gilded roses

🖤 SOA-Preference: Them surprising you with romantic gifts while they're on a run 🖤

Originally posted by uncollectively

Jax: He would surprise you with a cute puppy. He wants you to feel distracted while he’s been gone … and it calms him to know, the dog is a guard dog too.

Originally posted by lolsthecatgifs

Tig: He would send you some naughty & funny texts while he’s been away. He doesn’t want you to feel lonely therefore you would find a box with a “vibrating content”

Originally posted by sikanapanele

Chibs: He would surprise you the old fashioned way with a hand written letter expressing his true feelings for you. And if that wasn’t enough, he would have named a star after your name. He would love the idea to feel close to you whenever one of you would gaze at your star.

Originally posted by downwiththemachine

Opie: You would receive a bracelet engraved with coordinates (the place you both met the first time). His evidence of true love.

Originally posted by redwood-orginals

Kozik: He loves to surprise you with some classic gifts like a gilded rose and chocolate dipped strawberries. He would make sure they would be your favorite ones.

Originally posted by theflyingsquabbit

Happy: He would customize a gun (with your initials) for you. He wants to know you’re safe while he’s on a run…besides it’s a huge turn on for him to know he’s got a bad baby that can handle herself!

Originally posted by iwishicouldfindthewords

Juice: He would surprise you with a box called ‘’Reasons why I love you’’. A cute lil’ box full of pictures, tickets and memories you two shared. He would even leave his favorite shirt in the box only for you to wear it and smell his scent when you’re feeling lonely.

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etsyfindoftheday 2 | FRIDAY FRENZY | 5.19.17

modern brass necklaces by fableandlore

i own a fableandlore necklace, a pyrite beaut gifted to me from my wombmate and twin katherine <3 it’s my favorite … but i’d make room in my heart for another one of these gorgeous and varied-silhouette brass necklaces, too.

I hold in my lungs an offering to you, Persephone, my Queen and burgeoning rose. The gilded dust collected among my breath will be exhaled for you, and left at this altar as a gift. Do come, lavishly garnished with shadow and garnet, and listen to my hymn. I have prepared this for you, and glisten with the hope that you will hear me.


You wear a crown of steel, coated in gems only Haides could find. Their beauty is repressed by the glimmer of your cheeks, their glow is unremarkable next to you. You bear that crown so regally, even it seems to worship you.


Your royal dress tumults over your throne. Wine-red and deep as blood, it overflows like the sacrifices made in your name. As deep and as dark as the world you preside over, you make the dress live, not the other way around.

Glory to you, Persephone, goddess of divine power, goddess of living death.


In the graveyards I grew up in, I have seen you consoling the dead. I have noticed your presence at the most disrespected sites, and felt the divine retribution bubbling in your veins. Lady of Headstones, Mother of the Lost. You are gracious enough to hold us all in your hearts, even when we pass dutifully into eternal forgetfulness.

I ask for your favour, your love, and your protection. Defeat those who try to destroy me, as I know you can, strong Theia.


Khaire, fair goddess, khaire my queen.

Amarantos Argyris

“Hymn to Persephone”

Speak Now, Part 11 (Jughead x Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

A/N: If you haven’t had a chance to listen to the song this fic has been based off of (”Speak Now” by Taylor Swift), now is a good time lol.


It was wedding day.

You woke up to being jarred around the truck as Jughead rounded a bend in the road. Sunlight was just barely peaking out over the trees, coloring the sky in a luminescent blue.

You stretched your neck, sore from leaning on Jughead for so long.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Jughead said, eyes on the road ahead of him.

“Did you sleep at all?” You asked. “It’s nearly morning….”

Jughead smirked. “I’m a writer, (Y/N). Sleep to us is like a fine wine. Nice once in a while, but never daily, or to excess.”

You chuckled. “But it’s your wedding day.”

Jughead frowned. “I know,” he said quietly.

Keep reading

If you’re looking at an opulent cake that’ll be the centre of attention, don’t hold back on the size and design. This Marie Antoinette-inspired masterpiece is an absolute showstopper with rich, ornate details. On a side note, I wonder how many can this confection actually feed. It’s huge!

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/84512930478849062/

Queen to a Princess

Said a Princess to the Queen:
“Your Highness, how did you find your happy end?”
Said the Queen to the Princess:
“My dear, stories don’t ever just end.
My story was full of roses
and gilded knights
and bitter tears
turned into fairy lights.
Days spent spinning flax
and nights on the scullery floor.
Dresses made of starlight
and dancing in marble halls.
But after all the threads been spun
the sun will still rise and set.
A Prince and a Princess will live on
even after they’ve wed.
So you see my dear, stories don’t have a happy end,
because it is awful rare for stories to truly end.”



This piece was an experiment. I wanted to do something graphic and clean cut with drastically limited color scheme. I have a vague recollection of seeing fairy tales beautifully illustrated with this sort of black and white imagery sometime years ago, so I rolled with the theme.
The poem to go with the piece was largely inspired by ‘Mother to Son’ by Langston Hughes.

At Lover’s Corner - W.D.W

AU: the second chance

(1,553 words)

Pairing: Fraser Pryce (C.B) x Reader

A/N: I cried writing this imagine, which probably isn’t a good sign. If you really want to suffer, listen to the first minute of “Magic Tree And I Let Myself Go” by Craig Armstrong while reading it. All due respect to Christina, by the way. :) I hope you don’t cry too much, loves.

warnings: angst, death


Year one.

The vows have been uttered, the wedding band adorning your left hand. Fraser carries you out of the church in his arms, the crowd cheering for the both of you. 

Congratulations,  Mr. & Mrs. Pryce.

Year two.

Your white dress is hanging up in the closet, gathering dust. Your husband sits on the bed contentedly, letting his eyes roam and you catch him in the act. Flashbacks from your honeymoon come rushing back, remembering how the two of you were always running away together, kissing in alleyways.

Best wishes, Mr. & Mrs. Pryce.

Year three.

Crowds of beautiful flowers bloom in the shop. It’s your third anniversary - he has to leave on tour, but not before arranging a gift to be sent to his gorgeous wife. You come home from the airport feeling sad, yet the bouquet of roses left at your front door leave you speechless.

“Happy anniversary, my love.” it says on the card. 

Take care, Mr. & Mrs. Pryce.

Year four.

You’re a mother-to-be, sporting the prominent baby bump. Fraser’s resting his head on your belly, singing quietly, his angelic voice soothing to your ears. You feel a sense of pride and joy, knowing the unborn child you carry will have the greatest father they could ask for. He’d set the roses on the kitchen counter.

“I’m so grateful to have you, my love.” it says on the card. 

Good luck, Mr. & Mrs. Pryce.

Year five.

Your little bundle of joy has entered the world, her tiny hands latching onto her father’s forefinger. She has Fraser’s nose and his azure eyes, fused with your (y/h/c) hair and the perfect replica of that bright smile of yours he loved so much. Brielle is a dainty child, so petite compared to his large frame, but the both of you love her more than anything. The roses are waiting on the bedside table this year.

“Thank you for choosing me, my love.” it says on the card. 

God bless you, Mr. & Mrs. Pryce.

Year six.

Brielle squeals, happily tumbling around the house on her chubby legs. With tired eyes full of maternal love, you smile softly, opening your arms and beckoning her to come to you. She’s growing up just to look like her father, those sapphire eyes screaming of Fraser’s warmth. He’s away again, but as always, the roses are there at your front door.

“I don’t deserve you, my love.” it says on the card. 

Keep on, Mr. & Mrs. Pryce.

Year seven.

The angels have taken Brielle home tonight. Her frail heart had given out too early, and she went home in her sleep. You and Fraser sit together on the living-room couch, weeping bitterly at her loss. Your baby’s gone, and she isn’t coming back. The boys are there with you, joining in your show of tears. Fraser’s roses gild his late daughter’s coffin this year, your seventh anniversary being the bitter-sweet tale it is.

“You’re all I have left, my love.” he whispers in your ear. 

Sorry for your loss, Mr. & Mrs. Pryce.

Year eight.

It’s taken awhile to accept Brielle’s death, but the ache is slowly subsiding. Perhaps, it will always be a sensitive subject for you and your husband as the both of you pull out of the grieving process. He’d dealt with it through music, working in the studio every day from dawn till dusk. He’s fatigued and hurting, and you wrench him away from his desk to force him to take care of himself. 

Yet, despite his distance, the roses arrive at your door as on cue.

“Thank you for staying with me, my love.” it says on the card. 

Hold on, Mr. & Mrs. Pryce.

Year nine.

The sun is coming up again, the both of you alone in your hotel room as the others explored the new city you were visiting. Fraser had convinced you to come with him on tour this time, and you agreed, wanting nothing more than to be with him. As you were staring into each other’s souls in comfortable silence, he reaches out and cups your cheek with his hand, kissing you deeply - just like he did on your wedding day nine years ago. 

After the concert that night, he gently hands you his signature bouquet.

“We’re in this together, my love.”  says Fraser, sighing in awe of his beautiful wife. 

Stay young, Mr. & Mrs. Pryce.

Year ten.

Gathering around Brielle’s grave, you and Fraser pay your respects, kneeling beneath the ancient weeping willow tree that hung over your child’s final resting place. He and the boys sing her one last song in the fading daylight, fighting back the ghostly tears threatening to make a reappearance. 

Three years have passed since that fateful day, and since then the six of you all have grown up and begun families of your own. Fraser nearly bursts out crying when he sees Harvey’s little girl frolicking around the cemetery with her brother. She’s wearing what would’ve been Brielle’s dress, her coffee eyes wide with wonder and her bouncy curls blowing around in the summer breeze. 

He suddenly misses his daughter so much, watching his friends-turned-brothers gleefully run after their little ones. Yet, you’re there to comfort him, to put him back together, and this time it’s you who gives him your rose.

“We’ll be okay, my love.” you murmur, kissing his forehead. 

We wish you well, Mr. & Mrs. Pryce.

Year eleven.

The family friends are over for a barbeque this evening. Fraser, Benjamin, and Harvey are outside playing tag with the kids as Peter tends to the grill and Noah looks after the stereo, controlling the playlists. 

You’re in the kitchen baking an apple pie, catching up with the other wives as they cut the fruit beside you. You can’t help admire your husband from a distance, watching his lips curl up into a cheeky smile as he darts back and forth between the trees in the backyard. 

He’s happy again.

When it gets dark, Noah’s eldest takes the little ones inside to watch cartoons -  the adults now allowed enjoy some romantic couple-time together. 

An acoustic love song plays on the radio, the ten of you slowly waltzing under the milky fairy-lights and summer stars. You and Fraser take centre-stage, it being your eleventh anniversary, the others dancing around you in a warm, smitten stupor.

The wives had woven your roses into your hair a few minutes earlier, jumping up and down, cheering you on as Fraser suddenly dips you and brings his lips to yours in a long, gentle kiss.

“You are my world, my love.” Fraser whispers in your ear. 

Stay strong, Mr. & Mrs. Pryce.

Year twelve.

Hands entwined with his fingers, you wait restlessly at Fraser’s bedside, waiting for him to wake up. His breaths are few and far between, his chest raising ever so slightly as he gasps for air.

There was an accident last night. Your husband’s in a coma. The doctors say he may never wake up.

Twelve years together and today might be the day he joins Brielle at home with the angels.

Gripping onto his wrist, you beg for him to say something. Anything. Just one word, one utterance.

But the ward is deathly silent, filled with unspoken promises passing from one spouse to another.

It’s Fraser’s time to go. One last time, you press your lips to the back of his limp hand, barely holding back the sobs rising up from your throat. 

But just before you step out of the door forever, his eyes pry open, looking straight at you with all the love and admiration he can muster. Fraser smiles at you weakly, and the raw emotion coming from his sapphire eyes alone shatters your heart.

The heart-rate monitor flatlines. Those striking orbs snap shut once and for all. 

Farewell, Mr Pryce.

Year thirteen.

You’re alone in your apartment, flipping through your old photo albums and clutching your wedding ring in your hand. Today would’ve marked thirteen years of marriage between you and the love of your life. But he isn’t here. He’s gone, and you know you’ll never love again.

Setting the book down on the rug beside you, you lay down on the cold, hardwood floor and cry. 

You cry, and cry, and cry until there’s nothing left but an empty shell of what used to be a happy soul.

First, it was Brielle, and now it was Fraser. Life has taken everything away from you, and all you want to do is curl up into a ball and disappear. 

But the doorbell rings, startling you.

Opening the door, your eyes fill up again with tears as you see the melancholy sight in front of you.

It’s a bouquet of red roses, just like the ones Fraser would send to you every anniversary.

Hesitantly picking them up, you read the card and collapse onto the ground, sobbing like a waterfall.

“My love for you is eternal.” it read, being written by Fraser’s own hand. 

With it you saw the receipt, showing that he’d paid for years and years in advance. You closed the door, setting the roses on the kitchen bench like your husband once did.

Heal soon, Mrs. Pryce. Rest in peace, Mr. Pryce.


If you cried, let me know. 

aldreusreinhold  asked:

"Lord Fane. It has been a great deal of time since our last meeting. I trust that you are well, yes?" Aldreus spoke in a measured tone as he attempted to collect the scent of both the man, and the location. It was the natural thing to do. Another male worgen that he did not know or trust always made him apprehensive...

Originally posted by warcraftmovie

Conwulf had just left his small quarters he still kept at the Gilded Rose within the Trade District, and was making his way towards the canals, passing beneath an archway when he nearly bumped into the fellow Gilnean. Before even recognizing, nor scenting the other bloke, his hands came up and he quickly offered, “Apologies, mate- “

A broad grin then greeted Aldreus as recognition set in, and the Lord immediately drew his hands down, only to offer his right in greeting.  “Aldreus. Tis a pleasure to see you again.  Aye, it has been too long.”  The veiled worgen had clearly just taken a bath and pampered himself, smelling of a simple vanilla-tinted soap, with a dash of a spiced cologne that had been dabbed against neck and wrists. 

A light, thoughtful hum escaped him and he admitted, “Things could be better, but they could certainly be worse, as is the case when one needs new employment. How are you and the misses doing? Last I heard from you two was - … well, -overheard- from you two was things sounded like they were going…. rather well.” The sly grin that followed was likely all that the former Baron needed to know about what he’d meant.

@aldreusreinhold @sarahskyfall

gentle mother, strength of women

I’ll be adding the links to the stories as they’re posted, but until then y’all get the teasers for each of them.

Summary: Stories for the mothers of Westeros- who are broken, demanding, loving, protective, angry, and grieving; who are imperfect, and still deserve a moment to tell their stories. 

Keep reading

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FRIDAY FRENZY | etsyfindoftheday 4 | 5.29.15

varied alternative engagement ring styles by studio1040

  • sapphire and emerald three-stone engagement ring
  • white sapphire and pavè-set diamond tiara ring in rose gold

it’s easy to buck engagement ring trends with all the different designs available on etsy — and sometimes, a single shop has such a range of styles, you don’t need to look anywhere else. take studio1040: traditional solitaire and halo-set pieces abound, but you’ve also got access to unique gem combinations and settings like these gorgeous examples. love the green emerald accents on top, and the royal detailing feel of the pavè settings on bottom.