#owen grant should be castrated

[enigmazing-blog]

Anger, searing fury, not gratitude: that’s how the 50th anniversary of partial decriminalisation of homosexuality in England and Wales should be marked. That we are no longer legally persecuted in this country – and that we are less hated and judged than we were – is not something to be thankful for. Gaining treatment others take for granted is not some special gift: equality is not a privilege.

Gratitude implies that the state eventually buckling to the demands of LGBTQ people represented some sort of sacrifice on the part of our persecutors. Legal rights were won by LGBTQ people who were spat at, reviled by the press, demonised by large swaths of the public, persecuted by the law, incarcerated, chemically castrated and driven to suicide.

We should mark this day by saying: how dare they deprive us of our rights in the first place, and how dare they still not fully accept us as proper equals. Gratitude should only be awarded to those LGBTQ people who needlessly had to waste their lives to win us rights and freedoms that they themselves were denied.

[silvercrystalwhump]

Owen: *tryna pull a SBA*

Owen: *looks into Dmitri so he can see what he can use against him*

Owen: *sees the felony assault on his cousin's rapist*

Owen: Sheit

Owen & Vince belong to @ashintheairlikesnow

And the court records don't specify that 23-year-old Dmitri fully intended to kill the bastard

By the time Dmitri and Vince meet, Dmitri is nearly 40, and Vince is in his late thirties. Dmitri has gone through a lot of therapy by then, so part of me doubts Owen would see that as a threat.

Well, he is a massive coward.

[silvercrystalwhump]

The Death of a Tyrant

Vincent Shield belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow

TW: antagonising, bbu content warning, owen grant

-

The lights shine down across the stage, three cameras spin and whirl in the shadows beyond. Vincent can feel the eyes beyond the camera watching every hair on his head. He can almost feel the millions of eyes on the other side of the lens.

Today was a long day of interviews for the first television show that he’s ever been in and Ann’s, the young actress to his left, first-ever adult role.

Vincent can almost feel her anticipation through his skin. The poisoned nostalgia freezes the air in his already tense lungs. The interview boasts eyes of venom and they are poised directly at him.

This interview was supposed to be about the show.

It turned into a drama cast very quickly.

“So,” The interview leans back, eyes scouring across Vincent’s face. He can feel the resignation behind his eyes. Simmering coals eat under him. Vincent can feel the question before it leaves his lips, “How has the recent tape release affected you, Vincent. It must be rather hard to deal with the aftermath of being forced to come out.”

Vincent pierces his lips. Watching the lens on the camera pointed at him shift, Vincent draws up the mask, “While I would rather we keep this conversation on Iscariot and the Strings of Time, I will say that there has been many people who have been very helpful during a time that has been definitely stressful.”

The interview looks almost disappointed, eyes dropping into shadows before perking up as the focus returns to him. Vincent can really tell in these moments that this man sitting across from him and Ann was once an actor. Every movement in his face is planned and Vincent can see Ann’s gaze trying to avoid his.

She’s not used to this.

“Vincent, how do you feel about the Director’s new Box Babe, Kat?”

There it is.

Vincent sighs, “Han and I have had a conversation about this. He did not want his decision to get in the way of professionalism. He is aware that I will not hesitate to contact the Commission if I see any sign of abuse.”

The interviewer pauses, waiting for more words to come. They do not.

Then, Ann laughs, shifting in her seat, “It looks like he pulled an Owen Grant, Kat looks so much like his ex-wife to the point where it’s almost uncanny.”

The air stills for a second as the words settle into the floorboards. The sound of the lights quietly can be heard above. Those few heart-chilling seconds seem to eat at the very fabric of his turtleneck. It suddenly feels just a little too tight.

The interview picks up again, “Well, I believe that all of us can say that we are looking forward to seeing how you two work together in this new dynamic.”

Vincent draws a smile onto his face with an invisible sharpie. Ann scrambles to scoop up her own as the camera does doubt pans out to view them all.

“Are you allowed to reveal a date?” The interview leans in, the side of his face away from the camera twitching slightly.

Ann nods and nearly bounces out of her chair. Vincent remembers the excitement when he was younger that came with being the one to say the date. He used to itch for it when he was with his old studio. Something else I’ve lost.

“The first episode will be available on Netflix on November 1st!”

The interviewer sits up straight and clasps his hands together, “I cannot thank you enough for your time out here today, thank you everybody for tuning in and we all anticipate the debut of Strings of Time.”

Vincent watches as the cameras are shut off and pulled away. He holds himself in the chair until all of the cameras have been pulled away and the interviewer stands. In one movement he is off of the stage and talking with someone. Vincent brings his hands on the armrests and pulls himself to his feet.

Vincent floats for the door, plans to go home, and just passes out on the couch already bubbling across his vision. He hates the air conditioning here.

Why did he have to get brought up?

Vincent adjusts his blazer and steps out of the recording studio. Regretting wearing a turtleneck, he makes his way towards his dressing room. The sound of his shoes clicking against the tiled floor echoes around him. Air catches in his throat as the faint memory of a different set of oxfords walks down a hall only a wall away from him. The memory tastes like Coke.

Just grab your paperwork and go home.

A hand grabs his arm, “Excuse me, Vincent.”

Vincent spins around, panic, like an ivy spreading up his veins. Ann stands behind him, looking a bit flustered, “I need to apologies to you.”

“For what,” Vincent asks, forcing his muscles to relax.

Ann smooths out the edge of her blouse and forces her eyes, “Once the words came out of my mouth I realized how insensitive it was to just… nonchalantly mention the Owen ordeal as um.”

“Hey,” Vincent says, “I- You were nervous I could tell, I’m not offended.”

“Yeah, but especially since his mother just passed and he’s going to be working with us I- it feels wrong, I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry, what!

“I accept your apology, Ann. Don’t think too much of it. This is your first gig since moving into adult acting, right?”

Ann nods, leaning back on her heels. It is painfully obvious that she is very new to interviews that ask unscripted questions.

“It’s alright,” Vincent reassures, “Honestly Ann, don’t stress about accidentally stumbling over words. It happens.”

Ann relaxes just a little, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay, thank you,” Ann smiles, letting gallons of air escape her tense lungs. She turns around and trots for her room a few halls down. As he watches her walk away the nostalgia hits him like a truck. The people-pleasing, the desire to be perfect, to be without controversy, makes him flash a piteous smile and shake his head.

He straightens his spine and turns around.

A very intense woman is standing behind him.

“Oh, hello,” Vincent nearly exits his skin as she draws her gaze up to him, “I didn’t realise you were there.”

“Vincent Shield, am I correct?”

Vincent nods, squirming under her very intense gaze, “Yes, you are.”

She holds out her hand, “Keira Harker.”

He takes her hand and shakes it, “Pleasure to meet you Ms. Harker. How can I be of service?”

“You’re known to be very active in the Pet Lib movement and you were basically responsible for the creation of the Commision correct?”

Where is this going? “I wouldn’t say that I’m responsible, there are many people who helped put in place the building blocks that would lead to the Commision.”

“I am aware,” she responds, holding her gaze firmer than Vincent does, “However you have a lot of knowledge about the underground and many of the safehouses.”

Vincent raises a hand, feeling himself freeze under the delicate mask, “Ma’am, everything I have done has been within the limits of the law. I can assure you all of my associates are also performing their actions under the law.”

Her face hardens and she takes a small step towards him, “I am not accusing you of breaking the law.”

I have just gotten out of multiple interviews and a press conference and in the press conference, I was called a felon at least four times. I wanna go home and eat Dmitri’s chicken and rice soup.

“All due respect Ms. Harker that is what this is beginning to sound like.”

Keira sighs and relaxes slightly, “I am asking for your help, if I were to accuse you of being a criminal that would not be very productive.”

Vincent lets his body de-tense but he is in no way relaxed, “My apologies Ms. Harker. I have been on the butt end of those accusations for a better part of today. Just on my toes.”

“I understand,” she responds, almost mimicking his behavior, “My brother was… voluntold to join the pet program. I tried everything in my power to find him and I found out that he was sold to the son of a very powerful senator.”

“He was sold to Owen Grant.” Kauri.

Keira nods, glancing over Vincent’s shoulder, “While I wish not to speak ill of the dead, now that she is deceased. I believe it will be easier to discover his whereabouts without WRU getting involved.”

The weight of her words start to weigh on him. If she is looking for her brother, how many others are now looking for their family?

“Well, I agree in that sentiment,” Vincent gestures forward, “If I can have a name, I might ask around to some more of my well versed colleagues.”

Keira reaches into her purse and pulls out a white card, “So, shall we keep in touch.”

“Of course,” Vincent takes the small card and glances down at the contact information, “We’ll be in touch.”

-

Vincent steps inside and can smell something good. He faintly hears Dmitri moving about his kitchen, making dinner. The aroma of fresh bread makes his house feel alive. Dropping his stuff at the door to his office, he floats over to the kitchen.

Dmitri stands in front of the stove, wearing a faded Kiss the Cook apron. Vincent finds a small smile blooming on his face as he steps up to him.

“Soup should be done in five minutes,” Dmitri asks as Vincent leans up onto the counter next to him, “How was the interview?”

“We cannot be doing that the night before an interview,” Vincent mutters and he fusses with the turtleneck. “I have been paranoid that someone has seen this all day.”

Dmitri smiles and chuckles, “Vincent you can barely see them, I highly doubt they would notice.”

“Dmitri, the media would go batshit if I had hickies in an interview!”

Dmitri swills the spoon around in the soup before turning towards Vincent, “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

Last night, probably one of the first where he was both sober and relaxed. Dmitri had showered him in deep kisses. The two of them practically laughed themselves to sleep that night. They were so close yesterday.

Vincent had felt so. damned. cherished.

“Yeah,” Vincent pouts slightly while he leans into Dmitri, “I didn’t but I did this morning.”

Dmitri laughs, his chest rumbling against Vincent. His finger rests on Vincent’s hips and drums on his belt.

Vincent squints up at Dmitri, “If we get caught because of stuff like that I’m going to wring your neck.”

Dmitri leans down and places a soft kiss on his curls. His breath brushes across the strands and Vincent’s muscles relax. “I would love to see you try, cariño.”

The oven buzzes and interrupts their little moment.

“There’s the bread.”

-

Dmitri and Vincent sit out on his back porch, eating chicken and rice soup and just enjoying the crisp fall air.

“Can I ask you for advice?” Vincent says as he dips some of the bread into the broth.

Dmitri nods and leans in, “Always.”

Vincent rests his head back on the back of the seat, “Let’s say someone approached you and asked you to help them find someone. This someone has been missing for years but you’ve known their whereabouts for a while now. You want to reconnect them but you’re just not sure about what said ‘missing’ person would think? But you also don’t want to just completely cut of the person who asked for your help”

“Ask them,” Dmitri answers as he sips at his broth, “I’d just ask because they may not want to. They could have been trying to leave a difficult situation and don’t want to approach those who could have harmed them.”

Vincent sighs and tries to melt back into his porch cushions, “But what if he tells me not to talk to her at all, how am I supposed to explain that to her?”

“Improv,” Dmitri shrugs, “Lie.”

“Lie to someone who’s looking for her family?” Vincent blinks, “Isn’t that just cruel.”

“How do you know that she’s looking for them to be kind?”

Vincent pauses and lets his eyes wander upwards towards the dusk sky. The sky matches the color of the bottoms of the trees. The reds and oranges ripple above him and a sinking feeling eats in his gut.

“I don’t.”

Dmitri takes a final sip of his soup and gives Vincent a gentle smile, “Just ask them first, they might just wanna meet her and do it themselves. All else fails, just give them her contact information.”

I don’t think Kauri will. “Alright, okay.”

-

Vincent stands at the door to the safehouse. The sounds of the town around him drape the porch in waves of white noise, masking the sounds from within. Reluctantly, he raises his hand to knock on the wooden door frame. His knuckles barely tap it before two sets of locks are unlocked and Kauri opens the door.

They make eye contact and Vincent watches Kauri’s expression shift.

“Make this quick, I have stuff to do.”

Kauri lets Vincent step inside the safehouse. The air of the interior feels heavier than before, solidified by the sound of the deadbolt locking.

“I’m so-”

“If the words I’m sorry leave your mouth at anypoint, I’m gone,” Kauri says as he walks over to the kitchen, “Just get this over with.”

Vincent follows in his footsteps, glancing over at Jake who lays asleep on the pull-out couch. The makeshift IV step sits on the table next to him, out of use.

Remind me to send Nat money over to cover that.

Kauri places his hands on the counter behind him and shifts his weight into it. Crossing his arms out in front of his chest, he looks up over at AJke before returning his gaze to Vincent.

He looks exhausted.

“How has-”

Kauri raises his hand and presses his fingers together, making a “close your mouth” gesture, “Cut to the chase, I have errands to run today.”

“Alright then. A few days ago I was approached by a woman named Keira Harker who asked for my help in finding her brother, Liam Harker, who was taken by WRU. She said that she thinks the person he was sent to was Owen Grant and, now since Carlotta is no longer alive, she can try and find him without her getting in the way,” Vincent says, leaning his weight into the kitchen table, “She gave me her contact information and asked me to help her in finding-”

Kauri spins around and opens the cabinet behind him. Pulling out a white bottle, he sets it down on the counter and mutters, “So she’s looking for me?”

“Yes.”

“What else did you say?” Kauri asks as he pours himself a glass of water, “Did you tell her where the safehouse is? If you did I swear Vincent I’m-”

It’s Vincent’s turn to interrupt, “No, I didn’t say anything. All I said is that I would keep in touch.”

“Good,” Kauri says as he pours two pills out of the bottle and into his hand, “Cheers.” Kauri tosses the pills into his mouth and tilts the glass of water towards Vincent before drinking.

“What are you doing?” Vincent asks, tugging some at the sleeves of another turtleneck.”

“Migraine meds,” Kauri answers, pouring the rest into the sink, “I get them when I hear Liam Harker.” Just like clockwork, Kauri winces and rubs his temple, “Just something else to deal with.”

“I’m sor-”

“I will leave until Nat gets back.”

Vincent purses his lips and watches Kauri walk over to the fridge. The air stills around them in the way the air in a freezer is still. Something hangs over the room, could be the tension, could be the unease, could be the new presence in their lives, Vincent can’t tell.

“I have her contact information if you want it,” Vincent speaks, trying to shoo away the stillness, “On your time.”

Kauri pauses mid-reach. He rests his forehead against the fridge handle and says, “I- maybe later. I have far too much on my plate right now, running to the safehouse almost by myself. Nats with Jameson at her house, Jake is still recovering, the whole issue with Chris and Laken, the Oly- I just can’t take on something else right now.”

“I get it,” Vincent nods, shifting his weight onto his back foot, “I’ll keep it if you want it when all of this blows over. But, if she does try to press me for information-”

“Pretend you have no idea who me, Nat, and Jake are,” Kauri answers while pulling out a plastic pitcher of what smells like cold brew, “If I ever decide to contact her I’ll deal with it, okay? I’m just not ready or have the time right now.”

Vincent leans back on one foot to try and see the clock on the wall, “Um. what time is Nat supposed to get here, we have money stuff I have to talk to her about.”

“Around four,” Kauri answer while pouring himself coffee.

The sound of the deadbolt unclicking sounds softly crosses the room. Kauri barely glances over his shoulder.

“Is Nat back already?” Vincent asks as he tries to see the door.

“Nope,” Kauri says, popping the p. “Just Chris.”

“I- I’m back and I have Laken,” Chris beams as he dashes past with Laken in hand, “Oh hi Vince.”

Vincent gives Chris a small wave, “Hi Chris.”

“Wait- is that Vinc-”

But Chris has already whisked Laken away before they could get the last words out. Vincent follows them with his eyes for a moment before looking back at Kauri.

Kauri looks relieved. A tired smile adorns his face as he takes a sip of the cold brew.

Vincent doesn’t ask, he puts enough of the dots together to know something just fixed itself. Good for them.

“Anywho,” Kauri chuckles, looking back over at Vincent, “A turtleneck won’t hide your sins Vincy.”

“Shit, how obvious has it been?!” Vincent panics and readjusts the hem of his shirt.

“I was just joking...” Kauri’s smile deepens as the mischief returns to his face. He gives Vincent a look over and sing-songs, “...So, what’s Dmitri like?”

“We just kissed Kauri!”

“Sure, and I just kiss Jake.”

“Kauri!”

[silvercrystalwhump]

Suits n Stuff

I went suit shopping with my parents since they are going to a wedding soon and some of thses outfits give me whumper (and an ex-whumpee) vibes.

@evermetnotforgotten Martin Viklund-Reid vibes

@ashintheairlikesnow Owen Grant vibes

And an honorary Vince vibes

[silvercrystalwhump]

Weddings and Wrecking Balls

TW: Owen Grant and everything that he entails, implied noncon, fear response to previous abuser,

Vincent Shield and Owen Grant belong to @ashintheairlikesnow

Tag List: @whumptywhumpdump

_

Vincent’s fingers run idly over the velvet seating of his limousine. Celebrity weddings are almost a yearly obligation of his to attend. Like clockwork, as spring rears its head a pair of camera-cooing stars drink until they forget about the temporary marriage they just created. To his disapproval, Vincent is expected to attend these events. His Publicist tries to get him in every photo, dance, and tabloid on the event as he could.

Today, however, is different.

Vincent looks up at Dmitri who sits across from him. Adorned in a pink suit and black tie that was a result of compromise.

“I’m still wondering how you managed to convince me to let you do that,” Vincent sighs as he takes a sip of water.

Dmitri, looking at Vincent, chuckles, “What? Getting the flamingo pattern for the inner lining of this suit. The only people that are going to see it are me and maybe you. Plus, MawMaw found it charming.”

“You are my plus one to the wedding of a world renowned fashion designer and an actress known for modeling,” Vincent says as he messes with the cuff of his suit jacket, “Please don’t tell anyone that you did that.”

“Oh please Vee, I look good in everything.”

Vincent rolls his eyes. The only reason he was comfortable with bringing him along is that Luis refused to have any paparazzi at the event. Only one of his photographers would be taking photos of the event and she would be glued to the married couple.

“I’m surprised you managed to get on good terms with Mary Anne,” Vincent says as he glances out the window, “In only a few minutes of conversation and she speaks the world of you.”

Dmitri gives Vincent a smile only he can give, “What can I say, people just love me.”

Vincent returns with a shrug and fusses a bit with his vest, “So do I.”

Dmitri smiles, “Calm Down Vee, your suit looks fine. We’re almost there and I doubt anything will go wrong since the love birds shooed off the cameras.”

He adjusts his tie for the fifth time since they left his house, running a finger over the purple and gold fabric. “I know, I wouldn’t have bought you if I wasn't certain.”

Dmitri reaches forward and takes one of Vincent’s hands. Pulling it away from him, Dmitri gives him a small kiss on the knuckles, “It’s gonna be okay Vee.” He squeezes the hand before letting it go.

Vincent nods just as the venue pulls into view. There are not the swarms of cameras that usually sit outside of these places. He puts the invitation in his hand and feels the car roll to a stop.

Dmitri gives Vincent a final smile before stepping out of the limousine. Vincent, throwing on his acting face, follows after.

The venue is relatively small compared to previous weddings he had attended in the past. It had a bit of charm about it that gave the place a welcome feel. Vincent flashes the invite to the doormen and they enter. Purple sashes and soft fairy lights draped from white columns and soft music plays in the background. People are already talking near the doors to the Procession.

“Vincent!” one of his costars and ex (sort of) walks towards them. Estelle, an actress with as much prestige as Vincent, if not more, steps up to them. “It's good to see you, who’s this?”

“Estelle this is Dmitri, Dmitri this is Estelle,” Vincent introduces the two.

“It's good to meet you,” Estelle smiles back.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Dmitri says, “If I may ask, aren’t you two-”

“Publicist reasons,” Estelle and Vincent say in unison, “Nothing personal.”

“Ah,” Dmitri nods, “I assumed as such.”

Estelle shakes her head, “Unless they disguise each other just assume that those breakups were for appessing paparazzi means.”

“That makes sense,” Dmitri says as his eyes scan the crowd.

Vincent looks up at the clock, 4:51. The Procession starts in about 10 minutes thankfully.

“Hey Vincent,” Estelle says, ripping Vincent out of LaLa land, “Were you here for Coriane and Anthony’s wedding last October?”

A laugh bubbles out of Vincent’s throat, “Of course, I had to send him four suits before I got approved for the obnoxious dress code.”

Dmitri chuckles, “Anthony McKay? Didn’t he divorce her within two months of that marriage?”

Estelle nods, “Here’s an interesting trend for you, the stricter the dress code at a celebrity wedding the shorter the marriage will last.”

Vincent shrugs, eyes dashing between the conversation and the door, “That was an explosive divorce.”

Dmitri and Estelle begin to talk and their voices slowly fade as Vincent zones out. His eyes unfocus and the lights seem to sparkle and twirl around in his vision. For a moment, he slinks into the background, enjoying the mindless chatter of those around him.

It’s nice.

“Question Vince,” Estelle stays drawing him back to reality, “How is that new show going? You haven’t committed to a show since you moved to your company now?”

“Oh you know…” Vincent starts as his eyes focus around a terrifyingly familiar tan sport coat, “I- sorry. Just liked the director, worked with him before.”

Estelle says something, but Vincent doesn’t hear it. Blond hair, almost matted in tiny places, combed but barely groomed… bile rises in his throat. He can’t move. Every fiber in his body coils in on itself and dies. The room gets too quiet yet far too loud. Please don’t turn around.

With the same nonchalant throw of his shoulder that he did in every laid-back situation he was ever in, he turns a heel, double-taking when he sees Vincent. A smile so harmlessly venomous that Vincent almost pukes right there and then. Owen Grant raises a hand and sends him a tiny wave.

“Vince the procession doors are open,” Estelle chirps, “You two can sit with us.”

“Thank you,” Dmitri says as his gaze wanders back to Vincent, “...Vince?”

Vincent, forcing himself to rip his eyes away from the omen of pain and death across the room, walks behind Estelle, “Coming.”

Dmitri steps up next to him, concern slowly materializing in the crease of his brow and behind his eyes, “You alright?”

“Just a long day.”

Dmitri pierces his lips but, to Vincent’s relief, doesn’t press the matter. They walk through the doors and Estelle sits next to another actress whose name is on the tip of Vincent’s tongue. He and Dmitri sit down next to them.

Vincent is too aware of the hairs rising on the back of his neck. It almost feels like he is existing under his skin, squirming but still simultaneously. His breathing is too loud, it’s almost deafening.

His eyes scan the room, barely glancing at the door. His eyes, for a spiral-inducing second, meet with glazed green. I’m going to puke.

Vincent can feel his presence choke him just as well as he did with his hands. Owen starts to talk and Vincent realizes with increasing horror-

He is sitting less than three feet right behind.

Everyone falls silent as the Procession begins. Vincent stares at the altarpiece and becomes far too apparent of his breathing. The lights are not bright enough anymore and the organ music drowns the sound of him hyperventilating as inconspicuous as possible. Of course, this event was too good to be true. No paparazzi allowed, No wedding crashers. Why wouldn’t he be here?

Time is chained to deadweights in the Procession.

Vincent feels a weight on his shoulder and the smell of a cologne he knew wasn’t Owen’s. His eyes flicker to Dmitri’s face. It’s saturated in concern and he mouths, Are you okay?

Vincent gives him the tiniest of nods and with it the biggest lie he could ever tell.

Dmitri raises an eyebrow. Vincent watches his eyes flick behind him and his face harden by a hair.

Just then, saving a guilty Vincent from Dmitri’s gaze, the doors to the possession room open. Mary Anne, the bride dressed in her gown, begins her walk down the aisle. Vincent spins his head around to watch like the rest of the guests.

Yet, a plague of stale air dries in his lungs when he sees Owen out of the corner of his eye. Not watching the bride. Watching him.

As she makes her way up to the altar, Vincent feels a foot poke at the back of his ankle. I’m not going to look down. The minister begins to speak. The words do not sound like words. Nothing is solid except for the tapping at his ankle.

Vincent’s eyes look down for what feels like years. A single shoe, a shoe he saw so many times thrown to the side when he was tied to the man’s headboard, now rubs at the side of his leg.

Please, Dmitri, don’t notice this. I do not want to explain this.

Vincent falls into the back of his mind, something he hasn’t done in years. The Procession passes like white noise. Nothing feels real to him.

The Procession ends.

Vincent stands.

So does Owen.

“Vince! How have you been? It’s been too long,” Owens asks with a smile that hides a sadistic, vial longing. Vincent freezes, instincts screaming for him to run but his body not knowing where to, “Fine.”

Just as Owen opens his disgusting mouth, Dmitri steps in between them and looks at Vincent, “We need to talk. Now.”

Vincent watches Dmitri’s entire body dwarf Owen in size. Dmitri, a whole ten inches taller and far broader than Owen could ever hope to be, stands like a wall between Vincent and his waking nightmare. Now, with a mountain standing in front of him, Vincent realizes where he is.

“Yeah, sure.”

It is almost to him that his only thought at that moment was Thank you for being mad at me.

Vincent lets Dmitri pull/drag him out of the Procession hall and into a quiet hallway and only then does he let him go.

“Vee, what happened.”

“Nothing happened, it's just nerves.”

Dmitri leans back on a foot and sighs, “There are very few certain things in this life and one of them is that you are a terrible liar.”

“I’m just a little frazzled Dmitri!”

“You were nearly crying!” Dmitri says as he drops his voice to a whisper, “The last time you did that was when you came over to my apartment and we tried to have---”

Vincent slams his hand over Dmitri’s mouth and growls silently, “Shutthefuckup.”

Dmitri pulls the hand off of his face, “If you’re so worked up then we can leave.”

“I can’t leave!” Vincent sputters, despite very much wanting to leave, “You can’t just leave someone’s wedding!”

“Yes you can, the door is less than 100 feet away, we can go if something is freaking you out so much!”

“I don’t---”

“Hey you two,” Estelle says as she whips around the corner, “Dinner’s out in the dining hall.”

Vincent instantly pulls up his acting face and smiles at her, “Just about to go!”

He grabs Dmitri and it’s VIncent’s turn to drag someone. He can’t leave this wedding. He would get ripped apart for it and he’s already done enough tearing at his reputation recently. Just stay near Dmitri and away from Owen.

He immediately regrets that decision

Dinner goes well or as well as it can go with Owen’s back to Vincent and every couple of minutes he looks over his shoulder and smiles at him.

He realizes he should’ve just left.

Toasts go around, the Best Man, the Maid of Honor, a few others. Just as Vincent thinks it’s about to all end, a quiet ringing from someone tapping a crystal glass with a metal knife. The sound vibrates into his head and makes his teeth implants hurt.

Implants that Owen caused him to get.

Owen stands with a smile that curdles Vincent’s blood, “I would like to make a toast to our lovely couple.”

I want to die. Right here. Right now.

“We have all seen our fair share of weddings, some more disastrous than others, but I believe I can confidently say this has been the best that I have attended in a long time.”

It’s because I’m here, isn’t it?

“And from just looking at you two I can tell that your marriage will be a long and prosperous one,” Owen moves his gaze to Vincent’s eyes and he beams a sickeningly hopeful simile, “And I hope that mine is just as prosperous as yours.”

No, never, fuck off.

Owen raises his glass and locks his eyes to Vincent’s, “To our prosperous friends.”

Vincent looks down at the table as he raises his glass, trying to ignore the beating eyes eating at his flesh. The wine, as he drinks, tastes like death.

Dmitri pokes him in the leg and leans down to a whisper, “Do you want to head out, you’re still freaking out.”

He is, he can feel his fingers shake around the glass. Vincent’s vision spins under the weight of Owen’s gaze. It’s almost like he can feel the twisted fantasies building behind Owen’s eyes. A dam of thoughts that Vincent knows all too well what happens when they are released.

He, ripping him out of his stewing, feels Dmitri’s hand on his thigh, “When everyone gets up to dance we can disappear, okay?”

Vincent gives him a tiny nod as he takes the first mouthful of cake. His eyes do not leave his plate. His own thoughts begin to seem distant to him as if he was observing them through thick glass.

Nothing feels real.

Is this real?

People begin to trickle out of the room, smiling as they take people and in hand. The newlyweds beaming as they float across the dining hall to the dance floor, taking everyone’s eyes. Vincent stands and leans into Dmitri, “I’m going to head out, you wait a few minutes and then leave so no one suspects anything.”

“Alright,” Dmitri says, flashing a warm smile, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Vincent stands and skirts the crowd, heading out towards the empty hallways where he can leave. The weight across his shoulders lifts as the door approaches. He can breathe.

“Vince, Wait!”

The weight comes slamming back into his lungs, knocking the air out. His muscles turn to ice as Owen’s footsteps. Instinctually, and to his dismay, he turns around and faces his banshee.

“It’s been ages, I’m so happy i could catch you here.”

Why?

“Yeah… it has been a while.” Not long enough.

Owen strides up to Vincent with sheer confidence as a guiltless sibling. He chuckles, “Well he kinda stole you away when we were first talking so I’m glad I caught you alone!”

“Um, I-”

“Since you have been so distant since we last spoke. Time’s really flown hasn’t it with all your success,” Owen interrupts, leaning casually back on a leg.

“Yeah,” Vincent says, his vision blurring, “I need to go Owen.”

As Vincent spins around to leave, Owen steps forward and grabs his shoulder. His nails dig into the suit shoulder and pull back slightly, “Just five minutes.”

“I need to go,” Vincent breathlessly says, beginning to shake, “I don’t have five minutes.”

“Really?” Owen chuckles as he leans over Vincent’s shoulder. He can feel the pressure of Owen trying to pull him back ever so gently. The slight figure of Owen’s face curses Vincent’s periphery.

If Dmitri sees you like this you’ll have a lot of explaining to do.

“No,” Vincent states with as firm of a voice as he can muster, “I don’t.”

He pulls away from Owen’s grip and walks out of the venue, feeling Owen’s gaze fade as he walks through the silent parking lot. The air in his lungs finally has the room to move as the finite particles escape into the cool night air. The limousine is silent as he slides onto the velvet seats. Vincent taps the window to the driver’s section and quietly says, “Drive up to the main doors when Dmitri steps out.”

A nod later and Vincent rolls up the divider between the driver and the guest seats. He throws off his suit jacket onto the chair next to him. He feels the vehicle lurch forward and watches as the light spills inside as Dmitri slides in.

“Are you alright?!” Dmitri says with hushed alarm.

Only then does Vincent realize he’s crying. He reaches up and wipes the droplet of salt and fear from his face and just fades. The world is there yet it’s not, Vincent can’t tell what’s changing around him and time just slips through his fingers.

Everything focuses again when he’s home.

Dmitri had wrapped a quilted blanket over his shoulders and they are now sitting on his couch. Vincent feels Dmitri’s body heat and arms wrapped around his torso. He sits forward a little and stares at the clock, 9:03.

“I’m sorry,” Vincent murmurs, his voice hoarse.

“Don’t apologise Vee,” Dmitri whispers back, “But what happened?”

Vincent stands up, wobbling on his legs for a moment. Seeing his jacket and Dmitri’s tossed onto a chair, he sighs, “It’s- complicated.”

Dmitri sits forward, eyes both tired and concerned. “Vee, you… you clocked out of a solid hour and a half. You don’t do that unless.”

“Dmitri.”

Dmitri falls silent, his loosened tie falling off his broad shoulders. He slowly stands, eyes drooping under the weight of sleepiness, “I need to head back home before it gets too late.”

An air of guilt falls between them and Dmitri walks for the door. A longing bleeds in Vincent's chest, to spit it out and get it over with. Those are not the words that leave his mouth.

“Wait- I- Can you just stay tonight. It's- I’m- just- please.”

Dmitri pauses and nods. The silence loses weight as Dmitri steps back from the front door. As Dmitri starts to pass him for the stairs, Vincent pulls him into a hug. Burying his face in Dmitri’s chest, he tries to use his warmth for even a drop of comfort. Dmitri wraps his arms back around Vincent and the two stand there in the dark living room.

Vincent only hopes that the nightmares that will come are short-winded.

[silvercrystalwhump]

Okay so @ashintheairlikesnow refuses to give Vince someone who loves and respects him and his trauma so I am giving him one. 

None of this is Canon (unless Ash gives our boy some love) so this is just me giving Vincent Shield a boyfriend out of spite.

Vincent Shield belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow

Dmitri I am putting in the public domain.

Tw: implied noncon (from Vinces past with Owen), Owen Grant, self depreciating thoughts.

    Vincent throws his legs over the side of his bed. The feeling of silky velvet brushes against his skin like sunlight across spring lilies. Vincent pulls a little at the hem of his shirt, the faint smell of familiar cologne sits into the fabric of his shirt. He stretches and turns off his alarm, the ringing dances around his skull for a few moments before settling.

Today is the film photoshoot for the premiers. 

Vincent groans to himself. The one day out of filming any movie or TV series that he did not like. Throwing on clothes, Vincent starts down the stairs. He blinks as his hand curls down the stairs to the kitchen.

Vincent’s eyes wash over the living room. Pillows and blankets were folded nicely onto the coffee table. He can almost feel the absence through the carpet. He turns the corner and sees the coffee pot running softly.

Leaning on the counter, Dmitri sits glancing out the wall window above the kitchen counter. The window is open just a crack letting in a warm, gentle breeze into the house. 

“Good morning, Dmitri.”

Dmitri looks over at him and gives him a welcome smile, “Mornin’ Vee! You know how your brake pads were singing yesterday, I ran down to the shop and picked up the pads and replaced them. Coffee should be done soon, do you want pancakes?”

Vincent blinks and shoots a glance over at the clock, “Dmitri… it’s 6:43 in the morning.”

“Yes?”

“How did you do that so early?”

Dmitri shrugs and he hands Vince a mug, “I usually get up between 4:30 and 5 so.. I just got it done.”

Vincent takes it and grabs the coffee pot and pours himself some coffee, “I thought you didn’t have work today?”

    “I don’t,” Dmitri says as he takes a sip, “Just used to waking up before dawn.”

Vincent takes a sip of the coffee, the sounds of songbirds float in through the window. A few flutter past, their songs catching through the crack in the window. 

Dmitri holds a bag of chocolate chips up and says, “I got some pancake mix and some chocolate, might as well make your morning bright if the rest of today is going to be dull.”

With a smile, Vincent leans in and gives him a small peck on the cheek, "Thank you."

Vincent sits at the counter as Dmitri sprinkles chocolate into the batter. Dmitri, with a voice as smooth as butter cream, asks, "So what's on your agenda today?"

"Get into a latex costume for eight hours and pose for photos," Vincent rolls his eyes as the batter sizzles against the pan, "Cover photos are today."

"Ah," Dmitri says as he fills a pancake, "All day?"

"Yup, the first two hours are just getting into costume. The one thing I hate about this movie is theater suits we have to wear under the costume pieces. Walking sauna when you're under light all day."

Dmitri nods as he pulls off a pair of pancakes from the stove top, "You sent me a photo of you wearing one the other day, it really is skin tight. Do you want some strawberries with your pancakes?"

"And you just saw my upper half, and yes please."

Dmitri cut up some strawberries and poured syrup across the warm cakes, "For you sweetheart."

"Thank you!" Vincent beams back before he takes a bite. The fluffy cakes nearly melt in his mouth, the chocolate sitting across his taste buds. Everything Dmitri makes tastes the best. Something about how he cooks makes food feel like unlocking the answers to it all.

Southern Charm, he called it.

Vincent looks across the counter into Dmitri's dark, thoughtful eyes. 

The same eyes you pushed away from last night.

He did nothing wrong and you just had to ruin it all, didn't you Vince?

Why can't you just let that time die, Owen isn't even here and you're still freaking out about it.

"Vincent?" Dmitri asks as he examines Vincent's face. "Are you okay?"

Vincent snaps back to reality, his knuckles staring through his skin as he clutches the mug. He nods as he takes another bite of pancakes. Dmitri looks at Vincent, concern in his eyes.

You refuse to tell him and you've been dating for months now. What happens when he runs out of patience. What will you do then?

You're a coward and he'll figure it out eventually.

Hands wrap around his and squeeze, panic rises in Vincent's throat for a moment before he realizes the skin is too dark to be Owen's. 

"Hey, tell me five things you can see."

Vincent looks up, "You, the window, a blue Jay, the pancakes, the counter."

"Four things you can feel?"

Vincent shifts his fingers under his grip, "You, the coffee mug, the chair, the table."

"Three things you can hear."

"The birds, the stove, you."

Dmitri smiles, "two you can smell."

"Chocolate and pancakes."

"Taste."

"Syrup."

Dmitri let go of his hands and sits back down, "Are you okay Vee?"

"I'm sorry," Vincent says as he takes another sip out of coffee. Guilt falls from his eyes like dusk across a valley.

Dmitri cooks an eyebrow and shakes his head, "Don't apologize, you did nothing wrong."

Vincent puts his head in his hands, "I'm sorry for last night, I shouldn't have lead you on."

"Vee," Dmitri says as he takes a bite out of his own food, "You didn't lead me on. You just don't want to go all the way."

"I shouldn't have freaked out though---"

"Vee," Dmitri says with solid sterness behind his voice, "You have boundaries, you tried to push past them and then decided you didn't want to, and that's perfectly fine. Don't kick yourself because you set boundaries. I am perfectly fine with waiting."

Vincent shakes his head, "But I keep trying but then pulling back, it's not fair to you---"

"Vincent."

"Mhm."

Dmitri sighs and leans in, "Remember when you told me when we first got together that someone had broken your trust when it came to intimacy."

Vincent nods shakily, "Yes."

"And how you told me you weren't ready for that kind of intimacy with anyone yet."

"Yes."

Dmitri leans back, "What did I tell you after taht."

"That you wanted to wait until I was ready."

Dmitri nods and finishes up his food, "You weren't ready yesterday."

"But-" Vincent goes to interject. A feeling of both want and worry swirling in his gut. A butter churn of emotions twist his insides in uncomfortable ways.

"No Vee, do not start thinking that you owe me anything, you don't," Dmitri states as he finishes his coffee, "You don't need to give me anything and if that means I have to wait decades I will."

Vincent shifts in his seat nervously. Meeting Dmitri's eyes for a moment, he puts his head in his hands. 

Why don't you just tell him, coward.

Dmitri glances back at Vincent. "Do you want me to bring you lunch today, there is this Italian place near my apartment taht makes the best garlic bread I have ever tasted?"

Vincent nods, grateful for the distractions from his own thoughts, "Yeah, I'll let Michael know your coming in so he doesn't yell at you again."

Dmitri laughs as he puts the dishes into the sink. "Yeah you probably could have heard him from half a block down last time."

Vincent draws up a smile, "Trust me we heard it inside, what are your plans for today?"

"Run arrands mostly, I got paid the other day and I need to stock my fridge. Also I need new work pants since my old ones are so oil soaked it's not even funny."

"If you need anything I can order it for you," Vincent says as he stands up and walks his dishes over to the sink.

"Nah, I got cash," Dmitri says as he turns to face Vincent. Vincent looks up at him, eyes glossing over him for a second before roaming to the window.

"Could you drive me to work today?"

"Sure," Dmitri says as he gently places the dishes into the dishwasher.

When Dmitri stands up, Vincent envelops him in a hug. Dmitri slowly embraces him and the two stand close for a few moments.

"Thank you," Vincent mumbles into his chest. Dmitri smiles and places a kiss on the top of his head.

"I love you too."

[silvercrystalwhump]

Little thing based on an idea for Ash

@ashintheairlikesnow owns all of these characters I just an idea one day and decided- Hey I'ma write this. Enjoy

TW: implied noncon, noncon photo taking, general bbu warning, Owen Grant exists

-

Vincent drums his fingers across the wood with nails bitten to near bleeding. A hard drive sits on the table in front of him, almost eating at his eyes by simply existing. It’s red, and the word Memories is written on the side. His eyes bore into the table, wanting the hard drive to combust and leave his life.

“You know I could always see what's on there?”

James, the only person other than his therapist to know about Owen, leans by an open window. The sound of Blue Jays singing outside dances through his words like background music on set. The only reason he had the displeasure of knowing about that migraine-inducing part of his life was that Vincent forgot to watch his liquor intake at an event and vomited out his entire life story to James in one night. Needless to say, he woke up the next morning with a hangover that could kill god and a very concerned James who knew too much.

Vincent shakes his head, “I am fairly certain I know what's on this, I don’t want you seeing that.”

James doesn’t respond, “I have an incinerator at home. You can just get rid of it there.”

“If it’s not I’ll be destroying something I actually like.”

Vincent did not even know why he had him come over. After he saw the handwriting he just went on autopilot. “Could you drive down about five minutes down, there’s this small coffee place that makes pecan pie flavored coffee, can you go get me some?”

“Sure,” James says, “Do you want me to go so you can do this alone and I can come back later or?”

“No, I just need you out of the house for maybe 15 minutes, it’s not like you probably have already figured out what I think is on this hard drive.”

James shrugs, “You want something to eat too?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Vincent hears James’ keys jungle quietly and the door opens. He can hear his footsteps walk down his porch. As he listens to James’ car start, Vincent puts his head in his hands. His finger knit into his hair and closes, threatening to rip the follicles right from his skull. I really don’t want to see this. He exhales as he hears the car pull out of the driveway and his gate slide closed.

Inhale, he closes his eyes and fumbles the hard drive into the laptop. Then, exhaling, he opens his eyes.

USP Pot In-Use. Transfer 486 GB of data onto this device?

Half a terabyte of data just sitting on a hard drive. A hard drive that was in the button of one of Vincent’s bags for months. Vincent starts to chew on the inside of his cheek, hands trembling near the mouse pad.

Yes.

Not enough storage for transfer. Preview file?

Yes.

A handful of files transfer to his laptop. Some files were named with dates, some with pet names, some with actual event titles but all were photos. Vincent closes his eyes and opens one simply labeled Coffee. The actual photo itself is just him sitting in one of his old dressing rooms back when working with Owen. There is a blurry spot in the upper left-hand corner of the photo. This was definitely Owen’s phone. Owen’s phone always had a blurry spot in the upper left-hand corner no matter how much Owen wiped it off.

The photo looks like it was taken at an awkward angle. Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose and mutters, “So he stalked me long before the incident, I stopped working there months before it happened.” The other handful of photos are similar; pictures were taken without Vincent noticing, usually at work. The last one was in his own house, but it was during a party he remembered that he invited Owen to.

Then a video pops up only labeled with a date.

Vincent reaches up and mutes his computer, and slowly presses play on the video. It starts with Owen muttering something before sticking his phone up and peering through a window. The video is of Vincent sleeping, and it lasts for nearly 30 minutes before the phone is dislodged, and the video finishes.

The next set of photos and videos are dated during his time with Owen.

He gets through three before rushing to the bathroom to puke.

-

When James gets back, Vincent has seen enough. He was right. It was Owen’s hard drive, and somehow he got a hold of it. James hands Vincent the coffee and the bag.

“I’m not gonna lie, I kinda forgot what you said about food so I just got you a scone since I was listening to the radio talk about the new federal policy on box boys.”

Vincent took a sip of the coffee and raised an eyebrow at James, “Something changed?”

“The emancipation law, it was signed by the president a week ago and the changes went into effect today,” James says as he sips his own coffee, “If you own a box boy for over a year and they meet a handful of prerequisites you can emancipate them and give them legal citizenship.”

“I honestly thought it would get shot down.”

“Well since the senator that was so against it was voted out this election no one else has objected,” James says, and he pulls up his phone, “Well the owner has to be the one to sign them for emancipation. Senator Grant was her name wasn’t it?”

Vincent takes a bite out of the scone. He swallows both the scone and a thought.

“Does it say anything about private transfer?”

“I think you just have to have their papers. Why?”

Vincent looks down at his food, and an idea pops into his head, “What’s Senator Grant doing now since she’s not in office.”

James shrugs, “Let me see if anyone said anything?” He taps on his phone, the little buzzes echo around the room like flies to trash. James pauses, “I’m pretty sure she’s just at home preparing for the next election why?”

“I think I might need you to help me make a phone call.”

-

Weeks later, Vincent paces, listening to James talk on the phone in the other room. He could not physically hear Owen’s voice through the phone without falling apart.

“That’s my ear,” James says sarcastically, “Do you agree with this or not?”

Silence.

Click.

James knocks on the half-open door, “You alright Vincent?”

“Are you done?” Vincent asks, tighter than a spring.

James nods, “After the screaming he agreed, do you want me to go over with the papers so you don’t have to see them?”

“Please, I’m more than likely already going to have to be on a phone call with his Mother and that's stressful enough.”

Vincent opens the door of his study and steps out, “I need a drink.”

“It's noon Vincent.”

Vincent has one hand on the liquor cabinet and chuckles dryly, “Perfect.”

‘Vincent, no.”

Making dead eye contact with James, he pulls a bottle of sweet tea vodka out of the cabinet and pours himself a glass. James sighs and shakes his head, “I thought Dr. Brycan told you not to drink.”

“He said that I need to wait until at least noon since I used to drink from dawn until dusk unless I had work, it’s 12:01.”

“Didn't you tell me that you’re probably going to get a phone call from the ex-Senator today,” James says, stepping back, “I think you want to wait at least until then so you're sober when you two talk.”

Vincent pauses with the glass halfway to his lips. He sets it down just hard enough to hear it but not hard enough to crack the crystal. Vincent grumbles, “Fine,” and walks back for his study to wait by the phone.

-

“You do know this is blackmail, Vincent,” Mrs. Grant grinds through the phone, “And that is illegal.”

“So is paying off someone to hide criminal charges. He either takes the deal or I take this half terabyte hard drive filled with evidence to court and get the press involved, his decision.”

“How much do you have to pay you,” she says after a moment.”

“No amount of cash will buy me over, he either takes the deal or I contact my manager.”

Silence through the phone. Vincent’s nails dig into his jeans. The woman on the other end of the line can’t see the tears pouring down Vincent’s face. One thing acting taught him was how to keep his voice steady for clarity in a microphone. The only difference here is that the microphone is in a phone rather than on a long stick.

“We’ll think about it,” she finally says.

“You have until Sunday.”

“Fine.”

Click.

Vincent holds the phone up to his ear for a second before dropping it onto the table. His head falls into his hands, and he sobs. His mind, blank yet filed with too many feelings, recoils under its own weight. Tears that had been held back for months spill across contract papers and blot through blank ink. The ink spread like blood across bed sheets.

-

“Are you sure you don’t want me to knock his teeth in?” James asks as he holds the contract and transfers forms in one hand and a Sprite in the other, “Because I will and want to.”

Vincent shakes his head, fingers drumming across the velvet seats of the limousine he almost forgot he had. When did I even buy this was the first thought he had when he dug through contacts. “No, just go inside, get him to fill out the forms, and come back. Then we go home and I gorge myself on M&Ms and fudge ice cream.”

James laughs, “Room numbers on the card right?”

“Yes.”

-

James steps out of the car. The condominium looms over the limousine, and James bites through white-knuckled rage as he steps into the lobby.

Guess who’s standing there waiting for him, Owen Grant, and his mother. James steps up to them, “Grant, correct?”

Owen looks surprised and gives James a quick not-so-subtle scan, “Are you who Vince sent, I thought he was coming?”

“Do I really need to explain why that will never happen?”

Mrs. Grant gives James a glare to rival the sun’s wrath on gingers. The demeanor shifts almost instantly to a more business appeal, “Well allow us to get this paperwork sorted out as painlessly as possible.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

How long does it take to sign papers? James thinks as he watches Owen go through the forms. These are pre-filled out records; he just needs to sign in three spots. Pen scratches against the paper, Owen’s friendly demeanor evaporated when he reached the final form.

“Why this of all things?” he grinds out.

Neither of the two people answers him. Owen finally tosses the form and an orange file in James’ direction. “All of Kauri’s paperwork; if Vince needs anything else, he’ll have to contact WRU directly.”

James scoops the papers off the table, flipping through them; he looks to make sure Owen didn’t deliberately miss any signatures. An extra envelope sits in the orange file. James pulls it free and waves it in Owen’s face.

“What’s this?”

Owen, stupidly, answers, “A goodbye letter since I just filled out a no contact agreement, I want to give my final goodbyes if you will.”

James rips open the envelope and takes out the letter but keeps in anything that may be important.

“That’s for Vincent’s eyes only!” Owen snaps.

“And that hard drive was for your eyes only wasn’t it? I got Vincent’s consent to look through these forms.”

Owen and his mother glare daggers at James as he tosses the letter back onto the table, “Goodbye.”

James can still feel Owen’s teeth grinding gaze on his back as the door closes behind him.

-

Jake answers the door, “Hello Vincent.”

“Is Kauri here?” Vincent asks as his fingers shift around the orange folder.

“Depends,” Jake says, leaning against the door frame, “What do you want?”

Vincent sighs, “I called Natalie yesterday and---”

“Just let him in,” Kauri’s voice echoes from inside the safe house, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Jake pierces his lips and steps out of the way. Vincent steps past him and enters the safe house. Natalie had told him to make things as quick as possible, and if Kauri told him to leave, he would. Vincent agreed. Now he simply hoped that he would be able to get this across without being told to leave.

Kauri steps around the corner, a look of tired anger sits behind his eyes.

“Kauri I’m so---”

“Skip the bullshit, Nat said this would be quick.”

Vincent nods and forces the new wave of guilt back into his stomach, “A few days ago, I was able to… convince Owen to transfer ownership of you to me. I want to ask if I can transfer you to anyone else for your own security, so you are entirely out of Owen’s grabbing range.

Kauri stands there with an expression of absolute disbelief. Then, finally, he opens his mouth to speak before stammering, “I said quick but not one sentence, elaborate.”

“Well, to put it in simply I was going through some of my old stuff from during the incident. I found a hard drive with nearly half a terabyte of… evidence that could be used against Owen,” Vincent says as his shoulder tense at memories he wishes to be buried. “A friend of mine brought up the new box boy emancipation law and after that I got an idea. This friend, who I vomited out my entire life story to black out drunk, was willing to help be the liaison between Owen and me. After a telephone call between Mrs. Grant and I, we got the papers signed and so now I have all of your paperwork under my name.”

“Okay?” Kauri says with disbelief still in his tone in tiny blips, “Then why are you talking to me, just leave me alone and I won’t have to worry about Owen.”

Vincent chews at the inside of his cheek, “Here’s the thing, what I did is, in the eyes of the law, black mail. While he could be charged with the same thing, if he took me to court one of the first assets taken for compensation are box boys. So, you could stay under my name but I don’t trust that he won’t try to get you back by either suing or doing something. My question now is, is there someone who you trust enough for me to transfer your ownership form to.”

Kauri pauses. The gears shift in his head for a moment before he looks past Vincent and back at Jake. The widest shit-eating grin nearly splits Kauri’s face in half. He looks over Vincent’s shoulder and laughs, “Hey Jake, want your own Romantic?”

Vincent looks over his shoulder and sees a very exasperated, tired, and just downright flustered Jake.

“I- um- Kauri- I- please don’t wrd it like that, that makes me sound terrible.”

“And.”

“I- mean in order to keep Owen away from you then yes I will but please don’t,” Jake stampers, “I don’t and won’t own you.”

Kauri pushes past Vincent and boops Jake on the nose, “Congrats you get your own boxie.”

“Kauri, please.”

Vincent clears his throat and interrupts, “While I am used to being third wheel um I know you all want me out of your hair so I have the forms with me and after they are signed I will do the heavy lifting with WRU.”

After a second, Kauri chuckles before walking away. Jake just watches as he leaves, a sigh escaping his lips, “He is never going to let me live that down.”

“If you don’t want to-”

“No no,” Jake says, “I will, he's just teasing. What do I have to sign?”

[silvercrystalwhump]

In a Ghost's Grip - W.I.J Day 3

Day 3 for @whumpmasinjuly and the prompt was Sleep. Vincent belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow (Sorry for the short length, I am working on a much longer drabble with these two love birds involving an encounter with Owen)

TW: stabbing, past implied noncon, Owen Grant, past injuries from horse incident

-

Everything is fuzzy, the lines around the ceiling framing bend and bow with the slightest movement. Bile bubbles under his lips. A weight, to string to be blankets, suffocates him. A part of ghostly fingers wraps around his head and tilts it upward.

Owen lays on Vincent’s chest A smile, both doll-like and vivid, looms at Vincent. His hands are not tied down but they do not move no matter how hard he tries to budge.

“Vince,” Owen finally says, leaning up and resting his chin on Vincent’s sternum, “Did you really think you could get away.”

No, no wait. I was out, it’s been years... how!

As if reading his thoughts like a script Owen draws his face into a blood-chilling smile, “Oh Vince, you’ll leave me. You and I are meant to be glued at each other's sides.”

No- I was getting better. I have Dmitri-

Owen laughs and draws a finger under Vincent’s chin, “You only have me. I’m the only one you need.”

Silent tears burn down the sides of his face as Owen holds up a piece of paper. The words do not stay still long enough for him to make out the words. Yet, he knows all too well what it is.

“See this, it means you’ll never be able to truly get rid of me. I will always be here, with you.”

The words spill from his lips like cold maple syrup. Some do not sound like words but despite the slurring and breaks, Vincent understands the meaning.

“Just because you're faking thsi little relationship with that dirty mountain doesn’t mean that we truly belong together,” Owen chuckles as he tosses the NDA aside. He heaves himself forward and forces his lips onto Vincent’s. Even if he tries, he can't kiss back.

He does not want to.

I just wanna go home.

Owen smiles gleefully down at Vincent, “We love each other, what you're doing now is just a role you haven't realized you've taken.”

“N-no.”

Owen’s demeanor flips. The doe-eyes hardened into sharpened fury, “What did you say!?”

“I. fucking. hate. You.”

Owen sits up, reaches behind him, and pulls out a box cutter. Resting it on his ribs, Owen growls, “Take it back.”

Vincent blinks and the world clears for a second, “No.”

“Wrong answer,” Owen plunges the box cutter into his chest.

Vincent’s sight goes black and slowly uncurls in a dark room and an unlit drop ceiling. It is silent minus the desperate panting from Vincent’s nose. He can feel his pulse under the bandages wrapped around his waist.

Looking to his left, Dmitri sleeps curled under his gray comforter. His quilt is bundled around Vincent, snuggly warming him.

I’m here with Dmitri. I’m at his apartment because it’s much closer to the hospital if I need it.

The apartment feels nothing like the condo. The air conditioner feels like how McDonald’s sprite tastes. The ceilings are drop ceilings and have a bit of brown around the edges. The room is covered in paintings gifted to Dmitri by his cousins. Finally, the faintest smell of a car shop drifts into his nose.

Vincent inhales and scoots closer to Dmitri. The darker man’s chest rose and fell gently. His box braids splayed across the pillow behind him. One had a handful of beads in a rainbow pattern trailing up it, probably the work of one of his cousin’s daughters.

He sticks his head into the crook of Dmitri’s neck and just sobs.

Sleep, when it finally returned, had a bitter aftertaste.

[silvercrystalwhump]

Inncorrect Quotes with Silv!

(Vincent belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow and Dmitri is mine)

Vince, talking about acting - The hardest thing to get a good grasp on when acting was the eyes. They can make or break a scene and I can't remeber the amount of scene I had to redo because I wasn't "in character" enough.

Dmitri - When you finally get it.

Vince - Umm... when I was 21 I kinda figured it out over the course of a week.

Dmitri - Before or after your first adult contracted movie?

Vince, a little quieter - Before.