#I was thinking of this poem earlier when I was gardening in the sun | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bean-doge · 4 months

Text

"Interspersion of light", Yomi and Juurou's after story

Now living peacefully, one day Yomi seems to have found a new ‘hobby’… It’s a story about an idle alien in late summer.

I was walking up the slope next to the hedge.

The gravel was heated by the sun, and the surroundings looked hazy, as if in a dream.

Bamboo leaves cast a shadow on one side of the road, attracting walkers.

A long and narrow path covered in shadow.

And after the end of the slope, the scorching heat continues.

I noticed an old man walking down and stepped out of the shadow.

When we passed each other, we bowed and tipped our hats.

Our sleeves brushed against each other.

It was late summer, when cicadas started to change their voices.

Having finished my 'work' before noon, I was coming back home, where he was waiting for me.

There’s a poetic word for late summer.

It’s supposed to make a melancholic impression, but today’s heat made you forget about it.

My 'work' was to go from home to the post office.

But only now have I thought that I shouldn't have underestimated this trip and should have brought a hand fan with me.

The front door was opened to let the wind in.

It passed through the gates along with me, and the wind chime rang in a clear sound.

This sound let him know that I had come back.

I took off the geta, hung up the hat, and wiped my neck, drenched in sweat, with the sleeve.

I crossed the corridor, trying to look as calm as possible.

“I’m home.”

“Welcome back.”

He was the one who told me that I should have brought a hand fan.

Yomi smiled with just his eyes and dropped his gaze back to his hands. Slowly and steadily, scissors were eating into the paper.

There was a pile of small cut-out squares scattered around the tea table.

I sat on the opposite side, and he passed me a cup of tea he was drinking.

It tasted like water with melted ice.

We lived quietly.

I earned some money by writing poems and publishing them in magazines.

Earlier I went to the post office to send the manuscript.

“How was the response?”

“They keep urging me, so they must have liked it.”

“I see. This is good to hear.”

“...I don’t know about this.”

“Is it not impressive?”

“It’s just a miserable man’s feelings put on display.”

“I am quite happy to think that your words might save someone.”

“......”

“So, when will I get to read it?”

Yomi didn’t look away from his hands.

I looked at the radiant summer garden, listening to the faraway sound of cicadas and the nearby sound of scissors.

“I’ve told you many times. These are just my words to you put together as poems.”

“Then it should be fine for me to read it, right?”

“......”

On the second glance, I noticed that Yomi’s hands had stopped. He smiled at me, his eyes narrowed.

He was enjoying the way my voice had gotten stuck in my throat after his teasing.

“Words are fish, and poems are fossils.”

“I like fossils.”

“Words are fossils, and poems are soil.”

“I like soil as well.”

“Please, don’t make fun of me… I don’t want you to ask me of this only when you feel like it.”

He put down the scissors and walked out into the corridor with a smile on his face.

“It must have been hot,” he said, and I heard his footsteps heading to the kitchen.

I took the scissors in his stead and started cutting the paper in the same way he did.

These pieces of paper with one or two dots painted on them are called piece marks.

They're printed on food and housewares packaging.

I’m not sure why Yomi started collecting them. Probably out of boredom.

“Tarou-san sent us a gift.”

I heard Yomi’s voice from the kitchen.

At the same time I heard the sound of cork being pulled out.

“It’s your favourite orange juice.”

“First time I hear about that.”

Only my uncle and aunt know about our quietude.

They live in Aoyama and don’t visit this house.

They know it would be a burden for me if they tried to get closer.

Yomi came back and put two glasses on the tea table.

How nostalgic.

Memories of my uncle doing the same when we were kids came to mind.

“I finished cutting it out.”

“Thank you.”

“What will you do when you collect them all?”

“I will send them to Seijo elementary school. They have a box near the gates to collect offerings from the neighbourhood.”

He slid one mark across the table with his index finger.

Then he started to arrange the scattered cut-outs by the score.

When he collected ten one-point marks, he smiled in delight.

"Apparently, they can be exchanged for different goods according to the score. The school could buy an electric fan or a heater.”

“I see.”

“So I am acting like a hero!”

“...Huh?”

I said involuntarily.

In a split second that I was looking down, Yomi had hidden his face behind a magazine.

It was Josei Nine for which I was writing.

“......”

“They have a special feature on fireworks.”

“...I see.”

“It seems like there will be a fireworks display in Tamagawa tonight.”

“......”

“Why don’t we go see it?”

“It’s far.”

“We can view it from the shrine nearby.”

Ice was crumbling inside the glass.

I nodded with a sigh, and Yomi lowered the magazine. Eyes, shaped like crescent moons, peeked at me.

Interspersion of light

"This brings back memories.”

We have gone to temple festivals before.

It was back when you still couldn’t walk.

You were drawn in by the sound of the fireworks, so I slipped out of our house, carrying you on my back.

Clutching on my clothes to not fall, you were watching the festival hustle and fireworks blooming in the sky with your eyes wide open.

And now you are standing next to me without my help.

“Am I wearing my yukata properly?”

“Yes. It suits you.”

“Thank you.”

A speaker that was supposed to be a siren was playing festival songs today.

Back then, I couldn’t do what I promised you.

I turned my back to the place you were pointing at, saying “I want to go”, and ran home as fast as I could.

Yomi was going up the stairs with a light sound.

I followed him, not running anymore.

Night market stalls were lined up on the temple grounds.

The crowd was brimming with excitement.

“It looked like a spaceship.”

“?”

Paper lanterns as portholes.

Old songs as an alien language.

From the very beginning, I always knew that you were not from this world.

“Like a ship that came to take you home.”

This temple was standing on a hill in the residential area.

Scared by the festival lights emerging from the evening darkness, I didn’t dare to come close.

And now, when I had finally revealed the truth, Yomi covered his mouth with both hands and laughed silently.

“My people are not that kind.”

“......”

I couldn’t know that.

“If no news came, I would be assumed dead. And this planet would be declared as an unsuitable environment.”

“So… no replacement or help would come?”

“The invasion efficiency rate is 100%. There is no chance that attack would be unsuccessful.”

“Then it’s 99%.”

“?”

“I’m talking about you.”

“Ah, this is what you mean… 1% that had stayed because of his own indecisiveness.”

I didn’t notice the moment I started holding his hand.

“Back then, I wanted to go only to learn about the folk beliefs of this world.”

“And did you learn anything?”

“Yes.”

Yomi’s cheeks turned red.

This smile was definitely meant for me, not for the mask.

“Ah!!!”

Yomi’s pupils suddenly widened.

He pointed behind me, shaking our joined hands.

“Look at this, Juurou!!”

I was dragged to the shooting range.

He was excitedly looking at the rice cooker put on display in the middle of the stall.

Did you really want something like this?

Would you even be able to use it considering how bad you are with machines?

Yomi ignored my confusion and got even more excited.

“Please!”

Nudged by their parents, children tried to get the rice cooker.

Every time the ball hit the box and bounced back, Yomi trembled slightly.

Even if you don’t rush…

“It’s usually impossible to get a prize like that.”

“You can’t know if you don’t try!”

Child who had missed the target left the shooting range.

Yomi took the gun in their stead and aimed, placing his elbows on the table.

I paid 30 yen to the shopkeeper.

Sounds of children firing blanks echoed next to us.

Even some parents who decided to try themselves have given up and started leaving.

The price of this is 30 yen.

Yet Yomi still aimed at the rice-cooker with his eyes wide-open.

It’s absurd.

Trying to get the target in the centre from the very side of the table.

“Aim at the underside.”

“......”

“You have three shots, and if you manage to push it down…”

It suddenly became very quiet, I thought.

Yomi looked up at me as I spoke with such seriousness and chuckled.

He brought one eye down to the gun and pulled the trigger.

A heavy sound that definitely wasn’t that of a blank hit the box.

“I told you, didn’t I?”

The box leaned back and was now supported by the stall’s curtain.

It was as if the rice cooker itself was surprised, having no plans to fall.

While me and the shopkeeper were staring at it in amazement, Yomi smiled shyly to the applause of the children.

When we left the stall, it was completely dark outside.

Yomi had a hundred-point piece mark in his hand.

And the rice cooker was put in the centre of the display again, with its box cut a little bit.

“Household appliances sure do give a lot of points!”

“It's good that we didn’t take the actual thing home.”

“It would have broken if I tried to use it.”

“It would.”

“Why do you seem so relieved?”

“Nothing can compare to the kamameshi you make.”

Darkness deepened. You could feel the autumn approaching.

But the crowd of people on the long road wanting to preserve the summer made the temperature rise.

Children wearing masks were shouting their secret techniques.

A dazzling earthling and an alien collecting piece marks.

I gripped Yomi’s hand even stronger than before.

“I am not going anywhere.”

Yomi answered me.

“I am here.”

“I still can’t trust you.”

It had been a while since the last time we walked together like this.

Even if I know that other people can see you, I still can’t help but think that this convenient happiness is just a dream.

“You are a man who can disappear as soon as I let go of your hand.”

It’s not as if I wanted to hear any excuses from him, but...

When I looked at his face, waiting for an answer, Yomi smiled, as always.

“Can you show me a face like this again?”

“?”

“It was very cute.”

“I’m not joking.”

I quickened my pace.

Yomi, whom I pulled with me, suddenly lost his footing.

He almost fell forward, but I caught him in my chest.

The strap of his geta was snapped.

The crowd went around us, who were standing still, and flowed forward like a river.

“Ah, it finally snapped.”

“These geta are quite old.”

I picked up the geta, lending him my shoulder instead.

The tree shadow on the side of the road was dim and concealed us from the noise.

He leaned back on the tree, and I kneeled before him, checking the geta.

They belonged to my young father or uncle.

The other one seemed fine at first glance, but when I looked closer, I saw that its strap was also damaged.

“Maybe it happened because I started running.”

“Because you tripped, probably.”

I ripped a strip from my handkerchief and twisted it into a small rope.

I tied it in place of the strap and put the geta on Yomi’s foot.

It was too loose and shook around.

It definitely needed to be readjusted.

“Thank you.”

“Let’s buy new ones at the stalls.”

I took Yomi’s ankle to try putting the geta on again.

Suddenly, as if coming out of smoke, his foot touched my chin.

“!”

He urged me to look up.

I didn’t notice when a gentle and affectionate smile appeared on his face.

“What do I need to do for you to believe me?”

“......”

His toes traced my Adam’s apple, pulled aside my collar, and touched my collarbone.

“I am always telling you that this is not a dream, am I not?”

In Yomi’s eyes, I saw myself furrowing my brows like a child.

Seeing me like this, he pulled his foot back.

His gaze went to the road, where the lights were shining.

I laid down the broken geta and put my hand on the side of his face.

I want to ask you so many things.

You don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to.

But…

I’m scared.

“I can’t love you when you’re so fickle.”

My vanity was melted away by the heat of the festival.

I’m sure Yomi felt the same.

“When I split this Earth into two… I think I was split as well.”

“......”

“We were both saved by Shin’ichi and walked the same path.

…But one thing that was different, was ‘her’, who was supposed to become your mother but fell in love with another being.”

Another… being.

“Just like a certain someone, she loved the blues of the Earth.”

“......”

“Because of this, you were never born; because of this, the world exists as it is now.”

“......”

“She really was a handful. To think that she would forget about her role in waking myself and put herself to ‘sleep’ as well…”

“......”

“However, I am not your dream…”

“What relationship did you have with my mother?”

“?”

Every time you mentioned ‘her’ while speaking in your familiar tone, my heart darkened.

“...Was she your partner?”

“Huh?”

Yomi’s eyes opened wide, and he burst into laughter.

But when he saw that I didn’t laugh with him, he closed his mouth, swallowing the rest.

“What did you find so weird?”

“I am sorry; I did not think that you would care about this.”

“You thought that I wouldn’t care?”

“Are you jealous?”

“......”

“Please, do not worry.”

One hand touching the other, our fingers intertwined.

“I only ever had one partner in my life. It is you, Juurou.”

Vibrations shook the festival grounds.

Immediately, everyone looked at the sky.

Seeing Yomi’s cheek turn red, I realised that the fireworks has begun.

“Let’s go.”

Yomi took my hand and started running.

A black thread was tied in place of a geta strap that was about to snap again.

It seems like once more I missed the time when he started walking by himself.

Listening to the sounds of fireworks behind my back, I ran up the long stone stairs.

When I looked back at the wide open sky, I saw dots of light spreading throughout it.

Colourful fireworks bloomed in it and then faded away.

Probably, residents of all the wardens gazed at these lights and sounds, yearning for the stars.

“Thousands of meteors have fallen in the last hundred years.”

One more firework went up.

“Even before I arrived, ‘all kinds of things’ came here flying.

And humans must have come in contact with them.”

“They probably did.”

“And when needed, their sleeping protective instinct must have been awakened.”

Just as hawks have claws and bees have venom, we, who live on the same planet, must have the power to fight.

So maybe heroes called Icaruses were an immune response meant to protect the Earth.

“This planet is not suited for an alien like me after all.”

“It looks quite peaceful to me.”

“Do you really think so?”

“?”

“Do not mind me.”

What did you imply by that…

“Did you know that there was heavy rain yesterday?”

“Ah, I heard about it. It’s good that Sayashi residence wasn’t flooded even for a millimetre.”

“And there was a case with people growing animal ears. Maybe it really was a dream, just as you say.”

“It was. And you looked extremely good.”

“......”

Yomi snuggled closer to me, as if asking to stay this way.

“When you die, I will destroy the Earth.”

One more firework went up.

“But until then, I will protect your peace.”

“I won’t die.

I’ll be reborn as a blue flower next. The colour that you love so much.

When you find me, take me and put me in your hair.

And by the time I wilt, I’ll be reborn as a new flower once again.”

You didn’t laugh at my words.

Looking at you shedding tears, I was the one who laughed.

Please, tell me if there are any mistakes or places that sound weird.

#uuultra c #adelta #yomijuurou #hibarino yomi #sayashi juurou #bean doge translates

43 notes · View notes

accio-victuuri · 2 years

Text

You know what time it is!!!! ⏱

A rundown of important points from today’s candies. same disclaimer applies, it’s all speculation. If you’re familiar with LRLG, you’ll know that we just treat this as ff and not real. Well, till we get proof otherwise. BXGs make connections because of other clues before. It’s up to you if you believe this or not. Let’s go! 💪🏻

• I already pointed out the same brand of clothing A Cold Wall. I just love seeing GG wear other brands and this casual ( but still hella expensive ). Looks like this is at the same hotel, good thing he wore something different. should we expect another batch recording? LOL.

• The poem GG shared, < A Wish > is just so him isn’t it? Aside from having a cat- it also speaks of a simple life that he dreams for himself. I wonder if that’s what spoke to him. I expected him to read something by a Chinese poet tho.

In our entire sunny world. I have but one wish, a garden bench. A cat sunning itself.

There I would sit. A letter at my breast. One small single letter. That is what my dream looks like.

I looked up this poet and it’s nice to think that GG has read her other works too. ⬇️⬇️⬇️

• Now let’s talk about the main thing here which is the LRLG rumor. ( full english translation ) Compared to the other contributions where it’s super long and has conversations, this one is just a line from a poem. Mimicking GG’s douyin post where he recites a poem. I honestly still don’t know how these submissions work and the mods probably will never share that. I mean, we know that there was gonna some poetry related thing coming out with GG on it but what are the odds.

1. The line/ poem shared was from Wang Xiaobo's collection of short stories called "Green Haired Water Monster". Green. Okay. It is one of his earlier works and was only published after his death when one of his friends contacted his wife and told her he had the manuscript.

In the novel, there is a plot in which Chen Hui (the male protagonist) and the demon (the female protagonist) talk about poetry:

It rained during the day, but at night it was very cold and there was no wind, and the result was rain and fog. It was getting dark early. The windows of the buildings along the street sprayed with a cloud of white light. On the street, mercury lamps illuminate the sky with a white mist in the middle of the day. People and cars appear and disappear in shadow. We walked to the bus stop 10. Under a few dim street lights, people felt like they were underwater. As we walked wordlessly, the demon suddenly asked me, "Look at this night fog, how do we describe it?"

I ghosted God to make a poem and read it out at once. You know, I didn't think I had a talent for poetry at all.

I said, "Demon, you see, what does that mercury lamp look like?" Large clumps of dandelions floated on the river of the street, swallowing soft needle-like light. ”

The demon said, "Good. So what about us walking on the sidewalk? What about this dim street lamp? ”

I looked up at the street lamp, which cast its dim light all the way to the ground through the hazy fog.

I said, "We seem to be at the bottom of a pond, walking from one moon to another."

The demon suddenly cried out in surprise, "Chen Hui, you are a poet!"

Can I just say how this whole thing about a monster in the mix is totally on brand for Xiao Zhan? Lol. We know how much he loves a tinge of horror or supernatural. Whoever this LRLG is, he does it so well. If it’s GG, well. We will never know.

Anyway, the main explanation for the line : the general meaning is that in the vast sea of trillions of people, two lonely and beautiful souls are so lucky to meet. 🤍 Y’all can make interpretations of your own based on the text from the story above. I can’t believe this fandom got us interpreting literature like we’re in school.

BXGs are also bring back the fact that GG was seen holding one of this author’s book which is Silent Majority. I found one excerpt from that work and it’s interesting. 🏳️‍🌈

2. In that contribution, there is a photo of the moon and it appears to be similar to one of GG’s artwork. There is a whole CPN about Boxiao and The Moon here as well as the song The Moon represents my heart if you have no idea why BXGs love the 🌙 symbolism.

3. There is a known fake rumor house contribution that talks about them having a small notebook that they pass to each other. Now that we see this poem, some BXGs are thinking that one thing we can see there are lines from books GG has read. This way, he can share things with Yibo or he can read it when they are apart ( and vice versa ).

Even in the early hours of the morning waiting for the show, Mr. Wang misses Mr. Xiao. I saw him flip through the small book, so he must have been thinking about it.

Mr. Xiao gave Mr. Wang a small notebook. I don't know what's inside, but Mr. Xiao said it's very convenient to carry.

I have never talked about this here but if you watched OOL ( filmed 2019 ) there was a part there that LZX gave a small notebook to GW. It contained her ideas for their dates and etc. My BXG senses were going haywire when I watched this cause it reminded me of the fake rumor ( which was first shared like 2020, it’s made an appearance a few more times even before anyone watched ool. ) I’m wondering if GG got the idea from there and decided to apply it to him and Bobo. It’s just so romantic of GG. Nowadays, everything is sent in electronic messages but here he is, making an effort to write things and keep a physical connection between them.

4. The fake rumor was posted 19:28, still love Bo. It is also the 28th contribution, love Bo.

5. My favorite part is the last where it says three months of summer, to meet frequently. Does it mean they will get to spend time? Please! 🙏🏼 or will we get their dramas or some kind of content? lol. tbh i prefer that they both get to spend time together.

That’s all folks! I’m sure I missed some minor clowning but the ones I mentioned are those being talked about and I’ve looked into. 🤍

sources:

https://m.weibo.cn/status/4761510599722209?

https://m.weibo.cn/status/4761502848390495?

https://www.laitimes.com/en/article/3jvfq_40kgj.html

https://m.weibo.cn/status/4761499564511293?

https://m.weibo.cn/status/4761500320007893?

chrome://external-file/chinaperspectives-3483.pdf

#bjyx #yizhan #clowning and cpn bye #cpn thoughts #i love the text design in this GIF #i thought it was gonna be a chill saturday but NOPE

138 notes · View notes

catcze · 3 years

Note

KAZUHA AS A FATHER??

Sorry for all caps but like, I've been thinking about what some of the Genshin men would be like as parents. And I honestly think he'd be a good dad, buts that's my two cents.

~Beans anon✨

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

!!⠀Feat : Kazuha x GN! Reader

!!⠀## : Familial fluff, Kind of an AU where Kazu n reader are a bit older and they’ve settled in inazuma, Kazuha is referred to as the reader’s husband, also side note but i also didn’t give any descriptions for their kid, either

AY BET LESGO

You can, with confidence, say that there is no better place in Inazuma to watch the sunset than from the porch of your home. In part because of the maple trees, and the way the pretty red leaves fall and dance and catch the light of the setting sun, but also because of your husband, and the way he and your child play together in the garden.

It’s sweet, you think as you exit through the sliding paper doors, watching fondly from a distance as Kazuha lifts your child up on a breeze of anemo and maple leaves, his smile wide and bright at the resulting laughter and giggles. The sound only grows when the duo catch sight of you, and your heart feels full just from the sight of them. With a giddy grin, you make your way over, reaching out and easily scooping your child from Kazuha’s arms and into your own when you near, resulting in another bout of giggles from them.

“Having fun without me?” You ask him, grinning as you straighten your child’s hair from when it had been set askew from the little chihayaburu. Kazuha, still with that mischief on his face, plucks a maple leaf from the air flawlessly, handing it to your child with all the grandiose of a Fontainese magician.

“Certainly,” he says, “I was merely reciting a poem about the beauty of our garden and the tranquility of the autumn winds, and our little one here was being a most attentive audience.”

You laugh under your breath, shaking your head in mirth. “And a first hand experience of said autumn winds was necessary?”

“Of course.” Kazuha’s grin is wide, and those pretty red eyes glimmer not unlike the maple leaves. “For the immersion.”

“Well, unless I’m wrong the sunset’s almost over, so there’s little more immersion to be had,” you say, pointedly glancing to where the sun is beginning to dip beyond the horizon. Then, you turn to the little one still in your arms, who’s playing with the leaf Kazuha had produced earlier.

“What would you like to have for dinner, love?” You ask, smiling at the sparkle in their eyes.

Your child’s reaction is near immediate, turning to Kazuha with a wide smile as they say, “I want the fish papa makes!”

You have to hold back a chuckle, “Well, Kazu, you heard ‘em. Time to make that meticulously fried fish of yours.”

It happens quickly, the way Kazuha breezes past you and carefully plucks your child from your arms, easily setting them atop his shoulders while they squeal and grab his hair at the sudden movement, excitement alight in their eyes. Kazuha’s hands securely grip their legs, careful to not let them fall.

As he turns back to you, beckoning you to join him back inside, he smiles gently. His eyes are warm as they gaze at you, at the life you two had built, and his expression is soft. I’d be delighted to.”

#Kazuha x reader #Genshin Impact x reader #Catte’s Works 🦩#Cw GN reader #Beans anon #why am i so bad at endings today tf

327 notes · View notes

luvluvnitrodynamite · 3 years

Text

random dates with jujutsu kaisen characters

ft. itadori yuuji, fushiguro megumi, kugisaki nobara, zenin maki, inumaki toge, nanami kento, and gojou satoru

g/n!reader (except maybe for maki but that's more personal pref)

itadori yuuji - "hey!-", you were essentially muted as itadori plops a strawberry in your mouth. you bite down, wrinkling your nose up at him in fake upset. he just smiles and laugh, as you drop the pout and laugh with him. you two were on a picnic, drinking lemonade and watching the hours melt away into the sunny sky. currently, you two were demolishing a carton of strawberries, the green tops abandoned on a plate next to you. you swallowed, relishing the sweetness lingering on your tongue.

taking one last berry, itadori reclined and sprawled on the blanket while putting his hands behind his head. you laid down on the blanket next to him, placing your head on his chest. he glanced down at you and took one of your hands in his, his thumb starting to trace gentle circles on your palm. with your free hand, you pointed up to the clouds in the sky. "that one looks like a bus," you suggested. "mmm, i think it looks like a log," he responds. "that one looks like a cat." "i think it looks like a log." "ok, that one looks like a tree." "mmmmmmm i think it looks like a log," he says again. "yuuji, you think all of them look like logs," you say. you can feel his laugh bubbling in his chest as he says, "because all of them do look like logs." he points up at the sky at different clouds, "that one does....and that one does....i think these are actually all logs in disguise." you playfully swat his hand and turn your head up at him, saying, "you need to use your imagination a bit. if you're only looking for logs, all you're going to find is logs."

instead of responding, itadori shifts forward and captures your mouth in soft kiss. you respond, pushing your lips against his in a sweet dance. his tongue finds its way into your mouth, deepening the kiss. his hand has slipped out of yours and now is on the small of your back, pushing you closer into him. he smiles into the kiss, pausing. "what?" you ask, temporarily affixing your head above his. "nothing," he responds, "i just hope we can stay like this for a little while longer."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

fushiguro megumi - he's is nursing a cup of black tea in a porcelain cup and saucer, while he chews on a black ballpoint pen. fushiguro is in a cafe across the street, but you can see him through the window. as you walk in, the bell above the door jingles and he glances up at you. he smiles and clears a pile of papers, making room for you at the table. you sit down across from him, noticing that he's already ordered a cup of tea and a croissant for you.

"hey 'gumi. what'cha up to?" you ask, lifting the cup to your lips. "working on this latest batch, but it's tough. did you bring your stuff?" he asks. you pull out a small notebook, untying the ribbon that holds the pages shut. "of course i did, i want your feedback on my latest poems," you respond. "this is the most recent one i wrote." in the garden of my mind/you sink my heart into my soul/blooming into something unknown/glassy eyes speaking of that garden untold is what you hand to him. he furrows his brow as he reads over the lines, once, twice, three....ohmygod how many times is he going to read it? is it bad??? you catch your lip between your teeth as you wait for his critiques, anxiously tapping your fingers against the table. finally, he looks up to you. "i like the use of garden as a metaphor, but i think you could expand on it more. it's a short poem so i know you don't have much room, but i'm really fixed on this idea of a garden. what grows there? who takes care of it?" he questions. his brows is still furrowed and you can practically see the wheels turning behind his poofy hair.

you smile over at him saying, "well, megumi i think you already know the answer to your questions." he blushes and looks out the window. the wheels are turning in his head again, but for a different reason. you know fushiguro isn't exactly the greatest with his feelings, so you give him a minute. he still gets flustered when you even allude to loving him, it's so removed from his own view of himself that he needs to take a minute to process. in the meantime, you rip off a fluffy piece of croissant and feel the buttery layers melt on your tongue. you look out the window, quietly drifting off to another world. "did you want to read my poem?" he asks, snapping you back to reality. you nod, picking up the piece of paper he passes you. your eyes focus on the first line: i love you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

kugisaki nobara - you love nobara, you honestly do, but sometimes you forget about that when she gets in a yelling match with the man at the ice cream truck. you're pulling your hat over your head, hoping to spontaneously melt into a puddle while the two of them go back and forth. "i don't know what you want me to say! i'm sorry i gave the wrong flavor to them, but i can't change it," the vendor says exasperatedly. nobara wrinkles up her nose in disgust at the vendor, retorting, "this business is absolutely shameful. i come all the way here for ice cream, and you can't even properly fulfill my order. what if i reported you to the better business bureau? hmmm? would you be a bit more cooperative then?"

yeah, it's been going on like this for a few minutes. you think you're going to evaporate into thin air when you realize the arguing has stopped and nobara is on her way back. and...omg...she's holding a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone!! you immediately perk up. "you got it!" you exclaim, quickly taking the cone from her. you take a bite (do you bite ice cream???? lick??? v unsure), and faux-swoon at how good it is. forgetting your previous embarrassment, you swiftly press a kiss to nobara's lips as a thank-you. "thank you nobara, this was so sweet of you!" her face deeply reddens, every ounce of toughness from the earlier altercation dissipated. she tosses her hair, trying to play it off. "oh, you know, it wasn't difficult. you just had to ask nicely." you smile at her, suddenly wanting to pay her back for the embarrassment she dealt you before.

before she can react, you quickly leave a flurry of kisses all over her face. you zing from her cheeks to her nose to her lips to her forehead and back around so fast it makes her dizzy. if you thought she was red before, she's somehow gone an even deeper shade of brick. now she's the one pulling her hat down over her head. "y/n!! cut it out, we're in public!" she hisses at you, but there's no real venom behind it. "sorry, i couldn't help it. you just looked too pretty to resist," you say, and start walking toward the city. even through the brim of her hat, nobara can see you walking away. before catching up, she's rooted in place wondering how on earth she got so lucky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

zenin maki - "y/n, i look stupid. can i take this off?" you smile at her, only your head sticking out from your door. "nope!!," you gleefully respond. maki stands outside your room with an annoyed look and crossed arms, wearing the maid outfit you dropped off at her house this morning. you quickly close the door and speedily drag your socks up your thighs and tuck the matching headband into your hair. admiring yourself in the mirror one last time, you opened the door and shyly step out in your own maid outfit. "how do i look?," you say, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

maki.pdf has crashed. her eyes flick up and down your body, a slight blush forming on her pearlescent cheeks. you note her silence and flounce over to her. tucking your hands behind your back and rocking on your heels, you lean forward. "maaaaaaaaki," you languish in her name, dragging out the syllables. "cat got your tongue?" she snaps back to the real world, a coy smile on her lips. she moves swiftly, and before you know it she's pressed up against you with a hand on your lower back and the other hand tilting your chin up at her. "of course not, darling, but i wouldn't mind getting yours," she says, gently stroking her thumb over your lips. you momentarily flush, a pretty pink haze spreading over your face. you wiggle out of her hold and kiss the tip of her nose, before dashing down the hallway.

confused, maki watches as you return with...a broom. "c'mon! maids clean, don't they?" you say as you hand her the broom. maki bemusedly watches as you pull out a rag and a can of pledge. "y/n. you called me here, with a maid outfit, so we could clean your house?" she ask. "yep!". oh my. maki watches as you spray chemicals over the table, then polish it clean with the rag. fuck it, she starts sweeping your hallway. "am i even going to get anything out of this?", whining, she stops sweeping. you pause and smile. "of course maki. after all, i have to pay you for your services." maki smirks at you, resting her hands and head on top of the broom. "oh? and what would that be?" she says, raising her eyebrows. "anything you want." maki's smirk deepens, and she goes back to sweeping. "and if i want you?" you too go back to your cleaning. "well, in that case, i suppose you have to do a really good job of cleaning."

your house has never looked cleaner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

inumaki toge - you dip your paintbrush into the water, swirling it around and making sure it was clean before dipping it into bubblegum-colored paint. inumaki sits on the other side of you, though part of him is obscured by his easel. you would have asked him to move a few hours ago, but luckily you were almost done painting him. the sun was starting to set, so the colors of the setting were changing a bit but you were sure inumaki wouldn't care too much if you took some artistic liberties. you added the pink streaks in the clouds, trying to fluff them up as much as possible and make them look sweet. you frowned as you went a bit too far, having to clean your paintbrush and then touch up the painting with white.

finally, a few more mistakes and fixes later, you think you're satisfied with your work. it was a portrait of inumaki, sitting on his artist's stool with the blue sky and green hill in the background. a few hours ago it would have been an almost perfect rendering of the scene, save for the fact that you decided to paint him without his trademark collar over his face. you happened to love the seal on his face and tongue, but his covering of it made him more insecure about it as time went on. as he got used to seeing his face without it, he wondered if it would just be better if he didn't have a seal on his face at all. now he barely pulls down his collar, only ever to shout out cursed speech commands. "toge can we see each others' paintings now?" you ask. "okaka!" he responds. you sigh and say, "okay, let me know when you're done." you continue to add a few more cursory details until you hear "takana!" from the other easel. you poke your head around, asking, "do you want me to go first?" inumaki nods, and gets up.

you hold your breath as he walks over to survey your work. you feel him stop behind you and just...stare. no tsunamayo, no sujiko, not even an okaka. "what do you think?" you ask. he says nothing, and just points to his painted mouth. you look at him and feel a little bit crushed; he doesn't look angry or anything, but rather a little deflated. "are you upset i painted the curse seal?" you ask him. he responds with a slightly desolate "okaka" and your chest clutches a little bit. you wanted to show him how pretty he was with the seal, but you supposed you would have to go a bit further. "toge can you come a little closer?" he complies and moves right next to you. you quickly jump off the stool and clasp his face in your hands. slowly, you pull down his collar, revealing the seal. you hold his gaze for a moment longer, and then gently press kisses along the surface of the curse. you make sure to touch every angle, feeling the heat of his skin rise each new time your lips touch the curse. you pull your head back and say, "i think the curse seal is pretty. the way it curves along your cheek is just gorgeous, it's such a rich shade of black, and it looks the best when i see you smile. but most of all, you make it look pretty. i like the curse seal because it's a part of you." inumaki softly smiles when he hears this, and just wraps you up into a hug. you two stay like that for a minute or two, interrupted only by "can i see your painting of me now?" "shake."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

nanami kento - you two are at home in the kitchen. normally you both take turns cooking and cleaning, but tonight you decided to make dinner together. nanami is cutting up vegetables for your curry, while you focus on cooking the chicken in the sauce. soft music plays while a delicious aroma fills the room. nanami finishes cutting up the vegetables, neatly zooshing them into the pan with the knife. you add coconut milk and spices, stirring as the sizzling gets loud, and then gently recedes into a soft bubbling. you watch the pan carefully as nanami shifts behind you, wrapping his arms around your front. his face rests on your shoulder as you both watch the pan bubble away.

he gently bites your ear, asking, "how was your day?". your hand comes up to rest on his cheek, sighing contently. "fine. i was a bit busy, but nothing out of the ordinary. how was yours?". nanami sighs, the air lusciously dancing around your ear. "mmmmmm...annoying. or, more aptly, gojou was." you laugh, imaging all the ways the he could have been a nuisance. "is that so?," you say. "yes, but i don't want to dwell on it. work is work, and i'd rather focus on my time outside of it," nanami says. "like focusing on you," he breathes into your ear. he gently spins you around so that you're facing him, and pulls you closer to his body. he wraps his arms around your back, and you wrap your arms around his neck. you two begin to softly dance to the music, not even moving from the spot you're currently in. it's not perfect dancing by any standards; in fact, you think you're off-beat. still, with nanami humming in your ear and such a comforting aura surrounding you, you don't really think it matters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

gojou satoru - for once, you two aren't running around and acting crazy. instead, you've just woken up to rain pattering on the window and cloudy skies overhead. gojou is still asleep in bed, blindfold slipped over his face with his closed eyes revealed to the world. you smile, enjoying the sight. it's not often you two get time to just be together, with gojou being gone all the time, his students needing his attention, and your own life and responsibilities. you slip out of the room and into the kitchen, cutting up fruit and making coffee. you bring it back into the room, the smell waking up your drowsy boyfriend. crystalline eyes look up at you, filled with love and adoration. you sit on the bed as he sits up, passing him a plate and a mug.

"hey, i just had the craziest dream," he says, mouth full of raspberries. "oh? would you like to tell me about it?," you respond, sipping your coffee. gojou smirks at you. "well, normally i would say to never tell a bad dream before breakfast because that's the surest way to make it come true, but i don't believe in that, and anyways i could kick the dream curse's ass if it came to it. so, itadori is a woman, and sukuna keeps taking over to play with boobs, right?". he rambles on, and you think he's actually making some of this up on the fly, but it's entertaining and you don't want to interrupt him. he tells you the whole story, and by the end you've both finished your breakfast. you're still laughing at the part where inumaki is left at the alter by nobara chasing after maki, when he picks up your plate and mug and places it on the little table beside the bed.

"satoru, what are you-," you're interrupted as he swiftly pulls you into his lap, your back flush against his chest. confused, he hands you the book on the side table while he picks up a stack of reports. he opens them and starts reading, while you look at him in confusion. he apprehensively pauses and looks at you. "we don't get to have a lot of quiet time like this," he hesitantly explains, "so i thought we could just do something with each other, even if it's just reading. i have to read these reports and you wanted to finish that book anyway, so i thought we could start like this." he smiles down at you, and it's like he shoots warmth straight into your chest and fans it out to the tips of your fingers, toes, and eyelashes. you ghost his cheek with a kiss and burrow into his chest. "of course, 'toru. this is absolutely perfect." you feel his chest skip a beat through your skin, and try to hid your smile. you open your book while he resumes his reports, and bask in the comfort of shared love.

288 notes · View notes

fullersunnyy · 3 years

Text

To hell and heaven,

Jaemin, was reincarnated by the King of hell, Lucifer to be one of the stationed stewards on earth. Hell produces thousands of stewards from lost souls that were stuck inside the gates of purgatory. It's getting crowded in there, what do you expect? A steward’s job is to protect its designated child until the age of eighteen against any type of harm. Failure to do so will result in subtraction of heavenly points and a slim chance of entering the gates of heaven. They were sculpting their horns to earn their wings at the same time. Jaemin was assigned to be Arella’s steward on his first day. Arella was still a newborn when Jaemin first laid his eyes on her. Her tiny hands wiggled as she saw Jaemin eyeing her from her father’s shoulder. She looks like rainbows and unicorns. He thought. As Arella grew up, Jaemin’s love and the need to protect her grew too, even stretched like a trampoline. He set fire to the world around her, but never let a flame touch her. When he was reincarnated to be a steward, no traces about him or his past life remained in his memory. His mind was blank. Pure blank. His memories vanished like an amateur magician. Arella filled the void inside his mind with new memories to cherish, nonetheless. “If you couldn’t remember a single thing then, just think about me. You’d be alright.” Arella said while tracing small circles around Jaemin’s cold cheeks. “I will, angel.” Jaemin knew the rules, even knew about the danger of falling in love. But just like everybody else, he broke it. Arella just turned seventeen. “One more year.” He whispered quietly as he watched her pick the most beautiful flower in the garden. Arella can calm the storm that would cloud his mind in an instant. She was his heaven and his hell at the same time. He needed her more than she needed him. Some women can cast a spell that will last forever, and Arella is one of them. Jaemin thought. She casted a spell of identity and belonging with Jaemin’s pure, yearning heart. “You’d really vanish into oblivion when I turn eighteen?” She asked while holding Jaemin’s hands like it’s the most fragile thing in the world. “I will. We’re not like the rest of you in this household, angel. We’re not made of skin and flesh but instead we’re made of every soul’s regrets, unsolved what if’s, and great agony. We don’t belong here.” He uttered with such disappointment in his eyes. She hugged him for this is the only thing they can do- be each other’s warmth in the midst of the cold, pinning storm. “Damn the heavens and the God of fate for not allowing us to be each other's comfort in this lifetime.” “Mhm. The only thing standing in between you and me is reality. We’re almost there. Just … almost.” Arella’s eighteenth birthday will happen the day after tomorrow. Jaemin was anxious. He’d fall back to hell in an instant and Arella would forget about him. Everything about them. He cursed heaven and hell just so he could talk to his creator. God? Lucifer? He wasn’t sure either. After an angry thunderstorm and lightning, Lucifer appeared before him. “What do we have here, poor thing?” He said while dusting off the mud in his cape. Jaemin let out a deep sigh. This is it, it's now or never. He thought. “I’d like to become human. Claim my soul in the next lifetime. Just … let me be with the woman I love.” He uttered, almost in a slur. Lucifer nodded in dismay, “You poor, poor, thing! I already told you during the orientation that mortals are tempting! They are the most exquisite form of destruction!” “Claim my soul. Burn it, torture it, play with it. I don’t care. Just mold me into skin and flesh again and I’ll serve you willingly, my Lord.” He scoffed, “Devils don’t do that, poor thing. I’ll grant you your wish but you’ll lose everything about her. Her name, how her face looked like during sun dusk, the image of her smiling while you play with her hair. Everything.” “Mhm. Go on.” Jaemin replied with lips shaking from excitement. “You need to remember her. You need to find her in the next lifetime. Failure to do so will earn you a spot in the fourth circle of hell. Can you do that?” “The mind forgets, but the heart remembers.” He finished. ‘Twas the night before Arella’s eighteenth birthday, he was staring at her, tracing every part of her face just so he could remember her in the next lifetime. “When you wake up tomorrow, I'll be gone. Remember me, angel.” He said while cupping Arella’s face. “There are sudden goodbyes that hurt but ours were different. I will remember you, always.” The stars twinkled in her eyes and the sun warmed her smile. “My angel, you are worth it all. I wish I had found you earlier in life. See you in the next lifetime.” He loved her, she loved him but it wasn’t that simple. Lucifer granted Jaemin his wish. He was born in the same lifetime with the love of his life. Now, the question is will he remember her? Will she remember the poems he wrote on her skin with his lips? Every night as he succumbed to his dreams, he’d always see her. He’d smell the peachy scent of her hair, or how her eyes twinkled like the stars, the way her hips moved when she walked, or the way she uttered his name. But who is she? Jaemin thought. He was walking along the empty street of their neighborhood when he bumped into someone. “Watch where you’re going asshat!” The girl yelled on the top of her lungs. Jaemin scoffed and raised an eyebrow, “Excuse me, but you’re the one who bumped me!” The girl looked up, her eyes glistened while her hair swayed in a very alluring manner. He felt like he knew those eyes better than anyone else. The peachy smell of her dark, shiny hair, the way her lips curved when she talked and the way her skin felt against his. Some memories never leave your bones. Like salt in the sea; they become part of you- and you carry them. Always. How strange to dream of you even when I am wide awake. Can you still feel me loving you, my angel? He thought. “A-Arella? Did you forget everything that I’ll always remember?” Jaemin asked. “I found you, angel. Finally.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt and replied, “I’m sorry, my name is Seraphina. Perhaps you’re looking for my mom? Her name is Arella.”

#nct x reader #nct drabbles #nct ships #nct dream #nct #nct jaemin #nct fic #nct romance #nct angst #nct fluff #nct flirt line #nct au #nct aus

14 notes · View notes

niphredil-14 · 4 years

Text

Napoleon, Leonardo, Arthur, Vincent, Theo, Dazai, Sebastian, and Comte With an S/o Who Wants 2 Birthday Gifts (Because it’s also Valentine’s Day)

bellasakamakimt

said:

I am a girl who is born in Valentines Day (which is 12th of june where I live). So, if I am dating one of the ikeboys, how it would be, for example, I say I want 2 gifts (one for the birthday and another for the Valentine's 😂😂), how would they celebrate the date and other stuff? Take this as a headcannon about me, I can't wait to see the answers 😂😂😂

Of course. Happy Belated Birthday, I’m actually also born on Valentine’s Day, though where I live it’s on February 14. Nonetheless, I hope you had a great day and got some awesome gifts! Sorry this is posted so late, I tried to finish this earlier, but had several technical difficulties, sorry again! Also, they tend to get a bit shorter towards the end, sorry about that.

Napoleon: - He’ll gladly give you a second gift! -He will probably pack you a picnic, and then take you out to the field to eat it. - After that he will give you his first gift, a new journal for you to write in, because your old one has probably already been filled up -He will spend the rest of the day out with you in the town, going place to place, maybe buying you a few trinkets he notices you staring at. Finally, at the end of the day, he will take you up the the attic where you two will look at the night sky while cuddling by the window. - That’s when he will give you his second gift, either a small sword with a scabbard that connects to your belt, or a dagger or a pocket knife. He will explain that they are if you are ever in danger and he isn’t there to help you, though he will always do his best to be.

Leonardo: - This man lives to please you, so if you want two gifts, then, dammit, you’re gonna get two gifts. - One of them will probably be something more Valentine’s day related, like a stuffed bear along with chocolates and your favorite flowers. - These will probably be presented to you earlier in the day. - He will bring you to the dining room, where he asked Sebastian to make your favorite foods - After the two of you have breakfast, he will treat you to a lazy day, where you spend the day cuddling and feeding each other sweets. - Later, right before bed he will give you his second gift, inspired by some of the technology of the 21st century that he has heard about from Sebastian. - It will be a (somewhat) digital camera, that connects to one of those tablets that display different pictures that switch every minute or so. - All of which he has been working on building for months, and then sneakily taking photos of the two of you during sweet moments and dates without you noticing. Those are the photos that will be displayed on the screen.

Arthur: - This man’s first gift is going to be a beautiful outfit for you to wear out to town with him that day. - He will take you all over town, buying you anything he sees you stare at for more than three seconds. - He had Theo babysit Vic so that his parents (You and Arthur) could have a nice day out - He will take you out to a fancy restaurant for dinner, and then will take you somewhere to overlook the city as the moon rises. - After dinner, he will take you somewhere secluded and high up to watch the sun set and look at the stars. This is when he will give you your second gift. - His second gift will be a book. Not one that will be published or tat there are multiple copies of. No, this one is just for you. - It is a journal that is filled to the brim with entries detailing dates you’ve been on and cases you’ve solved, as well as lists of things that he loves about you, that he’s noticed about you, or things he’s thought about you randomly. There are even a few doodles in there, though they aren’t very good (He tried, okay?!) - He will take you to a hotel room that night, where you two won’t get a wink of sleep.

Vincent: - This pure sunshine boy wouldn’t hesitate for even a moment before buying you a second gift. - He will provide you your first in the morning, right after breakfast, when he takes you up to the hill he took you to within your first few days at the mansion. - It would be a bouquet of flowers, and a scarf (He is all for that matching couple look!) - He will then take you out to lunch, and you two will walk around town for a while before returning for dinner. - After dinner, he will take you out to the garden and give you his second gift. - It is a beautiful locket, in which there is a miniature painting of the two of you (Which is very impressive, especially considering its small size!)

Theo: - When you first bring up that you want to gifts, he pretends to be against the idea, teasing that his ‘hondje is being greedy, now, hm?’ - But on your birthday, he will surprise you by giving you two gifts, both at the same time. - One of which is a choker necklace that bears your name engraved on the small stone in the center (Looks a lot like a collar, what a coincidence, Theo...) - The second of which would be a collection of small paintings, drawings, and images of different places all around the world. - After he gives you his gifts, he will take you out to a cafe to treat you to your favorite snacks.

Dazai: - First of all, Dazai will most likely write you a poem, about all that he loves about you. - He will also, though it isn’t necessarily a ‘gift,’ call you by your actual name, all day. - I think that he would also give you a bow, or ribbon for your hair. - Dazai would like to spend the day reading to you in the gardens.

Sebastian: - Sebastian, unfortunately, can not take the entire day off to spend with you, though he would like to. - He will, however, give you the day off. - He will make your favorite foods all day - Later, before you go to bed, he will show up at your room, bearing two things. - One of which, a small cupcake with a singular candle in it, on a small plate. - The second is a dainty silver bracelet. - He will apologize profusely for not having the opportunity to spend the day with you, but tells you how glad he is to have you around, what a huge help to him you are, and how much he appreciates you.

Comte: - Bold of you to assume you were ever going to get only one gift while being with this man. - Not only will he buy over a hundred gifts on his own, he will also take you out, and will buy everything that you so much as look at. - But, oh, you that that was it? HA! - Oh, no, there will be a ball in your honor, and each gift is strongly “encouraged” to bring a gift for you. - (Comte please, I don’t have room for all this, I only wanted two, not two thousand!!)

198 notes · View notes

mamsellechosette24601 · 3 years

Text

In the Green vs the real Hildegard's writings and philosophy

Because of “In the Green”, I started reading a bit about Hildegard and her thinking so as to better explore the themes of the musical. I read the book “Hildegard of Bingen: A Spiritual Reader", by Carmen Acevedo Butcher, which was short and insightful, with lots of excerpts from Hildegard, so I’ll share what I got from it in relation to the musical.

1. The symbolism of the colour green and of the sun

"Hildegard called this vigor viriditas, the “green” energy of agape love pulsing through the entire universe. Over and over in her writings, she chooses viriditas to express God’s vitality and the ways His goodness and love charge the whole world with life, beauty, and renewal—literally, with “greenness.” Her unique, creative use of this Latin word makes it something of a neologism in her work. In Hildegard’s mind, viriditas was first found in the green of the garden of Eden, but it is also the green of whatever twig you or I happen to be looking at in this present moment, whoever we are, wherever we may be. She knew that the natural opposite of this “greening” energy was spiritual desiccation (including what we often call “depression”). But, like God’s mercy, His revitalizing viriditas has no limits. Wherever Hildegard looked, she saw that this “green” force animates every creature and plant on this planet with verdant divine love."

"The patriarchs and prophets who prefigured and predicted Christ were the “roots” of God’s divine tree, on which sprouted the most delicate “bud,” who is God’s Son, and from Him grew the “fruit” of the virtues: Humility, Charity, Divine Love, Patience, and their sisters. This is a favorite metaphor for Hildegard, and in her songs she praises the Virgin Mary as the “twig” or “branch” on which the “bud,” baby Jesus, flowered. By her intelligent selection of this one word, oculus, Hildegard has shown the center of her work—that to see God is to grow."

"In one of this volume’s poems praising Mary, “Grateful for the Unobtrusive Good,” Hildegard’s use of metaphors suggests that she saw no separation between symbol and fact. Metaphors were reality to her. Hildegard’s point in this song is that the divinely made sun giving earth life is also, in a mystical way, the life-giving Son of God who as the Word made creation’s every twig, including Mary, and yet was also Mary’s “Bloom”(…) In this song to Mary, the sun (also God’s Spirit) shines on the Virgin Mary, the “greenest twig.” She is a twig, not even a branch; but she is green with God’s pregnant vitality, and her comparative insignificance (as a woman, and unmarried) prepares her for the greatness of God’s Spirit to grow within her and produce the miraculous “flowering” of God’s divine-human Son. Her weakness is her strength, a recurring theme in Hildegard."

So, when Jutta sings “I can see the last of the light / Reflected in the green / Of everything”and we know what is going to happen, we’re supposed to cry at the distortion of life’s goodness

Sun Song gains a much more religious meaning, when we see everything that the sun and nature meant for Hildegard. In her “Book of Divine Works”, the Holy Spirit says: "I’m the divine flame of life, I burn above the golden fields, I sparkle on water, and I shine like the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Together with the loving, hidden power of the wind, I make everything come alive. Remember that I’m also Reason. I inform the wind of the first Word that created all things. I’m your breath, I’m the breath of all things, and none die because I am that Life." (should I read into In the Green’s “Air leaves my lungs/ I’m lying on my back / I’m staring at the sky / I open up my mouth but the air swallows my cry”? Jutta was forsaken by God, completely).

Death Ceremony, with its translation of “O Viridissima Virga”, introduces us to Jutta’s and Hildegard’s quest away from Eve’s curse and towards the Virgin Mary. The “little green branch” seeks the “branch of freshest green”, instead of rotting.

The idea of strength in weakness, which the Hildegards find in First Verb, appears, together with the aforementioned notions of the “green” and the “bud”, in Hildegard’s “Play of the Virtues”. "The virtues and the souls: 'When the world began, everything pulsed with life and was the tenderest shade of green.Flowers blossomed everywhere. But, after the Fall, everything green faded." The Warrior-of-Truth saw it all and said: 'I see what happened, but my house is not yet full. Look at me instead. I’m the image of your Father. Know my broken body broken for you. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of being made a laughing-stock. It goes straight through me. Even my followers lose heart. But remember this. The original abundance of green did not have to shrivel up, and your faith will see its way to strength, until you know the divinity of my jewel-covered body intimately, a gem in each injury, and each injury a bud. Look, Father! See my wounds? Now, let people everywhere kneel before God the Father, who’ll hand us strength on strength."

2. Hildegard’s “Scivias”, where she first shares her divine visions vs Jutta

In “Scivias” Hildegard writes a metaphor of the sinning soul. Turning away from God and towards sin (the “North”), the soul speaks “I regret that so much now! For I was captured, robbed, blinded, and violated. My garment was torn. I was dragged to a gruesome place and subjected to the worst kind of slavery”.

Then the soul repents, and hides in a cave, like Jutta hid in the Undergound: “After I’d said this, I went down the narrow path and hid from the eyes of the North. I went into a tiny cave and wept because I’d lost my Mother Zion. I wept, too, for all my wounds. I wept for my sadness. I wept and wept. I cried so many tears, they absorbed my pain and bruises. Then I smelled something very sweet. It reminded me of my mother’s soft breath on my cheek. That small comfort made me cry some more. I was so full of joy that I cried until it shook the mountain of my cave." The crying out of joy that will force the soul out of the cave also kind of reminds me of The Ripening, especially in this connection to a mother’s love (“In living I have learned/ to love another as a mother/ And I’ve felt that love inside my wicked flesh”) but I may be reading too much into it.

The soul then is persecuted by her enemies, and we are told “Then I saw poisonous snakes, scorpions, and other hideous reptiles slithering towards me. The snakes were hissing. I screamed, “Mother! Where are you?! Help me!” I heard my mother say, “Run, daughter! The Omnipotent, Unconquerable Provider has given you wings. Fly! Fly over these things blocking your path!” And I did." Compare this to “I’m not going back / I’ll run until I die / And when I can no longer run / I’ll teach myself to fly / I try”. All in all, the world of Hildegard’s visions is far from the reality Jutta faced.

The soul faces self-doubt and recovers remembering it was created by God: “The Devil’s poison arrow is the evil robbing me of my spiritual joy. I don’t want to celebrate people or God. I doubt everything when I feel this way, including my salvation. But when God helps me remember that He created me, then—even in the middle of my depression—I tell the Devil, “I won’t give in to my fragile clay. I’ll fight you!” How? When my inner self decides to rebel against God, I’ll walk with wise patience over the marrow and blood of my body. I’ll be the lion defending himself from a snake, roaring and knocking it back into its hole.” It echoes Jutta’s advice to Hildegard in The Rule, but of course, she is not whole like she claims she is. (“When you are whole, you will be like me / When you are whole, you will move confidently / Through your life / And you will understand how the boulder becomes sand / And you will know how to not become sand / When you are whole, you will never be scared / When you are whole, you will always be prepared / For a dragon's attack! / And you will slay the beast..or scare him away at least / And you will never again be the least”)

3. In “The Play of the Virtues”, Hildegard focuses a lot on clothing, as a metaphor for the “wearing” of salvation, as something we’re born with and must keep clean. This enhances how soul shattering Jutta’s experience was, “His hand pulling at my skirt”.

4. Letter to the Belgian Monk Guibert (1175) and Light Undercover: "My spirit is ever illuminated by what I call the shadow of the living Light. It has no physical limitations whatsoever and is much brighter than a cloud through which the sun shines. I can never predict when or how I’ll see it. As water reflects the sun, the moon, and the stars, this shadow of the living Light reflects God’s Word, sermons, virtues, and the things that humans do. Whatever I see in that Light’s shadow stays in my mind for a long time, stored away. I see and understand, hear and know at the same time. I only know what I see in these visions, because I’m untaught. I record what I see and hear, without adding my own words, and my Latin is unrefined, because that’s how I hear it in my visions. I’ve not been taught to write like a philosopher. Also, my visions are filled with images and sounds that are nothing like words spoken by any human. They’re more like a blazing fire and a cloud floating through a clear sky. I can’t comprehend this Light’s shadow any better than I can look right at the sun. Also, sometimes in that shadow (but not very often) I see another light. This is the living Light I spoke of earlier. I’m even less able to explain what this Light is like in comparison to the other. But I can say that when I look at it, every feeling of sadness disappears, and my every ache leaves me. I’m no longer an old, sick woman. I become young again." “Light is in the dark”, strength is in weakness.

5. The entire play gains a deeper, metalinguistic meaning, when we learn that for Hildegard, “When we sing, we repossess some of the Eden lost when Adam fell”. (Letter to the Prelates at Mainz, 1178).

6. Becoming Whole

Hildegard’s visions in “The Book of Life’s Merits” and Underground"I saw a very tall man. His head and shoulders were above the highest clouds. His torso was in a white cloud below this, while his upper legs were in the earth’s atmosphere. From the knees down, he was planted in the earth, and his feet were rooted in the deepest waters of the abyss, which represent the virtues and their power. They are the antidotes to sin, because they have the might to make anything whole. They do this by cleansing whatever they touch and making it holy. They nurture and sustain the world, and they bear all things. Everything on earth steeps in the moisture of the virtues and is made strong, in the same way that the soul makes the body moist and healthy, regenerating it."

In contrast to Jutta’s teachings about the body, Hildegard finds more balance in her writings, as Butcher puts it “Hildegard understood the symbiotic relationship between body and soul. She knew that when the body and soul are not in sync, a person’s whole world is out of whack. While she believed that the physical body is easily wayward and must be controlled, she did not teach that the body is evil (…) Hildegard’s work also emphasizes taking care of the body, because it is the sacred temple of the Holy Spirit”. Against ideas of duality, Hildegard brings “God’s goodness and the essential wholeness of a divine creation that refuses to be separated into neat-but-useless categories of earth and spirit, body and soul, nature and people”.

#in the green #grace mclean #hildegard von bingen #me doing this instead of studying #good thing I study medieval history anyway

47 notes · View notes

whirlybirbs · 4 years

Photo

; NIGHTFALL & DAYBREAK — 2 OF 2.

summary: you’re reunited with the jedi knight you’d loved all those years ago. pairing: handmaiden!reader x padawan!obi-wan, first part here. wordcount: 4.4k warnings: smoochin’ and love. a/n: this is just a set-up for more drabbles in the future, who am i kidding. but, probably the longest chapter of anything i’ve written in a long while. keep your eye out for an extra chapter ft. dinner & dessert. ;)

Much has changed in two years.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is now less of a boy and more of a man -- he’s grown into his kindness and charm, hair having finally settled down after all those years in a wild buzzcut. His padawan braid was forgone years ago, on the eve of him leaving you, and traded in for short, sandy locks that occasionally hung in his face during sparring.

His face is less round -- cheekbones sitting high on his face from the rather strenuous task of keeping a vivacious padawan in check. He has more wrinkles now, no doubt thanks to young Anakin Skywalker who -- as Obi considers how much he’s changed in the mirror of his quarter’s refresher -- is wrestling with his boots atop his Jedi Master’s bed.

Over young Skywalker’s shoulder, the sun has began to set over Coruscant.

“Do you think Padmé will be there?” he babbles on, a bit gap-toothed now that he’s finally lost his last baby tooth at the age of eleven; he’s as wide-eyed as ever, scrutinizing the fact his Master is paying particular attention to his hair right now, “I hope she is -- I haven’t seen her in ages. I miss her.”

Obi-Wan holds his tongue.

If only the young padawan knew his Master was also eager to see a certain member of the royal party -- he’s sure he’d never hear the end of it. Obi-Wan, carding a hand through his hair and rubbing his jaw, ignores the slight shake in his hand. Nerves.

(He hadn’t heard from you in weeks -- though he hadn’t stopped his usual correspondence. There was a frightful part of him heavy with worry that perhaps he’d overstepped. If... If maybe he’d been to eager on keeping up correspondence leading up to your arrive on Coruscant. Not that he knew with complete certainty that’d you’d be within the arriving party...)

Breathe. In, hold. Out.

You will be happy to see him, despite the changes in him.

He knows that.

“Be mindful, young Anakin,” Obi-Wan breathes, leaning on the edge of the sink and smiling whist-fully at his young apprentice, “This visit is a --”

“Diplomatic trial, I know, but --”

“But, we must keep in mind why we’ve been asked to mind the Queen and her royal consorts, Anakin,” he speaks slowly, flicking off the light to the refresher and propping his hands on his hips, “There’s been grave threats made upon the Queen. It is our duty to ensure their safety while they visit the Senate for the trial of these men.”

Anakin exhales slowly, nodding as he does. He gives Obi-Wan one of his understanding, trying-to-be-wise-beyond-his-years smiles and stands in his boots, now zipped up and on.

It brings a dimpled smile to his Master’s face. It always does.

Anakin, though rambunctious and powerful and outgoing and trouble-making, is rather cute.

Obi-Wan kneels, moving to adjust the young padawan’s robes, belted at a bit of an odd-angle, and smooth’s the dark fabric into a neat pleat down the child’s shoulder. Anakin still had much to learn as far as dressing went. He had a bad habit of napping in his robes -- and Obi-Wan had a bad habit of letting him.

“Ready, then?” Obi asks, noting Anakin’s slight sheepishness that he hadn’t fixed the skewed collar himself. Obi-Wan’s face is soft, though, and any worry Anakin had about a scolding melted as his Master stood and patted his shoulder.

“Yep!” Anakin chirps, “Born ready.”

“Then let’s go greet our Royal friends, shall we?”

✶ ✶ ✶

Much has changed in two years.

You’ve grown sharper in beauty and wit, becoming one of Padmé’s closest confidants alongside Dormé and Cordé -- and with the geo-political climate becoming more and more heated on Naboo, the number of threats upon the Queen’s life had boomed.

You, in turn, had become better with a blaster and even more dangerous than before.

You needed to be. Just last week, Moteé had been stabbed in an unsuccessful assassination attempt at a state dinner by a would-be reporter. It was Ellé who’d stopped the attack, pinning the Zygerrian to the banquet table with her vibroblade to his throat.

The fringe-political group seemed to blame young Padmé for the loses they faced in the Occupation of Naboo by the Trade Federation. They blamed the young Queen’s actions, condemning them as a part of the greater move towards Galactic War. Seeing the newly re-elected Queen continue to hold her seat upon the throne was the last thing these terrorists wanted.

The Royal Naboo Security Forces were keen on finding out who was responsible. And so was Padmé.

Piles of evidence eventually led Captain Panaka straight to a group of far-right Centrists who were operating out of Naboo’s eastern city, Solleu. With furhter plans to bomb the Royal Palace found in their possession, the group of four had been extradited to the Senate for trial on Coruscant -- and now, here you find yourself, accompanying the Queen alongside Dormé, Cordé, Ellé, and the Royal Guard to said trial.

“You’re fussing.”

It’s Dormé who says it, the decoy’s headdress tinkering as she turns to eye you in the transport. Padmé, beside her, spares you a bright look. She’s out of royal garb -- she plays the part of handmaiden, now, until within the Senate building.

“Are you nervous?”

You balk. You turn your attention back to the cape wrapped around your shoulders -- it’s a deep emerald and velvet, matching that of your fellow handmaiden’s and pinned neatly across your shoulders with a broach bearing the Naboo Royal crest. Beneath your cape lays a belt outfitted with your blaster, vibroblade, and medical kit -- the high collar of your ink-black compression suit peeking above the cape’s neckline. It’s battle dress, though the occasion calls for it. The transition between the landing strip to the Senate will be dangerous.

You fuss with the hem and cross your legs.

“I’m not -- I... Why would I be nervous?”

Padmé serves you a look, the corner of her lips turning upwards. “Lying is unbecoming, you know.”

That stirs a laugh out of Cordé, who has her eyes turned out the transport’s window.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about --” you try to wave their prying words away, swatting at them as if they were flies in the air.

It earns you four rather unimpressed looks.

“Surely if I was seeing the man I’d been pining over for the last two years,” Ellé pipes up from the back corner, attention pulled from sharpening her blade, “I’d be nervous.”

“I --”

Padmé grins. “Has he written you recently?”

(Of course he’d written. He writes nearly twice a week. He’s consistent and frequent and you try to be as good as him about replying, but it’s hard to find the right words to express how much you love someone when it’s been two years since you’ve seen their face and there’s lightyears of distance between you. Because of that, you have a handful of unanswered holo-messages upon your person communicator that, in the last handful of weeks due to some rather pesky security purges done in attempt to secure the Royal communications, you have been unable to reply to.)

You try to hide the way your face splits in two. You try so hard; but it’s not easy, not when the girls light up with excitement -- reading parts of his messages had become a rather guilty pleasure of theirs.

Not that they were to blame.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a romantic.

Padmé had been the first to find out about your correspondences, the young Queen nosy enough to read over your shoulder one afternoon when she’d caught you seeking peace in the gardens. It had been a tight-lipped secret that the young Queen had sworn to keep, but the others were wickedly smart -- and upon catching you reading a rather lovely poem, penned to you earlier that day, to Padmé one evening in the gardens (your usual rendezvous when sharing such things) Dormé had been the next to become obsessed with the winding love-story of you and young Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Years later, the others within this very small group of women know, too, but no one else. It was a secret kept safe amongst the Queen’s closest friends -- your closest friends. You’d trust these women with your life; and so, your most protected secret.

“... Perhaps.”

A soft gasp. “Does he know you’re coming?”

“All I know,” you explain softly, “is that he’s been asked by the Chancellor to greet the Naboo Royal party upon landing as additional security, and that he’d hoped I’d be amongst the party to accompany you --”

The ship begins to slow its descent.

You visible stiffen. If you hadn’t been nervous before, you’re certainly nervous now.

The others notice -- their faces splitting with eager, bright smiles. You can’t help but match it, fingers wound tightly into your cape as you shift in your seat; Captain Panaka announces they’ll be landing shortly once they get clearance from air-traffic command.

“If we don’t see a kiss, I’ll be rather peeved --”

You shoot Ellé a sharp look, one that spurs her to grin wolfishly -- a sharp contrast to her polished core-world accent.

“It’s against the code --” you begin to explain.

“Well, certainly you’ve kissed before,” Padmé nearly cries, hands braced on either side of the waxy seats as she leans forward in protest, “He’s written about it --”

“Of course we’ve kissed,” you mutter, pinching your brow, “Just not on a tarmac for the entire Senate to see, is all.”

“... Did you two ever --”

“No!” you nearly shriek, waving your hands at a now grinning Dormé, who has to try and keep her face still as to not disrupt the carefully painted makeup on her lips, “I know what you’re about to ask and no, we never --”

The ship rumbles as the landing pad comes into view.

Panaka, over the transport’s loudspeaker, calls out: “Look alive, ladies. Seems we’ve got a greeting party.”

Your eyes connect with all of theirs before you all rush to the windows, keen on catching a glimpse of a certain Jedi Knight --

And that’s when you see Obi-Wan Kenobi for the first time in two years.

✶ ✶ ✶

He swears his heart is going to give out.

Even Anakin can sense his Master’s restlessness. It earns Obi-Wan a squint from down below, coming in the form of Anakin’s trademarked curious look. Obi can feel it boring into his skull, but opts to ignore it. Right now, the sandy blonde is busy trying to ground himself as the Naboo Royal Shuttle lands.

It’s gears hiss, weight settling on the Senate’s landing platform 55-B.

When the landing ramp folds out, presenting a set of stairs out the side of the tan transport, him and Anakin move closer -- only for Obi-Wan’s breath to catch in his throat so quick he nearly chokes.

Oh.

The first time he sees you in two years, he’s robbed of all the air in his lungs.

He’d remembered your beauty -- soft and kind and warm. It was something that he thought of often. Years prior, you’d worn soft shades of rose colored lipstick and ribbons in your hair. This sort of soft, girlish beauty had apparently been ephemeral, over-taken by a daring sense of beauty that held a knife to his throat the moment he laid his eyes upon you.

You step off that transport, swathed in an emerald green cape that kisses the ground as you walk, looking like something out his wildest dreams. The sunset behind you pales in comparison. You haven’t changed... yet, you have -- looking older now, and more capable than ever.

You could say the same about him.

He’s just like you remember, except broader -- he’s filled out, with hair that isn’t so spikey and the ghost of stubble threatening to overtake his jaw completely, reminding you suddenly of the way Qui-Gon had once styled his facial hair. His chin bears it’s same dimple, and his little beauty mark stands out against tanned skin. He’s... a man -- not that he wasn’t all those years ago on Naboo, you remind yourself.

Obi-wan’s eyes, wide and warm, connect with yours and it’s like getting punched square in the chest. You can hardly breathe.

For a moment, and only a moment, the universe slows down. It’s only the two of you on that tarmac, two weary hearts reunited after years of loneliness. It feels good to finally feel whole again, and the both of you thank the stars above in an utterance of prayer. You’re here, and he’s here. You’re together again.

But, there’s a job to be done.

Quickly, you move beside Ellé -- the four handmaidens fall in line around the Queen, a squad of Royal Guard filing out behind her; you tear your eyes from Obi-Wan reluctantly, quickly scanning the rooftop canopy for any threats. Your hand is on the blaster on your hip, battle regalia on display underneath.

Obi-Wan swallows thickly.

He bows. Anakin follows suite.

If he sees Padmé, he doesn’t say a word -- only stares openly as the Royal Party files out onto the tarmac and two men in pilot’s uniforms wrestle with two trunks in the back of the pack.

“It’s with great pleasure that my padawan and I welcome you to the Senate, your highness,” Obi-Wan speaks slowly, eyes shining as he spies Dormé’s face between the crowd; he gives her a familiar smile -- he’d made her acquaintance all those years ago aboard the Nubian. He recognizes Padmé, too, smiling up at him sweetly on the right-flank with her blaster in her hand, “We will be your escorts during this time -- though, it seems Royal Security certainly has a handle on things.”

He winks. Right at you.

He hasn’t changed at all.

You can feel Dormé’s smirk boring an amusement shaped into the back of your head.

Gods, you could kiss him. If he’s not careful, Ellé is going to get that show she mentioned aboard the transport.

“Thank you, Jedi Knight,” you speak curtly, leading the formation with long strides across the tarmac, following his cue off the well-lit platform, “The extra hand is much appreciated.”

Oh, to hear your voice again. He’s sure he’s never been happier.

Anakin is looking back, face suddenly splitting into a smile of recognization. You catch it being sent Padmé’s way as you move to make way for the Queen into the Senate building. Padmé catches the boy’s eye, too, both of them glowing with fondness for each other.

Obi-Wan is quick, head on a swivel as he leads you and the Naboo Royal party into the Senate building’s elevator, pressing the button for the 80th floor. Upon that floor is the Naboo Senatorial Suite, where Padmé and the party of royal staff will be staying during trial’s proceedings set to begin tomorrow at noon.

The group shuffles into the elevator, crammed a bit, but leaving you to brush shoulders with the very Jedi Knight you’d been so nervous to see. You filed in, once again at the front of the formation around the Queen, before idling shifting in your boots as Obi-Wan crosses his hands in-front of himself and clears his throat.

The elevator begins to move as you catch Obi-Wan barely hiding his affections, face turned to openly admire you.

“I hadn’t thought it possible for you to grow more beautiful,” he says quietly, but loud enough for the entire elevator to eavesdrop, “It is good to see you again, my friend.”

Goodness, if Cordé could swoon she would. Right now, though, she’s jammed between Panaka and the elevator wall. Instead, she shares a knowing, amused look with Ellé across the lift.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re quite the charmer, Obi-Wan Kenobi?” you muster, turning to blink up at him beneath thick lashes; you can take in more of him now -- the slope of his nose, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, “Seems as though some things never change.”

“Hardly the first,” he smiles, hand moving to hold the doors to the lift open as the chime, signaling their stop, “And I suppose not... You are still short.”

Padmé laughs at that, trying to hide it as a cough.

It doesn’t pass.

Even Panaka is smirking now, especially as you turn and smile up at Obi-Wan with an awed expression. The Jedi Knight is looking particularly smug, hiding his evident amusement in his sleeve as he rubs his jaw. His eyes bounce to you, then the floor number displayed overhead.

His hands are still shaking, only slightly now. You notice.

Anakin is blinking between the two of you in the meanwhile, leaning around Obi-Wan to get a better look at the smile on your face -- that smile is definitely not one of a friend. Anakin’s had plenty of friends before and not one of his friend’s have looked at him like that. And his Master is making the same gross, mushy face.

Anakin blinks back at Padmé, who smiles back.

He serves the same kind of gross, mushy smile his master is, all without even knowing it.

The doors open to the 80th floor, twinkling skyline of the Federal Distract glimmering through the large windows lining the hallway. The sight greets you kindly, a bit of the tension in your shoulders melting, as Obi-Wan chirps a charming:

“Shall we?”

You both lead the group down the carpeted hall, hanging a right out of the elevator. Your cape brushes the ground as you walk -- his robes doing the very same. Dormé can’t help but think of what a smart couple the two of you make, the smile playing upon her neatly painted lips settling as she catches sight of the Senatorial suite.

The guards outside stand at attention as you offer a respectful bow of your head and move to press open the heavy dura-steel doors -- Obi-Wan manages the other, and the party moves into the suite like a flowing river of bodies. Anakin muddles in the fray, watching with bright eyes as the party relaxes visibly and Dormé rolls her neck.

You step into the apartment, closing the doors as the Jedi Knight to your left does the same. His smile is playing loudly upon his lips, eyes roaming happily across you as you button the holster on your hip and begin to undo your cape.

“All things considered,” Ellé says, moving to do the same with her cape, “That went well.”

You’re pulled away from the smile on Obi-Wan’s lips by the task at hand.

Settling in meant sweeping the room, unpacking, and prepping for tomorrow’s hearing. As the Royal Guard leave the rest of the suitcases in the bedroom, the flurry of activity leaves you suddenly a bit panicked -- what now? Will he leave? You have hardly had the time to say hello... and -- you have so much to say. Now, he’s idling by the door beside you, looking as if he’s also wondering the same thing.

“We’ve still got tomorrow to survive,” mutters Dormé, sighing as Cordé pulls her headdress off, letting dark hair spill across her shoulders, “Don’t speak too soon.”

“All due respect,” Obi-Wan pipes up, “But, you need not to worry; Anakin and I will do all we can to ensure these next few weeks go by smoothly.”

Anakin, upon hearing his name, perks up in the corner. “That’s right.”

Padmé has to laugh.

“You two have certainly come far from what I remember,” she says sweetly, smile wide and genuinely, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It certainly has.”

His eyes fall to the carpet, drifting in your direction as if caught in your orbit. His voice is soft; Padmé can see the forlorn look in his eyes from her spot across the room, gathering dresses from her trunks to hang in the closet.

You’ve folded your cape over your arm.

You’re worrying the hem again.

Padmé lingers in the doorway, eyes bounding between the both of you -- it seems Ellé and Cordé are doing the same; suddenly, the young Queen of Naboo lights up, her eyes falling to her Senatorial garbs as she swallows.

“Perhaps... errands would be in order --”

“Your highness,” Panaka states plainly, hands behind his back, “We have no need for --”

“Captain, I believe... Ellé, you had a list, yes?”

Ellé is like a deer in headlights. “Oh! Uh, yes! Of course, it’s... tucked away --”

She’s begun to move towards the bedroom, laughing sheepishly -- lying has never been her gift -- as she moves to hurry past Padmé and find a scrap of paper tucked into the first drawer of the desk there; she’s cursing slightly, fumbling with the drawers as you and Obi-Wan stand there awkwardly, listening to the fray as Cordé and Dormé move to assist the brazen handmaiden in her attempts to doctor up a to-do list. There’s whispers of your friends adding items to the list, and after a moment that seems to pass far too slowly, they emerge from the bedroom brandishing a crinkled, folded up list.

Panaka coughs, hiding an amused smirk.

“Here,” Padmé says, crossing the room and offering the folded list to you, “Perhaps, Jedi Knight, you could accompany her? To ensure the list is gathered safely, of course. And Anakin can keep up company for now, can’t you, Ani?”

A bright chirp. “I will make sure they’re safe, Master!”

Obi-Wan balks, mouth moving but no words coming out.

The gesture is... kind, and suddenly he’s wondering if Padmé and the other girls are in on your little secret... He nods, though, accepting the assignment without a word of protest which causes the youthful Queen to bloom at the sight of you both before her.

“Good. Thank you,” she says, gesturing to the door with her free hand, “And please, no rush.”

You can hardly believe her.

You grip the list tightly, pulling your cape over your shoulders and pinning it once more as you step through the door Obi-Wan has moved to hold open -- his hand ghosts your lower back, prompting you to duck your head sheepishly at the first contact in years.

The door closes behind you heavily and someone locks it from the other side.

Now, alone with Obi-Wan in the hallway, you feel just as you did on the tarmac.

Breathless.

He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he grips the sleeves of his robe tightly. You’ve long forgotten the list, attention turned towards the handsome Jedi Knight before you -- finally, you reach out.

Your hands find his face and he’s pulled in, sweeping your hands into his own as he closes the distance between you both.

As easy as breathing, his mouth finds yours. The kiss is gentle, sweet and slow; you can feel his smile digging in against your lips as he kisses you, hands cradling your jaw as you hold on tightly to his wrists. You feel like your entire heart is on fire as your heartstrings snap happily at the comfort his touch brings.

You’d missed this. You’d missed him.

“I missed you,” he pulls away, his nose brushing yours as he holds you close, “I missed you so much -- I was so nervous --”

“I know,” you whisper, fingers carding through the sandy locks on his temples, “And I missed you.”

You could cry.

You’re so happy -- he sees it on your face and it makes his eyes swim with years worth of adoration. “I meant what I said... You’ve... You’ve gotten even more beautiful. I didn’t think it possible.”

You roll your eyes, lashes blinking quickly to try and hide the misty-eyed reaction that worms out of you. “Stop it.”

“I’m serious --”

“I haven’t been able to write you back, and -- and I feel awful... I... The palace has been purging the servers and tightening security measure, and,” you stammer, pausing to take a breath and swallow down your guilt, “I felt so terrible -- I... You wrote me so often and...”

“And you were busy,” he urges, smile growing on his face as he thumbs your cheek, “I know that.”

You can’t help the happy tear that rolls down your cheek.

“I thought of you -- everyday. From the moment I woke, to the moment I went to bed...”

His heart lurches at your words. Obi-Wan laughs, soft and safe, as he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’m here now,” he soothes, minding the delicately wound plaits on wither side of your head, mimicking Padmé’s stapled Senatorial style -- you’re beautiful, truly, and he can’t help but steal another kiss, “I must admit I... I was nervous you wouldn’t come.”

“I had to,” you shake your head, holding his hand tightly as you separate, “To see you again...”

His eyes are soft. “I nearly requested you --”

“Padmé would have obliged if you had,” you drop your gaze, “She... She knows.”

“I figured as much,” Obi-Wan nods, wetting his lips, “And the others?”

“I tried to keep it from them, but --”

“But, it’s no matter,” he reassures, smile melting away any worries you’d had about his reaction, “They’re people that you trust. I trust you judgement above all else.”

Gods, you love him. Truly, you do.

“Come then, let’s get this list out of the way so I can have you all to myself,” he mutters, an arm sneaking around your shoulders as he plants yet another kiss to your temple, “A little shopping can’t hurt. I’ve waited years, anyways.”

Your stomach swims delightfully at the idea.

You brandish the list, beginning to follow him towards the lift as you unfold the paper.

You stop in your tracks and laugh.

Obi-Wan blinks.

“What?”

“... They... goodness -- read it for yourself.”

You hand it to him, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Obi-Wan takes it in calloused fingers, clearing his throat before eyeing the note.

“Take yourselves to dinner,” he snorts, “And just kiss already.”

You’re shaking your head, laughing quietly, when he looks up. And Obi-Wan figures this is the most wonderful moment he’s had in a long time. He tries to memorize the sight of you before him, then speaks quickly:

“Well, I take that stands as Royal order, doesn’t it?”

You don’t object when he pulls you into the elevator and kisses you dizzy.

#nightfall & daybreak #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x you #obi-wan imagine #obi-wan x reader

725 notes · View notes

art-now-india · 3 years

Photo

ETERNAL CIRCLE-GOLDEN FORTUNE TREE, Baljit Chadha

LEARNT BASICS OF ART IN JAPANFROM RENOUNED ARTIST MS OHTA MIYOKO.The Eternal Circle .Circle is an old symbol. The earliest humans looked up the sky and found the orb of fire giving them light and warmth. Sun for them was a mystical power, a god. They saw its movement from morning in the east and to the west in the evening. Next day again it came up in the sky. They regarded it as an omnipresent power that repeated its emergence with cyclical regularity. There was no beginning or end to the sun for them. It was the sun that allowed their imagination to look in the circular form endlessness, infinity. Thus quite early circle became a symbol of completeness, eternity and also rejuvenation. Circle also denoted the Nature. They found seasons changing and then again re-emerging with regularity. The seasons became the circle of Nature. In winter all greenery vanished and then when Spring came life stated flourishing once again. The great Mohenjo daro-Harrappan civilization had a script as yet un-deciphered. They often had a symbol of a circle with six spokes inset. What it represented is not known. From prehistory to history circle gained greater importance and came to symbolise the cycle of birth and death and also the soul�s eternity. In the rainbow spectrum of Indian philosophy, religion and culture, circle has been used as a varied symbol. The cycle of birth and rebirth is broken only through moksha. King Ashok propagated Buddha�s path to enlightenment through Dharm Chakra�a wheel with eight spokes of a chariot. I feel the wheel was invented with inspiration from sun or moon. Hindu philosophy talks about chakras. It is believed that there are seven chakras or source of light located within the subtle body. The Tantra cult uses the concept of chakras for awakening kundalini. The chakras were illustrated with images and this lead to the development of tantric art. Ajit Mukherjee in his seminal book The Art of Tantra helped to create in early sixties a movement of tantric art in India. But it did not last very long being bound by a strict and regulated expression as per dictates of Tantra iconography. Baljit Chadha is an artist with deep roots in Asian cultural traditions which includes India and especially Japan. Long years spent in Japan drew his creative interest to Japanese style painting. With great felicity he paints Nature and flowers. That is but only one aspect of his creative forays. Here I am concerned with his spiritual focus on the circle as a means of artistic expression. To paint with spiritual symbolism requires an inner search, equanimity, and a feel for the timeless. Paintings without this kind of attitude will not carry the dynamics of the spiritual; they will be like empty shells. Baljit paints with the inner dynamics. His present works are an effort to capture the metaphysical. His creativity unfolds through the circle in a kind of inner automatism. You have to understand his oeuvre in the context of his personal search for righteousness. I wish to bring to your notice the spiritual umbilical of his personal search. It is pertinent to know the Indian philosophy of life and Beyond. In Sikhism karma or kirat is seen as the vehicle to free us from the cycle of birth and death and to have mukti. One has to free oneself from pride, lust, anger, greed, self-centricity, maya and moh (attachment) and to devote life to sewa�service to mankind. Bhagavad Gita 2.27 also says, "One who has taken his birth is sure to die, and after death one is sure to take birth again. Therefore, in the unavoidable discharge of your duty, you should not lament." Thus cycle of life, death and rebirth are essential parts of thought process in India. Baljit�s paintings have varied moments of inspiration. In some works the circle is a serene quiet peaceful disc emitting soft tones and leading you to a feeling of inner joy. This you find in his work 2380. This work has a churning of the inner space and a rotation suggesting the cycle of the world or universe. The core of the painting appears to be a mystical kernel beyond human mind and intellect. In yet another work there are concentric circles and the core is a black bindu. Here the circles appear to symbolise the simultaneous working of different cycles of worldly activities and attachments. You get out of one circle and you are caught in another and so on ad infintum. (2486). You must notice the use of free moody lines that cross the circles and daubs of congealed colour. Baljit use this inner automatism where he does not seem to guide his hand or brush consciously. A lurking desire to be free of the material, bodily, intellectual and to allow the magic of anhad to take over is what I see in his use of these Zen like child�s scribbles. Baljit has used these idiosyncratic free floating lines in most of his works. These lines seem at times to �obstruct� your view of the pure circle. The eternal spiritual that the circle represents is often made hazy by our infatuation with the maya. At other times he uses tumbling interacting images in embellished gold reminding of the drama of life that has its own breathtaking charm. In yet another painting there is a linear window-like overlay through which you see the circle of the infinite. Here you become aware of the beauty of the spiritual that shines in cosmic blue colour (2376). Spiral is another important symbol that is our journey to a higher reality of being. Sometimes the luminescent circle has a spiral running over it�the desire to reach the ananata through our soaring spirit (2471, 2476). The subconscious doodles that are used sometimes have a rhythm that seems to evoke the universe and the movement of stellar constellations. Many painting have a centre or a kernel of the circle that seems to enter infinity and mystical Beyond. Observe that the centre of the circles is always full of light to make you think of the spiritual aura and awe of unknown. Baljit has his spiritual awakening in the world and in the flowers that he so lovingly paints. On an art related visit to Singapore I found the overflowing joy that he felt while visiting the botanical garden with different exotic flowers in bloom. This you see in the beautiful painting of an ethereal blooming blue flower. He paints the golden yellow stigma of the plant reminding you of the mystical centre in the circle. The flower opens with immense energy straight in your face, it mesmerizes you, holds you in its clasp and if you focus long on its centre you are drawn in it. In a different way his painting reminds me of Van Gogh�s intense sunflowers that emit a spiritual intensity. You find in the world what you want to see in it and not what it has. Baljit finds what he is looking for in the circular forms�be it a round flower, sun, or the eternal soul or the cycle of life death and rebirth or the planets and stars in the universe. Baljit looks at the eternal drama of the universe through his symbolic circle. I may here quote from a poem from the great Indian saint and poet Kabir that is also apt for Baljit�s art� I have known in my body the sport of the universe: I have escaped from the error of this world. The inward and the outward are become as one sky, the Infinite and the finite are united: I am drunken with the sight of this All! This Light of Thine fulfils the universe: the lamp of love that burns on the salver of knowledge. Kab�r says: "There error cannot enter, and the conflict of life and death is felt no more." Viktor Vijay KumarI LOVE PHOTOGRAPHY. I TAKEPHOTOGRAPHS OF FLOWERS AND CONVERT THEM IN TO MY PAINTINGS I have created a new technique called (FLOAT ON COLORS) .Using mix media on paper. I evolved a style of art that has minimal gap in feeling and expression. Rapidity and quickness of expression in my art comes from the well of inner spirituality. My art is not planned, thought-out and cerebral it is based on spontaneity. Abstract Expressionism is a wider term and my art follows it in variegated dimensions. My journey in art continued and I experiment with different painting instruments and techniques. My dependence on brushwork is rather limited. I frequently and freely use spatulas, wooden sticks, masking, and sand-mix, push bottles and what comes handy in the moment. I use acrylic with mix media. I have developed acrylic based glazes that were possible earlier only with oil paints. The glazes impart a charm similar to enamel glazes. My art journey finds depth and width in continuous experimentation, forays into the unknown and choosing challenging metaphors of expression. Where my art journey will take me next I leave to higher forces . I did an installation (Wall of Divine flowers) with 12000 painting on 12-12-12-12hrs-12mnts-12sec at Zorba in New Delhi and CREATED A WORLD RECORD The exhibition with the most paintings of flowers in the world www.baljit-chadha.artistwebsites.com http://www.youtube.com/edit?ns=1&video_id=fCTt1B51fJA http://www.1wra.org/index.php/Worldrecord/detail/id/1241 This certificate is given by WORLD RECORD ASSOCIATION donated entire collection to Smile Foundation New Delhi, for a girl child education. original colors may wary little from photographs

https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-ETERNAL-CIRCLE-GOLDEN-FORTUNE-TREE/392880/2499147/view

#baljitchadha #abstractexpressionism

3 notes · View notes

aratilightwood · 4 years

Text

Of all the universes that exist, this one’s ours.

Thomastair au based on WTfock S3 and ‘Wildfire,’ by syml.

Trigger warning: there’s a lot of angst and some mentions of internalised homophobia.

This was encouraged by @vanillalipstick66 who shares the same love I have for Robbe and Sander.

...

Alastair raced up the steps of the Lightwood’s residence with purpose. It was quarter to eleven in the morning, and he was certain everyone was awake. It was hard enough to stop himself from coming earlier, despite not being able to sleep a wink last night. But the prospect of seeing Thomas was the only thing playing on his mind, with events of the evening before haunting and crippling him with fear.

Fear that he’d finally lost him. No, he was certain he’d lost the only man that had been able to take his breath away with a single smile, make his heart race with the featherlight touch of fingers against skin and cause him to stutter that it was almost impossible to form coherent sentences whenever he was around.

He raised a hand and squinted his eyes to block out the sun, as he looked up at the house’s grand structure. He’d been there many times, yet this particular visit made him feel more nervous than ever. His palms were sweating as he reached the front door and knocked loudly on it three times.

The door opened to the Lightwoods’ housekeeper. She was a middle aged woman who wore a plain black dress and her greying hair was styled into a neat bun. She had the sight and had been working with the family for a decade. Her overly cheerful demeanour annoyed Alastair sometimes, but today he found himself smiling back at her.

“Good morning Mr Carstairs.” She said politely. “Mr and Mrs Lightwood are in the library. Shall I tell them you‘ve come to pay a call?”

“Good morning, I er -“ Alastair began.

The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed as she studied him, “would you prefer to wait in the parlour?”

“That won’t be necessary. I - I’m here to see Thomas.”

Alastair made a silent prayer in hopes that Thomas would be home. Perhaps he should’ve sent a message so the other boy would be expecting him. But he knew Thomas would’ve made any excuse not to see him, especially after what happened last night.

“Master Thomas is in the garden,” the housekeeper said as she opened the door wider for him to step in. “Would you like me to take you to him?”

Alastair shook his head, “no thank you.”

The housekeeper bowed her head and retreated to the kitchen as Alastair navigated his way around the house. After walking past the dining room and staircase, he found himself facing double glassed doors that led to a large garden outside.

He could see Thomas through the glass and let himself admire the scene for a moment. The other boy was standing under a giant apple tree, and his head was bent over a book in his hands. Alastair longed to see which book it was, after all, they both shared a love for literature.

Alastair gently slid the doors open so he wouldn’t alert Thomas, and stepped outside on the patio. The door shut abruptly behind him, louder than he intended, and he cursed silently. But when he looked up, Thomas hadn’t taken his eyes off the book. The soles of Alastair’s shoes made noises as he walked towards the apple tree, still Thomas’s attention remained elsewhere.

When Alastair stepped onto the grass and cleared his throat, the other boy finally looked up.

“What are you doing here?” Thomas questioned as he furrowed his brows into a menacing look.

“I - um came to apologise,” Alastair said hopefully.

Thomas placed the book down on the outdoor table beside him, and Alastair caught a glimpse of the title. It was, ‘The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.’ A familiar book of poems he read to himself, when he needed a distraction from what was happening at home with his father.

“You said all you needed to say yesterday,” Thomas claimed as he folded his arms in defence.

Alastair shortened the distance between them until they were standing arms’ length, “look, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“So you don’t think I’m disgusting? You don’t think I’m inverted? You don’t think I should be locked up in a Mundane prison for being who I am?” Thomas shouted across the lawn.

Alastair was taken aback by the sudden outburst and blinked in shock.

“I should never have kissed you,” Thomas said after a long beat.” Then I wouldn’t have felt embarrassed when you pushed me away.”

Strands of Alastair’s hair fell across his face and he swept it back in frustration, “it’s not that I didn’t want you to kiss me.”

“Then what is it?”

“I said all those things because I was confused, Tom. I know that’s no excuse, but these are new feelings I’m experiencing. It’s overwhelming.”

“This might come as a surprise to you, but it’s new for me too!”

“I’m sorry, ok? I’m really am,” Alastair said softly. “It’s just when you kissed me, it felt like an explosion of fireworks in my brain. An amalgamation of different colours and sounds erupting in disarray. I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t know what to do.”

“I can’t keep running around in circles with you, Alastair,” Thomas said with exasperation. “How do you want to move on from this?”

Alastair stepped closer to Thomas with determination. He stood on his tiptoes and cupped the other boy’s cheek. Their lips collided in a soft kiss, but Thomas didn’t have time to savour the moment because Alastair broke away to looked at him earnestly, “does that answer your question?”

Their lips were separated but their foreheads touched as Thomas softly rubbed their noses together, “what about the fireworks?”

“Damn the fireworks!”

Thomas smirked and circled his arms around Alastair’s waist to hook his fingers through the other boy’s belt. They pivoted so Alastair’s back hit the tree behind, and his hand settled to rest on Thomas’s neck.

They kissed for a long time.

...

They lay on the grass and gazed at the sky together. Thomas’s lean body was outstretched as Alastair was lying horizontally with his head on the other boy’s chest. Thomas hummed a tune from an old Persian rhyme that reminded Alastair of his mother’s voice when she sang to help him sleep on restless nights. The rise and fall of Thomas’s chest was a soothing presence to him, and the sensation of him idly stroking Alastair’s hair was enough to ease him into slumber.

“Do you know there are multiple universes that exist?” Alastair said drowsily.

“Well, obviously. Where else do you think demons come from, Carstairs?” Thomas replied with a short laugh.

“No. What I mean is, there are parallel universes. Ones that may appear unique, but are only slightly different to our own.”

“Ok?”

“I believe that in every universe, there’s a Thomas and an Alastair who are spending this exact moment together,” Alastair explained.

Thomas smiled as he looked down at the other boy, his eyes a shade lighter than their usual ambers, “how many Thomas’ and Alastairs are there?”

When Alastair spoke it was barely a whisper, “an infinity of numbers.”

94 notes · View notes

harlot-of-oblivion · 4 years

Text

Flowers By The Sea (Part 8)

The big day is only week away and Vergil is attending the joint bachelor and bachelorette party at the beach. Little does he know that his meddlesome brother's antics include inviting his lovely rose to the seaside get together.

Everyone loves a beach episode, right? Hope you enjoy! 🌹😘🌹

Chapter 1: Waves of Devotion

Dante sits behind his desk, elbows resting on its messy surface as he surveys the crew assembled before him. Lady is leaning against one side of the desk facing Trish, whose back is resting against the railing of the staircase with her hands on her hips. On the other side of the office, Nero regards him with guarded curiosity while lounging on the couch next to Nico, who pays him no mind as she casually rests one ankle atop her knee.

They are all staring at him expectantly, he is the one that called them all here after all, but it’s his nephew that finally breaks the ecstatic ice. “Alright, so…why the hell did ya call us all here?”

“Yeah,” Lady pipes up as she rests one hand on the desk and leans in a little closer. “What’s the deal, Dante?”

The corners of his mouth twitch into a mischievous smirk. “The deal…IS THIS!” he exclaims, reaching down under his desk before revealing a light pink pastry box to the whole crew. Another long silence follows while they just stare at both him and the wide-open box with varied expressions of perplexity and scrutiny. Dante’s smirk widens while he waggles his eyebrows, waiting for the epiphany to finally hit the crew just like it did him when he first read what is written on the inside the box:

things that fall

petals teardrops snowflakes rain stars tides eyelids time shadows leaves the sun and I, for you

Nero is once again the first to speak up. “Uh…what exactly are we looking at?”

“Oh my god!” Lady gasps, eyes sparkling with realization as she covers her gaping mouth with her other hand.

“Well, well…that was quick,” Trish murmurs while squinting at the elegant handwriting on the bottom of the pastry box.

Nero shakes his head in confusion. “What’re you guys talking about? It’s just a box with a…wait a minute,” he mutters while leaning in closer for a better look at the short and sweet poem, eyes widening when he finally notices the key words written in bigger letters right at the center of the pastry box:

and I, for you

“OOOOH! Looks like you’re gettin’ a new mom!” Nico howls while elbowing Nero in excitement.

“C-cut it out!”

Dante flings his head back and lets out a boisterous laugh while Nero swats Nico’s arm away. “It seems our sweet gardener has plucked the he loves me petal from the flower of loooooooove,” he announces gleefully, pointing at the proof with his usual theatrical flair.

Trish quirks a well-trimmed eyebrow. “Yeah…but what does that have to do with all of us?”

“Oh no,” Nero mumbles under his breath while his eyes narrow in suspicion. “You’re not thinking-”

“Oh, you know he is!” Nico quips back with a hearty chuckle.

“Listen Kid,” Dante begins to spell it all out as he sets the pastry box down on his desk. “Your old man is taking forever to seal the deal with Buttercup.”

“He does have a point,” Lady admits with a shrug.

“Which is why he needs our help,” Dante finishes with a sage nod of his head.

Nico tilts her head while her eyes glint with interest. “What’re you suggestin’?”

Dante grins as he scoots his chair back from the desk. “Well, I’m glad you asked because…” He reaches over and pulls out a piece of poster board hiding behind the old radiator on the wall. “I got it all figured out!” he declares with a proud smile while turning the poster board over to reveal the title of his grand scheme:

OPERATION: GET DUMBASS BROTHER AND BUTTERCUP TOGETHER

A jumble of colorful depictions of what this said scheme is supposed to entail greets the crew as they just stare in awe at his clever plan, which is carefully drawn out in some markers and a few crayons. Dante peeks around the poster to admire his own work, mentally patting himself on the back for drawing the perfect view of the beach. He is especially proud of the drawing of Vergil, which is just a stick figure with spikey silver hair, holding the hand of another stick figure with a flower in their hair. They are both walking on the sand as they bask in the waxy yellow sunset beside some messy instructions written in black marker.

“Oh wow! This is really happening, huh?” Lady wonders aloud while trying to read his smudged handwriting next to the happy stick figure couple.

“Are you seriously just tryna piss him off even more?!” Nero exclaims incredulously, examining the contents of the poster with a mixture of astonishment and horror at what is happening at this very moment.

“So, what exactly is the plan, Dante?” Trish inquires as she walks around the desk behind Dante’s chair before settling on the opposite side of the desk across from Lady.

“Well, I figured the best way to speed things along,” he pauses his explanation for a second to circle the stick figure couple with his finger, “is for them to show some skin,” he reveals the key element of his cunning plan with a devious grin.

“Oooh!” Nico gasps. “So, we’re gonna strip ‘em and lock ‘em in a room together!” she shouts while clapping her hands in victory and nodding her head in approval of her own wild suggestion.

Dante strokes his chin while he mulls over her crazy yet potentially brilliant idea. “That’s not bad, Nico. Not bad at all,” he assesses aloud, which earns him a disgusted grunt from his nephew. “It’s not exactly what I was thinking of, but I’ll keep in mind just in case my own ingenious plan doesn’t pan out.” He takes out a black marker and uncaps it before scribbling down Nico’s idea on the poser board while he elaborates on his carefully planned operation.

“Right now, my second in command is inviting Buttercup to the joint bachelor and bachelorette beach party,” he informs while he finishes writing down Plan B. “Which by the way, isn’t gonna stop me from dragging your ass to the strip club later,” he tacks on, pointing at his nephew with the black marker with a crude smile on his face.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…time out,” Nero interrupts, waving his hands in the air as his brow furrows in thought. “Second in command? You don’t mean-”

“Is that why Kyrie wanted to be dropped off at her house on the way here?!” Nico abruptly interjects. Dante stays quiet while he caps the marker, but his wicked grin is all the answer the crew needs to confirm Nico’s hunch.

Lady sighs and shakes her head in disappointment. “Why can’t you use that brain of yours during jobs?”

“Oh c’mon! I use my brain…most of the time,” Dante retorts while tapping his temple. “Besides, I knew as soon as I saw Vergil walking through the shop like a lovestruck zombie that this Legendary Wingman needed to step up his game,” he adds while pointing at himself with both of his thumbs, which makes the poster board fall flat on his desk.

“He did what now?” Nero scoffs while shaking his head and blinking his eyes in total disbelief.

“Aww! That’s so cute!” Lady squeals as she claps her hands excitedly. “Alright, I’m in!”

“Count me in too,” Trish chimes in with a nod.

“Me three!” Nico hollers back with a raised hand.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Nero groans while burying his face in his hands.

Dante clenches his fist in victory despite his nephew’s obvious disapproval. “Alright, so as I was saying…”

“Yeah, yeah, show some skin, we heard that part,” Lady repeats his words from earlier while looking over the meticulously planned operation on the colorful poster board. “And just how are we supposed to…?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked because in order for this to work,” Dante explains as he points to the stick figure couple, “we need to keep Buttercup’s invite a secret, or else my brother will never wear what I have in mind.”

Trish’s eyes flicker over the scribbled notes. “Do you even have a speedo?”

“Well, no…not yet.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Trish offers without a second thought, motioning towards Lady across the desk.

“Yeah!” Lady agrees with a charming grin before lightly punching his shoulder. “We’ll get ya one too.”

“Whoa! That’s not part of the-”

“Do you really think that Vergil will wear a speedo if you’re not flaunting your ass around in one as well?”

Dante ponders Lady’s reasoning before letting out a relenting sigh. “Alright…I’ll squeeze into one too, but on one condition: mine has to be red,” he requests, already writing down the change of plans before adding an afterthought. “Oh! And pick up a couple of Hawaiian shirts while you’re at it.”

Trish nods. “Deal.”

“In the meantime, I’ll lend him some of my favorite magazines,” he continues to elaborate while grabbing a copy of Slap & Tickle, shuffling through its naughty pages with a wolfish grin. “Hopefully, they’ll help loosen that stick up his ass and teach him a thing or two about-”

A loud grunt of disgust interrupts his train of thought. Dante looks over at the couch and sees that Nero is glowering at him, upper lip raised in a snarl much like his own father. But that does not deter him from asking his next question with a straight face: “What about you two?”

Nero scowls while glaring at him skeptically. “If you seriously think I’m gonna help with-”

“I’ll whip up something real special for Vergil’s girl! Don’t you worry!” Nico yells abruptly while rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

“Uhhh Nico…I don’t think she’s ever touched a weapon, much less knows how to use one,” Lady surmises while tilting her head in thought.

“She sure knows her way around a hoe though,” Dante quips back with a cheeky grin.

Nico shakes her head. “Nah, man…I’m thinking a spiritual successor to Sweet Surrender, if you catch my drift,” she clarifies with an arched brow, which only makes Nero groan in disgust again while his cheeks turn light pink with embarrassment.

“Look Kid,” Dante addresses with utmost serious while leaning over his desk, “if you’re not going to help us land you a future mom-”

“No, I’m not gonna help because it’s fucking creepy!”

“Then just stay outta the way while we adults handle it, capiche?”

Nero rolls his eyes. “Pff! Whatever…don’t come cryin’ to me when my dad turns you all into devil sushi.” He crosses his arms and slouches back on the couch, looking more and more like his father with that salty scowl on his face.

“Yoooooooo this calls for some codenames, dontcha think?” Nico suggests enthusiastically.

“Nicooooo! You’re a genius!” Dante cheers with a playful grin. “My codename will be Tony Diavolo, Kyrie will be Sunshine, you three,” he gestures towards Nico, Trish and Lady as he names off their special codenames. “Snap, Crackle, BOOM!” He glances over at his nephew, who is still sulking on the couch. “And Nero will be,” he murmurs to himself, dramatically rubbing his scruffy chin in thought.

“Don’t you fucking dare say it, Dante,” Nero threatens with low growl while his eyes glint with agitation. But that has never stopped Dante from riling up his nephew, so he meets Nero’s harsh gaze with his own amusement one before revealing his designated codename in this whole operation:

“Deadweight.”

“Fuck you!”

Nero immediately jumps off the couch and rushes towards Dante, who is already bracing himself for impact. As he gets tackled down to the ground by his nephew, he hears the rest of the crew chat away, totally ignoring the scuffle going on behind the desk.

“Snap?” Nico questions quizzically. “Hell no! I want my codename to be NYOOM!”

“Crackle? Really?” Trish sighs, clearly unimpressed with his imaginative codename for her as well. “I expected better from you, Dante.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Lady chimes in happily. “I kinda like my codename!”

The ladies take a moment to reflect upon the madness they all just agreed to participate in while the boys continue to wrestle each other behind the desk. They all silently commit to this crazy plan for various reasons that range from wanting to see Dante genuinely happy again to wanting the cute florist to be part of this ragtag family. But they all can agree on one thing: this ridiculous plan will totally provide the perfect amount of entertainment to relieve their boredom if they just play along.

Trish gracefully flips her long blonde hair behind her shoulder and glances across the desk at Lady. “We better get started on our part of the plan since the party is only a few days away,” she advises before walking towards the front door.

Lady peeks around the desk. “We’ll catch ya later!” She waves down at the feuding half devil relatives before following Trish out the door.

Nico hops off the couch and snatches a swimsuit magazine off the desk. After giving it a few flips, she nods in satisfaction before sitting back down on the couch, halfway way taking in the contents while waiting for the boys to tire themselves out. Her mind starts to come up with a preliminary blueprint of that special surprise she mentioned earlier…

(A Few Days Later...)

The crashing of waves has always invoked a sense of peace within Vergil ever since he could remember. The reason behind this innate response is still a mystery to him though; it could be the hypnotic repetition of the water breaking on shore, or perhaps it’s the salty scent of the sea breeze filling his lungs as he marvels at seaside view. Part of his mind tugs at a lost memory of his last visit to these shores long ago, but he still has difficulty recalling that time. He may not know why he finds the roar of the surf serene, but there is one thing he is certain of at this very moment:

He’s going to beat Dante this time.

Vergil waits patiently for a suitable wave from atop his surfboard as it bobs up and down in the ocean. A few meters away his brother is paddling alongside a decent wave, but it is most certainly not the best he has seen thus far. He glances over his shoulder towards the shore where the rest of the crew is either lounging in the sun or setting up for a cookout. This seaside outing is the joint bachelor and bachelorette party for his son and future daughter-in-law, which he knows to be customary among wedding couples…but as his eyes flicker down towards his bare legs swaying in the salty sea, he wonders why he must suffer wearing this ridiculous swimwear in order to join the festivities.

The ecstatic hollering of Dante brings his attention back to the matter at hand, and more importantly, to who really forced him into this situation. For the past few days his brother has been acting very odd…Well, odder than what is expected from a fool like him, but nonetheless it has not gone unnoticed. Every time he has come back from his clandestine practice sessions with his lovely rose, he finds a plethora of lecherous magazines and romantic guidebooks strewn across his bed and desk.

At first, there were only a couple of stray magazines on his bed, which he promptly threw over the banister while berating his brother for snooping around his room again. But more just appeared on his bed with every passing day, getting even more salacious going by the crude covers of voluptuous women clad only in skimpy swimwear. He did not throw the guidebooks when they started to appear though, mostly because he could never find it in himself to harm a book in any way no matter its contents. And only one of those lewd magazines ever caught his eye…it was labeled as the spring edition and the theme was flowers.

Suffice to say that Dante’s new line of insufferable antics has made Vergil quite cranky. It only grew worse when his intolerable brother somehow convinced him to wear a blue speedo and the matching blue Hawaiian shirt with light pink tropical blooms. He remembers Dante claiming that he must look the part in order to “hang ten” as he so boorishly put it, flashing his own matching red set of speedo and Hawaiian shirt with pineapple shaped pizzas.

Vergil tried to object to this absurd beachwear, but the party was the next day and he had no other alternative on such short notice. If he was only was made aware ahead of time then he would have remedied that predicament immediately, but no one thought to inform him of this until the very last minute. In fact, he finds it quite peculiar since just the other day, he and Nero had their usual sparring session on this very same beach. One would think that his own son would notify him of-

“Bet ya can’t beat that wave, Verg!”

Dante’s cocky taunt knocks him out his aggravated ruminations. He glares in the direction of his brother, who is smiling like a loon as he paddles closer to him. Just before he can growl his own tempered retort, he notices a heavy swell of water lurch forward from the deep, rising higher and higher as it gains momentum. “It seems the tide favors me more, little brother,” he points out before paddling forth towards the impending wave with a smug grin on his face.

“Watch and learn!”

The vigorous surf drowns out Dante’s responding jeer as Vergil moves out closer towards what is assuredly going to be the more superior wave compared to his brother’s measly attempts. His agitated thoughts are washed away as gets closer and closer into position for catching the impressive wave. He empties his mind of all thought and feeling, concentrating only on the feel of the salty water lapping at his knees as he waits for the familiar pulling sensation of the undertow as the wave rolls closer and ever higher towards him.

Vergil lifts his legs onto the board and begins to paddle towards the shore when he feels the water surge forward. As soon as he reaches the foamy crest of the wave he stops paddling and places his hands onto the rail of his board before popping up his chest. He keeps his balance as he brings one foot forward and steadily stands on top the board while riding the grand wave with his trademark style and grace. After he gets ahold of his bearings, he looks ahead toward the shore and spots a flowery newcomer among the crew.

Even from a distance he can tell that this unexpected guest his lovely rose, no doubt donning appropriate swimwear for the beachy occasion along with a well-crafted flower crown. The split second of lost concentration causes his board to wobble beneath him, but he’s able to regain control before completely making a fool of himself in front of the whole crew. And as the crest of the wave curls in on itself he cannot help but wonder if your unforeseen appearance is the reason behind his brother’s most recent infuriating antics.

Vergil dives off his board as soon as the wave finally breaks. He sinks down for a moment before swimming up towards the surface, shaking his head free of excess water before heaving himself back onto his board. His hands furiously paddle towards Dante, who is currently waving at the crew while they greet their new guest. The fact that his brother does not even have the audacity to act shocked by your sudden appearance speaks volumes, which only stokes the enraged fire burning inside him.

“Hey!” Dante greets nonchalantly, either totally oblivious or just ignoring Vergil’s harsh scowl as he continues to wave. “Look who’s here!” he points out with a cheeky wink.

“You knew she was coming here, didn’t you?” Vergil barks while steering his board perpendicular in front of Dante, effectively blocking his view of the shore so that he must address him head on.

“Water you talking about?” Dante replies mockingly with a wide smile.

“You meddlesome cur!” Vergil seethes as he pushes Dante off his board and proceeds to dunk his head under the roaring surf of the sea.

Dante flounders around helplessly for a moment before maneuvering himself below Vergil’s surfboard. It only takes one strong push to tip the board over, which sends Vergil back into the water with a great splash. They both struggle for a bit underwater, exchanging blows and hard kicks until the need to breath forces them to pause their fight. As they break through the surface of the water for much needed air another huge wave crashes into them and drags them closer to shore. When the wave finally recedes, they meet each other’s challenging gaze, fully intending to continue their fight by the sword this time.

“Hey! Will you guys cut it out! Damn!”

Nero’s angry shouting brings them back to reality. Vergil looks over at the shore and sees his son shaking his head, no doubt rolling his eyes as well. His keen eyes also spot you standing by his beach chair, shielding your eyes from the sun as you stare right where he is currently bobbing in the ocean. He growls at the notion of being duped by Dante as he swims back to surfboard, not caring that he is splashing water all over his brother with every aggressive stroke of his arms and legs.

As Vergil swims back to shore, he cannot help to reminisce about all the practice sessions in your music room. It took some cajoling on his behalf as well as a couple sprigs of white heather blooms until you finally agreed to play piano accompaniment for him at the wedding. You jokingly warned him to be prepared for when you inevitably freeze up on stage, but when he suggested that he knows of ways to warm you back up… well, the rest of that practice session was filled with flirty banter and sideway glances full of yearning.

The romantic tension has grown exponentially since both of you shared that heady moment by the camellias. In fact, it renders him completely useless for the rest of the day while his mind shuffles through various passionate musings about his lovely rose. And when he finally finished the last red velvet rose and finally read your hidden poem written on the bottom of the box…something inside him shifted as the world around him faded away, leaving him breathless as his heart hammered in his chest.

It seems many things fall indeed…like a lovely rose for a prickly devil.

Even now his heart beats faster at just the mere image of those final words as it comes to the forefront of his mind. As his feet touch down on the sandy bottom of the shore, Vergil attempts to clear his head by shaking it free from excess water before slicking his hair back into its usual striking style. He hoists his surfboard under one arm as he walks the rest of the way up to where the crew is settled. You are now chatting with Kyrie over a small open cooler, and the closer he gets to the seaside camp, the more he notices just how well prepared you are for the beach.

You are wearing a flowery bikini that reveals a generous amount of skin for Vergil’s greedy eyes as he subconsciously moves his surfboard in front of his hips. A matching mesh sarong is slung around your ample hips and that brilliant smile he is so fond of curves on your lips as your jubilant gaze shifts over to him. His speedo gets little tighter as he thinks back to the one lewd magazine with the flower theme…which he hates to admit to having flicked through its pages of contents before throwing it over the banister. He starts to truly regret giving into his fleeting curiosity about how you might have looked clad only in flowers…

A warm feeling sprouts in chest and grows hotter as it spreads down his body, causing him to clamp down on whatever shred of dignity he has left to rid his mind and body of these sudden carnal urges. He relies on the method he uses when wielding the Yamato, centering his mind as he puts the flame of all emotion into the void. By the time he arrives at his beach chair, he feels more like his usual self: calm, composed, and in complete control. He secures his surfboard in the sand and dries off with a towel before snatching up the garish Hawaiian shirt that his brother so graciously gave him for this event.

As Vergil slips the shirt on, he happens to glance down at the Yamato, which is still propped up next to the chair. A small bundle of pink flowers wrapped around the handle gives him pause as a sense of déjà vu floods his mind. Last time, it was the bright blue blooms of forget-me-nots that had the honor of decorating the Yamato along with your phone number. His lips curl into a soft smile as he reaches down to stroke the soft and feathery petals with his fingertips. He recalls this delicate flower to be astilbe and its meaning of patience and devotion to a loved one makes his heart race once more as your secret message rings through his mind.

I await your requited love.

“Flower for your thoughts?”

The sound of your sweet voice breaks him away from his fervid ponderings. His head snaps around to you standing behind him with an intrigued expression on your lovely face. He can now clearly see a crown of eucalyptus leaves, lavender, and multicolored freesia adorning your head. His eyes squint at the odd combination of blooms. Multiple colors of freesia denote friendship and thoughtfulness while lavender has many meanings that could apply, but the appearance of eucalyptus signifies protection…from what though?

Does my lovely rose not feel safe?

Vergil quickly pushes the meaning of your flower crown aside in favor of turning around to face you while answering your cute query. “I had no idea you were coming to this seaside festivity. Otherwise, I would’ve…” he trails off, not wanting to divulge that Dante tricked him into wearing his current attire for his own twisted amusement.

“Kyrie invited me when she came by a few days ago,” you inform as your hands begin to fiddle with the loose tassels of your sarong. “I thought you overheard from the music room.” Your eyes glisten with worry as you gaze up at him. “I’m sorry…I can leave if you want,” you offer sadly, taking a step back from his personal space.

Vergil takes a step forward. “That won’t be necessary,” he replies softly, placing a hand on your shoulder as he tries to explain his strange behavior. “I was just…caught off guard.”

A smile of relief spreads across your face as you run your finger up his arm. “You’re not in the habit of being surprised, huh?” you ask with a light giggle.

“Not in the slightest,” he agrees, relishing the feel of your delicate finger as it traces patterns on his upper arm. “But I’m beginning to find that I don’t mind being surprised by you, my lovely rose.”

Your eyes gleam with delight at the sound of his endearment. A bashful giggle leaves your lips as you turn your head away, which only highlights your flushed cheeks in the warm sun. Vergil chuckles at your demure reaction to his compliment and takes another step closer to you. Your eyes snap back towards him while your head is still turned and the coy grin curling on your lips sends pleasant tingles throughout his body.

“Whale, hello there!”

Vergil grumbles at his brother’s obnoxious greeting while you look over your shoulder. Dante saunters over to where both of you are standing, parading around in his red speedo and gaudy Hawaiian shirt proudly. You laugh and turn around to wave at his oafish brother with a smile on your cheerful face.

Dante returns your happy smile with his own mirthful grin. “I hope my brother’s resting beach face didn’t scare you away, Buttercup,” he jests while pointing at Vergil, whose brow crinkles deeper as he gives an unamused grunt at his brother’s preposterous observation.

“Of course not!” you exclaim with a light giggle. You reach over and wrap your arms around Vergil’s bicep before hugging it close to your chest. “All he needed was a good dose of vitamin sea to cheer him right up!”

Dante knocks his head back as a rowdy laugh bursts from his lips. Vergil huffs indignantly while you rest your head on his shoulder. He observes you from the corner of his eye and silently admits to himself that he would endure all the irritating puns of the world if it meant seeing the dazzling smile currently on your lovely face.

“Can someone move Y/N’s coolers under the umbrella over there, please?”

The sound of Kyrie’s polite request brings everyone’s attention towards two small coolers. Your grip loosens around his arm, clearly intending to help, but Nero beats you to it. As he stacks one on top of the other, Dante strokes his scruffy chin and raises an attentive brow.

“Are one of those coolers full of strawberries?” he questions as his eyes light up with hopeful anticipation.

“Shell yeah!” you exclaim with a wide grin. “I made strawberry and champagne popsicles for everyone!”

Before you even finish your sentence, Dante is already gunning for the coolers like a child on Christmas morning. Both of you watch Nero lug away the coolers while Dante circles around him like hawk. You stifle a giggle with one of your hands just as Vergil looks back down at you.

“Another distraction, I presume?” he inquires with a knowing glint in his eyes.

You meet his gaze as your lips curve into impish grin. “You sometimes request elderflower tea when you visit my garden, so I thought that you might like my elderflower popsicles too.”

Vergil’s lips quirk into a soft smirk. “You’re as thoughtful as you are beautiful, my lovely rose.”

Your cheeks turn rosy pink. “The ocean may have made you salty, but you’re really sweet to me,” you murmur with a warm smile, snuggling closer to his side as you hug his arm firmly against your chest.

Vergil huffs again at your silly pun, but his unfaltering smile says that he is truly flattered by your words. A familiar fluttering sensation bubbles in his stomach at your soft touch around his arm, which he cannot help but to notice is brushing up against your breasts. Another wave of scorching heat trembles through his body at such a very pleasing sight.

Quite leering at her like some hormonal dolt and escort her properly! Vergil vehemently chides himself as his eyes tear away from your chest to check on the progress of the cookout.

It appears that they are all ready and waiting for them, so he hooks his arm and leads you to join the rest of the crew for a seaside meal. Your eyes light up with joy when Kyrie asks how you make your icy treats, and it does not take long for you to spread your wings and flit about the crew like a social butterfly. He surreptitiously watches you from afar, enjoying the view of your gracious smile and swaying hips as he grabs a couple of drinks for both of you.

After a few more minutes of idle chatter, everyone gathers around the grill and fills their plates before sitting around in a circle, easily slipping into the usual routine of friendly banter and bickering. Vergil mostly stays quiet as he takes a few bites of his burger while you chat enthusiastically with Kyrie and Lady. You also trade a few quips and puns with Dante, which has become an annoying ritual between both of you, trying to one up each other while the rest of the crew suffers.

When you see that he has finished eating, you lean over and ask if he would like one of your homemade popsicles. Vergil nods and insists that he can get one on his own, but before he can even move you gather up his empty plate and dash away towards the coolers. His eyes squint in irritation while the corner of his mouth twitches into a subtle smile. You discard both of your plates in a nearby trash bin and grab two popsicles before heading back.

You hand him one of the cold treats with an excited smile. As he takes it from your grasp, he notes the presence of violet flower petals frozen inside the pale golden ice. This does not surprise him at all since you always mange to sneak blossoms into everything, from old books sitting on a shelf in a café to delicious baked goods. He gives the icy treat a small sniff before sucking it into his mouth. The refreshing flavor of elderflowers bursts onto his tongue, crisp and tangy with a little bit of floral sweetness.

Vergil can practically feel your expectant stare as he savors the flowery treat. He turns his gaze over to you sitting beside him and answers your silent question with a grateful smirk. The jovial smile that spread across your face makes the fluttering in his stomach do what feels like somersaults. His eyes linger on you from the corner of his eye as both of you eat the icy treat, watching your soft lips closely as they nibble in a way that makes him wonder if they would nibble on his own lips in the same fashion.

Why wonder when you can find out?

His stray thought makes the scorching heat from earlier shoot straight through his body again. He feels that same sense of apprehension and eagerness from when he asked you to be his date to the wedding coil within his chest. Not this nonsense again, he mentally bemoans as he glances at the astilbe flowers still wrapped around the handle of the Yamato. You have already admitted your own feelings about him in your own special way, and now you are waiting for him to reciprocate. But the thought of crossing that unspoken line between you two by voicing his desire for you and the possibility of you changing your mind makes him hesitate…and yet he still craves for more, more, more…

“Uh oh! The grumpy frown is back!”

Vergil turns his head towards you just as your hand flies high into the air. An array of blue and pink petals of lilac flowers rain down upon him. His brow furrows deeper when he feels the tiny blooms bounce off his hair, but thankfully none of them stick this time around. He sighs and shakes his head at the sight of your wide grin while the crew laughs and jokes about your signature flower shower.

When the laughter dies down, you stand up and brush some sand off your sarong before looking back down at him. “I’m about to go collect some seashells,” you announce, eyes sparkling with wonder as they stare past him down the scenic shore. “You can come along with me if you want to,” you propose softly with a small hopeful smirk.

Vergil ponders for a moment before readily accepting your offer. “Very well,” he replies with a nod before standing up. “I shall accompany you.”

You beam happily as his answer and ask him to wait for a moment while you grab some supplies you brought just for this occasion. While he waits for you, he grabs the Yamato and unsheathes the blade, examining it for any flaws just in case he has need of it during their seaside stroll. No one has seen demons this close to the beach, but it never hurts to be prepared…especially if it ensures your safety while searching for seashells.

Just as he sheathes the Yamato, you come back with a small bucket and garden trowel. Vergil raises an eyebrow and asks if you are planning to plant a garden by the beach. You laugh and explain that the trowel is the only tool you had lying around to help dig out shells embedded in the sand. Both of you tell the rest of the crew about your seashell adventure before heading out, causing a few of them to just nod their heads while his idiot brother gives him two thumbs up and lascivious wink.

The farther away they walk down the beach, the more Vergil seems to relax as you playfully skip by his side. Every now and then you stop and inspect the sandy shore, sometimes using your trowel to loosen a shell before dropping it in your bucket. You remark here and there about adding some of the shells as last-minute details to some of the flower arrangements for the wedding. He points out that the big day is only a week away now and asks if you are ready for the big performance.

You bite your lower lip and look back at where the crew is located. “Do you think Kyrie suspects what we’re up to?” you ask worriedly, wringing the handle of your bucket with both hands.

Vergil tilts his head at your sudden suspension. “You didn’t tell her of my presence during her last visit, correct?”

You turn back to meet his gaze while shaking your head. “I said that I had a friend over, but she kept staring at us like she knew our secret or something…” you trail off, staring down at the sand in thought before continuing. “I dunno, Vergil…my gut says that she’s onto us.”

Vergil considers your words, looking back at when the crew gathered around for the cookout. He reluctantly acknowledges that he was too distracted by your presence to notice his future daughter-in-law’s glances during their meal. “Kyrie is a capable woman with a great deal of empathy,” he states, opting to just take your word for it instead of explaining why he was not as observant as you in that moment. “If she is aware of our plan…I’m confident that she will not spoil the surprise for my son at least.”

“Well, that’s good,” you sigh in relief before staring up at him in admiration. “I still hope that both of them will enjoy your performance.”

Vergil reaches over and gently takes one of your hands and raises up his lips. “Our performance,” he softly corrects before pressing a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

Your eyes linger on his lips as they retreat from your hand, twinkling warmly as your mouth parts ever so slightly to let out a shivering sigh. That damnable heat is back, simmering slowly in the pit of his belly as he follows some instinct he thought long forgotten. While still holding your hand, he steps forward and wraps his other arm around your waist, making sure he has not overstepped his bounds by carefully reading your facial expression. Your eyes flicker over to your hand still being held in his palm, cheeks glowing softly in the sun as your fingers slowly lace with his own before staring back at him. A gentle force takes ahold of him, silently urging him to throw caution to the wind for once and finally give into what he truly wants…

Vergil’s keen senses detect an errand wave crashing onto the shore, rushing forth towards both of you before crashing against the back of your legs. Your expression changes instantaneously from soft longing to absolute terror as you literally jump up into his embrace, dropping your bucket to throw your arms around his neck. His own arms instinctively help pull you up out of the foamy water, encircling you right below your bottom with the Yamato before hoisting you up against his chest as you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Well, this is…curious,” he mutters softly, partly about your sudden strange behavior and most definitely about the feel of your body pressed close against his bare skin.

You gasp against his neck, which rouses a miniscule of delight to shiver up his spine. “Oh my many petals!” you exclaim, quickly lifting your head to stare up at him with regretful eyes. “I…I’m so sorry!” you stammer as your arms slide down to his shoulders while you wiggle around awkwardly to set yourself free from his embrace. But Vergil does not loosen his hold on you as he pins you down with his intense gaze.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he affirms, trying to maintain his composure as your squirming body brushes dangerously close to his lower region. “Are you alright, my lovely rose?” he asks calmly with a small hint of concern in his voice.

“I’m fine! I was just startled…that’s all!” you reassure him with a sheepish grin. “You know how I am when something…or someone sneaks up on me,” you softly remind him while playfully poking him on the chest.

Vergil continues to stare at you for a moment, examining you closely just to be sure before slowly letting you down from his grasp. As soon as your feet touch down on the sand you pick up your small bucket and trowel, checking to see how many shells survived the wave while giving the ocean a wide berth. It seems my lovely rose is not fond of the sea, he surmises, watching you more closely as both of you continue to search for seashells. He notices how your eyes glance over towards the surf every time a big breaker claps on shore as you stroll surreptitiously away from every wave that threatens to lap at your feet.

After a few more minutes of walking, both of you come across a sprawling tide pool teeming with small sea creatures. You let out a gleeful squeal while bouncing around like a bumblebee before skipping towards it, claiming to have heard that you can find a “sand flower” in one of these isolated pools. Vergil quirks an eyebrow at your odd phrase before he follows suit, complaining loudly about how you should not run ahead of him. You pause at the edge of the tide pool, leaning over a little as you marvel all the various forms of sea life crawling around in its tiny depths.

You check the temperature of the water with the tip of your toe, shuddering with a tiny yelp before easing your foot into the tide pool. Vergil grabs your hand and helps you enter the tiny pool before stepping in beside you, noting that the calm water is just level with his ankles. Maybe it’s the rough current of the ocean that she’s more afraid of, he wonders himself while you pull him along by the hand, pointing at all the hermit crabs, barnacles, and sea urchins as you both tread carefully through the tide pool.

Every now and then you bend down to collect a shell or rock, which gives Vergil a rather pleasant view for his wandering eyes, before deciding to sit and rest for a while at the edge of the pool. He contemplates silently for a moment as you scrub some of your seashells free of sand in the water. Your frightened expression from earlier keeps flashing before his eyes. He has never seen you so scared since that demon attack in your garden. And as he admires your exquisite visage from the corner of his eye, he remembers the vow to always protect the lovely rose that has bloomed among his briars.

“Y/N,” he calls out softly.

“Yeah?” you reply while washing a small conch shell.

“Why are you afraid of the ocean?”

“What?!” you gasp, hands pausing in the water as you look over at him in shock. “I’m not afraid of the ocean,” you counter, flinching back a little when his eyes narrow in disbelief. “Specifically,” you quickly correct yourself before looking away from his critical gaze. “I just…don’t like it when you can’t see the bottom,” you murmur over the sea breeze. “And the ocean is vast and, as long as anyone can tell,” you gulp in quietly in fear before finishing your explanation, “…bottomless.”

Vergil’s face softens in understanding as his eyes focus on the eucalyptus leaves of your flowers crown, finally putting together its meaning with the rest of the blooms. “If it frightens you so much then why did you come here?” he inquires softly while leaning in closer in hopes of catching a glimpse of your bashful face.

“I couldn’t say no to Kyrie!” you exclaim with a vigorous shake of your head. “She’s been so kind and understanding. And I figured that I didn’t have to go into the ocean to enjoy the beach.” You grow quiet for a moment as your cheeks begin to redden. “I also knew that you would be here,” you admit softly, glancing at him for a moment before staring back down at small conch shell still in your hands. “And I knew that you would be protect me if…” you trail off, biting your lower lip as you drop the shell into the bucket with the rest of your seaside spoils.

Vergil reaches over and places his hand underneath your chin before directing your timid gaze straight up at his own beseeching stare. “If what?” he gently urges you as his hand glides across your jaw.

You take a deep breath as your eyes shine with uncertainty. “You’re going laugh if I tell you.”

“I swear as a Son of Sparda that I will never disregard your feelings and I’ll always protect you by any means necessary,” he solemnly vows in earnest, cupping your cheek as his fervent words echo around through the salty air. Your eyes glisten with gratitude as you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, soft lips pressing against his wrist in a tender kiss before revealing the crux of your fear.

“I’m afraid of being dragged down deep underwater.”

Vergil strokes your cheek with his thumb as your words sink in. You do not elaborate any further, but he can tell by the way your voice trembles that this is a deep-seated fear. His heart prickles in pain at the sight of your sorrowful face, which encourages him to lean in until his forehead rests against your brow. He knows what it’s like to be a slave to your own fears and he hates that you are going through that right now just for the sake of spending time with him and the rest of crew.

“The unknown can be frightening at times,” he declares openly, partly to you but also to himself as the gaps of faded memories echo in his mind.

You let out a long breath of relief before bringing your hand atop his own upon your cheek. “It’s a shame though…I’ve heard so much about the beaches of Fortuna from Kyrie and a dip in the ocean sounds so nice.” You glance past the tide pool towards the vast surf, eyes glimmering with determination for a moment before looking away in disappointment. “But I guess I’ll just have to splash around this tide pool instead,” you sigh begrudgingly, kicking up your feet up a bit in the water to emphasize your longing for an oceanic adventure.

Vergil feels that prickling pain spread through his chest at the sight of your disheartened face. The gentle force from before is back, guiding his lips to brush a tender kiss on your forehead. You hum softly and place your hand on his thigh as you scoot closer to him. Small rivulets of pleasure surge from your intimate touch, which in turn tests his restraint as the urge to pull you onto his lap floods his mind. Instead, he focuses on your current predicament, head reeling from the frustration of not being able to protect you from this kind of foe, but still wanting to help in some way.

You’ve brought clarity to my trouble thoughts on multiple occasions, he thought as a plan formulates in his mind. It only seems fair that I do the same for you, my lovely rose.

“I can help you…if you wish,” he murmurs, lips brushing gently against your skin with every word.

Vergil feels your brow furrow in confusion against his lips. “How?”

“I can carry you on my back while I wade out into the ocean.”

Your eyebrows shoot in shock. “I’m sorry,” you mutter while drawing your head back to stare up at him, eyes sparkling with skepticism while you anxiously wring your hands. “Did I just hear you say that you want to carry me out to the place that absolutely terrifies me?”

“I’ll only move out a short distance from the shore until your feet skims the surface of the water,” he clarifies softly in a soothing voice. “And if you’re brave enough to stand there with me…” He reaches down and slowly drags a finger up your leg from the ankle, secretly enjoying the feel of your smooth skin as well as the subtle gasp that escapes your mouth. “The water will only come up to here,” he finishes as his finger taps just below your knee before withdrawing back to his side.

You look out towards the ocean of a moment before turning back to him. “And you’ll protect me?” you entreat with a tilt of your head, eyes shimmering with hope as your lean in closer.

Vergil takes one of your hands as he lifts the Yamato up in front of you. “By any means necessary,” he repeats the vow he swore earlier with the same glint of earnest conviction in his eyes. He gently guides you to grasp his most treasured possession just below the hilt before resting his own hand on top of yours.

A long silence stretches out as you stare at both of your hands on the Yamato, eyes glancing up to meet his sincere gaze a few times as you bite your lower lip in thought. Your head turns hesitantly towards the ocean, regarding its tumultuous waves from the corner of your eye. He can still sense your apprehension, but your grip on the Yamato tightens beneath his hand as a glimmer of determination flickers across your face.

“Well, you know what they say.” You turn your now confident gaze back to him. “If there’s a will, there’s a wave.”

Vergil scoffs and rolls his eyes at not only your ridiculous pun, but also at your poor decision to use a pun during a genuinely serious conversation. “I cannot for the life of me tell whether my absolute dunce of a brother is a bad influence on you or if it’s actually the other way around,” he sneers, removing his hand from the Yamato to pinch his agitated brow out of habit.

Your soft giggle makes his upper lip curl in a silent snarl as you let go of the Yamato. He lowers his hand from his brow when your hands reach for your flower crown, feeling around the blooms before settling on a white freesia. You carefully pull the lone flower free from the crown before taking his hand and turning it to see the inside of his palm. As you place the delicate blossom into his hand, he remembers the meaning behind receiving a single freesia flower. His breath stops short as you gently close his hand around the bloom, enclosing your hands around his clenched fist before raising it up to your lips.

“I’m in your capable hands, my darling devil,” you proclaim with utmost sincerity.

Your brazen gaze shakes him to the core as your term of endearment rings repeated through his ears. The afternoon sun highlights the adorable glow of your rosy cheeks as you gently kiss every knuckle on his hand. Vergil feels that he would have melted on the spot right then and there if it wasn’t for the tide pool as his feet keeping him cool.

The touch of your soft lips, the sound of your sweet voice, and the honest admission of trust in him…all of it reignites the raging desire to pull you close and finally let himself fall for you too...

Read Part 8 (Ch. 2) here

Read on Ao3

My Masterlist if you want more 💖

Tagging: @drusoona @bettybattaglia @exsultry @thedyingmoon @veenus-ow @meowykittenn @fandomhell97 @vergilsangel @venomous-lawyer @thenightgazer @cherryvane @yesno18 @diabeticsugarush @queenmuzz @mary-v-o-n @tinamalee @a-midsummer-nights-odyssey @ancientwhitefire @agentdedf1sh @divinity-deos @shiranyaaww @skarlet-red-rose

105 notes · View notes

johaerys-writes · 3 years

Text

Playground Love, Chapter 10: Wilted Wildflowers

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Aran Trevelyan/Tristan Trevelyan

Summary:

Aran and Tristan are childhood friends. Best friends. Brothers, almost. They’ve been inseparable since the moment they met, one rainy autumn day underneath the maple tree in the school playground.

Best friends don’t fall in love with each other. Surely not.

The new chapter of mine and @oftachancer’s collaborative fic, featuring her OC Aran and my OC Tristan is up! Where being in love with your best friend turns out to be more complicated than initially thought, and Tristan would very much like to make sense of it all now, please.

Read more on AO3!

****

The wind whipped through Tristan’s hair as his bike rushed down the steep slope. The warmth of summer was waning, but a sweet, mellow breeze still lingered. It smelt of salt and sea.

The polo coach had let them go an hour earlier than expected- Tristan hadn’t even stopped to change out of his riding clothes before setting off for Aran’s house. He hadn’t seen Aran since the day before and he already missed him. Which was to be expected, he supposed. With every day that passed, he missed him more and more, wanted to see more of him, hear more. Touch more. Ever since that time Aran had stayed at his for the night…

Tristan felt his cheeks warming. They hadn’t talked much, since that day. It was more so because they’d both been busy, he told himself; Tristan’s first polo match of the season was coming up, and Aran had more than enough assignments to occupy him. Yet, the fact that Tristan’s last few texts had gone unanswered, and that the only response he’d received from Aran to the poem he'd sent him the previous night was a meme of a dog rolling on its back did not help very much. Tristan had spent the better part of an hour combing through his books to find that poem, and he’d picked it just for him. Aran could have at least chosen a better meme to send him. At least.

He frowned, squinting against the bright sunlight when the wooden fence that circled the ranch came into view. The outer gate was ajar, Max’s truck stopped right before it. Aran’s eldest brother was tall and broad of shoulder, the skin of his forehead bronzed from the sun, his golden hair cropped short. He smiled brightly at him when he saw him getting off his bike.

“Tristan!” he greeted him cheerfully as he loaded a square bale of hay on the back of the truck. “Give me a hand with this, will you?”

Tristan returned his wide smile with a more reserved one of his own before inclining his head politely. He disliked touching the hay. It made his skin itch. Still, he set his bike against the fence and helped him haul the last of the bales, stacking them neatly against each other. He gingerly drew his kerchief from his back pocket to wipe his hands when he was done, watching as Max lifted and secured the truck’s tailgate.

“How’s Almond? Is she treating you well?”

“She’s doing great. Yes, she’s wonderful. A delight, really. She and I placed first in the show jumping trials two months ago, did Aran tell you?”

“That he did. I had no doubts. She’s a fine mare, one of the finest we’ve bred. We wouldn’t give you just anything, eh?” He laughed heartily and patted Tristan on the shoulder. “I’m off now. Your pal’s up at the house. Don’t keep him waiting.”

“Okay. Thanks, Max.” Tristan got on his bike, waving as the truck drove off. He pedalled leisurely down the long gravel drive, then brought the bike to a stop when he reached the flower garden before the house. It was Aran’s mom’s work, and the rose bushes were neatly trimmed and fragrant this time of year. Patrick was lounging on one of the floral padded armchairs on the front porch, his long legs sprawled on the low table. Tristan’s stomach tightened when Patrick lifted his gaze from his phone to look at him. His eyes were the same hue as Aran’s, summer sky blue, but they had none of the warmth, or the kindness.

“Trevelyan,” he said flatly, his expression wooden and thoroughly unimpressed.

“Patrick.” Tristan straightened his back, returning his look levelly. “Is Aran home?”

The older boy regarded him in silence for a few moments - moments that Tristan stood there awkwardly, trying his best to look as bored and mildly bothered as he- before standing up with a long suffering sigh and walking to the door. “Wait here,” he commanded, then disappeared inside the house.

Tristan itched his earlobe as he waited, released and re-gathered his hair, studied the red clapboard and the sloped black roof of the house. It wasn’t a large building, but it was homely. The warm scent of the roast they had for lunch reached him with the passing breeze. Tristan never spent too much time there, and neither did Aran, if he could help it. Still, he liked it when Aran’s mum came out and offered him a biscuit or something else she’d made whenever he came to pick Aran up. She wasn’t much of a baker or a cook, but she was always nice to him. He hadn’t seen her in a while.

Muffled talk from inside drew his attention. It sounded rough and agitated, but Tristan couldn’t discern who was talking, or what they were saying. A man’s low rumble, then a woman’s voice- was that Aran’s mum? The voices grew louder and sharper, but the steady buzz from the TV rendered it impossible to make out any words. Patrick’s voice knifed cleanly through it as he said something that sounded much like his usual insults, though Tristan couldn’t tell who it was directed at.

He thought he heard the shuffling of feet coming closer to the front door, then what definitely sounded like pushing and shoving. Tristan’s ears pricked up when he heard Aran’s telltale high pitched infuriated snarl, followed by Patrick’s mocking laugh. His temper flared by instinct; he set his bike down and took a decisive step forward, when the door was flung open and a red-faced Aran stormed out.

“Aran-”

“Let’s just go,” Aran snapped, grabbing his bike that was leaning against the steps of the porch and promptly taking off. Tristan followed him silently as he took off at dead speed. They didn’t exchange a word until they were well away, past the farm and the apple orchard beyond it, until the lake’s still waters were visible, glittering in the distance. It was more of a large pond than a lake, really, and he and Aran often went there when the weather was good. It was usually quiet and peaceful, and that day was no different. Only a paddling of brown backed mallards glided on the water, the iridescent green feathers on their long necks catching the light as they moved.

Aran tossed his bike aside as soon as he dismounted, letting it fall to the soft grass. Tristan set his own down beside it, then came to stand next to him at the pond’s bank. He was tense and wired, a string ready to snap. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his nostrils flaring with every panting breath he let out.

“Hi.”

Aran dropped to his knees and buried his head in the water, loosing a scream that echoed through the still surface and sent the ducks skittering into flight. He sat up, shoving his wet hair from his face and stared at the ripples as they receded. “Hi,” he panted in answer, scrubbing at the water dripping from his nose, leaving a smudge of mud in its place. “How was practice?”

Tristan shrugged, "Good. I stole the ball from Johnston and he chased me down the field while the others cheered. Coach didn't like that very much." He slid his hands in his pockets and rocked a little back and forth on his heels. "How's the water?"

“Warm. You want to swim?” The fresh mud in his hair made a handful of it stand out to the side. “I could swim.” He rubbed his nose on the back of his arm. “Something wrong? You usually don’t finish until later, right?”

"Coach said he had to pick up his daughter from the dentist's. Dunno. I think he was just sick of Jonhston and me taking the piss so he let us go early." There were fat drops of muddy water running down Aran's forehead and into his eyes, and he rubbed at them, sniffing and wrinkling his nose. Tristan smiled despite himself as he reached for his handkerchief. "Come over here," he said, drawing him close to wipe the mud from his cheeks, the side of his nose. Then he cupped his neck and leaned down to steal a kiss. "Missed you," he murmured against his lips.

“I missed you, too!” Aran wrapped his arms around him tight, “I hope your match is worth it. Endless bloody practices. Can’t you just win and be done with it?” He tugged him towards the tree. “Best two out of three for all the marbles. Kiss me again.”

The pond water had left a slightly bitter aftertaste on Aran's tongue, but Tristan kissed him eagerly as he let himself be drawn to him. "We will win. But then we'll just have to practice more to keep up, and then win more matches, and even more practice..." He closed his teeth over Aran's bottom lip, pressing him back against the tree trunk. "As if it would make a difference to you," he said sulkily. "You hardly ever respond to my texts anyway. If I hadn't come today, you would have forgotten all about me."

“You’ve caught me,” he snorted. “I’m always forgetting you. Thank the Maker I see you all the time or I’d be lost.” His fingers were slick with mud and chilled from pond water when they slipped up beneath Tristan’s jersey. “Remind me, eh?”

"Yes, but-" Tristan shivered as the cool, pesky fingers travelled up his stomach, caressing his sides. He sighed, kissing Aran deeply, forgetting everything he'd been about to say. So what if Aran hadn't responded to a text or two, or if he replied to his poems with dog memes? He still wanted him. He'd still missed him. Every smile, every touch, every smooth glide of his tongue over his own pushed Tristan's thoughts and worries further and further back in his mind. It was good, what they had. No doubt about it. "Wait," he said, drawing back. He laughed at Aran's confused stare as he unslung his backpack. "I brought something." The small bouquet of wildflowers he had gathered on his way to Aran's house was slightly wilted, despite his best attempts to keep the blossoms from getting bruised during his bike ride. Even so, he held it proudly before Aran's face, beaming. "For you."

Aran leaned back against the trunk, blinking down at the flowers. “Okay.” He itched his nose with his knuckle. “...what am I supposed to do with this?”

Tristan's smile melted away. He stared at Aran, the warm fuzzy feeling he'd had only moments before turning sour in his stomach with every second that passed and Aran made no move to take the flowers. "You… you don't like it?"

“I mean-” He squinted, taking the flowers with a skeptical look. “Now what? What’s the game?”

"There is no game." Tristan frowned, "You're supposed to keep them. Or- I don't know, set them aside and take them with you before we leave, or-"

“Are they medicinal?” he asked, peering down at them with sudden curiosity. “Something you read about?” He plucked at a leaf and nibbled at it.

"No, they're not- I just passed them by and thought they were pretty, and-" He stopped abruptly when he felt his cheeks growing uncomfortably hot. "You don't have to keep them if you don't want them, of course," he said indignantly. "I simply thought- it doesn't matter what I thought." He crossed his arms before his chest, looking away.

“Sure it does.” Aran stuck his tongue out, spitting the nibbles of leaves out. “Thanks for showing me. They’re pretty. Could have just shown me where you found them.” He tilted the flowers to the side, peering at them. “You didn’t have to kill them.” He wiggled the flowers at Tristan, chuckling, “Too pretty to live!”

"I didn't kill them- Maker-" Tristan swatted the flowers away, scowling at him. "Just forget about it, alright? It was a stupid idea anyway." He turned around, pacing towards the pond. It had been a stupid, stupid idea. Whatever had he been thinking. It had seemed like a nice thing to do at the time, when he'd stopped to pick up the flowers and arrange the bouquet. A romantic gesture, something- something boyfriends did. Cardew gave Martina flowers all the time, and she always laughed and threw her arms around his neck, but Aran wasn't Martina. And Tristan wasn't Cardew, and what they had wasn't- He took a deep breath, chewing on the inside of his lip. "Just forget it."

“This one tastes pretty good.” A sprig of the white tufted flowers wiggled in front of his face. “Like almonds. You like almonds.”

"I don't like almonds," he mumbled petulantly. He glanced at Aran over his shoulder, "And you don't like these flowers."

“I do. I do like them.” He took a mouthful of the white flowers, crunching them, grinning like a goat. “See. Delicious. Now Tristan chaser.”

Tristan laughed, shaking his head. He hated that Aran could always make him laugh, even when he was mad. "I'm not kissing you with those things in your mouth." He took the flowers from Aran's hand, or whatever was left of them, anyway. "And you're not supposed to eat them, you know."

“I didn’t know that. I asked what I was supposed to do with them.” Bits of greenery and fluffy petals fell from his lips as he spoke. “Kisses. I like the flowers. Have some.”

Tristan scrunched his nose, brushing leaves and petals from Aran's mouth. "You're gross," he said before leaning in with a grin. "That tastes like shite, by the way," he mumbled against his lips, "not at all like almonds."

“You’re getting too many leaves. More flowers.” He wound his arms around Tristan’s neck, leaning against him. “You need more flowers. I like you.”

Tristan sighed, pressing his forehead against Aran's. "You do?" he asked quietly. "You mean it?"

“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” Cornflower blue eyes like the reflection of the sky in a still pond peered up at him. “You after wanting to show me where you found them? We can go roll around there.”

"They were just… by the side of the road. Past the chemist's. A mile or so from here maybe. There's a few of them on the way to the pier, I think. But it doesn't really matter." He reached up to brush a spot of mud from Aran's temple. His coppery blonde curls were just starting to get dry, wisps that kissed his forehead. "Can I ask you something?"

“Hm?”

What are we? What are we doing? He stared at Aran for a long while, unable to ask the questions. Perhaps they didn't need any answers. Perhaps Aran didn't know them either, even if Tristan asked. They'd been friends since they were children, and now they were something else, and that something was new and bright and exciting in so many different ways- and Tristan felt completely out of his depth. He let out a soft sigh. "Nevermind." He opened his fingers to let the wilted stems fall to the ground. "Race you back to my place?"

The grin split Aran’s face, brightening his eyes, and a moment later, he was scrambling to his bike, wheels spinning in the mud as he took off.

#aran x tristan #friends to lovers #childhood friends to lovers #aran trevelyan #tristan trevelyan #playground love #modern au #johaerys writes #oftachancer writes

9 notes · View notes

curry-planet · 4 years

Text

Lost In Wonderland | Itaru Chigasaki

"Although this world is filled with uncertainty. As long as I'm with you, it seems like we'll be just fine."

Itaru Chigasaki found his reflection in the mirror staring back at him with a smile that was so damn bright. He took a deep breath before straightening out his Mad Hatter costume that he was wearing currently.

He definitely wanted to wear game inspired formal wear but for now he'd do it all for the sake of this event.

Flowers were sprawled everywhere. Every guests table and chairs has flowers clinging onto them. Itaru looked out of the window and he saw the arch in front of all the chairs. He'd be down there soon.

This event sure did look bizarre compared to your normal ones. The table's centerpiece was a teapot! Teapots with flowers spilling out of them! The garden looked ethereal. Thanks to Tsumugi's help of course.

On the other side of the garden was a humongous table that was far too large for them to even use as a dining table for the reception. This table held gifts for them.

The cake came in three layers decorated with overly large fondant that were shaped to look like a teapot. There was also a pocket watch perched at the bottom. Omi and the other members sure did have fun making the cake. Itaru smiled at this thought.

It felt crazy. Everything did. It felt like a dream.

Itaru never thought about marriage in his life. Not even romance. That all changed when [Name] [Last Name] approached him backstage on the closing night of "Boy Alice in Wonderland", the first play he starred as the co-lead.

[Name] gifted him a little plushie that was modeled after him playing as the mad hatter. Itaru remembered how brightly his cheeks flushed. He stood there in shock clutching the handmade plushie as [Name] bid her farewell, congratulating him and wishing him well.

When he got back to his dorm room, he placed it on top of his desk temporarily. He'll find a place for this little Itaru later.

Well that was a lie. During one of his gaming sessions, he placed his phone down on his desk as someone knocked on his door. It was Sakuya holding a box of pizza. It must have been the pizza he ordered earlier. He paid Sakuya for the pizza, thanked him and shut the door.

Itaru was on his way back to his table when he tripped over his discarded shirt that was on the floor, fighting to find balance, he latched onto the first thing that his hand found. It was his desk, it shook slightly and forced little plushie Itaru to fall over into his phone screen. As if everything was on slow motion, it fell and accidentally touched his phone screen, which was opened on the gacha page.

It was a one 1x pull gacha thank god. Itaru couldn't believe his eyes when the Limited edition SSR of his favorite waifu appeared on screen. He tried to do a 10x pull again using plushie Itaru's hand.

5 freaking new SSRs. This plushie must be blessed by the gods! It was a good Sakuya substitute if the aforementioned boy wasn't around.

Ever since then Itaru was sure to watch every play Mankai did. Searching for that [Hair Color] haired girl with a pair of [Eye Color] eyes.

It didn't take long, looking for her that is. She was basically present at every play! Itaru approached her by thanking her. The rest is history.

___

[Name] [Last Name] admired the girl staring right back at her through the mirror. She couldn't believe her eyes. She was wearing a pale blue wedding dress that looked like it was plucked straight out from a fairy tale. Her dress was designed and made by Yuki of course. The young boy wouldn't talk to her until she agreed. Her make up, was of course done by Azami. He insisted and he wouldn't take no for an answer.

A knock brought her back to reality. It was Izumi Tachibana, the theater's director and her now best friend.

"Ah~ You look so pretty!" Izumi couldn't help but exclaim. "You look like a princess, I think I'm gonna cry!"

"Aww come on! It's my wedding day! Be happy!" [Name] said with a laugh.

"I still can't believe you're marrying Itaru..." Izumi sighed. "Not that I think he's not good for you! It's just-!" Izumi panicked.

"It's just very unexpected. Got it." She laughed as she put on her earrings that were sparkling in the afternoon light.

Izumi sighed softly the said, "It's almost time."

[Name] hummed in response. Her eyes glanced over the room once again. The sun's rays casted a saturated golden hue all around the room that was painted off white. She had a pocket watch that was placed on top of the vanity.

Before [Name] stepped outside of the room, she gave Izumi a hug, thanking her for everything.

[Name] arrived at the aisle in the garden that she will be walking through. The venue was small, the only guests were the whole Mankai Company alongside with a few of her friends.

Walking down the aisle felt surreal. Everything was in slow motion. The sun glowed bright. The flowers were in different colors, and in full bloom in spring. Alice in Wonderland themed decorations were placed all over the venue. There were so many things that she would normally find distracting yet her eyes only found Itaru in front of her standing by the arch, fully dressed in his Mad Hatter outfit.

[Name] laughed to herself. When Itaru proposed to her, she joked about being married in his Mad Hatter outfit in a Alice in Wonderland setting. It was her favorite tale after all. Seeing it in real life almost brought a tear in her eyes.

[Name] looked to her left. The whole Spring and Summer Troupe were grinning ear to ear as they watched her walk down the aisle. To her right was the entirety of the Autumn and Summer Troupe giving her smiles and nods of encouragement. Matsukawa, Tetsuro and Yuzo were also present, giving her encouraging smiles as well.

[Name] arrived in front of the arch. Itaru was quick to act and took her hand. [Name] felt like she was living in a fairytale right now. She couldn't even comprehend what the pastor was saying. All she could do was stare at the man beside her.

The man beside her wasn't too far different. All he could do was marvel at the gorgeous lady beside him. He never imagined himself loving someone as much as he loves [Name]. He loves her so much he'd let her play on his accounts.

Itaru knew [Name] was a sucker for fairy tales, she's a sucker for everything remotely connected to the fantasy genre. That's why he ended his vows by referencing one of her favorites,

"Wendy we can get away, I promise if you're with me, say the word and we'll find a way, I can be your lost boy, your last chance, Your 'everything better' plan, Somewhere in Neverland"

As he said this, he took her hand and rubbed soothing circles across the back of it. [Name] smiled as she caught in the reference. Just her smile could render Itaru frozen for days to no end.

It was now [Name]'s vows that were being spoken. She really wasn't a woman of many words. In fact, she was fretting over this portion of the wedding the other day. She finally settled on a line that Itaru and the Mad Hatter would say,

"Although this world is filled with uncertainty. As long as I'm with you, it seems like we'll be just fine."

The ceremony went by too fast. The next thing she knew they were exchanging rings and I Do's.

[Name] wanted to savour the moment more. She wanted to capture the moment, to freeze it in time. She wanted to remember how the wind felt against her skin. How cold her hands were because of her nervousness. Specially how Itaru's hands felt against her own.

"And now, by the power vested in me, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss." The pastor spoke in loud, firm voice.

It was this moment that every little girl dreamed of. Being married like the princes and princesses in the fairy tale books.

Itaru placed a hand on her soft cheek. Slowly they inched towards each other. [Name] closed her eyes and felt Itaru's lips on her own. The kiss was perfectly soft, full of love yet passionate at the same time.

[Name] opened her eyes and found Itaru's pretty pink eyes staring back at her. This made her smile, which Itaru reflected with one of his own.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. I present to you, for the first time, [Name] and Itaru Chigasaki" the pastor said, officially announcing their marriage.

A roar of applause erupted from within the guests. Izumi was sniffling, holding a tissue in her seat, Kazunari was taking pictures and uploading it to his Instablam (with the newlywed's approval of course), Omi was holding his camera taking pictures of the wedding ceremony. Homare was spouting freshly crafted poems, your wedding was too inspiring! He couldn't help it as his genius stirs by seeing them, young and in love! Taichi was crying with Izumi on the other hand.

"Typical Mankai Company." [Name] said with a smile. Itaru wrapped his arm around her waist and held her closer to him, a smile similar to [Name] plastered on his face.

This marks the start of their new life.

___

Wonderland A Go Go! Boy Alice [Masumi Usui (CV: Yuusuke Shirai)], Hatter [Itaru Chigasaki (CV: Shintarou Asanuma]

Somewhere In Neverland All Time Low

41 notes · View notes

dhwty-writes · 3 years

Text

Gods

Part 5 of my gift for @heyabooboo for @thewitchersecretsanta.

Alright, I lied. I like this chapter just as much as the last. There's a lot of poetry in here, I hope that's your thing!

Summary: Jaskier has finally reached the garden, but so many questions still remain: Where is Geralt? How will he get them both home? And who the hell is Wade?

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: very minor references to depression and truly copious amounts of poetry. You have been warned!

Read on AO3

Jaskier froze mid-movement. “Oh,” he said quietly, relishing in the sound of the familiar voice. ‘Is this a dream?’ he wondered. Well, of course it was, but that was beside the point. Slowly, he turned around. "There you are," he breathed, "Geralt."

The witcher stood before him in all his glory. Or something like that. He looked… weird. Healthy enough for sure, no bandaged broken bones, no bruises, no nothing. But still, his appearance was worrying to say the least. He did not wear any shoes for starters, despite the feet-thick layer of snow in the garden. Somehow, that was the least concerning aspect of his state. No, Jaskier was much more preoccupied with the fact that Geralt's hair was not only loose, but also soft and clean. And the fact that he didn't wear any black. No, he was wearing white of all colours. Long, white robes, and golden jewellery; bracelets and anklets and delicate chains around his neck. It was... pretty, he supposed. Pretty and oh-so-very-wrong.

"I found you," Jaskier whispered, barely believing his eyes. "I actually found you. Oh, Geralt!" He ran and launched himself at his witcher. A delighted little noise escaped him when Geralt actually indulged him for a moment, holding him close, before pushing him away again.

"Jaskier," he said sternly, "what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, obviously," he replied, mechanically checking his witcher for injuries. "You didn't think I was going to let you hide here until millennia after my death, did you— Geralt, what are you even wearing?"

"They gave them to me," Geralt grumbled. "They said they wouldn't have me wear anything but the finest silks during my... stay here. They don't want their... priest dressed in rags, they said."

"Their priest?" Jaskier laughed nervously. "Geralt, whatever are you talking about?"

"The deity that governs this realm and keeps me here," he explained and frowned deeply. "Apparently, I am their priest now. They didn't tell me their name, they just said I had to figure it out myself."

Jaskier had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling. Geralt's signature scowl looked a lot more like a positively adorable pout in white robes and silky curling hair. 'Oh, he's cute,' he realised, not for the first time.

"Well, worry not, dear witcher," he tried to reassure him, "for I will get you out of here in no time. I brought some frie-uh." He turned around to where the door had been with the flowers right above it. Nothing. Not even the lark was anywhere to be seen. "They were right here. Where are they?"

The chuckle that crept up to them seemed to come from all sides at once. Jaskier twirled around, in hopes of locating the speaker. "They cannot enter," a velvety voice purred into his ear, "into the centre," a ghostly hand caressed his cheek, "of my domain. Outside they will remain."

The creature rose from the fog curling around their legs a few feet away from them; a slender figure thrice as large as any man made of mist, snow, dim light, and shadows intertwining. An agonised groan spilt from Geralt's mouth as he slowly dropped to his knees, his legs trembling as if he was trying to fight the motion but couldn't help but comply.

"Wade?" Jaskier asked sceptically and ignored Geralt's splutter. Because if that was Wade, the flowers definitely could've warned him; he was not prepared for... that. Jaskier did his best to focus his vision on them—stubborn as always. But it was difficult, to say the least, akin to staring directly at the sun. As if he wasn't supposed to perceive them with his own eyes—which, of course, he wasn't. What mortal can hope to gaze at a god?

None, is the easy answer, obviously. They go mad if they do so too long. But this bard had to be half-mad already, for he couldn’t bring himself to look away. The robes they wore were quite similar to Geralt's, long and white and flowing. Their hair was unbound as well, though much longer than his witcher's, tumbling down to their feet in raven curls and barely concealing the grey mass of their chest; the only part of their body that did not seem to shift, shimmer, shine. In a way they resembled Yennefer with their fine chiselled features and their olive skin. The eyes were different, though, the piercing black of their irises was in no way less frightening.

“Wade, my old pal,” a gruff voice grumbled as the lark sat down on their shoulder. “How’s it hanging?”

They smiled benevolently albeit a bit confused. “It’s… hanging just fine, little friend of mine. How have you been? You’re cheerful, it seems.”

“Cheerful,” they parroted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. You see that buffoon there?” All three of them turned to look at him. “A right pain in the arse, he was. Took him ages to figure out your poem.”

"Oh...," he managed, barely keeping his shaking knees in check. He had absolutely no desire to kneel before his best friend's jailer. "You're.... beautiful," he stammered and while that was no ideal response either, he preferred it to the humiliation of kneeling.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Geralt cursed. "Now's not the time, bard."

Jaskier scoffed. As if he didn't know that himself. He had a witty remark ready on the tip of his tongue, but Wade was faster than him: "Be still, my dear, I'm greeting here a friend, it seems, who himself a flower deems."

"I do not deem, I named myself!" Jaskier replied, outraged. "Besides, would I be here if I were a flower? I've heard they are not welcome."

"Oh, and clever he is, too." A smile curled around their lips as they crouched down to get to Jaskier's eye level. "Who knew? It seems you have brought me quite a treat, priest. You should have told me, at least."

"Ngh," Geralt said, a pleading look in his eyes, looking back and forth between Jaskier and Wade. He could see the muscles of his jaw working, just like with Stregobor earlier. As if someone had willed him to shut up.

Rage boiled in Jaskier's stomach. "He did not bring me, for I belong to myself. As he does, for the record. He’s a person, and my friend, and I do not appreciate how you treat him."

"Silly mortal," Wade laughed and stood up straight, "he does not. He is mine to pay for the agony he brought."

"Pain? What pain? Stop speaking in riddles."

"Start listening instead, the answer's clear," Wade contested and straightened themself again. "There's a lovely home I had, but along came our witcher here. I did neither bad nor good, just dreams, not that he understood. He drew his sword and it brought war. So now he has to pay. He will stay."

"A drawn blade is hardly a war," Jaskier disagreed. "A lost home is hardly agony."

"Of course, you're too blind to see. It's not just a home I lost; there was a much higher cost."

He gnawed on his lip, waiting for Wade to elaborate. They didn't. The denizens of this strange world were not exactly forthcoming with information, much to Jaskier's chagrin. Well, in that case he had to be the direct one. Fancy that. "I have come to bring him home. Name the cost, I'll pay it in full."

Wade laughed, again, and for the first time Geralt spoke, too. "No!" he roared, " attempting to rise from his knees, but evidently held back by some invisible restraints. "No, Jaskier, you mustn't. I chose this fate for mys-"

"Then you chose wrong!" Jaskier howled, seething with anger. "How could you?” he accused him. “There are people waiting for you. People who need you." The witcher kept infuriatingly silent. "Why?" he asked, his lower lip quivering dangerously. He was not about to cry, definitely not, but it was a close call. "Why on earth would you do this to us? To yourself?"

"They wanted an immortal priest," Geralt said simply.

The deity hummed at that, combing their fingers through Geralt's hair. "It's true. I keep him here for his immortality. A priest who won't leave my side."

"You're immortal?"

He shrugged. "Immortal enough. Still have a couple of centuries to go, a couple of millennia with their help. I had no choice. It was me or..."

Ciri. Yennefer. Yes, Jaskier could see how a Child of Elder Blood or a sorceress might be a fitting replacement for someone as long-lived as Geralt. And of course, he hadn't wanted to jeopardise their safety. Of course, he'd preferred to stay himself. He loved them after all.

His eyelids fluttered shut. 'And I love Geralt.' He couldn't leave him to this fate. He couldn't— He couldn't. He had to get him out of there. 'Whatever the cost.'

"I see," he whispered and turned to Wade. "I suppose my soul would be no fitting— Hang on a moment." This whole looking up to the deity thing wasn't really doing it for him. That caused horrible cricks in the neck; netherworld or not, he sure as hell didn't want to deal with that. Once he had grown in size to match the god, he continued: "I suppose my soul would be no fitting recompense?"

The deity blinked at him in surprise but nothing beat Geralt's look on his face: "Did you- did you just grow yourself?" the witcher spluttered.

"Of course, I did," Jaskier replied, just as confused as the other two. "Didn't you know that anything is possible here?" Those were the rules of the netherworld, right? He could do whatever he could imagine. Right?

After a beat of silence, Wade laughed. "I see you are divine, too," they said delightedly. "Lucky me, that makes us two!"

"What?" Jaskier spluttered. "That's nonsense! I am no god, just a man."

"Just a man? I know none of my children's blood flows through your veins, but you're a poet, it's the same. Still, there must be more to you."

"There is not," he insisted.

"No elf, no fae?"

"No."

"No treachery at play?"

"If I say so."

"And what, man, is it that you brought here?"

"A lute."

"Why? Is it for me to hear?"

"It's for me to play."

"You say there's no fae blood in you; with my eyes I see it's true. And yet, you speak as they do."

Jaskier scoffed. He had quite enough of that Wade's antics already. "I speak as I see fit. And I would appreciate it, for you to let us go."

They tilted their head to their side. "Interesting."

They blinked.

The world shifted around him and Jaskier felt the sudden urge to puke.

He had regained his composure just fast enough to see Wade take a seat on a towering stone throne, Geralt kneeling at his side. Another blink and a similar, though much smaller chair appeared right beneath Jaskier's behind. "You're not afraid of me," Wade noted.

"Why should I be?"

"Because I am a god. Because you're a coward and a fool. Because I made your friend my tool." They smiled viciously. "In case you forgot."

"I did not. But if I'm a coward and a fool, so are you. You imagined this garden, too. I cannot be found."

"I grew this garden from barren ground, do not teach me about its laws," they snarled. "You're bathetic, flower, more than I ever was."

"Are we here to talk or to insult each other?" Jaskier laughed. "I'm Oxenfurt studied and trained, prat, why do you even bother? Smear poems are my bread and butter."

"A brat is what you are, the worst I've met so far. So, here's a tip for you: do not bite off more than you can chew."

He crossed his arms defiantly and risked a glance down at Geralt. The witcher was following their conversation with a deep frown, his eyes flicking back and forth between them. For just a moment he wondered how many quick-witted rhymes ago they had lost him. Still, he had a mission: "I did not come here to trade puny slander, let us not meander. I want a bargain. And I will not ask again."

Wade looked at him bemusedly for a moment, then they threw their head back and roared with laughter. "You've got guts, I'd hate to see them spilt. I like your little threats. You want to bargain before you wilt? Let's."

With a flick of their wrist, the air around Geralt flickered as he was pushed further away. Jaskier could see the invisible walls rising around him, could see the horror on Geralt's face, see him scrambling to his feet, banging on the barriers with both his fists and inaudible shouts. "I'm sorry," Jaskier whispered. 'I'm not,' he knew.

A sly smile spread on the deity's face as they leaned on the armrest and rested their chin in their palm. "Go on," they invited him with a grand gesture. "Talk."

"I already told you," Jaskier sighed, exhaustion showing plain on his face. "I ask you to let him go."

"And why should I do so?"

"Please," he begged, "name a cost. I'll replace what you have lost."

"Hm," they said contemplatively, thrumming their fingers against their cheek as they stared off into the distance. Suddenly, their gaze focused on him again, the expression on their face softening. "You love him," they said gently. Still, it felt like a slap in the face.

Jaskier nodded shakily.

"You might be a coward and a fool, yet you achieved what few can do. You prevailed where many fell, shouldering your burden, and his as well. Aren't you exhausted, dear? You could stay here, the both of you. I'd take good care of you."

He shook his head defiantly. "I'd rather have you take care of me alone and let him return to those he loves."

The deity laughed. "How do you wield words so prettily if you are too blind to see what's right in front of your nose? I can do only one of those."

Jaskier frowned, not understanding. "What—"

The deity paid him no heed and kept on talking: "From god to god, I have a bargain for you, man, listen closely to what I say: win my game, and you both walk free. Lose, and you belong to me." They spread their arms wide. "What's your answer, then? Aye or nay?"

Jaskier looked at them, studying their face as closely as he could. 'That sounds almost too good to be true.' Still, there was no trace of betrayal or deceit. "If I lose, only I belong to you?" he made sure.

"That is true."

"You're asking what I choose, at a game I cannot lose?" He laughed hoarsely. "I say deal."

"A handshake's the seal." Jaskier grabbed the offered hand and they grinned widely, dangerously. "May the better dreamer win."

Jaskier returned the grin that was almost a snarl. "Let's begin."

"He should listen, too, I think," the deity said and Jaskier nodded.

With a flick of their wrist, the walls around Geralt shattered and a roaring scream rolled over them: "Let him go! No, Jaskier, this is madness."

He stood and turned to him with a bow and a sad smile. "I have won your freedom already," he explained quietly, "that is all I came here to do. Now, please, dear, be quiet, so I can barter for mine."

"Aren't you two divine?" the deity cooed.

"Do not worry about our divinity," Jaskier told them sharply. "Worry about me."

They snorted disbelievingly and crossed their arms in front of their chest.

Jaskier imitated him. "So," he challenged, "what are we playing?"

"Ah, my dear flower, you're in for a treat," they purred and rose to their feet, still looming over Jaskier, "for you've met your rival you cannot beat. Welcome!" They bowed down to him. "To the Game of Fools. Here are the rules: One!"

A giant engraved stone slab slammed into the ground a few feet from the ground. "I start with a song. And you respond. It has to be your own, one that is just yours alone. Two!"

A second slab joined the first. "You must not speak out of turn. The speaking time is earned. Three!"

A third slab. "You cannot utter a single word that's already been heard. A song already sung does not belong." They whirled around to him. "Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good." They bowed with a deep flourish. "With these rules, I'm sure you'll complete your goal."

Wait, what? Jaskier's head snapped up. "Goal?!" his voice was shriller than he had intended to. "What goal?"

"Listen closely and you'll see. Tell me, where else the fun would be." They flashed him a bright smile and said jovially: "I start. Take a seat and listen close. And if you're not quite as verbose, well," they chuckled, "don't take it too hard."

Jaskier scoffed, unable to resist the sudden urge to kneel in the snow next to Geralt. He was about to tell them that they obviously had no idea who they were dealing with. Not quite as verbose? 'I am Jaskier of Oxenfurt, Viscount to Lettenhove. I have written more songs and poems in thirty years than most poets do in their whole life. Not quite as verbose my ass.' But something told him that breaking the second rule already would end badly for him.

"Jaskier," Geralt hissed leaning over to him. Had he grown too? Or had they shrunken? A quick glance around told him that the latter was the case, the thrones looming up over the three of them impossibly tall. "Jaskier!" he hissed again.

"Shush," he answered. The deity was about to begin with their song, Jaskier couldn't risk missing it.

Still, the witcher was persistent. "Do you really think this is a good idea? Didn't you hear them? You cannot beat them."

He closed his eyes praying for patience. 'I know all of that,' he thought bitterly, 'and this is not really confidence-instilling.'

Thankfully, Wade began their performance, thus keeping Geralt from any other stupid comments:

"Men die, it’s true, but so do Sounds.

And when they do, there’s no

Formality, no-one around.

No-one will watch them go."

They had already reached the end of the first stanza when Jaskier realised belatedly that he probably should be counting syllables and lines and rhymes. 'Shit,' he cursed silently. 'So much for a good start.'

"A Sound, it dies with no last song,

No elegy or chant.

A final sigh and then it’s gone.

With efforts Men are scant.

A Sound dies with reminiscence,

Remembrance dies with God,

A God’s death is with reverence,

A Prayer’s death’s in naught.

In Nothingness all endings lie

When no-one’s left to dream

With the Last Poet Earth will die

The Last to write its theme.

Men die, it’s true, but so do Gods.

From mortals they all stem.

Finds one a Priest against all odds,

It’s a new life for them."

Wade finished with a flourish and looked at him expectantly. "Well?" they asked, entirely too smug and self-satisfied for Jaskier's liking. "What do you say, flower, poet, bard? I hope this first challenge isn't too hard?"

"Too hard?" Jaskier scoffed. "What do you take me for, an amateur?"

They hummed with a smirk that betrayed that, yes, that was exactly what they took him for. 'The audacity!' Jaskier would teach them— He wanted to get up, but Geralt caught him by the wrist. "Jaskier, are you sure?"

He snorted. "Please, Geralt, apparently we're doing elegies!" Of all poetic forms to choose from, they had elected the most dull, uninspired, and ordinary of them all. With a common metre at that! He hadn't done that since his pre-Oxenfurt days! "It's as if they're trying to bore me."

"Or bait you," he warned. "Don't fall for it, bard. You're too smart for that."

"Why, Geralt, is that a compliment?" he trilled. "I never thought I'd see the day."

He huffed with feigned annoyance that hadn't fooled Jaskier for decades.

"Don't worry about it, I know just the one. And rest assured that it is a greater work of art than that." He gestured vaguely into the deity's general direction.

"Silly mortal," Wade chided. "The true dreamer is not who crafts art of the dramatic but of the mundane. It's your turn."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, alright. You want to hear an elegy, too?"

"Are you trying to tell me you don't have one prepared?" They leaned forward with a sly smile. "Do not insult me, Jaskier."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he ribbed, and walked over to take their place.

He took a deep breath. They were right, of course, he had an elegy prepared. It hadn't started out like that; the first stanza had come to him many years ago. But then it had just kept growing. The thing was— He glanced over to Geralt, who looked at him intently. The thing was, that his witcher was not meant to ever hear it.

He wet his lips with his tongue. Nothing to be done about that now; so, he started reciting:

"In my time I have known a host of men;

Great kings and knights who met a tragic end.

And yet not one of them was greater than

Geralt of Rivia, my beloved friend."

He kept his eyes trained firmly on the ground; he couldn't bear to face Geralt now. Still, he felt his eyes burning on his skin. Jaskier felt naked all over again, even though he was still wearing clothes. It was almost worse.

"The core of men is shift and change.

He faced and braved the Trials and Trail.

For that men called him monster, mutant, strange,

A butcher, a witcher, a hero to hail."

He could hear the nigh silent gasp that escaped Geralt and his eyes snapped up involuntarily. He expected to see Geralt offended, outraged even. Instead, he just looked confused.

"For two decades I journeyed at his side,

A fragment of the century he’s seen.

No words can illustrate this witcher’s might;

He’s the most noble knight there’s ever been.

He was not known to be a man of words,

His Path, it was a lonely road to walk.

And yet he did speak, even jest of sorts,

'twas his hands, his deeds, his eyes that did the talk."

Jaskier closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in the words he spoke into existence. It felt like flying. It felt like floating.

"His pride’s his unrelenting amity,

His light a guiding star to follow

For us, his pack, his friends, his family;

Alone without him we are left hollow."

He ended his poem with a tiny gasp, just as it was meant to be. He gnawed on his lip. It felt... wrong. Unfinished.

He did not know what it was that kept him talking, nor did he know where the words came from. Suddenly, they were there as if he'd always known them. Maybe he had.

"Was it just him who fell? Or did we both

That morn find our demise in that chateau?" he whispered, his words scarcely more than a breath. As if he wasn't quite sure if they were meant to be heard.

"For, though by chance, our strings of fate were tied

He's gone, and I am dead with all my woe."

When Jaskier looked up again, all he saw were two wide golden eyes, staring at him in shock. He suddenly felt the need to throw up. "I'm sorry," he wailed. "I'm sorry, Geralt, I shouldn't have—"

"No," the witcher interrupted him and evaded his gaze. "'S good." Jaskier scowled. Was he... blushing? That couldn't be, surely. Witchers couldn't blush, Geralt had told him so himself. Surely, he had seen wrong. Surely, a quirk of the netherworld.

"You have done well," the deity decreed. "You truly are a poet, I can tell. There were worse foes I have faced. Yet, such a simple deed shan't be overly praised. Another test is due. A sonnet, is that something you can do?"

Jaskier scoffed and crossed his arms. "Honestly, Wade, do you even know what Oxenfurt is? I have read and interpreted sonnets until my eyes bled. I could write one in my sleep."

They raised their eyebrows. "Then what are you waiting for?"

"I thought you would go first," he said warily. He might not understand much about this world, but he was an expert on tales and fables, and if there was one thing, they all agreed upon, it was that you did not, under any circumstances, break the rules of a contract with a supernatural being. Circumvent them via rather liberal interpretations? Sure. Break them? Not in a thousand years. "You said so yourself."

"I said it before, I'll say it once more: you're a clever one." They snapped their fingers and Jaskier watched the rule rearrange themselves on the stone slab. "There, it's gone. Now let's continue with the fun," they clapped their hands excitedly. "Carry on."

"Alright, alright," he muttered and tugged at the collar of his doublet. A sonnet they had said? That was not an easy choice. Not for lack of suitable poems, of course. Rather the opposite was the case.

As much as he hated the rigid rules Oxenfurt had—quite literally—beaten into him, he had to admit that he had a... certain fondness for the sonnet. Alright, that was an understatement. He loved sonnets, loved the challenge to tell a story in fourteen short verses. He had written dozens, hundreds, myriads, only a fragment of which had even seen the light of day.

While he rejected Valdo Marx' notion that he was "pandering to the tastes of the masses" and thus produced inferior lyrics, there was at least some truth to it. Even he couldn't deny that his jaunty jigs and breezy ballads were much better received than poems that relied on finer nuances than raucous bawling. Such as sonnets, for example.

And while he had a travel companion for most of the time, Geralt had no sense for literature either. To him, a ballad sounded just like any other, and after one pitiful attempt from his part to try and introduce his witcher to lyrics without any music that had ended in Geralt rolling around on the floor howling with laughter, Jaskier had decided to postpone the re-introduction. Into the far, far future.

But all of that still didn’t keep him from writing his poems. Nothing in this world or any other could. That was precisely why he wrote them at all, because he was so full of words that threatened to spill over and ruin everything. They had to go somewhere.

Long story short, there were about two dozen notebooks collecting dust in some Oxenfurt archive filled with sonnets about a certain witcher, that would never be read by anyone but a sentimental, foolish bard who had tried and failed to process his desperate yearning in poetry. But which should he choose?

"What is it, flower?" Wade asked, their hand in Geralt's hair again. He wished it would fall off. The deity just laughed. "That's beyond your power. You are just here to recite a poem. Go on."

Jaskier bared his teeth at him and launched into the first sonnet that came to his mind:

"A witcher is most valiant a knight

He’s armed with silver, magic, and with steel.

He faces any monster without fright

For conscience’s sake and not just for the deal."

It wasn't his best, probably, but it had to do. With every unbidden touch, every condescending word, his anger grew more. His anger and his determination to get Geralt out of there as soon as possible.

"A witcher is a gruesome fiend and vile;

No mercy left in his mutated heart.

He bathes in virgin blood and monster bile,

Nothing that sets his kind and prey apart.

So, now you ask which of my tales is true.

The answer’s plain, my friend, they all are lies.

With words and tales bards build the world anew,

But life’s no simple sketch in blacks and whites.

A witcher is the commonest of men;

We all are beasts and saints in fortune’s plan."

Wade only nodded thoughtfully. "A beautiful work," they decreed, "and seldom have I heard one that held more truth. You're wise, despite your youth."

"I am not so youthful for a man," he admitted sheepishly. "Nor am I wise. I have just seen much of the world."

"Do not sell yourself short," they chided and strode over to take his place, "we all know you're not the humble sort. With your tongue as sharp as a dagger you like to brag and swagger. Let's see if it serves you well. I've got my own poem to tell."

Jaskier ducked his head to hide his smile as he sat down next to Geralt. 'Pity,' he thought. 'Had we met under another circumstance I might've even liked them.' Alas, they had not, and so Jaskier was morally obligated to despise every word that spilt from their mouth. 'Just like the good old Oxenfurt days.'

If only it were a task as easily completed now as back then. The problem was, however, that Wade was good. They were a good performer, for a start, one who you couldn't help but follow with your eyes. Their voice was loud and clear, rising and falling at just the right parts. And the poetry. Gods, the poetry. It was just out of this realm.

"Illusion, vision, vagary; the style

Is not what makes the dream a lovely thing.

Instead, it’s joy, it’s freedom, it’s a smile.

But still does reverie deep sorrow bring."

Jaskier wanted to hate the poem. He really did. But how could he when his heart ached with every word, when his eyes filled with tears, when he found himself mouthing along to the words to remember them, recite them himself in the future? He just couldn't.

"The terrors of the night most humans fear;

They pray, they beg, they curse to no avail,

They toss, they turn, they scream for all to hear,

They try to fight and cannot help but fail.

What makes a dream celestial and sweet?

What makes a nightmare grievous, ghastly, grim?

All fantasy grows from the unchanged seed,

Each one alike, the former’s perfect twin.

Are all the dreamers blind? It is a shame,

Not one sees that both are one and the same."

Jaskier was clapping before he knew what was happening and Wade bowed graciously. "Jaskier," Geralt hissed sharply.

"What?" he replied innocently. "It was a good performance," he insisted. "I won't forget my manners just because I am fighting for my life."

"Thank you kindly," they said with a smile. "I truly am glad that it is to your liking. It's been a long time since I had not only an audience, but found myself among friends."

"We are not friends," Geralt growled. "Neither he nor I want to be here."

Their face fell. "And yet you both sought me out. That can't be my fault, no doubt."

"Just get on with the song!" the witcher grumbled.

"Oh, Geralt, I'm so proud of you," they purred, "you're already rhyming, too!"

He huffed an annoyed breath and scooted closer to Jaskier, leaning against his side. "You know," he whispered, "they've got a point."

"Shut up," he grunted, his pout appearing again. After a moment the witcher groped around on the floor until he found Jaskier's hand. He held on tight and Jaskier almost didn't hear his confession: "I missed you. And I'm glad you're here."

Jaskier's throat tightened, and, oh, apparently the clear skies rained salt water in the netherworld. "You're—" He cleared his throat. "You're welcome," he managed without sounding too much like he was crying. Which he wasn't, for the record. Crying, that was. Nope, definitely not, not him.

Geralt squeezed his hand, and Jaskier really would have loved to continue this conversation, but Wade was talking again: "One last round, bard, one last chance to complete your task. I hope that's not too much to ask?"

"Some task that is," he huffed. "I don't even know what I have to do!" They didn't even dignify that with an answer and he sighed. "I do not have a choice, do I?"

"Do you still insist to leave with him?"

"I do."

"Then you have to win."

"I will. Name your challenge, Wade, I will meet it."

"So be it," they bowed their head. "For the last round let us compete with poetry at its most complete, most accomplished form: a ballad."

"Of course," he muttered. After a short moment he added, because he couldn't resist: "And what might satisfy your noble palate?"

"A ballad, bard, and both of you can go. A ballad to—" They faltered. "A ballad. One that comes from you."

Jaskier eyed them warily, but nothing in their face betrayed that they had just stumbled over their words. Well, it could happen to the best of them. Carefully weighing his words, he said: "That I can do." He made an inviting gesture. "After you."

"If you wish so," they extended their arms and a lute appeared out of thin air. For a few moments, the garden was completely silent, both him and Geralt waiting with bated breath. Then, they began to sing:

"There once was a maid as fair as summer sun

She loved to dance to the bards’ songs.

She loved to laugh, play, ride, and over hills run.

Her kindness’s famed in all kingdoms."

Jaskier gulped. The verses were joyful enough, but he knew enough about the art of ballads that he realised with the first string being plucked that this song would make him cry again. It was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful melody that made pure adoration mingle with bitter jealousy in his mouth. He knew whatever he wrote in the future, it could never be as good as what he was just listening to.

"Though her laugh was bright there was something she missed.

A part of her heart beyond gates.

So, one day she ran away into the wilderness.

Her fortune, a gift to the fates.

This is the poor dreamer’s lament

A story of freedom, found fortune, and woe.

This is how the maid’s fable went:

She got what she craved, but was sad even so."

He gnawed on his lower lip, not daring to even glance sideways at Geralt. This was a sentiment he understood only too well. 'And yet,' he thought, 'here we are.'

"The maid wandered aimlessly through the lands,

Wherever her heart’s wish led her.

She was free though many knights asked for her hand

She said: “Thank you, but no, my good Sir.”

In the end the maid’s heart led her to a garden

Filled with daisies, roses, and more.

The Gods told her: “You’re now its patron and warden.”

She dreamt it more grand than before.

This is the poor dreamer’s lament

A story of freedom, found fortune, and woe.

This is how the maid’s fable went:

She got what she craved, but was sad even so.

Though beauty surrounds her, no flower’ll replace

The joy that comes with humankind.

In her lonely garden she longs for an embrace

And all that she left behind.

She is forced to wait until the end of time,

Alone she grows still on her throne.

All the while waiting for the gentlest rhyme,

The dream to melt a heart of stone.

This is the poor dreamer’s lament

A story of freedom, found fortune, and woe.

This is how the maid’s fable went:

She got what she craved, but was sad even so."

Jaskier's breath hitched as the last note faded out, only for the deity to pluck at the strings again:

"This is my pathetic lament;

I got what I craved, but am sad even so."

His mouth formed a silent 'O' as he saw that the deity's cheeks were just as glistening with tears as his own had to be. Before his mind could even follow up, he was already on his feet, only held back by Geralt's iron grip on his wrist.

"Jaskier," he said, softer than he ever had, softer than he had any right to.

"Yes?" he breathed.

"I believe in you." And with that the anchor tethering him to his witcher's side was gone and he stood in front of the deity.

"Did you like my song?" they asked, almost hopefully.

Jaskier envied them for their dry-dreamt cheeks. "I did. I—" Slowly, he extended his hand and put it on their arm. It hurt. It hurt so much, so much worse than the trials, so much— 'This is it,' he thought, 'This is how I die.' Still, he didn't let go. "I'm sorry," he gritted out, "no-one deserves to be lonely."

They stared at him with wide eyes and jerked back suddenly. "Sing your song," they commanded.

He blinked.

There was a lute in his hands and the pressing urge to sing building in his gut. This time, Jaskier didn't really have a choice. He could count the number of his ballads that no-one had ever heard on one hand, and, well, there was a reason why they only existed in the privacy of his head. Either they weren't finished yet, or— Or.

Truly, he had no choice at all. A work in progress had to do, then. He took a deep breath and started to sing:

“Peace in our lands is of short-lived supply,

Soldiers and monsters both make children cry.

That’s why the gods let the witchers be born;

Demons they slay in foul and human form.

Geralt of Rivia, the noblest of all

Will slay the basilisk haunting your hall.

Good folk of Aedirn, you asked for his aid,

Lo and behold, the White Wolf brought his blade.

Armed with a mirror he evaded the the glare,

The fangs and the maw, he would not die.

Although the witcher did not need to beware.

He’s sculpted like granite, he cannot petrify. ”

Jaskier faltered. ‘Ah,’ he thought as he blushed furiously. ‘Right, I hadn’t edited that yet.’ He winced, expanding his interlude. Well, the child had fallen into the well already, he could also follow through now:

“The White Wolf did not wait, he took the risk,

He set out to slay the vile basilisk.

Quickly, the White Wolf put an end to this farce

With his swords, signs, and his great muscled... arms.”

Jaskier winced. Not what he had scribbled down drunkenly during the victory celebrations afterwards, but he sure as hell wouldn’t praise his best friend’s behind in front of some deity and Geralt himself. Contrary to popular belief, he did have some dignity.

His silver blade slashed through the vicious beast,

His silver hair’s just as glorious at least.

The basilisk knew its demise was nigh.

Both of us vanquished with the flex of a thigh.

Armed with a mirror he evaded the the glare,

The fangs and the maw, he would not die.

Although the witcher did not need to beware.

He’s sculpted like granite, he cannot petrify.

Armed with a mirror he evaded the the glare,

The fangs and the maw, he would not die.

Although the witcher did not need to beware.

He’s sculpted like granite, he cannot petrify. ”

The last notes of his ballad faded away. He already dreaded the conversation with Geralt to come, barely raising his gaze when he turned to him.

He blinked.

The deity loomed over him thrice as tall as any man, shadows, mist and snow swirling. "You cheated," they growled like roaring thunder.

This time, Jaskier couldn't resist the need to drop to his knees. "No," he whimpered. "No, please, I didn't!"

That, however, didn't satisfy them. "That was not your ballad," they growled. Blinding white lightning flared right around the still unmoving grey area of their chest.

He whimpered and ducked his head. "Yes, it was," he tried to defend himself. "I wrote every note and line myself."

"It was not your right ballad," they insisted. "You cheated. You lost."

Thunder roared. Lightning flared.

He blinked.

#my writing #For You I'll Always Wait #FYIAW #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher secret santa

3 notes · View notes