#birthday2k25

[encantresse]

"Dorothea." Nel has no doubt in her mind that her student has been pestered and swamped with gifts on this ever-important date, but she simply cannot let it pass without offering an addition of her own. There's a fond warmth that remains evident in the depths of carmine irises, her smile causing eyes to crinkle at the corners oh so slightly. It's rare, for such happiness to be blatantly shown. In her hands is a small, square box that is carefully wrapped in a beautiful shade of crimson that nearly matches that of the Black Eagles' flag; adorning it is a bow made of a shimmering gold shade, and to those who see it at a distance, perhaps it would look nearly metallic. A small inconspicuous tag remains attached with Nel's eloquent handwriting signifying that it belongs to none other than the woman standing before her now. "I cannot miss speaking to you on such a date." A light chuckle follows as she extends the gift to her, a tilt of her head an expression of curiosity and almost a hint of sheepishness. She's brand new to the concept of finding gifts for those close to her, so it's hard to tell if something will go over well... but Nel is also aware that Dorothea will cherish anything given to her. "I wanted to wish you the happiest of birthdays, a celebration of your arrival into this world is of utmost importance. Today is yours to enjoy, and though the gift I offer is small, I hope that it will be sufficient."

Inside the wrapping is a black box that houses a small bracelet comprised of a shimmering gold, seemingly plain-- yet next to it are different charms, all of which are in the shapes of various music notes; it feels like there's quite a few, but... Nel assumes she believes it is because of the fact that she never has had a chance to learn anything about sheet music. "It is quite silly, I admit. But I supposed perhaps you would find amusement in being able to ... 'compose' a song of your own to fit your agenda for the day."

There is, of course, one other part. "I cannot forget the tradition of humans, of course. There is a cake I had prepared for you; when you are ready, I will fetch it from the dining hall."

Once the box is successfully pressed into her student's hands, she opts to gently rest a hand on the young woman's shoulder-- before giving it a soft squeeze and pulling her into a one-armed hug from the Professor. "I am thankful that you were born, Dorothea. For you have brought light to many lives-- mine included. Please, enjoy yourself to the fullest."

last but not least! happy (belated) birthday 2k25

for a performer so seasoned, she’s long mastered the art of improv — but even the greatest thespians are still human at their core.

dorothea finds herself suddenly drawing a blank.

all those rehearsed lines she’d been practicing throughout the day, echoing gratitude and surprise, are wiped from her mind within seconds, leaving her to appear as though she’s been stunned into silence and blinking back a medley of emotions. and she is, truly. that much isn’t feigned.

I am thankful that you were born.

it is not a sentiment dorothea has heard before. not when her birth was a marker of shame to an absent father, and a death sentence for her mother. she stands there in such a way, that one might not have ever known she was once a diva who commanded audiences. misty-eyed with a furrowed brow, lips pressed together and hands clasped to maintain her composure. the songstress draws a shaky breath in. subtle, but visible nevertheless.

she might have even found her own reaction embarrassing, in recalling all the times nel's seen her shaken, but there is a shame that snakes around her chest more predominately than any other emotion, in thinking back to their conversation not too long ago.

if the professor knew the truth, would any of this still hold true?

at the very least, it helps that a performer knows how to adapt, and adapt she will. even if only for this second, lest the professor feel unappreciated for her efforts. dorothea exhales. the curtains are drawn, the show continues. she straightens her posture and turns on a smile, sincere in its appearance. and sincere in its essence, too, were she not plagued by the sin carried.

“sorry about that, professor. my emotions got the best of me for a second. i hope you’ll forgive me.” for more than you know. “my birth wasn’t always a cause for celebration, you know. not for many years.”

she reaches for the gift, unwilling to hurt nel's feelings by refusing. “thank you for this. it goes beyond sufficient — really, it’s more than i deserve.”

unbeknownst to the other, it will remain in her room unopened, in case the time comes to return it.

[snugglyporos]

IS BIRTHDAY!

// IS PORO MUN BIRTHDAY! THUS IS BIRTHDAY FOR POROS! ALL THE POROS!

SO FEEL FREE TO SEND THINGS TO POROS!

[quirkycombatants]

IS BIRTHDAY!

// so it's the mun's birthday, so I guess it's the muse's birthday? never came up with a different one XD

but feel free to send the mun or muse stuff :O

[inspectorboobzilla]

How could she ever forget this date? Even if she didn’t celebrate it, she always marked it off, like tallying another year stolen from under the reaper’s nose. But now… everything was different. Thanks to Yukio and Rin, her life was hers for the first time. Her birthday wasn’t a countdown anymore. It was to be celebrated, not mourned. No contract breathing down her neck, no ticking clock in her head.

Still… it felt weird.

She sat alone in the dorm mess, scratching at her scalp, the early-morning quiet settling heavy around her. A cup of coffee steamed in front of her—thanks, Urobach.

“Everyone better not go overboard with this,” she muttered into the mug, curling her fingers around its warmth.

[encantresse]

“you don’t have to.” “make another one, i mean. you’ve been through a lot, ferdie. you should focus on your recovery. that’s what’s important.”

it is in that reversal of spring that he is denied the opportunity to fix what the winter had hailed insignificant. he suspected it was suggested out of guilt, of prioritizing what ought to come first, of… what, really? in that time and place, her heart had only just shifted an inch—no give. and he certainly would not push. but now that they were moved by each other, each step synchronous as they waltzed to the harps that played overhead, Ferdinand reminisced on that music box. he envisioned the pieces, charred and distinctive features lost in the fall, under thumb. an audience, once. each with a distinct name, a clear demeanor. a story whittled under his knife.

if he listened to her, really listened to her, he would drop it. focus on himself and settle by her side as winter began to pave its way into spring again. but as the precious date drew near, Ferdinand began to think about that music box again. and the burns he was not allowed to heal.

“Dorothea, dear!” he had begun to find solace in that address, as well.

his knocking was loud and he was louder—a smile a minute, this one. grasped in his hand was a fairly large gift bag and a bouquet of freshly picked roses from the garden. “the happiest of birthdays!”

inside the bag were layers of lace and ribbon, each curled with scissors until they resembled ringlets on a cherry-faced child. and beneath the overtly vibrant display was a lantern, each glass face drawn over with metalcraft. upon lighting it, the metal cut frame flourished in the shapes of their friends, as light bent and curled into dancers that projected larger than life. Edelgard, Hubert, Bernadetta, Linhardt, Caspar, Petra. each clasping hands in pairs to a waltz only they could hear. and in the center glass frame, two prominent dancers were wrapped in ribbons and roses, smiling as though the evergreen spring would arrive at their feet. sooner rather than later. 

“here. your light enraptures me, and I thought I ought to try to capture even a mote of your brilliance.”

if they were allowed to spin and spin, dancers on bright heels fluttering against the walls, perhaps this light could fill the cracks left behind with gold.

happy birthday 2k25!

while he is second only to the sun that peeks over the horizon, ferdinand is the first to greet her. a crowning accomplishment he will wear for weeks to come — of this, dorothea is certain.

the sound of his knocking, followed by an even louder greeting, paints her cheeks with a light blush as she hurries to open the door before her neighbors are tempted to gawk at the commotion. one hand still tangled in her hair, tending to the last of her curls, while the other hastily twists the doorknob to swing the door open.

“shhhh!! not so loud!” the unflappable diva is not so unflappable after all. still a touch flustered in the face of this new romance, though the curve of her lips and the slight scrunch of her nose give away just how pleased she is.

gently, dorothea tugs him by the collar into the doorframe, just out of sight of any who might peek through their windows. the seasons have long since turned — a stark contrast to the days she had greeted him more coldly than any frost. winter left with its snow and bitter wind, and in the spring that followed, she thawed. on those once-bare branches grew verdant leaves, and with them, blossomed new feelings.

“oh,” she breathes out, peering into the bag. “oh.” (you didn’t have to.) but she knows better than to say it now — knows that this is what sets him apart. the worker bee that he is, more sincere and sentimental than she ever could have guessed.

still quiet, dorothea dips her hands into the bag to lift it, not trusting herself to speak as she carefully turns the lantern in admiration. ferdinand, it seems, had remembered the way she’d mourned that music box, and he'd made note of how the darkness unnerved her long after that dreaded mission. in the noblest of ways, he’d gone about finding a solution to her problems — in the most beautiful, most meaningful, and most graceful manner.

in this lantern, she finds every promise of his etched into the glass and metal alike: unshakeable bonds, a future together, and a reminder that light finds its way into every dark corner.

“ferdie.” her heart full, the name is sung in adoration as dorothea sets the lamp down on her desk. then, taking the bouquet from his arms, she leans in to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. thank you. i'll cherish it forever.

“you just had to outdo my birthday gift to you, didn’t you?”

[encantresse]

"Happy birthday, Dorothea," Elffin takes care, as he always does, to find an unobtrusive time within the day itself- trying not to interrupt her in the midst of any other celebration. Unfortunately, he had not the time to make something personal this year- so instead he comes bearing a wrapped gift. Inside is a pair of earrings he had been assured were popular amongst students. "Here, this is for you."

"Do you have some time today? It's been a while since we had time to chat. How have you been?"

happy birthday 2k25!

“look at you, always spoiling me!” 

what she has come to learn in nearly a year and a half is that elffin’s as predictable as most things in life. just as one knows to expect the migration of birds each winter, or the swarms of bees in flowerbeds each spring, dorothea knows he will always come looking for her. in rain or shine, and in good times or bad.

tease as she may, it is not something to be taken for granted. a welcome change, the songstress thinks — to be someone worthy of pursuit without the usual strings attached. 

“why, elffin!” she poses, tongue-in-cheek, “asking as though i wouldn’t make time for you. you should know by now that you’re always an exception.”

a beaming dorothea accepts the wrapped gift from him gratefully, before switching it to one hand and wrapping her free one around his arm to playfully pull him along. 

“i'm better now that you’re here,” comes the easy reply. “i trust you’ll be filling me in on the details of your own life, yes? all the new, exciting developments?” 

[snugglyporos]

Happy birthday! A cute little crochet Dubwool for you and the poros!

Happy poros! Love plushies! Are snuggly and soft and warm! Shall give him many snuggles! Happy poros!

[encantresse]

"no peeking!"  bernadetta chirps, with no real warning in the reminder, and she only has to prop herself on her tiptoes on occasion as she ushes dorothea along, small hands steering taller shoulders. and they are nicked hands, as usual, but hands that do good are hardly so unblemished.

that is why, eventually and instead, bernadetta scuttles some paces ahead to slip hers into dorothea's. scarred hand in scarred hand, a celebration of womanhood or a mourning of girlhood, they are together. bernadetta wants to hope that they always will be. bernadetta knows they may not always be.

but they are, today. so when there is a quiet beckon for dorothea to open her eyes, they are in the seclusion of the kitchen, the back of the dining hall. the pleasant aroma wafts around them—notes of cocoa and cinnamon, still warm—and dorothea is greeted by her very own cake and only a tiny bit of fidgeting.

"we, um, became friends here. kind of. at least i thought so, even though you were really nice and called us friends before that. not that i thought we weren't friends or anything, because i really liked you in secret, but i didn't know if you were, you know—oh no, i'm talking too much!"  she claps her mouth shut, takes one more breath and spits out the actual message in a jumble.  "dorothea, you're one of my best friends. one of the best people in the world. i hope you like this, because i still don't know if i do... b-but i love you!"

she is all but certain that her symbolic arrangement from the prior year had perished in the monastery's downfall, but bernadetta has had months since to outdo herself. she has tried, each month. each bloom and bud, each stem and thorn, meticulously germinated and nurtured and arranged under her green thumb. she does not know how many more ways she can outshine a rose's petals with its thorns, but all she can do is keep trying. next to the cake is a second ornate frame, this time with a rose—and a single violet accompanying it. this time, together. hopefully always, together.

one scarred hand squeezes another like it is still beautiful, because it is. "happy birthday!"

(belated) happy birthday 2k25!

when it comes to bernadetta, there is little dorothea wouldn't do. like walk through fire, for instance, or bend over backwards until she's hit a breaking point — not that there ever will be one with bern in the first place, mind you.

unlike many instances in life, blindly following bernadetta von varley is a no-brainer.

the songstress beams as she's led to whatever secret waits to be discovered, spirits high and grasp firm on the one who guides her along. she is left to think of how far bernadetta's come —a far cry from the girl who would first flinch at her touch, no matter how gentle or slow. how beautiful it is to know they've bloomed together. how beautiful to know that touch can evolve into a loving gesture after a lifetime of open wounds.

"and ruin the surprise? i wouldn't dream of it~!"

dorothea hardly bothers to stifle the giggle that erupts forth. with her eyes pressed shut, she only has the other senses to rely on. smell catches a whiff of something warm and spiced; hearing makes note of the lack of footsteps, and of course, touch informs her that wherever she's being led, it will be worth the wait, all because bernadetta will be there, too.

when she's finally allowed to peek, the sight before them makes the corners of her eyes crease affectionately, the smile pulling at her lips curling by the second. but it is not until she hears those three words that her grin grows bright enough to light up the room. i love you.

dorothea squeezes back. it's become an instinct between them, like how the heart beats without second thought. she gazes admiringly at the cake, all while her free hand lightly grazes the frame, reminiscing on what was lost. that original rose, presented to her a year ago, had not survived the fall. perhaps it was symbolic in that sense; a part of her died during the war, gone to wither into something that felt like a distant dream. but here stood this new one, having survived alongside the resilient violet that no longer shrank back. they were flowers growing on the same vine now, and even if shears were taken to their stems, they would always find ways to intertwine with one another.

"you're also one of my best friends, bern," she finally replies. "this is perfect. you're perfect." emotional and giddy all at once, dorothea bends down to plant a kiss on her friend's head. "i love you too, but that was never much of a secret, was it?"

a laugh rolls out across the empty room, meant only for their ears. a rose and a violet reaching toward the sun, vibrant and evergreen.