asa-m-holland - Tumblr blog

[asa-m-holland]

( Andrew Scott / cisgender male / he/him ) — ASA HOLLAND has been living in Port Liery for 3 YEARS. They currently work as a LIBRARIAN, and are 177 years old. No one is sure if they’re actually a VAMPIRE or if they’re connected to PRETORIUS . They tend to be quite CUTTHROAT and UNHINGED, but can also be KIND and CREATIVE.—  ( eli / PST / he/him / 30 / transphobia )

Full biography under the read more. Please be aware of all trigger warnings before proceeding!

TW // medical malpractice, blood, death, homophobia, asylums, electroshock therapy

B I O :

BORN IN 1847. A gay man born in a tumultuous time period. A tailor's assistant in a small town in Ireland that occasionally got to travel to London to sell wares in markets. But after his father found secret correspondence between him and another man, he was sent off to St. Irene's Mental Asylum in Brentwood, London.

MEDICAL MALPRACTICE. Asa was treated harshly there, and spent decades of his life at St. Irene's. Being treated as clinically insane, he was administered electro-shock therapy, experimental medications, and often restrained in a room in solitude.

TURNED. At the age of 46, Asa was yet again secluded in his room when an incident ended his life- and somehow began it all over again. Another patient broke in, covered in blood, and Asa was attacked. Scarred up and bitten. Barely alive, he awoke to mayhem in the halls as nurses and doctors tried to clean up messes and find out what had happened - multiple bloodied corpses, a mess streaked down the hallways. Broken locks and doors. Asa was able to run out in the hysteria and finally escape after more than 20 years stuck in the asylum.

ALONE. Asa spends many years holed up and alone, afraid of his own power. He travels out at night to feed and hardly goes outside. He eventually finds his father and kills him - steals his money, and makes it look like an accident.

SOMETHING DIFFERENT. He moves to the US after a long stint of being alone. Desperate for something new, anything new. There, he's slowly learned more and started to gain friends. He started working at a library that didn't ask questions about his oddness, and even found others from this old clan of his - who look down on being turned against your will, who could keep him safe, who can give him some semblance of family.

PERSONALITY :

Asa has spent a long length of time on his own, so he acts a little weird and sometimes says odd things because he doesn't know how to interact with people. By now, he's figured out the basics of human interaction, but... sometimes he still comes off a little strange. Regardless, Asa is passionate about those he cares about. He's an anxious and sometimes self-conscious mess, but has bouts of confidence depending. He's artistic, very smart, giving... but those who show they can't be trusted will be dealt with. At the end of it all, Asa can be cutthroat if pressed, if threatened, or if his loved ones are threatened. He's an organized and meticulous person with bouts of mania - and he could be an asset in a crime setting, one day.

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He can't help but stare - especially when the man has moved closer, and taken up the space Asa's left open for him. The underboss catches his eye and thinks about that. What does he want? Is it wise to fuck around with an employee? In his office, no less? Now?

Ansel's close enough and Asa can set hands on the man's chest. Run them slowly up to his broad, lovely neck, and twist them gently into his dark hair. Pulls, not in a mean way. Just to see if he can drag Ansel closer. "...there's many things I want." He relents, as dark eyes take in the glow of the overhead light, and watch the other hungrily. "We can start with those hands on me." He closed the distance between them, letting his mouth press to Ansel's. Hands that had been carefully playing with hair slip further, letting arms wrap carefully around the man's neck. Ever closer.

"I mean, yeah, of course, but..." He shook his head, blushing a shade darker and giving up on it. " ... Never mind."

He looks up again after tossing his shirt on top of the coat, grin spreading a little further as he preens under his bosses' naked appraisal. Asa looks affected enough that Ansel can convince himself that he probably wasn't expecting sugar, just rolling with well-fit vintage pieces and good timing, and Ansel can push those worries far enough back that he easily presses in between his legs. "Not sure this is still about me... I'd like you to tell me what you want." He's in Asa's space now, but not touching; his hands rest on the edge of the desk on either side of his thighs and leaning a little into the light touch, but just watching him hungrily.

He laughs, warm and low. "I think so. Unless you wanna spot me for dry cleaning already."

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In the quiet, Asa can focus on the song. The lyrics that he hasn't fully taken in until now. With his head tucked under Mikala's, and his heartbeat in his ear, almost punctuating the rhythm of the record...

If the sun would lose its light And we lived an endless night And there was nothing left that you could feel

Asa grins against his chest. "Mm... my standards are just fine where they are." Here, with him. Because it's not that it's dinner and a slow dance and nice wine. It's all that with Mikala. With the smell of his cologne and his warm hand and the comforting voice like a purr in his ear.

That's how it would be What my life would seem to me If I didn't have your love to make it real.

The song is... he feels his eyes damp at the corners. "Of course I am." Asa's voice is a soft lull in itself. In the quiet, it seems better to speak in an almost-whisper. Pulling his face back so he can look up at Mikala, even if theres the slightest embarrassment that lingers as his gaze turns the slightest bit watery. "It's wonderful, love... really." The hand he holds is pulled to his lips to kiss the knuckles. Then he shifts closer, just wanting to be as near as he can be. An arm wraps around Mikala's neck so they can be chest to chest - so he can press his mouth in a soft kiss to his lover's neck. To the crook of his jaw.

"More than I could ever want."

“Is this your idea of above and beyond?” Mikala’s own fond smile is playing across his lips, soon occupied by Asa’s, and he savors the taste of him while he can. “You need to raise your standards,” comes as a gentle joke, though there's something akin to relief that his idea of a Valentine’s Day date is sailing smoothly. It's not necessarily different than what they would do on any other night, yet the intentions have shifted slightly for the sake of the holiday.

His chin rests lightly atop Asa’s head now that they've both positioned themselves comfortably, slipping into a slow sway that's determined by the music. It's not that he doesn't know the song playing—If I Didn't Have Your Love—it’s more so that he's not paying attention, eyes closed and focus centered around Asa.

The way he feels pressed against him, the way he smells. How easily an inked hand fits into his. It's after a long pause that he breaks his silence, “Are you enjoying yourself?” It sounds more conversational than anything, as if he's had to remind himself to speak, to be present. Too often does he succumb to quiet lulls.

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Asa can't help a smile at that. "Well yes, of course. I have to be mean with most of you, sometimes. Don't I?" The underboss wouldn't be a very good leader otherwise. But then the other is taking off the jacket, which Asa hadn't expected.

More importantly, the shirt goes too. And the underboss flushes bright red, his mouth going dry as he takes in the sight before him. How close? "...Christ..." He whispers, and those dark eyes rove over his pecs, his arms. "As close as you'd like, darling." Asa's voice is a low rumble in his throat as he shifts on the desk where he still sits. Eases his legs slightly open so, if Ansel wishes, he could slip between them to get close, just as he'd said. And Asa's arms reach out as well. To brush over his collarbone.

"Maybe we can... delay trying the jacket back on a moment."

"I mean, always appreciate the support but sometimes you gotta be mean with me. Sometimes I need it. Breaks me out of it." He shrugs, messing with his sleeve for a moment and looking down at his own mark. Not quite so dramatic as the burn mark, but enough to have gotten a tattoo on the inside of his forearm.

He raises his eyebrows back at Asa, but laughs, shrugging the jacket back off his shoulders. There is a flash of worry, a slight pull between his eyebrows, that this was all a ruse or an angle for Asa and some ulterior motive. But, at least so far doesn't seem like anything Ansel hadn't thought about giving up anyway, so he's willing to take a step closer, setting the coat neatly on the desk next to Asa before pulling his shirt off over his head.

"Yeah? How close?" He smirks back, moving back in front of Asa, only a step away.

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Of course, by now he can feel Mikala's eyes on him. The keen interest, the observatory gaze that settles on Asa's bones. He finds he enjoys it - the voyeur staring and making sure the underboss has things handled. And normally he does. With a knife, it's hard for Asa to go wrong - unless he plans it out on purpose.

Soon enough he's being led by the waist, and a shy laugh leaves him before he can figure out what to say. Instead his hand slips into Mikala's. Fingers tangle there quickly, and he tilts his head back to take in Mikala in all his glory. The grays and the long curtains of hair. Asa's smile is softer than he means it to be - fonder than perhaps he should allow it. But it doesn't matter much.

"You really do go above and beyond." The illustrator can't help but still be a bit overwhelmed as he presses a kiss to his chin, then to his lips. The music is a beautiful backdrop - Asa's not sure what plays, but it's lovely, and romantic. His face rests against Mikala's chest. Cheek resting there, ear against his hear.

Time passes quickly enough, with Mikala spending most of it sipping his wine and watching Asa, though it's not to make him nervous. It's hardly even to supervise him, knowing that the man is perfectly capable of wielding a knife—in fact, that's what he's unable to avert his gaze from. How truly enchanting it is to watch those inked fingers grip the handle, the glare of the blade when soft lighting hits it just so. A beloved sight.

Regardless, he attempts to make himself look busy… if quickly reaching out to preheat the oven then pour himself more wine counts as busy. He makes up for it when he takes over, finishing the rest of the prep work and getting the carefully cut vegetables into the oven.

At long last, he can devote his attention wholly to Asa instead of their dinner for the night.

“You did very well, sweet Asa,” he murmurs, if only because he's so acutely aware of what praise does to the underboss. His hand reaches for Asa’s and soon enough, his other hand has set aside the wine glass in favor of resting on the other’s waist.

“May I have this dance, my darling?” he teases, decidedly lighthearted, as the fifth track softly fades in.

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Mikala is so close as he puts the plaster on. Wraps it carefully and grins. Asa wants to kiss him then, so he does. Leans briefly to find his mouth and lets it be quick. Cooking to do, after all.

The subtle praise is a dart thrown right at Asa's heart and his advisor must know it. Asa's flushing, shooting him the tiniest sidelong look as he moves to continue cutting vegetables. "Poor thing. Waiting on me to cut all these vegetables." It's just a tease, a little smile to himself as inked fingers deftly work and cut the potatoes, beetroot, carrots. Flawlessly.

And the thought of dancing... that Mikala has remembered Asa's request, that he's willing to do it at all. He's not used to the kindness Mikala shows him. He's not sure if he'll ever be. Even if they share the rest of their days in each other's spaces, sharing breaths, warmth, time... Asa will still be in awe of the things he's been given from a man he knows doesn't do this. Not normally. Only for him.

Everything's done quickly, and he helps slide all the cut veg where it needs to go. Leans himself into the other as he lets him handle some of the harder bits.

“No you won’t,” comes his instantaneous reply, however the amusement in his tone is clear as day, back turned as he rummages around for a first aid kit. Mikala is still familiarizing himself with Asa’s flat, more intimate with the man than his residence, though he adapts day by day. Finally, he retrieves a band-aid and, like any well trained dog, is at Asa’s side again.

He bandages the minute wound swiftly and allows himself to grin at Asa, no matter how brief it is, “Without cutting yourself this time, will you continue preparing dinner? I’m starved, darling—” There’s more than one meaning to his words, spoken with a subtle urgency. “And I would like to dance with you, soon. As you requested.” By now, they’re edging towards the third song of the album.

He reaches for his glass of wine, takes a sip that’s visibly greedier than the last, and leans against the counter. “Go on, sweetheart. You were doing well before this.”

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What is a favorite recent memory of yours?

"Recent? I suppose... I had a very nice Valentine's Day. It's not a holiday I associate with very wonderful moments but. This year, I felt very... taken care of."

ASK ASA. ASK VAL. ASK OZ.

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Which of your vices or bad habits would be the hardest for you to give up?

"I suppose smoking and... spending a lot of money on antiques. And yes, they're equally as hard for me."

ASK ASA. ASK VAL. ASK OZ.

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Do you believe in falling in love? Have you ever fallen in love?

"I... I do believe in it, yes."

ASK ASA. ASK VAL. ASK OZ.

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What is a feature you have that you like?

"I suppose I like my arms."

ASK ASA. ASK VAL. ASK OZ.

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TMI TUESDAY!!

ASK ASA. ASK VAL. ASK OZ.

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The underboss leans back on tattooed arms, still sat comfortably on his desk. “I overthink things all the time, love. I’ll only call you out in a… supportive way, yeah?” He chuckles. “You should see the circling I do sometimes. It happens.” A finger taps gently at the burn mark on his temple- a stark reminder of his occasional delays.

He flushes at that - maybe he has looked at Ansel’s chest for a bit too long. He hadn’t expected to be called out on it, but Asa just grins. “The jacket would probably look just as nice without the shirt then.” It’s a delicate line - he had not gotten this for Ansel out of any expectation. And he doesn’t want the other to think he’s flirting to get something out of him. He bites his lip and seems to debate. “Can you come closer?” He murmurs from his spot on the desk. It’s a soft invitation- the other is welcome to say no.

Ansel takes a moment to look down, breathe, and calm the nervous, stuttering part of him that only looked flustered and unprofessional and made Asa frown at him like that. He’s disappointed his boss- no, his friend? Maybe? That just happens to outrank him?- and that stings more than anything.

“Okay, yeah. Thank you.” He sighs, rolling his shoulders back and straightening out his posture, shifting his weight. “Maybe. You can always call me out if you catch me overthinking things, I but if you do want something from me, you’re welcome to just be straightforward and ask. I’m here to serve.” He smiles back sheepishly.

“Of course I do, you got my size dead on from? Memory? Either you’ve got a better eye than I do, or you spend more time staring at me than I thought.” He laughs it off, sliding his hands into silk-lined pockets with an ease that didn’t quite match the remaining flush high on his cheeks. Ansel raised an eyebrow, a little more confidence coming back to him. “I mean, even better. I work hard for ‘em, gotta show off the goods when I can.”

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He sees the look of exasperation and Asa tries not to grin too much. Maybe the knife had slipped a little too intentionally- while the underboss isn’t exactly into hurting himself, he is into seeing Mikala’s devotion and dark tendencies laid out in front of him. Tongue to finger and then a beautiful mouth sucking the digit clean. Any smug smile is gone as Asa just watches, and flushes.

The illustrator would be content to have that mouth keep traveling down. It’s such a soft press of lips to his inner wrist and he sighs. Wants them to head to his forearm, maybe up to bicep and then neck. He’d take bites too - at his pulse point, or where his ear meets jaw…

But he reluctantly pulls back. Moves his finger under the faucet and lets the water wash out any residual bacteria. “I’ll try to be more careful.” Asa almost teases, glancing back with dark eyes.

A hand settles on his lower back as Mikala comes close to watch him cut. Warmth always grows from wherever the man touches - and now is no different. There’s always a little itch when a knife rests in his hand - beyond the trimming off of carrot greens and the segmenting of potatoes and beetroot. His lover’s words would come across as condescending if this hadn’t been their dynamic - a tender tone that’s spoken so softly. Almost feels like a whisper meant only for Asa’s ears. 

He shifts a gaze to him before dark eyes come to rest back on his inked fingers. Curl them inward… he tilts one hand, and the knife comes down, and he knicks the side of his left pointer with the blade. A hiss at the blossoming of intriguing pain from the small but effective cut.

“Too much instruction can distract, Mikala.” He nearly purrs regardless, as blood beads from the side of his finger. He turns more intentionally towards his lover, eyes the reddening mark in curiosity before he looks at the other. Waiting.

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Asa frowns, and leans himself back into his desk. Hoists himself back up to sit on his arse. The man's a bit shorter than most in the Jolly Rogers, and he'd rather sit in a more casual spot than behind the desk - especially when he has no desire to scare the other by coming across too much like his boss.

Seems like it might be happening anyways. "...Ansel, I'm flattering you because you look lovely. Not because I need to." He tilts his head in curiosity, watching his employee for a moment. "Hm. You think this is some ruse to get you to do something for me." Asa sighs, settling his hands into his lap. He swings his legs a bit and chuckles. "Believe it or not, sometimes I just like doing nice things."

And that's true. "I can spend my money how I wish, darling. And if that means getting a lovely jacket for someone I know will appreciate it, then that's what I'll do." His smile gets a bit shyer. "You do like it though?" It fits his figure so nicely, that Asa knows he did well. He can't stop staring at how well it squares at the shoulders. "Certainly makes your chest look... nice."

“No… definitely not.” Ansel laughs, almost giggles despite himself. He holds the coat out for a moment before letting Asa take it, focusing in on the buttons and the cuffs before looking back up and and turning to let Asa help him into it. It sits neatly across his broad shoulders which is surprising enough, and his hands instinctually check the sleeve length and go to the side seams, folding them over to see how they fit to the taper of his waist. It’s all much closer that he cloud have dreamed.

But then he’s looking back at Asa and the self-satisfied look on his face, and he can practically feel his thoughts start to work themselves into knots and freeze up. He takes a breath, looking down and away. “I, uh? Thank you, sir. It looks awesome and I… I? I, uh, you really don’t need to spend all this on me just because I said I need to work on something?” He sighs, looking back and just catching himself looking at Ada’s lips before moving up to his eyes and taking the mirror. “You really don’t need to flatter me, sir.”

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In reality, Asa's never had many people to buy gifts for. His earlier life had been spent rotting away in mental institutions - his presents for people were handmade little papercrafts. Drawings. And that was when he had anyone to give anything to. Even becoming part of the Jolly Rogers years ago, he'd been a weird little man on the outskirts. Pulled in and given somewhere to belong, sure. It didn't mean friends and cohorts came any easier.

Asa just watches the other - fights back a laugh as Ansel tells his boss to 'fuck off'. The smaller man just crosses his arms over his chest with a little grin. Proud of himself for picking out something Ansel likes. "Doesn't sound like you hate it." He teases.

Then he's walking closer, and helping pull the coat out of the box. "You'll try it on for me, won't you?" Asa asks, voice softer. The fabric drapes nicely as he pulls it further out, and holds it up for Ansel to slip arms into. The illustrator takes his time to ease it up over his shoulders, and flattens out any wrinkles, presses fingers to the seams to make sure it sits nicely. "I have a mirror, inside that armoire." He adds, and steps back to survey the other. A self-satisfied smile, mostly that it looks so nice. "Alright, see? I suppose I don't have as terrible taste as I thought. You look... stunning. Handsome as anything. Have a look?"

Ansel’s track record with authority, especially with underboss types is not exactly stellar. Somewhere between an ex-wife who wanted him to fit into her exact Perfect Man and Sleek Assassin mold, and her underboss father who had the weight to throw around to see she got what she wanted, Ansel learned gifts were never just gifts unless he was the one giving them. Gifts were avoiding an apology, a pointed ‘I want to see more of This in your wardrobe instead of your stupid clothes’, an outright bribe or something that secretly came with the expectation that he’d work off and pay back the debt he now owed.

Asa was already intimidating and intriguing in his own way, but larger issue was the math wasn’t quite mathing. The moss agate had been thrown at him fir free, and freely given, if a slight apology for insulting something his boss liked so candidly. But Asa saying he wanted to give him something he paid good money for? Just because it made him think of Ansel? That didn’t add up. Something had to make up for that difference, but maybe, for lack of a better term, that’s just a kicked puppy being nervous.

Ansel was already slightly tense the moment he knocked, and was immediately a little to conscious of Asa’s hand on his arm and trying to relax the flex of his bicep. He just nods, not quite finding his voice for secondbefore sending a sharp look back. “No, fuck off. Even if it doesn’t fit I’m gonna take it.” Ansel follows him over to the desk, looking at the jacket in awe for a moment before gently pulling it out of the box and looking over the wool and the bright trim.

“No shit-” he starts, quietly speaking over Asa only to freeze at the nickname. His posture straightens a little reflexively and he quickly glances back at Asa before turning back to the jacket and trying not to feel caught out. “… it’s 90’s Yves Saint Laurent, it was always gonna be.” He says weakly.

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A hand settles on his lower back as Mikala comes close to watch him cut. Warmth always grows from wherever the man touches - and now is no different. There’s always a little itch when a knife rests in his hand - beyond the trimming off of carrot greens and the segmenting of potatoes and beetroot. His lover’s words would come across as condescending if this hadn’t been their dynamic - a tender tone that’s spoken so softly. Almost feels like a whisper meant only for Asa’s ears. 

He shifts a gaze to him before dark eyes come to rest back on his inked fingers. Curl them inward… he tilts one hand, and the knife comes down, and he knicks the side of his left pointer with the blade. A hiss at the blossoming of intriguing pain from the small but effective cut.

“Too much instruction can distract, Mikala.” He nearly purrs regardless, as blood beads from the side of his finger. He turns more intentionally towards his lover, eyes the reddening mark in curiosity before he looks at the other. Waiting.

“Steak and roasted root vegetables,” he murmurs before turning his attention briefly to pour his own glass of wine, promptly taking a small sip. There's temptation to make a joke towards Asa, something about not losing a finger, however Mikala decides against it; not wanting to inspire any nervousness, especially while he's still guiding Asa as he learns to cook. He's not sure if he would offer anyone else the same patience and assistance the way he does to Asa.

He steps away for less than a minute, only to set the vinyl of his choosing—You Want It Darker by Leonard Cohen, a favorite of his—carefully into the record player and starting it on the first track. He returns to Asa’s side immediately after, watching him carefully, hand resting on his back lightly. “You're doing well, darling boy, but curl your fingers in just a little more when you're holding what you're cutting.” He didn't want to tend to any bloodied wounds tonight, at least not ones that he didn't create.

“And with the knife, place your hand closer to where the hilt meets the blade. Let it do the work for you.” Where he would usually take a commanding tone in telling Asa what to do, he doesn't this time, opting for low and gentle.

“The beetroot may stain your fingers a little, by the way,” as if either of them aren't already familiar with being stained in similar hues. “Try not to get it on that nice shirt of yours.” There goes his intentions of not making any unhelpful comments.