#but also dehumanizing? B E T

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part four | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. this chapter contains explicit sexual content. this chapter also has a content warning for descriptions of torture and dehumanization. the previously established story dynamics are prevalent. chapter word count: 14,600 words.

enjoy <3

-

B E F O R E

Felix is with the enemy.  He let himself be taken.

Losing a fight was the only way to win.  The enemy is well-fortified, his defences impenetrable, but offensive strikes are not a strength.  The best of his men are no match for Felix, not their force or their taunting or threatening.   They can torture him.  They can hurt him.  It is literal child’s play, every move a textbook manoeuvre from his childhood training. 

After some prodding, coercion, and violence, someone decides to send word up the chain of command.  It reaches the ear of the enemy, and now Felix is cuffed to a chair in some kind of warehouse, waiting to meet a monster. 

The man finally strides into the room.  He is average height, average build, with cold eyes but a dull demeanour.

Felix was hoping for a nightmare.  Maybe that would have helped justify some of it.  But the immense nothingness of the man is infuriating.  This?  Everything they did, everything Felix did, was because of this?  Just another pathetic man hurting the weak with someone else’s hands.     

The enemy stands above Felix and his shadow feels no different than Miroh. 

That is how Felix rationalizes it, even with a roiling stomach as he sits beneath that man.  A shadow will fall, one way or the other.  His choice is no choice at all: two dark paths, neither with a light at the end. 

Felix is not here to save himself.  His mission is to save Chris.  That is all that matters now. 

“You work for Miroh,” the enemy says.  “Or is that worked, if my men are to be believed?”

“That’s right,” Felix says.  He sees the flicker of surprise in the enemy’s eyes.  Felix’s voice has already dropped and its darker, deeper tone always surprises people.  It counters his youth, his soft face, makes the enemy look twice and consider him more carefully.

Felix is everything Miroh wanted his soldiers to be.  He is easy to misjudge, overlook, underestimate, but competent, deadly, and loyal to a single, unmoving cause. 

Thinking of Chris, Felix says, “I know how to end this.”

His throat is dry, his voice rough.  He drags it up, propelled by the pounding of his desperate heart.  

“I know Miroh’s next move,” Felix says.  “I know where he’ll be.  I know what he’s planning.  I know how to interfere.  But we both know you’re the only one who can really do it.”

Flattery takes the enemy from wary to invested.  He is so easy to read, more childish than Felix ever was.  It is infuriating.  It takes all his strength for Felix to grit his teeth and restrain himself, to not rip out of his bonds and destroy this shadow of a man. 

But this is not about Felix. 

“What is it you think you know?” the enemy asks. 

Felix smiles, a soft, disarming smile, practiced from a lifetime of subterfuge.  A lie on his face, but coupled with the truth. He thinks about everything he has done and everything he will do. 

Felix says, “Everything.” 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

Two days ago, you were running missions for your father.  You kept your head down and strove for the best, blindly believing your compliance would lead somewhere worthwhile.  The ends would justify the means.  You would prove yourself and everything would come together.

Now, your only plan is to tear it all apart.

Your father is dead.  You are miles from the world he created, off the edge of every map he ever drew.  You stare down a long, dark path with no seeming end.  

You think of your friend and find the strength to place one foot in front of the other. 

It is something you should have done a long time ago, but there is no time to linger in past feelings.  Not the guilt of years ago, not the pain of a few days, and not the embarrassment of last night. 

You lift your head as Chan approaches the park bench.  Your first order of business was acquiring basic necessities, so you left the motel and ventured out.  It required more than a little theft and cunning, but now you are both dressed in civilian clothes, better blending in with your surroundings. 

Chan went to grab some food while you sat and mapped out a basic strategy.  He has followed your lead in every regard, including conversation.  You have not spoken a word about last night so neither has he, but it sits between you like a tangible block.  Your eyes meet and speak without the help of words.  Who are you? you seem to ask each other, and neither has an answer.    

Miroh’s first guard.  You think of him in the ring.  You imagine him in even darker shadows.  It is impossible to reconcile that soldier with the man who comforted you, who tucked you into bed, who sat with you until you fell asleep. 

Miroh’s daughter.  It is just as impossible to reconcile the soldier you were with the woman who not only broken down crying, but let someone comfort her with so much tenderness. 

You look at each other, a flash of something between you, then you clear your throat and look away and hope it disappears.  

Chan sits beside you on the bench.  He hands you a sandwich. 

“What next?” he asks, then takes a bite of his own.

You are both in blue jeans and flannels, baseball caps tugged over your eyes.  You keep to a quiet space in the park, but there are still civilians nearby.  You watch some kids throw a ball around.  You don’t have much of an appetite, but your body needs sustenance if you want to heal properly.   Much as you would prefer to dive into the mission, ignoring your own wellbeing, an unbalanced fight will not save Changbin. 

You take a bite of your sandwich and pass the notebook to Chan.  

“I’ve made a list of the main research facilities,” you say.  “My father implied Changbin would be used for study so I don’t think he’s being held at any training base.  I’ve ranked the research facilities in order of likelihood based on their location and general field of focus.”

Chan nods, looking over the list.  You stare at him while he reads.   

You need to say something.  Each bite of food is excruciating because it is fighting the pit in your stomach.   You are a tangle of embarrassment, confusion, and unfamiliar emotions you cannot name.  Finding the right words is physically painful.  

You rub the bridge of your nose and steady your breathing.  Chan looks at you with an inquisitive tilt of his head, but he looks away when your eyes meet. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.  Despite your preparation, it is more of a blurt.  “For last night, I mean.” 

You cringe thinking about it, but addressing it finally alleviates the weight in your gut.  You fiddle with the wrapping to your sandwich, staring at the ground and pointedly not at him. 

“It’s not like me,” you say.  “The past couple days, it’s just…” 

“It’s fine,” Chan says.  When you scoff, he bumps his shoulder against yours.  “Seriously, you don’t have to apologize.  Can’t really blame you, ya know, considering everything.”

“I’ve dealt with some crazy fucking circumstances,” you say.  “And I’ve never…”  Mortification settles as you recall last night, which drudges up all those feelings again.  It twists together inside you.  You put the sandwich down and rub your eyes.  “I just don’t feel like myself at all.”  It is a resigned admittance, sitting at the crux of everything.  You are lost without your father’s map, even though you know it is better off burned.  “I just don’t know how everything used to feel so easy.  It’s like I’m a stranger and the whole world is just as foreign.  My father drew a perfect map of his world and now I’m way off the grid.” 

“Maybe it’s time to draw a new one,” Chan says. 

You look at each other.  You are both hunched over, elbows on your knees, bodies inclined just barely towards each other where your knees almost touch.   His face is bare and yours is scarred, his tone sincere and voice as raw as yours. 

The dark path ahead seems a little less daunting. 

There is one more thing you have to say, and this one is even harder, mixed up with embarrassment. 

Sheepishly, you say, “Also, uh… thank you.  For what you did last night.” 

Chan laughs, just a breath of a sound, and there is some colour in his cheeks.  He deflects the gratitude with more awkwardness than the apology, stammering on some vague denial.

“Nah, nah, it’s fine, you know,” he says, then says it a dozen more times. 

If crying was a break from your usual character, the little grin on your face is even more alien.  But it’s there, admittedly amused as you watch the most lethal weapon in Miroh’s arsenal stumble over his words.  His hair is over his ears, his hat over that, but you can see where they start to darken with a blush.  You had no idea the First Guard could go so red.  Maybe that’s why he has to wear a mask, you think to yourself, tickled.

But now is not the time for teasing.  You bump his knee with your own then pick up your sandwich.  Your appetite has returned, little by little, the worst of that pit closing. 

“Yeah, just… think nothing of it,” he says. 

“I’ll try,” you say, cringing. 

He pats your knee consolingly, then he smiles, light-hearted, looking at you with a goofy wink.  “Next time it’ll be me and you can help me out,” he says.  “Then we’ll be even.” 

He goes back to eating his sandwich, his attention straying to the kids and their ball game.  You look at him a moment longer.

If it had been him who broke down last night, you are not sure what you would have done.  But he voices such an honest belief that you would return the favour, so you cannot help but believe he might be right.

-

The day is spent driving.  You steal a different vehicle, losing the last traceable item from the fallen facility.  You replace it with something a little faster and more efficient on the road. 

Once you are in the car, the conversation stays professional.  Today you plan to scout the perimeter of the targeted facility on foot.  It should have a secondary security outpost that will be easier to breach, at least with your skills and inside knowledge.  

Chan will cover most of the physicality as he insists you need another day of recuperation before launching a proper attack.   You begrudgingly admit he is right, even though you want to charge the facility to second it is in sight. 

Changbin could be in there right now, separated from you by cement walls and nothing more.  You look at the building as you circle it.  Your heart pounds, leaping as if magnetized to your friend’s potential proximity.  It makes you want to leap the wall and fight everything in your path. 

Like he knows what you’re thinking, Chan nudges you.  He tips his head, gesturing to the direction you need to go.  You huff but follow.   This is your plan and you made it for a reason. 

You reach the security outpost.  After Chan incapacitates the guards, you will have sparse minutes for action and acquisition.

Chan lays down the unconscious guards while you gather your intel.  You know where to look, unlike an enemy or third party, so you can use the short allotted time to your advantage. 

You see there were deliveries made over the past couple days, but it is unclear what they entailed.  It could be anything from equipment to a body.  You save the information and run through the security logs so you can strategize a full-proof infiltration plan for tomorrow night. 

While you work, Chan embarks on his own search, finding a few weapons and packing them in a duffel bag. 

He claps you on the shoulder with less than a minute to spare.  You take your hard drive and notes, he takes his bag and guns, and you are out the door.

Back in the car, he sits in the passenger seat, assembling a gun while you drive.  Your eyes are on the road but your mind is in the mission, running schematics and floor plans and security details. 

Your mind jumps frantically from one thought to the next.  Thinking of security logs reminds you of the information you obtained about the enemy.   You told Changbin about it a couple nights ago, but it lost importance in the midst of all your personal drama.  Now your mind returns there. 

Miroh’s team acquired the security information from the house that night, but they overlooked the most glaringly obvious discrepancy.  They were so preoccupied with the system itself that they did not notice how much of it had been scrubbed by someone who knew what they were doing, someone who had a reason to hide what transpired.   

Maybe it means nothing.  Maybe it means everything.  

“What’s up?” Chan says, noticing you are deep in thought. 

You glance at him, shaking your head as you return to the present.  You have your hands full with dismantling Miroh’s regime that the dead enemy should not really matter anymore, but it will not leave your head.  The weirdness of that whole situation sits in the nucleus of everything else.  The enemy’s collapse sent your father spiralling, his fears driving him straight into a self-fulfilling prophecy of destruction.  In a way, you are only here because of what happened that night. 

“Just thinking,” you say, struggling to summarize the tumult of thought.

“About?” he prompts when you stall.  He lifts an eyebrow.  “Something I can help with?  Or like… something personal…?”

“Neither really,” you say.  “It’s about my father’s enemy.  You know my father had a lot of enemies, but… he had one that rivalled them all.”

“I know who you mean,” he says.  “I didn’t really run any missions involving him, because, you know, Miroh thought it was useless to waste my skills there.  The enemy was pretty well-defended.  Nothing got in or out.”  

“Makes sense,” you reply.  “The enemy was watched more than pursued.  I actually ran a lot of those missions.” 

You were with the enemy while Chan was everywhere else.  It is why you never really crossed paths.  You knew the outcomes of his missions because it often impacted lines of business, but you did not see him.   He was a weapon at your father’s disposal, less than a human and more than a soldier.  

“Yeah,” Chan says, echoing that thought.  “Miroh thought I would be more useful… other places.”

You look at him again.  He is looking out the window, his own gaze pensive.  You do not push for more detail, knowing well enough how gory and intense some of his missions were.  It makes you aware of who is in this car, the weapons at his feet, the gun in his lap. 

You find you are not that frightened, which is frightening in its own way.

You look at him in his flannel and baseball cap.  You think about him earlier, laughing as he watched some kids playing games in the park.  You picture that face in the shadows, a gloved hand around a neck, a gun in his hand, the trigger practically a part of him.  It makes your heart pang. 

“Anyway, what about it?” Chan asks, looking at you. 

“Never mind,” you say, discombobulated as you are inundated with images of Chan’s missions.  You shake your head.  “It’s probably nothing,” you add.  “It doesn’t matter.  They’re all dead anyway.” 

There is a moment of silence, then he asks, “Did we ever find out what happened that night?”  His voice is a little smaller, like the question weighs heavy on his tongue.  Like he also knows this new world is spinning on the axis of everything destroyed that night. 

“No,” you say.  You grip the steering wheel a little tighter.  “And the last person who had any contact with them is being held somewhere.” 

“Changbin,” Chan says. 

“Changbin,” you say. 

Your mind runs away again, thinking about the way Changbin talked about that mission.  Or rather, the things he did not talk about.   He never officially reported the details of his altercation with Felix.  He never reported the fact Felix asked about Chris.    

As if he can hear your thoughts, Chan asks, “Felix is dead too, isn’t he?” 

Lee Felix was raised in the young soldier program with the rest of you, but you don’t remember much of him from childhood, just one face among many.  Then he betrayed the operation.  Miroh was securing some contracts that the enemy was also eying, and Felix was assigned to a major mission that would procure the venture.  You were not on that mission, but you later learned how it was infiltrated by the enemy, how Miroh was blindsided and attacked in a rare moment of weakness instigated by the same traitor who sold out their location in the first place. 

Felix got away. 

Several agents died in the confrontation.   By that point, other child soldiers had died on other missions.  Only a few of you remained.  Chan, Changbin, you.   Felix was recruited by the enemy.  He became a grating sore in the operation’s side.  Somehow, the enemy utilizing one of Miroh’s best soldiers as a glorified babysitter was more offensive than using him for military tactics.  Even by doing nothing, your father’s enemy boasted over him.  Look what I have and I don’t even need it, while you fight for everything. 

That was how your father put it.  He always looked at the offense, the wrong-doing, the betrayal. 

He never saw anything else.  Just like he never saw your friendship with Changbin. 

You think Felix and Chan were also friends once, maybe, or something like it. Felix would have no way of knowing what became of Chan after he left.  Maybe he cared.  Maybe his motivations were more complicated than an opportunistic betrayal for the sake of itself. 

You look at Chan.  His body is holding a lot of tension, his fingers curling and uncurling over his knee.  A muscle feathers in his jaw when he clenches it. 

“Yes,” you say.  “Felix died that night with the rest of them.” 

Chan exhales.  His whole face is shadowed with the furrow of his brow.  

“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him.  We all made difficult decisions, I guess,” you say, thinking of how to approach this conversation because there is a darkness to Chan that feels more like the First Guard.   “He, uh, he asked about you apparently.”

“About me,” Chris says flatly.  “What about me?” 

“About what happened to you,” you say.  “I guess he wouldn’t have known what happened after he left.  Changbin, uh, Changbin told him you died.” 

Chan is quiet for a moment, just staring across the dashboard at the stretch of highway.   The sun is starting to set behind the trees, casting an orange glow in the vehicle.  It brightens his eyes even while his whole countenance seems to darken.

Then he laughs.  It is abrupt and harsh with no genuine humour whatsoever.  He rubs his jaw and shakes his head. 

“I guess that’s one way of putting it, yeah?” he says dryly. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“What for?”

“I don’t know, I guess it just—”  You glance at him.  He is still staring ahead, his shoulders locked with tension.  “None of this is easy.  I get it.  You have every right to be upset.”   

“Upset,” Chan says as if the word is totally foreign.  It lingers in his mouth.  He chews the thought over.  The fierceness of his gaze reminds you of the guard that sits behind a mask – intense and dangerous.

 “I guess I am upset,” he says slowly.  “It means I don’t get to kill him myself.”

The response startles you.  You anticipated this conversation taking a totally different trajectory.   

Your glance flicks between the road and Chan.  He goes back to fidgeting with the gun.  His hand movements are firmer, more deliberate, the click-shuffle-click more pronounced. 

It is a very unfortunate and wildly inappropriate time to find him attractive.  The realization hits you all at once, leaving more whiplash than a hit to the head.  You watch his quick and competent hands do what they do best.  Coupled with his sudden intensity, it feels like a punch to your core. 

You want to offer a remark, some acknowledgement of his thoughts, but it gets garbled in the mess of feelings.  It is not like you to get so flustered.  You are not used to it.   

You clear your throat and look ahead.  Out of the corner of your eye, you see him tilt his head. 

“What?” he asks.  “The guy’s a traitor, isn’t he?”

“It’s not that.”

“Huh?  Then what is it?”

“Nothing,” you reply. 

“Nothing? You have a weird look on your face.” 

“No, I don’t.”

The First Guard, Miroh’s weapon, assassin and spy and deadly agent, reaches across the console and pokes your cheek. 

“Stop that,” you say.  “I’m fine.”

He laughs and this laugh is sincere.  You try to school your expression but the damage is evidently done because he is clearly aware he has you flustered. 

You bat his hand away.  Even worse than finding him physically attractive, you are a little enamoured with the sound of his laugh.  It feels much better than the tension from before.  You feel your own chest lifting with a clear breath. 

“Just thinking about yesterday,” you lie, but now you are thinking about yesterday and how you abruptly kissed him, which makes you more flustered and makes his dimples more pronounced.   Refusing to look at him, you tightly grip the wheel and say, “Sorry, by the way.”

“For?”  He sounds amused.

“Kissing you.”

“Ah.”  He pokes your cheek again, dodging your hand.  “I thought I told you to stop apologizing to me.” 

“That’s different,” you say.  “Especially after everything else you told me.” 

Chan has spent most of his life in the forced employ of someone else, using his body to one end or another.  He told you as much last night.  In light of that, spontaneously kissing him without warning feels wrong, even if you were panicked and not thinking. 

He goes quiet.  After a beat, he says, “I didn’t tell you that so you would pity me.”

“Well, why did you then?” you ask.  You can admit you were forward last night because that is just how you are.  Sexual desire is just another bodily function that needs satisfying.  He was the one who continued the conversation after it ended.

“Well,” he says.  “I trust you.” 

“Right.”   The honest simplicity just flusters you more.  “Good to know.”

The car is very silent after that.  Or maybe the rest of the world gets louder – the cars whizzing down the highway, the wind against the glass.  Even the sun seems to fizzle in the darkening sky. 

You swear you can hear his heart beating, fast, or maybe that is your own. 

“It’s fine,” he breaks the long silence. 

“Huh?”

You glance at him which is a mistake, because he turns his head to you, his dimples deep with the cheekiness of his smile. 

“it’s fine that you kissed me,” he says. 

People have outright propositioned you for explicit sexual acts and none of those come-ons ever garnered half as much heat as that simple, stupid line. 

You bat it down instinctively, swallowing hard.  His earlier intensity sparked your adrenaline and your body confused it for something else.  That must be it.  You don’t get flustered and heated like this, not so fast and not so deeply. 

“Well,” you say firmly.  “Don’t worry because it won’t happen again.”

“Oh?” he asks, still too amused. 

Desperate to even the playing field and knock those dimples down, you grin and employ your own simple frankness.

“Tell you what,” you say.  “You can fuck me all you want, but no kissing.  How’s that sound?”

It works.  He chokes on a nervous laugh and turns completely red.  He looks away while rubbing his neck and it’s your turn to laugh. 

The sound of your own laughter surprises you, the adrenaline in your chest suffusing to something gentler.  For a moment, in the middle of all the anxiety and worry and terror, you feel a flicker of delight. 

When you look at him, your eyes meet in a shared moment of mirth, that setting golden light flooding the car.  It feels strange to smile so sincerely, but it does not feel wrong.  It feels like a moment you did not realize you had been waiting for. 

-

None of the safe houses are safe.  Miroh is dead but his operation is running in fragmented pieces, so there are eyes on those houses.  You stick with cheap motels for now, the little crevices and unassuming places forgotten by the passing world. 

Chan lifted some money from a register at a closed service station, so you use that cash to pay for a room.  It makes you think about crime, petty and big, about Miroh and his enemies, soldiers and civilians.   About the ends justifying the means, and what taking down Miroh’s operation will entail. 

“Ready for another fight?” you ask.  You and Chan are sitting at the small table in the little kitchenette, drafting plans for tomorrow’s night infiltration. 

“Always,” he says with a sigh, but smiles at you. 

You take the first shower tonight.  You feel better and your reinvigorated energy makes you even more restless.  It feels like a waste of time, sitting here while Changbin is out there, but you know you will be in better shape tomorrow when all your plans can come together. 

For now, you prepare your own weapons and combat clothes, laying everything out while Chan showers. 

Your eyes lift when he emerges from the washroom, strolling into the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.  

You stare at him because of course you do, and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow because of course he does.  That cheeky smile returns and he says, “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply, frowning, looking back at your things.  “Just restless.” 

“You should do some push-ups,” he says. 

Ugh, this guy, you think, looking up at him again.  His back is to you as he stands over his bag, shifting around for some clean clothes.  A snarky reply is on your tongue but then he drops his towel, silencing you as swiftly.  You blink in surprise at his bare backside then look away, hot in the face. 

“You know what,” you say.  “Maybe I will do some push-ups.” 

He chuckles and continues dressing himself while you go through a small exercise routine to expel your excess energy.  It honestly works and it feels good to get some muscles moving again. 

You are not totally invulnerable, but the hormone supplements administered in your childhood ensure that your healing is a little quicker than average.  The worst of the pain will pass so you can fight without distraction tomorrow night.  The only thing that will remain will be the scars.

You sit at the foot of your bed and touch the scar on your palm.  You wonder if Changbin is sitting somewhere, touching his own scar, and you wonder if he thinks it was worth it – all of it, his whole life, offering it up to save you. 

“All good?” Chan asks, a little more seriously.   He is closer than you realized, standing near the bed. 

You nod, closing your hand into a fist.  “Yeah,” you say.  “We just…  We have to find him.” 

You can feel yourself drifting, thoughts taking over.  You stare down at the ground. 

Chan touches your shoulder, just enough to draw you out of that reverie before you sink too far.  You look up slowly.  The back of his fingers brush your cheek before he drops his hand to his side.  It feels like he touched you with a firework, a trail of heat sparkling along your cheek.  You dig your nails into your palm because you do not feel like you should indulge that sort of feeling while Changbin is hurting for you. 

“I know,” Chan says.  “We will.  But he wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself or give yourself up, would he?” 

You stop clenching.  You release a breath you did not realize you were holding. 

“Yeah,” you say softly.  “Sorry.  You’re right.”

You blink quickly, surprised when knocks his knuckles under your chin, a teasing little touch.

“Told you to stop apologizing,” he says, then winks and steps away. 

Your dreams that night are tumultuous but not as torturous.  You don’t sleep as heavily so it is easier to snap out of them. 

Chan is a light sleeper and the sound of you jolting awake stirs him as well.  You apologize after a few times, his groggy voice sleepily assuring you that it’s fine.  That rough sound scratches your brain, tingling down your spine as you close your eyes to sleep again. 

You dream of a different touch, no violence or pain, just fingers trailing softly across your cheek.  Your eyes are closed but you can feel it, a lightning spark ignited under the stroke of those fingers.  You tilt your face up and take in a deep breath.  It fills your whole body with warmth, makes your heart race and skin heat.  The touch curls under your chin and you follow where that hand guides you, eyes closed and mouth open.

Your breath is stolen by a kiss.  You know this is a dream because real kisses never feel this way.  They are just a touch, no different than any other. 

This touch is different.  It overwhelms with its gentleness, a caress more thorough and claiming than every rough kiss exchanged in a heated moment that inevitably cooled.  This one does not cool, does not even simmer, but burns hotly, endlessly.  Even when your lips part for air, heat lingers between you.  Your fingers twitch, coming to life with the desire to touch. 

You wake before that. 

It is still night.  You glance at the clock then across the room.  Chan’s bed is empty and it startles you, snapping you from half-conscious to fully awake.  You sit up in bed.  The panicked race of your heart putters to a slower cadence when you see him.  He is sitting at the table in the kitchenette, near the open window.  The neon light from the motel’s NO VACANCY sign bathes him in a cascade of red.

“All good?” Chan asks.

“Yeah,” you say.  “I just—”  You look at the empty bed then at him. 

“Sorry,” he says, sheepish.  “Couldn’t sleep.  When that happens, feels better to just look at the plans, you know?”

You nod.  You understand completely. 

“More bad dreams?” he asks. 

“Sometimes it feels like a memory,” you say, thinking of every nightmare, then thinking of your dream.  There was no reality in that fantasy, but you swear your cheek still tingles.  Embarrassed, you lay back down and turn away.  You stare at the wall. 

To your horror, you find yourself blinking back tears.  The night is clearly not your friend, overwhelming you with every thought and fear and memory, every emotion you do not know you were capable of feeling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Chan says.  “I promise.  You can sleep.” 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

I trust you, he said with so much earnest simplicity.  It is hard, but you return the sentiment and close your eyes. 

-

The next night is a very different scenario.  There is no opportunity for good or bad dreams, for quiet phrases and glances that you would not dare exchange in the light. 

You and Chan spent the day in preparation, practiced some moves, pored over your plans.  Your adrenaline builds and builds.  By nightfall, you are bursting with a desire for action. 

The night does not feel quiet or still, the very air around you vibrating with the shuddering power of your determination. 

“Careful in there,” Chan says.  

You look at him.  He is not wearing the mask, not yet, but he is the soldier you first encountered.  Earlier, you watched as he slicked back his hair and darkened his eyes as part of his preparation, turning himself into a strange, intimidating figure.  His transformation is so all-encompassing, your heart palpitates with nerves whenever you meet his eye. 

“This is gonna be a shitshow when we start taking it apart,” he continues.  “After we find him, when we start hitting marks and tripping lines, it’s gonna be fast.” 

First you will look for Changbin, then you will go after everything else in that facility.  Wiping data, disabling networks, making the entire operation unusable.  You know some agents will move onto the next one, but you’ll follow.  You will follow all of your father’s work and you won’t stop until you have destroyed it all.  If it means tearing out one brick at a time, that is what you will do. 

You tug at a clasp to ensure your armaments are locked in place.  Chan secures his mask.  You nod at each other, then you advance. 

It becomes abundantly obvious very quickly that this facility does not have active test subjects, just data and back-logged research storage. The deliveries were mostly data transfers and hard copies of research for ongoing trials.

That means Changbin is definitely not in this building, but you try to keep your energy up.  While Changbin is not here, there should be information about his actual whereabouts.  The fight is not over.  Far from it.

“I’ll be across the hall,” Chan says.  “Radio if something trips.  We won’t have long.”

The literal fight is only half the work and not more the prevalent half.  You and Chan take a system each and spend most of the night looking through files.  You would rather punch something, your adrenaline still so keyed, but you put it in reserve for now. 

You move and erase certain files, sifting for relevant information and finding none. 

You snap upright when a related subject finally appears.  You lean closer to the screen.  This entire folder seems dedicated to human test subjects.  The fact the folder is so big already has you nauseated.  Then again, you are not surprised.  You were one of those subjects, living proof of a military experiment.    

You cannot find anything about the special-ops program in this folder.  That means no data on Changbin, past or present.  Instead, it looks like years and years of logs tracking a single experiment.

TEST SUBJECT I : SOLDIERING RECONFIGURATION

You see the word soldier and click. 

No.  This is definitely not Changbin or the special-ops program.  You read and realize this particular experiment was something else entirely.

You look at the date.  This began a long time ago.  There are long memos and notes about ‘reconfiguring’ mental processes, utilizing the brain’s trauma to suppress memory through torture. 

You have seen a lot of dark things, but nothing like this.  Your stomach turns over itself, balking at the horror, the detailed descriptions of severe electro-shock and drowning, of starvation and long isolation. 

Subject is presented with an unchanging control from which comparison can be made. 

Subject recognizes control after one round of treatment. 

This is worse than a fight.  A fight you can control through retaliation.  This, you just have to endure, your heart pounding as evocative images of dehumanization unfold before you. 

They tortured someone into forgetting everything.  Turned them into the perfect soldier. 

Eleventh round of treatment – some effect is beginning to take.  Not a recommended course of action on regular humans. Hormonal-supplement medicine improved durability. 

Subject will need to be brought in on a semi-regular basis to maintain stasis.  

There is a long list of all the dates and times the so-called subject was brought in.  It spans years, all the way up until recently.  A session was schedule two weeks ago but it was not completed. 

You sit back, the white screen blaring in your face, your stomach a sickly iron weight. 

Chan. 

The subject is completely, irrevocably Bang Chan.   You wish it wasn’t true but you know, deep down, it undoubtedly is.   

The incomplete session must account for his recent behaviour.  If he was not brought in for a reconfiguration within the allotted time, that might explain his deviation from expectation, his raw humanity and his spontaneous decision to join you. 

It is unbearable, imagining all that torture. 

He was just a boy. 

Your throat cloys, feeling tight with suffocation as you imagine the darkness of a narrow well and cold water closing in around you.  You close the file then look away from the screen, the shadowed room even darker after ripping your gaze away from the light.  You feel that darkness tighten around you.  You close your eyes, shake your head. 

Though you never imagined the details, you knew Miroh did something awful to make a boy a thing.  Especially that boy.  For as long as you can remember, gossip about the First Guard has been whispered in every corner of the operation.  Those who knew a young Bang Christopher Chan talked about the overnight change.  One day he was a rebellious child, throwing tantrums in front of Miroh himself, and the next day he was complying with the worst of orders in his name.

Some people joked it was all about the bloodlust, that Chan was inherently built to be violent, steeped and raised in it.  They said it came naturally to him, that he was just waiting for an opportunity to be that vicious. 

You know better.  You have seen glimpses of the man who spent years in Miroh’s mask, and that man has nothing in common with the First Guard.  That soldier, the agent with the highest clearest level missions, with the most destruction in his wake, is not Chan.  Whoever Bang Chan really is, it is not the monster that Miroh made him. 

“You’ll wanna see this.” 

Chan’s voice breaks the silence.  You jump out of your skin with a horrible hiss, startling him in return. 

“Whoa,” he says.  “What is it?” 

You do not hide your expression fast enough.  He quickly ducks down to look in your face, those dark eyes intensely focussed.  He asks something through the mask – what’s wrong, you think – but it sounds foggy and faraway.  Your eyes are locked on his.  The rest of the world falls away.    

You reach for him without conscious thought.  It is the instinctive search for a hand in the dark, a desperate grasp shooting across cold water for a lifeline. 

He blinks quickly, surprised when you touch his face with both hands.  He stiffens but does not stop you from removing his mask.  Only when his face is clear do you come back to yourself. 

Sorry forms on your lips, but you remember he said to stop apologizing.  Besides, your voice is shot even though you have been sitting in silence. 

You place the mask on the desk and shake your head.   

Chan looks at you, then his gaze flicks to the empty screen and back.

“What is it?” he asks again, softer this time.  “What did you find?” 

The document mentioned the subject had a resistance to abrupt reminders.  Too much sudden information could trigger the trauma response.   It is better to ease the subject into slow recollection. 

“Nothing,” you say.  Your voice comes out rough so you clear your throat.  “It’s nothing important.  Just – Miroh.  Some dark stuff.  You know.” 

He scrutinizes you for another second.  His hand hovers like he might touch you, but he eventually curls his fingers and drops it. 

“Okay,” he says, wary. 

“What did you find?” you ask, because he burst in here with an exclamation. 

He smiles.  It is not a huge smile, but it looks like Chan peeking through the soldier’s mask – the one he wears even when the literal mask has fallen.  It puts you at ease. 

“I found him,” Chan says. 

Your heart skips a beat as you are reminded of your real mission.  You eagerly take the papers that Chan offers. 

“Not literally, of course,” Chan says.  “But look—”

The document explicitly names Seo Changbin, with the correct description of his medical history and occupation in the Miroh’s order.  It doesn’t say where he is behind held, just that he has been relocated from the main base.  It says he must be kept under more intense security than the main research facility can provide.

It also provides a detailed schedule for the work and tests that have been administered so far – blood samples, urine samples, even skin samples – and it states that he will be kept for more tests and evaluations.   He is to be held for two weeks before more intensive studies can be conducted.  It is imperative that he does not weaken or die, as he is the only viable study subject. 

A massive weight lifts off your shoulders.  Changbin is not here but he is alive and unharmed.  It seems they are keeping him in a state of mellowed sedation and do not want to move him around. 

Though you do not know where he is precisely, you know he is stationary.   He is probably not too far from this one if they were concerned about security in relocation.

“We got him,” you say.  Your brain is already racing ahead, narrowing down the most likely bases and what infiltration will entail.   You look at Chan and your smile returns, brightening with the light in your chest.  “We can actually do this,” you say.  Until now, you believed it because you had to believe it, because you stubbornly refused any alternative. 

But Changbin is alive.  You can rescue him.

You can also eliminate a lot of other bad things while you do it. 

“We still have work here,” you say.

“You’re not wrong,” Chan says, grinning.  “Found some files with some political figures who probably… definitely… don’t want their affiliation getting out.” 

That blatant rebellious streak fills you with even more hope. 

You get to work.  In the end, some alarms are tripped and you are not out before security arrives.

“You ready for that fight?”  Chan asks, already drawing a weapon. 

“Always,” you reply. 

You fight together.  You think of all that detailed violence and you funnel it into something good.  You were made to fight and it does not scare you, not when it’s like this.  You are far more scared of not fighting back.  You will never sit back again. 

You and Chan have a complimentary fight style.  You were both raised in the same program, so that makes sense, but there are instinctive openings you fill, a swift understanding that does not need words.  Like your eyes meeting across a park bench, you connect on another level.  It is like you have fought together a million times before. 

When you are done, Chan takes a turn at the wheel.  The windows are rolled down and you have a few shiny new scars, but you feel good, hopeful, free.   You see a light at the end of the darkness.  You are not scared of the fight to get there.    

Your adrenaline is still pumping when you get back to the motel.   The dawn is entering twilight, streaks of light slashing across the dark sky.  It is swallowed up by rainclouds but the promise of daylight persists despite the gloom.   You feel like you could wrestle the sun itself, no power too great.

You also know you are running on fumes of a long, adrenaline-fueled night.  You are definitely going to crash, especially when several nights of bad sleep catch up to you.  But first you need to come down from that high, blood still pumping a mile a minute. 

Chan exhales, clearly just as keyed.  He shakes out his shoulders and stretches his neck this way and that.   He sits on a chair to unlace his boots.  He looks down as he says, “You can have the first shower.” 

You look at him.  Against all odds, you are both here, rebelling against everything that was engrained in you. You can appreciate that more now that you have some relief regarding the mission.  

Despite the effort to control and change you, you made it to this place together.    You are free.  Your lives are yours for the first time.   

You open the top few clasps of your combat shirt. 

“We’re both pretty messy,” you say.

He drops one of his boots with a clunk then starts on the next one.

“Yeah,” he says, laughing.  “That’s fine, though.  Just be quick.” 

He discards the other boot and lifts his head.  His gaze looks even more intense with the dark lines traced around his brown eyes.  A single curl escapes his smoothed back hair, curling in an endearing tuft over his forehead.  He is still breathing a little hard, his combat shirt also unclasped, the skin of his neck sweaty. 

When those dark eyes collide with yours, your thundering heart pounds faster.  His gaze briefly, thoughtlessly, flicks down your body then back up.  Heat thunders through you and it has nothing to do with a fight. 

He sits straighter, holding your gaze in his. 

“Hey,” he says softly.  “What’s up?”

“I know I asked before, and I know I said it jokingly,” you say.  “But I think we understand each other better now.  I’m not asking or demanding anything.  I’m just letting you know.  I think sex is a good way to expend energy.  I think the fast pleasure is good for the brain as much as the body.  It’s like exercise.  I know we both have complicated pasts but I’m okay with that.  With me.  With you.  I don’t care about the past and I’m not looking for a future.  If you’re interested in right now, so am I.” 

You push open the bathroom door.  His eyes are rivetted to you but his expression is unreadable. 

You undo another clasp and shrug. 

“You know where to find me,” you say, then step into the bathroom. 

You are not sure what to expect from him.  You cannot even anticipate your own reactions.  You are startled by the erratic pounding of your heart and the nervous twist in your gut.  You chalk it up to the crazy evening, to the even crazier week.  It is another reason to seek release, to ground yourself in your body and forget about everything else. 

You strip down, leaving the sweaty and bloody clothes in a heap.  The hot water is a balm.  You close your eyes, letting the simple pleasure wash over you. 

You rub a sore shoulder.  The muscle loosens under the heat of the water.  Your hand wanders, fingertips skimming your arm. 

You seldom picture a particular person when you touch yourself, hardly caring about the identity of your partner even when they are in front of you, but you cannot escape the vision of a dark pair of eyes.   

Your breath catches.  Your head tips back.  Your hand wanders across the curve of your chest, palm across each sensitive peak, sending pleasant sparks shooting downward.  Your hand follows that path, stopping just short of its destination when the door opens. 

You look over your shoulder.  The glass door has not fogged much so you see Chan in the doorway.  He looks as dishevelled as you left him.  Those dark eyes are slow in their wandering perusal down your body.  It feels like fireworks again, sparking everywhere he looks. 

You turn a little more.  He looks up.  His brow furrows like he is scrutinizing you, like maybe he doesn’t believe you.   You suppose you cannot blame him.  It is a forward offer to any man, never mind one who is probably unaccustomed to them. A  proposition he can accept or decline of his own free will, pleasure without contracts or compromises.  No wonder he looks wary, like you are going to disappear if he steps wrong. 

“Well?” you say, because you are not going anywhere.  “Are you just going to stand there?” 

He answers with a step.  He closes the door behind him.  Your eyes never leave each other, locked as he swiftly undoes his shirt and peels it off.  The undershirt follows, tugged over his head, messing some of his hair.  Then your gaze finally drops, an intimate heat rushing inside you as you look down his body.  A sheen of sweat covers most of his torso, several prominent scars cutting through an otherwise perfect body.   His muscles are even more prominent, strained from fighting. 

You are already thinking of all the places you want to put your mouth when he strips off his bottom layers.  For a man who was so lost in contemplation, he has no uncertainty now, striding up to where you wait. 

You face him fully as he steps into the shower.  The glass door closes.  It finally fogs with your combined heat.     

His presence overwhelms this small space, much like it did that first little civilian car.  It feels like he is everywhere.  Your eyes move all over his body, your breath coming faster.  He pushes a hand through his hair and you look up, breath catching when you meet his eyes. 

“No past,” you say, practically gasping.  “No future.  Just now.” 

“Just now,” he says.

You are so close together and so far apart, a breath away but not touching.  You are uncharacteristically hesitant. 

He is the one who closes the space, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger.  You feel that small touch everywhere, shuddering despite the hot water slipping down your body. 

He leans towards you. 

Your heart leaps right out of your chest.  You turn your face at the last second and try to sound playful when you say, “No kissing remember?” 

It was supposed to be a joke but you cling to it.  It must be the danger or adrenaline, maybe the heat or his eyes, but kissing feels far too intimate.   The rest is just exercise.  You tell yourself that. 

“You don’t like kissing?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.  “What do you like?”

“Bet you can’t guess,” you tease.  Banter is better than intimate gazing.  You want release, not more tension. 

“Hm,” Chan says.

He cups the back of your neck before weaving his hand through your hair, swift, smooth, smiling.  He tugs and your head follows, the line of your throat exposed and a mewl of a sound escaping. 

“Lucky guess,” you say, clearing your throat after that embarrassing sound. 

But then you make another one.  Those competent fingers find the curve of your breast and he wastes no time utterly tormenting the sensitive peak.   You have always been extra sensitive there, though you seldom take the time to linger, usually rushing to the next best thing.  You almost forgot how intense it feels, your whole body puppeted by the bolt of pleasure in his control. 

“Lucky guess,” he says, tugging your head back when you start to curl up.  “You like that?” he asks.  He takes your whimper for a reply, pinching a nipple meanly before sliding his hand down your body.   You rear up, eager as his fingers dip between your legs.  “And that?”

This time, your body answers for itself when he finds how wet you are.  You make an undignified squeak when your back touches the cold wall, the hot water cascading down his back.  He lets go of your hair and plants a hand above your head, his whole body crowding yours in a way that feels more protective than suffocating.  You would usually be tempted to push him away, but your whole body opens up to him.  You touch his chest and rock your hips, riding the deft strokes of his fingers.

“God, you’re so wet,” he murmurs, his face in your neck, his body against yours. 

“Yes,” you say.  You slide both hands down his chest, savour in his gasp when you find how hard he is.  You take him in hand, both of you working the other into a frenzy.  “Fuck me,” you say, your voice already a low mess.  “Chan, please.” 

The effect of his name is immediate.  He grabs you by the hips and lifts you like it is easy.  He pins you to the wall so there is no space between you anymore.  

You string your arms around his neck, stroking your fingers across his back as he angles you.

He is strong and his movements are effortless, but his groaning betrays a deeper desperation.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice breaking in your ear.  It makes you clench, getting tight around him as he pushes in.  It makes you both gasp, open-mouthed and needy as your bodies come together.  “Fuck.  Oh, fuck, you feel so good.  I’m not—”

He is barely coherent but you are in no position to judge, clinging to him with your eyes closed and mouth hanging open.  He bottoms out and immediately starts fucking you with no reprieve. 

“I’m not—” he says again.  “It’s—it’s been so long—I—”

“It’s fine,” you say, voice straining.  You hold the back of his head, your cheek against his, making all sorts of embarrassingly desperate sounds right into his ear.   “It’s fine,” you say.  “Just come.  I have an implant.  Want you to come like this.” 

A couple days ago, he was chasing you through a building, lifting you off your feet and pinning you down in a very different way.  His dark eyes felt inhuman, but now he is groaning and whimpering as he fucks you deep and steady, every snap of his hips as frantic as your racing heart.  Your wet bodies are pressed together and he is all hot skin and sturdy muscle, human, real, living and breathing as much as you.   They tried to make him into something that did not know how to want anything, but he wants you. 

That repeats in your head until you start murmuring it, “Want you, want you, want you.”

He comes with a groan and a deep stroke.  He holds you against the wall while the water continues to run down his back. 

With a sigh, you descend from the high of pleasure.  You breathe hard while he keeps you in place for a minute longer. 

“Sorry,” he suddenly says, panting as he surfaces. 

You wince with the separation, your knees shaking when he lowers you.  You hold his arms, fingers clasped tightly around his veiny forearms as you stare at him.  It takes a second for his word to register.

“Sorry?” you say on a breathless laugh.  “For what?” 

“That was, uh, fast,” he says, giggling that musical laugh, a very embarrassed sound.

You stroke your fingers up his bicep and across his shoulder, watch a shiver wrack his body even though he could not possibly be cold.  You meet his eyes.  They have not lost any hunger, devouring the sight of you.  He wets his lips, drag his teeth across the bottom one, and you start to feel delirious from the heat and sensations. 

“Trust me,” you say.  “That was hot.” 

His smile looks relieved.  He bumps his forehead to yours, his hands loose around your hips.  You rock towards him, encouraging the slow wander of his touch. 

“I get it,” you say, breathy, your knees shaking as he cups a handful of your ass and squeezes, then drags his palm to up the centre of your back.  “It, uh,” you stammer, eyes closing.  “It’s been a long time for me too.   A few months at least.”  Your last liaison was well before the debacle with the enemy.  It was a forgettable exchange. 

You do not think you will forget tonight. 

His hands curve around you like he is memorizing the shape of your body, the way your bare skin feels against his.  You are close, so it is obvious when he bristles at your words. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Nothing,” he says, far too casually, avoiding your eye as he reaches around you for some body soap from the dispenser.  He lathers his hands and touches you again, stroking his palm down your backside and around your waist. 

It almost distracts you.  Almost.  You look at him at with squinting eyes, smiling a small smile. 

“What?” you say again.  “You sound a bit jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, too defensively. 

“Oh, really?” you say. 

He cups some water in his hand and runs it over you.  His eyes lift from his task to meet yours.

Maybe teasing was a mistake.  A flash of something dangerous sparkles behind his smile. 

“Really,” he says.  He turns off the water with a flick of his wrist.  “I have nothing to be jealous about.” 

It should stop surprising you, but you yelp when he sweeps you into his arms.  You hook your legs around his waist, your arms his neck, holding tight while he carries you to the bedroom. 

You are wet and the air is cold, but then a mattress dips beneath you and a bundle of bedsheets surround you.  He lays you out, deliberate and measured, very different from his slow tenderness the other night. 

“Quick question,” he says.  He runs both hands through his wet hair, pushing it back.  You look up at where he stands, your eyes wandering every plane of his body. 

“Yes?” you ask. 

He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed, all while dropping to his knees.  When your legs are over his shoulders and his breath is soft between your legs, he asks, “Does this count as kissing?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, his mouth interrupting any coherent thought of yours. 

A part of you thinks you should conserve your energy, but then his tongue is swirling over you and nothing else matters.  Your hands cover your breasts, touching yourself in time with him.  You let yourself enjoy your own body and help him find his way back to his.

By the time you get to sleep, you are both thoroughly worn out.  Chan falls asleep first for once, all but passing out beside you.  You are sharing a bed because the other sheets are wet and used. 

You look at him through sleepy eyes.  You touch his cheek, amazed when you think of how much things changed in just a few days.  If you were told a week ago that the First Guard would be in your bed like this, you would have laughed.  

If someone tried to tell you he had dimples and warm eyes, that he would sigh your name like it was the breath that kept him living, you are not sure what you have said. 

You drift into sleep.  You see his face in your dreams, still peaceful and slumbering beside you until that dream becomes a nightmare.  His eyes snap open.  In this sleeping world, it is not the warm gaze you have come to know so well.  An emotionless weapon stares back at you.

There is no time to fight before his hand is around your throat and all the air leaves your body. 

You feel cold, unbelievably cold.  

You hear a voice.  It says, “Stop.  Stop!”  You swear it sounds like Chan.

Your vision blurs.    

You blink, blink, blink.  Your eyes open underwater.  When you scream, it is suffused in the rushing cold, air bubbling past your lips and fading into darkness.   You thrash to no avail, throwing your head back and closing your eyes. 

They open again.  There are wooden beams high, high above your head.  You still can’t breathe, your chest heaving with desperation, and you can’t feel your body.  Why can’t you feel anything?

“Hey, it’s me! I’m coming!”  Your blurry gaze darts around for the voice.  Grey smoke slithers around the wooden beams.  It takes a long time for a face to emerge in the fog. 

Changbin leans over you, younger, thinner, a cut on his head bleeding profusely.   

“Go,” you say, because he’s hurt and he needs to go now or he will never escape.   You want to tell him what’s coming, tell him he needs to run, but he shakes his head before you can. 

“I’m not leaving here without you.” 

The weight leaves your chest all at once.  Air rushes into your lungs and fills you like a cloud.  You feel as though you are flying.  When you open your eyes, you are sitting on a park bench.  You have never seen this park before, blossoming in green and gold with summertime sunshine.  The edge of your periphery blurs, obscuring shapes and bodies into glowing phantoms.  Only one face is clear.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Changbin shouts.  He runs across the field towards you.  He is young, barely more than a child, but he curses like an old man when he reaches you.

“Fine, fine!”  He throws his hands in the air.  “You’re right, you’re faster.  But I’m still stronger.  Watch this, princess—”  

He tackles you.  You hear his laughter and your own, a youthful sound, twinkling with childish delight.  You roll across the grass in a giggling frenzy.  

The greenery darkens as you roll away.  The park changes.  When you look up, the trees are a mosaic of red and orange.  Leaves drift on the autumn breeze. 

“Do you ever think about what else you could do with your life?” Changbin asks.   

You look at him.  He is older, not a teenager but not fully grown.  His face is still gawky with youth, his muscles growing in.  He is staring up at the sky. 

“No,” you hear yourself say. 

He laughs but without much humour.  His eyes close and he sighs, nodding. 

“Ah, yeah,” he says.  “I thought you might say that today.” 

You turn your face to the trees as a leaf flutters towards you.  It touches your forehead and sends a painful jolt rampaging through your body.  You blink, blink, blink, up at the doctor and their syringe.  They say you did well but you don’t feel well, your insides churning like every organ is folding itself inside out. 

The doctor steps aside and you meet eyes with another child across the room.  Changbin is holding his arm and rocking back and forth.  He is the only one not crying. 

You cross the room.  It was brimming with screaming children but now it’s empty. 

“It’s okay,” you hear your voice.  You see your small hand reach out, touching Changbin on the forehead where he contorts with pain in his small cot.  “You can cry,” you say.  “I won’t tell anyone.” 

In another blink, he is older, a teenager again, crying and curled up in his bunk. 

“Changbin,” you hear yourself say.

“I’m fine,” he snaps. 

“You’re not,” your voice says.  “None of us are.”  You see your hand on his shoulder.  “It’s okay. You’re not alone.  You’ve never been alone.”

“You’re going to get hurt.  And then what?”

“Then I’ll get hurt,” you hear yourself reply, speaking with more certainty than you ever remember feeling.  “You’re my friend, Changbin.  I don’t mind if something happens to me.  I don’t care if it hurts, because I won’t be doing it for Miroh.  I’m doing it for you.” 

You look down at his hand when he reaches for yours. When you look back up, he is grown, sitting on a windowsill in the moonlight with a small scar on his cheek. 

“I didn’t bleed for Miroh,” he says.  

You blink.  The wooden beams are high above you, his bloodied face full of concern. 

“I’m your soldier, not his.” 

The weight slams back into your chest.  All the air goes out of you.  You are falling, endlessly falling, all the way down to where there is nothing but cold.  The walls close around you.  You feel the stone under your palm.  You suck in a breath of cold air only to choke on water.  There is a light above your head and voices, screaming.  You twist and kick like a wild thing.

You get closer to the surface.  You hear Chan say, “Stop, stop—”

Then you wake in your shared bed.  His voice echoes in the waking world.

You realize that is because Chan is talking in his sleep.  He keeps repeating, “Stop, stop.” 

You shake off the last dredges of sleep. It is not easy, your heart still skipping beats from the rapid-fire scenes.

Chan is on his back, his chest rising and falling, fast asleep but clearly in the throes of a nightmare.  You are not sure how to help.  You chance a tentative touch, saying his name as you brush his shoulder.

He wakes with a start, his eyes flying open.  You see the flicker of panic as he forgets where he is, still half-lost in his nightmare. 

Chan is much faster than you.  It takes only seconds for his instincts to commandeer control, then you are the one on your back and he is leaning over you.  Fortunately, he does not swing his arms around like you.  His manoeuvre gives him the advantage but he doesn’t hurt you, other than leaving you a little startled and winded. 

“Chan,” you say.  “It’s me.  It’s fine.  It was just a dream.” 

He blinks away the vestiges of sleep.  You see the moment he recognizes you, the tension that immediately leaves his shoulders.

You are surprised yet again when he abruptly drops his weight, practically smothering you as he cages you in his arms.  You put your arms around him, patting his back until his breathing slows to a normal cadence.  

He eventually rolls back over, but he hooks his arms around your middle and drags you close.  A part of you wants to balk, scared this is too intimate, but your own heart settles in the quiet comfort of his embrace.  You let yourself rest, falling asleep to the gentle rhythm of his breathing. 

-

There are two nearby research facilities.  It is a toss-up between the smaller, closer one or the bigger, farther one.  You opt for the closer base, figuring a smaller facility would be easy to incapacitate quickly.   You and Chan have knowledge about Miroh’s operation that no one in the world can match.  You are the only ones who can do what you are doing, so they never see you coming.   

You dismantle the base but Changbin is not there.  The only place you see your friend is in your dreams, emerging from smoke and disappearing as fast, leaving you with his promises and your guilt. 

It is so strange why your mind keeps summoning that same vision.   It smashed through something in your mind, cracked it somehow, and now it can’t relinquish it. 

It is strange what a stressed mind can conjure and invent.  Even stranger is its inability to let go.   These days, all your thoughts and feelings slip through your mind like water in a sieve, everything flowing too fast to catch despite the desperate cup of your hands.  But that image and his voice returns again and again and again. 

The only satisfaction you get is watching pieces of Miroh’s operation crumble.  You watch the news, keep up with the business reports, and watch as a domino effect transpires thanks to your actions. 

It does mean security is going to tighten at the remain bases, but you are ready. 

You move on to the next facility, even more determined.  For a moment, this seems like the place.  You find other enemies and subject imprisoned in the lower level cells, but Changbin is not one of them. 

Chan escorts the innocent captives out while you search the remainder of the facility.  It is empty, an echoing steel chamber and little more.  You want to shout his name but you already know the only answer will be the reverberation of your own voice. 

You search every crevice, just in case. 

Your attention is rapt until you run past a certain door.  At first, you merely glance inside.  When you see it is empty, you turn to continue. 

It’s like a tether wraps around your mind.  You slam to a halt, the squeak of your boots echoing in the corridor.

You turn back around.  You step into the chamber. 

Every hair on the back of your neck stands up.  You swear, the temperature drops by a few degrees as you step further inside.  If you didn’t know any better, you would almost believe it was haunted, not like in stories of decrepit mansions, but filled with empty figments still crying out in pain.  The room is rife with an unsettling chill, dank as a tomb.

You walk slowly.  You feel like the echo is louder here despite your careful steps.  You look around.  There is lots of wiring, lots of sockets.  There are dusty shapes on the floor where things used to stand, types of furniture maybe, or machines. 

There is a dip in the corner, what looks like a well.   You approach it cautiously, craning your neck to peer down without getting too close.  It is dry as bone but deep.  You can’t see the bottom.  Heights don’t usually bother you, but you feel suffocated with a cloying fear.   Your feet tingle as you imagine falling.  You know it must have a bottom but somehow you feel like it would never end.

You realize footsteps are approaching, fast down the corridor then slow as they enter the room.  You put a hand on the gun at your hip, turning quickly. 

It’s just Chan.  You are about to speak, or at least try looking for works, but you are stricken by the look on his face.  Even though he was fiery when you last saw him, he looks very gaunt, flushed pale as he looks around the room.  He is not merely unsettled like you.  He looks sick. 

You immediately know where you are.  This was the room they used to torture him. 

“You know this place,” you say, not a question.  You remember all those torture descriptions.  They have haunted your nightmares, all those images so vivid that you imagined them happening to yourself.  If it was horrifying just reading it, you can only imagine how he feels right now. 

He nods.  It takes a few tries to clear his throat.  “Yes,” he says weakly.  He looks between you and the well as if he half-expects it to grow teeth and attack you. 

He shakes his head.  He crosses the room in a sharp stride, so swift that it takes you back.  He grabs your arm and yanks you towards him.

“Get away from there,” he says, his voice hard.  “There’s nothing in here.  We need to go.  Now.” 

You have no argument but he waits for no reply, practically dragging you out of the room.  He leads you back into the corridor, taking huge strides.  His grip tightens.   

“Another second and that will hurt,” you say, more calm than you feel.  His energy is so panicked that it bleeds into you. 

He drops your arm quickly, snapping to realization.  He flexes his gloved hand. 

“Sorry,” he says.  He turns on his heel with a swivel so fast that you collide.  He catches your shoulders and holds them, looking at you without really seeing you, his stare so intense it bores right through you.  “Sorry,” he says again.  His voice is shaking when he says, “Fuck.  I’m sorry.  I just—”

“It’s fine,” you say, understanding how overwhelming that must have been.  There are tears in his eyes but he rips away before you can look too closely.

“It’s fine,” he says, his voice hard again. “There’s no one else here.  It’s time to go.  This place…”  He spares one last glance over your shoulder.  “This place is over.  It’s time to go.” 

You leave together.

-

You take a day for recuperation while you plan you next move.  Neither of you slept very well last night, but at least there were no nightmares.  You take turns driving, occasionally sleeping in the passenger seat. 

You reach the next motel at sunset.  The room only has one bed which draws Chan to a halt.  He blinks at it like he doesn’t understand, then his ears get red, then he looks at you. 

A laugh bursts out of you.  You try to contain it but it’s hopeless.  Chan smiles then laughs too, shaking his head and rubbing his neck. 

“Sorry,” you say.  “Just – you don’t think it’s a little late to be blushing like that? Mister Does This Count As Kissing?” 

“Wow,” Chan says, playfully throwing his hands up in surrender.  “Sorry for being a gentleman.” 

“You’re forgiven,” you say, making him smile. 

You eat dinner on the bed then place all the containers to the side.  Chan watches the news while you scribble memos in your notebook.  You are trying to connect dots and figure out which facility is most likely.  You go back to your original notes, obtained from the first research facility, to see if you missed anything.  

You fall asleep while working.  The week’s travails evidently catch up to you. 

You stir when Chan tries to move you.  You are awkwardly slumped over your notes.  You watch as he carefully places them aside and tries to lay you down properly. 

The sun has long since set by now.  The room is lit by the glow of the television and the warm neon light from the motel sign, such a vibrant yellow it pours through the curtains.   

You look up at Chan, squinting because of the slash of light in your eyes.  He tilts his head to shield you. 

“Better?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you say.  “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.” 

He doesn’t move.  Neither do you.   You are on your back and he is on his side, propped up on his arm and looking down at you.  You offer a little smile which draws his eyes to your mouth. 

Your breath catches and, just like that, something ignites inside you.  You see it reflected back at you, all his thoughts in the depth of his gaze. 

You are not sure who moves first.  It might happen simultaneously.  It only takes a second before your fingers are in his hair and his hands are on your waist.  He climbs over you, his mouth brushing your jaw and your throat without ever landing a kiss.  You shiver as his breath caresses your skin. 

You had no idea so many small places were so sensitive.  Even the back of your calf tingles when his leg brushes yours.

You move in tandem, with the same synchronisation as when you fought together.  Your bodies are a good fit, shaped by similar lives, bearing similar scars.  You tug the flannel down his shoulders and sit to remove your own shirt.   When you are completely bare up top, he lays you down.  Your hips lift towards him, needing him, legs parting as he presses his weight just so.  He guides your leg over his hip and fits himself against the softest parts of you.  

He presses a hand into the mattress, right by your head.  You tip your head back and grind up against him.

“Chan,” you say. 

His mouth hovers above your breasts and you grab his head and pull him close.  He takes the offer and parts his lips around the hardening sensitive peak, twisting his tongue around it until you are writhing under him. 

“Oh god,” you say, tugging desperately at his t-shirt.   You normally don’t care about fully undressing, but you need to feel him.  You want his heart beating against yours, his skin hot against your own.  “Please,” you say, not even embarrassed when it turns to a whimper. 

He makes a small noise, acknowledging you, but continues to lave kisses and bites across your breasts, teasing until they are almost sore with pleasure.   Only when you are a mindless puddle of desire does he sit up and whip his shirt off.  It flies across the room, forgotten.  You both unbutton your jeans and shuffle them down.   The few seconds you are apart are agony.

When he lays back on top of you, it is with no barriers.  He holds your hand and laces your fingers with his, pressing it into the mattress as he spreads your legs with his own. 

“You feel so—” he says, sentiment ending in a sigh.  No other word suffices.  

Your whole body feels alight.  His thumb find the centre of your pleasure, rubbing at you while he sinks inside you.  He is somehow both gentle and powerful, holding you at the best angle as he takes you.  You are used to fast and dirty and this slow tenderness aches with a burn so good, you never want it to end. 

“Chan,” you say his name on a breath.  He releases your hand so you can put your arms around his shoulders, holding him as he rocks into you with rolling, deep strokes. 

His face is so close.  Your mouth is aching with the rest of you.  His lips felt so good everywhere else.  The delirium of desire takes over and you decide, fuck it.  You have done this much, changed this much; you can be brave and accept more intimacy.   It’s just a kiss.  There’s nothing life-changing about a kiss. 

You lean up to kiss him but you are too fast, too frantic with nerves.  It lands awkwardly on the corner of his mouth.  Then you feel embarrassed.  You shake your head. 

“Sorry,” you say.  “Sorry, I was just—”

Chan is frozen on top of you.  He stares while you stammer an apology. 

Then his nose brushes yours.  You feel his breath against your lips.  You stop talking.  Your heart thunders. 

“I told you,” he whispers, “stop apologizing.” 

Then his lips are on yours.  Your eyes close as you follow the give-and-take of his kiss.  Your lips part and his tongue touches your top lip, then he sucks your bottom lip and moans against your open mouth.   You clench around him, moaning back.  His hips move again and you cling to him.  The kisses start small and grow to desperate, open-mouthed passion.  Coupled with his deep strokes, getting faster and faster, you feel like you are flying. 

Oh, is all you think, this is what this is supposed to feel like. 

You come first, the orgasm taking you by surprise.  It was steadily building at a small pace before all at once striking.  You cry out, burying your fingers in his hair as you rock against him.  He finishes only seconds later, groaning your name in the curve of your neck then sucking a bruising kiss right there. 

You hold him after, your fingers stroking down the nape of his neck, your legs wrapped around him.  It feels like years before your heart comes back to a normal pace.  Your breathing still comes shaky, but so does his.  His strong arms seem suddenly weak as he pushes himself up with a quiver. 

You separate.  You try to find the words but you mind still feels like water.

You are so floaty, it takes a second to realize something is wrong.  Chan is crying, or about to, sniffling hard and scrunching his face to stop it. 

“Chan—”

Alarmed, you reach for him, but he moves before your hand makes contact.  He gets up and wordlessly puts on his jeans and a flannel, buttoning it askew.   You grab your shirt as well, tugging it on frantically to keep up. 

“Chan,” you say again.  “What’s wrong?  Did I—”

“It wasn’t you,” he says, but he won’t look at you.  He sits on a chair and starts putting on his boots.  That’s when you really panic, jumping out of bed and looking for your own pants.  “Stay,” he says.  “It’s fine.  It’s not you.  It’s me.”

“It’s not you, it’s me?” you ask.  “Seriously?”

“It’s my fault,” he says.  “You said right now and that you were fine without the past or the future and I thought – I thought I could – but –”

He grabs his baseball cap and tugs it on.  You say his name again, reaching for his sleeve as he walks past, but he does not break stride for a second.   

You can’t exactly chase after him half-naked.  You know he will be long gone by the time you get dressed.  You can only stand there in shock and confusion as the door closes and he disappears. 

You sniffle.  You shake your head, refusing to cry, not after everything. 

Your body does not listen to your head, unsurprisingly, and you end up sputtering through messy tears while putting on some clothes.  You wipe your eyes, fighting an upward battle against your hormones as all those happy, pleasurable feelings melt into something ugly. 

Chan returns almost an hour later.  By that point, you have passed through several different emotions.  You were worried, of course, then you were sad.  Now you are irate.  You were left to stew in anxiety, sitting on edge.  For a while you wondered if he was coming back at all, which set off more tears. 

You are certain your face is puffy and your eyes are red.  Chan looks at you with a guilty expression but says nothing.

“Well?” you say, but he just stares at you.  You are sitting on the edge of the bed while he stands a few feet away.  “Great,” you say, smacking the bedcovers.   “Fucking fantastic.  We’re back to the silence, I guess?” 

“I know,” he says.  “Sorry.” 

You wait for more but that non-committal reply is all you get. 

 “You told me that you trusted me,” you say, mortified when your voice breaks.  “You said that one day it would be my turn to help you, but every time you start to feel something you hide it or turn away or say you’re fine or run out the fucking door with no explanation!”  You stand up to put more space between you, marching to other side of the room.   You wipe your eyes.   “You know, I feel like I don’t even know who I’m talking to half the time.”  

“I’m always me,” he says.

“And who is that?” you ask.  “From the start, you’ve basically asked me to blindly trust you.  One second you’re this terrifying agent who does everything my father asks, and the next you’re just standing there letting me kill him.  I haven’t demanded explanations.  You said it was just your mission and I accepted that, even though I knew it was bullshit.  I know this is about more than jobs or missions and I – I – I’m sorry everything’s all fucked up.  But we’re all we have right now.”  Your voice breaks again and you choke back a sob.  “You can’t ask me to trust you then push me away.  You can’t say you trust me but never let me in.  I’m terrified out here.  We’re doing something insane and I can’t have the person I’m relying on the most shove me away.  I want to be on your side.  Chan, I want – I want so badly –”

He takes a breath but stays silent.  His gaze is heavy. 

“Please, don’t look at me like that,” you say.  “I know you’re not what Miroh tried to make you.  I know what they did to you.  I know it was terrible.   But I’m not afraid of you and I’m not judging you.  I want to know you.  I need to know you.  I know you can remember some things.  I know it’s causing you pain.  If I could understand—”

“I remember everything,” he says. 

You are not expecting an interjection.  It takes a second to comprehend. 

“What?” you say. 

“I said I remember everything,” he says.  He looks at you as he slowly approaches.  “There isn’t a single moment of my life that I’ve forgotten for even a second.”

He stops a foot from you.  This close, you can see he has been crying too.  Even through your frustration, you want to touch him.  You are so bad at comfort, receiving and giving, but your fingers itch to smooth his brow and cup his jaw. 

You curl your fingers at your side. 

“Everyday,” he says.  “Every single day I think of my mistakes and what it cost.  I haven’t forgotten anything.” 

“What do you mean?”  Your adrenaline is starting to spike.  “There was a reconfiguration program.  I know about it.  That’s how it happened.”  You know about the torture.  You can see the light at the top of the well and feel the cold in the bottom of the Cell.  You know about it.  You can picture it.  You saw that place yesterday. 

You know.  You know.  You know.    

Your chest starts to tighten with panic. 

“You did all of Miroh’s work willingly,” you continue.  

“Yes, I did,” he says.  “But it wasn’t willingly.” 

“Because they tortured you.” 

“In a way.”  He sucks back a breath.  “I thought I was smart.  I thought I could beat Miroh.  I almost did, but then everything—”

A memory from a dream: a flash of grey smoke. 

“It went wrong,” he says with a resigned sigh.  “I was punished.  That’s true.  But I didn’t care what they did to me and Miroh knew that.  So he took someone else.  Someone I cared about.  And when it was all done, I was given a choice.”  His voice breaks on the word choice, the whole phrase utterly dryly.  “And it wasn’t really a choice,” he says.  “I could walk away.  He wasn’t even going to try and stop me.  But Miroh wanted a soldier.   He said all the blood on his hands was going somewhere one way or another – and he said it could be on mine or hers.” 

You are not sure if you are breathing anymore. 

“The things they did to her – the things they made me watch.”  He presses a hand to his forehead as he takes another breath.  “She was a good fighter, but she wasn’t a killer.  It never mattered what they did to her, she always knew who she was.  She knew whose side she was on. She wanted to help people, not hurt them. I couldn’t let her become that thing.  If she ever – if she ever came back to me—”  He swallows.  “I couldn’t let it be her.  I couldn’t let her have all that blood on her conscious.  I’d already failed her.  Again and again, I let her down. I couldn’t do it again.  I told Miroh I’d take her place willingly.  I’d do anything he asked so she wouldn’t have to get her hands dirty.  She could come back one day and… and…”

“What are you talking about,” you say.  You fumble towards the bed and drop down heavily. 

Chan looks at you.  That silent conversation. 

You already know what he is going to say. 

“Miroh only put one soldier through a reconfiguration program,” he says.  “And it wasn’t me.  It was you.”    

[weebsinstash]

I want yandere Alastor being the biggest fucking hypocrite on the block and getting painfully humbled by reality so fucking bad you don't understand

I want a story where you stumble into becoming his friend with benefits, become the person who gets him interested in sex as a physical activity, and then one day you ask him "hey, what are we?" And his response being ABSOLUTELY RUDE AS HELL, albeit unintentionally, and you immediately cut him off from sex because his reply was basically the equivalent of "you're fun to sleep with, but the rest of you? No :)" (and also maybe he didn't even fully mean it, maybe he only partially meant it but he can tell he's forming some kind of new emotion for you and he doesn't want that to become a point of weakness for him so he's pushing you away but once you're actually gone he wants you back more than ANYTHING--)

I want yandere Alastor who laughs in your face if you nervously ask him if you're his girlfriend or something but then when you show up around town with another man less than a week later and he sees how easily you REPLACED HIM, he's just absolutely losing his mind. What do you MEAN you were still sleeping with other men this whole time?!?! The Radio Demon was getting SLOPPY SECONDS??? WHY would you let these-these disgusting bastards DEGRADE YOU-- meanwhile you and him could've been having like hardcore bdsm sex with actual degradation or some semi respectful form of it and he's STILL over here "B B BUT THESE MEN PROBABLY DONT EVEN RESPECT YOU--" and neither did you, you laughed in my fucking face you bitch!!!

yandere Alastor just having to sit and have a fulllll glass of whiskey and ruminate on his thoughts as he tries to come to terms with these sudden EXTREMELY POSSESSIVE feelings and urges he has. What do you MEAN he wasn't providing anything for you that you couldn't get somewhere else AND BETTER AND ALREADY HAVE BEEN? what do you MEAN you're making gifts for and going out and having actual fun dates with some of these men? What do you fucking MEAN YOU'RE 'ROMANTICALLY INVOLVED WITH SOMEONE ELSE NOW' AND WOULDN'T SLEEP WITH ALASTOR EVEN IF HE APOLOGIZED BECAUSE YOU REALLY LIKE THIS GUY--

Alastor hardcore coping, trying not to think about you at all, telling himself he just needs time and this'll all blow over and he wont even think about you anymore, and eventually finds his feet carrying him to your favorite jazz club that he would take you to, AND YOU'RE ALREADY THERE WITH ANOTHER MAN. Now THIS is what causes Alastor to finally have a public episode. No, some RANDO can't come with you HERE, this is YOUR place, OUR place, it's special, it's for Alastor and you ONLY!! basically turns him into a little kid stomping his foot going no no no that's MINE!!!

This narcissistic ass man really ain't shit, over here responding to your actually extremely valid question of "what are we?" because you were actually trying to respectfully ask him if there were any certain boundaries or if you were now exclusive, and he hits you with some deflective dehumanizing diversion like "what makes you think I would have THOSE kinds of feelings about YOU?" until he's painfully aware you're sleeping with another man, kissing another man, making hot meals for another man, holding his hand tenderly as you take a leisurely stroll, GOD FORBID HE CATCHES WIND OF ANY MARRIAGE TALK, HE WILL FUCKING L O S E IT

Juat the idea of him being so close to having what he wants - your body, heart, AND mind- and he fucks it up big time and ruins your relationship and self esteem so badly. He tries to pretend that he doesn't need your attention and/or affection but the second he doesn't have EITHER, he's a jealous mess trying to literally one-up whomever you're with, show off, impress you, usually digging his hole even deeper. Alastor becoming more unpredictable over time, literally losing sleep over you, absolutely CONVINCED 500% that all of these, shall we say, "more modern men" that you're choosing are not even worth the dirt in the treads of your shoes.

Just twirling my hair kicking my feet thinking bout yandere Alastor, becoming dead-set on genuinely and fully believing he has to save you not just from these men, but also yourself. Oh honey, he's so sorry, CLEARLY this is his fault for not watching over you better. He already knew you were... delicate and naive, but here you are, running around letting these men treat you like some kind of object just because you need what you perceive as acceptance and validation. It almost breaks his heart, truly, but don't worry darlin'! He's a southern gentleman and, SURELY he can turn up the charm and make it clear to you that you MISUNDERSTOOD HIM, right? :) You're going to GIVE HIM ANOTHER CHANCE, right? :)

genuinely, i feel like this man is more likely to try and gaslight you into believing you completely misinterpreted what he said instead of just apologizing let alone ADMITTING that he himself didn't communicate jack shit about shit, wasn't honest or up front about his feelings, and may have even be intentionally cruel to you in a moment of weakness to try and keep his own insecurities at bay, but then is fully capable of convincing, some may even say BRAINWASHING you into believing, oh sweetie, if these DEGENERATE DELIQUENTS somehow convinced you that your best friend and future husband is somehow your enemy, then, CLEARLY he hasn't been keeping you close enough to properly care for you and help you keep a clear head, has he? guess it's a good thing both of you are Sinners and he has NOTHING but time to show you EXACTLY what his intentions are. So, dear doe, which do you like the sound of more: a spring wedding, or a summer wedding, or maaaaaybe you two could even get hitched during some lovely acid rain so your new spouse can demonically laugh at all your screaming "gentleman callers" captive in the wedding audience who "accidentally" weren't put under any gazebos or any sort of protection while being forced to watch Alastor take you away--

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Nov 18th

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1. hi !! this is for itmf for post canon fics that explore lan sizhui and wwx's relationship :D maybe some hurt/comfort or angst with happy ending! thanks for ur hardwork!! <3

🔒remember the moments when we were together by RoseThorne (T, 2k, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Memories, Depressio, nImplied/Referenced Suicide, wwx needs a hug, Regret, Self-Esteem Issues, Loneliness, Crying, Hugs, Truth, Post-Canon, PTSD, Father-Son Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, CQL-centric, POV LSZ)

🔒 Not Yet (There As Needed) by sunrise_and_death (T, 13k, LSZ & WWX, JL & WWX, JL & LSZ, WangXian, Post-Canon, Family Feels, Family Bonding, POV LSZ, This Fic Has Everything, even more yearning, WWX & LSZ figuring out wtf their relationship is, Dramatic Revelations)

the place your heart inhabits by Fleetling (T, 8k, WangXian, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon Fix-It, Father Figures, father-son bonding, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Humor, Oblivious WWX, Pining WWX, WWX-centric, Good Kid LSZ, Adopted LSZ, Wingman LSZ, LSZ is LWJ & WWX's Child, Good LSZ, Quote: Come Back to Gusu With Me, WWX goes back to gusu, resentful energy, Golden Core, wwx has both and it's a struggle, Unreliable Narrator)

your name, safe in their mouth by astrolesbian (G, 10k, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, Father-Son Relationship, Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, More aligned with CQL than novel canon, Miscommunication, Eventual Positive Communication, Trying to be a family, how to tell your dad you want him to be your dad in 6 easy steps!)

Wei Wuxian's Delightful Demon Baby! by CheekyBrunette (T, 22k, WangXian, Case Fic, Accidental Baby Acquisition, POV LSZ, LSZ-centric, LSZ Needs a HugJealousy, Family Feels, Family Bonding, no babies are harmed in the making of this mystery, you are never too old to want parents who love you!, LSZ just wants to see his parents get together, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Canon Universe)

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2. I’m in the mood for a fic where other people are gender-bent besides Wangxian. Thank you! @ahatfullofwords

you will never need another lover by pennydaniels (E, 44k, JFM/YZY, Gender Changes, Female JFM, Male YZY, Canon Divergence, character exploration, the struggles of an arranged marriage, Falling In Love, warning for abortion, YZY-centric) Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan are gender swapped

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3. Hiya, I am in mood for fics with bondage! Prefer wangxian but won't mind NHS/Ch, 3zun, JYL/Ch or SL/XXC. Please no non-con/rape, hitting or slapping or any kind of impact play(?), and no pain play, thank you!

What happens at craft night by rheawrites (E, 4k, WWX/WQ, Always a girl WWX, Rule 63, Kink Discovery, Shibari, Rope Bondage, Under-negotiated Kink, Friends With Benefits, Fibre Arts, Modern, Fluff and Smut)

Rope Bunny by Khashana (E, 2k, WangXian, Rope Bondage, BDSM, Rope Group, wangxian shipper JYL, Kink Negotiation, Subspace, Coming Untouched, Remix sort of, Rule 63, Always a Different Sex, Modern)

~*~

4. Hello! The other day I read a ff in which wwx was married to lwj and lxc also had a spouse (meng yao iirc) and lxc's spouse was everyone's favorite and wwx was kind of ignored and treated badly, I was hoping for more fanfics similar to this with the difference that I want it to be treated as something that isn't fair by both the characters and the narrative, like wwx is always treated badly by most adults in his life and how sad/disappointing it is that this doesn't change in the Lan clan

~*~

5. Hi! Could you find/recommend fanfics for me?

A) where wei wuxian suffers flesh trauma from eating corpses/humans in the burial mounds

B) one of dark lan wangji, but where he doesn't try anything with wei wuxian, he likes him, but doesn't try to do him any harm

thanks to any soul who can help me @quwieiidkd

5A)

my eyes got used to the darkness by curiositykilled (M, 4k, JC & WWX, JC & WWX & JYL, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Body Horror, Implied Cannibalism, Dehumanization, Sunshot Campaign, YLLZ WWX, Demonic Cultivation, PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Ghosts, Disordered Eating, Referenced Animal Abuse, 🔒 [Podfic] my eyes got used to the darkness by flamingwell) assuming the requester is asking for WWX suffering PTSD from being forced into cannibalism in the Burial Mounds, this one fits the bill

A Corruption of Comfort by BegrudginglyTumbling (SarcasticSmiler) (M, 1k, WangXian, JYL & WWX, Eating Disorders, Vomiting, Cannibalism, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst)

Lakes of wine and forests of meat by androktasia (M, 1k, WangXian, Cannibalism, Aftermath of Cannibalism, WWX's Burial Mounds trauma, Post-Canon, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Non-Linear Narrative, art included, Image description in the alt text) with more in depth exploration of WWX's eating experiences and problems and some scenes of those experiences, before and including BM

💖 the absence of hunger by parsnipit (M, 27k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Starvation, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Body Worship, Praise Kink, ft. WWX’s really fucked up relationship with food, PTSD, Flashbacks, Blood and Injury, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Cannibalism) WY has an explicit nightmare about BM but the work is mostly about PTSD, not exactly a straight-up reaction to eating smth)

🔒 the aftertaste of desperation by moonshine (princemin) (M, 4k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Nightmares, Cannibalism, Corpse Eating, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Trauma, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, welcome to my agenda: let wwx have a breakdown, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note) a little bit, but also mostly about problems with food in general with thoughts about BM

The most dangerous thing is to love by KatAnni (E, 113k, WangXian, Golden Core Reveal, Fix-It, Everybody Lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Hurt!WWX, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Panic Attacks, PTSD, Golden Core Transfer, Golden Core Transfer Fix-it, Medical Procedures, Fainting, Major Character Injury, Blood and Injury, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Asexual JC, homophobia doesn’t exist here, Marriage Proposal, Marriage, Wedding Night, Whump) Don't pay attention to the rating of the fic, that only comes into play in basically the last chapter I believe.(it's been a bit since I fully read through this one) But be warned, he does try to hide his meat trauma so it's not prevalent for a while, and it's not the focus of the fic

Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal) Fair warning this does have the E scene in the first chapter before they're traumatized. But after WWX gets out of the BMs it is more prevalent that meat physically disgusts him now. But again not the focus of the fic, and it would do you well to /read the tags/ on this one. Both of them take place during and slightly after the sunshot campaign

5B)

A Matter of Time series by mrcformoso (E, 84k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, graphic depictions of violence, underage, LWJ pov, JC pov, dark LWJ, manipulation, grooming, teen body adult mind for LWJ, happy ending for wangxian, problematic consensual underage sex, blood & violence, insane LWJ, manic LWJ)

🔒Something is wrong with A-Zhan! by HeloSoph (M, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Sort Of, Dark LWJ, Morally Gray WWX, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiangs, WWX is a Lan, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, JC Bashing, Smitten LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Engaged WangXian, Blood and Violence, a lot of people die, LQR Metaphorically Qi-Deviates, because of, Shameless LWJ, LQR Tries, to fit into the following tag, Good Uncle LQR, Semi-Public Sex, or at least wangxian's version of it, Scheming NHS, POV NHS)

Like stones on an unseen board by Vir_Abelasan (Not rated, 11k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Dark LWJ, Older LWJ, Teacher LWJ, dark twin jades, Age Difference, Manipulation, Protective LWJ, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Relatively canon-typical abusive Jiangs, WWX Get a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Not Jiang Clan Friendly)

Do not take that which does not belong to you by Selene210 (E, 7k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, dark LWJ, YLLZ WWX, Canon Divergence, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Jealous LWJ, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Kidnapping, Murder, Blood and Violence, WangXian married and have a son, Explicit Sexual Content, Biting, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Bath Sex, Rimming, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, WWX has an angry LWJ kink, WWX Has a Breeding Kink, Wangxian canon breeding kink, LWJ’s canon massive dick)

💖 Somewhere Sits an Empty Throne by Siamesa (E, 19k, WangXian, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, tgcf fusion, Gods & Goddesses, Ghosts, Romance, vengeance, Dark LWJ, Grief/Mourning, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst with a Happy Ending)

Gold Blood Eyes by Loveable_Psychopath (T, 72k, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Except the bad people, Dark LWJ, i guess?, He gets cursed and becomes a demonic cultivator, Established WangXian, Secret Relationship, Sentient Burial Mounds, Demonic Cultivation, Golden Core Reveal, Found Family, Character Study, Character Bashing, Implied/Referenced Child AbuseImplied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mental Health Issues, Communication, but also miscommunication, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, YZY Bashing, JFM Bashing)

~*~

6. I'm in the mood for any and all (if possible longer, multichaptered, complete) fics where

a) Wei Wuxian was taken in by Baoshan Sanren or

b) taken in by another 3rd party that is not the Jiangs or

c) grew up with his parents and they are alive

@corvinsart

6A)

Become Tomorrow by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 39k, wangxian, BSSR/LY, Alternate Universe, a story full of tragic pining gays, and one chaotic gremlin, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WWX is BSSR’s disciple)

Going on charmingly by scribbet (T, 21k, WangXian, Teenage LWJ, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WWX is BSSR’s Disciple, Genius WWX, Petty LWJ, Meddling LXC, What if LWJ didn’t have an excuse to instantly write WWX off?, Canon Divergence, JFM Doesn’t Adopt WWX, WWX minus canon sense of obligation, but still with an inability to shut up around LWJ, I swear LWJ’s inner voice was no quite so snarky when I started this, JZN is unfortunately present but only to lose face, LQR’s inconsistent adherence to the Lan clan precepts, writing the effective Lan education you would like to see in the world, Technically pre-relationship, but in the typical Wangxian way of them being in deep but just not acknowledging it yet, POV LWJ)

🔒crying like a fire in the sun by Reverie (cl410) (T, 10k, WangXian, SongXiao, BSSR/LY, Runaway WWX, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Die, rogue cultivator WWX, Angst, Post Cloud Recesses, Not YZY Friendly, Happy Ending, BSSR is WWX’s grandmother instead of grandmaster)

6B)

🔒 shades of grey spill from my veins (bleeding ink all over the page) by Reverie (cl410) (M, 58k, NieLan, WangXian, SangNing, POV NMJ, Canon Divergence, Joining the “Wei Wuxian raised by the Nie Sect” Club, Mentions of WWX’s life on the streets, Hurt/Comfort, Accidental Sibling Acquisition, Single Dad NMJ, NHS & WWX Friendship, Fluff, Humor, Happy Ending, Everyone Lives AU, Protective NMJ, Sunshot Campaign, Some angst, Blood and Injury, Kidnapping, Protective Siblings, Found Family)

🔒 The Light That Fails to Dim by glowingreverie (T, 310k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mild Gore)

Frost moon's sun by RenaFair (T, 116k, WangXian, XXC/SL, Slow Build, Childhood Sweethearts, Angst and Feels, Fluff, Family Feels, Canon Divergence, Mentions of Smut, Attempt at Humor)

❤️ The Third Young Master of the Qishan Wen by KouriArashi (T, 139k, wangxian, xiyao, chengqing, romance, angst w/ happy ending, hurt/comfort, politics, revenge, families of choice, pining)

what builds a home by Stratisphyre (T, 45k, WangXian, MY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Adopted WWX, POV Multiple, warning for JGS behaving exactly as expected, child endangerment, Brother Feels, Minor Character Death, [Podfic] Cold read of "what builds a home" by Stratisphyre by KeriArentikaiPods (KeriArentikai))

Heart of the Beast by WaitForTheSnitch (E, 488k, WangXian, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiāngs, Adopted WWX, WWX is a Niè, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Oblivious WWX, Protective NMJ, Scheming NHS, Protective NHS, Soft NMJ, NMJ is So Done, NHS Is A Little Shit, Pining, LWJ Has Feelings)

🔒 Life is Like a Stranger by through_shadows_falling (T, 69k, WangXian, Kid Fic, Child LWJ, Child WWX, First Meetings, Canon Divergence, Cute Kids, Orphan WWX, Autism Spectrum, Fix-It Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Canon, POV LWJ, Growing Up Together, WWX raised at Cloud Recesses based on the show, Fluff and Angst, haven't read the novel, Hurt/Comfort, Puberty, Growing Up, Coming Out, teenage angst, Wet Dream, Pining, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers)

6C)

Building a home by R95irth (T, 586k, WCZ/CS, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-it, Angst with a happy ending, Family fluff)

We Meet at the Thousandth Step by Admiranda, Rynne (T, 316k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, CSSR & WCZ Live, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Different First Meeting, Night Hunts, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Plot, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Strangers to married, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Everyone Lives, Developing Relationship, Minor Violence, Case Fic, Mystery, Flirting, WWX’s Canon-Typical Flower Flirting, Arson, There Was Only One Bed, Getting Together, First Kiss, Meeting the Parents, Resolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Romantic Tension, WWX Is a Good Big Brother, New Relationship Bliss, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Blood and Injury, Yiling siblings, Married WangXian, Honeymoon, Wangxian’s Baby Fever)

~*~

7. Hey,

Can you suggest some wangxian romance in mordern setting and lan wangji is like the owner or the ceo or similar position. Thank you @mayavsworld

Insert Coin Now for Extra Life by TriviasFolly (E, 201k, WangXian, Modern, A/B/O, Intersex Omegas, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Marriage contract au, Twitch Streamer WWX, fluff and smut, caring for other while sick, Possessive LWJ, Rare Male Omegas, Pack Dynamics, Sugar Baby vibes, Eventual Smut, Brief mention of lwj/others)

Work-Life Balance is Not A Thing by catbrainedschemes (E, 17k, WangXian, Modern AU, Workplace Relationship, Romantic Comedy, Idiots in Love, Oblivious WWX, Oblivious LWJ, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, but not that eventual, Pining, Dirty Talk)

🧡 Hello, IT. Have You Tried Turning It Off and On Again? By overmountainandmeadow (T, 65k, WangXian, Modern AU, Office, Modern office AU, IT Director! LWJ, Graphic Designer! WWX, Father!LWJ, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Juniors as interns, Light Angst, Mistaken Identity, Identity Porn, Rabbits, Cloud Recesses as a company, Happy Ending, Single Parent LWJ)

~*~

8. Can I get some Fluffy Wangxian? Or Fluffy Sangcheng? Just something soft and kind. @itsthenerdwonder

Mutually Assured Seduction by misscam (M, 4k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, Fluff, Humor, Sexual Humor, Sexual Content, CQL verse, some inspiration from the novel, Post-Canon)

🔒 Rumor Has It by Ulan (T, 4k, WangXian, Getting Together, Friends to LoversFluff, Canon Divergence, CQL-Verse, Fix-It)

You, Asleep and Dreaming by etymologyplayground (M, 9k, WangXian, LWJ POV, 5+1 Things, Literal Sleeping Together, Sharing a Bed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Intimacy, Getting Together, Fluff, Post-Canon, Undressing, wwx’s ‘angry lwj’ kink)

the world is but a stage for the two of us by MandMandM (Not Rated, 10k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Established Relationship, Shameless WangXian)

the more things seem to change by littlebasketbun (G, 26k, LXC/NMJ, JC/NHS, WangXian, Modern, High School, Matchmaking, failed matchmaking, oblivious idiots in love)

~*~

9. ITMF request plz!

Can I have your fave happy or fluffy fics? The ones that always cheer you up. 🥺 Wangxian preferred but other pairs are ok.

🧡 A Study in Fluff by WeaverOfTheNight (T, 29k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ghost bunnies, Vet LWJ, Architect WWX, Kid LSZ, Domestic fluff, Modern with Magic)

The Bunnies and The Roomba: A Love Story by Nikki373 (T, 6k, wangxian, modern, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Siblings, Siblings Try and Are Trying, College/University, 1 if by phone; 2 if by text; 3 if by mouth, Kisses, Romance, Falling In Love, LXC is the eternal captain of the good ship Wangxian)

The stuffed bunny, the beautiful nephew, and other gifts from Lan Qiren by deliciousblizzardshark (G, 8k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Uncle Acquisition, Found Family, Fluff)

My Zhiji’s On Broadway by ScarlettStorm (E, 15k, wangxian, modern with cultivation, drunk LWJ, drunk shenanigans, getting together, first time, minor angst, major comedy, smut)

Covered in Bees by ScarlettStorm (T, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Beekeeping AU, For reasons, Meet-Cute, Comedy, Fluff, Bees, come for the flirting, stay for the bee facts, and the bee puns, kinkmeme fill, no actual kink)

Love Cats by so_shhy series (T, 14k, WangXian, Modern, Meet-Cute, Fluff, WWX is wet and adorable in a tree, With a Cat, LWJ had no chance, Don’t Try This At Home, First Dates, LWJ likes ducks, WWX does not like dogs, They just have a nice date, picnic dates, Falling In Love, LWJ is briefly less than graceful, there is a spider, but like barely there and totally harmless, LWJ Loves Rabbits, Office Party, LXC is a Good Big Brother, WWX is an excellent boyfriend, POV Outsider, they are in love the world is full of joy, Everything is Beautiful except for baby coots)

The first two parts of Just Say Yes Series by edenwolfie (T/M, 338k, WangXian, Matchmaking, Pining, Oblivious, Biting, Getting Together, Canon Divergence, POV Alternating, Fluff, First Kiss, Declarations Of Love, Humor, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Good Uncle LQR, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian, POV Outsider, Engagement, Developing Relationship, Family Feels, Kissing, Romance, Feelings, Family, Love, Fix-It, Drunken Shenanigans, Hurt/Comfort, Qishan Wen Indoctrination, Canon-Typical Violence, Fall of Lotus Pier, Sunshot Campaign, First Time, Possessive Behavior, Panic Attacks, Everybody Lives, Established Relationship, Weddings, Kid Fic, Wedding Night, Married Couple)

it’s just (aah) a little crush (crush!) by sweetlolixo (T, 9k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Romance, Fluff, Pining LWJ, Humor, Courting Rituals, Teen Wangxian)

your words upon my lips by uchiuchi (T, 17k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Fluff, Curses, no sad times only good times, Canon Compliant, Romance, they are married!!, Let LWJ Say Fuck, Case Fic)

soft-hearted by sarahyyy (G, 6k, wangxian, alternate universe, childhood friends, hurt/comfort, getting together, first kiss, wedding fluff)

If It's You by etymologyplayground (T, 1k, WangXian, Fluff, Reunions, Getting Together, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, Cuddling & Snuggling, Post-Canon, Sexual Tension)

🔒❤️ Joy In the Midst of These Things Series by Glitterbombshell (T/G, 53k, WangXian, Angst with Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Teacher WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, [Podfic] Joy In the Midst of These Things Series by GoLBPodfics (GodOfLaundryBaskets))

The Simplest Way Forward by harriet_vane (E, 70k, WangXian, Modern AU, Accidental Baby Acquisition,Kid Fic, explicit in much much later chapters, green card marriage (but not really), pining for your own husband, endless pining, Slow Burn, Happy Ending, Nothing else bad or traumatic happens to the baby, [Podfic of] The Simplest Way Forward by knight_tracer, a Spanish version of the fic, Turkish translation, Translation into Русский availabl)

Once Upon A Time in Qinghe by paranoid_fridge (T, 22k, NHS & NMJ, wangxian, LXC & NMJ, post-canon, fix-it, angst, humor)

~*~

10. I wonder if there is some fic that focuses on Nie Huaisang and Lan Xinchen's relationship post canon. Mostly focused on their feelings and relationship together after the disaster. Lan Xichen was quite done with everything and everyone by the end and he certainly suspected (knew) that Huaisang manipulated him to kill JGY. I am really in the mood for some fic like this. It can be whatever pairing or ship or just friendship. No modern aus please.

~*~

11. itmf fics where jiang yanli realises she’s been enabling jiang cheng’s behaviour and his treatment of wei wuxian and actually does something about it? hopefully earlier on in the timeline but im not too particular about that.

thank you guys. i love your blog so much!

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, What if WWX saw the first siege of the burial mounds and said Nope to the war, OCs, OC point-of-view for one chapter for plot reasons) it's not the focus of the story but Jiang Yanli discusses the consequences of her relationship with her brothers near the end of chapter 7

do not wilt alone by Anonymous (T, 7k, JYL & WWX, Minor WangXian, LWJ is Sir Not Appearing in This Fic, Past Child Abuse, Homophobia, Homophobic JC, Bad Parent YZY, Canon Divergence, No Golden Core Transfer, Not JC Friendly, Character Study)

~*~

12. Hi! can you help me find rich wei wuxian fics? without the help of lan wangji or the jiangs! completed or regularly updated fics please 🥹

Thanks a lot

Catharsis by Starfell123 (T, 9k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, mentions of abuse, Mentions of Disownment, Swearing, Friendship, Attempted Arranged Marriage, WWX has gone through therapy, Catharsis, supportive friends, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Genius WWX, Rich WWX, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, BAMF WWX)

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 108k, WangXian, Modern, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)

Come Around and Stay by trippednfell (M, 160k, WangXian, NieLan, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, Found Family, Modern AU, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, PTSD, Blood and Injury, Dissociation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Musicals, POV Alternating, Baking, Yunmeng reconciliation (eventually), Friend Zoning, Literal Sleeping Together, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks)

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious) has the Lans help Wei Ying sell his inventions but the money earned is Wei Ying's.

Catharsis by Starfell123 (T, 9k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, mentions of abuse, Mentions of Disownment, Swearing, Friendship, Attempted Arranged Marriage, WWX has gone through therapy, Catharsis, supportive friends, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Genius WWX, Rich WWX, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, BAMF WWX)

🧡 One Can Keep A Secret (If He Does Not Know It’s There) by H_Belle (T, 5k, WangXian, Modern Cultivators, Inventor WWX, Secret Identity, Identity Reveal, YLLZ WWX, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Pining LWJ, POV WWX, Background Wangxian Getting Together, Jiangs are only mentioned in the passing, inspired by a tumblr post) It's a modern au crackfic, WWX doesn't know he's rich and famous.

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 887k, WangXian, WIP, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Getting Together, Supportive LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Supportive LXC, Canon Divergence, Inventor WWX, Possessive LWJ, Cultivation Sect Politics, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Fluff and Smut, Burning of the Cloud Recesses, Fall of Lotus Pier, Angst, Sunshot Campaign, Not JFM Friendly, split into parts, Part 1 complete, Part 2 complete, Original Character(s)) The Lan facilitate the trade and commissions of WWX's items and inventions, but the proceeds from the sale of those inventions and talismans are put in WWX's personal vault.

~*~

13. Can I have extremely angsty fics? Something where wei wuxian is really going through it. Something like the fic ‘see me yesterday’. It can be modern au or canon. No cheating or rape please. Just him being cast out and trying to live with the horrors of what happened to him. Just absolutely devastating. Thank you for your help.

Rebirth of a Wretched Mayfly by marikazz (M, 15k, WangXian, Time Loop, Time Travel, Groundhog Day, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Not Really Character Death, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Trust Issues, Hurt WWX, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Whump, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Okay, Mental Breakdown, Canon-Typical Violence, Existential Angst, Dissociation, Suicide, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, POV WWX)

Sunder by naqaashi (E, 32k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Mutual Pining, Emotional Sex, Porn with Feelings, PWP, Light BDSM, Fix-It, POV LWJ, YLLZ WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Light Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Grief/Mourning, Five Stages of Grief, Suicidal Thoughts)

❤️ whipstitch by curiositykilled (M, 131k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Torture, WWX Lives, but basically no one else, Case Fic, Cultivation Sect Politics, Past Abuse, WWX Whump, YLLZ WWX, JL Needs a Hug, JL Tries, Yunmeng Bro Reconciliation, Past Character Death, Body Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV Alternating, Flashbacks, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Suicide Attempt, PTSD, Depression, Not A Fix-It, Mouth Sewn Shut)

🧡 decay by antebunny (G, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, the fluffiest ending, Hurt/Comfort)

🔒 In search of safety by SomeDumbGuy (M, 22k, Major Character Death, NHS & WWX, JC & WWX, One-Sided WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Incomplete Fix-It, Unreliable Narrator, JZX Lives, distruction of the yin tiger seal, How the BEEP did they destory the yin iron?, Is it still hurt/comfort if it's comfort then hurt?, WWX needs a miracle but won’t get it, Blood and Gore)

When the Words Stop Coming by mrcformoso (T, 7k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, POV WWX, POV LWJ, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Canonical Character Death, Love Confessions, Rejection, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Trauma, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, WWX confesses early on, But canon still happens, LWJ starts confessing after, but the tables have turned, Angst with a Happy Ending, LWJ rejects WWX, Then gets rejected by WWX after, "Get Lost", Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian)

Window of the Waking Mind by mrcformoso (M, 8k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, JC & WWX, Graphic depictions of violence, Major Character Death, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Torture, Golden Core Transfer, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, Hurt WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, WWX Needs a Break, Flashbacks, Curses, Night Hunts, Suicide, Starvation, Canonical Child Abuse, Canonical Character Death, Cannibalism, Although it was forced by the situation to survive, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, lots of comfort, Soft LQR, Learning To Communicate, Zidian Spiritual Tool, JC Tries, Reaction)

~*~

14. Y'all are amazing! ITMF fics where ppl find out how deeply Lan Zhan feels about everything, especially Wei Ying. I read this one fic one time that had him fall into a sleep state from a curse and everyone saw lwj history in the form of visions and how deeply he felt about everything. looking for something similar @chenqingmagic

~*~

15. finally registered for an acc, ITMF a good locked fic! preferably feel good

🧡🔒Night of the Living History (an edutainment special!) by Aerlalaith (T, 51k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Workplace Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Museums, living history, Some Plot, Slice of Life, Injury, a minor haunting)

🔒 in the blossom season (in the pouring rain) by varnes (M, 13k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, [Podfic of] in the blossom season (in the pouring rain) by exmanhater)

🔒 Bodega Love by cicer (T, 11k, WangXian, Modern AU, bisexual disaster wwx, text conversations, reckless use of emojis, unrepentent goofiness, [Podfic of] Bodega Love by exmanhater, Fleur Rochard (fleurrochard), GoLBCollabs (GodOfLaundryBaskets), Gondolinpod (Gondolin), growlery, nicolasechs, Opalsong, RevolutionaryJo, Rhea314 (Rhea), [Podfic] Bodega Love by GinevraReads (GinevraFangirl), jennisaisquoi, kealdrakemna_collabs (kealdrakemna), KeriArentikaiMultipods (KeriArentikai), kisahawklin, mulberry_graceful, PandaReads (DrPanda99), shash_reads (sunkitten_shash))

🔒 you’ve ruined my life (by not being mine) by cicer (E, 132k, WangXian, Modern AU, Developing Relationship, Idiots in Love, Awkward Flirting, teenage romance, Shameless WWX, slowburn, Demisexuality, references to lqr’s a+ parenting, references to jfm’s a+ parenting, but we’re gonna get a happy ending ANYWAY, references to yzy’s a+ parenting, Background NMJ/LXC, hints of nmj/lxc/jgy, bottom LWJ in chapter 15)

🔒🧡 【那夏天的我們】 a stroke of fate by puddingcatbeans (G, 59k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff, Slice of Life, Falling In Love, Summer, Barakamon AU, renowned musician lwj escapes to tiny village and falls in love with local farmer boy wwx, good times only, YouTuber WWX, Food)

🔒 (Planning the Day) To Meet You by Bettydice (E, 61k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Pining, Mutual Pining, WWX raises A-Yuàn, minimum angst, MAXIMUM GAY, Self-indulgent fluff, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, POV LWJ, Happy Ending, Getting Together, Falling In Love, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Intercrural Sex)

🔒 I Will Call You By Name by DisasterMages (T, 73k, WangXian, WWX raised by XXC, Canon Divergence, Family Feels)

I like most everything by cicer (all their fics are locked) but their fluffiest feel good fic is 🔒💖 blue-ribbon bunny by cicer (G, 15k, wangxian, modern, shapeshifting, supernatural elements, fluff & humor)

🔒 when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 176k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad!WWX, dad!lwj, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears!, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations) for locked works -- I highly recommend the author travelingneuritis!! My favorite fic by them is plotty and drama but has a feel good ending (and amazing art)

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16. hi, for the itmf, can i have any fics where wei ying is a sex worker? both canon compliant and modern au is good

KILF (Knits I’d Like To Fuck in) by ScarlettStorm (E, 168k, WangXian, Modern, Established Relationship, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans au, sex worker WWX, Fashionista LWJ, in this house we support sex workers, Fluff and Smut, they’re horny and in love, mental health, therapy is good actually, Domestic Bliss, tender kink, Fiber Arts, autistic LWJ, neurodivergent WWX, switch rights, Nonbinary NHS, a soupçon of gender, get in losers we’re introspecting about queerness, Genderfluid Character, Gender Exploration, perhaps slightly more than a soupçon of gender, Hurt/Comfort, past trauma, But They’re Working Through It, aggressive mutual caretaking)

🧡 All Old Things are New Again by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (M, 51k, WangXian, Reincarnation, Modern AU, canon still happened, extreme post canon, Sugar Daddy, Kink Negotiation, gentle dom!LWJ, canonical levels of consent play, Modern Cultivators, cultivators can recognize important people from previous lives, vaguely, this started out as a cute sugar fantasy and got just incredibly horny very fast, blame LWJ)

Hidden in the Clouds by Karmiya (E, 17k, WangXian, WIP, Teenage Wangxian, historical sex work)

Gifted by Deastar (E, 7k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Courtesan WWX, Sex Work, but not between the main characters, Gusu Lan Sect, as in canon the real villain is sex work stigma, Supportive LQR)

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17. Hi, can you please recommend some canon compliant fics preferably a/b/o. I prefer top lwj and bottom wwx. Thanks 🙏🏻 @bluepinks-world

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[theghostofblackbunnymask]

May I ask for yandere Punz alphabet? 🙋🏾‍♀️

Author's note- Of course Love! (I don't remember if I proof read this or not)

Warnings- Gaslighting, Murder, Dehumanizing someone, Starvation, Dehydration, Greed, Drowning, Physical Abuse, Cults Mentioned (Eggpire), Lack of freedom and No freedom of speech.

Yandere Punz Alphabet

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Punz isn't the most affectionate guy out there, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like cuddles and stuff.

Punz main form of showing affection is gift giving, giving various gifts such as jewelry and clothing.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Since Punz is a Mercenary, he knows how to get rid of evidence quite well, so if he were to kill someone, nothing of their will be found, not even the body.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Punz wouldn't really mock you, but he'd definitely tease you about how easy it was and how you should've learned how to fight.

Punz would give your space since getting a new home takes time to get use to, so Punz will respect your space for at least 2 months, and if you're not use to it by then, too bad!

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Killing people, and forcing you spend time with the Egg, and maybe even forcing you to join the Eggpire if you're not immune to the Egg.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Punz let's his guard down when he's around you, because he knows how easy he can take advantage of you, so he doesn't need to worry if you hurt him, cause he would just say he didn't feel a thing.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He would find it hilarious, this man is a lover of chaos, so you fighting him like this makes him love you even more, but sooner or later he'll just get bored and give you a punishment.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Yeah it's a game to him, reminds him of when he and the Dream Team would play manhunt, so he'll just treat it as such. He'll most likely find you in a day or 2, but if the egg helps than within a few hours.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

You pissed Punz off, and by pissed I mean pissed. Punz dragged you by your hair and held a knife to your throat, slowly digging it into your neck, and in front of you is one of your family members or friend, who is tied to a table.

Punz would tell you to kill them as he digs the knife into your neck as it begins to bleed, and he'll also say the sooner you kill them the less damage your neck will have.

And if you don't kill them, Punz would yell, insult and Gaslighting you into doing it, seeing you stab the body of your loved one over, and over and over again, until they stop moving. You crying while blood is all over your hands, shirt and face, and not to mention you can barely make a sound due to your throat. Punz would call you a good doll before sitting you down and patching up your neck, in the same room as the dead body.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind or/with their darling?

To live in a mansion and be fucking rich, while causing chaos within the server.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

If Punz is jealous by someone he doesn't know/care about, it's on sight, he's killing them with no second thoughts.

Now if it was one of his friends (Ex: Dream), then he'll tell them to back off.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Punz is pretty chill around his Darling, but he will threaten and hurt them if they misbehave.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Punz would most likely flirt with you and invite you to Manhunt games, and maybe even give you things you like.

Punz would also send you letters and be kinda romantic.

Punz would basically be a simp.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

I mean, it really depends, because Punz can and will hurt you, but he's also pretty chill and respects some of your privacy.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Depends on what you did.

If you pissed him off by misbehaving or annoying him, he'll most likely put you on a collar and a leash, tie you to a pole in a pitch black basement and keep you there with no food and water for a few days.

If you escaped, HAH, enjoy going insane for the next few hours cause he's hunting you down. And once he gets you back he'll probably stick your head underwater and drown you, and after he would force you to say things like you love him and you'll never leave him.

If you were to insult or disrespect the Egg, this man would either A- Take one of your canon lives, or B- Beat you until you can barely move, and then starving you for 2 weeks.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Freedom, Freedom of wearing what you want, being humanized and the freedom to think for yourself

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Punz is pretty patient with his Darling, but, depending on what it is he could lose it rather quickly.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If his Darling dies, Punz would beg the Egg to bring them back, and if the Egg can't bring them back he'll visit your grave everyday and leave gifts for you, and and he'd keep some of your items so you would always be with him.

You already know what happens if you escape.

Bold of you to assume you can leave Punz by saying you don't want to date him anymore.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

I don't think he'll feel bad, yeah he may be upset because you don't want to be with him, but that doesn't make him regret what he did.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Possibly the greed for more.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

If you scream because of him, Punz would tell you to shut up. But if it's because of someone else, he would demand every piece of info about that person.

If you cry (Not punishment related) he'd comfort you and give you some of your favorite snacksl

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He'll treat you more like a pet than a person.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

The fact that Punz can be a simp sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes this man's lovesickness is too much to contain.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Only if necessary.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

When Punz is in simp mode he will worship you and do whatever you want, if it makes you happy he'll do it.

If he's just normal Punz then he wants you to worship him, like a good puppy.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

3-4 years.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

His main goal is to break you and then morph you into his perfect pet.

[warmblanketwhump]

M A S T E R P O S T

Prompt PSA

hey there! I’ve been hanging out here for a while now, but I figured it was high time I actually introduced myself :)

I’m M, she/her, 20s, and after years on the sidelines enjoying whump (and not realizing that’s what it was) and a brief bout with writer’s block, I finally decided it was time to jump into the deep end with a side blog! this has been such a kind, encouraging community, and it’s been so fun to be a part of it.

my writing’s likely closer to hurt/comfort than true whump, but hey, who needs labels anyway? ;) in any case, I’m drawn to whump that’s got a little hope injected to it, too, and I’m a total sucker for sweet, soft caretaking.

what you’ll find here:

hurt comfort

sickfic

aftercare / caretaking

touch starved whumpees

hypothermia

fever / chills

cold whumpees

injuries

environmental/nature whump

blankets (it’s in the name, after all :)

general fluff

the occasional hero x villain

what you won’t find:

graphic violence

pet whump / dehumanization

nsfw / sexual content of any kind

emeto

noncon anything

creepy whumper

death / mortal injuries / terminal illness

you also likely won’t see a ton of whumper content here - not a hard no, but just not what I naturally gravitate towards.

I don’t really write for any fandoms, so you’ll just be stuck with good old A, B, and C for now - but they’re good companions, and I find they’re quite forgiving of all I put them through. :)

anyways, welcome to my corner of the whumpisphere, and thanks for stopping by!

[whumpingcrow]

Pt.18 "Poor Thing"

CW: noncon (explicit, 18+ please), dubcon, blood mention, injury mention, multiple whumper mention, whumpee in a collar, death mention, captivity whump, panic attack, alcohol, verbal abuse, homophobic slur, creepy/intimate whumper, August is pretty foul in this chapter so general warning for him, slight dehumanization (let me know if I missed anything!)

August didn't want Elias anymore. That had to be what was happening. Why else would he not come looking for him, why else was he allowing him to be used up and abused by all these strangers in this room the entire night? It seemed like each time one person came in and did something to him, they would leave and tell someone else, and it felt like it had stretched on for hours, and still August never came looking for him. He felt dirty, sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, covered in a sheen of sweat and tears and blood and people's disgusting fluids. His shirt was torn in some places, his shorts riding low on his hips, the only thing that remained perfectly intact was the collar around his neck, which someone had tightened further at some point and he couldn't figure out how to loosen again. August didn't want him anymore, so he was giving him up to be used by whoever else wanted to use him. And that was more painful than anything that had been done to him the last hour or two.

When the door opened again, Elias could have let out an anguished scream, tell them to leave him the absolute fuck alone and suck themselves off or use their left hand, but all he had the energy for was a hopeless flinch. He didn't even want to look up, a fire went shooting up his neck and through his jaw when he moved his head. He closed his eyes when the person approaching crouched down in front of him. Maybe if they saw how tired he was, they would take the hint and leave him alone. Instead, he felt a few slender ice cold fingers wrap around his wrist, slowly lifting his hand away from his body.

"I...I can't," he sniffled weakly, his voice wobbly and far away, "please. Please, I can't." He said it without much conviction, all hope that anyone would be able to understand him was long gone, and so his begging had been reduced to tiny, feeble whines, for the most part.

The person let out a soft hushing sound, then something cool and smooth was pressed into his palm. When he got up the courage to open his eyes, he was surprised to see a glass of water being pushed into his hand. He looked up at the person, at the young woman with wild orange hair and a round face that he couldn't find any outright malicious intent behind. She let go of his wrist, then tipped the bottom of the glass until it fell against his lips. He didn't realize how thirsty he was until the cold liquid hit his parched throat, and he guzzled it down gratefully. It tasted better than anything he'd ever had, he felt tears in his eyes at how grateful he was for it.

"Are you hurt?" She finally asked him. Her accent was heavy, her voice low and silvery. He could openly sob at how kind she was speaking to him, and the fact that it was in English.

"Oh," he breathed, his chin dropping to his chest as he relaxed from the stress that was turning his muscles to stone, "p-please can you find...can you help me find August?" He begged.

"I...I can. But are you hurt? You're bleeding." As she said it, she reached out with the skirt of her dress and wiped away some blood from his mouth.

"I'm ok. Th-think I got slapped a couple times." He took a deep, shuddery breath, then all at once realized she wasn't going to hurt him and he felt an overwhelming relief set in, one that tore a broken sob through his throat. "Oh god. Jesus fuck."

"You're alright. Do you have a name?" She sunk back to a sitting position, one that probably would be considered unladylike in her flowing dress, and watched him carefully. He was confused as to why she was sitting at his level, looking right at him, having spent the last few hours with people towering over him or suffocatingly close on top of him. He saw her eyes flick down to his collar, the tag there, but she didn't say Bunny, she only looked back up at him expectantly and waited for him to answer himself. He loved her at that moment.

"It's Elias." He cried, using the back of his hand to wipe the tears and sweat and grime from his cheeks.

"Ok Elias. My name is Camille." She hesitated for a moment, then readjusted her skirt. "Can I get you anything?"

Elias shook his head quickly, sniffing a few times. "Please don't leave me alone in here," he was rushing, pleading, "someone else will find me, please don't leave me here-"

"Ok, ok," she soothed, "I won't." She shifted a little, glancing up at the door nervously. "You...You’re not supposed to be here, are you? You have somewhere else you call home, right?”

Elias blinked at her, beginning to tremble all over. He thought about the truth, that he only came so that he didn't have to see someone die for the second time, someone that he loved more than anything. Suddenly he couldn't breathe, couldn't see anything, hear anything, besides Tyson crying, bleeding, begging him not to leave, as if he had a choice. He wanted nothing more than to be back in his arms, but he also knew August wouldn't just leave it at that, he would come back and hurt them both. He wasn’t worth all the pain and trouble, Tyson deserved better.

"I...I want to go home but it's not s-safe." He covered his face with shaking hands, trying to mute his frightened sobs.

"Why isn't it safe, Elias?" Timidly, she leaned forward, rubbing gently at his arm to try and calm him.

"August will hurt me... he'll hurt me and Tyson if I go back home. It's easier if I just stay here." Even as he said it, rushing the words out like he was afraid August would come and hear him speaking ill of him, his shoulders shook with his cries and he could hardly stay sitting upright.

Now Camille was silent, then she quickly pulled him against her chest and held him close, stroking through his unruly hair. The whines of despair he let out made her chest ache with pity, and she couldn't do enough to comfort him. She was so frightened for him, this was beyond what she was used to seeing, a person being kept in this condition. He was so torn up, so traumatized and haunted, and she didn't really want to think about what had been done to him before she found him. She'd heard others mumbling about a new toy in the other room, had heard “pet” thrown around a few times, but she didn't expect a person. And in this state, she could never live with herself if she just left him here.

"Listen to me," she began, using all of her might to keep her tone calm and even, "I'm going to help you. Where's your home?"

He was so tense and rigid in her arms, she could practically feel the conflict he had about telling her, he wanted to leave but he was so afraid, and she could feel his hopelessness starting to drip off of him and soak through her dress and onto her, too. "In Los Angeles," he breathed, "w-with Tyson Banks."

"Ok. I'll find him, and then I'll come back for you. Ok? Can you wait for me?"

He wept again, forcing himself to nod his head. He could wait, if it meant he could get back to Tyson, get home, he could wait.

She pulled away from him then, telling him that she would leave the room so that he could calm down. He felt better when she promised she would wait just outside the door for him, make sure no one would come in to bother him, and he could come to her if he needed anything.

The room was silent for the few moments that Elias was alone, and he could hear the laughter and loud voices of the drunk people through the walls. He couldn't comprehend how any of them could be having such a good time after seeing him in the state he was in now. He guessed that it was different to them, that it felt good to be the one in control, but he still felt baffled by it.

He didn't have much time to dwell on it before the door was swinging open. August stomped in, throwing a bitter look at Camille, who had foolishly just tried to convince him to stay out of the room. He shut the door behind him hard, then approached Elias with his face set in a frown.

"Where have you been?" He grumbled, taking in Elias’s newly disheveled state. "What happened to you?"

His tone was angry, and Elias realized then that August hadn't known what was happening, that what he allowed all of those people to do to him was wrong, and his lungs burned in newfound anxiety.

"I'm s-so sorry, August!" Elias cried, reaching up to grab at August's shirt to try and steady himself. His apology was desperate, despite how he couldn't force it to be very loud. He pulled himself to his wobbly knees with a huff. "I didn't want to do an-any of it but you told me...you told me I was made to be used and they wouldn't listen to me b-b-but I tried I t-"

"Shut up, Eli," August snapped at him, setting him on the edge of the bed and staring at him hard. Elias tried to sit straight, to not look so god damn used up and ugly, but he didn't think there was much he could do to pull that off, his grime felt heavily visible. August's voice was gravelly when he spoke again. "Who did this to you?" He looked over Elias again, shaking his head disdainfully at him when he was still silent, then snapped, "who the fuck did this?!"

Elias flinched, his eyes squeezing shut so he wouldn't have to see the strike he felt was coming. "I don't know! E-everyone! People just kept coming in and...and then when they left more people... I do-dont know!" He froze when August walked toward him, grabbing his shoulders aggressively as he did.

"What did they do?" Now his voice was eerily steady and calm, and he sounded bitterly furious, and Elias was shaking in every inch of his body. "What did they do to you?"

Having to think about it again, about the hands and the noises and the bodies and the constant breathlessness made Elias panicky again, and with an anguished sob he became pliable in August's bruising grip, subjecting himself to any punishment August saw fit. "E...everything." He cried, whimpering at how August's fingers pressed harder into the soft skin of his arms. "I'm s-so sorry!"

When August tossed him to the ground, he couldn't help the loud shriek of pain that he let out. He was already so tired and sore, he couldn't even peel himself off of the carpet once he was down. He felt...broken. Pathetic.

"You really are just a stupid fucking idiot, aren't you?!" August shouted at him, his voice erratic and full of poison. Elias had heard him angry before, sure, but he didn't think he'd ever heard this much fury in his words. He must have really messed up. Terror tightened around his lungs when August crouched down and grabbed the collar with both hands, yanking him forward until their faces were intimidatingly close and Elias could smell the alcohol on August's breath. "Does this mean nothing to you?! You are mine, you pathetic little faggot!"

He should apologize, he knew he should beg and plead and say that he was sorry because he was so disgusting and horrid, but he couldn't get any words out, he couldn't even breathe. He was completely paralyzed, aside from the horrible trembling, blown eyes staring into August's face as tears spilled down his cheeks. With hands at his throat and his windpipe uncomfortably crushed, he felt an icy dread, a realization that he wouldn't be saved this time, this time death would take him and keep him, and he was afraid. That girl, Camille, was going to help him, she said. She couldn't help him if he was dead.

"P...please, August," he finally forced out in a whisper, barely audible. "I-I-I’m so s-sorry, August. I'm y-yours, I know tha-that. Ple-please."

People were still laughing just outside. August was breathing heavily, Elias hardly at all, and for a moment, couldn't have been longer than one thud of Elias's wild heartbeat, August looked just as frightened as Elias felt.

Maybe it was how quiet Elias was, how he could barely get the words out, how horribly he was shaking and utterly unable to do anything to fight back or struggle, or maybe a combination of them all; but something about the way Elias was so pitifully shattered made August just...let go of him, dropping him back to the ground with a deep, tired sigh. He stood up, looking down at Elias as he curled into himself and choked out a few feeble whimpers. He stayed down for a few more moments, then he forced himself back up to his feet with a breathless whine, feeling August's interested gaze on him as he stumbled forward. August was waiting for him to topple over, with how run down he looked. He looked just about on his last leg, like a wounded beyond recovery animal that should be put out of his misery. August was starting to hate himself for selfishly keeping him alive in these conditions. Poor thing.

"They hurt you?" August asked, although his voice was only vaguely interested. Elias ignored the question entirely and instead nestled into August’s chest, not even caring that he didn't reciprocate the touch.

"M'sorry," he sighed heavily, closing his eyes, "s-so sorry, August."

With a disgruntled hum, August moved Elias away from him and started to undo the buttons on his shirt, watching him start to squirm, physically overwhelmed by the fear of being touched anymore than he had already been that night. He was silent, didn't have the means to beg August not to, but his body language practically screamed don't do this to me please no more I can't take it.

"Not gonna do anything, Bunny," August assured him, pulling his ruined shirt off of his slender shoulders carefully, "you're filthy, just gonna clean you off." Now that he was looking him over without the haze of anger over his eyes, he could really see how scared he looked, and he was appalled at himself on Elias's behalf. To be used and hurt and defiled by all those strangers, and here August had wanted to take it out on him, make him think it was his fault. Somewhere in his explanation he mentioned how August had said he existed to be used, he was only doing as he was told, how dare August punish him for that? And he couldn't be too sure, but he did sound remorseful with his apology, like he truly believed he was in the wrong, even though August knew he wasn't. Usually he loved when Elias was apologetic like this, but now it seemed to weigh so heavily on him and it was only depressing and bleak, not tragically beautiful like usual.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper with you," he said grudgingly, stroking Elias’s hair back and out of his face. His fingertips caught in a few knots and tugged just a little, and Elias flinched. "I'm just...I'm pretty drunk and I was upset that you'd disappeared."

Elias winced at the apology, like he couldn't handle the idea that August was in the wrong. "I told them I didn't want to. I said that you wouldn't like it, that I shouldn't, they didn't listen to me-"

"Angel," August cut him off, swiping at the tears on his cheek, "Elias, listen to me sweetheart. You're alright, I shouldn't have reacted that way." Elias whined in response, refusal to accept the obviously misplaced apology written all over his face. August could see the distant storm clouds of panic cycling back across Elias's face, in the way his eyebrows twitched and his eyes darted around the room, blinking furiously.

"N-no, I messed up. I messed up and I'm so fucking sorry I'm so sorry August ple-" before he could escalate back into hysteria, August pulled him into a tight embrace, swaying him side to side slowly. Every now and then a tremor made him collapse further into the hug, and he let out a small, pathetic mewl, and August wondered if it hurt to stand. Instead of asking, he just scooped him up into his arms and took him to the bed, holding him to his chest as he sank down to the mattress.

Because of the way he answered, August wasn't sure exactly what all those people had done to him, but it must have taken quite a toll on him, because within 15 minutes he was asleep, melted against the bed and August's chest heavily. August could feel Elias's fingers twitching slightly as he stroked his fingertips over his skin and through his hair melodically, telling himself it was just to make up for all the harshness of the past few hours, pretending he wasn't enjoying holding him so close and touching him so innocently.

He tried to ignore the buzzing of people just outside for a little longer, pretend that all the intolerable people weren't really there, drinking his booze and messing up his house like they hadn’t just put Elias through hell, but he had to slide out from under Elias eventually to get them to leave. He was glad that there were only a handful of stragglers left, all left with no issue. He poured himself another drink and forced himself to tidy up a little, but he couldn't find the motivation in his drunk, distressed state. Instead he went back to the bedroom, shedding his own clothes with exasperated grunts here and there, surprising himself by not spilling the drink in his hand.

He stopped in the doorway of the second guest room, observing Elias sleeping for a few minutes. He was still in the collar, his frail arms wrapped around himself to replace the warmth that left when August did. He wondered if Elias was really sorry, if he really believed he belonged to August, if any of what he said in his panicked or tortured states were true. He wanted it to be, he wanted his twisted pet to be devoted to him only, to need him, to ache for him, that was the point of all of this, wasn't it?

After he polished off his drink, he crawled slowly on top of Elias, watching him stir just a little before settling back into sleep. He kissed his nose gently, then his cheek, watching his lips twitch slightly when he kissed him there, then he let out a soft hum when August kissed his shoulder. His body was clinging onto sleep still, he probably wasn't even aware of the minuscule sounds he was making every time August's lips pressed into his skin. It was when his mouth was against Elias's rib cage, lapping at the rapid thumping of his heart and the uneven rise and fall of his breath, that he finally woke up, his hands dragging along the sheets until his fingers brushed against August's wrist.

"What are you doing?" He grumbled, his nose wrinkling as he forced himself into consciousness. He blinked a few times, looking fearfully up at August.

“I feel awful about what happened,” August mumbled, trailing his thumb down Elias’s sternum teasingly to his naval, “And I bet you none of those bastards even thought about making you feel good, huh? They all took whatever they wanted and didn’t think twice about you, right?”

A light blush caught on his tired face, and Elias had to tilt his head back because when August was looking up at him, so close, eyes hooded with alcohol and lust, it was too damn hard to look at him head on. He let out a soft sigh, too exhausted to beg August not to keep touching him and talking to him that way. "R...right."

"Poor thing. It's a damn shame, for them," he continued, "they don't know how much fun it is to make you feel good." He ran his palm the rest of the way down his stomach until his fingers latched onto the waistband of his shorts, tugging at them lazily.

"August I-" he began, but he was silenced as August reached up to hold his face. There was no use protesting, there never was. And August had been so unbelievably angry earlier, Elias didn't want to risk setting him off. He had to play it safe, he reminded himself, had to survive until Camille came back for him. He took his bottom lip into his mouth, could taste blood from the busted part of his mouth when he did.

"You can sleep if you want, Bunny. You just lay back and relax, let me take care of you." His finger trailed over Elias's throat, just above the tight collar he still had on, watching him quiver at the touch with a grin. Finally, he offered a reluctant nod, turning his head to the side in a sort of surrender.

August was still drunk, so it didn't take long for his touches to go from trying to make Elias feel better to selfishly toying with him. He had said Elias could sleep, but the closest he got to that was closing his eyes tight and pretending he wasn't awake, or there, or alive at all, feeling tears streaming down his cheeks. August didn't care that he was crying, in face at one point he leaned over and kissed a few of the tears away, whispering something of a lewd compliment in his ear.

Elias tried to convince himself that, despite how it felt, August using him like this was different than the others, better in a way. August knew him, there was some type of affection behind it, something besides sick lust. But even though he wanted to believe that, when his eyes were closed, August was just another body, taking what it wanted, making itself feel good at Elias's expense. Elias wondered if that's all he was, too, just on the other end of the spectrum, he was just a body to be used.

At one point, he really did fall asleep, his body too exhausted to stay awake, even more tired out from struggling against August every now and then. He lay under August, head tilted back and brow furrowed slightly, tiny whines and breathless moans were slipping past his partly opened mouth. August pulled off of him soon after that, pulling the blanket over the both of them, holding Elias close against his chest as he slept. Against his better judgement, he left the collar on, listening to Elias's weak gasps as he tried to breathe around it. He'd slip it off later, he just wanted to enjoy it for a little longer. That was his dynamic with Elias, after all, forcing him through pain and discomfort until it was too much, and then more, just for good measure. Through his drunken haze, August felt pride in his work, in how much he'd broken him down. All of the guilt he felt days ago for how much he'd hurt him was gone then, replaced by a warm and fuzzy fondness. He watched his perfectly trained pet sleep for awhile longer, than eventually the booze carried him into a dark and dreamless rest as well.

[sideblogformindtrash]

CW: starvation; knife/blood; pet/slave whump; dehumanization; cold water; gag/restrains; conditioning; it as a pronoun; 

Maybe I should make a masterlist space for this one too but hm. This one is moderate I think but the other ones were kind of dark so

Prev

“Well, and that’s it for Tomorrow’s show. Don’t forget to leave a like and vote on my thread. See you guys next week!” Master signed at the camera, finally ending the live stream.

Once it went offline, it finally allowed itself to cry, biting hard on the gag.

“...We got quite an audience today, Blue” Master complimented, and it mumbled through the gag. Master chuckled and started to untie it. Master held it before It could fall on the floor “I think I’ll allow you a bath, since the stream went so well.

It purred in approval, happy with the idea. It would also help keep the wounds clean. The audience voted for the knife to be used today, and it always left the pet with lots of nasty marks that could so easily be infected. Master didn’t clean up the torture tools properly, it thought, than immediately pushed that aside. If they weren’t clean, it was because Blue didn’t deserve it.

Master pulled out the gag, and it could finally get enough air, relieved. It leaned into Master’s hand, so pleased to know the stream did well. Master slid their thumb through its face, as it look pleadingly.

“…You want to speak?”

It nodded, obediently. Master was on a good mood, so it had to take the chance.

“You have my permission.”

“…I-is i-it okay t-t-o make a q—question m-master?”

Master stared, and it shivered, almost regretting it.

“Alright. I’ll allow it”

“W-w-will p-pet b-b-e a-allo-wed to eat t-oday?”

Master smile was not reassuring.

“That’s what they are voting on right now, my dear pet”

It dry swallowed. So eating was for vote again this week. This… this could mean another week without food, or, or that it would have to pay for it somehow. It couldn’t afford to make another video… it was… it was so weak already, in so much pain already.

“Oh, hush now, no crying” Master said, cupping their head and pulling the blue hair from its face “Come, let’s get you cleaned”

It whimpered sadly, leaning forward as Master opened their arms and carried them out of the basement.

Master let the water fill the tub. Ice cold water, it hadn’t been good enough to deserve any warmth. Not unless a viewer paid for it. And they never did.

It held its breathing as it stepped inside, it couldn’t let Master think it was being ungrateful, even as the hairs on its legs bristled, or the water touched the fresh wounds making them sting so much worse.

However it was impossible to keep quiet as Master ran the sponge over its wounded skin, slowly pressing each mark of the knife, and the half-healed wounds from the previous week. It whimpered as quietly as possible, watching the water around it turning red… At least it made harder to see its body.

It was shivering from both cold and weakness as it tried to go out of the tub, muscles having spent the last few hours stretched, only to be filled with cuts, the stomach rambling. It almost fell but Master caught it on a towel.

Master wrapped it on a blanket and took it to its cage, but let the door open. It was too weak to even try and curl up, it just closed its eyes and waited where it was let as Master checked the computer.

“I’m so sorry baby” Master said with a smile, and it whimpered in response “They voted against feeding you again.”

It sniffed, filling the tears starting to fall. It hide its face on the blanket, so weak. This also meant another weak with the muzzle. Master had to make sure it didn’t try to avoid the decision of the viewers. Master approached and ruffled its hair.

“…Don’t worry, I won’t put food for vote on the next video, I’ll put something else. Just hang in there a few more days and you’ll get food”

It whimpered again, Master scratching behind its ear. It breathes heavily, glad for the warmth, for gentle touch.

“Alright, rest now. You’ll need it”

Master pulls the blanket over it and locks the cage, leaving it shivering under it.

tag: @whumpzone  @whumpropaganda (not sure if you just wanted to be tagged on that first one or all tbh, send an ask if you need)

[1-800-smash]

Oh wait I just realised we could ask for the whole alphabet for a character,, could you for Dabi?

「 next time won’t you sing with me. 」

feat. dabi.

summary: learning the alphabet with dabi is easy, as long as you can still remember what he taught you afterwards ;)

warnings: nsfw content.

word count: 1.9k

request:  @inanabsentia — ❝Oh wait I just realised we could ask for the whole alphabet for a character,, could you for Dabi?❞

@anon — ❝Can u do a, c, d and I with Dabi pls 🥺🥺❞

@anon — ❝Omg pls could you do BFKO for Dabi (for the alphabet thing) 🥺🤲❞

@guijh103 — ❝Hii, could you make B,E,F,H,N,V,X,W,Z for Dabi pls.❞

@anon — ❝a, f , i, y on dabi please? 🥺💞❞

a/n: oh my, it seems everyone wants a piece of this beef jerky :0 don’t worry, i see you guys! i’m doing bakugo next, so be on the look out for that one! i hope you enjoy it! ♡ — shelbs.

submitted — [09.20.18]

nsfw under the cut.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

⚘ he’s not that big on aftercare.

⚘ if you want to be pampered after sex you’re looking at the wrong person, hun.

⚘ anything you want you can just get it yourself, at least that’s how he sees it.

⚘ you’re a big girl who can take a big cock, so that means you can do the rest by yourself.

⚘ he’s knows it a dick move but he just doesn’t care.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

⚘ he likes your ass, especially when he’s spanking it until its a nice red color while he fucks you from behind.

⚘ he loves to knead the soft flesh there when your making out and things are getting heated.

⚘ or on the rare occasion he lets you ride him he’ll love to grab your ass and slam you down on his cock.

⚘ the surprised scream that comes out of you makes his mouth twist up into a proud smirk.

⚘ your being impaled on his cock and he fucking loves it, he might even let you do it more often just to hear those sweet sounds of yours.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

⚘ he LOVES to cum on your face.

⚘ when you go down on him, right as he’s about to cum he’ll pull out and paint your entire face white like it’s a canvas.

⚘ doesn’t mind cumming on either the insides of your thighs or your stomach.

⚘ but do NOT ask him to cum inside you, that’s a huge no no.

⚘ “eat shit i’m not putting a demon inside you” vibe.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

⚘ he gets off being the dominant one.

⚘ he likes having control over the situation and being able to decide what will happen.

⚘ he’s still having trouble with his own past and trying to distance himself from what happened.

⚘ but now, in this situation, he can take back control.

⚘ and you’re so willing to hand it over to him, you trust him.

⚘ and it makes him just the slightest bit contented to know that.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

⚘ he has experience, but if i’m being honest here he doesn’t see sex as a big deal.

⚘ he wouldn’t be out there looking to get laid every day of the week but if shit happens, it happens.

⚘ but don’t be discouraged, you obviously mean something a little more to dabi than some random fuck if he keeps showing up uninvited.

⚘ he might not admit it out right, but even though he doesn’t think sex is a big deal he’s still not going to sleep with just anyone.

⚘ remember that next time he’s eating your pussy out until you can’t see straight.

⚘ because no other girl could be this lucky.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

⚘ likes fucking you doggy style the most, his hand forcing your head down into the mattress while he just pound into you relentlessly.

⚘ or maybe taking you against a wall, that’s always fun for him.

⚘ your legs wrap around his hips nicely while the wet sound of skin slapping against skin echoes throughout the room.

⚘ he thinks face to face is a too personal.

⚘ and no matter how much he loves having sex with you, he’s not ready to open himself up to some things yet.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

⚘ he takes fucking your brains out to be a very serious matter.

⚘ he might make a sarcastic remark or a cruel joke here and there.

⚘ but don’t expect him to be lighthearted about it.

⚘ every word that comes out of this man’s mouth is dripping with sin.

⚘ he doesn’t have time to joke around when he’s too busy making your pussy twitch deliciously on his tongue.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

⚘ he’s surprisingly well groomed.

⚘ he says he doesn’t like when gets too unkempt, so he keeps it trimmed.

⚘ his pubes are the same charcoal black as the hair on his head.

⚘ same texture too but a bit softer.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

⚘ he’s not intimate at all, this is just sex for him.

⚘ he might slip up and for just a second you can see a softer look in his eyes when he thinks you can’t see him.

⚘ when he realized what he was doing he went a little harder on you than usual that day.

⚘ he wasn’t mad at you but more at himself.

⚘ in a different world maybe he’d be a more loving partner, kissing you all over and whispering sweet words or love and admiration.

⚘ but that is not the case, and in this world he’s still dabi.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

⚘ he doesn’t jack off often but when he does he’ll think of you.

⚘ won’t ever admit it but goddamn he has the best orgasms when he does.

⚘ and it gives him ideas on what he’ll do to you later.

⚘ but to be honest, he doesn’t see masturbation as a necessary thing and can go quite a while without doing it.

⚘ no nut november, who?

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

⚘ what kinks doesn’t he have, is the real question.

⚘ deep-throating is his absolute favorite, he loves watching your swollen lips envelope around his cock.

⚘ spanking is one he’ll do quite often too, especially if you’ve been an absolute brat.

⚘ i’m not kidding, your ass will be so sore after that you won’t be able to sit for few days.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

⚘ he doesn’t have a preference.

⚘ if the need arises he’ll fuck you up against the wall in an empty alleyway if he wants to.

⚘ and it’s not like you’re complaining either.

⚘ but he would prefer a bed over anything else, he doesn’t like how cold it can be outside.

⚘ especially on his balls.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

⚘ nothing turns him on more than seeing you sitting there waiting for him so seductively.

⚘ he knows you want him he just wants you to show him how much.

⚘ he’s not used to getting this kind of attention with the way he looks so seeing you wanting him this badly will definitely turn him on.

⚘ he’ll take this with him to the grave, but he’s grateful he had someone to spend time with even if it was just sex.

⚘ and you mean a little more to him than most.

⚘ but you didn’t hear that from me.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

⚘ he will admit that even he can go too far sometimes, he knows that.

⚘ and you know that, at least you should by now at the very least.

⚘ but even he has his limits.

⚘ nothing that is too gross or dehumanizing.

⚘ he still sees you as a person, and from his own past experiences he tries to remember that.

⚘ he would expect the same from you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

⚘ he prefers to receive, remember what i said about loving to cum on your face?

⚘ but if he goes down on you, just know that you’re special.

⚘ dabi just doesn’t give a fuck when it comes to sex, but when he’s actually trying to make you feel good then you know he likes you.

⚘ in his own twisted way, of course.

⚘ but that still won’t stop him from absolutely destroying you inside and out, no in fact, it just gives him more incentive to.

⚘ so if you want him to go a little easy on you, make sure to open that pretty mouth of yours nice and good.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

⚘ two words: FAST and ROUGH.

⚘ do not expect anything less from him.

⚘ he’s the dominant one when you in this arrangement and he’s not going to give that up for no one.

⚘ not even for you.

⚘ he’s going to be fucking you so hard into the mattress until your absolutely screaming his name.

⚘ and be warned that if you’re being even the slightest bit bratty, he’s going to punish you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

⚘ he really likes them and sometimes even prefers them over regular sex.

⚘ just fair warning though, he’s not going to be gentle at all.

⚘ this will mostly be about getting him off, so if you don’t get much out of it that’s not his problem.

⚘ any feelings of guilt won’t stick around for long though, and if your a good girl he might even fuck you again that night.

⚘ just to how that while he may be a villain, he’s still looking out for you in his own way.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

⚘ oh he loves to take risks.

⚘ he sees it as kind of pointless if there isn’t at least some risk involved.

⚘ he can’t help but love the way your eyes shrink in fear a little if his hand puts just a little too much pressure on your neck.

⚘ you know he wouldn’t actually kill you, at least not like this.

⚘ but the thought still lingers in the back of your mind...

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

⚘ he can last a few an hour or two at most with how many rounds depending on how long the first was.

⚘ but it’s also important to note that while dabi loves to fuck you, he doesn’t want to spend all night having sex.

⚘ he’s fine going a couple rounds but when he’d done he’s done.

⚘ even if you didn’t get to finish or not.

⚘ but let’s not kid ourselves here, you most certainly did.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

⚘ be expected to be introduced to toys at some point if you guys continue to see each other.

⚘ he owns all kinds with every intention of pleasure and punishment.

⚘ noting gets him off more than watching your thighs quake around him as he fucks a vibrator into you.

⚘ but he’s quick to turn your pleasure into his own when he over-stimulates you until you’re on the verge of tears, your knuckles turning white from how hard you’re grasping onto the sheets underneath you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

⚘ it depends on his mood.

⚘ sometimes he wastes no time and just wants to bury himself into your tight cunt already.

⚘ other times, he’ll make you beg for his cock on your knees like a good girl.

⚘ you’ve got to earn it.

⚘ but don’t even think about teasing him, that’s one mistake you won’t ever make again.

⚘ trust me.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

⚘ he doesn’t make a lot of noise.

⚘ slight hisses and groans are expected, he doesn’t like to moan a lot.

⚘ but he does get nosier the closer he is to cumming.

⚘ he prefers to make you moan more than he ever will, it’s just so addicting to hear.

⚘ he’ll do whatever it takes to draw out those sweet, sweet noises from that sinful mouth of yours.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

⚘ the two of you have definitely done anal, i mean come on.

⚘ he already loves your ass as much as it is.

⚘ would definitely tell you to get on your hands and needs as he aligns himself with your hole.

⚘ he’d get the lube out of the side table and pour it over his cock, he’s not that cruel.

⚘ it feels so fucking good to him but whether or not you like it is a whole other story.

⚘ if you two have been seeing each other for a good time now he’d respect it if you didn’t want to do it again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

⚘ he’s a solid 6.1 inches, circumcised.

⚘ and jesus christ does he know how to fuck you with it.

⚘ would it be too much to say that you love his cock?

⚘ what am i saying, of course it wouldn't.

⚘ saying anything less would be a crime punishable by death.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

⚘ it surprisingly isn’t that high.

⚘ now don’t get me wrong, he loves to fuck you and will happily do so.

⚘ but like i said, sex isn’t a big deal to him.

⚘ if it were he’d have a bigger sex drive then he does now.

⚘ not to mention most people don’t want to have sex with someone who looks like he does, and he’s accepted that.

⚘ now that he’s found someone that does though his sex drive might increase more.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

⚘ he’s not very quick to fall asleep.

⚘ more than likely he’ll go outside for a smoke after you’ve both finished.

⚘ or lie in bed and just get lost in his own thoughts, but sleeping isn’t on his mind that’s for sure.

⚘ he’ll be more likely to fall asleep if you’ve taken a lot out of him or if he was more rough than usual.

@cocoa-bitter @micchikari @cherrymyeon @tiaraowens @dane-1212 @tenaciousgothstudentauthor @kac-chowsballs @cockaimeruben @fandomwhoresblog @shoutosteakettle

want to be added to my tagslist? click here.

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 15 reactions; *nobby nobbs voice* ‘s all gone a bit percychological, sir

 - so from both chapter 6 and now this: rick famuyiwa is incredible at portraying prolonged discomfort and tension (and also at getting din’s endless love for that baby across through the stress of being separated from him. this is the very first episode with no baby in it at all, isn’t it? wow that’s a heartbreaking milestone to reach im crying)

I liked this episode SO MUCH but I had to pause it pretty often and take a breather because it all made me so viscerally uncomfortable on din’s behalf -- not just the armour and having to take the helmet off and be seen for the (almost, ilu IG-11) first time in decades, people keep touching him in this episode when he clearly doesn’t want them to but can’t stop it and it makes me want to claw my own skin off in sympathy, it’s so awful. that’s really neat film making to manage to keep that tension steady almost all the way through!!! 

honestly this episode felt a little bit like psychological horror, with the cheering storm troopers and din in the wrong armour and clearly not digging it and there’s the palpable absence of baby and that ever present dread of being Perceived when you’re not ready for it; everything’s turned upside down from how it should be. and it’s playing with that discomfort both in the main character and in us, the audience, in having the familiar be made unfamiliar and also introducing these questions that shake up everything (that feeling you get of ‘but... if it’s not the helmet, and not the armour, but there’s his face, but we’ve only seen that face once before so it’s still basically new to us, is this... is this still him. is this still Dad’ (oooh I wonder if we’re... sort of getting some of the ??? the baby would be feeling about it too?) we’ve all imprinted on that t-shaped visor like little baby birds, and this was a very clever episode to break us out of that and start to really get used to the thought of him having several faces that are real simultaneously, in a way, and not just a voice. it’s all very smart and interesting and I’m sure I’ll have a lot of incoherent thoughts about this in the weeks to come lol)    

- the actual reason din can’t take off the helmet is that if people were able to see his wide confused puppy eyes they would no longer find it in themselves to send him on long arduous side missions and would help him immediately just so he’d feel better, and that would rob us of like 80% of the content for this show 

mayfeld in this episode: clearly a casualty of this. he literally sees one glimpse of the vulnerability there and then within five seconds goes on to materialize a few redeeming character traits after being a complete jackass for an episode and a half. (I mean. he was 100% still an imperial so I’m a bit ‘hm.’ about how easily especially cara let him off the hook, but with the way it was set up I guess it would have been quite shitty of them to just throw him back in prison so I mean I GUESS. I would be endlessly grateful someone got my awkward bff out of there alive and well too I suppose)

- I actually think din’s sense/integrity of self has gotten so much stronger and more resilient (though probably still quite fragile pls handle with care precious cargo within); if this had happened in the first season I think it might honestly just have killed him (and if it weren’t for IG-11 it probably would have lol)

- can you beLIEVE din is so bad at lying that they literally should plan for contingencies over it fjkasdlhfskajdhfsdj     

- very grateful for the scene with the spear throw that’s basically there to reassure us ‘uh-huh, he absolutely knows how to use it, don’t worry about that part at least’

I want to make a whole post about that fight scene, though, it’s just so GOOD! there’s so much storytelling and characterization in it! even out of the armour din has some real hand to hand MOVES!! he clearly came out of that aching all over, he can barely get back in his seat!!!

- so what I’m mainly taking away from this is that din absolutely cuts his own hair and you know what? he does a good job considering the conditions he has to work under, I love him  

I still find it so goddamn darling that he meticulously maintains that little mustache/stubble combo under there even when there’s every reason to believe no one will ever see it 

I suppose we can also gather that he did not ask cobb about whatever insane feat of magic he’s come up with to avoid helmet hair, but I don’t care looking a bit frazzled and tousled is exactly right for him (he’s so put together when he’s in the armour and a MESS when he’s out of it and I  l o v e  it) 

- boba fett is honestly so fucking hot in this I don’t know what to do with myself haha. he’s so CALM and CALCULATED and COLLECTED in his newly painted armour and he’s GOT THIS and he made that ‘I’ve got one of those faces. one of jango’s many, many, many faces’ joke and he’s so thicc now, he looks like he could easily lift me over his head with one hand and he’s just quietly steady and undramatically supportive and sdalfhsdjhfsa 

- ...din does know who the clone troopers were, right. I mean of course he does. he has to. but does he though. I’m sure he does and just wasn’t thinking. 

- no matter how stressful it was I’m still really grateful that in the end taking the helmet off was something din got to do himself -- it’s under some duress, but it’s still his choice and for the sake of the baby, and almost in two more manageable steps between putting on the storm trooper gear for a different helmet before taking it off altogether. it’s not something done to him by gideon, for example, that would be. so much yuckier and worse. he still has that control and agency intact, even if it’s been tested really hard, and now gideon doing that doesn’t hold the exact same nightmarish power anymore because there’s already a little space opened in din’s mind for different things it can mean, if you see what I mean. I’m not sure I see what I mean actually I just have a lot of feelings haha. so I guess thank you mayfeld for being decent about it and helping him towards that realization that he can still be himself outside these really really inflexible structures he’s set up around himself for like. stability and keeping himself upright for a really long time, and that even someone halfway decent won’t disrespect the boundaries he still has about it at any given moment. man there’s a lot in this episode isn’t there

- the sigh din gave when he saw even more pirates coming and knew he had to get back up... never has a single moment in cinema better captured how I feel about being alive. most relatable man in the world din djarin

- it was really cruel of them to make me listen to din’s dead bleak voice say ‘the child is gone’ again, it wrecks my heart every goddamn time 

- again... I wish carano wasn’t Like That in real life because the cara & fennec scenes should have been everything I could ever dream. ah well fennec was still wonderful and if I just allow myself to think in-universe for a few seconds it was really touching that din would entrust cara with his entire armour, that’s some prime BrOTP energy right there

I love that we got two female characters who were just allies and working together, no competition or nothin’. listen the bar is low but it’s nice to see something actually leap gracefully over it as well lol

- this was one of those with some pretty big open plot holes (why, exactly, would a scan of a completely unknown face be helpful to get into this classified system lol), but a) I don’t care, the emotional storyline was so sound it doesn’t really matter and b) eh handwave handwave let’s say mayfeld programmed that little stick with the good shit and overrode the code saying there needed to be an identity match within the system, it’s all fine 

- I know I joke a lot about this but din really is one of the most relatable characters I’ve ever had. just watching him struggle with eye contact and going pretty much nonverbal under enough stress is like. wow a bit close to home there could we, perhaps, nOT?? (honestly though these are trauma/anxiety things I really don’t see portrayed a lot, especially in protagonists, it’s so odd but healing to see it in a character I love and who’s EXTREMELY competent in many other settings)

- din repeating gideon’s speech back to him word for word (except for the crucial detail that he calls grogu ‘him’ instead of ‘it’ 😭😭😭) and saying nothing else is truly Everything. I’ve said some stuff about din’s deliberate and thoughtful relationship to language in the past and this is such an amazing example of it; he’s remembered that pitch perfect all this time, he’s kept it around in his head and mulled it over and then redeployed it to change the meaning of it completely from dehumanization to love. can you. can you even imagine. and it’s yet another example of his hilarious wonderful petty streak and I can never get enough of it fasjhdfkjalhs    

- din always noticing the children first and foremost Y_______Y (the kids running by is the only thing you see him sort of acknowledge when he’s walking into the covert in season 1 too)  

- please... please I just need him to be able to hold that baby against his chest all safe and sound and okay again I can’t it’s........ hh

NO SEASON END CLIFF HANGER ON THIS I AM  B E G G I N G  YOU 

- I would be having some thoughts about how much space there actually is on slave 1 and what that might mean (do not kill boba again please don’t kill him again), but honestly there’s only ‘GET BABY’ hours in here now, I can’t speculate about anything

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part five | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. this chapter contains explicit sexual content. this chapter also has a content warning for descriptions of torture and dehumanization, plus the aftermath of trauma, themes of identity loss and healing. the previously established story dynamics are prevalent. chapter word count: 10,200 words.

enjoy <3

-

B E FO R E

Felix returns to the base and he is scrutinized, as expected.  They all want to know why he was taken, what the enemy wanted, how he escaped.   Felix has never played so many sides all while obfuscating his real objective.  Alone, he guides himself through the venomous viper’s pit that is this war: Miroh and his enemy, Miroh and the world. 

Where it concerns the enemy, Miroh will always intervene.  He sees the enemy as the antithesis to the house of Miroh.   A rich, spoiled fool, holed up in his golden cave, oblivious to what he has and the work it takes to acquire it.  Miroh is jealous. Miroh is hateful. 

Those are emotions that Felix can manipulate.  He learned it from the best. 

“It was an ambush,” Felix tells him.  “They knew I was going to be there.  They were waiting for me.”  He uses his reputation, formed by Miroh, against Miroh.   

Felix would never lose a fight.  Felix would never fail a mission.  Felix would never surrender.    Felix is a reflection of Miroh so he presents the most flattering image. 

“What information did they want?”  Miroh asks. 

Felix can see the gears spinning in his head.  What could the enemy be seeking so determinedly to lay a trap for Miroh’s asset?  Oh, Miroh has a suspicion.  Felix can see it, because he knows exactly what it is.   

“They asked about Project Twenty-Three,” Felix says.  “I told them I had never heard of it.  Even if I had, I wouldn’t tell them anything.” 

Project Twenty-Three.  Chris has vented about it to Felix.  It is a cyber mission, striking against the enemy’s tightly guarded servers.  It intends to blackout the grid and lay virtual traps while they re-calibrate, compromising not only the enemy but everyone else on that grid: civilians, their homes, their hospitals, their shelters. 

It is a significant job for its scope and because it is the first time a mission will be helmed by Miroh’s daughter. 

Miroh’s daughter, Chris says, intends to sabotage the operation. 

It is Felix’s worst fears coming true.  Miroh’s daughter rebelling against Miroh is doomed to be a catastrophe.  She will inevitably go down and when that blaze tears through the sky, Chris will crash and burn in a similar inferno.  He is too blinded by proximity, too idealistic to see how it is impossible to truly destroy a man like Miroh. 

No one but classified personnel are supposed to know about Project Twenty-Three.  Miroh’s daughter let it slip to Chan, who let it slip to Felix.   As far as Miroh is concerned, Felix should not know about it.  As far as Miroh is concerned, Felix is telling the truth. 

As far as Miroh is concerned, someone is leaking highly sensitive data to the enemy. 

“I’m smarter than that, though,” Felix says.  He appeals to all that haughty vanity and says, “I was trained by the best.  Of course I got away.”

“Of course,” Miroh says.  Where before, he was wary, his guard comes down. 

Felix can sneak in.  Felix can lay his attack. 

“What else did they say?” Miroh asks. 

“I overheard them,” Felix says.  “They’re going to try and kill you.  And it’s going to happen inside your house.” 

The trap is laid.

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

Miroh only put one soldier through a reconfiguration program.  And it wasn’t me.  It was you.   

Chan looks at you as if you shot him even though he was the one who fired at you.  

The words land with more violence than a bullet. 

It can’t be true.  That is your first reaction: denial. He is lying or he is confused or something, something, something. Anything but whatever he just said. 

He tries to step towards you.  You look at him and think of the First Guard: him in that corridor, a hand around your neck.  He fought just enough to make it real, the way you and Changbin sometimes fight, but it never went too far, did it?  You think back to that first fight in the ring.  You commended yourself for lasting so long, but that should have been a hint.  You would not have lasted a round with the First Guard on a good day, never mind after fighting several others.   He never came at you with the full brunt of his fatal capacity like you would expect, like you should have considered at the time. 

His eyes in the van, the tilt of his head.  

Trusting as your car stopped an inch from his body. 

His hands out like you were a wild, unpredictable animal, a weapon, something lethal he had to contain.   It’s me, he said.  It’s just me.  As if you knew who that was.

He does the same thing now.  You wrench away from him.   

“No,” you say.

He says your name but it doesn’t sound like a name; it sounds like begging, it sounds like please, it sounds like desperation, painfully barbed on his tongue.  You half expect him to start bleeding from the mouth. 

“No,” you say again.  You jerk away even though he has stopped reaching for you.  You feel a phantom hand on your chest and on your head, a cold fire in your veins. 

You slam shoulders as you dart past.  He says your name again, this time like an alarm, only barely short of a scream as he chases after you.  You get as far as the door before he catches you, his hand wrapped around your bicep and your name a weapon on his lips.

“Stop it,” you say.  It isn’t loud but it is brutal all the same. 

He lets go as if you electrocuted him. 

You look at him.  He stares back, all that begging in his dark eyes. 

“You can’t – you can’t leave,” he says.  His panic bubbles into frustration and he says, “You just told me off for doing that, didn’t you?”

You think of him on that rooftop, not even blinking at Miroh’s dead body, like he couldn’t care less, his eyes rivetted to you alone.   

“Do you trust me?” you ask. 

You think he would rather get hit.  A moment of pain, a scar to join the others. Instead, he has to endure the intensity of your eyes, suffer whatever fucked up expression is haunting your body, and then he has to let you go. 

You do not look at his face when leaving.  You don’t want to see this side of him.  There are already too many versions of him in your head, just as there are too many versions of yourself. 

The denial does not last long.  You walk through the brisk night, destination nowhere.  The sky feels too big.

It’s preposterous, isn’t it?  You are in your body right this moment, looking at the world with your own eyes.  How can anything be wrong inside?   But even while attempting to convince yourself otherwise, you know the truth.  It has been long unfurling in the back of your mind.   You have not felt like yourself for days, maybe weeks, maybe the entire three months since this downfall began. 

You don’t even remember what it means to feel like yourself. 

All the nightmares, the visions, the flashes of dreams that feel more like memories – maybe memories is exactly what they are.  So suppressed it feels like watching a movie rather than your own life, but your story regardless.   Sifting through those fragments feels like searching through rubble in a collapse. How are you ever expected to find a person under that much annihilation? 

When it happens, Changbin said, what feels like a lifetime ago.  When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be…  When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…”

A sob rips out of you.  You have cried more in days than you have in years.  You cover your face and fall into the dark of your closed eyes.  You see your friend, not a fragment or broken memory, but a whole person.  The scar on your palm twinges, reminding you that you are real and here. 

Remember me, he said. 

That was the very first thing you did.   You saw him on that rooftop and you remembered something.  Him, younger, bleeding, emerging from a fog of smoke.  He lifted a weight off your chest.  He made you a promise. 

You try to chase the memory of that dream, try to hold the image of him in your mind, but it moves like water through a sieve.  It’s like he’s standing right there, just in the corner of your eye if you could only turn your head to look.  But you are trapped in place.  Pinned down, a weight on your chest. 

You lose track of time under the stars.  You are too numb to feel the cold.  Only when the sky purples with the very earliest streak of dawn do you move.  You look at your feet as you walk and it feels like someone else is moving you.  You know it’s just exhaustion, a trick of the weary eye, but a shudder moves through you.   

You don’t want to think about it.  Whenever your mind starts to go there – to that room, to that hole, to the cell – it backs away screaming.  It is probably why you can’t hold any picture for longer than a second. 

A small part of you still rebels, insisting it isn’t true because it’s can’t be true, but you know intrinsically that it is. 

This confirmation solidifies when you get back to the room and find Chan still awake, sitting in a chair with his head in his hands. 

He lifts his head.   You can’t hold his gaze for long, swallowed up by the dark depth that sees something in you, far beyond the surface, buried so deep you can’t find it. 

You turn away.   You climb into bed. 

It isn’t an escape.  You know that, even as you close your eyes and shut out the world.   It’s all waiting for you there, your subconscious caught in a perpetually crashing tidal wave.  

You fall asleep, ready to face the nightmares. 

-

It feels like swimming against an acidic current.  You push through but it bears down; you struggle but it burns your skin, sloughs down to the clean marrow.  Pieces of you are lost to the tide.  You try to catch each flaking sliver of personhood but then your arms are full and you can no longer swim.

You are going to drown. 

“Let go,” says a voice, colder than the water.  “This will all stop.  Just let go.” 

Just let go.  Just let your skin unravel.  Just let the tide take it away.  You will never get it back.  You will be a living corpse, a half-consciousness puppeting your bones. 

You decide to drown.  You slip further and further into the blackness behind your lids.

“Hey, it’s me!  I’m coming!” 

Changbin.

You can hear his footsteps as he thunders towards you, but you can’t see him.  Your eyelids are so heavy, as if being held shut by a hand in the water.

Another hand reaches straight through the corrosive cold and seizes your face in a desperate grip. 

“Wake up,” Changbin says.  He taps your cheek repeatedly, a little harder each time, a little more frantic.  “Hey, wake up.  Please.  Please wake up.”

It feels like he is prying your eyes open.  One moment there is nothing but darkness, then Changbin is there.  He looks like he did when you last saw him, grown, fight-ready, a little scar on his face.  It bleeds more than such a tiny mark should.  A droplet hits your cheek, burning hot compared to the water. 

“It’s me,” he says. “Hold on.  Keep your eyes open.  Don’t go.  I promise I’ll get you out.” 

Don’t go.  Don’t go.  An echoing reverberation that circles the wooden beams high above your head.  You look there, staring at the ceiling as your lungs slowly fill with oxygen. 

The ceiling shatters in a spray of splinters, the world vanishing in a cloud of grey smoke.  Changbin is gone and your father stands over you, keeping that weight on your chest with a press of his fist. 

“You’ll thank me one day,” he says, and plunges you back under water.  Ice cold currents and electric hot fire twine in and around you in an unfathomable vice.  Your vision flickers as you twitch and flail, avoiding one sensation to succumb to the other. 

“Don’t go,” Changbin says.  “I promise I’ll get you out.” 

Another bolt of lightning slices through you. 

“Just let go.”  A cold and clinical voice.

There is a war between those voices.  Time passes slowly as you volley in the current, slamming into one or the other. 

In the bubbling frenzy, you hear a whisper.  

“Let her go.”  That is not Changbin.  That is not your father.  It’s too soft – soft, until it’s not, until it sounds like speaking through an open chest cavity, heaving up its heart with every cry.  “Please,” the voice begs.  “Let her go.” 

“Thank me,” your father says.  He stands with his back to you, angled just enough you can see the gun in his hands.   You can’t see the person on the receiving end.  You just know it’s a soldier.  You just know it’s a boy. 

You have to stop it.  The thought overwhelms you and you reach for the gun, but your hand never makes contact, splashing through cold water. 

“Subject recognizes control,” says that clinical voice.

There is a hand on your chest.  It pushes you back under water. 

You are alone in the current and the corrosion and the cold.  The hand pushes you deeper and deeper into the endless darkness under you.  

You are going to drown.  You are going to let yourself drown. 

“You don’t want to do that,” you say. 

Your father still has a gun in his hand.  It is pointed at that boy. 

“Subject— Control—”

You need to get that gun.  You need to swim.  You need to see him.  You need to save him. 

You finally let go. 

-

You open your eyes. 

Unlike in your dreams, it’s fast.  You jolt awake in a cold sweat.  The ceiling is unmoving, the air cool and dry from the motel’s cheap, noisy air conditioner.  The blinds are closed but the neon light outside the window creates a fuzzy square halo.  It brightens the room just enough to see  the outline of everything clearly.  

That includes Chan.

He is still awake.  If this was just one night ago, you would tell him to get into bed and sleep because you can’t have him tired for the mission.  But now, you find yourself staring back at him, at his bare and open face, his tired eyes and the uncomfortable tension in his shoulders.   

When you went to sleep, he was sitting on that same chair in the corner, and it looks like he hasn’t moved once.  He’s been waiting for you. 

He’s been waiting a lot longer than one night.   If she ever came back to me, he said, revealing years of hope, of watching, waiting for you to break through your conditioning and show him a sign.  He was never brainwashed, just trapped in a precarious situation, bound to a bargain with no way out that didn’t compromise you.  He could have saved himself at any time but it wouldn’t have mattered.   

“You were never reconfigured,” you say. 

“No.” 

The question and answer breaks a dam.  A flood of questions pour to the front of your mind, overwhelming you, taking you back to your dreams where you almost drown – again and again.  You remember the report, stating too much recollection could trigger some kind of breakdown.  Yes, you could ask Chan to tell you everything, to string together all those gaps in your nightmares, but you already know that would not help.  It would either feel like a story about a girl you do not know, or it would just throw you deeper into the whirlpool.

You let those questions turn over themselves like a crashing wave.  When it settles, you ask the one question that remains.

“Were we friends?” 

He doesn’t answer right away.   He leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands under his chin.  He is impossibly strong but right now he looks too weak to support himself.

“No,” he finally says.  His eyes dart to the floor.  “No, we weren’t friends.” 

He looks at you and you fall into the unspoken story within his eyes.  You have been conversing without words since you met.  He has been looking at you with that wanting tilt and desperate stare since he stepped into the ring. 

You remember a fragment from a dream.   Him, younger, his face ravaged with tears and his mouth open on a muted shout.   It would be easy to mistake that as him being tortured, his pain that palpable.  But your memory is not of his suffering, just his watching, just his waiting.   

All this time, he has been waiting.  

“Did you love me?” you ask. 

This answer comes faster, but rougher as if guarding against vulnerability.  His voice is low.

“Yes.”

A phantom spark fires up your arm, straight into your heart. 

“Did I love you?” you ask.

He holds your gaze, though it feels like he is looking just a little past you, seeing something you can’t see.  Then again, maybe he doesn’t see it, maybe he is just searching, and maybe he comes up empty.  Because when he answers, his voice is airy, and the word is like a hiss of pain, like getting hit in the chest and all the air leaving the body at once.

“Yes,” he says.

You feel the weight of that hit too.  Wavering under the force of it, you blurt, “I don’t remember.” 

“I know,” he says.  He drops his head into his hands and rubs his palms over his face, scrunches his eyes shut tight and shakes his head.  “I know.”    

You want to go to him.  You are not sure where the urge comes from because, despite what he said, you have never loved like that.  Is it something buried inside you, something that remembers?  Maybe it’s just you, who you are now, the person who has spent the last few days with this man at her side.  His proximity has been a confusing comfort from the start.  Maybe it’s a memory or maybe it’s just him. 

You stand before thinking it through.  He doesn’t even notice, a sign this competent soldier is very far gone, his face still buried in his hands.  When you touch his shoulder, it catches him off guard, both arms jolting as if stung. 

He looks up at you, his hand instinctively flying to the one you rest on his shoulder.  He clasps it, holds it there, presses it down like he needs convincing it is real. 

He meets your eyes.   You do not know what you look like; you just know it hurts him, that it makes everything so much worse. 

A child-like sob punches out of him.  His eyes close tight, his face going red as he fights to hold it in.   He cried earlier and it looked like the typical outpouring of stress and hurt, but it did not look like this. 

After that first sob, reminiscent of the little boy he never really was, years of torment come tearing violently out of his chest.  Flashes of memories melt with the sight, his young face twisted as he wails, that muted shout filled in with his voice now. 

He holds his forehead, doubles over.  When you see the top of his head, those other images fade away.  It is just him, here, now.  Whoever he is, he has been good to you.  Your hand is still on his shoulder and he is still clinging to it. 

“Chan,” you whisper.  You’re not sure if he hears it, but his breath catches when you nudge him upright.  You are certain he can’t see very well through his tears, but he looks up anyway. 

When you climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, he does not hesitate to throw his arms around you.  His hands find your back and he presses you so close, it feels like he is trying to push you right into his heart.  He puts his face in your neck where he fights to steady his breathing. 

You touch the nape of his neck.  You shiver at his long exhale. 

You feel miserable and choked for a myriad of reasons.  For him, everything he as endured and lost.  For you, who doesn’t even know what she lost at all. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.  His breathing is less laboured, though his voice sounds sore.  He exhales again, some tension leaving his shoulders where you rest your hands. 

You squeeze those shoulders and lean back to look at him.  His expression is more than a little abashed, gaze uncertain.  You are not good at smiling but you try, even though you think your brows are furrowed and his sorrow is reflecting back through your eyes. 

“Thought we agreed to stop apologizing,” you say. 

His laugh is as weak as your smile, but certainly there.   You touch his face with your scarred palm, feel the curve of his jaw where that wound runs sharpest.    You think you can only touch him because of that scar.  You used to balk at the sight of someone else’s tears, even deride them.  You don’t remember being a lover.  You didn’t even realize you had a friend until it was too late.

You might not know who you are, and you might not know how to describe how you feel, but you certainly understand it feels different, and you certainly know what kind of person you do not want to be anymore. 

So you do not rip your hand away.  You curl a tuft of hair behind his ear. 

“I just—”  You trip over your own words, wishing you were a better speaker, more personable and warm than your stiff recitation.  “I can’t be that person,” you say.  “I don’t know what person I will be, but I’m not – I can’t—”

“I know,” he says, sincere.  He is holding your waist and he gives it a small squeeze, a reassuring touch that moves through you with a burst of warmth.  It simmers in your bloodstream when he smiles – his eyes still sorrowful despite the dimple in his cheek.   “I don’t wish you were someone else,” he says.  With a wince, he says, “I wish I was.” 

Your stomach twists in an awful knot.  You think of all that blood on his hands.  Despite his efforts to keep it away from you, you feel it on yourself.  You have to close your eyes to push away the flood of images, unsure which are imaginative fabrications and which are potential memories.  You just know he looks too young to have that kind of red on him. 

You open your eyes and look at him.  His eyes are open but his gaze is faraway, lost in thought.  You touch a tendril of curly hair, feel it under your fingers like you have the past couple nights.  He looks at you with eyes that have already shared multiple conversations. 

“I wish you hadn’t suffered,” you say.  “I don’t think anyone should suffer that way.  I don’t think the ends justify the means anymore.  But also I—” 

Even while your heart is changing inside, getting those words outside is a different struggle entirely. 

Chan looks at you with that tilt to his head, that questioning brow, his eyes a lot softer with his curiosity.  Your breath is jagged, a messy gasp as you gather yourself.  You look away, wholly incapable of maintaining eye contact.

“I got in the car with the First Guard,” you say.   “Not with some other version of you.  This soldier.  This Chan.”   You look down at your hands, absent-minded in the way you move them, from his shoulders down to his chest.  “This is the man I trusted,” you say.  “The one I still do.”

Your eyes lift.  They meet his.  His expression is a mix of confusion and amazement. 

His lips part with a question, but it gets caught.  He stares a little longer, then he asks, “Why?”

An unexpected laugh bubbles and bursts right out of you. 

“I have no idea,” you say, giving in to that bubbly feeling, letting it fill your chest and lift you up like a safety raft.  “I don’t know anything at all.” 

You realize there is something freeing in that thought.  No, you don’t know who you are.  No, you don’t know what is going to happen past right now.  You have to save your friend.  You have to end your father’s business.  Everything else, the becoming of you and the world and your place in it, is unanswerable.  You can’t find blueprints or scour maps or form battle strategies.  You don’t know where the water leads.  You just have to swim. 

“Maybe it doesn’t even matter,” you say with a shrug.  “I don’t know.  Nothing about yesterday, nothing tomorrow—”

“Just right now,” he says.

His voice is a little lower.  Just right now.  That was the pact you made the other night. 

Your whole body comes alight, waking from the ice cold state it has been frozen in.  It warms under his palms on your hips and where his dark eyes roam. 

“Just right now,” you repeat as softly.  You look at your hands again, realize more consciously how intimately they rest on his chest.  Rather than retract, you swipe your thumb across the exposed strip of skin where his flannel is buttoned askew.   “Maybe that’s all I need to know.” 

This right now feels different than before.  You don’t blame his emotional reaction to your earlier intimacy if it was an affect of all his memories, all he had lost, and all he was.  You think your straightforward trust in him – not in spite of his identity, but because of it – has shifted things again.  Your hands on his chest and your words in the open seem to have changed the shape of this whole room. 

“I’m the First Guard,” he says.  His eyes drop to your mouth then back up.  “You’re Miroh’s daughter.” 

“Yes, you are,” you say.  “And no, I’m not.”  You see the shiver that moves through him when you run your hands up his chest and curl your hand around the back of his neck.   You feel his thighs get tense under yours, his whole body reacting.  “Say my name,” you say.

When he does, it is not like a weapon or alarm, but spoken in a way that makes you feel like you have never heard your name spoken properly before that moment. 

You kiss him first and this time it lands deliberately, catching him mid-breath and stealing the rest of it.  When you start to lean away, to see if it’s all right, he puts his hand on the back of your head, curls his fingers in your hair, and draws you right into him, stealing back that breath with a desperate kiss. 

In a way, this is familiar to you.  You always liked and used sex as a grounding exercise.  You feel present in your body, regardless of how floaty and detached you felt before.  From the tingling top of your head to the curling of your toes, you feel every inch of yourself, alive and hot. 

But it feels different too.  You were always eager to chase the high, to reach the final destination with little care for the journey.  You realize, maybe, it is about the becoming, itself.

“Chan,” you say, squeezing his hips between your legs when he runs his hands under your shirt.  You climbed into bed still wearing your pants and shirt, wishing differently now as you rock your body against his. 

You buck a little eagerly, sensations going to your head quicker than intoxication.  Chan brings you back down, shushing you gently, guiding your open mouth back to his.  He kisses you slowly, touches you like he is memorizing every contour.   You make a sweet sound into his mouth, cupping his face as you kiss him back. 

“Can we—” you start.

“Yes,” he says.  “Yes, yes.” 

You stand on shaky legs and strip your bottom layers away.  The few seconds apart are dizzying, the whole world around him fuzzy as that neon yellow light leaking into the room.   Because he is staring at you, looking dazed and dishevelled, it takes him longer to unbutton his jeans than it did for you to remove your pants altogether.  You climb back onto his lap and do not help at all, distracting him with another kiss. 

A kiss always felt like a waste of time, but you think you could content yourself with just kissing him forever.   Slow or fast, gentle or needy.  

You are kissing when he gets inside you, gripping your bare thighs with a possessive hold that will feel tender tomorrow.   You luxuriate in the pleasure and the pain, your body yours, shared with him, reciprocated in turn.  

Whatever else existed – or could exist – ceases to matter for a time.  You come together and come apart in each other’s arms, chests pressed together, hearts racing against each other.  You tug his hair and pull his face into your neck, moaning under the press of his teeth and the heat of his lips. 

“Mm, fuck,” he groans into your skin, clutching your hips even tighter, rocking up into you while you roll down against him.  His gentle curse has you whimpering, his mouth on your throat making you shake.  “Mm, get all tight when I bite you, you know,” he murmurs, and leaves no time for argument or embarrassment because he nips at your neck again.  You do exactly what he said, clenching around him with an involuntary shudder. 

“Fuck,” is all you say.  He breathes a laugh against your skin. 

You clutch his shoulders when he gathers you and stands, moving the couple small steps towards the bed where he lays you out.  You are apart for only seconds, but you feel so cold and empty that it is almost terrifying.  When he shucks his jeans and gets back on top of you, you unbutton his shirt with shaking fingers, body in convulsions from the angle he is fucking you.   

You have never been fully alive in your body until right now. 

You come while he fucks you and you come again, when he puts his hands on you, like he really does need to feel every inch of you with his searching fingers.  When he keeps touching you, you are so stimulated you slap his chest, making him smile at your loss of words. 

 You lay in a tangled heap, your legs twined together.  Your shirt is gone and his is unbuttoned, your cheek on his chest as he lays on his back.  You let yourself be a little lulled by the cadence of his breathing.

Your eyes eventually wander.  You realize the sun has joined that neon light, the fuzzy halo around the window now a clearer glow.  The day is beckoning.  It brings you back to reality, to the world outside this re-shaped room. 

“I know I need to face it eventually,” you say.  “I don’t know what will happen. But right now – I can’t be distracted from the mission.  I need to rescue Changbin.  I need to stop my father.”

Miroh is dead but everything he did haunts you, like a ghost around every corner.  You can’t afford to confront the other ghosts, including your own. 

“Whatever happens after right now,” you say.  “I guess I’ll see.” 

“I understand,” Chan says.  He is caressing your spine, fingertips stroking up and down the slope of your back.   He scratches a little at the nape of your neck, making you hum in contentment.  “Really,” he says.  “I know things got crazy earlier but… I think right now… I can do right now.”

You look up at him.  He smiles down at you, dimples digging into his cheeks.  You have to look away, because you just promised yourself no distractions, but that smile causes a flush of warmth that goes beyond the physical. 

“Well,” you say with a sigh, patting his chest.  “Maybe by then you and me will be friends for real.” 

You feel his body stiffen, shoulders dropping, the hand on your nape freezing.   You look up to see his face, a questioning brow quirked.  He is returning the expression, though his countenance is a little more drole. 

“What?” you say. 

He answers with a firmer grip on the back of your neck.  He rolls you over, onto your back, keeping your head lifted in his hand.  The length of his open flannel drapes over your warm skin, a soft tickle as he leans down and kisses you.  It starts gentle but doesn’t last, his tongue parting your lips and the hot, needy press of his mouth pinning you to the bed and his arms.   You kiss back but hardly keep up, dizzy with breathlessness as he licks into your mouth, as he chases down the breath of you, as he keeps your lips on his for as long as he possibly can. 

Then he leans to one side.  His breath tickles your neck before he kisses just below your ear.  He whispers, “I don’t want to be friends.” 

He looks at you with a far too innocent dimpled smile.  You think Chan might be a bigger threat to your well-being than the First Guard. 

“Okay,” you say, breathless.  “Noted.” 

-

You open the blinds.  Once the room is full of sunlight, you revert to soldiership and work on your next strategy. 

There is no doubt the Miroh corporation is floundering in a state of panic.   They are not only dealing with the loss of its boss and heir, but also destabilizing insider attacks on various sectors while vulnerable.  On top of everything else, stocks have plummeted and investors are running for their lives and their wallets. 

You and Chan have watched the company as well as the social reaction.  With different leaks and financial fallouts, especially given Miroh’s connections to governmental and military divisions, it is no surprise that different stories have been cycling through the news.  You have kept an ear on the radio and an eye on tv stations. 

As you scour blueprints and map your next manoeuvre, you have the news playing at a low volume in the background.  They are currently reporting the combustion of a Miroh facility.  Their research and sources have led them to deduce it is an inside job.  

That much is fairly obvious as no one else could do what you and Chan are doing, though you are not suspects.  The media believes you are dead, that both you and your father were assassinated at the same time.  You are not sure if the company honestly believes you died, that the First Guard killed you then disappeared without Miroh to corral him, or if they reported that so they could kill you without a fuss in the future. 

There are no reports on Chan, of course.  No one outside of Miroh’s world even knows he exists. 

The major suspects are disgruntled investors and former employers, so far mostly scientists and research assistants given the targeted facilities.  With some of the government leaks, there are also theories that some deals with legislators went sour and resulted in a target being painted over the name Miroh. 

This seems to the angle the current report is taking.  At first, you are only half-listening, as the news reporter does not mention anything you have not heard before. 

Then you catch the latter half of a sentence you are not expecting.

“—of greater potential concern as this latest attack was on a military base.”

Both you and Chan whip your heads up at the same time. 

You have not attacked any military bases. 

“Turn that up,” you say.

Chan is already on his feet and moving towards the bed where the remote was discarded.  He turns up the volume on the television and you both watch the report. 

It is not impossible that a domino effect could ripple from one facility to the next.  The more attacks you make – targeting all the little chinks in Miroh’s armour – the more likely it is that certain institutions will collapse entirely on their own.  Either people will chase the money, like a lot of former investors, or they will abandon course altogether.  Eventually, Miroh’s world will eat itself alive, with or without your help. 

But you have so far only targeted a couple smaller research facilities.  Yes, there have already been consequences, but not enough that a totally unrelated military base on the other side of the country would spontaneously combust. 

You stare at the screen.  That base is big.  It isn’t going down without a fight.  No one outside of the house of Miroh would have dared target it.  No one else would have known how. 

“Changbin,” you say. 

Chan puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.  You look at him then at the television, at the story unfolding rapidly in front of you. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” you ask.  “It has to be.”

There might be just enough chaos in the ranks that if a solder of Changbin’s calibre was being held, something might fall wayside and he would have an opportunity to escape.  

You are just not sure he would try.   Changbin has obviously undergone changes of his own, all seeming to stem from that final confrontation with Lee Felix before the enemy went down and took his world with him.   Changbin clearly decided once and for all what was really important to him.  Changbin has always played the game carefully, but in the last few months he repeatedly put himself between you and your father.   He intercepted multiple interactions with Miroh’s men, altercations you dismissed as nuisances at the time but shudder to realize the weight now. 

Changbin threw himself in the middle, again and again, painting a bigger and bigger target on his back.  He seemed resigned to his demise.  For that reason, you are not sure how much he would fight even if given the opportunity.  He seemed whole-heartedly certain he would be left behind, no matter what happened. 

You curl your hand into a fist, digging your nails into your scar.  There was so much you should have told him.  If he knew that you were willing to fight this hard.  If he knew you would find out the truth.  If, if, if—

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Chan says. 

You look at him just as he kneels down beside your chair.  He takes your hand, the one with the scar, and unfolds it carefully. 

“Kicking yourself won’t save him, yeah?”  Chan says. 

“Yeah,” you say with a huff. 

The report continues.  It details this attack as being an inside job as well.  Supposedly, according to rumours breaching the walls, multiple people have gone missing, but their identities have not been given to the press.  Hearing that, you become marginally more hopeful that Changbin is among them.  The company would not report their supposed missing persons because they are most likely prisoners being held in less-than-legal circumstances.  Changbin would be that type of prisoner.  

The fight is ongoing.  He could still be there. 

“It’s a lead, at least,” Chan says, echoing your thoughts. 

“Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong place this whole time,” you say.  You have been targeting the science sector when maybe your father kept it all in the military house after all.  Maybe after the initial pass through that research facility, he was moved onto a more secure base, given his background as a former child soldier of the special-ops program. 

Well, if that is the case, their extra security did not work.  Of course it didn’t work.  It’s Seo Changbin.   You could laugh at their idiocy. 

“We need to find out either way,” you say. 

You manage your expectations for now, but as you sit at the table and change course to plan an entirely new strategy, it is with a hope as clear and bright as the sunlight.

-

It is a lot of driving to the military base.  You will get there at nightfall the next day if you stop only sparsely. 

You and Chan are swift in packing and climbing back into that car.  You take turns sleeping and driving, though the last leg of the journey is spent on edge.  You are braced and ready for a fight, all that determination exacerbated by the very real possibility that you are about to see Changbin again. 

What will you say to him?  What will he say to you?  You wonder how much he knew about the reconfiguration.  Clearly, he knew something, if not the specifics, as he went to great lengths to keep you away from your father. 

You thought Changbin had saved you on an emotional level, but you realize now how it crossed into every sphere of life.    

You close your eyes while Chan drives.  You see Changbin on that rooftop, saying he will not leave you behind.  It was the first hit that shattered the glass around you.  Miroh had so carefully built that clear coffin around your consciousness, and Changbin smashed right through with the sheer brute force of his friendship. 

You glance at Chan.  Miroh did everything in his power to make sure you forgot about him.  Bang Christopher Chan, the First Guard.  Someone you loved and who loved you.  Your father would have focussed on that.  He would not have seen anything. 

Why would he care about a friendship?  What does that word even mean to a man like him?  He would have looked right past Changbin.  He spent all that time wiping Chan from your mind, that he never thought to look for anything else. 

Your body gets cold as you remember – something.  You close your eyes.  You are standing in front of Changbin.  He’s young, in his late teens, about the age you would have been when they reconfigured you.  He is looking at you with uncertainty.  You feel an uneasiness looking back at him. 

Don’t you know me? he asks.  He pulls a face, makes some dumb noises, waves his hands.  Then he frowns.  Changbin can be funny, but he turns it off in a second, as deadly as the rest of them.   So much anger floods his eyes, they look black with the focussed intensity of his fury.  You know me, he says.  Think.  Remember me. 

You see a slant of moonlight, a windowpane, a streak of blood.  Remember me. 

You feel a weight as it is lifted off your chest.  You hear him shouting your name.  You hear him running. 

You know me, he says. 

You flinch – in your memory? – right now? – and a piercing wail floods your mind.  You don’t want to go towards that scream.  You can’t go there. 

It’s me, he says.  Hold on.  Keep your eyes open.  Don’t go.  I promise I’ll get you out.

“Changbin,” you say. 

“Hey, hey, baby, hey—”  That is Chan.  He is shaking your arm.

Your eyes pop open. 

You have never had flashes of recollection while awake.  It feels like a bigger adrenaline rush than waking from a nightmare, very little to divide your mind from reality. 

You take a few steadying breaths while Chan rubs your shoulder.  He was driving but the car is now stopped on the side of the road.  You did not even feel him braking. 

“What happened?” he asks when you are settled enough to speak.

“I don’t know,” you say.  “I just—I was thinking.  Remembering.  Not like that.  It’s complicated.  I just—”

You close your eyes.  A teenage Changbin is still standing there, looking at you warily. 

You know me. 

I know you.

“Changbin,” you say, choked up.  You blink your eyes open and take another breath.  “I’ll be okay,” you say.  “We can’t stop for long.  Let’s get back on the road.”

Chan does not look convinced, frowning as he stares into your face.  You blink at him, then narrow your eyes into a squint.

“Did you call me baby?” you ask. 

He clears his throat and turns back to the steering wheel.  Looking out over the dashboard, definitely not at you, and with the tips of his ears more than a little red, he says, “You’re right.  Let’s get back on the road.”

In spite of everything, you find yourself smiling. 

-

It is only natural that you are waylaid at the very last minute, right on the cusp of sunset as you approach the vicinity of the military base.  Not only is your path to finally rescuing Changbin obstructed, but it is halted by the most asinine, mundane nonsense in the world. 

Soldiers, agents, entire convoluted military operations – those you can easily take.  Minimum wage workers, on the other hand, are impossible combatants.  More grizzled than the worst of ancient servicemen, they blink at your pleading with a harsher chill than a mob boss.   You are certain this gas station attendant has seen some shit because he is not remotely inclined to assuage anyone’s anxiety. 

“The till is down,” he says with an icy tone, face pinched unpleasantly.  “It’ll be back up in a minute.” 

He goes back to talking to his manager on the phone, smacking his computer till at random intervals.  It does not exactly inspire confidence. 

While you and Chan have been getting by with theft and subterfuge, you do everything in your power to not draw attention.  That means you pay for gas as many stations have security cameras that log and report drive-offs and defaults. 

That means you are stuck in this line with several other customers while the hapless cashier whacks his computer.

The little bell above the door rings as Chan steps inside the shop. 

“What’s taking so long?” he asks. 

“I want to hit him,” you say, pointing to the disinterested cashier.  “He’s never gonna get that thing fixed.  We have somewhere to be, we can’t just stand here all day—” 

“Ah, ah, ah, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Chan says soothingly.  He interrupts your rant as you were raising your voice.   Not that it matters because the incompetent cashier is not paying any attention. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Chan says.  “You just have to know how to talk to people, yeah?” 

The cashier paid you absolutely no mind when you tried to complain.  He gave you a nasty look and ordered you to get to the back of the line.  Chan, on the other, receives a quick onceover and a blink of seeming approval. 

Chan leans on the counter and smiles a devastatingly charming smile, those dimples blinding.  The cashier puts the phone on his shoulder and looks at him expectantly.    

“Hey there,” Chan says. 

“Hello,” the cashier replies, coolly but not as rudely.  “The till is broken, sir.  We’re going to have to wait for a repair.”

“You know, I’m pretty good with my hands,” Chan says.  “I bet if you let me under there, I could figure something out.” 

The cashier blinks at him.  One blink, two blinks, three.  Then he hangs up the phone and opens the gate to let Chan behind the counter. 

You cross your arms and roll your eyes. 

Chan, perhaps unsurprisingly given his necessary breadth of skills, helps the useless cashier get his dumb register running again.  You all but throw the money at his stupid pretty head before marching away. 

“Thanks, Wolfgang,” the cashier says, using the made-up name Chan gave him.

“No problem.”  Chan winks back at him.   “Have a good day, uh—”  He squints at the name tag, gives it only a sparing glance as he steps out the door.  “Hyunjin,” he says.

The door swings closed and you continue on your way. 

-

Fortunately, you have no more preposterous interludes.   You approach the base differently than the facilities, especially because you have not been able to do a proper sweep.  However, that should be fine given the entire operation here has already been massively destabilized.  All the main assets have moved along, either because of imminent danger or because the media now has its eyes on its actions. 

Either way, you get inside without much fuss.  You stick together for longer, not trusting the dark corridors and labyrinthine tunnels. 

It is a lot emptier than anticipated.  The fight seems to have ended some time in the last couple hours.  There is an eerie, unsettled feeling, like a house abandoned in the middle of a meal.  Unlike the dusty underground hovels at the research facility, this place is still breathing.   You are not sure what it will cough up. 

“Still think he’s here?”  Chan asks, likely coming to the same conclusion as you: that even if Changbin was here, he has probably moved on.  He has either escaped and gone of his own volition or he was caught and reprimanded and has been relocated. 

“Maybe,” you say with a sigh.  “Maybe not.  But it’s still a lead.  Treat it like one.” 

You finally split up to cover more ground, agreeing to reconvene at the central warehouse in half-an-hour. 

Maybe Changbin is no longer in these walls – maybe he was never here at all – but there might still be answers.  You suspect there are questions too, because you cannot imagine who outside of the special-ops program would have both the calibre of skill and necessary intel to pull of an operation like this.  Someone reached right into the heart of this base and yanked at its ventricles like it was nothing.  And if not to escape, then why?

It has to be Changbin, you tell yourself, even while a sense of wrongness creeps under your skin.  It is the same odd, unsettled feeling you get when you think about the night the enemy died – specifically when you think about that security system somehow being wiped after the house burned down with everyone inside it.  It is that strange discombobulation, where the answer is probably simple and right in front of your face, so blatant that its absence haunts and distracts you.

You are distracted with thought.  Maybe that is why you make your first mistake.

You turn a corner and crash right into someone.  You are shocked because you did not hear their approach.  Even distracted, you should have heard footsteps in an empty corridor, especially in heavy combat boots.  You are quiet but you have unique bodily control that even well-trained soldiers cannot replicate.  No one else can walk that quietly.

It is clear the same startled reaction ripples through their body. 

You draw guns at the same time, firing with equal speed and precision.  You also both duck at the same time.  Smooth as a dance, you whirl around each other, firing and re-loading until they do a spin-kick and knock the gun aside.  

As you fight with your hands, you only catch glimpses of your opponent.  They are dressed all in black but not in Miroh’s uniform, a balaclava pulled over their face and head.  They are very slender, but they land a hit like someone twice their size. 

Your second mistake is your own fault.  You underestimate them based on their build and it earns you a good right cross. In the ensuing dizziness, they make a break down the corridor at an alarming speed.  It leaves you reeling more than the hit. 

“What the fuck,” you say, staggering after them. 

This person does not work for Miroh, that much is obvious.  It also definitely isn’t Changbin.  This person has the completely wrong build, opposite of Changbin in almost every way.   No, it isn’t your friend, but it might very well be another prisoner.  They might have an idea of what happened.  They might know if Changbin was here and where he went. 

The thought propels you into a determined sprint.  You cannot follow sound as the person is good enough to keep their footsteps low, but you are just as skilled so they likewise do not see you coming. 

They coincidentally head straight for the central warehouse.   The warehouse previously functioned as a pseudo-armory, but it has already been completely cleared.  It is two levels, the top floor a balcony walkway overlooking the main warehouse floor. 

The warehouse is empty except for the intruder. The person seems to be deliberating.   They remove their head covering for a second, long enough to catch their breath.  You see a flash of black hair and a hint of a masculine profile before you are spotted.   The man tugs the fabric back over his head. 

He leaps right off the balcony. 

It is too high for a normal person to jump without breaking a leg.  Naturally, you run to the railing to look over.

Your adversary is a step ahead of you.   He is dangling there, waiting for you to approach so he can swing back over and knock you down.  You skid across the balcony level, the metal walkway rattling under your weight. 

You don’t stay down for long.  Another fight begins, a back and forth tussle that makes you think you need more training.  The past day has been more than a little hectic, but you should be able to take down even a well-trained soldier. 

He does another spin-kick, a solid roundhouse that knocks your mask right off.   You stumble sideways while the mask clatters across the balcony before spilling right over the ledge.  It is a long descent before it smacks the ground. 

You ground your footing, assuming a defensive stance with a swift upward swing.

“Who are you?” you ask.

At the exact same time, the man says, “You.” 

That prompts another question, a bigger question, why on earth this stranger would recognize you in this context.   You cannot even think about your question, however, because the man abruptly flies at you with twice the verve as before.  Caught off guard, at first you struggle to defend yourself.   When he finally swings too wide, giving you an opening, you do not waste the opportunity. 

You tackle him, fully and bodily, arms around him as you charge the balcony.   You shove him right over the railing.  It is not so high that he’ll die, but you don’t want to kill him anyway.  You need to ask him questions – like did he do all this and how and why?  Are there others?  Is Changbin among them? 

You grasp the railing.  You are prepared to swing and jump over but you stop short at what you find.  The man, who should be nursing a fractured leg right about now, is instead getting to his feet.  He looks a bit dizzy, shaking his head and rubbing his temple, but he is otherwise unscathed. 

You just stand there for a second, gawping at him like an animal. 

That shielded face finally lifts, eyes finding yours across the space.   His head cocks, seemingly a dry and irritated, Really?

You launch yourself off the balcony, landing heavily but safely.  You absorb the shock and straighten, not taking your eyes off this man for a second. 

“I’m not interested in hurting you,” you say. 

He scoffs, pointedly looking down at your uniform. 

“I don’t work for Miroh anymore,” you say.  “I’m just trying to blend in.” 

“You?” he says.  It is so far the only thing he is willing to say.  His voice has a darker, deeper tone, scratching at the back of your head, but his monosyllabic replies do nothing to help place him. 

You want to say more but he doesn’t let you, jumping back into action.  You huff in aggravation, wanting to shout, we’re on the same side!   But he is fast.  You expend your energy just keeping him at bay.

Your stamina is fairly well-matched, just like everything else.  You move around the warehouse, kicking and punching and flipping around each other, losing track of minutes. 

A sheen of sweat breaks under your uniform.  He is slowing down too.  There is just one difference: he still has his gun. 

He gets you behind the knee and puts you on your back.  Before you can retaliate, he draws his gun and points it at your face. 

You freeze, staring down the barrel.  You slowly lift your eyes to him, just in case any sudden movement convinces him to fire.  So far, he is holding, though you are not sure why.  If he truly wanted to avoid detection, it would have been in his best interest to kill you and move on. 

He hesitates.  His hand is steady but his eyes are darting around inside the masked fabric. 

Your eyes continue to wander up, up.  Your heart leaps when you see Chan approaching on the balcony, silent and serious, gun in hand.  He has a longer-range weapon, not a little pistol like you and the adversary.   He takes aim from his perch but you shake your head.

You know Chan can make the shot, that he could get the man through the head and not so much as graze you under him.  But if this man dies, his answers go with him. 

“No!” you shout at the same time the gun goes off. 

You wrap your legs around the man’s midsection and yank him to the side.  You roll, one over the other until you are pinned once more.  You are both unharmed.  With the head covering, it is hard to tell if he is frazzled.  He certainly whips his head around quickly, trying to see where he dropped his gun. 

You spot it at the same time.  You glance at each other then bolt, stumbling over one another as you charge the discarded pistol. 

Chan jumps down off the balcony.  He takes more of a running leap, jumping forward rather than just down.  It gives him far more momentum so he hits the ground and tucks into a roll, riding the wave of that momentum until he is in the middle of the room. 

Chan reaches the gun first.  He kicks it out of the way and comes at the adversary with his bare hands.  He may not understand why you wanted to save an enemy who had you pinned under a gun, but Chan must trust there is a reason because he fights to incapacitate rather than kill. 

It is a good fight, but the man is already tired from fighting you. 

And you are good, but Chan is better.  If he could not beat you, only tie, then he cannot beat Chan. 

Sure enough, it takes a few more moves before the man is on his back.  Chan, still wearing his half-mask, straddles the man’s chest, pinning his arms at his sides and his body to the floor.  He draws a knife out of a thigh holster for good measure.   

“Got him,” Chan says.  “Who is this guy?”

“I have no idea,” you say, jogging over to them.  “That’s what I want to find out.”

“Let me go,” the man says, wriggling uselessly under Chan’s weight.   “I have nothing to say to her.”

“I told you already, I’m on your side,” you say.  “Or at least I’m not on Miroh’s side.”

“Whose side are you on?”  Chan asks with a jerk of his head. 

“Mine,” the man answers.  “Now let me go.  I have a job.”

“We have a job,” you say.  “We’re the ones who have been taking out the facilities so far.”

That gets the man to stop squirming.  He looks at you through the narrow eye slits in his balaclava, eyes darting to where you stand behind Chan. 

“You?” the man asks, seemingly his favourite word. 

“Yes, me,” you snap.  “And who are you exactly?” 

“One way to find out,” Chan says.  He does not wait for any further acknowledgement, ripping the man’s mask right off his head.  It is not a cruel or violent action, more a casual shrug of his arm than anything.  You are not expecting to find anything more than the scowling face of a stranger.   

You and Chan freeze.   

Staring back at you, with his hair returned to its natural pitch, his dark eyes narrowed in an intense glare, and a face full of unmistakable freckles, is a former agent of Miroh’s special-ops program.  One of the last and a traitor, not to mention supposedly dead. 

“You,” is what you say.

You do not know what else to say to Lee Felix. 

[yandererubix]

Yandere ABC’S

featuring keith and yan pico :D

.

 Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Believe it or not, all this boy would do is just snuggle, or maybe watch a movie. You bet your ass it can and will get very intense, and it makes them both thankful of the lack of neighbors.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Jesus christ, Pico went through enough trauma to not be affected by blood anymore. He would blast that fucker through the head quicker then you can hide, yet if its with his friends he’ll be a bit more hesitant, choosing instead to have a little ‘talk’ with them. He would kill them if he felt he had to, though. edit: poor gf would definitely be the first to die

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He might try and dehumanize Keith a tiny bit, if not just to make sure he doesn’t escape. He does it all in a teasing manner, of course, because why on earth would he try to hurt him? At least, that’s the excuse he uses every time.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

That’s a big yes, and sometimes not even knowing. Probably mainly for punishments, say Keith tried to escape? There’s no way he’d take that without some form of lecturing.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

About average, enough to feel ‘safe’ around him but not everything, such as the shooting. Keith’s aware of the incident because news exists, but he doesn’t know what really happened that day, like most.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Oh, he’d take the challenge heads on, ‘teasing’ back with a dangerous glint in his eye. However, if he wasn’t in the mood, he would definitely tie him down, or simply hold Keith closer, tighter. He doesn’t want to break him, after all.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

You can bet your right arm it is. More often then not he gets a thrill from playing their little game of cat and mouse, and its even more rewarding when he finally catches/

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

When his darling tries to strike back when he’s vulnerable. etc. after sex, sleeping, things like that. There would probably be the tiniest bit of blood drawn, often ending with a sobbing Keith ‘snuggling’ up with him.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He hasn’t really thought about that. He’s content with how things are now, so, go figure.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Is this even a question? For coping he’d probably go on a weed massacre or beat the shit out of whoever held Keith’s attention, until said person is nothing but a bloody piece of rotting meat.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Can get very affectionate, which could be quite dangerous varying on the levels. Otherwise, he’s just Keith’s usual flirty boyfriend.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Okay, lets be honest. After a while of waiting he would just pin him to the wall then drag him away to the ✨cold hard future✨™

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else? For sure. Around his darling, he’s flirtatious and very hands-on, but in public he’s quite cold to anyone who so much acknowledges him. Around him friends, although similar, he does genuinely try. God knows what for.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Sexual, dehumanizing, or neglect. There is no in-between. Sorry, Keith.    ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

As mentioned in many other letters, he can be quite patronizing and take away quite a few rights. (name-calling, sometimes he won’t clean up the cuts after punishment if he’s really angry, so on.)

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Impatient most of the time, but that’s neither of their faults, its just in Pico’s nature. He does make an effort most of the time, but no judging if he snaps.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Let’s be honest, he would just shoot himself and they’d be together again. Next one, please.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

First question, a very small percent of the time. He’s definitely delusional, so even though he’s painfully aware of everything, it’s fine. Their together now.  Keith’s only pretending to hate him and call him all those horrible things because he’s too shy to admit he loves him back, right?

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

do with this question what you will. its 10:40pm, people, give me a break.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

He’d obviously feel bad, but try not to let it show. Keith won’t acknowledge his presence? Fine. Then he won’t be in his presence for lets say, five days? The problem is, both of them are stubborn as a mule, and that just might be the reason K dies one day.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

gun gun gun gun gun gun gun gun gun gun gun

also the fact he can get reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllllllly jealous. All of the goddamn time.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

im 👏pa 👏tient 👏 also, the jealousy. If Keith suddenly pays super extra affectionate randomly back, it might soften up restrictions.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

how many times have i wrote about the blood tho

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Very far lengths, mental wise. Such as killing someone Keith was talking to while he was talking to them, just as a teensy reminder of his love.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

As mentioned this boy is pretty impatient, so I imaging some time after week three he would finally snap. He was just so excited from finally being able to duel him like that, don’t scold him!

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

He might accidentally, depending on how strong K’s will is. Pico obviously doesn’t want him to become despondent, he loves him too much, and besides, it’s so much fun for them both when they play their little games of tag or hide and seek.

uurrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhn its now 10:50pm, enjoy i guess and expect more, gremlins.

(sorry if any mistakes, too lazy and tired to care. adios!  ✌️

[asteriismos]

nsfw alphabet - jacob thrombey

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

it takes a long time before jacob actually knows what the fuck aftercare is. at first he just tells the housekeeper to bring some food around or clean the sheets up lol. after a particularly rough night though you’re having trouble walking and he turns into such like a soft caregiver for some random reason. he draws you a bath and uses all these different oils and stuff because i know he uses them to smell good.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

your thighs. he grips them constantly in and out of the bedroom. it’s usually what he does to edge you on whenever you guys are in public. he’ll put his hands and rub them up and down your thighs. in the bedroom he’ll grip them and kiss them, creating so many hickies you’ll hit him on the back of the head afterwards for making so many. he purposely puts them down low enough so they show from under your skirt for school.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he loves to cum inside you. it’s less messy so he doesn’t have to take the time to call the housekeeper to change the sheets and because the intimacy of it is great. he does use condoms most of the time because it’s definitely safer, but you’re on birth control so there’s times where he definitely prefers cumming inside you. jacob marvels in the way that it spills outside of you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he worships your body. jacob outside of the bedroom seems like he’s all for himself, but he’s really not. he takes the time to kiss every single part of you and run his hands up and down your arms and legs and curves. jacob is also the type of person to buy you lingerie sets that he believes you’ll look good in and you put on a show for him, he loves it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s had a few other girlfriends. and he’s also had some relationships strictly for sex because he can piss off his family that way. he’s experienced, but since he’s only with you now he’s super into doing things that you like. he knows what he’s doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

jacob likes to take you from behind purely to pull on your hair. he can appreciate your curves and kiss up and down your spine. on rare occasions he’ll push you against the wall so your chest is pressed against the wall and he takes you from behind that way. that way he’s standing above you and kissing your neck. it’s so hot.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

jacob isn’t the type to be goofy during sex. he’s serious, but not in a dehumanizing type of way. jacob is all about you and him, finding out what makes you guys have the best time. he likes sex a lot and it’s easy to see it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

in the ways that he’s prim and proper on the outside with his wardrobe and hair on his head, he’s the same with his hair down there. i feel like he’s a little ocd about the way he looks, he’s a total perfectionist, so he trims really nicely. he doesn’t have a preference for your hair, though because of the rich lavish lifestyle you usually shave because it looks really nice with the lingerie sets.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he can be romantic. most of the time you guys are fucking rough and hard trying to get all of each other, but there are times ( like for anniversaries or romantic dates ) where he’ll go all out. he has specific sheets for this that are a deep maroon red and fills the entire room with roses or other flowers of your choosing.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he does a lot. you two have made pictures and videos together that he keeps on his phone that he looks at while he does. jacob also really likes phone sex or sexting back and forth, so most of the time when he jacks off when you two are doing that.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

jacob loves choking. he has a lot of kinks but that’s his go-to kink. the feeling of your throat when you moan while his hand is wrapped around it is so hot to him he could cum right then and there. he has really nice hands, which you believe are some of his best features.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

in his bed preferably. he has a big ass room so of course his bed is huge and there’s a lot of room. it’s just easier and way more comfortable. there have been a few times where you guys have shower sex if the maid is cleaning up his room, which is always really hot, but the bed is just way better in his opinion.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

he really likes lingerie. jacob is totally the type of person to buy you lingerie sets and ask you to wear them ( which you do because you always look super hot in them ) and he loves it. they’re always really intricate and lacey and it looks amazing and super sexy. he also loves when you wear those black stockings under your skirt.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

anything that would get you caught. sure, he’s been a little risqué here and there with like closets in school and in the limo but he would never willingly get caught. then he has to live with his parents yelling at him and he didn’t get to spend all the time he wants with you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he likes giving. jacob has this thing where he’ll eat you out for hours until you’re literally broken and all you can do is say his name. he’ll eat you out till you’re crying and begging. there are some times where he’ll receive just to use his hands to bob your head up and down on his cock but he likes giving more.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

jacob loves going fast and rough, he definitely manhandles you and has his way with you. if he’s really in the teasing mood, he’ll go slow and sensual and make you beg for it. jacob loves hearing you beg for him to go faster or harder.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

preferably, jacob doesn’t like quickies because he doesn’t have enough time to tease you and have his way with you. he likes you begging. but if there really isn’t enough time then he’ll settle for a quickie either on some surface in his house or in the shower if each of you need to take one before school.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

jacob is so into experimenting. he doesn’t take it too far though, since he’s not really into the whole cutter porn thing or blood because it’s messy and he wouldn’t want to cut your soft skin that he loves and worships so much. he does like to tie you up in his own little bdsm way, he definitely chokes you, and he 100% has a daddy kink that started off as a joke but now is a real thing.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can go for a long time, he has high stamina that can tire you out really quickly. jacob does know that you have limitations though and respects that. one time you guys tried to see how long you could go for and you lasted around 5 rounds or so in one go, he claims that he could’ve lasted till 8 but you doubted it because he fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

maybe a vibrator for you. he doesn’t really use them for himself, but mostly to edge and tease you. jacob will tie you up and use the vibrator on you until you’re screaming, only on rare occasions though. he much rather likes just seeing what his own body can do to get you off.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

jacob is the worst when it comes to teasing. he’ll do it for hours, days, and weeks if that’s what he feels like. each of you will edge each other on, then jacob pulls away and leaves you high and dry. it’s frustrating but incredibly hot when each of you do give into the desire. jacob teases you by kissing your neck, pushing his hands either up your blouse to pinch your nipples or he’ll run his hands up and down your thighs, strictly avoiding where you need him most.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

jacob is loud but not in the moaning groaning way. he likes to dirty talk. he praises you, calling you his ‘good girl’ or praises like ‘you’re so wet for me’ or ‘you take my cock so well’ stuff.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he took you to a thrombey party once and fingered you under the table. you were teasing him with wearing the shortest skirt in your closet and those stockings he loved with no panties, so you were hoping he would do something. but when you felt his fingers go in between your folds at the dinner table you wanted to kill him, but it felt so good.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

jacob is averaged sized but he knows how to use it pretty well.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

jacob’s libido is so strong. sex is a thing that he loves, not only for himself but for his partner too.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

jacob loves being the big spoon after sex, cuddling with you till you guys fall asleep. his bed is really comfy, so each of you are asleep pretty quickly.

[tlbodine]

A Brief History of the Slasher

Is there a more iconic face for the horror genre than the knife-wielding psychopath? Many would say no. Although the tried-and-true slasher formula is so played out as to be a cliche -- and fresh examples played straight are tough to come by in the modern age -- for many, slasher films are the heart and soul of horror movies. 

How did that happen? What do they say about us on a cultural level? And where should you start when it comes to a formal study of the topic? Let’s delve deep and find out! 

Murder and mayhem are evergreen topics of fascination for humans, and we’ve been telling stories about murderers since Cain killed Abel. But these stories didn’t become what we would formally call “slashers” until the 1970s. 

So what is a slasher? 

Slasher films are defined by a few shared characteristics: 

A high body count (multiple victims) 

Murders are shown on-screen and often from the POV of the killer 

The murders happen one by one, incorporating pursuit, struggle, and finally death

The killer may have a supernatural influence, but it will have the physical appearance of a human (and may often simply be a human)

In almost every instance, the killer is portrayed as being insane or rendered deeply troubled by a past trauma which had triggered the murderous impulse. The killer is frequently dehumanized, and the victims are usually young. 

Slashers often adhere to their own sort of moral logic, more closely resembling Medieval morality plays than perhaps any other modern genre of storytelling. By utilizing a cast of archetypes, various virtues and flaws can be represented among the victims. 

These traits are what differentiate slashers from other murder-focused horror, thriller and mystery tales. 

Consider, for example, the narrative structure of an Agatha Christie murder mystery like And Then There Were None. In this book, a group of strangers are brought under mysterious circumstances to a remote location, where they are systematically murdered as an act of vengeance. In concept, this seems like it should be a slasher -- but its execution is quite different. In the book, the murders are a backdrop; the characters (and reader) are confronted with bodies rather than scenes of overt violence. 

The First Slasher

In 1974, two films came out that gave birth to the modern slasher. 

The first, released in October, was Tobe Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The second, released in the USA in December of that year, was Bob Clark’s Black Christmas. 

Texas Chainsaw Massacre tells the story of a group of friends who run afoul of a family of cannibals living in a rural farmhouse. Black Christmas is about the systemic murder of sorority girls during Christmas break. And both left an indelible mark on horror history. 

It’s important to put some context on the world these films were created in: 

The recent dissolution of the Hays production code meant that movies could be more graphically violent and morally depraved than ever before

The Vietnam war was raging, and for the first time in history, televised footage of the battle was piped into living rooms on the evening news

Multiple serial killers were active in the country, and their exploits also graced the daily newspapers and nightly news to sow terror 

Richard Nixon’s presidency was marked by an as-then unprecedented level of corruption and scandal

Gender politics provided both sexual freedom and career ambitions to a generation of women, and the 1973 landmark Roe v. Wade case legalizing abortions played a massive role in both gender relations and the way we would think about life and bodily autonomy. 

The 1970s provided, in other words, a perfect storm of circumstances that collided to give birth to slashers, and neither Hooper nor Clark are shy about citing these as their inspiration. Texas Chainsaw was billed in theaters as a true story as an act of political defiance against newscasts that spread misinformation; Black Christmas is at its heart a film about abortion and a woman’s right to leave an abusive relationship. They were undeniably films of their time. 

Texas Chainsaw inspired a wave of sensationalist "ripped from the headlines" murder movies loosely based on real killers, such as Wes Craven's The Hills Have Eyes (1977), which was based on the Sawney Bean legend or Charles B. Pierce's The Town That Dreaded Sundown (1976), which was based on the Texarkana Phantom Killer.

And Black Christmas, of course, served as the thematic springboard for a little film called Halloween.

Halloween and the Final Girl 

In 1978, a little-known small-time director named John Carpenter was hired to make a movie with the working title, The Babysitter Murders. It would be about -- you guessed it -- babysitters who got murdered. The idea was later adapted to take place on Halloween, likely for commercial reasons: People like watching scary movies in October, so setting a film on Halloween night would surely help with popularity.

John Carpenter certainly did not wholly plagiarize Black Christmas with his holiday-themed slasher, but the earlier film's influence is visible all the same -- from a shared lineage of "the call is coming from inside the house" babysitter folk legend, to the perspective work on establishing shots of the house and the ambiguously bleak ending.

But compared to Black Christmas, Halloween is horror with its edges filed down so it'll be easier to swallow. Both films have predominately female casts, but the sorority girls in Black Christmas have sexual agency and outspoken opinions that are nowhere to be found in Carpenter's work. In fact, Halloween so aggressively fails the Bechdel Test that it seems to do so on purpose -- there is not a single scene with two girls where they are not talking about a boy. And while Black Christmas deals with complex topics like abortion, domestic violence, and the unreliability of the police, Halloween simplifies its formula down to the utterly basic: Michael Myers kills because he is pure evil, and that is simply what evil does.

Despite its flaws -- or perhaps because of them -- Halloween became an immediate and enormous hit. It also introduced several clever storytelling techniques that were crucial to the advancement and development of the slasher genre:

The introduction of a Final Girl, the lone survivor who holds out against the onslaught of terror. (Carpenter denies that Laurie Strode’s virginal innocence has anything to do with her survival, but “final girl as virgin” would persist as a trope for a very long time) 

A masked killer. Although we’d seen masked murders in many films before (I’ve talked in the past about the trope of the mask-wearing murderer, and the way it is both thematically and logistically useful in storytelling: https://tlbodine.tumblr.com/post/189658195609/the-masked-knife-wielding-psycho), the “look” of Michael Myers is so iconic that it inspired a need for future killers to have a similarly thoughtful design, decking them out almost like comic book superheroes. 

Franchising opportunities. Although earlier movies had spawned sequels, Halloween exploded as a franchise thanks in large part to the iconic design and the simplistic good-vs-evil storytelling formula. Future slashers would latch onto this killer-centric franchise formula for over a decade. 

Halloween became the most profitable independent film, holding the record for 16 years, which goes to show just how successful the formula truly was. 

The Golden Age of Slashers 

As the 1970s gave way to the 1980s, the advent of VHS and Betamax formats created a market for low-budget straight-to-video films. Because slashers are so cheap to make (you don't need any famous actors, can film entirely in one location, and practical effects can be as simple as a few gallons of stage blood), they were ideal candidates for the job. On the big screen, horror was enjoying an unusually high level of popularity, a proven money-maker, simultaneously commercial and subversive in a decade of opulence and social conservativism.

So onto that stage walks Sean S. Cunningham's gory slasher, Friday the 13th, where a group of teenage camp counselors are brutally murdered, frequently wile having sex. The film spawned a widely successful franchise, which swiftly began borrowing elements of Halloween -- a silent and indestructible masked killer, a signature musical score -- to become a pop culture mainstay. The 1983 Robert Hiltzik film, Sleepaway Camp, cashes in on the "death to camp counselor" plot in the same way that Fred Walton's When a Stranger Calls touched on babysitter murders in 1979.

A whole slew of less-successful films would follow, most of them lost to the history books but still living in dollar-bin DVD collections. Some, like Prom Night and My Bloody Valentine, would earn a cult following. One noteworthy cult favorite is Slumber Party Massacre, directed and written by women (Amy Holden Jones and Rita Mae Brown, respectively), which turns some slasher tropes in their head.

A glut of films, most of them instantly forgettable, led to a decline in slasher popularity -- until Wes Craven's A Nightmare on Elm Street in 1984.

Cracking Wise and Slashing Teens 

A Nightmare on Elm Street introduces Freddy Krueger, a different sort of horror villain than audiences had seen before. Krueger is a supernatural killer who stalks his victims in their dreams, bringing a fresh supernatural twist to the slasher genre. And, unlike Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees, Freddy is anything but silent. Thanks in part to the charisma of lead actor Robert Englund, the character's darkly comedic personality became utterly riveting.

Plenty of dream-related horrors would follow, none of which would make much of a splash. But one film franchise did latch on to a similar formula: Child's Play, directed by Tom Holland in 1988, introduced another supernatural wisecracking killer in the form of Chucky, a murderous doll possessed by the soul of as serial killer.

These major film franchises -- Halloween, Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and Child’s Play -- would go on to spawn numerous sequels and become such a thoroughly pervasive part of pop culture that you can find their likeness everywhere. But despite the many imitators, there was little in the way of innovation in the genre until the mid 90s. 

Do You Like Scary Movies? 

Wes Craven toyed with the idea of self-referential horror in New Nightmare, a Freddy Krueger film that was itself a meta-analysis of Freddy Krueger films. But he would revisit the idea with far greater success in 1996 with Scream. 

Created by horror lovers, for horror lovers, Scream is designed to be the most quintessential slasher film ever created. Relying on a hip, young cast to draw in a fresh audience, Scream works by combining nostalgia, meta-analysis, humor, and buckets of blood into a single film. The opening scene is a direct homage to When a Stranger Calls, and the masked killer is a deliberate call-back to earlier films. 

Unsurprisingly, Scream was a huge hit that ushered in a brief but furious wave of slashers, like the star-studded I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997) and Urban Legend (1998), and Scream itself had several sequels and even a TV series. But the 1990s were something of a dark era for the slasher film, seeing the release of some spectacularly lackluster franchise installments. One exception to that was the fan-favorite Freddy vs Jason, which pits the two killers against one another -- a delightful premise, but one that had strayed far from the slasher roots. 

Modern Slasher Films 

The 1990s slasher reboot was short-lived and mostly forgettable, and by the 2000s filmmakers had mostly turned away from the genre entirely, except for a slew of nostalgia cash-in reboots of every popular franchise. 

The one exception was meta-analysis -- building on Scream, these films began to deconstruct the genre in a way that would combine horror, humor, and criticism. 

The Final Girls (2015), directed by Todd Strauss-Schulson, takes this sort of meta approach. The Cabin in the Woods (2012), directed by Drew Goddard but bearing the fingerprints of co-writer and producer Joss Whedon, takes it to even further excess, providing both a thorough deconstruction of horror gropes and an entirely new mythos to give it a fresh framework.

But the problem with deconstructions is that, once a few truly successful ones have been made, it becomes essentially impossible to create the original thing in earnest anymore. And so the slasher as a sub-genre has reached its bloody end. 

Where Did All The Slashers Go? 

With dozens of slashers spanning more than 40 years of film history, it’s pretty hard to create something new with the format. Which is not to say that people aren’t still making them -- they are -- but there is less room to innovate within the notoriously rigid and simplistic slasher formula. 

Culturally, we’ve moved on a lot from the 1970s as well. For one, serial killers are no longer the threat they once were. Babysitters and camp counselors are rarely teenagers, either -- in fact, teens aren’t leaving the house as much in general. And a rise in information technology, communications and surveillance has made it harder to isolate victims and commit murders over a long period of time -- our mass murders tend to happen in shooting sprees instead these days. For another, that same information technology has made us extremely jaded and hard to impress with gore. 

The 2000s delivered violence at levels utterly beyond anything in history. The rise of the so-called torture porn -- a genre that dispenses with the stalking and killing of multiple victims in favor of lingering on the painful mutilation of a small handful -- delivered gore unlike any seen in earlier slashers. Cable television series like The Walking Dead deliver graphic violence with unprecedented regularity -- you no longer need to pick up a “video nasty” to indulge in some gruesome gore. 

And, well, unfortunately, the internet has made it easier than ever to see real violence, from terrorist beheading videos to medical gore to live-streamed murders. 

Gore for gore’s sake is simply not as compelling in the 21st century, and that takes away much of the slasher’s appeal. 

Slashers have had to morph and adapt to find a foothold for survival. In the 2000s, we saw their metamorphosis in real time: From torture porn to home invasion to a cornucopia of more innovative horrors dwelling on fears both large and small. 

We’ve probably seen the last of masked knife-wielding, babysitter-killing psychos...but the horror genre is richer for it. 

[wickedlittlewordsmith]

🔥 college/the current academic system of higher learning

let me be salty  ||  accepting

Oh. Oh Cas. You just want to get me in T R O U B L E

Okay, okay, okay. Let’s have some Real Talk.

College/University/higher education or whatever you want to call it? It’s a bullshit system, and it doesn’t fucking work because it’s so inherently problematic in its Ivory Tower status and its gatekeeping. 

I’ll say the same thing I’ve told students who’ve questioned why they were even in college to begin with: you don’t have to do the thing if it’s not your style, not your speed, or simply not what you want to do with your life. 

The idea that having a college degree is going to make your life easier? It’s bullshit. There are so many who have college degrees, who have not just Associates degrees or Bachelors degrees but MAs and PhDs who are struggling to find sustainable work, all while dealing with crushing debt for the most part. That’s it. That’s the reality of the situation. 

And lbr, not only is college not for everyone, but it is also purposely exclusionary in so many ways. It preys on anyone who isn’t wealthy enough to simply pay the cost of outrageous tuition. It tries to force students to conform to the Ideal–to the hegemonic societal expectations that are so toxic and so harmful that it.

And I say this as someone who loves learning and loves being school. I say this as someone who works with students every single day, who sees their struggles, who sees their worries and their fears and their frustrations. I say this as a former FYC instructor and hopeful professor. 

Our system is inherently fucked up. It needs to change, and there are those of us who are fighting and pushing back and trying to change it as best we can, but it’s just not good. 

I love being able to pursue my Master’s degree. I love knowing I’m preparing to pursue a Ph.D. I don’t love how utterly horrible this system is and can be to anyone who does not fit with the Dominant Society of a messed up, patriarchal society that is historically known for belittling and dehumanizing anyone who is not the white, upper middle class, chr.istian, heterosexual, cis-male. 

This system is broken. It does not work in the world that we live in, not the way that people thinks it does or expects it to. We need less elitism and more general fucking empathy and understanding and fucking equality. 

[pointsofpride]

I do not tend to make posts of my own here, but I happened across this, and I have seen far too much of this same horrible rhetoric, and this was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, and I felt that it warranted addressing. I’m blurring this person’s name and avatar, hopefully to avoid any unnecessary drama, because I do not want to invite it, and, looking at this person’s blog, they have made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that they are not willing to concede or consider anything in favour of the a-spec members of our community. So, instead of making an attempt to bring awareness of our community’s history and purpose to one person who’s demonstrated they are unwilling to receive it, I’m just going to use this person as an example, to talk about this virulent attitude toward a-specs.

“There is n o  g o o d a r g u m e n t for w h y aces / aros are a u t o m a t i c a l l y L G B T”

Every single one of those links is a reason. There are many. Some statistical, some anecdotal; some made by a-specs, others made by the trans and bi members of our community; some historical, and some current; some examples of why a-specs are already a part of the community, and some examples of what’s wrong with this kind of gatekeeping rhetoric.

Now, if I were to outline every point in all of those links, this post would be obscenely long, and I’m already concerned it will be, as is, so I will just hope that leaving all of those points in the links will be enough. But I’m still going to talk about this problem as a whole.

Aces and Aros are - and always have been, whether you’re aware of that history or not - a part of our community. They’re already here; they already belong. They are, by default, included, and they do - whether or not you personally decide to not believe or even listen to them - face more than enough to warrant their place in our community, without people in that community adding onto it like this. And their place in our community already exists. It is not an issue of whether they're automatically LGBT, because they already are; this is an issue of “why are you trying to remove them?”. And those who want to exclude them, either by lack of knowledge of LGBT history, or by lack of awareness (or by, as seems to be the case here, direct and intentional denial) of what they face, or by lack of understanding of what our community represents, or by true malice, are in the overwhelming minority within the whole community. The community, as a whole, categorically includes and respects a-specs, but some people. Some few extremely unpleasant people... defy the community.

In spite of this, there very much is infighting, and this is a direct example of it, and it is severely disheartening to keep seeing people - people who ought to know better than this - trying to remove a-specs’ place in this community. And using Stonewall as a gatekeeping rhetoric device, firstly, profoundly disrespects what those riots meant, and, secondly, ignores not only the full extent of our community’s much more detailed and extensive history, but also the fact that the Stonewall Inn itself, right at this moment, celebrates a-specs as a part of our community. That remark also belies a misunderstanding of a-specs’ preexisting place under the LGBT umbrella (which is mentioned in several of those links), and of the community’s purpose. This community is one of support. It does not exist to exclude a-specs, and absolutely exists to support and include them. They are marginalized for their sexual identity in many ways, regardless of people burying their head in the sand to those issues. Members of their own community treating them with this kind of willful disdain does no service - no benefit of any kind - to anybody, in or outside it. The until-very-recent (and still current, in other parts of the world) pathologization of asexuality, the sexual violence, the dehumanization, the emotional abuse and trauma, the harassment and aggression, and the outright fear that a-specs face are not some fabricated myth. No person capable of reasoned thought, knowing what a-specs deal with with, would think they should be excluded. And, as evidenced by this example, exclusionists have catastrophic misunderstandings and/or gaps of knowledge that lead to their insistence on a-spec exclusion. Unfortunately, often those gaps of knowledge are voluntary, due to willful avoidance and wholesale refutation of LGBT history and of a-spec voices, and, perhaps even more bizarrely, of the voices of the non-a-spec members of the community.

Nobody “wants” to be ostracized. To think a-specs are dreaming of stigmatization is nothing beyond a mentality that is, in totality, ignorant. Nobody “wants” to be stigmatized. They simply are. A-specs are. The refusal to listen to their voices, or, perhaps worse, the disturbing outright zeal for denying them, that some seem to have, is telling. It comes not from a place of any real understanding of our community’s history, or of its purpose, or what it faces, but from a place of genuine contempt. It is that contempt that leads people to simultaneously convince themselves that a-specs face no forms of oppression, of any kind, while in the same breath bemoaning the fact that a-specs are now pointing out the validity of their inclusion in this community, in direct response to exactly this kind of exclusionary rhetoric. And that very citation of the fact they face those issues, made in response to people like this saying they don’t, ends up getting called “fearmongering” in an attempt to further delegitimize a-spec voices.

If a-specs say they’re part of the community, aphobes will say they’re fantasizing their oppression, or “fetishizing” oppression. They very obviously are not. Hell, if you’re so eager to tell a-specs they don’t face real oppression and that your oppression somehow has more “value” or whatever, then it sure sounds like you’re the one fetishizing it. And if a-specs point out their oppression in response to being told they don’t experience any, then aphobes will call it fearmongering. And if a-specs benignly make positivity posts, apbobes react with “all you talk about is being ‘valid’” without the self awareness that they are a direct example and contributor to why a-specs are now having to vocally fight back against those people trying to invalidate them. If a-specs point out the hypocrisy of this exclusionism and its direct parallels to rhetoric used against trans and bi people, aphobes (in spite of the vocal concurrence and solidarity of the other members of the community) dismiss that too.

Hell, I sure as fuck am not cis or straight, and I’M telling you your opinion is fucked to hell and blindingly ignorant. Just goddamn listen to a-specs. And learn your history. Don’t pretend Stonewall is the only history we have, and don’t use it this disrespectfully as an excuse to hate on a-specs, because if you knew your history, or gave a single damn about what we actually stand for, you wouldn’t be so fervently trying to kick a-specs out of a community in which they very clearly belong. People like this have just... totally shut themselves off from any willingness to consider why a-specs are a part of the community. Actively, intentionally refusing to consider anything said on their behalf. And when all of this behaviour is pointed out to them, they say “you’ll call people aphobic over nothing”.

The willful ignorance against, and intentional attempt to exclude, a-specs is not “nothing”. It is against everything this community stands for, and this mindset is flat out, in every possible way, morally wrong. The fact is, people like this demonstrate a complete unwillingness to concede anything said in favour of a-specs, regardless of sapience or content, so, more than likely, all those links above would not change their mind. And that, I would hope anyone can see, is a detrimental mentality to choose. I have seen too much of it. Most of what I see is positive solidarity and support. But, even though this disgusting hate is far between, it is still happening far to often without contradiction.

And this hatred of a-specs that aims to remove aces and aros is an incredibly recent, bewilderingly sudden thing in the community. They seem to think a-specs are “invading” our community. They’ve been here the whole time; there’s no “invasion”, but this sure is an attempt to exile.

I would hope that most people that are hesitant to include a-specs are not that amount of closed off to being corrected on this issue. I would hope that most are either just repeating what they see, because nobody’s telling them anything otherwise, or because they just don’t know much about a-spec issues. But I assure you, A-specs are very much LGBT. The acronym doesn’t end at four letters, and it was never created to be an unchangeable prescription of who we are as a community, and I very much doubt that Stormé DeLarverie or Marsha P. Johnson or Sylvia Rivera or Miss Major would have shown this kind of disdain for aces and aros during the riots. I mean really, just... really think about it... for a moment. When you reduce the community to only the L, G, B, and T, you ignore the fact that most of the contemporary terminology surrounding gender and sexual identities either did not exist or was almost entirely unknown, until well after Stonewall. Agender people are LGBT, and many don’t consider themselves trans, but I don’t see the same hate toward them. Those riots were not about a prescribed definition of the community. They were about getting respect for those who weren’t given it. They were about acceptance and fighting back. They were about pride, and the community existed before those riots, and during other demonstrations, but even if you believe Stonewall is the only history we have, those riots were about demonstrating for all identities that didn’t fit inside the heterosexual, cisgender idea of “normal” gender roles. The purpose of the community is to represent and support, and it exists for a-specs as well. Do you think those who rioted would harbor this level of contempt and exclusion? Really? Do you believe you represent what they stood and stand for by trying to be a gatekeeper? You absolutely do not represent their spirit. And you benefit nobody by doing this.

A-specs belong, and they always have, and they have always been a part of this community, and will not be cut off from it by hatekeeping. I won’t allow these people to get away with trying it. Not without pointing to, and shaming, this piss-poor behaviour.

Also, just... fuck this person for spouting this during pride month. PRIDE MONTH. Of all times to say this. Fuck’s sake. Fuck. Fucking hell. Wow. During pride month, you do this. Holy hell. It’s just vicious and making pride month into the rest of the year, condensed, but coming from people who really should know better. Support your a-spec community members. I am sick of people like this thinking they speak on behalf of all of us. It’s gross, and it’s malicious, and harmful.

There is no good argument for why aces/aros aren’t automatically LGBT. There is only the bad argument “aces and aros being included makes me feel bad :(”.

Links and additional resources under the cut:

https://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/06/20/asexual-discrimination_n_3380551.html

http://sveriqueer.tumblr.com/post/143833364554/my-favourite-thing-is-when-aphobes-try-to-tell-me

http://asexualawarenessweek.com/docs/AsexualityBias.pdf

https://www.zotero.org/groups/950137/asexual_research

http://twilightalpha.tumblr.com/post/138052104372/when-people-accept-sgamganon-cis-aces-and

https://asexuality-and-aphobia.tumblr.com/post/148413220633/hey-about-the-data-on-asexuals-there-has

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/without-prejudice/201209/prejudice-against-group-x-asexuals

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/without-prejudice/201508/attitudes-toward-asexuals-ata-prejudice-scale

https://fuckyeahasexual.tumblr.com/post/144810204477/the-ace-of-weasels-it-really-annoys-me-when-i-see

http://redbeardace.tumblr.com/post/141092188480/mainstream-lgbtqqueer-support-for-asexuality

https://acephobia-is-real.tumblr.com/post/145731848039/just-a-thought-how-many-straight-people-do-you

https://asexualsurvivors.org/tag/corrective-rape/

http://train-heartnet-xiii.tumblr.com/post/141269386225/a-lot-of-what-i-see-in-regards-to-lateral

https://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/06/18/asexual-disorder_n_3361472.html?1371562287

http://asexualmew.tumblr.com/post/143692156709/youre-not-protecting-me-by-being-an-acearo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQ5pbNj73jg

http://courteousmingler.tumblr.com/post/148002580835/courteousmingler-yknow-i-typed-this-up-a-while

http://officialqueer.tumblr.com/post/147848132058/ace-discourse-is-really-a-tumblr-only-thing-and

http://theasexual.com/article/2017/8/7/most-asexualace-people-identify-as-queer-or-lgbtq

https://acephobia-is-real.tumblr.com/search/conversion%20therapy

http://queeraro.tumblr.com/post/143069633039/corrective-rape-in-relation-to-asexuals

http://www.utdailybeacon.com/news/article_c3ada048-6d60-11e5-821c-db75108bfbc3.html

https://autismserenity.tumblr.com/post/142035894961/the-acesaros-were-part-of-the-bi-community-until

https://theacetheist.wordpress.com/2014/09/12/religion-and-asexuality-overview/

http://the-ace-of-weasels.tumblr.com/post/146275488100/okay-you-wanna-know-why-im-for-including-all

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uQPBjRnxRQs

https://prismaticentanglements.com/2011/04/05/do-you-want-to/

https://kaz.dreamwidth.org/249758.html

https://findyrway.wordpress.com/2011/03/30/asexuality-and-victim-blaming/

https://everydayfeminism.com/2015/07/asexual-erasure-mental-health/

http://www.asexualityandislam.com/2015/09/im-queer-grappling-with-orthodoxy-as-an-asexual-muslim-woman.html

https://epochryphal.wordpress.com/2015/06/30/grey-and-nb-in-therapy-on-cbt-and-the-sneakiness-of-therapeutic-abuse/

https://acephobia-is-real.tumblr.com/tagged/suicide

https://wetwareproblem.tumblr.com/post/141923181706/thisisntgoodbi-thisisntgoodbi

http://dukeofellington.tumblr.com/post/144725858535/invisibility-is-not-a-privilege

https://banal-adventures.tumblr.com/post/143619386105/anyway-since-i-see-people-harping-on-this-heres

http://historicallyace.tumblr.com/post/146262756292/where-were-you-when-a-history-of-asexual

http://historicallyace.tumblr.com/post/146268437437/where-were-you-when-a-history-of-asexual

https://prokopetz.tumblr.com/post/142851841977/im-not-ace-myself-so-im-coming-at-the-whole

http://www.asexualityandislam.com/2016/02/coercion-violence-and-queerness-in-the-context-of-islamic-orthodoxy.html

https://stepchildofthesun.tumblr.com/post/131766997010/feathersmoons-autismserenity

⁂

Many of these, and further additional resources can be found here (this list, however, is not regularly updated, and some links therein are defunct):

http://theasexualityblog.tumblr.com/post/148745974859/the-aphobia-masterpost

[wh-wh-whu]

I usually pick my fandom whumpees as characters that have some backstory or something else going on that is whumpy or has the potential for canon compliant whump

(At the risk of outing myself) My fav whumpee currently is Kuai Liang, Sub-Zero, from Mortal Kombat. His backstory has lots of implied abuse, and in canon he goes through a painful process of being turned into a robot, is mind controlled multiple times, the people he cares about usually either become evil and betray him, or die. Not to mention that the context of the ‘verse in general is very violent, so bad injuries could happen anytime. Whump with him simply happens, I don’t need to think much to come up with a scenario that makes sense with canon (even if it’s AU) and that satisfies my whump urges. It does help that many other fans feel the same way, whether they are into whump or not, it’s just very easy to find fic and art of him getting hurt.

I’ve had fandom whumpees of all kinds, and usually what they have in common is that, having the whump opportunities in canon. It’s not as much of me wanting to hurt the characters I like as it is me liking the characters that are hurting. I also like characters that look human but aren’t exactly so because that’s a good source for angst and whump (clone Syaoran from T/s/u/b/a/s/a Chronicle was a lovely one, also Zeta from the cartoon Project Zeta, pearls in S/t/e/v/e/n U/n/i/v/e/r/s/e were seen as not actual gems by the rest of gemkind and I loved it, then there’s my OC Violet who was created in a lab and a ‘verse I made for a fic that I never posted in which there were lab made pets).

As for traits I like whumpees, I like sadness and to an extent acceptance that they can’t fight their circumstances. I like dehumanization a lot and I like it when the whumpee has no hopes of ever being treated like a person. But they aren’t broken to the point of it not feeling painful anymore.

Also, whumpees that are obedient but clumsy and make mistakes. Whumpees who try their hardest to protect others but don’t think they deserve protection. Recovering whumpees who are not sure they’re really allowed to do stuff. Damn how I love that early recovery stages in which they need a lot of reassurance.

Not exactly a trait, but whumpees who sacrifice themselves to protect a friend/lover/family/team/innocent civilians are amazing, because again they can’t fight because it would make the sacrifice useless. That’s some good shit.

Whumpmas in July - Day 11

Day 11: Who's your favorite whumpee, or favorite traits in a whumpee?

Who is your favorite whumpee lately? Take a moment to gush about them! They could be from a tv show or movie, a book, someone's original writing on tumblr, or even the vague character who's been starring in all your whumpy daydreams!

Aside from your current favorite, what are some of your favorite traits in a whumpee? Fighty and defiant? Soft and scared? Maybe there are some physical traits you lean towards, or maybe a certain actor you like seeing whumped again and again? Maybe you love all whumpees named Daniel. Tell us some of your favorite whumpee tropes, and see if there's any patterns you've noticed cropping up in your favorites!