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bakuliwrites · 11 months

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An Exchange- Julian x Bakuli x Lucio

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Tags (for this excerpt): Slightly suggestive, Julian recounting the time he had to dart across the deck of a ship completely in the nude

Pairing: Julian Devorak x Lucio Morgasson x Bakuli Björnsdottir

So, I'm editing a version of End Up Here to feature my fan apprentice, Bakuli. I'm not sure that I'll ever release the full thing, but for fun, I might post some of it on Tumblr from time-to-time. So here's a bit of it from the segment An Exchange in Chapter 8.

Over the next several days, Lucio tries to rid his mind of pointless, wistful dreams, busying himself with concocting plans for his next party. But as soon as he sees Julian and Bakuli, the strange, soft yearnings return. It nearly puts him in a foul mood, but the attention showered upon him by his companions is enough to stave off any potential lashing out on his part. Though as soon as Bakuli and Julian have drifted off to sleep, Lucio’s irritation returns in full force.

He hates how much he’s enjoying their company. He hates how- fluffy he’s starting to feel about them both. How attached he’s getting. He tells himself he’s doing this to distract them. Not that he thinks either Julian or Bakuli will get to the bottom of what he’s up to and where this plague came from. But still, the threat is present.

Lucio tells himself that all of this is just a bit of fun. He’ll get bored of the two of them eventually. He’s never been one to maintain prolonged affection or interest, with the exception of Noddy. Yet, he finds himself snuggling closer to Julian and Bakuli when the nights get cold, when the anxiety comes creeping into his mind. In his sleep, Julian will drape an arm over Lucio’s shivering torso. In Bakuli’s slumber, she lets out a soft sigh and reaches for Lucio’s hand.

In their waking hours, Julian is a riot. Lucio can’t remember the last time someone made him laugh like Julian can. In fact, it was probably Julian that last made him laugh this hard, way back when Lucio was still Montag and Julian was still wet behind the ears.

“The next thing I know, I’m running stark naked across the deck, shielding my bits with a rag while trying to hunt down a cargo crate or a barrel I can duck into before anyone can see me-” Julian is re-enacting, darting across Lucio’s bedroom, holding a kerchief in front of his “bits” to feign decency. Meanwhile, Bakuli is beside herself with laughter and Lucio is practically wheezing, clutching at his sides in pain from all the giggling he’s done.

“La-” Julian tries to continue, nearly doubling over with laughter, “Lady Delphine pulls off the lid of the barrel and peeks inside to find me desperately trying to cover myself with the rag. I'm sputtering apologies and have got no good explanation for my unfortunate predicament. She merely looks at me for a moment and then- with a smirk, mind you- says, ‘I would scold you for the sheer audacity you have, but you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough for one day.’”

“My Gods, Ilya,” Bakuli manages, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes with how hard she’s been laughing, “How do you go on after that?”

“No wonder she gave me a funny look when I mentioned you were coming to that banquet a couple months back,” Lucio posits, recovering his breath after this ridiculous story. This comment just sends Bakuli into another fit of laughter.

As the night winds down and all three of them begin to fall into a daze of exhaustion, Bakuli waves her hand and extinguishes the candlelight. Julian settles in on one side of her while Lucio claims the other. Lucio isn’t surprised that Julian quickly dozes off, his animated storytelling no doubt exhausting. Meanwhile, Bakuli is wide awake beside the Count, her eyes curiously roving Lucio’s face in the silence. It’s a bit unnerving and he’s about to ask if she likes what she sees when she reaches out a hand and tenderly sweeps some of the gilded strands of his hair back.

“Who were you? Before you became Lucio, Count of Vesuvia?” she whispers. Bathed in moonlight, Bakuli’s eyes appear almost green, a lush forest thankful for days of rain. Lucio doesn’t quite understand what she means, quirking an eyebrow up in confusion before realizing that perhaps she's asking what his position in the palace was before he was named Count.

“Oh, I was Spada’s right-hand man,” he explains, propping himself up on his elbow. But Bakuli shakes her head, the dark ringlets of her hair gently brushing against her shoulders with each motion. Her gaze is utterly penetrating. It spooks Lucio how deeply she’s looking at him, like she’s trying to puzzle out his soul. Like she’s trying to see beyond him in this present moment and figure out the scared little boy trapped in the swirling eddies of snow.

“But who were you? Like what did you do before this and how did you get here?” she specifies. Again, Lucio looks at her with confusion. It’s well known that Lucio, Light of Vesuvia, was a well-traveled, highly respected mercenary before he found his way to Count Spada. It’s common knowledge that he is the reason Vesuvia’s military was and is still so successful. With Bakuli being a Vesuvian citizen, she should know all of this already. And it’s then that Lucio realizes he actually doesn’t know much about Bakuli. Maybe she hasn’t always lived in Vesuvia. Maybe she’s from somewhere else.

Like under a rock, you mean? a snarky thought pops into his head. Even if she were from elsewhere, word of Lucio Morgasson would have reached her. There isn’t a corner of the world where his name hasn’t been spoken. Before he has a chance to speak, however, Bakuli says something that gives him even further pause.

“I know you were a highly successful mercenary,” she clarifies with a small laugh, holding her penetrating gaze, “I guess what I mean is-”

She pauses, looking nervous to finish her own question.

“I’ve heard a lot of rumors about you,” she finishes, dark brows knit together and forehead crinkling with a sheepish worry, “About your childhood. Some of them good, some of them not so good.”

Lucio’s heart jumps into his throat, vibrating rapidly, fear setting in. Where is this line of questioning going? This isn’t the first time over the last few weeks that Bakuli has, in some way, made him feel- anxious. There have been a couple times where he’s caught the magician staring curiously at him. He’s chalked it up to her somewhat odd personality and introverted nature, but the way Bakuli is looking at Lucio tonight makes him wonder if, perhaps, there’s more to it.

“Oh yeah?” he tries to say as casually as possible, feigning nonchalance though his mind is reeling, “Do you believe them?”

He hopes she can’t see how utterly terrified he is. Maybe the Devil was right. Maybe he shouldn’t have invited this magician into his palace, let alone his bed. Maybe she’s fishing for information. Maybe-

“I’m not one to let rumors cloud my judgment,” Bakuli states, the worried look on her face replaced with one of indignance, “Rumors aren’t always fair and, more often than not, they’re untrue. I’ll make my own opinions of you. I was just curious what you thought of them.”

“Ha,” Lucio lets out a false laugh, leaning back against his pillow and smiling mischievously, secretly relieved that she wasn’t more direct, “Well, all the good ones are certainly true. And all the bad? A load of crap. You can take that to the bank.”

Bakuli merely casts a kind smile at him. But the glimmer behind her eyes tells Lucio she’s thinking, contemplating.

“You’re a curious one, Lucio,” she chuckles, leaning towards him and pressing a featherlight kiss to his lips. She lingers for a moment, the pad of her thumb gently smoothing over the angles of Lucio’s cheekbones. Despite her aura of mystery, there’s something about her that Lucio can’t help but like. Maybe it’s the way she makes him feel heard. For as strange as her gaze may be, he can admit to some part of himself that Bakuli makes him feel seen. When he or Julian tell their stories, even if it’s the millionth time she’s heard them, Bakuli still looks at them like they’re the center of her attention. She seems to do this for everyone she meets. Her focus is unparalleled and Lucio finds himself appreciating this.

“Alright, Miss. Bakuli, your turn,” he smirks, beaming impishly and expectantly at his companion, “Who were you? Before you became such an illustrious magician.”

She beams, a bright smile that seems to reach her eyes.

“No one special,” she laughs.

“Pshhh,” Lucio returns, “I highly doubt that.”

“No, really!” Bakuli insists, absentmindedly tracing Lucio’s collarbone with the tip of her fingernail. The sensation sends delightful shivers through him, goosebumps settling as quickly as they raise with her touch.

“I want the whole story,” Lucio quietly demands, drawing her closer, “Tell me who Bakuli Björnsdottir is.”

She glances at him hesitantly, blushing softly, no doubt at the one-on-one attention she’s receiving from The Count of Vesuvia. Lucio likes it when she’s flustered, likes to watch the way she sheepishly glances down and smiles quietly to herself.

“Alright, fine,” she acquiesces before launching into a detailed account of her life. And for once, Lucio listens, perhaps too tired to interject with his own stories. Or maybe too invested in gauging if there’s anything in her past he should be worried about. Either way, he learns a fair amount about her.

Bakuli was born in the South, to a tribe not unlike his own, though her mother is Prakran. She spent her early years in the frigid snows of the Scourgelands, before her parents and three other siblings relocated to Prakra, to be closer to her mother’s family. Things were good, until they weren’t. Her parents split up when she was twelve, something she’d made peace with a long time ago, though the mention of it still seemed to bring a quiver to her voice. Her father, a merchant by trade, went back to the Scourgelands, where Bakuli would visit once a year. Their relationship is somewhat strained.

“I love my father, very much,” she explains, eyes downcast at this part of her story, “But he wasn’t always present, even when he was around. Sometimes, it felt like his spirit was wandering somewhere else while his body stayed behind.”

Lucio doesn’t dare say anything about his own father, pushing the image of a withered Lutz out of his mind. He doesn’t have to think about the man for long, as Bakuli goes on with her tale.

Lucio learns that she inherited her magic shop from her mother, who inherited it from her sister, who inherited it from their mother.

“It’s been in the family for generations,” Bakuli explains proudly as Lucio tries to follow the lineage of the shop, his brain starting to hurt, “You should come by to visit sometime. I think I have a couple things there that you might like. I can even do a tarot reading for you,” she adds with a wink. Lucio isn’t quite sure what that entails, but he’s down to give it a go.

Vesuvia was a summer destination for her family, to visit her grandmother when she was still alive. It didn’t become a permanent residence for Bakuli until her mother inherited the shop when Bakuli was fifteen.

“And I’ve been living here ever since,” she finishes with a smile. Lucio knows there’s more to her story than this condensed version of it. He can see it in her eyes, a lingering sorrow that wavers in and out as she looks at him. But he’s far too exhausted to ask for any further details. And he’s certainly not going to press for more, knowing that it will open the door for Bakuli to question him in return. Lucio is certain that he does not want to share the intricacies of his own childhood with this magician. He’s never even done that with Julian, and he trusts him more than he trusts Bakuli at the moment.

Their conversation fades to a whisper and soon enough, Bakuli is out like a light, leaving Lucio to stew in confusion. He’s grateful to have gotten a glimpse into the magician’s background. So far, there’s nothing to alarm him. It does sound like she’s come from a background none-too-special or threatening. Still, the feeling of paranoia lingers. Why is she asking him questions about his childhood? Is it genuine curiosity? Or is she trying to dig up dirt on him and spread it around a city that already seems to secretly hate their Count? Is this Aisha and Salim all over again? Or is it something else entirely? Something that scares Lucio even more.

Lucio pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. Bakuli’s interrogating, her inquisitive gaze, fills him with a perplexing mixture of caution and warmth. He doesn’t dare divulge the details of his childhood to anyone, let alone her and Julian. Yet, he finds himself feeling grateful that someone is paying attention to him. And genuinely so, it seems.

Have to keep an eye on that one, Lucio notes, tired of mulling over possibilities in his head.

Something has changed. In this small interaction, everything has changed. Lucio can feel it deep in his heart. He can sense it radiating out from the brightness that slumbers beside him, and he’s not quite sure what to make of it all.

#the arcana #julian devorak #lucio morgasson #bakuli björnsdottir #julian x lucio x apprentice #julian x lucio x bakuli #end up here rewrite #my writing #my editing #jucio #julcio #julian x lucio

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bakuliwrites · 9 months

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Moonlight- Julian x Bakuli x Lucio

Rating: M (MINORS DNI)

Tags (for this excerpt): Slightly suggestive, alcohol

Pairing: Julian Devorak x Lucio Morgasson x Bakuli Björnsdottir

Summary: Julian and Bakuli join Lucio and Nadia on the palace veranda for drinks. Lucio is unsure of how to feel about the doctor's apprentice, vacillating between intrigue and jealousy.

Lucio swirls his crystal snifter, watching the earthy-colored cognac churn gently around the glass before settling as he brings it to his lips. The brandy is sweet, gliding smoothly over his tongue, warmth blooming through his chest as it travels down his throat. His keen eyes watch as Julian and Bakuli both sample the finest beverage he owns.

“Count Spada left me crates and crates of this stuff,” Lucio brags, “I only bring it out for my favorite guests.”

Julian makes a satisfied hum as he takes his first sip. When he draws the glass away, small, glimmering beads of the mahogany liquid dot his lips. Lucio watches as Julian’s tongue softly passes over them, lapping up the lingering droplets of cognac left behind from his initial sip. As a smile brightens the doctor’s face, Lucio feels his own heart fluttering. He’s not sure if it’s all the wine he’s had (and now cognac) or something else. Either way, he can’t help the heat that creeps slowly to his cheeks. The Count takes this moment to drape his arm along the seatback, close but not too close to Julian. Bakuli sits to the doctor’s other side, pressed near, searching eyes fixated on Lucio’s form.

“So, what’s new in the life of Julian Devorak?” Lucio begins, waggling his eyebrows at the man, “You finally get to go on all those adventures I inspired you to go on?”

Julian chuckles, “Well- yes, actually.” He looks proudly over to the Count, eyes lighting with joy, clearly itching to share his stories. Just like Montag shared his stories with him.

“Whaddya say, Miss. Bakuli?” Lucio goes on, eyes dragging over Julian’s companion, delighting in the way she blushes as his gaze sweeps to her, “Should Julesy tell us all about his adventures?”

She grins sheepishly at the Count before turning to Julian and excitedly begging him to share his tales. She calls him, “Ilya,” Lucio notes. A bit too cozy for Lucio’s liking. The ugly feeling of envy constricts his heart, until Julian starts talking again and its grip slackens so it can slither back into its cave.

“Alright, alright,” Julian acquiesces, though he doesn’t seem to need all that much encouragement. He launches into the full account of where he went after he and Montag parted. Apparently, Julian has done quite a bit of traveling around the continent, assisting in medical tents during all kinds of battles. He’s gained a great deal of experience since that fateful encounter outside Vesuvia. And has gotten into more than a bit of trouble. Pirate ships, brigands, highwaymen, bar fights, you name it. He even has some strange story about a run-in with some Crabmen on a remote island off the coast.

“Ilya, you’re just making things up now,” Bakuli exclaims with an exasperated eye roll.

“No! I swear it happened! Lucio, you said you’ve seen the Crabmen. Back me up!” Julian chortles.

“Oh, yeah. They’re everywhere,” Lucio adds with a mischievous wink at Bakuli, who merely dissolves into giggles and returns to diligently sipping at her drink. Lucio finds he can’t settle on how he feels about her. One minute, she’s laughing at one of his jokes, the next she’s got her hand on Julian’s thigh and it’s driving Lucio nuts. Part of him wonders if he’s jealous of Bakuli, or maybe he’s jealous of Julian. Or maybe he’s jealous of both of them.

Gah! he exclaims to himself, This is too confusing.

Putting this thought aside for a moment, Lucio is delighted to hear Julian’s tales, mainly because all of them seem to have been inspired by him. Julian lists all the places he’s been, each destination somewhere Lucio had told him all about when they were alone in the medical tent together. The trajectory of Julian’s travels seems to follow the path Lucio took, back in the day, before he was Count. While most of the doctor’s travels were medical visits in nature, he still had plenty of time to do some sightseeing and get up to all sorts of nonsense.

“Glad I could inspire you to go to all those places,” Lucio praises, pouring himself another glass of cognac, “I mean, who wouldn’t be inspired?”

While he’s excited to be with his old friend again, he feels horribly on edge, antsy. His heart pounds against his ribcage, seems to vibrate the cloth of his blazer. He wonders if Julian can see it, thrumming wildly, threatening to beat straight out of him.

Cognac, he thinks, Cognac will fix that. Loosen me up. Don’t know why I’m so nervous. No, not nervous. Counts don’t get nervous. Warriors don’t get nervous.

Lucio listens and absorbs as much as he can. His attention span for other people talking is limited. But he picks up a few other random things; like, Julian said something about not having time to play the vielle anymore. He came to Vesuvia because he’s following the plague (a topic of discussion Lucio hopes to avoid entirely for the remainder of the night). And he and Bakuli have been together for a few months now.

Together? Like together, together? that damned, meek voice whimpers in Lucio’s head.

Just because he said, “together,” doesn’t mean we can’t all have fun together, another voice speaks confidently, Just like Noddy and I.

As if on cue, the door to the veranda swings open and out comes Nadia and Lady Delphine. Their gowns sweep languidly behind them as they glide across the patio to join the other three. With the presence of the Countess and her companion, Julian’s storytelling becomes even more animated. He even acts out a few duels he had with some swashbuckling pirates on the high seas.

Maybe later, we can have a duel of our own. Pick up where we left off, all those years ago, Lucio contemplates to himself, watching as Julian flits around the veranda. He’s reminded of the day Julian surprised him with his unexpected mastery of the sword. But it’s not the actual fight that sticks in Lucio’s memory. It’s the aftermath of it. Julian’s back pressed against Montag’s chest, his amber scent filling the mercenary’s nose, pleasant and calming. Julian’s narrow hip in his hand, thrusting it back, hearing the soft grunt the doctor’s attendant makes. Lucio’s gaze trails back to Bakuli, whose smile is as bright as the moon above. She looks at Julian adoringly, like Julian used to look at Lucio. The Count wonders if she’ll ever look at him like that.

What a ridiculous thought, Lucio scolds himself, turning back to his drink, Why would she? And why would I even want that?

But his grousing doesn’t last for long. Julian has always had this special ability: to bring joy out in everyone. His charisma and charm have a way of cheering up even the grouchiest of individuals. Lucio likes to think he has that ability, too, and that’s why he’s drawn to Julian. And Julian to him. Even Nadia and Lady Delphine seem to be having a great time. The night air is filled with merriment, gentle laughter and chatter floating through the breeze, carried into the heavens like a quiet blessing.

“Wow, you really did get up to trouble without me!” Lucio exclaims when it seems Julian’s tale is coming to a close, “Imagine what we’d have gotten into if we’d traveled together.”

Lucio winks at Bakuli once again, who shifts shyly in her seat and snuggles close to Julian after he reclaims his spot on the sofa. Silence. For once in his life, Lucio feels like sitting and observing. He wants to drink Julian’s form in, see what he hasn’t seen for ten years. He worries, and he hates that he worries. But an overpowering need to break the uncomfortable silence wells up in him. Rarely is he lost for words. But there’s something about Julian, something about Bakuli that numbs his tongue.

If I say the wrong thing. If I make the wrong move. Just like everyone else, he’ll leave me. And then I’ll be alone. Just like always, that accursed worry whispers, Just like everyone has, all these years. And I don’t even know this Bakuli, but I know she’ll leave me, too. If I say the wrong thing. Don’t fuck this up. Just this once, don’t fuck this up.

“Doctor Devorak,” Nadia addresses in her smooth voice, “I hear you and my husband are old friends?”

Thank the Gods, Noddy, Lucio sighs in relief, passing her a glance he hopes she interprets as grateful. She graces him with a subtle, knowing look. She seems to know something he doesn’t. See something he’s unaware of. Noddy always knows. Noddy knows better than he does. Noddy’s good at reading him. Noddy’s good at everything she does.

And I’m good at nothing, worry snivels.

Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Rotten carpaccio. Rotten brat. Sick with you for nine months.

“I was, indeed, the one to hack your husband’s arm off,” he distantly hears Julian proclaim, drawing his attention back to the conversation. Lucio absentmindedly reaches for Julian’s empty cognac glass, fills it, and gestures for Bakuli to hand him hers. As their eyes meet, Lucio feels a sudden and intense wave of jealousy once again. Like he can see the life he’s wanted dancing in her eyes, the life that is supposed to be his: Julian at his side. Not hers. Like she’s mocking him with her proximity to Julian.

And then he sees something soft in her gaze. A life yet to come. One with room for all three of them. One where Bakuli and Julian can stand at Count Lucio’s side, a united triumvirate leading Vesuvia to greatness. The Count, the Doctor, and the Magician.

Maybe they’d have room for me in their life, meekness whimpers, interrupting his glorious daydream, Maybe they’d have space in their life for me.

Pathetic. As if you’re some sort of stray dog they’d bring in off the streets, he scolds himself, anger roiling in his core.

“And what about you, Miss. Bakuli?” Lucio blurts as he hands back a full glass of cognac to her, surprising even himself with the question. His tone is blunt, blunter than he meant it to be, and he can feel how piercing his own gaze is. However, Bakuli remains resolute, poised, and ready for whatever comes next.

“You’ve been awfully quiet. How do you know Jules?” Lucio questions, giving way to petty jealousy. He heard it from Julian once this night. For some reason, he feels like he needs to hear the story from her mouth, too. As if somehow, that would give him a complete understanding of their relationship. His gaze flicks to where Bakuli has her hand resting on Julian’s thigh. She smiles amiably at the Count, clearly untroubled by Lucio’s question, and seemingly the least bit intimidated.

“We met when Ilya moved to Vesuvia,” she answers diplomatically, “We were in line at a market stall.” Her wistful smile afterwards is enough to tell Lucio that their relationship is more than just a physical one. It both incenses and excites him. Lucio isn’t sure whether to be terribly hurt or curiously intrigued. Either way, he doesn’t have a chance to respond to her comment.

“I’ve heard a lot of wonderful things about you,” Bakuli goes on, turning her tenderness towards the Count, welcoming him softly into her heart. A white flag. A surrender, of sorts. A comment as if to say, I am not your enemy.

“I’m excited that I’ve gotten the opportunity to meet someone that means so much to Ilya,” she finishes, a pleasant smile that extends all the way up to her hazel eyes. Lucio doesn’t remember the last time anyone looked at him that way: with a gentle compassion that leaves no room for animosity. He can’t be upset with her, a feeling that is almost unfamiliar to him. This entire evening, Bakuli has neither insulted nor demeaned him. She’s politely listened to his stories, asked questions when she’s needed clarification, and overall been the perfect guest. Neither she nor Julian have deigned to whisper foul things behind his back. Otherwise, Lucio surely would have heard, given that they’ve been right by his side this whole evening. Just like Julian, there is no pity in Miss. Bakuli’s gaze. Only a shimmering inquisitiveness and quiet benevolence.

So, Count Lucio of Vesuvia decides that perhaps he can grow to like this magician, even if he is a bit jealous.

“Jules is also the one that gave me my name,” Lucio blurts in an attempt to dispel the odd tension. His mouth forms the words before his brain can stop him. Other people weren’t supposed to know that. That was something Lucio wanted credit for. The genius of it. Lucio meaning, “light,” and all. He’s the Light of Vesuvia, clever for coming up with that. But some piece of Lucio couldn’t help announcing this to this tiny, intimate group. Perhaps it’s Julian’s sudden reappearance in his life making him nostalgic. Or Bakuli’s silent thoughtfulness that makes him want to open up, for some gods forsaken reason.

“He is?!” Bakuli beams, eyes lighting with surprise as she perks up in her seat, “You never told me that!”

Lucio forgets all about his worry when Julian turns a bright crimson, drawing a devilish grin from the Count.

“He sure as hell is!” Lucio teases, delighted by Bakuli’s enthusiasm and Julian’s sheepishness, “Aww, look at him blush! Still the same modest mess you’ve always been, Jules.”

“Oh, goodness. Tell me about it! He can hardly take a compliment without turning at least twenty different shades of red,” Bakuli twitters teasingly. That’s the most she’s said all night and Lucio is ecstatic.

“Look at him, he’s blushing even more!” Lucio cackles as Julian buries his nose in his glass and pretends not to hear his companions.

“You should see him when he gets praised for something,” Bakuli goes on, leaning ever so slightly across Julian so she can speak to Lucio more directly.

“Darling!” Julian exclaims, clearly mortified.

“I bet he’s a disaster!” Lucio guffaws, “You should’ve seen him back in the day. Every time I’d tell him he was doing a good job with my arm, he’d start sputtering!”

Oh, I like this magician, he realizes, listening to her laughter as he tells her about how flustered Julian used to get. He likes how sassy she is, the glint of mischief in her eyes. She seems to like him, too. Just moments ago, Lucio had been conflicted about her, unsure if he should be wary, jealous, or try to get to know Bakuli. He’s still not quite settled on how he feels about her, but their shared teasing of Julian aids in making Lucio feel less threatened. She has plenty of hysterical stories to share about the doctor (to which Julian laughs, flustered, blushing a thousand shades of red, as predicted). Lucio has plenty of his own to tell. Soon, the night is just one big contest to see who can make Julian blush the most. Lucio feels he’s won, but Bakuli certainly puts in a good effort.

#the arcana #julian devorak #lucio morgasson #count lucio #julcio #julian x lucio #julian x bakuli x lucio #bakuli bjornsdottir #my fan apprentice #end up here rewrite #my editing

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