What I love most about WooSan channel teaser we got today is that it's such a good encapsulation of their relationship, which they describe as having "a level of closeness" that surpasses what each of them have with the other members.
“a video of them (woosan) arguing/fighting for 17 minutes”
Wooyoung knows San so well. He knows San enjoys making content for atiny, but he also knows that San is shy and reserved when he's on his own. He often clings to his "idol image" which Wooyoung encourages him to discard, forever leading by example.
San trusts Wooyoung to lead them, because he knows that, whatever they do, Wooyoung will ensure San never regrets it. Just like their tattoo.
It's remarkable to watch this process unfold in seventeen minutes. San starts off as stilted, a little awkward. Wooyoung watches, patiently, and then he strikes. He starts poking at San, teasing him, egging him on. He starts doing little bits, daring San to respond to his dramatics.
San takes the bait. You watch him slowly blossom under Wooyoung's attention. Soon, they start to bicker, San's voice rising in excitement and disbelief at Wooyoung's gall. You can see the fighting spirit rise within him, coupled with his desire to make Wooyoung laugh. Making Wooyoung laugh is his life's goal.
San's idol image makes a cameo as their joking continues. He gets flustered at Wooyoung teasing him about asking "the in-laws" for permission to get a new friendship tattoo, hastily clarifying we are not dating.
sure, san
Wooyoung doesn't enable this. He waits, attention elsewhere, wearing a small smirk on his face.
Then they resume their banter, San affirming (not thirty seconds later) that "we've built up our chemistry with the name WooSan." He admits that SanWoo just doesn't make sense. "If it becomes SanWoo all of the sudden, it's not right." While I know that shipping nomenclature from an earlier fandom era doesn't necessarily apply here, I feel like there's a tacit acknowledgment by San that WOO- should come first, because WOO- leads --SAN.
Even though family and friends almost unanimously vote for San to be the main host their show ("Wouldn't you be better at it, San?"), San still complains that he's not really in charge: "But he's always like this! After he talks about what he wants to talk about, he just looks at me and tells me to do it!" Yet, he doesn't seem too upset by this, beaming the entire time.
By the end of the episode, San is flushed, happy, and confident. He's found his balance, thanks to Wooyoung. They're also physically closer than they were at the start: touching each other's knees, even swatting at each other.
Meanwhile, Wooyoung gets a bit quieter, responding with fond amusement as San teases him about his habits. If San needs Wooyoung's help to liberate him from his idol image, than Wooyoung perhaps also needs the trust and loyalty that San places in his hands, that precious responsibility of guarding someone's happiness.
Anyway, can't wait to watch more WooSan TV in the coming weeks!
Hello I have a question. It's about Yunho. (Yes I know. I'm so mad to be asking)-
When I stated that Yunho has to be in a fully-body obscuring costume in order to show the lines of his actual body, which is a weirdly anti-exhibitionist impulse in someone who has the most exhibitionist job ever (the main dancer of an Idol group), you remarked that he "dances like he doesn't have a body."
Please elaborate. Thank you.
Hi okay, to preface this, dear @storkmuffin asked me this question somewhere else and I said I needed more space to elaborate. Well.
This is very long.
Dislcaimer: I'm not a pro dancer blah blah blah, barely any hiphop blah blah blah, ballet blah blah blah I don't know anything about kpop bcs I only like Ateez and Taemin blah blah blah. This is all personal opinion (or a follow up of my previous Ateez dance meta from my concert viewing last yr, however you wish to see this). Also note that while this sounds critical of Yunho I absolutely adore him for his flawless technique, lightning fast footwork and general dance captain action. Yunho is an amazing dancer and a great idol. Go, Yunho. Yay.
So what I mean when I say "Yunho dances like he does not have a body (and why I think this is not good for him as a kpop idol)" is that he dances oddly like a classical dancer would. In classical dance the body is not the point. It is rather a tool a dancer uses to communicate, bcs classical dance is supposed to tell a story ("story" here is used in a not necessarily narrative way - it can be anything, feelings, mood, situations, or indeed an actual story like the classical ballets do have, e.g. Swan Lake). To achieve that dancers of course use their body, but the thing you are supposed to look at is not the body per se but the dance, which is comprised of a multitude of things including steps, technique, choreography and usually the individual dancer's artistry. The body is the medium through which all of this is expressed, which means that dancers are absolutely centered in their body but at the same time they are not, which seems like a crazy contradiction but really isn't.
This works for commercial dancing in the basic terms of "using the body as a tool" and it does not work in terms of "showing artistry", bcs commercial dancing leaves very little space for artistry (which incidentally makes writing about the artistry of these dancers very difficult considering the average kpop dancer does not need that. Commercial dance as kpop is requires technical skill and the ability to sell it, but not individual artistry - on the contrary, it generally requires the dancer to not show any of that sort. The classical comparison would be to a corps de ballet dancer who must blend and never stand out). There are kpop dancers who have transcended the genre (with help from choreographers that crucially often do not come from the kpop world, see Taemin and "Move"), but for most it just doesn't play a bigger role. We're not supposed to look at the artistry because that would break the group illusion and symmetry, we're supposed to look at the body because this is what we're being sold (e.g. the body as a fantasy boyfriend) by the rules of the genre.
[Note how ballet fans generally lust after male dancers not in a "boyfriend" way, but often in terms of technical prowress and raw power. We look at the body but we don't. The body is not the point.]
Yunho is a very technical and cerebral dancer. He has great lines (and his costumes always show them, we did not need the Spiderman suit to see those!) and probably good alignment, he's very centered and pulled up (proof: his ultra light and quick footwork). The body is a tool to achieve something (choreographic perfection, show something, tell a story) and he uses it accordingly, but it is not "a body" - and so he doesn't need to take his shirt off, because that is just not the point of the dance.
This works great for the girlies who don't like their kpop boy to be shirtless for whatever reasons and gives him a unique role in an otherwise happily tits-out-danceline. Where it does not work is where kpop typically sells bodies or their various parts (San's arms/shoulders/back, Wooyoung's abs, Mingi's tits/hips/arse), particularly for the dancers, and not technique. Kpop is not about dance technique nor artistry (sorry) despite being a very visual thing, and I think one of the things where this is becomes clear is when clips of Yunho just "freestyle vibin'" during shows make their rounds.
Hiphop requires character, swag, style, flow (and a shitton of technique, I'm not dunking on the hiphop ppl, I got MAD respect for them!) but the body-as-a-tool goes into the background for all of that. There IS story-telling in hiphop and artistry, but the story is often YOUR story and it can be whatever that means in the moment - and the "Yunho is vibin'" story is "happy" or "chill" and nothing else (note that these moments are "choreographed" as well in a sense that Yunho often just does the same thing that just looks freestyle at every concert. He somtimes picks up a groove from someone - most often Mingi who is the exact opposite of Yunho when it comes to the question of "body" but otherwise is basically the same type of dancer technique and skill-wise). The body is just a body, not or not very obviously a tool, and therefore it is familiar and can be understood and easily sold.
My feed on any given social media outlet is typically full of "Yunho happy vibin'" and completely devoid of "Yunho doing technically complicated fully choreographed solo". This is going to hurt, but his "Steps of Oz" (I probably got the title wrong?) choreo had basically no impact. He still hasn't gotten a solo choreo dance video (like Mingi, btw).
Okay, to sum this up: I think Yunho is very technically skilled and very technically thinking as a dancer (we have not discussed how his job as a dance captain plays a major role here but obvs it does) and this
a) makes him to come across as much less "physical" than the other dance line members, and b) stands in the way of his fully choreographed technical solo's "sticking" as much because we're usually not watching kpop for a demonstration of pure dance technique and fine tuned quiet artistry. We don't want the tool. We want the tits.
TL:DR: Go take a ballet class, Yunho. You can bring your Spiderman suit, it's basically tights anyway.
Yungi Version of TL:DR: On the surface Yunho is all technique and no body (despite having a body) and Mingi is all body and no technique (despite having technique). Funny, no?
genre(s) -> angst, fluff, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au
paring(s) -> ateez ot8 x reader
warning(s) -> abuse, eating disorder, mentions of mental / physical health, cursing, smut, explicit language / scenes, etc.
abstract -> forced to adopt a hybrid becomes harder than the reader anticipated. in which she'll encounter eight troubled and challenging hybrids to take care of. will she be able to handle it?
-> uploading will start on december 04. 2023
-> taglist closed !!
saving a panther and a fox ✔
chapter 00. -> adoption center
chapter 01. -> rehabilitation
chapter 02. -> hybrid activist
side story -> admiration
side story -> mine ( 18+ )
side story -> abandoned
side story -> pervert ( 18+ )
side story -> our pet ( 18+ )
saving a doberman ✔
chapter 03. -> drunk amnesia
chapter 04. -> my angel
side story -> learning
side story -> corruption ( 18+ )
side story -> competition ( 18+)
side story -> triggers
saving two tigers ✔
chapter 05. -> infiltration
chapter 06. -> interviews
chapter 07. -> crime scene
chapter 08. -> black codes
chapter 09. -> adapting to five hybrids
side story -> protagisnist
side story -> pampered
side story -> frustration ( 18+ )
side story -> bet ( 18+)
side story -> matz show ( 18+ )
side story -> treatment
side story -> five hybrids
saving a wolf and a golden retriever ✎
chapter 10. -> trapping thieves
chapter 11. -> fostering
chapter 12. -> week of hell
side story -> therapy
side story -> insatiable ( 18+ )
chapter 13. -> case closed
chapter 14. -> trouble
chapter 15. -> beef or chicken
side story -> fantasy
side story -> wet dreams ( 18+ )
side story -> kink unlocked ( 18+ )
side story -> switching roomates
side story -> triggers prt.2
saving a bear ✎
chapter 16. -> apple-flavored lies
chapter 17. -> new employee
chapter 18. -> stockholm
chapter 19. -> missed funeral
chapter 20. -> im sorry sunshine
side story -> engagement
side story -> never enough room ( 18+ )
saved : bittersweet fantasies -> final chapter ?
BACKGROUND INFORMATION / ANON QUESTIONS / EXTRAS
How human are hybrids in Circus?
Do hybrids have two sets of ears ?
How does the world work in Circus ?
How does the world work in Circus ? Prt. II
How does the color rank work? Prt II
HALLOWEEN SPECIAL
VALENTINE'S CHRISTMAS
NON-CANON ANON QUESTIONS
YeoWooSan's children
if you would like to be on the taglist please send an ask or comment under this post. If you message me there might be a chance I don't see if and if you ask on another post such as in one of the chapters it'll be hard to keep up with.
the taglist is closed im no longer taking any more tag requests, the tags are also gonna only be on the chapters to make updating the masterlist easier for me but those who are tagged don't worry
please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3
saw you mention minhwa as a favorite rarepair of yours in tags, and i've relatively recently been enlightened. would love to hear you elaborate on them!! ✨
Thanks for the ask! I'm delighted to have received a bunch of asks for different pairs, and I will respond to each one in time!
Ah, Mingi x Seonghwa... I find them SO compelling. I think if you were to pick two members who are least likely to have been friends if they hadn't joined Ateez, it would be them. AND YET, they have more in common than we think, and they've clearly worked hard to understand each other. There's a lot of care and respect and affection in that relationship.
I'm going to quote myself a bit, because I've written meta about them before.
On the surface, there is much to differentiate these two. Seonghwa as an idol is polished and practiced and crafted, whereas Mingi's charm is that he is instinctive, unpredictable, and ungovernable. Seonghwa is very socially intelligent and can pivot from cute and silly to bold and sexy, depending on the scenario; Mingi lacks that ability and cannot mask in the same way. I will also note that Mingi understands this about himself and will sometimes use it to his advantage to make himself the center of attention.
Mingi defies/resists Seonghwa in really interesting ways. He cannot be nudged along with subtle cues like Seonghwa does with the rest of the '99 line. Seonghwa's advice doesn't reach him, because they have expressively different outlooks on life.
One thing they always emphasize about themselves and each other, is that Mingi is a classic "T" personality type and Seonghwa is a classic "F" personality type. Mingi describes himself as being literal-minded and bluntly honest, but also receptive to feedback and quick to adapt. He'll eschew social niceties in favor of cutting to the heart of the matter.
From an exchange between the members in 2022:
Mingi: Obviously I'm in ENTP, and especially when I'm with the members, I'm trying to be more considerate of them rather than just being an F. I guess only the members can tell if that works, though. I'm trying like this, but that doesn't mean I don't like my personality. I like being an ENTP. When I thought it wouldn't be so good if a member did something, I didn't beat around the bush and directly said: "Hey, don't do that."
Seonghwa: Before MBTI existed, we came to Mingi with a plan. When we told him carefully, 'Mingi if you do that, wouldn't it be a little weird?' Mingi was like, 'Yeah, okay. Sorry.' But when he told me carelessly 'I don't like you doing this,' it made me crazy. That's where all the misunderstandings begin. When I say such things, he's totally fine, but when he does - I'm not [fine].
Mingi changed his manner of speaking to be less blunt, out of respect for members like Seonghwa who prefer to approach confrontations/discussions with more circumspection.
Mingi appreciates and acknowledges Seonghwa's ability to do emotional labor for Ateez, as a mediator for the group.
Mingi's message to Seonghwa: "Hello. Did you know that understanding and comforting others around you is difficult in some aspects, but you are doing it so well? It shows how warmhearted you are. It is a pleasure to see you loving those not only around you but also yourself."
And while Mingi doesn't let Seonghwa "parent" him the way he does with other members, Mingi does reach out to Seonghwa for comfort. He said on Idol Radio that Seonghwa is the one he goes to when he's having a hard time. There's a safety in knowing that Seonghwa won't push him away if he really needs physical affection.
When you consider them as artists, they have a lot in common. Mingi has very clear goals and ideas of what he wants as an artist and shamelessly pursues them, even when that puts him at odds with the idol persona. Seonghwa too has his own agenda, but finds ways to mold his idol persona around those aspirations so they appear seamlessly integrated into his character lore. They both have extremely high standards for themselves and their art. Seonghwa has confessed in the past to being really hard on himself for not meeting his own standards, contributing to a lot of his issues with self-esteem. Meanwhile, Mingi has always held a rigid idea of what success looked like for himself and their group and has grappled with the harsh realities of the music industry, both domestic and international.
As someone who has experienced tremendous anxiety, Mingi can understand (perhaps better than most) Seonghwa's own personal journey to loving himself.
From 2021:
Mingi and Seonghwa are also two of the most frequent contributors to the Ateez official tiktok channel. They understand the work that goes into keeping fans serviced.
They both have striking visuals that are considered non-traditional for kpop idols, yet which have opened doors for them in the world of high fashion model editorials. They are both savvy self-promoters and networkers who have forged partnerships and collaborations without KQ's help.
I think Seonghwa is disarmed by Mingi's ability to move through the world without much social tact but has immense respect for Mingi as a performer. I think he sometimes envies that Mingi gets the "sexy" parts, and that manifests in him teasing Mingi when they're in front of atiny, but it's a form of flattery too. They rarely interact on stage, but when they do, it's explosive.
He repeatedly highlights Mingi's charisma on stage and praises the energy he brings to every performance. I get the sense that this is not something Mingi hears from him in private (given his surprise at Seonghwa's answer), but Seonghwa always makes sure to say stuff like this when they are on camera.
Seonghwa also defends Mingi against others who misunderstand him. There's an old Weekly Idol episode where the hosts ranked Mingi last for "who would be generous with gifts" which clearly upset him and the other members, so Seonghwa defended him:
I like how they both offer praise to the other members and perform acts of service often without expectation of credit.
We've also gotten glimpses into their lives at the dorm where they have a softer dynamic, filled with dry humor and deep conversations. I think they've both gotten closer as they've grown and matured, so there's probably a lot about their relationship we don't know or see.
Going back to the conversation from the video above, I do think Mingi's own journey towards letting go of his rigidly-held beliefs of how things should be has allowed him to mature into less of a perfectionist and someone who can inhabit a more comfortable season of his adulthood; in contrast, Seonghwa mentions that his own "lukewarm" persona is something he now seeks to discard to show the "hotter" parts of himself. They seem to have met briefly in the middle of their respective journeys and are once more heading in opposite directions. I wonder if they'll ever again meet in that place.
(SEND ME AN ASK ABOUT ANY ATEEZ SHIP AND I WILL TELL YOU WHY I LIKE EM AND MY THOUGHTS)
i love you ateez. i love you ateez who once got excited that 10 people had watched their music video. i love you ateez who once were scared no one was going to show up. i love you ateez who packed into a van with not enough seats because their company couldn't afford a bigger one. i love you ateez who picked their fan name out because they thought everything happening was destiny. i love you ateez who found a way to include their member who was on hiatus for anxiety at every opportunity they could. i love you ateez who calls their moms every day. i love you ateez who never took a single day for granted. i love you ateez who put together an immortal songs performance on no sleep last minute and won. i love you ateez who still get on stage and perform like it's their last. i love you ateez who talk to each other for hours at a time about all the exciting ideas you have. i love you ateez who keep saying that they want this forever. i love you ateez who puts everything into everything they do no matter how loud the noise is. i love you ateez who love each other so much, so loudly, and with everything they do, because every moment is a love letter to what they've made. i love you ateez
Imagine Non MC who is a socialite and spoiled, and has everything she wanted brought to her knees. Well, everything and everyone except the one she wanted, Valko.
She 'forces' herself into Valko's and MC on growing love life, and tries to interfere. Non MC who may not physically harm MC but definitely verbally. In which Valko defends MC every single time, and does not like the bratty princess. He only keeps her around because of his business partner, her father. Non mc 'seethes' whenever MC and Valko are together.
---
But here is the twist. Non MC is only pretending. She was sucked into the world of Love and Deepspace, the game which her little sister plays, and the game she particularly has no clue on (the only information she got was that it was those ordinary games). In which she is forced to follow the script, or else she gets punished and never returns home. She thinks she should get an oscar award for this. Her main goal in this is not a villainess but an NPC whose main goal is to be the obstacle between Valko and MC (Misogyny, am I right?), to be disposed as her ending. She becomes, miserable and has severe homesickness as she has not other way to go back to her real home
But she can't reveal her true self this to anybody.
Once her role is fulfilled, she returns to her real home, thinking this was all a nightmare.
Little does she know someone else followed her on the way.
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Inspired from the manhwa Kill the Villainess. I really like her hehe. But not the entire plot. That is mineeee
I put all the guys because I think this can work for everyone but Valko has to be first because I feel like it.
LADS and the guys are not mine. And no..I will not be villainising the MC. If anything, if you want to villainise her, this is not the blog you're looking for. And no AI. Actually, I might include her too.
one of my favorite kinds of non mc angst is when you have stood by the boys through every lifetime, so much so that your presence has become a quiet certainty for them.
they expect you to always be by their side, moving through the world as if your loyalty is as certain as the sunrise.
and whether they are blind to your feelings, consumed in their quest to reunite with mc, or simply incapable of truly seeing you, they’ll never choose you.
still, you remain, tethered to their side through every heartbreak.
but when you find out your cycle of reincarnation is finally ending, you keep it to yourself. is it selfish? perhaps. but your heart is weary, your love is stretched thin, and you know that if your devotion was never returned before, it never will be.
so when you finally slip away—cradled in their arms during a mission, surrendering your soul to the ocean at a seamoon ceremony, or resting among a field of datura flowers—they mourn you. of course they do. tears will fill their eyes as they whisper your name into the silence.
but some part of them knows you’ll come back.
you always do.
they’re certain you’ll return just as you always have, and that soon enough you’ll be smiling beside them again, teasing them like nothings changed.
you always return as yourself—changed in small ways, perhaps, but still marked by the beauty spot beneath your eye or the gentle brown of your gaze.
your face may shift with each timeline, but the faint scar along your arm from protecting him from wanderers or the wound over your heart always remains.
it’s all a quiet testament of your love.
so when the next cycle comes, and they cannot find you in a scattered crowd of villagers, when they don’t sense your presence in a university hallway, when they wait for you to find them in a game of hide and seek on a playground—the one right next to your father’s house—or amongst the last remaining lemurians who reside in verona, they begin to question it.
they start to wonder.
where were you? what’s taking you so long to come back to them?
where is the one who knows them best? the girl who shares every memory, who understands their purpose, who feels their pain more deeply than anyone else?
simply put—
where are you?
but the truth is painfully simple.
you are not here.
not anymore.
your soul is finally at peace, and alongside it, your love.
or maybe, somewhere in the world, you still exist.
maybe you grew up wrapped in the warmth of a loving family. maybe you still remember the warnings of hunters past and steer clear of those forbidden no hunt zones.
maybe you attend college, or perhaps you open a flower shop in a city where no one knows your name.
maybe every night you dream of a life you have never lived, with a man whose face you have never seen.
maybe you are sitting right beside them, by the sea or on a park bench, laughing at a joke you just told, while he absentmindedly takes your hand in his.
and maybe when you wake with tears drying on your cheeks, you’re confused, unable to understand what it all means.
but dreams fade the longer you remain awake, and slowly, you return to your life.
you feed your cat. you take out the trash. you spend a tuesday afternoon tackling a week's worth of laundry.
you live through mundane, ordinary moments.
you meet up with old colleagues for brunch, talking to your mother on the phone while waiting for the next train. you reply to the messages of a man you matched with online and let him take you out for a drink or two, thanking him at the end of the night for the fun you had.
the next day, you pass by a mural painted by a well-known artist from whitesand bay, leaving you so awestruck that you take a quick snapshot to post on your moments page before continuing on your way.
you arrive at akso hospital, stepping into the lobby to find the rest of your family sitting anxiously for news of your niece’s birth. you sit beside them, praying for the time to pass more quickly, absentmindedly reading the framed research credits of a 28-year-old cardiac surgeon hanging on the wall nearby.
and when you return home that night, head stuck in the clouds, swiping at the hundreds of photos you took of your sister's baby girl, someone stops you in the street.
their eyes—sky blue, violet-gold, or cotton-candy—search your face with overwhelming relief, haunted by a grief that feels centuries old.
“i’m so glad i found you again,” they’ll whisper as their arms wrap around you, the embrace tight enough to keep you from pulling away so easily, but gentle enough not to steal your breath.
“i missed you so much. where have you been?”
you freeze, fear rooting you into place as a voice inside urges you to fight, to punch, to kick, to scream—anything to break free from the arms of someone you don’t know.
you tense, and they feel it immediately. they notice your stillness, your lack of recognition, and finally, they let you go, albeit slowly.
their hands settle gently against your shoulders, smiling with a softness you have never seen directed to you, and they ask again:
“where have you been?”
you force yourself backward, taking three deliberate steps to create space between you, your left hand already searching your purse for anything to defend yourself with.
Imagine waking up in a game world... A game you played in your last life. Well, how are you so sure? Because you have seen this dark, rich, and mysterious place plenty of times from the game.
You sit up from the sofa, scanning the room, unsure of what you’re looking for.
“So the unknown lady finally wakes up?”
Bam! Your heart almost jumps out of its place. The voice is clear and sharp, but there’s a gentleness and warmth in it, one you’ve always yearned for but never found.
When you look at the source, there, standing as erect and stable as a pillar, you find him.
Sylus.
You gape. He quips his brows and looks at you in amusement. Then something else catches your eyes when you look at him.
Red string.
On Sylus’ pinky finger.
Slowly, your gaze follows where the string leads.
No.
No. No way.
It shouldn’t be possible.
“That’s funny…” You laugh, humourless and dreadful.
As an avid reader, you’re not foreign to fanfiction with this concept. Specifically, soulmate AU—where there’s a pair tied together by a red string of fate on their pinky fingers, said to be destined together in life. Hell, you gobble these kinds of tropes in your past life.
“Why is it tied to me?”
His string connects to you.
A thread wraps around your finger, weighs nothing but glows a vibrant red that might just sear into your skin.
“Have you finished your musings?” He asks.
“...Hi. Sorry about that,” you focus on the man in front of you. His eyes, a glowing ruby that could rival the string, watches you. They never leave you from the start.
You raise an arm and stick out your pinky, “Can you see this?”
Sylus takes a few moments to look at your finger. A breath, a second, a third, then— “Nothing.” He tilts his head, “Why, is there anything that I'm supposed to see?”
You remember spending nights watching his story unfold, the way his loyalty across lifetimes tattoos itself into devotion to her. And yet, now, that same devotion bears a name: yours.
Sh*t.
You retreat your arm and shake your head.
“No, nevermind.”
Another female approaches the two of you.
“You’re finally awake! How are you feeling?” Her face is vibrant, lips lifted into a kind smile. Too familiar, too uncanny as though seeing your favorite painting comes alive.
This is the Main Character—the MC—with the same face you design her to look like in your game.
The main character of this game is fated to be with Sylus. Not you. Never. You did wish for love; you tried and failed, and you cried to have a love as dangerous and beautiful as Sylus' and MC’s; But, you never wish to change the game.
If this is a gift in exchange of the bad luck in your past life, then you will refuse ardently. Who knows? Maybe this is another angst story where you’re going to suffer and watch them be together while the string around your finger slowly disappears. Who knows, right?
You are going to find a way to cut this damn string off.
mingi is sooooooooooo funny because he might've been on the fence about the princess thing in the beginning, mostly ignoring when yunho said it, but then he was like. no i'm folding this into my persona. which means, in true mingi fashion, that he does it with his entire FUCKING CHEST. he isn't like "its just a nickname" no he is like "I AM THE PRINCESS AND THAT MEANS I AM TO BE PAMPERED AND OBEYED" and i am LIVID at how hot i find it!!!!! hypermasculine drag persona fixon and his pampered princess persona are two sides of the same coin and i want to shove my enitre hand into his chest and see what makes him tick
he is the most dominant and demanding princess I know.
It reminds me of once reading a tiktok comment that said ‚he made us call him cute after he made us bark HE IS SICK‘ - and sometimes I wonder if we even need any further character analysis than that.
I just can‘t get over how… satisfied with himself he looks when he is telling her no and how the mingtis should hurry up and treat him like a princess as he deserves.
Please. Mingi. It‘s supposed to be fan service, not self service.
In his recent live from Paris Mingi got deeply offended about someone asking him if he will eat ice cream. But, right after that someone asked about more Fix Off songs and after saying he is always preparing new songs, while decidedly shaking his head as he was saying it (?), he said something like ‚i‘m not sure my plans with fix off… i can try another chapter?‘
I am curious about whether you have thoughts on this and what you think it might mean for his future projects but also for how he might reflect on the songs he put out so far.
(Fully disclosure I am also sending this ask to Thirst, so I can maybe get an opinion from two of my favourite Mingi ponderers)
So, the first time I watched the live I was focused on his hands because you all know by now that I’m a thirsty freak and I was actually timestamping the moments I needed to gif for this set, so I noticed something was let’s say at least strange, but then I lost myself into editing and I didn’t think about it again.
Now I finally have the perfect excuse to do it, so thank you Soul. 💜
(also, I’d love to read what @thirstkanaphan has to say about this tbh, so great idea asking them too!)
Under the cut my usual ramblings for who’s interested in my opinion.
TLDR: no more Fix Off projects in the future, but something else, at least imho.
Let’s start with saying the obvious but still relevant stuff:
- he was in Paris during a heatwave, so he was neither comfortable nor relaxed, as we all are when intense heat hits us;
- he was forcing himself to speak english instead of korean, so, even if he greatly improved with it, he was, of course, really distant from being able to fully express himself about anything.
That said, the more interesting part of it, for me, is not the spoken words, but the non-verbal one, so let’s talk facts for a start. Here’s the 50 secs cut that interests us and after it I’m going to narrate what I see.
He spent most of the live leaning toward the camera, his forearms resting on his knees and that’s a sign of someone being open to whoever is talking with them. He’s in that stance even for the ice cream question (that i inclided to give a reference for comparison). Sure, he’s offended by the mere idea of it, but he’s still leaning towards the fans, looking at them, available, in a sense. Then comes the question about his project and he suddenly changes stance.
Quoting from the video, both the verbal and non-verbal expression:
“Do you prepare for the FIXOFF project?”
At the question he immediately moves away from the camera, leaning back, he nods for just half a sec, then he starts shaking his head in denial (in the same way he did when saying “I don’t eat ice cream”, maybe even in a more emphasised way, and for way longer) and he puts his whole (long) arms between himself and the fans, stretching them in front of himself.
“So always I prepare most so many songs…”
From here on he's not even looking at the camera anymore, he’s looking to his right and downwards.
“...but I’m not sure my plan FIXOFF…”
At this point he stops shaking his head in denial, another little nod, then he pauses, sighs, and then he moves back to his previous stance, he leans forward again, forearms again on his knees.
“I can try that so, another chapter, maybe.”
Still looking to his down-right, he starts shaking his head again, it’s only at the "maybe" that he starts facing his fans again, so when he deems the topic closed (since he changes it just after it), but he does it while still shaking his head, just vaguely nodding only at the very end.
It’s so damn interesting.
So, first thing first: Iìm not an expert nor do I have a psychology degree, I just work with teenagers every day, so I’m used to read what they say without actually saying it, but that doesn’t mean anything, so as per usual take this little rant as rpf, since I don’t know what Mingi thinks or feels, I’m just going with the vibes.
Then. To me it’s clear from the start that he doesn’t really want to answer the question, I mean, as a first reaction he moves away from it and puts a literal barrier between himself and the camera (so metaphorically the question) and it’s so fucking interesting, because he chose to read the question aloud himself. He could have ignored it, but he didn’t, so he didn’t really want to talk about it, but also he did. He's obviously conflicted about the whole topic and about what to say.
His immediate answer, the more primal one, is imho the denial coming from his head shaking. He doesn’t plan to release another Fix Off album. His body (so his emotions) knows it even when his mind is still in doubt. I’ll try to explain what I mean with this.
When someone looks down and to the right when talking to someone else, often it means that they’re also, at the same time, talking to themselves in their head. It’s a really vulnerable gesture and it usually is the typical attitude of who is sorting through their own feelings (so it relates to emotions, not to rationality), so of who's busy not recalling memories or reasoning over something, but trying to understand how something feels to them, checking with the body to find physical clues to catch up on it.
To me what his non-verbal expression means is that he’s questioning himself about what to say and how to say it, in part because he’s still not sure himself in his rational mind (even if his body, so his emotional part, has already spoken for himself, shaking its head), and in part because, you know, he’s an idol, so he has to ponder how to say stuff.
He considers it (I mean realeasing another Fix Off album), I think he considers it for the fans, you can see it the moment he nods again while saying that he can try to do it, but the whole answers end with him shaking his head again before giving a tiny little nod, so no, not really, he'll consider it, for the fans, but he's not going to.
What does this mean? Fuck me if I know it, but if I have to make a prediction, here it is.
He’s a really business savvy person, so deep inside himself I think he already realised he has to get over the Fix Off projects, because he has to start launching his solo career (if he wants one, and I assume he does), since enlistment is nearer and nearer, meaning he needs to concentrate on that instead of keeping playing around with music for his own enjoyment.
It’s something he seems to know on an emotional and/or subcoscious level, but that he has still to fully process on a rational one. Or, in alternative, it could be something he has already decided on, but that he doesn’t feel ready to disclose to his fans (who are really attached to the whole Fix Off projects shebang, myself included), yet he felt the need to prepare them for it, in a way. To avoid the fan's disappointment in the future maybe.
So, my prediction is that we will not have another Fix Off album, we’ll have something different, ‘cause he’s changing once again his course (in a really Mingi style, if I have to say it, ‘cause, you know, the time is now). I honeslty cannot wait to see what he'll do, 'cause he's a really fascinating one.
ah, this was so interesting, thank you so much! I didn’t observe his body language in such detail, I just noticed the head shaking and leaning back. So reading your analysis was very interesting and I agree with what you got out of it.
I have a few very unorganized and probably not at all interesting and way too long additional thoughts:
First: I always wonder how Mingi decides what he will read in his chat. Full disclosure I don’t have Toqtok, so I have never seen what his chat actually looks like but I imagine it is full of questions and comments and he can pick what he reads. But the stuff he picks sometimes makes me think ‘Wow, Mingtis don’t go easy on Mingi!’ until I remember he is the one who chooses to read these comments out loud!
In a recent studio live he also fell into answering questions about perfectionism and ambition but he got squirmy and didn’t seem to really want to talk about, he even said he does not want to talk so seriously at one point. Sometimes I have the possibly crazy theory that he picks comments that scold him so everyone else in the chat will tell him that this Mingti comment was wrong and he is actually amazing and perfect as he is.
Second: I am so intrigued by how Mingi sees his own progress as an artist and where he wants to go with it. In my mind, in a simplified model, he moves between four priorities.
As an Idol he moves between authenticity and manufactured persona. As Mingi the human he moves between what he wants, we don’t know what that is though, and what brings him (financial) success.
Autheticity vs. Idol Persona
For the first two: In my personal opinion and experience as a fan Mingi’s perceived authenticity is what draws his fans to him. But I am not always sure if he sees it the same way. Over the last months it has felt like he has been motivated by developing his idol persona much more.
He has changed his looks over and over, he is almost always wearing contacts for official schedules(it’s a minor thing but it is something he mentioned as part of being an idol when they renewed the contract), he changed his teeth, the princess agenda is being pushed more than maybe ever before.
But this has also been reflected in the FixOff Project; everything has become much more polished from the music production to the lyrics to the MV. This seems to have been my mistake because it is not included in the Fix Off Desire Project: Origin, but I always thought it started with Untitled, a very raw and personal song and then continued with Tunnel and Autobahn, which are included, and feel very personal too. To me, the new songs have lost that direction a little. I don’t want to judge it too much even though I am a little sad about it, but I just don’t think it really is my place and I don’t think we are owed deep insights into Mingi through his lyrics. It is also probably much more draining to get these feelings onto paper than just write about how successful you are now - okay maybe I am a little judgmental.
What Mingi wants vs. Success (which he also very much wants!!)
For the other two: I don’t know what Mingi personally wants, but we do know that he has been open about not being able to fully achieve it. He has said so in a general sense on Ateez+, during the anniversary interviews and most recently specifically regarding his artistic output. He said that he only does 50% what he wants and the other 50%… what fans want? what is expected of him? That was unclear to me. But it is still so interesting to me because what does he want??
Something that’s so intriguing about Mingi to me is he is so honest, he says: ‘I don’t live my life 100% according to what I want (I mean who is able to do that if we are being honest?), I don’t 100% do what I want in my music’, but then he is so cryptic because as an Idol he probably can’t tell us what it is he wants exactly.
For the success I can say; we all know he wants it. I think he wants to be recognized as an artist and we know he wants financial success. Sometimes I think that fortune teller who told him he has delusions of grandeur was rude but he actually wasn’t that far off. Mingi has very high expectations that I think he had to learn how to control better over the years. I am not sure his debut as a solo artist has satisfied him in that sense so far.
So I am very excited to see which conclusions he draws from that. Or at least get more material to ponder it and make up theories in my head.
Sorry for another yunho ask (that man is....something else)
ANYWAYS
One thing i noticed while watching mightfia (i forgot how to spell this shit) was that when yunho was caught as veing the mafia THE LOOK HE GAVE
He was pissed to lose brooooo
HES SO COMPETITIVE
Hmm.
Was Yunho always someone who never stopped smiling even when he's angry or is this a thing he's developed over time or from some precipitating event?
I've only been here a year and three months, so it's just not enough time - he debuted in 2018 and I think there is also pre-debut footage of him as well somewhere. Hotteoks who were here before me OR have better recall about media they've inhaled in an obsessed binge watched, please tell me.
This is the second right after Wooyoung calls out his name in singsong. HIS EYES. The other compulsive smiler among Ateez is Yeosang, but this face Yunho is making is categorically different. Golden retriever my ass. That's a viper.
This is the assassin pretending to be a geisha seconds after they've picked out the glass they're going to slip the poison into.
As long as you don't look at the eyes, the face is so pleasant, so sweet. Smiling, demurely, with that mouth whose corners turn up. But if you're on the receiving end of that look, you might think your heartrate is going up because a hot Idol is looking at you, but it's your lizard brain tell you to run! (I think maybe the staff are sitting on the floor as they often seem to be during the making of this kind of content),
Yunho decides, though, that it's not worth anyone dying over it, or at least, not worth getting blood under his fingernails. Either that or more likely, he shot those terrifying laser beams of resentment at the girl staffers who are all in love with him (more on this later) so he's been somewhat appeased by their terrified, hypnotized reactions (Yeah - I ship Yunho with KQ staff and now you've been tricked into reading my 1 sentence fanfiction - WELCOME TO MY MIND).
So this is where the whole like, anger and anxiety, but also the fascination and the attraction, about Yunho being so nice, such a good boy, such a kind nice likable good boy that everyone loves comes from for me. Because those guys, the Good Kind Lovable Guys? From where I am coming from, the compulsively truth telling, resting bitchface why are you so scary spectrum girl who was off-puttingly excellent at school? I know this about those guys that nobody else seems to want to admit - those boys have THIS FACE underneath that other face. The second that they are unmasked, they go directly and completely to the opposite end of the good-bad spectrum, and go, Yeah, I'm the bad guy, with lethal eyes. AND SMILE AT YOU ABOUT IT.
Gratuitous shot of Yunhwa because I LOVE seeing their faces together. They're so harmonious when placed in one shot, especially when they both have black hair. YUMMMMMMM.
But where have we seen this before, the smiling while homicidal face?
Oh, in a different wanteez episode, about which I noted the Yunho anger face. The word that staffers put under this shot of Yunho literally says: ANGER.
This is why I ship the Staffer (can be singular or multiple, doesn't matter) with Yunho. The only way you'd be able to read this face, the creamy skin, the smiling mouth, the jaunty lollipop sticking out, accurately as ANGER and then feel the need to put it in bold font on the screen is if you're a Hotteok. Because she needs to (and is actually) screaming at us - DO YOU SEE? DO YOU SEEEEEEEEEEE?
Sis. We so do.
I really want to know how hard that bonk was. Because slowed down in this gif made by an excellent tumblrina - Mingi's head actually goes boi-oi-oing on its stem, but Yunho took care to move in a way that looks slow and low impact (BUT HE'S A DANCER, AND THEY LIE ALL THE TIME WITH THEIR BODIES PROFESSIONALLY!) and Mingi swings really big in response. But the besotted Hotteok adds a completely unjustified adjective to the correct identified Revenge (복수) - timid (소심한). Ummm. We need Mingi's opinion about this word choice, I think.
...
You know what? I'm going to adapt this behavior into my real life. When I'm pissed at someone I am going to smile with my mouth. And keep smiling. I'll let you know how that goes.
A lone trainer and her uniquely protective Snorlax, Atlas, share a deep, silent bond that transcends a typical partnership. But when a ruthless figure from the past ambushes them on a remote route, a terrifying threat forces a dark secret to light—proving that true devotion can shatter even the most cruel and engineered curses.
Relationship: Seo Changbin/Reader (f)
Categories: F/M Romance, Dark Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending
Tags: Pokémon AU, Transformation/Curses, Protective Changbin, Team Rocket Plot
⚠️ Content Warning: This story contains mature themes.
Attempted sexual assault (By antagonist; interrupted/non-graphic)
Non-consensual human experimentation & kidnapping (Backstory)
Canon-typical violence, blood, and body horror (Forced transformation)
Your Snorlax, affectionately named Atlas, was an anomaly in every sense of the word.
You had found him looking utterly miserable near a riverbank, staring blankly into the rushing water with a sorrow so deep it radiated off his massive frame. He didn't look like a lazy Pokémon waiting for a snack; he looked crushed under an invisible, exhausting burden. You had named him Atlas right then and there—because he was a mountain of strength, yet he looked like he was carrying the weight of the entire world on his heavy shoulders.
Most trainers expected a Snorlax to be a literal roadblock—a mountain of fur and blubber that required a Poké Flute just to nudge out of the way. But Atlas? Atlas didn't care about sleeping twenty hours a day. He cared about *you*.
If you were making breakfast at the campsite, Atlas was right there, handing you berries with surprisingly nimble claws. If you were shivering during a cold night in the Crown Tundra, Atlas would gently scoop you up against his warm, massive chest, shielding you from the wind. And if an overzealous trainer or a wild Pokémon stepped just a little too close with bad intentions? His dark eyes would narrow, and he’d unleash a Hyper Beam that could level a small hill, standing like an impenetrable fortress between you and danger.
"You're too good to me, big guy," you murmured, leaning back against his soft stomach as the campfire crackled. You popped a Pecha berry into his mouth. He chewed happily, a soft, rumbling purr vibrating through his massive chest.
You patted his arm. "Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without you. Other trainers are always looking for legendary Pokémon, but I've already got the best partner in the world."
Atlas froze. The rumbling in his chest stopped instantly. He looked down at you, his dark eyes suddenly wide, shimmering with an intensity that felt entirely too... *human*. He lifted a heavy paw, hovering it over your cheek as if desperately wanting to cup your face, before hesitating and letting it drop back to the grass with a soft, melancholy sigh.
You frowned, reaching up to scratch behind his ears. "Hey, what's that look for? You know it's true."
He couldn't tell you. He *wanted* to tell you so badly it ached, but all that came out of his throat was a low, sad, *"Snor... lax."*
Inside that massive, round body, Seo Changbin was screaming.
He remembered the day perfectly. He had been a rising star in the professional battling circuit—confident, fierce, and a force to be reckoned with. But he had made the mistake of publicly humiliating a powerful man. He had dismantled the elite team of a mysterious, wealthy challenger on the high-stakes circuit, unaware that the man was Giovanni, the ruthless head of Team Rocket.
Giovanni didn't take losses. He took revenge.
His executives had ambushed Changbin after the match, dragging him into a top-secret underground facility. Giovanni had used him as a test subject for a horrifying new corporate weapon: **The Transmutation Prototype**. His scientists had been trying to find a way to compress a human prodigy's tactical intellect into the dense, high-durability body of a Pokémon to create the ultimate, obedient biological weapon. Giovanni had mockingly chosen a Snorlax form for Changbin, leaving him with a cruel curse: only true, unprompted love for the soul trapped inside the beast would ever break it.
But Changbin hadn't stayed a prisoner. His human mind intact, he had used the brute force of his new Snorlax body to tear through the laboratory doors and escape into the wild, eventually collapsing by the riverbank where you found him.
You hadn't cared that he was a giant Pokémon. You sat down, offered him half your sandwich, and talked to him like a friend. You gave him a name that recognized his strength while acknowledging his hidden pain. You took him in. You trained with him, hummed to him, and treated his soul with a gentleness he had never known. He had fallen entirely, utterly in love with you—but how could a human ever love a Snorlax back in the way the curse required? It felt impossible.
The next afternoon, the dark reality of the curse caught up to them.
You were trekking through a dense forest route, far from the main paths, when the trees suddenly parted. Black-clad Team Rocket grunts spilled into the clearing, flanking a man in a pristine, tailored suit. Giovanni stepped forward, his eyes sharp, cold, and calculating.
"Well, well. Look what we have here," Giovanni murmured, his voice dripping with smooth, aristocratic malice. He looked at your Pokémon, a dark smile pulling at his lips. "The missing prototype. I’ve been hunting for you for months, Changbin. Look at you, playing pet to a little girl."
Atlas immediately stepped in front of you, a low, menacing growl rattling deep in his chest. His stance was completely solid, blocking you from view.
"Step back!" you yelled, your hand instinctively dropping to your belt, your heart starting to hammer against your ribs. The isolation of the route suddenly felt suffocating.
"Take the beast," Giovanni ordered calmly. "And as for the girl... she's seen too much. Leave her to me."
An elite Nidoking lunged forward, locking Atlas in a brutal clash of strength. While Atlas was occupied, Giovanni moved with terrifying, practiced speed. He lunged around the side, grabbing you roughly and slamming your body into the dirt. Before you could even process the impact, he pinned your wrists above your head, straddling your hips. His hands tore roughly at your clothes.
"I took your humanity, Changbin, and now I'm going to take the only thing you have left to live for," Giovanni hissed loudly, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and predatory as he forced himself down onto you. "Watch."
You screamed, kicking desperately, suffocating under his weight.
A sound tore through the forest—a sound that didn't belong to a Snorlax. It was a guttural, furious roar of pure, unadulterated human rage.
Changbin didn't care about the battle rules. Seeing Giovanni putting his hands on you, hearing your terrified screams as he attempted to violate you, snapped something deep inside his soul. He didn't want to win a match anymore. He wanted Giovanni dead.
With speed that defied his massive size, Atlas broke away from the Nidoking. He didn't use a standard Pokémon move. He threw his massive weight directly into the poison-type, sending it crashing violently through the trees, snapping trunks in half. Before Giovanni could even look up, Atlas slammed into him, knocking him completely off you.
Giovanni flew through the air, crashing into the dirt and coughing up blood, his tailored suit tearing against the rocks. But Atlas wasn't done. The sheer, suffocating aura radiating from the Snorlax was thick with an intent to kill. He loomed over Giovanni like a dark god of wrath, his heavy claws raised, aiming directly for the man's throat to crush the life out of him.
"A-Atlas, stop!" you choked out, scrambling backward in the dirt, your voice trembling. You weren't afraid of him, but you were terrified of what he might do out of sheer, desperate love for you. "Stop, please! I'm okay! He's done!"
He halted instantly at the sound of your voice. The heavy claw hovered inches from Giovanni's face. Atlas turned to look at you, his chest heaving, his eyes wild and terrified that he had scared you.
Seeing his boss pinned and bleeding, a Team Rocket executive quickly threw down a smoke bomb. A thick, choking purple fog erupted in the clearing. Through the haze, you heard the panicked, furious shouts of the grunts dragging a coughing, injured Giovanni back into the safety of their armored transport vehicle. The heavy engine roared to life, and the sound of the truck sped away into the distance, fleeing the forest.
The grunts had gotten away with their boss, but you didn't care about them. You ran straight toward your Pokémon, throwing your arms around his massive, furry neck as far as they could reach.
"Thank you," you whispered fiercely, burying your face in his soft fur. You could feel his heart hammering like a trapped bird against his ribs. "You saved me. You always save me."
Atlas stood frozen, his large paws hovering in the air before slowly, gently wrapping around your smaller frame, pulling you close as if he never wanted to let you go.
You pulled back just enough to look up into his face. Your eyes were shining with a profound, fierce emotion. "I don't care what anyone else says about Snorlaxs. You are the most selfless, protective, and beautiful soul I have ever met. I love you. Exactly as you are. I don't ever want a different partner."
You leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right to the center of his forehead.
For a second, the forest was completely silent.
Then, a blinding, golden light erupted from Atlas’s chest.
You stumbled back, shielding your eyes as the light expanded, swirling like a cyclone. The massive, rounded silhouette began to shift, shrinking, leaning out, taking the distinct shape of a broad-shouldered human man.
When the light finally faded, you blinked against the afterglow. Standing in front of you was a man with dark, intense eyes, sharp features, a strong jawline, and a remarkably built, muscular physique. He was breathing heavily, looking down at his own human hands in absolute disbelief.
"I... I have hands," he breathed, his voice deep, raspy, and thoroughly masculine. He looked up at you, his eyes instantly softening into that exact same, fiercely protective gaze you knew so well. "It worked. You broke it."
"Atlas...?" you whispered, your brain short-circuiting as you looked from him to the empty space where your Pokémon used to be.
He took a step toward you, a nervous but incredibly sweet smile breaking across his face. He rubbed the back of his neck—a gesture he used to do with his paw when he was shy.
"My real name is Changbin," he said softly, stepping closer until he was standing right in your space. "Giovanni... he was the one who cursed me. He used that prototype weapon because I beat him fairly on the circuit and he couldn't handle it. He said only true love could break it. I thought I was stuck like that forever... until you found me."
You stared at him, the pieces suddenly falling into place. Giovanni's words, the human-like expressions, the intense protectiveness, the way he always listened to you like he understood every single word.
"Changbin," you tested the name on your tongue.
He beamed, the shadows of his past completely vanishing. He reached out, his hand steady this time, and gently cupped your cheek. His palm was warm, solid, and incredibly real against your skin.
"I couldn't say it to you then, but my heart was screaming it every single day," Changbin whispered, leaning down until his forehead rested gently against yours. "I'm your partner. For life. If you'll still have me."
You couldn't help but laugh, a tear of sheer relief slipping down your cheek as you wrapped your hands around his wrists. "Well... you're a lot smaller now, so you won't be taking up the entire tent anymore. But I think I'll keep you."
Changbin laughed, a rich, joyful sound, before pulling you into a hug that felt just as warm, safe, and fiercely protective as it always had.
he doesn’t know where you came from. he’s not even certain you’re human. but he’d do anything for you—anything to keep you happy. that includes indulging—and feeding—your peculiar appetite in any way necessary.
words: 5.2k
PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! dark content, extremely unequal power dynamics, you’re pretty much his ‘pet’. cannibalism and murder, though the murder is not shown explicitly. yunho lets you take a chunk out of him at one point. self-mutilation, gore. reader is depicted as extremely childlike and innocent due to how she grew up and yunho is depicted as getting off on that fact (he does feel guilty though), unspecified childhood trauma, mentions of punishments such as spanking/belting/cold baths. reader is unaware of basic concepts such as parents, gender etc. blowjobs, throatfucking. it is explicitly stated that reader views yunho as a father. yunho sort of gets off on that. yunho is not a good guy. reader probably doesn’t have the mental capacity to be good or bad. you’re not allowed to leave the apartment.
note: this was intended to be longer, but i don’t have much else to do to it. it may be expanded on at some point. i’m honestly not super happy with it but i wanted to get it out. heed the warnings, this is gross.
The TV is blaring when he wakes up. It’s loud, obnoxiously so, hurting his head a little; the familiar rattle of the local news channel’s morning jingle and the laughter of the presenters.
He’s sure he remembers turning it off last night; a couple beers in, the tail end of an action movie he’s seen a hundred times droning on. He turned it off a little after it ended and trudged down the hall to bed, he’s certain; he remembers stumbling over the wires a little when he went to turn it off at the wall, slightly disoriented by the late night and the alcohol. You were asleep then, quiet and content on his bedroom floor.
You must have turned it back on after he went to bed; you have a habit of wandering around the apartment at night, fiddling with buttons and flicking switches until you get bored or tired and fall asleep where you’re stood. He doesn't love it, but the apartment is secure and you know not to do it in the bedroom when he’s sleeping, so it’s not a huge problem.
You certainly have more destructive habits than that, anyway.
He finds you under the table, when he finally gets up and trudges through to the kitchen; you’re crouching, partially concealed by the tablecloth, toes curled under your feet against the tiled floor.
He doesn’t know what you’re doing. He rarely does. But as long as you’re safe, and obeying him, that’s what matters.
“Get out from there,” he says. The words come out grumbled, his voice still rough, thick with sleep.
You crawl out slowly, begrudgingly, then stand up. He can tell you’re not happy about it, but you’re obeying nonetheless, and that’s enough for him.
Your shirt—his, actually—hangs loose around your body, a little grime seeping into the fabric.
Or it looks like grime, at least. When he looks a little closer he realises it’s actually blood.
He raises an accusing eyebrow, staring you down, and you shrink into yourself like you’ve been caught in the act. Which you have, pretty much.
“Baby,” he sighs. He reaches to grab a dirtied section of the shirt, holding it up to your eyeline where it’s unavoidable. “What did we talk about yesterday?”
“Change,” you answer quietly. “We have to change clothes when they’re dirty.”
He nods, humming. “That’s right. If you’re going to go around wearing shirts with blood on them then you’ll have to stop wearing clothes when you eat. Is that what you want?”
“No, Yu.”
“Arms up.”
You lift your arms obediently, staying still and silent as he slides the shirt up over your head and puts it down on the table. You’re bare now, only panties to protect your modesty, but that’s not something that really registers to either of you. Not with the states you’ve seen each other in—far, far worse than a little nudity.
“Sit down,” he says. “I’ll bring you breakfast.”
He turns off the TV first; it’s too loud this early in the morning, not to mention a waste of money to keep it running like that.
While he’s there, he slides his hand behind the TV stand and retrieves the key he keeps hidden underneath.
You watch him silently. You know what he’s doing—and you know how to be patient, too.
You’ll get what you need; you always do. Yunho has never once allowed you to go without.
The pantry is hidden behind a bookshelf you’ve never cared to browse—you have little use for books anyway. You watch as Yunho hauls it out of the way then slots the key into the lock.
It opens with a quiet click that makes your mouth water instinctively. You hear the fridge open then close, then a drawer, then he emerges again with a white tupperware in his hands.
Fuck. You can already smell it. The minute or so it takes for him to lock up and put everything back into place nearly has you jumping out of your seat.
“We’re running a little low,” Yunho tells you as he puts the box down on the table. “I’ll go out tonight. Stock up a little.”
The lid cracks open. The smell is the first thing to hit—it’s distinct, pungent, unmistakable once you know what it is. It still makes him a little queasy even now. You’re all but heart-eyed like he’s just offered you a gourmet dinner.
“Eat up,” he says. “Before it goes bad.”
You eat with your hands—despite his best efforts, you were never able to get the hang of cutlery, and you barely understood the logic of using it no matter how many times he explained it to you. It was just one of those times where he had to pick his battles, he’d realised; you eat well anyway, never leaving a drop, and that’s what matters.
“How is it?” He asks.
“Good,” you answer. “What is it?”
“Thigh.”
You nod, approving, and he bites back a laugh. “Good girl,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. You’re far too engrossed to hear it; if you do, you don’t reply.
You’re a woman of few words—that’s something he understood about you very early on. He doubts you used them at all before meeting him; when would you have? You were all alone out there, wherever you were; in the very few stories you have told him of your early life, you never once mentioned another person.
He supposes it makes sense; tracks with the complete waste of time it had been trying to find any record of you at all.
To the rest of the world, it seems, you just… don’t exist.
He intends to keep it that way.
“Done,” you announce. You push the box back to him, then push each of your fingers into your mouth, one by one, until they’re licked clean. There’s still some blood around your mouth and trailing down your chin; he sighs, lamenting silently to himself, knowing what he’s going to have to do.
“You’re dirty, sweetheart,” he says quietly. “You’re going to need a wash.”
Your head snaps up, eyes suddenly sharp, your lips set in a firm line. “No,” you growl. “No wash, Yunho.”
He tries to keep his voice level, but the defiance in your voice, in your eyes, has his hand twitching by his side. “You have to, baby, you’re filthy. I don’t like filthy girls, do I?”
It’s true—if it weren’t such an issue it’d almost be funny that someone like him, used to keeping things clean and tidy and very much set in his ways, would be so irrevocably bonded with someone who scarcely even understands why it’s necessary to wash in the first place.
He doesn’t blame you, of course; with the life you’ve had he knows he can’t expect any different. But it does cause problems sometimes.
“Baby,” he repeats. “Do I like filthy girls?”
You shake your head, deflating a little. One way he’s found to make you understand why it’s necessary to do or not do certain things is to frame them around him—Yunho doesn’t like that. Yunho likes this. You have to do it this way, because it makes Yunho happy.
Whatever works, he supposes, and he can’t deny he enjoys the way you’re almost religiously in need of his praise and approval. It’s a level of power he doesn’t quite know what to do with; he certainly wants to maintain it, though.
Other people would just abuse it, anyway.
“Let’s go wash up,” he says. “Then you’ll be nice and clean and I’ll be happy.”
“And reward?” You ask, hope evident in your voice.
He bites back a grin that’s a little more predatory than he can admit of himself. “Yeah, love,” he says. “Then reward.”
It’s as much as a reward for him—more, probably, if you were to ask anyone but you. But you’re not going to ask anyone else, so it doesn’t really matter.
He sets the bath running—it’s easier than trying to put you in the shower, he’s found—at the temperature you seem to hate the least. Not too warm, but not too cold. He doesn’t set it cold unless you’re being really, really bad. You stand hovering behind him while he prepares it; when he’s awake you tend to follow him around the house, not really certain what else to do with yourself. Even facing away from you, he feels the way you tense up when he sets the water running; you relax a little when you see him set it warm, though not entirely, and he bites down a laugh.
“Relax, bunny,” he murmurs. “You’ve been good. S’gonna be just how you like it.”
“Don’t like any of it,” you grumble. He rolls his eyes.
“Okay,” he says, turning off the taps. “In we get. Let’s get you nice and clean, wash this filth off you.”
You don’t fight him when he lifts you up and puts you into the tub; you only do it very occasionally these days, when you’re particularly agitated or bratty, but for the most part he’s weeded that particular instinct out of you. You know, now, not to fight Yunho; not while he’s the one who protects you from the world. Especially not while he can hit that hard.
You stay still, docile, silent as he cleans you up. He rewards you with your favourite fluffy towel, warmed on the radiator, wrapped around you once he dries you off. “All done,” he says. “I’ll get you a clean shirt.”
He slips another old, loose shirt over your head; it falls to your mid-thigh, and the fabric is soft and worn, the colour starting to fade. Then he puts you on your knees by the foot of the bed; grips your jaw between his fingers and yanks it upwards to meet his eyes. “I’m gonna give you your reward,” he says. “Tell me the rule.”
“No teeth,” you recite it, as you always do. “No biting. Only tongue.”
“And if you break that rule, what’ll happen?”
“Belt.”
He hums. He doesn’t particularly enjoy beating you; you don’t put up a fight, at least, not anymore, but your pained whimpers do very little for him. It’s purely a disciplinary measure, one of the few ways to keep you in line that actually deters you. He doesn’t do it often—usually you’re just over his knee and he’s using his hand, or a small brush sometimes—only when it’s something serious. And given your predilection for meat, he definitely views keeping your teeth off his dick as something serious.
“Open your mouth,” he orders, pulling his dick out from his sweats. It slides in easily past your lips and into the warmth. You make a face, wincing slightly, but he knows it’s not the intrusion that’s bothering you; rather the soap he forced into your mouth as he always does before he goes anywhere near it.
He knows exactly the sort of things that have been in that mouth, and it’s nothing he wants on his fingers or his lips or his heavy leaking cock.
You suckle at it eagerly, swirling your tongue around the tip in just the way he taught you; you’re whimpering slightly, the size overwhelming you, staring up at him with those wide, innocent eyes like you don’t even understand what's happening to you, a stray tear playing on your waterline.
Fuck, he shouldn’t be getting off on that. He shouldn’t fucking be doing any of this; you’re so naive, so inexperienced; you have no knowledge of the world beyond his apartment. You can barely string a sentence together; barely understand what he’s saying to you unless he dumbs it down.
You’re like a child. For all intents and purposes, you are one. The guilt and the shame sits heavy in his stomach as he pushes himself down into your throat.
“That’s it,” he groans. “You enjoy it, baby. Do I taste good?”
You make a humming noise, affirmative, tightening your lips around his shaft and he groans. “Shit.” You’re so fucking good at this when you can keep your damn teeth off of him. “Alright,” he says. “I’m gonna cum down your throat. Remember your manners and swallow it.”
It doesn’t take him long; he grabs the back of your head and pulls it towards him then starts to thrust, in and out, faster and harder until he’s fucking your throat and you’re gagging and spluttering around his shaft. Your sweet little hands are fisting at his shirt, curling the fabric around your fists like you’re holding on for dear life. He cums suddenly, quickly, directly into your throat. You probably couldn’t spit it up if you tried with how deep he is; still, though, he pats your head and praises you for swallowing it so sweetly. It’s a point of pride for him, honestly, how well he’s trained you up.
“Alright,” he says, tucking himself back into his sweats. “How you feeling?”
“Fine,” you mumble. You’re still staring up at him with those wide puppy eyes, the way that always gets him though he doubts you’re aware of that; you don’t seem to have any kind of pattern recognition, any understanding of cause and effect. He picks you up with his hands hooked under your arms and sits you down on the edge of the bed, then he crouches down to meet your eyes.
“You sleepy, baby?” He asks. You nod. “Alright, pet. You can sleep in my arms while I watch TV.”
He carries you through, your head tucked into the crook of his neck; by the time he puts you down you’re already snoring. He laughs slightly as he adjusts you so you’re cradled sideways in his lap, your face pressed tightly enough against his chest that your cheeks are squished. You look so cute when you sleep; so harmless.
Really, you look harmless all the time, unless you’re eating. But he’s hardly one to judge, he thinks, not anymore. He’s as inhuman as you are now.
He likes to get your food a few days in advance. He can’t stock up in bulk, unfortunately, because if the meat’s more than a week old it’ll make you sick, so he likes to go out every Friday for it.
It’s all procedural; clinical. He finds it, he brings it back, he cuts it and freezes and stores it. It’s as simple as that.
He gets no thrill from it; no pleasure. That fact is the sole thing that keeps him steady most days.
At just after eleven on Friday, he puts you to bed as he always does. On the nights he goes out, you sleep in your cage; it’s not a punishment, never has been, just a way to ensure you’re safe and contained while he’s gone. He’s tried to make it homely for you, with pillows and blankets and a couple of toys for you to play with; the little stuffed bear you like to pretend to pounce on and the toy car you push around and watch with wonder as the wheels spin against the floor. He’s never gone for too long, and by the time he comes back you’re almost always asleep.
Today’s kill is in two bags, as usual; they’re large, cooled, like the ones his mother would pack his picnics into when he was a child. He’s not particularly fond of cutting people up where they fall, but he knows he’d never be able to pull a body up the stairs without being caught; that’s why he tends to go for dark alleyways, empty buildings, wooded areas and the like—less people to stumble across him while he’s doing what he needs to do.
The gun is in his pocket, safety on, the silencer still wrapped around the barrel. He puts it away first, locked up in the safe, then puts the meat into the freezer and locks the door.
He’s pretty tired tonight. He’ll get the meat ready in the morning. He has to do it when he’s awake and alert and in the right frame of mind or the sight and the smell and the sound of the knife sinking into the muscle will make him retch.
You’re curled up and knocked out in the cage when he returns to the bedroom, your face tucked between your knees and your arms wrapped around your shins. He picks you up, careful not to wake you; you make a soft, quiet noise when he lifts you, somewhere between a whimper and a breath, but you don’t stir.
You sleep pressed against his chest, his face buried in your hair, breathing you in. He savours the nights like this, when you sleep together; your sleep schedule is so irregular that he rarely gets the opportunity to have you like this.
The last thing he’s conscious of is the sound of you murmuring his name against his chest, talking in your sleep.
The next few weeks pass normally enough. You eat well, as you usually do, and you listen to him when he gives you an instruction. He only has to spank you once, for making a fuss when he has to leave, and even that is just a few minutes with his bare hand, comparatively mild; he doesn’t even pull your panties down for it—just lifts up your shirt and slams his hand down until your skin is glowing red.
When he’s done, there’s a little wet patch on the crotch of your panties that he decides not to mention. He definitely notes it, though.
It’s on a Friday morning that things start to go downhill.
He wakes up to a missed call from his father—a bad start. He hardly talks to the man; hasn’t since he left for college, really. The only reason he still engages with him is that his mother is sick in the hospital and his dad is the only person who keeps him updated on it.
He presses the call button begrudgingly. The sound of his father’s voice makes him wince. “Yunho, hello.”
“Hi, dad,” Yunho says. He peers through the crack in his bedroom door, into the small expanse of hallway it reveals. He thought he’d heard you walking around when he was waking up, but when he got out of the shower you’d gone silent. He supposes you’ve fallen asleep somewhere. “What’s up?”
“Your mother is doing better,” his father says. “She’s walking again. Thought you’d like to know.”
“Oh, that’s good. Yeah. Thanks. Anything else?”
“Are you going to come to visit her?”
Yunho sighs, closing his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I told you,” he says. “I can’t right now.” He can’t leave you here—and he certainly can’t take you with him. God knows how you’d react, what you’d do; he’s not even certain you fully grasp the concept of anyone else existing but you and him.
“Why not?”
“I have a… I’m having issues with work. And I’m taking care of my friend’s kid.” A lie for several reasons. Yunho doesn’t have any friends.
“Well, bring the kid.”
“I can’t,” he says. “My friend is in the hospital, too. We need to be in the area if something happens.”
His dad doesn’t respond; just scoffs. The sound of the tone when he hangs up makes Yunho flinch, drawing his phone away from his ear. For fuck’s sake.
You’re on the couch, it turns out, only half asleep; Yunho wakes you with a hand on your shoulder and sits you up. “Come on,” he says. “Breakfast.”
“You were talking,” you say, following him through to the kitchen. “Why?”
“My dad called me,” he answers. “First time in months. I was talking to him.”
“Oh,” you nod, sitting yourself down, but there’s a measure of confusion on your face still like something’s not quite computing with you. “Are you my dad?”
You ask it so earnestly and innocently that it makes him sick. Not the question—the way his dick twitches in his pants in response to it. “What?” He shakes his head quickly, his face burning. “No. No, I’m not. Your dad is… your dad is the man that made you and helps you grow up.”
“You help me grow up.”
“Not when you were a child,” he says. “And I didn’t make you. I just look after you.”
“I don’t think I have a dad.”
“Do you have a mom?” He asks. “Like a dad, but a woman.”
You don’t reply; you just stare at him like you’re waiting for him to finish his sentence. He sighs. “A woman. You know what that means?”
“Me?” You ask uncertainly.
“That’s right,” he nods. “A woman has a hole, like you. A man has a dick, like me.”
“I didn’t have a mom,” you respond after a moment. “I had me.”
Yunho hums, processing what you’ve said; this is the most you’ve ever spoken about your life before he found you. There’s so much he wants to know about it; at the same time, though, he thinks he may be better off ignorant. He still doesn’t know what you are, really, why it is you need to eat what you eat, why other foods, other meats make you so sick and weak and grey. He can’t imagine any explanation for that that he wouldn’t regret finding out.
“Well, you have me now,” he says. “And I take care of you.”
“Dad.”
“No, not dad. Yunho.”
“Dad is a man that takes care of me,” you argue. You point at him. “Dad.”
“Not just takes care of you,” he says. “Dads don’t just take care of you, they make you as well. I didn’t make you.”
You frown, your hand falling; Yunho dares to think you look almost… crestfallen. He bites his lip. “Would you like to have had a dad, baby?”
“You,” you reply. “Have a dad that’s you.”
Oh Christ. He holds back a groan, willing himself to think of anything but his half-hard dick and the way that word sounds so soft and sweet and innocent on your tongue.
Well. Anything for his baby, right?
He tells himself over and over that that’s all it is; something to make you happy. “If you want to see me as your dad,” he says, “if you do see me as your dad. That’s okay.”
“I’d be a good…” You pause, frowning slightly. “If you’re dad, what am I?”
“A daughter, I suppose.”
“I’d be a good daughter.”
Yunho smiles. “I know you would.”
You eat quietly, not too messily; the meat he gives you this morning is mostly dried out, a few days in the freezer, so there’s no blood to drip down onto your shirt. When you’re done, you push the plate towards him with a whispered “thank you.”
He’s just about to head out when it happens. He doesn’t know why you decide to lie there, curled up on the floor in the middle of the hallway—he doesn’t even see you until it’s too late. His head is a mess, adrenaline already pumping as he readies himself for what he has to do; he’s rushing to grab his keys from one kitchen when he feels it. His shin presses up against something, something solid, and he’s falling before he can stop himself.
He hears the snap; feels the pain before he even realises what’s happened. When he looks down at his ankle, the break is obvious.
Fuck.
He groans; he tries to get up but the slightest weight on it has him stumbling back down again, hissing in pain, head spinning.
Okay. Shit. This is fine.
He’s set broken bones before; treated them. He did it all the time in college when he volunteered as a first aider. Nobody breaks bones like drunk college kids with someone to impress.
He hops over to the first aid kit, gathering what he needs, then sits down, his bad ankle resting on the chair in front of him. It doesn’t take too long to fix himself up; by the time he does you’ve woken up, wandering curiously into the kitchen; your eyes widen at the sight of him. “What happened?”
“I hurt my ankle,” he says simply. “I tripped over you. In the hall.”
“Oh.”
“How many times have I told you not to fall asleep where you’re in my way?”
You shrug slightly. You have the decency—the awareness, perhaps—to look a little uneasy.
“Well?” He prompts you.
“A few,” you say. “M’sorry.”
“You need to learn to listen,” he tells you. “I keep telling you things over and over and you don’t learn. You don’t obey.”
“Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” he says. “But I won’t be able to go out tonight.”
“What?”
“I can’t put weight on this. I don’t have anything to lean on. I can’t hunt down and kill someone in this state, let alone bring a corpse back to the apartment.”
You blink. “But I need to eat.”
“I can’t do anything for you,” he says. “I can’t get out until this heals a bit. You still have the supplies in the freezer.”
“And then?” You press. “When I finish?”
“We’ll make do,” he says. He pauses briefly, grunting, then gives a low, dry laugh. “You consider this part of your punishment, for never fucking listening to me.”
Only part of it, of course, because you absolutely have a belting in your future once he’s able to stand up again, and by the look on your face he can tell you know that. He could probably do it now, albeit awkwardly, but if he’s going to take the belt to you he’s going to do it with his full strength. Perhaps the wait will do you some good; help the lesson sink in a little deeper.
He tries to ration the food; it lasts you longer than he thought it would, but you have to eat regularly or you start to get sick; grey skin and unsteady on your feet and crying in pain like you’ve been poisoned. He’s learned from experience that, once that sets in, it doesn’t take long for your condition to deteriorate even more.
One week later, he manages to put weight on his ankle again. Not as easily as he’d like, but he manages to jog awkwardly around the apartment.
And a good thing, too, because your food has officially ran out.
He was annoyingly close to making it on time. He has everything ready by the time he’s fit enough to hunt. Just a few hours and he’ll be fully stocked up and the rationing can stop and his baby will have everything she needs again.
It very nearly works. There’s a queasy feeling in his stomach even before he sees you that tells him that it hasn’t.
You’re on the floor when he comes out into the living room. Your skin is greyed, glistening with sweat, and you’re whimpering and clutching your stomach. Fuck. He’s too late.
He curses, rushing over to you, pulling you up and into his arms.
“Baby,” he says. He tries to keep his voice low, steady, even, but panic is setting in and it feels like his stomach is twisting into a tight, tangled knot. “Sweetheart, look at me. Look at me. Stay with me.”
Your eyes are half shut, drooping; he curses under his breath, shaking you, calling your name. Soft at first. Then panicked. Then stern; that’s the one that has you responding.
“Yunho,” you whine. “F-food, please.”
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I can go and get you some.”
“No,” you cry. You’re shaking now, smaller and frailer in his arms than he’s ever seen you, and your skin is ice cold, somehow soaked in sweat and bone dry at the same time. “Need— now. Please. Gonna— gonna…”
“Now?” He repeats.
“Please,” you whisper. “Gonna die.”
He believes you. He looks around the room, searching for something he can use; his eyes land on the kitchen countertop. On the case of knives, locked up.
The realisation sets in like sickness. He knows what he has to do.
“How much do you need?” He asks.
“Not… not that much,” you say. “Just some.”
“Stay here.” He eases you down onto the floor then pushes himself up; the case doesn’t need a key to open, just a simple latch mechanism, even that too advanced for you to crack, so it doesn’t take long to get what he needs. He comes back to kneel by your side, eyes moving between you and the knife and his leg.
Your eyes are closed now, but you’re still awake for the most part, mumbling things he doesn’t understand. You do that sometimes; did it a lot at first before he taught you how to talk. He theorised you’d had your own little language where you were before.
He pulls up his pant leg to around his knee. He goes for the calf, the same leg as his bad ankle; he’s going to take a strip out of it, he decides, down the side, so there’s not too much of him missing and he can go back out and stock up tomorrow, once you’re in the clear. He’ll have to adjust his methods slightly, perhaps, but he’ll get it done. He doesn’t really have a choice.
He inhales, a slow, shaking breath, then lifts the knife to his calf and presses down. He can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut as the blade sinks into his skin.
He bandages it carefully, with the supplies he’s cultivated over years of injuries, usually from people fighting back, that he couldn’t take to a hospital. He admits, though, that this is the worst one yet. Scratches and scrapes and bites and, once, a chain of keys stabbed into his arm, that’s one thing; this is an entire chunk out of his leg. He feels dizzy and sick and the pain makes his eyes water, every movement sore, but there was no alternative. He couldn’t just let you starve. Couldn’t let you die.
A small section of it, just a piece, forced past your cold grey lips and into your mouth, was enough to have you conscious and aware again. He carries you to the table and sets down a plate for the rest.
You’re slower to eat it than you normally are, as if you’re savouring it, savouring the taste of him on your tongue; you stare at it in what looks like wonder when he puts it down onto your plate, poking at it with your finger; pressing down on it so the blood seeps out from where it had been held by the meat.
“Yunho,” you murmur, then smile. “My Yunho.”
“How do I taste?” He asks. His voice is quiet, weak, his head still spinning a little, but you hear it nonetheless.
“Good,” you say. “Thank you. Hurt?”
“Me?” He asks. You nod. “Yeah, it does. It’ll heal, though, it’ll just leave a nasty scar I think.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” he says. “You needed to eat.”
You swallow the last piece with a smile; blood drips down your chin and lands on your chest, on his shirt, seeping into the fabric. He helps you take the shirt off as he always does; lowers you carefully into the tub to clean you up.
Usually, he throws the shirts into the washing machine and cleans them before they can stain.
... Kind of reaching the point in my Ateez fandom where I start to want to know the names of directors for these shows. Not to you know, do anything untoward or anything. I just have some questions. I just want to talk.
This director either hates Ateez or hates Kpop or his job because what. is happening. with the. choices. I disagree with almost every single one of the directorial decisions - when the pull away, when to do a close up, like, just ALL OF IT. Also, i dunno how much time passed since the horrendous mike failure during Say My Name, but Mingi sounds homicidal, like he wants to deafen everyone (which actually works really well for Adrenaline). Undecided as to whether I am jealous of everyone who got to hear him trying to blow out all the speakers live, in the same building, or not.
