#dvaurga

[laperlina]

[TXT] : guess who i just ran into..

*⁑. 𝒯𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒯𝒂𝒍𝒌. 🪞｡˚ * 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ ➷ ❪  @dvaurga ❫

[ ➵ Zoya ☁️❄️ ] : ed koch [ ➵ Zoya ☁️❄️ ] : me [ ➵ Zoya ☁️❄️ ] : uhm [ ➵ Zoya ☁️❄️ ] : salman toor [ ➵ Zoya ☁️❄️ ] : one of the baldwins! [ ➵ Zoya ☁️❄️ ] : the guy from chopped ... ... ... [ ➵ Zoya ☁️❄️ ] : why aren't you answering zoya. i am running out of people.

[lykosog]

15. our muses are in an arranged marriage / betrothal ( hahaha!!!!! )

100 INDULGENT TROPES / Accepting

negotiations  were  a  different  sort  of  battle.  the  inevitable  disagreements  unfolding  as  a  controlled  exchange  of  blows  made  through  words  alone  where  neither  was  willing  to  yield  easily  when  their  respective  interests  and  those  of  their  countries  were  at  stake.  yet  each  concession  had,  eventually,  been  met  with  another  in  return  until  the  conversation  gradually  found  an  almost  unsettling  comfort  in  its  rhythm.  PERHAPS  THAT  SHOULD  HAVE  BEEN  WARNING  ENOUGH.  dragons  were  no  creatures  of  gentleness  or  simple  taming,  but  by  the  time  the  wolf  felt  her  hot  breath  at  his  throat,  it  was  already  far  too  late.

the  proposal  struck  with  impeccable  timing,  arriving  just  as  his  guard  had  lowered  to  leave  him  momentarily  speechless.  the  silence  filling  the  room  might  have  cracked  under  his  laughter  at  the  irony  (  the  crown’s  promise  of  choice  reduced  to  its  absence  and  obligation  ),  had  it  held  even  the  faintest  trace  of  amusement  for  the  stark.  instead,  it  is  meet  with  composed  seriousness  as  he  finally  speaks  ❝  I  understand  I  am  in  no  position  to  refuse  if  this  alliance  is  to  be  formed.  ❞  sounding  more  like  an  acceptance  rather  than  the  originally  intended  question.  for  if  every  previous  gain  stood  only  because  of  this  last  condition.  if  this  was  truly  the  first  step  toward  the  peace  he  had  come  seeking,  WHAT  OTHER  ALTERNATIVE  DOES  HE  REALLY  HAVE  BUT  TO  PAY  THE  PRICE  ?

many  would  argue  the  cost  demanded  of  him  was  hardly  a  sacrifice  at  all  and  most,  in  truth,  would  trade  places  with  him  without  hesitation  despite  knowing  the  tsaritsa  possessed  a  temperament  capable  of  rivaling  her  beauty  ❝  very  well,  then.  I  consent.  ❞  he  concedes,  leaning  back  against  the  table's  edge  while  his  arms  fold  across  his  chest.  ❝  but  we  shall  discuss  the  terms  of  this  marriage  more  thoroughly,  and  it  will  not  be  celebrated  until  we  both  agree  on  them  ❞  at  least  that  much  is  his  by  right,  no  matter  how  the  rest  may  be  debated  between  them.

[koschyei]

behold, the bridegroom cometh at midnight — but it is not the nazarene who slips through the dark to weigh the sins of virgins or measure the faithfulness of their burning lamps as the chant suggests. no, from his tower of bones, it is an upyr who calls out to a monstrous saint on the week of the bridegroom matins. and on the third night, he hounds her into being miserly with the anointed oil, to let the lamp go out and leave the window open to him alone. blood-thirsty creature that he is, koschei had scented the red tears that clouded her eyes from miles away, and cannot help himself from wiping the streak of it, with fingers aching to press it into his ever-starving skin. bittersweet is the flavor that pervades the blood and ghosts the air — a marker of her own unanswered hunger, her ill-defined anger.

𓆩 ♔ 𓆪   @dvaurga ( 𝒛𝒐𝒚𝒂 ) . . . prompt  ↳  you turned a strong-minded girl into a pulsing wound of need.

❛❛ i return all my grievances in kind. ❜❜ for was she not a beast of beauty set upon the earth to stir and torture him the same ? calling his own beliefs into question. a creature of a design so like his own— how could he deny the presence of a greater hand, whether divine or damned, when they would seem to have been made from the same mold ? when this curse he bore with such rage was also the only path by which he might have found her, centuries beyond his own time.

❛❛ tell me what you need, svyatushka. i will answer it. ❜❜ the demon says, in that same angelic lilt that had soothed her once before, only lifted now by a no less devotional chord of evil. ❛❛ if your hunger disgusts you, make me its keeper. i will see the work through and offer the cup clean. ❜❜

[daylighter-gone]

i can't believe you kept it.

the bed is too warm from where he had been earlier for her body to be convinced to leave. his head had jerked away from the task that had kept him busy on these quieter nights where sleep eluded him, and rather than risk her own being disturbed, he would take up the seat in the room they shared and sort through the mess of papers had would spent the better part of the morning’s ignoring to vex jason. so focused had he been that his cigarette had gone unlit up until now and the chill of the open window had ceased to matter against his skin.

this is a welcome distraction : eyes turning to find @dvaurga tangled in the blankets still, reaching into the bedside drawer to pull out something he’d recognise without needing to see it. he had taken them with him after all in that sour exile, and been the only remembrance to bring him back to himself once upon a time.

they were photographs clipped together, of two faces side by side, making the most out of the hell they had signed up for. ❛  that surprise i hear? ❜  shifting in his seat, he set his arm up on the chair’s headrest and watched her in the comfort of a bed she let herself look unkept in. still blinking away sleep, too, but intent on what had caught her attention. ❛  ‘course i did. they gave me hell for it too, said it wasn’t wise to keep reminders or whatever. but i kept it. ❜  after a soft pause, eyes thawing and the work forgotten, he exhaled out and tucked his chin above his crossed arms. ❛  want them back? ❜

[wampirszy-aa]

time and time again it is he that comes to Os Alta at least when the craving for company is both inevitable and inescapable but now it is the capital that has come to him instead; its form, unexpectedly but recognizably Zoya's. Even out in the Ravkan countryside, she wears her signature glamour as befits a woman of her power and station. If anything, it's been a warning of incoming company that Regis could not turn his sight away from. [ Perhaps he should have seen this visit coming, too. Unrest has long since had the nation in upheaval, and his ravens tell him much of happenings surrounding and concerning grisha. ]

it's likely why Zoya is here. Come to divine the mystery behind the hermit Heartrender, under an almost cloying amount of pretense? He can't help but hint at the obvious, even as he welcomes her into his cottage and bids her sit.

❛ A month and a half since I've been in the capital, and suddenly there's an illness even the court physician is puzzled by? And here I thought our unprecedented times had come to an end. Oh, the wonders of medicine ... ❜

@dvaurga, the stove is on.

[drakyns]

lay down your sword , and i'll lay down mine .

ㅤ𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗚𝗢𝗡'𝗦 𝗛𝗢𝗔𝗥𝗗ㅤ|ㅤ@dvaurgaㅤ| ㅤalways accepting!

ㅤthe fire crackled, its embers licking the night. the wind carried the distant call of hounds and the smell of ancient woods. the more attuned with soothsaying would claim those were signs of omens to come for the wanderer hersir. yes, perhaps håkan was starting to regret his decision to travel alone. a hard habit to break, that one, even if his decision to do so was justified this time around. he needed to expand the trading routes with his isle. after a few decades of isolation, knocking on castles’ doors seemed the only appropriate course of action as his mother queen reigned in his absence. call it youth or naivety with foreign politics, but he had set sail to lands southeast of his homeland of ice, hoping for the best while his small ship moored behind him, its carved prow watching like an old god.

ㅤa shadow moved beyond the firelight of his makeshift camp, and instinct guided him to unsheath his blazing sword. it was then that håkan met her. a monster? no. a woman, her longer rapier bare, stepped into the glow. her eyes caught the flames, a wild type of blue, unblinking as if she had stolen the sight from a wolf. lay down your sword, and i’ll lay down mine. jade from the years or not, his eyes narrowed, and his palm tightened around the hilt of his blade. grieved experience had shown that trust was a brittle thing, and too often, it shattered like ice beneath a careless step. but the way she stood, neither afraid nor reckless, made him hesitate. such a promise felt way too familiar to his bones. how she moved her head, too… where had he seen that movement? it felt… draconic, almost?

ㅤ“i don’t want any trouble”, the black fur-coated chieftain said, carefully stepping back. “i’m just looking to trade.” a smile offered, but his sword was hot on his hand still. “say, how about we introduce ourselves?”

[beastslays]

          AMBER EYES LEVEL WITH PIERCING BLUE, CURIOUS, SEARCHING, PERHAPS UNNERVINGLY BOLD ON BOTH COUNTS.       there is nothing strange about the locale, not in the witcher’s history ;  it isn’t the first time he’s been taken prisoner by one group or another and he doubts it will be the last.  the cultists have bound him, stripped him of his weapons  -  but all geralt thinks of is how   COWARDLY   their approach had been, knowing they stood little chance if they fought him directly.   (  not under her orders, he imagines, but he cannot know for sure when all he’s heard of her borders upon legend and myth.  )   she is the only thing in this room that poses a threat to him  -  two monsters hardly of this earth, capable of great destruction.   ❝   luned aep gwynt a glândeal.   ❞   both everything and nothing of what the witcher had expected, truth be told, but he would not admit that unless he needed to.   ❝   you haven’t had me killed.  I assume that means you   NEED   something of me.   ❞       /       @dvaurga.  sc.

[lovetaled-a]

remembrance  clouds  genya’s  unusually  bright  eyes,         that  which  her  scars  did  not  brush:      ephemerally  touched  by  days  that  seem  better  now  than  they  were  in  truth,      glossed  over  with  time  like  a  window’s  four  corners  inside  a  house  walled  off  against  the  bitterest  cold  of  winter’s  pale  succession.       it  was  difficult  to  see  from  the  outside  that  warmth  had  not  always  been  warmth  and  youth  had  not  always  meant  innocence        (  when  grisha  kept  to  themselves,       fearful  of  plots  within  and  armies  conspiring  throughout  ravka  to  undermine  their  grasp  on  power.  )         as  girls,       there  are  always  idle  pleasures  to  distract  from  sinister  undertones,         as  though  they  were  created  for  fear  of  retribution  as  contrivances,         and  those  secrets  once  pervaded  every  hall  from  the  belly  of  the  little  palace  to  the  grounds  beyond,       harkening  of  downfall  and  loyalty  stretched  too  far  in  the  whispers  of  the  royal  court.        the  king’s  ear  had  once  been  claimed  by  the  shadows  that  spoke  to  it,       and  even  in  darkness  there  was  sanctuary,       which  was  not  the  same  as  happiness,         and  never  meant  to  ensure  their  safety  even  as  it  kept  them  all  stagnant  and  complacent  for  a  time.         

sometimes  genya  sees  the  vignette  of  a  mirror,       herself  as  she  once  had  been  and  stared  and  labored  over  in  the  glass,       beautiful  and  pristine  and  untouched  by  her  own.       by  contrast  she  remembers  zoya  in  shades  of  thunderous  skies,       a  force  of  reckoning  like  simmering  light  that  would  burst  and  fade  as  electricity  coalesced,       shows  of  strength  and  potential  leashed  like  a  beast  by  the  clutches  of  the  man  they  all  once  obeyed,       but  a  noble  creature’s  fury  struck  hardest  when  it  had  already  been  wounded.         a  teeth-gnashing  tiger  of  a  woman  that  is  warrior  in  her  own  right.  

the  triumvirate  has  usurped  the  second  army  as  it  once  existed:       a  legion  of  grisha  severed  to  halves  and  scattered  by  the  madness  of  a  broken  and  banished  visionary.         now  they  hold  to  and  rely  upon  each  other  over  their  individual  abilities,       a  mantle  of  responsibility  more  shared  than  a  united  front  against  persecution  and  ignorance  of  witchcraft      (  its  definition  seemingly  inextricable  from  the  matter  of  women  made  vengeful  by  the  shapes  of  their  lives  and  the  cruelty  that  interrupts  girlhood,       making  a  gift  a  brutal  weapon.  )        and  genya  has  always  understood  the  power  of  voice;       the  careful  choosing  of  words  uttered  into  cloistered  eves  and  open  spaces  alike.         zoya  has  never  needed  caution  when  all  she  is  felt  like  a  roar  to  any  who  beheld  her.         standing  behind  the  witch  of  storms,       genya  mistakes  herself  for  the  girl  she’d  been  when  zoya  had  scorned  her,       and  the  girl  zoya  had  been,       beautiful  beyond  words  and  never  touched  by  a  tailor’s  craft.          she  does  not  need  one  now,       and  allows  another  at  her  side  even  so.  

⭒ ✰   @dvaurga​  (  zoya  )   ‘  will  you  help  me  put  the  rest  of  my  armor  on  ?

her  fingers  curl  at  her  kefta  before  releasing  it,       the  color  of  blood  that  has  fallen  and  sweet  persimmons,         slippers  treading  against  the  floorboards  of  zoya’s  chamber  softer  than  snow.       ❛❛    i  am  not  sure  you  need  my  help,    ❜❜      she  ventures  the  comment  with  bemusement,       though  it  is  touched  with  admiration  that  once  would  have  taken  the  shape  of  jealousy  like  a  viper’s  hiss.          practiced  hands  gently  lift  lustrous  tresses  from  zoya’s  back,       securing  stiff  fabric,       the  scent  of  cloying  saffron  and  flame  filling  the  room  with  the  alternating  pattern  of  the  flickers  from  the  hearth.      the  images  they  conjure  are  not  all  terrors.        ❛❛    though  as  you  make  a  point  of  asking,         know  that  i  will  always  help  you.    ❜❜       what  are  we  but  ruined  girls  that  have  retaken  ourselves,       flames  of  red  and  blistering  white,       flagrant  against  the  corruption  that  once  embedded  its  claws  into  us  and  told  us  to  behave  ?       we  chose  to  burn.       ❛❛    i  know  it  is  not  your  style,       and  you  wear  your  boldness  well.       even  without  a  crown,       you  are  unmistakably  a  queen.       but  having  taken  the  confidence  of  one  for  years,       i  would  much  prefer  your  trust.    ❜❜