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to-the-stars8 · 11 months

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Until the Moon Stops Chasing the Sun

Julian Devorak x MC/Reader Summary; Julian admits that he loves you, and always will-Even when the feelings aren't reciprocated.

A/N: Hey guys! I've actually had this fic held up in my vault for a little while. You just gotta excuse the mess. This was actually one of the chapters from my really old story of Lamentation of the Apprentice before I just straight-up abandoned it. I've rewritten it from first person because that just fits my style better and makes it more flexible for you guys. This, obviously, takes place before mc's death. Also, there is smut, so 18+ and MDNI

You turned at the sound of your name, knowing it was Ilya before seeing him. His voice was thick with a Nevivion accent that had your name feel like a brush of soft wind. Ilya, though, did not look as he sounded, he was lean and moved with little grace. He stumbled toward you as he arose from his spot at the desk, long legs likely tired from sitting too long. Even in the candlelight and days without washing, his hair seemed like a soft fire that curled in perfect licks of flame upon his head.

You reached out to touch it as you handed him some papers he had asked for, noting aloud that he needed a bath soon. He sheepishly said that it was a consequence of working too much.

“A break would suit you,” You commented over your shoulder, disappearing behind the maze of bookshelves.

“I…I return the sentiment to you, beauty,” His voice was distant, becoming louder as he drew closer. He found you with a smile, sliding behind you as you looked up at the towering shelves. You tried not to pay attention to how he smelled of sweet cider.

For a moment, you let yourself get lost in the memories, thinking of the time Ilya had confessed that he was smitten with you and gave you a kiss. At first, you were nearly nauseated by the feeling of someone else’s lips as only Asra had ever kissed you. It was a pity that when he kissed you for a second time you only thought of your white-haired magician. It had taken nearly all your concentration as he and Asra felt completely different. Asra’s lips were plump and warm, and his hands, like him, always wandered. Ilya’s kiss was a stiff wildfire that dared not spread too far for fear of being put out.

You had pulled away out of guilt, telling him that there was no room in your heart for him. Ilya understood, saying that when there was room he’d be there waiting. From that moment on, it had been the little touches and assurances on the worst days that started to clear Asra from your mind. It caused some internal torment, but, like always, Ilya was there to comfort you.

What brought you back to the moment was finding the book, and you shook off the thought as you started to reach for it. Ilya was quick to intercept it, reading the title aloud with a mischievous smile.

“The science of dreaming,” He seemed amused. “I, uh, did not think you took to the more…factual parts of the world.”

You laughed as you took the book from his hands, smoothing your hand over the cover. When the laughter died on your lips, you thought of how to respond that would not have Ilya fussing over you. “I just keep having the same dream is all.”

There was a pause before a quiet question hit the silence between the bookshelves. “What of?”

You finally looked up to meet Ilya’s eyes, answering just as softly, “You.”

It pained you to say it aloud because, as much as you dreamt of him, Asra was like the ghost haunting every aspect of your life. You had spent too long loving him to let go of the rotting love deep in your heart.

Yet, there was Ilya, so fresh and kind. All he’d ever shown you was kindness, even when faced with rejection. He harbored no ill will toward you, accepting everything you had given him so happily.

Ilya said your name and it sounded like a stone skipping on water. When he started to lean down to kiss you, you did not fight his affection this time. Perhaps, it was selfish of you to take what he was giving with Asra still there in your heart. Yet, you could not stop the fire Ilya had started lit against your skin.

His lips followed the same patterns as Asra’s once did, down your jaw, up the hollow of your neck, and just about everywhere you would let him. As he did, you let the book drop from your hands to thread your fingers into his hair to see if the locks would burn you.

Before you knew it, his hands were finding their way under your clothes, desperate touches that he had yearned for since before you had turned him away. You returned the feeling, relishing in the touch of a lover after so long, quickly undoing the buttons on his shirt to feel up his chest as the two of you backed up into the bookshelf. His skin felt hot, and you were not surprised by it as he burned with every ounce of passion that he had.

All of it you knew should have been spent on someone else. Someone better.

When he had lifted your skirts up around your hips, revealing all the parts you had shown only one other person, Ilya’s eyes admired your nakedness. He took in every part of your body like you were a breath of fresh air after he’d been drowning. His eyes flickered back up to yours and you found yourself terrified to look at him, too ashamed of yourself for taking something that should have not been yours to begin with.

“Ilya, perhaps we should—”

His fingers were ghosting over your sex, barely touching before pulling away at your words. The smile he gave you was full of heartbreak, and he whispered, “I know you do not love me.”

Somehow, you found yourself unraveling under his gaze just as you did Asra’s once. “I do. As a friend.” You assured him and yourself.

Ilya nodded his head and squeezed his eyes shut to keep tears from falling out. “I know. I know.” He looked away and sniffled. “But, may I say this?”

No, you wanted to say, do not say it, Ilya. You were holding onto your constraint by a string. At that moment a thousand thoughts rushed through you. Usually, when you were overwhelmed by this, it was Asra who you thought of. It scared you when the only name that came to mind was Ilya’s.

“Yes, you may,” you whispered.

Ilya smiled and stared down at the book before giving it back to you. He looked at you like he was expecting something, perhaps for you to stop him. “You, uh, you are one of the most beautiful people I have ever met. I…I still find myself thinking of you daily, in so many ways—That is, um…Perhaps I should—I love you is what I am trying to say, damn it all!”

I love you. It was the first time anyone had ever told you that before. Asra never did in the six years you had known him, nor in the three you had been together intimately. You hated yourself for not saying it back, for just not feeling the love for him as much. I love you. I love you, Ilya. You begged your heart to say it, but it was unrelenting to let go of Asra.

Ilya studied your face for a moment as a doctor would then let out an airy chuckle. “I wanted to tell you this because, in case anything happens to me, I needed you to know.”

In case anything happens to me. The plague had gotten worse, and you knew Ilya was more aware of how severe it truly was yet that did not stop his determination to help. Truly a doctor through and through.

“Ilya,” The string had turned into a thread and you were leaning up to kiss Ilya again. He kissed you more passionately this time. His tongue found its way into your mouth, and you enjoyed it.

Finally, the thread snapped.

Hiking up your skirts again, Ilya delved into feeling every part that would only be known to the two of you. You gasped into the kiss as his long, slender fingers prodded through your folds before finding your clit. As he worked circles on you, you worked on his trousers, pulling at them until his cock sprung free. Ilya moaned against your mouth, thrusting forward when your hand touched the already leaking tip.

When your eyes met Ilya’s, you nodded your head lightly before taking your hand away from him as he did the same. He gave himself a few pumps before aligning himself up to your entrance. After ensuring that you were okay, he thrust forward, making you gasp.

Within a moment he was inside of you, making you feel whole for the first time in so long as well as different, too. Never before had you had sex with anyone other than Asra, so it was foreign to you to get used to someone else’s touch. Ilya was just as gentle, though, as his thrusts were not hastened, but slow. It made you feel longed for as he felt up your thighs and placed wet kisses over your face.

He said your name again and again like a mantra. A prayer. A title of a book that he wished to never forget.

You did not say his name back. You were terrified that if did Asra’s name would fall from your lips in habit and break Ilya’s heart further. Or worse, and somehow summon the magician to see you in such a state. Not that you would much care. All you could think of was how good Ilya had made you feel. It was like a spell that had you melting in his arms.

“I love you—gods, I love you,” Ilya whispered desperately as he pushed into you deeper. When you started to cry out, he captured your lips in a kiss, only pulling away to whisper some assurances.

With one hand on his shoulder, steadying yourself, you used the other to slip between your bodies and over your clit. You whined, turning away from him so he would not see the way you had started to unfold.

Ilya shook his head as he mumbled so pathetically, “Please, let me see you.”

You couldn’t, not with the image of Asra suddenly dancing in the back of your mind. By the gods, Ilya was far too good for you and you found yourself loving him for it. Burying your head into his shoulder when your orgasm tore through you, you grabbed at his arms, desperately trying to hold onto that fleeting love you had felt for him.

Ilya whined against your lips, mumbling too late about how he was going to cum before spilling inside of you. You soothed him as he said something in his native language into your ear.

“Ilya,” You whispered when he had recovered, and he looked at you.

He already knew.

He knew that it would be the last time. Still, Ilya took you into an embrace. His hands anchored you to him, and, in turn, you laid your head on his chest. Just a moment longer, it said. Pretend to be in love with me just a moment longer. And, you did. You played the part of a reciprocating lover, as much as it broke you to do so. Nothing in the world mattered. Not Lucio, Asra, Muriel—No one, but him. Your Ilya.

When the embrace broke and you fixed yourselves, it was back to being nothing more than friends. Ilya swooped down to pick up your dropped book, handing it off to you.

“I…I should be getting back to work,” He said sorrowfully, eyes not meeting yours. “I, erm, I will see you again? As friends, of course.”

You smiled at him. “Yes. Always, Ilya.” Before he could step away, and out of curiosity, you called out to him again. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I do not follow your meaning.”

“A few minutes ago.”

His eyes widened in understanding and he was quiet for a few moments before finally saying, “It, uh, is something we say back home in Nevivion. It means nothing of importance.”

You pushed the subject no further, but, still, were curious enough to jot it down in a folder of notes. It was a topic to dwell on for a rainy day so you thought nothing of it. Ilya left without another word, and you went back to my room the same way with your book in hand.

After that night, the two of you started to drift apart. The plague had gotten worse, and you eventually found yourself sick as Ilya drowned himself in work. It pained you to see him neglect himself, and angry that Lucio relished in it. Pushing and pushing Ilya until there was no more than the shell of a beautiful human being.

Before the beginning of the end, you wondered what would have happened if you had fallen in love with him. You pictured yourself running away from Vesuvia, going to his homeland Nevivion. Perhaps the two of you would visit the salt baths that he always said had healing powers. Your heart swelled at the thought of him talking of home as he always got a hopeful, starry-eyed look that had your heart fluttering.

With your death, you hoped that Ilya would stop falling for you, and for a time, he did. Asra, the same person who had such a hold on the love of his life, took your place. Ilya tried to find your touches in him, to recreate what he had felt that one night in the library with you, but it all had turned cold.

Asra had found your notes and asked him what some piece of Nevivion gibberish you had written meant. Reluctantly, he answered.

I will love you until the moon stops chasing the sun.

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hexgirllovesyou · 9 months

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The only time Muriel smiled a bit to Julian

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dandydanthelion · 11 months

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this is pretty old

but yk what they say

old but gold

just like lucio

(the bgs are straight from the game)

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murielsbottombitch · 2 years

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no bitches?

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana shitpost #asra alnazar #asra the magician #asra the arcana #julian devorak #ilya devorak #doctor devorak #julian the arcana #asra x julian #image comes free

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lucent-blade · 7 months

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Asrian but Julian and Asra talk about medical and magical information and see some sorts of differences before kissing.

#shitpost #the arcana shitpost #I do not know if this fits their dynamic but I try #the arcana #asrian #mystical medics #asra x julian #julian x asra #asra the arcana #the arcana asra #asra alnazar #asra the magician #julian the arcana #the arcana julian #julian devorak #ilya devorak #julian the doctor

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choih3ra · 2 months

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Im not sure if he’s okay

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helshollowhalls · 1 year

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Julian: Which way did Muriel go?

MC: Well, based on the direction of the wind, the broken sticks in the corner and the slight disturbance in the dirt I guess he went left.

Julian: You could really figure it out from that?

MC: No you idiot, Asra sent me a text. See?

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arcanarubinaito · 4 months

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MC & M6 Dynamics

Each section contains a mini-playlist with six songs. It’s followed by a general analysis of what I aimed for each playlist to convey when listened to.

A song they’ll sing to/with each other. (In Lucio’s case, specifically him to Auric.)

A song that summarizes the start of their relationship, post-death.

The dynamic from Auric’s POV.

The dynamic from the character’s POV.

An instrumental song that fits their current dynamic.

Bonus song.

Muriel’s playlist will have nine songs, in an attempt to encompass both where their dynamic is currently and where I aim to take it. I’ll show the pattern below using the numbers from above to show what each song is meant to represent.

(Present, first four songs)—2,3,4,5

(Future, last five songs)—1,3,4,5,6

Brothers.

It’s a term that both use without even needing to think about it. Family, siblings, so incredibly close that sometimes it takes Asra a moment to remember they weren’t always in each other’s lives.

Long before they lost half their heart, it already felt like it was missing. The experience forced a lot of their trauma and unresolved issues back into the forefront. They began retreating frequently once Auric was able to take care of himself, taking lengthy trips to get away from it all before it consumed them entirely.

Even without his memories, Auric still loved him. He looked up to him, depended on him. Frequently, Auric wondered if that was why Asra kept leaving—if Auric loved him too much and scared him away.

He stayed. Even when it was painful, sleeping all alone in the loft they shared. Auric stayed right where Asra left him, waiting for them to come back.

Can one still love when they feel so angry? Auric couldn’t figure it out. As time went on, the resentment would build up and all Auric would feel was guilt for it.

Love and care, soured by resentment and loneliness. Auric is finally pulling away, keeping things from Asra that he never did before. Asra wants to fix it, and they’re hoping to god it isn’t too late to do something.

Best friends; confidantes, even.

They knew each other before Auric died. They met at the wedding, and quickly figured out they had a bit in common. While they weren’t particularly close—they led very different lives and rarely had the chance to interact—they were still fond of one another.

When they met again, Nadia had been expected someone brighter and happier. That was who she met in her dreams after all. Instead, she was faced with an anxious, slightly irritable apprentice. And it felt horribly, horribly wrong.

She took extreme amounts of care to make sure Auric was comfortable at the palace. One of the smaller guest rooms, (mostly) practical outfits made from comfortable fabrics, she even incorporated foods into the menu that Portia recommended the average citizen of Vesuvia would enjoy.

Nadia found a unique confidante in Auric. It wasn't long before she confessed her memory loss, and now the two know they have something they share.

In many ways, they leaned on one another. For two people that felt lonely throughout the lives they remembered, there was nothing better than to encounter someone who knew how they felt.

Nadia wants to foster more trust between them. If ever Auric should need anything, Nadia will be right there for him to assist in whatever ways she can.

What else can they call themselves but family? Their relationship fluctuates, depending on their situation.

Meeting Julian for the first time was an… experience. But glimpses past Julian’s façade quickly revealed that he was desperate, not dangerous. Didn’t save him from getting smacked with a broom though.

Honestly the song dedicated to the start of their relationship is more or less just the vibes Julian gave off to Auric at first. Yes, it’s a Will Wood song. You can’t make a playlist without one, I don’t make the rules I just follow ‘em.

It would be a lie to say Julian didn’t have a healthy fear of Auric at first. That wasn’t what Auric intended, but he got a little intense and Julian didn’t know Auric well enough to realize that’s not how he is normally.

There’s a lot of running into each other because there’s a lot of following each other around. Auric tracked Julian down for the purposes of his investigation; Julian started following Auric around to make sure he didn’t run into trouble.

One thing they both could relate to is a longing for adventure and exploring. On top of that, the feeling that they had to stay behind for one reason or another, and in Julian’s case, the guilt that came from finally leaving and pursuing his interests.

These two keep each other in check. Both are impulsive and self-sacrificing; which means they’re perfect to keep each other from diving headfirst into something without thinking, or otherwise doing things they might regret. (Cough, cough, Julian nearly giving himself up to the guards so Auric could escape despite them both being in a very secure hiding place.)

Auric is yet another person Julian hopes can forgive him, for his past and for what he’s planning to do.

Best friends in that do everything together, giggling school girls talking about their crushes, going to the ends of the earth for each other kind of way.

They clicked faster than Auric did with Asra. Like the platonic version of falling in love at first sight. Auric found it incredibly easy to talk to Portia, and vice-versa.

See the thing is, they both love with their entire beings, absorb the stress of everyone and everything around them, and deal with it through borderline overworking themselves. It cancels out with each other. There’s no feeling like they have to prove themselves, and they can feel relaxed.

Auric hadn’t smiled like that in months. His cheeks hurt, his feet ached, but it was worth it to dance and let go of his stress for a couple hours with Portia.

It really just felt natural to talk to her. She was warm, sweet, and caring. Auric felt the most like himself, the most relaxed he had been in ages. That’s not to say he isn’t comfortable around the other M6, but they all carry stress or stressful situations with them that make it hard for him to really let go and unwind.

Boundless energy and curiosity. When Portia and Auric had the time, it was pursuing books in the library or exploring the secret passages. If their schedules didn’t line up, sometimes they’d use their time off to help each other out with whatever they were working on.

There is trust, but also secrets. And that is perfectly fine; they’ll tell each other in good time.

Once upon a time you could describe their relationship as friendly rivals. As a child, Auric often engaged in prank wars with the new Count.

Now they’ve become mortal enemies, their laughter and antics lost in the past. A small part of Lucio missed it, which spurred his actions a little; but whatever kindness and affection he might’ve had was swallowed up in anger and resentment during those three years.

Death was not kind. Or in Lucio’s case, the lack thereof. Three years allowed his anger and desperation to fester and rot, lashing out at anything that wandered into his abandoned wing.

Originally there was a sort of cat and mouse dynamic. It started when Auric first stepped foot into Lucio’s wing; taunting, chasing, even outright hurting Auric in his limited capacity. Auric didn’t remember him, which made it all the more frustrating for Lucio. Although slowly it became a point of interest.

Once he had his own body, his attention shifted away from Auric for a while. It returned swiftly once he completed his deals and he began to realize the little apprentice actually posed a threat. It’s at this point as well that Auric’s fear of Lucio transformed to full-fledged hatred. (Morga’s death was the catalyst.)

It didn’t help that The Devil and The Fool had their own issues going on, and that was beginning to influence things.

Blood will be shed because of their mutual hatred. But while Auric tries to keep it contained between them, Lucio frankly doesn’t give a fuck who gets caught in the crossfire.

They may have begun as strangers but they end up as partners.

Of course, the road to that point is long and slow when one can’t remember the other, and the other doesn’t like the first one.

Muriel barely knew Auric before he died. His opinion only really started forming after Auric’s resurrection; ‘The dead should stay dead.’ is what he told Asra. And he stood by it; he saw firsthand what trying to resurrect Auric did to them. And he saw the aftermath of it too, and how it changed his best friend.

The first time he properly met Auric post-resurrection, it was only because Asra needed someone to keep an eye on him the first time Asra took one of his trips. There wasn’t anything Auric did wrong in particular, but Muriel left with a sour taste in his mouth anyways.

Auric was afraid of him at first. The first several visits were like that; reactions of fear that never quite ebbed away. Muriel could deal with that, he was used to it. What really started to disturb him was when Auric began to slowly become more comfortable around him, despite the curse.

It’s not fear but it slowly developed into wariness. Muriel long discovered that his fear was not absent entirely; it remained attributed to whoever remembered him. And while Auric didn’t remember him entirely, something still did—something small, just under the surface. So whatever fear and anxiety Muriel was developing about the situation mimicked that.

Though to someone who lived a few years now with very limited fears, that was more than enough to trigger some avoidance and general distrust. Especially because he couldn’t control this; he had no say in whether or not Auric remembered him. And in that tiny, under-the-surface way, that was terrifying.

After this, he watched Auric only from a distance and very, very rarely would he interact with him. Warning him about the palace the morning Auric set out to see Nadia was the first time he had spoken to Auric in a good year.

… which was then subsequently followed by multiple interactions over the span of a week, and Auric’s slight recognition began to turn into vague familiarity.

To be honest, Auric was starting to freak out. He was insanely attuned to his own memory out of paranoia that he would lose it all over again; so it was very easy for him to notice all the missing ones. And it really didn’t help that they were cropping up more frequently.

Thankfully Asra returned and Muriel wasn’t needed anymore. And by the looks of things, Asra wasn’t going to leave for a while yet; good. Muriel wanted to put as much distance between himself, and Auric, and these weird feelings of slight fondness and concern as possible.

Asra asked him to stick around longer anyways. Auric was accepting only so much help from them, and they didn’t trust Julian to keep Auric safe and out of trouble either. Great, now he was stuck watching TWO people he didn’t like.

Muriel had to wonder just how much fortune hated him, for Auric to stumble across him that fateful evening in the forest. Sure, he was bleeding out from a gaping wound in his side and sure Auric unthinkingly healed him up and spent his magic reserves…

… and then they were traveling together…

… and getting to know each other…

… fuck.

Now he understood exactly what ‘butterflies’ meant. Now he knew a different kind of fear. Now he knew a different intensity to the fears he used to have.

His knee jerk instinct is to run away from it all when it gets too intense. But Auric didn’t really let him… which was surprising. And nice. Everything Auric did was surprising, mostly in good ways.

Whatever happens, they’re prepared to weather the storm together.

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doctordevoraks · 6 months

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Salt in the Wound

Julian Devorak & Asra Alnazar except they hate each other (lying). Hurt, kind of comfort.

Content warning: unhealthy relationship, drinking, smoking mention.

Word count: 2.8k

"He could feel their hands in his, warm, kneading circles into his palms with their thumbs, the squeeze of their hands pressed together. It sent pulses through his veins, through the marrow of his bones; his entire body surges cold."

Wispy gray clouds filled the sky in swirls, cold rain drizzling and forming small puddles along the street. Julian found himself walking alone through the streets of Vesuvia, with no real sense of direction or any idea of where he was going. Wind howled around him, his wet hair stuck to his forehead as his trenchcoat whipped behind him, water droplets trickling off of the smooth leather and hitting the ground every time he took a step. The smell of ozone cut through his senses, leaving him with the taste of water in his mouth. Cold and clammy, he turned down the familiar, long street leading to the Rowdy Raven. He found himself in this cycle all too often, craving the feeling of warmth and running to an artificial source of comfort. Alcohol would leave him burning from the inside out, cradled in his throat like a comforting embrace; paired with nicotine swirling through his lungs, nothing could feel warmer. More than craved; he needed. He felt empty; he wiped the water off his face and pushed his hair behind his ears.

His head pounded. He needed more than just alcohol and nicotine; he needed somebody—someone whose name he couldn’t bring himself to even think about. Their name didn’t deserve a place in his head, especially not when he was dragging himself to the pub.

Julian knew he was pathetic. He felt pathetic. Peering into empty shop windows, he looked at his reflection, and he looked pathetic. Deep auburn curls lay wet on his face; water dripped down his roman nose and rested on his upper lip. Underneath his shiny leather gloves, his fingertips began to lose feeling.

Julian wandered the streets, tripping over himself and slipping on the puddles accumulating under his feet. He had been drinking already, but he needed something stronger—he could still form cohesive thoughts, and oh, how he hated thinking. There was only one thing—one person—on his mind, and he couldn’t wait for them to disappear. He hated this; he hated this cycle, he hated them, he hated what they did to him.

Unsure of how much time had passed or how long he’d been walking, Julian found himself at the door of the Rowdy Raven. Door carved of dark chestnut wood stood in front of him, his hand met the golden handle like a familiar handshake. The smell of alcohol and smoke immediately overtook him; lively chatter and the gentle strumming of the lute filled his ears.

Julian quickly found himself in the furthest corner of the bar, but not before ordering a salty bitters, with an entire bottle of rum on the side. Sitting alone, he ignored anyone who attempted to make conversation.

He got to drinking. It’s all he could do. Drink the day away, drink the night away—a continuous cycle of all-consuming bitterness.

Getting them off of his mind was all he had come to care about. He thought about getting them out of his head so much that it was counterproductive; they filled his mind like a raging flood, the image of their violet eyes pierced through him like daggers. Their face, paired with the feeling of burning liquid in his throat, felt angry; it was burning him alive. Their anger, their bitterness, manifested in his mouth and found its way to his cheeks. Flushed raw, his cheeks the color of cherries, Julian's head spun until he saw stars, until his thoughts mellowed into swirled liquid matter, until saliva built in the back of his esophagus. Filled with hand-crafted heat, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt and tucked his hair behind his ears. He was sweating, droplets pooling on his brow, his neck, and his chest—the heat and warmth he had longed for now consuming him. His eyes were heavy, so heavy that he couldn’t keep his head upright. His chest cavity may as well have been full of fire, he wouldn’t have noticed a difference.

He ached. Each drop of liquor that touched his tongue made him shiver.

His head weighed the same as a brick. Fingers dug into his skin, covering his eyes; light stung his retinas; he needed to be wrapped in a sheet of darkness. He laid his head in his hands, then on the table, drooling. His eyes shut, not sleeping, but so exhausted.

Behind his eyes, the parting of a deep, heavy curtain: violet surrounded by soft, white eyelashes pierced right through him—Asra's face—distant, clouded, too far to reach. He could make out their outline, the curve of their shoulders, their neck adorned with gold, the milky curls of their hair. Enigmatic. Unreadable. Their expression was blank, their eyes were cold. He could almost smell them, almost taste them—an overripe fruit, the musk of sandalwood. The sounds of their jewelry jingling and clanking rang in his ears, his eyes hazily focused on the way their clothes stuck to the shape of their body. He could feel their hands in his, warm, kneading circles into his palms with their thumbs, the squeeze of their hands pressed together. It sent pulses through his veins, through the marrow of his bones; his entire body surges cold, his stomach clenches in an awful, wrenching way. Saliva swells in his mouth and the back of his throat, sweat musters on his brow, eyepatch so heavy it digs into his skin.

Barely managing to lift his head up, Julian took another swig of liquor. Or two, or five, or seven. Bottles disappeared in front of him, the alcohol swirled in his stomach—warm, burning, an intense heat only comparable to being doused in gasoline and set alight. He felt as if a match had been lit and he had swallowed it whole. His knuckles were white, and he was gripping the bottle he was working on with almost enough force to shatter it. If it were to break and his hands were to be split open, he would’ve enjoyed it.

His heartbeat manifested in his temple, in his cheeks, in his feet. His whole body felt it pounding, his ribcage felt as if it might break from the pressure. His chest ached and his throat burned; the alcohol left a bitter, salty taste in his mouth and a tingling sensation in his nose. His face was flushed; a mix of the liquor and Asra's face perpetuating in his mind. Had he closed his eyes for too long, he felt as if he could’ve disappeared right then and there, slumped over in the corner of the Rowdy Raven, diving deep into his mind, so far it would’ve been nearly impossible to tear him out. His thoughts felt like a prison, for which he had bought his own chain.

He wants to hold them so tightly that he hears their spine cracking, breaking, and falling into him—pull, pull, and pull harder—until they disappeared into each other. Until their ribs pierce through each other, until their hands lock together and never pull away, until their white curls merge with the auburn of his.

Tossing, turning, and all too warm, Julian awoke in an environment far from the bar: lavender, sage, and woodsmoke filled the air, an all-encompassing smell so strong that Julian could feel it deep in his lungs. Surrounded by pillows sewn together with various fabrics of mismatched patterns and blankets of the finest silk, he found himself lying in a bed that was far from his own. Bunches of dried herbs and flowers lined the walls. Velvety curtains covered all of the windows and the only source of light were the various candles burning on nearly every surface—some in candlesticks, some in bottles, some dripping wax right onto wood.

He had been here earlier that day. Before the Rowdy Raven—before drinking to the point of unconsciousness This time, though, it was peaceful. There wasn’t any yelling. No throwing of bottles, no shoving, no tears. He could hear the gentle steam of a kettle downstairs.

His head hurt. His body hurt. He wasn’t sure how he found himself back in Asra’s bed when, hours ago, they’d told him they would never let him back in their home under any circumstances.

His blood ran cold when he heard the gentle, even sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs. He sat up fast, blood rushing back to his head, attempting to throw himself out of bed before they could reach him. He didn’t know how he ended up here, but he surely didn’t want Asra to know. Slinging both feet out of bed, he stood, clumsily toppling over himself and falling back onto Asra’s fortress of blankets.

“Ilya, sit down. Get back in bed."

Spoken coldly, Asra stood in the open doorway, of which the door had been replaced with strings of beads. Their skin radiated in the candlelight, a soft, warm brown, the intricacies of their neck and collarbone lit by the gentle glow. In their hands, a mug, seemingly full of liquid.

Julian looked back at them, his eyes glassy and dim, unmoving. He folded his hands in his lap.

“Ah- Asra! I should, I was just- on my way out! I’m terribly sorry, dear, don’t know how I ended up here! Just a mistake, really, I, ah..." Julian trailed off, unsure of how to explain himself, when he wasn’t sure how he got here either.

“Drink this,” Asra responded, shoving the warm mug toward Julian.

“Chamomile. Nature’s greatest hangover remedy."

Julian peered into the tea, so reflective he could see his own pitiful face staring back at him, star anise and cinnamon sticks obscuring his view. Asra watched as he hesitated to consume any before reluctantly drinking half of it in one go.

“Did you… Put a spell on me? Enchant me? Is there something in this that’s going to, ah, I don’t know, curse me?” Julian smirked, attempting to crack a joke.

“No,” they smile—coy and insincere.

“Nothing but tea leaves. I made it for you. You looked awful, you were barely responding to me; and you were drooling all over yourself and begging me to get you another round."

“Oh,” Julian answers, unable to make eye contact with Asra, now sitting with him in bed, uncomfortably close—oh, so close. Julian yearned for them to come closer. He wanted to throw the tea aside and reach right for them.

“Is that.. How I got here..? You? You came looking for me..?”

“Mhm.”

“Ah… Why?”

“Because, Ilya, I knew you were going to get yourself wasted. You were going to drink until you couldn’t feel your face, and, and - and wallow in your self-pity until it ate you up! You were going to get yourself hurt!” Asra raises their voice—the most emotion they’ve cared to show Julian in weeks.

Raw. Asra’s voice hit both of their ears with an awful sound—concern. Something they frequently lacked to show. Their eyes were sharp, and their nails dug into the blankets and created wrinkles in the fabric between the two of them. Violet and grey, two sets of glassy eyes stared through each other.

Asra looked down at him.

Julian wasn’t sure what to say. His chest began to burn. Asra was pitying him; his eyebrows scrunched into anger, and he raised his top lip.

“Oh, really? What, did your little magic cards tell you? ‘Oh, Asra, Ilya is drinking himself to death again! Go get him, Asra! He needs you, Asra!’”

Asra could tell he was deflecting. They could tell Julian was upset; they could tell something was eating him alive, and they could tell they were the cause.

They stood up, looking directly down at Julian. His cloudy blue eyes met theirs.

“Ilya, I can’t love you the way you want me to.”

They raised their voice again, this time even louder. Their breath hitched as they stared down at the auburn man sitting in their bed, staring back at him. He felt like a stranger. The air stood still, freezing.

“And you can’t love me the way I want you to, either. You realize that, don’t you? Don’t you see what we’re doing?"

Julian stared up at them, unsure of what to say or where to put his hands.

The room fell deafeningly quiet, a silence so thick it could be cut with a knife. Asra wanted to grab Julian’s hands and pull him close; he was so close. Though they’d vowed to never let him back anywhere near their shop or their home earlier that day, they knew they didn’t mean it—they never did. The same conversation repeated itself weakly between the two of them: I hate you, get out, spewed so bitterly and so insincerely.

Asra and Julian could never let go of each other, and they both knew it. They were a day drink.

Parts of them would be forever intertwined; they would always carry pieces of each other with them, no matter how far away from each other they ran. To Nopal, to Nevivon, they would always keep each other close.

Asra’s glassed-over eyes met the floor as they sat back down on the bed next to Julian. Rain tapped on the window behind the cushions, branches thrashing and hitting the glass. The sounds of their breathing filled the room—unsteady, unsure.

Breaking the silence, “Stay,” Asra spoke into the open.

Their white curls fell in front of their face as they slumped over, unable to look up and face Julian directly.

“Just tonight. Stay.”

Julian didn’t argue, he didn’t dare open his mouth to speak. He couldn’t take his eyes off of them. The chamomile calmed his headache, but his chest weighed heavy and his breath hitched.

Asra’s voice stung like salt in a wound, adding insult to injury. It made Julian recoil.

The frigid distance between them was unbearable. Julian craved warmth; he was freezing, shivering—his chest felt empty, as if he lacked a heartbeat and steady blood flow.

Asra crawled into bed, to the left of Julian—the two of them sat next to each other, letting minutes pass in silence.

Julian’s pale fingers found themselves wrapped around Asra’s. The touch stung, it burned, it was going to consume him whole—their hands, a rich, golden brown, adorned in rings of metal and jewel, grasped at his like their life depended on it. Digging their nails into the backs of Julian’s hands, Asra pulled him close, throwing the two of them down into the pillowy mattress, wrapping them both in a curtain of silky fabric. They were touching, their hands pressed close, their thighs resting on top of each other, and their legs intertwined. Julian’s face flushed the color of a split open pomegranate; he felt his body catch fire when Asra wrapped their arms around him—the warmth he craved, the warmth he needed, made his head spin in circles. The way Asra held him sent electricity through his being. His hands gently traced them up and down—the crane of their neck, the curve of their hips—up into the spirals of their ivory hair. Julian clung onto their shoulders, full of desperation; Asra cradled him in their arms, holding him as if he was fragile, like ceramic that needed to be wrapped in paper to avoid shattering. Face in the crook of their neck, Julian inhaled deeply—met with the strong spice of cinnamon and amber, enticing. He could eat them whole, and it wouldn’t be close enough.

Running their fingers through strands of chestnut, Asra brushed Julian’s long bangs off of his face; their fingers met the softness of his pale skin. They ran their hands over his cheekbones to the hook of his nose, sending heat waves over Julian’s entire body.

Their expression shifted from unreadable to one of unmistakable bitterness and pity. Julian lay in their arms, so fragile he might burst into pieces, so warm he could combust—a rotten fruit, taking and consuming until nothing was left of either of them, unrelenting.

In the morning, they’d leave him again. In their essence, a note directing Julian to leave before they returned—before the sun had the chance to shine through the curtains, they’d be gone without a trace, and Julian would be left on his own. Julian could take, but they don’t have to give.

Asra and Julian were both so good at running.

The two of them melted into each other, their heartbeats fast and their breathing in sync. Julian lay half on top of Asra, leg thrown over their torso, their arms wrapped around him tight, rubbing his back.

Asra looked down at the red-headed man clinging to him desperately. In control, they loved how Julian would always run back to them—a gravitational force always pulling him back in; their relationship a constant dance, each step leading them back into each other’s embrace.

Asra’s hand rested under Julian’s chin, lifting it up to look at them. His eyes begged for more—glassy, the depth of the ocean. Julian opened his mouth to speak, and Asra already knew what was coming:

“I love you, Asra.”

They didn’t respond.

#the arcana #this is the first writing I’ve ever posted anywhere…. please be kind.#the arcana fanfic #julesposting #asra alnazar #julian devorak #the arcana asra #the arcana julian #ilya devorak #asra x julian #asrian

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