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atlaswav · 4 months

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ADDICTED TO THE RUSH ♢

INFO: 3k words, aiku oliver x fem! reader SYNOPSIS: strange things, a man did, when his knowledge of women was suddenly upturned by your very existence — the anomaly to his capricious heart, the addictive rush he'd been yearning for. WARNINGS: making out 16+ (shame.), hard drugs, hallucinogens, please don't do drugs kids, ESPECIALLY NOT FROM RANDOM STRANGERS LIKE OLIVER THIS BITCHASS, angst?? with happy ending. please be drug safe, not like this guy AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read and this is nothing except shame and delusion i'm ashamed and also simultaneously proud but i'll probably look back on this later and barf. listen to waiting for love by openside the title is inspired by that song. ++ if this is romanticising drugs in any way pls lmk idk what came over me. also likes and reblogs are really appreciated i'll give you a cookie 🫂

Contrary to what many would think, Oliver Aiku didn’t exactly consider himself one for parties. If anything, the thrumming bass that vibrated through the crowd, the alcohol stagnant in the air and the humidity of sweating bodies was an immediate line in the sand. He did have a reputation to keep, however, so what was one girl from the next when his name became a mantra on their lips?

Oliver wasn’t one for drinking, drugs or anything of the sort, either. Despite what his teammates may think, he would never have taken anything beyond a celebratory drink. Even though he’d been offered far worse on multiple occasions.

The professional soccer player couldn’t possibly risk any harm to his health, could he?

But he supposed, if he were to take the strangely glimmering, iridescent pill that was offered to him at the subway station in the dead of night, it’d be catastrophic. Strange things, a man did, when his heart was confused, brimming with reckless abandon.

What was another wound to his soul than what already was?

He’d ingest it against the voice of reason, and his head would start to spin after a few moments. Were there two of those men standing in front of him? The lights would begin to flicker in his vision, and the ground would rise up to meet his face unceremoniously, while he dreamed of a faraway paradise. A paradise filled with gaudy colours, rippling images, and infinite traces of you.

You, you you – your narcotic smell everywhere, your hypnotic laughter around each corner and bend, the hue of your irises flashing in the peripherals of his vision. He’d turn, aching to catch your evasive gaze, but you weren’t there.

Slipping through his fingers like water, fading into the effervescent shoreline. Trying to bottle sunlight – preserve seafoam.

He supposed that’s what loving you was like – would be like – not that he would know. It was an addiction in its own sense; chasing something that wasn’t there, yet yearned to hold.

He supposed that if he ingested that pill, and if all these things happened to him, then loving you was a drug.

He got unbelievably high from your presence, the rapid beating of his heart, your quiet smiles, shared furtive glances, secret whispers, your feather light touch skimming across his skin, your voice’s melodic cadences.

He’d give up anything to try again. To turn time on its head, watch the sand fall inversely through the hourglass and give rise to the words that were lodged in his throat. To stand his ground and not run away like the coward he became when it came to you. But of course, Oliver Aiku was not one for such things either.

And he hated himself for it.

The lights above shone a myriad of colours into his bleary gaze, the ground beneath him rumbling. What was that screeching noise?

It hurt his ears. He wanted to curl into a ball to escape it, but his limbs betrayed him.

His annoyance only spiked as people started to pour onto the platform, the ground shaking with footsteps and indistinct voices.

He told himself that he should move, but the iridescent lights above him were swirling into shapes, and he wanted to watch the bubbles float towards him, shining incandescently.

Wait. Bubbles?

“Oliver? Oh my god.”

He stirred, temples throbbing. Your voice started to haunt him too, it seemed. Lilting, soothing, lovely. He wished you’d speak again. He needed you to say his name again. It sounded like honey when it fell from your lips.

“Oh my god, Oliver, wake up.”

He mumbled something, faintly aware of a face in front of him. Your face. Beautiful, but marked with worry. He willed himself to reach out, to hold your cheek, to brush your hair away from your face, but he couldn’t.

“He’s off. On a trip to another universe. What did that guy give him?” another voice, this one less lovely. A dissonant cadence that had him remembering training. He hated training. Only because his team mates wouldn’t stop pestering him about you, once they’d finally found out about you.

“Hang in there, Oliver. We’ll get you home.”

Home? To him, home was wherever you were. He was entirely content to fall asleep in your arms, on the grimy platform floor.

Arms tried to lift him, but the six foot man was liquid in their arms.

“C’mon, can you move?” his teammate asked. “What did that guy even give you?”

He grumbled something. Tried to get his legs to move. Stumbled backwards, hitting his back on a wall.

“He said “a ticket to heaven for a night”, whatever that means.” You supply.

“That’s not reassuring.”

“Sendo, let’s just carry him. It isn’t too far anyway.” you huffed, looping one of his arms around you. He tried to cling to you with both arms, but his limbs flailed uselessly by his sides.

“Alright, fine. You’re buying me a drink after this, Aiku.” His teammate’s voice irked him, even in this state of bliss.

The walk back to his apartment took far longer than it should’ve. It was quiet, occasionally broken by the heaving of breaths, clouding in the winter air. Wisps of colour followed them out of the subway station. Was that a whale swimming towards them? No, that was just the light. The stupid, colourful light.

He creaked open his eyes, and the world started to swirl in his vision. Were they standing at his elevator? Is that why the wind had stopped blowing into his face? He leaned into your warmth, cheeks red from the cold.

“You can go now, I got him from here.”

“You sure?” His balance slips as Sendo removes himself from Oliver’s grip.

“Yeah. ‘Night, Sendo.”

“Yeah, yeah, message me if something happens. Goodnight.”

You stand there in silence with him, waiting for the elevator to arrive. His face presses into the crook of your neck, stubble grazing your skin as he mumbles something.

“Oliver, what did you do?” you sigh.

He frowns.

“You okay?”

He huffs.

“Silent treatment, or high out of your mind?”

He doesn’t respond. Spots start to appear all over the place. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Waves of dizziness wash over him, and his grip on your arm tightens.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” you haul him into the elevator, leaning against the wall as the ascent starts. Oliver wobbles dangerously, threatening to collapse as his knees start to give out.

“Why did you do this?” you mutter. “Is it because of what I said?”

His eyes snap open. As close to snapping open as his traitorous body would allow in this state of his. Your eyes meet his, and he feels himself wanting to drown in your gaze forever. His mind was just as traitorous as his body.

No, he wants to say. It could never be your fault.

But he doesn’t. His tongue is lead in his mouth, so he just looks at you in a stupor before you sigh and shake your head.

“You don’t have to reciprocate anything. We can still be friends.”

Your confession only hours before had felt like a weight finally lifted from your chest, quickly replaced by another. Heavier, more suffocating. When he’d run from you, it took everything within you to not run after him and beg.

He hated anything remotely permanent, he’d once confided to you. He found an appreciation for the fleeting moments of affection of one night stands and miscellaneous, faceless, nameless women – no strings attached, tying him down. Heaven forbid you become the object of his hatred, along with the object of his – disgust? You couldn’t tell, with Oliver. There was never any telling what he’d do.

You drew the keys from his pocket, unlocking his front door as he stumbled forward, nearly face planting on the floors.

“Come on, you big baby.”

“...Stars.”

“What?”

“Stars on the… ceiling.” me mumbled, eyes half closed.

Worry rushed through you as you seated him on the couch. Just how strong was the drug he took?

“What did you take?” you grasp his shoulders, shaking him lightly. He mumbles something close to ‘Don’t worry’. If anything, you begin to worry more as his head falls to one side.

“Oliver.” Your voice is a song in his ears, drawing up images of the waves at sunrise, bleeding orange, pink and purple into the deep blue of the water.

“Oliver, stay with me.”

“‘M fine.” he manages. “Dizzy.”

“Let me get you some water.” your presence – the warmth of your touch – disappears, and his eyes open in alarm.

He hears the sound of water being poured, then soft footsteps shuffling around. His apartment is dark, the only light drifting in from the balcony, illuminating the room with a pale glow.

“Here, drink.” you lift the glass to his lips, and he begrudgingly takes a couple of sips. Some water spills from the corner of his lips, down his neck. His Adam's apple bobs. His trembling hand comes up weakly to lower the glass, but he doesn’t release his grip as he meets your eyes. Pupils blown out, hardly on this plane of existence.

“I love you.”

You nearly drop the glass.

“You’re high. Say that to me when you’re sober.” you pry free from his grip, setting the glass onto the low coffee table in front of you. “Want to go to bed?”

He shakes his head, the movement apparently as much as he can muster. “Here.”

“Huh?”

“Here. With you.” he mumbles.

“What?”

Then you take a seat next to him, and his head falls onto your shoulder. His body seems to relax in your presence, wholly at peace.

You sigh. If “heaven for one night” meant anything, he’d be fine by morning, but you debated calling an ambulance anyway. Should you call the ambulance? Was that crook at the subway trustworthy? You glance at the peacefully sleeping man beside you, chest evenly rising and falling. He seemed fine, but he had taken drugs from a stranger.

You reach for your phone just as he grumbles, flopping his entire upper body onto your lap.

Okay, no, then.

Oliver’s soft snoring is almost endearing as he nuzzles his face into your thighs. You heave a sigh, running a hand through his neon green edged hair. He seemed to lean into the touch. No, it was your imagination. You lean back against the leather sofa and close your eyes, hoping for the night to pass sooner. Hoping that he’d sober up by morning, and spare you a trip to the emergency room.

Hoping to hear those three words in the lustre of clarity.

—

His dreams were filled with phantoms; phantom hands, faces, touches. Phantom words spoken into the air, disappearing in smoke, and only spurring his guilt. Yet as he woke from his stupor, the world smelled like you. Coaxing him back to the dreamscape. Exhaustion hit him like a tsunami, meeting him with a thundering headache.

His vision didn’t fare any better as he opened his eyes, the world a mess of swirls and blurring patterns. He groaned and flipped over, only to realise where he was.

The disorientation of sleep melted away as he finally came to his senses. Sweat, thinly beaded across his skin, his clothes clinging to his body. He lay curled up on the couch, head nuzzled into the pillows – warm, soft –

“Oliver? You awake?”

He snaps to attention, sitting up the moment he hears your voice.

The plight of his dreams, the palliative cadences that he wished he could despair in.

His head throbbed from the blood rushing to his head, and he swore quietly, swaying as he adjusted.

“How are you feeling? Are you alright?” your eyes are wide with concern, and something in his heart tugs.

The night before is an empty slot in his reel of memory, a smudge of bright, neon lights and dancing shapes as he attempts to recall exactly what happened. How he ended up sleeping on your lap, how you’d ended up at his apartment. Did you sleep over? It looks like you didn’t sleep at all, with the dark circles under your red rimmed eyes.

You abruptly get off the couch, heading into his kitchen. He hears the pouring of water, then you return, gingerly handing him the glass. He takes it, confusion slowly turning to realisation as he remembers.

And the memory of his cowardliness, his recklessness, his awful string of decisions that led him to seeing stars rushes through him like ice cold water.

“You okay?” you ask, voice soft. Treading on eggshells.

He nods, downing the glass of water.

Quiet, strung on a humming wire, envelops you as he attempts to find the words that kept escaping him. The words that he swore he’d never speak, even though you were right in front of him, still worried. Despite it all. You’d stayed, despite everything.

Would he have been a coward for pushing you away? Sparing you from the inevitable heartbreak that he’d dole out like his meaningless plethora of apologies, incapable of anything prolonged more than one night?

“Oliver,” his gaze snaps to you. His name was like ambrosia on your lips. He wanted to hear it spoken again and again, a prayer, a worship, a plea.

“Did we…” he trails off, sheepish. Oliver Aiku, bashful of his escapades.

Your cheeks redden slightly as you shake your head, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Silence, the capricious thing. Teetering on the edge of ruin, speared into disrepair with words that could shatter or mend your heart. Your heart, aching to be given away. Aching for the one that you couldn’t have.

Your name echoes through his empty house. The early morning sunlight peers through the windows, casting warm light on your face. Rejuvenating, almost divine.

“I’m sorry.”

Your heart drops.

“I don’t know how to–” he rubs his face with his hand, heterochromic eyes gazing at some point beyond. “I’ve never had a way with words.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” your bitter smile breaks his heart. Digs the blade in and twists, spilling burning acid into his veins.

He can feel his world crumbling around him as you stand, turning around. Heading for the door, for the threshold beyond that would mean you were finally gone. Finally out of his life, finally gone from the dreams that you haunted, from the touch that he craved.

He should be glad, but instead, like an addicted man, he reaches out, grabbing your arm.

“Wait,”

You turn to face him. Hope glimmers in your eyes and he can only feel guilty. His love wasn’t something that he could offer, his heart wasn’t one that could stay with yours for as long as he would wish, and it was another thing that he despised himself for.

He despised himself for not being able to love you the way you should be.

If only he could put it into words.

“You don’t need to comfort me.”

He sighs. “I’m not trying to comfort you, I just…”

You frown, stepping closer. “Then what, Oliver?”

If only you knew the effect you had. “I don’t have a way with words,” he starts. “But I’ve always believed that actions can speak louder.”

“What are you–”

Your words drown in his mouth as he pulls your mouth down to meet his. He drowns your gasp of shock, offers reassurance with the measured brush of his tongue on your lips. If Oliver had anything to show from his reputation as a womaniser, it was knowing how to treat a woman.

The kiss burns with a fervour that you can only describe as hunger. He kisses like he’s been starved, addicted to your taste, your touch, shivering as your hands wander into his hair. His breath catches in his throat as your nails scrape his scalp, muffling a groan as you bite his lip.

You pull away all too quickly for his liking. His starvation is in his eyes. Your breaths are quick, ragged, and he tries to kiss you again, but you press your index finger to his lips.

“Are you still high?” you ask, voice carrying that hint of joy that he wanted to illuminate.

“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

A smile breaks out on your face as he sighs heavily, catching your wrist in his hand. “I might be, but I can think straight.”

A laugh from you, and he thinks he’s doomed. Fated to be wrapped around your finger for the remainder of his sorry life, a jester for your amusement. How quickly the tables have turned on him.

“We’ll see, Aiku.” you press a kiss to his forehead, smile luminescent in the dawn sun. Despite the sleepless night, watching over him in his state of oblivion, you were radiant. The object of his secret desires, the hubris to his mercurial heart.

“Wait, what?” As you turn to leave, he scrambles up from the couch, but his limbs won’t let him catch you. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” you cast him a coy smile. “If your actions speak true, come find me when you’re sober.”

Then the door opens and closes, before he can retort. Gone with the wind, scattered like seafoam on the shores of golden sand.

He falls back onto the couch with a huff, the ceiling still swimming slightly in his vision. Never again, he’d take any drug from any sketchy man in a subway station. He didn’t need drugs, alcohol or women anymore, he could discard his reputation completely. He didn’t need such things anymore – not when he had you.

You, you you, with your haunting presence, eluding his grasp like sunlight in a jar. He’d normally relent, turning to the next woman fawning over him, sweep her off her feet with his aloofness and casanova grin.

But now he had you, and the chase was a thrill that no drug could replicate.

You were his dopamine, he was hopelessly addicted.

written by @atlaswav, published 4th of February, 2024

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railroad-spike · 11 months

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Gotham 2x6//3x8//3x14 - Ed grabbing his partners

#railroadgifs #gotham #edward nygma #kristen kringle #oswald cobblepot #ed nygma #nygmobblepot #cory michael smith #robin lord taylor #chelsea spack #isabella gotham #gotham penguin #gotham riddler #the riddler #the penguin #don't wanna start anything with that person in the tags but just clarifying this post is entirely neutral #i am not romanticising anything merely putting the instances side by side

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lameotello · 1 year

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I find it very interesting that antis are usually preoccupied with the shipping part of fandom. You'll see fics and artwork that details torture and gore with "proship dni" on it. I'm not saying that those works don't deserve to exist, obviously they do, but I just find it interesting that antis tend to only have a problem when it comes to taboo relationships in fandom. If you're able to separate reality from fiction when it comes to violence, why not when it comes to romantic or sexual relations?

#I don't get it #genuinely #someone writing gore fic isn't romanticising torture and saying that's okay in real life #so why is it then that when I write a fluffy romance fic about brothers suddenly a line is crossed?#what's the difference here?#I can't get into the mindset #maybe a result of culture?#sexuality tends to be demonized and deemed as less appropriate than violence in media #tello talks #proship #tcest

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totally-italy · 27 days

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Update because @the-red-planet-mars said that it would be a good way of motivating me

I have started planning my English homework but it is really boring and I don't want to do it. Genuinely, please motivate me to do the whole entire thing because I really don't want to ask my teacher for an extension. I know she would probably give it to me, particularly because I have two of my GCSE papers that morning, but I have asked her for so many extensions this year and I would feel so bad if I asked her for another one. Why are English papers so boring though?

I have updated the whiteboard with my 'Aeneid' translation.

I have found a Quizlet with the entire vocabulary list necessary for the Spanish GCSEs and I have created one with the vocabulary relating to 'The Aeneid' that I will need for the End of Year exams, though I might have to update it soon.

I just did an Italian listening practice paper. I genuinely disagree with the mark scheme but I got 39/40 anyhow. I technically transcribed one of them incorrectly but I rushed that part and will be more careful tomorrow so we won't count that.

I started planning what I will be saying for my French oral, particularly regarding the picture, but I will be planning practice questions after I have done my two Italian papers tomorrow and I will just casually ignore the fact that the reading paper exists because it is not too bad and I have it on Friday anyhow. I will probably do a practice paper, but not now is not the time, despite it being more tempting the writing one.

I still desperately need to practice my Italian grammar and then do a practice writing paper, since thus far I have only done my mocks as practice. I should probably research Virgil and also actually do my English homework, but that is a problem for later. If you could possibly motivate me, without just casually spamming the comments, I would genuinely appreciate that basically pretend that there are the same rules as last time.

@the-lovely-planet-earth, @denmark-forreal and @too-much-of-a-menace

#I don't really want to do all of this #I feel like I haven't really accomplished anything #I mean #I literally got more dopamine from all of y'all than I did from completing the tasks #Plus #I didn't complete all of them and I felt like clarifying that so that y'all know the extent of what I did rather than just romanticising it #But now I feel bad because I should have done more and I barely did anything #How are people functional?#Anyway #That is what I have managed to do #Please help motivate me I am begging y'all #I don't want to fail the Italian GCSE just because I can't really deal with life right now #Moreover #If this is my work ethic right now #I am surely going to fail the majority of my exams next year #If not all of them #Help #l'italiana parla

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aroacewolfic · 2 months

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you ever have that one person who just pretty much completes you like if you don't see them one day you just feel sad.

#i have this person #its platonic guys #its platonic #don't romanticise this #i didnt see them today #now im sad #aro #ace #aroace #i love him #platonic love

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vampcubus · 5 months

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y'all are so brave for sending asks btw. i shake like a chihuahua when i traverse my mutuals' inboxes.

#‧₊🌷˚⊹ ashi rambles #like what if i said something offputting 😔#lmfao as if i don't post abt romanticising cannibalism every other day

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xelasrecords · 1 year

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Jumin Being Open to Marriage of Convenience

At first I was like oh yeah marriage of convenience trope for Jumin! and then—

He suddenly drops the "I do not want to repeat his mistake myself" which makes me drown in despair because Jumin who secretly believes in love despite denying himself of it (he watches romance dramas and read romance books y'all), who would drop everything for his friends that he loves, would rather deprive himself of real love by signing on a contractual marriage where the candidate is thoroughly vetted out than make catastrophic decisions out of a catastrophic love like his father does.

#why i don't like to romanticise his be2 #ruining his life to be with someone who doesn't care about his wellbeing isn't hot #mystic messenger #jumin han #mysme #mm #jumin han meta #analysis #meta #xela talks

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lemonhemlock · 3 months

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so, i'm going through your anti team black tag and living my best life, but one post in particular that you made got me thinking.

“george made damn sure rhaenyra’s bloodline sat on the throne at the end bc, if the hightowers won, house targaryen would have been reformed, and he couldn’t kill them all off at the end of the main series”

i'm pretty sure this might've just been a joke, but it makes me curious. do you think something like a targaryen reformation would be possible, hypothetically speaking? i certainly wouldn't mind it in a "greens win" AU scenario, but that's just me. i wanna know if anyone else sees potential in this. 💚💚💚

Hello, yes, this was mostly a joke, as it happens. 😅 (anon is referring to this post) To introduce another lengthy parenthesis, I remember at the time that some of the reactions to that post were in the range for "why doesn't anyone understand that the Hightowers are also feudal lords vying for their own interests and not some great reformists out to save Westeros", which... Listen. 😄 To put equitably, this fandom has a considerable issue with knowing when to level criticism and when to just treat banter as lighthearted horsing around and not take it too seriously. Something which even I'm not exempt from, I don't think. 🤷‍♀️

So, in the interest of making a meme, that post was kind of half-true in that it simplified a more nuanced concept (that was never an avenue that the author decided to explore anyway) for the sake of humour. I have, in the past, detailed my thoughts on House Hightower and what I think is their role in the wider narrative. This is based on the information we have on them presently. If I'm wrong, then I'm wrong. Who knows, maybe Lord Leyton and Melara plan on blowing Oldtown up for shits and giggles. We don't have to guess everything correctly - another aspect this community struggles with in their fandom wars and obsession with having the most correct, morally pure take.

Regardless, yes, the Hightowers obviously are a privileged family at the top of the social food chain, benefitting from the exploitation awarded by feudalism - a political-economic system based on vast inequality. Therefore, any type of reform they might be willing to undertake will be limited and not really something that significantly changes the status-quo. Just like the beloved, fan-favourite, and mostly confirmed "winners" - the Starks. A third element that our fandom has trouble accepting is the concept of incremental change. I feel like it would basically be a truism to point out that incremental change has been the most reliable vector of socio-economic evolution throughout human history. So, bad news for them, I suppose, but any superficial study of history will reveal that feudalism hardly collapsed overnight. Which leads us back to the idea that any small change, no matter how limited, does matter in the long run, because, as time passes, it will be compounded with another small change and so on.

Anyway, coming back to the question. Would Targaryen reformation be possible? Certainly! GRRM could have made up any story he wanted. Anything is possible if you plan for it and it makes sense within your worldbuilding. As it stands, the Targaryens are foreigners with a questionable culture, hailing from a land that used to engage in practices that even the feudal Westerosi found backwards, distasteful, barbaric or immoral: slavery, human sacrifice, incest, great feats of violence such as pillaging and conquering neighbouring lands for the sake of feeding their population to their volcano gods etc. The Targaryens also have fire-breathing monsters that, while not exactly enough all the time to prevent any rebellions from happening, are weapons that no one else has access to and that can cause a great deal of damage that no one else can replicate.

So, in order to "reform" and integrate, they would need to renounce all that. They would need to do it the traditional way. They do some of the work, but never go all the way. They accept the main religion of the land, but they don't let go of inter-marrying, because they don't want to lose their access to dragons. There are attempts to integrate, but, by the time of the events of the main series, they have returned to incest. Funnily enough, Aegon V plays a role in both - he marries outside of the family and has no dragons left, but his succeeding son and daughter marry each other and, eventually, Aegon decides that bringing back dragons is not such a bad idea after all. I do think that the symbolic weight of Daenerys having both her parents and her grandparents as brother-sister sets is laying the "dragon blood" metaphor thick - and that it holds more magical weight than any mathematical calculation of her actual watered-down Targaryen DNA.

In any such scenario where GRRM decided to go down a Targaryen reformation path, IMO it would have been thematically-relevant to ease into it via a marriage alliance with one of the oldest families in Westeros - a well-respected, rich house that also has close links to both the only centre of higher education and the main religious organization in the land. Hence the meme. :) But it doesn't last and the Targaryens go back to their dastardly ways eventually, that's the point of them in the story, because the author chose it to be the point.

#call me crazy but grrm wasn't obligated to place BOTH the starry sept and the citadel in oldtown #and then have oldtown be controlled by 1 family #there is symbolic importance there and the hightowers /will/ play some part in the last two books #house hightower #anti team black #anti house targaryen #<- for filtering purposes #anyway #some fans really like to throw this 'feudalism is bad' interpretation like some sort of 'gotcha'#which? yes? but this is also the story. like. 🤦‍♀️#positive change will occur at the end of the series but it will also be limited in scope. that was always going to be the case?#something something there is a line between not romanticising a historical period that was rife with inequality #vs having realistic expectations of our heroes; the story; and what the author can actually accomplish in the given setting #there is a line and it can be treaded and sometimes it's NOT that serious #you don't have to act as if liking the hightowers or *insert other westerosi noble family here* equals shilling for feudalism #at the end of the day it IS fiction and it IS meant to have a fun quality to it. you know. entertainment. just be normal about it

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maryoliverdotcom · 7 months

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as much as i like jokes about homoerotic murder & partners being condescending and (although very rarely) people using you as objects, i think at the end of the day i want to come home to a person who loves me, who will not push me away when i hold their hand, who will make the effort to show me they love me. at the end of the day, i want to hand them a knife and trust them not to stab.

#i think we as a society are romanticising our trauma to the point where it's unhealthy - nd that too only for internet points.#does this make any sense??? i don't know & i have no excuse

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wizardsix · 8 months

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i can't believe people genuinely believe ascended astarion is actually good. "oh but he's so sweet and nice" you're being manipulated. "he hasn't said anything mean" yet. that's how it starts. im sure that's exactly what astarion thought of cazador at first, and look what happened.

ascended astarion is just continuing that cycle of abuse; he became just like cazador, just like cazador became his master. absolutely nothing is good or healthy about ascended astarion, you people are just deluding yourselves into thinking it's fine to romanticize abuse just because the abuser is attractive. get a grip.

#crazy thing too is you KNOW its the booktok freaks that don't know good media from bad. the ones unironically reading clleen hver n shit #'hes a hot vampire' GIRL HE KNOWS #and he hates that people think that about him but uses it to his advantage god you people make me go crazy #anyway. gonna go do normal things because i am normal and dont romanticise abuse👍#astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #six speaks

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found--family · 2 months

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cas coming back in any kind of spn reboot is a given, we know this. he'll interact with dean and we might even get dean addressing the confession. and i know jackles will be the driving force behind any reboot but his history with addressing dean's feelings at cons is like a damn yoyo - is2g if dean doesn't reciprocate and destiel doesn't kiss on screen i'm not watching it and it will join the annals of not-canon along with 15x19 and 15x20 and the canon divergence attempt at a fixit that was dean in spnwin. no destiel means spngate 2.0.

#spn reboot #thoughts #he's made great strides these recent years and is so proud of 15x18. but i just rewatched that con question where he says #dean should've said he loved cas too and hugged him - and everyone fucking cheered! and he felt he needed to follow that up #with: and i know people will try to romanticise this brotherly relationship.... sir please. you gotta know we want dean back #but if you don't let him have cas romantically (and sexually) then honestly why even bother? you've seen the fandom these past 3-4 years #you know what we want. we want cas back. we want dean alive. we want reciprocated destiel. we want them to be together.#we want a happy ending. that doesn't mean you need to tie up every loose end but it does mean you gotta give the story #- not just the audience - what it deserves which is a destiel reunion and dean's own love confession for cas. or else just show #them as already together. that's what we want. that's what the characters want. that's what would make me watch. anything #else isn't giving the characters or the 12year long relationship and 15 year long plot what it deserves.

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jardin-de-limaginaire · 7 months

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Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? (Oc x Gender neutral! camp counselour! reader) (DARK)

Hello, dear reader. This oneshot is created after my hyperfixation with summer camp-related things and creepy stories. I might turn this oneshot into an actual book somewhere in the future. Hope you enjoy it, and please send me more requests in the inbox if you have a story you'd like for me to write! ~Luce

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: obsessive behaviours, just overall creepiness, death

"And then, little Patricia opened the door and saw a tall figure...'Who are you?' asked Patricia, not knowing that this tall figure was indeed the Crooked Man from the haunted book she read! " I stood up and put my hands in the air to make myself taller as I growled playfully towards the campers. Some of them got scared, meanwhile others didn't. Mostly the younger campers got scared by my story, but even some of the older ones shivered.

Before I could continue the story, another voice joined from behind me "Alright, my little woodpeckers! It's currently 10:30 PM, which you know what that means, nighttime!" It was Asha, a fellow colleague of mine. The campers didn't seem too pleased that they needed to go to sleep, as some of them whined, and some of them groaned. "Tomorrow we're going canoeing, and we need to be full of energy!"

"Yeah, and if you don't go to sleep, the Crooked Man will come to your cabins, and steal you all!" I joined in, just to help Asha out. This caused the kids to scream and cry. "I was just joking of course! The Crooked Man would never mess with a woodpecker! But just to be sure, we need to go to sleep. I'll make sure to scare him if he does appear!" I reassured the kids, which seemed to have calmed them. Thank god.

"Well, come follow me, while (Y/N) and Isaac make sure no monster will appear – And of course, to put the campfire out!" Asha giggled as the children started following her towards their cabins.

Now I was left here with Isaac, another camp counsellor here at Camp Woodpecker. We got along pretty well not gonna lie. The only thing I'm wondering at the moment is where is Ajax? I haven't seen him tonight one bit.

"So, (Y/N), do you perhaps believe in the Crooked Man?" I heard Isaac ask as they were currently sweeping the grass to get rid of litter.

"Pshht, yeah. I only invented that story to give a good ol' scare to the kids. Why are you asking? Did my stupid story actually scare you?" I giggled.

Isaac began giggling too "Yeah! Shiver me timbers, the Crooked Man will totally come at night and steal my Pokemon card collection!"

We both giggled while cleaning the burnt marshmallows and juice bottles that were on the ground.

"Alright, our job here is done. Now we only need to put out the fire and-" "I don't think we should put out the fire yet. Ajax hasn't appeared back on the campgrounds since hours ago. I'll be waiting for him here." I cut Isaac off as I sat back on the log bench.

Isaac just shrugged "Suit yourself then, see you in the morning. I'll go clean the entrance of the camp. If Ajax comes here, tell him to come help me before we go back to our cabins, OK?" I nodded, to which Isaac smiled and started walking away.

I started waiting for Ajax's appearance for what seemed like hours. Long boring hours, but by what my wristwatch was saying, only fifteen minutes passed.

I sighed as I kept looking at the crackling fire, to not fall asleep. My eyelids felt heavy, but I was trying my hardest to stay awake. As I was slowly falling into the hands of slumber, I heard a shuffling from behind, which woke me up. I looked behind. No one was there except for some bushes. Huh, weird. It might be Ajax trying to fool me.

"Nice try, but you're not scaring me, 'Jax." I yawned, smiling derpily. No response. It might've been an animal. The fire was slowly getting smaller and smaller, leaving only the cabins in the distance to be lit up.

I heard shuffling again. I looked back, tired of whoever or whatever was trying to scare me. This time, instead of being met with nothing, I saw a silhouette come out of the bushes. The fire wasn't really showing who was behind, but all I could see was what seemed like a man with big mouse ears. At this point, I just know that Ajax is trying to scare me by wearing some kind of mouse or rat mask.

"You're really funny, you know that? How about you eat a roasted marshmallow before the fire burns out? Isaac told me they're expecting you to help clean with them the entrance." I smiled towards Ajax, who just started walking towards me and sat on the opposite log bench, taking a marshmallow out of the marshmallow bag Asha brought for the campers, and putting it on a stick while roasting it to the small fire. I still wonder why he's wearing a rat mask.

"You know, my dear mouse... I've admired you from quite afar. You truly are a shining gem in this world full of disease." I heard Ajax say...wait, this doesn't sound like Ajax...

"That sounds...sweet, Ajax..." I said, trying to indirectly ask this man if he was indeed Ajax. I didn't really communicate with Ajax throughout this summer, but something about this new person was...off.

He chuckled. "Oh, how innocent and naive you truly are. Being scared of me? I can hear the fear in your voice, my little mouse. You don't have to be scared of me. I'm just your friendly neighbourhood vermin man."

Okay, now I just know that this is just Ajax in a rat mask. "Stop joking around, Ajax. You're not funny." This seemed to have made Ajax, or how I should call him now "Vermin man", be amused.

"Oh, but I'm not joking. Jokes are supposed to be funny. I'm being fully serious, mouse. You truly are an innocent and pure soul. If only you'd join me...oh, that would be heavenly."

"Alright then. Bye, Jax." I got tired of Ajax's whole prank and just got up and walked away from him. I still couldn't see his face, but I could see the form of his rat mask and how he turned his head towards me.

"Until next time, my love." I heard him say lowly, which I decided to ignore. I won't wait for him any longer if he keeps trying to goof around. He's a grown-ass man, he can do whatever he wants.

As I was walking towards the Cabin, I found Asha looking worried, as police sirens were heard in the distance. What's going on?

"Hey, Ash! What's happening?" I asked. Asha looked at me and frowned with worry.

"I heard from Isaac that you've waited for Ajax to come to the campfire. Well...now we know the reason why he didn't come..." Asha looked as if she was shivering and on the verge of tears. What does she mean, Ajax was just with me a few minutes ago?

Before I could ask any more questions, Asha walked with me towards the entrance, where Isaac was talking to a police officer. The whole camp staff were here, including the camp director, whom I hadn't seen since the interview I had with her when I was getting my job.

I looked at the forensic team as they were zipping a cadaver bag, and immediately ran to see what happened. Did somebody die?

Right as they were zipping the bag, I saw him...Ajax, all bloodied and bruised...Then who was the person I talked to?

#⚜ eden writes #x reader #fanfic #yandere #horror #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #thriller #oc x reader #yandere oc #a lot of tw #please don't romanticise this type of behaviour!#yandere x reader

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