#roseate intro

[imahgined]

˚₊‧꒰ა welcome to my rosy blog ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨ৎ hi there, honeybear!

my name is andrea but you can call me roseate ♡

think of me as your dreamy bff, here to share all things princessy, dolly, and magical. this is your go-to space for girl talk and everything feminine! i live for pink, dreamy, and cutesy vibes.

my blog is focused on hyperfemininity, self-care, fashion, glow up, manifestation, pink, sanrio, rosy, 2010s & y2k content. if you’re into any of these, hmu! I’d love to be friends 🧚🏻‍♀️

the rosy blog series masterlist

episode 1: ꒰ঌ intro + pt. 1 on how we made 2024 actually feel like 2014 ໒꒱

about me ˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

✦ libra, born on october 4 ^^

✦ graphic designer & marketing enthusiast

✦ fangirl for argentinian singers (my fave is emilia <3)

✦ hobbies: reading, journaling, scrapbooking, watching tv shows, and dancing (my passion in life)

put on your fave girly playlist, grab a vanilla chai and enjoy your stay! 💘

ig & tiktok I @rosyblogera

credit for my lovely dividers: @dollywons & @anitalenia <33

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: Retribution and Regret

Story Intro | Contents [Warnings] | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: abusive relationship, gaslighting-adjacent emotional manipulation, trapped in a locked room, lady whump

Thanks @clairelsonao3 for inspiring me to turn to Breanna's literary society book for this chapter following your use of Yeats' "When You Are Old" in GSNBTR. 💕

Of course, I'd also be remiss not to also mention Nathaniel Hawthorne and thank him for the lovely prose in The Scarlet Letter. Thanks, Nate.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 2300 || Approx reading time: 10 mins

Retribution and Regret

Teaser: Baden’s voice, too, haunted her every thought. Her every breath. What were you thinking? Sneaking around like that? For him? For a bastard thief? For one of those Iustitia aecum crooks? Are you trying to humiliate me? Make me the laughingstock of the entire constabulary?

Breanna stared at the ceiling.

Breanna stared at the ceiling and watched nothing happen.

Breanna stared at the ceiling and watched nothing happen, even as the empty, frigid cavern of her bedroom wobbled and spun.

Don’t, Curtis, for the love of god, please don’t let him—

I’m sorry I lied, I really did just want to do something kind—something good—

Please, he’s going to be so angry no matter what, don’t let him kill that boy, he didn’t do anything—

A tear welled in her eye, burning her skin when it grew too heavy and slid down her cheek.

It was my fault, please, I swear—

Rife with hurt and fury, Curt’s voice rang in her head. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?

Baden’s voice, too, haunted her every thought. Her every breath. What were you thinking? Sneaking around like that? Deceiving Lenton? Telling ridiculous lies? For him? For a bastard thief? For one of those Iustitia aecum crooks? Are you trying to humiliate me? Make me the laughingstock of the entire constabulary?

I’m sorry, she’d gasped, again and again and again.

I never expected this from you, Baden had said. Have you taken complete leave of your senses?

I’m sorry.

You’re sorry? You have no idea how sorry you are. But you will.

She had expected what came first, had held her breath and closed her eyes and pushed herself through until it was done.

The soft words of her mother often came to her in such moments—the gentle but fragmented counsel that had helped Cecilia Cooper through her own marriage to Silas Cooper, a bitter man prone to temper and partial to drink. Stay with me, my love, she had whispered so often, and I will keep you safe. A mostly empty promise, untrue but well-meant; Breanna had known even then that her mother had tried her best.

Let’s practice some sums, she would sometimes say, smoothing away her daughter’s tear-damp locks, watching the door with a frantic eye in case the handle began to turn.

Twice two is four. Twice four is eight. Twice eight is sixteen. Twice sixteen…

Or perhaps, Sing me a song. Sometimes, Shall we read together? Or, We’ll play a recitation game. Can you tell me a poem? Quietest one wins.

Some of the poems, Breanna still clung to. O Rose! who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet, but pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat. Kept seven years in a drawer —thy titles shame thee…

She had not expected what came after Baden’s furious tirade—had not expected his rage to be yet unspent, or that he should become a jailer not only to criminals, but to her as well.

You will stay in there, he had said, and she’d been too slow, too stupid to realize what was happening until the bedroom door slammed and the key scraped in the lock. Until you learn your lesson. Until you’ve had some time to remember who you’re married to. Who you belong to.

She had screamed then, hurling herself against the door despite the way her body screeched in pain, despite the rawness of her throat, despite how her weak, pathetic limbs could not budge the heavy wood.

Did you kill him?

She had choked out the words, still sobbing, on the floor now. She’d told herself it was her conscience that wanted to know so desperately.

Silence had answered her question, and she’d tried again. What did you do to him?

More empty air, devoid of sound and of pity.

Please, Baden. He didn’t hurt me. He didn’t.

A long, hissing breath from the other side of the door.

If I ever hear you mention the thief again, Breanna Hatchett—ever again—you will regret it until the end of your days. Do I make myself clear?

It had been her turn to respond with silence, until a fist smashing against the wall made her cry out.

Answer me.

Yes.

Now Breanna stared at the ceiling.

Wishing she had made different choices.

Wishing she had been wise enough to see this coming.

Mrs. Dennison had obviously been instructed not to open the door. Breanna had considered, for a while, setting fire to the room, just to see if the housekeeper would let her out then. To see if she was more loyal to her or to Baden. Fear had stayed her hand in case it was the latter—in case she ended up burning to death on her own self-built pyre.

How many hours had passed since the door had been locked, Breanna could no longer tell. She suspected it felt longer than it truly was, and she reprimanded herself for not paying more attention to how the light had changed. But when she tried to recall the path of the sun across the sky, to ascertain whether one night or two or five had passed, she found she could not remember.

The scrape of a key in the lock woke her from a hazy, dream-filled sleep.

“Breanna.”

He was back.

It was too late to turn around, to turn her back on him now. She was already facing the door. His grey eyes bored into hers, and her courage failed her. She looked away.

Baden closed the door behind him, the key already hidden away in his pocket, and approached.

“You are angry,” he said.

Was she? It was impossible to tell what she was feeling anymore.

“You made a terrible decision and a foolish mistake.” He sat down next to her, his arm scraping against hers.

“I know.”

“You made a complete mockery of me. My position. My authority.”

“I know.”

She kept her eyes downcast, counting specks of dust between the floorboards. He took her chin in his hand and directed her gaze toward him. “You could have been seriously hurt. Killed.”

“I didn’t think—”

“No,” Baden said. “You didn’t. That much is obvious.”

Although Breanna had not wept in hours now, a sob burst out of her again.

“Stop that,” he said. His grip tightened. “Enough tears.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Was she sorry? Again, it was difficult to discern exactly what she felt. All she knew was that it twisted her insides and filled her mind with fog.

“Perhaps you are,” Baden said. “Perhaps I believe you. But I confess…I cannot even begin to fathom what you thought to accomplish with your folly.”

“I…” His eyes were so cold and so grey, and he was so angry, and he was still holding her chin.

“I ask again. Why were you in there? What in god’s name were you doing?”

So tight. “I thought I’d… I just wanted to…” Too tight. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” Finally, Baden let go. He passed a hand over his face, sighing—a motion that might have been boyish were it performed by someone else. “I cannot have a wife who doesn’t think before she acts, Breanna. Who does impetuous things and cannot explain why.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. It won’t—”

He cut her off, gesturing around the room. “You understand, then, why this is needed. It’s for your own good. You may remain here and reflect on your choices. What you’ve learned. How you will conduct yourself in the future.”

“No,” she said, reaching for his hands. “I—I’m really—Baden, truly, you don’t have to leave me in here, I’ll—”

He took her hands in his, but the grip was like iron. “Do not argue with me, Breanna.”

She slid to the floor when the lock clicked, too exhausted to cry.

Voices floated through the walls. “When will the punishment be ended, Mr. Hatchett?”

Baden’s voice was almost too low to hear. Breanna inched closer to the door, straining. “When I say it is.”

“If it’s not too bold to ask, sir…”

Their footsteps faded, and Breanna curled into herself. How stupid she had been to believe that she could do something new—something good and exciting. Brave and bold. What nonsense—what madness. It had always been this way. It always would.

***

It was a shock when Mrs. Dennison entered.

“I’m not to let you out,” she said quickly. “Before you ask.”

“I know,” Breanna said. She lay on the bed, a dent long carved into her pillow. She could not bring herself to care that she was only half-dressed. So what if the housekeeper saw her wrinkled underclothes, the bare skin of her shoulder, the unkept bird’s nest of her hair? What did it matter?

Mrs. Dennison laid a tray of food next to her. The dull thud of wood against wood seemed far too loud for the gentle action that caused it. Wincing, Breanna closed her eyes tight.

“I asked him.”

Breanna did not raise her head but opened her eyes, directing her gaze upwards. “Asked him what?”

“What happened,” said Mrs. Dennison. “To that man you were help—the man you were visiting.” There was a snick of disapproval to her voice—unspoken and buried, but there. “You wanted to know.”

Breanna sat up. “You did? Why? What—” Her voice splintered. “What did he say?”

“He’s alive,” Mrs. Dennison said. “All the constable would say, though, is that he was punished. For hurting you.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” Breanna whispered. The room blurred before her, turning her housekeeper’s face into naught but watercolour swirls and brushstrokes. “He—he didn’t hurt me.”

No, it was not the thief who had hurt her.

Ice crystallized in Breanna’s veins as this realization sank in fully. That boy had been punished, but he’d done nothing except lash out in confusion and anger, and he had done her no harm, nor had he left a single mark on her skin.

She watched the housekeeper make her way toward the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Dennison.”

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Hatchett. I hope you feel better soon.”

The ice in Breanna’s veins melted and turned to flame.

The solitude of her chamber became a blessing. Breanna, tears dried, made her preparations, trembling and yet fuelled with a fire she had not known could burn inside her so brightly.

Alice’s book was now finished, read beginning to end, many times wept over. Breanna combed through it, placing slices of silk ribbon amongst the pages and marking passages with lightly drawn lines. She could no longer borrow from the future to ease her present grief. Would Alice understand? Perhaps not. In fact, Breanna thought, few would.

But she wrapped it tidily when it was done, the brown-paper corners folded tightly over the beautiful leather binding, the string pulled taut and cut to just the right length, ending in a tight, charming bow.

“Please send this back to Mrs. Wright,” she said when Mrs. Dennison delivered breakfast, holding out the parcel. The housekeeper eyed it nervously. Breanna smiled, relaxed her limbs. “It’s merely the book she lent me. I’ve finished it now.”

Mrs. Dennison nodded, then lifted the book from Breanna’s outstretched hands. “Was it any good?”

“Enthralling,” said Breanna. “Eye-opening. Although I suppose there are some who wouldn’t like it.”

“What’s it about?”

“Sin,” Breanna said. “Hypocrisy. Judgment. Guilt.” She paused. “Such things as no one truly wishes to face.”

Mrs. Dennison’s eyes locked with Breanna’s, fluttering slowly, as if she meant to parse every word, searching for some hidden meaning.

There can be no power to disclose the secrets that may be buried with a human heart.

Breanna smiled wider.

“Perhaps we all could learn a thing or two,” said Mrs. Dennison.

“Oh, yes,” said Breanna. “I know I did.”

The housekeeper cleared her throat. “You’re…well, then? Feeling better?”

She had not known the weight until she felt the freedom.

“It’s been nice to have something to occupy my mind.” Breanna gestured vaguely to the book, hoping Mrs. Dennison wouldn’t look too closely at the pile of sewing behind her.

“You’re looking rather tired, though, if I may say so, Mrs. Hatchett. Haven’t you been sleeping?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Breanna said, “If I wasn’t, would it be a surprise?”

“No,” said Mrs. Dennison. “I suppose it wouldn’t. After what you’ve been through.” She peered around the room again, eyes roving from the book to Breanna’s face to the bed to the hearth. “Would you like me to sit with you awhile? Keep you company?”

Breanna shook her head. “I’m quite fine, Mrs. Dennison. But…” A lump grew in her throat. “Thank you.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Hatchett.” The housekeeper backed away from her, heading toward the door. “I think…”

“Yes?”

Mrs. Dennison cleared her throat again. “I think the constable will release you soon, dear.”

When an uninstructed multitude attempts to see with its eyes, it is exceedingly apt to be deceived.

Letting a forgery of a smile cross her face, Breanna said quietly, “How kind of him.”

When the door was closed and locked, when Mrs. Dennison had gone away, cleaning or conducting the cooking duties that were not usually hers, Breanna allowed herself a few moments of breathless quiet to ponder the choices she had made, and the ones she would make—the life she’d had, and the one she now chose. She suspected, after everything, after the tears she had shed that seemed so infantile now, she would never see a meeting of Mrs. Gage’s literary society. True, she had wanted so desperately to join, but it was a loss she was willing to bear. Did it matter anymore?

Perhaps not—perhaps it never had.

The last of the words she had marked for Alice swirled in her mind, etched in her memory as if they had always waited there for her to read. Scriptures of truth, prophecies of deliverance, and a call to action:

Do anything, save to lie down and die!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

@starlit-hopes-and-dreams

@gala1981

@pleasestaywithmedarling

[sylvaridreams]

Dama, 30, he/him -- pinned post updated October 8, 2024

This is my GW2 blog! My main is @damazcuz so follows, likes, and sometimes even replies come from there.

Art tag -- Writing tag AO3 -- Toyhouse -- Artfight

Here's my roster. For more info, click on a character name! This post is a WIP, these links will eventually lead to fully detailed intro posts for each character, for now they are just tags.

Mains: Alba -- Auruim -- Bourbon -- Aeris

Mordrem: Venasis -- Darlionia -- Ilieros-- Mandibles -- Siraz

Nightmare Courtiers: Eldulis -- Inoxiam

Roseate Canaries: Lacrimosen -- Lychen -- Audden

Mists Travelers: Nemeos -- Kiva -- Chesha -- Glaz -- Laerling

Misc others of occasional relevance: Thiiyfadora -- Hauli

Alternate Tyria: Fawn -- Kabria -- Labryn -- Quinceling

There are a few more but not everyone is relevant. smuiles.

I am constantly updating plotlines and things occasionally become retconned, but if you have a question about a character my ask box is open!

[cafe-kitte]

[scrub-slots]

Part of me wants to make some positivity pokeask blog but also I know those tend to go poorly…

[uselessreptiilearchive-blog]

™ : )c

IMPERSONATIONS.

          ❛     WHO  AM  I?!     ❜          he  squawks  out  his  intro  ,   arms  spread  wide  to  gain  unwarranted  attention.   playful  grin  emerges  upon  roseate  tiers  ,   pulling  taut  into  permanent  grin  before  a  hand  places  flat  upon  his  chest.   a  gesture  ;   exuding  confidence.         ❛     ohhhh!   i’m  JACK  FROST!   —–  not  that  any  of  you  can  see  me  ,   of  course  ,   but  i  like  to  be  melodramatic  for  my  own  personal  taste.   not  only  do  i  look  like  a  princess  ,   but  i  act  like  one  too!   ohh  ,   no  one  can  resist  the  frost  charm!   and  i  especially  like  to  test  it  out  on  pegleg  over  there  —–  he’s  so  dreamy  and  PERFECT  ,   it’s  too  bad  they  hardly  work .  .  .   but  hey  ,   like  they  say  ,   it’s  all  in  the  name  of  FUN!     ❜

STATUS  :   CLOSED.@frystsnow!

[imahgined]

the rosy blog project - episode 1:

꒰ঌ intro + pt. 1 on how we made 2024 actually feel like 2014 ໒꒱

hiiii sweethearts! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

welcome to the first episode of the rosy blog project! i’m andrea, but you can call me roseate. i'll be your host to this dreamy corner of the internet, where we celebrate all things feminine and inspiring.

this project is my way of reviving the iconic rosy blog era here on tumblr. in the 2010s, life felt slower, filled with hobbies, fashion, beauty tips, boybands, fandoms, iconic tv shows, and bubbly playlists. here, we'll savor the little things that made us feel connected, feminine and creative!

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. part 1: what was the rosy blog era?

just in case you weren't around on tumblr in the early 2010s, rosy blog content focused on the years we spent hours reading glossy magazines like teen vogue, watching our fave youtubers, and scrolling through dreamy blogs. the rosy blog style was unapologetically girly. it embraced soft pinks, cream tones, and everything feminine. it was all about finding joy in the little things, like curating playlists, buying self-care products, and creating a space that felt uniquely yours.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. part 2: my take on how we made 2024 really feel like 2014

from the beggining of the year, i saw so much content on ig and tiktok from people begging to bring back 2014 vibes in 2024. i definitely believe that, collectively, we made it happen. this will be a series of a few blog posts breaking down this year's best moments and how everything felt like the rosy blog era.

section 1: music and pop culture

ariana grande in her wicked & eternal sunshine era: she literally embraced everything we loved from her yours truly era and reinvented it to fit her glinda role. the looks we got from her were super feminine, elegant and classy. seeing her like this reminded me so much of her gorgeous 2010s aesthetic. also, her eternal sunshine album was insanely good. the dreamy vocals felt like a new era that revisited her feminine side from her first album. last year, we even had her yours truly live sessions. inmaculate vibes!

madison beer slowly becoming viral again: i've been a fan of madison ever since i discovered her. this year, i got so excited when her song make you mine went viral. the techno style and her beautiful voice reminded me of some of her earlier songs, even a bit of i won't let you walk away. she’s so talented, and back in 2014, she was all over tumblr. i hope she finally gets the recognition she deserves!

fangirl nostalgia: during the 2010s, you were either a 1d, 5sos, jb or btr fangirl (or all of them at once!). so much has happened this year with our faves—jb having his first child, btr touring again—it’s been a beautiful revisit of the memories we made in those fandoms. and the best part? we continue to create new ones by supporting them into their adulthood. (except for the tragic passing of liam—may he rest in peace).

lana in coachella: nothing felt more 2014 than our beautiful lana headlining coachella this year. her ethereal voice revided her most iconic songs, and the vibes were simply the dreamiest. i completely adored the setlist, and her styling was too cute! classic lana, yet timelessly fresh.

girly pop revival: from sabrina carpenter's short n' sweet tour to taylor swift's eras tour, 2024 absolutely brought girly pop back to the mainstream. we had amazing albums from artists like charli xcx (the most 2014 revival ever) and rising stars like tate mcrae, addison rae and many more. my personal favorite? FLO's debut album, access all areas. their vocals and y2k style are a must hear i'm sure you'll adore.

.mp3 by emilia: if you haven’t heard of emilia i'll be GLAD to introduce you. she's an insanely talented argentinian singer, composer, actress and model (also, the most stunning girl ever). last year, she released her second studio album, .mp3, with a 2000s-inspired sound and vibe. it's the girliest, most empowering, and fun album from a latin artist. this album served girly vibes with genres like pop, urban, dance pop, and contemporary r&b. even though this project and tour leaned into a y2k aesthetic, it also gave me major 2010 vibes with its sounds, looks and visuals. i'll dedicate a whole post to her and the album soon because, genuinely, the art direction is INSANE, and it's my favorite thing ever

for now, that’s it for this first section. i have so much to share with you—from lifestyle to fashion and so much more! i hope you enjoyed reading this 2024 recap, pt. 2 will be up soon.

i'd love to hear your thoughts on this post! let me know what you’d add or want to chat about, my dms are always open lovelies! have a magical and dreamy day ೀ ׅ ۫ . ㅇ

[scrub-slots]

ok maybe I’ll be able to get the new blog up and running before the end of the week

[scrub-slots]

Hmm think I’m gonna devote some time to just maintenance work on blogs today? Like finally get the tag guide for imaginary dreamers finished and probably going to add section tags to glorious guild posts since we are nearing the end to what I consider the “prologue”

[scrub-slots]

considering reviving absolutely-awful but also like… I think I need to wait before I seriously consider doing it until I at least finish the flower arc

[scrub-slots]

background wip…. ignore the drizzile shaped hole in it

[scrub-slots]

people on comicfury seem to really like check and I am sgshvsksgsdhf 🥺

[scrub-slots]

I probably won’t post about it on here more than just posting this since this blog is pretty centered around my pokeask blogs, but here is my cringe deltarune askblog if anyone is interested.

(warning for chapter 2 spoilers, particularly the weird route)