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pikapeppa · 4 years

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Felassan/f!Lavellan: The Love That Grows From Violence, Chap 2

The second chapter of Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan is up on AO3! (It was since yesterday, too, but I guess I’ll crosspost everything here anyway.

The first chapter (the prologue) is here on Tumbles.

~5100 words; read on AO3 instead.

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Kirkwall, one year after the Exalted Council...

Varric handed Tamaris a set of keys. “All right, here it is. Home sweet home.”

Tamaris stared blankly at the mansion. It was… frankly, it was huge. And fancy. Two gold-plated Orlesian lion statuettes flanked the front door, which was carved with an elaborate pattern of fleur-de-lis. The windows were made of elaborate stained glass that would make a Chantry sister envious, and she was fairly certain that the front door handle was made of gold. The outdoor fixtures alone must have cost a fortune, and she hadn’t even seen the interior of the house yet.

She shot Varric an incredulous look. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

He chuckled. “Nope. It’s yours. Your name is on the deed and everything.” He folded his arms. “I’ve kind of been waiting to see your face when you saw it.”

“Well, I hope my total sense of bemusement isn’t a disappointment,” she said. Honestly, she didn’t know how Varric expected her to live in this place. She was used to aravels and tents, for fuck’s sake. Moving to Skyhold had been a stretch for her, and Skyhold at least was a functional fortress as well as being a huge grand castle.

This mansion, on the other hand, looked totally frivolous. Tamaris could only hope that it was less gaudy on the inside than the outside.

She hefted her travelling pack onto her shoulder and unlocked the door. She took one step into the house and stopped dead in disbelief.

The floor was shiny rose marble with gold veins, and the wallpaper was cream silk with gold stripes. As Tamaris slowly made her way through the foyer into the main room, she wrinkled her nose; the fireplace, the staircase bannister, the chandelier hanging from the ceiling: all of it was gold.

She unceremoniously dropped her pack on the floor. “Varric, you’re not serious,” she complained.

He laughed again. “Trust me, Cuddles, this is restrained for an Orlesian mansion in Hightown. Orlesians who settle here think they need to remind us that they’re not from here. As if we could ever forget.” He patted the fireplace. “Don’t worry, you can get it all redone. Tear out the floors, maybe put in some sod so you can pretend you’re in a forest or something?”

Tamaris snorted. “Should I set up a ritual circle too, for the evil Dalish child sacrifices that I perform every other week?”

“You could,” Varric said wryly. “Just don’t tell our Captain of the Guard. She tends to get a little antsy about blood magic here. Well, we all do, really.”

Tamaris looked at him. He was smiling, but it only now just occurred to her how she must sound.

She sighed. “Varric, I’m sorry. I’m being an ungrateful bitch. This is… I mean, you gave me a fucking house. This is really nice of you. Even if it’s the gaudiest house in Thedas.”

He snorted a laugh, and Tamaris gave him a rare smile. “I mean it. This is really kind. Thank you.”

He waved her off. “Ah, don’t worry about it. And you don’t have to apologize. I’m used to moody elves, remember?”

“Right, right,” Tamaris said dryly. “Hawke’s husband and all that. Hey, you said her mansion was in Hightown too, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Her uncle lives in it now, though. Hawke is off hunting slavers with Fenris or whatever it is that he’s doing.”

Tamaris nodded in acknowledgement, then looked idly around at the vaulted ceilings. Shit, this house was big. And empty.

Oh, there was furniture, sure: a big ugly carved dining table with matching chairs and a writing desk in this room, and some plush velvet sofas in the study to the left. But the house still felt so… empty. It was going to be so quiet living here all by herself. After spending the better part of the year doing contract work with Bull and the Chargers, Tamaris couldn’t decide if she was grateful or not for the impending quiet.

“So,” Varric said. “Do you want to hear the updates on the wolf hunt now, or do you want to settle in first?”

Solas. Her gut twisted unpleasantly, like the feeling of stepping into a pothole that you didn’t realize was there.

“Sure, let’s hear it,” she said. She rifled around in her bag with her mechanical left hand and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Rivaini rum. “Fancy a drink?”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ll wait until it’s past noon.”

She shrugged and pulled the cork out of the bottle. “Suit yourself.” She took three big gulps, then shoved the cork back into the bottle and plopped down in one of the padded dining chairs. “All right, let’s hear it. I don’t suppose we’ve actually been lucky enough to find him.”

“Not yet,” Varric said. “A couple interesting leads, though. You actually got back just in time. Rhys and Evangeline are on their way here from the Hunterhorn Mountains. Should be arriving in the next day or two.”

Tamaris blinked. “Rhys and Evangeline? But I thought Cassandra needed them.”

“She does,” Varric said. “Their work at the Tranquil sanctuary has been going pretty smoothly so far. But they recently had someone staying with them who, uh, might be interesting for you to meet.”

That’s cryptic, Tamaris thought. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I’m listening.”

Varric leaned casually against the fireplace. “An elf with Dalish tattoos,” he said. “Only he says he isn’t Dalish. And he says he knows Solas.” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, from… before.”

Tamaris’s eyebrows shot up. Then she folded her arms. “Uh-huh. And we don’t think he’s full of shit because…?”

“Tranquil don’t lie,” Varric said. “He told Cassandra about Solas before they reversed his Tranquility.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes appraisingly. Then she straightened. “Hang on. You said… Are Rhys and Evangeline are bringing him here?”

Varric nodded, and Tamaris stared at him. “Varric, that’s insane. Solas definitely has spies in Kirkwall. This is the last place in Thedas that someone who knew Solas from before should be coming.”

Varric grimaced. “Well… Cassandra wanted you to go to the sanctuary instead. But we, uh, had some trouble getting in touch with you…”

Tamaris rubbed her forehead guiltily. Going off to mindlessly do a bunch of contracts with Bull and his company had been a selfish move, and Tamaris knew it. But the whole Exalted Council incident had been just… so much fucking bullshit, with the qunari attack and the Shattered Library and the crossroads and Solas.

Fucking Solas. Fucking Fen’Harel.

A year later, the truth still chafed. Tamaris had always known there were things he wasn’t telling her, and it had always grated at her nerves. Even during the moments when he was at his sweetest, it had always felt like there was some undercurrent of subtext behind his affectionate words. But Tamaris had never imagined that his lies were so spectacular.

Only by omission, he’d said, but in Tamaris’s opinion, that only made it worse. That he’d been so careful to omit things — so careful to stick to the truth without telling the most important parts of it…

She could feel her ears getting hot with anger. Varric stepped a little closer to her. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “Rhys and Evangeline are used to travelling incognito, and apparently the mystery elf is too. No reason to think they won’t make it here safe and sound.”

She took another gulp of rum, then placed the bottle back on the table. “Fine. A mysterious former friend of Solas’s is coming to pay me a visit. Anything else?”

Varric eyed her warily, then sat in a chair beside her. “How about a hand of wicked grace?”

Tamaris lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t have to coddle me, you know.”

“I’m not,” Varric said. “I’m trying to avoid Bran, really. You’re doing me a favour by showing up here so early in the day.” He pulled a pack of cards out of his coat pocket and began shuffling them.

She scoffed and propped her dirty bare feet up on the pristine table. “All right, since I’m doing you a favour.” They played wicked grace for a couple of hours, and by the time Varric finally got up to leave, Tamaris was nicely buzzed.

She lazily followed Varric to the door. “Can I swing by your office later? See how tightly the Viscount of Kirkwall runs his ship?”

“Sure,” Varric said. He opened the door and smirked up at her. “Or tomorrow, or whenever.”

She leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were ashamed of my drunken ass.”

“Not ashamed,” Varric said. “Just a little concerned, that’s all.”

She shrugged. There was no point denying that she wasn’t really okay. “I’m probably not the most stabilizing influence for a newly de-Tranquilized mage at the moment,” she said baldly.

“Ah, you’ll be fine,” Varric said. “You’ll be good for him, probably. You’ve got a knack for this kind of thing.”

“What, dealing with hysterical people?” she said sarcastically.

“Yeah, actually,” Varric said.

Tamaris scoffed and looked away. “Lucky me.”

“Let me know if you want to talk,” Varric said casually. “That’s all I’m saying.”

She shrugged again. “I probably won’t,” she replied. “If you want to hit me with a stick Bull-style, though, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass,” he said dryly. “Hey, I should have asked — this arm’s doing okay by you, huh?” He tapped her mechanical arm.

“Yeah, it’s great,” she said. “The lyrium powers it perfectly.” She flexed her arm and fingers to demonstrate. “I wrote Dagna a couple months ago to thank her, but you should let Bianca know it works almost as well as my real hand.”

Varric smiled. “I will. See you later.” He started to walk away, then paused and turned back. “Hey, I should have said. It’s, uh. It’s good to have you back.”

Tamaris managed a smile. “Thanks. It’s… well, it’s good to see you.”

He nodded understandingly, then gave her a little salute before taking his leave. Tamaris tottered back inside of her gaudy house, then toppled onto one of the big fat couches and fell fast asleep.

When she woke up a few hours later, it was with a raging headache, a stomach cramping from hunger, and a very dry mouth. She gulped down some water, then strapped a couple of daggers to her belt and put on her cloak. She pulled up the hood — more to shelter her pounding eyes from the lingering rays of the early evening sun than to hide her identity. She didn’t much care if anyone knew she was in Kirkwall, especially since she’d been out of the loop all this time and had no interesting contacts here aside from Varric. If Solas’s spies wanted to give him the useless information that she was here, they could fucking feel free.

Even so, she wasn’t particularly keen to be spoken to. So instead of leaving through the front door, she made her way up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the left.

She raised her eyebrows appreciatively when she opened the door; the bedroom decor was a Free Marcher style instead of Orlesian, and way more simple and plain than the rest of the house. Varric must have set this bedroom up just for her.

She smiled faintly, then headed for the window and pushed it open. After a careful peek into the alley to discern that no one was looking, she slipped out of the window and quickly climbed up the brick wall to the roof.

Once she was on the roof, she breathed a sigh of relief. The air was fresher up here, and the openness of the sky was frankly a relief. From up here, she could clearly see the shifting shades of the sky as the sun started to set, and she could almost pretend that she was on the shores of Hercinia admiring the sky instead of on the roof of a noisy city.

She drew another deep lungful of air, then began making her way to the Lowtown market via the rooftops. She made it to the market unnoticed and bought herself enough food for three days, then returned to her house using back alleys so no one would talk to her, and the furtive journey was challenging enough with the added weight of her bags to distract her from her headache.

Once she’d returned to her house, she immediately went back up to the roof with her indulgent supper of fish and chips. She spent the next little while on the roof watching the sun sink down behind the squat buildings of Lowtown. When it started getting dark and her thoughts started darkening to match, she moved over to the edge of the roof so she could watch the people below instead of the sky above.

She dangled her feet carelessly over the edge of the roof; no one ever looked up, so no one would see her anyway. She reached into the pocket of her vest and pulled out a slender joint and a matchbook, then lit the joint and took a deep drag.

The sweet-and-bitter smoke filled her mouth, and she held it for a few leisurely seconds before releasing it to the cool evening air. And as usual in the evenings when she had nothing else to do, she started mulling over her mistakes and failings of the past.

First and foremost, as always, was Solas. Was there anything she could have done to stop him when they’d been together? Should she have realized sooner that he was from an earlier age? Solas wasn't the only concern, though; the news about the qunari’s activities on the Tevinter coastline were frankly alarming, and Tamaris couldn't help but wonder if she should have foreseen that as well. She and her companions might have stopped the Viddasala from killing the leadership of Thedas during the Exalted Council a year ago, but had they really achieved anything if the qunari were attacking Tevinter so aggressively now?

Another huge concern was where the fuck the Grey Wardens were. Tamaris had thought she was doing the right thing by sending them to Weisshaupt until Corypheus was gone, but there had been no word of them since then, and their silence made her wonder whether sending them away had been a good idea after all. Solas certainly approved of her action, but in truth, Tamaris had never been clear on exactly why he’d approved. Even now, after what he’d told her about the Evanuris and the Veil, she still didn’t understand why he got so irate about the Grey Wardens.

Solas, she thought moodily. Her thoughts cycled back to wondering if she should have foreseen his betrayal during the time that they’d been lovers. She smoked her joint slowly and mulled over her gloomy thoughts, and all the while she was watching the streets below for anything strange.

It wasn’t until late that night that something caught her eye: a pair of figures, one tall and slim and the other shorter and a bit more broad. They were cloaked and moving quietly along Hightown’s largely silent streets, but not sticking to the shadows.

Humans, she thought. Only humans walked around at night with that much confidence. But these humans were being quiet and subtle, so they didn’t want to be noticed.

She peered more carefully at them, and that’s when she noticed the signature style of the shorter figure’s gauntlets. A Templar, she thought, and she relaxed slightly. It must be Rhys and Evangeline. But where was their former Tranquil companion, then?

She narrowed her eyes and scanned the streets; no one else was around. Curious now, Tamaris waited until the two cloaked people were closer – not so close that they were under her, but close enough that they could hear her.

She let out a low whistle, and the cloaked figures looked up sharply; sure enough, it was Rhys and Evangeline.

Rhys smiled at her, and Evangeline visibly relaxed. “Lady Lavellan,” she called out quietly. “What are you doing up there?”

“Skulking, obviously,” Tamaris replied. “Nobody ever looks up.”

“You’re right,” a man’s voice said behind her. “They don’t.”

Tamaris was on her feet with a dagger in hand before he finished speaking. But even before she could turn around to face him, a spill of goosebumps was rippling down her neck. The voice was unfamiliar to her, but the accent…

It was like Solas’s accent. Not exactly the same, but close enough to Solas’s smooth lilt that it gave her a chill of recognition.

The former Tranquil, she thought tensely. She eyed the stranger in silence for a moment. He was a tall elf, barefoot and cloaked and apparently unarmed, and he was leaning languidly against one of the chimneys with a smirk lifting the corners of his lips.

“It’s all right,” Rhys called from the ground below. “He’s with us.”

“You don’t say,” Tamaris retorted.

The former Tranquil’s smirk widened slightly, and Tamaris raised an eyebrow before restoring her dagger to the sheath at her hip. “It’s your lucky day,” she told him. “I’ve decided not to gut you on the spot for sneaking up on me.”

“Very gracious of you,” he said with a little half-bow.

She eyed him suspiciously. His words were polite enough, but his tone was faintly mocking.

She pursed her lips, then started toward the side of the roof that led back to the bedroom window. “Come on, then,” she said to the strange elf. “If you’re bringing trouble to my doorstep, I might as well roll with it.” She swung down from the edge of the roof and back into the window, then made her way through the bedroom without waiting to see if he was following her.

He was, of course; if he was nimble enough to sneak up on her via the roof, he was nimble enough to follow her back through the window. He chuckled as he followed her out of the bedroom. “And what a doorstep it is,” he said. “A fan of gold, are you?”

She scoffed and traipsed down the stairs. “Hardly. This house was a gift from a dwarf with an overdeveloped sense of humour.”

“My kind of dwarf,” the elf said.

She shot him an odd look, then paused in surprise at the bottom of the stairs. She’d just realized something odd about his appearance. He had vallaslin branching across his cheekbones and his forehead, but it wasn’t the marks on his face that surprised her per se; it was the lack of a particular kind of mark.

He didn’t have a scar on his forehead from the Templars’ lyrium brand. But Varric had said he was a Tranquil…?

He raised his eyebrows. “Something I can do for you?”

“Um,” she said distractedly. “Let me just…” She nodded at the front door, then went to open it for Evangeline and Rhys.

She stood back to let them in, then gestured at the dining table with its padded chairs. “Have a seat. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, but we should get going,” Rhys said.

“Yes,” Evangeline agreed. “We don’t want to linger in Kirkwall for too long. And Lady Cassandra requires our services.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “But — wait, you just got here. I don’t think Cassandra would begrudge you a night’s rest.”

“Of course,” Evangeline said. “But we are anxious to return to our duties as well. For now, Rhys remains the only mage at the sanctuary who can safely guide the spirits through the Veil. We can’t cure any more Tranquil until he has returned.”

Rhys let out a little laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m hardly the fulcrum of this whole operation,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be so modest, cher,” Evangeline said firmly. “In any case, we should be going.”

Tamaris held up a hand. “Hang on. You’re not going to explain anything to me before you go? For example: who the fuck is he, exactly?” She jerked her thumb at the raven-haired elf, who had availed himself of one of the dining table chairs.

He gave her a charming smile. “I was wondering when you’d remember I was here. Don’t worry, I’m not offended. There’s something quite powerful about being forgotten, under the right circumstances.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes at this cryptic remark, and Rhys smacked his forehead. “Maker, I’m sorry, Tamaris. This is Felassan. He came from — well, the whole story will probably be more coherent if you hear it from him, which is why we accompanied him here, obviously.”

She eyed Rhys skeptically. “And his whole story is good enough that you’re willing to leave him with me, even though he’s only been cured for…” She trailed off, then turned to Felassan. “How long have you been, um, back to yourself?”

He looked at Rhys. “It’s been, what? Three months?”

“That’s right,” Rhys said. “About three months.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “It only takes three months for former Tranquil to become stable?”

“Oh, I’m not stable,” Felassan said cheerfully. “I can be quite volatile, unfortunately.”

Tamaris stared at him. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Evangeline answered her unspoken question. “That’s true, unfortunately. Felassan is still getting… adjusted.”

“Adjusted?” Tamaris said warily. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning,” Felassan said, “that she had to neutralize me several times during our journey here. Not that I hold it against you,” he said pleasantly to Evangeline. “It’s been interesting, in fact. I never had a chance to see a Templar in action before.”

Evangeline nodded politely to him, but Tamaris wrinkled her nose in confusion. How was that possible? He’d been made Tranquil. He had to have seen a Templar in action before.

She didn’t have time to ask, however; Rhys and Evangeline were already making their way back to the door. She hurried after them. “So — so he’s… he’s supposed to just stay here with me, then.”

“That’s what Cassandra wanted, yes,” Rhys said.

Tamaris sighed. At least Rhys had the courtesy to sound apologetic. “And if he gets volatile? I suppose she was confident that I could just… handle it.”

“She was very confident,” Evangeline said.

Rhys smiled faintly. “I believe her words were something along the lines of ‘Tamaris has a special talent for highly charged situations such as this.’”

“Of course,” she muttered. “Well… I suppose I should thank you for bringing him here.”

“I think it will be worth your while, once you hear what he has to say,” Rhys said earnestly. “There’s a good reason we didn’t just send you a report.”

Tamaris pursed her lips. “If you say so. Well, travel safe.”

Rhys gave her a little salute and Evangeline bowed her head politely, and they took their leave. Tamaris sighed, then locked the door and returned to the dining table.

Felassan was sitting cross-legged on his chair and idly twirling a short length of wood in his fingers. Tamaris folded her arms and eyed him. “It sounds like I’m in for a good story, hm? Or a long one, at least.”

He quirked a brow. “I suppose that depends. Do you enjoy hearing tales of Fen’Harel?”

Fen’Harel. Fucking Solas, she thought bitterly. “I enjoy it as much as I enjoy lancing a boil,” she said snidely. “It’s distasteful but necessary, especially given… you know, everything.” She waved her hand in a vague gesture meant to encompass the entire world.

His ever-present smirk widened into a broad smile, and he let out a burbling laugh. “I think you and I will get along just fine, then.”

His laughter was knowing and playful at the same time, and she couldn’t decide if she liked the sound of it or not. She pursed her lips, then turned toward the kitchen. “You must be hungry. I’ll get you something.”

“I’ll join you,” he said, and he rose from the chair and tucked the piece of wood back inside of his cloak.

Tamaris raised her eyebrows, then shrugged and turned away. “Suit yourself. I thought you’d be tired, though. It’s a long way here from the Hunterhorn Mountains.”

“It is,” he confirmed. “A long and perilous journey, fraught with bandits and poor weather and the odd Tevinter refugee. Is that really what you want to talk about?”

“What do you mean?” Tamaris said. She opened a cupboard and pulled out an apple, then tossed it to him.

He caught it deftly. “I mean that I was brought here to speak with you about our… mutual friend. I assumed you would have questions.”

I suspect you have questions. Felassan’s words were almost an echo of the ones that Solas had greeted her with a year ago, and the memory made her curl her lip.

He lifted one dark eyebrow, and Tamaris carefully smoothed out her expression. “I would rather talk about you,” she said. “Like why you don’t have that fucked-up sunburst scar on your face, for example. Does the Tranquility cure involve removing that scar?”

He smiled slowly. “They mentioned that you were blunt. They weren’t wrong.”

Tamaris huffed, then opened the enchanted icebox and pulled out some hard Fereldan cheese. “Uh-huh. What else did they tell you about me?”

Felassan leaned back against the counter. “They said you can be aloof, sarcastic, and hard to crack. That you get things done through force of will more than charm.” His smile widened slightly. “They said that you allowed Empress Celene to be assassinated at the Winter Palace, and that you helped Briala to become the true power behind the throne.”

Tamaris shrugged. “They weren’t wrong about any of that.”

Felassan nodded and idly rolled the apple between his palms. “They also say that you are far more compassionate than you seem, and that you and Fen’Harel were lovers.”

She paused in her cutting of the cheese and gave him a hard look, but his expression was pleasantly neutral. He shrugged and took a bite of the apple. “I don’t blame you,” he said through his full mouth. “He’s undeniably compelling.”

Tamaris stared at him for a moment longer, then continued cutting the cheese. “You didn’t answer my question. Why don’t you have a scar on your forehead?”

Felassan made an apologetic face. “If you were hoping to talk about something other than Fen’Harel, I’m afraid you’re taking the wrong tack.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He idly flicked the side of his half-eaten apple. “I mean that it wasn’t that delightful Templar order that made me Tranquil,” he said. “It was him.”

Tamaris went still. “It… what?”

He looked up from the apple and met her eyes, and her belly jolted. For the first time since they’d met, his expression was utterly serious. There wasn’t even a hint of laughter in his strange amethyst-coloured eyes.

“Fen’Harel made me Tranquil,” Felassan said.

She stared breathlessly at him. Solas had made him Tranquil? No. No, that... it couldn’t be true. Solas abhorred the idea of Tranquility. He’d initially thought all the people of her time were Tranquil, and his horror at this misguided impression had fuelled his original plans to bring the Veil down on all of them. There was no way Solas would have done something so terrible to someone.

But Felassan looked so serious, and he had no reason to lie to her. And Solas had told her that he would see his plans to fruition, by any means necessary…

Her heart was pounding, and she couldn't tell if it was because of agitation or disgust or fear. She swallowed hard. “Felassan, I am so sorry,” she said. “Do you want a drink?”

His expression went slack for a moment. Then some of his usual humour returned to his face. “That’s… not the response I expected.”

“Glad I’m still capable of surprising people sometimes,” she said. “Do you want a drink or not?”

He chuckled. “I do. Thank you.”

“No problem,” she said. She carefully placed his impromptu meal of cheese and bread on a plate, then picked up a bottle of cider and headed back to the main room with the dining table. “So, Felassan. That’s a strange name. Who decided to call you a slow arrow?”

“I did, as a matter of fact,” he said wryly.

She raised her eyebrows and set the food on the table before taking a seat. “Why would you call yourself that?”

He sat in the chair beside her and studied her quietly for a moment, and she lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“This is truly what you want to talk about?” he asked.

She wilted in exasperation. “Cassandra might not have told you this, but I hate small talk. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t actually want to know. If you don’t want to answer the question, just say so.”

A smile lit his face again, and Tamaris idly noted that he was quite handsome. His hair was as black as her own unruly waves, and probably about half as long if he were to unbind it from its leather wrap. A few faint wrinkles creased his tawny skin, giving the impression that he was maybe ten to fifteen years older than her, but his dimpled smile held a boyish sense of mischief. And then there were his unusual and luminous violet eyes.

She dropped his gaze and started peeling the wax seal off of the bottle of cider. “So? Are you going to tell me about your name or not?”

“I wouldn't dare to turn down my gracious hostess’s request,” he said. “But I have to warn you, our dear friend Fen’Harel plays into the tale.”

Of course he does, Tamaris thought bitterly. It seemed like she could barely talk to anyone about anything these days without Solas coming up somehow.

She pulled the cork out of the bottle of cider, then took a gulp of the tart-and-sweet booze before offering it to him. “All right. Let’s hear it. Tell me about fucking Fen’Harel.”

#felassan #felassan fic #felassan romance #felassan/lavellan #felassan x lavellan #the love that grows from violence #pikapeppa writes

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britpop-bowie · 5 years

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Introducing: my writing

So this is only the first part of the first chapter but I thought I'd test it on an audience to see how well it's received and if there's any major changes I should make. As of yet John's character hasn't been introduced but will be later, and I don't have a summary either, but I do have 1700 trial words so let's see!

Dedicated in part, if not entirely, to @freddieseyeliner

A foolish lovers game - Queen

Brian May was sat, arms up on the back of the sofa and impossibly long legs slung up on the coffee table; an impossible air of both calm and incredible energy. His hair was huge and wild and completely contrasted the tidy nature of the flat he was lounging in. “Bri you lazy fucker!” came a rousing yell from the first door on the right as a shaggy head of blond hair and half finished eyeliner was thrust around the frame; “we’ve got an hour and you’re not even ready yet!” Roger stared with his best bitch face as Brian rolled his eyes at his ever so slightly overdressed man in the doorway. “Rog, it’s just a new roommate arriving. Don’t be so overdramatic,” Roger stuck out his tongue and ducked back into the room, presumably to finish his makeup or try on a third outfit to impress their much needed new roommate. “What is he called again?” He yelled from the depths of his horrendously messy bedroom towards Brian who sighed and sifted through the pile of bills, scrap paper and empty forms to find the letter from their perspective friend.

“I think it’s uh… Eddie or uh, Freddie? Yeah, Freddie.” He read out from the piece of paper than had been annoyingly scrunched up, presumably by Roger. “Did he say anything else? I need to know what look to go for,” He shouted back rather than taking what Brian thought to be the more sensible option of having an actual human conversation not shouted through walls. “No! Why don’t you just ask him himself when he gets here?” Roger reappeared for a split second in a flurry of hair and wearing a questionably patterned blazer “don’t be a dick Bri.”

“No, no I’m not being a dick, you’re just getting too stressed out and dressed up for one human being,”

“It’s just the pleasure of getting to spend time with someone who isn’t you.”

Brian made a mental note to remember that next time Roger attempted to rope him into listening to some new song that was no doubt going to be mildly inappropriate. “Ha ha” he muttered, deadpan, before picking himself up and making his way to the kitchen to brew some tea, realising that now he too was in fact quite nervous to meet this newcomer they had decided to let live in their house without ever meeting the man first. Well, as he had said to roger, at least they knew his name and they could double check he wasn’t a murderer later, if, of course, he didn’t do the murdering before they’d had the chance. Brian was sure it could all be fine, he mostly echoed rogers belief that if they saw too much of each other they might just go absolutely crazy and so in the end it was probably best to have someone calmer to sit down and talk to rather than clean up after. The kitchen walls had some sort of awful brown paisley wallpaper that was now noticeably damp from the steam caused by the kettle, the kind of problem you would ask the landlord to fix if you weren’t late for the very first rent payment.

Whilst he waited for the kettle to boil he let his mind drift away to wonder what the new guy would be like, he knew he couldn't be worse than loving with Roger. Although he wouldn't mind at all if he wasn't, Brian secretly longed for him to be reserved and polite, the kind of person who would join in with Roger's antics but only to help Brian not be dragged into them alone. He was going to help tidy the flat, spend a maximum of an hour on hair and makeup (but no less than 15 minutes or he might just be ashamed to leave the house with him) and use a coaster for his drinks on hardwood surfaces. So maybe Brian had planned the perfect picture of a roommate in his head, that didn't mean he would be at all disappointed if he wasn't exactly the way he wanted him to be.

The whistle of the boiling water jolted him out of his train of thought; he moved from his fairly comfortable one-knee-up lounging position against the counter and poured himself a perfectly sized cup of tea, not like the weak rubbish Roger makes him, taking extra care to be spiteful and not make a second cup.

Brian added the wallpaper to his mental list of things to be done (now scraping the floor) and grabbed his mug of tea managing to only slightly scald his hands. He had just enough time to reread the course specification and allocate ten minutes to existential panic or song writing, the perfect hour to wind down before-

there was a loud and rhythmic knock causing Roger to screech and Brian to spill half a cup of scalding tea all down his white trousers at his own dismay.

Early. Of course he had to be early, he couldn't be late or on time or five minutes either way but no, he just had to be early. This Freddie guy had better be worth a trip into the city and £5 he really didn't have on him to spend on new trousers. And so approaching was the whirlwind of a man, Freddie Mercury!

As Brian opened the door with a painful slowness, he seemed to fill it almost instantly amidst the odd apology for the obscene amount of luggage he held. His hair was long and silky to go with the fashion, his clothes were too; bright and sparkly and all the right curves in all the right places. But of course the most noticeable thing about his bizarrely foreign face was his teeth. Brian felt awful for looking as Freddie hurried to remove his smile and cover up his overbite, nodding to an ever more amused Brian. It was plain to see that he was beautiful and a one of a kind mix of energy and reservedness. He was exciting and he was certainly making an impression.

“Bloody Hell Bri, I thought we had ages left why didn't you tell me he was here!” Roger reappeared for the last time with a slightly more even eyeliner and a sudden look of awe on his face. “Well- uh… I'm Roger and you're… not what I was expecting,” he let out a soft chuckle as he too made the mistake of keeping his eyes on Freddie's teeth for longer than was polite and longer than Freddie was keen on. He shrugged it off by turning to his bags, lifting two of the four over his shoulders and proclaiming “which one's mine then dear?”

Freddie Mercury had never felt so far from home, he was sure the boys were nice, they had promise, but they weren't his- not yet at least. Every few minutes of throwing his clothes into a pile in the wardrobe he had to pick out a particularly glam item and look in the mirror just to remind himself that no matter how far away from everything he knew, he was Freddie Fucking Mercury and he was here to be big. He looked in the mirror and somehow (with the addition of a swig from his handy travel gin) he could see a talented musician, an artist and a man who was going to be amazing and happy and bright… if only he waited just a few weeks to find that in this room rather than the one next to Kash's.

When his two gym bags, one suitcase and one shoulder purse for men were empty and the contents happily strewn across the floor he made the journey out into the living room. There was Brian, who he noticed was largely taller than the other (who he assumed must be Roger) and had much more of a sensible air to him; although ,of course, an air of sensibility really didn't mean anything about a man's character.

Brian appeared to be making a cup of tea, so naturally he asked for one before throwing himself down on the sofa and allowing his robe to fall of his shoulders and reveal his scandalous silk shirt to flash over his chest like the rich showing off their posh tablecloth. “Of course mate. Roger might get one too if he gets off his arse!” He called the second part into the midst of the flat hoping that Roger would finally take it upon himself to leave the room properly and massively impose himself as usual. Thankfully the promise of tea and new company redirected the man's entire body out of the door, leaving it wide open behind him.

Now that this was Freddie's first proper impression of Roger he had to say firstly that he was impressed and secondly that he would be borrowing that blazer the moment Dog's back was turned. The pink suspenders too if he wasn't careful; if he kept on dressing like this he would have to start calling him Rainbow, it was a darned sight less boring than 'Roger’ anyhow. “Tea please Bri!” He quipped, grabbing the mug just as Brian finished pouring and leaving a shocked and disappointed stare at his back. Putting his leg up against the doorframe he said “I'm Roger.”

“Yes ,darling, you said, I hope you're usually more talented at conversation,” Freddie fired back, leaving just enough joyful enthusiasm so as to not alienate he flatmates with the first sentence.

Brian squeezed past a stunned Roger and placed himself on the other side of the frame: “I like him.” Roger grimaced and gave Brian a grin and then a gentle but malicious shove; Freddie watched from the sidelines, smiling with only a hint of regret at his clear face.

“So then Freddie, what makes you tick?” Roger posed as he flicked through the book Brian had just thrown onto the table. “Me? Oh everything and anything, find me the right tune and I'll hum along,” Roger seemed fairly contented with that answer, awarding it a small nod. But before he could respond Brian had leant out of his sofa corner and turned to Freddie, “but really, what sort of things do you like? I haven't even asked what course you're doing?”

“Oh well if you must know its graphic art or something of the sort,” he laughed lightly gesturing away in an attempt to avoid any intense conversation he was sure he wasn't prepared for. “Don't ask me all the questions, tell me something about you?”

#im giving it a go #queen #queen band #fanfiction #queen fanfiction #queen fics #roger taylor #brian may #Freddie Mercury #john deacon #the band queen

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betweensceneswriter · 6 years

Text

Second Wife-Chapter 17 : Married

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously - Chapter 16 : Comfort She needed to go somewhere for comfort…

“John Robert MacLeod’s reputation among young women had been the subject of a good deal of talk among the men-at-arms at Leoch in his brief time there. A sly, good-looking slink of a man, handsome and lean-jawed—and the fact that he’d a wife and weans at home in Killiecrankie seemed to hamper him not at all.” (An Echo in the Bone, 676).

“Come, Marsali,” Jamie said. When Jenny had whispered in his ear a moment earlier, his eyebrows had raised and he nodded in response. “Time for you to choose your final birthday gift!”

With sparkling eyes, Marsali hopped up from her little pile of treasures on the floor, and she, Janet, and Joanie followed Jamie and Jenny up the stairs to the laird’s room.

Marsali and Joanie had never seen a room so fine, with dark wood furniture and beautiful drapes, as well as actual wallpaper in a lovely blue and ivory pattern. Balriggan only had painted rooms, and a few old tapestries. Wallpaper was something that royalty had in palaces.

Joanie was clinging to his hand, but Jamie, noting Marsali’s cautious steps and the look of wonder in her eyes, reached out to pat her on the shoulder. “Exactly how I felt as a young lad when I came into my ma and da’s room. Very fine, is it not?” Marsali nodded wordlessly in response. Though there were times she seemed very much like a woman, glimmers of the little girl were still left, and currently evident on her face.

Jenny and Jamie dragged a trunk out of the corner. “Now that ye are a young lady, Marsali, I wanted ye to have a choice of some grown-up lady clothing.” Jamie said, reaching down and opening it up.

Marsali fell on her knees in front of the trunk, joined quickly by Janet and Joanie. The trunk held bright bits of blue and yellow and red silk, as well as some darker colors, deep green and gray. “So extravagant!” Marsali said, hesitant to touch anything. “Much too fine for Balriggan. Maybe if I were to go to Edinburgh, or London…”

“I’m certain ye can find something that would suit you now,” Jamie said encouragingly.

Marsali looked overwhelmed.

“What about this?” Jenny asked, pulling something made of green wool out of the trunk. “A lovely thick, warm cloak would be something useable—even for your trip back, particularly if it rains.”

Smiling, Marsali ran her hand over the warm wool. “Indeed, Auntie. This would work nicely, though if I ever have a ball to go to, I would love to come and look at these dresses again!” She withdrew her hand from the glossy silks reluctantly.

“Ye can still look at and touch them, mo chridhe,” said Jamie. “They are lovely to see and feel.”

Marsali lifted each garment, then turned and handed them to wee Janet, who laid them out on the bed, where Joanie stroked the fine fabric and inspected the gathers and stays.

Jenny noticed Jamie clenching and releasing one hand as if it ached, and she sidled up close to him, putting her arm about his waist. He put his arm over her shoulder, then sighed and settled into her embrace, and continued to watch as the girls exclaimed over each new revelation.

Finally Marsali reached the bottom of the trunk. There were some fine white lacy underthings that made her blush slightly, so she simply pushed them aside to pull out the last item in the trunk.

The three girls gasped as Marsali drew out the dress. A beautiful taupe linen with silvery threads interwoven created a skirt which must have been made with yards and yards of fabric. The bodice was made of the same fabric, and the stomacher was of cream colored linen, embroidered with silvery thread in a pattern of acorns and leaves.

“Oh, Auntie Jenny, your wedding dress was so lovely!” gasped Joanie. “Like a fairy princess!”

“Wasna mine,” said Jenny, turning questioningly to Jamie.

“It belonged to my first wife,” Jamie said. “I was married once, before I married yer ma, Joanie and Marsali. Back before Culloden. A little before your ma married Hugh MacKenzie, her first husband.“

Joanie reached out a hand and barely brushed the intricate stitching. “Oh, Da, it was very fine. Were ye rich, then?”

“Just fortunate,” Jamie replied, smiling. “Ye remember Ned Gowan? He found it for me the day we were to be wed.”

“It’s beautiful,” Marsali murmured. “Was she lovely also?” After asking the question, she looked worriedly at Jamie, but he smiled distantly.

“Yes,” Jamie replied. “When I saw her, it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.” He smiled, his eyes focused beyond the walls of the room as if seeing a vision.

“Da, I dinna want to upset ye,” said Joanie, coming close and holding his hand. “But do ye mind saying what happened to her?”

Jamie’s eyes were watery as he looked at the dress. “It was long ago, Joanie, and it still hurts to think of her. Just know that I hope when ye lassies are wed, that ye find someone who loves ye as much as I loved her.”

“But Da, if it hurts ye,” Marsali looked worried, but she came to Jamie’s other hand, “do ye really want me to be wearing her fine things around?”

Jamie and Jenny met each other’s eyes. Jamie spoke slowly. “I canna live in the past. And if someone I love is wearing her things, it seems good and right.”

Marsali threw her arms around Jamie, burying her face in his shirt front. “I love ye, too, Daddy.”

The girls reverently laid the dresses back in the trunk, and as they did, Jamie’s eyes followed the dresses longingly. Jenny looked at him with concern.

He put his arm back around her shoulders, and leaning to her ear, said, “She is not here anymore. It’s time for me to focus on what is.”

“Oh, Jamie,” she said compassionately. There was little else she could say.

Laoghaire was sitting quietly by the fire when the little troop came downstairs, Marsali happily wearing the green cloak about her shoulders.

With the hubbub of dinner and gifts, no one had really noticed that Kitty had disappeared after dinner. They couldn’t tell you when she had come back in the house blushingly and beckoned Ian into the parlor, nor had they seen her pull a tall young man from the front door to the parlor by his hand. Few noticed that she had pushed him inside, and closed the door behind him, rocking excitedly up on her toes with her hands clasped behind her back, waiting.

It was just about the time that Jamie and Joan, Maggie and Paul were packing up their wee ones to head home that Kitty had burst from the parlor, pulling the aforementioned young man behind her by the hand, with Ian smilingly taking up the rear.

Entering the hall, Ian had clapped his hands for attention. Conversations had ceased, and eyes turned in his direction.

“Geordie has asked Kitty to marry him, and she has accepted!” he announced proudly.

The cheering and well wishes began almost before Ian announced that Kitty was engaged, and the crowd barely heard him say that he was happy to give them his blessing and welcome George to the family.

Just as few of them had noticed Kitty’s secretive behavior, few noticed Laoghaire after the announcement. She was pale-faced, a slight sad turn to her lips, and a wrinkle on her forehead.

Laoghaire had never been as giddy as Katherine Mary was to be getting married, holding onto her fiance’s hand with both of hers, gazing up at him with shining eyes.

Her memories were nothing like that at all.

☆☆☆☆☆

She had managed to slip in to see John Robert before heading to her own chamber for bed, she believed without being noticed. He had such a way with words—she had never felt so adored. She had to hurry him along and left most of her clothing in place—since she needed to get back to the room she shared with Mrs. Fitz and she didn’t want to look disheveled—but even a truncated experience had made her ecstatically lightheaded. She couldn’t wait until they could be married, and lay in their bed together, blissfully naked, able to take their time for words and caresses. Laoghaire knew her cheeks were flushed when she reached her bedchamber, but Mrs. Fitz already had the lights out and bade her to be quiet, as she was exhausted from the long day.

When Laoghaire came into the kitchen in the morning, she tried to get to work quickly. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, and truly, she just kept thinking over and over of John Robert MacLeod and the last few days. Had she noticed how handsome he was when he spoke to her at the shinty match? She’d been blind, then, blinded by her childhood crush on Jamie. Certainly the man had his merits, but John Robert was in love with her.

In the previous week Laoghaire had been working on an apron for Mrs. Fitz. Wanting to maintain a good relationship with her grandmother, she’d chosen this morning to give it to her. Mrs. Fitz was delighted and marveled at Laoghaire’s even stitching and the perfect fit.

“It’s so lovely. I hate to dirty it,” Mrs. Fitz said.

Laoghaire was focused on helping her grandmother put on the apron, so she didn’t see Mistress Bea…Fraser approach.

“Claire, do ye see what my darling granddaughter here has stitched fer me?” Mrs. Fitz reveled excitedly. “Is it not the most beautiful thing ye’ve ever laid eyes on?”

This Claire looked nothing at all like the warm, friendly woman watching Gwyllyn the bard; though truly, that Claire had consumed at least two glasses of Colum’s Rhenish, Laoghaire thought.

When Claire started speaking, Laoghaire had felt the bile rise in her throat and her heart begin to pound. This was not going to be a friendly chat. Mrs. Fitz pulled the other kitchen maids Saffron and Fiona away, both of whom had started staring at Claire’s entrance.

It had been so long ago, all Laoghaire remembered was staring up at Claire as she scolded her, arched eyebrows and features giving her the bearing of some regal lady, thrusting the ill wish under Laoghaire’s nose and then throwing it to the side when Laoghaire denied it came from her.

She just stared at the woman, bitterness growing. But when Mistress Beauchamp said, “The truth is, he was never yours to begin with,” something deep in Laoghaire took over.

“That’s a lie,” she had said. “Jamie Fraser was and is mine. And ye did us both a wrong past bearing when ye stole him away.”

“You are mistaken, child,” said Mistress Beauchamp.

Laoghaire remembered the separate hollows in the sheets, and the stain-free bed. “My poor Jamie,” she said. “Trapped in a loveless marriage, forced to share his bed with a cold, English bitch. He must have to get himself swine drunk of a night before he can stand to plow yer field.”

Mistress Beauchamp had slapped her then, and threatened her to stay away from her and to stay away from her husband.

Her face still red and stinging, Laoghaire had tried to act nonchalant when she welcomed her gran and the other maids back into the kitchen. She had begun to peel potatoes when she overhead Saffron talking to Fiona as they mixed up the bannock dough. She kept herself low over the scraps bowl so they wouldn’t halt their conversation on her account.

“Did ye see Jamie and Mistress Fraser this morning? She looked well-ridden, to be sure,” giggled Saffron.

“Walkin’ a bit sore, was she now?” Fiona answered. The two maids giggled.

“Aye, that, and the flush on her face whenever she would look at him?” Saffron whistled.

“Did ye see the way he was lookin’ at her, though?” Fiona added. “Like he could devour her right then and there.”

“And he couldna keep his hands off her, neither,” Saffron giggled. “She got embarrassed and pushed him away, but I was certain I saw his hand pullin’ up her skirt under the table and him touchin’ her knee.”

“They were hungry for more than breakfast, ye ken?” The two maids dissolved in paroxysms of laughter, and Laoghaire glared in their direction.

Damn Geillis Duncan and her damn ill wish, Laoghaire thought to herself. Obviously the green-eyed witch had taken Laoghaire’s money and given her nothing in return.

She tried to keep John Robert at the forefront of her mind. Each time she recalled his words and the way he spoke to her, she was able to calm herself.

Saffron had seen her, and directed a question at her. “Now, Jamie was a favorite of yers, wasn’t he, Laoghaire?”

“He was, once,” Laoghaire responded haughtily. “But I have a new young man now.”

“Oooohh!” said Saffron, teasingly making eye contact with Fiona. “Tell me. What is the young man’s name?”

Laoghaire felt shy. Should she tell? John Robert was handsome, and he said he was a blacksmith in town, with his own shop. There was nothing to be ashamed of there. She lifted her chin. “John Robert MacLeod,” she said proudly.

She knew something was amiss when Saffron and Fiona exchanged distressed glances. “What?” she asked. “What?! Tell me.”

“Lass,” said Saffron, kindly. “John Robert MacLeod is married.”

“Married?” Laoghaire had repeated,

“And he has several children,” Fiona added.

“Several?” Laoghaire asked in disbelief, insisting, “Not the John Robert MacLeod I’m talking about.”

“Aye, John Robert MacLeod. Tall, brown hair, square jaw? He lives in town above his smithy, but he was here last night. We’ve all been warned about him, and I guess, here’s yer warning as well. Sometimes he doesna want to stay at home, so he finds some excuse to bring him up here. Must be looking for a castle lass to bed,” said Fiona.

“He’s a sweet talker, that ‘un,” Saffron added. “Best keep clear of him, lass. He will make ye feel like yer the only lass in the world, just so he can have yer maidenheid.”

Laoghaire felt nauseated and could barely keep her tears in until she was able to race to the privy, where she lost her breakfast and then sat and sobbed.

☆☆☆☆☆

That was the one time she had anticipated a wedding announcement, Laoghaire thought, looking sadly at the happy young couple. Hugh had asked her father for her hand, but there were no happy announcements, and by the time Simon MacKimmie had proposed, her da was gone.

She looked across the great room at Jamie. They were married now. Despite the Sassenach telling her that she’d wasted her money on that stupid ill wish and that she would never have Jamie, he was hers now. Hers, and the Sassenach was gone.

“Will ye come to bed, Jamie?” she asked, standing up. His eyes met hers with curious bewilderment. She was announcing her intention to bed him in front of the whole family? She could see the entire thought process parading across his face, from confusion to acceptance, to mild anticipation.

It was truly a shallow reason to take her husband to bed, Laoghaire thought. But when Jenny changed their sheets in the morrow, she would not see signs of a cold wife—separately wrinkled sheets, and a fresh white expanse.

Laoghaire would show that cold Sassenach bitch.

On to Chapter 18 : Not Gone The Sassenach was dead, but not gone.

#Jamie fraser #Laoghaire MacKenzie #CanonCompliant #Why did Jamie marry Laoghaire?#Why did their marriage fall apart?#Outlander fanfic #BetweenSceneswriter

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hockeyytrash · 7 years

Text

Alaska - Chapter Twenty Five

-3500 words-

It's been two weeks since my date with Auston. Over the course of those weeks, I received a few texts here and there, but I haven't actually seen him since our game of trivia and dip in the pool. That means it's also been two weeks since I came to the conclusion that I was falling for Auston.

Although I don't have tons of experience in the dating world, I have watched a good number of chick flicks and rom-coms. From these great pieces of film, I know that if a guy was really interested in you, he would definitely ask you out again or at least propose a similar idea a lot less than two weeks after your initial date.

This theory and quotes from icons such as Regina George and Cher Horowitz have been echoing in my head every minute of every waking hour. At first, I thought he was just busy. I mean, he is a professional hockey player after all. But I know for a fact that he has had more than enough time to type a few words on his iPhone and press send.

However, Carly has had no problem with texting me non-stop. We've hung out a few times but only for lunch or a movie here and there. She has tried to drag me out to some of the Leafs' games, but I have been so busy with finalizing my early graduation that I haven't been able to go. Good news is though, I have been approved to graduate, and I'll be getting my diploma in the mail any day now!

The only thing that seems to be missing right now is a certain brunette center for the Toronto Maple Leafs.

Friday mornings are the absolute best, now that I don't have to go to school for 7 hours a day. I feel like now I can actually get things done and start moving forward with my life. Today's agenda includes finding an internship or job, house hunting, and grocery shopping. Exciting stuff, man.

Technically, I'm not house hunting. I'm apartment/condo hunting. My mom, Tom, and I came to the agreement that they would help pay for an apartment of my own until I can fully support myself as long as I find a job or paid internship. I was ecstatic when they told me about it because I can't wait to get out of the house.

So for today, my first order of business will be apartment hunting. I scheduled a couple of house tours yesterday with my first one starting at noon. Seeing as though it's only nine, I decide it's acceptable to go grab coffee somewhere until my first tour.

I arrive at one of the many quaint coffee shops downtown a short 25 minutes later after throwing on jeans and a jacket. I snag a table by the window and unload my laptop from my bag before ordering a large coffee from the counter. My concentration rises a half cup of caffeine later, causing me to get sucked into my research on job openings in the area. So when my phone dings out of seemingly nowhere, I had a small heart attack.

Angry that my concentration was now broken, I unlock my phone to see a new text from Auston sitting in my messages. I quickly read over the short but sweet bubble which said: "Hey, what are you up to today?" Swoon-worthy!

I type a quick reply, telling him I'm touring apartments all afternoon. Not five seconds later, my phone buzzes again with a new message from Auston: "Time and place?" Smiling like an idiot, I tell him to pick me up from the coffee shop in ten minutes because the first tour is at 12. He eagerly agrees, making me giddy. I know I shouldn't get ahead of myself and make this out to be more than it is, but I can't help the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

After chugging the rest of my coffee and packing up my things, I hear beeping outside. I immediately recognize Auston's Range Rover as the culprit when I step onto the busy Toronto street. I stride over to the passenger's side and swing open the door, climbing as gracefully as I could inside. Auston looks at me and gives me a small smile, which I return before buckling my seatbelt.

After sharing silence-ridden minute, I break the tension.

"As much fun as the silent game is, I would eventually like to tour some apartments today," I say, trying not to sound like a complete bitch. He blinks and then smiles, pulling the car away from the curb and back into the flow of traffic.

"I know directions aren't our forte, but would you mind telling me where we're going?" he says, tapping his fingers on the leather steering wheel.

"I think you meant directions aren't your forte. I'm perfectly fine with them," I counter. He scoffs in disagreement.

"That just isn't true," he says, turning the SUV in the direction my hand was pointed. I steal another glance at him, pleased to see a big goofy smile on his face. That might be my favorite feature of Auston's. I can't help but smile whenever he has that stupid grin on his face. And don't get me started on those lips, they're just so-

"See something you like?" Auston says, snapping me out of my embarrassing daydream and into an even more embarrassing reality. I shrug my shoulders, trying to seem unimpressed with his looks, however, it's not true. If I were to answer honestly, I'd start rambling about his big brown eyes and perfectly pink lips.

"Nope," I say turning my attention away from him, "take the next left."

He rolls his eyes but reluctantly follows my directions. I open my phone to double check my directions to make sure I was telling Auston the right way to go. Although, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to give him a taste of his own incoherent directions. The GPS confirms my initial thinking, proving my sense of direction to be spot on today.

For the next six minutes or so, a comfortable silence ensues, save for the soft hum of the radio and my voice calling out directions every so often. We arrive at the first apartment complex early, giving us enough time to navigate the parking garage and find my realtor in the lobby.

Auston stays by my side, walking so that his hand brushes mine a few times. Out of habit, I speed up a little, anxious to see the apartment. I spot Nichole, my realtor, by the elevators, causing me to steer Auston and I in her direction. She looks up from a folder chock full of different colored paper and smiles when she recognizes me.

"Ah, you must be Alaska!" she says, extending a wrist clad wrist toward me. I shake her hand and politely nod.

"It's great to meet you, Nichole," I say, returning her friendly greeting, "I hope it's ok that I brought Auston, my -- friend -- along with me."

"It's no trouble at all! As they say, the more the merrier, and apartment shopping is no exception!"

"Great! Is the apartment ready for us?" I ask, trying not to sound rude. She nods excitedly and motions for us to follow her.

"Absolutely! Come on now, let's go check it out!"

I glance at Auston who wears a lazy smile on his face, then gently tug on his sleeve, urging him to follow me and Nichole. He catches on, taking large strides to the elevator where Nichole had already stopped to wait. She begins giving us some background information on the building itself such as its history, amenities, and location. She continues chatting about the pros of the apartment as we ascend up the elevator to the 6th floor.

The doors open, exposing a long wallpapered hallway that was scary, to say the least. Nichole leads us through the paisley patterned prison, stopping at apartment 607. As she fishes through her purse for the key, I sneak a look at Auston who wore an expression of horror similar to mine. I cringe to let him know that I, too, did not care for the swirly patterns that coated the walls around us.

"Is it just me, or are the walls moving?" Auston whispers close to my ear, evoking an untimely laugh from me. He quickly shushes me with a grin, nodding his head in the direction of Nichole who had just found her keys.

"Aha! Here we are!" she exclaims, swinging the wooden door open to reveal a nice sized apartment. Auston and I wander in spreading out to look at the living room before us. The first thing I notice is the awful pink carpeting that ravaged the poor floor, wall to wall. I look at Auston and make a gagging expression in the direction of the Pepto Bismol nightmare while Nichole had her back turned. He nods in agreement then quickly turns around when Nichole faces our way.

"As you can see, some work needs to be done, but don't let that cloud your creative vision! This place has lots of potential! There's a nice sized kitchen around the corner and a walk-in closet in the bedroom. Follow me!" she says excitedly.

Despite my growing hatred of the place, I follow the middle-aged woman into the kitchen. It was, indeed, a nice sized room, however, everything was outdated and begging to be replaced. After a few more glances around the room, Nichole leads us to the bedroom with the famous walk-in closet. The room is quite small, but the large windows are hard to beat. However, being on the sixth floor means my "view" is of the surrounding buildings.

As the tour comes to a conclusion and we file out of the elevator, Nichole turns to face us with her folder in hand. I raise my eyebrows as she crosses something off the page with a pen. After she's satisfied with her work, she looks up at me with a smile.

"Alright, now that we got the - lower end - option out of the way, let's continue on to apartment number two! Do you two want to meet me there?" she asks after letting a sigh of relief.

I smile now that I didn't have to act like I actually liked that place, then nodded, agreeing with her suggestion. Nichole and I look to Auston for his opinion, seeing a hint of a smile on his face.

"Yeah, sure. Let's do it," he says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Alright, I'll see you guys there! I'm sure you'll be pleasantly surprised by this one," she says before turning and clicking towards the exit to the street. I follow her actions, heading for the parking garage entrance, Auston trailing behind me.

After a small debate about what floor we parked on, Auston sighs in defeat and climbs into the SUV. He quickly navigates us out of the garage and then follows the few directions I had to give him, considering the building was on the same street just farther downtown.

"So why are you looking at apartments anyway? It didn't even register with me until now," Auston says, keeping his concentration on the road ahead of us. I toy around with the idea of cracking a sarcastic joke but decide against it.

"Well I just graduated and sent in my application to University of Toronto, so my mom and stepdad told me if I kept my grades up and eventually find a job, they'd help pay for a place of my own," I explain, staring out the window at the blur of people crowding the streets.

"Okay, I know Canadian schools are most likely different from schools back in the US, but does the school year seriously end in the winter?" he asks, scrunching his eyebrows together.

"They are different from schools back home, but they still get out in June like the US," I say, turning to face him.

"Then how...?" Auston asks, letting the end of his question trail off.

"I had enough credits and passed the finals I had to take, so they let me graduate early."

As the car comes to a stop at a red light, Auston turns to me with a huge smirk. I raise an eyebrow, already hating what he's going to say next.

"So you're a nerd... I gotta say, I did not peg you as that," he says, chuckling a bit as he finishes talking.

"I am not a nerd, thank you very much!" I protest, smacking his shoulder playfully. He rolls his eyes, egging me on.

"Whatever you say, nerd," he laughs, pulling into the parking garage of the second apartment building. Once we're parked, I groan and slide out of the car, heading toward the entrance to the lobby.

Like the last building, Auston and I meet Nichole by the elevators where she starts her bit about the building and what it has to offer. However, unlike the last building, the decor is more modern with bright pops of colors.

Unfortunately, when we enter the actual apartment, the whole place is even more brightly colored. My head starts to hurt as I take in the daycare-esque decor. The tour continues in the bedroom which houses a bright orange wall, completely ruining the balcony located on the opposite side of the room. Auston seems to share the same discomfort with the fruit-colored, well, everything.

I'm happy when Nichole ends the tour earlier than the other, leading us down the elevator and across the lobby.

"So, what did you think about that one?" she asks with a serious expression. I can't help but say it like it is, knowing that if I tried to fit it into better terms, we'd be here for a while.

"Honestly, unless we can paint all the walls and change all the furniture, it's not for me," I say, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

"Unfortunately, the building has a strict no painting policy, but the furniture can be changed," she says, adding a bit of good news at the end for effect.

"Yeah, I don't think it's for me here. What about the next place?"

"That's quite alright. Based on this, I think you'll like the next place. It's much more modern and neutral toned," she says, shuffling through the papers in her hands.

"Great! So we'll meet you over there?" I ask, wanting to move this process along.

"Perfect! It's not too far away... only two or three blocks, so you could walk if you're up to it," she says, waving on her way out the door. Auston heads toward the door to the street a few moments later, leaving me behind. I jog to catch up with him, confused as to where he was going.

"Auston, where are you going?" I ask, reaching his side and copying his strides.

"To the next apartment," he says, shrugging. I roll my eyes and shiver from the biting Toronto weather.

"Of course it has to be cold as hell," I say, burying my hands in my jacket to keep warm. My focus is drawn to the pavement we move across, my eyes mesmerized by the blur of cement that passes beneath my boots. The feeling of something covering my head causes me to rip my hands out of my pockets and investigate. My hands feel the familiar curves and material of Auston's Yankees hat.

I look up at him with a genuine smile. He stops walking and turns to fully face me. I furrow my brows in confusion, thinking he had to be a madman to stop in the middle of the freezing cold.

"Auston, what are you doing? Let's go, I'm freezing," I say, nodding my head in the direction of the apartment. Instead of following me, he takes out his phone and holds it up so that the camera is facing me.

"Auston, I swear if you take a picture of me," I say, trying to sound as threatening as possible.

"Alaska, just shut up and let me take your picture. You actually look cute right now," he says. My mouth drops open in surprise and a scoff tumbles out.

"I actually look cute? Excuse me, I'm always cute," I say, pouting. The sound of the camera shutter rings out through the air, making me practically pounce on Auston so that I can see the picture. He holds it out to me and waits for my comment. I smile and grab the phone, quickly sending it to myself.

"Mmhmm, that's what I thought," he says, beginning to walk again. I blow him a kiss as a sarcastic thanks before uploading the picture to Instagram.

@alaskamay: toronto, auston's finger, and me!

8, 372 likes | 31 comments

Tagged: @austonmatthews

@austonmatthews: damn my finger looks good

@marner_93: I thought this died

@stephlachancee: @marner_93 never

@carlyyvalentine: wuttttttt

@williamnylander: u wear that better than matts

@alaskamay: @williamnylander I agree

@43kadri: your photographer sucks

@austonmatthews: @43kadri thanks

@carlyyvalentine: you two are too cute

@alaskamay: @carlyyvalentine :)

The last apartment tour was surprisingly a success. I ended up really liking the whole place and the location is great. Like Nichole said, this one was way more modern, with mostly gray and white decor and hardwood floors throughout the entire place. My favorite feature though is the huge windows everywhere and the fact that the apartment is on the 21st floor means I actually have a view that isn't just someone else's window.

Nichole said she's going to close the deal in the next few days, so I should expect to start moving in next week. However, Auston did so graciously offer me to stay at his place instead so I wouldn't even have to spend the money. Needless to say, I declined.

The last hurdle of my long day was the walk back to Auston's car because not only was it still cold, but it was also dark. Auston claimed he was fine, although I'm not sure how because I was shaking it was so cold.

Relief only came when the car heated up and the heat was on full blast on the way back to my house. The drive was reasonably quiet, a few words shared here and there. When we pull into my driveway, I involuntarily groan.

"What's wrong?" Auston questions, concern written all over his face.

"My mom's away again. I swear I don't even have to move out to live alone," I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. Auston puts the car in park and turns to me, his face partially lit from the light on the porch.

"Do you want some company?" he asks, even though it's the last thing I want to hear. It's nearly impossible to keep my distance from him when he does this.

"No," I say simply before I can even think it through entirely. He frowns, looking puzzled as ever.

"Why not?" he asks, clearly confused. I don't blame him. I hadn't been giving any signals that said I didn't want to continue the night.

"It's just that," I say then pause, "I can't ruin this by overstepping the boundaries, you know?"

"I don't think watching a couple movies and eating ice cream counts as overstepping boundaries unless you were thinking of other things," he says innocently. I analyze what he said in my mind, trying to decide whether I should take a risk or play it safe.

"You're right, what's a few rom-coms going to do?" I say, climbing out of the car.

"I mean we don't have to watch movies. We could do - other - things," Auston notes with a smirk, after turning the car off, effectively silencing its soft purr.

"Ugh, get your head out of the gutter, Matthews."

Sincerest apologies for not updating in like five years! My computer wasn’t working and then my charger broke, so i haven’t been able to really write anything. However, I did crank this chapter out for you guys, so I hope you like it!

#auston/mitch #auston matthews #Auston Matthews imagines #mitch marner #william nylander #Toronto Maple Leafs #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey imagines #hockey #nhl imagines #nhl #fanfic

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