#oliver's purgatory

[apickleago]

cw: Oliver Aiku

—

You've always tailed Oliver since you were both young. Impressed by his grit, you helped managed his team and chased after him when he went pro like a good pet to its master.

But you're the good kid. The better half. You clean up after his bullshit and have enough time to chastise him on his daily routine. On paper you're his assistant. Other than that, he's not sure anymore.

You believe in him. In his strength. On his skill. In his heart. No matter how many people walk out of his apartment crying. No matter how incapable he is of believing in himself some days. You believe in him because he's your best friend.

In turn, he trusts you with everything. To set things right for him and to always be there for him, lurking in his shadow. Poised and ready to bite. He just needs to say the word.

And you discipline him when it matters. You put him in his place. You tut and he heels. You say jump and he asks you how high.

He lets you. He lets you. He lets you. And he takes the scraps he can get of you. Glimpses of your life outside of his bubble, like the laughter you rarely share with him and bruises you don't show. He wants to please you so badly it ruins him. It tears him apart. From skin to sinew to marrow.

He wants to nip at you, to lick and pick at your bones. He's good enough, isn't he? He's been a good boy, right?

Sure, they called you Aiku's dog.

But really, who's holding the leash?

[54prowl]

akin to the effect of showing a treacherous ankle to a poor victorian bachelor x

[cochidinh]

I think my tastes have something in common

[zeb-z]

holy shit that voice call. I don’t think bbh can gaslight gatekeep girlboss his way outta this one

[sweetie-peaches]

Imagine like

Your Tubbo, currently in purgatory leading and managing a team that does not want to listen at 19 years old, you’re fearing for your life everyday. Enduring bloody battles to save the lives of your friends children, you’ve killed people you love, you’ll be forced to kill again, the blood on your hands is drowning you even if again and again your try to climb out using a thorny olive branch

You get a letter from your long lost best friend that you might’ve accidentally married at one point as a bit, You open it, expecting him to hear about you situation and offer comfort, or support.

What you find, An extremely detailed self insert fanfiction where you call him baby girl and fall deeply in love with each other, there’s also love triangle for some reason?

You remember your friend is Tommyinnit

[redflagshipwriter]

Young lovers are shot by Cupid (he is now wanted for questioning)

“Suspicious?” Todd paused mid-pull on his smoothie. He lifted his face, surveyed the mall, and frowned slightly. “Who?”

Damian tried to physically point Todd's face at the incredibly suspicious man lugging an unconcealed weapon in public. “How did you fail to see him?” Damian demanded. The man was very nearly flouting public decency laws and wearing extremely unseasonable sandals.

“Whoa, squirt.” Todd tried to ruffle his hair. “What are you talking about?”

“Cease!” Damian dodged with a scowl. “How could you fail to notice such a person? Open your eyes and look!”

Todd sighed. “Who are you talking about?”

Damian pointed.

Todd's eyes glanced over the man without any recognition.

But the man looked over to make eye contact. His eyes widened. He looked delighted.

“Brat?”

Damian watched with narrowed eyes as the strange man gave him a mischievous smile, pressed a finger to his lips, and gestured for secrecy. Then he took the bow and arrow off his back, pointed in the crowd, and fired in one smooth motion.

The arrow hit a woman in the back, in the center of her chest. It flashed out of sight in the same instant.

Damian shouted and stood straight up. Food flew as he jarred the table. Heads turned to look at him.

The woman was one of them.

He stood, processing. There was no blood on her body at all. She was unwounded. He had watched the suspect fire an arrow in public into a woman's heart and she was unharmed.

When he did nothing, people turned back to their food. He stared in disbelief. The woman who had been hit leaned into her friend and said something close to their ear.

No one looked at the archer. The arrow- the arrow that he had fired was back in his hand. How?

He nodded at Damian and then he disappeared.

Damian blinked.

Clearly, this villain was supernatural or magical. What had been his purpose? Damian would have to track that woman down and see if anything unusual happened to her. As he watched, she laced her fingers together with her friend and walked away, laughing. His lips curled. Foolish. She had no concept of the danger she was in!

“The hell is up with you?” Todd demanded, sounding unnerved. “Hey!” He tapped the table rapidly with a hand.

Reluctantly, Damian sat. His brain was churning.

“Are you-”

“I'm fine,” Damian cut Todd off. He crossed his arms, as if to protect his own heart. “I was…. Mistaken.”

Todd leaned back. “If you say so,” he said, dubious.

He was missing something. He had to do research. As soon as Todd released him from the purgatory of shopping for a birthday present for Father, he went to the batcave and started researching villains who used a bow and arrow.

Unsatisfactory. He widened his search. Hits were few and easily discarded. “It was not Oliver Queen,” he muttered to the monitor with a sneer. It kept pinging helpfully that Queen was the most famous archer at the moment. “The man I saw escaped from a different off-Broadway musical than Queen.”

He needed to change his approach. He attempted to access the Mall's security footage.

…It was on a closed connection. Damian felt his lips thin.

Very well. Robin would go retrieve the footage, locate the victim, and see if the attacker appeared on camera.

[v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e]

Louis + his ways of saying "I love you" to Lestat

"Is this an offer, Louis? Have you come back to me, as lovers say?" His eyes darkened and he looked away from me. "I'm not mocking you, Louis," I said. "You've come back to me, Lestat," he said evenly, looking at me again. "When I heard the first whispers of you at Dracula's Daughter, I felt something that I thought was gone forever --" He paused. - The Vampire Lestat

There was so much I wanted to say to him, to ask him. Yet I couldn’t find the words really, or a way to begin. He had always had so many questions; and now he had his answers, more answers perhaps than he could ever have wanted; and what had this done to his soul? Stupidly I stared at him. How perfect he seemed to me as he stood there waiting with such kindness and such patience. And then, like a fool, I came out with it. “Do you love me now?” I asked. He smiled; oh, it was excruciating to see his face soften and brighten simultaneously when he smiled. “Yes,” he said. - Queen of the Damned

He grew reflective again and very sad. It almost hurt me to look at him. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, but that would only have made him furious. "I love you," he said softly. I was amazed. "You're always looking for a way to triumph," he continued. "You never give in. But there is no way to triumph. This is purgatory we're in, you and I. All we can be is thankful that it isn't actually hell." - The Tale of the Body Thief

I came towards him, planted my hands on his desk and looked into his face. "I was so sure you would understand this. And by the way, I wasn't born a monster! I was a born a mortal child, the same as you. Stronger than you! More will to live than you! That was cruel of you to say." "I know. It was wrong. Sometimes you frighten me so badly I hurl sticks and stones at you. It's foolish. I'm glad to see you, though I dread admitting it. I shiver at the thought that you might have really brought an end to yourself in the desert! I can't bear the thought of existence now without you! You infuriate me! Why don't you laugh at me? You've done it before." - The Tale of the Body Thief

"Have you suffered in my absence?" I asked, looking back at the altar. Very soberly he answered, "It was pure hell." I didn't reply. "Each risk you take hurts me," he said. "But that is my concern and my fault." "Why do you love me?" I asked. "You know, you've always known. I wish I could be you. I wish I could know the joy you know all the time." "And the pain, you want that as well?" "Your pain?" He smiled. "Certainly. I'll take your brand of pain anytime, as they say." - The Tale of the Body Thief

I stopped. I put my arm around him. I held him close to me. “I’m Lestat,” I said in a low voice. “Your Lestat. I’m the same Lestat you’ve always known, and no matter how I’m changed, I’m still that same being.” “I know,” he said warmly. I kissed him. I pressed my lips to his and I held this kiss for a long silent moment. And then I gave in to a silent wave of feeling, and I took him in my arms. I held him tight against me. I felt his unmistakable silken skin, his soft shining black hair. I heard the blood throbbing in him, and time dissolved, and it seemed I was in some old and secret place, some warm tropical grotto we’d once shared, ours alone in some way, with the scent of sweet olive blossoms and the whisper of moist breeze. “I love you,” I whispered. In a low intimate voice, he answered: “My heart is yours.” - Prince Lestat

I couldn’t believe I’d heard right. I stared at him as helplessly as I had in the hallway of the townhouse when I’d first seen him, trying to grasp what he had said. He leaned close to me, and he put his hand on my arm. “ ‘Wither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people’; and because I have no other god and never will, you shall be my god.” - Prince Lestat and The Realms of Atlantis

When I was finally led down the stairs, Louis came with me. In the darkened passage before my resting place, he embraced me and held tight to me, his lips pressed to my ear. I was aware of my hands moving over his hair, embracing his neck, drawing him ever closer, in a way I had never done in our long years in New Orleans. We joined in the posture of lovers, brothers, fathers with sons. “I love you with my whole soul, and I will always love you,” he confided to me. “You are my life. I have hated you for that and love you now so much that you’ve been my instructor in loving. And believe me when I say you will survive this, and that you must for all of us. You will survive because you always have and you always will.” - Blood Communion

[joannerowling]

What that wasn’t in the movies do you hope they include in the new show 😋 they better do it justice or elseee. If they game of thrones-ify it I’ll kill someone

PS: Peeves is confirmed! I'd love for the show to include some of Vernon's POV in the first chapter, because it's such a funny and iconic introduction, and spend a bit longer on Harry's awful life at the Dursleys. Ron throwing hands with Malfoy. The twins shooting snowballs at the back of Quirrell's head. Also, PLEASE, an accurate depiction of the way Hermione deals with the Devil Snare. Do NOT cut Ron's "are you a witch or what?!" line again i'm begging!

CoS: Nearly-Headless Nick's anniversary is a popular one i subscribe to! And Ginny's Valentine card ("his eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad"). Percy being a bit more present.

PoA: Hermione and Ron working on Buckbeak's case, Hermione's Girlboss Day where she quits Divination and slaps Malfoy in the span of a few hours (and Ron's reaction to it). Hermione making fun of Ron for believing in the Grim. Oliver crying tears of joy after winning the Quidditch Cup.

GoF: Ok, now we're in business. Give me the SPEW sideplot, including Dobby's salary, drunk Winky and the kitchens. Also, don't skip over the harrassment Hermione gets from Skeeter, let her grow obsessed with finding out how she manages to evesdrop on conversations (specifically, i need that scene where Hermione is wondering aloud about her while viciously grinding beetles into dust in Potions class) and trap her in an unbreakable jar.

OotP: Three words: Department 👏 of 👏Mysteries 👏 SHOW US ALL THE ROOMS, especially the Time Room (let us freak out about the baby-headed Deatheater!!!) and the Brain Room (let Ron Weasley get his sexy scars from being strangled by flying brain tentacles). Harry throwing hands with Malfoy. Harry and Ron making shit up for Divination class. Divination teacher Firenze (i know it doesn't bring a lot to the story but i want Hermione to call out Parvati about her horse fetish). Hermione cursing Marietta Edgecombe with acne spelling "SNITCH" on her forehead (again, probably won't happen as it's maybe too gross for tv but one can dream). Ginny and Harry bonding.

HBP: That one scene where Harry brutally assassinate a seed while Ron and Hermione are trying and spectacularly failing to arrange a date. The Gaunts memory and also the one where Voldemort comes back to Hogwarts and tries to get the DADA teaching gig.

DH: Harry's 17th birthday including the cake. Ron punching Malfoy in the face while invisible and yelling at him "that's the second time we save your life this evening arsehole". Potterwatch. Fred's death. Ron and Hermione's first kiss happening exactly as ridiculously as it did in the book. Harry calling Hermione "like a sister" and embracing Ron after his return. NOT showing us the trapped bit of Voldemort's soul in purgatory King's Cross, because not seeing it makes it scarier.

[legendary-lunatic]

I’m here to spread my Oliver Banks propaganda. Listen, there’s a lot of cool ships in the Magnus fandom, but I feel like people are sleeping on Oliver Banks/ Gerard Keay. Honestly, Oliver in general is such an underrated character.

Oliver is the undead avatar of the end, he’s actually a pretty chill and nice guy, he’s ironically one of the avatars not trying to be an ass and kill people for no reason and pretty much just vibes because he’s edgy and death is inevitable except for when it’s not. He’s gay, he matches Gerry’s freak, and I think they would get along. Gerry and Oliver deserve someone who understands but is easy going for once.

Gerry is a dead goth man with a sweet personality and I think he would absolutely kick it off with Oliver. After spending so much time with people who are off their rocker, maybe Gerry needs to sit and hang out with a guy who gets freaky nightmares just like he probably does and just copes with him while watching him paint a nice picture. They can sit in some middle dimension End purgatory and play board games, who knows?

Oliver works at a crystal tarot magic shop and that is so Gerard coded to me.

There’s so much you could do with them narratively. They don’t have a lot of fiction but the ones there are are absolute bangers. Y’all should check it out. Or maybe they can just be friends. They could probably use some somewhat “normal” friends… normal by their standards…

Please I need more people to write about how iconic they are as a duo, romantic or not.

[54prowl]

oliver aiku and this dynamic…🤲

[dangermousie]

Sorry, still thinking about The White Olive Tree which is living in my head - I fully accept that the ending could be nothing but what it was but in my head I want to either write a 40k slow healing fic or, since I know I don’t write, rewatch Hidden Love to see Chen Zheyuan as a good guy who gets fluff and happiness.

But aside from that, I am thinking I haven’t seen a drama outside (pun) the old Taiwanese drama The Outsiders (sheltered rich girl rebellious poor boy fall in love, her fam disowns her he becomes a killer for the Triads as the only way to eat, they end up utterly destroyed by the darkness) which went so hard on the “their love was pure and true and it would have been better for both of them if they never met.” Maybe A Love to Kill kdrama?

All I know they don’t really make them much like this any more - fluff yes and overcoming adversity yes and yes gritty “we are cool and world sucks” stuff commissioned by Netflix and co. But not something that is delicate and tender and following two gentle people and yet such an utter slow thorough breakdown.

It’s old school in the best way which might explain why I love it. I am thinking of Taiwanese Silence and Japanese Taiyou No Uta and Korean Snow Queen - being good not really resulting in a happy ending. (The ending of Silence with Vic Chou’s character speaking into the camera about how terrified he is still stays with me - ooof.) I genuinely think this is one of the reasons this wasn’t a big hit - this sort of vibe is not one current audience see much of and not sure want much of. (Compare it to CZY’s own mega hit Hidden Love which I adore but which is very much on the opposite end of the spectrum in terms of just world paradigm. His character has some tragedies in his background but they never take over the narrative and he ends up loved and happy. It is a much more comforting narrative.)

I think the sort of narrative Olive gives us - trauma stays and heroism sometimes is not enough - isn’t even that common in costume dramas any more (Eternal Brotherhood and Heroes 2024 gave it to us and both were small dramas for a reason - I cannot think of a big budget costume production with that theme in the last five years. LYF got close but ultimately chickened out.) And it is hugely uncommon in moderns. I don’t have any issue with that because everyone has different tastes and I am not one to mandate to others - but for someone who loves the Olive type narrative, it was like water in the desert. (And of course even old dramas or shows from most anywhere rarely dwell on trauma the way Olive did - not inspirational, not dark/cynical. And to give it to one’s male lead, and one in such a macho profession and one who is a bona fide hero, is freaking wild in how unusual it is.)

I mean, Olive stands out in its themes even from my other favorite modern cdramas. If we take a look at Lighter and Princess (another modern love story with a driven damaged ML and a ride or die FL who has been hurt herself but takes on his demons repeatedly) or Will Love In Spring (two differently damaged people discovering love with each other) or Go Ahead (damaged quasi adopted boys healing with help of found fam) - they all have happy endings with the mains so much better off than they started. Because the degree of damage is different and less, because the world is kinder and the environment less extreme. The FL of L&P would follow ML into hell if she had to but she didn’t have to, maybe just a little bit of the purgatory. He’s quite damaged (especially after jail) but it’s the kind of damage that can be slowly healed with love and support, it doesn’t need diagnosis and meds. Olive could have perhaps gone that way before Zan went back for the last time but as is…

Anyway, I am not sure I even have a point other than I love this drama so so so so much. I never thought anything would displace the perfection that is Lighter and Princess from my first place as a modern cdrama but here we are…

PS still shocked how hard Olive went. I was so sure they’d never go as hard as the novel. And then they chopped off his fingers.

[pedropascallme]

u said u are always looking for a reason to write jim smut so let me deliver bc i’m actually so fixated on this movie it’s CRAZYYY!!!!! anyways i would like like a build up to a confession kind of? like there’s so so much romantic and sexual tension and it just like breaks and yeah😭😭 idk if that makes any sense but yk!! ok thank u so much!!! you are amazing dude

In Our Perfect Present Tense

Pairing: Jim x f!Reader

Summary: "And where had this sudden, deep infatuation with Jim come into play? Was it sudden?"

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), p in v, fingering, praise kink, Jim can be soft!dom if I say so!! Allusions to canon typical violence, I know Cillian Murphy is 5'8 but Jim is 6'2 in my mind, if I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: Max you make my heart go badumbadumbadumbadum (good) I hope this is to your liking <3 Also continuing to cross tag my Cillian fics because my Jim fics rarely gain traction so we are trying some METHODS.

The cottage was so quiet.

You could hear Hannah shift under the blanket and sigh in her sleep, and though seeing her so peaceful made you feel a pang of protectiveness, watching her chest rise and fall, your mind was elsewhere. Maybe you were still in London, or Manchester, or anywhere else; maybe this was all fake and you had died somewhere along the way. Was this Heaven? Or maybe Purgatory, given that nothing seemed to have changed much.

And where had this sudden, deep infatuation with Jim come into play? Was it sudden?

No. You closed your eyes and his face flashed across your mind; eyes you wanted to drown in and cheekbones sharp enough to make you bleed. Maybe that’s why you kept him around in the first place. You’d never had to help him, save him from the congregation that chased him down the road; never had to take him to your hideout in the underground. At first, (and you knew this for a fact, at least) it was simply because Mark…bored you. He was cheesy and had a chip on his shoulder, and you didn’t like how he looked at you—didn’t like that he seemed to expect you to fall in love with him. Jim made a good buffer. And it helped that he had such kind eyes that seemed to be full of fear and morbid curiosity, and that he was, in every sense of the word, pretty.

You hadn’t been sad when you’d had to kill Mark.

But once you had made it clear to Jim that you didn’t want to fall in love with him, either, your snap judgement fogging your mind, you thought that was the end of it. Thought maybe he would go out like Mark did. And was it really your fault that Jim assumed you didn’t care about him? You didn’t. You wanted him to think you didn’t. Wanted him to think that he was essentially on his own when you ran up the stairs to the top floor, with his head splitting in pain and your legs going as fast as they could carry you. But when he came up to you that night to apologize to you, thank you, hold out an olive branch, it was then you realized that you felt isolated. And, yes, doomsday will do that to you, but it wasn’t just that. It was that even when humanity was rearing its ugly head, Jim still had the time to recognize and respect you; he was willing to put you first in a way nobody would’ve done even if their life didn’t depend on it.

You felt so guilty that night, touching yourself under the covers with everybody else just a few rooms over.

It was one thing to be wandering around the desolate city with him as your only company, but once you had Frank and Hannah (and a car) you felt like maybe, just maybe, there was hope. There was a glimmer of something behind Jim’s eye when you were eating out on the countryside after ransacking the supermarket—and it could’ve been the way the light was hitting him, or the way he laughed with Hannah, or the fact that he was eating fruit for the first time in weeks, but you thought maybe it had something to do with you. Maybe he had figured out that you did care. About him and about the state of things and about what the hell you would do if there was any sort of relief from running away. You thought about kissing him then, and he might’ve, too. There was a certain tenderness in the way he curled up next to you that night, under the stars.

In another life, he might’ve done it for reasons other than keeping warm.

And then, of course, that all came crashing down. It had been too good to be true, and in retrospect you hated yourself for allowing any harm to come to your small posse. You got out alive, but the hope you had was minimal, at best. Was alive good enough anymore? Was alive good enough when you’d fought off every evil you could think of in the span of 12 hours?

No. It wasn’t until Jim turned around, soaking wet and bleeding, that you realized that being alive was no good if he wasn’t there with you to enjoy it. You’d wanted to wrap yourself in him, to feel the sweat and blood caked on his chest and kiss him until you lost consciousness. Instead, you crumpled to the floor in the red dress that had been forced upon you, hugging yourself to his shins and begging him to tell you he was ok. It was mortifying, only made slightly more bearable when Hannah lobbed a bottle over his head. At least you knew there was still humor to be found in the worst of situations.

Shortly thereafter, when Jim got shot, you were certain that it was all over; you might as well follow him out. Maybe you would’ve if it hadn’t been for Hannah crying silently next to you as she floored the gas and begged you to stay. To do something. For once you felt like you had people worth fighting for other than yourself. It made you dizzy.

Which brought you back to the present.

There were two rooms in the cottage; both were damp and smelled like the lint from a dryer, but having a bed was enough. You had discussed the sleeping situation the night of your arrival, and there had only been some mild bickering.

“I’ll sleep on the floor. S’ok.” Jim remained gentlemanly throughout, but it was apparent, to you, at least, that the person with the bullet hole through their stomach should be able to sleep comfortably.  

“Hannah and I will take one, you’ll take the other.” You were blunt, dancing around the subject of who would end up sharing by deciding then and there to divide it based on sex.

“Wha—” Hannah began to protest before deciding to shut her mouth.

“It’s really not that big a deal,” Jim stood his ground, “I’ll find something to rest on.”

“Absolutely not.” And that’s where you ended it. Saving face, dismissing any deeper urges, leaving no time for Hannah or Jim to propose a different arrangement.  

But now that you were somewhat settled, it felt wrong to be in this room. The wallpaper was a reflective pink, and it felt too bright even in the pitch-black night. You couldn’t get comfortable, and all you could do was mull over every past interaction you’d had with Jim. Every interaction, and the way his mouth moved when he spoke, and the way he smiled at you, and the way he had quite literally killed for you—nearly been killed for you.

You felt hot. Nauseous, even, to the point where you felt that you had to move around or take a walk or do anything to feel more at ease. But it just so happened that you felt the most at ease around Jim.

You tiptoed across the floor and into the hallway. You almost didn’t bother knocking on the door, but felt that you at least owed him that decency.

“C’m’in.”

You peered into the room, allowing yourself a small view of Jim’s shirtless figure splayed out on the bed. You smiled, feeling shy out of nowhere.

“Just wanted to check on you.” You excused yourself, not wanting him to think it any more odd than it already was for you to be in his doorway at midnight. “You feeling ok?”

“Better than ever.” Jim crossed his arms behind his head, sitting up against the pillows. You could see the bandage on his abdomen, and his skin covered in a ray of moonlight.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, patting the mattress to encourage you to sit with him. You closed the door behind you. “Why’re you really up?”

“Honestly?” You paused to build tension, leaning in slightly, “Hannah snores.” Jim chuckled under his breath. “And…and I don’t really feel at home in that room.”

“Would you feel more at home in this one?”

“Maybe…”

“’Cause if you’d like it, you and Hannah could have it. ‘V’always wanted pink wallpaper, anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, “No, that’s—it’s not that.”

“Then…?” Jim tilted his head slightly, and you looked down and away from him, inhaling deeply.

“Can I stay in here tonight? With—with you?” You could feel your pulse in your throat and though he responded almost immediately, you felt as though hours were passing.

“Sure, f’course.” Jim nodded; eyes wide with eager bewilderment. You swing your legs over the mattress, straightening yourself out beside him. You looked up at the ceiling, lying on your back and waiting to fall asleep.

“Closer.” Jim whispered.

“Hm?”

“Y’can come closer. If you want, I mean.”

“Oh…yeah.” You shuffled closer to him. Somehow you ended up spooning, his hand draped hesitantly over your waist. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and his breath blowing against the hairs on the back of your neck.

“Comfortable?” He was still whispering, as if he would wake the crickets if he spoke any louder.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah…” You both fell silent again, and you wondered if he could feel the tension, too, or if it was something you had just made up. You turned over to face him.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke, though his eyes were closed, and you thought maybe he had already fallen asleep.

“For what?” His eyes were still closed when he responded.

“For—you know…” You reached out to graze your fingertips over his bandages, withdrawing it just as quickly when you realized that what you were doing was so forward.

“You didn’t shoot me.”

“I didn’t stop you from getting shot.”

“Not much you could’ve done. Three of us and more of them.” He opened his eyes, “Plus, you drugged Hannah, so just the two of us, really.”

You buried your face into the pillow, “Was trying to help.”

“You did.” Jim reached out to goad you from your hiding spot. “Been nothing but helpful since I met you. Consider this me returning the favor.” You managed to peek an eye out from the pillow to look at him smiling at you. He was so gentle. How could a man who had been comatose while the world was thrown into shambles remain so empathetic?

“Didn’t want you to get hurt.” You mumbled, barely audible when the words came out through the pillow.

“Didn’t want you to get hurt, either. Think I went to all that trouble for myself?”

“No.” You brought your head up to fully look at him.

“Exactly. You would’ve done the same for me.”

“You say that with so much confidence.”

“Cause it’s true. Cocky, but it’s true.”

“It is.”

“True?”

“Cocky,” you smiled when he feigned defeat, “but also true.” You quieted again, keeping eye contact with one another. Jim’s smile faded slightly.

“Why did you help me?” He asked.

“Hm?”

“In the first place, by the gas station—why did you help me?”

You didn’t know how to answer. “I needed the company.”

“You had company.”

“I needed company I would enjoy.”

“What if I wasn’t enjoyable?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I was willing to take that risk.” You raised an eyebrow back at him, mocking his curiosity and his pushback. “And…I mean, plus, you were…I d’know. Tragic. And pretty.”

“Pretty?” His other eyebrow shot up.

“And tragic.” You giggled. “It’s not like I saw you tearing down the street screaming and thought that you only deserved help ‘cause you were good looking, it was just—it’s why I kept you around.” You rolled your eyes, trying to stop yourself from sounding too sincere, unsure if Jim was willing to recognize the attraction you had toward him. Unsure of whether or not you were willing to admit it right here, right now.

“You liked me.” Jim teased.

“I like you,” you clarified, “Present tense.” You averted your eyes from his gaze, opting instead to look down at his wound once more. He gawked at you, grinning. Placing a hand on your chin, he redirected your gaze to his face.

“How long have you been holding out on me?”

“What?”

“How long’ve you been wanting to say that? Not since day one, hm? Since we went to my parents’ house?”

“Didn’t want to say it,” you huffed, “wanted to help you stay alive.”

“C’mon, all that talk about how you didn’t care if I fell in love with you? Cared more than you let on, I knew it. Could’ve saved us so much time if you just came out with it.”

“Shush.” You tried not to dwell on his words, the realization that, this whole time, he was waiting for you.

“Say it again.” He gleamed, “say it again.”

You took his hand from your face, holding it in your own. “Jim,” you brought his hand to your chest, “I like you.”

You couldn’t take a breath before he was on you. You felt his lips first, plush against your own, and then his hands over your waist and his legs tangling with yours. For someone who had almost bled out less than a week ago, he was shockingly quick on his feet. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the release of weeks’ worth of tension that had been festering inside of you when his tongue slipped between your lips. You moaned, hands grabbing at any part of him you could reach: You felt his chest against your own and ran a trail down his spine with a finger, feeling him shiver at your touch. He ground his hips into you slightly and you reached for his arms, pulling him in as close as you possibly could.

“Knew it.” He whispered when you pulled away for air. “Knew it.” He began sucking on your neck, running his tongue over your pulse point and licking stripes down your throat. You gasped at the feeling, still trying to touch him wherever you could. You found yourself stroking his jawline while he sucked bruises onto your chest, feeling the way his cheeks hollowed when he made an especially strong mark.

“Jim—” You pleaded, trying to touch him, feel him, all around needing him. It was almost all too much.

He returned to eye level. “Mm?” He kissed your neck again, soothing over the fresh hickeys. “Tell me what you need.”

“You—need you.”

“C’mon,” his grin returned, “specifics.”

“Please,” you needed to feel everything, everywhere, “fuck me.”

“God, sounds so pretty coming out of that mouth.” He stood up from the mattress, pulling you up slightly to allow him to disrobe you. It didn’t take much effort; the threadbare clothes you were trying to pass off as pajamas had already practically disintegrated the moment you had put them on. He shucked his bottoms off before retaking his place on top of you in bed.

“So fucking beautiful,” he kissed you again, “so, so pretty. Wanted to make you feel so good f’so long.”

Feeling confident, you cupped his cheek in your palm, “touched myself thinking about this.”

“F—when? Thought about me while you touched yourself? Tell me.” It was a breathless demand, and you could feel his erection throbbing above you.

“The night in the apartment. Came on my fingers, came so hard while I thought of how good you’d fuck me—oh!” Your sexy display was cut short when you felt his fingers brush your clit.

“Yeah? Touched right here and thought of how nice I’d fuck this pussy?” You whimpered at the way he massaged you just right, and his words only added fuel to the fire. “Should’ve just asked me to take care of you, baby, would’ve helped.” God, he was wicked. Such a good man, and so, so wicked for speaking to you like this. You arched your back, and he took the opportunity to slide two fingers into your cunt. “Fuck,” he huffed, delighted by how wet you were for him, and your eyes rolled back, “get yourself this wet? Or is it just me?”

“You, fuck, Jim—it’s you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Cocky bastard.” You managed between whines and gasps.

“You love it.”  He continued to push his fingers in and out of you, and a delightful squelching noise filled the bedroom. “Fucking beautiful.” He kept at it for a while longer, enjoying the noises you made for him and the way your face contorted when he hit an especially sensitive spot. When he pulled his fingers from you, you sighed, feeling the low of being empty, until he brought the wet digits to your mouth and encouraged you to clean them off for him. He let out a low groan when you began sucking, using your tongue to gather your slick off from in between them. “Yeah, good girl.”

He slotted himself between your thighs, and you could feel the drag of his cock over your stomach. You looked down, wrapping a hand around him and ogling him; so long, so beautifully outlined by thick veins. He gently grasped your wrist, pushing your hand back onto the mattress.

“Wanna make this last.” He half-joked. He kept your arm pinned under him, and you could feel his tip exploring your folds, until finally he pushed himself into you. You let out a shaky, breathless moan as he shallowly thrusted into you, working you open to take him as deep as you could. When he bottomed out, he leaned his forehead against yours, and you could feel the stickiness of sex and sweat on your skin.

“Good, yeah?” He was still being smug, though ensuring you were comfortable. You felt devious, rolling your hips against him and grinning in response, earning a choked “fuck” from him. “Dirty fucking girl.” He pulled out almost entirely before thrusting back into you, forcefully enough that you felt your back drag against the bed. Your tits bounced as he rocked his hips into you, and he took the opportunity to grab one in his hand, taking the other in his mouth.

“Jim!” You couldn’t remember your own name, could barely remember who you were or how you got here; all you could think was Jim, Jim, Jim. “Fu—uck, oh my god, Jim!”

“Gonna wake up the whole neighborhood?” He was incapable of being serious even in the most intimate of moments, knowing full well that the people in this house were the only living souls for miles. “Gonna make sure everybody knows who’s fucking you?” Your lips parted, letting out small moans and whimpers of his name with every thrust.

You could feel his fingers on your clit again, and the feeling was electric; maybe it was because you had wanted him for so long, and tried to deny it for almost as long, but you’d never felt this good—never felt this perfectly sated. The way he kneaded your swollen bud while pounding into you hard enough to make the bedframe shake, the way he whispered such filthy things into the skin of your breasts, the way he wanted you too.

“Gonna—Jim, I’m gonna cum!” You tried to move in sync with him, but it was all too much; he was everywhere, and it was going to be your undoing. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to fuck you deeper. He leaned over you, tracing his fingers down your cheek before grabbing your face in one hand.

“Cum for me, baby. So good, my perfect girl, cum on my cock like this.” You were as good as gone. You felt your legs tighten around his body at the same time as your cunt clenched around his length. You dug your nails into the skin of his arm, and he growled at the way your body responded to him. “Yeah, like that—just like that, sweetheart.”

You were trembling, dripping down his cock and unsure of how to rationalize this amount of pleasure in the midst of end times. Who cared, anyway? You felt fuzzy, barely registering Jim’s words as his strokes became messier and rushed, catching up to you with his own high.

“Want it inside,” you mumbled through your haze, “please, inside.”

“Can’t fucki—can’t say that baby, can’t risk it.”

“Please…” You knew how stupid it was, knew that he would have to say no, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try.

“When we get out of England—when we get out of England, I’ll fill you up as much as you want. Yeah?” He slammed himself into you, and his words bounced around inside of your head: “When we get out,” “as much as you want.” If you weren’t so spent, you’d cum for him again from that statement alone. “Promise I will, whenever you want it, baby.”

“Mm.” You sighed contentedly at his assurance. “Tummy.”

“Yeah, good girl, gonna paint you with my cum.” He groaned when you reached up to brush your fingers down his happy trail.

“Give it to me. Please, Jim. Needed it f’so long.” Your mouth hung open, sensitive and sore from his cock and his hands, and somehow still so needy for him, desperate to see him to completion. He buried his face in your neck, breathing in your scent and letting your moans fill his ears as his hips stuttered and he pulled out. You felt his knuckles against your stomach as he stroked himself, finally feeling the warmth of his spend land and spread across your abdomen with a long moan of your name. You stayed like that, both of you breathing heavily, Jim lying on top of you. The gluey feeling of his cum on your stomach and your own between your thighs only heightened when he sat up on his elbow, looking down at you to appreciate how pretty you looked after being fucked out, and you could see the strands of cum dripping between your bodies.

“So beautiful.” He kissed you again, and despite the passion from the last kisses still being present, he was significantly gentler with you in your bleary state.

You blinked up at him, smiling through the fog in your brain, and hugging him close to you. “Gonna have to change your bandages. Covered in your own cum.”

“But what a way to go, right?” He laughed, and you buried your face into him further. “Tomorrow,” he promised. “Need a towel?”

“Would it be gross to sleep like this?”

“Gross? No. Uncomfortable? Maybe.”

“I’ll take my chances. Too tired to wash off.”

“As long as you’re alright.” He brushed your hair away from your eyes, maneuvering himself to look down at you while you were pressed to his chest.

“Feel amazing.” You reassured him. “Should’ve said something earlier.”

“No,” Jim pet your hair, smoothing it down over the back of your head, “this was perfect timing.”

“Perfect timing.” You murmured his words back to him in agreement.

[enbypotat53]

So I've been compiling images (and composing myself), I think I'm ready to give my two cents. This'll be broken up into parts because only 10 images per post, so look forward to uh.. a lot! :,)

(MAJOR SPOILERS FOR II EPISODE 17 UNDER CUT)

We're starting with the Purgatory Mansion crew! And ohhh holy FUCK do I have a lot to say about them. First of all just. Fuck. God. Fan rambling during Test Tube's death, trying to keep himself composed?? And his denial of her death, just.. broke me. Painty having to be the one to snap him back into reality and TELL him that she's dead?? AUGHHHH 😭😭

ALSO THE PHONE?? MAN. THAT. THAT HURT.

SPEAKING OF PAINTBRUSH!

Okay I just. I genuinely this this was THE most gut-wrenching scene of II. Period. FUCKING PROPS TO JAZZY MOTHERFUCKING OLIVER CAN I LIKE. MARRY HER?? (/PLATONIC)

Okay so if y'all know me I'm pretty sure you know by now Paintbrush is my favourite OSC character. EVER. Their entire arc, their story, it just. It means so, so much to me. They're the entire reason I discovered I was nonbinary in the first place. They helped me find ways of dealing with anger in a healthy way. This fuckin' paintbrush has done more for me than I think.. ANY other fictional character in the history of ever?? This scene?? I genuinely nearly threw up from how hard I was sobbing.

Also can I just say how glad I am that Jazzy is voicing Paintbrush?? Like I don't think I've mentioned this enough but her vocal skills in this scene were PHENOMINAL and she SERIOUSLY did Painty justice. Good lord when they started crying I screamed out loud. Just. Lightbulb sacrificing herself for them, the whole "you need to be the leader now" thing?? Painty watching whilst all their friends die around them and they just have to sit there?? They can do nothing about it?? FUCK.

Them trying so hard to fight for her?? To SAVE her?? I just. I can't.

Not to mention just. This. Fuck. I'm a hardcore lightbrush shipper through and through so to me this is the equivalent of a child just trying to support their parent through the death of the other parent, but. Even if you see them platonically this hits DEEP. Their best friend, their rock, the silly to their serious, just died in front of them. The only things remaining being her lifeless corpse and a crab that she once gifted to them in memory of their friendship. Plus the symbolism of their flame dying out when Lightbulb dies?? BECAUSE THEY HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO FIGHT FOR?? ADAM ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME.

Yeah can you tell I love these guys?? (I'd post the image of Painty BEGGING Bow to tell them how to get back from death, but 10 images per post limit fucked me over :P)

(Hotel folk next!)

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

intro placeholder until i make something better

hi, i'm oliver, or oli! i write a ton of dark fantasy with infusions of romance, mysteries, horror, and more! 24, black and queer trying to pursue my passions in life.

in the process of writing/creating 2 (almost 3) fantasy worlds each brimming with suspense and complex magic systems :)

novaxiom is rooted in sonoric sorcery (sound magic) and psinorism (silent/avoidant magic) fighting for dominance over the other.

tenebraethia is about a set of triplets each wielding formidable power in the realms of dreams, memory, and purgatory.

finally, i just began working on arkhos, the world of sentient magic (preservation of sentience vs. the siphoning of sentience).

besides those i write a ton of short stories, even have a couple series i've just been sitting on (osi's midnight masquerade being the most recent; it's about seductive, desirable, toxic gay vampires in a theater troupe in berlin, germany) but i have yet to formally introduce any of them because i'm constantly improving and changing things. still, i want to start holding myself more accountable in the aspect of being confident and just posting what i have and receiving whatever feedback i receive.

i try my best to post consistently on here, but i always end up with cold feet; i hate rejection simply put, but i really want to push myself out of my comfort zone so beginning tomorrow i will post a short story series i've been sitting on since last year.

hopefully, it reaches the intended souls, and you find some synonymy, levity, or simply entertainment within the stories i've written <3

[drawingtablet]

so you know how in the oscc lore oliver is dead and a ghost? well. i’d imagine that would end up separating him from mepad for a while. maybe confessiony could take him back to the ii world at some point and they could meet up at purgatory mansion? although i think it would be quite the shock to see your boyfriend again after he’s been missing for so long…and he’s a ghost.

[francixoxoxo]

꧁ℱ𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓅𝒶𝓃𝒾꧂

𝐏𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞!𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐗 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ℐ𝒻 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃’𝓉 𝑔ℴ ℴ𝓃 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹，ℬ𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝓎ℴ𝓊．

Its comeback season babes

If Billy could bottle up the smell of your skin into a cologne, he’d wear it to the last drop.

It was ineffable, and yet, with every passing breath he tried to name it. Sea salt. A sweet kiss to the crook of your neck, lingering enough to inhale your scent. And vanilla. The purgatory twixt sleep and consciousness, spent in your arms, grains of sand in his hair and under his back. That must be jasmine.

Billy wasn’t the most educated man. He couldn’t write decent, not past his signature and a resume. Neither was he a big history guy, or a mathematician behind basic addition and subtraction. But he could love like the back of his hand. He could find the words to say even when they were good as needles in hay, and he could find the strength to be gentle when fury hazed his mind.

So it came second nature, when you admitted so softly and nearly meekly that you’d never smelled flowers, he draw his brows and murmur, “I’ll bring you some.”

“You would?” You’d breathed, a sleepy smile creasing your sun-kissed features. Billy nodded easily, his own eyes crinkling. “Do they smell nice?”

“Of course.” The conversation itself had come from Billy mentioning just what had been on his mind for the past hour; you smelled like heaven on Earth. The ocean’s salt and the land’s lilies, the storm cloud’s petrichor and the hearth’s warm, smoking olive branches. In his simple words, “Y’smell better than anything.”

The next day that Billy trotted through the sand to you, in his hand he clutched a bunch of flowers. Oranges melting into warm pinks, soft yellows and stark whites, colors impossible to recreate. They reminded him of you. What he imagined your soul would look like, deep in his dreams; a feeling, more than a sight. You’d love them, he knew you would.

You’d been lying on your back, eyelashes brushing your sun warmed cheeks as you closed your eyes against the day. Grains of sand beaded your hair like fairy dust, your nostrils flaring with the sea spray as it spouted from the rocks. The scales of your tail glittered with a dazzling iridescence, shooting diamonds from the sun. Beautiful enough to make a man weep, Billy’s never stopped believing.

You didn’t open your eyes immediately as Billy sat beside you, but grasped his forearm blindly, a smile stretching your lips. Something in the air became instantly more exciting when your man had settled in the sand.

“I got somethin’ for you.” Billy cooes, his free hand reaching to turn your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open, training on him with a look that made his heart (and his face) warm. You hummed sweetly, as if to ask what.

Billy revealed the clutch of flowers from behind his back, a grin creeping across his face at the sight of your own broadening smile. You gasped lightly, brows lifted as you rubbed a petal twixt your pointer and thumb. “Oh, they’re.. They’re so pretty!” You swooned, eyes bright with curiosity.

His eyes didn’t leave your own, no matter if you looked at him. “Very pretty.” He agreed absently, not particularly talking about the flowers. Billy swallowed hard and smiled again as you shifted onto your side, your tresses falling like waterfalls over your shoulders. “They’re called plumerias.”

“Plumerias.” You repeated softly, looking at the flowers like they were golden. Billy would’ve laughed if he wasn’t worried to offend you.

“Or frangipani.” Billy shrugs, watching as your nostrils flare. “Nobody ‘round here calls them plumeria.” You lean forward, hesitantly burying your nose in the petals as if to see if this was where the smell emanated from. Your lashes flutter as the sweet smell fills your nostrils.

“Frangipani.” You echo again, softly. You hand brushes his as you take the flowers, bringing them back to your nose so you can take another whiff. And another. “Oh, I love them, Billy.” You whisper, smiling up at Billy like he’s given you the sun on a lasso.

Billy grins like your smile alone gives the same feeling. “Y’look good with ‘em, baby.” Your hand reaching for him has him practically jumping to pull you into his arms, your shoulder to his chest and your tail over his thighs. Your fingers gently trace the smooth petals almost reverently while her arms tighten around your middle.

“This is what I smell like to you?” That smile of yours threatens to fill his heart to burst. Billy takes the opportunity to drop his face to your shoulder, breathing you in deeply through his nose. He nods after a moment.

“Like the sea, and frangipani.” Billy mumbles, planting a firm kiss to your bare skin.

You sigh contentedly, bringing the plumeria back to your nose. “I wish we had these underwater.” Your tone had a hint of longing, an upset that Billy wanted to squash immediately.

He barely even thought before blurting, “I’ll keep bringin’ you ‘em. Raid the whole damn forest. You’ll get sick of them, mama.” His words are punctuated with another kiss, his hands parting the wet curtain of your hair to access the skin of your sun-freckled neck. A warm giggle bubbles from your lips, you turn your face to finally catch his own in a proper kiss.

It lingers a bit longer than you’d intended, dizzying your mind in the best possible way. His stubble scratches your cheek, then your nose as you press it into his jaw. “You’re too good to me.”

Billy scoffs, his arms squeezing your form closer, if possible. His thumb rubs circles into where your hip melts into dazzling scales, and his azure eyes mirror that same glitter as they stare up at you. “Baby. I ain’t good enough t’you.”