kenobi:

failure (n.)  – when you try your best but don’t succeed.

a-la-volonte-du-peuple:

do you think that after the barricades fell marius just has a hard time trusting people again. 

he walks into the bakery, unable to look up because there’s the baker’s apprentice and he was the one who was enthusiastically smiling and promising to join them.

walking down the street he sees the family that closed their doors to his friends, sending them off to face the bullets.

he walks into an officer that was looking at him from the other side of the barricade not even a fortnight ago 

every day he walks through the town full of people that turned their backs on them, the people who didn’t come when they called and though the blood of his friends isn’t on their hands, he sees it there because he needs to blame someone to make it just a tiny bit less painful

somuchbetterthanthat:

“There’s one thing I cannot quite figure out yet,” said Courfeyrac behind her suddenly. Eponine tensed, glancing at him. He was staring at the newly weds, an odd, wistful expression on his face. “Are you in love with Marius, or with Cosette?”

If Eponine had played the lady as well as she wished she could, she would have probably left, after making sure that Courfeyrac knew he had greatly offended and scandalized her; as it was, Eponine was still ill-suited to the role; she could barely fit right in all the dresses she had now and had dreamed of for years, and she could pretend even less that she was as respectable as she ought to be; she’d seen too many things. Courfeyrac wouldn’t have been able to shock her even if he tried, and – if she’d judge the man properly, he wasn’t that kind. 

“Neither,” she said, honestly, and when he looked down at her, blinking dubiously, she shrugs an amended, defensive: “A little bit of both, perhaps. I don’t know. What about you?” 

“I thought it was just Marius,” Courfeyrac answered, genuine and almost pensive.

It figured, Eponine thought, nodding. Cosette was like that; one minute you hated her, and everything she was – everything you thought you’d be, one day – and the next she was smiling at you and your heart was beating just a little too fast. Or maybe that was just Eponine. She didn’t like thinking about feelings too much; she got wistful if she lingered on it too long; No Marius for her; certainly no Cosette. Still, it was beautiful, the way they looked at each other like they were each other’s entire world. Eponine couldn’t even be properly jealous. 

Glancing back at Courfeyrac again, it wasn’t hard to see he wasn’t jealous at all either.

“It’s improper, to stand so near a lady, and not making her dance,” she told him, abruptly, a bit too sharply. 

He startled, and then, he smiled, amused and charmed. 

“Of course,” he told her and hold out his hand after a brief curtsy, every bit the gentleman. “Mademoiselle -”

Eponine still got a thrill every time she was called “Mademoiselle”. It was nice, feeling proper and respected and all that. It felt right, even, more and more. 

“Monsieur,” she said, and took his hand. 

whatasillyidea:

tveit-the-great:

enjolrasthechief:

Why would you ever

This is just wrong…

Not okay. So not okay. I needed my heart, okay?!! ç.ç

sebcorchia:

Dead Poets Society × Anderperry moments

absynthe–minded:

the world will never be the same.

palindroned:

inspired by this awful post