///
Deadline
Member
Kisses over roses.
STATUS: A word to the wise: you are valued, your writing is worth reading, you are all artists. 15 days ago
- Last Seen: 2 hrs ago
- Joined: 5 mos ago
- Posts: 85 (0.58 / day)
- VMs: 0
- Username history
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
evierose,
ClosedAccount,
Antlers,
Barham,
xVampire3go,
MaeB,
Places Between,
Mole,
Zeus23,
Kaithe Dame
Status
Recent Statuses
15 days ago
Current
A word to the wise: you are valued, your writing is worth reading, you are all artists.
6
likes
18 days ago
You haven't had vietnamese ice coffee until you've had an egg in it. :')
1 mo ago
PSA to your PSA: And when you do reply, try be nice, cheerful, or at least forthcoming/friendly. Trust me, a good attitude will get you far!
6
likes
2 mos ago
I don't wanna fall apart // I want to be alive with you.
4
likes
4 mos ago
2
likes
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
///
uk.pinterest.com/pin/1266706141862189
Lord Strickland was possessed of that ridiculous charm afforded only to men who belonged in literary novels. An astute romantic hero for whom the world had opened itself up to. He was blessed with many good qualities; and not all of them centred around money. For he was as tall as he was severe, as noble as he was kind. His brown hair tumbled affectionately from behind his ears and down across his shoulders. His jaw was perhaps a tad too large and his face had plenty of bone. His brow and nose brought with them their own kind of symmetry that turned an otherwise brutish appearance into something quite sovereign. And despite the gruffness of his features, there was a certain reminder of a boy who had once enjoyed fishing in the lake. Perhaps it was his eyes. After all, they were as clear and tranquil as the ponds of Penbrook themselves.
Miss Stephanie? She was lovely. Really. Quite lovely. A delicate old-world quality. That was what she had. She had long textured hair done in tawny waves. Her nose was neither too small nor too large, though perhaps a mite sharp. Her eyebrows were very neat and her eyes were large and empathetic. Yet her expression had long since become guarded, as if she had received too many questions from by men and had become quite capable of avoiding them. Yet there was still something in that face of the girl who had once believed in Santa Claus. When she wasn't at work about the house, the lobby, the gardens, or the kitchens; she was often found with a book in hand, or taking a turn at the piano. It perhaps went without saying, but she was in possession of quite the rare intellect, and not one that could be easily daunted by a man--even one as entitled as Lord Strickland.
Lord Strickland was possessed of that ridiculous charm afforded only to men who belonged in literary novels. An astute romantic hero for whom the world had opened itself up to. He was blessed with many good qualities; and not all of them centred around money. For he was as tall as he was severe, as noble as he was kind. His brown hair tumbled affectionately from behind his ears and down across his shoulders. His jaw was perhaps a tad too large and his face had plenty of bone. His brow and nose brought with them their own kind of symmetry that turned an otherwise brutish appearance into something quite sovereign. And despite the gruffness of his features, there was a certain reminder of a boy who had once enjoyed fishing in the lake. Perhaps it was his eyes. After all, they were as clear and tranquil as the ponds of Penbrook themselves.
Miss Stephanie? She was lovely. Really. Quite lovely. A delicate old-world quality. That was what she had. She had long textured hair done in tawny waves. Her nose was neither too small nor too large, though perhaps a mite sharp. Her eyebrows were very neat and her eyes were large and empathetic. Yet her expression had long since become guarded, as if she had received too many questions from by men and had become quite capable of avoiding them. Yet there was still something in that face of the girl who had once believed in Santa Claus. When she wasn't at work about the house, the lobby, the gardens, or the kitchens; she was often found with a book in hand, or taking a turn at the piano. It perhaps went without saying, but she was in possession of quite the rare intellect, and not one that could be easily daunted by a man--even one as entitled as Lord Strickland.
///
///
///
///
He danced with her around the room. It was a small one, only big enough for the both of them. As he walked, he lightly spun her around. Each step met hers, their feet shadowing one another, occasionally passing through the glades of sunlight on the window. He was laughing. She was smiling. Her hair was blonde, her eyes green; his black, eyes blue. There was a certain romance to the scene, but not of the virile, chasing kind, a tranquil, more subdued longing. They fell into one another at the end, then held each other. There was no music, there didn't need to be.
Their song was their life.
© 2007-2026