#sorrowritten

[capturedafeelinga]

      ❛  IF YOU HAD to say !  && no, this isn’t one of those . . .  ‘do i look fat in this?’ ploys . . .  am i more of an audrey hepburn or a carol burnett?  ❜

@sorrowritten  –  sc. 

[volaticoux]

eyes flutter closed momentarily and a whisper of a smile tugged at her lips, relishing this rare moment of true contentment. there were no pretences to uphold, no lies to protect, or tales to tell. only love; a deep, life sustaining love that satine had truly never felt before and could have sworn did not exist. the brunette’s gaze focused on christian’s features, attempting to memorise the planes of his face in the fear that it would be days before she could allow her true feelings guide her back to him once again. “please help me remember how it feels to be loved by you. i don’t want to be lonely anymore.”

@sorrowritten ✩ cont’d

[chorussung]

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming.”

i lost it oops. @sorrowritten

she giggles. “ perhaps you should think before you leap. ”

[barrowtm]

‘ we’re all stories in the end . ’

christian | @sorrowritten

HE’S RIGHT. thomas takes a swig from the bottle of absinthe before placing it back down between them. his tie’s on the floor, collar removed. he rests his head back against the wall, quietly listening as the little designs on the ceiling dance for him – he’s drank a lot. “hmm,” thomas hums at first before shifting his gaze to the writer. “s’ppose that’s right,” he muses. “all we are is what we leave behind.” it’s why he paints; he wants his art to last forever. he wants to be dorian gray. his paintings will hold his legacy, will retain his youth. “i wonder if we’re the story even right now, being told by someone else.” 

[i-wrote-myway]

@sorrowritten (liked for a starter)

Alexander studied the other for a long moment before taking a swig of his drink, setting it down on the table in front of him. “So,” he began after a moment or two. “You look like you’re a man of many words. Might I buy you a round and lend an ear to whatever the topic of the evening might be?” 

[onlydanciing]

❝ People think I’m insulted when they call me Sir, but I’m flattered. I never got knighted! ❞ @ cosette

shit my 100 year old great grandpa said | accepting

     Cosette laughs, fingers splaying across her lips to mask the gesture–– she doesn’t mean to be rude. It’s a clever joke, and not one she was expecting to hear. She’s still not quite used to the lightness of every day life. Jokes were not often a part of her life growing up–– her father was a serious man. Kind, but not terribly humorous. Les Amis were a much more raucous bunch–– but they often tempered their humor in front of her. And as of late, well… Marius was still coming back to his old self. She would never begrudge him the time it would take to heal.

    Still though, it’s strange to be around a place like the Moulin Rouge when Cosette had once lived so much of her life trying to wriggle out from the sheltered life her father had created for her. To think that now she knows a man who writes for a cabaret! She supposes it isn’t all that odd. After all, she knows a great many different people now that she works at the flower shop. Christian is quite the regular, when he can be.

         “Well,” she says conspiratorially, smiling, “I’m sure the lucky lady receiving these will see you as a knight regardless.” 

[onlydanciing]

❝ You know who doesn’t like me? People who suck. That’s right. ❞ @ satine ksjdkfsjdkf i'm so sorry

shit my 100 year old great grandpa said | accepting

   Satine laughed softly as Christian swept into her apartment, scarf fluttering in the rush of air that came as he shut the door. She stood from her desk and made her way to him, shaking her head at him fondly. ❝ What happened this time? ❞ she practically cooed, laying her hands delicately against his chest. She could think of about a thousand things that might have sent him into a tizzy–– from a disagreement amongst the bohemians to a brush with the Duke. Still, for this night at least, he’d returned to her unharmed, and that’s all she cared about.

[polyphoniie-archived]

{ @sorrowritten | sc }

“What’re ya writin’ about?” Sorry, mister. Amelia’s just gonna plop herself down right next to him and read over his shoulder. As much as she can read what he’s writing; a seven year old has a limited vocabulary, after all.