#that time frame? could be wrong but still) and just tldr hes not react well to this

[ff2-soda-pop]

i feel like the stuff with lloyd and garmadon is really complicated and i looked in the tags for a couple minutes and i keep seeing people being like. making it like one extreme end of a situation or the other and tbh i dont like or get it-

[dovechim]

lost in the funhouse (m)

⇥ 9.7k

⇥ warnings: psychological manipulation, spitting, slight blood play, oral (both receiving) unprotected sex (y’all know to wrap it right), impregnation risk, cream pie, dirty talk, name calling, Daddy kink

tldr; prisoner Namjoon is here

⇥ a/n: if you had any plans for the Valentine’s Day weekend, throw them all out the window. Happy Valentines Day from yours truly 💌

You’re used to the world being in different shades of grey. Both in the literal and figurative sense. Everything around you is doused in that dull colour, from the austere steel gates every 20 metres, to the security guards in their grey uniforms twirling their batons and sporting the big guns. This place is crawling with security cameras, with the state-of-the-art technology designed to keep the madhouse in order.

Hope World Mental Asylum for the Criminally Insane. A slightly ironic name, seeing as one couldn’t find an inkling of hope in this place no matter how hard they tried.

The prison orderlies bow as you walk past them, and you give them a smile in greeting. The staff here are nice enough. The security guards always treat you with respect, but you’ve seen the way they rough up an inmate who steps out of line. Though you suppose they’re trained to only react that way to the criminally insane. Still, they keep order in the asylum, and with the rowdier inmates that you see, you feel a bit better knowing that they have your back, although you could never believe that any of these people would ever hurt you.

Like you said, your world isn’t black and white, and neither are these people. They come in many shades of grey, and it’s your job to see them for who they really are, not for what the world has labelled them as.

Your heels click along the concrete floor as you walk past the cells of all the inmates, braving the catcalls and hoots along the way. In your white coat that conceals your figure, you feel secure, confident, not in the least bothered by the rowdiness and lewd comments thrown at you. The pristine white of your coat stands out amongst all the grey like a blinding light, painfully out of place, and the prisoners know that. They jeer as you walk past them, but you only give them your angelic smile, greeting them and asking how they’ve been.

You are late to your 2pm slot. A last-minute scheduling, a case that has been dropped by many junior psychiatrists until it was handed to someone more senior, like you. You’d thoroughly familiarized yourself with his case file last night, but when you step inside the cell that you always use for consultations, nothing prepares you to face your newest patient.

He is not bedraggled or covered with the dirt and grime that seems to be everywhere in this place. On the contrary, his blonde hair is slicked back neatly, parted on the side and revealing his forehead. His glasses are perched high up on his nose, even his prison issued jumpsuit seems to fit his lithe frame perfectly. The grey material is pulled tight over his shoulders, rolled up to his elbows in a manner which emphasizes his biceps. The front of it has its buttons undone to reveal a thin, white undershirt that clings to his chest. The rest of his body, however, is concealed behind the desk he is sitting behind.

But what pulls you in is the look on his face. Many of your patients are often broken products of the system, some of them don’t say a single word with you during your session, others ramble on incoherently. One of your patients had a condition where they’d laugh uncontrollably every other sentence. It’s all part and parcel of your job, nothing you haven’t seen before. But this man looks… interested.

He is well put together, intelligent, bright looking eyes tracking your every movement. His hands are laced together on top of the cold metal table that might have been repurposed from an operating table. His unwavering stare unsettles you as you take your seat. For the first time since you started working in this place, you feel uncertain, like you missed that last step coming down the stairs.

For a moment, you wonder if someone looking in on this scene would be able to tell who the psychiatrist is.

“Good afternoon, Mr Kim,” you place your manila folder down on the table.

He smiles serenely at your greeting.  If he is surprised at the formal way you refer to him, rather than his prisoner number, he doesn’t show it. “Hello, Doctor. Nice of you to make time for me today.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you nod at him, already even more impressed with how well-spoken he is. His voice is smooth, he sounds as if he could be giving a speech at the UN.

“You know, you have quite the reputation here,” Namjoon leans back in his seat, entirely at ease as he takes in your appearance from head to toe. His stare feels intimate, and then it occurs to you that just as you are here to evaluate him, he is appraising you as well.

“Oh really? Do tell,” you are genuinely interested now. “I figure you probably have an in with the rest here. You could really be helping me out.”

“Well.. let’s see. Graduated from college at the top of your class. Could have gone on to become a prestigious surgeon, have your own hospital and all that. But no. You chose to go into psychiatry. Chose to damn yourself, sully your pretty little self working in a place like this, just to figure out madmen like me.” Namjoon says all this in a matter of fact tone, as if he were reading an instruction manual. But the scary thing is, he is spot on. “So now you spend all your time locked up in this madhouse, talking to men who think about doing the most perverse, fucked up things to you while you sit right in front of them.”

“Is that what they say, or is that what you think?” You maintain a smile on your face. You’ve heard far worse before, but you never let any of them faze you.

“You caught me there,” Namjoon’s façade breaks into a sheepish smile. “Most of it, yeah. My assessment of you, doc. The angel in the madhouse.”

“You’re right. Mostly, anyway,” you admit with an easy shrug. “I did choose psychiatry over general surgery. You’re good at reading people.”

“It’s what a psychopath like me specializes in,” he says this easily, as if he is talking about being good at math or how quick he is at learning to ride a bike. “We read people. Just from their mannerisms alone. We observe them, get into their heads, and we get inside of them. In the most intimate way possible.”

“You know, that isn’t too far from what a psychiatrist does either,” you twirl your pen, watching his eyes follow the motion like a lion stalking its prey. “You and me, we aren’t too different.”

Namjoon lets out a loud, full bellied laugh. “Oh, doll. We couldn’t be any more different. You’re so… good. A good girl. And I’m anything but.”

“What are you, then?”

Instead of answering, he fixes you with an amused look.

“People aren’t black and white, Namjoon. Just because you’re not good, doesn’t mean you are evil. Life doesn’t work like that.”

“I beg to differ. You know, here you have the guys who think they’ve done nothing wrong. In their point of view, they are the good guy, right? But then you have guys like me, guys who knowwhat they’ve done.” He leans forward now, sliding his hands along the table until you are painfully aware of how close they are to touching yours. “Who enjoy breaking people.”

You can feel his breath on your skin.

“Oh, I’ll enjoy breaking you, doll.” He finally sits back with a smile that sends the slightest hint of nerves fluttering in your stomach.

The buzzer rings, signaling the end of your session, and he gets up of his own accord, holds his hands out for the handcuffs that are slapped onto him by the prison orderlies. Before he leaves, though, he shoots you a salacious smile over his shoulder.

“See you next time, doll.”

*

“Tell me, doc. Aren’t you curious at all?”

“About what?”

In this room, there are only two of you. But you know that at any one point in time, there are eyes on you. There are armed guards keeping watch outside this cell, ready to strike should anything go wrong.

“I said last session that I was thinking of doing the most perverse and disgusting things to you while you sit in front of me, all prim and proper. Don’t you want to know what they are?”

He wants to elicit some sort of reaction out of you. Namjoon is watching you closely for any reaction at all, but you know his tactics all too well. He is trying every trick in the book, starting with the one he thinks will work best. Practically dangling bait in front of you, hoping that you will bite.

Today, he is wrapped up in a straitjacket, his arms crossed over his front because of a transgression committed earlier this week that deemed him a threat. Yet, his mannerisms aren’t the slightest bit affected. He speaks with the confidence of a foreign diplomat, his eyes roving about your person as if he owns you.

“I thought you said it was the others who were thinking of me like that. Not you.”

Snagged, Namjoon lets out a small chuckle. “You got me there, doll.”

His admission does not fool you. Someone like Kim Namjoon wouldn’t let themselves get backed into a corner or admit something that they weren’t already willing to give away. It’s all just a game to him.

“You’re so pretty. As always,” Namjoon smiles, a charming grin that makes your heart beat a little faster. “You know, we all love seeing you. It’s the only thing that brightens our days in here.”

Seeing him face to face like this, it’s so hard to differentiate him from the Kim Namjoon that you know from his casefile. Multiple homicides, drug use, violent crime, and worst of all, the torture he subjected his victims to.

Looking at him like this, he could be your English professor in college.

“Do me a favour will you? Just one, tiny little thing,” he implores, an innocent look on his face.

Wariness creeps in at the edges of your consciousness, but you find yourself pushing it away.

“It depends on what you’re asking for.”

“My favourite colour is purple.” His next statement catches you even more off guard, because you expected something outrageous like demanding to shorten his sentence or get him on parole. “But everything is just so fucking grey in here. The only spot of colour we- Iget to see is you.”

He leans forward, with some difficulty now with his straitjacket. Namjoon’s voice has dropped to an intimate whisper, his eyes dipping down to linger on your lips. It prompts you to lean forward as well so that you can catch his next words.

“Wear something purple for me, won’t you, babydoll? I just need some colour in my life,” he begs so prettily, and it’s such an innocent request, you can’t find anything insidious in it. “But for our sessions only. It’ll be our little secret.”

His voice trails off, and you can see the hint of possessiveness in his eyes that sends a thrill down your spine, that holds dark promises of what would happen if you wore that colour for someone else.

The buzzer rings. He doesn’t wait for a confirmation from you, just gets up obediently and turns to the guards. The heavy doors close, and you are left alone in the cold, sterile room.

*

“Dr _____... I live for these moments with you.” Kim Namjoon isn’t his usual, composed self today. His eyes are alight, dancing with mirth the moment you walk into the cell.

He spots the lavender blouse that you have on today, covered by your doctor’s coat, of course. Namjoon only has a few seconds to take in the lemon-yellow pencil skirt that you have on before you take a seat opposite him. He is smiling like the cat that caught the canary.

“Thank you for honouring my request,” he says with another charming smile, and today because the straitjacket is off, he reaches across the table with his hands, long and slim fingers laced together.

“It was a minor inconvenience, of course,” you sigh dramatically. “Didn’t have anything purple in my wardrobe, I realized. Had to go on a shopping spree and treat myself for the first time in a long while.”

“I’m sorry you enjoyed yourself because of me,” Namjoon banters back, and you giggle with your hand over your mouth.

He watches you laugh with a smile that crinkles the corners of his mouth, emphasizing his dimples.

“What is it like outside, doctor?” He asks with a beguiling smile, tilting his head as he watches you digest the question. “What’s the best thing you love about being outside? Is it the colour of the sky, or the warmth of the sun on your skin?”

Again, his questions are so innocent, that you can’t possibly believe how many people he’s tortured and murdered. How many of his own gang members he killed. Kim Namjoon’s innocent dimples are on full display as he searches your expression.

“I like… I like how the sky is boundless. At any one time, if I look up at it, I feel… free. Like I can go anywhere I want to.” Your thoughts wander, taking you outside of this sterile, heavily guarded prison cell until you can almost feel the breeze on your cheeks. But then, the heavy clank of a prison door somewhere outside brings you back to reality, and you realise what you’ve just said in front of someone who’s been sentenced to this mental asylum for life.

A part of you expects him to lunge across the table for your throat. But Kim Namjoon has not moved a single muscle. Instead, the smile on his face is ever present, dimples and all, and you can’t help but detect something sinister in it. But instead of making you feel uneasy, it thrillsyou.

Is this what it feels like to be dancing with the devil?

He lets out a contented sigh, as if he’s living in the memories you just described. “So innocent, doctor. That’s what I like about you. You remind me of how the world would look like if everything was good.”

Somehow, his approval feels good. It feels right.

“Do me a favour, will you?” Namjoon opens his eyes from his brief escape into fantasy. “Dance for me, little swan.”

“Dance?” You hesitate. “I can’t dance… I don’t know how to…”

“Then twirl,” he says, not giving you time to fumble about in your own lack of self-esteem. “Twirl for me, pretty thing.”

You reluctantly get up, seeing the hope in his eyes as he watches your every move. You are more self-conscious than you’ve ever been in this place, especially so when he bids you to take off your doctor’s coat. Without it, without the sense of validation and authority it affords you, you begin to feel like the tables have turned between you and Kim Namjoon. That really, he’s the one evaluating you.

You leave your coat on the back of the chair. Placing your feet together, you start to spin slowly, feeling the brush of your skirt against your thighs elevate your heart rate. You go faster, feeling the breeze of your own making caress your hair. All this while you are aware of his eyes on you, tracking your every movement like a predator stalking its prey. A laugh escapes your lips as you put your arms out for balance; but all it takes is one misstep, and suddenly you find yourself in the arms of a mass murderer.

Kim Namjoon sets you upright again, his lithe arms feel strong as you clutch his biceps. His frame towers over you, and it is only then that you realise how much power he exudes, just from his aura alone. How did he even move that quickly?

“Careful, Doctor. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt, now would we?” The beats of your heart count off the seconds that he holds you in his arms, and it feels like an eternity before he lets you go. “Only I get to do that. Only I can hurt you, babydoll.”

His eyes dip to your lips, and he places his hand on your chin, running a thumb along your bottom lip. You feel the pad of his thumb dampen with your saliva, and you can hardly breathe.

“You would look good with red lipstick,” he comments casually, dropping his hand from your face and taking a step back.

As if on cue, the buzzer rings, and the prison orderlies rush in to corral him into his handcuffs, lead him back to his cage. He keeps his eyes on you as he is dragged out of the room, on the way your chest heaves as you struggle to catch your breath.

*

A knock sounds at the door of your office. A little hesitant, but more insistent the second time round.

“Doctor? You’re late for your session with Prisoner 120994.” It’s the intern who does the administrative scheduling for the psychiatrists, Jeon Jeongguk. The number catches you off guard for a moment, until you connect the dots. You haven’t thought of Kim Namjoon as Prisoner 120994 for the longest time.

You take a moment longer as you stare at your reflection in the small hand mirror, contemplating the red lipstick on your desk. But it clashes with your violet cardigan, and the whole look is just messy.

The knock comes again, and you hastily throw off your cardigan, apply your lipstick, and gather your white coat.

“Dr _____, you’ll be la- oh. Um, Prisoner 120994 is waiting, Dr _____.” Jeongguk awkwardly swings the door open wider so that you can get past him. “You look… you look different today. New lipstick?”

“Just trying something new,” you shrug it off casually as he follows behind you like a puppy.

“Not only today, you’ve been looking different lately!” Jeongguk is quick to add on.

You are almost halfway to your consultation cell, but Jeongguk is still following you. He doesn’t let up until you stand before the armed guards. They open the door, and you see that Namjoon is already seated in his usual seat. He cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of you, his usual charming smile primed to greet you, but it fades when he sees Jeongguk.

“… the new style looks really good on you!” Jeongguk is bright eyed as he grins at you.

You cast him a cold glare. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work, intern? I don’t need an escort to walk me to my sessions.”

Without waiting for a response, you enter the cell, the door slamming behind you. Shooting Namjoon an apologetic smile, you sit down across him, arranging your files on the cold metal table in front of you.

“Who was that?”

“Oh, it was…” your voice trails off upon seeing the dark look on his face. “It was our admin intern. He’s young, so he’s still pretty immature. But he gets work done, so…”

Namjoon is no longer interested in your answer. Instead, he is appraising your person, from the way you nervously arrange the papers on the desk, to your inability to meet his gaze.

“The lipstick doeslook good on you, Doctor,” he relents finally, and you are able to relax for the first time since you stepped foot in this cell a few moments ago. His gaze feels more intimate than ever as he practically eye-fucks you, lingering on the low neckline of your light blue strappy top. “But it seems like you wanted Jeongguk to see it instead of me.”

“No! Jeongguk is… he’s no one. No one compared to you,” Feeling like a scolded child, your cheeks heat up in shame.

“Aren’t you forgetting something else, too?” Namjoon is relentless, raising a brow at your outfit of choice today.

At once, you jump to your own defense, but your voice trails off in uncertainty. “It clashed with the lipstick! And so I didn’t know…”

“Did it?” He expresses doubt, his eyes still eating up every inch of exposed skin on your chest. It ignites a fire in your lower belly, makes the entire room heat up.

“But I wore something else that’s purple,” you’re quick to continue, eager to earn back his approval.

His eyebrow perks up with a lazy, lethal interest, like a jaguar flicking its tail, contemplating a potential kill. “What is that, babydoll?”

Your heart is in your throat. Knowing exactly where the security cameras are located in this room, you angle your body as you scoot your chair closer to the table. Then, you lean forward ever so deliberately until you’re sure that he can get a good peek of your lilac lace bra down your shirt, and the smirk of approval sends adrenaline singing through your veins.

This is so wrong. You could be fired for this.

But then why does being wrong feel so right?

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” he lets out a single, vehement curse, his eyes unable to leave that sweet spot of your cleavage pushed together by your bra. “Today it’s your bra, but next time… next time I’ll be sucking on your pretty pink nipples.”

Hearing him praise you is the best feeling in the world. And even better is how he can’t take his eyes off you.

Taking advantage of the fact that the security cameras in this room are only filming your back, you reach into the sleeve of your coat and lower the straps of your top, so that it falls down your chest, fully exposing your breasts in your lilac lace bra to his view.

“Now I’m not forgetting anything, am I?” You voice is breathless as you watch his eyes travel greedily across your cleavage, licking his lips. “We should continue our session like this.”

Namjoon lets out a chuckle. “Oh, babydoll. You think I can concentrate on what you’re saying if you look like that?”

“Then don’t,” the words come out of your mouth, and you didn’t even realise you were this brave.

“Remember those perverse, disgusting things I mentioned during our first session, Doctor?” He leans forward for a better look at your breasts, watching as they begin to heave up and down because of your heavy breathing.

“Yes. I want to hear them.”

“You’re so… good,” Namjoon whispers, as if to himself. “I want to hurt you so, so bad, babydoll. Fuck every single hole you have until you are brimming with cum. I want to tie you up to the bed, legs spread permanently and make you my little cum slut. Just a receptacle for holding my cum, and if you dare to let any spill out, I’ll choke you with my cock until you pass out. When I finally let your pretty little pussy have my cock, it won’t be vanilla sex like you’re used to with that loser Jeongguk. I’ll brand you with my cum, and you’ll be my breeding slut. Forever reduced to carrying my babies. I will own you. I will break you so good, baby doll, and I will hurt you really, really bad.”

“I can take it,” you answer eagerly. “Anything you want to do to me. I can take it. I want it.”

He laughs again, almost in delight at your compliance. “So obedient. So innocent. You don’t know how badly I can hurt you, babydoll.”

You shake your head vehemently, leaning forward to offer him a view of your cleavage. “I don’t care. I want it.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across Namjoon’s face. “If you really want it, babygirl…”

“Yes, I want it,” he has reduced you to incoherency.

“… you’re going to have to help me with it.” Namjoon reaches forward to trace a pattern on the top of your hand, and it feels like your nipples are so hard, they’re aching for his touch. The single point of contact between you and him has your entire body heating up, your thighs rubbing against each other, and your panties drenched.

You nod immediately. “Anything. Whatever you need.”

“If we’re going to fuck, we need a place where we won’t be watched. As much as I want to hurt you, that sight is for my eyes only. I don’t like sharing my toys with others.”

“I understand-“

“Now, there’s going to be a system maintenance next Monday, exactly three days from now,” Namjoon continues calmly, his eyes razor sharp as they lock in on you, no longer clouded with lust. “All the security systems will be offline until the first bedcheck at 6am. At exactly 3.05am, there will be a change in shift, and there won’t be anyone watching my cell. It takes 9 minutes. You need to come and get me out of my cell. And then… then we can talk about how bad you’re willing to get hurt.”

“How will I… how will I get the key?” It doesn’t even occur to you to question how he knows all this information.

“You’re smart, babygirl. You’ll figure it out,” he strokes your chin with his thumb, admiring how your red lipstick smears when he brushes it against your lips. “Already a mess for me. I can’t wait to wreck you, baby girl.”

“I’ll do it,” you reassure him, only to be rewarded with his approving smile.

“Cover yourself, babydoll. The buzzer is about to go off.” Namjoon sits back in his seat as you snap back into reality, following his instructions as you pull the straps of your top back on your shoulders. He looks a little sorry to see you covered back up.

As predicted, the buzzer rings, and the doors fling open.

The guards come in to take him away, and you don’t even question his near supernatural ability to keep track of time so accurately, even though there isn’t a clock in this room. Even you lose track of time during your sessions with him, forgetting to look at your watch that you keep hidden.

All you can see is him.

*

“Everything okay? You’ve been stirring that coffee for the past five minutes.” A voice jerks you out of your daze.

Min Yoongi, the head prison warden, strolls in lazily, twirling his all-access card in his hand. You almost salivate at the sight of it. It’s all too convenient. His access card is the only way for you to get into the room with all the keys to the prisoners’ cells.

He slips it into his back pocket carelessly.

There’s no one in the common pantry that all the staff in the mental asylum share. It’s the perfect chance.

You turn around, immediately spotting how his eyes are drawn to the low neckline of your top. So the rumours were true. Just a little bit of cleavage and the man will roll over like a puppy begging for a belly rub.

“Just tired, is all,” you smile jovially, dropping the empty coffee sachet on the floor not so accidentally. When you bend over to pick it up, you make sure he gets a good look down your shirt.

As you straighten up, you catch a glimpse of his dazed stare. You take it as an opportunity to step closer so that your bodies are almost pressed up against each other.

“Say… what are you doing this weekend? Are you free, by any chance?” You let your eyes linger on his lips, angling your head so that more of your neck is exposed to him. You can feel his breath, hot and heavy on your skin.

“Th-this weekend? Su..sure, I’m free, yeah,” he stumbles over his words, hands coming up to hover around your ass, still unsure of himself.

You gently coax his hands, his right hand resting on your butt cheek, and the other on your waist. He gropes your ass immediately, unable to control himself. In return, you giggle playfully, sliding your hand down to his ass in a show of flirting as well.

Closing the gap between your bodies, you press your breasts against him, lowering your lips to his ear. “You should come over. My roommate is out and we’ll have the whole place… to- our-selves.”

You emphasize the last three syllables, noticing the way his breathing picks up as a result. You deftly slide your hand out of his pocket, patting his ass as you wink at him. “Call me!”

As he watches you go with lustful eyes, your step has an extra flourish, hips swaying to give him a good show. But what he can’t see is the satisfaction on your face as you kiss the access card, sliding it into your bra for safe keeping.

*

Having worked in Hope World Mental Asylum for the Criminally Insane for the past nine years, you know your way around it like the back of your hand. The guard routes, security camera positions, emergency exits. Basically, you have the map of it memorized.

Earlier that week, you signed yourself up for the graveyard shift, which of course no one wanted. No one even asked why you wanted that shift, all too glad to clock off and leave you alone in your office.

The silence is deafening as you watch the minute hand crawl closer and closer to the ‘1’ mark. At 3.04am, you get up silently, having dressed in a black hoodie and black jeans, with sneakers to go along with it. You let yourself out of your office, clutching the access card as you make your way to the control room where all the keys are kept.

From your office to the control room is only 50 steps. Less than a minute later, you are in and out, grabbing the keys from a hook labelled ‘120994’.

From the control room to his cell is another 80 steps. It takes you one minute to get to his cell, and you see him pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. He stops as he spots you, his features lighting up with a dimpled grin.

Another 10 seconds to unlock his cell. And then he is out.

The caged beast is no longer so.

You expected him to sweep you into his embrace at once, kiss you until you can’t remember your name. But all he does is take your hand in his, breaking into a run and forcing you to keep up with him. Your footsteps are silent as he leads you down the rabbit’s hole, twisting and turning until you lose track of where you’re going.

Down flights and flights of stairs, out of a door labelled emergency exit that you never came across before. And then it is down a dark tunnel that never seems to end.

When he finally stops, you are out of breath. “Wh-where are we?”

Namjoon is not winded in the slightest. It’s obvious that he is at peak physical condition, and he turns to you, front buttons of his grey prison issued jumpsuit undone. “We’re underground, babydoll. A place where they’ll never find us.”

A quick look around tells you that this might have been a medical ward a long time ago. Operating tables, not unlike the one you have in your consultation room, are strewn about. Only thing is, these tables have limb restraints attached to them. Broken syringes lie on the floor, electroconvulsive therapy machines are abandoned in the corner. Years of disuse has not done this room any good.

You should feel vulnerable in a place like this that could have come from one of Stephen King’s novels. Trapped in close proximity with a madman who prowls the room’s perimeter.

But all you feel is exhilaration and anticipation for what is to come.

You watch his biceps tense as he runs his fingers through his hair, turning around to face you. “A place where you’re all mine.”

He stalks towards you, eyes glinting in the darkness. “We have all the time in the world, babydoll. And I told you before. I’m going to break you so, so bad.”

“I want it,” your voice comes out in a near whisper as he backs you toward the wall, caging you in with his lithe arms.

His broad shoulders pin you against the wall, and he forces your chin up so that he can finally kiss you. Namjoon’s lips are rough, his teeth not showing mercy as he owns your mouth. His hands roam the expanse of your body, groping first your ass, then palming your breasts in his large hands.

He is like a drug you can’t get enough of. Every lick of his tongue is intoxicating, his lips pull you in deeper into your descent. There’s no going back now. But of course, you knew this all along.

Namjoon pulls away with swollen lips, toned chest panting as he picks you up around the waist. His strength only serves to make you even more beguiled by him, and you have to touch his biceps to feel how they tense and strain under your weight.

He treats you like a ragdoll as he tosses you onto the metal table, climbing onto of you and spreading your thighs with his legs. Namjoon takes a moment to admire how pretty you look with your hair all splayed out across the metal table. In a single motion, he strips your body of your black hoodie with a crazed look in his eyes, annoyed with not being able to see and touch your bare skin. He brings both of your hands up by your head, straps them in with the restraints before you even realise it.

Namjoon has his thumb on your chin. “Open,” he orders, and you obediently part your lips.

He spits right into your mouth, admiring the way his saliva is collected on the back of your tongue.

“Swallow, then show me,” he demands, and you swallow down his spit, opening to show him an empty mouth. “That’s my babydoll.”

He kisses down your body, looking for the first time, unhinged as he feasts on the sweetness of your skin. Namjoon fascinates himself by spitting on your breasts, watching his spittle run down the crevices of your body, into your cleavage, soaked up by your lavender lace bra.

Then, in a sudden movement, he tears your bra to pieces, the underwire ripping your skin and making you gasp in exhilaration. The raw display of strength, the primal desire in his eyes as he sees the crimson stain on your pretty, smooth skin. One finger swipes across the newly made wound, gathering the blood and bringing it to his mouth.

“Sweeter than I imagined,” he says as if in a trance, mesmerized by the way your blood tastes.

Then he dips his finger in the crimson liquid once more, tracing patterns down your belly as he caresses your waist, until he comes to the waistband of your jeans.

“I had hoped you would be in slightly more suitable attire… but I guess this is for practicality’s sake,” he muses, flicking open the button with practiced ease. Namjoon slides your jeans down your legs, hands lingering on every inch of exposed skin as he goes. He tosses your jeans somewhere on the floor, leaving you in your flimsy lace panties that are already soaked to the core.

He brushes two fingers experimentally against the wet patch. “Tell me darling. How would you like to live dangerously?”

When he pulls your panties down, you are so wet that you can smell yourself. Embarrassment heats your cheeks as Namjoon scents your arousal, biting his lower lip in response.

“Look at you. Already so wet, your pussy is begging to be destroyed.” He spreads your pussy lips with two fingers, exposing your delicate insides lewdly as he examines you thoroughly. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”

“Y-yours, it’s yours. Forever. If you want it.” You respond immediately to the warning tap on your inner thigh.

Namjoon chuckles, a low, dangerous sound that you can feel directly in your core. “We’ll see how well it can take cock first. I’m going to tear your pussy apart, then we’ll see if you still want to offer it to me.”

When he reaches your ankles, he imparts a kiss to each one before he straps them in. You can feel the leather restraints tight against your skin, so that you are left spread-eagled on the metal table.

“So perfect,” Namjoon smiles to himself, licking your essence off his fingertips. “Just waiting for me to break you.”

Every second that you don’t feel his touch on your body is a moment of torture. “Namjoon,” you sob, arching your breasts to the ceiling.

“Beg for it,” he whispers, slapping your breasts roughly so that he can watch them bounce under his force. He pinches your nipples hard, reveling in your screams as he tweaks your pleasure. “All you have to do is say the word. ‘Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty…”

“Please,” you gasp, thighs aching with the strain of trying to rub against each other. You can feel yourself dripping onto the table underneath you already. “Pretty please.”

“Good girl,” Namjoon sighs in delight, taking in the trails of dried blood on your tummy. Your hardened nipples are begging to be tasted, but he isn’t done with them yet.

He spots what he’s looking for on the floor a couple of paces away. Leaving your side to pick them up, he attaches the electric clamps onto your nipples, causing you to wail out in pain and pleasure. Of course, there’s no current active between them, since this place has been abandoned for god knows how long, but this will have to do.

“Now, let me eat my babydoll’s pussy.” He finally invites himself to feast on the delicacy in between your legs that he’s been dreaming of ever since the first time he set eyes on you.

The first lick has you thrashing on the table, tears leaking and streaking your mascara down your cheeks. His tongue continues to probe your clit, circling it torturously as two fingers plunge themselves into you without warning.

Having this intelligent, well-spoken man who could probably run for president in between your legs makes you heady with desire. The lust filled moans reverberate in the empty, abandoned medical ward, mixing with the filthy sounds of Namjoon as he tongues your cunt. Two lithe fingers are buried deep, thrusting and seeking out that sensitive spot inside you.

The word slips out before you realise it. “Daddy… let me cum. Wanna cum.”

He pauses at this, letting out a harkened laugh with your juices still dripping from his mouth. “A pretty little girl like you, with a Daddy kink? Oh, this is too perfect. I’ll fuck all the daddy issues right out of you, babydoll.”

And then his tongue is back on your clit, he adds another finger to your cunt to stretch you out even more. Your thighs are twitching, heels banging against the metal table as you convulse under his touch.

“Don’t cum.” He commands, slapping your clit sharply. “You’re not allowed to cum until Daddy says.”

“Please, please stop, I can’t hold it back,” you beg and please, thighs straining to close. You are almost at the edge of your orgasm, one more lick of his devious tongue would send you right over.

Namjoon gives a disappointed sigh, eyes flicking to your tear stained face. Like a predator toying with its prey, he decides to let you off just this once.

“Fine. Meanwhile, I’ll use your pretty little mouth.” A series of movements follow, and you strain your neck to catch a glimpse of what he’s doing.

And it is a glorious sight. Namjoon pushes the sleeves of his prison issued jumpsuit down his well-muscled arms, exposing the thin white shirt underneath. It clings to his defined chest, slightly matted with sweat. But the real prize comes when he pushes the jumpsuit below his waist, and you realise that underwear is probably the only thing that is not prison issued.

The sight of his long, hard cock, angry and red greets you. One hand pushes the rest of the jumpsuit down, the other strokes his length and gathers the precum on his palm to provide a better glide. He catches you staring with a smirk, his abs tensing as he puts on a show for you.

Namjoon kicks his jumpsuit off, walking to the head of the table. He strokes your cheek gently, then slaps it hard, leaving a red imprint behind. He digs his fingers into your cheeks, forcing you to tilt your head up uncomfortably to make eye contact with him.

“Open,” he says, as if you were nothing but another orifice to pleasure himself with.

You can only imagine how much he’s been dying to do this. When was the last time he got off? Your lips part obediently, offering your throat as a vessel for his pleasure.

He rests his cock on your bottom lip, smearing his precum all over your chin. Namjoon grasps himself and moves the tip of his cock to your reddened cheek, spreading the precum over the imprint of his hand. Satisfied with his handiwork, he finally slides his cock into your mouth, and then you are filled with the taste of him.

His cock is hot and heavy on your tongue, his pre cum fills your throat with its saltiness as he thrusts hard. The tip of his cock hits your throat, and you can already start to feel how raw it is as he face fucks you. His balls are hitting your face repeatedly with every thrust, so you have to close your eyes and surrender your mouth to him completely.

“Your every breath belongs to me,” Namjoon emphasizes his statement with every thrust of his cock. “If you breathe, it’ll be because I allowed you to. Got that, slut?”

He punctuates this with a slap to your breasts, causing your nipples to twinge from the clamps. Namjoon then releases the clamps and tosses them aside so that he can bend down to take an abused nipple into his mouth while he fucks your face.

Every few thrusts, Namjoon buries his cock all the way in your throat, forcing you to deepthroat him. Your throat convulses around him as spit and precum drip out the sides of your mouth. Then, he decides to push his cock all the way in and keep it there, actively depriving you of your air supply. His balls are heavy on your face, smothering you.

“Shit!” He pulls his cock away from your mouth after what seems like eternity. “You have such a good mouth for cock-sucking, babydoll. Do you ever suck Jeongguk’s cock like that? Hmmm? Tell Daddy what a cock slut you are.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No! I’m just a cockslut for you. Only you.”

Namjoon chuckles darkly, before shutting you up as he places his balls on your chin. “Shut up and suck my balls, slut.”

You lave your tongue around him, taking one of his testicles into your mouth and playing with it, careful to keep your teeth from grazing them accidentally. By now, your makeup is smeared all over your face, sticky precum coating every inch of your skin, and he has rubbed his balls and cock all over your face, treating you like a sex doll.

You can feel how heavy his balls are as you switch to the other one. Namjoon groans, almost in pain as you suck dutifully.

“Fuck, I have so much fucking cum for you, babydoll. I want to fucking drown you in cum. But the only place I’ll be putting it is in your pretty pussy. Good girls like you love having a cum filled pussy, don’t they? You can’t live unless your pussy has been well-fucked and creamed. You’ll let any random man fill your pussy with cum, won’t you?”

You make a muffled sound in your throat, and Namjoon sighs impatiently, as if anything you have to say is an inconvenience to him. He pulls his balls from your mouth. “What is it, slut?”

“I’ve- I’ve never let anyone cum inside me before-“

“Oh? Never let another man cum inside you?” He reacts with genuine surprise, slapping one breast harshly again. By now, your tits are red and swollen with his handprints all over them. “Never felt a man’s cock pulse as he paints your womb with his cum? Never felt the warmth of his semen in your pussy, travelling through your pretty little body in search of your egg?”

“Never,” you say truthfully, entirely enraptured by his dark, gleaming eyes.

For a moment, he is silent, and you almost think that you can see a glimmer of something that you haven’t quite seen before when it comes to Namjoon. It is soft, tender, but gone in a split second before you had a chance to ascertain that you saw it for real.

“Then I’ll be the first, babydoll.” The luscious grin is back as he makes his way in between your legs, cock probing your inner thighs and staining them with pre-cum. “Beg for my cock.”

You perform for him, as if on cue. “Please, please, please, fuck me. Fuck me so hard and break me, Daddy. I can take it, I promise. Be the first man to cum inside me.”

“What would your parents say if they saw you like this, hmmm?” Namjoon runs the tip of his cock against your slit, slapping it a few times. “All bound up, legs spread, mouth used and begging to get fucked by a madman. Begging for a criminal’s cock.”

Your laugh sounds foreign to your ears. It resounds in the dim room, it is unhinged, on the verge of catatonic.

“They would be proud of me,” you say with a wide grin, and it prompts a belly laugh from Namjoon.

“Give it to me, Daddy,” you bite your bottom lip, canting your hips up in invitation. “I want it all.”

Namjoon gazes down at you with a look of deranged pride at your bruised and broken body, finally feeding you his cock one inch at a time. He spreads your pussy with two fingers as he thrusts the rest of the way in, marrying your hips together with a flex of his thick thighs.

“So fucking tight, I’m going to have so much fun ruining this pussy,” Namjoon all but cackles as he begins to fuck you, every stroke deep and purposeful.

You can only giggle, all caution thrown to the wind as you watch the sweat start to collect on his body. “I’m already broken, Daddy. Use me as you please.”

So Namjoon doesn’t stand on courtesy. He pumps in and out of your cunt, watching your breasts bounce violently from the force of his thrusts. Your walls mold around his cock as if you were made for him, made to take his fucking like his very own plaything.

He places his hands on either side of your waist as he ruts into you like a filthy animal, and you can see from the way his muscles strain and flex that he is putting every single ounce of energy he has into fucking your pussy. Namjoon’s eyes glimmer with a primordial urge, and you let yourself fantasise that you are his last meal. That he is an inmate placed on death row, and his last, dying wish is to fuck a baby into you.

Your pussy clenches involuntarily, and Namjoon slaps your cheek hard.

“What were you thinking about, slut?” He demands, keeping up the brutal pace as the head of his cock assaults your cervix with every thrust.

“M-making you a baby daddy,” you confess with a sinful leer, mouth open and gasping in pain as he slams into your cervix again.

“Oh? Babydoll read my mind,” Namjoon’s lips curl into a nefarious smile. “Ever since you walked into my cell, all I wanted to do is get you pregnant with my child. Fill you up with so much cum so that there’s no way you won’t get pregnant by the time I’m done with you.”

“Do it, please,” you beg, pussy dripping at the thought of him making you heavy and round with his child. It would be your greatest pleasure to carry his baby, to feel a part of him grow inside you, to walk around in public carrying the baby of an insane criminal.

“I’m gonna make you remember how well I broke you,” Namjoon growls into your skin, his voice is a deep rumble as he brands you with his cock. His girth feels as if it is splitting you apart, you can feel the head of his cock so deep, that if you were to touch your stomach, you might feel his cock there. “For the rest of your life, babydoll. I’m gonna cum so deep in your womb, gonna put a baby right here.”

His hand comes to rest on your lower stomach.

“Then I’m going to let you go with a womb full of my cum, and you’re going to walk out of this place with my baby inside you. You’re going to grow so big and swollen that when people see you, they’ll know you’ve been fucked by a psychopath,” Namjoon licks a stripe up your neck, his teeth sinking into the lobe of your ear. “Inseminated by a madman. Bred by a criminal.”

“I’ll give you all the babies you want,” you are desperate to feel him pulse inside you. “Visit you in prison and let Daddy knock me up over and over. Be your little prison breeding slut.”

A derisive chuckle comes from him as he fondles your clit. At this stage, you are so fucked out, cock drunk and desperate for his cum. You couldn’t possibly have any idea what he’s planning.

“That’s right, babydoll. Now stay still and let Daddy do his job. We only get one chance, so Daddy’s got to make sure he fucks a baby into you now.” The urgency in his voice is lost on you as his hips start to hammer into your cunt, driving his cock so deep until you are crying from the intricate mix of pain and pleasure.

You have no idea how you managed to get this far without cumming, but the tension in your lower belly is right at the brink of snapping. Still, you wait for his permission, and judging from his breathing, he is getting close. His thrusts are getting sloppy, his face buried into your shoulder as he chases after his release.

“Cum for me now. Squeeze my cock like the whore you are,” Namjoon breathes into your shoulder, finally giving you the go ahead.

His resounding groan as he fucks into your tightening pussy encourages you to let him hear how good he’s making you feel. Your screams of his name echo inside the abandoned room as your pussy clamps down around his cock, trying its best to milk him dry of every drop of cum.

“Milk me, you fucking cumslut, squeeze me dry,” he demands, slamming into you one last time before he releases with a loud groan, every pulse of his cock sending spurts of semen deep into your womb where it belongs. His fingers tighten around your thighs, leaving behind blue black bruises. “You better get every drop of cum if you want to get pregnant, whore.”

And you work for his cum, the aftershocks of your orgasm making your walls clench around him rhythmically. He is so deep, you can feel the spurts of his cum directly at your cervix, bathing it generously as your womb swallows it down greedily.

When you feel as if the spurts of cum have stopped, you expect him to pull out. But you realise that his cock still remains hard in your well fucked cunt. Namjoon’s chest is heaving, sweat dripping off every crevice of his muscled torso as he slowly begins to thrust his cock in and out of your creamy pussy.

“Daddy’s got to fuck his cum inside your womb,” he says with his eyes glued to the mess between your legs, watching his semen froth up on his cock. “Be a good doll and don’t let any of it escape.”

His thrusts are slower, but deeper now as he makes sure that his balls hit your ass with every thrust. You can feel how sloppy your pussy is, even if you can’t see the cum on Namjoon’s cock. Your inner thighs are wet and sticky, and you whine like a spoiled toddler.

“Daddy… you’re fucking me so hard.It’s all coming out,” you say with a pout. “How am I gonna give Daddy a baby if he fucks all his cum out of my pussy?”

A definitive throb of his cock inside you tells you that you hit his soft spot. “Daddy’ll have to fill you up again then babydoll.”

This time, a finger circles your clit, pulling the knot in your belly tighter as he fucks into you. You tense up immediately, feeling incredibly sloppy as he fucks the cum deeper into your pussy.

“Can I cum? Daddy, can I cum?” You beg, feeling his cock twitching as he hits you with deep thrusts.

“Cum for me, babydoll. Pull all that sweet cum deep inside your womb where it belongs. Give us a baby,” he cajoles, and the squeezing of your sweet, cum slippery walls in your orgasm rewards him. “Fuck, take my fucking cum. Take all of it!”

For the second time that night, you feel his cum flood your pussy, and he tilts your hips up as he roars his pleasure, fucking your cervix raw and open. His thrusts slow as his spurts of cum weaken, and soon, he is plugging your pussy up with his cum.

“My pretty babydoll,” he runs his tongue up the side of your face, kissing the side of your mouth. “Took my cum so well. It’ll be a miracle if you weren’t pregnant after tonight.”

“Daddy…” you eyelids flutter in exhaustion.

He gives you a final kiss on your forehead, smearing the precum on your face one last time before he pushes himself away from you.

You hear him fiddling with the restraints at your wrists and ankles. A moment later, your limbs are free, and you adjust your position so that your thighs are close together, cradling the precious gift of life that Hehas bestowed you with.

“Rest, babydoll.”

You hear his voice getting more and more distant as he moves about the room. Attempting to open your eyes to follow his movement, you see him rummaging for something in the drawers, and then the sound of paper tearing.

“Wh- what are you…?”

Then, he is back by your side, a large, warm hand on your forehead, forcing you back down again. A pinprick on your arm, and then everything goes black.

*

When you wake up, it is to darkness and musk.

And god, the ache in your entire body.

You move your legs, grimacing at the stickiness in between them. When you sit up, you can feel globs of cum leak down your inner thigh. You run your fingers through it reverently, bringing it to your lips for a taste and closing your eyes in sheer pleasure as you lick every bit of His cum.

How much time has passed? How long were you out cold for?

Glancing around, you slowly recall the events that transpired. The warmth in your slightly swollen belly that reminds you of the life that you have been tasked to nurture. The used needle on the ground beside you that is probably the reason why you were knocked out.

A giggle passes your lips as you scan the room for any traces of Him, but of course, he isn’t here anymore. But it doesn’t matter. He’s long gone, escaped into the night like thin air.

But he chose you.

You want to jump up and down, hug yourself in delight. But you mustn’t spill any more of His cum. You have to make sure it takes, make sure your belly becomes swollen with his child, just as he intended, so that he can see from wherever he is.

You throw your head back as catatonic laughter takes over you, peals of it resounding in the dark basement of the abandoned medical ward.

*

EPILOGUE

Your lips curl up in a secret smile when they ask. Words of ‘Congratulations! Who’s the baby daddy?’ only make your heart race.

Your swollen stomach is increasing in size with His gift, slowly, day by day.

Min Yoongi’s curious eyes linger on the swell of your belly. “You know… you never gave me your number that night.”

But you ignore him, stirring your coffee serenely.

“And, next up on the nine pm news. Sightings of mass murderer Kim Namjoon in the vicinity have been reported, but two months after his escape from the Hope World Mental Asylum for the Criminally Insane, police still haven’t been able to track him down. The state has initiated a full-scale manhunt for the criminal, but all efforts have proved to be futile…”

You stroke your belly with a peaceful smile, looking at his picture on the television screen. Handsome as ever.

They should just give up. No one in this entire world can find Kim Namjoon. Not even you.

But you’re not worried. Because you know he’ll come back for you, and meanwhile, you’ll proudly show the world how swollen you are because of Him. And when he does come back, it’ll be to fuck another baby into you.

Because after all, you are his chosen. His one and only.

[ask-them-bois]

Blood of My Blood

TW: Needles, lots of blood, animal death and gore.

TLDR: Vornik gets his happy ending.

***

Vornik sat in the small hive of the village medic, twisting his claws around the hem of his cloak as said medic bustled about in front of him.

“Alright, guardian, after this one, I think we’ll be able to stop these sessions. Blood transfusions are a nasty business as it is, and for someone like you… well, they can be borderline dangerous.” She turned around, a bag of jade-hued ichor and its attached needle in hand. “Necessary as they may be, after you nearly lost your arm, but still- we should be careful all the same.” She added.

“Jade?” Vornik asked quietly, surprised, “Don’t I usually get olive, since it’s the closest-”

“Mhm. Unfortunately, Mr. Andrin- the fellow who usually donates the blood- broke a wrist last week when he was working on his hive’s roof. Fell off, shattered a horn on the way- nasty business.”

“Oh.”

“This time, the blood’s been donated from a passer-through. Heard we had a wriggler in need of some, and when we told her about our dear guardian, she happily offered some of her own.”

“I’m not a wriggler.” Vornik mumbled as the healer took his arm and began to rub an ointment on the juncture of his elbow. “I’m eight sweeps old.”

The elderly bronzeblood smiled and pat his shoulder. “I know, dear, but you’re a wriggler to me, guardian of our village or not.”

Vornik made no comment, turning his head away as the needle punctured his skin. The healer hung the bag on a hook above his head, and pat his shoulder again.

“Just sit tight, dear.” She hummed, before she turned away.

Vornik did as he was told, watching the emerald blood slide down the tube and into his arm. Even through the thin plastic casing, he could smell the coppery scent of blood. He suddenly sat up slightly, frowning, and took another sniff of the air.

There was something off about the blood, he thought; it smelled… strange, yet familiar at the same time.

“Are you sure this blood is clean?” He asked, squinting at the bag.

“Mhm! I checked the jadeblood for any abnormalities.”

“And?”

“And there was only one, but the jade assured me it was normal for her caste. I had to take her word for it, I’m not an expert on jades.”

Vornik nodded slowly and tried to relax, but his gaze kept drifting back to the bag.

Two hours later, the bag was drained, and the needle was pulled from his skin. The healer tenderly wrapped his elbow in gauze, then passed him a caramel candy.

“These are your favorites, yes?”

Vornik happily took it, nodding as he popped the sweet into his mouth with a mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, dear. Go on, now- best get home before the sun rises.”

Vornik bid the healer goodbye and slipped out of her hive. He made his way through the village, sucking on the candy. The night was cloudy, only a handful of stars visible through the mounting cloud cover.

Vornik made it to the edge of the village without being stopped, for which he was grateful; as much as he loved the villagers, he felt nauseated and tired, as he often did after transfusions.

After his mountain came down, his arm had been nearly shorn from his body. The muscle had been severely damaged, and the bone cracked. The giant scar he bore now was a giant callous of pinched skin, where his flesh had mended over the lost muscle. After the heavy loss of blood that accompanied the wound, Vornik had been made to undergo blood transfusions to aid in the healing process.

The first bags had been from Innocent, his ancestor’s generosity boundless. But after giving too much at once, the healer had shooed Innocent away so he could recover, and had gotten the blood from other greenbloods in the village. Olive was the closest match, and Vornik’s body had been receptive of it, so every two weeks, Vornik had found himself back in the healer’s hive to receive another dose.

Now, with jade in his veins, he just hoped his body wouldn’t reject the ichor. He’d been healing well- physically, at least- and it didn’t hurt to lift his arm anymore.

Even so…

Alphadad leaped to his feet at the sight of him as he reached the edge of the village, six ears standing alert and three noses nuzzling against his torso.

“I’m okay, alpha. I’m all done, let’s go home.” Vornik smiled softly, petting each howl-beast muzzle in turn. He clambered onto the giant beast’s back, and Alphadad turned, bounding for their mountain.

Vornik shut his eyes and turned his face into the wind as they galloped past his old home, trying to ignore the wrenching of his blood-pumper.

By the time they reached the mountain, the horizon was growing light. Vornik quickly dismounted and hurried inside, with Alphadad just behind him. His pace didn’t slow until he stepped out onto the ledge, and saw his hidden forest spread out below him.

Tension unraveled from his shoulders as he descended the slope, entering the blue-shining trees. The sound of birdsong and insect chirps wreathed around him, buzzing in his ears pleasantly. A stag was drinking from the pool when he passed; it paused and raised its head, but Vornik paid it no mind; the creatures in his mountain were comfortable with his presence now, and he with theirs. He’d forbid his howl-beast brethren from harming any of them, unable to stomach the thought of the near-mystical creatures being harmed.

Ascending the slop on the far side, he entered his den.

Since moving into it some perigrees ago, it had slowly become more and more like his old den; like home.

He had a new pile of furs and blankets and pillows to sleep in, only now they were cradled in a half-egg-shaped frame, to keep them from getting dirty. Barrels of water stood against one wall; back then, he’d set the barrels out on the cliff during storms to gather rain water, but now he just dragged them to the pool when they were emptied.

Above them, with the help of Innocent, Vornik had mounted some shelves into the stone. Utensils, food, tools, knickknacks, paint cans and brushes- all neatly organized on said shelves.

He’d dug himself a proper fire pit, where the embers of the early evening’s flame still smoldered.

At the back of the den, next to his bed and on a small pedestal, was the painted stone from his original home, surrounded by pretty crystals and shells.

Finally, there were the walls; he no longer had miles of mountain tunnels to paint, but he did have blank slates, and luminescent paint. In the flickering light of the embers, glowing howl-beasts and antler-beasts and faceless trolls danced among swirling designs and stars.

Vornik tossed a log and a few sticks onto the embers, coaxing them back into a warm flame. He glanced at the provisions waiting him on the shelf, but he still felt queasy after his treatment. He retreated to his bed, carefully removing his cloak and laying it aside before he curled up among the furs and pillows. Alphadad settled at the mouth of the cave, keeping watch on the trees.

It was as Vornik buried his nose in a howl-beast pelt, already half asleep, that he distantly realized why the jade blood had smelled familiar.

By morning, he’d forgotten. As soon as he was conscious that he was awake, his stomach was gripped with pain. He sat up with a bark of surprise, clutching his torso. Alphadad grunted, concerned, two heads rising to look at their charge.

Vornik panted, his eyes wide with alarm; he’d never felt this hungry, even after going without meals in winter, when food was scarce. He was dizzy, his mouth flooded with drool as he caught sight of the food waiting on the shelves. He scrambled out of his bed and lunged across the cave.

He ripped a loaf of bread from the shelf, barely pausing to unwrap the wax paper as he devoured bite after bite.

Halfway through the loaf, he dropped it, stumbled to the mouth of his den, and emptied his stomach of bread. He moaned in pain, eyes rolling back as he was gripped with more hunger pangs.

Stumbling back to the shelves, he pulled everything down, sniffing them for proof of rot or mold, but it all seemed fine. As his nose passed over a bundle of dried meat, he thought he might pass out again as a new wave of dizziness and drool washed over him.

He didn’t hesitate, ripping the twine off and shoving the meat into his mouth. He threw back his head and groaned in delight; that was what he needed, it seemed, and in what felt like moments, the meat was gone. He tore through the rest of his food, looking for more.

Raw beef slid down his throat next, followed by grilled chicken and smoked fish. Sniffing around desperately, he realized he was out of meat; only fruits and vegetables and bread remained, and his gastric-sack did unpleasant flips at their smell.

“More… alpha, I need- I need more!” He whimpered, turning to look at his lusus. Alphadad didn’t hesitate, leaping to his feet and bounding out of the mountain.

Vornik groaned again, dragging himself to the water barrels. He dunked his head in one, fears be damned, gulping down water in an attempt to stifle the hunger. He pulled his head back out, hair spraying water everywhere, and stood, clutching the edges.

He panted, staring down at his warped reflection; what was wrong with him? He’d never reacted this way to blood before- it was the only reason he could come up with for the sudden hunger. Maybe he *had* rejected the jade blood, and his body was trying to purge it.

He should see the healer, he decided. He spun about to fetch his cloak, stumbled over his own feet, and collapsed.

He groaned, stars exploding behind his eyes; he felt too weak, his temples and stomach pulsing in harmonious pain. It seemed to be moving, too, the pain rolling down each limb until it reached his fingers and toes, making them twitch. Even his horns felt electrified; he reached up to touched one, and cried out as a jolt shot through him.

He dropped his head, pressing his cheek to the cold stone. He tried to focus on breathing, shudders wracking his body as he dug his claws into the floor. There was a whine in his ears, distant and shrill like a broken radio.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there; he was going in and out of consciousness. But when he managed to lift his head again, it was in response to the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Blinking blearily, he found his lusus standing before him, a dead antler-beast on the ground at his paws, blood oozing sluggishly from a tear in its throat.

The coppery tang hit the back of Vornik’s throat, and he was moving before he was even aware of doing so. With his claws, he rend open the carcass, and was tearing out flesh.

He ate like a frenzied beast, blood coating his hands and mouth as he devoured flesh and muscle and organs. His knees became sticky and hot as the blood pooled around the rip in the belly. He was snarling, snorting, and panting, like his howl-beast siblings did when they devoured meals. He paused to lick away the blood that ran down his arm, before gouging out the liver and tearing into it.

He didn’t stop until he physically could eat no more; the carcass was in shambles, nearly half of it now in Vornik’s stomach. Finally sated, he slumped over to stare at the deer’s head, reaching up with bloody fingers to pet its ear.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for sustaining me.” He rasped, throat thick with blood; it was something he said at every kill, before he and his siblings ate. It was the closest he ever came to prayer- yet this time, all civility and grace he usually held during the meal had vanished until he was quenched.

Vornik laid for a while, eyes closed and breathing deep; sanity seemed to have come back to him, as did a warm strength that filled out his limbs and chest.

He felt… good. Content. Suddenly exhausted, he passed out right there on the ground.

It went on like that for several nights. He’d wake, eat, drink, and pass back out, to be consumed by fitful sleep and nightmares. He’d toss and turn, wake with a jolt, and devour more meat. Alphadad doted on him diligently, bringing fresh kills nearly every night. The cave was filled with carrion and bones, but Vornik didn’t have the strength to remove them.

Then all at once, he felt like he’d woken up; he was clear headed, able to breathe fully. He had the strength to get up and make his way to the pool, where he drank and cleaned the blood that caked his face and claws.

He sat back, looking up at the giant crystals that hung from the ceiling; through the cracks in the stone, he could see purple and green-tinged light; the moons were out and full. He didn’t feel sick anymore. Didn’t feel thirsty or hungry. His skin itched, but other than that, he felt fine.

Looking back down, he jumped in surprise as he caught sight of his reflection. Leaning over the surface, his eyebrows shot up; was the really him? He looked… bad. Haunted.

His eyes were empty, shadowed below by dark circles. His mouth was set in a grimace, the scar over his eye vivid. That wasn’t him, he thought; that was the shell of a troll he’d become. That wasn’t who he wanted to be.

He reached up with shaky claws and ran a finger down the mark. The smell of sea salt, blood, and a flash of fuchsia filled his mind for a moment, before he shook his head and dropped his hand. When he looked back at his reflection, he saw his eyes were glowing. He frowned; they only ever did that when he used his powers, why were they-

Agony tore through him once more, rocketing up his spine and bursting into his thinkpan like a firework. He screamed, the sound echoing through the chasm and causing birds to take flight.

He clutched his head, falling forward, into the shallows as he writhed. The ground shook, and Alphadad was at his side, barking and whining in alarm.

Vornik couldn’t breathe; his body was refusing to listen to him, pain buzzing down into his teeth. He snapped his jaws in the air, clawing at his mouth. His eyes suddenly shot open.

“Out!” He shouted, “I need out! Outside! Alpha!”

Alphadad didn’t argue. He shoved his muzzle under Vornik’s body, and the boy grabbed on, clambering over his lusus’ center head to clutch at his scruff as the monster hounded for the exit. Pressed flat against his lusus’ neck, the roof of the tunnel scraped against Vornik’s back and made him wail.

They burst out onto the mountainside, and Alphadad bound down to the forest, where he lowered himself to the ground. Vornik slid from his back and hit the dirt, pain pulsing through his very veins.

Everything was overwhelming; the forest was quiet, yet he could hear every insect chirp, every rustle of the leaves and the footfalls of deer. The smells of the woods, once pleasant, were rancid in his lungs, until he was heaving, trying to cough them back out. The moonlight stung his eyes, the wind slicing at his skin like knives.

From among the trees, he heard the near silent padding of his fellow howl-beast’s approach. A dozen of them appeared, sniffing the air as concerned grunts and growls rolled in their throats.

“What’s- happening- to me?” Vornik croaked, staring at his siblings pleadingly. They paused, turning to snuffle at one another. A knowing look seemed to dawn on all of them at the same time, and they suddenly retreated- all but one of them.

Vornik recognized her; he knew nearly every howl-beast in the mountains. This particular one was a she-wolf with red fur; Vornik had named her Russet, and had pup-sat for several of her litters when she went hunting.

Russet stepped forward, brushing her nose along his jaw comfortingly, before she stepped back, only to lunge forward and slam her head into him.

Vornik fell back with a yelp, pain skirting up his back like electricity. “Russet-?!” He gasped.

She leaped back, bowing in a play stance.

“No, Russet, I don’t-”

She barked, knocking into him again. She turned and vanished into the trees, before she came back and barked again, her tail wagging.

Run!

The word exploded in his head, a painful energy surging through him like a wave. He scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly.

Run!

He took off.

Vornik wasn’t sure if it was terror or excitement that made him move, but he was suddenly tearing through the trees, his lusus and packmate at his sides. Other howl-beasts bled from between the trees to join them in their race.

Vornik didn’t know where they were going, but he was a man consumed; run, his body told him, the pain fading to a background feeling. Run. Run!

He vaulted over a log, lost his footing, fell, and leaped back up, racing on.

They burst out of the woods and onto the plains, where a heard of mega-fauna antler-beasts were grazing. The beasts startled, bellowed, and wheeled about to flee. Vornik bellowed right back, and his vision went red.

He screeched to a stop, throwing back his head as his muscles seized.

He screamed, screamed, screamed- and his skin rent open as he was transformed.

He fell forward, his body shaking and jerking from side to side as he convulsed. He thrashed his head, snarling, his claws digging into the dirt. His lusus and howl-beast siblings watched, silently circling around him to wait.

The base of his spine burned in a white hot, needling pain. His every fang pulsed and throbbed, his eyes squeezed shut as his thinkpan scattered to the wind.

His jaw was stretching, his bones snapping and reforming, his fangs growing as he snarled at the moons. His form doubled, tripled in size, new muscles and flesh rippling into being across his limbs.

His hair turned white from the roots, as bright white fur burst into being along the rest of his body. He heaved with a great shudder, and his spine elongated into a tail with a flourish. His ears grew longer, the tips sharper, as he tossed his head. His hands and feet became broad and thick, his fingers and toes into heavy, sharp claws.

His clothes were suddenly too constricting as his chest broadened, expanded, and he tore them off with a snarl.

With a final burst of pain, he threw back his head and screamed, only for it to change into a roaring howl, before he collapsed.

Vornik lay in the moonlight, heaving for breath as he tried to figure out what just happened. Terror and pain faded away until they were barely echoes. He whimpered, peeling open his eyes and sitting up slowly to look down at himself.

He… He was a howl-beast.

Or partially one, at least. A monster, caught between troll and howl-beast. He reached up, patting his head, and was relieved to feel his horns still remained. He stood on wobbly feet and twisted about, looking at himself. He was huge! He must have been nearly seven feet tall, at least! He was covered in thick white fur that made him look even bigger, and he had a tail! He focused, and managed to make it wag a little. He looked down his arm, and saw his scar still remained, but it was mostly covered by his fur.

Dropping back down, he finally looked up at his family. Alphadad was regarding him, with only warmth and pride in all his eyes.

“Alpha?” Vornik tried to say, but it didn’t come out in his voice. His body spoke for him, his ears pressing back and head cocking to the side.

“Little Omega.” His lusus responded warmly, all six ears pricking up and middle head tossing back and forth as his tail wagged.

“I’m… a howl-beast.” Vornik’s tail thumped and he bowed his head.

“Always been a howl-beast.” His lusus leaned down and nuzzled each muzzle against Vornik’s head. “Only now you look like one.” He chuffed affectionately, nipping Vornik’s ear gently.

Vornik nuzzled his nose along one jaw, before he looked at his siblings. Each one of them had their ears pressed back, tails tucked, and were respectfully looking away from him. Vornik whined at them, assuring them it was okay.

“What do I do now?” He whimpered, his own ears falling flat and tail tucking half-way between his legs.

Alphadad pulled away to regard him. “What do you want to do?” He asked, all three heads cocking to the right at the same time.

In response, Vornik’s stomach gave a mighty rumble, and he heard amused chuffs from his siblings.

“Hunt.” Vornik bared his teeth, his muzzle wrinkling and eyes beginning to glow as energy surged through him.

Alphadad stamped his feet, tail high as he barked with excitement. “Then we hunt!” He snarled, tossing a heads.

Vornik slammed his claws against the ground as a sudden, ferocious elation- borderline bloodthirst- filled his chest. He threw back his head and let out another roaring howl that echoed through the mountains.

Above him, the sky lights burst to life, as if called by his song. Greens and blues and pinks and yellows snaked across the sky, stretching across the canvas of midnight and stars. The other howl-beasts reacted, throwing back their heads to howl, too.

“Ancestors! The ancestors join us!” Jawbreaker- a male with black fur- howled.

Vornik couldn’t sit still another moment; he thought if he did, he might explode. He shot off across the plains, reveling in his new power; he had questions, lots of them, but for the moment he let them go, all but throwing himself, willingly, into the nature he’d denied himself the past sweep.

He could feel his blood-pumper beating against his ribs like a caged animal. He felt every ripple of his muscles as they bunched and released as he thundered forward, his claws tearing into the grass.

Every sense was heightened, but it was no longer painful; he could hear his brothers, his sisters, and his father racing along behind him, but none of them seemed able to keep up with his speed. He could smell the earthy musk of his prey, somewhere ahead in the hills, so strongly that he could taste it on his tongue. His vision was sharpened, so much so that every blade of grass was distinct, even as he ran by.

With a leap full of lupine grace, his form changed again.

He nearly lost his footing in surprise, but managed to stay upright as his body morphed, painlessly and seamlessly, into a full-blown howl-beast body. He wanted to stop and check it out, but to pause meant he had to stop running. He could still feel his horns atop his head. Adrenaline was pouring through him, churning through his veins until he could barely contain it. He threw back his head and howled again, and heard the answering cry from his pack.

The mountains came alive as the other packs responded, too, reveling in the glee their brother had found once more. Vornik crested a hill and finally slowed as he spotted the prey up ahead. His flanks heaved as he fought for breath, his head was spinning with hunger and euphoria, and drool dripped from his jaw. His muscles ached from the sudden growth and use, but it was dull. Satisfying.

Finally, he thought, his tail wagging behind him as he eyed the herd.

Finally, he was himself again.

He was Vornik again.

[smuthuttpodcast]

Name/Handle/Alias

rlogarbagech1

About how long would you say you’ve been rooting for Reylo?

I tend to dive into things intensively, so while I knew there was an intriguing dynamic to Rey and Kylo's TFA interaction and I enjoyed what was teased in TLJ when it came out, I think it was a random wading into Reylo fanfic circa Aug 2019 that really got me into the fandom in a deep way. (Throwback to me thinking: eh maybe I'll give Reylo oneshots a try? And BOOM four months later I'm in a daze wondering how I've read like 80 fics, ended up in a writing discord - shoutout to The Writing Den! - and have five stories cooking in my head at one time.)

I like that the fandom takes what was on film in TLJ and expands the contours of that universe, stretching it into all sorts of configurations that somehow still made sense thematically for what Rey and Ben were going through. Whether that's in the context of warring lawyers (eversoreylo), Kyril Ren and Irena (voicedimplosives), archaeology Rey and Ben (disasterisms), a Harry met Sally AU (slipgoingunder), or Canadian politics (saint_heretical)... the creativity of the fandom and how it grapples with SW themes through all these different lenses of interpretation blows my mind. IMO it shows how SW's story themes can be individually interpreted, yet utterly universal.

What did you think of the way Rise of Skywalker handled Rey and Kylo’s relationship?

It felt like a backstep/retcon to what had happened in TLJ. I think CT and JJ wanted to make certain narrative choices but couldn't fully commit to them for whatever reasons, and the story suffered overall in a big way 'cus of that.

TRoS clearly went into the enemies -> lovers arc but leaned way too far into 'enemies', making the arc to 'lovers' within 2.5 hours way very weirdly paced, so it didn't feel like it was earned. The reaction of the audiences I was in for both screenings validated that. At the first screening, there was awkward laughter because it felt so left-field in the context of the film. In the second screening, the GA people I was watching it with felt 'this is really unnecessary' which I can understand because of the lack of buildup in TRoS to that moment.

Reylo in TLJ was at its best because there was time for it to breathe. I rewatch the force skype scenes often and the complete silence, the subtle acting, and the framing of those scenes, is so unusual and bold for a blockbuster at that level. There was also so much gorgeous subtext in what was going on, you could read into it what you liked, but there was definitely an attraction or a pull there for both characters.

You could tell that Adam and Daisy were delivering equally layered acting work in 9, but it was extremely rushed and weirdly edited. The ensemble could also have been a greek chorus for the audience/a bellwether for how we should be feeling towards Rey and Kylo in 9 but they didn't really utilise them that way and Palpatine ended up overshadowing the entire story as the big bad. The more interesting choice obviously was Kylo as the conflicted big bad and a redemption arc, but maybe Disney just isn't ok with that or was pushing for a different direction.

Overall, 9 made me wish we had more time to live in the push-pull dynamic between these two characters and the longing they have for each other despite all the odds, but luckily we have fanfic and art for that, which is why it's so great. Just a shame the film couldn't line those pieces up well enough for a satisfying landing.

Do you think the film understood why you, and other people, felt like Rey and Kylo had something together? Did it get their chemistry?

I'm sure they understood it on some surface level but CT was the wrong person to write that story imo. And JJ on some level disliked RJ's choices so he was trying to wind it back to the TFA dynamic which was more enemies-enemies with a subtext of them being compelled by each other, but not necessarily with a romantic resolution.

I think it's testament to the intelligence of the fandom that we saw the train tracks being laid in ep8 for a more interesting ending, just that whatever story-wrestling/behind the scenes drama/ego was going on at DLF meant nobody was able to actually able to execute that story with the justice it deserved. Locking out the story group also seems like a huge mistake and would've avoided a lot of the larger plot holes they seem to have ended up with, the dissatisfying Reylo arc in ep9 being just one symptom of it. 

What about the handling of Kylo’s redemption? Was it something you had to think through in your stories? 

How I envision Kylo/Ben's redemption and Rey's response to it is summarised by a lot of the fic that's already out there! And in the fanfic thread I've pinned on my Twitter. e.g. Starstuff by voicedimplosives, Morning by disasterisms, Astrometric Binaries by pontmercy44, Tactical Surrender by Trebia... there are a lot of ways it could have gone. A recent comic (08 Jan?) by Miss Bliss is also a great example and she distilled it down to 15 simple panels, not to say she simplified the ethics of the redemption arc of course.

The biggest effect that TRoS had on me as an aspiring creator/writer is because the film DIDN'T give me the redemption arc, I'm interested to explore how that looks like in fanfic. So maybe that will become a theme in my writing. Let's see!

I'm still laughing about how they yeeted Ben into the pit though. Can't believe those leaks were actually true. 

What did you think of where Rey landed at the end? There had been a lot of excitement around Star Wars having a female protagonist. Do you think she lived up to the promise of her character?

A lot of the discourse has already covered this but my take is: in TLJ Rey was the centre of the story, all of her actions were driving the plot and it was a female-centric story about incredible themes like self-discovery, belonging, loyalty, 'lightness', 'darkness', attraction, sexuality. And TLJ was very nuanced in presenting how Rey's role shaped the overall story, the symbolism in the film (all of which had meaning or at least tried to), and her clear growth through it.

With TRoS it felt like her needs took a backseat and were kind of ancillary to the action of what was happening. Or that she was a lot more of a passenger to the story. I guess that's how I would sum it up. If I think back to how TRoS ended I don't think there was a satisfactory character conclusion for ANY of them... and don't even get me started on how they did Rose completely dirty. 

There’s criticism of the movie that argues it’s akin to “fan fiction” and that is has too much fan service. As fans and fan-fiction writers, how do you react to that?

It doesn't actually bother me that much. I think it comes from a place of negative stereotyping and misunderstanding of what fandom is all about, especially for the Reylo community – because apparently believing in romance, redemption, and love is meaningless, simple, and weak.

The people that are in the fandom and know it well know that the fandom has a lot of diverse views in it, different perspectives, and some of the most startlingly intelligent and thoughtful people across the spectrum including creators, readers, analysts, community organisers etc.

The fact that there's a WHOLE ECOSYSTEM with fanfic and fan art and discord servers and gift exchanges and comedy memes and metas and all of this stuff just enhances my enjoyment of it overall. And it's an ecosystem that despite critics' attempts to dismiss it since 2015, continues to thrive.

I challenge those skeptics to look at some of the novel-length Reylo work on Ao3, the detailed sketches and concept art, the hours of thoughtful podcasting and REVIEWS OF FANFIC and say this community's not worthy of credit or attention. Even if you don't like Reylo, there's a discussion worth having about why people want to engage with it on a deep level and the transformative work that's come out of it.

We are doing this for free. Out of enjoyment and fun and discovering meaning. The level of artistry and engagement in this fandom is really astounding in that way.

I wish people would talk more about *that* side of the Reylo fandom rather than dismissing it as 'fluffy romance 50 shades in space y'all are rabid crazy' or whatever.

TLDR the question of whether Rey and Kylo have/had toxic and abusive dynamics is an interesting one to ask and we need to continue having the discussion, because from my POV it wasn't 100% clear cut from TFA, and it evolved in TLJ and in TRoS. BUT it should be situated in the context of the broader fandom and the range of views within it, + the many other interpretations of the Reylo relationship through fic and art, which The Atlantic's article missed. 

Are you still writing any Star Wars fanfic? Tell us about it! (Don't forget your Ao3 handle!)

I'm late to the game but am interested in writing SW fanfic as a way of exploring my own capacity to write and create, so yes! Did my first drabble in mid December and have a few ideas cooking, the first which looks like a two-chapter modern AU oneshot. Watch this space…

Thanks to rlogarbagech1!

[graykaren333]

Kris’ Defense (tldr :)

So lately I had been feeling increasingly indifferent toward Kris.  I mean don’t get me wrong, he’ll always be my main man, but he was pretty much hanging on by a thread as my ultimate bias because of nolstalgia and because I’m loyal af.  He just hasn’t been doing all that much stuff in the public eye that peaked my interest (i.e. he’s mostly been making appearances at Chinese public festivals) and props to him for being able to lead the life he wants to without having to constantly be in the public eye but that’s a rant for another day. He’s existing in the world somewhere and knowing that makes me happy, but I havent’ been investing much time or energy in him lately compared to other k-idols, to the point that I found myself questioning if he was still my ultimate bias.  BUT.  BUT THEN THIS HAPPENED.

I’ve been getting into podcasts lately and there’s this one that I’ve been listening to about k-pop.  It’s not about the two hosts just fangirling over their biases because that would be boring af to listen to.  It’s highly researched and informative and they basically examine all these nuanced and intricate aspects of the k-pop industry and just go into detail abut it and it’s so fascinating.  I was so looking forward to their ‘Contracts Disputes’ episode to see what all they’d say about Kris’ situation.  I was fully expecting them to be like, “So Kris reportedly had this physical health condition and shame on you SM for not taking care of your idols.  The end.  Next.” But no.

As someone who has done a shit-tone of research on topics that I am passionate about, the most sure-fire way to offend me is to basically say to me about one of those topics, “I’ve looked into this issue for all of five minutes  and because I took the time to look into it for five minutes I am obviously the expert on this topic and am going to school you on this” when it’s a topic that I have literally done five weeks of research on and the person proceeds to get most of the details wrong.  Yeah, so this was one of those times.  I sat there in numb shock listening to the hosts basically proceed to trash Kris.

They pretty much started by saying, “When Kris first issued his statement about trying to terminate his contract, he just threw out some random medical diagnosis of myocarditis as a reason he was terminating his contract but then in an interview in 2017 he cited the reason as being creative differences so his story changed over time and that’s shady.”  They basically accused him of lying in his initial statement.  However, their statement was a gross misrepresentation of the facts.  First of all, they make it seem like Kris randomly mentioned the medical diagnosis in passing without much forethought as though it was some random post on his social media account.  But this was an official statement released by Kris’ lawyers on behalf of Kris which means that Kris didn’t unilaterally decide on what to include in the statement but was receiving legal guidance on what to say.  And why would his lawyers advise him to lie about something personal like a medical diagnosis in such a public way???  Including a medical diagnosis in his statement (especially if it was a lie) was very risky because it polarized the issue and even caused the majority of k netizens to accuse him of trying to play the sympathy card.

Second, the ladies in the podcast act like his story changed over time.  This is also inaccurate.  In his original statement, Kris cited BOTH his health issues and artistic/creative differences as being reasons for his termination lawsuit. From then on out he nevet mentioned his myocarditis diagnosis again.  Why? BECAUSE MAYBE HE DIDN’T WANT TO GO ON PUBLIC RECORD TRASHING HIS FORMER COMPANY, AND BY EXTENSION ALL OF K-POP, YEARS AFTER THE FACT.  That actually kind of makes sense, doesn’t it? Maybe he was trying to take the high road and not drag SM’s name through the mud years after the fact but actually help SM save face a little, a courtesy that they never returned to him. In his statement, Kris stated that his side would give no further comment about the situation since it was still pending at the time, yet Kris has continued to take the high road years after the contract dispute has been settled.  When he is asked about the situation in an interview, he cites artistic differences but has never breathed a word about his myocarditis diagnosis. That doesn’t mean that his initial statement on his medical diagnosis was not true, but that he simply chose to not talk about that reason for his termination in future public conversations going forward.  What would you have wanted him to say anyway?  “Yeah I left SM because they literally wouldn’t let me fucking take care of my fucking health even after I literally got a fucking diagnosis that could have fucking killed me if not properly treated.”  Because from what I’ve seen that’s basically what happened.  So let’s dig into that a little bit, shall we? I’m not going off of Kris’ word alone.

I lived through this whole lawsuit/counter lawsuit/contract termination fiasco as a Kris bias so in real time as it was happening, I was digging into the far recesses of the internet to find out more details about the situation (some of which may very well no longer be available on the internet today) and it didn’t take long to scratch the surface to reveal the cesspool that was how SM was treating Kris.  Kris’ Chinese fans who saw him promoting in China every day were vocal even before the lawsuit about the many ways SM management employees were treating Kris increasingly vindictively, even compared to the other Chinese members, in the months leading up to the lawsuit (which fits with Kris’ timeline given in his statement concerning him trying to address the artistic differences with the company, and then the company responded this way because SM is a vindictive pos company).  And this is on top of SM already being notorious for treating their Chinese members badly (see Super Junior’s Hangeng’s statements about those dynamics after he left SM).  It’s not racism necessarily, it’s just that the proper labor unions haven’t been set up between the two countries for Chinese working in Korea (it’s a whole thing), so SM basically treats them however because they can.  Beyond that, getting into the specifics of his diagnosis, there were pictures of Kris at a heart specialist in China.  There were also pictures of several occasions where Kris was carrying heart medication.  There were rampant rumors among Kris’ Chinese fans of his bad physical health such as him throwing up in the bathroom before or after performances. But all of the worst of this was happening over in China, with k netizens neither knowing the full details nor caring to get acquainted with them.  After his lawsuit came out, there were videos posted and gifs posted showing Kris clutching at his chest after performances or running just offstage immediately after performances leaning over his knees and pounding his chest (I don’t know how much of that is still available on the internet today).  I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a special kind of hell if you ask me.  So yes, I believe he was being honest in his official statement.  

On a slightly less offensive note, the ladies on this podcast when on to say, “yeah when we watched EXO’s Showtime (a documentary-style TV show) we weren’t impressed with Kris.  Sometimes he would choose to have fun and interact with the members, but most of the time he just kind of acted like he was better than everyone else and deserved more than he was getting.”  Ok so now they are judging his personality which is also highly offensive.  In more recent Chinese interviews, Kris has gone on record saying that he’s reserved and can come across as being aloof when he first meets someone but when he feels comfortable around them he can get very talkative and engaged.  He’s basically saying he’s and introvert.  Seeing him through this introvert frame-of-reference makes all his interactions with the other EXO members and his pattern of behavior on EXO’s Showtime make sense.  In fact, what originally drew me to Kris was seeing his behavior on EXO’s Showtime and how his reactions to situations were exactly how I would have reacted if I had been in his shoes.  A long roadtrip to the sea? I’ll be in the back sleeping, thanks.  Already met my peopling quota for today several hours ago, thanks.  Or the fact that he would literally zone out all the time (and he was notorious for that in general).  To me, that showed that in that moment, his brain was overstimulated from constantly have to be in the spotlight and interact.  Those of us who are introverts can be easily be misunderstood as being stuck-up or snobby when the truth is we are simply tired out from being around people. If you can’t leave the situation, what other option do you have but to zone out?  

Also, his physical health dynamics could have played a part in how frequently he zoned out.  If you have never dealt with a chronic physical health concern you CANNOT understand the degree to which it can impact you mentally and emotionally.  The fear of the unknown.  Its ongoing nature.  Worrying about a flare-up.  Trying to decide how to best handle it when you are in the middle of a flare-up (is this actually a flare-up or am I just over-interpreting my body?  Should I ignore it or go through the hassle of going to the doctor this time?).  Some days it’s not on your mind at all, but other days it’s constantly in the back of your mind, pulling you away from being able to be fully present.

The final mistake I noticed from the podcast is how they portrayed Kris’ home life situation.  THEY EVEN GOT THAT FUCKING WRONG (which at this point should have hardly been surprising to me, honestly).  They said mostly as an anecdotal side comment to try to make sense of Kris’ pattern of behavior on EXO’s Showtime, “When Kris filed his lawsuit, his dad also ended up issuing a statement that was all like ‘my son deserves better than to be in EXO’ so I’m just wondering if Kris was listening to his dad a lot and that attitude impacted how he interacted with the other EXO members.”  As if Kris and his dad were pal-ing around on the weekends. Yeah, no.  Kris has gone on record numerous times throughout his career stating that he has only met his dad a handful of times in his entire life (which the podcast ladies would have known if they had done a simple google search). He was raised by his single mother, dirt poor.  Not an entitled bone in his body.  He simply expected to be treated like a human being, not a work horse.  (I don’t remember if his dad did issue a statement or not but regardless, his dad had zero influence over Kris’ interaction with the other EXO members or Kris leaving EXO).  But please, tell me more about how much you know about Kris. Final conclusion: He’s still my ultimate bias and this experience has reminded me of why he is!