#Rip Oliver

[unchartedstarsocs]

What do you mean I haven't posted this already-

Anyways, here's a cover I did for a minicomic I'm making!

The comic is intended to be a campfire story in my (WIP) comic, The Close Encounter Of Cabin Seven. In the story, the main character, Oliver, meets a girl (currently unnamed) and it does not end well for him. Fun fact: he's holding a love letter in the cover.

Here's the sketch:

[marxstradamus]

Some cursed portapotty lore

[ringthedamnbell]

Job Security: Looking at the So Called WWF "Jobbers" of the 1980's

Job Security: Looking at the So Called WWF "Jobbers" of the 1980's

Brian Damage I started watching pro wrestling in the early 1980’s and grew accustomed to seeing top wrestlers defeat what looked like average guys off the street in what are known as “squash matches.” Every week a “jobber” or better yet…enhancement talent…were used to make the stars getting a push look like a million bucks. Most of the time, that is exactly what they did. As I got older, my…

[thisishowgalaxiescollide]

Melt the ice - Chapter 1 - theaa - Men's Hockey RPF [Archive of Our Own]

Summary:

So, like—was he just not supposed to notice, or—?

[when-the-muse-is-over]

So in other words I’d die just being in Alexander’s presence because of how good he smells.

The Rare Bookseller Part 45: Oliver's Ballet

Prev > Masterlist

September 1925

TW: mind control, captivity

Oliver was trying to keep his hands from shaking as he walked up the stairs to the forbidden third floor.

It was the evening of the ballet, and his master had given him his instructions the previous night. He was to wake up before sunset, bathe, don the expertly tailored shirt and pants that had been provided to him, make coffee, and then head to Alexander's room to attend on him. Oliver wasn't entirely sure what that meant, and his nervousness over dispatching his duties warred with his nervousness about being an embarrassment at a fancy performance. He'd slept better the past two days, owning to Katherine's encouragement and his master's feeding, but now he couldn't help being slightly on edge.

Find happiness wherever you can...

He would do his best to follow her advice and enjoy himself tonight. It certainly wasn't every day he got to witness a ballet.

The oil lamp he was holding in his other hand sputtered and flickered as he climbed the stairs and apprehensively knocked on the dark wooden door that guarded his master's private sanctum. The door creaked open, revealing a very tired looking vampire in a fluffy robe. "Come in, Oliver, come in. Ah, you brought coffee. Excellent."

Oliver handed off the mug as he stepped over the threshold into the room, unable to resist sweeping his lamp around to get a better look, as it was currently only lit by a couple of candles.

Alexander's bedroom was furnished much like Oliver's, but larger, and far more cluttered. The window was covered with shutters, and a thick velvet curtain surrounded the enormous bed. The bookshelves were crammed full of books interspersed with rolled scrolls, stacks of papers, and seemingly random trinkets, a far cry from the orderly shelves in the library. The tables and nightstands were covered in stacks of books and hardened candle wax, and there was laundry strewn about the hardwood floor. The bed was unmade and the sheets and blankets were in a tangle, sliding off halfway, with a rubber water bottle lying nearby. The place smelled of bookbindings and floral soap and brine.

His master didn't seem remotely self-conscious about this state of affairs, taking the coffee, picking his way deftly through the mess, and sitting on the side of his bed. "It looks as if the shirt and pants fit without much need for additional tailoring. That's good," he said, looking Oliver up and down through half-closed eyes. "I suppose I ought to get dressed myself, and then you can assist me."

"Yes, sir." He was about to ask what exactly he would be assisting with, but as Alexander shed his robe and reached for his shirt, Oliver's attention was piqued by a strange symbol on his chest. A scar, but an oddly round one, with a faded symbol in the center.

"That doesn't concern you," said Alexander sharply, noticing Oliver's gaze. 

"Sorry, sir," said Oliver, making a point to look away as his master finished dressing.

He took another long look at Oliver as he buttoned all but the top button of his shirt. "...It's no matter. Come with me."

Oliver followed Alexander to a door in the back corner of the room, tripping over a pair of shoes obscured by an old coat on the way. The door opened to an absurdly spacious and opulent bathroom, featuring a marble floor, a porcelain bathtub large enough to fit half a baseball team, and expensive plush bath towels littering the floor in heaps. The smell of floral soap was even stronger here, and the remnants of steam clung to Oliver's glasses, the room oppressively warm.

Alexander sat down in front of a counter with a sink and a mirror, and Oliver's eyes went wide at the odd effect of his master having no reflection. He could see himself perfectly, as though Alexander wasn't even there.

"This is what I need your help with, Oliver. Making my hair look presentable, because I'm not able to do so myself."

That certainly explained why he was so disheveled normally -- although, given the state of his very visible room, it wasn't necessarily the full explanation. "What would you like me to do, sir?"

He gestured to a glass containing combs, long scissors, and a few other odd tools. "Whatever you think is fit. It's not as though I'm going to be able to see it to criticize. I only wish to look neat and presentable."

Oliver had really never paid too much attention to his own appearance, but he had always tried to look neat for customers, so he hoped he would be able to do the job. "Very well, sir," he said, apprehensively picking up a comb and running it through his master's hair.

His hair was soft, surprisingly so, and the scent of floral soap grew even stronger, with undertones of woodsmoke and bookbinding glue and something unidentifiable, a scent which he was quickly learning to associate with his master. Alexander closed his eyes, a faint smile on his face, seemingly enjoying the treatment. 

He must be so lonely. Oliver felt it so keenly the prior night when his master had cornered him in the kitchen and drank deep of his blood. As his master's thoughts pooled into his own, he was overwhelmed with loneliness, solitude, the desire for a warm and caring touch. Oliver couldn't help but work his hands into his master's hair on the pretense of styling it, enjoying the small, contented noise that escaped from his lips.

His master was handsome, wasn't he? Was there any harm in acknowledging that? It wasn't as if he had feelings for the vampire who had purchased him. He was simply accepting a truth, one that he had known even when Alexander was simply a prized customer.

"What is this ballet about, sir?" said Oliver, mostly to distract himself from this train of thought.

"It's an avant garde ballet, very controversial. It was actually choreographed and costumed by a famous Russian vampire who has worked in theater from well before I was born. This production has been mounted by a human company, though. It's a dance I'd been wishing to see for some time." Alexander's gaze traveled to Oliver's reflection in the mirror. "I have you to thank for encouraging me to leave the house more often, otherwise I might have missed this opportunity, instead electing to spend the evening wallowing in the manor's dust."

Oliver's breath hitched at his master's subtle smile. "I'm glad of it, sir."

----

Even though his tuxedo fit perfectly -- thanks to the detailed measurements Miss Florence had taken at the auction house -- Oliver still felt uncomfortable among the crowd dressed to the nines at the theater. He was dazzled by the gilded carvings on the walls, leading to a ceiling decorated with an elaborate fresco, and nearly crashed into a woman in a ball gown as he took in the sights.

His master, on the other hand, glided through the crowd effortlessly, paying them no mind. As Oliver followed, he could feel a sense of flowing waves, Alexander's vampiric aura pushing away everyone but Oliver, who felt compelled to follow his footsteps. It was just as well that his master was guiding him, lest he find himself lost.

Soon enough, they had both settled in a luxurious balcony box for two, and Oliver was shocked to see an actual look of excitement on Alexander's sleepy face.

"I simply can't wait to see the costumes -- I've heard they're magnificent. And of course, Yelena Pavlova is said to be a master of the dance. They say her striking and dramatic movements place her a cut above the prima ballerinas who only know how to flit prettily about," said Alexander, with enthusiasm. "I do hope you enjoy it."

"I think I will, sir," said Oliver. At the very least, he was sure he could enjoy it vicariously through his master.

The lights dimmed, the dance began, and Oliver soon found his attention riveted to the stage. It truly was an avant-garde sort of ballet, and the costumes were mind-bending. There were dancers wearing disturbingly realistic animal heads, costumes adorned with colored glass that glittered like jewels, massive peacock feather headdresses, ropes of pearls entangling their bodies, and a few in iron chains and shackles. The intricate pattern of their dance was ritualistic, as though Oliver were watching something forbidden that he couldn't take his eyes from.

Among them all, the prima ballerina Alexander had mentioned performed a stunning routine, clad in an outfit that seemed mostly comprised of ribbons in every color of the rainbow. She was striking pose after pose, being lifted and passed among the dancers, twirling faster than Oliver knew was possible. She was endlessly fascinating to watch.

The dance was so fascinating, in fact, that Oliver had forgotten all about his master's reactions. He glanced over, expecting that Alexander was enjoying himself as much as he was, and was shocked to see a look of stress on his master's face.

"Master, what's wrong?" he whispered.

"Nothing. Just watch the dance," he said, in a voice almost too low to hear, and his eyes flicked across the balcony to a different box.

Oliver couldn't help but look, to see what had his master so concerned. The box across the way had only one occupant, an older gentleman in an impeccably styled black suit. His full focus was on the ballet, his gaze holding a kind of judgmental intensity that made Oliver think he must be a professional critic.

Was this man troubling Alexander? It didn't seem like it could be. Perhaps he was worried about something else, and this man just happened to be in his line of sight as he glanced about nervously.

Could he be...?

Oliver tried to put it out of his head, but now he couldn't help but notice every time Alexander's gaze wandered from the stage. The moment intermission was announced, his master turned to him.

"Do you need to stretch your legs? Use the restroom?" his master asked. Before Oliver could even answer, he continued, "Very well, let's leave the box for a moment." He grasped Oliver's arm and practically dragged him from the box. Oliver found himself gently shoved into a secluded nook, away from the other patrons milling about the theater.

"Oliver, listen very carefully," said Alexander, his voice soft but deathly serious. "My sire is attending this performance."

Even though Oliver had been suspecting this the moment he'd seen the strange man, he still felt a spike of panic stab his heart at the confirmation. "Your sire is here?"

"I should have known he'd have interest in this ballet. But he's been so reclusive lately..." Alexander sighed. "But listen. You must follow my instructions exactly. If you do, it's unlikely you'll be harmed."

"I... I understand, master." Oliver's mouth felt dry.

"You must be quiet and obedient. Follow my lead, do not speak unless spoken to, and then, speak with the utmost respect. But you must be honest, even if you think the truth is dangerous. Never lie. He will know. And finally..."

"Finally what, sir?"

"If he takes control of your body, do not resist it."

"Takes control of my body, sir?" Just as Katherine had warned him.

"Do not resist it even slightly. If he seizes control, relax your body and mind and do not fight it. Believe me -- any struggle will only make your lot worse."

He blinked back frightened tears. "I can try, master."

"Good." Alexander put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "While I don't pretend to understand my sire's mind, I do believe no harm will come to you tonight."

"I hope not, master."

"Would you allow me to put your mind at ease so you can enjoy the rest of the performance?"

Oliver couldn't agree fast enough. "Yes, please, sir."

His master leaned over and hummed in his ear, and Oliver could feel his nerves calming, his fears growing foggy and distant.

Prev > Masterlist

Next week, Oliver finally gets to meet his master's sire.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme @strawbearydreams

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

#The Same Picture

[pil0ttay]

from my instagram lol at a goodwill

i would have included dead poets society but i haven’t watched it yet

[newtkelly]

honestly i just rlly wanted to draw his boils

[butchdykenormallen]

hello fanartist. in front of you is a character who is canonically fat, and mentioned to be fat in the media. you have 30 seconds to explain to me why you've drawn them skinny and box shaped without saying "its my style," "i don't know how to draw fat people," or "i didn't know they were fat" before i push you onto the landmine behind you. the timer starts now.

[kriskukko]

rp related stuff from last year-- the lad is going thru it bg monster design © romain pommier

[supercalime]

is he, you know…

cursed by a cowboy mummy?

[20001541]

random headcanon I have about afo and yoichi:

He's a voracious eater. He's the tallest non heteromorph character in the entire series. Being extremely tall would make you burn through a lot of calories faster so he has to eat a lot in order to compensate for that. He could eat 7 plates of food for dinner in one sitting. He's just a big boy who can eat a lot. He likes to snack throughout the day.

Yoichi is the opposite he gets nauseous easily while eating so he eats slow and little at a time. He doesn't eat things that have strong flavors otherwise he starts gagging. He rarely if ever finishes his plate. AFO always volunteers to finish off what Yoichi doesn't eat. He enjoys plain food that's easy to chew and digest. He also deals with bad stomach cramps after every meal.

[tabl3]

one of the few in character moments

[housewifebuck]

[isatoru]

if your f/o is oliver aiku and he finds your little anime porn blog it's so over for you

[stranger-fucking-danger]