#and yeah that's ilya's handwriting on his name he did that one at home. as their relationship was deteriorating rapidly! :) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aria-i-adagio · 3 years

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Echoes of the Past: Day 6, Friends

Dema didn’t have a lot of “friends” perse, growing up. She wasn’t ostracized or tormented, she just didn’t really connect with her peers at home. While she had more friends while in school, they didn’t really stay in close contact after she moved to Vesuvia.

Dema arrived in Vesuvia after Muriel’s time as a gladiator. He was already living alone in the forest with Inanna. Pre-plague, he was actually quite fond of her, especially because she had no interest in judging him or demanding to know everything that had happened while he was in the ring. It helped that she shares his interest in nature and love of animals. (In my personal canon, Dema is the one who brought Muriel the first chickens in his flock, and he adopted her chickens after her death during the Plague.) He’s deeply conflicted about her after Asra brings her back from the dead, and the spell that he’s under conflicts with her own amnesia, so she isn’t able to spend much time around him without triggering headaches and dissociation.

In addition to Asra and Muriel, Dema quickly became friends with a midwife’s apprentice names Artemis. Her steady, serious nature is a good complement to the more madcap hijinks that Dema and Asra could get up to on their own. And Dema and Asra pulled Artemis out of her shell. (Importantly, convincing her to pursue the woman who would become her wife. Artemis believed that Sibyl was completely out of her league.)

Unlike Asra, Artemis remained in Vesuvia during the Plague, as she very firmly believed that it was her duty to care for Vesuvia’s population despite sending her wife and infant daughter to safety in Prakra. She worked closely with both Dema and Julian, and wholeheartedly approved of Julian as a romantic partner for Dema.

Artemis remained her best friend, even after the Plague, and other than Asra and Muriel (and perhaps Selasi, who never really let on) the only person who knew that Dema had died and been resurrected by Asra. Like Muriel, she never agreed with Asra’s mission to raise Dema from the dead, even as she was delighted to have her best friend back. Her friendship with Asra never recovered, especially as it became more clear just how badly his plan had gone.

Excerpt from “Don’t Scream About, Don’t Think Aloud”

Artemis held the now-crumpled note in her hand as she walked through the streets, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember who had given it to her. The handwriting and the signature were Asra’s, a plea for her to come - he was in trouble. She wasn’t even sure why she had bothered to pull on her boots. Asra had been brewing trouble since he returned, and if it had finally exploded in his face - well, maybe it was deserved. He certainly hadn’t been interested in anyone's help before now. But still... She’s known him too long to give up entirely.

Perhaps he’s just come to his senses. That alone would be painful enough for him.

She clutched her shawl tighter around her. It shouldn’t have been so cold. A wind blowing in from the harbor might have explained it, but the air was still. Despite the temperature, people shrieked and chased each other through the streets. A flower seller who she vaguely recognized from the market grabbed her hands, pressed an iris into them and spun her about. “It’s ended!”

“What?” She thought she might recognize them from somewhere, but she can’t recall their name. “What ended?”

“The plague. It’s over!” They turned again and skipped away.

She stood frozen in the street. The plague was over? Plagues don’t end like this. Not in a single moment, no. The world didn’t work like this. The sickness should slow as those susceptible died, as the percentage of people resistant for whatever reason became a higher percentage of the population. That was how these things worked.

Someone laughed beside her. Selasi. The baker’s grin reached from ear to ear. “You hadn’t heard yet? It’s over. At least, we think. The sick are - they’re just getting up and walking. It’s some kind of miracle.”

“I - no - what?” The iris falls from her hands and to the cobblestones beneath her feet. Impossible.

“I don’t understand either. But who cares! It’s over.” He hugs her with a laugh, then steps back with a slightly more serious look. “You haven’t heard the rest of it though, have you?”

“I hadn’t heard anything.” She had been trying to sleep through the noise outside her window. Rest appealed more than ironic revelry.

“Something happened at the palace. They’re saying the Count is dead. Murdered.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Good riddance.” Probably an unwise thing to say in the street, but she ran out of fucks to give a long time ago. If an affronted guard wanted to drag her to the palace to state her piece in person, so be it. It would be a satisfying tongue lashing to deliver.

“That’s not all of it. The rest of the rumor is that Devorak did it.”

“Julian?” She shook her head. “There’s no way, Selasi. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t...”

Selasi shrugged. “You know him better than I do.”

“There’s no way. Someone heard something wrong.” She twisted the note that she still held in her hand. “Have you seen Asra?”

“Nope. Haven’t in a week or two.” Selasi reached out and snagged his daughter by the arm as she ran by chasing after another kid. “Hey, I told you not to leave the market square.”

“But, da -”

“No. Sorry, I need to get this one back where she should be. Tell Asra to stop by when you find him, okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.” Artemis paused and watched as the baker returned his daughter to the safety of the well-lit market square with its paper lanterns and a roaring bonfire. An apparent end to the plague. Rumors that the Count had died. The absurd notion that Julian had murdered him. And a desperate note from Asra delivered by someone whose face she couldn’t recall. She shoved the scrap of paper in her pocket and rubbed her temples. The first two items should be reasons for her to dance through the streets herself. But the second two... her stomach felt tight with apprehension.

There was light in the upstairs window of Dema’s - no, Asra’s shop. There hadn’t been light in that window for months now. Asra had continued sleeping downstairs after he returned, moving upstairs would have been one more change to add to the long list of the ones he was incapable of dealing with. She turned her key and pushed open the door. The only light downstairs came in through the front windows, and the backroom was entirely dark and still. “Asra?”

“Please, don't yell.” Asra stood on the stairs, hair disheveled and wearing clothes under an ankle length robe that didn't even pretend to match. A glowing ball of light hovered beside him. “Please.” He held out his hand and curled his fingers beckoning her forward. “Just come upstairs, please, Artemis. I’ll try to explain it.”

“Is it Julian? The rumors in the streets -” She started up the stairs after him.

The kitchen smelled of freshly brewed tea and was filled with light and warmth from the lit stove, but Asra turned toward the bedroom instead, pushing aside the curtain. “No, it's not Ilya.”

Beyond him, the bedroom was dim, lit only by the glow of magic lamps which produced just enough to see a small figure lying in the bed, apparently asleep. Faust coiled close beside her, possibly seeking heat as the space wasn’t much warmer than the street outside. Asra gestured and the lamps increased in brightness until the girl’s features could be seen. Artemis halted and pressed a hand to her chest. No. It can't be.

“Oh Asra, what the hell have you done?” Artemis knelt down beside the sleeping girl - no, woman, it was only the way that she curled in on herself - knees drawn up to her chest - that made her seem like a child - and gently picked up her hand. She turned it over then ran a finger over the smooth skin inside her arms in amazement. None of the scars that would identify her in the absence of other signs. “This can't be Dema. Asra, who -?” The face was Dema’s though.

“It’s her.” Asra shuffled his feet. “I - I don’t know exactly what I did, but it’s her.”

“How do you not know?”

“I - Something. Some magic. A ritual. At the palace. But it’s all -” He rubbed his temples then the left side of his chest. “A haze.”

Artemis pushed the hair back from the woman’s face: a nose she knew, a cheek that looked a bit hollow but still familiar, but no signs of the three piercings that should be in her ears. The woman started awake, pulling back in surprise and dismay. Faust licked at her elbow, and she looked around the room, calming when she saw Asra. She turned her gaze back to Artemis and extended her hand slowly and held perpendicular to the floor, gestures halting and slow as if she wasn't quite sure how her body would move.

Artemis tilted her head to the side. She felt her mouth drop open, just slightly, wondering at the gesture. Dema had always liked matching her palm against others, ever fascinated by how small her hands were by comparison. The odd habit was one of the first things she did when she was comfortable with a person. Artemis touched her palm to Dema’s. This isn’t - this shouldn’t be possible.

She closed her fingers around Artemis’ and smiled, the right side of her mouth lifting a hair’s breadth before the left. Just a touch crooked, just like Dema's always had been. “Is it you?”

“She hasn’t spoken. Not yet.” Asra settled on the bed next to the girl, and she snuggled against him with the same patterns of movements that Artemis had watched a hundred times before first with Asra, then with Julian: one arm looped around his, head pressed against his shoulder. Well, with Julian her head had only reached his bicep.

Artemis rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, wiping away tears she hadn't noticed before that moment. She’d cried months ago, when she found the shop door unlatched, hens running loose in the backyard, that painfully short note and that plain ring of Asra's left on the counter, warded with a spell she couldn't break. She’d slumped over the counter and cried. Then she had put the remaining hens - she thought Dema had a round dozen, but she could only find ten - back in their coop because Dema would have wanted that, even if Artemis had no way of reactivating the spells that kept out predators - animal and human both. She’d cried on the way to the palace, pausing once or twice in doorways to clear her eyes and find her balance again, but she stopped before she reached the gate, putting away tears to bully her way past the guards and find that damn boy - find Julian. She hadn't let herself start crying again - not even when Julian fell apart and sobbed for hours while she tried to comfort him.

“It is you.” She picked up Dema's free hand. Her blue eyes were bright with interest, and she smiled again, yet she said nothing. But she listened closely, watching their mouths, putting together how the sounds and meaning and lip movements came together. Artemis had seen it before with children beginning to speak, looking closely to unlock the magic of forming sounds into words. Her own daughter had been observing mouths like that before Sybil took her away to Prakra. “Asra, how did you?”

“I don't know. Really. But-” He combed his fingers through Dema's hair. “She doesn't seem to remember anything.”

“She knows you.”

Dema’s eyes darted from Artemis to Asra and then back again before finally settling on Faust, coiled in her lap. Asra was quiet for a moment. “She's decided I'm safe. I'm not sure she knows me from before.”

Artemis hesitated before speaking. “Julian? She might -”

Dema didn't respond to the name, but Asra's eyes darkened. “He's gone.”

“Where? The rumor in the streets is that he murdered the Count. That’s absurd, did he get away? Out of the city somehow?” Julian had contacts with the smugglers who had been getting a few supplies into the city over the past months. If they could get supplies in certainly they could get a wanted man out.

“I don't know.” Asra clutched his hand to his chest again, just over his heart. “He might have killed Lucio. He might not have. I just don’t know. If he did it... Where he is.”

Artemis’ hands clenched into fists. How can he be so cold! “You even haven't tried to find him? Asra -”

“I don't care.”

Dema looked up at Asra clearly worried by the tone of his voice. Artemis patted her hand, attempting to reassure her and shook her head at Asra. “That's cruel. Even if there had never been anything between you and him, he - Maybe Dema would know him. He could help - maybe.”

“I don't want to talk about him!”

Dema jumped up at Asra's raised voice, suddenly alert and apprehensive. Faust raised her head, turning her red eyes to Asra with a look that could easily be interpreted as a reproach. Asra looked over at Dema and ran his hand through her hair again. “Sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.” Eyes glistening with tears, he looked back at Artemis. “Muriel and I had to get her back here. We couldn’t stop to look for Ilya.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “If she remembers anyone, it's Faust. Artemis, I don't know what to do.”

Muriel? Who is that? Artemis looked over the woman - no, Dema. He did have a point. She obviously shouldn’t be left alone. “I don't either, Asra.” So odd, grief in reverse felt just as unreal, like a waking dream, a reality that should not be, yet must be adjusted to again. She was in one of Dema's - no, one of her own - favorite, heavy wool sweaters. She looked warm. Cared for. Desperately confused. “How will you explain that she’s not -?”

“I'll come up with something. A mistake . . . She left the city suddenly to find me . . . A shipwreck. Knocked in the head. I don't know, something.” As Asra babbled, the girl started to fidget with the hem of her sweater. Then she yawned and curled up on her side, head in Asra's lap, exhausted and disinterested in the entire conversation.

Artemis couldn't stop herself from dissolving into a fit of giggles, because this was all too much. The plague ending. Dema raised from the dead. This is absurd. This is impossible. And yet. Violet and blue eyes both looked at her in confusion. “It's nothing. Just, sweetie -” She reached out and touched the girl's shoulder. “This is the stage of affectionate I associate with you being very drunk.”

Dema's eyes narrowed in annoyance and for a moment, Artemis wondered if she understood more than she could put together into words. Asra’s hand remained on her, rubbing her side and her shoulder. Protective. Tender, even. Such a horrible contrast with how quick he was to cast Julian aside.

“Please, Artemis -” Asra sounded desperate. “Help me.”

She felt her eyes harden as she lifted her head and looked at Asra. This is, this is a dream, this is marvelous. This was the culmination of months of madness in which Asra had traveled farther and farther from this world and the stark laws that governed it. The laws that said we're all born and will all die and those are the only things that will be equal.

This is so, so very wrong.

“No, Asra. Not you.” Artemis moved to sit on the other side of Dema and gathered her old friend - her old, dead friend - into her arms, hugging her living, breathing body tight. “But I'll help her.”

#arcana echoes #arcana eotp #arcana fanfic #asra alnazar #eotp day 6: friends #dema

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softproko · 7 years

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Late Night Visitor

A ProkoParrish fanfic for @nyavinsky. Very soft. Also on AO3

Adam was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, but as he looked at his homework, he realised he would not be getting any sleep for at least an hour or two. He had had school, had had work, and now he was to complete dozens of excercises for each of his classes. With a noise that was half a sigh and half a yawn, Adam ventured to the kitchenette, putting on the water heater, rummaging through his cabinets for the last of coffee – beans, powder, instant coffee.

A cup of coffee in hand, Adam sat back at his desk, sorting through his homework, starting with the hardest parts of it. If he could not finish a couple of excercises for Maths or a translation for Latin, that would be fine, but if he did not turn in an essay in his History class the next day, his overall grade would surely suffer. It was not like he could not write essays – in fact, his sentence structure and handwriting had been praised before – but writing an essay, namely starting one, at ten in the evening was not the greatest of ideas. Yet when it was the only opportunity he had, he could not be nitpicky about it. The essay had to be done, he had not had time for it previously and the coffee helped to keep him awake.

The mug only had a few sips of coffee in it, the essay was finished, and Adam was working on Maths, when he heard someone knock on his front door. A quick look at his watch told Adam that it was nearing midnight. Ronan never visited that late; Gansey never visited that early.

He opened the door, feeling tired and upset over not getting enough sleep. “What?“

The boy behind his door smiled sheepishly, holding up his hands to show he did not mean anything bad.

“Sorry, Parrish. This a bad time?“

Adam was conflicted between telling Prokopenko to leave and to invite him inside. Some company would be nice … however, it was late and he was tired, and still had homework.

“It’s late.“ Adam said, shaking his head, sighing when Prokopenko smiled and nudged his way into the little apartment, making his way to the living area right away, tossing his backpack onto the floor, tossing himself onto Adam’s bed.

Adam just stared, took a deep breath, locked the door and then went back to his homework. He still had problems to solve, and then there was the Latin. There was no time, at least not that night, to deal with the boy sprawled out on his bed. He had to finish homework, had to eat dinner, which he so conveniently had forgotten to do, had to shower and had to get some sleep; only to wake up at 6 am and to go to school.

“Are you going to keep ignoring me?“

Adam did not even turn to look at Prokopenko, who had thrown off his hoodie and socks before curling himself around the only pillow on Adam’s bed to look at Adam.

“I have homework.“ Adam said coldly. He was tired, so tired, he could barely keep his eyes open. Arguing with Prokopenko would be a waste of energy.

Prokopenko huffed, rolling his eyes, “So?“

“Not all of us can pay their way into any school they want.“

He did not realise how harsh he had been until he realised Prokopenko was hissing and getting off of his bed. Adam expected him to get upset or to leave, but Prokopenko simply came to stand next to him, looking over his homework. Adam kind of froze, not wanting to move to look at the other, but he did not also continue doing his homework.

“I’ll do your Maths homework.“ Prokopenko offered after a few minutes, holding out his hand so that he could take Adam’s notebook. “You can do whatever you have left and then we can get something to eat.“

For a second, Adam wondered if he was the only one who had forgotten to eat dinner. He knew that while Prokopenko and the rest of his friends had everything in abundance, they sometimes skipped meals in favour of illegal substances. Kavinsky looked almost more see-through than Noah, and Prokopenko was made out of angles and harsh lines as well, bones showing through his skin. Overuse of drugs, underuse of food; Adam did not know. Maybe whoever had designed Prokopenko had decided to make him hurt anyone who fell into him.

„…Fine.“ He pulled his Latin notebook closer and started working on translation while Prokopenko solved Mathematic problems much quicker than Adam would have thought he was capable of. Adam supposed Prokopenko had come over sober. Which was a good thing, of course. Adam had seen Prokopenko high and drunk, and no matter how vivid Prokopenko was when he was under the influence, Adam prefered the more down-to-earth real boy.

Not even fifteen minutes later they had both finished and Prokopenko tugged his backpack closer, zipping it open. “I know you work late and all,“ He said, pulling out a big plastic bottle of juice, two plastic boxes filled with food, and a carton of pop-tarts. “So I got you some food, all healthy and shit, like you like it.“

Prokopenko shoved the boxes of food towards Adam and Adam opened the lid of one, nearly groaning of hunger when the smell of chicken and sweet and sour sauce hit his nose.

“You eat chicken, right?“ Prokopenko asked, a bit unsure, scratching the back of his head a bit nervously. “I mean, we’ve gotten takeout from that place before, but you’ve never ordered chicken so I didn’t know if you’d eat it or-“

Adam smiled to him, as widely as he could with how tired he was. “I do. Thank you.“

Prokopenko’s smile was brighter than the lights in the entire apartment, and he nodded, helping Adam up and leading him to the kitchenette so that they could warm some of the food up and eat it. Adam sat down to eat as soon as the microwave dinged, but Prokopenko took his time putting away the pop-tarts and pouring the two of them a glass of juice each. He slid one of the glasses towards Adam who took the glass with a quiet ’thank you’ and continued eating. Prokopenko did not eat, just drank his juice.

“So,“ Adam started, picking through the last of his dinner. “Was there a reason you came over? An actual reason, I mean.“

Prokopenko visited the garage most often, always asking Adam to tinker with his car, having him change the tires or the oil, fixing a few scratches here and there. They met in a few classes at school, both of them staying with their friends between classes, but passing nods and smiles with one another when nobody saw. A couple of times, not often enough as either of them wanted, Prokopenko took Adam to eat, showing him the best takeout and fast food places around town. And a couple times, on rare, secret evenings, Prokopenko snuck away from his friends and came to visit, leaving behind all his harshness that Adam despised. Sure, Prokopenko was loud and rude, used more substances Adam could name, and everything about him screamed bad boy, but he was also funny, eager to please, listened to Adam and did his best to be good.

“Nah,“ Prokopenko said, settling himself onto Adam’s lap. Adam wrapped an arm around his waist like it was an instinct. “Just missed you.“

Adam blushed, eating the last piece of chicken in his box. “You see me daily,“ He pointed out, which was true. They did see each other daily in school, even sat next to each other in a few AP lessons they both took.

“Not like this,” Prokopenko leaned in for a kiss, huffing when Adam turned his head away. “No?”

“No,” Adam was not a stranger to kisses from him, not a stranger to wanting and asking, but now that his stomach was full of food, his need to sleep caught up with him. “I need to sleep. You should go home. I don’t know what you came here for. I’m tired and gross and I need to sleep.”

Prokopenko whined, trying to get at least one kiss out of him, not stopping until Adam put a hand over his face and shoved him away.

“I said no, Ilya!”

Prokopenko kept pouting for a while, settling closer to nuzzle Adam’s neck instead. “You haven’t kissed me in a week. Do you not like me any more?”

Adam groaned, shaking his head, squeezing Prokopenko’s waist with the arm he had around him. “I’m just busy and tired. If you want-“ He could not believe he was offering this, “-you can spend the night.”

Prokopenko perked up at that, smiling as he looked at Adam. “Yeah! I’ll go change and get the bed warm while you shower.” He got off of Adam’s lap and went towards the bed, giving Adam the chance to finally shower.

By the time Adam actually made it to bed, he was half asleep and warm, yawning when he climbed under the covers and snuggled close to the warm body in his bed. Prokopenko smiled, letting Adam spoon him from behind and took one of Adam’s hands, kissing it before using it to pull Adam’s arm around him.

“Adam?” He asked, pulling the duvet closer and tangling his legs with Adam’s.

“Hm?”

“Good night.”

Adam smiled and kissed the nape of Prokopenko’s neck. “Good night, Ilya.” He fell asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes, terribly tired from his long day. Sleep came easy for him, these days. He was safe and warm, with a beautiful boy in his arms. Once it had been a distant dream, now, as Adam fell into dreams of a different kind, it was a reality. His dreams were so kind to him that he did not wake when in the morning Prokopenko slid out of bed and kissed his forehead, tucking him in before leaving the bedroom. He never stayed until Adam woke up, and this time was no exception. But he would be back. He always was.

#adam parrish #prokopenko #the raven cycle #prokoparrish #nyavinsky #my writing

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