notice her camisole clinging to the curves of her breasts and her hardened nipples, it’s clearly something she’s overlooking. the one day she didn’t wear a bra. something she’s definitely noticed, however, is the eyes of others in the café, eating up the image of her wet tank top. she appreciates the help, though.
❝ no, I twisted my ankle in these shoes. I need to stop wearing heels. anyway, thank you for the hand, monsieur. ❞
//DO YOU EVER JUST
smells-like-adventure:
REALLY LOVE YOUR CHARACTER??
reblog if you agree
#BOSSWAG
legacyborne:
he’s at the fridge; trying to decide what to have for lunch. he knows that staring at an empty one doesn’t help his growling stomach, but maybe if he hopes hard enough, food will magically appear. when she addresses him, he turns over his shoulder and peers at roger over his glasses; he was cross-legged on the couch and plucking at his guitar strings. the sight made mark smile a bit; he’s come a long way. he’s proud of him.
❝ just….let him be, chetta. he’s fine. at least he’s PLAYING his guitar. ❞
that makes mark remember how he was before this and he shoves that thought down before sighing & slamming the fridge door shut; going to lean on the counter as well.
❝ i’ll…i think benny wants to meet us later. i’ll try to get him out of the house then, okay? ❞
“ I guess that‘s true... ”
she peered back over her shoulder, rubbing her hands over her cold arms. maybe she’s a little paranoid. watching your loved ones die slowly can tend to do that to a person. maybe roger is fine. chetta’s concerns lie in the fact that roger hasn’t actually left the apartment in a few weeks. she turns back to mark and shrugs.
“ here -- ” she pulls a handful of crumpled bills out of her back pocket, not caring about the look mark gives her when she puts them in his hand. “ go buy groceries. I don’t care, it’s my turn to pay. ”
I personally think you are a solid 9/12 on my scale ;)
“You mean on your butt scale, right, Jehan? If I let you squeeze it will you give me an extra point?”
vivelafrance--vivelavenir:
“Do not impede the strut forward in butt science. I’ll wear a lab coat, therefore it’s fine.”
“ over my dead body it’s fine. just kidding. ”
