#i know it doesnt seem like it but i do gaze longingly at it wishing i had the strength to write more than two sentences every now and then

[tired-beholding-bitch]

"jon has no idea how to take care of someone but GODDAMN he’s going to try" bestie tell me everything immediately

hello hi hello!!! you will be delighted to know that's the safehouse longfic I should totally be writing actually! I haven't touched it in a while but! I should be!

it's my love my darling my repository of Jon thoughts and also probably the only one I'm working on currently that has potential to practice my fight writing skills - they aren't communicating well <3 naturally <3 it's a mess <3

mostly it focuses on healing and recovery and the aftermath of the Lonely, as well as being the food-as-a-love-language fic since the common thread is Jon cooking as a way to express his feelings because what are words, and on firsts and general tenderness. also the separation anxiety is real.

I'm atm halfway through chapter 2, and the titular food for it is palak shorba, a spicy, creamy spinach soup that can be garnished with ginger and/or fresh cream and lends itself well to warm you up after, say, a cold autumun day spent perusing the wares of the local farmers' market. for example. a totally random example.

here's an extract bc ily

There are other traces of the Lonely, in him, that are much harder to shake.

The way he'll get quiet all of a sudden, withdrawing into himself like he can't bear to be aware of his surroundings anymore, flinching away at unexpected noises. How he'll press his lips together, conflicted, annoyed but trying not to show it when he needs space but won't say it – more times than not, he'll end up snapping anyway, worn down to almost nothing by the grating sound of other people's voices.

Usually it's towards him. It makes sense – they share everything, these days, spend all of their time together.

Jon tries to not let the sting of it sharpen him in turn, draw out a defensive response. It isn't difficult, when his eyes widen in horrified regret every time, apologies falling from his mouth like bruised flowers. The guilt eats away at him for days after, brings him to stretch himself too thin yet again, in a loop feeding on itself with constant inevitability.

He starts recognising the signs, after a while – his answers getting shorter, his hands shaking.

He forces himself to ignore the rising anxiety that chokes him every time Martin isn't in his direct line of sight, then, and casually leaves to do the dishes, or fold the laundry, or have a lie-down in the bedroom, and after an hour or two he'll come to him of his own accord, a bit more relaxed, and Jon will be able to breathe again, and pretend he hasn't been straining to hear him in the other room, afraid he'd vanish the moment he couldn't see him anymore. He never does, but Jon can't help himself, low-grade distress buzzing along his nerves like swarms of ants under his skin, making him restless.

He never tells Martin.There is no point. He can't ask more of him, can't take more from him than what he has, not when he's terrified he already is taking more than he would ever be allowed, if things were different.

[gwyns]

Read disenchanted in one sitting because of your posts ^^ What are you hoping for in the sequel?

ok so first off it makes me SO HAPPY to hear that i got you to read this book and that you (seemingly) enjoyed it <3 brianna is suuuper nice and truly deserves every single read she gets.

second, i'm glad you asked! i think i actually have a post on my blog about what i'd like to see in disillusioned but that was awhile ago and i want to talk about them again so here we go! ps sorry if i end up repeating some things from that old post

before i go any further i'd like to say that there will be disenchanted spoilers below so if you haven't read the book but would like to or you've started but haven't finished or whatever else... PLS LOOK AWAY

(i mostly put that gif there to give people a chance to scroll by but look at him dance. he seems so happy. i wish that were me 😫)

let me start this off with saying SMUT. i want dirty, nasty, bite kink smut. if you asked me this question a year ago i would've said i highly doubt we'd get it. HOWEVER in recent times brianna has mentioned writing smut so it's very possible we could get some 👀

another thing that is high on my list is a big love declaration. garin calls lilac his beloved to the woman he's about to kill but not the girl herself? NO. THIS DOESNT SIT RIGHT WITH ME. GO TELL HER SIR TREVELYAN. i would also just like some cute lil domestic things between them. brushing hands, soft kisses, gazing longingly at the other.... you know the works.

a bastien and lilac brotp. I NEED IT. idc what i have to do to get it. i will pay miss sugalski if i have to.

speaking of bastien i love him..... like a lot lmao so i would like to see him get a love interest. i even had the passing thought that him and ophelia would be amazing together. also hilarious. but maybe him and piper could be cute too but it'd be a little.... awkward i guess but i LIVE for couples who have rough starts but end up falling madly in love.

piper. that's it. that's the post. she's my lil redheaded, baby vampire and i need more of her.

more of the fae and its court(s). i'm a slut for the fae we all know this and one of my favorite parts of disenchanted was meeting kestrel and watching him reveal every little secret he could to his entire court, like damn. those bitches love drama 😭

i want lilac to find freya's children and i want them to BE OK!!!!! I WONT ACCEPT ANYTHING LESS.

more information on lilac's magical, vibrating dagger. and if it can be used for.... other....... purposes ;)

i would also love for lilac to have a talk with her parents about how they treated her and made her feel over the years. i don't want them to just die or something you know? i like complicated familial relationships and i also feel like lilac deserves some kind of closure there.

[dovahgriin-archive]

Strangers in this Town

Book Two: The High Priestess

Summary: In Which Aza has Two Mysterious Visitors

Character(s): Aza Vallen, Julian Devorak, Nadia Satrinava

Relationship(s): Aza & Julian Devorak, Aza & Nadia Satrinava

Warning(s): This is super long. Like,,,, super mega über long. Also, spoilers for Book 2, but I think you all are smart enough to figure that out on your own.

The knocking continues as Aza steps away from the back door, gradually becoming louder and more insistent. She’s more than half-tempted to just ignore whoever it is and go to sleep (it is rather late, after all). Aza shakes herself and pinches the fat of her cheeks.

“Enough,” she mutters to herself. “Deal with whoever this is, and then you can go to bed.”

Even as she moves towards the door, Aza’s eyes longingly find the stairs that lead up to the living quarters.

She reaches the door and presses her cheek against the well-sanded wood as she peers through the peephole. In the dim light of the street lanterns, a slender hooded figure stands before the door of the shop. Their hands twist anxiously before them. Even in the poor lighting of the street, Aza can see jewels glittering on their fingers and wrists.

Aza can’t see their face.

Please, please go away, she begs the stranger mentally. Naturally, her thoughts go unheard and the stranger reaches forward to knock on the door again.

Sighing reluctantly, Aza reaches up to unlatch the bronze lock. She opens the door.

“Forgive me for the hour, but…” The figure steps over the threshold, unwinding the heavily-embroidered shawl from around their neck as they go. “... I will not suffer another sleepless night. Please, you must read the cards for me.”

The elegant cloth slips away from the stranger’s face, revealing a bronzed aquiline profile and wide carmine eyes. At the sight of her, Aza’s heart leaps into her throat.

“It has to be you,” the Countess says. “It must be you.”

It takes Aza a moment to gather her words. “If it is a reading you seek, my lady, you’ve come to the right place.”

Nadia Satrinava raises one finely manicured brow. “So I’ve been told. Your reputation precedes you, magician.” She looks off to the side, eyes suddenly far away. “Beggars and nobles alike… the people of this city whisper your name in wonder.” The side of her mouth quirks up, “Though, in my dream, you were… different.”

Aza frowns. In her dream? This is the first I’ve heard of the Countess having prophetic dreams.

“No matter. I come with a proposal for you,” Countess Satrinava continues. Aza holds up a hand.

“Wait, you had a dream about me?”

“... Yes. It is an unwelcome ability I have come into possession of. My dreams are haunted by visions of a future waiting to unfold.”

She certainly looks haunted, Aza thinks to herself, for it is true — the Countess’s face is tired, and though her makeup hides it well, Aza can see the dark circles beneath the Countess’s wine-red eyes.

“But the future I saw, the one that brought me to you…” the Countess’s eyes narrow defiantly. “... it is one I will not allow to pass.”

Her gaze softens as she looks Aza fully in the eyes. “Tell me, magician,” she says softly. “Will you heat my proposal?”

Aza’s mouth is drier than the sands of the desert outside of Vesuvia’s borders. “P-Proposal?”

Countess Satrinava’s mouth curls in amusement. “Not very talkative, are you? Are you nervous, perhaps? You needn’t be, you know. I require very little of you.

“Be my guest at the palace for a short while. You will be afforded every luxury, of course. It is as my dreams foretold.” She pauses, considering her next words. “I ask only that you bring your skill as a magician… and the arcana.”

Aza blinks at the woman before her, her words echoing in her head. Dreams… foretold… the arcana… the Arcana… She knows that the realms of the Arcana are from where most magic is drawn, but not very many people that aren’t trained practitioners know that. Either Countess Satrinava was well-educated beyond that which is expected of a noblewoman, or… Aza’s thoughts trail off as she considers the woman before her.

To her credit, the Countess meets Aza’s gaze without wavering. “Well…?”

“I must admit, my lady,” Aza says slowly, “that I am at a loss. What is it that you need me for, exactly? I’m not in the habit of making promises that I don’t know if I can keep.”

The look that the Countess gives Aza is patient. “For now, I wish a reading. To… test the waters, if you will.”

Aza nods. “That is something that I can do. If you’ll follow me, my lady.”

She leads the Countess through the shop to the reading room, the entire while conscious of the noblewoman’s imperious gaze on her back. Aza is suddenly and painfully aware of how humble the furnishings of the shop are in comparison to the Countess’s fine attire, but the Countess doesn’t seem to notice the difference. Countess Satrinava settles herself on the cushion that is closest the the window and the moonlight illuminates her from behind, gilding her hair silver.

Though it feels slightly wrong, Aza sits in Asra’s usual spot because it is the one directly across from where the Countess sits. Remnants of Asra’s power linger here, brushing over Aza’s skin like the ghost of a touch. The Countess watches Aza closely as she lays the deck of cards on the polished surface of the table. She seems… apprehensive.

“Go on,” she says. Aza nods once, reaching over the table to shuffle the cards. As she does so, Countess Satrinava folds her hands before herself and closes her eyes. Aza fans the deck out and holds it close to the Countess.

“My lady?” At Aza’s prompting, the Countess opens her eyes a sliver. “I know this is not usual, but… I find that, sometimes, it is best to let the questioner pick the cards.”

Eyebrows raised, the Countess complies, sliding three cards out of the deck, keeping them facedown. She does not look at them. Aza thanks her quietly, and she responds with a smile as Aza arranges them in an inverted triangle. A wave of déjá vu washes over Aza. She swears that she can almost feel Asra’s presence behind her, his voice in her ear, whispers on encouraging words on the wind.

Asra isn’t there, though. Aza shakes her head minutely, brushing away the residual energy with her own aura. It will only distract her when she is meant to be concentrating on the Countess’s reading.

Countess Satrinava watches closely as Aza’s hands hover over the cards. Aza’s eyes are closed, and she frowns slightly, the skin between her brows wrinkling up. They sit there in silence for what seems like a lifetime. Finally, Aza’s hand descends on the card making up the tip of the triangle and she flips it face up.

The fox-like face of the Magician looks up at the two women through narrow purple eyes.

“... the Magician…” The Countess murmurs. Aza looks up at her sharply. Just how much does the Countess know of the Arcana?

“... Yes.”

“How very appropriate,” Nadia says, leaning back from the table, arms folded across her chest. The light from the candles dotting the room catches on a particularly large sapphire ring, sending flecks of light dancing over the Countess’s face. Her eyes are narrow, but she isn’t frowning. Aza isn’t sure what to make of her expression. “And what does he hold for me?”

Aza’s eyes flutter closed as the answer comes, quick and clear as the rivers in the forest: “You have a plan.”

The Countess’s gaze flicks from the cards to Aza’s face. “Go on…”

“One that is long in the making. Years upon years.” Aza opens her eyes and meets Countess Satrinava’s gaze. “Now, you seek to set it in motion.”

The Countess looks… mildly surprised. She leans forward, elbows on the edge of the table as her hands rest flat on top of it. Her eyes flash brilliantly in the candlelight. “And? Should I move?”

“Yes,” Aza intones. “The time to act is now. Everything has fallen into place.”

“Say no more.” Countess Satrinava abruptly stands, jostling the table as she does so. She casts another thoughtful glance at the card as she brushes past Aza on her way through the beaded curtains. Aza hurries after her into the shop proper.

The Countess turns to face Aza. Her expression has Aza’s heart racing in anxiety. “Your fortunes are simple, much the same as the others that I’ve heard. And yet…” she trails off, gaze distant. “And yet, you are the first to pique my interest.”

Aza isn’t sure how to respond.

Countess Satrinava begins to rewrap her shawl about her head and shoulders. The green-gold fabric shimmers in the low, warm light of the shop.

“Ahem.” The Countess looks pointedly between Aza and the front door of the shop. It takes a moment, but realization dawns on Aza, along with a vague sense of embarrassment. She trips over her feet in her hurry to the door. The Countess catches Aza by the arm, just before she hits the ground. She looks on, mildly amused, as Aza flushes and hurried to open the door for her. “Until tomorrow, then, magician. Pleasant dreams.”

With that said, she glides over the threshold and into the misty night. Still as a statue, Aza stands in the doorway. What on earth could the Countess want with me, she wonders to herself. Why me, out of all of the fortune tellers of the city?

Aza returns inside. All that talk about my ‘reputation’... She locks the door. Could it be that she mistook me for — ?

“Strange hours you keep,” an unfamiliar voice says. Aza shrieks and leaps to the side, banging her hip on the corner of the counter. She looks around the shop, eyes watering.

“Who’s there?” She summons a crackling ball of fire to one hand. Her eyes dart around the room, chasing dark shadows that seem to leap and dance with every move that she makes. “Show yourself!”

“Behind you,” the voice says, and she whirls around. Sure enough, there is a stranger standing behind the counter. She scrambles backwards, pressing herself against the smooth, worn wood of the door. They are tall and thin, but the white plague mask and black-and-red cloak that they wear makes them seem much larger. The stranger steps towards Aza, looming over her like some gangly giant. She grits her teeth and raises the hand that is holding fire.

“Stay back,” she threatens. Surprisingly, he — for the stranger is a man, Aza realizes with a jolt of fear — listens and stops.

“My sources tell me that this is the witch’s lair,” he drawls, folding his arms. Aza blinks.

“The… witch?”

“Yes, the witch. But you look nothing like I was told, so tell me: who might you be?” Aza’s heart picks up speed again as the strange man advances on her once again. He… doesn’t seem concerned about her flames, and that in itself is enough to have them sputtering out.

“W-Wh-Who’s asking?” Aza curses herself as her tongue stumbles over her words, and the slip-up of her stutter has her cheeks flushing a brilliant pink. The man pauses.

“I’m asking. I would rather not to have to do so again.” He sighs behind the mask, a muffled exhalation of air. “But… if it will make you talk…”

Aza flinches as the leather creaks and squeals when the strange man pulls the mask off of his face and tosses it from the floor. The first thing that she notices about him is his nose — it’s absolutely enormous. Her eyes are then drawn to the eyepatch over his right eye. He’s handsome enough, overall, she thinks mildly. A nice face.

But… something niggles at the back of her mind, a thought that she just can’t catch. He looks so familiar…?

“Well, I can tell by the look on your face,” the man smirks, “Shock. Horror. You know who I am, don’t you?”

Something clicks in Aza’s mind, and she is surprised to find that he is right — she does know him. This man… the townspeople used to call him — “Doctor Jules?”

The doctor looks surprised, brown eye widening slightly as his gloved hands fall to his sides. “Huh. Haven’t heard that name in years.” His expression morphs into a scowl. The leather of his gloves creaks as he clenches his fists. “Quickly, now. Where is the witch?”

Aza scoffs. She is now absolutely certain that this man is looking for Asra. “L-Look, I don’t know anything, a-and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell someone who barged into my h-home!”

The doctor’s mouth draws into a tight smile. “And here I thought we could keep things civil.” He folds his arms again. Doctor Jules towers over Aza, chilling the air around them. “Well… if you will not tell me where he is…” It’s like a switch is flipped on his personality, and suddenly the man smiles at her. “Won’t you at least tell my fortune?”

The change in his voice and face is enough to send Aza reeling, so to speak. She stares at the doctor, taking a moment to process his jump from threatening to asking for a reading. “I-I-I... Huh?”

“That is what the back room is for, yes?” Aza bristles at his condescending tone.

“Yes, it is,” she says between gritted teeth. Who does he think he is, coming in here like this…? “If you’ll follow me, sir.”

She leads the doctor through the beaded curtains and into the reading room. Arms crossed, Aza waits impatiently for Doctor Jules to sit down before doing so herself, foot tapping all the while. The doctor waits for Aza to sit before leaning his arms on the table, hands folded. “So, if I remember correctly, I must simply think of a question that I want an answer to and then you flip a card?”

“... That’s the barest bones description, but yes.” Aza grabs the deck from where she left it after following the Countess out of the room and shuffles it. Irritation makes her fingers sure and quick, and she doesn’t hesitate in dealing the cards out in the inverted triangle (again). Closing her eyes, she breathes in sharply, but lets it out slowly, trying to picture all of the excess negative energy leaving her body on that breath.

Calmer now, Aza reaches for the cards.

The doctor slaps his hands on top of hers, effectively pinning them to the table.

“Hey!” Aza pulls away — or, rather, she tries to. Doctor Jules has a grip on her like a viper and doesn’t let go no matter how hard she tugs.

“Now, answer me this, magician: where is the witch?”

“My master is gone.”

The doctor looks irritated. “Yes, I know that. Where has he gone?”

“I don’t know.” Aza’s mouth tightens imperceptibly as the man scoffs. “L-Let me go and I will read the cards for the answer you seek.”

“... Very well.” Doctor Jules releases Aza’s hands. She snatches then back, rubbing at her wrists as she channels a small healing charm through her fingers. Her skin glows a bright blue for a moment, then returns to its normal shade of peach. She’s pleased when the doctor looks guilty.

Aza’s eyes slide shut as she feels the energy of the cards laid out on the table — each is equally strong, which is… unusual. Eventually, the card making up the upper right corner of the inverted triangle proves to be the loudest. Aza’s fingers nimbly flip the card face up.

Her mind begins to race. No voice can be heard from the card, no sound at all aside from the pounding of blood in her ears. “... Death.”

“Death?” The doctor’s voice is incredulous. “Death?” His laughter is uncontrollable, as sharp and cold as ice. However, as soon as it starts, it stops. His brows pull downward, as do the corners of his lips. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Aza jumps in her seat as he abruptly stands, slapping the tabletop with open hands. “Death cast her gaze on this wretch and turned away. She has no interest in an abomination like me.”

He spins and leaves the reading room. Aza scrambles to her feet and follows close on his heels. She feels nothing but confusion, rather than the fear from earlier.

The doctor stops in his tracks, and Aza bumps into his back. He turns to peer down his nose at her. “You’ve been hospitable, so I’ll let you in on a little secret,” his voice drops to a whisper, even though he and Aza are the only two people in the shop. “Your witch friend will be back for you. He’s taught you all his little tricks. You may even say that he cares for you.

“But when he returns…” the doctor bends over at the waist to grab his beaky mask from the floor, staring into its red glass eyes. “Seek me out. For your own sake. That… creature… is far more dangerous than you know.”

Aza bristles. “My master isn’t dangerous!”

Doctor Jules shrugs. “So you say. Keep my warning in mind, though. I promise I won’t say ‘I told you so’ when things go wrong.” With an exaggerated wink, he slips the mask back onto his head, securing it with a leather strap beneath his reddish curls.

“The hour is late, and it seems that my time is up. Don’t let him fool you.” He opens the door and slips out into the early morning mists, letting the door slam shut behind himself. Aza stares hard at the door, like it is the door’s fault for the doctor’s melodramatic warning.

Shaking her head, Aza locks the front door of the shop and, one by one, puts out all the lit candles. She summons a bobbing orb of light once she is finished, and makes her way up the stairs to her closet of a bedroom. Aza strips down to her shift and practically falls into bed. She is asleep before her head hits the pillow.