vivid pinks

No One’s Roasted Like Gaston.[Oneshot].

no one writes FANFICS LIKE EMILEE.

Originally posted by luuuuuke-evans

Title: No One’s Roasted Like Gaston.
Pairing: Implied!- Gaston x Reader.
Rating: T.
Words: 2,231.
Summary: Gaston thought he was undeniable to women and even some men. Has he finally found his match?


There was nothing particularly notable about the early mornings, at least, not anymore. The sky above was it usual mixture of pinks, purples and some lighter hues of blue as the sun rose and lit up the clouds, giving them a rather unique looking glow. There was a small wind, but not chilling, and brought in the lingering scent of meadows and trees. You got used to those aspects and they slowly became the norm. You began to not notice them at all, and remarked them as being every day life. If one wanted to really shake things up in a morning routine, they would count the cobblestones that made up each walkway in the village. But, that’s the thing. No one ever wanted to shake things up. They wanted things to stay the same for that is the way they had been living for as long as anyone could remember. With change came the unprecedented fear that something terrible would happen as a result.

It was the hustle and bustle of such a small village did leave one breathless and forgetful on occasion if you didn’t pay attention to where you were going and why you were going there in the first place. If one was aimlessly walking in the morning time while the sun peaked into the valley, one might be trampled by those selling goods and merchandise. Some too expensive, and some not expensive enough and left you wondering whether you had been scammed or if you had gotten a good deal.

Aimless and mindless were surely your vibe this beautiful morning. You had nowhere to be, nothing to do or see and so you actually took your time to walk through the village during one of the busiest times of day. There was a variant of smells, some of which you happened to thoroughly enjoy. Fresh bread, springtime air, a small caddy on the corner before the village square that was selling freshly picked roses. Contrary to the flowers smelling divine, the actual vibrancy of the colors caught your attention and dwindled you to stay and admire them for longer than you had intended . Vivid reds, pastel pinks, yellow whites. It looked as if these flowers belonged immortalized in a painting for the entire world to enjoy.

Smiling at the vendor who was a few feet to your right, you plucked a light, dusty pink rose out of one of the buckets full of water. It dripped down your fingers onto your wrist causing a small shudder to shoot down your arm. Miraculously, it looked as if a skilled painter had dipped their brush in the sky during dusk, mustered up enough color to splotch onto the petals of the flower. Some parts were darker than others, but all around, it was a very delicate and soft appearing flower.

“Beautiful.” You could hear someone behind you say. And without the need to turn around and see the speaker, you were already well aware of who it was. Probably looking at himself in the reflection of a window again, you snickered quietly. It was as if you could see the bright red uniform from your peripheral vision and it was already giving you a headache. Setting the flower back into the metallic bucket, you gave the vendor one more glance over and polite smile before drawing your attention to your left, with the unsuccessful hope of getting out of there without Gaston being connected at your hip.

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selfincarceration  asked:

How many requests are you getting for cuttings, because Id love one, but I dont want you to be over whelmed, either. Did you guys determine what your plants might be incase some of want to search ourselves? There are a lot of posts and reblogs to your converation.. thanks for your time!

The things we know about the Demon and Felony sisters.

1. Pink. Of the ‘Dark and vivid pink’ spectrum.

2. Give no fucks

3. Have thorns that can go right through a leather glove, laughing the whole way

4. Laugh at subzero winters

5. Maybe possibly some rootstock variety that would not be contained by whatever they grafted onto it, ate the tea rose grafts, and then took over.

6. A climber.

7. Not a rugosa.

8. Vigorous growth habits.

9. Semidouble.

10. Possibly sentient.

11. Prolific bloomers, will repeat with smaller flushes after the initial bloom throughout the growing season. Which can last through November-December, because again, no fucks given.

12. Can survive being ignored for years (mine was growing alongside a long-abandoned farmhouse, @thebibliosphere ’s was growing in a long-neglected garden that had mostly gone wild.

13. Hate lilies, apparently.

Aside from that, ????????

The Serpent and The Swan - Ch.1

After expecting a marriage to Prince Archibald, Princess Elizabeth is shocked to hear of her new match to Prince Forsythe - a Serpent. What begins as a less than ideal match soon turns into something quite different, but nothing is ever as it seems when it comes to royalty.

Back at it again with a new multi chapter! I don’t know how frequent updates will be for this one, so bear with me, and I hope you enjoy! Sorry mobile readers, I had to put it under a cut <3

Read on AO3


“Elizabeth, where are you?”

Those four words haunted her – day in, day out. If not those it was something similar. Elizabeth, you have to come here. Elizabeth, you can’t wear that for dinner. Elizabeth, please stop doing that. Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth. She was so tired of the sound the name made as it rang out through the castle. She had enjoyed, however, the tone her sister, Polly, used as she said it in mocking, causing her to hide her giggle behind her hand before their mother caught them.

Polly. Thoughts of her sister clouded her mind as she walked past the tightly locked door that led to her sister’s quarters. Or, more accurately, what used to be her sister’s quarters. Defiled and disgraced, Polly had been banished from the castle, disowned by the Cooper faction as an example of where ill morals would lead you if you let them.

Betty scoffed. She didn’t see Polly’s dismissal from court as a punishment. No, Polly had succeeded in getting what Betty knew that she herself would never manage to obtain – freedom. When she could Polly wrote to her sister, telling Betty tales of her life as the wife of a farmer on the outskirts of the Andrews’ faction, happily set on bedrest, making garments for her future babe while her doting husband worked tirelessly to provide for them all. Betty was aware that fairy tales usually involved princes and princesses, but to her Polly’s current affair sounded like the stuff of romance, like those that filled the pages of the books that littered her well-loved library. There had been a few close calls when she was certain that Alice, their mother, had intercepted their letters, but she still prayed that Polly never stopped sending them; they were her only link to the outside world, to a life of normalcy.

Elizabeth!” The shout had taken on a firmer edge now, echoing off the stone walls that closed in on her. Betty quickened her pace, hurrying towards the Throne Room to avoid further scolding.

“Yes, Mother?” she asked, not until after curtseying before the throne her father, King Henry, sat upon, gazing down at her from the raised platform with careful, guarded eyes. The blue in his eyes always held more warmth than that of Queen Alice’s, she’d thought; where his were the still, shallow waters of a warm harbour, her mother’s eyes were the icy glaciers that shrouded the freezing islands of the South, relentless and unforgiving.

“I’ve been calling you,” Alice replied, ignoring Betty’s question. She did her best not to sigh.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I was in the library with Mistress Geraldine,” she offered by way of explanation, hoping the mention of her tutor would satisfy her mother’s complaints. The queen pursed her lips tightly, the lines of aging that surrounded them becoming more pronounced with the action.

“Elizabeth, we have news for you. Regarding your impending marriage,” Alice continued on in a sterile tone, clearly moving past her accusations of tardiness. Betty straightened at that, curious as to what she could mean.

“But I thought Archie– Prince Archibald,” she stammered, “was engaged to be married to Princess Veronica?” Betty questioned with a furrowed brow, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

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Castiel by Elicia Donze. Drawn in PS. Please do not remove captions.

[Caption: A realistic digital painting of Castiel from Supernatural. Portrait is a closeup bust. Cas is wearing his familiar trench coat over a suit and tie. Warm light from the left casts his face in strong shadows. The background is dark teal with a large vivid pink disc framing Cas like a halo.]