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kantrips · 3 years

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Alistair & Celia Headcanon Collection

Some Amell x Alistair (largely fluff) headcanons! Includes some from Origins, Warden time at Amaranthine and the Inquisition-era. Some of these I have had since my first playthrough, but others I may have read elsewhere, loved and thusly absorbed so please let me know if I can link anyone!

Origins

The first time they meet at Ostagar, Celia thinks Alistair is the most fascinating person she has ever encountered because no one in the Circle had a particularly boisterous sense of humour. Alistair is oblivious to her heart eyes, and also holds back because he’s worried she won’t survive the Joining.

Even after the Joining, Alistair tries very hard not to ~feel feelings~ despite the clear signals Celia is hurling at him because he assumes she won’t like him once she gets to know him more/she will get bored of him/ she will leave like everyone else i.e. the boy is hecking damaged.

Celia laughs obnoxiously hard at all Alistair’s jokes because a) she finds them unexpected, and b) because, like a dork, she wants to prove she gets the punch line. Alistair is perplexed by her reactions at first, and cautiously wonders if she is mocking him. Once he realises she is genuinely amused, it bolsters his ego significantly.

Celia has no concept of personal space and sits and walks very close to everyone. There wasn’t a lot of room at the Circle so she forgets she can spread out. Morrigan makes it clear she needs to back off (Celia doesn’t need telling twice) but Alistair is more relaxed and gets used to it quickly after the confusion of the first night when she blithely sets up her bedroll right next to his. Alistair assumes she is a bit scared of sleeping in the forest but really she is just accustomed to the need to cram as many apprentice bunks into a room as possible.

In a way, Alistair is also used to sharing small spaces (Chantry and Wardens) so it doesn’t bother him at all when Celia chooses to sit pressed against his side, walks so their arms bump together, or unconsciously brushes an eyelash from his cheek. He quickly grows to like her overfamiliarity (for some reason…).

Similarly, Alistair eats Celia’s leftover food if she can’t finish it or doesn’t like it, even before they’re a couple. She just offers one day and after that it becomes a given. The others side-eye them but they are happily oblivious.

Celia gets in trouble from the rest of the party for getting distracted yelling encouragement and cheering Alistair during combat. In turn, Alistair gets in trouble for turning around mid-battle to thank her when she buffs or heals him. Morrigan advises that if they are both so determined to get killed, she is more than happy to assist with hastening the process.

Celia’s mabari, Trevor, is quickly accepting of Alistair and his proximity to Celia because he observes Alistair protecting Celia in battle and thusly deems him to be a ‘good dog’ and considers that they are equals in the pack.

Alistair and Celia vandalise each other’s wanted posters whenever they come across them. It gets competitive.

Celia doesn’t really want to be in charge of saving the world but has three things working in her favour: 1) she absolutely hates letting people down 2) has an intense need to finish what she starts 3) she is in possession of a bossy streak.

That said she spends the entire Blight screaming internally to an extent not even Alistair fully grasps.

They go to the Circle Tower first, because Celia thinks she will have the best chance of getting help from people she knows and is also ‘homesick’ in the sense that she is very glad to be free of the place, but stressed enough with everything going on to crave something familiar even if she resents it. The events there devastate her. Along with the loss of friends and mentors she has known since childhood, being trapped by herself in the fade particularly terrifies her as she has never truly been alone for so long before in her life. It reminds her of the Harowing which totally blindsided her. She is very teary, untalkative and introspective for some time afterwards, but both Trevor and Alistair have the correct instinct to stay close without trying to interact with her which she finds incredibly comforting.

Accustomed to making potions, Celia will not under any circumstances deviate from a recipe while cooking, whereas Alistair just chucks everything in to use up leftovers and see what happens. Alistair gets meals together super quickly whereas Celia takes forever. A little unfairly, Celia is perceived as the better cook because she produces very consistent meals, while Alistair’s experiments sometimes do work, and sometimes don’t, with people tending to focus on the disasters rather than the successes. Meanwhile Celia is rather: “should I add half a sprig of rosemary? No I mustn’t: it would be far too daring!” so everyone learns to tip their own seasonings into their bowl before even tasting her food.

When they’re travelling and walking for days on end, Alistair and Celia make up a lot of games in the vein of ‘I spy’ and ‘would you rather?’ They can occasionally persuade others to participate though no one enjoys them or gets quite as invested as Celia and Alistair (who are actual children).

A game stops abruptly one day when Celia guilelessly asks if Alistair would rather be Emperor of Orlais or King of Fereldan and he gets extremely defensive and answers, “Neither.” Having no context for this reaction (yet), Celia (a stickler for the rules) pushes him, insisting his answer isn’t allowed and that he’s cheating until Alistair gets grouchy, stomps off and refuses to play anything for days.

Celia figures he must be overtired, but his unhappy reaction does come back to her later at the Landsmeet and contributes to her already firm resolve not to put him on the throne.

When bored, Alistair also periodically asks Celia to, “Do a trick!” with her magic and she usually obliges with something small and silly which Wynne always scolds them for (but they continue to do anyway).

Celia does not like Eamon one bit and makes it clear from their first meeting. Alistair actually gets a bit annoyed at her because she is polite to 99% of the other people they meet and he can’t understand what her problem is. Celia won’t say because she doesn’t want to drive Alistair away so she remains coldly civil towards Eamon and commences a long, looong process of nudging Alistair towards having the realisation himself that a) Eamon is manipulative, selfish and cruel and b) Alistair deserves better.

Celia wants to collect some of the books they find which is not practical given they are constantly travelling, but Alistair carries as many as he can in his pack and suffers in silence for it, ultimately finding it worth it for her enthusiastic gratitude.

Celia cuts Alistair’s hair and does a very respectable job after weeks of him complaining it’s flopping in his eyes (they used to cut each other’s hair in the Circle). Zevran pretends she did an awful job, gasping in horror at Alistair’s appearance, much to Celia’s ire. Alistair (internally weeping) tries to be brave until he can check his reflection in some plate mail and see it is fine.

Celia is very naïve about how the ‘real world’ works having been at the Circle since she was a child. This is especially evident in Denerim and Alistair has to explain how money works and grab her before she wanders down dicey looking alleyways.

Alistair nearly dissolves into a paroxysm of agony when he points out his favourite type of cheese at the Denerim Markets and (accustomed to the very limited range of bland foods provided at the Circle) Celia innocently asks, “There is more than one type of cheese?” Alistair makes it his mission to educate her. She doesn’t like most of what he feeds her but doesn’t say so to protect his feelings given he seems to take the matter so incredibly personally.

Leliana convinces Celia to sing one evening at the campfire. She’s breathy with a very limited range but manages okay, and Leliana plays and harmonises in support. Watching on with a goofy smile plastered over his face, Alistair comments to the surrounding companions about how talented she is and they’re like “…she’s really not mate.”

When they both wake up from a blightmare (or Celia has one and wakes Alistair with her flailing) they sneak about and eat anything they can find then sit up and have massive deep & meaningfuls (i.e. in the spirit of going for a long drive with a friend or being in the garden with someone outside a party and spilling your guts). Eventually they start blaming the depleted food stores on Leliana’s nug, Schmooples, much to Leliana’s displeasure.

Given Celia usually responds so well to his jokes, Alistair gets a bit peeved when Celia starts replying to some of his more severely self-deprecating humour with an unamused, “No you’re not,” or, “That’s not true.” He defensively argues it’s just a joke, but he does stop doing it so much as time goes on.

Celia is SO excited when Alistair gives her the rose. She never in her life thought she would be the recipient of a proper ~romantic gesture~…however she accidentally sits on the rose about five minutes after she gets it. Celia is devastated. There is a lot of panic and tears and she keeps one petal pressed in a book but has to unceremoniously ditch the rest in secret.

Celia doesn’t tell Alistair about this until years later and she’s terrified he’ll be hurt but he just laughs because he was so worried he was going to be the one to squash it and then she destroyed it basically the minute she got it. Alistair acknowledges it was an impractical gift given their situation. Celia gets mad and says it was a PERFECT gift and is annoyed at how funny he finds it given this has been a crushing, guilty secret hanging over her for years.

Following this, every time Alistair gives her any kind of gift, he can’t help but throw in a ‘Don’t sit on it!” and cracks himself up, especially when Celia gets grumpy about it and accuses him of spoiling the moment. It happens so often that when Alistair chooses a horse for her and plans to teach her to ride, Celia manages to cut him off with, “Yes, I know Alistair: I can sit on this one,” and steals his thunder.

Alistair periodically says Celia’s name just to check if she’ll answer, especially after a long period of quiet or to see if she’s awake à la screaming in the chantry because it’s so silent. When she responds he says, “Nothing” or “Never mind” but he finds it vaguely comforting just to hear her reply and it’s a habit he never loses, even when they have been together for years and he is much less isolated generally. Alistair doesn’t realise he’s doing it, and it never happens frequently enough for Celia to notice: she just assumes he has lost his train of thought.

They sometimes conspire to purposely fall to the back of the group while on the road so that they can hold hands. Everyone knows full well what they are doing, but Alistair and Celia think they are being incredibly ~sneaky~.

The first time they sleep together they laugh. A lot. Before, during and after.

Alistair snores loudly but only when he’s on his back. Celia is used to the noise of people sleeping around her at the Circle so it doesn’t bother her and she doesn’t want to disturb him because she knows he needs the rest.

When they are known to be sharing a tent however, their companions will slap on the walls of it and demand she kick him until he stops snoring. Celia will relent and gently prod and nudge Alistair until he rolls over with a bit of sleepy grumbling.

I think everyone has this headcanon to the point it is basically actual canon HOWEVER I am legally obligated to include it: Alistair is a professional body heat distributor and Celia drastically cuts down on the number of blankets she uses once they are sleeping together. If she stands in front of him on cold days, he understands the non-verbal signal and will automatically wrap her in his cloak.

Also might as well be canon: Alistair likes to be the little spoon. He doesn’t say, but Celia knows.

Decidedly not a fluff one (you can skip to Amaranthine to avoid) but the ritual with Morrigan fairly significantly messes Alistair up (both the act itself and his consideration of the repercussions i.e. Kieran). He’s jubilant and relieved at their victory over the Archdemon, but in the background struggles to process and there is some fallout once the victory celebrations lull and he has time to fully register what happened. Alistair grapples with a lot of guilt, disgust and confusion. He doesn’t know how to express it or where to direct his emotions so it mainly manifests as self-loathing. He wants to talk to Celia about it but can’t articulate his feelings which makes him feel worse.

Celia tries to comfort him, but he needs space on and off for a long while after and she gives him it. She feels a lot of guilt too, and never stops wondering how much it was actually his choice to do the ritual, worrying that she made him feel like he had to do it. Eventually they discuss it openly and honestly, which eases both of their minds somewhat, but it takes a long time to get to a point where they can talk on the subject. Meeting Kieran at Skyhold also helps Alistair down the line, though it’s obviously painful.

Amaranthine & Inquisition

Alistair keeps an eye out for people struggling, especially new recruits who are having trouble fitting in. He takes them under his wing and is very good at building people up and making sure everyone is included. He’ll just start enthusiastically greeting people like they are his best friend and squeezing himself onto the bench next to them at meals until everyone else follows suit.

For recruits that don’t respond well to his ‘mother hen’ type attention, Celia is good at assigning tasks that specifically highlight their strengths and builds their confidence/sense of purpose which also gains them the respect of their peers.

Alistair has been known to stand behind Celia while she is giving mundane orders/making speeches and pull faces or impersonate her, turning stony and impassive when she spins around accusingly because people are laughing.

But if anyone else talks smack about her he gets very, “Sorry mate, just to clarify was that comment directed at my wife, your Commander, the hERO OF FERELDAN, VANQUISHER OF AN ARCHDEMON!? That’s lucky, I didn’t THINK IT LIKELY. Because that wouldn’t be WISE, would it now?” etc. with some loud, fake laughter and firm backslapping for the worst offenders.

The plan for them to part ways so that Celia can search for a cure goes very badly, especially because Celia (under a lot of stress and not coping™) eventually devolves into, “I’m in charge and I say so,” which is a big betrayal of their agreements both to stay together, and make decisions together on equal footing. She realises this and takes it back but Alistair is demoralised and gives in with a bit of petty, sarcastic reverence e.g. saluting and, “Whatever you say boss, don’t know why I dared to utter an opinion how foolish of me...” so they still part on slightly strained terms, even after later mutually apologising and trying to make the most of their time together before they go.

Both regret the argument during their separation and write horribly soppy letters to each other, but something still feels uncomfortably unresolved until they are together again. They pine. So much. It’s disgusting and cliched. There is considerable sighing and staring at the moon or deep into tankards, very much to the ire of those around them. Alistair can be particularly annoying: “This roll reminds me of my wife...she eats bread sometimes...”

After Celia sends the letter to the Inquisitor, she writes to Leliana directly along the lines of, “I know it was incredibly subtle but I wanted to check: did they get the message? That I will destroy them if Alistair gets hurt?” and Leliana replies in the vein of, “Hon, it wasn’t even remotely subtle ffs…”

When reunited, though ecstatic and nearly delirious with joy and relief, it takes a while to rebuild the trust they once had, especially for Alistair. There’s an unfamiliar awkwardness that flares up unexpectedly, but it doesn’t last and they’re both fully committed to each other and to staying together permanently this time.

Celia and Alistair have a conversation recapping everything that happened while they were apart in which Celia is all, “Poor Hawke. Honestly I’m shocked you didn’t do something obscenely idiotic like try and sacrifice yourself thank the Maker for that…” and Alistair is there, nervously sweating, looking for an exit, loosening his collar etc.

As they settle back into their old routines Alistair will occasionally blurt out things like, “I really like having breakfast with you,” and then berate himself internally for how trite that sounds but Celia replies on cue, “I love waking up next to you and the way you groan when you stretch your back out and the way you check your hair twice before you leave the room and the way you complain if I don’t eat my crusts and the way you still hold my hand when we’re walking...” and basically they’re just blissfully happy being comfortably domestic and even as they get older they are forever just teenagers in love.

The Wardens at Amaranthine acquire/receive a griffon egg and the hatchling imprints on Alistair and decides he is their mother. It can’t cope with separation, crying constantly if Alistair goes out of sight, and won’t let anyone else feed or handle it so Alistair carries them in a sling 24/7. He gets to give orders and run training sessions with the tiny griffon occasionally poking its head out just to glare at everyone.

Whenever the baby griffon squeaks, Alistair automatically replies, “Well said,” or “Excellent point, Ser Beaksly” with a totally straight face.

For the first few months, Celia gets nipped or scratched if she approaches Alistair unless he wraps the griffon up. It so badly wants to fight her. Celia is permitted to sleep in her own bed, as long as the griffon sleeps curled on Alistair’s chest and Celia doesn't try anything outrageous like touching her husband even fleetingly. It gets a little frustrating as the months drag on, but the image of Alistair with the sling over his armour, or with the griffon snuggling possessively around his neck staring daggers at everyone, is so entertaining that Celia can’t get truly annoyed about it. As the griffon gets older it does learn to tolerate other people and becomes more independent but remains very protective of Alistair and favours him above all others. Insert the ‘Ah yes. Me. My husband. And his thousand pound murder-bird-cat child’ meme here.

Modern AU Bonus Round

They share headphones while commuting.

They occasionally end up wearing sort of matching outfits, mostly unintentionally.

They consistently refer to their dog, Trevor, as their son to the point that people who aren’t familiar with them assume that they actually have a child.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #warden alistair #warden x alistair #amell x alistair #warden amell #headcanons #my art #my writing #file under no one cares but me #but my goodness do I ever care #I can't wait to delete a bunch of these from my phone where they have been lurking forever #this draft is weeks old why am I so scared of posting on tumblr???#the problem is the longer I leave it #the more I add #I'm out of control #this is too many headcanons #I must be stopped

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camdentown-library · 3 years

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Dancing with the beast || Ivarr Ragnarsson x fem!reader

( GIF belong to ithlinnesprophecy )

𝕺𝖍, 𝖆 𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖆 𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖋, 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖙 𝖇𝖊?

Summary: After helping Ubba and Ivarr with the Ledecestrescire issue, you and your travel friends Eivor and Sigurd take a break at a banquet to celebrate the victory organized by the Ragnarsson brothers.

Requested? No

Genre: SFW

Words: 2278

In the air was the melody of lively music, laughter, and the pungent scent of mead. Probably in your eyes as a foreigner all this could be the perfect portrait of the legends that Eivor told you about the Valhalla...well maybe the gods were missing in all their glory, but people seemed to be enjoying themselves.

After all, it had been a tough battle and despite the rather large losses, everyone deserved a slice of tranquility.

To be honest you didn't have many opportunities to attend banquets, your mentor was always busy on some missions, and obviously you and Hytham had to follow him as good and obedient students, yet you could perceive, like a dim light in the distance on the horizon , the oriental music of Constantinople superimposed on the Danish one; If you had closed your eyes you could still see people throwing flower petals into the square, women and men dancing, the scent of spices and incense.

For a Hidden-One no land is their homeland, but you would have lied if you had admitted that Constantinople, your home, your people, your colorful culture did not miss you.

"Do you have fun, little one?" Eivor asked with a horn overflowing with mead, followed by a cheerful Sigurd.

"Enough, in short, I've almost never been to parties, but I know some dances...well, those of my tradition" you explained politely, sipping a bit of mead when Eivor gently approached his horn, in a tacit offer to share .

"Ah! I remember well, in Miklagard they often entertained very colorful parties in the square, and once I saw (y/n) dancing, a real beauty for the eyes to learn new traditions, brother" explained Sigurd, encouraging you in his way to melt more and join the dances.

"First I'll try to put something in my stomach, I'm tired of eating only what the forest offers, but don't worry my friends, you will see me dance one day" you answered bringing your hands in a friendly way on the shoulders of the two brothers, smiling friendly and then having dismissed them you approached the banquet to taste some dishes, it was all quite good...but it lacked seasoning and spices, how did the Vikings eat so bland?

Maybe in the end he felt like you? Like two fishes out of water?

Your eyes darted from one side of the room to the other, as if you wanted to immortalize every moment, or maybe it was your usual Hidden-one way of finding clues even when there was absolutely nothing to investigate...

Your eyes finally landed on an empty table in the room, there was only one man sitting on the bench, with his back resting on the table. No one was by his side, no one was talking to him, it seemed a sad contrast to the rest of the hall who was dancing and partying.

You decided to advance towards the area where everyone was dancing, while as you arrived at your goal you could feel a slight resistance from poor Ivarr. Was he afraid of too much attention on himself? Or cringed?

As you slowly approached your target, you could tell from his unusual hairstyle that it was Ivarr Ragnarsson. You haven't had many opportunities to talk. Perhaps because he was too rude and threatening at times, perhaps unfounded you feared slightly his moody and unpredictable personality.

"Hello" you said as you stood in front of him, he was sitting very relaxed and not very decorous, with his legs spread and both elbows placed on the table. Ivarr looked up at you, studying you from top to bottom, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"I've already seen you little girl...are you Wolfsmal's friend...Jamila?" he said trying to guess your name, probably unknown for his language. You shook your head smiling.

"Y/n" you corrected it.

"Y/n..." Ivarr repeated your name slowly nodding to himself "What a strange name, for Thor 'sake, your father was drunk when he gave you the name? I'll call you...Eagle-cub, will easier to remember” he replied with his usual elephantine delicacy in a crystal shop.

"If you say so...then you won't mind if I call you: rush? Ivarr is too weird even for me" you said with an amused smirk, while he gave you an amazed look raising both eyebrows.

"You know, I can read on your face that you are a foreigner, Eagle-cub" he commented, raising his chin a little towards you.

"Because your name is strange to my ears?" you asked raising an eyebrow.

"No" he replied sharply, shaking his head "You wander around lost just like an Eagle-cub, and what do you do? Come and annoying Ivarr Ragnarsson. Either you're too stupid, or you're probably a reckless chick" on his lips was painted a devious smile, he was probably testing you, he wanted to discourage you, but you wouldn't let go so easily.

"My intent is to receive your friendship. With Eivor you had become a friend" you explained with a vague but sincere way.

"Yes, but I don't like you" Ivarr replied with a kind face and forked tongue.

"Because am I a woman?"

"Because you are a foreigner"

"No man likes what remains difficult to understand, you are probably the one too stupid between the two" you replied with a troublemaker smile, enjoying the slightly displaced eyes of the man who, however, seemed not to give up.

Ivarr then tilted his head to one side, observing you even inside your bones, those eyes of his seemed to study every possible way in which he could pierce you with a weapon, yet you seemed not to be afraid. Maybe Ivarr was right, you were a reckless little girl.

"Huh..." he replied with fake surprise, and then smiled in a very mischievous way "You like to talk huh, Eagle-cub? You should make friends with Ubba, oooh he really likes to talk, an effective cure for those who have too much ear wax" he replied, selflessly taking a sip of alcohol.

"Yet I am here...and you are not Ubba" you finally answered crossing your arms to your chest observing him "Why don't you participate in the dances?" you asked to sweeten that speech that had turned sour like mead. Ivarr shrugged, glancing at the people dancing and chattering.

"If that wasn't obvious enough, I don't like to dance" he said raising his arms, then resting them heavily on the table, you then raised a curious eyebrow.

"Or...you don't like it, because you're not capable" you asked ironically letting yourself escape a little laugh, while Ivarr let out a sulky snort.

When Ivarr looked back at you he noticed that you had brought a hand towards him with a small amused smile.

"Usually it is a man who asks the woman to dance, but not being in my land, so I have all the freedom to ask you if you would like to dance with me" the boy looked at you not completely convinced and you looking up to the sky you said "Come on, are you afraid Ragnarsson?" and at that point he let himself take the callused hand and let himself be dragged after emitting a slight annoyed growl.

"Ok I will be magnanimous with you, give me your hands" you said to the young Viking, who offered you his wide and calloused hands, and you gently grasping them placed one on your side and the other joined it with your "Well now come closer” He took just a step and you giggled, rolling your eyes. "Closer, Ragnarsson. You said so, I'm an Eagle-cub, so I'm harmless and I don't bite” you replied as he came closer to you.

Your chests came almost touching, now that you thought about it, Ivarr was slightly taller than you, but he had a very strong and massive musculature, covered in tattoos with strange runes, part of you wondered what on earth those marks could mean.

"Now?" he asked slightly annoyed as he looked around.

"Now you just have to relax and watch me, listen to the music and let yourself be lulled. You will soon forget the people who are watching you" Ivarr in response sighed in exasperation and then brought his eyes to yours, as you had indicated, was a little stiff. beginning, but your sunshine and your fluid movements masked his slightly wrong movements.

"Why?" he asked at one point as you made a slight twist accompanied by his hand.

"Mh?"

"Why me?" you looked at him puzzled "Why did you choose to invite me to dance? Sigurd and Eivor seemed more inclined to accept your invitation" he explained, frowning to mask an almost invisible embarrassment.

"Oh, were you eavesdropping?" you asked your dance partner who replied even more sulky.

"Yes and then?" you rested your forehead on his armored chest and giggled under his breath, god, he was really hopeless.

"Don't you know it's rude to eavesdrop, Ragnarsson?" you asked ironically, raising your head and meeting again his face contracted in a grimace.

"Do I really look like the guy who gives a shit about manners?" he asked then, his hand lightly squeezed your side.

"No" you smiled amused "That's why I like you" Ivarr almost stepped on your foot shocked.

"...Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Why should I?"

"Why should you ever want the company of someone like me, I'm a damn warrior who likes the smell of blood, not..." but all of a sudden he stopped and shaking his head went back to dance, you a little confused you looked for him look of his dull eyes but you could not.

"What?" you asked, bringing your hand from his shoulder to his slightly rough face due to his short beard, he almost seemed to reject the contact at first glance.

"I don't deserve the affection" he murmured.

"Why?" you asked again, he rolled his eyes.

"Fuck, did you see me? Or are you blind? I can't even grow a couple of balls for Ceolbert, I can't build anything, I'm good at killing people, that's what fuck I am. And you come here and tell me that you want to be my friend, that you like me, and you touch me as if this were not repulsive” he said, squeezing your side too tightly, starting to hurt.

"Ivarr..." you whispered placing your gaze on his hand, and when he sensed he let go, returning soft. There was a dead silence between you two as the music continued to lead you into that cheerful rhythm. Ivarr glanced fleetingly between the participants and no one seemed to care so much anymore.

"When people touch you like a monster, you probably start believing. Often those who consider themselves a monster think they don't deserve the affection of others, because they probably fear that their hands will be dirty with their blood" you were serious "But I'm not the others, luckily for me I can kill as much as you and I know how to defend myself. But I know I don't need it...You could say to me to go to hell when I got close to you, but you didn't. I know you won't hurt me" you finally concluded, as the Viking listened attentively to you reflecting on your words.

"Well...I was going to tear off your hip with that hand" he commented a little in trouble and you smiled slightly.

"And you were about to step on my foot. I have to admit that you really are a sucker at dancing" you commented amused. He made a slight smirk.

"You insisted on making me dance with you, foreigner, then perish" he said, squeezing your side even more, but this time with a joke, while you in return pinched his neck.

The music you were dancing to ended, leaving you perhaps a little disappointed, perhaps the time was up when Ivarr had started to melt a little. But you weren't completely unhappy, it was always better to have taken small steps than to have not moved at all from your starting point.

Ivarr also seemed to have enjoyed this short dance, in short, he was not a great dancer, but at least he felt less out of place than before. Sure, he wouldn't admit it even under torture, but okay.

"This dance has exhausted me, I'm going to prepare a fire to warm up and a tent to stay in tonight" you said, moving away from the Viking who, feeling at first glance the lack of contact between your bodies, was a little disappointed.

"If by any chance you reached me to help me at least to light the fire, then I will take it as a sign of friendship" you said placing a hand on your chest with a playful way to distance him even further from you, while turning around you walked out of the banquet hall, leaving an uncertain Ivarr in the middle of the ballroom.

A calloused and broad hand collided with the back of the latter, who coughed slightly in shock and when he turned he found his brother Ubba who was watching him slyly.

"The fuck you want?" Ivarr then asked grumpily.

"And so Ivar the boneless, got carried away by a woman to dance?" Ubba asked at that point and in response the younger brother slipped out of his grip growling like a nervous cat.

"You're so drunk that now you're also hallucinating, brother. I'm going to piss" and with those words that were anything but pretty, the Viking also came out of the banquet hall, but there were different actions he intended to do as soon as he crossed the exit.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed imagines #assassins creed imagines #assassin's creed valhalla #assassins creed valhalla #assassin's creed valhalla imagines #assassins creed valhalla imagines #assassins creed valhalla imagine #assassin's creed valhalla imagine #ivarr #ivarr ragnarsson #ivarr the boneless

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ibijau · 4 years

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Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Parts of this had been posted before, but it has now been updated to better fit with the rest of the timeline

After another weekly discussion with Lan Xichen, Nie Huaisang figures out a way to get back at his fiancé.

It goes the same as always. Lan Xichen serves insipid tea for both of them, and offers some of those bland biscuits he seems to adore, as if it’s a great honour he’s doing to Nie Huaisang to give him anything to snack on.

Nie Huaisang who just wants this stupid meeting to be over already so he can go have some fun. Wei Wuxian said he’d sneak out to get them something to drink, and Nie Huaisang still has a stash of snacks from his last expedition out of the Cloud Recesses. They’ve decided to have a little party tonight, to celebrate the end of Wei Wuxian’s punishment. It will start as soon as Nie Huaisang is freed from this boring tea party.

First though, Nie Huaisang half expects to be scolded for what happened at the river yesterday. He was too annoyed by having their fun interrupted, but Jiang Cheng swears that Lan Xichen seemed very upset by his state of undress. Not without reason, since it goes against the rules of stupid Gusu Lan to be immodest and indecent. And sure, it’s all Wei Wuxian’s fault, but that’s not really going to help his case.

But the scolding never comes. Lan Xichen chooses to be annoyingly dignified instead, as if it’d be beneath him to even mention that incident. Nie Huaisang would have preferred anger. He would have preferred any emotion at all, instead of that blank politeness.

"Shall we play Go again?" Lan Xichen asks as he hands him his cup of tea.

He sounds hopeful, eager even, and last week he looked like he was really having fun as they played. So did Nie Huaisang. He's still new to the game, but he finds that he loves it and it was thrilling to win against someone as skilled as Lan Xichen.

"I'm not in the mood to play," Nie Huaisang announces.

Lan Xichen's smile falls, letting show real disappointment. Good. Nie Huaisang likes Go, but he refuses to let his fiancé get any enjoyment out of their weekly talks. Last time was an accident that he won't repeat.

"I'll be more careful about the time that passes," Lan Xichen offers. He's not wrong that it was part of the problem, but seeing him insist like this just makes Nie Huaisang promise himself to never play together again, since Lan Xichen wants it so much.

"I'm just too tired," he mumbles, just a touch whiny. "Lan gongzi, I'd do so badly and then you'd be cross at me for not doing well enough."

Without surprise, Lan Xichen pinches his lips and glares at him, but it would be rude to push more so he gives up. It's rather obvious that he was planning on playing for the entire time they have to be together, and that he didn't prepare anything else to pass the time. Meanwhile Nie Huaisang has decided he wants to try his hand at poetry, so sitting in silence for a while doesn't bother him in the least.

For now, he's looking for something to rhyme with nightingale, which is harder than expected. But aside from his beloved birds, Nie Huaisang can't think of anything worth writing about. Love is a lie for common people, and he's more interested in painting nature than writing about it.

"I don't think I had the chance to say, but thank you for preventing that fight the other day," Lan Xichen says, apparently abhorring silence.

Nie Huaisang shoots him a puzzled look. It takes him a moment to find what that's about, but there can be only one incident his fiancé his referring to. Three days ago, Lan Xichen had to supervise the guest disciples because Lan Qiren was called away for a bit, and of course that gave some people a chance to start causing problems.

Well, some people. Jin Zixuan.

He's a weird kid, that Jin Zixuan, Nie Huaisang has decided. For someone from such a great sect, who is this pretty and good at cultivation, and in spite of being there with a number of relatives, it's odd that he's not particularly popular. Of course, that might be because he can't say two words without insulting someone.

A bit like Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, but at least they always have each other to step up if they cross a line. On the other hand nobody dares tell Jin Zixuan when he's a little shit, so he comes off as mean rather than funny like the Jiang boys.

In truth, Nie Huaisang is starting to suspect Jin Zixuan is just painfully awkward and bad with people, and of course he too knows about being awkward. He wouldn’t tell anyone, least of all Jin Zixuan himself, but he pities him a little.

"It really was nothing," Nie Huaisang says with a dismissive handwave. "There wasn't going to be any real trouble. Wei-xiong knows better than to start a fight with his shijie's fiancé."

Lan Xichen cannot contain a slight grimace, unconvinced. In truth, Nie Huaisang isn't so sure either, but he's not about to snitch on his friend.

“It was still good of you to intervene,” Lan Xichen insists, smiling blankly.

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes. If he had known it would please Lan Xichen so much, he’d have let Wei Wuxian punch Jin Zixuan in the face. Maybe he will next time.

“Lan gongzi is too kind. Really, I just wanted to tease Wei-xiong, it’s just an accident if that prevented anything. Lan gongzi knows I’m not bright enough to do anything good, ever.”

“That’s not true,” Lan Xichen protests, startling Nie Huaisang with how earnest he sounds all of a sudden. “Certainly you are not much of a scholar, but you have other talents. Although, even for this you have improved, haven’t you? I’m told you have done better than last year with the class on talismans.”

“Wei-xiong helped me,” Nie Huaisang announces, proud of himself for the fact that it’s not quite a lie. Wei Wuxian did help, by giving him all the answers in exchange for permanent ownership of a certain artful print from Nie Huaisang’s collection. And this time, they’ve been smart enough to not get caught. They're getting good at cheating, Nie Huaisang thinks.

Lan Xichen appears to consider that explanation for a moment as he sips some of his tea, looking as if he actually enjoys the stuff when it tastes like nothing but diluted washing water.

“You really spend a lot of time with Wei gongzi and Jiang gongzi, don’t you?” Lan Xichen remarks at last.

“I like them a lot. And I remember you encouraging me to do it. After all, a sect leader’s husband must have good relations with other sect leaders as well, right?”

A frown appears on Lan Xichen’s too perfect face, as always when Nie Huaisang says something to remind him of what awaits them in a few years. More surprisingly, there’s also the faintest trace of a blush on his cheeks. It’s not a bad look on him. It makes him seem more human. Not that Nie Huaisang cares, of course.

“You are right. Still, I would advise you not to take too much after Wei gongzi,” Lan Xichen says in a voice as dispassionate as ever. “He is not unkind, but very wild. A sect leader’s husband should respect the rules, and I fear Wei gongzi...”

“Are you gossiping, Lan gongzi?” Nie Huaisang interrupts with a smirk.

The other boy’s frown deepens, as does his blush. Lan Xichen hates being caught at fault, and Nie Huaisang is starting to figure out how to push him to it. It’s thrilling to see how imperfect his jade fiancé is after all. If he weren’t worried about Nie Mingjue’s reaction, Nie Huaisang would push even harder, just to see if it’s possible for Lan Xichen to actually get angry. His face his always so smooth and perfect, but he must look ugly when he's properly furious, that'd be fun.

Actually, since Nie Mingjue’s always grumpy about something, Nie Huaisang might try anyway. He wants Lan Xichen to be angry, just as Nie Huaisang himself still is when he allows his thoughts to linger on their situation.

He wants Lan Xichen to hurt, just as he’s ached all those years during which he tried so hard to be good enough, always in vain.

He’ll make him pay.

“If you knew for sure that Wei Ying and I were doing anything wrong, you’d have had us punished already,” Nie Huaisang claims, enjoying the ways Lan Xichen’s eyes narrow when he uses the other boy’s personal name. “Besides, I’m sure Jiang Cheng would not let us do anything that might tarnish his sect’s reputation either. He is very aware of these things.”

“I was not aware you were so close to Jiang gongzi,” Lan Xichen remarks coldly.

They both know that Nie Huaisang has never even called Lan Xichen by his courtesy name, let alone his personal name. He never will, not if he can help it. They might have to marry, but nobody can force Nie Huaisang to pretend he cares, not anymore. Lan Xichen is Lan gongzi, and someday he’ll be sect leader Lan, and that’s it. If absolutely forced, Nie Huaisang will perhaps deign call him husband, but only as a last resort, if they have to show unity in front of enemies. He'll never be Lan Xichen, and even less Lan Huan.

“Jiang Cheng is a lot of fun, in his own manner,” Nie Huaisang chirps. “It was his idea to go to the river yesterday, you know? He doesn’t look it, but he is really fun. And it’s nice that you always know where you stand with him… I just like people who are honest about what they think and how they feel. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are great friends to have for that, even if it can get them in trouble at times.”

Lan Xichen pinches his lips, and his fingers tighten around his cooling cup of tea, his cheeks flushed red in what might very well be actual anger. It’s not as good as if it were pain, but Nie Huaisang still delights in any reaction he can get. He’s convinced now that he could push harder quite easily, but…

But the incense is already finished burning, and Nie Huaisang is free.

He jumps to his feet, and bows to Lan Xichen, already thinking of nothing but the little party that awaits him.

“Well, I’ll see you next week, Lan gongzi,” he says, not even trying to hide his joy at being done with this. He didn’t even have to drink that disgusting tea this time, which counts as another little victory.

Without waiting for an answer, Nie Huaisang turns toward the door, thinking of Emperor’s Smile, peanuts, and real, sugary biscuits. It will be wonderful, and they will have fun, perhaps check some of the books in his private collection if they get drunk enough, and…

“Nie Huaisang.”

He stops on his tracks and glances behind in shock.

Just like him, Lan Xichen had never called him by anything but his title before.

“Lan gongzi?”

There’s an unusual intensity to Lan Xichen’s expression, his face so red it looks to be burning. It’s not quite anger alone anymore, but it’s… something else, something Nie Huaisang can't quite name. It nearly makes him shiver to have those dark, golden eyes on him like this. It almost feels as if, for the very first time in their years of acquaintance, Lan Xichen is truly looking at him.

“I am glad if you make friends, Nie Huaisang, especially close ones. But you would do well to remember that you are engaged, and that your friendships should not be taken too far.”

Nie Huaisang laughs, too surprised to think of any other way to react.

He laughs, and laughs, and leaves without gratifying Lan Xichen with an answer. He’s still laughing when he joins Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, although after some hesitation he decides not to share with them the cause of his hilarity. Wei Wuxian would laugh along without doubt, but Jiang Cheng is too aware of politics to find it funny. He would demand that Nie Huaisang return to see Lan Xichen and make it clear there’s nothing improper between them, which sounds boring.

If this is the way he can shatter Lan Xichen’s pride, Nie Huaisang has half a mind to get a lot more flirty in the future.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #jau writes #worst engagement au #do I post too much? I worry that I post too much #but we're getting to a part of the story where I'm recycling a lot of asks and turning them into proper chapters so it goes very fast #sorry if you're tired of this AU #I'll try to get back to other stuff too I swear

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tiny-maus-boots · 4 years

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Queen of Hearts pt 7

As a rule, Aubrey never let anyone insult or try to intimidate her. She had been bullied and been a bully so she was familiar with all the ways to cut a person down with no more than a glance. It’s why she wasn’t the least bit phased by the idea of facing the Conrads, they were polite bullies but bullies just the same. She glanced to her right at Lilly holding her Halliburton briefcase then back at the large front door that was swinging inward. A housekeeper stood just inside, smile pleasant and calm. Aubrey tipped her head in a shallow nod of greeting, her voice a low, warm burr.

“Hello Louisa, are Mr. and Mrs. Conrad home?”

“Miss Aubrey, how unexpected.” She looked past Aubrey and Lilly toward the driveway then frowned slightly. “Miss Stacie isn’t with you?”

“No, I came to see the Conrads on my own.”

One dark and perfectly tweezed brow raised in silent question. Louisa was a kind enough person, she certainly seemed to feel real affection for Stacie, but it was clear she was the gatekeeper and none would pass unless she approved first. Aubrey didn’t expect to get that approval simply because she’d shown up last time and been announced as Stacie’s girlfriend. Louisa and the Conrads themselves didn’t really know her. And that was precisely why she was there now. She wanted them to know exactly who she was.

“And what should I say your visit is regarding?”

While she respected the woman’s backbone, she didn’t really feel like explaining herself. “Personal matters.” Louisa’s eyes narrowed slightly judging and measuring her. Aubrey stood there patiently waiting for a moment before she opted to explain further. “Regarding Stacie.”

“All right. If you’ll follow me.” Something passed across the woman’s face, a slight softening of her features and she gave a slow nod of agreement. She led them down the same hall Aubrey had been before, taking them to the large drawing room at the end. “Please make yourselves comfortable and I’ll see if the Conrads are available for guests.”

“I would like to speak to Mrs. Conrad first and alone if possible, please.”

Another raised brow but a slow, uncertain nod was her only response. Lilly, her silent shadow, walked around the room, eyes roving over everything in it. Louisa watched her for a moment then turned and left, presumably to find the Conrads.

Aubrey settled herself on couch, casually stretching an arm along the back of it. She wasn’t scared exactly because she wasn’t afraid of anything really. But she was nervous. Helene Conrad was an imposing figure and one she hoped to win over. If for no other reason than to hopefully ease the tension between Stacie and her parents. Or. At least. Her mother. The blonde seriously doubted that August Conrad would come around to accepting her in any part of their lives.

The grandfather clock along one wall ticked by exactly in time with her watch with metronomic proficiency, each second passing loudly in the otherwise quiet room. It wasn’t a very long wait but enough to ratchet Aubrey’s mild nervousness to a slight panic making her want to loosen the suddenly chokingly stiff tie and collar. There was a chance Helene would never accept her, causing the rift between mother and daughter to widen to a gaping chasm. The thought of that caused her lips to pull down into a frown.

Stacie already had a difficult relationship with her parents, Aubrey didn’t want to do anything to make that worse. She might not have all the advantages and money that Stacie had growing up but she had at least had one parent that encouraged and cared for her. A parent that taught her to be the person she was with patience and understanding. A parent that accepted who she was without question simply because she was their kid. One parent that would have fought the whole world to protect her. Compared to Stacie, Aubrey felt rich for having a dad that loved her unconditionally.

If her dad had been alive maybe it would be different. Maybe this wouldn’t be as important to get right, because in the end Mickey Posen would have treated Stacie as his own. She knew her father would have swept Stacie into a welcoming hug the second he set eyes on her. The frown eased back into the blank neutrality of her poker face as soon as her ears picked up the muffled sound steps.

Helene came around the corner to the room and stopped to take in the sight of Aubrey looking entirely too at ease on her couch and Lilly looming in the corner giving the other two women a modicum of privacy. The older woman gave her a mildly assessing stare and let that perfectly bland smile settle onto her face.

“Miss Posen, to what do we owe the pleasure of such an unexpected visit?”

It was politely said but Aubrey could hear the annoyance in it. She showed up unannounced and Helene Conrad wasn’t above pointing it out. The blonde gave an easy smile and let out a calming breath before she raised her shoulder in a half shrug.

“I thought it prudent we speak; I would have made an appointment to see you and your husband but I didn’t want to run the risk of getting the run around.”

“Touché.” Helene dipped her dark head in acknowledgement that Aubrey would indeed have gotten the brush off. “Would you care for some coffee or a beverage?”

She honestly wasn’t thirsty and she wondered if Helene was offering it just to be polite. Aubrey considered it a tick before nodding slightly as she stroked a hand down her tie to smooth it into place, if it were being offered it would be rude not to accept.

“Tea would be lovely if you have it.”

The other woman gave her a measuring look before turning to Louisa with nod and a quiet thank you. Though Stacie might not agree, she was clearly her mother’s daughter. The resemblance was striking in more than looks alone and Aubrey found herself smiling softly at the curious tilt to Helene’s head and the slightly narrowed gold-flecked green eyes she levelled at the blonde.

“I get the impression you prefer to be frank, so let us cut to the chase. Why are you here Miss Posen?”

“I came to apologize.” It was the very last thing that Stacie’s mother had expected judging by the long slow blink she gave. Aubrey leaned forward a little with earnest intention, her elbows resting on her knees in a pose that had Helene raising a brow. “We left dinner so quickly I didn’t get a chance to thank you for your hospitality and…I never intended to cause a scene. I wanted to say I’m sorry about that.”

“Your humility is admirable and appreciated Miss Posen.”

It wasn’t a lot of a leader and but Aubrey knew it meant something to the other woman. She gave a dip of her head in a nod of acknowledgement and sat back as Louisa returned with a tray of tea. She waited to be served then took a sip before smiling her thanks at the housekeeper. Louisa left quietly closing the drawing room doors shut behind her but the quick inquisitive look she gave Aubrey as she left gave the impression that the woman heard every word ever spoken in that house.

“Stacie’s happiness is important to me Mrs. Conrad. I would never intentionally cause her to be hurt or embarrassed.”

“I think you believe that.” Helene took a sip of her tea and shrugged. “Be that as it may, the truth remains that you are a criminal Aubrey. You make your money off illegal activities and sooner or later, intentionally or not, it’s going to catch up to you and you’re going to get my daughter killed.”

She respected the directness even though it was a punch to the gut. Aubrey let the scalding tea cool a little longer, staring into the depths of her cup for several seconds as she weighed her words carefully.

“As I understand it, you and your husband weren’t this concerned about her safety when Weston was putting his hands on her.” The sudden silence made the tick of the clock sound thunderous. The blonde raised her eyes to meet Helene’s and waited as the woman worked through her outrage at the comment. “You know what the police found, what he was. He would have killed her sooner rather than later the way he was going. Do you honestly think she was better off then?”

“That was…regrettable. Of course, we never wished for Stacie to be in that situation but perceptions-“

“Perceptions mean a lot to you and your husband. I know. You can’t be seen openly accepting her life no matter how happy she is now, or how safe with me she may be. Right? What would people think?”

The older woman stayed silent as Aubrey placed her cup down gently on the tray and nodded her understanding of the position the woman was in. She wasn’t judging her for what she hadn’t done to protect Stacie in the past, she was simply acknowledging what was more important to the Conrads.

“You’re not quite the woman I expected you to be Aubrey.”

Aubrey raised her chin a little as she stood and straightened her tie. “No? What were you expecting?”

“A liar and among other things a brute.” It was surprising and she frowned in confusion. “I’ve met my fair share of liars, you’re not one. You’re nothing like he was.”

It was startling and she raised brows nearly to her hairline in question. Aubrey slipped her hands in her pockets and blinked at the still seated woman. Helene Conrad’s poker face was nearly as good as Beca’s and Aubrey couldn’t read anything in it. She assumed the ‘he’ was Weston and that being different was a good thing.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The smile was faint and fleeting but Aubrey was sure she’d seen it. She found herself re-evaluating her and wondering if Stacie’s mother might one day come around. Either way it was as much of an endorsement as she was going to get from the woman she suspected. Aubrey sighed softly and nodded feeling like she needed to say something in case there was any lingering doubt.

“I love her, Mrs. Conrad. Like I have never loved anyone or anything in my life. Lei è il mio sole, il centro del mio universe. It means-“

“I know what it means. And…if things were different…”

It was a theme in her life and Aubrey gave a short nod of understanding. If things were different, she wouldn’t be under a federal investigation, Beca would be her best man, and Stacie’s parents would love her more than they loved themselves and their reputations.

“I’ve asked her to marry me.”

“So, you’re asking for what? Permission or a blessing?”

“No, because we’re gonna get married with or without it. I came here to tell you that despite perceptions, I hope you’ll show Stacie that you care about her happiness and attend the event. She loves you very much.” Something passed behind Helene’s eyes but Aubrey couldn’t read the emotion in it with how quickly is disappeared. “Thank you for your time Mrs. Conrad, if it’s all right I’d like to see your husband now.”

Helene studied her a moment longer then placed her cup down and stood. Aubrey followed her to another room across the hall with Lilly still trailing behind them. The heavy oak door was closed and she could just barely hear the murmur of a man’s voice rising in frustrated anger from the other side. The brunette woman stopped and turned to really look at her one last time, still searching Aubrey’s face for something only she knew.

“He’s…obstinate.”

“Is that a warning?”

She didn’t answer, choosing instead to knock on the door and push it open. August Conrad looked up from the papers on his desk and frowned when he saw them standing there. He dropped the heavy pen on his desk and grunted.

“I’ll call you back.” Stacie’s father reached out and hung up the phone before leaning back in his chair and gesturing to Aubrey. “Posen. What do you want?”

Helene gave her a look and exited the room. Aubrey nodded and Lilly moved silently to the corner. The door closed with a click and she sauntered closer to the desk. It was different facing him, than it was Stacie’s mom. He was never going to approve of their relationship or accept Aubrey. She knew that and wasn’t there to try and bridge any gaps between him and his daughter.

“I’m here to talk business.”

“Business? As far as I’m concerned, we don’t have any business. You’re just the crook trying to get a slice of someone else’s pie.”

The tiny voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Detective Mitchell made an entirely inappropriate comeback but she only gave the barest twitch of a smile. It was just too easy and truthfully, she didn’t want to fall into the trap of playing his game. She didn’t wait to be offered a seat, Aubrey just settled into the nice plush chair across from him and crossed one leg over the other.

“That is exactly what I expected you would say in front of your constituents. But they’re not here right now and neither are the cameras.” She gestured around the otherwise empty office negligently as if he hadn’t noticed there was no one to grandstand for. “Do you know why I’m so good at the work I do Mr. Conrad?”

“I wouldn’t even begin to imagine.” He leaned back in his chair watching her with interest despite himself. It caused a muscle in his cheek to twitch with irritation.

“Research.”

“I’m sorry?”

She smiled slightly at his deliberate obtuseness and tipped her head slightly to the side in deep measuring thought. It made him uncomfortable and the cheek muscle spasmed again. People like August Conrad were never as clever as they thought they were.

“You see people come in and out of our lives so frequently that it’s hard to know who you’re really dealing with. In my particular line of work not knowing who you’re dealing with can be more than just a little dangerous, it could be devastating.” He gave her a bored look and she smiled wider. “I imagine you must go through the same thing with so many people clamoring to get your attention.”

“What the hell does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”

The bluntly unimpressed glare let her know he hadn’t put the dots together yet. Aubrey felt the amusement drain from her face even if the smile held steady. He wasn’t a stupid man by any means but he underestimated her and that was a mistake.

“I research everyone that I think might have a potential impact on my life. Including you Mr. Conrad.” She could see his feathers ruffling as he sucked in a breath to respond with but she waved him off. “Please. Let’s not pretend you don’t have a private investigator doing the same for you. The difference is I have access to information you won’t find on any credit report.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying or what you think you know but you won’t catch me caught up in anything untoward. I take my oath to public service and the office seriously.”

What started as an occasional twitch in his cheek was now a rapid uneven flutter of constant movement. His tone and his demeanor were right but his tell gave him away and she gave a slow nod as if she accepted him at face value.

“Weston was your money man, wasn’t he?” A glimmer of unease flickered in his eyes and she tsked softly. “I heard through the grapevine that he stole a lot of money from his clients.”

He said nothing, in fact he didn’t even breathe. She was treading to close to something he was worried about and she knew it. Aubrey drummed her fingers idly on her knee letting the silence stretch between them. She could feel him slowly suffocating in it as his anxiety rose high, pressuring him into speaking to break the quiet around them.

“Are you implying something Posen?”

“Not at all.” For a second, he seemed to breathe in a short sigh of relief but her lips quirked again in amusement as she casually gestured toward him. “Of course, if you had lost money, I’m sure you could recoup it from your campaign fund. But that would be illegal and you’d have to account for those funds somehow before too long. And you would never do that would you?”

August Conrad licked his dry lips and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His right hand came up to scratch lightly at the ever-present twitch. “No. I would not.”

“Of course not. Only crooks like me think that way, right?”

They stared at each other for a long minute, the new knowledge that they weren’t so different filling the space between them. She raised a finger and gestured for Lilly to come forward. Aubrey stared at him as locks on the briefcase clicked and popped open. The hinges gave a soft creak with the rising lid and he couldn’t hold her gaze any longer. His eyes drifted to the open case and widened at the cash lined in neat perfect stacks. It was impossible for him to hide the greed that twisted his distinguished features.

“What is this? A bribe?”

“Consider it a campaign contribution.” Aubrey jerked her chin at the desk and Lilly set the briefcase on it directly in front of him. It was too much temptation and he reached out to stroke the cash reverently. She stood easily and started for the door stopping to look over her shoulder at him. “I can be a very generous friend Mr. Conrad. We could help each other.”

He snorted at that and pulled out a stack to count the bills. Arrogance made his chest puff out as he tossed the money back into the briefcase negligently. It was the height of disrespect and he was just so damned sure of himself. Like every other politician and crook she’d ever met.

“She’ll hate you for this. Buying her off like a whore won’t win you any favors, Posen.”

Aubrey froze with her hand on the doorknob, her spine rigid with the flash of sudden anger. Her head turned slowly until she could pin him with an icy stare. She turned fully, deliberate steps bringing her to the front of his desk. One hand slowly pushed the lid of the briefcase shut as she leaned forward threateningly.

“The only whore I’m buying here…is you, August. I’ll call you when I want you to do something for me. And you’re gonna do it with a fucking smile on your face because you don’t ever want to disappoint me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

A fine tremor made his jaw tremble as he nodded quickly and Aubrey nodded in return. She eased back and tugged her vest down with a settling sigh before looking at her watch. She didn’t have time to hurt him and it would be counterproductive. A threat would work just as well as a beating in this case.

“And August? You call my future wife a whore again and I’ll cut out your tongue and hang you with it.”

She didn’t have to look back at him to make sure he got the message, Lilly playing with her butterfly knife was clear enough. He slumped back into his leather chair with relief the second she had stepped out of the office. It hadn’t been the opened armed acceptance she’d hoped but it could have gone worse. Still it gave her a better understanding of her soon to be in laws and her heart panged in her chest for Stacie.

“Family dinner tonight, Lil. Make sure everyone knows, hm?”

Aubrey couldn’t make up for the way Stacie had grown up but she could make sure it was just a distant memory. Maybe they were just a band of violent criminals. But they were a family, her family…their family. And that was more than anything that the Conrads had ever been to Stacie.

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miracide · 5 years

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We at Saisei encourage people from all walks of life to join us. Did you gather the clues that our third year teachers were married?

————

Dan-sensei sat alone in the third floor teacher’s lounge, usually private because of how out of the way it was. He was microwaving leftovers, music blaring in his ears as he relaxed on the little couch in the room.

He didn’t hear Doihara come in, opening one eye as the microwave beeped and noticed the other teacher standing there. He grunted to his feet and retrieved his food—molten on the outside, icy on the inside. Classic microwave.

He took out one earbud and looked at Doihara again before sitting at the table. He yawned, “What do you have today?”

The older man smiled at him, “Tonkatsu and rice. Leftovers from—“

“Swap with me.” Dan slid his container across the table, reaching for Doihara’s, who promptly handed it over for Dan’s poorly-heated noodles.

Doihara chuckled deep in his chest and stirred them up with chopsticks, looking in the cabinets for the hot sauce and pepper flakes he kept around. “I do prefer this...”

“See? I know you,” Dan said, mouth full of rice already.

The older man sighed, “You know we have to talk about the incident with your boy and mine, right?”

“No, we don’t.” Dan reached to replace his earbud, but Doihara kept talking, only louder.

“I know how you feel. It’s just the rules,” he started gently, pleading a bit with the young hero, “It’s.. they’re in place so this doesn’t happen all of the time. To a distracting level, I assume.”

“And why can’t it happen all the time? This is a safe environment and they’re teenagers. This is the one place my student should be allowed to explore his poor little idiot puberty brain,” Dan snapped, swallowing a mouthful of rice.

“I know this hits home—“

“You’re damn right it does. I thought the council was more accepting and about fostering good mental health. Punishing students for being together on their downtime is cruel. We’ll hurt them more if we write them up and embarrass them, Taiga!” Dan’s brow furrowed In concern. “Besides, you know they care a hell of a lot more just because they’re...”

Doihara didn’t enjoy seeing him that way, sitting down by him. “... I know. I agree, I’m sorry.”

He ran a hand through his hair before continuing, sighing, “Okay. As educators and people who know our classes, we should go to the council and present a rule change like last time with the curfew. You know they’re always willing to listen if it benefits students.”

Dan pursed his lips, looking tired. He sighed, “Fine. I’ll find some studies on teenage sexual development and present some facts about their small little brains. You come in on the emotional side about how exploring relationships will benefit them— especially in an environment where they’re safe. Got it?”

“... thanks,” he added, quietly. “I think this rule is just outdated. I’m sure they get around it anyway/- but they shouldn’t feel like it’s wrong. Students like those boys are especially vulnerable. It kills me to say no. I can’t tell them to stop unless they’re directly disrupting a class by sucking face.”

Doihara pat Dan on the shoulder, “Remember what I told you three years ago. One day at a time, kid. We’ll fix it.”

——-

Dan logged onto the hero chat, twenty-five years old and feeling empty. His home in Germany felt bland and foreign. Protecting people felt like a chore, as much as it hurt to admit. He found some forums about hero mental health and support and thought he’d give them a try while he rotted in his room, losing all interest for hobbies and responsibilities.

‘I’m not feeling myself anymore,’ he wrote in his post, ‘This town feels so small. The people don’t feel like my people. I feel like a bad hero for no longer enjoying anything. I feel like a bad man sometimes.’

Expressing his feelings was hard, so he kept it short. He got a couple of replies, but they were fairly typical, ‘a hero’s duty is beyond himself!’, being particularly unhelpful. He checked one more time before going to bed and found he had a private message, however.

“Hello! This is Taiga from Japan. I’m a retired hero and I like looking at the forums so I can give advice. Your message resonated with me because it sounded like you were tired. There��s nothing like being worn out mentally.’

Dan frowned. Sales pitch? More fake positive garbage?

‘You might need therapy. You might need to talk to people more or find a new purpose. Maybe you need to move. It’s hard to tell without knowing you. I’d like to hear what you used to enjoy before you got into this slump.’

Dan leant forward and sent a message, telling this Taiga guy about playing music and enjoying a good dive bar. They exchanged messages for the evening, making friends instead of focusing on Dan’s mental state and pouring over ‘solutions.’

They chatted back and forth for weeks. Eventually Dan proposed a video call to make things easier, and curious about his quiet older friend and his apparently cozy life. Taiga wasn’t emotionally compromised, but he did seem lonely. He’d admitted to Dan that he lived alone most of his life, and he was in his late forties.

When he came up on the video chat crisp and clear and with a charming mop of tan hair, Dan briefly froze. Taiga looked fascinated by his severe appearance, wanting a good look at his hair and piercings before they spoke about much. It was nice to talk freely instead of type. It became their primary method of communication.

Dan had to get up and look clean to talk to Taiga. It was enough motivation for the time, having a friend to not disappoint. But he found himself wanting to see him in person— quite bad, actually. He couldn’t seem to get it out of his head.

He started taking Japanese lessons and researching the hero scene there. How easy was it to transfer a license? Would he even be accepted? He hadn’t even told Taiga he wanted to meet him, let alone permanently move countries. Dan still didn’t feel like his home was home anymore. But that was okay for once because home was radiating like a beacon from elsewhere.

A day came where he cheerfully answered ‘Moshi moshi’ when Taiga called him, making the older man laugh at his accent.

“Softer, remember? I know Germans yell everything, but you’re headed to a polite country.” Dan could practically hear him winking.

“Hmph. What if I do all of this and you don’t even like me very much, Taiga? Like.. what if I’m a nightmare to live with?”

It was uncharacteristic of Dan to sound anything but flat or mildly annoyed. Taiga furrowed his brow and brought the phone closer to his lips as he spoke softly.

“Danny. I wouldn’t help arrange all of this if I wasn’t sure. We’re together an awful lot. Even if it’s not in person. I know you’re not a slob. I know you’re not aggressive.” He grinned to himself and sighed, continuing, “I know we love each other. Isn’t that enough to try, anyway?”

Taiga’s words made Dan feel guilty, but excited, his long legs weak. Neither of them had ever experienced much romance or courtship, Taiga especially so. He turned red in the airport, hiding his face as he sat on a bench to wait. “Yeah. I want to go, either way. You sure your place is big enough?”

Taiga snorted, “Of course. But Asuka takes up all the room she wants. It’s really on her terms..” He cast a glance to his sleepy Pomeranian. “Listen, Danny. I’ll see you soon. I’ll be there to pick you up. I won’t leave you in a foreign country to wander aimlessly. Even if it doesn’t work out.”

Dan had many things to say, but was too embarrassed to say any of them. He grunted, then curled into himself on the bench, cupping the mouthpiece of the phone to whisper, “You better kiss me like you promised.”

After some flirtatious chatter, they hung up and Dan slumped back on the bench with a deep sigh. He was unsure of many things. But was certain he wanted to be in Japan. He could no longer sleep in his own apartment without feeling like the bed was too empty. He couldn’t live without the patter of tiny dog feet and the smell of whatever tea Taiga seemed to always have at his side.

What would people think of them? That scared him the most. He didn’t want to embarrass the former hero and stain his reputation with some sort of scandal— but the other man seemed unconcerned. ‘One day at a time,’ he’d said. ‘We’ll figure it out one day at a time.’

#art #ocs #hero oc #bnha #saiseiacademy #dan #doihara

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frywen-babbles · 5 years

Text

Sounds of Silence pt8

A/N: TW: Mentions of past abuse

***

"Of course you don't!" he immediately denied her outrageous claim, baffled she would even suggest such a thing.

Was she insane?

"You don't get it, do you? He will win. He always wins!" Her words were accompanied by a desperate cry that shot Mitsunari straight through the heart. He saw the desperation behind her eyes, the terror, the feeling of being cornered without a way out.

"There is always another way. We just have to find it."

"You googled him, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"You know he's a cop."

"Yes."

"Then you know I have no other choice."

"There's always a choice!"

"Like what?!" Now her eyes turned from fright to anger, the sneer in her face mocking his suggestion. "Going to the police? They would never believe me."

"Of course they would."

"Are you really that stupid and naive? You really think the police can always be trusted?!"

He really wanted to say yes. That she was wrong, that going to the police would be the right option. But he knew saying that would really be stupid and naive. His fingernails dug into his palms and he had to force his hands to relax.

She sank back to the couch and he followed looking at her helplessly. He reached for his tea to get his hands something to do and she did the same, sipping at her tea seemingly unaware of it's taste. Not that he could taste anything either, it could have very well been warm dishwater in his teacup. He tried to come up with something, anything to say. Anything to convince her from returning to him.

"That first time... why did you come to me?"

She blinked in surprise to his question but stayed silent as if searching for words. "I... I thought... I thought..." She fell silent averting her eyes. "I thought... I didn't know where else to go."

She stared at her teacup stirring the tea over and over again before she seemed to find her resolve.

"That was the first time I thought he would kill me."

'The first time'. Did that mean there had also been a second? A third? He felt absolutely appalled, disgusted at even the idea someone might have to be scared for their life in their own home.

And especially because it was her.

How scared must she have been to take the leap to meet with a complete stranger hoping they would help her when the person she should have been able to trust the most had betrayed her trust in one of the worst ways possible.

"I feel so stupid now. I should have seen it coming after everything... But I thought... I thought I still loved him despite everything. And I thought he loved me. That maybe after he calmed down everything would be fine again..." She fell silent and he hoped, not for the first time, he'd be as good with comfort and words as Hideyoshi. But he wasn't. All he could offer were bland flat words he was sure she wouldn't want to hear.

He touched her arm gently to get her attention before he pulled her into a hug. She was stiff in his arms for the tiniest moment before she relaxed and clung to his clothes. He stroked her hair in what he hoped was a soothing way and he felt how she trembled in his arms.

She took a shaky breath. Then another one. Small sniffles turned into bigger ones, her tears wetting his shirt but he didn't mind.

It was as if a dam had broken inside of her.

She cried and cried and cried, her cries turning into wails, her face buried in his chest and he didn't dare to let go of her. He stroked her hair over and over again until he felt like his hand was numb, but still, he kept petting her like she was a frightened animal he needed to calm down. Little by little, her wails turned into sobs and she seemed to calm down at least a bit.

He heard the door open and saw Hideyoshi step inside. As soon as he saw them Hideyoshi gave him thumbs up and winked.

She hiccuped and sniffled, another wail shaking her and he couldn't but held her a bit tighter.

The look on Hideyoshi's face was small consolation after the "encouragement" he had tried to give them. Hideyoshi pointed at the door behind him and made a hasty escape, the door clicking closed after him.

Her cries died down a little bit at the time, but he never let her go. He held her until her breath was even and all the tension had left her body.

He tried to push her away from him, only to realise she had fallen asleep. In his arms.

A tiny bit of panic settled on his chest as he tried to figure out what to do. Should he just let her sleep? He didn't want to wake her up but this wasn't a comfortable position for either of them.

Somehow, after a lot of wiggling and careful planning, he managed to lie her down on the couch without waking her up.

When Hideyoshi returned, he glanced at her blanket-covered form on their couch before he sat across from him at their kitchen table.

"... Look, I'm sorry about earlier... I... might have misread the situation..."

"Yes."

"No need to be so hard, I'm trying to apologise here..." Hideyoshi sighed and glanced at her again. "What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"She thinks she should return to her husband."

"No." Hideyoshi snapped his answer, his lips pursing into a thin line.

"It's only matter of time before he finds her," Mitsunari voiced the thought he had been mulling over the entire evening.

"Then she should stay here. One of us will be here, Inuchiyo is next door. We can call other people to keep her company."

He looked at Hideyoshi astonished. You could just do that? You could just ask someone to move in? Not that he hadn't dreamt of the possibility of keeping a closer eye on her, but he had thought it would be out of the question for Hideyoshi.

***

She stood in their entryway with a large bag on her hands shifting her weight awkwardly from one foot to another. She placed the bag on the floor and made a deep bow.

"Thank you for having me."

"Don't worry about it! Come in." Hideyoshi beamed at her gesturing her to step inside. She took her shoes off and timidly stepped inside.

"I already put sheets ready for you under the coffee table. Sorry, we don't have a better bed than the sofa, but it's very comfy." Hideyoshi pointed at the sheets sitting on the lower level of the coffee table out of the way and she offered him a nod as a response. "We... um... we try to keep things tidy, but don't worry too much about it, okay?"

"Not we, you." Mitsunari said, "I'm capable of putting things back in place unlike *certain people*."

"Hey, I'm the one who has to share the apartment with a neat freak."

It felt almost as if they had been living with a ghost. A very tidy ghost, but a ghost none the less. She was quiet, eerily so, in everything she did. Anything out of place got put away faster than ever, there were never any dirty dishes on the sink, no stains on any of the surfaces. She never went to bed before both of them had retired to their rooms and when they woke up in the morning she had already folded her sheets neatly under the coffee table, breakfast ready and waiting for them.

All of it made Mitsunari so uncomfortable. But he had no idea what he should say or if he should say anything at all. He held his tongue even when he noticed she had started to clean his room, his books and papers in even straighter and sharper piles than they had been before. Even his clothes appeared in his closet clean and every single piece sharply ironed and folded.

She had been living with them for almost three weeks before Hideyoshi lost it.

"Okay, that's it! Things can't continue like this!" he announced as soon as he got his dinner plate in front of him. She looked at Hideyoshi her eyes wide before she quickly glanced at Mitsunari and back at Hideyoshi.

She looked frightened. Ready to flee at the slightest hint and Mitsunari wanted to do nothing more than to take her in his arms and assure her everything was alright. But the polite smile never left her lips.

"...sorry..." she mumbled quietly.

"Oh, no. No, no, no!" Hideyoshi waved his hands in front of him in denial, "You haven't done anything wrong! Sit down, please?" he pointed at the chair next to him and she sat timidly at the edge of it.

"You're not supposed to serve us. All of us live together, for now, so it's only fair we share all of the chores, okay?" Hideyoshi said, looking at Mitsunari for backup. She turned her eyes on him as well and he nodded.

"I... did wrong?" she asked him searching his face but for what he didn't know.

He was sure his heart would break. How did she not realise what Hideyoshi was trying to say? How did she not realise she didn't need to do all the chores by herself?

"You did nothing wrong. But we have to share the chores. I'll make a chart."

"A chart. And I only do the chores I have on my list? I'm not allowed to help?"

"No. You do only the ones on your list."

"...okay." she agreed, even though Mitsunari could see she didn't understand.

***

The doorbell rang just as he was concentrated on studying. He sighed and ignored it, deciding it was somebody else's problem. Only after he heard banging on the door, he realised Hideyoshi usually studied with headphones on.

He hurried to the door and barely managed to unlock it when it was yanked open and two men swarmed inside.

"Heey!" the first one greeted with a wide smile on his face as he was already kicking his shoes off.

"Who invited you?" Mitsunari snarled as he was pushed aside.

"Don't be a sourpuss, we came to hang. Where's Hideyoshi?"

"What's the noise?" he heard Hideyoshi ask.

"Some uninvited mongrels, who don't know when they're not welcome," Mitsunari responded sourly.

"Oh, Tora? Ichimatsu?" Hideyoshi asked as he emerged to meet them. She peeked her head behind Hideyoshi's back, and Kiyomasa immediately caught sight of her.

"Oh, hello! Is this the girl you've talked to us about, Hideyoshi?"

"Err... No... not exactly. This is..." Hideyoshi stumbled over his words as she slipped half a step behind Mitsunari and touched his arm to get his attention. "Mitsunari's friend. She's staying with us."

"Oh, yeah. You did mention something about this not being a good time to visit. Well, thanks for having us!" Kiyomasa stepped inside and slumped on the sofa.

She offered Masanori a quiet bow which he returned before he followed Kiyomasa and Hideyoshi to the living room.

"Friends of Hi-de-yo-shi. Or more like nuisances. You don't have to worry about them, just tell them to leave when you want to go to bed." Mitsunari retreated back to his room and was about to close the door when she tapped his arm. "I need to study more for tomorrow, sorry," he apologised. She pulled her hand back and smiled.

"Sorry for troubling you."

Some hours later, Mitsunari was heading out of his room, when quiet voices just outside stopped him on his track.

"-but she's just... creepy. No one is that polite."

"You're being rude..."

"There's polite and then there's... whatever that is. Don't you feel creeped out to be served like that?"

"...mmmh..."

"Like I get offering tea or something but she kept hovering over our shoulders the whole time. And- wait, what's that noise?"

Mitsunari heard it too, a quiet buzz, like an alarm. When he opened his door to investigate, he saw the three men standing awkwardly in the kitchen. When he reached them, he saw her sitting on the floor, eyes closed. Her phone had rolled out of her hand when she had fallen asleep and it was now buzzing next to her.

He glanced around the previously clean kitchen, at the pile of dishes in the sink, at the empty packages of snacks.

He should have realised.

She wouldn't tell Hideyoshi's friends to leave. She had probably been the perfect housewife to her husband, serving his guests whenever they arrived, being a pretty accessory in parties. And now she was repeating that in here.

His hands clenched into fists, but he forced them to relax. He kneeled next to her, trying to school his face to a more neutral expression.

He shook her shoulder and she slowly opened her eyes, blinking a couple of times to get him into focus. Then her eyes darted behind him and she scampered to her feet and bowed.

"I am so terribly sorry!"

At that moment, Mitsunari realised what Kiyomasa and Masanori had meant. Her demeanour, her speech patterns were nothing like when you talk to your friends. She was being extra polite, like a server in a restaurant.

Mitsunari tapped her shoulder again to get her attention.

"Go take a shower, I'll clean up things in here."

"But the..." she tried, but Mitsunari shook his head.

"You're tired, go take a shower and go to sleep in my room."

"...Okay..." she relented and slipped between the men to the bathroom. As soon as Mitsunari heard the bathroom lock klick he directed a glare at their guests, who had the decency to look ashamed, and turned to clean the kitchen.

The rice cooker was on so he turned it off and looked inside at what she had been making. Inside he found a perfectly cooked cake, ready to be eaten after cooling down.

"She fed you every single snack in the house and even made you gluttons a cake and you have the audacity to insult her?!" He glared at the three men in the kitchen but didn't receive an answer. Not that he had been expecting one either. They cleaned the kitchen in silence while she showered and slipped into his room.

Kiyomasa and Masanori left sheepishly as soon as they had cleaned. Hideyoshi tried to apologise on their behalf, but Mitsunari waved him quiet and stepped into his room to get a change of clothes.

She was already fast asleep and Mitsunari couldn't help but marvel at her face. She looked calm and peaceful, her lips slightly parted. He wanted to kiss those lips, hear the small gasp she would make as she'd wake up to the kiss-

Mitsunari stopped himself horrified, his hand merely few centimetres away from her still damp hair. He escaped to the livingroom burying himself under their spare blanket.

She was his friend! He had no right to have those kinds of thoughts about her.

He really was the worst.

***

@honeybeelily @you-mass-effect-my-dragon-age @han-pan @masamunesmistress @dreamfar628

#slbp #slbp fanfic #Ishida Mitsunari #toyotomi hideyoshi #kato kiyomasa #fukushima masanori #frywen writes #sounds of silence fic

31 notes · View notes

frcscrs · 4 years

Photo

“Don’t you wish to be great?” Her words ring in his ears, fingers twirling through his hair. His head rests gently on her chest, fingers dancing along the flesh of her waist. He can hear her heartbeat. But her words seem to pull him out of the sweet comfort of her skin.

“Your highness.” There’s a stiff tone. Fraser’s more appropriate attire had collars that were much too tight on him. He sat far too straight. Paying attention to political agendas was always a drab. He was close to taking a nap. Or maybe… he already had. “This conversation isn’t optional, Your Highness.”

“It’s far from riveting.” Fraser rolls his eyes. His fingers are dancing along the table and he’s waiting for when he can be dismissed.

“You don’t quite seem to care about the future of your people.” One of his father’s counselors was preparing him for a summit. One he had profusely tried to back out from.

“We’re not in the sixteenth century anymore, Martin, my people will be fine whether I do this or not.” He waves his hand. “Father hardly lifts a finger and the economy prospers. I just have to do the same.”

“That’s not true.” Martin huffs, closing his laptop and adjusting his glasses. “The king does many things to make sure the country prospers the way it has for so long.”

“Well, it’s hard to notice.”

“That’s the point, Your Highness.”

Fraser grunts, standing from his chair. “Well, Martin, I don’t have plans to be like my father. If I am to rule, I will just follow my gut.”

“Fraser.” Martin slams a hand against the table, causing Fraser to jump.

Martin, unlike Fraser’s parents, has been teaching him since he was old enough to process what international affairs meant. Martin has been holding his hand, guiding him through every choice, and picking up after every mess he made. When Fraser becomes king, he knew Martin would be right there, picking up after him again. Unlike his father, Martin provided support.

The two stared at each other for a moment. Fraser, down at Martin, and Martin up at him. “We might not be in the dark ages, but you will see, if you chose to be king this way, your life, and the lives of your people, will change dramatically.”

“That’s what you’re here for, Martin. To make sure I don’t fuck it up too bad.” He sighs.

“Your highness,” he sighs. “If I may speak candidly.”

Fraser rolls his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Even if I said no, you would do so anyways.”

Martin clears his throat, folding his hands on the table. “Sir, if you were to become king, even if I fed you everything you needed to know, and every choice you were to make, I have a great deal of confidence you will still find a way to make the country plummet.”

There’s a pause in the air. These were words that Fraser would suspect to hear from his parents. His father was constantly telling him he was going to be the downfall of the country when he took the crown. His mother said that he wasn’t born with a king’s heart. Whatever the fuck that meant. But Martin, no matter how difficult Fraser was, he would always try to encourage him. Martin was the man in his corner. The one who would nag and nag until he found some semblance of hope in Fraser. And to Fraser, that gave him a bit of hope too.

“You have to make a change, Fraser.” He says, but Fraser’s hardly listening.

He knew people didn’t believe in him. There was no reason to considering all the partying, the sex, the alcohol. He didn’t really act like a king, he didn’t take on the persona of one. But this was his life. This was everything he knew. Martin was supposed to help him get there.

“Alright.” Was all Fraser could reply with. He didn’t respond otherwise. He nodded, turning around, and moving back towards the room.

“Fraser,” Martin called out to him, but he hadn’t stopped.

It shouldn’t hit him so hard. He knew this wasn’t a job he was suited for, so why did it matter what Martin said? He wasn’t meant to be king, he was meant to be some American socialite with far too much money and time. He didn’t do these tight collars and formal postures. Kissing asses he didn’t respect, hoping to court women who would empower his country and were far too bland for him. This wasn’t his world. He knew that. He’s known it for a long time. But from Martin… something in it crushed him.

He couldn’t make it back to his chambers. His chest grew tight and his breathes were begin to grow a bit shallow. He knew his mother would hate to find him like this, but he was having a hard time keeping his vision straight, so he found a seat at the nearest staircase.

/-/

“Fraser McCormack, Crown Prince of Scotland.” The announcer had said, and Fraser stood, undecorated like his father, but still in the princely attire. His siblings were sat on the sidelines with their mother, who watched proudly as the two of them faced the room.

“Your Majesty.” One of the men stepped forward. He bowed, and Fraser saw his father nod from the corner of his eye. It didn’t matter what he said, Fraser was already not listening. He was much too focused on the scratchy feeling against his neck. Then he couldn’t wait until he found something more exciting to do.

The man in question, who was talking about something, most likely regarding a proposal, then brought forth a woman. Tall, with dark hair. She glowed and radiated a beam of light. Fraser remembered her. Hard to forget what he face looked like when it was pressed against his pillow. Or what he skin felt like when he pressed a fine line of powder on her ass. He smirked, and she did the same.

His father was keen on this, as he had to be by now. Seeing Fraser eye up the young woman, he groaned. “Excuse me, Sir Gerald.” He raised his hand, leaning to Fraser. “You didn’t do anything regrettable with this family did you.”

Fraser looked around for a moment, searching for the right response. “I did coke off her ass and then fucked her raw. But both parties enjoyed it, so I don’t think it was regrettable. By the way she’s looking, seems she’d like to go again.”

His father groans, and maybe, if they were in private, and Fraser wasn’t wearing the crown, his father would smack the back of his head. But he had the nature of the situation on his side, and his father kept his arms to himself. “My apologies, Sir Gerald, it seems my son has made a mistake, which he will now apologize for before we continue forth.”

“What am I, four?” He shrugs.

“You will apologize.”

“No I will not. She was screaming my name all night. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He looks back to Sir Gerald. “Which, if I may add sir, your family’s supplier for cocaine is magnificent, and I’d love to know where you get it.”

There’s shock across the room. He looks to see his mother covering the youngest’s ears. In response, Fraser stands, giving a polite nod, and a wink to the young woman.

“This can’t possibly be the future king, Your Majesty.” Sir Gerald gawks.

His father scowls, but Fraser’s back is turned as he walks out of the room, and back to his chambers.

/-/

“You seem solemn.” There’s a soft voice, and Fraser turns his head to see a dazzling woman saunter towards him. “Care for a cigarette?” She offers, and he happily takes what is offered. “I’ve heard much about the Crown Prince of Scotland. You are quite the legend.”

“Ah, good legends I hope.” He grins.

“Depends on who’s telling.” She shrugs. “So what is such a legendary prince doing out here?”

“I hate these gatherings.” He might be dressed as the crown prince, and he might typically try to find the party somewhere, or make one happen. His parents, however, had a tight leash on this ball, and was only meant for political gain. In every conversation, there were words said he couldn’t follow. Topics he absolutely couldn’t understand. Everyone asked him for his goals when becoming king. They all said something like, ‘Of course you respect your father, but what would you change in our reign?’ all he could say was he didn’t know, and walk away before they could try and find it in him themselves.

His neck was getting scratchy and he kept feeling like his chest was a bit heavy. His mother said he was just whining. She always thought he was whining when his chest grew tight. He started to believe it too. That that just came with the territory.

“Things were getting a bit dizzy so I needed fresh air.”

“That’s no good.” She comments.

“I’m fine.” He takes a drag of the cigarette. “But either I’ll remain here all night, or find a way to leave.” He looks over to his now companion. “Maybe we should find a way together.”

“Very flattering, but I prefer to watch the wreck from afar.” She smiles. The tone is kind but he can feel the twinge from the words said. “No one likes these parties, You Highness, but some of us are more equipped to get over it.” She shrugs, flicking off the ash from her cigarette. “Some just get eaten up by it. Or maybe some were so far from it, they hardly even touched it.” She looked back to the party. “I’m interested to follow your story, Fraser. Every country needs a reminder that they aren’t perfect. I have a feeling that’s your legacy.” She smiles, taking a long drag before flicking her cigarette off the ledge. “Have a lovely evening.”

Cigarette alone, the feeling in his chest spread, and he had to lean against the railing of the balcony to keep himself upright, otherwise he was confident he’d fall.

/-/

“Some of us aren’t meant to be great.” He mutters, his thumb drawing small patterns into her stomach. Her skin was damp now. If he lifted his cheek he knew he’d stick due to the thin sheen of sweat.

“We are the monarchy, we’re born to be great.” He chuckles, raking her fingers through her hair and tugging playfully. “That includes you.”

He hums, pressing his lips together. It’s been a long time since someone said that, and it’s been an even longer time since he’s believed something like that. He wants to forget it. He hates that he has to be compared, the be thought of as something other than who he is. Even in bed, after reaching orgasmic bliss, he’s being asked to testify for himself.

No longer king, no longer with promise, and he’s still held to something. Someone still thinks he’s meant to bring promise to this world and it’s making his chest grow tight and he has to shut his eyes to keep his mind from growing far too fuzzy.

“I don’t want to be something great.” He says, his voice a bit firmer than it should be for pillow talk. “I want to be me. I don’t care if I’m laying on my deathbed, and I’ve amounted to nothing other than being the man people have laughed at for decades. At least I will know I’ve never compromised myself for another person. I will have only lived for me. My choices, no matter good or bad, will have never been influenced. Everyone will have been right about me but it never mattered. At least my life wasn’t a waste to me.”

#✶ — › 𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖘𝖊𝖗 — ⌜ self para ⌟#20.#//#i'm :[

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hellofellowweirdos · 5 years

Text

Chapter Two

Ava is taken aback by the greeting, Tony can tell: her eyebrows furrow together in confusion; and Tony retracts his hand awkwardly.

“Err… I’m Tony, Tony Stark - but you know that of course.” As soon as he says it he immediately regrets it; mentally slapping himself: he sounds so arrogant. This is not a good first impression. So much for your advice Cap, he thinks - although he knows he doesn’t actually appear calm, but he’s trying - it’ll go smoothly my ass!

Ava soon recovers from the unusual greeting and plasters a nervous smile on her face to match his own.

“Ava,” she introduces herself. They fall into awkward silence. Tony looks down at his feet and takes a calming breath.

“Well, welcome home,” he exclaims - throwing his arms out wide as if showing off the place, “Would you like a tour? It’s a big place: don’t want you getting lost.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to just go to my room and unpack: it’s been a long day,” she says politely. Tony can not only sympathise with this, he also feels relieved; and works hard to make sure his relief doesn’t show in his expression: he doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

“Sure. Let me get that for you.” Tony discards the packet of blueberries on the coffee table and moves to take her suitcase from her, “I’ll show you to your room.”

Tony leads her up the stairs and Ava follows behind, remaining silent. The silence is deafening to Tony - the Avengers are a loud bunch. He’s never realised just how much he’s become used to the constant noise; only now, in its absence, does he begin to miss it. Tony was never one for awkward silences but it doesn’t seem appropriate to make a joke at the moment like he normally would, so he powers through it.

When they arrive outside of Ava’s new room Tony opens the door, allowing Ava to enter before him. He sets her suitcase down beside her bed and glances around the room, making sure everything is in order.

“You can decorate how you like,” he tells her, grimacing at how bland the room is. Still, Ava looks around the room with curiosity and maybe a hint of awe - he can’t really tell. In order to avoid another awkward silence Tony excuses himself quickly.

“Dinner will be around 8 so you can meet everyone then. Or before, whichever you prefer. Feel free to wander; get used to the place… I’ll leave you to unpack.”

~ ~ ~ ~

With a gentle click, the door closes behind Tony; Ava heaves out a sigh. This is no longer some future event that she was told may happen anymore: this is happening now. This is real.

Ava decides not to dwell on the subject, for fear of breaking down, so she occupies her mind by unpacking. She drags her suitcase onto the bed and unzips it, the contents spilling over the edges. Pulling out an armful of clothing, she opens the door which she assumes hides a closet behind. At the sight of what lays behind the door her mouth drops open in shock. It’s not like she’s never seen a walk-in closet before - she’s had one herself - but she’s never seen one of this size. By what she can tell, the closet is almost as big as the room itself. She glances at the pile of clothes in her arms, and then at what’s left in her suitcase. I’m never gonna fill that, she thinks - she wouldn’t even fill a quarter of it.

After all of her clothes are hung up in the closet (only filling a corner of its extensive space) Ava starts unpacking the remainder of her things: a couple of her favourite books, school textbooks, and a few keepsakes that her mom brought home from her missions abroad.

Finally Ava pulls the last item from her case, the last keepsake. Tears begin to spill from her eyes as she holds the angel wings in the palm of her hand.

In a fit of rage she launches the necklace across the room, not caring where it lands, then aggressively shoving her suitcase from the bed.

She quickly calms down and she regrets throwing the necklace now. In a panic she searches for the jewellery - looking on, under and behind the desk. Her state of panic increases when she doesn’t find it.

Eventually, however, she finds it hooked onto the bulb inside of the lampshade; she sighs in relief, reaching in to retrieve it. For a moment, she stares at the silver wings as hot tears once again form in her eyes. She can’t bare to look at it anymore: she shoves it into the draw of the nightstand; closing it with a loud slam.

She breaks down in tears.

~ ~ ~ ~

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, call the Avengers to the kitchen,” Tony orders as he runs down the stairs.

“They’re on their way.” Tony thanks the AI; checking the time on his phone, 7:41. He doesn’t have a lot of time.

Once he reaches the kitchen he finds the rest of the Avengers already waiting for him. He falters in the entrance as all eyes turn to him; waiting for a run down of what happened.

“How’d it go?” Sam prompts after Tony doesn’t say anything. All of them are intrigued, and Tony knows he’s going to have to tell them all how it went before he gets to the problem at hand. Sighing, he collects his thoughts.

“Well, I royally fucked up the greeting,” he admits loudly; shaking his head at the memory. Tony knows all too well that when he tells them he’ll never be able to live it down: they’ll torture him with it for as long as he lives (he wouldn't be surprised if they brought it up at his funeral).

He explains what happened and their immediate reactions are to burst out in laughter.

“You sure know how to make an impression,” Natasha chuckles.

“You can laugh all you want but we’ve got a problem,” Tony says. The Avengers laughter dies down as he says this: ready to suit up for a mission. Tony resists the urge to mess with them - make it out as though the problem at hand needs superheroes.

“I told her that dinner is at 8 and everyone would be there,” he reveals, watching their expressions relax.

“We never eat all together,” Rhodey points out the obvious and Tony sighs, exasperated.

“That’s exactly my point.” He turns to Steve for help.

“You’re right. She just lost her mother: she deserves some normalcy back in her life,” Steve helps explain, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Tony’s glad that he’s taking charge - although he’ll never admit it - because he’d never be able to do this without his help.

“This isn’t exactly normal, we’re not normal,” Wanda speaks up for the first time - showcasing her powers to prove her point. Tony lets out yet another sigh and checks the time. Why did he ever think this would work?

“It doesn’t matter. We’re her family now - and yes, we are a family. It may not seem like it, but we are. We all take care of each other,” Steve clarifies. What an inspiring pep talk that was, Tony thinks - half sarcastic, half grateful. Everyone nods in agreement.

“Thank you for that wonderful speech Mr United States, but we have ten minutes to get dinner ready,” Tony announces, “Any ideas?”

“I can make a mean beef stroganoff,” Natasha offers - looking to Tony for approval.

“Great, I’ll help.” Natasha raises her eyebrow at Tony’s offer; Tony mimics her.

“What?”

~ ~ ~ ~

“Are you alright?” The sudden voice causes Ava to jump, not having heard the door open - although she was sobbing loud enough to drown out the sound. She turns to face the owner of the voice and is surprised by what she sees - her best guess is that he isn’t human.

“Yeah, I was just… my eyes were sweating,” she lamely jokes as she wipes her eyes with a tissue, from the packet Happy gave her earlier.

“Oh, my apologies: I wasn’t aware humans could do that. I’m Vision.” Ava tilts her head; a hint of a smile making its way onto her lips.

“Ava. That was a joke, by the way. We can’t really do that,” she clarifies for him, a barely audible chuckle escaping her lips.

“Thank you for clarifying. Is there anything that I can do to make you feel better?” He asks sympathetically; Ava is already starting to like him.

“You’ve already done just that, I feel much better,” she assures, and Vision seems quite pleased - however perplexed - with her answer. Ava already knows what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth.

“You were just yourself,” she shrugs. From this conversation, she’s come to the conclusion that he’s most likely from another planet - after all, aliens have been known to exist since that fiasco in New York a few years ago.

“You’re welcome?” Vision replies, sounding more like a question: unsure as whether it’s the right thing to say. Ava nods in encouragement.

~ ~ ~ ~

Twenty minutes later Tony sets foot in the kitchen to the wonderful smell of Natasha’s beef stroganoff. He has to admit, it smells delightful. Natasha glances up, from dishing up seven servings, and sends Tony a raised eyebrow.

“Come to help again? Since you were so helpful earlier,” she taunts, putting the empty pot into the dishwasher. Even though Tony enjoys cooking, he isn't very good at it and prefers to eat out or order in a takeaway. But he loves a home cooked meal whenever he can. He makes a mental note to start cooking more often.

“Hey, I was fantastic at pealing those potatoes,” he defends, sneaking a taste while her back is turned.

“Hands off!” Tony jumps back and attempts to protest, “Don’t try that, I know what you were doing.”

“How did you…” he trails off, watching her carefully. She doesn’t reply; sending him a smirk before turning away to take a couple of plates into the dining room. Tony takes two plates and follows behind her.

Once the table is set, Tony orders F.R.I.D.A.Y to call everyone down for dinner and it doesn’t take long for the Avengers to come barreling into the room - all starving for their first taste of Natasha’s cooking. Tony takes - what he believes is - his rightful place at the head of the table; the Avengers all taking their seats as well, leaving a space for Ava beside Tony.

Ava is the last to appear. She stops short at the door as she sees everyone waiting for her. Since he doesn’t notice any sign of her moving, still stood in shock, fear, or maybe awe - he can’t tell - Tony invites her to sit beside him.

“Ava, this is Steve, Natasha, Wanda, Sam and Rhodey,” Tony introduces her to everyone; each of them sending her a smile or a small wave when their names are spoken.

“Nice to meet you all,” she says rather confidently, which surprises Tony: she seemed terribly shy when they first met (although that might have something to do with the fact that she was meeting her father for the first time in 15 years, Tony still can’t believe that he’s a father).

He motions for everyone to tuck in.

“Where’s the android?” Sam asks.

“He doesn’t eat,” Tony says as an explanation; and noticing Ava’s confusion, he explains, “Purple guy, not a big fan of doors, goes by the name Vision. You’ll meet him at some point today.” He knows his description is extremely vague however, despite this, Ava still seems to know who he’s talking about.

“She’s already met him,” Wanda announces, no doubt reading her mind - which prompts Tony to send her a warning look. They are trying to be normal for once in their lives by having a meal together and reading his daughter’s mind upon their first meeting isn’t exactly normal. Tony doesn’t want Ava to freak out and never want to talk to any of them ever again after only having known them for not even a whole day. Oh god.

“You’re overreacting,” Wanda states, looking right at Tony, and before he can speak Wanda explains for Ava, “I can read minds.” Tony resits the urge to face-palm. Why did Steve convince him that this could be a normal meal?

“That’s awesome!” Ava reacts, genuinely amazed, “Ok, what number am I thinking of?” Tony chuckles shaking his head fondly: it’s exactly what he would do. Apparently, Rhodey also notices this because he says quietly to Tony, “She’s your daughter alright.” Tony’s immediate reaction is to smile proudly - a reaction that surprises himself.

“73,” Wanda answers almost immediately; Ava’s eyes light up with astonishment.

“That could've been a lucky guess,” Ava jokes, “what colour am I thinking of?” Everyone chuckles, expectantly waiting on Wanda’s answer.

“Turquoise.” Ava is now truly astounded. Tony realises that normal isn’t what she needs: Steve was right about her needing a family but it doesn’t matter whether they're normal or not. Normal’s boring anyway.

“You know, I have a beautiful turquoise dress, with black lace on the top, that would look gorgeous on you,” Natasha offers, attempting to bond with the teen; and Tony realises he hasn’t said a word to her since the beginning of the meal. As Nat and Ava talk Tony looks to the others for help, struggling for a conversation topic. Steve decides to launch right into conversation.

“So Ava, how’re you liking the place so far? From what you've seen of it of course.” Tony’s confused as to how this helps him.

“It’s big, different to what I’m used to. I mean, the short time that I was staying at S.H.I.E.L.D I only had a small room - probably the size of the elevator here - and about ten of us shared a bathroom and living space. If you spent longer than five minutes in the bathroom you’d have a group of angry kids banging on the door, especially in the morning,” Ava chuckles, easily falling into the conversation, “This place isn’t what I expected it to be inside though.”

“What were you expecting?” Tony asks almost nervously.

“I was expecting it to be a lot like the S.H.I.E.L.D facilities, only bigger. Much like a military base for the Avengers. I didn’t expect a beautiful penthouse,” she explains, gesturing around with her hands. Tony lets out a sigh of relief.

“Your dad designed this place, the whole building,” Rhodey talks him up; the name seems weird being spoken to Tony, especially when it means himself.

“Yeah. I had to redesign it twice. Something always happens to destroy part of my building. I wonder why.” He looks around at all of the Avengers with a humorous smirk on his face. Ava laughs.

“I saw it being destroyed a few years ago on the news, back when it was called Stark Tower.” Tony remembers that all too well; and the gruelling process of redesigning the place was a nightmare.

“Now that was a pain in the ass to design,” he complains lightheartedly; explaining all of the problems he came across in exaggerated detail for Ava. She listens intently, seeming genuinely interested.

“In other words it’s because he had to account for us,” Steve summarises with a smirk.

“Exactly. You’re tough to please,” Tony replies with absolutely no remorse; Ava lets out a hearty laugh.

Tony could get used to this, this family thing: it’s not half bad.

#marvel fic #mcu #peter parker fic #dad!tony #marvel #love #fanfiction #spider-man fic #civil war #family

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ephrampettaline · 5 years

Text

.. chatzy transcript with @cassiegermaine

the grand lady of summerset and the lord of the honeywilds sow seeds for future fruition

House Pettaline -- when there had been a House Pettaline -- wasn't a clan given overmuch to intrigue or dramatics or even imagination. Creativity, in fact, was somewhat frowned-upon; the long line of lords of agriculture and bee-keeping believed in the value of the soil you could sift through your fingers and the sheaves of wheat you could count in your storerooms. Flights of fancy were viewed with suspicion at best and hostility at worst.

Ephram had kept his own fanciful thoughts to himself from early on. In some ways he berated himself for being a coward and not speaking up, offering his views on how Honeywild Holding could adapt to newer cultivation methods and should possibly engage in more social interaction with other Houses, thinking that perhaps he might have been able to prevent House Pettaline from dwindling away like withered corn on the stalk.

Instead of being in the position he was in now, which meant relentlessly quashing his own pride in order to reach for access to influence and power wherever he could find them.

The character of his stoic, pragmatic House still left its legacy, though -- the static tenseness of the Bluesprings Keep after the horrendous assassination of the High Raj was deeply unsettling to Ephram. He could barely sit for more than ten minutes, needing to leap up and walk and pace, and so he found himself in the lavish court gardens in an attempt to get the Rajasthangard to stop glaring at him in the castle corridors.

He wasn't alone there, however. Recognizing the elaborate glossy tresses of the Lady of Sommerset standing out dark and rich amidst the blowsy, tall white roses that grew in the salt air, Ephram made his way over to Cassandra and gave a slight bow of greeting. "You've got either very well-hidden guards protecting you," he said, "or you're well-nigh fearless, Lady Cassandra, after what we were witness to earlier." This close, she smelled of frosted gardenias, feminine and inviting, and Ephram wondered where she got the flowers. An attar, maybe, given her ties to the seafaring Princes of the Isles. She would want for nothing, regardless of seasonal availability. It was a heady thought, made more so by what Ephram could now see was a ripely swelling figure in her beautifully-made gown.

Cassie was admiring the quiet and simple beauty of the palace gardens. It was a moment of needed solace after visiting outside the walls, and so many meetings with all the other nobles that were full of fear and tenseness. She heard the crunch of his footsteps first, turning her head slightly before facing the Pettaline and watching him bow slightly before her. “Between my own guards and those provided by my brother I am well looked after, but even I need moments of peace.” She smiled softly, “Alone - I don’t see how much harm can come to me.” One of her hands brushed the delicate petals of a white rose and she asked, “Where have you been running to amidst all the chaos? I don’t think I’ve seen your face in a room for more than a few moments at a time.” She clicked her tongue, “People might start to get suspicious of you.”

Ephram gave a wry chuckle, lifting his hand to follow the trace of Cassie's on the rose, but along the underside of the petals instead. "One of the few benefits of hailing from a holding with very little claim to martial or political strength, Lady," he said, "is that we haven't got anything at all to benefit from throwing the Bluesprings back into chaos. There isn't anything nefarious or interesting to my whereabouts and gettings-up-to, I'm afraid; I've been doing my damnedest to secure assurances of non-aggression against the Honeywilds."

He looked down at her -- she wasn't a tall woman, but there was a calm regalness to her that was undeniable -- and murmured with a slow smile, "...although I admit it is a warming thought that you've noticed when my face was missing from the throng."

Cassie lips thinned at Ephram's response to her, her brow furrowing in a clear idea of opposition to his words. But she had come to the gardens to escape political games, not stir them anew. Her blue eyes flickereed up to meet his own, "Somone in my posisiton can never be too observant. Besides-" Her voice dropped into a soft whisper, "You haven't come to visit me. I suppose you've been too concerned over your wildflower patches at home. Or perhaps my little brother has become more of a handful?" Either way, the fact that she'd been ignored had clearly annoyed her.

Now that wasn't what he'd expected. Not about Prince Miguel, Ephram had no doubt that the more savvy members of the Threepenny Prince's family would know about their dalliance before the sweat had even dried.

But the fact that the Grand Lady was piqued that she hadn't appeared higher on his list of people to ingratiate himself to, that threw him. Only momentarily, though. Ephram knew what he was to these people, the elite highborn -- a diverting bit of rough, with enough title and looks of his own to mean they weren't completely lowering themselves -- and that was all he needed. Just the chance and opportunity.

"Prince Miguel is very sweet, like the honey he's named for," Ephram said diplomatically, taking note that she didn't call him brother-by-marriage or anything distancing like that. And yet she was about to cuckold her husband, brother to that little brother?

Maybe she wasn't. Maybe she only wanted Ephram to devote his time and efforts towards seducing her, to feed her own ego or boredom or nerves, before she summarily rejected him. And, well ... he could work with what he was given, whatever that would be.

"I didn't realize you'd be amenable to company, Lady Cassie." Ephram turned to face her properly, taking one of her hands -- it all but disappeared in his own -- and stroking his thumb along the inside of her wrist. Like white rose petals, there, and the butterfly beat of her pulse. "Or my visits would've been scattered in your favour." He smiled, the expression lending a genuine quality to the flattery, and let go of her hand to slide his arm around her hips and bring her close against his tall, lean body. "My wildflower patches are well worth admiration," Ephram murmured, dipping his head to trail the point of his nose against her soft, rounded cheek. "But there come times when all's I want is to sink my hands into sommat more refined, beautiful, more cultivated. More exquisite."

He kissed her, lips parted slightly to encourage Cassie to respond in kind, his other hand sliding up her side to just barely snug against her breast.

"Ah-" Cassie held up a finger when Miguel was praised, "Even the sweetest individuals can make you sick." Which was really just more of a warning. Surely the Honeywilds Lord and seen Iann and Miguel at eachother throats throughout this visit. It wasn't exactly wise to underestimate either of them. She laughed lightly, "Well I can't just declare it in front of the the whole Quiver, honestly Ephram you need to start looking at people a little deeper than that. Especially if you want to keep your wildflowers safe." Cassandra stepped closer to him, only quickly scanning the garden grounds around them. Her hand rested on top of his that found her hip and gave a small upturn pull of her lips. "Summerset is certainly more varied and worth exploration than this bland white rose explosion." Her heart raced at the brush of his lips, and at the invitation she didn't hesitate to kiss him deeper.

Ephram accepted Cassie's admonition without protest; after all, she was married into the family of the Isles. Whatever advice or information Cassie wanted to provide, he'd do well to heed. "I've got something of a sweet tooth," he admitted, before the subject of Miguel and his sugary charms was dropped entirely in favour of the circuit of intimacy that swirled between them, the bite of Cassie's words paired with the soft yield of her body setting Ephram's blood racing.

He growled into the kiss, throaty and low, and then swept his thumb over the swell of her breast, teasing until he could feel the peak of her nipple. "It helps, then," Ephram said, lifting Cassie against him so that he could kiss his way down her decolletage, fingers yanking what fabric he could out of the way, "that I've always been considered the adventurous one in my clan." Her gown was layered like a damn blossom, it seemed, and Ephram felt some gossamer cloth squeak and give way as he tore through it. With a lusty huff, he closed his lips over Cassie's nipple, sucking and kissing, giving the sweet secret flesh a nip with his teeth before kissing again.

Cassie huffed grabbing Ephram's wrist for a moment when she heard the quiet tear of her gossamer shift. But her hold dropped when his lips trailed and teased her tender nipple. Her eyelids fluttered and she glanced up to the sky for a moment before giving a heady chuckle. It was true that it felt good in certain attentions, but she didn't understand most men's obsession with ladies bossoms. Or destroying garments, for that matter. Cassie gave a little yelp at the breif sharpness of his teeth, and pressed a hand to his chest to pause him. "If you're going to be rough, you can't just defile me in the open." She rasped.

"I'll defile you somewhere else, then."

Setting her back onto her feet, Ephram latched his fingers around Cassie's and towed her through the garden, weaving in and out until they reached the potting shed. This being Bluesprings Castle, though, the 'shed' was a vast, airy room with plenty of long tables, a cistern of clear water, the fresh scent of plants and loam filling the air.

Ephram wasted no time at all in setting Cassie atop one of the tables, his strong hands rustling up her gown higher on her thighs as he bellied up between her legs and kissed her hungrily. "This is better, isn't it?" he said, starting to undo the pearl buttons of her bodice, wanting her full breasts swelling out into his hands. "The work in process, before it's put out all prettied up and polite for the rest of the world to see. In here it's still waitin' to be planted, and everything's still a little dirty." The last button came loose and he tugged aside her flimsy shift -- no ripping, this time -- to devote himself more fully to her nipples, her curving flesh.

Her breasts weren't as high and tight as a young girl's would be, something that Ephram delighted in; Cassie'd mothered a baby, and even if she'd used a wet-nurse, it still had made lush pastures of her bosom. "You're flowers in bloom all over, petal," he murmured against fragrant, silky skin, and then put one hand on the inside her her knee, under the rumpled rustle of her gown. "I want to taste those dewdrops."

Cassie hurried as she was pulled through the pathways of the garden, holding up her half loosened bodice until she and Ephram reached the lavish garden shed. Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck as Ephram hurried lifted and held her against her one of the work tables. "It is." Cassie agreed, a little more comfortable now there wasn't the risk of just anyone walking by and encountering them. It didn't matter that the Lady of Summerset could have whoevr she wanted, it'd still be considered a scandal. Her skin prickled with goosebumps as the shift was fully tugged to the side this time, and Cassie's fingers tangled in a bit of hair at the nape of Ephram's neck as she let out a shakey breath. The whispers against her skin were enough to coax a soft moan from her throat and she pressed harder against him so that the hand at her chest and snaked up her thigh rubbed just that bit rougher. "Why don't you devour it instead?"

He lifted his head at that encouragement, coupled with the movements that encouraged him to plunder instead of browse. "Surely you haven't been denying yourself all this time of a man's attentions," Ephram grunted as he dropped to one knee, big hands roughly spreading Cassie's pale thighs wide, splaying her obscenely for his view. "You couldn't talk like that, honey, and be keepin' yourself all prim folded up like a rosebud. Not when there's all this to be worshiped."

Although it would seem that the Lord of the Honeywilds believed in a rather primal form of worship, from the way the tips of his thumbs dug twinned bruises into Cassie's thighs as he pushed his face between her legs, groaning in pleasure at his first taste of her. Verdant and deep, the scent of her filled his head and he slurped at her lavishly, using the broad flat of his tongue first and then the pointed, eager tip to dart at that sensitive pearl. He sealed his lips over her clit, not content with such hummingbird sips, and sucked down on her hard, holding her open with one shoulder now so he could slide two long, thick fingers into her core.

Cassie grinned down at Eprham, the curl just a little wicked a her blue eyes glinted, "Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" She might share her body, but she'd hold onto her secrets. Her expression strained slightly as his hands strongly held her open and when Ephram's face first ventured amongst the bunches of her skirts Cassie let out a wavering sigh. Her hands moved from his neck down his back some, and the more Ephram's tongue ventured and pressed againt her, Cassie grasped and pulled at the fabric of his shirt. She was already aching deep within herself and as Ephram's ministrations intensified so did her gasps and groans.But then he sucked at her so strongly Cassie almost felt lightheaded before kicking out slightly in reflex, "Gods above-" She panted "I can hardly stand it."

"Mmmmmm." The air of triumph was evident in Ephram's bumblebee hum against her softest parts, and he let up enough to lick at her in hard darting motions of his tongue before concentrating on frigging her with his fingers. Every now and again he pressed the pad of his thumb against Cassie's slick, swelling clit, quick and hard, before pulling it away again. "You'll have to," he intoned throatily, mouth thick and lush with the nectar of her. "I don't intend to stop until I have you drenched and wailing for me, honey."

Ephram rose to his feet again, giving Cassie a fast but significant kiss as he bunched her skirts up in his fist as high as they could go. Some people didn't like to taste their own arousal; being heavily invested in keeping his lovers sweet and indulgent, Ephram didn't linger too long on sex acts that might upset the applecart. He loved the taste, personally, which had served him well in his endeavours. Sometimes these higher-up nobles didn't know just how lustful they'd get when confronted with Ephram's earthy, unrepentant, driving sort of carnality, what depraved things they'd be driven to new heights by. "You want me to fuck you now, Lady Summerset?" he grunted, dragging his scruffy face against her smooth one, gaze locked on the brightness of her eyes.

His fingers twisted inside her, thumb tapping an insistent staccato against that pretty pearl of her sex. "Tell me you want me to fuck you now. Or tell me in some gardening wordplay -- instruct me to dig deep enough to plant my seed, or beg me to plough you thoroughly, or say you're parched and need to be watered until you're running with it. You'll get whatever you want."

And hopefully, there'd be a fair bit of that manner of thinking the other way around, too, once Lady Cassie'd gotten her end in.

Cassandra wasn’t exactly used to submission, or if the situation naturally called for it, she certainly didn’t acknowledge it willingly. She was a Queen after all, and the damn Honeywild boy had all but said it himself. She was well worth more than him. But she was in a haze pinned between Ephram and the table, and when he spoke to her her mouth could only managed a moan or some unintelligible slur of words. Cassie sighed into his brief kiss, and could only manage continuous nods when Ephram prompted her. “Yes, god-“ Her breath hitched at the new movement and Cassie finally went to grab his wrist again in an encouragement to pause. Even just a moment of reprieve would be enough, her skin had already begin to redden with heat and arousal. “Since you’re so clever then-“ She breathed, yanking Ephram’s hand away from her parted legs, but also pulling him forward after so that he fumbled slightly on top of her. Cassie bit her lip feeling the erection through his trousers, “Plough the fields well and deep.” She stated dramatically, just a hint of laughter beneath her words.

A thrill of overwhelming excitement ran up Ephram's spine as Cassie -- stronger than she seemed -- halted the movement of his hand, and then managed to unbalance him. Physically as well as mentally; it wasn't often that Ephram bedded someone who took charge of the proceedings. It wasn't that he was averse to being the dominant partner, but the truth was that Ephram was naturally biddable and good at following cues.

So if the Lady of Summerset wanted him to fuck her, Ephram would do his damnedest to acquit himself in pursuit of her pleasure.

He tugged his trouser fastenings open, lunging forward to find her wetness and slide his cock through for a few strokes before pressing the thick head against the voluptuous softness of her cunt and thrusting in. "Gods above and below," Ephram gasped, burying his face against Cassie's pale throat, mouth open and dragging as he started to move his hips in earnest. He wrapped one arm around Cassie's back, the other hoisting her leg so he could clamber closer onto the table, drive in deeper and faster to set a punishing pace for the both of them.

Cassie sighed softly as their most private parts joined together, Cassie renewing her grasp around Ephram as he moved and adjusted her to attempt and thrust as deep as possible. It was a slightly overwhelming feeling, and combining it with the slight scratches from the stubble on his face was enough to make her cry out a few times he hit that particularly sweet spot. She could hear the slight creak of the table, and the air around them was so thick and hot Cassie sometimes felt the breaths she was getting in was enough. Regardless, she could feel the ache and pressure building in her gut and her lips eagerly sought out Ephram’s before she spoke, “That’s a steadfast cock. Don’t stop.”

Ephram rode into and against her body with less careful movements now, groaning loudly in time with each protest from the table, the sound and scent of their coupling thickening the air. "I won't stop, Cassie," he promised, hauling her bodily up against him as he redoubled his thrusts, hips jackrabbiting against her as he plunged into her again and again. "And you'll give me what I want too, won't you? I don't ask much. Only that the Summerset thinks fondly of--" Ephram paused, grunting through clenched teeth and rubbing his damp forehead against Cassie's chest, panting along the softness of her breasts. "Remembers the Honeywilds fondly, when she counts her allies and contacts."

Cassie’s expression was first slack with pleasure before it shifted and contorted into something like curiosity. She looked down slightly at Ephram as he nuzzled into her chest and cleared her throat, “I’m not exactly the type to mix business with pleasure but-“ And Cassie strained then pushing back the creeping feeling of release for just a few moments longer. She lifted a hand and brushed a few strands of damp hair out of her face, “You’re certainly proving yourself a worthy ally to have on hand.”

Ephram tipped his head up to look at Cassie, his scruffy chin scraping along her skin, and then moved up to kiss her. Hard and deep, as his thrusts slowed and got more intense; it was only the firm grip that he had on her bodily that kept Cassie from being jolted across the tabletop. "I'll prove it as often as I need to," he growled, voice hoarsened with desire. "Whenever you want me to." Ephram tangled one hand in Cassie's hair after she stroked it back, knotting his hand into a fist so he could expose her throat to his mouth again. His breath was coming erratic now, body tight and straining, but Ephram held off on his own climax to grind against Cassie's clit with each rough lunge. "Let me see it, honey," he begged, lips finding her nipple again. "Let me see you find completion."

“I’ll hold you to that then.” Cassie responded in seriousness, before hissing in air at the feeling of her hair being knotted. “God, god-“ The second request alone was enough to send Cassie over the edge, her inevitable climax breaking inside her so intensely her back arched slightly up off the table. She cried out in ecstasy in time with the waves that overtook her body, muscles eventually relaxing but leaving her raw and extra sensitive as she tried to recollect her bearings still pinned to the table.

And Ephram crashed after her, the velvet clench of Cassie's body on his cock drawing his orgasm out in a violent shudder. He bit down hard on Cassie's bodice, the fabric creaking in his teeth as it soaked with his spit and he rode out the lashes of his spend that ribboned deep inside the Summerset Lady's belly. Ephram stayed there, the weight of his body pinning Cassie to the table, his hips flush against hers as he shifted them deliberately, fucking his seed into her as far as he could before finally withdrawing.

He dropped to his knees again, eyes closed as he pushed his face between Cassie's sticky thighs and licked her clean of the spunk leaking out of her. A good ally knew how to cooperate before he was even asked, after all.

Cassie was slightly taken-a-back when Ephram knelt down to lick between her legs again, but she let him since she was still coming out of the fog of her orgasm. Cassie sat up then, pulling the front of her dress back together as she looked down at Ephram. Her smile was relaxed and pleased, and Cassie ran her fingers through Ephram’s hair before tilting his face up to look at him directly again, “You certainly provide a valuable service.” She commented, crossing her legs and adjusting her skirts with her free hand, “Honeywild Holdings will certainly have a spot at my table should you ever come visit Summerset.”

#cassiegermaine #alternate ephram #sbsmedieval #usfw

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chelseaartlab · 3 years

Text

Rāpare (9.2)

Discussion of independent - artists collected?

“Constructive Criticism” > I like this and I would do that differently...

Hanne Lippard

Performance artist? Reading… faux fur, tinsel, red lippy, a celebration? ‘cheap,’ trashy?, everyday.

Her rhythm of language came from typography - decided that spoken voice has more ‘persona’

Translating text to sound

“Taking words out of cold state”

Seeks spam mail as degenerate; ‘b-language’ > b-movies

Cheap and trashy language

Using film presents the sounds/actions of receiving SMS - communication that is neither what we hear or who we meet, but still an instant message

Methods:

Audio installations, writing books (typography), audio as live performance (reading) - with ‘music’ accompaniment - rhythms,

Body language in film - how you read faces etc

Collecting fragments of language (from all over the place)

Use of words - ‘tongue twisters’ (known phrases); individual words listed for rhythm/sound rather than meaning; but also translations of words based on meaning; repetition; degeneration of words.

Using found language (eg. online personality/stress tests) as the leaping off point…

Things “we” do… things I do…

Art an come from our habits/obsessions eg. writing lists

Comfort and discomfort - sibilance sssss’s - mouth noises - (misophonia - can’t tolerate mouth sounds) - “the tongue is warm in my mouth” - visceral qualities of speech.

What language do you think in? - what/who is the voice in your head?

George Dickie - definitions of art : limits of language and thought - see also Wittgenstein language games - basic principle is that words have meaning because of the context and the ways we use them. Art works have a meaning because of where we see/experience them eg. in an institutions (they might have a different meaning in another place); conversely words can change and/or lose meaning if we use them in ‘different’ ways.

Words = meaning : the hallucinogenic quality of words (test yourself on the ‘stroop effect’)

Words have meaning if there is someone to hear/read them (metaphysical question posed by George Berkeley - “If a tree falls in the forest with no one to hear, does it make a noise?)

Can words get in the way of thinking?!

When you ‘say’ things out loud you find out whether or not they mean anything/what you meant.

For Hanne speaking is an act of making

She doesn’t refer to her work as poems/poetry: is she appropriating poetry for ‘contemporary art’?

Hanne asks questions but not for you to answer - rhetorical questions.

Hanne makes eye contact through the screen - acknowledges a distant (mediated) audience. In theatre : “breaking the fourth wall”

Performance is ‘taking on a persona’ : she also ‘plays the role of artist’

Stress of being constantly ‘connected’ - constant tones of message arrival.

Contemporary icons (iconicism) iconoclastic

Her tone was distracting - there is a ‘blandness’ to her persona, shows up how hard it can be to attend/concentrate/hear.

Douglas Rushkoff : https://rushkoff.com/books/present-shock/ - now we commercialize people’s attention - “attention economy” - meta-data collecting

Media Studies / Spoken word poetry / Artist’s books / automatic text generating (https://app.inferkit.com/demo)

Task: using auto-text function of text message app. Start with a found text, add 5 words from auto-text suggestions, and one word of your own choosing - continue this sequence till your ‘done’ (task was given 10 minutes)

her set ups or stage props are usually common house hold items. ones that are reoccurring are fans and wires.

I think her work is sort of like white noise that we are meant to listen to.

she uses a soft voice when she speaks. sounds like she is hypnotizing us.

I found that the apple ringing tone although associated with stress was edited to sound more relaxing. I think this speaks to egnoleging your stress and changing your environment to de stress.

I also see a correlation between the feeling of zoning out to the sound of my alarm and listen to Lippards work.

Hakiar

sound in general, language, muilt lingual, coming together to listen to a person speak (the actual act of her work is taking you away from your phone), listening, appreciating communication,

Rebecca Ann Hobbs

New Zealand artist

I liked:

Measured the bridge - measuring by dance

But it wasn’t accurate enough to really say yr measuring the bridge

What is being measured? Does

Video is 2’48” - a whole 2” over.

Was the walk actually to measure because she didn’t start or finish at the beginning or end of the bridge

It takes 2’33” to ‘measure’ in her own time

There is a difference in experience/travel between dancer and camera - she might get left behind

Dance & walk - expressive motion

Appropriating dance culture > hip-hop; ‘dancehall’ - Jamaican origins now in Aotearoa.

Place: bridge over the Manukau - good place for fishing - between Onehunga and Mangere Bridge - ‘south Auckland’ - Māori and Pacifika neighbourhoods.

Dancer is wearing headphones - makes her isolated from other occupants of the space.

Removes items of clothes being stripped off

Part of a series - perhaps things become clearer if you watch more…

Is it “sexualised”? In some ways yes and other ways no…

Dancehall - night clubs etc. suggests sexualised environment

What is the relationship between removing (reducing) the sexualising aspects of Dancehall and the (objective, empirical act of) measuring.

Is this international black identity (politic) > overarching response of shared experience by people of colour - particularly the expression via hip-hop.

Maungataketake: efforts gone in vain to rebuild/replace Maungataketake - volcanic cone that was quarried (in the 1930s… i think)

Polystyrene is bad environmental material

Futile activity

Lack of communication

Why 15 minutes? - it’s so long and unedited - the effort takes a ‘long’ time - endurance performance.

Is 15 minutes a long time? - relative time - the average amount of time spent with an art work in a gallery is 6”.

Endurance: looked heavy and difficult, doing the same movements over and over.

Connections: isolated feeling - wide open space - not being noticed - location (Maungataketake is also south Auckland… near the airport - part of Ihumātao area) - the first is a journey (a to b) but the second is ‘pointless’, just keeps going in the one place - the camera angle is similar even though one moves like journeying, the second is still like sitting - both share a movement in and out of the frame (tension of miss framing) and wide angle landscape format - appearance and action in/on the landscape, it is segmented eg. broken by dance movements; sliced in polystyrene; what is the political implication?

Martin Awa Clarke Langdon & Qiane Matata-Sipu are both Māori. Rebecca calls herself a “mozzie” - Māori diaspora in Australia.

Performance and critique of colonial land practices - occupation and dispossession, land confiscation and surveying (subdivision into privately owned “unit title”)

measurement is such a strict action to do, it dose not rely on an individuals interpretation, it's even across the board

she personalizes measurement, the woman moves across the bridge in her own way another person would do it different, but they are both walking the same distance.... everyone lives the same day but each do something different with it.

hip hop is a dance discipline that doesn't have the same hard rules as styles such as ballet. it was created from people who didn't fee like they could express themselves in society. its a fitting style because it encourages individuality.

south auckland used to be one of the lower income parts of auckland, it represents the Maori and pacific people of an urbanized and westered country. She is encouraging self expression to these Maori and pacific.

in relation to Hakari:

she celebrates movement, culture, expression of self, expression of culture, being proud of who you are, not allowing yourself to be oppressed, recognizing the hard ships one can go through being part of minority, not caring what people think,

Independent:

Practice: Hanne Lippard

- make another text work

- make a new one

Practice reading/performing it. Film/record yourself (this is as documentation but also reflection - how could you say/perform differently - see “spoken word” )

Be ready to perform this in a breakout next class

Make a Rebecca Ann Hobbs related work

Copy these notes into your ‘workbook’ - add, extend, correct: append to each section ideas in relation to Hākari eg. what is being celebrated.

You have full access to the library - use a mask on-site please

Digital access to Google via library - tips on using Google well: https://eds.a.ebscohost.com/eds/detail/detail?vid=1&sid=94140fe5-18e3-45ce-a0a5-05201d2ab91c%40sdc-v-sessmgr02&bdata=JkF1dGhUeXBlPWlwLGNvb2tpZSx1cmwsdWlkJnNpdGU9ZWRzLWxpdmUmc2NvcGU9c2l0ZQ%3d%3d#AN=100259629&db=ers

Referencing: please note Artists name, title of work, year, media… sometimes very useful to know where exhibitied/performed - website citation &/or book citation.

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pigeoncheeks-archive · 7 years

Text

sooooo i’ve been holding this p close to the chest for a while just because it’s kind of mmmm nonsensical?? i’ve just been kinda hyperfixated on @thearcanagame lately and just wanted more interactions with Muriel and to write some stuff with my apprentice, Trill, and @gooddoctorjules encouraged me to post this. i imagine this takes place sometime between the hunt scene and the most recent romance scenes!

One of Trill’s many, many faults is his inability to think things through when put under pressure. He has a tendency to panic, and lose most, if not all, of his critical thinking and reasoning skills. He goes into a frantic animal haze of fright and becomes incapable of thinking of anything beyond how to escape the situation as quickly as possible.

And that’s what has him half-dragging a heavily bleeding mammoth of a man through the palace gardens well past midnight, trying to keep one hand clamped over the gash laying open the stranger’s ribcage.

He should have taken him to the shop, he thinks frantically. But he panicked and headed towards the palace instead-- the heavily-guarded palace.

No, no, the shop would have been worse. Trill wouldn't be able to help him there, not for long, when he’s expected to stay at the palace. No, he reasons, breathing heavily under the weight of the stranger, this is better.

He guides the massive man through the seldom-used hallways he’s come to frequent, if only to avoid servants who either try to bully him into being pampered, or who pointedly ignore him or sneer at his simple clothes. By the time they reach his rooms, the man is leaning upon him so heavily his legs are trembling, and it takes all the meager strength he has left just to haul the stranger to his bed and roll him onto his back.

He’s nearly unconscious, eyes rolling frantically, deliriously in their sockets, before fixing upon Trill’s face. He reaches out and cups his cheek, and Trill’s breath hitches, before the man finally succumbs to his wounds and slumps in a heap upon the ruinously lush sheets-- which are rapidly turning red beneath him. For just a moment, Trill allows himself to really panic, complete with mild hyperventilation and the vague and ominous threat of vomiting that he forces down.

Then he gets to work.

He doesn’t have access to his shop or garden and their stock of herbs and remedies, but he rarely leaves home without the basics tucked away in his satchel. A styptic powder first, to stop the bleeding. He draws out a small jar and dumps a handful into his palm, slapping it over the bleeding wound as gently as possible. Then, while the blood begins to clot, he has a bit more time to think. Comfrey, to promote the healing and prevent infection, and then… bandages, bandages….

Trill sighs heartily and hauls the sheet out from underneath the strange giant’s bulk as gently as he can, and starts the busy work of cutting the unbloodied parts of it into strips with his tiny sewing scissors for makeshift bandages. The bedding has assuredly been changed since he left early in the morning, so it should be clean enough. He sets to making the poultices before he finds a basin and water and begins to daub delicately at the wound.

It’s not nearly so bad as he thought at first, but it’s definitely going to need stitches, and he’s very, very glad his, well, patient is unconscious, because he’s not sure he has any sort of topical anesthetic.

He gets to work with a heated needle and some twine, and frowns deeply as the stranger offers nothing more than a reflexive twitch when he first punctures his skin.

And then he eyes the numerous scars scattered across the man’s torso and grits his teeth. He has work to do.

It takes what feels like hours, and when Trill is done he is sweaty and his hands are covered in a mixture of blood and a slew of strong-smelling tinctures and ointments, but the wound is closed, heavily slathered in a thick paste to prevent infection and promote fast healing, and wrapped summarily, and after that all Trill needs to do is clean up the mess he’s made in his frantic work.

That goes quickly, because Trill is an incredibly efficient cleaner in a crisis, and his patient is resting soundly in his massive bed with the curtains drawn. Once he’s washed up himself, he scurries to the door, pokes his head out, and peers around for a servant.

“Excuse me!” he calls gently when he sees one, a slim young man in bright livery, who stops and turns to him with that familiar expression of vague, plastered-on patience.

“How may I help you, sir?” he asks, smiling thinly.

“I, um, I just wanted to let you know, I prefer to clean my own chambers, if you don’t mind?” Trill wrings his hands, returning the smile as convincingly as he can considering his rattled nerves. “I’m, well, I’m a simpler sort, you know, and cleaning is, ah… is somewhat therapeutic for me? Especially in times of high stress, much like, well, much like now?”

His words come in a near-frantic rush, and though he’s not lying, per se, he still feels a hot guilty flush working its way down his neck. Luckily for him, he can see the feigned interest in the servant’s eyes slowly start to fade. Trill seizes the opportunity and keeps right on chattering, “And, you know, I know it’s your job and all, but I’m sure you all have so much more to do, that not having to bother with even one of these rooms will be something of a relief, at least for someone, so if you would just like to leave some linens outside my door every few days, that would be just lovely and--” The servant holds up a polite hand and offers that same bland smile. “Say no more, sir. I’ll let the others know posthaste.” “Oh, thank you so much!” Trill exclaims, beaming. He tries to dial it back a bit so it doesn’t seem suspicious, “Really, I’m a simple person, I don’t like all this fuss.”

He fusses and frets just a bit more just to nail it home, until the servant’s eyes are nearly glazed over with sheer boredom, but he certainly won’t forget the fledgeling magician’s request. When Trill finally releases the young man, he looks so fiercely relieved to simply be done with the conversation, Trill would almost feel hurt were that not exactly what he wanted. He returns to his room quickly, closes and bolts the door, and leans against it with a hearty, relieved sigh.

The stranger sleeps soundly upon the bed, and in place of the deathly silence of before, there now come low, deep snores of a man who seems to be getting the first good rest of a long, long while. Trill wonders with no small amount of worry what sort of life he’s led that it took a near-mortal injury for him to rest so deeply.

~*~

Trill sends Adagio to his shop that evening to pick up a few more things. Asra’s been teaching him to strengthen his relationship with the pigeon, to slowly ease her from simple pet to familiar, but with Asra gone, well… He’s not sure if the training has begun to take. She obeys simple commands now, but little more than that, and doesn’t feel quite as… cognizant as Faust just yet. He wonders if she’ll ever get there, and if he should have perhaps chosen one of his grandmother’s crows as a familiar instead.

He immediately feels guilty, and banishes the thought. It wasn’t he that chose Adagio, but Adagio that chose him, and he is lucky to have such a relationship with the flighty little creature.

He kisses the top of her head and sends her off, urging her with his heart and mind to find the things he needs in his garden, and he will reward her with the pocket full of fancy birdseed he’s pilfered from the garden feeders. He stresses, too, that she not eat any of it, and hopes she heeds the warning this time. Regurgitated lavender doesn’t smell nearly so nice as the fresh variety.

He sits by the window and awaits her return, and hopes the Countess doesn’t have need of him at least until his patient is awake. He worries, too, if Portia is wondering at his absence, but he figures he has earned some time to himself after his days of tireless poring over Julian’s notes for some clue, some hint of his innocence.

Innocence, hm? He wonders how he can be so sure, with no new evidence to speak of, but having met the man, he can’t recall feeling any sort of malice from him, beyond the weak facade he affects when he needs to.

Perhaps Trill’s too much of a romantic, and the thought alone is enough to make his cheeks flush hot. And from there, his mind strays to his errant master, and the flush spreads down his neck.

He slaps his palms down on the windowsill and shakes his head until he’s dizzy and his hair is a wild cloud around his face, pursing his lips and puffing down his cheeks and forcing the silly, childish thoughts of romance from his mind. He has a man to prove innocent, a mystery, if not several, to solve, and in the more immediate future, a towering stranger in his bed to ensure doesn’t die. He has far too much to worry about at the moment, can’t spare a thought to his foolish little lonely heart when there’s so much to be done.

~*~

His patient stirs in the early morning hours, and were it not for Adagio, Trill’s not sure he would have woken from his place slumped over the windowsill, staring out into the gardens. There’s a warm weight on the back of his neck, the familiar prick of warm little claws, and when he sits up, he’s rewarded with an offended squawk and the beating of wings against the back of his head.

“Adagio!” he exclaims, catching her out of the air and soothing her ire. “What have I told you about nesting in my hair, you silly thing?” She calms her ruffled feathers and settles onto his shoulder instead, looking quite pleased. Piled upon the windowsill is a small, messy stack of various herbs and leaves and flowers, each one only mildly squashed and/or nibbled. “Oh! Good girl!” He roots around in his pocket and comes up with a handful of birdseed, and Adagio croons happily. He dumps it on the sill in place of his herbs, and the pigeon flutters over and begins pecking away happily. He takes the time to sort through his new supplies, and as he does so, there is a sound behind him like a mountain shifting, a groan so deep he feels it rumble in his bones.

“Oh!” he cries, standing up and whirling around. The strange man is shifting upright in the bed, bleary eyes blinking in confusion and brow creasing with pain. Trill rushes over. “Oh, no, no, no, don’t sit up, careful of your stitches!” He puts his hand on the man’s chest, warm and faintly sweaty, but not in the way that would indicate any sort of fever. In a tizzy, Trill brushes his hands along his shoulder, his face, making absolutely sure. “How are you feeling? Sore, I’d imagine!” He laughs nervously, and makes himself busy fluffing pillows and pushing the man’s chest to get him to lie down.

It’s like trying to move a stone wall.

“I-if you could just lie back…” he mumbles timidly, peering cautiously upwards.

The man blinks at him, still groggy and probably quite confused, and Trill is finally stricken with the realization that he has hauled a gigantic, scarred, injured stranger into his chambers in secret, and pointedly told the servants that he does not want to be bothered. He swallows hard, and only hopes that this stranger's “warning” before he’d nearly collapsed from blood loss means he does not want Trill to come to harm.

He pushes gently on the man’s chest once again, and this time, he goes, with all the speed of tectonic plates shifting until he is reclining against the mounds of absurdly lush pillows. His hair is tangled around his eyes, which are suddenly much more bright and alert, watching Trill warily, with all the caution of a cornered animal.

Trill has dealt with his fair share of cornered animals (mostly rabbits and the like, or cats with their heads stuck in flowerpots) so he keeps his movements slow, methodical, as he gently probes around the makeshift bandages. There’s a bit of blood seeping through, they’ll have to be changed, and he only wishes he had something more than torn-up sheets (however fine they are) to work with.

“I’m going to need to change these,” he murmurs, peeking up into the stranger’s ever-watchful eyes for a breathless second. He sees the barest hint of a nod, and sets to work unraveling the miles of cloth it took him to bind the wound the night before.

He pours a bowl of clean water from the pitcher left by the bedside the night before, and cleans the wound as gently as he can, though he’s certain he could rip the stitches out with his bare hands and the strange man wouldn’t flinch. It’s both an impressive thought and a terribly sad one, so he keeps it to himself.

He has questions, of course, but he can’t seem to find the words, or the courage, to ask them. The only one he thinks it may be safe to ask is the stranger’s name, so he does.

“What, um… Pardon my asking, but what should I call you?”

There’s a flicker of something across the stranger’s face, something almost sad, and Trill wishes he knew what caused it.

When the man speaks, it feels like distant thunder echoing in Trill’s ribs. “Muriel.”

Trill swallows whatever silly words were going to burble up out of him, and smiles thinly. “That’s good to know. Thank you. I’m Trill, if you were wondering. Suppose I should have introduced myself earlier, but, well, things were a bit touch and go last night…” He laughs, sharp and nervous, and ducks his head, pinching his lips into a thin line and leaning into his work, checking that the stitches aren’t pulling, that his salves are evenly applied, and then working to wind the bandages carefully around his patient’s tree trunk of a torso. Once or twice, he finds his face pressed against a broad chest, and he flushes and his heart thuds furiously against his ribcage, but he staunchly ignores it.

“You… helped me.”

At first, Trill is not quite sure Muriel has said anything at all, his voice is so soft. But the rumble is there, and he turns his eyes instinctively towards him and takes a moment to parse what he’s said. “I… yes? Yes, I did,” he admits, and he’s not sure why he feels so strange admitting it. “Is there a reason I wouldn’t?”

“You don’t know me,” he says it starkly, matter-of-factly, but Trill feels like it’s not quite a “people don’t usually help suspicious injured strangers” implication, but something else. Something far more.. Forlorn?

“I know you needed help,” is all Trill can think to say. “So I helped.”

“Hmmm,” is all the stranger-- Muriel-- offers in return, and remains quiet while Trill finishes up his work, knots of the bandages and hums.

“I’ll have to see about going to my shop tonight,” he says, mostly to himself, “see if I can’t get a little more than field materials. I’ve got some tinctures that help prevent scarring. Old recipe. My grandmother’s. A very jealously guarded secret-- she left it in a journal and said only I’d be allowed to know it. Locked the journal full of recipes-- not just medical ones, mind you-- and hid the key in a magical box that would only open for me.” He knows he’s rambling, but with all the nerves jangling around in his chest it’s all he can do to keep himself calm while he smoothes the blankets around Muriel’s hips.

He pokes his head out the door to call for a serving tray with a kettle and plenty to eat, offering the weak excuse that he’s feeling a bit peaky and would like to take supper in his rooms. The servant tells him the Countess is having quite a headache this evening anyway, and he breathes a sigh of relief that he won’t be missed.

He doesn’t believe the Countess to be cruel or callous, just… intimidating. Focused. Intense. Trill is far too soft and timid to be anything but cowed by her very presence. Sitting at the lavish dining table while she stares him down does little for his appetite, and he often leaves hungrier than when he arrived simply because his nerves don’t allow him to do much more than nibble.

While they fetch the cart, he prepares his tea sachets from the herbs Adagio brought him, carefully portioning out the herbs and bits of dried fruit into neat little bundles for steeping.

He chatters as he works, and when he looks up, he expects to see the glazed-over look of false interest plastered on Muriel’s face, but he sees only moss-green eyes, focused on him with such intensity that he feels stripped bare. His breath catches and he stumbles over his words, something about finding Adagio with her head stuck in a discarded ale bottle, and swallows hard.

“I-I’m sorry, but I… That is to say, you… You do seem terribly familiar,” he murmurs, feeling a frown pull at his lips, and a vague foggy memory pull at his chest. “I… I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? Before… all of this?”

Muriel goes strangely still, and he’s so massive, it’s painfully obvious. He’s tense from top to tail, and even his mouth has stopped moving, though just a few seconds ago he was eating like he hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks. It makes Trill’s skin prickle with hot nervous tension.

“Yes,” is all he says, and he looks as if he is very carefully considering what to say next. “Many… many times.” And then he resumes eating, and Trill doesn’t bother trying to get anymore information out of him.

He settles in for a long night of quiet contemplation and periodically tending to his patient’s injury, and hopes that the Countess doesn’t summon him for at least another day or so. He has so much to consider, and only wishes Asra were there to help him. What have I gotten myself into?

#the cream puff writes #the arcana game #the arcana #arcana apprentice #fan apprentice #his name is trill and he's a gay disaster who dont know what to do about all these pretty boys #i ship him with all of them #pls help me #uhhhh for a lil more set dressing he did try to escape the palace #so he's done julian's lil bar scene #and he's also been in love with asra for ages #and thinks its unrequited #which after the recent romance scenes hurts SO BAD #but at this point he's trying his best not to let his myriad gay feelings be the cause of muriel's death so he puts them aside #i need to stop talking now #i dont have a title for this but atm the google doc title is 'big boi is back in town'#fair warning this is like 3k words #bc i cant fuckin do short for my life

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mintypothos · 7 years

Text

Convince Me

@raythrill @hubris-but-no-writing @holdthesewords remember this post?

Here’s half of a fic because why not

It started off as a simple thought.

Burr frequently allowed himself to be dragged to their various gatherings. For a long time, Lafayette wondered why Burr bothered to come, or why Alexander kept inviting him. Hercules was with Lafayette in their confusion, but didn't care either way, personally. Laurens was actually on Alexander's side, and not just because he liked backing Alexander up.

“Hey, shut up!” Laurens hissed once, when Lafayette voiced their objections, forgetting Burr was still there- and what? He was as quiet as a mouse! “Don't be an asshole when you don't even know him, man. Aaron's actually a cool guy.”

With Laurens apparently glowing endorsement, Lafayette knew they had to investigate. They started by trying to draw Burr into a conversation.

“Ah, Aaron Burr! You look lonely!” The teasing was uninspired and almost automatic, so it wasn't entirely surprising when Burr looked in their direction with a raised brow, but failed to react to the taunt. “Tell me, are you a cat or dog person? We need a tiebreaker.” Technically, they did, since Laurens and Alexander were arguing dogs, and Hercules with Lafayette were arguing cats. In reality, Lafayette liked both about the same amount, but making the tie was a good excuse to pull Burr in.

Burr took a long moment to reply, as if something important depended on his answer. “I like both equally,” he said smoothly. Lafayette's nose practically wrinkled at the bland, nothing answer. Why couldn't Burr say what he really thought?

“Man, people weren't kidding when they said you had no opinions.” Hercules laughed.

Lafayette could have sworn a tiny frown flashed across Burr's face, but maybe they'd been looking too closely. “That really depends on what 'people' have been talking about me.”

“You are the worst, Burr.” Lafayette drawled at the plain answer. Something curious wiggled in them, though. Lafayette wondered what Burr's actual opinions were.

When Lafayette was curious about a person, they flirted. It was their thing. First, it was an easy way to out transphobes, but second, it was plain fun. Lafayette liked getting under people's skin and enjoyed the ego boost of causing someone to flush or stutter.

Which was why, when Lafayette decided to try flirting with Burr, they were surprised and a little bit bothered to find failure.

“Hey, Burr, how has your day been?” Lafayette winked and flashed a flirtatious smile. With most people, it would be the lamest trick in the book, but Lafayette was confident and charming and had a winning smile, they knew it worked coming from them.

Burr blinked and returned a customer-service smile, boring and fake. “It's been alright. Yours?” Lafayette rolled with it, because not everyone reacted the same, and really, Burr was probably also wondering why they just started talking to him.

But after a few weeks of light probing, there was still nothing. Fluttering their eyelashes in a certain way usually caught anyone's attention for at least a moment, but Burr's expression never wavered. Just polite, clean small talk all around.

It became something of a challenge. Lafayette didn't mind, challenges were fun.

“Laf, why are you going after Aaron?” Alexander accused one night, when it was just them alone. One couldn't expect five people to always have matching schedules, after all- especially when Laurens and Hercules were in school.

“I'm curious, are you not? He is always hanging around, but never sharing anything of himself.”

Alexander huffed, a surprised, amused sound. “So you just want to know what he stands for? I guess I can't complain, it used to really bother me when we first met.”

“Yes, it constantly confuses me why you continue to like Burr,” Lafayette shot Alexander a teasing look. “Unless you just enjoy having someone nearby who will never contradict your arguments? You do like winning unopposed.”

Instead of snapping back or even scowling, Alexander broke into laughter. “Are you kidding me? Aaron doesn't let me get away with shit. He's almost as good a debater as I am, even if he plays full defense far too often.”

“You're lying.” Lafayette blurted, surprised. At Alexander's raised brows, they were forced to consider the point. “This is Burr you're talking about? Mr. Aaron Never-shares-his-opinion Burr? Little Burr who would rather talk charming circles around a point than ever actually get to it?”

Alexander snorted. “You think he's charming?” He held up a hand before Lafayette could object, “And yes. That Burr. He actually has plenty of opinions, when you get to know him. John likes him too, and even Hercules is warming up to him.”

“Hercules warms up to everybody,” Lafayette pointed out. “Liking everyone is his thing. And Laurens likes Burr because you do.”

Alexander shook his head. “Dude. How about you actually just talk to him, instead of whatever you're trying to accomplish. Aaron's not awful, I promise.”

'Not awful' was far from high praise. But it did come from Alexander, the man frequently incapable of polite social interaction. Lafayette vowed to give it a try.

The problem was, 'actually just talking' to Burr posed a dilemma. On the one hand, it gave Lafayette more chances to put his flirt on and make a real effort, while simultaneously actually listening to Burr instead of looking for reactions.

On the other hand, Burr was an interesting person, under all the blandness. He was also completely immune to Lafayette's efforts.

“You should come over,” Lafayette encouraged, when Burr once again refused the Sunday dinner they hosted. “It's not even just Alexander, Herc, and Laurens. The Schuylers and Thomas and James come, also.” Lafayette knew Burr was friendly with those last two by now, not that he ever mentioned them. “It would mean a lot to me if you came,” Lafayette leaned into Burr's personal space. Nothing.

“Do you really want to know why I don't like going to dinners?” Burr shared a soft quirk of a smile, just a tad self deprecating. It was a sign Lafayette was beginning to recognize as Burr preparing to be honest. Maybe it wasn't nothing. Lafayette nodded quickly for him to continue.

Burr shifted, looking around like someone could be listening in. Alexander was occupied by Laurens, deep into some animated conversation, and Hercules was off on some clothing-related subject with Peggy. Peggy didn't usually have the time to hang out with the group, and was actually as into fashion design as Hercules, so Lafayette couldn't exactly blame him.

“I have misophonia.” Burr said in a hushed, but not quite whispering voice. It was not what Lafayette expected. At their blank look, Burr pushed forward. “It's okay if you haven't heard of it. Basically I get a strong reaction when I hear certain sounds, like eating noises. It makes dinners with people hell, unless I can distract myself well enough.”

“I know what misophonia is,” Lafayette answers, too surprised to even make a joke. “Alexander never said anything.” Alexander was terrible at keeping such things quiet.

Burr nodded, understanding the statement for what it was. “I never told him. Or anyone, really.”

This gave Lafayette pause. Burr was clearly in a deeper friendship with Alexander than he was with them. “Why are you telling me this?” It made no sense. Something small and warm brushed their heart, touched at being confided in. Lafayette wasn't usually the friend people vented to- that was Hercules if one wanted comfort, Alexander if one wanted someone to be angry with. Lafayette was the fun friend, the friend one went to when they wanted to forget things, not confide about them.

“Well, you said it would mean a lot to you,” Burr shrugged, but there was something warm in his eyes. Lafayette felt butterflies. “Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually want everyone to think I'm heartless.” A few weeks ago, Lafayette would have, and probably did, make jokes about just that. But here and now, they were drowning in the definitive proof that Burr was anything but heartless.

There was a beat, Burr's expression turning confused, before Lafayette realized they needed to respond. “You should come anyways,” Lafayette said impulsively, when they couldn't think of anything else to respond with. “I promise to be plenty distracting,” they hastily tacked on, with a confident smirk that belied the sudden fluttering in their chest.

Burr's eyes widened a bit, before his lips tipped into a genuinely amused smile and then, wonder of wonders, a tiny but real chuckle. “It doesn't work that way. You said you knew how it worked.” Burr wasn't even trying to be playful; Lafayette had seen his 'charm' before. This right here was all natural, and maybe that's why Lafayette felt like they were floating.

“It was worth a shot,” If Lafayette's laugh was a bit too quick or a bit too high, Burr didn't notice. “But really, everyone talks the whole way through, loudly too. If that's not enough, I could play some music.” Most of Lafayette's initial motivation in inviting Burr had been to pick his brain. They weren't sure when it became more about actually wanting to spend time with Burr.

This earned a happy little grin, the expression reaching Burr's eyes with a friendly glint. “You don't need to go out of your way for me. Your dinners sound like enough trouble as it is.”

“It's not trouble!” Lafayette almost rushed to respond. “How about, if you come, you're allowed to throw a shoe at anyone who tries chewing with their mouth open?”

Burr chuckled again. The sound was very nice. Lafayette wished to hear more of it. “Only if that privilege extends indefinitely. Alexander loves to talk while he eats, I literally can not be in the same room as him like that.” Burr leaned forward with that statement, actually entering Lafayette's space in an attempt to be conspiratorial.

“It's a deal.” Lafayette was gone.

Burr did show up at the dinner, and Lafayette did make sure music was on, even though everyone kept asking them why. When Alexander tried launching into a story with a mouth full of food, Lafayette called him out. Everyone gave them a bewildered look, except for Burr, who gifted them a soft smile. Already, that made it worthwhile.

Flirting still didn't work, even now that it was as much about actually getting closer to Burr as it was about the challenge of it all. Eventually, Lafayette had to call for backup.

“He's not straight, is he?” Lafayette whined to Laurens, busy studying for his med school classes. The sight reminded them of how nice it was to not be in school anymore.

Laurens only raised an eyebrow, flipping a few pages of his textbook. “He's bi. You can't tell?”

Lafayette loosed a long, breathy groan. “I don't know anymore, he hardly responds at all, and I know he's single. Straight people are the only single people I can't even pull a bit.” Even that wasn't exactly true, they were occasionally approached by straight women thanks to their slightly more masculine gender expression, but a mention of pronouns usually sent them packing.

Laurens made a long, considering hum. “And this actually bothers you? I thought you were just flirting to get under his skin. Also, you're succeeding more than you think you are.”

“At first, but I don't know, Burr's actually...” Lafayette stopped. “Wait, what do you mean, I'm succeeding?”

Laurens actually closed his textbook, smirking at Lafayette like he knew something. “Why do you want to know?”

Lafayette huffed, crossing their arms. “Don't try to be coy, Laurens. It doesn't suit you.”

“Fine. Aaron thinks you're cute.”

Laurens already had Lafayette's focus, but with that, they were riveted. “He does?” Then, realizing the sentence, “Hey, I'm not cute, I'm elegant.”

Laurens snorted, and then snickered, and then full out laughed. “Laf, you've got a crush!”

“Crush sounds so juvenile.” Lafayette sniffed. It wasn't worth denying. “How do you know, anyways?”

“He doesn't complain at your little nicknames. 'Our Burr', 'little Burr', and all that. He nearly kicked Alex in the face, the last time he tried to call him 'little'.”

Maybe crush was the right word, because it was also very juvenile how that statement made Lafayette's heart float. “Well, in that case,” Lafayette said, their words soft and airy like the feeling in their head. “I'm definitely getting at least one date.”

That caused another snort. “A little ambitious, there.”

“What?” Lafayette's forehead creased. “You just said-”

“I said he thinks your cute. He still doesn't know you're flirting with him. I'm pretty sure half of the time, Aaron's convinced you're trying to make fun of him.”

Lafayette's mood dropped. “I'll tell him, then.”

Laurens shrugged. “If you can. When's the last time you actually, genuinely asked someone out? You always just ramp the flirt up until they ask.”

Damn. Laurens was right. “It can't be that hard.” Lafayette wasn't a shy person, after all.

“Oh, you have much to learn.” Laurens gave Lafayette a condescending pat on the head, somewhat ruined by the fact that he had to stretch to reach.

“Okay, you know what,” Lafayette, frustrated and a little bit egged on by the obvious challenge, made a mistake. “I bet you 50$ I can get a date with Burr by the end of the week.”

It was an easy bet- It was early in the week, Lafayette was good at dating, good at charming despite the recent difficulties, and now they knew for sure Burr was interested. “You're on,” Laurens took it anyways.

The next day, Hercules and Alexander and even Peggy immediately added their stakes to the bet. Peggy was on their side, bless her, and everyone else against.

The stakes only made Lafayette more determined, but they should have realized it was a terrible idea.

Aaron Burr was in a conundrum. He often was, but this one was considerably worse than the usual fare.

Lafayette happily existed in an entirely different world from Aaron, despite them often being in the same social space. It was clear that Lafayette was both mystified and vaguely disapproving of Aaron's presence, they never tried to hide it. Aaron was fine with that. Despite what everyone said, Aaron knew he couldn't please everyone, and was perfectly content to stay distantly polite as long as Lafayette wasn't actively mean about it- which they never were.

But then, Lafayette started talking to Aaron. First, with a few words, a half assed invitation to debate. Then it became more, and more, until Lafayette started seeking Aaron out first, before their friends.

It shouldn't have been a problem at all, never mind a conundrum. Except for the fact that Lafayette was very beautiful, and actually very interesting to talk to. Once one got past their constant teasing and dramatic flair, they were every facet of Aaron's stereotypical romantic fantasy. Tall, dashing, with great hair and sparkling, smiling eyes. Whip-smart, but not academics obsessed. Outgoing enough to pull Aaron into conversations a bit outside his usual comfort zone, but attentive enough to back off when Aaron needed. They were also funny, very positive, and wasn't put off even by Aaron's driest remarks.

“But there's no way they'd be interested,” Aaron sighed over the face-to-face messenger. Maria laughed from the other end. “Can you stop enjoying my pain?”

“Not until you stop being terrible at everything.” Aaron rolled his eyes fondly at the comment. Aaron's frequent social mishaps were a common thread between them. “Why do you think they aren't interested? You said they talk to you a lot?”

Aaron considered the question. “They're one of those popular, confident types. I'm pretty sure Lafayette has never once been hesitant about the people they're into. I figure if they were interested, they'd have done something by now.”

Maria hummed. “And what if they have done something, but you're too dense to figure it out?”

“Don't be ridiculous, I'm not an idiot.”

The resulting laugh came out somewhat static-y from Maria's low quality mic, but the light derision was still obvious. “Do you not remember when we were kids and I thought I was straight?”

The memory was very old, but still somehow very clear. “Shut up!” Aaron huffed. “You promised never to talk about that.” Given that it was Maria who had been trying to express her mistaken crush, and gotten considerably more desperate, she should have been the embarrassed one, not Aaron. Unfortunately, Maria was one of those few people completely capable of reviewing past embarrassing memories with no shame. “Also, I was a lot younger then, so that's not even applicable.”

“Aaron, honey, you haven't changed that much.”

“Oh, shut up.” Aaron shot back again. “You're no help.”

That was a lie, Maria was always a lot of help, even if it never seemed that way at the time. Judging by her smug smile, Maria knew this as well. “Look, I'll put it simply, for you. Would you want to smooch them?”

“What?”

“Answer the question!”

“Okay, maybe. Yes.” Aaron averted his eyes. “You're being childish.”

“Shut up,” Maria returned Aaron's words. “ I'm not even going to tell you to ask them out, since I know you'll never work up the guts,” Aaron didn't respond- she was right on that. “How about this, if they ask you out, would you say yes?”

“What is this, highschool?” Aaron sniped, and then relented under Maria's glare. “I don't think it will happen, and if it did happen it would probably be as a joke, but if they seriously asked, then yes.”

“Well then, there you go. You've decided what you're going to do, crisis averted.”

The crisis didn't feel averted at all, but Aaron let it go. There were other, less confusing subjects to talk about.

The talk with Maria did actually help. Aaron was able to relax a bit, enjoying his conversations with Lafayette, and occasionally even instigating himself. Even when he did occasionally say something awkward, something that slipped through his usually perfect mental filter, it felt okay. He was getting comfortable around Lafayette.

Until, Lafayette started acting weird. More weird than usual. They greeted Aaron, but jumped when he responded. They started talking about unusual topics, like favourite restaurants, fun places nearby, or activities they both enjoyed. And while Lafayette would share their own thoughts, they kept pressing back to Aaron's opinions, and what he liked. It sounded almost like they were scoping out date ideas, but there was no way. If that was what Lafayette wanted to do, surely they would have a more graceful way to do it.

“Are you okay?” Aaron finally snapped, when Lafayette refused to meet Aaron's eyes after asking him some strange question about food preference.

Lafayette was visibly taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Aaron bit back a dry response that wouldn't help the situation. “You're acting strange, this past week.”

Lafayette opened their mouth, denial on their lips clear as day, but then froze, and wilted. “So even you've noticed now. I'm a mess.”

It was Aaron's turn to be taken aback. “You've never been anything less than fully put together from the day I met you,” Aaron admitted. “But if you're going to tell me what's up, I'm not complaining.”

“You think I'm put together?” Their recovery was quick enough to cause whiplash. “Why Burr, I had no idea you thought so highly of me.” Their smirk was wide and mischievous. And Aaron knew it was full of shit.

“Let me rephrase. If you don't tell me what's up, I am complaining.” Aaron put his hands on his hips. Lafayette pouted. Burr held steady, even if the sight was cuter than it had any right to be, coming from a grown person who was a full head taller than him

They stared at each other, until Lafayette crumbled, glancing away. Aaron allowed a tiny smile of victory. He could blankly out-stare anyone. Lafayette shifted their weight, clearly weighing their options.

“I have a question, but I don't think you want to hear it.” Lafayette finally admitted.

Aaron raised a brow. It was a strange thing to occupy someone, especially Lafayette. “Let me be the judge of that, then.”

“Okay,” Lafayette took a breath, crossing their arms over their chest defensively. “Do you want to go out sometime? Like to a dinner with ambiance, or a movie, or something?”

“What?” Aaron was baffled. “Who's all coming, and why would that bother me?”

Lafayette let out a long, frustrated sigh, scrunching their hair with one hand. “No one would be coming. I'm asking you out, Burr.”

“Oh.” Oh. Aaron considered the idea that Maria was right, about everything, all the time. “Like for real?”

“What do you mean, for real?” Lafayette's brows furrowed.

“Like, if you're joking right now, I will kick you in the shins.” Aaron said blankly, still in shock from the revelation.

It took Lafayette a moment, but then they almost jumped forward. “No, oh my god, it's not a joke! I wouldn't do that!” Lafayette looked honest, and for a moment Aaron's heart skipped.

“Are... you sure?” Aaron finally asked, when it was clear he should be responding.

Lafayette huffed, sharp and loud and almost a laugh but not quite. “Stop torturing me Burr, please. I would like to take you out. Yes or no?”

“Um,” Aaron stalled, trying to process past his surprise. “Okay.”

It wasn't particularly smooth, for either of them. But it didn't need to be.

The actual date wasn't anything fancy, but Aaron was glad for it. Lafayette greeted him at the coffee shop with a chaste peck on each cheek, that they dramatically stooped down for. “It's custom in France, you know,” they said in way of explanation, eyes dancing in laughter.

“Um,” Aaron said, overwhelmed. Lafayette chuckled and laced a hand in his, gently towing him to the counter.

Aaron and Lafayette chatted, drank the whip cream from their fancy coffees, went for a scenic walk, and chatted some more. Aaron found himself smiling more than he had in a long time, since moving across the city for work. Lafayette even laughed in turn at Aaron's sarcastic comments. Real laughter too, not the light forced chuckles of a person trying to impress, something which Aaron had plenty of experience with. Most people tended to misunderstand Aaron's tone. It was nice.

Aaron kept Lafayette's warm grip in one hand, the half finished coffee in the other. The coffee of course was a lost cause when Aaron lurched over an uneven patch of sidewalk. The coffee went arcing through the air, Aaron not far behind- until Lafayette's hold wrenched him back, their other arm reaching up quickly to settle him.

“Are you alright, little Burr?” Aaron almost flushed between his clumsiness and the pet name. Then, he noticed his nice burgundy jacket was soaked in coffee, and Aaron did flush.

“I'm the worst,” Aaron groaned, vainly trying to wipe off what he could.

Lafayette giggled, light and pure and unguarded, opposite from the mocking notes Aaron half expected. “You are the worst, Burr,” They teased, easing their own jacket off and offering it to Aaron with a flourish. “But only because you tempt me into making the cheesiest of gestures.”

The jacket was going to be stupidly huge on him. And it was, in fact, an incredibly cheesy gesture, but the chill of wind against wet clothing was already starting to make him shiver. “You don't need my help for that, you're cheesy all on your own,” Aaron joked to distract from the red likely staining his cheeks. He shrugged Lafayette's very warm, very large jacket on, folding his own over one arm. As expected, the jacket nearly reached Aaron's knees.

Lafayette plucked Aaron's free hand again, leaning down towards him with a silly grin and crinkled eyes. “You look adorable. May I kiss you?”

“Only if you never call me adorable again,” Despite the words, Aaron leaned closer, caught up in the moment, cozy warm from both the coat and his own fast-beating heart.

“I make no such promise.” Lafayette leaned closer still. This close to their face, Aaron could see that he wasn't the only one affected. Aaron wondered how Lafayette ever managed to look smooth- they were actually a dork. A very charming dork.

Aaron took a rare moment of initiative, and leaned up. With Lafayette already in his space, he didn't need to reach very far to meet their lips. It was light, it was sweet, and it was short. But Aaron saw stars anyways.

The date came to a close, after that. Even if they pretended otherwise, Lafayette quickly became cold, New York winters being nothing to joke about. Still, they insisted Aaron wear their jacket for the trip home.

“You're being ridiculous,” Aaron complained.

“Ah, but am I?” Lafayette swung their joined hands. “If you have my jacket, then you must meet me to return it again. It is the perfect opening to request another date.” Lafayette stopped then, dropping his tone into something uncharacteristically nervous. “If you'd like?”

“What?” Aaron realized he spent far too much time being either confused or surprised. “You want another date? I just proved I'm a walking disaster.”

Lafayette gripped Aaron's hand tighter. “You're perfect!” They blurted, then considered their words. “I mean, if you really are a walking disaster, at least I get to rescue you.” Sheepishly, they scratched their neck.

Aaron's head spun. Obviously, he wasn't perfect. But to hear it come out so impulsively in his defense felt... nice. But Aaron knew he didn't want to make that decision, as high on giddy, puppy-love feelings as he was now.

“I'll get back to you?” To Lafayette's credit, they only drooped a bit at Aaron's uncertain words.

“Well, you do have to return my jacket.” Lafayette repeated. “Which you still look adorable in.”

“Don't call me adorable,” Aaron grinned through his own admonishment. It was a good night.

Aaron woke up happy. He bought himself fast-food breakfast and got to work on time, instead of his usual earliness. Everyone started giving him strange looks. Aaron wasn't surprised- he was on cloud nine, and though he wasn't the most expressive of people, it probably showed.

“Are you constipated?” Thomas rudely snapped when Aaron went to ask him for a document. Aaron hummed, ignoring him.

After work, he dropped by Laurens' place to help him colour code and organize his study notes, as previously promised- Aaron was a long time study expert, even if he had no clue about the subjects Laurens was taking.

“You seem happy.” Laurens commented, always blunt.

“Yeah,” Aaron sighed, pulling out the pink high-lighter. Laurens rolled his eyes with an exasperated puff, but let it be.

After a quick trip home and a nervous meal, Aaron knew it was time to return the jacket. Feeling silly, Aaron put it on once more. The cut was flattering on Lafayette, but made Aaron look almost childlike. It smelled like vanilla spice. Aaron laughed at his own absurdity and bundled the fabric up in a bag, shrugging his own, freshly cleaned jacket on.

Aaron considered texting first, but it was Monday evening, which meant Lafayette would be at Alexander's, likely also with Laurens and Hercules unless either of them had assignments due. It would be easier just to head over.

Aaron tried not to think about the likely teasing he would get, returning the jacket in front of their mutual friends. Alexander certainly wouldn't let it go without at least one lewd comment. The others would probably snicker or cajole and act like children in general.

The door was unlocked, and Aaron didn't bother knocking. That was his first mistake. The second mistake was being quiet enough in doing so that the loud conversation inside was not interrupted as he approached the kitchen.

“No one made you wager money, Alexander,” Lafayette's voice was smug and teasing. “Or any of you. I want to see those bills.”

“Oh come on, I don't just have 50$ in cash lying around!” Alexander complained. Aaron wondered what stupid bet Alexander lost this time. They all seemed to like the occasional wager, but Aaron always turned them down because betting was stupid. It wasn't surprising or even disappointing that no one invited him to get in on whatever it was.

Of course, Aaron's benign mood towards the bet went out the window when the subject revealed itself. “How was I supposed to know you'd actually convince Aaron to go on a date with you? You, of all people!”

“Yes, me of all peop-” Lafayette's voice cut off when Aaron dropped his bundle with a soft but audible thump against the ground. Everyone's face whipped immediately to the source of the noise. “Aaron..” Lafayette's voice was surprised, uncertain. They were holding an incriminating fistful of bills.

Aaron felt numb, and slightly dizzy. The high he was riding through the entire day crashed, compressing into a strange hollowness in his chest. “Enjoy your winnings,” He said, not sure if it was a whisper, a shout, or even his normal tone.

“Aaron, wait!” Lafayette scrambled to their feet, long limbs working against them. Aaron was already at the apartment door, nearly slamming it behind him. He took to the stairs at a firm speed-walk. Halfway down, the stairwell door banged open again, multiple voices now shouting for Aaron to stop, to wait, to listen. He walked faster, clearing the building and crossing the street before any of them could see where he was going.

Aaron wasn't interested in explanations. The truth stood out for itself well enough.

#fic #burrlaf #please suffer with me #if at least one person who reads this goes from #oh hey burrlaf sounds kinda cute #to yep i ship that shit now #i will have succeeded #nonbinary lafayette

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