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wardenparker · 1 month ago

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Mysterious Masquerade, part 2

Oberyn Martell x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 7.4k Warnings: Food/alcohol, cursing, flirting and sexy themes. Sugar daddy/baby perceived power imbalances. But honestly this whole extended polycule is pretty emotionally healthy. Spoiler warning in the tags! Summary: Your relationship with Oberyn will change your life forever, and in the very best ways. Notes: Just a cutie little ending for a cutie little story. Next week we step up the spice level with Pero! (As always, sorry for any errors I missed in proofreading. I'm under the weather today so it might be more than average. Enjoy!)

There are almost more bags than you and Ellaria can carry together when you arrive back to the mansion several hours later. Between things for the house and things for the two of you, you stopped into nearly every store and usually made at least one small purchase if not something more.

Ellaria hands her bags over to a young man in a uniform at the door and without a word he is gone again— presumably to sweep her things away to wherever they belong. When a different young man in the same uniform approaches you, you have no idea what to say at all.

“Charlie, be a dear and put her belongings in the purple suite.” Ellaria decides. “We will move them if the accommodations aren’t to her liking.”

The second young man is gone in a flash, and you offer Ellaria a smile. "I don't know that I'll get the hang of how this house operates too quickly. I'm sorry in advance."

“Do not even worry about that.” She laughs. “You just ask anyone and they can tell you how Oberyn likes things.”

"He seems very flexible about some things and very set in his way about others," you observe. "I just don't want to disappoint him."

“You won’t.” She promises. “He might be a bit odd but he is rather accommodating most of the time.”

"Odd can be wonderful." That is something you have always believed, but even as you smile you look around the first floor of the mansion. "I suppose...I suppose he's probably busy? I thought he would have come to see you when you came home."

She looks around for a moment, as if she is surprised now that you mention it. “He is probably in his office.” She hums. “Or in the training room. Probably the training room.”

"Training room?" Your raised eyebrow is surprise not only that such a room exists but that a seemingly consummate man of luxury would be using it.

Her smirk is nothing short of wicked and she takes your hand. “You have not begun to drool until you see him training.” She cackles.

"I'm intrigued and excited." With a shared grin, you take Ellaria's arm and let her lead the way.

Off the west wing of the house is a gym. One that Oberyn had outfitted for any and all of the training that he desires. The man has extreme discipline and besides being wealthy, he also loves to fight.

The air in the gym is warm and damp when you step inside with Ellaria, as if someone was doing hot yoga inside, but the sounds coming from the ring in the center of the room are simply not what anyone would hear in a yoga studio.

Oberyn is moving around the space with the grace and force of a lion on the hunt. The staff in his hands is a fearsome weapon all on its own, but Ellaria brings you up to the edge of the ring to watch as he leans it against the safety buffers on the edge of the ring and begins to pummel the dummy up on the nearby platform.

He’s shirtless. The man would fight nude if he could get away with it, but many other men found that intimating unless there was a bet to have to winner fuck the loser. Which had happened a few times. “Now you know how he keeps in shape to exhaust you in bed, Dove.” She whispers, her own eyes fixed on his lean and graceful form.

"Both of us," you remind Ellaria, though your mouth is watering at the sight of him. It's primal. Primitive. And you're not embarrassed by it for one single second. "I've never considered working out to be a spectator sport before."

“The best part?” Ellaria grins as she looks over at you. “Sparring, fighting? It makes this man feral.” She snorts. “Our last child was definitely conceived after a match.”

"I have the sudden urge to be ringside very often." Primal. Primitive. And completely sexy. You could just stand here and watch for as long as he'd let you, and if what Ellaria is saying is true, he would let you stay as long as you wanted. Only to haul you off and fuck you right after.

“I thought you might.” She laughs. “It doesn’t hurt that the men he spars with are delectable in their own right.”

"Never considered myself an overly sporty but a gal can change," you laugh, grinning at her while you both watch Oberyn work.

“Now you know how I stay in shape.” She agrees and looks back over at him. “He’s still the most gorgeous man I have ever fucked. And he knows it.”

At another point in your life it might have been odd or even bothered you to be standing beside the other woman that your lover is actively sleeping with. The woman he truly loves. The woman who has been in his life for many, many years and will still be here long after the quality of shiny newness has rubbed off of you. But right now all you can do is bring your eyes back to Oberyn and breathe out a quiet, wistful sigh. "I don't think it would be possible to find a more gorgeous man in the entire world."

“And intelligent,” she shakes her head. “The man holds three master’s degrees. Got bored halfway through his doctorate.”

"Are you serious? Oh come on!" You huff, much more loudly and more exasperatedly than you mean to, and cover your mouth instantly but the damage is done as your voice echoes through the space.

Oberyn stops his work out, turning to face both you and Ellaria with a low brow and heaving chest. “Something wrong, Dove?” He asks, tossing down the staff and sauntering over to the edge of the ring to grab his towel and water bottle.

"No!" This time your voice is an embarrassed squeak, and your hand covers your face as entirely as you can manage it. "No, I—Ellaria was just telling me something and I was surprised. I'm sorry to interrupt you."

“Oh?” He glances over at his lover and guesses that it’s nothing too horrendous because of her slight smile. “Care to share with me?” He asks teasingly, wiping the dripping sweat from his face and chest. “I like surprises.”

He's so fucking sexy it's distracting is all you can think for a few seconds before you shake your head clear and then clear your throat. "She was saying that you got bored halfway through your doctorate. I had no idea you had so many degrees, that's all."

He chuckles, watching you squirm so prettily and he shrugs. “I got bored after a while.” He admits easily. “It took away from my time seducing beautiful women.” He leans on the ropes and leers at you. “Like the two in front of me now.”

"We had a very successful day, lover." Ellaria reports happily, leaning over the ropes to accept the kiss that she has unquestioningly earned.

“Have you?” He muses with a hum and reaches for her to drag her close for a very thorough kiss.

It isn't jealousy that curls in your stomach but interest, wondering if you look at effortlessly and artfully beautiful kissing Oberyn as Ellaria does. If that is how deep he kissed you that first night together or if there is some deeper level reserved only for her. If there is, it makes this a privilege to bear witness to.

When he pulls away, he pecks her lips again and winks as he pulls away. “Good girl.” He praises before he turns to you. “Now it’s your turn.”

He doesn't hesitate, reaching for you and surprising you by putting the same passion into kissing you as though you had been gone for weeks or months and seen him the day before yesterday. You lean into it happily, tilting your head to the side without hesitation to let the kiss deepen as much as he likes.

Oberyn likes that you don’t pull away. You aren’t shy about kissing him in front of his paramour. Groaning into your mouth, he lets the kiss last just as long as the one he gave Ellaria before he pulls away.

“I should get to unpacking,” Ellaria announces breezily, giving you a kiss on the cheek and Oberyn a healthy leer before she saunters back in the direction that you came. “See you at dinner, darlings!”

He chuckles as he looks towards you. “Looks like we are alone.” He murmurs, his voice dropping silkily and full of innuendo.

“Apparently so.” His voice makes you shiver when it gets husky like that and you don’t bother to disguise it. Not knowing everything that Ellaria told you today.

“Did you enjoy yourself today, Dove?” He asks, lifting a brow curiously.

“I did.” Ellaria had been a bit gentler in her nudging after your talk at lunch, but certainly had not let up at all. She had made it a game to keep you amused, and to keep you from feeling guilty. “I had a very interesting conversation with Ellaria at lunch.”

“You did?” He flings the towel over his shoulder and steps through the ropes to hop down the small step to the floor beside you. “Did you enjoy the interesting conversation?”

“Ellaria seems to think you want to keep me.” An amused smirk curls into the corner of your lips and you decide not to disguise your interest in his sweat-covered body. “Any chance you know where she might have gotten that idea?”

“Because my paramour is not stupid.” The playful coy smile is the first indication you aren’t opposed to it. “She knows what I like, what intrigues me.”

“And you are intrigued by me?” You ask, raising one eyebrow at him.

“Obsessively.” He teases, leaving in and nudging his nose against yours.

“Then I think we ought to talk about what kind of arrangement you’d like.” Nudging his nose back, you pull away after a second and look him in the eyes. “Because I want to know what you’re asking me to promise before I say yes to anything.”

“You did have a thorough conversation.” Oberyn wraps his hand around your wait. “Come shower with me and we will negotiate.”

******

There can be no negotiations in the shower. Once he has his arms around you with the hot water streaming down both of your bodies, you would promise him anything. That doesn't stop him from trying to get you to negotiate while he's fucking you so deeply that it punches the breath from your lungs, but considering you can barely moan out any words besides curses and his name? That's fighting dirty, and he eventually agrees to put off the conversation.

Once you're clean, fucked into a puddle, and then clean all over again, Oberyn wraps you up in a plush bathrobe that matches his own and sprawls out with you on the plush sofas in his room.

“So what would you demand of me?” He asks, a cup of wine in one hand while his arm that is under you has slipped beneath your robe and strokes your belly. “Anything you can think of?”

"I was more interested in hearing what you might demand of me," you admit, leaning into his side and sipping your wine along with him. "Ellaria wouldn't be specific about her arrangement with you, so I still don't really know how any of this would work except that I would live here and be your lover."

“If we have a child or children together, you would never keep them from me.” That is his number one rule. “You are honest with me, I will always be honest with you.”

"Is it expected of me to have your child?" Being prepared for the responsibility and possibility is far different than contracting out mothers, and while you don't expect that answer from Oberyn, you do have to ask the question.

“No.” He would never expect that of you, of anyone. “It would only be if you wanted it.”

"I'm glad to hear you say that." It helps you relax more into his side, and you take another sip of wine. "Go on?"

“Every year we are together, you will have one million dollars times the number of years, deposited into an account that is solely held by you.” Oberyn hums. “That is non-negotiable.”

You start so violently at the number that you barely manage to escape spilling on yourself, bolting upright to face him on the sofa. "For what?" That is the part that baffles you. He can't just be paying you for sex. There are enough brothels in the city to satisfy even him. He doesn't need to do that.

“For your own independence.” It sounds counterintuitive, but he had found that he felt better knowing that Ellaria has the means to do whatever she wishes and yet she still stays by his side. Some have called her a whore, a gold digger, but she is far wealthier than any who would talk behind her back.

"So you're going to...house me, feed me, fuck me, be totally okay with me fucking other people if I want to, pay me...and it's...literally just...because you can?" That kind of wealth is baffling, but it also speaks to his enormous heart. That he would offer to take care of his lovers entirely purely because he cares about them.

He’s never looked at in that light. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” He snorts. “But…yes.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his wine. “What’s the point of being rich if you can’t do what you want?”

On anyone else the cockiness might seem flippant or disingenuous, but when it comes from Oberyn it is oddly charming. At the moment you can really only shake your head at him in disbelief. "May I be honest? Since that is one of your conditions?"

“Always.” He chuckles softly, his fingers squeezing the flesh on your belly gently. “What are you thinking, Dove?”

"That..." The thought had passed over and over in your head on the way back from your afternoon with Ellaria, and finally settled into your heart as you worked through it in your head. "I would feel more comfortable having some sort of job. Whether that is working for you somehow or even keeping my morning job, or finding something else. I just...I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I didn't have something to keep me busy."

“Whatever you want to do.” He agrees easily. “If you want to go back to school, we can make that happen.”

Now that is a thought. You'd marked your own jealousy hearing Ellaria list off his degrees earlier, and you had also been talking to her about higher education at lunch today. 'I'll think about it," you agree, though you know your heart has already latched on to the possibility of more schooling just the way it latched on to Oberyn himself. The reckless embrace of someone full of love and looking for someone to give it to.

He nods and his fingers continue to caress your skin. “There will be times you need to travel with me.” He adds. “But if your schedule conflicts, it would be understandable.” He doesn’t expect his lovers to be at his beck and call.

"Where do you travel to?" When he looks a touch surprised that you don't already have some kind of idea, you smile sheepishly. "Remember, I didn't recognize you after the party. I don't know all the Martell gossip the way everyone around here seems to."

“All over the world, Dove.” He smiles. “Martell Enterprises has its fingers in many pies.”

A moment of childish amusement has you snorting out a little laugh. "So do you," you tease.

He huffs at your quip and shakes his head. “You didn’t seem to mind when my fingers were in your pie.” He reminds you, sliding his hand down to cup your cunt.

"Oh, I don't mind at all," you clarify with ease. "Not one little bit. I quite like when your fingers are in my pie, actually."

Modified, he hums as he leans in and starts to kiss along your jaw. “What else?”

"I can't think with your lips and hands on me." It's entirely true, but the way your mind hazes over with his attention is so wonderful you don't even care.

“Is that a bad thing?” He muses, smirking slowly as he continues to touch you gently. It’s not about the sex right now, but the intimacy.

“No…” His fingers at your core are deadly in their temptation, and even though he was inside you less than half an hour ago your body is piqued to respond to him. “I guess not, but…” A mere twitch of his forefinger has you swallowing a moan.

“But.” He pauses his fingers, pulling them back slightly.

"It's playing dirty," you remind him when your head clears just a tiny bit. "Negotiating while you're touching me? Very naughty."

He chuckles, winking at you. “Never said I played fair.” He hums.

"Incorrigible." But you're not even remotely upset with him about it. If nothing else, the last hour or two of time spent with him as already proven to you that you're going to accept his term. All you need to do now is talk to Lizzy.

“I am.” He agrees, leaning in and biting your ear playfully. “And you love it.”

"I do." The shiver that runs down your spine is proof enough of that, and you tilt your head to give him full access to nip, lick, and suck anything he likes. "I really do."

******

Putting your key in the lock of your apartment door feels heavier tonight than it ever has before, even as you push the door open and shove inside the little two-bedroom walkup. Oberyn had insisted on driving you home but ended up frowning when he saw where in the city you live. Explaining that it was the place that both of you could afford to each have your own bedroom regardless of how crappy the neighborhood was, only made him frown more deeply. To mollify him, you had agreed to talk to Lizzy tonight about a timeframe for moving so that he could schedule the truck and feel more secure about your safety.

"Liz?" Her car was in the parking space so she must be here, but she isn't in the living room when you step inside. "Lizzyyyyyyy." She's in the kitchen, you can smell last night's Greek leftovers in the microwave. "How was work?"

“Hey!” The shout comes back immediately and she pokes her head out from the little galley style kitchen that is too tiny for any two people to be at the same time. “Shit, like usual. How was work for you? You’re home early.”

“Your girlfriend called Greg and quit for me.” Despite how upset you had been earlier, the fact now makes you laugh in the most disbelieving and ridiculous way. “I brought us home some dessert. I’ve got news.”

“What?” Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open. “How? Why?”

“Grab your plate and let’s go sit.” The little living room has space for a couch and a coffee table and not much else, but it will be as good a place to talk as any. “I’ll explain everything.”

“Oh my god.” She pops back into the kitchen and bangs around for a moment before she is rushing back out with a plate and a drink in her hand.

Along with the new purse Ellaria helped you pick out, you’re carrying a large bakery bag and a brand new Stanley cup filled with some of the raspberry lemonade from the same bakery where you bought to share with Lizzy. “Ok,” you grin at her eagerness and tuck yourself up on the couch with her. “First of all, I fully understand why you’re down so bad for Ellaria. She’s great.”

“Don’t tell me you slept together?” She gasps, hating herself for the tiniest twinge of jealousy when she has no claim on the woman. Just because she had completely rocked her world didn’t mean she had any obligation to her.

“No!” That startles you enough to have you sitting up all over again and reaching out to squeeze her arm. “No, no, nothing like that. I mean I definitely did have sex today, just not with her.”

“Oh, uh, I mean—” she shrugs, trying to look casual rather than relieved. “So, what makes you think she’s great?”

“Compassionate, considerate, kick ass...” For each characteristic you hold up a finger. “Honest. And she’s just as interested in you as you are in her, so she clearly has excellent taste.”

“How do you know that?” She lights up like a Christmas tree.

“Eat your dinner,” you remind her with a grin. “I may have forced her hand into telling me. I can’t quite tell. But either way, we are both about to become extremely spoiled women.”

Her brow furrows slightly in confusion. “I’m not following.” She admits, knowing that she’s already been spoiled by Ellaria in bed, but not expecting anything else.

“Okay, well…” Pulling your feet up under you on the sofa, you sip your drink slowly to try to steady yourself. “Ellaria and Oberyn want to…keep us.”

“Keep us…” she draws out the comment slowly. “Like….pets?”

“I mean…” The idea of it makes you snort, and you end up laughing. “I guess it doesn’t sound very good when you put it like that. But more like…sugar babies.”

“Sugar babies?” Her brows shoot open, fork clattering onto her plate. “Wait….that was a fucking option?!”

“It’s an option if we want it,” you confirm, trying hard not to laugh at her utter shock. Since that had been pretty much your reaction as well.

“I thought that was just….a joke.” She huffs. “Or some kind of justification for a creepy old man and a barely legal woman.”

"In this particular case, it's a new place to live, an income, and really fucking good sex." Which is nothing at all to sniff at, but you shrug your shoulders a little and let out another small laugh. "And shopping, which I know you'll love. Ellaria rolled me through every single store in that fancy ass mall in uptown."

“The one with the restaurants on the roof that we couldn’t even bring ourselves to step into?” She is jealous, now for a completely different reason.

"She asked me which place you'd like best to eat," you promise Lizzy, seeing the pout forming on your best friend's lips. "So expect a call asking you to have dinner with her tomorrow night."

“Oh?” her brows wing up dramatically and there’s a slightly giggly look on her face. “Really?”

“Really.” Seeing her this excited about it only solidifies in your mind how right of a decision this is. How much you both will benefit and be so much happier with this arrangement. And how unhappy you’ve both been recently by comparison. “I’m supposed to lay out the whole deal for you tonight, and you can negotiate with Ellaria or straight out accept or refuse at dinner.”

“Hit me with it.” She’s not dumb, she knows you’ve already had this talk with Oberyn. “Have you accepted already?”

“I said I wouldn’t formally accept without talking to you first,” you admit. “Since it would mean moving out.”

“Housing.” She nods, even though she’s damn sure that Ellaria would never offer her that. She’ll need to find another roommate.

“Don’t frown like that, I wouldn’t abandon you.” Especially not everything she did to keep you going when you would have just sunken into a pit of depression after your break up a year ago. “If we take their terms, both of us, we get a brand new renovated apartment in the west wing of the Martell mansion.”

“Wait…” she shakes her head in awe. “They want us to live there??” She whispers in awe. “Who the fuck are these people?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question all afternoon,” you admit, giggling as you pull out the box of pastry you purchased, all neatly tied up with red and white twine. “But Ellaria says it’s because Oberyn is greedy. He wants her — and I guess, me — nearby all the time. And if she’s staying at your place then she won’t be near him. So it keeps everyone happier if we’re all in the house together.”

“So they truly just do whatever they want.” She shakes her head in amazement. “What happens when they change their minds? Or get bored with us?”

“Our income is paid on the first of every year.” You have to brace yourself for this part. For how Lizzy will react to the number. “It’s November second today, so we would get first year income when we agree and second year on new years. It’s…it’s a million dollars a year, times however many years we’ve been with them. So if anyone changes their mind, they’re not left out in the cold. We can just go, with plenty of money to survive on and any gifts we’ve been given.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” She hisses, leaning forward and practically dumping her plate onto the table, forgotten and unwanted right now.

“I know,” you groan, holding up your hands in a show of innocence. “I know. It’s insane! But that’s their number and they’re not immovable on it. It’s a non-negotiable point.”

“They want to give us one million dollars every year we are together? Having great sex and sleeping in their mansion?” She asks.

"Two million for the second year. Three for the third. And so on." What else can you really do but nod? It's an insane amount of money and you both know it.

“That is….insane.” She throws herself back into the worn couch she had bought second hand and had seen better days.

“Yes it is.” You can agree to that wholeheartedly. “We live with them, we basically earn a living being companions, and if we want to take any other lovers or whatever, we just…do. Work or don’t work. School or no school. We can literally do whatever we want.” Shaking your head in understandable disbelief, you open the pastry box and offer her first pick of the pieces inside. “It’s literally the dream.”

“Dear God.” She snorts. “Just when I thought she couldn’t be any more perfect.” Her eyes widen, “do you think Ellaria has that arrangement with Oberyn? They’ve been together for years.”

“I know she does,” you nod, taking a fruit tart from the box when Lizzy picks out a piece of chocolate dipped shortbread. “She’s the one who explained it to me originally. The only thing that’s different about her and my arrangement from yours is that you won’t have any stipulations about possible kids.”

“Yeah…” she snorts. “I don’t think that’s possible for us, but hun-“ she tilts her head. “Are you thinking about that?”

“Not anytime soon.” The first bite of your tart is full of sweet and tangy glazed persimmon and you moan happily over it before going on. “But you know how badly I want kids. It’s just nice to know that Oberyn gives a shit about his daughters just in case, ya know?”

“I can understand that. All of the Sand Snakes, as he calls them, are very well loved.” She lifts a brow at you.

“Look I’m not saying I’m going to go off my birth control just because he has a breeding kink.” That makes both of you laugh, and you savor another bite of your tart. “I’m just saying if it happens, I won’t be upset.”

“I think it’s obvious the man has a breeding kink.” She hums. “Ellaria has given birth to four of them. And she doesn’t look like it at all.”

“That would be thanks to the endless libido and the in-home gym.” Ellaria had also showed you her small yoga studio and said you and Lizzy should use it whenever you liked. Their generosity extends to absolutely everything, it seems. “What do you think? I mean I know you want Ellaria, that part is easy. But…what about the rest?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm and she gestures around the small apartment. “Leave all this behind?”

You snort, joining her in laughter, and sip from your drink again. “They’ll want us to give our input on the remodeling if those rooms are going to be ours. I’m going to give my two weeks at the cafe and go by there after work tomorrow.”

“Jesus, we even get to remodel our little slut nests.” She cackles. “We will be kept women!”

“That…is the idea,” you admit with another laugh. “Except no shame and full freedom.”

“I don’t want you to feel like my relationship with Ellaria should impact yours with Oberyn.” She knows you, so she immediately brings that up. “If we don’t last, that doesn’t mean you have to feel guilty or end things with him.”

"Likewise. Although I know you're less likely to let that impact your decision than I am." At least you know each other well enough to predict that sort of thing, and well enough to be honest with each other about it. "Just because it seems perfect in the beginning doesn't mean anything in the long run. We both know how relationships go."

“There will be ups and downs.” She agrees.

"This might be our greatest adventure," you tell her, grinning like an idiot. "Even more than when we keyed Professor McMahler's car for being a dick to you during sophomore year."

“He definitely deserved that.” She points at you and laughs. “But this is sooooo much better. And to think that dick said I would never amount to anything.” She huffs dramatically, “He was obviously wrong.”

"I'm...thinking about going back to school." The uncertainty is written on your face, but ever since it was suggested you can't get the idea out of your head. Getting your master's was once a life goal that you were distinctly in the running to achieve. When your boyfriend became your fiancé and suggested working for his family while you saved money for more school, you had thought it was the most practical thing in the world. You hadn't even sniffed the deception for a single second.

“That’s great!” She’s always hated that you didn’t further your education and if you have the opportunity to do it, you should go for it. “Will Oberyn be alright with the time spent studying?”

"I think so." A small smile tucks itself in the corner of your mouth. "He's offered to pay for school in addition to my income."

“Jesus, you don’t even have to pay for it!” She squeals. “Do it! You have to do it!”

"I still have to get in," you remind her, but the two of you end up doubled over in giggles all over again. "But thank you for your support, honey."

“With your transcripts?” She waves away your concern. “It’s a no brainer.”

"I love you and appreciate your blind faith in me." The last bite of your tart goes down with a happy hum you lean back on the couch to sigh contentedly. "It means you could quit your job if you want to. Put energy into finding work you actually like." You raise one eyebrow at her. "Or think about art school."

“But how can I possibly live the struggling artist life?” She huffs dramatically.

"With food in your stomach, and a roof over your head that doesn't leak, and with a warm bed," you huff right back at her. "Seriously, Liz. You should at least think about it. You're a beautiful photographer. You could even use some of that million to start up your business finally."

“That is the dream.” The possibilities are endless and she bites her lip. “You think I should?” Despite you feeling like she is always supporting you, you have definitely been a cheerleader for her hopes and dreams. Far more than she could ever articulate and it’s almost a relief that the two of you could experience this life change together.

“If you need a secretary or assistant or whatever, I can work for you,” you offer readily. Do some wedding gigs or whatever and boost your brand while I take my masters classes?” Every single moment of this happiness is thanks to Oberyn and Ellaria and you’re so acutely aware of it that you feel like you want to run back to the mansions and fling your arms around both of them. Ask them if they truly understand the way they’re changed your lives. “Anything is possible now.”

“All because we crashed their masquerade.” She grins. “Didn’t I tell you everything would be fine?”

“You said it would be fine,” you tease, pulling your phone out of your pocket when it buzzes insistently. Oberyn has gotten home and has decided to send you some rather salacious photos from the pool. “But this? This is far better than fine.”

Without any hesitation or remorse, she looks over at your phone and whistles. “Goddamn.” She hums. “If only I liked dick.” She teases. “You got yourself a good one, babe.” She grins. “Why don’t we go tell them the good news in person.” The phone dings again and it’s a picture of him and Ellaria. “Right now.”

“Because I was going to do the responsible thing and go to work in the morning to hand in my notice in person.” Despite the coffeeshop job being far less than ideal and your boss being horrible, you were going to be responsible about leaving. It seemed decent, after what happened with the pizza place.

“Fuck that.” She snorts. “We have had our lives completely changed by not doing the responsible thing.” Her grin is wicked. “Wouldn’t you rather fuck him by his gorgeous pool?”

“Of course I would.” There is no hesitation necessary for that decision.

“Then put on a swimsuit and let’s go.” She snorts.

******

Adjusting the set of his bow tie, Oberyn watches the mirror as you touch up your makeup. Enjoying the little trappings of vanity that you claim are not important but you continue to do so. He would never claim that it makes you more beautiful, but it enhances your eyes and draws them to the purple lace masque that you will be wearing tonight.

“I can feel you watching me.” There is a sing song in your voice, and nothing but affectionate teasing in your tone, because you know that Oberyn likes to study the ones he loves and learn them. After a year together, you have watched and learned him, too. Like the fact that his mask tonight is purple trimmed with gold — the two colors that you and Ellaria are wearing — despite only wearing a classic black costume himself. The cut of the regency finery looks remarkable on him and you smooth one hand over your empire waist dress as you check your reflection one more time in the mirror.

Tonight needs to be — will be — perfect.

“Why would I not be?” He chuckles, turning and boldly staring at you. “I had anticipated all of us getting ready together, but the other two were still in bed.” He had snorted when he had walked into the scene and wished them fun.

“When are they not?” Ellaria and Lizzy’s passion is honest and makes your best friend the happiest she’s ever been, so you’re certainly not going to begrudge them a moment of it. “Besides, won’t you love the moment you get to look up at Ellaria coming down the grand staircase in her costume for the first time?”

“I almost wish that I could do the same with you, but this is your masquerade by my side.” He teases, “officially.”

"Still, I won't monopolize your night," you promise, finally standing up from the vanity and leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Who knows. Someone may catch your eye. I have it on good authority that you quite enjoying picking out a new lover at these things."

He chuckles and his hand wraps around your body to pull you close. “I do.” He growls playfully, “but there is this one.” He hums, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. “I find her intoxicating. I might have to bring her to my bed tonight.”

"Is that so?" The happy sigh in your voice is worth everything, and your eyes are soft and dreamy looking up at him. "I don't think you'll have any trouble convincing her at all. I have it on very good authority."

“Put in a good word for me?” He smirks and his hand slides down to your ass. “I missed you last night.” He admits. He had been traveling with Ellaria and only made it back before the party, which is why she is currently wrapped up with your best friend.

"I missed you, too." His busy travel schedule and frequent meetings have meant that he has been away for a good portion of the last several weeks. Sometimes you go with him and sometimes Ellaria does, but it has been a little to your advantage to have him away recently. It's allowed you to prepare a little surprise for him.

“Ellaria wants to take Lizzy away for the weekend.” Oberyn tells you. “A little anniversary trip to celebrate.” He caresses your back. “What do you think about a little trip of our own? I was thinking that little island I own in Fiji. You, me, and a private beach?”

"How very romantic." Still, you tilt your head slightly and smirk at him. "And convenient. No need for clothes on a private island."

“That’s right.” He snaps his fingers as if the thought just occurred to him. “That was the farthest thing from my mind.”

"I'm sure you had not thought of it at all," you tease him right back. "In fact I am notoriously fully clothed around you, lover."

“Of course you are.” He snorts. “Practically a nun.”

"Oh yes." This time you can't hold back the snort, dissolving into giggles. "I pray to god every night."

“I do hear you calling out his name quite often.” He smirks as he watches you.

"Very often." Still smirking, you nudge him playfully. "We should go down. Make sure everything is ready before the guest start arriving."

“So organized.” He teases with a wink as he steps back and turns to over you his arm.

"One of us has to be." Looping your hand through his elbow, you lean into his side as the two of you head down the now-familiar hallway toward the grand staircase. "And you have been so very business oriented lately. So let me be the organized one tonight."

“You have enjoyed planning tonight.” When it comes to the grand details, there are planners, but Oberyn had given control of the night to you, wanting to see what you would change about his masquerade.

It hadn't been much, but you had put a little spin on it this year, theming things to feel like a spooky and fantastical old-fashioned ball. From the flickering candlelight in the ballroom to the evocative music that you picked out, what you want more than anything is for Oberyn to be proud of the way you put his beloved masquerade together.

“Should we have a glass of champagne to celebrate before we go down?” He asks, smiling softly at you.

"I had a special drink made for tonight." At the stairs you squeeze his arm a little tighter and pick up your skirt to make sure you don't trip, but he guides you downstairs so easily that it feels like walking on water.

There are members of the waitstaff milling around and people tweaking the decorations to make sure everything is perfect, but when you and Oberyn appear in the ballroom a bartender appears at your sides almost instantly. Thanking her, you take both glasses from the tray and hand one to Oberyn. "Happy anniversary, my love."

"To the night that has changed our lives for the better." He hums, tapping his glass against yours and taking a sip of the cocktail. His brow furrows and he takes another sip. "Dove, they may have misunderstood your instructions for your drink." He sniffs and examines it. "It's apple cider and cranberry, I believe." He tilts his head. "But it is missing the alcohol." The familiar burn is missing, although it could just be very well hidden.

“No,” you shake your head, unable to keep a misty, dreamy little smile from your lips. “It’s just right.”

His expression is filled with curiosity. "A dry masquerade?" He muses. "That will be a surprise for the guests."

“I would never do that to your guests.” Especially not when Oberyn’s parties are rightfully legendary. The Bacchanalia would go down in history books if anyone but guests knew. “But…this version will have to be enough for me.” The smile on your lips grows, along with the warmth of excitement and pride in your chest. “For about the next seven months or so.”

Eyes widening in delight, his gaze immediately drops down to your stomach. Your hand has drifted over it, protective and proud. "Dove." He sets aside the glass and pulls you into his arms to kiss you until both of you are dizzy.

You knew he would be happy, but the sensation of being all but swept off your feet has you clinging to him — and to your glass — as he pulls you into his embrace. The sweet, deep, joyous kiss is as passionate as any he's given you before but this one is marked with so much happiness that you can feel him smiling against your lips.

"You must be about eight weeks along?" He asks breathlessly as he pulls away. His own hand sliding down to cover your stomach possessively. "Have you seen a doctor?"

"Earlier this week." Still a bit breathless from the kiss, you nod and absorb the warmth of him as well as the absolute warmth of the sweet gesture. His hand over your stomach for the very first time. "We're both happy and healthy and the baby is right in line for being eight weeks along."

"We must have conceived in Morocco." He smiles again, pressing his lips to yours. "That trip that you were so stressed about your paper during and I helped you relax." He had wanted to take you, knowing you had never ben before and it had taken some convincing to get you to agree. Now, it will be one of his favorite places because you had gotten pregnant there.

"I'm glad that I only have a year of my master's left." The fact of the timing has been haunting you, being only halfway through your work, but when you had actually sorted through it you had realized it was a blessing. "I can take summer semester off, like education maternity leave." You smile at him, beaming, and kiss him again. "I'm due at the end of May."

"You know that you can always go back." He promises. "May." He smiles softly. "We will have to make sure that you are spoiled and comfortable."

"Because you never spoil me," you tease with a heavy roll of your eyes.

"Not like you've ever seen before." He promises with another soft kiss to your lips. "But you will find out what it will be like."

"Only Lizzy knows, and now you." Your best friend had been the one to nudge you to the pharmacy to buy a pregnancy test and help you make a doctor's appointment, but being sworn to secrecy meant that she had not breathed a word to anyone in the process. "I thought you would want to tell Ellaria together."

"Together." He agrees, smiling at you. "Tonight at the ball will be the perfect setting for it."

"I love you." As many times as you have ever said it before, you mean it more each and every time. Life with Oberyn has been more of a blessing than you could ever have hoped for, and now the baby you've always wanted is on their way.

------

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

Spooktober 2024: @inept-the-magnificent

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x you #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x female reader #Oberyn Martell x f!reader #Game of Thrones #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #Spooktober 2024 #Sugar Daddy Oberyn #pregnancy #cw pregnancy #pregnant reader

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circeyoru · 9 months ago

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The Boy & The Witch _ Part 2

[Human!Alastor x Witch!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 2 (here)

The boy, now named Alastor, came often to your little home in the forest. His attitude could be described as excited, eager, and twisted. You’d say that it was near your level and perhaps over as time goes by. You weren’t wrong

Alastor was more adapt in learning darker arts. While you can heal, Alastor shows no talent in such. Though as if to make up for it, he was extremely talented in shadows. A form of magic you have trouble with due to your abilities in the purer magic. Soon, his shadow came to life with glowing eyes and a crescent moon as its smile

You told him that he needs to control his shadow as it started doing it own thing when it came to life. It was harmless to you, but if anyone were to find out, there’d be hell to pay. It took a while but Alastor and his shadow got used to each other. When dealing with sentile beings, it takes time, you told him while he mediated, if he wants more control, he must be of sound mind and body first

Once, you were in town again, gathering on some supplies to stock up and saw Alastor. You were going to greet him, but you saw a women step into the frame. You figured it was his mother, but you were conflicted, his smile was genuine, familiar to how happy you saw him when he was learning and mastering the darker arts of voodoo magic

Thinking back, he never mentioned his mother to you, only his father that he loathed and seeked revenge on. The conclusion you came to was that he was doing it for his mother too, the mistreatment included her

You left, reminding yourself to talk with Alastor the next time he visited

“You know you can’t go to Heaven now that you meddle in voodoo magic, right?” You leaned against the door frame of your little experiment room, your arms crossed over your chest while you looked at the back of Alastor’s form. You noticed his shadow’s smile turned to a frown and shivered, but Alastor reminded focus on his task “What brought this along?” Alastor questioned as he grind down some animal bones accounting to one of your many books “The other day, I saw you with your mother I presume. She’s a nice lady that will go to Heaven and you’re damned for Hell.” You continued “You’ll be there with me, right?” “Well, of course, I’m the one that brought you into this, so naturally. I think my family and relatives made some sort of clan down there. They living the life ther.” You chuckled, “And Hell is supposed to be a punishment too.” “If you’ll be in Hell as well, I can live without my mother there, she belongs in Heaven. I’ll treasure my time here now while I’m alive.” Alastor spoke softly Your eyes narrowed, a small frown on your face, you turned to leave but not before saying, “Then you shouldn’t be there with me. Go back home, boy.”

Like Alastor was listening to you, he didn’t come back the next day, or the day after. For a while, your home was void of the apprentice you took in and given the name of Alastor to. You’ll admit that you felt lonely and thought if you were being too cruel to him

You waited for a week longer to see if there was any change in Alastor’s visit to the forest. Oddly enough, there was no sighting of him. Why you say that because when he was younger, he’d play disappearance for a few days to catch your attention. You found him hiding within the tree branches when you went to look for him

But now it was a teenager, nearly adult. Some can say you two grow up together, you’re not shy to admit that he has grown to be quite the lady’s killer. He has gonna popular in school and town. Getting a nice internship at the radio station to prepare him for his future career

You knew that under his perfect front, how painful and cruel his life behind closed doors was. Not to mention his cruelty and heinous thoughts he habour to those that do him wrong. So you left your home when the sun was about to set to where Alastor’s home was. You peeked inside from one of the uncovered windows. It was all quiet. Too quiet

Securing your cloak and the deep hood over head, you went to the back door. Using your own shorted staff, you tapped the lock and unlocked the door as it opened on its own and closed when you entered into the house

You wandered around, coming to a stop when you passed the living room with a body laid on the carpet and another on the couch. You cautiously stepped forward, checking the mother to see if she was breathing, when she was, despite the blood from her head. You turned to the man, father of Alastor’s due to the resemblance, and checked his breathing. He was sleeping

Kneeling down, you hovered your hand over the mother’s injured head and healed her a bit. Then you turned your attention to the staircase and slowly made your way up. When you made it up, you scanned the doors that were all opened, except one. You stood before it, trying the handle first, locked. You did the same thing to the back door and unlocked it with ease

The door creeked with a whine, you eyes pierced into the room, bathed in the light from the setting sun. You noticed the motionless body on the bed and made your way over. You sat on the edge of the head, facing away from Alastor. “You know, your mother’s in a dying state. But I healed her enough to get through the night.”

Alastor merely flinched, enough of a sign to show you he was awake and listening

“I wonder though, still you let this father, this man, to rule over your life any longer. You’re not the only one suffering.” You spoke

You sat there playing with your shortened staff when you left Alastor get up and left the room. You waited for a while before you followed suit and went down. You weren’t surprised to see Alastor standing over the now dead body of his father and the blood staff in his hands

With a snap of your fingers, the living room was in a worst wreck. You walked over to Alastor, pausing to let him lean over you. “Don’t worry, this would be like your family was attacked by armed robbers. You’re going to sleep for a while and your neighbours will find out then alert the police. I honoured your revenge, now let me handle the aftermath.”

As if your words were what he needed, his eyes closed shut and his full weight crashed into yours. You carefully kneeled down to set him on the floor. Making sure he was just sleeping. You eyed his shadow and pushed the staff to it so that it was hidden when the neighbours and officers come

You stood on the branch of a nearby tree, its leaves hiding you while you watched concerned and nosy individuals crowd around Alastor’s house. The police set up the perimeter and medical officers brought Alastor and his mother’s unconscious bodies to the hospital

“Glad it wasn’t the young boy or the mother that’s killed.” “Yeah, would have been unjust.” “Now they can live peacefully.” “That’s good.”

So the father wasn’t well-liked already. You thought to yourself, your staff elongated to its original form. You tapped the end of it to the tree branch. All the better. You stared down as the deceased body was brought out. Makes for an easier target. I have to ask my family to catch his soul.

Note: Long overdue part 2. Since things have slowed down, I'm working on the requests meant for longer writing. The ones where I can rant or is just a short answers will be posted quicker~

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

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hekateinhell · 1 year ago

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Anne Rice plotting out Louis's (permanent) death in the early notes for Merrick...

Since I was already referencing a response I gave to a question about Armand's possible reaction to Louis's suicide attempt earlier today, I remembered this that I stumbled on while going through the Anne Rice Collection at Tulane — which in a way answers that very same question:

This scene has to be major in the novel, and as I see it now, Claudia will be extremely horrible to Louis and drive him to suicide.

Louis will expose himself to the sun, and the others will find his burned body in its coffin on the flat portion of the slate roof of the townhouse.

Those who will come together, having felt the passing of Louis will include Armand and Merrique.

David will be for scattering all the ashes of Louis. But Armand and Lestat will refuse to do it. Then Lestat will be won over. Armand will want to pour blood on the ashes. Armand and Lestat will get in a battle, and finally Armand will give up, and Lestat will pick up the lumps of charcoal of the body, pulverize them and scatter them to the winds.

Okay, but Armand and Lestat battling over whether Louis can be brought back to life? Lestat scattering Louis's ashes while Armand presumably watches, defeated? My heart!

Next time you complain about Merrick, remember... it could've ended like this.

I love Louis and I love him with Armand and Lestat both (separately and all together), so of course I'm very grateful Anne didn't go this route! But the idea that she might've??? 🫢

I'm not up to write this level of Angst™️ and do it justice but it's definitely something that could be explored further in fic! And it is one (of many lmao) instances where you can see such a stark difference between where Anne started and where she ended with her novels.

#i haven't fully fleshed out the thought yet so i'm stashing it in tags lol but also i'm wondering if armand and lestat's reactions here-#mirror enough of the actual canon in BC when louis is kidnapped #like there's not enough on lestat's mindset given HERE for us to stay but i imagine he's numbed out and destroyed and therefore susceptible #to david's suggestion to scatter the ashes instead of trying to resurrect louis #the vampire chronicles #vc #the skateboard of shakespeare #<- my tulane tag #lestat/louis #armand/louis #louis de pointe du lac #armand #lestat de lioncourt #quotes #anne rice

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springsylph · 9 months ago

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WITCHING HOUR, CH 2/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: the prodigal son returns tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but now a little more than kinda), original side character(s), does arthur count as a tag, he needs his own warning, its more exposition please don't leave

word count: 4.9k

a/n: HERE! DAMN! (i'm so sorry this took so long)

<< previous chapter | read on ao3 here | masterlist

you can find a link to the playlist here! tag list (look how crazy. i have a LIST.): @photo1030

The subsequent mornings are painted with varying shades of gloom. It was smeared over the sky in thick coats, and if it was just a little thicker, it might be able to keep out the spears of light.

Sometimes, they tickle. Sometimes, they recoil from the rigid mounds of snow and blind you and anything else unfortunate enough to get caught in the line of fire. Pain in the ass, really. A particularly nasty pain in the ass flickers in the cloudy metal of your spoon one morning while you’re shoveling grits into your mouth.

“You planning on eating the table too, kid?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, as does your spine once you lower your spoon back into the chipped bowl.

“My apologies,” you gulp. “You’ll uh, have to forgive me, Mrs. Campbell. Seems the winter air’s gotten to my head.”

Mrs. Campbell was a wiry, dark-haired woman of 63, and had spent more time rearing cattle than children. She was rough, tough, and at present, leveling you with a stare so doubtful that you wonder if the look you often catch on the livestock is embarrassment.

After holding your gaze for a few moments more, she resumes the rocking of her chair from the corner and returns to her darning. A large red sock, the same one she’d whacked Mr. Campbell over the head with after she’d found it on the floor of the living room only thirty minutes ago.

“No, no, you’re alright.” Mrs. Campbell pauses, though her hands continue to work. Under, over. In, out. Not a single finger pricked. “Think that’s the most I’ve seen you take down in one sitting, is all. You bite like a bird.” She makes a funny chewing motion with her mouth—or, at least you think it’s supposed to be funny. It seems to amuse her well enough; most strange things did.

She then asks how much horse feed is left, and you tell her enough to last for the next two weeks. You ask how her daughter’s baby boy is doing, she tells you he’s been picking his nose, and the two of you return to your respective distractions: the pulling of thread and a spoon fishing around a now empty dish while you consult silently with the peeling floral wallpaper.

Arthur Morgan’s appearance had set you on edge, loathe as you were to admit it. The fact that there’d been no sign of him since you’d first spoken only hastened the growing dread, more so than the lack of response after your father’s men had been so kindly disposed of.

Contingencies had been thoroughly accounted for, leaving you mildly inconvenienced at best and dead at worst. There were other conclusions you’d drawn up, of course, but dealing in extremes had its benefits.

You press your thumb absentmindedly into the corner of the dining room table. Could the Campbells have heard your exchange? No, they couldn’t have, too old. And that was excluding the fact that the main house was rather far from the cabin. Given the time frame, it would have been well beyond what was reasonable for your…situation to have been brought up.

Besides, this was important. Better to sort this out now than when—if—he showed up at your doorstep again.

“I have a question.”

Mrs. Campbell snorts. “I presume you’re lookin’ for an answer.”

You set your spoon down, and stand to clear the table. “Do the two of you get…stray cats often?”

This time her hands waver. “During the warmer months, sure. But in this weather? I mean, if it had the guts to get through all that ‘winter air,’ I don’t see why not.” Her eyes flick up. “Would have to be real hungry, though. Or stupid, which I doubt, ‘cause cats ain’t stupid—sonuvabitch!”

You jerk as her needle clatters to the floor. She lets a curse slip as she hunches over to retrieve it; another follows as she tugs the string loose, just a little, and her fingers trip over themselves before falling back into a steady rhythm.

Her brows pinch in concentration. “Never met a stupid cat,” she repeats.

“I…I see.” Moving around to the other side of the table to collect what's left, you frown when you catch your warped reflection in a bent spoon. You pick it up, and your fingers brush over the bump unconsciously. “I saw one,” you say slowly. Mind fumbling over any disastrous outcomes. “A cat, I mean. He’s been hanging around my cabin for a while now. I was only asking ‘cause he’s been spooking the chickens.”

When Mrs. Campbell doesn’t answer, your mouth gets the better of you. “Only, he turned up again a couple nights ago. Acting real docile, you see.” Not docile. The farthest thing from it. “Nearly shot him then and there, but—oh, he just looked so pitiful! He’s real mean looking, all scratched up and such, but I was tired, so when shooing him off didn’t work I let him in. Didn’t hiss, didn’t bite, nothing. But, I think I may have scared him. Skittered right out the door, quick as lightning. He’s been pissin’ me off—pardon my language—but, I just don’t see why he’d go through all that trouble to show up if he was just looking to leave the moment I raised so much as a finger.”

You only cease your rambling once you realize that you’ve bent the spoon too far in the wrong direction. “I…should turn him away, shouldn’t I? If he shows up again?”

Mrs. Campbell lets out an exasperated exhale, smooths out her apron, and sets her mangled sock down in her lap. “He kill any chickens?”

“No, but—”

“You feed him?”

“No?”

“Well, I think you should. It’d be real funny.”

Funny. Funny, she’d said.

You look to the silverware for consolation, but they can only produce a weak gleam.

“Quit making faces at my utensils, I hate when you do that. If you got something to say, say it now so I can finish this damned sock.”

Instead of making faces at the spoons, you reserve them for the tablecloth. “I just—don’t think it’d be wise.” A wanted man, with a lofty bounty at that, and you were comparing him to a mangy feline. Attempting to see him as anything other than what he so obviously was would be disingenuous.

And maybe Mrs. Campbell wasn’t the right person to be speaking to about this, because her nose crinkles with such distaste that you have to remind yourself that you’d remembered to bathe. “You’re grown,” she says, “and you work here. I’m inclined to believe that you have enough know-how to keep yourself from doing anything too dumb. If not, oh well.”

“…Right.”

Sometimes you wonder if her daughter had moved out not for marriage, but to escape Mrs. Campbell’s dreadfully indifferent way of speaking. Still, you take her words with relative care and pray that the “feeding” portion of her advice can be altered into something much more metaphorical.

When you attempt to bring the dishes to the water bucket, Mrs. Campbell’s head snaps to you and she clicks her teeth. “Drop it.”

“I was just—”

The sock finds its way into a basket of other half-finished projects at her feet, and she pushes herself up to stand just as tall (if not taller) than any tree before snatching the dishes from your hands. “I don’t pay you to do my dishes, girl.”

You smile. “I don’t believe you pay me at all, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Precisely. Your Pa pays me. And enough with that ‘Mrs. Campbell’ mess; makes me sound like an old crone. Told you to call me Fran, didn’t I?”

Shrugging past the bitterness in her tone at the mention of your father, you turn to the doorway and pull your coat off of the hook you’d tossed it on the night before. It’s only slightly warm from where the sun has touched it.

The beams have softened their assault on the curtains; it’s still fairly cloudy, but there’s no sign of incoming snow. Chores would be alright, if only for today.

“I’ll work on it, Mrs. Campbell. But, I do have one more question, if you don’t mind.” You wait for a nod while you pull on your boots with a wince. “How come you don’t take on any other help?”

Like most of her responses, Mrs. Campbell doesn’t give much away. Nothing remarkable that you can discern, at least. She merely winks and carries on with her washing. But just as you set a foot out the front door, she calls out to you.

“Hey, kid?”

You turn.

“If the worst you can call him is a spooked cat, he can’t be all that bad, can he?”

You freeze. “Pardon?”

She looks up at the ceiling, as though her next words will appear if she gets her eyes to narrow enough. Glasses had been the first of many neglected suggestions you’d offered upon your arrival. You’d even offered to buy them yourself, with what little you’d been able to bring with you. But Mrs. Campbell, being Mrs. Campbell, had simply laughed.

Squinting, she returns her focus to the bucket and reaches for a cake of lye soap. “Ah, and tell that idiot if he slams my doors, I’ll send my foot so far up his ass that them science folks won’t have any animals left to call him.”

Illusory warmth finds you a few weeks later.

It isn’t quite spring yet; winter is a stubborn mule, and though the snow has receded into the dirt it still stamps its hooves into the wind. In the water, too—freezing rain taps its fingers onto the windows. Soft and melodic, it nearly puts you to sleep from your place on the floor before you remember the annoyances it’s dragged along with it.

There’d been no sign of trouble tonight, and the chicken wire had been reinforced a few hours prior. That’d mostly been the work of Mr. Campbell, though. He’d chirped about some promise he’d made to his “lovely wife,” and went on his merry way after leaving you with some choice words from the wife in question about the importance of rest.

The rain had started not long after. Which was great, for someone out there. But, bad for you. Pretty bad. Ugly, messy bad—because it was cold, dark, and the dirt hadn’t the moral backbone to keep itself together for any longer than two blinks before your boots were practically swimming in it.

The trudge back to the cabin was only slightly humiliating, considering the fact that the sole witnesses were the owls you knew were hiding out in the safety of the trees.

Scampering from the uneven path to the front porch, however, was another story. Although the pliant (no good, backstabbing) earth was quick and eager to drag you to its depths, you were aggravated enough to be slightly quicker, and your palms shot out to catch you just before your chin could meet the full wrath of the wood.

But the word “just” was a pebble cast into a pond, and the first ripple was the metallic tang that flooded your mouth. Diatribes were spat onto the ground alongside the blood, tongue throbbing with a vengeance before you drove the heels of your palms down to push yourself up. The second ripple was a little less red, but just as irritating. The rain had pulled the wet fabric of your work shirt and trousers tight over your limbs, and it had begun to border on painful when water droplets struck like one might strike the skin of a drum.

“I’m grateful, I’m grateful, I’m oh so fucking grateful…” It was a mantra you often found yourself repeating whenever nature’s pranks sought to drive you mad. Rain was good. Rain was fine, actually, so you’d ignored the creaking of your knees and hobbled your way inside.

And here you sit: back propped up against the wall, shivering like a fool with your knees tucked into your chest. The mud crusting between your fingers barely registers while you work on releasing yourself from your wet clothing.

Which, of course, is when the light tapping on the window takes its cue to crescendo. It’s a rather flimsy cloak for the uneven thunks outside that make no attempt to conceal themselves. But your bones know better.

Awful timing, that man.

You feel the weight of his fist against the door before he makes contact.

(One.)

You shoot up.

(Two.)

You lunge for the table.

You decide against greeting him with the rifle, which is a significant improvement. It’s a revolver. But you did have the good sense not to kick the door again; the rusty hinges were fragile enough without your meddling. Instead, you let it creak open with one hand on the doorknob.

You’re met with a bruise, planted right atop a cheekbone. A swollen bottom lip, blood threatening to split it wide. He’s got a button missing from his rumpled jacket, and the caving of the porch underneath his feet clues you in on the fact that he’s favoring his right leg. He’s been fighting. Fighting, and he looks about ready to keel over and die. Or pick another fight. Probably both.

Part of you unwinds at the sight of him, battered as he was. Present as he was. But the more logical part of you senses that he’s here for something, and the even more logical part of you remembers exactly what it was that stood at your doorstep.

It’s then that the stench of alcohol hits you, and the familiar smell of mud sweeps in not long after. Arthur is completely covered in it, save for his face. And—

There. There it is again.

That look.

Your pulse trips in your throat, and you pray that he’s inebriated enough to ignore it. “You’re on my porch. Why?”

Bright blue comes back into focus, and his hands fall to his hips. “I can go where I damn well please.”

“That’s all well and good, but why are you on my porch?”

He sniffs. Peers just over your shoulder. “...House call.”

You step to block him. “Now that’s two chances. I have it on good authority that one is just fine these days, but I’m feeling generous.” And confused. Extremely confused.

His face contorts into a heatless grimace, and the doorknob squeals. You’re suddenly reminded of the odd tales of shapeshifters you’d stumbled upon as a child: one moment a man, the next a bloodthirsty predator. Not a particularly helpful development—especially since your talk with Mrs. Campbell—but it was a development nonetheless.

Arthur rattles off the courtesies typically extended toward esteemed guests while you look him over again, and your eyes lock onto his hair. Another familiar connection—doe brown strands, streaked with mud and nearly plastered to his head from the light downpour. Much less ferocious than the rest of him. But, tonight, if you have to pick, he’s a wet dog. A wet, potentially drunk dog, who was missing his hat.

And suddenly, the natural chatter of the trees comes to a halt.

“What’d you just call me?”

…You idiot.

“I didn’t call you jack shit,” you lie. Arthur gives a loose smirk, and your next protests become nothing but bluster. “What, the little girl that hit you knock your ears shut?”

“Figured I’d let her get a hit in, out of the kindness of my big ol’ heart.” Arthur sways on his feet a bit, peering down at you through the water that he hasn’t bothered to wipe from his lashes. Gravity finds eventual triumph, and he leans into the post before eying the revolver still in your hands. “Don’t suppose you’re plannin’ on pullin’ that trigger any time soon.”

“What’s it to you?”

Arthur’s face begins to harden, and he crosses his arms tight over his chest. “You know, last time I was here I said you were lucky. Well, I’d like to make an addendum: lucky and stupid, lady.”

You cast a disbelieving look at the leg he’s been keeping his weight off of. “And you’re drunk. The fact that you got here without your horse cracking your head open is a miracle.”

His brows draw low, and he rubs the heel of his boot against the muddy spot where you’d fallen earlier. Blinks at the ground. Then, with the vigor of a child caught sleeping in church, wipes angrily at a speck of mud on his thigh. “M’not drunk,” he finally mutters, flicking the offending dirt out into the yard and crossing his arms again. “And I’ve got enough trust in my horse to fill at least half of that barn y’all got.”

“Just half? Not the whole thing?”

“Whole thing would be two horses.”

You almost laugh. Almost. When you don’t reply, his eyes drop back down to the gun, gaze contemplative. “You got any idea how easily I could’ve knocked that flimsy thing outta your hands?”

“Why of course I do, Mr. Morgan.” The dampness you’d been struck with pulls at you, bones heavy and patience now worn thin. You give the revolver an exaggerated twirl, the metal snatching what can be seen of the moon through the rain and reflecting it at him. “I’m real lucky you’re here to tell me so, ain’t I? Matter of fact, why don’t you go and fetch me my chair before I topple right on over? ”

“That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.” You think he sounds somewhat regretful. But somewhat isn’t enough.��

“Do I now,” you say dryly. “You seem to ‘not mean’ an awful lot.”

Arthur pushes himself off of the post with his shoulder and shoves his muddy hands into his muddy pockets. “I just don’t see why you people are so eager to act like you got your life for dog-cheap.”

“You people?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You people.” He’s looking at everything but you now, eyes wild but body frighteningly still. “You’ll look trouble right in the eye, and lie right through your damn teeth till it gets you laid out cold in a ditch somewhere.” Arthur gestures to the embarrassing height your shooting arm has dropped to in the time that he’s spoken. “I can tell each time you open that door that you won’t shoot. Can’t, I’d argue, ‘cause if you didn’t have my big head within one inch of that barrel, you’d be some deep shit.” His words are a forlorn echo amidst the rain, now nothing more than a light haze.

You could shut the door and go back inside, you think. Tell him he’s wrong, because he most certainly was. Peel out of your damp clothes, because standing outside in the chill spelled nothing but trouble. Arthur wouldn’t push. He was just as prone to bluffing as you were.

And yet.

“I could say the same about you. Don’t think your kin would take too kindly to the fact that you’re hangin’ around someone that knows your face. Who you are.” You steady your aim. “That’s a loose end, Arthur. You don’t seem like the type of man to keep many of those around.” It’s the first time you’ve said his name all night; you’re only sure because the moment it leaves you, his entire body tenses before he sags back against the wooden post.

The way he looks at you then might be considered cruel and unusual punishment. You think of butterflies, embroidered into blankets from childhood. Tacked to the wall of your father’s study. The only difference between them and you is that you’re free to leave.

If only you possessed something to sweeten the deal—whatever deal you could come up with in the next five seconds. To mask the returning waver of your voice, now laden with inconceivable realities. “Am I a loose end, Arthur Morgan?”

He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Untucks a hand from the arms he’s wrapped around himself to scrub at his beard and finally wipe at the water you’ve been eyeballing from his lids. He opens his mouth again, now on the precipice of what might be an explanation.

“S’dangerous,” is all he says.

You see red.

The arm holding the revolver is dropped so you can poke a finger into his chest. “You’re not making any sense!” Each word is enunciated with a jab, and you cringe at the feeling of rain rewetting the mud underneath your fingernails. “You cut and run, turn up drunk and beaten half to death, practically beg me to let you inside, and then you get upset when I say I won’t pop a bullet into your head?”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, voice beginning to escalate. “Now if you would just listen for more than two seconds—”

You cut him down with a harsh whisper. “Listen? Listen?” Your eyes momentarily check for any sign of a light being turned on in the main house. Nothing. Your finger falls away then, and a violent chill wracks your body from head to toe. “No, you listen. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You said your piece the last time we spoke, and you left, so why are you on my porch!”

“I don’t know!”

Something cracks, and your vision blurs when you whip your head to recheck the lights. Still nothing. The crack fizzles out into nothingness, and you return to find Arthur close. Awfully close. And your hand is warm and—oh.

It seems his pluck is rather contagious. The noise you’d heard wasn’t thunder, but the sound of your treacherous hand clapping right over Arthur’s mouth.

Time stills. Or speeds up, more like. The only thing you can be certain of is that ring of greenish gold around his pupils. The brush of his lips against your palm. Humid air being released in slow, steady clouds. You briefly wonder what else this warmth has dominion over, save for your cupped hand. Who else.

The speed of the exhales increases, and envy wriggles in the dirt of your heart like unearthed worms. Did his mind wander, as yours often did? Surely not as emphatically. It no doubt ambled from one thought to the next, attention snagged only when he had the energy to do so. Had you been interesting enough to snag his?

The spell is broken by a lamp flickering on in the distance.

“Shit!”

Sheer panic sinks its claws into you before rationality can, and you’re curling a hand around Arthur’s wrist and yanking him inside before he can protest.

You’re both panting ragged breaths once the door shuts behind you, in spite of the mere two steps it’d taken to cross the entryway. Tangible confusion permeates the air, and Arthur looks at you expectantly. It’s only fair that the (secondary) perpetrator speak first.

But words are tricky, tricky things. And as much as you partook in your fair share of falsehoods, finding the right ones when you didn’t feel that your life was on the line was an unfamiliar practice.

Voice quiet, you blink at the muddy footprints on the floor. “You left my door open.”

“I remember,” he replies. Simple.

The silence returns, eerily reminiscent of your first encounter. You consider telling him about the warning Mrs. Campbell had wanted you to relay to him. But then you think about all of the other things he’s missed since he’s disappeared, and your mind becomes saturated with just about everything, and somehow nothing at all. But Arthur’s voice, once again, cracks the fragile quiet.

“God damn it!” He begins to pace, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes. You’re thankful that he’s finally lowered his voice to a whisper, though the close quarters don’t seem to help with the intensity. “I ain’t supposed to be here. Not like this.”

“Not like what? Arthur what do you—”

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he says, voice edging on the side of desperation.

“How what was supposed to go?” You look at his hands, fumbling with his belt loops. He sucks in a brittle gulp of air when he catches you looking, like he’s surprised you’re looking at him at all.

And then, miraculously, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

“I’m to kill you. Ideally this evening.”

Until it all promptly falls apart.

You turn away. Begin to work open the half done buttons of your shirt. Arthur turns to face the door. You decide to humor him. “Who.”

“Some man, your Pa, I presume,” he says. For the first time in what feels like eternity, his voice is devoid of any feeling. It sounds small. Not defeated, not yet, but oh so small. “Willing to pay big bucks to get rid of a ‘financial thorn’ in his side. Knew ‘bout my business in Blackwater, which I assume you’re also aware of. Said he’d had some bonds on that boat.” Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the curtains. “He said I could sniff things out, see if I wanted to to his dirty work.”

Shirt falling to the floor, you allow yourself some time to stew numbly in your naivety while you get the fire going; you could be disappointed all you wanted once you were warm. You can hear Arthur scrubbing at his beard again when you begin to drag a chair in front of the fireplace. You sit, or collapse rather, and shuck off your boots with little care for where they land. Where the mud splatters.

“How’s Marlene?” You ask.

Rustling. He’s turned around. More frantic rustling. He’s turned back to the wall. “I’m sorry?”

“Marlene. Chicken. ”

“Ah. She’s uh, good. Eating good. Still pecks like hell, though.”

And, once again, more silence.

You bark out a dry laugh. It hurts—hurts like hell, but it tumbles out of you with a sharp snap. It snowballs into pure, unadulterated laughter. Bouncing off the walls, the drinking glasses, the mud, right into the fire and back out again. It continues until you’re left with nothing but a pathetic wheeze rattling your lungs.

Settling into the back of the chair, your head lolls back till you can see an upside down version of the bewildered Arthur you’d turned away from. The angle is awkward, and the blood rushing to your head makes him look all warm and fuzzy, but it’s precisely why you’ve chosen it.

“Didn’t think finding all this out would be so funny.” He speaks as if poking a tiger.

Another half-hearted chuckle slips out of you. “Good god, I thought you were trying to proposition me.”

“Proposition you?” He scowls. “What on earth would I—”

Arthur stops. Blinks one of his blinks. Gives his eyes another rub. Blinks again. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. This “blinking” thing.

“Oh.” He frowns.

Frowning right back, you push yourself to stand and toss some old papers from your table into the fire. “No need to seem so put off by it, gosh. Should’ve told me you were out for my head from the start. Would’ve made this a hell of a lot less embarrassing.” Disappointment had beat out the warmth.

You wait for an apology, or a joke. Or something. Anything. But you’re met with nothing. The paper eventually crumbles into nothing, too, smoke tickling your nostrils alongside the smell of rain.

His voice sounds from the back of the room.

“I didn’t say that.”

You whip around.

“Say what.”

He speaks as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. Interested, I mean.” When you point to yourself, he rolls his eyes. “No, the couch.”

There was no couch.

The two of you watch each other for a bit. Then Arthur finds another annoying spot on his thigh to rub at, and you’re watching him.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, voice flat. You pull on a blanket, suddenly conscious of the bareness of your shoulders. “You’re drunk, or tired, or both. You weren’t here. I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me. Am I clear?”

You stand on wobbly feet and motion for him to leave.

“You don’t think I’m joking, do you? I meant what I said.” He brushes past your outstretched hand to clunk into the chair, mirroring that same awkward position you’d found yourself in earlier. Strong neck arched, fire light catching the water that’s begun to bead on his cheeks. “I don’t do charity. Don’t think I have the money for it, actually.”

“How kind of you.”

“I mean it. Truly.”

“Then come back tomorrow,” you blurt.

Fuck.

What the hell were you doing? “You come back tomorrow night, sober, and we’ll see.” No, we would not.

But it’s too late—Arthur is rebounding off of the chair, straightening out his jacket (he’s noticed the missing button, finally), and striding to the door before you can retract your mistake. Even so, you follow after him like a besotted moron, only stopping when he turns to face you once the door is back open.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says. Eyes dark. Searching.

And then he’s stooping down. Reaching for your hand. Pulling it to his dry lips, and pressing a chaste kiss right to the top of it. He chuckles when you shiver, still clutching the blanket tight around your shoulders.

You’re released soon after. And Arthur gives you one long look, tells you to lock your door, and leaves.

—

next chapter >>

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #witching hour

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barbielore · 1 year ago

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The Haunted Beauty collection is a Barbie series which is technically not Halloween themed, but might as well be. Released from 2012 - 2015, they were a series of collectors edition dolls designed by Bill Greening.

Starting off the series was Haunted Beauty Ghost Barbie. In addition to her long gown, she is also wrapped in chains, evoking the spirit of Jacob Marley from A Christmas Carol. And presumably other ghosts, but when I think of ghosts in chains, that's where my mind goes.

Next up was Haunted Beauty Vampire Barbie. I like her a little less; her gown is beautiful and possible more intricate, but I find her face design and hair a little lackluster. She's not bad, but she doesn't rise to the level of the other dolls in the collection.

Haunted Beauty Mistress of the Manor Barbie is definitely one of my favourites from the collection. I love the inclusion of the book and candlesticks; I love the sinister vibes... and I love that she has a matching, non-spooky manor doll.

In a one of a kind doll also created by Bill Greening, Tea at the Manor Barbie is what Mistress of the Manor looked like before she became a Haunted Beauty.

Finally the series capped off with Haunted Beauty Zombie Bride Barbie, a Barbie bride with a sickly skin tone and red-dipped white roses in her bouquet. She is easily my second favourite in the collection, extremely closely behind Mistress of the Manor.

#barbie #happy halloween barbie fans!#haunted beauty collection #bill greening #haunted beauty zombie bride barbie #haunted beauty ghost barbie #haunted beauty vampire barbie #haunted beauty mistress of the manor barbie #tea at the manor barbie #halloween

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jenlrossman · 1 year ago

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Darts as a metaphor for gay sex between Miles O'Brien and Julian Bashir

Yes, I'm serious. Bear with me.

Miles and Julian first play darts in season three, episode 16, "Prophet Margin."

They are playing darts because Julian was getting tired of racquetball—since Miles's wife has been away, they have played 106 games of racquetball. ("Rivals," the episode where we first see them play racquetball, make a strong case for that being a sexual metaphor as well. So basically Keiko is gone and Miles has been… "Playing with Julian" a lot 👀)

There's some good natured mockery/flirting, and Julian ends up throwing off Miles's concentration by mentioning his wife.

In the next episode, season three episode 17, "Visionary," Miles convinces Quark to put a dartboard in his bar. Quark argues that no one has ever come in asking for a dartboard, but Miles assures him people will.

To me, this reads like trying to convince someone that marketing specifically to queer people is important even if no queer people have ever complained about not being marketed to.

Miles and Julian play darts twice during this episode as well, but nothing particularly gay happens (outside of them being gay for each other in general).

Season three, episode 24, "Shakaar," has Miles playing darts with various guys on the station until he ruins his shoulder and needs to have Julian perform surgery to repair it.

Well that's what you get for playing with people who aren't your boyfriend. It's called karma.

In the fourth season premiere, "The Way Of The Warrior," Miles and Julian invite our old buddy Worf to play with them.

He throws a dart, and it goes extremely deep into the board.

The boys look intimidated. And rightfully so. As Jadzia will later (happily) learn, sex with a Klingon is anything but gentle.

(I wish he had thrown two darts, wink wink.)

Keiko returns in "Ascension," season four, episode 17, thereby ending Miles's "year as a bachelor," as Julian calls it.

Miles spends more time with his family, even trying to teach his daughter to play darts (in this context, darts with Molly does not represent sex, it just represents him trying to be a good father and husband and not having sex with his boyfriend). But he is clearly missing Julian; look at the way he longingly gazes at the outfit they wore together:

Julian has also been unsuccessfully playing darts with other people, and he and Miles lament that it just isn’t the same without each other. Eventually, Keiko arranges for them to spend extra time with each other because Miles is so depressed.

Season five, episode 16, "Dr. Bashir, I Presume?" reveals that Julian is augmented and has exceptional strength and hand eye coordination, among other things. This makes Miles realize Julian has been letting him win at darts all this time.

He is understandably upset that his boyfriend has been… uhhh… "faking it" 👀 and makes him play from 3 feet back to level the playing field (Miles metaphorically using marital aids).

He also suggests Julian play blindfolded. 👀

The next, and last, significant time they play darts is in season seven, episode 23, "Extreme Measures."

This is the episode in which Miles and Julian go through a harrowing ordeal which forces them to finally acknowledge that they love their significant others, but they like each other more.

At the end of the episode, the boys are playing darts in the bar. They are drinking. Miles is struggling with his sexuality at the realization of how close he and Julian are.

He says he needs to go home to Keiko. This is the conversation they have, word for word:

"She's a hell of a woman."

"That's why you love her."

"Mmm. That's right. That's why I love her."

There is no eye contact. It is awkward as hell. Is very obviously Not About Keiko, but rather Miles's last ditch attempt to avoid admitting that he would rather be with Julian right now.

So he leaves. Julian is alone, sad.

Then Miles pops back into frame. He has reconsidered. "Do you want to come?"

They leave the bar together, but not before Julian throws one last dart.

It's a bull's-eye. He scores, and, if you believe my metaphor, it won't be the first time he scores that night.

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thepringlesofblood · 2 months ago

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Ayda Aguefort character sheet!

I went through FHSY transcripts and wrote down every spell she used and figured out what level she was and made a full character sheet for my beautiful wife, Ayda Aguefort.

Actual character sheet and plaintext description below the cut: here's how I figured it out.

Ayda has one (1) 7th level spell slot, and presumably no 8th level spell slots, since she can only cast Teleport once per day. This puts her at either 13th or 14th level, the only difference being that at 14th level, Divination wizards get "Greater Portent", aka an extra Portent roll per long rest. Looking through the transcripts, she never uses more than 2 portent rolls per long rest, so we will assume she is 13th level.

In terms of background, "Sage" makes the most sense. Like, you roll to determine your “specialty” and one of the options is librarian. She’s gotta be a sage. This gives her proficiencies in arcana and history, two languages of choice, and the "Researcher" feat - “When you attempt to learn or recall a piece of lore, if you do not know that information, you often know where and from whom you can obtain it." Extremely in character

Wizards pick 2 proficiencies from Arcana, History, Insight, Investigation, Medicine, and Religion. I picked Investigation & Medicine, since she already gets Arcana and History from "Sage".

Spells are tricky - I included every spell she uses in the series, but wizard spellbooks are weird in that there's kind of no limit to the amount of spells you can know, the limit is just on how many you can prepare. You automatically learn two new spells per level, so I went through and added other spells (in italics) up to the minimum amount of spells she would know, and then made a list of other spells that seem likely for her to know, or that you could switch in if you like. she does fully live in a library so like. who knows what she could know?

Also, there's a spell she uses during the fight aboard the Goldenrod that sounds a lot like Steel Wind Strike, though it isn't 100% confirmed, so I put a question mark next to it. We also don't know what exact spell she was going to use to "flood hell" - I chose Tidal Wave because it seemed most likely, but it could also be a spell of her own invention.

Final product below the cut!

the reason these don't have image IDs is bc I'm putting the IDs after the images bc there's so much text. also sorry the resolution's shit i don't know why that happened it looks fine on my computer. also i don't know how passive wisdom works im sorry its probably just her normal wisdom (11)??

image/page 1:

Character Name: Ayda Aguefort

Class & level: Wizard (Divination) 13

Background: Sage

Player name: bleem

Race: half-phoenix

Alignment: Lawful neutral

Experience points: [blank]

Ability scores Str 18 (+4) Dex 15 (+2) Char 16 (+3) Int 20 (+5) Wis 11 (+0) Con 14 (+2)

AC 14

Proficiency bonus: +5

Inspiration: [blank]

Initiative: +2

Hit point total: 72

Hit dice: 13 d6 Speed 80

Saving throws:

Strength: +4

Dex: +2

Con: +2

Int: +10 (proficient)

Wis: +5 (proficient)

Cha: +3

Skills

Acrobatics: +2

Animal Handling: +0

Arcana: +10 (proficient)

Athletics: +4

Deception: +3

History: +10 (proficient)

Insight: +0

Intimidation: +3

Investigation: +10 (proficient)

Medicine: +5 (proficient)

Nature: +5

Perception: +0

Performance: +3

Persuasion: +3

Religion: +5

Sleight of Hand: +2

Stealth: +2

Survival: +0

Passive Wisdom: [blank]

Languages: Common, Phoenix, + two others of your choice from Sage background (I chose Infernal & Elvish)

Personality Traits: amazing

Ideals: [blank]

Bonds: Fig (paramour), Adaine (best friend), Kristen, Fabian, Riz, Gorgug (transitive best friends), Garthy (parental figure/guardian/adopted child of a previous incarnation of herself), Arthur Aguefort ("father")

Flaws: [blank]

Features & Traits:

Flight (see: Half-Phoenix)

Fly speed = 80

Fire Immunity (see: Half-Phoenix)

Ayda is immune to all fire damage

Portent (Div. lvl 2) - roll 2 d20 at the end of each long rest. You can replace any attack roll, saving throw, or ability check made by you or a creature that you can see with one of these rolls (once per turn)

Expert Divination (Div. lvl 6) - When you cast a divination spell of 2nd level or higher using a spell slot, you regain one expended spell slot. The slot you regain must be of a level lower than the spell you cast and can't be higher than 5th level

Third Eye (Div. lvl 10) - choose one of the following benefits, which lasts until you are incapacitated or you take a short or long rest. You can't use this feature again until you finish a short or long rest.

- Darkvision: You gain darkvision out to a range of 60 feet

- Ethereal Sight: You can see into the Ethereal Plane within 60 feet of you.

- Greater Comprehension: You can read any language

See Invisibility: You can see invisible creatures and objects within 10 feet of you that are within line of sight.

Attacks & Spellcasting

[formatted like] Name, ATK Bonus, Damage/Type

Fireball, +10, 8d6 fire (+1d6 per lvl)

Steel Wind Strike, +10, 6d10 force

Tidal Wave, dex save DC 18, 4d8 bludgeoning & prone if fail

Equipment: so many books

image/page 2:

Spellcasting Class: Wizard (Div.) 13

Spellcasting Ability: INT

Spell Save DC: 18

Spell Attack Bonus: +10

Prepared Spells Limit: 18

(spells in italics are speculative, based on the min # of wizard spells she would have at this level. the rest are canon. feel free to add or subtract as desired!)

Cantrips (lvl 0)

Prestidigitation

Message

Mage Hand

Mending

Control Flames

other potential cantrips: Lightning Lure, Dancing lights, Minor Illusion

Spell Level 1

slots total: 4

Find Familiar

Synod

Protection from Evil and Good

Detect Magic

Shield

Ayda's Comprehend Subtext

Comprehend languages

Identify

Illusory script

Snare

Spell Level 2

slots total: 3

Invisibility

Enlarge/Reduce

Misty Step

Hold Person

Spell Level 3

slots total: 3

Sending (pirate)

Counterspell

Dispel Magic

Clairvoyance

Remove Curse

Fireball

Tongues

Tidal Wave

Spell Level 4

slots total: 3

Greater Invisibility

Banishment

Scry

Arcane Eye

Spell Level 5

slots total: 2

Steel Wind Strike (?)

Legend Lore

Spell Level 6

slots total: 1

True Seeing

Spell Level 7

slots total: 1

Plane Shift

Teleport

Spell Level 8 [blank]

other good potential spells: Unseen servant, Thunder wave, Tasha's hideous laughter, Knock, Locate object, Scorching ray, Shatter, Web, Animate objects, Symbol, Bigby's hand, Storm sphere, Control Wind, Mordekainen's Private Sanctum, Conjure Elemental, Dimension Door

Spell Level 9 [blank]

Flood Hell [level & specifics unknown]

image/page 3:

Character name: Ayda Aguefort

Age: 17 (present), over 300 (total)

Height: 6-7 ft

Weight: [blank]

Eyes: fire

Skin: dark brown

Hair: fire

Character Appearance

“A Resplendent, Beautiful Woman”

Digitigrade ankles

bird feet

golden talons

orange runic tattoos

books in bandoliers like guns

undercut: fire

wings: fire

ear cuff (from Fig)

resembles Arthur Aguefort, her father

Character Backstory

perfect :)

Allies & Organizations

Compass Points Library

The Bad Kids

The Gold Gardens (Garthy)

Fig & The Sig Figs

[a screenshot of Ayda's official junior year character art (standing), taken from her wiki page]

Additional features & traits

“a resplendent beautiful woman who from the knees down has large talons, she also has digitigrade ankles, she has those ankles that kind of kick back like a lot of animal feet do. So from the knees on down become these almost like metallic golden talons. She bears a striking resemblance to Arthur Aguefort the moment you look at her”

“She looks kind of harpy-esque until you realize that she does have arms in addition to wings. So she has these incredibly, and as they spread, deep red wings that as they approach the tips of the feathers sort of change into orange, and by the time they get to yellow, flicker in a little edge of flame on the outside of the wings. She's dressed in sort of like white linen pants with a pirate's sash on them. No guns or anything you can see. Sort of vest, a lot of sort of orange runes tattooed on her arms, you see that she has a short shock of red hair, it seems to be not on the sides or back as much, almost like a plume of red fiery hair that comes off the top of her head. And her eyes have pupils in them but are otherwise clearly roiling balls of flame.”

“You see that she does have two scrolls at the side on her bandolier, and similarly to the guy downstairs, but sort of like she has it on those leather harnesses you would have for guns, but it's two small books strapped under each arm.”

Treasure: [blank]

#dimension 20 #d20 #dnd #dnd 5e #ayda aguefort #fhsy #fhjy #charsheet #character sheet #original post #ayda my beloved #fanart???#fanart #art #bleem #cronchy #if you use this for any sort of public internet-based thing please credit me #i intended this mostly for funsies and home campaigns

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itsbenedict · 2 years ago

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Zero has an edgy pokémon coma theory, and I kind of love it.

Obviously this is contradicted by a bunch of things, and presumably isn't secret lore the devs decided to include. But in the spirit of demonstrating how easy it is to develop a plausible conspiracy theory with sufficiently hyperactive pattern-matching, here's some "evidence" we found:

Apart from Wishiwashi, which might be a separate phenomenon (where do the extras even come from when it does Schooling?), no pokémon which is actually multiple pokémon exceeds a squad of six members. Falinks tops out at six, and Exeggcute has six but one of their heads exploded.

Random trainers around the map tend to only have two or three pokémon in their team. Game balance reasons? No! Only career trainers like the Elite Four or breeders bond with the maximum safe number of pokémon at once!

Gary/Blue has seven distinct pokémon, but only swaps one out when it- judging by its disappearance in the fight in Lavender Tower- literally dies.

The protagonist of gen 1, Red, shows up in the next game... totally nonverbal, hanging out at the top of a mountain, unable to interact except to battle. He's lost his mind to bonding with too many pokémon! The price of power!

Things this theory explains:

Multi-pokemon like Magneton- what makes Magneton a single pokémon, and not two or four Magnemite? Magneton is the configuration of Magnemite that's capable of bonding with a trainer as a single pokémon.

This is the function of pokéballs- they're a prosthesis for the organ pokémon have but humans don't that allows them to form psychic mind-meld links with other pokémon. It's not mind-control or convenient loyalty- you're in each other's heads now. Escape from a pokéball is rejection of the psychic link.

The original four trade evolutions- Gengar, Alakazam, Machamp, Golem- all become more humanlike on evolving. This is a side effect of trading a psychic bond with one human for another one, giving them more humanity to sample.

Things this theory makes way more sinister:

The pokédex quest is way spookier under this paradigm. The box system- if you can't catch more than six, why do boxes exist? Actually, it's weird that they exist at all, isn't it? Boxing the majority of your pokémon is a weird neglectful thing that the games just kind of pretend doesn't happen- trainers rarely if ever acknowledge its existence.

What if most trainers don't HAVE boxes? What if that's something you have, because the evil professor gave you a special pokédex that can access a private computer system belonging to a confederate? For example "Bill's PC" or "Lanette's PC", as opposed to "[playername]'s PC"? You don't normally keep pokémon in indefinite stasis in a computer system- this weird app just exists to allow you to complete the pokédex without your brain exploding!

In Red/Blue/Yellow, Oak gives Blue a pokédex, sure, but he clearly makes no attempt to fill it out. And... really, why would he? He didn't give his grandson the special pokédex that cares about whether you've caught pokémon. He just gave him the normal one! The one that's already filled out! Because of course a filled pokédex already exists! It's yours that records new information only when you catch stuff.

The implied endgame here is... the professor wants to create a pokémon-catcher capable of melding with a legendary pokémon, to interrogate it about the secrets of life.

There are so many levels on which this doesn't even kinda work, but it's extremely fun to occasionally cut loose and take a swim in some cool refreshing Edge.

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prince-liest · 10 months ago

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huge fan of your hazbin fics the way you handle their characterization is amazing!!!! your most recent one about lucifer's dissociation problems has got me rotating his dynamic with alastor in my head so so much.

like the combination of their weird dad-rivalry, their power mismatch, lucifer's dubious grip on the present moment, and alastor's Entire Personality together are already a disaster waiting to happen, but throwing 'alastor is injured and lucifer has decided to heal him against his wishes for charlie's sake' into the mix makes everything even worse. imagine trying to do first aid on a feral cat that hates you but also the cat can talk and is trying to sabotage your attempts to fix your relationship with your daughter and also deep down you're worried the cat might actually be a better father to her than you ever were. i love it.

"Imagine what u wrote except Alastor is a different kind of furry" and yet you are SO COMPLETELY RIGHT ahahaha anon I love this. "Feral cat" perfectly encapsulates the exact image I had in my head while writing that.

Thank you! I love the weird dynamic between Alastor and Lucifer because while I'm sure that Alastor's dad-takeover is just a 'Lucifer's insecurities'-flavored spin on whatever the actual ego-related emotional damage Lucifer's presence deals him is, I cannot imagine putting the two of them in the same residential building and it not resulting in extremely weird and increasingly unhinged one-upmanship. Desperately hoping for more of that next season!

I do think an interesting aspect to the dynamic is the way that Lucifer distinctly sets himself apart from the sinners of hell in canon, so he presumably is a fairly decent person, especially by hell's standards. So while Alastor may or may not be willing to full-on eat Lucifer and spit out the bones if he could have his way without consequence, I like to imagine that Lucifer (especially if he learns that Alastor is injured and vulnerable (assuming Alastor even still is)) is just being normal person levels of petty bitch. Except Lucifer is also the one that's like four weight classes outside of Alastor's reach.

What I'm saying is that Lucifer is SO very much wrangling a murderous, feral cat that hates him.

#ask #personal #my writing #t #radioapple #or not #I just think the folks in that tag might enjoy this lmao

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t3a-tan · 1 year ago

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New Perspectives (1/?)

Word Count: 4,915

AO3 | First | Next | Previous

Size-swap au for Oliver and James because unintentional fearplay is beautiful. Let’s be honest the only one learning anything here is James. Comments and reblogs are what keep me writing, so any help with motivation is appreciated ^^

@entomolog-t you asked me to tag you so here--

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Oliver wasn't sure how it happened exactly. Everything had been normal up until this point: he had harvested some of his tea leaves in the morning, made another jar of jam at noon, made some cornbread over a fire at night. And when he fell asleep in his cozy cotton stuffed bed he woke up—

Well… Not in his burrow, to say the least.

In fact, he woke up sleeping on the dewy grass— which was remarkably odd considering grass was not something he really could lie on top without laying it flat. Not to mention the grass was tiny; small enough to grab fistfuls of it at a time.

The situation became clearer once he looked up more, and despite the fact that the trees were still larger than him, they weren't complete behemoths as usual. Oliver could even see the entrance to his burrow— which was unharmed thankfully.

He was human-sized. But how?

Oliver prided himself on being extremely knowledgeable about the human way of life in comparison to most borrowers who preferred to stay sheltered, but after becoming closer with James he found that there were plenty of unwritten rules of human life too.

James… I should go see him like this. Maybe he knows something? If not, he could always help me find a solution…

Oliver had no interest in remaining human sized— it was just unnatural and too different from what he was used to. He didn't mind it, but it was more like a day's enjoyment kind of thing rather than life long.

On pure instinct he whistled loudly, before spotting a bird swooping down and landing at his feet. She was unbothered, and Oliver tilted his head, crouching down and lightly scratching at the buzzard's head, as she chirped contentedly in response.

"Apologies for calling you, Gail. I don't think you'll be able to carry me like this.." He remarked softly, enamored by just how small the graceful bird had now become. She squawked out in response, something Oliver liked to think was agreement despite knowing logically that the bird could neither understand him nor respond back to him.

Standing back up, he watched as she flew off again before starting his trek to find James's house, trying his best to recall the route.

Along the way he was enamored seeing how humans were interacting from the same level– but he knew better than to approach strangers like this as that was socially unacceptable. Once he had met up with James then it would be more productive to have that kind of conversation and experience with him rather than making random humans uncomfortable.

It took about twenty minutes to arrive, but knocking received no response. Oliver recalled the time James had mentioned keeping a spare key hidden behind a false brick after forgetting his keys at work for the seventh or eighth time, and so once he figured out which brick in the outer wall was fake he found the keys and unlocked the door, taking a few moments to relish in the new experience.

He made sure to lock the door behind him too before realizing that James wouldn't have a clue who just entered and would probably presume an intruder had just broken in.

"James? It's Oliver. I don't know what happened, I need to talk to you though…. Are you in?" Oliver began to explore the house, trying not to be too intrusive or snoop around too much, but he couldn't help but make mental comparisons between everything at the moment. Humans saw the world in such an odd way…he felt huge. Too big for his liking, but he knew that to a human this would be completely normal instead.

Oliver saw that James must be home, considering all of his shoes were still sitting in the shoe rack, and his wallet and keys were sitting on the shelf near the front door. Humans didn't generally leave without those essentials… So then why wasn't James responding? Was he potentially injured??

At that thought Oliver hurried up the stairs, this time not taking any time to make observations on his surroundings and instead searching specifically for an unconscious human… and he found nothing.

Peculiar. The windows are locked and shut, so where has he gone…? Did someone take him? There's no signs of a struggle, so that can't be it. Oliver was growing admittedly worried about the circumstances here. That was when he saw a shadow in the corner of his eye.

It disappeared quickly, but Oliver's attention had already focused onto it— expecting to see a house spider or something of the sort which he was very interested in inspecting close up now that they were very much harmless… but what he found instead was utterly perplexing.

"James..?"

Oliver dropped down to a crouch, eyebrows raised in surprise and eyes locked onto the shadow on the floor…. Because right there was not a shadow at all: instead he saw his friend, who looked about as pale as a ghost, back pressed into the corner of the room and staring up at Oliver with heaving breaths.

Oliver wasn't sure how it happened exactly, or what he did to inspire such terror in James's eyes, but he quickly set about fixing it.

"James? It's alright, James, just breathe... I'll do it with you, okay? In for four….hold for four….out for four…." He kept his tone low and soft, trying to coax the older man out of his fear-stricken state. Oliver stayed completely still, breathing in time with his instructions until James began following along, gasping slightly as he tried to regain control of his breathing, but soon enough he was taking deep breaths and leaving his fight or flight state.

Oliver waited, staring down at him with a concerned but curious gaze, waiting for James to say something or to explain what had him so frightened in the first place… but instead all he got was silence. Oliver's expression faltered, eyebrows furrowing slightly, leaning down a little closer now only radiating concern over his friend's plight.

"Keep breathing, it's okay… Are you struggling to find words at the moment? Do you need water?" He asked, keeping his voice gentle to avoid causing any other outbursts. He relaxed a bit when James managed to nod, and so Oliver pushed himself up to a stand, still looking down at the now borrower-sized human. "I'll go fetch some— woah… hm."

Oliver went completely still again as he saw the way James had flinched and shielded himself just as Oliver stood up. It took the human-sized borrower a few moments to put it together, but once he did he quickly lowered himself to the ground again.

"James... Do you think I'm going to hurt you..?" He asked, not offended in the slightest but saddened by the idea. Oliver couldn't imagine hurting an innocent person ever… and by the way James was reacting, it was probably more than just 'hurt' he was afraid of.

Instead of receiving a response though James just stayed curled up and trembling, so small and vulnerable. From Oliver's perspective, he was smaller than an ant would usually be from borrower size, which was surreal in and of itself. But he wasn't an oddity to be marveled at…he was a person in need of reassurance.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you. I should have considered my actions with a bit more grace… But there's no need for you to be afraid. I'm your friend, I wouldn't dream of laying a finger on you without your permission, especially not with the intent to harm." He assured softly, keeping his hands to himself as promised.

James held his head in his hands for a few more moments, anxiously dragging his fingers through his hair as he often did when he was stressed about something. Oliver had picked up on it when he would stay at James's house for a prolonged time and end up walking in on phone calls with his ex wife. But it was never this bad…James had always maintained some control of his emotional state. Oliver wasn't used to seeing him this way.

He tilted his head, leaning down a bit more whilst keeping his hands on his knees, non-threateningly.

"I'm not upset at you for your reaction at all. You have experienced quite a dramatic shift, so it's only natural that stress comes along with that. I understand that you are reacting on instinct, not logic, so there is no need to feel anxious that I may feel hurt by your fear." Oliver clarified, rambling as he often did when he wasn't fully certain of the most succinct way to put it; he would rather over-explain than miscommunicate.

James took a few moments before he nodded slowly, though he kept his gaze averted for now. Still, it was progress, so Oliver couldn't help but perk up slightly.

"I imagine it would be quite shocking to go from human height to borrower height, isn't it..?" He lowered his voice to a whisper, trying to coax a verbal answer from the man in order to test the waters. He waited patiently, observing his body language.

"Y-yeah….you can— you can say that again, mate..." James finally managed to stammer out a response, his gaze hesitantly shifting in order to focus on Oliver. Oliver offered a reassuring smile in turn.

James's eyes narrowed slightly, and although he was still quite shaken up he pointed an accusatory finger up at Oliver, causing the enlarged borrower's eyebrows to raise in withdrawn surprise.

"H-how in the hell do you keep it together..? Especially when we first met… I.. I…" He trailed off, expression wracked with guilt of his past callous treatment of Oliver. "...how..?"

Oliver hummed, unsure of how exactly to respond at first. It was a question even he himself didn't really know the answer to. He had always been quite emotionless, even more so when he was younger…and he simply didn't feel fear. Not in the same way— Oliver was extremely logical and curious, so he found that when he saw new things he would always be more fascinated than terrified.

The first time he saw a human he had been only 8 years old, collecting water from the creek, when he saw a gigantic hulking beast approach the water on the other side. He had at first moved to take shelter as he was taught to when facing predators, but stopped when he noticed that the so-called beast was a woman. A woman 30 or so times his size dressed in odd clothing, but a woman nonetheless.

Oliver watched after the woman. Despite being so close and in the open he was unafraid and oh so intrigued— he had never seen someone outside of his family before…not until now. He hadn't realized others were so big, thinking perhaps that she was simply very old and had never stopped growing like his parents had. He wondered if she had just moved nearby…he wondered how big her family's burrow would have to be.

"I'm not sure how. I don't understand the level of fear everyone else experiences because I don't… but I imagine I lack a majority of instincts. Most borrowers I know would likely pass out in the presence of a human… Especially when being handled by one." Oliver responded after some thought before swiftly adding, "and I'm not going to be handling you in such a rough manner, if that's something you're worried about."

"Oliver, I don't— I don't think you'd do that at all…" James was quick to interject, finally looking up and meeting Oliver's green eyes with his own brown ones, but Oliver could see that there was some doubt there. Nothing personal, clearly, but it was still there. He couldn't help his frown.

"I've not been scary a single day in my life, I don't think. It's odd. It's…uncomfortable." Oliver sighed. "Whatever has happened to us, I hope it reverses back soon. As intrigued as I am about viewing things from a human perspective, I would rather not scare you in the process."

He glanced around, and for the first time James saw Oliver genuinely unsure of what to do. Vulnerable, ironically enough, considering he was currently almost 500 times the size of what James was used to seeing him as. James tried his best to take a deep breath and calm his heart again, though he was still weak in the knees from the instinctive fear that came with it.

"We're friends, Oliver. I know you won't do anything to me… I just…my head keeps telling me to run— t-to get away as fast as possible…but my heart knows you are safe… okay? So don't feel bad, mate…" He addressed Oliver directly this time rather than just thinking his paranoid thoughts aloud. Oliver blinked, then stared for a few moments, eyes narrowing in confusion and distaste…his judging face. What had James managed to do wrong now?

"...your heart doesn't know anything, it's an organ responsible for pumping blood around the body…" The borrower murmured, genuinely confused by that description. James couldn't help but facepalm. That was what Oliver was taking away from what he had said? Oh well, it was embarrassing the first time, he's not going to repeat himself again…

"You are a bloody pain in my ass, you know that?" James grumbled in return, as Oliver blinked and now only looked apologetic, leaning in closer.

"Oh, I'm sorry… I didn't think I had touched you before, but I'm sorry if I hurt you." He apologized, concern in his gaze. James was tempted to square him in the nose— but he also knew that Oliver wasn't ridiculing him whatsoever, and simply didn't understand a lot of the idioms that humans used all the time.

"That's it. You've officially killed me." James sighed in exasperation, dragging a hand down his face. Despite his fed-up expression though, he saw it as endearing because Oliver was so genuine and so…him, 100% all the time. The smile appeared on his face and he couldn't help it. The absurdity of this situation was starting to make him crack.

Oliver's brows pinched together, with one subtly raised.

"Well now I know that's just spurious." He kept still, only slightly cocking his head as his observative gaze bored down upon James. The officer wouldn't even bother asking what the hell 'spurious' meant. "Does your joking mean you're more comfortable now? Because I suggest a lift off of the floor may help things look a bit less daunting from your perspective."

James hesitated, glancing towards Oliver's hands and shrinking back against the wall. The idea of fingers larger than his entire body reaching for him like the mouth of some beast was terrifying…but then he looked at Oliver's face, reminding himself of who those hands were attached to.

Since they had met, Oliver had been patient and gentle. He had taught James just as much as James had taught him back— and they were friends. Officially.

Just as he would never hurt Oliver even when it would have been so easy to do so, he knew Oliver was the same. If anything, the safest place for him to be at all at this size was probably in Oliver's hands. So despite his instincts screaming no, James nodded yes.

Oliver's expression softened again, moving slowly as he reached his hand forward, lowering it onto the floor in front of James so he could climb on by himself. He was quiet, allowing James to think, and giving him time to back out again if he wanted to— a yes could be withdrawn at any time, after all.

Eventually though, James stepped away from the wall and slowly climbed into Oliver's open palm. He marveled at the feeling. Oliver had very rough and worn skin— he worked with his hands quite often obviously, but they weren't uncomfortable by any means either. Not to mention that they were warm…

James looked down at his own minuscule hand as he brushed it over the creases of Oliver's palm, mouth agape. It was like he was standing on top of an alien— the floor beneath him pulsating with the calm beating of the now-giant borrower's heart. He couldn't imagine this being normal for anyone… He wondered how Oliver was able to be so casual around him.

Oliver was slow and careful with his movements as he stood up, keeping his hand stable and moving at such a pace that it wouldn't disturb James too much. Once he had stood up he turned and began to very gently make his way down the stairs, before entering the kitchen. He hummed, recalling how exactly James made his coffee and getting out the doll mug that the officer had bought a while back to make drinking easier for Oliver.

He lowered his hand again, but kept it still as he got to work on making the coffee, allowing James to stay on his hand since it was clear that the human was intrigued by it. Oliver had to admit that he was quite interested in how it felt to hold someone so tiny too, though he never moved his fingers to close in on James. He wouldn't do anything more without explicit permission, regardless of his curiosity.

Eventually the coffee was done, and Oliver very carefully managed to tip just a few drops into the tiny mug.

"Drink your coffee. I'll make some crumpets for us to eat…" He spoke, prompting James to finally give Oliver his hand back as he stepped off. Oliver smiled again, seeing that his friend was a bit embarrassed by his fascination— he didn't mind in the slightest. The enjoyment of discovery should be encouraged, not mocked.

Oliver got out two crumpets and placed them in the toaster before getting the butter from the fridge and setting it out to allow it to soften. He then got out a plate, now just waiting for the crumpets to toast.

With that sorted he looked down at James again, inspecting him lightly as the man dipped at his coffee, in a much more relaxed state than he had been before. Oliver was relieved. He hadn't meant to cause any emotional distress in the first place, and he was thankful that James was no longer suffering from such paralyzing fear in his presence. Friends should not have to fear friends.

"Did I make it how you usually do? I've not made coffee before, I'm afraid." Oliver asked, his tone still soft and non-threatening even though James had already calmed down. The shrunken human hummed in acknowledgement of his question, taking another sip before answering.

"It's actually alright, believe it or not. I'm surprised you managed it, if it's your first time. Good on you." The man responded, managing a smile up in Oliver's direction. He had a very different way of smiling than Oliver: whereas the borrower's smile was gentle and calm, his was much more light and playful. Their distinct personalities on display.

Oliver slowly leaned down, resting his elbow on the countertop and then his cheek in his hand as he gazed down at the human. He inspected the man for a few moments, before looking elsewhere.

"I'd like to go to a library. Perhaps I can find some new books to record." Voice contemplative, he hummed to himself as if considering the idea.

Oliver wanted to go to a library, but he couldn't exactly leave James here to fend for himself as the human didn't have the necessary skills or tools to get around by himself. He could bring James along, but it may be overwhelming for the man to be in an area with other comparatively giant people…not to mention he'd have to remain hidden the entire time, and Oliver had learned that James got bored quite easily.

James's nose wrinkled in distaste at the idea.

"Didn't you say you grew up in a library? Why do you need to record so many books, anyway? Is that your idea of fun..?" He wasn't necessarily judging, but he never understood why Oliver was so determined and able to focus on such tedious things like copying down books, or making maps. It was admirable, definitely, but also extremely boring-sounding.

"I may have grown up in a library, but I didn't have the necessary supplies to write down what I read, nor did I have many opportunities to read as it was usually quite dark when the opportunity did arise." Oliver began, not taking any offense and instead over-explaining his answers, not recognizing that James meant it all as more rhetorical.

"Borrowers do not have books, and many borrowers are not able to read either. If there were more books accessible to our kind, that could change…and there would be much more information available as a whole about our world, since very few borrowers can go out and explore it for themselves. Currently my library is in development, but I hope that when my colony is established it will be in full use by borrowers living in it." Oliver continued.

"And yes. It is enjoyable to me. I get to learn, and I know that what I record will become valuable to others of my kind later on." He finished, before raising an eyebrow at James. "You humans may see that as odd, but there was a time in your history where things were very much the same for your kind. Now you're more focused on getting an education and getting a good job— borrowers haven't even reached the education stage yet."

James could tell thanks to many experiences of Oliver lecturing him about the differences between their kinds that the borrower wasn't putting him down for not understanding. He'd be a good teacher, James couldn't help but think… The way Oliver had mastered explaining things without making the other person feel stupid or put on the spot was impressive, to say the least.

"What's stopping you then?" James asked, taking another sip of his coffee. Oliver watched him silently for a few moments before releasing a sigh that rustled through the shrunken human's hair.

"I don't want to risk overwhelming you in such an environment. And I don't want to leave you on your own in this state either. You do not have any of the skills necessary for survival as a borrower, and I'd rather not risk your safety to satiate my own curiosity." He explained, trying his best to let James down gently. He didn't mean to call the human effectively useless at this height…but he kind of was. It didn't change how Oliver saw James, but it changed the way Oliver considered the human's new needs.

Before, James didn't need Oliver's help at all other than emotionally, but now he was practically dependent on physical aid. Oliver didn't mind in the slightest, but he had come to learn that James was quite a prideful person— not to a fault, but enough that he was understandably frustrated by his lack of autonomy. Oliver would try his best to keep his actions in consideration of that: he felt fine regardless, but James would probably appreciate having control as much as possible right now.

The crumpets were finally done so Oliver began to spread them.

"What? It can't be that hard, mate. I see you do it all the time." James remarked with a frown. He probably didn't think much of Oliver's feats because to borrowers they weren't feats at all, but at a human scale borrowers were definitely performing incredible feats of strength, agility, and coordination on a regular basis. It was understandable that James couldn't see it like that because the scale was so different. In this case, experiencing the difficulty himself would be the only way he'd understand what Oliver meant.

Oliver hummed, finishing spreading the crumpets before setting the butter knife down and pointing over the edge of the counter

"Try climbing down the counter. Borrowers are capable of climbing up and down this height without tools by the age of about 11." He instructed, not directly communicating that James could choose to or not because he believed it was for the best that James should make the attempt. Still though, if James chose not to, Oliver wouldn't force or pressure him into it at all.

James walked over to the edge, not thinking much of the idea until he realized just how massive of a drop it was. He couldn't believe that Oliver did this so often… he made it look so easy. But James wanted to try anyway, if only to prove himself as capable— he didn't want to be a burden to Oliver by proxy of being this height.

"Just watch me." He snarked, before turning and dangling himself off of the edge, trying his best to keep his trembling contained as the effort it took even to do just that was causing his muscles to ache. Oliver raised an eyebrow, keeping an eye on James for any signs of him losing his grip or slipping so he would be able to catch him in time. It was inevitable. If the man was already shaking at the top, he wouldn't make it down before his muscles were completely worn out.

"Don't injure yourself by pushing too much." Oliver reminded gently, not realizing that those words only had the opposite effect. James was more determined than ever to make it all the way down no matter what, and so he began the climb.

Embarrassingly, he only made it a few inches before losing his grip and falling— promptly getting caught into Oliver's hand and lifted back up to the top of the counter. Oliver wasn't smug about this fact at all. He didn't like seeing his friend's hurt pride, but he didn't want him to overestimate his abilities and injure himself as a result.

James groaned, holding his arm and gritting his teeth in pain from the ache in his sore muscles. He definitely pushed too hard… which was even more upsetting knowing that he hadn't even made it a quarter of the way down. Oliver's expression became concerned, bringing his hand up closer to his face and inspecting the human closely to make sure he hadn't seriously injured himself.

"Are you alright..? Do you want some ice? Perhaps I could run you a bath..?" Oliver spoke, not fretting so much as simply offering assistance. James shook his head, slightly flustered at how poorly his attempt had gone.

"Jesus, Oliver… I can't believe you do that all the time. You said 11 year olds can do that??" James brushed past Oliver's concern for the moment. Oliver always fell for trying to answer every question and further explain certain topics.

"Well, although there are currently no scientific studies I'm aware of on the matter, it is not a stretch to conclude that we have slightly different biology. Borrowers have greater stamina than humans, a lower metabolic rate, and I presume that our muscles are more focused on climbing and carrying. Of course though, this could be a byproduct of our environment rather than a significant biological difference… either way, to borrowers, this is very normal, but to humans at our scale it's practically impossible." He rambled.

James listened with interest, but was more so relieved that Oliver was no longer fretting over him. Oliver moved the plate of crumpets to be in between him and James before starting to eat the breakfast. He made sure to chew and swallow, incredibly intrigued by how different the textures of the food felt at this size, before talking again.

"Anyway, as I stated before, you don't have the necessary skills for survival as a borrower, so I would rather not leave you vulnerable. I don't think you're incapable of taking care of yourself…but the world is very large. Even trained borrowers get caught up in it. As you know…"

James knew that Oliver was referring to his own family, and he winced as he remembered the amount of loss that his friend had endured. He forgot, sometimes, because Oliver rarely ever mentioned his family or dwelled on his emotions… but it was a stark reminder. As much as James didn't like having to depend on others, he recognized that Oliver only wanted to prevent him from having a similar fate.

"Okay, I get it. It's fine, we'll…figure something out." He relented, deciding to forgo some of his autonomy for the sake of alleviating Oliver's concerns. He knew that the man wouldn't take advantage of that.

In all of the time that James had known him, which to be fair it wasn't that long, Oliver was always respectful, polite, compassionate, and receptive. He may take things too literally at times, and he may ramble on and on about things that James couldn't even begin to understand— but he was a good friend. James trusted him a lot…even more so now: when it became clear that Oliver didn't just tolerate him and wasn't only polite because of the height difference.

This situation was freaky as all hell, but it confirmed that Oliver was a genuinely good and trustworthy man. James was thankful to be friends with someone like that…

Suddenly, James's phone could be heard ringing upstairs.

#g/t #g/t au #g/t artist #g/t author #original g/t #g/t writing #g/t community #giant/tiny #giant/tiny writing #borrowers #borrower au #ocs #oc story #archive of our own #g/t fluff #g/t angst #g/t writer #g/t fearplay #size swap

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