Nov 24, 2019
@dulaks. call.
‘ You might forgive me for saying... well, it sounds a sight unbelievable, aye? ’
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@dulaks. call.
‘ You might forgive me for saying... well, it sounds a sight unbelievable, aye? ’
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@dulaks
‘ i’ve a devil of a habit for being right.
𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 within her words and jaskier cannot deny them. gleam, reflection of the sun glistening water in her gaze, satisfaction curling to their folded cards. the wisdom is not to be ignored she is far older than they, even if it is impolite to ask a lady her age. it’s in the moisture of air, the touch of the lake, the legends alone. ❛ luckily, i’ve a devil of a habit for listening to you when you’re right most of the time, don’t look at me like that. ❜ lips curve, pout settled over fine, somewhat impish features. yet she does not give, nor does jaskier expect her to, and it falls away with harrowed sigh. ❛ fine, but i will adhere this time. i’ve grown a bit since the last. if it should restore your favor, i will compose a ballad full of each and every time you have been right, and it will stretch such a grand length of time, all will know that they should only ever hearken to your wisdom. ❜
@dulaks said: “STRANGE HOW THERE’S ALWAYS A LITTLE MORE INNOCENCE LEFT TO LOSE.”
“THEY SAY IT IS BETTER FOR TEN GUILTY TO ESCAPE THAN ONE INNOCENT SUFFER.”
The Witcher has no penchant for philosophies that amount to little more than Thought Exercises. The air here is warm, and the water glows with--with an Aura, with Something. Like a mirror, waiting to be smashed. Perhaps all mirrors are just waiting to be smashed. Perhaps it is an inevitability of Life: smashed mirrors, and innocence torn asunder, and the Wonder at the point in a transaction as Futile as this.
“Maybe it is,” he says, and he leaves it at that.
They are strangers. He has no wish to confide in her, deeply. Perhaps in another life--in a Life where the slits of his eyes do not reflexively make themselves vertical, in a Life where his heart beats not four times slower than a Man’s, in a Life where he seeks not to find this Someone dear to him. In such a Life that is appropriate for here, on this Lake, in this Time ... Peaceful. Idyllic. In another life, perhaps. In this life, he must go. With haste.
His Missing, he feels, must endure unspeakable truths. She must burn out, and recover, and burn out again. And recover, he hopes, before the Night is over. The Witcher dreams of nothing in the night--and, on the nights where he remembers, it is simply of his Missing. His face betrays no emotion, now, when he recalls such a memory. The birds chirp, and the sun shines, and the water is transparent. Roach whinnies.
The Witcher has no reflection in the water. He is but a ghost--an Apparition, a Phantom, until he finds that which he is seeking.
“Forgive me, but I must be on my way. Somebody awaits me: my Daughter. You understand.”
dulaks replied to your post: feel like it goes w/out saying given my everything...
me gripping tightly to my uhura x chapel banner : n*ce
WE LOVE 2 SEE IT
Shame comes from vanity. Shame means you’re guilty, like the rest of us, but you think you’re better than we are. Maybe you are.
WAR OF THE FOXES —- accepting!
It is unearthly, how she looks at him now, how calm the words come, even as he's seen her rise from water with clothes dry as bone, can almost feel the magic of the place hum in the air. It had felt ancient upon approaching, far more still now once Caleb realized that she was the nexus, she the wellspring on which the arcane energy of the lake rests. He knows the stories, has heard of them and of her power, and it is this that stays his tongue ---- this, as well as a wariness. Though meeting older wizards, elves, even, he's felt the weight❝ ... ❞ of time sits differently on their shoulders, it feels a matter of something deeper when speaking with someone he'd long believed was legend.
It's Jester, Caduceus, even Fjord or Beauregard, that talks to gods, or the things near them. It's never him, and he thinks ---- with her words as he hangs his head a bit, staring to the surface of the water for a moment ---- that she knows it. ❝ I ---- I am not sure I do, that I am. There are better people to speak to gods than me. ❞ He pauses, looks to her again. It's hard, her eyes an ever-shifting blue, to keep contact there for too long. The shores of the lake are an unnatural quiet, even the distant birdsong of bright morning hushed. ❝ I'm not dreaming? ❞
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𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 , shows of the beauty that can be found in silence . there is the gentle lapping of 𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 made by ripples from the wind , and the trees rustle to the same tune . THERE ARE EVEN SONGBIRDS CROONING FROM BRANCHES , AND KINGFISHERS SKIMMING THE WATER’S SURFACE . but such natural glory can never last for too long , even when appreciated . for soon enough the flow of the world is interrupted by the discordant 𝚝𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚐 of a broken lute string ------------------------------- snapped in intent to tune . ❝ shit . ❞ flightful creatures break into the sky once startled by the sound . 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚐𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 .
with a drawn out , pained sigh carried on a lengthy audible tone he turns to find a replacement . STASHED AWAY ARE PLENTY OF STRINGS FOR THIS VERY SITUATION . but his attention is caught swiftly by the sight of one 𝚘' 𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 wandering out from the woods behind him . brow raises as his back straightens , and his previous quest is forgotten all too quickly . ❝ oh --- hello ! ❞ he greets enthusiastically , with a toothy smile . ❝ have you come to watch the birds , too ? fears are that i may have frightened off the last of them . ❞ @dulaks liked for a starter .
↬ @dulaks sent : ' After love , no one is what they were before . ‘
HOW PASSIONATE HER FURY , how holy ; a red - gold glimmer of light , in gilted burnish . if anyone will meet fate head on , teeth bared , it will be her , lioness . passive only when the silks of court demand it of her . there is a fire in her bones , a fuel in her lungs that hungers to light . her ancestors are alive in the veins of her , men and women who had fought the tidal wave of destiny until it had dragged them under . let her be that hopeful , let her be that naive , if only for a moment . ‘ i will not change for anything , not even love . ‘ a bloom of flowers , in the lungs of her . she smiles . ‘ they will take me as i am , or not at all . ‘
HE SNAPS A CARROT BETWEEN HIS TEETH ---- FREE , FOR ONCE , of any telltale signs of reindeer spit . scrutiny becomes him ; a natural observation that plays at his brows and pulls at his lips . the slow crunch continues , words offered through a full mouth : ❝ what’s in it for me ? ❞
@dulaks / ♡