#derogatory language tw
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Whumptober #9: So This Is How It Feels To Fall
Summary: Both Ballister and Ambrosius’ lives had begun to spin out of control when they realized that they had been caught having an intimate kiss in Ambrosius’ room by someone discreetly taking a photograph and what was supposed to be a private intimate moment was plastered on the front page of the newest issue of “GARD” magazine. An Entry for Whumptober under the prompt "You're a Liar"
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Note: Whenever "The Danks" are mentioned in this fic, I mean the poor part of town where the commoners live. The Nimona Artbook confirms that's what the place is called.
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It really happened, the thing Ambrosius had been dreading might happen since he got with Ballister.
Both Ballister and Ambrosius’ lives had begun to spin out of control when they realized that they had been caught having an intimate kiss in Ambrosius’ room by someone discreetly taking a photograph and what was supposed to be a private intimate moment was plastered on the front page of the newest issue of “GARD” magazine.
Ambrosius remembers staring at it in horror, he remembers pushing it into Ballister’s face and demanding that he see what they had done, anger clear in his voice. He remembers breaking down in Balister’s arms, sobbing about how things were never going to be the same. Ballister tried to soothe his worries, but Ambrosius could tell that he was upset too, just trying to hide it for the other’s sake.
He had been right on all accounts to be cautious about not revealing the true nature of his relationship with Ballister. For the next few weeks Ambrosius was plagued by that picture, by people trying to talk to him about his relationship with Ballister and trying to talk him out of it.
He had to sit through a lecture from the Director on how he couldn’t marry Ballister because he was a man and Ambrosius being with a man meant that an heir to Gloreth’s legacy could not be produced. Ambrosius listened to all this holding back tears, with his nails digging into his palm.
Todd had found it hilarious that Ambrosius was in love with Ballister, he made it his mission to mimic some very obscene motions and laugh whenever Ambrosius or Ballister were nearby and he knew he could do it without getting in trouble.
People all over the Kingdom put in their two cents about what they thought was best for Ambrosius, which was usually something that had to do with breaking up with Ballister. He recieved endless requests for interviews about it and the few that he accepted ended in disaster.
He was exhausted by the end of the week. He found himself laying in bed in the dark, head on Ballister’s chest sobbing while the man ran fingers through his hair.
“I can’t do this, Ballister. I can’t do this…” He sobbed, “They always talk about what’s best for me, but they don’t know that you’re what’s best for me… and they won’t let me tell them. They only see that you’re a commoner and I’m sick of it…”
“Shhh,” Ballister soothed, “The only thing that matters is that we know we’re good for each other.”
“But what if they try to tear us apart?” Ambrosius’ voice was full of fear as he buried his head into Ballister’s chest, “What if they hurt you? I don’t think I can take that…”
“If someone tries to hurt me, I’ll fight back. You know me, I can take a hit and return it well enough. Now please, love. Go to sleep.”
Ambrosius’ eyes darted around the room as if he expected to see someone, to see a camera. That front page picture has made him paranoid now. At least it was dark so they couldn’t get a good picture without having to use flash, which would instantly alert the two of them.
Eventually, Ambrosius calmed down enough to fall asleep, tears still running down his cheeks even in his unconscious state. He kept his arms wrapped around Ballister’s waist as he slept.
When he awoke the next morning, Ballister was gone. Instead he held a pillow in his arms. Ambrosius could sense that there was something wrong with Ballister not being with him. A stone of dread that he didn’t quite understand settled in his stomach as he got out of bed and went about his morning routine.
“It’s okay, Ambrosius… he’s okay…” He told himself in a faint whisper as he brushed his hair. It was a weekend so they didn’t have class. Ballister didn’t have any other friends, especially now with the news that alienated him so much from the other Knights in training.
Ambrosius’ breath hitched as he paused in the middle of running his brush through his hair. A thought occurred that Todd and his lackeys might be hurting him. Of course Ballister had learned to deal with Todd’s physical abuse since he joined the academy, but what if he rallied other knights to outnumber him.
He couldn’t shake the thought from his head. He repeated Ballister’s words in his mind as an attempt to calm himself down, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that settled over him.
He slammed his hairbrush down on the counter and stared at himself in the mirror. Disheveled was an exaggeration for how he looked, but his mind amplified every imperfection he had tried to cover every single morning. His routine lasted easily over an hour.
He couldn’t do it today.
He watched his lips move in the mirror as he spoke.
“I’ve got to find Bal…”
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It wasn’t long until Ambrosius spotted a crowd gathering in one part of town. The crowd wasn’t huge, but it was so big he couldn’t see what was in the middle of it, the people in the middle were moving though. Most of the people in the crowd wore the bright colors that marked them as nobility. It wasn’t until he heard shouts that he really realized what was going on.
“Go back to the Danks, where you belong!”
“How dare you taint Gloreth’s descendant!”
“He deserves better!”
“You’re just using him for his status! There’s no true love there!”
Ambrosius stumbled back as if he had been punched, eyes wide as he realized he could hear shouts and cries that sounded familiar, a voice he’d recognize anywhere.
“Ballister…” He whispered, hardly even able to breathe as the full extent of the situation donned on him.
He looked around for Knights to see if he could get their help, and he could spot them on the outskirts of the crowd, their armor reflecting the sunlight. They just stood there watching, not making any move to stop people from hurting the love of his life, a few of them even jeered along with some of the others in the crowd.
“You’re just a gutter rat, you don’t belong here!” Ambrosius heard one of the people close to him shout.
It made his blood boil and his eyes fill with tears. His expression was one of determination as he pushed his way through the crowd. Their shouts were closer than ever.
“Go back to the shadows and leave Ambrosius alone!”
“You’re a liar!”
“There’s no way a commoner could ever love a noble!”
“You’re a monster just looking to use him!”
Ambrosius hissed at that last one. It hurt him hearing someone call Ballister a monster. It hurt more than anything else in the past week, but he kept pushing on, angrily shoving past people. A few noticed his presence, but most of the people were focused on Ballister.
“Bal! No! Leave him alone!” He shouted, but his voice was drowned out by everyone else’s
Soon he got far enough in the crowd that he could actually see Ballister among the people in the center. He recognized one of these people as Todd, who currently had Ballister’s head pinned between his boot and the pavement.
Ballister’s teeth were gritted and his expression showed how much pain he was in.
It appears that Todd didn’t see Ambrosius yet because he was looking down at Ballister.
“Did you really think you’d have a place here? The only reason you were even considered is because the Queen is too nice. There’s no place for a charity case in the Knights, and there’s no place for a commoner in the arms of nobility.”
That was it, the final straw. Ambrosius snapped, pushing the last of the crowd aside and delivering a punch to Todd’s face. He was sent sprawling back into the crowd, knocked out cold.
Ambrosius saw someone aim to punch Ballister out of the corner of his eye and he moved to intercept it, the blow hitting harmlessly off his armor as he gathered Ballister in his arms and tried to wrap himself around the other as best he could to keep him from getting hurt.
“Enough!” He cried as loud as he could.
Everything stopped.
Ambrosius looked around. Some people had stopped mid wind up to a punch, others just stared at him.
Now would be the time to talk, Ambrosius realized. They wouldn’t hit their beloved descendant of Gloreth.
Ambrosius showed everything he was feeling in his expression. The sadness, the fear, the anger.
“I love Ballister.” He spoke confidently, looking around at the crowd, “I have loved Ballister for a long time now. He has been what kept me going all these years ago. You may believe his love is fake, but I know it isn’t.”
Ambrosius looked down at the man in his arms, gently caressing his face. He bit his lip as tears threatened to spill.
“Now here you are, hurting the man I love most in the whole world.”
He looked up at the crowd with a different expression on, anger.
“You hurt him. You all hurt him. I knew this was going to happen. This is why I didn’t tell anyone about our relationships, because I knew he would get hurt. I knew none of you would be able to just leave it be and go ‘well at least Ambrosius is happy’. No. It has to be a whole controversy over Ballister’s class, doesn’t it?” He looked away, “Everyone always thinks they know best for me and then they try to talk over me whenever I correct them. Well I’m sick of it. You do not get a say in my love life.”
He looked around at the crowd again and found that many of the people were looking at them with sympathetic expressions. He went back to looking at Ballister.
“He isn’t using me, he’s not trying to worm his way into my good graces to take advantage of my status, and he is not a liar. He’s my Ballister. We’ve been best friends since I was a kid and we’ve been together since I was a teen. There is nobody else I’d rather have at my side. There is nobody else I would experience life with.”
He leaned down and pressed his forehead against Ballister’s, a sob finally breaking loose.
“Ballister is my everything. I adore him.”
He didn’t say another word, instead he stood with Ballister in his arms and moved toward one part of the crowd. They all parted for him to make his way through, giving him plenty of space. A few of the people shuffled and fidgeted nervously.
“Hey! Get back here!” Ambrosius cringed at the sound of Todd’s voice behind him. He must have woken up, “I’m not finished with that sewer rat yet!”
Ambrosius turned around and fixed Todd with an even angry glare.
It didn’t stop him. He aimed a punch at Ballister’s form curled up in his arms.
Ambrosius responded by bringing his leg up and delivering a hard kick to Todd’s stomach. He was lucky Ambrosius didn’t aim further down.
He fell to the ground and stayed there. He was not knocked out, but reluctant to get back up. He glared at Ambrosius as he watched him walk away.
----
Ambrosius was quiet the whole walk back to the Institute, lost in his thoughts, not really caring who saw him carrying Ballister in his arms. If they were smart, they’d stay quiet on the subject. Ambrosius’ heart was still racing and he was likely to snap at anyone that said anything.
Ballister was out cold until Ambrosius finally laid him down on the bed in his own room. Ballister shared a room with one of his classmates, so taking him there was not an option. One of the perks of being Gloreth’s descendant was that he got his own room in the academy instead of having to share it with Knights.
Once Ambrosius laid Ballister on the bed, he was finally able to get a good look at the damage. He didn’t like what he saw. Bruises, a swollen eye, a split lip that tinted parts of his mustache red.
His eyes fluttered open as Ambrosius was looking him over and as those brown eyes met his own, he felt his heart swell with emotion.
How could this happen? How could he let Ballister get so hurt? He wanted to protect him from harm, always, but he was too late this time.
“Ugh… feels like I got hit by a hoverbike…” Those were the first words Ballister said.
“Please… please don’t move.” Ambrosius’ voice betrayed how much emotion he was feeling, “Save your strength, I’ll call a doctor.”
As he moved to turn away, Ballister sat up and grabbed his wrist.
“Amb… what happened? When I try to remember, everything is a blur…”
Ambrosius stood like that for a few moments, facing away from Ballister.
“Nothing good…” Was what Ambrosius replied with.
“Must be… if I’m in this kind of shape…” Ballister let go of Ambrosius’ wrist, laying back on the bed. His breathing is labored, “I feel like I have a few broken ribs.”
“You probably do.” Ambrosius replied as he pulled out his phone.
Ambrosius spent the next few minutes explaining Ballister’s condition over the phone to someone from the local hospital and asking for a doctor to be dispatched for a house call.
When he got off the phone, he laid down next to Ballister, who had fallen unconscious again during the phone call. Absent-mindedly, he ran his hand through the others hair, watched as his chest rose and fell with his breathing, listened to every groan of pain. He was close to tears again as he thought back on everything that happened, how eager they were to hurt him, all because he was in a relationship with a descendant of Gloreth.
Ambrosius shuddered and the tears broke free. He buried his face into the closest of Ballister’s shoulders, dark thoughts drifting through his mind.
He came to the conclusion that Ballister would never have gotten hurt if they weren’t together. Sure he’d still get the same insults and other things thrown his way, but it wouldn’t be this bad.
Truly, being a descendant of Gloreth was a curse.
He made the decision then and there, and it was the hardest decision he’s ever made in his life.
Shakily, he got up from the bed, tears still falling down his cheeks. He bent over it and looked down at Ballister’s sleeping face.
One last kiss for the road.
“I’m sorry… Ballister,” Ambrosius leaned down and captured his lips in a deep kiss. Tears dripped down his cheeks and fell onto Ballister’s face as he held the kiss. Ambrosius figured this would be his last one, so he tried to savor it.
“I love you. Goodbye…” Ambrosius bit back a sob, standing up straight. He threw on a cloak and headed out the door.
He met with the Doctor out in the hall and stopped to address him.
“Please… take good care of him…”
And that was it.
He began his walk out of the Institute, hand clutching his chest, his entire form slumped over. He was the very picture of sorrow, but he kept going. Step by step by step.
It was raining outside.
Ambrosius planned to find somewhere to spend the night and then to figure out some way to go over the wall.
He barely paid attention as he walked, so lost he was in thought. Images of the time they had spent together flashed in Ambrosius’ mind. He felt like he was throwing it all away.
The further he walked from Ballister, the worse the feeling got. He realized as he was making his way through the Danks that the feeling was heartbreak.
He stumbled, bracing his arm against a wall as he clutched his chest, trying to remember how to breathe. He tried to shake it off, now was not the time to panic.
He tried to continue onward, but tripped, falling to the ground, being showered in rainwater as a hover car drove by.
A cry left Ambrosius’ throat as he hit the ground with a fist. He couldn’t even leave properly.
This was the hardest thing he’s ever done.
He made a frustrated noise, getting back to his feet, and then broke out into a sprint. He needed to get out of the city. He needed to go somewhere Ballister couldn’t find him. He was dangerous.
He was dangerous.
There was no slowing down until Ambrosius cleared the treeline. When he did, he leaned heavily on one of the trees, catching his breath, and then looked back at where he had come from, at the city he’d spent his entire life in.
His eyes narrowed as he spotted the Gloreth statue at the center of the city.
He wasn’t like her after all, more like his father who abandoned his duties and left them on the shoulders of a young Ambrosius.
Biting back another sob, Ambrosius just scoffed and turned his back away from the city, heading deeper into the woods. He walked at an even pace this time, the water from the rain slowly seeping into his armor. He didn’t care.
It wasn’t the rain making him numb.
At one point, Ambrosius could swear he heard a voice on the wind, calling him. He chalked it up to his longing to be back by Ballister’s side. He was hearing things.
He didn’t even look back. He had resigned himself to his fate.
“Ambrosius!” The familiar voice cut through the rain, but still he ignored it.
It wasn’t until he felt a warm hand on his that he stopped and turned.
Ballister was there panting heavily from an exhaustion that clearly showed how fast he had to run to catch up with Ambrosius. He was bandaged but still heavily bruised, his expression full of fear.
The wind kicked up around them, but it didn’t matter, Ambrosius was lost in those big brown eyes full of hurt and betrayal.
“I… I can’t believe you were just going to leave…” Ballister sounded close to tears as he spoke, “After everything we’ve been through.”
He let go of Ambrosius’ hand and wrapped his own around himself.
“Bal, It’s not like that… they hurt you because of me. I’m dangerous. I-”
Ballister looked away and took a deep shaky breath, “It’s okay. Truth be told, the crowd ambushed me on my way out. I was going to leave you too. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I thought it’d be the best decision…”
“Wha- Bal. You know you’re the only thing keeping me at the Institute.” Ambrosius grabbed Ballister by his shoulders, looking him in the eye, “You know how much you mean to me. For you to leave without a note or anything… it would break my heart…” Ambrosius paused, “Oh…”
“Now you know how I felt, the sheer panic I felt when I woke up. I know you and I know that you wouldn’t leave my side for even a second if I was this injured.”
Ambrosius could swear he felt his broken heart healing itself.
“I love you so much, Ballister. When I made the decision to leave, it was so hard…”
“I love you too,” Ballister replied.
Things were quiet for a moment before Ambrosius spoke, “Bal, I had to listen to the Director tell me why we weren’t supposed to be together. I had to sit there and listen to her call you a filthy commoner. You don’t know how much I wanted to hit her…” He looked away, “The thing she was most worried about was that we couldn’t have children… Gloreth’s legacy can’t continue.”
Ballister sighed, “I’m tired of the Institute telling us what to do, telling you what to do with your body, Ambrosius. You know what I say about people who don’t like our relationship? Fuck em. Fuck the Institute.”
It was rare for Ballister to use such language, even though the knew it since he was young from growing up in the Danks. It had always been in an attempt to be polite and maintain his carefully curated appearance of a man worthy of becoming a knight. So to see him curse now was surprising. When he cursed around Ambrosius it often meant that he was serious about what he said.
Ambrosius wrapped Ballister in a hug and slumped forward, resting his head on Ballister’s shoulder, showing just how tired he was. He can’t remember the last time he hadn’t felt weariness in his bones, he always assumed it came with being Gloreth’s descendant.
“Yean… but I’m tired Bal… I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to risk that happening again.” Ambrosius mumbled, enjoying the feeling of Ballister running his hand through his hair.
“Then we won’t.”
Ambrosius pulled back and looked Ballister in the eyes.
“Where do you suggest we go?”
“Over the wall, where they can’t get us. The Institute can spin whatever rumors they want, but in the end, maybe we can find a place where we can be happy…”
“But there are monsters past the wall.”
“Says the Institute. Let's go and see for ourselves. Whatever happens, we’ll be together.”
Ambrosius thought about it for a few moments and then nodded.
“Wherever you go, I’ll be right behind you. I don’t ever want to leave you again Bal. I just… I”
Words failed Ambrosius so he captured Ballister’s lips in a passionate kiss, pressing their bodies together with one hand while pushing on the back of his head with one hand to make it deeper.
They didn’t part until they realized they needed air. Then they kissed again and again, like lovers who hadn’t seen each other in months. It didn’t matter that it was raining. It didn’t matter that Ambrosius was soaked to the bone, it didn’t matter that Ballister was still covered in bruises. All that mattered was each other.
The two of them stayed in a run down castle structure in the forest that they stumbled upon that night, and soon the two of them executed their plan to go over the wall.
Gloreth’s line was officially ended by the disappearance of Ambrosius. Knights searched the kingdom high and low, but there was no sign of them. Many people expressed their condolences, but few acknowledged the real reason why Ambrosius disappeared, citing it as just anything between ‘Ballister kidnapped him’ and ‘he just got lost, he’ll turn up.’
When Ballister and Ambrosius went over the wall, the truth dawned on them. There were no monsters, just miles and miles of untouched wilderness.
It was hard for the first month or so, but soon they had put together a home and were living off the land, happier than they had ever been under the thumb of the Institute.
They didn’t have to worry about anyone disapproving of their relationship, Ballister didn’t have to worry about his reputation or whether or not people liked him, and Ambrosius didn’t have to worry about his Gloreth duties anymore.
For them, It was truly a happy ending.
#whumptober2023#no.9#“You're a liar.”#Nimona2023#fic#abuse tw#derogatory language tw#ambrosius goldenloin#ballister boldheart#goldenheart
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I think a thing that is frustrating about neurotypicals as someone with autism and auditory / language processing issues (yet to be explicitly diagnosed to my knowledge) is how little they understand neurological differences and disabilities in processing things like hearing and yet they feel like they understand it to a sufficient level.
Case in point, today at work one ofbmy coworkers got all mad and offended because I was "rude and disrespectful" because in the morning, while thinking about the things I needed to do and thought of an important question before I could start my question to ask my mentor, asked the question and she was talking and thus I interrupted her. Yes, rude now that I KNOW she was talking and so I apologize, but I really hate the implied intent or lack of caring put with the "autistic interruption" shit
Ignoring social cues and rules aside, I *literally* didn't realize / process she was talking. Of course, I'm not deaf or HoH so I can't say that because "How could I not hear her? She was speaking loud enough to know" and there is a HUGE difference between *hearing* and *processing* and so when they always give the advise of be more considerate / think before you speak or tell you the social rule to not interript cause its rude, it doesn't help like at all
Cause yes, I KNOW that and I DO think before I speak. I just *literally* didnt process her speech as speech and it was filtered as white noise.
Its like going into a busy and loud club and saying "dont speak if the guy two tables down is talking"
Like yeah, maybe I COULD hear that he is talking among the 50000 other people talking, but Im not processing him talking as distinct from the ambient noise around me.
#actuallyautistic#language processing disorder#auditory processing disorder#auditory issues#auditory processing issues#vent#vent tw#autism#neurotypicals#neurotypicals /derogatory#feel free to reblog or add on#im just sighing this is why we are quitting fuck all#alter: chunn#<- mostly
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BBU Community Days
@bbu-on-the-side * {Day 8} Barcode
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CW: Police harassment, derogatory/demeaning language, prostitution, implied dubcon
The asshole officer shines a flashlight right in his face, half-blinding him, and he winces and turns his face away. "What the fuck-"
"I said turn it over. Show me."
"Show you what?"
The officer sighs, sounding wearied, and the runaway pet wants to punch him in his stupid smug face. He thinks he's tired? He didn't spend the last day hiding from pouring rain that has streets flooded and people in rain boots half-wading when they have to go out. "You know what. Turn your wrist over and show me your barcode."
"I don't have to do anything." The pet's chin juts out, eyes narrowed to slits against the glare of light still aimed right at him. "Come back with a fucking warrant."
"Okay, I would, but you aren't in a house. You aren't even inside. This is an alley. This is public space and you are causing discomfort to the people who actually do live here. Come on, Boxie, wrist out. Let me see it."
"I don't have a fucking barcode. What, is it illegal to sit now? I'm just sitting. I'm not harming anyone."
The officer looks like he might just sigh so heavily with irritation that he blacks out. The pet waits, a little hopeful, but it doesn't happen. "Listen. Look. You get up and walk away, I'll pretend I never saw you. Nice people in this neighborhood, they don't want you whoring around for your dinner, got it?"
His heart stops - for just a second - before it beats again. He swallows, hard. Some of his defiance has faded before he finds a retort. "What-... What makes you think-"
"I've seen you before, buddy. Down by the warehouse district."
"Why not arrest my John?"
"Your John?"
"Well, how the hell did you think I got here from the warehouse district in the first place, numbnuts? We were having a good time til his fucking girlfriend called."
"... Jesus. Come on. Up you go, get outta here and I won't even look. Just get."
He doesn't have a choice. The runaway pushes himself uneasily to his feet, watching as the cop backs up to give him some space. There's that, at least.
His stomach growls.
When did he eat last? Shit. A day ago? Two?
The flashlight is pointed down, now, and he can see the cop's face. Honestly, he's seen worse. The guy looks pretty fit, too. And Jesus, he's so hungry...
"I don't suppose you'd give me a ride," He says, cocking his head to the side. Defiance slips into practiced seduction with only a shiver of self-loathing down his spine. "I can pay for it."
"Don't bribe me. You don't have a fucking cent or you wouldn't be a whore, Boxie."
"I didn't say I'd pay with money." He smiles, like this is a silly flirty joke between them. "Trust me, I'm good at this. I'm so good. Don't you ever wonder what fucking a Romantic is like? Like a Lamborghini with spread legs, yeah? You drive me back to the warehouse district, you don't check my barcode, and I make this the best shift you've worked in days..."
The cop thinks, jaw working, looking off to one side and then the other. The pet watches him take off his wedding ring and slip it into his pocket with a mix of triumph and hatred.
"Right. Yeah. Get in the back. We'll find a place to park."
His heart thumps and his wrist itches under the ink as he slides into the back of the squad car, with doors that don't open from the inside and a screen he can't break through. Maybe he'll be murdered and dumped in a ditch somewhere. Maybe the cop will just take him to jail.
Or maybe he really will drive him back.
It's always a roll of the dice when he offers himself for a ride.
Sooner or later he'll run out of luck.
#bbucommunity#bbu community days#whump#pet whump#bbu#box boy universe#box boy#jameson bb#prostitution tw#tw derogatory language#demeaning language#police harassment#writing#implied dubcon
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Kinktober 2023
Day 30: Hiro/Dum Dum/Others--Free Use
*****
He doesn’t think he could pick out their faces in a crowd, or them his. But it doesn’t matter, as long as they all get off in the end.
“Go on, face up Princess—let them see you.”
The grip on his hair is harsh, but the sensation fades, less pressing than the onslaught of others, gazes dragging along his skin like the skim of hands. Another laughs, static crackling in their voice, cruelty audible beneath the haze.
“Where’d you find the whore?”
“Just wandered in, looking all lost.”
It’s not strictly true, he’d known exactly where he was, what he wanted—knew they probably did too, a hint of familiarity, however faint. This isn’t the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last, wanting to just let himself drown—less deliberation and even less thought. He needs it, as much as he needs to breathe, a moment to turn everything else off.
A voice, distorted but oddly familiar diverts his attention, glance traveling over cables and puckered scars, before fixing on the man’s face—seven red optics piercing him.
“You’re back.”
His words are conversational, amusement in the way his lips curve—tone casual even as he takes in the sight, shirt balled in the corner, long forgotten—black-blue bruises dotting his shoulders, and the arch of his neck.
“Wasn’t enough for you the first time?”
Even as he says it, he’s already closing the distance between them, cybernetics cupping his chin, grip surprisingly delicate.
“You heard ‘em. Look at me.”
It hurts to look at him directly, red lights blazing in the dark of the club—but he tries his best, a shudder at the harsh exhale of feedback.
“Pretty little thing.”
From anyone else it would sound while not innocent, affectionate—an endearment. The man makes it sound like utter filth, relishing the feeling, shame long since forgotten. A thumb traces his lips, order without words, and he obeys, accepting chrome fingers into his mouth, tongue brushing the smooth surface. The optics never leave his face, cataloging every minute detail, an appreciative hum low in his throat.
“Bet we could find a better use for it.”
**
It’s only when he’s out of the shower he notices, a quick glance over his shoulder—movement making his body ache deliciously, eyes settling on a distinct black smear, jumble of numbers and letters not quite faded, stark against pale skin.
Dum Dum.
#cyberpunk ocs#oc: hiro oda#dum dum#nsft#my writing#maelstrom#kinktober#kinktober 2023#tw: derogatory language#tw: power dynamics
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Nah but let’s talk abt how ppl use disability terms/harmful stereotypes/ derogatory words so casually this disabled pride month (tw ableism below)
The new terms are “sch*zoposting” and “delulu” but shit like this has been around for years and it’s so incredibly frustrating.
Another example is those TikTok POVS about “the weird kid in class” but they are all stereotypes of autistic ppl.
Or the misuse of the word triggered, the misuse of the word OCD, the misuse of gaslighting, of cr*pple, “are you deaf?” “Are you blind?” “Hellen Keller isn’t real.” I could go on and on but I will simply say this.
Disabled people are real people with feelings, emotions and lives. We deserve to use the terms that we need to COMFORTABLY. We deserve to exist without people taking the language used in the context of ourselves and putting it in a negative light.
We deserve to exist.
We deserve happiness.
Check in on your disabled friends.
Don’t assume things about people you don’t know.
#local bitch speaks#disability pride month#ableism tw#cripple punk#actuallyautistic#actually adhd#actually ptsd#actually disabled#actually chronically ill#unreality tw#1k#1.5k#2k#2.5k#3k#3.5k#4k
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Slashers NSFW headcanons~
In celebration of 69 followers, I want to throw some sexy headcanons at y’all!
TW: NSFW (duh) and derogatory language
Jason Voorhees
Growing up with Pamela, Jason learnt early on that sex was a nasty and filthy thing that could never lead to anything good. When you first brought up the issue of taking the relationship further, it was difficult to get Jason to even talk about the subject with you.
You had to explain it to him that sex wasn’t only for horny teenagers or for one night stands – it could also be one of the most tender and beautiful ways of showing someone how much you loved them.
It took a lot of patience and many one-sided conversations on your part to get Jason adjusted to the idea of having sex. He was worried you would pressure him or become agitated because of his reluctance to sleep with you.
Having sex with Jason was awkward at first, as it tends to be for first timers. Jason is a big boy, both in height and… you know, so he wants to be extra careful when you two get intimate. He would never want to hurt you, unintentionally or otherwise.
Bubba Sawyer
Bubba hasn’t received that much sex education. Everything he knows he has learnt from Drayton, and all that Drayton ahs taught him is that sex is troublesome and if you want to stay out of trouble, you shouldn’t do it.
Bubba doesn’t consider sex to be a bad thing at all! However, he is very awkward and can’t seduce anyone to save his life. He is relieved that now that he has you, he won’t ever have to seduce anyone.
Bubba has this idea that he wants to be the most tender lover you could ever have, but it often backfires on him tremendously. He usually initiates sexual activities in a romantic way, and everything is sweet and sensual – until he is inside you.
From the first thrust onwards, he loses his senses and is concentrated on nothing but chasing pleasure. What begins as gentle sex soon turns into him madly thrusting into you at a pace that is both maddeningly satisfying and brutally irregular. It continues like that until he comes.
Despite Bubba’s tendency to get lost in the moment, he won’t leave you hanging if you don’t get the chance to come. After he’s finished, Bubba is always ready to lend you a helping hand or a skilled mouth if you need it.
Thomas Hewitt
Thomas is quite well-endowed, and he isn’t always as gentle as he should be. You might have to procure a bottle of lube to keep in the drawer of your bedside table because foreplay isn’t Thomas’ strong suit.
Although he can be too rough and impatient at times, Thomas doesn’t have sadistic tendencies when it comes to sex. He has a massive dick that will tear you apart of you’re not ready for it, but Thomas doesn’t want to hurt you.
In fact, Thomas’ preferences when it comes to sex are quite vanilla. He isn’t opposed to trying new things if you’re into some kinky shit, though.
The point is to keep as quiet as possible when you two are intimate, because you two live in one house with the rest of his family. It is would be awkward to hear Luda May scold you two at the breakfast table the next morning about how much noise you two were making.
Whenever you have privacy, Thomas likes to take you rough and draw out as much noise from you as possible. Hearing you scream (with pleasure) is a sure-fire way to get him close and over the edge.
Brahms Heelshire
The entertainment options in the Heelshire mansion are extremely restricted: unless you somehow convince Brahms to let you set up internet connection, you only have the record player, a TV that’s far from state-of-the-art, and each other.
Brahms is absolutely of the opinion that sex is the best pastime there is. He has the sex drive of a seventeen-year-old, and that combined with his demanding attitude results in him demanding you to spread your legs for him every day.
Brahms is a huge bottom in everyday life and wants you to be in charge of things outside of the bedroom. In sexual situations, though, he refuses to be the submissive party. It’s him on top, whether you like it or not.
Brahms is into BDSM-esque things: he likes to have you restrained by tying you up or physically holding you down. In the latter case, he gets off on proving to you that even if you tried to run away from him, he would catch you and wouldn’t allow you to go.
In the bedroom where he’s boss, Brahms has his own set of rules that he expects you to obey. If you don’t do as he says, you’ll be punished. It’s for you to decide whether you want to play by his rules or risk getting spanked until your arse is fiery red.
Michael Myers
As a rule, Michael doesn’t have a major sex drive. He likes to fuck, and if you’re feeling up to it, he won’t reject your passes at him. Michael might be well past his teens but he can still get it up with no problem.
For Michael, sex often lacks the emotional aspect. It’s simply a way for him to de-stress and release tension, and he often treats you as nothing more than his own personal fuck-toy.
Michael didn’t think there was anything more to sex than the point of shooting his load until he met you who demanded more from him. You constantly nagged him to think of sex as something meaningful, which seemed like a pain in the ass for him.
Michael is very adaptable to new situations, however, and decided to give it a chance to think of sex as something important in a relationship.
He would still rather take you hard and fast than put effort into seducing you, but he has found that he gets better results if he takes you into account more.
Happy wife, happy life, they say.
Billy Loomis
Considering his maniacal tendencies, sex with Billy can be borderline boring at times. He doesn’t really fantasise about anything and doesn’t have any specific kinks that he’d like to try out. He likes ‘normal sex’, as he calls it.
Sex with him can be romantic and sweet, and if you’re up for that pure vanilla action, then you two are going to hit it off and get each other off just fine.
If you’re more the adventurous type, you can convince him to get out of his comfort zone. You might find that Billy isn’t quite as against spicing things up in the bedroom as he assured you he was.
The element of surprise and good timing are your best friends when it comes to getting Billy to try something new. Present him with a butt plug in the middle of a make-out session, pull a puppy-eyed expression while telling him how much you want him to use it (or use it on you), and he won’t have the time to process the request enough to refuse out of principle.
Don’t worry though – Billy will loudly protest if you ever bring up something he honestly doesn’t want to do, even if you make the request while he’s thrusting into you and can’t think clearly otherwise.
#jason voorhees x reader#bubba sawyer x reader#thomas hewitt x reader#brahms heelshire x reader#michael myers x reader#billy loomis x reader#slashers x reader#slasher headcanons#slasher fanfiction
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@mcrcki asked:📱- abigail and marley lmao
your muse’s contact name in mine’s phone
annoyance 3
my muse’s contact photo for yours
x
how often our muses text each other
same as francesca, she only has marley's number to occasionally start problems
a text my muse never sent
nope, none
the last messages my muse did send
[text: annoyance 3] - gonna complain more about how i'm a cunt? would love to hear it :)
#( && abigail bishop's headcanons )#( && abigail bishop interacts )#( && marley bishop )#derogatory language tw
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Des’ Gith Dictionary
All of these words are created by me (Des) and are derived from existing phrases, words, roots or just pulled from the vibe of the language.
Most revolve around the githyanki’s meaning of relationships, sex, and love, following my fics centreing around the relationships of Voss and Orpheus.
(TW here for mentions of canon githyanki behaviour surrounding pain, raiding, sex and non-con).
NOTE: many of these words are also written with my HC of there being quite a big linguistic drift in their language, beginning when Vlaakith I took power. Many of these words are old and might not be used in modern gith now, but some are. You can read more about my HC about this here - Des' Githyanki language HCs.
You are free to use any of these words any way you like, but if you use them in anything published like a fanfic or meta, please credit me:
twitter: @grabthemhorns
tumblr: @des-no9
Sources used linked at the end.
Here is a link to it in a g-doc if you'd prefer and ease of access - Des' Gith Dictionary
Listed Alphabetically
(will be updated as I create more)
A
**Adilshar - first among many
The meaning of this word ‘first among many’ has different connotations depending on context, and for some githyanki, depending on creche, and even city in the Astral. It can elude to a title, a formality, something a little more casual. I’ve seen githyanki use it to refer to their favourite lover or companion.
However, primarily, thousands of years ago it was used largely by those in a position of power to those below them as a title of honour and singling them out to a special, almost near equal respect. In a way, it was levelling someone to your worth. One of the highest honours of githyanki. The first among many. I see you. I respect you.
**NOTE: Adilshar is a canon gith word, but I have expanded/adjusted its meaning. I’ve only included it here because it has had such a personal impactful meaning to me, my githyanki worldbuilding and vocabulary.
B
Bhav - speak; talk; sometimes used when addressing someone
C
Cha/Ch - bearer/owner/only
(depends on context and the following word)
Example: Var’cha - star bearer
D
Da - laugh, laughter
G
Gi - student of
H
Hsha - lie
Hshazi - liar
Htaz’i vo z’varc - literally, death by blood wild
Even for githyanki, this is one of their more unsavoury words. It means, in common vulgar slang, ‘fucked to death’ or ‘fuck and kill’. This is a term githyanki use primarily for their treatment of istiks during raiding, or istik slaves that they keep and then get bored of and dispose. It’s a very derogatory term, but also very common and has lasted from the very early years of the gith, to now. And is even a word that’s heard, and known, from plane, to plane, to plane.
Having heard it myself during one of their notorious raids in its exact context from their raiders, it is as haunting and terrifying to hear as you might think.
I
Ir’gi (ihr - ghi) student of my pain
An often intimate word used primarily between new lovers. Can also be used derogatorily or affectionately, or playfully, if two people have known each other for a long time. Nowadays, ir’gi is kept private if saying to one above your rank, and only often heard publicly from the person who holds higher rank in whatever kind of relationship they are in. Good luck to you if you wish to say ir’gi to your superior in public is all I’ll say.
Ir’mir’r’tal - the comfort/safety of my pain
A lost word that some say is used still by the githzerai. A version that was taken and adapted to their current language I have heard to me Ir'm'tal which now simply means 'my safety'. My source? My lips and quill are sealed.
Ir’zai (ihr - zoi) - the honour of my pain
A deeply intimate expression used between lovers/mates to express the meaning they hold to one another. Common translation could be ‘I love you’ but a githyanki would say that cheapens it, the expression so lost in soft istik translation. This is an expression heard still in current githyanki language.
K
Kalisk - small one; compact
Kalisk’nal - little creature; little beast
Often kalisk is used colloquially or affectionately, so used with ‘nal’ which can mean creature or beast, turns the phrase into something even endearing. Not something one would usually associate with the githyanki. One might think this could be heard in their creches to their younglings, or in my travels I did once have the pleasure firsthand to see a githyanki meet a cat for the first time and exclaim rather joyfully ‘kalisk’nal!’.
M
Mar - all; everything
N
Nal - spawn/creature; strange one
P
Pa - no/don't/not
Q
Quith’na - literally weak creature
This word is a slang that roughly translates into, in common, as ‘pussy’. The githyanki have varying and sometimes different genitals to those who speak common so it doesn’t translate directly into what those who speak common recognise it as. And although the githyanki use terms of genitals for insults or colloquial speech, do not recognise calling someone by one of their terms as a description of weakness.
R
Rrav’kil -
A term of endearment for someone below you in rank. What affection that is, is between the speaker, and the receiver it seemed. This is an old word, and is barely, if at all, used in current gith. It seems to have shifted into ra’stil instead which means ‘ally’ in common. Another language of affection and endearment lost to the githyanki from long ago.
Note: derived from ra’stil - ally (to other gith)
S
Sh’k’nal - hellspawn
Sh’k - hell
T
To/T’ - Has several meanings, depending on context and which word precedes, follows.
Mostly it means: only/one/this/to/of.
T’lak’var - literally, severance.
A very old word from when they freed themselves from the illithid, severing their control. A lot of it comes poignantly from Mother Gith and her power of severing the Elder Brain’s control which therefore, eventually, granted their freedom. It translates to freedom in common, and for githyanki then, and now, it simply invokes freedom.
Note: taken from T'lak'ma Ghir - Sister in freedom (t’lak meaning freedom, here, where ghir means sister, vhir brother, and stil friend in this context. (Although interesting how stil is in jhe’stil which means ‘superior one’).
I also HC that the githyanki have several different words that translate to freedom, as it is such an important and integral meaning to their people.
T’rac'nal - literal, insane creature/spawn/strange thing
The common translation of this word is wild or mad beast.
T’var - literal; only star; one star
An old word that uses var when referring to someone, instead of vah’k. Found in some ancient, forbidden texts that translates, it seems in common, to ‘my one’ or ‘only you’. What we can gather from the context of its use, a declaration of affection, a promise, a title, a threat even, depending on who spoke it, who heard it.
Some may say it means I love you. Some may say it’s the githyanki word of marriage. Some say it’s the promise of death. Some may say it’s a feeling, a promise, a bond that anyone other than githyanki will never understand.
Tuj’da - a loud, happy laugh
Tuj - loud, boisterous, joyful.
Sometimes this word means free, wild. In the meaning of ‘wild animal’; ‘no boundaries’.
V
Va (voh) - go/yes/acknowledgement
Vah’k (vahk) - body/person/referring to oneself;
This word comes from a very ancient gith language where the word var means ‘star’ from their first settling on the Astral Plane, and being new beings on the Sea. Vah’k can also mean ‘star’ in today’s gith, depending on context. You will find both vah’k and var in ancient texts, to now.
It seems vah’k was brought into use around the time of the settlement of Tu’narath, but how widespread its use then, and also if they used var prior to vah’k is unknown.
Vah’k gi (vah - ghi) - lover; literally, student of my body/self
There isn’t really a direct word for ‘lover’ in githyanki society as we’d know in common, but this is as close to our understanding of it. Student of my body. It’s used in many ways, for one night trysts, casual partners, to longer term partners within the githyanki. Although some prefer not to use it if they decide to share their bond longer term.
For those that develop a more long term and serious bond, the word ir’zai, which means ‘honour of my pain’ is often used more.
Note: ir’zai is derived from sha va zai which I HC is a very old and early gith language, mostly now lost or changed over time, that simply means ‘I love you’.
Vak (vohk) - cut; harm
Note: The closeness in the words of vah’k and vak in their language is notable, as for githyanki so often their expressions of self, identity and love are built upon pain.
Vak’nir (vohk - nir)- literally, cut by silver.
Githyanki are an intense people, and their expressions are no different. ‘Cut by silver’ when translated to common, we would understand it to be ‘you’re beautiful’. But it is most likely closer to ‘you’re exquisite’, or even, to our god fearing races, ‘you are cut by the divine’.
Vak zharni (vohk - zohr - knee) - changed by time
literally, harmed by memories
A descriptive, and surprisingly, an affectionate word used by the githyanki to describe the change of time, or an event, has had on someone. Be that physical, or emotional.
Sometimes it’s used casually or teasing, when a githyanki returns from the material after a long period back to the Astral, and has therefore aged, and changed, compared to those back on the Astral who have not.
Author note: I made this one especially thinking about Orpheus and Voss and Orpheus seeing Voss for the first time and how this could be a phrase the githyanki have used/maybe still use to describe how much someone’s physically and also emotionally changed after they haven’t seen them for a long time, or from a past event.
Var’cha - literal, star bearer;
Another very ancient gith word used to describe the skies of the Astral Sea - ‘skies that bear stars’. Sometimes it’s still used to simply describe something that is aesthetically appealing, sentiment in your beauty (invoking a certain emotion and attachment from beauty, however there’s a different word for that, that was used more), or that something simply looks like the Astral Skies.
Vhayeri - the future/a point in time that hasn't yet happened
Can be used in a poignant and significant way. As in “we will meet vhayeri”.
Vo - of/by/my (context heavy, and a more modern and colloquial version of to/t’)
Vo mir’tal - (vo - meer - tohl) - literally, my safety
A lost word in most of githyanki society, however there are some communities that have kept it alive, the meaning often reverting to its literal nowadays. Whereas its original meaning seemed to hold the weight of ‘my lover’ or simply ‘mine’. It was said Gith had favoured this term for her lovers, one especially, whoever that had been.
Z
z’var - blood
Z’var’zai - (z - vohr - zoy) - literally, blood honour
This can be used in different meanings such as the literal, to give a blood honour, to pay a price in blood for Vlaakith, your jhe’stil. Or to describe a wound or injury because of an honourable thing a githyanki did for someone (however this seems rare, and used more in the older days of the gith).
Often it’s translated and used as ‘worth of blood’ or ‘blood beauty’ to describe someone’s war or battle wounds as something another githyanki appreciates in that person, admires, or desires them because of it.
Z’vart’rac (z - vohr - t - rak) - literally, blood insane
This term is more for battle bloodlust, but sometimes spills over to other feelings between gith, gith and istik or other scenarios.
Z’varc (z - vohrk) - a derivation of the above ‘z’vart’rac’, blood insane.
Blood insane to blood lust, but carnal. If you ask a githyanki what it means in common, they’ll probably say something itense like ‘blood wild’ or ‘bleed me dry, fuck me wet’. Mates and lovers started shortening the original version to this one, and it’s lived on to now heavily through their raiding culture.
This is one of the words of the githyanki that is more understood in the feeling, tone, that simple meaning. Trust me on this.
Zhak - bruises
Zharni - memory
Sources used:
Githyanki Vocabulary used in BG3
Gith dictionary of the Forgotten Realms
Tir words of Planescape
Mordenkainen’s Tome Of Foes
Archive of Vocabulary and Grammar of Tir by bluebeholder on AO3
#githyanki#githzerai#gith#bg3#bg3 githyanki#des' HCs#githyanki worldbuilding#tir'su#next step is to write them all out in tir'su oh boy lmao#kith'rak voss#orpheus bg3#des writes#my writing#dungeons and dragons#githyanki language#enjoy!!!! i hope#let me know if you like them i always love to know people's thoughts
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A Hole in One
A Hole in One
TW: Smut, as always. Slight potential exhibitionism. Daddy kink. Derogatory language. Rough sex.
Summary: Bored as you are dragged to one of Rafe's golf days, you decide to make things a bit more interesting...
Kook girlfriend x kook prince
"Baby, why are you pouting?" Rafe sighed, half amused as he usually preferred your lips puckered for him. But in this instance, with your arms crossed over your full breasts concealed beneath your tight crop, his interest came in the way your body tightened. He always made it obvious how he craved to devour you, even more so when you had an attitude against him. This was because he knew how easily your mood would change just by his touch alone and he basked in the power behind it.
"We were supposed to go shopping..." You detested everything about the consolation activity. It was too quiet, too hot, and you were always berated for asking questions whenever you did try to act as if you cared to please your boyfriend.
"Just one hour...and then after that, I'll buy you something real pretty..." He leaned across the console of the car separating you. When you first started dating, these small moments would force you to aquiesce as you didn't want to upset him. But now, you learned that rivaling him only enticed him more. So by the response of only your eyes pulling backwards into a roll, you pushed the door open and made your way onto the exterior of the golf course.
Sitting in the golf cart for the majority of the first half, fanning yourself, you realized how futile this was. Of course they would pick the hottest day of the summer to hit balls into holes-you just couldn't understsnd it. There were a million other things you'd rather do. A root canal. The DMV. But the most enticing thing had been Rafe, who was mouthwatering in his backwards cap, tight shorts, and gray top buttoned at the top with the exception of those exposing hints of his toned chest to you. But you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of you eye fucking him across the green.
Carrying your soles to the small cart used for servicing members of the club, you ordered a water and an ice cream cone before returing to your seat. Peeling the package and licking your lips in anticipation to the vanilla sweet, you nearly seduced the cone, even relasing an unintentional moan, until your eyes found all three boys now looking up at you. But where Topper and Kelce were somewhere between aroused and humored, Rafe was pissed.
Rafe was the type of boyfriend who wanted to parade you around at every party, his hands never leaving your body for too long. But when it came to moans he believed only he deserved to know the sound of or even the sight of your skin he knew had been touched solely by him, he wanted all of that for himself. Which was why when you pulled your thumb to your bottom lip to withdraw the rebellious ice cream from staining your chin in its sticky makeup, an epiphany entertained your boredom.
You offered a smile so the boys would return to their game, allowing a moment to pass, before optioning for a way to gain your boyfriend's attention. Usually, you never had to fight for it, but when it came to golf, Rate was precise. You usually didn't mind because you got to treasure him prior to his games, the cute ensembles crumpled between your fingers as he gave insights to how your patience would be rewarded just before he left you to fantasize of the ways you would return your fervor for his return. But now, having been lured here under false pretenses, well over the hour agreed upon, you wanted to ensure he knew his mistake. After all, how did he expect you to entertain yourself with nothing more than a golfcart and the heat?
Pulling your crop top down just enough, you used the condensation of the water bottle to cool your temperate skin. Feigning closing your eyes, you allowed your head to rest in the expected padding of the chair behind you before notcing the three pairs of eyes on you again.
"Top!" Rafe ordered through clenched teeth as you ked the water between your thighs. From the outside glance, it seemed as though you were simply cooling yourself off. But to Rafe, he knew you too well to know this was anything but an instigation.
With the shock of ice cold water to your skin, the sudden heat of his grip sent you stumbling off of the cart and onto his feet by the main dependency of his hold.
"Are you not going to be happy until I fuck you in front of them?" His jaw tense but his eyes desperate for your rebellion, you only chuckled.
"You wouldn't dare leave a game-".
"Fuck the game-" He retorted, moving closer to you as you took this as a chance to fondle the buttons keeping his loose shirt away from the muscles contracting beneath. You had left claw marks every interaction upon the skin concealed beneath this chosen button up, and yet craved it each time as if it had been the first sight.
"Wouldn't you rather fuck me?" You questioned, eyeing him beneath your long lashes, batting them just as you would if in preparation of a blow job, the way you knew he loved to be adorned.
"Will that make you behave?" He asked through a continued clench of his teeth, although reveling in the games you two played.
"Probaably not...But you could try..." His eyes sharpened into an amused narrow as he cocked his jaw.
"So I make you cum and you you'll let me make par?" The illumination behind your eyes electrified his own steely gaze as you felt his forefinger bend beneath your chin to draw your attention exclusively to him.
Another idea suddenly crossed your mind, this one far more alluring then making yourself cold against the art of seduction.
"You think too highly of your skills..." You slipped from before him, traveling the remaining meters to his friends while hearing him mutter 'brat' in the final moments you remained in earshot.
"Can I try?" You asked, hands pulled in unison behind your back and chest pushed forward to achieve their undivided attention as Rafe remained at the golf cart, hat removed in his hands and folding its bill as if purposely trying to reshape it.
"Just one swing?" You pleaded, your tone rising in the particular way he knew well just at the cusp of your orgasm. The way your usual boisterous confidence fell to dependency in that whimper of a release, one you knew effected him well, was now spoken to someone who was not him.
"Here..." Topper offered, any excuse to make the moment end as quickly as possible having pushed him to volunteer.
The cold metal of the club was heavy between your fingers as you purposely fumbled your stance as you knew the only thing to drive Rafe into annoyance beyond repair would be the delay of how you acted brainless. This usually got you a reward when you were behind closed doors as if the only brain cells you had existed to pleasure him. But this was something you knew you would pay for later. The skin of your nearly exposed ass twitching in a premature ache of what was to come.
"You want to follow through on your swing. Carry your hips towards the hole-the flag-" He quickly fumbled as you giggled, Rafe now standing beside Kelce, who was enjoying the rivalry to who usually remained from getting such a rise out if Rafe. You knew him well to know if you were anyone else, you'd be abandoned or ridiculed. But this was how you operated. Games and tension all for reward and benefit coming imminently. You acted the brat and he corrected you in the only way he knew how-cuming.
"Can you show me?" You batted your lashes to Topper, who quickly looked to Rafe for permission. When only finding a hard line and white knuckles wrapped around his club, he nervously agreed as lining you up to swing.
"Line up..." You spoke the words carefully, almost an echo of Topper's instruction, using this to act innocent to how you nearly ground against his inseam.
"Turn your hips..." Topper guided you through this false swing as you prepared to hit the ball for real. Focusing with your bottom lip between your teeth in captivation, you turned to find Rafe staring but no longer on edge in the understanding you were almost finished with your display.
How wrong he was.
Pulling apart from Topper, you laid your new ball to the green, bending down in such a way that made everyone in view question if you were wearing a thong or nothing at all-the latter made knowledgeable of your boyfriend. Before you could prepare to swing, your arm was taken by enough force to later leave marks, as you were pulled out of view.
"You done?" His voice, dark and drawn in the way he always allowed his cadence to portray itself in the light southern drawl behind his firm words, you only smirked with pride.
"It got your attention didn't it?" His jaw cocked, his body pining you to the side of the club, out of eyesight, but not earshot of those passing by midday. But your focus wasn't on the usual elder crowd that used the fields this time of day. Your focus was on Rafe's desire for you, hard against your abdomen.
"You want my attention?" His fingers ran through your hair, softly, only to repeat this course once more to pull it backwards.
"You have it." Your grin widened as your lips became parted by his own hungry kiss. Your eager hands rose to the edges of his shirt, broadcasting your desperation to him in the gentle tug to know his touch.
"Please Rafe..." You pleaded, undeserving, yet quelled by his fingers dipping between your thighs left ajar by his knee between your parted legs.
"Such a desperate little brat, aren't you?"
"Please..." You repeated, the feeling of his large hand cupping your greedy cunt, leaving him to drawl out a scoff.
"You think you deserve it?"
"I NEED it-"
"And I needed YOU to let me finish my game...and instead you distract my friends and give them boners, acting like you haven't been fucked well a day in your life, well aware I would have taken good care of you if you were just patient..."
"Rafe..." You began to sense any portion of sweetness he usually held for you beneath his bravado to melt away beneath his hostility as he turned you to the wall, skirt lifted before it could join to your skin once again.
"You want to act like a whore for them? You're gonna be treated like one by ME!" He growled, harsh grip in your hair as a sting centered on your bare ass cheek. The wince that left your lips was enough to draw that grip in your hair now to your lips.
"You made enough of those sounds for them. Nobody else gets to hear you moan. You make one more fucking sound and you won't get to cum for a week-" Although seven days seemed tolerable, the way Rafe would tease you in that time, bringing you to that edge left you manic and in desperation of a release that would make two minutes seem like an eternity. For this, you fought to remain silent.
"Letting Topper touch you like you aren't still filled with me from this morning-" He scoffed. "You're gonna go back to them, ME dripping down your thighs so they know who makes YOU come." His hand on the back of your neck, pulling you to look at him.
"But not today." Your mouth came open in objection before remembering his promise to edge you. The ideas swirling in your mind of his tongue, his fingers, his cock, all bringing you to the fringes of a release only to refrain from following through, was enough to fight this moan. But it took everything you had as you felt him unbuckle himself behind you.
"You're gonna take my cock like a good girl, right?" You nodded viciously, aching for the familiarity of his impressive girth that always left you satisfied in his efforts.
"Raw." This single word made your eyes roll as he was usually careful with contraception, but aware you took your own methods of prevention, he allowed this to act for where he was temporarily negligent. All for the feeling of his naked cock making you his once more.
The sudden burial of his thick shaft had you biting your lip until drawing blood, the copper taste ignored by the way he extended into your abdomen.
"Fuck-" He grunted.
"Always so wet. So tight..." He muttered in thrusts, brazen to take you this way in broad daylight, skirt bunched at one grip at your hip, as the other remained on the back of your neck until resting at your hip in a hungry indent. You craved to silence the pulsing of your clit, eventually willing to risk his wrath for just a moment of pleasure as his moans acted as an aphrodisiac you couldn't silence.
"No!" He grunted. "You don't get to touch yourself, you little slut...You'll wait until I do...IF I let you." Bringing your silent wince into your expression, he lowered you further before him, basking in the effect of how he had you at his mercy.
"You like being fucked in public, yeah?"
You nodded.
"You like my cock this deep inside your tight little cunt? MY CUNT?"
Only allowed to nod, you did so rapidly, almost violently, his hand slipping from your mouth and hollowing out your cheeks via his grip, until you faced him.
"Please..." You couldn't take the stretch, the moans, the pressure-you risked his threat if it meant gaining some form of pity from him. Even for a moment.
"I'm sorry! Please!" Tears developed in your eyes as he suddenly stilled. You worried he would abandon you completely, the week of forced abstinence in effect to this. But instead, he turned you to face him.
"Maybe I should give you a chance to make it up to me..."
You nodded, eagerly, willing to do whatever was necessary as long as you could still touch him somehow.
"Yes, Rafe-" You validated your conviction as his grin widened.
"That's not what you call me when you're in trouble...You know better..." He warned as you swallowed hard in anticipation.
"I'm sorry...daddy....please."
"Please what? How do you want to make it up to 'daddy'?" He smiled wildly, the edges of his mouth nearly reaching his ears and raising to his eyes in illumination.
"I want to make you come daddy! Let me make you cum!"
"You know how to, doll..." He motioned to his erect mmeber, kissed by the sunlight of this balmy day. Before he could return his eyes to you, you were on your knees, hands already around his shaft. You knew his anatomy well, you knew how he loved to be stroked and the most sensitive patches of eroticism that pulled his eyes into a roll of pleasure. But you didn't want to wait for the usual foreplay of long stripes along his cock. You took him with force, pushing well beyond your reflex as tears formed in your eyes.
"Good girl-fuck!" He clenched his teeth and bucked his hips in response. When feeling your tears on his lower stomach, he chuckled, staining his care with how he loved seeing you choke on him.
"Look at my good girl, on her knees for me in public...making daddy feel so fucking good!" He bellowed, eyes screwing shut as you twisted his base, pumping him beyond your reflex, and sucking his excess to his swelling tip.
"Just like that , baby! Shit!" He cursed, his hand now taking control of your hair, leaving you breathless to your offerings, before finally allowing you a breath as he pulled you trembling in his arms just before he would have sent his ribbons of cum down your throat.
"You've been so good for me...Do you think you've learned your lesson?"
You nodded, desperation and the ache of his cock still spamming your throat having silenced you, leaving you speechless but eager with the continued bobbing of your head.
"My baby's gotta use big words to deserve this cum-"
"I've l-learned my ll-lesson-" You managed as he chuckled.
"Good girl." His praise sent you moaning before he lifted you against the wall, this time guiding himself inside of you. You didn't think you had ever been more wet for him, this proven in the way he was effortlessly thrusting into you, even as you tightened arousmnd him with each retrieval of his cock. He was merciless as always, but somehow more depraved on the usual firm holds, now purely selfish.
"Oh God!" You groaned to his sloppy thrusts, informing you of his coming release.
"So fucking good for me baby. Take care of daddy and I'll take care of my baby-" Your arm came around his shoulders, pulling yourself even higher from ground level, as he would use this to take himself deeper inside of you. The silence of his vugarities informed you of his precipice, followed by the blood drawn by his scratch, and your name leaving his lips between curses and pet names.
"Shit, babygirl..." He breathed, pulling you to your feet as they struggled to straighten.
"As promised..." He moved to his own knees , bunching your skirt upwards once again to your bald cunt, sopping in the mix of his cum and your own desire. Grinning in approval to how aroused he made you, he set his fingers inside of you, sending your head backwards.
"You scream, I stop." You agreed with a nod as you bit your bottom lip once finding him to focus on your clit. His teeth tormented it's swollen inflammation as you twisted your fingers in his shirt. Smirking into your thigh, he pulled your leg over his shoulder for proper angle, suddenly devouring you in a series of nibbles and inhales before bringing you to that cusp he knew well. But he altered his direct devotion, fingers slowing to draw out your orgasm.
"You EVER pull shit like that again, and you'll only cum when I let you...which won't be often, baby..."
"Rafe-"
"Don't worry.. I'll still cum.." He grinned. "You’ll still get my cock...But only I'll get to cum..." His fingers to your clit were impossibly swift, perfectly pressured, his breath hot against your ear purring in endorsement.
"But right now...because you're such a good girl for me...because you learned your lesson..." He grinned maniacly. "You're gonna squirt for me-"
"Rafe, please. Not here-" The idea of you staining the sidewalk or his clothes, evidence of your punishment returning back to Topper and Kelce, stained your cheeks red.
"You are so tight baby, you need this. " Your whimpers drove him further, quicker, deeper. His pointer finger, contrasted cold to your fiery skin with his signature ring, slipped inside of you for pressure, followed by his middle finger, and thumb rounding your clit into those flicks and circles.
"And once you do, you're gonna let me finish my game, dripping with both of us, thinking about how you'll behave next time..."
"Yes!" You breathed.
"Rafe! I'm-"
"That's it baby...let go...let me feel-" You interrupted him with the release he pulled, dampening his shoes with what he pulled from you. Your mouth pulled into a wide oval, the rush of pleasure intensified by the way he twisted your clit to leave you overstimulated and with the reminder of the control he had over you-as if you could ever forget.
"Now...you satisfied?" He teased, allowing you to pull your dress to cover yourself, slightly embarrassed to what you had allowed and what you still wanted.
"Hole in one?" He questioned as you rolled your eyes to his cheesy pun before being returned to Topper and Kelce, who you could no longer look in the eyes as you felt Rafe's promise descend between your thighs, coming into view if you were to part them. As he returned to his game, you sat silently in the golf cart, imagining what he would buy you after this game was over and already planning how you would rebel against him next time...
#rafe cameron#outerbanks#outer banks#rafecameron#obx#obx fanfiction#drew starkey#netflix#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#kook#golf
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The Same Bed: Reunion
CW: Intimate whumper, creepy whumper POV, noncon touching, some brief vague references to past dubcon/noncon, derogatory language/dehumanizing language, whumpee recaptured, drugging
The Same Bed: Part One: Jake | Part Two: Krista | Part Three: Chris | Part Four: Vincent | Part Five: Antoni | Interlude | Part Six: Nat | Part Seven: Owen | Part Eight: Tonight | Part Nine: Reunion |
-
When Owen arrives, Kauri is sitting on a park bench.
The setting sun is a brilliant bloody red. You can’t smell the smoke from the wildfires in San Francisco, they’re farther away than that and the wind isn’t blowing the right direction, but you can see them reflected in the sunsets and the wisps of clouds that try to block it out. The light has an eerie orange-gold quality, and Owen pulls into a parking spot and just sits, looking over the man who ran from him almost ten years ago.
Light like this calls for a soundtrack, some low and rumbling. Building tension for the killer to leap out of the nearby bushes. But the only soundtrack is the radio, playing a cheery 80's dance-pop song Owen only vaguely recognizes.
It's jarring, unsettling, and he turns the radio off entirely.
Sitting on a park bench next to the path, a scattering of trees behind him and a field of grass whispering to itself as the blades shift in the salt-sea breeze, is Kauri. The bay is vaguely audible, somewhere close by but not quite in sight, not from here. Just a soft rush of water, reminding the world that it is here, cutting away the land, second by second pulling sand back to itself, deep into the sea.
Kauri’s jaw is less soft and subtle now, it looks carved nearly from stone. His hair falls in the usual messy mop of wild black curls, but it’s a little shorter than it used to be. Back then, Owen decided his hair’s length and style, he had liked it longer than this.
Too bad there probably won’t be time to grow it out again.
He sits with his hands in his lap, spine straight, wearing an oversized hoodie and charcoal-black jeans with holes worn in the knees, battered and beat-up black-and-white checked shoes on his feet. He looks… so much like Vince. Or like Vince’s homeless younger brother, fallen on hard times.
“That’s him?” Hanson’s voice breaks Owen out of his reverie.
“That’s him,” Owen confirms. His hands are gripped white-knuckle tight to the steering wheel. He has to carefully uncurl his fingers one by one by one by one, aching as the tension is released. “He’ll have someone around, so keep an eye out. Probably the one fucking him. Easy to get too attached once you’ve had your dick in my Kor-Bore.”
There’s a pause, and then Hanson says, “Clearly,” in a carefully neutral voice.
Owen ignores the flare of rage at the judgment he’s sure Hanson is hiding. It doesn’t matter - he’ll have both his Vinces soon enough, he can give Hanson the last third of his payment and never see him again. He looks around, carefully, and sees a beat-up car a few spots down with a man inside. He doesn’t know the guy, not from this angle and from this far away, but he knows the boiling rage that opens and closes the man’s hands. He knows the intensity of the stare leveled Kauri’s way.
“There he is,” Owen murmurs, and Hanson nods. He gets out of the passenger side, a hand on the gun carefully worn at his belt, ready to draw. Owen has one, too, just in case - not that he’s great with guns, but he does well enough. Goes to the range every week or so, tries to unload his stress there.
It doesn’t help.
Not until he started picturing Vince’s face with every pull of the trigger.
When Owen steps out of the car, straightening up and heading that direction, Kauri’s pretty blue eyes swing to him. His hands tighten into fists where they sit carefully on his thighs, his shoulders lower and his chin raises. But Owen thinks he sees Kauri’s jaw trembling, just a little bit.
How much will he shake, later, under Owen’s hands? How hard will he fight for air? It won't make any difference. He'll still be Owen's, in the end, right to the very last second and even afterward.
“Hey, Kor-Bore,” Owen says, keeping his voice casual, uncaring. He watches the shudder run through Kauri’s body from head to toe with a mix of delight and irritation - Kauri used to love that nickname. Didn’t he?
Didn’t he always say he loved it?
“Where’s Nat?” Kauri asks, instead of greeting him. He doesn’t move from the bench, but his eyes flicker to the side and back, catching the sight of Hanson lurking, watching the other car without trying to hide it. “You-... you said-”
“When I get you back,” Owen says, putting his hands up, showing how harmless he is, never mind the gun tucked into the back of his pants under his shirt. “Then we drive her and her pet to the outskirts of Berras and dump her at a bus stop.”
“He’s not her pet-”
“Shut up, I’m talking. Are you supposed to interrupt me? Were you trained to interrupt me, Romantic?"
Kauri swallows, hard. Owen watches his Adam’s apple bob. “... no.”
“Damn straight. In any case, you’ll be busy, but don’t worry, Kauri, you know I don’t mind letting you get in a goodbye. And you know I don’t want to kill anyone, or hurt anyone, if I can just have you. No one else has to get hurt if you come along with me.”
“You’ll hurt me, though.”
“Yeah.” Owen smiles, flashing perfect white teeth, obscenely perfect, in a wide smile. “I will. But just until I’m done.”
"When you're... when you're done?"
"Yeah. But then you won't hurt anymore, so that's good, right?"
"Sure." Kauri's voice is faint, and he has to clear his throat to find it again. His head tips to one side. "And... and Vince? Will you hurt him, too?"
“Too late for that, you should see what he looks like right now. Fucking hot shit like blood running down his face, you know? Just like I remembered... but nobody else gets hurt. Just you two." He holds out a hand, like when he would urge Kauri out of bed, folding those long thin fingers in his own larger hand, pulling Kauri to him for a good morning kiss, enjoying the soft laughter he’d receive and thinking of Vince, wondering why Vince never laughed that way, with him.
Sometimes he’d push Kauri right back into bed and slot himself between those pretty legs, feel Kauri’s ankles hook behind his back, and listen to him laugh and moan and whimper and beg. It had been an amazing way to start the day.
Kauri’s eyes close, slowly. He takes a deep breath.
Owen wonders if he’s thinking about the mornings, too. How much fun they'd had, before Kauri got all those fucking ideas and took them all way too far.
Kauri pushes himself up to his feet, moving forward with the inevitability of any death, and puts his hand in Owen’s.
His fingers are cold.
Owen pulls them to his lips, breathing hot and feeling them twitch in his grip. “Your man over there going to try and fuck this up?” He asks, in a whisper. He kisses Kauri’s fingertips one by one, and his eyes are locked on the wide, warm blue.
Almost identical to Vince.
Almost.
He’ll cut them out, he thinks, before he lets Kauri die. Only Vince should get to die with those eyes.
“No,” Kauri whispers.
Dark eyelashes lay long enough to just brush his cheek when he closes his eyes. One black curl hangs over his thick eyebrow on one side, breaking the line of his pale forehead. Owen leans forward to kiss the little furrow between his eyes, just above his nose.
Kauri’s nose wrinkles, but he doesn’t pull away. “He knows how important Nat is.”
“More important than you,” Owen says, voice low. He trails his mouth down, pressing a kiss to the tip of Kauri’s nose, to his cheek. He keeps it all light, grazing, just enjoying Kauri’s stillness, his acceptance.
“More important than me,” Kauri agrees, and when Owen pulls back there’s a slight, sad, wry smile on his beautiful face. “She’s saved a lot of lives, Owen. I’m just-... just-”
“Just a whore with delusions of grandeur,” Owen finishes for him, cutting him off and pressing a thumb to his lower lip.
“I-I wouldn’t have phrased it that way-” Owen pushes the thumb into his mouth and it cuts off his words, makes him choke and gag a little before he pulls it back out.
“Doesn’t matter. I paid for a slut, and you stayed one, huh? I mean, look at you. How much are you fucking the guy in the car?”
“... as often as he wants to.” Kauri, the little shit, doesn’t even look ashamed of himself for it.
"And who else?"
"Jesus, is this really the time-"
"I said, who else?"
“Him. Antoni." Kauri's eyes suddenly flare into a wildness, a defiance that sends rage boiling through Owen's blood. "Chris. Everybody, I fuck anybody and everybody, Owen, that's how much I fucking love being away from you. It's been, what, about a hundred guys in the past ten years or so? Maybe two hundred? Or three?” Kauri’s lips twist, and it’s like he’s trying to hold it back but can’t. Like he can’t stop himself. “Can't even keep them all straight, I don't even know what half of their names were any longer. They bought me drinks and I paid the way you trained me to pay, didn't I? Spread my legs, because I couldn't read and I couldn't get a job and I couldn't-... do anything else! You paid for a slut, right, you told me that all the time. You paid for a fucking whore who couldn’t say no, what the fuck did you think I would do if I escaped you? Illiterate sluts can’t exactly spend their time playing Scrabble, now can they? What was I supposed to do to stay alive, Owen?! What did you think-”
Owen grabs his throat, thumb pressing into the racing pulse under his jaw, watching his eyes widen in alarm and his defiance cut off like a switched-off radio. Hearing the soft cry of surprise and fear that escapes around his constricted airway. His hands come up to grab at Owen’s, at his wrist, scrabbling and digging bitten fingernails in, but he was never strong enough to stop him and that, at least, hasn’t changed.
“I never liked it when you got a tone with me, Kor-Bore,” He says, leaning forward until his forehead rests against Kauri’s. Until his wide blue eyes take up all of his vision, until he knows his own eyes are all that Kauri can see. He watches Kauri blink, rapidly, watches a tear run down his cheek on one side and then the other. "And I sure as fuck don't like you holding all that shit up to brag about it."
"I-I'm sorry-" Kauri whimpers, and Owen feels that familiar heat in his stomach again, pleasure just at the sound of his fear. "I'm sorry, Mr. Owen, I'm sorry-"
Behind him, he hears a car door slam. “Hey!” A deep voice calls out. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Stay right the fuck where you are,” Hanson snaps. “Get back in your fucking car.”
“I’m not here so I can watch him choke Kauri out right here, asshole!”
“I said get back in your fucking car!”
“Oh, Prince Charming got pissed off,” Owen teases, and there - for just a second, there’s anger again in Kauri’s eyes. But it’s gone as fast as it came, replaced by the fear.
Always, by the fear.
Owen loves the fear. He always did, even when he pretended otherwise. It had felt so good to see Vince afraid of him, over and over and over again, afraid and unable to escape like he had in real life. To reenact the story, and this time have it end Owen’s way, with someone beautiful in bed, underneath him, existing in a kind of limbo until he walked in the door.
Winking out of existence whenever Owen wasn’t looking directly at him. Curling into a ball whenever he wasn’t wanted.
“I’m sorry,” Kauri whispers, “That I s-spoke to you that way. Just-... just get me in the car, please. I want to see-... to say g-goodbye to Nat. I’ve already said goodbye to-... to him. Them."
“Right. One second. Just need to check…” Owen lets go, and works his hands into Kauri’s hair, fingers over his scalp. He works his way down to his neck, noting the way his pale skin is already reddening from Owen’s brief grip on it, and then he pats him down, along the arms and the sides. He lingers a little longer around the hips than altogether necessary, maybe lets his hand stray while he’s touching the insides of his thighs. Kauri holds perfectly still for him, eyes closed now.
He accepts the touch, but he doesn’t enjoy it.
He’s ruined for that, Owen thinks, but that’s okay. Kauri isn’t supposed to survive very long after he gets him back to Vince’s house anyway.
He doesn’t find any hidden weapons. Not even a phone.
Owen stands back up, leading Kauri to his car, opening the passenger door for him to slip inside. Once he’s there as well, he twists around to pull a box out of the backseat and flips open the top. Kauri sits with his hands in his lap again, staring fixedly at the bench he was on. Somewhere nearby, the bay is sparkling with reflected embers, the last hints of red light fading into the starless night.
He has to turn the dash light on, and watches Kauri jerk when he sees what’s inside the little cardboard box. “Owen-”
“It’s Mr. Owen, Kor-Bore.” Owen pulls the syringe out. It’s pre-loaded, he and Hanson had made sure it would be ready to go. The liquid inside is suspiciously, alarmingly clear. It could be anything. It could be death itself, and Kauri won’t know until he feels it in his veins.
“I-... Mr. Owen, what is-... I’m not going to try and run-... pl-please don’t-”
“Shut the fuck up. It’s a five-hour drive where we’re going, Kor-Bore, and you’re going to take a little nap for the journey.” He taps, making sure there aren’t any bubbles. “Take out that little packet and wipe the inside of your elbow with it. How long since you’ve had a needle in your arm, huh?”
Kauri’s jaw tightens, briefly, and then he looks away, opening the single-use antiseptic wipe and drawing it across the inside of his right elbow, eyes closed. He shivers at the feeling. “Since I-... since the last… since my surgery.”
“Really? You never got into any of the hard shit while you were slutting it up all over California?”
“Not needles. Only-... only pills, drinking...”
“Good choice. I’d just kill you right now if you got into that dirty needle shit. Here we go.” Owen takes Kauri’s arm in his hand, pulling it out straight. Kauri closes his hand into a fist as Owen ties it off below his bicep and feels for the vein. He knows how to do this, sort of, in theory. He’s acted in some medical shows, played a drug addict a time or two, and he’s had it done to him for blood draws at the doctor.
The needle slides into the skin easily enough, and he’s about… seventy percent sure he definitely hit the vein.
He depresses the plunger, and Kauri gasps, eyes opening wide, whites around the pretty blue. “It’s-... that’s from WRU-”
“Cold as shit when they go in, huh?” Owen laughs, and discards the needle back into the box, dumping the whole thing into the backseat. A drop of red blood sits at the crease of Kauri’s elbow, nearly black in the near-darkness, the dash light the only thing that adds a hint of red. Owen wipes it away and rubs it off on Kauri’s cheekbone, smearing a streak of red there through the drying tear tracks. “They do that on purpose, you know. It’s part of the development process. They want you to know you’re being drugged.”
Kauri licks at his lips, pulling his arm back to his side. “I know… I know that. My handler... my handler told me that."
“All right, Kor-Bore. Here we go.” His pretty Vince clone sits, silently, as Owen buckles him safely into his seatbelt. He stares back at the park bench when Owen’s hand touches his face and does nothing more than shiver a little when Owen’s fingers trace the side of his neck, find his collarbone, toy with the neckline of his hoodie. Owen has to pull it down to see the twisted scar.
“Was it worth it?” Owen asks, voice low. He leans forward and his lips move against Kauri’s hair. Soft, the heat of his body warming them when you get close to his scalp. Owen inhales deeply, the scent of Kauri’s inexpensive shampoo and whatever product he’s using these days. Kisses down to his earlobe, toying with a piercing there, lips around the small black hoop. “Going on TV, telling everybody all that bullshit, was it worth it? Was it worth it, to have to come back home with me?”
Kauri holds still for him, even when Owen’s hand drops, even when it moves between his legs, palming him idly. He even spreads his knees apart, slightly, in an easy conditioned obedience that he’s never entirely lost. “Seventy-eight,” He says, voice hoarse.
“What?” Owen’s hand pauses, a weight pressing over the fly of Kauri’s jeans. He pulls back and away from his ear.
“That’s how many people have been released since we did it. Another sixty-something investigations, they’ll probably get freed, too. There’s a law they’re going to pass making it not illegal anymore to help us. Making what Nat does, what Jake does… legit. Hell, they even found that one guy from Germany who was some guy’s homemade pet because of it a couple weeks ago.” Kauri shakes his head. “Chris is safe now, too. Really, truly safe. It was worth it.”
“But you aren’t safe.”
“No, but... but I wasn't going to be. It wasn't about making me safe, I lied about that. I lied to Jake, I knew I wasn’t ever safe. Not with you still… still looking for me. I wasn’t ever safe.”
“No. I never stopped looking for you.” Owen’s voice is low and loving, but Kauri doesn’t react to it like he used to. Those big eyes don’t search his for sincerity, he doesn’t blush or smile or seem pleased. He only tips his head back against the seat, slowly closing his eyes.
“I know,” He says. “It’s-... it’s kickin’ in, now. Just take me wherever you’re going. Just get it over with.”
Something about this isn’t right - Kauri was supposed to fight more than this, maybe. Or show more feeling, more emotion. This isn’t the script Owen had written. Instead, the drug makes him limp and he looks like he’s being dragged to a concert for a band he doesn’t like, not taken somewhere to go right back to the life he was designed for, made for, at least until Owen is done with him.
It’s with irritation that he rolls his window down. “Hanson, get in the car. We’re going.”
Hanson backs up until he’s at the door and gets in with the gun still in his hand. Owen looks over and sees a tall, muscular blond man leaning back against the hood of his own beat-up little junker of a shitty car, arms crossed, watching them.
Just... staring, as Owen backs up and out of the spot. Then he stands up, and walks with deliberate slowness to his own driver’s side door as Owen pulls out of the small parking lot, leaving him behind.
“Make sure he doesn’t follow us,” Owen says, under his breath. Hanson nods and twists around to look out the back windshield. But no headlights pull out behind them. Nothing happens.
They’re on the interstate in minutes, headed south, back towards Hollywood. They don’t notice an entirely different car that falls in with them, because it isn’t the car they’re watching for or any of the ones they've taken care to find out about over the past few weeks prepping for this. Just another vehicle on the road.
Beside him, Kauri’s breath goes slow and deep, and he slips under, the sedatives helping him into a heavy, unnatural sleep. He looks already dead, like this, except for the rise and fall of his chest.
It’s a practice run.
Owen takes glances at him, so he can kind of… prepare, for what it’s going to look like when even that chest isn’t moving any longer. Thinking over how he’ll arrange him, then, where he’ll keep him until he’s done with Vince, too.
“What do you think?” Hanson asks, settling back in to relax now that the initial danger is passed. Owen has to shake himself out of his daydream. “That guy going to leave us alone?”
“Oh, fuck no. He’s fucking Kauri, he won’t want to give that up. Kauri probably told him to go my condo, go rescue him there. I guarantee he’s going to drive like the goddamn devil and thinks he’ll surprise me when we get there.” He laughs, switching lanes without a signal, earning an angry honk from an SUV behind him. He flips his middle finger up automatically, even though it’s dark and she almost certainly can’t see him do it.
“He knows where your condo is?”
“Yeah, I bet he does. I mean. They’re not that hard to find.” Owen shrugs. “But that’ll be their plan. Pretend to be all good and easy like he used to be, and then a big strong man comes to save him.” He chuckles, dropping one hand to rest it on Kauri’s thigh. There’s no resistance, nothing but the slow and steady breathing beside him.
“Oh, Kor-Bore… You’re going to be so surprised,” Owen whispers to himself with a smile. “When I get you in that door and you realize it’s not my house I took you to. Who's going to save you when your Prince Charming goes to the wrong fucking house?"
Kauri’s head tips to the side, he hitches in a breath and exhales. Owen looks back at the road.
He doesn’t see the way Kauri smiles, reflected against the window.
-
@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things
#whump#the same bed arc#erase to control#owen grant is a nice guy#box boy universe#pet whump#box boy#bbu#intimate whumper#recaptured whumpee#intimate whump#noncon touching#derogatory language#degrading language#drugging tw#drugged whumpee#defiant whumpee#angry whumpee#angry caretaker#creepy whumper#sadistic whumper#brief reference to guns#vague noncon references#vague dubcon references#dehumanizing language
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Yandere! Shouta Aizawa General Profile
Yandere! Shouta Aizawa x fem! reader
Tw: yandere, kidnapping, stalking, voyeurism, mentions of assault, breaking and entering, mentions of neglect, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of dub-con, sexual toys, masturbation, derogatory language (not said by our wonderful feminist Shouta), fem! reader, MDNI
I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!
DARLING PROFILE:
Calm
Despite having tight friends who are much, much more energetic and easily excitable than himself, there’s a certain allure to steadiness and calmness that really calls to Aizawa.
Maybe it has to do with his tendency to be a bit low on sleep, or maybe it has to do with his own disposition - he isn’t sure, but he can’t deny the fact that a darling who isn’t constantly bursting with energy is something he would adore.
In order to catch his attention, his darling must be someone he is already comfortable with, and it’s much easier for Aizawa to let someone in if they’re more agreeable, less tiring, more his speed.
Of course, a healthy dose of excitement is something he would crave every once in a while from his partner, but to him the moments of blissful serenity, calm mornings spent in each other’s arms, peaceful nights spent sleeping or catching up on a good show or book mean more than daring, crazy adventures.
He wants to know that his darling will be rational, someone he can have a real conversation with, someone he can respect and trust.
A darling who is more calm and collected is much preferred for Aizawa, and with every situation that they handle efficiently without panicking, it only solidifies his view that his darling is utterly, completely perfect for him.
Smart
Aizawa himself is quite good at understanding and interpreting people, situations, and risks; he’s intelligent, and as a result he’s drawn to others that are similar in that way.
His darling doesn’t need to be a genius, or even someone familiar with the hero world - in fact, someone not associated with the messy, violent life of heroes would be preferred.
He just likes the idea of his darling being smart in their particular interests, of being curious and intelligent and always trying to improve their hobbies or areas of interest.
It once again stems from his want for a partner he can trust, can have logical, clean conversations with, and to say that knowing his darling can make their own informed choices (although Aizawa is quite reluctant to let them decide anything, if only because he knows that he has a better understanding of the world and his darling’s weaknesses) is a relief would be a massive understatement.
He doesn’t like to waste time on those who aren’t able to intellectually keep up with him, and while he’s never fault someone for being slower, he cannot handle ignorance.
His darling needs to be able to understand him, at least as much as they possibly can, and with every situation in which they show off this side of them, Aizawa honestly feels his heart fluttering in his chest.
His darling is just so wonderful, so perfect and amazing, that he literally wants to own them, to have his name claimed onto something so precious and rare.
Realistic
While Aizawa is, admittedly, a bit of a pessimist, he views himself more as someone who expects what’s most likely to happen.
He knows there are terrible people in the world, that things don’t always go the way they’re supposed to, that most of the time there are countless boundaries up against goals and dreams, and he’s simply preparing himself for the inevitable, so that if he turns out to be wrong he’s pleasantly surprised.
Pure optimism is something that Aizawa will never understand, and because of this he tends to prefer people who have more of an approach from the middle ground.
Of course, optimism isn’t a complete turn off for him, but he wants someone who approaches situations without those rose tinted glasses, who’s aware of how the world works and acts accordingly.
He’ll admit that he’s negative (Hizashi has told him as such, more times than he can count), but a darling that walks the fine line between too little confidence in the world and too much is immensely attractive to the underground hero.
He loves that his darling has such a clear, honest view of the world, and as a result he tends to favor his darling’s opinion over his, even if he believes his own is much more likely, much more truthful.
He’s entranced by his darling’s ability to remain honest about things, and he loves knowing they aren’t chasing far fetched ideals.
Aizawa believes his darling is the perfect mix of himself and other traits he wishes he possessed more of, and when his darling is so honest and realistic about the world around them, this only solidifies his view that his darling is so fucking perfect.
Nurturing
Although he acts as if he detests his students at times, Aizawa does genuinely want his kids to succeed, to become pros and tap into their full potential.
He wouldn’t have become a teacher if he didn’t enjoy watching others grow, and he looks for this in a partner as well.
While he isn’t necessarily intent on having any children of his own (although he can’t deny the rush of possessiveness and pleasure that courses through him at the idea of knocking up his beloved), a darling who possesses the ability to care for, nurture and love others is something he deems as a necessity.
He has a quiet kind of support for others; unwavering honesty in their abilities and themselves, and while he views his own methods of nurturing others as productive and useful, a darling who has more of a mainstream approach pulls at his heartstrings.
Aizawa, despite his more rugged and apathetic appearance, has a massive soft spot for people who are just genuinely nice - when he sees the way his darling so easily comforts and helps others feel relevant, at ease, it only furthers his protective instincts, pushes him to believe that his darling needs to be cared for and protected at all times.
And really, who else can do such an important and time consuming task besides himself?
Only he is capable of being the hero his darling needs.
He can be everything they need after all, if they just give him the chance.
GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:
Lucid
First and foremost, Aizawa is completely aware that the feelings brewing in his chest for you are far from normal.
He, despite having limited experience in romance and relationships, is completely positive that the degree to which he loves you, that the pure need and desperation that you inspire within him is very much not the standard, that there’s very much something wrong with him.
He’s sure that wanting to keep you trapped in his basement, keeping you completely alone and dependent on him so that the only person who will ever get to see you is him, is wrong.
He’s sure that the devotion and intense obsession he’s harboring for you makes him nothing sort of a creepy stalker, a freak that doesn’t deserve to have something as wonderful as a relationship with you.
Aizawa hates the fact that you make him this way, and while he tries to resist the descent of his feelings at first, he eventually just gives up. It hurts to not see you, to be away from you for long periods of time, so much so that he feels actual physical pain when he hasn’t laid eyes on you in the last twelve hours.
It makes his head spin to repress thoughts of you, feeling like he’s about to burst with every thought he shoves to the side, trying instead to focus on the book in his hands or the papers he’s grading.
He grows physical symptoms of heartbreak with every attempt to discard his feelings for you, and eventually he’ll stop trying.
There’s just something about you that he can’t let go of, no matter how badly he wants to be sane again, normal again - of course, he doesn’t blame you in the slightest; it’s not your fault that you render him a completely lovesick fool, that you inspire such intense need within his chest.
It’s not your fault he’s following you home every night, waiting and watching through your window as you wash your hair, cook yourself dinner, as you snuggle up in your warm bed that he’d give anything to be in with you.
It’s not your fault that he’s spending his every waking moment on either hero work or you, not willing to dismiss his hero duties but spending every waking moment he has free focused on you you you.
Aizawa has come to terms with the fact that his feelings for you likely make him a monster, that he’s no better than some petty criminal for stalking you, for obtaining every scrap of information he can get on you from public and not so public resources.
He’s disgusted with himself, if he’s being completely honest - it’s so fucking wrong for him to be so invested in you when it’s obvious you aren’t returning the weight of his feelings, though there’s a part of him desperately clutching onto the idea that you harbor some kind of romantic feelings for him, that you find him attractive or caring or strong.
(The thought of you complimenting him makes him uncomfortably mushy inside - it gets his cheeks reddening and his throat feeling scratchy, his palms growing wet and his weight shifting from one leg to another, your voice ringing in his head telling him he’s so handsome and strong, that he’s your dream man, that you’ve been dreaming of kissing you for so long, would you please?)
It’s so unfair that someone as kind, normal, innocent as you has to deal with someone waiting outside their window every night, hiding in the shadows and barely able to refrain from reaching a palm down to work at his trousers as he watches you writhe around on your bed, eyes squeezed closed while your thighs twitch as the vibrator between your fingers works its wonders.
It’s cruel irony that you have to worry about protecting yourself from him, the man who’s sworn to keep you safe for the rest of his life.
You make him a villain, really - and as much as it makes him hate himself even more, Aizawa knows that even as wrong as it is, he’ll never be able to stop.
Protective
Although he seems apathetic and uncaring towards others and their well beings at first glance, Aizawa became a pro hero for a reason - not the fame or gold or glory, but rather because he genuinely wants to help others, to keep them safe.
And where you’re concerned, this natural drive is only increased astronomically, to the point where Aizawa is prioritizing your health and safety over everything else, everyone else, including himself.
He’d never be able to forgive himself if something were to happen to you, if he were to allow you to be injured, kidnapped, raped, or, heaven forbid, killed, and as a result he feels that he needs to keep an eye on you constantly, just in case some piece of shit decides to come along and test him.
He’s literally had nightmares about you being harmed by a villain; the image of you bloodied and battered, your lovely hair that has the most heavenly smell all roughed up, your eyes red, ugly bruises blooming across your delicate skin.
He always wakes those nights with a small scream, his heart pounding and tears running down his cheeks, if only because it feels so real, as if you were really in front of him crying and begging for him to save me, please please please Aizawa don’t let me die!
(He really can’t stop himself from heading to your home as quickly as possible those nights, his breathing rugged and uneven until he sees you sleeping peacefully through your window, safe and sound in your bed. He lets out a deep breath and lets a rare, oddly sincere smile creep across his lips, his thumb coming up to press against the window glass, slowly rubbing it along the material as if it were your cheek.)
Being so obsessed with your health is unhealthy and he knows it, but he really can’t stop himself - he’s making sure his patrol lines up perfectly with the times he knows you frequent the outside world, making sure the zones he’s supposed to be mostly in charge of always include your home, your workplace, anywhere you could be when he can’t keep an eye on you.
He can’t slack off on hero work even with his obsession growing stronger by the day, and so he enlists every possible resource to keep you safe and under constant surveillance.
He was nervous to do it at first, worried his longtime friend would call him out for his morally askew behavior, but Hizashi was more than happy to drop by your apartment every once in a while when long shifts or extensive teaching days keep Aizawa away from you.
(The blond was, of course, a bit shocked to hear that his best friend had found someone that got his heart racing, someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with - Aizawa’s words - but was more than eager to help out, willing to do pretty much anything to keep that smile on the man’s face.)
Aizawa, despite his conscious initially telling him not to, even ventures inside your home in the name of upkeep your safety, making sure to change your sheets or keep your refrigerator stocked with healthy, good foods.
(He’s especially concerned about your diet - he knows you eat like shit, and he absolutely cannot have you sustain a poor diet; you need to be eating a good balance of vegetables, protein and whole grains, and if you’re missing something? Well, having two jobs certainly comes in handy when he’s buying carts full of food at the grocery store for you, spending his hard earned money to make sure that you’re taken care of.)
He’s even going so far as to make sure that your feminine products you throw away in the small trash can in your bathroom are the right color, the right consistency, the right everything - your vaginal health is important, and he absolutely will bring your discarded tampon up to his nose, take a few deep whiffs, just to make sure everything is as it should be.
In all honesty, Aizawa is your guardian angel - you mean everything to him, and he genuinely believes that in return for being such an obsessed creep towards you, the least he can do is devote his time and energy into making sure that you’re as safe as can be.
So yes, he’s your guardian angel, but just remember - guardian angels see every little thing you do.
Stalker
Aizawa swears it’s not out of any ill harm; he isn’t following you around town because he’s waiting to pounce, to hold a knife to your throat or to pin you against a dirty, damp alleyway wall and have his way with you.
He’s not laying in wait to catch you vulnerable or alone, holding ill intent and wanting to use you for some sick fantasy of his.
(At least, not the kind that most men who follow women have - there’s much less screaming in his fantasies, or at least screaming from terror and pain.)
He’d never hurt you like that - you’re too precious to him, too literally the purpose of his entire existence for him to ever consider doing something to you out of ill intent.
He’s only stalking you because he needs to make sure you’re safe, because he knows that without him being constantly vigilant when it comes to your safety and presence, you’d likely be dead.
There’s all kinds of despicable people in this world, people that would take one look at you and decide you’re their next victim, the next pretty little thing that needs to be tainted, destroyed and used in order to prove a point.
And really, that’s Aizawa’s nightmare - so when he’s trailing behind you on the busy streets of Musutafu, the night air nipping at his lungs while he shoves his face further into his scarf, his hands clenched in fists in his pant pockets, just know that no, the man following your every step won’t so much as lay a finger on you.
It’s likely that you’ll never even notice him, that you won’t ever be aware that a grown man has been stalking you for months - he’s just too good at staying in the shadows, at making sure that his presence goes unnoticed by you.
He’s light on his feet, silent and quick, able to keep those dark eyes fixed on your figure but staying perfectly out of sight, almost as if he was simply made to watch you, as if it’s his sole purpose to look out for you without you ever knowing.
And frankly, Aizawa is beyond grateful that you’ve never noticed him; he doesn’t know how he’d ever be able to man up to the fact that yes, he knows exactly how you look when you’re peacefully sleeping without a care in the world, that he knows the way you talk to yourself more when you think you’re alone, that he knows what you look like as you cry out incoherently, eyebrows drawn taught as your body convulses from the pleasure you’re giving yourself.
He won’t ever deny it, as lying about it would be another level of wrong that Aizawa, even as morally compromised as you make him, will never be, but he won’t openly admit it either.
It would be too embarrassing, too mortifying and heartbreaking to see the way your eyes would get all glassy and big, fear setting into your expression as you back away from him, on the verge of tears as you tell him to get away from me, please!
He doesn’t think he could take it; your blatant rejection of him, of everything he does for you - it would destroy him, send him even further into his shell, even more withdrawn.
So really, as you live ignorant of the fact that a pair of warm, chocolate orbs are staring at you from the corner of your window as you work on yet another dull project your boss is forcing you into, just know that Aizawa isn’t especially proud.
He’s not proud of the way his heart nearly beats out of his chest when you look out the window, when the fear that you’ve finally caught him rolls through him.
He’s not proud of the way his breath hitches when he sees you humming and gliding across your kitchen, hands flying as you make yourself dinner, his imagination all too easily conjuring up the image of you in a little apron, making two portions, setting the table and calling out to him that dinner’s ready, Aizawa!
He isn’t proud that it helps him sleep to watch you fall asleep, your cute little face nearly obscured by all those sheets and blankets you pull up in the winter, the way your expression melts into pure relaxation and calmness as you drift into slumber making him relax too, making him imagine the way it would feel for you to fall asleep in his arms.
He’s not proud of the way his eyes grow wide, a violent flush spreading across his cheeks as he watches the way you grind your hips against the toy, your lip caught between your teeth as you shake and tremble and spasm, his own cock straining desperately against his pants.
He’s not proud of any of it, but he’ll endure it. Really, he’ll endure fucking anything for you, just to see that perfect smile of yours, the one that makes him think that maybe, just maybe, becoming the lovesick, disgusting monster he is now was all worth it.
DEALING WITH RIVALS:
In all honesty, jealousy isn’t something that Aizawa has to deal with that much; of course, he doesn’t like when guys come up to you, when they talk to you and put their filthy hands on your shoulders, over your own hand, or even on your waist if they’re feeling brave enough, but generally he won’t directly intervene.
He knows you don’t belong to him, that he has no real say in what you can or can’t do at this point, but he can’t deny the way utter and complete terror courses through him at the prospect that the man smiling at you so incessantly could be a villain, a thug just waiting to get you vulnerable and ready to be taken advantage of.
His protectiveness over you is quite honestly overwhelming – he’s so concerned for your safety, hyper fixating on your wellbeing so much that it forces him to neglect his own self-care even more, until every ounce of energy outside of patrol times is spent completely on you.
Every free moment is spent watching your every move, keeping an eye on you from the shadows with the excuse that he’s just preemptively keeping you safe.
Every moment is spent caring for you so that nothing can possibly hurt you, his mind constantly whirring so that nothing could lay a single finger on you with ill intent.
It’s like an itch that he can’t scratch - there’s this feeling of bubbling rage below the surface, eating away at him as he watches with narrowed dark eyes at the way you awkwardly laugh while the man who bumped into you in the coffee shop apologizes, making some lame pick up line that has Aizawa’s fist clenching in anger.
How fucking dare that man try and touch you?
Like you’re some common, average person, like you aren’t the literal light of Aizawa’s life?
He’s pissed, and while jealousy isn’t the primary feeling rushing through his veins (that spot is taken by anger, followed very closely by fear for your well being), he can’t just let the man get away with something so blatantly wrong, something that really should require the Erasure hero’s attention - so, while he isn’t proud, Aizawa does what he has to do in order to make sure you’re completely out of harm’s way.
He’s always hated it when you walked while looking at your phone – too many opportunities for you to get hurt, to stumble and fall, to run into something, to just be generally unaware of your surroundings.
It makes him yearn to yank the stupid little screen out of your hands, to tuck you under his arm and escort you wherever you need to go – you should be headed to the supermarket, according to the schedule he’s memorized.
He’ll watch you buy a few vegetables, followed by much too many sweets, carbs, things he knows you know better than to eat, and yet you still do. He’s watching from the alleyway, the dark shadows letting him hide as his eyes stay fixed on your figure, unwilling to let you out of his sight for even a second.
His work as an underground hero has never come more in handy than when he’s following you, keeping a safe distance to make sure that you don’t notice him, but his cover is threatened to blow up the second he notices that man eyeing you up, the smirk crossing onto his features making Aizawa’s blood boil.
He’s on the other side of the street, this man, dressed head to toe in an outfit that immediately screams danger to Aizawa; a pressed dress shirt with a rather boring red tie, black slacks and scuffed up dress shoes, with way too much gel in his hair.
The briefcase in his hand bobs a bit as he adjusts his grip, gaze visibly traveling up and down your form as you cross the crosswalk.
Aizawa’s gripping at his scarf tightly, knuckles turning white from the force, the sense of impending doom slowly eating away at him.
And yet, he knows he can’t do anything until the man does something - until eh approaches you, until he touches you or insults you or hurts you -
The hero’s teeth are clenched, eyes narrowed, and he watches with baited breath as the man crosses the street (jaywalking, a crime that Aizawa could, technically, bust him for, but that would cause issues with local police and not be worth the hassle, even if it would get the man away from you), practically swaggering up to you with a smarmy smirk spread across his thin lips.
You still haven’t noticed him yet, eyes still glued to your phone, and for a moment the man seems discouraged that you haven’t noticed the way he’s fallen in step with you, roughly two feet away from your form.
He clears his throat and you peek at him from the side of your eyes, face visibly confused at why this stranger is looking at you.
He opens his mouth, some variation of hey cutie falling past his lips, and Aizawa sucks in a breath in both anger and worry. Would you like this man? Would you like his smooth confidence, the fact that he looks like he works in a bank, that he’s wearing enough cologne for Aizawa to smell ten feet away?
It’s insecurity and he knows it, a stupid voice in the back of his head, and yet he can’t help himself - which is why he suddenly feels like he can breath when you grimace and look back at your phone, walking a bit faster to get away from the man.
You don’t want him. Good.
Aizawa takes a moment to mentally praise you, happy that you’re standing up for yourself, before following even closer, watching to see what this creep will do next.
The man doesn’t take your obvious dismissal kindly, his face contorting into something ugly, and he angrily adjusts his tie.
Hey bitch, he growls, getting even closer to you, aren’t you a little too ugly to be so damn uptight?
And suddenly Aizawa’s seeing red, swooping in before he can even think.
His hands are on the man’s shoulder in seconds, pushing him to the side and staring with dark, enraged eyes that get the stranger staggering back, a small prick of fear dancing in his posture. Harassing women is a crime, you know.
Aizawa starts, and at this point you’ve turned around, watching with wide eyes as your friend (a loose term, but one you like to employ for your relationship with the dark haired hero) stares down the creep.
For a moment you’re confused, distantly wondering how and why Aizawa is here, but as the man scoffs and spits at the ground, muttering a damn heroes under his breath, the thought dies quickly.
Aizawa watches as the man turns around and stomps off, the weight of his gaze causing the man to quicken his pace, and after he’s a good thirty feet away, he merely sighs, his scarf coming back down around his shoulders as he turns to you.
He asks if you’re okay, and you blink but nod, smiling a bit at him and pocketing your phone.
Yeah, I’m good… thanks, Shouta.
He stiffens a bit at his name, swallowing harshly before nodding. He’s about to leave (retreating to the shadows, like always), but your voice stops him.
Since you’re my knight in shining armor, can I repay you with some tea or coffee?
A small dusting of pink settles across the bridge of his nose at your words, and before he can even think he’s muttering an agreement, letting you lead him to some coffee shop nearby that he knows you frequent.
He knows your order, even mouthing the words to himself as you tell the cashier, but when you sit down and tell him about your day in the cozy, dimly lit shop, Aizawa finds himself sighing, deciding that maybe he doesn’t need to chase down and intimidate that creep after all .
Or, at least, it can wait until you finish telling him about work yesterday.
TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:
Because of Aizawa’s lucidity in terms of his feelings for you, kidnapping you is something that is absolutely the very last resort for him, only something he would do if there was absolutely no other possible option, no other choice that wouldn’t result in your death or severe injury.
The idea of doing something without your consent like that - forcing you to essentially end the life you’re currently living in favor of being trapped in his home - is something that doesn’t settle quite right in his stomach.
He would never be able to forgive himself if he were to take you away, and he could never even try to pretend that what he’s done is right, moral, heroic.
That said, Aizawa lets his paranoia regarding you get the better of him all to often, and so under the right circumstances, Aizawa could feel backed into a corner, where the only possible option is to indeed steal you away.
He’ll be desperately searching for any other option, hating himself as the idea stands alone as the only choice, but when the villain in front of him has you gagged and trapped in his arms with a gun pointed out towards the ebony haired man, he’ll start panicking.
And when the scum holding you says how he managed to find out that you were the famous Eraserhead’s weakness, his blood goes cold.
His fingers itch to move when the man says that he’d seen him spend all those hours stalking you, watching you endlessly, that he’d told his subordinates, that even if Aizawa kills him now, they’ll keep coming until they kill you.
There’s nothing more I can do, he’ll tell himself as he disarms the villain and knocks him unconscious, watching as you look at him in fear and try to run away after the news of him stalking you comes to light.
And really, it kills Aizawa to see you looking so terrified, flinching and screaming as he wraps you in his scarf and carries you bridal style through the dark, cold city streets, but he’s resigned to the fact that while you may hate your new life and him, you’ll be better off under his care rather than still out in the real world, where villains would keep coming and never stopping until you’re splattered brains on a sidewalk.
Aizawa is arguably the best captor to have in the entirety of the My Hero Academia universe - he’s so painfully aware of how wrong it is to have you locked in his apartment, how evil it is to make you stay so completely dependent on him, and as a result he tries his absolute best to respect you as much as he can.
He’s given you an entire room to yourself, setting you up with as many things as he can recover from your old room, the things he’s seen you use most.
Your same bed will be there, along with the sheets, pillows and blankets intact and neatly arranged for your comfort.
All of the clothes he could fit in the closet are also present, along with a chest of drawers for your more… intimate items.
He’s got your favorite foods (his own healthier options are there, too - because even though the guilt he feels is overwhelming now, he still won’t have your health deteriorate), and while it absolutely kills him to give you the ability to access things like knives, razors, sharp and dangerous tools, he’s begrudgingly letting you.
(At least, until the first time you hurt yourself, in which case he will revoke that privilege in a heartbeat.)
It’s all in an effort to get you hating him less, to make you as happy as you possibly can be, because at the end of the day Aizawa truly, truly loves you.
You’re wonderful to him, a motivation to keep risking his life and teaching younger generations, a motivation to keep living, now that he has someone to live for.
He’s generally pretty respectful of your rights and desires (aside from the fact that you can’t walk out the front door, of course), but the kind, lenient captor you get when you first wake up in his modest, fairly clean apartment is not who you’ll continue to see if you begin being ungrateful, begin throwing tantrums and acting out as a means to anger him or rile him up.
Of course, he doesn’t blame you for being scared the first few weeks, for having a few breakdowns here and there because for fuck’s sake he kidnapped you – he’d be more worried if you didn’t freak out, but at a certain point the hero will begin to grow tired of your outbursts, disappointed in your childish behavior for something that he’s said time and time again won’t be changing.
Years of teaching has molded Aizawa into someone who is ruthlessly able to correct poor behavior, to instill a sense of fear that forces others to stop making stupid decisions.
And where you’re concerned, these natural traits shine brightly - the minute you start swinging at him, hissing and calling him such terrible names, his mouth is pressing into a thin line, his brows drawn taught as he stares at you, waiting for you to apologize and stop acting like such a brat.
He’s a forgiving captor, as long as you don’t cause any trouble - he only took you to keep you safe, and he won’t have you undermining his efforts by being reckless and childish once you’re trapped with him.
He feels guilty, but only to a certain extent - you’re a grown woman, and while Aizawa often treats you as if you were no more than a toddler, he expects you to act your age.
And, quite honestly, as selfish as it is, there’s a part of Aizawa that is devastated beyond words when you repeatedly refuse him, when you reject his kind words and gifts, when you tell him he’s a monster, a disgusting excuse for a hero, because hasn’t he spent the last few weeks giving you space, cooking you your favorite meals, having the patience of a goddamn saint?
Why are you being so ungrateful?
Does he not do enough for you?
Maybe he’ll have to start spoiling you more, making you happier, getting you more of those stupid plushies or your favorite movies - anything to get you to look at him and smile.
Anything to get you looking at him with love, with joy or longing because god does he love your smile and god is he desperate to see you laugh and tell him you love him and please please please he needs you to love him so fucking bad please -
So really, just be his good girl, because that’s all Aizawa wants.
PUNISHMENTS:
In all honesty, punishing you is something Aizawa fucking hates.
He derives no pleasure out of mocking you, out of making you purposefully miserable and seeing your teary, pained face – if anything, it’s something he actively tries to avoid, his poor heart clenching so harshly in his chest at the sight that he physically winces and grasps at the area.
He doesn’t like making you upset or any other negative emotion, but while this desire to keep you safe and happy and smiling is strong, it’s outweighed by the desire to keep you in line every single time.
It’s natural, in a way, for him to be discipling you – it’s his job, and while he very much doesn’t think of you like his students, some of the habits he’s acquired over the years die hard.
(Aizawa wants to throw up at the mere mention of doing the things he wants to do to you with anyone else – he most certainly does not want to pin anyone but you down and fuck them until they’re crying or eat them out until they’re a squirting, incoherent mess, or stuffing them to the brim with his cum, so much so that they’re leaking it out and making a sticky mess between their thighs. No one but you.)
And so, while he does genuinely wish for you to grow to love him, he knows that he needs to present himself as the dominant one in the relationship, the one whose word is law – and if doing so means making you cry or be even more afraid of him, he’ll begrudgingly do so.
He hates every moment of it, but he knows it’ll be worth it once you finally decide to stop ramming yourself at the front door in efforts of bringing it down, that you’ll finally stop digging around for the bottles of sleeping pills you know Aizawa keeps hidden around for nights when the guilt and stress of kidnapping you and being a hero eat him alive.
He just wants you to behave, and in all honesty it isn’t even you behaving for him – it’s for you, so that you stay safe and healthy and pristine, the exact reasoning behind why he stole you away in the first place.
He’s conditioning you to stay unharmed, and while you may not see it that way now (the crying and screaming about how he’s a sick monster, a fucking perverted freak who belongs rotting behind bars tell him everything he needs to know about your feelings on the matter), Aizawa is sure that with time you’ll eventually mellow out, that one day you might even come to understand why he’s so fiercely protective over you and so quick to punish you where you’re wrong – it’s out of love.
Even if it’s twisted, obsessive, wrong, it’s still love, something Aizawa never wants to let go of.
With that being said, Aizawa still absolutely refuses to physically harm you.
His whole reasoning for stealing you away, for plucking you up and out of your old life to stay with him irrevocably was all based upon the premise of keeping you safe, of making sure that you never lay victim to an accident, a villain, or even your own stupid decisions.
Aizawa wants you to be completely protected, and even the thought of raising a hand to you makes him wince, the idea bringing a sharp pain in his chest.
And so, he resorts to other methods to make sure that you understand what the exact behavior he’s trying to correct is – that is, relying on methods that are a bit more psychological.
He doesn’t manipulate you, as lying to you and twisting around your understanding of the world seems downright cruel to the underground hero.
The last thing he wants is for you to lose any sense of trust in him you may still be clinging to, and for the most part he wants you to remain yourself, unchanged and perfect and so very wonderful.
He fell in love with you, after all, and he has no sick fantasies of changing you, or molding you into another version of yourself. But when you’re crying and punching your already bruised and bloodied knuckles against the non-shattering, one way glass of the window in your bedroom, Aizawa knows that he needs to take action.
And so, the tray of food he’d brought for you (a can of warm soup, a glass of water and some crackers, as he knew your throat was still a bit sore from all the crying you’d done the day earlier) gets set down on your dresser, the dark haired man sighing with a small, genuine frown as he carefully walks behind you, wrapping his arms around you and demobilizing you while you thrash and kick around, yelling and cursing at him to let me go, fucking let me leave you sick fuck!
The words sting, his normally dry eyes feeling a bit damp at the way your insults seem to stab and poke at his heart, but it doesn’t stop him from carrying you down to the basement, the dark and cold area having quickly become one of your least favorite, most nightmarish locations.
Immediately you’re freezing up, realizing what’s about to happen, and though the compliments and sugar coated lies of how you’re so sorry, I don’t know what got into me, I promise I didn’t mean it! are nice to hear (and, if he tries hard enough, he can almost believe them), he can’t let himself falter now, lest you figure out his weakness when it comes to you and exploit it.
No, instead he’s setting his jaw, dark hair falling forward to hide his face as he carefully sets you onto the ground, watching as you reach out and clutch onto his pant leg, fingers trembling while you sob about how you don’t want to be left down here again, in the dark and cold and dirt, but Aizawa is merely staring down at you, before crouching down and running a thumb along your cheekbone.
You have to understand that your actions have consequences, (f/n). I’m not doing this for fun, I’m doing this so that you realize that you’re only hurting yourself when you act out like a child. I’ll be back soon, just wait patiently. Maybe next time you won’t be so quick to be such a brat.
And with that, he’s up and shutting the door behind him, the resounding click of the lock filling the empty space as the darkness hangs over you, the cold seeping into every inch of your body.
It’s a long two days – a small glass of water and a single apple slice is sent to you daily, no light or contact with anyone at all, not even Aizawa himself.
It’s just you and the grimy, slightly moist ground of the basement, time seeming to last forever as you wait and wait for him to eventually return.
And when he does, immediately you’re upon him, apologizing and crying and promising that you’ll never do anything bad again, just please please please never put me back down here, I’ll do anything, anything at all!
And while it’s a bit pathetic to see you groveling and crying so shamelessly, Aizawa only pulls you into his chest, soothing you and running his hand along the back of your head in comforting motions.
You’ll be treated like a princess for the rest of the day – the warmth, food and attention that your captor gives you suddenly feels like the most heavenly thing, as if you’d never been happier, as if Aizawa was the only one who could give you this intense of a relief and relaxation.
He isn’t especially proud of his methods, but as you start calming down, acting out less and less, he can’t pretend to not be pleased with the results – after all, he just wants to get to the point of you being somewhat happy, of you not wanting to kill yourself and him every moment of every day.
Progress is slow, but for you, Aizawa is nothing if not patient.
OVERALL DANGER:
5/10
In all honesty, Aizawa is a pretty mild yandere – he has no intentions of hurting you or imprisoning you unless necessary, and he has no delusions about the moral misguidance of his feelings for you.
He knows the way he loves you is fucked up, that how he expresses his emotions for you is questionable at best, and while he hates himself for it he just can’t stop. You’re too important to him, you mean too much.
You make him too happy, make him feel warm and fuzzy, this swollen feeling in his chest that makes his muscles relax, his eyelids get heavy, his arms feeling empty without you in them.
Because of you, he suddenly doesn’t feel so detached and bitter - like a whole new man, he could even say.
It’s pathetic and he feels like some creepy, villainous freak because of it, but he can’t help himself from watching you, from looking out for you at every turn.
Your biggest obstacle with Aizawa will be his overprotectiveness – his sole purpose in life becomes keeping you safe, dedicating as much of his time as he can to making sure not a single scratch befalls your pretty, perfect body, that not a single hair on your head is so much as touched by someone with any hint of an ill intent.
He’s maniacal in his dedication to your safety and health, and while stealing you away isn’t something he particularly wants to do, at least under his care you won’t be physically harmed.
You’ll be given space for the most part, and a general sense of peace because god, Aizawa would do anything and everything in order to keep you smiling, to keep you happy and healthy and so very radiant.
He loves you, and while he hates himself for it, he knows that he’ll never stop loving you.
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aita for telling on a classmate??
(tw for homophobia and antisemitism)
🪻
(emoji so i can recognise it)
this is like really long, im sorry, i tend to ramble.
also my native language isnt english so i translated a few words i didnt really know with google translate which may be unreliable (talking specifically abt supervising teacher here, but i explained what it means just in case)
also i use all pronouns, listed my gender here as 'idk', so putting this here to clear it up
ok so this might sound really dumb but listen, in my (15idk) class there is this one guy, lets call him wit (15m) and ever since we started high school he's been really troublesome for other people. for further context hes very strongly catholic and frequently talks about his political opinions.
many students of our scholl agree that this would not be much of a problem if he kept at least some respect for others while doing it. wit is infamous in our school for making extremely homophobic and antisemetic comments, ranging from usage of derogatory language and insulting a guy in our class because he's partially ethnically jewish, to stating that homosexuality and transgenderism is mental illness, to saying gays should get shot, making up crazy statistics about pedophilia in the lgbtq+ community and taking a photo of himself doing the nazi salute while holding the flag of the third reich (we live in a country very heavily affected by the holocaust to this day. jesus christ dude). (note that our school has a quite large number of queer people so making these comments in such a public space is already a bit iffy imo.) he also states his opinions as fact, and when somebody tries to debate him on these things (he claims he's up for it) he keeps interrupting them, and in some cases calls them an idiot.
wit actually was in another class before, he switched to ours because his classmates and supervising teacher (translation might be wrong, went off google translate - i mean the teacher held responsible for what the kids in their class do) couldn't stand him (there are rumors that he tried to sue her actually?). our supervising teacher (29m) is well aware of this.
today, he was grading us on our behavior (idk if american schools do this?? it has to end up on our report cards at the end of the year here, we're graded once per semester) and the topic of wit's behavior came up. the day before this, he had gotten into an argument with this one girl, let's call her gabby (15f), because she had 'taken his seat' in our physics class (we don't have assigned seats, and the teacher invited a few kids from another class to write some missed assignments, so there were more students than chairs). wit started off calm, when gabby told him she was there first, he got mad and started shouting at her, and when she didn't want to give up her seat for him (she was calm about this!), he started to attempt to physically get her off the seat by pulling or pushing her off. as far as i know, three people in our class recorded this exchange.
wit got graded 5/6 for his behavior (very good) after our teacher vowed to lower it because of the amount of complaints he was getting about his behavior. this was before our teacher found out about yesterday's situation. today we had two classes with him and he was going to dedicate both to talking about our behavior grades, so we told him about how wit acted yesterday. our teacher was reasonably a little pissed at wit for getting physical, as well as shouting at a classmate. wit tried to defens himself saying he was calmly telling 'this unruly, undeserving of such respect girl' to piss off, but as i said, several people in our class had video evidence of what he did.
the conversation quickly shifted from just the fight in physics to wit's respect for others (or, more appropriately, the lackthereof). this is when his rampant homophobia was brought up. several people in our class voiced their concerns about how most of us feel really uncomfortable when this dude's out there wishing death on all queers. our teacher was really mad at him for continuing making his homophobia this public when he was already repeatedly told that he makes people uncomfortable with it. we also brought up him calling people who dare not have the same beliefs as him idiots and left-wingers (as an?? insult??).
wit's behavior grade was changed to 4/6 (good)
after class, our class president (15f) and i went up to our teacher to show him screenshots of wit being transphobic, not to humiliate him further, but to provide proof of the claims about him still openly hating the lgbtq.
wit seemed to notice this because a few hours after school he texted me to talk about this situation. it started with him being frustrated about getting a 4, then saying he believes he should get at LEAST a 5 (note: he cited 'i respect others' as a reason, lol) and then it very quickly spiraled into him shit-talking gabby and our class president (he called gabby 'wild' and our prez toxic). i told him that he should be happy hes only being graded based on two months (our teacher said he's only taking the time wit was in our class into account, imo this isnt fair at all but ok), when his behavior was somehow better here than previously and that the girls deserved their grades (gabby got a 5, prez got a 6, both are very helpful and in my experience very kind people) and that the reason his grade was lowered was because of the lack of respect for others he was demonstrating right in that moment. he then said i was fake and called me a kabel (polish slang for snitch basically)
i talked to my parents about today, and they said wit is a bad person, but is in the right in my conversation with him. i disagree tbh but im also not entirely convinced im right either because i might have taken it a bit far, but idk, aita??
also im so so so sorry this ended up being ao long, i didn't realize how chaotic this story is until i wrote it all down lol
What are these acronyms?
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Turtles Catches Up With Old GMMTV: TharnType and Gray Areas Edition
[What’s going on here? After joining Tumblr and discovering Thai BLs through KinnPorsche in 2022, I began watching GMMTV’s new offerings -- and realized that I had a lot of history to catch up on, to appreciate the more recent works that I was delving into. From tropes to BL frameworks, what we’re watching now hails from somewhere, and I’m learning about Thai BL's history through what I’m calling the Old GMMTV Challenge (OGMMTVC). Starting with recommendations from @absolutebl on their post regarding how GMMTV is correcting for its mistakes with its shows today, I’ve made an expansive list to get me through a condensed history of essential/classic/significant Thai BLs produced by GMMTV and many other BL studios. My watchlist, pasted below, lists what I’ve watched and what’s upcoming, along with the reviews I’ve written so far. Today, I’ll cover the very controversial TharnType, Asian stereotypes towards queerness, and the very difficult gray areas on how this show has been interpreted by various populations over the last few years.]
TW: homophobic and derogatory ideas and language against the queer community. Critical commentary on TharnType and MAME. This review is NOT for you if you are a TharnType or MAME Big Fan.
(I want to give very special thanks to @so-much-yet-to-learn and @lurkingshan for reviewing previous versions of this post and offering the most insightful feedback I could ask for. Thank you both so much.)
Alright. Deep breaths.
TharnType was a necessary addition to the Old GMMTV watchlist. It was. I had to watch it, for:
- the tremendous IMPACT this show has had on BL culture, along with MAME’s continued influence on the genre;
- how this show affected shipper culture, and the rippling effects it’s had since then vis à vis MewGulf;
- how this show continued to define “high heat” and “chemistry” in BL, and -- at least for me, possibly the most interesting point to needle on --
- what fans, ESPECIALLY the majority cishet fandom, are willing to compromise and/or equivocate on in regards to our values towards the queer community regarding what we consume in media, and how safe or unsafe it is for our queer family that this content exists in the first place.
I gotta say some stuff first before I get into this review. This is the worst show I’ve ever watched, in my own opinion. I offer this flag for MAME and TharnType fans in advance, as I get quite critical down below.
I am angry at this show, at MAME, at the BL industry for allowing this show to exist, and I unfortunately hold anger against Tee Bundit, who I know has since made shows, like Lovely Writer, that deeply criticized the BL industry (and I am enjoying his work now in Step By Step, even while I don’t hesitate to criticize it). ANYONE INVOLVED in the making of TharnType needs to hold personal and professional accountability for this show even existing. And I also think that fans need to hold THEMSELVES accountable if they defend it WITHOUT thinking about the long-term social implications of the existence of this show.
I want to also say that I need to check myself, OFTEN, as I write this, because I don’t want to be some fucking loudmouth, self-righteous ally-savior. I don’t. [My AMAZING drama friends, @lurkingshan and @bengiyo, have held me down during this watch. (Friends. Thank you. Good LORD.)]
I want this review to be as fair as possible to the nostalgia of the moment that this show aired; to note that this show gave high heat, which fans clearly demanded, and IS a worthy component of some dramas if it works with the rest of what the show has to offer by way of writing; and to note that many fans saw a chemistry in MewGulf that they hadn’t seen previously. I especially note that there may be survivors of sexual assault who related to certain pieces of this show, particularly through Type’s lens and his own anger.
With that very long introduction, I will note that I’m not going to talk too much about the show details itself. I don’t need to unwind on plot. For me -- FOR ME -- the show’s plot was problematic.
2019: earlier that year, before TT aired, you had He’s Coming To Me, which was BURIED by GMMTV, and was a TOUR DE FORCE of intricate storytelling and queer revelation. According to this amazing reblog by @so-much-yet-to-learn (another longtime BL observer who UTTERLY held me down during my TT watch, friend, I CANNOT THANK YOU ENOUGH FOR THE HOURS you spent me with talking about TT and other issues), shipper fans angry at Ohm and Singto went so far as to SHOW UP TO THE GMMTV BUILDING IN BANGKOK and PROTEST against the split of the KristSingto ship. This is why, in this TT review, I talk about fans needing to take responsibility and accountability for the media we consume. I believe TT exists in part because fans have allowed it to continue to exist in the universe of BL, and many even celebrate TT’s existence -- all while, in my own opinion -- much more compelling art existed before TT (Make It Right, He’s Coming To Me) and certainly after its airing.
In discussion with @absolutebl (yet another drama expert who held me down during my TT watch, THANK YOU, SENSEI), ABL Sensei brings up that, besides a natural tendency to criticize and blame MAME for our needing to have conversations about safety towards queer family, that TT does deserve to be criticized as a standalone piece of content.
I honestly don’t know, Sensei, if I’m mature enough to make that separation, but I will try. MAME herself doesn’t exist in a vacuum: she has an industry, from producers, to showrunners, to actors, to editors, to networks -- that join her in the making of her work. I’ll do my best to separate everything, but.
I noted in my review of Love By Chance that MAME traffics in common Asian stereotypes against the queer community. At the same time, I know that often, we talk about the yaoi origins of BL in Thailand. I think, over time, the explanation of the yaoi origination has been used as a means of explaining WHY certain tropes exist, such as abuse of a partner, bullying, etc. I want to note that while I acknowledge those origins, I also strongly note (as I did in the comments of my LBC review) that yaoi origins are themselves problematic, as created by a majority cishet female artist base, and thus I question the accurate representation of queer themes both in yaoi and in early and/or questionable Thai BL that lean into common stereotypes held by Asian nations. (That being said, I do DEEPLY ACKNOWLEDGE @so-much-yet-to-learn‘s point to me that many in the queer community still consumed this media, as the West was producing next-to-nothing by way of queer love and/or queer perspectives.)
Much of what I saw in LBC and TT -- gang rape, cheating, revenge, derogatory language, hurtful stereotypes of top/bottom and husband/wife -- are repeat, word-for-word stereotypes that I heard from my Asian family growing up. Examples of what I saw by way of problematic stereotypes in TharnType include:
- Tharn repeatedly and casually calling Type “his bitch,”
- The use of the F word, repeatedly, by Type,
- Type attacking his out classmates, and indirectly attacking his friend, Tum,
- The assumption that because Tharn and Tar are gay, that they are promiscuous (even Techno assumes this while leaving Type alone with Tharn early in the series),
- Techno himself not calling out Type for his homophobia throughout the series,
- The use of gang rape as a means of revenge by Lhong to Tar,
and many more. I will also note that I was incredibly uncomfortable by Lhong’s redemption at the end, as if the story demanded that Lhong’s own actions that drove him to order grievous sexual violence against another man needed to be forgiven. That was a paradigm that seemed apologetic to his actions and did not sit well with me.
As I noted to @bengiyo: us international fans may be lulled to think that Thailand is majority progressive and accepting of the queer community based off of the BLs that we watch. It IS a much more progressive culture in SE Asia in supporting the queer community, and I would assume that gay culture is able to flourish in city centers, as opposed to rural areas.
But Thailand has NOT legalized same-sex marriage. And I posit that we in the West don’t actually realize that harmful stereotypes against the queer community absolutely still exist and flourish in Thailand, Taiwan, and elsewhere in Asia -- countries that certainly leverage BL as soft power, but nations in which familial or cultural expectations may STILL make ACTUAL coming out and public existence a dangerous or risky proposition. THIS SHIT IS GRAY. BL is fiction -- it is not reality. It is still dangerous -- YES, INCLUDING HERE IN THE STATES -- to be out in very many towns, cities, and communities around the world.
Now. When I went into TT, I understood, AS ASSUMED FACT, that MAME was a sexual assault survivor, who used this style of writing about queerness and queer love to process her own SA experiences. That equivocation gave me the serious jibbles, which I’ll talk about in a second, but I understood it to be the line that most BL observers have made about her work, and/or justification or explanation for her work existing.
I’ve since learned that this is not necessarily fact: that it is not known if MAME is an SA survivor, and that she is notoriously private and has not revealed much, if anything, about her own past.
So, from there, how do I process this? How do I process that it’s FANON -- NOT FACT -- that MAME may or may not write from a survivor’s perspective?
I also note here, thanks to the wonderful @so-much-yet-to-learn, that many fans who are SA survivors have written in the past about how they related to Type’s anger and/or homophobia after his own assault experience. I also understand that SA survivors have, in the past, had difficulty with strong rejections of TharnType, like the one I have composed here, in reaction to the fear that they cannot tell their own stories of internal anger against their perpetrators and the communities from which their attackers come from.
Thus, I want to note a VERY DIFFICULT PROPOSITION TO WORK THROUGH. What we’re facing here is that there may be people, SA survivors in particular, who related to Type’s homophobia. This is Type’s fictional homophobia -- as written by a very real, assumed-to-be female author. At the same time, I myself very much acknowledge that I still see stereotypes against the queer community, in a very Asian voice that I am familiar with, in MAME’s shows.
Let me tell you why this gives me, personally, the jibbles. Let’s assume that MAME is an SA survivor. As someone trained in the social services, I am not sure that I would advise a potential client to create very public content that is potentially harmful towards a minority community, as a means of their own personal processing. MAME is FAMOUS. Her work is POPULAR. Can we justify the dangers that her work poses -- the stereotypes and assumptions she traffics in against our queer family -- for her own psychological processing?
If I am her therapist, I am guiding her to instead journey map, to meditate, to advise her of HUNDREDS of other therapeutic psychological modalities to process her pain -- all modalities that do not set up a minority community to be stereotyped through very publicly consumed content.
I posit here -- MY OPINION, FAM -- that MAME has leveraged her own personal bigotry against the queer community in her shows for clout with Asian and international audiences that would not quibble about the harmfulness of the stereotypes that the show portrayed. And she’s gotten away with it for the utter control she has over her own content. AND SHE KNOWS THERE’S AN AUDIENCE FOR IT, so she keeps making what I call bigoted content.
I thought TT was a DANGEROUS show for perpetuating harmful stereotypes about queer family. And I am distraught at the BL industry for seeing dollar signs against that clout and investing in it.
The equivocating in support of TharnType certainly exists. There are people who view this show with nostalgia, as there still wasn’t the volume of BL content, with heat, in 2019 as we have today. There are people out there who may very well openly relate to Type’s homophobia as a character, and MAME’s homophobia as an author and as a human. Hell, Foei Patara, who we see in everything these days, shared a very anti-LGBTQ+ video on his Instagram just recently.
I DO have to give a nod to nostalgia. I have to try to be fair here. This is the ENTIRE POINT of the OGMMTVC. BL fans in 2019 wanted a thing. High heat, high chemistry. I know that there are fans that are AWARE of these high-level issues of MAME’s work. And yet, there are many that still look back on TharnType with fondness, because it brought something new to the field.
What I’m suffering from here is the equivocation of MAME’s work by way of analysis against a presumed opinion -- NOT fact -- that MAME is an SA survivor. That seems to open some sort of door to allow us to watch her work, despite the dangers of the stereotypes contained within her work.
The ethics of this. I’m not a strong enough person to go near that equivocation. Because I am not a survivor. I’m an Asian. In MAME’s voice, I hear the stereotypes against the queer community that I grew up with. And that’s where I’m writing this review. I’m hurt and appalled by her proliferating what I term to be dangerous viewpoints against my queer sisters and brothers -- assumptions that I heard growing up in my Indian community.
Fuck. Am I ever glad that I DIDN’T watch this show in 2019. I’m protected by a fortress of past and present works that I can rely on that proves that there are other arenas in which BL is being leveraged for good, for progressive art, for the introduction of ideas that support our queer family, AND that might also offer critical commentary on issues that affect other minority or vulnerable corners of society, à la Moonlight Chicken.
I haven’t even gotten to the MewArt scandal and the problematic nature of the MewGulf ship. All of those are also very important issues, but I can’t bring myself to get deep about them, because just talking about the show itself is a lot. But Mew Suppasit’s past alleged behavior is certainly problematic, and is worth considering if folks were to think about watching this show.
In any case: I’m never watching another MAME show again, ever. And as a side note, MewGulf didn’t do it for me. At this point in 2019, I feel like we’d seen ships with much better chemistry and even heat, like PerthSaint (a MAME ship, actually), OhmToey, MaxTul, and even OhmSingto and their utterly brilliant acting. @he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle noted in the comments of one of my TT late-night posts that they didn’t see the MewGulf chemistry, and frankly, I didn’t either -- I didn’t see that these guys, as the acted characters of Tharn and Type, bodily and ferally WANTED AND VISCERALLY LOVED each other in fiction, the way that actor pairs like EarthMix, OhmNanon, FirstKhao, and others have since perfected in their work as their respective characters.
This post is about the responsibility that so-called “artists” bear when taking up the mantle of created content about a minority community, as well as the responsibility that we bear, as fans, as the majority cishet female fanbase, to consume this content. MAME and the slices of the BL industry that support her MUST understand that perpetuating stereotypes about a minority community WILL HAVE VISCERAL SOCIAL IMPACTS in REINFORCING THOSE STEREOTYPES, among a majority cishet fanbase and across society, to the danger of the existence of our queer family.
THIS IS WHY WE NEED MORE QUEER CONTENT BY QUEER FILMMAKERS.
That is the way in which this paradigm will be broken over time. And us in the cishet fanbase MUST STAND READY to support art -- in the words of dear friend @wen-kexing-apologist -- by queer family, for queer family, about queer family. We in the cishet majority bear a responsibility to break the paradigm of dangerous stereotypes, perpetrated by who create content through their own bigotry, either consciously or unconsciously -- or both.
[I finished TharnType in record time. I needed to get it out of my system. And now I’m fully invested in OffGun and having a DELIGHTFUL time with Theory of Love: I AM OBSESSED WITH THIS SUBVERSIVE, MINDBENDING SHOW. Ooooooooooooooooooh. Right up my alley! Hopefully I can muster my usual Monday review for ToL -- let’s see. I still feel somewhat broken by TT, but ToL and OffGun have been SUCH a salve.
Here’s the list as it stands currently. We have two changes! First, thanks to a suggestion by @wen-kexing-apologist and @lurkingshan, I’m adding a non-BL (!!!!) to the list in 3 Will Be Free. I have a number of separate Jojo Tichakorn priorities to achieve before Only Friends airs, and this is a big one; as this is a show from 2019, I want to see where GMMTV was willing to go in pushing queer content in non-BLs, and this is the perfect time to watch it. I’ll still include a review in this space!
And, per @absolutebl Sensei’s suggestion, I’ve added YYY (2020) to this, to enjoy Cheewin unhinged in what seems to be a disaster of a show -- but an important one for real queer representation (THANK YOU, SENSEI!). I’m excited for chaos. I’m watching it out of chronology with ITSAY and planning it as a mental break. As always, I’ll take any feedback on the list as it stands!
1) Love Sick and Love Sick 2 (2014 and 2015) (review here)
2) Make It Right (2016) (review here)
3) SOTUS (2016-2017) (review here)
4) Make It Right 2 (2017) (review here)
5) Together With Me (2017) (review here)
6) SOTUS S/Our Skyy x SOTUS (2017-2018) (review here)
7) Love By Chance (2018) (review here)
8) Kiss Me Again: PeteKao cuts (2018) (no review)
9) He’s Coming To Me (2019) (review here)
10) Dark Blue Kiss (2019) and Our Skyy x Kiss Me Again (2018) (review here)
11) TharnType (2019)
12) Senior Secret Love: Puppy Honey (BL cuts) (2016 and 2017) (I’m watching this out of order just to get familiar with OffGun before Theory of Love -- will likely not review)
13) Theory of Love (2019) (watching)
14) 3 Will Be Free (2019) (not a BL or an official part of the OGMMTVC watchlist, but an important harbinger of things to come in 2019 and beyond re: Jojo Tichakorn including queer content in non-BLs)
15) Dew the Movie (2019) (not an official part of the OGMMTVC watchlist, but I want to watch this in chronological order with everything else)
16) Until We Meet Again (2019-2020)
17) 2gether (2020)
18) Still 2gether (2020)
19) I Told Sunset About You (2020)
20) YYY (2020, out of chronology)
21) Manner of Death (2020-2021) (not a true BL, but a MaxTul queer/gay romance set within a genre-based show that likely influenced Not Me and KinnPorsche)
22) A Tale of Thousand Stars (2021) (review here)
23) A Tale of Thousand Stars (2021) OGMMTVC Fastest Rewatch Known To Humankind For The Sake Of Rewatching Our Skyy 2 x BBS x ATOTS
24) Lovely Writer (2021)
25) I Promised You the Moon (2021)
26) Not Me (2021-2022)
27) Bad Buddy (2021-2022) (thesis here)
28) Bad Buddy (2021-2022) and Our Skyy 2 x BBS x ATOTS (2023) OGMMTVC Rewatch
29) Secret Crush On You (2022) [watching for Cheewin’s trajectory of studying queer joy from Make It Right (high school), to SCOY (college), to Bed Friend (working adults)]
30) KinnPorsche (2022) (tag here)
31) The Eclipse (2022) (tag here)
32) GAP the Series (2022-2023) (Thailand’s first GL)
33) My School President (2022-2023) and Our Skyy 2 x My School President (2023)
34) Moonlight Chicken (2023) (tag here)
35) Bed Friend (2023) (tag here) (Cheewin’s latest show, depicting a queer joy journey among working adults)]
#turtles catches up with old gmmtv#turtles catches up with thai BLs#turtles catches up with the essential BLs#the old gmmtv challenge#ogmmtvc#tharntype#tharn x type#type x tharn#mew suppasit#gulf kanawut#mewgulf#bigotry in asian media#discrimination in asian media#discrimination in BLs#allyship
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anon asked:
your recent ghost whumper drabble was AMAZING that is such a cool concept! can we get a part two? maybe whumpee is in a scenario where they’re about to die or get murdered by someone and whumper saves them? maybe comfort afterwards? :D
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uhhh idk abt comfort but... here !
tw alcohol, drugs, addiction whump, paranormal, death, murder, possession, some pretty bad derogatory language, ableist language, addiction shaming, emeto, knives, threat of death
Whumpee was stumbling around in the city by themself — almost by themself, never truly by themself, — when that weirdo spotted them. He sauntered up to them and asked for a cigarette, and Whumper told them not to give him any. They were feeling rebellious that night. They tried to reach into their pocket, only to be stopped by and get growled at by the ghost sharing their body.
It just spurred them on, in all honesty. They didn’t even like how the stranger approached them, didn’t even like the way he looked at them, but what they disliked even more was being constantly bossed around by someone who didn’t even have a body of his own.
“Would you fucking stop?” they snapped, trying to get their hand free from Whumper’s invisible grasp. The stranger gave them a weird look.
“What?” he asked with a stupid little chuckle. He was clearly trying to laugh it off and act casual, but Whumpee didn’t need that, they didn’t need to be reassured that they were normal. They weren’t, and they also weren’t even talking to him.
I told you not to give him anything. Are you going to argue with me in the middle of the street?
“I’ll give everyone what I damn well please!” they went on. The stranger threw his hands up.
“Whoa, yeah, of course. If you didn’t want to give–”
“Shut the fuck up!”
He thinks you’re crazy.
“I don’t care!” Whumpee couldn’t stop screaming at the stupid thing. He was being so insufferable, so controlling, so power-hungry– It was impossible to bear. Plus, it wasn’t like they hadn’t gotten used to the disgusted and confused looks from others whenever they walked around in the city like a zombie, drunk, high, dead-eyed, and possessed. They didn’t care what this random man thought.
“Okay, chill out!” the guy finally yelled back. “What the fuck? What kind of fucking crazy junkie are you? Keep your dumb ass cigs, I don’t want whatever’s in them!”
Now he got Whumpee’s attention. “Oh, you’re this easily deterred? You don’t want free cigs off a crazy, possessed junkie? Fucking coward.”
Whumpee was way too full of alcohol to react adequately when the guy raised his arm. They were punched hard, almost knocking them off balance. The stranger pushed them against the wall of the nearest building by the collar of their shirt, his other hand quickly producing a knife from his pocket. “I thought I might have some fun with you once I got that fucking cigarette, but now that I’m looking at you a bit closer, I wouldn’t touch your dirty, disease-riddled ass with a bargepole. But I might put something else in you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
All this over a cigarette?
Whumpee’s breath hitched when the blade of the knife was pushed against their throat. The danger was finally grave enough that they decided they should focus on that instead of the voice in their head, but… Maybe they should push more. Maybe they should let this man kill them, just to spite Whumper.
It all happened so quickly. Whumpee made a split second decision to spit in the stranger’s face, he began to scream at them, they felt a sharp pain in their neck– then everything went black. It felt like they were cradled so close to someone’s chest that there was no light reaching them. Like the arms enveloping them were blocking out the rest of the world, all sight and sound, all sensation apart from being held tight.
They nestled into the hug despite how cold it felt. They were scared. Wherever they were, however freezing and pitch black it was, they didn’t feel the pounding headache and they weren’t being shouted at. They weren’t nauseous, they weren’t bleeding from the throat, they weren’t in constant danger. It was quiet, they were held, and they could finally admit to themself that they were terrified.
When their consciousness was returned to their body, it felt like it was done bit by bit, almost dribbling back into their nerves and muscles like a thick syrup. The aches came back first; their head, their neck, their back, their arms and legs… Then came the light, the sounds, the sensation of the rain beating down on them. It hadn’t been raining when they last saw the outside world. Their socks were soaked inside their shoes, their shirt stuck to their body, their arms… their arms were covered in something that didn’t look like water.
It looked like blood. Blood and dirt.
When their eyes focused a little better, and they were able to look past the palms of their hands, they saw disturbed soil with pieces of fabric sticking out from under it. It looked like someone was under there, under a thin layer of dirt that barely did anything to cover them. It looked like someone had hastily dug a shallow grave with nothing but their bare hands.
Whumpee turned their hands over. There was dirt stuck beneath their nails, and plenty of small scratches from whatever their skin must’ve caught on as they were digging.
Let’s go home.
They turned to the side and retched, so forcefully that their nose started bleeding. They spotted the stranger’s knife not far from where they were kneeling on the ground, the blade covered in a layer of blood thick enough to survive the rain. “What did you do?” they rasped. “What did you make me do?”
You got yourself into some trouble. I got you out of it.
“You killed him. You killed him. I killed him.”
Did I not tell you not to give him a cigarette?
Whumpee’s vision was swimming. They didn’t think they would be able to stand up on their own and go home. They had to go to the police. Maybe they could plead insanity.
You’ll feel better after a hot shower.
They stood up against their will, supported by forces beyond the mortal plane. They began walking in the direction of their apartment, no matter how much they tried to change course and go anywhere else. Anywhere with other people. Someone who could see them and call emergency services.
I’ll take care of you.
#asks#whump#whump drabble#alcohol#drugs#addiction whump#paranormal#death#murder#possession#ableist language#addiction shaming#emeto#knives#threat of death
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What kinds of degrading things would Copia say to his (F) partner in bed?
Something like this, I expect?
tw: derogatory language in english and italian, spanking, choking, spitting, light verbal abuse, dom/sub, established relationship
Your fists curl into the white cotton towels in front of you, your fingernails leaving small crescent-moon divets in your skin as you do so. Copia's, or rather, Papa Emeritus the Fourth's, cock trails along your entrance in a delicately slow tease-- something he's been doing for a while now. The initial coolness of the rings around his fingers has since warmed up due to your own feverish temperature, not to mention how fucking wet you are, thanks to his teasing.
You're already breathless and panting as his lubed fingers grasp either side of your hips, holding you in place for his entering. Your toes barely have a grip against the marble floor of the Abbey bathroom, the only thing standing is your upper body as you kneel, bent over, hands still clinging to the white towel as a last bit of grounding. You're holding it from both sides and praying thanks be to Satan's that the towel holder doesn't collapse under you. Copia's hand trails along your hip and then to the small of your back, watching as you shiver.
"Don't move unless I tell you," Copia warns as he settles a hand on your shoulder. His thick accent goes directly to the heated pool in your belly and the head of his cock presses against your throbbing cunt, coating itself in your slickness. The groan that escapes his lips is absolutely enticing, filling your ears with the tingles and making your knees even weaker, although the fact that your arms are locking out to keep you from dropping the the tile could have been the cause of this, too. You can barely help the whimper that slips past your lips when the head of his cock bumps off of your clit, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine.
"On the other hand, we have limited time for our session..." He coos the words in mock sympathy as he smacks your butt, leaving a stinging sensation behind for just a few seconds before gently rubbing and smoothing the pain away. You whimper and want to push back towards his body, to feel his skin against yours, but you know better by now-- moving when Papa hasn't told you to is punishable by a particularly cruel fucking.
"Papa," you start, exhaling shakily as he responds simply by popping the head of his cock in and out of you. It doesn't matter how many times he does this-- every single time he starts, you're weak against the penetration, craving his full length inside you. "Please."
He knows exactly what you want, however.
And Papa loves to tease.
"Now now, my girl," he sighs and bucks his hips forward and then backwards, causing just the end of his cock to be enveloped and then quickly exposed to the chilly air of the bathroom once more. "The more I drag this out, the more I get to play with my little whore, hm?" Papa's fingers thread through the length of hair at the back of your head and wraps the locks around his fist, causing tingles of pleasure tinged pain to cascade along your scalp. His palm rests against your scalp before applying firm pressure, pushing your face closer to the towels before pulling back ever-so-slightly. Copia lets out a sweet sigh and buck forward a little more with the sound, completely filling you up. You let out a cry of both relief and pleasure as Copia stretches and fills your pussy up, both overwhelming and settling the throbbing.
"There we go, i petto. God, your eager little pussy takes my cock so easily, hm? Such a slut," he punctuates the 'slut' with a squeeze on your hip. "Prendilo tutto, amore mio..." He trails off, one ringed finger coming down to clap on your ass once more. You yelp and pull forward slightly, only to be silently chastised and dragged back towards his ever thrusting cock.
Copia thrusts slowly in and out of you, keeping a strong grip on your hip while the other still gathers hair in its grasp. Every time he nearly pulls out, you swear that this is the last time he's going to do it, but he teases you and the backs of his fingers rub against your ass, gathering the slickness that's spilled over. Without missing a beat he brings the hand to your mouth, shoving his fingers sloppily into your mouth and ordering you, "choke."
You dutifully clasp your lips around his thick, tapered fingers and begin the process of swirling your tongue between and around his two fingers. The rings are metallic and harsh against your tongue, but you lathe over them as well without complaint. You bob your head to encourage the saliva to build up and Copia seems satisfied, watching you fill the orifice with a dark fire in his mismatched eyes. With a strong tug, he pulls you away from his fingers, leaving a thick string of saliva dangling from the corner of your lips, connected lightly to his hand. You gasp and hunch your shoulders, trying to catch your breath as he massages his fingers into your neck. He doesn't stop his unrelenting pace, hips undulating against yours as he stretches your pussy around him.
You let your eyes fall shut and allow his ministrations to guide your breath, feeling his hand drop from the back of your head. This time when his hand grips your shoulder, it's purely for leverage as he grunts, "dirty girl, you are," in time with the snapping of his hips. Every stroke makes him bottom out within you and his thumb finds its way against your asshole, eliciting more and more whimpers and moans to fall from your lips. You let your breath hitch, your eyes flutter as he chuckles, that same dark timber that fills your cunt with that familiar warmth that means he's about to-
Copia groans and pushes you forward and down, encouraging your face to slip off of the towel dispenser and to smash against the tile wall, head turned to the right as you gasp at the sudden sensation of stone against your skin. Your tender skin slides across the wall, the marble and grout chafing your jaw and forehead. He presses a firm hand between your shoulder blades as his cock twitches inside of you, filling your quivering pussy with his cum.
"Abbey's little slut, aren't you?" His cock falls from your cunt and you can only lay there, ass up and heaving for breath as he gathers himself and rises to his feet. A glob of spit lands, perfectly spat, on your upturned ass. "Clean up, you're disgusting when you're like this."
"Yes, Papa." You take another second, another cleansing breath, before you push up off of the floor, rising unsteadily and putting a hand out to the sink to stabilize yourself.
"Sister? You are okay, si?" Copia asks, his hands coming quickly to your shoulders. His accent always gets heavier when he's caught up in the heat of the moment, your mind says dazedly, and you flash him a quick grin and a nod.
"I've fine, Papa. Nothing you can do or say would scare me away. Just low blood sugar." To prove your point, you snake one hand around the back of his neck, tickling the baby hairs at the base of his skull before allowing your nails to scrape against his delicate skin. If you press hard enough you can make him bleed, which would be an awkward conversation to have with Imperator, but it would definitely be worth it. Your fantasy is short-lived as Copia snorts, turning back to the sink to make himself look presentable.
"Then go get cleaned up for mass. A Papa needs his Prime Mover in the front row," he says, tossing you a sly wink as he picks up the tub of clown-white face paint.
#the band ghost fics#the band ghost ficlet#ghost bc fanfic#papa emeritus#reader x papa emeritus#lorraine writes#cardinal copia#copia#popia#papa emeritus iv#papa iv#papa 4#era 4#reader x papa#reader x copia
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Tw// Talks about r@pe, ince$t and p^dophilia
Dear, call out accounts
I'm sorry, but wtf are yall doing. In the past few days, there have been atleast SEVEN call out posts about dubcon/noncon accounts in the hsr and genshin fandom. Let me start by saying I don't make nor do I consume those posts.
It's one thing to not feel comfortable about dark content and it's another to HARASS people who make said content. Who tf do you think you are to tell people to "kys" and all sorts of derogatory comments. The moment you started bringing that kind of language and going into their accounts to send death threats, you lost all and every credibility to your moral high ground. You are no better than the people you are "calling out".
There's also the issue of yall not tagging your shit properly and talking about very sensitive topics with ZERO trigger warnings and I see so many of yall saying "well the poster didn't put tws either". Do you hear yourself??? I thought yall were supposedly above them??
Another issue with the lack of tagging or tws is that you're unconsensually exposing people who had no idea these accounts existed to them. I frequent the jing yuan tag, never saw these, and the ones I did see all had tws included. Yall are exposing actual victims to discourse they would like to avoid.
Stop crossing tagging just to gain clout and then pretend you're doing it "to help irl children or people" bffr. And seven people don't need to make call-out posts repeating the same shit and tagging every fucking tag under the sun
And finally, bullying, harassment and sending de@th threats is NOT ok, you are fine to find dark content uncomfortable, I do too. But I don't fucking go out of my way to tell people to unalive and claim that I'm morally better. You are not.
I am so sick of yalls bs
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