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lazuli-writes · 11 months

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What if Benjen Stark married?

summary: So if Benjen Stark married, how different would his story be?

pairing: Benjen Stark x Female OC

genre: rabbit hole rambles

estimated word count: 1600 words

a/n: Hey y’all, this is a very old ramble of mines that I wanted to reshare and wanted to throw out there again for the public to theorize with me. Remember folks, copying other people’s works is plagiarism and that’s illegal. Don’t be that kind of person. Anyways, hope you all enjoy it :)

©little-lazuli. Do not copy, repost, or translate without permission

Hey y’all, so the topic of today’s rabbit hole discussion is: what if Benjen Stark married? Imma just run through the idea and the au I had in my mind with the issue. The three points I wanted to touch upon would be: who does he marry, his familial life as a husband and his au story I made in my mind.

For starters, I am 99.99% sure if Benjen were to marry it would be within the North because 1) politics 2) I don’t have a number two, I just felt bad that #1 was all alone.

Before I get into the potential brides, the decision of when is to be answered. I just figured he would marry some time after Robert’s rebellion, after growing tired of Winterfell and all the memories he had of it, talks of him joining the wall would occur between him and Ned and Ned mentions the chance of maybe Benjen starting his own family.

Benjen dismisses it but eventually finds love, that’s the au I had in mind. Yes it’s a cliche, “love thaws his frozen heart” blah blah blah but anyways… on to the why it would have to be a northern. I truly believe in that sentiment that the North is more inclined to marriages within the North. So when Rickard Stark dismissed his own bannermen, I think he was unintentionally saying that the northerners weren’t prestigious enough to marry his children. That is destined to spread some ill will to the starks.

And now there’s Ned who literally married a Southerner who not only is lowkey out of place with her gods and her pov towards social etiquette, but also, I’m sure some northerners weren’t as thrilled with a southern lady. Granted they eventually respected Catelyn for the sole fact that Ned was mostly loved across the North.

So I would think Ned would make it clear to Cat that if their kids (and also by default Benjen because Benjen was lowkey still Ned’s responsibility) if they were to marry, it would be in the best interest of the North for them to marry into the North. Damn I hope I’m making sense.

Anyways onto the “who” would Benjen married. I accumulated four main choices that I thought would suit best for Benjen and I am under the impression that all of them are around the same age range as Benjen as well. Benjen was born in 267 ac so I tried to find women who I thought were also born around that time. The options were Jonelle Cerwyn, Bethany Ryswell, Lyessa Flint or OC northerner.

Now I can see a bunch of scenarios with each one. For Jonelle I would think it’s a fifty fifty chance. House Cerwyn would be happy with any Stark marriage, but I think Ned wouldn’t really see the need in a marriage between their two houses. Marriages meant alliances, and Ned wouldn’t see the need in an alliance with a house presumably as super loyal to the Starks as the Cerwyns.

For Bethany Ryswell, this one would be a cool story I think. Bethany Ryswell in canon marries Roose Bolton and died not long into their relationship. House Ryswell was possibly already miffed by house Stark with the whole Brandon+Barbrey issue. So either lord Ryswell would be totally against Bethany and Benjen or completely for it, either seeing it as a sorry attempt by Ned to appease him or as an apology gift for Rickard’s and Brandon’s insult.

Lyessa Flint is the matriarch of house Flint, to my knowledge. She is the lady of Widow’s Watch on the east coast of the North. Her son, Robin Flint was the lord of Flints Fingers until his death at the red wedding. Lyessa was ill during canon but also pregnant. Idk her hubby’s name or if he was even alive. But assuming Benjen could marry her, I think that would bring up many political strides to the Starks. For a Stark male marrying into house Flint all but ensures Stark claims over much of house Flint’s wealth, but mostly the lands of house Flint. Two strategic fortresses on opposite sides of the North as well as ties to the presumably the largest clan of Flints, the Flints of the mountains (who are also the first flints or the flints of Breakstone Hill). I’m pretty sure some houses *cough* Bolton *cough* would not be happy with the power moves of Benjen marrying Lyessa, but he wouldn’t really say anything out loud I think.

Lastly, an OC from another northern house. I like to think Benjen wouldn’t really care about the political side of his marriage and would genuinely look for love when the chance arrives. So for my oc I decided to have her be from a smaller northern house. So maybe a Tallhart, a Skagosi lady or a lady from the northern mountain clans.

Following the au in my mind, Benjen Stark marries a Skagosi noble lady he meets while visiting Eastwatch by the sea when considering to join the Night’s Watch. He marries a lady from House Stane of Driftwood Hall. Many mainland northerners silently scoff at marriage considering the Skagosi have a bad rep. Ned wouldn’t be all that thrilled but still loves his brother enough to trust Benjen and allow the marriage.

Now for his family life, I can totally see Benjen having his story being centered around loss and how he deals with it. I think his relationship with his wife would be at first feel rushed because of the heat and quick passion that prompted them to get married quickly and joyously. I think having a wife so unexpected and different from what he would expect out of typical northern women would be a rollercoaster for Benjen and eventually genuine love versus extensive lust and attractions would build between the two.

I like to think that Lady Stane (for the sake of the explanation this is what we will address her as) would play a large role in opening Benjen’s eyes to a whole new world. Like maybe he talks about the feast of Skane and she just rolls her eyes and tells him different story about how, maybe Skane was a battle field between the ancient first men and the people who attacked Hardhome. I truly think it was the Valyrians who attacked Hardhome and ruined it. Skane is right there so maybe they tried to fight back and the Skagosi came to save the day. In the end Skane wasn’t able to sustain the survivors so the Skagosi brought them to Skagos leaving a deserted Skane.

I think Lady Skane would enjoy fixing Benjen’s perspective on Skagosi:

“Do you all practice the first night, I heard y’all do?” “No we don’t my love, if that was the case you wouldn’t have been my first.” “Oh”

“Do y’all have unicorns?” “Maybe, maybe not.” “It’s a yes or no.” *she proceeds to shrug her shoulders with a smile*

“Do the Skagosi perform human sacrifices?” “Wtf no we don’t benjen.” “But why did old nan say-“ “that hag can’t even tell her left from her right. Ask me smn like that again I’ll be sure to make you become a human sacrifice Ben.” “Yes my lady.”

“Wait so y’all aren’t cannibals?” “Idk you tell me, I mean I eat you every now and again don’t I?” “SHUSHHHHH we are out in public” “oh shut it I’m sure the whole village has heard your moans Ben.”

I just enjoy the thought of Benjen and Lady Stane being a crazy funny duo whose actions are always keeping the local peoples on their toes.

Now when it comes to children, I think he and his wife aren’t as lucky as Ned and Cat with having children so when Benjen does have a child, regardless of their gender he would fkn adore them. I think Benjen would at max have two children. I like the idea of him having an older daughter and a younger son and the two being slightly at odds similar to Aegon and Rhaenyra or Theon and Yara/Asha. The sister is simply a bad ass who’s stuck in a world with men and their brother isn’t the brightest tool in the shed but is treated like a fkn diamond or gold for simply being a dude.

I think the big issue in Ben story is the emotional divide that occurs between him and Ned that could have been. Ned was basically raised in the south at a young age and for sure would have grown up with just the slightest emotional separation from Ned. Maybe Ben and Ned’s shared daddy issues would result in them not really connecting as much as they could have if they grew up together. And now with Benjen in Skagos, Benjen is now growing even older without the interference of Ned’s presence.

The idea of a more reserved Stark then even Ned for Benjen’s character is what is cool to me because if it was a story, the reader would know Benjen is actually a very chill and pretty fun person to be around, and he’s possibly like that with his wife and kids and maybe the Skagosi. But he isn’t like that around Ned, he’s calm, caring, loving but reserved. And that’s the ‘stark’ contrast between Benjen’s two personalities. (Hahaha see what I did there, holy fuck I’m funny.)

Anyways, thank you for listening to this excessive brain dump, and if you want share your thoughts on a married Benjen, who would you want him to marry and why or how many kids would you think he should have and anything else about Benjen. Thank you for reading, have a beautiful day ✌🏽✌🏽✌🏽✌🏽

#lazuli writes #lazuli rambles #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf rambles #benjen stark #benjen stark fanfiction #house stark

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5lazarus · 3 years

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Ultramarine

Sylaise attempts to trademark the color blue, initiating a civil war. Fen'Harel disapproves. Felassan, at this point, is just along for the ride.

Highlights include: Andruil attempts to create biological weapons out of the conquered children of the stone and sell them to absolutely everyone, Mythal may or may not involve, Solas greatly disapproves, and everyone wants to kill Fen'Harel for disapproving. Also an explanation as to why Solas has to think before answering Sera on whether he has ever pissed magic by accident.

Sorta a love story, sorta a comedy, sorta a story about political intrigue--but hey, Solas said Arlathan was even worse than Orlais!

A big thank you to @potatowitch and isomede for talking me through this and getting me to finish it--and for giving me the best ideas for it. Read on Archive of Our Own here.

Felassan drowses in the marketplace, listening to the gossip and basking in the bright sprint light of the Durgas Durgen’len. The Valley of the Children of the Dwarves marks the frontier of Mythal’s demesne, but is no less busy for it. Thaig-crawlers anxious for a Stone-milk fix bring the treasures of their houses. Elves from across the empire come to hawk their wares for the Stone’s blood, and under the Dread Wolf’s supervision, the two species live in uneasy coexistence under the Sky. He is a better procurator than Dirthamen, people whisper, but is that really a high bar to exceed?

Felassan shifts against the cool marble pillar of Mythal’s temple gate and keeps listening. One trader has come from Arlathan, seeking lyrium milked from the heart of the Titan itself. Another has high ambitions of dealing with the Dread Wolf himself, for a fragment of the Titan’s heart. Another is wondering what kind of money could be made out of the Children of the Stone’s need for the blood of their own god. Felassan lazily opens an eye at that. Fen’Harel does not want speculators driving the cost of living up, and is in rather tense negotiations with Mythal for a cleaner way to treat her new stone-children. He takes down the woman’s face: marked with Andruil’s vallaslin, but blue, so moderately wealthy and looking to buy her freedom soon. He resolves to arrange for her to meet an accident soon, but not too soon--he wants to see where she leads to.

“They could be useful, you know,” Andruil’s agent is saying. “Not just as miners, not just for their pretty little crafts. Since they need that fix, they can be controlled. You just need to mine enough lyrium and water it down to milk, and after a generation, you can train them into whatever you want. That’s what the Titans do to them, after all. Why not us? At least we’re brighter. And war’s coming, anyway.”

Felassan opens his eyes and stirs. He makes a show of warming his hands, trying to look like an indigent trader and less like the Dread Wolf’s spy. “War’s always coming, lethallin.”

The woman says, “Not like this. Of course, Mythal always stays neutral.”

“Hail the Adjudicator,” Felassan says pointedly.

Andruil’s agent rolls her eyes. “Hail the Adjudicator. I suppose news makes it to the frontier slow. Sylaise invaded Dirthamen’s lands last spring. Their champions are currently fighting it out for control of Dirthamen’s lapis lazuli monopoly. She’s declared that all colors of the sky are hers, and especially the stones that make blue.”

That’s remarkably stupid, Felassan thinks: but she has always been vain and foolish. He makes his excuses amiably, and heads out to tell the Dread Wolf. At the market’s gates he finds another of the Dread Wolf’s loyalists and sets them to track Andruil’s news-spreader. He ambles through the narrow streets, dodging clever halla guiding floating aravels to their destinations, and slinks into the Dread Wolf’s personal residence. As he suspects, he is still at home. He could hear music drifting from an upstairs window. He knocks on the door, and a hand emerges from the window to throw down the keys. Grinning, Felassan catches them, and lets himself in.

Felassan says, “I suppose you’ve heard the news. Sylaise has trademarked the color blue.” He has come bearing gossip straight from the caravansaries, right to the Dread Wolf’s headquarters—a cheap apartment at the outskirts of Mythal’s newest colony, Durgas Durgen’len. Solas has moved recently; Felassan glances up at the blank ceiling and notes he hasn't had the time to start drafting his starry mosaic yet. The Dread Wolf himself is sprawled in his chair, feet on his desk, reading a report and laughing. Solas grins. He hands Felassan the lyrium tablet. “Alas, not entirely--you know I was planning on painting my ceiling?” Felassan looks down at the tablet. It’s a trade manifest. “I put in a massive order of lapis lazuli seasons ago--and it arrived safely this morning, despite the current trade war. Sylaise may be fighting for the mines, but production cannot continue when there is war going on. So we have the largest supply of lapis lazuli in all of Elvhenan. And the All-Mother wrote me that they’re running low on blue pigment in Arlathan--so Sylaise will not have enough ultramarine paint to finish that magnificent dome she was planning for her palace.” Felassan reads through the trade manifest, impressed despite himself. The Dread Wolf preens slightly. Whoever named him pegged him perfectly. He does so like to be praised. He says, “I suppose you started hoarding pigment when you heard she started the project. So we’ll make some money. But what about Andruil? Her spy’s doomsaying war and talking about--shaping the stone-children with lyrium itself, turning them into a whole disposable workforce. How are negotiations with Mythal?” The merry mood dampens. Solas taps the crystalline music player, and the song shifts. It sounds like lyrium, except cleaner and somehow sad. He says, “The dwarves listen to this. They play it on their own crystal communications array. I’ve tracked two in the Valley, and there are at least three more. Beautiful, isn’t it? Unthinking, but with its own natural harmony.” Felassan thinks it sounds like waking up in the bright morning, tousled in the sweating arms of a still-drunk lover, when he untangles himself from the sticky sheets and picks up the abandoned wine glasses, knocked over but unbroken on the floor. It sounds like flicking a wine glass, slightly hungover. It sounds like the last time Solas let him stay over. Felassan coughs, a bit embarrassed; the lyrium song caught him. Fucking dwarves: he still doesn’t understand their enchanments. “What do you want me to do about the spy? Kill her?” The Dread Wolf looks meditative. “No. Not yet, at least. We do not need to give Andruil more reasons for war, and if we need to escalate let us have one of Mythal’s temple guards do it. If she’s talking about shaping flesh, she’s been talking to Ghilan’nain. And we know Ghilan’nain has been talking to Mythal.” He smiles thinly. That answers that, then. Negotiations with Mythal are not going well, and this petty war between Sylaise and Dirthamen covers up something nastier. The alliances between the Evanuris are shifting, and that leaves Fen’Harel and their people in the lurch. The Dread Wolf says, “If Andruil wants Mythal’s little stones, she will have to come to me first. Sylaise’s vanity will not be the reason for outright war. I will speak to her and Dirthamen both, and then we shall see what hand she plays next.”

Mythal’s court is terrifying. Felassan trails Solas, who has traded his usual homespun tunic for a more impressive set of lyrium-inscribed leather armor. The lyrium sings as they walk, and Felassan can almost taste the words. Solas projects an aura of calm authority, with a testier threat of violence underneath. It’s the lyrium, somehow. The Dread Wolf is manipulating it. When they approach the throne, Felassan kneels but Solas only ducks his head. Insane, Felassan thinks. He’s caught wind of an incipient civil war so he’s decided to tease Mythal. What a fucking madman. Mythal sighs. “Get up, you fool.” Felassan glances at Solas worriedly. Solas says laconically, “She means you.” Hurriedly he rises to his feet, blushing. Mythal shakes her head. “I have always said the People are too quick to bend the knee. I expect more pride from your people, Dread Wolf.” Solas gestures at him to retreat to his back. Felassan gladly slinks back into the shadows, and scans the hall for potential enemies. It is empty but for the lyrium ostentatiously woven into the very brickwork, shaping the earth into a temperature-controlled paradise. She could pull at it and made the whole palace implode, but Solas could as well. Even Felassan could give that a try. He realizes, slightly shocked, that the All-Mother trusts the Dread Wolf, as much as she is capable of trusting anyone. The All-Mother rises from her throne and stalks down to greet her favorite. She places one claw on his shoulder and caresses his face with another. The Dread Wolf stiffens but does not draw back. “My child,” she says fondly. “You’ve come to ask about the blue war, then.” “It’s a particularly idiotic reason to start a civil war,” the Dread Wolf says. “Particularly since I have enough ultramarine pigment to last out Sylaise’s monument to her own stupidity. And my workers have found a lapis lazuli cache in the Durgas Durgen’len, so we will be able to shift productive in the valley from lyrium to paint readily enough.” “Your workers,” Mythal says. “You mean my workers.” Solas says, “I do not own them.” Felassan tenses. When he was manumitted, Solas swore never to hold another in bondage, even the durgen’len. They are his workers only because they toil under his supervision, and Solas is quick to point out that he pays them and encourages their economic freedom beyond his holds. Mythal is doing this deliberately to upset him. Felassan knows how much Solas resents how Mythal keeps her hands on the reins of her freed slaves. He knows how much Solas resents how that is still how the court thinks of him, encouraged by Mythal: the All-Mother’s freed slave, her Dread Wolf—and not even his workers are safe from her clutches.

Solas says, “My man found one of Andruil’s agents, spreading rumors of war in the marketplace—and worse, suggesting we splinter the autonomy of your little stones, and addict them to their stone-milk to keep them pliable. You know Ghilan’nain put that into her head, and Ghilan’nain is not to be trusted. She dares too much, we cannot—“

“Ghilan’nain is not to be trusted?” Mythal is amused. “Dread Wolf, you’re the one who put her eyes out.” Solas opens his mouth and closes it. Felassan looks down at the ground. He has never seen him at a loss for words before. It is less satisfying than he imagined. Mythal laughs. “Trust in my judgement, as you always have. Ghilan’nain may overreach but her experimentations with lyrium and my new subjects will do Elvhenan no harm. These…weapons are soulless, but not at a risk to our own souls.”

“You do not know that,” Solas says. “Is this why you have allowed Sylaise’s hostilities to increase? Are you looking to test her new experiments in this petty war? Nevermind her…trademark,” he sneers. “We will begin production forthwith. This war will stop here.”

Mythal says, “War is inevitable. Winning is not. When will I next see you at court?”

Solas leaves seething, Felassan dogging his footsteps. Felassan follows him home. It is clear that he is upset. Felassan himself is more frightened than angry, but the gods are different than the rest of the People, even ones like the Dread Wolf, who had been born a spirit made enslaved flesh.

Solas lets him enter his home and finds a bottle of wine. He pours them both a glass, hands shaking, and settles back in his desk chair.

Felassan drags the chair in front of his desk and places it next to him.“I thought you were going to fight her,” he says. “I thought you were going to snap and yell at her.”

Solas says, “Drink.” He leans forward in his chair, pride demon eyes staring him down. Felassan wishes he would blink. He looks away and drinks the thick, sweet red wine that tastes too fresh, too close to the grape. This was a wine to get drunk to, not to drink.

He casts about for something to say, anything to move that stare away. Ghilan’nain and her grotesqueries are not an option. Solas will not respond if he tackles the issue of Mythal directly. Finally, he tries, “You’d think she’d do something about Andruil’s spies.”

Solas quirks an eyebrow. “Why would she? She’s paying her.” Now he leans back. The gold night is slating through the apartment’s window and lends a shimmer to his skin. Felassan watches him sip. The apartment might be small and a bit rundown, but Solas has arranged himself impeccably, glorying in the natural light. He is a god, he is Mythal’s procurator, he is a lord in his own right: and he is still ever the artist.

“What,” Felassan says.

“Oh yes,” Solas shifts in his chair, gesturing with his glass, “the All-Mother has spoken, before witnesses—yourself included—that Ghilan’nain’s experimentations with lyrium and Mythal’s own little stones are for the good of Elvhenan.” He barks a bitter laugh. “You know the dwarves sing a hymn to their own children, about the promise of Mythal’s freedom? Let me show you.” He waves a hand at the crystalline radio and once again the music plays, the odd echoing that vibrates within the nose and the smallest bones in the ear and the jaw.

Felassan closes his eyes and listens as the voice of the Stone reverberates, “Ir sa tel’nal, Mythal las ma theneras. Ir san’a emma. Him Sola evanuris. Da’durgen’lin, Banal males elgara. Bellanaris, bellanaris.”

Solas says, “She uses me to keep them placid, promising them their freedom—freedom of thought, through their imagination, but they will never freely walk under Elgar’nan’s sun. I have no love for the Children of the Stone. I find them lacking in understanding. What can be gleamed, by people who do not dream? But no one, for all the horror they have wrecked with their earthshaking, deserves Ghilan’nain. Mythal promised me my freedom. That should be extended to all the workers under my control.”

Felassan throws back his drink and sets his glass on the desk. “Pour me another one,” he says. “So. What are we going to do, to stop this war? Because that is what you intend to do. To make the need for these lyrium-worked stone weapons redundant. What do you need me to do?”

Solas is taken aback for a moment, though he should know better. He was the one who left him, after all. Solas reaches for him. Felassan leans into the touch reassuringly, knowing Solas is already making excuses, a moment of weakness, a moment of sentimentality, he has been alone for so long. They lock eyes, Felassan thinks let me stay over again, let me love you but the music changes pitch and Solas gets out of his chair to turn it off, and then shifts to the kitchen for better wine.

They spend the night strategizing how to prevent a war, but when Solas goes to bed, he chooses to go alone.

Arlathan is resplendent for the peace summit, but the Dread Wolf’s retinue is glorious in their wonderfully-dyed ultramarine silks. It is a statement and it is a bold one, and Felassan is feeling smug, because not only are they, the former foot soldiers of Mythal’s army, wearing an entire kingdom’s worth of cash on their backs—they also look magnificent in blue.

“You’re strutting,” Felassan tells Solas, beautiful in a blue tunic and a woven gold scarf.

Solas laughs. “Look at them, watching,” he says happily. “I see Sylaise’s little spies chattering away—the Dread Wolf has enough ultramarine to turn out his own court, and spare. I love this pageantry. Next time, if we live to see another time, I will ask the dyers to dress the cloth like peacocks. And then we truly will put on a show.”

Felassan was more referring to how he was walking so everyone would look at his ass, which was certainly one of the nicest he himself has ever seen, but he does like the idea of both of them done up in turquoise and gold, glittering in the sunset. Solas rarely dresses well outside of court, preferring the anonymity or alternate political statement of plain dress. But the message here is clear: the Dread Wolf carries enough wealth, independent from Mythal, to stop a war.

They process into Mythal and Elgar’nan’s palace, which is of course overheated. The ritual of welcome is interminable. Mythal is clearly amused, Elgar’nan is already drunk, one of Falon’Din’s slaves attempts to trip Solas’ herald, and Sylaise glowers the whole time. Solas is simply serene. Felassan does his best to arrange his face, but he’s best at parties, not the cult aspect of life as a servant of an immortal godking. When he first hit on that bombastic new recruit in the barracks, this was not how he thought it would end. He really had thought they would all be dead before then.

Eventually they are released to Solas’ own wing of the palace, much smaller than all the other children of Mythal and their co-rulers. There Solas will arbitrate the terms of the peace agreement between Sylaise and Dirthamen. Even for a former slave—and a rumored bastard child—the quarters are grandiose. An obsequious slave branded by Andruil’s insignia informs them that Sylaise specially redesigned them in line with the latest fashions, and then makes a quick gesture with his hand as Solas enters. Felassan catches it: pinky and pointer up, middle and ring finger touching the thumb. He’s made the sign of the wolf at them. He’s asking for help.

“Rubies,” Solas says. “Gold. Far too gaudy.” They stand in the atrium, bejeweled and overheated, with rooms all along the courtyard. The Dread Wolf’s retinue—loyal soldiers, clerks from across the caste system, kitchen staff and cleaners—all stay close. The heat is overwhelming. The red seems to shimmer in Arlathan’s bright light

“Well,” Felassan says. “It’s gaudy, but it’s a peace offering from Sylaise. Anyway, you’re one to talk. You’re wearing enough blue dye to buy an army.” He brushes against Solas, trying to get his attention, and Solas leans into the touch and then abruptly moves away. For fuck’s sake, Fen’Harel, Felassan thinks. For once I’m not trying anything.

“Which is the point,” Solas says, refusing to look at him. “This though,” he waves a dismissive hand, “is a migraine. But the expense and insult to Sylaise for redesigning apartments she so kindly put together…”

Felassan says, “I think some of this is colored glass.” He flicks a particularly obnoxious cut gem over the threshold of the drawing room. It resounds like lyrium-song, but even more distorted, haunting and hot in his ears. It’s red lyrium, and the retinue pauses and draws together quickly.

“Touch nothing!” Solas barks. “Pack up your things. This is red lyrium, and it corrupts what it touches.” He shakes his head. “Unsubtle. This is a gift from Sylaise, but at Andruil’s prompting.” He puts his hand on Felassan’s shoulder. “I must ask a favor from you, my friend. Stay close to me. I need you to be my slow arrow, to catch Andruil out.”

Felassan remains Solas’ only guard. The rest work quickly to calculate and capture the red lyrium contamination in their quarters. He’s nervous. Normally the Evanuris are more subtle, but Andruil has changed since the war. He tells him about the sign Sylaise’s slave made and Solas just looks smug, choosing to keep the story to himself. Of course Fen’Harel has spies in every court, of course Fen’Harel knows who needs him before they even do, of course Fen’Harel doesn’t communicate anything beyond need-to-know even to him, his personal guard. He thinks, not for the first time, that Solas is a hard man to love. At least Solas knows that too.

The peace summit is boring. Sylaise puts on a show, decked out in lyrium-woven silver and lapis lazuli, which makes her brilliant red hair shine gold and rather disruptive. Dirthamen is more severe. His graying hair is braided with silver thread, making the red in it even more distinctive, and the lyrium-silk he wears whispers the impressions of all that he has seen. At this point Felassan has ceased to be rattled by how very much Solas looks like him. Fen’Harel keeps his head shaved because it is anonymous and convenient, and also because it makes him look even less like his rumored half-siblings.

The children of Mythal gather around a round table. Solas opens negotiates. Felassan is bored. There is so much lyrium in the room, it thrums in his sinuses and he is afraid his nose will bleed. The conquest of the Durgas Durgen’len has brought plenty to Elvhenan. The excess is rather grotesque, and while Felassan likes grotesque—why else would he be in the Dread Wolf’s retinue?—the other Evanuris are a bit much. Absolutely no one in the room brings up Andruil or Ghilan’nain’s name, but their presence is felt.

The meeting ends after Solas successfully convinces both to sign a nonaggression pact that includes reporting to the other when they begin outfitting for war. They can track the movement of Andruil’s experimental soldiers that way, though the clause does not require them to inform Mythal. They have enough spies. Solas has them sign the contract in blood laced with lyrium, providing his own knife.

“Ah,” Sylaise says. “Fen’Harel’s fang. How cute. Did my mother give you that?”

Solas smiles coldly. “My father, actually. I have never asked how he received it.” Score, Felassan thinks. Sylaise has always been a fucking idiot.

Dirthamen says, “You’ve never asked?”

Solas says, “It was his once and is mine now. I rather think I have made written is backstory.” He glances at the contract, slowly drying on the table.

Felassan says helpfully, “In your blood. Literally.” Solas catches his eye and they both begin to grin before he looks away hurriedly. “Now, everyone will know, that it is at this daggerpoint that war was averted and peace brokered between two of the greatest powers of Elvhenan, and the nation’s supply of blue dye restored.”

Solas says mildly, “I should add that Mythal has asked me to draft legislature making it clear that colored dyes themselves cannot be patented, though of course ratios and forms of manufacturing may remain trade secrets to the craftsman.” He bows slightly to Sylaise, who visibly grinds her teeth. Felassan can hear the squeak.

Dirthamen says, “Good. If you will excuse me? I must tender my regards to our mother. She and I have much to discuss.”

Solas says, “Give her my love.” He means it, too. For all that Mythal has wrecked, Solas has always loved her. He may have removed the mark from his face—and Felassan’s too—but the writing is in the blood, as the saying goes. The vallaslin can never truly be erased.

Dirthamen leaves and Sylaise follows hurriedly, and Solas leans forward, elbows on the table, steepling his hands. He rubs the bridge of his nose, staring at the contract.

“Nicely done,” Felassan says. “Dirthamen came very close to acknowledging you as his brother. You might’ve alienated Sylaise, but she was always a lost cause.”

“I’m not,” Solas says sharply. He drops his hands. “As you know. But it’s interesting that he has an audience with Mythal. Perhaps Andruil approached him first, rather than Sylaise. Perhaps this all was yet another game of hers, testing to see how easily her children fracture if she chooses to leave Elvhenan unattended. Or perhaps they’re simply gossiping together, as a mother is wont to do, with her only son.”

Felassan says, “Fine. Forget I said anything. Sorry. But no one’s tried to kill you that well yet. The red lyrium was a cheap shot, but Sylaise has always been cheap. What now?”

Solas says, “I need to clean my dagger, file some paperwork, and see when Sylaise will try to kill me again. I hope, for your sake, that it happens so soon, because I can see that you’re bored.”

“Nothing like an assassination attempt to liven up a peace treaty,” Felassan says. “If you would try to risk your life in more entertaining ways, I would not complain.”

Solas says, “Don’t worry. Andruil’s slave, the one you saw? He invited us to a party. He’s working for the Forgotten Ones. Things will get entertaining yet.”

Geldauron throws the best parties. Everyone knows that. It’s because he’s no longer corporeal, so he focuses on the vibes of the space, to bring everyone’s desires to fruition. He is also a wonderful musician, because he is music and thought becomes music, and he knows how to sing everyone’s desires into a wonderful piece. Felassan is excited, because Solas is his favorite person to get fucked up with, and while both of them will have to pretend to be sober, the night promises to be fun.

Geldauron throws the best parties. He’s also a fucking asshole. The two return to Solas’ quarters to prepare—Solas changes his clothes and Felassan smokes instead. He lounges on Solas’ bed, watching him dress. Solas swaps the cloth leggings for blue-dyed leather and a gold-edged tunic. Picking up a wolfskin, he turns to Felassan, only to catch him ogling his ass. He raises an eyebrow.

Felassan says, “Good choice. But if you take those off you’re not getting back in them any time soon.”

Solas snorts. “I doubt it is that kind of party.”

“We could make it that kind of party.”

Solas grins. He says, “No.”

“I thought you like mixing business and pleasure,” Felassan says. He takes a drag and, concentrating, blows a smoke ring toward him.

Solas’ smile fades, and he returns to the mirror, adjusting his collar. “Not now,” he says. “I cannot afford to be so reckless anymore.”

Felassan sees himself, desirable in the mirror, and Solas looking frustrated. He says, “Why did you ask me to come along?”

“Because I trust you,” Solas says readily. “Because I care about you, and I will behave more cautiously so I may keep you safe. As you would to protect me. And that is why I must ask you—stop this. I am your commander now. It’s inappropriate concerning our differences in rank. We might no longer be slaves, but I have certain responsibilities.” He stops, seeing Felassan laughing in the mirror. “What?”

Felassan sidles up and puts his arms around him. “You’re so full of shit,” he says fondly. Solas stiffens, and then relaxes. “Sure. I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

“I,” Solas begins, and then stops. “Yes. Thank you.”

Felassan thinks, you want me to persuade you, don’t you? You’ve always enjoyed being courted. But tonight, I’d rather not. It’s my turn for some flattery. I’m tired of being hung out to dry. He pushes him away and goes to the door. “So,” he says. “Where in the Void are we going? Didn’t Geldauron get rid of his physical form? This is a trap, isn’t it?”

“We wouldn’t go if it weren’t,” Solas says. “You asked for adventure, and I am glad to deliver.”

They have to take three different eluvians and briefly melt into the Void to get to the spot in the Abyss where Geldauron has shaped according to his munificent Will. Melting always makes Felassan have to piss, but there are no bathrooms in the Abyss. Geldauron eschews such mundanities.

Felassan grumbles, “Subject and object, actor and acted upon. Easy to say when you’ve jettisoned your bladder to become a fog of resentment and envy. That still smells like piss.”

The Abyss, triggered by Felassan’s desire for shape, sense, and a toilet, warps. Tiles, Felassan thinks. Please. A nice hole in the ground to piss in. I’ll take a tree. Solas waves an idle hand, and a cobbled path appears out of the blankness. A white threshold opens at the end. From there they feel the vibrato of lyrium-song, electric and hungry. Felassan shivers. Carefully they step on the path. Halfway up, Felassan stops.

“What do you think will happen if I piss off the map?” Felassan says. “Into the Abyss?”

Solas pauses. There is mischief in his eyes. “We know that Geldauron will not bother to manifest anything to accommodate our corporeality.”

Felassan squints into the blankness. “If I conquer his Will with my Will, it won’t bounce back.”

“It would be purely an experiment of magical energy,” Solas agrees. They stare at each other.

Felassan says, “I bet you I can aim farther than you.”

“There is no distance to measure,” Solas says. “It’s the Void.”

“Coward,” Felassan says. “Don’t you need to take a piss too?”

Solas looks exasperated. One more taunt, Felassan thinks, and I’ve got him. He’s never been able to back down from a bet.

“I bet you I can Will it farther than you, and get rid of the smell,” Felassan says. “And, anyway, there’s not going to be anywhere more private to take a piss than our personal pathway through the Abyss. Especially if we’re walking into a trap. Unless you want to weaponize your bladder.” He pauses. “Is that why Geldauron smells like piss?

“Geldauron stinks because as he lost his physical form, his body relieved itself of all its former functions. He captured himself in the moment of his dying renewal. Unfortunate, but to be expected for one as foolish as he,” Solas says, amused. “But to your question—are you saying you think you can piss magic?”

Felassan says, “Wanna bet?”

The lyrium-high hits them both as a physical force as they pass the threshold, and Felassan’s heart skips a beat as it thrums through his body, teasing his sinuses and twinging behind his eyes and ears. Solas takes a deep, steadying breath, and Reality begins to vein, blueing the whiteness into shadowy shape. Felassan sniffs: lightning, storm clouds, fertile earth, and—that’s it, just the hint of piss.

He whispers, “I think I found Geldauron.”

Solas chokes back a laugh.

The slightly stinking vibration that is the Forgotten One Geldauron wraps around them and gives a token attempt at conquering their Will. Solas brushes him off as if he were a fly. Felassan thinks very hard, shit piss shit piss shit piss fucker—and the buzzing stops. Geldauron backs off, giving off a sense of being decidedly rumpled. Felassan is smug.

“Greetings, the Will that is Geldauron,” Solas says. There is a touch of irony to his voice.

Geldauron arranges the particles of the voice into a throat, complete with tongue, lips, teeth, and vocal cord. Felassan eyes it with disgust, Solas with interest. Felassan has always thoroughly enjoyed having a body, and has never understood why the Forgotten Ones gave up their form to vibrate in the Abyss—and, of course, the fact that they backed down from fighting the Pillars of the Earth when thousands were dying in those earthquakes does not incline him to being kind. Solas, though, has always liked to experiment.

Geldauron says, “Welcome to the Void. I see you’ve brought a guard.” Felassan stands up a bit straighter and attempts to look intimidating. The vibration that is Geldauron twinges. “You wouldn’t trust your old friends?”

Solas says lightly, “I especially wouldn’t trust old friends. How’s your lyrium-mining operation going?”

“Better, if you’d give me the workers.”

“Which I would, if you added basic safeguards to your mindvision. The Abyss is still Evhenan, and follows the same operational safety protocol as part of the empire.”

Geldauron scoffs. “Anaris is still pissed you backed out of the deal. He’s looking for a better buyer.”

Solas says, “Anaris caused the death of three hundred and twenty-nine elvhen miners from my home province. Not every man has the ability to project, with utmost confidence, the certainty of their own mortality while handling certainly noxious substances. Is he here?”

Around them the party swirls in blasting lyrium-song and crystal colors, and Felassan closes his eyes to feel the Will solidify as the voices sing. He is not drunk and only a little high, but there is a hive and there is the mind and there are infinite and only two hundred people in this Void, just vibing, and six at least are vining around each other, flesh to plant twirling photosynthesis, and he tastes—

Solas says, “If you think your profit margin outweighs the worth of any freethinking person in my employ, I will override your thought-form myself.” He puts a hand out and grips a shoulder as he forces Geldauron to take shape, Will snapping Will back into Reality, and Felassan shakes himself and watches as the old god flashes into a form, snarling, and then unravels again. Showing up the host at his own party, Felassan thinks. That’s a mistake.

He steps in, to back him up. “Can you still be the Will when others have more Will than you?” He waves a hand through where Geldauron’s vibrato played. There are others staring at them, taking physical shape, and now the Abyss becomes a black castle, lyrium roots twinging at their feet. The air is hungry. He suppresses a shiver.

“Cute,” a voice drawls, and then there is a body to match: the slave Felassan saw, who warned them about the red lyrium in their quarters. Then the vallaslin melts away and he grows taller, face sharpening and eyes narrowing, pupils elongating to slits.

“Anaris,” Solas says neutrally. Felassan looks at him quickly. There’s history here. The most physical of the Forgotten Ones is unearthly handsome, as aesthetically perfect as a monument, and thus completely unfuckable. Judging from the slight tension in Solas’ posture, Fen’Harel once disagreed. Felassan checks a sigh. He looks at Felassan. “Give us a moment. I’ll meet you near the path.” Felassan pauses, because leaving him alone with the Forgotten Ones is ridiculous, however ridiculously overpowered Solas is, but Solas gives him that cold Fen’Harel look so he backs off without trying to argue. There is never any point. He never listens, and out of the few arguments Felassan has ever won with him, it has only been because Solas has already decided to agree. He bows slightly, only to make him uncomfortable, and wanders off into the Void. Maybe they are just meeting to talk over labor disputes. Maybe it is something more—but it is not every night that Felassan finds himself partying in the Abyss, and so he intends to take advantage of it while he still can.

Felassan has a crowd of sympathetic quasi-corporeal spirits surrounding him, and they all pet him and tell him he is right. He is drunk and this is the Fade leaching into the Abyss to massage his desires into reality, but that does not spoil it.

“I am done with bad bosses,” Felassan announces to the crowd. “Bad bosses who say they love you and take you along to arbitrate weird labor disputes with their exes and then cut you out of the interesting part. Bad bosses who when they’re promoted above you stop sleeping with you but keep you around anyway. This has been a centuries-long break-up and I deserve better.”

A Compassion spirit says, “You should tell him. Communication is always key.”

Felassan wails, “But he told me!”

The spirits rustle. The Compassion spirit looks slightly less sympathetic. A spirit of Authority and their friend, one of Geldauron’s lackeys who couldn’t quite eschew their form entirely, say in unison, “Is it the debasement that you like?”

Felassan pauses. “No. Yes.” He thinks. “No. Just the presence. I could handle the profession. I can! I am. But mixing business and pleasure?”

Suddenly, out of the Abyss, comes Solas’s voice, and then Solas’s presence. He says, amused, “Anaris is not my ex. How have you managed to get drunk off the Abyss? There is nothing here.”

Felassan flushes. Solas offers him a hand and helps pull him up. Felassan says haughtily, “I find the Nothingness very intoxicating.” Solas’ eyes crinkle, and Felassan hangs onto him a second longer before Solas gently lets go. Felassan says, “Someone manifested the drunk. Not me.”

Solas says, “Yes. Compassion, or Authority, manifested your current state of inebriation. Not any of your desire to taste oblivion.”

Felassan says, “Yes, that’s right. Everyone brought oblivion to me.”

Solas chuckles. “Ridiculous.” He takes hold of Felassan and walks him into the blackness. “Place more drunk,” he whispers. “We’re being followed.”

Felassan stumbles. Solas leans over to catch him. Felassan whispers in his ear, “Anaris? Geldauron? Ghilan’nain? Which one of your enemies is it today?”

Solas’ lips brush his cheek. “Andruil,” he mouths. He presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, and Felassan draws back, furious. Solas closes his left eye quickly, barely even a wink: Felassan whirls around, and Andruil jams a needle into his neck, and then he is falling as Solas backs away, eyes flashing with Mythal’s lightning.

“Where the fuck is that fucker?”

Felassan is rudely shaken awake. “Easy, easy,” he grumbles, putting his hands out. Anaris, beauty distorted by frothing rage, slaps them away. Felassan sits up, takes stock: he is sitting on the worn stone path out of the Abyss, hanging over the Avoid. Anaris looms over him. Fen’Harel is nowhere to be found. Felassan decides to play dumb. “What fucker?”

Anaris says, “That fucker. Your fucker. Fen’Harel.”

Felassan objects: Solas hasn’t let him fuck him since Mythal made him a god, citing the power differential. That, of course, has not stopped them from flirtation, tension, and angst, and Felassan is occasionally jealous that Solas seems to fuck everyone but him—Anaris, really?—but that all goes to say: Fen’Harel is not his fucker. He opens his mouth to say all that, but Anaris shoves him roughly to the ground.

“He’s mine,” Anaris says.

Felassan props himself up on his elbow. “Yeah. I had a nice talk with a spirit of Compassion early….” He looks over his shoulder, trying to find the entrance to the Abyss where Geldauron’s party was. There is nothing, which makes sense, because this is the Abyss. He shrugs. “Really, he’s no one’s but his own. Built his own brand on that. Terrible commitment issues, and not the most appropriate commander—you need to learn to let him go—“

“The fuck are you on about?” Anaris stares at him. “He broke our fucking contract. Mythal ordered him to sell us her workers, he backed out. And now he’s sitting on an entire kingdom of gold because of Andruil’s stupid gambit—biologic-fucking-weapons. Not like he’s doing anything useful with those dwarves. May as well test them out in one of Sylaise’s petty wars.”

Felassan stares up at him, disgusted. “They’re not weapons,” he says. “They’re people. Just because they don’t dream…we threw down the Pillars of the Earth and scorn them for making machines of their own people. We can do better than that.”

Anaris says, “Did I ask for moralism? No? Gods. You’re definitely one of his followers, ugh. Does he keep you around for his conscience?” He shakes his head. “I’m done with that shit. Geldauron said—whatever. Where the fuck is he? He owes me money. He broke our contract!”

Felassan thinks, I’m done with this shit. He rubs his aching head wearily. “I think Andruil took him.” He isn’t quite sure, but he thinks Solas was trying to protect him. He’s never been very good at letting his guards guard him, but Felassan is rather glad to still be alive. Doubtless enough time as Mythal’s thrall will teach him to let others die.

Anaris swears so loudly and angrily the path, which is itself a thought form, shakes slightly. Felassan eyes him warily. He points in a random direction. “I think they went that way.” A doorway, shining brilliant with white light, opens up onto the path. Felassan considers it. The wondrous thing about living in a malleable reality is that if one Wills hard enough, it comes true. Felassan wants Anaris to fuck off and find Andruil, so the gateway appears. “Nice,” he says aloud.

Anaris sets off. Felassan lays down on the floor, which obligingly broadens so his limbs won’t dangle into the Void. This is the sort of mess only Fen’Harel could get embroiled in. He thought they were just investigating a trade embargo, then a war, and now it’s a labor dispute. He pities himself and his aching head a little bit longer, and then rolls to his feet. “Right,” he tells himself. “Let’s get him out of there.” With that, he walks into the light.

The Void opens into a dark forest, somewhere south of Arlathan—Andruil’s demesne. The earth is warm and welcoming below his feet, and the trees press closely, watching his back. Felassan can hear the night-birds sing, bats chitter their paths through the darkness, and the ever-present insect scream. He looses a breath. He walks through the material world reassuringly, touching a tree or caressing a leaf as he goes. Anaris’ deep footprints mark an angry path through the mud. Felassan tastes the rain-rich air: it has rained before and it will rain again. Andruil will be quite damp.

A clearing with a warm fire opens up through the woods. Felassan hears Andruil’s laughter. Obeying his prey instincts, he hurriedly clambers up a tree to get a better view. Solas is trussed up, hands and feet bound, leaned against a tree. He is entirely nude, covered in mud, and looking a bit scratched up and tired. Felassan raises a hand and waves at him from the canopy. Solas looks up, makes a face, and looks down quickly.

Andruil says, “No. He’s mine. He ruined my bioengineering program and now my mother expects me to pay out of pocket for the trials. We’re going to test the red lyrium armor on him first and present him to her as a gift. You can use him when we’re done with target practice.”

Anaris stomps his foot. “He broke our contract and bankrupted half the Forgotten Ones—and you promised us you’d invest. I claim him, in the name of the Abyss.”

Solas, temporarily forgotten, begins to chew on the ropes binding his wrists. Felassan stifles a laugh. Intervening now would be suicide. He’ll wait for the right moment.

Andruil says, “Fuck off. Your Abyss is nothing.” Literally, Felassan thinks. It is an abyss after all. “He is mine to do what I wish. After what he did to Ghilan’nain, his life is forfeit.”

Solas mutters, “Notwithstanding what she did to me and mine.”

Anaris says, “Ghilan’nain isn’t here to pursue her claim.” He strikes a pose. “By the All-Mother’s law, there is only one recourse. A duel of honor!”

Solas says, “How flattering. And the winner gets my entrails. One does love to see the letter of the law followed.”

Andruil kicks him over; Solas takes the blow and falls with a grunt. She says, “Fine.” She draws her magnificent bow, reinforced with lyrium mined from the heart of the Titans itself.

Solas calls out, “Sylaise made her armor—there’s a flaw just above the right hip, where it curves to show off her shape. The silverite is weakest there. Stab well, my friend. And quickly, if you do want my entrails.”

Andruil shrieks, “Shut up,” but Anaris blurs, skin tearing into bear hide and his skull elongating into a bestial mix of lizard, bear, and elf. The two gods wrestle; Solas hurriedly rolls out of their way, towards the tree Felassan climbed. His nose is bleeding from the kick in the face, and his bottom lip is swollen. He holds up his wrists, and then twists them, easily slipping a hand out. He gestures: throw down a knife.

Anaris is stabbing wildly at Andruil now, trying desperately to get at the weak spot at her right hip. Andruil has her hands fixed around his throat. Felassan passes down the knife, unwilling to get involved in the carnage. Solas, rather than cutting through the bonds at his feet, stabs it into the grass and leans over the hilt, hiding it from view. He puts his hand back into the loops of rope, and waits.

“Try a sixty-degree angle,” he suggests idly. “No, twist the knife, if you please.”

Andruil’s hands fall from Anaris’ neck and he stands up, baring his bruised throat at the Dread Wolf. The Dread Wolf stares at him, amused. Anaris says, “Dead.”

Fen’Harel says, “Unlikely, but you are welcome for the break. Twist her neck to make sure. You owe me your victory, Anaris.” He smiles, teeth showing. Above, Felassan shudders slightly. He’s left his wolf’s teeth in—normally he eschews mixing shape as gauche. “She would have killed you outright, if I had not helped. You owe me my freedom.” He makes a show of displaying the ropes around his wrists.

“Go fuck yourself,” Anaris says angrily. “Fuck off, you halfbreed whoreson slavey bastard. I will burn my mark into your flesh, you imbecilic—” A gold-tipped arrow protrudes from his throat. His eyes widen, he tries to scream, but his knees crumble. Anaris collapses to the ground. Andruil, eyes flashing blood, drops her bow.

“My victory,” she says. “I never lose.” She presses a hand to her bleeding side and stumbles over to Solas. He scrabbles back, but she has him cornered against the trunk. Felassan pulls out his own bow and aims.

Andruil prints her bloody hand onto Solas’ face and pushes his head against the tree. Quickly he tugs his hand free of the ropes and grabs at the knife he hid, stabbing at her back. The armor dents the knife, and Felassan sees Solas begin to panic, but then she coughs in his face and falls over.

“Fuck,” Solas says. Felassan jumps down and quickly cuts the ropes at his ankles. Solas slowly pulls himself up, massaging his feet. “They’re in uthenera now, dreaming their wounds away.”

“And you’re naked,” Felassan says.

“And covered in the blood of my enemies,” he returns, holding his hands out. “Like one of Andruil’s own slaves.” He wipes at his face, but only succeeds in smearing the blood across his face. “Let us go—before they wake.” And so, they escape. Felassan tells everyone Solas chewed through the ropes, because that is better than the alternative: being drenched in the blood of your enemies, naked and afraid.

30 notes · View notes

lalainajanes · 6 years

Note

11. Neighbour AU + 22. Space AU

I Want To See The Manager

Caroline iswilling to bet a good chunk of her respectably sized fortune – she’d discoveredshe has a knack for the stock market sometime in the 2050’s – that she’s weatheredmore than her fair share of shocks. She’s gotten better at rolling with themover the years, is a total pro at the whole making lemonade thing. Recognizesthat disruptions in her carefully laid plans aren’t always a bad thing.

Thisparticular disruption is just bigger than the others. Is going to take sometime to process. Caroline refuses to feel guilty about that.

She’d justbeen dealt not one, not two, but three staggering shocks in rapid succession. Shethinks she’s fully entitled to a little breakdown.

Her freak-outhas an audience of at least one. Klaus is right across from her, makingsoothing noises, has reached through the bars that separate their freaking cells, and has his arm stretched out sohis hand can rest on her shin.

He’d beenshock number one. Hearing his voice behind her, after years of its lack, hadjumpstarted her heart, shaken her out of her frozen posture. She’s been lookingfor him for almost two decades, knows his siblings have been trying to find himfor even longer.

Even TheOriginals wouldn’t have thought to check other planets.

Stupid sneaky aliens.

Shock twohad been the window of her cell, the one she’d woken up facing. She’d blinkedat the endless inky black, had been overwhelmed by the sheer number of starsspilling across it. Hadn’t been able to place the bigger, more colorful swirlsthat dotted the swathes of stars.

Fivedegrees to her name and not one of them had included any astronomy, somethingCaroline is deeply regretting at the moment.

Hopefullythe one in political science will prove helpful in negotiating with her alienabductors. That little tidbit ofknowledge had been shock three, though maybe it counted as two. Being told thataliens not only exist but have taken you captive? Kind of a big deal.

So, fourgiant life altering shocks in like five minutes. Totally a record. Enough tosend any other one hundred and twelve year old into a grave.

Caroline’sstill kicking, another perk of vampirism.

She’ssitting on the cold floor, her head buried in her crossed arms. The starkwhiteness of the rooms she and Klaus are in is overwhelming, the brightnessstinging her eyes. And she’s never liked it when other people see her at herweakest. She’d had to sit down once Klaus had finished his story, even hertight grip on the bars not enough to keep her upright. He’d sunk down with her,and his voice had turned soothing. He’d apologized, promised he’d fix this.

He’dreached out to touch her when she’d started shaking and it had helped Carolinefocus, to push past the panic. How she’d gotten to this place no longermatters. How she’s going to get out of it.

She liftsher head, her hands swiping the tears from her face and takes a deep breath.Then another, this one less shaky. Klaus’ hand wraps around her calve, squeezinglightly, “Good,” he murmurs. “Just breathe. We’ll be home before you know it.”

Laughing isprobably slightly inappropriate but at least she’s not crying. It’s anincredulous sound, high pitched. “Klaus, you’ve been gone for at least twentyyears.”

He blinkslike that’s news, and then his lips press together, a flicker of anger turninghis eyes gold. He shakes it off, a small smile curling his lips, “Have youmissed me, love?”

She groans,straightening one leg enough to stab his thigh with her toes, “Now is so notthe time for you to be flirting with me. I get that you’ve probably beensuffering a dry spell…” a thought occurs to her and she inches closer to thebars, studying him carefully, “unless, wait, is alien hybrid sex a thing? Youwould a hundred percent bang an alien.”

He isnothing if not adventurous.

She’d firstrun into Klaus about fifteen years after she’d left Mystic Falls. She’d been inSouth America and he’d sent a note to her hotel, saying he was nearby and wouldshe like to get a drink? A drink had turned into dancing and when he’d walkedher back he’d asked if she was free the next night, offered to show her thebest sunset she’d ever see.

The Vallede la Luna had been everything he’d promised and they’d watched the sunrisetogether too, from the comfort of a plush chaise on his private terrace.

Naked,obviously.

Older then,with few ties to her old life, it had been easier to admit that she wanted him.That she liked him, that she liked herself when she was with him.

There’dstill been things she needed for herself and they’d parted with a promise tokeep in touch. Which they had, pretty regularly, via the magic of technology.They met up every few years, spent days or weeks or months together. He’d shownher his favorite places and Caroline had returned the favor.

He’s insome of her best memories.

He grabsher foot before she can pull it back. “Are you saying you wouldn’t? Funny, Iremember you being rather eager to try new things,” he teases, his eyes litwith amusement.

She glaresat him though there’s little heat. “Are the… holes and your, uh… equipment even compatible?”

This timehe laughs. Loudly.

Carolinecrosses her arms, waits for him to be done, a trickle of genuine annoyancefiltering in. It’s only the knowledge that this topic is technically all herfault that keeps her from snapping at him. Seriously, is this really the time?

When hequiets he’s still smiling but it’s soft. “I have missed you, Caroline Forbes.”

Ugh, how’sshe supposed to stay irritated when he’s using his dimples like that?

“I’vemissed you to,” she admits grudgingly. Klaus’ pleasure at her words is obviousand his thumb begins stroking her ankle so she rushes ahead. “Do you know whythey abducted you?”

She’s yetto see an alien, had just been woken from sleep when it had felt like a weightwas pressing down on her entire body. She remembers cool colored lightsdancing, a wave of lethargy rolling over her before she could even think tofight. She’s assuming it had been much the same for Klaus. If he’d taken out abunch of aliens she doubts his accommodations would be as nice as they appearto be.

Her cell ispretty bare bones – small bed, some kind of metal bench, a single door that shehopes leads to a bathroom. Klaus’ is bigger, his furniture plusher. His bed isdraped in fabrics of all different textures and he’s got a desk piled withbooks and papers that she assumes are sketches. He’s even dressed in theclothes he’s always preferred and they look pretty new.

Is itsurprising that Klaus is living like a king even while captive on an alienspace vessel? Honestly, not really. She’s totally going to get him to give hersome of his blankets.

“Their life spans are short. Some years agothey came across a witch while visiting Earth. Learned of vampires, that theydon’t die.”

Carolinegoes still and she knows she’s staring at him in slack-jawed disbelief. Klauswaits patiently, letting her absorb. “They brought you here. To make vampirealiens.”

“Vampirehybrids,” Klaus corrects. She’s kind of floored by how casual he is but then he’shad more time to get used to this situation. “Their home planet has three sunsand is quite populous. Abducting enough witches to make a supply of daylightrings would be difficult given the fact that witches are also mortal.”

Carolinehates that she can easily follow the logic there. Would an alien planet evenhave a supply of lapis lazuli? Could something else be substituted? She’d neverbothered to ask.

She shiftseven closer, presses her side to the bars so she can reach for his hand. He’sas warm as ever, still has the same callouses from drawing. She threads theirfingers together, “Are you okay? How have you been feeding?”

He doesn’tlook like he’s been suffering through experiments or starvation but maybe theircaptors had cleaned him up before she’d arrived.

“Theirblood seems to work just like any other type. Taste took some getting used to.It’s a bit… ashy.”

Caroline’snose wrinkles. “Better or worse than animal blood?”

Klaus’ griptightens, “Worse, I’m sorry to say.”

She’s aboutto speak again but Klaus shakes his head slightly, his eyes flicking upwards.She feels weird for a moment, her vision blurring and a long forgottensensation tugging at her temples.

She so hadn’tmissed headaches.

This time,when she hears Klaus, he’s inside her head. Caroline stiffens, unused to thesensation, everything in her instinctively wanting to fight it. “They listen,”Klaus says slowly. She feels him moving, distantly, his warmth pressing alongher side through the bars. “And there are some things I need to tell just you,sweetheart. Can you let me in?”

“I don’t…”she says aloud.

“Justrelax,” Klaus says. “You don’t need to do anything.”

Carolinetries, closes her eyes, letting her head roll forward until it hits somethingwarm and solid and familiar smelling.

“Good,” hepraises. “I think they took you because they know you’ve been looking for me.They have an interest in keeping me… happy. I’m fairly certain they’vemaintained contact with the witch line they first encountered.”

“ButRebekah and Elijah and even Kol…”

“I was…difficult to contain in the beginning. They know enough of vampires tounderstand how our strength grows with age. With the help of one of my siblingsI could likely tear this ship apart.”

That waskind of insulting but, again, Caroline recognizes the strategy. “So, what? Theyjust wanted to get you a friend so you wouldn’t get lonely and space dementedand start smashing things?”

She hears ahum come from him and then feels a warmth wash over her. She shivers throughit, even though it’s pleasant. “Something like that,” he says, his tone richwith affection. “Had I known their plans I would have moved up my timetable,spared you this.”

“Timetable?”Caroline asks, her interest piqued. She’s so glad Klaus has a plan.

“Theirexperiments succeeded not too long ago. Using my blood they’ve achieved immortality.”

“Alienhybrids.” It’s an echo of his earlier words, and she can’t help that they’re disbelieving.

It’s justso… freaking farfetched. She doesn’t even likesci fi movies and yet, here she is.

“Sired to me,” Klaus drawls, making no effortto hide his delight. “Hundreds of them, if not thousands.”

As far asnews goes it’s a little… alarming. She pulls back from Klaus, shaking her headuntil she feels his presence dissipate. He’s still right there when she opens hereyes, watching her carefully with a tinge of concern. “All right, love?” heasks.

A loadedquestion.

She hadn’tbeen lying earlier – she’d missed Klaus, had been devastated when she’d finallyshowed up at his door only to find him absent. It’s good to touch him, to havehim next to her, even if they’re a bajillion miles from where they should be.

She’s happythere’s an escape route. Caroline might like travelling but other planets is alittle much. Who knows what the food is like? It’s not like she can check Yelp.She trusts that Klaus’ plan is detailed and kick ass, knows he’s not one tofail when he wants something.

She’s justgoing to choose to ignore the possible ramifications of Klaus Mikaelson havingan alien army at his disposal. He’d once bragged about being the most powerfulbeing on the planet and the idea of him wielding power across the whole universeis a little alarming.

Okay, a lotalarming.

She’ll dealwith it when she’s got her feet back on good ol’ Earth.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #i have been torturing ravyn with excessive ah lately #so a tiny thing with actual Klaus #cupcakemolotov

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kiradillinger · 7 years

Text

Lotus Breeze, chapters 15-18

AO3 - http://archiveofourown.org/works/10698618?view_full_work=true

15.

Peridot, tired of fucking conferences and seminars, which for three days was so much that there was no time to eat, wants only one thing - to hug Lapis and not to let her go for at least half an hour.

Steven, deadly missing his roommates, also wants a hug.

But for some reason it seems to both of them that no one will let them sit comfortably in the kitchen, drink tea and talk. The woman on the threshold looks extremely unfriendly, and it costs a huge effort to Peridot to pull a smile on her face and ask "do you want something?".

"Does Lapis Lazuli live in this apartment?" the woman asks in an icy tone, and for a second Peridot thinks that she is from the University, and she came to expel Lapis, but then remembers that Lapis passed all the exams, leaving no debts (for the first fucking time).

"Yes ... And you are?.." Peridot unlocks the door, letting Steven in and holding the door for the woman.

"I'm her mother," she says shortly, passing into the apartment.

Lapis, joyfully came to meet everyone, freezes with an expression of horror and guilt on her face, and Peridot, already stepping towards her, wants immediately push the woman out of the door.

Lapis wears her T-shirt, not the one Lapis gifted to her, another, sky-blue with white spots-clouds, and Peridot, if it were not for strangers, would say "it looks wonderful on you, better than on me." On Lapis in general, everything looks wonderful (and the lack of clothes too).

"H-hello, Mom," Lapis chokes out of herself, depicting at least some, even fake-looking joy. "How do you…"

"I came to the dormitory, but there they told me that you were kicked out for smoking six months ago. Why do I know about this only now?" the woman frowns, spitting out the words, and Lapis unconsciously takes a step back.

Peridot never saw her so frightened.

"The fact that we don't have time for video conversations with you doesn't mean that you can do everything you want with your appearance. Piercing, blue hair? What's next? Tattoo? We send you money not for this childishness.”

Lapis, who can easily punch someone in the face for insulting her, now looks like she might burst into tears. Peridot throws the bag into the room and stands beside her, looking straight in the woman’s eyes.

"And you live with another girl and some teenager. Moreover, in your dormitory they told me that you are... one of "these". We brought up a normal daughter, not this... trash."

Peridot weakens the tie, which she decided not to take off after the last conference, and takes a deep breath.

"Now, Mrs. Lazuli, let me speak, and don't interrupt. You are standing on the threshold of MY apartment, and you didn't even bother to introduce yourself and find out who I was, you didn't begin the conversation with a normal greeting so that we could safely go to the kitchen and drink tea. You started talking shit about Lapis without even taking your shoes off. What mother does this? And don't tell me "don't get into our business", I'm worried about ALL problems that concern Lapis, especially in my home. Either tell me directly the purpose of your visit, or get the hell out of here.”

Mrs. Lazuli loses the gift of speech, and she opens and closes her mouth like a fish, indignantly trying to say something. Lapis can't believe that this "cute little nerd" just issued such a speech in her defense.

"This girl lives on our money, and I have every right..."

"You've got fucking nothing" Peridot snarls. "She's twenty-two. You can't tell her what to do. Money? Well, don't sell her anything, she won't even notice it. And before you ask "where will she find money?", I'll tell you that she has enough charisma and mind to earn them herself, and literally two days ago I was invited to work in such services, of which the whole world knows, because I, with a lot of desire and time, can hack NASA. I'll tell you again - either get out, or say directly what do you need.

Mrs. Lazuli throws a withering glance at Lapis.

“And what, you don't say anything? Your mother was just insulted by this petty...”

"Don’t you dare," Lapis hisses, and grasps the Peridot's palm like a lifeline. "Don't you dare say anything about her, or me, and you heard everything yourself. I'm loved here and accepted the way I am, and you just locked my identity somewhere deep inside. I'm not going to listen to you anymore. Enough of me. You can think that I don't exist.”

The woman chokes in her own indignation, barking "you just lost your family, Lapis," and leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

"I didn't," Lapis laughs, looking at Peridot, who is smiling triumphantly. "I didn't know that you are capable of such a speech."

“Well, I didn't know that I can... But she forced me. And you lived with her all the childhood? What a nightmare.”

"Yeah ... Thanks. For defending me." Lapis feels that she begins to cry, and Peridot immediately rushes to hug her. "Now I have only you."

Steven, standing all the time behind the door to his room and decided not to interfere, politely knocks on the doorpost, drawing attention.

"If you are all over, can I also get my dose of hugs? I missed you two."

Lapis smiles through tears, drawing her hands to him, and Peridot murmurs "half an hour hasn't passed, she's only mine."

16.

Lapis runs her finger along the long, neat scar, from knee to ankle, and Peridot shudders, watching closely Lapis' every movement. The scar, though it is old, is noticeable and stands out on the skin like a thin white line, and Peridot recalls with a grin, how much money and labor was invested in making it so neat, not torn, as was a wound. Lapis leads her fingers to her hip, touching small but also noticeable white marks.

Peridot hates these scars (as well as her whole body), but doesn't feel discomfort from Lapis' touching. It feels... Nice, even if the skin in those places isn't as sensitive as on the rest of the body.

"You never told me where they came from..." Lapis says deeply, as if from a loud sound Peridot can be scared, like a kitten, and would pull the blanket to the very top of her head. "I never even saw them."

"And why do you think I wear closed clothes?" Peridot grins, remembering how terrible and disgustingly it looked at first, how she wanted to just put on three layers of clothes, so that nothing could be seen. “Absolutely uninteresting story about a teen-idiot who didn't notice the red light, and a couple of years of rehabilitation and residual scars. Even simple scratches will turn into scars on me. Hell, that's why I don't have a cat...”

Lapis takes her palm and looks closely, carefully studying fingers and wrists. True, barely noticeable thin scars are visible, while remaining completely intangible when touched. Lapis smiles and puts the palm to her cheek, and Peridot shudders again.

"Why are you so good today?" Peridot tries to pull herself together and not melt, to which Lapis just rubs her nose against the palm and covers her eyes.

"I was just thinking about how good it is that I have you..." Lapis smiles, but after a second a familiar grin replaces this smile. "Well, you know... Not everyone has their own evil dwarf."

Peridot chokes with indignation and hurls a pillow at Lapis. And it seems as if the moment is spoiled, but Peridot doesn't feel angry, although, of course, she promises to push Lapis off the bed and force her to sleep again in a hammock (Lapis shows her tongue and regrets nothing).

And everything is fine, exactly until Steven comes to them and with a joyful smile says that his relative comes to visit him for a couple of days.

"Don't say it's..." Peridot prays, clutching the pillow.

"Pearl!" Steven smiles.

17.

Lapis can't understand in any way, because of what Peridot has a mute hysteric, and why, as if bitten by someone, she rushes to help Steven arrange the things in the room so that you can safely walk without stumbling. All this running around lasts almost half an hour, after which Peridot freezes with the book she wanted to put on the shelf in her hands and closes her eyes, fixing her glasses.

"When does she arrive?" She asks quietly, putting the book on the table.

"Tomorrow evening," Stephen says happily.

Peridot rubs the bridge of her nose, sighs and grins.

"Well, this is my house, why the hell there should be cleanliness for her. And! I'm no longer a child to jerk because of her. Let her come, let's see if she will stand me.”

Lapis still doesn't understand anything.

"And who is she again?" She asks, looking around her own room. The room is not perfect, but clean, paper butterflies are in their places, flowers on the windowsill are poured, books are neatly stacked on the table. “Your ex?”

Peridot swears, indignantly opening her mouth, but can't answer anything sensible for a minute, being interrupted by her own laughter and obscene phrases. She holds her hand against the wall and eventually moves along it.

“She's my former tutor in algebra and physics. That's how I met Steven, I came to Pearl to study, and he was there almost always.”

"Oooh, first love to the tutor?"

“Go to hell.”

Lapis laughs, looking at delighted Steven. Steven smacks the dust off the shelves, humming something under his nose, and Peridot quietly howls to him from her corner. Lapis wants to meet Pearl very much, at least just to say "thank you" for new reasons to tease Peridot.

The next evening, on the threshold of their apartment a tall beautiful girl appears, with a polite smile and a small lady's suitcase behind her. Lapis, expecting at least a middle-aged woman, stutters in greeting, and from this Peridot's heart strangely misses the blow. Pearl embraces Steven, who rushes to her immediately, and walks into the kitchen, sitting down wearily on a chair. Peridot notes that even after a trip in the probably disgusting bus, her movements remain smooth and feminine.

"Are you even getting old?" Peridot asks, pressing the button on the teapot. Pearl snorts, folding her arms over her chest.

"And you don't learn manners in any way. I'm only twenty-eight, and I would ask for some respect for the elders.”

"You sound like you're forty years old."

"And you sound like a teen. Seriously, I should've teach you lessons of good manners instead of physics."

If Steven didn't take this quite normal, Lapis would have thought that a quarrel was about to start, but Steven calmly pours tea and sits down next to them, and Lapis understands that everything, sort of, is in order.

"You should take an example from your girlfriend," Pearl says, as if nothing had happened, addressing Lapis a smile, and Peridot looks at Steven with the dumb question "what the fuck?".

Of course, he told her everything, probably even in details.

Lapis breaks into a smirk, the one after which Peridot usually starts yelling in anger. Peridot herself thinks that she won't survive till the moment when Pearl leave.

18.

Pearl and Peridot both like to get up early, and already on the next morning after "the arrival" Peridot stumbles on a cooking breakfast Pearl. It's six in the morning, and there is already coffee on the table (two mugs), and Pearl herself masterfully turns over the pancakes, throwing them over the frying pan. Peridot rubs her eyes under the glasses, grumbles sleepy "good fucking morning", and assures herself that all the time that Pearl will stay with them, she will carry Lapis to the university, so as not to leave them alone.

Peridot believes Lapis and believes Pearl, but the disgusting feeling doesn't give her rest.

"Will Lapis get up?" Pearl asks, glancing at the closed door to their room.

"In an hour," Peridot says gloomily, hiding her glance in the coffee mug. Damn, even after so many years Pearl perfectly remembers how much spoonful of sugar she needs.

Lapis, which is awakened to university as if the ceiling would now fall, aren’t happy at all. She planned to spend the day at home, with a book or talking with Pearl about everything, but Peridot pulls her into the university under a whole bunch of pretexts.

"No one will take me away," she snorts, and Peridot hisses through her teeth "it’s not about this", trying not to look in her eyes.

She isn't afraid that Lapis will leave her.

Well, she herself believes in this "I'm not afraid", although in fact, from one thought about it, her knees tremble. In comparison with Pearl, she is still worthless, and this thought gives her no rest, and sometimes she wants to just huddle in a corner and die.

Lapis, with the eternal desire to tease all around, a couple of days thinks that Peridot is just jealous, not noticing how, dammit, she is worried about everything, trying to stay in the usual mood for everyone around. Realization comes with a terrible sense of guilt, because of which she wants to punch herself in a face. It is also bad, because if Pearl hadn't poked her nose into it, by telling the whole situation, Lapis would have continued to think that everything is fine.

"What kind of idiot am I?" Lapis covers her face with her hands, sitting in the kitchen and glancing at her watch every five minutes. Peridot went to help Steven to choose a new guitar, and they are gone for about three hours, as if from a shop they went under the Connie's windows.

"It happens to everyone," Pearl smiles and puts a mug in front of Lapis. "And stop being nervous, Steven wrote that they will return soon."

And so it happens, in about five minutes, these two are tumbling into the apartment, wet in the snow, with smiles and a new guitar in a wooden case. Lapis shakes off the snow from them, listening to their excuses, that they decided to play snowballs, and then it grew into an epic battle, in which, of course, friendship won, although Steven still has much more snow behind the collar. Pearl grumbles that they will catch cold, gives Steven a mug of cocoa and calls to the kitchen, but Steven says that his song is almost ready and he wants to spend the rest of the evening with a guitar.

"Well, if Steven left us..." Pearl opens the lid of the pot, and everyone smells spicy cinnamon, citrus and cloves. Peridot raises her eyebrows questioningly.

“Is this…”

"Mulled wine," Pearl nods. "Since I'm leaving soon, and the snow outside the window... Everything is as it should be."

Lapis smiles and immediately suppresses Peridot's attempt to escape into the room, grabs her hand and asks to spend the evening quietly, and Peridot simply can't say "no". Lapis holds her hand almost all evening, absolutely doesn't care about everything, and Pearl looks at them like a proud older sister. Peridot for the first time in a few days relaxes, allowing easy degrees of mulled wine to turn her head. She puts her forehead against Lapis' shoulder and smiles broadly, holding her hand.

Pearl sends them to bed by midnight, when Lapis is already yawning and falling asleep, and Peridot with a laugh drags her into the room, helping to undress and lie down. Lapis nuzzles in her neck, leading her hands on the Peridot's back, kisses her lips and cheeks, and Peridot doesn't even think of stopping her.

"No one will take me away," Lapis whispers, falling asleep. “And I won't go anywhere"

"Even if it's very cool and beautiful girl?" Peridot snorts, covering them with a blanket.

"I already have one."

Lapis falls asleep before she hears a light sigh and a quiet "...you clod".

#steven universe #steven universe fanfiction #lapidot #lapidot human au #2 chapters till the end

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countarganan · 4 years

Text

The Royal Arrangement: Interested?

@ribbedxgloves

Note: Arganan wonders if he should pursue a new relationship. (Had to throw this under a cut because of how long it got)

“One, two, three, four...yes, there we go. See how your feet are more pointed now? You just need to maintain that throughout the dance. Think about gliding, rather than stepping through.”

Arganan nodded as he maintained hold with his current instructor, one Lukas Usbeorn. “Understood.” His voice came out softer than he hoped, but then again, he was the student right now. Lukas was the one that took the lead. The younger man offered him a grin, before continuing to lead him in their foxtrot.

Lukas was...an unexpected gift, in a way. After Arganan came back to Lazulis alone, to prepare for the ball celebrating his niece’s engagement to one Jirall Rambaldt, he was low in spirit. Given how he’d reunited with Ulysses, and then Ulysses seemed to leave as soon as he came, he knew in his heart that he was grieving. Tahirah knew about the two of them being together, as well as Ulysses’ departure due to him wishing to try to stop the Gurak from warring on Lazulis, but a potential future war seemed inevitable at this point. It was just as a matter of when it would happen, hence why Arganan was working much harder to get Calista’s marriage to Jirall pulled off as soon as possible. The Rambaldt family’s close ties with the Empire’s mainland would certainly be helpful, should war come to Lazulis. Arganan was confident that Lazulis’ forces were strong, including the famed Lazulis Cannon they used to ward off enemies for so long now, but it never hurt to have allies.

Given that Calista was engaged and that meant future parties to celebrate her engagement to Jirall (and eventually marriage), Arganan needed to keep up some amount of dance practice. Lucky for him, Lukas was passing through Lazulis when Arganan heard of the man’s excellent dance expertise. Apparently Lukas used to be a stablehand for Tahirah, numerous years ago, and Arganan couldn’t help but wonder about the change in career since then. Lukas had simply explained, at the time, that he had to leave his stablehand position due to taking care of “family business” outside Melodia, and he figured being a dance instructor was the next best thing he could do when he initially couldn’t find work as a stablehand after the business was taken care of, given the training he did have in dance. Lukas did give a further explanation about why he really was in Lazulis later on, only for Arganan to hear in private, and he knew it made sense. He’d be sticking around for a while, that was for sure.

Lukas was good. Not only was he attentive and critical during their lessons, but also outside of them. He was caring, and polite. And damn, Arganan would be lying if he said he didn’t find the man attractive with the dark eyes and hair of his. Sure, Lukas was probably younger than him. But it wasn’t like he was so young that it would be illegal. Also, he was more than sure the other man was flirting with him half the time, so maybe he had some actual interest in the Count himself as well.

“Hey. You okay?” Arganan blinked, looking Lukas in the eyes. The younger man looked mildly concerned, given the lightly furrowed brows of his.

“I’m fine.” Arganan managed, though he wished he didn’t sound so hoarse right now.

“You look like you need a break.” Lukas gave him a light pat on the upper right arm. “How ‘bout we sit for a bit and stretch?”

Arganan let him lead him to the nearest chairs, both of them sitting down. Lukas wiped his own forehead with the back of his hand, a slight grin on his face as he looked towards him.

“You know,” he started, stretching his legs out as he spoke, “It’s not often I see a lot of uncles doing their best to be prepped for dancing for their niece’s own engagement and wedding. It’s pretty sweet.”

“Yes...I suppose so. I don’t want to make a fool of myself, when the time comes.” Arganan admitted. Sure, that was a reason Arganan had requested more practice time from Lukas (with additional pay, promise!) but the fact that he could spend more time with Lukas was also a factor.

“Well, I guess that makes sense, too.” Lukas paused, then continued speaking, turning to properly face the older man. “I think your hold is getting there. And your sense of timing is better than when we started...I think you might be ready to start trying the Argentine Tango. It’s like the Tango, but it has more open position when in-hold, to allow for more elaborate tricks. It’d be a showstopper at a ball.”

“Assuming we do dance with each other at those balls, yes.” Arganan paused, then leaned back in his chair, looking Lukas in the eye. “What kind of dance is that like? Is it anything like the Foxtrot we practiced? Smooth?”

“You could say that.” Lukas leaned in a little, probably a little closer than should be appropriate towards between dance instructor and Count of Lazulis. “And it’s got a lot of intensity, like the standard Tango. But the real essence of it? Passion.”

Oh, fuck. Arganan saw the glint in Lukas’ eyes at the last word. “Passion?”

“Mhm.” He thought Lukas might even be smirking. “Chemistry can make or break a dance like that.”

Arganan wondered if he should go for a more flirtatious response, or hold back. Then again, it was already publicly known that he was bisexual at this point, due to the whole coming-out dance he had during Azami’s engagement ball, so it probably wouldn’t hurt to push his luck.

“If that’s the case,” The Count chuckled, “Maybe you can teach me?”

He saw Lukas crack a genuine, curious grin. “Really...?”

Someone cleared their throat, and both men turned to see Calista, Arganan’s niece, standing nearby. She pushed a few strands of silver hair out of her face, before looking towards Lukas. “Apologies for interrupting the lesson, but I’d like to have a word with my uncle, please. Privately.”

“Er...” Lukas sheepishly chuckled, looking towards the nearby clock on the wall. “Lesson time is about over, anyway. Count, if you don’t mind—I can teach you the Argentine Tango starting tomorrow tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow sounds lovely.” Arganan responded, looking towards him. “In the morning?”

“Nine o’clock, like usual?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. I’ll see you then.” Lukas bowed to the Count and his niece, bidding them farewell before leaving them alone. Calista waited until Lukas was gone from sight, before she looked towards Arganan, who stood to face her properly.

“Uncle.” Calista looked towards him, right in the eye. “You like him, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Arganan pushed a few bangs out of his face, frowning.

“You like Lukas.” Calista giggled a bit, putting a hand to her mouth to muffle herself from getting too loud. “And more than him being an instructor.”

“I know that I’m publicly bisexual, Calista,” The Count sighed, then swallowed, “But that doesn’t mean I can be with whoever I want.”

She stared, just a little. “What about Ulysses?”

Frowning, he averted his gaze from hers. The thought of the Gurak Prince made his heart ache. “...You know that’s a sore spot. And to be fair, I didn’t know he was even a Gurak until he revealed himself at the ball. And then he had the audacity to leave me a second time with barely a warning. He’s not worth it.”

A sigh left Calista, shaking her head a little. “I’m sorry. I just,” She managed to catch eye contact with him again, and he felt one of her hands touch his, “I just want you to be happy with whoever you end up with. And if Lukas makes you happy, then I’m okay with that. That’s what I want you to know.”

Arganan looked towards his niece again, before squeezing her hand, offering her a soft grin. He was glad that she was, at least, supportive of him in this case. It helped him feel a bit more at ease with everything going on. “Thank you...Calista.”

---------

Lukas did his best to push his hair back with both hands, as he walked down the halls of Lazulis Castle. A chuckle escaped him as he fondly recalled the lesson, but as he turned the corner, the sight of someone else made him groan.

“Rafaele...did you really have to show up now?”

“It’s only brief. And for good reason.” The godfather of Countess Tahirah sighed, before looking Lukas in the eye. “I know both my goddaughter and Starling instructed you to keep a close eye on the Count, but I don’t think your increased flirtation is necessary.”

“Look, it’s not that bad.” Lukas raised both hands slightly in surrender, daring to look him in the eye in return. “It’s not like I’ve slept with him or anything on the first day I met him. But let’s face it: He’s interested. And I’m interested. And you know I’d hate to be a tease for too long. Besides, Tahirah would probably support me and him being together.”

“Just be careful, okay?” Rafaele managed, tilting his head slightly. “We have an upcoming war on our hands with the Gurak. I’m just concerned that you and the Count might...rush it and end up hurting each other. Does he even know about what you truly are?”

Lukas faltered, then his gaze lowered to the floor once, before looking up at Rafaele again. “He does. He knows. I haven’t shown him the whole thing, but I told him.”

“Well...at least you told him before any dramatic reveal.” Rafaele shook his head. “You’ll probably have to show it all off at some point. I just hope, for both your sakes, that he really has enough interest that he likes you for all of you.”

Lukas offered the other a slight grin. “Yeah...I know. But one thing’s for sure—I’m not gonna just ditch him out of the blue. That’s something I can’t fathom.”

“We’ll see.” Rafaele vanished, leaving Lukas alone. The younger man sighed, leaned against the nearest wall.

“We’ll see how it goes, I guess.” I hope the mutual interest works out. It could be really good, I just know it...I just hope it works.

#ribbedxgloves #The Royal Arrangement (AU verse)#drabble #meet lukas! XD he's a muse of mine on my adeadlysong blog #his fc is alan bersten if you're curious XD #also: in this verse i'm diverting from the last story canon in terms of calista and arganan's relationship #they're much more caring to each other in this verse than in canon #long post #omg though this seriously got so long #but yeah if ulysses ever meets arganan again in the future those two are gonna have some interesting conversations

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wolverinedoctorwho · 7 years

Text

long winded post about all my ocs bc i have nothing better to do and want people to ask me about them

I’m gonna put it under a Read More so if you don’t wanna read about my ocs you don’t have to scroll for a billion years

Published OCs:

Arcanamas (link is to book one, there are 6 books in the series currently)

Joan Arcanama: Southern momma, monster hunter, BAMF. Her parents are dead, her sister is dead, her family is full of monsters now. She’s doing ok with it though because she loves them and if you hurt them she WILL set you on fire. She and her whole “living” family live somewhere in Tennesee. She’s already witnessed the end/retcon of the world.

Avery: IDK what his last name is bc I stole him from someone else in an RP who left after like two chapters. He’s a big buff Scottish puff of a werewolf. Like Bigby Wolf in terms of hair and attractiveness, but he’s also kinda like Brian from Dream Daddy in terms of personality? He can fully turn at will, but usually chooses not to unless he has to fight somebody. During full moons he has his own room under their home to make sure he doesn’t hurt/scare the kids.

Tributa Arcanama: Lil baby vampire girl. She was turned when she was 3, and now she’s 10 but looks around 5 or 7. She looks about half her age because she ages twice as fast because it would be super inconvenient to be a vampire who was stuck at age three their entire life. She’s a fuckin loli but doesn’t even know what the heck a sex is because she’s like 10. She’ll also fuckin murder you if you’re a jerk. Her dream is to invent a new line of blood-flavored candies and drinks (like a sangueccino). Her name means Taxes in Latin.

Mort Arcanama: Tributa’s twin brother. Avery isn’t their father, but I don’t want Joan’s rape to make up too terribly much of her backstory so I don’t/won’t talk about it much. Mort is a necrokinetic, which is different from a necromancer because he doesn’t bring things back from the dead so much as he moves death around like a life force. He’s got a severed hand he treats as a pet and he keeps it alive by moving the “death force” into plants or animals, basically swapping their life force. Also anyone he touches will get hurt/die because he basically has no control over whether or not he takes the life force of things he touches. He’s a non-verbal Autistic, and his special interests include trains and plants. His name means Death in Latin.

Spark Arcanama (nee Ketchum): Originally a Pokemon OC, she was adopted by the Arcanamas fairly recently. She’s kinda like Mort in that she has no control over the fact that she can shoot fire out of her hands. She looks like a normal 12 year old girl but her skin can and will burn you and when her emotions flare up things tend to catch on fire (think Elsa but slightly more dangerous). Gloves don’t work for her because they’ll just catch fire, so she spends a lot of her time trying to keep her powers under wraps and freaking out about small things. She has a similar backstory to Hanako from Katawa Shoujo in that her house burned down, her parents died, and now she’s covered in scars, but she’s completely lost her right eye as a result of the burns and the lack of care she recieved for them. Basically everyone in the town she lived in blamed her for the fire and the death of her parents, and since they were right she allowed them to bully her for most of her life. Now that she’s away from all of that she’s learning how to become her own person without burning everything around her. She’s a cinnamon roll who doesn’t deserve sadness.

Forest Arcanama: Joan’s little sister. She died when she was about 14, and now she’s a ghost forever. She’s physically tied to Mort’s dead hand so she can’t go all crazy and poltergeisty. She’s got the personality of Lapis Lazuli because who cares about anything when you’re dead and stuck in a cabin in the middle of the woods? She died shortly after watching her mother die back before the reset/retcon and got stuck as a ghost.

Zack Gachano: Spark’s best friend and a total normie. He’s kind of obsessed with Vocaloid, to the point where he’s dyed his long hair purple to look like Gakupo. He has a single mom for reasons I haven’t fully come up with yet. He’s a little bit confused by all the monster stuff, but for some reason it’s not that crazy to him that his best friend shoots fire out of her hands and her siblings kill people. He’s a year older than Spark, and bisexual.

Louisanne de Malfoy: Originally a Harry Potter OC, she’s now a 307 year old vampire who lives in France and gives no shits about anything. Back in the day she had an apprentice/girlfriend, but that girl is long dead and so are all her past lovers. She’s pansexual but doesn’t use the term because it didn’t exist back in 1709. She studies all the time, IDK what for. She has one of those huge libraries with rolling ladders. She lives in this huge mansion because she’s amassed some sort of wealth during her life (probably from screwing rich people and then blackmailing them). She’s uptight, but has a heart every once in awhile. Tributa’s mentor and godmother to the Arcanama kids.

StarStar (Link is to book one, there are 4 books in the series)

Miranda Picard: Originally a Star Trek OC, she’s almost as uptight as Louisanne if not more. She’s a navy kid with a bright future ahead of her, but she has a horrible temper and is a total fuddy-duddy. She’s really smart though. Her interests include ballet and playing the violin, and she can do both at once. She tends to overwork herself to the point of collapsing without even thinking about it, and always hates on herself for the smallest of mistakes. Under her stuck-up interior is a teen who just wants to enjoy herself and wants people to be proud of her. Her grandfather is a prominent captain, and she refuses to call him anything other than Captain, much to his chagrin.

Dannika Solo: Originally a Star Wars OC, she’s Miranda’s laid-back counterpart with even more emotional scarring. She ran away from her air force parents as a child and was kidnapped pretty quickly. She was hurt in a variety of ways before being turned into a fairy, and it took her a lot of work to learn how to turn back. After she killed her kidnapper but spared his daughter, she went through a variety of bad situations before meeting Miranda. She’s got PTSD from the whole thing and frequently has nightmares and bouts of sleepwalking. She’s kind of a grouch when she’s upset, but she’s just as smart as Miranda. Her parents don’t really approve of her and Miranda’s relationship.

Teendangers (this doesn’t update often)

Wendy: The eldest of the three superpowered sisters. She’s highly suspicious of adults and is the kind of person who refuses help unless she desperately needs it. Protects her younger sisters with an almost antagonistic ferocity. She’s 18. Her full name is Gwendolyn. Her superpower is flight.

Mags: The middle sister. She’s more reasonable, but is still pretty cautious because she’s seen some shit. The most motherly of the three sisters. She’s very blunt, though rarely out of malice. She’s 15. Her full name is Margarita. Her superpower is invisibility.

Ren: The youngest sister. She’s a total ditz, and sometimes it’s easy to wonder if she has any thoughts in that head of hers. She’s more susceptible to illness because she was put on the streets when she was a baby. She trusts easily, much to Wendy’s frustration. She’s 7. Her full name is Renee. Her superpower is luminescence.

Molly: A trans girl with no superpowers other than a positive attitude and a willingness to help people. She likes cartoons, some of which include anime, but she isn’t a total otaku/weeaboo or anything like that. She’s about 15.

Jemma: Molly’s mom. Her husband works for the agency that contains superpowered children, but she doesn’t approve of his job or the politics behind it. She’s in her mid 30s and is a Cool Mom.

Unpublished OCs:

Homestuck: (these don’t jive with actual canon facts too well, sorry)

Ocarina Marxochime: A cinnamon roll with lavender blood because I had an ocarina that color when I came up with her. She’s a blind seadweller with asthma, synesthesia, hydrophobia, and haphephobia. She had an abusive lusus who tried to make Ocarina live up to a standard of royalty she could not meet, and through beating her and starving her tried to make her obedient. She ended up an anxious mess, and then she was kidnapped by some other trolls, who raped her, mutilated her fins, sewed her gills shut, and tried to drown her. She met Exdeus in the hospital afterwards, and moved in with Raina after she was released. She’s been trying recently not to be such an anxious mess, but stuff like that takes time. Her symbol is the Anxiety Awareness ribbon and her horns look like (and function as) ocarinas.

Raina Heist: A black-blood (seriously, I came up with a whole essay on shade-bloods) troll who was kicked off Alternia as a grub and somehow wound up on Earth. She was raised in Texas by a human couple who tried to convince themselves she wasn’t a demon. She spent most of her life covering her unique features with makeup and hats and contacts, but still got bullied for being different. During one fight with a bully, she stabbed him with her horns and then ran away from home, living in a shopping mall for a year before being found and raped (a lot of my OCs backstories include rape for some reason? I’ve recently realized just how much it pops up and would like to change it so they don’t all become the same in terms of backstory) by one of the employees. When she wound up in the hospital afterwards, she told her parents she needed to find out where she belonged, and then somehow got back to Alternia. She’s now Ocarina’s roommate who doesn’t take any shit from anyone. She’s also a great cook. Her symbol is an @ sign.

Exdeus Machina: He’s a human (despite his odd name) who works in the hospital Ocarina went to after her mutilation. Whether through Florence Nightingale syndrome or sheer plot convenience, he fell in love with her and she reciprocated. He’s her anchor, essentially.

Purr: Ocarina’s pet cat, essentially a therapy animal, given to her by one of my friend’s OCs

Daphne Machna: Exdeus and Ocarina’s adopted daughter. She wants to become a doctor like her father, and has the brains for it, but sometimes she goes too far to prove herself. She has tetrochromia and wears glasses she doesn’t need to to match her parents, who both wear glasses.

Steven Heist: Goes by Steve. Raina’s son after a one-night-stand with some blue-blood. He has the horns and blood to match. He’s laid back and very musical, and gets along with his mother really well. His symbol is currently a # symbol, though I might change it.

SkyeNet (Name pending)

Skye: A trans boy whose special interest is computers and technology. I’ve described him as hypomental bc there was a cool article on that I read. Net’s twin brother, but he’s the more grounded and responsible of the two. He’s kind of Asbergers? IDK don’t quiz me too hard on it I’m basing his behaviour on my older brother. He has a scar on his right cheek and on his left shoulder from a car accident.

Net: Kinda crazy, not gonna lie. I’ve described her as hypermental to yin-yang with Skye. She’s possessive of him and at first didn’t support his transition because she feared she wouldn’t be as close to her her sister anymore. I’m not sure how to describe her mental state other than saying that after Skye’s car accident she cut her face and shoulder open so she could have scars just like his.

Honestly their whole story is part of an AU with Ocarina and Exdeus so I couldn’t really publish their story if I wanted to without untangling that whole knot

Dungeons and Dragons

Spah: Literally just Spy from TF2. I didn’t want to come up with a whole character and backstory so I just used Spy. He’s a changeling rogue and a kinky fucker who literally beat Venomfang by fucking him.

Favric: Stole him from a campaign. He was one of Venomfang’s followers until Spah convinced him that, because he fucked Venomfang, he was his god now. Favric’s essentially his human squire now.

Vyerith: Stole her from the same campaign Favric came from. Basically there was a doppleganger and Spah went “I’m gonna tap that” and I just kept rolling good saves until the end of the battle and the DM went “well, I guess you can keep her now”. She and Spah have kinky shapeshifter sex.

Dell: Basically Engineer from TF2 but different. He grew up with Spah and some other friends, and his Pyro-expy-love died in a fire that convinced him to run away from home and live in a cave. He’s a half-orc artificer who’s kind of a grouch but is really a depressed noodle.

Khoren: My favourite right now. She’s a little warforged cinnamon roll. Dell found her while scavenging one day and rebuilt her. She’s essentially got the mind of a child and is 3′6 so it works. She has a Drawer of Holding built into her stomach (a bag of holding installed in a drawer). She’s the one that walks down the hill Dell lives on to get food and supplies from the nearby townspeople. They love her and made her a pink wig. She can’t speak, but has her own language of various whistles that Dell taught her.

There’s also a whole Mermaid RP that a friend and I did that’s choc-full of OCs but I think I should make a separate post for that because it’s also kind of an AU of the Homestuck characters and isn’t published or done yet and it’s a mess. But if you’ve gotten this far thanks for reading, pls ask me about them and if you want to draw them ask me and i’ll give you referencesnngggg

#personal #ocs #long post

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