#Tea-scented China Rose

[faguscarolinensis]

Rosa x odorata 'Mutabilis' / 'Mutabilis' Tea-scented China Rose at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens at Duke University in Durham, NC

[stardust-swan]

The Kind of Girl I Want To Be

Buys herself pink peonies and roses

Wears scents like Parfums De Marly Delina and Oriana, Miss Dior, YSL Paris, Prada Candy, Mon Guerlain and Chanel Chance Eau Tendre (she sprays it in the morning, after showers, and before going to bed)

Bakes heart shaped sugar cookies and macarons

Spends rainy days sipping rose tea from floral china while reading beautifully bound classic novels

Has a bookshelf filled with first edition poetry books, gilded editions of fairytale books, volumes of the Little Books of Fashion series, leatherbound classics, and Harlequin romance novels

Drinks peppermint tea in the morning and camomile tea at night

Sleeps on pink silk sheets and has a satin kimono robe

Plays Brigitte Bardot, classical music, and soft jazz in the background

Takes ballates or yogalates classes

Plays the violin or cello

Watches Audrey Hepburn and Anna Karina films

Adds sweet almond oil and rose bath tea to her vanilla bubble bath

Has a seasonal pass to the ballet and regularly visits the theatre, old bookshops, botanical gardens, and art galleries

Keeps things like French Girl lip tints/Glossier lip balms/Too Faced lip glosses, a hand mirror, a comb, some bonbons, a book, a rollerball of perfume, hand cream, a piece of rose quartz, a scrunchie, a nail file, spray on SPF and bubblegum in her bag at all times

Is always up to date with Fashion Week

Writes in her diary daily in swirly writing using coloured gel pens, pressing flowers between the pages and spraying perfume samples on it

Lights Yankee Candle Fresh Cut Roses or Rainbow Cookie, keeps soap and lavender in her wardrobe, and has vanilla diffusers around the house

Lives in a cosy home filled with beautiful things, like paintings by local artists, lots of cushions and throws, soft lighting from salt lamps and fairy lights, potted herbs and succulents, vintage vases filled with floral arrangements, DIY macramé and embroidery projects, a bowl of different crystals, signature Barbies on a shelf, rattan furniture, fluffy towels in white, pink, baby blue, and lavender, pink Dove or rose Roger et Gallet soap and Jurlique rose hand cream on the bathroom sink, pictures of her loved ones in antique frames, floral patterns everywhere, antique mirrors, and beautiful porcelain teasets

Goes to French cafés to enjoy a vanilla oat latte with a millefeuille or almond croissant

Always wears diamond or pearl earrings (often paired with a charm bracelet or gold heart locket)

Enjoys rosé wine, champagne, and strawberry daiquiris at lunchtime occasionally

Snacks on strawberries, sugared almonds, dried fruit and nuts, and Turkish Delight

Applies powder, rosy blush, lipgloss, and puts ribbons in her hair at her vanity table, which is decorated with a ballerina music box, vintage perfume bottles, and trinkets shaped like swans, angels and shepherdesses

Has her morning and evening routines down pat: waking up to melodic music, opening the windows, making the bed, doing gentle yoga, simple skincare, getting dressed, applying makeup, and eating a simple but delicious breakfast in the morning, and having a warm shower, doing more decadent skincare, putting on comfy cotton or satin pyjamas, journalling, enjoying a calming cup of herbal tea, reading, looking out the window at the moon, and falling asleep to relaxing sounds like ocean waves, gentle rainfall, and white noise at night. Her life runs like clockwork.

Is gentle, sweet, romantic, and full of love to give

[innerfare]

Sanji Fluff // Angst Compilation

Summary: A compilation of Sanji angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Brushing Your Teeth Together, Flowers, Type of Date, You See His Cabin, Fighting and Making Up, Paradise, Nightmares, I Love You, You're Jealous).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded: 

Fusses over you while you see to your own wound, feels like they dodged a bullet, blames themselves for any harm that comes to you. “Never again,” they promise themself, bringing you a hot cup of tea to soothe you. 

Brushing Your Teeth Together: 

Slings his arm around you, gets a little too distracted by the sight of you brushing your teeth, ends up standing there with his mouth open and his toothbrush hanging out. Ends up speed running his when you’re finished so he can follow you out of the bathroom. 

Flowers: 

Classic red roses, at least a dozen at a time. He’ll buy you roses in shades of white and pink, as well as the occasional yellow, but a dozen red roses is his go to. He also makes very good use of the petals. Doesn’t need a special occasion to present you with a bouquet. In fact, he always makes sure you have fresh flowers on your nightstand. Additionally, he’s learned to cook a few dishes with edible flowers in them for you, presenting you with all manner of chamomile, chive blossom, and pansy dishes. 

Type of Date: 

This man will take you on the best picnic of your life, a picnic so good he’ll have you wondering why you ever thought restaurants were the epitome of fine dining. It won’t just be delicious, it will be an aesthetic dream, with a wicker basket, checkered blanket, and even a small bouquet of flowers in a glass jar. If he takes you on a picnic beneath the stars, he’ll light candles and be sure to have an extra blanket to keep you warm. Oh, and champagne. Definitely will open a bottle of champagne. 

You See His Cabin For The First Time: 

Sparkling clean, and yet, he’ll apologize anyway because the pillows aren’t fluffy enough, the rug isn’t completely straight, etcetera. His closet is very well organized, all of his clothes ironed and properly taken care of (Sanji’s the rare type to actually read labels and do his laundry accordingly). His most prized possession is a book on the All Blue, which he’s poured over countless times, using color coded tabs to flag various pages and writing detailed notes in the margins. He also came across one of Zeff’s old wanted posters in Loguetown, and he keeps it framed next to his own, the closest thing he has to a family photo. 

Fighting and Making Up: 

He’s far too protective over you, and it causes a lot of fights. He treats you like a china doll, and though that can be quite nice at times, he needs to understand you’re not made of glass. Alternatively, he’s the type to get upset with you for being too friendly to other men. There was also a miscommunication where he cooked something you didn’t like and you weren’t exactly gentle in your reaction to it, you thinking he already knew you didn’t like that thing when he didn’t actually know, him thinking you had an issue with his cooking and not an issue with one of the ingredients. He’s the type to bring you flowers even if you were in the wrong in order to jumpstart the making up process. Your fights never last long because Sanji can’t sleep, can’t eat, can barely even pull himself out of bed if the two of you are on the outs (early childhood trauma can be that way). 

Paradise 1: 

Wandering through a flower field and picking some of the more beautiful blooms that catch your eye, sprawling out on a picnic blanket in the late morning to bask in the sweet scent, enjoying the breeze as it ruffles your hair, weaving some of the flowers you picked into a delicate crown that they wear proudly while the two of you share sweet kisses. 

Paradise 2: 

Waiting until late evening to meet beneath a peach tree, speaking at first in hushed tones, worrying someone is on to the two of you, eventually forgetting about all of that and settling into easy conversation about nothing and everything simultaneously, him jumping up to pick a peach for you to have as an evening snack, you taking advantage of the last bit of light to carve both of your initials into the tree trunk. 

Nightmares: 

You’re in the clutches of his brothers while his father watches on in approval, and he’s trying to save you but to no avail. Suddenly, he’s seven years old again- too small, too slow, too weak to put up a fight, completely at the mercy of his brothers. Only, they aren’t tormenting him, they’re tormenting you, and from the looks on their faces, they sure are enjoying it. The look on your face, though, is one of complete anguish. And then you scream in pain, and he’s awake again, sitting up in bed with a sheen of sweat on his skin, the image of your face in such pain burned into his brain. He doesn’t register that it was only a nightmare until he puts eyes on you, and even then, it takes him several days to recover from the nightmare. 

I Love You: 

Sanji technically confesses first, but you’re the one who actually says those three words. He’s holding your hand in both of his, clutching it close to his racing heart, as he looks down at you, telling you all the ways you make his life better, all the things he’s looking forward to doing with you, all the energy he’s going to put into keeping you happy, healthy, and safe. And the words just sort of fall from your lips. He stops mid sentence, eyes wide and mouth open. The seconds drag on in silence before he’s pulling your lips to his. Both of you are very generous with these three words, saying them often and in public. If you ever hang up the transponder snail without telling him you love him, he’s calling you right back to make sure everything is alright. (Also, not really relevant, might do a separate post about this, but Sanji is definitely a heart-shaped jewelry sort of guy. He just is. Certified lover boy.) 

You’re Jealous: 

Even with a third eye, Pudding is stunning. And Sanji almost married her. It was before you two were together, but listening to the stories from Whole Cake, hearing how close he came to marrying another woman, knowing she really did fall in love with his kind heart and wonderful cooking, turns you into a little green monster. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous of a woman you’ve never met before, a woman Sanji chose not to marry, but you can’t help it. Sanji is completely shocked that you would feel jealous over his relationship (if it could even be called that) with Pudding, though after thinking about it some more, he does realize why you might be jealous that he had a fiancé. His solution is to bring you a bouquet of roses and walk you through the dark details of his life, telling you things he’s never outright told anyone, so you understand the special place you have in his life. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[fizzyxcustard]

Those Hands.

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Insecurity, comparison, angst, sexual references, mutual pining, idiots in love.

Comments/Notes: From the imagine, "Imagine that Thorin is in love with you (from the race of Men) but constantly compares his body and features with other men, thinking you find him disgusting." Requested by multiple readers and anons. (THANK YOU!)

I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.

Thorin watched every little interaction that you had with other males, whether they be Dwarves, Men or Elves. He couldn’t help but watch you blush, avert eye contact and use self-soothing gestures, such as touching your face, curling your hair with your fingers, or rubbing your upper arms. 

Since Thorin had been crowned King of Erebor, and re-building was underway, many people visited the mountain. Bard came from Esgaroth, often meeting with Thorin in council, to discuss trade deals and assistance in building. Much to Thorin’s distain, Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, also came. Again, he joined the council to converse around the subject of trade deals in precious metals and gemstones.  

Your relationship with Thorin was entirely built on trust. The two of you had been companions out on the road during the quest to re-take Erebor. He had always valued your opinion, spoke with you in private, and kept you close to him on his council of advisors. Erebor was now your home, despite you being of the race of Men. Your family were all gone, meaning that the Dwarves had now taken that place, welcoming you into the fold and treating you as one of their own. 

One morning, council was busy. Neldra, one of the kitchen staff, was on hand with jugs of cold drinks and pots of tea. Then once all the drinks were laid out neatly on intricately laced doilies, she came back with a trolley of fresh pastries. 

The smell was divine; you took an inhale and let the scent overtake you. Apple and cinnamon were among the selection: your favourite. 

You reached out to take one of the pastries, only to feel another hand graze yours. “I apologise,” a voice came, from the direction of the hand. 

It was Bard, from two seats down to your right hand side, who had stretched across to grab one of Neldra’s famous delicacies. “It was no bother,” you replied. “You first.” 

“Ladies first. I insist.” 

Thorin’s blue eyes studied the scene going on before him. No one else had noticed the exchange between you and Bard. Upon the impact of yours and Bard’s hands, Thorin felt a jolt in his chest. It rose up into his throat, and he closed his eyes for a brief second. The red hot sensation bore into him, feeling as if it were forming a hole straight through him. Upon opening his eyes, Thorin looked at his hands, then glanced across to Bard’s. The man’s hands were broad, but his fingers long and slender. Very much unlike Thorin’s. The Dwarf King’s fingers were short and bulky, with stubby ends. Surely Bard’s hands would have the dexterity and skill to caress your skin, drawing shivers from you. A Dwarf’s hands would be too calloused and thick to evoke any kind of pleasurable sensation upon a woman from the race of Men. 

Chatter continued, along with eating and drinking. In that time, Thorin tried his hardest to push the negative thoughts from his mind, and concentrate on the conversation at hand, which involved the realms of Erebor and Esgaroth exchanging skilled workers and apprentices. 

Thranduil was also present and merely rolled his eyes as the conversation got underway between Bard and Thorin. The Elven King did not like to waste his time, and being in this council meant that there were stints of time where his input was not needed. 

“Would you like another drink?” you asked Thranduil, picking up the nearest china pot of tea. 

“I would much prefer wine, but since I’m not within my realm, I would not say no.”

Thorin’s gaze darted over to Thranduil, and then to you. He saw you brush a piece of hair behind your ear, and then look up at the Elven King sat opposite you. Your ears were small, with one golden hoop earring in each lobe. Then Thorin looked at Thranduil’s ears; pointed at the tip, finely structured. They weren’t big, round and sticking out. Thorin’s ears were ugly, and thankfully he could keep them hidden under his long hair. Secretly, he had always imagined you whispering against them, your lips brushing them. It made Thorin shiver. 

Once council had concluded, Thorin left the chamber and headed back to the royal wing. Once inside and he stood in front of his full length dress mirror, staring at the protruding ears on the side of his head. Then he studied his large hands, thinking back to Bard’s. 

The males from the races of Men and Elves made you blush in a way that Thorin never had. Their bodies were more finely crafted, which complemented yours. They had finer features with smaller noses and brows. 

Thorin shifted back and sat on his bed, his hands in his lap. He took one more glance at them, feeling disgusted at what he saw. They would never be good enough for you. None of his body would ever be good enough for you. Everything about him was oversized, not delicate and handsome like Bard and Thranduil. Both of them had lost their wives, and may have wished to re-marry, so they would make better husbands for you. 

***

The following day and Thorin was sat in the council room, signing documents. His quill scratched loudly against the parchment. 

You walked in, holding a further stack of documents in your hands. “These should be the last ones,” you said, offering a smile. 

Thorin looked up at you. No blush on your face to be seen. 

“Is everything alright?” you asked. There was something in his eyes, a thoughtfulness. Maybe even a sadness. You sat down in an empty seat next to Thorin. “What’s wrong?” On impulse, you placed your hand on top of his. 

Thorin looked at your hands, watching your thumb gently caress his knuckle. How huge his hand looked against yours. But how right it felt, as if the size did not matter, and they were still able to fit together as one. 

“There is nothing wrong,” Thorin said, forcing a weak smile. “I hear that Bard is leaving this afternoon. Will you not be wishing him farewell?” 

“I barely know him,” you replied. “I’d feel it strange to do so.” 

“Would you wish to get to know him?” 

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“Surely you find him handsome,” Thorin continued, pulling the new stack of documents over towards him. 

“Not really. Can’t say I do. There’s some reason to you asking this, Thorin.” 

“Why would I have any reason?” 

“There’s always a reason to anything that you ask. I know you enough by now. Talk to me. You’ve always given me more trust than I deserve, and never questioned me liked this before.” 

Thorin took a deep inhale and looked at you, dropping his quill. “Who do you find handsome? If not Bard, maybe Thranduil?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Why ever would you think I’m attracted to King Thranduil?” The whole idea was so comical that you couldn’t help but keep giggling. “It takes….” You couldn’t stop the giggling. “A special….kind of woman….to…..” 

Thorin also began to chuckle, watching your face turn red in amusement and delight. His heart somehow felt lighter as he watched you, and that overwhelming love for you rose. It was a love that would allow him to do anything to make you happy. It was a love that would make him sacrifice his very life to keep you safe. It was sacrificial and unconditional. 

You could see the glow in Thorin’s eyes and the smile which curled his lips upwards. He was the one you found handsome, above all others. The intensity in his eyes made butterflies swarm in your stomach. His proud presence caused you to shiver whenever he entered a room. His voice was enough to make your imaginations travel to another place where only the two of you were, locked away in comfort, pursuing wondrous pleasure. 

You edged closer to Thorin. “You said you want to know who I find handsome?” 

Thorin’s heart was hammering now and he was sure that you would be able to hear it. 

“It’s you.” Your voice was a whisper. “It’s always been you. How could it not be you? Why would you ever think I’d be attracted to Bard and Thranduil?” 

Thorin closed his eyes in embarrassment. “My features and body are not like theirs.” 

“So why would that not make you handsome?” 

“My hands…” 

“Your hands?” you giggled. This time a blush did hit your cheeks, and it was even more vivid than it had ever been when in the company of any other man. “You have found out my secret.” 

“What secret?” Thorin asked, shifting ever so slightly closer to you. He had never wanted you any more than he did in those moments. The very thought that it was him that you found handsome was making his whole being rise, but anticipation was now racing down his spine in shivers. 

“I have had a fantasy for some time now, since meeting you, of what you could do to me with those hands,” you said, biting your lip. 

Thorin couldn’t hold back any more and moved even closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek. His breath was elevated and his eyes were sparkling with so much joy, but slight fear. 

His lips crashed against yours and you both groaned upon impact. Within seconds and the kiss had grown deep, your tongues both meeting. You couldn’t help but whimper as Thorin’s lips left yours and trailed down your neck. His beard tickled your skin and then as he grew more impatient, you could feel the tickle become a bristling, sharp sensation. Your hands became lost in his hair as he nuzzled at your neck, groaning and grunting. 

Thorin felt your fingertips brush over his ears, and it drew an overwhelming shiver from his very core. 

“I love you, Thorin,” you said again. “Now show me what you can do with those hands.” 

***

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[firawren]

My Beast/Belle smut master list

For ease of pointing my monster fucker readers to my Beast/Belle smut, here's a master list of all the fics and chapters I've written with some sort of sexual intimacy between Beast in his beast form and Belle, from most graphic/kinky to tamest.

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ "Breeding a fresh start"

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Chapter 11 of "Transformation"

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ "A scent there that wasn't there before"

🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Chapter 10 of "Transformation"

🌶️🌶️🌶️ Chapter 15 of "Transformation"

🌶️🌶️🌶️ Chapter 16 of "Transformation"

🌶️🌶️🌶️ Chapter 9 of "Transformation"

🌶️🌶️🌶️ "Scent doesn't lie"

🌶️🌶️ "Bull in a china shop"

🌶️🌶️ Chapter 8 of "Transformation"

🌶️🌶️ "Air heavy with the sound and scent of rain"

🌶️🌶️ "Warming up"

🌶️🌶️ Chapter 13 of "The Rose Brides"

🌶️ Chapter 9 of "The Rose Brides"

🌶️ Chapter 11 of "The Rose Brides"

🌶️ "Rose-scented bath water"

If you read and enjoy one of these stories, please leave me a comment! Thanks friends!

(Believe it or not, only about half of what I write is smutty, and only about half of that smut is Beast/Belle. So if this isn't your cup of tea, check out my complete master list for non-smut and/or non-monster stories.)

[lillaydee]

The Greener Grass Across the Street

Joel Miller / Reader

The grass is always greener on the other side.

WARNINGS:

Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence (Not Joel), Domestic Life, Domestic Bliss, Husband Joel, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us)

Divider by @saradika

Enjoy my sudden Brain Worm

___

You waited until the truck pulled to a complete stop before getting out, Joel going out and getting the groceries in the back. You unlocked the front door, opening it wide enough for Joel to squeeze in with the six or so bags of groceries that he had always insisted he could manage without a second trip. You went back out to the yard, getting the garden hose and spraying the small herb garden you had, along with the three rose bushes Joel had helped you plant. One day, you thought, one day you will have a garden full of sweet, scented flowers, and maybe, just maybe you wouldn’t feel so inferior living so close to the couple across the street.

**********

The house had been an exact copy of yours at one point, but days after they purchased it slews of contractors and landscape architects camped over, and before long, the house looked like something out of a home and living magazine. The garden was to die for. The most beautiful and expensive flowers you could only dream of decorating every corner, artfully interspersed with imported trees and filler plants and cobbles and coloured pebbles and river stones.

The lady of the house, Lydia, you think her name was, drove up the street and into her driveway in her new imported car. They had been living across the street for maybe two years, and she had changed cars at least twice. You had spoken to her a few times. She was a sweet, quiet lady. A career woman, and the one time you went inside her house to send her a welcome to the neighbourhood pie you had baked she opened the door looking like a Stepford wife, her perfect hair and clothing making you feel like a bag lady. Her house was immaculately furnished, expensive everything, obviously imported. She served you a cup of imported tea in a fine bone China tea set so delicate you were seriously worried your clumsy fingers were going to break them. And then you might actually have to cut off your fingers to replace them.

Her husband, Collin, was an accountant, you believed. He treated his wife like a princess. Heck, you wondered if she ever had to lift a finger if she didn’t feel like it. Any time you spoke to her when she was gardening, her husband would come out and wrap his arms around her body, joining in the conversation, telling her over and over she didn’t need to do the gardening, he could hire someone to do it for her, he didn’t want her hands getting all dirty. She’s so stubborn, he would tell you. He wanted to get her a housekeeper and a gardener to help with the household duties, but she wouldn’t hear it, even insisting on working still even though he begged her to quit. He wanted to spoil her, but she wouldn’t let him, he had told you, giving her smooches all over her cheek.

Seriously she made you feel like a loser. A full time job, an immaculate house, a beautiful garden, and still she managed to look like a porcelain doll at all times, all primped and made up for her beloved husband, who, you had noticed, could never keep his hands off her. You went over to ask for a sprig of Rosemary once, and there was a rack of lamb on the perfectly set table, complete with shiny silver and crystal tableware. You went home to your sad roast chicken feeling as if you’d failed Joel as a wife.

**********

You loved your husband, you really did. He was a good husband, by any measure. He provided for you, leaving the house before the crack of dawn in his old truck to slave away doing heavy labour all day, and came home late in the evening with whatever items you asked him to get for you at the store on his way home. You met him when you were working as a receptionist for a contractor he had laboured for, fell head over heels in love, and married him within a year of meeting. You started trying for a baby straightaway, and when you expressed your wish to be a stay at home mom, he immediately agreed. You thought your dreams of a perfect life was starting to come true.

Two years passed, and you were still out of luck with a baby, and Joel being the sole breadwinner, money was tight. You wanted to go back to work, but he coaxed you into staying at home a little while longer. Sometimes it just takes a while for couples to conceive. So you stayed at home.

The problem then was you began to feel bad for him. He was working himself to the bones to provide for you and your future children. And you kept feeling as if you were not doing enough for him. You knew money was tight, so you kept quiet about wanting certain things around the house. A kitchen island, planters in the garden, an armoire for the bedroom. You would love to go dancing every now and again, go out for dinner every once in a while, maybe a vacation or two. But all that cost money, and the two of you simply couldn’t afford it. So you kept quiet.

All you wanted was for Joel to come home to a perfect wife for the perfect husband that he was, but you felt as if you were lacking.  The house was never clean enough, the garden never beautiful enough, the food never delicious enough. You had to plan your mediocre meals down to a tee to make sure your bills could be paid, money could be saved for rainy days, so no fancy China or silvers and crystals for your household. Not even a rack of lamb.

He gave you some money every week to get something for yourself if you so wished, but you never did. You saved it all up so you could get him something nice. You bought him a nice pair of boots for Christmas, and he chastised you for spending so much money on him. He didn’t have much, but he gave you everything he could. He didn’t want anything for himself. He just wanted you to be happy.

Still, you felt like you were not good enough for him.

**********

It had started as you feeling like you were not good enough for your husband. Collin and Lydia’s arrival made that feeling stronger. You wanted to be like Lydia. The perfect woman. One who was independent, a career woman who could still do it all, be the perfect wife for her husband.

But slowly, it turned into you wanting to have a Collin for a husband.

You couldn’t help but compare the man to Joel.

Collin was a husband who was open to showing affection in public, hands never off his beautiful wife, never shy about showing the world how much he was infatuated with her. Joel was a stoic man to the world, but was insatiable for you behind closed doors, and occasionally, the comfort of his truck. You could only imagine what Collin would be like in the privacy of their bedroom.

Collin was a husband who could shower his wife with lavish vacations and fine dining. Joel took you to the beach and tacos and burgers on the weekends.

Collin was a husband who would take his wife dancing every now and again. Joel slow-danced to Sinatra with you in the comfort of your living room.

Collin came home from work with beautiful flowers for his wife. Joel came home with an empty lunchbox and bread and eggs and milk from the store.

Collin came home on Valentine’s Day with expensive jewellery for his wife. Joel came home on Valentine’s Day with home made carvings and a card he made himself.

You hated that you were beginning to feel this way. You hated that you were seeing your husband in such a negative light. The man who had provided for you as best as he could. You envied Lydia for having it all. How you wished you had her life.

And then one day, you found out you were pregnant. Joel held you tight, kissed you all over, happy tears in his eyes. He made love to you again and again that night, promising you that he would work hard to give you and the baby a better life, he will give you everything you had ever wanted. Because you had given him everything he had ever wanted. A family.

Just like that, your envy for the life in the house across the street disappeared. You were happy. You had everything you needed right here, you thought. The next day, while he was at work, you went outside to the herb garden to get some rosemary from the planter box Joel had built for you, went into the kitchen to prepare your husband’s favourite roast chicken dinner on the kitchen island he had crafted for you. You got the laundry out of the machine, folding and putting them away in the armoire he spent months constructing for you, before going out to your now much fuller garden to cut some roses for the dining table from the bush he had planted for you. You waved at Lydia across the street, looking perfect as usual, and went back inside to wait for your husband to come home.

**********

Across the street that night, Lydia sat in her perfect bathroom, wiping the make up away from her face, all the mask she had on for the world taken off, the black and blue reality of her life reflecting in the mirror. She looked at the expensive bouquet Collin had gotten her, having put them on the marble bathroom counter for the lack of space from the many, many bouquets he had gotten her this week alone, extended her arm to brush the delicate petals before wincing and hissing in pain, her shoulder still hurting from the incident earlier.

She was drawing the curtains for the night when she saw you and Joel dancing in your living room across the street, looking so happy and in love she was frozen on the spot, her heart aching with yearning. Collin had yanked her away from the window so hard her shoulder creaked and snapped, accusing her of lusting after that low class labourer Miller. He immediately apologized when he saw the tears in her eyes, telling her he didn’t mean it, he just loved her so much he went crazy at the thought that she was looking at other men.

Lydia finished wiping her face but waited in the bathroom. She knew that she would be receiving another beautiful bouquet of flowers tomorrow, perhaps even jewellery. This one on the bathroom counter was from the time when she didn’t iron his shirt right two days ago. It was her fault, really, she was far too sleepy when she was ironing, having spent the night before scrubbing the bathroom clean with a toothbrush. Collin hated a dirty bathroom. He had, after all, spent so much money on it.

She waited in the bathroom still, even after she heard Collin’s snores. She needed to sleep soon, she had a long drive the next day. The money she had set aside was enough now. One more sleep and she would be a free woman. But until then, she needed to live this life she did not sign up for and keep up the act.

She couldn’t help but dream for a life like yours. A life filled with simplicity and love. Pure, honest, true love, one that needed no pretence, no hiding from the world. It was exhausting to live the perfect life, one that was only so to the public, but filled with tears behind closed doors.

Lydia finally got up, wincing a little from Collin’s over enthusiastic show of love after that incident earlier, switched the lights to the bathroom off and slipped into their expensive, plush marital bed as quietly as she could, and tried to get some sleep.

Tomorrow would be a fresh start.

As she drifted away, she couldn’t help but pray that her new life would be one like yours.

You, the nice lady with the perfect life across the street.

[aphetaliamessages]

What are the countries thankful for?

America: FAACES fam, Tony and Mr. Whale, his Uncle Scotty, his Baby Uncle Sealand, and the Awesome Trio. And Russia's muscles 😤

Canada: For Gilbert, who finally noticed him

England: For all his sons even though they enjoy annoying him. His daughter, Seychelles. His brothers, too, maybe. And "I guess frogs for being tasty."

France: Makeup, cheese, wine, bread, cake, England, the BTT, ~England~, his kiddos, his sister, ghosts, labour unions, pretty dresses, pretty suits, his cat, the Pierres, tsundere compliments from England, love stories, his hair, roses, love songs, frilly curtains—

Russia: Alfie, his sisters, snow, sunshine, nature in general, little fluffy animals, sunflowers, borscht, vodka, and Christmas

Italy: Pasta, his friend Japan, pizza, pasta, nice clothes, siestas, Germany, linguine—that's a pasta, naked siestas, naked Germany, ravioli, his brothers, and cats!

Romano: Tomatoes. And churros 🤔

Spain: Definitely VERY thankful for his Lovito

Germany: Italy. Japan and Gilbert, too. And cake. Not just Italy. Other things as well. Ahem. Like wurst.

Prussia: His brother, his besties, Gilbird (his favourite wingman), Mattie, Mattie's hair, Mattie's ass, Mattie's dick, Mattie's thighs, Mattie in comfy sweaters, Mattie in a crop top, Mattie with no shirt, Mattie with no pants, pancakes, Mattie's pancakes (not a euphemism), Mattie's pancakes (as a euphemism), how excited Mattie gets over hockey, Mattie's singing voice, Mattie's blush, Mattie's smile, aaaand beer

Austria: The familiar scent of his piano, the smell of edelweiss in the summer, orchestral performances on YouTube, and not being invited to Alfred's Thanksgiving party

Hungary: Austria. Austria in a frilly dress. Austria playing piano. Austria eating wurst. Austria in a tight dress. Austria in her bed. Austria—

China: Peace and quiet, Hong Kong speaking Chinese even if it's the wrong one, buffets, Hello Kitty, and Mickey Mouse

and Rommy

Japan: Cherry blossoms, green tea Pocky, Hatsune Miku, anime, dogs, cats, Greece, Germany and Italy, his weird big family, Animal Crossing, America's promise to beat up anyone who bullies him, Ao3 and Pixiv

Hong Kong: Hip hop, when Bàba approves, when Dad disapproves, the word "yo," wearing hats backwards, white boys with puffins (well there's only one), dumplings, and unrestricted internet access!

Send an ask if you want more characters! — Mod England 🎸

[heylittleriotact]

La Vie en Rose - an Emmrook One Shot

Oops my fucking hand slipped.

(Rated M for some casual embalming chat between professionals)

Mourn Watch Rook x Emmrich

Pre-Release, probably not canon compliant, I don't care :D

Her arrival was heralded by the sound of her heeled Orlesian shoes winding down the staircase to the study. He looked up from the workbench, hands stilling over a bowl of various herbs and powders as she came into view. She looked distant; concerned.

She stiffened when she realized he was looking at her, the fingers of her right hand tightening just a little on the hand railing.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be down here,” she said, immediately turning to retreat up the stairs, the tips of her pointed ears going pink. 

Emmrich frowned: Amina Rook had been a reclusive phantom haunting this curious place from day one: one word answers awaited any attempts made by himself or any of their other companions to get to know her, and she was eager to mutter rushed goodbyes if she found herself sharing space with anyone else.

She was clearly terrified, and if even half of what he knew of her was true and not just idle gossip between mortalitasi and Mourn Watch, she had good reason to be. 

She was also nearly halfway up the stairs now and almost out of sight.

“Wait!” He cried out, rushing to the bottom of the stairs. “Manfred just put on the tea… won’t you stay for a cup?” Wide sage eyes stared down at him. “Only one… if it pleases you, of course,” he added. 

Those green eyes narrowed ever so slightly with what was surely distrust. He couldn’t blame her for that either: considering the circumstances surrounding her ‘sabbatical’ from the necropolis, it made perfect sense that she would be wary around colleagues within the Mourn Watch. 

“He always makes far too much tea,” Emmrich said in a stage whisper: he didn’t relish convincing her at the cost of Manfred’s reputation, but he had to at least try to help this blatantly unsettled woman. “You’d be doing me a great favour.” 

She pulled a handful of sleek black hair over her shoulder and ran her fingers through it nervously. “Fine.” 

One word. 

It was something. 

He stepped away from the stairs and unfurled his arm in the universally understood gesture: after you. She swept past him without a glance, and the scent of cedar, peppermint and rose water trailed in her wake. 

She stood in the middle of the study, her arms crossed defensively, back to him, tapping her toes on the stone floor as she looked around at the rows upon rows of books that stretched from wall to wall, ceiling to ceiling. 

“Manfred, would you please place another setting for tea? Amina has kindly agreed to join us.” Emmrich unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled up the cuffs of his shirt on his way to the wash basin at the end of the workbench. He dunked his hands in the water and soaped them up as Manfred creaked enthusiastically to the cupboard and rifled through it for another cup and saucer - such things were curiously difficult to come by in the Lighthouse for some reason. 

He dried his hands on the clean towel next to the basin and chanced a smile at Amina. She caught the expression and her gaze darted back to the shelves of books. 

Found in the crypts by undead as an infant - no parents were ever located - Amina had grown up in the necropolis, raised by the Mourn Watch. He’d never met her - not unusual considering the size of the city - but he knew of her. Everyone in the Watch knew of her involvement in the War of the Banners, and many did not look upon that involvement kindly. 

Emmrich was of the mind that ‘encouraged to travel’ was a rather droll way to say ‘indefinitely exiled from the only place she’s ever called home’. Add to that this business with the Dread Wolf… it was little wonder she was in such a state.

The shared silence was broken only by the rattle of china and effortful grunts and chatters made by Manfred as he prepared the tea.

Best get that mystery out of the way first, Emmrich decided.

“I don’t share the opinion that some of our associates have in regard to your perceived interference in the matters of the undead nobility. It was a difficult choice to make, and unfortunately you were placed in a position where you were the one responsible for making it. I can’t claim that I wouldn’t have done the same, were I in your shoes… it was the right thing to do.”

Amina considered him with those wide eyes and drew her lower lip through her teeth thoughtfully before saying quietly, “Thanks.” She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her thin black coat that fell midway down her thighs and jerked her chin at the wall of books. “Read them all yet?”

That was an astounding four words.

Encouraged, Emmrich chuckled. “I’m afraid my ancient elvhen is a touch out of practice, but I’m making good headway… or I would be if I only had another century or two to spare.” He went to the table in front of the fireplace where they would take their tea and pulled out a chair for her. “Please sit, my dear.” He smiled again. No threat. He was accustomed to people in general being unsettled by him, but not people who lived in the same world he did… knew what he knew. 

She visibly flinched at the gesture, but found it in herself to sit on the chair and let Emmrich push her up to the table. Her eyes followed Manfred as he shuffled over to the table holding the kettle and began pouring steaming water into the teapot. He replaced the lid with a ‘clink’ and leaned closer to Amina, cocking his head and cooing softly as he took her in.

“Curiosity…” she murmured, and she looked over the table at Emmrich who had seated himself across from her. “But you call him–” she caught herself and addressed Manfred, “Sorry, is ‘him’ right?” The skeleton chattered an affirmative set of gurgles accompanied by a nod and Amina continued. “You call him Manfred?” 

“He calls himself Manfred, so it would be astoundingly rude of me not to do the same.” Emmrich winked at Manfred and helped himself to a tea sandwich and a biscuit. 

It would seem Amina’s own curiosity was piqued. 

“Fascinating,” she breathed, watching Manfred with rapt attention as he poured tea into a cup for her and and a cup for Emmrich. “I’ve encountered spirits of curiosity on occasion, but they’ve never been keen to take a physical form. And he just… follows you around and… helps?”

“There is no better way to satisfy curiosity than by actively participating in the world around us, wouldn’t you agree?” His heart stirred with affection at the sight of Manfred offering Amina the plate of sandwiches. “He is not bound to me - he is free to come and go as he pleases… leave if he chooses, but he seems to be quite content rendering his tremendously valuable aid as my assistant… and I am eternally grateful for it.” 

Amina took a sandwich and Manfred set the plate down. He picked up the bowl of sugar and held it out to her with an inquiring chirp.

“Uh… two please.” 

Two cubes of sugar were dropped into her tea, followed by cream, and Emmrich saw delight in her eyes for the first time as Manfred stirred her tea for her.

“Thank you,” she actually smiled at his assistant then, and Emmrich’s heart was lightened at the sight of it. She sipped her tea. “This is perfect, Manfred.” 

Manfred’s bones quivered with excitement and he sidled over a pace to see to Emmrich’s tea next - he knew how he took it: one sugar, no cream - simple and without fuss.

“How we met is a delightful tale, and I’ll be happy to tell it to you one day, but for now I’d like to focus on you: how are you?” 

The remnants of her smile vanished and her cool, collected visage returned as she cradled the rather battered teacup in her hands. “I’m fine,” she said just a little too quickly. “No need to worry about me.” 

Emmrich nodded his thanks to Manfred who had finished with his tea, and the skeleton shuffled off. “Spoken like a true disciple of the Mourn Watch.” He watched her brow tighten and took a moment to lift his tea to his lips and blow on it gently. “But as it happens, I too am familiar with the fact that we tend to put the welfare of everyone else - including the dead - ahead of our own almost habitually.” Was that a scowl? “You are safe with me, Amina… you can trust me.” 

She sipped from her tea again. “Manual suture, or needle injector?” 

Emmrich raised an eyebrow, his own tea inches from his lips. “I beg your pardon?” 

“When closing a decedent’s mouth, which do you prefer: manually suturing with a needle and twine, or the needle injector?”

Truth be told, Emmrich hadn’t really been expecting to talk shop over tea with Amina, but she was talking, and that was leaps and bounds better than her skulking around the Lighthouse in terrified catatonia. 

“I have a strong preference for manually suturing where I can. It’s easier to control the placement of the sutures, and the resulting mouth position and shape tends to look more natural than when one uses the injector.” He reached for his biscuit. “Of course there are cases in which the injector makes for easier work, but I find the amount of time it takes to get each needle positioned correctly doesn’t make it much more efficient at the end of the day: I favour quality over quantity.” He dunked the biscuit and smiled at Amina again. “And you?” 

She studied him over the rim of her tea cup before saying, “Suture. All the way.” She tossed her head back, downing the hot drink in one go before saying. “Perhaps I can trust you after all, Mr. Volkarin.” 

“Please call me Emmrich.” 

“Perhaps the next time I join you for tea.” 

“The next time? So you’ll come again?” 

Another smile - this one with a rather mischievous tilt to it. “So long as Manfred is the one making the tea.” She stood from her chair and Emmrich shot to his feet as well. 

“Allow me to escort you back to your room.” He extended an arm to her. Amina breezed past and made for the stairs, her heels clicking over the stone. 

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, beginning to ascend the stairs. “Farewell, Mr. Volkarin. This distraction was… appreciated.” She shot him one more smile over her shoulder before disappearing from view, leaving behind only her lipstick stained tea cup, forgotten sandwich, and the lingering scent of cedar, peppermint, and rose water as evidence of her ever having been in the study.

Much to Emmrich’s surprise, she returned the next afternoon at precisely four, given away by the clicking of fashionable Orlesian shoes on spiral stairs.

“Hello, Emmrich. May I join you for tea?”

[dxkk1104]

First kiss

Hot tea was cooling by the open window. In the background could be heard the quiet murmuring of Sakura, who was most likely singing a song under her breath. She often did this, Sasuke noted, but he never asked her what the tune was. He concluded that he still had time.

The vanilla scent reached his nostrils. He glanced at the teacup, its perfect rim, well-formed handle and beautiful hand-painted flowers. Such looking porcelain would not want to be spoiled. Every time he picked it up and put it to his lips, it could end up falling. Sasuke was aware of this, and still enjoyed taking it in his hands and observing it from all sides, drinking warm drinks from it and marveling at its beauty. It was a selfish act that he was ashamed of after so many attempts to become a better person. 

"Do you like it?" the melodious voice he already knew so well, since he heard it almost every day, snapped him out of his reverie. 

He had been notoriously drifting his thoughts elsewhere lately. 

"Yes. Where did you get it?"

He took a sip from it, not taking his eyes off Sakura. The woman smiled softly, then took a seat across from him. With a mug of steaming tea, she looked out at the sky full of stars that reflected in her pupils. Sasuke couldn't stop falling in love with her more and more every day. 

"I did it myself. I was at a pottery workshop three months ago with Ino and Naruto." she squatted a cup in front of him "We should go there too, if you want."

Sasuke nodded, keeping his eyes too long on her hand, causing Sakura to get tense and quickly take it from there. Could it be that through his two-year absence, she had stopped having the same feelings for him as before? Had Sasuke begun to misinterpret her hospitality? The fact that she allowed him to stay with her until he decided what to do with himself could only have been an act of friendly service, nothing more. But then it would mean that he should get out of her apartment at the earliest opportunity. Sakura had her own life, and Sasuke could be in her way. And that's exactly how he felt, as if he were an intruder. 

He rose abruptly, accidentally tipping his teacup over in his haste. The tea spilled on the table, but fortunately the china did not disintegrate. Instead, a scratch formed on it. A bloody scratch.

"Sorry."

Putting it aside, he didn't look at Sakura once. It made him feel stupid; /him/. 

"What's wrong, Sasuke?" 

She approached him, but he dodged her, as if in an amok walking toward the exit. His feelings overwhelmed him. He felt too much at once. He was not used to this. He had spent the last few months alone, traveling and rearranging everything in his mind so that he could come back stronger and a newer man, not to hurt her again by not controlling his emotions.

"Nothing, it is not important." he said rather quietly, grabbing the coat hanging next to the door.

""It is important." sounded her voice firmly, "Sasuke, don't do it again. Don't cut yourself off from me. I'm here to understand."

He stopped and swallowed his saliva with difficulty. 

"I can't tell you what happened, Sakura, I'm not able to."

"Then show me."

His legs betrayed him; his body did what it wanted; his mind thought only of her as the woman he loved. Sasuke found himself next to her and kissed her, confidently and greedily, as if he hadn't fought with his head and his conflicting thoughts at all a moment ago. And Sakura returned the kiss, capturing his face in her gentle hands. The scratch on the cup can be repaired. 

[skinnerhousebooks]

Christmas Evensong

It’s the deepest part of the night now. Many mothers give birth this night in Mexico, in New York City, in Kuala Lumpur; in Sinkiang, China, and Talinn, Estonia. Some are poor, some well to do. Some call this time Christmas, some do not. The midnight in Punta Arenas, Chile, is scented with summer roses, and groups of friends in Hobart, Tasmania, gather for mint tea on the patio, commenting on the beauty of Christmas sunsets. . . . Over Montevideo, the Southern Cross rises bright among the constellations as midnight yields its ancient Spanish carols. Over Montreal, Orion hovers, it’s belt a comforting sash across the icy-cold sky. A new mother sees the stars from her hospital bed and smiles. The world is great, the world is glorious and this wondrous night tells only one small part of its story. Yet I say even this part of the story is great. And each word in the story is great. And the breath of silence between each word, and the silence found at both the beginning and the end of this story is an emblem of a greatness and glory yet to be discovered.

—Mark Belletini Sonata for Voice and Silence

[sertrallne]

questions that no one asked about vesper!

NAME: vesper (midnight).

NICKNAME: espeon, esp, vesp, pinkie.

GENDER: cis man.

STAR SIGN: cancer 🌙

HEIGHT: 1'83.

ORIENTATION: bisexual.

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: japanese ft SPANISH!

FAVORITE FRUIT: apple and bananas.

FAVORITE SEASON: winter.

FAVORITE FLOWER: roses, tulips and rosa china.

FAVORITE SCENT: every fancy cologne.

COFFEE, TEA, or HOT CHOCOLATE: coffee.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: he doesn't sleep.

DOGS or CATS: cats.

HOBBIES: playing baldurs gate and pokemon, reading lovecraft, go shopping and watch kdramas.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: two bc he's cold.

RANDOM FACT: he has a younger sister and she's the only reason to contact his family.

[crewman-penelope]

From one botanist to another - Part 7

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7 Proper Breakfast

There was fresh made bread, still warm, for you. Milky, creamy butter. A honeycomb in a bowl, surely fresh harvest from the bee hives.

And - tea.

Dry tea leaves, in different shades of green and red. You could made out verbene and lemon balm, as also the sight of dried chamomile heads.

The smell gave you an idea of peppermint also. He poured you a cup in an elegant gesture, alas still focused. Your host calculated every of his own body movements. You wondered what it was, until your eyes felt on the knots on his knuckles and the swollen wrists.

You threw him a look and wondered if he would mind your asking. He seemed to be sick. This was more then scars on his skin by an accident. You decided to let him tell you in time and just went with the flow.

Morningstar filled his cup from the same pot and gestured to your tea.

“It is not poisoned. Neither drugged.”, he assured you with a warm smile. To give you reason he lifted his cup and sipped his tea.

“I apologize for drugging you yesterday night. I felt it was necessary after the quite exciting event of your kitnapping. It was not my intention to frighten you, though.”

His voice was calm and apologizing. You looked at the hot beverage, remembering the shock of seeing your surveillance camera pic on your monitor.

You took the cup of fine china on both hands. The heat warmed your palm. The scent calming you down already. A single, dried bloom of a reddish flower swam on the tea.

You sipped careful. Refreshing as hot, a hint of bitterness on your tongue. You eyed the honey. Morningstar followed your glance.

“Go on. Drink. Eat. Get your head straight. And then we talk, Lupine.”

His normally serene tone of voice was cheerful. Something lifted from your heart. Facing him, you could not hide a smile. You reached for a spoon and spiced your tea up with a bit of honey. Morningstar nodded pleased and reached out for a bowl to lift the cover. Steaming white rice in a kind of milky mush appeared underneath it.

“You have a special died?”

He nodded and hold one of his hands up. “Gout.”

It was only one word, but it explained everything. Well, nearly.

And he is used to it, you thought to yourself but dared not to speak up. Instead you honoured the breakfast.

The butter melted on the warm bread, what was cutted in thick sliced because it was so fresh. The honey tasted like heaven. Ambrosia.

A second cup, a second slice, thick covered with honey. Morningstar savoured his rice dish in pleased silence. It was fascinating to watch him eat the rice with chopsticks. He seemed to be used to it.

So was his accent, sounding exotic on your ear, perhaps an asian? You had thought european, maybe eastern. But you were no expert in it. You knew nothing of him.

Eventually the bowl of rice was finished, and you full of bread.

“That was absolut delicious!”, you said, what made him grin.

“I'm glad. You can order different meals also. The kitchen is ordered to fulfill all your wishes.”

You rose your eyebrows. “That sound like I'm staying longer?”

“You will.” Morningstar's voice still cheerful it laid an dark tone under it. “I have plans for you.”

You eyed him suspicious. “What plans? Did you not just planned dinner?”

“And yet you stayed for breakfast.”, he jested grimly.

“I had no other chance, did I?”

“No. You did not.” He paused and avoided your eyes, as he searched for the right words.

“There was something happening. At our first meeting.”, he spoke hesitating. “I - let me be honest, Lupine.”

Morningstar looked on the table, clearly pulling himself together.

“I enjoyed our chats the moment it started.”, he began. “To meet someone, even online, with the same special interests, someone who knew what I am speaking about. And the Cafe? It was years that I spoke of my father, of his garden. But with you I felt save enough to do so. And then - - we just chatted. Greeting us good morning. Good night. I could not bare it. I wanted this. Always. Every day. To greet you good morning. To have you around me.”

He stopped suddenly, straighten his back and catched your eyes. “I'm not good in this. To pour my heart out. But I can speak my mind with you. I feel that.”

It was silent for a moment, as you starred at him. Your face burning.

Before the silence between you both became uncomfortable, you spoke up.

“I dreamed of your garden, even that I had not seen it. I knew your flowers - at least part of it. The one you brought before me. The seetlings. And then I saw you this morning between your plants. It was a dreamy scene for sure. It was like I had imagined.”

Morningstar bend suddenly over the table. “So you did understand!?”

“ I understand there could be a place here. I - I don't know - yet! - if there a a place at your side.” Your mind dizzy from his confession you cleared your throat. “Morningstar. I don't know you. Let me.”

He looked at you with wide open eyes, as if you are something incredibly. And you are to him.

Slowly he reached for your hand to take it carefully in his. You dared not to squeeze it.

He managed to use his thumb to care along your palm.

“That is all I hoped for. Thank you, Lupine.”

Taglist: @lokis-tardis-companion19 @infinitegalahad @koshi-sama @daughterofthesilmaril @cynic-station @ladyl0wkey @elliotmalek @ellen-the-wise @villainworshiper @cuckoo-on-a-string

[katiajewelbox]

Could there be a more exquisite rose for Valentines Day than this red and white Osiria rose? The Osiria rose is a rare Hybrid Tea Rose (Rosa x hybrida), and I was stunned by its otherworldly perfection when I encountered it in a Mews house garden in London this summer. What is exactly is a "Hybrid Tea Rose"? There is a long and complicated history hidden in this term. Since at least 2000 BC, roses have been mentioned in writing and depicted in art in Europe and the Middle East. The Ancient Greeks associated the rose with the goddess of love Aphrodite, and the Ancient Romans used roses as a decorations in their festivals. There are several species of wild roses, notably Rosa gallica, Rosa moschata, and Rosa phoenicea, in Europe and the Middle East that were hybridised and selectively bred for scent, colour, and luxuriant petals. In Mediaeval and Renaissance times, Europeans had richly scented roses in a range of red, white, and pink shades but these plants had a drawback - they only bloomed for a limited time each summer. In the late 18th century, global trade and exploration brought the prized Chinese Rose (Rosa chinensis) to Europe. Cultivated in China for over 1000 years, these new roses had a more diverse colour palette and bloomed perpetually, with flowers appearing from April to November. European horticulturalists began cross breeding their native roses with the Chinese roses in a quest to unite the ideal traits in the same plant. Among these hybrids were "hybrid perpetual flowering" which were vigorous plants with plain flowers and "tea roses" which were delicate plants with flowers in an impressive range of colours. The name "tea rose" comes from their scent, which is like freshly brewed green tea. "Hybrid tea roses" are hybrids of these two hybrids, and combine the impressive flowers with stronger plants. In the 20th century, the hybrid tea rose was crossbred with other wild roses like Rosa wichuraiana to increase its cold tolerance. Next time you give roses to a loved one, take a moment to ponder this flower's global history! #rose #osiriarose #rosehistory #hybridtearose #botany #redandwhiterose #valentinesday #plantbiology #katia_plantscientist

[firawren]

FiraWren's master list

All the stuff I make—memes, charts, gifsets, fic—I tag with "my stuff," but here are shortcuts to some sub-collections within that.

All rights reserved to © FiraWren. Do not repost my work as your own. Please contact me for permission if you would like to translate one of my works.

All works are fictional and made purely for entertainment purposes. I don't own any of the characters.

Last updated: Jan 9, 2025

Fanfic

Everything I write, I tag with "my writing," but I occasionally post something on AO3 without posting it here on Tumblr too, so it's best to subscribe to my work on AO3 if you don't want to miss anything.

Pride and Prejudice

(Sub-master lists: Elizabeth/Darcy post-canon fluff | Pride and Prejudice missing/retold scenes | Elizabeth/Darcy smut)

G | The men shan't come and part us, I am determined | mid-canon, humor | 886 words

G | Tea time and titles | post-canon, fluff | 1221 words

G | The perfect opportunity to propose | mid-canon, fluff | 730 words

E | Six inches deep (in mud) | post-canon, smut | 2k words

G | Seize such an opportunity | mid-canon, fluff | 1111 words

E | Ungentlemanly | post-canon, smut | 5k words

G | Spirit and Spookiness | parody | 860 words

G | Carrots and the missing bonnet | post-canon, fluff | 793 words

G | I come back to the place you are | mid-canon, humor, fluff | 1k words

E | Mr. Darcy's bedchamber | canon divergence, smut | 8.2k words

G | Midnight (sick) kiss | post-canon, fluff | 500 words

M | The last man in the world whom I could ever suspect of being ticklish | post-canon, fluff, mild smut | 746 words

Beauty and the Beast

(Sub-master list: all my Beast/Belle monster fucking fics)

M | Bull in a china shop | angst, mild smut | 371 words

M | The Rose Brides | retelling, enemies to lovers | 79k words

E | Transformation | canon divergence, angst with happy ending | 123k words

E | Beauty and the Brute | retelling, marriage of convenience | 34k words

T | No other way | canon compliant, pre-canon | 902 words

E | Mismatched perfection | canon divergence, smut | 3.2k words

G | A memory pressed into its petals | AU, fluff | 560 words

G | Piping hot | canon compliant, post-canon, fluff | 405 words

T | Swimming and soothing | canon divergence, fluff | 2.5k words

E | Breeding a fresh start | canon divergence, smut | 7k words

E | Needing so much more than dusting | canon diver, smut | 3.4k words

M | Air heavy with the sound and scent of rain | canon diverg, smut | 1.4k words

T | Charming in its imperfection | mid- and post-canon, fluff | 2k words

E | Dismissed, rejected, publicly humiliated | modern AU, fluff, light angst, eventual smut | 15k words

M | Warming up | canon divergence, hurt/comfort, mild smut | 3.2k words

T | Walking under ladders | modern AU, fluff | 532 words

E | Needing exercise, a chance to use our skills | canon diverg, smut | 1k words

E | Scent doesn't lie | canon divergence, smut | 1.8k words

G | Adjustment | canon compliant, post-canon, fluff | 500 words

T | The touch of a name | mid- and post-canon, angst, fluff | 1.7k words

G | A taste of something new | mid-canon, fluff | 500 words

M | Rose-scented bath water | canon diverg, fluff, mild smut | 304 words

E | A scent there that wasn't there before | canon div, smut | 3.7k words

G | Forming love | mid-canon, angst, fluff | 1.6k words

Other Austen

T | Uncovered | Northanger Abbey | post-canon, fluff | 391 words

T | Dare to hope | Persuasion | canon divergence, angst | 1.2k words

G | Rediscovering what was lost | Persuasion/Sense and Sensibility crossover | canon divergence, angst, romance | 11k words

E | Every heartbeat | Lost in Austen | post-canon, smut | 5k words

Other Disney

E | Two words, sounds like "pets duck" | Frozen | canon diverg, smut | 3.2k words

G | Black cat crossing your path | Frozen/Beauty and the Beast crossover | modern AU, fluff | 1.8k words

E | Yeah, just like that | Frozen | post-canon, smut | 5k words

M | The Beast of Arendelle | Frozen | canon divergence, horror, angst with happy ending | 13k words

E | Everything he's got | Hercules | post-canon, smut | 3.3k words

Other fandoms

T | Teach and teach | Our Flag Means Death | modern AU, getting together | 9k words

E | Don't freak out. This is happening. | Chuck | canon diverg, smut | 1.4k words

G | Memorizing him | Chuck | post-canon, angst, fluff | 557 words

Memes and other nonsense

I made a series of Pride and Prejudice chapter memes, one for each chapter of the novel.

Other Jane Austen stuff I've made:

All Pride and Prejudice memes

Persuasion memes

Emma memes

Northanger Abbey memes

Sense and Sensibility memes

Multi-book Austen memes, crack, charts, gif sets, and other nonsense

Non-Austen memes:

Beauty and the Beast memes

Frozen memes

[seductive-things]

TEA FROM ROSE BUDS

Rose has gained an important place in cultures for centuries as a flower identified with beauty, love and elegance. Originating in Central Asia, especially Iran, Turkey, China and India, rose spread throughout the world through trade routes and has been accepted as a symbol of beauty over time. With its colors, scent and elegant structure, rose has been used for both aesthetic and medical purposes since ancient times. While the Persians used rose oil for healing, the Romans preferred it in their celebrations and temple decorations. It has also become an indispensable part of royal gardens in Europe and has become a sign of social status.

Today, rose has an important place in many areas such as cosmetics, perfume, decoration, medicine and cuisine. In the perfume and cosmetics sector, rose oil is used especially in skin care products as a moisturizer and soothing agent. While it is preferred as an aesthetic element in weddings and special events as a decorative element, it is also used in the kitchen as a flavoring ingredient in rose jam, rose syrup and desserts. In addition, rose is known for its stress-reducing effect in aromatherapy and natural medicine; rose oil or rose tea provides peace and relaxation.

There are many ways to use roses at home. You can brew rose tea, drink it as a calming tea, or apply it to your skin as a natural tonic. Rose oil diffuses a pleasant scent into the environment with the help of a diffuser and balances energy. In addition, rose water can be used both as a facial cleanser and as a tonic that nourishes the hair. You can add a natural and elegant atmosphere to your home by using rose petals or buds for decoration. Rose is a high-frequency flower and with this feature, it can positively affect the energy of the environment it is in. Thanks to its high frequency, it plays a relaxing, peaceful and balancing role. This plant with a high frequency is also frequently used in spiritual studies to support feminine energy and find inner balance. Rose is associated with compassion, creativity and inner calmness and is preferred in spiritual practices such as meditation, especially to increase feminine energy. Rose tea is prepared with dried rose buds and has a slightly sweet, soft aroma. It supports digestion, soothes the stomach and strengthens the immune system with its high antioxidant content. The health benefits of rose tea are quite extensive:

Stress and anxiety reducer: Calms the mind by calming the nervous system.

Immunity booster: Supports the body's natural defense system thanks to vitamin C and antioxidants.

Digestive system benefit: Regulates the intestines with its mild laxative effect and relaxes the stomach.

Contribution to skin health: Antioxidants renew, moisturize and brighten the skin.

Inflammation reducer: Relieves inflammation in the body with its anti-inflammatory properties.

Sleep quality benefit: It can help you have a quality sleep thanks to its relaxing effect.

Positive effect on hormone balance: It can contribute to hormonal balance, especially in women.

Mood improvement: The pleasant smell and soft aroma of the rose positively affect the mood.

Pain relieving effect: It is known to have a relaxing effect on headaches and mild muscle pain.

As a result, the rose is a universal symbol of beauty and elegance, as well as offering positive effects in the spiritual and physical sense. Having a wide range of uses in different areas, the rose continues to touch our lives with grace as a decorative element at home, beauty care, a relaxing tea or spiritual support. drink it, rub it, smell it. stay with Venus xoxo. w/chatgpt

[therosepetalrps]

Film, flower, nostalgia - @soulxremains

»»—— 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ——««

𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐌 : what’s their favorite movies ( or in the case of muses that haven’t seen them , what WOULD be their favorite movies? )

Belle is a huge mystery buff. She loves a story that asks something more of you than just passively watching (essentially everyone she knows has sworn off watching them with her, because she will figure it out halfway through and spoil it for you).

Favorite films from the genre? Laura (1951), Witness for the Prosecution (1957), The Woman in the Window (1944), The Name of The Rose (1986), Gosford Park (2001), and Death on the Nile (1978).

And if the above list doesn't tell you, I also think she's strongly biased towards older cinema — especially black and white films or technicolor.

Her other favorite genres are period pieces (particularly Austen and Bronte adaptations), documentaries, comedies, and romances. Favorite film of all time? Barefoot in the Park (1967).

𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 : what would be their favorite flower, and why? because of what it means in the language of flowers, or because they just like how it looks / smells?

Of course, I must make an obligatory rose mention. Belle is a romantic after all. They're timeless and classy in their simplicity, like pearls or fine white china. She might even like them best as a pattern on a dress or a pendent on a necklace, rather than the actual flower.

In terms of smell, nothing beats honeysuckle for her. Belle likes things sweet — her tea, her wine, her perfumes, and her flowers too.

I also think she has a big soft spot for wildflowers that are typically thought of as weeds; dandelions, wood sorrel, thistle, Queen Anne's lace, and so on.

𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐆𝐈𝐀 : what makes them nostalgic, and why?

Classical music. Every now and then, she'll hear a melody that sounds impossibly similar to a traditional piece of music from the Enchanted Forest.

Random antiques in Gold's shop. She can remember exactly which shelves and pedestals they sat upon in the Dark Castle, having dusted (and inspected) them a thousand times.

But there is nothing that makes her homesick like walking through Storybrooke's forests. Strangely, its the absence of things that make her nostalgic, rather than their presence. The leaves here are not so green, the animals not so plentiful, nor do the flowers bloom so vibrantly. The nature is lovely, to be sure — but it also stands as a reminder of what a truly extraordinary place the Enchanted Forest is.

The air even smells different here — not as crisp and aromatic. Perhaps in a realm of magic, you can catch its scent on every breeze. Or maybe Storybrooke's air is just really polluted.