she who loves roses

if she didnt jet off w claire tho shed def be voluntold to stay stateside as a witness in the trial(s) against umbrella and thered be a whole diplomatic kerfuffle abt sorta-kinda subpoenaing (read: detaining) a french citizen.

“Purple saxifrage have adapted to the cold. Perhaps that is why they look different from what you are accustomed to.” Dedue is…not quite as well-versed in plants from outside of Fódlan’s northern regions, but since his arrival at the academy, he has learned quite a lot–enough to be familiar with the variety of which Manon speaks.

As the subject changes to her own flowers, Manon perks up at once.

“Oh, yes,” she chirps, hands coming together. “My family grows them for perfume and things like that.” A student with an agricultural background doesn’t necessarily raise eyebrows at the academy; there are wealthy planters who could afford the tuition. Manon hardly passes for an heiress, of course, and she hasn’t tried to.

"Just a little farther! No peeking!"

Niamh was leading Manon by the hand, being careful to make sure that her friend didn't trip as she led her through the field. It wasn't long before they came upon Niamh's surprise - a picnic she'd set up for the two of them.

Manon had learned long ago to wear her flatter shoes when visiting Niamh. Even so, navigating her friend’s preferred locales—namely, forests—was hard enough with her eyes open, even if they were on a fairly even trail. A smidgen too tall for Niamh to walk as she covered her chestnut eyes, Manon had taken it upon herself to obstruct her own vision.

At the selkie’s signal, she lowered her hand, eyelashes fluttering in the light.

“Oh, Niamh,” she coos, “this is lovely.”

Once she’d drank her fill of the sight, she turned to face Niamh, clasping the blonde’s hand.

“Goodness, did you put all of this together by yourself?”

assorted lines from shirley jackson novels. tw: blood.

‘ listen, if you’re scared – ’

‘ i won’t be angry, i promise you. ’

‘ you just go right ahead and eat. ’

‘ don’t go out without your jacket. ’

‘ i’ve had enough trouble, thanks. ’

‘ you’ve been asleep. i didn’t want to wake you. ’ 

‘ i’m just disappointed in you, that’s all. ’

‘ we’ll spend more time together from now on. ’

‘ if you don’t stop playing with your food you can just leave the table. ’

‘ this is a serious thing. i want you to realize that. ’

‘ we have only one defense, and that is running away. ’

‘ i won’t be gone more than a minute. ’

‘ put your head on my shoulder now, and go to sleep. ’

‘ i’ll try to cope with it. ’

‘ you just cut it out. ’

‘ don’t call me that. ’

‘ it’s not new, of course, but there’s lots of wear in it still. ’

‘ something smells good. ’

‘ don’t try to run away again. ’

‘ light-headed, and sort of dizzy. ’

‘ oh, shut up, dopey. ’

‘ it isn’t fair, it isn’t right. ’

‘ look at my thumb. ’

‘ don’t buy any store doughnuts. ’

‘ why, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost. ’

‘ i’ll have a headache if i don’t get some solid food soon. ’

‘ this is a river and we’re on it. ’

‘ no one’s stopping you. ’ 

‘ i was just too tired last night to clean up. ’

‘ we’re not afraid. ’

‘ everyone can hear you. ’

‘ i think flowers make a room look so friendly. ’

‘ damn you. ’

‘ pick them up yourself. ’

‘ i have a suitcase full of mystery stories. ’

‘ it’s just a toothache. ’

‘ lousy day, isn’t it? ’

‘ now promise. ’

‘ finally made it. ’

‘ some good books. ’

‘ it was all covered in blood. ’

‘ just isn’t possible. ’

‘ get away from there, kid. ’

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒 , an independent , private , and selective roleplay blog for an original character with lots of verses. written by ashley ( she / her , twenty - eight , gmc - 5 ) ! rather slow / sporadic activity. 18+.

i'm definitely not thinking about death anymore!

i've never seen this kind of malfunction.

am i being too technical?

if you ask me, you're responsible for this, too.

to be honest, when i found out the patriarchy wasn't just about horses, i lost interest.

i just gave you a choice so you could feel like you're in control!

how will i get back?

this happened once before.

i just don't want to leave!

you'll be such a hero to them!

i feel appreciated but not ogled.

i hate it when people think. i'm so bored.

the faster i figure this out, the faster we get home.

i'm not pretty anymore!

humans have only one ending. ideas live forever.

you're so beautiful.

how come you're so amazing!

i worked very hard, so... i deserve it!

you're the voice of a generation.

this makes me emotional, and i'm expressing it.

i got us both ice creams!

i think you have that the wrong way around.

how much of that did you see?

let's get you up on your feet.

you should heal up in no time.

this night is just perfect!

please call my mother.

i thought i might stay over tonight.

does the label "long-term long-distance low-commitment casual girlfriend" mean nothing to her?

i'm great at doing stuff.

it is literally impossible to be a woman.

we always have to be extraordinary, but somehow we're always doing it wrong.

never forget that the system is rigged.

find a way to acknowledge that, but also always be grateful.

it's too hard!

i'm just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself in knots so that people will like us.

i was arrested for tax evasion.

i smell like basement.

what are you doing here?

did you bring your rollerblades?

i literally go nowhere without them!

do you guys ever think about dying?

i'll play the guitar at you.

yeah, i'm... confused about that.

it's like i've been in a dream where i was really invested in the zack snyder cut of "justice league."

can i talk to a doctor?

i need a clicky pen.

somebody get security.

i've never seen the godfather.

every night is a boy's night.

i just don't know who i am without you.

i only exist within the warmth of your gaze.

i'm just a little blond guy who can't do flips.

you guys aren't doing patriarchy very well.

men hate women and women hate women. it's the one thing we can all agree on.

you don't have your license.

you can be brainwashed, or you can be ugly. there's nothing in between.

she's not dying, she's just having an existential crisis.

i'm sensing some kind of ententre here... and it appears to be double.

who am i to burst their bubble?

you use your imagination!

more random dialogue prompts // accepting.

"...My hair? Oh--" Hachi makes a move to rifle through it, realizes both hands are currently occupied with trash bags and abandons the motion with a jerk of her elbows. Right, the whole reason she's here this time--a replacement for one of the seniors initially tasked with cleaning duty alongside the girl beside her (Hachi's pretty sure her name is Faucher? It sounds very leading-lady-like--very enigmatic, maybe like the heroine of a romance or historical novel? Or maybe it's just the foreignness of the name that's making her think of period dramas here--at any rate, now's really not the time to zone out trying to imagine what genre she'd suit best--and it's probably kind of weird to do with someone you don't know all that well yet--agh, focus! She was asking about something! Oh, right--her hair.)

Round brows furrow and lips purse in thought as the two of them walk towards the disposal area. After a few moments, her mouth pops open in a quiet 'o', and she turns to the older girl with dawning realization.

Manon nods understandingly at the younger girl’s shampoo woes; it was a rough couple of months after her bottle of conditioner from home ran out, but she thinks her hair has adjusted to the new product. Mostly. Nothing the right updo can’t mask.

Speaking of adjustment periods: the incinerator. Her first cleaning duty partner still teases her for the overcareful way she deposited the trash, but it’s all in good fun—she thinks. She’s much more confident with it now, lobbing a bag with practiced ease; the motion isn’t dissimilar to the way she’s handled sacks of flowers during the harvest.

“Hm…” Manon reexamines Hachi’s hair in play scrutiny, a faint smile on her lips to soften the effect, “…yes, that must be it.” She hasn’t gotten close enough to pick up on the fragrance, but she’d approve of that, too, if she had. She picks up another bag before the other girl has a chance to do so.

She pivots as the conversation turns self-deprecating, trash dropping from her hands for unintentional emphasis.

“Oh, no, not at all!” she insists. Manon’s head shakes, face-framing strands swinging; after a long day at school, the motion pries a few curls loose from her chignon.

“It looks… artfully tousled, if anything. It’s very flattering.”