#squiggles' bouquet of roses

[keyenuta]

Thanks to @miki-13 I felt like sketching my metal rose, Argentia Rosa! Hope y'all like my blacksmith fox!

@littlemisssquiggles @beaver-sen @lythecreatorart @ezroar @autistic-swanprincess

[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 7

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 9k

(CW: brief descriptions of past trauma/sexual assault)

Summary:

And there, tucked deep in the back of the drawer, sits the object you had secretly been hoping to find- the unassuming little leatherbound book that you had spotted that day you had broken into Astarion’s office. You slide the book out from the drawer, the expensive leather binding soft and cool against your skin.

You shouldn’t open this, you think, as you carefully snap open the clasp on the book. 

You aren’t entirely sure what you were expecting to find- perhaps some sort of ledger which describes Astarion’s shady dealings in excruciating detail or perhaps a simply written ‘this is what I am looking for and why.’ 

Instead, you are met with pages upon pages of Astarion’s beautiful, looping handwriting, overcome by a sense of guilt and dread and shame. You should not be reading this.

But your eyes are darting over the words on the first page before you can stop yourself.

Read on ao3 here.

Astarion was right- you did tend to get yourself into trouble when you were bored. And with him gone, you were completely consumed by that nagging feeling that he has still been lying to you. 

You’ve been sitting at the chair in his study for the past half hour, just staring at that little locked drawer in the upper corner of his desk. You desperately want to open it but that little voice in the back of your head has been whispering that you shouldn’t- that it would be an invasion of Astarion’s privacy and would betray his trust. 

The longer you sit, the quieter that little voice gets, until all that is left is the burning desire for answers. 

You make a final deal with yourself- if you can pick the lock, you get to look at what’s inside. If you can’t, you leave this room and never snoop around in Astarion’s study again.

It’s a loaded deal. There are very few locks you’ve met in your life that you haven’t been able to pick with enough time and dedication. And sure enough, after you weasel your hairpin into the lock and wiggle it around a bit, you hear the telltale little click that allows you to carefully slide the drawer open. 

The first thing you see is the drawing of Astarion’s scar that you had once found on his desk. After pulling out the paper, you trace along the lines and squiggles that you have long since memorized. It’s a poor substitute for the feel of Astarion’s cool skin underneath your fingertips- you don’t get to watch his whole body relax as you run your hands along the scarred tissue, taking care to chase away any knots and tension that might be present in his back. 

Staring down at the sheet of paper, your chest aches with how badly you miss Astarion. 

Gods, you were going insane. It had only been a few days, you needed to pull yourself together and stop fantasizing. 

There’s a few other miscellaneous papers that you pull out next but they don’t tell you anything helpful. They mostly consist of brief notes and intel that only refer to whatever Astarion is searching for as ‘it.’

After moving all the papers to sit on the desk, your gaze catches a beautifully embroidered handkerchief that appears to be wrapped around something inside. Gently peeling away the edges of the silk, you reveal a little collection of rose petals. They’re dried and a bit shriveled and the vibrant red has faded to a rich burgundy but you would recognize those petals anywhere.

Had Astarion been saving these from the bouquets you had made for him?

After walking together in the gardens at night, you had been overcome by grief that Astarion wasn’t able to see them during the day. Without sunlight, he would never be able to fully appreciate the bright colors and the blooming flowers. In your mind, it had only seemed natural that if he could not go to the gardens during the day, you would bring the gardens to him. 

At that time, months ago, it felt like a foolish way to feel close to Astarion while you were pining after him. It was a selfish way to bring that lovely smile to his face and know that you were the cause of it. So as you made Astarion bouquets, you had poured your heart and your love into every stem and flower you picked. 

Admittedly, it had gotten a bit harder to bring him new flowers every week as fall continued to creep into winter and flowers became more and more scarce, but you made due with what you had. You were still determined to give him something pretty.

And Astarion always appreciated the bouquets. He always displayed them proudly in his study and always got a goofy little grin on his face when you brought him a new one. 

You had never dreamed that your gesture meant this much to him. Your heart dances inside your chest.

The dried petals are just another reminder of how deeply the well of love that exists inside of Astarion runs, showing his innate need to keep you near to him at all times. He could be so secretly sentimental, as if he was afraid of scaring you away with the full force of his love. 

And more than that, the petals are a reminder that this drawer was not for your eyes.

You feel a guilty pit in your stomach and chew on your lip- one of those bad habits that always managed to rear its head when you felt nervous or ashamed. You should just leave, should just close the door to Astarion’s study behind you and confess what you have done the moment he comes home…

But one more little peak wouldn’t hurt, right? 

You just want a better look at the embroidery on the handkerchief. Astarion must have been the one who embroidered it and you simply wish to appreciate his talents. Surely, if you praise him enough about his masterful handiwork, his ego will be so inflated that he will completely forget to be mad at you for prying into his secrets.

Satisfied with your logic, you turn back to the drawer. You’re sure to be extra careful when you touch the thin cotton handkerchief so you don’t accidentally damage the delicate petals held inside. 

Along one of the edges of the handkerchief, the beautiful white embroidery stands out against the sheer white cotton. There’s a collection of flowers whose stems are joined together by a lovely, sprawling ribbon in the corner. The flowers extend outward along the edges of the handkerchief and into the middle- it looks like there’s roses, some chrysanthemums, some little flower that looks like a daisy or an aster, and little clumps of tiny flowers. Oh…. Are those heliotropes? 

Astarion had recreated the first bouquet you made him. The surge of emotion inside you nearly has you weeping. 

When had Astarion even made this? 

Perhaps it had been done in a moment of madness months ago, when he too had been overwhelmed by the depth of his longing for you. Perhaps he had sat down and let his emotions spill out through his fingers, interweaving them in the handkerchief alongside the thread. 

Or maybe he had somehow managed to sneak away and work on this recently? But since you had confessed your love, the two of you had been so engrossed in one another that you hardly spent any time apart. And even before then, you had spent the majority of your days with Astarion- reading together in the library and offering him your blood and sleeping in his bed. 

The only real time the two of you had been separated, apart from the past few days, was during the time after your fight, when Astarion had attempted to push you away. You picture Astarion, despondent, with messy hair and deep circles under his eyes, pricking his fingers as he continues to sew, as if in a daze. You don’t like that image. 

So instead, you picture Astarion working on the handkerchief while you were sleeping beside him. He was probably leaning back against the headboard while he sewed, the blankets sliding low around his waist and his pale skin shimmering in the moonlight, sneaking glances over at you while you slept. You like that idea much better. 

Now that you have seen and fully appreciated the craftsmanship of the handkerchief, you should be closing the desk drawer and locking it tight. 

You don’t.

Spurred on by curiosity, you continue rifling through the drawer. 

And there, tucked deep in the back, sits the object you had secretly been hoping to find- the unassuming little leatherbound book that you had spotted that day you had broken into Astarion’s office. You slide the book out from the drawer, the expensive leather binding soft and cool against your skin.

You shouldn’t open this, you think, as you carefully snap open the clasp on the book. 

You aren’t entirely sure what you were expecting to find- perhaps some sort of ledger which describes Astarion’s shady dealings in excruciating detail or perhaps a simply written ‘this is what I am looking for and why.’ 

Instead, you are met with pages upon pages of Astarion’s beautiful, looping handwriting, overcome by a sense of guilt and dread and shame. You should not be reading this.

But your eyes are darting over the words on the first page before you can stop yourself. 

I am unable to close my eyes in fear that Cazador might appear to me again. I hate that he still holds this power over me, even now. 

He had control over my mind and my body and now he even owns my memories. I never know when one might return to me and leave me shaking and paralyzed by its stunning realness. There’s just so many to choose from- centuries of nothing but agony and pain and torture.

It happened again today. 

I don’t know what caused it but suddenly, I was back in that place.

Gale found me huddled in the corner of the library. He said that I nearly ripped his head off when he tried to soothe me. 

I don’t remember that happening... 

All I know is that the idea of someone putting their hands on me makes me sick to my stomach. 

Gale told me I need to start writing about the memories, that I need to get them out of my head and onto paper. He’s seen this same thing, he said, in soldiers and generals whose minds never return from the battlefield. 

I can’t possibly imagine how war is worse than what I went through.

So these are Astarion’s innermost thoughts. You should respect that, should leave these words to belong solely to him. But there’s a dangerous thought wriggling in the back of your mind. 

Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted- a glimpse inside his mind? To finally know the truth without doubting every word that comes out of his pretty mouth?

And it’s that nagging, curious part of you which seizes control and forces you to continue reading the first entry. 

At this point, I’m desperate enough to listen to Gale, of all people. So, here goes:

I can’t even see my scar, but I constantly feel its weight upon my back.  Yesterday, when I finally returned back to my body, I felt my fingers tracing along the marks that I can reach over my shoulder in a trance, as if that foolish action would help me free myself from the prison of my mind.

Cazador carved the scar into me over the course of a night and I constantly find myself stuck in that memory. 

That night was agony. Every cut he made was careful. Deliberate. If I screamed too much or if I moved too much, he would start over immediately. He would wait, watching my skin stitch itself back together before he set to work again. He butchered me, over and over and over again.

For practice, he had said. He had wanted his ‘poem’ to be perfect.

And after an endless night of the worst pain I had ever felt, Cazador finally brought out the precious silver blade that he called his ‘needle’ and he etched this scar into my skin forever. 

You would think that at a certain threshold, your brain would tell your body to stop feeling pain or that the pain couldn’t possibly get worse. I never seemed able to find that limit. The pain always got worse.

There’s a final note written at the end of the page. The handwriting is small and almost shy.

Warm baths help.

Oh, Astarion. 

From the little pieces of information he had revealed to you, you knew that his past was filled with pain and torment, but you had no idea it was this horrific. 

The idea of being cut even once has an unpleasant shiver running down your spine. Astarion’s scar spans nearly the entirety of his back. How many cuts was that across his skin? How many hundred and thousands of times did this man, this Cazador, mutilate him?

And that was just over the course of one night. 

You can’t even begin to fathom the cruelty Astarion had suffered, the pain he had withstood. You feel your mouth hanging open a bit in shock and horror. 

How terrifying it must be to live in a state of perpetual fear, to never know when your mind might betray you and transport you back to your most miserable experiences. 

And beneath all that, Astarion was still trying- he was still fighting to learn how to live again after his trauma. He was still writing himself little hopeful notes like ‘warm baths help,’ that would help his future self know how to find his way back from those memories a little easier the next time. 

It’s so easy to imagine Astarion, knees pulled up to his chest as he stares at nothing in the distance. It makes tears prick at your eyes. It makes you want to hold his head against your chest so he can time his breathing with the beat of your heart as you run your fingers through his lovely white hair and reassure him that he is safe now.

And you are faced with another, far more worrying, question. How often do episodes like these happen? The entry is dated a couple years ago but you are certain they have happened during the time you have been married. It is the only explanation for Astarion’s horrible thrashing and screaming when he was injured and in a state of blood madness. 

The animalistic wails that tore themselves from his throat will be imprinted in your own memory forever.

And some nights, Astarion would jolt himself awake in such a state that it woke you up next to him, as well. He would practically scramble out of the bed, eyes wide and glinting a blood-curdling red in the darkness of the bedroom. And for just a moment, when he looked at you in a panic, you could swear he didn’t recognize you. 

You are struck immediately by the thought that you need to do something. There’s an intrinsic desire to take this pain away from Astarion. 

Isn’t that what marriage is supposed to be? A way to lessen your burdens by sharing them with the person you trust most.

But Astarion didn’t trust you. And a part of you is deeply hurt by the fact that he does not believe that you are capable of helping to carry the weight of his past. Did he view you as too weak, too naive?

Astarion should know that you had your own past- you know better than most the damage that an angry, manipulative man could do. It had not been an easy life being raised by your father. 

And worse than the fact that you now have proof that Astarion doesn’t trust you, he had lied to you. You had asked him explicitly whether silver hurt him and he had deliberately deflected your question with some silly answer about how he preferred gold. A lie by omission is a lie, nonetheless. Silver does hurt him. Silver is what created his scars. 

You aren’t sure if you keep reading out of spite or a desperate need to learn how to help Astarion.

The next entry is dated about a week later. 

This house is a graveyard and I am doomed to be its crypt keeper. 

Well… That’s bleak. And rather melodramatic. It’s so completely Astarion that it almost pulls you out of reading for a moment.

There are ghosts around every corner. At times, I could swear that I smell my mother’s perfume or hear my father’s booming laughter echoing in the halls. 

Still, this house feels as barren and loveless as Cazador’s palace.

I was just a boy the last time I was here. An eager young thing, ready to set off and explore Baldur's Gate.

I always knew I would return here, but I never imagined it would be under these circumstances. I had dreams of becoming a magistrate, of making a name for myself, of finding love. And then, some day in the distant future, I would return home and my parents would welcome me with open arms. I would take over as patriarch of the family and allow my father to spend the rest of his days in peace. 

But now, this place is too big. Too dark. Too cold. 

Gone are the days of sunlight streaming through the windows. The gardens that my mother cherished so dearly have decayed into nothingness. A thick, suffocating layer of dust has settled over the entire manor. 

Now this house is yet another miserable reminder of how much I have lost. It feels as if I am seeing someone who has died whenever I find traces of my old self. Even then, the memories I do have of my childhood are so mangled and fragmented that my past can only whisper to me and remind me that I am a stranger in my own home. 

What has happened to me? 

What have I become?

Cazador is always there in the back of my mind. Waiting and watching. There is no escape, no freedom- not really. Not when Cazador’s presence still follows me like a shadow.

I fear coming back here was the biggest mistake I could have made. I should have just stayed in Baldur’s Gate. 

The aching and the sorrow in Astarion’s words has your stomach churning uncomfortably. It seems silly, but you can’t help but imagine the Astarion before- the young man who was so excited to go to the city and begin his life. He wanted love, even then. It fills you with a deep melancholy. 

No part of you should be grateful that Astarion became a vampire- you should not celebrate that he suffered and was brutalized by that monster, Cazador. 

And yet… if he had not been turned, you can’t help but wonder if your paths would have ever crossed at all.

It rattles you to your very core. Astarion had become a certainty in your life- there is no future that you could ever imagine that does not invovle him.

The more you read, the more you learn about the tortures that Cazador had inflicted on Astarion. You discover the punishments he suffered if he didn’t obey, like the time he attempted to escape and was buried in a casket underground for a full year. The way he writes about that time has you feeling claustrophobic, you’re practically clawing at your own throat, desperate for fresh air. 

And you find out he had very little opportunity not to obey. For centuries, Astarion had no choice, no freedom, nowhere to run but his mind.

It’s horrific. 

The life of a spawn has no real happiness. It doesn’t sound like much of a life, at all.

And through everything you read, you can tell Astarion is clearly struggling to deal with the aftermath of his trauma far more than he lets on. You follow his journey as he tries to find what events cause him to slip back into his memories and what rituals help pull him out of them. 

An entry a couple months later makes you pause. 

My body is my own. I choose what I do with it. I choose who touches me. 

So why do some days feel as if I’m still in the haze of Cazador’s control? When I am trapped in a memory, why does my body still react involuntarily? Why do I feel as if I still have no power over myself?

I feel like a stranger in my own skin. I hardly even remember what I look like and the skin I’ve been left with is scarred and ruined. I can’t even look at my own hands without remembering what I have done with them. 

I wish I could shed this body and start anew.

I’d still have to be beautiful, of course, because how else does anyone ever get anything done without batting their eyelashes and having others fall at their feet? Seems tedious.

Of course, even in his mind, even with just himself, Astarion has to deflect with petty vanity and a touch of humor. 

You had not fully appreciated the horror of being unable to see your own reflection. No wonder Astarion didn’t like his portrait- he probably didn’t even recognize himself when he first saw it. It must still feel like a disembodied image, rather than a true likeness.

The next entry that catches your attention is a few pages later. 

My bed is too soft.

Vampires don’t even need to sleep, so it’s ridiculous why that would even matter to me. 

It was a nightmare today. I woke to phantom hands surrounding me, suffocating me.

Cazador demanded blood and us spawn were meant to bring him victims. By any means necessary. Cazador had said it should be easy for me, I already had such a pretty face. All I had to was make it seem real, make them believe it.

So I did.

I hunted for new victims in the dark of night. Taverns and brothels and gambling dens. I was never allowed to say no. Anything they wanted, they got. 

I fear I have been treated as an object for so long, I have forgotten how it feels to be a person. 

It feels as if your veins have been filled with ice. There had been hints or suggestions in other entries, but it was so much worse than you could possibly assume. There is only one thing which Astarion’s words could imply- he had been forced to use himself, to use his body and his sexuality as a means of luring people back for Cazador. 

You hate how easily it explains so many of Astarion’s behaviors. No wonder he always fell back into that practiced, seductive tone when he felt he was losing control over a situation. It was what was comfortable, it was what he knew how to do, even if he was truly in agony.

How many times had he put on this performance for you? How many times had he placated you when he did not want to, simply because you were too insistent and he feared what would happen if he said no?

You had been the one to move his hand under your chemise that night. You had made assumptions based on his flirtatious nature and the hungry reverence with which he drank your blood. And now, you’re mortified that you might have put him in a situation where he felt he couldn’t refuse you in fear you might take away his easy access to your blood. 

It feels horrible to know you might be the last in a long line of people who had taken advantage of Astarion. Your skin feels like it’s crawling.

You hadn’t known, you hadn’t known, you hadn’t known, you repeat to yourself but it does little to quell the bubble that’s building inside your chest.

You can’t breathe. Your mind races.

You think back to Astarion’s promise. It all makes sense- he was always so worried about you being able to say no. You had done the same, of course, always checking in with him and listening to him during sex. But you should have been more proactive. You should have given him more opportunity to decline your advances. 

Astarion never writes too explicitly about those kinds of memories and you think it’s mostly as a means to protect himself from falling fully back into them. But past that point in the diary, there are enough entries on the subject to give you a rather… grisly picture of exactly what Astarion suffered through.

You read them all and weep with sympathy. You wish you could kill Cazador yourself.

And for a moment, you almost consider stopping and putting the diary away, but you catch an entry about how Astarion was turned and your interest is piqued. 

Cazador always liked pretty things. I think that’s why he always liked torturing me the best. 

I always wondered if that’s why he decided to turn me. Sometimes, I ask myself if that day was all orchestrated or if fate was simply laughing at me. 

That night. The Gur. A useless, spiteful people.

Did those Gur that attacked me really take issue with my ruling that day or did Cazador simply pay them to ambush me in that alley? Did he tell them to beat me and taunt me or did they choose to do that on their own?

And when I was spitting up blood and could hardly move, they just… left me. And my stupid heart just kept beating and I wouldn’t die. 

It felt like a miracle when Cazador found me, claiming that he could smell my blood. At the time, it felt as if he was my last hope. 

It’s even worse that he made me beg for it. A torture to look back upon and know that I begged for the miserable life he granted me. 

It was painful at first. My body warped and writhed with pain as death overtook me. For just a moment, it black and blissful and then I had to scrape and claw my way out of the earth. I was choking- drowning in an endless ocean of dirt. 

And when I resurfaced, vomiting bile and dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was laughing. I could already feel the invisible string tying me to him. The eternal contract that he had neglected to mention.

Astarion had written the next part so hard that there were tears in the paper on some of his downstrokes.

Fuck him. Fuck him for turning me into this. Fuck everyone in the world for never caring enough to help me. 

Fuck the gods, for I prayed to every one that existed and they all abandoned me.

How heartbreaking, you think- to believe yourself completely alone in the world. You can only hope that Astarion knows how adored he is now. There is you, of course, but you also see his friendships- with Gale, with Shadowheart, with Lae’zel, and Karlach, and Wyll. Any one of you would do anything in your power to keep Astarion safe and happy.

You had not expected that the story Astarion’s turning would be quite so excruciating. All the times you had talked about vampirism, Astarion had never mentioned how gruesome of a process it truly was. 

It’s as if everything about his past is infinitely more unspeakable than you could have ever imagined. 

There’s a pause of about two weeks before the next entry. 

We found the second gem today. Luckily, that idiot Envar Gortash had been so terribly loud about showing off his new collectible. His house was far too easy to break into and he was annoying, so I don’t think anyone really minded when he turned up dead. The elite of Baldur’s Gate viewed him as a lowly wannabe who unsuccessfully attempted to infiltrate their ranks and the rabble viewed him as a class traitor. In the end, no one wanted to claim him.

But I hate that I must spend my precious time looking for these gems. Am I truly free if I’m just working as Raphael’s errand boy?

So that’s what Astarion is looking for? Gems for somebody else? It seems so completely out of character.

And now, with this entry, you have found the answers you were searching for. You should be shutting this diary. But why this Raphael character was forcing Astarion to look for these gems had unraveled a new mystery you need to solve. And that can only be done by continuing to read.

Raphael was lucky to find me at a time where I would have agreed to do just about anything to rid myself of Cazador. When he approached me, who was I to say no? It’s not as if my life could have gotten any worse.

And that one night, someone had approached me in dark brothel and lead me back to a room. It was easy, it was routine- I knew what they wanted.

Only, in the room, Raphael was there, asking me if I’d like to kill Cazador. He reassured me that the walls weren’t listening and told me that I could answer honestly. I didn’t believe him at first. Obviously. It felt just like the kind of convoluted trap that Cazador would set so he could have a reason to punish me. Or, even more likely, I’d still be tortured for not falling for it.

But Raphael gave me something that night- a little pouch of strange herbs that he slipped into my hand as I was leaving the room. ‘A sign of good faith’ he had whispered to me before I was passed along to the next customer, still searching for a victim to bring back to Cazador.

And later, when Cazador had asked what had taken me so long that night, for the first time in 200 years, I didn’t feel compelled to give him an answer. For the first time, I was able to lie to him. 

And oh, how terribly I had missed lying. 

I bided my time, then, waiting patiently for Raphael to bump into me again. Within a fortnight, he was sliding up beside me in a tavern, leading me away into some dark corner to talk. 

He explained to me that he was a devil- the son of the demon Mephistopheles and born to a human woman. It was easy to believe that explanation. Vampires are real, after all, so why not devils?

Raphael had it on good authority that Cazador was preparing some sort of ritual using an artefact that Raphael wanted All he needed was someone with inside knowledge of the Szarr palace and detailed information about Cazador’s whereabouts.

In return, Cazador would be dead.

I expected he’d want something more from me, of course. Help is not offered freely- that is not how this world works. You are only good to people so long as you serve some purpose to them. 

The question was why Raphael needed me. Why was he willing to go through the effort of killing a vampire lord just for my help? And why now? Why after 200 years of torture and misery was someone finally answering my desperate pleas. 

He had purred my name so beautifully- Astarion Ancunín- with a wonderful emphasis on my last name.

My title, my birthright allows me to move in ways which are not available to him.

I gave him my conditions then:

I get to one the one to kill Cazador (and oh, how I intended to draw that out)

I get to drink Cazador’s blood before he dies and become a true vampire. No longer would I be cursed to live as a lowly, disgusting spawn. I would finally rise to the power that was owed to me after all my suffering.

Raphael had set his own conditions, too. And it really doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea to promise your soul to a devil when you’re an immortal vampire who is practically impossible to kill. His second condition was more of an inconvenience than anything- I wasn’t allowed to make any spawn. 

In hindsight, I probably should have anticipated a bit more trickery from a devil, but I was so overcome by the idea of killing Cazador. And it really had been a long time since I studied law…

Honestly, I always just assumed the details would figure themselves out. Turns out, they don’t. Devastating. 

And in the end, it had all been a misunderstanding. The ritual Cazador was preparing to perform had nothing to do with the Crown of Karsus that Raphael so desperately desired. When I had arrived with Raphael, Cazador had nearly laughed us out of the palace. The ‘crown’ that Raphael believed that Cazador possessed was nothing more than a single, useless green gem.

Raphael was enraged, but I was still the one who killed Cazador. Devils are bound to their contracts just as much as the person signing. And so I feasted on the way the dagger plunged into Cazador’s chest. I channeled all of my pain, all of my suffering into every thrust of my blade. There would be no doubt that he was dead- I would make sure of that.

And afterward, newly infused with the blood of my former vampiric master, I expected that I would be able to walk free as a true vampire. But my contract was iron-clad. I had signed that I would help Raphael find the Crown of Karsus, not the single gem that Cazador owned. 

I would not be freed until I had helped Raphael retrieve all three gems.

And it wasn’t until after Cazador was already dead, when I was left to search for information on the remaining gems by myself, that I came across all the spawn caged in the bowels of the palace.

There were hundreds of them. Thousands.

When I told Raphael, he didn’t even have the decency to act shocked. He had known Cazador was amassing power, preparing to perform some sort of ritual. Raphael had originally assumed it was related to the Crown of Karsus- which would allow the owner of the Crown to unify and rule over the hells. But after we found that Cazador only had the one gem, Raphael knew instantly what ritual Cazador had actually wanted to perform.

Cazador has aspired to become the Vampire Ascendant.

All those victims that the other spawn and I had lured back to Cazador were turned into spawn, themselves. They, too, had been marked with scars like the one upon my back.

Cazador was preparing to sacrifice 7,007 vampire spawn to Mephistopheles in exchange for unprecedented power. And he had been growing dangerously close to the required number of souls.

And I was denied the opportunity to seize this ritual for myself because Raphael was a step ahead of me the whole time. Even after Cazador was dead, I couldn’t go about completing it on my own because that damned contract prevented me from creating the remaining spawn needed.

If only I had known before…

I could have walked in the sun. I could have tasted food and enjoyed wine again. I could have finally been safe. No one could have ever hurt me again. 

And now, I am still stuck in an eternal contract. I am still not truly free. Even after I find this final gem for Raphael, he will still own my soul in death.

I resent ever giving Raphael power over me. He doesn’t deserve it. 

It feels surreal. All the answers you have been desperately searching for were laid out before you in Astarion’s lovely cursive. 

You’re stunned. Astarion believed he had a way to free himself and he got stuck in another bad contract almost immediately. It seemed to be a horrible, vicious cycle. You could completely understand the depth of Astarion’s lust for power. There is a false sense of safety when people are more scared of you than you are of them.

You continue reading through the next several months’ worth of entries. They are all short, scattered fragments of even more horrible memories that make your heart ache.

You slow down again when you recognize a date. The day of your wedding. Astarion had written about you.

I am to be married tonight.

My fiancée is less than pleased, to say the least. 

There’s so much I wish to tell her that I will not ever admit aloud. She doesn’t need to know that her father was selling her off like cattle. She doesn’t need to know the disgusting, horrific things that decrepit old man was saying about her or planning to do to her when they were married. 

It triggered something in me to hear them talking- it was so similar to the way people used to talk about me.

I don’t know why my brain proposed marriage as a solution. Perhaps I abhor beautiful things going unappreciated. Or perhaps I saw a part of myself in her. Perhaps I saved her the way I always hoped someone would save me. And at the time, marriage seemed the easiest way to do that- it would placate her father, who seemed desperate to sell her off, it would allow her to escape a fate married to a goblin of a man who would treat her horribly, and it would give me something wonderful of my own to look forward to.

I had a whole plan for wooing her that night and she ruined it and for that, I should have killed her. I have certainly killed people for far less. The logical answer is that I am growing weak and sentimental and that is unacceptable. 

I do not cry for the plights of the sorrowful. Nobody cried for me.

There’s more in there about you. Pages and pages immortalizing all the little interactions the two of you had shared, things you had said or done that made Astarion smile, his feelings about you along the way. It all feels tainted now. You have betrayed him, continually. You have read his diary. You had essentially forced yourself on him. You had not done more to show him how loved he truly is if he still believes himself so alone in the world. 

You can hardly bring yourself to read through the entries during the time after the fight where he had pushed you away. There are jagged tears where pages had been ripped out in a rage. It pains you to think of the vile, self-loathing thoughts that Astarion had written. You can only hope those words burned away in a fire, never to plague his mind again. 

And even more recently, his entries are full of love and silly, flowery language about how pretty your hair looks in the moonlight or how it’s as if the gods made you just to ruin him. It almost seems like he’s writing out lines that he wishes to practice before he says to you. 

And more than that, he writes about the burgeoning intimacy between the two of you. 

The crushing guilt you had been feeling lessens a bit when, through Astarion’s own words, you are reminded that he was the one reaching out to you for physical comfort more often than not. He was the one who always wanted to hold your hand or wrap you in his arm or gently graze his fingers along your cheek. In his own words, it was a grounding force- a way to remind himself that you were here, and you were real. 

I was wrong. Sex is wonderful. Apparently, it just depends on the person.

I’m not sure what makes it so different with her.

Love, you think to yourself. Trust. That’s the difference. Trust which you have broken.

All I know is that I’ve never craved another’s touch the way I crave hers. My mind has never felt clearer. 

I can never let her see me for who I used to be- a pathetic, weak spawn.

But not with her, never that with her. She sees me as I am now. And it’s so wonderful to pretend for a while that my past doesn’t exist. I spent so long trying to escape my life that it feels entirely novel to exist solely in the present and to long for a future again. 

And I had forgotten how I missed being touched. So many years without a hug or a gentle caress and now, I feel as though I need to make up for lost time.

If I can drown in her touch, perhaps I’ll be able to emerge a new man, unbound by my past. 

“What in the world are you doing in here?” Astarion’s voice calls out, pulling your attention from the book.

Fuck.

This was going to be even worse than you anticipated because now, it is not you who is approaching Astarion with the truth of your wrongdoing. Instead, he has caught you in the act.

He saunters into the room, a bright smile on his face. “You sent me on a wild goose chase around the manor looking for you. And here I was, hoping to find you naked in our bed upon my return, little flower.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, because you can’t perceive anything else other than your overwhelming shame at having read his diary. You look up at Astarion from your place in his chair, your neck protesting the motion, sore from your hours of staring down at the leatherbound book. You can already feel the guilty tears sticking to your lashes and blurring your vision.

Astarion sees your distress almost immediately and his eyes are darting around the room to find the cause, his hand snaking down to one of the daggers on his belt. His voice is sharp and urgent when he asks, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Oh. He had been so eager to see you, he hadn’t even bothered to change out his armor. And there’s not a speck of blood on him. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. 

He was home, he was safe. 

“No, Astarion, I-” the words escape you. How could you even begin to explain what you had done to him? How you had violated him? It’s all too much and not enough. 

You watch Astarion’s gaze fall to your lap. The pieces click into place in his brain as he sees the open drawer and the book in your hands and his eyes harden, all blood red and dangerous. He looks like a predator, ready to pounce and kill. 

He crosses the room to you in quick strides, ripping the journal from your hands. 

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have,” you rush to explain, desperate for him to hear you through his fog of anger. You need to spin this, you think, make it seem like this is a good thing. “But don’t you see? I finally understand, now.”

“NO!” Astarion yells. His voice is booming and he’s practically vibrating with rage. He’s never been this angry before. Not at you.

“You had no right. That was-” Astarion’s voice cracks, his breath coming out in angry pants. “That was mine. That was the one thing I had. The one thing I could keep just for myself, and you took that one bit of comfort away from me. What, because you’re nosy? Because I didn’t tell you every painful detail of my miserable existence? Newsflash, darling, but we’ve only known each other a couple months. You hardly know me!” 

The way he hisses the word darling at you makes it sound like an insult.

“I do, Astarion, I know you,” you’re crying and trying to reach out to him, but he keeps moving further and further away from you, like a wounded animal. 

“Obviously not or you would have known how important it was not to read this!” He shouts back, throwing the journal into the drawer and slamming it shut. You hate to think about those lovely rose petals inside, which were surely damaged and cracked in the commotion. 

“If you would have just told me what-” you start, trying to justify your actions to him in the hopes that if he sees reason, he will forgive you.

“How did that excuse violating my trust?” Astarion cuts you off. 

He’s right, but you can’t help growing frustrated that he’s not listening to you, not trying to hear your side. 

“You never tell me anything, Astarion!” You shout back at him, finally standing up so he isn’t towering over you quite so menacingly. You square your shoulders and challenge him, “You promised me honesty and yet you still brush me away with vague, insincere answers. You are still lying to me by omission.”

“I was trying,” He implores. “I would have told you everything, in time.”

But based on his last entry in the journal you read, you know this is absolutely not true. He would have kept you in the dark forever because some misguided part of him believes that he is protecting you in some way.

“No, you would not have!” you argue back.

“We’ll never know! You took that choice away from me.”

Damn him. For all your talk of being angry at Astarion for making your choices for you, you had just done the same to him. You are angry at yourself and the only way you know how to deal with that is by continuing to lash out at Astarion. 

“I have known you at your worst, Astarion, and I love you, still. And now, you have seen me at my worst, too.”

Astarion chuckles darkly. “Darling, you couldn’t even dream of me at my worst.”

The two of you stare at one another, chests heaving, neither one of you willing to back down. Astarion is radiating anger, and you are swimming in a deep pool of regret and despair. 

“I have loved you and you have repaid that love with betrayal.” Astarion finally snarls, fangs glinting in a purposeful reminder that he is a beast of prey, first and foremost. You know he’s deflecting and trying to hide behind a shield of power because he feels vulnerable.

But your heart catches on that one word. 

“Loved?” You ask.

Past tense. 

It threatens to shatter your already aching heart, to scatter the pieces so far and wide that you have no hope of ever piecing it back together. 

“How could I love you now?” Astarion shakes his head, his lovely white curls dancing in the candlelight. The disgust and betrayal twist his pretty face into something hideous. “How could you love me now that you know what I am?”

What scares you most is that you do not know if he hates you or himself more.

You don’t know how to reassure him that his diary has not changed anything- that all it has done is given you a more complete picture of the man you love. But you are hurt, and you are angry and that is a dangerous combination that leads you to speak without thinking. 

“And you’re unwilling to find it in your heart to ever forgive me?” you ask. “I know I have hurt you and I am sorry. But how many times have I forgiven you, Astarion? You threatened to kill me, you kept me locked in my room for days, you forced me to marry you, you lied to me constantly, you called me horrible names and pushed me away right after I had been vulnerable with you. I forgave you for everything! I loved you in spite of everything you did to me! I’d love you matter what!”

“I never asked you to do that!” Astarion’s brow furrows in frustration. “You can’t demand that I forgive you simply because you’ve chosen to forgive me.”

You hate him because he’s right.

You’re speaking before you can stop yourself. “Gods, you’re such a hypocrite. You act like you’re better than everyone, like you know what’s best for everyone, but you hate yourself. I won’t let you do this again. I won’t let you push me away as some form of self-punishment.”

“That’s not what this is,” Astarion says, and his voice is deep and cold. “This is me being rightfully angry that you have violated my trust.”

“I know,” you say, bringing your hands up to brush away the tears that have started rolling down your cheeks. “I am truly sorry. But how much did you really trust me anyway, Astarion? You were hiding so much from me.”

“I was trying to keep you safe!” He shouts back defensively. He takes a deep breath, bringing his hand up to pinch his nose and attempting to calm himself down. “I think it’s best that you leave, at least for a little while. I think we need some time apart so we can both cool off and we don’t just keep arguing in a circle. I have a country home in the South. You’ll like it. I’ll have Shadowheart pack your things, the two of you will leave in the afternoon.”

Astarion nods, his decision made. He doesn’t even wait for you to say anything before he’s turning on his heel to leave. 

“No, that’s not what I want,” you say, catching his arm so he must turn and look into your imploring eyes, “We need to work this out, Astarion. You don’t get to keep making my decisions for me!” 

Because he was the one who decided you would be married. He was the one who pushed you away and decided your relationship was over the first time. And now, apparently, he was deciding again.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I am your husband, and you will do what I say!”

And in that moment, all your fears about marriage have been realized. You had grown so comfortable with Astarion that you had become complacent. You had forgotten the control he could wield over you as your husband. You had foolishly trusted that he understood your innate desire to make your choices yourself. 

And even after all this, after you had just read about the years he yearned for freedom and the ability to choose as he suffered under Cazador, he still had the audacity to give you orders. He still chose to use his legal authority over you as a punishment.

“Very well, husband,” you spit the word out at him and his body flinches at the jab. “I see I am forced to obey you.”

You take off your wedding ring and slam it onto a table before you leave the room. 

—----------

As you sit in the carriage, stewing in your anger, you realize that up until now, Astarion had conveniently neglected to mention the cottage he apparently owned.

On your wedding night, when you had gone to confront him because he had not yet come to consummate your marriage, he had assured you that you were free to carry on with your life however you would like. You had told him that you had nowhere else to go. The cottage was not even mentioned. He had trapped you in his manor.

And yes, you know that he wanted you to stay with him because he was lonely, and he was drawn to you. But by not mentioning the cottage, he had not given you the opportunity to choose to stay with him. It was yet another example of how he kept making your decisions for you. 

You and Shadowheart were loaded into the carriage that afternoon, just as Astarion had ordered. The past few days had been sunny, and the lovely snow was starting to melt away. You stare out the window as the carriage bumbles and rolls along the road. It’s funny to think that the last time you had been in a carriage was with your father on the way to Astarion’s ball.

So much has changed since then. There’s so much you wish you could tell your past self.

“Will you stop sighing? It’s getting annoying,” Shadowheart interrupts your thoughts. 

“Well, I’m sorry my melancholy has brought down your mood. You do seem to get such joy from being complacent in my imprisonment,” you hiss back at her, not even bothering to tear your gaze away from the window.

“Imprisonment?” Shadowheart snorts out a laugh. “Don’t be so dramatic. We’re going to spend a fortnight in a lovely house by the sea. You’ll get some fresh air and some warm weather and some time to clear your head.”

Damn her and her good points. 

“He had no right to order me around,” you say instead.

Shadowheart hums in acknowledgement. “Agreed. And I told him such. But he does have a right to be angry with you. And you seem to be forgetting that and rushing right to the ‘he needs to forgive me’ part.”

“That may be true. But he shouldn’t have sent me away against my wishes!” You say, turning to look at her with narrowed eyes. Whose side was she on here?

“Look,” Shadowheart says, her eyes softening a bit. “Astarion is just giving himself space to sort through his thoughts. He does it all the time. He’s a loner at heart. He’s not used to being around someone all the time.”

“But I don’t want him to be alone!” you exclaim. “I want to make him feel better, even if I am the one who caused him pain.”

“That’s quite the dilemma,” Shadowheart agrees. She looks like she’s about to say something more when-

Bang.

There’s a bump in the road. A nasty one, that causes your head to smash painfully against the window you had just been looking out of.

“What was that?” you ask, rubbing at the sore spot on your forehead, but Shadowheart is drawing a knife, gesturing for you to keep silent.

There’s a horrible, uncomfortable silence that makes you scared to even breathe. You can hear muffled voices and the sound of weapons clanging against each other outside the carriage door. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. You almost have hope that you will make it out of this unscathed. 

And then, the carriage door is wrenched open. A man roughly grabs your arm, pulling you out. You kick and claw and bite with everything you have, but it’s not enough.

----------------

Notes:

Oh no! Another cliffhanger! Sorry (not).

Ugh, this chapter was a SLOG to write. I tend to structure my outlines around dialogue and as you have all read, this chapter has very little dialogue. But since the beginning, this arc has always been where I've wanted to take this story. Hopefully none of this plot is coming too far out of left field, I really tried to drop breadcrumbs along the way. I know diaries can be a bit of an easy way out when it comes to solving a mystery in a story, but I genuinely don't see Astarion offering up any of this information willingly and I just love the idea that he has a healthy outlet for sorting through all his trauma. And I also wanted it to come across that tav/the reader isn't perfect, either. She's just as capable of making mistakes as Astarion and they're both challenging each other to do better.

Hugest thank you to my beta-writer AliensNSuch on ao3 for listening to my insanity and helping me to think through potential plot holes (hopefully we got most of them)!

And thank you to everyone for reading and sharing your comments and love! I cannot even begin to explain how much I appreciate you all- I genuinely get so excited to post every week and see your reactions.

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary @divineknightmare

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Love to Spare - Part 5 (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Fluffy, friendship, angsty feelings! GIF by me Word count: 2k Part 4 Part 6 Masterpost Author's Note: Am I the terrible person that wrote Part 5 to be so long that I had to split it in half and now this will be 7 parts? Yes, I am that person. But it's all written - it's done. For real. 7 parts.

Summary: A season of suitors and a night at the opera.

You were an hour late in meeting Sir Edgar, having lost yourself in conversation with Benedict. You told him about your plans to teach and write and how they had been dashed by your family’s financial situation. He was sympathetic and supportive, his kind eyes sparkling as you spoke. When you asked him about his dreams in turn, he told you of his love for art, his penchant for sketching, and his hopes to distinguish himself with some kind of career. He was funny and inquisitive, listening so attentively that it was easy to open up to him despite barely knowing him. Where Anthony listened to you with all the insights of a clever colleague, Benedict seemed to listen with his whole heart.

Your subsequent conversation with Sir Edgar while strolling through the park was comparatively less stimulating. You spoke about your mutual acquaintances and the latest gossip of the ton, but neither of you turned inward to speak about yourselves in any meaningful way. You had the impression he was not the sort to even think to ask. Everything seemed very simple about him; simply pleasant, simply adequate, friendly and polite but lacking in passion. You convinced yourself that this could be a good quality in a husband. Someone who was quietly dependable, stable and calm, not prone to anger or jealousy or strong opinions. 

Two days later you received a parcel containing a small note and scroll of canvas tied with a blue ribbon. The note read:

I’m sure your home is filled with bouquets from suitors, but here is something to enjoy once they all wilt.

It was unsigned. Unfurling the canvas, you saw it was an oil painting of blue hydrangeas, bursting with color. Lining one stem were small, squiggled initials, ‘BB’. You displayed it beside Sir Edgar’s bouquet of roses, which were already turning black and shriveled, and felt something odd in your stomach each day when you admired it. But you didn’t send any reply, or acknowledge the gift when you later saw Benedict. You didn’t want to entertain any advance he may have intended with it.

Over the next several weeks, your parade through the ton and its annual events continued. You were guided through balls and garden parties, concerts and promenades, steered by Anthony into the company of Sir Edgar whenever he was present. You danced and chatted with other gentlemen who showed interest. Three of them even called upon you at home and left trinkets of affection, but Sir Edgar remained the least objectionable. You surmised that there wasn’t much objection because there wasn’t much of anything really. When a man said so little, there was little to take issue with.

Always on the fringes of your outings were Anthony’s brothers, Benedict and Colin. As your acquaintance deepened, you found that despite their similar appearance, their personas were very distinct. If Anthony was strength, Benedict was beauty. He always found ways to inject moments of joy into boring affairs; sneaking you glasses of champagne, or pulling you away from Sir Edgar to show you a vivid painting around a corner, or introducing you to acquainted academics, writers, and artists. You noticed that Colin often preceded him, calling Anthony away on some urgent matter just before Benedict appeared. You followed along in good humor, laughing on the edges of ballrooms, joining the Bridgertons at their picnic spot in the park, and debating artistic license with Benedict at each gallery opening. 

You consistently had to remind yourself that this was a friendship, just like the one you had with Anthony. But you couldn’t deny that each time you saw Benedict, something tugged within you, like a magnet within your chest pulling you in his direction. Try as you might to ignore such feelings, they could overwhelm you when your guard was down. Sometimes at night when you were falling asleep, hovering on the edge of consciousness, you would find yourself saying his name. You savored it on your tongue like a sweet you had stolen just for yourself to enjoy. Then in the morning you would chastise yourself, reminding yourself of all Sir Edgar’s good qualities and how he met your and Anthony’s criteria for a practical choice of husband.

Things progressed this way through the first half of the season. You knew matters with Sir Edgar were escalating when he insisted on holding your hand throughout an entire performance at the opera. It was the greatest affection he had yet shown and though perhaps a bit awkward, you supposed it was sweet in its own way. But you were distracted by the fact that the singer on stage was Anthony’s paramour, and you had a clear view of him in his family’s box above, looking as if he wanted to eat her alive. Whether that was passion or anger you couldn’t be sure, they were so entangled with those two. Just before the show ended, you saw him slip out of the box and disappear.

When crowds began to mingle in the foyer, Sir Edgar gave you a wide smile and stepped away to speak with your mother. You knew, without a doubt, that a proposal was imminent. Even though this was the intended outcome of your courtship, you suddenly felt yourself gripped with nerves. You wanted to speak with Anthony while your mother and suitor were planning your future nearby. His reassurance would put you at ease. You began to search for him in the hallways leading back toward the stage.

You heard Anthony before you saw him, one of three shouting voices echoing around a corner. Turning, you saw that he and the singer were yelling at each other over the shoulders of a large stagehand positioned between the two of them like a wall. The giant of a man was barking at Anthony to leave and looked about ready to trounce him. You felt certain that your presence was the only thing that stopped him because once the group saw you, they fell quiet. With a snarl, Anthony turned on his heel and began marching back toward you, nostrils flaring as he heaved with anger. 

“Anthony,” you chased after him.

“Not now, dammit!” He snapped. You both rounded the corner into an empty hall and he paused, looking at you with remorse though he was still panting with frustration. “I’m sorry.” His voice was anguished. “Y/f/n, I’m sorry.”

He was in no state to counsel you about your engagement, that was clear. You hated seeing him like this. You hated that his dalliance caused such maelstroms of emotions within him. But you had grown used to these moods, and you knew how to treat them. 

“Anthony,” You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Take a breath and take yourself home. And don’t open a bottle until you get there.”

Exhaling heavily, he nodded in gratitude. “Will you come and join me, once you leave here?”

You almost reflexively said yes, but stopped yourself. The consequences of being seen alone with him at his home were significantly greater now that you could no longer be dismissed as just his solicitor’s daughter. You were a lady in society, and you had a serious suitor no less. A suitor who was waiting for you in the next room. You just then began to consider the impact your marriage would have upon your friendship with Anthony. Your meetings for brandy and banter would have to decrease if not stop altogether, as your time would be devoted to your husband. You didn’t know how you could continue to seek the comfort from each other that had become so reliable over the years. Now you felt even more conflicted about a proposal, a layer of sadness added to your nerves.

“I don’t know that it would be appropriate now, my lord.” You said sadly, reminding him of your stations. “I am spending the evening with Sir Edgar.”

He looked up at you, all of the same realizations clearly sinking in as his eyes grew somber. He nodded tightly. “Of course.”

“I will see you at tomorrow’s ball. Please take care of yourself.” You released him with a weak smile. His eyes full of pain, he returned a small bow, then walked briskly to a side door.

You wanted to stay with him. To try to convince him, once again, to find a new mistress and leave the drama of the opera singer behind, even knowing he wouldn’t do it. But your own love life and future were taking precedence that night. You each had your own feelings to sort, and could not do so together. You knew you’d have the opportunity to speak with him the next day. 

Crossing the foyer back to your mother, Benedict suddenly emerged beside you.

“Miss y/l/n! Have you seen my brother? Our mother is looking for him and naturally I am the one dispatched to retrieve him.” He flashed his tireless smirk.

You fought the little jolt within that you felt every time you saw him. “He has left for the night. I believe you’ll find him at his apartments.”

He frowned as he read your expression. “Is something wrong?”

You knew he was asking about Anthony, but you wanted to divulge all of your own feelings. You knew he would have listened. But with him being part of the reason you felt so odd about an impending engagement, you couldn’t say anything. “It’s not for me to say. But you should go to him.” If you could not be with Anthony, at least he could. “Be gentle with him, Mr. Bridgerton. Brandy and indirect questions should do the trick.”

His brows arched playfully. “Ah, you know the formula.” His grin brought one to your lips too. Then his face screwed up with confusion. “Wait, does that mean you visit him at his apartments?”

“Sometimes. Perhaps not anymore.” You sighed. “Why do you ask?”

His eyes grew intense, deeper somehow. “It’s just…I can’t believe our paths haven’t crossed before now. Or that he never said anything about you.” He was looking at you as if you were a precious artifact, something to marvel at. It rooted you to the spot, something buzzing down your spine. He stepped closer, and you looked up to hold his gaze as he towered over you. 

“Remarkable.” He whispered, so close that you could feel his breath on your skin. Then he murmured, almost as if to himself, “Can’t believe it’s taken so long…”

It was the warmth of his fingertips brushing yours that snapped you out of the spell and you all but jumped. “I must go.” You squeaked, then marched into the nearest cluster of people without a look back. 

You barely managed to catch your breath by the time you rejoined your mother and Sir Edgar. Your suitor smiled at you knowingly for the rest of the evening as you mingled with the theatergoers and slowly made your way home, walking under the lamplight. He deposited you at your doorstep and dropped a kiss on your hand before taking his leave. Your mother, eyes full of both hope and relief, confided that he had indeed declared his intentions to propose to you at the next night’s ball. 

It was settled then. In one day’s time, you would have a fiance, and your family’s future would be secure. You should have felt happy. You should have felt relieved. But all you could think about that night were Anthony and Benedict's eyes. Anthony’s so full of sorrow, a sorrow your marriage wouldn’t let you soothe any longer; and Benedict’s, glittering with some odd fascination. Surely you were reading too much into it with your silly infatuated emotions. You were an overeducated, undersocialized, secret friend of his brother and that made you an anomaly. It was time to stop thinking about him altogether. It was time to start distancing yourself from the Bridgerton brothers. You needed to prepare for the next chapter of your life as Lady Graham. That night, you stowed away the painting of the blue hydrangeas.

[mperosx]

Everything Under the Sun (The Feast of this Saint) || AmaEros

Because no feast day should ever go uncelebrated!! Thank you for waiting my dear as I did dual feature days, battled being sick and dealt with stress. May this thread more than make up for the delay! @amaterasuxmp

—*

   It had been the children’s idea. He had told them why he had been artfully arranging the massive bouquet of flowers in their mom’s day room and the wealth of their combined imaginations had taken over. The more they rattled off ideas and Eros quickly wrote them down on paper, the more he liked what they had in mind!

   They had only hours to bring about the wellspring of their efforts but Eros and his children were quick when it came to weaving the spell of creativity over any space. They had clearly inherited it from him as Eros carted them off to the stores they chose and gathered both gifts and crafting supplies galore. Their small hands created with more swiftness than they thought they possessed paper cranes on strings, tissue paper roses that they trailed to her special room, and colored drawings of their little family with such care that even Eros stared in surprise as he wrapped gifts.

  When they had finished decorating the house in glorious shades of sunrise and hiding their presents all over, the trio began on making the feast. Can’t have a feast day without a real feast!

   “No dad,” Evander corrects as he squeezes the icing pipe firmly with both of his tiny hands. The red of a thin squiggle flows from the tip of the pipe and onto the brown icing atop the cupcakes that Cordelia had made. Mocha flavored icing to top chocolate and vanilla mini cupcakes complete with thin red icing designs. Evander squeezes until he’s satisfied and then looks at Eros who peers down at it. It’s a horrid little ball of a shape but his youngest looks beside himself with pride.

   “It’s a heart!” The little one declares triumphant. His sister comes over to have herself a look and makes a face. Eros watches her with an expression that reads equal parts fear and indignation should she say anything mean.

  “That’s all wrong,” she says pointing at it. “You didn’t kiss it after! You know the love magic doesn’t work if you don’t add the kiss!”

   Eros’ shoulders visibly relax at this and Evander’s scrunch up close to his ears much like his father’s had been. He brings it to his lips instantly and lays on it a gentle kiss, the design smooshing a bit with the effort. “MAGIC!”

   The children set about kissing each treat they made for Amaterasu and calling their elder half brother Alexios to ask for further advice. Eros steps just slightly back from the table and where he can still see them to text his wife with a little smile. He quickly arranges to collect her for the surprise.

{txt to: Sunny D}: We’ll be there soon! But forgive the kids if they crash later! I believe in their thrill to create a special day for you they may fall asleep sooner than planned tonight!

[littlemisssquiggles]

“The Rose Regalia”

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Big 3. Or rather the Royal Rose Trio.

In the Bouquet of Roses universe, our golden Prince Oscar rules his kingdom of Light alongside his two best friends and fellow royals: Princess Penny and Prince Whitley. Together, this trio form the Rose Regalia. As mentioned previously, Whitley and Penny are also a couple in this universe (for all my Beta-testing Broken Machines fans in the audience)

You guys have already seen Oscar’s Bouquet design from before, so this post is mostly to officially introduce Whitley and Penny into the Bouquet and show off their more refined designs for their attire in this AU-esque fanart project of mine.

While I retained most of Whitley’s design from his initial concept sketch, I ended up lengthening Penny’s dress, adding more frills and swapping out the Rose in her hair for a ribbon veil; playing off of Penny’s iconic pink ribbon that she wears in her hair. Now that I look at it, Penny’s dress now resembles somewhat of wedding dress in a way.

She’s even smiling in Whitley’s direction so...maybe that’s a sign of something to come of these two in this AU-ish project. *wink**wink* 

I even have this little headcanon where, in the Bouquet universe, Whitley was the one who gifted Penny her dress. Perhaps the two were out exploring their kingdom together one fine afternoon when Penny spotted this specific dress hanging in a local shop. Penny pointed it out to Whitley, implying that she loved the style of it. Whitley then suggested for Penny to try on the dress and with her boyfriend’s encouragement, Penny complied. The dress happened to fit Penny perfectly. As if it was made for her and the Green Rose princess couldn’t help but smile brightly as she twirled for Whitley with its gorgeous frills cascading at her feet. 

As Penny told Whitley, she was drawn to the dress by how beautiful it looked and now that she’d worn it, she loved it even more since it made her feel like a bride---or as pretty as one. 

So upon that remark, Whitley bought the dress for Penny. From his stance, he too loved how lovely Penny looked in said dress and since she felt like a bride, he fashioned his trademark bouquet suit after Penny’s dress so that he looked like a groom next to his ‘future bride’. *wink* *wink* 

Just little Broken Machine’s tidbit to toss into this pot for the Beta-testers.

Now that the Regalia are done, it’s time to shoot for the stars. Next up are the Bouquet designs for the newest team of Roses. In the last set, you met the Roses of Team FRHR (French Rose). Soon you’ll be introduced to the Bouquet versions of Team STAR (Star Rose) ---Schatter Rhose, Tova Rosé, Arrosa Renarde and lastly Argentia Rosa.

Looking forward to working on the refined sketch art for these four lovely Roses. I’m excited. First on my list will be the lovely fennec fox--- Schatter. Stay tune!

Sketches: - Rough Squiggle Sketch of the Bouquet - Rough Squiggle Sketch of Prince Oscar - Rough Squiggle Sketch of Prince Whitley and Princess Penny (Broken Machines) -Rough Squiggle Sketch of Arrosa and Tova 

The Roses:

- Ianthe Regem: The Lavender Rose - Rosalind Fox: The Orange Rose - Rosaline Hood: The Pink Rose - Ruby Rose: The Silver-White Rose - Oscar Pine: The Golden-Yellow Rose

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[miki-13]

GUESS WHO JUST FINISHED THEIR SECOND SCREENING OF “THE LITTLE PRINCE”?!

My old highschool had four performances of “The Little Prince” with two separate casts; I saw Cast A on Friday and Cast B today. And you can bet I was doodling on both of my program pamphlets during and after the performances. 

So we’ve got Oscar as the titular Little Prince (And you CANNOT CONVINCE ME THAT HE DOESN’T DRAW SOME INSPIRATION, NOT AFTER WATCHING THE PLAY) Ruby as the Rose, Ozpin as the pilot, Salem as the snake, @littlemisssquiggles+ @lookyeekiti/@lythecreatorart+ @che1sea-xiao-long‘s Rose Garden OCs as the False Roses, and my Ianthe Regem as the Fox.

[autistic-swanprincess]

Roselind “Lindy” Fox (Volume 4 Timeskip Outfit)

~•~

Since I made Lindy, I’d thought what she’ll look like during the V4 Timeskip, so I have her a new outfits.

I kept her green cloak but I gave her a black turtleneck with a golden upside down crescent necklace, an orange skirt and dark brown high boots. I even gave her a scar on her right eye, she got it during the Battle of Beacon while helping her team fight off the Grimm.

Also, I want to see the whole Bouquet of Roses with V4 outfits. So, @cloudburst-paint-water, @littlemisssquiggles, @miki-13, @nykamito-x and @lythecreatorart/@lookyeekiti, what do you girls think?

Should the Bouquet of Roses have V4 Timeskip outfits?

[keyenuta]

Arrosa Renarde~

This rose, and the art at the bottom was made by @beaver-sen I hope i did your girl justice beaver!

@littlemisssquiggles @ezroar @miki-13 @autistic-swanprincess @lythecreatorart

[meltingpotimagines]

Husband!Hawks

this mans

is not husband material

but!

for the right girl? he may be willing to play the part

listen, mans may not be a simp but he is cHARMING okay? he got potential

besides he’s lowkey a simp for the right girl but whatever

was very romantic when he proposed

managed to rent out an entire park perks of being the #2 hero

decked out a gazebo with fairy lights, candles, and rose petals

considered making a heart with the rose petals but decided just scattering them around would be classier and less cheesy

set up a picnic with a basket f u l l of food

sandwiches, cheese, fruit, desserts, the works

and ofc a bottle of champagne bc tonight you two would be celebrating

or so he hoped

you wouldn’t say no right?

i mean who could say no to that gorgeous face pHEW

pulled out the ring box right as you swallowed the last of the macaron you’d been nibbling on

his heart sped up as your eyes widened, a breathless ‘keigo’ escaping your lips

“i know you might not be ready, but the more i get to know you, the more i realize that i don’t want to live the rest of my life without you. you’re the girl of my dreams, and i never want to wake up. would you marry me?”

“are you s t u p i d? ofc i will!”

his grin has never been as bright as it was at that moment

slipped the ring onto your finger and immediately pulled you into his arms and took off into the air

slowed your assent as you two soared above the clouds and spun around, unable to contain his joy

gazed at your face with those golden eyes, taking in your beauty, before giving you the sweetest, most tender kiss you’ve ever felt

oh boy the wedding

when i tell you this was an e v e n t i mean anyone who was anyone wanted to go to this wedding

but only those that were close to the two of you were invited

haha suckerrrs

somehow got all might to officiate

who knew all might could officiate weddings? 

certainly neither of you

no one really knows how that decision came to be but i mean no one was complaining either so

he let you make all the decisions except for one

the flowers

he h a d to be involved in the flowers

he appreciates pretty flora and if the bouquets and floral arrangements at his wedding weren’t the prettiest possible he would n o t be satisfied

teared up as you walked down the aisle (which he will neither confirm nor deny)

not that he wasn’t lookin’ mighty fine too

just imagine: tan suit with a black button up and a gold tie, gold cufflinks with a ruby set in each

i know those are his costume colors but he looks good in them so y’all can fight me

dipped you for your first kiss as husband and wife to everyone’s amusement

best believe a few different cameras caught that

the timing of the wedding was planned out so the reception was held at night

semi-sheer white tents and custom black ten-feet tall candelabras

the soft glow from the candles combined with the moonlight made for the perfect dreamy vibe 

he managed to find a florist that could dye white roses black and cover them them with a thin layer of gold glitter

was it necessary? no

did it look good? heck yeah

the gold glitter shined beautifully against the black roses

tho

the way your eyes sparkled as you danced with him was far more captivating

you two had flown up into the sky to dance your first dance together

your silhouettes against the bright moon made for a perfect picture

the only reason you ended up coming down was because neither of you had eaten much that day and a guy’s gotta eat

he gonna need stamina later *winky face*

you cannot convince me the man wouldn’t insist on fried chicken

like a whole buffet table of different flavors

but i mean fried chicken is good so can’t blame him

everyone expected him to smear some cake on your face when he fed you that first piece

instead wiped off the frosting that got on your lips with his thumb and licked it off

your best friend caught t h a t one on camera and will never stop teasing you about how flustered you got

he kept up a great image of a polite host but on the inside he was ready to g o

it had been a long day and he was ready love on his wife

heh

wife

he likes the sound of that

peppers your face with kisses on the ride home

yeah yeah i know h o n e y m o o n but where y’all were goin’ was forever away and mans just wants to shower you with affection as soon as possible (esp considering he had to keep his hands off you all day since you two never had a moment alone)

scoops you up the second you’re out of the car and carries you over the threshold

gives you a soft kiss before putting you down

and that’s the last soft kiss you’re gonna get for the night lolllll

definitely the type to make you breakfast in the morning

also the type to cook in nothing but an apron and boxers but anyway

you better be up in time to see that sight bc if not, you’re getting breakfast in bed not that i’d complain

he’s not the best cook but mans can manage some bacon and eggs

plus some fresh fruit bc it makes it more visually appealing and less like he doesn’t really know how to cook

he set the tray on your lap and climbs back into bed, pulling you into his side so your head can rest on his chest as you two munch on breakfast

there’s something so soothing about the sound of his heartbeat

a soft little rhythm that nearly puts you back the sleep

didn’t help that he was unconsciously running his fingertips along your arm, drawing random squiggles and shapes

will tilt your head up by the chin every so often to give you a little peck on the lips

if you do fall asleep, he’ll just gaze at you softly while lightly tracing your features

still can’t process that you’re married

someone actually loved him enough to marry him

there was someone that didn’t just admire or use him bc of his quirk

didn’t give him attention purely bc he’s the number 2 hero

you saw all his flaws and shortcomings and insecurities and loved him regardless

if he’s dreaming, please don’t wake him up

you cleaning him wings for him is something he loves so much

it’s such an intimate task that makes him feel cared for

loved

how much time you take in cleaning them and how tenderly you handle each wing

it’s one of his favorite ways to spend time with you

it’s nice being taken care of for once, esp when he’s always taking care of others

absolutely loves taking you on night flights

will take you in his arms and just soar above the clouds

with the clouds below you and the stars above, it feels like you two are the only people that exist

definitely dances with you during some of those flights

wraps one arm more tightly around your waist and take your hand in his and just… slowly spins in the air

it doesn’t look like much but when you’re just looking into each other’s eyes, it feels like the most romantic and intimate moment you could ask for

your life is quite literally in his hands but you’ve never felt safer

even more so when you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the crook

his arms wound securely around your waist, the comforting smell of his scent, the kisses he presses to your temple every so often

it feels like home

likes startling/scaring you a lot

will sneak into the house after work just so he can tap on your shoulder from behind 

the gasp you let out as you freak out for half a second never fails to amuse him the jerk

will always make it up to you with long, deep kiss

if he gets home late after a long day he’ll just crawl into bed and pull you into his arms before burying his face into your hair

no talking, just breathes in your scent before he crashes

he sleeps really well like that, but, although he won’t admit it, he sleeps best when you hold him, his face buried in your chest

he feels warm and safe, like it’s okay to be vulnerable for once

absolutely flirts with you while at work

probably definitely sends you a few spicy pics or texts

it gives him such smug satisfaction knowing the affect he has on you when he’s not even physically there

picks up take-out when he knows your too tired to or would rather not cook

like to back hug you and wrap you up with his wings

9/10 times will bury his face in your neck and nuzzle

sometimes if he spots you while on patrol, he’ll fly over and flirt with you

“how you doin’, gorgeous? the name’s hawks. what’s a pretty lil’ thing like you doin’ in a neighborhood like this?”

sir, this is one of the safest areas in the city pLS-

but if you actually a r e in danger? oh boy

no one, and i mean no one, touches his girl

honestly i’d rather fight bakugo one on one than deal with keigo’s wrath

he’s one of the chillest people you will ever meet, but when he’s that mad? s c a r y

will keep a close watch on you for a while after that

asks you to always let him know where you’ll be and to text him when you get home

definitely considered installing a tracking app on your phones

he’ll calm down eventually, but for the moment he’s extremely anxious

although he certainly tried his best to hide it

he didn’t want to stress you out too, especially if you had any anxieties from it yourself

he was just afraid to lose you

he doesn’t know what he’d do without you

after all, you’re the most precious thing in the world to him and he loves you more than he could ever put into words

[pasiphile]

Highlights of the wedding

Getting a surprise second flower hairpiece from our florist even though we only ordered one, which was perfect bc in the meanwhile I had changed my mind a bit about not wanting one

Make up artist who kept going "everything is going to be fine" even though we weren't particularly stressing at that point (slightly worrying)

The arsehole who parked on our reserved special marry spot and who then had to manoeuvre out, while my dad and brother held up the traffic in the Very Busy street so we could park there

My two sisters in law realising upon arrival that they accidentally coordinating their outfits perfectly (both in bright red)

Security dude "uhhh so usually the groom's family sits on this side so uhhhh" me: "I'm the oldest so pretend I'm the groom" koni: "even though I'm the one wearing trousers"

Official : "so here we are, koni and pasi..." *looks between us hesitantly* koni "and now you have to guess who's who!"

Official : "all the people present here are your greatest supporters" us: *side eye each other*

Little 4yo niece being mildly confused about her ringbearer duties but taking to the task with great determination

Said 4yo niece being asked by the official if she could write her name (serious nod) and if so, that she could also sign the official wedding documents. Her name apparently is written "circle double cross squiggle"

Grandpa-in-law getting up halfway the lil ceremony to congratulate the official because he thought it was finished already

Mask on, mask off, mask on, mask off

Assorted nieces going out on the balcony of the town hall looking down on the town square "ohhh there's a fun fair can we gooo ?" "no we have to go the party after" "awwww"

Me repeatedly forgetting during the photoshoot that when "koni's side of the family" is called, that includes me now

The weather actually being nice all the way through even though there was a storm predicted!

Photographer : "for the next one, give your wifey a kiss" Us: *squee*

Walking back to our car from the park where we took our pictures, multiple people giving us fond looks and a couple of "congratulations!" "you two look very beautiful!"

Cousin-in-law complaining about the lack of non-gendered wedding gift vouchers

Cousin-in-law instead giving us a funky flower pot with women's faces in the design. "look, it's all girls!"

Cousin-in-law also a bit disappointed she couldn't get us a rainbow roses bouquet, instead accidentally made a lesbian pride flag with the colours she could find

(florist apparently going "oh is it for the wedding this Friday?" when she went to ask for a rainbow bouquet)

Other Bro giving me a Steven Universe ruphire congratulations on your wedding card which he made himself with Photoshop. The inside says "it's about timey-wimey you got married"

Assorted nieces recording tiktoks in the other room while the adults had dinner

Us: "how's the wine?" sister-in-law: "very nice!" us: "oh great cos we don't drink so we had no idea if it was gonna be good."

My parents being quietly horrified by how much booze my in-laws were chugging while still having to drive afterwards

My brothers being quietly horrified by the amount of coffee my in-laws were still drinking at 10pm

Bro and Cousin-in-law's husband hitting it off over their shared love of cooking, single-handedly destroying the patriarchy (but not really)

Everyone being entranced by the chocolate fountain

Waitress: "so for you a mint tea and what does your uhhh well, wife now, want?" me: oh right she's my wife now"WIFE! WHICH TEA DO YOU WANT"

Everyone being very enamored by our handpainted lavender-themed menu holders and asking if they could take some home

Getting home just before midnight, putting all the flowers in vases and then taking a bath together before going to bed WITH MY GAY WIFE <3

[ggukkiedae]

notes: seri may not have a boyfriend, but she has five boys very important to her to give gifts too on valentine’s day

setting: around 4pm on february 14, 2021

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Yoonmi!”

“Don’t drop the chocolates, Seri!”

Seri shut the car door and walked towards her dorm building, making sure the boxes in her hand didn’t fall either out of place or on the ground. She had spent nearly the whole day with Yoonmi trying to make and decorate assorted chocolate boxes for each of her members and each of the male groups and artists under Bighit Labels. Though it was quite tedious, they thought it seemed right, and the look on the faces of the members present when they handed them out was worth it.

She and Yoonmi also made some for a few friends outside the company, but they would be giving those tomorrow. For now, she had five boys she wanted to surprise. She usually just bought them something small, so maybe they’d like this a little more.

Seri was on her way back to the dorm, six boxes balanced in her hands while she carefully made her way up to their floor. Unable to punch in the passcode or knock, she resorted to kicking the door.

“I’m home! Someone let me in!”

“Coming, noona! Oh...”

Taehyun paused in his steps after opening the door as soon as he saw the boxes in her hands. He took half of them and helped her carry them into their living room.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” she cheered at the five boys scattered around the living room. “I made you guys personalized chocolates!”

She handed each of them a box and left one (clearly with Yoonmi’s name written on the box) on the table. The boys perked up as they received her gifts.

“Open them one by one,” she instructed while pointing in the sequence they were sitting. “I wanna see your reactions! And you better like them because I spent so long on all of those.”

“You really didn’t need to do this,” Beomgyu laughed before freezing when he saw the designs of the chocolate pieces she made him.

The chocolate pieces were at least 2 inches big. There was one that looked like a moon and one that looked like a cat. The other three consisted of a chestnut, and two normally decorated chocolates with purple and blue squiggles. Those two, upon closer inspection, seemed to be chocolate dipped strawberries.

“You even included our color thing,” he looked at the strawberries a little closer.

“I know, I’m great,” she laughed then turned to Kai who excitedly opened his box.

He nearly squealed at what he saw. There was a unicorn piece, a penguin piece, and little hearts in a pretty smoke-effect mix of turquoise and sky blue. He immediately picked up one of the hearts and tried it while giving Seri a hug.

She patted his head and waited for him to sit down before turning to Soobin. He smiled as he opened his. One chocolate had a mic drawn on it. Another had a bunny. One had a crown on it, and the other two were hearts in the color blue.

“I put the mic because you’re growing more as an MC every week,” she noted.

“Aigoo,” Soobin reached forward and pinched her cheek, “you’re being thoughtful.”

“Okay,” she laughed, “Now for Taehyunnie and Yeonjun oppa, I made chocolate bars, but they’re pretty thick. Don’t worry, it’s the same amount of edibles for everyone.”

Taehyun opened his box to find A dark chocolate bar with what looks like some milk chocolate and white chocolate marbled into it. He grinned when he looked closer.

“There’s caramel, too?”

“It’s for your sweet tooth.”

Yeonjun opened his and was greeted by a pink chocolate bar with different colored pastel squiggles all over it. He could smell the fruitiness of strawberries and apples. Was it even possible to get chocolate to smell like apples?

“It’s our matching hair,” Seri smiled.

“This was really sweet of you, Seri,” Yeonjun told her, “but we have a gift for you, too.”

Before she knew it, a mini bouquet of roses appeared in front of her face. She jumped a little and looked up at Beomgyu, who had been the one to shove it in her face.

“It’s not much,” he sighed before winking, “but that’s why we have white day.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. Each rose had a little thank you note for different things from each member.

“It’s an appreciation bouquet,” Taehyun explained. “This is our way of saying thank you in general.”

“I love it,” she grinned before standing up to look for a vase. “You guys are are worth all the chocolate making I did today.”

[littlemisssquiggles]

Two more characters from the Bouquet are now complete. As promised, I said I would post the Rosegardening duo together and here they are. I think out of all the Roses I’ve refined thus far, I’m in love with Ruby’s the most purely for the details. More than that, there is also a story or at least a headcanon behind why she’s wearing a silver rose ribbon in her hair. 

It didn’t just add that accessory for this project. It was inspired by a small Rosegardening headcanon of mine where Oscar gifts Ruby a silver rose ribbon as a sign of gratitude for all the times she’s helped and looked out for him. It’s a symbol of Oscar’s appreciation and admiration of Ruby as his friend, teammate and secret crush. 

It is also the gift that inspired a compliment from Oscar where he tells Ruby that she looks lovelier in silver since it matches her eyes. So after Oscar gives her the silver rose, Ruby starts wearing it all the time as part of her main attire. I’ve seen other fan draw their own interpretations of Ruby’s Atlas Arc outfit. For mine, I have her rocking Oscar’s present.

Hence why I have Ruby rocking a silver dress with just a small pop of red. My impression is that if Ruby ever wore silver, she’d definitely turn heads especially Oscar’s. But that’s just my hunches.

As for Oscar, I’m slightly regretting drawing him with a cape now since there is more detail to his princely attire that the cape covers up. But nonetheless, I’m ok with his refined sketch. This is my first time drawing Oscar in my style NOT as a Chibi. As I mentioned in his initial rough, the bouquet is a chance to have Oscar rock his colours. Gotta give em that oscar gold and pine green.

So with the Rosebuds complete, all that’s left is one last Rose. My Rose.

Next up is my very own Rosaline Fox. So stay tune!

Bouquet of Roses:

Sketches: - Rough Squiggle Sketch of the Bouquet - Rough Squiggle Sketch of Prince Oscar

The Roses

- Ianthe Regem: The Lavender Rose - Rosalind Fox: The Orange Rose - Rosaline Hood: The Pink Rose

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[miki-13]

@littlemisssquiggles @lookyeekiti @che1sea-xiao-long @cloudburst-paint-water

For @nykamito-x, this is Schatter Rhose/Sable Petal-Rose the Black Rose’s dress for Squiggles’ Bouquet of Roses! I asked for permission to design her outfit from squiggles-meister and she gave me the go-ahead. I hope that’s okay!

I based the design off of these dress designs I found on google images+pintrest

while adding my own touches to it.

I hope you like it, Nyka! And welcome aboard!

[keyenuta]

Ianthe Regem~

Here's @miki-13 rose, the noble Ianthe Regem in all her flowey glory!

Hope I did Ia justice miki

@littlemisssquiggles @lythecreatorart @ezroar @autistic-swanprincess @beaver-sen

[polyhymniar]

* · ☾       @royalmuses​​​ SAID : 💐 - Oswald to Cvrie

( * VALENTINE’S DAY PROMPTS ! send a symbol from your muse to mine. add ↪ for a reverse from my muse to yours !  :  CAPPED. NO LONGER ACCEPTING

                                                i. give flowers to my muse.

CVRIE IS HOVERING A TABLE coated in tungsten, her hand whips back so quickly, choking a scalpel like a knife, but a lot steadier.  something clammy, neutral sits in a petri dish, having been SPLICED & INJECTED with a bright orange fluid that’s viscous in presence. swatching just a smear atop a long, clear filmy slide for close examination under ( repurposed ) high-powered  microscope. shoves her right eye on the device to watch the little cells squiggle around in its magnified state. jots down with a blue-ink, sanitized PILOT PEN what she’s observing in a lined, college-ruled clipping.  so many tests, so many examinations of mutated skin cells, blood cells given to her by whom she has been employed.  it all looks promising, though.

 ❛  zhese cells  —— are.  i can fix zis ... i know i can ... ❜  she whispers.

THERE IS SOMETHING THAT PULLS HER.  the scent of something sweet perusing the sterile lab air & her nostrils.  & it soon registers as more prominent than the outcomes in front of her.  roses...carnations, tulips.  thumps her fist on one of the adjusting levers of rolling chair, rising beyond table level & filtering the pretty smell. sets the scalpel besides tool tray adjacent to OFF-HAND notes detailing her findings   ——  doctor’s handwriting all over the sample page for fast thoughts to be converted for a neater, loopier penmanship later.  cvrie raises her head, then stands to receive her visitor who, hat in hand & a bouquet of beautifully-colored flowers that have an EERIE GLOW to them presents them to her like a gift.  rids her hands of powdered gloves.  ( there is much to be said about he who shines so resplendent   ——  he is a charming fellow, concerned for the well-being of his fellow compatriots once the effete dandy persona has been chipped away. ) 

A HAND NESTLES BETWEEN HER CLAVICLES.  blinking, brilliant grey-blue eyes, they widen at the sight of the contents.  it becomes difficult to swallow at this time, to BREATHE.  it reminds her of their first meeting.  a single flower.  this time, there are multiples. the surface of ears grow warm.  is he ... courting her?  is this a friendly gesture?  people are so hard to read at times. mon dieu!  she can now feel the blood rushing to her brain.

❛ monsieur oswald!  ❜  an utterance of girlish tones laced with luxurious french accent leaves her mouth, a gasp,   ❛  i did not expect to receive such a lovely gift.  i do not know what to say.  & zis feeling in my chest ...  it feels so ... so tight, ❜

STILL, SHE WORKS UP the strength to saunter across to graciously receive the perfumed flowers, delicately taking them into her possession  ; one may perceive the feeling of their fingers brushing mid-exchange, & then sparing him a glance.  one sheepish little smile. 

❛ danke.  i love zhem. ❜

[ezroar]

Have you ever thought of joining the Bouquet of Roses? I know you've done a lot to inspire Squiggles with Penny and Whitley now being the Green and Blue Roses respectively and that's not even getting into the comic AU you're doing with our Roses. If anyone deserves a spot here, it's you!

That’s flattering of you to say. I really like the designs of the characters Squiggles came up and touched by the love you guys have for your OC’s. But I’m a bit confused by what you mean by joining the Bouquet. Do you mean by contributing a character or liking the kids at the big table? 

If it’s contributing more roses, it’s going to be a solid no from me. I have personal feelings about that that I’ll get into when the first full chapter come out. 

If it’s joining you guys at the table, I’ll be happy to chat every now and then. 

I’ll post concept art and updates on my tumblr to let you guys know how it’s going. But all I can say about how the story will go is that (in Emilia Clarke’s voice) the best season ever *nervous laughter* XD