#technically three years and a day ago since I got a vpn to watch it a few hours early 😎

[gizkalord]

THREE YEARS AGO TO THIS DAY I CRIED SO HARD OVER VICTORY AND DEATH THAT MY GLASSES FOGGED UP AND I COULDNT SEE THE CREDITS

[wordstro]

mingi + mafia au + you shouldn't have done that

mingi x gender neutral reader, 1.5k, thank you!!!!!!!!!!! 

Part 2

you were meant to do great things. at least that’s what your parents, your teachers, even your best friend used to tell you over and over and over, beaming at you and whatever your newest accolade of the moment was. you had ranked number one in your class all throughout high school. you had your pick between the top three universities in the country. at graduation, you were on top of the world.

and then, things went downhill and never really stopped. 

you’re still not quite sure when you’ll hit rock bottom, when you’ll finally get to turn your life around. or maybe, you missed that chance long ago. your father grew incredibly ill and your mother fell into debt. you worked too many part time jobs to help pay it off and your grades slipped. eventually, your father passed away and your mother was too busy dealing with grief and debt to really be a mother. you failed one too many classes and got kicked out of university. you still felt like you needed to help your mother pay off the crippling amount of debt and you indulged yourself in people you would have never given the light of day. and, to top it all off, your best friend slowly stopped answering your calls and your texts, drifting out of your life as if he hadn’t been there since you were both children, as if all those years and late nights and time spent together meant nothing.

it’s been years since then, but the mere thought of him still brings tears to your eyes, still makes your stomach curl with guilt, still makes you wonder what the hell you did wrong. during your brief phone calls with your mother, she would ask about him, and you never had the heart to just tell her. but, maybe she noticed your short answers because, nowadays, she’s stopped. nowadays, she’s even stopped asking for details about your job.

you’re grateful for that, really, because how the hell are you supposed to tell your sweet, tired mother that you work as a freelance hacker for an underground network of crime syndicates? it’s a bit of a mouthful, really, and you don’t think your poor mother’s heart can take such news.

sometimes, you wonder if this is your rock bottom. especially when you catch sight of yourself in the blackness of your screen before you boot up your laptop. the debt hasn’t stopped and you don’t think it ever really will because interest is a fucking bitch, but it’s become manageable. sometimes, you think about how you could go back to school. you could get decent work in an office somewhere.

but, you kind of like the thrill of this. you could go back, but you won’t. you know you won’t. you enjoy the rush of adrenaline when you receive a notification from one of your clients instructing you to extract information for them. you never ask too many questions about the whos. you only really care about the compensation. and this particular task has a price tag of several million won.

you raise your brow, stretching your fingers and cracking your back, already thinking about all the things you plan on buying with the extra money, grinning because the task in question is easy. almost too easy. you just need to root out a location from within a shit ton of security walls, as if whoever built it absolutely does not want anyone to find them. you grin and get to work.

~.~.~.~.~

you’ve seen your fair share of security systems over the course of your career and you’d rank this one as one of the tougher ones. still, you get in. you always get in.

and, for a moment, the IP address appears on your screen. the tension falls from your shoulders as you sit back admiring your work. for a moment, all is well.

until it isn’t.

your screen turns red, filling with white static, and it’s fucking terrifying. especially when it starts keening, high pitched, shrill, ringing in your ears, until it goes black.

you freeze, slowly peeking out from behind your chair, eyeing the computer in concern. you wonder if it’ll explode. white symbols fill the screen, cursor blinking. it takes a moment to register the message and when you do, your heart drops into the pit of your stomach, your breath catching in your throat. it’s your full name and your current location, written out in full, almost as if it’s mocking you. a chill runs straight down your spine and, for a moment, you’re frozen in your spot, crouched behind your computer chair. you were always cautious. you switched between VPNs constantly, you kept your work computer clear of anything and everything relating to your identity. this shouldn’t be happening. holy shit, you need to go. you shoot up, rummaging through your closet for the getaway bag you made long ago, just in case. you knew you needed a contingency plan when you started this. you just never expected to actually need it. but, now, you need to get out. you need a burner phone and cash and -

knock, knock.

the things in your hand slip, clattering all over the floor, and you flinch at the loud noise, glancing between the laptop and the door. you contemplate jumping out the window, but you’re on the third floor and you doubt that -

beep. beep. beep. click.

the front door sits ajar and the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. for a beat, you are so terrified you aren’t sure if you can even move. then your brain jumps into overdrive. you need something to defend yourself with, though. you’re frantic when you yank the lamp off the table beside the couch, scurrying into the kitchen.

it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop and you hate it. you swear your own heartbeat can be heard in the quiet of your apartment. there is no force used, you notice, as if your brain is clinging to the tiniest details as a way to keep calm and collected. nothing about the knocking at your door nor the technical break-in is forceful or loud, and it’s somehow worse than if someone had just kicked your door down and stuck a gun in your face. you lift the lamp over your head, just as you hear the creak of the front door opening and the faintest of whispers. you hear footsteps, slow and measured, so fucking casual, echoing throughout your apartment and your grip on the lamp tightens. it doesn’t take long for the footsteps to approach the kitchen. you don’t even try to catch a glimpse of the intruder; the moment they step into reach, you bring the lamp down over their head with a loud thud.

a man cries out in pain - the loudest noise you’ve heard yet this evening, the sound making you flinch - and you back out of the kitchen, nearly tripping on your own feet, not even bothering to watch the man crumple to his knees. you just hope he stays down.

but, you didn’t account for the other voice, the other footsteps.

you yelp when you run face first into a sturdy wall of a person, thrashing as their fingers wrap around you, holding you steadfast with such ease. you think, holy shit, holy shit, I don’t want to die, while you’re being dragged and tossed onto the floor of your living room. you hit your head too hard, vision swimming, pain shooting through your skull, but you manage to put space between you and where you think the intruders are. you stare, wary, terrified, thinking, thinking, thinking. you open your mouth, ready to scream, but there’s a pretty boy with dark eyes and sharp features staring down at you, head tilted, a gun cocked in his hands.

he says, “scream and i’ll shoot.”

you didn’t account for three intruders, the man with the gun, the one you hit over the head with the lamp, and whoever is helping him up. your eyes flicker past the kitchen entrance, frantically searching over the man’s shoulder for an opening. you notice the lack of face coverings - from what you’ve picked up throughout your years of working in the underground, you know that is not a promising sign, it usually means they don’t plan on letting you live long enough to expose their identities - and you scoot further back until your back hits the wall. the man’s eyes and gun follows you, a kind smile playing on his lips, out of place in a situation like this. it’s just as unsettling as the lack of force behind their break in, the silence with which they work under.

two people emerge from your kitchen, the man you presumably hit over the head grumbling under his breath while the other one holds him up, towering over him. the man with the gun speaks up, pulling your attention back to him, “now, tell us.” he steps forward and you have nowhere to go. “why exactly were you trying to hack into our systems? who put you up to this?”

“I…I don’t know.” your voice comes out steadier than you expected and you’re grateful for that. the man with the gun sighs. you glare, you can’t help it. “I really don’t know. I make it a point not to know who my clients are.”

the man sighs, yet again, and somehow that angers you. you watch as he steps back from you, gun still directed at you, turning his torso to face his friends. your gaze flickers up to them and you -

“holy shit.” your fingers dig into your palms, your eyes locked on him.

because it’s song mingi.

memories that you have spent years trying to forget floods into the forefront of your mind. birthdays spent with him, his soft smile, the first memories you’ve had with him, playing tag in your parents’ house. the way he sometimes insisted you be the big spoon when the two of you cuddled, laughing at the way you could barely contain his long limbs in your arms. the way he cried into your shoulder when his family dog had to be put down. the promises of forever he made with you. his laugh, the way his eyes would scrunch up and his smile would get so big. memories and feelings and everything just floods through you and you can feel tears prickling at your eyes, your chest heavy, words stuck in your throat.

he has red hair now, his arm curled around the man you hit over the head. still, he hasn’t changed much. he’s taller, broader, older, but he is the same in so many ways. his eyes, though, are different. the light and love they always held has dimmed and there’s something dark about his gaze, something ancient and sad and irredeemable, something broken. your breath catches at the sight, at the way his eyes widen ever-so-slightly, before they narrow, at the way you can’t read his face easily like you used to be able to.

“mingi?” you speak, then, your voice less steady than before, barely audible really, if it wasn’t for how quiet the apartment had become. both his friends startle at that, but your eyes are on him. there is a mix of anger and relief and yearning that curls in your chest. you’ve missed him, you realize. you’re angry because he left you so long ago, that he is standing here now, on the side of the man with the gun pointed at you, and you should be mad, should be screaming, but you missed him. maybe this is your rock bottom.

for a moment, mingi softens, eyes returning to the way he used to look at you before. for a moment, you can pretend he still cares about you.

but, only for a moment.

his gaze steels, his lips pressing into a thin line. he slips his hands off his friend, stepping towards you and there is an aura surrounding him that is unfamiliar and, frankly, terrifying.

he crouches, until he is at eye level with you. you hold your breath. he says, “you’ve built a very notorious reputation for yourself you know. makes sense, though, you’ve always been the greatest at whatever you put your mind to.”

there’s something so very foreboding about the way he says that. you blink, manage to respond, “why are you…what do you want from me? what are you…what are you going to do to me?”

mingi looks at you like you are a stranger and you think, no, this is your rock bottom. he leans in close, red hair falling over his unreadable eyes, elbows resting on his knees. the world falls away and all that is left is you and mingi, mingi and you.

he breathes, “hacking into our systems? you really shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart.” then he tilts his head and stares you down. you cannot breathe as he tacks on, “now we have to make an example out of you.”

[elle-stevens]

The Break Up Blog - Day Fifteen

It’s been another day of plodding along and trying my best to move on from X. It took ages for my VPN to connect tonight, but I finally managed to log into Tumblr. It’s already getting harder to make time to do a break-up blog entry. It’s not because I’m anywhere close to being over X. It’s just that life does in fact go on and I have things to do and people to see. It leaves less and less time to stay at home and mope over my failed relationship, which is a good thing. 

I still get depressed early in the morning and late at night when my thoughts inevitably drift onto X. Being at work is hard, especially when I don’t exactly have a zest for teaching. But it’s getting easier to fake it at least. 

I had a full teaching schedule ending in a double period with my sixth graders. Luckily, I’ve been teaching them about movie genres to prepare them for their upcoming written assessment. And when we had 10 minutes left before class ended, I let them watch Doctor Who, which I got them onto a year ago. I’m technically not supposed to show movies in class since it doesn’t count as ‘teaching’, but I honestly don’t give a crap at this point. Too much of my autonomy has been taken away in the classroom, I’m trying to hold onto whatever is left. 

H let me know that I won’t have to teach after school classes next month after all since students haven’t signed up for them. They still have tomorrow to sign up, but if they don’t, it’ll be the fourth time I’ve been forced to apply to teach a special class and not had to teach in the end. The whole thing is so pointless. Either put it in my contract that I have absolutely have to teach extra-mural classes or stop talking to me about those classes period. C is very frustrated because we have to change the evaluations that me, her and CI fixed yesterday because H doesn’t ‘understand’ what we’re trying to assess the students on. Honestly, at this point, it sounds like H is just talking out of her own ass to sound like she knows what she’s doing. Don’t get me wrong, I do like H, she has a great personality. But she sucks at being decisive and managing other people. I know it’s only her first year supervising the English teachers in the elementary department, but it hasn’t been a good run for her at all. 

I left work later than usual, only after 17:00. C and I walked to a restaurant near our apartment and ordered dumplings for dinner. It turned out that we both ordered shrimp dumplings soups instead of dumplings on their own, but it was really delicious! I’ve had a soft spot for Chinese food since living in South East Asia more than a decade ago. But I have to say, Chinese food tastes even better in the Motherland. 

I ate way too much and had to walk it off later when I went back to work to grab my earphones that I left on my desk before heading to the gym. I hope I can stick to my exercise regimen that lasts for 4 weeks without getting sick or busy at work. I did an intensive weight loss workout which ate my soul tonight, that’s how exhausted and sweaty my body was afterwards. But it drove all thoughts of X out of my brain for a good 20 minutes. I weighed myself on the scale and noticed that I’ve lost just under a kilogram in the last three months. It’s not exactly a record, but I actually thought I’d put on weight in recent times. So there’s a silver lining in there. 

I got home pretty late from the gym and battled with my VPN before I could connect to Tumblr to my do my blog tonight. China and its lovely Great Firewall get me down sometimes. I’m snacking on jelly beans past 22:00, but I just can’t bring myself to care. I’m gonna make myself some warm milk with honey to help me sleep tonight. I hope the mosquito from last night won’t bother me again tonight; I really don’t see the point of mosquitos and how they’re beneficial to ecosystems. 

There’s a new receptionist at my gym with green hair that I keep staring at, mainly because she has green hair and it looks cool. She was in the women’s changing room tonight; I think she’d taken a shower just before I did when I finished my workout. I may have imagined it, but I could’ve sworn that I caught her staring at me a few times while I got dressed and she sat on a bench across from me. So when I thought she was staring at me, I naturally stared back. She’s not too bad looking, but not exactly my type either. I guess I just get curious about other people around me. 

That’s how it started with L last year, when she first stared at me. It happened to be when we were both naked and taking showers in separate open cubicles at the gym. But at the time, I got very annoyed and flustered, wondering why this strange, allbeit beautiful woman was checking me out while I was naked. But I guess she’d just been working up the courage to talk to me since I’m a foreigner in China. She finally approached me when we’d moved back into the changing room and we were both mercifully clothed. It turned out she was really sweet and not creepy at all like I initially thought. I remember thinking at the time that she had lovely long hair and was statuesque as fuck for a Chinese woman. I found out on that first night that L was married, mainly because her husband was waiting in the gym lobby for her after she finished her workout. But that didn’t stop me from thinking about her and wanting her, even though I was with X and loved her. I guess you just never know when you’ll meet someone and get swept away, no matter how shitty the timing is. 

That happened with X too in the beginning when we’d become good friends over a period of 6 months. I distinctly remember having an unexpected crush on P’s doctor when he went to get his lungs and ears checked while doing chemotheraphy. And yes, at least P really had cancer out of all the characters in my blog entries. But anyway, I thought P’s lung doctor was grade-A fine and was getting ready to fall into a massive and inapropriate crush on her when I decided to fall hard for X instead. I guess I’ve always been somewhat flighty when it comes to the fairer sex, unlike my crushes on men. Liking and loving men has always been a safer option for me. With women, it’s always been passionate and alluring. A bleak rollercoaster that always leaves me spinning and reeling long after the ride’s over. Maybe that’s what makes it so exciting: the forbidden fruit of it all. 

I guess I’ll never know when I’ll next fall hard for someone else. I hope I give  myself the proper amount of time to mourn the end of my relationship with X before I go chasing the next exotic hurricane. It’s getting late now, hopefully I can murder this pesky mosquito before it terrorises me physically and psychologically for the rest of the night. 

I hope my thoughts and dreams are bland and free of X while I sleep.