no name deity

Asra lost his parents too early in his life (even though it’s always too early to lose your parents), he was a child, a little kid. And albeit I know Asra was a smart and capable boy, he still heavily relied emotionally on them. Like everyone does at that age.

So he finds himself alone, scared, and wondering what happened. Where are his parents? When are they coming back? Why did they leave? He knows his parents love him, and they would never abandon him. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s alone, with no one to care for him, and nobody will come to save him.

He sleeps in every corner he can find, the beach, a little frequented alley, anywhere remotely safe, really. Alone and fending for himself for three years. So you can’t tell me he didn’t cry himself to sleep most of those nights when he did get any sleep. Remembering the voice of his mother, teaching him riddles, with a voice full of warmth and mirth and love. And his father showing him how he paints a tarot deck, the very same tarot deck he learned with, and everything was soft touches, gentle hands and laughter guiding him. And it’s all gone.

He only has the Magician now, however he’s not a parental figure at all. He’s patient, yes, and gentle to a fault, but also aloof and reserved. If he does something right, be it learning a new spell or reading the cards better each time, there are no hugs, no kisses. Only an eerie smile and a slight nod.

But then he finds Muriel, and he’s not alone. He has a friend, a good one at that, and they stick together like glue. They go everywhere with the other, quite literally attached to the hip. They confide in each other, care for the other, so he’s not on his own. But Muriel doesn’t show love the same way he does. He doesn’t hug him, or ruffle his hair.

No, Muriel cares for him in other ways. Intead, he brings him food and make sure he eats, he protects him from some of the less friendly kids, he looks for safe places to sleep. He cares for him the best he can and Asra knows. And he’s grateful— what Muriel does is more than enough. He cares for Muriel too. He teaches him magic, heals any cut or bruise he may have, he looks for clothes that will fit him, always checks twice before leaving a place to see if he leaves his cloak behind on accident.

And then he makes another friend. He saw them once in the market. They were walking around, looking at every stall, and stopping to chat amiably with the sellers. He sees them pass by the bakery and talk with the owner. He sees them leave laughing, with pumpkin bread in the basket.

And suddenly, they see him too, and they’re smiling at him, and oh god they are coming closer. But they are friendly, and beautiful, and they smell so good and what is he thinking? They say they’re Y/N and then there’s a pause. Asra realizes he’s supposed to say his name a second too late and his whole face burns, but they just smile and he stutters an “My na–name’s Asra”, while still blushing furiously.

Yet their little bubble is popped when a woman in their late forties waves her hand and calls Y/N, and he feels his heart drop when they say “Sorry, that’s my aunt, I have to leave”. He nods sadly, and they smile apologetically at him. “I hope I’ll get to see you again, Asra”, they say and kiss his cheek, forcing his heart to come back up to his chest at dizzying speed, so he can only nod one more time. “Here,” they hand him the whole loaf and as he’s about to protest they are already running towards their aunt. He watches them leave with a smile.

He sees them many times after that, and they become friends. They even meet Muriel a couple of times, and even though he’s quiet and guarded, they also become friends and thanks them for the bread (And other things like pastries they bring him and Asra). They take walks in the market, at the docks, until one time they invite him to their aunt’s shop. The both of them welcome him with open arms, and it’s like a slap to the face to Asra.

This is their home. They live here. It’s also a shop, yes, but it’s so homely, so familiar, and it feels so intimate he’s devastated for a second, but Y/N and Wisteria (the aunt) are smiling warmly and hugging him, and he’s so overwhelmed that he grins from ear to ear and follows them around like a puppy, taking everything in, as much as he can at once. He’s surprised to find out they’re both magicians, Y/N being Wisteria’s apprentice.

He leaves that day with a full belly, a basket overflowing with food Y/N prepared for Muriel, and three books about runes and charms that Asra knows Muriel will devour in a day. He knows he’s whipped for them, he’s sure, and he won’t beat around the bush. So the next time he sees them, he plans to confess. But things don’t always go according to plan.

Wisteria leaves Vesuvia on a trip, and Y/N is in charge of the shop, so they can’t meet him half as much as they’d both like. It’s always stolen moments between customers and errands; they get a bit anxious and both Asra and Muriel try to help them. So they stay in the shop, Asra is in charge of serving customers and Muriel gets thing from high selves and the small storeroom while you deliver some things. You just look at them from the doorway and marvel at how much you love them both. Asra gets used to having you close embarrassingly fast.

Wisteria finally comes back and finds you three eating together, laughing and happy, and she can’t help but think that these boys don’t deserve what happened to them. So she makes an offer, and lays it out for them. “There’s a house in the woods, outside the city, it belonged to me and my partner Dante, but since she left I never used it”, she smiles, sadly “I want you both to have it, it’s yours if you want it”. And you just want to jump in her arms and thank her a million times, because, finally, your boys are getting what they deserve. But Wisteria is not finished. “I’ll only ask one thing in return, but first… Y/N, could you please leave us alone, dear?”, you open your mouth to complain, but one look at her and you excuse yourself. “What is it?” Muriel asks, and she turns to look at them, and smiles. “Take care of them, please. They’re strong, and they can take care of themselves, but good friends are rare and scarce. Stay with them”. They’re living in the cabin that same night.

Asra’s surprised to meet you a week later, looking rather troubled. But he has no time to question you, as he finds your lips on his the moment he’s beside you. He closes his eyes and responds with a passion, hands on your hair while you knead his shirt in your hands. He does his best not to whimper into your mouth, but his yearning for more, more, more, seems to break his will. And that choked noise seems to break your trance, so you step back. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over me! I just– You are–!” But he’s kissing you again, and your chests are touching, and his hands are gripping your waist, and he smells oh, my God, so good and how can his hair be this soft? It’s nearly too much, but neither of you are breaking apart.

Then, you two just stand there, foreheads touching and embracing each other. Until, “Oh, right”, and they’re dragging him to the magic shop, where a little snake egg is nestled between cotton balls. “My aunt brought it with her from her trip, and put a heat spell over it”, Asra marvels at the soft, pastel purple colored egg, then he looks at you. “Since you told me your parents familiars are snakes… I thought maybe…” He knows you don’t want to upset him, so you never bring up the topic around him, and he’s grateful for that. So he looks at you, smiles, and says: “If I knew you would give me a present, I would have gotten you something as well”, and you’re all smiles and blushes when you respond: “A kiss would do, i think”, and he kisses you once, twice… Many times.

And from then on, things change for Asra. He’s not on his own, he’s surrounded by love, and warmth, and people that he loves and loves him back. He has nightmares about his parents still, but now when he wakes up sweating with tears in his eyes, he has a roof over his head, and Muriel gives him a glass of water with a hand that’s not bony or shaky anymore. And he feels everything settling into place slowly. He finds comfort in the little hut, but he knows he belongs with you.

Everytime you go around their home and bring gifts with you (be it pie, bread, books, sometimes even pretty flowers you pick on the way and that they set in a little vase over the hearth to humor you), he just puts the basket aside and kisses you, with his hands around your body and fighting back a smile. He seems to never get enough, and while he always checks for consent, it’s a never ending display of affection. Not that anyone’s complaining. Well, maybe Muriel, but that’s because he catches you two making out in the bed! He sleeps there, you heathens! But when he gets dragged into a cuddle session with both of you cooing at him apologizing, he never complains again. (He totally did from time to time but you didn’t hear it from me). And, alas, you notice Asra’s shortage before he does.

He never let the fact sink in until you thread your finger though his white hair while reading to him one afternoon. When you’re both laying in the grass under a huge tree, it’s imposing height giving you a wide, cool shade. He has his head in your lap, and he’s humming softly, basking in the clean smell of your clothes and the peaceful way you breath, but he realizes he is not listening to you at all. Oh, no, he was not. He was too preoccupied with feeling your fingers playing in his hair, your nails occasionally raking carefully along his scalp, the fleeting caress of your hand in his neck and shoulders… This simple touch is enough to overwhelm him, and it makes him sob into the peaceful air. And you know what’s happening, of course, because you always feel like he’s half of you, so you set the book aside and console him. He swears he fell in love with you deeper then, which he thought impossible. You swear you would never let him be lonely ever again.

Asra travels a lot, and explores all of Vesuvia. But he runs out of new places fast and yearns to go further, and yet he stays. He stays, and everyday you see him grow a little dimmer. You stand there watching him lose that light that seems to always shine bright around him, and start to grow a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. Asra’s wanderlust has always been there, and now he’s trying to drown it, and you know why. So you tell him. You tell him that wherever he choses to go, no matter how remote that place may be, he’ll always know the way back home, he’ll never be lost. He will always have you and Muriel to come back to. You hug him with a new-found strength, and you don’t say goodbye. You don’t need to. He also doesn’t register the thick necklace with a blue crystal attached to it, twin to the one you have, that you laced around his neck, until he’s far from home and missing you, feeling it radiate your magic like a heartbeat.

You always visit Muriel while he’s away, partly because you don’t want him to be alone, partly because you miss Asra a lot, and you both spend time together. He’s non-verbal at times, so you just bask in the strong, calm aura he has about him and read while he shapes a piece of wood into intricate forms. He seems to find you peaceful, and at these times you find that you really do love the gentle giant. You know not to visit him too much though, seeing as he’s taciturn, and too much interaction tires him out. You cut back your visits to one a week. Muriel is surprised to find himself waiting for you with a discreet smile. And he’s also always more than willing to learn anything new you teach him.

Asra always comes back with tales that fill you with fascination, and leaves you admiring him with eyes full of stars. You also get to meet Faust, and she’s so cute when she tastes the air around you, boops your nose and declares: “Friend!”. You just had to fall in love with the purple noodle. After a couple more travels on his own, he takes you with him. he just couldn’t resist, and you find out about Asra’s small house in Nopal. You relish in the details in the tiny space— the painting of constellations on the ceiling, the handmade wood figurines adorning some selves, some books you gave him. When you finally turn back, Asra’s shawl is laying on a chair, with his bag on top, and he is barefoot. His shirt is almost completely undone, and oh, stars, he’s glowing.

He just looks at you, but there isn’t a coy smile on his face, there is no knowing look on his eyes, as if he can read you like an open book, there is no confidence in the way he’s standing there. He looks like an ethereal being, looking at you with searing intensity, unmoving and transfixed. “What is it?”, you mutter, and that seems to break him out from his trance. “Nothing… Nothing”, he’s still staring, “You just look so… Beautiful, it's– it’s… Unreal”. You come closer to him, a smug strut to your step, and caress his face with your fingertips. “I can show you how real I am, if you let me”, and he’s taking your hand, kissing the palm, and closing his eyes as he says, “Show me how real you are, and I’ll return the favor”. And he’s back to the Asra you know by the time he’s between your thighs. Such a shame that bliss didn’t last forever.

Upon your return, you find the city drowned in panic. Apparently, there’s a pandemic causing deaths by the hundreds. And there’s no sign of a cure. The first thing you both do is find Muriel and Wisteria, Asra is relieved to find his friend healthy, both eyes clear and overall in good condition. You are not so lucky. Wisteria is sick, and very much so. Her eyes’ scleras are red, and alarmingly bloodshot. The skin around the lids so sore it looks utterly raw. She is nothing but pale, and her veins are black and prominent under the paper thin skin of her body. She is dying, and the red plague is taking away her sanity. You are not sure is she recognizes you or not. But she’s taking your hand into hers and mumbles something incoherently. A mantra of pain and exhaustion. And with that she closes her eyes, and a quiet stillness take over her. Cold, sweaty hands holding yours in a vice-line grip, and no goodbye.

You stay there, mouth clossed and tears falling, until Asra finds you. He takes one look at what’s in front of him and starts to silently weep, both arms around you, rocking you back and forth. Then you let that strangled scream through. And he lets you. Wisteria is cremated, you see masked people take her away to the Lazaret. Muriel tells you all about it. How she fell sick a week after you left. How quick it deteriorated. How she forbade him of visiting her out of fear of him falling sick, too.

Apparently, your aunt wasn’t the only victim. Nearly all your neighbourhood is being depleted. The kids you always saw playing around being carried away, dead and rotting, by men resembling death itself is not a vision you never saw coming. But, once again, a new problem arises.

Asra wants to leave. He wants to leave Vesuvia, and it’s damned red plague, behind. He doesn’t want to fall ill, and die in less than a week. And so, he tells you he wants you to come with him. Protection charms, spells, runes and the like can only do so much for you. For both of you. But you don’t want to leave. That’s how the fight ensues, with both of you looking at the other like they’ve lost their mind. Asra is not raising his voice, his eyes are cold, and you know he’s scared, terrified even, but also furious. And so are you. You didn’t think it would escalate so, so fast. “Are you really going to abandon them, Asra? This is your home too”, you are desperate, trying to make him understand. “No, it’s not. This city’s a graveyard, nothing more. We have to leave or we’ll die”, you know he’s right, but he sounds so… Cruel. Detached. “No”, and he’s looking at you, mouth agape. “What?” “I said no. I’m staying. Do whatever you want. I am not leaving this people to die. I want to help”. For a fleeting moment, his eyes fill with emotions, looking like he’s about to cry. But he doesn’t. Instead he says, voice dripping with venom— “Good. Stay here, and fall sick. Die with them, I don’t care. If you’re too stupid to save yourself, it won’t be me who does it for you”. He’s gone the next morning.

You go to check on Muriel, and are surprised to find him there. He’s perplexed. “This is my home, nothing will make me leave it”. You tell him what you’re going to do, what your plans are. And he only nods and grunts. “You might die, you know”. It’s your turn to nod. “Maybe, but I can’t just sit while everyone dies… I can’t run away”, he doesn’t flinch at your jab, but you do. It’s not his fault that Asra acted that way, but saying it out loud breaks your heart a bit more. “I’m…”, he’s looking at you with a face that you’ve grown so accustomed to, so kind, and gentle, and familiar. With his imposing height, and capable hands, his heart of gold. Even his wooden figurines and obsession with those chickens. And you know you’re doing the right thing, even if it does end up with you dead. “I’m going to do my best, Muriel”. That time, he’s the one to hug you goodbye. The first time.

Heartbreak is honestly merciless, but you don’t have time to take pity on yourself. You have a city to help. You’re learning under a doctor, as a helping hand, a nurse of some sorts, actually. Glad you are not learning under Valdemar’s sinister smile, the lanky doctor is actually kind of nice. If not dorky and childish, but he’s good at what he does, and he’s patient and soft-spoked with you when he’s either teaching you or correcting you. He does have a strange fascination with leeches though. But he treats his patients with care, and the corpses with respect, before their moved to the Lazaret. Some of the other doctors are a bit more… Morbid, in their interest on the subject.

Asra never contacts you again, not even when you try to reach him using the necklaces. You only feel you’re own magic and coldness. He never answers back. You wonder if he’s gotten rid of it. That brings tears to your eyes. And that’s how doctor 069 finds you. In his office, teary-eyed, and a little blue flame in your hand, enveloping the azure crystal. “You’re a magician?”, you know doctors are skeptical of magic, but you can’t lie now. “Yes…”, and you expect him to get rid of your help, but he doesn’t. “Why are you not helping people with magic, then?”, he sounds genuinely intrigued, so you answer with the truth. “This”, you show him your hand, burning blue, “can only do so much”. He’s closer now, inspecting the flame curiously. “And it certainly didn’t do anything for my aunt”, with that, the fire dies out. He’s looking at you like he understands, like he believes you. And you’re crying again, and you’re hugging him even when you know you should not. But he’s embracing you awkwardly with those long arms of his and he doesn’t say a word.

Nothing Julian does is working, and he’s getting anxious. People keep dying by the minute and it seems unstoppable. He doesn’t take care of himself at all. He never takes his eyes off that damn diary. You force him to eat, to sleep, even to take baths, and it isn’t enough either. So you start spending more time with him, take on more responsibilities, to take some of the weight off his shoulders. He’s thankful. And so he starts to trust you more. He opens up, slowly, and he takes more of your ideas into consideration. The blank margins of said diary start to fill with little illegible notes, your name in most of them— «YN thinks this, YN thinks that, I’ll test YN’s idea…» it’s quite endearing, actually.

Unfortunately, all actions have consequences. One morning, while putting your work attire, the world seems to move under your feet, and next thing you know your head hits the floor, knocking you out cold. When you wake up, you’re straped to one of the operatory tables in the dungeons, the ones the doctors had to prepare for the masses of sick people. Valdemar is looking at you behind their plague mask, a excited glint on those otherwise dead eyes, and when you look around you only see another doctor. It’s Julian, you just know. You say his name, and he clenches his fists tight. Quaestor Valdemar answers instead. “You seem to have fallen ill…” They seem to try and remember your name, when they don’t, their hands fold neatly in front of them, not really minding. “Doctor 069 has volunteered to treat you himself”. With that, they’re gone.

Julian doesn’t say a word, starting to take utensils out of a black, worn-out leather bag, and putting them in a little side table by your head. Each steel piece clean and glinting dangerously in the dim light. You say his name, weakly, and he doesn’t look at you. You try again and he stops mid-movement, hand trembling lightly. “Is it…?”, lowering his hand, he waits for you to continue. “Is it the red plague?”. The way the mask’s beak bobs up and down when he nods could be almost comical. But your eyes burn and there are tears rolling down your temples and you can’t even rub them off. He does it for you.

From that moment, Julian moves his office beside you, and works tirelessly. But now you don’t have the strenght to nag him to do anything. You can see his sunken eyes, the darkest bags under them, nose protuding from his face even more now, all of it under the mask, in your mind’s eye. He’s a mess really, and that’s something coming from someone infected with a deadly desease. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you hear him whimper apologies into thin air, head bowed. But you hallucinate from time to time, so you can’t be sure.

Blood tests, those are the worst, even more so than the leeches. It feels like it torns your skin apart, and you don’t think you can stand it anymore. Your mind is foggy and you can’t see much, you can’t even feel shame when Julian undresses you, cleans your naked body with warm, soapy water and dresses you back up. “I’m sorry”, you say breaking the silence, and it cuts the thick atmosphere like a red hot knife. He turns to look at you, startled. “I’m sorry I can’t be of use”, not even sure if he can hear you, or if you’re making any sense, “I’m dying and I won’t help anyone, I thought… At least…” Your face burns, «Am I crying?», you think, you didn’t really believe your body had anything more to give. Julian’s silent, so you make an effort and go on. “At least, I thought my body would help find a cure…”, your mouth feels dry, lips hurting, tongue abnormally heavy. “But I’ll die, and I’m absolutely useless.” You think you hear a sob coming from somewhere, but you feel your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, blacking out.

You never really come back to your senses after that, feverish dreams start meddling with reality and you are too far gone to try and tell them apart. You only hang on for one reason. To attemp to contact Asra one last time. So you focus all of the power you can muster into the necklace, which you begged julian not to take off, and listen. Nothing. One more time. Nothing, again. Desperation grows within you. Is it not working? Please, please, please… But your magic finds nothing, only a deep, dark void of nothingness welcomes you. Not sunlight, and gold, and gaiety. Asra’s magic is not on the other side. You decide to just let go.

When Julian notices he doesn’t hear your uneven breathing anymore, he panics and looks at you, but it’s too late. What really shocks him to the core, what would be engraved into his mind for as long as his mind was untouched… would be the sad, broken smile on you face, unbothered by the death rattles taking over your chest. He runs to hold you down, fingers digging painfully on your belly, shoulder, thorax, tears fogging his vision. “No…! No, no!”, but he can’t stop it, and you’re getting cold already. He sees you moving your mouth, but it isn’t until your lips are still and your body lax, that he understands. “Goodbye”.

Julian loves hand holding. He really does. There’s something so pure, so innocent about it that renders him speechless. He could go on one of his self-loathing rants, for whatever reason, and all you need to do is take his hand. Caress his knuckles softly with your thumb, look into his eyes and say, “That’s not true, Jules. You’re the most wonderful, selfless man I’ve ever met. Don’t be an idiot”, and his blush will cover his face, ears and neck. It brings him a little closer to loving himself each time.

He’s a little shit sometimes, and since he’s so tall he’ll withhold kisses by refusing to bend to your height. Pouting at him usually does the trick, he trips over his own feet to let you kiss him to your heart’s desire. But from time to time, he keeps teasing you. Do not worry, get on a stool, grab the lapels of his coat and kiss that grin away. He’ll have this hypnotized look on his face, smiling wide, and he’ll follow you around like a puppy, begging for more kisses. (If you’re tall enough to reach him without assistance, just remove the stool from the equation!)

Also, playing with his hair. Hmm, yes, please. I’m not going to lie, this can lead to sex, but it depends on you. He’s stressed? Sit him down and run your hands through his thick, auburn hair, (add a couple of forehead kisses!) and let him tell you about what’s bothering him. Working too much, and won’t rest? Ask him to take a little break, and coax him to put his head on your lap. “Just five minutes, then I’ll go back”, but he’s closing his eyes already, “Of course”, you have to humor him a bit, or he’ll catch on. Bury your fingers in his curls carefully, hum a little if you want, and let him sleep for a bit.

Take a bath with him! He’s happy to hold you or be held by you, either is fine! He’s clumsy, so he might knock down some things in his excitement to get in, but he’s so cute, it’s worth it. He’ll wash your hair for you, working out knots with his long fingers, and not once hurting you. Ilya also offers to shave your legs for you, he’s a doctor and he knows women (if you are a woman) have body hair too! It’s natural! He’ll do it for you if you do shave. If you don’t, he’ll offer to aply moisturizer/baby oil. Your body, your choice, baby. He doesn’t care either way.

If you remember something that he needs or likes, and get it for him without him asking you for it, he visibly melts. Maybe you heard him say to himself that he needed to buy a new shirt, and you get it for him the next day. You see a market stall selling fruits and buy him figs. You know he sunburns ridiculously easy, so you always bring a little bottle of sunscreen with you. It all makes his heart leap in his chest.

He lets you see him without his eyepatch. It’s such an intimate moment, so special and precious. He looks at you, ready for rejection, fear, even disgust, with his head bowed. Cup his face in your hands, rest your lips softly on his, barely touching, and don’t say anything. Sit him down and straddle him, let him feel your weight, let him know you’re there. “Julian”, he hums, looking at you, “I love you so much”. He feels your warm breath on his face, your chest on his, and the only thing anchoring him to reality is the pleasant feeling on your body surrounding him. He knows he’s crying. “I love you more, my love”, he answers, and the brightest smile makes it’s way on his face.

Not SFW—

Like I said, pulling on his hair makes his cock harden in seconds. And if you so happen to do it while kissing him with hunger, grinding against him, it’s too much. Bite his lip, pull his head back by his hair, and lick up the delicate column of his throat. Fist his hair in your hand so he can’t kiss you, put your face so, so close to his, tempt him with your lips, and say– “Payback”. You’ll get to see how his mouth opens in a moan, eyes rolling back while he cums just from your grinding.

He also loves when you punish him. Undress him, tie his hands above his head, and overstimulate him endlessly. And you can also tease him with your words. “You look so pretty, baby, looking so good for me” “Oh, are you blushing? You are! How cute, Julian, let me see” “Are you close again? Yes? Such a shame I’m not letting you off that easily” “Tell me your color, Ilya. Green? Good” “Just one more, cum again and it’s all over”.

I think some of Julian’s more extreme masochistic tendencies come from his idea that he needs to be punished, for whatever reason. So now that he’s healing, and learning, those tendencies are a little more subdued. But he still likes a little pain mixed with his pleasure. Bite down his chest, and he won’t be able to keep his mouth shut. Rake your nails down his back and he’ll have to take a second to not cum right there.

Also, spanking. Julian loves a good spanking. Doesn’t matter how tall or short you are, bend him over your knees, pull his pants down, and hit him with all you’ve got. He’ll be whining and dripping precum all over the place, finger him and he’s a goner. Leave a bite mark on his red cheeks, and one last slap for good measure. Then put him on all fours and fuck his brains out. Gentlemen, get ready. Ladies, whip out the strap-on’s.

Being on his hands and knees comes naturally for Julian, like breathing, just like being on his knees. He was born for that. He’ll raise his hips, ass on display, so ready and eager, and yet he’s not touching himself. He’s quiet for once, he knows what to do– wait patiently, thighs spread, hands gripping the bed sheets. He’s such a good boy, blushing all the way down to his chest, curls damp with sweat and sticking to his brow. Such a pretty picture. Dick him down good and it’ll get even better. If you fuck him on his back, you can suck on the tip of his cock at the same time, if you’re short enough.

Julian will delight in the way you look on top of him, riding his cock. You’ll have to restrain his hands if you want him to stop caressing your chest, your ass, trying to pleasure you in any way he knows how. Take everything you want from him, he will relish himself on it, and even reach his orgasm when you do. All while singing out praises. (Can you tell I love him? Because I love him.)