if you say “never forget” when remembering genocides of the past but ignore this, you have already forgotten

#42 - Rose and Rising

Project Info

Gang name: rose and rising

Title: wilting roses; prickling thorns (Hanahaki AU)

Synopsis: Most women suffer thorns for the sake of the flowers, but we who wield power adorn ourselves with flowers to hide the sting of our thorns”

― Leigh Bardugo, King of Scars

            Zoya and Nikolai came back to a country that was in shambles, an undercover princess with intent to kill, and a siege on the border prepared to dethroned the King of Ravka. Here, there was no time to rest, no time to ponder on feelings. Here, Zoya and Nikolai have to do what they have done best: to keep each other marching and to keep Ravka standing on her feet.

           And here they were: two months before Nikolai and Ehri’s wedding, each to the other’s thought and task.

           And then Nikolai started vomiting red. Blood red.

           Rose petal red.

Gang Introduction

@farahmeanthappiness 

Role: etherealki 

Short introduction/fun fact: you know that mutual who seems to have no timezone because they’re always online and have a messy sleeping schedule? that me.

@homicide-depot

Role: Corporalki 

Short introduction/fun fact: Helloooo y'alls can call me Faf :))) My favourite colour ever is purple and the only cake i will eat without hesitation is cheesecake

@kestrel221

Role: Corporalki

Fun Fact: I have over 200 books stuffed into my room and I want to cry bc I can’t take them all to college

@hakubasaguwu

Role: materialki 

Fun Fact: I have 3 siblings and 2 of them are literally toddlers so I’m suffering everyday, being forced to watch paw patrol

@someofgennie

Role: Materialki

Fun Fact: I’m Wiccan Witch 🧙🏿‍♀️ cooking potions, guessing on tarot and runes!

@sammiemai 

Role: Materialki 

Fun fact: I started gardening over the lockdown and it’s something I really enjoy now!

@boredxsunshine

Role: Materialki

Short introduction/fun fact: I’m neurodivergent and currently getting into witchcraft!

@gracecreates

Role: Materialki

Short introduction/fun fact: I like origami 😄

wilting roses;prickling thorns (2/6)

part two of my fic for @grishaversebigbang

Materialki: @gracecreates x

@someofgennie x

@hakubasaguwu x x

@boredxsunshine x

@sammiemai x

Corporalki:

@kestrel221

@homicide-depot

AO3

chapter 2: watering the plant

            If anyone was eager to plan a party, it was Genya. 

           Right now, she walked alongside Zoya, chattering nonstop about silk, patterns, and invitations. She worked with Ehri to plan the wedding, and they got along surprisingly well. Though Zoya couldn’t imagine anyone not befriending Genya, she has this way with people’s hearts, a way to make you open up to her even if you didn’t want to. 

           They finally arrived at the guest room, where Ehri has been residing. On the bed, there were yards and yards of silk—most of them red and gold. The princess herself sat in front of the mirror, her long black locks flowing behind her. Her robes, adorned with little champagne-roses flowers  and gold leaf,  touched the floor. 

           Genya called her, and she turned around, a smile on her face. Zoya admits that her beauty shines through, even in daily attire, she shone. She could already picture her in the wedding gown, the red silk with gold embroidery making her shine more, her hair up in the usual style she wore, up and decorated with flowers. Ravka would have a powerful, but also loveable queen. 

           Ravka would have Ehri as Queen, and she should be grateful, but something tugged at her heartstrings. 

           Genya had moved to the bed, now examining every piece of silk intensely. She talked about it with Ehri, the choice of the fabrics, the color, the symbolism, the design. Zoya tuned them out, moving to the side to let them debate  their choices for the wedding robe and stared at them silently. Every fabric they laid out was more beautiful than the last, and the room now looked like an explosion of materials, fabrics strewn across every surface . She moved carefully between the fabrics, trying not to destroy the delicate and precious silks.  

           Genya and Ehri sat on the bed, talking like they’ve been friends for a long time. Zoya stands, not knowing what to do. Her recent attempts at conversations (not in this room, but attempts were made) to Ehri has been…icy. It seems like they both recognized each other as warriors, and fiercely raised their wall to protect their interest. Zoya’s Ravka; hers Shu. 

           She understands her. They were like-minded people. 

           She was about to leave the room when she heard Ehri asking questions. 

           “Is the King alright? I noticed he got paler when we met. Is he sick? Will he get better by spring?,” she said with a gentle tone. Zoya’s ears perked up. She too, noticed it this morning. The fact that Ehri talked about it sends rage throughout her body. For the first time since she entered the room, Zoya spoke. 

           “Oh, so now you are worried that he is sick and not dead?” she snapped. The hostility of her voice startled both Genya and Ehri. She saw Ehri’s smirk, and then she was back in her quiet, gentle princess voice. Zoya’s blood boiled; she did not buy this ‘gentle princess’ act a single bit. Someone who spent weeks masquerading as a soldier while planning an assassination to the King was not to be trusted. 

           “Oh, I am merely voicing my concerns, General. After all, he is to be my husband. Am I not allowed to be worried about his well-being?” she said in a sickly sweet way, and Zoya wanted to scream. She held it in for Genya’s sake. She had been signaling her, silently, to ruin this moment of quiet diplomacy. Genya held her tongue, and Zoya’s hands tightened onto the silk in her hands. Ehri smiled and continued in the conversation in the same, gentle tone. 

           “Besides, I’m not the only one concerned!  Genya just mentioned that she suspects the King is ill. She thinks he’s vomiting blood. You should be worried, General. The future of the country lies in his hands and he doesn’t seem well,” she said with a sad, little tone, and Zoya snaps. The silk she had been clutching ripped apart, and she can feel hot, white anger boiling in her veins. 

           “Thank you for your concern for our King, Princess. I sure hope that the concerns will keep you up at night because as you mentioned, he is your future husband and you are under our protection,” she replied, then without any hesitation, walked away from the room, not caring that she stomped many valuable silks along the way. She heard Genya apologized to Ehri, but she couldn’t care less. 

           She made her way to her room, shut the door, and started thinking. Nikolai’s wedding to Ehri will strengthen their political alliance, but Fjerda can still ally with Kerch, and that will make certain trouble, especially with Jurda and all. She needs to plan this alongside Nikolai, especially since there was no guarantee both Ehri or the Shu would keep up with their end of the bargain. 

           As if the Saints couldn’t give her a break, someone delivered a letter to her from Nina. She cursed under her breath. This girl had to plan everything by herself, and not send a peep until the last minute? She and Nikolai didn’t know what the hell was going on, and things went awry. Zoya scanned over the letter, “She traded lore and myth, she wrote, fiction and legend.” 

           “Do you think that you’re a new Saint?” she shouted to no one in particular, as she burned the letter completely. To get rid of the letter from spies, as well as expressing her sentiment towards the plan. Nina and her improvisations of living old legends can burn in hell, she thought. Recklessly driving herself towards crazy ideas, lacking discipline…Zoya needs to have a word with her when she gets back. 

           But first, she needs to talk to Nikolai. 

           And maybe check up on whether Genya and Ehri’s suspicions were true. 

           Nikolai was there in the war room, back hunched towards the map of Ravka. His fingers traced the outline of the border, the campaign now still standing despite many deserters. Nikolai ponders at this. Why would they still be standing at the border, but show no sign of attack? Surely, there weren’t that many deserters that the campaign had lost all of their soldiers? 

      His train of thought was interrupted by Zoya’s presence. His general, like always, wore a mask of indifference. She sat in front of him, her eyes trailing his fingers tracing the map. “It can’t all be Nina’s right?” he asked, mind reeling over the fact. 

      Zoya rolled her eyes. Once again, Nina had retracted from the original plan and somehow made deserters out of many Fjerdan soldiers. I traded myth and lore, fiction, and legend, she had said in her latest letter. Nina made people desert by making little ‘miracles’, Zoya explained to Nikolai, basing them on local myths, lore, and fiction. Quite a few people deserted, believing what they were doing a contrast to their belief. The letter made Zoya’s anger burn and Nikolai suppressed his mirth. This was certainly not going according to plan, he thought. But a little improvisation I did not mind.      

      But now, said improvisation had left them confused for a simple reason: they didn’t read the script. 

      “I doubt Nina and her stories had that much power to inspire a coup d’etatZoya mused. She too was confused by this sudden stop of a force. It was a warning, a gun held to Ravka’s head. Now, how could they stop this gun from firing through the country’s heart? ? 

      “Are the Kerch involved by any means?” Nikolai asked. Zoya had received reports that there was an unusual meeting at someone of the merchant council’s home. A whisper traded between parties and dances. Mailing disguised as a contract. The Kerch were involved, as usual when there was gold on the table. And as bankrupted as Ravka was, the promise of the Lanstov’s gold never looked more tempting. 

      “They are playing it safe and secret, as usual,” Zoya answered. Nikolai traced the map again, head deep into thought. As they sat together, what Ehri said to Zoya went into her mind. Genya just mentioned that she suspects the King is ill. She thinks he’s vomiting blood. You should be worried, General. The future of the country lies in his hands and he doesn’t seem well.  Yesterday Nikolai dismissed it as nothing, blaming the harsh winter. Zoya doubts someone who has survived the journey around Ravka, and to another realm, would be affected by a little snow.

      As if Nikolai was reading her thoughts, , he coughed heavily; his hands started reaching for a cup of tea between them. Zoya was about to go to her usual comment, the easy sarcastic, spiteful banter,  when she noticed something red sprouting out of his mouth. It certainly looked like blood. Was Ehri right? Was he sick as she feared? He finished his tea but coughed more heavily this time, and Zoya got out of her seat to look at his condition. 

      On his palm, there was something red and scattered. Zoya immediately knew it was not blood, but blood would have been easier to believe than this. When he opened his palm, it was not blood that Zoya saw. 

      It was red rose petals. 

      Nikolai was coughing up rose petals. 

wilting roses;prickling thorns (2/6)

Materialki: @gracecreates x

@someofgennie x

@hakubasaguwu x x

@boredxsunshine x

@sammiemai x

Corporalki:

@kestrel221

@homicide-depot

AO3

chapter 2: watering the plant

           If anyone was eager to plan a party, it was Genya. 

           Right now, she walked alongside Zoya, chattering nonstop about silk, patterns, and invitations. She worked with Ehri to plan the wedding, and they got along surprisingly well. Though Zoya couldn’t imagine anyone not befriending Genya, she has this way with people’s hearts, a way to make you open up to her even if you didn’t want to. 

           They finally arrived at the guest room, where Ehri has been residing. On the bed, there were yards and yards of silk—most of them red and gold. The princess herself sat in front of the mirror, her long black locks flowing behind her. Her robes, adorned with little champagne-roses flowers  and gold leaf,  touched the floor. 

           Genya called her, and she turned around, a smile on her face. Zoya admits that her beauty shines through, even in daily attire, she shone. She could already picture her in the wedding gown, the red silk with gold embroidery making her shine more, her hair up in the usual style she wore, up and decorated with flowers. Ravka would have a powerful, but also loveable queen. 

           Ravka would have Ehri as Queen, and she should be grateful, but something tugged at her heartstrings. 

           Genya had moved to the bed, now examining every piece of silk intensely. She talked about it with Ehri, the choice of the fabrics, the color, the symbolism, the design. Zoya tuned them out, moving to the side to let them debate  their choices for the wedding robe and stared at them silently. Every fabric they laid out was more beautiful than the last, and the room now looked like an explosion of materials, fabrics strewn across every surface . She moved carefully between the fabrics, trying not to destroy the delicate and precious silks.  

           Genya and Ehri sat on the bed, talking like they’ve been friends for a long time. Zoya stands, not knowing what to do. Her recent attempts at conversations (not in this room, but attempts were made) to Ehri has been…icy. It seems like they both recognized each other as warriors, and fiercely raised their wall to protect their interest. Zoya’s Ravka; hers Shu. 

           She understands her. They were like-minded people. 

           She was about to leave the room when she heard Ehri asking questions. 

           “Is the King alright? I noticed he got paler when we met. Is he sick? Will he get better by spring?,” she said with a gentle tone. Zoya’s ears perked up. She too, noticed it this morning. The fact that Ehri talked about it sends rage throughout her body. For the first time since she entered the room, Zoya spoke. 

           “Oh, so now you are worried that he is sick and not dead?” she snapped. The hostility of her voice startled both Genya and Ehri. She saw Ehri’s smirk, and then she was back in her quiet, gentle princess voice. Zoya’s blood boiled; she did not buy this ‘gentle princess’ act a single bit. Someone who spent weeks masquerading as a soldier while planning an assassination to the King was not to be trusted. 

           “Oh, I am merely voicing my concerns, General. After all, he is to be my husband. Am I not allowed to be worried about his well-being?” she said in a sickly sweet way, and Zoya wanted to scream. She held it in for Genya’s sake. She had been signaling her, silently, to ruin this moment of quiet diplomacy. Genya held her tongue, and Zoya’s hands tightened onto the silk in her hands. Ehri smiled and continued in the conversation in the same, gentle tone. 

           “Besides, I’m not the only one concerned!  Genya just mentioned that she suspects the King is ill. She thinks he’s vomiting blood. You should be worried, General. The future of the country lies in his hands and he doesn’t seem well,” she said with a sad, little tone, and Zoya snaps. The silk she had been clutching ripped apart, and she can feel hot, white anger boiling in her veins. 

           “Thank you for your concern for our King, Princess. I sure hope that the concerns will keep you up at night because as you mentioned, he is your future husband and you are under our protection,” she replied, then without any hesitation, walked away from the room, not caring that she stomped many valuable silks along the way. She heard Genya apologized to Ehri, but she couldn’t care less. 

           She made her way to her room, shut the door, and started thinking. Nikolai’s wedding to Ehri will strengthen their political alliance, but Fjerda can still ally with Kerch, and that will make certain trouble, especially with Jurda and all. She needs to plan this alongside Nikolai, especially since there was no guarantee both Ehri or the Shu would keep up with their end of the bargain. 

           As if the Saints couldn’t give her a break, someone delivered a letter to her from Nina. She cursed under her breath. This girl had to plan everything by herself, and not send a peep until the last minute? She and Nikolai didn’t know what the hell was going on, and things went awry. Zoya scanned over the letter, “She traded lore and myth, she wrote, fiction and legend.” 

           “Do you think that you’re a new Saint?” she shouted to no one in particular, as she burned the letter completely. To get rid of the letter from spies, as well as expressing her sentiment towards the plan. Nina and her improvisations of living old legends can burn in hell, she thought. Recklessly driving herself towards crazy ideas, lacking discipline…Zoya needs to have a word with her when she gets back. 

           But first, she needs to talk to Nikolai. 

           And maybe check up on whether Genya and Ehri’s suspicions were true. 

           Nikolai was there in the war room, back hunched towards the map of Ravka. His fingers traced the outline of the border, the campaign now still standing despite many deserters. Nikolai ponders at this. Why would they still be standing at the border, but show no sign of attack? Surely, there weren’t that many deserters that the campaign had lost all of their soldiers? 

      His train of thought was interrupted by Zoya’s presence. His general, like always, wore a mask of indifference. She sat in front of him, her eyes trailing his fingers tracing the map. “It can’t all be Nina’s right?” he asked, mind reeling over the fact. 

      Zoya rolled her eyes. Once again, Nina had retracted from the original plan and somehow made deserters out of many Fjerdan soldiers. I traded myth and lore, fiction, and legend, she had said in her latest letter. Nina made people desert by making little ‘miracles’, Zoya explained to Nikolai, basing them on local myths, lore, and fiction. Quite a few people deserted, believing what they were doing a contrast to their belief. The letter made Zoya’s anger burn and Nikolai suppressed his mirth. This was certainly not going according to plan, he thought. But a little improvisation I did not mind.      

      But now, said improvisation had left them confused for a simple reason: they didn’t read the script. 

      “I doubt Nina and her stories had that much power to inspire a coup d’etatZoya mused. She too was confused by this sudden stop of a force. It was a warning, a gun held to Ravka’s head. Now, how could they stop this gun from firing through the country’s heart? ? 

      “Are the Kerch involved by any means?” Nikolai asked. Zoya had received reports that there was an unusual meeting at someone of the merchant council’s home. A whisper traded between parties and dances. Mailing disguised as a contract. The Kerch were involved, as usual when there was gold on the table. And as bankrupted as Ravka was, the promise of the Lanstov’s gold never looked more tempting. 

      “They are playing it safe and secret, as usual,” Zoya answered. Nikolai traced the map again, head deep into thought. As they sat together, what Ehri said to Zoya went into her mind. Genya just mentioned that she suspects the King is ill. She thinks he’s vomiting blood. You should be worried, General. The future of the country lies in his hands and he doesn’t seem well.  Yesterday Nikolai dismissed it as nothing, blaming the harsh winter. Zoya doubts someone who has survived the journey around Ravka, and to another realm, would be affected by a little snow.

      As if Nikolai was reading her thoughts, , he coughed heavily; his hands started reaching for a cup of tea between them. Zoya was about to go to her usual comment, the easy sarcastic, spiteful banter,  when she noticed something red sprouting out of his mouth. It certainly looked like blood. Was Ehri right? Was he sick as she feared? He finished his tea but coughed more heavily this time, and Zoya got out of her seat to look at his condition. 

      On his palm, there was something red and scattered. Zoya immediately knew it was not blood, but blood would have been easier to believe than this. When he opened his palm, it was not blood that Zoya saw. 

      It was red rose petals. 

      Nikolai was coughing up rose petals. 

This is my piece to this amazing project! I want to thank everyone🖤

🌹 wilting roses, pickling thorns 🌹 by @farahmeanthappiness (link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26262634/chapters/63930328 )

Corporialnik❤️

@kestrel221

@homicide-depot

Materialnik💜

Bee 🐝 (sorry I can't find)

@gracecreates

@sammiemai

maia💜

@grishaversebigbang

wilting roses;prickling thorns

A/N: a little something I did for @grishaversebigbang

Materialki: @gracecreates x

@someofgennie x

@hakubasaguwu x x

@boredxsunshine x

@sammiemai x

Corporalki: 

@kestrel221

@homicide-depot

Summary: 

            Zoya and Nikolai came back to a country that was in shambles, an undercover princess with intent to kill, and a siege on the border prepared to dethroned the King of Ravka. Here, there was no time to rest, no time to ponder on feelings. Here, Zoya and Nikolai have to do what they have done best: to keep each other marching and to keep Ravka standing on her feet.

           And here they were: two months before Nikolai and Ehri’s wedding, each to the other’s thought and task.

           And then Nikolai started vomiting red. Blood red.

           Rose petal red.

 AO3

Chapter 1: planting the seed.

           If they thought going all around Ravka would fix the matter, they were clearly wrong. Because this is Ravka we’re talking about, and something was going to go wrong, something beyond their expectations. After all that had happened, and everything still happening, Zoya suspects she needs a bottle of kvas to deal with everything. One of the problems now, at least, is being detained at one of the palace rooms, still trying his best to charm people. 

           But Zoya would not listen to him.

            Not after everything that happened. 

           Not after Lilyana. 

           She sighed, making her way to the war room, where she would meet with Nikolai to talk about the Fjerdan party on the border. The campaign was getting nearer day by day, and while it hadn’t reached Ravka yet, it felt like a highly-explosive time bomb, one that would explode anytime if they waited too long.  She voiced this concern to Nikolai. 

           “But sometimes you need to wait. Patience is a virtue, Zoya,” Nikolai said. His stance was relaxed, but his face hardened. Fingers on the map, Zoya knew that he was a little bit baffled by this—the siege and the claim to the throne—as much as her. The Fjerdans were usually an arrogant, annoying neighbor, but they weren’t this forward and aggressive. To claim the throne of Ravka means they knew something was hidden in the Grand Palace. 

           Both Zoya and Nikolai guessed what it was. 

           “We’ve waited. And it cost an attempt on your life,” Zoya replied. The death of Isaak was not only a shock but a slap to the face. Zoya didn’t personally know him, unlike Nikolai, who pretty much knew everyone who he met with. But she knew what death meant  to the families of people like him. How serving the country is not only an honor but a means to get out of poverty. She was one of them. 

           You’re still one of them, she thought. The dragon scale on her wrist throbbed, a reminder of what was happening on their trip. Of Juris’ reminder, of who she was. General Nazyalenksy was born not out of loyalty alone, but out of the knowledge that nothing was waiting for her had she stayed. That knowledge  had also shaped her to see the way the power shifts;  why people get drawn to power. Because being powerless makes you vulnerable, and vulnerability makes you  prey. 

           This, ironically, also applied to this saintsforsaken country. 

           “You’re right. It also cost Isaak’s life,” Nikolai mused, his eyes scanning the papers in front of him, touching a paper that had Genya’s loopy and neat handwriting  in it. There was another thing that hung between them, a thing that neither of them wanted to talk about. The wedding preparations for Nikolai and Ehri, for no matter what happened, Shu Han were always a good ally in this game of political bargain. 

           And marriage could have sealed it all. They already sent word to the Shu Han about the marriage, and the response they got back was, diplomatically, played to their merits. The Shu gave their blessing for the marriage, and seemed eager to have their Princess going into marriage to  one of their ‘strongest allies’, and they were excited to ‘build a stronger future  connection’. When Ehri heard this, she smiled a sad smile, and Nikolai knew too well that her smile belonged to a Princess cast-off from the throne. 

           While Genya had been enthusiastic (really when it comes to planning, when is she not), Zoya had been silent. Deep down she knew that Ravka would always come first, and whatever happened between them, the shared feelings on their journey, the shared sentiment, would have stopped at the feeling of being a King and a General. Still, whenever she saw the details of the wedding and the preparation that followed, there was a pang in her heart. 

           She took the paper from him, folded it, and set it aside. He smirked; one of the teasing smirks that made Zoya wants to slap his face. 

“Aren’t you eager to see me in a wedding suit? Genya says they made one with velvet,” he said lightly. Zoya shakes her head, her hand resting on another letter, this one sealed with a crest of pigeon. The letters were from Nina, who had been residing inside Jarl Brum’s house for almost a year now. 

           When Leoni and Adrik came back without her, Zoya was furious. Yet again, Nina deviated from the original plan, and yet again she made her own. What made her even more furious was that this girl dared to plan from the commander of the drüskelle’s house and not tell them a single thing she would do. Not until the letters started arriving, detailing, in code, her plan. Getting cozy with Jarl Brum’s daughter was her first step. Zoya sighed at that, Nina’s type seems to be a misguided Fjerdan. 

           Now, the letter in her hands said differently. It seems like Nina has been with the party that was at the Ravkan border, and Zoya didn’t know how, but she got people to desert. She will be coming home with a crate of fireworks, she said in her letter. And while that was a piece of delightful news, both Zoya and Nikolai felt like Nina alone wouldn’t be able to stop the Fjerdans’ troops. Especially when they had a claim to the throne. 

           “Your wedding has to be held soon,” Zoya said plainly.  The wedding was not their only weapon against the Fjerdan Ravka did not train the soldiers lightly. But  peaceful union was more lasting than another war, and Ravka really couldn’t afford another one right now. Rotten corruption has sucked almost every available resource, and they rely on donations and debts. In other words: war, not only costs life, but also money. 

           Something they didn’t have. 

           “It won’t solve everything, but it’ll have to do. What worries me more is that even if the party gets smaller, they still hover around the border. I doubt Nina could make them all desert, though her flair is rather genius, if you ask me,” Nikolai replied. 

           “Discarding the original plan, making the drüskelle leader’s home her base, and marching with the soldiers is what you called genius?” Zoya said. 

  “We should keep an eye on her. Her movements are unpredictable, and we do not know what will happen in the future. This is what I’ve warned you about,” Zoya sighed, her hands now resting on the steaming cup of tea that she poured herself. This plan gave her a headache, and she wished she had something stronger than tea to ease herself. While she examined the piles of paperwork, letters, and maps that were scattered around her, she noticed another cup went untouched. When she looked up, she saw something was different with Nikolai today.

            Nikolai was always a blinding light—all shows, all flair. Today something looked like it had dimmed his light. Zoya couldn’t blame him, but she asked anyway. Her question was met with a smirk, that immediately brushed off her concern.

“Common cold,” he said. “Maybe if you stopped being so cold to me, it would go away, Zoya,” he replied and winked. She glared, but brushed her concerns aside. This was their usual dynamic, something familiar; it meant that while Ravka was on fire, there was nothing wrong with him.

            Still, she zapped his wrist. The little yelp he let out was almost the highlight of her day.

One of my pieces for this years @grishaversebigbang

Some Zoyalai for y’all inspired by @farahmeanthappiness ‘s fic “Wilting Roses; Prickling Thorns”

Remember to support the other members of the gang!🥰

Corporalnik-

@homicide-depot

@kestrel221

Materialki-

@gracecreates [ x ]

@someofgennie [ x ]

@boredxsunshine [ x ]

@hakubasaguwu [ x ] [ x ]

My piece for the gvbb! ... Yeah thats all I got I don't do descriptions-

Inspired by wilting roses; prickling thorns !

Etherealki💙

@farahmeanthappiness

Materialki 💜

@sammiemai

@someofgennie

@gracecreates

@hakubasaguwu

Corkporalki❤️

@homicide-depot

@kestrel221

Please remember to support my fellow gang members!! 💜💜

wilting roses; prickling thorns by @farahmeanthappiness (ao3)

accompanying art by @someofgennie (x), @sammiemai (x), @gracecreates (x), @boredxsunshine (x)

corporalki: @kestrel221 @homicide-depot

for @grishaversebigbang

my second edit