#elouan losa

[maulie-dyke]

All My Dreams Take Place in Heaven, Where It's Quiet Lying Next To You

For @novaemberbingo 2023: Prompt- Outfit + Library

Cyrille paced back and forth across her bedroom, hands twisting around each other, well aware she was spiralling into a panic but completely uncaring all the same.

“I can’t do this. Everyone will be able to tell.”

Elouan, from where he was lounging across their bed, responded, “You can do this, darling. Do you remember what I told you when you first told me?”

He rolled over to face her and opened an arm, beckoning her to join him. Sighing deeply, she walked to the edge of the bed and flopped into his waiting arms, shoving her face into his shoulder.

“Tell me again, Elouan,” she said, absently rubbing circles into Elouan’s arm.

“I said: I’m in a bit of awe, I thought you were Cyrille’s sister or something. You could go to court in a dress and no one would be able to tell you were born a man. And then you punched me for being insensitive.”

“I did…and it seems to have worked. You’re the only person who really sees me. But…I don’t know…are you sure nobody will recognize me? If even one person thinks they’ve seen me before and puts it together, I’ll lose my job, my status, and will be decapitated and burned alive!” She was getting frantic, her heart pounding through her chest, breath quickening to a frantic wheezing. 

“It will be fine, everything will be fine. Here, breathe with me,” Elouan grabbed her hands and tucked her further into his chest, encouraging her to match her breathing to the movement of his chest, “If it gets to be too much, then we can just come back home, make a nice cup of tea, and I’ll read you some poetry or something.”

“That sounds a lot nicer than what I thought I’d do,” she replied, muffled into her lover’s chest. It was becoming easier to breathe, easier to exist without the world seeming like too much. 

“And what would that be? I’m assuming something impulsive, knowing you.” Elouan wasn’t as subtle as he liked to think he was. Cyrille was well aware that he was trying to distract her out of her panic, and worse yet, it was actually working. 

Sighing, she responded, “Maybe…I was probably going to get overwhelmed and run back home as quickly as I could. Probably be crying as well, then shut myself in here, never to be seen again.” 

Elouan laughed at her dramatics, a lovely, undignified snort that made her giggle every time. “Yeah, I think my idea is better.”

“You think pretty highly of yourself, Elouan,” she teased, pulling away from his embrace to get dressed into her favourite outfit- her sole dress, the solitary set in her vast closet that actually felt like herself. 

Wriggling into her stays, she turned to Elouan, silently requesting his help in lacing everything up and adjusting the extra bits and bobs that gave the illusion of a full bust and wide hips, rather than her narrow chest and narrower pelvis. 

Elouan sighed affectionately at her as he responded, “Shush, Cyrille. What do you say?”

“Alright,” she sighed, running her fingers across the luxurious blue silk of the dress she held. Spinning to face her lover, she put on her best ‘you love me so you’ll do what I want’ face, and asked, “Can we go to the library? I’d like to see if they have some texts about demonic possession and witchcraft.”

“Is this about that necromancy expert I hired? Again?” She knew her lover well enough to know he was exasperated at her bringing up his ‘expert’s’ questionable expertise, but all the while amused at her sincerity. 

Well, Elouan would say she was like a dog with a rope, stubborn and unwilling to let go of a topic. Tomato, tomato.

✯✯✯✯✯

Ambling their way through the streets hand in hand with Elouan, Cyrille was not freaking out, thank you very much. She was fine. Not nervous. Completely normal, going about her completely normal day with her completely normal boyfriend. She’s not nervous, shut up. 

“So…how is it?” Elouan spoke up from beside her, his warm brown eyes focusing on her face. 

Nervously tapping her fingers across the back of the hand she was holding, she responded, “It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be. Nobody’s giving me weird looks yet. I am still very nervous though.”

“See! I told you! Unrecognizable, especially with your hair up. Everything will be fine, trust me,” Elouan said, beaming, as he ushered her up the steps of the library. 

“I’ll try,” she sighed, dropping her voice to a whisper as they entered the quiet environment. She may have trouble with situational awareness, but she knew enough to know you were quiet in a library. Thanks , mother. 

“But you might have been right on coming out here. A rare occasion,” she continued. 

They were deep within the folklore section by that point, and Cyrille was left hoping that there would be at least one text that was missed when any and all of the books containing topics ‘wrought upon by the devil’ had been last purged. Alas, her luck was nonexistent. 

She groaned and dropped her head onto a bookshelf, hoping they were deep enough in the bowels of the library so she wouldn't be stared at too closely. 

“Hey! I’m right most of the time,” Elouan responded, reshelving a book she had pulled out in her research. 

“Sure, Elouan. Say whatever you need to make yourself feel better,” she quipped.

“Oh, be quiet Cyrille.”

Giving up, she returned her final book to its spot and turned to her lover. “I think not. Anyways, do you want to go to the market? I want some flowers for our bedroom.”

“Sure, I think we may need some bread as well. And I’d like to buy you a new hair ribbon.”

“Elouan! You don’t have to,” she protested. It seemed like every time they went to the market for one thing or another she returned with yet again another hair ribbon, sparkly trinket, or some other object that had caught Elouan’s eye.

“I want to! Pretty ladies shouldn’t have to buy their own hair ribbons,” he said, ushering her from the library, offering his arm as they made their way back down the stairs. A true gentleman, her lover was. 

“Well, if you are insisting, I won’t stop you,” she teased. 

Elouan laughed, victorious, as she turned her gaze to her lover, basking in his vibrant joy. 

____Author's Note____

I wanted to get SOMETHING out for Novaember before November actually ends, as I am a full-time student about to go into final exams (rip), and am by far a much better (and faster) academic writer, so here's something that's been in my drafts for months half-finished. I'm planning on doing a bunch more of the prompts, but no promises that anything else will actually be out during November.

This is completely un-beta'd, so some grace and/or tips on whether this is actually accurate to the characters would be appreciated- especially since I've never a) written men or b) dated/liked men so hopefully Elouan doesn't read too much like a butch lesbian. Big thanks to my roommate for listening to my complaints and questions while writing this- especially considering the fact that she's never read the comic lol.

Title is from 'Crying During Sex' by Ethel Cain

Historical notes:

-- Cyrille isn't being dramatic when she's talking about how she would be murdered for being trans- if anything she's understating. The likeliest punishment would be decapitation, since she's canonically nobility, and/or burning at the stake, for 'gender fuckery'. -- All of the outfit pieces described are historical pieces that would have been worn at the time- with some additions based on what I think would have been done for gender affirmation, as I couldn't find any sources on what that would have looked like at the time. The best place for accuracy in historical clothing that I've found is costuming books, if you're interested. -- This isn't explicitly talked about in this fic, but Elouan's last name (Losa) indicates that he is either Spanish or Italian, and means 'slate'. Cyrille's surname (Valois) definitely indicates French nobility and may have connections to the historical House of Valois, who ruled France for about 250 years (would LOVE author confirmation/denial on this at some point). If she is descended from the House of Valois, it's likely through her mother's line, as the reason they lost the throne was that there was an absence of men the crown could go to (I like to think that Cyrille, by either a family curse or simply bad luck, is the first AMAB person in the Valois line since)

Not a historical note but still kind of important:

-- I write Cyrille as Autistic (or at least somewhere on the ASD spectrum) because I can see a ton of similarities between how Cyrille is written and my personal experiences with being Autistic, so she's also autistic. If you want the meta, let me know lol :)

Playlist!

#novaember #novaember 2023 #novae #novae comic #cyrille le valois #elouan losa #cyrille my beloved #cyrille/elouan #my writing #wtf is their ship name :(