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aria-i-adagio · 4 years ago

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Thinking of Nothing and the Shooting Stars (PG-13 version)

The Opposite of Falling Masterpost

Fandom: The Arcana

trigger warning: PTSD, panic attack, arguably poor decision in coping with said PTSD

Asra and Muriel are both consumed by their own thoughts as they lead us through the forest and back to the city. Inanna does most of the leading, to be honest. I talk quietly with Julian, trying to explain things I only half understood: Asra’s gate, the here but not quite aspects of the Magician’s realm, that a person could somehow connect to a supernatural being, taking power and losing themselves in the process, and maybe that’s what Lucio tried to do, in order to somehow cheat Death, and did any of that make any sense? Not really. Yeah, me too.

Before we part ways at the edge of the forest, Asra walks up to Julian, grabs him by the shoulders and jerks him down to eye level. “I swear, Ilya, if you let anything harm her again, I will personally tie the noose around your neck.” He runs a hand through Julian’s hair, mitigating some of the harshness of the statement, then turns on his heel and walks off with Muriel.

Julian looks equal parts baffled and turned on. He's watching Asra walk away, cheeks red and biting his bottom lip, fully entranced by his retreating figure.

I touch the back of his hand. “So, is the combination of Asra and ropes something I should keep in mind?”

“Huh, yes - wait, umm, I mean.”

I laugh and wrap my arms around him. “As long as we don't actually hang you, sugar.” I can't reach his face or even quite his neck, so I settle for kissing his chest where his shirt is undone. I nip at the skin once and step back, knowing full well he'd prefer that I worry it a bit more with my teeth. “Umm, Julian would it bother you if Asra and I . . .?” I’m suddenly unable to decide how to phrase the question I need to ask and surprised with myself.

“You are also with Asra?” He laughs. “I thought that was already a given. There's only one bed at your place, you know.” He picks me up and holds me so that our eyes are on the same level. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, even though his grip under my thighs is firm. “My life is a bit of a mess right now, if you haven't noticed, and you are the one bright spot in it. Whatever comes with you is worth it.” He kisses me on the tip of my nose. “And, frankly, my dear, whatever weirdness this scenario might bring absolutely pales in comparison to everything else happening right now.” A look of concern passes across his face. “What did he mean by again? I can't think of anything I wouldn't do to keep you safe. I'd cut a deal with the Dev -"

"Shh." I press my fingers against his mouth. "Don't say that." If the Devil was - like the Magician - a person, and if he was involved with the potential of the plane returning, and Lucio's ghost, and whatever it was we'd seen in the forest, as the Magician's dealing of the cards seemed to indicate, it only boded ill to invoke him. "It's Asra. I'm not convinced he knows what he means half the time."

"Heh." Julian smiles and sets me back down on the ground. "Yeah, never figured out which of us was the idiot when he said something that made no sense to me."

Before we reach the lemonstone gate, it’s raining again in earnest. Julian pulls me close to him as we walk quickly with his oversized coat tucked around me. The wall is thick enough to provide some shelter in the space where the gate is cut in it. He leans over and kisses my cheek. “I should go.”

“No.” If we're to begin searching the palace tomorrow, Julian will have to sneak in at some point. Now seems as good of a time as in the morning. Besides, we should celebrate knowing that Julian is an innocent man, and there's a bottle of bourbon Nadia sent to my room waiting to be drunk. “Stay with me. I can glamour you long enough to get to my rooms and the ward the doors." Something a little different this time, I'm tired of changing his hair color or making his height. I trace sigils in the air on either side of Julian. “There.”

“Who did you make me look like?”

“No one and deserving of no attention whatsoever. Except,” I reach up, grab his chin, and turn his face so that his gaze meets mine. He hasn't put his eyepatch back on, and however odd the red sclera in one eye looks, I'm pleased to be looking into both his eyes. “Maybe I'll give you a bit of attention. For the sake of pity.” Without breaking eye contact, I run my hand down his torso and palm his cock through the fabric of his pants. He groans and presses himself against me. I smile, feeling free and wicked, at least for the rest of tonight. “Come on, honey. Anyone else who sees you will see no one at all.”

My guest room has been tidied and the bed made by the ever efficient palace staff. There's a bowl of fresh fruit on the table, along with a pair of tumblers and the bottle of whiskey Nadia sent. I still haven't figured out how she just knows what her guests will enjoy, but she has once again divined my favorite and provided. After I barred the door and windows against entry, I pour generous amounts of liquor in the tumblers and hand one to Julian.

“To innocence.” I knock my glass against his. He drinks his as a shot, but I sip mine. It's smooth and smoky -- and worthy of contemplation. “Have more if you want.”

Julian pours another two fingers and raises the glass again. “And to experience.” he drinks, shower this time, then recites,

“For I dance

And drink & sing:

Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing.”

I set down my glass, empty now. “That's queer little rhyme.”

“It’s from a cycle titled Songs of Innocence and Experience.” He shrugs. “I suppose that's why it came to mind. Actually, the poet was comparing himself to a fly.”

“You're not a fly, Julian. Your wings are those of a raven.” I run my hand along his shoulders and arms.

He leans over resting his head against mine. “You should get out of those clothes. I mean, you're soaked to the bone.”

I laugh and pull his face down to where I can kiss him. “Sure. I'll just go freshen up.” I shed my blouse as I walk across the room, giving Julian a view of my naked back, but quickly step into the small bathroom and close the door. Let him anticipate the rest.

The shower does fine. The hot water sluicing over me chases away the chill of walking in the rain. I enjoy it for longer than I might normally, hoping that Julian will concoct some awkward excuse to barge in and join me. He doesn't. I twist the handles that close the water valves and quickly dry off and slip into one of the fine, gauzy robes that the palace stocks for guests. While I had been wishing for the past week or so to have something with a bit more substance, I'm looking forward to Julian's response.

I glance over at the fireplace and freeze. Julian is sprawled on the floor, in some sort of pose, but I barely see him for the roaring flames in the grate behind him. It wasn't lit when we came in. He must have found the kindling and wood that the staff kept stacked and waiting beside the grate. A drone begins in my ears and the faintness I felt from seeing the fire built back at Muriel's returns.

“Jael?” Julian's voice sounds far away. “What's wrong? You're as pale as a ghost.”

Underneath the ringing in my ears and the roaring of the flames, I can hear the sound of a piece of furniture being pushed aside. As a ghost? A ghost is dead, and I'm . . . the fire . . . I can't . . . Gathering as much of my magic as I can, I jerk the air away from the flames, extinguishing them.

As the fire goes out, my knees give way, and I stagger forward. Julian catches me before I hit the floor, lifting and clutching me to his chest. After a moment, I wrap my arms around his shoulders as tightly as I can.

“What is it?”

“Fire. I can't remember, but . . .” The ringing in my ears is beginning to subside, but my heart still pounds in my chest. I start working through an exercise meant to be calming. Five things I see: the wall hangings - changed to a geometric design in turquoise and silver after Nadia casually asked about my favorite colors, irises in a vase by the door - also my favorite, fluffy towel - dropped on the floor, wood floor - oak, fireplace - empty now. Close my eyes. Moving on. Four things I hear...

“Shh. You're safe. I've got you.”

Julian’s voice, my own heart - still pounding, rain knocking at the window, ears are still ringing - but not as badly. Three things I touch: soft curls - I run one hand through Julian’s hair, my other hand is on his back - warm skin, and - I drop the hand that was in his hair back behind me - the blanket, wool, slightly, pleasantly scratchy on the bed. Two things I smell: the metallic, cutting, ozone scent of a fire recently extinguished, and Julian, salt and citrus and whiskey and Julian. One thing I taste. Easy. I find his mouth, more whiskey and Julian.

I open my eyes again. Julian is crouched next to the bed that I’m now sitting on, staring at me with worry and wonder both in his eyes. I force a smile. “Hi.”

His hands go to my hips. “Hi, yourself. Are you alright?” I nod. I’m as alright as I probably ever will be at least. This might explain why Asra and I have a salamander for the stove instead of keeping a large fireplace. (Or it might just be because the salamander is adorable, especially when I feed him twigs of fruit wood for a treat.) Julian’s hand at my neck and thumb tracing along my jaw bring me back to the present. “Do you want to talk about it?” I shake my head from side to side in an emphatic no. If I start talking about it, I’ll spend the rest of the night counting from five to four to three to two to one, and I fear that despite the Countess’s impressive generosity, I will shortly run out of objects.

“We’ve got to stop having moments like this.” First whatever happened to me in Lucio’s chamber, and now this with the fire. His hand is resting somewhat awkwardly against my neck. “Are you checking my pulse?”

“Umm, yes, it’s...quite a bit lower than it was a couple of minutes ago, actually.”

“Good to know all the meditation practice paid off.” I put both my hand over his and lean forward, whispering in a fashion that I most desperately hope sounds conspiratorial. Maybe Julian’s flair for drama can be a ramp down from too much drama. “I’m tough stuff. I have survived much more than a mere panic attack.”

“I believe you.” He glances down at where I have his hand pressed over my heart. “You’re colder than you were. There’s not really much to this robe.”

“Well, Doctor, I guess you’ll just have to find some way to get me warmed up.” I slide his hand a little lower.

“Are you, uh, sure that’s a good idea? I mean...”

I loop one foot behind him and slide it along his bare back. “Good idea? Don’t know. What I want right now? Yes.” I want to just be in my body, instead of my pounding, fickle head. Sex tends to accomplish that purpose.

“Well, um, if that’s what you want.” He arches his eyebrows and his lips curl up in a smile.

I press my forehead to his, breathing in the scent of him and whisper softly, “I think I love you, Julian Devorak.” Then, not knowing where or when I learned how to say I love you in Nevivon’s native language, but knowing, just knowing that I had it right. “Ilya, ya tebya liubliu.”

#the arcana fanfiction #julian devorak #julian x apprentice

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ladytesla · 6 years ago

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Apprentice Madness (1/?) Hobbies

[idfk where this came from. I just wanted to do a series with the LI’s (and my bae Valerius) and how they act or support an Apprentice with a hobby or odd pastime. To apologize for weird ideas, I’m using other people’s apprentices (and Selene because I’m selfish). I may do another Apprentice series one of these days.]

Asra (featuring Sahara courtesy of @atouchofpan )

Hari loves to quilt, it’s a shame she’s horrible at it.

Of course, Asra would never tell her that. He loves her too damn much.

He takes her to the fabric store way too often so they can look at all the pretty patterns. They can’t always afford to get everything they see, but sometimes...

Yeah, they keep boxes of scraps everywhere.

On rainy days Asra dumps them all out on the floor and plops down on the couch to watch Hari plan her next project. He offers his opinions, although they’re not always good ones.

“You should use this fabric. It has pink on it.”

“Asra, this quilt is going to be blue.”

“That’s why you need this one, to break up all the blue! Faust agrees!”

When she’s finished a quilt, the stitches are messy and the blocks may not all be lined up, but Asra can’t stop talking about it.

It immediately finds a place, whether they take it to Nopal to pile on the little bed there, or use it on the couch in the shop...

He may steal a few scraps to make a new sweater for Faust.

Julian (featuring Selene courtesy of me)

A couple of bookworms. What could go wrong?

They know where every bookstore in Vesuvia is, and its hours. And the owners. And whether or not the owner has a dog. What I mean to say is that they’re ALWAYS looking for something new.

They spend many an evening sitting together at his house in the South End with a pile of books between them. He has his medical journals, maybe the odd adventure epic or classic mystery, but Selene...

Selene finds the romance novels that are so smutty they would make AO3 blush.

She doesn’t want her smartypants of a boyfriend to find out her reading habits, so she hides them inside bookjackets of really smart-sounding books like ‘Warrior Priests of Hjall’ or ‘Rise of the Satrinava Dynasty, Part 1′.

Julian knows, though. He flipped through one of her books once.

No book about ‘Socioeconomic Effects Along the Milovan Spice Road’ would make her turn THAT red. He quickly found out what was really going on.

He lets her think she has a secret, and fights back a grin as he wonders what sort of unholy shenanigans she’s reading about.

Nadia (featuring July courtesy of @dethwesh )

Nadia is the ultimate sugar mama. Everyone knows this.

So when she realizes July likes to collect jewelry, she doesn’t hold back.

“Darling, I know I saw you staring at this necklace in the market today, so I decided to surprise you with it.”

She also has elaborate jewelry cabinets commissioned to display his collections. Hell, even a ROOM if his collection is big enough.

Does he want a servant to help organize them? Hell, he can have a TEAM of servants to keep everything nice and shiny.

She quickly catches on about what stones and materials he likes best, so obviously that’s what she gives him whenever she feels like it.

He may have to work for it, though ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

He may wake up to find her already gone to a meeting, but some of his jewelry on her pillow as a request for him to wear that day.

Imagine them getting wine-drunk and just draping each other with as much jewelry as they can, then laughing and drinking some more and being a gaudy, glittery mess. #sopure.

Portia (featuring Datura courtesy of @wingcinna )

When she first saw him bring out his yarn and needles one snowy evening, she thought it was a joke. Nope. The boy can knit, and knit WELL.

Of course, she’s proud as can be. He’s tall, he’s gorgeous, he’s smart, he has amazing hair, AND he’s crafty. He’s perfect. Not that she ever doubted.

In true Portia fashion, she plops right down beside him and demands to be given Knitting 101. Unfortunately, and despite Datura’s best efforts and loving patience, even though she’s amazing at her job and a kickass gardener... knitting isn’t her forte.

“Oops, I dropped a stitch...” *throws knitting across the room* “Oops, I dropped all my stitches...”

Despite failing at her attempt, she watches him work with a soft smile on her face, cuddling Pepi so she doesn’t tangle up the yarn.

Speaking of Pepi... Datura made a cat-sized sweater once. Unfortunately, Pepi.exe stopped functioning and fell over as soon as it was put on her, so it’s only brought out when it’s super cold outside. Or when one of them has a bad day and needs a laugh. Or when company’s over. Or on Tuesdays.

Portia will proudly wear anything he knits for her. Be jealous, peasants. Oh, your man bought you a scarf? How cute. Mine MADE one.

Lucio (featuring Adelaide courtesy of @julians-chest-hair )

This woman is going to be the death of him.

He’s trying to find her in the gardens (where a servant had told him she was last time she had seen her), and is about to give up when he hears laughter from high up on the lemonstone wall.

Sure enough, there’s Adelaide, grinning down at him. He knows she likes to climb trees and things, but this may be going a bit too far. He knows those walls may crumble. And how the devil did she get up there anyway?

He knows what would happen if he told her he didn’t want her climbing around anymore... so maybe he can create some kind of controlled environment to make sure she stays safe while indulging in her odd little hobby.

And that’s how the castle got its own climbing wall.

If she gets bored of that, he’ll send out inquiries to various places to find some good areas for rock climbing, and buy the best equipment on the market to make sure his favorite girl stays safe.

He’ll make an attempt on the climbing wall when no one’s around to see it, but if he can’t beat Adelaide’s time, he won’t climb with her in public. He hates losing. Plus, even though that metal arm of his is strong, it’s not as dextrous as he’d like it to be.

He’ll stay on the ground instead and crow to everyone around about how Adelaide is the best climber around. Anyone who disagrees is WRONG.

Muriel (featuring Grace courtesy of @apprentice-grace )

He was done the minute he saw her sketchbook. She’s cute, she’s quirky, she likes HIM of all people, and she’s drawing Inanna right now? Muri.exe has stopped working.

Much like Portia, he’s super duper proud of his bae. But unlike Portia, he’s quiet about it.

He loves spending quiet evenings in with her, listening to her pencil scratch on the paper.

He also makes a point to take walks with her by particularly picturesque places in the forest, just in case she’s looking for inspiration.

If she “accidentally” leaves a drawing or two behind, it will be pinned to the wall “I guess because it has nowhere else to go”. Pretty soon the walls of Muriel’s hut will look like your grandma’s refrigerator.

Most of the drawings Muriel likes best are of things Grace sees around her: trees, animals, the stray cat she keeps trying to adopt against its will... and Inanna, of course. The ones of Inanna are his favorites.

And Heaven forbid she ever draw him. He’d be a huge blushy mess if she asked him to pose for her, and it’d be really hard to get him to stop fidgeting.

“That can’t be me,” he mumbles as he sees the finished drawing. “I’m uglier than that.”

And of course Grace is right there to reassure him that she only draws what she sees... which makes him blush even more.

Valerius (Featuring Theodosia courtesy of @disneyprincesswednesdayaddams )

Horseback riding is something the Consul can definitely get behind.

It’s civilized and graceful, and Theo doesn’t look half bad in riding pants.

#ohmygodbeckylookatherbutt

Thankfully he took lessons as a child, so he knows how to not look like an idiot in the saddle.

He joins her when he can, and the two often ride through the vineyard together.

If her favorite horse is one belonging to Nadia, Valerius will bite the bullet and do what he can to buy it from her.

He’ll make sure she has the best saddle and tack for her horse, too. For safety. No, he’s not spoiling her. He doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

He loves to race her. She’s got a competitive streak a mile wide... and so does he. But he’s a gracious loser.

Packing a picnic lunch while riding out to the foothills? Yes please.

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cedarmoons · 6 years ago

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50, with Muriel and a fem apprentice? ❤️

14. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

There are too many people.

None of them give him a second look, but their presence makes his skin itch, makes him want to rub and pull at his scars. At any moment, he thinks they’ll look at him, see past the thick black cloak that covers his scarred body and the bear mask that hides his face, and recognize him. Demand he fight for them again, as that red courtier had in the Coliseum.

The apprentice stands beside him, and he swallows, looking down at her. She seems to sense his hesitance, because she looks up at him, meeting his gaze head-on. After a moment, she glances at the crowd streaming through the open palace gates, and he follows her gaze, trying to spot him in the mass of writhing bodies.

“Hey,” she says, tugging at his hand. He glances down, where her hand is clasped in his. For an instant, shame blooms inside him, at how small she is to him. For an instant, he feels hulking and massive, the terrible brute Lucio had wanted him to be so badly. His shoulders hunch, and he lowers his gaze at the cobblestone path that leads to the palace.

“Muriel,” the apprentice says, “it’s okay. I know another way in.”

When she tugs again, he follows. They take an alternate path, away from the people. The moment they step into an empty street, he breathes out, closing his eyes. His grip flexes around her hand, reflexive, and he catches himself. Before he can pull away, her fingers squeeze his palm.

She takes them to a sloping green hill, dark compared to the rest of the palace’s brilliant light. She doesn’t let go of his hand the entire time they climb up the hill, and he swallows his thank you, forcing it back down his throat. She leads him to a lemonstone door, then finally releases his hand to turn around. Muriel’s hand flexes, and he fights the urge to reach for her again.

When had he grown so accustomed to her touch? When had he started wanting it?

His gaze slides away from her face, toward the

“Muriel,” she says, softly. “Look at me?”

He does. She doesn’t have a costume or a mask, yet, so her emotions are naked on her face. She smiles at him, then lifts her hands, gently untying the twine that keeps his bear mask in place. She lowers it and rests her hand over his heart. Muriel swallows, looking down at her hand—delicate, fragile, too easy to break—instead of her face. It doesn’t seem to deter her.

“I’m with you, okay?” she says. “Always. And if you want to go home, Asra and I can—”

“No,” Muriel cuts in. “I’ll…” He closes his eyes. “I’ll go.”

He isn’t expecting her affection. When her lips brush his cheek, he tenses, feeling heat flood his cheeks. He swallows, glances at her, and she smiles at him as she hands him back his mask. He leans down, and she ties it for him, fingers brushing over his hair. He has to suppress the shiver that runs down his spine at the barest touch of her hands.

“You’re very brave,” she tells him. Muriel scoffs, straightening, and she takes his hand again. “I mean it. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known, Muriel. I know it can’t be easy, being here again.”

Fireworks burst in the sky, cracking through the air like gunshots, and he tenses again, looking up. But when he looks back down, she is still there, still holding his hand, still smiling. Reassured, easy. She isn’t afraid of him.

He lowers his gaze, ignoring the droplet of sweat that runs down his temple, brought about by her ceaseless attention.

“Are you ready?” she asks him, gently.

He isn’t. But he’s with her, and Asra and Inanna are already in the palace or its gardens. It will be safe, with all of them here. With her here, with him.

In response, he reaches out and opens the lemonstone door, and he is the one to lead them into the maze.

#fic #the arcana #muriel #muriel x mc #Anonymous

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prismsource-blog · 8 years ago

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DAY FOUR: Gemsona based of a food or Drink

Lemonstone! Based off of my favourite drink, Lemonade.

Like the drink, Lemonstone has a bitter, but sweet personality

(Lemonstone is replacing Lemon Quartz)

#gemsona_design_challenge #lemonstone #gemsona #stevenuniverse

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polynymph · 6 years ago

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What Once Was Chapter 6

This definitely wasn’t supposed to take 2 weeks to write, I apologize for that. I hope it’s worth the wait! Thanks for reading!

TW: Could be considered slightly NSFW with brief mention of nudity, brief mention of scars

Armyah skid on gravel beneath her sandals. She had half a mind to kick them off, but she didn’t want to give the guards more of a head start than they already had. Dawn. She had until dawn to catch either the rabbit or the deer character to get her Emperor card back. After she has the card back in her possession, then she’ll decide whether to stay in the palace or not. As of right now, it was looking more toward the latter. She followed the sound of rustling and snapping branches until she met a path that only ran left and right. To the left she saw the flash of the deer guard rounding the far corner, the look on his face was particularly nervous. She bolted after him, but it didn’t take her long to realize she was far outclassed in speed, especially with her disadvantage. Even at a sprint, she could barely catch a glimpse of her target before they disappeared from her line of sight. The magician’s mounting frustration spurs her on as she presses further into the garden.

Armyah continues onward until she’s enveloped by a fold of green canopy; fronds obscure all but an arm’s length in front of her. Heart racing, she hands swept the springy vines out of her path. She nearly trips over a wide root that stuck out precariously from the dirt. Finally, she reaches the edge of the garden; a tall lemonstone wall stretches toward the late afternoon sky…a dead end. Her hand trails along the powdery stone and she walks with the barrier. It leads her out of the throng of bushes and trees to a quaint, mossy path. Dusty tools, shears, and old buckets are leaning against the wall, obviously not meant for the public eye. A servant’s path, narrow, but clear. She can see a ways down, but the deer guard is nowhere in sight. Hand never leaving the lemonstone, she lags in pace. A tingling in the magician’s fingertips distracts her from the current task and it grows stronger as she walks on. A short distance ahead she finds a great marble archway with intricate stone-carved roses decorating it. The top had long since collapsed, leaving only the supports. The faint buzzing in the back of her mind tells her this is the source of magic she was feeling moments before. You can see straight through to the wall behind it, and on that wall; a door. Small, rusty, and unassuming pushes open without resistance. Beyond it, a valley with high grass dancing in the gentle breeze. A breath catches in her throat; she could leave. Rolling slopes of meadow and sweet-smelling fields called her name. The terrain would be rough, more so in heels, but she spotted a few shepherd’s trails. What would happen if she just left? Would anyone look for her? Would the Countess send out a search party? A surge of anger flooded through the fortune-teller at the mere thought of her ladyship. Without a moment’s hesitation, she storms through the door and lets it swing shut with a metallic slam that echoes through the valley.

A curtain of coiling vines dropped down before the exit, smothering it from sight. Armyah takes a few heaving breaths as she looks toward the untamed hills. Wind sweeps through the thin fabric of her dress and she shivers despite the long sleeves. She walks as briskly as she can down the steep decline, golden grass tickling her bare calves. She’s free…for now, at least; whatever that may mean. She takes careful, nervous glances behind her. She half expects a bell to sound, alerting everyone she escaped. She wasn’t being held prisoner there, but she isn’t one hundred percent sure she is allowed to leave. What about Asra’s Emperor card? Will he be upset that she lost it? Technically, the Countess’s guard has it. Maybe she’ll wait for him to come home and she’ll explain the situation. They can come up with a course of action together. For now, she tried to even her breaths and calm her heart rate. ‘One step at a time,’ she thought. First, she had to get back to the city.

It’s almost dark once Armyah arrives into town, but she doesn’t recognize the area she’s in. Her breath grows short as tremors of anxiety radiate through her body. She hugs her arms around her waist and casts an aura of protective energy. It won’t hide her, but it will allow her to travel unbothered. There isn’t a soul in sight but a group of spindly cats picking over piles of charred, oily fish bones. They pay the quaking woman no mind as she walks between their inky forms. Then, the musical sound of rushing water catches her ear. It’s not familiar, but it’s different and that’s enough for the fortune-teller at this point. The dull roar leads her to a narrow, slippery street layered with shabby cobblestone. Clustered, worn apartments line the passage, the open windows cast an orange light onto the dark mist below. The air is full of loud conversations, but nothing clear enough to follow a single discussion. Suddenly, a door in front of her swings open, casting a warm light down three jagged stone steps. Raucous laughter and music spill out of the doorway while boots clip jauntily down the stairs.

“Oh, I’ll be right back!” a voice called to someone inside, “Just stepping out for some air!” The door swings shut and the muscles in Armyah’s legs feel as if they liquefied. Doctor Devorak was standing with his back to her, sweeping long slender fingers through his hair. She backs away slowly, careful to not alert him to her presence, but one of her heels catches a stone imbedded into the street. With a surprised gasp, she tumbled backward onto her ass, the contents of her bag spilling onto the flagstone. His shoulders tense at the sound behind him. Slowly turning, his grey eye catches chocolate ones. His thick eyebrows knit together in concern as he realized the noise was the young woman falling. “Are you alright? That was quite the tumble.” The doctor walks toward her extending a gloved hand to help her up, but rears back as soon as he’s close enough to see her face more clearly, “The…the shopkeep?” he stammers, eye wide, “what are you doing here?” His gaze softens, “Little early in the evening to be stumbling around in alleys, isn’t it?” He smiles and reaches is hand out to her once again, “I’m joking. It’s never too early. Come on, upsy-daisy.” A firm leather-clad grip encircled each of her wrists and he pulls her onto her feet. The magician staggered forward into his broad chest that a thin white shit barely covered. For a moment, his eye meets hers in surprise at their sudden proximity, his face flushed crimson. Realizing what was happening, she tugged her hands from his grasp and glowers at him. After all, this was the man who broke into her teacher’s shop and threatened her.

“Sooooo…you, ah, last I heard you…you were bound for the palace?” She doesn’t respond, he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Dare I ask what brings you to this neck of the woods?” She tears her glare away from the doctor to survey her surroundings. Judging by the barrels and the noise, we’re behind a tavern. A hole in the wall, hidden from the street. Painted on the door is a cackling blackbird, laying back on a crescent moon. The Rowdy Raven it read, it looked seedy enough to have an alleged murderer as a patron. “Oh, what’s this?” She looks back to see that the doctor is gathering her scattered belongings and has taken an interest in scroll she had taken from his desk. Armyah panics, she quickly snatches the scroll away leaving him blinking at thin air. “Is…is that mine?” She hugs it closer to her chest, but he’s already seen. What more, he’s probably the only person capable of explaining it. Curiosity compelled her to take it in the first place, maybe he would be willing to reveal its contents. In the midst of her debating, Doctor Devorak whisked the scroll from her grasp and turned his back to her as he read.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. She tried to reach around him to get it back, but he held the parchment just out of her reach.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, leaning away from her. Armyah sighed, defeated, and ceased her attempts to retrieve the paper.

“Your desk…” He blinked, confused. “In the library?” Nothing. “At the palace?” A searching glance to his face and she saw a flinch of pain cross over his features.

“Oh yeah…” he said carefully, “My desk in the library…at the palace. Little window right above it?” She nodded slowly, watching the doctor massage his pinched brow. He groaned, rolled up the scroll, and handed it back to the magician. He wipes a hand over his face and places it on his hip, glancing to the slightly ajar door of the tavern; the warm light glows between them. He turns to her with a dynamic expression. “Well, I’m parched,” he announces to the only person in the alley with him, “think I’ll head back inside. Are you thirsty?” Doctor Devorak raises an eyebrow and smirks impishly at the fortune-teller. “You’re welcome to join me, if you’d like to.” She glares daggers at the man and he puts his hands up innocuously. “All I’m saying is that I still owe you for the reading the other night.” She wouldn’t call it a reading. More so, she flipped the Death card over and he assumed it meant he was going to meet a horrible, painful end. She looked torn; part of her wanted to run away and hope she’d never see his smug face again, but the other part really wanted to know what was in that letter.

“I should…” she jerked her thumb behind her weakly, “I just…” she sighs, that roguish grin will be her undoing, “…fine.” His face splits in a brilliant grin.

“Oh fantastic!” he exclaims excitedly, “Please, allow me.” He leads her by the small of her back up the steps through the door and into the warmth inside. It’s only past sundown, but the tavern was in full swing. The noise was jarring and caused the magician to grimace as she stepped inside. The barkeep, a wide, scar-faced, a barrel-armed fellow, gives the doctor a cheeky salute as they pass by. Bells on ropes decorated the wooden rafters along the small bar. There were few lanterns, so it was hard to see in the dim light and candles were scattered on tables to illuminate the conversations at ragged wood tables. A cackling drunk leaned back in his creaking chair with boisterous laughter as he swings a wooden leg out, which Doctor Devorak politely pushes aside. He ushers Armyah through the tumult with practiced ease, he definitely frequents this place. A loud beating of wings startles the fortune-teller, a haggard raven fluttered in after them, squawking and thumping its wings against the windows. The doctor chuckles at the bird, shaking his head. He winds his arm around the magician’s shoulders and guided her to a small booth in the back. “What can I get you to drink?” She glanced over his shoulder and scanned the colorful bottles that line the bar; some flavored with roots and herbs, others with coins, rocks, and beetles of all things. She chews her lip apprehensively, but he pats her reassuringly on the shoulder. “You know what, how about I take care of it and you make yourself comfortable?” He gestured for her to sit, “I’ll be right back.” He heads toward the bar, his stride is confident, almost cocky. He doesn’t seem to be too concerned by being recognized.

She settles into her seat and wrings her hands anxiously. Nearby, a pair of old crones are hunched over a card game and attended by an energetic, squabbling crowd. The cards in their hands makes Armyah think of Asra’s tarot deck, as well as the other contents of her bag that she spilled outside and failed to pick up. Heart dropping, she dives for the bag reaches in to find the deck safe and sound at the bottom, though its energy is abnormal. Of course...the Emperor card is missing. She sighs and cradles her forehead in a hand as tears prickle behind her eyes, there’s so much to be worried about: she is missing a card from her teacher’s deck, she deserted from the palace, and she was in a bar with the Count’s murderer! Well…alleged murderer, she still didn’t have the full story. Suppose it would be rude to ask. Still taking in her surroundings, she spots the rest of her missing possessions stacked on the bench beside the doctor’s seat. She smiles faintly, he must’ve grabbed them before coming in when she wasn’t looking. She found herself seeking him out at the bar where he was chatting up the bartender. He’s slim, but his shoulders are broad. The too-large shirt was billowing over his frame and tucked haphazardly into his belt. His messy auburn curls fell lazily over the eyepatch that’s strap ran over his aquiline nose and thick eyebrow. He looked at ease as he laughed with the man behind the bar. Overall, he was a very handsome for a suspected criminal, not that she had met very many to compare. He turns to the table she was sitting, she quickly averts her eyes to a particularly interesting knot in the wooden tabletop.

“Here we are.” He sets a pewter tankard in front of her and slides into the booth across from her as her gulps down his drink with gusto. Armyah warily eyes the golden liquid in her cup, it smelled faintly like fruit. She makes no move to drink it and her gaze flicker between him and the mug. He raises an eyebrow in confusion as he drinks heartily from his stein until he realizes… “Very smart! Never trust a free drink, especially from someone you barely know.” ‘Especially when that person is wanted’ she thought bitterly, but before she could respond he plucked the cup from her place at the table and took a dramatic swig. With a satisfied sigh he licked his lips exaggeratedly, making sure to look her dead in the eyes causing the magician to flush and look and look anywhere but his face. He returned the drink gave her a look as if to say ‘see?’. She takes a hesitant sip, not taking her incredulous gaze off the doctor. The beverage is refreshing; barely sweet and it fizzed excitingly all the way down. As soon as it washes down her throat she realized how thirsty she was after running after the guard. She drinks hungrily, and Doctor Devorak slowly lowers his stein to watch her drain her mug, his uncovered eye gleaming in the candlelight. “Look at you,” he tuts, “You’re dry as a bone. Drink, drink!” Her cup is empty after a few more desperate gulps. She sets the tankard down heavily and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, careful not to get it on the sleeve of her borrowed dress. The doctor slid his drink to the side and leaned in toward the young woman, flashing her that roguish smile. “You know…I never did get your name.” She eyes him carefully, thinking of what he could gain by knowing her name, but she’s distracted by that damned smile; smarmy yet strangely charming. She sighs, defeated. She doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Armyah…” She looks up at him as he beams, pleased and sincere.

“Ahh, Armyah…” he tests the name on his lips, “what a lovely name. Almost musical! Armyah.” He kept repeating her name in different voices and octaves, even singing it a few times. She raised an eyebrow at his antics. Noticing her look, he laughs nervously and lets out an awkward cough into his gloved fist. “Ah…um…you can call me Julian.” He offers his hand, but she hesitates to take it. After a prolonged moment, she manages to shake his hand and his smile broadens to a toothy grin. “So, I have to ask: how did you wind up in that ally?” She jerks her hand back defensively, “At first I thought you might have come for me on behalf of the palace, but I’m not wearing any chains yet and you’re covered in burrs.” She looks down. Sure enough, there are burrs and twigs tangled in her long, curly hair. “Now, I may be projecting, but…I’m sensing that you’re on the run.” He raises a thick eyebrow, but she turns away from him, blushing ashamedly. He chuckles at her obvious answer, reaches past her ear and pulls a small twig from her wild, dark curls. “Escaped from the palace down the southward side?” he muses, “Ah…we have so much in common already.”

“I am nothing like you,” the magician spat venomously. He raised his hands apologetically, but his grin never faulters. Then, his face turns more serious.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” He sounded concerned, she’s not sure why, though. “Back to the magic shop?” She straightens in her seat, perking up at the sound of home. He raises a cautionary finger, “Ah, but that is the very first place they’ll look.” She’d have to lie low until Arsa got back. “I can still tell you how to get back…”

“You can?” she asked excitedly. He smiled at how eager she was.

“You bet I can” he winked, “But first…” Of course there was a catch, “I’d like to take another look at that document” A painless trade. She willingly handed over the scroll and he spread it flat across the table. Once exposed, the contents steal the smile from his face and he leans over the page, frowning in concentration. “Oof…this light is not for reading. Alright, let’s see here,” he squints at the paper, “Well, it’s a letter, but you knew that. Dear so and so…”

“Dear sister.” Armyah translated. Julian’s eye flicked up to her, mortified.

“You…you can read this?” She couldn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. She just shrugged as if it were no real feat. “Incredible…” he mused, “you know, a cryptographer told me once that it would take years of study to decipher my handwriting and look at you. A natural.” She wasn’t surprised, his penmanship was atrocious. The magician squirms uncomfortable at his praise. The doctor beams, blinks and returns to the letter. “Ahem…Dear sister, I have…much to share since I last wrote.” He was hesitating, like he was struggling to read his own writing. “Winter has come to the palace…these marble floors are so cold…blah blah...” His voice tapers off to a mumble, then he’s quiet. His stormy eye slides carefully over the page. Armyah watches his face for any signs, but his expression doesn’t change. The more he reads, the more he pauses to massage his temples or pinch the bridge of his pointed nose. By the time he’s finished, his already pale complexion looks wistful and drained. He rolls up the paper and hands it back to the fortune-teller, which she takes and stuffs it back into her bag. Absent-mindedly, he reaches for his stein and tosses the rest of his drink down his throat. Armyah shifts in her seat awkwardly, little else to do than just sit there and watch him drink.

“So…you have a sister?” she inquires nervously. Not sure if her question will set him off; so far, he’s seemed like a reasonable man. He coughs while he drinks, sputtering, and he sets down the empty drink.

“I do!” he declared eagerly, “Haven’t seen her since she was ohh…this high?” His hand wavers just above the lip of the table. Suddenly, he whisks their empty cups away and heads to the bar, the magician stares off after him. Her attention was stolen by shrill bickering erupting from the card player’s table. Spectators threw their hands up in the air in disbelief. Her dark eyes flicker back to Julian making quick work at the bar. He smiles at her on the way back until he’s accosted at the card game by a boney claw snatching his wrist. After careful consideration, he leans in and whispers in the haggard woman’s ear and taps on a card in her hand. The card is played, throwing the crowd into chaos. The sly doctor ducked away just before someone tries to douse him with their drink and heads back to his and the magician’s shared table. “You would think I’d know better than to get involved with politics,” he chuckled, setting the respective drinks in front of them. A small smile tugs briefly at the corner of her mouth.

“Looks like you know all the right moves.” He cocks an eyebrow and smiles roguishly as one arm leans on the table, striking a debonair pose. It was easy to talk to him, easy to let your guard down around him. It takes every ounce of Armyah’s effort to remember that this man was dangerous.

“Well, once you make all the wrong ones…” He pushes off the table and slides deftly into the booth across from her. “What can I say?” he takes a swig from his stein which prompts her to take a drink as well, “Some call me clever, but I’m just…practiced in the art of weighing options.” His eye stares into his drink as he dons a more serious, almost mournful expression. “Options like ‘bad’ and ‘worse’. That’s life for you.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing sidelong at the door, “or maybe I’m just paranoid…Barth, the barkeep, says I’ve got more in common with the raven than anyone else.” His eye snaps back to her face when she doesn’t say anything. She must have looked confused. “The rowdy one? He spends his time scouting for guards. Obsessively, even.” She vaguely remembers the skeletal bird flying in from the streets after them earlier. “He raises hell whenever they come by. Even the sight of the Count’s crest drives him wild.” He laughed half-heartedly, “oddly enough, I don’t think anyone really trained him to be that way.” He looks at the magician for a moment, “though, I supposed we’re all trained to be that way.” There’s sympathy in her dark, doe eyes…or maybe it’s pity. Either way she looks somber and almost like she’s lost. True, she’s unfamiliar with this part of the city, but something behind her eyes felt like she’s missing something, and it makes her melancholy.

CRASH! The raven bursts through a dusty window overhead and loops in the air with a guttural shriek. It beats itself against a string of bells and the tavern erupts into chaos, knowing exactly what it meant; palace guards! Patrons were clawing their way out every door and window, playing cards scattered forgotten on the floor. Armyah and Julian share a brief look of panic and rise swiftly to dive out of the booth. Grabbing her arm, he rushes her to the back door leading into the alley. The night is cold now and thick mist from the canal covers the ground. The doctor casts a frantic glance up and down the alley before pushing the fortune-teller into the shadows, covering her with his large, lanky frame.

“Armyah, listen to me…” Her blush from the proximity faded with the harshness of his voice, “go back up that road.” Her head follows his arm pointing up the street he was referring to. “Take a left, a right, then a sharp right and you’ll reach a round street. It’s long, but it’s a straight shot and it’ll take you as far as the marketplace.” He clasps his gloved hands on each of her shoulders. “You’ll be able to find you way from there, yes?” She nods hurriedly, and he led her to the mouth of the alley. “Up the road, left, right, sharp right, round street. Good luck.” With one last concerned glance at her face he releases her, and she darts up the road. He watches as her small figure disappears into the fog completely before he slinks into the shadows himself to escape.

Oil-slick rats vanish into the gutters and the apartments have their shutters locked. She casts a quick glance back down the ally, but Julian was already gone. The street had fallen silent and still, it was if Armyah was the only living thing in sight. Left…then right. Spectral alley cats scatter to the shadows as she whipped past them. The stone path is broken and winding, narrower and narrower until she reaches a very sharp right. A round, open street. This must’ve been the one the doctor was referring to. She slows her pace to a jog, heaving with exhaustion and her mind racing. She had always been wary of the palace guards, but she had never outright feared them. Even if this road did take her to the shop, even if she wasn’t spotted along the way, there was a good chance she would find them waiting there for her. Should she turn back? Should she try to find Julian? She wasn’t watching her footing lost in her thoughts, she trips over a vagrant’s knees and falls hard. She almost just jumps up and keeps on running, but their uniform causes her breath to catch in the throat; it was a stark white rabbit. She couldn’t believe it and by the look on the guard’s face, they don’t believe it either. How did they find her so soon? However, judging by the fact he was on the ground he wasn’t looking for her…he was hiding from her. Across the street, the ornate door to a carriage swings open and a dumbfounded Portia stares in disbelief at the pair tangled in a heap of limbs on the cobblestone.

“By the Gods…” she breathes. The Countess peeks her head out of the carriage and her ruby eyes go wide.

“Armyah?” she blinks rapidly, “Where on earth did you come from?” Portia points in the direction in which the magician came while Armyah and the guard unravel themselves from each other. “Uncanny…why, we only just arrived,” the Countess explained, “I agonized over choosing the right spot to hide and we finally settled on this one.” She turns to the rabbit guard, “Ludo, take the reins. We will be returning early.” The guard shuffled to the driver’s seat, still eyeing the fortune-teller in wonder and Portia hustles her inside. The interior was elaborately decorated with gold and white filigree and the seats were a luxurious red velvet. She settles tentatively into the plush seat; the Countess was eyeing her with delight. “It is extraordinarily rare that anyone should exceed my expectations, Armyah.” The magician’s face glows red with a mixture of embarrassment from the praise and anger as she remembers why she was there in the first place: The Countess’s little “test”. “I apologize for what must have been a tedious trial to a magician of your prowess.” She pulls a silken pouch from her waist and passes it graciously to the younger woman. Her heartbeat beats at a hummingbird’s pace as she pulled the drawstring. The silk falls away to reveal an oxen figure…the Emperor card. She can almost feel the deck at the bottom of her bag react to its return. “I can only wonder...if you are the apprentice, then how proud the master must be.” The Countess’s knowing smile makes the magician fidget. Though she had won the game, it was she who was being eyed as if she were the prize. Staring down at the Emperor, she can’t help but feel as if he and the other Arcana were making a joke out of her. “Do take this time to rest, Armyah,” the Countess places an elegant hand on the fortune-teller’s knee, exposed by the length of the lent dress, “it will be a while before we arrive, and a feast will be waiting for you.” The magician’s stomach twists with the very thought of food, “and a bath, if you will agree to it.” Armyah looked down, her palms and shins were filthy from falling over the rabbit guard. She nodded absent-mindedly and looked out of the window to the misty night as the carriage lurches into action, the sharp sound of hoofbeats echoing. She was a fool to think she could leave so easily, she must’ve been there for a reason. It was either sheer dumb luck or divine intervention that caused her to trip over the very person she should have been looking for just as the Countess’s carriage was mere feet away. She was almost naïve enough to say it was destiny that brought her to his point, to be the Countess’s private investigator to bring her husband’s murderer to justice.

The murderer…her thoughts shift to Doctor Devorak. To Julian. She tried to deny it, but a part of her hoped that he had got away safely. It was awfully kind of him to give her directions on how to get back to the shop, especially when he knew she came from the palace originally. He certainly didn’t look like a murderer. Then again, what do murderers really look like? Do they typically have charming smiles and eyes that gleam with mischief? Or have billowing shirts opened past their navel, hair the same color as on their heads speckled across their chest and all the way down…Armyah blinked rapidly, flushing and shaking the intrusive thought away. Realizing where they were, the white monolith loomed over the carriage as they approached. The Countess was turned toward the window with a serene smile and Portia was picking at her nails in comfortable silence. They arrive at the massive door to the palace and a host of servants sweep the magician away as soon as she steps off the coach. Tightly flanked on both sides, she was led through the halls and past her guest quarters and to a bathing hall. A servant moves to remove her dress.

“No!” Armyah exclaimed. All hustling freezes and a half dozen eyes stare at the magician who shifts anxiously, “I’ll do it…thank you.” A moment’s hesitation, but the servants bow politely and leave her to her bath. She disrobes and pads over to the large marble tub. Like everything else in the palace, the bath chamber was beautiful and ornate. The steam from the perfumed water seemed to beckon her closer and she gave in. With an almost sinful groan, the magician sunk into the pool and let the day’s tension and filth melt away. She is caught off guard by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Forgetting herself, she stands and whips around to the intruder. Portia was leaning casually against the doorway with a bundle of lavender fabric.

“Milady is waiting for you in the dining room, she’d like if you would wear this.” She set the new outfit on a tiled bench against the far wall and threw the other girl a cheeky smile. Then it fell. “Oh Armyah…” she whispered pitifully, “what happened?” The magician glanced down and noticed her breasts were exposed and with them, her scars. She quickly sinks back into the water self-consciously.

“It’s nothing…” she mumbles. Taking the hint, Portia simply nods and slips out of the room, leaving Armyah to her thoughts and the softly sloshing water. She reaches for the oils lined on the edge of the tub. Choosing the one scented with rose water, she uncorks the vial and pours a generous amount into her palm and washes her hair and body thoroughly. Satisfied with her bath, she exits the pool and crosses the luxurious bathroom, leaving a small river in her wake, to the bench Portia left the garments on. She wraps the beautiful silk robe around her petite frame and the gown falls to her ankles. She ties her mass of dark curls into a knot of the top of her head and steps into the beaded white slippers that were left for her as well. When she exits the bath chamber, Portia is waiting outside, fingers tapping awkwardly against the wall. Armyah doesn’t look at her.

“Soooo…” Portia searches for something to say to ease the tension, “you look a little trip into town today, huh?” She winks at the magician, “meet up with anybody special?” Armyah turns away, blushing at the insinuation, causing Portia to snort with laughter. She claps a hand on the fortune-teller’s back and leads her briskly toward the dining hall. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” If Portia only knew the secret she was keeping, she may be less inclined to keep it to herself. The grand doors of the dining room swing open to reveal an expensive feast, piled high upon the long table. She’s immediately overwhelmed by the sumptuous smells of Vesuvian spices before her.

“Why, if it isn’t my champion of the hour, fresh from the bath,” the Countess was already seated at the head of the table. A servant seats Armyah in her usual seat and fills the goblet in front of her with a pale rose beverage. The Countess raises her already full glass to toast, “to Armyah, whose talents have exceeded my highest expectations.” Armyah was still a little miffed about the game, but right now she was just looking forward to digging into delicious food. “Let us be strangers no longer and may this be the beginning of a valuable friendship.” The magician flushed, no one said anything about friends. She thought she was only here to catch the Counts murderer. ‘Alleged murderer,’ she reminded herself. “I look forward to a long and fruitful partnership with you. I’m sure you will not disappoint.” Her ruby eyes gleam and she drains her cup in on swift motion, setting it down gently once she’s done. Armyah takes a sip, the delicate floral taste reminds her of the Countess’s perfume. “Tomorrow, we will dine together with my courtiers. They are most eager to make your acquaintance.” The magician gulped, having to impress people is definitely not her specialty. “I have no doubt they will find you absolutely charming. They will want to know everything about you but choose wisely what you wish to tell.” Also not one of Armyah’s strong suits, she has a habit of not thinking before she speaks when she’s nervous. “I am also going to be telling them the news of the Masquerade, I know they’ll be excited.” The magician only nodded as she chewed her food, the ways of the court were foreign to her. Thankfully, the Countess with be with her; she trusted the woman to not allow her to be too much of an embarrassment. “Portia and a retinue of our loudest servants will be going to town tomorrow to make the announcement. She has asked that you go with them.” She looks to the servant who only winks in response. “We must ensure there is a sufficient audience for our final spectacle,” the Countess’s wicked grin is unnerving, “When the doctor hangs, he will hang for all to see.” Armyah immediately thinks of Julian, bathed in the warm, welcoming light of the tavern, swinging from the gallows. Her heart grows cold at the image, but she is careful not to let it show on her face. The Countess waves her graceful hand dismissively.

“But these are tomorrow’s matters,” she smiles brightly at the magician, “tonight, Armyah, I have questions.”

“Questions?” she asked apprehensively. She’s startled by the sudden attention; the Countess was watching her so carefully.

“Yes, I wish to become more familiar with you if we are to be working so closely.” Now she remembers the toast to their “friendship”, but she never expected the Countess to have any interest in who she was. Frankly, Armyah doesn’t know much about herself aside from the last three years. However, the Countess asked simple questions: How was she enjoying the city, her daily goings on, her favorite thing to eat. The anxious magician only provides one-word answers and doesn’t ask anything in return. She isn’t sure if the Countess could tell she was nervous, but she didn’t elude to it if she did. “You are a woman of few words, Armyah. Are you tired? Or perhaps shy?” The fortune-teller’s face tinged red. “No worries. Portia, please escort our friend here to her chambers.” Servants whisked away her empty plate and Portia was at her side in an instant. “I do hope you have a pleasant evening, Armyah.” The Countess leaves with one last wry smile.

“Well, that was an eventful day, huh?” Portia laughed warmly, “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.” Armyah nods gratefully and follows after the servant’s brisk footsteps. The hallway is void of any life besides the magician and her escort. Their footsteps echo as they walk side by side. “Things are a lot more interesting around here since you showed up,” Portia said, smiling, “Did you see the look on Ludo’s face when we found you both on the ground?” She talks about the guards as if they’re old friends. Possibly she knows all the servants at the palace well.

“Do you spend a lot of time with the other servants?”

“We work together pretty closely,” she nodded, “it’s my job to know who and what’s happening in the palace.” Portia winks conspiratorially at Armyah as they arrive at the door to the guest room. It seemed as if the staff came during the day to tidy up and placed a fresh pitcher of water on the desk. Incense burned by the window, the hazy swirls of wood and spice made her a bit homesick; Asra always burned incense at the shop. Portia looked as if she was dying to ask the magician a question, but she hesitates. She smoothed a paper on the desk and Armyah recognized it as the ones she took from Julian’s desk in the library.

“You looked concerned…” she urges.

“Who me?” Portia tries to play off her apprehension before sighing in defeat. “It’s just…I don’t know. There are other suspects, right?” She wrung her hands nervously, “sure, many people loved the Count, but, between you and me, I think he had a lot of enemies too.”

“Enemies? Like who?” Armyah couldn’t imagine anyone speaking out openly against the Count. Portia shakes her head and runs her hands down her skirt.

“I wasn’t employed at the palace when it happened,” she explained, “I’ve only heard rumors of what went on that night. Just…” She pauses as if she’s not sure how to continue, “keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious, alright?” Smiling slyly, Portia leans in toward the fortune-teller, her voice low, “you know��if you’re not too tired yet, I could show you around the palace. There’s a lot of interesting things on the palace grounds and maybe I could show you some secrets?” Her smile is teasing, but her eyes are genuine.

“Show me the secrets,” Armyah couldn’t help but giggle, it felt as if she were sneaking out past curfew.

“I knew there was something I liked about you,” Portia linked her arm around the magicians, “I can tell we’re going to be great friends.” Armyah liked the sound of that, the thought didn’t leave a bad taste in her mouth like when the Countess said it. “Oh, where do we want to start? There’s the mulch pile, the Freaky Foyer, the servant’s quarters…” Portia tapped her chin in thought until her face lights up. “Oh, I know! Come on, I’ll show you the really good stuff!” She led the fortune-teller down the hall with a bounce in her step. “You’ve already seen most of the palace itself,” she pushes open some swinging doors and leads the pair into a vast kitchen. A person in a flour-dusted apron lifted their head and smiled at the sight of their fellow servant.

“Portia! Still one duty for the night?” they asked while waving cheerfully.

“Not exactly,” she replied, “I’m just showing Armyah around the place!” The chef tossed her a roll from across the counter and she caught it without looking, she turned to the magician, “This is the kitchens. If you ever find yourself hungry at midnight, the door’s always open. Just make sure you don’t ruin Hestion’s breakfast prep.” She pockets another roll with a wink and slides one to Armyah while the chef isn’t looking, “I’m not responsible for any harm that might befall you.” They exit the kitchen and Portia leads them down a small hall to a painting of the two white hounds. A pile of pomegranates spilt out at their feet, “This is a secret passage I like to use to get to the veranda. It saves a lot of time when you’re in a hurry.” She grips the edge of the frame and swings it open, revealing a hidden archway. The servant glances over her shoulder at the other woman, “think you could help us out with a little light?” Smiling, Armyah focused her magic as an orb of warm light materialized from her fingertips and float around them like fireflies. Portia’s blue eyes are alight with wonder, “wooooow…would you look at that? You’re pretty good at this magic stuff.” They pass through the arch into a larger dusty passage. The walls were lined with paintings of various animals, all pure white with glinting ruby eyes. Armyah shivers involuntarily; the eyes looked as if they were following the duo, watching them. “This used to be the Counts ‘Menagerie Gallery’, but no one goes in here anymore. They say there’s a ghost wandering these halls. Some say a voice will call out your name as you’re walking by and if you follow it you’ll never be seen again!” Armyah looked to the girl dubiously making the servant laugh, “Servants are always popping up after shirking their duties like ‘Ooooh! The Gallery Ghost got me!” She places her hands on her hip to imitate annoyance, “and then I’m like ‘okay, but if you’re never seen again then how come I’m seeing you?” The magician laughs heartily at Portia’s story, “Turns out they fell asleep in the larder and wanted to blame the ghost.” She led Armyah to the veranda where dozens of servants were hanging out, socializing after a long day’s work. Portia greeted every single one by name as they passed, she really did know everyone. Portia led her down the stairs to the garden, the very steps she had run down earlier that day after the two costumed guards.

“Sometimes, when I’m not working, I like to explore around here,” Portia tittered excitedly, “Never know what you might find.” She points off to a small mound in the distance, “if you go to that little hill over there, you can get a real good look at the stars.” She smiles brightly at the magician. “Especially on clear nights like this.” They entered the maze that lead to the fountain that Armyah had stumbled upon her first night at the palace. Portia walk briskly and with confidence, obviously well acquainted with the winding paths. “I know it’s getting pretty late, but I’ve got one last stop before the end of the tour,” she winked and grinned mischievously…her smile looked almost familiar. “I think you’re really going to like it,” the servant takes the fortune-teller’s hand and leads her through the twisting hedges to a crumbling old arch, the very same arch she had encountered in the maze while chasing the guard earlier that day. The door was still there, but it was even less visible in the dark. Armyah could feel a faint whisper of magic licking at her skin, beckoning her closer to the arch. She took a hesitant, involuntary step toward it. Reaching out to the swirling wisps of magical energy. Her hand passes through the arch, but it disappears into nothingness. Snapping her outstretched arm back and clutching the formerly gone hand to her chest. She looks bewilderedly at the woman next to who only laughs. “You want to go through?” The magician looks skeptically back at the portal and nods slowly. Portia, still giggling, takes her by the hand and pulls her through the archway. In an instant, they are no longer in the garden, but in a brightly lit hallway inside the palace. They can hear the faint chatting of servants in the distance. “Isn’t that amazing?” Portia gripped Armyah in excitement, “I bet there are portals like this all over the palace that lead to lots of different places on one’s seen!” Her smile is contagious, the fortune-teller couldn’t help but grin back at her friend. “This palace has a lot of secrets…” the servant took her hand once again and pulled her down the hall. She was walking backwards so she was still facing Armyah. “Maybe you can help me find more,” she winked, “I bet a great magician like you would have no problem finding them all.” She turned back around, still leading her friend by the hand. “But I’ve kept you long enough. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” Armyah groaned at the thought of waking up at sunrise again causing Portia to laugh. She led the magician back to the guest room and paused just inside the door. “Thanks for coming with me, Armyah,” she smiles warmly, “I’m really excited you’re here. I think we’ll have a lot of fun together.” She pulls Armyah into a tight hug, her arms are strong. It catches her off guard, but she returns the gesture. “Sorry,” Portia chuckled, letting her go, “I’m a hugger.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Arymah smiles back, “I don’t mind.” She wouldn’t say she was a “hugger” as well, but physical contact doesn’t bother her. She was happy that Portia and she were good enough friends to be able to offer the affection. The servant bid her good night and turned to leave.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Portia whipped back to the magician, “Milady would like you to join us into town tomorrow for the announcement.” ‘Announcement?’ Then, Armyah remembered the Masquerade. They would be going to the town square to publicize the return on the beloved festival. Waving their goodbyes, Portia shut the large door behind her to leave the other girl alone in the empty room with her thoughts. With a heavy sigh, she kicked off the beaded slippers and let down her still-wet hair. She looked toward the nightdress she had brought herself and considered changing, but she definitely favored the silken robe given to her. Crawling under the plush duvet and snuggled into the comfortable bedding. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, she was exhausted from running around all night. She drifted off with images of a certain red-headed doctor behind her eyelids.

Next chapter will be out a lot sooner that this one was. Let me know how I’m doing!

Tag list:

@julians-chest-hair

#the aracana game #the arcana #julian devorak #julian x apprentice #portia devorak #nadia satrinava #count lucio #asra #muriel #what once was

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professorsparklepants · 7 years ago

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Good things about The Arcana app game:

Complex characters and motivations

Amazing art

Gay

Uses the word "lemonstone" instead of limestone, which is hilarious

Tarot themed, which I am always a slut for

Gothic horror undertones

Bad things:

In-app purchases are TOO TEMPTING

#lectures

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rokkystar68 · 5 years ago

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pure leather and wather proof laptop bag

#bag #laptop_bag #leather #fashion #lemon_stone #lemonstone #men's fashion #womenfashion #onlineshopping

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folkertreasure786 · 4 years ago

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#lemon stone #lemonquartz #gems #gemstone #jewelry #naturalgems #losestone #naturalgemstones #jewellery #youtube #fashion

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aria-i-adagio · 4 years ago

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Thinking of Nothing and the Shooting Stars (lemon version)

The Opposite of Falling, Masterpost

Fandom: The Arcana

trigger warning: PTSD, panic attack, arguably poor decision in coping with said PTSD

read on AO3 (fic is complete on AO3, hit or miss as to how much I'll be cross-posting to tumblr)

Non-lemon version. DNI with this version of the chapter if underage.

Note: I changed MC's name, for reasons.

Julian looks equal parts baffled and turned on. He's watching Asra walk away, cheeks red and biting his bottom lip, fully entranced by his retreating figure.

I touch the back of his hand. “So, is the combination of Asra and ropes something I should keep in mind?”

“Huh, yes - wait, umm, I mean.”

“You are also with Asra?” He laughs. “I thought that was already a given. There's only one bed at your place, you know.” He picks me up and holds me so that our eyes are on the same level. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, even through his grip under my thighs is firm. “My life is a bit of a mess right now, if you haven't noticed, and you are the one bright spot in it. Whatever comes with you is worth it.” He kisses me on the tip of my nose. “And, frankly, my dear, whatever weirdness this scenario might bring absolutely pales in comparison to everything else happening right now.” A look of concern passes across his face. “What did he mean by again? I can't think of anything I wouldn't do to keep you safe. I'd cut a deal with the Dev -"

"Heh." Julian smiles and sets me back down on the ground. "Yeah, never figured out which of us was the idiot when he said something that made no sense to me."

“Who did you make me look like?”

My guest room has been tidied and the bed made by the ever efficient palace staff. There's a bowl of fresh fruit on the table, along with a pair of tumblers and the bottle of whiskey Nadia sent. I still haven't figured out how she just now what her guests will enjoy, but she has once again divined my favorite and provided. After I was the door and windows against entry, I pour generous amounts of liquor in the tumblers and hand one to Julian.

“To innocence.” I knock my glass against his. He drinks his as a shot, but I sip mine. It's smooth and smoky -- and worthy of contemplation. “Have more if you want.”

Julian pours another two fingers and raises the glass again. “And to experience.” he drinks, shower this time, then recites,

“For I dance

And drink & sing:

Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing.”

I set down my glass, empty now. “That's queer little rhyme.”

“It’s from a cycle titled Songs of Innocence and Experience.” He shrugs. “I suppose that's why it came to mind. Actually, the poet was comparing himself to a fly.”

“You're not a fly, Julian. Your wings are those of a raven.” I run my hand along his shoulders and arms.

He leans over resting his head against mine. “You should get out of those clothes. I mean, you're soaked to the bone.”

I glance over at the fireplace and freeze. Julian is sprawled in the floor, in some sort of pose, but I barely see him for the roaring flames in the grate behind him. It wasn't lit when we came in. He must have found the kindling and wood that the staff kept stacked and waiting beside the grate. A drone begins in my ears and the faintness I felt from seeing the fire built back at Muriel's returns.

“Jael?” Julian's voice sounds far away. “What's wrong? You're as pale as ghost.”

“What is it?”

“Shh. You're safe. I've got you.”

I open my eyes again. Julian is crouched next to the bed that I’m now sitting on, staring at me with worry and wonder both in his eyes. I force a smile. “Hi.”

“Umm, yes, it’s...quite a bit lower than it was a couple of minutes ago, actually.”

“I believe you.” He glances down at where I have his hand pressed over my heart. “You’re colder than you were. There’s not really much to this robe.”

“Well, Doctor, I guess you’ll just have to find someway to get me warmed up.” I slide his hand a little lower.

“Are you, uh, sure that’s a good idea? I mean...”

“Well, um, if that’s what you want.” He arches his eyebrows and his lips curl up in a smile. I slide my other leg behind his back and pull him closer to me, simultaneously sliding his free hand further down my chest. Short of an engraved invitation to fuck me, I’m not sure how I can make myself clearer.

“How about what you want, Julian?” I let go of his hand and lean back on my elbows. “Boss me around for a bit.”

“Hmm.” He stands and looks me overly contemplatively. I start to strike a pose, then suddenly feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, and look off to the side. “Okay, stand up.” He pushes my feet shoulder width apart with his foot. He’s still wearing his absurd boots, but then, they can’t be easy to get out of. “Lose the robe.” Happy to have something to do, I comply, unknotting the tie from around my waist and nudging the robe off my shoulder and then the other. Julian grabs the blanket from the bed behind me and drapes it over my shoulders. “That’s one thing I want - you not freezing to death.”

Freezing to death is not high on my list of fears. Actually, I've heard that it's a relatively good way to go, at least after the cold has you numbed through. “Not precisely what I had in mind.”

“Did I say I was done?”

I snap my eyes back to his. “No. No, you did not.”

He picks up my left hand, bends over to kiss my fingertips, then touches them to my breast, dragging them around the edge of the aureole. “Keep that up.” He steps behind me, then wraps an arm around me to grab my other breast, kneading it, before trailing his hand across my torso, pausing to trace circles over my hipbone. I moan and slump back against him only to be pushed back upright with his free hand. “Did I tell you to do that?” I shake my head from side to side. “Aloud.”

“No.”

“Good girl. Nothing without my permission. Close your eyes.” He’s oddly quiet, the strangeness adding to the anticipation I feel building low in my stomach. He takes my free hand in his and guides it between my legs, dragging my fingers lightly over my outer lips. I start to slip a finger deeper between them, but he somehow catches me, pulls my hand back, and slaps my knuckles. Lightly, maybe too lightly. “Not yet, Jael. Some things should be savored.” His breath is warm against my throat he must be leaning in close to my ear to whisper. “Try again.”

This time, I trail my fingertips lightly over the outer folds of my sex. The limited pressure, the promise of more to come, builds my excitement. Julian’s breath is still warm against my neck. He kisses the top of my shoulder gentler, then - when I mewl with pleasure - roughly, scraping his teeth over the skin. The mewl becomes a louder moan.

“Careful, dear. The walls in this palace are thinner than you would expect.”

“I... oh...” I stifle a louder cry as he nips my earlobe. “I can fix that.”

“Can you now?”

“It’s a simple - ah -” He pushes my hand away from my breast and catches my nipple between two of his long fingers. “Adjustment to the warding spell I did earlier.”

“Warding spell - right. More magicky things. Do it.”

“I need my hands for a moment. And my eyes open. Please.”

“Very well.” His breathe and hands withdraw from my body. I raise my hands in front of me and quickly sketch the sigils for silence, before pushing them to the walls to join the other wards. They glow for a moment before sinking into the wall. I drop my hands to my sides and close my eyes.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Aren’t you a clever one. Turn around. Open your eyes if you want.” He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, cheeks flushed and eyelids heavy with lust. He reaches out, rearranges the blanket draped around my shoulders, and pushes my hair back from my face. Tracing his knuckles down the side of my face, he pulls away from me, leaning back on the bed, weight resting on his elbows. “And a pretty one as well. Hands as they were.”

I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and return my hands to my breast and my sex. It’s harder than I expected to look at him; I drop my eyes. I can hear his weight shifting on the bed, and then he wraps his hand around the one I have between my legs, pressing my fingers between my folds, his own fingertips shadowing behind them. Moisture is collecting at my entrance and the wetness drags along with my fingers, closer to spot that I desperately want to touch.

“You feel amazing. Perfect.”

“I’m not perfect.”

Julian draws my hand away, brings it to his mouth and slowly licks my fingers. All the blood in my body is rushing toward my cheeks or between my legs. “You’re perfect.”

He pulls me into the bed beside to him, rearranging the pillows to prop me up before placing his hands of my knees and pushing them apart. Feeling overexposed, I glance to the side, breaking eye contact. “Show me how you touch yourself.” His hand trails down the inside of my left thigh. “Jael, look at me.”

The only way out is forward. I let my right leg fall over the edge of the bed, exposing myself more of that's even possible, and bring my eyes back to Julian's as I slide a hand back between my legs, parting my labia to find and first circle my clit, before settling a finger on either side of it and stroking back and forth. I moan, as much from the heat in his gaze as sensations building and tightening in my core.

Julian's hands move from my thigh and my knee to my hips. He groans and leans over me, the dynamic shifting even before he says anything. “I can't keep this up. Can I, may I, please?”

“Please what?”

“Taste you.”

“Go ahead.” I pull back my fingers and he drops his head, bringing his mouth to my pussy, swiping and stroking with his tongue, and I'm so glad I added the silencing spell to the wards. I twist my hands in his hair pulling it this way and that, and my right leg, toes curling, finds its way back into bed, wrapping around his back, hips rolling against his mouth.

“Julian, stop.” I pull his head back by his hair.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” I laugh. I feel like lightning is running through me, waking every never in just the way it wants to be. “God, no.” I sit up and kiss his mouth, biting and pulling at his bottom lip while working a hand between his legs. His cock, fully hard, is still trapped in his pants - poor thing. “I just want a turn.”

I work down his body from his lips, kissing, biting, sucking and pinching as I go, stopping and spending time at a spot if he whined just so and seems to particularly like it. He's touching me the entire time, strong hands kneading my back, sneaking between my things to find sensitive spots there, sliding to my front to toy with my breasts, simply tangling themselves in my hair.

I reach his belt and find myself stymied. It's some unreasonably elaborate thing, a knotted sash over a traditional buckled number. Needing a better angle, I climb off the bed and kneel between his legs, fussing with the knot.

“Do you want some help there?”

“Dammit, I am resolved.”

He chuckles and strokes my hair. “I admire your tenacity.”

I cackle in triumph when I finally get the knot undone. The belt is no trouble, a surprisingly basic - for Julian, at any rate - buckle and then I'm free to undo his fly and free his cock. I run my hand from navel to groin and press my lips against the base of him. He makes the most wonderful noise as I drag my tongue along the underside and around the tip, I repeat the action eliciting a moan that might have been an attempt at my name.

I push his pants down a bit farther and slap his flank. “Hips up, darling.” I drag my nails down the outside of his thighs, leaving red welts that almost instantly disappear, and dragging his pants along with them. Just above his knees, I hit a new obstacle. He still has on his boots. “Godammit!”

“What? Oh, shit. Let me help you with those.”

He had better. There are something like sixteen clasps going down the side of each one. As I start on the right boot, a light weight drops around my shoulders. The blanket again. I look up.

“You're still worried I'm cold, aren't you?”

He nods and brushed his thumb along my cheek. I lean back in and kiss the top of one exposed thigh; no teeth this time, I'm only feeling tenderness. “I think I love you.” Julian's hands trembles where it's resting against my neck. I look up, his face looks thunderstruck. “Also, I'm buying you a pair of sensible boots.”

I duck down and go back to work undoing the clasps. Julian leans over, undoing the fastenings on his other leg, much more efficiently than I am, but then he's had practice. I peel the boots off his legs and finally can get his pants off. He's glorious naked, all long lines and wiry muscle.

Reaching down, he takes my arms and pulls me up and toward him. I climb into his lap, my legs folded and straddling him, the extra bit of height putting me almost at eye level. He's made sure the blanket remains covering my back and it is warmer in the snug little cocoon it creates with his body.

“Say it again.”

“What?” I smile, teasing him. “That I'm buying you some sensible shoes.”

“No.”

#the arcana fanfiction #julian devorak #julian x apprentice #the arcana #the arcana fanfic #lemon

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