#petals or thorns

[petals-or-thorns]

The Devil To Pay -- “Free Will”, Part 4

[nanowatzophina]

Stay.

[mewguca]

The people NEED iderator yuri!!!

What kind of iterator yuri you want

also Gathering Petals belongs to @cloverlady

sorry almost all of it is doomed

[thrumugnyr]

The High Lord of Spring

[dollanganger-in-the-attic]

Anyone ever think of the parallels between Flowers in the Attic and the biblical story of the Forbidden Fruit?

Like God put the forbidden fruit in the garden and warned Adam and Eve not to eat it- putting the thought in their minds in the first place. And if God is all knowing then he knew they would eat it and just wanted an excuse to punish them. So when they do eat, he punishes them so.

In Fita the grandmother puts the idea of incest in the kids heads to the point of obsessive thought. Constantly warning them against it when they probably never would have come to such an idea on their own. And the whole while, Olivia believes they eventually will commit incest but she just sits and waits for it so she can punish them.

You think this was on purpose? Lets discuss

[pink-evilette]

VC Andrews was so good at portraying how trauma can pass on from generation to generation (e.g. Cathy Dollanganger fearing that she will become like her mother and ending up locking her son away in the attic)

[son1c]

(About the bad ending)

I truly think Sonic wouldn’t give up despite how hopeless the situation is, so he probably would persist in trying to being Shadow back.

I mean he’s still there right in front of him (his body at least) so he isn’t completely wrong right?

And if Sonic doesn’t give up on Shadow, then not all is lost for him

If Nine isolated completely then there wouldn’t be a lot of hope for restoring their universe tho

So still a bad end 😭😭😭

well, one thing about bad endings is: they can always get worse! sonic never gives up on shadow? that's just more opportunities for the megaflora to get him. especially since the scavengers + halcyon wouldn't keep helping him, so he'd be on his own. all it would take was one lucky jab with a neurotoxin-filled thorn, and they'd have their prize. forever

[animezinglife]

More Elucien Concepts

I might have accidentally developed a minor obsession I never asked for. Have some lovely Elucien headcanons, concepts, scenarios, and what-ifs to think about.

It's a beautiful spring, autumn, or summer day, the windows are open, and Lucien is reading. He's aware of Elain--he always is aware of her--entering the room. He smiles slightly but doesn't turn as she makes her way over, tilts his head gently away from his book, and kisses him. Her skin is still warm from being out in her garden; her scent jasmine and honey and everything he's come to call home. He sets his book down and pulls her over him, running a hand through the waves of golden-brown that fall on either side of his face. He tucks one strand behind her ear and stares up at her, the longing never fading but the former sadness replaced by an easy warmth (and just a hint of mischief).

Elain has a quiet insistence on doing things herself, which Lucien fully respects. Sometimes, though, it amuses him when that independence takes a turn for stubbornness towards the littlest things. One such instance is reaching some pot or pan or baking utensil that's ended up on too high on a shelf, and he smirks as she climbs up onto the counter to reach it. He has a glimmer of suspicion it's on purpose though when she turns and asks that he help her down--an act that too often seems to end in a heated countertop makeout session or more and him carrying her to their room.

She's not subtle about playing coy, though, and puts a great deal of time into actions she knows catches and holds his attention. Slowly letting her hair all the way down, pin by pin. Lacing or loosening her corset or bodice. Letting the sleeve or strap of her dress or nightgown fall off her shoulder as she brushes the strands over her shoulder and gently detangles her golden-brown waves. She loves the fire that gleams in his eyes, though she still blushes when she catches him staring (even if it's her goal).

While she continues to grow her skills and self-control of her reaction to them, he never quite stops being protective of her where they're concerned. He always stays close when she has her visions, sometimes taking her hand to remind her they're still here, together, if one seems to be troubling her.

He fully embraces her eccentricities, and not just the ones that come with her odd riddles as a Seer. She seems to fully bloom in the sunlight just as her flowers do; full of life and light and sunlight. He swears the land itself loves her, and all the animals that frequent their garden and their home. Lucien has never seen anything quite like it, but he doesn't question it, either. It's like she unknowingly communicates to the earth itself.

While she still sometimes gets flustered with Lucien, she becomes increasingly confident and bold in letting him know what she wants from him. Yet she doesn't quite get over the occasional mortification she feels when she wants him badly and others--especially Feyre and Nesta--are around. She still prefers details about their relationship stay private. Or, at least, as private as possible. That lack of privacy is the one part of being Fae she never fully gets used to, but it's better when it's around other Fae who didn't know her before.

More like this:

Soft Elucien Concepts

Little, Tender Moments Scenarios

Sweet-and-Mildly-Spicy

“Dressed-Down” Lucien

Elain Appreciation

[lizzybeth1986]

Reader Fatigue

Book: The Royal Romance

Rating: G

Pairing: Hana Lee x Kiara Theron

Word Count: 2, 501 words

Summary: Over a year after she has settled in with her wife in Cordonia, why does Hana not feel the same joy when she reads??

Tagging @hanaleeappreciationweek and @sazanes for HLAW Day 3: Bookworm, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW and LGBTQ Archive, and @choicesmaychallenge24 for the theme "Athena: Wisdom".

Three months.

Hana stirs in her bed, frowning drowsily at the abandoned book on her bedside table. The thought is small, fleeting, a tiny grain of doubt that could be swept away in the wind. Yet it persists, in the harsh, too-bright sunlight streaming in from the French windows in her bedroom, reminding her that it's mid-afternoon; the time she typically would use to enjoy a cup of tea and a light read.

Hana allows herself a small smile as the figure next to her groans and inches a little closer to her, her arms still wrapped loosely around her waist. It's usually Kiara who gets up earlier from their afternoon siestas, teasing her over wanting to read "when your eyes aren't even half-open yet, chérie!"

On weekends, Kiara would encourage her to sleep in a little more. She knew Hana would appreciate the opportunity to binge-read cover-to-cover - perhaps re-read if she really liked the material.

It's been three months now since she's been able to complete a chapter, much less a book.

Hana stretches, catlike, before blindly groping for the book she'd left abandoned on the bedside table. The Crown and the Flame. It's an abridged version, one she'd carried from her childhood home and always found herself devouring in less than two hours...yet somehow she hasn't been able to move past Dominic Hunter's account of his first encounter with a young Princess Kenna at a Beltane festival.

Hana wishes she know how - when! - it had come to this.

When she got married to Kiara last year, it was almost as if the floodgates had opened on everything. Whatever Esther had predicted in that patisserie in Paris - maybe you're fated to be a prim, girly girl adventurer who has unknown depths just waiting to be found! - seemed to be on the cusp of becoming a reality.

Back home in Shanghai, almost every morsel of literature Hana managed to devour was a guilty pleasure; she'd hidden books in secret corners, savoured words and worlds unknown underneath the comforting cocoon of a blanket, uttered half-truths to keep the more scandalous material out of her parents' hands, weaved happy endings and bright futures for favourite couples and charactes, long after she had put the books down.

Hana wonders now if half the fun, back then, was in the secrecy. If half the comfort had come from sharing space with Father and Mother, and knowing they would never truly be able to capture the joy she experienced from reading or make it their own. There was a freedom in that - and for Hana, any freedom would be a luxury to be savoured, like a bonbon from a visiting relative, savoured bite by tiny bite just so the pleasure could last a bit longer.

That shift in circumstances when she married Kiara, had been overwhelming. And perhaps the way she had just gone rogue the minute Kiara gifted her her own personal library, was to be expected.

No rules, no restrictions, no restraints on what she could or couldn't read. The cocoon of her blankets gave way to the vast expanse of her library, with its wide welcoming spaces, its winding staircases, its comforting, velvet seats that allowed her to sink into them, whenever she felt like having a reading marathon.

(Which was often).

Hana had spent so much of her childhood looking over her shoulder as she devoured her books, that the idea of just reading whatever the hell she wanted felt overwhelming. But she grabbed it. With both hands. And embraced the prospect. With all her heart. Hours and hours perusing over every possible scrap of reading material she could find - history, mythology, mystery fiction, true crime, even gothic horror (which she didn't expect to wholeheartedly love the way she does now!).

Whenever the two of them got even a sliver of free time, Kiara would come to expect that Hana would suggest sneaking into the library first.

(For a reading session? To ravish each other against the bookshelves, sending an entire pile of French Renaissance literature tumbling to the floor? Both possibilities held equal appeal)

Hana would even give the occasional gossip rag the once-over, though the abysmal editing and the awful typos made her grit her teeth on occasion.

It was glorious. Novels, poetry, essay collections, her favourite mythological retellings. There was nothing Hana wouldn't read; this library was her oyster. Some evenings when Kiara came home later than Hana did, she wouldn't even bother searching anywhere else in their manor - she'd just make a beeline to the library.

That was a year ago.

Wearily, Hana places a bookmark (handmade, laminated, with pressed dried flowers she had selected herself) on the very page she'd opened, letting out a soft sigh. It's almost as if - after the exhilaration of reading whenever and whatever she liked - her brain has decided it's had enough, and has shut down.

In the first two weeks of this strange predicament, Hana had tried to put it down to different things. Overwork, or the aftermath of juggling all her new roles and all the new skills she'd managed to learn. Perhaps her reading has suffered because she doesn't have the time.

But she knows in her heart that that isn't quite true. Hana isn't sure she has been as free in her life as she has been these past few months. Her calendar has been freed up considerably; she's managed to have more romantic dates with Kiara in the past month than they'd had all year. It can't be a lack of time or even general fatigue, because these days she doesn't do much else that taxes the mind.

No - she has the time. She has the resources - thanks to Kiara, far too much of the resources. And there's no question that she has the desire to keep reading. She just can't ever bring herself to finish.

As she places the book, dully, back on the bedside table, Hana feels a slender arm snaking its way around her waist, a chin nestling against her shoulder with a murmur of approval.

"Mon ange," Kiara whispers, her voice rough, grainy, deep, like freshly-ground coffee. She plants a kiss on Hana's shoulder, lacing their fingers together.

Lazily, Hana turns in Kiara's arms and moves her hands so she can lightly finger her curls, marvelling at how soft they feel in her hands. Kiara takes a long, hard look at Hana as her vision clears, probably wondering what she's hiding. Hana wishes her wife wasn't so good at guessing when something doesn't feel right.

She tries hard to school her features into something more neutral - more fitting for someone who just woke up and wasn't ruminating over something she has lost - but Kiara has never been that easy to fool.

"Everything's okay?" Kiara says, "You've been looking a bit...off for the past few weeks."

Hana looks down, pretending to busy herself with the crocheted fringes of the blanket. Could she laugh it off? Claim that her wife is probably overthinking, that she is worrying over nothing?

Because in the grand scheme of things, it is nothing. She's been doing well. She's never been happier than she is now - she has a home, a purpose, a wife she is madly in love with, passions that she's never felt more free to pursue!

She curses herself as she begins to feel that tell-tale burn in her throat. Struggling to read a book shouldn't affect her this much.

She looks up at Kiara, and almost begins to lie. But Hana knows she's not the best of liars, that most times her eyes give her away. Kiara's fingers are already moving towards the corners of her eyes, brushing the teardrops away.

Hana sniffles. "It's silly."

"Humour me," Kiara nudges her gently. "I don't care how stupid it sounds."

Hana sighs, and tells her. Midway through it all, Kiara props up two pillows against the bedstand and gets them to sit up, Hana safely ensconced in her arms. She tells Kiara everything. How much joy she'd had every time she'd picked up a book. How that joy would spring up double fold if it was about something she barely understood. How easy it was, a year ago, to speed-read the first time, then savour re-reads. How - whenever she felt a little bit naughty - she'd read a book backwards, from the last chapter to the first; giggling as she came to the beginning of the book knowing how it would end.

How...of late...she can find no fun, no joy, in turning to the next page - much less the end of a book.

"It's a stupid, stupid thing to worry about," Hana rails on, "I can just imagine my people at Krysanthe looking at me and shaking their heads and thinking 'oh, the Duchess and her first-world-problems'."

Kiara laughs gently, snuggling Hana closer to her. She passes a small handkerchief to her free hand. "That's all of us, with our people. And they're not completely wrong - of course our lives have always been far better and easier than theirs...most times through their labour. But that doesn't mean that you have to ignore things that confuse or distress you, ma moité." Her hand caresses Hana's shoulder in an attempt to give comfort. "And learning that a pastime so beloved no longer gives you the joy you always got from it...is bound to confuse you."

Hana blows her nose into the handkerchief. "I think a part of it is that...I'm beginning to wonder if I was lying to myself about loving reading books, this whole time."

She takes a deep breath, running her hands back and forth over the soft blanket for comfort. "And if I did...what else have I been lying to myself about? What else will I find I don't like, now that my parents can't dictate the way I live my life? Fashion? Poetry? Music??" Hana takes in a deep breath, almost shocked at the things she's revealing because she hardly ever allowed herself to dwell upon any of this before, much less say it out loud. "What if there's nothing that I liked that I can't put down to parental pressure? What if I keep unraveling, and peeling off, everything I thought I was and find that I'm...well...nothing?"

For one moment, Kiara's eyes seem to search her face, frowning deeply. Then her body goes slack, only her hands enfolding her in a tight, comforting hug. She sighs softly against Hana's hair. "Oh, Hana."

For several minutes, Kiara says nothing - just cradles Hana in her arms, rocking her back and forth, her hands moving in a light caress up and down her spine. When she feels Hana go calmer, she moves her hands to her face, cupping her cheeks.

"What you're facing right now...that's something almost every book lover will have gone through, sometime or other. Especially if their passion was something they had to keep a secret, and they suddenly find that they're no longer bound by any rules or restrictions."

Hana raises her eyes to Kiara's face. "Even you?"

Kiara laughs. "I'm not exactly as passionate about reading as you are, but I've seen that fatigue in Baba often. And I've faced that often with my translation work too. It's what happens when you haven't learnt yet how to regulate your passions. You do too much, you overtax your mind. And maybe this phase...maybe it's your brain and your body screaming for you to find a little bit of balance, darling."

It's now Hana's turn to frown. "What do you mean?"

Kiara's eyes dart upwards, in that way it does whenever she is pondering deeply over the best way to convey a thought. And then she suddenly smiles, almost as if she's found the perfect way to get it across. "You do love chocolate, don't you?"

Hana takes a long, hard look at Kiara's face, then bursts into delighted laughter. "Well, it's impossible to argue about or deny that!"

"What if you gave yourself unlimited access to it...no restrictions, no holds barred, allowing yourself to have as much of it as you've wanted all the time? Would it always taste the same?"

Gazing into her wife's face, Hana marvels at how perfect this analogy is. How fitting. "Of course not. I'd maybe even grow a little sick of it at some point!"

"Does that mean you'd been lying to yourself about loving it this whole time?"

Hana throws back her head and laughs, a full-throated joyful sound this time. "You could even say I'd probably get back to remembering how wonderful it tasted if I spent a little time away from it."

Grinning, Kiara bumps her forehead playfully into Hana's. "Only a bookworm would understand a metaphor that quickly. I wasn't even halfway through explaining that."

Hana slips her hands into Kiara's curls again, just the way she knows her wife likes it. She lets out a watery giggle. "That's very nice to hear."

Kiara exhales and shakes her head. "So much has changed for you, Hana. And it isn't your fault that you found freedom in a thing you loved and pushed yourself into it so much. It's natural for someone who was expected to live her entire life on someone else's terms." She holds one of Hana's hands tight within her own. "When we got married, you approached your reading the way a child would approach a shop full of bonbons for the very first time. Now you're learning the more adult way of doing it - enjoy it... but never too much all at once."

Smiling, her eyes a tiny bit watery, Hana gently cups her wife's chin. "So wise, for one so young," she teases gently.

Kiara playfully punches her arm, pursing her lips in muffled laughter. "Stop sounding like my Baba and act more like my mrati."

In higher spirits now, Hana gives Kiara a quick kiss, then makes a move to get off the bed. "All this talk of chocolate is making me hungry. What do you say I make us a mug each of my special hot chocolate, now that it's almost teatime?"

Kiara smiles, sighing in relief. These are not the words of a woman who is trying to move away, unsuccessfully, from thoughts that disturb her, or an attempt to change the subject. Just a sign that her intrusive, self-flagellation thoughts are moving in a different direction. A better direction.

She nods, eagerly. "Hayati," she says, giving her wife a saucy grin, "when have I ever said no to your hot chocolate?"

--

Translations:

Ma moité - French for "my other half"

Hayati - Darija/Arabic for "my life"

Mon ange - French for "my angel"

Baba, Mrati - Moroccan Darija terms for addressing one's father and wife, respectively

A/N: Post the pandemic I've been struggling a lot with my reading, and had a lot of the same questions my Hana had running in my head. I guess this fic was an attempt to make sense of that, but using Hana's post-marriage context as a springboard.

[dorothygalewrites]

Complicated Women in Literature I Love (1/?): Catherine "Cathy" Leigh Dollanganger

"We lived in the attic: Christopher, Carrie, Cory, and me. Now there's just three."

[peeslubn]

Today is Akiyama Daichi's 6th anniversary!!

To celebrate, I have released 3 new standing images for THORN, PETAL, and CALYX!!

Their fullbodies have been updated on their respective downloads and on my website! Wiki updates will be following! https://peeslubn.neocities.org

Happy Birthday Daichi!!!

[petals-or-thorns]

The Devil To Pay #2 -- "Jesus Christ", Part 1

[the-goddess-rania]

My gfs brother has created a ttrpg game centering around medieval times and if y'all want to support or even click and just look at it, it would be appreciated!!! It's still in early stages so playtesting is available March 2025.

[moonraiinz]

reading the flowers in the attic series….. incest is a big part, but not even close to the worst horror that actually occurs in the books. It’s just a series of morally gray characters doing horrible things to each other. Only a few characters are genuinely innocent and blameless by the time they die/leave the narrative.

[esteemed-excellency]

My main headcanon about the red court is that all the rhq aligned people's blood in Parabola looks like a liquid animated by studio ghibli. Denser, thicker, more fluid, and with a bit more surface tension than usual.

This of course applies to the Red Knight, with the only exception that if he gets wounded in the chest, he also bleeds thorns and petals.

[dollanganger-in-the-attic]

Happy New Year V.C. Andrews fans around the world! 🎉 wishing you all a safe 2024

Many exciting VCA surprises coming in 2024 👀🤫