time to face the music.

Independent Ilyushka "Julian" Devorak, written by Sarah. Based on the story and characters of The Arcana, published by Nix Hydra. SPORADIC ACTIVITY. Established 2/25/2018.

[savenkey-deactivated20201231]

[kris-writes]

No. Words.

[pongodoodle-deactivated20200620]

“I hope you know what the fuck you’re doing.” 

[deathcasts-blog]

astraconcordia:

Thank goodness for the werelight washing her out. Her cheeks flush a deep pink at his jest, having to resist pulling him down for a kiss. This was no time to be playing. Their cramped, dim shelter is certainly no place for romance, either. But they were alone, if only for a while. Marion tries to distract herself from the possibility of finally being alone with Julian… 

Keep reading

The worried line of his brow softens, and he matches the gentle touch of her hand with his own. Julian exhales, taking a moment to level himself, and says with a more even tone of voice, “Please, if anything I trapped us both in this mess.” He tries to make it sound funny but falls a little flat. “But really-- there are a thousand things more nerve-wracking than pretending to be the husband of... of someone I care about.”

Someone I’ve already imagined sharing the rest of my life with.

Julian leans into Marion’s space, coming shoulder to shoulder with her where they’re crouched down in front of the trunk. “Trust me. If I was really against it, I would have dived off the boat the moment the coast was clear.” This time he really laughs, but says with more sincerity, “Don’t worry about me, Marion. We can go and play with the rich folks, drink whatever fancy wine they’ve got around and have ourselves a good time until we make our dramatic exit. Maybe I can finally get you out on the dance floor, eh?”

With that he takes advantage of their closeness to tilt her chin up and leave a lingering kiss on her lips. There’s a frustrated groan at the back of his throat as he wills himself to pull away from her-- every moment they’re alone makes it harder to resist pulling her in and falling into a hazy tangle of limbs and skin on skin.

He bites his lip with a note of embarrassment. “But, uh, I guess we should focus on getting our ‘rich people’ disguises together, first.” He kisses Marion one more time before going back to digging through the trunk. “Here, I think this is about your size.”

A while passes before Julian finds an outfit he’s satisfied with. There aren’t many shoes, let alone completed pairs, so with no luck finding anything in his size he elects to just keep on his own boots. (With any luck no one will pay too much attention to the scuffed leather and worn soles.)  He’s no connoisseur when it comes to fashion, but it’ll at least be passable.

He stands and starts shucking off his coat and drops it to the floor with his cape and gloves, followed by his unfortunately sweaty shirt. Julian picks up the dark shirt he chose and starts fiddling with the buttons. “Did you find something you like, Marion?” He asks without turning around.

[galpalaven]

haha,, w h o o p s,,, my hand slipped,,

[veurona]

types of people

[inventan-deactivated20190101]

veurona:

honey: lipstick, a sweet voice, confident laughter, handwritten notes, tries their best, loves fashion and dogs, bright eyes like the sun, new cities, good grades

woodsmoke: tired souls, ticket stubs and street maps from places they’ve visited, bodies full of untold stories, missing the train, coffee, gentle words 

wisteria: dreamy evenings, freshly-baked cinnamon rolls, sipping tea, writing in a diary, thick, worn-out jumpers, handfuls of flowers, falling in love, book piles

saltwater: dark, tousled hair, ripped jeans, paintbrushes, lofty grins, swallowing hard, a little broken, trying desperately to be a good person

ink: soft aching hands buried in messy hair, tragic smiles, scribbling on dusty parchment, ancient ruins, attic windows, stars, cups of tea gone cold

thunderstorms: leather jackets, eyeliner wings, sharpening their smiles, lace-up boots, vinyl records, wikipedia articles, tangled earphones, cigarette afternoons

[deathcasts-blog]

tagged by: no one, I stole it from @brusquc <3 tagging: feel free to steal this off me lmao

APHRODITE :     laughter-loving ,     sweet smiles ,     dressed in silk and satin ,     flower in their hair ,     sees the world as a runway ,     unapologetically sexual ,     the sea washing their ankles ,     in love with love ,     stirrer of passion ,     cunning concealed by painted lips ,    secret daggers ,     doves ,     revolution in their kiss ,     delighting in the waves ,    flirtatious winks ,     strolling along the beach ,     staring wistfully from a balcony ,     this is how to be a heartbreaker ,     wants to be adored ,     gets turned on by danger .

APOLLO :     glitz and glamour ,     art galleries ,     turning the volume up ,     being made of gold ,     neatly-organized music sheets ,     notebooks filled with poetry ,     bathing in the sunlight ,     the powerful urge to create ,     collecting vinyl records ,     beautiful cover of Wonderwall ,     playing multiple instruments ,     tasting like sunshine ,     healing touch ,     speaking in prophecies ,     smile mingled with wrath ,     shunning lies ,     sporting shades ,     hanging out at music festivals with their friends ,     sleeps naked ,     arrow to the heart ,     paint brushes ,     probably has a Tinder account .

ARES :     armed for battle ,     wants to raise a dog with their significant other ,     soft spot for children ,     gives piggyback rides ,     scarred body ,     blood on their hands and face,    willing to fight the world for the ones they love ,     fights against injustice ,     warm hugs,    well-worn combat boots ,     boxing gloves ,     bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles,     fist raised in protest ,     ignites revolutions ,     fear is a prison ,     more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think ,    exhausted ,     damaged goods ,    force to be reckoned with ,     red roses ,     curses under their breath .

ARTEMIS :     keen sense of a hunter ,     freckles like constellations on their skin ,    piercing eyes ,     disheveled braid ,     moonlight peeking through the shadows ,     the calm of the forest at night ,     lying on the grass and staring at the stars ,     mother doe and her fawn ,    protecting their kin ,     the moon shimmering on a still lake ,     quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree ,     running with wolves ,     bonding while circled around a campfire ,     not being much of a people person ,     arrow hitting a target ,     popping egos ,     patience on 3% ,     touches heaven and returns howling .

ATHENA :     discerning gaze ,     unreadable face ,     quiet museums ,     owl perched on their finger ,     armor that intimidates ,     eye for architecture ,     plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses ,     studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid ,     big fan of logic ,     loves brain teasers ,     ancient buildings ,     sweaters in neutrals and cool colors ,     hair done up ,     can kill you with their brain ,     heads to the library often to research ,     sharpened pencils ,     abs that can cut steel ,     stoic statues ,     pottery classes .

DEMETER :     soil-covered hands ,     smile that can bloom flowers ,     skin loved by the sun ,     being the mom-friend ,     can lift you and your friends ,     flowers kept in the pockets of overalls ,     takes pride in their beautiful garden ,     speaks to their plants ,     leaves rustling in the wind ,     stalks of wheat ,     picking fruit ,     greenhouses ,     heart as strong as a mountain ,     values simplicity ,     daisies dotted across a collarbone ,     curls crowned with flowers ,     folded pile of sweaters in warm hues ,     pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air .

DIONYSUS :     drunk shitposter ,     on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second ,     seductive smirks ,     untamed curls ,     rich fabrics on dark skin ,     sleek-furred panthers ,     theater masks ,     stage productions ,     receiving a standing ovation ,     rose caught between their teeth ,     being the baby of the bunch ,     wild parties that last from sundown to sunup ,     creeping vines ,     inspiring loyalty ,     grand opera houses ,    masquerade balls ,     rolls of film ,     shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor ,     pouring champagne into flutes ,     lives for the applause .

HEPHAESTUS :     the calloused hands of someone who knows labor ,     sweaty brow ,    flame burning in their eyes ,     inventive mind ,     broad shoulders ,     steampunk goggles ,     nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes ,    ashes ,     striking a match ,     blueprints for future projects ,     fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades ,     wrestles with bitterness ,     work boots have seen better years ,     wrinkled plaid shirts ,    iron melted in blazing fire ,     huge jackets ,     crafting masterpieces ,     greased-stained overalls ,     fascination with robotics,     pain is fuel ,     stack of weaponry ,     even their muscles have muscles .

HERA :     resting bitch face ,    dressed to the nines ,     cows grazing on a pasture ,     cool rain ,     loving and hating fiercely ,     hand clutching a string of pearls ,    large chandelier with glittering crystals ,     plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims ,     romance to realism ,     pictures of the sky while flying on a plane ,     files that under fuck it ,    downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix ,     like their selfie or you’re grounded ,     knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man ,     dark eyes that penetrate your soul ,     marble and gold .

HERMES :     devil-may-care smile ,     always up-to-date on the latest technology ,     will steal your french fries ,     does it for the vine ,     shitposter ,     puts googly eyes on everything ,     meme hoarder ,     long drives on the highway ,     ma and pop diners ,    spontaneous road trips ,     folded maps ,     fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop,     shooting hoops on the basketball court ,     chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations ,     goes jogging in the morning ,     mixes redbull with coffee ,     menace on april fool’s ,     hoodies and sneakers .

POSEIDON :     storm with skin ,     colorful coral reefs ,     waves crashing against the shore ,     stroking the soft fur of a cat ,     their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop ,     tousled locks ,     clothes smeared with paint ,     owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more ,    leather jackets ,     fondness for diy projects ,     handwriting that flows across the page ,     nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin ,     velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams ,     mood as ever-changing as the sea ,     the roar of a motorcycle ,    compass with a spinning arrow .

ZEUS :     thunder in their heart ,     running on coffee ,   flash of lightning ,     natural charisma ,     eloquence ,     badass in a nice suit ,     aficionado of history ,     force of nature ,     lenny face ,     nightmare-filled nights ,     proud arm around their lover’s waist ,   high-rise buildings ,     planes soaring through a cloudless sky ,     technician on the piano ,     maintains order ,     strong handshake ,     juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease ,    expensive watch .

[ryuichifoxe]

Be careful what you ask for :P

[liliththeapprentice]

Op this comic saved my life

[deathcasts-blog]

astraconcordia:

“Sinensis…Now where have I heard that before..?” Marion thinks aloud. Wisteria petals rolls over their shoes as they descend into the unlit hold. Her magic comes easily to her, now that they are out of sight. The small undercroft is stuffed to the gills with extravagant trunks, others marked more excessively than others. Marion pays them no mind, though. Julian’s easy navigation of the place enchants her.

She is unaware of the dreamlike smile touching her features, watching him move about as easily as he does on land. The roiling of the boat is completely alien to her, and she sways dangerously on unacclimated, land-locked legs. But he moves with a purpose here, transitioning between the environments with an ease Marion cannot fathom.

“N-no, please don’t be sorry.” She reaches out to him, half to steady herself and half to comfort him. “At least I know I’m safe here, with you nearby…” she instinctively laces her fingers through those of his free hand. They spend so much of their time running from danger. Yet still she gravitates to him. “Besides, doesn’t stealing the clothes of the gentry sound like a perfect dashing-rogue activity?” she squeezes his hand, turning her attention back to their task.

If they were truly considering practicality, it would be best to the guises of crewmembers or waitstaff. But it seemed Tomasina has already created covers for them. Now…how to make it convincing?

Across the narrow room, a hastily-sealed garment trunk is shoved against the wall. Judging by its separation from the other sets of luggage (and by god, was there a lot of color-coordinated luggage…), Marion wonders if this was some sort of…reject bin, or lost and found of some kind? Either way, it does not appear to be getting much use. Marion tugs on Julian’s sleeve, crossing the room with him in tow. The buckles on the trunk are unlatched, and the worn hinge creaks when she pushes it open. A tangle of rich fabrics spill out unceremoniously.

“We’re going to need to pretend to be…” Marion swallowed hard, blushing in the white werelight. “M-married, I think. ‘Sina called us ‘Doctor and Missus…’”

“Oh, it positively reeks of it.” Julian jokes. He then brings Marion’s hand up to his lips, putting on his most convincing roguish smirk. “Lucky for us that I’m already good at playing the part of a “dashing rogue”, wouldn’t you say?”

Not long after they both go back to searching, he feels her tug at his sleeve and allows her to lead him over to the overstuffed trunk. Flashes of color and magnificent embroidery greet them when Marion lifts the lid. Some of the mismatched wardrobe looks a little worse for wear; a tear on a sleeve, a few frayed strings, occasionally a stain or two... nothing too noticeable for the most part. Regardless of the imperfections, each and every piece is made of the finest materials and craft money can buy.

“Ah, these are perfect!” Julian says enthusiastically. He immediately shoves his hands inside and begins to search through the clothes. “Now let’s see what we can find...”

For a moment he barely hears Marion’s voice, so engrossed in his search as he is. It’s been far too long since he’s had a chance to dress up.

He holds up a dark blue overcoat trimmed in silver then a dark shirt with bejeweled buttons, having a mind to set them aside to try on later when he’s stopped short by the word married.

Julian sputters a little, trying (and failing) not to look startled at the idea. “I-- y-yes. That they did.” He can feel the embarrassed red creeping up his neck. Has it gotten warmer in here? Attempting to occupy himself with the trunk of clothes again, he says, “That shouldn’t be-- ahem-- too difficult, I think. We’re already together, after all.”

[punkpixieprince]

imagine ur otp

[deathcasts-blog]

astraconcordia:

This is not good. This is very much the opposite of anything Marion prepared herself for today. Dumbfounded, she simply stands in the doorway of a stairwell into the hold, trying to process what just happened. The sweeping Vesuvian docks give way to open water, the briny air ruffling the corners of their clothes, their hair.

“Y-you could say that…” Marion barely registers Julian’s question, staring out at the receding shoreline. She and Asra often joke about the pleasure cruises that pass along the canal on which the shop sits. Never once did she ever think she would stand on the deck of such a vessel. Brightly-dressed servants and entertainers pass under the small overlook onto which Tomasina led them. So far, nobody had spotted the pair. From what Marion could tell so far, they are too underdressed to convincingly blend in with the other passengers. Amidst her desperation, Tomasina’s last suggestion echoed in Marion’s mind. Extra baggage in the hold…Surely they could not have meant…Oh, no.

“H-how do you feel about rifling through some strangers’ belongings for a suitable disguise..?” Marion’s gaze shifts to Julian’s face, incredulous. There was no place they could hide, with so many gossipy people aboard the craft. At the very least, the hold would offer some degree of shelter while they could devise a new plan. They had no quarters, and no story. Aside from a name, that is… The name ‘Mrs. Sinensis’ had a certain ring to it, but she could only do so much. Julian, on the other hand, with his flair for theatrics, may have more luck…Marion offers her hand to him, which still shakes from the shock of it all.

Julian raised his brow, breaking out into a playful grin. “Sounds like an adventure--” He took her hand. “I’m in.”

It seemed there was little else to do except take things in stride. Plus, if the shouting from the shore as they escaped to the relative safety of the cruise was any indicator.... it’s probably best if they stay, for a bit. Wait for things to cool off. They’d be doing themselves no favors running straight back towards someone who may have recognized them. Julian shivers to think of what might happen should word get back to the Countess that her investigator was seen arm in arm with the very man she’s meant to be hunting.

“If we’re going to be these, er-- what was the name? Sinosis? Sinensos?” He looks at her questioningly as they start walking, but gives it up in favor of finding the hold. Julian soon found the sign for it, hanging inconspicuously on the wall next to a narrow staircase leading down; obviously an entrance meant only for staff and crew. “You and I will have to look the part.” He says, ducking down the stairs and through the little doorway.

Despite the cramped space leading into the hold, Julian looks right at home. Years at sea have gotten him more than used to having to squeeze into tight spaces; ships are made for average sized people, and not typically men with gangly limbs standing over six feet tall. “I can’t say this is how I imagined our afternoon out, though.” Julian says apologetically.

[borifle]

FOUND THE ONLY TWO ARCANA COSPLAYERS AT #MEGACON TODAY 🙏🙏🙏 super sweet, and came all the way back upstairs to take a selfie with me 😁💕 (after I yelled at them from the 3rd floor that I loved their cosplays absjsbskssbksns) @viviviolet-cosplay @cousincecily

[deathcasts-blog]

❝ We don’t have to talk. Let’s just…let’s just watch this together. ❞

taz starters

Julian felt his cheeks flush, the tips of his ears going hot as he intertwined his fingers with theirs. He gives a little smile and a nod. “That sounds nice.” It’s strange being in the midst of the Masquerade again– all the bright colors and joyous laughter, endless trays of food and drink winding their way through the crowds of celebrating Vesuvians. After all that’s happened, it all feels like a dream. Familiar and warm, yet wholly overwhelming.

Still, Julian thinks with a fond glance at his partner, that’s not altogether bad.

The sound of his voice is nearly covered by the music and raucous chatter, and so he speaks up just a little louder. “I’m sure we can find a quiet spot somewhere. Lead the way?”

[nadiasrobe]

we all know that julian’s TRUE crime was being horny on main

[girogiro97]

Julian is very proud of his girlfriend.

(Incorrect Arcana Quotes, part 1/?)

[seasaltpip]

this is just a callout post for myself and all julian fuckers

[deathcasts-blog]

astraconcordia:

The shudder together as trapped birds do. Small hands trace the details of his face as they did when they first shared a bed. The memory feels distant, now. She thinks on all the things she was too shy to say, her skin afire for never having said them. Marion presses as close to Julian as she can bear, shakes her head in desolation. The faith he has in her…She withers under Julian’s affirmations. He is snatched from her before she could ever break his heart.

Keep reading

Her touch on his cheek should be calming, her soft tone of voice soothing... yet Julian only feels fresh fear enter his heart. She isn’t going to stop. And what can he do now, sitting in this cell while he awaits his execution? Nothing. Nothing that would make a difference.

“Marion...” He leans into her hand, lips brushing her palm a final time as she pulls away.

There aren’t any words left that feel right. Julian watches Marion turn her back to him, walking towards the door and all the voices on the other side. She swipes a spell across her face-- practiced and precise. For a moment, the air filled only with the courtiers distant chatter and the crackle of the torch, he thinks this is it. Before leaving in the lift, going deep into the ground for answers, answers he knew he wouldn’t like, Julian spent his last few moments with Marion just taking her in. Memorizing the sweep of her hair and the warmth of her hands, the way her eyes shine and how her lips move against his.

But this, right here, could be the last he ever sees of her. What a terrible last impression I’ve made, he thinks bitterly.

And then he sees her grab Vulgora’s knife by the blade.

Julian jumps to his feet, exclaiming at the rush of blood that flows from between her fingers. No no no, what is she doing? Why would she--

“By this sacrifice, I grant you asylum…”

Realization hits him like a ton of bricks, Marion’s incantation only barely audible but it is... darker. It is not warm or splendorous, the blissful glow of magic that he’s seen her use many times before now thrumming with deep energy. She yanks the knife from the wall and the stream of blood from between her fingers only worsens. Deep red drips down and splatters at her feet, and Julian can feel how the color has drained from his face, the way his knuckles turn white as he grips the cell bars in sheer terror.

He does not need a knowledge of magic to know what is happening.

“Hear my seal, what harm may come upon you shall glance and fall by the wayside. If this is to be justice, let none lift a hand against you. My will be done…”

Julian shakes his head, disbelieving. Marion turns to him, and the sight of her blood soaked dress makes him gasp. “What have you done...?” It’s less a question for her than it is to the empty air between them. But no answer comes.

With a last look, her eyes distant, apologetic, agonizingly so, Julian cannot bring himself to do anything but watch... and she leaves. The glowing seals fade. The door opens, revealing curious figures that are then filled with alarm.

The door closes. Guards and courtiers alike accost Marion with questions.

And Julian slides down the bars, finding himself unable to stand. His back is turned away, knees drawn up to his chest. It is with shaking hands that he leans his face into his knees and covers his head. He allows himself to weep, to drown out the commotion outside and let emotion wash over him in a crashing wave. Within a few moments Julian leans back and thumps his head against the bars-- he will not let the guards see him in such a state. Not like this. Not like this...

When they do enter his face his already wiped clean, and he does not move from his spot on the ground. He disregards their pointed questions, now feeling numb, and Julian’s heavy eye shuts with a single, exhausted sigh.

This is going to be a long night.