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teecupangel · 4 months

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Just saw the Mermaid!Desmond post and it reminded me that i have been playing around with the idea that Desmond gets transported to the past as a mermaid(he prefers the term 'merman' thank you!). With my obsession with EziDes(i'm shameless XD), i imagined 2 scenarios:

1) Ezio meets Desmond in Venice and though at first Desmond is shy and hides away, Ezios persistence and charm wins him over. Desmond has the ability to launch some sticky "vines" from his hands to drag people into the water(based on what the mermaids in Pirates of the Caribbean can do), so he helps Ezio with assassinations from the canal. We could even have some drama where the Templars catch Desmond in a tank on land and when Ezio comes to save him, the tank breaks and at first Desmond is suffocating, then he is in immense pain while his body transforms into a humans. So good news: he can walk on land and even "sleep" with Ezio without risking drowning him(No Ezio, we are not trying it again!). Bad news: it hurts like a motherfucker to transform and it takes a hot minute. At least he can see Monteriggioni now!

2) The classic "Desmond takes Older!Ezio and himself to the past to save Ezio's family" but Desmond is turned into a mermaid(merman!) and is stuck in the disgusting river that runs through Florence. They get transported a day before the execution(Ezio just needs that scar, i love that connection too much XD), so they get a plan to bust out the Auditore family during the night and use a boat to get far enough away from the city before switching to a wagon. Giovanni is confused to what his son is doing("Why didn't you deliver the papers to Uberto, Ezio?"), but decideds to trust his son. During the trip, a guard almost raises the alarm but before he can, something whips out of water and drags the man in. Everyone but Ezio is shocked and when they get to the wagon, they see a small tub with water in the back. Before they can ask about it, they see Ezio lift something from the river before turning around and revealing a mermaid(MERMAN!) in his arms. Ezio is not leaving Desmond behind, no matter how difficult transporting him is(in this version i'd have Desmond need to learn how to shift forms, so for a while he has to be transported in a tiny ass tub if he was to follow Ezio around). The ride back is pretty awkard 'cause it turns out only Ezio can hear Desmonds voice(he speaks mentally, so even underwater he can talk to Ezio and the connection can reach pretty far).

We can also use Altaïr and the funny scenario of him being afraid of water, but still has a mermaid(for the LAST TIME: I'M A MERMAN!) boyfriend. XD Though Desmond would be very helpful for the guy that hides on the boat.

Maybe the treasure in Solomons temple started glowing after the entrance collapsed, distracting the templars enough for a hurt Malik and bruised Kadar to grab it and flee? And on the ride back to Masyaf, during an attempt to cross a river to lose the Templars on their trail, the treasure falls into the water, causing an explosion of light. Kadar was blinded by it, but Malik escaped the worst of it and swears he saw a large dark shape swimming away from the orb before he went to grab it. When he returns to Masyaf, with a dead arm and a mostly blind brother, he still blames Altaïr for everything that went wrong, but knows it could have been so much worse.

Altaïr is sent to find the traitor(the same as cannon), but afterwards is sent to the river Malik experienced the light explosion, to search for whatever came from the treasure. Altaïr curses Malik for his clumsiness, to lose the treasure in the river! If it hadn't been glowing it would have been lost. So Altaïr is in a very bad mood when he reaches the river to start his search. He is forced to spend days following it to the ocean, but when he reaches it, he sees something gold, glittering underneath the waves. Before he can try to even figure out how to get closer without having to get near the water, it moves upwards, revealing a strange creature. A half man, half fish spirit that looks like him, just staring at him from the water. They stay there, staring at each other before the spirit swims back under the water, dissapearing before Altaïr can even utter a sound of suprise. No matter how hard he searches the coast, the spirit does not show itself. Altaïr is once again forced to return to his master with another failure.

Phew, okay, this took almost an hour to write(i'm a pretty slow typer). XD Words just came pouring out during the Altaïr section. Lol

Additions to the ask from @thedragonqueen1998

Follow up on my Mermaid!Desmond ask:

I completely forgot to add in a description for Desmonds mermaid design. XD I'm a fan of the more spikier designs, so he'd have sharp fins on the side of his tail, a large one on his back, razor sharp claws and webbing on his hands and his ears would be fins. His teeth would be large and sharp and his jaw could almost shoot out like a goblin sharks one. It also opens wise enough that he can bite someones head off. His colouring would be a shiny gold that would dampen the more tired he becomes and the shine would fade if he is sick. So if he spends alot of time in the Venice canals his colours would fade quickly to Ezio's panic. XD He's fine, he just has the mermaid version of the flu.

Additions by teecup:

Desmond being a mermaid during Renaissance Italy would be so fun. Of course, Leonardo would have to paint him, maybe even call him the ‘Siren’ of Greek folklore, going as far as painting what looks like a lot like Templars as the people the supposed Siren drowns.

Centuries later, people would debate if Leonardo Da Vinci’s ‘Siren’ is androgynous or is actually male. Shaun has been part of that debate far too much.

Desmond probably has the habit of lifting his tail then smacking it down, making water splash all around the tank, an instinctive move that mimics humans saying their feet when they’re dangling.

There was actually an ask about what kind of merfolk design would each Assassin have but I can’t find it (as usual).

One of my suggestion for Desmond though is a tail similar to an angler fish like this:

Not exactly like this but a combination of this and your idea of sharp fins. They seem to glow but it’s more noticeable when using Eagle Vision.

Also… the water underneath Monteriggioni is a good place for Desmond to stay as well (although Ezio would be everything to renovate Monteriggioni to have a pond large enough for Desmond, it will become his priority even if they don’t profit from it XD).

If you want an alternative meeting, Ezio could meet Desmond in the underground waters of Monteriggioni while he was exploring Monteriggioni.

For the AltDes version, I’m just kinda imagining Altaïr would be too stubborn to return to Masyaf until he was certain what he just saw. He had already failed, he can’t afford to fail again.

Both because of his pride and because he had lost faith in Al Mualim and the Brotherhood too much that he actually believes that they would execute him if he failed again.

So he’s just camping there, staring at the waters.

Every time he feels like someone is staring back, the feeling would be gone by the time he turns around.

He had read about many mystical beings that live in the waters and Altaïr had started to write about what he can observe, even going as far as drawing what he could remember of what he saw.

If anyone was to see it, it would look like the ramblings of a man imagining something that doesn’t exist.

Or perhaps they would believe it.

Many people do believe in such rot.

Altaïr did not.

Not until he saw the spirit.

And now…

Altaïr was simply too stubborn to retreat.

He would capture the spirit and drag it back to Masyaf if it’s the last thing he does.

#ask and answer #no usual tags because #ezides #altdes

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nuttynutcycle · 1 year

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"Professor,” the student thrust up their hand, “Why can’t we utilize the heroes as makeshift police? It worked in Europe.”

“Europe has a different political and geographical space,” the professor scribbled on the whiteboard. “And better pay for its teachers. Who can tell me anything about Venetian law enforcement?”

Several hands waved in the crowded lecture hall. The professor pointed at random.

“Venice utilizes water-based heroes. They use the canals and ocean to have an advantage over lawbreakers and are held in line through their enforcement collars.”

The student sounded like they were reading out of a textbook. “Excellent answer. Now,” the professor clapped their hands, “Could that work here?”

The same student beamed at the compliment. “Absolutely not. We have no cities based on canals or built on evenly distributed rivers to give water-based heroes an advantage. And sir,” the student continued, stifling a laugh. “Can you imagine trying to put a bracelet on an American hero? The government would never make it past congress.”

Chuckles half-heartedly rippled across the auditorium. Many students pretended they were listening or taking notes while Instagram reflected in their glasses.

“Wrong.”

The professor frowned at the interruption. “In this class, we raise our hand and explain our reasoning.” He turned toward the owner of the voice, a boy in a denim jacket in the back of the room. “Care to elaborate?”

“They already have them.”

The professor pushed his glasses up his nose, a trickle of curiosity rising against his better judgment. He reached over to his computer and paused the lecture recording. “Do you have evidence to support this theory?”

The boy looked up from his computer and shrugged. “Does anyone here think our illustrious government would let a group of highly powerful individuals run around untethered?”

The auditorium quieted. A few hands raised in a sea of hundreds, before slowly lowering.

The professor had to admit, that was a good point. Still... “Most heroes don’t comprehend the notion of modesty. Trust me, there’s nowhere to hide a bracelet that the cameras wouldn’t see.”

“What about MagniBoy?” One student asked. “That costume covers everything except-“

“Unfortunately for MagniBoy,” The professor interrupted before the lecture became decidedly less PG. “There was an incident last year. We now know for sure that there is absolutely no possible place for a bracelet.”

Several students nodded, some in disgust and others with smiles.

“It’s not on their bodies.” The boy in the denim spoke again. “American heroes are controlled as soon as they join a force, but they just don’t realize it.”

This was quickly verging into Reddit board theories. The professor felt a headache coming on. “Let’s not get off track- “

“Where is it then?” Another student asked.

“Did they swallow it?”

“Why wouldn’t anyone say anything about it?”

The professor sat down in his chair and prepared for the ride. If the class wanted to waste precious exam review time with theories, their loss.

“Twenty years ago, the government started investigating bracelets and mood alteration. Two years later they stopped due to public protests.” The boy smiled bitterly. “We love our heroes, and we love our rights even more. Three years after that, our heroes were injected with a tracker ‘for safety’.”

“Those trackers were removed when a hero retired.” The professor interrupted with a gentle smile. “If what you’re saying is true, retirees would notice a significant difference in mood.” Several students nodded in agreement.

The boy looked at him in near pity. “Sir, do you know what the original bracelets were made of?”

The professor remembered. His back straightened.

“Nanotech.” The boy savoured the word, savoured his captive audience. “Bit backwards, isn’t it? They found that heroes were more likely to have more health defects with the experimental tech, so they changed it to computerized ones. But,” he tapped his chin, “What if our generous government decided to inject their puppets with this same nanotechnology. What would happen?” The boy tilted his head innocently. “On a completely different note, how many heroes die from radiation poisoning? Illness? Cancer?”

The auditorium was silent.

“There used to be hero-turned-vigilantes or villains. Where did they all go?” The boy was picking up speed.

No one was on Instagram anymore; all eyes were on him.

“And isn’t it interesting that fifteen years ago, the cases of heroes breaking the law dropped by 80%? As did the destruction of vital buildings?”

“Oh,” another student whispered.

“They have thousands of powered people, sacrificing their lives without realizing it. Heroes sign away their personality, their life, their future.” The boy choked on a laugh. “When was the last time a hero made it to 60?”

“Young man,” the professor found his voice, “That’s enough.”

The boy’s gaze sharpened on the professor. “Sir, you were a hero before teaching. What do you think?”

#my writing #writing #prompt #writing prompt #hero #hero villain prompt #villain #heroes and villains #drabble #writblr #flash fiction #worldbuilding exercise #mind control #if mind control lets me wear spandex in socially appropriate ways #im down #writing snippet

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alex987854 · 10 months

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Leeds Liverpool Canal, Gargrave

#photographers on tumblr #original photographers #canal and river trust #canal #yorkshire

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scotianostra · 4 months

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4th January 1803 saw the launch the steamboat, the “Charlotte Dundas”, designed by William Symington.

Charlotte Dundas is regarded as the world's second successful steamboat, the first towing steamboat and the boat that demonstrated the practicality of steam power for ships.

In June 1800, Lord Dundas got approval from the canal company’s directors for a boat to be built, powered by an engine designed by William Symington. The boat was built by Alexander Hart in his Grangemouth boatyard and the horizontal cylinder engine at the Carron Company.

In 1801, Symington patented a horizontal steam engine directly linked to a crank and gained the support of Lord Dundas for a second steamboat, the Charlotte Dundas, which was built in 1802 in Hart’s yard by John Allan. She measured 65ft long, 16ft wide and 8ft deep, it was named after the Lord’s daughter

On its maiden voyage, the Charlotte Dundas on this day in 1803, carried Lord Dundas and a few of his relatives and friends on board. .The twenty-mile trip took six hours, quite slow, yes, but the Charlotte Dundas was also hauling two seventy-ton barges, and it was doing so against strong head winds. In March 1803, the Charlotte Dundas towed two 70-ton barges 19 miles along the Forth and Clyde Canal to Glasgow, taking nine and a quarter hours and demonstrating the practicality of steam power for towing boats.

The Charlotte Dundas has gone down in history as the world’s first practical steam boat. She is famous worldwide as a forerunner of the great American river steamships and Henry Bell’s Comet, and has earned her rightful place in history. The vessel features on Grangemouth’s coat of arms and in many places around the town as well as in museums, on stamps and on coats of arms throughout the world.

Lord Dundas initially ordered eight more steamboats to be built. Then conservative forces rose up against a new (and hence fearful) technology. Opponents argued that the paddle wheel action would erode the canal banks. The enterprise finally collapsed. The Charlotte Dundas was broken up in 1861. Two piece of wood which are remnants of the wooden rudder from the Charlotte Dundas are part of Falkirk Community Trust collection.

The second pic is the wreck of Charlotte Dundas, at Tophill, Lock 10 of The Forth and Clyde Canal, Camelon, Falkirk, circa 1860. The others are a replica of the paddle steamer, which as far as I know is in a boatyard at Arbroath, there are occasional stories in the press saying there are plans to exhibit the 56ft long replica in Grangemouth, but so far it has not come to fruition, which is a shame as I think it sould be a real tourist atraction for the town.

You can find out more about the Charlotte Dundas, and a heritage trail where you can follow in the paddle waves of the historic steamboat http://charlottedundas.com/

#scotland #history #scottish #steam boat

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forfuckssakejim · 9 months

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So I was born in Florida right. And then moved to Chicago when I was 5.

And there’s some swamps and murky rivers and other kinds of bodies of water scattered around the suburbs I live in right. (Mostly scared of the swamps) (also thought there were dolphins in the more murky wider rivers because ya know, sometimes dolphins and whales got swept into the canals)

And for years I was always terrified when we drove past them or were any where near them.

Why?

Because I was convinced (and still am) that there were fucking alligators in them.

And my mom was constantly going “you’re fine. There’s no alligators here.”

She still does this and I’m fucking 27. I don’t trust like that.

And do you wanna guess what happened a few years ago? Take a guess.

There was a fucking alligator in Chicago.

Yes. The city named it Chance the Snapper.

#shut up jim #long post #I’m still paranoid

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litcest · 17 days

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Everything Under, by Daisy Johnson

Everything Under, written by Daisy Johnson, is a retelling of Sophocles' play Oedipus Rex. It follows the story of Gretel, who was abandoned by her mother, Sarah, when she was sixteen. Sixteen years later, Sarah returns, suffering from Alzheimer's disease. As Gretel takes care of her mother, she tells Sarah about both of their lives. The novel was published in 2018 and was shortlisted for that year's Man Booker Award, losing to Anna Burns' Milkman.

When I initially heard of this book, I was given the information it was a mother/daughter story. And while I do ship the mother and daughter of this story, the canonical pairing is a mother/son couple. I also ship the brother and sister (the whole family has got very weird dynamics going on and is all very shippable).

A consideration: the sexual relationship is between a thirty-somethings-years-old woman and a sixteen-years-old boy. The encounter starts with him quite eager, but the he asks her to slow down, which she doesn't do. It might be triggering to some readers.

I would also like to address that one of the main characters is a transgender man. The book, when narrating his live before he transitioned, uses his deadname and female pronouns, and the characters who knew him from that time continue to refer to him by his deadname even after being informed he had transitioned. In this review, I won't mention his deadname, but when talking about his parent's memories of him, I'll use female pronouns and nouns, since his father only remembered him as a baby girl.

The story is told in a non linear format, which honestly, seems to be the ongoing trend in this blog. I swear it's not on purpose. Well, the chapters alternate between "The River", the far away past, which tells of Gretel's childhood living by the river with Sarah and also covers Margot/Marcus upbringing and the summer they met Gretel; "The Hunt", set is the near past, in which a thirty-year-olds Gretel searches for her mom and meet Marcus' parents, and "The Cottage", which is the novel's present day, after Sarah was found and moved into Gretel's cottage.

In chronological order, the story begins with Sarah, who, in her youth, was a party girl who liked to hook up with older man. Later, when she recounts her sexual escapades to Gretel, she mentions only one regret:

"There is one you speak about with slow regret. Younger, inexperienced, fumblingly nervous. A mistake from the start.

One day Sarah meets a fisherman named Charlie, who lives in a boathouse by the River Isis. They start dating and she moves in with him. When she's around thirty, she falls pregnant. She initially doesn't want any children, but decides to give it a chance since Charlie wants a baby. However, one day, Sarah leaves him, taking their baby girl with her.

In another town, near the river border, lives Laura and Roger, a couple who are unable to have children. One day, they find a infant by the river and decide to adopt that child. That child is Marcus, a transgender boy, who runs away at age sixteen after being told by their neighbour and friend, Fiona, that one day he would kill his father and have sex with his mother.

Marcus had been exploring his gender for a while (when he and Fiona, who is a trans woman, were alone, he would ask her to draw him a moustache and was always interested in the idea that you didn't have to identify with the gender you were assigned at birth) but had never publicly told his parents anything about it, so that may be why Laura and Roger continue to refer to him by his deadname even years later, when Gretel tells them that their child was a boy.

Anyway, after running away, Marcus begins to camp by the river shore, where he listens to the myth of the canal thief, a thief who robbed boats and killed animals during the night. He becomes very terrified of this thief and is initially cautious when he meets a blind fisherman named Charlie (yes, the same one who dated Sarah), but grows to trust Charlie and camps near his boat. Charlie tells Marcus about his daughter, who was taken away by her mother and whom he had been searching for a long time. Since Charlie is blind, he assumes Marcus to be a boy and starts calling him "son", which Marcus quite enjoys and is probably what made him realize he identified as a boy.

One night, Marcus wakes up scared by loud thundering noises. He goes into the boat to talk to Charlie, but Charlie, who is blind, mistakes him for the canal thief and attacks him. In self defence, Marcus hits Charlie in the head with tent pegs, killing him. After dumping Charlie's body in the river, Marcus runs off again. He decides to change his appearance and cuts off his long hair, tries to 'thicken' his facial hair by shaving in hopes it grows back darker, and adopts a more masculine posture.

As he keeps following the river's course, he runs into thirteen-years-old Gretel, who lives in a boat with her mom. Gretel grew up very isolated, having even created her own language with her mother, whom she idolatrised, despite their very volatile relationship.

"We were the kings of that place. We did whatever we wanted. You were a small deity, a quiet god. No wonder we were able to bring about what we did."

For a couple of days, Gretel visits Marcus, and they play together as she tells him about her mom, mixing the truth and tall tales (such as saying that her mom was a mermaid. Which calls to mind Infanduous, in which the MC also compares her mother to a mermaid).

"He was in love with Sarah before he even met her."

Sarah takes pity on Marcus who is all alone and tells Gretel to invite him to their boat. I think she assumes Marcus to be older than just a teenager, for she offers him cigarettes. Gretel and Sarah tell him of the Bonak, which is anything they fear. The current Bonak is a creature who lives in the river and Gretel is trying to capture it with traps. He dines with them and sets up his tent near where their boat is moored.

"There is one you speak about with slow regret. Younger, inexperienced, fumblingly nervous. A mistake from the start.

"We were the kings of that place. We did whatever we wanted. You were a small deity, a quiet god. No wonder we were able to bring about what we did."

"He was in love with Sarah before he even met her."

"He had never met anyone like her bofere. He felt as if maybe they were joined tgether in a way he did not understand. He wished he had never seen her; he wished he could see her every day there was left to him."

Indeed, they re connected, Marcus just doesn't knows it yet.

The next morning, Marcus accidentally catches Sarah washing naked by the river and can't take his eyes off her. She notices him staring and he runs away in shame. Sarah, however, doesn't say anything. He spends more days at the boat, Sarah teaching him how to preserve meat and how to fish. Other boats pass by warning them that there's something dangerous in the river. Marcus interest in Sarah only deepens.

"He would do whatever she asked him to. If she asked him to go under the water and never come back he would. He told himself that it was a debt of gratitute for all she'd dome but he already knew it was more than that."

One night, after Gretel has gone to sleep, Marcus and Sarah, both a little wine drunk, get closer, with him laying his head on her lap and her carresing his hair. She also asks him to search her breats for a tumor (which, as we learn from the present day narration, Sarah eventually had to have removed). She also urges him to leave, saying things are getting dangerous around the river. Marcus refuses to leave, even when, in the next day, he thinks he saw the Bonak.

"He understood it was his choice to go and that she would not tell him to. He understood - also - that he couldnt`t leave More than that: he couldn't ever leave her."

Now certain that there was something large lurking in the water, the trio makes a huge trap with the indent to catch and kill the creature.

Marcus had been staying the them for almost a month when it happens. One night, Sarah tells Gretel to sleep on the roof of the boat, because Sarah needs some alone time and she also needs to talk to Marcus in private. There's not much talking: Marcus climbs into Sarah bed, where she's naked under the blankets. She unbuttons his shirt and at first he is happy: "This is what I'm here for". But then he starts to panic thinking back to the words Fiona had told him.

He asks Sarah to stop, to slow down, but she keeps undressing him. She removes his binder and kisses his nipple. She touches him, touches herself, grinds on him and finally puts her mouth between his legs.

Not gonna lie, I didn't expect that to be what happened. The sex scene is described almost in the end of the book, after having been teased for a while. And nowhere did I see it coming that Sarah would rape Marcus. Specially because when I read reviews for the book, people were disgusted by the incest, not the rape or the pedophilia (let's be honest, even if Marcus had been 100% agreeing to the act, it would still be statutory rape).

The next day, Marcus, Sarah and Gretel set a scheadule to keep watch for the Bonak taking shifts so one would always be awake. During Marcus' shift, he hears a cage door slamming and goes to check the trap. As he swims to where it is, the sudden realzation hit hi: he has done what Fiona prophetized. Charlie and Sarah were his parents. I won't pretend to undertand how he realized it, but he did. You know the biggest sadnessall this? Chalie had found the child he had spent sixteen years looking for, but never realised it. He found his child only to attack him and be killing in self defense.

He discoveres that the cage door had been closed by the wind and goes to return to the boat, but his feet (he has a limp in the left leg) falters and he drowns, beng taken by the river to never be seen again. As he is drowning, he is certain he can see Sarah watching.

As soon as dawn comes over, Sarah moves the boat teling Gretel that Marcus would follow them shortly, only that he never knows. They leave the river for good and settle in a aparment above a horse stable. Gretel enrolls in school after having always been homeschool. She doesn't fit in, much like how Marcus never did. As she grows, she finds herself thinking of him, specially when she was kissing others.

"Somewhere in the kissing I started seeing Marcus, emerging out of the centre of their chests like he'd been waiting in there all along."

When Gretel is sixteen, Sarah tries to tell her something about Marcus, but Gretel says she doesn't wants to know. That same day, Sarah leaves and never comes back.

At first, Gretel tries to search for Sarah, but she eventually gives up. She graduates college. Becomes a lexicographer. From time to time, she calls to hospital or morgues and gives a description of Sarah, to see if Sarah wound up somewhere. One day, the description fits a body that lays unidentified in a morgue nearby.

Gretel goes to see it and discovers it's not Sarah, but she finds herself nable to stop her search just then, not when she had basically thought it had been over. Since she can't find any record of Sarah, she decides to look for Marcus. She doesn't find him, but finds a couple with the same last name living near where she lived when she had met Marcus.

She visits Roger and Laura, tell them about Marcus. They say they don't have a missing son, but that they had a daughter who fitted the desription of the limping leg. And so Gretel unveils the start of Marcus' story. She also meets Fiona, who tells her of the prophecy she had told Marcus before he ran away.

"I told her about [...] falling in love with Marcus in a childlike way, devoted, uncaring."

While she's staying in Roger's house, she gets a call from Sarah, asking her to go and get her. Gretel does back to the river where she spent her childhood and finds Sarah. Sarah is clearly not in a good state. She has lost a breast due to cancer and has missing memories, not seeming to notice that time has passed. However, she does eventually acepts that Gretel is who she says she is.

They talk and Sarah asks if Gretel remembers the first boat, the first baby. She doesn't, she hadn't been born yet, but Sarah tells her anyway. Of Charlie, of the baby she had with him, a baby they had named Gretel. A baby she had abandoned in a trash can by the river. Of how she lived alone in a boat after that, men coming and going. Until one day she found herself pregnant again. She named the new baby after the old one, which she believed to have died.

Having already heard from Roger of how he had found Marcus, Gretel puts the pieces together. She takes Sarah to her home, where Sarah deteriorated little by little. "The Cottage" sections are filled with Gretel resentment towards Sarah, but also with love. Gretel addresses her mom with an devotion that's more than filial love.

"Except, cut wrong side into my skin are not canals and tran tracks and a boat, but always: you."

"You populaed me: you ran the spirals of my thinking. I went to work, sat at the same desk every day, [...] dreamed of your mouth moving around words I could no longer hear."

Gretel takes care of Sarah and writes their story, writes what Sarah tells her, what she finds out. One day, Sarah tells her:

"I should have known when he first came . [...] There was something about him. I think I told myself it was lust, a new sort of lust, consuming. There was something familiar bout him, like Id loved him before. I should have known."

Which is sooooo GSA of her. (If you don`t know what GSA is, check it please, I promise you will like it.)

I'm not sure if Sarah knew who Marcus truly was before Gretel told her. I'm not sure how Marcus found out. Maybe he didn't knew for sure, he was just trying to make the prophecy match his actions had happened to be right. Either way, it was what it was.

One afternoon, Gretel calls for Sarah and she doesn't come. Then she finds her mother hanging from some bedsheets, having killed herself. Was it for her ever worsening mental condition? For regret over Marcus? We will never know. Gretel tries to live on the best she can to let the memory of Sarah go away.

Overall, I really liked the book. Johnson is a magnific writter (I found out she has a book called Sisters, which I need to get, because I think it will be very incestuous). The way she writes about loss and pain is beautiful. If you liked poetic books, I couldn't recommend this one more. Even if the incest isn't your cup of tea, it's still a worthy read.

#proship #daisy johnson #everything under #marcus and sarah #mother x son #canon #filicest #parent x child #book review #shipcest

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pascalmode · 2 years

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In The Stars (6 - The Music of Velaris)

The beginning of this one is angsty, but hopefully the second half makes up for it. Send me a message and tell me what you thinkkk! or any questions you have! ily! have a good day!

Az x TOG!OC

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: Asteria has a panic attack, descriptions of anxiety and existential dread, very negative self talk, a little angst followed by a lot of fluff, mention of maeve (srry).

“Any progress?”

Asteria opens one eye, peeking up at the High Lord where he stands beside her, night blessed eyes gleaming and kind, his posture relaxed even with his hands clasped behind his back.

“No,” Asteria bluntly responds, kneeling on the frozen Sidra River that runs through Velaris, her bare, scarred hands chilled to the bone where they’re pressed onto the ice, magic alight under her skin and glowing brightly in the daylight.

Rhysand hums, mulling over the blunt word, “So it is not the location that’s discouraging the Realm.”

Asteria clenches her jaw, the Realm’s sneering, cruel words rattling around her brain.

‘You are nothing. You do not belong here. You are not my Realm Reader.’

Gulping, Asteria pulls her magic back within her, rising to her own two feet and wiping her cold, wet hands on her pants, “No, it’s not location. It’s me.”

“We could try it from the top of Ramiel,” Rhys suggests, holding out Asteria’s brown leather gloves for her. She takes them, hastily shoving her hands into the warm confines of the material, “Maybe the mountain-view will put the Realm in a better mood.”

“I don’t think I’m that lucky,” Asteria mutters, beginning to shuffle towards the edge of the canal, the High Lord following her lead, “It’s not the location, the Realm barely acknowledges me, and when it does, it’s telling me to fuck off.”

“So no positive progress,” Rhysand concludes, stepping up onto the ledge with ease and offering Asteria a gentlemanly hand to help her up.

Taking it and allowing the High Lord to pull her up off of the frozen river to the snow dusted cobblestones, frowning at him in the process, “Have you heard back from the Summer Court?” She asks.

“Not yet, Tarquin seems to be taking his time with our request,” Rhysand drawls, leading Asteria up to one of the many bridges that connect the halves of the city that the river runs through, “We’ll call a meeting when his reply comes through to make a plan.”

“Is this High Lord not your ally?”

“Our relationship has been–” Rhysand pauses, leaning a hip on the edge of the bridge as he searches for the right word, Asteria halts in front of him, “-Complicated, as of late.”

Asteria hums, nodding her head.

Complicated wouldn’t do. Her existence is complicated enough. Being here, a stranger in a Realm that wants nothing to do with her, and tasked with something dauntingly impossible; to heal that very Realm from its own damages.

The more she speaks to the Realm, hangs on its every word as it refuses and degrades her, the more Asteria feels discouraged. Unlike herself. Unable to comprehend how she’d gotten here.

In Erilea, her home, she had more raw, unbridled power than she knew what to do with, and the few years of her life where she had her own freedom, Asteria knew no challenge. Realm magic can do anything, and so can a fully realized Realm Reader.

That’s not what she is in Prythian. All she is in this Realm is a female with a shallow well of power. Power of truth, and of light.

Asteria knows it would never be enough, not to save this world from itself.

Without the trust of the Realm, she’s useless.

Asteria turns away from Rhysand, resting her elbows on the bridge’s railing, her fingers suddenly shaking with a familiar fear that she tries to shove down before it shows itself to the High Lord by her side. She wrings her hands, trying to distract herself from her own heart hammering against her ribcage.

“Can I ask you something and have you answer it honestly?” Asteria questions, looking to Rhysand, who lowers himself to mimic her posture on the railing, giving her a nod, “When you saw me falling that night, why did you save me?”

The question makes Rhysand’s chest deflates with a long sigh, his dark features accentuated with the violet tones of night under the sun of the day, and he looks more thoughtful than Asteria had ever seen him, as if he’s carefully choosing his words.

“I saved you,” Rhysand begins, voice soft and full of breath, “Because as soon as you entered this Realm, I could feel your pain. It was deep, and hopeless, and something I am unfortunately very familiar with.”

Asteria bites the inside of her cheek, taking her eyes off of Rhysand, unable to look at him while he speaks, and instead directing her gaze to the frozen Sidra that they’d just been standing on.

“I had felt that kind of pain before, in myself, in my mate, and in each member of my inner circle,” The High Lord continues, “It is a harsh, lonely kind of pain, and when I looked up and saw you entering our Realm, about to fall into the next, I stopped you. I couldn’t rid myself of the thought that if what you were feeling was so familiar, that maybe, just maybe, you’d be one of us. And you’d need our help,” Asteria meets Rhysand’s eyes once again, “When I looked in your head and discovered just what you are, I realized we may need your help more than you need ours.”

“What if you were wrong?” Asteria asks, frowning, feeling nothing but discouraged in her own ability, “What if I can’t do this?”

“Then we figure out another way.”

There is no other way, Asteria wants to scream. But she stays quiet, offering Rhysand a small smile that is probably more of a grimace than anything else.

The High Lord claps a hand on her shoulder, standing up straight and beginning to rattle on about Velaris, and the parts of the city Asteria would enjoy, or the politics of Prythian Courts, or even about his and his Mate’s activities from the night prior. Asteria doesn’t know. She isn’t listening.

She’s staring down at the frozen Sidra, trying to keep her breathing steady.

The longer she’s here, the more she realizes how useless she really is to the healing of the Realm. Rhysand’s faith is misplaced, it has to be, because if she was really meant to save Prythian from its own ruin then the Realm wouldn’t be rejecting her the way it is. She wouldn’t be stuck, confined, in her unfamiliarly shallow well of magic.

She’s going to let Rhysand down. She’s going to let down Feyre and Azriel and the rest of the inner circle.

She won’t be enough.

The thoughts raging through her make her breaths shallow out, enough that Asteria has to focus to stand up straight, her palms sweating underneath her gloves. Rhysand’s words are muddled out, overtaken by the sound of the heavy, fast beating of her heart rushing into her ears.

They may be outside in in the dead of winter, but Asteria feels uncomfortably warm, every part of her starting to heat up, walls of her own mind crumbling down around her. Trapping her. Crushing her.

She won’t be enough.

The words rattle around her brain, everything she wouldn’t be able to do for this group of people that had shown her so much kindness since she quite literally fell into their lives. That’s the worst part, they are giving her so much, and there’s nothing she can do for them in return. She won’t be enough.

Asteria wrings her own hands to the point of pain, trying to bring herself back into her own head, to calm down and breathe when suddenly, a shadow finds her hands, slowly swirling around them, as if analyzing her actions to figure out just what she’s doing.

A little surprised, Asteria lets her hands relax, stopping the wringing and watching as the wisp of shadow seemingly becomes satisfied with itself, slowly wrapping around her arm, and moving upwards behind her shoulders and down the length of her long, tightly braided silver hair.

Asteria follows it with her eyes as best she can, watching as it returns back to the very male that the shadows belong to.

Azriel’s concern isn’t masked, his hazel eyes intense when she turns to face him. So intense, that Asteria barely registers that he isn’t alone until the unfamiliar female is already approaching with her arms open.

Asteria has a split second to register her name, Elain; soft and feminine, matching the female perfectly, before she’s wrapped in a tight hug.

Arms tense by her side, Asteria’s heart doesn’t falter in its frantic beating, an overwhelming floral scent invading her nose and pushing her senses even further to their limit.

Remaining rigid, Asteria can’t help but hate this. She can’t stand being touched unless it’s by someone she knows and trusts.

It’s a relief when Elain steps back, a kind smile on her face as Rhysand introduces Asteria, the words muffled by Asteria’s screaming mind. So much, that all she can manage to do is give what she hopes is a polite nod.

Another shadow reaches out to Asteria, and she forces herself to look at Azriel again, and actually take in what’s happening around her.

She finds the shadowsinger as hauntingly beautiful as ever in the scaled armor he’s worn each time she’s seen him, and in his hands he holds a few shopping bags. His massive wings are tucked in tightly, and his shadows are whirling around him in their usual fashion, a few of them wafting out towards Asteria, as if concerned for her. Maybe they have reason to be.

The female beside him, Elain, looks so soft, and feminine, just as Asteria had thought moments ago, that everything about the silver haired female suddenly feels too harsh, too severe. Like even her name is odd and grim in comparison.

“Rhys, would you mind taking Elain back to the house?” Azriel asks handing his bags to the High Lord under Elain’s confused gaze, his low voice cutting through Asteria’s racing thoughts like a hot knife through butter. His concerned eyes find hers again, “Asteria, I want to show you something.”

Then, in the blink of an eye, Azriel is ushering the silver haired female away, his hand on the small of her back and wing stretched around her.

Just as quickly, as if her body had recognized him, she relaxes, her heart rate slowing as Azriel guides her through the streets of Velaris.

—

“Are you alright?” Azriel asks, handing Asteria a steaming cup of tea that he’d purchased from a cafe a few doors away from the bench he and Asteria had settled on.

Asteria takes the paper cup from him, savoring the warmth that bleeds through her gloves and into her palms, “Yes,” She says, watching the male as he sits close to her, taking a second to get his wings settled over the back of the seating. Asteria is a second away from suggesting they go somewhere else when Azriel finally gets comfortable, both his thigh and shoulder brushing Asteria’s, “Thank you.”

The Shadowsinger gives her a small smile, the concern still in his gaze as he looks down at her while she sips the hot tea, “Does that happen often?”

Asteria swallows, the pleasant herbal taste sticking in her mouth and the warmth spreading through her, “Does what happen often?”

“That kind of….”

“Panic?” Asteria finishes, saving the Shadowsinger the trouble of finding the right word, “Not before the last hundred years or so, but yes. It happens more often than I’d like.”

Azriel hums, nodding, looking towards the street corner, watching the other fae heading from shop to shop, some laughing with friends, others with determined gazes and places to be.

Asteria stares up at him, suddenly curious about the Shadowsinger’s watchful gaze, “How did you know?” Asteria asks, bringing his observative hazel eyes to him.

He considers the question his arm extending to the back of the bench behind Asteria, “I didn’t. Not really,” He answers, “You just looked like you needed a friend.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

“What else am I supposed to call the only person who knows that strawberries disgust me?” Azriel asks, smirking.

Asteria snorts, amused, while looking up at Azriel with a tight lipped smile, “You should know, I’m not very good at keeping friends.”

“Well, I’ve dealt with Cassian and Rhys for the past five centuries,” Azriel says, tone light, “I’d say you’re in good hands.”

Asteria hums, sipping her tea once again, “And what’s the key to friendship, my dear Shadowsinger?”

“There are very few secrets between friends,” Azriel says with a sly smile.

His expression makes Asteria roll her eyes in an exaggerated manner, extremely amused with the Spymaster and his desire for the unknown, “Of course you say that.”

She knows Azriel can see it, see how much he’s entertaining her, clearing her head without even trying, especially when a new, intriguing, glint of mischief enters his simmering hazel eyes, “What? It’s true.”

“You just want me to tell you all of my secrets,” Asteria accuses, hiding what could be a smile behind the rim of her cup, taking a long drink of tea and watching as Azriel shrugs, no trace of denial to be seen. Asteria lowers her cup, leaning a touch closer and playfully sneering, “Greedy male.”

Azriel mimics her, leaning closer until their faces are barely a couple inches away, one of his shadows sneaking past him and curling around the end of her braid as he lowly utters out, “Captivating, mysterious female,” With a smirk resting on his lips.

Asteria can feel each of her tense muscles softening from the Shadowsinger’s nearness, making her mind race. No one, not even the Hellas-following male she once believed to be her mate, had such an easy effect on her. It’s almost as if her body recognizes him and is waiting for the rest of her to catch up, a warm feeling budding in each part of her, especially her lower region.

The silver-haired female swallows, crossing one leg over the other and squeezing her thighs together in what she hopes is an inconspicuous manner as she clears her throat, “Which of my secrets do you want now?”

“Only the most important ones,” Azriel says, leaning back and giving Asteria the room to breathe again, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Oh, that’s personal.” Asteria answers quickly, earning a low chuckle from the male that pleasantly rumbles through her, “It’s always been green. What’s yours?”

“Blue.”

“Obviously,” Asteria says, reaching up with one of her hands and tapping the blue gem on his chest, “What are these? Is it a secret?”

The hand that isn’t resting on the back of the cold, metal bench wraps around Asteria’s, making her breath hitch as he lowers them to her lap, releasing her to show her the crystal on the back of his hand, identical ones on his chest, shoulders, and knees, counting seven in total, “No, not a secret,” Azriel says with another chuckle, “They’re siphons.”

Asteria raises a brow with a subtle curiosity, quietly urging him on.

“To put it simply, siphons are used by Illyrians, like Cass and I, to channel magic.”

“Do all Illyrians have them?”

Azriel shakes his head, “Only the powerful ones.”

“Do all of the powerful ones use seven?”

“No. No one else has enough power. They’d be lucky to use more than one.”

Asteria lets out a low whistle, suddenly impressed with the male beside her, one she never would have guessed to hold such raw power if he hadn’t told her. He moves too gently, and carefully to be carrying a level of power so severe.

Seven. Seven siphons to channel his magic.

Asteria remembers the red shield she’d run into just before her first encounter with Cassian, and how his crimson siphons flared brightly at her. It sends a shiver down her spine.

“Maybe I shouldn’t piss off Cassian as much as I do,” Asteria mumbles, still thinking about the dangerous gleam of the crystals.

Azriel breathes deeply, that easy smile still gracing his features, “He’s harmless.”

“So then you’re the one I should be afraid of?”

“No,” Azriel answers, “Friends don’t fear each other.”

Unable to help the playful scoff that moves up her throat, Asteria looks over to the Shadowsinger with a smirk on her lips, about to speak when she’s frozen by the sound of a fiddle streaming through the air.

Automatically, Asteria turns her head to a street corner just a few feet away, a blue haired fae female tapping her booted toe to a upbeat tune she shreds out on her instrument, a male with insect’s wings launching into a complementary melody with a fiddle of his own just a moment later, their delightful song filling the square.

Blindly, the silver haired female taps Azriel’s chest with the back of her hand, unable to take her eyes off the performers, “Az? Did you know they’d be here?”

Asteria doesn’t look at her companion as he grips her gloved hand, giving it a contented squeeze before releasing it, making her feel warm, “I wasn’t lying when I said I had something to show you. They perform here every night.”

The pair of fiddles build further, the counter melodies mixing and blending and challenging one another as the musicians come face to face, grinning as they get to a certain point of the song, slowing the tempo for a fraction of a second before launching back into it, making Asteria even more delighted.

“You really love music, don’t you?” Azriel asks, thoughtfully.

“More than anything else,” Asteria says, as if it were automatic. She turns back to the Shadowsinger, feeling as though she’s vibrating from her own excitement, “I played the fiddle, among other instruments, but preferred the pianoforte. I used to be a composer, too. For a hundred years the Doranelle Orchestra used to play my symphonies, and they were picked up by the companies in Adarlan and Terrasen. But that was before-” Asteria stops, her breath hitching and a familiar sadness flooding over her chest despite the addictively upbeat tune raging around her. Her voice goes quiet, “That was before.”

Before Maeve decided to take the music away completely, and put a ban on all of Asteria’s work.

The green eyed female takes a deep breath, letting it fill her lungs and rejoicing in the feeling that comes with it, and for the first time since the door between worlds was thrust open, Asteria reminds herself that Maeve, that horrid, cruel queen isn’t here. She doesn’t exist in Prythian. And Asteria may have left a war behind, but she also freed herself, completely and truly.

Yes, at one point Maeve had taken music away. But Prythian gave it back to her, and Azriel led her to it.

“Do you want to just sit and listen?” Azriel asks, softly, able to recognize her dampened mood.

Asteria remembers when they were at Rita’s not long ago, a different group of musicians playing something completely foreign to the otherworldly female. Azriel had asked her to dance then. Until now, turning to look at him, feeling as though she may start crying joyous tears at any second from the epiphany of her own freedom, Asteria didn’t realize how much she was hoping that he’d ask her again until a question moved past his lips.

There isn’t a doubt in her mind she’d say yes now, and she can’t help but wonder if he’d do the same.

“No, actually. Would you like to-”

“-Dance with me?” Asteria and Azriel are snapped from the small, seemingly private bubble they’d put themselves in by the voice of an unfamiliar male.

Looking up, Asteria finds the male to be young, probably having just Settled, with a hand outstretched. He looks nervous, fingers trembling just slightly, but also kind. Long, sand coloured hair and dark eyes waiting expectantly for her answer with a slight grimace.

“Dance with you?” Asteria repeats, looking from the strange male back to Azriel, who has both brows raised, the shadows swirling around him seemingly darker, thicker than hey were a moment ago.

The stranger gulps, nodding, “People are- are, uh, starting to-to do it. To dance, that is. Would you? With-with me?”

Looking past him, Asteria sees that couples had in fact started to make their way into the square, dancing excitedly to the music from the pair of fiddlers, grins on each face and sparks of joy in each set of eyes, bodies moving in time with the melody.

A little closer, there is a trio of young males that draws Asteria’s attention, staring at them. Snickering. Mocking the male in front of her’s posture, and jostling one another with conniving, rude expressions.

They’re making fun of him, and Asteria immediately hates them for it.

“What’s your name?” Asteria asks, bringing her eyes from the group to the lone male in front of her.

Gulping, the stranger answers her, “Murry.”

“Well, Murry, my name is Asteria, and I have to tell you that I’m not a very good dancer,” Asteria says, handing her half-full cup of tea to Azriel, who takes it without being told to, “But if you know that, and you’d still have me. I’d be honored to dance with you.”

Murry’s grin spreads across his face in an instant, “Really?”

“Really,” Asteria nods, putting her hand in his, only to be eagerly tugged to her feet by the sandy haired male, her lips parting to release a startled yelp as Murry all but drags her to the square.

Looking over her shoulder, suddenly questioning what she’d gotten herself into, she sees Azriel watching her intently and smiling from ear to ear. The sight punches her in the gut, catching her off guard and making her stumble over her own feet.

Before she can right herself, Murry is sweeping her into the line of dancers with a hand just above her waist and her hand held firmly in his. Asteria puts her hand on his shoulder, trying to keep up with Murry and the rest of the crowd as they bound and twirl in a seemingly organized formation, her eyes glued to her feet, trying to get it right.

It only takes a few moments for Murry to playfully tell her, “You really weren’t lying.”

Something overtakes her then. Perhaps the upbeat music embedding itself into her blood, or the fact that she knows that group of males from earlier may be watching, but Asteria can’t help the genuine laugh that bubbles from her when her companion mocks her dance talents, “I warned you!”

Murry doesn’t falter, however, instead, he quietly lets Asteria know when to turn, and when to take larger steps, and when he’s going to release her, only to spin her out and bring her back in, a smile on his face the whole time.

The song thunders through her, fiddles giving her the other ques she needs to fall fully into the dance, confident in her moves, so much that when she looks over Murry’s shoulder to try and catch Azriel’s eye, she finds he’s not there anymore. Her still-steaming tea sitting lonesome on their bench.

She doesn’t have time to frown, though, because when Murry turns her again, she catches sight of the Illyrian Shadowsinger fully engrossed in the dance, smiling down at a smaller, old female between his arms.

Asteria’s heart clenches at the sight, warmth radiating through her down to her very soul. She doesn’t get to savor it, though, because the song ends, and the Fiddlers stomp their feet twice, and without a word, Murry steps away.

Barely a second later, an absurdly tall creature with green skin that feels like leather, big hands and a wide jaw sweeps Asteria off her feet as a new melody begins.

Just when she’d gotten a hand of the dance, she’s suddenly forced to do it in reverse, cursing under her breath with a chuckle, this partner’s movements more suave than Murry’s. He moves automatically, barely giving Asteria a moment to second-guess herself, his lead almost domineering.

Looking around the circle, Asteria finds Azriel dancing with a raven haired nymph, his gaze finding hers over the head of his partner, smiling wide.

The Fiddlers stomp their feet again, and Asteria is nearly knocked over by a red headed fae with crisp blue eyes and fast feet, seemingly moving in double-time with the music.

Like magnets, Asteria and Azriel find each other’s eyes again, and they both laugh, Asteria feeling ridiculous while the fae whisks her around the square with a showmanship like no other.

The music crescendos, the beat carrying on steadily as they switch partners again, another stranger in front of Asteria, and Azriel getting closer and closer as if he’s trying to rush towards her as he sweeps through partners.

Asteria craves him through the song, feeling it in her bones as it builds and builds, her feet keeping time beneath her as she’s brought into the arms of a new partner.

After that, it’s a dark skinned nymph.

Then Murry again.

She wishes it were Azriel.

A shadow whisps around her braid, and a new fae male spins her wildly.

He’s followed by a tall Urisk, Azriel finally just a partner away.

The Fiddlers stomp their feet again, and Asteria’s heart leaps wildly in anticipation.

She steps into Azriel’s arms at long last, and the music abruptly stops.

Panting, her chest heaving, Asteria looks up at Azriel. His hands burn at her waist, the heat of them bleeding through her tunic and into her skin, making her entire body feel as though it’s on fire.

Asteria feels her cheeks warm, knowing they’ve definitely tinged themselves pink at his nearness. She smiles up at Azriel, broad and without restraint, unable to do anything else as the crowd around them erupts into applause for the musicians that had hold up their instruments, finished performing and beaming with joy at the dancers they’d entertained.

Azriel’s grin falters, mouth parting slightly as Asteria takes a hesitant step back, almost unsure to be moving away from his embrace, clapping and cheering with the rest of them. She eyes him suspiciously, afraid that she’d done something wrong, as his throat bobs with a swallow, one of his wings twitching before he joins the applause with her.

Asteria nudges him with her elbow, the shadow that had found her during the dance swirling around her wrist for a few more moments before returning to its master, and the silver haired female can’t help but laugh.

Just an hour ago, she wouldn’t have pictured this for herself. Dancing in the heart of Velaris, the city of starlight, with complete strangers, reveling in unexpected, wonderful music, enjoying herself.

But she’s here, it’s all because of the male beside her.

Azriel finds his grin again, and Asteria’s nerves settle when he waves to the old lady he’d begun the dance with, and Asteria decides that she’ll remember this night, a part of her soul that she’d long forgotten existed sparking to life as she takes him in.

She’d remember how his very presence brought her out of a dread-filled panic and how his hands felt on her waist. She’d remember the burning delight in Azriel’s eyes that was meant just for her, and she’d keep it all to herself. A thing of private beauty.

He had given her something truly valuable this night. Something Azriel had been right about when they’d first sat down on the bench by the Sidra.

She did need a friend, and she’s glad it was him.

---

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added)

@bionic-donut @hollyismentallyillhelp @younxii @feyretopia @hideing @eat-cake @warzaines

#azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #acowar #acotar oc #acotar fanfiction #acotar #inner circle x oc #azriel x reader #azriel reader #sjm fic #in the stars #tog oc #velaris #night court #acofas #inner circle

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drustvar · 1 year

Text

Ch. 2: Gifts and Curses

The start of Julian Devorak and Rosie Springwald's entangled fate. At least, that they remember.

WC: 3,675 A/N: Chapter 2 babes. Fun with eels, blood, and evading the law. Ao3 Link || Full text also available under the read more.

“Julian?” Rosie squinted into the shadows, but she was sure the tall figure was him; standing at the canal’s edge framed by the light of the moon. Behind him, the city towered like a behemoth, a chaotic sprawl of buildings piled on top of each other. In his hands was a beaked mask, which he turned over slowly as if unsure of what to do with it. “Fancy seeing you here, Rosie. Out for a night walk, hm?” Julian sighed, and his gaze dropped to the water below them. The shiny red paneling on the inside of his coat reflected brightly in the water, crimson on crimson blending together.

Rosie followed his gaze. “I dunnae know, I was just…following the water,” she said before she shook her head, trying to rid the sight of the poisoned river from her mind’s eye. “What are you doin’ here?” “Me? I was just…thinking. What a funny, fickle thing life is, isn’t it?” “Life and fate are two sides of the same capricious coin,” she murmured. “You shouldn’t stand so close to the water,” she gestured for him to take a step back. “What, this water?” Julian grinned, and for a moment she was scared he was going to jump right in. “It’s harmless, Rosie. Or, as harmless as it can be. It won’t do anything to me. Or anything to anyone, anymore. Sure, a few people might get sick if they go for a swim, but,” he sighed, his gaze lifting from the water to the sky. “Isn’t it a miracle? They went and figured it out. Or outlasted it. Wonder how they did it?” “Miracle or not, I don’t trust it. Get away from it, please.” He laughed and took a step back from the canal, if only to appease her. “Ah, it’s no matter, I suppose. Life finds a way, doesn’t it? The plague is over.”

She glanced at the water again. If what she had seen flowing through the fields was to be believed, she wasn’t sure that was the case.

Julian sighed heavily. “And so is my career, just like that. Who needs a plague doctor if there’s no plague? It’s like,” he paused, his face splitting into a bitter grin. “Like a Count without a city! A barkeep with no drinks,” as he threw his arms out in a flourish a piece of hair obscured his good eye. “So here I am. Throwing away the last piece of a past I can’t reclaim. A pity, isn’t it? Ah well,” he glanced down at the mask once more, and then tossed it into the water below them. Pale, slithering shapes swarmed it as soon as it hit the surface. “What are you doing?!” Rosie lunged, failing to even come close to catching the mask as it fell. “You need that! Did you forget what I said? The Countess has all her dogs out after you-” she was cut off by a ragged screech as the raven from earlier returned, circling them in a frenzy. “Speak of the devils,” Julian said. “Look lively, Rosie. We’d best make tracks.”

|| They hurried along the canal, following it to where it merged with the streets. Julian reached the end first, turning and waiting for her, glancing around for any sign of their pursuers. Rosie’s breath caught in her throat as she felt her hip twinge painfully and then give out beneath her. She slammed hard onto the canal’s edge, breath knocked out of her as she slid. The last thing she saw before the reservoir swallowed her was the doctor lunging to grab her, his hand just barely missing her arm.

She’d never thought the waters of the reservoirs would be so cold or so dark. The frigid temperature was suffocating, and time seemed to slow as she sank. Something slimy brushed against her leg, followed by a sharp sting in her side. The pain was enough to snap her out of her daze and she flailed, clawing her way to the surface. “Rosie!”

Julian’s hands gripped her shoulders as he pulled her from the water, her nails scraping wildly against the stone for purchase. She gasped at the return of air to her lungs, and began to cough up water.

“I’ve got you, you’re alright,” Julian’s voice was barely audible over the pounding of her heart and her own coughing. She winced as the stinging in her side only worsened when she tried to get to her feet. Attached to her abdomen was a slimy, undulating creature, her own blood visible through its translucent skin.

“Ah, that’s not good. Hang on-”

She didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. She grabbed the creature and tore it from her side, throwing it on the ground and crushing its skull audibly beneath her heel.

“Nasty little beastie,” she hissed and spat on the ground.

“You shouldn’t have done that!”

“It’s fine,” Rosie said, briefly glancing at the bite. Already it was beginning to weep a volatile looking fluid. “We need to keep moving.” “Rosie, those eels are venomous-” Julian grabbed her arm, trying to stop her.

“I said I’m fine! Now come on,” Rosie shrugged him off and started to stagger towards the road. She was soaking wet and despite the night having been warm, she was freezing. She only made it a few steps before she stumbled and slumped against the side of a building. “I just need a minute,” she murmured. Her legs felt so weak, how had she ever walked before? Doing so seemed impossible now. Julian scooped her up, despite her protest that she was fine, she just needed a minute. She was faintly aware of the blood soaking through her clothes and running down her leg, but she was quickly becoming too dizzy to care.

“Can you stand? Just for a moment?” He asked her as they ducked into an alley. “Trying,” her words were slurred and becoming incomprehensible. She gripped his arm tightly as she struggled to make her legs work. Had her limbs always felt so heavy?

“Right, foolish question,” Julian said as he pulled her further out of sight of the street. “Easy, easy,” he said as Rosie suddenly flailed, her eyes glassy like a dazed animal. “Let me see that bite.” She was barely conscious; only faintly aware of the cool, wet stone pressed against the side of her face and the rustling of her corset being unlaced and pushed up out of the way.

“Sorry, sorry. I have to get to it.”

Whatever Rosie tried to say in response was trapped behind her teeth, coming out as a low gurgle. She stared at the stars overhead, faintly of Julian’s hands as he worked.

“I was trying to warn you, if you don’t properly dislodge its jaws, the eel panics and injects its entire venom supply. I’m sorry,” Julian said.

“Not your fault,” Rosie managed to say, although her words were still slurred and broken.

“The bleeding isn’t going to stop, damn.”

From the corner of her eye she could see Julian sitting back, his brows furrowed in concern and frustration. As he peeled off his gloves, she started to convulse, as her body gave one last attempt to fight off paralysis.

“Hang on, just stay with me.” Rosie caught the briefest glimpse of the murderer’s brand burned into the back of his hand as he cushioned her head against the pavement. “Stay with me, Rosie.” The palm of his hand was cold when he pressed it over her wound. With her last remaining gasps of consciousness, she tried to hold still.

“Deep breaths for me. This will only take a moment.”

Somehow, she was able to follow his directions. His thumb lightly brushed her cheek and slowly the pain began to ebb away. She gasped for air as her lungs were freed and able to work again.

“Why does somethin’ always seem to go wrong when we run into each other?” She asked, finally able to enunciate.

Julian let out a sharp bark of laughter. “If you’re able to joke, that’s a good sign. Should also mean you can sit up.” He helped her slowly shift upright. She was still dizzy, but his hand on her back steadied her. “At the very least, you didn’t catch me breaking and entering this time. But, I’ll admit that I was surprised to see you in the neighborhood. You’ve got some kind of luck.”

“Luck?” Rosie snorted. “Bad luck, maybe. Half drownin’ and poisonin’ myself in the span of five minutes. Must be a record.”

“Ah, but it could have been worse,” he pointed to the canal’s end, a violently cascading waterfall of red. It was much higher than she had first realized, and as she craned her neck she could see that the pool at its bottom was very shallow. It had structures to prevent gondolas and fishing boats from falling, but if the current had caught her it surely would have swept her down.

“You have a point,” she shuddered and turned back to the doctor. Her eyes widened as she noticed the glowing mark on his throat. “My God,” she whispered, and reached out to touch it before she stopped herself. Something about the mark was unnervingly familiar. A shadow passed over his countenance as he met her stare. “Ah, do you recognize your master’s handiwork?” As he spoke, fresh blood blossomed under his clothing, already visibly beginning to seep through. “This was his parting gift to me. A curse. I’m able to take away bodily wounds, as you can see,” he pressed a hand to his side, before pulling it away and staring at the blood smeared on it. “And in return, I get to experience them for myself.” He winced in pain, a cold sweat visibly beading on his brow.

‘I’d never known Asra to curse,’ Rosie thought. 'Always had the impression that he thought he was too good for that sort of magic.'

Julian sucked air through his teeth as he swayed forward. Rosie caught him, supporting him with her shoulder. ‘If I’d known he’d suffer, I would have told him to let the venom run its course.’ She thought as she watched the blood trail down his side. “It won’t last, it never does,” he murmured. “A curse from a witch who fears commitment.”

“Take as long as you need, it’s the least I can do,” she said, as she shifted to let him rest more comfortably against her shoulder and her chest. His skin was cold and his breathing was shaky. She ran her fingers gently over the nape of his neck in a light, soothing pattern.

“Then again, I’ve never been bitten by a vampire eel before. This might be interesting.” He sighed and slumped a little more against her.

“Thank you,” Rosie said after a quiet moment had passed.

“I,” Julian blinked up at her. “Don’t mention it. That is, well, circumstances being as they were… I’m just glad you’re alright.” Both of them fell silent as they heard a dreaded sound: Palace guards patrolling the outer walls of the city. “Shit,” Rosie hissed under breath. “Will you be alright? Can you walk,” she asked. He was still visibly shaking, and the bleeding hadn’t stopped. “I can carry you if you need me to.”

“I’ll be fine. In fact I promise you I’m near good as new,” Julian said as he ushered her into a connecting alley. The alley was narrower than the last. Julian pressed close against her as they tried to hide as far back as they could. She felt her hair raising as the guards drew closer. She didn’t know what she’d do if they were caught, and didn’t want to think about it. All she knew was that she wouldn’t let them have the chance to get near him. She glanced at him, pain evident on his face despite his prior insistence. His eyes were fixed on the street before he shifted to meet hers. For a moment they stared at one another in silence.

“Rosie-”

“You should have stood behind me. If they only see me-” A clinking sound from the alley’s entrance silenced her. The guard was kicking a bottle along as they walked, not paying any attention at all as they passed by. “Not the time,” Julian whispered. “Let’s go.” ||

He grabbed her hand and led her out of the alley, casting a cursory glance down the street before breaking into a run. The city passed them by as a blur as they evaded the patrols; weaving around buildings and ducking into the shadows as needed. “Julian,” Rosie hissed. She could tell from his breathing that he was still hurting, still weak. He held a finger to his lips and pointed. She hadn’t even noticed it before, across the road from them was a garden nestled between two tall, seemingly abandoned buildings. Just barely visible through the shadows cast by the garden’s overgrown trees was a padlock on the wrought iron gate. ‘I can blast the lock no problem,’ Rosie thought. ‘If we can get inside, it’ll be the perfect hiding place,’

One thing stood in their way: a street lamp. It seemed painfully bright, and anything under it was visible for quite a ways down either side of the road.

‘No, it won’t work. Surely they’ll see us,’ she thought, pursing her lips.

But before she could say anything, Julian was already running across the street and pulling her along with him. She gripped his hand tighter as she steered them right to the gate. Magic was already crackling in her palms as she grabbed for the lock when Julian half lifted, half threw her over the wall. She landed awkwardly in a heap, and just a second after Julian dropped down next to her.

“Are you alright?” Julian asked as he helped her to her feet. “Fine, I-” Fast, close footfalls made her blood run cold. “Get down!” She hissed as she dropped to the ground, pulling him down with her. She held him close to her chest, his head tucked under her chin as she tried to hide him from view with her body. After what felt like forever, the guards finally passed by, leaving them with only the sound of their beating hearts. Rosie waited another minute, just to be sure the guards were really gone, before letting Julian out of her protective hold. “Thanks,” he said, helping her to her feet once more.

“Of course,” Rosie dusted herself off and pretended not to notice how red his face was. “We shouldn’t stay this close to the gate. Another patrol will be here soon.”

Julian held a curtain of ivy open for her, and together they ventured further into the garden. ||

The garden was overgrown, clearly abandoned for some time. The plants had long since taken over the stone structures, obscuring what were once alabaster columns and marble statues. Between the moonlight and the shadows cast by the untamed foliage, the garden seemed like a quiet, shrouded world all of its own. Rosie sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Finally, they were safe, at least for a little while. She stopped to look at a statue of a lion, carefully pushing leaves out of its eyes. It must have looked fierce, once. But now it seemed tired and ready to return to the earth. Julian led the way, stepping around roots and cracked, jutting stone floors before they settled at a dilapidated fountain. Rosie sat, and started to squeeze the water from her hair.

“Ah, look at this place!” Julian said. “A perfect hiding spot. You made a good choice.”

“You were the one who pointed it out,” Rosie shrugged.

“I uh, I was actually pointing at the building over there,” he nodded at the structure to the right, barely visible through the overgrowth. “But this is much nicer. Looks like you’ve a knack for finding hidden beauty, Rosie.”

She laughed and shook her head, sending droplets from her still-wet hair scattering through the moonlight. “I wonder how many parts of the city have fallen to ruin like this, hm?” He looked around them before carefully making his way over to one of the statues. It was grotesque, something between a bull and a gargoyle. “Ah, and look at this brute. Hello there, handsome.” He wrapped an arm around the statue’s muscular shoulders and turned back to Rosie with delight in his eyes. “Dangerous looking creature, isn’t it?”

“More handsome than dangerous, if you ask me,” she said, not looking at the statue at all. “But how is that bite? I can tell you're still hurting,” She started towards him. She squinted to see if any of the blood on his coat was fresh. “Oh, are you worried about me, Rosie? You needn’t be. Perfectly alright, see?” He spread his arms wide and nearly knocked a bust over in the process. He swore as he caught and steadied it. “I, uh, ahem. Reflexes notwithstanding.”

Rosie snorted. “You said that before. Just let me see it, I know a thing or two about mending too, you know.” She reached for him but he stepped back, just out of reach.

“Really, it’s fine! Just a little bite, nothing I can’t handle. There are more dangerous things than eels,” he said.

“Well that little eel sure knocked me on my ass. So I’d really like-” Julian wasn’t paying attention, something else had caught his eye.

“Ah, hold still, Rosie,” he reached out and slowly plucked a flower off her shoulder. It had a vivid blue glow, just like the luminous trees overhanging them. The flower’s star shaped petals curled inward , beginning to close as he touched it. He offered it to her, a quirk to his lips as he twirled it in his fingers, She reached for it, the blue glow reflecting brightly in the gold of her eyes. He stopped her, shaking his head and pulling it back just out of her reach.

“Ah, ah ah. Careful. There’s poison in these petals.” She stared at the glowing flower. She had seen it before in her herbal compendiums, but at the moment its name escaped her.

“Deadly Starstrand,” he said. “A single drop of poison distilled from this flower could kill an elephant where it stands. Its killed tyrants and kings; innocent and guilty. It could topple entire empires in a careless hand,” he offered it to her once more, something eager in his gaze. “Do you still want it?”

“Aye,” Rosie said as she plucked it from his gloved fingers. “Deadly it may be, but only to those who dunnae know how to handle it.” She sniffed it lightly. The flower had a faintly acrid scent, an underlying note of iron that swirled in the air. “The only danger it poses is from ingestion. Otherwise, it makes a lovely centerpiece,” she said as she admired the way the flower’s own light blended with the light of the moon.

“Ah, right again,” Julian said, gently taking it from her hand and tucking it behind her ear. His hand lingered against her hair for just a moment longer before dropping down to her shoulder.

“You certainly weren’t frightened by its ‘danger’,” she said as she took a step closer.

“Afraid of danger? Why, Rosie, I live for it,” he grinned. “Positively enchanted by danger, I am.”

“So does that mean pain doesn’t scare you either?” “Why should it? In my line of work you can’t be afraid of a little pain. One might say I,” he paused, his gray eye glowing silver in the low light. “Have an intimate knowledge of it.”

“Is that so?” Rosie’s voice was low and husky, almost a growl. She took another step closer, this time placing a hand on his waist and pressing lightly against the wound. He gulped and stared down at her.

“O-oh are we dancing? I didn’t know you could,” Julian said. “What, er, what’s your poison? Tango? Waltz?”

“Whatever you’d like,” She all but purred as she took another step closer and pressed more heavily against the wound. He bit his lip and made a stifled noise. It didn’t sound pained, if anything it sounded pleased. He took another step back and bumped into the crumbling wall behind him. The look he gave her was desperate.

“S-so not the waltz, then. Pity, I’ve been known to cut a rug-” his fingers dug into her shoulder, gripping her like a lifeline as he slid down the wall. ‘Does he like pain? ’ She wondered, as a devilish spark began to shine in her eyes. It quickly fizzled and died into concern when he whimpered quietly again. ‘Maybe he’s just trying to hide how bad it is, I shouldn’t have done that.’

“Rosie-” before Julian could say anything else, the sound of the iron gate screeching as it was pushed open startled them.

“Right on time,” he scowled. “Let’s leave before our guests arrive, hm?” ||

With the garden’s sanctity compromised, the two hastily escaped over the crumbling wall out onto the streets once more. They ventured deeper into the city, through more questionable and unfamiliar areas than Rosie had ever been. Julian seemed to know the area like the back of his hand—or at least, all the routes needed to escape their pursuers. Eventually, they came to a small cottage on the outskirts of the district. The residence didn’t seem well maintained; some of the brickwork was starting to crumble and there were holes in the roof that had been hastily patched with whatever material was on hand. But it was lived in and homely. In the yard, chickens were making their way into a small hutch for the night. In the window, a lantern glowed faintly.

“In we go, Rosie!”

Julian didn’t wait for her to respond, instead clambering through a window set low to the ground and pulling her in after him.

#chapter 2 lets GOOO #i intend to have the third one out on valentines day bc soup shenanigans ;)#arcana #the arcana #rosie #rosie springwald #julian #julian devorak #kismet #mine

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