#fun fact about the Lucio one my sister was watching me draw and she asked me if i was okay | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vide0-nasties · 6 years

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hi there! you're a darling, eustacia is a babe. how about 2, 3, 11, 17, 21 questions for the ask thingy? (ps. your answer to 20 question was something. i didn't know i need this imagery, god bless you *furiously fans self*)

i'm blushing irl because you called eustacia a babe, i've seriously never lived before today!!! ALSO, real talk? i'm probably going to make that into a longer standalone bc holy shit it was fun to write

asra angst at the top bc i love dying.

3. How would your apprentice handle being so close tosomething that they desperately want, only to have it ripped away? What was it?

It comes back—all ofher, she comes back. Asra’s done it—he’s done the impossible, he’s given her back to her. Only moments ago, hewas a complete, but friendly stranger, and now—now—

“Asra,” she sobs,reaching for him. He looks so relieved, tears spilling from his eyes, and hebreaks down himself, hacking up his own sob, “Eustacia, oh, shit, fuck, thank god! Thank all of them—”

He tries to bury his face in her chest, her stomach, but shedoesn’t let him. No, she drags him up and kisses him so hard they will bothsurely wear bruises.

Everything. She remembers everything. Every little detail.His hand lies flat on her chest, over the heartbeat he so excruciatingly loves,and they cry against each other’s mouths. It’s been so long, too long. Neveragain. They’ll never be apart again. She won’t let it happen.

She’ll tear apart the fucking heavens with her bare hands before he’s made to hurt again.

“The Count?” she asks, between kisses. “He’s dead?”

“Lucio’s dead,” he promises her. “He’s dead, and he’s never coming back.”

Another sob rips from her, and she’s made even stupider andmore boneless by relief. “Nadia lives?”

“Nadi lives. She’s alive, I think she’s safe.”

Eustacia draws him back against her mouth, mistaking the wetfrom her nose and the sting in her eyes as tears. But when her body begins tojerk, disobeying her will, and something trickles from her ears, and her mouthfills with the unmistakable tang of blood…

NO, she wants toscream, but she is frozen in place. Her body stands rigid as her expressiondrops and goes hollow, blank, even wrapped around Asra.

NO! NO-NO-NO! WE HAVESUFFERED ENOUGH. HE HAS SUFFEREDENOUGH. NOT AGAIN, NOT THIS, NOT ASRA. NOTASRA. NOTASRANOTASRANOTASRANOTASRA—

“Eustacia? Eustacia?!Wh-what happened, you’re—why are you bleeding? Eustacia? You…can you hear me?! No, no-no-no, PLEASE,” hepanics, and his panic turns to anger, despair, heartbreak. All of it, writtenplainly on his face, and she can do nothing but watch and scream silentscreams. Agony so intense, it might’ve shattered her beyond repair, if Asradidn’t take it back.

#’s 2 (nsfw), 11, 17, and 21 under the cut!

2. Does your apprentice get flustered over anything? Whatmake them flustered? Do they turn red? Stumble over words?

To give herself some credit—not the overblown, clownishly arrogant kind of credit a person thatthinks poorly of themselves uses to make cover for their self-loathing—Eustaciais usually the one to throw someone off-balance.

But, then Doctor Julian ‘I’m Actually Taller Than You And,Also, Look At My Lovely Red Hair, Dashing Eyepatch, And Big Pretty Hands’Devorak breaks into her shop, and ever since that moment she’s hasn’t knownpeace.

What a fucking suckershe is.

The Rowdy Raven is in rare form tonight, packed to therafters and so loud you’d be lucky to hear a thought in the confines of yourown head. The fugitive and the witch are hardly worthy of note, tucked into a far-backbooth as they are. But they’re having their own party. The masquerade is soon,and everything is up in the air, down to the wire, and all to sea.

It’s a shame Eustacia’s never had a knack for divination,otherwise she would’ve foreseen Julian’s very pleasant, and handsy mood.

The absolute filthhe whispers in her ear. It would make a seasoned brothel girl blush. But, toher credit, it takes Julian slipping his hand down the front of her pants toreally begin to undo her. She remains tucked into his side—nose-to-nose, hisarm around her shoulders—wheezing jagged, nervous laughter. Even with his gloveon, his fingers feel amazing circlingher clit.

She has to be an obscene red from her navel to her chin, andshe knows she keeps trying to bunch up like a dead spider—crossing her legs, duckingher head, hugging her middle, or tryingto. Julian’s making such good arguments.

Her laughter rises to a wild pitch, one of her hands flyingup to cover her mouth when he removes his hand and sucks her slick off hisfingers. She knots a hand in his shirt and thinks her howling laughter willrattle her apart when he kisses her and purrs, “You are the best thing I have evertasted. I really think I might die if I don’t get to hear how you laugh whenyou cum.”

11. Talk about how your apprentice deals with emotions. Boththe ones they like to feel, and what they don’t like to feel.

Unfortunately, especially for Asra, Eustacia knows she isthe sort of person that either feels everythingat the height of their extremes, or she plays numb to cover what she does notwish to display.

Her elevated moods, the good and the manic, make her brassy,brazen. Difficult to stomach for long periods unless you’ve trained yourself towithstand them. In these states she’s loud. Overwhelming. Her energy isfrantic, and she’s too lost to it to remember things like volume control, ormonitoring her mouth, or keeping her hands from being destructive when shetalks with them.

Everything is exciting, and everything needs done right now, right this instant.

Sadness, fear, anxiety—they all become anger. Her teeth andher muscles clench like her fists. Her voice bottoms out and her eyes weighheavy and unforgiving on any and all that cross her path. She stops walking,and ends up stalking, prowling. She watches empty air and waits for a fight tocome to her. When it doesn’t, she wants to look for one.

She doesn’t remember her old life, what kind of historycould happen to produce a person like she is, but she wonders how often shegave into the urge. She wonders if she ever tried to smother the impulse, killthis ugly beast with her hands breaking its neck, like she tries to do now.

When she is overtaken by anger, or clued into the vulgarityof her good moods, she pulls away from herself, putting her mental reins underan iron hand. Her incorporeal self takes a step away from her physical body,needing time and space to right herself, and her expression slips into a coolmask. Her body quiets, starting with her hands.

Only once she has made herself as placid as unbroken glassdoes she return.

17. Can they bear pain? How much pain can they bear? Do theyhate it or do they like it ala our good Doctor?

There’s something mean inside her, something ugly, and itfeels good to feed it.

This is a bar she’s never been to, and never will again. Shepours a beer in the lap of a man she’s never met, and never will again.

Her head snaps to the side when his fist connects. Laughterpipes up her throat, and a crimson bubble of blood on her lips breaks apartwhen it exits. The world blurs when the brawl starts. Eustacia splits herknuckles open on whatever they catch, throws her elbows, crushes feet with herheels, launches her knees.

Starbursts of pain make fireworks explode behind her eyes.Her nose gets broken, her brow split, her jaw rocked. Her cackle is howlingwhen she feels a rib grind together—broken. She rears her head up, catchingsight of Asra’s white hair weaving through the violence. He wades inthoughtlessly, as if he’s done this more times than he can count, a dance thathe knows by heart.

His expression is almost as murder as hers is, but itblanches to rabbit-hearted terror when she wipes her mouth on her sleeve,pushed by the crush of bodies out the door, bar brawl turning street riot likelightning.

It feels like the ocean is sliding off her body, and shestands straighter, taller, broader, as dark as an ocean trench’s bed.

She spits her blood in the face of a man that floors her,his hand eclipsing her head to slam it into the coarse pavers. The side of herhead shreds, pebbling with blood. Asra finds her again, hands glowing dangerously.He grabs the man by the nape, and Eustacia is bombarded by the stench of burnthair, laughing when her attacker screeches and wheels away.

“Get up,” Asra wheezes, taking her wrists. “You have to getup. The guards are coming—get up!”

He’s able to haul her away, her arm flung over his shouldersand her steps sometimes catching. Her head’s fogged, and she’s a littleconfused.

“I was gone for fiveminutes,” he barks. “Five minutes, and you start a riot. What were you evendoing?! What if you got stabbed?! Youcould’ve died, Eustacia—you could’ve died—!Do you know what that would do tome?!”

“Felt good,” she croaks, trying to wipe at her mouth, endingup hitting her nose and sending sparks into her vision. “Felt so good, getting—gettingthe pressure off. Don’t feel so badnow. Always feel so bad, like I’msick. It never stops.”

21. What’s their relationship history look like? What weretheir previous datemates like? Do they have a type?

At thirteen, she had her first kiss, and ever since thatmoment she was ruined. Completely andforever, in fact! When the girl that kissed her immediately stood up and left,scrubbing her mouth on her shirt and retching melodramatically, Eustacia was tooheartbroken to understand this was the beginning of a trend.

Through the rest of her teens, she would find herself drowning in romances—incredibly powerful,painfully short romances. The actualperson mattered very little, she went for all types if they spared a kind wordor a sweet touch on her.

There was a green-eyed woodcutter’s son that wooed herrelentlessly for weeks, and left her minutes after they finished fucking in hismother’s woodshed. A fellow witch in the Sisters that only met her in the dark,who went around calling Eustacia pathetic and creepy behind her back. A poetwith long, silky hair that introduced her husband to Eustacia the way wardensreleased hounds on escaped prisoners.

Her last ‘real’ romance, if you could’ve called a single onereal, was an opera singer. Renaldo Sarintoni, a man twice her age with a tenoras sweet as church bells. She’d gone to two of his shows, and after one of themhand-delivered a bouquet of roses to his door.

She’d scraped and scraped to afford those roses, and she thoughtshe might burst into tears when he ran his fingers over the petals and calledthem beautiful. What a sonorous voice you have, he marveled, do you sing?

Not much—she knew three arias and countless pub tunes—but,for Renaldo, she cleared her throat and sang a piece of a love song for him—libiamo, libiamo ne’lieti calici che labelleza infiora. The sparkle in his eyes was incredible.

That was probably her most intense love. He’d swept her offher feet, dressed her in fine things, wasted money on her to the point of embarrassment,took her to beautiful restaurants. They talked endlessly, for hours, abouteverything. She never wanted children, but might’ve had his.

Three months of otherworldly loving, until they woke up onemorning and he said, “I’m sorry. But…”

As badly as she wanted her heart to scar over and feelnothing, it didn’t happen. Left and right, she continued to fall in love, butno longer did she allow herself to wander into a place where her misshapen littleheart could get broken again. There was little to it left, and she wanted it toherself.

For a time, she fought herself, her nature, her ways. Shesnapped at suitors, laughed off ladies, and heaped scorn upon romantics that sniffedher out like bloodhounds.

And then, Asra found her.

She will end up wishing she hadn’t fought that love so hard.

#holler holler get $#rags wrote a thing #asra #julian #OC: Eustacia i didn't even try for 300 words lol #but i am loving asra in this chilis tonight #my bby my love my heart the light of my life #Anonymous

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