#zurkhi

[atypicalacademic]

Arcana main 6 babies with this picrew, because I'm predictable 🥺

Balam, Haider, Nurlan, Zurkhi, Kadambari, Sybilla 💞

[the-melting-world]

HIRO!!!! @hirodraga I hope you know that you will never, ever cease to amaze me! I am screaming over how well you captured the Kip x Zurkhi dynamic! The cakes, the wildroses, the EYE CONTACT 😍😍😍 I just have to take a deep breath every time I see them together like this. Thank you so much for all of your hard work! 💖

Zurkhi belongs to @atypicalacademic​! Kani, just look at them. Look At Our Babes!!!!!!

✨Drabble is under the cut!✨

Zurkhi admires the wildrose pressed against his chest and the serving of tiny cakes off to the side.

“Kip, you… did this all for me?”

Kipling’s syrupy brown gaze softens as she sweeps a strand of dark red hair out of his eyes.

“Oh? If you think those little cakes and this rose are all yours, then you’re very mistaken.”

Even upside down, Zurkhi can read the mischief in Kip’s expression. 

He decides to play along.

“Mistaken, am I?”

The Suasor doesn’t expect Kip to bend toward him. She brushes her lips against his own, lingering on the skin interrupted by old scars.

“Yes. You see, they’re ours. Every swirl of frosting, every petal on that rose, every drop of peace we get to experience in this garden… belong to the both of us.”

Zurkhi inhales sharply as he seals his lips to the gardener’s. His fingers tighten around her hand pressing the rose to his chest.

“In that case, I thank you,” he whispers in the softest of breaths, “for choosing me to share them with.”

[vampiresuns]

Lay Down, My Friend, We’re Going Home

✴︎ LAY DOWN, MY FRIEND, WE’RE GOING HOME ✴︎

1.5k words. In which Anatole thinks it’s impossible not to love Zurkhi.

This is a lovesong to Anatole chugging his ‘I love my friends’ juice, found family, and the one and only Zurkhi.

Zurkhi and Haider belong to @atypicalacademic​, happy Monday, Kani.

Anatole should’ve known he was going to fall in love with Zurkhi in his own, platonic way the moment he saw him, because he had almost the same face as someone he had loved once, and still carried with him with infinite tenderness. 

The Kaur were a Prakran family, both Hindi and Gujarati, but settled in the capital. Devdas, a doctor, and Rajni, a social worker had seven children: Navneet, a surgeon, Sashi, a cartographer, the twins Althea, a botanist, and Leonore, a therapist and soon to be Doctor of the science of social behaviour, and lastly the triplets: Isha, a theatre student, Vaishnavi, a seamstress apprentice and Ashok, a student of history. 

He had met them through Leonore. Him, Medea and Anatole himself had shared quarters when they all attended the University of Prakra. Medea and Anatole had the same studies but with different focus, and while Leonore had a different field of study altogether, the three of them became inseparable. The year Anatole turned 30 would also mark almost 11 years of them being friends. 

Zurkhi did not have Leonore’s face. He had Navneet’s. Once, him and Anatole could’ve been in love. Perhaps they had been, quietly, neither of them realising until it was better to remain friends. He still loved him, however, in his own way. They were friends, and friends were the family you chose. The Kaur had opened his home to him and Medea, and Leonore — along with Medea — had been of the fundamental pillars in his process of healing from many things Anatole rarely talked of.

Like Decimo Lemione. 

Navneet had been part of that by closing the process. By giving him a gentle but steady reminder of where he was now, and where he had come from. He would never forget their final conversation on the matter, with Navneet’s steady hand drawing mehendi on Anatole’s own as they both realised their feelings a little too late. 

By that time, Anatole had already begun working at the Vesuvian Court, and a couple of months later he would meet Julian Devorak, when the Plague was still unheard of in Vesuvia. His life would take a lot of turns before it somewhat settled, if life ever settled, but Anatole who had ‘love conquers all’ tattooed over his heart would carry all those loves which had grown, settled, gone or transformed into something different. Piling them up with those he had found along the way, like Nadia’s, or more importantly Haider’s. 

The first time he talked to Zurkhi it was because from the angle he was looking at him, he looked just like Navneet, but then Zurkhi turned to him with his blue eyes and the spell was broken. Kind of. He still looked just like Navneet, scars, blue eyes and red hair aside. From there it was a quest of its own rhythm: of shared passions and topics, of jokes and colliding moments, of each of them developing their own sense of respect for each other to the point where Haider and Nadia had to ask them to please return their partner to them, if they would be so kind. 

The loneliness Zurkhi had etched on his bones was a loneliness he had learnt to recognise because he grew up with it. It was the loneliness of his father, who still had inside of him the child who for 14 years had to endure Matilda Cassano and Krešmir Radošević for parents. It was, above all else, the one of his mother: taken away from her family and her country — by her own family at that — because she had the courage to speak against military regimes. His wonderful, brave exiled mother who had raised him to never feel like she had felt for years, and his taciturn, immensely loving father who raised him in such a way so he never doubted that he mattered. 

And it wasn’t because they had bonded over exposing their wounds to each other, nor his parents at their time, nor him and Zurkhi now. That had come out at it’s own time, on its own accord. Anatole loved his friend because of who he was, and Anatole respected his friend for how he had chosen to live, but Anatole was so incredibly moved by Zurkhi because he too understood what it was like to have life be infinitely unfair to you when all you ever did was speak your truth. 

Not because Anatole had been lucky at life, not because he danced and sung and dared and lived didn’t mean he was never done no injury. Those were very different things. 

Haider pulled him out of his daydream. 

“Amar shona, have you seen Zurkhi?” 

“I thought he was with my mother?”

“He was, but Louisa wanted to show him something, and he excused himself, and now we can’t find him.” 

“Have you tried yelling ‘I believe in the divine right of governments to destroy their citizens as they see fit’?”

“Yes, but given your family lives here, it’s more likely I’ll feel the wrath of 17 different Radošević-Cassano before we find Zurkhi… and your mother’s.”

“That’s fair, I’ll look.”

If it didn’t take him long to find him, it was only because he asked someone in his staff who had the chance to have seen him recently, and surely enough Anatole found him where they said: sitting alone, on a bench, looking at a painting. Anatole sat by him, crossing one of his legs over the other.

“Who’s that?”

“That’s Vitale Cassano and that’s Mirabel, his mother— why?”

“Where they both Consuls?”

“Yep.”

“He looks like you, if you squint.”

“If you say so… any reason you’re sitting in an empty room, looking at a painting of my great, great grandfather?”

“To rob you all.” 

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right? Look, you don’t have to tell me, but I also can tell when you’re upset, Zurkhi, because I know you.”

“I just needed some time alone.”

“Do you want me to go, then?”

Zurkhi looked at him, asking him to stay before he resorted to look everywhere but at Anatole. When he spoke again, he was looking at his hands. “Were they all like you? You know, did they all think like us?”

“Not all of them, but most of them had ideas in that direction. The family belief of ‘protecting’ Vesuvia doesn’t come from being insufferable, it comes from the idea of bettering the City so it’s sustainable on it’s own— it doesn’t always go right by Counts and Countesses though, but I do suppose most of us did think similarly, to a degree.”

“You’re all so weird.”

“I know.”

“How has no one assassinated any of you?”

“That’s… a fairly good question, but there is a saying that nothing mortal can kill a Cassano, so perhaps there’s your answer.”

“That would’ve been a helpful thing to be at some point of my life.” 

“Who says you aren’t?” Anatole said after a pause. “The Cassano were friends with the Radosšević for a generation or two, before Mircea married Florentino. Valerian’s best friend was Mircea’s mother.”

“What did she do?”

“The same thing as you.”

“What?”

“Baba Elysian was a partisan, Zurkhi. You’re old news, my friend… you know, my mother was looking for you, but I can tell her you needed a moment. Actually, I don’t know if that’s a good idea, she’ll think you have a headache and the Dr. De Silva instinct will kick in.” 

“You know, in my head, there’s still part of me who thinks families don’t do this. I know happy families exist but they seem like an abstraction to me.”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as a happy family.”

“Fake modesty, really?”

“No, dumbass, what I mean is happy families don’t exist, loving families do. And you have one. You have your friends, and Nadia… and you have us. Just think about it.”

They sat in silence again, but when Anatole stood to leave, Zurkhi spoke. “I don’t remember what it’s like.”

“How what was like?”

“Having one.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Means you can define what it means. That’s what we do, Zurkhi. We take the pieces and we rearrange them to suit ourselves. Doesn’t fix anything immediately, but we all need a place to lay down and rest.”

His friend smiled at him. Tentative and nervous, bright and hopeful all the same. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Oh, not at all. Best part is, I can get you new shoes as a gift and there’s no way you can deny them, or I can tell my mother you’re overworking yourself and send Dr. De Silva down on you—”

Louisa’s accented Vesuvian interrupted her son. “Who’s overworking themselves?”

Anatole said Zurkhi quicker than what a second lasted, which began a snowball effect of bickering as Louisa gently but surely guided Zurkhi back to where everyone was so they could relax properly and share some time with their friends in the same way she went after Anatole when he was being difficult. 

Anatole himself walked a little behind, leaning against a distant wall to yell incendiary things so Zurkhi got more pampering as he leaned against it. 

“Nana, what have you done?” Haider asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Caused problems on purpose, obviously,” he said as he wrapped his arm around Haider’s waist. “He deserves it. I hope he knows I’d kill for him.”

“You know? I think he does.”

[atypicalacademic]

Hopping on this picrew train with my main arcana gang 💕

Haider, Zurkhi, Balam, Sybilla, Kadambari and Nurlan 😘💕

[atypicalacademic]

All my arcana babies looked exceedingly cute in this picrew so; Balam, Nurlan, Zurkhi, Haider, Kadambari and Sybilla ❤️

[atypicalacademic]

D - Haidi

S - Nurlan, Balam, Sybilla

R - Sybilla

V - Zurkhi

Q - Rio

Coco!! ❤️🥰

D   :   DATE.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

Haider's a homebody, but he certainly loves whisking his partners away to his studio in the Catclaw desert. It's a quiet spot, and he's very at peace there, content to cook for and paint and dote on and spoil his love in every single way. Also comes with midnight swims in the nearest oasis, and if one is up to it, some looking about for rare desert plants to take back home for his remedies.

S   :   SWEETHEART.   did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

Nurlan: Yes, her first wife. Aida and her grew up together, they knew each other since they were seven, and they were inseparable until Aida died of the plague. There's always a part of Nurlan that's deeply in love with her, and it's something she simply lives with.

Balam: Oh, absolutely. Her first love, as it were, was a young mermaid off the backwaters in her hometown. It didn't end well, however, especially when Balam left her home to join the navy, and Sharanya was sworn to protect the backwaters. There was no just no compromise to be had, and both of them were young and stupid and thought the other was being selfish, and that was that.

Sybilla: Lucio, though I don't think they were Together in the official sense of the word. Fate and demon deals intervened before they could confess their feelings for each other, but the feelings were definitely there, and they never really went away.

R   :   ROMANCE.   is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

Oh, Sybilla wishes she were more of a cynic. She doesn't really do attachments, and definitely doesn't love easily, but when she does, she's there is nothing, absolutely nothing she would not do, no rule she won't break, no amount of murder and sacrifice she won't commit for the person she loves. I think that's why she's on her guard so much against attachments, and that's a very Romantic, you-and-me-forever view to take. Because she knows she's not as detached as she wants to be, and her self preservation instincts scare her away from it.

V   :   VALENTINE.   how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

Zurkhi: Definitely goes off about the commodification of love or wtv, if we're talking about a modern au, but also is a giant sap deeply in love with the idea of love, so he's not going to let Valentine's Day pass by without a few surprises for his partner, or at least without getting all misty eyed about how fortunate he is to find love.

Q   :   QUESTION.   would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

When he was with Aodh, it's Rio who proposed to them. He's definitely someone who prefers and prizes stability, so it just felt like the natural progression to their relationship. But after they died, he's also just. Done with marraige, never wants to do it again because it brings up too much grief. Nurlan feels the same.

[atypicalacademic]

Made my Arcana main six in this rom-com dollmaker uwu

Balam and Portia, Orion and Nurlan, Nadia and Zurkhi, Haider and Asra, Lucio and Sybilla, and Muriel and Kadambari 💞

[atypicalacademic]

Arrack

For The Rite of Movement collection, a rewrite of the red-market paid scene from Nadia's "Out on the Town" chapter.

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: alcohol, smoking mention

Relationship(s): Nadia Satrinava x Zurkhi

*

Nadia was a quick study. She was only a little stilted in the hazy mist that covered the Red Market, in some flurry of excitement, drifting through the red fog to stop at every stall that caught her fancy, tugging Zurkhi by the wrist as he followed the song of her thin golden anklets, the sweet scent of her perfume.

There was joy about her, a renewed sparkle in the dark eyes that glinted over her scarf, a lightness that had not been there when they’d met here, for the first time, when she’d stepped into the travelling tavern, leaning against the wall, uncertain.

He couldn’t deny the spring in his own step, or how his sharp gaze had softened, distracted, drifting hopelessly towards her instead of scouring the shadows.

The vendors here had eyes like hawks, but if his enchantment worked as well as he knew it to, despite the curious, searching looks that Nadia attracted, they were still none the wiser as to who she was. He wondered if they appeared as lovers to the world- with their linked hands and the way they whispered and laughed, shoulders brushing against each other’s, their shadows melding against the stone wall.

The thought ran goosebumps across his skin, and he ducked his burning cheek into the hood of his cloak.

Nadia turned back to him with a wink, her latest purchase cradled in her palm. The thin silver chain dangled from her fingers- its pendant a pale metal scorpion cast in exquisite detail. “Platinum, they said.” She hooked it around Zurkhi’s neck. “A valiant attempt at forgery, to be sure.”

“Truly?” He laughed, lifting her hand to his lips. “Well- it may not be the first crime you have let escape your notice this evening.” He tilted his head pointedly at their surroundings.

“I feel no pressing need to deprive people of their illegal spices and their counterfeit jewels, I assure you.” Though the retort was dry, he could hear the smile in her voice. “I do, however, feel the need to offer you something pretty to remember today by.”

Her soft fingers cupped his cheek, and in the moment, he could remember little else but her.

He was about to tell her just that, when a low, musical voice beckoned them from the shadows. “Now then,” The stranger got to their feet, clouded behind a puff of pipe smoke. The tent behind them was a thing of enchanted fabric, embroidered with lightly shifting colors and vibrant patterns. “Forgive me if I am mistaken, but I see before me a woman who knows what she wants.”

They exchanged glances. This should be fun.

Nadia straightened, drawing herself up to her full height. “Indeed I am.” She raised an eyebrow. “And I presume that you are here to offer what I want?”

Their smile widened, flashing a sharp golden canine. They were dressed in the East Prakran way-white shawl was draped across their shirt, metal colored brocade threads gleaming against their dark brown skin. Thick golden hoops hung from their ears, fresh yellow flowers in their coal black braid. Their many copper bangles rattled as they held the tent open, offering their hand. “Porul, my friends, at your service.”

Neither of them offered an introduction in return, and Porul did not press.

The scent of camphor hung thick within the tent, a splendid violet rug sprawling between two walls of fabric, littered with plush cushions and empty, painted bottles. Behind small, gold-plated cages laid around the edge of the rug were rare beasts and birds of all manners- red-eyed bats hanging from their perches, teeth and talons wickedly sharp, a puma cub with clear golden eyes, jewel colored eels snapping their jaws from a tiny fishbowl.

From beyond the curtains, he could hear more of them- lower, more dangerous growls and rumbles, the unmistakeable sounds of scales against the sand.

Watching the room with evident, yet collected fascination, Nadia leveled her gaze at the merchant. “Tell me, then, Porul, what do you plan on conning us into buying?”

They laughed, merrily, settling back against the cushions to uncork one of the bottles, pouring out into small copper cups. “In good time, my lady. But first, we drink.” The black brew clouded the air with its sharp, familiar scent.

Zurkhi smiled to himself. “Arrack.”

They turned to him, pebble-grey eyes glinting in approval. “I see you’re well-travelled, my friend. Were you at the stormy coast by choice or by necessity?”

“A bit of both- as you are, too, no doubt.”

Chuckling, they lifted their cup in a toast to both of them in turn. “To good health and better times.”

Zurkhi downed the drink in one easy go, feeling it sting his throat like fire. Nadia followed suit, wincing and covering her mouth only for a moment before she composed herself.

“I hope it isn’t too strong for you, my lady.” Porul inclined their head in a show of deference.

“Rest assured,” Nadia retorted. “It is certainly not.”

“Of course. A keen eye and fine taste.” They got to their feet, turning to go past the curtain. “I hardly think you’d be put off by strength, no. All the more reason that you’d like what I have for you.”

“Such a knack for shameless flattery.” She mused, when they left. “Though I am curious as to what sort of beast they have in store for me.”

“Something that befits your ah- keen eye and fine taste, no doubt.” Zurkhi teased. “They know you to be lucrative- and they are certainly no fool. But I must be fair.” He shifted slightly, resting his hand on her knee. “They are not wrong. There is- a certain presence about you.”

“Presence?” She would an arm around his neck. “Is that your rebel’s way of calling me intimidating?”

Zurkhi grinned up at her. “On the contrary, Nadia- I find you inviting.”

“Is that so?” Her soft touch startled him as her hand slid down to ghost over the bare skin above his neckline, the heel of her palm against his racing heart. Twirling the scorpion pendant, she caught the chain between her fingers and tugged, drawing him to her- chest to chest.“Is that why I find you so inclined to challenge me?”

When he leaned in to snatch a kiss, she tightened her grip upon the chain, holding him down.

Zurkhi shivered.

Her eyes drifted to his lips, and back up to meet his gaze. “And I find myself inclined to rise up to it.”

The curtains rustled then, and they parted, Nadia touching the corner of her mouth where her lipstick had smeared, ever so slightly. Zurkhi took a hasty gulp of arrack, the liquor’s burn chasing the fire in the pit of his stomach.

Porul emerged from behind the fabric, holding a beautiful animal by the leash linked around their wrist. “She comes to you from the northern climes, a ferocious creature, deadly in the wrong hands.” They announced. “I wouldn’t have taken her to you if I did not know you could handle her, my lady.”

It was a cheetah; her brilliant coat of golden-brown glowing like the sun, black spots shifting like shadows as she moved, padding over the rug, sleek muscles shifting smoothly, long tail brushing the floor as she yanked the leash from the merchant’s grip.

When Nadia held out a hand, she tucked her chin into her palm, pale green eyes opening and shutting in something like relish as she nuzzled into Nadia’s touch. “How ferocious.” She quipped.“I truly shudder at the bloodlust.”

“She’s- she’s never done that, my lady. Not a single human has managed to-”

“Then she has never met anyone worth respecting.” Nadia narrowed her eyes at them, softening as she turned back to the feline once more.

Slowly, Zurkhi laid his hand over hers, petting the cheetah between her ears, scratching the fluff at her neck. She folded her head into his lap, dropping to lounge at Nadia’s feet with a low, rumbling purr. “What is her name?” He asked.

“Her previous owner called her Sacha-“ They replied. “Or did, until she ripped his throat out.”

He leaned his head against Nadia's, switching to Firenti. “Will you really be buying a cheetah?”

Nadia stifled a laugh in the crook of her shoulder. “Of course not.” She rolled her eyes. “I will have this darling thing released to the wild where she belongs; spare her the menace of another incompetent owner she has to maul for her freedom.”

Shifting back to Vesuvian, she combed one hand down the cheetah’s fur. “Such a proud, beautiful creature-“ Her other hand came to rest against the nape of Zurkhi’s neck, her bangles cold against his skin she stroked down a line, making his own movement falter. “Arching into the lightest touch, and yet-“ she dug her nails in, gently, a subtle, teasing pressure enough to make him squirm where he sat. Her voice was velvet, her fingers walking down the length of his spine, column by column. “Just as easily, could snap your neck or bite your hand off. I can’t deny-“ She was whispering now, close enough that her lips grazed the shell of his ear, her breath hot against his cheek, and he stifled a whine for the feel of her teeth. “There is a certain charm to it.”

And then her touch was gone, as quickly as it came, Zurkhi’s breath leaving him in a gasp that he turned into a cough.

“I will ask my people to contact yours for the transfer of sale, Porul.” She said smoothly, her tone brisk and business-like again; though he could see how the corners of her lips twitched. “I believe that our business here is done.”

She cleared her throat, gathering her cloak around her.

Right. Limbs. Movement.

Zurkhi swayed where he stood, and she caught him by the elbow.

Still beaming with the smug success of a big sale, Porul widened their eyes in concern. “Are you alright?”

There was a mischievous glint in the look she shared with them. “They had a little too much of the arrack.” She said lightly. “It was rather strong, after all.”