#and the vague weapon concept
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Early sketches for a concept I plan to play around with
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morrigan-sims · 7 months ago
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Fashion Fit for an Empress
I saw the 5th dress in my game while trying to dress another sim and immediately dropped everything to put it on her. And then things spiraled a little bit, and she ended up with 12 new outfits.
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shdwtouch · 1 month ago
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I need some.. insight ? advice ? ._. just, how do folks deal with other people having similar ocs ? or headcanons, when it comes to canons. I guess also in general how canons feel seeing other portrayals of the same muse ?
like I know nothing is truly unique anymore and people can take the same concepts and make different things from them. I'm just anxious about 1) being accused of copying other people, and 2) being replaced because someone writes the same concepts I explore better than I do. idk.
so yeah. does anyone else struggle with this ? how do you deal with it ? cuz it's like. it's not problematic ! and folks making ocs and lore similar to mine is outside of my control. I just want to know if/how other folks cope and manage it ? cuz it gives me anxiety and has been impacting me a lot lately. so any insight / advice welcome ♡
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ellipsus-writes · 29 days ago
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The words they're afraid of.
(Read on our blog.)
The recently appointed Department of Defense head Pete Hegseth (formerly Fox News pundit, perpetually soused creepy uncle, and current group chat leaker of classified intel) banned images of the Enola Gay from the Pentagon’s website for the offense of “DEI” language. In keeping with the far right’s stated war on anything vaguely resembling diversity, equity and inclusion, even historical photos are up for cancellation. When a literal weapon of mass destruction is censored for being a bit fruity under the Trump administration’s war against inconvenient truths, what exactly is left untouched?
This is clown show stuff, but the stakes are far from funny. While some might be hesitant to compare the current administration to the very worst history has to offer, we can at least all agree that they are dyed-in-the-wool grammar Nazis. Policing language has been the objective of the MAGA culture war long before Project 2025’s debut—the wave of book bans orchestrated by astroturf movements like Moms for Liberty, and Florida’s 2022 Don’t Say Gay bill have already had a profound effect in the arena of free speech and freedom of expression (despite the far right’s long tradition of doublespeak performative free-speech martyrdom to the contrary). Don’t Say Gay ostensibly targeted K-3 education, but LGBT+ content at all levels of education (and beyond) was either quietly censored or entirely preempted in practice. The results were not just a war on so-called ideology, or words alone—but on reality and essential freedoms.
Now, words as innocuous and important as racism, climate change, hate speech, prejudice, mental health, and inequality are targeted as subversive. Entire concepts are being vanished from government institutions, scrubbed not only from descriptions but from metadata, search indexes, and archival frameworks.
If you don’t name a thing, does it exist?
These words are as numerous as they are generic: women, race, Black, immigrants, multicultural, gender, injustice. But what is painfully unserious is also particularly dangerous in its real-world consequences. The process of controlling words is a well-worn authoritarian tendency. Fifty-two universities are now under investigation as part of the President's effort to curb “woke” research and thought crimes. Institutions are being coerced to comply with a nebulous set of ideological demands, or face budgetary annihilation. That means cutting funding for entire departments, slashing financial aid, defunding scientific grants, and pressuring faculty to self-censor.
The possibilities for censorship extend far and wide—interfering, by extension, in everything from reproductive healthcare programs, to libraries and museums. The Trump administration’s proposed budget slashing all federal funding for libraries, including the Institute of Museum and Library Services, will effectively gut an infrastructure that supports over 100,000 libraries and museums across the country—community centers, educational lifelines, internet access points, and archives of marginalized histories (starting with the Smithsonian Institution).
When you erase access, you erase participation. And when you erase participation, you erase people, and the means by which future generations might even learn they existed. A culture that cannot remember is a culture that cannot resist.
The erasure is, yet again, unsurprisingly targeted at minorities and LGBT+ people. The National Parks Service quietly revised the Stonewall Monument’s website to remove references to transgender people—a fundamental part of the original protests. Not an oversight, not a mistake, but a deliberate excision—one point in a wider plan of erasure depicted in stark detail in Project 2025, a blueprint to dismantle civil rights, defund LGBT+-related healthcare, and rewrite history from the ground up.
Dehumanization by deletion—welcome to the reactionary resurgence of doubleplusungood governance. In Trumpland, words are weapons—but not in the way they intend. Their fear of language betrays its power; that’s why they’re trying so hard to police it.
Words hurt them.
Hurt them back.
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- the Ellipsus Team
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proxycrit · 4 months ago
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I love your au!!! I love how the hylian duo look like gremlins, I LOVE the expressions and sass constantly and the changes to the lore, the worldbuilding and also the emotions (OUCH). I love their relationship with purah and each other and the new champions. I love the depth you gave Yona and her relationship with Sidon and Mipha. I love how link feels comfortable talking to sidon in addition to sign, I don't know if he does that with anyone else but Zelda unless its absolutely necessary (eg: just launched out a cannon and is paragliding down, so hands are busy) (side note: i love how much of an adrenalin junky/gremlin he is!!)
I do got a few questions! Will the pair get the sheikah slate again (so say link has the slate and zelda the pad), and can both slates do the warping and item storage (food, ingredients, armor, weapons, etc) (if so: no WONDER link was so upset! His collection!)
Does link have access to the ultrahand abilities (ik you said not The ultrahand, but what about fuse or ascend or rewind etc?) Where is the mastersword??
Does Link still have the champions' abilities, or did he lose those when their spirits moved on at the end of botw?
I know these are a lot of questions but I can't stop thinking about it!! The last few updates sent me back rereading the whole au and now its just vibrating in my head and giving me no piece
This is long and rambly, just know I am very much enjoying this au! Its silly and fun and touching and cute. Thank you for working on it!!
Oo some notes (also ty for circling my au haha im glad other people fixate like i do)
(Prewarning— i did not finish totk despite putting triple hours in it, so a lot of this story is being written while playing, though i know the big broad strokes thanks to cultural osmosis and video essays. A lot of Familiar Familiar builds from my playthrough with BOTW over TOTK, so the sheikah influence is significantly stronger and I will always choose botw characterization over totk characterization as a result.)
That aside
1. Sheikah slate’s dead. Rest in pieces, link’s rare collectable korok poop. Purah’s extracting as much data as she can to put on the purah pad but you can see the dread in her eyes whenever she has to tell link resurrection is not possible.
2. No idea about the zonai arm powers yet— im thinking about ascend, but the longer i go through this story the less likely ill hand it to him just due to immersion breakage. He and zelda will be getting sheikah gadgets from purah though! Maybe ill have a scene of him wandering through the sky island shrines, but without zelda warning rauru he and sonia wouldnt have prepared anything for the hero of the future. (But i DO love ascension and fuse. Lowkey dislike the building mechanics from a concept art pov because the green glue makes me want to cry, but it’s FINE i GUESS)
2b. Master sword’s chilling in korok forest. Link put it back in this au because of Reasons (part of his and zelda’s characterization in this au is to discard their past roles and embrace the present, not as knight and princess but as hero and researcher. They both have to face the reality those roles aren’t dead, but it’s a work in progress. I may also never address it. This “one off hehe lemme draw some guys” idea quickly spiraled into a web comic series so apologies for the vagueness, because i too am watching them adventure with dread and awe and i don’t know where they’ll go with it. They literally write themselves.
3. Rip champions, their ghosts are Gone (but their influence remains. You go mipha, keep haunting the narrative girl, i love you)
I know that some of these story notes don’t quite match up to what totk states is stone cold canon, but that’s the joy of fan work! Anyways sorry for folks who i have NOT answered asks of— i have a lot of them and I’m much better at the drawing and writing part then the socialization aspect (please feel free to peak in to my zoo enclosure ever so often though. I need the enrichment)
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lisired · 1 year ago
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pretty little weapon
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pairing: undercover cop!mark x (f) reader
genre/warnings: smut, organized crime, cop x criminal, graphic depictions of blood and violence, mentions of death, smut, choking, oral (f receiving), biting, a pinch of angst, mentions of pregnancy-related death, unprotected sex (dont b silly, wrap ur willy!), vague mentions of sexual assault
summary: A lifetime worth of adversity had brought you to Bloodlust. You joined them to escape your history, but with Mark Lee - an undercover narcotics agent with a secret to keep - comes the threat of being forced to confront your past. Old wounds are opened, but scars heal.
word count: 25.7k (…i have nothing to say for myself.)
a/n: inspired by PLW by leon thomas, bad news by kehlani, and perfect crime by tinashe! bon appetite! I did this on a whim. read this with the 2 baddies styling concept in mind. as always, feedback is appreciated!
You were going to be absolutely livid if Yuta didn’t up your pay.
After a long night of work, you anticipated crawling into your sheets. Then waking up to a large sum of money deposited into your account in the morning as courtesy of your hard work.
That never happened.
“This was not in the job description,” you complained to your boss. Though there was technically never a clock for you to be on, you had already firmly clocked out. And when he invited you on this escapade, you were inclined to deny. But he was nothing if not unrelenting.
Yuta smirked and brushed you off. “You do stone cold murder for a living, baby. This is what you signed yourself up for the moment you killed somebody.”
God, you hated when he was right. Sometimes all you ever wanted to do was argue with whatever he said. Moments like this when he began cutting down on your downtime.
Soaring through flocks of people, you kept very close to Yuta’s side, his arm firm around you. People knew not to mess with him, and thus anyone considered his associate. That was one of the beauties of working for Bloodlust, you supposed. As long as you were loyal and faithful to them, you were guaranteed total protection and discretion against anyone.
The tale of how you secured a job of this nature in the first place was relatively simple. You were scouting the streets as usual, given it was the only home you’d known. Violence was absolutely nothing new to you as you had been in your fair share of street gangs prior to Bloodlust. But one thing led to another and you had blood on your hands in an act of self defense. Specifically the blood of your own fellow gangster.
Just your luck, Yuta witnessed the scene. He was a stranger at the time, some shady man offering help that looked like nothing short of trouble. You found yourself surprised that you even took his deal, but you weren’t left with any alternatives. Going back to the gang was not an option; there was no telling how the leader would respond to the blood of your superior being on your very hands. There was no mercy there.
Yuta vowed to cover for you, but you would perpetually owe him in return. You were expecting something more lewd when he informed you that you would be working for him, though you did nothing of the sort. Yuta took you under his wing and handed you a job as a contract killer.
And the rest was history.
You hurdled closer to his chest, pursuing warmth. Given the hour and the season, the outdoors were becoming frostier. You exhaled and saw your breath condensing in the air.
“Stay put,” Yuta said. As if you would run off anywhere. You were tempted, though you weren’t stupid. And though you would never admit it to his face, you loved the street races.
After you nodded, Yuta parted without having to worm his way through the crowd. They respected him, though most of it was out of pure fear. They made way for him whenever they saw him approaching.
You eyed the roads while you waited. The street races were one of your favorite aspects of the gang. They were orchestrated by Yuta and were a great source of profit overall. But watching them was the part you were fond of.
One of the cars before you caught your eye - a neon green Porsche. You had barely laid a finger on the exterior before you were forcibly knocked backwards, your face slung to the other side.
You held your cheek in your palm, adrenaline pumping through your veins. There was no immediate pain. You didn’t even feel like you were in your body. You could only stumble as you grasped to process what happened.
A visibly upset man - one of the racers - was waving his fist at you, screaming this profanity and that, but from the looks of it you hadn’t left as much as a scratch on his car. And if he thought he was going to intimidate you, he had another thing coming. Brutal adrenaline came over you and you socked him square in the jaw. Harder.
The racer was knocked to the ground by the force. “You’re gonna regret that,” he growled. You merely laughed. It was comical and you almost took pity on him. This guy clearly had no idea what forces were on your side. Not until he noticed Yuta and Johnny beginning to rush in his direction and he bolted.
The gang had very simple rules and even simpler consequences. If you disobeyed, you died. They were so simple that if you violated them, they read it as an act of defiance. The most obvious rule was to respect the high-ranks and their associates. The second was to comply, or your punishment would be fatal.
Another man came to your side and lowered you to the ground for inspection. This one you didn’t recognize at all. “Yo, are you okay?”
“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” you said, moving your fingers from your cheek to your lips. When you glanced down at them, you saw blood.
The stranger handed you a napkin. “Here.”
You took it and wiped your mouth, and thus the blood at the corner of your lips. That was one hell of a punch. Rather than feeling pain, you were in a state of immobilizing shock.
“Thanks, uh…,” you squinted your eyes, running his face through the facial recognition system installed in your memory. But you came short. Which was surprising, because you always remembered the faces of the regulars.
“Mark,” the stranger finished. Then he flashed you a smile. “It’s nothing. You should get that checked out, though. Make sure nothing’s broken or fractured.”
You nodded. As a result of uttering any speech, you noticed that your jaw slightly ached when you spoke. For fuck’s sake. None of this would have happened if you were in your bed.
Then Mark disappeared. And you had no time to think before you heard a piercing noise.
Gunshots rang in the distance and you weren’t at all surprised to see Yuta and Johnny return with sinister looks on their faces. Yuta helped you to your feet and asked, “You good, Scar?”
Scar was the alias you’d been granted after Yuta noticed the scar on your stomach. Rather than finding it odd, he was astonished by it. Which was so utterly Yuta of him. The alias served no other purpose than maintaining your confidentiality, but Yuta always thought it had a nice ring to it.
“Not the first time I’ve been punched. I think I’m gonna be fine,” you assured him. The gods had blessed you with an unholy pain tolerance, which all your tattoos were a testament to. You remembered the matching one you got with Yuta and subconsciously smiled.
Friends like Yuta were, needless to say, rare.
All of the evil melted from Yuta’s face and he chuckled. “You’re a tough woman.”
“You love it.”
“I do.” Yuta curled his arm around you again. You were certain he was going to cuff one of your hands to his arm and never let you out of his sight again. “I was surprised that you didn’t finish that guy then and there. You took a pretty mean punch, babe. Must’ve been too shocked.”
That you were. But he was taking a nice load of bullets to the head before you even got the chance.
After the races were over and the roads were cleared out, you followed Yuta to his car. You suddenly had a thought once you hit the road.
“Yuta, do you know someone named Mark?”
Yuta furrowed his brows. “Nah. Why?”
Your heart sank. “Fuck.”
He glanced at you for a split second before returning his eyes to the road, but asked, “What’s wrong?”
“There was this guy at the race. He helped me and gave me a napkin to wipe the blood off of my face, but I didn’t recognize him. He told me his name was Mark.”
Yuta was alarmed. Just as you expected. It was one thing if you didn’t recognize a person at one of the gang’s events, but not Yuta. He had to ensure the attendee’s identities were closely monitored for everyone’s sake.
“Fucking hell?” Yuta handed you his phone and said, “Call Jaemin for me and tell him to look into the records. Maybe it slipped my mind. Let’s not jump to any conclusions, okay?”
You nodded your head and did as told, pressing his phone to your ear. Jaemin told you that he was AFK but would run a search as soon as he got back to the headquarters. Yuta dropped you off promptly and assured you that he’d call you with an update first thing in the morning.
Which only left you to wait.
In the morning, Yuta called you into his office, and you were immensely surprised to see not only him but Ten and Taeyong waiting for you in the room. Technically, you didn’t work for Bloodlust as a whole. There was a team of hitmen that worked specifically under one high-rank, though you were Yuta’s subordinate. Thus, encounters with other high-ranks were rare. Especially the leader.
Taeyong was the leader and the one at the helm of the entire gang. He inherited the title by succession to the metaphorical throne through descent. Yuta was his right-hand man, though given Taeyong rarely stepped out of the shadows unless absolutely necessary, Yuta being perceived as the leader was a popular misconception to outsiders and law enforcement. Which was completely deliberate. The less law enforcement knew, the better. It also made the task of differentiating interlopers from legitimates much lighter.
Ten was the gang’s personal spy. Their eyes to the other world. Just like any other high-rank, he directly supervised an entire branch of people pertaining to his title. Essentially, he was the leader of a team of criminal agents.
None of that explained why they were here, though.
As it was in your best interest, you greeted the three of them very politely. Though Yuta had a threatening position, you were close enough to be informal. Those freedoms didn’t apply to Ten and the leader. They might have been as good as strangers, but considering their influence in the underworld, they could have ended your life and career in an instant if they so pleased.
Glancing at Yuta, you said, “You called me, Boss?”
Yuta resisted a smirk at your attempts to be formal. You never called him ‘Boss’. “I did. I had Jaemin follow up on the Mark guy. We found something recent about him in our records.”
Ten interjected, “But I had a buy-off of mine’s confirm his real identity. He’s a Lee Minhyung. An undercover narcotics agent once tasked with tracking down a drug empire, and now that he shut them down we believe he’s moved on to attempting to infiltrate our ranks.”
Your blood ran cold. Frozen over in your veins. Forever grateful were you that you were excellent at maintaining your composure. Otherwise you would have panicked.
Taeyong stood at the far end of the pair. You had heard numerous things about him, but you were left gasping for air every time you saw him in person. If looks could kill, you would’ve been six feet under. Taeyong continued, “I’m sure you can guess why this is an urgent problem for us. It is my direct responsibility to protect the identities of those that put their faith in this gang and ensure their confidentiality. Now that we have a cop meddling in our affairs, that complicates things.”
That was to put it simply. The police infiltrating their territory was a direct threat imposed to the future of the empire. The moment the diplomacy was dismantled, so was the entire gang. Bloodlust in itself was intended to be an enigma. The purpose of hiring hitmen and establishing them by individual aliases was to deliberately make it difficult to link crimes to the gang. In return, your genuine identities were concealed. There was too much at stake to remain idle.
You supposed it made sense that Mark was kind to you. That made it easier to gain people’s trust. Though in the underworld, it made you look suspicious. Which led you to another question; if he was benevolent to you, did that mean you were specifically targeted?
You leaned forward in your chair and asked, “What does he know about the gang?”
“That’s where we hit a dead end,” said Ten, frustrated thoroughly. Whatever information they were relaying to you was everything they knew themselves. “Since he engaged with you, we considered that he might have a lead on you. If that’s true, most likely he’ll interact with you again given the opportunity.”
That didn’t alarm you. For most of your life, you’d lived on the edge, and that was especially true when you were a member of those prior street gangs. If your old friends sold you out, you wouldn’t be surprised. Yuta informed you early on that Bloodlust could keep your future under lock and key, though not your past.
But you were very suspicious. They wanted something out of you, that much was clear. Something significant. There was no other reason why the leader himself was before you. Though what?
“With all due respect, I don’t understand my involvement in this.”
Taeyong was straightforward. “We want you to play along.”
You nearly gawked. “Excuse me?”
He wasn’t the least bit bothered by you and continued, “The best way to fight fire is with fire. If Lee Minhyung wants to use you as his means of conveying intel, then let him, but lead him astray while doing so.”
In short, they wanted you to give Mark false information. Which steered far from your line of work. Why they chose you for the job in spite of having people actually equipped for the task was a mystery. Yuta was not kidding when he said that you signed yourself up for additional labor the moment you killed somebody. 
Frowning, you tried to stave them off. “You’re just gonna send a girl with no prior experience into the wild?”
“Must I remind you that we have full access and authority to all of your history stored in our records?” Ten sneered in amusement. “Think of it as a resume. It’s been a few years, but yours was very memorable. This wouldn’t be your first mole job.”
That was true. Anyone recruited to work for the gang was required to give a complete rundown of their history. Even recruits like you that didn’t respond to them directly. They made it very clear that lying would have put you in an early grave; Bloodlust had eyes everywhere.
“And you wouldn’t be uncompensated. I’ll triple your pay,” Yuta added.
That had your undivided attention. “I’m listening.”
Yuta fought a snicker. He expected nothing less. “We know that this isn’t what you usually do, but the job is very simple. It’s expected that he’ll try to extract information from you, so give him the wrong info. At the same time, try to figure out what he knows and what he wants. There’s a motive behind him targeting you and until we can confirm otherwise, we have to assume you’re his prey and he has valuable intel in his possession.”
“Why not just kill him upfront?”
“He might be valuable,” came Ten’s reply. “Whatever he knows, it’s safe to assume that he isn’t the only one.”
“We will be closely monitoring the entire empire for any turncoats, but he’s not alone. He has a partner,” warned Taeyong with a hefty stare. “So you have to be cautious about what you say to him.”
Ten began to get impatient and said, “So, do we have a deal?”
Tapping the arms of the office chair, you pretended to mull the proposition over although you had already made your decision. If their motive in collectively ganging up against you was to make you feel pressured into agreeing, you were almost inclined to decline the offer out of pure spite. But the genuine interest you had in the assignment discouraged you. There was too much at stake to play games.
There’s no good reason to decline, you decided halfway through the offer. Exposing yourself to law enforcement might’ve seemed too risky, but law enforcement potentially exposing you was even riskier. And you were no stranger to games of deception. Devising devious stratagems was one of the first skills you acquired.
You feigned indifference and replied, “Fine. I’ll play make-believe with the boy with a death wish.”
Yuta failed to resist his snicker this time, but it was true. Bloodlust gained its name for a special reason. For over a decade they had climbed their way to the top and were successful because they had no mercy for those that crossed them. You had faith that this was going to end with Mark having a bullet put through his brain.
After all, he wouldn’t be the first. Just another casualty.
Ten smiled, satisfied. His smile was alluring though likely deceptive, although you expected nothing less from the head of Bloodlust’s criminal agents himself. You had a feeling he was the one that suggested cornering you. “Good. You’re probably already aware that I administrate the spy squad. You won’t be working for me per se, but Jaemin and I will serve as your resources.”
Jaemin was another high-rank, the hacker and leader of their general technology team. If you ever thought you had hid a file or record from him; think again. In all your years of working for Yuta, you had never even caught a glimpse of the man’s face in person. He could only be spotted somewhere with a signal yet caved away.
You left that room with a mission. Jaemin had ID’d Mark’s partner and sent you a full report on them. Lee Minhyung, twenty-three, one of the youngest in his division and yet one of the most accomplished. He had spent merely three months undercover to overthrow a drug empire, and now he was scouting the big shots. Lee Jeno, twenty-two, and fresh out of the training program. There wasn’t much on him, obviously, but according to his evaluations, he had ambitions and was following in Mark’s footsteps.
Frankly, you were impressed. The reason neither of them had been detected until now was because they signed up the rightful way. No one suspected anything was amiss because their department created fake ID’s and hid their authentic ones. Nothing that Jaemin couldn’t find, though.
Needless to say, you had your work cut out for you.
The next time you saw Mark Lee was at another street race event. According to Jaemin, Mark and his partner were fresh recruits and had only been present for a few days at best, though he had quickly decided that the races were his favorite hunting grounds.
For a cop, Mark was remarkably easy to spot in a crowd, but he was playing the criminal role well enough. He had red hair that burned brightly and dressed the flashy part. You had yet to see him without a Cuban link.
You approached him and greeted, “‘Sup, Markie.”
Mark raised a brow. “Markie?”
“Do you not like it?” you asked, smiling innocently. You inched in on him, but left a safe distance between you two. The last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable by invading his personal space. “How about Marco? Or Markus? Even better - Little Red Riding Hood.”
Mark snickered. “Markie is fine. Thank you, Tony Stark,” he quipped.
“MCU fan?”
“You bet.”
He genuinely piqued your interest at that. Maybe pretending to like him wouldn’t be so hard. You breathed, “I love you already.”
He laughed. Then concern washed over his face. “Hey, your face okay?”
“Yup,” you replied, giving him a thumbs up. “I got it checked out like you said. Nothing broken or fractured. It’s a little sore, but I’ll be good as new in a couple days.”
“You’re a tough cookie,” he complimented.
You chortled. “So I’ve heard.”
With a broad smile, Mark continued, “That was one hell of a punch you landed on that dude, though. Knocked the guy flat on the ground. Where’d you learn how to fight like that?”
Here came the invasiveness. You decided to be as vague as possible about your past - and current - gang affiliations. You shrugged. “The streets. Polished my skills in the fighting ring, though.”
“There’s a fighting ring?”
“Oh, no wonder I’ve never seen you around these parts before. You’re a total newbie,” you laughed, shaking your head.
“It’s only my fourth day out here,” Mark told you. Which was the truth. You were very unsurprised to find he was taken under the drug trafficking operation, which was ran by Jisung. “Yo, I never caught your name.”
You gave Mark your name, although you had a feeling he already knew. Jaemin and Ten were actively working together to uncover everything the unit had on you and the gang.
“I can show you the ropes,” you offered. Given where he stood, you knew those words alone had him hooked on you. It was safe to assume the drug empire was his primary, but offering him the gang’s additional means of money-making on a silver platter would have any officer’s mouth watering. “Take you on a tour. The gang has plenty of places to kill time while simultaneously making hella cash off of them.”
Mark’s eyes gleamed with intrigue. “Smart business. I might just take you up on that.”
“Bloodlust is all about smart business,” you remarked. Then, you began to do some prying of your own. It wasn’t all that risky to give up some of their territory, but everything came with a price. “Say - who did Boss put you under?”
“The Jisung guy. Drugs.” Mark shrugged. “Nothing major. They don’t trust newbies directly with the hardcore shit, and for good reason. But he told me that it’ll pay well, and if I stick around long enough, I can work my way up.”
Of course, it paid very well. No matter how low-ranking the position. They were trafficking illegal drugs and substances. It was one of their most lucrative branches.
You also hadn’t failed to notice how Mark mentioned that if he stayed long enough, he could work his way higher. That was common knowledge, though you doubted he was unaware of how problematic leaving a gang was. He had the prior experience, and even on his last mission he didn’t vacate the syndicate until he successfully seized the ranks. In other words, he wasn’t withdrawing until he had shot the entire gang down by its very heart and core.
Which was the inner circle.
That was a pressing reminder to keep your guard up. Though Mark seemed likable, it was very intentional. You knew he wouldn’t hesitate to persecute you to the highest extent of the law and you would maintain that same lack of mercy.
You played along, bobbing your head. “Met the boss yet?”
Mark shot you a wince. “Not formally. And I’ve heard around that the less I see of Lee Taeyong, the better. What’s up with that?”
“Taeyong likes to deliver his messages up close and personal,” you cautioned. “He only comes out if absolutely necessary. Getting a personal message from the big boss only happens if you’re going around wreaking havoc.”
“No warning?”
You smiled, but the sinister undertone in your voice was very evident, “If he sends anyone else but himself, that is a warning.”
You didn’t feel pressured to make your insinuations very subtle, because you were Mark’s only hope. The gangsters weren’t exactly inviting. They were very cynical, tight-lipped, and kept small circles because another one of the most important rules was confidentiality and they dreaded facing exposure.
For the most part, people who received direct messages from Taeyong didn’t make it out alive. For that reason, you did not underestimate Mark, but you were certain he had underestimated the gang. Even if you hadn’t discovered him yourself, they would have in approximately the same amount of time.
Mark showed no fear and kept the conversation light-hearted, but the glimmer in his eyes suggested he took that as a challenge. “Then, I’ll make sure to be on my best behavior.”
Liar, you scoffed. He was very much going to wreak havoc. He already had.
“You better. I’d hate to see a face like yours gone so soon,” you flirted, to which Mark grinned and cocked an intrigued brow. He was handsome, you had to give him that. Then, you decided to change the topic. “You like cars, Markie?”
He pretended to frown. “Is it obvious?”
“As far as I know, you’ve spent at least half your nights at these races. There has to be a reason,” you said, then resorted back to flirting, “Unless, you just come to look at me all night.”
“You are quite the extravaganza,” Mark played along, matching your energy. Much to your amusement. “I’m more of a bike guy, but I like anything shiny and nice.”
“We’re gonna get along just fine,” you quipped. “Wanna race?”
“For real?”
“For real,” you repeated, smiling. “They start in a little bit. You strike me as the type of guy that likes all things thrill and exhilaration.”
Mark broke into a tiny snicker. “Lucky guess. You any good?”
You shrugged. “Dunno. Guess that’s for you to figure out,” you teased. Then, began to make your escape. Granted, you knew he wouldn’t let you slip away so easily.
Mark, tantalized, trailed behind you. Hopping in a speeding car with someone as good as a stranger seemed rash, but he had a feeling that you knew what you were doing. Absolutely none of this was foreign to you.
Boy with a death wish was an apt description for Mark.
Upon your last-minute entry, you took him to the garage to pick up your ride. To say the least, Mark nearly dropped dead. The sight of your bright red Bugatti Chiron positively made him gape. “Holy shit,” he exhaled.
You giggled. “She’s hot, isn’t she?”
“Like hellfire. Aren’t these like, hella expensive?”
You bobbed your head. “She’s hell to repair. But my baby deserves the best.”
Mark continued to marvel. “Dude, you gotta let me drive one day.”
You laughed, amused, but for a completely different reason. Like hell you would let a cop take your car for a spin. It was outrageous enough that you permitted him to take the passenger seat.
Eventually you both went to line up for the races. Mark was still completely astonished, glancing around your two-seater with total awe and wonder. If you knew that you didn’t have to kill him, you would have found it very cute.
Yuta came by and stuck his head through the window aperture. Which were each rolled down as a safety measure. “You’re racing?”
“Yup,” you sang, smiling wildly. It had been a minute. And you figured that you needed some thrill in your life (unbeknownst to you, Mark was exactly that). “Meet my partner. Mark, meet this guy.”
Yuta rolled his eyes, then droned, “You two have fun.”
“Oh, trust me. Fun is guaranteed with me,” you replied with a wink.
Yuta glanced at Mark and quipped, “Run while you still can.” Then, he ran off.
“You can’t run now,” you said, making eye contact with Mark through the rear-view mirror. “We have a race to win.”
Mark grinned mischievously.
The flagger came into vision, preparing to launch the first race of the evening. You and Mark fastened your seatbelts, then you braced your hand on the steering wheel.
“Ready?” you asked, glancing to your side.
Mark bobbed his head. He seemed relatively relaxed for a first-timer. Honestly, you were beginning to wonder what all he had done in the name of the law. “Born ready.”
You revved the engine, watching the flagger count down with bated breath. Everything felt light. Adrenaline made your blood pump faster, your heart threatening to leap out your chest. This was it. That feeling that made life worth living.
Three, you muttered under your breath. Two, one. You gripped the wheel tighter. Then every nerve in your body chanted, Go, go, go!
And you slammed on the gas, bolting the car forward like lightning.
You sped like the devil. You were going nearly two-hundred miles per hour in a matter of ten seconds. The car roared underneath your fingertips and you knew you were driving a beast, one that had risen from the dead.
“Goddamn,” Mark raised his voice, speaking over the vicious winds that tousled your heads of hair. He was smiling, clinging to his seatbelt for dear life.
You shouted, “Hang on!” And you both accelerated.
You laughed, so carefree. Nothing else mattered when you were on the road and you quickly lost grip of everything that wasn’t the steering wheel clenched firmly between your fist. The road was the only thing capable of holding your attention, and you even occasionally forgot that Mark was beside you until you heard his exhilarated laugh. Every single thought you had left as quickly as it came. Moments were exactly that - moments. No fears, no worries, no nightmares. Just making it across that sweet finish line.
The feeling surging through your veins was inexplicable, but you knew that you weren’t alone in it. Mark could feel it, too. The rush overpowered any sense of threat and adrenaline made you forget what it felt like to breathe. At that moment, it was like breathing on the moon. Almost as if you didn’t need any air.
You wedged past this car and that, until you had made a great distance in front of them all. They were left in the dust.
“You feel that, Markie?” you asked, chest heaving out of pure, unadulterated fever. You could see that typical untamed gleam in his eyes, but heightened.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. And then he began to crack into a fit of hysterical laughter himself. “Yeah. I can feel it.”
The corners of your lips were in an unfaltering curve. “Let’s win this damn thing.”
Mark was grinning from ear to ear. Never had he ever felt so alive.
The climax of the race was your very favorite. Time lost its meaning and speed became inexhaustible. Air became scarce, as if there was no more left on earth. The tension throttled you and swallowed you whole. And heat reduced you to sweat and fighting breaths.
All you had was momentum, but that was of little threat to you. And Mark.
The distance between the car and the finish line decreased more and more and more. There was practically no one around you, but that didn’t ease your resolve. Resting was not an option until victory was yours.
Mark chanted, “Come on, come on.”
He wanted it as badly as you. If not more. There was nothing for him to gain out of this except experience and yet he seemed immensely content with that.
From the moment you crossed the finish line, time became a blur. All you knew was that you had won and you could feel the achievement in your veins. You only noticed that you were panting when you stepped out of the car, and the crowd flocked towards your vehicle.
“So, what do you think?” you asked Mark, sitting on the hood of your car. “Am I any good, Markie?”
Mark wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then replied through thick breath, “I think you just gave me the time of my life. Thank you.”
You chortled. Damn right. “The pleasure is all mine.”
Someone cleared their throat and you turned to make eye contact with Lee Jeno. He looked directly at you without hiding his scorn when he spoke, “Sorry to interrupt, but Markie has to go now.”
You didn’t break eye contact with the boy, either, retorting, “Tell your dad that you don’t wanna go, Mark.”
Mark stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry, but I have to,” he said and hopped off the hood of your car. “Thank you for tonight, though. I’m holding you to your word from earlier.”
“I’ve never broken a promise,” you said. Then, you waved. “See’ya.”
Mark hugged you briefly, then bid you goodnight and faded in the crowd with his more than obvious partner.
And you went to pay yours a visit.
Given the hour, Ten was not pleased when you barged into his office, but before he could run his mouth, you shushed him with your finger.
Ten mouthed, “Did you just shush me…”
You removed an object out of your pocket and rested the item flat on his desk. It was a tiny, black wiretapping device. Clearly, somebody thought he was slick, though even in your fit of ecstasy, you were not off-guard.
From the expression he sported, Ten was highly amused by the flagrant audacity of this boy. There seemed to be a telepathic communication between you two, but just to be safe, he mouthed, “Play along.”
Ten said your name and began, “You’re late. Did you hear the news?”
You almost rolled your eyes, but very audibly pulled in the opposing chair to give the impression that you were here for a long, scheduled conversation. Then, you blew out a sigh and replied, “Yeah. Yuta told me Taeyong is considering shifting the gang to China. Damn feds too close on our tail.”
“Don’t fret. It’ll be a walk in the park. China makes up our secondary income - the ascendancy we have there is enough to start fresh.”
The little tale made you smirk. Bloodlust hadn’t branched out in China very much yet.
“I know, but Korea is the only home I’ve known,” you groaned.
Ten was very good at playing along with your bullshit and told you, “That was how I felt when I came to Korea from the States. Listen, you’re gonna be homesick as a bitch. But you won’t be alone and that’s what matters.”
If this was a genuine conversation, you would have been touched. “Thanks, Ten.”
Ten drummed his fist against the wall to mimic the sound of someone knocking on a door, then rose and said, “That must be him. Come on.”
The two of you stepped into the corridor. Where, obviously enough, nobody awaited either of you. Ten shut the door and moved a great distance away from his office before he decided you were both in the clear.
As soon as you were in private, both of you began to giggle. Ten quipped, “Sure you don’t wanna work for me?”
You snickered. “I’m more than content with Yuta, thank you.”
“I have to commend you for your performance back there,” Ten told you, sincere. “Most people wouldn’t have even caught that they were bugged. That could’ve been bad. It’s impressive.”
“Likewise,” you replied. It was in your best interest to steer Mark’s team off course, if possible. They’d learn one way or another to mind the business that paid them.
Ten grabbed a tiny stick-like item from his pocket and pressed a red button at the bottom end of the device.
You furrowed your brows. “What’s that?”
“Bug detector. Jaemin made it for me,” he told you. Then, a red light beamed from the device, and Ten scanned you from head to toe. After a brief moment, he said, “You’re in the clear. I’ll take care of the bug. Did you learn anything else tonight?”
You nodded. “He knows Taeyong is the leader. I let him ask most of the questions tonight, but I’ll have my turn later. I’m posing as a friend that’s going to show him around.”
“Take him where you want.” Ten glanced at his watch. “I expect more from you by the end of the week.”
“Yes, sir,” you replied. Obviously, he had somewhere to be. “Goodnight.”
Throughout the week, you and Ten continued to use the wiretapping bug to your advantage. Faking conversations, making up false plans about the future of the gang. It was, more or less, a taunt.
Just as Ten expected of you, you had additional information to deliver by Saturday morning. Mark was no easy task, but where his partner was concerned, you learned things easily. For one, most of your identities were definitely known. Jeno was not sparing with his disdainful glares whenever he came across high-ranks.
Much less you, for that matter. Which made you wonder exactly what role you played in this situation, but that was still inconclusive. You assumed it was because you had direct ties to the second-in-command, but you merely did his bidding. Which had nothing to do with the trafficking of illegal drugs.
And Yuta never let you in on the affairs of the gang. It simply never came up. It was none of your business and you didn’t care. As long as they protected you.
Either they had no clue what they were doing, or they were looking to make a very big bust.
The following Monday, you marched straight into housing clad in dolphin shorts and a white t-shirt and knocked on Mark’s door. Very relentlessly given it was two in the morning.
Mark yelled, “I’m coming!” from somewhere across the apartment. When he opened the door, he squinted, half-awake. But positive that he was dreaming. “How the hell…”
You snickered. “You aren’t very hard to find, Markie. This is where the newbies that don’t have their own place live - I would know. Boss gave me access to the housing info.”
“Stalker,” he snarled insincerely, voice husky. It did something to you, but you would never admit it.
Instead, you rolled your eyes. It was very ironic, all things considered. He was going out of his way to investigate you and your boss’ friends. “Yeah, yeah,” you said, inviting yourself in. “Hurry up and get ready. We’re going to the ring.”
Mark’s eyes widened. “Shit, right now?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Shit. Let me go brush my teeth and change.”
Glancing around the apartment, there was nothing immediately suspicious or out of the ordinary. Just slightly messy. It looked very lived in.
Less than fifteen minutes later, you and Mark were out the door and on the road. The late night and early morning breeze was very comforting. Just traveling lightly on the road while the sun was still down was one of your favorite things to do.
Mark spoke teasingly over the radio, “Do you barge into people’s houses and homes to go fight very often?”
Unabashedly, you giggled. “No, actually. But I am very notorious for walking around like I own the place. You’re lucky enough that I had no choice but to knock.”
“You mean, beat the door in.”
“Did not,” you countered.
“No, you did,” he said. “You probably woke up everybody else on the same floor.”
You smarted and retorted, “Please. They should come watch me kick your ass.”
Mark was very amused by your confidence. “I’m gonna make you eat those words, doll.”
“Hit me with your best shot.”
He took the challenge. “Loser buys breakfast?”
You grinned smugly. “You’re on.”
The road led you to some bar with an enormous flickering neon light that displayed the name of the establishment. Despite the late hour - and how shady the exterior of the building appeared - the parking lot wasn’t empty.
With your finger, you signaled for Mark to follow behind you and entered the bar. Much to Mark’s surprise, your attire fitted right in with the lack of crowd. Most were sweaty and gulping glasses of water at the bar.
Mark cocked a brow and said, “I thought we were going to the ring.”
“We are,” you responded, fighting a smile. The bartender didn’t spare either of you a glimpse when you led him behind the counter and through the double doors.
You were met with a tiny hallway. There was a kitchen door on one end, but you brought him towards the other. It seemed much more exclusive than the others, no double doors or easy access. You placed your finger on the biometric lock and it clicked open.
“Woah,” Mark gasped.
You giggled and went into the empty room with a ring in its center. In contrast to the others, it was dimly lit by beams of neon red lights. There was another bar at one end and chairs and tables arranged elsewhere. “The private fighting room,” you announced. “It’s only used by higher-ups and their associates.”
“I just thought of at least eight Fight Club jokes I could make right now and half of them have something to do with Tyler Durden.”
You shook your head. “You’re insufferable. You’d lose your mind if we owned a movie theater.”
Mark smiled bashfully. “Can I talk about this place?”
You glared. But ultimately couldn’t resist bursting into laughter.
“Come on,” you gestured, stepping inside the ring. And he followed suit.
After you both warmed up, you asked, “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Mark replied without hesitation, eyes burning with sheer confidence. “Gotta warn you, though - I have a blackbelt in taekwondo.”
He wasn’t lying. You remembered seeing something like that in his profile.
“Good for you. I have a blackbelt in kicking Mark Lee’s ass.”
Mark taunted, “I would like to see you try.”
You got into position, holding your arms in a prepared stance. “Don’t go easy on me, Markie. If you couldn’t tell, I like things rough.”
As usual, Mark merely gave you a grin of unadulterated mischief.
The first round played in your favor. It ran more like a practice round if anything - Mark was more focused on becoming accustomed with how you fought than winning. As a result, you knocked him clean out.
Though Mark decided in the next round that he wasn’t playing any games. He had taken mercy upon you before, going easy on you in spite of what you told him, but you knew by now that Mark had a penchant for challenges and loathed losing. You thought that you had him right where you wanted him, but by the end of the match, he had you right where he wanted you.
“I was wrong about you, Markie,” you gasped after tapping out and accepting defeat. “You striked me as a Mama’s boy. The ‘I’d never hit a girl’ type.”
“I love my mama,” Mark grinned. “And of course, I’d never. But you asked for it.”
Mark helped you to your feet and you lightheartedly threatened, “I’m snitching.”
“Whatever you say,” he taunted. “I see why they call you Scar and not Punch.”
In a flash of anger, you lunged at him, but Mark caught you by your wrist promptly. He cocked his head and said smugly, “Cheater. The final round hasn’t started yet.”
The way he stared down your soul unnerved you. It wasn’t typical of you to show fear - and you didn’t - but saying that you were unaffected by his every move would be a blatant lie. Though there was absolutely nothing sinister about Mark. Maybe it wasn’t him that you were scared of. Maybe it was how he made you feel.
That was more dangerous than any threat.
When the next round initiated, you fought like a beast that had emerged right out of hell. There was no way in hell that you would go down without a fight.
This final round was all the more intense. You were convinced that if you had any spectators, they’d be completely exasperated by the suspense. The both of you kept bouncing shy of one another.
It was akin to a seesaw of action. When Mark landed a hit, you landed one harder. When you were above, suddenly Mark knocked you back down again.
“This isn’t over until one of us taps out,” Mark said.
You shrugged. “I can go all night.”
“So can I.”
Neither of you were backing down, that much was clear. It seemed preposterous - getting worked up over an unofficial game - but you were competitive and Mark was ambitious. The most minuscule of things were still another bridge to be crossed to people like you, no matter the size.
You either won or you lost. It was one to one. This was the tiebreaker; the round that made or broke the game. You didn’t mind buying him breakfast, but there was also a part of Mark that was so goddamn insufferable and you would rather not satisfy that insatiable desire of his.
“If you want your victory, come and get it,” you taunted.
“Say less,” Mark said. Then swung.
Courtesy of your agility, you were able to move out of the way. It was better than giving him the opportunity to lay his hands on you, even if you blocked the hit. You learned very quickly that Mark could make you think he was doing one thing and wound up doing another.
You took your chances, not permitting him the chance to realize what you were up to before you danced around his figure and tackled him to the ground.
You straddled him and smirked, pinning his arms firmly above his head. You were very aware of what kind of position you were in, but you weren’t complaining. It felt like you were at your throne at the very top of the world from above Mark.
Mark eyed you down. “Someone’s been doing her homework.”
You clutched even tighter around his wrist the more he spoke. To which Mark grimaced and quipped, “Are you trying to crush my bones or jump them?”
You teased, “Is that what you were dreaming about before I woke you up, Markie?”
“Not quite,” he replied with a chuckle, then switched on a dime. He flipped you over, hovering over you as you lay flat on your back. Instead of pinning your hands above your head like you’d done to him, he went for your throat.
His grip was strong. It wasn’t tight enough to cause you any genuine harm, as if he didn’t intend to hurt you, but you felt as if he could have bruised your throat.
The worst part? You didn’t thoroughly despise the feeling.
Mark leaned directly into your ear, then growled, “Tap out and I’ll let go.”
Resisting, you brought your fingers to his arm, though you swore his grip became firmer the longer you stood your ground. Mark merely stared into your eyes as you began to gasp for air, holding onto breath for dear life.
The way he looked into them, it was almost as if he was searching for something. You supposed Mark wallowed in the look of vulnerability in your eyes, or the life leaving them, but it couldn’t have been as prominent as the bliss etched onto your face. “You’re enjoying this,” he remarked, showing even less mercy with his palms.
When you were on the verge of unconsciousness, you tapped Mark’s arm with your fingers. And only then did his grip loosen.
Mark shook his head when you began to laugh. “You’re fucking crazy.”
Chest heaving, you replied, “I’ve heard that one before. Try harder.”
“You’re a fucking minx,” Mark taunted, voice dropping another octave. “But you know that too - don’t you?”
A provocative smile crept across your face. “I swear I don’t do it on purpose, Markie.”
There was a whirlwind of thoughts rippling around your brain as Mark leaned dangerously close to you. Heat flared through your body in place of your typical cold blood. You seemed to internally debate yourself, but it wasn’t as if you ever had very much of a conscience.
“Do it, Mark. Do it,” you chanted. From the pensive expression he sported, you were confident that half the thoughts in his head were temptingly screaming the same thing.
Mark steered out of his tiny reverie and began, “That guy - Yuta. He’s not your boyfriend?”
You burst into laughter that was on the brink of hysterical. “You’re kidding,” you said. But when Mark showed you no sign of toying, instead stern, you added, “Please. I love Yuta and I’m forever indebted to him, but I’d rather choke on my own blood than date him.”
That was all Mark needed to hear. “Say less.”
In the time that it took for him to close the tiny gap between the two of you, the last of Mark’s reluctance met its end. His mouth crashed against yours in haste, and you moved in a heated sync, swallowing each other’s tongues.
The taste of him drowned out the rest of the world. You forgot that Mark was a predator and you were his prey. You forgot that you were supposed to hunt him down. Each of your limbs tensed tautly with want and your will for pleasure made light work of your senses. You were enthralled by how well of a kisser he was.
Someone you used to know once told you that sex was a tool, love was a poison; combining the two was a one-way ticket to death. All of which slipped your mind completely as you involuntarily began to rasp your hips against his.
Mark grunted so lowly that you were at the brink of succumbing to insanity right then and there.
It was like Mark existed solely to tease the living hell out of you. Being a thorn in your side was what he thrived on. He kept slithering his hand up your thigh, just shy of where you needed him, and you did not miss the smug little grin on his face when you groaned in complaint.
You pulled away from his lips and warned, “Don’t tease me.”
Predictably, Mark was not alarmed. Your threats were of little substance to him. “Dunno, doll. It’s kinda fun to watch you get all worked up.”
Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you grabbed Mark’s wrist and slipped it down your shorts. You made a tiny noise when his fingers brushed over your clothed cunt, then purred, “Feel that, baby? Could be all yours if you stopped playing games.”
And with that, Mark was sold.
The both of you ran suspiciously out of the bar. You willed yourselves not to touch each other in front of anyone’s prying eyes, but the way you rushed out said enough.
You decided on going to Mark’s place. There was nothing to hide at yours because you refused to bring work home with you, but your address was sensitive information. Sleeping with someone never prevented them from betraying you and nor did it invoke an unbendable bond to be broken in the first place.
But the moment you stepped inside Mark’s apartment, it was game over. You couldn’t stay away from one another, stumbling over his belongings as you made out while stripping along the way to his bedroom and leaving a trail of clothes in your wake.
You wondered exactly how long this desire had been pent up. Maybe you suppressed it out of priority for your jobs, but it had expanded into something unignorable now. The tiny sparks became a full-fledged forest fire.
Mark pushed your naked figure against his mattress and gave your now-naked body a once-over. “I never realized how many tattoos you have,” he rasped. 
There was also a huge scar on your stomach. He had caught glimpses of it during your fight, but the full sight made him curious. Alas, now wasn’t the time to ask questions. 
“Mm,” you hummed, stifling a giggle. “If you do a good enough job, I might tell you the stories behind them.”
“Then, I hope you’re ready to talk,” he said confidently.
You arched a brow. “You talk a big game, but aren’t showing me what you’re made of.”
Mark gripped your thighs apart and at the sight of your dripping cunt, he growled, “Just watch. You’re going to be a mess by the time I’m done with you.”
Before you could offer another retort, Mark pushed his head between your legs and began to have at it.
A little sigh eased past your throat when you felt his tongue lap at your folds. His mouth was warm against the flesh, heat spreading in waves throughout your body and core. You willed yourself to keep your reactions to a minimum, not wanting to give Mark the satisfaction of seeing you at your very worst.
Eyeing him from the bed, you basked in the sight of him devouring you like a five-star meal. Your arms were propped by his pillows very comfortably. You watched him swallow you whole, his veins becoming taut as his grip on your upper legs became ruthless and his wavy red hair tickled your plush thighs.
You were in heaven, needlessly to say. Mark sucked at you without a shred of mercy. No matter how much you liked a boy, you never tended to keep your expectations as high as your standards when it came to bedroom performance and going down on you, but Mark was full of surprises. True to his word, you were somewhat certain that at this rate, you would be a mess by the time that he was finished with you.
“Fuck,” you mewled when he started to lick and suck at your clit.
Mark smirked against your folds. He was going to be the death of you.
Each of your attempts to remain quiet were defiled by your more than loud moans, though you couldn’t bring yourself to be bothered. It was as if Mark knew exactly how to push your buttons (and which buttons to press).
Meanwhile, Mark’s mind was ablaze with thoughts of you. The sight of your body would be indefinitely etched behind his eyelids. Your intricate tattoos that told various tales across your perfect skin, and your plush thighs that tensed whenever he brushed your clit.
You could feel your pulse throbbing in your core. Your thighs trembled, your hips involuntarily moving against Mark’s mouth to derive as much pleasure as possible. It seemed desperate, but you were reduced to fire and bones in no time at all. All you knew how to do was ravage everything in your course to feed your flame. And Mark was hellbent on ravaging you.
You clutched Mark’s hair and cried out, “Mark.”
He seemed to rejoice in how utterly responsive  and reactive you’d become, unable to defy your body’s demanding urges. It was impossible. And your reactions only fed him, spurring him on to milk you completely dry.
You swore you felt nothing but sheer thrill. It was comparable to the high you received from racing. The way nothing else mattered, and all your focus was so centered on one particular thing that you couldn’t think of anything else. You were enticed by danger and entrusting Mark with power over your body was a great enough threat.
Mark was way too attracted to everything about you. Tasting you and watching you lose your grip of control on his tongue only amplified that allure with the addition of arousal. To hell with his job if it meant that he could spend one more moment with you in his mouth.
Maybe he was attracted to danger, too. You and danger tended to go hand in hand, but so did danger and his lifestyle. There was a reason why he wasn’t afraid of you.
“Just like that, baby. Oh my god,” you moaned, angling your head back. For the sake of your pride, you tried to desperately cling to whatever remained of your sanity, but Mark was resolved on unraveling you.
Your sounds became louder and Mark discerned that you were on the verge of release. If you hadn’t awakened his neighbors when you gave his door hell earlier, they were certainly now contemplating filing noise complaints.
Mark separated himself from you ever so briefly and growled, “Come on, doll. Do it for me.”
The little pet name never invoked much thought from you. You assumed he wanted compensation for the nickname you’d dropped on him, and thus let it slide. But in that moment, it made you weak - and you loathed pet names.
This was going to bring it home. Every nerve in your body was tense and uptight. Your fingers and toes tingled with the threat of release, heat spasming in your core and the palms of your hands.
You climaxed in a fit of unadulterated pleasure, tightening your grip on Mark’s red locks and convulsing by reflex. You practically curled in on yourself, every bit of you clenching emptily as fervor shot through your body. Mark didn’t grant you the mercy of letting you ease through your climax, unrelenting as he continued to suck and lick at your pussy ruthlessly.
Mark brought you to a second orgasm in half the amount of time it took to achieve the first one, and only then did he crawl away and let you breathe. You heaved shallow breaths, blinking through the rise and fall of your chest. Never had you felt anything so intensely. You were milked completely dry.
Mark didn’t comment, but his words were heavy through the signature glimmer in his eyes. And smile tugging the corners of his lips. “So, am I getting that bedtime story?”
You replied through heavy breaths, “Take your pick.”
He snickered.
Mark licked his lips and thus your arousal from his mouth. You shot up and straddled him, wasting little time in sucking at his neck. Mark shook his head. “Jesus, woman. Do you rest?”
Stifling a laugh, you purred, “I regenerate quickly.”
That didn’t surprise Mark in the slightest. He could have guessed. “Good to know.”
Pressing kisses to his neck, you began to rock against his hips, feeling his hard cock through the confines of his underwear. You anchored yourself on his shoulders and teased, “Shouldn’t we do something about this problem of yours?”
Mark angled his head back. “Fuck, yeah,” he groaned.
You pushed his chest down in a successful attempt to knock him backwards and his back met the mattress. But the kisses never ended, and you found it nearly impossible to tear yourself from his skin. Until you felt him involuntarily thrust against your hips, needy.
“Patience,” you sang. Granted, you didn’t have much of your own, either. The way he brought you to another world and back only moments ago had you desperate to recreate the feeling. 
You lifted your purse off of the nightstand not too out of reach from you and retrieved a condom. For good reason, you figured Mark wouldn’t have any.
Mark cocked a brow. “You keep those on you?”
Of course, you did. You preferred to be safe over sorry. Not to mention that your hookup who shall not be named tended to forget them. Deliberately. You subconsciously smirked. “Mind the business that pays you,” you murmured, dragging his underwear down his ankles. And fitting the condom over the head of his cock.
You and Mark let out a simultaneous noise of bliss as you rolled onto him. His hands found purchase at your hips while yours pressed featherly against his stomach. You took him inch by inch, leisurely making your way down as your cunt opted to easily swallow him whole.
Mark nearly lost his mind being engulfed by your heat. His fingertips dug almost painfully into your waist for mental anchor, supporting himself with all his might. For goodness sake, you were so tight. It didn’t help that you still leaked with arousal from your previous two orgasms, even more sensitive from them. The moment you were snug around his cock, he felt you clench.
“Mm, Mark,” you moaned, rocking against him at your own pace. You took the lead, following your own rhythm and Mark didn’t have it in him to stop you. Hell, not that he wanted to.
This was, for lack of a better word, a very bad idea. But neither of you seemed to care. It felt forbidden - doing as much as even thinking about each other so lecherously, but that was half the fun. Neither of you could restrain the lascivious thoughts that ran rampant through your minds when you caught a glimpse of your naked bodies or heard a lewd noise.
The other half, of course, was the actual fucking.
And when Mark heard you call out his name, it took all his willpower to not finish himself right then and there. Not Markie - Mark. He steered dangerously close to release at the mere sound of your honey-like voice.
Mark found it in himself to tease, “Enjoying yourself up there?”
“Like a queen on her throne,” you retorted.
He certainly made you feel like royalty, that was for sure. You felt worshiped by his tongue. Now, you were at reign over his body. And all Mark could do was lie there and behold you as if you were a royal immortal deity.
There was a moment that passed where he considered throwing it all away for you without a second thought. You were a lethal weapon of temptation; that Mark knew, yet he was disposed to capitulate to you. As if you’d lulled him into a fatal trance with the very grace of your body alone.
Though your every move was unpredictable, Mark didn’t know what to expect when you leaned closely to his neck. But it certainly wasn’t for you to bite at the skin. He let out an embarrassing whine at the feeling of your teeth leaving marks and tiny remnants of you on his throat.
You arched a brow. Then, teased, “Whine for me again, Mark.”
“Shut up,” he grumbled.
Your lips brushed ever so gently against his and you tauntingly whispered, “Make. Me.”
As aforementioned, Mark was comprised of surprises. His hands rose from your waist to your bouncing tits and he thrusted up, achieving a whimper of surprise from you.
He smirked at the way your face tensed with pleasure and your fingers grasped his biceps for dear life. “Holy fuck,” you cried, clinging to him as if you’d sink into the pits of the earth otherwise. He kept fucking you from below, watching you intently as he admired his handiwork with complacency.
He sneered, “Whine for me again, doll.”
“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed.
Mark snickered. Now where had he heard that before?
The softest of moans parted your lips as Mark fondled with your breast and his hands eventually rose, fingers clawing around your throat. He missed seeing that look in your eyes. The one of air depleting itself from your lungs and the blood circulation ceasing to flow and the pleasure sparkling a tiny gleam.
You satisfied his urges, face blanching the longer he held his grip. And the tighter. Mark very much could have done as he pleased with you, but you knew he’d never let this go too far. Just enough to have you at the verge of blacking out.
Although you were remotely dizzy when he released you from his clutch, you liked it. You never quite noticed it before, but there was a fiery gleam in Mark’s eyes when he choked you. Something sinister. There was an animal in him that had gone dormant for far too long and you’d finally aroused the beast.
And you were the only one to date that had seen it and didn’t flee.
The two of you were dangerously close to climax. With how close in proximity your bodies were - combined by every thrust and grind - there was no way on earth either of you couldn’t tell. You began to rasp your hips against his cock in a vigorously synchronized motion, desperate for the heat of the friction that made you tingle. Piece by piece, you were breaking into rupture.
Mark was no better. Just looking at you had him dangling over the edge. Dangerously. It would only take one little slip before he fell depthlessly into a pit of you that seemingly had no top and no bottom. Just you, only you.
“Let go for me, doll,” Mark ordered softly, trying to coax you into an orgasm. “You’ve been doing so good for me.”
His mouth and hands knew no boundaries when it came to your body. They roamed you, his tongue slithering around your nipple and his hands roughly finding purchase on your ass. You were also very sensitive in areas where your tattoos lived, he learned, and used that knowledge to his advantage. Mark was single-handedly going to destroy you.
“Let go,” he sang again, gentle and tempting.
You began to tighten around him involuntarily. It was coming. “I’m…”
Mark held you firmly. “Cum for me, baby. I’ve got you.”
You saw stars when you came for the third time, orgasm hitting you in full force. It was nothing short of intense. You clamped around Mark, walls tight around him as well as your grip on his biceps. Your thighs shuddered with climax, and a shrill cry erupted from your lips. 
Mark grunted, “Fuck.” The feeling of you pulsing around him undoubtedly sent him down a similar fate. His hands fell to your hips and held them to the point of bruising.
After you rode out the rest of your high, you slacked. You lied against his warm chest, feeling him breathe rapidly as you desperately clung to your own breath.
“Do you feel okay?”
“I feel great,” you heaved. “Do you wanna stop?”
Mark faintly smiled at how much endurance you had. “Nope.”
You rode Mark until sunrise.
When both of you roused again, the clock had already ticked past noon. You made room for another, much lazier round, and settled for brunch instead of breakfast.
Then you split and went your own separate ways. You waltzed straight into Bloodlust’s headquarters. Given you were channeling all of your focus into this Mark mission, your schedule was indefinitely clear of all else. Which left you with leeway to choose someone to vex.
You stepped into Yuta’s office without knocking, yet before you could get a word out, he barked, “Did you come here to tell me that you’re sleeping with the enemy?”
Blinking, you resisted a frown. And said nonchalantly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Lying to a high-rank. Wrong move. And also impossible to get away with.
Yuta shook his head, scowling. “Jisung said that he saw you both running out of The Lion’s Den. Disorderly. And something told him it wasn’t because of a fight.”
Park Jisung, when I get my hands on you, you bristled inwardly. You never did get along with that boy. On more than one occasion, you had to be separated so that you wouldn’t kill each other.
You rolled your eyes and sat across from your boss. With light humor, you replied, “Please. If anything, I have Mark right where I want him.”
“Don’t walk into a trap,” Yuta warned.
Traps were laid by people like you, not the opposite. You were many things and stupid was not one of them. Just another casualty, you told yourself. That’s all Mark was. You refused to allow him to become anything more. “If you’re done, I have something. Mark thought that I was your girlfriend - what if that’s the connection? He’s using me to get to you.”
“That’s possible,” Yuta sobered. “But he would have to know that you wouldn’t snitch on your lover. I’d kill both you and him with my bare hands.”
“Terrifying,” you deadpanned. “Has Ten or Jaemin been able to get in?”
Yuta gave a shake of his head and drawled, “Nope. They’ve got that unit on lock. Apparently drugs are super sensitive information.”
Blowing out a breath, you turned pensive. They were hiding something, obviously. You were half-tempted to march up to Mark and demand he tell you everything he knew, but it was too risky of a move. Though it wasn’t like he had gotten many leads through you, and there had to be something keeping him joined at your hip.
But what?
At first, you considered that maybe you’d given away more than you realized, yet nothing you told him was incriminating enough to arrest anyone with a drug trafficking charge. Hell, if that was the case, Jisung would have led you all to demise already.
“I can hear your gears turning. Stop thinking,” Yuta quipped, steering you out of your reverie. He could never stay mad at you - or serious - for very long. “Listen, babe. Just keep him at bay. If we make no progress, we’ll bring out the extremes. Everything will be perfectly fine.”
You nodded. “Perfectly fine,” you repeated.
Everything was not perfectly fline.
During the past couple of weeks, things had taken a sharp turn between you and Mark. You intended to leave him for dead after that first hookup, yet the more time you spent together, the more each of you burned with lust.
And so it happened again. And again. And you lost track of how many times you’d slipped away to fuck Mark and suck on his tongue.
Of course, the quality of the sex never declined. You were both pleased and enraged at the fact that Mark had range. Every time you both hooked up, the only thing that stayed consistent was the want that shot through your core. For fuck’s sake, he just had to be a man of variety.
In a nutshell, you were completely fucked.
There was an event at the gang’s casino and you snagged Mark as your date. As if anyone else would risk it. You were the only one crazy enough to personally involve yourself with a cop.
Which, you tried to erase from your memory. There would come a day where he’d try to send you away in cuffs. And you’d have to kill him before he got the chance.
You shivered at the thought.
“You clean up nice,” you commented when you came to pick him up.
Mark was dressed very pleasantly. The red hair was a stark contrast to the fancy black suit and trousers he sported, though given the semi formal occasion, he abandoned the frivolous style and opted for a neater hairdo. You were approximately three seconds away from forgetting about the goddamn casino altogether.
Similarly, you wore a red gown that flowed down your legs, hair styled elegantly and your face beat. Casinos were very much not your scene, and underneath the dress you kept an armed and poised gun resting ungrudgingly inside of the leather holster at your thigh.
“Thank you, m’lady. You’re very beautiful,” Mark replied, taking hold of your fingers and kissing the back of your hand gently.
You grinned. Then began to snicker when you noticed your heels gave you a couple more inches of height on him.
Mark cocked a brow. “What’cha laughing at?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Obviously, Mark didn’t believe you in the slightest. Though he said nothing, instead leading you to the elevator. “I’m driving,” he told you, leaving absolutely no room for argument.
You furrowed your brows when you saw your keys in his palm. “When the hell did you get those?”
Mark grinned smugly and jiggled the keys. “You should pay more attention.”
You were absolutely affronted. There was no way in hell Mark Lee had caught you off-guard. You folded your arms across your chest and Mark snickered, then pressed a little kiss to your neck to placate you.
As you slipped out of the elevator and into the lobby, you quipped, “Make sure to drive the speed limit and not the speedometer limit.”
Mark opened the door for you, yet retaliated, “You’d know a lot about driving over the speed limit, wouldn’t you?”
“Shush,” you mumbled, fighting a smile.
“I believe the correct answer is ‘Thank you, gentleman.’”
You hardly leaned off of your heels when you swayed towards Mark, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips and purring, “Thank you, gentleman.”
Mark clamped his arm around your waist and said, “Much better.”
There was a grand casino connected to the hotel that the gang owned. They never invested in anything unprofitable. The building was sky-scraping and vivid in the dimming indigo night, its gold exterior oriented to attract the attention of men and women of means. Courtesy of the supplementing hotel, it had valet parking.
As expected, the sight was nothing short of breathtaking. A large glimmering chandelier hung at the front entrance. There were even tinier ones the further you voyaged across the long red carpet, hanging on the sunken ceiling. You were surrounded by tall pillars and arrays of staircases and even the air felt different inside the casino. It was more or less a very marvelous labyrinth of money.
Mark whistled. “Snazzy. You know what this reminds me of?”
“What?”
“Vegas, baby. Vegas!”
You narrowed your eyes. You didn’t want to know what his Letterboxd account looked like. Or introduce him to one, for that matter. Leaning into his chest, you asked, “Ever been?”
“Once. It’s very beautiful.” Just like you, he was tempted to add, but he didn’t want to come off cheesy. “I should take you there one day.”
Mark was a little too good at toying with your heart for your liking. Both of you knew very well that a future with you together did not exist.
And yet your mind blinked with images of you and Mark in Las Vegas. Him showing you around the sin city. Wandering the streets in each other’s arms, laughing and marveling at its beauty with heartfelt awe. You saw his dumb face and his stupid smile and knew that you were over. 
After a bit of walking, the two of you finally found yourselves amongst the rest of the gang. The occasion was nothing special; for the most part, they were discussing deals with other groups and further things you didn’t get paid enough to be concerned about. You saw Qian Kun and knew to make a run for it. He saw everything from a business perspective, which was great for the gang - and your paycheck - but agonizingly boring.
And then, you ran into Park Jisung and instantly knew that you should have stayed home.
Sternly, you greeted, “Jisung.”
“You,” Jisung icily greeted, less than pleased to see you.
“I have a name, you know,” you reminded with a scowl.
Jisung didn’t hesitate and shot, “And I’d rather not stain my tongue by saying it.”
“You son of a…”
Mark growled in your ear, “Behave.”
Jisung raised his brow when you switched on a dime and rather quickly composed yourself. Where was this guy when he was having a heated quarrel with you for the umpteenth time? Shutting you up on command? He doubted even Yuta had that kind of power over you.
Worst of all, he didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.
“I have to speak with her,” Jisung said, refusing to say your name. Then added, “Alone.”
Mark angled towards you. “Will you be okay?”
Absolutely not. The last time you had a one on one conversation with Jisung, one of you nearly died. It was certainly not a great idea to leave you alone together.
But something told you to nod.
Mark, skeptical, pressed, “You’re going to be good, right?”
“Very classy,” you retorted, despite wanting to be literally anywhere else. You hoped whatever Jisung had to say was of significant value. For him to willingly speak to you, it had to be life-threatening. “I’m going to have a civil conversation with my peer like the two adults that we are.”
“Okay,” Mark replied with scrunched brows, still hesitant. “I’ll be over there with Jeno.”
Throwing both you and your less than lovely coworker another glance, Mark parted and left you to fend for yourself.
As soon as Mark was a safe distance away, Jisung immediately said, “I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”
Your face immediately puzzled. “What makes you think I trust him?”
Jisung laughed in your face. “Are you for real? For one, you’re fucking. Don’t deny it because I saw you running out of The Lion’s Den, and I know what people who eagerly want to fuck each other look like. I see the way you look at him.”
“Are you worried about me, Jisung?” you quipped. You refused to pay any heed to what he was insinuating. Let alone accept it.
Jisung scoffed, “No. I’m worried about you jeopardizing the future of this gang.”
“That’s rich,” you said, crossing your arms. And trying to identify the cleanest way to insult him. “It wouldn’t be a singlehanded error. You’re literally incriminating us by having him under the drug branch in the first place. You guys let two cops in and didn’t even notice. The only words I should be hearing from you are ‘thank you.’”
“Stop. You’re deflecting, as usual,” he sighed. “Just like the brat mouth you are.”
Instead of giving him a seething response, you gritted your teeth. And bit your tongue. Literally. At some point, you decided he was no longer worth your wasted breath.
Which Jisung noticed and added, “See? I can tell he has a heavy grip on you. This is the first time you’ve ever held your tongue talking to me.”
You had an argument ready to fire, but stopped dead in your tracks when you realized that he was right. Why hadn’t you told Jisung off in vulgar terms yet?
No. It didn’t mean a thing. There was absolutely nothing to it other than you coming to your senses and realizing that bickering with Jisung was - and always had been - utterly pointless. He was obstinate and even after hours of debate, you wouldn’t be anywhere much further than where you started.
Never had you answered to anyone. In spite of working for other people, they knew that you marched to beat of your own drum. There were some traits of yours that were nonnegotiable and they’d either have to accept it or cut you loose.
Ever since you were an infant, you’d carried a reputation. Hell, maybe even before then. You had been called many things in such a short lifetime and an untamable lost cause was likely the least hurtful of them all. Nobody ever believed that anyone as wild as you could be salvaged from the destruction you’d inflicted upon yourself. And hence you began to believe it yourself.
This was the only life that you’d known. It was one where you had no option but to fend for yourself and isolate yourself from the world out of self-preservation. How the hell were you supposed to know how to react to someone sneaking their way inside and making you see life through a different lense?
You had seen so much in your years that you falsely believed that you were numb to fear. But you had never been so scared of something before; change.
You forced yourself to say, “Have a good night, Jisung.” And made a beeline for Mark. The walls of the enormous building were suddenly beginning to close in on you and you felt as if there was no air in a room full of space.
“I need a breather,” you said to Mark, interrupting his conversation.
Mark gave Jeno a glance, then took your fingers in his and asked, “Where to?”
“The rooftop,” you replied lightly, feeling drained and you’d only just got here.
The two of you stopped by the bar and downed a glass of hard liquor before you made your way to the rooftop. There was an elevator with calming music that brought you to the very top of the building.
You decided that you preferred the rooftop as soon as you stepped onto the terrace. It was lit by purple neon lights and void of people, and the air felt fresh and inhalable. Like a breath of fresh air. There were sofas with tiny tables crammed in between scattered about the floor and even further were glass railings that overlooked the entire shining city.
Even at night, the city was never dead, busy with bustling roads and brightly lit structures. You were certain that that was when it came to life.
Mark embraced you in a back hug and you swore time slowed down. But did your heart always beat this fast when he touched you?
“Talk to me,” Mark exhaled, breathing tickling the back of your neck.
You let his touch warm you. It was a great contrast against the chill breeze that swept over the roof at this elevation. “About what?”
“Anything. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
I like you, you said to yourself. And I’m scared because I don’t know what to do.
You shook your head. “How about I kiss you instead?”
“You could have just said that you want to kiss me,” Mark murmured.
Lightheartedly, you admitted, “I want to kiss you so bad, Mark Lee.”
Mark laughed and whirled you around, pinning you against the nearby wall and meeting his lips to yours. It all happened so fast - just like everything else between you two. Everything lasted both for a second and in perpetuity. 
He kissed you until you were stripped bare and empty of every last thought. It felt like magic. How he gained the remedy to instantly put you at ease was a mystery, but you didn’t wonder. You just kept sipping from his poison and inhaling the toxins. There was no hope for you anymore. Mark was withering you away and you were simply letting him.
This was wrong on so many levels and yet you never let that stop you. There were no boundaries.  You both took what you wanted and you took what you needed without giving any fucks about who didn’t like it. Desperately did you want to believe that nothing would come between you two.
You bit Mark’s lip and he groaned, nails digging into your waist. Which then prompted a tiny noise to part from your own lips. You were a parallel set of actions. It was strange; you didn’t fight for superiority, you fought to be even and equal.
There was something different in the kiss after you bit Mark. As if he’d been injected with an animalistic venom. The tempo increased and you fought to keep up with his every move, moaning into his lips as his tongue let loose inside of your mouth. His grip got even tighter, as if he was holding you to keep you to himself and himself only. There was no where else that you would run. As ironic as it was, you felt safest in Mark’s arms. He was the haven you never had.
Then, you heard a noise. You discerned that Mark heard it too, because he pulled away instantly and caged you behind him defensively. And your heart warmed at the gesture, though you needed no savior.
You sighed and pulled your gun from your holster, calling out, “You’ve got until the count of five to come out because if I have to find you my goddamn self, I’ll blow your brains. One. Two. Three…,”
At the third count, Jeno emerged from behind one of the chairs, gun drawn.
You began to snicker and waved him off. “Oh, put that damn thing down. Hit the road, Jack. And don’t let me catch you again.”
Jeno begrudgingly made a move for the door, not failing to cast you an ugly glare before his glance shifted to Mark, who started at his partner bemusedly. He left without a word.
You glanced up at Mark. “Why was your friend spying on us?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Mark said, tone full of genuine perplexity.
You furrowed your brows. If Jeno was spying on you and Mark without either of your knowledge, what did that mean?
Maybe he didn’t know what was happening between you and Mark.
With a shake of your head, you grabbed Mark’s hand and led him to the glass railing. And he followed you like a moth to light. You propped your arms against the cool glass and called out, “Mark.”
“Hm?” came Mark’s response from right beside you.
You reluctantly tasted the words on your tongue before you asked, “What was your childhood like?”
“I was born under a bridge,” Mark deadpanned. To  which you snorted and nudged his side. “But nah. I didn’t have much growing up. My mom got hooked on drugs real bad and she couldn’t take care of me and my brothers, so we moved in with our aunt. She did the best she could to make ends meet, but you know how that shit works. Whole time, my cousin was on the streets. Made a gang. I followed in his footsteps close enough.”
“What happened for you to wind up here?” you asked, listening with interest.
Mark’s face was impassive. “He’d kill me if he saw me right now.”
As vague as that answer was, you understood perfectly.
There was irony in his story. He was a gang member, then became a cop? Though you were aware that he could have legally lied to you as much as he so pleased, you believed that he was sincere. You learned by now that Mark’s eyes said more than his words ever could.
“What about you?” Mark asked. He wasn’t looking at you, eyes trained to the big city before him, but you knew his ears were ready. “How’d you get here?”
“Fasten your seatbelt,” you joked. Mark had already heard bits and pieces of your life via the stories of some of your tattoos, but this was full screen. “I think I’ve been a demon from hell before I even walked the earth. According to what I’ve heard, my family was against my mother having me. There was a huge stigma that came with having a baby at a young age and without a present father figure. She died during the delivery.”
“I’m sorry,” Mark said sullenly.
You shook your head and continued, “Water under the bridge. It doesn’t get better. I’ve been called a killer since the day I was born. It only made sense that I became one. They said that’s all I was, so I ran and turned to the streets and found a new home. I was in and out of gangs and had several sketchy jobs.”
Mark bobbed his head, listening intently.
“There was one gang I thought I would last in. The one I was in before I joined Bloodlust. I even dated one of the members, but he got violent on me one day. I killed him out of self defense. And I got scared, because I knew I couldn’t come back to the gang after that. The leader would kill me.”
“Is that when you joined Bloodlust?”
You bobbed your head. “Remember when I told you that I’m forever indebted to Yuta? That’s because he saved my life. Took me under his wing and gave me another job and somewhere safe to stay. That’s why we’re so close.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mark said, taking it all in. “You’ve been through hell and back.”
“You’re telling me,” you groaned.
Peace was not a word of any value to you. You’d never known what it felt like. The only thing you knew was survival. It was kill or be killed; hunt or be hunted. Life, in your definition, was a series of bad options and choosing the one that was the least loathsome.
After all, you did what you could to live another day. It was never easy, but you learned everything you knew about survival through those everyday choices. You fought for your life every goddamn day and knew nothing different.
It was a battle of strength that required all of your willpower to not succumb.
You blinked when Mark pulled you into a hug. He enjoyed talking to you. Life as either of you’d known it was a bitch, but getting to know you and all you’d been through brought you closer. And all he wanted to do was hold you underneath the moonlight and ease the pain of your scars.
For the most part, the inner circle knew your history, though not from an emotional perspective. The only people you’d ever given an emotional account to were Yuta and now Mark. Yuta was firm on assuring you that yesterday would no longer matter if you worked for him, but Mark made you feel less alone.
Mark was clawing you out of your armor and defenses. You were stripped bare and vulnerable. There was still so much left unseen and for you to explore in this life.
The two of you chatted the night away below the depthlessly starry sky and above the bustling city. You talked about everything under the sun and moon while being sure to share a kiss or two in between. It made you realize that in such a large world, you and Mark were simply two people with a story to share.
But as the time ticked away, the kisses became more frequent and more passionate. You became less interested in the casino and more enamored with Mark. Somewhere along the line your self-restraint snapped into two, and you found yourselves calling it a night and reserving a room at the hotel.
It wasn’t any less lavish than the casino. Especially not the suite you booked. There was a hot tub in the room and a balcony extended out the side with yet another picturesque view of the city.
Plus, it was a one-bedroom with a single bed.
Mark sat at the edge of the mattress and you wasted no time in straddling his lap and meeting your lips to his. It felt like an adventure. The wild and reckless and lethal type.
You could savor him on you even after. And it was the burning longing to taste Mark again that ultimately brought you three steps forwards and two steps back.
Mark pulled away, guilt-ridden, and reminded, “I’m a cop.”
He didn’t know how he expected you to respond, but you didn’t flinch. Like you already knew and you couldn’t care less. You offhandedly replied, “I know,” and endeavored to kiss him again.
Mark held you in place. His expression turned stern and you blew out an exasperated sigh. You were lightyears away from being ready to have this conversation. “So, you’re sleeping with the enemy.”
“I know. But so are you.”
“I know,” Mark said. Lord, did he know.
“Then,” you began, moving for his neck instead and uttering your words in between tiny pecks and nibbles. “We have nothing to talk about.”
Mark angled your bodies and pinned you down - as if that would stop you - and countered, “We have a lot to talk about.”
Frustrated, you incredulously groaned, “You want to talk about how I’m gonna have to put a round of bullets in your brain in the near future while I’m trying to fuck you?”
Mark scoffed, “You mean, I’m gonna have to hand you in cuffs to the police.”
“I’d like to see you try,” you taunted. It would have been in your best interest to be very careful about what you wished for, though you knew Mark would never. You refused to believe that.
Mark shook his head, laughing. As if he’d read your mind and wholeheartedly agreed that the thought was absurd. “You know I’m crazy about you, right?”
“Prove it.”
Mark leaned down to kiss you for a half of a second, then whispered in your ear, “I will.”
Then, he switched on a dime, and all of the heat and passion of his desire overcame him again.
You were fucking with a Leo; you should have known that you were in for the most wild ride of your life.
Void of patience, Mark clawed at your clothes roughly. You had the whole night, but he stripped you away as if you had only minutes to spare. The whole time, your lips locked in an impassioned kiss as you tried intensely to keep up with the other’s rhythm.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Mark growled. He spoke his mind. It was the first thing he thought every time he laid eyes on you.
The tone of his voice had you seeping with arousal, and to hide your desperation, you flirted, “Fuck me then, handsome.”
Mark grunted. He couldn’t wait anymore. “Do you have a condom?”
“Yes, but I have an IUD,” you added, hoping he’d catch your drift.
Mark blinked in realization. “Fuck. You want me to…”
“Yes,” you groaned, growing more impatient by the minute. “You’re clean, right?”
“Squeaky.”
“Then, hurry up.”
So much for not seeming desperate.
Mark shed his remaining layers of clothing and you licked your lips at the sight of his cock standing at full height against his stomach. Making out with you always got him hard like nothing else on this planet.
You eyed his movements with anticipation. Your body was burning for him to fill the void that he’d created. Like you weren’t complete until he was buried deeply inside you.
Your heart sped as he neared your hole. Mark was nothing if not a tease. He damped himself in your arousal and only pushed in when he heard you whimper, smiling smugly to himself. The first thrust was agonizingly slow. Mark took his sweet time to fit his cock into you, watching your face twist and your breath slow as you took him inch by inch.
There was something about the first thrust that was inexplicably magical to you. Being filled to the hilt with thick heat for the very first time. You held your breath every time.
Then, Mark pulled back out altogether and on cue, you let out an immediate noise of displeasure. “Mark…”
The man in question was firm on reducing you to ash and bones. “Beg,” he growled, leaning low into your ear.
You laughed. As if to tell him he sounded insane. “I don’t beg.”
Mark didn’t blink when he told you, “You do today.” His face was void of all humor and he glanced at you expectantly. He dragged his length on top of your pussy, steering just shy of where you needed him. And it was very intentional.
God, did you try to resist, but Mark had grown familiar with your weaknesses in such a short span of time. Every bone in your body ached for him to fill you. To make you complete once more. It begged to be unabridged and tell him your body’s every secret story. And your pride was a fair compensation.
You stifled a groan and said faintly, “Please.”
“C’mon, doll. You can do better than that,” Mark chided playfully, evidently dissatisfied.
You exhaled a sigh and inhaled your pride. “Please, fuck me, Mark. I can’t wait anymore. I need you.”
Mark teased, “Now, was that so hard?” And before you could provide any commentary, he was burying himself inside you yet again.
It wasn’t very long before you were content again. You let out a sigh of relief when Mark filled you once more, and another when he thrusted out and pushed back inside. His rough hands gripped your hips and he watched the way your cunt swallowed him whole, as if you simply couldn’t get enough of him.
Fuck, you felt like heaven. The way you clamped around him - warm and wet and tight - always set off something animalistic inside of him, but bareback? There was no way in hell he would last.
Mark was only slow to tease you. The moment he exhausted his self-control, he set an uptempo pace. He eyed you like a preying hawk, thinking about how beautiful you were. It was an unshakable thought; you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Eagerly taking his cock like you were made for it or not.
Everything felt so natural with Mark. Nothing was learned nor taught, it was simply second nature for your body to respond to him with ardency and abidance. It came naturally.
“You feel so good,” Mark groaned, giving your thigh a little slap as if to punish you for bringing him to ecstasy. And smirking a little when you let out a tiny cry. “Why do you feel so good?”
You playfully retorted, “‘Cause I’m a goddess.”
Mark nodded. “I believe you.” He brought one of his hands from your hips and ventured your perfect body. Perfect in his eyes. Every spot and curve and scar. And the bruises he’d left, of course. “My Aphrodite.”
You lifted your head a little to clench your teeth into his neck and Mark leaned into you, biting at your shoulder to smother his sounds. Which made you giggle. It always amused you that he was so sensitive to your every touch.
Gosh, you were so goddamn close; skin on skin. Fire wafted over your body, fueled by the flames of his sweltering skin. Sweat beaded at your skin and heat shot through every muscle of your body. The way Mark was pounding into you mercilessly only made you scorch even more. It was impossible to breathe and you loved it. There was no greater feeling than being suffocated by pleasure and arousal.
You locked eyes with Mark and swore you couldn’t feel your pulse. Missionary wasn’t something you did with Mark very often, but you loved to watch his face tense with pleasure. And making prolonged eye contact caused your heart to swell with something unfamiliar. Something vicious and strong that made your entire body ignite with warmth.
The sex was rough and fast, yet intimate. Mark was just the right amount of all three.
Mark loosely gripped your throat and growled, “Tell me you love it.”
You bowed your body into him, moaning, “I love it so much.” 
That was the right answer. Mark continued to love you all over. His body never neglected any part of yours, showering you with warmth and pleasure. Like he had nothing but depthless appreciation for you.
The longer Mark fucked you, the less you could think of anything other than him. You forgot about the huge city right outside the balcony. Everyone and everything else melted away and it was only you and Mark chasing the satisfaction of each other’s bodies and love. 
Love. You were beginning to accept it. There was nowhere to run and no escape; not when Mark was overwhelming you with heated fervor and passion. He was suffocating you with that forbidden four-letter word.
You were beginning to fall in love with Mark.
If love was a poison, you were sipping to your demise and savoring the taste on your tongue. If combining sex with love was a one-way ticket to death, you’d die in Mark’s arms. There was no place else you’d rather be.
“All mine,” Mark growled, pressing kisses down your collarbone and breast to your stomach. All you could feel were tingles that refused to vacate you. They’d found a new home.
Softly, you replied, “All yours.”
There was no arguing with that. The way your body responded to his touch, it was as if you were carefully crafted for Mark and Mark only. Which, the way he fit perfectly inside of you was a testament to.
Mark made you feel rupture and rapture. They were practically indistinguishable. He broke you into a billion tiny pieces that were held together by unfaltering desire.
Just listening to the mess that you’d both created set you ablaze. The wet, resounding clap of Mark slamming his hips into yours as well as your moans and heavy breaths filled the empty air. Your eyes rolled back at the lewd noises. “Mark, Mark,” you cried out his name, sensing you were only moments away from the edge.
Mark knew that you were close without asking and he was trailing right behind you by nearly nothing at all. His pace was vigorous, positively trying to fuck your brains out.
You only got closer and closer. His thrusts felt sharper and the pressure continued to build in your gut at a rate quicker than you could handle and far beyond your control. Any moment now, you would be at your breaking point.
“Don’t pull out,” you demanded, knowing he wasn’t far behind you. It was written all over his face.
Mark grunted at the mere thought of coming inside of you. Needless to say, he had dreamed of letting his release flood you. “Want me to fill you up?”
“Yes,” you moaned, craving him more than anything ever. “Please.”
Mark clamped his fingers around your throat, knowing it would bring you to finish quicker than anything else. “Let go for me, baby,” he said lustfully.
Just like that, you were convulsing with climax. As if he single-handedly controlled every muscle and nerve in your body. The room reeled as you came, voice as loud as it could be with his hand denying you the privilege of breath. Your nails dug harshly into the flesh of his back as your whole body shuddered uncontrollably with release.
You and Mark stared each other in the eyes as you both came. You watched his lips split in a grunt and his orgasm knocked the wind out of him, flaring down his spine. His fingers dug tighter around your throat and his cum filled you all at once. “Take it all,” he ordered, body coming to a halt. “Every last drop.”
Your body obeyed, still eagerly clinging around his cock. It was like you wanted to bleed each other dry. Him of all of his cum and you of your willpower.
Then, you slowly yet steadily both came to a stop. Mark took his precious time to pull out of you, but watched his seed trickle out of your sweet cunt with adoration. His grip around your neck slackened, and you both settled down to finally breathe for what felt like the first time ever.
It wasn’t like you to be so exhausted after a single round, but that night, you were completely spent. You cleaned up a little, then drifted into sleep within the comfort of Mark’s embrace.
Mark held your sleeping figure closely, taking all of your warmth and replacing it with his. I love you, he thought gently. And I’m sorry.
You fell asleep in Mark’s arms, and after a long night of dreaming about him in your sleep, woke up in them, too. And you had the biggest smile on your face when you realized that some time between when you fell asleep and when you woke up, Mark had removed your makeup.
You were beginning to love Mark so much that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.
Last night was mind-blowing. And not only that, it gave you an epiphany. You wanted Mark in your life. You wanted to wake up in his arms and feel his body on yours. You wanted to kiss him while cuddling beneath the moonlight. You wanted to take over the world with him.
But by doing so, you would have broken one of Bloodlust’s most important rules; disobeying direct orders. The cost? Your life.
All of the warmth of loving Mark you felt for him only moments ago suddenly dissipated into cold unadulterated fear.
You stared at his sleeping face and felt a tear slide down your face. I’m sorry.
Mark’s eyes fluttered open. He wiped your tears with his thumb and asked in his gruff morning voice, “Why are you crying?”
You smiled and shook your head. “It’s nothing,” you lied.
Though in reality, you were so overwhelmed. And borderline terrified. The last time you loved someone, they tried to violate you. Not to mention you knew the inner circle would never approve of your relationship with Mark.
If you didn’t kill him, then they would. And then you’d be next.
“Don’t lie to me,” Mark said. He could see that this whole predicament was doing a large number on you. Even the strongest soldiers had their weak points.
You sighed faintly. Then said, “I’ll tell you later.”
Mark’s hand found yours and squeezed it tightly. “Promise?”
“I promise.” You glanced at his neck, and failed to hide your grin of pride as you saw the pattern of marks you’d left there. Little traces of you flooded his whole body. As traces of him did yours. “Mm, did I do that?”
He shifted his glance down and snickered. “You did.”
You hummed. “I didn’t mean to go that far.”
“For some reason, I don’t believe you.”
You gasped in faux offense. Then, broke into a fit of giggles. The sight tugged at Mark’s heartstrings and the corners of his lips.
That smile was what made your heart beat. You brought your lips to Mark’s in a peck. Or three. Insatiably craving more, Mark held your face and kissed you even longer and harder.
One thing led to another. One second your lips were to his and the next he was lazily fucking you into pieces, moans echoing inside the room in between kisses and giggles.
You were so far gone that there was no redemption.
The weeks flew by at the speed of lightning and in no time at all, you were months deep into Mark. He gave you everything that the narcotics unit had on you thus far, and you were pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t much at all. They had most of the inner circle identified save for Jaemin (not surprisingly), but the relationships were either vague, inaccurate or a combination thereof.
The only reason Jaemin and Ten hadn’t cracked their unit open yet was because of the tight lock they had on all gang-related cases. And they kept their information on physical files. Granted, it was very scarce.
Begrudgingly, of course, you had to give Jisung credit there. Neither Mark or Jeno had caught a glimpse of those imported drugs before in their lives.
Given that you made no attempts to hide your affection, it was broadly known that there was a bond between both you and Mark. You played it off as baiting him; luring him into your trap in order to milk him for everything he knew. Your emotions were kept under wraps when he was the topic of discussion and you fought smiles whenever you heard someone say Mark’s name. They fell hook, line, and sinker.
“They had a hunch that you were Yuta’s girlfriend,” Mark had told you. Now that he was confidently aware that it wasn’t the case, he found it laughable. “I was supposed to use you to move in proximity with the inner circle. The best way to take down any organization is to remove the heart, but obviously I never got far.”
Apparently, their source of rationale were photographs of you and Yuta together discreetly taken. It was a lie you fed into, providing Mark fake intel to feed his dangerously nosy co-workers. As always, the less law enforcement knew, the better.
Your shoulders shook with laughter. “You used to be such a pain in the ass, y’know? I can’t believe you bugged me.”
Mark furrowed his brows. “Huh?”
“Didn’t you put a bug in my pocket?” you asked, arching your brows. “After the race. You know, when you hugged me?”
“My hands were on your back,” Mark reminded, confused. As were you. “That was probably Jeno. But he hasn’t mentioned anything to me about it. I never bugged you, baby - I genuinely just wanted a hug.”
You barked, “The hell is his problem with me? I mean, for an undercover cop he’s obvious as hell. Why send somebody with no prior experience to the danger zone?”
Mark shrugged. He had very little say on the matter. Not that he fought it, either. “They decided that he was ‘the second-most equipped.’ Verbatim.”
“I can’t imagine why. That night on the rooftop,” you trailed off, shaking your head. “I don’t think he trusts you.”
Mark laughed. That was to put it simply. “Yeah, me neither. I told him I was fooling around with you to gain your trust - and at first, I was. But not anymore.”
That went without saying. But you still retorted, “If you’re fucking with me, Mark, I’ll kill you.”
Mark snorted. “I’m sure.”
He wasn’t afraid of you. Like you were a puppy posing as a wolf waving your paws at him with puppy eyes. Mark, threatened by you? As if. You were his fucking baby.
Long nights of feeding Bloodlust intel on the narcotics unit, then coming home to Mark passed by. You’d eventually given him your address and permitted him to go inside. He quite liked your home. It looked and smelled like you. He never knew what to imagine when it came to the interior of your house, but upon seeing, it made perfect sense.
Pictures of you and your friends scattered around the house. None of you by yourself and none with your family. Little plants growing healthily. You mentioned that they were high-maintenance. Your favorite blankets in a heap on the sofa. And a bookshelf brimming with novels. Mark was pleasantly surprised to learn that you were a major bookworm. And a closeted romantic.
It was close to midnight when you heard someone behind you. Very swiftly, you were endeavoring to arrive safely to the garage where your car waited, though you knew that there was no chance of making it in one piece without confrontation. You turned a corner and patiently drew your gun; it wasn’t very often that you ventured into the night alone past sunset, but you damn sure made certain that your gun was tucked to yourself.
There was a familiar negative energy all around you. It was impossible to ignore - far too suffocating and too distinguishable to be neglected.
Not surprising in the slightest, it was Jeno who rounded the corner. With his usual scowl, and an aimed gun. 
Narrowing your eyes, you snapped, “What do you want?”
Jeno smiled. It was the first time you’d seen his lips form anything other than a crooked frown, but it still exuded that same level of cold grimness. “I think you know what I want.”
You studied Jeno for a moment. For someone who believed you were the second-in-command’s girlfriend, he showed you no fear, grip on his gun firm as he aimed it squarely at your chest. Apparently, you were a woman that was loyal to no one but herself in the eyes of the law. Which made you all the more unpredictable. “I know that you’re not who you say you are,” you began levelly, inching closer. “I know everything there is to know about you, Jeno.”
“Because Mark told you, right?” Jeno snarled. “I know a lot about you, too - like how you’ve been whoring yourself out to Mark because you know that he’s easy. He was ripe for the picking and that’s why they stuck me with him; because they knew he needed grounding.”
That made you bristle with anger, but you kept a lid over your temper and retorted, “That sounds like a nice little fairy tale. Is that what you’re going to tell the big boss?”
Ignoring you, Jeno continued, “The world will know the truth about you and this whole gang. You’re more than the bitch they pay to secretly do their bidding. Before you were Scar, you were a gang-hopper.”
Seething, you lunged at Jeno with the gun. He blocked the attack - courtesy of your blindness from the rage that ran down your spine - and cocked his gun at you.
And then there was a loud, piercing gunshot.
But you were never shot. Jeno’s grip on his gun slackened and fell to the ground with him. He lay there gaping, a hand over his stomach that bled profusely. And glancing not at you; behind you. When you turned around, Mark emerged from the corner around you and stepped out of the shadows to approach you.
“You should be more careful,” Mark chided. “What if it wasn’t me behind you?”
Though you wanted to smile, you couldn’t. There was a tormenting question on your brain. How does Jeno know about my past?
“Mark,” Jeno choked out, nearly coughing up blood. He raised his arm with all of his strength and pointed with a trembling finger. “Mark is…,”
Mark didn’t let him finish, cutting Jeno off with a bullet to the head. Whatever he was going to say died with him.
Rather than feeling relieved, you were unnerved. Mark killed Jeno to protect you. Love made people do crazy things - that you knew better than anyone else, but Mark seemed colder than you’d ever seen him before. He didn’t waver; unhesitating and unremorseful.
As if this wasn’t his first rodeo.
“You never mentioned telling the team about my past.”
Mark cast you a glance. “That’s because I didn’t.”
You narrowed your eyes and whispered, “Then, how did Jeno know?”
Mark caught onto what you were hinting at and his face swiftly softened. There was no way in hell that he would do anything to hurt you. And he needed you to know that. “I never said a word about your past to him, baby. I swear. I don’t know how he found out, but you need to know that I’d never air out any of your business.”
There were other possibilities, too. Your past wasn’t exactly private - that you knew. He could have contacted your old friends, or heard the gossip of the low-ranks. Any of those roads were open, but it meant more if Mark himself exposed you. That was unacceptable.
You blew out a sigh and reminded yourself that Mark had been in gangs before - he most likely had bodies. As always, you were just paranoid. You believed that everyone was out to get you because the people that were meant to embrace you released you into the cold.
Hiding your gun, you pulled Mark into your embrace and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Mark murmured. “Just tell me that you trust me.”
“I trust you,” you told him. No reluctance, no shame. And I love you.
You knew that Mark loved you too. In your heart and bones. He had killed for you.
You called someone to discard Jeno's corpse and went home with Mark. The two of you talked and fell asleep by each other’s side. It was more or less a routine.
But when you woke up, Mark wasn’t there. You called out his name; no response. You looked inside the bathroom and he wasn’t there. The living room, kitchen, and all of his favorite spots inside your house were almost void of life.
Mark wasn’t there and it was downright laughable that that frightened you to your very core, but he never left without telling you. You scanned your memories of last night for any warning and ultimately came short.
It wasn’t the first time that you’d woken up alone, but more often than not, you woke up in each other’s arms. Occasionally, one of you would be in the bathroom or kitchen, but you never left the house without mentioning it the night before or leaving some form of text or note.
Though when you checked your phone, it was empty.
And so, you began to do the one thing you very seldom did; panic. There was no indication that Mark had been forced out of your house, but the depthless list of possibilities unnerved you. You prayed that he was somewhere safe. That at most, maybe he’d simply forgotten. You would have scolded him for getting you wound up over nothing, but at least he would be out of harm’s way.
There was a knock at your front door and hoping it was Mark, you rushed to open it, but you frowned when you were met with the face of a man that you’d never seen before.
The stranger said, “Hi. I’m Huang Renjun and I know you don’t know me, but you’ve got to get the fuck out of here. Right now.”
You blinked. Then, shut the door on him. It was too goddamn early for this foolishness.
Undeterred, Renjun opened the door again and welcomed himself inside. This town wasn’t big enough for two stubborn assholes.
You screeched, “The hell, man?”
Renjun exclaimed, “Do you want to die?”
“I literally do not know who the fuck you are!”
“Yes. I thought I made that very clear,” Renjun hissed, gritting his teeth. “But you do know Alexander Lee.”
In an instant, you were rendered gorgonized like a gargoyle. That name never failed to put you in a borderline unresponsive stupor. Anything regarding Alexander “Lex” Lee plagued your heart and body with crisp fear.
“I don’t want anything that has to do with Lex,” you replied, shaking your head and backing away.
This game of hide-and-seek had kept you on your toes for ages now. You’d spent the last years of your life off the grid to take cover from him and now this? Hell no.
Renjun briefly studied you. For someone rumored to have looked death in the face and blown him a kiss, it was not at all lost on him how terrified you’d suddenly become at the mere mention of Lex’s name. It was a warranted fear - the one that made you tick. “I’m sure. But if you don’t leave this place as soon as possible, he’s going to kill you.”
“And I’m supposed to just trust you?” you whispered, all the bite in your voice demolished by terror.
“Mark sent me.”
You blinked. “What?”
Renjun groaned, though didn’t elaborate. It was no mystery how you and Mark got along. For one, you were both a pain in ass and a thorn in his side. Instead, he drew his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. And put the phone on speaker.
“Do you have her?” came Mark’s voice.
Renjun said exasperatedly, “Let’s try ‘Hello, Renjun.’ Or ‘Hi.’ Most people say that when they pick up the phone, you know.”
“Mark,” you breathed, relieved to hear his voice. He was somewhere out there. But you were hurt that he left you.
Ignoring Renjun, Mark greeted, “Hi, doll.”
Renjun only wished he had time to argue. He would have burned your lover alive for greeting you instead of him, but the clock was ticking. He already had too many irons in the fire. “Hurry up and talk some sense into your girl, Mark. She doesn’t believe me.”
Your girl, he had said. Mark’s girl. For a split second, your heart brimmed with warmth.
Mark began from across the line, “Listen to me, baby. I know this is sudden and I’ll explain everything as soon as I get the chance, but you need to trust me and listen to Renjun. Okay?”
Your heart sank. “What’s going on?”
“No time to explain,” Mark told you curtly. “Just do this for me. Please.”
You blew out a sigh. This was too much too soon. Ultimately, you decided to trust Mark. “Okay.”
Mark blurted, “I love you.”
A pained smile curled your lips. “I love you more.”
“Alright, fun’s over,” Renjun interjected. He would not stick around for your lovey-dovey mess. Especially not when lives were on the line and in jeopardy. “We’ll talk to you later, Mark. You go get dressed and come on.”
Begrudgingly, you did as told, rushing upstairs to throw on an appropriate outfit before you headed back down and got inside a car with a man that you’d known for less than fifteen minutes.
As soon as you were on the road, you reminded yourself that you had no idea what was happening and where you were going, and asked, “Where are we going?”
Renjun replied, “Somewhere safe.”
Vague. You didn’t like that. “Are you a cop?”
“No.”
“Do you work with Mark?”
“Not in the way that you think,” Renjun responded, patiently quickly evaporating into thin air.
You pressed, “Then, in what way?”
Gosh, you were aggravating. In his mind, Renjun was likening you to a child that persistently asked their parents, ‘Are we there yet?’ during long road trips. “Jesus, woman! Would you stop badgering me?”
You narrowed your eyes and faced the window so that you wouldn’t lunge at him. “I just want to know what’s going on. You mention Lex Lee - the man that’s been indirectly making my life hell for the last years of my life - and expect me to not have questions?”
You had him there. Alexander was the devil himself and anyone that had known him for five minutes could most likely back you up. His goons were lightly compensated and offered little leeway, and the worst part was the hierarchy system.
Everyone was inferior to someone save for Lex, and the designated high-ranks were equally crooked. They schemed to get away with stepping out of line directly under his nose, often pinning the blame on low-ranking members to avoid lethal retribution.
That was why you were scared shitless to return that day. Lex and your ex-boyfriend were like brothers. It didn’t matter what you told him happened to you - you’d be lucky if he cared. Let alone believed you.
Renjun heaved a breath. You had a very fair argument. “Lex is looking for you. He’s attacked Bloodlust’s headquarters. That’s why Mark wants me to keep you safe.”
“What?” you shrieked in terror. “I have to go back there!”
Renjun turned onto another street and shook his head, eyeing the roads for Lex’s hounds. “It’s not safe. Do you hear me? It’s not safe. You were scared shitless of anything involving Lex three seconds ago.”
“I don’t care,” you hissed. “This is my battle. I’ll be damned if I let anyone else fight it for me. Yuta saved my life - now it’s my turn.”
Renjun balked, “No, it’s not. I know about Bloodlust. They protect you as long as you do their bidding. So let them do their goddamn job.”
Gritting your teeth, you crossed your arms and stared out the window, watching buildings and signs whirl by in a blur. It was clear that Renjun would not be wooed by you, but you refused to sit and do nothing. Especially when his connection - or Mark’s - to Lex was unknown. There had to be another way.
Recognizing the road you turned onto, you had an idea. It was reckless and extremely dangerous, but you wouldn’t let that deter you. Not when the better half of your life consisted of making life-threatening choices. There was the option to take the hard way or the easy way out.
And you’d be damned if you took the easy way.
Calculating, you counted down the seconds in your head until you could make your move. The moment you were down to one, you moved at the speed of light and swung the car door open, launching yourself out and rolling into an area of enclosed grass.
You grabbed your gun from your purse and aimed squarely at Renjun’s tires, sending him swerving somewhere. He screamed in the distance, “You sick psychopathic bitch!”
I’ve heard that before, too, you thought to yourself with levity. And then, like your life depended on it, you bolted.
Dusting away dirt and twigs, you sprinted and sprinted and sprinted. The street was close to the garages. Obviously, your car wasn’t there, but there were plenty that were.
You bust through the garage and scanned each of the open slots for your unlucky victim. There were several people, most polishing up their cars before tonight’s race. And you swiftly made your pick, not having time to linger.
You snatched one of the racer’s keys and asked breathlessly, “Can I borrow these? Thanks, you’re the best!”
Screams of protest were your less than pleased response, but you had already made a distance on the garage by the time anyone thought to react. The moment you were on a road, you let out a thick, heavy breath.
Forget crazy. You were out of your goddamn mind.
You sped as fast as you could without going over the limit, given you had already committed two crimes in broad daylight. The last thing you needed was a high-speed police chase.
The east side of the headquarters was the closest and you drove like the devil. The closer you neared, the faster your heart echoed in your chest. You hoped Mark wasn’t there, but with his knowledge of Lex, you had aching questions numb you to your love. And you prayed your boss decided to take an off day.
Alas, the building was - metaphorically speaking - ablaze when you arrived there. A grating dissonance of screams and gunshots filled the distant air. Lex had called war on Bloodlust via this ambush, but not knowing who was winning completely unnerved you. 
You got out of the car and approached the building through the rear side. Conveniently, there were emergency exits installed in scatters around the headquarters designed for similar occasions. Discreetly, you entered through one, and steered clear of the noise as you stealthily made your way upstairs. It was in your best interest to remain undetected. For all they knew, you weren’t here. 
Creeping around corners, you held your breath. As if the slightest sound would have you killed on the spot. The loud halls that echoed with gunshots terrified you, but the eerily silent ones were too quiet to be relieving. 
Whirling around the corner, you parted your lips to scream when you bumped into someone, and they clamped their palm over your mouth. “Shut the fuck up,” Jisung growled, looking both ways like a civilian crossing the street. When he deemed the close clear, he released you. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Heaving, you asked, “Have you seen Yuta or Mark?” 
Jisung answered you with complete disinterest and disdain, and said, “Yuta’s been unresponsive. As for loverboy, he’s the reason you’re in this mess.” 
You realized that you’d blown your cover the second you mentioned Mark, but you didn’t care. For the sake of your heart and mind, you needed to trust and believe that he was safe. You wouldn’t know how to go on without him. How to unlearn everything you’d gotten so accustomed to in his presence. 
“What do you mean, unresponsive?” you repeated, lost for words. “And the reason? What the hell are you talking about?” 
Jisung pinched his nose and shook his head. “Forget it. Figure that shit out yourself.” 
He turned around and walked away, Part of you was tempted to scream after him, though the sight of a man emerging from the shadows behind Jisung  - armed with murder on his mind - silenced you. For some reason, everything in your body told you to pick up your gun and shoot. You complied, and shot fire. 
Jisung whirled back around in time to watch the man hit the ground, gone without knowing what hit him. He rooted to the spot, gaze rising to your figure and noticing the gun in your grasp. “Did you just…”
“Save your life?” you finished. “Yeah. You’re welcome.”
Jisung blew out a sigh. He was many things, including your mortal enemy, but he had a moral compass and in that moment he owed you his life. He glanced around once more, then told you, “Mark is a member of The Basilisks.”
You wanted to laugh. “What?”
Jisung made his tone as menacing as possible and added, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. But your loverboy isn’t who you think he is. Jaemin followed up on him today. Mark’s cousin is Alexander Lee and he’s been in that gang since a little after you started working for Yuta.”
Your heart sank. You wanted to deny it with everything you had, but it made sense. How else would Mark know Lex? He even mentioned that his cousin made a gang. Stupid, you told yourself. You’re so fucking stupid. 
God, you wished the ground would swallow you whole. You wanted to isolate yourself from the rest of the world and rot to bones. Mark had gotten under your skin, reduced you to your true, bare self. He had seen all of the good and bad; the beautiful and ugly. You felt comfortable enough to be more vulnerable with him than you ever had anyone else. Was all of that in vain?  
The Basilisk Biker’s. It hurt so goddamn much. You felt so used and betrayed. And empty. Like you had poured your mind, body, heart and soul into loving Mark and had nothing left to spare. 
Maybe you did. 
Jisung saw the sadness in your eyes and felt a pang of something he had never felt for you before. It didn’t feel right. Your eyes always gleamed with fire, but your flame was demolished. He wanted to hug you, but it wasn’t his embrace that you needed at the moment. He doubted you would want it in the first place. 
Instead, he said, “You have to get out of here.”
“I have to find Yuta,” you argued, gritting your teeth. 
“What if he’s safe?”
Without missing a beat, you shot, “What if he’s not?” 
Jisung had argued with you enough in his lifetime to know that you were headstrong and demanded your way. If you wanted something enough, there was absolutely nothing on this earth that could stop you from chasing it. But he also knew that the moment something happened to you once he left you alone, your blood would be on his hands. “I’m going with you.”
You shrugged and replied,  “Suit yourself.” Then, began to make your way up the stairs. The elevators were too risky. 
You fought tears and focused yourself on your boss. You’d be damned if you cried while anyone was watching. You had taken a bullet tougher than this. Toughen up, you hissed inwardly. 
The long staircase had made you realize just how large the headquarters was. In your head, you had always thought of it as a second home. Now, it was being destroyed by your first one. 
When you reached the floor of Yuta’s office, you stepped onto the ground, peeking around and spotting Basilisks. Jisung whispered, “I’ll distract them. You go check his office.” 
You nodded. Jisung did exactly what he said that he would, and you set out for Yuta’s office. Just from standing outside the door, you could tell that it was empty. But you needed to see for yourself. You counted down from three, attempting to soothe your rapidly moving mind, and barged inside. 
The sight unnerved you. Yuta was nowhere to be found, but the room was completely wrecked. Like he was blitzed and fought like hell against his attacker. 
There was little trace of him. No sign of where he was or where he’d gone. Not even traces of blood. Just his belongings toppled over in a heap and his window completely open, curtains blustering. 
“Find something interesting here?”
Fear riveted you in place. You took your time to turn around, met face to face with a man straight out of a nightmare. 
“Lex,” you exhaled thickly, the wind knocked out of you.
Lex smiled wickedly. There was a gun in his hand. “Long time no see, old friend.”
You shook your head viciously and screamed, “Where the hell is my boss?” 
Lex inched closer, closing in on you as if he was going to make you walk off of a plank. You took steps backwards, colliding with Yuta’s desk. “Well, I could tell you, but where’s the fun in that?”
“You son of a bitch,” you hissed.
As if he didn’t hear you, Lex continued, “It wounded me real bad when you left, y’know. Word on the street is that this Yuta fool had you sold in less than a day. Then, I find out you killed Riley,” Lex laughed. “Whew, I was livid!”
“You were going to kill me,” you said, moving around the desk as swiftly as possible. You never wanted to leave. There were people in that gang that you considered family and you missed them everyday of your life. You never wanted to leave them behind. 
“Damn right, I was!” Lex shouted. He didn’t sound angry - he sounded insane. That was arguably worse. “With my bare goddamn hands!”
You shook your head, fighting to remain calm. Lex’s weakness was his anger, but so was yours. If you stayed rational, you had a fighting chance at survival. “I didn’t want to kill Riley. You have to trust me on that, Lex. He was trying to push me into things I wasn’t ready for. I didn’t have a choice.” 
Pretending to care, Lex crooned, “You have a choice now. Come back home. Let’s be a family again. The girls missed you the worst.” 
Or else what? You knew your other unspoken choice was gruesome as they always had been, but you also knew that Lex was full of shit. There was no way in hell that he would let you off that easily. 
Or alive, for that matter. 
You knew what your options were, because you knew Alexander Lee better than anyone else alive. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A narcissist if you knew one, blind to his flaws. He was manipulative and deceptive, but worst of all, he had not a shred of mercy. 
If anyone was going to take your life from you, it wouldn’t be Lex. You refused to grant him that pleasure. And you knew very well that the only reason you were still alive and breathing was because he wanted to kill you with his own bare hands. Nobody would be given the satisfaction of taking your life if not you.
You shook your head and swore, “Over my dead body.” 
Then, you leapt out of the window.
And crash landed onto the balcony on the floor below you. You struck the deep trenches of your memory, reminding yourself that Yuta once mentioned that he refused to get a balcony like the rest of the members. He claimed that in times of crisis, he wouldn’t regret his decision. And you chose to believe that that was how he escaped. It was a graceless fall. It hurt like a bitch, but what mattered was that you were still alive. Somehow. 
You raced through the floor in case Lex was crazy enough to follow you. 
You ran and you ran and you ran for your life. Your legs ached from all of the reckless stunts you’d pulled today, but you never stopped running. The thoughts seeped into your mind, going miles per minute, trying to outmatch the speed of your feet. You thought of your family and felt pain. You thought of Lex and felt fear. You thought of your old friends and felt regret. You thought of Yuta and felt dread. You thought of Mark and felt stone-cold betrayal.
But you also felt love. Your heart hammered like it was trying to wreck its way through your chest. You wanted some kind of explanation for this, one that would make all of the pain fade, but you knew that there was none. 
How could Mark tell you that he loved you but work aside the same man that made your life a living hell? Your heart was crying blood. It bled and beat for him all at once. 
Adrenaline made you numb to the pain of everything except for your wounded heart. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe there was someone else that would be granted the satisfaction of taking your life. Giving Mark the key to your heart was like handing him a gun and telling him to shoot. Your heart begged for the one person that you were forbidden to have. 
Speak of the devil, they say. And he shall appear. 
Somewhere in the run for your life, you bumped directly into Mark. He looked relieved and displeased to see you all at once. 
Mark grabbed you and whispered, “Baby…”
You swatted his hands away and cried, “Don’t call me that!” 
Mark reached for your hand, squeezing tightly. There was no levity in his tone when he said, “I’m not doing any of this to hurt you. I swear on my life. You just need to trust me.”
“No,” you shouted, fighting like hell to keep your tears at bay. They stung your eyes, but he didn’t deserve to see them fall. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time and expect me to trust you? That���s not how that works, Mark.” 
“I know,” Mark agreed. “And you have every right to be pissed at me for what I’m about to do.” 
Before you had the chance to ask questions, Mark pulled you to his chest and clamped his palm over your mouth, then shouted, “Over here - I’ve got her!” 
Basilisks began to fill your vision. They circled you like a shark to its prey, guns aimed. You noticed familiar faces around you, and you couldn’t blame them for any vengeful feelings they felt for you. Mark shoved you in the middle by yourself, like he was presenting his artwork to them, proud of his product. 
Lex spoke to Mark, but you tuned in and out, their words being reduced to white noise. You felt so much pain and fear that your body began to numb your senses in self-preservation. It was too much to bear. 
This is it, you thought somberly. This is my end. Part of you was satisfied with that. You were so tired. You had worked your whole life and experienced loss to loss with no breaks in between. No breathing room. If you weren’t a sinner, you would have believed that you would finally meet your mother. 
Then again, depending on who you asked, she was a sinner too. 
“Thought you could run from me,” Lex taunted, clearly amused. “I thought you would have learned by now. No one escapes me. No one escapes their fate.” 
He was right. After all, you had nowhere to run this time. Not with over a dozen guns pointed squarely at your head.
All you wanted was for him to make this quick. To put you out of your misery already. Add one more scar to your body in completion. 
Lex tilted his head. “Any last words?”
Without hesitation, you spat, “Fuck you.” 
Lex burst into laughter. Then, much to your surprise, said, “Mark, finish her.”
You stayed still and held your breath, knowing this was the inevitable end. But you couldn’t look at Mark. It would hurt you too much.
Then, The Basilisks switched on a dime and aimed their guns at Lex - including Mark. Stupidly, you stood there blinking. Lisa - one of your old friends - had to pull you out of harm’s way. She whispered, “You’re safe. Everything’s gonna be okay now.” 
Too stunned to speak, you stood gawking. 
Lex blurted, “What the hell do you all think you’re doing?” 
“This has to end, Alexander. And it ends with you,” Mark began, casting his cousin an unsympathetic glance. “For the past decade, you’ve been making everyone here's life a living hell. How much longer did you think we were going to put up with that bullshit?” 
Lex began to stumble backwards, reaching for escape, but one of the Basilisks named Yangyang pushed him back into the circle, then said,  “Woah, woah, woah - where do you think you’re going, big guy?” 
Realizing he was cornered, Lex turned to stare at his cousin in disbelief. “Really? Your own flesh and blood, Mark?” 
Mark let out a remorseless chuckle. “Don’t pretend to have a moral compass now. Here’s the thing, Lex. Everyone here considers each other family and you’ve fucked every last one of us over. You don’t give a flying fuck about blood and flesh; all you care about is power. You like that you can kill whoever - whenever - and our fate lies in your hands.”
“It used to,” Yangyang corrected from the sidelines. “Now, the tables have turned. You get to feel what’s like to be on the other side of torture.” 
Another Basilisk - Seulgi - spoke up from the crowd, voice dripping with the bite of venom, “You pay us less than we’re worth to do your bidding and you let those sons of bitches get away with framing us - but impose the death rule so that we can’t leave. We’re fed the hell up, Lex.”
The death rule was simply that. Nobody was allowed to leave. Your only escape was the dark void of death. It was more or less a pre-prison for gangsters. 
Unless, you ran away. In Basilisk history, you were the only successful runaway. 
You simply watched in amusement, feeling a wound in you healed. Never in a million years would you have imagined a dream like this come true. It was better than anything you’d ever hoped for. It’s over. 
“I don’t do last words,” Mark mocked, cocking his gun. “Goodbye, cousin.” 
The sound of a gunshot resonated throughout the hall, and Alexander dropped to the floor in vanquish. 
“It really is over,” Lisa repeated. Until then, you hadn’t realized that you’d said those words aloud. You were out of your body. 
You grabbed her hand. “Let’s get out of here?”
Lisa cocked a brow. “What about lover boy?” 
You gaped. “You know?”
“Oh, please. Mark tells us a lot about you. He acts like we’ve never met you before. It’s hard to get him to shut up sometimes,” Lisa scoffed. 
Mark talks about me. That made your heart swell with emotion, but you pushed them aside. “I’m still mad at him. Let’s go before he makes me change my mind.” 
Giggling, Lisa told you, “Lead the way.” 
You did as told, leading her outside. For now, you pushed your worries away. They would return, but you were simply glad to connect with an old friend for the meantime. A very special one at that. 
Hand in hand, you brought Lisa to one of the balconies. The wind whipped through her hair as you both faced the city. The memories were a mixture of pained and blissful. They stung your heart, yet filled you with impalpable joy. 
After a moment of silence, Lisa whispered, “You never said goodbye.” 
“I know.” 
She whirled around to face you, a pained expression on her face. “That hurt.” 
“I know,” you said, frowning. “And I’m sorry.” 
Lisa faced the early morning city again. Like looking at you would be her breaking point. “You did what you had to do. I can’t hold that against you. I was just scared that you’d forget me.” 
You called her name austerely and slightly rolled up your shirt, then spoke like you were delivering a speech, “I carry a piece of you with me everyday. Every time I look in the mirror, I think of you. Pain is temporary, but this scar is forever. It is a constant reminder of you and what our friendship means to me. I can’t forget that.” 
Lisa gazed at your scar fondly. She remembered how you got it like it was yesterday. You jumped in front of a bullet to save her life. You were so goddamn stupid, but damn did she love you for it. 
She pulled you into a hug. And you smiled.
“I moved on,” Lisa mentioned once she pulled away. “I found someone.”
Your eyes widened, your smile broadened. “Who is she?”
Lisa smiled involuntarily at the thought of her mystery woman. Once upon a time, she smiled at you like that. “Jennie.”
“No way,” you said, jaw dropping. 
“Yes, way,” Lisa smirked. “Love always finds a way. Sometimes the one meant for you is the person you’d least expect. It’s ironic, isn't it?”
You groaned, “You’re telling me.”
Lisa studied you. Never in a million years would she have imagined that the two of you would be having a conversation like this, but she was content to hear your voice again. At one point, she thought she’d lost you forever. “You love him.” 
It was clear who ‘him’ was. You sighed out, “I do. So much. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Lisa snickered, but suddenly became stern and said, “Mark didn’t do any of this to hurt you. He would never. He was scared half to death when Renjun called and said you’d jumped out of a car to come here. As crazy as that sounds, I’m not surprised. You’re full of crazy.” 
You laughed lightheartedly. “I’ve done worse.”
“I know. Like, jumped in front of a bullet,” Lisa retorted, then continued. “Listen, that boy is head over heels in love with you. I would know. What he did back there wasn’t a part of the initial plan, but he’s in control of this whole scheme and we urged him to do what he thought was best. He knew you would hate him for this, but he wanted to protect you from Lex for good.” 
The tears were coming back and you blinked them away. “Really?”
“It was hard to keep him from socking Lex in the jaw for talking down on you sometimes. He was ready to risk it all for you. That’s how much he loves you. Don’t punish him for that,” Lisa said, smiling ruefully. Then, she presented you with some levity. “Not for too long.”
You laughed like the two old friends you were. You never forgot what those days were like. To be together with people you considered family, you were happy. And now you were no longer forbidden to see each other.
Lisa patted your back. “Go get him.”
“Right now?” you asked, gaping in disbelief. 
“Right now,” she repeated, memories of a morose Mark returning. “Any longer and I think he’ll fling himself off one of these balconies.”
“Oh, brother,” you sighed. “Will you be okay?”
“As long as you don’t leave me for another six years.” 
You smiled and held out your pinky finger for her to intertwine with hers. “I won’t. I promise.” 
Lisa locked pinkies with you. Then, she let you go for the second time and set you free. 
You found Mark somberly glancing into the distance. His mood seemed to instantly lighten when the sound of you slumping beside him steered him from his reverie.
“Hi.”
Mark rubbed his neck. “Hey.” 
“I’m sorry,” you told him apologetically. “I should have trusted you.”
Mark blurted, “What? No. I’m the one that should be sorry. I’ve been keeping secrets from you this whole time. I should have told you.” 
“You’re right,” you replied. You switched on a dime, beginning to knock at his chest fiercely. “What were you thinking?”
He was hardly thinking. It was difficult - he couldn’t function knowing that your life was on the line. You being there meant he had to change his plans entirely because he refused to let anything happen to you. His heart was screaming when Renjun told him about the stunt you’d pulled. Above all else, all he wanted was for you to let him protect you. “I’m sorry, doll. Will a kiss make it better?” 
You paused. Then, sang, “Not sure. Kiss me and find out.”
Mark shook his head in delight. “With pleasure.”
Mark enveloped your lips in a kiss. He kissed you like he’d never get the chance again. As if this was his last day to love and hold you, but also as if he hadn’t felt your touch in years. It was so indescribably passionate. The only way you could explain was that it felt like love. Until you met Mark, you thought that you’d been cursed with the inability to fall for someone else again.
When you’d both had your fill, you pulled away for good and asked, “But I am curious - you’re a cop and a gang member at the same time?”
Mark had been waiting for that one. He cradled you in his arms and replied smoothly, “My job in the gang is to be their eyes in law enforcement. Alongside the biking, we became heavily involved in drug trafficking. It’s my job to steer the police off course and ensure they don’t go looking into The Basilisks.” 
“And that’s how you got here,” you added, the pieces coming together to form one big picture.
“Yup. I was assigned to look into Bloodlust. It’s no secret that this is where you hid and Lex wanted me to use this case to lure you out. At first, I intended to follow orders. But then I fell for you, baby. And I knew that only over my dead body would I let anything happen to you.”
“Romantic,” you purred. Then, you remembered something and your eyes filled with worry. “Have you seen Yuta?”
“He’s fine,” Mark assured. “They all are. They know this building well. That’s their advantage.”
You blew out a sigh of semi-relief. ”We have to come clean.”
Mark blinked. “Now?” 
“Now or never.” 
Mark slipped his fingers through yours and brought you to your feet. “Okay. Let’s tell them.”
You smiled. You didn’t want to hide Mark anymore. You wanted to profess your love for him from the rooftops. And you knew in your heart that he wanted to do the very same. 
That was how you found yourself in Taeyong’s much larger office. Yet again, he stood alongside Yuta and Ten. It was a little frightening, but you wouldn’t let them unnerve you. You were bold in your love.
Lightheartedly, Yuta tried to lighten the mood with levity, “This is the infamous Markie.”
Mark shook his hand. “Dom Toretto.”
You cleared your throat. “Don’t mind him - he watches a lot of movies.” 
Taeyong cut to the chase. “You disobeyed direct orders.” 
You stiffened, knowing he was talking directly to you. You met his gaze and didn’t falter. “Yes.”
“And you were aware that you were disobeying direct orders - and of the punishment that shall follow.”
“That is correct.”
Taeyong arched his brow, amused by your boldness. It took guts to disobey the king of the empire. He sat and reclined in his seat and told you sternly, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill both of you right now.” 
The gun resting patiently on his desk did not go unnoticed by you, but you dug into your heels and held Mark’s arm firmly. You were honest. “I have none. I’ve disobeyed and deceived you while aware of the consequences. I apologize for that, but I won’t apologize for loving him and I won’t let you kill him without killing me first.” 
Ten heaved a breath and took off his glasses, massaging his temple. Then, Yuta leapt up and shouted, “Yes! Run me my money!”
You blinked, only able to watch as Taeyong and Ten exasperatedly drew money from their pockets. Then, it hit you and you shrieked, “You bet money on me?”
“Damn right I did,” Yuta replied, not sparing you a glance as he counted his money. 
Noticing the ridiculously perplexed looks on you and Mark’s faces, Ten explained, “Yuta’s had a sneaking suspicion that you were lying about the severity of your relationship with Mark. Jisung tried to tell us, but Taeyong and I thought he was biased because of how much you argue. Clearly not.” 
Taeyong deadpanned, “Remind me not to make any more deals with either of you where money is concerned.” 
Mark pulled you to his chest, smiling. Some things you just couldn’t hide. His love for you was one of them. “So, we’re off the hook?” 
“I usually don't hesitate to punish people for defiance, but I’ll make an exception just this once,” Taeyong replied, smiling wryly. “I take it that your cousin’s gang is in your hands now. Don’t cause any trouble and you’re fine in my book.”
Mark nodded. He glanced down at you and knew that that wouldn’t be a problem. “Deal.” 
That night, you and Mark danced in each other's arms, refusing to let go. It was like nothing could come in between you. You knew now that your love was worth the battle and the war. Love always finds a way, a dear friend had told you. 
You asked over the music, “Wanna do something really crazy?” 
Mark looked at you, eye’s screaming, “Yes!” He would do anything for you - give you the world if you wanted it. Instead of borderline professing his love for you and telling you things that you already knew, he asked, “Like what?” 
“Let’s go to Vegas.”
Mark chortled. “That is kinda crazy.”
You argued, “Think about it - no one knows us there. It’ll just be me and you in a city full of people. Doesn’t that sound romantic?” 
Mark hushed you and said, “Baby, please. I was already buying the plane tickets.”
You snickered. You knew you had Mark right where you wanted him. And it felt so goddamn good. 
You and Mark stumbled out of the tattoo parlor. Given the long flight, you were utterly spent when you arrived, but the second you recharged you knew exactly what you wanted to do.
Get matching tattoos. 
Initially, you thought it would have been difficult to convince Mark to get a tattoo with you. After all, they were permanent. But he was surprisingly willing and pleased with the results. 
“To a lifetime and a half with you,” Mark told you, mounting the bike you’d left at the curbside of the parlor. You wanted to see how well he could drive one. 
Grabbing the pink helmet he handed you, you beamed. Happiness made your heart beat and your blood circulate. “To a lifetime and a half with my Markie pooh,” you teased. 
Mark rolled his eyes and wrapped your arms around his waist. “Hold on tight.” 
You yelped when the motorbike jerked to life beneath you, and then you were soaring down the roads of Las Vegas, carefree and in love. Nobody could tell you anything when you were with the love of your life.
Love was the greatest weapon of all. 
928 notes · View notes
maritteknewtheenemy · 22 days ago
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Genuinely the most compelling part of Sunrise on the Reaping to me was the two pages we got describing Wiress' games. It's indescribably fascinating to me how Haymitch seems to find her initial serenity and intelligence off putting and vaguely creepy. Like, to the point where I think I would have preferred if SC had written her games instead of Haymitch's for this prequel. Haymitch thinks she's 'bizarre' and notes it was hard even for the districts to root for her because of the eerie manner in which she outsmarted the capitol. It would have been fascinating to see what day to say life is like in a district other than 12 for once, and to see a tribute who won without killing anyone (a complete antithesis to the way the games are supposed to be played). It would be interesting to see the retribution she would face from the capitol in the immediate aftermath. I think it's safe to say prior to the arena that it's unlikely that Wiress was a fan favourite, but I want to see her interview persona, what angle was decided as her best shot of getting sponsors, and the outfits her stylist chose. I want to see her noting the shiny stuff in training and later kicking herself for not realizing it was connected to the games. We'd get to see Beetee as an actual mentor, showcasing his true brilliance with a pupil who could meet him on his own level something missing from the original trilogy and SOTR both. Hell, she could even include a mention of Ampert, or even a cameo of him at the District 3 reaping. We could hear Beetee potentially lament his fear of Ampert being reaped to Wiress, or it could even just be an offhand thought in Wiress' mind, that the eldest child of District three's most recent (and disliked/problematic) victor would be twelve next year. Maybe one of the careers in her games could be the child/neice/grandkid of a former victor and she could think back to meeting Beetee's family before leaving on the train and wonder if that would happen to Ampert? It would be interesting to explore Beetee's fear and Wiress' perhaps preumptive pity from that angle. It might have hit harder even, for us to see a brief cameo of eleven year old Ampert and hear about Beetee's transgressions against the capitol, but have Ampert's fate left ambiguous/a sword hanging over Beetee's head.
Also- the Nest of Mirrors? Come on. Katniss makes a point in the original trilogy of saying the arena can look like anything, but a Wiress book would be the first games we'd read about where the arena doesn't look- at least on the surface- like some random lanscape, not to mention the horror of the entire concept. Blood reflected off any and all surfaces, being unable to get your bearings, nothing being where it appears to the point you could end up impaling yourself on a sword you thought you were dodging? It's an arena with the highest and most blatant element of psychological horror we've ever seen and it would have been really interesting to see how those games played out, especially through Wiress' narration. Not only is Wiress very intelligent and grounded, but she hid in plain sight. She was IN the games but she wasn't an active participant. The narration would be almost from the point of view of a spectator, like those in the districts or the capitol, except with a level of scrutiny no one but a competitor could have. The fact she didn't directly kill anyone would further highlight this- but so would the fact kids might be dying literal feet away from her that she couldn't save or defend herself from if it came down to it. We even know we'd get to see her judgement call, the decision she had to make about when to stand up so the final Two boy would see her, charge at her, and brain himself. We know she understood how to play with the mirrors and how the light beams work, so she must have intentionally placed herself in a way she knew he'd run right into one of them. But how did she know he wouldn't try a long range weapon to kill her from a safe distance? And why did she wait so long after she won before letting the hovercraft pick her up? What was she thinking? What was her post game interview like? What did Beetee say?
I can see how this her victory and reticence could appear so eerie from an outsiders perspective- district and capitol alike- especially when it seems so antithetical from the way most contenders in a typical games play and participate. Wiress didn't participate and that's why she won. It's wild. It's facinating. It should be explored. She didn't participate and she won anyway which should be impossible. But she did it.
Then there's the fact that one of the themes of SOTR was propaganda (and was, imho, the most poorly executed element of the novel, please don't @ me). I think Wiress' book could have the potential to address this in a more subtle but better executed way. Just thinking about mirrors and the arena and the symbolism that could come from it. Something about the same image (or narrative or word or-) seen from a thousand different angles by thousands of different people, how they warp and change and become distorted. Something about retroactively convincing the public that the girl who didn't participate was a strong contender the whole time. Something about spinning the Capitol's inability to find her into something humorous instead of an unintentional display of weakness and gross incompetence. Something about playing up Wiress' 'oddness' so as to make her undesirable and unpalatable to even district citizens so no one would ever rally behind her much less take her or her refusal to participate as a viable option let alone a strategy.
Yeah, to me, not writing Wiress' story instead of Haymitch's will always be a missed opportunity.
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yanderes-galore · 3 months ago
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Hello, can I request a romantic Doflamingo concept with an ex-pirate darling, who was abandoned by their crew?
Oof... Of all people you had to come across, it had to be him?
Yandere! Doflamingo with Ex-Pirate! Darling
Pairing: Romantic
Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Isolation, Controlling behavior, Violence, Blood, Murder, Coercion, Threats, Unhealthy power dynamic, Biting, Forced relationship.
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Of all the captains you could've come across, Doflamingo was probably ONE of the worst ones.
While somewhat caring to his crew, he's harsh to rookies.
Plus, joining the Donquixote Pirates is a difficult task.
Many new recruits are driven away due to how cruel Doflamingo is.
Being abandoned in Dressrosa was your first stroke of bad luck.
Being found by Doflamingo was your second.
You had originally planned to hide away on Dressrosa to plan.
Perhaps your crew planned to betray you for a treasure or some other reason, expecting the Donquixote Pirates to finish you off.
That or maybe you betrayed them, which led to them sending you here.
Or... maybe they planned to take on the Donquixote Pirates... Only to be slaughtered.
Either way, you're now without a crew and stranded on Dressrosa.
For most, meeting Doflamingo is the equivalent of a death sentence.
He probably knows you were part of a crew due to how you hold yourself.
You're a pirate... yet you look awfully lost.
Knowing Doflamingo's sadistic personality, he may take this as an excellent chance to toy with a new face.
When he approaches, it's with that infamous grin he has.
He's no doubt curious about your story, his aura threatening as he questions you.
You see, he doesn't like other pirates in his territory...
So start talking.
Hearing you were abandoned from your crew is amusing to Doflamingo.
Considering he takes in those who have nowhere to go if they prove themselves... You can see where this is going.
Doflamingo may offer you a spot in his crew if you're truly a capable pirate.
In reality he intends to make you a new toy for him to play with.
Your time with the Donquixote Pirates would be rough.
Doflamingo calls it a family, yet it doesn't really feel like one.
Not at first, at least.
Doflamingo took you in for entertainment, finding you intriguing enough to catch his attention.
He's taken in misfits before, he isn't new to rookies.
The issue is... How long will it take to get you to break?
You see, the Donquixote Family is known for doing some of the most heinous crimes.
Murder, mass murder, weapons and drug dealing, all sorts of crime.
It isn't your typical pirating.
It's a criminal empire.
Being dragged into this is a bit disorienting.
Yet it wasn't like you had a choice, right?
It was join or die, Doflamingo essentially forced you to entertain him as his newest fixation.
Being around Doflamingo makes you see a lot of things you wished you didn't.
This crew is more violent and unhinged than your typical crew.
It's just how Doflamingo runs it.
The worst part is probably how his obsession would become... romantic.
Doflamingo would manipulate you into something that vaguely resembles a relationship.
It has 'romantic' themes, but it isn't healthy.
It's not like Doflamingo has had normal loving connections.
Or at least... never processed them since he's so arrogant.
To him, even romantic connections need to have a power dynamic.
You're already nervous about your new captain as you know how ruthless the Warlord can be.
If Doflamingo was subtle and coerced you into a relationship, you'd probably accept out of fear he'd discipline you.
Doflamingo has had his flings before.
You've seen it before in his parties.
He's no stranger to sadistic charisma.
You no doubt know how he acts when he sees something he wants.
It's hard to ignore the hunger in his eyes when he looks at you.
Doflamingo is touchy with you.
Even a simple touch on the shoulder or a hand around your waist doesn't really feel loving.
It feels threatening... possessive.
Doflamingo acts like he owns you more than see you as a partner.
You've seen the carnage his Devil Fruit can do.
You're no stranger to him puppeteering those who anger him, or slaughtering them for his own amusement.
He likes the blood staining the stones of Dressrosa.
You barely get to speak with anyone outside of the Donquixote Family.
Even then, if they aren't important to him, Doflamingo still plans to get rid of anyone too close to you.
He's not a man known to share.
You listen in fear that he'll use his ability on you.
If your crew still exists, he may have them hunted down out of spite.
The only thing he'll thank them for is leaving him such a pretty toy.
Besides that, He'll make sure you witness their deaths.
Then you'll know where your true family is.
Doflamingo likes to make you reliant on him.
There's no leaving his family now.
Not when you've managed to entice him.
Doflamingo always seems to calculate his actions.
He plans his affections, manipulating you emotionally to need him.
If you need him, then you'll always be his.
That's what he wants.
Essentially, you can't tell if being killed by him would be better or not.
But you often find yourself pondering it each time the man touches you, nuzzling into your neck only to bite.
Even more so when you see the blood on his face after he plans yet another genocide.
Sometimes you wish he killed you like the rest of your crew.
Instead, he claims you're meant to be lovers.
You're meant to belong to him.
Even if you run, you can't hide in Dressrosa.
He'll find you and by this point, he isn't killing you.
He's keeping you all to himself.
It doesn't matter if he has to cage you like a pretty bird in a cage or not.
He found you, he took you in, he's chosen to love you...
You're all his now.
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cloversnstrawberries · 3 months ago
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could you do platonic leon kennedy with his child that tried to escape him but failed, like how would he punish them?
"code 10-110" platonic!dad!yandere!leon s. kennedy & teen!runaway!gn!reader [oneshot] ! !
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masterlist !
description; You know your dad meant well, but after he takes it way too far-- you decide to break free from his hold. Really, you should've known that you couldn't outrun him for long. After all, you were his kid, and he'd go to the end of the Earth to keep you safe (and by his side).
additional notes; hello!! i'm not sure if you aiming for headcanons or not, but i decided to do a oneshot!! i hope i did the concept justice,,, you're all very big brained when it comes to ideas. i love requests so much, because i don't think i ever would've come up with this idea; but i had so much fun writing it.
also, fun fact, i was in the gotham fandom for a long while!! i know a lot of police stuff because of that, so i vaguely remembered the "10 codes" from the get. 10-110 is a code for juvenile disturbance :D
warnings; Leon is Not Well, overprotectiveness, possessiveness, entrapment, running away, manipulation (more so of reader's environment more than reader themselves), cops/law enforcement, vague talk of violence/murder, and there ight be more I missed :[ if I missed one, please let me know! ^ ^
w/c; 4.5k
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You didn't think you'd get this far.
Not for a lack of care in your plan-- no, you couldn't have been more careful as you planned everything and anything involved in your escape. Months passed before you enacted it. You bided your time, until you heard the birds outside start singing in the morning-- and when your dad came in to take away the space heater.
It was spring, and while you didn't know the exact date while locked away in a deceptively cozy, comfortable cell-- made to look like a bedroom, like your bedroom--, but he'd locked you away in September, so... around 5-6 months, you'd been holed up in there.
Your dad wasn't always like how is now, you think. Maybe there were traces of it-- but that was easily written off as him being a run-of-the-mill overprotective dad. He worked in law enforcement, he'd seen the worse humanity could offer and more.
And for that, you'd given him some slack. You tried not to snap at him when he made sure you weren't out of the house past 8, and that he had to have met a friend before you so much as hung out-- and god forbid sleepovers, those were reserved for only the most trustworthy friends with the must trustworthy of family.
There were a lot of rules when it came to interacting with you. Really, you tried not to let it get to you; but it was so... isolating. No one wanted to be your friend, and they especially didn't want to try and ask you out. It was like a death sentence, in their minds.
They took one look at your dad, and decided that'd he'd be the type to see you off to prom with a bullet in the head of your date. He's not like that. He doesn't kill people for it, for being near you or anything.
He'd never outwardly rude or violent about it either. But still, it was overbearing. It had gotten worse as you got older-- as he went on more missions, and after every one, he'd come back a little bit different.
A little bit more intense with his previously manageable protective nature-- you were starting to feel like a bird kept in a gilded cage. The list of rules he held you and your friends by was so long that even you couldn't keep track of it anymore,
Eventually, everyone left you. Ruled you off as the kid with a crazy dad that owns more guns and weapons then the average kid could've ever imagined.
You don't blame him for it-- not really. You understood it. He'd sat you down and explained to you time and time again, apologized for the way he was-- he just wanted you safe.
It all came to a head when he went a step too far.
15 minutes. That's all you'd been late by-- 15 goddamn minutes. He'd lowered the curfew from 8 to 7:30, then 7--
And eventually, it was down to fucking 5:00. You couldn't be out of the house without him being present after 5! Not even for a job! Nothing! He made no exceptions, and it irritated you to no end.
In an act of textbook teenage rebellion (not really, if you tried telling that to anyone around your age then they'd laugh in your face, call it a pathetic attempt at defiance) , you stayed out a little later than necessary. You popped into a gas station on the way back home from hanging out at the local library, got a bag of candy, and took your sweet old time walking home.
You knew there'd be consequences; but the ones you'd expected, like being unable to walk anywhere anymore, or losing privleges like your computer or TV, or even being grounded...
Well, safe to say that what he ended up choosing blew those other options far, far out of the water.
Anxiety curled in your gut as you thought about it more and more, the idea that you thought for sure you wouldn't make it this far. By no means did this make you feel any safer than you had before-- if anything, it puts you more on edge.
Honestly, you don't know what you thought you'd get out of this. You can't go to the cops-- you're just another runaway. Your dad hadn't skimped out on the story he wove about you,
When you first got out-- first pried your way out of that basement, bathed in mockingly warm light-- all the amenities your average teenager could ask for, save for the ability to leave--, you'd made the mistake of trying to head to the police station.
It was stupid, you realize. And nearly got yourself caught in less than 30 minutes-- they'd ushered you in, listened to your tale of how your dad trapped you down in a basement. The town had to have been buzzing, and you'd wrongfully assumed that your dad had been playing up the 'grieving father going through hell and back to try and find their kid'.
Luck. That's all you had on your side, pure, dumb luck that you got out of there in time. That the walls of the precinct were thin enough for you to hear the cops talking about you in the other room. They weren't much for hushed tones, which was stupid when they talking about someone in the room right next to them.
The chief had been called over, you think. Sounded like him. But regardless of who he was, what he said hit you like a ton of bricks, no matter the person behind it.
"You got Kennedy's kid? Ain't they sicker than a dog, though? Bedbound, didn't he say?" Then another one, the younger one that seemed the most trustworthy when she'd pulled you into the building, and gave you some water and a blanket, corrected the man, "He never said what kind of sick, sir. It might be... in their head, and I don't think he ever said bedbound. Just stuck in the house."
Blood rushed in your ears, grip tightening on the little paper cup in your hand. You fought against the primal urge to flee, to bolt straight up and scramble to the door you'd entered from; no regard for what or who you might of disturbed or knocked into/over.
Instead, you'd stood-- shaking, but trying to keep calm, and walked to the back. You headed out the employee entrance, where they'd clock in and out, you think.
You didn't run until you were a good ways away, until you got to a more residential part of the town. Frantically, like a startled animal, you darted past houses and through backyards; running in the general direction of a train track nearby.
God-- you don't know how you got it in your head that train hopping was the easiest way to hightail it out of there, but now, you're very much of the opinion that you will never do that again.
Maybe it was because it was your first time-- or maybe these things never get easier as you keep doing them-- but you were a hairs length away from losing a leg.
No.
You stayed on foot, or on greyhound buses and the occasional passenger train with the small bits of cash you could scrounge up before your escape from the house.
With no particular destination in mind, you found yourself in some non-descript, decrepit convenience store. The tiled floors were cracked and dirty, looking like they'd give you the black plague if you touched them head on; the fluorescent lights above bathed the store in a sickly sort of yellow hue, the buzzing seeming louder than it was supposed to be.
But hey, you weren't a code inspector. You'd gained nothing from ragging on the decrepit state of the place-- it was good enough, to grab some supplies. There were no bugs, and the displays were kept neat and clean; that's all you can really ask for, in a place like this.
When you got up to the checkout lane, the woman manning the register gave you a wary sort of look, on you've become rather accustomed to.
"Where you headin' to, sweetheart? I never seen you 'round these parts before." These sorts of conversations were a dime a dozen, you'd realized. It was only fair, for people to be worried about a random kid wandering about, seemingly unaccomponied by any guardian-- or even a friend.
But, you'd also become accustomed to answering these kinds of questions. To quickly shut them down with a soft hum and a "My aunt. I'm visiting her for a little bit."
You must've gone further south than you'd thought-- it was warm, and muggy, especially for spring. Her accent was heavier than you'd ever heard before, something you don't come across in the midwest. The kind of accent you only get if you've spent your whole life in the south, and never intend to leave it.
It might've been your lack of accent that set off alarm bells in her head, her hand stopping mid-scan. "What's her name, darl'? I bet I know her. Towns like these, you end up knowin' everyone by name."
Ah.
Yeah... that was a bit of a problem. Small towns and all-- but you can't really step into a big city either, yeah? It'd be crawling with cops, and you'd stick out like a sore thumb. Even more so than you do now.
"She's in the town over." You quickly pulled from your ass, but she didn't start scanning again "The next town is a 30 minute drive."
You bite your tongue, trying not to let irritation rise. She meant well, you're sure, but the longer you're here, the more of a chance you get discovered.
"I'm travelling by greyhound. The next bus comes in 10 minutes, and my bus stop is halfway across the city." There, that should put a fire under her feet, right? Make her start scanning again-- a solid enough answer to ease her worries, you hope.
For a moment, you were afraid she wouldn't. That'd she try to lead you to a backroom and call the cops, report a possible runaway. That was something that happened a lot, too. People who meant well, surely, but in the end-- all they could do was harm.
You don't want to think about how your dad would react. How he would punish you for this.
Then, as if angels were shining down from Heaven itself-- she started moving again, and the rest of the transaction went smoothly.
Though, the concern never eased from her eyes. You could still feel her gaze, piercing against your back as you made haste out of the convenience store.
Truth is, you... actually don't know when the next bus was. Or where it was going to. In all honesty, you'd been planning on taking a train out, but that wouldn't be here for a couple hours. You never did much research with it-- beyond making sure it wasn't going to some big city.
But, with a fire started under your own feet, you were forced back to the bus stop, and made to board the very next bus; no matter the desitination.
It seemed like your luck was running out now, as one-way country roads turned into four-lane highways, and when skyscrapers started coming into view; and the sign, declaring "ATLANTA - 5 MILES AHEAD"
You let yourself mumble a little curse, under your breath as you anxiously watched the traffic around you. This wasn't how this was meant to go. Yeah, you're in Georgia-- a far cry from the state of corn, wheat, and soy that you hail from, but still.
Not good.
It's almost certain your face was floating around on various TV programs, missing posters covering light posts and bulletin boards alike-- but you hoped and prayed to anything that'd listen that the efforts to make people aware of your disappearance hadn't stretched outside of your county, or at least your homestate.
But other than being caught, being in a city posed other risks. A lone-travelling teenager wasn't a good thing to be in places like these. You could easily get lost amongst the crowds, yes; but sometimes that worked in your favor, and sometimes it didn't.
This was not one of those times.
You hadn't showered in a while-- a week and a half. Gross? Sure, you'll admit that much; but showering wasn't on your top priority. Escaping your dad was your biggest concern right now, and personal hygiene wasn't something that could trump that need at any rate.
But that singled you out. You were dirty, looked homeless. As you cut through a park, you noticed that various hostile architecture covering nearly every bench around. Ads for Salvation Army and local homeless shelters right by them.
It was obvious this place wouldn't take too kindly to you, if they were trying as hard as you think they are at cracking down on homelessness.
Right before you could exit the park-- you noticed a cop. You eyed them, keeping watch, making sure they don't spot you. What was the chance, that they would? Or if they did, that they'd even care? It looked like they were on break, anyhow.
Just when you deemed yourself in the clear, enough to take your eyes off the officer and focus your gaze ahead of yourself, did you hear someone shout "Hey!"
Maybe it wasn't for you.
It probably wasn't,
but you couldn't take the chance. Regardless of the intent, of who it'd really been aimed it-- if it was even the cop that said it, you took off running. No doubt looking suspicious as hell, in the meanwhile.
Behind you, your paranoia was proven correct when you heard the same voice calling "We got a code 10-110 in Freedom park! Looks to be in early to mid teens, on foot!" You sped up at that-- you didn't recognize the code, obviously. You didn't spend too much time familiarizing yourself with police codes, y'know,
But it didn't bode well at all, how they started describing you to a goddamned T, right down to your brown, fur-lined bomber jacket you'd snagged from the coat closet back home.
You pushed your body harder, lungs burning and throat closing up with fear-- this can't be how it ends. It just can't. You won't let it, you'd rather jump in the Chattahoochee river and swim your way down to Florida then get caught like this.
In your panic, you lost your footing. A loose pebble worked its way under your shoe, and sent you tumbling forward and sprawled out on the hard, unforgiving concrete of a city sidewalk. People avoided you-- especially when, before you could even get up on your knees, the cop grabbed you and kept you down, shouting what sounded like gobble-dee-gook through the radio they'd unclipped from their hip.
In the end, it was a goddamn pebble that took you out! A pebble! You can't even be that mad, it was so ridiculous-- sure, if you thought harder, then that pebble never would've tripped you up if you weren't noticed and subsequently chased by that cop, and you never would've been in Atlanta if you hadn't lied through your teeth to that random, well-meaning southern lady--
You could do this all day, track all your little slights and mistakes to that one harrowing, terrible moment that it all came crashing down.
Two months and 17 days.
That's how long you'd made it.
That's it.
Really, you should be proud of yourself. Again, you never expected yourself to make it that long-- but still, it did nothing to quell that world-ending despair you felt that it'd come to an end.
If anything, it hurt more, that'd you'd lasted longer. You really thought you had a chance, only for a pebble to slip you up, and have shipped right back to your dads arms.
Right back to the basement, that's significantly more bare than before. There were still the basics, but all your magazines, books, journals, your TV, CD player, 3DS, PS3-- everything. Just... Everything was gone, except for the furniture, some clothes, and your blankets and pillows.
Though, he didn't take your stuffed animals. Maybe you should've felt insulted at that, find a way to twist it and make it seem like he was treating you as a child (which, for the record, he absolutely was; but for other reasons).
It'd just be a waste of energy, though. He was like a brick wall now-- those little flinches, the sad looks that'd sometimes find its way on his face, how his apologies sounded so genuine at times...
They were all gone, replaced with a cold sort of determination you'd only seen your dad have when he was working on a particularly high-stakes mission.
You curled up tighter, clutching the Invader Zim GIR plush you'd gotten for your 8th birthday closer to your chest; seeking whatever comfort you could, now that were back here.
Not even home. You refuse to think of this place as home anymore, especially not your dressed-up cell. Even if it had carpet floors instead of cold tiles, and the walls painted a sky blue instead of a dingy grey; you still saw it for what it was.
A prison. And while your dad might've tried to change your opinion on it before, after your little 'stunt', as he'd dubbed it, he all but leaned into your perception of the space.
You heard the door click. And once upon a time, you would've rushed to it; hoped that you could shoulder your way past your dad-- only for him to laugh and think you were just happy to see him. You let him believe that at the time.
And now, you just flip over. You defiantly face the wall, not giving your dad the time of day. It was the only way you could fight back now, and even then you knew it was useless. That he'd force you to engage regardless of what you did,
That, realistically, your silent treatment couldn't last long at all. Eventually, you'll need to talk to him. To ask him for more toothpaste, or make a specific request for dinner; or even ask him the date.
He never told you the last one, always giving you wildly differing answers that'd thrown you off at first, before you caught on. Caught onto how he was trying to keep out of the know on the weather, so you wouldn't try and book it when the weather was more hospitable.
Even as you felt the mattress deep near the end of your metal-framed, twin-sized daybed; you didn't stir. You didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe; like a rabbit caught in the teeth of a tricky fox.
"Kid, you can't keep doing this." You don't answer him. This was by far the longest you'd been able to keep up with this small, but meaningful, act of rebellion. A few days, at least. You don't a way of tracking it indefinitely, but you've figured out a less concrete way of telling the passage of time.
That being how often he visited. It differed, sometimes he'd go longer without visiting, and other times he'd pop up every what-felt-like 30 minutes or so. There was no telling what mood he'd be in for the day, but you managed.
It's been a while, you know that much. And he was getting rather impatient, even if he tried to mask it. You haven't so much as looked his direction this whole time, only getting up and moving around when the coast was clear. When there was neither hide nor hair of your dad's presence,
Save for the camera, stuck up in the corner near the door. You know it's there-- it's a new addition, and you make a point of not looking at it, refusing to acknowledge it. You knew there was a good chance it was just a scare tactic, that it wasn't actually hooked up...
But still, you had to stick with this. You had to be going somewhere with this, after all.
A heavy sigh came next, then your dad shifted from where he sat at the end of the bed. Scooting up, closer to you. It took all you had not to curl up tighter. You had to stay still. You had to act like you weren't there, like you were just a ghost.
When his hand landed on your shoulder, you couldn't help but flinch a little at it. Even though the contact was soft, kind; just like the man who'd raised you all by his lonesome, though his current behavior was a far cry of who he used to be.
Or maybe, just what your perception of him had been. Maybe he was always like this, he just... snapped. Couldn't take it anymore and decided to put his worries to rest for the foreseeable future.
"Listen," You wish you didn't. You wish you could shut off your brain and just lay there, truly motionless; unseeing, unhearing, and unmoving, until he gave up and left you alone.
He knew you had to, though. Otherwise he wouldn't hve kept talking. You have nothing else to do, no other viable option but to listen to what he has to say-- whatever ultimatum he's come up with now.
You won't fold. You won't give in, you tell yourself. Not now, not ever; not until he gives up for good, and lets you back into society.
(deep down, you know that was never an option. especially now. you knew that he had his claws deep in you, that he wasn't going to let go. that he wouldn't dare to, lest his precious, sweet child get hurt along the way)
(it was all for your own good, he'd tell you. you never believed him. maybe he did believe that himself, but you knew better; you knew that, at the core of it, this was for his own benefit. keeping you locked up, away from the world-- it minimized the worries he had about you getting hurt.)
(about you being taken away from him, like so many people before you had. so many loved ones, friends, families, significant others-- he can't have the cycle repeating with you. he just can't. anyone else, anyone else but you.)
His hold on your shoulder tightened. Just a little, but it still made your haunches raise; made the hair on the back of your neck stand up straight. You hope he didn't notice.
"The sooner you accept this, the sooner your punishment will end, okay? This is for your own good."
Don't do it, you told yourself-- don't you dare, you don't need to respond--
"You keep saying that." Your voice was rough and croaky from disuse, and you cleared your throat to try and take a little bit of the edge off. You could almost feel the brightness and warmth of your dads smile, bearing into your back-- now that you finally deemed him worthy enough of a response. "And I'll keep saying it, as long as I mean it."
You huffed-- his definition of punishment had always been... loose. He never took it out on you, rather on others. He wasn't violent or rude per se, but if one of your friends were present when you two got into a tight spot...
Well. Let's just say your dad can yell like a drill sergeant if he's pushed to it. And that those friends never showed their faces around you again, in fear of inciting his wrath again. And you don't blame them.
But he's never done that to you, no-- you were his precious little angel, of course. He'd much sooner blame himself for being too 'lax' on you, that he left any doubt in your head that he didn't mean the best for you.
It was all very backhanded, how he assumed that you running away was not because of how insanely overprotective he was being-- but because he wasn't being overprotective enough.
Really, someone needs to study his brain. Maybe he got something in his system when he was on a mission, that crossed wires in his brain and made him think that this was perfectly fine. Lying about your kid being ill and locking you away for no fault of your own.
You two lapse into an uncomfortable silence, but not for long. No. Never for long, not with your dad around.
"I'm sorry you feel this way." There it is. He always says that-- not 'I'm sorry I'm basically holding you captive in the basement' or 'I'm sorry for not taking your thoughts, feelings, and dreams into consideration'. No, it's always 'i'm sorry you feel this way' or 'i'm sorry that you don't like it here',
Always followed up by an excuse, which speaking of, should be coming right about... "But there was no way around it. I just want the best for you, kid."
There we go-- he says that one a lot, 'there was no way around it'. You go to argue, but decide against it. It never gets you anywhere, and you consider going back to the silent treatment.
Until his hold on your shifted-- he flipped you over and pulled you up to sit. It never failed to spook you, how easily he could still move you around like you were a toddler. He worked as a government agent-- duh, he's going to be strong, but that didn't make it any less terrifying.
He could snap you like a goddamned toothpick if he so wished-- but you knew that wasn't a concern, not in the slightest. You much more afraid of him snapping anyone who was unfortunate to get close to you like a toothpick.
And then, his arm wrapped around your shoulder and pulled you close. The sort of side-hug was uncomfortable for you, physically speaking. Your neck straining at the angle it landed in, and you not caring enough to make nay move to alleviate it.
Surely, your dad noticed it-- but didn't comment on it. He did shift a little, though. Tried to have you more comfortable.
It worked a bit, but not by much. You couldn't be bothered to try any further.
"I love you, kid. You know that, don't you?" All he got in response was a little grunt, short and curt. What followed was the saddest little laugh you'd ever heard from your dad. "I know, I know. It doesn't feel like that, but I really am trying."
He pulled you closer, the hug feeling more like a boa constrictor's embrace than the comforting hold of a parent. "I can't lose you. I can lose anything else, but not you. Not my kid."
That part, you believed. Just for the clear, rock-solid resolve in his tone. You know he loves you-- you know that he doesn't want to lose you,
and that was part of the problem, a major one, no less.
"...I love you too." You manage to cough out, and only then did he release you from the ever-tightening, awkward side hug. As soon as you were free, you flopped right back on your side.
You didn't flip around to the face the wall just yet, thought. And your dad took that as an invitation for conversation-- you weren't too active in it, but you did give some input here and there.
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biracy · 6 months ago
Text
The John Post
The thing about John Gaius is like… a lot of people refuse to recognize him as like a Bad Guy, and a lot of people criticize tlt for having him as a Bad Guy, for similar reasons. I think a lot of people have these ideas that colonialism and empire and the vague concept of "war crimes" are bad due to some kind of ontological evil within the souls of white men or something, and that misogyny and the objectification of women exist due to some kind of ontological evil within the souls of straight men. Relating to the former, I think a lot of people hold a sort of "but it's okay when we do it" approach to systems of oppressive power + imperialism, where their vision of a perfect world is not one without these things, but ones where currently marginalized people get to participate in colonial and imperialist power forces just as much as the white men ("I hear the next one will be sent by a woman!"). John Gaius is both a representation of this and a good litmus test for people's opinions on this - he was a bisexual, Māori man living in colonized Aotearoa, and when he got to remake the universe, he made one where he is the emperor. Instead of making a world where these systems no longer exist, John went "but it's okay when I do it." A lot of people in real life are like this, honestly - a lot of marginalized people choose to only understand liberation and empowerment through the lens of the power wielded by their oppressors. It's an attractive concept, at first, but it doesn't really work in the long run and it cannot provide liberation for everyone. John becoming the most powerful man in the universe, literally becoming God, gives HIM that power, but does not give EVERYONE that power. The Nine Houses are subjugated under him, the non-House planets are regularly destroyed by him, and even his Lyctors are decidedly "under" him, even after ten thousand years. In choosing to wield the weapons of his oppressors for himself, John becomes not a liberator but an oppressor in his own right.
The same thing can be said about John and gender; people tend to reduce the misogyny John expresses because he's bisexual and played with girls' toys, but bisexual men are just as capable of wielding patriarchy against women as straight men. People also find it difficult to grapple with how John, a Māori man, constructed a blonde Barbie to house the soul of the Earth in, and are hesitant to analyze him as misogynistic because of this. But John making Alecto a Barbie, the icon of white femininity, is the same as him becoming an emperor and surrounding himself with Lyctors in the ancient Roman fashion. Alecto is the idealized white woman, and she is John's. John created her, possesses her, embodies her, in what is both a patriarchal power trip and a marginalized person taking power into his own hands. Alecto being a blonde white woman, being Barbie, carries very clear colonialist AND misogynistic connotations. White supremacy and colonialism has taught John that a blonde-haired white woman is the feminine ideal, which is backed up by the white, blonde-haired and blue-eyed Barbies of his childhood. At the same time, Barbie has an extensive history of being criticized for misogyny, with the doll's design embodying a very clear feminine sexual ideal. The desire to control and contain a beautiful woman is an inherently patriarchal one, and John takes it to the extreme when he chains his Barbie in a coffin at the center of a labyrinth. Alecto is the patriarchal fantasy to wholly possess a beautiful woman, powered by hundreds of years of colonialism teaching John what a beautiful woman even is, filtered through a thin veneer of exerting power over an image of whiteness (although John's treatment of Alecto is primarily misogynistic - it's a very clear part of the text and you need to get comfortable confronting that).
John Gaius is an example of a marginalized person who wishes for the power he has been denied, yet hasn't fully deconstructed colonialism and patriarchy. The only things separating him from anyone else fitting this description is that a) he is a fictional character being written deliberately and b) he had the opportunity to become God. And when John Gaius became God, he didn't change the world; he just made a world where he was in charge. This is an extremely important part of the books! The books are very clearly making commentary on both imperialism and misogyny, and to have people so passionately ignore these themes because they can be uncomfortable to talk about is disheartening. John is a character that invites so much analysis and conversation, there are so many layers to why he is the way he is and what that contributes to the books. People are so unwilling to discuss misogyny and assault or so uncomfortable with the idea of calling a nonwhite guy an imperialist that they steamroll right over these themes, which loses a lot of what makes the books so interesting to begin with in the process.
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eyecosahedron · 2 years ago
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I love the implications of the seven birds being from a more technologically advanced world than faerun (knowledge of TV, understanding of machine guns "count the shells", using microphones ect) because how many things was Lucretia not able to erase? Across 99 planes, it's impossible that she managed to get everything. And how well was she really able to introduce the more medieval concepts of faerun into their memories?
What did the THB think everyone was doing just waving swords around rather than pulling out guns; did they just accept it and move on? Imagine Lucretia trying to explain them to a weapons development department of the BoB to equip her employees. Lucretia, a records keeper, who cannot have a great understanding of the inner workings of firearms. Vaguely describing rectangles that explode to a reception of horrified looks.
Or Taako repeatedly asking Sazed to supply him with various kitchen utensils he insists are vital for the recipe that just Do Not Exist. Magnus, complaining that he can't play little games on his stone of farspeech, while everyone around is completely baffled at the concept. Everyone around them not only not getting their pop culture references, but being fundamentally incapable of understanding them.
I just think there is something so funny about them functionally time travelling and then promptly forgetting they were from a different era at all. And just. Having to get on with it.
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Note
How bad did things even get during the Time War anyway?
How bad was the Time War?
The Last Great Time War was a complete breakdown of cause and effect, logic, and everything that made the universe vaguely comprehensible. It lasted 400 years linearly, but in reality, it was an eternal, ever-shifting conflict fought across countless time periods and alternate timelines. By the time it ended (sort of), even the concept of victory had stopped making sense.
🌀 The War Broke Time Itself
⏳ Time was rewritten constantly. Battles weren't just fought in space—they were fought across entire timelines. Victory could be erased retroactively, and some battles lasted for centuries in one version of history, seconds in another, and never even started in a third.
🧬 Entire species were unmade, then remade, then unmade again. Some were wiped out so thoroughly that no one even remembered they had ever existed. The Daleks seeded themselves throughout different epochs to ensure their survival in multiple timelines.
📖 History itself became a battlefield. Some battles ended before they began, and some never ended at all. Some were fought, won, and then rewritten so that the losers always won instead.
🧠 Conceptual warfare existed. Imagine an army that only exists if enough people believe in it. Imagine ideas being used as weapons, timelines unravelling into paradox knots, and reality breaking under strain.
💀 Millions were killed and brought back to life every second. Time Lords and Daleks alike resurrected their own forces on an industrial scale—a never-ending cycle of death and rebirth, ensuring the war never ran out of soldiers.
💀 Unthinkable Casualties
🔥 Planets were burned from time. Not just destroyed—erased. No ruins, no survivors, no memory they had ever existed.
🌌 Entire galaxies were reduced to cinders. Some were aged into dust in seconds. Others were trapped in permanent time loops, reliving the same devastation forever. Some were sealed in paradox bubbles, their populations stuck in an infinite moment of destruction.
👥 Whole civilisations were conscripted, wiped out, or worse. The Time Lords and Daleks weren't the only players—countless other species were caught in the crossfire. Some were recruited without their knowledge, and entire populations were twisted into warriors who never knew they had fought.
🚀 Refugees couldn't run. Because the war wasn't just happening everywhere; it was happening everywhen. Some tried to escape into the past, only to find it had already been rewritten. Others fled into the future, only to arrive at their own extinction.
🌠 Species were erased just to remove them as a strategic variable. The people of Ysalus were completely wiped from history, while others were forcibly rewritten into weapons of war.
🔬 The Weapons Were Insane
💀 The Time Lords built weapons that erased you from history before you were even born. Some of them removed individuals so thoroughly that even the concept of them ceased to exist.
🌪️The Daleks created time winds that could strip you down to raw possibility. They could reduce a being to nothing but potential energy, scattering them across history as stray thoughts and fragmented echoes.
🛡️ There were living weapons that thought and felt, cities that consumed invaders, and paradox bombs that collapsed entire timelines. Some planets developed sentience mid-battle and chose to self-destruct rather than be conquered.
👁️ The Nightmare Child, the Army of Meanwhiles and Neverweres, the Could-Have-Been King…
🧩 The Time Lords created battle TARDISes that were piloted by soldiers who could be resurrected indefinitely. The War Council threw entire fleets of Time Lords into battle, knowing they could die, be revived, and die again.
👑 And the Time Lords Became Morally Dubious
⚖️ Gallifrey abandoned every principle it stood for. The Laws of Time? Gone. Ethics? Forgotten. Anything was permitted in the name of survival.
🎭 The High Council became so desperate that they tried to destroy all of reality just to win. In the end, the only way they saw to "defeat" the Daleks was to end the entire universe.
☠️ The Time Lords nearly became as bad as the Daleks. Some would say they were worse.
👑 Rassilon returned, and his idea of victory was ending the entire universe. He saw Gallifrey's survival as the only thing that mattered. If everything else had to burn, so be it.
🧩 Entire divisions of Time Lords went rogue, forming resistance movements against their own leaders. The War Master, the Barber-Surgeon, and Morbius all saw the war as an opportunity to further their own agendas.
🏫 So ...
It wasn't just a war. It was the apocalypse, written and rewritten over and over again, until the only solution left was to burn it all down. And even that didn't quite work.
Related:
💬|⚔️⌛How did the Time War start?: The complicated origins of the Time War.
💬|⚔️🔒How does the Time War time lock work?: The extent of the time lock and its current status.
📺|⚔️🪖The Could’ve Been King with his army of … etc.
Hope that helped! 😃
Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴
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jesncin · 7 months ago
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Thinking about Disney and how we talk about Cultural Representation
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(concept art by Scott Watanabe)
Old essay originally written on Cohost in November 2023. With additions.
With all the promo stuff about Disney's upcoming animated film Wish, I can't help but think about Raya and the Last Dragon again. I spent a year intensively researching things about that movie and the discourse surrounding it for a series of videos on Xiran Jay Zhao's channel, and oh boy did that reveal a lot about the current way we talk about cultural representation in casual media criticism.
Lately we've grown a habit of looking at signifiers to culture, things like a cultural dish, a nod to a martial arts style, a piece of clothing, maybe a hairstyle, a weapon and so on, and then projecting a bunch of intentions onto the work regardless of authorial intent. I witnessed this a bunch of times in discussions surrounding Raya and the Last Dragon.
You basically get a bunch of 4d chess-style justifications for the lazy implementation of culture in Raya.
random examples cuz there's too many to name:
The movie will do something like make the leaders of the villain nation women, and people immediately assumed it was some kind of bespoke reference to Minangkabau matriarchical society.
the art book of Raya specifically stated that they purposely misplaced things as a stylistic fantasy choice "we could take something that is known and place it in an unexpected location, like coral in the desert and cacti in the snow". But when people saw a water buffalo placed in the desert they assumed it was some super clever environmental story decision.
The movie will tell you it includes things like Borobudur, Angkor wat, Keris, and most people will take their word for it without hesitation. Never mind that Southeast Asians could barely recognize these nods to our culture through how amalgamated the designs are.
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(early concept art by Scott Watanabe)
Moving forward, I think we need to talk less about "what" parts of a culture are being represented in these movies, and more about HOW they're being included, we need to ask:
What is this piece of media's relationship with the cultures it represents?
Because Raya and the Last Dragon is not a cultural movie, it's a monolith film pitched and written by white people and a Mexican director with 2 SEA writers added later in production to avoid backlash. Culture serves the purpose of aesthetic set dressing in the film, as opposed to something that informs its themes and characters.
it wasn't even initially pitched as a Southeast Asian movie. The white writers who pitched it were going for a vague East Asian sci fi fantasy story under the working title "Dragon Empire". Southeast Asian culture was an aesthetic change added much later.
This is what happens when a corporation tries to put representational value on a shallow aesthetic. Because of the way Disney constantly marketed Raya as this big authentic cultural film, it primes its audience to read cultural intention in the most benign details. And when we get lost in the details, we lose sight of the bigger picture.
Contextualizing Cultural media criticism
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(visual development art by April Liu)
We need to start demanding more context in our analysis. The next time we see a reference to culture in media we consume, take a step back and ask what purpose it serves in the narrative. And most importantly!! What Is Its Relationship With The Culture It Represents? We shouldn't just accept things at face value.
start asking yourself,
through what lens is this cultural dish and its spicy flavors being presented to us? Are the customs surrounding the food being respected?
If martial arts or dance is represented, how is it translated in the adaptation? Are you getting generic hollywood-fu or are you seeing specific movements with purpose and motivation? Are the philosophies or spiritual contexts of these traditions present in the text?
Are the clothing, hairstyles, and presentation of the characters being de-yassified through a colonial filter? Is the non-conformity of the cultures' different framework for gender presentation being adjusted to fit a more recognizable binary?
If language is present, what role does it serve? Is it presented as other through being exclusively used by villainous beings? Is it being made a monolith as one "non-English" language?
is this temple actually a place of worship or is it just a set piece for a goddang Indiana jones booby trap action fight sequence
This way, instead of unquestionably defending a piece of media because a character wore a traditional outfit one time, or because some characters took their shoes off at a temple, or because there were Arnis sticks in that one fight scene, we can approach the text with a more nuanced and holistic understanding of how culture informs narrative.
To quote Haunani K. Trask (author of From A Native Daughter):
“Cultural people have to become political… Our culture can’t just be ornamental and recreational. That’s what Waikiki is. Our culture has to be the core of our resistance. The core of our anger. The core of our mana. That’s what culture is for.”
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weepingtalecowboy · 8 months ago
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Fanfic prompt :Everyone always makes the joke that Wild and Hyrule are the most likely to get kidnapped
But in their literal game mechanics and the lore of the games
Hyrule must run from anyone and trust nobody or someone could hand him over to ganon he definitely is really skittish about trusting anyone but when he sees someone help him he does trust them a bit more (he knows the concept of stranger danger and had to become a master at it or else it was game over)
Wild literally just has to throw a banana and you can almost always tell it is a Yiga even before you even pull out said banana (it is part of the game mechanics after all)
But you know who is the one who actually canonically is the most likely to get kidnapped and not notice it at any point during the entire process
Wind who has jumped on the boat of sketchy old man and pirates during both his adventures
Like he was extremely lucky that nothing ever happened to him
And he probably doesn’t know the concept of stranger danger because nobody on the island is a stranger or dangerous to him how would he even figure out if nobody is telling him about it or showing it
Like the first thing he does when the game starts is run up to a random girl who has fallen from a tree then she turns out to be a pirate and even if she has told him the truth about the kidnapped girls
You don’t jump on the boat of a pirate no matter how nice they seem (for all we know she could have orchestrated this situation to kidnap him and it is pure luck that she was just nice like that )
Essentially because later during the failed heist he gets throw across the sea he literally just wakes up on a different boat with no record of how he got there and instead of alerting anyone (because Wind fell island has a prison so he could have told the guards that a random guy had him on the boat and all that) he breaks fucking tingle out of the cell just to buy a sail for the weird talking boat and then continue on with just the two of them together (like I get desperately trying to save his sister but telling a guard or two that your sister got kidnapped and that you are saving her to make sure that at least a few people will know where you are like grandma definitely doesn’t know that you no longer are with the pirates)
And even more unhinged is the fact that tetra is not a good person at all she has interrogated a guy who wouldn’t sell her bombs which should have tipped Wind of as a red flag she has scammed a rich man out so much that he lives as a beggar with his daughter (also a thing that makes it more vague than ever to know what she would have done to his grandmother like a promise telling him she would bring his sister back safely is very dubious)
Also he canonically has repeatedly went to tingle's tower and asked him to translate the triforce charts (like that is tingle and nothing more has to be said)
Like Wind has the most luck known to mankind
It also somehow gets even worse because during phantom hourglass he and tetra are on the boat (which understandable because she proved that she is someone you can trust and a good friend)
And after waking up on a random beach the first thing you do is go into an old guy’s storage unit to get his sword (and somehow again not get mugged , kidnapped or trafficked because you never go somewhere alone when a single person is aware of it with no weapon especially when someone told you to go there )
Then he went with a different shady guy he just saved at the temple who genuinely looked like a problem in the making (and it was a problem in the making like I love linebeck he is a father figure for wind but also he did have the problem with his ex who wanted to kill him and he looked really shady and you would not have been able to escape if he did kidnap you because you are on the sea )
Like obviously Wind hasn’t learned his Lesson at any point in time because every time it went well
But with Yiga nothing goes well with them
He would probably hold hands with them as well and any other kidnapper would have a very easy catch
He probably joined the chain in less then a second without any form of self awareness (like everyone definitely was nervous with each other but not Wind he heard they said everyone else can sleep while another takes watch and planted his face on a pillow and was just out like that while everyone else was uneasy and didn’t sleep well or also took watch to make sure they won’t be killed in their sleep)
The chain really has to teach him that lesson (for the sake of like literally everything he has ever done because that luck will run out at some point)
Like Warriors definitely is seeing Wind go with literally everyone and not understanding why like that looks like a trauma response (it is just wind with over 12 years never learning about stranger danger and a big misunderstanding but also not really wrong )
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ratcandy · 1 year ago
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A Very Rough Analysis of Bug Beauty Standards in Hallownest
thank you @arty-cakes u've enabled me to have thought processes and now we're in a hell of our own making
Bear with me. Ok. This started because of discussion over Zote's horns. I'm gonna be combining both in-game dialogue and some irl bug things to come up with some vague understanding for how, potentially, bug beauty may be perceived in Hallownest. Because there is quite a FEW possibilities here, and I wanna dissect what I can.
And of course in my humble opinion there are no real, true Standards. Bugs are only full of love and there is no real concept of "ugliness." Because I said so. ...And, I mean, this would actually have some ground, because Hallownest is a conglomerate of a LOT of different bug species!! Truly, for there to be any one consensus wouldn't make a lot of sense, because everyone's going to have different standards Per Species.
(I implore everyone here to look up stalk-eyed flies (<LINK GOES TO PICTURE OF A BUG). To some bugs out there, that is, in fact, the pinnacle of sexy. So the idea of true beauty could REALLY, REALLY VARY.)
But hey. I'm having fun. So take my hand. Let's analyze nothing for no reason. this is a very long post. THERE IS ALSO ONE (1) PICTURE OF IRL BUG IN HERE; ITSE BEETLES. Be aware!
So, first of all.
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These are sexy. This is considered sexy by bug standards. Or at the very least by Bretta and Godseeker's standards respectively. The words used to describe GPZ are "gorgeous" and "beautiful" while, as everyone knows, Flukemarm is "alluring."
So what this tells me right off the bat is that bugs seem to value Big and Round. The larger the body mass, the more attractive that bug is. Godseeker even refers to her real-world form, which looks like this,
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with this dialogue:
"...And this? Our form swells? Large? Nay. Immense. Majestic. Hibernation, so long forced upon Us, yet the shell that results is strong... So strong! Thine gaze is adoring. Ye must think Us Godly. Amusing, foolish. But thou art faced with enormity and beauty, true..."
"Linger and gaze. Linger and gaze on Our magnificent shell. Our overpowering beauty!"
So like. I've at least a little reason to believe that Big and Large = Conventionally Attractive in some manner when it comes to these bugs.
To be fair, the Godseeker isn't from Hallownest. So her opinions on this matter might not align with everyone else's. But Bretta, who we have no reason to believe isn't a Hallownest native, does envision a sexyman Zote to be just as Big and Large.
Oh, and, of course:
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This big guy is literally Called a "gorgeous husk." We could assume it's the golden shine that allows this one to be Gorgeous, OR we could assume it's the roundness. I, for one, think it's the Roundness.
HOWEVER, there is some possible contradictions to his idea. For one, the Gluttonous husk,
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Is referred to as having a "grotesque shape" by the Hunter. Now, the grotesque-ness may be due to overconsumption (as is mentioned in the same entry), thus causing a bloated, unnatural shape that we can't totally see due to the artstyle/lack of reference. But it is worth Mentioning.
Also, of course, Salubra seems to think Ghost is quite a Fine Specimen, despite Ghost being far from Large or as Round:
"You're even more the attractive bug, clad in all those wonderful, sparkling things. I may have nothing more to give, but you must come back and visit from time to time. Such a dashing figure frequenting my store. I bet the whole village is jealous. Mmm hmm!"
"...Dear dear, I really must hold it together, must appear calm, but this creature... is just divine..."
"It's rare enough that someone enters my store, but even rarer to meet one so striking! Those impressive horns! That fierce weapon. The air of mystery! Ooooh. It's enough to make me swoon."
It's VERY possible a lot of Salubra's thoughts on this matter are due to charms, though shdgKJSDHG. A lot of her thoughts are specifically connected to the charms, thinking Ghost looks dashing with those charms on, etc.
But interestingly, she does mention Ghost's horns as "impressive," which brings up a whole other slew of questions on what "average" would be for horns. And since this whole thing initially started as a discussion on Zote's horns, well. Now I'm just wondering!!
Because in Bretta's sexyman version of Zote, she doesn't give him symmetrical horns. Sure, in a meta way, you could argue that's just a way to make sure GPZ is recognizable as a version of Zote. BUT!!!! When I was talkin earlier, I was speculating an idea where symmetry could be conventionally attractive in some way, and asymmetry could be generally unappealing. So it's interesting that a potentially unattractive quality would be kept on the Sexyman version. I suppose if Zote told Bretta he lost his horn in some grand battle, or whatever, of COURSE she wouldn't get rid of his epic battle scar. But at the same time, if he DIDN'T say that, then she just chose to keep it..... perhaps assuming it was a scar herself, or perhaps Bretta just doesn't take symmetry into account as a Beauty Thing. I dunno! Many possibilities there.
And if Ghost's little baby horns are impressive, then... Good lird, what do we make of the Hollow Knight then, right? Or hell, even Hornet!
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I'm not sure if we wanna use that as a True scale for Horn standard. Especially especially seeing as Ghost isn't even physically mature, as far as we're aware (the Hollow Knight is specifically mentioned as "fully grown Vessel" in the Hunter's Journal, so). After all, it is ALSO very possible that Salubra was just Saying things as a means to convince you to buy stuff.
So for now let's abandon Salubra's thoughts. Let's go elsewhere.
In IRL bug talk, horns are generally a means for mate selection and/or competition with rivals. Usually these two things go hand-in-hand (competition is For Mates, I mean. or other resources).
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after all, how are you gonna toss a guy off a tree if you don't got horn.
So it's not out of the question to think that horns on the Hallownest bugs would have some sort of Meaning. Especially since we see a LOT of bugs with varying horn sizes/shapes. And if we want to say every face we see is actually a mask, then that's even more telling! Because then horns are specifically being added to masks for one reason or another.
So that makes me Really wonder.
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like this is obnoxious. what do you need all that horn for. Those don't even look practical for battling with. Granted, the shape of the Pale King's "crown" looks VERY similar to the mouth of the Wyrm corpse, so it's possible he just Kept that shape as his crown rather than intend for it to be horns.
But STILL. How do you think the bugs of Hallownest felt about this thing? Like that's so many horns. If he's meant to look like a "common bug," how to those Common Bugs feel about all those horns. Like sir that's excessive. We don't have all those. The most any one common bug has is three, iirc. So like. Huh.
Or would More Horn = more attractive? I'm uncertain. PK might not be all that conventionally attractive anyway. Given the lack of Large and Round going on. He is, in fact, small and pointy. So who's to say.
Anyway. Drop the horn talk for now. I want to go back to Bretta.
Bretta forms crushes on Ghost and Zote. But I don't think she's attracted their actual honest-to-Wyrm appearances. She creates idealized versions of her crushes and seems to only tangentially connect them to the real person, given... well. GPZ looks like that, and Zote does NOT look like that.
In her thoughts, she considers Zote "beautiful." In the first diary entry, she calls Ghost "beautiful." But she also writes Ghost as "standing tall," while Ghost is anything but tall, and. Yes. Again. GPZ. And in her last set of thoughts about Zote, she seems to only then see him as "smaller, tattered and stained." At some point, she seems to stop seeing a real Figure, and only sees an idolized, fake version of that Figure.
So I don't think she sees either Ghost or Zote as physically attractive on their own. More the idea of what they "could" be.
Does that all make sense? God I sure hope so. I have another Bretta thing to mention, though.
In one of the Zoteling Hunter's Journal entries, aka a snippet from Bretta's zote fanfiction, we've got this:
""That lowly map-maker's wife? Hah! My Queen, how could you compare yourself to her? In the face of your intoxicating beauty, all other females are merely dust!" The Grey Prince trembled with anger and indignation... and love."
So. That tells us Bretta sees Iselda as conventionally attractive in some way. Or, at the very least, feels a need to compare herself to Iselda to the point of writing about it in her fanfiction. So let's look at Iselda.
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The only thing we can say for certain about Iselda that follows with anything we've spat out so far is that Iselda, while not Large in a GPZ way, is very TALL. To the point where Elderbug has a whole thing of dialogue talking about how tall Iselda is:
"She's a tall bug, the wife. I told them to take a larger house, especially given they're all empty, but they liked the look of that one. The way she has to bend just to get through the door...I wouldn't put up with it myself."
So we do have the Large-in-a-Way thing going. And for all we know, since she used to be a warrior, she could also have SICK muscles. She could pick me up and throw me, I think. And round... I mean. Her, um. Well her abdomen, I suppose, is . Rather round. But she's otherwise not Round in the sense that Flukemarm is round, or the Gorgeous Husk is Round.
So who knows!!! Perhaps it's just the Largeness/Height that contributes to attractiveness as opposed to fat. But I choose to believe fat is a positive factor anyway. Because I can, so there.
IT'S TIME TO TALK ABOUT SMELLS.
ok, technically, I could end that there. Because I can't find TOO Much more dialogue talking about the Beauty of Bugkind. I've checked around, but... MMm. Not too much, really!
BUT. While not, perhaps, part of a bug's seen appearance... There does seem to also be a little variation on Smell opinions. Which could definitely add to conventional attractiveness, especially since irl bugs are CHOCK FULL of sexy smelly pheromones. looking at you bombykol ....
And by that I mean. Responses to the Defender's Crest.
Leg Eater thinks it's a "tasty" smell and will give you a discount for it. Tuk recognizes the smell as that of a "friend," and well also give you a discount for it (in that case, it's more likely she just recognizes it as Ogrim's smell as opposed to anything Attractive about it, lmao, but STILL). Of course, Ogrim thinks it's a "just" smell.
Elderbug and Lemm are the only ones I can think of that have blatantly negative responses (Elderbug says something about the air smelling horrid while Lemm. Um: "Urgh! What do you think you're doing, coming into my nice little shop stinking like that?! These relics have been through enough. They don't need you spreading your stench all over them! Crawl back to the Waterways or wherever you came from!").
The White Lady obviously also associates it with Ogrim, saying it brings "joyous memories."
SO you're probably thinking. Hey Clam, this is a strange side-tangent to go on. There's not too much about the Defender's Crest smell that really works with your theory. Two characters dislike it, and two others only like it because they associate it with Ogrim. So, what gives?
divine's dialogue:
"Ahhhh, that smell! So strong, so virile..."
do you know. What virile means?
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i'm sorry . I do not think Team Cherry meant it this way. But GOD HELP ME if it isn't REALLY FUNNy,
OKAY. Okay. I think... I think I'm done for now. There isn't a hell of a lot more I can find within game to go off of. and when it comes to irl bugs, well. Again, it varies pretty heavily by species!! So much is possible here. Refer to stalk eyed flies again. Sometimes, to a bug, having super long eye stalks is what's hot. Other times, all it's about is if you can throw a guy off a tree.
Or you're a giant water bug and being a good dad is sexy. I'm not joking. It's called sexy dad hypothesis. And well. I'm not here to shame the dads of Hallownest, but...
So. Yes!!!! OKay. I said words. I wrote this all in one very quick sitting and now I'm wandering away. I have things to do that I am presently not doing because I'm analyzing bug beauty standards.
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mohgreal · 10 months ago
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mohgwyn dynasty themes
going back to my mohg posting era, to say i've thought about the whole symbolism behind it
First of all, as you already know Mohg was shunned from birth. Mohg used his own acursed blood as both a weapon and he also embraced it. The formless mother came to him. Mohg never had a mother. Not a present one anyway. There's this theme of neglect behind it. The formless mother is absent, Mohg seems to be absent to his own followers, and even Miquella seemed to be absent.
Varre says that the two fingers hold no "love" for the tarnished, despite them bringing the tarnished into existence. I think theres a vague undertone of Mohg wanting a family of his own and living that through the dynasty. He didn't create the tarnished, but he takes them in and gives them blood powers, and holds more "love" for them than the two fingers according to Varre.
Now that we know Mohg was bewitched, and how bewitchment works, we know that it only makes the victim love [Miquella]. Mohg's love seems to be very present-- but very obsessive. He's obsessed with this idea, the concept he can have his own family and be loved despite his past, so he embraces his hornsent nature. He grows free wings in his second phase.
He gives Okina who nearly kills him a blood katana, because she is worthy to survive. Like Mohg once did.
There is this poetic undertone to all the suffering in Mohgwyn dynasty and it's followers, that no matter how much you bleed, you can be loved. By Mohg, lord of blood.
okay my brain hurts dies
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