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starcrossedxwriter · 1 month

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Wicked Fantasies Part 10 (MBJx Black OC)

A/N: sooooo this is just nonstop angst. Hence the gif selection and I am sorry lol we get into some tough shit. So warnings include: severe depression and negative self talk, harassment, etc. But as always enjoy! And remember… I’m a HEA girlie through and through ☺️

Hell on Earth was the only appropriate descriptor for the last 24 hours of Raven’s life. Trapped in her apartment due to the spectacle of paparazzi camped outside her building, her only activity was laying in bed unmoving hour after hour in the fetal position. She was grateful to Melody for taking her shift, she did not know if she would have been able to find the strength to get up to go anyway.

Raven tried her best to avoid social media but laying in her bed staring at the ceiling did not provide much distraction from the agony that coursed through her. This hurt eclipsed any pain from a physical wound that she had ever felt. It was paralyzing. And scrolling, even if she had to wade through stories and commentary on her own life as if she were a fictional character from the world’s latest Netflix obsession, offered some reprieve from thinking about him.

He consumed her every thought despite wanting nothing more than to rid her brain of him. But his claws were in too deep and even blocking his number had not offered relief when the only thing she wanted was to seek comfort from him. Her heart ached for him as if it would never be right again without his presence, his touch. But her brain would not allow her to call him or even unblock him. He was the curse, the disease… she certainly would find no cure in him.

The negative orator in her head called him a liar, reminded her that she did not deserve him and he knew it, which was why this all happened in the first place. So she stayed in her small ball in the corner of her bed fighting the urge to call him or break down into sobs again.

Her roommate checked on her every couple of hours and that was the sum of her human interaction since she left Michael’s house. She did not want to see or talk to anyone. So she didn’t. Her phone remained on DND, every call and text going unanswered. She knew she only had a few more days of this. The library had taken her off the schedule for a week, citing a need to figure out how to deal with the safety concerns this situation brought. But Raven knew the truth, the only available solution would be to let her go. Another job down the drain because of her terrible choices, because the only setting she seemed to know was self destruction.

That was all she knew how to do it… ruin her own life and the lives of everyone around her. She did not even speak to her family anymore and still knew, from her sister’s nonstop texts and calls that she didn’t respond to or answer, that even they were feeling the burn of her choices. Of course, Kiara was not wasting the opportunity to snag herself another 15 minutes of fame but she did not say anything worse than what Raven had already seen from strangers or did not already believe about herself.

Tears sprang to her eyes as thought about her own role in every bad turn and mistake her life had taken that led to this moment. She could blame Michael and her family but perhaps it was finally time to own that they were all right: it was her. She was the problem.

She chose to sell her body, even when she was in college as a dancer, to make a quick buck. She chose to do the same as an adult, she chose to enter into Michael’s ring of lies and she let him play as the fool. She could hate him but that meant she would also have to hate herself.

And acknowledging her hate for him was far less excruciating than examining how she brought this collapsing building right down on herself.

***

“What happened?”

“Damn, nigga. Can I get through the front door first or get a hello?”

Michael let out an impatient sigh and shifted out of the way so Alex could walk into his foyer. He had been a nervous wreck since she called an hour prior asking if she could swing by the house to talk. He had deleted social media from his phone so he did not have to see the vitriol being hurled at Raven. He did not care what people said about him but Alex literally had to stand over his shoulder and watch him delete every app to stop him from responding to every disgusting comment he read about her.

While his plan may have worked in popular media outlets and with sensible people online, he severely underestimated the contingent of very loud incels and pick-mes who would blame Raven regardless of how the story was presented to them.

“My bad. Hey. What happened?” he asked again, his tone signaling that he was not in the mood for Alex’s signature attitude. He needed answers and he needed them now. He would have time for pleasantries again and everything else when Raven forgave him. Or even just answered his phone calls and texts.

Michael gestured for Alex to follow him to the kitchen where he had been helping his mom and dad cook dinner. Or rather helping in between wearing a hole in his floor due to his incessant pacing and complaining about when Alex would arrive.

“I”m not gonna show you unless you calm the fuck down.” One side glance from his mother had Alex cringing at herself. “Sorry, Ms. Donna.”

The older woman merely nodded as she returned to her task of chopping vegetables.

“Well, I’ll start with the good news. I checked in on all your endorsements and deals and they said as long as this situation doesn’t evolve any further, they have no interest in dropping you. People still love you for some reason. And it’s been a week, so if old… partners were going to come out, they would’ve. All our Creed 3 press is still set but I had to do some rearranging now that the Oscars are set for the second weekend in March. So you’re going to Mexico City this weekend to get a head start. And we still have your interview slate for the Oscars set. You’re in for a busy six weeks… I know what’s going on with Raven is a lot but I need your head in the game, Mike. Seriously.”

“Alex! I don’t give a fuck about an interview schedule. What did you hear about Raven?”

“You know it’s literally my job to manage your career, not your continuously screwed up love life, right? Sometimes I worry you have it confused. But yes, I do have news on Raven too. Which is mostly… well all bad news. Most of the conversation has moved on. People are still attacking her on social but that’s not all that surprising. Vultures are still circling her apartment, not as many but a couple every day. Today was the first day she left the house in a week to go back to work. But… she got fired.”

Michael paused his pacing in shock. He knew how much that job, however she came to need it, meant to Raven. It had been a refuge during one of the most painful times in her life and his actions had stolen that from her.

“WHAT?”

Alex scoffed. “I told you our plan wouldn’t be without consequences, Mike. It just had the least amount of them. You can’t be surprised. She worked at a public library with kids and the entire world found out she was a prostitute. She was probably an at-will employee so they don’t even need a reason to fire her. But paparazzi surrounding her job every day and idiots calling to campaign to get her fired is more than enough for most places. But that’s not… that’s not the worst part.” Alex’s stiletto tipped nails tapped against her screen a few times before she tossed it down on the kitchen island. “A contact at TMZ sent me a video a couple hours ago. They aren’t gonna post it,” she assured him. “But there were plenty of cameras so someone else might. Just forwarded it to you.”

Michael moved quickly to open his email, his body equally wrestling between wanting to see whatever this was and being afraid to. But he knew he did not have a choice. He took a deep breath to steady himself as he pressed play on the video. The TMZ reporter had their camera trained on Raven as she tried to fight her way out of the back exit to her car in the parking lot. It was from earlier today, Michael realizing that she must have gone into her shift only to be let go. However, she was not simply fighting through a sea of flashing lights and insensitive questions. There was also a small group of men hurling insults at her as she fought through the crowd.

“I guess niggas really don’t be having jobs cause who has the time to post outside of someone else’s job to harass them?” Alex muttered to no one in particular as Michael’s attention and focus remained trained on the video.

The words of everyone else in the video were just static to him because his eyes and attention were squarely set on Raven. His soul felt as if it was splintering into millions of pieces as he watched her. Despite the meticulous makeup painted and her stoic poker face, Michael could still see the sorrow and exhaustion in her eyes. He had seen such a look in her eyes before and it hurt then, but now it was somehow worse. A fatal wound because this time, it was his fault. He would not need a video for that look to haunt him for the rest of his life.

He continued watching despite wanting nothing more than to get in his car and race to her apartment. The video was chaotic as the cameraman tried to keep up with the mob of cameras and people and keep the focus on the woman at the center of the storm. Michael did not understand what happened when Raven suddenly stopped moving, her poker face gone as one of pure terror took over.

Michael’s eyes frantically searched the frame of the video for what changed, even pausing it for a moment, until he noticed a hand wrapped tightly around her upper arm. He watched as she frantically pulled against the force of the person but their grip was too tight. And he could hear the whimper of pain in her words as she begged him to let her go.

The altercation did not last long when one of the cameramen was able to break the man’s grip on her and Raven scurried off to her car, her eyes brimming with tears.

Michael forced his phone to go to sleep as he squeezed it in his fist. Michael usually existed at an emotional equilibrium but his rage felt all consuming. Is this what seeing red felt like? When your anger was so blinding, you could not see or think of anything that did not fuel that fire? The entire internet had become Inspector gadget to find Raven’s job and address to harass her but would they do the same for that guy? Someone who tried to do her harm? Michael merely wanted five minutes alone with him to exercise all that rage at someone who deserved it.

He did not say a word as he marched past Alex and out of his kitchen to the foyer where he kept his car keys and wallet. He grabbed both and angrily stomped out to the garage, his thoughts set on nothing other than seeing Raven. Even if he was only able to lay his eyes on her for a moment, he needed to see her. In the flesh.

“Michael! Mike! Stop! Stop!!” Alex raced after him, quickly catching up with him despite her high heels. Her hand grabbed the door of his car before he could fully climb in. “Where are you going?”

“To Raven’s.”

Alex’s arm jerked the car door away from him as he tried to pull it closed. “You need to give her time. You’re probably not the nigga she wants to see at her door right now. And… there are still cameras around her house. You don’t need -”

“You think I give a fuck about someone seein’ me go there?? Get outta my fuckin’ way, Alex. Now.” His voice lost its usual kind tone as he glared at her, his barely contained rage seeping out into the garage around them like thick smoke.

Alex’s grip loosened but she did not acquiesce fully. “At least let me come with you.”

Their standoff continued for mere seconds before he caved and gave her a few moments to get into the passenger’s seat. If allowing her to go with him was the only way to see his girl then he would let her ride along. But she would not be able to stop him from doing a damn thing, he knew that much.

They did not speak as he raced through LA to get to Raven’s apartment. He did not wait for Alex to get out or say anything as he walked into her building and made a beeline for the elevator. Before he knew it, he was banging on her door like the police had shown up.

“Ok calm down, we don’t need the whole damn floor filming this for that damn clock app,” Alex grumbled, Michael essentially ignoring her as he continued banging until the door flung open.

Her roommate stood there, a confused look on her face for a moment, before she glanced over her shoulder in the direction of Raven’s closed door.

“I need to see her.”

“I don’t think she’s up for visitors,” the young woman responded, her tone leaving little room for arguments. She tried to close the door but Michael stuck his foot in the doorway and stopped her.

“She doesn’t have to talk to me but I need to see her. Let me in.” Michael knew he had no right to demand entry into someone else’s home but he was at a loss, his hands were tied.

“What he means to say,” Alex stepped forward, pulling Michael back slightly, “is that he just wants to see she is ok after today with his own eyes. And then we’ll leave, I promise. Two minutes, that’s all we want. Please?”

“I’m not gonna force her to see you. You can wait here while I ask.”

She left them at the doorway to show themselves inside as she went to knock on Raven’s door.

“Raven? Can you come out here?”

He heard shuffling from behind her closed door before it cracked open. He could not see her but he could hear her voice, small and broken. A sound he never wanted to hear again. He was supposed to be the solution to her pain, not the cause of it.

“I d-don’t want to see him.”

“I just need a minute, Rae!” Michael did not wait for the invitation as he walked up to her door and gestured for her roommate to move out of his way. “Just let me see you… please.”

Raven leaned her head against the door frame as she debated whether to comply. Something in her demanded that she slam the door in his face. But her first on her doorknob merely shook as if she could not force herself to do it, her limbs refusing to obey her brain’s orders. She did not want to see him.

Whatever bandage she was using to stop the bleeding of this wound was immediately ripped off and her hurt flowed once again like blood at his mere presence. She could not even look at him, or rather was afraid to. Afraid that if she looked into those eyes, she would believe whatever sad tale of love and care he brought to spin for her this time. She could not fall for that again. With him or anyone else. And yet, her body still wanted to run to him and jump into his arms, bury her nose into the nape of his neck and breathe in him. His signature cologne, his natural musk that had grown to represent a sanctuary for her.

She forced herself behind the ice walls she had spent a week building. She was too weak to survive without them. Those barriers and their harshness were the only thing that had dragged her out of bed to go to her shift, which lasted a total of an hour before she was fired. She was not surprised but preparation had not made it an easier experience. She had been proud of herself for holding it together, walking out with her head held high. That is, until the utter debacle outside the library.

Michael had always been the one who the barriers came down for. But now, his presence made them grow higher and higher as if to protect David from Goliath.

She stepped back and opened the door just enough for her face to be seen. She did not look at him though, keeping her eyes trained on the wall behind him.

“What? The paparazzi videos aren’t enough? Need to see your destruction in person? There, you’ve seen me. Now get out.”

Her voice was cold, colder than he ever knew her to be toward anyone much less him. It was being stabbed in the chest and having the knife twisted for effect. Made all the worse by the fact that she could not even look him in the eye.

“Rae… baby girl, please. I just want to make sure you are alright after today… between the library and that guy. Just want to make sure you aren’t hurt.”

A mere week ago, Raven would have melted like a childish lovesick school girl at “baby girl,” at his care and devotion to her. But today, her heart had to remain cold for her own preservation, safely tucked behind the ice walls she erected.

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that. And it’s not the first job I’ve lost, I’ll survive. Whether or not I’m hurt or employed shouldn’t matter to you. You made it clear you don’t care.”

“It does matter to me. You matter to me. Did he hurt you?”

“Bruises heal… This one will too. It’s the other wounds I’m not sure about,” she muttered, more to herself than him. “You want me to read you some of my DMs? Compared to what they all say they want to do to me, I got off easy with a bruise. So now you know. I don’t want to repeat myself again. Get. Out.”

“I’ll do anything, Rae. Just talk to me, hear me out. I didn’t mean for this o-or any of this to happen like this. Let me fix this. Or at least let me protect you.”

She shook her head, refusing to listen to a word he had to say. In one ear and out the other. It was all lies. “No. You can’t fix this. I don’t want your words, your lies, your apologies, or your protection. I don’t want anything from you ever again. You wanted me out of your life just like everyone else I know so you got your wish. Come back here again and I’ll call the police.”

And with that, she slammed her door in his face, leaving him standing awkwardly in the living room with Alex and her roommate. He simply stood there like a statue, mouth agape with his apologies on the tip of his tongue, staring at her closed door for a few moments.

“You heard her. You should go.”

With her roommate’s echo, Michael forced his legs to move. However, before he could get far, he stopped and grabbed a spare piece of paper and pen that was left discarded on their counter. He jotted down his number and pushed it into her hand.

“Tiffany, right?” At her nod, he continued. “I’ll give her space cause that’s what she wants. But anythin’ happens like today again, call me. Please.”

The young woman eyed him intently and stowed the paper away in her pocket before Michael walked out of the door with Alex in tow. As they stepped into the elevator of her building, Michael unleashed his pent-up frustration by punching a hole into the side of the elevator, an action that only caused a rippling pain to shoot up from his knuckles.

“Well that was decidedly stupid. You’re gonna have to get that looked at.” Alex shook her head. “She’s not ready yet, Mike. And for once, you’re not in control of how this goes. She needs time. Give it to her. But she’s ok today, that’s all that matters.”

Michael’s unbruised hand massaged his knuckles as they walked to his car. He sat in his seat silently for a few moments.

“You think she’s still in danger?”

“I think people on the internet often forget the people they’re attacking are real people. Most of this will stay online and be fine but we can’t predict the people who’ll do what that guy did today and take it to the real world. There’s just… no way of knowing.”

Michael sighed and nodded. “Get me a list of bodyguards. Vetted. She doesn’t want to see me, fine. But she’s gonna get protection whether she likes it or not.”

“You can’t force her to have a bodyguard.”

“You got me in Mexico City, Paris, London, New York, and Miami for the next month. You think I’m steppin’ on a damn plane with niggas tryin’ to attack her? Get me the fuckin’ list.”

“I know shit is fucked right now, Michael, but you can’t stop working just because your girlfriend is mad at you.”

“I don’t care about work right now, Alex!”

“Maybe you should! Maybe I shouldn’t be the only one holding your fucking career and reputation together while you spend all your energy making bad decision after fucking bad decision.”

Michael’s entire body whipped around to face the passenger seat, the anger he had pushed down beneath the surface already bubbling to the top. He was a powder keg and unfortunately, Alex was the spark.

“Oh so all of this is my fault?? Tasha fuckin-”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Stop blaming Tasha! She’s trash, she fuckin’ sucks and backed you into a corner but it’s not all on her, Mike! I’m not one of these fuckin’ yes men whose gonna shield you from accountability just to pad your fuckin’ giant actor ego. You fucked up, Michael. You. You could’ve ended it with Tasha as soon as you realized you were in love with Raven, but you didn’t. You strung her along because it was easier than admitting your feelings. You could’ve taken any of the millions of opportunities to admit what was going on to Raven like I told you and you didn’t. You wanted to play big man and stick it to Tasha instead of focusing on the person that actually mattered. And you didn’t want to admit that you were still talking to her. You didn’t leak this out of some purely noble intentions. This didn’t just happen to you. You caused this because as good of a guy as you are, you always do what is easiest for you instead of what is hard. So you and Tasha made this fucked up bed together. Own that shit and stop wallowing in it like a fucking bitch baby.”

His grip on the steering wheel was nearly painful as her harsh words sank in. And as difficult as they were to hear, as much as they clashed against the narrative he was clinging to, he knew they were not untrue. While it was far easier to lay the whole debacle at Tasha’s feet, he knew he was not blameless in what happened. But he had underestimated how torturous it would be to see the consequences of his own actions, how it would gnaw at him day in and day out. And the only way he was even surviving day to day was wrapping his brain tightly in the narrative that he did what was best. Without that protective blanket, he did not know if he could survive seeing the destruction he caused.

“Damn tell me how you really feel.” He banged his fist on the steering wheel a few times. “I just… I feel like I can’t do shit else till I fix this. Till she forgives me.”

Alex took a long deep breath before reaching over and squeezing his hand. “I know… but her forgiving you and you fixing the damage this all caused may not be the same thing. You don’t get to control when she forgives you and your life can’t stop until she does. If she does. Fix what you can, keep showing up where you can, and the rest is on her.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then she doesn’t. And that has to be ok too.” She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text. “I’ll have the list of bodyguards for you by noon tomorrow. Just promise me you’ll get on that plane on Friday? And that your head will be focused on your career, not her. Give me six weeks Mike. Press tour, world premiere, Oscars and then you can chase after her like a lost puppy all you want.”

“Yea I promise. I know how hard you’ve worked for all this… ain’t gonna let you down, Alex.”

“I get paid either way. You earned this. Care more about not letting yourself down.”

And with that, Michael peeled off the curb of Raven’s apartment building and started their trek back to his home. The entire ride Alex’s words tumbled in his brain. He had been so focused on convincing Raven to forgive him when he did need to give her space, as excruciating as that was for him. But space did not mean he could not work to fix the very tangible things his decisions had ruined for her.

“Did you ever get that list of Black agents and publishers that rep fantasy novels?” he asked randomly as they pulled back into his spot in the garage.

“Yea, pulled it a while ago.”

Michael walked Alex to her car, which sat out in front of his house.

“Good. Any on the list you particularly like?”

“One of them’s a friend and if I’m being honest… She is the list.”

“Aight. Let’s game plan that on the plane ride after our interview prep”

Alex leaned against the hood of her car, smiling at him. She patted him on the arm and gave him a smile. “There’s the Michael B Jordan I attached my career to. Welcome back.”

He merely rolled his eyes and smiled. He was a man of action. He would wait a hundred years if that was how much time and space Raven needed. But her not wanting to see him did not mean he could not continue to be what he had always been for her: the first person who took care of her.

***

A knock at Raven’s door forced her out of bed. She had not made much effort to leave the comfort of her own bed since losing her job. She had been able to save up enough from her dates with Michael to save a decent safety net. She would have a couple months before she needed to think seriously about what was next and how to pay rent. She savored the cushion. Her thoughts were an utter mess so she certainly was not mentally strong enough to plan.

As she walked to her front door, her phone started vibrating.

Kiara

She had been avoiding her calls like she was the bubonic plague. She knew why she was calling. To gloat and rub salt in Raven’s wounds. She could almost hear the vitriol Kiara would throw at her without even answering the phone. So she didn’t. She did not care to. She decided to just wait her out, if she ignored her calls enough, she would eventually give up… right? After all, it had almost been two weeks.

Raven had not heard from her dad at all, which she did not know whether to be thankful for or add that to the list of wounds that would not close. Some small part of her would have hoped that, despite them not speaking since the holidays, that he would check in on her after all of this. But she had done all of them a favor when she cut them off. They wanted her out of their lives and she wanted them out of hers. She knew she should no longer care what either of them thought of her.

She sent her call straight to voicemail as she opened her door to find an extremely tall, brooding bald man with shades standing outside her door. He kind of reminded her of what a secret service agent in movies looked like.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Raven Turner?”

“Why do you want to know?” She kept the door knob in her hand in case she needed to push it closed. She thankfully had not had any crazies approaching her at home, small comfort. But perhaps, that was about to end.

“My name is David Brooks. I’ve been hired to be your bodyguard. May I come in?” Raven’s eyes grew wide as he tried to make a step over the threshold to her apartment. She immediately stepped into his path, using her body and the door as shields.

“You think I’m just gonna let you in cause you say you’re a bodyguard?? I didn’t hire a bodyguard. And I don’t need one. So you could be a serial killer with an elaborate ruse for all I know. Leave.”

“You should know that no serial killer would choose a ruse so specific. And apartments are a foolish place to murder someone, too many eye witnesses. And if I was here to harm you, I’d already be inside. Your door certainly would not stop me.”

“You know you are not really inspiring trust, right?”

“Apologies. It is just frustrating how obsessed the average American woman is about being murdered by a serial killer when statistically, it will never happen. But I digress. Just because you do not believe you do not need a bodyguard, does not mean you don’t.” He reached under his arm and handed her a neat folder of papers. “Resume, background check… much of which is redacted. Security reasons. And he said you would be a reluctant principal so I included the latest research and data on how cyber attacks and stalking can turn violent. Now have I inspired trust?”

Raven took the folder out of his hand and flipped through it quickly, her small stature still blocking his entrance to her home. Her eyes skimmed each page, which included everything about this man except his damn social security number. He seemed legit and even the parts that were not redacted in black highlighter seemed terrifying. But she did not budge from her protective stance in front of her home. She still did not understand.

“Who even hired you??” There was no one in her life that cared enough or could afford to hire her a bodyguard. Well no one except…

Fuck.

“Michael B. Jordan. Any other questions or may I come in so we can discuss your security? Do you do this often? Talk to people in your doorway? Because that will need to end immediately.” His eyes glanced up and down the hallway of her apartment.

Raven let out a deep exhale of frustration and stepped aside, allowing him in. Mainly because she did not want their standoff to continue in her hallway for one of her nosy neighbors to see.

“Don’t get comfortable… you won’t be staying.”

How dare he? She thought to herself. Why can’t he just leave me the fuck alone!

She angrily grabbed her phone off of the kitchen island where she had discarded it. She was too pissed off to feel many other emotions about hearing his voice as she unblocked Michael’s number and hit the call button. She had not spoken to him since he showed up at her apartment days prior.

Ice walls, ice walls, she told herself as she prepared to hear his voice. She forced herself not to read into the fact that it only rang once before his voice started to fill her ear.

“Rae! Lis-”

“Fire him,” she demanded, cutting him off. She had no desire to hear anything he had to say to her.

There was a still beat of silence before Michael’s voice filled her ears again, steaming with the dominance she once craved and yearned for.

“No.”

“I’m not kidding, Michael.”

“I ain’t laughing, Raven. You aren’t ready to talk to me, you aren’t ready to see me, fine. But I’m not gon’ let you fend off paparazzi and randoms alone. And I can’t be there. So he stays.”

Anger coiled in her belly causing her to immediately raise her voice. Every fiber in her being hated him.

“So he can report my every move back to you?? Fuck no. And fuck you. The only reason I would need protection is because of what you did. I’ll never be ready to talk to you and I want nothing from you.”

She could tell this was a losing battle but she fought regardless. She could not handle this shadow following her every second, a visual reminder of him and the fact that he cared about her. But everything in her told her that he didn’t care about her. His actions had made that abundantly clear. This was nothing more than a complex manipulation… like everything else he had done to her since the night they met.

“He’s not obligated to report anythin’ back to me, I promise. I’ve dealt with the paparazzi and crazy fans longer than you. It actually can be dangerous. And I’m traveling and doing all this press so it’s not gonna die off until I’m out of the spotlight in a few weeks. So until then, he stays.”

Raven forgot that Michael was officially on his giant world press tour for Creed 3. A part of her wanted to ask him about it, hear how it was going and how he felt. But she could not allow that either. She did not care about his career. She did not care about him anymore.

“I don’t need anymore help and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t want it from you.”

He let out a sigh that sounded almost… sad? Raven shook her head. She was not going to give in, waver, or break. He was one of the best actors of her generation and that was all this was: an act.

“I deserve that shit. I know it. But I’m not gonna apologize for carin’ about you even if you hate me.”

The back of her eyes stung at his words. She despised it, she did not want to feel this for him. He had destroyed her and she vowed never to let him close enough to do it again. Or anyone for that matter. But perhaps her resolve was not as steadfast as she desperately wanted to believe it was. Her heart may have been willing to hear him out again, but her stubborn brain refused to allow her to give in.

“I do… hate you,” she whispered, hating how clear her emotions were in her tone. Hearing his voice cracked something open inside her and all those walls were starting to crash around her.

“I know… but I’ll never stop, Rae. Never stop lovin’ you and carin’ about what happens to you. Hate me all you want but that’s it.”

She shook her head, even though she knew he could not see it.

Lies. It’s all lies. He doesn’t care. No one does. So stop kidding yourself.

The back of her hand quickly wiped away the few falling tears before she sniffled slightly and cleared her throat. She refused to give in. He did not love her, he did not care about her. That’s the only thing she knew was real. The rest was lies.

“You don’t care what happens to me,” she responded definatively. “No one does,” she repeated the menacing voice in her head that forced her insecurities and hard truths to the surface of her brain. “Hell… I don’t anymore.” Her voice trailed off slightly.

“Rae…” Whatever rebuttal he had started to form in his brain at her first statement faded away like a sandcastle swept in a tidal wave at her words. Did she really think that? Believe that no one in the world cared about her? Did she really no longer care about herself? Those words struck fear in his soul.

“Tell me how I can fix it, baby. Please. Tell me what I can do for you to forgive me.”

Her entire body sagged against the weight of her kitchen counter. She let the phone fall from her ear as a sob bubbled to the surface. She forgot about the GI Joe soldier who was standing in her living room awkwardly pretending as if he could not hear them.

“I-I don’t know if y-you can fix this, Michael. N-Not what you did b-but this exhaustion. I’m just… tired,” she wiped her eyes. “I’m tired o-of reaching out and getting swatted away… I’m tired of being disappointed b-by people. I’m t-tired of forgiving a-and piecing myself back together just to be pushed down and b-broken again. I-I h-have to f-find the fucking energy to pick up the p-pieces of my l-life y-yet again because I d-don’t… have any choice. B-But I d-don’t have enough… to do that a-and figure this out right now. I c-can’t think about forgiving you until I stop feeling…. this … exhausted.” Her words were barely audible as her emotions made her throat too tight to speak.

Another sob broke its way through before she forced her to clear her throat before she stood up straight. She could not do this, could not talk to him and let the door even crack. The wound still hurt too much.

“Goodbye, Michael.”

Raven hung up and blocked his contact once again. She glanced at her new shadow, who now turned his attention back to her.

“I can’t do this right now. I’m not leaving the house today so come back tomorrow and we can talk.” She did not wait for him to agree. “Get out.”

He seemed wholly unperturbed by her rudeness, she was clearly not his first “reluctant principal.” He merely nodded and walked to her front door, leaving the folder and his card with his cell phone number with her.

Raven marched into her bedroom and slammed her door shut, the chorus of sobs she was holding in finally breaking from the surface. Two weeks, only two weeks had passed and she just did not want to feel this anymore. This destruction. The wreckage of her life simply felt too great to rebuild. And there did not seem to be any light at the end of this particular tunnel.

***

The days marched by at a slow pace as Raven tried to do what she told Michael: pick up the pieces to her life. Her day to day now included her own personal GI Joe who followed her everywhere she went. And drove her everywhere she went. Which, admittedly, was not that many places. She did not have a job and she had few friends in LA so she spent most of her time in her apartment, occasionally venturing out for necessities. She imagined she was the easiest and most boring person David had ever protected.

Though they had gotten off to a rocky start, Raven had to admit that she felt safer when she did leave her home with him by her side. And he was not overbearing or bothersome. He had a few rules, which were easy enough for her to follow. And he promised that he would not report her every move back to Michael. She was not sure if she believed him fully but he seemed sincere enough.

She still thought about him, a ghost haunting her every passing thought. Thoughts that were only amplified as pictures and clips from his press tour went viral all over social media. She had tried her hardest to avoid them but sometimes she found her eyes lingering on a reel or tik tok featuring him. She never quite listened to what he was actually saying, she merely just studied him. The way he laughed with his entire body, the spark in his eyes as he talked about his craft and his passion.

He seemed happy… without her, a realization that always made her close whatever video it was and want to curl back up in her bed.

She did not want to miss him, she did not want to still be in love with him. But she still felt everything, all of that love and every ounce of the hurt.

An unknown number covered Michael’s face in the video she was silently watching. Unknown numbers were a mixed bag these days but something in her told her to answer it. It was an LA number, if that made her feel any better about it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, may I speak with Raven Turner?”

“This is she.”

“Hi Ms. Turner. My name is Angelina Smith, I’m the founder of The Spark Agency. We rep Black authors across fiction from contemporary to fantasy and sci/fi. I’ve been looking for new talent and a friend of mine passed along your name to me. You have a few minutes to chat?”

Raven’s eyes grew wide. She did not need to race to google to know who Angelina Smith and the Spark Agency were. They were the first, and one of the only, major Black-owned literary agencies and one of the only that almost exclusively repped Black and Brown authors. She had queried damn near every agent there when she first finished her manuscript but none of it worked out.

“Wait… you’re THE Angelina Smith?? If this is an elaborate prank…” Raven muttered, her brain already forcing her to temper her hopes and dreams. It would not surprise her if this was some insane tik tok prank or ruse to humiliate her. A month ago, she would have never considered that but now? She did not put much past people anymore.

She laughed. “No, I promise this is not a prank. I read your book… you’re incredibly talented. I work closely with Del Rey, Penguin House’s fantasy imprint, and I think your book and series would be perfect for them.”

“Seriously??”

“Yes. Could you come down to my office one day this week? Maybe tomorrow? You’re based here in LA too, right? We can also do something virtual if you’re not in town though. I would love to just chat about your vision for the series and see if we could be a good fit? And if it is, start to discuss all the business stuff. My least favorite part, to be honest,” she chuckled. “Can you give me your email?”

Raven rattled off her email quickly, still shocked and confused as to what was even happening right now.

“Ok great, my assistant will send you a calendar invitation and information. I have to jump but I'm looking forward to meeting you. Talk tomorrow.”

And with that, the call ended, leaving Raven with extreme whiplash as she tried to process what even just happened. She let out a breathy chuckle as she wondered if her life was about to turn around for the better. She did wonder how she even found her book, published under a pseudonym so it would not have been that easy to find. And she had basically been told her career in publishing was dead without hope of resuscitation so why would one of the most successful Black agents in publishing even want to waste their time on her?

A war raged as she tried to decide if this was really real. But a ding of her email let her know that it was legit. She studied every aspect of the email from email addresses to signatures, using LinkedIn and other investigative searches to verify her assistant’s existence as a person and everything checked out. If this was a ruse, it was the most elaborate one she had ever seen. It seemed… legit?

The smallest sprout of hope bloomed in her belly at the thought. Perhaps her life was not completely and totally destroyed. Well it was, but for the first time in a month, she did not see only despair ahead. She saw a path to build something new out of it.

***

“Raven! Angelina,” the tall, lean, and insanely gorgeous woman glided to her office door to greet Raven like she was floating on the air instead of walking in her incredibly high Louboutins. She held out her hand, Raven shaking it enthusiastically. “It is so great to meet you.”

“It is great to meet you too. And sorry,” she wiped her sweaty palm against her dress. “Kinda nervous.”

Angelica waved her hand dismissively. “No need to be nervous. I’ll be honest, I truly rarely say this but I’m already sold on you… just gotta sell you on me,” she winked.

“You’re the first agent to show interest in my work in years… and not to sound like a complete fan, you’re every author’s dream. Hardly need to sell me on you or your agency.”

“I know a diamond when I see one,” she shrugged. “Please sit,” she gestured toward the comfy white couch in her corner office, each woman sitting on each side.

“Not sure about a diamond,” Raven muttered. Her shoulders sagged a bit as she chewed on her lip. This was her dream but all night she had grappled with one thing, one thing that would kill their working relationship before it even began. Her reputation.

“I am so appreciative of this… And honestly, just knowing that someone of your caliber sees the value of my work would be enough. I mean you are amazing a-and your agency has repped some of my favorite authors. And this is such an honor.”

“How do I already sense a but coming?”

Raven smiled sadly. “But I don’t want you to waste your time. I doubt any publisher’s gonna want my name attached to them.”

Angelina stood up and walked over to a small table, pouring two glasses of brown liquor from a decanter she had sitting there. She returned to her perch on the couch, handing Raven one of the glasses.

“Do you think I would personally reach out to you without asking around about you? Without doing a google search? You don’t get to be me without doing your due diligence and I do mine. I know everything ‘your name’ comes with and I still called you. I won’t presume to know everything but I heard enough to know that what your last publisher did to you was not on you or right. Publishers can preach about caring about marginalized voices all they want but it’s still hard to be a woman, a black woman, in our industry. So when a phenomenal black writer gets labeled difficult? I… know what that means. And as for your situation now… well, I like an author with an interesting story,” she shrugged, though interesting was not the word Raven would have used to describe her own story. “But since you think I need convincing about you, let me ask you this… why did you want to be a writer? And why fantasy?”

Raven’s hands anxiously twisted in her lap as she thought about it. “A lot of reasons but mainly… all books are windows… a peek behind the curtain into another life, another time, another reality. But for me, fantasy books were always more? They were doors, a real escape into another world where life was limitless and the powerless underdog could be more. That you could fall but there’s always a reason to pick yourself back up and try again until you don’t fall anymore. And when I wrote my first short story, I realized they were also mirrors, a chance to examine yourself and your own life…” Raven’s hand picked up the hardback copy of her book that sat between the two women. “And heal wounds. Or at least start the process. And when I was old enough, I just realized I didn’t want to just be escaping into someone else’s world. I wanted to escape into one of my own creation too.”

Angelina smiled and nodded. “And that’s what all the due diligence in the world can’t tell me but the only thing I really need to know. I don’t care about anything other than whether this is your passion. And whether you are good at it. Check those boxes and I can work magic with anything, trust me. And as for your concern about publishers, I will admit that I may have been a bit overzealous but I already put feelers out and have three publishers, including Del Rey, who want to meet with you. Your old publishing house even reached out but I didn’t respond. My first response was to tell them to fuck off but wanted to check with you first.”

“Fuck off is pretty polite for what I want to say to them,” Raven muttered under her breath.

“Then fuck off it is.” The two women shared a knowing smile before Angelina continued.

The rest of the meeting was a dream, Raven forgot how amazing this all felt. Even the mundane legal stuff sparked an excitement she had not felt in such a long time. And now she had three meetings on the books to shop her book and an agent again, a book she thought she was not going to be able to do anything with ever again.

“Ok, I think that’s all I need for today. One thing, they’re gonna want book 2 fairly quickly. Any deal we get will include a reprint of this one but they’re all gonna want a first draft as soon as you can get one. Maybe let’s check in again on your progress on March 15? Gives you about a month.”

Raven grimaced on the inside. She had half of her second book done years ago and the doc sat unfinished and untouched ever since she lost her deal. Even with this surge of hope and new energy, she did not know if her creative juices were even still there. However, she did not voice any of those concerns to Angelina. How could she tell this badass woman that she was putting her name on the line for her and Raven did not even know if she could write anymore?

“Sounds good. I can do that,” she lied.

Or at least, we can try… and pray.

“Ok great. Jason will be bombarding your email over the next week with invites and such but I think we’re in good shape. We’ll send over my contract. If you have a lawyer, have them look it over. It’s standard in my opinion but I encourage all my authors to read it with a fine tooth comb and send back notes. It was great meeting you, Raven. I look forward to working with you.”

They shook hands once more before Raven stood to walk out of her office. However, at her door, Raven paused and turned around.

“I’m sorry… Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Of course.”

“How did you… find my book? I wasn’t querying or anything. It’s not even sold in stores anymore.”

“Oh, a good friend of mine passed a copy along. Said you had gotten the rights back recently and thought I might be interested. One thing I’ve learned is to never doubt Alexandra Williams. She knows how to spot rare talent and she was right, per usual. It’s infuriating really,” the woman laughed.

Raven used her hand on the doorknob to steady herself as her words hit her. She supposed she should not have been shocked but she was. A million questions ran through her brain. Why had he done that? What did he hope to get out of it? Was this another manipulation or a sign that he truly loved and cared about her? That he really wanted to fix all of this?

“Sorry… I may have wrongly assumed she or Michael told you I was gonna reach out.”

Raven realized that her internal monologue was clearly showing across her face. She quickly shook her head and replaced her perplexed look with a fake smile. “No, no. Don’t apologize. They probably wanted it to be a surprise. Thank you… again.”

“Thank me when we get you a deal,” she winked at her before giving her a wave.

Raven nodded and saw herself out, realizing that now… she actually had to do something. No more wallowing in bed and watching sad movies. Her life was back in motion and if she did not pick up her feet to keep up, she would ruin this second chance too.

She shot David a quick text asking him to pull around to pick her up. She had a book to write.

***

Michael was pitfully scrolling through his camera roll as Tessa came up behind him and slid into the open seat next to Alex on their jet. Tessa had been a bright spot on this press tour, keeping him engaged and laughing as much as she could. He was grateful. However, when he was alone or in spaces like this with no cameras, the melancholy always settled back in and he found himself seeking out Raven. Now that was simply a text that went unanswered, a wall of blue messages on his end. However, they did go through… which was an improvement.

Since he could not see her, he resorted to scrolling back through his phone and studying every photo or video they took together. His favorites were their trip to Paris. He looked at those pictures and videos more and longer than he should have, made all the more painful by the fact that he was on his way there before heading to London. He had hoped she would be beside him on this particular stop of his press tour, and had hoped she would get to experience Paris again with him.

But this time, the most romantic city in the world would merely feel like a cruel joke. When he examined her in those photos, each one resurfacing memories that he clung to like a buoy in the open ocean, they only made him fall deeper in love with her. It was as if he could see their love story play out in front of his eyes. And he always went back to Paris because it was such a clear turning point for them, the moment everything changed and they started to fall. The descent had been beautiful and he had savored every moment of it. He could see the love she held for him etched in her eyes, the longing that he had doubted was real back then. But now, it was all he could see… all he could focus on.

“Stare at your phone any harder and it might burst into flames,” Tessa joked as she sat down across from him.

Michael chuckled and tossed his phone down in the empty seat next to him, slumping back pitifully.

“My bad. Just…”

“Miss her?”

“Yea. Doubt she misses me though.” He mused, thinking back to their last two conversations, neither of which went well.

When he had made his choice, there had not been a world where he thought he would not be able to mend whatever it damaged between them. Conceited and cocky? He could own that now but his ego often was outsized. But now, he questioned whether there was a path forward for them at all? If he had done too much damage? Every night when he laid down for a precious few hours of sleep, her words tumbled and tossed in his brain matter. He had never heard her sound so… depleted as she was during their last phone call. He was trying, as much as he could from afar, but he did not know if it would ever be enough.

“Wouldn’t be so sure of that. I only met her once but that woman is just as in love with you as you are with her. Those feelings just don’t disappear because she’s upset. Give her -”

“Time. I know,” he muttered angrily. “Just don’t know if there’s enough time to fix how I fucked this up, Tess. She said she’s too tired to forgive me. And the crazy thing is, I can’t even be mad at that. If I had her life, I would be fuckin’ tired too. I just wish she would let me talk to her, you know? Explain or something.”

Tessa reached over and squeezed his hand. “I know but you’re doing what you can. Show her that you care about her and maybe that’ll soften her up enough for a conversation later.”

“And,” Alex interjected. “If it at all gets you out of this relentlessly annoying funk, Angelina texted and said she and Raven had a great meeting yesterday. So one thing’s working out.”

“See?” Tessa, forever an optimist, smiled widely. “Progress. Keep showing up for her.” Tessa leaned back and studied him for a moment, her eyes filled with introspection that made Michael sit up a bit straighter.

“What’s that look for?”

“No, just… I’ve known you for a decade and I just have never seen you like this before.”

“What? Acting like a bitch?” he grumbled, tossing Alex a side eye that she only rolled her own eyes yet.

“No. This serious… this mature… vulnerable. It’s a new side of you that I’ve never seen and the whole world sees it too. It’s really nice and refreshing.”

“Yea, well it’s all her.”

“Does she know that?”

But before he could ask her what she meant, Tessa’s agent called her over to discuss something, leaving Michael alone to ponder his own thoughts.

***

Almost two weeks went by and the document on Raven’s computer remained unchanged. She stared at the screen for hours a day, willing the prose of her novel to leap out of her brain and onto the page but nothing. She reread the words she wrote years ago and none of it even sounded good to her anymore but she did not know how to fix it. Her backspace button saw more love than any other key on her keyboard. Hour after hour marched on and she had nothing to give. Her characters did not even seem to live in her head anymore. When she tried to tap into their thoughts, their lives, and intentions… all she heard was silence from them and the loud roaring of her own problems. They were still there but it was as if they were miles and miles away with too many barriers for her to access them. And if she could not access them, she could not write an authentic story that a publisher would ever want or readers deserved.

Had she gotten a second chance only to realize there was no point? How could she turn a draft around in a quickly dwindling time frame when she had not written a single thing?

And she could not even blame her writer’s block on anyone. It was all her, her brain and insecurities reeking havoc on her ability to do something that had once been as second nature as breathing. And all her thoughts, of course, just charted a path back to him. Always.

She knew Michael arranging that meeting had been an olive branch, his attempt at fixing things between them. And while part of her was grateful, another part was frustrated that the only reason she was getting her shot back at being an author was because of his connections. Hell, she would still be trapped with her own publisher if it was not for him. Did she want her future success and career to be built on his support? Something about it felt… wrong. Like accepting it was forgiveness she was not ready to offer him yet.

She slammed her computer shut in frustration, an unanswered email from Angelina getting an update on her draft. It would just have to stay on read, Raven decided as she sulked in bed. This was her least favorite part of the day… when she gave up trying to force words to appear on the page and curled back into her spot in bed. That’s when all the negative thoughts caught up with her the most and she had no distractions to help her, tormenting and taunting her with how much she did not deserve him. Or anything good in her life.

Even with this new book deal, she was bound to ruin it at some point right? That was all she knew how to do. The sun was starting to set, dimming the light in her room. Sitting there, without her job, students or Michael to distract her, made it that much harder the fact that all roads led back to one central problem: her. And that was not something Michael could fix. Hell, she did not even know how to fix that. Was she even fixable? Or would she just continue to destroy everything in her life forever?

She was about to get up and force herself to watch tv as a distraction when her phone rang.

Kiara

Raven perhaps foolishly thought her sister would simply give up. She could not even count how many times she sent her calls to voicemail but that did not deter her. Kiara demanded that she be given her moment to revel and gloat. Despite wanting nothing to do with or hear a thing from Kiara, Raven knew she was merely kicking an inevitable can down the road. She was a dog with a bone and she would never stop until Raven gave her the attention she demanded.

Perhaps Raven really was a masochist because despite how low she was already feeling, she decided today was the day to stop punting her sister and just get the beating over with.

“Oh so you finally decide to answer my fucking calls? Weeks later?”

“We made it pretty clear where we stood at Thanksgiving. I just knew you wouldn’t stop calling so… say what you wanna say so we can all move on?” Raven could not keep the exasperation out of her voice. She did not need a big speech or lead up. Let’s just get right to the point.

“Not talking all that big shit now, huh? You know… I always knew you weren’t shit but prostitution? Findin’ new ways to embarrass dad and I every day, huh?”

“Yep, so what do you want me to say, Kiara?”

“Just wondering if you’re finally ready to admit what I’ve always known?”

Raven’s eyes clenched shut. “And what’s that?”

“That you were the biggest mistake mama ever made. All you’ve ever done is ruin my life from the minute you were born. Daddy is fuckin’ disgusted with you. You thought you could snag a big nigga like Michael but he just realized what I already knew. You don’t deserve shit, let alone him. Who knows, maybe I’ll give him a call. He’s havin’ his big movie premiere tonight, finally dumped his dead weight. Maybe we can see how he does with a real woman, not a fuckin’ slut.”

Raven’s head thudded against her headboard lightly as a few stray tears fell. She wiped them away and cleared her throat, forcing the words out of her throat. She was broken but she refused to break down in front of Kiara of all people.

“Fine. You’re right,” her voice filled with such sorrow and resignation that Raven almost did not recognize herself. “Satisfied?”

There was a pause as if Kiara was surprised at her response. But that’s what she had wanted, right? To hear Raven humble herself, admit that she was every horrible thing Kiara, her dad, and now the whole world thought she was.

“That’s what you wanted, right?” she repeated out loud. “That you’re right and I’m the villain and all your hate and vitriol toward me for my entire life is justified? Well, you’re right. You can’t hate me more than I hate myself and I deserve all of it. You are right. So congrats. You won. Oh and if you want Michael, you can have him. I’ll send you his number.” Raven did not even bother waiting for Kiara to speak before she hung up and threw her phone down.

Her head fell into her knees as sobs raked through her body, she did not even know her body could produce anymore tears. How had she not dried herself out? That last statement was an utter and complete falsehood. She did not want Michael anymore, or rather, she simply convinced herself she should not want him anymore. Her body still yearned for him like an addict searching for their next fix. But it would be a cold day in hell before she served him on a gilded platter to her sister of all people. And even though she hated him more than anyone in this world, she knew that was not his way.

But everything else? She meant every word. She hated herself and her life. And it was overwhelmingly excruciating to feel 30 years of hatred flood her brain all at once.

“Fuck! Enough of this,” she muttered. She could not sit there, lay around ruminating in her pain and suffering all night. Especially not when Kiara had just reminded her that Michael was having one of the biggest night’s of his career, a night she had once been so excited to experience by his side.

She needed to forget. Forget him, forget her pain… forget all of it.

She went into her closet and pulled out a bodysuit and jeans. She threw on makeup as quickly as she could, freshened up her hair and texted David that she wanted to go out. He was still sitting in his car outside watching her building, as he would until she went to sleep. But tonight, she did not plan on going to sleep anytime soon, she needed release.

And release is exactly what she would find as she made David drive around until she spotted a hole-in-the-wall bar downtown. It was old and grimy and the perfect escape. There were no lying millionaires to be found in a place like this, just regular men who would think nothing of fucking Raven in the bathroom or the back of their car or wherever her drunk mind encouraged them to go.

“Hey, welcome to the Griffin,” the bartender offered as Raven sat down at the bar. “What can I get you?”

“Hey… ummm can I just have tequila with pineapple juice? Double. And just keep ‘em coming.” She handed him her credit card to start what she knew would be a regrettably large tab in the morning. But she could not have hoped to care.

He merely nodded in agreement before quickly mixing her simple but effective poison of choice. She damn near drank it like a shot, throwing it back before signaling him to make her another. And with every disgusting bottom shelf sip of tequila she took, she felt it. Release.

***

“Congrats, baby. The movie was amazing,” Michael’s mother kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks, ma.”

There was a certain sorrow in his voice that he found hard to hide now that he had returned home from his Creed 3 World Premiere. Two weeks of traveling non-stop and he was finally home. Only home simply reminded him of one person now. Raven. It was the biggest night of his career and he spent the entire night wishing she was by his side, musing on what she would think of specific scenes or the movie overall. Her opinion was the only one he found himself even caring about. The insane pace of his press tour had taken his mind off Raven to a degree. But being back in LA for a few weeks head of the world premiere and the Oscars pushed all those thoughts front and center again.

And it was clear to every person around him, which is why his cast and team did not press him when he declined attending the after party he was hosting and paid for.

“I know it’s hard without her, baby. But celebrate the moment, your moment. If she’s meant to be yours, she’ll come back around.”

His mother squeezed his hand before following his father up the stairs to their bedroom. Michael sighed and nodded. That’s what he kept telling himself this entire time but it was not working anymore. He just wanted to hear her voice, even if all she wanted to do was yell at him. He could take it, handle it. It was the silence that was harrowing, that felt too heart-wrenching to contend with.

This press tour had proven one thing to him - Raven had unlocked a side of him that he had never had before. This was his most open and genuine, most real moments he had offered the public. And people noticed, noticed that he was different, more serious, vulnerable, and open about himself, his work, and his craft. Raven had brought all that out in him. And he wanted her by his side to revel in it with him. He wanted people to know that it was her who caused that, who split him open and made him stop hiding.

His phone rang, Michael’s heart nearly stopping as David’s name slid across his screen. The man had never actively reached out to Michael since his first day guarding Raven. Though Michael paid for his services, he made it clear that he did not want reports unless they were threats to Raven’s safety, physical or otherwise. And so, he had taken David’s silence for what it was: a sign that Raven was safe. And that was all he could ask for. But the man reaching out to him foretold bad news, he knew that much.

“She alright??” Michael asked immediately, his feet already moving toward his keys to get in his car.

“Depends on your definition. We’re at a bar downtown and she’s… well, she’s been here for hours. It’s a dive bar so there aren’t many people here, no cameras. But she’s completely wasted. Like refusing to leave wasted. I told the bartender to cut her off after this drink bu-”

Michael loosened his bow tie and grabbed his keys. “Text me the address.”

“Already sent.”

Michael was not sure what to expect when he finally made it downtown and parked his car. He checked David’s text two or three times, shocked to believe a bar could exist in such a rundown building that did not look safe, much less occupying a functioning business. But David had sent the correct address, the faded, grungy and dilapidated sign of The Griffin hanging above the door.

Michael knew he looked out of place as he pushed his way inside, his body still donned in a perfectly tailored royal blue tuxedo. But thankfully, the bar was not crowded, just a few folks hanging around the bar and booths. But he only had eyes for one person like a moth to a flame, a young woman wildly dancing in the corner near the jukebox.

Despite the carefree smile on her face and swing in her hips, Michael could still see the dimmed spark in her eyes from across the dimly lit bar. He had not laid eyes on her in so long and just seeing her was like someone breathed new life into his body. The rough seas of his soul calmed, even just for a moment, before worry consumed him.

Was this normal for her since they broke up and stopped speaking? Getting completely drunk at dive bars? He could count on one had the number of times he had seen her tipsy, let alone drunk. But this was beyond anything he had ever witnessed with her but a scene he knew all too well with himself: someone trying to numb their pain with liquor and a good time. And it always worked, he knew, until the sun came up and the hangover set in and the pain rushed back tenfold. He chased that serene, weightless, painless feeling night after night for years. He had to learn the hard way that numbing the pain did not stop or heal it, it just made it hurt more later on when you finally confronted it. He refused to let someone as pure as Raven fall into the same trap he did.

He made his way across the bar, only stopping to speak to the bartender. “How many drinks she had?”

The bartender, a graying white man, glanced up from where he was wiping down the soiled bar. His eyes grew wide for a moment, clearly recognizing Michael, before he answered.

“Uhhh… I’m sure she lost track. The one in her hand is number 7. And her last. The guy with her told me to cut her off.”

Michael let out a low whistle and grimaced. There was not a world in which she didn’t feel that in the morning. He pulled out his credit card and slid it across the bar to the man. “Pay her tab with this for me, aight?”

“Yes sir. You’re my favorite villain in Marvel by the way…” he offered with an enthusiastic smile.

“‘Preciate you.” Michael walked over to where Raven was dancing and where David stood protectively by, the young woman still not even noticing him. More of the drink in her hand landed on the dirty floor of the bar than it did in her mouth when she tried to take another sip.

Michael rushed forward and skillfully slid it out of her grasp, Raven whipping around to find him behind her. Her smile immediately fell as she looked him up and down.

The drunk version of her wanted to be excited to see him but the sliver of her logical brain that remained reminded her that the only reason they were drinking was to forget him and the destruction he caused. How could she be so weak as to even care that he was there?

“W-what are you doing… here?” she slurred, her hand making a grab for her drink, which he held just out of her grasp.

“To take you home that’s what. You’ve had enough. Unless you wanna end up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning?”

She merely shrugged as she continued to dance. “Can’t be any worse. I’m having… a good time. Unlike him,” She turned to David and smiled. “He’s sooooooooo uptight. You know… h-he doesn’t even smile. Like ever? And has a lot of thoughts… on serial killers, w-which is strange. Come on, David.” She called over to him from his stance in the corner, which gave him a full view of the bar. “Dance with me,” she tried to walk over to him in her high heels but stumbled, Michael quickly grabbing her around her waist and pulling her against his chest. “I-I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t. Come on.”

“You… two are… no fun,” she moaned pitifully. However, she did not fight against Michael’s strong grasp as he led her out of the bar and to his ferrari.

It took him longer than it should have to just get her in the car. However, once she was settled, he went into the back and grabbed the spare gym bag he kept there and dumped all the clothes out before putting it in her lap like a makeshift bucket. Though he knew he could just take her to his condo, he wanted to care for her at his home, which was a longer drive. And as much as he adored her, getting the interior of his brand new and very expensive custom car cleaned when all that alcohol inevitably showed up in a different, less desirable form was not on his to-do list for tomorrow.

Raven’s wild and uninhibited drunk persona continued for most of the ride as she demanded he turn on some “tunes” for her to listen to, singing loudly and off-key to every song she pulled up on his Spotify. It would have been cute if the entire situation had not been so concerning.

By the time they reached his house 30 minutes later, the height of her drunkenness had worn off and her persona had settled into a decidedly somber one.

“You hold your liquor better than I thought you would,” Michael remarked as he helped her up the stairs to his master suite.

“Only… long enough not to throw up in your fancy car. Can’t m-make the same promise… for your carpet if you keep moving this slow.”

That did make Michael pick up his pace a bit, immediately taking Raven to his bathroom and gently sitting her down. He made quick work of taking off her shoes and pulling her hair back with the hair tie on her wrist just in time for her to bury her face in the toilet.

Michael rarely got sick from alcohol but he had never been more thankful for his high tolerance of liquor as he essentially watched her body perform an exorcism. He only left her once to get her water and make a cup of tea to settle her stomach but even in his giant house, he could hear the faint heaving as he made his way to the kitchen.

When he returned with her water and tea, Raven was sitting with her head propped up on his toilet seat, gingerly wiping a few tears from her eyes.

“I-I’m sorry…” she pushed out. “Having my ex have to take care of me is a… fucking new… low.”

Michael felt like she had sucker punched him with the word ex. He supposed that was what they were, no matter how much he did not want that to be true. But it did not hurt any less.

“Don’t apologize.” He wet a washcloth with warm water before wiping her face. “Better?”

“Yea… c-can’t imagine there’s anything left in my body,” she mumbled. She stared at him for a moment before saying. “You shouldn’t’ve come. I told him not to tell you where I went.”

“Tonight was the first time he called me. I only just got back to LA this week for press and the premiere. He was just worried about you. Don’t think he expected me to actually show up.”

She eyed him up and down, for the first time realizing he was in a pristine deep royal blue tuxedo. She could not stop the passing thought on how good he looked.

“How was it?” At his confused expression, she amended. “The movie… how was it?”

He scoffed, even in this state, she cared about how his movie went. She always spoke about how she did not deserve him but from where he sat, it was the other way around.

“Don’t really care to talk about the movie right now, Rae. Want to talk about you.”

“Well I don’t wanna talk about me o-or think about me. Hence all the alcohol my body just ejected. So how was the movie?”

He slid down onto the floor next to her, setting the pajama set he had pulled out for her next to him.

“It was good. I’d already seen it but seein’ it on a big screen, watchin’ my family see it. It was surreal.”

“A-and the press tour?”

“Good. Busy. Not done either. Alex secured an interview with Oprah, which is hella dope… bout the movie and Oscars. So it’s been good. Hard without the one person I needed though.”

She scoffed, finally feeling strong enough to stop using his toilet as a literal crutch. She forced herself to scoot away, now leaning her back into his standing tub across from him.

“Didn’t need me. No one does,” she muttered, taking a sip of the tea he sat out for her.

Ginger tea, perfectly made just as she liked it. God, why was he like this?? So perfect and attentive even when she wanted to hate him?

“That’s not true. Tell me what’s goin’ on, Rae? I… I’ve never seen you like this. Never seen you drink this much or talk like this.”

“Maybe you don’t know me that well…” she muttered as she played with the material of his rug beneath her.

“I think I know you pretty well and this ain’t you.”

“I… finally talked to my sister today. A-and she just voiced what I already knew but had never said out loud. All I do is ruin things… people. Hell, I’m about to ruin this book deal you got it… I can’t even write anymore. Destruction follows me like a damn fire everywhere I go, burning everything I touch. I just… didn’t want to be me for a while? Didn’t want to be weighed down by that.”

“You didn’t ruin me.”

“If you had never met me, your face wouldn’t have been plastered across TMZ for carrying an unconscious woman out of a hotel…. If you’d never met me, you’d be blissfully enjoying your moment right now instead of taking care of a pathetic girl you dumped.” She paused, her fingers twirling around the fraying threads of the hole in her distressed jeans. “If I hadn’t been born, my family would be whole a-and happy. If I had just said yes to that asshole, I’d still have my career and I wouldn’t have resorted to prostitution. I-If I hadn’t decided to make a quick buck, I wouldn’t have disappointed my students a-and everyone I know. A-and it was easy to blame you when e-everything happened,” she whispered as tears streamed down her face, as the drunk facade gave way to the brokenness and pain she tried to numb. “It was easy to act as if this w-was all your fault. But it’s me. I’m the problem.”

“Rae…”

She raised her hand to stop him. “Don’t pretend it’s not true… this is all my fault.” He watched as she held the soft cotton in her hands, her fingers rolling over it. A tear fell from her eyes, splashing onto the heather gray material. She lifted her eyes, her first time looking him in his eyes. “W-was any of it real? W-what we had?”

“All of it was real. Every bit of it. I love you with everything in me, Rae. I hate that you don’t believe that, that I made you doubt it. But it’s true. You can’t ruin me when you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“A-and Tasha? D-do you love her?”

Michael’s eyes grew wide. “Fuck no. I swear. I… messed up. Completely fucked up. I… thought I was helping you by dealing with it on my own and I let my anger at Tasha and fear of hurting you push me to do just that. I hurt you. And I’ll do anything to mend what I broke.Because you’re my world, Raven. You have to believe that. What can I do to make you believe that?”

Michael watched as her shoulders shrugged forward, collapsing under the weight of the day and everything. She pulled her knees into her chest, resting her head on her knees. “I d-don’t know if I can believe anything anymore.

“Then I’ll spend the rest of your life and mine helping you believe it. Whatever it takes.”

Raven stood up, ignoring the dizziness the sudden movement caused as she made a beeline for his bedroom door. She thought she could do this but she couldn’t. She couldn’t be here with him, listening to his promises. Not when the voices in her head loudly clashed against his words like metal against metal. Most of her brain that still loved him with everything in her screamed at her for pulling him away from one of the biggest nights of his career, chastising her for ruining yet another thing for him. And the louder part that demanded she despise him yelled that all of his promises were a lie, nothing he said was real. They weren’t real.

She did not deserve him and he was just propping her back up so he could knock her down again, he would never keep those lofty promises. That’s what everyone in her life did and she was too bruised to be anyone’s punching bag anymore. He was just a fantasy she tried to will to life but was never real.

She grabbed her clutch and phone that Michael had discarded on her bed. She did not care how her body swayed slightly and was still off kilter. She could stay awake long enough to call an uber and get herself home.

“What are you doing??”

“Going home. I c-can’t do this. You shouldn’t have come tonight. You s-should be out celebrating your big night, not here taking care of me.”

“The fuck? Raven, put the phone down. I ain’t lettin’ you Uber home like this.”

“You don’t care!”

“Stop sayin’ that shit!” he rushed forward and ripped her phone out of her hands, closing the Uber app. He knew it was wrong but he also knew her movements and reactions were too slow for her to stop him.

She tried to snag it from him, the actor easily holding it above their heads and utterly out of her reach.

“Stop wasting your time on me, Michael,” she hurled at him, her eyes clenching shut in her exasperation. “G-Go be with Tasha o-or some model or some woman actually worth your time. A woman you actually want. We both know that’s not me. So let me go, please. T-this… the promises, t-the disappointment, it hurts too much.”

“Be mad at me. Push me away all you want. Fine, I deserve it. But do it because I fucked up. Because I lied and kept the truth from you and tried to protect you and disappointed you just like everyone else. I can learn to live with that one day. But I can’t and won’t live with you doing it because you still believe you don’t deserve me! Because that’s not true.”

“Why w-would I believe you deserve me??! What future could we… ever have together when the world knows you a-and however many men they believe paid me for sex?? What kinda future is that for us?? People a-are calling you the greatest actor of a fuckin’ generation. You’re about to interview with fuckin’ Oprah literally this week! And what am I? A prostitute with no family and 3 failed careers under her belt?? A failed author who can’t even write a sentence now, much less another book. What kinda future would we have when you didn’t even think I w-was strong enough to tell me your secrets, your problems?? This whole situation, YOUR actions, proves that WE WEREN’T REAL!” she exploded, her drunkenness fueling the first time she voiced her true feelings out loud to anyone. “None of it was real. And the moment it got real, the moment shit got hard, you didn’t confide in me, you didn’t trust me, you threw me to the wolves because you knew what the rest of the world knows… I don’t deserve to be here i-in this part of your life! Th-This house… y-your family… your real life?? I don’t fit here anymore, Michael! I n-never did.” She took a deep shuddering breath before continuing.

“So I’m asking you… begging you to just… let me go. L-Let me go back to my…” she chuckled. “Insignificant life as Pluto o-or the side character. Please. B-Because I can pick myself b-back up a-and force myself to keep moving, force myself to keep going a-and b-be alone for the rest of my life a-and live in the shadows. But I can’t do that with fake promises, promises of m-more when it isn’t real… because w-words a-and promises a-aren’t real a-and they aren’t enough a-anymore. I can’t k-keep putting my faith in fantasies only for reality to knock me down again. Because I d-don’t think I can get back up again. I-I’m tired, Michael. This is it, this is all I have left. So please… just let me go.”

Michael slightly stumbled back in shock, the raw hurt in her voice almost too agonizing to feel. His arm came down but his grip on her phone was almost crushing. Though he wanted to respect her wishes, he also knew… there was not a world in which he could let her go truly. He loved her too much. His world rose and set with her. He used his knuckles to wipe his own tears away.

“Raven… please. J-just give me a chance to show you that I’m real, that what I feel for you is real. Because I would give up all this shit, every last bit of it for you. I’m at the height of my career and all I can think about is you. All that matters is you.”

She shook her head and held out her hand for her phone. “I wish… I wish I c-could believe you. But I don’t know if I can.”

With that, Michael’s grip loosened just enough for Raven to grab her phone and purse and start to walk out the door. However, as she pulled open the door, Michael’s hand grabbed the frame to stop her.

“I can keep working to fix what I did. I can show you that you’re my world, that you’re my Sun and that my world revolves around the very look on your face. I will happily show up at your doorstep everyday with actions and proof of how much I love you… how much I fucking breath for you. And I will. But I can’t make you believe it. I can’t make you believe you deserve it. That’s the one thing I can’t do here. I-I’ll never let you go, Rae. My heart will always be yours.” He bowed his head, every word felt like a sharp knife leaving his throat, agony to force out. But he knew it had to be said. “But I c-can’t force you to believe that you own my heart and deserve it or that you’re worth everything to me. I can do everything in my power to show you I’m worth one more fall but you have to jump. So if and when you believe what I know is true about you and us, I’m ready to jump again.”

And with that, he let her go, allowing her to open the door fully and leave. Every step she took further away from him caused the sorrow he felt to grow to unspeakable heights. At one time, he thought this pain could not have gotten worse. But this was far worse.

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r @dezzy154

***

A/N:

I promise yall… it’s gonna get better LOL This is really the worst it gets! Our girl is just feeling the weight of it all and is sad but she is a survivor 💪🏾

Y’all were hard on my girl last chapter - how are we feeling?? Still mad at her? Still mad at Michael? Let me know your thoughts in the comments! *disappears* lol also it was really hard to post this from my phone 😭 won’t do that again hahaha

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #black panther #michael b jordan x reader #michael b jordan fanfic #creed 3 #adonis creed #creed iii #fic: wicked fantasies

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waitmyturtles · 10 months

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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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emotionallychargedtowel · 5 months

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The psychological paradoxes of Utsukushii Kare, part 1: Covert grandiosity and finding status through idealization

I’ve had some thoughts about Utsukushii Kare bouncing around in my head since the end of season 2. I started to post about them back then but my first attempts stalled out. Maybe the ideas involved were too complex, or I just needed to let them marinate a bit longer. I tried to give up on getting them on “paper,” but they just wouldn’t leave me alone. Eventually I returned to them and everything clicked. This is part one of my attempt to get those ideas down. After a ridiculous amount of tinkering, it seems like the right time to let it see the light of day. Subsequent posts are in different stages of readiness as well.

I wouldn’t have finished this without copious encouragement and feedback from @lurkingshan and specific edits from @wen-kexing-apologist. A kind comment from @nieves-de-sugui was a shot in the arm. And I’m always indebted to @porridgefeast for support, encouragement, and cute animal content.

I’ve written a lot about this series in the past; refer to my Utsukare master post for a continuously updated list. This includes some related posts on pursuer/distancer dynamics and attachment style in the series that have some overlap with what I’m discussing here, but this post should also stand on its own quite well.

A few things to note at the outset:

My focus here is on the series (both seasons), but I will refer to the movie, the novel, and a couple of vignettes when they illustrate points that are consistent with and relevant to the series.

My approach in this series of posts involves viewing fictional characters the way I would if they were real people--a bit like if I were to do a case conceptualization of a potential client. This isn’t always the approach I use, or the best one, but I thought it was a good fit for what I wanted to discuss here.

Quotes will be cited, but general information on sources will be given at the end of the post.

Now, to get down to business.

* * * * * * *

I’ve seen a lot of commentary from other Utsukare fans about Hira and Kiyoi and how much their self-worth–and the lack thereof–impacts their relationship. It’s a clear theme and lots of folks have had salient insights about it. But one thing I haven’t seen in any of the posts I’ve read is a full acknowledgement of the duality at play there–the way that both characters sometimes believe, or at least fear, that they’re irredeemably awful and at the same time believe, or perhaps hope, that they are better than everyone else.

I’m sure someone reading this is thinking, “Kiyoi is like that, sure. But Hira? Thinking he’s superior? Come on.” I get that it isn’t always apparent. In a genre that loves to portray profoundly smitten, devoted characters, Hira stands out as intensely, even excessively, whipped. But yes, Hira totally sees himself as superior to others in some important ways. Even before Noguchi Hiromi took his inventory about this so mercilessly, there were plenty of other signs.

covert grandiosity and idealization

Our introduction to Hira is his description of the “pyramid” social structure he experiences at school and how he’s at the lowest level of that pyramid (invisible at best, a visible target at worst). At first glance, this seems self-deprecating. But Hira is just describing where he falls in the structure, not endorsing the structure or his place in it. This sets up an important distinction that comes up continually in Hira’s thinking. Sometimes he really thinks badly of himself. But other times, he’s reporting how, in his view at least, others think of him. Sometimes he’s resigned to the ways others see him, but other times, he rebels against them. He doesn’t always make it clear which of these things he’s doing at a given time, but if you know what to look for it starts to be easier to pick out.

Mind you, it’s still very clear that there are ways in which Hira does view himself extremely negatively. His belief that he’s unworthy of Kiyoi is particularly strong. It inspires a lot of demeaning metaphors about himself, like calling himself a “pebble.” His belief in his unworthiness is linked to the belief that Kiyoi can’t possibly return his feelings or that if he does, it’s a bizarre miracle that can’t possibly last over the long term. The most remarkable thing about this belief is its incredible persistence, even in the face of example after example of evidence that Kiyoi loves and values him too and wants them to stay together. But denigrating himself in this context has a different meaning from what it would in others, as I'll get into in more detail shortly.

It’s a pretty universal human tendency to pay more attention to information that confirms our biases than information that challenges them. We’re also hard-wired to be more attentive to perceived threats (including threats to our sense of self-worth) than we are to less threatening things (and ideas). Both of these tendencies contribute to the fact that most of us fail to notice when our negative beliefs are being disproven.

I’ll be discussing this in more depth in part 2, but for now, I’ll just say that resistance to disproving a negative belief is very normal, but Hira’s stubbornness is way beyond what’s typical. He continually misinterprets or simply ignores clear signs of Kiyoi’s interest in and regard for him. I mean, most of us, no matter how poor our self-esteem is, no matter how jaded and pessimistic we are, would, if kissed by someone we’re in love with, at least entertain the possibility that they might like us a little bit. Not only does Hira not consider this possibility, he comes up with the rather bizarre interpretation that the graduation day kiss was Kiyoi’s way of telling him to leave him alone.

So, why would anyone be as stubbornly negative on this point as Hira is? Part of it is the strength of his negative beliefs and the degree of his bias. But there’s another reason as well, one I’m going to circle back to in a moment.

First, let’s look at Noguchi’s assessment of Hira in season 2, episode 4, which is very pertinent here. Talking about Hira’s submission to the Young Photographica contest, Noguchi says:

It was such a childish photo. You should've just chosen an empty place rather than erasing people. Going out of your way to [erase] people made it very clear that you hate this world. What I felt from your photo was tremendous selfishness and disgust. You haven't succeeded at all, but you think you're amazing. But instead of showing it outright, you make a shell by belittling yourself. You look down on this world with youth, stupidity, and ambiguity….You're just like the old me.

(dialogue from Viki subtitles)

It’s a little bit of a stretch, I think, to suggest that Noguchi can really tell all of this just by looking at a single photo (or even Hira’s entire portfolio). I think this partly happens just for the convenience of the story. But if I had to justify it, I’d say Noguchi has this much insight because, as he says, he used to be like Hira, making this a “takes one to know one” situation.

Hira confirms that Noguchi is correct here. “It’s like he sees right through me,” he thinks. So how do we reconcile this with Hira’s apparent negative self-image? Well, first off, it’s not unusual at all for very negative and excessively positive beliefs about the self to coexist in the same person. Take narcissism for example. People tend to think of narcissists as grandiose, thinking they’re amazing and special to a degree that’s clearly distorted. And that is one of the key symptoms of narcissism. But it’s also typical for narcissists to believe that if they aren’t remarkably special, they’re totally worthless. They have a hard time sitting with moderate (hence realistic) beliefs about themselves.

This kind of narcissistic tendency is really strong in people with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but it’s present in a milder version in a lot of people (I suspect it’s present in most people, to some extent and under certain circumstances). Narcissistic personality traits are supposed to be linked to getting stuck at a developmental stage that ideally gets worked through during childhood. But a lot of us have at least a little bit of unfinished business from that period. I think Hira has a ton of unresolved stuff in this area. I definitely don’t think he would meet criteria for NPD. But I think that when he was in that developmental stage, he came up with some maladaptive strategies that helped him to get through it. As a result, he didn’t get stuck in the full-blown grandiose version of NPD, but he did get stuck with those maladaptive strategies, and they became a part of his personality instead. And he did retain 1) some of that highly polarized idea of self-worth (“I’m either the best ever or complete garbage”) and 2) some degree of belief in his superiority to others, no matter how shameful he finds it or how carefully he conceals it.

It’s also worth noting here that adolescents aren’t typically supposed to be diagnosed with personality disorders and even diagnosing young adults is often discouraged. This is because adolescence and early adulthood are times of intense change and development and the natural process of maturing can cause personality disorder symptoms to resolve even without mental health treatment. So that’s yet another reason to be wary of labeling Hira with any such diagnosis. This points to a major theme of the show, which is the fact that the central characters are works in progress. They aren’t fully formed adults yet, and that gives them a chance to improve themselves before they become set in their ways.

Getting back to Noguchi’s points: Hira is pretty misanthropic, although it’s often shown in pretty subtle ways in the show. This aspect of Hira is more noticeable in the novel. For one thing, the novel establishes early on that the erasing-people-from-photos thing isn’t some new or isolated phenomenon. Rather, the main thing Hira does with his camera at the beginning of the story is to intentionally take photos of populated areas and then carefully photoshopping out all of the people. And it’s explicitly because he dislikes, even hates, most of humanity. This tendency still comes through in the series. Sometimes it’s obvious–remember those mass shooting fantasies?--and other times, it’s more subtle. We know that this aspect of the character is definitely still present in the series version of Hira since he confirms what Noguchi says about how his photo shows “selfishness and disgust.” He really is disgusted by many of the people around him.

making a shell - perfectionism and covert grandiosity

What about the part of Noguchi’s spiel where he says that Hira “make[s] a shell by belittling [himself]?” It took me some thinking to realize what (in my view) he meant by that.

This actually syncs up really well with something Noguchi says about Hira in Utsukushii Kare: Eternal. It’s illuminating enough that I’m making an exception here to confining myself to the time period of the series.

In this scene, Kiyoi is scheduled to be photographed by Noguchi on a day that Hira isn’t present at his studio. He asks about Hira and he and Noguchi talk about him briefly. Hearing that Kiyoi was Hira’s high school classmate, Noguchi talks about how weird and confining high school is, a terrible “environment for growth.” He says that doesn’t apply to Hira, though, because he’s “a king in sheep’s clothing.” This catches Kiyoi’s attention. “I was just thinking that you understand him really well,” he tells Noguchi. “I do,” Noguchi replies. “Although he looks timid and weak, he’s actually really strong.”

As Noguchi continues, his comments become more metaphorical and get harder to understand. (I suspect that the metaphors he uses might be idiomatic or otherwise intelligible to a Japanese audience in a way that’s difficult to get across in translation.) The gist is that he sees Hira as “strong-minded,” but that “in his heart” he has a kind of “sanctuary” that he protects from others, and that this could end up either holding Hira back or being something he can use to get somewhere in life. I’m not sure what to make of the sanctuary part, but it’s clear that Noguchi understands that Hira has thoughts and emotions that he doesn’t share with anyone, and that his image as a “sheep” who is “timid and weak” masks an unseen strength and determination, along with a more king-like attitude toward the world than he typically shows to others.

Time for a quick psychological theory sidebar, this time on perfectionism.

Some researchers who study perfectionism have identified a type they call “narcissistic perfectionism.” Narcissistic perfectionists think that they are, or need to be, perfect, and they expect others to be the same way, thinking about them in highly negative ways if they don’t measure up. If you read about this idea, most of the examples given to illustrate it are people who have achieved a lot in their lives, who can point to big accomplishments. But perfectionism doesn’t always result in achievements. Sometimes it keeps people stuck in a mindset that anything but perfection is pointless, making them reluctant to really try to do anything at all. If you’re a perfectionist who has a need to believe you’re special, that you would achieve big things if you tried, actually trying means taking a risk that you’ll find out that when you try, the results aren’t actually perfect and amazing.

According to narcissistic thinking, this would mean that you’re worthless, because the options are either being the best or being complete garbage. Again, I think it’s an overstatement and an oversimplification to call Hira a narcissist, but he has unresolved self-worth baggage that takes a somewhat narcissistic shape. In this way, he shows a kind of perfectionism that seems clearly underpinned by his self-worth issues. Instead of fueling achievements, this perfectionism keeps him stuck, inactive, too afraid to attempt what he thinks he might be able to do while clinging to a fantasy of what he could do if he ever got un-stuck and really tried.

That’s usually a secret. Remember when Hira didn’t make it through the first cut of the contest? He thought, “Even though I always deny it out loud, I did think photography was the one thing I can do. It felt like I was being ripped apart for being conceited" (dialogue from a fansub by @lollipopsub). The fact that he would "deny it out loud" is notable. I also think that he’s still not being entirely candid. If he thought “photography was the one thing [he] can do,” that wouldn’t exactly be “conceited”--it would actually be quite modest (about photography) and harshly self-critical (about everything else). I think deep down he has thoughts that are truly conceited, thoughts that he’s not just competent when it comes to photography, but “amazing,” as Noguchi puts it. Once again, Hira confirms everything Noguchi said with his “he sees right through me” reaction, so he agrees with this assessment.

This conceited side of Hira is never supposed to see the light of day. This is the main reason he’s so intensely embarrassed when Noguchi understands him so well, I think. It’s what Noguchi is talking about when he says that Hira “make[s] a shell by belittling [him]self.” Acting as if he’s the lowest of the low is a defense. It does correspond to the part of himself that fears, at times even believes, that he’s worthless. But it’s also a way of hiding his grandiose side. This is a way of protecting himself from the reaction others would have if they could see how highly he thinks of himself despite not having made enough effort to accomplish the sorts of things he thinks he’s capable of. It’s also a way of protecting himself from his own awareness of his shortcomings and pretensions.

There’s another type of perfectionism researchers have identified, called “covert perfectionism,” in which the person’s outward expectations of others are low and they don’t show their perfectionistic traits outwardly very much, if at all. They’re supposed to be more likely than some types to get trapped in the kind of stuckness I mentioned earlier, in which perfectionism prevents the person from making a real effort at things they would like to do well. In some important ways, Hira’s perfectionism resembles this type as well. You could say that his type of perfectionism has definite narcissistic attributes, but he hides it well enough that it is also covert.

A number of different articles on perfectionism that I looked at cited the same Brene Brown quote about it, from her book The Gifts of Imperfection. I think it’s very salient here. She writes:

Perfectionism is a self-destructive and addictive belief system that fuels this primary thought: If I look perfect, and do everything perfectly, I can avoid or minimize the painful feelings of shame, judgment, and blame.

This is very characteristic of Hira. He doesn’t expect to “look perfect” in most respects (he’s more likely to simply try to go unnoticed). But he is obsessed with avoiding those painful emotions. He has spent his entire life being shamed and judged and living in fear of it happening still more. He’s very strategic and has given a lot of thought to how best to avoid being shamed. In fact, these efforts seem to be part of the reason he is such an avid observer of the social structures around him–learning about those structures is a survival skill for him.

idealization and affiliation: borrowing status

In addition to factoring in his covert grandiosity, I think there’s something else to account for when looking closely at Hira’s apparent self-hatred. Hira’s self-critical tendencies can appear inflated if we lump examples that pertain to his relationship with Kiyoi in with other cases. They should actually be looked at separately, because their meanings are distinctly different. Again, I don’t contest that Hira has a low opinion of himself in a lot of respects. But I think when we step back and look at many of the biggest examples of what appears to be a negative view of himself, a lot of them are focused on where he stands in relation to Kiyoi. That’s not the same thing as his value as a person. And placing himself in a certain role in relation to Kiyoi has a specific kind of meaning for him, along with a specific kind of payoff.

Here comes another theoretical interlude. This time, I’m going to briefly touch on Heinz Kohut’s idea of the need for idealization.

Kohut was the originator of a school of thought called self psychology, a branch of psychoanalysis that underpins a lot of contemporary psychoanalytic/psychodynamic theory and practice. He was also an expert on narcissism and basically saw variations and degrees of narcissism as central to a lot of psychological challenges. (There’s some reason to believe Kohut may himself have had narcissistic personality disorder, which would have made him intimately familiar with its inner workings.)

Kohut’s self psychology departed from Freud’s whole psychosexual development model (basically, everyone’s least favorite aspect of Freudianism—the part with all the penis envy and Oedipal stuff and so forth). In its place, self psychology focuses on how we see ourselves, what our needs are in terms of self-image, and other matters that are very relevant to this discussion. One of Kohut’s most important insights was his observation that even when other people have a big impact on our psychological state, what we’re interacting with isn’t so much the other person themselves but our internalized idea of that person. Kohut called internalized versions of people and things from our external world “selfobjects.” (I’ll be circling back to this momentarily.)

One of Kohut’s most central concepts is idealization. In Kohut’s version of idealization, a person views someone else as basically perfect, maybe even omnipotent. The idealized person becomes a special kind of selfobject. In the best case scenario, the person doing the idealizing has some kind of real, personal connection to the idealized person. But even a mental connection to them via their status as a selfobject can meet a need in some ways.

By feeling connected to, or even just affiliated with, the idealized person, the idealizer feels like they take on some degree of the qualities they see in the idealized person. It’s not hard to see how this tendency would date back to childhood. Children have a particular need to idealize their parents at certain stages in their development. Thinking of their parents as strong, capable, in control, wise, calm, etc. gives children a sense of safety and a sort of borrowed self-esteem.

Once you’ve idealized someone, you feel a real need to continue to see them as special and powerful. Again, childrens’ views of their parents are a good example here. One reason children often blame themselves when they are neglected or abused is because they have a strong need to continue to view their parents favorably. Without that favorable view of their parent, their world would seem chaotic and dangerous. Blaming themselves often seems safer. Here, maintaining the high status of the idealized person is so important that it’s a bigger priority than preserving self-worth.

I bet you can guess where I’m going with this. Yep, Hira idealizes Kiyoi in the Kohutian sense of the word. There are a number of facets of this. Part of it involves viewing Kiyoi as basically perfect–outstanding in every way. Even when Hira sees Kiyoi as cruel, he seems to view this as an ideal attribute for someone like Kiyoi.

Hira not only states that he thinks of Kiyoi as “like a God" in season 1, episode 6, he frequently expects Kiyoi to have god-like qualities and abilities. In one of Nagira Yuu's shorter pieces about Hira and Kiyoi that's told from Hira's perspective, he's explicit about this. "Kiyoi's existence is already in a much higher dimension than human beings," he thinks. "Is he the successful fusion of deity and human? That is the big question" ("Wonderful World," as translated by @sparkling-rain). At points during the series, he expects Kiyoi to have a superhuman degree of freedom to do anything he wishes and to know things that would require him to read Hira's mind. He really does treat him as if he’s practically omnipotent.

Hira's idealization of Kiyoi has a number of implications. One is that Hira misunderstands the social structure at his school. He views Kiyoi as the unquestioned king and doesn’t see that in many ways, Kiyoi makes choices about how to behave in school out of a desire to stay on the good side of bullies like Shirota. This fundamental misunderstanding in turn makes it impossible for Hira to notice or understand all the ways Kiyoi tries to protect him at school. If Kiyoi were really at the peak of the school hierarchy, if he wanted to be nice to Hira, he would just do it. But because he has to maintain a certain image in order to keep himself safe, he has to help Hira in covert ways. For example, when Kiyoi admonishes Yoshida not to order Hira around or use his demeaning, ableist nickname, he makes it seem like he just wants Hira to be at his beck and call, which wouldn’t be possible if he were occupied doing tasks for others. But if that were the case, why would he object to Yoshida using the nickname? For that matter, why doesn’t Kiyoi ever use the nickname himself? (He says it aloud in his exchange with Yoshida, but he never actually uses it to address Hira.) If Hira weren’t so invested in the idea of Kiyoi’s supreme power, he might have noticed these disparities between his narrative and reality within the story.

In season 2, the fact that Hira is both someone who has a relationship with Kiyoi and at the same time is a fan of Kiyoi as a performer points out another aspect of idealization. While I’ve never seen Kohut’s concept of idealization applied to fandom, I think there’s at least a variation of it at play when we feel comforted by, or as if we gain status from, being a fan of a person (or a group, piece of media, etc.) that we see as special or powerful. When we get excited because the sports team we root for does well or our favorite actor wins an award or is in a movie or show that does well, I think we’re experiencing a kind of gratification based on a selfobject that we feel is ideal in some way. Our status as fans gives us an affiliation that feels similar to a real connection. (Parasocial relationships are related to this as well–something that’s likely to resonate with those of us who participate in BL fandom, where examples of parasocial relationships abound.)

So both as a fan and as a classmate, then a (sort of) friend, then a boyfriend, Hira gets a great deal of satisfaction and happiness from idealizing Kiyoi and feeling like he has a kind of tie to him. This is completely interwoven with the love he feels for Kiyoi in the beginning. But it also makes it very difficult for him to acknowledge the ways in which Kiyoi doesn’t actually resemble his initial, idealized selfobject of him. Kiyoi isn’t omnipotent. He was never actually the most powerful person in their high school class. In many ways, he’s actually a better person than his selfobject version. Although Kiyoi isn’t the nicest person ever, he’s not nearly as cruel as the cold, imperious figure Hira paints him as.

Sometimes Hira chooses this selfobject over Kiyoi the human being, and Kiyoi knows it. In season 1, episode 4, when Hira starts to get close to Kiyoi but then backs off, protesting that he’s just a “servant” and Kiyoi is his “king,” Kiyoi responds by telling him (in the Viki subtitle translation), “I don’t care if you chase your ideal of me, but leave the real me alone.” This dynamic, of course, is a huge theme in their relationship that continues all the way to the end of season 2 and beyond.

Those are some of the ways in which Hira insists on maintaining his idealized selfobject of Kiyoi. But there’s another way he clings to this idealization, which I think is harder to see at first: in order for Kiyoi to be elevated, Hira has to be beneath him. This is actually one of the most paradoxical parts of this paradoxical structure, because in Hira’s view, he has to be beneath Kiyoi in order for Kiyoi to be exalted, but by exalting Kiyoi, Hira’s status is raised. It sounds strange at first, but it’s not a new idea. The notion of humbly dedicating oneself to someone or something that you uphold as an ideal sounds like an act of self-abnegation, but in the minds of those who take on such a role, by affiliating themselves with this perfect person or thing, some of the magical aura of that perfection rubs off on them.

It’s a bit like members of the clergy in the past (in a Christian/European context), who were known to humble themselves completely, taking vows of poverty, depriving themselves in various ways, even mortifying their flesh. Through these humbling acts, these people were seen by themselves and others as closer to God than an ordinary person, potentially as a channel to God–even as someone who could actually speak for God. By humbling themselves and exalting their ideal, they became something greater than they would ever have been capable of being on their own. Hira’s approach is remarkably similar. In keeping with his description of Kiyoi as a kind of god, he talks about wanting to be a “nun.” (As I understand it, he’s describing a role more like that of a shrine maiden in Shintoism than a nun in any Christian tradition, but there’s enough similarity in those roles to justify the translation.) Basically, if you make your ideal person perfect enough, then even being their servant gives you a lot of status, especially if you’re their most devoted, indispensable servant.

I’m reminded of a passage from the novel here. In the novel version of the story, Kiyoi visits Hira at his new home. A different situation than the one in the series has led to him living alone for the first time, and as in the series, Kiyoi uses his need for a rehearsal space as an excuse to visit Hira there. The situation is somewhat different from the series, but similar in essentials. Hira and Kiyoi have a conversation that leads to an exchange that is equivalent to the conversation that takes place right after the finger incident in the series. In the novel, this scene is portrayed from Kiyoi’s point of view; anything in italics is his internal dialogue. (The ellipsis below is mine.)

‘What am I to you?’

‘The person I love most in the word.’

It was this firm response that gave Kiyoi courage.

‘Then, do you want to date me?’

Kiyoi felt his face burning. Just say yes. If you do, I’ll be able to be honest too. Kiyoi’s heart was pounding as he waited for Hira’s answer, but the answer he got was something that he hadn’t expected.

‘I don’t want to.’

Kiyoi blinked.

‘Why?’

…

‘Because you’re the king.’

‘Huh?’

Kiyoi’s eyes blinked even faster than before.

‘I mean…Kiyoi is like a king, and I’m merely an ordinary person who serves the king; it’s not like I do it out of obligation, but in my mind, I view myself as Captain Duck…Ah, by Captain Duck, I’m referring to a yellow toy in the shape of a duck that children play with in swimming pools or bathtubs, you know?’

–I know, but what does that have to do with it?

Not caring about Kiyoi, who wanted to ask something, Hira continued to explain about the duck. He kept babbling on and on about how Captain Duck once used to float in the sewage and was now proudly floating down a golden river as a prestigious toy of the king, and it was very satisfied with its current life.

(from this section of White Lotus’s novel translation)

Hira is explicit here about the servant/king relationship he envisions for himself and Kiyoi. But the rubber duck imagery is even more telling. Being a cheap toy, an inanimate object of so little value that it’s almost disposable, is more than enough for Hira as long as he can be associated with Kiyoi–if he can be ‘a prestigious toy of the king.’ Just belonging to Kiyoi, even (or especially?) as an insignificant object, equates to ‘proudly floating down a golden river.’ Again, placing Kiyoi in an exalted position and then abasing himself (while maintaining a link to Kiyoi) is Hira’s way of using idealization to achieve a paradoxical kind of status.

The conflict over Hira’s unrelenting idealization of Kiyoi comes to a head in season 2 when Hira fails to understand why his comment about Kiyoi and his parents having “nothing to do with one another” was hurtful.

Kiyoi: Do you not get how I feel right now?

Hira: I don’t!

Kiyoi: Think about it! If you don’t get it, think! [tapping Hira on the head]

Hira: Sorry.

Kiyoi: I don’t want you to apologize.

Hira: But…you’re mad at me.

Kiyoi: It’s always like this. I get mad, and you take the blame. But in reality you just don’t get it!

Hira: No, I don’t! The stars in the sky and the ones watching them will never align!

Kiyoi: What does space have to do with it?!

Hira: Because you and I are completely different! We’re in different dimensions and on different paths. That’s why stars shine so brightly! If I try to touch it or to understand it, all I’ll do is pull the star down to my level! So what I’m saying is…in reality…I don’t…want to understand you.

(dialogue translated by @lollipopsub)

Hira makes this dynamic very explicit here. It’s not just that he thinks Kiyoi is superior and his role is to serve him. He’s determined to actively resist interacting with Kiyoi on an even playing field. It’s particularly clear when he says, “If I try to touch it or to understand it, all I’ll do is pull the star down to my level.” Seeing things from Kiyoi’s point of view or touching him–metaphorically, and in some ways literally–would “pull [Kiyoi] down to [Hira’s] level.” Instead of raising Hira’s status, this would degrade Kiyoi’s. The distance between Kiyoi and Hira–the lack of understanding and meaningful contact–is (from Hira’s perspective) a feature, not a bug. It’s integral to the gratification Hira experiences when he watches Kiyoi as if he were a star–something both beautiful and trillions of miles away.

One sign of the importance Hira places on Kiyoi’s exalted social status is how irritated, even livid, he gets when other people don’t recognize and behave in accordance with his views on the social hierarchy and where they stand in relation to Kiyoi.

For example, when Shirota and his friends make shitty comments about Kiyoi after he doesn’t win the contest, they’re obviously being assholes. But what bothers Hira most is that they are acting as if Kiyoi failing to win a highly competitive national contest means he’s beneath them, when in fact, it’s unlikely any of them would have qualified as contestants, much less made it to the finals like Kiyoi did. To Hira, it’s their lack of understanding of their place in the hierarchy, their lack of recognition that Kiyoi is above them, that is most damning. Which is legitimately infuriating–they’re being incredibly arrogant. But personally, I think it’s clearly more important that they’re being critical and dismissive of someone they claim is their friend right when he has just gone through something very disappointing. That’s not a big concern for Hira, though. In addition to deriving a kind of status from his association with Kiyoi, he also finds some satisfaction in knowing that while his status in relation to Kiyoi is low, at least he can correctly gauge where he stands, unlike others.

And he seems to relish not only correctly assessing his place in the world but also maintaining a particularly lowly role. This isn’t inherent to idealization, though as I’ll talk about further, this combination of factors isn’t unique to Hira by any stretch. I mentioned that Hira’s perfectionism, among other things, is a way of attempting to, as Brene Brown put it, “avoid or minimize the painful feelings of shame, judgment, and blame.” Hira does have some grandiose beliefs about himself, but he also views himself as inferior in many ways. This tension creates the stuckness that often comes with perfectionism, and this blocks Hira from attaining goals that would fuel a more healthy kind of self-esteem. Gaining status through his association with an idealized version of Kiyoi gets around all of these problems.

Hira also seems to view his grandiose thoughts as a sort of jinx, a way of tempting fate. Think back again to his thoughts when he found out that he hadn’t made the first cut in the Young Photographica contest. “It felt like I was being ripped apart for being conceited.” In Hira’s world, having grandiose thoughts–or at least, buying into them–brings punishment. It’s better, and safer, to embrace total abjection. This is one more reason why it seems safest to put Kiyoi on a pedestal while placing himself in the most inferior position possible. At least, this seems safest until Hira realizes he could lose Kiyoi entirely if he doesn’t stop this destructive pattern.

When Hira does finally try to make a shift in how he relates to Kiyoi at the end of season 2, the big gesture he makes toward “look[ing] at [Kiyoi] straight on” is setting, then communicating, the goal of photographing Kiyoi in the role of professional photographer. This is a very appropriate way for him to make this move. Viewing Kiyoi more as an equal means having to relinquish some part of the status and self-worth he borrows from his idealized image of Kiyoi; this is the perfect time, then, for him to find some self-worth of his own by finally putting himself out there as a photographer and making a real effort to test his abilities.

That's it for this installment! I hope to get part 2 posted within the next week. Edited to add, four months later: That was a little unrealistic! But I'm determined to finish it off one of these days.

Edited to add:

Adding an edit here as I noticed what seems like a rather glaring omission. I failed to reference a scene that bears out a lot of what I have to say in this post. It happens when Hira is staying with Noguchi in Eternal. They have this exchange over ramen:

Noguchi: I was just like you in the past. All full of myself and thought that everything I saw was boring. I was always angry and all, "You're all worthless and should disappear!" Hira: I don't think we're alike at all, though. Noguchi: Having too much confidence and having too little confidence, they're two sides of the same paper in the sense that they're both signs of a damaged self-consciousness. Anything could make you switch sides at the drop of a hat.

(Emphasis mine.)

Citations for individual quotes are included with their respective quotes. The following sources were used:

When I quoted series dialogue, I used the wording @lollipopsub used in their (sadly no longer accessible in the US) fansub whenever possible. I lost access to this version so these quotes are from my notes.

I also quoted the Viki subs (which are good, just not quite as good as the ones @lollipopsub made) when needed. On one occasion I used the Viki version because it supported my point better.

When I quoted the novel, I quoted a fan translation by White Lotus featured on a site called Chrysanthemum Garden.

I also briefly quoted a short story translated by @sparkling-rain here.

When I quoted Eternal, I quoted a fansub that (at the subber’s request) will remain nameless.

#utsukushii kare #utsukare #utsukushii kare meta #utsukushii kare analysis #utsukushii kare season 1 #utsukushii kare season 2 #utsukushii kare 2 #utsukushii kare eternal #my beautiful man #hira x kiyoi #psychology of bl #self psychology #heinz kohut #selfobject #covert perfectionism #narcissistic perfectionism #psychological paradoxes of utsukushii kare #hira kazunari

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saltymongoose · 1 year

Note

hello! I was wondering if you got my request! if you didn't, it was basically about yandere Phobos spoiling you, getting you anything you even glance at and doesn't make you lift a finger. Your a god! let him treat you like one!

Hello Anon! :) I received this request while I was writing some other Phobos stuff a while back, but I decided to make a separate set just for this topic. Hope you like these, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! <3

Phobos Spoils the Player ft. (Phobos + The Nexus Core)

(TW: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior, Mentions of violence, Religious Fanaticism (from Phobos, of course))

"All-encompassing" has always been the most suitable term to use for the Director of the Nexus Core's devotion to you. It permeates every fiber of his being, with each order he gives and each action he takes being diligently carried out with you in mind. Every step forward for Nevada, every inkling of true progress contained in all of the Nexus Core's experiments that he fostered, were made in the hope of making you - his God - genuinely proud of what his life's work would become. That's not even to mention the shrine of goods and personal effects he amassed to make his worship of you that much more effective.

The effort he went through just for the chance at getting your clear approval wasn’t something to scoff at, especially since nobody in the Nexus Core could remember a time when Phobos put anyone above himself. An effort that would only intensify once he finally had a chance to show his reverence for you in person.

While you might've insisted that there's no need to make others worship you (despite how you're entirely deserving of it in his view), he'll make it clear to everyone around that you're truly something to behold nonetheless. His gentleness is nearly unmatched, and his sharp glares in response to anyone treating you without what he considers adequate respect is enough proof of this goal of his. If those in the Nexus Core call him Director, and might even refer to him as their rightful God Emperor (if they're trying to be extra nice with the hopes of getting a holiday bonus), then you should naturally be regarded as higher than that.

Until you tell him to stop, he'll make sure that his people bow their heads in respect, and generally stay out of your way. "Speak only when spoken to" was drilled into their heads days before your arrival, and the tightening of their Director's hand on the pommel of his sword is enough of a threat to adhere to that. In his eyes, you probably shouldn't be socializing with the lowly grunts of his organization anyway; you're too high up to do that.

Of course, you contradict this (as it's entirely too stifling and uncomfortable to be treated like you're some priceless gem), and the Nexus workers appreciate it. Your own exasperated, if not slightly amused, commentary on every interaction they have with their Director makes them more comfortable with being around you. Although judging by the rather harsh punishments laid out for their coworkers, it'd be best not to get too close.

However, the Nexus Core's newfound respect for you, due in no small part to how you reign Phobos in, only makes them happier to accommodate you as he asks (demands). It is at his request that you have all your necessary tasks completed by them, from cooking when you're there to even trivial things like making your bed in your suite.

(It's tedious sometimes, but so much better than what they usually have to do, so you'd be surprised by how okay with it they are.)

Really, Phobos will try to make it so you don't exactly have to do anything at all. A person as important as you deserves to have these things attended to, and he's the best person to provide you with this. He's an ever-dutiful follower with incredible, far-reaching power; who else could make it so you never have to lift a finger for anything?

Furthermore, Phobos' tendency to seek out only the finest of things hasn't been stopped by your arrival either, the only difference being that now he gives them directly to you instead of placing them on your shrine. You've never seen so many precious stones and metals in one place, and you honestly didn't know how to react when he prompted you for any jewelry you might want to be made out of it. (Since it seems he apparently just realized that you have nowhere to put them all. Unless you just stay with him from now on, which is also an option he'd highly recommend.)

It definitely took some getting used to on your part, to always have the very best of everything that Nevada could offer just handed to you without complaint. The softest of bedspreads, the highest quality of clothing, and the best food from the most lauded of chefs; no expense would be spared to give you everything your acolyte knew you deserved.

(Phobos doesn't even care if he has to...extract them from their previous places of work to get them right where they should be, just to be useful. It's an honor to serve you anyway, and the chefs should realize that quickly. For their own safety, if nothing else.)

It's also evident whenever you go out, on those occasions where you decide to spend some time exploring Nexus City (with the Director by your side, naturally). It was actually really fun; it’d been too long since you were free to go wherever you wanted. The other grunts in the city were a little perturbed but decided to ignore it. Judging by the cold glares of warning leader of their city seemed to give them when they so much as looked in your general direction, it was best left alone. But they grew to welcome you, as Phobos tended to be very generous whenever you accompanied him.

He’s willing to do anything for you, and this includes spending money. If you even glance at something for a millisecond too long, he’s already approaching the clerk to get it for you, no matter how expensive it is. He'd insisted on giving you things without you asking, so if it's clear to him that you want something, it's only right that he gives it to you. As your most loyal subject, it's only the most logical course of action for him.

The fact that you get so flustered and even try to refuse his gifts only motivates him to go further with it. Although it makes him feel oddly warm that he's the first to really treat you how he knows you deserve to be, it also annoys him that those in your world were such fools to not realize how they should regard you. So he'll just make his care for you so evident and obvious through his gestures that it'll make you realize you don't need anyone else.

You said you didn't want anyone else worshiping you like him, so you'll obviously agree with him on this eventually, right? It makes perfect sense.

("Phobos, I really don't need any of those," you tried to explain, tugging on his sleeve as he took the bags from the nervous grunt at the counter. It had been some cute plushies you eyed for long enough to get his attention, and he took the attention as a sign that you wanted them.

"Your Grace, whether you "need" them is irrelevant," he responded, turning to give you an uncharacteristically warm look. "Nevada's goods are yours; so long as you desire them, I'll do my best to get them for you, no matter what they are or how necessary they might be. Your needs are something that I'll take upon myself; you don't have to worry about that regardless. But as your acolyte, I can't leave you wanting for anything either. Please understand this."

You held his gaze for a moment before looking away, scratching the back of your neck with a silent nod. 'He's so stubborn,' you mused to yourself as you felt heat creeping across your cheeks. It's charming, in an odd way. Though you couldn't stop from feeling guilty over how much he spent on you, you guessed you could put up with it if it made him so happy - something that was obvious from how he purrs when you accept it.)

The way that Phobos spoils you is a way for him to show you just how much he cares for you and your happiness, so of course he’d be happy to drain the Nexus’ budget for anything your heart desires. (Or that he believes you desire, anyway.)

He loves you in a way he's never loved anyone else before, and he'll surpass everyone else in his effort to try and prove it to you. Besides, what fool would anyone deny a God what they're entitled to, regardless of their status in your following? You deserve to relax, so just let him, your eternally loyal God Emperor, take care of your every want and need, okay?

#tw: yandere #you *looking at plushies in a random store window*: “Huh I didn't know dogs looked like that in Nevada.”#Phobos: 💳 💥 💳 💥 💳 💥#The grunts seeing Phobos spoil you: “...Am I hallucinating?”#yandere phobos #phobos x reader #phobos #player!reader #self aware m:pn au #samau #yandere madness combat #yandere madcom #madness combat x reader #madcom x reader #my writing

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lets-try-some-writing · 10 months

Note

I hope to see more of your Optimus ghost au

maybe something went wrong when Optimus got sent to the real world and still had some ghostly attributes?

I meant to answer this forever ago, but alas, life is a thing. ANYWAY here it is! The continuation of this post I intended to make two eternities ago.

Previous part here.

Bad Habits

Optimus spent almost a half a vorn as nothing more than a wandering spirit. He grew accustomed to it and had exactly zero issues with his situation after a time and was rather content with himself after the emotions of mortality faded in favor of boredom. It was a dull existence, but not without its perks.

Spending so long as a ghost allowed his attachment to mortal emotions to fade to a degree. He no longer felt his emotions as strongly and instead found himself unconcerned with things, preferring instead to make commentary on it and watch from a distance. He came to enjoy being able to float wherever he desired without need for sustenance or rest after the longing passed. He was particularly fond of being able to think of a mech and transport directly to their location so he could watch and comment as he pleased.

By the time he arrived on earth to oversee Bumblebee's attempts to deal with the Decepticon influence there, and later the Fallen, he was completely at peace with his situation. It was boring, but Bee's companions were entertaining enough to keep him engaged. Then of course the other Primes dragged him from his peaceful existence and right in front of Bee and his team, wrapped him in a mortal frame once more, even going so far as the shove the Matrix in his chassis again.

It was so sudden and it hurt. He was certain that throughout the process he was screaming so loudly that if he weren't being remade, he would have damaged something. It was agony and when the work was done he could only fall to the ground limply, unable to move as he was forced to adjust to living again. Venting suddenly became a concious choice, touch and sensation were so overwhelming as to be painful, and he had no control of his field or even his basic biology. It had been too long and he had long forgotten the finer details of how to operate in a mortal body.

Bumblebee and his team were of course quick to assist, but Optimus merely flinched and groaned as they hauled him to his pedes only for him to be as clumsy as a newspark. Micronus spoke plainly, demanding Optimus end the Fallen himself and going on about how Optimus's frame was infused with the strength of all the Primes or something along those lines. He was too tired and overwhelmed to process much and so promptly passed out from sheer data overload.

When he woke he spent days slowly and rather painfully relearning the most basic of skills, ranging from walking to speaking. He could tell Bee was worried and that his team were disappointed and concerned. Optimus paid them little mind and focused himself on his task, opting not to be around the team as much as he could so as to not make a mistake. It was difficult adjusting, but he managed to fight the Fallen fairly well by relying on the Matrix to guide his steps and take partial control of his frame where he no longer had mastery.

However once the battle was over and Optimus was left without much to do, the oddities and issues that came from his almost half a vorn floating around as a ghost came to light rather quickly. The most obvious issue Optimus dealt with was the fact that he needed to be around other mecha again. He had always watched and commented on what went on around him, it was his method of coping. However now that he was living again, he quickly came to the realization that the personality he developed for himself to get by would no longer work in a social setting.

He hardly noticed at first when he would stand around, watching blankly as Bee and his team worked. He only realized how odd he must have seemed when he received fearful glances that spoke of worry for their performance in return for his staring. In those instances he often walked away without a word, regularly finding himself confused when he felt any actual strain to his movements before remembering that he was mortal once more. He also found himself not touching anything, just... standing and observing, reading over the shoulders of others instead of collecting a book by himself. The team were too unnerved to comment and so allowed the behavior and endured Optimus musings as he spoke as if no one could hear him.

Optimus wandered any and all parts of the base, uncaring of social norms and customs or even privacy. When he grew bored, he would walk the halls and enter into any room he felt like exploring, often walking straight into a wall expecting to pass through before he tried the doors instead. Bee and his team quickly learned to lock their doors at night so that Optimus wouldn't meander right on in without a care in the world. However sometimes that didn't stop him from being unnerving as he would pace up and down the halls singing songs and making all sorts of very bitter commentary.

He was not asked to do much save for rest and recover and to focus on reorienting himself. Thus Optimus continued with life as if he was still but a ghostly specter since nothing was expected of him. He watched, he wandered, and he tried in vain a great many times to transport back to Cybertron to check in on Megatron and Knockout as he would have as a spirit.

There were other things beyond his simple inability to socialize. Optimus hardly rested and when he felt any sort of strain he was always left startled and confused as to what to do. He completely forgot about fueling for nearly a week and was confused as to what was wrong with his frame before Bee handed him an energon cube looking more concerned that Optimus forgot that he needed fuel more so than his lack of fueling. Not only that, but Optimus tended to walk everywhere, never transforming and never running. He just walked without a care in the world even when there were actual issues that required speed to be seen to. He was only reminded of his alt-mode when the team yelled at him to transform when he got caught up in a fight by tailing the team.

Pain was one of those odd things he never really understood after being restored. He knew it well while he lived, but upon his restoration every wound was a stark and noticeable thing. Even the slightest trip could have him holding back a scream as pain and damage reports flooded his processors. The team didn't understand, and neither did Optimus. They stopped bringing him on missions shortly after his battle with the Fallen because of his oddities. He didn't mind much.

Optimus also just... didn't recharge. He needed it, but he wouldn't rest until he passed out cold without meaning to. He would spend days going without any recharge simply because he was unused to it and preferred being up and about so he could continue to watch. It frightened Bee and his team to find Optimus stalking silently, watching and waiting as they worked. Sometimes the Prime would sit in total silence on top of the cars in the junkyard, commenting and laughing as they trained or busied themselves. He was generally left alone due to how freaky his action were, however Optimus was startled when one outraged Sideswipe had enough of his words and addressed him where the others were too nervous to do so.

Optimus: How very disappointing.

Sideswipe: What?

Optimus: During the war even the youngest of soldiers could throw a right hook correctly. What happened to the teachings of warriors? Did it fade from the veins of Cybertron now that peace has been granted?

Sideswipe: Hey-!

Optimus: Look at that, now the youngling is upset. No self control at all. He won't last a day in an actual battlefield.

Sideswipe: I CAN HEAR YOU OPTIMUS!

Optimus: .... Apologies.

The Prime looked genuinely shocked to be addressed and that was the final nail in the coffin. Optimus stopped talking entirely and fell silent, instead continuing to hover and watch. He pulled away from everyone with a cold apathy that left the team fearful of something that wasn't there. It was during this time that the lingering aspects of Optimus's long time as a wandering ghost began to become obvious to the team.

Before they refused to ask, chalking Optimus's oddities up to him getting used to living again. But now that they looked, they could see everything.

Optimus was unusually quiet for a mech of his size, to the point where it made no sense whatsoever. It was as if the world itself refused to acknowledge he was there. Every movement was near silent, his plating hardly ever making a noise and his steps obscured by a strange calm that made it impossible to locate the Prime with hearing alone. Even his colors felt muted at times, his frame almost blending into the background because of some strange force that decided Optimus was not allowed to be noticed unless he wished for it.

It was odd, very odd, and highly concerning. Thus without any idea what to do, Bumblebee took the initiative to call upon Ratchet for aid, a call that was also answered by Megatron the moment the former warlord heard that Optimus was restored. All the while Optimus continued to watch, to wait, and observe. Silent as ever and content to remain a simple wraith, forgotten by the living and exiled from the ranks of the dead.

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #optimus prime #bumblebee #bee team #transformers rid2015 #ghost optimus prime #yeaaaah being a ghost for so long will frag you up #how starscream manages it all the time is beyond me #I would lose my marbles

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blainesebastian · 2 years

Text

coffee cart girl (pt10)

words: 6,653 ship: austin x female reader summary: you’re the coffee runner on the set of Elvis. Coffee deliveries run pretty easy, until Austin accidently spills coffee on you. notes: well this is it! the last part of CCG :) previous parts under this tag! warnings: sexual instances, but pretty SFW tag list: under the cut! sorry if links aren’t working, refer to the link above if needed.

A lot can happen in a short amount of time. Lately, you feel as if you understand this better than anyone.

Elvis has been out in theaters for about two weeks and it’s been an endless, revolving door of good chaos since then. Austin’s booked for interviews, events, talk shows, and auditions. Some things you go with him to, either by specific invite or by him including you as his date. It’s been one hell of an experience but you’ve still managed to keep a low profile, or as low as possible, Austin doing his best to also shield you from becoming saturated in his world.

Your name is out there—it’s on articles, pap photographs, social media. You’ve had to turn your profile private to gain a little sanity until you figure out what you want to do. There’s an influx of followers, DMs, and you know it has nothing to do with you but rather wanting the attention of Austin through you. You juggle everything you can, you’re beyond happy for Austin’s accomplishments and don’t regret a single decision you’ve made.

But sometimes it can get a little overwhelming, especially when you allow yourself to go down the black hole of online commentary.

Sometimes it’s unavoidable, as much as you try to. Your scrolling feed is constantly taken up by candid photos of you and Austin—some fan accounts, some decidedly not. Some people are so kind—raining compliments on you, your relationship, and Austin’s role as Elvis. Even though you don’t require anyone’s approval, you have to admit that it…sometimes feels nice to see things like that? Which means, on the opposite end of the spectrum, it feels just as terrible when nasty things are said.

With your name being out there, people dig into your past, into anything they can find about you—there’s a lot of shit talking about how Austin is too good for you and that he shouldn’t be stooping to a lower level to date someone below him. It’s utterly ridiculous, you know that—these comments come from vile emotions and jealousies and it’s so stupid to even give it an inkling of your time.

But you’re human and words hurt.

Sometimes you really miss the privacy of those early days when it was just you and Austin hiding out in his trailer between coffee deliveries on set.

You can hear Austin get off the phone with Baz in the other room of your apartment, making his way back to being in bed with you. You’re lying on your stomach, pillow underneath your arms as you feel the mattress dip. Exhaustion is pulling at your nerve endings, making the words you’ve read hit a bit harder than maybe they usually would. You can feel Austin pause a moment, maybe seeing the screen of your phone before you set it down on the nightstand. He mimics those actions with his own phone, a sigh leaving his mouth as his body blankets yours.

Sandalwood mixed with his own scent slips over you as his arms wrap around your shoulders. You sniffle, wiping your face with one hand as his body completely maps along yours under the covers. He’s quiet, his hand working along your shoulders before he presses a kiss to the back of your head.

“I really wish you wouldn’t look at that crap.” He says softly, voice a deep timbre, comforting.

The weight of his body is warm and you turn your head a little as his lips brush along your temple, moving to press a few kisses down your cheek and along your jawline.

“I know,” You whisper, “Can’t always avoid it.”

Austin’s quiet for a few moments, mostly just the sound of your shared breathing, his hand working through your hair while the other creates a circle of movement from rubbing along your arm to squeezing your shoulder blade.

“Remember what I told you the first time this happened?” He asks.

You swallow over the lump in your throat but there’s a ghost of a smile on your lips. You sniffle again, wiping a tear track off your cheek before nodding, “You and me.”

“Only opinions that matter,” Austin nods, squeezing you. “I know it hurts, m’not saying you can’t be upset by it, but they don’t know you.”

You let that settle inside you for a few moments before shifting underneath him. He leans up so you can more easily move your body, lying on your back to look up at him. Austin lays down beside you, on his side, his one leg entangling it with yours as his hand rests along your stomach. Keeping himself propped up on his other arm, he looks down at you, some of his blondish curls resting over his forehead.

“But you do?” You ask, reaching out to touch one of them with your fingers.

He smirks lightly, his hand moving from your torso to run his thumb along your lower lip. “Like to think I do at this point,” Your press a kiss to the pad of his thumb, “Your nose crinkles when you’re mad about somethin’ trivial—like when they got rid of that alien movie on Netflix that you were watchin’.”

You roll your eyes, “I wasn’t finished with it yet—”

He continues, a small smile on his lips, “You’re obsessed with fish at aquariums which…I find kinda weird yet endearing at the same time. You drink your coffee with too much cream, you got one ticklish spot along your lower back, and I’m pretty sure you could eat a whole carton of mint-chocolate ice cream if given the chance.”

You laugh softly, your cheeks splotching pink even though you’re totally not ashamed of your quirks…and it seems like Austin isn’t either. He knows you, sees you, even darker parts that you sometimes don’t want to claim, but he doesn’t look away.

There’s just…this almost overwhelming feeling in your chest, exploding warmth that seems to touch every part of you as Austin talks. You love him—the words rest on your tongue but dart to hide underneath it. You’re not sure you can say it outloud, not yet.

“You could eat a whole carton of ice cream too,” You tease, playing with his hair again, “I dunno why you’re puttin’ that all on me.”

Austin chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest and vibrating gently against your body. Cupping his cheek, you lean up to kiss him, drawing him down until he’s lined up perfectly against you. Some things are just automatically going to hurt, people are going to say things they got no business saying—but the point is? You can’t let it change you.

Drawing your hands up and under his shirt, he leans up lightly to take it off, tossing it aside. He’s read your mind, smiling as you nip at his lower lip, this thin gold chain he’s been wearing around his neck dangling over you as your lips are joined together once again. Neither of you can keep your hands off eachother, mouths moving quicker as breathing picks up, a soft moan leaves your throat as you feel him roll his hips down into yours. Clearly that’s his intention because there’s a soft smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth,

“Don’t tease.” You mumble and he hums in response.

He peppers kisses along your jawline and neck as more layers of clothes are removed between you, his fingers slipping between your legs and carefully working you open before he slides inside. There’s a moment of no movement, just clutching one another, a harsh breath leaving your lips as your legs wrap around him. He holds himself up so he’s not crushing you, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he begins to move.

There’s no drawing this out, you both know what the other needs and wants, your back arching slightly as his hips roll down. Clutching at his back, your breath stuttering in your throat, your eyes squeeze shut when his hand moves down between you, finding a bundle of nerves with his fingertips. Pleasure rolls into your body like a drug, slow at first and then quick and steady, his own following.

Once your bodies stop moving, a thin sheen of sweat sticking to skin, you reach up and run your thumb along his jawline, kissing him gently. Your fingers move into his hair, drawing it away from his face as he moves to lie down beside you.

There’s a mixture of emotions resting at the bottom of your ribcage and you know it has everything to do with endorphins heightening how you feel. Or maybe that’s not quite fair or accurate—you’ve been with Austin for a decent amount of time now, friendly a lot longer than that, you’ve come to know him as he knows you. So it’s not quite out of the blue for you to say,

“I love you.” And the skin on your chest splotches pink as you look away. You don’t want to take it back but you suddenly feel the need to explain or oversimplify, “Must be all that talk about ice cream and the uh—orgasm didn’t hurt.”

Austin smirks, cupping both sides of your face with his hands. He leans close, waiting until your gaze meets his, “Love you too baby.” He mumbles, his voice reaching deep in your chest and squeezing. You roll your eyes a little at the pet name but you’re smiling.

Falling asleep next to him has never felt so good.

Lingering in Austin’s kitchen in a pair of soft shorts and one of his t-shirts, you lean against the counter with your hair back in a messy bun. You’ve made these ginger molasses cookies that are totally out of season but one of your favorite things to pull the ingredients together for. The icing is addictive and you’re currently licking it off a spoon while waiting for the tester cookie in the oven. There’s an Elvis record playing in the background because ever since you saw the film, you can’t quite get some songs out of your head.

And there’s a ninety percent chance that if an Elvis song is playing around Austin, sometimes he sings along…and that’s a treat for everyone involved.

Speaking of, as you check the time, he should be headed home soon after another late-night talk show interview. You were supposed to come with to linger in the audience or backstage but a migraine hit you at the last moment—you’re definitely feeling a lot better but kinda bummed that you missed seeing him in one of his elements.

He just carries those interviews with such a matter of charisma, grace, and humbleness that it’s sort of addictive to watch. Not even to mention his handsome, boyish smiles, and the easy way he handles so many conversations.

The oven dings and you move to take the test cookie out, setting it on a plate on the stove as you hear the front door open and close. Looking over your shoulder, you smile as Austin wanders into the kitchen, dressed in a sharp navy-blue suit, black-mesh button down shirt underneath. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way your heart skitters in your chest or your stomach flutters when you see him,

“Cookies?” He asks before you hum in response.

Austin puts a shopping bag down onto the counter, moving around the island table to lean down and press a kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes, leaning into the touch as he cups your cheek,

“You feelin’ better?”

“Less like my head might explode, so yes,” You lick your lips, pushing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him properly.

Austin uses that time to sneak his hand along the plate in front of you to steal this cookie and you push him slightly with your body to pin him to the counter, playfully tapping his wrist with the spatula you’re holding.

“Really?”

There’s a cheeky smile there already on his lips, “C’mon, I want somethin’ sweet.”

“I can give you something sweet.” You flirt in response and he smirks. Before you can even do anything about it, he lifts you up to sit on the counter. “Hey!” Laughing, “The cookies need to go in the oven, no time for this.”

Austin moves to pick up the tray you’re referring to, putting it in the oven. He tries to return to you but you’re motioning for the timer, in which he huffs and sets the desired time before moving to slip between your legs. You’re almost the same height now, your hands falling to his shoulders to feel the fabric of his suit jacket.

“I’m sure you were causin’ riots in this mesh shirt you got on.”

His cheeks turn the softest of pinks, shaking his head as he dips his chin down a little to press a kiss to your fingertips once he lifts one of your hands. “Was only thinkin’ about one girl’s opinion.”

You hope he knows he doesn’t have to do that—you trust him around fans and other people even though you can’t deny the heat that slips into your belly when he says stuff like that. “Well I can definitely help you take it off—that’s one of my first opinions about it.”

Austin hums, at the very least sliding off the suit jacket and setting it along the back of a chair within arm’s reach; that’s nice of him. “Now all of a sudden we’re not worried about the cookies?” He teases, clasping your chin and leaning down to press a quick kiss before pulling back a little. “I do got somethin’ I want to tell you.”

You pout a little to which he smirks and thumbs over your lower lip.

“Good and bad news—what do you want first?”

Blegh, that instantly makes you feel uneasy. The look on his face isn’t giving terribly awful vibes? So hopefully whatever he’s got to tell you isn’t life shattering. You crinkle your nose,

“Uh, I dunno—good? No wait. Bad—I want bad first.”

He smirks lightly before nodding—there’s a dramatic pause and you’re almost ready to smack his chest, “Store was out of those mini muffins you like, checked before I came home—”

You gasp out a laugh, playfully swatting his shoulder which makes Austin laugh too, “Is that seriously the bad news? Jesus, Austin.”

“Good news?” He doesn’t miss a beat, leaning forward to hold your gaze, his hands resting on your thighs. “I handed off your script to Baz and he has a producer who wants to work with you.”

It takes a moment for the information to register, slowly blinking at him because…no, really?

“Seriously?” You ask quickly, “Like—for real?”

Austin smiles because, “I’m not gonna joke about somethin’ like that, Y/N.”

A sharp sound leaves your lips, a grin breaking out onto your face until you’re throwing yourself forward into Austin’s arms. It’s slightly too fast and awkward but he catches you, a chuckle rumbling in his chest as he holds you close. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, squeezing so tight, his cologne mixing with the smell of ginger cookies in a ridiculously delicious way.

There’s so much excitement bubbling up in your chest that you barely register when Austin puts you back down on the ground, cupping your cheeks with both his hands. He’s smiling down at you, his nose crinkling from pure affection,

“I’m so proud of you.” He says and it makes a lump appear in your throat that you quickly swallow over. He peppers a few kisses on your face as the oven dings that the cookies are ready.

Today’s a pretty perfect day.

He’s late.

In hindsight, you maybe shouldn’t have shown up to the bar you are supposed to meet at ten minutes early but it was one of those things where you didn’t have much to do at home other than to get ready for your night out. Austin has been knee-deep in interviews lately, sometimes about Elvis, sometimes figuring out what his next project is—you know he’s been stretched a little thin, running around places and still at the same time supporting what you got going on with this script.

It's in early development stages and you’re trying not to get too ahead of yourself but…you’re pretty certain something legit is going to come out of this. Only a matter of time, effort and discussions. You let out a slow breath to settle your nerves that always stir up when you begin thinking about it. The point is tonight to meet up with Austin, have a few drinks, dinner…see what else happens.

Both of you have been busy lately, which isn’t bad? But you definitely miss him. That’s supposed to be the whole goal of tonight’s date—spend time, carve out a small part of the world for yourselves and you alone.

Except he’s late and it only starts to bother you when ten minutes turns into twenty and the only text back you have from him when you say I’m gonna start drinking without you is, sorry xo.

Sighing, you turn towards the bartender and order another house margarita, stirring the giant ice cube with a lime slice in your empty glass. You’re not one to get too bogged down in what you’re wearing but you were even a bit pleased with the little black dress you decided to put on tonight—long mesh sleeves, a slit up the leg, conforming to your curves but not constricting. Austin’s just one of those people that looks good no matter what he’s wearing.

You’re trying not to be annoyed with him, you know he’d be on time if he could be. You just don’t want this to become some sort of pattern and at the very basic level, you miss him.

You stretch your legs, checking the time again as you stand from the bar stool.

“Don’t tell me someone stood you up.”

You turn a little to see some guy settle in a chair near yours, leaning against the bar. He looks about your age, handsome, but not your type—a bit too muscular along the shoulders and upper arms. He’s not as aggravating as his question and part of you wishes you could just ignore it somehow,

“No,” You smile politely even though you kinda want to grit your teeth, “My boyfriend’s just late.”

He lets out a slow breath, “Well good thing—I was gonna say, pretty thing like you? Somethin’ wrong with the world if you’re gettin’ stood up.”

You suppose there’s a compliment in there somewhere but the last thing you want to do is acknowledge it. You already know that this guy definitely has one of those borderline personalities where you give them an inch and they walk all over you. There’s gonna be no misinterpretations here that you somehow invited an extra bout of friendliness from him.

You just wish Austin was here.

Despite not much feedback from you, the guy moves over a chair, ordering a beer from the bartender. “Can I uh—buy you that drink?” He offers to the one delivered by the bartender, taking the empty glass.

You blink because—persistent, before shaking your head. “No thank you.”

“C’mon,” He reaches out to touch your arm and great, it’s gonna be one of those nights, “Just one drink—who’s that gonna hurt?”

You pull your arm free and are about to say something, taking a step back from him when you collide with someone behind you. It’s Austin, you know that almost automatically before he even speaks—the scent of his cologne mixed with the stance of his body along your back. He’s got one hand on the bar, almost creating a cage around your form,

“She’s good, pretty sure she was clear the first time.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek and definitely feel a small amount of relief that he’s there, the warmth of his body pressed against your own, his height working in advantage over the guy who’s sitting. He rolls his eyes but seems a bit nervous, picking up his drink and getting up from his chair,

“Maybe teach your girl not to practically ask for company when you’re not around, man.”

Austin goes rigid, you can feel it before glancing up at his face. The muscle in his jaw works as his eyes dip a little darker blue, ice, and you put your hand on his chest to prevent him from walking forward as the other guy moves away.

“Don’t,” You say gently, “He’s not worth it.”

Once you’re sure Austin isn’t going anywhere, you run a hand through your hair and glance over the light grey suit he’s wearing paired with a soft white button-down shirt underneath, little bit open like he used to wear the lace shirts on set. He looks good but it’s also clear he didn’t go home between the interview and coming to the bar—straight here.

“It would have been worth it,” Austin adds after a moment, “Trust me.”

And while the sentiment is there and you are happy to see him, you can’t stop the swirl of irritation from snaking up from inside your chest and slipping out of your mouth, “He wouldn’t have even said anything to me if he hadn’t noticed I was sitting at the bar alone for a half n hour.”

You regret the tone of your voice the moment the words come out of your mouth, a soft sigh following because that is…not how you want to convey your frustration. Or it be one of the first things you say to him. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you turn to look at him and that comment definitely sets his teeth on edge.

“I got here as soon as I could.”

This…you do not want to have a fight about this, “I know.” The last thing you want to do is somehow make him feel bad for something out of his control but you’re also unnerved that this random guy got under your skin and—and Austin just so happened to show up at the right time. What if he hadn’t?

“I don’t think you do,” Austin replies and his voice has a bit more of a twang to it, because he’s upset, those Elvis adoptions not completely able to melt away from him. “You think I didn’t want to be here when I said I was gonna be? That I don’t—miss you because my schedule’s gotten a bit more hectic?”

You shake your head, your eyebrows drawing together, “No, of course not—I never said that.”

“You don’t have to, it’s on your face.”

A scoff leaves your lips, you don’t like the feeling of being talked down to, “Well what—I’m just supposed to magically adapt to you being late all the time? And I’m not talking about five minutes every so often, Austin, it’s getting worse. This time was a half n hour, last week I was sitting at a restaurant for an hour.”

“I apologized for that—”

“And I’m not holding it against you,” You state, wanting to make sure that’s clear. You’re only bringing it up because he is, “I get being pulled in multiple directions, trying to figure out what way is up.”

You empathize with that, you really do—you know that the experience is once in a lifetime and that he’s really reaping the benefits of all the hard work he’s put in for over two years for this role. But that doesn’t mean that now that the film is over that his life is any less demanding. You understand, you’re proud of him, but you’re also…trying to figure out where you fit into his life.

You’re a priority, right?

“Right well, it’s a bit more complicated than just deliverin’ coffee on set all day, Y/N.”

Ouch.

You stare at him for a moment, unsure of what to say—you know that probably wasn’t supposed to come out as it did. It takes a few moments for Austin’s facial expression to shift, frustrated and angry to gentle regret. He swallows, looking away from you as he shakes his head. His fingers tap along the bar as an uncomfortable silence sits on both your chests, cinderblocks.

Austin’s eyebrows draw together before he lets out a soft sigh, running a hand over his face before lingering along his jawline. In thought, thumb along his lower lip before he finally speaks,

“Shit—I’m sorry.”

Deep down, you know that, he’d never hurt you on purpose. But that doesn’t change the fact that it did hurt.

You clear your throat, pushing your hair over your shoulder. “I’m gonna head home.” Because despite waiting for him and wanting to see him, the last place you want to be right now is at this bar.

“Y/N.” Austin tries, reaching for your elbow even as you pull away and head straight for the door, “Please lemme just—” He’s never really stumbled over his words before but he seems to be struggling to find the right ones to get you to stay.

And you especially, for the first time, don’t feel like being out on a date with him.

Getting a shower and into a pair of comfy joggers, you top it all off with an oversized t-shirt, which may or may not be one of Austin’s. Pushing your damp hair out of your eyes, you know that you probably shouldn’t have just left him at the bar like that. No more runnin’ away—and yet, there had been so much pulling at you from every angle you just didn’t know how to balance being there. You run a hand over your face, plopping onto the couch. Just bad communication throughout. Maybe it was wrong of you to feel sensitive about the whole ‘coffee cart’ thing—he wasn’t exactly wrong; Austin does have more complicated responsibilities than that. But at the same time, he once made you feel that every job was important on set, no matter what it was. Doesn’t that still apply?

There’s an insecurity there of being with him, of not measuring up, and unknowingly he’s jabbed a nerve, pulled the scab off new and still healing skin.

Just when your cat jumps onto the couch for pets, a small smile tugging the corners of your face as he rolls onto his back to expose his belly, there’s a knock at your door. You wonder if it might be Jillian—you’d given her bare minimum texts about your fight (fight? Is that what it was?) and she’s probably dying for details, or she’s worried.

Regardless, you open the door without looking to see who it is.

And it’s Austin.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, freshly showered and in a pair of light blue jeans with a simple white t-shirt. Your body reacts so easily to him—heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering, feeling lighter somehow even though it goes against what your gut is telling you.

“Hey,” He clears his throat, “Can I uh—” Austin motions to the inside of your apartment and you chew on the inside of your cheek, nodding before opening the door further so he can step inside.

Suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed, you begin shaking your head before Austin even has a chance to say anything. The thing with memory and recalling past conversations is that is sometimes always feels worse than it actually was—you don’t want to fight with him, not about this.

“It’s—” You let out a soft sigh, “Look, don’t worry about what happened, okay?”

“Don’t do that,” Austin interrupts gently, almost talking over the last half of your sentence. He reaches out to touch your elbow, drawing you a bit closer, “I shouldn’t have said what I did, I was bein’ an asshole. Was worked up with other things and I took it out on you.”

And you get that—that’s something he doesn’t need to explain. It’s been a constant conversation since you’ve met him, a transparency about the work and life balance struggle, the fact that he’s getting pulled in so many directions and experiences. The events and encounters themselves are not bad things but…Austin’s human and he’s juggling so many plates that some of them are beginning to slip from his grasp and shatter on the floor.

He was frustrated within itself that he was late to meet you, and you approached that with the same level of irritation instead of support. Just like you shouldn’t have bottled up your concerns about seeing him less and less—you miss him, that’s natural. But you don’t want him to think that you have to pick and choose; being a couple, or honoring successes. That’s never been who you are together.

It’s a testament, really, how well you two communicate over the course of your relationship because if it breaks down, even once? Everything begins to fray at the edges and fall apart.

Taking a step closer to him, you reach up to cup his cheek. His hair is slightly more springy because it’s still damp, big golden curls that hang loose over his forehead. He’s got a spackle of beauty marks along his one cheekbone and you can’t help but run your thumb over them. Austin turns his head a bit into the touch, pressing a kiss to your palm.

“I should have been clearer too—I got snappy about you bein’ late because I miss you.”

He smiles a little, nodding, “That guy bein’ there really didn’t help.”

A soft laugh leaves your lips, shaking your head. Then you tip your chin up to look at him, a bit of a deviousness in your eyes as you say, “Actually I was gonna let him buy me a drink soon, he was wearin’ me down. That wouldn’t have been okay with you?”

Austin quickly wraps you up in his arms, keeping you close, a laugh skittering out of your chest at his insistence. “No,” He leans down and brushes your lips together, voice an octave deeper somehow, “That wouldn’t have been okay with me.”

Smiling, you push yourself up on your toes and kiss him, his arms slowly squeezing as he moves to plant a kiss on your forehead, the bridge of your nose and finally the corner of your lips.

“M’sorry,” He repeats quietly, nearly a whisper.

You smile a little and nod, “You’re forgiven.” You promise.

Austin picks you up in a flourish, taking you to the couch to lay down, laughing echoing against the apartment walls. It may not be an outing at a bar or restaurant, but it turns out your night is even better than what you had planned.

Letting out a slow breath, you attempt to keep your hands from shaking as you walk down the street with Austin towards a bistro. You’re meeting this producer, Max, that Baz has so graciously given your script to and he’s agreed to further the conversation—whatever that may mean. Could mean nothing or…could mean everything. You may not have the full story yet but at least you know that this isn’t some favor that your actor boyfriend got for you—he may have passed along your script but it’s your words and work that has gotten you this far.

You just keep needing to remind yourself about that…you deserve to be here, to be taken seriously, seen.

While you’re in a red, flowy, polka dot dress that sits right above your knees, Austin is in a pair of dark jeans, an olive-colored t-shirt and an open denim material button down. He’s not going into the bistro with you, just walking you there for moral support. And damn, do you need it. Every so often you can feel Austin’s hand squeeze yours, his thumb working back and forth over your knuckles and fingers.

“You know you don’t have to be nervous, right?” Austin asks, voice slightly teasing, “The hard part’s over—he read your script.”

“I am…totally not nervous.” You huff out which only makes him chuckle.

He’s about to say something else when a small group of girls that exits the coffee shop that you both cross in front of recognize Austin. There are just these moments of sound—gasping, giggling, excitement. It’s one of those things where, if Austin didn’t want to be bothered, he could definitely just bypass it because there are no words coming out of these girl’s mouths. Even with a more defined reaction, he could just walk on by with you.

But he doesn’t because that’s not who Austin is. He recognizes the reactions almost immediately and slows down, turning towards the noises with kind smiles. Once he makes eye contact, the words come pouring out—

“Oh my god!” “Hi, can we please get some photos with you?” “I loved you in Elvis, you were amazing, I remember I watched The Carrie Diaries and you were great there too—” Just voices overlapping over the other even though they’re attempting to talk in a calm and collected manner.

You let go of Austin’s hand so he has free range to pose for selfies, other photos and sign random napkins and coffee cups that the girls are holding. It’s hard not to smile as you watch the interactions—Austin has always been so genuine, he takes the time to talk to people, carves five minutes out of his day to ask the girls their names and how their day is. Not many celebrities, let alone just people in general, are so willing to offer that to others.

It's one of the things you really love about him.

“We gotta get going guys but thank you so much,” Austin backs up, reaching for your hand again, “It was really nice talkin’ to all of you.”

The girls glance over at you, kind smiles, one of them waving while another thanks you for stopping. It kind of floors you because Austin’s capable of handling these situations however he wants, but…you have to admit, it’s nice being considered. You offer your own goodbyes before you and Austin begin walking down the street again, only a block away from the bistro.

“They were really nice.” You muse and Austin nods.

“More often than not, they’re really great.” He means fans in general and then looks over at you, “You were pretty great too.”

A soft laugh leaves your lips because you know he means just being patient with the whole fan thing. Honestly if people are respectful and polite, the fan experience is a wonderful thing to witness. Not to mention you consider yourself one of them, a fan of Austin’s, it’s how this whole thing started.

Slowing down outside the bistro, Austin turns to look at you, a gentle laugh rumbling in his chest. “You’re tellin’ me you’re not nervous? You’re shakin’ like a leaf.”

You let out a long breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in, looking into the bistro windows and then back up at Austin. Your heart is definitely hammering in your ears at this point and your hands have slipped to rest along his waist, almost holding onto him like a lifeline.

“Alright, well maybe just a little.”

He shakes his head, smiling a little as he slips off his denim button down to drape over your shoulders. The lingering scent of his cologne and warmth of his skin does end up making you feel slightly calmer.

“Just take a deep breath, hmm?” He suggests and you do that, it helps a little. Then he realizes there’s another approach he can take.

Austin leans down to press a kiss to your lips and somewhere in your general vicinity, you hear the shutter of a camera going off. You’ve learned not to bristle and in this case? Embrace it. Your relationship has come a long way from that first photo taken of you two in the parking lot of that taco restaurant, your first date. So instead of shying away, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and keep him close.

He smirks, you can feel it against your lips as he continues to kiss you, cupping your cheek and running his thumb along your jawline. You can hear a few more photos being taken but there’s a confidence this time in who you are, your relationship and what you want that sits warmly in your belly.

It feels good.

When the kiss naturally ends, Austin smiles down at you, brushing his lips along the bridge of your nose before taking a step back, “You’re gonna be great—I’ll see you at home.”

You smile and nod, squeezing his hand before moving to tug the door open to the bistro. You believe him.

So it turns out, good things really do come to those who wait—or maybe in this case, put in the work and take encouragements from their boyfriend seriously. Max has decided to do something with your script, there’s a lot more that needs flushed out and you have that knee-jerk reaction to not be too hopeful but…it’s pretty official. Your script will be turned into a film. Austin doesn’t exactly say I told you so but his eyes are bright and wide when you tell him.

There are many laughs and kisses that follow.

On a rare Wednesday morning when neither of you have any obligations pulling your attention, there’s the opportunity to sleep in. And you do, until coffee feels unavoidable. You gently slip out from under Austin’s arm as he sleeps on his stomach, turned away from you, blonde curls slightly wild. He makes a soft noise at the movement but doesn’t wake up.

Going to the kitchen, you put on a pot of coffee and pour it into mugs once it’s ready. You make yours the way you like it and take a few long sips, leaning against the counter before getting his all set—black with cream.

The ceramic warming your hands, you take the mugs back into the bedroom. A soft smile tugs the corners of your mouth as you sit next to Austin’s torso, putting the mugs down on the nightstand. He lets out a slow breath, which means he’s awake just hasn’t opened his eyes. You quietly run your hand through his hair, scratching lightly at the scalp. He moves a bit, yawning and pressing his face into the pillow.

Blue sleepy eyes look up at you, skin a soft pink from the impression of the pillow. “Thought the whole point was to sleep in.” He teases, moving to wrap an arm around your lower waist. His voice is just a twinge deeper than usual, a bit raspy from just waking up.

“I did,” You purse your lips, “For like an hour—coffee was calling.”

Austin shakes his head but he’s not gonna argue about that, it seems. He moves in bed until he’s leaning against the headboard, running one hand through his messy hair and moving to press a kiss to your jawline. Licking his lips, he picks up his coffee and takes a sip. You reach your hand over and adjust the simple gold chain he sometimes wears around his neck—forgot to take it off before bed again.

“Some things never change.” Austin says, motioning to the coffee.

You smile, can’t help it—you suppose that’s true in a way. Here you are, yet again bringing Austin coffee. Shifting forward, you let your hand rest on his chest as you steal a soft kiss, his lips moving easily against your own.

Everything's changed, yet nothing has.

Can’t believe it’s over! Once again I super appreciate all the comments, likes, reblogs, and asks about CCG! Never know, we might do a one-shot or something for this universe ;) I do have some requests that I will be posting, so I am looking forward to hearing from any of you on those.

It’s been fun!

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#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler drabble #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #ccg series #ccg

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