weijunxmi

[weijunxmi]

what they stole from us.

@mixlian

CONTENT WARNING brief mention of past underage prostitution

“what the hell happened?”

he sounds angry. he is angry. but even if it’s lian here, if she’s the only one hearing the raise in his voice and seeing the tightness in his shoulders and jaw, it’s never at her. it’s at the situation, it’s at whoever the hell is actually responsible for this, and even a little bit at himself. something slipped past his control and he’ll dwell on it for days, if not weeks, inevitably.

ultimately, it’s inconsequential. one thief was not going to be the end of this establishment. but it’s on weijun’s pride, on his lingering feelings of instability and inferiority in his position, that it takes the hardest toll. someone above him in hydrus could use something like this against him, could convince the higher ups that the former whore would never be suited for a position that’s not just laying on his back. he is terrified of being stripped, in all meanings of the word, of everything he has and being thrown back into the squalor he had lived in since he was sixteen. he has people relying on him now, people he doesn’t want to get hurt. he needs to be here and secure to take care of them.

lian would know. without weijun ever saying anything, she’d understand why this one robbery would bother him so much. no one got hurt, just a handful of cash missing from the drawer, but it’s a handful of hydrus’s cash. they’ll know soon enough who the culprit was thanks to security cams, if it was someone from under their own roof or a random they’ve never met. but that’s not the point. why wasn’t someone watching? why didn’t lian’s team catch the thief in the act?

“someone’s going to get fired for this,” he warns her, not because her job is at risk, but because he knows she cares about the others. “i don’t care. i can’t care. someone let this happen and that’s not acceptable.”

#p: what they stole from us #mixlian

[weijunxmi]

mixvenom‌:

staring off at the scene around him does make him lonely, now that he thinks about it. a part of him wishes that he could have joined in on the fun, but there’s not really much for him to do with his friends gone. he wishes they could come back so that he can call them out for being jerks and leaving him, but it’s not like that would really change anything. 

so when the stranger decides to start a conversation with him, he was a little surprised. granted, he knew he was approachable. but compared to everyone else here in this club? he was sure he looked an energy vampire, even though he wasn’t. or at least he likes to think that he isn’t. but he could use the extra company here. any opportunity to make him feel less lonely was an opportunity he was willing to take. 

the offer to buy him a drink shocks him a little, considering he was staring at the prices a moment ago and thought about passing on them. he had money, but he didn’t want to spend it on something he would regret. so to get this stranger basically offer that for him just because of the fact that he looked lonely? it was something taehyung knew his parents would want him to refuse, but at the same time… what’s the harm of saying yes to it? not to mention, the guy was attractive so it felt a little justified to say yes. at least… in taehyung’s standards anyway. 

he lets out a little laugh and nods his head. “yeah. obvious, huh?” he asks with a small smile. “said they wanted me to have fun, but went off as soon as we got here.” he sighs and shrugs. “can’t blame them, though. not like i can beat… whatever they’re doing.” he nods to the request of the drink. “got nothing better to do, so why not?” the smile drops a little as he’s considering the price of it. “just tell me how much is it and i can transfer you the money through toss afterwards… if that’s cool.” it’s a way of him being polite to the offer and a part of him that it didn’t come out wrong. 

“mm,” weijun slips into his role easily, well-rehearsed. he’s learned to be a remarkable salesman, honestly. he may not be the product he’s offering anymore, but some skills and tricks are easily enough transferred or adapted to new tricks. “not too obvious. you only look a little like a lost puppy.” he has to pause, take a moment to judge where he stands with this guy, and how much of which charm he needs to put on. fuck it, he sees that small smile, he’ll go for it. “tell me, puppy, has anyone tried to take you home with them yet?”

his grin is easy, teasing, a sort of look that is only ever an act for weijun. more often than not he’s more readily seen tight-lipped and scowling, ready to tell someone off, or knit-browed and worrying his lip pouring over scheduling or finances or some other very important part of running a business. maybe it’s a bit of an escape for him too to return to old habits, even if he’s just trying to rile someone up only to hand them off to someone still on the market. maybe, for just small moments at a time, it’s a blessing to not have to try so hard.

“i don’t think you understand what ‘buying you a drink’ means,” weijun almost laughs at the guy. he’s out at a nightclub with his friends holed up in the brothel in the back and only now buying a drink because he doesn’t want a stranger to spend the money on him. if he had just started with his wallet out they wouldn’t even be here right now. “this one’s on me. but if you insist on buying the next round, who am i to stop you?”

with any luck, his friends will be back by then. weijun expects them to be spoiled, used to being pleased and instant gratification. even if he doesn’t get any profit out of this guy in particular, watching him buy may entice them. or maybe they’ll whine and complain until their friend buys their drinks too. poor sap.

so you’re the puff guy.

#mixvenom #p: so you're the puff guy #you're late?? I'M late #i don't remember where we were going w this but i know we had Something planned

[weijunxmi]

This is a sentence starter meme for everyone! You’ll be able to reblog this meme until March 7th starting today, but feel free to continue answering memes after that if need be. Go wild with them and have a good time! Also feel free to use this for sentence starters or drabbles; the most important thing is to get everyone writing. Hopefully, it’ll spark some new plot ideas and interactions too!

Remember to reblog this if you’re interested in receiving a meme, and to send some to everyone that reblogs it, too! You’re welcome to skip over this if you’d like to; it’s by no means mandatory to reblog and participate. Most importantly, though, have fun!!

Keep reading

#.meme #god i just desperately need smth to write for weijun rn

[weijunxmi]

mixseungwoo‌:

( tw: non-explicit nsfw themes, references to past nonconsensual sex )

Keep reading

CONTENT WARNING; non-explicit nsfw themes

he feels the mattress shift under him, next to him, loose sheets shifting and the gentle springiness rocking him comfortably. he could fall asleep here, if he wanted. weijun glances over only briefly only to fix his gaze back up on the ceiling, avoiding seungwoo’s eyes as much as possible. he doesn’t look him in the eye. maybe if he avoids that he’ll never have to admit to himself that this really happened, that until that sacred moment where they look into each other’s souls he can pretend this was all a hyper-realistic dream.

it’s seungwoo who leans over, but it’s weijun who reaches out. blindly, still staring up, he finds his face with his hand. gentle fingers brush across lips, trace along his jaw, find their way up to the back of the other man’s neck where they linger for a moment before diving into a thick head of hair. it’s soft, softer than weijun had expected, and just a little bit damp with sweat. his mind wanders. perhaps someday, someone would love seungwoo very much. it’s easy to imagine himself as that person in this moment, recovering from desperate intimacy and twirling fingers through his hair like a lover would. but it will never be him who treasures seungwoo that way. weijun will likely never treasure anyone, as fundamentally and irreparably broken as he is.

indulgence in the fantasy only lasts a moment and weijun takes his strength away from his hand, letting it flop lifelessly on the bed away from seungwoo. “i know,” he murmurs. he deserved better. he screamed it out every night, whispered it in every desperate prayer until he stopped talking entirely to a god who wasn’t listening anyways. he deserved to go to college, to marry his high school sweetheart, to slave away at some desk for the rest of his life and ultimately be forgotten to history. he deserved better, and if he had forgotten that for even a moment he would not be here right now, owner of the grotto, spilling his heart to a whore who ultimately means nothing to him. this is not happiness or even contentedness, not what he would have had if he never left china, but this is survival.

“no one deserves this.” he says it sharply, his tongue a blade to cut through the somber quiet between them. it’s only now that he looks at seungwoo, his eyes alight with something. anger, perhaps. a sort of vengeful fury, a fire that never dies, just smokes and smolders until given proper kindling. the words probably don’t sit on his lips as well as they used to though. he calls the shots now. he could tell seungwoo to never come back here ever again, if he wanted. but he was never the person who brought seungwoo here in the first place. “if you think you deserve this, you’re lost. i don’t care,” he breaks for a moment, not seeing seungwoo next to him but someone else. more than one person really; one with gentle hands and adoring eyes, and the other with bruising fingers and a cold stare. one he’s given this advice to, another he’s needed to remember this advice after seeing. “i don’t care how many people you’ve killed, or whatever else you’ve done. this? this was never justice. this was never fair for any of us.”

afterglow.

#p: afterglow #mixseungwoo

[weijunxmi]

a club doesn’t make its money on entrance fees alone. the real cash is in the bar, in overpriced drinks and snacks that patrons just keep buying with reckless abandon. the grotto is a little different in the fact that there’s other income sources as well, but those ones are kept off the books. what pays the bills is their drink sales, which is why weijun keeps his eye on the guy who seems to not be interested in paying for anything.

so he approaches, all practiced smiles and putting on an easygoing attitude. no need to accuse anyone of not wanting to have a good time, but sometimes they just need a little encouragement. weijun has no idea what direction the kid swings in, but if he has even the slightest interest in men, this should be no problem. weijun knows he looks good. it was his job and brand to, once upon a time, and some things stay exactly the same. styled hair, a button down shirt worn untucked and casually, the image of a young professional cooling off after a long week of work.

it’s always given him a malicious sort of joy, being mistaken for something he’s not. it’s a reminder of how far he’s come, of how much farther he can still take himself. weijun doesn’t look much like the owner of a nightclub, but this place wouldn’t exist without him. it’s his own private power trip, this game.

he sits next to the lonely patron, smile still on his face, and orders himself a drink with a wink to the bartender. she knows this game too. it’s quieter over here, away from the worst of the bumping speakers, so he can start a conversation. “friends ditch you?” he asks, casually, as if he hadn’t seen it happen already. “that sucks. can i buy you a drink?” let him have the first one free, it might open him up to paying for the next one.

so you’re the puff guy.

ft. @weijunxmi

a lot of kids his age were expected to go clubbing often. rather than have to deal with deadlines, essays, and exams that they had to study for, some university kids would rather go clubbing as a way to help cope with the stress. but it’s understandable why. though he likes his major, he won’t deny that he has done his good amount of stressing over it. but personally, taehyung never really found the appeal of nightclubs. he didn’t have anything against it, but he just never really found the time to actually enjoy the experience of it.

so how did he end up at the grotto? well, prior to tonight, he had made countless promises to both of his friends that he would go to the club with them if he didn’t have a bucketload of work to do. the last time he had nothing to do, he faked in sick simply because he was feeling under the weather. unfortunately, he tried to give the same excuse, but he got flu shots with his friends just the week before and he was running low on excuses to use. plus, his friends held him to that promise. it was simply hard to reject them this time around.

however, he soon realizes that the two of them didn’t come here only to get him that “proper” experience. the moment they asked him if he wanted to go to the back, he only gives them a small smile and a “maybe next time.” and he’s left with an “okay. your loss!” before the both of them ditch him. he doesn’t know for sure what happens back there that’s so “fun”, but considering where he was at, there are a few ideas.

though the atmosphere around him is quite lively, he couldn’t help but feel a little bored with where he was right now. of course, he could be having more fun if he had something good to drink, but he’s the designated driver for his two friends tonight. he feels pathetic telling the bartender that he’s just drinking water, but it’s nothing personal. maybe next time, he should join in on the fun so that he doesn’t feel like a loser here. taehyung knew how to have fun, but tonight was just… not a good example of that.

#p: so you're the puff guy #mixvenom

[weijunxmi]

it seems that there’s never a moment where he’s not stressed about something. a month or two ago it was security, a week ago it was finances. he’s back to security now, halloween rapidly approaching and the new customers and clients who, perhaps innocently, want to have a blast for the holiday. when the seasons turn festive, business always picks up. but with that extra attention comes more risks, more injuries, more people pressing boundaries they shouldn’t.

weijun is so lucky to have yuyan, and he knows better than to take her for granted. she’s one person he can trust without question, one person he doesn’t have to doubt when it comes to allegiance and loyalty to her job. she gives the grotto and the boys and girls under their care the same attentiveness that weijun would, and he can’t imagine anyone better in her position. plus, she could probably knock any man who challenged her flat on his ass. always a well needed bonus in security work.

he takes a sip of the water when she puts it down in front of him. stress has driven away his appetite, but he didn’t realize that he hadn’t had any liquid in hours until it was sitting right in front of him. he murmurs his thanks as he recaps the bottle, still staring down paperwork and schedules as he tries to plan for the upcoming days. “don’t joke,” he says, his gaze suddenly falling on her and growing sharper. “i hope you kicked him out for that. i don’t need my bartenders or waitresses getting attacked because someone couldn’t take a no from someone who’s not even for sale.” he looks down again. “scheduling. with halloween.. no one needs to be overworked, but we’re going to be busy.”

when the day light-*

as is their somewhat unspoken routine, yuyan typically stays at the grotto until weijun is left. that part isn’t technically in her job description, but when it comes to him, a few extra hours is nothing. sometimes she’ll busy herself checking specific systems when there’s a lull in activity, others she’ll sit at the bar with a mocktail for a little while, scanning the johns and janes and updating her notes.

tonight feels different though; maybe it’s only the spooky season that puts her on edge, but there’s a gut feeling that she’s keen to listen to when the activity in the grotto seems to still for longer than it usually does. yuyan traces the familiar path back to weijun’s office for the eighth time that night, bearing a bottle of water and one of his favorite snacks. he forgets to care for himself sometimes, she knows that. and judging by how many attempted pranks they’ve had to endure already, she knows that he must be just as on edge as she.

she doesn’t speak right when enters, taking her usual seat across from him as she sets the food and drink down. “one of the patrons mistook me for service,” she quips with a half smile, something that she’s learned to shrug off by now instead of allow to agitate her. she even kept her personal uniform similar to the standard dress code to avoid these mistakes. “what are you up to?”

#p: when the day light #yuyanxmi

[weijunxmi]

whoops!

2. walk in on your muse in a compromising position.

he curses under his breath, mandarin, an outburst of pure shock that’s atypical on his lips these days despite his native tongue. weijun is a well trained dog, a favored pet at this point with how his rank has ascended in the last couple years. one of the first rules they taught him: don’t speak, and if you do, speak a language they can understand. they don’t like to be made to feel stupid. but even now, years later, when he’s out from under their angry hands their lessons stick with him. it’s how he survived, and how he’ll continue to survive or so he hopes.

still, he can’t help but react in shock that’s more extreme than anything he shows on his face.

sure, it’s not unusual for customers of the grotto to end up in compromising positions behind closed doors. the back half of the building is fucking made for compromising positions of all sorts, for a price. but he knows this girl, he’s caught her here before with her hands where they shouldn’t be even in a place like this. a thief and a con artist by trade, he doesn’t expect to see her in one of the grotto’s private rooms. he was only looking for minsoo, after all, and no one should be in these back rooms alone.

weijun recovers quickly enough, his eyes narrowing in suspicion now that he’s certain that she’s not actually purchasing services from one of his boys (or girls, he’s the last person who can judge another person on anything, though especially regarding this matter).

“are you waiting for someone?” his voice is smooth, loud enough to be heard over distant bass but a practiced tone that suggests more than the surface level. these days, there’s an extra flavor of menace and threat to this voice as well. “if not, i suggest you tell me why you’re back here. i’ll have to ask you to leave if it’s not a very good reason, you know.”

#.meme #THIS WAS ROTTING IN MY INBOX IM SO SORRY #feel free to use as a starter tho #ily #magpiemi

[weijunxmi]

afterglow.

@mixseungwoo

CONTENT WARNING; non-explicit nsfw themes, reference to past underage sex

he already knows he’s going to regret this.

it had been a moment of heated passion, a lapse in judgement that he’ll undoubtedly pay for later. weijun doesn’t do this. not that it’s never happened before, not that he has any reason not to, but not with those who take their fair portion of cash from him at the end of the week. perhaps it’s immoral. perhaps it’s his right. regardless, it’s not one he’s quick to take. but still, even now, with bodies still a touch too hot, a smidgen too close, a mess of sheets and bad decisions, he can’t say that it was terrible.

he doesn’t look at seungwoo. perhaps if he keeps his eyes off his face he can pretend it was someone else, anyone else. for a moment he can imagine that he did not break one of his own rules for himself, that he did not do a thing he swore he would never do. it had been a moment of frustration, an overwhelming need for an outlet, for something that he can control and take pleasure from. seungwoo was there, that’s all, and weijun trusted him enough not to get attached. he doesn’t play favorites, after all, even if weijun has rarely, if ever, slept with one of his own prostitutes before.

the aftermath of pleasure always loosens his tongue though. he’s spent, his energy drained and his mind wandering a hundred miles away from his body. floaty, spacey, not quite entirely present in the here and now. it keeps the regret away for the moment, lingering somewhere in the shadows ready to sink its claws into soft flesh when least expected.

“i was sixteen,” the words spill from his mouth slowly, lazily like an overflowing cup under a gentle stream. “the first time. when they brought me here.” half the grotto knows his story anyways, there’s no shame in sharing a few of the finer details. yuyan knows them, minsoo knows them. what does it hurt if seungwoo knows it too, if he hasn’t heard from the gossip already? “didn’t speak a word of korean.” he was terrified, but he keeps that much to himself. it’s an unspoken truth regardless.

#mixseungwoo #p: afterglow #its canon now no going back

[weijunxmi]

mixseungwoo‌:

“relax,” seungwoo urges him, ever-casual aura so typical of him, smile crooked. “it was a joke.” if weijun wasn’t watching, would he go to the bar and try to get himself an actual drink while he still had time? probably. just one wouldn’t hurt, in fact, he could argue it would make him even better at his job, however, of course, weijun the party pooper thinks otherwise. unfortunately, weijun’s rules are seungwoo’s to follow, and weijun’s rules are probably why seungwoo isn’t an alcoholic or a drug addict by now. he still isn’t entirely sure whether he’s grateful for that or not, but he probably is. at least this way, he’s an unconventional hopeless trainwreck.

weijun looks far from relaxed, as is so typical of him, but seungwoo still just smiles. someone has to balance out weijun’s solemnity, and seungwoo is here almost as much as he is, so he takes it upon himself. it’s not really a decision, moreso just the natural flow of the universe– the same that brought him here to begin with. “i know i know,” seungwoo assures him with a grin. “have you ever smiled in your life, shifu? just wondering,” and he is curious. he doesn’t think he’s ever seen it in his time here. seungwoo has only ever known weijun as all business nearly all the time; he would assume his smiles are an out-of-work exclusive, but he doesn’t know if that weijun even exists. maybe he’ll get to see him one day. (he wonders if he’s already caught a glimpse.)

he audibly grimaces, like he’s hurt by weijun’s lack of faith, even tough he can understand. he knows he’s a certain harbinger of chaos– a wildcard, always unpredictable, but he’s good at his job, and he doesn’t think he’s ever let weijun down. he doesn’t have any intention of doing it now– unless he ends up dead, of course, but weijun probably wouldn’t bat an eye at that either. seungwoo gets himself the formerly suggested water, because the last thing he needs is to get dehydrated in a job like this, even if water is not the sexiest drink he could have right now. “don’t i make you too much money for you to say things like that?” he asks with a hint of a scowl, only teasing, but he means it a little.

“i’ll give you reason to,” he assures weijun a moment later, in mandarin this time, delayed because of its hint of sincerity and seriousness, even with the smile that blooms on his face. that flash of earnestness is gone as soon as it comes, replaced with korean once again as he says, “i am a hot mess,” and nods in agreement, and it’s in all meanings of the phrase. “three confirmed clients,” more assurance that he can only hope meets weijun’s standards. “they like me messy,” he adds, accompanied by a smirk that’s only appropriate. “they’re scheduled for later, though. i have a little bit of time for a break.”

the young man claims he’s joking, but weijun’s eyes only narrow suspiciously. he doesn’t trust seungwoo, certainly not enough that he’d expect him not to do something stupid while his back is turned. in fact, weijun is thoroughly convinced that the dumbass would take his risks at the bar (probably not even paying for his own drink) if he hadn’t caught sight of him first. he wonders if he should be harsher. seungwoo will get away with a glare as a warning not to try anything stupid next time weijun’s back is turned, but another pimp might be less forgiving. he might’ve struck a whore for being too friendly with him, as if their relationship was one of equals.

but weijun has been on the other side. there’s a soft part of him, hidden behind layers of ice and cold steel, that sympathizes with them. he’ll keep them safe as long as they do their part. discipline is not a joy to him.

“i smile when i need to,” he speaks coolly, a familiar briskness to his tone. when he needs to. when there’s an important guest, a vip client who isn’t going to be satisfied with the inexperienced or smart mouthed boys and girls under weijun’s command. his smiles are contrived, practiced, entirely intended to charm a good tip out of a wealthy patron’s wallet. after ten years of working in this field, weijun is an expert in smiling. “or when i want to.” rare moments, saved for special people. yuyan has seen it. his parents and friends had seen it over a decade ago and in another country. it’s harder now, as if his experiences are heavy weights on the corners of his lips, dragging them ever downwards.

weijun doesn’t get emotional at work though. his expression remains as cool as ever, never quite cold but tiptoeing on the edge of something more dangerous. his words can be daggers, freezing spikes to drive into another’s gut. but this is not the time for such aggression. this is just seungwoo, a man who talks a lot but says very little. he does his work well enough, and weijun shouldn’t hound him as much as he does. but what sort of pimp would he be if he didn’t?

“speak korean when you’re working.” his lips echo the ghosts from his own past, his expression a warning to seungwoo. he knows what he’s trying to do. “the clients don’t like to think you’re keeping secrets from them.” there’s exceptions, of course. times where seungwoo really should be saying things in mandarin for weijun’s ears only. but this is not one of these times, and weijun does not indulge the change in language. he may carry an accent with him, probably for the rest of his life, but seungwoo has no excuse to not be speaking his native tongue.

another man might have blushed at seungwoo’s words, at his smirk, at the implication of wicked things. weijun, who deals in such sins every day of his life, hardly bats an eye. “see if you can fit someone else in beforehand, then.” his eyes rake the room, a handful of potential johns sticking out to him in the crowd. seungwoo should know as much too. “you’re not paid to be idle, and i lose money on your idleness too.” strict. distant. a little bit cold. weijun is nothing if not consistent.

better things to do.

#p: better things to do #mixseungwoo

[weijunxmi]

starlingxmi‌:

cw: implications of human trafficking

he’s on his feet in the blink of an eye, somehow bewildered and hyper-aware of his surroundings simultaneously. he’s on high alert, instincts running rampant, pulse racing, pupils dilated, the skin of his palms and just above his upper lip clammy with cooling sweat. if he ran into the wrong stranger, he could be in more trouble than he was moments ago. already, he finds himself mapping out potential exits, gauging his chances of escaping if he were to bolt again right now. they’re slim, and the watch in his pocket weighs heavily with the consequences of his clumsiness. if they take him today, there will be no one to tell the kids where he went tomorrow. 

but it wasn’t the wrong stranger he ran into. at least, it would seem that way. there are clean, deft hands pushing his hair out of his eyes, tsking at him like the concerned parental figure he never had. haneul is confused for only a moment, scowling curiously at the face across from him until the man speaks, louder than he’d need to if it were just for haneul to hear. it clicks in his mind quickly - he knows a con when he sees one - and he does his best to slip into the mask of a scolded, spoiled child, the ones he robs in shopping malls all the time, because they never notice their missing phones, cash, jewelry, games until they get home and it’s too late.

“i don’t know, i was- i was-” he’s weakened by the physical state he’s in, thoughts slow and lacking, nerves, or rather, fear, taking over. he doesn’t turn toward the footsteps speeding then halting behind him, not wanting to betray how intimidated he is by the situation. but it’s a good sign, that they stopped, he thinks. it gives him an extra minute or two of safety, to contemplate the possibilities of his imminent fate.

it doesn’t yet occur to him that perhaps he should be afraid of the man in a suit who can stop a hoard of thugs on a hunt in their tracks, without lifting a finger.

“i was hungry,” it’s the furthest thing from a lie, but the first thing that pops into his mind. for good measure, he adds, in a voice smaller than his age, adopted in tone from the way jisu speaks when he wants something out of someone else, all wide, infantile eyes and soft, dumb tones, “and i got lost.”

he can feel the energy of the thugs shifting behind him, mutterings picking up between them uncomfortable and unsure. now what, he can feel them thinking, anticipating the challenge they must be contemplating.

“that kid is ours,” one dares, through a half smile, as if the frivolous objectification of human life is somehow humorous, “we saw him first.”

the wordless, uneasy scuffing of multiple pairs of feet against the pavement give it away as an unbelievable mistake. so another thug tries a different tactic, following up with, “he stole from us.” 

haneul feels his cover slipping, and so does his innocent mask. his brow knits and his lips twist into a frown, his gaze falling away from the helpful stranger’s face. it could be the end of him yet.

“he’s got a debt to pay.”

his first impression is that the kid is useless. he stutters, fails to immediately accept the help that weijun is able to offer, and for a moment he considers just leaving the child to fend for himself against the mob’s wrath that he has incurred. but he doesn’t. he can’t. he was younger than this boy when his own autonomy was ripped out of his unwilling hands, when his life was stripped from him by harsh hands and foreign words. it’s been a long, long time over the last decade or so, and even now that he wears nice things and owns a business of his own, he’s still not invulnerable to demanding hands, the same kind that chase after this boy now. he’s not a trafficker, he never has been, he just sells the product that they give him, and he’ll be damned if he lets them hurt another child he has the ability to save.

“you should have eaten your breakfast then,” he continues to scold the child, going so far as to swat the back of his head, not harshly, but a corrective punishment nonetheless. “and waited for me. how many times do i have to tell you not to go wandering off without my permission?” he acts as if this has happened a hundred times before, still not acknowledging the presence of other men until it becomes impossible to ignore them. as far as they need to know, this boy has belonged to him for ages. a friend’s child, perhaps, or an errand boy for the club. what connection they want to believe in is up to them, weijun can only play his part if they believe it.

when one of the grunts finally speaks up, weijun glances up at them. some are familiar, some he’s not so sure about. regardless, he moves the kid to his side as he sizes the gangsters up, a protective gesture that they’re sure to recognize. “he’s yours?” weijun questions, brows raised in genuine surprise. he knows that’s not possibly true; he doesn’t know every new whore in the city, but he does know when they bring new skin in. even if this boy is a runaway from another dastardly circle, he’s certain that it’s not one of hydrus’s. “i think you’re mistaken. he’s been working for me for months. i don’t care when you thought you saw him, he’s not for sale.”

there’s a finality to his voice, a confidence that leaves no room for debate or haggling. he stole from us, another thug speaks up, and weijun’s eyes narrow. he grabs the boy by the arm, roughly, and shakes him. “is that true?” he demands, accusingly, still very much playing the part of angered caretaker. “turn out your pockets. you’ll return anything you took from these gentlemen immediately.” he holds his other hand out in front of the kid, a silent command to put any misappropriated items there. he’s not unwise enough to let the grunts within arms reach of the child. even if they don’t try to snatch him away from weijun’s hold, he knows they’ll not be gentle with the boy. not that weijun is coddling him, exactly, but their blows hit much harder, if memory serves him correctly.

“i’m sorry about this, gentlemen,” he uses his most practiced submissive tone, the one best used for groveling and avoiding further conflict. it’s changed in more recent years, a little harder at the edges in a way that says i will not tolerate much more than this. he doesn’t have to appease these sorts of men anymore, but it’s always better to keep them on your side. he squeezes the child’s arm again and gives him a harsh look, a silent prompt for an apology from him as well. if they’re lucky, the return of the stolen goods along with this is all that’s needed to make the mob go away.

//hit the ground running

#p: hit the ground running #starlingxmi

[weijunxmi]

mixseungwoo‌:

seungwoo could say he loves his job. truthfully, he probably does like it more than anything else he could be doing. currently, seungwoo loves nothing other than dying and being dead, but attention comes somewhere close, and the grotto ensures he gets that much. seungwoo tried other jobs and knows he won’t get any better than this on the island; he can’t keep better than this, and he isn’t good at anything other than this. at least here he can dance, even if it’s to make an object of himself, and he’s sought after, even if it’s only for his body, and he makes good money. seungwoo doesn’t know what more to ask for. he never really wanted to be a doctor like his parents wanted for him, so whore and stripper is a respectable career path, as far as seungwoo is concerned.

he’s in a welcome limbo between entertaining on stage and entertaining in the back rooms, so seungwoo intends to take a break, which likely means picking someone cute and alone to flirt with. sometimes this makes him (and weijun) richer, and sometimes it’s just fun. seungwoo likes to think it increases his credibility in this establishment.

weijun catches him before he can execute his plan, and seungwoo looks up to meet his eyes.

there are two bosses seungwoo has had and liked in his entire life: the woman he worked under in the restaurant in china, and xiao weijun. then again, seungwoo’s standards are quite low, since the boss of the last club he worked for is the reason he’s here, this low, in what he’s sure his mother would call a total lack of respect for himself. most of the time, seungwoo thinks it’s his own fault– that he wouldn’t have amounted to more than this even if it was his choice. at least now, it is his choice, and weijun never expects too much. for as stern as he is, and as hard as he tries to be threatening, seungwoo has seen so much worse; ultimately, it’s the space between weijun and true cruelty that makes seungwoo respect him as much as he does. that does not, however, mean that he always demonstrates that respect– that weijun is immune from seungwoo’s typical teasing.

“was about to get a drink. why?” devlish smile, as always, and he’s kidding, even though that would be nice. he knows the answer already: something something quota. ah yes, there it is. he whines dramatically, and pouts. “i have many worse peop– things to do,” and his lips quirk back up in their usual smile afterwards. “come on, shifu,” what started as a joke and is often still spoken as such, shifu, or master in chinese, isn’t anymore. seungwoo tries not to think of the last man he called that, or the significance of being able to say it again and mean the respect behind it at all.  “you know i always meet my quota. have a little more faith in me.”

xiao weijun doesn’t play favorites and everyone should know this, especially not with his whores. yes, his whores, because everyone who works under his roof, who reports and gives the cash they earn to him, who take shelter under his protection are his. his to push harder, his to take mercy on, his to love or hate equally. if he did have to pick a favorite, it’d be none of them. it would be yuyan and her gentle devotion, the way she reads his moods and knows what he’s thinking and how he hurts. seungwoo doesn’t come close to a favorite, but he’s good at his job. and weijun may not play favorites and might be a bit of a control freak, but he’s overall pretty fair. he’s not being irrational to snap at his workers for getting drunk on the job, especially one of the ones who put themselves into intimate and vulnerable positions.

“it better be water.” he says flatly, unimpressed by the other man’s smiles and good humor. for every whore who tries to flirt his way into his good graces, weijun has to wonder if they know he’s been there too. he knows every trick in the book and he knows them better than they do. “you know there’s no drinking on the job.” not even a sip. as safe of a club as the grotto tries to be, accidents happen. things get put in drinks, whores get robbed or duped or hurt, and who are they gonna report it to? the police? excuse me officer but i’m a pimp and my prostitute just got her purse stolen by a john. don’t arrest us and please get us our illegal money back instead. weijun would rather not take any unnecessary risks, so he holds his boys and girls to a clean standard.

all they have, after all, is their ‘good’ reputations.

for all of his efforts not to play favorites though, seungwoo is probably the one who has gotten the closest to cracking the code and finding a way into weijun’s good graces. shifu is a title of respect, something a prostitute-turned-pimp certainly doesn’t get enough of even in his own establishment, in his own native language. it sounds almost foreign on his ears these days, a decade of unwilling immersion in the korean language all but stripping away his identity entirely. seungwoo knows a little mandarin, and the words he drops are like pebbles thrown against weijun’s steel walls. one or two might not make a difference, but after a hundred there might be a dent, certainly something more noticeable than the roses and petals others try to hurl through his defenses.

“i’ll have more faith in you when you give me a reason to.” he bites back, still unamused at seungwoo’s attitude. sure, he meets his quotas, but he also comes with certain risks. drinking on the clock, for example. the men always think they’re invincible until the worst happens. “which you’re not doing right now. you look a mess. do you even have any regulars scheduled tonight?”

better things to do.

#mixseungwoo #p: better things to do

[weijunxmi]

better things to do.

@mixseungwoo

CONTENT WARNING: mentions of prostitution and language that accompanies such acts

the night is still young and his head already aches something terrible. not that it’s anything unusual for weijun to nurse a migraine at his own business establishment; regardless of what other stressors might trigger it, the pulsing of bass-heavy music at deafening volumes would do it to anyone. not to mention the dim lights, the writhing bodies, the shouts and screams of drunk patrons having the time of their lives and the chatter that echoes in every corner where the music is even slightly muted. really, it’s the worst place for someone with a history of headaches to be, but it’s weijun’s.

he could hide in his office all night, soundproofed enough that he gets a little peace, but he has issues with trust. he trusts yuyan, of course, and trusts her decisions in hiring security for the club. but weijun likes to be on hand and easily accessible; he can’t count the number of times things have gone wrong. you never know what may come next.

and it’s a good thing that he is out of the back office and mingling among the common folk, or else he may have never noticed a certain jeon seungwoo just hovering around without any clear motive or project. they may be the same gang, and weijun may be the pimp who owns this club and seungwoo a prostitute who works for him here, but there’s other details that put a sour flavor in weijun’s mouth. seungwoo is also a hitman, and memories of a certain other hydrus hitman make his skin crawl. for his own biased reasons, he’s a little harder on seungwoo than he’d be on any of the boys or girls he takes care of. it’s personal. he flexes his power over one hitman in a way he wishes he could have over another.

“what are you doing here?” he snaps, voice raised to be heard over the music and approaching the idle whore with a scowl on his face. “i know you have better things to do, and don’t tell me you’ve already met your quota. the night isn’t even half over yet.” if seungwoo has a good excuse, he’s dying to hear it.

#p: better things to do #mixseungwoo

[weijunxmi]

he runs a nightclub, emphasis on night, and the days where he has to run errands are always the longest. normally he’d sleep through the morning and into the early afternoon, recovering enough to open the grotto and manage the business well into the night. today his schedule is different; his sleep is cut off too soon, a sore body dragged through the motions of showering, dressing, lumbering out of his apartment and down the street to the grocery store. he may take most of his meals at work, but milk and eggs and rice at the very least are the staples requited in his own fridge. he’s tired regardless, dark circles under his eyes where he hasn’t bothered to conceal them. but weijun can’t complain much; the life he lives now is one much nicer than what he had a few years ago, memories still stuck in his head too vivid to even be called bad dreams.

the store is a few bus stops away from his apartment and the weather is still nice enough, so weijun elects to spend the extra time and walk rather than call a car to take him there more directly. at that point he should just order his groceries to be delivered, and he finds himself growing unsatisfied if he goes too long without performing menial day to day tasks; he likes to pretend he can still be a normal person sometimes, like he can live the life he imagined for himself when he was sixteen and unsullied by the world.

the boy runs into him before weijun can fully realize what happened, a dull thump echoing off the buildings as body crashes against body. his balance is better, apparently, because he stays on his feet, stumbling backwards a few steps and slightly winded while the kid is half-sprawled against the sidewalk. there’s a wild light in his eyes, a frantic look that makes weijun uneasy. he’s seen this look before, too many times to count. once upon a time, in his own mirror.

he hears the shouts and running footsteps of more men then and he acts before he thinks better. he pulls the child to his feet, tugs his shirt into a more presentable appearance, and frowns. he sees the men out of the corner of his eye, ignoring them for a moment as he pushes the kid’s hair this way and that, trying to manage the sloppy mop like a fussy old aunt. “where the hell have you been?” he speaks a little louder than necessary, scolding the child as if he’s known him for years instead of less than a minute. this is mine, he silently communicates, you don’t get to touch this. his reputation among the criminals of the city should precede him enough; he’s not known for violence, but enough of these sorts of thugs frequent his club that they’ll know his business.

//hit the ground running

@weijunxmi

cw: implications of human trafficking

in hindsight, the error had probably been inevitable. he was much taller than he used to be, still quick-footed, but clumsier on the long legs he was still getting used to, especially while on an empty stomach. he should have just been satisfied with the modest fold of cash he’d tugged out of the man’s pocket, but his friend’s watch was a glaring beacon of instant income, band sleek and expensive, face huge and shiny, well-worn but well taken care of by the looks of it. he could eat for a week on the money he’d get for pawning that beast of an accessory. 

but he was hungry and tired and lonely and scared and sloppy. he was barely out of arm’s length when hey! that kid stole my watch! rang in his ears like approaching police sirens. 

he bolted, of course, at the first sign of trouble, but it was clear early on in the chase that these were not the average under-dressed businessmen he’d taken them for. they were fast and unwavering, followed him down alleys and side streets like they lived there, anticipated his twisting turning attempts to lose them as if they were in his head. and then they were on him, out of nowhere, two of them, a wall of musk and muscle, a blade pointed at his throat.

“what do you think?”

“probably worth more than the watch.”

he didn’t like the way they were looking at him, the way he would look at a display of pocket knives, perusing shapes and colors and lines to decide which one would feel best in his hand. 

“hold him.”

“don’t cut his face up.”

“what do you think i am, an idiot?”

rough hands closed around his arms from behind, their numbers suddenly multiplying as if they’d crawled out of the cracks in the walls. call it in, someone says as the man with the knife approaches, carelessly waving the end of the blade in haneul’s face as if its sheer presence might scare him into submission. it was their one mistake. he’d had knives pointed at him before, he’d stared down the barrels of guns and lived to brag about it to his starry-eyed peers. it was only a reminder of his own blade resting heavy in his pocket. if he had any chance of escaping, he would have to do it now. he drove the heel of his shoe down onto the top of the man’s foot, dodging the knife in the other man’s hand and swiping blindly with his own. he darted away again, in the midst of the chaos that ensued, the little bastard cut me! wafting over his shoulder as he ran.

then there was another body in front of him, out of nowhere, as he rounded a corner. he stumbled backward when they collided, barely catching himself before he fell, his blade skittering uselessly across the pavement. this wasn’t one of the thugs - he was nicely dressed, and reeked of the expensive perfumes that haneul wrinkled his nose at whenever he ventured into pockets of the upper class. 

he had to think fast, before the man called the cops. police were the last thing he wanted to deal with, even now.

“please-” he heard himself saying before he could think any further, the sounds of angry running footsteps scuffing the cement only yards away, juvenile charm put on like an automatic mask of survival instinct, “you have to help me.”

#p: hit the ground running #starlingxmi

[weijunxmi]

everyone’s heard the saying before; the only two things you can count on in this world are death and taxes. turns out it rings true even in the criminal world. weijun thinks he could add a third thing to the list as well: there will always be desperate johns willing to rent a girl for a couple hours. it’s why they’re open every night, sundays and holidays included (if weijun is going to hell for the business he’s involved in, he would have been condemned long before he ran the club). and he’s there, always, monitoring security, making sure the girls behave, minding that the bartenders and servers don’t steal from the registers.

for how young he really is, he feels at least thirty years older.

a voice cuts through the thrum of club music, through the shouting and chattering of various patrons, and weijun recognizes it immediately. he scowls. dongjun might be his very opposite; where weijun takes his business very seriously, working every night, dongjun never seems to be busy enough. why else would he stumble in here if not to purposely seek weijun out, if not to bug and berate him as if he’ll leave the club unsupervised to go do something frivolous with him. he won’t. he never does.

weijun sighs, presses fingertips into the bridge of his nose to try to stave off this incoming headache, and mutters curses to himself in mandarin. this guy really never knows when to quit, does he?

“does it look like i’m free?” he gestures around him, to the club at large. if dongjun had half a brain (and weijun thinks assuming even that much might be more than generous) he’ll see that this is no time to leave. some punk rank too much in the lounges and weijun needs to get a cleanup crew on the vomit, his girls are coming up short tonight for one reason or another tonight, and he’s already had to kick out not one but two drunk johns for trying to bed the waitstaff instead of the working girls. it’s fucking ridiculous.

he leans against a wall, a moment of respite he’s not sure he should really allow himself, and frowns again at the other man. “if you’re only here to bother me, you can go. or if you want to help, we’re short staffed behind the bar and i’ll pay you for the night if you’re any good.”

dim placeholder

killing time with @weijunxmi

“jun,” a small voice said to him, a voice of calm reasoning that was always too fucking annoying and too fucking naggy a hundred-percent of the time (and always right, seventy-percent of the time), “do you really think it’s a good idea to be coming in here, at a time like this, after all the shit that went down about a month or so ago?”

jun’s no complete dumbass; he’s heard of the rumours in some grapevines – the real sour kind, that he wouldn’t want to touch with a broom or nothing – about connections to a gang, and a big one at that, so it ain’t no small fry gang just dealing some small coke or anything out back. he tries to just … keep all that shit aside. if he ain’t bring it up or press about it, there ain’t no bad atmosphere around. that’s usually how it goes; not always because he has fucking been punched in the face ‘cause of other things, but that’s peaches and eggplants.

two different things, with a whole lot of juice in one and weird skin on the other.

so, yeah, he’s finding his way back into the grotto, eyes casually scanning the crowd in the dim lit club. it’s always so damn dark in here that it makes his eyes hurt from all the squinting, and the coloured lighting is just weird. couldn’t they have been fucking normal and used some plain old bulbs like everyone else? but it’s something about ‘mood lighting’ he bets; does the bad lighting make it easier to trick the dudes in here that the girls are super, duper hot?

he sees a waiter with a mop every now and again. probably to mop up all the drool or something, or someone prematurely nutting themselves. fucking ew.

“oh– heeey! boss man! there ya are!” spotting who he only really comes in here for, even though it’s a club and he does do a fair amount of clubbing himself, he raises an arm and gives an enthusiastic wave to try to get his attention. the old sad fucker is always ignoring him, probably because he’s got such a big stick up his ass. still, doesn’t really stop jun from asking the same old question every single time he’s in the grotto.

“was lookin’ all over for ya~ hey, ya finally free tonight to hang? the city out there’s got ya name all over it–”

#p: dim placeholder #mixdodger #im sorry this took so damn long omg

[weijunxmi]

thieves are bad for business.

weijun may run a criminal establishment with his biggest customers being lawbreaking men themselves, but there are some behaviors that he just cannot tolerate. violence in the club for one, they can take that shit outside if they really want to beat the crap out of each other, stealing for another. who's going to buy booze and women if their wallet is missing from their pockets? no one, that's who.

security alerts him through their earpieces of the suspicious activity, and he tells them to keep an eye on the target while they block exits and escape routes and keep a close eye on the girl. he'll speak with her himself, if only to try to scare her into leaving his paying customers alone. pickpockets rarely have any nerve once they've been caught and it's not the first time weijun has had to scare one away with his finger on the trigger as if the unloaded gun actually posed any threat.

"excuse me," he smiles, though the look resembles an angered tiger more than something amicable, "do you have a moment to talk to us, miss?" the way his guards close in should be signal enough that his question isn't a request so much as an order. "my office is just beyond the bar. it's quieter in there, much easier to hear each other." and much less visible to the public's eye. his threats can hang in that room like a dead man without spectacle.

* smooth criminal.

getting caught by @weijunxmi !!

sometimes things go spectacularly nowhere near according to plan. whilst she couldn’t say her entire heist ( of sorts ) tonight had been a shambles, seeing the security guards eyeing her from across the room definitely didn’t fill her with confidence nor comfort as to how the rest of her night is going to go. best case scenario ( if she can’t wrap them around her finger, which is rare but still very possible, and from the looks in their eyes, very likely ) is that she’s let off with a warning and removed from the premises, but even then, she has to explain to her seniors why she can’t haunt the grotto anymore. god knows how that would go. 

worst case scenario is obviously something she really doesn’t want to think about, partly because it only makes her worry and she’s never quite as smooth with her fingers trembling. it doesn’t quite make sense to go that far for what appears to be a simple pickpocket ( she hopes ), but you can never know with the people on this island. for all she knows, this discrete bar is a hive for another gang and she’s the prey. fuck, that doesn’t make things any less scary at all. 

her best chance right now, before security and the newly arrived man ( she swears she’d blinked and he materialised in front of them; how is that possible? ) approach her, is to smile and act innocent. though, she doesn’t plan to wear that mask for long. 

#p: smooth criminal #magpiemi

[weijunxmi]

xiaomeimi‌:

her back is resting against the headboard of the bed, sharp eyes fixed on the figure who’s moved much too far. not that he’s been close before. every touch felt like they were miles away from each other, each kiss like a myth, too unreal to be true. time has changed both of them – a whole bunch of misunderstandings standing in the way. but he’s cruel, she thinks; he fails to see all the good she’s done for him, doing for him.

ever since she found out about him being alive upon ditching her and their friendship so many years ago, she’s been feeling betrayed, lied to, used. and yet here she is, doing everything in her power to keep him from harm. she’s not listened to his story as to why he’s here, why he is part of hydrus, why he’s been reduced from the bright boy she once knew to a tool for others. she does know, however, the clients requesting such services are rarely ever nice or gentle. shouldn’t be grateful she’s been keeping him from making bad experiences? he should.

anger boils up her chest, fingers curling around the covers which are barely covering her bare figure. “do you believe you are doing the right thing by acting like a spoiled child?” she asks, spats, unrestrained and unfiltered in her word of choice. she’s had enough of his ungratefulness. the covers are tossed aside and she stands up from the bed, seething. “would you prefer having to sleep with nasty old men who treat you like a puppet and just want your body? abuse you? is this what you want? because it sure does look like it.” 

she keeps a certain distance between them. there is no need or desire to be close to him. not when he does not appreciate her. “do you think i’m doing this for fun? as if i have nothing better to do with my time? i am spending my money and time on you to keep you from harm and that is your thank you? pathetic.” 

CONTENT WARNING: mentions of trafficking

"excuse me?" he can't believe it, her righteousness. as if he had anything to thank her for, as if she wasn't using him just the same as any of his other clients. it's enough for his words to lapse into more familiar mandarin, to slip into the language he can better express all his hurt and outrage. imagine seeing a familiar face for the first time in years only for them to treat him no better than the countless strangers who have shared his bed. he had hoped for a savior, not another client.

weijun gets angry in a way he has long learned better than to express. it gets him into trouble, it hurts him more in the end. "you think i'm acting spoiled? ungrateful? what do i have to be grateful for! some mediocre sex i'm not allowed to say no to? you think you're helping me like this?"

fury boils, hot and impossible to ignore, but a certain learned restraint keeps his voice tight, low enough to not draw any attention to their room. oh, how he wishes he could shout and scream, to let her know all of the hurt he has endured from her hands and others. it doesn't matter how gentle her touch is; every intimate contact twists the knife more painfully in his back. he can't believe that she cares at all about him. not when she's done this.

"i hate to break it to you, but taking up my time doesn't get rid of the worse ones. i still sleep with nasty old men. women too. i'm a puppet no matter who buys my time. do you want to know how i got here? in a fucking shipping container with a hundred other kids like we were cattle. all i am is a body, nothing you do now can change that."

he doesn't want her help anyways, not at this point. what friendship they had as kids is gone and dead, shattered in the wake of unforgivable sins against each other. "keep your time and money. i didn't ask for either."

there’s a devil on my chest.

#p: there's a devil on my chest #xiaomeimi #tw: human trafficking

[weijunxmi]

yinyangmi‌:

( ... )

        with a large proportion of their guests hailing from mainland china, hong kong, vietnam, and thailand, he reasons it’s easy for them to whisper in their native tongue without much fear of being overheard.  unfortunately for the simple-minded, all the hydrus members gathered are multilingual but are told to communicate in english or korean, weijun being the exception.  it’s a precaution in the event that any of their guests choose to lie during negotiations—which would be a terrible choice, since cheng has little to no mercy for liars.

        his brow scrunches a bit.  

        “what are you doing to my hair?”

        not that he particularly cares either way.  it’s been a while since he’s styled his hair, mostly because it’s just unnecessary to keep up with appearances in his line of work.  but at the very least, he doesn’t look as unkempt nowadays.  there were times in his past when he’d go several days without showering, and even more so without moisturizing or putting a comb through his hair.  having witnessed his steady transition into a tidier, cleaner look, weijun should be thankful that he’s working on his current hair.

CONTENT WARNING: mentions of human trafficking

once upon a time, language had been heavy on his lips. years ago, when he wasn't yet a man and his life was ruled by fear and sex. he had been stripped bare in more ways than one; his home, his freedom, even the power of words taken from him when he was dropped in some foreign land with not the slightest bit of experience in the local tongue. it had been a slow sort of torture then, to not to be able to communicate his own intelligence to the people around him.

but not with sicheng, never with him. they share the same native language; while the distinction of their status has always been so clear, weijun never felt stupid or mute in front of the other man. his talkativeness now has little to do with sicheng in particular. it has instead everything to do with his own personal struggles. talking, as he had not been able to do freely then, he does in mild abundance now. because it calms him. because he can.

he's quiet during the briefing anyways; attentive, like a well-trained dog who knows both the reward for success and the punishment for failure. the familiarity brings some calm to him as well. how many missions has sicheng set upon him that were outside of a whore's job description? enough that he's grown less sensitive to the violence and treachery of this world, enough that he's been a more active part of it. weijun won't lie, he may very well always be uncomfortable discussing the fates of former human beings as if he had never been one of them. but he's been groomed to obedience, and he follows sicheng's orders when he's told.

"got it, i understand," and weijun does; he's proven before that he can be trusted not to slip up. "you know, this suit really isn't your color. and by that i mean you should try some color someday. even navy has some hue to it, or is that too bright for death himself? i don't know if you realized but we can still see bloodstains on black clothing. may as well own it, make it fun." there he goes, babbling again, talking out of turn to release some of the tension. it's all inconsequential anyways.

fingers card through the other man's hair again, pulling it taught gently from the scalp. "straighten it?" weijun releases the locks and brushes the bangs from sicheng's face. "push it back? something like that. don't worry, it's nothing that a good shower won't undo. i'm not a real stylist, i only know how to sell a body." the huff of humor he lets out is only for himself, demeaning his role even in his own joke. he turns from the mirror briefly to grab a comb. first things first, detangle the mess. "you've got nice features if you knew how to show them off. what are we going for tonight? respectable criminal businessman, or murder on two legs?"

dead lions don’t roar.

#p: dead lions don't roar #yinyangmi #its shorter.... barely...... but it is!! #tw: human trafficking