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Owen oneshots

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One shots specifically reserved for Owen. Some one shots will be wholesome or platonic. Some might be romantic. Most will be graphic and somewhat disturbing, as these 'oneshots' are more centered on Owen's mind and the thoughts/things that he had an...

#angst #bl #disturbing #idklol #idkwhatelse #idkwhattotag #platonic #romantic #trauma #wholesome #xoc

Performance

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by Owen_is_dumb

by Owen_is_dumb

Trigger warning(s): Implied grooming, torture (?)

First POV
POV: Owen
Owen's age: 14-16 (Age doesn't matter much)

(THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS A DESCRIPTION OF AN ANIMATION HE HAS CANONICALLY MADE, BUT SINCE I CAN'T DRAW OR ANIMATE, I HAVE TO WRITE IT OUT AND PRAY YOU GUYS ENVISION IT THE WAY I DO)

My body pranced about the stage, limbs moving precisely, elegantly, now flaws that could be seen by the human eye. The crowed gazed upon my figure as I stepped with such grace, such precision, as though I were a puppet being strung up and controlled by it's puppeteer. Oh, such perfect movements were surely unheard of across this vast field of people watching, staring, at me and only me. Why need to look elsewhere when I'm in front of you, putting such a beautiful performance on, just for you to enjoy and bear witness to?

The strings on my limbs and the wires around my torso remain tight, suffocating, as he controls my movements from behind the scenes, his eyes watching just a smidge too closely at my pale white skin and practiced steps. It's like he's pouring acid on my once smooth and pristine flesh as he gazed upon me. The close monitoring done by him is almost more suffocating than the wires digging through my clothes and eating into my skin.

I dance, and dance, and dance. No matter how tired I grow, I can't stop. I need to keep going. I need to stop. More difficult moves, more trained eyes studying me, picking me apart and killing my mind by their unwavering daggers in the form of their gaze. I can't have a single pause, yet I can't bore the audience. I can't have them leave. I need their gaze.

My movements grow dull and repetitive around the four hour mark. I feel his eyes etch into my skin as he gaze sharpens in clear disapproval. I feel my body begin to shut down. No, no... Why is this happening? I can't let my fate be decided simply by exhaustion alone. I have so much more to prove to them. I am more than this, can't they tell?

A resounding thud courses through the room as I collapse, whispers being thrown about the crowd, yet the only thing I can hear is my quickening pulse as the people get up and begin to file out the door and as I pray they'll listen.

"No, don't!" I beg, my body weakly attempting to crawl across the stage. "Don't turn your back to me! Please!" Pleas leaving my lips go unheard by the receding audience, the swarm fleeing the auditorium until it's only me and the crew left.

I feel a horrible chill go through my body as a hand is placed upon my shoulder.

"It's alright, dear Owen..." The softness of his voice fails it's usual objective of lulling me into a false sense of security. "You just need some... adjustments..." His hand slips to my back, his fingers delicately fiddling with the zipper on the back of my costume.

...Fuck.

Words: 463