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montcumbry-gaytor · 5 months

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Nepenthe. chap 09

act two : razbliuto

THIS IS A OC INTEGRATION FOR THE WITCHER, IT IS NOT A X READER FIC.

— it did it again I am about to shoot Tumblr on the vanilla extract oh my fucking god.

tw for : Canon Typical Violence and Graphic language, Mentions of throwing up.

(n.) the sentimental feeling about someone you once loved but no longer do.

"-And it.. swallowed.. that Witcher.. whole!" The man proclaimed, his face full of terror as the men and women of the inn gasped in shock.

What a joke. I think as I lean my weight against the chair Jaskier sits on, and he hums in intrigue. "Oh, This is brilliant!" He says, scribbling quickly with his quill, and as i'm somewhat leaned over him I can see his handwriting is quite neat.

I've found in the somewhat short time I've spent with him that he's more than just a bard, he's proven to be impressive in ways. "Sorry, It's just that Geralt's usually so stingy with details." He murmurs to the blood soaked man.

Jaskier scribes the last few words down before he asks for more detail, and the blubbery man spurs on his words before they come out.

"He died."

They all gasp, and I can't help the small grin on my lips as I sip from my ale, Jaskier speaking what we were both thinking. "Ehh... he's fine." And the man immediately goes to protest, and I count down with my fingers to Jaskier as he speaks.

"Listen, I was there" Wham. soaked in blood, Geralt barges into the in, his clothes sticking to him and as Jaskier gives him a hearty laugh, I can't help but chuckle a bit myself.

As Geralt demands what he's owed, Jaskier begins to sing the ballad he wrote, despite it being a decent song, I kick the tip of my boot into his calve lightly, but he takes it and sings anyway.

It's like a fairy tale how everyone joins in song, and I cringe as I move to walk with Geralt, a drink waiting for him at the counter-thanks to me- but I say nothing of it as I lean against the counter, and the cheer dies down as Jaskier walks over.

I know by his body language he's about to discuss what he proposed to me, and while I denied at first, I eventually caved and now I can't say no.

Jaskier spurs on in an elongated speech, and eventually Geralt growls out. "Fuck off, Bard." and I let out a soft 'Tsk' as I pinch Geralt's ear for a moment, his hand coming up to bat mine away.

I'm glad to be on.. more resolved terms with him now, we're not lovers, despite things we do, I still care about him but.. not in the same way, Triss words often come back into my mind and set me on the right track.

My mind snaps back as Geralt walks off, and I grin as I watch Jaskier babble on for a moment before his eyes meet mine and he mutters a small. "Fuck." before he moves to catch up with Geralt.

"Food, Women, and Wine, Geralt!" He proclaims, and Geralt pauses ses for a moment, sighs, and it's clear he just wants to be clean of the selkimore guts and asleep. "What about Kael?" He asks.

"I'm backup, Unlike you I'm not interested in women so I'm trusted to keep my hands off his merchandise." I elaborate with a soft grin, standing beside Jaskier, and he holds a fist out.

He's a bit silly, yes, but I feel he brings out whatever side of me is less reserved, and I bump his fist with mine. "Fine." Geralt murmurs, and turns to go upstairs where a warm bath is waiting for him.

We all slip inside, I find a chair in the back and sit on it backwards, Geralt makes no effort to be shy of himself as he pulls his clothes off and submerges himself in the water.

Jaskier takes a small pale of water and as he rolls up his sleeves he approaches Geralt, tending to him as if he's some heathen child and pours the water over Geralt's head.

"Now, Now, Stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night of guarding your very best friend in the whole wide world." Jaskier hums, and as he moves to grab something from the rattan dresser our eyes meet almost for a mere second.

Of course, I can't help but deny the way he's acting almost motherly is cute, but the thought doesn't linger as Geralt grumbles his words out. "You're not my friend."

"Oh, Really? So you just let strangers rub chamomile on your lovely bottom?" Jaskier turns to ask Geralt, and as Geralt cocks his head to face the bard with an expression that says 'what the fuck? 'Jaskier speaks up. "Yeah, well, that's what I thought."

He then goes on to talk about kings and other royalty will be at this gathering, and sprinkles bath salts into the tub of water as he proclaims that the Lioness herself will say praise of his works.

They chatter back and forth, and I enjoy watching it play out, Geralt's pure expression of frustration is amusing to say the least. "Ugh, is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crochety and cantankerous?" Jaskier asks, and I meet his eyes with furrowed brows.

"Geralt's just as sour as a crabapple." I comment, and lean back into my chair, crossing a leg over the other. "I've always wanted to know, Do witchers ever retire?" Jaskier asks and Geralt is quick to make yet another negative reply.

"Yeah. When they get slow and get killed." He grumbles, and Jaskier questions Geralt if he'd ever want anything after whatever life this is ends. "I want nothing."

It makes me think for a moment, I'd always thought at some point I'd be able to settle down, but it's the same reality that you really don't stop until you're dead that reminds me that settling down is only easier to say and not to do.

"Well, Who knows, maybe someone out there will want you." Jaskier says as he rests his arms on the tub. "I need no one." It irks me when he says that, maybe more than it should, but it does. "And the last thing I want is someone needing me."

The more he talks the more I can feel my eye twitching with annoyance, I bite my tongue from making a remark but internally those words all flood out.

"And yet.. here we are." Jaskier murmurs, and Geralt lets out only a grunt before he begins to look around. "Where the fuck are my clothes Jaskier?" The bard quickly explains where they are, before he grins widely with a newfound excitement.

"Neither of you will need your clothes anyways, Because tonight.. you're not going as witchers.."

Those were the last words I wanted to hear, this wasn't part of the deal.

But there's no room to refuse as Jaskier quickly spurs us up in party acceptable clothing, Geralt looks completely out of his element, but.. I haven't dressed well in so long it's almost strange seeing myself in clothes made just for looks.

I gaze into the mirror and run my hand down the fabrics, while at first I refused the corset vest, it actually looks quite nice.

But of course, there's one last thing, a small black eye patch rests on the vanity and I fidget with it for a moment before it's secured on.

I walk out of the dressing room, and Jaskier coos and urges me to twirl. "Is the eye patch really necessary..?" I ask, It feels like it only calls more attention to the empty socket even if it's hiding it.

"You look lovely, perhaps you'll even meet a man who suits your tastes to keep you company tonight." Jaskier hums, and I let out a deep sigh, that's the least of my worries.

My job is to end men, not their squabbles,

It's getting closer to the evening time and we arrive to the event, I can feel Geralt's eyes on me despite it all, he seems awkward in the clothes he was put in.

"Right so stick close to me, look mean and pretend you're both mute." Jaskier says as we enter the Grand Hall, the scent of pompous assholes is strong and unpleasant in my nose.

"We can't have anyone finding out who you are." Jaskier says to Geralt, and I let out a huff at the irony. "If you didn't want that you shouldn't have made him famous." I say, and Jaskier huffs back in retort. "If I would have known I would have reconsidered."

Jaskier says, and I roll my eyes. "You lack hindsight, is there no brain under that mop of yours?" I ask, and brush my fingers through his hair, and our gazes meet as I bring my hand away, though the moment is cut short as a voice bellows.

"Geralt of Rivia, The mighty Witcher!" It calls direction straight to us, and I pinch the bridge of my nose with my fingers, hissing softly. "Shit.." I sigh, and the man approaches us, a flagon of ale in hand.

"I haven't seen you since the plague." He says, he seems to be an old friend of Geralt's, because he smiles and greets him in return. "Good times, Mousesack."

They chat, and the more they talk the more eyes I feel poke and prod, I've never been one for attention, let alone being in the center of the room.

The man now known as Mousesack takes Geralt off our hands, and now I see why I'm being used as backup, and Jaskier and I sigh a bit of relief as the eyes peel off us.

"You did make him look like a sad silk trader, Though." I commented, and Jaskier let out a soft laugh, his eyes traveling down the outfit he chose for me. "Perhaps, But I think you look perfect."

"Overstatements from the bard, how shocking." I brush off his compliment off, leaving it at that as we walk through the bustles of people, Everything makes me a little more uncomfortable.

"You should get yourself a drink.. or two, you look tighter than double knotted laces." Jaskier says, and practically ushers me away, I feel more out of place now that I'm alone.

I've always hated royal gatherings, I've only ever been to these types of settings if it meant slitting a throat for coin, but without a goal but to make sure Jaskier doesn't get absolutely bullied I feel more on edge.

Just as I try to catch my bearings, a man catches my gaze, or he catches mine, and it almost seems like he'll try and approach, and I'm just about to back-pedal as far away from the possible conversation a firm hand on my back grasps me from my thoughts.

Geralt, he's guiding me back to Jaskier, who the second I see him is cornered by a royal half my size, it's a silly sight. "Thank you." I say quickly, and Geralt grunts in response, he knows more than anything that I don't favor this setting.

"Uh- Er.. Ah! My good friends!" Jaskier says in a comical nervousness, and I watch as Geralt uses the fact that he's doing Jaskier a favor to his advantage, lying boldly that Jaskier was kicked in the crotch by an ox, and the royal gives him a gold coin to 'drown his sorrow' before scurrying away.

But their chatter is soon to be cut off as horns blare through the air, and the queen herself cuts through the room, face adorned in blood, fresh from battle, and Jaskier rushes to the small stage with his lute.

His eagerness is visible, I can only hope he'll survive.

Geralt and I sit back against a wall, and he passes me a flagon as we only watch royals idle. "Shit, I already hate this." I comment and take a hearty swig from my flagon, my dual-colored hair falls over my left eye, shading it from public view.

Soon, rowdy chatter bursts as two men bicker back and forth, they fight about beasts when they clearly know nothing, but ignorance is bliss. "Enough!" Calls the queen, and my gaze flits to her as she steps down from the podium.

"We have a renowned guest here tonight." For fucks sake. I internally hiss as I skirt myself away, patting Geralt's shoulder as I creep deeper into the corner of the room, If anything I do not need a queen's eye on me after all the treason to my name.

As quickly as the queen speaks, all eyes are on Geralt, who stands as still as possible before he declares: "Neither." And one of the royals asks him if he's being accused of lying.

And for a moment it's quiet, and I can hear the lie in Geralt's voice, saving anything grand from leaving his mouth and supposing that the royals have found a subspecies, though.. obviously not the case.

Chatter happens quickly, Geralt makes snide comments, and he tells the truth of the happenings of Filavandrel, whom I've come to respect as the days pass by and the memory keeps in my mind.

"Come Witcher.. take a seat by my side while I change." Says the queen, and as she leaves, Geralt can't not comply, and I'm pushed back into now as Jaskier comes down from the smaller podium.

"Well? Going how you expected?" I hum with a soft grin, and he puts his hands on his hips. "I can't say I didn't expect it, just hoped for it not to happen." Jaskier says as he takes a sip from a flagon he'd snagged.

"Perhaps you should try dancing with a willing lady, might cheer you up." I suppose, and just as I say that, a young woman looking to be around Jaskier's age approaches him.

They chat for a bit before Jaskier is pulled away to the center floor and I'm left safeguarding his lute as I watch attentively, at first it was to make sure Jaskier wasn't lured into a trap but as the two begin to dance together the idea is only hypothetical.

He's a bit clumsy on his feet, but he knows how to dance, and it's an entertaining sight, but he's enjoying himself and that's all Geralt and I came here for.

As I watch, a solemn thought plagues my mind no matter if I try to think of anything else, and I find myself sipping at the rich beer in my flagon, yet it's like water in my belly.

Minutes pass by and the music dies down and the queen re-enters the room, and Jaskier and the woman finally slip away from each other with smiles and he practically comes skipping back.

"Enjoy yourself?" I ask, and he's basically gleaming with a newfound enjoyment, his old disappointment of the night wiped away. "Very."

We sit back and idle as man after man approaches the podium where the Queen herself, the princess and now even Geralt sits, and as the first one's title rings in my ears, it makes me a little sick.

"Lord Peregrine of Nilfgaard." A man introduces loudly, and the mere words make my stomach churn, and just before the Lord can speak the crowd blares bagpipes and drunken laughter as a mockery, but I cannot smile in the presence of such a man.

I turn myself to face away, the mere stench of the Nilfgaard makes me nauseous. "Hey- Are you.. alright? you look like you've just seen a ghost." Jaskier asks, now seemingly worried.

"I'm alright- Just.. not a particular fan of Nilfgaard." I reply, and hear as the Queen makes a mockery of the Lord herself, and he rushes off, but the scent lingers.

The night proceeds, and Jaskier once again slips off to make a performance, one that captures the party and they all seem to enjoy him play, it makes him happy, which again, is all that matters currently.

It's all calm and I feel more at ease that the scent of Nilfgaardians has since aired out, but hairs rise on my neck before someone bursts through the rooms doors clad in armor.

He makes his way to the center, and kneels as he introduces himself, and I can only think I'm either paranoid or having a moment of precognition as I step up to where Jaskier is, there's too much tension in the room.

The knight explains himself excusing his lack of exposing his face as an oath, and as a royal steps up declaring it false, he rips the helmet from his head and almost everyone jolts up in shock.

Face clad in quills, he looks just as frightened as the party folk, but this is no monster, it's a curse, and for a moment Geralt and the Queen whisper back and forth, before she bellows throughout the room.

"Slay this beast!" Knights shoot up to take him down, but he's an impressive fighter, and he finishes them quickly, before speaking once more. "Lioness of Cintra, I've come to claim what is rightfully mine!"

He proclaims, and I watch in a precise silence. "Pavetta." The Knight says, and turns to face the princess whose face is contorted in shock. "By the Law of Surprise.." He says, but in the silence swords draw one by one, he's taking down guards by the minute.

Geralt steps up, grabbing a fallen sword and slicing the large weapon that was once about to strike the knight in half, and I take that as a queue to fight, sliding in to grasp a sword that clatters to the ground.

"Kill them!" The queen shouts, and Knights flood in, it's slaughter after slaughter, where Geralt is too precise, I'm too fast, if they were fucked enough trying to kill one Witcher, they were truly balls deep in shit if they had to kill two.

More party goers rise with weapons, and in the midst of it all, the royal who once ripped the helmet from the Knight steps in to fight with us instead of against.

And suddenly amongst all the fighting two swords meet but do not collide. "Stop!" The Queen says, her sword drawn on Geralt, and the whole crowd halts on command.

"Duny!" The princess says as she rushes down from the podium, wrapping her arms around the Knight and he holds her in return. "I told you to stay away." Pavetta says as she cups the Knights quilled cheeks.

The Queen eyes them with uncertainty and they stare with the same, there's tension thick enough to be cut with the slice of your hand.

Once again, the knight kneels to the queen, lowering his weapon before he speaks. "Your Majesty.. The Witcher speaks the truth." He says as he stands once more. "I was cursed as a young boy.. my whole life a living misery until the day that I saved your husband, King Roegner, from a certain death."

The Queen listens in an almost infuriated and disgusted silence, I can sense she's far from done even if she is giving him time to speak. "I chose the Law of Surprise as payment.. Whatever windfall he came home to find would be mine."

He speaks, and the Queen seethes before she speaks up herself. "-Oh, the stupid bastard, Better you had let him die!" She hisses, and I can see Jaskier walk closer to Geralt and I in my peripheral.

"You knew he'd come and you pushed me to kill him." Geralt states, and Pavetta's cheek occupies a tear. "And you.." Calanthe hisses at her own daughter. "Carousing with the beast that swindled your stupid father!"

"Tis no swindle.. Asking for payment with the Law of Surprise is as old as mankind itself." Eist says, stepping forward. "Don't lecture me, Eist." Calanthe growls. "It's an honest gamble.. As likely to be rewarded with a.. bumper crop as a newborn pup."

Eist speaks, his forehead ridden with sweat as he speaks. "Or, A child of surprise.. He could not know." He continues, and Pavetta and the Knight hold each other as they watch the Queen carefully. "Destiny has determined the surprise to be Pavetta."

Eist states, and the quilled knight speaks up again. "When I heard that King Roegner had returned to find a child on the way.. I abandoned all thought of claiming the Law of Surprise." The Knight admits.

He speaks with complete and utter honesty, But the queen only persists to boil with anger. "I knew.. I knew no woman would ever accept me like this." He says, and a tear rolls from his cheek, Pavetta seems almost shocked by the words.

"So I waited.. I waited until the twelfth bell when the curse breaks." The room is dead silent as he speaks, no one dares to move. "I never intended to meet her... Just to watch from afar." He says and gazes into Pavetta's eyes.

"Until destiny intervened.. and our hearts collided." They almost talk like it's a fairy tale, and if I wasn't experiencing this firsthand I'd say that's all it was.

"Who are we to challenge destiny..? Life was saved, Debt must be paid, Or the whole order of the world falls apart."

Eist says, he's desperate to make the queen understand, and the man who'd previously greeted Geralt speaks up. "Honor destiny's wish, Or unleash its wrath upon us."

She's cornered, no one is at her side willingly anymore, no one that matters.

"There is no us! I bow to no law made by men who have never bore a child!" She proclaims. "Is there not a man amongst you who does not cower before Destiny?"

She asks, and her eyes lay on Geralt, before she almost squints at me as I stand by his side, as if picking up by relativity.

"You, Witchers.. Who has known monsters of every fang and claw.. Are you afraid too?" She asks in a patronizing tone. "No." Geralt responds.

"I've seen mothers lash themselves raw over the death of a child, believing they crossed Destiny, Ignoring the stench of the fifty other children in the plague cart outside."

Geralt speaks, his tone gruff but truthful, the mere thought of the time makes me shudder a bit. "Destiny.. Helps people believe there's an order to this horseshit.. There isn't." The Queen's eyes are overwhelmed with unshed tears. "But a promise made should be honored."

He adds, a soft smile on his lips as he speaks. "As true for a commoner.. as it is for a Queen." He says, and the Queen lets out a sigh as a tear rolls down her cheek.

"I love Duny, Mother.. I will marry him." She says, her tone firm and hard, she's made her choice. "I will finally be free." She softly rejoices, and the room is deafeningly silent as the Queen passes off her sword to Eist before holding her hand out.

The knight takes the hand gently, and as the Queen leans over to whisper in his ear. "Here is your destiny." She says with a smile, before drawing the dagger at her hip and lunging it straight for the Knight's throat.

The princess screams out in horror and before the queen can touch the Knight a blast of energy sends us all back, Windows break and I skid to a halt as wind spins the room, The Princess and the Knight standing in the center.

Elder whispers leave her lips, and they lift from the ground, floating effortlessly as chaos surrounds them, Geralt tries to send a surge of energy through his fingers, but he's only sent back.

In a moment of chaos, I see him down a small bottle, through the whipping furniture that whirls around the room Mousesack tries to take the storm as Geralt pushes through it, and with all the strength he can conjure, separates the two and lets them fall as the storm settles into nothingness.

Geralt stands after everything settles and our eyes meet with relief, and nod to each other as whispers fill the room and everyone stands from their collapsed positions and the queen approaches them again.

The tension is gone, she's melted down with the shock of it all, but the couple watches wearily as she steps closer, before the Queen embraces her Daughter in a solemn hug in the center of the room.

"I thought your grandmother's gift had skipped you.. It seems I was wrong.. about so many things." The queen admits as they pull away from the embrace.

"Destiny has spoken! And I have listened.. The Law of Surprise will be honored." The queen proclaims, and I gaze around the room as everyone has recovered, and my eyes land on Jaskier who holds the woman he danced with in his arms.

"Pavetta will marry Lord Urcheon!" Murmurs fill the room, And Eist steps forward to stand with the queen. "React poorly, and you won't just face the Lioness, you will be facing the sea hounds of Skellige. Because Queen Calanthe.."

Eist speaks, and the room quiets down once more. "Has agreed to my proposal of marriage." They all stand at each other's side, before Calanthe once again begins to speak, her voice pieces the room sharper than any sword.

"There will be two vows here tonight! I assume that's agreeable." She says, and every head in the room nods. "Delightful.." Quickly, a ceremony takes place, people circle the room with candles in hand, and the queen binds their hands with a cloth.

"Pavetta. Duny... With my blessing.. I thee bind." The room is silent as their lips meet, and as they pull away, all is normal, before Duny lets out a soft bark, grunting as his body jolts and he falls to the ground.

And as he rises, he's.. Human, Normal, and Pavetta and Duny crawl to each other as they kiss again, the curse lifted. "The twelfth bell has not yet rung.." "What's happened?"

The two are in shock, and Mousesack speaks up. "I think your blessing in this marriage.. has fulfilled a destiny.. The curse has been lifted." Jaskier makes a soft noise of surprise.

"Whew! I think this has the makings of my greatest ballad yet." He says, his arm around the young woman. "If you're alive in the morning... Don't grope for trout in any peculiar rivers until dawn." Geralt says, and turns to leave, and just as I'm about to follow.

"No, Wait- Wait!" Duny says, chasing after Geralt. "You saved my life.. I must repay you." He says, and I purse my lips as I watch. "You've proven yourself to be the kind of man who would do the same."

Geralt says, and once again moves to leave. "I want nothing." "—No, Please, Geralt of Rivia, Do not feel like you're doing me a service." Duny begs, and once again Geralt pauses and turns to face him.

"I cannot start a new life in the shadow of a life debt." Geralt sighs for a moment before he speaks up, he's trying to leave quickly, understandably. "Fine, I claim the tradition as you have, The Law of Surprise.. Give me that which you already have but do not know."

The Queen gasps, her eyes wide. "No! What have you done, Witcher?" She asks, and Geralt speaks up. "Fear not your Majesty, If I am seen in your kingdom again it will be to kill a real monster, Not to lay claim to a crop or a new pup.. Destiny can go fuc—"

The Princess spits up bile, and the queen instantly makes the realization, Geralt is fucked.

"Fuck." He hisses and exits the room, leaving me to tend to Jaskier.

"You're staying?" I ask, and he holds the dark haired woman still, and smiles a bit. "I suppose a bit more fun never hurt anyone." Jaskier says, and I let out a deep sigh before holding my hand out.

"Enjoy your night, Jaskier." Jaskier goes to question hurriedly and I Quickly cut him off. "You know by now Geralt doesn't stick around." I say, and Jaskier sighs as he nods. "I always find you both, Don't I?"

I nod softly, before I slip off out of the doors, passing by Mousesack who's re-entering, and we say nothing as I rush to catch up to Geralt.

It takes moments to navigate in perfect silence, and we find Emir and Roach tucked into a stable. "I'm so ready to be rid of this god forbidden vest." I comment, and Geralt looks at me for a moment.

"You look better than me." He says, and I smile a bit as I give his clothes a look over. "Silk trader." I say, and hop onto Emir, my mind lingers a bit on Jaskier as we leave.

If I have to find him somewhere I will, because he owes me now.

— WEE WOO WEE WOO LONG CHAPTER LONG CHAPTER.

#the witcher #jaskier #the witcher oc #geralt of rivia #the witcher netflix

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read7sai · 8 months

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"Scribbles on Paper are Better then Nothing" High School English Teacher.

Rolling off the Bed in Desperation, i try to stay Awake Groaning into the mattress. Twitching my limbs trying to regain motion my senses rush back making me fall completely on the Floor. Hearing Voices unable to register i give a Lazy Screech finally regaining control.

Colours blurring to my Senses i slowly rub my face Chasing the Numb. Blank and purple painted my sight as Voices turned to word.

"Come on, First day get up." Echoing it raised me up showing a familiar shape.

Another one, i Believe tumbling up following the Motion. Giving a stretch popping my bones as my vision becomes concrete i think. Follow Motion- Wait for Bang.

...

Feeling numb during the Drive, Recognizing Graffiti and Tree's i yawn.

"Stay up to late?" I hum in confirmation not needing more Words. "Told you to sleep Hon. Your nerves are gonna be shot" a sigh followed by Chuckling echoed from mom, She continued to talk in Voices. I hum in confirmation clutching the Backpack with silence.

Once we pulled up to the Front, the Old building greeted me surprising me with my memories. To the Grass being up Kept and the Groups of kids talking I take it in. Unbuckling Quickly moving my backpack slightly to reach for the handle I'm stopped by mother.

"T's gonna come down from the Highschool to Help you, alright. so try not to stress to much." I opened the door staying my thank you's. "Just breath, Hon."

Running off towards the building i take in the Cafeteria crowded unlike the others. Greyish colours with Royal Blue Hints, the room was Bigger then i remembered. Three doorways into the hallway were Crowded by Kids. Two tables were setup with Schedules upperclassmen were Motioning Kids towards.

Spinning around looking for familiarity i spotted a old friend. Her hair was shorter then are previous interaction, and she looked less Feminin but i knew it was Katie. She wore Bulky Fall clothes and looked nervously around. approaching Walking with a bounce to my step and arms swinging at my sides similar to my Senior days i give a loud greeting.

"Hey Katie! What's up?" I give a Cheshire Grin arms resting behind my back, Slightly uncomfortable with the Usual Position.

She jumps and looks at my wildly, Whispering in Confusion. "@?" Coming out as a question before growing louder, "Wait do you know what happened??" Stressed out she begins to fidget with her Glasses, Hand twitching as She try to Move.

Humming in Confusion, as i look away from my Young Coworker i spot more of my old Friends. "HEY OVERHERE!" i yell vocals Squeaking in pain, my hands clench my throat whining in Shock. That's not normal.

As they approach us the sight of a Colourful Celeste only more Rounded followed by Kael with a more casual outfit, Baffled me. Taking in Katie's previous Words I can't help but question What, clearest Dream yet... My eyes beings to drift off taking in the Surroundings once more, Seeing clearly Strangers in individual outfits a pit begins to grow. Why does.. my Bones suddenly clink shocking me to reality.

they argue over what division cause this, I cannot stop from cracking my fingers and focusing on my breathing. Is this real?

Outside Kate and Kael begin to calmly argue about who's fault this is. "Well for now we should blend in till we find the rest of the Crew." "But what if-". "Worry about it later lets just Discuss at Lunch, Ugh School food". "Alright but i really need to write my programs soon. Atlas! Think you can get some Bites down in the Cycle?"

Perking up going through my Fragmented Memories, I figure a Route of construction. "Three, but I'll need some extra parts anyone had some Scraps laying around?"

#wip #rough draft #writting #first person pov

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vinalee · 6 years

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When your dumb OC eats ass 24/7

#scribble #mindless doodle #oc #haha #I dont know why I find it so funny #this guy doesnt have a name yet #I'm thinking Kael #pronounced like kale #sketch #artists on tumblr #fefanart #myart #og

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spyrreh · 6 years

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More character-sketches. He always ends up looking kind of sad.

Hopefully atleast bit less “anime” this time.

#Kael #oc #fantasy #sketch #scribble

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thorne93 · 3 years

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History Repeats (Part 1)

Prompt: Life’s hard, right? Well throw in a not so great job, a broken heart, and chasing a pipe dream in LA. But could someone come along to make all the bad shit disappear? Or is he just another heartbreak waiting around the bend?

Warnings: language, drug addiction, alcohol addiction, angst/heartbreak

Word Count: 1562

Note: Aesthetic made by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo because she’s absolutely amazing Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo . Brainstorming from @carryonmyswansong

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

“I wanted a room with two queens and an east facing window!” the woman with short, curled hair informed for the tenth time, her face already beet red as she yelled at you.

“Ma’am, I am sorry. I see we booked you with two queens and you’ll be on our seventh floor, with a south facing window,” you started to explain calmly.

“Does south sound like east to you? Jesus Christ, where do they hire you lazy brats?” she asked.

Your poker face didn’t waiver though. You didn’t close your eyes, or take a deep breath, or shake your head slightly. You continued to smile and apologize.

“You’re absolutely right, ma’am. But with the awards in the city and the influx of visitors for the winter--”

“I don’t care if all of Europe is here, I booked this trip over three months ago! My room should be available to me now!” she shouted, causing other patrons in the nearly full lobby to stare at the two of you.

That was the good and bad thing about being a hotel right outside the city center, just on the outskirts. You didn’t get entirely booked a lot, but on rare occasions you did, it meant something.

You had been asked to step in for your coworker Danielle, when the woman found out she wasn’t on an east facing window. You’d been going back and forth with her for over twenty minutes now, her screaming in your face. This wasn’t super atypical as a hotel manager. Angry patrons of the hotel, confused guests, exhausted tourists, frustrated honeymooners...It was your job to ensure every stay here was a pleasant one, and you did want that. Why wouldn't you? But on some days, people like Mrs. Taucht here really wore on your nerves. Why did people have to be so cruel and mean when all you were doing was trying to provide them with excellent service?

Smiling your best customer smile, you offered sweetly, “I am terribly sorry. I can refund you some of your money and perhaps you could take the south facing room, and as soon as an east facing room is available I’ll inform you.”

“Some?! Some of my money?” she shrieked, shaking her head. “I want all of my money back and free room service! This is absolutely ridiculous.” She turned to look to another guest waiting to check in. “Do you believe this?” she asked him, and you’d been so preoccupied focusing on her, you hadn’t noticed that the lobby was so getting backed up. You quickly turned to Danielle.

“Open up check in five, and start taking everyone from this line immediately. Check everyone in as fast as you can,” you quietly spoke to her as Mrs. Taucht ranted to the man in the line behind her.

Danielle nodded and waved everyone over from your line, telling them that she could help them at the end of the counter, while Todd, Eric, and Trish helped as quickly as they could on their lanes.

“Actually, I can,” the man with golden hair responded politely. “I’ve been to this city many times and you wouldn’t believe how crowded it can get and how fast,” he informed.

“But I made these reservation months ago,” she reiterated.

“Well, with all respect, ma’am, you do have a room,” the guest retorted. “It’s just not the one you wanted. If I were you, I would ask for a full refund of your room, take that, and go the room they have booked for you. I would prefer any room, to standing here in the lobby, shouting at the manager…But that’s just me.”

Mrs. Taucht stared at the man, then turned back to you slowly. “What he said,” she sighed. “Can you give me the full refund and forget the room?”

“Absolutely, ma’am. It was our mistake, and I do apologize. I will throw in free breakfast every day for your stay, for your patience and understanding. Is that alright?”

She nodded her head side to side. “I would say that’s fair. Thank you.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I will get to work on this refund for you, and it’ll be settled when you leave, okay?” you sweetly said.

“Alright.”

At that, she took her things and left, heading for the elevators to the rooms. You wanted to take a deep breath, but refrained, trying to keep composure for the nice guest that was next.

“Just a moment, sir, let me enter some notes for her account,” you said politely before clacking in all the notes for you to finish later tonight. “I deeply apologize for that. I know you’ve been waiting and now you’re about to wait more.” You let a small laugh out, hoping to lighten the mood.

“I’m in no rush, besides, you’ve got your hands full,” he said with a sideways grin. He was rather handsome, now that he was closer. Warm, brown eyes, dark blonde hair, a reserved smile...But something about him seemed familiar. He had said he stayed in the city a lot. Maybe he’d checked in once before. But...his face didn’t look like one you’d forget.

“You noticed that, hmm?” you asked with a bigger laugh.

“Hard to miss,” he remarked.

“Too true. Thank you, for putting in a good word for me, there, by the way,” you said. This random man had no reason to stick up for you or make your job or day easier.

“Oh it was nothing. I was just trying to get her to move so I could get checked in,” he said evenly.

The humor whisked away from you as you nodded, realizing he wasn’t really helping you.

“Right,” you concurred, as you finished up the notes, your eyes shooting down to the computer screen.

He leaned forward and smiled at you. “I’m joking. I was happy to help.”

Your eyes flitted back up to him as a giant grin spread across your face. This was new for you, unusual. People didn’t really go out of their way to help you. You were a bit of a wallflower all your life. Not an outcast, but not the brightest star. You were the girl that no one picked out of a crowd. You were the girl that was overlooked, rather than looked over. It wasn’t so much your looks, you’d always felt you looked average. But that was the problem: you were average. Average looks, average grades, average car, average education. Nothing about you was stellar.

Maybe that’s why Jason had left. Your boyfriend of two years had decided to dump you five days ago, just after the new year. What a way to kick it off…

“Well thank you, again. What name is your reservation under?” you asked as you queued to the page to look up check ins.

“Hayden...Christensen,” he warmly informed, seeming to hesitate though.

You smiled and nodded. “Ah. Found you. Two queens, sixth floor, room 602. Is that alright?”

“As long as it has a bed and a TV, I could care less,” he said with a shrug and a smile.

“Simple man?” you lightly inquired as you got out his room keys and began to scan the code to them.

“Relatively,” he replied with another shrug. “You? Simple woman?” he asked.

“In some ways, yeah, I’d like to think so,” you said, contemplating.

“And in others?” he inquires.

“Well...none of us are simple, are we?” you questioned, a bit of ominimity in your voice.

He nodded slightly. “I suppose that’s true.”

You stared at him a moment longer, not exactly realizing you were staring until it became awkward and you realized you needed to hand him the room keys and information.

“Ah! Here are your keys, here is a brochure to the spa, restaurants, and room service. Here is the number to the concierge, the manager--me, and the hotel operator,” you said, pointing at everything with a pen.

“Thank you very much,” he said, taking his cards and the pamphlet.

“Any time, sir. I’m Y/N if you need anything, or if you need a manager, feel free to give me a call at any time,” you said warmly. Typically, you didn’t lay on that extra charm unless a customer was overtly rude or incredibly nice, and in this case he was incredibly nice, very handsome, and you still had this gnawing feeling that you’d seen him somewhere before. Therefore, if he was a returning patron to the hotel, you wanted to make him feel extra special.

“Will do. Thanks,” he said as he grabbed his bags, waved to you, and took off toward the elevators.

Once he was out of sight, you dealt with the new family coming up to check in and your day continued as usual. The rest of the shift, you were racking your brain trying to remember where you’d seen him from. You couldn’t place it at all, and that bothered you because typically you didn’t forget a face. After awhile though, you shrugged it off, figuring it would come to you later.

In your down time, after verifying the room service orders were fulfilled, requests were taken care of, and the kitchen staff was on schedule, you sat down and began playing around with some music, scribbling down some lyrics in your ratty notebook that you carried with you everywhere.

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

Forever Tag:

@essie1876

@magpiegirl80

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

@marvel-imagines-yes-please

@missinstantgratification

@thejemersoninferno

@rda1989

@munlis

@thefridgeismybestie

@bubblyanarocks3

@igiveupicantthinkofausername

@kaliforniacoastalteens

@feelmyroarrrr

@kaeling

@friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo

@damalseer

@heyitscam99

@yknott81

@sorryimacrapwriter

@glitterquadricorn

@bittersweetunicorm

@alyssaj23

@princess76179

@thisismysecrethappyplace

@sarahp879

@malfoysqueen14

@ellallheart

@breezy1415

@marvelmayo

@lyniboy

@paintballkid711

@pandacookieowo

History Repeats/Hayden

@haydens-moles

#history repeats #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen fic #hayden christensen

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friesian · 3 years

Note

dude I love your headcanons! can I request some more kaelfacts :3c or anybody really whoever you wanna share facts about bc tbh I love these cannot get enough -@dawnblade-disaster

YOU ARE BLESSING ME.... the fact someone even likes my kaelfacts enough.... i can totally do more, grab the camera. i'll give two kael and a NEW (tm) facts about a character i love. - kael loves the winter, specifically the start of winter mostly! when the snow starts falling onto the fall leaves that still retain the color and the dusty white covers silvermoon, he wakes up with a much more positive attitude. the smell of fresh snow brings a life to him you'd never see coming. part of him loves the nip that winter gives you. his favorite activity during the season-- that he's had since he was a kid-- is lighting fireplaces. since his first basic fire spell from when he was just about ten years old... it was KAEL'S AND ONLY KAEL'S JOB to light the fireplace. no one else can do it. only him. it gives him a sense of nostalgia for times when his dad used to tell him stories near the fire. you also wouldn't think it, but he's actually quite festive. his demeanor is still VERY rigid at noble talks, meetings, war discussion, ect. however, that doesn't mean you wouldn't be able to catch horribly scribbled seasonal doodles on the margin of paper he was taking notes on, and the fact that he would often approach not with his usual "good evening" but instead; "season's greetings to you,". the council and war meetings always felt a little more lighthearted during the winter. - al'ar was SUCH a stubborn little chick when kael first got to know him. he'd peck the hell out of his fingers, scream in his face, slap him with his wings (double painful. that shit burns!), and sometimes even chase him down on foot! it was one of his first responsibilities as a prince, and he did not know how to handle it one bit. however, he never gave up on al'ar. he never saw him as an angry, belligerent phoenix, just one that was just as scared and confused as him in this big, loud, war-stricken world. the thing they bonded over? music! msuic calmed both al'ar and kael, and they would hum and sing together (at least as much as a bird could). it made al'ar comfortable in his presence. they grew up together, they learned together, they taught each other what respect was. kael truly regards al'ar as a best friend, and even a brother. he may or may have not started calling himself 'uncle kaelthas' whenever al'ar had his first clutch. - xavius is an artist! he was before he was a satyr, and he is one after he became a satyr. he doesn't have much time to do so between leading so many satyrs, figuring out his plans, sending out commands, and so on. honestly, it's his one de-stressor that he has, he would've continued his calligraphy but his claws are far too big to even hold brushes anymore. so how does he paint? he paints with his tail! most of the time these paintings are abstract in nature, using strong purple, reds, blacks, and even a bit of orange. they contain a lot of motion to them, since he usually dips the tip of his tail in paint and then hits or flicks the canvas with it. this DOES however, result in numerous, NUMEROUS broken canvases. more than he likes to admit since he usually paints in an enraged state. he's proud of his paintings, but he never shows them to anyone. they stay stowed away, only to be seen by him, but he likes it that way. THAT'S ALL I HAVE FOR NOW but im thinking over some ones for lorthemar, rommath, halduron, and aethas.... pls feel free to bug me for more u don't know how much it warms my heart that someone likes my silly little elf facts.

#kaelthas #kaelthas sunstrider #xavius #world of warcraft #wow

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youngster-monster · 4 years

Text

if you must leave

You have learned to appreciate Illidan as you fought at his side against the Legion; you have seen how dedicated he is, how much he sacrificed for the survival of Azeroth. Although what little you know of his story comes from secondhand accounts and rumors, you know most of this stubborn will to see this war to its end was born from his love for his brother and childhood friend. It seems like the least you can do to make sure his last words are heard by the people he holds dear.

The first message you deliver is for Tyrande, most of all because she is easier to find than the elusive Archdruid. You’re surprised she lets you listen to it with her; less so to hear the genuine affection in Illidan’s voice when he says his goodbye to her. If you cry a little, when, no one needs know.

She doesn’t hear it. She doubts his sincerity — waves off the whole matter like he’s nothing but a footnote in her life. The meeting leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Malfurion is harder to find, but the melancholy expression when hearing his brother’s voice makes the search worth it. He, too, lets you listen to Illidan’s message; you have a hard time not fidgeting when it mentions Tyrande. You remember her reaction, and wonder if she truly deserves the trust and admiration Illidan clearly holds for her.

Once again you find yourself annoyed by the way the message is received. Malfurion’s regrets, although genuine, seem to be about what Illidan has become rather than his fate, and like Tyrande he sneers at his actions and quickly moves on to more important matters.

You are far from being Illidan’s friend, but suddenly you wonder if anyone really is.

Unnerved and a little sad, oddly enough, you travel to Mount Hyjal as asked. The sight of the Well of Eternity steal your breath — it always does. Magic makes the air sparkle, like a thousand glitters in suspension above the water; you have traveled to the other side of the universe and yet here is the place you find the most otherworldly of all.

You sit here, on the shore of the lake, and look down at the crystal in your hands. It’s still glowing faintly in the light of the Well, not empty yet.

You have handled your share of magical artifacts in the past. Carefully, you coax a third message out of it.

Okay, this time you absolutely cry. You bawl like a baby, because you’re dumb like that. Illidan isn’t even dead, by the Light, and still the fact he entrusts you with the fate of a world he has sacrificed so much for— it’s almost too much.

Damned feelings, getting in your eyes like that.

But the crystal isn’t empty yet. It’s faint, but you can still feel the magic here. Illidan only mentioned three messages — why wouldn’t he say anything about it?

Maybe there’s no one to hear it anymore.

The thought is a painful one to say the least. Illidan has so little people dear to him he left you a last message. That one of them would die—

Giving in to your curiosity, you discard the three other messages and reach for that secret fourth one.

“I’m sorry,” It begins with. Illidan’s voice sounds so soft, so low, like he’s in pain or close to unconsciousness, you feel like you’re intruding on something far more intimate than before. “I’m—” A sigh. “Light, Kael, I’m so sorry. I have nothing to say that could make up for what I’m about to do. I swore I would come back when I left but— it’s always been my destiny to put an end to Sargeras’ crusade. I know I won’t come back from that fight.” A pause, long enough for you to wonder if maybe that’s it. Then, even softer than before, “Please, forgive me. I love you.” Another pause. “I love you.” He sounds choked up, but the message stops before he starts crying.

Illidan never mentioned a fourth message. Maybe he didn’t want you to know about it. Maybe he was scared of what that ‘Kael’ might think of it.

But here’s the thing: he tasked you to bring the crystal to the shore of the Well of Eternity only once you’ve delivered all the messages, but there’s still one there, mentioned or not, and you’re starting to have an idea of who it’s supposed to be given to.

Seems like there’s a last stop on your journey after all.

Silvermoon is beautiful, golden and resplendent despite the dark clouds gathering in its sky. There’s a storm brewing — you can only hope to be safe from the downpour.

Lor’themar ought to be more surprised by you barging in his throne room, but he has seen you do worse things to more important people. Also, you think that maybe he never quite realized he’s supposed to be the leader of an entire people, which would explain his lack of care for things such as etiquette.

“You're back. What do you want this time?” He asks, slumping in the throne, which is the only actual seat in the room. He looks exhausted; guess the end of a war isn’t such a peaceful business.

“I’m looking for a ‘Kael’,” You say, showing him the crystal as you do. “I’m pretty there’s only one of those, and I don’t care how or why he’s there. I just want to be done with this.”

You haven’t had a break for what feels like forever, but you can’t rest until you’re done with this.

Lor’themar doesn’t even bother to look shocked. He sighs, so hard it makes his shoulders slump, and heaves himself out of his chair

"Rommath!" He calls. There's the sound of something breaking a few doors down the corridor, swearing, then an irate, "What?"

"Someone’s here to see him!"

Rommath immediately pokes his head into the corridor. His hair is smoking. He visibly deflates at your sight. "Oh. It's you."

(You have a pretty good idea of who he was hoping for.)

You follow him through the corridors of the palace in complete silence. It doesn’t take long for you to lose tracks of the twists and turns, the stairs you climb up and down. This place is a bit of a maze as it turns out, at odds with the clean architecture the blood elves usually prefer.

You wonder if it was built this way for aesthetic reasons, or if they’re just trying to hide what’s at its heart.

Rommath stops in front of a single door, knocks three times on it and waits a moment before pushing it open. He gives you one last unreadable look before waving you inside.

It’s a laboratory, of some sort, the kind that seems to naturally grow around mages and alchemists whenever they settle in a room for longer than a few days. There are papers scattered over every flat surface, scorch marks on the walls, runes painted on the stone floor, vials and magical ingredients in precarious piles.

And in the middle of that organized chaos stands a blood elf, dressed in simple robes with long golden hair that’s starting to escape the braid it’s tied in. He’s scribbling over a piece of parchment hovering at eye-level with one hand and holding a still-bubbling vial of something purple and sparkling in the other, muttering under his breath.

“You have a visitor.”

That distracts him from whatever he’s doing. He puts down the vial, waves the parchment away on one of the piles and tucks the quill behind his ear as he turns around. You’re not as surprised as you probably ought to be when he finally faces the two of you.

Kael’thas Sunstrider was rumored to be dead, but his body was never found, and there are statues of him scattered around the city.

His face doesn’t fall when he sees you, but he can’t entirely hide his disappointment. Like whatever he was expecting was just confirmed, and he regrets being right.

“Well. Hello there.” He gestures at you to approach, face carefully neutral as he undoes his braid and rolls down his sleeves. “What do you want?”

You step closer and wordlessly hand him the crystal. He takes it gingerly. Behind you the door closes quietly as Rommath leaves the room.

He doesn’t look at you when he asks if you’ve listened to it.

“That’s how I found you, yes.”

He nods mutely. “Then I guess there’s no point in making you leave, is there.”

You want to say there absolutely is a point, but the message is already playing before you can voice that thought.

It’s interesting, in a voyeuristic kind of way, to watch Kael’thas’ face softens at the sound of Illidan’s voice, then crumbles at his words. His fingers tighten around the crystal, threatening to break it, and when Illidan’s voice fades he ducks his face down, hiding it behind the curtain of his hair.

He doesn’t say anything for what seems like a very long time.

“Thank you for bringing this to me,” he says, voice strained with the effort of keeping it level. Despite that he still sounds choked up, and it breaks halfway through his following sentence. “May I keep it?”

You nod without a word and step back hurriedly. For a second you stand with your hand on the door handle, watching him frozen still in the middle of the room, staring at the crystal the way you would stare at the blade that just went through your chest.

Despite all the horrors you’ve faced, this is what prompts you to flee the room. The Legion is one thing, but you draw the line at watching him cry.

#writing #World of Warcraft #kael'thas sunstrider #illidan stormrage #Malfurion Stormrage #Tyrande Whisperwind #Lor'themar Theron #rommath #something i started writing 2 years ago and only just found in my drafts #woops

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vforys · 5 months

Text

fool's gold

#obey me fanart #obey me mammon #kael scribbles #I tried some new things and it was fun C:#I have some(?) Thoughts re: how the brothers might have felt post-Fall that were running around the mousewheel of my brain

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kyrie-silverwings · 5 years

Text

Artists Prompt: Kyrie Silverwings

THE WRITER.

messy notebooks, messy desks. messy head. scribbling all over their arms. night owl. never being able to finish a project. losing too many ideas due to forgetfulness. passionate about everything. know-it-all. not knowing their own limits. trying to make flowers bloom, even during heavy storms.

THE POET.

quiet. visual mind. head filled with ideas, struggling to find the right words. not being productive for three months and then writing six poems in an hour. reading the entire dictionary several times. noticing little details that no one else does. laughing quietly. wishing to be enough, someday.

THE PAINTER.

failing at consistency. having paint all over their face, clothes, and desks. spending more money on art supplies than on anything else. notebooks filled with doodles, tears, and flowers. radiating sunshine. heavy mood swings. supporting, and being supported.

THE PERFORMER.

loud. not hesitating to speak up, for themselves, for others. trying to see the good in everything. rain, and the smell before rain. drinking more coffee than their body can handle. reading every book at once. laughing and crying at the same time. being honest. the helping hand everyone needs.

Tagged By: @fire-gears-and-rum-xiv (thank you!)

Tagging: @under-the-blood-moonlight, @rivenroad, @andarion, @helena-amnell, @abyssal-xaela, @roemom, @the-lunar-mistress, @sylvain-chirurgeon, @moryera-xiv, @sammael-sas-rabenius, @the-wanted-man, @glorified-thieves, @the-handsome-rogue, @the-hero-of-uldah, @mai-takeda, @vayduh, @starkiller-ffxiv, @herohikara-wol, @darkera-legacy, @oathboundknight, @therouanne-ragnerock, @eaotheelf, @crimsonkit, @ffxiv-celesteharper, @moltvurildrilasffxiv, @housefortempsknight, @captainkurosolaire, @ilsabard, @talesofwight, @talechaser-ffxiv, @kael-haustefort-xiv, @garlean-nonsense, @castorre and many more! Feel free to ignore if you want :D

#character prompt #kyrie silverwings #this makes me realize that kyrie is me on the best days ;u;#so organized...

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the-house-of-the-nine · 5 years

Note

Interview Oc-Lazarius. Question 3, for reasons. 😉

3. If you could jump back through time to save a loved one’s life, would you? Despite what it might to do the timeline? To everyone else? Do you believe it is their fate to die regardless?

Lazarius calmly peered down at the page wondering whether or not there was anyone who was worth going back in time for. Certainly the only person that came to mind would be Raelyndia.

“In my time spent with the Wraithwitch Duskhollow, I would say that every single moment was torment unlike any that one could ever imagine. But it was a torment that came with it the benefit of so very many gifts. Learning to become something and laying the foundation of what I have become. . . If it were not for her I would never have become what I am today.”

He thought for a moment. The culling was not something he openly talked about. Especially to people who had not been members of the Nine. But that day would live on in infamy as their darkest hour until Zalinath returned maybe decades later to finish what Kael’esett had started.

“If I were to travel backward in time to prevent Raelyndia from dying it would indeed destroy nearly every aspect of what has happened. An entirely different path. I’ve touched on this in previous lessons that stepping linearly across your own timeline is reckless, dangerous and downright stupid.”

He drew a straight line across a piece of parchment and placed a dot in the beginning, and another at the end.

“Raelyndia died here. . .” He said pointing to the dot at the start.

“We. . .are here.” He pointed to the opposite end.

“If I went back. . .” He would draw a loop over the straight line to connect the dots, then went through and branched off below the straight line.

“It would create an entirely different path. The future as I knew it would no longer exist because I’ve already changed my location in space time. But it wouldnt matter for me.”

He began to sigh and slammed his hand on the table.

“Its complicated. . .but you have to think on the scale of infinite numbers. Unfathomable numbers. There is at any one time, happening simultaneously any and every situation in an infinite amount of ways for an infinite amount of people the spiderweb of paths. I’m trying to explain this but. . .its . . . not easy.”

He sighed and placed his wrapped fingers into his eye sockets.

“The simple answer is no. She is gone. And gone she will remain. Nothing would prompt me to go backward in my own timeline to pluck her out. If she was intended to be alive; she should have found ways to reanimate herself prior to death. Skip the dangers and allow herself the be reborn. . . “

“What is with people wanting to change time! Blast. . . never good, never! The cosmos always has a way of correcting itself. Simply plucking someone out of time and planting them somewhere, or trying to achieve immortality. . .chaos is everywhere, the more influx we place on our center of that individual event, the more chaos is going to be ultimately gravitated toward it. So yes, she my be alive again. . .but in an effort to correct the error, it would simply increase or decrease the amount of chaos that would fix the problem. . .”

He realized what he’d written and then began to scribble most of it out.

“There is no true definitive answer. . . only what we’ve been through, and what we’ve seen. Eventually it will be proven or disproved. . .but, I digress. . .don’t mess with time.”

Thank you so much for the ASK @syristakayjared You’re a boss!!!

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elfyourmother · 6 years

Text

me: ok! gonna scribble down some stuff for this hotp rewrite, Kael gonna send out his scouts in Dragonblight while Vashj gets the base established—

Kael: Hey want some old ass gay drama with me and Arthas?

me: 😶

#bisho liveblogs her creative process #heart of the phoenix #this rewrite of act 1 is nothing but agony tbh #prince goldilocks #is annoying af

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spyrreh · 6 years

Photo

He appears to be having some trouble.

#Kael #oc #trouble #fantasy #scribble

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thorne93 · 6 years

Text

Third Wheel (Part 3)

Prompt: Imagine Spencer Reid is a college friend of yours, and you like him…the only problem is that he likes the one girl you can’t stand.

Word Count: 1246

Warnings: jealousy, language, “mean girls” behavior, angsty feels…

Notes: College!AU for @illegalcerebral Au challenge. Beta’d by the ever amazings @carryonmyswansong and @fanaticfanfiction. Texts in italics.

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

About a week later, all of you were gathered together in the library, having a rather quiet study session, except for the occasional question. You were at the head of the table, with Penelope on your right, JJ on your left.

Everything was fine, or it had been, before JJ started passing notes between her and Spence, who was on her left. She would scribble something, show it to him, and then he would laugh quietly, or smile. Sometimes he would write back, sometimes he wouldn’t. Sometimes she actually passed a small folded piece of paper to him that he would hand back.

It was distracting and irritating. Even if Emily and Derek were doing it, it would be annoying, but it just had to be JJ and Spencer….

Penelope and Emily took note of your fuming face as you nearly broke your pencil writing notes. Penelope lightly touched your hand, trying to remind you to calm down, to cool it, but it was so hard. Every day she was so damned flirty with him, and he was shooting you these mixed signals and you just couldn’t take it much more.

You tried to kill the murderous rage by getting a drink from the coffee shop, hoping some distance would help. Unfortunately, it didn’t. They were still being giggly and cutesy and irritating.

“Guys, seriously?” Derek finally said as he picked up his pen and gave them an annoyed look.

The two of them apologized quietly before going back to their work. It only took five minutes for them to start up again, earning a sigh from nearly everyone at the table.

“Oh, hey, Spence, can I see that book beside you?” you said as you reached your arm across JJ, hitting the cup you’d just got. The cup tipped over the edge and spilled all over JJ’s shirt and skirt.

“Oh my god!” she said, jumping up and out of the chair, letting the ice fall to the floor.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry,” you lied. “Sorry about that, I’m such a clutz.”

JJ just stared at her outfit, stunned. “Uh...It’s okay. I’m going to go back to my place and change...Wanna come, Spence?” she offered as she turned to him, and you could swear your blood turned to fire.

He looked around at the table quickly, his eyes landing on everyone in the group, before he looked back up at her and answered. “No, that’s okay, thanks though.” He smiled and she seemed slightly shocked and irritated, but just nodded and left, grabbing her bag on the way.

After that, it was a peaceful study environment for another hour, until Spence announced he needed to go home and write up a paper he’d been working on.

“Want me to come with?” you offered suddenly, realizing how desperate you sounded and instantly regretting it.

“Uh, no, I’m okay. Need to focus,” he said before nodding to all of you and waving. As soon as he was gone, Pen and Em laid into you.

“What the hell was that?” Em asked as she leaned over.

“Yeah, you’re not exactly being the master of subtlety,” Pen added in a whisper.

Derek’s eyes shot back and forth between the three of you for a while.

“You don’t think I did that on purpose, do you?” you asked, leaning over.

“Yes,” they said in unison.

You sighed. “Fine. Maybe I did, but it was annoying. All of you thought it was.”

Emily started chastising you. “That doesn’t give you the right to do that, Y/N. We know you don’t like her but--”

“Did I miss something?” Derek casually asked from his end of the table, leaning back, looking at the three of you as if he’d stumbled on something curious.

“Uh--no,” you said, giving the other two girls a warning look as the three of you leaned back in your seats.

“Doesn’t seem like a ‘no’,” he stated as he put his elbows on the table. “So what’s up? You don’t like JJ? How come?” he pressed.

“Because…” you said, trailing off, hoping to think of a lie.

“Because she’s in love with Spence,” Pen blurted out, turning in her seat excitedly.

“Pen!” you said with exasperation, as Emily gave her a well-deserved ‘wtf’ face.

“Woah...no way?” Derek asked as he looked at you.

A blush reddened your cheeks as you looked away. “No,” you lied, even though you knew it was futile.

“Oh, you have been bitten by the love bug. That’s pretty sweet, kid. How long?”

“Not too long,” you answered, grumbling.

“Since freshman year,” Penelope corrected with a smile. You gave her an award winning bitch face, nearly screaming with your eyes for her to shut up.

“Hey, it’s cool. I won’t tell anyone. So little Y/N has a crush on Reid, huh?” he mused.

“And she doesn’t like how chummy JJ is with him.”

“I don’t blame you. Her over the top flirting gets old. I mean it’s obvious the kid either doesn’t get the social cue or doesn’t care,” he stated with a shrug before he put his hands behind his head.

“Thank you,” you said, finally getting on board with this. You wondered why you hadn’t told Derek sooner. Then you remembered you weren’t keen on telling a male your embarrassing school girl crush.

“So, why haven’t you told him?” he inquired, his eyes gazing at you with casual wonder.

“I--I--” you stuttered. Before JJ came into the picture and muddled everything up, you had no real reason why you hadn't told Spence.

“Sounds like a solid reason,” he joked with a wink before relaxing back in his chair. “Come on, there has to be a reason you’ve waited almost four years to tell a guy you like him.”

Typically, you weren’t the most open of people. With Pen, sure. Emily, maybe. But everyone else, you pretty much closed yourself off to. But, you figured, he was right. At this point, four years into this infatuation and nowhere closer to telling Spence, you might as well tell him.

“I, uh, I don’t think I’m good enough for him,” you quietly confessed, toying with the edge of your textbook, your gaze dropped on the table. No one said anything for a moment, so you looked up at your friends, seeing their shocked faces. “I’m serious. He’s going for his Masters. He’s a literal genius. I’m just a psych major, trying compete with a walking, talking Barbie doll that has him wrapped around her finger. I mean, what could he possibly see in me? Besides...I tried flirting with him a long time ago and he didn’t bite so...what’s the point?”

“The point is, he’s a guy and flirting subtly isn’t going to be Brainiac’s strong suit,” Derek informed.

“Clearly it’s working for JJ,” you mumbled.

“Is it?” he challenged. “Are they dating? Cause it seems to me like she’s still swinging and missing. He’s never talked to me about JJ, ever. Guys do that. If we really like a girl, we do talk about her. He doesn’t talk about her, not like that.”

“What about me?”

Derek paused for a moment, pursing his lips in thought. “Can’t say he has for you either, but at least that means there’s no real competition.”

His words sunk in your head, half of them disheartening, but the other half giving you hope, a thing you hadn’t had in a long time.

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

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auroraaboraaborealis · 5 years

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The New York Times

The Queen of Change

With “The Artist’s Way,” Julia Cameron invented the way people renovate the creative soul.

By Penelope Green

Feb. 2, 2019

SANTA FE, N.M. — On any given day, someone somewhere is likely leading an Artist’s Way group, gamely knocking back the exercises of “The Artist’s Way” book, the quasi-spiritual manual for “creative recovery,” as its author Julia Cameron puts it, that has been a lodestar to blocked writers and other artistic hopefuls for more than a quarter of a century. There have been Artist’s Way clusters in the Australian outback and the Panamanian jungle; in Brazil, Russia, the United Kingdom and Japan; and also, as a cursory scan of Artist’s Way Meetups reveals, in Des Moines and Toronto. It has been taught in prisons and sober communities, at spiritual retreats and New Age centers, from Esalen to Sedona, from the Omega Institute to the Open Center, where Ms. Cameron will appear in late March, as she does most years. Adherents of “The Artist’s Way” include the authors Patricia Cornwell and Sarah Ban Breathnach. Pete Townshend, Alicia Keys and Helmut Newton have all noted its influence on their work.

So has Tim Ferriss, the hyperactive productivity guru behind “The Four Hour Workweek,” though to save time he didn’t actually read the book, “which was recommended to me by many megaselling authors,” he writes. He just did the “Morning Pages,” one of the book’s central exercises. It requires you write three pages, by hand, first thing in the morning, about whatever comes to mind. (Fortunes would seem to have been made on the journals printed to support this effort.) The book’s other main dictum is the “Artist’s Date” — two hours of alone time each week to be spent at a gallery, say, or any place where a new experience might be possible.

Elizabeth Gilbert, who has “done” the book three times, said there would be no “Eat, Pray, Love,” without “The Artist’s Way.” Without it, there might be no adult coloring books, no journaling fever. “Creativity” would not have its own publishing niche or have become a ubiquitous buzzword — the “fat-free” of the self-help world — and business pundits would not deploy it as a specious organizing principle.

The book’s enduring success — over 4 million copies have been sold since its publication in 1992 — have made its author, a shy Midwesterner who had a bit of early fame in the 1970s for practicing lively New Journalism at the Washington Post and Rolling Stone, among other publications, and for being married, briefly, to Martin Scorsese, with whom she has a daughter, Domenica — an unlikely celebrity. With its gentle affirmations, inspirational quotes, fill-in-the-blank lists and tasks — write yourself a thank-you letter, describe yourself at 80, for example — “The Artist’s Way” proposes an egalitarian view of creativity: Everyone’s got it.

The book promises to free up that inner artist in 12 weeks. It’s a template that would seem to reflect the practices of 12-step programs, particularly its invocations to a higher power. But according to Ms. Cameron, who has been sober since she was 29, “12 weeks is how long it takes for people to cook.”

Now 70, she lives in a spare adobe house in Santa Fe, overlooking an acre of scrub and the Sangre de Cristo mountain range. She moved a few years ago from Manhattan, following an exercise from her book to list 25 things you love. As she recalled, “I wrote juniper, sage brush, chili, mountains and sky and I said, ‘This is not the Chrysler Building.’” On a recent snowy afternoon, Ms. Cameron, who has enormous blue eyes and a nimbus of blonde hair, admitted to the jitters before this interview. “I asked three friends to pray for me,” she said. “I also wrote a note to myself to be funny.”

In the early 1970s, Ms. Cameron, who is the second oldest of seven children and grew up just north of Chicago, was making $67 a week working in the mail room of the Washington Post. At the same time, she was writing deft lifestyle pieces for the paper — like an East Coast Eve Babitz. “With a byline, no one knows you’re just a gofer,” she said.

In her reporting, Ms. Cameron observed an epidemic of green nail polish and other “Cabaret”-inspired behaviors in Beltway bars, and slyly reviewed a new party drug, methaqualone. She was also, by her own admission, a blackout drunk. “I thought drinking was something you did and your friends told you about it later,” she said. “In retrospect, in cozy retrospect, I was in trouble from my first drink.”

She met Mr. Scorsese on assignment for Oui magazine and fell hard for him. She did a bit of script-doctoring on “Taxi Driver,” and followed the director to Los Angeles. “I got pregnant on our wedding night,” she said. “Like a good Catholic girl.” When Mr. Scorsese took up with Liza Minnelli while all three were working on “New York, New York,” the marriage was done. (She recently made a painting depicting herself as a white horse and Mr. Scorsese as a lily. “I wanted to make a picture about me and Marty,” she said. “He was magical-seeming to me and when I look at it I think, ‘Oh, she’s fascinated, but she doesn’t understand.’”)

In her memoir, “Floor Sample,” published in 2006, Ms. Cameron recounts the brutality of Hollywood, of her life there as a screenwriter and a drunk. Pauline Kael, she writes, described her as a “pornographic Victorian valentine, like a young Angela Lansbury.” Don’t marry her for tax reasons, Ms. Kael warns Mr. Scorsese. Andy Warhol, who escorts her to the premiere of “New York, New York,” inscribes her into his diary as a “lush.” A cocaine dealer soothes her — “You have a tiny little wife’s habit” — and a doctor shoos her away from his hospital when she asks for help, telling her she’s no alcoholic, just a “sensitive young woman.” She goes into labor in full makeup and a Chinese dressing gown, vowing to be “no trouble.”

“I think it’s fair to say that drinking and drugs stopped looking like a path to success,” she said. “So I luckily stopped. I had a couple of sober friends and they said, ‘Try and let the higher power write through you.’ And I said, What if he doesn’t want to?’ They said, ‘Just try it.’”

So she did. She wrote novels and screenplays. She wrote poems and musicals. She wasn’t always well-reviewed, but she took the knocks with typical grit, and she schooled others to do so as well. “I have unblocked poets, lawyers and painters,” she said. She taught her tools in living rooms and classrooms — “if someone was dumb enough to lend us one,” she said — and back in New York, at the Feminist Art Institute. Over the years, she refined her tools, typed them up, and sold Xeroxed copies in local bookstores for $20. It was her second husband, Mark Bryan, a writer, who needled her into making the pages into a proper book.

The first printing was about 9,000 copies, said Joel Fotinos, formerly the publisher at Tarcher/Penguin, which published the book in 1992. There was concern that it wouldn’t sell. “Part of the reason,” Mr. Fotinos said, “was that this was a book that wasn’t like anything else. We didn’t know where to put it on the shelves — did it go in religion or self-help? Eventually there was a category called ‘creativity,’ and ‘The Artist’s Way’ launched it.” Now an editorial director at St. Martin’s Press, Mr. Fotinos said he is deluged with pitches from authors claiming they’ve written “the new Artist’s Way.”

“But for Julia, creativity was a tool for survival,” he said. “It was literally her medicine and that’s why the book is so authentic, and resonates with so many people.”

“I am my tool kits,” Ms. Cameron said.

And, indeed, “The Artist’s Way” is stuffed with tools: worksheets to be filled with thoughts about money, childhood games, old hurts; wish lists and exercises, many of which seem exhaustive and exhausting — “Write down any resistance, angers and fears,” e.g. — and others that are more practical: “Take a 20 minutes walk,” “Mend any mending” and “repot any pinched and languishing plants.” It anticipates the work of the indefatigable Gretchen Rubin, the happiness maven, if Ms. Rubin were a bit kinder but less Type-A.

“When I teach, it’s like watching the lights come on,” said Ms. Cameron. “My students don’t get lectured to. I think they feel safe. Rather than try and fix themselves, they learn to accept themselves. I think my work makes people autonomous. I feel like people fall in love with themselves.”

Anne Lamott, the inspirational writer and novelist, said that when she was teaching writing full-time, her own students swore by “The Artist’s Way.” “That exercise — three pages of automatic writing — was a sacrament for people,” Ms. Lamott wrote in a recent email. “They could plug into something bigger than the rat exercise wheel of self-loathing and grandiosity that every writer experiences: ‘This could very easily end up being an Oprah Book,’ or ‘Who do I think I’m fooling? I’m a subhuman blowhard.’”

“She’s given you an assignment that is doable, and I think it’s kind of a cognitive centering device. Like scribbly meditation,” Ms. Lamott wrote. “It’s sort of like how manicurists put smooth pebbles in the warm soaking water, so your fingers have something to do, and you don’t climb the walls.”

In the wild.CreditRamsay de Give for The New York Times

Ms. Cameron continues to write her Morning Pages every day, even though she continues, as she said, to be grouchy upon awakening. She eats oatmeal at a local cafe and walks Lily, an eager white Westie. She reads no newspapers, or social media (perhaps the most grueling tenet of “The Artist’s Way” is a week of “reading deprivation”), though an assistant runs a Twitter and Instagram account on her behalf. She writes for hours, mostly musicals, collaborating with her daughter, a film director, and others.

Ms. Cameron may be a veteran of the modern self-care movement but her life has not been all moonbeams and rainbows, and it shows. She was candid in conversation, if not quite at ease. “So I haven’t proven myself to be hilarious,” she said with a flash of dry humor, adding that even after so many years, she still gets stage-fright before beginning a workshop.

She has written about her own internal critic, imagining a gay British interior designer she calls Nigel. “And nothing is ever good enough for Nigel,” she said. But she soldiers on.

She will tell you that she has good boundaries. But like many successful women, she brushes off her achievements, attributing her unlooked-for wins to luck.

“If you have to learn how to do a movie, you might learn from Martin Scorsese. If you have to learn about entrepreneurship, you might learn from Mark” — her second husband. “So I’m very lucky,” she said. “If I have a hard time blowing my own horn, I’ve been attracted to people who blew it for me.”

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/02/02/style/julia-cameron-the-artists-way.html

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