#its not my finest work but its my beloved silly i just had to finish today's

[sleepyy-dakota]

MCYTtober Day 12

Corruption

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Prompt List created by Me!!

[ssson-of-sparda]

A TRIP TO THE BEACH - PART 2 (DANTE X FEM!READER)

Summary: When Dante shows up, Patty finally learns how things ended between Y/N and him but that's not the kind of ending she likes. (Part 5 of A Tab To Erase) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Tags: Dante is Tony Redgrave / Love / Angst / Blood and Gore / Minor Character Death / Violence

Author’s note: This is the end! I hope you enjoyed this fan fiction as much as I enjoyed writing it. I can't wait to read your thoughts about it. Is it the end you expected? How did you imagine it? Tell me everything. I'm all ears

Patty dared peeping from above the headrest of the couch when the woman opened the door, definitely curious to see the two adults’ reactions when they would finally see each other – though she still feared Dante’s wrath a little.                 But when she finally saw them face-to-face, this couple she had been imagining – and rooting for - for weeks, she didn’t care about her friend’s anger or disappointment - He would definitely thank her later - . They looked so perfect, like coming from an episode of one of those telenovelas she loved so much. Dante was towering Y/N perfectly and she was so pretty. And the lighting.  Gosh “Like a scene from a movie.” She sighed. If only she could read their minds right now.      “There you are, young lady!” Dante declared with a menacing finger as he entered the house            “Hi Dante! What are you doing here?” Patty tried to play innocent but there was something in her voice that couldn’t fool Dante. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I never thought this annoying little brat would dare come here … or steal my stuff.”  “That’s alright, Dante. We were having fun actually. And at least, that girl dared visit me … unlike someone else.” Dante definitely felt that sting and he knew he deserved it. “How long has it been?” “A while.” He said, pretending to be casual even though he had the right amount of years and months in mind. “And this day never happened. Come on, Patty. Let’s go.”             No, no, no. This couldn’t end like that. Patty thought. Not after all this time. “Can I at least finish my tea please?”                  “ I’ll buy you a tea on the way back to Red Grave. Let’s go!” Dante insisted as he came closer to the girl to grab her by the arm and drag her away from Y/N’s place as fast as possible. “Right. Like I’m going to believe you. You never buy me anything, even when you owe me.” Y/N smiled while Dante sighed deeply. “Damn it.”                  “ Plus, you still owe me a trip to the beach.”   “ Alright. I’ll take you to the beach. You happy? Now let’s go.” He tried to pull her from the sofa but the girl resisted.             “ Or … you can let Y/N finish her story.” Patty suggested. Dante glanced at Y/N whom he hadn’t seen go to the kitchen to prepare him a strawberry sundae. “Actually I’d prefer that. Y/N can you continue your story, please?”   “ Well, maybe Dante can tell you so that you can finally erase his tab while I’m making this devil a strawberry sundae. Topped with a cherry and two pink wafers, is that it?”           “I don’t know. You’re the pro.” He had a faint smile at her that Patty noticed and beamed at. About time. “Where did you stop you damn story?”

A TRIP TO THE BEACH - Part 2

Dante was sitting at his desk, eyes closed, a magazine covering his face while he was listening to some good old school metal on the jukebox he had just acquired when the damn machine starting to sizzle and shake. “You gotta be kidding me.” Dante complained and, with a deep sigh, got up from his chair to kick the jukebox like Y/N had once taught him. “Funny how those machines always need a good kick to work.”          When he thought of his beloved girlfriend and realised how late it was, he wondered how the hell she had not arrived yet. It was very dark outside and the clock was striking one. The restaurant should be closed by now and Y/N should have been in his arms at least an hour ago, naked preferably.

Not sure Patty needs to know that.

Worry tied Dante’s stomach in a knot in spite of his sleepy brain screaming at him not to be paranoid. “Relax, Dante. She’s probably helping clean the kitchen or something”, he told himself     And yet, tired of repeating this sentence over and over again in his head, he decided to grab his coat and head to the diner. Better be paranoid and look like fool rather than wait here and worry one more second. Plus, he had waited long enough already and he had made a fool of himself in front of Y/N more than once. So what was one more time, huh?

But when Dante arrived at the restaurant and found it empty and dark, he wished he looked like a paranoid fool. But he was not paranoid and he was not a fool. He was terrified and alert in ways he hadn’t been for years. “Please be okay.” He whispered as he entered the place, feeling once again like a little boy hidden in a cupboard, crying for mommy and his brother. A ghastly feeling for someone who had spent years burying his past deep in his armoured heart as a promise … a dying wish.

Dante climbed the stairs quickly, very quickly and yet not quickly enough to his taste, only to stop and freeze at the sight and smell of warm blood on the wooden floor. But there was not just iron and salt flowing to his nostrils, there was this stench, rotting and disgusting, a stench only his demon sense could pick but that would soon be unbearable for humans too, he was sure of it. The stench of decaying corpses.

The son of Sparda never really liked Y/N’s parents. He actually lost almost all sort of respect for them the second they insulted him and made him understand they would never approve of him or of his relationship with their precious daughter. But when he saw them both, drenched in blood and completely ripped apart, their broken bodies lying on the floor of in their bedroom, he couldn’t help but feel sadness and compassion especially for the woman who was standing in the corner of the room, petrified and in tears, her small feminine frame strongly hold in a demonic grip. A nightmarish vision that had been scaring Dante for too long.               “Took you long enough… Son of Sparda.” The demon said with a calm and yet menacing cavernous voice that would make anyone tremble in fear. But that wasn’t the sound of his voice that made Dante afraid – because yes he was afraid –

You? Afraid? Rrr, shut up!

It was the sight of the woman he loved so close to that monster’s sharp claws.           The half-demon squinted at the devil before him, at his cloaked silhouette hidden in the darkness, trying to hide his fear, turning it into a nonchalant and over-confident mask he knew how to wear better than anything else (except his red leather jacket) but that somehow didn’t look as convincing as usual. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong guy, pal. Sparda may have a son. But that's not me.”          “Tony, what’s going on?” Y/N’s voice was shaking just like the rest of her body.            “It’s alright, baby. I’ll get you out of here. I promise.” He had too.        “You can try and pretend to be someone else. But I know who you are. Dante, Son of Sparda. And soon, your blood will flow for what your father did to my master.” Usually, that same old routine would have made Dante scoff and slice that creature in two for he was used to demons coming at him with pathetic threats and silly villain monologues. But today, what was at stake was simply way too important for impulsiveness.           “And who would that master be?”         “The one true king of the underworld. Mundus.”

Dante had heard that name before, long ago, in something that was now a long-time memory. Mundus was the villain of his favourite bedtime story, the one his father would always tell him and Vergil before going to sleep, when they were nothing but kids tucked in their beds.            Mundus. He remembered how that name would make him fidget and jump in anticipation and how his big brother in the bed under his would always kick him through the mattress to make him stop wriggling like a hyperactive goldfish out of water.            Mundus, the so-called Prince of Darkness Sparda had cast away and locked in the underworld a long long time ago to free the human world from his diabolical tyranny. Never thought he would have ever heard about him in another context though.

“Oh. That dude. Thought he would be dead by now… like you soon will be”    “Cocky, just like that filthy betrayer Sparda.” The demon smiled, showing short pointy black fangs that yet shone in the dim moonlight. “And in love with a human, just like he was. It would be a shame …” He grabbed a strand of Y/N’s (colour) hair to toy with it with a vicious smirk, making the young woman shiver even more. “… if something were to happen to her the same way something happened to your slut mother” Dante felt his jaw clench tight and his nails pierce the flesh of his palms. The rage, it was slowly yet surely eating at him.               “Don’t you dare talk about my mother! And don’t you dare lay even just a finger on Y/N!” Dante growled, not realising he had just given his identity up. But the black demon did and with a satisfied smile, he cupped Y/N’s face in between his vile sharp claws to burry his long nose in Dante lover’s soft hair and smell her human perfume that was oh so exquisite to him. An intended provocation and an effective one.      “How chivalrous! How noble! I’m sure your father would have said the same thing…” Dante frowned and clenched his fists even tighter, trying to stay put and in control, trying desperately to resist the powerful will to pounce on that demon and impale him on his sword and spill his guts on the floor. He knew he had too because he knew that the reaction he thought so much about was exactly what that monster wanted.           He was trying to infuriate him, to make him reckless and stop thinking rationally so that he would have him at a possible advantage when he let his rage have the best of him. Provocation at its finest. A strategy Dante knew all about. “… had he been here when I and my fellow demons tore her apart.” Yes, he knew all about it and yet... “Mundus says farewell, hybrid filth.” He suddenly stopped caring about what he knew.

Dante jumped and with a scream, unsheathed his sword to slash the arm that was holding Y/N. An impulsive move, a mistake he realised only too late, when the demon pierced the soft neck of the one he loved the most with his sharp claws in an attempt to protect himself from the demonic blade.       Everything went so quick to Y/N and yet so slow to Dante. She didn’t scream. She didn’t even have time to realise what was going on or to process the sudden pain. She only understood something was wrong when her body hit the floor and she saw Dante’s icy blue eyes widen and stare at her in horror. Then she felt the blood, her blood she was quite certain of it, running along her pale skin covering it in shades of dark red.                   Dante screamed like never before, like no human could, so loud the walls trembled and the demon slightly bowed down in fear. He screamed with an anger, a rage he didn’t know he was capable of, something so deep and passionate he never thought was in him. Something fiery … something … demonic. It felt like his skin was burning, like there was a ravaging fire spreading, growing in his body, menacing to burst, to combust him. And it almost did. It almost did but it stopped just when Rebellion sliced the head of the demon open, spilling his brains and his blood on the walls behind him.   Then, there was a relief that all this was over. The fight. The fire. The fear…  No not the fear!

“Y/N” Dante ran to her and quickly pressed her body against his. His hand found her neck to apply pressure on her bloody wound. She was barely conscious but she was still with him. “I’m so sorry, baby. Hold on, I got you.” He kissed her forehead. It was so cold against his lips. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Dante stayed by her side for what seemed hours to him, holding her tight against him, trying to keep the weakening life in her safe, when finally blue and red lights began to flicker in the bedroom. What happened next was so blurry. All he could make out were a group of men dragging Y/N from his embrace, saying they would take care of her and that he had to let her go. He didn’t know how he did it but he eventually obeyed those men, in spite of his arms trying to reach for her.         He followed them- followed Y/N- to the crowded street where the nearby residents were crammed into, whispering and trying to take a peep at what was going on in this usual very quiet neighbourhood. But he didn’t care about them or their judgmental looks. All he cared about was Y/N being taken away in an ambulance.   The paramedics didn’t let him in. And in spite of how much he wanted to fight their decision, Dante chose not to. He couldn’t delay them. Y/N’s life depended on time and too much had been wasted already.

But he found her again, like he would always find her, and he spent days waiting for her to wake up, waiting for her beautiful (colour) eyes to open again, for her sweet voice to say she was alright, his hand holding hers in an eternal grip that only her awakening could break, days in which he had to think about what happened, about what could have happened and what will happen. So many hypothesis, each one worse than the last.       And when Y/N finally awoke and, with a soft smile that bear no grudges or hatred, said. “Hey handsome.” He did what he thought he should have done days ago. “We need to end this.”

***

Patty’s eyes were glowing with tears as she was staring at Dante without blinking. This was certainly the saddest love story she had ever heard in her entire life. Even Bolero in Spring had never made her feel so much. “You can’t do that!” She declared as if in denial, as if she could change the past. “The story can’t end like this!”    “But it is not a story, Patty. This is not some television show made to satisfy a bunch of hopeless romantic little girls. It’s real life. And real life is tough and …” Dante looked at Y/N, at her sad eyes and at the scar she was trying to conceal under a red silk scarf. “What’s done cannot be undone.” “But you loved each other!” The girl was almost furious, shaking her head nervously.              “Patty.” Dante said calmly.       “And you still love each other, I’m sure of it. I can tell by the way you both tell your story.”   “Patty.” Dante repeated with insistence this time.     “I won’t have this ending! No way!” She shouted with a deep frown.                  “It has already ended!” Dante screamed and Patty froze. He had never screamed at her, never in his entire life, even in times when she was incredibly annoying. He had never screamed at her. “It has ended. And neither you nor anyone can change it, okay? If it doesn’t please you, you can leave, wait in the car and go back to your mushy love series.”

There was a pregnant silence in which Patty stared at Dante with a disappointment he had never witnessed. “Y/N was right. You know how to fight demons. But you don’t know how to fight YOUR demons.” And she got up and left the house to do exactly what her beloved friend had told her, meaning wait in the car to go back to mushy love stories, leaving Dante and Y/N alone in the living room with nothing else but a heavy discomfort.

“I’m sorry for making a scene.”                “ Well, you always had a flair for the dramatic.” They both had a conspiratorial smile similar to the ones they used to share when they were younger except it was fainter, sadder. “ She read the letter, the one you wrote me” Dante said staring at his hands in discomfort. He couldn’t look at Y/N, not with all the memories rushing in his head.                  “ I figured.” But she looked at him, excepting deep down he would say something, anything about what happened.”Never thought you would have kept it though.”               “ Why not?”       “ You never replied.” And there it was, that disappointment Dante well deserved.   “I did reply. I just never sent the letter.” Y/N's eyes slightly widened at this unexpected confession. What did he mean by that?              “Huh, words of advice. After writing a letter to someone, you need to mail it.” She declared sarcastically, not really knowing how she managed to crack such a joke. Was it a joke? Maybe, because Dante laughed a bit.       “ I had no money to buy a stamp.” The girl scoffed. She knew the man before her all to well to know that this was “Bullshit.” But she had missed it, missed him.  “What did it say?”          “ Same crap I told you at the hospital. How much I was sorry and … You know what? … There.” He opened his red coat to take a crumpled letter from his inside pocket. It was unsealed, stamped –obviously- and her name and address were written on it.                “ I hope Devil May Cry will never provide delivery service cause this has clearly arrived way too late.” However she took it in her hands, gathering all her inner strength not to tremble as she could feel all those emotions shaking inside of her.  “ Years too late. You can say it.” Dante smiled as he watched the letter he had kept to himself for so many years finally reaching its long-awaited recipient.  “I don’t expect you to read it … or open it. You can actually turn it into a paper plane or shove it down my throat if you want. I won’t fight you.” Of course he had to joke, to play it cool but she didn’t mind. She knew it was just one of his defence mechanism and she couldn’t blame him for it.      “ So why giving it to me?” Dante shrugged, refusing to admit he did want her to read what his young 19 years old self had to say, what he still had to say. “You can’t stop with the devil-may-care for a second and admit what you truly want, what you truly feel, can you?”     “ Fight my demons, huh?” He quoted her and she nodded. “Yes. Would that be so complicated for a ‘menacing devil hunter’ like yourself?” It was her turn to quote him but that quote made him melancholically happy.                   “ I guess that’s a challenge I still can not face.”              “ Or don’t want to” There was a new pause and as they finally looked at each other’s eyes, they knew they would not fix what had been broken years ago today. He was not ready. Not yet anyway. And that was okay. Y/N was patient. She could wait. She could keep waiting.     “Goodbye Y/N” Especially when this time a kiss on her forehead and a hand on her cheek felt more hopeful than ever. “Goodbye, Dante.”

And she watched him leave, again, but certain that someday, one day he would come back to her as he always would. After all, he promised.

[hbcsource]

Helena Bonham Carter’s Interview with ‘The Sunday Times’ | 20 December 2020

“I have always found that clowns seemed sad,” Helena Bonham Carter tells me over a patchy Zoom call. “That’s why they have to paint their smile on.” She pauses thoughtfully. “I often dress in clown-like things — baggy trousers, braces, white face . . . I love a white face. I don’t know where that comes from. I like any mask, to be honest. Anything that stops me from being me.” Bonham Carter has been feeling the tears of a clown a lot this year. She has seen her industry struggle and worries for younger performers. She has been mourning one of her beloved friends — Nell Gifford, the founder of Giffords Circus — and she has just finished narrating Channel 4’s animated version of Clown, Quentin Blake’s wordless book about a toy who is determined to escape the dustbin he has been thrown into and to build a new life for his fellow binned playthings. “The clown has been discarded on Christmas night, rejected and forgotten, and the story is about how he’s found again and how, through being loved, he comes to life,” she says. “It’s very poetic and touching. The pathos of the clown.” In recording it she found herself thinking a lot about Nell, who died a year ago. They met years ago when Gifford’s traditional circus — vintage tents, old-school performances and artful storylines, written and directed by the mighty Cal McCrystal — was just making its reputation. “We had similar backgrounds,” Bonham Carter says. “Both of us had a parent who had a traumatic brain injury, and our response was similar — an instinct to create our own worlds. She ran off to the circus. And when my amazing father’s brain tumour operation went wrong, I found an agent to help me live as other people. Our lives went through similar things — children, divorce — and we helped each other jump on to the next step. When she died it was very sudden. She had cancer, but I thought she would defy everything.” The film of Quentin Blake’s book, published in 1995 and told entirely in pictures, is the first offering from Eagle Eye Drama, the production company launched by the team behind the TV drama brand Walter Presents. Walter Iuzzolino, its founder, recalls his route into showbiz began when, as a six-year-old in Italy, he watched the Disney Silly Symphony Santa’s Workshop on television. “It was a symphony of movement as the elves worked to create the toys and paint the sleigh,” he says. “It was a hand-drawn piece of 1930s modernist art. I asked my grandparents who did this, and they explained what a producer was. At that point I knew what I wanted to be.” The animation itself was Covid-induced. Eagle Eye had a drama ready to go into production when lockdown closed things down. Iuzzolino realised a replacement project could be created by animators working at home. The team had always loved Quentin Blake and was delighted to find the option on Clown was available. “With Quentin’s drawings being so beautiful, we immediately discarded the CGI PlayStation animation that’s everywhere today — and I hate it,” he says. “We went back to the roots of the craft. I wanted to create my own Silly Symphony. We found artists and animators in the UK, Italy and around the world, and had to produce 30,000 frames, working around the clock while recording the score one instrument at a time. “And then we met Helena — her voice is like the finest Belgian chocolate melted on a Viennese cake. At our first meeting she talked about Giulietta Masina, Mrs Fellini, in La Strada, and I knew she understood the tinge of nostalgia, sadness and melancholy about the clown.” Bonham Carter is flattered, but slightly unsure. “I’m narrating, although I think the cartoon might have been better without me,” she says modestly. “For the genuine children watching, it may help to have my voice guiding them through the story. It has no words as a book, so I’m not doing any characters. I am just the voice-of-God narrator.” She pauses and thinks that through approvingly. “Voice of God. I like that. I’ll try that on my children — ‘I am the voice of God today!’” She remembers the conversation about Masina. It was her husband’s film La Strada — about a brutish circus strongman, played by Anthony Quinn, and his little clown assistant, played by Masina — that began Bonham Carter’s loving relationship with clowns and circus. “I always found the mainstream Zippo-style circus too loud and brash and in-your-face, although I suppose I was always drawn to clowns,” she says. “Why else would I dress like them?” Does that mask thing work? Does it protect her? “Of course it doesn’t,” she says, sighing. “It’s more likely to reveal the internal you. I get excited about acting because it holds the promise that you could become someone else. Then you see yourself and go, ‘Dang, again I didn’t do it. Again I’m revealing myself.’” She bursts out laughing, a full throaty chuckle. “When will I get the message?” she says. She’s 54. “I’m always doing too much. Early on in my career I was told by a director I have an expressive face, and I’ve been trying to keep it in check ever since. And words! I use far too many words. Even my name has too many words in it. The bane of my flipping life. Can I have your autograph? Ugh. It has 18 letters. Brad Pitt only has eight.” And she chuckles again. Having fallen for Masina, she found herself drawn to the circus in the most unexpected ways. “I love the circus family that goes back for years — handing the skills down to the next generation,” she explains. “So the only showbiz thing I forced Billy and Nell, my children, to do was tap dance. It’s not circus, but it felt connected. I tortured the hell out of them by dragging them along every Saturday morning — it’s the only vicarious ambition I’m ever going to force on them.” Has she never considered clowning herself? “I can’t run away and join the circus, I have responsibilities,” she chides. “Nell and I did have serious chats about an act, but we never got around to details. At one point I was going to descend on a moon singing a song, possibly going commando.” She sniggers. “I think one day I will get into the ring somehow.” For the photoshoot she seems to have gone halfway towards the big top. Her look is based on Masina’s little clown — a bowler hat and big boots. “Doing the photoshoot was very cathartic, and I’m afraid I did rather take it to the limit . . .” Her laugh bubbles up again. “I’m a Covid-starved actress, I haven’t had a part for a year, so give me a costume and I will go for it. My children are 17 and 13, so they are no longer prepared to dance with me — photoshoots are my chance to dance by myself. I had the music on and was throwing myself around.” I have the same problem, I confess. My daughters used to dance with me in the kitchen, but now find the idea of Dad dancing a crippling embarrassment. She is outraged. “We don’t have to say goodbye to their childhood just because they have,” she exclaims. “Have you read The Velveteen Rabbit?” I have, I say, but I can’t these days. It breaks my ageing parental heart. “But think about what the story says,” she urges. “It’s like Clown. These toys are the classic result of children growing up. They are discarded, and it’s an emblem of age. The rabbit is losing its ears, but that’s because it’s been so loved. You and me, our faces can sag and our bits can fall off, but that’s because we are being loved.” I give a small gasp. She gives a determined nod. “You remember that this Christmas, Stephen. You hold on to your children’s childhood. Don’t let them take it away. Carry on dancing. Spread the word! Parents and teen-agers: carry on dancing!”

[for-when-i-have-an-idea]

Dream Oath Opera

Dorothea/Reader

So, since this phenomenal woman and I share a birthday, I thought it only fitting to write a fic to celebrate the special day. This is also, in essence, my birthday present to myself, so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. Apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors, I’m not totally sober while proofreading this piece.

Once again, the end of the Horsebow Moon drew near, and the chill of autumn had reached even the streets of Enbarr. This meant many things for many people, but for the Mittelfrank Opera Company it meant it was time for the final show of the season, and it would have to be their biggest one yet. It had been but a year ago that the Fódlan Unification War came to an end, and the people were slowly settling into normal lives once more. One way to aid with this, the powers that be had decided, was to bring back all the amenities and luxuries from before the arduous 5 years, bring back all the frivolous things that made the people happy. Thus, the opera had been in full swing since peace was reestablished.

It was a grand time, though busy to the point of exhaustion for many of the performers and crew. And in this moment, Dorothea felt all of that burden. She was once again the star of the troupe’s newest production, and while she loved her work no less than before, it was wearing her down. On top of it all, today was her birthday, and while all of her colleagues had congratulated her, and her sweet partner had gotten her flowers, a bejewelled ornament for her hair that she would wear proudly during this night’s performance and prepared a luxurious breakfast for the both of them, the fact that she would have to work on this day still had her sighing. Just this once, a day off would be nice.

A knock sounded at her dressing room door and the brunette turned from her vanity with a soft ‘come in’, ready to greet any guest that might have approached. Upon seeing well groomed (h/c) hair, shining (e/c) eyes and a smile all too familiar to her, Dorothea felt her own lips curl upward. She rose from her seat with all the grace she had learned – though perhaps a bit more hastily than usual – and in no more than four strides stood before her lover to plant a gentle kiss on their lips. She had not thought it possible, but that gaze she loved so much seemed to soften even more at that action alone.

“To what do I owe this sudden visit, darling?” Dorothea asked playfully as a pair of arms snaked their way around her waist. Whether technically an appropriate display of affection in public or not, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Today was her birthday, she was allowed to enjoy such an action on this day, she decided.

“Well, dear siren, I have come to whisk you away from this place, in fact,” (Y/n) spoke, the teasing lilt to their voice oh so familiar, a staple of their relationship. “I have quite the night planned for us.”

Dorothea felt herself pull back from the comfortable embrace, her mind simultaneously racing and at a total standstill at the declaration.

“You know that that is not possible,” she said, an edge now having entered her voice that was not there previously. “I have a performance tonight. Or did you somehow forget?” A little bit of her heart cracked at the thought that they might have. (Y/n) was usually so attentive to both of their schedules and needs, how could the events of this day have slipped them by?

But the continued smile on their face told the songstress that this was not the case.

“Fear not, my fair lady!” An overly dramatic tone tinged (Y/n)’s words and Dorothea’s heart calmed from its nervous beating. “I have spoken with your director and she, in all her graciousness, has granted me permission to steal you away for the whole rest of the day. And before you protest; they have a fitting replacement lined up for tonight’s performance, you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Attentive to the last, as they always were. Dorothea felt herself let out a heavy breath, a hand coming to rest gently against her chest. As much as her partner’s theatrics amused and reassured her in their own way, it was the calming, gentle tone used in the last half of their little speech that had her the most at ease. The crack in her heart caused by her own thoughts mended itself delicately and as forest green eyes met (e/c) softly, Dorothea once again felt the urge to kiss her lover. So she did. It was, after all, her birthday.

“Alright then, you silly romantic,” Dorothea conceded after a tender moment of silence, “take me away to wherever it is that you have planned.”

Another gentle smile crossed (Y/n)’s face as they gently took Dorothea’s arm: “With pleasure, beloved.”

The night turned out to be quite the affair, though thankfully not in the sense that it was hectic. A quick return to their shared home in order to freshen up – allowing for (Y/n) to gently reassure Dorothea that, even though she would not be performing tonight, she should still wear the gifted ornament in her hair – was followed by an evening spent at one of Enbarr’s finest restaurants. When Dorothea had tried to ask how in the world (Y/n) had been able to afford such a thing, and nearly insisted that not even her birthday was worth such extravagant spending, all the reply she got was that friends in higher places were always good to call upon for occasions like this. The songstress could only sigh, again, but followed her partner into the restaurant, arms locked, without any further protest.

The meal was delicious, naturally, and their seating private enough to allow Dorothea to feel comfortable. Normally, going out into the public in such a way would have her overrun with admirers of all kinds seeking her attention. But tonight, there were no such interruptions; merely two people in love, enjoying a meal in each other’s company.

Having finished their dinner, and redressed themselves in their outerwear, the couple took to the darkening city, watching as the lights along the streets were lit, one by one. The soft flicker of the streetlamps’ candlelight gave Enbarr a completely different glow, a warmth that sunlight did not allow for. Walking side-by-side through the city, not even the biting cold breeze that characterised the later days of the Horsebow Moon dissuaded the lovers in their gentle stroll, soft, meaningless chatter filling the air between them.

Only too late did Dorothea recognise exactly where it was that her partner had led them, and a gasp left her lips very suddenly as (Y/n) handed over a pair of tickets to the member of the opera house’s staff on duty that night. When the youth began giving instructions on exactly how to reach the balcony reserved for them – one of the prime seats in the house – Dorothea felt herself having to physically restrain her jaw from dropping.

“Enjoy the show!” the youngster called after the couple as they moved through the building, (Y/n) calling a quick ‘thank you’ over their shoulder, a grin that was far too pleased spread across their face. Dorothea continued to feel stunned, though she had managed to compose herself since the initial shock, and did not fully return to her senses until the light in the theatre dimmed and she heard the orchestra finish their tuning.

As the opera began to play out before the audience, Dorothea felt a hand gently hold onto her own and her eyes left the stage in front of her to gaze into eyes of (e/c) that somehow managed to shine even in the darkness.

“I thought that it might be nice for you to watch an opera performance for once, instead of simply participating in one,” (Y/n) spoke so that only the two of them could hear, lifting their intertwined hands to place a gentle peck on Dorothea’s. The songstress’s breath hitched gently, but her eyes quickly returned to the performance in progress.

Despite knowing exactly how the opera was going to play out, Dorothea still found herself mesmerised by the display, enthralled by the characters and music. And as she watched the lead role walk onto stage, the role that had been hers up until now, she could not help the tears that welled up in her eyes at seeing Manuela dressed in a fashion so resplendent that Dorothea herself suddenly felt ten years younger.

The soft squeezing of her hand returned Dorothea to the present moment, and as Manuela began to sing her first bombastic few lines, the younger songstress’s eyes fell back on her lover smiling with all the love in the world.

“Happy birthday, beloved.”

[tentwentyninecompositions]

East Chicago Love Letter

12 DAYS PRIOR

“What time did you say she was flying in?” Myles questions as he continued to clip the ends of the floral arrangement. Dutch Hydrangeas and the Peony flower are Kary’s favorite. So as a small token of his love Enzo put together multiple bouquets for his wife.��

“Uh..should be around 8:30 maybe even nine o’clock. You think these look alright?” Enzo put the first bundle of flowers into an expensive, stained glass vase. He stepped back to get a better look at what he had put together. 

Myles finished off his bundle doing the same as his friend. Together in silence they admired the beautiful flowers that smell like a hint of lavender. Another one of Kary’s favorite things in life. 

“This is the nicest thing I’ve ever seen you do for anybody.” Myles spoke up. He went around to the other side of the kitchen to fish around the refrigerator for a drink. 

“Yeah man I know. I just want this night to go well. I’ve been planning this since her last trip. I know Kary inside and out so I know she’ll love this.” Enzo prides himself in knowing the things his wife loves, hates, and anything in between. “How could she not? I picked every one of these flowers myself, cut ‘em, washed ‘em...the whole nine man.” He chuckled. 

“I don’t doubt you on that at all. Kary is a very lucky woman to have you in her life. I’m always praying for y’all and you know my mama is too.” Myles began to clean up the mess he made in Enzo’s kitchen whilst sipping on his most beloved drink combination. Bourbon and apple juice. 

“Thank you brother, I really appreciate that.” The men returned the kitchen to its original clean state and went about their individual business. 

———  ———-

Later That Evening...

Glancing at the time of his watch Enzo blew out a sharp breath as he put the finishing touches on his anniversary dinner. After Myles left, Enzo spent the remainder of his alone time prepping his home for his wife’s arrival. Kary has been traveling non-stop for work for the past month, striking deals, meeting with designers, hosting events etc. Mrs. Warren has been a very busy woman. Being that today is the couples five year wedding anniversary Enzo thought he would prepare his wife’s favorite dish. That being chicken marsala in a Sherry cream sauce and brown butter risotto. He bought her three floral arrangements with each bundle having the stems wrapped in one hundred dollar bills. 

In addition to the flowers, Enzo splurged on several designer fragrance bottles, the finest brands of mascara and lipstick tubes in all of Kary’s favorite shades. The receipts from his shopping spree didn’t put the slightest dent in his bank account. When it boils down to love and showing his appreciation for his woman, Enzo will go above and beyond. 

ENZO 

Fastening the second button from the top on my shirt I picked up my brush to run over my hair for the fifth time. I don’t know why I feel so nervous to see my wife. Maybe it’s because she’s been gone for over four weeks and my anticipation has reached its peak. Coming home after a long day's work to go to bed alone put me in a funk for the first two weeks of Kary’s absence. 

Around the week three day two mark, I shook the chip off my shoulder and went back to my old routine. Five a.m., I go on my three mile run. Afterward, I go through my usual morning hit list before going to work. Step out for lunch around two-thirty and head over to the ring for seventy minutes exactly. By four o’clock I’m back to work and home by seven on the dot. And finally after weeks of forcing myself to get out of my own head I get the love of my life back. 

I’m nervous to see her but it’s a good kind of nervous. The sound of the door opening scared the hell out of me. That’s when I heard the most beautiful sound in the world. 

“Enzo, baby, I’m home.” 

My heart began pounding in my chest as I rushed to finish getting dressed. Cleaning up behind myself I sifted through my mental checklist to ensure part two of my plan runs efficiently. 

Taking a deep breath I cut the lights and left the room. I followed the sound of Kary’s ‘oohs’ and ‘oh my gods’ coming to find her in the kitchen. Her curiosity almost got her into trouble but she managed to keep her hands put. 

“I didn’t expect you until later.” I said. Kary glanced over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up at the sight of me. I told Myles this suit was a great idea. 

“I thought I would surprise you by catching an earlier flight. Clearly you had the same idea with surprises. You set all this up for me?” She shrugged off her coat and closed the distance between us. 

I took a moment to check out all of my efforts, happy with the turn out. With flowers, candles, her gifts displayed nicely, and the scent of the meal I prepared I definitely earned some points for this. Eager to minimize our distance I met her halfway drinking in every inch of her that I could with these barriers in between us. By barriers I do mean our clothes. She must’ve gotten a temporary room to clean up and change in because this scent lingering on her body and clothes is new to me. 

“You took..a shower...without me?” I spoke and exhaled in between kisses. Kary gets a good laugh out of me pretending to be upset with some things she does without me around. I’m never truly bothered but it’s fulfilling to make her laugh at silly shit. 

“This was an exception E, I needed some serious TLC after that long flight.” Backing up to cup my face in the palm of her hands Kary searched both of my eyes in silence. The expanding grin on her face inspired my own. 

“Why are you smiling so much?” I asked of her. 

“I could ask you the same thing but I already know it’s because you’re happy to see me. How much did you miss me?” Kary’s hands busied themselves with my clothes as she examined me from head to toe. 

“Oh I can show you better than I can tell you. Ready to eat? I cooked for you and it’s ready. As am I.” I joked. She and I laughed in richness and ventured to our kitchen together. 

She went back to admiring the layout of our house with me not able to keep my hands off of her. It took me all of five minutes to realize that her skirt is brand new. It’s one of those skirts that come to the knees with buttons going down the center seam. The only difference from this particular style of skirts and others is that this one is fitting. Kary will throw on a dress any time of year but a skirt, she rarely will purchase. 

“I like this new outfit. When did you get this?” Getting a feel for the fabric I expressed the pleasure it brought to me beneath my fingers. 

“I was feeling adventurous and this little number happened to be marked down seventy percent off. I had a feeling you’d like it.” Kary stepped ahead and hustled around the kitchen not waiting for me. My all time favorite thing to watch is Kary fending for herself when she’s hungry. Whenever her craving for food is magnified she gets this look in her eye. In the beginning of our relationship I would place a story behind every little thing that attracted me to her. 

Now I just identify the attraction as attraction. I find it appealing and arousing when she showcases her need for the basics in life. Her will to eat is at the top of that list. 

“Mm..mama’s hungry.” Chucking at her maneuvering swiftly to fix two plates I caught her eye. 

She flipped me the bird and motioned for me to come closer and help her out. “Mama is hungry for many many things. Was Myles here? I’m getting the sense that he was. That lingering trace of Polo is hitting me in the face.” 

“He was for a little while, yeah. He told me to pass on a hello to you. That fool tried so hard to stick around for dinner but you already know how that conversation went.” I took over the ship again ushering her to sit at the table. “You go off to work for a month straight and here you are still putting in time? I don’t believe you. When did you ever sleep?” 

“Fixing a plate is nothing compared to what I was doing over the past four weeks. You spent all this time preparing all of this for me. I think the least I can do is help out a little.” Here goes the bargaining. Typical, overachieving, non-stop working Kary Santos-Warren. 

“Oh come on. Save me the good wife speech baby, I know what you are capable of. What are you drinking tonight? Red..white..water..” Carrying her plate over to her I matched her smirk. 

“I think I’ll switch it up tonight. Do we still have that Brandy?” She questioned me about it. 

Tipping my head to her I walked back into the kitchen to grab a plate for myself and the Brandy. She and I were given this forty five year aged liquor for Christmas. I put it away towards the back of our liquor cabinet saving it for a special occasion. Tonight is the best reason to open this bad boy up. 

Kary volunteered to bless our evening and our meal. Her speech touched me in a few ways due to some things that she spoke on. 

“You’re getting emotional? Wow, this isn’t the Enzo I know and love. What’s changed, lover boy?” Her bare foot tickled my pant leg before she continued on with raising the bottom half with her toes. 

The coolness of her toe pads gave me chills but I embraced them all. I’ve missed this woman terribly so nothing she can do will get on my nerves. 

“I’m not being emotional. Your blessing touched me deeper than usual that’s all. Talk to me about your trip. How was it? I wanna know everything.” Kary spilled every detail of what her work trip was like, not leaving any information out. 

Setting my empty glass aside I folded my hands behind my plate, drinking in her existence. She helped herself to seconds of dinner signifying that I outdid myself. I do have a fourth course for her, which is her absolute favorite. 

Kary licked her knife clean and gently set it down, giving me this intense eye. “I must say babe, that was amazing. I can tell you took your time with the sherry. Myles must have been busting your balls about not screwing up my sauce huh?” 

“God, you are so fucking smart. Yes, Myles was giving me the hardest time about the dinner period to be honest with you. He was practically with me all day until I kicked him out.” Rising from my seat I picked up her plate and mine, taking them both to the kitchen. 

“Is there more? Because quiero mas, por favor..” Kary sang out from the dining room table.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll be right back.” I guaranteed her. Removing my infamous banana bread from the oven I set up a small plate neatly for us to share. Removing the Brandy from the shelf I poured her and I another serving, rejoining her once again. “For you my queen. Open.” Seeing Kary’s mouth open visibly made my erection go from a three to an honest ten.  

Her eyelids closed along with her mouth around the fork. “God, I have missed the satisfying taste of your baking. You are the only person I know that can bring me this type of joy from food alone. Happy anniversary my love. You’ve given me the best escape from reality, the best life, so much joy, peace and happiness. In all of the years we have been together, I have never once felt unhappy or unimportant. You are my everything babe.” 

Although Kary and I have had difficulty in the past trying to get pregnant, maybe tonight is the night. Mashallah.

[michiigii-writes-mysme]

Mystic Beauty and the Beast - part 1/?

This is my Secret Santa gift for @alittlecstaticxilophone!  …I don’t know you that well but I heard you liked Fantasy AUs and Jumin x MC?  ?  …???  I hope a fairytale AU counts?  And I’m REALLY sorry; I started late, but I”ll have this finished by real Christmas!

Note:  If you don’t like her name, I can always cover her name with MC.

Mystic Beauty and the Beast (A Jumin x MC story)

Once upon a time, there was a young king.  His kingdom was vast, and his coffers full.  He knew how to rule his land both efficiently, and with great profit to himself.  His rule was strict, and his taxes were just high enough that nobody had want.  His subjects knew their country was prosperous.

And yet, the kingdom was never happy.

One day, the king held a ball, in the hopes of raising his kingdom’s spirits.  All the lords and ladies of the land were invited to the ball.  Anybody of esteem had been invited.  

But the king had left out one lady:  A flaxen-haired sorceress with pale green eyes.  He had once been a friend to her, but now there was no affection between them.

Nevertheless, in spite of the king, the sorceress came to the ball, dressed in her finest black lace and accompanied by her beloved emerald-tipped scepter.

The king wanted nothing to do with her.  His citizens were quite afraid of her; even the red-headed royal jester, who was the most brazen of them all, had hidden himself away in a secret corner of the castle.

The king decided that the witch must go.

First, he sent his favourite bard to coax her away.  The silver-haired singer was a favourite of the sorceress’.  He tried to charm her to leave, with sweet songs and funny antics.  But she would not leave the ball.

Next, he sent his best scribe.  She was often the one to enforce the king’s rules; the sorceress would find no offence in her.  And she and the sorceress had been once good friends.  But no matter what the scribe said, the sorceress would not be moved.

Finally, the king sent his finest knight.  He had not wanted to resort to violence, but his patience had reached its end.  The strongest and most hard-working of his knights was dispatched, to be rid of the sorceress once and for all.

However, instead of being vanquished, the sorceress made short work of the young knight.  The warrior’s strength and valor was no match for her powerful magic.  The only drop of mercy that she showed was in taking one of the knight’s eyes for her pains, rather than his life.

By now, the sorceress had tired of the ball.  The music was ended, the food gone cold, and nobody was willing to dance, anymore.  All of the invited guests had left; there were only the castle’s usual staff, now.  She supposed it was time for her to retire.

But she had one last thing to say to the king.

“You fool,” she hissed, fixing her dark gaze on the young monarch, “You believed that this pithy ball would satisfy your kingdom?  Such waste!  Your kingdom will never find joy, for your heart is nothing but closed and cold.  Until you learn love, your kingdom will forever be encased in sorrow and ice!”

Even as she spoke, the castle began to change.  What was once gray stone transformed into bluish-white crystal.  The flowers decorating the hall withered and became icicles.  The castle staff began to shiver, and realized that they could see their breath in the air.

The sorceress gave the king a sneer, turning on her heel and stalking away, not once looking back at the continuing transformations behind her.

“You kingdom will be in despair, and you will be forgotten.  For ever.”

The bard shrank and twisted, and became a marble candlestick.

The page deformed and changed, until she was a little, wind-up clock.

The knight flattened until he could barely breathe, and found himself transformed into a tarnished sword.

In a dark corner of the castle, the jester became a little, red cardinal.

But as for the king, himself…

“How the hell did I get lost, Phillippe?” a young man grumbled, snapping the reins a little sharper than he needed to.

A bemused whicker from the great carthorse was all he got for his pains.

With a sigh, the young man reached into his pockets, fishing until he found his pipe and a small box of matches.  Letting Phillippe do the guiding, the cranky rider lit his pipe, and began puffing away at it to calm his nerves.

He was just a little lost.  He would end up arriving home a day later than expected, but his sisters at home should be fine.

“They’ll all be worried, though,” he muttered, raking a hand through his thick, brown hair, “…Well…I hope…”

After all, before he had left for the winter market, he had been in a fight with his oldest sister.

–

“How could you?  How could you?!” she had shrieked, pounding his chest with his fists.

“Sul Li, calm down!” he grunted, grasping at his sister’s hands.

“You sold my cat!  How can I be calm?!” she exclaimed, ignoring the tears streaming down her face as she continued beating her brother.

“I’ve told you time and time again:  we can’t afford a pet!” he snapped, finally managing to grab hold of one of her fists, “Stop hitting me!”

“Give me my cat back!” Sul Li cried, still striking at him with her free hand.

“I can’t; the lady I sold her to lives far from here,” he said grimly, deflecting most of her blows, “She gave a good price for that cat, and we need the money for marke-”

“How could you!?” she shrieked again, not letting him finish.

WIth a fitful burst, she broke free of him, but rather than continue attacking, she was still, looking at him reproachfully.  He hated when she looked at him, like that, and she knew it.

“I hope you get lost, Vanderwood,” she said venomously, “I hope you die!”

–

“Well, she got half her wish,” the young man thought out loud, looking moodily into his lit pipe, “I am definitely lost.  …A little.”

He breathed out a long streak of smoke, still trying to soothe the ache in his heart.  Sul Li had refused to even look at him when he left for his trip, the day before.  She had really loved that stupid cat… That stupid, fat cat that didn’t always catch the mice in the hovel they lived in.  She would be fine without that stupid cat.

Vanderwood did not like to admit, even to himself, that he loved his frustrating sisters.

So lost was he in his thoughts, that the young man did not realize right away that his cart had come to a stop.

“Where have you taken me, Phillippe?” he asked, looking up from his pipe when he noticed that the cart was no longer staying, “What are you…whoa…”

Before his eyes was a large, ornate gate, which he first thought to be made of glass.  Surprised, Vanderwood climbed down from his cart and stepped to the entrance, in order to get a closer look.  On further inspection, Vanderwood saw that the gate was made of ice almost as wide as his wrists.  To his right and left, a high wall of bluish-white, translucent ice connected to the gate, covering whatever land was behind the entryway.

“What sorcery is this…?” he mumbled, touching what appeared to be an icy handle, as if to convince himself that it was really there.

To his shock, the gate swung open easily, as if an invisible gatekeeper had opened the way to the humble farmer.  The large, double doors gave way to display a long, snow-dusted driveway, and at the end, the most breathtaking castle he had ever seen.  It was a tall, majestic battlement, with multiple spires decorated with dramatic gargoyles.

And the beautiful thing was made completely of ice.

For a few moments, Vanderwood stared at the castle, awestruck.  Never had he imagined such a display.  It took Phillippe a couple nudges with his nose before Vanderwood came back to himself.  And it took a couple more nudges before Vanderwood understood what his horse was trying to tell him.

“…No, I am not going towards the castle!” Vanderwood exclaimed, as the heavy carthorse gently pushed him down the driveway, “Are you insane?  That castle is clearly made of magic!  I am not touching that!”

As if on cue, both man and horse heard an owl hoot in the forest behind them.  A fresh chill breeze and the darkening sky reminded Vanderwood that night was fast approaching, and he had no idea where the nearest town was.  It was too late to start making his own shelter; he had to see if he could stay in the castle for the night.

“…Ok, fine, I’ll knock,” he said sullenly, hooking his fingers into Phillippe’s bridle and leading the horse up the driveway, “But if I get cursed, it’s your fault.”

Unhooking Phillippe from his cart of groceries and leaving the horse by a convenient stable, Vanderwood went on to see the castle on his own.  Much like the gate, the front doors of the castle opened welcomingly to Vanderwood when his knuckles barely touched its icy panels.  Within, warmth greeted him like an embrace; to his relief, he saw that there was a roaring fire in a huge fireplace in the great hall.

“Hello?” he called out cautiously, his feet slowly but inevitably gravitating towards the fire, “I’m…I hope you don’t mind, but I’m coming in!  It’s very cold, outside.”

When no answer came, Vanderwood stopped yelling and held his hands out to the fire.  He had been stoic about it, but a peasant farmer’s cloak barely kept any warmth in.  Gratefully, he rubbed the warmth from the fire into his hands and face, sure he could feel his blood thawing.

Exhaustion began to weigh his body down; travelling always drained him of energy.  Slowly, he began to let himself down to sit on the floor, but to his surprise, something hard nudged his back before he sat down completely.  Snapping his head around to see what it was, he saw that there was a comfortable-looking chair, there.

“…that…wasn’t there a second ago,” he remarked slowly, a pensive frown creasing his expression.

However, no matter how long or hard he stared at the chair, nothing threatening appeared.  The chair seemed to stare blandly back at him.  The young man began to feel a little silly.

Cautiously, he eased down onto the chair.  It did not begin moving.  It did not snap shut on him.  Instead, Vanderwood had to begrudgingly admit that the chair was incredibly comfortable.  Almost sulkily, he began to relax.

“I’ll have to leave early, tomorrow morning,” he murmured to himself, staring into the fire’s flames, “I can’t leave the girls alone for too long…”

Minutes ticked by, as Vanderwood idly planned what he would do the next day.  With the warmth and white noise of the fire, he was lulled into peace, and soon, he was fast asleep.

He never saw the tall, thin shadow until it was upon him, extinguishing the fire and smothering him in freezing darkness.

Part two

[incarnandine]

and, last but not least, three valentines drabbles for my one and only beloved @lost-nari! i love you bby i know you’ve seen them before but I hope they will still continue to make you happy especially when you’re sick ;;; <3333

under the cut!

final fantasy xv // noctis x prompto // [G] Is that my sweater?

They got snowed in.

Unsurprising, seeing the weather in Insomnia got all kinds of crazy right before spring; it could be warm and sunny one day and literally /freezing/ the other. In tandem with university (or not-university, Prompto thinks with a grim face as he pulls the warm, soft sweater over his head) and all kinds of princely duties, it makes getting some time with Noct almost impossible.

This is why the snow is a blessing, even though a fifteen-minute trek between the burger chain he part-times at and the fancy lot of apartment buildings Noct lives in made him look like a very shivery and bizarrely lanky snowman.

Snowmans were good for the New Year, for gifts and hot chocolate, for time spent with family and friends; not for Lovers' day, when he put _extra_ care into styling his hair that new way he saw in a magazine last week and he was sure Noct was going to like (or at least not laugh at). Why did he bother getting all styled up for someone who literally never changed out of his gym pants if he could help it, Prompto still didn't understand; love (love!) makes you do all kinds of weird things.

And here he was, wet like an angry chocobo, hair flat against his cheeks, his new shirt discarded to dry and replaced by a sweater that was both too small (in the shoulders area) and too big (everywhere else) at once. Ugh, to think that half a year ago he and Noct could borrow each other's clothes at every possible opportunity.

Well, at least Gladio's training started to pay off, Prompto thought, squaring his shoulders under the soft black wool.

The last ruffle to his hair and he was good to go-- oh oh oh /no/, he backtracked, realizing that the gift he had for Noct was, by some awful joke of the Six, still at his workplace.

He went back to the living room, looking every ounce as sad and disappointed as he felt; it was supposed to be a _perfect_ day, his - Noct's! - first real Lovers', with gifts and food ordered in (the good kind, not Kenny's burgers), and, hopefully, a little more of something else later on in the evening. And the stupid snow - and Prompto himself - managed to completely ruin it.

A choked sound from around the couch rustled him out of the grim thoughts. Noct, who previously was lazing around under a blanket, now sat upright, his eyes a caleidoscope of emotions that Prompto couldn't quite decipher; he knew all of them, of course, saw them on Noct like nobody else, but combined... It was new, bizarre, but-- but not unpleasant.

"Is that my sweater?" Noct asks, a small, choked sound, and Prompto feels proud and unsure all at once; he borrowed the first thing he found on the dryer, not really bothering, but maybe he should have asked--

Oh. Noct is kissing him. It seems that, for some bizarre reason, he doesn't mind (of course he doesn't, a voice says in Prompto's head; you'd jump his bones the very moment you saw him in something of yours), and the lights in his storm blue eyes are as mischievous and playful as the smile Prompto feels creeping onto his face.

"Yeah," he manages to say, bumping his nose against Noct's. "That's your gift for today. Limited edition, one-of-a-kind, Lover's day special-- and you'd better unpack it very carefully," he grins and leans in for another kiss.

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

d gray man // allen x kanda x lavi // [G] snow scene

He's always loved winter.

It was winter when he met his father; it was winter, years after, when Cross took him in-- finally, it was winter when the war against the Noah was over.

And Allen, too, thinks he's like winter in those small moments; sometimes life still weighs over his too-young shoulders like a heavy, smoky night of the city - sometimes, in return, everything seems light and soft like the gentle mist of snow on a white winter morning.

February is still winter, even in much-warmer-than-England France, but it's close enough to spring to see the first buds of flowers, imported from the south for lovers to gift their ladies with on the 14th. Allen is no lady (he would be clearly offended!) but the custom seems nice. Nice enough that he hovers over one of the flower stands for a longer moment, letting the florist rattle on and on about what bouquet would be finest for a girl such a handsome gentleman fancies.

Allen listens and nods with a gentle smile; buys two and moves away with an elaborate bow in her direction, amused by how the girl blushes and chuckles. Then, he looks at the bouquets in his hands and blushes, too: why on Earth has he decided to do something such as this?

But, money well spent, it would do no good to let the flowers go to waste; he trots back to the Headquarters, head downcast, deep in thought on how to explain this. He passes Miranda on her way out and blushes even more when she grants him with a knowing smile: women in this organization know a lot, lot more than they're supposed to, he decides. Lena will be even worse when she gets a sniff of what's happening.

It starts snowing on his way to the cathedral; small, soft snowflakes falling all around, nothing dangerous yet - but Allen cradles the flowers closer to his chest, determined for them not to get too cold before he reaches home. Back inside, cheerful voices and the unmistakable mouth-watering scent of chocolate cake welcome him back home. He smiles a little more at that.

Home is still such a good word, in the end.

Kanda likes gardening, so giving him flowers wasn't all that mistaken, it turns out; his thin lips even manage to twist into something that might, somehow, resemble a smile. He wraps an arm around Allen's waist and pulls him into a short, but very promising kiss, then disappears to find a vase, leaving Allen dazed and with a very stupid grin on his face that will take several good moments to go away.

And there is still the second bouquet to deliver.

Lavi claps his hands excitedly as he coos and bends over the gift; clearly, he had never received a similar gift, but enjoys it all the same. The bouquet doesn't stay intact for long, though: it takes a quick moment, long nimble fingers working the stems with ease, and Allen sneezes as a large crown made of exotic flowers is placed atop his hair.

"Here! I like my flowers better that way," Lavi laughs, and Allen wears the wreath proudly for the rest of the day.

In the evening, curled up on a rug in Kanda's room - the remnants of chocolate cake and mulled wine somewhere between the tangle of their limbs - he runs his fingers slowly through Kanda's hair and closes his eyes in contentment as Lavi hums them both a song he'd heard on the street a day or two ago; his mind is soft, fuzzy and floaty, and yet, it keeps coming back to the words of the flower girl this morning.

His two lovers must really be lucky, if a fine gentleman such as himself fancies both of them, he muses with a playful smile.

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

bbc merlin // merlin x arthur // [G] You're unusually quiet today.

The first time Arthur sees Merlin's magic, the young prince is breathless.

It's just a spark of light over the fire they've set up in the woods; tiny, firefly-like sparks fluttering around until they join in the shape of a dragon: all possible colours, from cold blue, through a soft off-white, to warm crimson. They fly up, shatter, disappear just to let others take their place as the dragon moves around in easy circles.

It baffles him, how silly he was not to notice the signs before: the sheer luck with which Merlin escaped any and all danger, the countless times he saved the prince's life; the way every mundane task was finished in a timeframe where nobody would be able to finish it without any reasonable help, and yet, Merlin had the damned time to read his books despite all that.

The dragon flies up and Arthur flinches, until a soft chuckle reassures him that really, it's okay; the fire is real but it will not harm him. Merlin means no harm, is what he understands, and this thought puts him at ease - makes him feel, in a strange yet comfortable way, safe. There's something about Merlin - something about magic - that makes Arthur stop and think, moreso now than ever before; something that buzzes between them, saying /you were born from it, and so was I./

He doesn't dare deny it: he knows the story of his own birth and he can only guess Merlin's.

The dragon jumps onto his shoulder and nuzzles into the crook of his neck, giving a perfect imitation of a sneeze as the fine tuft of hair tucked behind Arthur's ear tickles its nose.

Arthur startles.

"Finally!" Merlin laughs, scooting up closer in hopes that the prince will, maybe, share the warmer blanket with him. "I was thinking that something happened; you're unusually quiet today."

Arthur just shakes his head. None of them mention the magic, or the dragon, or the warmth blossoming where their shoulders meet; the prince tilts his head a fraction just when the wizard looks up, and it takes one, two, three heartbeats before their lips touch: Arthur's still wary and confused, Merlin's curling into a smile.

Some things were familiar enough to assure him that nothing, in fact, is out of the ordinary.