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#the arcana fanfic
vesuviaweekly · 1 day
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Vesuvia Weekly: Prompt for March 27th - April 10th
You voted, so here it is!
The First Post-Crisis Date
Or, the first date MC and their LI have in their upright ending!
With that, the "That's not how that's supposed to work" prompt is officially closed!
The tags are the usual #vesuvia weekly and for this specific prompt, #post crisis date. The masterlist for all works submitted for this prompt will be under the poll for next week :D
MASTERLIST
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fluff-n-fic · 6 months
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Asra Cuddling Headcanons
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description: gn reader, headcanons with Asra (duh!)
author's note: little something, I have no requests for arcana so I made this for you~ credits to cafekitsune for dividers! wrote this laying on the floor
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-Get ready because he will do it anywhere, at any time, any day (unless you don't want to ofc)
-He doesn't care
-As for positions he isn't that picky, he could fall asleep on a rock if he needed to
-However, there's one thing that all his favorites have in common
-Facing you
-He likes watching the soft breaths, nose twitches, and other little movements you do
-Also much easier to kiss you
-When he's behind you, it's usually when you're both sitting up and doing something else
-This includes standing up too, like doing inventory in the shop and he comes up behind you to hug you
-He mostly likes being behind/big spoon, but he's not opposed to you doing it either!
-Very soft skin, very soft hair, will let you use him as a giant pillow overall highly recommend 15/10
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my week has literally been 😃 I have no other way to describe it without getting into too much detail, anyways muriel's version will come out after though not sure when exactly, stay tuned, for now f e a s t m y c h i l d r e n
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Thanks for Reading!
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dilfzuku · 4 months
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𝐏𝐎𝐕: 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘/𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 —𝐏𝐓 𝟐
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𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. gn!reader x asra alnazar, julian devorak, nadia satrinava, lucio morgasson (separate)
𝐜𝐰. all caps in author's note, established relationship, kissing (asra, nadia), doctor!julian, upright ending spoilers (lucio), food mention (lucio), lucio being needy
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. asra's does not say pretty boy since he's nonbinary, but everything else sticks to the prompt. also baby's breath flowers represent eternal love ;) oh one more thing I CAN'T UNHEAR JULIAN WITH A BRITISH ACCENT IMAGINE IT
𝐦𝐥 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬.
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𝐀𝐒𝐑𝐀 𝐀𝐋𝐍𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑—
"Finally!" You sighed. It felt like days since you'd seen Asra, so when he came in the shop door you couldn't help but throw your arms around him.
"Hey!" He chuckled, but there was no real offense behind his words. He melted into the embrace, tension leaving his body as he dropped his bags to return the hug. "I'm sorry I was gone so long. I just couldn't return without a little gift for you, but nothing seemed worthy."
You half-rolled your eyes, pulling back to move his things from the entryway floor. His hand came to cling loosely to your wrist as you did so. He followed you to the shop counter where he revealed a bouquet of tiny white flowers from within his shawl. "They're a little squished, but I figured you're going to press them into a journal anyway." You took the flowers from his hand with a gentle smile.
"You're so sweet, you know that? And considerate, and..." You trailed off, distracted as he discarded his hat at the rack by the door and ran his hands through his fluffy hair. He returned to you, closer than before. You swallowed. "And pretty. So pretty, the prettiest person I've ever seen."
"Impossible, I know you use a mirror to get ready in the mornings." He smirked.
The days apart seemed to catch up all at once and Asra pulled you, a finger hooked beneath your chin, into a searing kiss. He murmured against your lips, "But I wouldn't mind if you called me pretty again."
𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐊—
"Do not look at me, love, I look positively silly right now." Julian had just walked in the door after work and you hadn't even turned around yet. You snorted.
"Yeah? Why's that?" He sighed.
"We did lots of lab work today and... the safety goggles..." His footsteps grew louder until he was in front of you. He crouched down to your eye level, letting his face finish doing the talking. You giggled.
He had an indentation of the goggles around his eyes and along the top of his forehead and nose. "Don't laugh, this is why I didn't want to show you."
"You- you're a doctor. How are you not used to this already? It's not that big of a deal."
"It just looks odd!" He stood and returned to the entryway to remove his boots and hang his cloak.
"No it doesn't, it's like... a battle scar, it tells people 'wow, that's a doctor, he saves lives' or something. But it fades quicker."
It was his turn to laugh, a tired, breathy sound. He came back, draping himself over you and the cushions beneath. "Besides, you know what I think?" He hummed in response. "I think... that you're pretty anyway. My pretty boy." You brushed his hair aside to see his face properly, admiring the puppy eyes he gave you.
"Really?" He whispered.
"Yeah," you whispered back. "But you do kind of need a haircut."
𝐍𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐀—
"Why, Countess, you look simply magnificent on this fine morning. May I fetch a robe for you? You are radiant without one, of course, but I believe it would amplify your beauty gr—"
"Silence, peasant." You both giggled sleepily. Lounging in Nadia's large bed, the sun had risen hours ago but the Countess wasn't a morning person, and, well, neither were you. Not when you could wake up late and see first thing each day the sun glimmering on the skin and hair of Vesuvia's shiniest gem.
"You are magnificent, though."
"You speak too highly of me, we've only just woken. I can't be that magnificent. At least not yet," she added.
You tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, admiring the sound of her breathing and the shine in her eyes. You loved mornings like these, you both did, where there was nothing urgent calling either of you to work and you could laze around in each other's presence. No words or actions were needed, though they were certainly appreciated.
"Well, maybe not yet magnificent. But you're my pretty girl. Always." She captured your lips in a gentle, chaste kiss.
"Thank you, my dearest. You always manage to boost my self image. One of these days I may have as big a head as Lucio's," Nadia joked.
"Well, the difference is that you can back these compliments up with truth. You really are as perfect as I say, pretty girl."
𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍—
"Mercedes, you put that stick down this instant! I'm not going to clean you up if you get dirt and grime on your fur again!"
"No, it'll probably be me doing the cleaning." You mumbled sarcastically.
"No, don't say that!" He whined. His hand, holding yours, gave a squeeze. "You'll be having a nice gourmet dinner with me when we reach the next town. I think we deserve it!" He beamed.
The two of you were on one of your grand commissioned adventures, and sure enough, you could see in the distance that you were approaching some sort of settlement. Probably not one with a gourmet restaurant, though.
"Lucio, I love your enthusiasm and desire to spoil me, but we did not budget for that. We have to stick to our plan in case we need emergency supplies. Do you remember last time when we had to buy a new tent? And how expensive that was?" He avoided your eyes.
"Look, that was not entirely my fault! I didn't think there were any bears in the area!"
"Uh-huh. Well, your self-proclaimed 'master survival skills' should have told you it's a bad idea anyway to leave meat out where wild animals might come near. You're lucky you're such a pretty boy, otherwise I wouldn't have let you off so easily." Despite your lighthearted lecture, Lucio heard only what he wanted to, as per usual.
"Yeah? You think I'm a pretty boy?"
With a tired exhale and a small smile, you agreed, "Yes, Lucio, the prettiest boy, even." After a few more paces, he stopped suddenly.
His eyes scanned over your form. He always loved how you looked out in nature, where the sun was sprinkled through the leaves and onto your face.
He backed up against the trunk of a large tree, pulling you nearly on top of him. His nose nuzzled your jaw and he planted kisses along your neck.
"Say it again," he breathed. "That I'm a pretty boy— your pretty boy."
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© 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐟𝐳𝐮𝐤𝐮 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑. do not modify, translate, or repost my works on any platform.
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bomber-grl · 5 months
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Muriel dating headcanons♡
Pairing(s): Muriel x Gn!reader (no pronouns used)
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Honestly such a sweetheart
It’s given that he’s very awkward and doesn’t know how to initiate or show he wants affection
However, he is the sweetest man ever
He’s always doing stuff for you, going out of his way and always just wanting to protect you
Regardless of your height, he’s afraid of physically hurting you, he’s very gentle and most times he just allows you to go to him instead of the other way around
By the way, him being awkward and not knowing how to initiate physical affection does not mean he doesn’t want to hold you/be held by you
Oftentimes you’ll find him trying to initiate physical contact
However, with time, he becomes more open and affectionate
Instances like when he was comfortable to be comfortable enough to walk around the market together
He tried to hold your hand and although he hesitated in the beginning he gradually started being more affectionate
So we all know how confident he starts getting in the upright ending right?
Well he becomes super cuddly
He’s always hugging you and wanting to be held by you, always reaching out for your hand and just wanting to be with you at all times
A relationship with muriel would also include spending the majority of your time in the forest and with him in his hut with inana
Not that you mind
It’s always a new adventure with the two of them
And ofc you and Muriel are bound to get into disagreements however they’re short lasted as the two of you really don’t like being on bad terms
I’d honestly rate him as a 10/10
He’s always treating you well and he just really loves you.
Honestly, besides doing things needed for your survival he goes out of his way to make you/give you things
When the two of you were spending your day in the forest, doing whatever it was Muriel need to do, he surprised you from behind and he handed you a small but sweet bouquet he made on his way back to the hut.
Now continuing from how I previously stated that he does things for you, well it just levels up way more during winter time.
He’s always getting firewood, always tucking you in bed, and just anything really
However, once you tell him to stop and lie down with you he does
I know I already mentioned how confident and how he grew as a character in his upright ending
But, despite the fact, he’s still the big easily flustered man you knew
Especially when you tease in public
He always tells you to stop as he covers his strawberry tinted face
But that just spurs you on even more
He’s honestly just a cutie and I think we all already know that
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Brainrot Drabbles: Needy!M6
~ happy valentine's day :) ~
Needy!Julian who finally, finally has someone in his life who is able and willing to fill that gaping hole in his chest that needs to be loved. Asking you for the comfort of a hug, a kiss, a cuddle, a scrap of your attention, and surprised when you're more than happy to give it to him. Looking at you with wide open eyes filled with awe and asking in a hushed voice if he could have just a little bit more. A closer hug. A second kiss. Five more minutes of cuddles or conversation, simply because you're happy to give them to him and he needs that from you so desperately. Needy!Julian who can't stop himself from brokenly whispering "again, please -" between each gentle kiss you press to his face.
Needy!Asra who is terrified of needing anything at all, avoiding their desire to feel their love finally requited by teasing and flirting their way through the day. Halting with fear when he feels your bond with him resonating and sees the look on your face when you approach him. Freezing when you wrap your arms around them, their own expression working with all the intensity of finally being able to call you their home. Slowly exhaling as his head falls to your shoulder and he holds you close, close enough to lose himself in your heartbeat, close enough for all the walls between you to vanish. Needy!Asra who prolongs every intimate moment they have with you, finally learning the sweet fulfillment of receiving love after years of giving.
Needy!Nadia who finds it easier to hide her need underneath her boldness, pulling you into her lap as though to reassure you when it's really to feel the weight of you on her thighs. Suggesting you take a break, you look tired, when her heart is yearning for your grounding presence and the calm sound of your sleepy breathing. Struggling to hold up her cool facade when her need for you becomes too great, and she enters the rare state of mind when she wants to be held and cared for, for once. Needing first the outlet to pour all of her hidden, ferocious love onto you, and then the reassurance of lying cherished in your arms. Needy!Nadia who wants to bare herself to you, flaws and all, and feel you match her intensity.
Needy!Muriel who's so used to going without that he's forgotten how to ask for what he craves. From warmth, to shelter, to food, to safety, to connection - these are all things that you've heralded back into his life, and his slow acceptance of them does not keep up with his human need for them. Uneasy at the sudden bone-deep hunger for the next quiet moment he can share with you, the next tidbit of information he can learn about you, the next warm smile he can receive from you, the next safe touch that sweetly weakens him to you. Needy!Muriel whose sunrise happens when your eyes open, slowly sitting next to you with a heartbeat so strong you can see it, only meeting your eyes for a brief second of want.
Needy!Portia who keeps subconsciously expecting to be brushed off, being touchy and clingy and fussing over you only to stare at you wide eyed when you return the love. Expecting you to find something more interesting to look at any second, speaking a mile a minute while she still has your attention and faltering when you're still listening. Feeling the sweetest, heaviest ache in her chest when you don't break eye contact or change the conversation subject because where has this been all her life? Slowly crushing you closer in a disbelieving bear hug, telling herself over and over that she can take her time with you, you're staying with her. Needy!Portia who can't go more than five seconds without touching you, because you're there.
Needy!Lucio who never hesitates to take what he needs, and is surprised when you manage to meet them so easily. Snatching you around the waist when he's seized with unease, and then being caught off guard by just how quickly a simple hug from you makes him feel safe. Pulling you behind a tree to make out when he's starting to feel cold and alone and forgotten again, and stunned into silence when your first gentle peck is enough to warm him to his fingertips. Demanding that you pay attention to him for his next impressive trick, before realizing you were already watching him do nothing but walk. Needy!Lucio, tangling himself into your space only to watch you in wonder as he experiences satisfaction.
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bahrtofane · 3 months
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Domestic asra 
—-
 In the early mornings before the shop is opened, before the day's prep work has begun, before the day has begun really, Asra has made it into a habit of dancing with you as he hums under his breath.
It started out as a silly thing, to get the both of you less puffy eyed and aware of your surroundings one day. A spur of the moment kinda thing if you will. But now it's become a staple of your mornings together. 
He always hums something new, swaying you side to side while you stifle yawns and rub the sleep from your eyes. Some mornings you doze off in the crook in his neck. He pretends not to notice, gently rubbing your back and letting you have your precious moments of shut eye before the day must begin.
Other days it's Asra that ends up asleep, drooling on your shoulder while you stifle your laughter, faust peeking out from her nook. Sleepy ! And you nod in agreement. Very sleepy.
He promises to take you dancing properly, whispering into the base of your neck while you shoo him away from how ticklish it makes you. In the sunset while your favorite music plays he only confirms.
So your little morning routine turns into a proper outing. Isn't he cute?
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Asra: I gave you a part of my heart and would do so again <3
Julian: I would cure a hundred more plagues just to spend my life with you.
Nadia: I will lay down all of my mortal possesions for you.
Muriel: As much as I hate fighting, I will gladly protect you with my entire being.
Portia: We'll always have fun adventures together! I'll be your partner in crime!
Lucio: I-
Everyone in unison: SHUT THE FUCK UP
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to-the-stars8 · 7 months
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A Conversation with Your Ghost
Asra x Reader AO3
Summary: Asra wakes up to you, and it breaks his heart.
When Asra opened his eyes, he saw you looking down at him, smiling. It had been so long since he had seen you, so he let his eyes drink their fill of your beauty. Like the first time he had met you, Asra could feel his heartbeat quicken as he followed your bright eyes. Even amongst precious silks and furs, there wasn’t enough coin in the world that could buy him the same comfort as your touch did. Leaning over him, you traced his body delicately, fingers feeling like you were tracing him with the petals of a flower. Gods, there weren’t words to describe just how in love with you he still was. 
“Is something wrong, my love,” You said. Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “I sense that you’re stressed.”
Asra sucked in a breath as your voice rang in his ears. He turned his head away, trying to ignore the ache in his chest, eyes staring into the flames of the fireplace across the room. After a moment, he looked back at you. “I am fine. You do not need to worry about me.”
You ‘tsked’, a sound Asra knew you made when not satisfied. “I believe we both know that is a lie. Now, if you tell me,” You paused, pressing a ghost of a kiss on his bare shoulder. “There will be a reward.”
He chuckled, hands turning into fists as he remembered your rewards and how it would get him to spill every secret he had. For once, Asra did not fall for it. “I promise you, it is no lie. I am most okay when you are here.”
He looked into your eyes and saw them soften at the affection he gave. There was nothing he would not do for you. You laid your hand against Asra’s chest, and he swore he could feel the warmth through his body. 
“You need a break, I can tell you have been working too hard,” You said cheerfully. Still, your voice was soft. “Maybe, we could take a trip to that one place you took me for my birthday…Theー Damn it all, I forget the name of it. The one where the stars shined the brightest.”
Asra could not recall the name of the place either but remembered the night well. The stars never seemed so bright than when he looked into your eyes. Gods, he thought, what were those damned stars worth if they could not be seen through your eyes? 
“Yes,” He said. “We should. Tomorrow, perhaps?”
You grinned. “Yes! We will go in the morning. I have some things to finish up here in the meantime.” Looking down at him again, you patted his chest. “For now, get some sleep, my love. I can see the exhaustion in your eyes.”
Asra did as you said, sparing his heart from the sight of you. It was for a moment before he yearned to see you again, but, just like that, he was alone. The room was dark, no fire had ever been lit and it was deathly quiet. Sitting up, Asra sobbed into his hands as he cursed himself for letting you go. He could not bear this quietness, nor the conversations with your ghost. 
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angelltheninth · 1 year
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Quick to Assume
Pairing: Julian Devorak x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, praise kink, dirty talk, gentle sex, cock riding, topping from the bottom, clit stimulation, smug Julian Devorak
Word count: 0.9k
Ao3
Kinktober Day 1: Praise kink
A/N: Here's the fist fic for kinktober! This was a lot of fun Julian is smug and a little shady but look at him! He can be as smug and shady as he wants.
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"Don't be shy beautiful, hop right on." Julian winks, which looks a little funny with his eyepatch, but with the rest of him being naked, and with his cock being fully erect while he slowly stroked it, you couldn't find much about the sight to be unattractive.
"Are you sure? I though you'd want to, well, be the one on top you know?" Not that the thought of getting on top of him didn't appeal to you, but he was so eager to get your clothes off even while you were still at the tavern so you expected him to pounce on you the moment the two of you were naked. "I've heard a lot about you and no one's ever told me they topped the great Julian Devorak."
Julian grinned in that smug, sexy way that made your head swoon even across the tavern floor. "People have been on top of me before. But I assure you I'm always the one in control."
You quirked a brow at him as you crawled on top of him, lightly smacking his hand away from his cock and replacing it with your own. His cock pulsed and throbbed hotly in your hand, the tip leaking cum as you swiped the pad of your thumb over it, using his cum to get him ready for you.
"You've done enough of that already. I just want to feel what it's like to be inside you. What do you say? Don't you want to feel my cock now? Or do you need more of my mouth?" A rush of heat flowed through you, settling between your legs. He already has his fill of you in a back alley, and while you could go for more you were craving his dick more.
If he' giving himself to you so completely who you sure as hell weren't going to say no to him now. With a smirk you rose up to your knees, passing the cock of his head through your folds a few times, spreading your slick juices over him. Julian hummed in delight, his hands smoothing over your thighs as you angled your self against him and took in the tip.
You wanted to go slow, you thought he wanted you to go slow, but as soon as the tip was in Julian's smirk turned a little wicked, there was a shine in his eye as his fingers curled and squeezed your thighs and he pulled you down onto his length with force.
"F-Fuck!" Almost topping over you braced yourself on his shoulders at the last minute, Julian's laugh low and tickling the shell of your ear, "You tricky, god damn son of a-!" Your complaint died on your lips, replaced by a deep moan and the delicious push of Julian's dick nestling deep in your cunt.
"Yes? What was that sweet cheeks? Need me to stop?" He rolled his hips up and down into yours, "Doesn't seem like it to me. Not with you gripping my cock so desperately."
Honestly you should have predicted something like this from he. There was no way that Julian was gonna give up on any opportunity to make someone squirm. But again, this wasn't a bad thing, not when you could feel every throbbing inch of him slowly being thrust in and out of your hole repeatedly.
"Don't stop." You groaned as you lifted yourself up, your hands firm on his abs, legs bent at the knees so he had a very clear, uncovered view of his cock sliding in and out of you. He took a deep breath, his hands keeping your from moving.
"You look amazing like this. You were pretty before but holy shit. Seeing my cock getting sucked into that pretty little hole, having it squeeze around me every time I pull out makes you even more beautiful." It didn't feel like empty praise either, not with the way he looked at you.
Julian had a way with words, you knew that very well. He was good in bed, that much you were currently leaning. But he also seemed to value honesty, at least in this moment, you could tell his words of praise, the way he looked at you like you were the most beautiful sight in the world, mesmerized by you, he wasn't faking any of it.
Your thighs trembled under his hands . "Touch yourself, come for me."
Your fingers flew to your clit, rolling it under your fingers, moans falling from your lips.
"That's it. That's a good girl. You're making such wonderful sounds when you're getting fucked. I look forward to hearing them all night long."
"All nigh-!" Your orgasm hit out of nowhere as Julian pressed his thumb over your clit, keeping pressure on it while he fucked his cum into you, a small frown on his face as he growled and cursed. "Can we really go all night?" You breathed against his collarbone as you collapsed against him, your body shaking with every little twitch of Julian's hips.
"For you I can." Julian smiled and kissed your forehead, "As long as you keep sounding like that I can."
You hummed in thought. You expected just one round, foreplay sure, but he was really serious about wanting to keep going all night. To your delight and surprise he was being completely honest with you once again.
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l0vem41l · 2 months
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heart for brains.
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「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited, hurt/comfort-esque but not really, fluff (?) sensitive reader who loooves being tough, a few pet names are used (darling, lovely—) but sparingly because i can never take things seriously 」
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「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic </3 」
↳ ft. asra alnazar, julian devorak, lucio morgasson, muriel of the kokhuri, nadia satrinava, portia devorak
author's note: less of the “One Bad Thing happened and it fucking destroyed me” type of sensitive even though that’s so real and valid and more of the "big emotions are slowly killing me always" type. sorry if they're slightly ooc! i'm playing the game again,,,, eventually :> need to get their dialogue right AWIOFJWRIHFW (┬┬﹏┬┬) more lighthearted in lucio’s part (cant stand this bitch!!!!! /affectionate), and unfortunately nadia’s and portia’s are criminally short (;′⌒`)........ i love them i just haven’t played their routes also also!!!! used some borders from @cafekitsune in this!! lmk if it makes things easier to read cuz i might keep it! (☆-v-)
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" life's hard when you're soft. "
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▸ ASRA has grown the most familiar with your routine. you’re not quite fragile, as he’s come to discover— just that you tend to swallow your emotions down with a smile, only for them to rise back up at the slightest inconvenience. in a few moments— as predicted— the tears stinging in your eyes finally begin slipping.
he gently cups your face, even as you attempt to hide away and avert your gaze, drying your cheeks with his fingers. you swear to him, through mumbles and sobs that you’re trying to toughen up— you’re really trying— while insisting there’s no reason for you to be upset about your little predicament while you choke back the sob rising in your throat. they know you too well for those feeble attempts to convince them.
“shhh… it’s alright. it’s alright.” asra’s voice is understanding. patient. they wouldn’t care if you were crying over the smallest matter in the universe right now. all their focus is on calming you down.
while asra believes and insists that your capacity for strong emotions is a blessing and not a curse like you tend to think, he does wish that your tenderness would not be so abused by the world around you. at the end of the day, he reminds you that you’ve got his love— that he’ll always be there to wipe your tears away— but will always secretly wonder to himself about why you continue to be so recklessly kind.
even so, you’re never to blame for your big heart in their eyes. and slowly, everything they do to make the world a better place is in hope that one day, the world will be sweeter to you.
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▸ JULIAN does quietly and internally freak out when he first sees you cry— not because he doesn’t know what to do, but rather because he hadn’t expected seeing you, out of all people, like this. you— the person who always seemed to find something to be happy about instead of dwelling on your misery. you— who frequently brushed off inconveniences and upsetting circumstances with little to no thought. you— who always bounced back, always saw it through.
oh, but he could never be upset with you for crying. not at all.
he knows he can’t just leave you sobbing your eyes out. so, with the sensibility that he has, he gently guides you to a quiet place for you and allows you to lean against him. he’ll attempt to talk you through it, even if you don’t feel like speaking, hoping that the one-sided conversation of his ramblings will at least distract you, if not soothe you.
your head to his chest, he takes one of your hands in his, while the other gently grips your hip. tells you how brave and strong you are— even if you don’t seem particularly inclined to believe him at the moment, shooting a small glare at him through watery eyes as he says these things.
“i wasn’t patronizing you,” he says, eyebrows raising slightly as your shoulders tense, “i mean it.”
you take a deep breath, gauging the sincerity of his words, before finally relaxing.
“‘m sorry… it’s stupid— i know it is. you shouldn’t have to do this.” you sniffle.
for a moment, julian only shakes his head in response, his thumb caressing the top of your hand as he squeezes it. “but darling, i want to.”
while he’s not as attuned with your emotions as asra, julian is good at getting you to calm down. will definitely do a few breathing exercises with you to help you ground yourself, in between his affirmations and reassurances.
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▸ is it really all that surprising that LUCIO is completely clueless? in his eyes, everything was going completely fine for you two seconds ago— or so it seemed. here he was, just coming by to check on you, only to watch you crumple into yourself, hiding your face in your hands as you muttered a half-hearted “go away.”
he’s too stubborn to listen to that. besides, even he knows he’d be a massive asshole if he just left you like this. instead, lucio sits right next to you, shoulder pressed up to yours, and asks about what happened. perhaps pester is a better word.
while not intentionally rude, he’s slightly dismissive of the situation at first, wondering why in the world something so trivial would matter so much to you. it takes a second, but lucio backpedals on this immediately when he realizes you're not calming down, you're getting worse. your breathing grows quicker and more tears spill— you don’t even reply to him. oopsies. silent comfort it is.
he’s not completely useless. instead of using words, he’ll put an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side, allowing you to cry it out for as long as you need. part of you wants to question when he gained the capacity to shut up— but you don’t feel the need to be particularly snarky at the moment. he’s trying his best to be sweet to you.
will be more attentive for the days after, assuring you that you needn’t give into the urge to “toughen up” when he’s around.
“stay soft, i can fight.” he grins, giving you a wink that makes you roll your eyes at him almost instinctively.
still, the tiny laugh that escapes your lips ends up betraying any sort of exasperation you meant to convey as you playfully hit his bicep as you tell him to quit. was his tone light hearted? yes. was he kidding? of course not. 
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▸ there’s a moment where your lip quivers and your eyes water up that makes MURIEL feel like he’s looking into a reflection of himself somehow. his heart sinks completely at the sight of you breaking down, as he searches for the right thing to say.
he’s flooded with relief when you make an attempt to speak first, even if it’s just you stumbling over your words to lie directly to his face.
you take in a shaky breath, awkwardly shrinking yourself away by crossing your arms. “it’s fine, it doesn’t matter—”
“it matters to me.” he replies softly.
muriel is much better at listening than he is at speaking in these situations, so he allows you to vent all you need as you cry. you feel these emotions so deeply, so strongly— he wonders how you managed for so long concealing these feelings.
“yeah… i get it.” he murmurs, nodding when you rant. to his horror, the tone comes out much more blunt than intended— almost sarcastic— but you know that he understands the minute you look into his eyes. he’s nothing but honest.
after a moment of silence, he asks what you need. you don’t verbalize, instead opting for awkwardly gesture with open arms, half expecting him to hesitate at your request. instead, much to your surprise and his he simply brings you close and sets you on his lap. holding you in his arms like he’s afraid you might break if he tightens the embrace any further, muriel hugs you like you’re the most precious thing in the universe.
leans more on acts of service as a form of comfort as well. will bring you water, blankets— will even brave the market to buy you your favorite snack. anything for you.
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▸ NADIA’s first attempt is to deal with it logically. initially, she asks you a lot of questions, asks what she can do better— but ceases the minute you struggle to respond, only shaking your head while the words incoherently fall from your lips between sobs.
she sighs, realizing her short-comings. now isn’t the time for problem solving. you need comfort. “forgive me, lovely. i didn’t mean to upset you further.”
LUCIO TAKE FUCKING NOTES.
her embrace is loving. it almost feels like she’s trying to shield you from the world and it’s harshness towards you. nadia plants a kiss to your temple before allowing you to rest your head on her shoulder. as you stay in her arms, she rubs your back, promising that everything will be alright.
she’ll make sure of it too. will 100% throw a sharp glare at anyone who accidentally intrudes on this moment.
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▸ it’s almost instinctual, the way PORTIA responds. you haven’t said a thing, yet she notes the way your hands begin trembling, eyes brimming with tears. she immediately gets protective, asking which idiot made you feel so upset with full intention to beat their ass if she ever crossed paths with them— but questions no further when you don’t reply.
physically affectionate as ever, with your permission, portia kisses your tears away, pressing her lips to your face sweetly as she cradles it in her hands.
will not baby you for being sensitive, but will grow more defensive of you. of course she knows you can handle yourself like you keep on reminding, but you’ve been doing it for so long. too long. shows you that she’s right there to support you no matter what, always on your side.
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" you've got our love "
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— reblogs always appreciated!
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chaotic-kitty · 1 year
Text
The Arcana: Muriel NSFW Alphabet
Warnings: Explicit content. Minors DNI
Hey hey. Ummm…..I uploaded this a while ago but the post was glitching and so I took it down. I forgot to put it back up, so here we are. Gonna try this again. Enjoy! 😭💖
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A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Muriel can be relatively quiet afterwards. He makes sure you’re both cleaned up and taken care of. Also checks in on you to see how you’re feeling. Will happily just lay there cuddling with you, either in silence or talking quietly with you. There are times when he is more talkative and playful afterwards.
B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Muriel doesn’t like his body. Doesn’t like his hands, his arms, legs, anything. All he can see is the bloodshed his body caused in the past. He sees a body that he thought his parents couldn’t feed. He doesn’t like the scars that cover his body, as they are a recollection of stories he’d rather forget. He doesn’t see how one could necessarily like their body, or a specific part of it. But once you come into his life, he gains an appreciation for different parts of his body that he never had before. He appreciates his hands for being able to hold your hand or stroke your hair. He appreciates his arms for being able to hold you. He appreciates his chest and abdomen because of all the times you’ve snuggled up there. He appreciates other parts for being able to bring you pleasure. He just appreciates himself after you. 
As for his favourite body part on you, how could he ever pick just one thing? He loves and adores everything, every part of you. From your eyes to your lips, to your chest and your legs. He loves everything.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
When Muriel cums, boy does cum! No matter how long between sessions, he still has a lot of it. Doesn’t mind the taste of it, in fact, he likes the taste. Cum in general also doesn’t bother him.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Muriel doesn’t really have dirty secrets. Perhaps the dirtiest secret he has is, he actually feels sexual urges and desires much more than he would like to admit or more than anyone would guess. He tries to suppress it or ignore it, but every so often he’ll give in. Once he ends up in a relationship, he’s able to feel and experience those feeling on a much deeper level.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
Muriel doesn’t have any experience with sex or relationships in general. Muriel has never had the desire to be intimate or with anyone because of how he views himself and his relationships. It’s not because he didn’t feel attraction or desire, he just didn’t let himself feel those things. And he viewed himself as not worthy of love in any of its forms, and also couldn’t comprehend how anyone would ever want him. So, you are the only experience he has.
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)
Muriel’s favourite position in the beginning is Cowgirl, and other positions where his partner can be on top. This makes him feel better, knowing that you are, for the most part, in control. And he’s less worried about crushing you or hurting you. 
Once he’s gotten more confident, he likes wall sex and fucking you on countertops, etc. 
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
Muriel will likely be more serious and focused on the task at hand, but, he will also have times when he is goofy, humorous, and smug! The latter becoming more frequent as he becomes comfortable with sex and learns more about his partner and what they’re like in bed. 
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
The carpets match the drapes. Muriel doesn’t groom himself down there, at all. He washes himself (obviously) but keeps everything untouched or untamed.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 
He can be tentative at first, but, he’s always gentle and caring. Often checks in with you. Besides being hesitant at first, he can get very into it. Not so great with the romance, but does try to be romantic! Especially on special occasions.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
Has tried it on multiple occasions. But he very very very rarely does it. He can give into the urge when he has it but resists as much as possible. He views it as another kind of pleasure he’s not worthy of.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Breeding kink?
Size kink
Praise Kink
L = Location (Favourite places to do the deed)
His favourite location is anywhere as long as it’s with you.😏 Though, he prefers in the comfort of home…..and a bed. It makes him feel safe and less anxious.
He likes to know that you’re not being heard or people aren’t going to walk in. 
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
You.
Muriel gets turned on by you, mainly. It can be quite easy to turn him on. Anything from teasing him, to him just watching you do some you love. Anytime he sees you gushing over something, or being confident doing something, he just thinks about how he loves you and just spirals from there until he’s needy for you. 
He also just gets spontaneous bursts of horniness.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)
Chocking, slapping, spanking, etc. Any form of physical “harm” is off the table, even if it’s for pleasure. He doesn’t like hurting you or thinking he’s hurting you. 
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
Loves oral. Like, LOVES IT. Well, giving it at least. He relishes in being able to bring his lover that kind of pleasure. And adores your reactions. As for skill, he’s surprisingly mind-blowing at it. 
Ever heard of the expression, “[eating] like a man starved”? That’s Muriel when it comes to giving oral.
As for receiving it, once he’s experienced it, he enjoys it! More than he would care to admit. It is something that he doesn’t ask for, though, and is shy about it when he’s offered.
P = Pace (Are they fasts and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)
Muriel’s pace is usually slowish as he’s scared of accidentally hurting you. But, his pace depends on what kind of mood it is and what you’re enjoying. If you’re making love~ or heavy in a romantic moment, he’s likely to be all round more sensual, pace included. If you’ve both reached a point where you’re absolutely desperate for one another, his pace is likely to be hard and rough as he chases his own high as well as bringing you to your high. Whatever the mood, his pace will match.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
Doesn’t like the idea of them that much, especially in public. Anytime that you do it, which is rarely, it almost always leads to you two fully going at it.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
In the first year or so, he’s not up for taking too many risks or trying too many things. He’s willing to experiment with different positions or techniques in that time, but not up for anything more than that. Eventually, though, he’ll try expanding his horizons, so-to-speak. But, he will still have things that fall outside his boundaries that he will not likely try. 
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
It really depends. On average, he can last a round or two back-to-back. If he has enough alcohol in his system, he may be able to go for more. Sessions can last up to an hour or more, especially as he spends a lot of time with foreplay and making sure you’re satisfied.
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
Muriel doesn’t own toys. He would also be very hesitant to have them used on him, and even more hesitant using them on you. Might warm up to the idea once you’ve both become more experienced and comfortable with one another.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
When he’s comfortable enough? A whole damn lot. Everything from teasing you and getting you riled up even before anything happens, all the while acting nonchalant about it. He’ll tease you by kissing you everywhere but where you want him, and will keep this up until you’re begging him to please you. 
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He grunts. It can be pretty loud, but he tries to not make any noise. Once he gets more comfortable, he won’t hold back as much. He sometimes moans if you get him really riled up, and you’re teasing his most sensitive areas. When he does moan, it is a beautiful and unrestrained sound. Will probably blush very hard if he hears himself moan.😂
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
While there is no place like home, as long as you’re away from people, Muriel will happily engage in sexual activities with you in the woods (forest areas). 
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
He’s big. Like BIG. In length, but more so in girth. His size doesn’t change that much when he’s erect. Because of his size~ it is not very likely that you’ll be able to take all of him, even if you try different positions. 
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Not that high, not that low. Pretty average. Unless, you’re deliberately trying to turn him on using the methods that get him going. If that’s the case, his sex drive can be high.
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) 
He falls asleep only after you do. This can be a matter of seconds if he’s fought through his tiredness. He just likes to know that you’re definitely safe and okay. And he’s usually the first one up.
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vesuviaweekly · 3 months
Text
Vesuvia Weekly: Event details, Submission guidelines, and Masterlists
EVENT DETAILS:
This is a sideblog from my main, @iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia, dedicated to hosting creative events for the Arcana visual novel! (Note: none of these events are competitions. They're simply opportunities to create together and appreciate each other's work!)
Every Wednesday, an Arcana-themed prompt will be posted on this blog with the tag #vesuvia weekly and a tag for the specific prompt. For the next two weeks, any creative work falling under the guidelines and tagged accordingly will be reblogged here and on my main account and added to the prompt's masterlist (see submission guidelines for details)!
On the same post, there will be a poll for the next week's prompt! You are more than welcome to send prompt ideas to the ask box (see submission guidelines for details)!
SUBMISSION GUIDELINES
PG-13, please! If you've made something spicier and would still like to share it, please tag a PG-13 preview to be reblogged here :)
All creativity is welcome! Here are a few examples of what would count: incorrect quotes, digital and traditional art, WIPs, oneshots, headcanons, sprite edits, scripts, character sheets/analysis, etc
To take part: post your creativity themed for an active prompt and tag it with #vesuvia weekly and the prompt's specific tag. Your post will be reblogged here and on my main account, and linked to the masterlist under that prompt
Please do not pass someone else's work as your own! In that spirit, since this is a space intended to boost and celebrate creativity, hate of any kind will not be welcome
TL;DR if it's your own creativity, PG-13, and tagged appropriately, it's perfect :)
FOR PROMPT IDEAS, please keep it PG-13 and open-ended enough to be engaging to multiple creative formats ^.^
MASTERLISTS: new masterlist for each Wednesday prompt post, for ease of browsing/archival organization Red: Retired Prompts Green: Active Prompts
Jan 10th: Your MC/Their LI's dynamic
Jan 17th: How Things Went Wrong (feat. the Arcana familiars)
Jan 24th: Borrowing Clothes
Jan 31st: Cooking Class
Feb 7th: The Impulsive Thoughts Won
Feb 21: MC explaining our world to the M6
Feb 28: How to Hold Your Loved One
March 6: "That's not how that's supposed to work"
March 20th: "Where Did You Learn to do That?"
March 27th: The First Post-Crisis Date
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fluff-n-fic · 5 months
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Keeping Warm
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Gn Reader, with the Arcana/TWST/SDV various characters, thanks to @/cafekitsune for dividers and such
established relationships, fluff, all sfw, mentions of food maybe slight ooc for some of them
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Cold.
The harsh feeling seemed to creep into your very bones, biting at every part of you.
Cold.
So, so cold.
If you could have stayed inside, you would have, but you needed to finish your errands and it took much longer than you expected, dark ink of night slowly blotting into the sky as the sun faded on the horizon.
Starting to fumble with your door keys, you noticed a light on inside. "They must have already come home" you think to yourself, deciding to knock instead in hopes they'd answer.
The hinges creaked and the door was open, several bags taken out of your arms almost immediately. "There you are! You've been gone for so long, I knew we should have waited and gone together!" your partner tsked at you.
"I know, I know, but now I just want to get a blanket and lay down, it's freezing out there" you say toeing off your shoes.
The smell nearly stopped you though, wafting gently from the kitchen. It was almost like... no, it couldn't be. They didn't-
"I went ahead and made dinner, after I came back and you weren't there, I knew you would be out late so I made your favorite."
So they did.
Taking their hands in yours, you began to speak "Thank you, you really didn't have to but-" you were cut off as they ran their hands over yours, gaping at how cold they were.
"Stay here, I'll get the bath ready. We need to get you warmer. For now take the heated blanket and eat"
Despite your protests, they eventually made you sit on the couch cuddling up in the heated blanket (as well as several others on top of it) taking the food slowly to your mouth, blowing on it to cool down before taking a bite.
Warm.
Comfortable.
This was home.
No matter how cold you may feel, you always know they'll be there to keep you warm and comfortable, just as you would do for them. A smile crept on your lips as you took another bite, hum of the blanket a soft lullaby in the background.
Asra, Muriel, Portia
Deuce, Jack, Ruggie, Jamil, Silver, Rook, Vil, Jade
Penny, Leah, Elliot, Sam, Harvey + Your Faves
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I get cold so easily can you tell @rayisalive @i-like-forgs @v-anrouge as always please ask if you want to be put on or off the tags
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Thanks For Reading!
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angeledeggs · 5 months
Note
might be obvious but the Machosism Tango and Valdemar are just ajdkmakaksjrjwkanenr YESSSS!!
also, if i may humbly request Valdemar with a mc who keeps trying to woo them in increasingly more disturbing ways? Like literally bringing them corpses and stuff. I think it would be funny.
BEHSHSHSHD you're speaking my language I cannot tell you the amount of times I have listened to that song and done little Valdemar animatics in my head (the autism is kicking in! It's spreading!!) And yes yes okay I think that would be very cute!!
Valdemar peeks over at their desk. Parchment? Parchment. That is not the parchment they use to wrap their experiments. So, that begs the question, what could it be? It could certainly be something that Doctor 069 could have left by accident. Or it could be something very dangerous. With no hesitance, Valdemar reaches out, unwraps the parchment. Oh. There are bones in there. Bones? Valdemar loves bones. They can feel their tense shoulders perk up, the sharpness of their face soften just slightly around the edges of their eyes. They know who this is from, certainly.
Valdemar carefully wraps the bones back up and places it next to some jars of previous experiments. The demon feels a softness in their shoulders, their eyes, even in the relatively human organs that stir in their chest. How strange. But they don't question it. After all, they have many experiments to perform. And they have some new bones to analyze, as well. The thought of it makes Valdemar's fingers twitch repeatedly with excitement.
Valdemar finds another wrapped item a few days later. Oh? Valdemar rushes over to the parchment, practically rips it open on account of the overeager twitching of their fingers. How delightful. Whatever is wrapped in the parchment is bloody and smells of death. Just as they like it. Delight presses into Valdemar's brittle bones, rushes into their fingertips in the form of excited fluttering. Surely, they will have to thank the apprentice that they know gifts them such thoughtful, sweet things.
While Valdemar is not quite the most socially adept person, they know of the basics of not only friendship, but also courting. And they are an expert in that of etiquette and manners-- if that was not already clear from the way they carried themselves (in their opinion, they carried themselves quite perfectly). So in thanks, Valdemar wraps a gift of their own. Their own parchment is made to wrap up experiments, so it doesn't crack and rip as they tie it together with twine. As they creep from the dungeons to the apprentices room, they open the door without knocking. Perfect. Nobody. They close the door behind them like they belong in the room (they do), and place the parchment onto the apprentices bed.
Ugh.
The sheets are not ironed.
They'll make sure to correct that ever so annoying detail, once they become more acquainted with the delightful apprentice. But they hear footsteps, so they hurriedly rush out of the wind, out of the room, lest they want to appear creepier than they are. But they know they'll be back. And not just to iron the sheets. When they glance into the apprentices window and hear the excited gasp when their gift of an ivory, gold laced skull is unwrapped, they know they'll be back.
They want to become more adept at social situations, after all. Especially if it involves that apprentice.
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paride-projects · 2 months
Text
"DESPAIR"
An Arcana Prequel Tale.
Play through the eyes of Julian, reliving the indelible memories of a now distant past. Try to discover how History was made, or how desperation led to capture memories in the everlasting cage of black ink and paper.
Featuring Julian's and Lucio's youth, from Ilya's perspective.
Trigger Warnings: Blood, missing limbs, mention of war.
Author note: Originally, this was the script for a YouTube fan-tale I had made back in 2023. But since the new company's policy doesn't allow that anymore and it got taken down, i'm now posting it as a Fanfiction. Please, enjoy!
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I remember that day very well. Unforgettable, exactly how I wanted it to be.
I have always been afraid that the hectic life I was forced to live today would cloud my mind, distract, and would soon make every single detail fade away.
It's a thought that tormented me for days, weeks, and that unfortunately I can no longer ignore;
He had been on my mind for too long, and it is now time to put a period.
I want to feel free to not think about it, free to forget, but my brain just won't let me.
So, with the only company of my coffee, the cold moonlight and the biting breeze that the night brought with her, I provide myself with parchment and ink.
The silence of the library is so deep that I can hear the paper being scratched by the steel tip of my feather as I fill the sheet.
Black droplets of ink slowly beginning to form a trail on the wood everytime I dip the nib in the inkpot.
Black, like the farthest corners of that huge room filled with shelves and books, which made the air heavy, grainy, full of dust.
I can barely glimpse that large, elegant door that separates my small and welcoming space from rest, actually confined by the light of my candelabra.
Same door that separates me from an equally dark and desolate corridor, with cold walls and gloomy corners.
Honestly… I am not far from him. Nevertheless, the more the days pass, the more distant he feels.
He is no longer the person I once knew, he is no longer my Montag.
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Cool; it's the first sensation I remember from that evening.
The small hut was completely untidy, as usual.
Tools, tomes and paperwork were everywhere, while I sat on the cot, a science book as my only comfort.
The candle inside the small holder next to my bed was worn out, but the flame burned enough to give a yellow tint to all the objects around me.
Dancing, ambiguous shadows made their show on the curtains.
I liked, when I couldn't sleep, to watch the flame for a while.
Observe the destructiveness of such a small thing, which slowly consumed everything that was available on that metal plate.
The hypnotic movement helped me to reflect, or rather, to get lost in my thoughts and distract me from studying.
Well, at the time I was only 18 when I started working as a medical apprentice on the battlefields.
Very young, I know…
But I had almost finished my studies, and with all the injuries that human wrath called war brought, there was need for whatever little help a person had to offer.
There were those like me who could offer their wisdom to the cause.
There here were those who could offer their resources at a bargain price.
There were those who, having nothing else, offered their life. And then...
There were the ones who had started it all, who only had the desperation of their people to offer.
The same who thought a few pieces of their fortune could compensate for a life.
Of course, I didn't think it was right, but it wasn't my competence and I couldn't complain. I was part of a group of lucky ones...
Not like him.
It was sad how once you were born you couldn't quite choose your own path to take. External factors have always been a constant, and only a few can manage to take the reins of their own life.
Often, I wondered if one day I would succeed too: helping people had always been my main ambition.
But for now, everything had slowly slipped away from my hands, until it brought me there.
A noise coming from outside diverted me from my thoughts, making me look at the entrance of the tent… Nothing.
It was only the wind that rustled the abandoned, ripe tips of wheat, patiently waiting their turn to be harvested.
Harvest that hadn't come since the war started, three years ago.
Now that I think about it, the old Festival coincided with the big day…
Tomorrow.
The supposed, fateful day this war would end. And Vesuvia was sure of winning, with her extra help.
Speaking of my past-self, I can say I didn't change much.
I was just as tall, the only differences being the much less kisses of time and the long-ish locks of thick, red hair, running freely on the back of my neck.
As a young man, just before my 20s, my freckles were still, yet just barely, visible.
The reason I remembered this futile detail... It was him again.
But enough with this "him" now, I want to call him by his name, a pretty unusual one, Montag.
A young man like me, only a few years older.
Despite having only sword skills to offer, he certainly had the reins of his life.
In a very short time he managed to gain the trust of many Lords, building up his own army of mercenaries and becoming its leader.
Back then, coming to work for the current Count of Vesuvia, Count Spada.
The first time I visited him, more or less two months weeks ago, had been enough to make me feel like the most confused, uncertain and disoriented man on earth.
His presence in my life aroused several conflicting feelings, as well as thoughts and emotions.
I couldn't explain it to myself, and the worst of it was that it grew with each passing day.
It was hard to even try to define it, as if there was not yet a word to describe it.
Montag and I happened to be friends, I think.
Perhaps acquaintances, or perhaps simply two boys who, not knowing where to go, were killing time together in order not to think about the future.
For a young person, the future is an abstract thing, a distant present and the present of what I am now.
The future terrified me, I avoided thinking about it.
Just the thought of something that I couldn't plan, of which I didn't have the mathematical certainty of how things would turn out...
A big no. What would happen to me? What would I have done? Would I have been satisfied with who I was?
Would there still be time to change if I didn't like it?
They were all the questions that intermittently, like a firefly, disappeared and reappeared when I least expected it.
But what scared me most was...
Will I have met the right person?
The right person. Another abstract concept, perhaps the most abstract, was love.
I hadn't had any silly teenage relationships as I spent all my best years in Prakra, studying.
I thought I was pretty handsome, yes, but I was afraid that others didn't understand me or didn't appreciate me as much as I craved to.
Surely, one person who proved he didn't have the slightest need to understand me in order to appreciate me-
was the same one who finally made sense of the rustling I heard seconds before.
It wasn't the wind, and as I thought it grew progressively closer.
Why didn't I get alarmed and quietly remained lost in words? Because it had happened before.
Then, a gloved hand frantically lifted the sheet that served as my door, revealing a figure breathless from running.
A few strands of golden hair had escaped from his usual slicked-back hairstyle, softly falling over his visual.
His silver eyes were on me, lively as ever.
They often had that flicker of genuine excitement overwhelming me...
Literally, sometimes.
He had distinctive black war paint marks on his cheekbones, lightly faded as if they had been rubbed off.
I always thought it was something that had to do with the military world, but I've never been sure and I've never asked him about it.
His clothes were generally very practical except for a few questionable and… revealing details.
They were slightly smudged with dirt, a normality since his military service.
He had a huge smile on his face and really seemed not to care about the late after-hours. Even when the whole camp was asleep, he still had energy to free.
Suddenly, I felt my heartbeat speed up in my chest.
I quickly got into better posture, throwing down a ball of anxiety that had tangled in my throat within seconds.
Montag: "Ilya, you're awake! I'm glad!"
Upon entering, he immediately ran towards me, only to toss himself right into my arms.
He did it every time, yet it always felt overwhelming… full, in a good way.
It was his way of greeting and he couldn't speak vesuvian really well.
His grip was strong, pressing my body against his like we haven't seen each other in a long, long time.
Despite his... secure arms, I was much taller than him.
He never said it explicitly, but I think this difference in height bothered him enough as he often got up on his toes, thing I found pretty amusing.
I stood still for a couple of seconds to process the hug before timidly wrapping my own arms around his shoulders.
Normally, I would have given him an awkward pat on the back and pushed him away, but... That night was cold-ish, and I could feel his body giving off heat.
A pleasant sensation that his bare chest was able to transmit, even through my uniform, on my skin.
We paused like that long enough for me to think about his words.
Montag came to see me almost every evening or early morning, depending on whether he was going to or returning from his expeditions.
He also stopped when he had very little time, or when, like now, he was completely exhausted.
Reluctantly, he took a step back, still smiling.
For a short amount of time the room was silent.
I wasn't sure what to say to break it: on one hand I wanted to converse, on the other... No.
I fell too fond of him, and it wasn't great.
I shouldn't have grown attached, because I knew I would've missed him and I would've once again suffered.
However, no matter how many times I could blame myself, I didn't regret it.
I never did, and I still am not. I always had a taste for pain, both emotional and physical.
Actually, speaking of physical pain…
I apparently occurred to not be the only one having a weird relationship with it.
Monty had held out his left hand to me, taking off his glove and showing his palm.
Or rather- the bandage wrapped around it.
Call it a bandage then, it was nothing more than a couple of turns made with a piece of cloth, marked with stains of blood.
He had been hurt, again, most likely with some kind of blade.
Montag got hurt often; his incredible recklessness made him a mercenary of great fame, along with his said notorious cruelty...
Maybe I had never seen him fight, but to me, he only seemed like a wild and vain boy I had to teach how to peel apples to.
Otherwise he was very sweet, even if the stories of his battles were blood-curdling.
He was short-tempered, very skilled, and his moods changed so quickly it was hard to keep up with his friendship.
Another reason why it confused me to death, or why it made me... frightened.
Anything I couldn't handle made me fearful, and even now it isn't much different.
Back to him… I got up and went to take a vial of alcohol from my bag, since he was begging me with puppy eyes to take a look at the wound.
Of course I had to, as a doctor I could have never left him like that.
Ilya: "How did it happen, this time? You'll end up with something worse than a little cut if you keep being distracted."
Looking back on, even then, I was a huge web of anxieties and paranoia.
And that actually made me notice the growing and spontaneous concern for my friend, helping me to understand how much I really didn't intend to lose him.
The real problem was; to what extent was I willing to make sure he was always safe?
My head exploded at the very thought…
I was being ridiculous.
I couldn't know how to feel or what to do.
But I could definitely let his crystalline laughter take the place of all those thoughts, as if my brain was enthralled by it, overflowed with pure beauty.
Seeing him even giggle consistently gave me a certain sense of intensity.
I never wondered why or from where it came from, and with time I realized that there are simply things we don't feel the need to seek answers for.
Maybe because we already know them, deep down, somewhere, even if we have a hard time accepting it.
Montag: "Parried dagger. Burns! Quick, so we can go."
Go?
Ah, right, right. Every now and then, Montag and I went out for night walks, just to hang around and get some fresh air.
And this night was particularly special, being our last…
Now, of course he was in pain, the cut wasn't disinfected yet.
To say I was irritated was saying nothing, but not because I was mad at him.
By then I was used to his unpredictable personality.
I was mad about how he didn't take the slightest care of himself.
I couldn't always be there to bandage his wounds on the battlefield, like now…
I had to wait for the battle to settle and for the survivors to drag the wounded to the medical tents.
It often took time, the soldiers could be left on the ground for hours, and many bled to death before being rescued.
I took a couple of steps towards him, who in the meantime had sat down on the edge of my bed.
I gently took his hand in mine, kneeling on the ground while removing those rudimentary bandages.
Then, my gaze explored the still fresh wound; a long, thin and shallow cut.
The blood had naturally ceased to flow, but I knew it could have gotten worse soon.
Feeling observed, glanced upward; I was under Monty' satisfied eyes.
A content smirk arised, not in the slightest malicious, able to lit up the whole room.
I shyly avoided meeting his regard, only focusing on my work.
Even then, my hands felt shaky, and my stomach was feeling dither.
Sudden realization hit me fully…
Had he hurt himself on purpose?
I wasn't the type to fantasize about usually, nor the type who looked for that kind of attention.
This, however, was probably dissimilar for the blond in front of me, who in all likelihood had so many strange fantasies running around his head.
I threw the idea into the bin, regretting having even pulled it out.
The concept of friendship for Montag was much more articulated than the ordinary;
as if he needed to express how much he cared about a person with banal and sometimes unnecessary, touchy-feely gestures.
Trivial, yes, but excessive. Excess that was coming to the surface as the days went by, never daring to say a word about this subject.
Just laughter. Just what my ears wanted to hear.
Knowing I was to make someone happy just with my clumsy presence felt great…
And I am now sure that if I didn't indulge this said feeling back then, I would have been suffocated by loneliness.
What happened next and how I found myself keeping my word isn't very clear to me, since I recall not really wanting to go outside.
Yet, feeling the night breeze and the loud silence of the slumbered camp was much better than from inside the tent.
I was practically being dragged, held by the wrist, somewhere by the same hand I had to take care of a few moments ago.
Our footsteps making the grain crackle were the only background noise while I let myself be carried, since too busy mulling over my not-so-past shameful thoughts.
I looked placidly at the figure in front of me, on that typical blank stare you get when you're not paying attention.
I could see Montag from behind, with his arm stretched back just to hold me.
From time to time he turned to my direction, continuing to hum to himself a melody that we had surely heard several times during our evenings.
Ilya: "Where are we going?"
I asked after a few other steps, realizing we were leaving encampment, now standing in-between the few left tends and the open field.
He turned back quickly at my words, his expression initially disappointed, as if I had done something forbidden just by talking.
I started to get anxious… Until his lips curled up again.
Montag: "Far."
Ilya: "How much far?"
Montag: "Far Enough."
They were the few, brief words that formed our equally brief conversation, going back to that creepy quietude.
It wasn't weird that Montag didn't speak much, especially when tired.
For him, vesuvian was a language he had learned positively, but found difficult to maintain as a constant.
I bet if he could have spoken his native tongue with someone who could understand him, he would've had a lot of things to say.
Or at least as many as he used to say early in the morning, when he was full of energy.
Nowadays, his accent has faded away;
I often think he might even have partially forgotten it, as he never practiced it since.
I wanted to be that person who could always listen to whatever he had to say, even when tired.
But he never told me the name of the tribe he said to come from, as he didn't belong to any of the civilized cities on my maps.
We were getting very far from the camp… and we never did.
It bothered me, leading my mind to create other questions.
Tomorrow the battle would've started, he would've had to fight, he needed strength and therefore we couldn't stay up too late.
It could've been dangerous for him…
Did he want to escape?
No, no, impossible. We weren't carrying anything with us.
Did he want to show me something, somewhere?
I only received an answer when, suddenly, the blond sat down on the ground, yanking me next to him.
Slightly taken aback, I sat cross-legged and looked around;
our tents were barely visible on the horizon, thanks to the few lights from the abandoned bonfires that would've gone out before morning.
What time was it now? Judging by the moon, past midnight.
There was another one of those stifling silences of ours, then Montag was the one who spoke first.
He brought his knees to his chest, crossed his arms on them, and rested his chin on top of everything, eyes up to the sky.
Montag: "I studied the coste-... stars, when you were asleep. There too many lights on at night here, not like at home, there is no clear sky. So, I came here and stared, for long. I know you know them, but can I show my favorite, Ilya?"
That was… extremely tender.
One of the very few times he ever mentioned his "home", and in a way I took it as a confidation.
He hated to talk about it, and if he wanted to tell me something, it meant he was finally ready to open up.
I got really excited at the mere thought; he was going to give me a hint of his world and it meant so much to me.
The fact that he was studying in my absence could do me nothing but pleasure, he was 21 years old and could barely read.
His eyes seemed to shine again, reflecting the bits of white light the sky distributed throughout the lawn, giving a blue color to his irises.
I smiled, nodded at his question without hesitation and looked up at the stars, tucking my hair out of the way.
My lips parted, in amazement.
I was probably too distracted from my own mind to appreciate how beautiful the sky was.
Who thought a small light source like campfires could hide so much…
What had almost always been just a dark blue tinged with white, was now sprinkled with purple and green hues in stripes and patches. There were so many stars that the space between them was minimal, making it look like some extravagant artist had splashed silver paint everywhere.
A cliché, but not less mesmerizing.
I only wish I had comprehended earlier how superficially I used to live nature due my monotonous life, only made of ink and yellowed pages…
Montag moved closer, to the point our shoulders touched. Then, he pointed his finger in one direction:
Crux, or rather said Southern Cross, one of the simplest constellations that could be observed in September.
Ilya: "The Southern Cross! How come that one?"
I questioned, feeling it could've had a meaning.
It drew only a cross, nothing more.
Monty heaved an amused sigh, his expression neither restless nor too relaxed. He was just smiling, calmly.
Montag: "I see it all time, and I don't know how to name It. It's a cute name. Better than Scourge of the South."
His voice came out in a whisper, before facing me directly.
Now his expression wasn't calm at all, but it showed concern and insecurity, things I never expected to see from him.
The atmosphere was intimate, just perfect to share such a secret;
He was telling me something he shouldn't, but was dying just to talk about It.
Mh, "Scourge of the South". I had never heard of it before.
I could have assumed it was a place in the south, but those are empty and wild lands.
It was too cold, and generally was rare for someone to live or trip there.
...Could that be the tribe where Montag came from? In such a place? Woah.
Ilya: "...You don't like it, right? Southern Scourge, I mean. What is it?"
And perhaps, by saying that, I had gone too far. It could have been anything: a weapon, a book.
The blond ended up sulking, and I knew I had done something wrong just by pushing him to let me know more.
I hated it when he didn't explain himself.
As wonted, if I asked any curiosity about the argument Montag would immediately change his mood, becoming very unpleasant to deal with.
Still, I had to be understanding, I couldn't force him.
From what I could understand it could have been a really delicated key to touch, and most likely he hated to talk about it now too.
Slowly and timidly I put my arm around his back, getting the result I was hoping for;
a quick spark of joy illuminated his face, heavily placing his head on my shoulder the second after.
He gave a hint of a smile and shook his head, nuzzling my neck.
I remember feeling a quirky interest growing inside me I didn't know I ever had when near him… this wasn't the first time.
A feeling of sudden well-being which I thought was due to the fact I enjoyed helping people.
Though turned out to be instead a selfish desire for a type of contact which somehow, aided by another set of things, led me to write this story.
Oh, knowing how things are going to turn out, I'll surely bury this somewhere in a drawer.
I felt ashamed of myself, I had never been very comfortable with my feelings.
Writing nostalgically about a youthful relationship that never actually existed, but which managed to bewild me, was even more unbearable.
Yet… I know this is the best way to move forward; immortalizing my memories and freezing them in ink, as to never forget.
Montag: "No, didn't like… what they did. Used to be home."
The answer surprised me, I wasn't expecting him to actually say something.
He was speaking with an anguish voice, and it hurt me to know he had to leave his home so young.
Plus, for a reason that made him feel dejected.
I didn't want to ask him any more questions, this information was enough and more.
I wish I had shared more of myself, I wish I could have talked all night knowing we would have to separate from each other.
But we felt comfortable in our quietude.
So comfortable I began to caress his shoulder with my fingers, tracing empty and automatic paths with lasciviousness.
This of course caught his attention, and we ended up crossing stares.
Realistically it would have been for only a minute, but I felt like I was looking straight inside him.
His icy eyes had deeply focused on mine, while we were so close it only took a little movement for our noses to touch.
My breath tickled his skin, and I felt that intermittent heat coming from him too, warming the surface of my own lips.
A sort of appeal lingered in my mind.
It was inviting us to do from the most trivial things to the most extreme ones.
No. We couldn't be silent any longer, not if we wanted to grow up.
My other hand reached for his, just to make him feel how nervous I was.
I saw in Montag's expression a spark of energetic curiosity, before trying to study what I was doing.
Embittered, I suddenly felt my eyes get wet with hot tears, reluctant to go down.
Ilya: "Don't go. It's such a stupid ideal…"
I managed to say, by concentrating on the swaying of the grass.
I don't know why I was being so insistent that day.
As if I cared, as if I really wanted to try to protect him in a romantic way, as if I really looked after him.
No, I just wanted him to have mercy on my conscience.
I didn't want to see him die like everyone else knowing that he was my friend.
I didn't want to suffer knowing I deserved it, because that battle could have been avoided if only I had been able to convince him enough.
And I had to convince him.
Ilya: "Er- I-"
I took the deepest breath, trying hard not to let my voice break.
Ilya: "Let's get away from here, now and forever. Let's escape to Nopal or Venterre, even Vesuvia if you wish. Everywhere but let's get away from Annyala's Gate's field. If we do it now no one will know until we're too far away to catch up. I-I... I don't want you to fight tomorrow, Count Spada can't win. Vesuvia's army might be the majority, but they're weak! Even with teams of mercenaries like yours to support them, they wouldn't make it. Please, Monty... You're young, you're strong, you can quietly find a better job than this. There's no need to… throw your life away, you have seen nothing of the world but the worst part.
This is not civilization, this is just a game that the powerful people play when they get bored. Do you really want to be a soldier toy in exchange for some gold? Do you think... Is it really worth it?"
There is no more perfect word to describe what I felt other than despair.
My gaze on his face trembled, as much as my voice did, failing the confident look I was trying to maintain.
I was hoping he would've said no, I was hoping he would've cried like I was about to do.
I was hoping for him to tell me how much he would've loved to follow me anywhere.
But he looked away, and I shouldn't have expected anything else.
He felt no mercy. He couldn't feel it, because he didn't know what it meant.
He didn't know anything about how people really feel, how easy it is to hurt them, how much life is worth or what is right and wrong. He made choices with recklessness for convenience, which actually were not so convenient.
Montag: "Ilya… you- I can't. Spada won't win with no me.
Sweet of you to worry, but the Count and I are friends. Really! He invites me to the palace with the nobles. I'm important to him! I'm his right hand and he done a lot for me, even if I lose, I can't leave battle, not if I want to make a name for myself. I don't mind work… Every victory, story to tell. It is easy to meet new people, and enjoy talking about my fights. Also… don't call me that. I don't wanna hear Montag anymore."
This concept of his was rotten. Fortunately over time it faded away, yet I still remember how blunt his way of saying such things was.
I couldn't believe it, I refused to.
I knew that he was ready to explode behind that stern face, I could tell by the lucid veil of his eyes.
I thought he wanted me to do it first, but he surely wasn't sincere about what he said.
I swallowed what little saliva was left in my mouth and looked at him, seriously.
To say I was angry is an understatement, but the reason was more complicated than this whole conversation was leaking.
I was trying to change his mind for what purpose, exactly? Once the war was over I would have never see him again. Why did I care?
Yet I wanted to hear Mon- him say it. At all costs, even if he would've decided to go.
Ilya: "You're scared, I know you are. You're scared of your own feelings, it's impossible you aren't scared of dying. None of those rich people cares about you, okay? None.
They just want to use you. If you lose, they will soon forget about you. If you win, they will praise you because you profited them, and not because you saved the city or the citizens. Now, now… Answer me, and sincerely. Is it worth it to risk death for the chance of getting some glory?
To hurt, suffer or mutilate yourself to please a couple of people? If Spada really cared about you, he wouldn't send you to shed blood, but he would keep you safe in the Palace like all the other nobles."
He stood with his mouth slightly open, as if savoring the bitter truth.
He was no longer tranquil, but seemed disappointed, disappointed in me as if he expected something more.
He wanted me to understand, but I couldn't.
He pulled back the hand I was holding, looking at it with some kind of regret.
About not wanting to be called Montag…
Understandable. Nonetheless, it did nothing but increase my worries.
What could happen to a man to make him change every memory tied to his past? Even his own name? For now… I didn't address a word about it.
To try and save him from war came to be way more relevant.
He sighed again to release something that seemed to block him, then began to speak in a very faint whisper.
Montag: "But… That all I know how to do. I was born for it, I was raised for it, and I was never enough. I must enough. Fighting is enjoyable, rewarding. B-but I don't want, you know? It's just revenge, so please don't mad. After the battle over, we can run away where you want, for a while... If you still want me with you."
I'm not sure how I should have felt.
I felt sorry, pitiful, but the anger from before didn't leave in the slightest.
Perhaps, too buried to emerge; I simply couldn't blame him like he deserved. What did "I was raised for" mean?
His tribe must have been a horrible environment to grow in to have indoctrinated him with certain ideologies, and I was glad he got out of it.
Revenge. I have no idea towards who nor how his position could have been of any kind of revenge.
He was going to the slaughter! How could death be rewarding, how could you find death something to benefit from.
However, I was too resigned to try anything else.
Lord, how painful loving something that death could touch was…
I laid back on the grass, exhausted.
The brief aurora of the sky gradually began to fade, along with my energies.
I was still intoxicated with the good fortune of having witnessed such a colorful show, which unfortunately lasted for a fleeting time.
It was useless, I couldn't stop him from not choosing for himself.
I had worked all day and having certain discussions, certain thoughts, was considerably tiring.
I watched the blond getting a little closer, but remaining curled up to his knees.
There was a thoughtful, soundless pause for both of us, where I could let my eyes dry out.
Then, he finally seemed to feel a kind of remorse, however crude.
Montag: "...sorry, didn't-"
Ilya: "Ah, don't apologize and come here, Mont- Hm… tell me, how would you like to be called if Montag isn't an option?"
I told him without putting too much weight on my words, eyes closed slightly.
To be honest, I couldn't care less: it wasn't worth it to cry… I had to distract myself.
If his choice was to fight, then it was fine for me too. Although, the hours after which I will never see his face again were numbered.
So, I decided to throw away all my mental complexes and savor his eccentricity, his boldness, without restrictions.
He looked puzzled at the request, yet didn't have it repeated twice;
He laid down on his back by my side, with his head turned to look straight at me.
For some arcane reason I…
I wanted him to make a move of his own.
Whether messing my hair or just hugging me, I craved his impulsive touch. Though, he didn't do anything.
Had I brought his mood down? Definitely.
And then I thought, why did he always have to be the one to make the first move when I could simply do it as well?
And so, with my cheeks on fire, I laid on one side and wrapped an arm around his chest.
Just for a second I was afraid my manners were being too touchy, too inappropriate; maybe it wasn't the right time to give up on affection.
Montag: "Mh… have to think about it~"
Instead, he giggled, and went for one of his usual hugs. …Who do I want to fool?
No, no. It was way more. He totally overpowered me.
My heart was beating so fast I could feel it in my ears, as I found myself laying under him;
pinned against the grass by both of his hands, positioned on both sides of my body.
I could feel his warmth, like I never did before. Shooting, yet overwhelming.
I didn't dare to move, not even an inch. It seemed that once you gave him your hand, he tamed your whole arm.
That's what I wanted right? Now what? What was I supposed to do?
I couldn't look away; I was totally lost on examining his features, more than anything else.
I watched his cheery expression turn into a now more familiar one; regret.
Obviously this was what he wanted, but maybe doing it felt different than just thinking it.
Sometimes he was readable just like a book... With some missing pages.
He was looking all over but into my eyes.
His lips parted, as if to say something…
Though, he closed them immediately afterwards, as if he didn't know how to express himself.
I wanted to help him, but I had no idea what he wanted to say and the situation was already awkward.
Montag: "Ilya, I..."
I knew I had to give him time, but he appeared to be too nervous, and for the first time, he was blushing as well.
Montag: "I want- you… I don't know how to say it."
He then surrendered to the words he said the most, and in all likelihood one of the first complete sentences he had learned.
He had overall great skills at acquiring knowledge, but his attention span was incredibly poor.
I shook my head trying not to make eye contact... alas, he was too close. I wanted to escape, but my body refused to do anything.
It was a conflict between my heart and my brain, I suppose.
How was I going to help him if I had no idea what he wanted to express?
I didn't know his language, he never spoke it.
The basic words he knew in Vesuvian were enough to make sentences, but if he had to go into specifics, he couldn't.
Several times I had seen him tired or stressed from studying, but never like the times when he couldn't find the right words.
He liked to talk too much- and still does.
I looked at him uncertainly, the proximity setting me in awe.
Still, I was hoping for another gamble.
I wanted to experiment with him, he was my most curious subject.
Meanwhile, however, he seemed too self-conscious in not being able to speak;
I could guess he couldn't even say anything due to the pressure.
Then, he hastily placed a hand on my cheek. Indeed, the other gamble I craved, finally arrived…
Our noses were pressed against each other, his breath hot on my lips.
All I could feel was the movement of his chest going up and down, meeting mine in some unmatched dance.
Montag cried out something in his language, which of course I couldn't understand.
It sounded rudimentary and disparate, completely the opposite from the style of the linguistic lineage of Vesuvia.
Immediately after, with an adorable pink painted on his cheeks, his lips were against mine.
Perhaps with a little too much strength-
No, actually, it was more of a messy disaster than a proper kiss.
And I was being a total disaster, too.
Even now it is difficult for me to recall well all the emotions that hit me at the time, such was the confusion.
I had never kissed anyone before, and maybe that wasn't how I wanted it to happen.
I was in a burning state and his cold hand was a relief to my cheeks.
I savored his taste; the sun had kissed him before I could.
Soft sun rays, a scent I enjoyed breathing in whenever he was nearby.
Now coming even more marked in contrast to the pungent evening air, infusing my mind with the memory of a long, sunny day spent outside.
I managed to close my eyes, letting myself be guided by my own body as my senses could not stay lucid.
It could have meant anything to him, and maybe kisses didn't even have the same meaning they do in our culture.
Was this a way of telling me what he couldn't say? But if so, what did it really mean?
I didn't have to feel like an idiot if it wasn't an actual kiss, right?
On the other hand, why would someone like Montag wanted to be with someone like me.
…Or someone like me with him.
It is also true that, amidst the load of questions, I surprisingly remained calm.
I focused on one sensation at a time, completely isolating the embarrassment for a moment.
I loved it. It became more delicate, more caring, which scared me a ton, especially when he pulled away shortly afterwards.
He stood a few inches away from my lips, somewhat breathless.
I looked back, reopening my eyes. His expression sought certainty, which he surely wouldn't have found in me. I had to say something! Even the most obvious.
Ilya: "Why?"
And… that was another mistake.
When I asked the question he winced, glaring at me in desperation, distancing us a few inches. I really wanted to know why, but if before he was nervous about not being able to speak, he now looked miserable.
He just couldn't make me acknowledge how he felt, not even with this.
A salty aftertaste remained on my lips, but I could still detect the lovely, warm imprint of his touch.
Montag: "Why? Why would I do that!?"
He covered his mouth with the hand he had on my cheek, like my taste was something he deeply regretted.
With frustration flooding his irises, he came back over to my side, staring emptily at the sky. …Was he mad about it?
I was getting too impatient, his behavior was just too casual and dramatic. Montag's whole personality was, and it drove me crazy.
I still felt dizzy from the small, dear moment we shared, which made me reconsider who was the person I was getting myself into.
I stared at his profile, noticing the sparkling drops crossing silently his cheeks, unbothered. I hurt him the day before the battle.
I didn't mean to... But he was way too easy to distress, and too hard to deal with.
Ilya: "Hey hey… no. You know how much I hate to see you like that."
With a gentle movement, my thumb reached up one of his tears, caressing it away.
He finched at my touch, but… he leaned his cheek against my hand, closing his eyes.
Ilya: "I'm sorry. I didn't mind it, if that's what you're worried about. Er- sure… It was Indeed a surprise, but we don't have to do it a second time if you don't want to.
I'm sorry you had to, well, use certain manners to try to make yourself understood. It's hard, right? It must be. I'm… still not sure what you wanted to say. it's okay, though. I don't want to push this any further."
Those damn, silver eyes…
They looked just like the stars above.
They made me feel ridiculous, I was too mortified not to comfort him.
Addressing him in such a superfluous way was wrong, but it was the easiest.
He would've never understood that his behavior was… just different, even after so many years.
A lot of things have happened since then.
Communication wasn't really important in his job, or at the least not as important as in other professions.
I guess that was one of the many other reasons why he was on that field, and had been on many others.
Without any warning, he shifted closer, clinging to my shirt and sinking his face into it, wiping out the remaining tears with his own glove.
I wrapped my long arms around his torso and stood still, listening to his choked sobs.
I felt so pitiful.
And it hurt to have him this close to my heart.
I could feel his tears being distilled through the fabric of my uniform; warm, wet.
The night was too peaceful, too comfortable for these feelings. So unfair.
Montag: "Lucio."
What?
I thought that my tiredness was playing tricks on me. Was I having auditory hallucinations?
Montag: "Call me Lucio."
No. It was only his frail voice, speaking against my neck.
Lucio, instead of Montag? I wondered where he heard it from… I had to get used to it.
Ilya: "That's a nice name. In Vesuvian, it means…
It's fitting, because you- Er, it's perfect."
I interrupted myself, taking a moment to reformulate the phrase.
I sank my face into his hair, enjoying the warmt. Then finally spoke again.
Ilya: "It means light. And it's fitting because that's what you are, Lucio. To me, at the least.."
Minutes passed, and after that sentence, no answer came.
The only thing I could hear was his heavy breathing. I tried to move to look at his face; he was deeply asleep, smudged war paint all over under his eyes.
I think he didn't even hear what I had to say…
How to blame him, the night wasn't young and I was dying to get some sleep too, weirdly enough.
I shut my eyes for a moment, to rearrange my own thoughts.
When I opened them again, the sun bathed the grass around me, golden and cosy rays on my skin.
Despite being enveloped by that soothing light though, I couldn't help notice a much more pleasant warmth was missing;
Lucio was no longer by my side, or even nearby.
It only took me a couple of seconds before I realized that it might have been too late, to realize I had to run. The panic started to hit my chest.
So, I jumped up and ran as I had never done before, arriving at the camp in record time, out of breath.
The more I left behind those immaculate fields, the more I approached the conflict-zone, feeling the smell of the air in my lungs.
It was contaminated with something strong, ferrous, piercing through my nose.
The sky was tinted with orange ues, due to the ashes and smoke coming from the distance. Fire.
From time to time, incredibly loud shots could be heard.
I remember tripping over a couple of times before heavily bumping on a doctor;
before saying a single word, I was scolded to instantly go back to my workplace.
There were already some wounded soldiers coming in, and soon there would have been more in need of any kind of assistance we could provide.
I got the answer to the question I wanted to ask, but I felt the world collapse on me.
I wanted to sink, I wanted to disappear, I wanted the time to stop and never start again.
It was already ten in the morning and a few kilometers away from here, a war was being fought with blades and blood.
So strange…
So strange to think that two completely different worlds were separated only by an infinite-looking expanse of wheat.
Everyone here was worried, nervous, but the atmosphere was calm.
Everything around me flowed as before, identical.
The wind moved the grass at the usual, wavy rhythm.
The weather was mild thanks to the sun, and one could say the day had no business being so beautiful, so peaceful, during an horrific occasion.
The only difference being the breeze of desolation that grew stronger every now and then, carrying a pungent smell with it.
One I barely knew despite my profession. Blood, rust, maybe my conditioned mind occurred to be part of the trick.
However, I was sure that, a little further on, hell was brought on Earth.
Screams, pain, if I closed my eyes I could hear it, I could see it. And nothing could erase him from that image.
Lucio knew very well that if he woke me up that morning, I would have been able to constrict him to stay.
He knew damn well I would've cried, and that we would've both hurt each other with abrupt and untrue words.
I hadn't slept so well in a long time...
Almost too rested; I felt numb.
A sense of repentance was devouring me with every stride towards my tent.
The moment I stepped inside, I collapsed to my knees, resting my arms on the intervention table.
My head ached, while my vision steamed up with tears.
My hand desperately sought a foothold, tugging at my own skin with frustration.
A radiation of tension and cold left my stomach, making me shiver, reaching up to the very tip of my hair.
Every time I looked up towards the entrance, all I could see was my Montag, his blood scattered everywhere.
On the table, on the ground, on the walls, I was going crazy... I was delirious.
And while I was letting off stress, sobbing, I couldn't help but feel the warmth of his lips on mine.
Of his body on mine. The sound of his crying, his grip on my clothes.
That gesture, what I refused to call a kiss, was goodbye. Maybe a confession.
He wanted to tell me something, but he hasn't been able to do it and I wasn't able to help him.
He was asking for help, just as my body and mind were doing now, silently…
But if before I was there for him, now no one could be there for me.
I wiped my eyes with my sleeves, trying to calm down. It's war, that's how it is.
One day you see them smiling, the other you have to cry their name on stones, wondering if their body is actually under your knees or not.
I was mad at him, even if I had no right to be. And nothing will make me forgive him or myself.
He had to say bye, at the very least.
Voices just outside my small hut managed to calm me down, or more likely, to distract me from these intrusive thoughts;
Some recovery doctors had brought the first two wounded, one with what I understood to be a serious chest wound, and the other with an injured leg.
They should've been treated right in the tent next to mine, where my mentor had shelter.
I was a second-class physician, nothing but an apprentice, it would have been rare for someone with serious injuries to be entrusted to me.
More hours passed, the more wounded soldiers and mercenaries were brought back to the camp.
Half of them wouldn't have survived.
I couldn't help but think about it... I wanted to see him one last time.
Savor all the features of his face, give him a chance to express himself better.
Well. Within another couple of hours... that wish came true.
I heard loud murmurs in the distance, coming closer and closer.
They seemed to be directed to me, so I got out of bed and ran to open the curtain, peeking.
I was hoping they finally decided to put me in the care of someone.
Two doctors, one of whom I was very familiar with, were carrying a mercenary by legs and shoulders, hurrying him straight into my place.
My eyes widened in surprise, surely not expecting to see a trail of blood behind them. As they surpassed me, I froze in place, looking up at the scene.
Those bright, red hair... I could recognize it everywhere; it was my mentor Nazali.
A whirlwind of panic hit me hard as I worked out the situation, and as they placed the soldier on the operation table I so desperately cried on earlier.
My first patient was bleeding so much he had left a thick red trail on the wooden floor as well, continuing to lose it in droves on the table.
I recognized him right away, and not principally from his appearance.
Above all, from his cries, which still echoed in my mind from last night; Lucio.
I admit I don't remember many details, it felt like time was rushing.
He was crying with his eyes closed, he was screaming, but he stood completely still.
He had grass, dirt and blood stains on his face and clothes, especially on his left arm;
From there I noticed how it was completely quartered, remaining attached to the shoulder only by miracle.
I began to sweat, my head was spinning and I really wanted to throw up.
I felt the beating of my heart in my throat, in my ears.
Amidst the confusion I barely heard Nazali's voice, determined and hasty.
Nazali: "You can do it. You know him, right? We don't have more space. It's all yours."
Before leaving me all alone, followed by their other assistant.
My eyes met Lucio's. Inevitably they started to get wet, even when not allowed to.
I had to act fast, and luckily I used to work much better under pressure.
I gently stroked his cheek, brushing the wisps of hair off his sweaty forehead.
I had no idea what Nazali was thinking when they left me to deal with this.
I had never done an operation on a big scale before, and I wasn't supposed to do it, no, not yet!
I was tempted to call for help, or wait for them to come back.
But before I could even think about it, my hands were already moving on their own.
Ilya: "I-it's going to be alright- I promise, I promise! Just don't be so loud..."
Pathetic. That's what I was.
I didn't know how long he had been injured, I didn't know how much blood he had lost, but he was still awake and I couldn't give him any anesthesia; I didn't have any right tools to do so, nor the skills.
I came to the conclusion that stopping the blood without amputating most of his arm was impossible.
I quickly disinfected the area, Lucio's head turned around not to look.
Every now and then he would kick with his leg, complain in agony, but the worst had yet to come...
I couldn't reattach his arm, it was almost completely disconnected.
So in the blur of the moment, I took the bone saw from the folder behind me.
My hands, my clothes and even my face, by dint of drying my tears to see something, were covered in red liquid. His.
It was all over the place, and the scent was overwhelming.
I don't know exactly how it made me feel to have his blood on myself…
I guess I would've liked to shut him up, to run away from it all like he did and never turn back.
But I couldn't, I was forced to save his life. And not because I didn't want it on my conscience this time, no.
Because I couldn't bear the idea that I wouldn't have been able to see him laugh again.
I needed to see him live, outside of this raging fire a single, selfish spark had started.
Quickly, I took a small piece of wood and put it in his mouth. I couldn't bear to listen to any sound anymore.
At least he would have had something to grit between his teeth... His gaze begged me not to, but I had to ignore it.
As soon as I got close to his arm, Lucio started squirming and screaming, yet his voice was nothing more than a stifled, scratchy sound.
……
A thud was all I heard when I was done cutting.
My hands were shaking like they never did before, and my mind was very dizzy.
A last, piercing, muffled cry rang out in the silence of the tent. Then, nothing more.
Lucio was completely helpless on the table, his head still looking away from my work.
He passed out, debilitated, but he had been significantly strong.
I removed the piece of wood between his teeth; deep grooves were left on it.
It only remained to stop the blood and fortunately, it wasn't a complicated task.
....
I couldn't sleep.
I kept getting up, going in and out through the darkness of the canopy.
The clatter of my boots on the wood was the only assonance present, along with Lucio's breathing and the mumbled talking from outside.
A heavy, slow breath, as if he had run. It was late at night, and the Annyala's Gate battle was settled down, if not over.
Vesuvia had gloriously triumphed over the enemy.
For obvious reasons my mind liked to think outside the realistics, in the foolish belief the cause which led to victory were the mercenary groups.
In the following afternoon we would've sent the surviving soldiers to their respective homes or clinics for recovery.
As for Lu... Spada requested he would've been taken back to the Palace, and continue his medical treatments under royal care.
I'm not sure if he knew he had just lost a limb for his city…
Taken by the thought of leaving him,
I knelt near the cot where, by weight, I had moved my unconscious patient.
Although he had been sweating and although his hair was all out of place, he seemed of a beauty equal to a ray of pure light.
...Which thought made my cheeks flush, not wanting to refuse my truthful consideration, nor wanting to fully accept it.
His eyes didn't open for at least ten hours. And I hadn't closed them, not even for a second, for ten hours.
I leaned against the thin mattress, as I felt the weight of my eyelids blur my vision again.
I knew it was time for another coffee.
I wanted to be there when he regained consciousness, if he ever did again…
From tomorrow, I'll finally have to let him go. I would've taken this useless burden off my chest.
I would've gone back to my clinic and he to the Palace, like the turn our lives had taken before the war.
My hand was about to absently run its fingers along the edges of his face, to warm him up, to make him feel I was there;
Lucio was freezing, yet the one who shivered this time was me.
The false luminescence of his eyes was unmistakable, he was awake!
I finally felt the tears I didn't know I was holding fall, warmly pleasant lines rolling down on my cheeks.
I wanted to throw myself over him, hug him like we did on the prairie the night before, though he was way too weak to allow myself the actual action.
Ilya: "How... How do you feel?"
I whispered like I was speaking to his hand, no longer having the courage to look directly at him.
Was I pitying? Shameful, perhaps?
Then, his eyes closed again, and no response came.
His rested expression changed, replaced by a tired pout now.
I felt anxiety kicking in, radiating through all my body.
"You have to eat something, you've lost a lot of blood-"
Lucio: "Y-you... you made me defective?"
I didn't think he really said it, so weak it was... No. He really did.
I stood there, in total disbelief. One could say something had just broken.
Detective? That's... That's how he was seeing it? Of course losing a limb is a big change, your body has to get used to its new weight, etc…
Still, defective was an unrestrictedly wrong way to see it.
Very gently and very slowly, Montag sat up, glaring at me with contempt before looking at his fresh stump, grimacing with pain.
He was shirtless, as it was too unhygienic to leave him in his dirt-and-blood stained clothes.
I had cleaned his skin too, perfectly tightening the bandages around the seam I made to close up the flesh.
His left arm lay, wrapped in a sheet, on the table where said mercenary had been operated on. Peradventure, keeping it there in sight wasn't the best... But throwing it away somewhere in the wheat around the shelter was a worse option for me.
Part of the shoulder was all I could save, knowing damn well that would've left a huge, indelible scar.
I had done my best... And all I deserved was his disappointment, his rudimentary judgment of events.
Of course, of course it was- The price of my incompetence was a piece of him. A piece of his body, in every literal means.
I can't imagine how hard it could be to accept losing a part of yourself, like a machine losing pieces... Falling apart.
Yet hearing those words coming straight out from his mouth felt like shit.
As if all the things I did only hurt him. I couldn't make him happy, I couldn't hear him laugh.
I wanted it and I didn't deserve it, as if there was an immense distance of differences between me and his whole nature.
Inexplicably, we just could not stay together.
Guilt was devouring me from the inside, an emotion I recall vividly.
At the same time though, a deep sense of emptiness washed over my heart.
So intense that.... I wasn't capable of saying anything, nor doing anything, or showing how sorry I was-
I Just stared at him, eyes wide, suffering as much as he was now, by how I managed to ruin his whole life in a single night.
Lucio: "How am I supposed to fight, now?? Spada-!"
Suddenly he raised his voice, making me wince. I already knew what he was going to say, I didn't want to hear it.
Ilya: "It was the only way. Stop it."
I had already seen him change mood like that before, but never so drastically with me.
I never used any cold tone with him as well, so he seemed quite surprised and looked away.
Habitually, I was his soothing remedy...
This time though, from the ferocity of his expression, his furrowed brows and his watery eyes, I could tell he craved to get out of control. And I knew perfectly well that it wasn't for the arm;
Montag wasn't stupid enough not to acknowledge that he had his life saved, despite my lack of skills.
It was an outlet, an outlet that as much as I felt to deserve... I knew he was just trying to let everything out.
Unfortunately, he barely had the strength to sit still, let alone yell at me.
At least he seemed to take this into account, as he didn't dare to speak further.
I felt the need to add something, in a softer manner.
Ilya: "I.. I barely have words. You know, I didn't even expect to see you alive- I'm sorry, Lucio. It's over now, so please, spare the scene. You need serious rest. I-i'm really glad I got to see you."
I stood up, staying calm and firm. I was not angry, not even sad.
I was slowly accepting that I couldn't do enough for him, and that I really couldn't stand his dangerous mood swings anymore.
He might have hated me, so what? He gave me strong emotions, it's true, but they were incomprehensible.
Was it really worth it to waste so much energy just to get basic communication?
He kept glaring at me, muttering something in mere whispers; it had no effect- or almost.
Letting him vent was the best option, so I remained passive.
I watched him until his eyelids started to lower, a sigh escaping from the depths of his throat. Montag began to tremble, lying back on the bed and covering his mouth with his only hand.
No, I couldn't do it.
I couldn't think only for myself when he was clearly asking me for help; whether it was moral or physical, he would have never admitted his needs.
So yes, it was worth it.
I approached a few steps, my gloved hand running through his golden hair.
He leaned in instead of pushing me away, as expected.
Ilya: "...What did you want to tell me yesterday?"
I tried asking. Shaded, pitiful words, which caused his sobbing to stop.
He gave me an excessively cruel look, eyes still shining bright.
I felt so much distress... Was I really only capable of increasing his frustration?
Lucio: "Nothing. Not... important."
Nothing. I know it was impossible, but I convinced myself that he really didn't want to tell me anything.
It couldn't be a goodbye anymore, as he was safe and sound, in my bed.
It was the easiest way to forget it: that night, he kissed me for nothing. He cried in my arms for nothing.
And I incredibly felt nothing, empty, as if the lighthouse who kept me on track during this year suddenly went off.
I nodded slowly and he turned away, giving me his back. He just wanted to be left alone... Probably to process everything that had happened, hoping for the next day to get better.
As I was about to take the first step towards the other side of the tent...
Lucio: "Will you… visit me? When I will be Count."
To my surprise, I heard him whisper, and froze in place.
Visita him? Obviously he meant at the Palace.
Only there I realized how terrified I was at the thought of never seeing each other again. Despite everything...
There are unforgettable people, and no cure. Lucio is one of them, and I'm clearly one for him.
How curious it is, being mutual illnesses for our own minds.
I had never thought about it, but no one actually forbade us to be together except ourselves.
So... well, I smiled.
____________________________________________
Suddenly, I hear footsteps from outside. Clear, recognizable 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘥𝘴. Heels clattering on the marbled floor, just how he likes it.
A lot changed since the last time I saw my Montag, the version of him that I was so fond of.
If we used to have a decent relationship before, a sweet one, even, things have embittered. It's nothing more than him bossing me around.
Ever since Lucio took Count Spada's place as his heir, his whole personality took a fancy turn.
He is selfish, ignorant, annoying.
Hard words coming out of my mouth, for sure, but all truths.
He completely lost his curiosity in little things, his genuine way of laughing, the glim in his eyes whenever we were together.
He lost himself, and I lost myself with him.
A Golden prosthesis with thorny decorations and luminescent streaks replaced the arm I cut off, more or less 18 years ago; he still won't forgive me for that.
Howbeit, he never stopped hanging around to show, however eccentrically, that he cares about me.
Did I care, though?
No, not really, not anymore.
I quickly grab the stack of papers I had written, the last page undried, the fresh ink making the words thick and lucid under the dim light.
I put them in the first empty drawer of my desk I can find, only now taking note of the mess on my hands, staining the "documents" even more.
Just in time, the heavy door opens with a slow squeak.
I have been writing for quite a while, without break.
The first lights of the morning pass through the colored glass behind my back; warmer, stronger, allowing my tired candle to get some rest.
Parallel to me, in all his royalty, Lucio's figure, put in contrast by the enlightened rosey corridors of the Palace.
Always dressed in pure white, always adorned with golden trims, and always with his impeccably perfect make-up.
The war paint he had under the corners of his eyes is now a pointy eye-liner, one of a kind.
Not sure why he decided to keep it.
Probably to demonstrate that despite the years gone by, he is still the mercenary, the hero, who once saved this city.
The Count came regularly to check on my work on the Red Plague;
a concerning disease that had begun to spread all over Vesuvia, causing way too many victims already.
Not being able to do enough in my own clinic… Here I am.
He is quite interested in it, even though it never bothered him enough to personally take part of the research.
He has many other doctors to do it, and not only physicians; magicians and necromancers are part of the crew, things I don't particularly enjoy.
Between me and him, there is a silent break of elaboration. For a second I believed he has seen me making an ambiguous gesture-
So I hold my breath, scared to make him think I'm hiding something.
It should be dawn… the atmosphere is shaded, but I can indistinctly glimpse his charismatic smile.
Then, with dramatic elegance he approaches me, walking the library's hallway until my desk.
I can do nothing but stare, as he takes a look over the disorganized table, placing both of his hands on it to hold his weight.
Lucio: "The report, Jules?"
Oh, right, I forgot…
I had changed my name in the Vesuvian version of Ilya, which is definitely not Jules- but Julian.
To mark a new beginning in my life, like Montag did.
I don't hesitate, on the verge of trembling, to hand him the very few papers about the plague from the beginning of the night that just flew.
Unfortunately, he pouts, giving them only a quick glance before setting them back down, with very poor care.
I keep looking at him, tilting my head to the side, trying to manifest my perplexity.
Lucio: "You can definitely do better than this, you know? I'm letting you have the privilege of having a whole library as your work space. You're a friend, so I give you the best, but I expect you to get me the best. This is barely enough… You used to be so smart, do you remember~? You used to teach me stuff all the time! Why won't you use that knowledge now? I want those beetles gone. My city is dying…"
I'm terribly sleep deprived, and I suddenly feel too numb, narcoleptic, to answer immediately.
Just like I've just woken up from a feverish, summer dream.
Reasoning well on his words, I realize that the coincidence of mentioning my past self has put my mind in some stress limbo.
I feel my cheeks flush…
I pass a hand between the auburn strands that cover my vision, feeling the dampness of my forehead even from under my gloves.
I had given up my medical duties to write cheesy junk! Quite unethical and unexpected from my persona.
With the corner of my eye though, I notice that Lucio isn't actually displeased.
He peers at me, his perlaceous eyes narrowed, blurry; the morning is too hasty to arrive, and you could read it on both of our faces.
It's early… far too early. Why is he here?
The corners of his lips are softly curled up, and he's more interested in studying my face than reading my notes.
Something in the air is surreal.
I swallow some saliva as he approaches my side of the desk, in a couple of quick steps.
The blond then hops to sit on it, an aura of confidence seems to envelop his whole shape;
as if he is preparing to whisper to me some secret of his, some revelation, which was only meant to be between the two of us.
He leans closer. Turns out he wants to listen to my foolish excuses.
Sitting on the armchair and so in a lower position, I find my gaze right in front of his bare and smooth chest, a vice that never left him.
I just want to go away-
That is the thought that lends itself to me initially, before taking a deep breath.
I haven't been this close to him in so long…
The sun had never left him, perpetually entracing. He carries the scent of the sunshine even in the coldest room.
By now, his Vesuvian is spotless.
My heart accelerates, more out of fear than from emotions.
His mood swings had seriously deteriorated. Montag-
No, Lucio, became unpredictable, not in the virtuous way he was before.
He would get angry about little things, amuse himself by organizing brutal fights in his own arena and get very demanding about everything he wants.
Everyone loves Count Lucio, like he always says.
Yet, I know my way with the people, and many despise his ruling methods as much as I do.
Julian: "Er- I'm aware, sir. It's been a couple of hard nights for my team, none has been sleeping… We are tired, and finding a solution that even slows down the disease seems impossible.
But, recently we've come close to a potential provenance of the cause. The red dye from-"
Lucio: "Tired? So why don't you quit talking and get some rest instead? You have dark circles around your eyes… Heh, the last time I saw you without them was before Annyala's Gate!"
I can't help but open my eyes wide at the statement.
This is just too unreal, it can't be a damn coincidence!
My lips part in disbelief, not sure what to say.
Soon I discover that there's no need to even think about it.
Lucio grabs my chin, cold golden claws pressed against my skin.
He gently pushes my head to look up, making him the only subject my gaze can be interested in.
Lucio: "How was it… Ilya, right? I can still picture your long curls, I always thought the way they framed your face was silly."
I'm amazed. He just- I felt my throat going dry.
For the first time in more than a decade, perhaps thanks to the prophetic undertones in that room, his smile seems genuine.
Not a smirk, not winking, not hinting any mockery or derision. But cheerful, sweet, like he is savoring the taste of that reminiscence.
His voice is warm, just like his lips would feel if they were on mine…
It can't help but remind me of Montag' same smile, the one I was so hungry of seeing again long ago.
So thrilling… I shiver.
It's a momentary illusion, my mind still too infused with all the longing scenes I wrote about.
The claws are piercing my skin, but I can't not feel peaceful, happy, to receive a caress from his left hand.
The metal is no longer cold, heated up by my body temperature. I wonder if he can feel it…
I lose control of my body and mind, getting up from my chair, slipping out of his hold.
We are at the same height now, face to face.
Our noses touch, the adrenaline of our last night flowing back through my veins.
His breath on my lips, the rush of risking, like trying these emotions for the first time all over again.
His inquisitive yet curious expression is erased the exact moment I close my eyes, desperately leaning forward…
Warmth.
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Arcana M6 Drabble: A Painful Process
~ just some self-indulgent comfort of the M6 helping someone navigate the process of reporting harassment and hateful behavior ~
Focused!Julian, subconsciously pacing back and forth with his eyebrows knit as you spill all about your situation and ask him for advice. If anyone knows how to resolve something interpersonal quickly and quietly with the right words, it's him. You don't expect his steps to slow down, gradually coming to a halt while his gray eyes fix on your face, fury swirling under the compassion in his gaze. They said what? They did what??
Focused!Julian pressing a cool, tendony hand between your shoulder blades while you spend hours writing an email way longer than you thought it would be. He doesn't comment on your shaky breathing, but his tone is gentle while he proofreads the statement and screenshots.
Encouraging!Nadia, sitting tall and proud and regal and firm next to you while you have to relay every uncomfortable detail, holding your hand steadily under the table with reassuring squeezes whenever your voice falters. She doesn't leave any space for you to feel small. She doesn't hijack the conversation, but she keeps the meeting focused, respectful, and centered solely around your freedom to say what you need to.
Encouraging!Nadia making no comment about how tired you seem afterwards, wrapping one strong arm around your shoulders and taking you to get a nice treat. She looks you dead in the eyes with that deep crimson gaze and tells you that nothing about you, or who you are, is wrong or dirty.
Determined!Portia, sitting across from you with both of your hands folded into her tiny calloused ones while you try to decide what to do next. There's a small crease between her eyebrows while she worries her lip between her teeth and tries to weigh all the pros and cons of you available options. She wants to see action taken on behalf of you and whoever else has been affected. She also wants you to be safe and untargeted.
Determined!Portia, letting out a long breath when you tell her you're going to push for action, promising you her unwavering support and crushing you in a bear hug. She's in this for the long haul and she's not going anywhere. You tell her what you need to do, and she'll do it with you.
Angry!Lucio fighting not to interrupt you while you tell him about your doubts, slowly turning red while his lips crumple into a furious pout. He's up on his feet as soon as you've finished your sentence - of course you're worth all of this mess! This wasn't even your fault! You wait out his furious rant while he paces, heels tapping on the floor and gelled hair quivering with indignation. He got a mind to take matters into his own hands!
Angry!Lucio settling into a quieter rage, accompanied with the occasional sniffle and smeared eyeliner. He's not worried about what happens to the person who hurt you. He's angry, angry and upset, because he's listening to someone he cares about worry that they're not worth fighting for.
Stubborn!Muriel, showing up to escort you wherever you need to go, regardless of how many times you tell him you don't want to bother him. Fine, then, he's just in the area, on his own business, and he just happens to be taking the route from your workplace to your neighborhood, and he made too much dinner. You should eat it. He'll gaze down at you with the same unimpressed stare as your earliest memory of him until you agree.
Stubborn!Muriel, braving the social discomfort of making sure everyone you know sees that he's backing you up, refusing to meet your eyes as he reaches for your bag and wraps his massive scarf around you. His gaze is hypervigilant as he walks between you and all traffic the whole way home.
Gentle!Asra, showing up unannounced in your living room with incense and fluffy blankets, pulling you out of an anxiety spiral as you close all your curtains and check the locks on your doors. They're careful to keep their touch soothing and safe while they ask questions to get your mind back on track. He's perfectly at ease in your space, rummaging around and transforming your room into a fortress of comfort and safety.
Gentle!Asra bringing two mugs of tea and a snack they smuggled in that they know you can't resist. His voice keeps the same, easy pitch as he reaffirms your voice, your identity, your space, and then lightens your mood with his silliest misadventures. They don't give up until you feel at home again.
All six of your friends, (maybe some of them your lovers), inviting you to stay with them if it'll help you sleep, and then inviting themselves over when you decline. You're not used to having six other people in your space (three in sleeping bags on your floor, two insisting on camping out by your doors, and your lover next to you in your bed). It's safer than you could ever imagine, and such a relief that you fall into the sweetest, easiest sleep you've ever had.
The massive breakfast the seven of you put together the next morning is the stuff of legends. (After they convince you to sleep in and call out of your day's obligations, that is.)
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