evening promenade

history-rover  asked:

You asked for it. When the Scot Ties The Knot AU. 😜

okay, bit of background. we were talkin in discord about scottish twitter, which then transmuted into a talk about scottish romance novels, and then i brought up the greatest romance novel premise i’ve ever heard of: when a scot ties the knot by tessa dare. i’ve never actually read this book besides the back cover and some choice passages from my friend @galpaladvns who got it for her birthday or smth (all i really remember from that night was @funnythingsandphysics hunting through the pages for the smut which apparently took ¾ths of the book to get to?) but basically….. what happens next is the rough premise of the book, but viktuuri. and (very heavily winged) historical, because @kazliin and i are in agreement that there should be more period drama viktuuri anyway 

When a Russian is Rushin’ to Marry: Or, the Unexpected Consequences of Inventing a Boyfriend

“I’m so jealous of you,” Phichit laments as he helps Yuuri get ready for the evening’s events. “I remember my first season like it was yesterday. Everything’s so exciting and bright your first time around; I wish I could experience it again!”

Yuuri says nothing, only turns slightly to watch the way the light catches on his blue brocade waistcoat in the mirror. “I don’t know,” he admits after a moment. “I’m probably going to be dreadfully old, especially in comparison to young Mr Plisetsky who’s also debuting this season.”

“Well, sometimes people like a late bloomer,” Phichit chides, patting his forearm. “Now turn, so I can help with your ascot.”

Yuuri lets him adjust the silken material with a weary sigh. He’d been putting off his entrance into society for as long as could be deemed socially acceptable, mostly for his nerves. But with each passing season, his parents would get more and more concerned that he wouldn’t marry and settle down, and eventually he’d caved. Tonight’s soiree would mark his debut, and it was about as quiet an affair as he could manage. Still, the thought of being approached tonight with potential suitors continues to threaten to overwhelm him at any given moment. 

“Deep breaths, Yuuri,” Phichit offers kindly as he pats at his now properly-tied ascot. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“You sound more confident about this than I feel,” Yuuri retorts. Phichit helps him into his tailcoat with a grin.

“You’re a divine dancer, Yuuri,” he points out. “Who could say no to you?”

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writertobridge  asked:

Hey, it's past you again. You were tagged by fuckyourstupideyebrows about a vulcannic post regarding Julian and Garak trying alcoholic beverages. Find that in your "to be written" tag and write about it because yes. Also, I hope you're not sick anymore.

Hi past me! I know everyone’s going to be confused about the “again” part, so to let everyone know, I deleted the first prompt I send myself because I wanted to fulfill the others people sent me. I can’t even remember what that was now. Oh well.

So, I completely forgot about this post until I read this message. Oops. But I got this, I think. Because of that post, I need to tag @vulcannic and @fuckyourstupideyebrows, since they were the ones who made the post and brought it to my attention, respectively.

A Little Taste

Garak woke up alone.

He was fully aware that he’d gone to bed alone, but the dream he arose from had involved such a wonderful partnership that waking up in the dark, cool isolation was anything but appealing. His heart careened and sank into his stomach only to settle and twist apart in the bile residing there. He hoped it wouldn’t reform during the course of the day, but he knew it would. It always did the moment he laid his eyes on the doctor responsible for this pitifully lonely morning. He could never have the man, as Doctor Julian Bashir was far too fond of women to be interested in Garak, but he would still flutter about in some rose-tinted daze anytime the dear doctor came into his line of sight. Luckily, he had become rather experienced at hiding his emotions over his lifetime. The good doctor would never find out unless Garak wished him to.

Perhaps it was time.

This was the forth time in the last week he’d dreamed of being with the doctor beyond the boundaries of their friendship. This last one involved watching a delightful Cardassian sunset under the shade of the wild spires that covered portions of the desert. The sky was painted reds and oranges, which had turned the doctor’s tanned skin into a muted desert brown and felt as warm as the Cardassian sand beneath them. Garak brushed his hand against the doctor’s, caught the man’s brown eyes, and edged his lips towards the young man’s. They were cool. They were soft. They were–

Not human.

Garak had never kissed a human before. The feeling of their lips was a mystery to him and would likely remain that way. There was no use dwelling on the matter so early in the day. It would only taint was delight was waiting for him later.

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Wedding Proposal W/Roy Harper

For @random-fandom-chick

Fandom: Arrow

Characters: Roy x Reader

Word Count: 836

Request: Hi. When you have time could you do wedding proposal with Roy Harper plz

“Maybe we should just miss dinner, stay at home.” You said, pulling back the curtains and peering out to the white, snowy scene outside. “It looks freezing.” You added, watching a woman run past in a large coat to enter the house opposite where you were living. Roy Harper appeared from around the corner behind you and kissed you on the neck, making you shiver.

“Come on baby, I booked this weeks ago.” Roy said, he was dressed in smart black pants and a white shirt, which he never usually wore.

“What is so special about tonight?” You turned around and put your hands on his chest, he drew you in close.

“Can’t I just do something nice for you (Y/N)?” Roy asked innocently.

“Of course.” You said. “But this dress isn’t very warm you know.” You glanced down at your short silver sequin dress that was open at the back with thin sleeves low on your shoulders. Roy smirked.

“You look amazing, and I promise, dinner will be worth it.” He said. “Now come on, we’ll be late.” You laughed at his eagerness.

“Only because I love you and I know Felicity got us these reservations.” You laughed again when Roy blushed. Linking arms with him you put your head on his shoulder.

“Shall we?” You nodded and you headed to your car, the ice cold whirling wind making you shiver instantly and the blundering snow covering you like a sheet of paper.

- At The Restaurant -

The menu was amazing, and expensive, but Roy had insisted that you could have anything that you wanted, it wasn’t a problem. That included a fancy starter, an appetising main, a delicious dessert and luxurious drinks, it almost made you drool.

For starters you had narrowed it down to a choice of snails in garlic, mussels with a creamy white wine sauce or garlic mushrooms with blue cheese. When it came to the mouth watering mains you didn’t know whether to choose the spaghetti carbonara with bacon, the creamy pesto shrimp or the chicken cordon bleu. And dessert just had you in awe, chocolate liqueur soufflés, chocolate truffles and tiramisu cheesecake… “Roy this is amazing.” You stated, looking at the drinks menu.

“Champagne?” Roy offered with a smug grin.

“Show off.” You smirked, smiling to the waiter as you ordered your meal. Roy did the same and the waiter, who was dressed in a nice cream suit with a stunning red bow tie, took the elegant golden menus away from your table. The long thin white candle in between you and Roy, along with the flowers and fancy cutlery all seemed a little much for a dinner out, any dinner out really, part of you still felt guilty for ordering the expensive dishes. Maybe… But no, you didn’t dare hope. Although…

You and Roy talked amongst yourselves about each other, work, friends as well as your late night ‘work’. When the first course arrived you thought you knew what heaven tasted like, but then you finished that and had your main meal but then your dessert… This really was heaven. You’d only had two glasses of champagne, Roy had insisted, but when he offered you a third you declined. “Really Roy, you know I love you, and this meal, but I don’t think it would be fair to have another glass of champagne, this meal already costs too much.” Roy frowned a little but nodded anyway, saying something to a waiter as he went past.

“I’ll pay and we’ll go then.” He said, you nodded, feeling like your stomach was going to burst with happiness and tasty food.

Once dinner was paid for and you and Roy left the restaurant the snow and wind had calmed down and the scene outside was beautiful. You were still cold though.

You both walked slowly, down the icy road, your heels threatening to send you flying into the middle of the street, and even further to the promenade that Oliver had helped salvage in his mayoral campaign. “It’s beautiful.” You said once you reached the edge, but Roy didn’t reply, he was looking at you and biting his lip. He merely nodded and you looked back confused to the freezing, sparkling waters before you.

When you turned around you almost fell back into it. Kneeling before you was Roy, holding in his hands a velvet red box containing a diamond ring. “(Y/N)-” Roy began and your heart leaped with joy. A grin spread uncontrollably across your face. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” You said as soon as the words left his mouth and he hastily put the ring on your finger, almost dropping it because his were so cold. He stood up and wrapped you in his warm and loving embrace.

“I’m so glad you said that.” He whispered, you held him at arms length and kissed him deeply.

“What else was I going to say?”  


The English-born nose gives The Sephora Glossy a peek into her creative process.

Louise Turner didn’t always aspire to be a perfumer, but she followed her nose. “My family lived in Ashford in the U.K., just near a fragrance factory—the factory site was quite smelly,” she says. As fate would have it, she got a job in marketing research at the company by chance. “Only then I discovered the fascinating industry of perfumery. I was hooked.” She has since created over 30 perfumes, including MAISON MARTIN MARGIELA’s feminine floral fragrance, Lazy Sunday Morning. Here, Turner gives us the inside scoop on the life of a perfumer. Take note. RENEE TRILIVAS

What exactly does a nose do?
Somehow, a nose tries to create other people’s dream. I try to interpret what I think people want to smell like. The creations are always personal, but as I am working for people I do not know, the creations are very abstract. I create, and then I adjust and readjust according to what the customers want.

Where do you find inspiration for fragrances?
I find inspiration from many different places, but more in nature. The English country garden is an easy way to get inspired and I definitely love flowers. Nature has got something we do not do as well, in terms of diffusion, trails, blooming, etc. For example, I have a great honeysuckle in my garden and it smells fantastic. I still can’t manage to do a honeysuckle that I am satisfied with in perfumery! There’s always a challenge to do better. You need to be perfectionist. 

What is the biggest challenge of a nose?
The success rate of a perfumer is very low: Only one creation out of ten is approved on average. My challenge is to stay equally motivated, despite the success or the failure of my creations. I cannot predict which projects will work and which won’t, so I put all my heart in everything I do, no matter what. 

What’s the best part of being a perfumer? 
I think my favorite part is when I smell someone wearing my perfume in the street. I can get very proud! It is a real boost for me when someone has chosen to wear the perfume I created. Being a nose is a fantastic job. It is a tough environment, but the industry is fascinating.

Is creating a fragrance as romantic as it seems? 
Perfumers have a lot of constraints with prices, regulations, and so on. Finally, the success rate is very low. But it doesn’t remove the dreamy aspect of being a nose. Hopefully, someone is going to fall in love with your perfume, and that is something almost magical to me. 


anonymous asked:

Christopher Foyle and Phryne Fisher please. Anything. Thank you in advance.

Dear Anon, whoever you are, I am so, SO sorry that this has taken so long. (The longer it took, in fits and starts, the more scintillating I wanted it to be. I eventually gave up on scintillating, of course.)

So… here it is. The plot could be generously called thin, but I hope you have fun with it anyway. There is at least the gratuitous Shakespeare-quotation without which no interwar detective story is complete. And a reason for why Foyle has two copies of the same photograph in different frames.

The White Elephant: A Foyle & Fisher Adventure

England is colder than she remembered—in every sense. Even in these summer days, the dusk comes in with a chill. Damp lingers in the folds of her clothes, in the corners of her parents’ house. Conversations are more brittle, more reserved than she is used to. This offers, admittedly, a protection for which she is grateful in the first weeks of hectic activity. By day, Phryne closets herself with her parents’ solicitor, with their bank manager, with their steward. By night, too, she works for their future. In gold lamé or green satin, in the ballrooms and nightclubs of London, Miss Phryne Fisher scintillates with deliberately public charm. She crafts the narrative to give the world.

Yes, so impetuous of her father to go rushing off to Australia simply to bring her back. He’s impossible; she quite despairs of him sometimes. (That, at least, is true.)

Oh, no (opening the eyes very wide with feigned surprise) her parents aren’t in any sort of trouble. It’s the sort of thing her mother couldn’t help confiding, if it were true. Mother was just in a bit of a sulk, to be honest, over the fact that Father was up in London so very often. (A little shake of the head.)

You know how it is, she confides in the bright young things. Besides, I missed… London, she adds for the men who look at her with hungry eyes. I decided my place was here, she says, eyes demurely lowered, to retired officers and blameless matrons.

After three weeks of this, Phryne decides that she definitely deserves a holiday. And because, with typical perversity, the sun appears on the afternoon she books her railway ticket, she decides to go to the seaside. Squinting at Hastings through a curtain of rain, Phryne fears she may have made a mistake. 

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