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#open commission
riots-r · 7 months
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Birds 🩷
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wweskywalker · 4 months
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“then i examined my own heart. and there you were. never, i fear, to be removed.”
-jane austen
commission of show laenyra for mabeylauren on ig ❤️
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kiryoutann · 9 months
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 [DILUC RAGNVINDR X FEM! READER]
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MINORS do NOT interact. Warning(s): DEPRESSION, alcohol use, unrequited love, mental breakdown, diluc being mean, spoiled girl reader, rich people being assholes, possibility of EMOTIONAL CHEATING, (more to be added as the story progresses).
For each chapter of the work that I will post, I will not add any warnings except trigger warnings. So if you are not old enough, THIS IS A FINAL WARNING NOT TO CONTINUE READING MY STORIES.
Genre: romance, angst, arranged marriage! au, modern! au.
Blurb:
As the youngest daughter of your family, your rich dad engaged you in an arranged marriage with the only son of another conglomerate family, Diluc Ragnvindr. A dream come true for you to marry your first love, however, it's different for Diluc who only sees you as a spoiled and extravagant rich girl. He has a dream girl of his own, Jean Gunnhildr, a city street florist. Can you win his heart? Or will you end this marriage yourself?
Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | ...
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madameoni · 4 months
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Avyssal of The Land, Watcher of Caed Nua, Child of Berath, fashion enthusiast.
If there is something I love doing, is costume designs.
I have open commissions!
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manlymcbeef · 3 months
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HEYA GUYS! I AM NOW OPENING MY COMMISSIONS AGAIN! HIT ME UP GUYS IF YA NEED A COMMISSION!!!
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tutituticafe · 4 months
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I love Digimon Girls, I hope they can make way as protagonist.
Right now enjoyed the dance patner time ^_^. I'll make others girls from others series to appreciated female character in Digimon Series.
Angewomon and Hikari
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2. Garudamon and Sora
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3. Shurimon and Yolei (Miyako)
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4. Lilymon and Mimi
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He ya I'm opening commission you can find my commission here:
Ko-fi
Artistree
Print Available!
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soul-sketch-art · 5 months
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Bleach fanart Ichigo Kurosaki x Inoue Orihime, no my drawing, originar drawing artist is sontyou on deviantart
DM for commission
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bethdehart · 1 year
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Commission for @/tumzone on twitter!
[ID: A digital illustration of an anthropomorphic possum. They are chubby and are holding their hands behind their head in a relaxed stretching position. They have gray and white fur with a long pinkish-red tail. They have blue hair and piercings in their nose and ears. They are wearing a black short top and black short shorts.]
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QUICK BEFORE THE CONFESSION ARC POST SOME TOME-
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I’m open for commissions to fund my dog’s surgery on 7th December! He has a cruciate ligament rupture in his left hind leg and will get surgery to put a fishing line in there to make sure the bones don’t move around.
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You can also get free wallpapers from my rodent-centred account that you can pay any amount if you wish
You can find out more about my commissions here!
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lackadaisycal-art · 8 months
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PORTRAIT COMMISSION SLOTS OPEN
Hi guys! I'm opening (a few!) commission slots for semi-realistic portraits. If you're interested please check out the information in the comments of this post. Reblogs are greatly appreciated!
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riots-r · 1 month
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Just a little dance ~
and just a little wip too
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wweskywalker · 6 months
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“She is overly fond of boys. More than boys, however, Lady Baela loved to fly. Since first riding her dragon Moondancer into the sky not half a year past, she had flown every day, ranging freely to every part of Dragonstone and even across the sea to Driftmark.”
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jmeestella · 8 days
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It was already time to update the table, Get good, nice and cheap commissions! And also help me to finance this Project so that in the future I can create original merchandise for Hazbin Hotel, Tales of Arcadia, TOH, SPOP, and other franchises, that, and to pay the cost of my university jajaja ¡Ya era tiempo de actualizar la tabla! Consigan comisiones buenas, bonitas y baratas y ayuden a financiar para en un futuro tener mercancía original de tales of arcadia, She-ra y de otras franquicias, eso, y para ayudar a este estudihambre a pagar la matrícula de la universidad
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captainbasch · 9 months
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"Take a Break with Me" YCH commissions! Been a while since i've done some YCHs so here we go! The default theme of these YCHs will feature your character in this middle of a fairy tale, beckoning the viewer to join them from a windowsill or a plant covered log. -Colors and minor details can be changed to the default design. -Body shape will be modified to fit your character Have your own story to tell? For an extra fee, the background can be fully customized! Would you rather have your character sit in an old church window or maybe one from a certain game <__< ? or perhaps you'd prefer your character be seated atop a cloud or a crystal. Let's see what magic can happen! *Colors will be similar to THESE PRICES:
DEFAULT - $150
CUSTOM - $200
Payment made Via paypal invoice. Payment plans available. Limited to 5 slots - you can order more than one per slot Email [email protected] or message me here if interested! ***Due to wrist health and injury I work very slow these days. I continue to put out my best, but some pieces might take a bit longer than I want them to. Turnaround can be anywhere from 1 - 3 months. Please take this into consideration when ordering. Refunds are available on pieces that have not been started.
Thank you all so much for your patience, understanding, and continued support! <33
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mrgabel · 2 months
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Welcome to February, Season of Love!
I am opening a special sort of commission with limited slots until Feb 14 - the perfect opportunity to give your beloved a little handmade gift or even treat yourself to something special!
How does it work?
Step 1: Choose whom you want portrayed! (Will it be you and your friend? Eachother's OCs? Fandom characters even? You decide!) Step 2: Choose one of the two poses: a.) a cosy Hug, or b.) a sweet Kiss Step 3: Choose a flower accessory to round up the composition
Just send me a pm or mail me at [email protected] with the subject "Season of Love" to reach out to me and we'll talk about the details.
Thank you very much and spread the love! :D
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kiryoutann · 7 months
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Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.
Please consider donating to my Kofi. That would really help me!
Likes, replies, reblogs, and shares also count. Once again, thanks so much!
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It's funny. You're in the same city, with the same bad weather. Water droplets hit the window and slipped down, leaving a long trail. In a coffee shop with pricey coffee that aggravates your stomach ache, yet you drink every sip of that venti size for the sake of unproven internet articles about how it increases dopamine. It's funny with a dash of melancholy. You're in a city where you and your friends have shared wonderful moments, but these recollections are little more than distant figments. To be here once more, trying to run away from someone, despite the fact that you knew there was no distance in the world that could keep him out of your thoughts and heart.
Lately, you have developed into a big liar, with yourself as the sufferer of its resentment. While your empty eyes stare at the journal you bought at the antique shop you passed on your walk this afternoon, you keep repeating the same sentence. I will breathe again. I will breathe again. Healing is a long journey, as your psychiatrist said. Happiness, though, is promised after all of this.
Uncertain of the time. But it is promised.
(You're sure that's just one of the many bullshit things she's said to you. Maybe she feels guilty. You've already paid her a lot of money, and yet you're still as horrible as the first time you came to her.)
The empty journal stared at you, the pen between your fingers was dying to roll away. Your head is empty, but it feels heavy. Your heart aches, but it still persists in its pursuit of someone who drives you to leave your hometown and end up in a distant city. Perhaps a knife is necessary to remove his name, which seems to have been inscribed on your mind for all time. But now you're left with writing down both your feelings and thoughts on a piece of lined paper, hoping that will make it more organized, perhaps even poetic and pretty, so that the agony won't seem as scary.
(The day you will breathe again is a long way off.)
The expensive pen was brought back—the rich always spend their money on useless things, with them ending up craving the things their wealth can't buy. The ink is almost etched into the paper to write a starting word that you haven't even decided yet. Journaling has never been your forte. Though, from what little identity you have left, you know you always try as far as possible before giving up on whatever it is you are attempting to succeed at.
(Oh, look. Isn't it a situation you've seen before?)
The rain is still pouring fiercely in Madrid, but that isn't what is keeping you from leaving this coffee shop. No, you're well aware you can always call someone to pick you up, hold an umbrella for you, or even drive you back to the penthouse your father gave you—rich people always have enough money to buy the things they think they want after all—but maybe the solitude that comes with living in a posh building is what you are trying to avoid. Silence means you're left alone with your thoughts, and these days, your mind is no longer a secure refuge where you can hide from the outside world. Not when there is still a claim and someone's name properly carved beneath it.
Thirty minutes passed, and the journal paper was still blank. The pen ink left outside in the wind risks drying out. Journaling has never been your forte. You're starting to give up on starting words; at this point, it might be better to just engrave his name in a big, messy font. After all, expressing feelings and thoughts in that way still qualifies as doing so.
When you take a breath, you can feel the anchor in your ribcage. The pen cast a shadow on the paper beneath, then met its ends to mark black on the lined page of the antique journal. You were about to mention his name—the obstructed arteries made your heart throb in pain. However, isn't it impossible not to mention his name in your story? After all, he was the main character in all of this. A red-haired man who leaves nothing more than the moral of the story: that in fact, love is not enough, no matter how much you have given him. You avoid his name like a death sentence, and yet you also know how unavoidable it is—how inescapable he is. In fact, he is still the ghost that always haunts both your dreams and nightmares.
Is a year not enough? Why is a year not enough for you to heal? The pen is gripped tightly around your fingers; it became a victim of how much you want to take this pain out on something else, on someone else.
That naive girl reappears as a reminder that you are still her—without moving an inch. Her drops of blood were still red and wet. Her bones were brittle and weak, the result of carrying her love alone. The twinkle in her irises was long gone, and you found your own reflection in her dull eyes. But, despite all that, she continued to maintain an artificial smile with her lips curved up because she always tries as far as possible before giving up on whatever it is she's attempting to succeed at.
(The mirror takes on the embodiment of the shadow of your former self.)
The man's name was her favorite, still her favorite. In order to comfort her tired and broken heart, you let the pen dance and write.
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Two years ago..
Skyscrapers; global corporate headquarters (of which the majority place third in terms of revenue for the largest tax payers in the nation), penthouses, and five-star hotels with restaurants on the top floors. All of that seemed to be designed with the intention of acting as a line between the wealthy and the less fortunate. In fact, when they heard the roar of an engine emanating from a pink Ferrari that had slowed down in front of the valet area of the most exclusive club in town, people's heads turned immediately, as if on automatic pilot. The woman driving is a familiar face to them.
A pair of red-soled shoes were the first luxury item they spotted. As you step out of the vehicle, hair strands scented with high-end hair products are apparent. When you straightened up and tossed your car keys to the valet, the fur coat exposed your beautiful shoulders. You dress to the nines, as one would expect from a wealthy socialite. Rumor has it the number of zeros on your overnight bill would be enough to boggle the mind. You enter the club through the VIP entrance, each step mocking the long line of people on the other side. They know better than to make their biggest spender wait.
The room was filled with lively music, and strobe lights illuminated the sea of dancers.  Some individuals laughed out loud, while others came dangerously close to colliding with the table and breaking wine bottles. However, it was as if everyone had sensors—they found you, almost as if your presence was confirmed by a spotlight following you to the table where your friends were.
Suddenly, everyone seems to be on their best behavior—treating every place you have been as a red carpet and expecting it to increase their caste. Hell, they might even lick your spit with honor. Everything is focused on you. People want to be friends with you more than they want to be friends with geniuses who have clearly made a better contribution in the world than waste money. Perhaps this is what makes them so ignorant and deaf to their surroundings; the rich are in their own world—the world of the rich.
"Over here, hun!" Another privileged rich girl's voice pierced the air. The wealthy are only friends with people of similar fortune.
Your girls greet you with soft applause and big smiles on their faces, scooting to make a place for you to sit. On the table are several bottles of alcohol. The smell of expensive perfume mixed together. They appeared to be half inebriated from stealing the start before you arrived, but being the happiest girl here, you chose not to care and accepted the proffered champagne bottle covered in bling.
“To our bride-to-be!” One of them shouted, echoed by the others as glasses were raised.
(Y/N), a privileged girl who receives everything on a silver platter, is getting married. Not only that, but also to the man of your dreams, your first love. Although it's commonly believed that first loves never works out, yours does; all thanks to daddy's money and connections. Your lips start to smile slightly as you think about it. Red is engraved on the back of your head—the hair color of the country's most eligible bachelor, your soon-to-be-husband, Diluc Ragnvindr.
It's like a fairy tale: a princess has found her prince. Two people who were born into money and have nothing to fear. The world is at your fingertips, and all it takes is a swipe and some cash to obtain what you want. You believe Diluc and you were made for each other, because otherwise why would the Lord bother to bring you two together? Soon enough, you'll be following him wherever he goes and vice versa. You have listed the honeymoon destination in the list on your cellphone; although there are certain regions you end up going again, you don't mind if it's with Diluc. How simple, how naive.
"So, how's the wedding planning going?" Helga, sitting to your left, asks.
You try drinking to get rid of the lump in your throat brought on by the query. “Great! Everything is perfect, almost done.” You pray that they are too drunk to notice how forced your smile is.
Another of your friend nudged you, “Did Mr. Ragnvindr helped you?" Her tone was playful as she wiggled her brows.
“Of course! Diluc has been a huge help with..” You paused, “.. With the venue! I'm sure you ladies know how long the line was this year, right? Well, Diluc managed to cut in and secured it for our wedding." When you notice your friends looking at you enviously, you know the deception has been perfectly told.  Some of them praised him for being considerate, saying that he met their expectations for a man. The fact that Diluc has never spent a night or a cent in a nightclub and instead chooses to stay up late working on paperwork or playing chess is an additional plus.
Little do they know, you haven't even spoken to him in a month. Voice mail was left for each call that ended without an answer. Your kind requests for a lunch date or even just a dinner invitation are simply replied with a polite "No, thank you." You kept going to his office, and when the receptionist said that Diluc was in a meeting and couldn't receive any visitors—including his fiancée—you glumly left the office and made your way back to your car. Lately, your patience has been evaporating faster lately, and you can no longer just tell yourself that he's probably just really busy with his work.
Your friends don't need to know that, though. They didn't need to know that (Y/N) (L/N), the wealthiest girl in town and the founder of the "Regal Society," had been neglected by her fiancé.
One more thing they didn't need to know was that the next day, despite your headache from the hangover, you had left your cozy bed and your parents' mansion to park your luxury car carelessly in front of the Ragnvindr Enterprise building. Your feet enter through the revolving door in footsteps as diligent as those of uniformed employees. All of that only for you to find yourself impatiently tapping your Louboutin heels with your glare fixed on the receptionist, who smiles nervously behind her desk.
"Apologies, ma'am. However, the director is unable to accept anyone today—"
"I need to see him." You rudely interrupted before inhaling. "I need to see him, and all you've done is keep me, his fiancée, from seeing him."
The receptionist gave you a confused face as she glanced back and forth behind you as if she needed assistance. You weren't usually so adamant, usually just one answer was enough for you to turn around and leave the place. She wasn't sure whether to feel guilt or sympathy. For a couple getting married at the end of the month, Diluc avoids you like the plague while you try to attach yourself like a parasite in need of a host.
She is nevertheless required to follow Diluc's instructions not to allow you to see him.
“Apologies, ma'am. Under the director's own order.” She said.
You grit your teeth. “Do you want to be fired, Barbara?” You direct your gaze to the name tag near her chest. “Because if you want, I can do that. My father-in-law owns this company, and my fiancé is your boss. So, if you want to keep your job, let. Me. See. Diluc.”
Maybe she knew the threat was empty, because how could Diluc fire her if all she had been doing was following his orders? Barbara pursed her lips into a thin line. She looked at your gorgeous face, wondering how much money you spent to have such flawless skin. Must be a lot. Even the most affordable procedure at the clinic you visit is beyond the reach of her monthly salary.
Barbara dipped her head in a low bow. “Apologies, ma'am. I am merely carrying out the director's instructions." She says.
With a purposefully loud groan, you took a step back and turned your back to the front desk. It's a waste. This woman is more stubborn and obedient than you think. She won't let you in using the security pass machine, and it's not your style to make a scene either. When you shifted your gaze, an employee had entered the gate, stamped a card, and then vanished into an elevator after going around a corner. As soon as someone else tries to come through the rotating door, you quickly move to stop him.
"Hello." You greet “kindly.”
“.. Hello.” New hire, you assume. "Can I.. can I help you?"
"Yes, you can." you said before pointing your manicured nails to the identification card and the access card he was wearing around his neck. "How much is that?"
The man is perplexed; his gaze follows where you point, and he picks up his lanyard. "Uh.. this? It's not for sale."
“I know.”
Your hand reaches into your leather handbag. He furrowed his brows before his eyes widened when you pulled out a wad of $10,000 bills. Who in their right mind would carry so much cash around? Instinctively, his eyes scan you from head to toe. He's no fashion expert, but everyone knows the expensive Birkin bag and the price range of jewelry that adorns your neck and wrists. When he reaches your face again, you smile at him.
"Will this be enough?"
Ah, the world of the rich. They believe a wad of cash can solve everything; though that sentence can be proven true as the huge amount of money was accepted by him despite his misgivings. He doesn't want to blow the opportunity or risk you changing your mind. So, a bargain has been reached: you give him a wad of $10,000, more than enough to cover his living expenses for a while, and he provides you an ID and access card that are both attached to a lanyard.
The sound of your Louboutins contacting the floor is heard as you turn around and step away with a contented smile. As you walk toward the security pass machine, the lanyard swings. You press the card to the scanner, waiting for the gate to open before fixing your gaze on the receptionist who turned her head from the 'ding!' sound she heard. You caught her attention. Whatever was going on inside her tiny skull, her wide-open eyes and slackened jaw showed that she was still in shock.
“Stop right there!! Ma’am!!”
It was too late when she returned to reality because you were already standing behind the closing doors. The elevator starts going up; the numbers change from 2.. 3.. until you choose to check yourself in the mirror, wiping the lipstick that has smudged around your lip line with the tip of your fingernail. You turned to face the door. Your high heels tap impatiently on the marble floor. Thoughts of possible reasons he completely closed off communication with you raced through your mind as you pondered each one. Why won't he make a call? Did you annoy him? Maybe he's sick of you by now?
You pursed your lips. No, there will never be a scenario where he gets sick of you. All along, you've been perfect to Diluc, sending him daily texts to wish him a good day, calling to remind him of breakfast (even though it always ends up unanswered), and making sure to send him pictures of you and your girls every night so he knows you won't stoop so low and go out to clubs alone with other guys.
There’s no way when you've been such a perfect woman for him. Loyal, loving, and caring. He might just need some alone time—yes, that must be the answer. You've heard a lot from your married friends that their husbands do this a few weeks prior to the wedding.
When the elevator doors opened, you wasted no time and stepped inside despite having excitement and anxiety rising in your gut. You enter a familiar corridor that you haven't been to in a while, with a lengthy wall finishing at a door bearing Diluc's name and his executive director position. The sound of footsteps from your high heels echoed, stopping when you reached the vacant secretary's desk right in front of Diluc's office. He must still be in a meeting.
You debate whether to stay here and wait or enter his office and sit down there. However, before you could make your choice, your head turned at a ding! sound from the elevator and the clatter of two security guards who came out in a hurry to approach you. The third figure that comes out is the receptionist who forbids you to come up here. Her expression shows that she is not entirely confident in her choice to dispatch those tall men who are now in front of you.
"Ma'am, the director has ordered no one to see him." One of the men said to you, clearly trying to keep his intonation polite.
"But, I'm his fiancée!" You put your hand between your collarbones in a dramatic way. The diamond in what the security guard assumed to be your engagement ring caught his attention. Certainly, the price reaches ridiculous proportions; even a year's pay is insufficient to purchase it.
Unfortunately, the other one wasn't so patient. He saw your reluctance to leave. Something then clicked inside his brain to put a grip on you to drag you back into the elevator. You gasped, trying to yank your wrist from him. His fingers tighten on you, and the intensity of his hold burns your flesh. Your expensive bracelet jangled and clanged. He does not let go, resisting your attempts to escape, even as if deaf to your protests and your futile efforts.
“Let me go! How dare you!! Don't you know who my father is?!”
As if he is on a personal vendetta mission, he doesn't even listen to his co-worker telling him to stop. He fixed a determined gaze on the elevator. In an effort to stay still, the points of your high heels screeched against the marble floor. A rich girl is being dragged away no different from a criminal.
"What's all the ruckus about?"
All of the heads turned to the person with the red irises as soon as they heard the new baritone voice and a few halting steps. His brows furrowed as he looked at you and the security guard alternately. Diluc Ragnvindr. Adelinde, his personal secretary, rushes to you in concern as she notices your wrist turning red after you yanked your hand firmly from the security guard's loosened grip. For a couple who were getting married in two weeks, Diluc only realized who you were after five seconds had passed. His expression changed from confusion to one of surprise.
“Diluc!” You called him cheerfully as you approached, as if you weren't just about to be dragged away like a bag of rice just now.
The two security guards exchanged glances before fixing their attention on Diluc, as if waiting for confirmation whether he still wanted you to be taken away or let you be. He signaled for everyone to leave you both alone. You smiled wider when Diluc laid his eyes back on you.
“Miss (Y/N).”
Your name rolls off his tongue in a way more awkward than a child learning to speak. That made you tighten your smile. It's okay, you thought. It takes time—you're confident all you both need is time. Soon, he will drop "Miss" and start calling you by more familiar terms, possibly even preferring "dear" or "darling." You're not sure which is better, but as long as it comes from Diluc, you'll take it.
"It's almost time for lunch! Are you going to eat now?" You asked, failing to notice the poorly concealed expression of unease.
Diluc sighed before he even realized it. He picks up details about you: a woman adorned in jewelery that clearly proves where she stands in social class. In those eyes that looked at him expectantly, Diluc never imagined you would be so resolute, as if you had no dignity and still insisted on meeting the man who had been obviously avoiding you for a few months (or had you not noticed?).
“No,” Diluc replied, making no attempt to hide the annoyance in his tone. “I was going to eat a sandwich in my office. Were you here for any other reason?”
Something from his answer made your smile fall. "Love, how can you eat that as your... lunch?"
Diluc paused for a moment, confused by your question. He's certain he said "sandwich," but it doesn't explain why you're staring at him as if he told you he was going dumpster diving and eating whatever he can find.
“It’s just a sandwich,” He replied. “I don’t see what the issue is with me eating it for lunch.”
You shook your head in disapproval. “The calorie count won't be enough for supporting your health. After all, you are a busy man, right?” The creases between his brows deepened as he listened to the same person who spent her nights out at clubs and getting herself wasted talking about health and the value of eating well. “Don't worry, though. I’ve already reserved the nicest restaurant for us to have lunch. Should we go there now?” You continue.
Diluc's eyes grew wide at what you said. Did he hear it right? Have you reserved a table for the two of you at a restaurant to eat together? How.. impolite. Not even asking a word from him on this is too audacious of you to do. You should be aware that he is purposefully avoiding you and that all of your unanswered calls aren't just accidental. Now that you’ve barged into his office, why do you think he'd want to go to lunch with you?
"No," He said firmly. "I already told you that I was planning to eat a sandwich at my desk. And I do not appreciate you making such a reservation without consulting with me first."
Diluc is always good at drawing boundaries, but you’re better at crossing them.
"But, Diluc, it's been a long time since we could talk and see each other." You gave him a hopeful gaze before taking his hand to reassure him even more. “I already made a reservation for us. It's my friend's restaurant, and they already have a Michelin star. Please? I'm sure it won't disappoint!” You give him a big smile, unaware of his dislike.
The man's shoulders tensed from your touch, in a way no fiancé should react to that. Although he felt irritability building within of him, he maintained his composure.
"I already told you earlier that I wasn't interested in going out for lunch today," He said sternly, pulling his hand away. "Your friend's restaurant may have a Michelin star, but I do not wish to eat there today."
“Then, what will you eat? Sandwich? Is that your favorite kind of food? The restaurant specializes in French cuisine, but I'm sure they'll accept our request for sandwiches."
You don't understand him, do you? The issue isn't with the cuisine or which restaurant to visit; it's with you. Diluc felt his brain reach a dead end. With each deep breath he took to exercise patience, his shoulders raised before falling once more. He fixes his eyes right on you, that should be enough to make you shudder. But, instead of being afraid, you still stand with eyes full of hope. What are you hoping for from a man like him?
“You seem to not understand what no means," Diluc said bluntly. "If you want to go to that restaurant, you can go on your own. As for me, I planned on eating my sandwich in my office. I have some paperwork to catch up on, and I need some time for myself."
Unless you have only one hard-working brain cell left, that should be enough for you to understand. He watches you open your lips again—and for the first time, he wonders what you still have to say to him. However, that opportunity quickly expires when you both hear the sound of new footsteps accompanied by the presence of a man with red hair of the same shade as Diluc's.
"Well, well.. isn't this my favorite girl?”
Crepus Ragnvindr—the father of the cold man in front of you—supported a kind smile that could never be carved on Diluc's handsome face. They resemble one another almost exactly, but they have totally distinct personalities. When Diluc spends his prayers to make you disappear from his life, Crepus is now extending out his hand to welcome you to a friendly hug.
"Father!" You greeted his father cheerfully.
Diluc watched you hug his father before he gave his own greeting, "Father." He acknowledged him with a curt nod.
The older man stared at you. "I was surprised to see you here. Are you here for Diluc?” As he spoke, he turned to look at his one and only child.
“Yes! I'm here to invite Diluc to lunch.” You briefly pause your explanation. "But it seems he wants to eat here because he is busy with work." Diluc noted the little decrease in brightness in your second statement and he clenched his jaw when Crepus glared at him.
Crepus let out a chuckle. "Is it true? Well, he's always been a workaholic. I hope you can take better care of him when you become his wife.”
The young man heard his father's comment and felt annoyance pour over him. It's obvious that Crepus already assumed that you would be Diluc's wife, and he expects him to follow your every word. From the start, he disapproved of the idea of being paired up with someone just because your families had arranged it for you. As far as he's concerned, you two barely know each other, and it goes without saying that two strangers aren't really prepared for marriage.
"Father," He began, speaking up. "Miss (Y/N) was kind enough to invite me to lunch, but I've already made plans for myself."
“Nonsense. (Y/N) came all the way here just to invite you out for lunch, and you'd rather stay here to do paperwork? Leave that to someone else. You should've been the one to ask her, not the other way around." Crepus said to him, taking your side; then he looked at Diluc and continued, "You will have lunch with (Y/N) and me. And leave the formalities behind, she will soon become your wife; therefore you should address her by her first name.”
From how heavy Crepus' words were, Diluc closed his eyes and sighed. As usual, his statements held weight and were difficult to argue against. Diluc will never understand—he will never understand what his father sees in a spoiled naive girl like you.
"Fine," He said reluctantly. "I suppose there's no choice in the matter. Just make sure our lunch isn't too long. I've still got a lot of work to do and I can't waste too much time with you both."
You let out a dramatic gasp and excitedly clapped your hands together. “Of course! I understand how busy you are. You will absolutely love the restaurant!” You said to Diluc, then took a step closer to him and put your hand around his arm; he no longer tries to avoid, like a guy who has given himself up.
Despite the fact that the wedding is still two weeks away, for Diluc, the tip of hell has just begun. The elevator doors opened widely. Crepus was the first to exit the elevator before you and Diluc came right behind him. He could feel people's eyes on you two, and even the receptionist who had prevented you from entering couldn't believe what she was seeing now. The chauffeur holds the door open for the three of you to enter the polished black Rolls Royce.
The world of the rich. They can be seated in a car that costs as much as a person's house and all of their savings, surrounded by luxury and opulence, the finest things money can buy, and yet still feel empty. Diluc turned his attention from the recognizable metropolis beyond the window, to you and Crepus, who were busy chatting happily. Inside, he was cursing his life, cursing the people who forced him into an engagement that would tie him forever in a loveless marriage with a woman whose touch had become like a chain that was squeezing him ever tighter. A bird in a golden cage.
Even after entering the luxurious restaurant with one Michelin star, nothing about the cuisine served on black plates and the expert chef plating can take away the bitter taste from Diluc's tongue. He kept glancing at his watch, waiting for the second he could return to the office. The day isn't quite over, though, when his father considers visiting one of the numerous new pubs they have planned to open in the upcoming month before Crepus heads home early for his golf routine.
When the driver habitually made a turn onto a road he knew perfectly, Diluc could feel the sunlight falling on him. It was inappropriate for him to sit in the car next to his fiancée while waiting to see someone else's figure. He wanted to tell the driver to turn around or take a different path and to let him know he wasn't in the mood for flowers today, but, his voice choked and the words evaporated before they could be said. His palms gripped in anticipation of meeting her, and he could feel his heart racing madly in his ribcage.
“The usual, sir?”
A no should be the answer. However, as if he liked playing with fire, Diluc parted his lips and murmured, "Yes." He inhaled deeply. "We'll be making a stop at the flower shop." He knew this wasn't the best time to go, but if he could see that florist again, even for a moment, it would be worth it.
“Flower shop?” He turned to you after you said that. "Are you going to buy me flowers?"
The question comes with a broadening smile that lifts your cheeks. A sick sense of reality was trying to make him realize he shouldn't be like this, and the best he could still do in this little time was to reconsider his decision and order the driver to turn around. Diluc wasn't even sure when he turned into a man seeking thrills when he played his own and other people's heartstrings. Your eyes sparkle with hope. What are you hoping for from a man like him?
Instead of putting an end to his intentions, a half lie came out of him.
"Well," He replied awkwardly after a moment of silence. "In recent times, I've been wanting to get some flowers a little more often, so I suppose I could buy a few for you as well."
Despite your best efforts, you couldn't help but smile as excitement rose in your chest at the thought that Diluc would give you flowers. Though this wasn't the first time you'd gotten one from him, the idea of going to a flower shop with him sounded lovely. A chance to show the world that whatever he purchases next is for you and will always be for you. Everyone would know (even though they already did) that you are the woman who has snagged the city's most eligible bachelor.
After all, isn't it a matter of pride for a woman to end up with her true love?
“I had no idea you were a flower enthusiast.” You commented, turning to Diluc, who was staring out the window. “Fine. Surprise me with any flowers.”
Diluc cocked his head in your direction and briefly locked eyes with you before quickly turning his head away. Guilt enveloped his heart. In his defense, you should’ve expected that matters of the heart are not something that can be forced, and no matter how much money you have, you will never be able to make him love you. So, it wasn't entirely his fault, was it? You signed yourself up for this obvious, loveless relationship. It wasn't entirely his fault, but Diluc was fully aware that he was a grown man with the power to end it. Nevertheless, he made the decision to be an "obedient" son and not let his father down. That's the thing about standing still and not being able to make a decision. He wasn't willing to sacrifice anything, and now he has to lead a double life. Something in his mind warned him this would get even messier if he didn't stop, but Diluc countered that it wouldn't, as long as you didn't know.
The car stopped to park on the side of the road. You smoothed your shirt's wrinkles, straightened your back, and looked in your leather cushion foundation mirror. After double-checking that your lipstick is still flawless, you place it in your bag, and the driver holds the door open for you to exit the vehicle.
Diluc stood while adjusting his cufflinks, clearly familiar with the surroundings. However, you take three turns to look for the flower shop where your personal assistant usually buys flower arrangements for your friends. Nothing. Lined up here are small, unbranded clothing boutiques with faded "open" signs hanging on their doors. The structures here are old. You almost jump at the rough and boisterous voices of a group of teenagers in their worn-out uniforms. The businesses here look more rundown and less polished than you typically see, with a slightly grittier and less genteel atmosphere.
You tried to ignore the burning question in your head about why Diluc was a regular at a place like this. On your fourth attempt, your gaze lands on a flower shop.
It's a flower shop. A simple flower shop with the name of the business painted above it on a worn sign that you don't care to read. Several pots full of fresh flowers were set up in front of it, though the size was not comparable to your usual florist. The selection of bouquets displayed in line was modest and nothing to brag about; some were simply plainly wrapped in brown paper next to the pricing board. But, you notice that whoever runs this business has a keen eye and a hand that cares about the small details of how these flowers are neatly arranged without the slightest flaw.
Diluc took a step closer to it. The sound of footsteps from his Berluti loafers was heard by the shop owner and a blonde woman in a ponytail came out to greet him with a smile. Full of familiarity. They exchanged glances full of familiarity.
“Diluc, hello again.”
The sight of the florist brings back memories of their first meeting, when Diluc was on his way to visit his mother's grave and found this place. Jean Gunnhildr. He learned her name the second time he visited. Since then, he has acknowledged somewhat ashamedly that he has come here dozens of times just to see her. The florist was very polite and sincere, and he became very attracted to her during her visits. Jean Gunnhildr was someone different from the many women he often saw, and the most important thing was that she was different from you.
He didn't need another thing to remind him of an engagement he didn't plan. He didn't need another person to remind him of a fiancée he didn't want.
Jean noticed the presence of an additional person and turned to you. "Ah! Hello! How may I help you?” She greeted you and Diluc's heart skipped a beat almost forgetting you were behind him. He turned to you, watching you walk closer looking at the flowers on display.
You didn't respond to Jean, still busy sweeping your gaze—which Diluc interpreted as judgmental (possibly because he had taken you to a no-name flower store rather than the one he typically ordered whenever there was a required day he had to give you a bouquet of flowers)—at each corner of this establishment. Something in Jean's expression changed, and he was made to feel so awkward that he had to clear his throat to get the blonde's attention.
"Ahem, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Jean." Diluc introduced you two to each other, and your brows furrowed, wondering how he could be on first-name terms with a florist on the outskirts of the city.
Something in Jean's smile changed to one that looked thinner and forced. She was uncomfortable. Diluc didn't blame her, you always had it in you to make people feel that way, like an unbreakable spell. She held out her hand hesitantly for a handshake.
"That is a lovely name." You heard Jean say.
A compliment so sweet, or a lie to deceive? Either she meant it or this is one of her tactics for flattering you to get you to spend a lot of money in her shop. You're so used to receiving praises and compliments from people looking for rewards that it's difficult to separate it out.
However, you put an end to your long thoughts, telling yourself that a compliment is a compliment. A built-in mechanism to stop overthinking. You formed a smile and grasped her hand.
“Thank you. I'm Diluc's fiancée.”
Not required, but brought up nonetheless. You speak his name aloud so everyone can hear it too. "Diluc’s fiancée," as if that were all that you were, and that you had no other identity; as if your whole life belonged only to him. It's like you have nothing but a diamond ring on your ring finger Your existence and soul are for hire. What else could such a woman be but the shadow of her man, whom she clings to desperately?
Jean smiled, one that stood out from the ones you usually saw from people as you watched her blue eyes light up. “Congratulations! You two are a perfect match!” She expressed her happiness with sincerity.
This time, you smiled widely at her words. Like a school girl with a crush, you blush ever so sweetly. If she said it to flatter you and get on your good side, she was successful. You and Diluc are the perfect couple, of course; isn't that obvious? A modern fairy tale, a princess has found her prince. A match made in heaven. The feeling of happiness that comes from hearing it from someone's lips never gets old.
"I like you, Jean." You said, earning a chuckle from her.
You had no idea that someone was experiencing feelings entirely at odds with your own.
To Jean, your upcoming marriage must seem like a blessing. But for Diluc, it was more like a curse. The moment he saw her cheerful smile, he was made to wonder what could have been if Jean had been the one he would be marrying instead of you. How dare the stars above tease him with this chance to be with her, only for him to be condemned to marry someone else, sealing his fate. He will be bound to you, and Jean will forever be the one that got away.
Despite it all, Diluc tried to put on a pleasant expression and ignored the suffocating weight on his chest. “Thank you for your kind words,” He said politely. “Now, if you could show us some flowers, (Y/N) was looking to get some for herself.”
“Of course. Do you mind if I give you a recommendation?”
“Not at all.” You answered Jean, then followed her as she walked over to her buckets of fresh flowers.
Jean took several white roses. “I recommend you white roses. While they are quite popular in symbolizing purity and innocence, they also mean love, loyalty, peace, and new beginnings.” She turned to you before walking over to her small table to arrange the flowers into a bouquet.
You glide through the small, humble flower shop, your eyes flitting over the variety of beautiful blooms. The more you step inside, the more you realize that there are some things that Jean can't fix. Those shelves and countertops are scuffed and worn from years of use; the paint is fading; and the display cases have a few dents and scratches. The tips of your Louboutins hit the cracked tile on the floor. It's a shame she hid her talents in this place.
“Your flowers are beautiful,” you said, placing your gaze on the bouquet of fresh flowers on Jean's table—you guessed it was someone's order. “and your arrangements aren't so bad. What made you choose to open your shop in such a place, when you could be in the center of the city? With your skills, you could make so much money with your talent, if you're brave enough to move where the money is.”
“(Y/N).” Diluc warned.
You turned to him in confusion. "What?" You furrowed your brows, not knowing why he was now glaring at you sharply.
The world of the rich. So ignorant of the struggles of the less fortunate. So far from the realities that most must fight to survive in the streets of this city. Renting a store in the wealthy, bustling center, with its high prices and luxurious lifestyle, is not as easy as talking. Unlike the children of the wealthy who open businesses as a way to prove that their fortune is self-made, it is like gambling for those below them—one wrong move and it's a lifetime of fixing.
For the wealthy, change is never a need. They want what's best. The safety net beneath them is always ready to catch them if they fall.
Jean smiled at you instead of taking offense at what you said. “Thank you for the compliment. The truth is, the rent in the center of the city is a bit out of my reach, I'm afraid. I could never pay the amount required, you see.” She took white crepe paper and wrapped it around the flowers. “Besides, I can't possibly sell this flower shop. It's the only thing that my late father left behind.”
"That is very understandable," Diluc replied. "I'm sure your father would be proud that you're continuing the shop's legacy."
Jean smiled. "I hope so too." She said.
“I absolutely understand you. I also felt the same way when my Pomeranian died. I couldn't even throw away her last chew bone until today."
Jean paused for a moment from arranging the bouquet, and Diluc felt a surge of irritation wash over him as soon as he heard your words. How insensitive. He stares at you in disbelief after you compare Jean's father's passing to the death of your pet. Even if he knows full well that you don't mean any harm and that it's just one of the results of your privileged environment, that doesn't make it any less disrespectful. However, he bit his tongue to refrain from commenting on your statement.
"Right..." Jean straightened her back, finished with her work. She approached you with your bouquet of flowers. "Here you go. I put together something quick, but I hope you like it."
You took the bouquet of flowers with a wide smile, your flushed cheeks lifting as you took in every detail. It is not the most expensive, nor is it of the best quality; however, this will become your favorite because you bought it with Diluc on the outskirts of the city after eating lunch with him. Your slender fingers caressed the white rose's soft petals. You gave the bouquet a tight yet kind embrace.
“It's beautiful.” You mumbled before looking up at Jean. “I love it. Thank you.”
Jean linked her hands in front. "It's my pleasure. I wish you both a happy marriage." The sincerity was clear in her voice as she smiled at the two of you.
Her words landed so beautifully in your ears, but for Diluc, they were like a punch to the gut. On the surface, his calm visage was merely a screen for the turbulent storm inside his heart. Everything, even the person who was meant to be his refuge from reality, reminds him of his upcoming marriage to you. Fate truly orchestrated an unforgiving play for him.
When Diluc handed over the money to pay for the bouquet, his fingers brushed Jean's. It ignited a spark that sent warmth through his chest, and his heart began to beat faster. There was a desire to feel the smoothness of her skin against his again; there's a flash of hope amidst this arranged, loveless match. However, all his fantasies evaporated and disappeared so quickly as soon as you put your hand back on his. His back was turned to Jean and her flower shop as he moved his feet in the direction of the car.
All the way home, you admire the bouquet of flowers and say how white roses are your favorite flower now. Diluc made a mental note of it, but even after he had driven you to your parents' estate, everything about Jean had remained indelible in his mind.
Only two weeks left. There were only two weeks left before he was truly tied to you—which everyone hoped would be forever. But the weight of his decisions and obligations had long since been set in stone, and that golden cage had imprisoned him more than anything else in this world. Dull gray was all he saw, and he had to walk past it like it was his favorite color.
The world of the rich. They wish for the things they will never possess, and the love they dream of.
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"Señora, apologies, but we're about to close up the store for the night.”
The voice of the barista who approached you brought you back to the present, and you lifted your eyes from the fully written page of your journal. He smiled slightly; the dark circles under his eyes gave away his lack of sleep. With a slight nod and a smile of your own, you told him—in your less-than-perfect Spanish—that you would soon be leaving. Satisfied with your answer, he left you to clean up. When you glanced out the window, you noticed that the rain had stopped for who knows how long; you were more absorbed in writing than you thought.
Quickly, you gathered your belongings and took your tote bag to put your pens, lipstick, AirPods case, and cellphone charger. Before you put your journal in, once again, you sweep your eyes over your own handwriting. There you go. Your prologue has been written in black ink on yellow paper. The words you use aren't good enough, but there is still tomorrow to continue.
After double checking and making sure nothing was left behind, you got up from your chair and pushed open the door to exit onto the streets of Madrid.
(That girl inside me stays. If I'm not here for me, she will be there.)
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AUTHOR NOTES: "(That girl inside me stays. If I'm not here for me, she will be there.)" are lyrics from Messages From Her by Sabrina Claudio.
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