➢ prompt: Give him a nickname adjacent to his "Nunuche"
A short and sweet fic for the birthday boy, and a last minute entry for @xxsycamore’s challenge to (affectionately) bully him in under 500 words 💕 I wrote this one quickly and I'm sure it'll show, but when I read this prompt, it made me think of something I once read about irl napoleon, and so... I wanted to give it a try at least!
“See you tonight, nunuche.”
“Alright, paille-au-nez.”
Napoleon, who was on his way out the door, abruptly paused in his tracks as he processed what you said. He turned back to face you with a bewildered expression, only to find you standing at the sink, nonchalantly resuming your chores.
“...Nunuche?”
“Hmm?” You hummed innocently.
“What did you just say?”
As you scrubbed a plate, you were relieved to have your back turned to him, so he couldn’t see how you were biting back a smile. “I said, ‘Alright, Napoleon.’”
After a beat, you heard his boots crossing the floor, and then you felt that familiar presence standing behind you, those familiar eyes boring into your back. Even without turning around, you could picture the disbelief on his face as he studied you. “That’s not what I heard.”
“Of course it was. What else would I have said?”
Stepping closer, Napoleon reached around you to pluck the rag and plate from your hands, setting them down. Despite your best efforts to hide it, you knew he could see through you as he tilted your face towards his.
“And just what are you smiling for, then, hm?”
“No reason,” you said, even as you felt your grin stretching involuntarily.
Napoleon narrowed his eyes, and you struggled to hold it together under his scrutiny. Lucky for you, he never could resist that little smile, even when it served as proof of your guilt.
“You know what I think?” He leaned a little closer, green eyes watching you keenly. “I think a certain someone… must’ve heard something from Sebastian…”
“Really?” You pretended to mull it over. “I can’t think of anything.”
Napoleon couldn’t help but grin a little now, too, as you continued to play ignorant. “Something about… an old childhood nickname, perhaps…?”
“Oh, right, I remember now. You mean how your classmates misheard ‘Napoleone’ and started to call you—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—paille-au-nez?”
He poked you on the forehead. “Tais-toi.”
“What?” you laughed, rubbing the spot. “I think it’s endearing. It suits you.”
Napoleon raised an eyebrow. “I look like I have straw up my nose?”
“Sometimes.”
He sighed, though the little smile tugging at his lips suggested that he wasn’t truly upset. “Oh, nunuche… What am I going to do with you?”
“You could stop calling me that, for one.” You challenged playfully. “Since I, too, have ammunition now…”
“Ammunition? Is that what you’re calling it?”
“From now on, every ‘nunuche’ earns you one ‘paille-au-nez.’”
He huffed amusedly. “Comme c’est cruel.”
With that, he dipped his head down to kiss you, effectively wiping the triumphant smirk off your face. Upon pulling back, his eyes shone with mirth.
“It’s been a century since I’ve heard that. At least it’s more charming coming from you. I can’t say I ever wanted to kiss one of those miserable kids for saying that…”
“Then you won’t mind if I make a habit of it?” you quipped cheekily.
➢ pairing: Blanc Lapin x Reader/Alice [Ikemen Revolution]
➢ genre: fluff
➢ word count: 2,142
“Oh dear, oh dear...”
At the sound of Blanc’s worried murmuring, accompanied by his feet shuffling clumsily down the hall, Oliver lifted his head from the project he was working on. With a sigh, he called, “What is it now, old geezer?”
“My glasses. It seems I’ve misplaced them again.” Although the closed door stood between them, Oliver could imagine the scene perfectly, since he’d witnessed this many times before. Judging by the creaking floorboards, it sounded like Blanc was now blindly turning around in place. “You haven’t seen them lying around, have you, Oliver?”
“They’re not on your head again, are they?”
“No, not this time.”
Sitting beside the inventor, you shot him a concerned look, silently asking if the two of you should help him. But Oliver simply shook his head, returning his attention to the work in front of him.
“It’s fine. He’ll figure it out.”
You were here today in Fenrir’s place to pick up his latest custom weapon, since he was caught up in training. Ever the perfectionist, however, Oliver had insisted on tweaking some things before handing over the magic pistol (“to make sure it’s safe even for a dummy like you,” as he had so kindly put it).
While you waited for him to finish up, you couldn’t help but glance back over at the door every time there was a thump from out in the hall. Where you grew more and more worried, though, Oliver only seemed to get more annoyed.
“What’s he doing, anyway? Walking into the wall?” he grumbled.
“His vision can’t be that bad without his glasses, right?”
“Hmph. You’d be surprised.”
“Are you sure he’s okay?”
Oliver watched you out of the corner of his eye, taking in the troubled look on your face. Finally, he decided he couldn’t take it anymore, letting out another heavy sigh.
“If it’s really bothering you that much, you should just go check on him. It’d be easier for me to work if he’d quit making so much noise, anyway.”
You hardly needed the encouragement, standing up immediately to make your way over to the door. “Yeah, I think I will.”
“Good.”
Just before you left the room, however, you paused in the doorway and flashed a knowing grin back at the inventor. “You know, if I didn’t know better, Oliver, I’d say you were worried about him, too.”
That comment earned you a sharp glare, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit smug as his quick, defensive reaction all but confirmed your suspicions.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Just go already, would you?”
⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆
The sight that awaited you out in the hall was troubling, to say the least. But you had to admit, it wasn’t that far off from what you were expecting.
“Blanc, hold on a second!”
You found the White Rabbit slowly and awkwardly trying to climb the stairs, feeling along the wall for support. While you were relieved that you’d gotten there in time to prevent a disaster, however, you knew you weren’t out of the woods just yet, and you ran over to his side.
Blanc stopped what he was doing and turned to look in your direction, blinking his rose gold eyes as he tried to see you more clearly. “Oh, Alice, is that you? I didn’t know you were here today.”
“Fenrir sent me for his pistol,” you explained quickly. “But first, do you need a hand?”
“No, no...” His hand reaching blindly for the railing, he took another clumsy step up, with you waiting apprehensively to catch him in case he should trip. “You are much too kind, my dear, but as you can see, I am quite—”
His foot missing a step, he abruptly began to fall forward, and you hurried to help before he could hurt himself. Finding himself supported by your arms, Blanc turned to look blearily back at you, managing a sheepish smile.
“I am quite adept.”
“Mhm.”
Despite your worry for him, you could not help but give him a small smile in return as you helped him up the stairs. Realizing his need for assistance, Blanc conceded graciously and allowed you to support him until you reached the top of the stairs, where he dusted himself off. Evidently, this was not the first time he had fallen, as you now saw there were spots of dirt and dust all over his clothes.
“I must sincerely apologize for troubling you, dear Alice. I hope I am not taking up too much of your time.”
“Not at all,” you reassured him. “Oliver is still finishing up his work on Fenrir’s pistol anyway. And I’ve helped you find your glasses before, haven’t I?”
“Well, if you are certain...” Regaining his usual poise once he had brushed off the dust, Blanc studied you as closely as he could manage with his limited vision. “I’ll have to rely on your expertise once more.”
As you helped him search the upper level of the house for his glasses, they proved continually elusive, and you could not help but wonder what on earth he could’ve been up to that would cause him to lose them in such an obscure location. And the more time passed, the more worried Blanc seemed to become. From the way he spoke, you found that it was not merely his eyesight that concerned him so. Your investigation was accompanied by several gentle reminders—that you need not waste so much time helping him with a fruitless search, that surely Oliver was done with his project by now, that surely the Black Army boys were missing you, that surely you had better places to be than here with him.
You began to notice a trend. More than anything else, he was concerned with your time.
“Alice, it’s really getting quite late now...” He added after a while. “I don’t want you walking home by yourself in the dark. Truly, you must not feel obligated to stay. I’m sure my glasses will turn up somewhere and, if not, I’ll have Oliver fashion a new pair for me.”
“You know, Blanc, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re trying to get rid of me.”
Though your comment had been harmless and teasing, you paused when he did not respond right away, and turned around to find him looking at you with a somewhat guilty expression.
“...Are you trying to get rid of me?”
With how kind and hospitable Blanc had been since your arrival in Cradle, you’d never once felt out of place in his little cottage in the Central Quarter. All those times you came to visit and have tea with him, it had never even crossed your mind that you might’ve been overstaying your welcome.
As if sensing these thoughts, Blanc took a step toward you and tentatively reached out for your hand. “Please do not misunderstand, my dear. Your presence here is a delight, and you are always welcome.” In his current state, it took a moment for him to find your hand, but once he did, he squeezed it reassuringly.
“But that doesn’t mean you want me tearing up the place, looking for your glasses.” As if realizing yourself, you became apologetic and embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Blanc, I shouldn’t have imposed like this.”
He shook his head. “I assure you, that is not the issue, not in the slightest. You have a truly kind heart, and I’m very grateful for your help.”
You raised your eyebrows, as if to silently ask about the real issue. Blanc sighed and held your hand tenderly, squeezing it once more. Even if he could not see you clearly, he allowed himself to gaze upon you for just a moment longer.
“You see, my dear Alice...” Suddenly, his voice sounded more wistful than you had ever heard it before. “Your kind heart belongs elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?”
“With lively company.” He smiled softly. “Your time here in Cradle is limited. You ought to spend that time surrounded by those who recognize how precious it is, those who can give you an involved, memorable experience... Not a record-keeper such as myself, who has a responsibility to remain on the sidelines, no matter how much time might pass.”
Your eyes widened slightly as you listened to his honest reasoning. From the way he was looking at you, the way he was holding your hand... you knew how much he cherished your company. And it was crazy of him to think that your time was better spent with someone else.
You were just opening your mouth to respond when the moment was interrupted, the door opening to reveal an irritated Oliver.
Finding the two of you standing like this, with Blanc holding your hand in both of his own, he shot you a skeptical look. Heaving a sigh, he then stomped over to you, took your free hand, and shoved into your palm—a pair of glasses.
You couldn’t help but look back at him in surprise. “You found them?”
“Do me a favor,” Oliver said, glancing between you sharply, “and glue those onto his head.”
“Oh, my friend, you are a hero.” Without paying any mind to his tone, Blanc thanked Oliver profusely as he returned the glasses to their rightful place, adjusting them on his nose.
Whatever rare glimpse of honest vulnerability Blanc had begun to reveal to you before, it seemed the moment was now over.
But as Oliver began to walk away, he paused in the doorway, as if struck by a realization. He sighed again, this time with less aggravation, and turned back to face you.
“Maybe you’ll be able to see straight now that you have your stupid glasses back.” He glared at Blanc. “Clearly you want the dummy to stay for dinner, so you should just say so. And you—” His attention shifted to you. “You’d rather stay with him than with those army bozos, so you should just say so.” With that, he truly began to walk away, grumbling with finality, “I’ll put on some tea.”
As his words hung in the air, both you and Blanc stared after him until he shut the door behind him.
“...Really?” You were the first to speak, breaking the silence delicately. “You want me to stay?”
Blanc sighed, as if he had been caught. “Dear Alice.” With a small, guilty smile, he looked at you, his eyes observing you with great care now that he had recovered his ability to see you. “...At times, it seems that everyone has had a chance to properly love and appreciate you except for me. It is only natural that I should wish for your company as much as they do. But...”
“If you’re about to tell me I’d be wasting my time, I’ll have to stop you there.” You shook your head, offering him a little smile. “Any time spent with you is not wasted.”
Blanc returned your smile, but a touch of sadness lingered in his eyes nonetheless. “As record-keeper, I cannot interfere with your decisions, should you choose to stay or go.”
“Then you will allow me to stay, if it’s what I choose?”
“I must urge you to spend your time wisely, and I cannot say in good conscience that this is the right choice,” he said, and then paused, as if about to reveal something he should not. “You see, my dear... there is no version of Cradle’s records in which Alice goes down this route. But I will admit that sometimes, when I am in your presence... I find it difficult to remain impartial.”
His words, quiet and meaningfully spoken, caused your smile to grow.
“What if Alice does choose the record-keeper this time? Would you allow yourself, at least for this one night, to be a little partial?”
Blanc looked at you with soft, conflicted eyes. Though his position compelled him to approach such matters with reservation, his affection for you was written plainly on his face.
“What I can say is this. No one understands how invaluable your time is—how invaluable you are—more than me,” he responded finally. “And at the very least, I would be remiss to allow the tea to grow cold, now that Oliver has gone to such lengths to make it.”
Aha. That sounded like a victory.
“Then you’ll allow me to join you?”
Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose to be sure that he would not lose them again, Blanc took a moment for himself to properly appreciate the sight of your eager expression. Despite himself, and despite all of the years he had spent learning to keep such feelings of attachment at bay, he could not help the smile that crossed his face, all the more charming for its sincerity.
“My dear...” He held his arm out for you to take. “...It would be my pleasure.”
Even the strongest of soldiers have their moments of weakness. But who is there to catch them when they fall?
Burning.
The feeling ripped Napoleon out of his heavy sleep and he jolted up with a choked gasp, hands flying to his throat. The silence of the bedroom was shattered by a fit of coughing, as he attempted to rid himself of the horrid sensation in his chest. Yet he could not breathe, he could not think. There was nothing in that moment but burning—the thirst which so easily overpowered his mind and all his senses.
Wrestling his way out from the blankets, he fell to the floor with a heavy thud. His breath came in shuddering pants as he struggled for air, managing to stumble his way toward the bathroom. Driven purely by instinct in a blind search for something to quench his thirst, he threw the door open. Immediately, he nearly collapsed forward onto the sink, but steadied himself just in time by gripping onto the counter.
It was not the first time Napoleon had experienced something like this. But while it was no less dreadful, he had, at least, learned how to prepare for such an attack.
Pale, trembling hands tore through the drawers and cabinets. There was Rouge around here somewhere, he knew it. He purposefully kept a small supply stored away in case of an emergency of this exact sort.
“Merde.”
The curse fell through his lips, not even a word so much as a strained breath.
He couldn’t find it. How could this be? He knew it was here, it had to be. Yet with his desperation overtaking him, he was losing any semblance of coherent thought by the moment. The burning was rising up from his chest into his throat, and soon it would consume his mind.
Time became a blur.
It seemed that, at some point in his frenzy, he had managed to locate the little glass bottles of Rouge hidden in the cabinet, but he could not even remember drinking them. Nor could he remember how they ended up broken on the floor.
The next thing he knew, all was silent, save for his heavy breathing.
He was sitting on the bathroom floor, slumped weakly against the wall as he recovered from the attack of bloodlust. His head in his hands, his heart pounding in his ears, he gradually began to regain his senses.
In the wake of that burning sensation, there was now only shame.
Napoleon lifted his eyes to find shards of glass and spilled drops of blood on the floor. He could feel the residue of it on his hands and on the corner of his mouth. The metallic taste of it lingered on his tongue. And as his stare landed on the mirror, he saw himself there, pale and trembling, with blood smeared on his face.
In his mortal life, back when he believed that vampires existed only in myths, he often heard it said that they could not see themselves in the mirror. He had since found, through his own experience, that most superstitions about vampires were simply incorrect—he could eat as much garlic as he wished, for one, and he could spend time outside in the sun without fear of melting. It had always been a pleasant surprise to discover those things in the past.
Never before had he wished that one of those superstitions was true.
To be able to see his reflection gazing back at him now, practically unrecognizable, felt like a taunt. A reminder from the universe of where he stood now—stuck somewhere between man and vampire. As much as he might retain a trace of his humanity, he had taken an irreversible step towards becoming a monster, and would never again be the same.
A fitting punishment for a bloody emperor, a cynical part of him thought, to be condemned to an eternity of hunger-induced craze, unable to survive without spilling the blood of others. For a man who once ruled the world to be crippled by his own weakness, made to kneel before nature.
Since the day he first woke here in the mansion, inexplicably, he had constantly asked himself, 'Who did this to me? Who turned me into a monster?'
His reflection seemed to laugh at him now.
You, it answered, staring back at him with compassionless eyes, You did this to yourself.
A wave of nausea washed over him suddenly. Napoleon placed his head in his hands once more, letting out a shuddering breath. He could no longer bear to look.
But just as despair threatened to overcome him, he was called back to reality by the sudden awareness of another presence in the room with him, the saving grace of a hand reaching out for him.
He could tell it was you even without lifting his head.
"...You should be asleep, nunuche."
His voice sounded strained, even as he attempted to downplay his sufferings, so as not to worry you. But you knew his habits too well to be fooled.
"Couldn't sleep," you murmured. "Wanted to see you."
You did not comment on the broken bottles on the floor, the stench of blood in the air. You did not point out his vulnerable state or show any sign of being repulsed by him. Instead, you moved carefully to sit beside him, waiting until he was ready to lift his head.
It never came easily to Napoleon, to allow himself to be seen in such moments of weakness. As an emperor, he had constantly hidden those feelings, constantly kept his guard up so that his enemies would not be allowed even the slightest opportunity to strike.
But you had always been an anomaly there.
By now, you were so in tune with his emotions that it was pointless to try to hide. Just by caring about him, you had so easily slipped through his defenses where even the mightiest kings and generals of Europe had failed.
If he were in a better frame of mind, the thought would have been funny. As for now, he could manage only a short, self-derisive laugh.
"You had a feeling something was wrong, then."
He still couldn't bring himself to look at you, but he could feel your eyes watching him.
"Maybe I just wanted to see you," came your soft reply.
He couldn't help but laugh again, a bit more genuinely this time, though his voice still dripped with shame. "Maybe."
Moving slowly so as not to startle him, you began to rub his back soothingly. Silence hung in the air for a moment before you began to speak again.
"It must have been bad, if it could wake even you, of all people..."
A lighthearted comment, gently addressing the elephant in the room without asking about it directly. Napoleon closed his eyes, focusing on the warm, grounding feeling of your hand on his back, before letting out a sigh.
"...It was bad," he admitted solemnly.
He felt ashamed just thinking about what you must be seeing. The evidence of his weakness and loss of control—blood and broken glass strewn all about the room, while he sat back against the wall, pitifully curled in on himself. Even more than he hated feeling this way, he hated the idea that you had to witness it.
But once again, you seemed to sense his thoughts. Once again, you spoke to him in that gentle tone.
"This isn't your fault, you know."
"You're too merciful, nunuche," he sighed. "I was caught unprepared. If one knows there might be an attack, they should never allow themselves to be caught unprepared..."
"But there's more than that, isn't there?" you said knowingly. "There is something else that's bothering you."
Napoleon was quiet for a long moment. In truth, he did not want to face it again. But now, with your presence beside him, he found the nerve to raise his head slightly, locking eyes with his reflection.
Now that he had gathered his bearings somewhat, he looked more human again, save for his unnatural pallor. But he could not help but feel that he looked weak, like someone who was just sitting around awaiting his demise.
It sparked something within him.
All at once, he remembered how it felt—the fervor of being a young artillery captain, a revolutionary with a point to prove and people to protect. Just as vividly, he remembered the resentment of a deposed emperor who could not stand feeling helpless and defeated, unable to save those who had depended on him, unable to save even himself.
The reflection that stared back at him now was, in many ways, that same man. The idealistic captain and the bitter emperor, rolled into one, morphed into this undead creature.
"It's one thing to struggle to predict your enemy's moves," he said lowly. "It's more frustrating for an attack to come from within."
You did not know him in his mortal life, and you had accepted that there were parts of him you might never be able to fully understand. Yet you could tell, somehow, that when he looked at his reflection, he was seeing his past self.
"Still, you managed to respond in time," you reminded him gently. "You won the battle."
After all, he had reached his supply of Rouge in time to save himself from his bloodlust.
When he turned his gaze to you, however, there was no relief in his expression. As he smiled wryly, you could swear there was even a trace of fear hidden there.
"I wonder how long that will be the case."
It was a strange thing, to hear Napoleon doubt himself. It hurt your heart to see such uncertainty and vulnerability in his face, when he had done so much throughout your time together to alleviate those same feelings in you.
"Napoleon," you began slowly. "There is a reason you are so trusted here, you know... Not only the children who look up to you, but also the residents, who have lived hundreds of years and seen the very best and worst of the world. If all of us have faith in you, it is no fluke."
His eyes trailed back to the mirror, looking once again into the past you could not see. “I could still disappoint you yet,” he remarked quietly, bitterly.
“Napoleon.”
When you repeated his name, your tone sounded more serious, causing him to glance at you with a bit of surprise. For a moment, you simply stared back at him, your eyes far gentler and more forgiving than his own.
“I won’t pretend to understand what it is that haunts you,” you said carefully, “but I know you must’ve been lonely.”
He huffed softly, not quite a laugh. “What are you saying, nunuche…?”
“I’m saying, I know you carry a burden that is heavier than most. And I know you’re used to feeling like you have to do it on your own, like you have to be strong for everyone all the time.” The words tumble out. “But you don’t need to handle these things alone anymore. Everyone here cares about you. And not just because of what you can offer them.”
His expression fell slowly, as he listened to you speak.
“Lean on them. Lean on me,” you implored, taking his hand in your own now. “Let us be here for you, the way you have always been there for us.”
He studied you quietly for a moment, and then—
“Snrk.”
He began to laugh. It was still a soft, weary sound, but it sounded much more like him—the Napoleon you knew. And it was such a relief in that moment that you didn't even have the heart to tell him to knock it off, as you normally would.
“You know,” he said, a little glimmer of amusement in his eyes again. “You really can be quite tenacious sometimes.”
“Yes, well, I wonder where I got that,” you teased gently, glad to see him coming back to himself, but not about to let him off the hook. “And anyway, I’m serious.”
Napoleon gave your hand a little squeeze. “I know.”
“If you don’t listen to me, then the real nunuche here is you.”
“I know, I know.” A smile flickered on his face again.
He turned his gaze back towards the mirror. Now he could see the light in his own eyes again, still lingering there despite all the pain and stress of the years. That wounded, monstrous part of himself was there, as well. But with you there, seated beside him, he could almost look past it. He could almost see what you were seeing in him. You, who had so bravely extended your hand to him, even after seeing him at his worst.
This time, he would be the one to reach out to you.
Pulling his eyes away from the mirror, Napoleon instead looked to you. It was almost an instinct now, to wrap his arm around your side and draw you closer to him. And you were happy to oblige, leaning into his embrace. Your touch was warm and comforting. Grounding. A reminder of the humanity that still remained in him.
"You win," he muttered, letting himself slump against you a little at a time. "I'll lean on you awhile."
"You better."
He laughed through his nose at your immediate reply, his eyes falling closed. Enveloped by your warmth and affection, he could feel a semblance of peace again. He could let go and forget about everything else except your presence. And he could trust that everything would still be okay when he opened his eyes again, all because you were right there beside him.
He didn't know how long this moment would last, but he would savor every second of it.
With his head leaning on yours, his arms wrapped snugly around you, he allowed himself just this moment to breathe. Gradually, his heartbeat settled down as you sat together on that cold bathroom floor, and the rest of the world—past and present—faded away.
Playing Napoleon’s sequel feels so nostalgic omg 🥹 Granted, I’m still only at the beginning, so there hasn’t been any drama yet, but the first few chapters remind me so much of playing his route for the first time, way back when I first downloaded IkeVamp. Peaceful mansion fluff, wake-up kisses, family time with all the residents… ahh the good old days
Still thinking of Silvio, just buried under a pile of children. Very likely all boys. Each time, Emma is hoping it'll be a girl. Just one girl. Maybe she gets one with her very last child, who is absolutely spoiled to high heaven (truthfully, they all are, the palace is constantly filled with the noise of rowdy children having fun who are just as loud as their father 💀).
The first kid isn't planned and he has a bit of a breakdown about it. He hovers so much during the first pregnancy, barely letting you leave the palace and worrying so much about when you try to lift things. He's leaving meetings to check on you and (begrudgingly) getting Rio to check on you when he can't. He worries about your food and drinks and wanting to make sure you're getting all the nutrients you need. He's thankful for being by the sea to get plenty of fresh fish, and pesters Prince Keith for trades in herbs and remedies to help your morning sickness and such.
Silvio learns how to braid hair just for his daughter. He loves bringing back all sorts of items from his trips overseas, different books and toys and artifacts. Carlo is accidentally like a second uncle (Emidio is completely blocked from meeting the kids). It takes a lot of convincing to allow Silvio's father to see the grandkids, and is only allowed with strict supervision for a short amount of time.
Silvio play fights with his kids all the time, often pretending to be a pirate. Or they'll act as the pirates while he's the dashing prince coming to save the kidnapped princess, Emma. He teaches them how to swordfight (including fighting dirty....) and takes it upon himself to show them how to work and command a boat.
Silvio, who's struggled with being honest with his feelings for so long and couldnt really be honest because that'd make him vulnerable, working so hard to overcome that for you and his kids. He tries his best to tell you and his kids how much he loves you guys. He really struggles with it, muttering it for a while, face red, blurting it out in a shout sometimes. But he improves with it. He wants to make sure his kids always feel wanted, in a way he never got to.
The first time he holds his first baby, his jewelry gets in the way, between baby trying to put a pendant in their mouth and Silvio almost accidentally hitting his kid with his heavy chain. He spends a long time after the birth of his first kid dressed down without his usual bling, and it's the most casual and least flashy the palace staff have ever seen him. Sometimes he has spit-up stains but of course they're scared to mention it to him unless he's going to an important meeting or something.
He puts his kids to bed with stories about his trips on the seas, the kinds of people he's met, countries he's visited, rare treasures and new creatures he's found. Usually they're enraptured by his stories. But once in a while, they surprise him by preferring your storybooks to his experiences, getting him upset that some fictional story is more captivating than his real life experience, making him pout for the next week.
Silvio calls all of his kids "brat". He rarely uses their actual names unless they're really, REALLY in trouble.
Speaking of names, his bad habit of calling you things like "lady" catches on with some of the kids, and then they call you that when they're having fun. Silvio realizes his mistake.
Silvio has kid and baby remedies that he learned overseas by total accident
When he first learned you're pregnant, he cried that night once he was by himself
He also picks you up and swings you around very excitedly when you tell him, before panicking and putting you down worried that he hurt you or the baby
He also cried after the birth of his first kid (and some of the subsequent births lol) much to the amusement of his brother
He's hard to separate from his first kid, having the baby strapped to his back and chest even during meetings and such. He stresses when he doesn't know where his baby is, even more than you do
Carlo and Rio are the only trusted babysitters, and Carlo is an honorary uncle (he may or may not sob about it)
During Halloween, the kids dress as pirates or may even dress up in jewelry pretending to be Silvio. He complains, saying he's "not like that"
He is so incredibly soft with you during and after the birth. He knows the labor was rough on you so he's often the one staying up late to change the baby or rock them to sleep. Even if there's a nurse available, he'd rather take care of things himself than take it easy by relying on someone else. And if some other noble tries to talk shit about him doing that, Silvio is ready to throw punches
For the first time, he doesn't like the thought of going on his long trips when the kid is too young to be brought with, he's anxious about leaving the two of you behind and he misses you both like crazy.
Even if you're already married when you have the baby, Silvio can't help but lean his forehead against yours once the baby is delivered and asks you to marry him again (this might make the maids cry but for once he doesnt care)
Its really funny to see how cybird's writing of sibling relationships has evolved from the clemence brothers, to the van gogh brothers to the Rodolite princes and, most notably to me, The Riccis.
This is my entry for @ikemenlibrary's Ikemen Valentine Gift Exchange, dedicated to @sunnyikemen! I have never written for Leo before, but I had a lot of fun with his character, and I hope that I did well enough to make for an enjoyable read at least! Happy belated Valentine's Day, Sunny, and here is some Leo fluff for you :)
Being around the most famous polymath in history, there was always a new surprise in store.
Leonardo da Vinci seemed to know everything about everything. Perhaps it was because of his endless knowledge, gathered over the course of centuries, or perhaps it was because of the air of ease that surrounded him—but it did not escape his notice how the newest resident of the manor seemed to gravitate toward him upon her unexpected arrival.
He never denied her his company. At first, because he knew she was frightened and disoriented.
For a girl who had found herself transported into another time period in the blink of an eye, there was only uncertainty around every corner. Yet Leonardo's breezy personality and apparent ability to handle anything with minimal effort brought her security, as well as distraction. He knew this, and so he made it a note to help her throughout her time in the manor, keeping her mind off her troubles.
You're restless and wish to get out of the manor, cara mia? Well, then, let's take a day outside Paris. The French countryside is an equally worthy sight for a time traveler, and it'd be a shame not to have you visit. Hm? Where to? Well, it's no fun if I tell you all the details, now, is it?
How to paint, you ask? Why, you wish to prove a point to Theo? Ha! Don't pay him too much mind, 'knabbeltje' is merely a term of endearment, I'm sure. But if you really wish to learn, then I am glad to be of service, morso mio. ...Hm, no, of course that's not the same as what Theo says. Would you accuse me of such a thing?
So, you want to hear about Florence back in those days, then. I hope this isn't because of any gossip you heard from the noble Comte. ...Alright, alright. Come, sit. I suppose I ought to make an effort to salvage my good name, at least.
Days turned into weeks of trying to make himself available to her, helping her calm down and settle into her new life at the mansion. He had sworn to himself that was all it was. But as wary as he knew to be of the passage of time, somehow he found it creeping up on him again. Even after she was already well settled, he continually found himself at her side, as if naturally drawn there.
He didn't realize until too late, one afternoon when they were sitting out in the mansion's gardens together.
A certain flower had caught her eye—a yellow daisy—and Leonardo had commented, absentmindedly, "Ah, yes. Joy and friendship."
It was an innocent remark, accompanied by a little chuckle. It made sense to him that this should be the flower that struck her. He had come to associate her with such qualities, after all, because they were what she brought to him. Every little inconsequential story he shared with her, every time he allowed her to watch him paint and work, every time he whisked her out on some spontaneous excursion, it was often met with that look of intrigue, that little excited glimmer in her eyes.
Yet he was somewhat surprised when his passive comment earned him that same look.
Humming to herself, her eyes scanned over the other flowers in the garden and came to rest on another. “And that one?” She nodded her head towards the flower in question.
“Which, the marigold?”
She glanced back at him expectantly and nodded once more, seeming quite eager to hear his explanation. Leonardo, now acutely aware that he was being tested, smiled a little.
“Marigolds represent grief. Or the passage from one life to the next.”
“Really? But they seem so much brighter, warmer…”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you doubting me, cara mia?”
And for that remark, he found himself rewarded with soft laughter. Despite himself, and despite everything he had assured himself about maintaining his distance, he could not help but feel his heart squeeze. Spending an idyllic afternoon wandering around the mansion’s garden, chatting among the flowers as they bloomed with the new season, it all felt so warm.
“No, no…” She shook her head, still smiling. “It’s just unbelievable, that’s all…”
“So you are doubting me.” Leonardo tsked in faux disapproval, savoring the little back-and-forth of the moment. “Alright, now it’s a challenge, then. Ask me about another.”
Looking around again, she settled on a vibrant purple bud and pointed to it.
“Ah, crocuses stand for young love,” he answered knowingly. “There is an old Greek legend that Crocus was a mortal lover of Hermes, and the god was so devastated when he died that he had him transformed into a flower. The red on the inside, there, is supposed to represent his blood.”
She seemed quite taken by the story as he explained. Ah, he would never tire of seeing that look on her face, when she was so absorbed in what he was saying, when he knew she was hanging on every word. But arguably, it was even better to watch her fluster when he concluded his tale with a triumphant smirk.
“Alright, don’t get too arrogant, now.” She pointed to another flower. “What about that one?”
“Sweetpea, gratitude.”
“And the lily?”
“Purity.”
“And the white camellia?”
“You’re adorable.”
For a moment, silence fell between them. Even the great polymath had his limits, and he did not realize what he was saying—or how it would be construed—until he glanced at her curiously and found her staring back at him.
Oh.
“No, I mean…” He coughed. “That… is what the flower means.”
She blinked. Quickly returning to her senses, she began to shake her head, as if to simply laugh off the misunderstanding. “Yes, right.”
For as much as he was inclined to laugh along with her, however, he found himself unable to do so. Once more he felt his heart squeeze in his chest—though this time, it was a more uncomfortable feeling. Uncomfortable in a familiar, sinking way.
“Well, anyway… I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that you’ve studied flower language at some point as well. You’ve studied practically everything else,” she said, attempting to keep the mood light and teasing. “At times I wonder, is there anything you don’t know?”
Leonardo found himself staring at her a moment longer, somewhat troubled by that old feeling in his chest, and taken aback by the realization that he did, in fact, find her quite adorable. Not wanting to keep her waiting for a response, lest she start to suspect there was something on his mind, he sighed and managed a little smile.
“...Actually, cara mia… There are plenty of things I don’t know.”
With that, he reached over and carefully plucked one of the little flowers nearby. He tucked the flower behind her ear, grinning with satisfaction as he watched her demeanor brighten again.
“Hm, that’s better.”
“That was a pink camellia, right?” She gazed back at him with that curious look he loved so much to see on her.
“Maybe so.”
An ambiguous response, as if he had simply chosen the flower at random, when they both knew that wasn’t the case.
“What does that one mean, then?”
Something in Leonardo’s grin became a bit more wistful. There was another beat of silence, and then, suddenly, he reached out and lightly ruffled her hair.
“...I concede defeat,” he said, after pretending to think for a moment. “I’ve forgotten.”
Laughing at his actions as she tried to fix her hair, she seemed quite pleased by the thought of having gotten one over on him. So pleased that—much to his relief—she let it drop, and did not question him any further about the flower’s meaning.
Leonardo watched her smiling, standing in the sun with a flower in her mussed-up hair, and studied her as though she were one of the wonders of the world. There was no longer any doubt in his mind as to what exactly this feeling was, weighing so heavily upon his heart. And there was no doubt that he had chosen the right flower to express it.
Even if he could never say it to her face—his lovely Crocus, who had so miraculously appeared in his life across time and space, and who was bound to one day return to her own world beyond that door—he could not deny it.
This unspeakable feeling, represented by a pink camellia.
GALE🥺🥺🥺 I am so speechless, this was absolutely perfect. It was everything I could have wanted and more. Leonardo and flowers??? Two of my favourite things??? Stop it right now
I am actually in disbelief that this is your first time writing Leo because?? Like??? I mean, the writing speaks for itself, no???? He's written PERFECTLY, like the way he speaks and his comforting presence are so spot on I was practically transported into the story. This made me love him more which I didn't think was possible🥺 (also both very telling and lowkey hilarious that both our gifts started with Leo helping the MC settle into the mansion lmaoooo. We really said yes Leo is the single best candidate for comfort fics🤝)
Of COURSE Leonardo knows flower language, it makes so much sense!!! And the way he's so casual about it UGH I love him. And the lowkey flirty but not quite flirting because they don't know What They Are yet was MWAH. GENIUS. You treaded that line so beautifully and that final reveal of "I long for you" had my heart POUNDING. That is so so beautiful, what a gorgeous way to round off.
Thank you so so much Gale for this wonderful gift, I will honestly treasure it forever💛 you are an incredibly skilled writer and I can't wait to read more of your stuff. Keep doing what you're doing!!! Thank you thank you thank you🫶 <3333
I’m so relieved you like it, and thank you so much for your sweet comments 🥹🫶 Leo really is the comfort character of IkeVamp, and I would’ve latched onto him right away, too, if I were the MC. Glad to know we’re both out here supporting this agenda lol
After being quite inactive recently, I am hoping to get back into the habit of writing more regularly, and currently I'm turning my attention back to some old half-written fics that have been sitting in my drafts for ages. If you happen to be scrolling by this post, it would really help me to know which of these stories (if any) you might like to see first!
Because of the word-count limit, I can't explain all the details in the poll, so I'll write them out here:
(IkeVamp) Napoleon hurt/comfort, wherein Napo is the one being hurt/comforted, as he is still struggling to come to terms with his vampirism but constantly reminded of his lost humanity
(IkeRev) Blanc fluff, wherein Oliver is his begrudging wingman, trying to get him and Alice to just confess to each other already because he's annoyed with the mutual pining
(IkePri) Gilbert x Reader who is his knight/attendant, essentially what Cyran is to Clavis (commiserating with Cyran from afar lol)
There are also a couple of AUs I had been putting some thought into:
(IkeRev) AU where Zero was never allowed to join the Red Army, but the Black Army took him in instead, and exploring what that would look like for him
(IkeVamp) AU where the Duke of Wellington is the one who lives in the mansion with MC and the others, and Napoleon is the one who is revived by Vlad and has his mind twisted (very angsty, but Wellington gets to experience peace for a minute)
I am hoping (~hoping~) to get around to all of them eventually, but I would love to know if there is an interest in any of these ideas! I could also post the little pieces of these fics I have already written to test the waters :)
Happy 3ish days after Valentines! Lay witness, friends, to my piece for @ikemenlibrary's Valentines exchange. I was assigned to @midwinterrmemento for some sweet sweet angst. Type of angst was never specified, so I went for the classic bad dream scenario. Also romance is my weakest genre but god did I try my best okay bye
There’s something to be said about springtime in Rhodolite. In a country famed for its roses, it’s easy to overlook the blossoming flora that surrounds the outer edges of the kingdom. Perhaps it’s not quite the sprawling, expansive ecosystems found in Jade, but there’s a certain charm in the soft chirping of birds and gentle breeze that blows through the trees and rustles through Emma’s hair, and makes one feel as though they’ve stepped right through the pages of a storybook.
Emma finds herself flitting off into her own daydreams as she and Licht stroll hand-in-hand through the forest path. She indulges herself in thoughts of fairytales and princely romances as they continue along the trail, just as she did as a child. How odd to think that she’s found herself a prince of her own. One who’s endlessly kind and selfless, and does nothing but smile softly at her whilst she rambles on about her silly romance novels, wordlessly readjusting the hood of her cloak when the deep red fabric of her hood threatens to fall. In her free hand, she carries a basket brimming with wild flowers. They must have been collecting them along the trail, though Emma finds that she’s unable to recall exactly when they had stopped to pick them up. It gnaws at her, being unable to remember, but quickly she dismisses it. It’s rude to let her mind wander off in such a manner whilst in the company of her lover.
The stem of a flower tucks itself behind her ear, startling her from her thoughts. Licht stands in front of her, face expressionless aside from the fond, inquisitive look in his eyes. She must not have wiped the brief dismay from her face quickly enough.
“Are you alright?” Licht’s voice is smooth, tinged with such a soft concern that Emma has to fight back a blush.
“Hm,” she hums and tilts her head with a small smile. “I’m fine, just lost in my head. Maybe we should go back to the palace now? It’s getting a little cold out here for me with the breeze.” Emma makes a show of pulling her red cloak tighter around her body and hopes it’s enough to brush off the question. It’s a weak attempt, but it seems to have worked well enough. Licht untangles their hands to wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer into his side and takes the basket of flowers from her with his free hand.
“Of course.” His arm tightens around her in a protective manner. “I’ll draw you a bath, too. So you won’t get sick.” Emma lets out a small laugh, tucking her head into his shoulder with a grin. Who’d have known that the emotionless, solemn prince of wolves would have such a wide protective streak. She’ll have to find a way to repay his kindness someday, but it seems as though her debt will keep growing by the hour.
The trek back seems to take much longer than the time it had taken them to get there. The trail twists with curves and turns that have Emma scrunching her eyebrows as she tries to recall coming across them before. Licht seems unaware of her growing unease, continuing down the path in front of him with an air of steadfast confidence; and it’s a comfort to know that her lover isn’t put off by the changing scenery.
There’s a markedly different feeling to the woods then there had been earlier. The sun has hidden away behind a wall of thick gray, and a light layer of fog now clings to their feet and shrouds the trees around them in an ominous cloud. Neither of them speak as they wade through the fog, and it’s now that Emma has a realization.
It’s quiet. Not a single sound is coming from their surroundings; there are no birds chirping, or trees rustling from squirrels. Apart from the crunch of dirt and rocks under their feet, the forest has fallen utterly silent. Emma’s earlier unease is slowly settling into a deep fear as the path continues to twist in an unknown direction. She grips onto Licht’s arm like a vice. She wants to say something, ask him what’s going on, why he seems so unshaken by their surroundings, but the words die on her tongue just as soon as her lips part to speak. A growl rips through the silence, low and menacing.
A wolf parts through the fog, head dropped low and teeth bared in a snarl. It’s large. Bigger than any wolf Emma has seen, or even read about. She takes a stumbling step backwards, keeping Licht’s arm clutched close to her chest in fear. Licht’s free hand immediately falls to the hilt of his sword, and gently, he pushes Emma behind him to shield her. It feels as though time has slowed around them. The fog has grown thicker, blurring out the treeline almost entirely. It feels as though they’ve been backed into a corner by a monster rather than a simple animal.
It prowls closer, one slow, deliberate step after the other, until there’s only an arm’s length of space between Licht and the wolf. His sword is drawn and at the ready, waiting for the attack. There are tears pooling in the corners of Emma’s eyes as she watches the beast rear down on its haunches.
It’s a startlingly quick procession. The wolf lunges forward with teeth bared, and Licht wrenches his arm free from Emma’s hold to shield her completely with his own body, sword raised to defend them both. She thinks he yells for her to run, but the words don’t quite register. Emma stands stock-still in the middle of the warped forest trail, tears now streaming down her cheeks in waves. It’s not long before the sword has been knocked out of Licht’s hands and the wolf is on him in seconds. It’s jaws open wide, wider than should even be possible, before it descends upon Licht with killing intent. And Emma screams. She shrieks a piercing scream, and keeps screaming until the fog is closing in around her with crushing weight, as though it wants to bury her. It wraps around her chest tightly, and Emma lets out one final guttural sob before the fog overtakes her entirely.
Until it hasn’t. She’s still crying as reality reshapes around her, sobbing loudly for her lost lover as warm callused hands gently shake at her shoulders. “It’s just a dream,” a familiar voice whispers into her ear. It’s soft and filled with hesitant concern, and Emma clings to the sweet nothings as they slice through the terrible images in her mind with a striking ease, “You’re okay. It’s just a dream. I’m here.”
When her eyes finally open, it’s not to the sight of blood, or fog, or a ravenous beast coming to finish her off. It’s Licht, reliable, steadfast Licht, staring down at her with wide eyes and a pinched expression. His hands lay gently on her shoulders, fingers twitching to hold tighter, pull her closer, but he doesn’t. He stays hovering, keeps his gaze glued to her form as if one glance in another direction would send her back into whatever horrible dream she woke from.
“Are you…okay?” There’s an uncertainty to the tone of Licht’s voice, a fear, and it squeezes Emma’s heart to know that she had been the one to cause it. Her scream must have startled Licht from his own dreams.
“I’m okay now. Please. I’ll tell you about it in the morning, just,” she hesitates, not wanting to worry her love any further than she already had. “Just hold me, please.”
The hands on her shoulder move as soon as the request has been made, quickly swapping the two of them into a more comfortable position. Emma’s head is tucked neatly into the side of Licht’s neck, where each breath she takes is accompanied by the scent of his cologne. His arms wrap around her waist, providing a soothing weight. It’s… blissful.
All of the lingering fear has melted away into the background as Emma’s breath evens out with slumber for a second time. This time, there’s no sign of changing paths or ominous feelings as she sleeps. Only the faintest hint of cologne and a reassuring warmth wrapping her up in a blanket of safety.
I love a good post-nightmare comfort fic, and it hits so hard with Licht especially omg. I adore him so much, and I just know he would be so great with Emma in a scenario like this. Also, the detail of him being attacked by a wolf in her nightmare when that’s his animal??? So clever, and so painful 🥲
This was my first time participating in a gift exchange like this, but I’m so glad I did!! I truly loved your fic, and I’m grateful for all the work you put into it. Also, I would never think that romance was your weakest genre as you say, I enjoyed the fluffier bits just as much as the angstier bits!
Thanks so much Birds, I’m so happy with the result, and I hope you had a lovely Valentine’s 🫶
This is my entry for @ikemenlibrary's Ikemen Valentine Gift Exchange, dedicated to @sunnyikemen! I have never written for Leo before, but I had a lot of fun with his character, and I hope that I did well enough to make for an enjoyable read at least! Happy belated Valentine's Day, Sunny, and here is some Leo fluff for you :)
Being around the most famous polymath in history, there was always a new surprise in store.
Leonardo da Vinci seemed to know everything about everything. Perhaps it was because of his endless knowledge, gathered over the course of centuries, or perhaps it was because of the air of ease that surrounded him—but it did not escape his notice how the newest resident of the manor seemed to gravitate toward him upon her unexpected arrival.
He never denied her his company. At first, because he knew she was frightened and disoriented.
For a girl who had found herself transported into another time period in the blink of an eye, there was only uncertainty around every corner. Yet Leonardo's breezy personality and apparent ability to handle anything with minimal effort brought her security, as well as distraction. He knew this, and so he made it a note to help her throughout her time in the manor, keeping her mind off her troubles.
You're restless and wish to get out of the manor, cara mia? Well, then, let's take a day outside Paris. The French countryside is an equally worthy sight for a time traveler, and it'd be a shame not to have you visit. Hm? Where to? Well, it's no fun if I tell you all the details, now, is it?
How to paint, you ask? Why, you wish to prove a point to Theo? Ha! Don't pay him too much mind, 'knabbeltje' is merely a term of endearment, I'm sure. But if you really wish to learn, then I am glad to be of service, morso mio. ...Hm, no, of course that's not the same as what Theo says. Would you accuse me of such a thing?
So, you want to hear about Florence back in those days, then. I hope this isn't because of any gossip you heard from the noble Comte. ...Alright, alright. Come, sit. I suppose I ought to make an effort to salvage my good name, at least.
Days turned into weeks of trying to make himself available to her, helping her calm down and settle into her new life at the mansion. He had sworn to himself that was all it was. But as wary as he knew to be of the passage of time, somehow he found it creeping up on him again. Even after she was already well settled, he continually found himself at her side, as if naturally drawn there.
He didn't realize until too late, one afternoon when they were sitting out in the mansion's gardens together.
A certain flower had caught her eye—a yellow daisy—and Leonardo had commented, absentmindedly, "Ah, yes. Joy and friendship."
It was an innocent remark, accompanied by a little chuckle. It made sense to him that this should be the flower that struck her. He had come to associate her with such qualities, after all, because they were what she brought to him. Every little inconsequential story he shared with her, every time he allowed her to watch him paint and work, every time he whisked her out on some spontaneous excursion, it was often met with that look of intrigue, that little excited glimmer in her eyes.
Yet he was somewhat surprised when his passive comment earned him that same look.
Humming to herself, her eyes scanned over the other flowers in the garden and came to rest on another. “And that one?” She nodded her head towards the flower in question.
“Which, the marigold?”
She glanced back at him expectantly and nodded once more, seeming quite eager to hear his explanation. Leonardo, now acutely aware that he was being tested, smiled a little.
“Marigolds represent grief. Or the passage from one life to the next.”
“Really? But they seem so much brighter, warmer…”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you doubting me, cara mia?”
And for that remark, he found himself rewarded with soft laughter. Despite himself, and despite everything he had assured himself about maintaining his distance, he could not help but feel his heart squeeze. Spending an idyllic afternoon wandering around the mansion’s garden, chatting among the flowers as they bloomed with the new season, it all felt so warm.
“No, no…” She shook her head, still smiling. “It’s just unbelievable, that’s all…”
“So you are doubting me.” Leonardo tsked in faux disapproval, savoring the little back-and-forth of the moment. “Alright, now it’s a challenge, then. Ask me about another.”
Looking around again, she settled on a vibrant purple bud and pointed to it.
“Ah, crocuses stand for young love,” he answered knowingly. “There is an old Greek legend that Crocus was a mortal lover of Hermes, and the god was so devastated when he died that he had him transformed into a flower. The red on the inside, there, is supposed to represent his blood.”
She seemed quite taken by the story as he explained. Ah, he would never tire of seeing that look on her face, when she was so absorbed in what he was saying, when he knew she was hanging on every word. But arguably, it was even better to watch her fluster when he concluded his tale with a triumphant smirk.
“Alright, don’t get too arrogant, now.” She pointed to another flower. “What about that one?”
“Sweetpea, gratitude.”
“And the lily?”
“Purity.”
“And the white camellia?”
“You’re adorable.”
For a moment, silence fell between them. Even the great polymath had his limits, and he did not realize what he was saying—or how it would be construed—until he glanced at her curiously and found her staring back at him.
Oh.
“No, I mean…” He coughed. “That… is what the flower means.”
She blinked. Quickly returning to her senses, she began to shake her head, as if to simply laugh off the misunderstanding. “Yes, right.”
For as much as he was inclined to laugh along with her, however, he found himself unable to do so. Once more he felt his heart squeeze in his chest—though this time, it was a more uncomfortable feeling. Uncomfortable in a familiar, sinking way.
“Well, anyway… I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that you’ve studied flower language at some point as well. You’ve studied practically everything else,” she said, attempting to keep the mood light and teasing. “At times I wonder, is there anything you don’t know?”
Leonardo found himself staring at her a moment longer, somewhat troubled by that old feeling in his chest, and taken aback by the realization that he did, in fact, find her quite adorable. Not wanting to keep her waiting for a response, lest she start to suspect there was something on his mind, he sighed and managed a little smile.
“...Actually, cara mia… There are plenty of things I don’t know.”
With that, he reached over and carefully plucked one of the little flowers nearby. He tucked the flower behind her ear, grinning with satisfaction as he watched her demeanor brighten again.
“Hm, that’s better.”
“That was a pink camellia, right?” She gazed back at him with that curious look he loved so much to see on her.
“Maybe so.”
An ambiguous response, as if he had simply chosen the flower at random, when they both knew that wasn’t the case.
“What does that one mean, then?”
Something in Leonardo’s grin became a bit more wistful. There was another beat of silence, and then, suddenly, he reached out and lightly ruffled her hair.
“...I concede defeat,” he said, after pretending to think for a moment. “I’ve forgotten.”
Laughing at his actions as she tried to fix her hair, she seemed quite pleased by the thought of having gotten one over on him. So pleased that—much to his relief—she let it drop, and did not question him any further about the flower’s meaning.
Leonardo watched her smiling, standing in the sun with a flower in her mussed-up hair, and studied her as though she were one of the wonders of the world. There was no longer any doubt in his mind as to what exactly this feeling was, weighing so heavily upon his heart. And there was no doubt that he had chosen the right flower to express it.
Even if he could never say it to her face—his lovely Crocus, who had so miraculously appeared in his life across time and space, and who was bound to one day return to her own world beyond that door—he could not deny it.
This unspeakable feeling, represented by a pink camellia.
You are out on a night walk with Levie, feeling so safe as you cling to his arm and enjoy the night scenery of Cradle deep in slumber. He loves the world just like that; quiet and dark for his comfort, but without the solitude that he's used to come with those two things. There are tons of people inside those little picturesque homes, and in a few hours Cradle will awake for another day, buzzing like a hive, alive, scorching. And he will be right there, among them; even if it's overwhelming at times.
But your question erases those thoughts from his head completely. Where did that come from? Could it be that you're doubting his feelings out of a sudden - no, no, there wouldn't be such a mischievous little grin on your face if that was the case. But more importantly, how does he even measure that, to give you an answer?
"I'm not telling ya. You'll have to see for yourself how much I love you."
You sigh, but try to push the disappointment away - that's just Levie for you. Words have never been his forte, and even if there's something adorable in the nervous wreck he becomes when he has to speak of his feelings - especially the romantic kind - you shouldn't tease him so much...
Wait, what is that light...?
"I love you... this much!"
Eyes flashing red, you follow the twin sources of bright blue light that shoot up from the palms of his hands up above your heads - until they explode strikingly in the night sky, each forming a heart shape. Another and another follow, like a unique firework show performed for your eyes alone.
"What, cat's got your tongue? Well, I like you more like that... I guess it was enough to make you blush, huh. But don't ask such silly things again - I'm yours and you're mine, and I'll just have to show you if you forget again."
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