#single stem rose

[her-penetrating-soul]

“Music acts like a magic key, to which the most tightly closed heart opens.” ― Maria von Trapp

[nymerias-heart]

Margaery Tyrell

"You wrong me, daughter. All I want—"

"—is your son, all for yourself. He will never have a wife that you don't hate. And I am not your daughter, thank the gods. Leave me."

Inspired by this painting from @fandom-trash-goblin post.

[eikaebana]

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[29121996]

.

[match-your-steps]

for valentine's day I am going to tell everyone on the internet that I think bouquets of just roses are dumb.

why? because really, the only reason you would want a bouquet of only roses is to show off how much money you have. roses are expensive. one standard rose at market price is usually about $20 (USD), like if you get it from a wholesaler or something. floral shops usually upcharge for arrangement and also so they can have a profit.

now, you may think about your local grocery store and their bouquets and go "uh I'm pretty sure they do not charge like $100 for their bouquets." this is because they are also probably NOT MAKING BOUQUETS OF ONLY ROSES. also, grocery stores aren't necessarily exactly the most prime location to find super high quality flowers, perhaps. it's a grocery store, my dude.

also, a bunch of roses doesn't look that good. like, dang, at least throw in some foliage or something. that's Boring. and also lazy. what, you couldn't afford to get an actual arrangement because you spend all your money on like a dozen roses? that's like $240 at market price btw

long story short, a bouquet of literally just roses is, in my opinion, in bad taste because the lack of other materials is lazy and frankly unattractive, and therefore the only purpose of doing this is to show off your wealth.

once upon a time I watched a few episodes of 90-day fiance. in the show, there were these two separate guys who both went to the airport with a bouquet. one was with roses, tulips, foliage, and I think some baby's breath. the other was pretty much the same in terms of size and composition, except replace all the tulips with roses.

if they hadn't already told you who was more rich (they had. they made a big point of telling you how rich that one guy was. it was important), you could have told just from the bouquets. standard tulips, at market price, are approximately $2.50 per stem.

think about the price of roses ($20).

now think about the price of tulips ($2.50) again.

now, both of these bouquets were actually objectively alright, in my opinion. I mean, I didn't really like either that much (my preference is 3 roses per arrangement max. I like a variety of flowers.) but the baby's breath was a tremendous help to the rich guy's arrangement, for one thing, and I'm always a fan of foliage (foliage my beloved). I don't really like cut tulips that much (they're just so squishy), but I did really appreciate the variety, so that was also a huge plus.

um. anyways. don't be lazy and get an affordable and attractive arrangement of not just roses.

[sixteenseveredhands]

Wool-Carder Bees: these solitary bees harvest the soft, downy hairs that grow on certain plants, rolling them into bundles and then using the material to line their nests

Wool-carder bees build their nests in existing cavities, usually finding a hole/crevice in a tree, a plant stem, a piece of rotting wood, or a man-made structure, and then lining the cavity with woolly plant fibers, which are used to form a series of brood cells.

The fibers (known as trichomes) are collected from the leaves and stems of various plants, including lamb’s ear (Stachys byzantina), mulleins, globe thistle, rose campion, and other fuzzy plants.

From the University of Florida's Department of Entomology & Nematology:

The female uses her toothed mandibles to scrape trichomes off fuzzy plants and collects a ball of the material under her abdomen. She transports these soft plant fibers to her selected nest site and uses them to line a brood cell. Next, she collects and deposits a provision of pollen and nectar into the cell, enough pollen to feed a larva until it is ready to pupate. Lastly, she lays a single egg on top of the pollen and nectar supply before sealing the cell. ... She will repeat this process with adjoining cells until the cavity is full.

These are solitary bees, meaning that they do not form colonies or live together in hives. Each female builds her own nest, and the males do not have nests at all.

Female wool-carder bees will sometimes sting if their nest is threatened, but they are generally docile. The males are notoriously aggressive, however; they will often chase, head-butt, and/or wrestle any other insect that invades their territory, and they may defend their territory from intruders up to 70 times per hour. The males do not have stingers, but there are five tiny spikes located on the last segment of their abdomen, and they often use those spikes when fighting. They also have strong, sharp mandibles that can crush other bees.

There are many different types of wool-carder bee, but the most prolific is the European wool-carder (Anthidium manicatum), which is native to Europe, Asia, and North Africa, but has also become established as an invasive species throughout much of North America, most of South America, and New Zealand. It is the most widely distributed unmanaged bee in the world.

A few different species of wool-carder bee: the top row depicts the European wool-carder, A. manicatum (left) and the spotted wool-carder, Anthidium maculosum (right), while the bottom row depicts the reticulated small-woolcarder, Pseudoanthidium reticulatum, and Porter's wool-carder, Anthidium porterae

Sources & More Info:

University of Florida: The Woolcarder Bee

Oregon State University: European Woolcarder Bees

Bohart Museum of Entomology: Facts about the Wool Carder Bee (PDF)

Bumblebee Conservation Trust: A. manicatum

World's Best Gardening Blog: European Wool Carder Bees - Likeable Bullies

Biological Invasions: Global Invasion by Anthidium manicatum

[philodendronplant]

Nerium Oleander

Nerium oleander is a shrub plant or small tree which is originated from Europe and the Asian continents the nerium plant belongs to the family Apocynaceae. This is mostly grown in tropical and subtropical regions. This plant grows up to 2-6m tall. After perfect maturity, the stem is used to erect outwards. Nerium is highly popular for its fragrance. Nerium is also highly toxic. Due to its toxicity, it is untouched by cattle and goats.Thousands of years ago Nerium plant has been used for treatment purposes for cancer, and epilepsy, and also for healing wounds. This Nerium plant acts as an antibacterial for wounds.

Arali Varieties

The Nerium plant consists of 10 varieties of Arali flowers such as single (red, white, rose) Double (Rose, white, red) white, pink, yellow, etc. Nerium plant is also of dwarf varieties such as petite salmon and petite pink. It is considered to be the best ornamental flower plant for the home.

How to grow Nerium oleander 

Nerium oleander plants are propagated through cuttings. Initially collect the stems from the evergreen shrub and cut the leaves at the bottom and place them in a pot with soil mixed with coco peat after two weeks roots start to sprout.

It is also possible to grow through seeds but it takes longer time to sprout. But propagating oleander through seeds gives us a successive rate. But, nowadays mostly all prefer cuttings due to their faster germination.

Soil requirement for oleander 

They mostly grow well in acidic and neutral soil. PH level of soil should be 5.0 to 8.3. But these oleander plants can adapt to various types of soil conditions. It can also grow in poor soil conditions.

Water requirement for Oleander

Nerium oleander is considered to be a drought-tolerant plant. It is sustainable to survive without water. But once if leaves start to fall it is completely necessary to irrigate at optimum level. We can water the plants with three days gap continuously until the leaves' abscission stopped.

Benefits of oleander

  It treats cardiac problems, Menstrual pain, corn, cancer, asthma, and seizures.

  Oleander acts as a pollution controller plant.

   It is one of the best flower plants for home.

Growing Nerium oleander on highways and at any outdoor place makes the environment pollution free.

Stop deforestation and do afforsetation for more rain and oxygen which lead us to live a prosperous and healthy life.

Plant a tree, plant a life.

Nerium oleander-flower plants

Blog Created by: www.santhionlineplants.com

[sharjahflowerdelivery]

Celebrate Mother's Day with Fresh and Beautiful Flowers from Sharjah Flower Delivery

Celebrate Mother's Day with Fresh and Beautiful Flowers from Sharjah Flower Delivery

Introduction: Mother's Day is fast approaching, and it's time to show your mom how much you love and appreciate her. And what better way to do that than with a beautiful bouquet of flowers? Sharjah Flower Delivery offers a wide range of fresh and vibrant flowers that are guaranteed to put a smile on your mom's face. In this blog post, we'll take a closer look at why flowers make the perfect Mother's Day gift and how Sharjah Flower Delivery can help you celebrate in style.

Why Choose Flowers for Mother's Day? Flowers have always been a symbol of love, appreciation, and gratitude. They represent the beauty and joy that a mother brings into our lives. Whether it's a single stem or a lavish bouquet, flowers have the power to convey your heartfelt emotions in a beautiful and meaningful way. Plus, they're a timeless gift that never goes out of style.

Why Choose Sharjah Flower Delivery? Sharjah Flower Delivery is your go-to destination for all your Mother's Day flower needs. With a wide range of flowers to choose from, you're sure to find the perfect bouquet to suit your mom's taste and style. From classic roses to exotic lilies, Sharjah Flower Delivery has it all. Plus, they offer same-day delivery, so you can surprise your mom with a beautiful bouquet even if you're running late.

What Flowers to Choose? When it comes to choosing flowers for your mom, there are plenty of options to choose from. If your mom loves classic blooms, you can't go wrong with a bouquet of red roses or pink carnations. For a more exotic touch, consider orchids or tropical flowers. If you're not sure what to choose, Sharjah Flower Delivery's expert florists can help you create a custom bouquet that's tailored to your mom's preferences.

Conclusion: This Mother's Day, make your mom feel special with a beautiful bouquet of flowers from Sharjah Flower Delivery. With their wide selection of fresh and vibrant blooms, you're sure to find the perfect gift to show your mom how much you care. Plus, with same-day delivery, you can surprise her with a beautiful bouquet even if you're short on time. Order now and make this Mother's Day one to remember!

[neptxn3]

Astrology Observations II

｡:ﾟ૮ ˶ˆ ﻌ ˆ˶ ა ﾟ:｡

Disclaimer, these are observations I have made through personal experience and thorough research, observations also vary depending on other natal placements involved

doesn’t resonate ≠ untrue 

♅ Virgos tend to represent the trad wife far more than people assume taurus does, and that’s because Virgos ability to uphold their life (at least on the outside) tend to attract men who want a wife that can keep them on track

Some Virgo women tend to also attract gay men unfortunately 😭, again I think Virgos just seem like the perfect trad Wife and it will attract closeted men like flies. This isn’t to say all your partners will be closeted but the ones who are overly aggressive on your role in the relationship might be.

♅ Gemini moon children develop QUICKLY. These are usually the kids who weird you out with their extensive knowledge and self awareness that seemingly comes out of nowhere. The mercury influence allows them to digest many topics which in turn has Gemini moon children mentally developing at a faster pace than their peers

I’ve also observed Gemini moons are those annoying kids in your class that are a lot smarter and a bit condescending to others intelligence, not because that’s just the way they are, but their mercurial moon needs constant stimulation, and with a combination of their rapid growth you’ll see them climbing academic ranks which in turn can make them dislike school if they are not progressing at a speed they like. 

♅ Scorpio moons have a tendency to see the worst in every situation/person which can be a nasty habit, but this isn’t out of judgment, rather they don’t like to give people the benefit of the doubt. They don’t like to be screwed over and their best bet is to think of the worst scenario possible. 

♅ Aquarius Venus who are flaky in relationships and constantly cheat will eventually have karma handed back to them, usually in the form of being in their mid 40’s still single.

Aquarius Venus flaky reputation does stem from the fact that it is a Saturn influenced placement, as well as being fixed. It’s not that they hate any type of restriction to their freedom but rather to what extent you restrict them to. They can and will jump quickly into relationships but if they see any glimpse of possessive or controlling attributes they will leave. Again because it’s fixed and Saturn influenced Aquarius Venus knows once it settles down that’s it, they’re not going anywhere, that’s why they’re so scattered to find the right person who fits their criteria. 

♅ Moon/Sun harshly aspecting Neptune is the embodiment of “I hate my Mom/Dad, but I love her/him too”. Neptune harshly aspecting these planets can cause a huge wall of misunderstanding between parent and child, but Neptune blurs the lines so deep that the individual sees them “through rose colored glasses” and if incapable of harboring hate. I would even say there could be nights where these people will look back and remember their past relationships (Neptune = Dreams)

♅ 10h placements can sometimes struggle maintaining relationships due to the very contradicting nature of the Midheaven and ascendant. Usually people will perceive them to be very different from who they actually are.

This is also why they struggle with their self esteem (the natural square to the ascendant). Sometimes they feel like they need to keep up an image to satisfy others and that isn’t someone who they truly are 🥲

In synastry this also points to partners trying to change who they are/make choices for them because they think it’s “for the best” or “what’s good for them”. 

♅ Every Virgo rising I’ve met always gives me a small lesson on why astrology isn’t real but follow up with a “but can you read my chart I want to see if it’s true 👀”. I truly believe it’s the 12h Leo which makes them secretly a little self centered (hence the interest for things like astrology to attempt and figure themselves out) but the mercurial ascendant will always make them skeptical 😭

♅ Saturn conjunct Jupiter natives is a dangerous fire sometimes. I’ve noticed if they haven’t learned to balance this aspect in their chart, the people around them can suffer their warm and cold attitude. It’s almost as if one second you could be hysterically laughing in class together, and the next second they immediately stop and ask you to be serious and finish your work. WHERE DID THE VIBE GOOO?? The key here is moderation in whichever sign/house this is in

♅ Whoever said Neptune in hard aspect to Venus needs to practice saying positive affirmations (especially to Venus related topics) to themselves in the mirror was SO correct. Neptune indeed does reflect lies to you and reaffirming yourself in the mirror breaks that spell. I don’t think I’ve felt so beautiful since I started doing this. 

[sweatermuppet]

[Image ID: a black and white typography edit that reads "chivalry is not dead... chivalry is transsexual." in an old western-style font. there are a pair of work gloves, a pair of boots, a pair of pruning shears, and a single rose on the stem. the entire image is textured to look aged and photocopied. /End ID]

click for quality (instagram) (my shop)

[eikaebana]

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[yxngbxkkie]

like father, like son (h.h)

i saw this cute tik tok of a little boy and needed to write something 🫢 it's short but it's cute as fuck 🥹 dad!hyunjin would be so adorable! i hope you like it 🩷

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

~

You're sitting on the picnic blanket you and Hyunjin brought, munching on some grapes as you watch him and Jun playing. You find yourself smiling in between bites, really glad that your baby boy shares Hyunjin's features the most.

“So cute,” you whisper to yourself, reaching for your phone to capture a photo. You grab Hyunjin's camera after, peeking through the viewfinder before taking another.

You go back to eating grapes after, humming in delight at the taste. The three of you are out celebrating Jun's second birthday, and Hyunjin had suggested going on a picnic.

“Hyune,” you call out your husband's name, gaining the taller man's attention. “Bring him over to eat!”

“Okay!” He yells back to you before crouching beside his son.

You shuffle through the picnic basket, grabbing the food you prepared for Jun. You set it on a plate for him, looking up to see if they are coming.

Jub runs towards you, a stem in his hands to which you assume was a dandelion beforehand. Your heart flutters in your chest as he runs up to you.

“Oh,” Jun mutters, noticing the empty stem.

“I love it, baby,” you giggle, taking the stem from him anyway.

He looks up at his father, who brought another one with him. Hyunjin crouches beside him and hands him the dandelion. “Give it to momma,” he whispers loud enough for you to hear, meeting your gaze.

His dark eyes light up, and he holds it out to you. “Why thank you, baby,” you grin, taking the flower into your hands.

Jun takes a couple of steps forward, being cautious of the food on the blanket before kissing your cheek. You pout slightly, feeling your heart bursting at his affection.

“I love you so much,” you whine, setting the dandelion down before kissing his chubby little cheeks. “Eat, okay?”

He nods his head and sits down beside you, grabbing the food items on his plate. Hyunjin sits on your other side and nudges your side. You glance over to him and notice the single rose between his fingers.

“This one's from me,” he whispers, planting a couple of kisses on your cheek.

“Is it make mommy cry today?” You ask while taking the red rose.

Hyunjin laughs, and he shakes his head. “We just wanted to show our appreciation for you, angel,” he tells you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“God, I love you,” you kiss his lips once, resting your forehead on his.

“I love you, too. So much that it hurts my heart,” he whispers while bringing your hand to his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat.

“Momma,” Jun calls out to you, capturing both you and Hyunjin's attention. You look over at your son, seeing him hold one of his grapes out to you.

You lean away from your husband, getting closer to the little boy. “I've already had some grapes, baby. You eat it,” you usher him, running your fingers through his hair.

Hyunjin takes some pictures of the two of you, wanting to capture this sweet moment. Jun continues to hold the grape out, wanting you to take it anyway. He grunts cutely, moving his arm up higher.

“Fine, fine,” you giggle, taking the grape from his fingers. You bite into it, humming cutely at the two year old. “Thank you, my baby.”

“He's like you when you find something that tastes good,” Hyunjin laughs, grabbing some food from the basket.

You playfully roll your eyes as Jun kicks his feet, munching on the sandwich you made. “I take complete offense to that,” you mention, smacking his chest.

Hyunjin groans, rubbing his chest after. “I didn't say it was a bad thing! It's cute, angel,” he defends himself with a cute pout.

“Dada,” Jun interrupts your playful argument, making the two of you look at him again.

His eyes look up at his father, a grape between his tiny fingers. Hyunjin coos, clapping his hands a bit before moving to take it from him.

“Thank you, baby boy!” He says excitingly, kissing the top of his head before eating the grape.

You giggle at your husband's sounds, grinning at the man. “Is that how you look and sound when I do it?” You tease, reaching over to pinch his cheek.

A blush covers his cheeks, gently pushing your hand away from him. “Shut up, maybe,” he mumbles, earning another giggle from you.

“How did I get so lucky?” You question out loud, looking from Hyunjin to Jun.

His hand grabs a hold of your free hand as you mess with Jun's hair. “By just being you, angel. Jun's lucky to have a wonderful mother like yourself,” he whispers into your ear before placing one more kiss on your cheek.

~

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n

[innerfare]

Flowers

Summary: what sort of flowers (or alternatives) they give you

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid, Usopp, Robin, Nami

Genre: fluff

——— 

Luffy: Not one to buy you flowers. Instead, he picks them. Sometimes they’re weeds he thought looked pretty, other times, he presents you with a lush bundle of pink carnations you think he must have picked from a commercial flower field (this man has no concept of private property). He’s always very proud to present them because he worked hard to secure them; you'd better give him a kiss for his effort. Has, on occasion, accidentally brought you some that are poisonous. Also once brought you a bundle of radishes because he thought you would like the color. Receiving flowers from Luffy can be a bit like receiving a lizard from your pet cat.

Zoro: He won’t really think to buy you flowers until one day you mention that camellias are pretty. He takes that to mean you like camellias, specifically, and not that you’d like to receive flowers in general, so he always buys you camellias, and you think it’s so sweet that you never correct him. He’s not actually a proponent of apology flowers because he thinks a ‘bribe’ cheapens it, but he will bring you flowers when he knows you’re having a hard day. He might also buy you a small bamboo plant that you two end up treating a bit like a pet, giving it a name and everything. 

Sanji: 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. 

Usopp: Will buy you cheap supermarket flowers on his way to come visit you and will regale you with a long, fanciful tale of crossing oceans and deserts to secure them from the only spot in the world those particular flowers grow, a tale filled with sweet and funny anecdotes that makes you giggle as you trim the stems and place them in a vase of water. He’ll tell you that the flowers have special powers and properties, such as bringing you luck or living forever so long as you smile every day. 

Robin: Is an expert on hanakotoba, the language of flowers; she read a book on it once and thought it was so sweet and beautiful that she read it cover to cover several more times. She always buys you flowers with a specific meaning and then happily explains that meaning to you. Giving you flowers brightens her day as much as it brightens yours. White anemones (sincerity), daffodils (respect), and forget-me-nots (true love) are some of her favorites to give you. 

Nami: Not a traditional kind of girl. She won’t hesitate to buy you roses if you like them, but she gravitates more toward violets, daisies, and the like, smaller flowers that speak to both of you. She’s also a proponent of buying you a single flower that you can put in your hair, and she has bought you a selection of floral hair accessories so you always have flowers for your hair on hand; her favorite is the primrose crown she bought you. 

Ace: He’ll bring you bouquets with a lot of variety that the nice lady at the flower shop helped him put together. He usually builds these bouquets around sunflowers or orange lilies, and he gets very smug when his flowers brighten your day. He’ll also pick flowers for you, but he’s very conscious to only pick the ones that are not weeds. If he finds a field of sunflowers, you will be getting as many as he can carry. Never, ever visits you empty-handed, always brings at least a bouquet of flowers with him. Treats securing flowers for you like hunting for dinner and is always so proud of his bounty.

Law: Gravitates toward orchids, especially in darker shades of pink, purple, and blue; they feel a little moodier and less kitschy than the red roses Bepo tells him he’s supposed to buy to woo you (side note: imagine Law getting relationship advice from Bepo). One night folded an origami flower for you, and you liked it so much that he spent the rest of the night folding an entire bouquet, though he pretends it only took him five minutes. He doesn’t actually give the origami bouquet to you so much as he just sets it on your nightstand one day and mutters something about how the flowers won’t need water. He gets kind of annoyed if you make a big deal out of it. 

Sabo: He’s gone for very long periods of time, so when he returns, he’ll bring you a bundle of peonies or calla lilies, but he also bought you a cherry blossom bonsai tree so you can have flowers even when he’s away. The bonsai tree ends up becoming his baby, and when he is home, he spends quite a bit of time tending to it, to the point you get a little jealous. But it brings you lots of comfort when he’s away, a symbol of your love that’s firmly rooted and eternal. Side note, he will most definitely use flowers to seduce you. 

Kid: If it’s at the point where he’s buying flowers, this man is so far beyond pride he won’t flinch at purchasing a bundle of pink tulips, even if they clash with his outfit/aesthetic. He also presents you one night with a bouquet of metal flowers he made himself. He spent ages on it, but he really didn’t mean to. He intended to make one but got absorbed in his work and made an entire bundle of dainty little metal flowers. He’s oddly proud of himself for making something so delicate and would be crushed if you ever got rid of them. 

———

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

[cordeliawhohung]

the prowl - single dad! Price x teacher! stripper! Reader (fem) taglist

[4] spice

On Monday, Amelia arrives with a bouquet of flowers. 

Gentle steam wafts from your tea — which you had accidentally overheated in the teachers lounge — biting back the oddly cool summer day as rain taps against the windows. Your hands warm around the ceramic cup, making sure to keep an eye on your students as they roam in the play area before the day begins, sheltered from the unforgiving weather. 

When Amelia walks through the door, she brings an accord of something pale, sweet, and earthy with her. When you look up from your cup, you realize she’s holding roses. There’s a dozen of them in her arms at least. Bright, beautiful red petals in full bloom glisten with fresh rain water as tiny hands wrap around their stems. They’re held together by a fat, gold ribbon tied into a pristine bow.  

It isn’t until her blue eyes peek around the florist’s paper that you’re able to recognize the walking floral mess as John’s daughter. Her giggles cut through the chatter of the other students as she trots around your desk, mary jane shoes tapping on the tile floor. 

“Good morning, Miss Lolly,” she says, the grin evident in her voice, yet you have to peer over the bouquet in order to see it yourself. 

Forgetting your tea, you swivel in your chair to face her fully with an awkward smile. “You look like you got your hands full there,” you note. 

Nodding, Amelia carefully maneuvers the flowers so that they’re laying horizontally in her hands. She holds them out for you as if she’s bestowing some great duty upon you; the duty of accepting a gift that’s surely too luxurious for you. 

“They’re for you!” she announces proudly. 

She all but shoves the flowers into your hands where their redolent aroma washes over your nose. You hold them with care, as if they’ll disintegrate in your hands at any moment. Careful fingers brush over the full heads of the flowers. They’re still cold. Fresh out of refrigeration and perfectly crafted. Speechless, you look back at her just as she starts to slide her backpack off her shoulders. 

“Amelia, that’s so —”

“Hold on! I almost forgot!”

Dinosaur fabric morphs as her hand rummages through zippers and pockets. Eventually, she retrieves a cream colored envelope that has the name Miss Lolly written in sloppy, well meaning handwriting. She presents it with both hands, cheeks flushing a bright pink as she wiggles it around. 

“Is this all for me?” you ask, dumbfounded. 

Again, she nods. “It was daddy’s idea. We wanted to say thank you!” 

Resting the bouquet in your lap, you take the envelope from Amelia and quickly open it. It’s unsealed — excited to be read. It’s a decorative card with bright, 70’s flower themed drawings on the front with the words Thank You! written in fat, bubbly, groovy letters. On the inside, you see where an attempt was made at writing your real title, only to be crossed out and quickly replaced with Dear Miss Lolly in neat print handwriting. 

Dear Miss Lolly,

Amelia and I would like to express our gratitude for your work and care. Each day she comes home and tells me what a wonderful time she has in your class. She says she enjoys your pretty dresses and the silly voices you use during reading time. However, I can’t thank you enough for taking care of my little girl after her tumble on Friday. Please accept this as a token of our appreciation. 

Sincerely,

John and Amelia

John’s signature is strong. Demanding. Dark. It looks out of place next to Amelia’s attempt at cursive — which you haven’t quite gone to that section in English yet — but it makes you smile all the same. As you set both the flowers and the card aside, a hint of something catches your nose. A gentle sillage. It’s warm and spiced, but you quickly push it out of your mind as you give your full attention to Amelia. 

“That’s so sweet of you, thank you so, so much Amelia,” you say softly. 

“Do you like them?” she asks, eyes wide and glistening with joy as she attempts to fight back a grin. 

“I love them.” 

It’s not a lie. You do. They’re beautiful, picked with care; not a single bruise or thorn to be seen, but every time you see them, you think of him. How a blessing and a curse can co-exist in the same object baffles you. Lush red catches your attention as you lecture and play games with your students, and you’re reminded of Amelia’s grin and giggles. At the same time, it makes you think of her father: it makes you think of John. 

He’s all you’ve been able to think about since Friday. The image of him sitting on that couch, legs spread wide and powerful as he sips on whiskey like it’s water burns into your mind. Butterflies harass your stomach as you think of that night, curled against his side, losing yourself to the scent of him as you chatted away, just how he told you to. That night, he tipped you enough to cover most of your rent, and a shameful fire burns your heart every time you think about it. 

John’s too kind, and so… lonely. 

You can’t help but feel as if you had taken advantage of him that night. A hidden identity. A fake name. A different mask. Would he have done all those things had he known who you truly were? Would he feel disgusted if he ever found out? You, his precious daughter’s teacher, rubbing up against strange men in your free time? 

That feeling of discomfort only gets worse at the end of the school day when he comes to pick Amelia up. 

A sleek black coat protects him from the incessant rain that’s plagued the city the entire day, but it does nothing to shield his hair. Ebony locks clump together with the troublesome precipitation, weighing them down along his forehead. It irritates him even as he enters your classroom, thick fingers attempting to get the strands to cooperate. Your pulse pounds erratically in your throat, throbbing and unforgiving, dancing just under your skin where it’s ready to burst. 

Swallowing, you look away from him as you continue to sort through papers and hope that he didn’t see you staring. Maybe if you look busy waiting around for parents to grab their children he’ll leave without talking to you. So you crunch. Eyes hyperfocusing on the work in front of you as if it’ll make everything else around you irrelevant. Grading young primary students' projects is always easy. Highly assisted, simple tasks means you’re putting stickers in the corner along with a kind note scrawled in red ink. 

You always save the dinosaur stickers for Amelia. 

“Miss Lolly?” 

Your eyes flutter shut as cologne wafts towards you, and for a moment you’re somewhere else. Bare skin against leather. Against cloth. Pressed against a chest. Arm wrapped around you. That reality doesn’t exist — shouldn’t exist — and it’s fleeting. The moment you open your eyes, it dissolves and morphs into the man in front of you. John Price, with a smile on his face, and his daughter’s hand in his. 

“I see you got our gift,” he notes, nodding to the flowers on your right. 

Trying to keep your eyes off of him as much as possible, you turn to look at the roses. Beautiful haematic flowers sit proudly in a spare vase you were able to scrounge up from the art teacher. It’s handmade — expertly blown glass that casts a blue shadow on the top of your desk as if the room had been submerged in an oceanic wonderland. 

“Amelia was very ecstatic to deliver them this morning,” you chuckle. Your pen clicks in even, consecutive strikes — like heels on marble flooring. 

“I helped pick them out! Oh, and the card, too,” she quickly announces before sheepishly sticking herself to her father’s side. 

“They’re beautiful,” you reiterate to her before anxiously looking up at John. “And… thank you. They do liven up the room a bit.” 

John waves his hand almost dismissively. “It’s nothing. Only fitting considering you took care of my girl.” 

Your legs press together as he speaks, baritone washing over you just like it did on Friday. It’s not as strong. Weaker. Not nearly as vibrant as it was when you were enveloped by him. Shame and desire fight tooth and nail inside of you, wreaking havoc on your gut, splitting apart offals as they fight for dominance. Despite the battle, you smile through it all — pretty and perfect, just the way Miss Lolly should be. 

“Always happy to help,” you chirp. 

As John and Amelia say their farewells, fauve blue eyes inspect you meticulously. You smile through the scrutiny, wave at little Amelia, and share your excitement to see her tomorrow, but you’re wary of his gaze. Is there recognition? Fraying at the edges of your disguise? Or can he see the way his fingerprints still linger on your skin? Maybe your guilty conscience is just eating you alive.

John doesn’t seem to find whatever he was looking for — if anything at all — and both him and Amelia leave with waves and smiles as they venture out into the pouring rain. Their absence doesn’t do anything to ease the feeling in your gut. It’s trepidation on steroids — a raging alarum that sickens you. You’re nothing but a charlatan; a silly pretender who gets off on thoughts of her student’s father. 

Silence settles over the classroom as the last parent comes to retrieve their child, and just like everyone else you send them off with a smile. That facade breaks the moment the door closes behind them, and you’re left solitary in a colorful room with a bouquet of flowers. 

The thought of throwing them into the bin crosses your mind. You’ve become so obsessed with boundaries that you’re terrified of them blurring. A card becomes flowers, which become friendship, which becomes more. As if it already isn’t there. As if you didn’t spend the evening in his arms just to help make rent for the month. 

Shaking your head, you remind yourself that Miss Lolly has no recollection of Friday night. No, she was at home, doing things an upstanding citizen would do. So, you treat the flowers as such — just flowers. A simple token of appreciation you will adoringly keep on the corner of your desk until they wilt and die, lest little Amelia’s heart shatter. As for the card, you have a corkboard for a reason. Adorned with cute art projects, sweet notes, and other trinkets. You reach for it, fingers bracing as if you expect it to burn, and as it rises from the desk, you freeze. 

Gentle sillage. Warm and spiced. For a moment, you think you’ve gone insane. Smelling things that have long since vanished as if you’re chasing ghosts. Jittery eyes glance around your empty classroom as if someone’s waiting for you to slip up. Some judge and executioner hidden in the corner waiting to make you pay for your transgressions.

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, you raise the card up until it’s just under your nose and you inhale slow and deep. Synapses fry, nerves and neurons sparking until the electricity melts your brain — you were right. It’s him. Molecules of cologne soaked into cardstock so faintly you almost didn’t notice it, but the card smells like him. Your mind spins as you push it away, but the scent is so intoxicating your body longs for it. 

John Price is going to be the death of you and he doesn’t even know it. 

It’s then that you decide that you can’t hang the card with the others. That aroma will haunt you if you do. Instead, you open some forgotten drawer in your desk, full of dust and old pencil shavings, and you lock it in the dark. Sealed tight where the scent has no chance of fighting to escape. Your mind wants to wander. Question if this was done on purpose, or if it was some lingering mistake the card gathered off the pocket of his coat. 

You refuse to entertain it. John has no reason to terrorize a simple school teacher.

Miss Lolly has had a very long Monday, and she plans on going home. Home, and well away from any place where John Price might be lurking in the corner, waiting to haunt her. If you’re lucky, the petrichor soaking the pavement outside will have you forget all about him and that stupid card.

[wordstome]

kosovo maiden (könig x reader)

Well, I did it again, gang. I wrote another story based on a painting. This one is by Uroš Predić in 1919, and was posted to Tumblr here (thanks to arcana-imperii for posting!)

I don't know anything about Kosovo, so the reader here isn't explicitly Serbian ;; please forgive me. Also, apologies for possibly inaccurate ambiguously late-1800s setting, medical information or German. Please enjoy!

2.2k words

There are soldiers in the field.

You heard the sounds of battle early in the dawn, the piercing explosions of gunfire and cannons ringing out as the sun rose. You weren’t concerned at first: it was far enough away that you felt safe enough to carry on as usual. But the gunfire drew closer and closer, and by noon you could hear the shouting and the battle cries, driving you trembling into your attic with terror. Mercifully, the fighting peters out as the sun sinks lower in the sky, but when you finally work up the nerve to peek out of your window, you find to your horror that the grassy field adjacent to your humble little home is littered with the bodies of dead and dying men.

Without a single further thought to your own safety, you grab a lantern and a pitcher of water and rush into the night.

It’s awful. Most of the men left behind are already cold, some whose eyes you have to shut yourself. The ones who were able to be saved were likely evacuated by their comrades, so the only ones left to face the cruel nighttime are the ones who won’t see the morning after. A few are still conscious when you find them, but you have little more to offer them than a gentle touch and one last drink of water. Their eyes are what will haunt you most after today: slick with tears as grown men weep, all semblance of courage and proud masculinity stripped from them as they face down their imminent demise. It’s terrible, heart-wrenching, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. You’re the only living thing left that can offer them comfort in their last moments.

The jug of water dangles from your hand as you trudge through the field, looking for anyone at all that you can provide help to. You’ve long abandoned any hope of finding someone you can save when you come across him: the giant in the grass.

It’s well and truly nighttime at that point, your lamp the only source of light upon what seems like a sea of human misery. The light hits his face, and you gasp. Your first thought is of how huge he is, at least 200 centimeters if he were standing. Your second thought is of how handsome he is…

You jolt to attention as he shifts and groans. He’s alive! Shaking some sense into yourself, you don’t hesitate to rush to his side. Your hands roam across his body, assessing the severity of his injuries. To your surprise, he doesn’t seem to be mortally injured. They’re severe, to be sure—he won’t be able-bodied for weeks. But he’s far from at death’s door, only confused and dazed…had his comrades only left him due to his sheer size?

Using your hand to support the back of his head and neck, you tip some water into his mouth in an attempt to revive him. The man cracks an eye open, regarding you with feverish wonder.

“Ein Engel…” he murmurs. You’re too elated that he’s alive, so you don’t actually properly hear what he said. With light, deft fingers, you tear strips of his tattered shirt and use the cloth to wrap up a scrape on his arm and stem the flow of a very nasty-looking wound up along the broad plane of his torso. To your alarm, however, the man seems to slump, his head laying back as if he’s about to lose consciousness.

“No, no,” you cry in panic, shaking him without heed of his injuries. “Sir, you cannot sleep here, I am unable to carry you…you will die out here!”

He mumbles something inaudible, and you breathe a sigh of relief. He hasn’t passed out on you yet, but you have to act quickly to properly care for his wounds. You shift your body so you can maneuver his uninjured arm onto your shoulders. Luckily, he seems to comprehend what you’re trying to do, and manages to stumble to his feet while leaning his weight on you.

It’s an awkward, fumbling dance, considering your earlier assessment of his height was correct—he’s a huge man, and his torso alone nearly dwarfs your entire figure. But with a good measure of patience, you manage to get him moving towards your house. It’s high time you returned home, as well: your stomach roils as you remember what happens to corpses left outside for scavengers to find.

The two of you stumble through the doorway of your home, you murmuring soft affirmations and encouragement to the man. He makes no indication that he understands what you’re saying, but he’s nodding along, responding to your gentle tone. You guide him to lay on your bed, his body visibly relaxing as he sinks into the mattress.

You bustle around, lighting candles, stoking your fireplace, and rummaging around for medical supplies. You return to him with a basin of warm water, a cloth, and some bandages—before stopping dead in your tracks.

In the low lamplight out in the field, you hadn’t noticed the color of the man’s uniform, much too preoccupied with his signs of life. But now the truth is laid bare in front of you as you take in his attire, eyes traveling over his broad body—

You’ve just taken in an enemy soldier.

The man has seemingly fallen asleep, likely exhausted by the battle and the effort it took to get into your home. That does nothing to assuage your fear, though: what are you going to do if he passes away right in your bed? Even worse, what are you going to do if he wakes? Will he be hostile? Will he attempt to take you as a hostage to secure safe passage out of his enemy’s territory?

It's clear to you, though, that if you don’t help this man, he will die. His wounds could easily turn septic, and then he’s a goner. You steel yourself and approach him, kneeling at his bedside.

You work slowly and carefully to reveal his injuries, wincing when they’re completely exposed. He’s no longer bleeding profusely, but he will absolutely need stitches. For now, you settle for cleaning them with a damp cloth, trying to keep infection at bay.

He must be well and truly knocked out, because he doesn’t even stir as you wrap his arm securely with clean bandages. You’re much more hesitant to deal with his chest wound: if he wakes and struggles, he could make it much worse. But his unconscious state affords you the best opportunity to stitch him up…

You furrow your brow and go to find a needle.

You’re awoken by a gentle touch on the shoulder.

You stir from your sleep, wondering what your mother could possibly want at such an early hour. At least she put the fire on—you can hear the crackling. But why is your bed so hard? Did you fall asleep on the floor? Actually, now that you think about it, you do recall dozing off on your sheepskin rug last night, because—

Your eyes shoot open to see a huge, hulking figure standing over you.

The soldier startles when you scream, scrambling to move away from him. He cuts an intimidating figure in the early morning light: he towers over you in a state of undress, the bandages you put on him last night splotched with rusty dried blood. But you calm down as you realize he means you no harm, his hands outstretched in front of him as a show of peace: no weapons.

“Wo bin ich?” he asks. You squint at him. That sounds like German, but you can’t speak a word of it.

“I don’t speak German,” you try. He tilts his head, looking as puzzled as you feel right now.

“Never mind all of that,” you say, shaking your head and pushing yourself to your feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed!” The soldier watches with amusement as you press your hands against him, careful to avoid touching his chest where you know his wound lies, in an attempt to get him back into bed. He allows you to do so, lying back down like an obedient dog.

“Muste pissen,” he murmurs as you fuss over him. You shoot him another confused look as you check the stitches you put in his chest wound. All seems well, you note with relief.

“What?”

He huffs a sigh. He gestures towards the door, and then then to his…oh.

“I see,” you say, cheeks feeling hot. You can’t bear to look at his face, but when you do, you find he’s watching you with amusement.

You tap his chest with a finger, then mime a sewing motion. “Don’t get up on your own from now on, you could tear your stitches,” you tell him, pointing to the door and then to patting your own chest. “I’ll help you.”

He snorts, but nods. You start to unfurl the bandages on his arm, heart twinging with sympathy as he grits his teeth in pain. You bite your lip in chagrin as the wound is revealed. It was much less severe than the one on his chest, but it’s doing much worse: pus and fluids are leaking everywhere, and to your horror, you think some parts of the torn flesh might actually be turning green.

“Es sieht schlecht aus?” he asks, concerned. You put on a smile you hope is comforting and rise from his bedside to go downstairs and rummage through your cupboards.

You return to him holding a bottle of liquor, the strongest you could find. He seems to realize what you intend to do, and shifts slightly to allow you better access to his arm.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to him. “This is going to hurt.” Without further warning, you dump a good amount of alcohol on his wound.

“SCHEIẞE!” The bellow of pain that rips out of his throat seems to shake the very foundations of your home. You wince as he hollers and lays back heavy against your poor little bed, forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. That can’t have been pleasant…

“Das tat schlimmer weh, als die verdammte Wunde überhaupt zu bekommen,” he grits. You give him a sympathetic little pat before withdrawing to get the bandages.

He’s calmed down by the time you return to him. He watches you curiously as you wrap him up nice and snug, then turn your attentions to his chest wound. The stitches are still in place—it seems he was careful when he relieved himself—but you still need to clean and dress the wound. He lets out a sigh of relief when you opt for a clean cloth to dab away the dried blood instead of the liquor bottle.

You work quickly and efficiently, worried about him catching a cold with his chest out like this. You also can’t deny that the whole situation is starting to make you a bit shy—a foreign man, and an attractive one at that, is in your bed, shirtless, and you’re all but sprawled out on top of him to get up close to his injury. By the time you’re done, you’re fully blushing at the closeness of the contact between the two of you.

“You should be alright, it’s a good sign that you lasted through the night and haven’t developed a fever yet,” you tell him as you gather up the soiled bandages to be washed. “You’ll need to stay in bed so I can keep an eye on you—”

You’re drawn up short when you look up to see his face. Far from the angry scowl he wore when you disinfected his wound, his expression now is almost…admiring? You shift slightly, caught off guard by the adoration in this stranger’s stare, and your arm brushes against something solid and warm.

You stand up as if burned, turning to see what you just touched. To your chagrin, you find that the soldier is…well, he’s hard.

You whirl around to fix him with an outraged look, but he only laughs at you with obvious delight. What a pervert! You’re so flustered you don’t know what to do or where to look, but you’re stopped by the sensation of him reaching up and pressing a hand to your face.

You stare at him, wide-eyed, as he strokes your cheek with a sort of reverence that stops you in your tracks. “Mein Retter…” he murmurs. “Entschuldigung. Ich konnte nicht anders.”

You huff, recognizing that he’s trying to apologize. “You don’t act like an injured man at all,” you complain. A spark of mirth comes into his eye at your pouting tone as he just chuckles at you. You turn to walk away, yelping when you feel his hand brush against your bottom. You shoot him with a deadly look as he laughs again.

You scurry away, feeling awkward and hot all over. You had been so concerned last night about whether you should stay in the same house as the potentially dangerous soldier, pacing the floor and biting your nails as you pondered whether you should give him up to the local authorities. In hindsight, you’re glad you didn’t—they would surely have locked him in a cold cell with nobody to look after that festering gash on his shoulder, to say nothing of his chest wound. It was worth it to risk waking up to a man angry and spitting hatred at you, if you could save his life.

But now you’re realizing that you hadn’t considered the opposite possibility: that the soldier might like you a little too much.

ein Engel = an angel Wo bin ich? = Where am I? Muste pissen = had to piss Es sieht schlecht aus? = Is it bad? Scheiße = shit Das tat schlimmer weh, als die verdammte Wunde überhaupt zu bekommen = That hurt worse than getting the damn wound in the first place Mein Retter = my savior Entschuldigung. Ich konnte nicht anders = I'm sorry. I couldn't help it

Once more, I wrote this in a frenzy akin to being possessed, so it's a little short. But there will definitely be more! Thank you for reading <3

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