ʙᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴇᴇᴘ, ʀɪᴄʜɪᴇ (trashing) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-06-26 19:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: max trevelyan, ₴ inactive: richie tozier (2) |
WHO: Richie & Max
WHAT: CELEBRATING PRIDE! And, you know - proposing
WHERE: Out and about, mostly at a pizza place
WHEN: Today!
WARNINGS: They're sweaty and they make out a lot and there's tears and so many FEELS
STATUS: Complete
For Richie’s first Pride experience (officially, that is - where he was actually out and not stuck so far in the closet he may as well be a talking faun, with season passes to Narnia), he wanted to subscribe to the ‘go big or go home’ philosophy. And did he accomplish that? Well, hopefully the ‘Move, I’m Gay’ t-shirt, splashed with rainbow colors, tight jeans to showcase that nonexistent ass (why, oh why, was he built like a muppet), and low-top rainbow Converse sneakers were enough proof that he did in fact enjoy having custard launchers in his life (or more specifically, just Max’s custard launcher - he wasn’t a sharer). He also paired that outfit with a rainbow flag worn as a cape and ‘can’t even see straight’ written on his face, up and down one bristled cheek along with, yes, more swipes of a rainbow stick. The day had been pretty hot at first, the summer sun felt like flames on the back of his neck at one point - then it cooled off into a light drizzle, and the clouds looked like gray cotton that was dripping wet. Point was, that ‘I can’t even see straight’ proclamation had sort of smeared at some point during the parade and all the fun happening in one of the city parks - but Richie didn’t care, he was having a blast. It was still kind of misting when he tightened the makeshift cape around those broad shoulders and began the trek to wiggle away from the crowds. “I’m hungry,” he told Max, turning toward him and - a mess of face paint and fogged glasses and a whole hodgepodge of colors (ROYGBIV) - pulling him close for kisses that stretched waaaay beyond any capacity for normal lungs to hold breath within them. All while Richie’s heart was a beating bonfire in his chest because so many feelings. “Are you hungry?” The concept of Pride wasn’t something Max had much experience with given Thedas’s relative progressiveness, but it wasn’t as if it left him without feeling. In fact, he was surprised at how infectious Richie’s energy was - not that he should have been, with as easily as he tended to catch his lover’s moods - but there was something almost propulsive about this. It was partly seeing Richie so open, his humor buoyant rather than deflecting. Sometime in the middle of the day when the heat was the haziest and the paint on Richie’s face started smearing, Max realized that even if he had never had to hide his sexuality from others, he’d hidden a great deal of himself away. Through necessity, always - the onus of being a mage, the delicate position of being a noble and the Inquisitor… Max had been doing a great deal of being in another sort of closet. And so Pride hit him in a tender spot. He wasn’t quite as showy as Richie, nor did he laugh and sing quite as loudly, but he was always there with a large smile on his face, his white tee made pink on one shoulder from where someone had spilled a frozen sugary something on it. Sometime during the day someone had given him a rainbow scarf that was entirely too hot but he didn’t care; he looped it around his neck quite happily as he took in the sights and sounds of the festival. At Richie’s question, he gave a nod before he really considered the answer. Max was always down for food, and he was a little dehydrated and the thought of sitting down somewhere cool and air-conditioned and perfectly positioned to play footsie with the man currently tangled up against him seemed idea. “Let’s get something,” he agreed easily, glancing at their options. “Burgers, dogs, pizza…?” It probably said a lot that he knew what each of those delicious food items were, after several months here in Vallo. Looping his arm around Richie and hooking his fingers in one of Richie’s belt loops, he smiled, admiring the smear of facepaint along his lover’s cheekbones. It presently read: “I c--t ee ht”, which, why not. It meant a lot to Richie that Max was here, willing to be so open, willing to be with him - he had days where he felt as low as the heels of his shoes (which was probably pretty low to the ground, considering how long his legs were) but he’d always been so happy with the man in front of him. Loved all those moments with him, the ones that felt like everything - deep as the sunshine but cool and fresh as the rain, all of that which hit the soul and soaked into bones. That didn’t mean it all was perfect - but he didn’t need it to be, because they saw each other realistically and, through that, decided there was staying power to what they had. Which was why Richie picked today, yes, today - paint smeared and slightly sunburned and sweaty - to ask if Max wanted to marry him. There was a plan in mind and a ring in his pocket, so - this could either go amazingly or it’d deflate like Max’s angel food cake. Guess he’d see. “Pizza,” Richie decided, kissing Max’s chin and nibbling a little - his boyfriend would probably end up with the “c” on his face at some point as well, because sharing was caring. “We Knead Pizza is right over here.” Totally clever name for a spot, by the way, so he gave them props for that. “Just tell me what you want on it and find us a table.” He’d take care of the ordering - because, right. Plan. Max pawed at his boyfriend while he squinted at the paper menu hanging outside; pizza and its world of toppings was still an exciting nonstop possibility-maker to him. “Pineapple and bacon,” he said decisively after a beat, “and jalapenos!” to be annoying. Max gave Richie a kiss on the cheek that smeared what remained of his paint to holy hell. “I’m grabbing something in the shade.” There was a table just under a tree, half-ensconced in ivy. Max moved on in, stretching out his legs as he waited for Richie to return with their food, tired but pleased with the events of the day. He had no idea that Richie had been planning to ask him for his hand; he hadn’t even thought about marriage beyond some vague notion. It wasn’t a slam against Richie; Max wasn’t the greatest at planning - he was more of the “one day at a time” guy, impulsively moving on to one thing or another depending upon how things were going. And so when he saw Richie exit the restaurant, he waved him over, having gathered napkins for the grease and done up their table with a small lit candle he’d lit with magic, none the wiser. If Richie had any doubts about proposing, they floated away like vapors over the expanse of the sea - mostly when Max decided he wanted bacon on his pizza (the jalapeños didn’t hurt either - he liked a spicy boi) and then when Richie saw the candle that Max added as a romantic ambiance accoutrement. It was sweet of him, and Richie knew that celebrating Pride and everything it entailed was important to Max too - maybe he hadn’t been in the closet the way Richie had been, but he wasn’t free to entirely be who he was either. He was judged and locked away because of things about himself that he couldn’t even help - and it was real damn admirable how he still pressed on anyway, saving a world which wasn’t exactly grateful for everything he’d done or appreciative of what he’d sacrificed. So yeah, Pride was a good day to do this - they could be together here, be themselves. Even if it lasted only one more day, Richie wholeheartedly believed that everything was worth it and then some; he wasn’t going to let anyone, or any world, tell him what he could or couldn’t have. Or that he should continue to be afraid. Pizza ordered (pineapple, bacon, jalapeños) and drinks procured (he balanced the pizza box in one hand and had two bottled waters gathered together in the other) he headed to the table and beamed, a crinkly-eyed smile that seemed to radiate summer sunshine all on its own. Nevermind that his heart was galloping, the pounding beat continuing to climb higher and higher yet. “Aw, look at you with your romance,” he complimented, setting everything down on the table before he plopped his ass down too. Then placed his hand on top of the pizza box so Max wouldn’t open it yet. “Wait,” Richie protested. He was dizzy, like he was walking through some kind of Cubist painting where everything was a different shape and moved all weirdly but it was still a good kind of nervous. “Um. You know that - ever since the first time I saw you, like in person...I thought you were so fucking beautiful.” It was true - god, it was true. He was surprised he’d even been able to form a coherent sentence. “But I think I fell in love with you when I demonstrated using chopsticks and you just watched and - you saw me.” Really saw him - not just the mask, or the coverups, or the fart jokes he used to deflect or the loud shirts he wore as armor to keep him safe from the world. But him. ‘Pizza!’ was Max’s first thought, because it smelled good and the sight of his boyfriend providing two pizzas like a sexy manly man was a-okay in his books. Then: compliments? For all of Max’s quiet confidence, his comfort zone was in self-deprecation and waving off anything that sounded too worshipful. The thought that he had become a religious icon akin to the great Andraste back home was something that continued to boggle his mind, and while compliments were infinitely less uncomfortable, he still was never quite sure what to do with them. And so he turned a shade of pink, his hand reaching for Richie’s to sit with it on top of the (scorching, frankly) pizza box. “I saw you because you’re so unafraid to put yourself out there,” he explained. “Coming from where I had - I was so used to people playing games, being false. You just--” he smiled, eyes squinting, “didn’t even try any of that.” He wasn’t sure where any of this was coming from, but Richie’s words, while they made him blush, needed to be returned in kind. Pride Day clearly brought out an excess of emotions in a lot of folk. That was how confessions of love went, right? His fingers curled around Max’s, stroking over his knuckles with affection - and holy shit, yeah, this pizza box was steaming. But then again, maybe Richie was too - smoke about to come from his ears because he was a nervous goddamn tea kettle set to blow. “You make me feel unafraid,” he replied simply, and that was true too - because fuck knew he’d been afraid before. Afraid of who he really was, that he’d never get to want anything for himself, that he’d spend years of his life this way because the pain of losing Eddie was all-encompassing and felt like The End. But then here Max was, a source of lighthouse-calm and guiding him through storms. They did it together. He wanted to do so many more things together. “So, you know - pizza. I got you some.” A seemingly unrelated point, but he lifted his hand to let Max open the box - and whenever he did, he’d see ‘will you marry me?’ scrawled in marker behind the lid, the first thing one might notice before all the meat. Max, a person who tended to see meat first (in all aspects), did in fact notice the handwriting on the bottom of the lid. He even registered it as Richie’s handwriting, having seen it enough in the last few months, from him writing quick story ideas for his show on receipt paper to little notes on the ice box about leftovers. And so following a quizzical glance at the man currently sweating to death across from him, he read the writing, and then read it again, and then a third time, as if it were an Elvish riddle that required the utmost concentration to crack. Once the riddle had been cracked - and really, the pained twin expressions of hope and terror in Richie’s eyes were both apt clues - Max reacted with all the romance that the proposition had shown thus far: “Really!” he said, a helpless laugh that was partly a huff erupting from his mouth. “Are you--- really--- doing this like--- oh no, don’t look at me like that love, don’t look at me like--- yes, of course I’ll marry you, I love you so much…” and with that, he all but leapt across the table, grabbing Richie in a half-kiss, half-hug with enough fervor that Richie’s glasses went flying. “Yes, absolutely. This is so ill-advised. We’ve known one another a few months. I can’t believe it.” That was an even better reaction than Richie dared to expect - he laughed too, not even minding that he was blind as a bat (though bats weren't really blind? A quandary for another time) and that his glasses had been knocked off, landing somewhere in the vicinity of the proposal pizza box. "Totally ill-advised," he agreed, even if technically not much would change - they'd still live together, just would combine finances more or something. Maybe do something cool with their names, if they felt like - he had spent enough time doodling Richard Jude Trevelyan-Tozier on paper with little hearts like an absolute idiot; he wasn't decided yet, about a hyphen or what, but figured he'd cross that bridge later. The ill-advised part came into play because either of them could literally poof the fuck out of Vallo at any time. And yet - did he care? "I don't care though," was the answer to that silent question, and he grabbed Max by the face and kissed the ever-loving fuck out of him, breathless and feeling like he was gasping for air. "I don't care. I have so many fucking finger guns for you. Love you so much." Somehow he managed to flail and grab for the box in his pocket - inside was the ring, composed of steel and oak. And one other thing. "It has an inlay made of coffee grounds," he added proudly, since - well, coffee was kind of their thing. Max darted his prosthetic over the table without actually watching what he was doing, trying to find Richie’s glasses by feel - and oh, there they were (he nearly knocked over the candle in the process, but honestly, fuck it, he was experiencing a zillion emotions at once and he figured some allowances had to be made). But he found the glasses, and even more impressively managed to get them, albeit crookedly, back on Richie’s face mid-makeout, which, hot dog, no wonder he’d been made the Inquisitor. “Don’t care either. Love you too. Delighted to be a cautionary tale with you.” At the box, though, Max paused a second, eyes widening. “You planned this?” he said with a shriek likely not generally associated with dignity or valor. “You planned this - you’ve a ring. Andraste’s---” He managed to keep himself from swearing only just (he swore in his heart, however), and with a real corralling of his emotions, he managed to calm himself for a few moments to quiet, holding out his hand so that Richie could put the ring on it. “We’ll have to get you one,” he said, choked up and not hiding it a bit. “Just like it, or near enough.” It was exactly the sort of smooth, unadorned ring he’d have picked for himself. “I love you.” And with that, he leaned forward once again to kiss Richie, uncertain how he’d ended up on the same side of the table, but oh well. Max was emotional and Richie was definitely crying; he felt like a fucking furnace right now. The muscles in his chin trembled and those salty drops fell. Eventually he just stopped trying to keep it all back and simply broke down the dam, letting it all come out - but they were happy tears, that he was sure of and he was pretty certain Max knew that too. Probably tasted the salt from Richie’s tears in that kiss but that was perfect and Max liked the ring, he liked the ring and he’d said yes. Best day ever. “Yeah, we’ll get me one,” he agreed, sniffling, letting his glasses stay askew on his face as his fingers cupped Max’s cheek and stroked affectionately. “I may have planned it a little.” Went ring shopping, picked something out, flailed about it - also checked with a couple friends to make sure it wasn’t a hideous ring but Richie kind of knew Max would be into it because he knew his now-fiance’s tastes. Neither of them really needed anything blinged out anyway. This chair was somehow supporting the both of them and he was astounded by its craftsmanship. “Do you wanna skip the dance parties tonight and just take all this to go?” he asked. “We can celebrate.” Pizza at the castle - and lots of WE’RE ENGAGED spazzing. Seemed like a good plan to him. “You really did plan it,” Max murmured under his breath, completely agog at the thought of it. That elevated this from a spur-of-the-moment bad decision to a considered bad decision, and the thought made his heart melt that much more. So what if they’d only known one another just over half a year? That was more than some people got, and Max didn’t have a sodding continent waiting on his every breath here. Richie wasn’t ducking alien demon clowns. Why not do exactly as they wanted and damn the consequences? It took his brain a few moments to catch up to Richie’s question - honestly, he had been staring at his lover with such a goopy expression that for a moment Richie’s flapping mouth and gesturing had been completely foreign to him and the meaning of the words came to him a few moments later as if he’d read subtitles - “Oh!” he finally said, and grabbed the pizza box with his prosthetic and steadied it with his hand. “Yes. Yes, I think we’re quite--- done for public eyes.” He wanted to eat pizza, celebrate, and embarrass the staff of Skyhold. Not necessarily in that order. But before he stood up, he leaned forward and placed another kiss on Richie’s lips; this one less haphazard but no less joyful. That kiss was returned - because there wouldn’t ever be a kiss Richie would decline, not from Max (unless he’d just eaten an entire serving of fish curry or something, then he’d have to tell best fiance to pop a breath mint first before there was tongue action). But right now he threw his arms around Max as best as he was able to, happiness like sparklers that crawled through his veins and was poured into that kiss too. “No public eyes,” he agreed breathlessly, flashing a smile that was very adoring of Max and showcased the crooked delight of Richie’s front snaggletooth. But then he stood up too, making sure to grab the water for them because they were both dehydrated (and loopy from all the giddiness - it was basically the best feeling); they could sip on the way and then he’d be fully prepared to jump Max’s bones once they got back home. Home. That was also a giddy feeling. “Hey? I’m totally gonna marry the shit out of you, soon-to-be-husbando.” Yeah. He’d be changing Max’s contact info to ‘Husbando’ in his phone, stat. “You are, you really are,” Max agreed pleasantly, bumping the side of his hip against his betrothed in an acknowledging manner, because he really was ready to get the shit married out of him. He could already picture Dorian and Cullen’s faces as they tried to arrange their faces into something that didn’t look judgemental (well, Cullen would try at least), and the thought made him laugh again under his breath as he wrapped his arm around Richie’s waist, doing the awkward “we’re a couple and we can’t possibly stop touching” thing that was likely annoying, and he didn’t care. As they turned the corner, headed back to Skyhold, he flashed a glance at Richie, teeth showing: “Happy Pride, love.” |