#My Valerius hate continues | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

camelliagwerm · 6 months

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Possibly interesting Pathfinder lore for you: the vampire nobility of Caliphas hates the Whispering Way and betrayed Tar-Baphon during the Shining Crusade because they realized that, if the whole world were undead, there would be no mortals left to feed on.

I actually already knew this! It's cropped up during my research when fleshing out Valerius' family and it pops up during the Lich path in Wrath of the Righteous if you speak with Elyanka in the Half-Measure; I'm pretty sure that you have to have crusade mode active for her to be there in the same way crusade mode has to be active to speak with council members like Lady Konomi and Dorgelinda.

I hope you don't mind that I'm going to turn this into a lore dump here.

Valerius' family is one of those families — the entire concept around House Dragavei is the classic Gothic archetype of the aristocratic family on the decline, like the Sharpes in Crimson Peak (sans incest) or the Willoughbys/Lloyds in the Haunting of Bly Manor to name a couple of more recent examples. In their case, they were already losing their ancestral seat by the time they turned on Tar-Baphon as I headcanon that they ruled part of what is now Virlych, specifically, the county of Virholt, and only retain their title of Count / Countess Dragavei as an honorific.

For the most part the Dragaveis, who had been mating with vampires for generations at this point, had got in favour with Tar-Baphon because of their ties to Virholt. They didn't want to give it up - the matriarch at the time was very "I was born in this hole, and I will die in this hole." It wasn't until 3866AR, when Luvick Siervage decided to break from Tar-Baphon and started moving vampires to Caliphas, that a young Valeria— Valerius' great-grandmother and, as you can probably guess, his namesake — killed her mother, who was fanatically loyal to Tar-Baphon. With Siervage's support, she relocated what was left of House Dragavei to Caliphas as well.

Valeria especially hated the Whispering Way because of that direct threat to her family's existence. And she knew back in the 3860s, as she reached her age of majority, that if her family didn't want to get wiped out, they had to break away from Tar-Baphon. After all, they need mortals to feed their full-blooded vampire relatives, to bring in fresh blood into the family when it comes to continuing their lineage, and to do their day to day operations, especially with their part of Virholt becoming inhospitable. She would not let her family decay entirely while she is the new head of the family.

Skip forward a good 800 years or so - Valeria never chose to become a vampire herself and her body instead lies in the Dragavei family crypt and her spirit bound to her granddaughter Rozalia - and that anti-Whispering Way sentiment still remains incredibly strong alongside their hatred for Pharasmites (for hopefully obvious reasons.) Valerius, her great-grandson; a devout antipaladin of Urgathoa and now the Knight-Commander of the Fifth Crusade, goes onto the path of the Lich because this is what his goddess approves of. He knows this is what he should do. It's his destiny.

But Valerius isn't exactly a devotee of Urgathoa beecause of her aspects of undeath or plague. He worships her because of her portfolio of gluttony, hunger, hedonism. After all, antipaladins tend to emulate her. Their tenet, "I have no duty but to my hunger and my goddess", is one of his core tenets. But this turns out to be a bit of a problem on the Lich path.

Vampires, as stated by Zacharius, are creatures of passion and not a perfect undead. They're too ruled by their hunger and desires - which in Valerius' and by extension, House Dragavei as a whole, is true. Aside from his major crisis of faith at the revelation that his powers aren't Urgathoa's blessing, but the result of an experiment, one of the core reasons he becomes a Legend is because he refuses to sacrifice that part of himself — and someone who stokes that fire in him even more. Hell, the only reason he's a Legend and not a Swarm is because he's simply not smart enough to decipher Xanthir's notes.

During act 3, he mostly ends up siding with Septimus, the Gebbite vampire representative and advisor. Was it intentional? No, not at first. In fact, when Elyanka Camilary, a future Daughter of Urgathoa and the Urgathoan and Whispering Way representative, arrives in Drezen with greetings from Ustalav, he welcomes her warmly. After all, it is nice to see a sister-in-faith, and a fellow Ustalavic one at that; someone he can speak his native tongue with. But it becomes clear to him quite quickly just how fanatical Elyanka is when it comes to the Whispering Way's ideology when he asks her what her problem with Septimus is:

Elyanka: Vampires like him are the most despicable creatures in the world. After receiving the blessing of undeath, he dishonours it, passing himself off as a mortal, mimicking their pathetic habits, pretending to be something he no longer has claim to. He and his like-minded associates are like people who sit before a table of delicacies and reject them all so they can eat swill with the pigs. Their pathetic habits discredit the gift they've been given. Don't expect anything good from friendship with this leech. Elyanka [dhampir Lich!PC only]: then you and your kin are like wild animals. You and your savage inhumane ideas will be hunted down and destroyed, and we will become victims of the fair but blind justice which will bury us in the same grave.

This pretty much seals Valerius' opinion of her as a very low one. Being told he is like a wild animal who should be hunted down, that his family are despicable, traitorous creatures is a severe blow to his honour. He merely tolerates her out of respect for their mutual faith in Urgathoa, and little else, while favouring Septimus' plans and ideals. He takes the effort to befriend the vampire - especially given they hold similar views regarding the Whispering Way and the damage they've done to necromancy and undeath as a whole, as well as being interested in how Geb works.

Both Elyanka and Septimus, as a result of Valerius not being on the Lich path in act 5, are still around post-game, and returned, following him taking over the city for good and becoming the Prince of Drezen and its surrounding environs. Both act as advisors on his council (Savour Its Sweet, Bloody Taste, ch. 3) in the same way they once did. But while Septimus is there to see an alliance fostered between Geb and Drezen again, and has cultivated a genuine friendship and mentorship with Valerius — Elyanka is there again out of mutual faith, and has an agenda to try push Valerius back onto the path of perfect undeath. But there's no trust there. There will never be trust there. He knows his family history and what his great-grandmother sacrificed for their survival, far too well for him to ever trust Elyanka or her followers who also worship Whispering Way.

She acts as his religious councillor because of her status as a future Daughter. He cannot ignore that part of his goddess' will, and sees it as a way for him to try control her and keep her in line. Better he gives her the position so she is indebted and seemingly loyal to him, rather than have her harbour resentment. This way, it's easy to keep track of her and her movements (even though again, given the catalyst for Savour Its Sweet, Bloody Taste is an assassination attempt that those in charge of espionage and diplomacy should've seen coming, I wouldn't hold your breath that it's getting done) and he can better have her investigated if need be. It's a classic case of "keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."

And that is the only way that he'll ever work with a member of the Whispering Way. At least if he keeps him close and they do decide to stab him in the back, it'll be easier to kill them.

#anonymous #answered #oc: valerius #sorry anon i didnt meant to be typing for an hour and a half straight

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nevertrustanoracle · 1 year

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I may have had a little too much fun today going through Fall of London and saving every reference I could find to Mithras and Roger de Camden’s love for each other. This book is determined to not let you forget that the centre of it is a ~1000 year old mlm relationship.

Spoilers for FoL ahead

“[Mithras] held a dim view of the Giovanni for similar reasons, and because of the threat that they continued to pose to his loyal friend and lover Roger de Camden.”

“Two of his spies stumbled across an intimate scene between Mithras and a Kindred ancilla named Thomas who was seldom seen at Court.”

“After staking and restraining de Camden, Valerius sent word to Mithras to come to the Gunpowder Mills to rescue his lover.”

“"I know Mithras' weakness." Valerius knows Mithras loves de Camden. Not just lusts for him, or finds him a valuable ally, but loves him - and love is a dangerous weakness among vampires.”

“"Mithras is the dark center of London, and certainly of my existence - a sun so deep it swallows all other light. - ROGER DE CAMDEN”

“[Mithras] exchanges a brief glance with Pater Thomas, and Wits + Insight at Difficulty 5 lets the character sense the true love between them.”

“Mithras is, for all intents and purposes, a God. Mortals and Kindred mean nothing to him, with the exception of Roger de Camden.”

“However, if they threaten to destroy any of the artifacts, Pater Thomas surrenders instantly - each artifact is a part of the man he loves, and he cannot bear the idea of losing any of them.”

“[Roger] he is the only person who genuinely loves Mithras as opposed to worshiping him. Wits + Insight at Difficulty 3 reveals Pater Thomas's feelings for Mithras are genuine, and that he believes Mithras' for him are genuine as well.”

“Mithras is furious that Thomas is being used again, as he hates to see the man he loves manipulated and abused this way. However, when Pater Thomas asks him to leave London so they can be together, Mithras ultimately relents.”

“Mithras will be anxious that Pater Thomas isn't present but instead has the Heralds anoint the items and dress him - best to regain his power now, and then find his lover from wherever he's being kept. Mithras' concern for de Camden makes him incautious, and causes him to miss the signs of the coterie's treachery.”

#vtm #fall of london #roger de camden #mithras #there is more than this #these are just the most blatant #I love these two ok?

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redbayly · 1 year

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My headcanon name for Ancient Greece is "Helene," both for Helen of Troy and as a reference to the fact that the actual name for Greece is "Hellas."

The two OCs on either side of Mama Greece and Baby Greece are Byzantine Empire (left) and the Exarchate of Ravenna (right). These two are Ancient Greece's kids with Rome. I know there's a suggestion that Ancient Greece became the Byzantine Empire, but that just never sat right with me as the two were very culturally distinct and it makes more thematic sense for Byzantium to be Ancient Greece's son with Rome. Byzantine Empire (Human name: Constantius Valerius Theodorus): He was one of Rome's bastard children whom Rome officially acknowledged. When Rome split the empire, he took charge of the east while Rome's firstborn, legitimate son Ramnes (the father of the Italy brothers) took the west. Byzantium took the lead in the empire, gradually overshadowing his brother thanks to the influence of Ancient Greece, who was playing the long game to basically usurp the empire from Rome in revenge for Rome having made her his concubine. When the west fell to the Germanic invaders and Ramnes was killed, Byzantium proclaimed himself the rightful heir of Rome and declared that any nation seeking to claim his title was a pretender. Of course, due to his adherence to Eastern Orthodoxy, Byzantium had become a major foe of the Pope, resulting in the Papal States/Vatican City/Holy See to recognize the Holy Roman Empire as the true successor to Rome despite him being German. Byzantium continued trying to reclaim his western "birthright" from what he saw as usurpers. Byzantium would later be killed by Turkey, who seized his lands to rise as the Ottoman Empire. Exarchate of Ravenna/Romagna (Human name: Gaia Valeria Helena): Byzantium's twin sister and another of Rome's recognized bastard children. Initially, she represented the city of Ravenna, a prosperous port city that even took Rome's place as the capital of the empire for a time. Ravenna became the last holdout of Byzantine Empire in Italy as the Exarchate of Ravenna, following the overthrow of the Ostrogoths. She came to deeply hate the Germanic kingdoms and especially Charlemagne, as he stole vast numbers of treasures from her city with the pope's approval. Likewise, she also despised Vatican City and warred with him constantly, even after she was forced to become part of the Papal States. She managed to hold on for a long time by clinging to her city and its people; however, she was ultimately killed in the late 1700s by France. Artist Note: The thing that took up most of the time I spent on this was the background. Right above the heads of the characters, you can see a bit of Byzantine propaganda. Young Byzantium is shown receiving a laurel wreath from Rome while Ancient Greece and Ravenna look on, signifying that Byzantium was Rome's chosen successor and lawful heir. The little gold sparkles all over the place are supposed to be gold mosaic tiles (Byzantines loved their gold and purple).

#hetalia #Axis Powers Hetalia #historical hetalia #hetalia fanart #aph greece #hetalia greece #aph ancients #aph ancient greece #hetalia ancient greece #aph byzantine empire #hetalia byzantine empire #hetalia oc #redbayly #hetalia roman empire #aph rome #aph roman empire #mama greece

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consul-valerius · 1 year

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Hold My Hand & Tell Me I Did Good (1/2)

She tells me I’m not in trouble, that I don’t have to be afraid, but she’s lying. It’s written all over her face: she does not trust me. She looks at me and sees my father’s face, hears his lies [...] She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean she’s a good person for being right all the damn time.

Rating: T+

W/C: 3390

Characters present: Damien, Donna, Imee (wow! what an intro for her this is!), Valerius & Nadia (with some references to Sam too lol)

Content warnings: references to abuse/childhood kidnapping; negative self-talk; general disturbing narration/ discussions of trauma + memory loss associated with the trauma; really shit psychology + depictions of hypnosis lol; Damien is Not Nice to Nadia

A/N: long time no fic lmfaoo I had the urge to explore more of when Damien initially first came home, and it's been a sec since I've written anything in the first person so thus.... this was born lol This chapter is is primarily exposition + usual family drama w/ more of Damien's personal insight/paranoia lmao

Mama and Papa have something planned for me. No, that’s not right. Countess Nadia has something planned for me, and she has convinced my parents into doing it. That’s all she’s done since I’ve gotten home: trick them into tricking me into doing some shoddy attempt at an interrogation. She tells me I’m not in trouble, that I don’t have to be afraid, but she’s lying.

It’s written all over her face: she does not trust me. She looks at me and sees my father’s face, hears his lies.

It’s annoying that she sees right through me, though. Is she not human? How could her first reaction to me being alive be to rule out if I somehow had something to do with my own disappearance? She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean she’s a good person for being right all the damn time.

“This won’t be long,” Papa lies, his attention focused out the window. He hates this as much as I hate it, but he isn’t allowed to show it. He’s never allowed to show that he disagrees with Nadia—not since the last time. Mama is holding my hand, their knee rubbing against Papa’s. Comforting both of her boys; it’s overwhelming how much they extend themself to calm us down. They deserve better than the two of us, and yet they’re stuck with us. It makes me so damn sad all the time. “We can have tea when we’re finished up here. Or perhaps you’d like to go to the Heart District?” Papa continues, his voice hopeful.

“The last time we did this, I couldn’t speak for three whole days.”

I’m being cruel, and I cannot stop myself. Mama’s hand tightens around mine.

“We won’t let it get that bad,” they say, their tone soft yet resolute. I can almost believe them—they are much better at lying than Papa. They believe their lies. “The moment you want out, we leave.”

“Is… Naima there?”

The last time she was there, I wanted to die. I still want to die just thinking of it.

“No. She’s with Julian at the clinic,” Papa interjects quickly, happy to give me some sort of good news. Mama smiles at him and then at me, hoping I return it. I don’t; I slump further into my seat.

“It’ll just be us and the Countess then?”

“Well… one more person will be there,” Mama finally admits; I knew they were hiding something. They’ve been on edge all day. “A family friend. You definitely don’t remember her—she only saw you at your baek-il.”

“Oh her! Of course, I remember her!” I finally smile, and I can feel the relief ooze off of them both. Mama nudges my side as I catch Papa rolling his eyes, still looking out the window with a smile on his face.

“So fresh,” Mama teases; I keep their hand on my lap, clinging to it and playing with their fingers. “Her name is Imelda. I’ve known her forever; she’s very doting.”

That isn’t that comforting. I don’t really like Mama’s friends. Or Papa’s either, for that matter. They’re all creeps.

“Why bring in someone new?” I ask, my tone still scathing even though I don’t want it to be. I’m so tired of making my parents sad, and yet that’s all I can really do these days. “I don’t have anything else to say. I’m not lying.”

“No one said you are lying, Damien.”

Papa sounds hurt saying it, and I want to cry. I didn’t say he thought I was lying.

“Then why are we doing this again?”

“Dia wants to ensure that—”

“The Countess has gotten all the information she will get from me!” I cut Mama off before they can defend that woman. Always defending her—it makes me so mad, I could spit. They have no idea how she looks at me, how she’s always looked at me. When they talk, I hear her voice. It drives me mad. “I don’t have any more to give her! Why won’t you just accept that what happened… is over? No one is coming back for me. I’ve taken care of it.”

I feel bitter, hot tears pooling already and I want to die even more now. Ever since I’ve come home, all I do is cry. It’s like I’m making up for the lost time. Papa makes a noise involuntarily—he’s an angry crier too. Mama is the only one managing to keep a brave face. This is life now, I guess. Her two boys stomping their feet and sobbing and pulling their hair out and spilling wine everywhere while Mama takes in deep, meditative breaths to calm themself down.

“Damien, I know how hard it is to not know the full picture,” they say as they gently coax me to at least look at their hands. They never make me look in their eyes—they never did, even when I was a child and everyone would scream at me to look at them properly. Mama and Papa never did though. I look at Mama’s hands and relax my shoulders and jaw. “I know that you don’t want them right now. I know that you think you don’t need them. But believe me, mijo, you will want them. Even if it’s scary and painful—you will want them. And it gets harder and harder to get them back the longer you wait.”

Gods damn them. How dare they pull the “I was dead and now I’m not” card on me. They are just as manipulative as Papa and Nadia combined. I love them so much, it makes me sick.

“But… I really don’t remember—”

“I know, mi vida, I know. But this will help you—it’s different than the last time. We’re going to try something new and a little wonky. You may hate it at first. I certainly hated it at first—”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Yes. With Tita Imelda, too. But it’s helpful—I think she can really help you.”

At this, I have no rebuttal. How can I refuse when they’ve done it already? A master manipulator. I flinch as Papa places a hand on my shoulder. Once I recognize his hand, I lean closer to him until he is resting his head on mine.

“You’re so brave, Damien,” he whispers, his tone wet. He’s crying a lot now. I realize I’m also crying. What a bunch of babies we are. “And after today, you won’t have to be this brave anymore.”

“It’s exhausting… I hate having to do this. I just… Want to be a family.”

Neither of them has anything else to say other than, “I know.”

I want to slap Nadia as soon as I see her. Mama and Papa have more or less gathered themselves; Papa’s eyes are less puffy, but it’s obvious Nadia can tell we’ve all been crying already. She is obviously sad to see this, but I can see that she is also annoyed at us too. Weak. We are a weak family, not like hers.

She instantly embraces Mama first—it’s clear who her favorite of the bunch is.

“Thank you all for coming,” she says in that stupid, relaxed, in-control voice. She embraces my father next; it is shorter than when she embraced my mother. “I have tea set up in the drawing room.”

She moves closer as if to hug me next, but when I only glare at her, she backs off. Instead, she places her hand between my shoulders and gently leads the way. I can smell lavender, jasmine, and honey on her. I hate that she always smells so good. I hate how comforting she can be.

“Thank you for having us,” I say very politely. “What experiment are you doing on me today?”

At this, she laughs because I didn’t use my mean voice, I used my sarcastic voice, and I know she likes it. It reminds her of my father, and most people enjoy that. They like it when we are sassy but not mean, cruel and petty to others but not to them.

“Not an experiment, no,” she replies as Mama and Papa trail behind us. They always get so quiet during these interrogations; neither wants to speak out against Nadia, but I can tell they want to. “I will allow our guest to explain our plans for the day.”

I am introduced to an ancient woman. Okay, not ancient, but she’s old, older than Nadia by at least ten years. Her skin is a dark sandy color, her nose is wide, and she has thick, pin-straight black hair. She has very kind eyes, though she also looks a bit wicked depending on how she angles her face. She reminds me a bit of my grandma—Papa’s eomma—though she looks a bit more fun than her.

“Look at that!” Her voice is very wheezy—a smoker. A lifetime smoker at that. My eyes are glued to the leather collar around her throat; it has pearl embellishments and lace on it, and dangling below her throat is definitely a vial of blood.

All of Mama’s friends are creeps.

“Please don’t say I look just like my father.” I say it without thinking, and I can tell without looking at him that Papa is mortified. Tita Imelda—I mean, this has to be her—only laughs at me. I didn’t think I was being funny, but it’s better that she laughs and does not get upset.

“And you sound like him too,” she sighs, moving with her walker to get closer to me. She has massive, cat-eye glasses on, her dark brown eyes cartoonish with them on. I hate that I am instantly endeared to this woman. I blame my grandmother. Old people make me cry—I want them to like me so damn bad. “Stars, you were a little potato the last time I saw you.”

“I’m a much bigger potato now.”

“Bigger than your mother, anyway.”

“Hey! Only a little bigger, you hag!” Mama finally steps in, though their voice is playful and full of love. Oh. Imelda is one of those friends. The two embrace and I can tell that Imelda is trying to will some sort of magic, old woman strength into Mama. I could use some of that, too.

“I take it your parents have told you who I am, then?”

“Tita Imelda?”

“Pssh, call me Imee!” Imee pinches my Mama’s hip, and Papa laughs at that. “So formal. Imelda. Bah!”

We all get situated at a table as a servant pours us all tea. It’s some sort of lavender tea—something to soothe my nerves, most likely. Nadia thinks of everything. The adults dictate the conversation for a little while. No one wants to start a bad conversation just yet. They want to enjoy each other’s company and ignore the severely damaged adult-sized child in the room. I can gather from the conversation that Imee is tied to Old Man Sam—judging by that collar, I assume he owns her or something. Thankfully that old fuck isn’t here for this. I wouldn’t be able to handle it if he was here. Creep. Imelda is much better than him. Still a creep, but a better creep.

“I suppose it’s time I begin my speech now, though.”

I am so lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t catch that the conversation has turned back to me. Damn it. Imee is looking at me very pointedly, and I gulp more tea.

“Yes?” I prod, tilting my head towards her. Maybe if I’m mean enough, she will want to go home. “On with it then.”

She only laughs, though. She is used to this behavior. Old people are great at dealing with my behavior.

“I’m not going to make any assumptions about what you know and don’t know about me,” she continues, knitting her hands together. Man, she has pretty hands for an old lady. “What I do know is that you’ve had it rough, kid. And when horrible things happen to someone, their body protects them.”

Why do I feel like crying?

“That’s what your head is doing—it’s protecting you. But you need help remembering—that’s why I’m here. You don’t need to protect yourself anymore. You’re safe with me—”

“Don’t spin this to make it seem like you’re helping me,” I bite back at her. Mama looks upset already; Papa looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die. Nadia is stoic; she knows this verbal attack is meant for her. “You all want information so you can “catch the bad guys” who did this to me, so you can be the heroes of Vesuvia all over again.”

Imee only smiles sadly at me.

“That’s part of it, yes.�� Thank the gods she isn’t lying to me. I would have walked out if she lied to me. “But I have no real business in the affairs of this little city—I can care less about the things that go bump in the night here. What I care about is helping you feel whole. Do you want that, Damien?”

Damn it. This old broad is good. No wonder Old Man Sam owns her. My tongue is getting heavy; I think I’m about to cry.

“No one… asks me if I want this. How the hell should I know what I want?”

“Well, I am.”

Don’t talk to me like it’s only us in the room. They can all hear me; they’re all watching me. Always.

“Why won’t anyone believe me?” I’m reaching a breaking point; I need to calm down. I am finally addressing Nadia properly. Her eyebrows twitch; she doesn’t like it when I confront her directly. “I told you that it’s taken care of. Do you want the bloody fucking details? Will that make you feel better if I tell you every little thing I did to get home?”

“Damien—!” I can’t tell what’s upset Papa more; the implication of my words, or the use of the word “fucking.”

“No, let him speak,” Nadia interjects, standing. That’s right. Come over here and face me.

“I don’t have any of those to give! I’m home! I fought my way home! There’s no way in hell those people will come back! I’ve taken care of it! I don’t need you, I saved myself!”

I know that Mama and Papa are crying. They can never hold it in when we talk about this. I know I’m being ugly right now, that the idea is ugly. They are probably picturing their sweet, precious little boy covered in blood, flesh and entrails dripping from his bared teeth.

“Damien, we cannot be so sure unless we have the entire picture.”

Nadia is so cruel. I know she has always been cruel, but I see it so clearly now. I really hate her now. I hate her so much.

“What if there is a detail you are missing? What if there are others out there who may want to come back?” She clamps her hand down on my shoulder before sinking down to get at eye level with me. Fuck you. Don’t fucking look at me. “Damien, I need to ensure your and my city’s safety. Do you understand that?”

“But I… I don’t have any missing details—”

“You say you cannot remember most of how you got home—”

“I don’t—”

“Those are missing details—” “That’s enough, Nadia!”

I am stunned to hear my Mama’s voice. By the looks of it, Nadia is too.

They are standing, their hair now a deep green color. Papa is staring off as if he is willing himself out of existence. I wish I could do the same.

“Damien needs to be relaxed for this to work,” they continue, their tone still so harsh. “It doesn’t matter the reasoning as to why Damien wants his memories back! He deserves to have the full picture when he is ready.”

“Donatello is right,” Imee adds, her tone calm. She gives Mama a look; Mama sits immediately. I can tell that Nadia has grown cold over the entire exchange. She squeezes my shoulder one final time before taking her seat again, not looking at anyone. “This will only work if Damien wishes to do it. Lofty ideas like the ‘greater good’ will get us nowhere.”

Nadia’s jaw is tense now, her teeth gnashed together. Good. Stay quiet. I look back to Imee, my heart pounding.

“What is this then? Why are you all talking in riddles?”

Imee sighs, rolling her shoulders. I hear a faint pop when she does.

“Hypnosis has many uses,” she finally explains, keeping my attention only on her. Her deep, husky voice is captivating. Must be a damn good hypnotist. Gods, I hate this all so much. Mama was right. “Some can be fun. Some can be serious. It all depends on the people and why they are doing it.”

“This sounds like bull shit.”

“It is a little bull shit, I need to admit,” Imee laughs, waving Papa’s worries away. I am being so rude and it is killing him. “But it also helps. Tell me, Damien, have you ever been so engrossed in something that time seems to just… slip away? All that you can focus on is what you’re doing and getting it done?”

“I… yeah. Sure.”

“That’s a little taste of hypnosis. We’re going to get you relaxed and your mind open so you can only focus on one specific memory. That’s all. We don’t even need to focus on the day you came home—it can be any memory.”

I know that pissed Nadia off. She doesn’t want any memory, she wants her answers her way.

“Is it… a spell?”

“The way that I practice, we use just a little bit of magic to help really open up your mind. Others don’t need it, they can just use an object and their words. But I’m clearly more special than other people.”

At this, I can’t help but giggle. Fuck her.

“So… what? You put me in some sort of trance and I just… talk?”

“Yes, exactly!”

The idea that I may speak without thinking fills me with an ice-cold fear. That doesn’t sound good at all. I feel a shiver run up my spine; I swipe at the back of my neck, feeling as if some sort of bug is crawling on my skin. When I look down at my gloved hand, nothing is there.

“Damien?”

“I… Will I have any control?”

“You always have control, yes,” Imee leans closer to me, offering her hands. I only look at them as I hold her. Her hands are so soft and so smooth. “Think of me as a guide. I will keep you grounded here during the session, and the moment you don’t want to do this anymore, I will pull you back.”

“How will I know? Like… Do I just say it and it ends?”

“Yes, exactly right. It will be a lot of talking, a lot of meditating, and a lot of focusing. The moment you’re done, we finish. You go home. You live your life. If you think it’s helpful, we can try it again. If you think, ‘To hell with this crazy broad!’ then that’s that!”

I smile at that, too. Is she a mind reader and a hypnotist?

“Believe me, you aren’t the only one to say that either.” She winks at me before giving my hands one final squeeze. She leans back in her seat, looking at me expectantly. I realize that everyone is looking at me, waiting for an answer.

Swallowing, I clench my fists. This can go so wrong so quickly. One wrong move, one simple misspoken word, and everything I have ever worked for will collapse right under my feet. More than that, I will upset them. I think I may faint just at the thought. I can already feel my skin peeling at the thought of failing them—what good is a doll if it is broken? If it doesn’t make its owner happy?

“Fine. I will do this just to be done with this.”

But I know that Nadia will not back down. If I don’t do this, she’ll think of some other inane idea to get me to talk. This is a test. This is a test, and I will pass this test. Like I always do.

#bottom writes #problem child damien #fan apprentice donna #consul valerius #the disaster family #nadia satrinava #OC: Imee #what a fucking gang this is #it is. very fun writing this bratty little edge lord LMAO #traumatized edge lords (my beloved)

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cranetreegang · 2 years

Text

Creasta - Part 2: Valerius x MC/Court Magician

Summary: You get the tour of the magnificent city of Creasta and your worries of trouble are quelled... for now.

Part 2 of 4 of a miniseries

Read Part 1 Here

Word Count: ~1,200

Arcana Masterlist

-------------------------------------

The ride was tame as we all slipped into an easy conversation which carried throughout the three day ride. I was feeling silly for continuously looking for some looming threat behind every curve, only to find none. I decided to try pushing the dark thoughts I had going into this aside as me being overly paranoid from my last diplomatic mission.

I had heard rumors of the grand city of Creasta, but to see it first hand was something to behold. They had built their entire city in the middle of Lake Creas on a rocky island then had four bridges which spanned the entire length of the lake going in four different directions.

The gray towers with azure domes could be seen for half the day looming over the rolling golden hills before we began to cross one of the bridges. We followed along the brick path through the city while I wrote a brief letter to Valerius notifying him we arrived. With the guards accompanying us, most of the citizens were staring as we passed by. When we arrived at the palace, Queen Edelina was waiting with her Court; Nik being a familiar face among them.

We exchanged brief pleasantries before making our way into the palace for the grand tour. I felt a rush from my message bag signaling Valerius had responded to me and as we toured the keep, I managed to sneak out his letter and nearly let slip an audible laugh at the formalness of it.

Dearest Witch,

I am pleased to hear you have arrived, safely, to Creasta. I will notify the rest of the Court you, and the Countess, have arrived at Creasta. I hope their hospitality extends to both you and the Countess. I have matters here under control, despite extraneous circumstances.

I look forward to your next update.

With love,

-Valerius

His penmanship was remarkable and I could picture him sitting down at his desk to write back to me. I bit my lip to keep myself in line while we finished the tour and headed towards the dining hall to dine with the Creasta Court. Under the table between courses, I managed to write:

My Dearest Consul,

I am also pleased to hear you have everything under control. I’m to assume Edernton has been assisting you? I know he would be most valuable to you while I’m away, as he usually is.

I can see the scowl you’re making now, and I long to see it.

The palace here has a wonderful vineyard and I’ll be sure to snag a bottle for you. Nik plans to take me to the dinanar crystal cave tomorrow.

I can’t wait to hear from you,

With my love,

-Your Witch

I didn’t have to wait long for a reply and I couldn’t help my smile as I read over his response.

My Vexing Witch,

All the wine in the city would not make up for what you wrote. But, if you do wish to apologize for your pitilessness, I will accept nothing less than a Creast Viognier.

Edernton has insisted he should be the acting Magician in your stead, and when questioned about his knowledge, or base qualifications, of magic, he had the gall to say, ‘Well, it must not be too hard. She makes it look so easy.’

Gods, the simpleton.

I miss you. Terribly. I almost want to hate you for making me long for you so.

Yours Always,

-Valerius

Once dinner had concluded and I was shown my room, I wrote to him again and we exchanged a few more letters. Our interactions grew less formal and more back and forth as if we were speaking to one another.

By the next morning at breakfast, we had dropped our greetings and signatures altogether.

Edernton asked one of the serving girls if she was pregnant. She was not.

Portia and Nadia shared a room together and Edelina wondered why Nadia had her Handmaiden with her all night and if one of them was unwell. I’ve never seen them so red before.

Harriet wanted to have lunch with me. I pawned her off to Edernton. I suppose that was a bit cruel.

You are cruel. But, that’s why I love you.

My, my, witch. Saying such things. How despicable. I suppose I love you as well.

After our affairs were in order, Nik and I rode on horseback to the dinanar crystal cave outside the city. I was amazed at the raw magic I felt even before we stepped foot inside. When we walked through the cave, I could feel my mouth agape with the sheer beauty of the place. The cave seemed to be an endless cavern with jutting crystals spanning from the ground to the ceiling towering above us with some forming slanted pillars which were wider than my entire arm span.

The crystals ranged in colors from deep purples to light reds all the way to vibrant blues. The place thrummed with a soothing energy and there was a sweet jingle which was pleasing to my ears.

“It’s like they’re all singing.” I said to Nik, who had a wide grin at my awe.

“It’s because they are. They’re all connected. Even when you take one far away from another, they still sing. It’s what makes them so prized amongst us users.” Nik smiled with a wink.

I placed my hand on one of the crystals. The crystal hummed against my palm and reached out to greet my magic with a warm embrace. “It’s amazing so much magic can be in one place. How do you counterbalance any surges or overloads?”

“There are certain measures in place. But, the dinanar are very resilient. Whenever there is a surge, they’re able to balance the spike and share the power with all the crystals in seconds. It’s very fascinating.” He went over to a cluster of crystals and pried a aquamarine colored one from the ground. He handed the palm-sized crystal to me with a wide grin.

“For you. I can see it in your eyes. The mysteries of the dinanar are hard to ignore. I look forward to what you will find.”

As we returned to the city, Nik and I continued our discussion of the crystals, with him being forthcoming in what he’s ascertained thus far. Valerius had been rather quiet since my last message and I had checked my bag several times for a letter only to find it empty. I decided not to dwell on it too much, pushing the thought aside as him being busy with meetings.

When Nik took me to his lab, I was envious of his setup. He had access to an actual observatory and numerous assistants eager to help. Creasta was embracing the magical studies and I was left with numerous thoughts on how I could transfer these ideas to Vesuvia. I wrote to Valerius stating my excitement and was met with silence even throughout dinner.

I was combing my hair about to go to bed when I felt the rush of his response in my bag. I leapt across the room to read his reply and my exuberance flipped to a heavy dread sinking into the pit of my stomach at what was on the parchment in my hands.

Help Ahesh Captured

Part 3

--------------------

A/N: dun dun DUUUUN... yeah probs could've had more build up to this, but idk couldn't picture anything to put down that didn't feel like filler/padding so figured it best to keep it like this.

what did y'all think of the letters? any feedback is welcomed! i love hearing from y'all!

Also... rip any nadia stans for the next chapter cause... yeah

#consul valerius #the arcana #the arcana game #fanfic #creative writing #arcana valerius #valerius x mc #court magician #arcana #fanfiction #the arcana fic

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empressapprentice · 3 years

Text

So I just played Julian’s new tale, and while I did enjoy it, I was left kind of disappointed. It was super cute and super fluffy, and there’s nothing wrong with that! I just feel like the lore and world of the Arcana has so much potential and while I was happy to explore Nevivon, I’m not sure that the tale added anything new to the story. I should mention that Julian is my favorite LI of the main six (although Nadia’s route is my favorite plot-wise!) so don’t get me wrong about being happy to see more of him. This really was a continuation of his actual route, but I was hoping for a little something...more. I wanted to see how our relationship with Julian has changed, or I wanted more adventure, but since it took place immediately after his upright ending, there was no additional development. I may have more thoughts and specific critiques after I let it sit with me a bit but mostly I didn’t feel like this really added anything productive to the story.

And my disappointment in this new tale is less based on the content of this tale specifically and more in the general direction I’ve seen the game heading. I thought that the endings of the side characters were rushed and lacked the same development as the main three--Muriel’s specifically wasn’t very good IMO although I only played his upright. I’ve also seen several of my followers who really want to see courtier content. While I am not personally interested in romancing any of the courtiers other than Valerius (I want to be Volta’s best friend though!) I really would like to see some tales with them. What drew me to play the Arcana was the art and style, but what kept me interested was how detailed the story is, how much care went into being faithful to the Tarot and the world-building. I feel like some sort of content from the perspective of the courtiers would be a way to explore some of the past events without the MC, something that I am personally really interested in. And frankly, with Valerius’ character design and journey, I’m shocked he hasn’t been romanceable at all. Like I love Nahara and was thrilled to play her tale, but why they chose her instead of Valerius doesn’t make sense to me. I swear I see more Valerius content than Nadia in the fandom sometimes.

I completely understand why the devs and whoever’s pulling the strings at Nix Hydra are hesitant about courtier content because the characters are designed to not be likeable. But I do think there are ways to use the courtiers to develop the story and gauge interest and I think there’s a fundamental misunderstanding of “likeable.” The courtiers have a fan following because they’re complex characters--they’re likeable from a plot/character study point of view but might not be everyone’s cup of tea romantically. I’m interested in picking them apart and learning their motivations, much like how I enjoyed figuring out the main six’s fatal flaws and guiding them to the upright ending. I also think the devs might be pleasantly surprised by the response, since I personally have a “don’t knock it until you try it” mentality and am willing to try a tale even if I don’t think I’ll like it (except for Vlastomil, sorry but if there were ever the option to romance him it’d be a hard pass from me.....i just really hate worms lmao). Anyway, this ended up being more negative than I intended, but I really do love this game and I want to see the amount of care that I think it deserves being put into it. I liked this game because of its depth and I don’t see them maintaining that at this point.

#the arcana #The Arcana Game #the arcana julian #julian devorak #the arcana courtiers #give me lore devs i'm begging you

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ahjustroza · 3 years

Note

Hello, could you write an HC about an GN!MC who used to be a mob boss or run an illegal organization and the Mains 6 + Valerius' Reaction? Doesn't need to be angsty just dramatic

I wanted to go dramatic with the CGs lmao. Also, it got long and everything is under the cut.

Warning!

Headcanon includes the mention of murder, suicide, crime, and depression. So I would say it is NSFW.

Mob Boss MC Headcanons

Asra

He always knew it

He knows everything about you even the things you don't know about yourself

I can see you as the type of boss that doesn't create mass murders for personal gain

However, I can see thievery, blackmailing, and playing your games dirty

Maybe illegal underground market business in the red market (a version of the black market in Vesuvia)

You are smart but also have a soft spot

For him

And only him

Since MC canonically lives with him for a long time I can only picture you being a mob boss in your past before him

But your past is probably still haunting you

You don't necessarily need a tragic childhood to be a mob boss

I want to leave the reasons up to you but I refuse to believe you would be cruel and unreasonable

Because you are all amazing human beings

Many people get into this lifestyle by mistake, choice, or by someone else's force

Whatever reason that made you get into this lifestyle however did change you

You have trust issues, always on defensive mode, and always observing everything around you for possible threats or problems

But he came into your life and became the center of it

You told him what you did before moving to Vesuvia step by step

Not in one go

You tried to see how he would react to you

When you couldn't keep this secret from him anymore, you just told him

It was very impulsive of you

Highly surprising

You told him how you started from the bottom and climbed to the top

you told him how everyone in your home knows your name

How many people were your followers and how if you ask they will come and continue to follow you without a question

You did dirty work, you hurt people too

Violence is something he can not tolerate

At all

But just like you, he is also at the loss of words when any topic comes to the possibility of you leaving

He doesn't want you to go

And you don't want to leave

So expect him to stay away from you for a while

He will not speak of it out loud ever again

Never going to tell anything to even Muriel

No one has to know

Because you are now here and a different person

He will assume that you did what you did to survive

Just like his best friend...

When you lose your memories and slowly starting to gain them back

He is hesitant to answer any question regarding your past

But he knows that he has to

So he does

And you get involved in the red market

Asra is disappointed but you assure him that it is to find ingredients for your magic shop

He will never leave you, but he is not approving illegal business

Yet who he is to judge?

He made a ritual to bring you back by killing the Count of Vesuvia

So he is more on the stick close to you so that you won't get hurt side

Nadia

She will either use your connections for spy mastering or lock you up until she gets rid of your gang/illegal organization

But oh no she will not give up on you for being a simple mob boss oh no

She grew up into the royalty and probably dealt with and seen worst situations

She will not allow you to put yourself into any kind of danger and if she must she will put you on house arrest or even lock you up in dungeons

She dealt with a crazy husband before and she learned from her mistakes

So do as she says

She will give you two options, either listen to her or leave Vesuvia completely

Nadia will want her answer on the spot because if you truly want to be with her, you shouldn't need a lot of time to think about it

She will be even more dominant around you

She will make sure to remind you who has the power

If you leave Vesuvia she will never want to see you again

But she will be there personally to put you to the ground if you cause any trouble

If you choose to stay then you have another two options

You leave the business completely or run it for her favor

Provide him important information about the underground market and other organizations in Vesuvia

Yet that only can happen if you can hide your identity as a mob boss

So get creepy and wear a Tokyo Ghoul mask during business hours

I'd say if you chose to go disguise and spy on the underground for Nadia

You two will be the dictionary definition of the power couple

Like hot damn

Imagine

You live like royalty during the day and go be a mob boss during the night

She will even make you her spymaster if you are willing

Julian

He will volunteer to be your henchman (is this what it is called?)

Yeah

You have now extra trouble because he is not leaving your side

He will even find you more connections for business

He knows key people in different countries and cities

He knows roads to pass without getting caught

He did live this lifestyle for quite a long time after all

Minus the mob boss part

He is by no means not letting anyone he doesn't like to even have an audience with you

My man knows his way with people and not afraid to put up a fight for you

He is impulsive but useful in the underground world

He is a doctor without a license (or it is just a myth? who really knows...) so he was really doing illegal consultations on regular basis lol

He will patch you up when you get hurt and probably will teach you how you can make lethal damage to your enemy during a fight by teaching you anatomy

You will have to send him to horny jail whenever he talks about anatomy because he is a visual learner

And the best way he teaches anything is to show you

So lock him up

It's not like he will resist

He is good with reading body language too

I can think of Julian to be giving you the most understanding reaction when you tell him that you are a mob boss

He has a history (again I remind you)

So if he is in love with you, he is stuck to your side and yes he will still have his leeches with him

His plague doctor mask becomes popular underground too

If you didn't know better, even you would find him scary and intimidating looking during the friendly business hours

And Julian being Julian, he will insist that you find yourself a mask too

So that you will be a power couple

But make it romantic

However, this is the best scenario where you are just doing business in the red market by selling illegal goods, or being a Mob Boss Robin Hood

if you do unacceptable things, such as cruelty towards children and the innocent

And anything violent that including torture and murder,

He will end this all himself

Julian is dramatic but if he had to kill you because there is no other way to stop you he will

Then will follow you not too long after.

Portia

She will hate to hear that.

Portia is strong but fragile at the same time

She has a strong emotional connection to you and you are probably one of those people she trusts more than anyone

So when you say that you are a mob boss she is broken

Hurt and disappointed

But mostly confused

She doesn't know what to do with this

What to do with you, with what you have between the both of you

She loves you a million

But you are wrong with your life decisions

the good and the bad fights inside of her mind when she tries to make a decision

She will either leave everything behind and live a life similar to what her brother had to live

Or let you go to be yourself and get hurt

She will never forget you or never stop loving you

But she will be in a deep depression after you leave her

Most likely never recover

Because you broke the trust she gave you

So if you want her

If you want to be with her

You have to play your cards right

You are on very thin ice here

You can literally break her in a way without a return

So chose your life carefully

What do you want to do as a mob boss?

Will, you hurt people? Cause trouble and chaos? Torture the innocent and break families?

Or will you just do underground illegal trades and sales?

She can keep your secret if you just do your business in the red market

But she will not tolerate you causing harm to others

She will hate it but will stop you no matter the cost before you become the monster you two fought while falling in love with each other

You have her heart

But she has yours too

So she will not allow anyone else to stop you and do it herself

Because she is afraid for others to put you down in a painful way

She'll stop you rather gently

Caress your cheek while crying beside you

She will never forgive you but also will never stop loving you

You are her only big love and will remain like that forever

She will be the person she was while Julian was on the run

Always nervous and always having anxiety and panic attacks

She won't leave you no

No no no no.

She rather dies than spend a day without the thought of you not loving her

Being there for her

She refuses very strongly to let you go and also get caught.

So in this scenario, you two are still together and preferably alive

But she is in agony every second of the day

And you know that this is all your fault

Yet continue anyway.

Muriel

No.

He is not accepting this.

He will be furious and hurt so much that he will tell you to go right away

He trusted you and you betrayed him

There is not much to say for Muriel

He doesn't want to see you again

Even though he wants you

He dreamed about having a peaceful life with you

But he will not go over all the pain he had caused by violence and power

Lucio

You already know he is down

He will do anything for you

Destroy enemy mob boss?

Run the entire underground together?

Invade a city so that you can make the illegal legal?

Do you want someone dead?

Do you want him to arm people for you?

Recruit followers?

Done.

With the potential he has there is no option to stay peaceful in the underground business

Even if you just mention that you want to make a certain business

He'll take it as order the moment it comes out of your mouth

It will be scary

Terrifying even

You will be unstoppable

Valerius

Lmao you probably got him cornered and forced him to work with you

And he got so turned on that said yes on the spot

But made it look as he was the victim here

He seems to be distressed with your connection but secretly he likes the power you have

You do as you please, take whatever you want

And people in the palace have no idea

He knows that you are smart

Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to become a boss and run your business flawlessly

He'll support you financially of course

Under the table

But the real job he does is to give you information

He is also good at creating gossips and rumors as well

He is connected to the high class and works in the palace so it is really hard for people to make any kind of connection between him and you

He pretends to make investigations about your illegal business but what he actually does is mislead the palace

In return, you get him precious stuff

Expensive wine, silk clothes, anything he wants

Oh my god Valerius is your sugar baby and he doesn't even know

Whenever you tell him to see you he is there the moment he can leave his work

He likes to be around you but plays hard to get

He loves to see you struggle and frustrated

He will not give you away but don't expect him to go down with you if you get caught either

He cares about his reputation

The best he can do is to help you escape in a way people can't make connections with him

Then you will most likely become his sugar baby-ish for a while

He will boss you around but the second you remind him who you are he will act bratty

Oh does he likes being bratty

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 11 months

Text

Vesuviella: Part 14

Julian sweeps you into the parlor with a flourish as Nadia rises from her seat to greet the two of you. “MC, Julian, what a pleasant surprise. Is this visit for business or leisure?”

“Business, lovely Countess, show business. Though – ah – I wouldn’t be opposed to leisure as well.”

“Show business? Has there been an unexpected development?” You still don’t know what the conversation is going to be about, but that’s not stopping Nadia from leading you by the hand to join her on the settee. Julian settles himself in an intricate wooden chair across from you, limbs angled awkwardly as he begins his proposal.

“Not a development, exactly, more like a – hm – an extra step I hadn’t … quite … gotten around to yet?”

“An oversight?”

He winces. “That’s a strong word to use.”

“What sort of oversight?”

“Casting. We still need one character cast besides ensemble.” Julian leans forward, considerably more comfortable once he can place his elbows on his knees and prop his chin on his folded hands. “Prince Charming needs his attendant.”

You feel Nadia’s attention focus in on you as the gears start to turn in your head. The attendant isn’t a major role, but someone needs to make proclamations and try the shoe on all of the characters. You don’t know why this requires a meeting with Nadia, though, unless…

“If I may make your point for you, are you asking me to convince Consul Valerius to take that role?”

“Ah, well, yes. Milady.” It’s just as you hear Julian fumbling to pull out his signature charm that you see a familiar braid and glass of wine swirling at the door. Speak of the Devil …

“I hate to intrude, but I believe I just heard the Countess call my name. Am I needed for something that I was not informed of?”

You watch Julian startle at the new voice behind him, scrambling to deny everything just as Nadia coolly responds with “Yes. Though I cannot attest to it being within your skillset to accomplish.”

You watch Valerius’s lip curl as the wine in his ever-present glass becomes even more agitated. “And what, Countess, do you have cause to believe I am not capable of?”

You and Julian look like spectators at a tennis match, gaze flicking between the Countess and the Consul as the stare down continues. “My apologies, Consul, you must have misheard me. I would never call you incapable. I simply meant that this particular endeavor falls outside of your regular jurisdiction. I take it you are not very familiar with the South End’s fine arts emporium?”

That’s one way to refer to the dilapidated Community Theatre, but you’re too busy waiting for Valerius to take the bait. You get ready to protect your clothes as his fingers twitch on the visibly trembling glass. “Regrettably, I was not informed of such an entity existing. I can assure you, however, that I am more than familiar with the fine arts. I am perfectly capable of whatever role you may think I am not suited for.”

Nadia’s expression barely changes beyond a small smile, but you can practically see the Cheshire grin on her face. “I trust you won’t disappoint me, then. Dr Devorak, a script?”

Julian apprehensively hands over a spare script from somewhere in his massive cloak. Nadia stands and offers it to the Consul, who is quickly realizing that he has been expertly trapped. “I will inform you of the first rehearsal that requires your attendance. You are to be Prince Charming’s loyal Attendant. I take it you are familiar with stage performances? Bear in mind that this is not required of you, I would hate for you to be tasked with anything beyond your means.”

You watch him flush, extending his folded hand to take the stack of paper like it’s offended him. He glances between Portia’s neat handwriting and the Countess’s imperious gaze, lips tightening. “You may expect my performance to be above reproach.”

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vampiresuns · 3 years

Text

Interlude 1: Do Not Stand Over My Grave And Weep, Part 2

⟡ PART 2: FRIENDS ARE THE FAMILY YOU CHOOSE ⟡

2.2k words. In which Anatole’s friends start uncovering the mystery of his death and sudden reappearance.

CW: Death and discussions of it.

What to catch up with Anatole’s Apprentice series? You can do that here.

He had met him at University. He had been his friend since he was 18 years old. Anatole and Medea had been Leonore’s first lasting friends, the first people who outside of his family, had taught him permanence was not entrapment. They had filled his life with growth and laughter; he had suffered their woes, he had celebrated their triumphs, he had followed them into Vesuvia despite his original wish to travel the world.

He still travelled, but he always came back to them. Medea and Anatole weren’t just friends: they were family now. When Leonore closed his eyes he could see them holding hands and jumping into the water one summer evening in Prakra. He could see Medea using his thigh as a pillow under a tree. He could see Anatole dancing. He could see Medea and Anatole dressed to the nines for their new Court jobs.

He would know them anywhere. He would know them by the way their steps sounded alone.

It took Leonore some moments to remember where he was, Octavia gently nudging him. Sabine, who he didn’t realise had gone, announced themselves again, saying they had lost Anatole’s doppelgänger in the crowd.

Only it hadn’t been a doppelgänger. Leonore knew his best friend, he knew Anatole when he saw him.

“No,” he said at last. “No, that’s him. That’s him, Octavia. That was him, and I need to find him.”

“Leonore, wait! Anatole’s dead.”

They began bickering about it, Octavia trying to stop Leonore from head diving into a wild goose chase, not realising Selasi, the Baker, was listening to them.

“Excuse me, forgive me for overhearing, but are you talking about Anatole Radošević? The magician from Moonstone and Jasmine?”

“Yes! His aunt owned that shop,” Leonore said, jumping to talk to Selasi, who inspected him with a careful eye.

“I don’t know what prank you’re playing, but he’s alive as can be. I opened a little after the plague subsided and he and Asra have been getting bread from me for three years, almost. They’re attached at the hip, so if you know Asra—“

Leonore leaped to shake his hand. “I do know, Asra! Thank you, thank you so much.”

Selasi tried to tell him Asra wasn’t around, that he was on a journey, but that he could tell him where to find Anatole if he promised he was a friend, but Leonore sprinted towards the shop without letting him finish. Sabine set off to follow Leonore as Octavia called to both of them, which left her standing alone with Selasi. She made some apologies, and Selasi told her not to worry.

“Where did you say you knew him?”

“Leonore went to University with him,” she said, thinking the least she could do was to assure the man they were Anatole’s friends, not some random people with weird motivations. “I know him through his cousin.”

The baker hummed. “I didn’t know Anatole had any family besides his late Aunt and Asra.”

Something about the way he said it, the casual certainty of it, gave Octavia a chill. She thanked him, and tried to catch up with Sabine and Leonore, not wanting to say anything Selasi might not know. She risked him stopping them, or worse, telling Anatole, which she didn’t think would be a good idea. Octavia just had a bad feeling about it: she didn’t expect people to just know who Anatole was, or had been, that could be conceited. Anatole himself hated being anticipated by his job, wanting to have the opportunity to present himself and do the best he could do.

Yet from there to the sureness Selasi had had when he said he didn’t know Anatole had any family besides Paris and Asra? It was weird. The Radošević-Cassano weren’t meant to be separated; if Octavia knew anything about them from Milenko, it was that they were very close knit. The only people in their families that Octavia could think of as not being regarded ever, were Matilda and Krešmir, Vlad’s and Valerius’ late parents, who hadn’t even raised the siblings. All she knew about them was that they were neglectful and Matilda had the idle ennui of someone who was too used to having everything, and was used to using cruelty for fun.

Milenko had only talked about them a couple of times, and she had never heard the Consul even mention them, let alone Vlad, Anatole’s father. One way or another, the Cassano didn’t detach themselves from their family, nor did the Radošević, and Anatole had only ever been extremely proud of the people who had raised him. That had been their way since the days of Cassano Arianamenzi, the first of them, and she could testify that legacy had not washed away with time. If anything, it had become stronger. So why would Anatole not speak of it?

Unless he didn’t remember them. She had read about such a thing once, doing research for one of her most early plays. A shiver went down her back, making her hug her arms around herself and walk faster.

When Octavia reached the Moonstone Leonore and Sabine were talking to a tall man who seemed to guard the shop. None of them had seen him before, but he seemed to know them; he called them ‘people from before’.

“You used to give Anatole clementines, which he doesn’t like—” he said. He was tall, covered in a cloak, and had moss green eyes, though they were barely visible.

“He says they taste fake,” Leonore completed.

“So he gave them to me, before— it doesn’t matter. You won’t find him here.”

The only thing stranger than the stranger was that none of them could remember him as they tried to piece their afternoon together. However, Octavia had heard Selasi say Anatole was occupied in the Palace, and perhaps they could try their luck there.

“Then let’s go,” Leonore said, already standing up. “Maybe Medea knows something we don’t.”

Medea Pryce was the daughter of two archaeologists and the granddaughter of another one. Both her father’s and her mother’s family had settled in Vesuvia some generations ago because its cultural diversity and rich history was good for the archaeological craft. Anatole wasn’t the first Radošević-Cassano she had met — her Grandmother was acquainted with Bastiste Cassano, one of the Cassano elders, and thus with Consul Valerius, whom Batiste called her spoiled grandnephew. Medea’s parents, on the other hand, were acquainted with Atanasie Radošević and Aurora Tesfaye, uncle and mother of Anatole’s cousin Milenko.

So when she met him at University, which she had begun in Prakra, just as he had done, the surname called to her immediately. Discovering they would course the exact same program, even if they had different aspirations and goals, another pleasant surprise. It would be nice to have someone to know, as Medea liked making friends.

What a friend she had made of him and Leonore, who shared housing with them. Anatole was one of those people who had the energy of a handsome stranger one shared enlightening conversation with, yet then never saw again. Debonair and hopeful, he was passionate and inspiring, a devoted friend and nothing if not extraordinary. He had his shortcomings, like everyone, but that wasn’t the way one measured their friends.

Seasons came and time passed. They both studied and apprenticed in Balkovia for six months, and then they moved on into Vesuvia, Leonore following them, to their surprise. They laughed and hurt, they fell in love with their own people, they held each other, and Medea and Anatole drafted their plans for the future. It would be a great future, they were sure of it. Anatole’s self-introductory speech for the Vesuvian Court was a gem, Medea believed it so. They liked to fantasise about one day becoming Consul and Head of Staff, with all the things they thought they could help with, working together for the people of their City.

No matter the crashes and reality checks, the hardships or how many times Medea had seen Anatole stand up to the Count and the new Courtiers, they held hands through it and continued onwards: The World and it’s calling of completion met its perfect match in Anatole’s Ace of Swords coloured Strength.

Then the Plague came and Anatole died, and Medea was left with all their plans, and no one to implement them with.

After his death, things only got worse. She could tell something was going on with the Consul, but she wasn’t close enough to him to know what. She was somewhat closer to Councilwoman Cassiopeia, but she didn’t seem to know what was going on with her cousin either. The Courtiers hadn’t done anything of value for the City in three years, and all that Valerius ever seemed to do was to keep it afloat. The Court was destroyed, and with the Countess as lost as they all were, Medea didn’t know where they would end.

When she heard the Countess had found a new advisor she was thrilled. Fresh air was what the Court needed, and by the first weeks of this advisor around the Countess, it was clear they were doing her good, even if she had heard the advisor had had a rocky introduction with the Court. It seemed like it, because she knew from first hand experience that the Consul had come in furious to his office, refusing to speak to anyone, except to Cassiopeia, whom Medea was sure forced him to speak rather than him wilfully giving her any information.

He had only said something about something in poor taste, and how had he let the Countess know he would not tolerate it, but he didn’t say anything else.

Her turn to meet the advisor came the next morning. It happened by accident, when she was delivering some documents to the Council of Vesuvia. Meet was a lax word for it, ‘seeing’ him, was much more appropiate: with his light golden blond hair, and bespoke clothes. The same unmistakable black eyes and the scar across the bridge of his nose. The same stride, the same height, the same face, the same looks.

Her friend, her own dearest Aelius Anatole had walked into the Consul’s office seeking for an explanation about the way he had been received in Court. From there on, the morning was mayhem, absolute mayhem, and only now that Medea was sitting alone she could finally process it.

“Anatole” had introduced himself fully, his name the right name, but the Consul wouldn’t hear it, immediately throwing himself at the throat of the “second-rate witch” for daring to use that name. Anatole continued to insist that was his name. The more the argument extended, it was clear to everyone involved that that was Anatole, even to the headstrong Consul — his panicked eyes gave him away.

Medea knew her friend, her friend had always had a presence, even if he wasn’t always aware of it. He still had it, he still stood in the same way the Consul did, he still turned his eyebrows in the same way, and the way he spoke.

What he spoke of, too.

The breaking point came when the Consul grabbed him from the shoulders, demanding to know what he wanted from him. Then, Medea saw him do something he hadn’t done in years: she heard the Consul speak Balkovian in public. Medea’s grasp with the language was enough to know he asked two things, two crucial things, that anyone who wasn’t Anatole couldn’t answer.

Anatole answered the first one, something about a sword’s name, in his perfectly native Balkovian, looking pale and sickly-greenish. Cassiopeia tried to interject, but the Consul wouldn’t listen to anyone. Then the Consul asked his second question, something about ‘what was the tree’, or ‘what was the name of the tree’, and nothing else. Medea wasn’t sure.

Anatole replied both of the questions: His first reply being ‘grapevine’, followed by a choked up ‘cult of Dionysus’; the second reply was ‘a beech tree’, looking like he was about to vomit after the words left his mouth.

“Valeriy?” He said, as the Consul looked at him in horror, still holding him by the shoulders. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

Anatole did pass out, and the Consul, blushing cherry red as he realised the whole scene had been in front of half the Court office at his care, yelled at them to know what the hell were they doing, if not call for someone to take this boy to a bed. After it, the Consul stormed off, Cassiopeia power-walking behind him as she demanded an explanation from her cousin, an explanation the Consul refused to give, waving dismissively at her.

“Don’t you wave like that at me, Valeriy, unlike you, I know my own damn nephew when I see him.”

“Don’t call me that here.”

“Valeriy Radošević, I will call you however I damn please! Come back here!”

Medea didn’t stay to watch the rest. The Court was in unrest, it was so much that it had stirred the four other weirdos into watching and making the oddest commentary for anyone to hear. Medea didn’t need an in with them to know they knew something they all didn’t, and simply thought of the Court Staff too inconsequential for them to spare them half a thought.

As if possessed by a thunderbolt, Medea stood up from where she was sitting as she ruminated. She needed answers, and she needed to talk about this to someone. She had an idea: if anyone she was close enough knew a considerable amount of death and ghosts, it was Amparo Cassano, but first she needed to talk to Leonore. They had supported each other in these 4 years Anatole had been dead, or presumed as much. Anything she did, it would be with Leonore.

As she turned around after grabbing her coat, Leonore was calling her name.

“Sabine is waiting for us at our place, they wanted to ask some questions first so I ran here. Octavia is trying to find Amparo, or anyone really. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Good,” she said, as she grabbed his arm and began walking out of the Palace, “so do I, but not here. The Courtiers are around, and they cannot be trusted.”

#the arcana #my writing #the arcana oc #apprentice anatole #anatole's apprentice rewrites #aelius anatole #selasi the baker #leonore #medea #octavia rei #sabine rei #the radosevic-cassano #beautiful powerful and stubborn as a ram #consul valerius

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camelliagwerm · 10 months

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△ for Valerius: What could Camellia do to make you hate her? △ for Dura: What would you do if there was no way to escape your clan? △ for Leonelle: Do you think you're worthy of Jaethal?

Valerius - a solid 2/10

"It's one of the worst kept secrets in the city that I am so...permissive with her. They don't know just how much I let her get away with, but my permissiveness with her and her only is well-known. The only time she's ever done something to make me hate her was when she targeted my pride so personally, and no doubt that will continue to be a trend. Everyone knows that too, given how loud we can be. But the hate, no matter how temporary that might be, adds some...bite to the relationship."

Leonelle - 9/10

She bristles. "I don't see how that is any of your business and Jaethal is more than capable of making that judgment herself."

Dura - 1/10

"I would have remained at the Chief's request. Remained unmarried, bring glory to the stronghold in what way the Chieftain decided was appropriate, or leave when he bid me to."

#fashionablyfyrdraaca #answered #oc: valerius #pair: valerius x camellia #oc: leonelle #pair: leonelle x jaethal #oc: dura

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evarcana · 3 years

Text

Get Your Act Together

Ev changes her plans for the evening and goes to the theatre.

words: ~3,2k

warnings: mentions strangling but it is not what you think it is.

notes: I don’t want to commit to calling it Chapter II but this fic takes place not long after these events, and really is just silly.

“No, seriously, at first I thought it was just people talking but the idiot really never parts with his wine glass,” says Ev and reclines in the chair, exhausted by her own dramatic tone. She throws her head backwards, the dark hair, colour of burned bronze, falling down in soft glistering waves followed by the drapes of her silk jacket, and drags both hands across the face with a sigh, trying to wipe away the apparent annoyance, but the creases between her brows are too stubborn and she decides to hide it instead, burying her face under the shadows of her palms. “Ignorant alcoholic,” she hisses through her fingers.

Ev is sitting in the sun outside of the wine merchant at the narrow cobbled street conveniently tucked away between the hustle and bustle of the Main Square and the glamour of the Heart District. Back in the Prakran capital the street so central would be full of people running errands and the neighbours talking in front of the doors despite the afternoon heat and humidity but here the only signs of life at four o'clock are languid piano exercises played somewhere behind the closed shatters and the faint but energetic drumbeat of the carriage passing in the distance.

“So what happened?” A young woman with eyes which are lighter than the sky sets a jug of rosemary lemonade and a glass on Ev’s table and looks down at her, pressing the tray against the black apron decorated with the embroidered grapevines.

Ev lifts her hands an inch and peeks at the woman from the shadows, her eyes narrowed and gleaming with anger. “He kicked me out,” she states flatly.

“Why?”, the woman in black apron asks somewhat wearly and turns to the shop’s entrance where a small jar of paint and a brush are waiting on the tea towel covering the stone step below the door. The paint on the brush is the same deep burgundy as the woman’s shirt.

Ev considers meeting Anais to be her only luck in Vesuvia. Not only does she run the excellent wine shop which also functions as a small bar but she is living in the flat above it and seems to be permanently bored and ready to entertain Ev with some gossip and tips about the city, which makes her a perfect neighbour for somebody who has just moved to the new place completely alone.

Ev’s nose wrinkles at the sharp smell of paint as she watches Anais dipping her brush in the jar. “I made one of those little dolls which they use for cursing people up North and brought it to the palace,” she says. It had a little braid made from silk and wool threads and Ev painted its face with the thinnest makeup brush she could find in her vanity table. Ev smiles to herself thinking that it was the most crafty thing she has done since she was thirteen but notices Anais staring at her with the expression of the person questioning somebody’s sanity, and quickly raises her hands defensively, palms up. “Listen, I am not proud of that.”

Anais rolls her eyes good-humouredly and for a few minutes they both watch the brush moving rhythmically tracing precise lines on the wooden door frame in silence, before Anais turns to Ev again. “Didn’t it happen on Tuesday too?”

“Kicking out?”, Ev responds without lifting her eyes from the jug of lemonade, “it did”. She is busy poking slices of orange with a rosemary stem.

Anais watches Ev’s face, clearly expecting her to continue. But she does not. The silence between them is interrupted only by clicking of the ice cubes against the glass. Anais tilts her head to the side and says in a careful tone, “But you seem to be more angry today.”

Ev stabs the slice of blood orange she fished out to the liquid’s surface and it splatters the sour juice and bitter oils which make her eyes stink. She blinks a few times and gives the orrange a disapproving frown. “He called the guards,” she says. Her juvenile prank got out of hand. She definitely is not proud.

“What?” Anais’s voice raises in surprise and her paintbrush makes an uneven stroke which she rushes to cover.

“Yeah, I know.”

“But I don’t understand. Aren’t you a diplomat? They can’t really - “, she pauses thinking of the right word, “- stop you, can they?”

“No, but I can’t necessarily stop him neither”

Anais goes quiet, weighing Ev’s words in her head, while she paints. “So why do you keep on... talking to him?”, she asks finally and waves her brush in the air, “you don’t have to.”

Ev gives her a pointed look and then drops her eyes down, frowning once again. That is a very good question. Why does she keep on talking to him?

For the last few weeks Ev has stuck to the same routine: she comes to the palace daily, enquires a servant politely about the consul’s schedule for the day, finds Valerius, tosses a pile of paper in front of him, takes a seat opposite him and proceeds to picturing herself strangling him. Bare hands. The skin on his neck gets hot and damp with sweat underneath her fingers, his body is struggling against hers while she presses her knee against his chest holding him in place. She squeezes, and squeezes. Sometimes however she would get lost in her own imagination and her hands would slide up, fingers getting buried in the hair, her thumbs tracing delicate lines behind his earlobes. She doesn't know what happens after that, because she guillotines the thought. Those are moments of weakness and are luckily rare. It would be easier if he was ugly, and stupid. But he is pretty much the opposite. Yet another proof that she had no good luck in Vesuvia. After the weakness comes the inevitable irritation, which Valerius seems to sense like a sniffer dog, and before she knows they are engaged in one of their already signature yelling competitions which the servants undoubtedly gossip about in the corridors and kitchens. Ev would be surprised if the whole Vesuvia is not calling her a madwoman by now. Her only hope being that they think even worse things of their consul.

Hating someone is exhausting. Every interaction makes Ev’s blood boil, and her heart beat heavy and bright. Her mind does strange things and she honestly does not remember the last time she thought about something other than making Valerius do what she wants for longer than an hour. She wastes precious minutes of her life on someone who genuinely despises her.

She wishes he did not despise her though. She wishes that there was more to him than being prickish, judgemental asshole, then perhaps this whole thing could be just about bearable. That is why she keeps on talking to him. But Ev cannot tell Anais that because it is the same as admitting that she has lost and that he has won, so she huffs irritably and says “Because it is my job, why else” instead.

“Good to know that you are both as stubborn as mules.” Anais grew up at her parents’ vineyard in the rural part of Venterre and except the times when she talks about wine all her comparisons are based on farm animals and other attributes of country life.

Ev folds her arms. “I don’t think you know me well enough to say that.” Despite whatever is happening in her imagination in the moments of weakness, the idea of having something in common with Valerius, not only an asshole but the surliest man alive, makes her feel irrationally violent.

Anais only hums something to herself. “Anyway, no more of this talk, what are your plans for tonight?” she asks Ev with the trained cheerfulness of a person chatting to customers daily, “You know we are not opening tonight”, she adds, now sounding more concerned than cheerful.

“Because you are going on your adventure date with Theresa and your brother has not come back yet.” Ev waves her hand, “I remember.” She thinks of all the unopened letters on her desk at home and some notes she managed to scoop in her bag from Valerius’s desk in the palace, the risky act which would probably earn her another look from Anais, and adds, “just working”

“Why don’t you go to the theatre? The Goldgrave is doing their first performance since the plague. I think you should still be able to get the ticket at the door.” Anais wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, still holding the brush. “Actually, the guy who runs the show is Theresa’s neighbour, I will have a word with him. I am sure he will let you in for free if you promise to write a review.”

“Why would he want my review?”

“Oh come on! One of the Prakran dignitaries attends their humble performance, that’s like the most international exposure they have ever had!”

“Fine,” Ev says sceptically.

***

The man at the entrance didn’t lie about all the tickets being sold out, the small theatre is full and buzzes with anticipation. Ev had to endure a small torture of exchanging pleasantries with the overexcited theatre director and at least a dozen of guests, who all seems to know Anais and each other, after she introduced herself. But it all paid off and she is now sitting in the three-seat box closest to the stage, probably the most expensive seats in the whole of the theatre.

Ev eyes an empty seat to the far left. The seat next to her is taken by the old lady wearing simple but tasteful clothes and wrapped in the wooly shawl. She smells of the lily-of-the-valley perfume and apple pie. “Excuse me, are you expecting someone? I think the lights are about to go down”, Ev asks, giving the old lady a soft smile.

“Oh no, darling, I am here to watch my husband perform on stage.” She sounds proud. Ev tries to recall the last time somebody called her darling.

“That is really sweet, he must be thrilled to have you here,” she says, and the kindness in her voice is genuine. Ev finds her new neighbour positively charming, in a way only the older generation can be.

“And what is such a lovely young lady doing in the theatre alone?”

Ev shrugs her shoulders playfully. “I am here to keep you company. You have to tell me when your husband comes on stage,” Ev says, returning the smile.

The old lady covers her mouth and her laugh sounds youthful and bright. She is delighted at their little exchange.

That’s it, most people do like me.

The lights dim and just before the performance is about to begin, the curtain behind Ev’s seat moves letting the beam of light in the box and a dark figure walks in. A man, Ev thinks, who appears to be nicely proportioned. She watches temper and agitation in his movement, as he takes his seat silently. Ev thinks about her peculiar company for tonight, as the boxes are usually reserved by the group of guests. Is he here to watch his loved one too? Could he be from the newspaper?

The old lady nudges Ev’s elbow excitedly.

***

Ev has seen this play before. It is a story of the marriage proposal, full of humorous fights between the groom-to-be and his bride. The sweet old lady’s husband plays the father. He is a tall man with fluffy moustache (although those might be fake, you never know in the theatre) and genuine comedic talent. She wonders whether there is an apple pie waiting for him at home. Even through the dark Ev can see the lady looking lovingly at her husband.

Something makes Ev feel strangely out of place here. She bites the tip of her thumb lightly and replays the events of the day, remembering the old lady’s question from before and Anais asking about her plans. Her mind continues wondering and Ev catches herself thinking about what Valerius is doing tonight. The thought makes her stomach twist. Crying himself to sleep, hopefully.

She leans forwards to take a discreet look to her left, hoping to get a better view of the stranger’s face. He is hidden by shadows but the outline of his profile certainly makes her want to see more - high cheekbones, slightly convex nose and angular jaw, query full lips. He looks familiar.

Ev is now leaning so far forward her elbows are pressed on her knees, squinting and trying to recall where she might have seen this profile. She hears the old lady clearing her throat politely, and retreats, reminded of the theatre etiquette. Maybe it is nothing and he is just her type. She has been so busy recently, making plans only to watch them being discarded, thorn to shreds and thrown away, and so consumed by her anger, she did not really pay attention to the other people around. This feels nice and refreshing.

The curtain closes and the audience stands up to applaud. Ev shoots another look at the stranger. Beautiful posture, gloved hands, oh, mysterious. Maybe it would be nice to have plans with somebody like him. Before she can build up excitement about the lights coming up, the mysterious stranger turns around abruptly and disappears behind the curtain. All Ev sees is the flash of white light before her eyes, as empty and boring as her cold sheets back at home. She gets off her seat and runs after him. Maybe she is a madwoman after all. She does not have any plan, frankly, she doesn't even know why she is doing this, so she decides to go for the most obvious thing - she reaches the man’s shoulder from behind and places her hand as softly as she can considering her rush. “Ah excuse me -”, she says slightly breathy, “have we met before?”

The man turns and the disappointment that Ev experiences the very second she sees his face can only be compared to one of a child who unwraps the present only to find out that it is the older sibling’s jumper, in the child’s least favourite colour, the very same jumper the sibling was wearing the day they broke the child’s toy, most definitely on purpose. Ev is sure that she has seen other men in this city but apparently she is that unlucky.

“You,” says Valerius, baring his teeth. His eyes are slits of hatred, like he is contemplating ripping the skin off her. Ev can relate. She wants to punch him in the face. Ev clenches her jaw thinking about all the insults that he is about to throw her way.

“Consul,” she says in her best theatrical tone.

Valerius glances over his shoulder immediately, eyes wide. He does not respond, frantically scoping the corridor, which is starting to fill in with guests. Ev watches his expression and to her surprise there is no usual arrogance in it. This is unlike him. The moment draws her attention to what the consul is wearing - dark navy fitted coat, with discreet design, his long hair tucked in its high collar, cravat, high boots, gloved hands. Very unlike him. Ev studies him more carefully. There is no wine glass. This is getting disturbing.

“Are you incognito or something?”, she asks, snorting with amusement.

“None of your business”, Valerius spits. He reddens a little straight away and throws more nervous glances to his surroundings.

Oh. Tension. This is awkward, and juicy. Ev’s curiosity is officially piqued. The sight of Valerius’s discomfort is revitalising. She can feel blood pumping through her body and there is sparkle in her eyes. She smirks at him, even though he studiously avoids her gaze. Sensing the tiny hint of vulnerability just at the edges of his expression, she locks her arms around his and with the push of her hip turns them both away from the building crowd of chatting guests. “So you are incognito.” Ev really can't hide her excitement.

Both his eyebrows ratchet up, and Valerius opens his mouth as his eyes go wild, but he does not seem to be able to say a word. This is wonderful. A sensation of pure elation floods Ev. She has been dreaming about this day. She presses her body closer to Valerius and sinks her nails into his arm, like a cat toying with prey. She is thinking about this new power she has got.

Valerius looks down at Ev. “Your face looks… filthy”, he says and tries to shake her off. “Let me go. Now”

“No way. You can try screaming for help if you want.” This is the first time Ev has got the upper hand, and however little, she is not letting this opportunity slip.

“You are insane.” Valerius pulls his arm closer to his body, protectively.

Ev ignores him, right now she is busy thinking. “I know!”

“That you are insane?”

“You are stingy,” Ev says with the look of triumph in her eyes.

“What?!”

“Look, there is only one explanation. You came to the theatre once, they asked you for donations because everybody knows you are filthy rich but you refused, again and again, and now you are hiding. ”

“It is not the case.” Valerius makes another attempt to shake her off, but the sight of the theatre director walking their way through the crowd makes him stop. He turns away.

“So explain yourself then, dear consul”, Ev whispers in his ear, her voice full of venom. The group of guests walks right past them without giving them any attention. They must look like a couple, Ev realises, and eases her grip on his arm.

“No,” Valerius says sternly.

Ev stares at him for a moment, considering her options. “Fine, but you owe me”, she says simply.

“I owe you nothing”, he barks back.

“You know I am going to make a scene, maybe even mention you in the review which I kindly agreed to write for the local newspaper”

Valerius’s mouth twitches once and Ev can almost hear him gritting his teeth. At least, the man knows how the gossip works. “What do you want? How much?” The look he gives Ev is both smug and irritated.

“You are not the only one with the money here”, she makes her voice sound bored. It’s not the first Ev’s negotiation.

“I won’t ask you again, witch.” His voice is rough with anger but he bites it quicker than she expected.

“We can discuss tomorrow. I promise, it is just a small favour.”

Valerius does not say anything. He rubs the bridge of his nose and turns towards the exit, forgetting that Ev is still hanging on his arm.

“So, you like theatre?” she asks curiously as they leave together.

#the arcana #the arcana fic #evpanopolis #consul valerius #Ev x Valerius #the arcana fanfic #the arcana oc #Valerius x mc

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timebird84 · 3 years

Text

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @paperandsong

Feast Your Eyes

Gifted to @shinyfire-0

Happy Christmas everyone!

Christine rose from her bed long before sunrise and padded sleepily into the kitchen. She lit the oven and pulled down an old recipe book from a shelf. She cracked it open to a page marked with a red ribbon; recipes for Luciamorgon, written by the hand of Maman Valerius’ own mother, and brought from the old country long ago. Its tattered pages were heavy with the nostalgia of mornings past and the expectation that such traditions will go on forever.

She did not need the book; these were recipes written across her own heart. But she liked to trace the handwriting with her fingers, smudged with ancient butter and flour, and to stir up her own memories. She liked to think that her late mother had also woken up early on December thirteenths to pull out the same ingredients and to follow the same steps. The echo of this ritual was a comfort to her.

She yawned as she set the kettle on the stove and pulled out the sugar, the butter, the flour, the yeast, the eggs, the milk. She reached far into the back of the pantry for a little bottle of saffron threads, neglected all year long until this dark morning. A sprinkle of cinnamon, a crush of cardamom. For the lussekatter buns, she steeped the saffron in milk, she kneaded the yellow dough, and shaped it into buttery swirled S shapes, pinned with currants on either end. She pressed an angel-shaped metal cutter over the thinly rolled pepparkakor dough, inhaling the ginger and clove with deep satisfaction. As the buns and biscuits baked in the oven she went back to her room to dress.

She struggled to pull her arms through the tight sleeves of the same white dress she had been made to wear since she was a just a girl. She had grown considerably in her bust and hips since it had first been made for her; she did not bother to try to button up the back. It was impossible. Maman Valerius knew it was impossible. But it so delighted her to see Christine wear that same dress, year after year, that she wouldn’t dream of complaining. She dutifully tied the red sash around her waist. The white of innocence, the red of martyrdom.

Just moments before dawn, Christine arranged the cat-eyed lussekatter and angel-shaped pepparkakor on a tray along with two cups of coffee with milk, and a small lit candle. She lit another four white candles and carefully set them in the wreath of evergreen she had woven the day before. She settled the glowing crown into her halo of loose and unruly hair. She delicately lifted the tray, careful not to tip her flaming head too far forward. She glided across the floor as lightly as a snowdrift, making her way to Maman’s room. She stood outside the door and sang,

Natten går tunga fjät rund gård och stuva;

Night walks with a heavy step round yard and hearth;

She nudged the door open with her elbow. The dim room filled with candlelight as she entered. There was Maman, sitting up in her bed, her long white braid hanging over her shoulder. She was waiting eagerly for this blazing vision of Christine.

Kring jord, som sol förlät, skuggorna ruva;

Around the earth, forlorn by the sun, shadows are brooding;

The old woman clasped her hands together, her eyes glistening with tears.

“Oh, Christine! You are an angel - truly, an angel shining on me from heaven!”

Christine continued to sing, her voice high and sweet, as she used to sing when she was only a girl,

Då i vårt mörka hus, stiger med tända ljus, Sankta Lucia, Sankta Lucia!

But there in our dark house, arising with her burning candles, Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!

She slowly walked towards the bed, allowing Maman to take in the holy sight of her. With each dazzling step she drove all darkness from the room. Truly, Christine was the daughter Maman had never had. And she had played this role of Lucia bride far longer than any other daughter would have tolerated. Perhaps somewhere in her heart, Christine knew this would be the last year.

She set the tray carefully on the bed. Maman pushed back the blankets and patted the place beside her. Christine first took off the candle crown and set it on the small table near the window. They had a laugh remembering the time several years ago when Christine’s hair had caught fire after wearing the wreath for too long. It took days to scratch out the melted wax from her scalp.

“Thank you, my child,” Maman said, nibbling on a lussekatter. “You are so good to me.” “It is you that are good to me,” Christine responded, kissing the old woman on the cheek. Tears rolled slowly down her wrinkled skin. “Maman! Don’t cry.”

“It is just - I can almost feel them with us. My dear husband, your dearest father.” “I know. I can feel them too.”

Maman rubbed her eyes and shook her head with a sigh.

“It is almost seven-thirty! Shouldn’t you be leaving for the Opera soon? Won’t you miss your voice lesson? Won’t your teacher scold you?” She said ‘teacher’ with a knowing glance that made Christine's heart tighten in her chest. They both knew he was no mere teacher. Christine blushed.

“I told him that I would miss my lesson today. You have me for the whole morning.”

“Oh, I am sure he was not pleased to hear it!” “Why, Maman, he was very understanding. He finds it good and proper that a daughter should tend to her mother on this, the Feast of Saint Lucia.”

“It is a good and a proper thing, my child. The Angel of Music knows these things. Shall I read from my book? Hand it to me, if you will.”

Christine went and found the ornately illustrated book of the lives of the saints, also brought over from the old country. Maman turned to the story of Saint Lucia and read aloud, as she did every year. Christine took a mouthful of pepparkakor and nestled deeper into her place in the bed. She tried to keep her eyes away from the brightly colored image of Lucia carrying her own eyes on a silver platter.

During the Diocletian persecution of the good Christians, there was a maiden of Syracuse by the name of Lucia. Even as a young girl, the light of Christ shined brightly within her.

As Lucia’s father had perished years before, the two women were alone and vulnerable in the world. Despite her faith, Eutychia arranged for Lucia to marry into a wealthy pagan family. Lucia wept with grief. No, mother, she cried. Let my dowry be distributed among the poor. I shall never marry here on earth for I am the bride of Christ and my husband awaits me there. Reluctantly, Eutychia agreed, for she could see the light that shined within her daughter. She gave Lucia her dowry, a host of riches and jewels. The maiden took to visiting the prison in the dark, to bring food and comfort to the men that languished there. She wore a crown of candles upon her head so that she might see through the darkness and keep her hands free to fill with alms.

But gossip reached the ears of her jilted betrothed. He was told that Lucia had broken their engagement because she had found an even more wealthy patron of far nobler birth. In his jealousy, he denounced Lucia as a secret Christian to the Roman magistrate, Paschasis . Paschasis ordered Lucia to burn a sacrifice to an idol of the Emperor. To which Lucia replied, I would rather burn myself than to burn a sacrifice to a false idol. In his anger, Paschasis ordered the defiant maiden defiled in a brothel. To which Lucia replied, You could lift my hand and rub it against your idol and still I would be guiltless in the eyes of the Lord, who knows me and knows that you can defile my body but you can never defile my heart.

When the Roman guards came to take Lucia away, to have her maidenhead defiled, they found that she was immovable. Even when they tied a team of oxen to her waist by a rope, even then, they could not move her from her mother’s home. When they could not take her to the brothel, they decided to burn her. They built a pyre around her feet, but it would not light. In frustration, they gouged out her eyes - those eyes that burned with the light of Christ inside! They slit her throat, that throat as pure as that of any spring lamb. And so the virgin Lucia died a martyr for our Lord. The angels sang as she entered heaven and the good Lord restored her eyes, more beautiful than those she had possessed here on earth. For she was truly the light of his own eyes.

Christine hated the story.

“It isn’t fair that she had to die,” she said bitterly, though her mouth was full of sugar.

“No. There is nothing fair about the lives of the saints. They have all suffered unjustly in one way or another. It is a great burden to be born a saint.” “I do not remember any male saints dying because someone forced them to marry some pagan princess.” “I am sure there is at least one.”

“But there are countless maiden martyrs. Do it please him, then? For us to suffer on his behalf?” “No, Christine. Our Lord suffers along with us. The tears we shed were his to shed first.” The old woman had become very serious. “No one is asking the Lucia bride to be a martyr. Only to carry light in the darkness.”

Christine was chastened. She had not meant to antagonize.

“I believe I am much like Lucia.” “Indeed you are, my child. The light of Christ shines brightly from within you.” “No, I meant only that I shall never marry.”

“Oh! You cannot mean that. Surely, you will find yourself a good husband. One who will love you as much as I do. For one day, I will no longer be here with you. No, no. Do not say that, Christine. You must find someone to look after you. What of the Vicomte de Chagny? Don’t you ever see him at the Opera anymore?” “Oh, I see him up there in his brother’s box. But he never looks at me. I do not believe he remembers me at all. But I could never marry him. I could never marry anyone. Then I would never hear the Angel again.” “Is that what the Angel has told you?” “Yes. He has told me that if I should ever marry, he would have to return to heaven and I would never hear his beautiful voice again,” she said sadly.

The old woman grew very quiet.

“Perhaps Our Lord has a greater calling for you, Christine, than to be a wife. Perhaps he intends for you to devote your life to music, and music alone. To be a bride to no earthly man, but the bride of music itself.”

“Do you think so, Maman?” Christine asked wistfully. She was excited by the idea that her destiny might be great and divinely written.

“I think you should listen to your Angel. He will know what is best for you.”

Christine changed out of her Lucia gown and went to the Opera later that morning so that she would not be late for rehearsals. A part of her wished that the Angel would come to her, despite that she had missed her lesson. When she stood in his invisible presence, he blessed her with a warmth she found nowhere else. She regretted even one hour lost. But he did not make himself known to her that day.

In the evening, Christine served mulled wine with dinner. Maman drank too much and retired early, but Christine took her warm and fragrant cup out onto their narrow balcony to watch the people walking along the street below. It was quite cold and she pulled her coat tight around her body as she leaned slightly over the railing.

Thoughts of Lucia and her bloodied eye sockets had haunted her all day. Christine wondered now how the saint’s story might have been different had Lucia agreed to marry the pagan bridegroom. Could they not have become friends, like Saints Cecilia and Valerian? Could she not have taught him the love of Christ better as his wife than as a martyr? They could have learned to love each other somehow. There had to be some way for Lucia to survive her own story.

Christine shook her head angrily. But why should any woman lose her maidenhead to a man on the mere hope that her love might be enough to save him? Why should she have to save him?

Her ears pricked up at a sad sound in the distance. Music, from directly above, but far away, as if from the clouds. Or maybe only as far as the rooftop. She turned and looked up towards the sky overhead. The streetlamps dimmed the light of the stars, but she could just make out the westerly motion of Freya’s cat-drawn chariot. A violin whined a melody so faint it could not be named. Had her Angel come to say goodnight? Her pulse quickened in her ears. If she could have no earthly husband, might she really be wed to the music itself? She listened for a while and then the cold began to bite at her fingertips and the music faded away and it was time to go to bed. She looked into her empty cup and smiled.

Inside, she placed the last lussekatter and a fresh cup of hot glögg onto a small tray and took it out onto the balcony. She kneeled to place the tray on the floorboards and stayed there a moment to whisper a little prayer,

“Oh Angel of Music, sent from my father in Heaven, I do not know that angels take offerings in the way of the saints. An angel is not a saint. But I offer you these in thanks for your music. And for your lessons. And for your arrival into my life. I thank my Lord every day that you have finally come to me. Please, tell my father I love him.”

Christine tossed about in her bed that night, straining to hear movement on the roof or on the floorboards of the balcony. In the morning, she found the tray quite empty. The cup was dry. She turned her face to the sun and threw a small laugh of delight up to heaven.

#PotO Advent Calendar #PotO #Phantom of the Opera #Door 13

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slutforagoodsmut · 3 years

Text

Pinky Promise (Valerius x Reader)

Genre: Angst, In da feelings ;-;

Song: By Ellise

You were tired, to say the least. Tired and frustrated and basically over everything. You had given your all to Valerius; your attention, dedication and love, and yet that never seemed to be enough. He wanted more, so much more than you could ever offer. He wanted someone with status, he wanted someone with power, and you simply didn’t have either.

Things were so good between you and the consel in the beginning. You loved him, and he loved you, and there was nothing else to it. You both understood each other, you adored one another, between the late night walks in the garden at the palace and the endless conversations, it’s almost as if you both were meant to be, almost as if it was destiny.

Yeah.....almost.

The love letters became scarce over time, the only thing Valerius ever talked about in his letters nowadays were when the next meetings were with the Countess, or what the plans were to better the economy. Don’t get me wrong, you enjoyed getting messages from him regardless, but it couldn’t help but sting a little. He didn’t hold your hand the way he used to, barely kissed you, he didn’t look at you with the same loving eyes, Gods—you practically had to beg him to spend the night with you. He was just so....cold. And you had enough. You felt like this was all so one sided, as if nothing mattered to Valerius anymore. Did he even ask how you were anymore? Did he ever say that he loved you? And the answer was no. You never wanted to admit it, but a hatred formed inside you for that man, it was quickly engulfing any love and affection you had for him. The nights were restless, you barely ate since your anxiety was so high, functioning during the day was near impossible. You didn’t want to believe things were over, you never wanted that. But what else could you possibly do? Were you truly the reason why this relationship has even lasted? Because you’ve never wanted things to end and Valerius was too coward to break things off?

“I believe that concludes our meeting for the month, speak up if you have any questions.” The Countess and your good friend Nadia stood from her seat. Consels from many other regions came to take part in this meeting, including Valerius. You sat near Nadia, all the way across from your “lover”, and in between Julian and Asra. You kept your eyes on Valerius the whole time, and not once did he look at you. Of course this was an important meeting, but still, he’d always throw you a little wink or smirk. Everyone around the table shook their heads, content with the material that was looked over for the next few months of trading. Many took their leave, only a few still lingering in the room, when a voice spoke up from behind you.

“Actually, Countess, I do have a couple of suggestions.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at Valerius. Of course he did. Of course he did. Nadia gave him her full attention, Valerius coming up beside you. “Yes, Consul Valerius?” It just so happened that his fingers brushed yours at your side, attempting to curl around them but you quickly pulled away. You felt his eyes burn into your head at the corner of your eye.

“Ah, yes, well, perhaps I could propose a different strategy to quicker trading routes? Maybe if our goods were boarded from a closer port in Pakra—”

“I will see you in the evening, Nadia.” You pushed passed Valerius, bumping into his shoulder as fury bubbled within you. That. That. That POMPOUS PRICK. You quickly made your way to your room, slamming the door behind you and groaning out in frustration. You were so confused, he sent so many mixed signals. He was so moody and harsh most days but those little gestures completely messed you up. What did he want? What does he want from you?

After a few minutes of pacing in your room, there was a banging on your door. Not a simple knock, but a bang. You went over to your door and swung it open, and it was non other than the consel. His gaze was harsh, his upper lip curled up into a snarl.

“What?” You narrowed your eyes.

“Whatever the fuck do you mean, what?” He spat. “What was that back there?” Valerius pointed down the hall.

“Nothing happened! You’re being dramatic!”

“Dramatic?” Valerius pushed his way inside your room and closed the door. “You shoved me in front of the Countess and many other consuls! Do you realize how that could spark rumors?”

“Are....are you joking?” You chuckled, shaking your head. “Are you delirious? You went to grab my hand in front of the countess! I merely bumped into you! How could that possibly spark rumors?”

“Anything could branch out into rumors!”

“So that makes you a hypocrite, yes?” You pointed your finger at Valerius, who for a second got his tongue tied in a knot and couldn’t speak. “Godforbid anyone finds out you’re in a relationship with the “witch”, your whole world would come crumbling down! Wouldn’t it?” You became progressively louder, grabbing books and chucking them all over the room. “Your social status! Your power! All of it would be stripped away! Some days you act like you hate me, others you act like I’m the greatest person to walk the earth!” You got closer to Valerius, staring up at him as your fists shook, tears pricking your eyes. “What in the ever living fuck did I do to you? What is it? What is so embarrassing about me that others can’t know about us?”

Furious wasn’t even the right word you would describe Valerius’ face right now. It was contorted into such an angry, flustering mess, as if he were caught up in his own web of lies and hypocrisies. “They just.....can’t.”

“I....” You were dumbfounded, to say the least. “I’m over this...”

“Of course you are, it’s always how you end our arguments—“

“No, I mean this,” you gestured to the both of you, furrowing your brows, “this isn’t working. We fight, we scream at each other, nothing is solved. I’m done with having my emotions toyed with.”

A flash of shock gleamed across Valerius’ eyes, stepping back a bit. “What are you saying?”

You stepped back yourself, taking in a deep breath, trying to get your shit back together before blowing like a volcano again.

I gotta ask you a question

Can you see through me

See how I’m feeling?

Is it easy to tell?

You looked away from him, squeezing your eyes shut as you moved passed Valerius, opening the door and leaving your own room.

“Come back here!”

Cause you’re making plans and it’s starting to scare me

I don’t think you notice I’m not doing well

You know me, I’ve been patient

It’s been hard

It’s wearing me down

You peered over your shoulder, throwing him a sharp, hateful look as you walked down the hall. “Wait a second!” He grabbed your shoulder as you turned the corner, but you smacked his arm away, turning to face him on your heel.

So I’m sorry

But caring ‘bout you is getting so exhausting

Doing things I swore that I would never do

Never do

But I promise you, I promise you

I promise to be honest

Cause honestly boy I don’t even want this

Doing things I swore that I would never do

Never do

But I promise you

I pinky promise I don’t love you anymore

Despite your harsh words, Valerius continued to follow you down the halls of the Vesuvia Palace, attempting to grab your attention again. “For heavens sake can you just stop for a moment?” His voice thick with fear.

We’re both in different places

And I need some space

And we’re probably better not talking at all

You finally turned back around, your jaw clenched as your hands rested on his shoulders, holding him in his tracks.

Cause maybe I don’t deserve you

I don’t wanna hurt you

Can’t give you a smile if it’s just for a show

You know me, I’ve been patient

It’s been hard

It’s wearing me down

Tears finally slipped down your cheeks as you almost pressed against his warm, comforting body you slept against oh so many nights. Were you really doing this? Were you truly going to break things off?

So I’m sorry

But caring ‘bout you is getting so exhausting

Doing things I swore that I would never do

Never do

But I promise you, I promise you

I promise to be honest

Cause honestly boy I don’t even want this

Doing things I swore that I would never do

Never do

But I promise you

I pinky promise I don’t love you anymore

Valerius gulped, trying to swallow back any emotion that attempted to come up. He went to grab your waist with trembling hands but of course you pulled away, not giving him the chance to. You turned another corner, and before the both of you knew it you were headed into the ballroom.

“I—“

We talked about a future but now it’s in the past

I don’t regret the memories but knew they wouldn’t last

I know that’s it’s not easy to give up what we had

I made myself a promise and I’m not looking back...

“Please!” Valerius fell to his knees, grabbing your wrists and holding them tightly in his palms. “Please....don’t do this....things could change.” His head hung low, his shoulders shaking as his body racked with silent sobs. “Things could be better....” A silence fell over the both of you. You pressed your lips into a tight line, looking away as more tears threatened to mess with your vision some more. Gods, he looked so pathetic and vulnerable.

You pulled out of his grip.

So I’m sorry

But caring ‘bout you is getting so exhausting

Doing things I swore that I would never do

Never do

But I promise you, I promise you

I promise to be honest

You gripped your hair in frustration, stomping on the ground as your heart began to shatter into millions of pieces. This wasn’t fair! This wasn’t how things were suppose to go! He was suppose to be there forever, right?

Right....?

Cause honestly boy I don’t even want this

Doing things I swore that I would never do

Never do

But I promise you

“I pinky promise I don’t love you anymore....” Your hand clasped around your mouth. Unspoken words had come to life. Untold truths were out in the open. You didn’t love him anymore. Not in love with him at least. You wished him well in whatever he did, but this could not continue. The pounding of your heart rang in your ears and you attempted to wipe your endless tears away.

“I...just....” the consul just sat there, absolutely horrified. He was disheveled, his braid starting to tangle, his face streaked with tears, his eyes swollen and red. For a man of great honor and status, he certainly did not look like such. You stumbled back, choking on a sob as you turned your back on the man you once loved, rushing out so you could suffer this heartbreak alone in your room. He wasn’t going to chase you anymore. He wasn’t going to beg for you anymore. People must’ve saw your little scene with Valerius. He’d have a reputation to fight for.

I pinky promise I don’t love you anymore....

#valerius x reader #consul valerius #the arcana #angsty #crying in the club #this is a mess #i’m a mess #the arcana x reader

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