#'I too was hurt by the Deadly Gang' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silverryuan · 4 months ago

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Riddle Rosehearts with a Siren reader from Jibaro

A/N: "It's weird that I don't have writer's block... I actually have a lot of ideas in my head that I really want to write but due to classes I can't seem to find any time for my hobbies anymore."

Warning: Blood Consumption, Slight Angst

The Siren or The Golden Woman is a character from Netflix's animation series, "Love, Death, and The Robots". She's the love interest of the deaf soldier from the Jibaro episode, directed by Alberto Mielgo.

• Your and Riddle's friendship is rather complicated yet it cannot be called a mere acquaintance. Although you don't really talk much you use arm swaying movements to communicate with others, it's almost like some sort of dance or another version of sign language. Rook likes to decipher these actions of yours and Kalim likes to dance with you.

• However, that doesn't mean he tolerates how you let your numb skull friends break the rules in the Heartslabyul dorm. He sometimes wonders if Ace and Deuce became affected by your... tendencies to cause trouble and wreak havoc across the campus. But you only do that as self-defense, as Grim says on your behalf.

• But why in Twisted Wonderland would you randomly scream at people as a defense mechanism? ← Riddle thought as if he doesn't do that himself.

• Riddle never heard you talk but he has heard some rumors associated with your loud screaming. It seems like there's a record of many Savanaclaw beastmen who tried to gang up on you, suddenly did these unusual body movements in reaction to your screaming. As if they're in a trance trying to dance with you but failed miserably.

• The Faculty and Staff were called numerous times to break it up when the students started fighting themselves. When the students snap out of it they don't remember what happened. The only thing they described was hearing beautiful singing, which doesn't make sense...

• Is this your Unique Magic? It's a little similar to Ruggie's Laugh With Me with a mix of Jamil's Snake Whisper, albeit more violent. Because of those incidents, you'd been put into the avoid-at-all-costs pedestal in the student body.

• The first time he interacted with you was in the cafeteria. Back when he was, ahem, overly strict before his Overblot. He did not like how the collared fool named Ace described him and had second thoughts about removing his collar. Before he could scold Ace, you suddenly leaped onto the table and proceeded to stare at him while moving your head from side to side.

• That was also the moment where he first learned how instinctual you can be when you feel threatened. He yelped and backed away from you, not without uttering an excuse about another rule being violated. On that day, he thought that you were the same as Floyd. Weird and eccentric.

• Riddle wanted to collar you at that moment but he remembered that you had no magic, so he didn't. But by the Great Sevens, he was proven wrong. Deadly wrong. He had become one of the victims that had fallen to the extent of the severity your magic can go.

• Him Overblotting was far too unsightly of a dorm leader. He broke too many rules, hurt too many of his dormmates, nearly destroyed his dormitory, unaware that his own mother created a monster like him. He held on to his delusions of following every rule down to every detail of it, thinking it was the best for him. But no...

• He knew that it wasn't. He knew deep down that he was hurting others, his friend Trey, but he denied it because they broke the rules. So he punished them because he was right and that he should teach them not to break another rule.

• But what rule is suitable for this? His demented form? His Overblot rampant for control? Who is even right? What rule should he follow to make the pain stop? His mother didn't teach him this... Was what Trappola said was right?

• The thoughts and memories of his past worsened his condition and only made him more mad. He felt his head pounding too much. The black tears of ink wouldn't stop. He hadn't this felt vulnerable and helpless in a long time. It seems that the time he spent with his mother managed to numb the pain as well as his emotions.

• His vision turned dark as the blot consumed him. He cannot breathe. The monster was slowly killing him. Riddle in turn slowly embraces the void, embracing his final moments.

• Somebody... Anybody... Please... Save... Him.

• ... But it was too late for him.

"Everyone... Run... Ake... Cov....!"

• At least he get to hear Trey's voice one last time. His voice was panicked and muffled by the blot but nonetheless, Riddle wants to hear it.

"Yuu! What... doing...?!.... Dangerous...!!"

• Was that your name? Trey is yelling at you. What were you doing?

"GET BACK!"

• What?

• What was that? What is that sound?

• It's coming closer...!

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• Riddle cradled his head as a piercing shriek breaks the sound barrier, the void around him started falling apart from the shockwaves.

• It sounds awful... Like a thousand banshees shouting and crying inside his head...

• How it painfully reminded him of his mother yelling at him!

• How it sounded like her voice multiplied in every direction surrounding him and started screaming at him...!

• But it stopped. Everything went silent...

• The cries of the damned were replaced by beautiful melodic singing...

• ... It was hypnotizing him.

"Riddle! Snap out of it!"

"Rosehearts! Stop this madness!"

"Riddle, please, can you hear us?"

• Outside from Riddle's caged mind, his Overblot form and monster were in a spiral, desperately fighting back to whatever magic you've casted upon him. The more you screamed, the more Riddle suffered.

• Thank the Sevens Crowley managed to make himself useful and evacuated the rest of the students. Otherwise they'd fall under your magic's attack range too. Trey and Cater made a good call summoning magic shields around themselves before you attacked.

""̨̌̽AA̯ͪ��͏A̠̭̠ͯ̀̀ȀA̱̫̯ͣ̔̍Ā͔̞͉̈́U̗͡U͇̭̯U̬̜ͪ̅͡U̝̟̮G͎͓͇ͥ̅̓G͈̜̙G̬̝͉͊̾G͒͒͡H͇ͯͩ̑H̹̬́͌H͓̫̆ͨH̵̗̚!ͫͫ̍!̦̬͗ͤ̌́҉!͙͚͂̓ͮ!̷͍̝͊͐!̖̟̦́̓͒͘͘ ̡ͪ͑S̷̫̓ͧ́́T̫̐Õ̵̳̙̣̾̂P̶̛ ̰͙̈́͜͞Ȋ͔̺̭̆͞T̐̚͏͝.͇͙̤̐̐ͩ͘͠.̩͗ͤ.̢̦̱̝̚͘!̢͕ ̸̺͈̤͌̃͘S͈̺̘ͦ̅͟T͍̩̠O̸̞͈̹ͥͦͩ͟P͆͗̍͏̧ ̴̜̦Ţ̷̲̙͕H̤̰̤̀͜A̜͙͉ͧͣ͂T͙͊́͞.͚ͪ̇̽.́͟.̬̯̜ͭͫ͘!̵ A̵̝̗̖A̞͙̣̓̏A͍̅͢A͆̈͌Uͧͮͦ҉͏U̶͇̰̗U̘̭̗̔͐U̡̱̜̳ͯ̿G͠G̝̤̙͌̀͏G̪̬̜G͙̳ͯ͏̴Ĥ̬̜͕̌͝"̜̃͟

A̷̞̖̤̩̰̭̼̹͇̘͇̫̭̠ͭͤ͑̈͐̽͛͗̂̆͊̾ͥ̄ͪ̑̎̈̆̀͢͡҉͟҉̶̷̷̨̡̛̀͘̕̕͘͟͟͟͞͠͡A̷̍̓̋̂͘͠͝A̷̶̗͍̺̱͎̠͓̙̖̞̱͇̩͈̒͆ͨͬ̎̌͒͑̓̊͒̈̑̇ͪ͂͝ͅ͏̡̧͜͟͟͢͞͠͝҉́̀͠͠A̳̬͉̫̥̤̩̰̺̯͍͉̪͈̭̜̮̣̣ͬͨ̅̈́ͣͬ͌ͦ̚҉̸̵̡̧̧A̲̫̤̫̥̟͚͕̞̦̣̭̦̞͍̣̮͉̺̮͛ͭ̽ͣͬ̓ͧ̀̐̅ͅͅͅA̵̷̶̧̪͇͈̖̖͔̺̙̦͆̇́̆̏̋̓ͥ̍̓͌͆͂͗̄ͪͯ̚҉̡̡͏̸̶̶̛̕͢͡A̵̷̧̡̛̦̭̰̟͇̯̱͙͇̣̖̩̻̞͙̰̪̱̫͔ͮ͂ͧ̉͋̎ͨ̃ͥ͋̈̀́̕͝҉͡҉̴͠҉̸̡̡̡̀͜͡͝A̷͈̭̠̗͍̹̠̙̗͙͕͎͍̘̥̥̜̹͚̺͚̍ͪ̾̎̔̔ͪ̉ͣͣ̾̊͗̇́ͣ̍̆͐͋͟͠ͅͅ҉̶̛́̕͟͟͢͡À͍̹͉̟̞̼̰͈̻̱̞̥̰͊͒̃̈̓́̿͐ͯ̑͑̍͂ͬ̇ͪ̀̆̚͡ͅͅǍ͚̮͈̰̤͍̹̖͚̮̤͉ͥͬ̏̒̈͌̒̅͆͊̌ͥ͒̔ͮ̂́̀͢͟͟͝҉̧̛̕A̦͎̫͊̈́̌̄̅̓ͦ͂ͬ̔̓̅̍̂ͯ̈́ͭ͂̓͝A̶̷̴̷̸̢̧̡̡̨̡̛̗̖̥͉̰̞̫͉̦̮̦̹̗̗̭̒̋̕͘͘͜͜͟͢͢͞͏̶̕͏͏A̛̪͍̗͈̤͔̗̠͉̯̮͍̬̪͓̭͕̱̫̞͍̺̗ͮ̓ͦͪ̄͛̄̎ͮͫ͌̽ͧ̈̓ͧ̽̃̽ͮ̐ͭ̕͜͟͜͠͝ͅͅ҉̶̴̧̨̀͟͜Ȧ̲̟̭̪̺̜̻̞̹̯͕̱͋ͥͤͩͦ͊̀̕͏̧A̢̠̻̠̩̜̥̩͙̺̓ͤ̾̓ͥ̏͛̅̔̉ͥ̾ͭ̌͋ͦͤ̇͐ͭ̆̚Ą̵̵̸̨̛̗͈̜̱̞̞͓̹͓̩̼̪̙̯̹̠̜̩͙̙͕͈͔̮̓ͤ̑̕͢͜͟͞͏̨̡͢͢͢À̶̷̵̴̧̢̛̜̯̩͕̟̟̞͈̒̅̇̀̇̔ͭ̔̄̄͆͑ͥ̂̃̉́͘̕͟͞͞͞ͅ҉̷̨̨̛̀͘͠͞Ȃ̮͈̝͈̩͈͚͙̭̙̪̦̺͚̾͆͆́̃͋͂͆͐͆ͭ̋̓Å̵̷̡̼͖͕̪̱̠͓̼̪̜̕̕͢͏͏̷͝A̜̘̺̭̰̤̱̲ͩ̃̅̀͐͋ͤ͐ͪ̅ͣͬ̌̊̐̽̆̃͒̿͛̿̌̉̀ͫ̉̀̀͘͟͟͢҉̴̸̨͜͠͡À̷̴̸̢̛͚̲͉̠̞̺̭̘̐ͬͥ́͗̏̊̆̾̒̒ͥͭ̽̋̓̑̀̀͘͞͞͝͡Ą̴̷̢̢̨̧̛͇͖͓̟̪͗̓͑̂́́̀̚͘͢͜҉̷̛̀̀͘͜͠͝͡͡A̢̹̥̬̖̘̘͓̥̮͕͋̐͆͌͑͋́ͬ͆ͫͪ̅̔́̊̋͆ͧ̈́ͧ̆ͯ͌̄̆́͟͝ͅ͏͝Ą̸̴̸̧̨̡̫̫̠̳͉͓̦͓̘̯̳͖̣͎̲͕̟̠̔̃̽́ͪ̔ͮ̅ͩ̎̔͂̉̇͒ͬ̏́̀̕͢͟͞͝͞͠ͅÀ̧̡̛̛̩̻̫͚̞̹̱̙̝̩̘̩̟̠̥̐̈́̾͊ͨ͊͢͜͡͏̶̵̷̴̴̵̧̨̨̕͜͢͏́Ȃ͇͉̣͎̇ͬ̾̇ͦͮ͂̈́̾͗̓̍̂̈ͦ͜͡͠҉̷̴̢̢̛͜͡͝҉Ą̶̴̸̨̧̛͉̠̦̤͔͓̯̠͎̩͉͐̄ͭ̎ͮ͊̌̓́̅̎̇ͦ͐̇҉̵̵̨̧͘͘͏̴̴̵̵̡̧Ã̷͚̗̞̗͎͎̳̑̆́̅ͭ̌̑̌̓̈ͯ͌ͤ͗ͭ̀͒͛ͮͮͩ̚͘҉̶̡̡̛̛͘͘͘͟͞҉̴̸̷̷̢̛́͘̕͟͢͡͠Ả̦̞̠̳̱̙̠̺̿̓ͯ͆͂̈̀ͯ͝͏̨̀͘͟͟͟͠͏̴̧̢̨͘͘͘̕͜͜͞͠͡͏̴Ȁ͖̲̩̤͇̞͇͚̞̭͈̤̱̞̖͂̿͒̓ͩ͆̀̾̏ͣ̀̒͂͑̈́̿̿ͪ͐͐̃̆ͮͯ͊ͅ͏̴̛̀́͟A̹̱̩̯͖̳̤̼͍͔̞̬̘̖̥̫͍̦͎̺͕̭̰̤͛ͨ̆ͤ͋̇̄͌̆̽ͥͪ̓̄ͥ̅̒̕ͅ҉A̴̴̶̸̶̶̡̦̣͈̯̤̖̯̣͙̖̪̫͕͕̲̼͍͍̪͎̲̩͜͟͝ͅ͏́Ā̶̸̵̸̢̛̬͇̫̺̜̖̫͉̫̟̹̳̥̪ͫͭ̓ͤ͑̎͐̐͆͆̇͌͊͊̽̄̏͗́̂͘͢͢͢͜͟͠͝͞҉̴̛͏̵̸̧́͘A̸̛͕̭̫̜̳̲͍͈̪͍̫͓̞͓̠͈ͦ͊͐̽͆͊̿̍̽ͥͮ̈́ͬ̈ͯ̈́̎͑͒ͫ̀̅̅͝ͅĄ̴̴̵̴̡̦̪͕̭͕͚͚̝͉̝̻̙͓̤͚̩̫̯̥̞͔̗̑̽͑́̔̂͌̓̽ͤ̀̈ͨ̈́̔̉͋̏̍ͫ̈́̆ͭ͆̎́͢͠͠҉̷̷̧҉̀Ă͖̥̘̺͖̭͙̗̗̰͔̹̱͚͓̣̺̥̳͇͍̏̐̈ͥ̀ͤ͂̎ͨ̀̓̆̌͠͏͘͟͡҉͏͏̴̶̡͠͏̧̧̛́̀͘͟͞͞͡͠͠҉A̛̛͖͙̠̭̼̟̱̘̤̬͙̦͓͉̖͉ͫ̀̐̈́̍̒͒ͣͮ̌ͨͨ̒͗̽̋ͧͯͤ̚̚̚͘͜͜͟͡͝ͅͅA̷̛̘̰͍͉͔̥̹͚͖̮͇̦̻̪͚̪̮̗͚̳̮̫͚̜͌̈͗ͭ̎̅ͨͫ̆ͯͦͦ̿̈́̈́ͩ͊̐ͮ̆ͩ͑ͨA̵͈̼͇̠̩̤̱̮̳̠̝͕͛ͧͩ̃̅̈̍̾͊́̈́̌̀ͦͩͦͨ̋ͦ̌̃̅͏̵͢҉̶̡̛́̀͠͏͏͏͏͝A̸͎̤̞̝͕̗͕̣̣̼̫̻̾̓ͮͬ̄ͨͣ͆̀͢͏҉͜͜҉̸̕A̶̶̸̡̧̨̧̹̪̬̩͖͖͈̭͔̯ͥͬͩ͗̒̌̾ͣ̑́́́͘͘̕̕͘͟͜͟͟͝͡͠͡͝͡͝ͅÁ̵̡̫̭̩̙͎̺̞̝̹̥̝̤̯͖̆̈́̉̈́̊͊͑ͮ̀́̚͘͘͜͢͞͠͏̀͏͏҉̸̡̀A̛̰͓̬̙̮̖̫̤̙͍̤̘͚͕̱̬̱̝̗̪͖̲̅ͨͣ̀̓̎̎̿̊̑̌̓͒ͮ͜͠҉̶̛͢͏̶̴̸̨̡̀̀͘͝͞Â̱͈̬̘̥̟͕̘̘͙̺͉͍͕͇͖̄͋ͩ́ͦ̓̌̊ͦ͐̂͛̈̽́͟͝͏̶̷̸̸̵̵̨̧̢́́̀͘͘͘͟͜͟͜͡͡͝Ą̷̧̜̮̲̟̥͎͕͉̖͉͖̩͈̮̺̂͘͢͝͠͞͠͏͞Ạ̴̶̢̠͎͖̥̙͙̱̼̯̻́̐̑̽̈́͆̊̂ͫͬͤͯͨ̾̔̑̈ͩ͛ͣ̎̏̆̏ͯ̓̊͘͟͜͠͞͝͏̧̛́̕͟͜͡Ą̸̷̷̴̡̛̪͙̻͇̬̲͖̪͖̅̌̓̆͊ͨ̏̿̓͆͑̄̍ͦ̊ͮ̇͋̏͌̾̑̾̈̍ͧ͜͟͞͞͡͡͠͞ͅA̬̭͉͙͓͖͇̰͇͍̾͂̄ͯ̔̉̿ͮ̍͆ͮͨ̚A̸̵̡̢̠̞̳͓̦̹ͬ̊ͭ͆͗͂ͮ͊͘͘͡͝͠ͅ҉̵̶̵̴̡̢̧͟͜͡͠͠͝҉̸҉A̶̶̧͈̝̞̻̺̙̭ͫ̐̀͘̕͘̕͟͝҉҉͢Ạ̷̧̡̛̛̓́͟͜͠͝͝͝Ǎ̷̡̢̛͔̠̭̙̣̖͎̬͈̥́ͬ̋͂͂ͤ͋ͧ͑ͩ̂̽ͯͮ̒̅ͪ̀̊̒̎ͩͨ̈́̈͌͢͝͞͠ͅÂ̸̧̪ͮ̋͌̎̉͋ͨ͑̊̎ͩ̈́̎͒̀͜͝҉̸͜͞͡A̴̧̧̢̢̨̘̠̹̱̻̤͖̫̯̞̬͖̗̠͚̳̲͓̪̿̍ͨͦ͛̓̍͊̀͊͗́ͣ̚͡͞͏͢҉̷̸͘͏Ą̴̸̵̴̛̻͓̯̞͇̻͢͟͠͡҉̵҉̶̴̡̛̕͘͜͜͜͡͠Ą̵̹̮̭͉̦̺͔̆͟͝͡͡͞Ą̴̷̡̨̨̧̨̰͔̱̻̺͓͇̩̝̺̣͉̦̗̳͆̀ͦ̆ͧ͛ͨ͆ͯ̅ͫ̽̊̄̅̓ͬͦͣ̍ͪ̋̎̚͘͘͘͢͟͡͝͞A̢ͯ̍͑͐̎̆̅͛̅͒̉̒͋ͣͤ̅͂̆̐ͨͭͤ̐ͣ̚҉̀͏̶̷̸̸̵̨̢̧̢̡̡̛̛́͘͢͠͡͞͝͠͝A̘̱̪͎̟̯̪̔͗̄ͫ̋ͧ͌̄͊͛̈́ͫ̍͆ͬ͛ͤͧ҉̶́҉̸̴̨̢̡́́͢͟͡͝A̷̶̴̵̡̛̘̩̙̯̜̩̦̟̱̼̤͉̭̲̟̹͇̯̗̱̘̲̔ͥ̌̅̒̽́̀́͘͢͜͜͞͠͏̵̡́̀͢͞҉̨͏̧͟

• Riddle, who is now covered in ink from head to toe, is thrashing and destroying everything that comes near him. His Blot monster kept bashing its head on the ground. You were unfazed by his sudden change of aggressiveness and screamed louder.

• Even if he threw projectiles at you, your shrieks' shockwaves would deflect it with strong gusts of wind. Cracks began to appear on the monster's glass head.

"W-what's happening to him...?"

"He's weakened by Henchman's Unique Magic!"

"Eh?! You mean Siren! Yuu's Unique Magic is enough to make him like this?!"

"Focus, Deuce!"

"R-right, sorry!"

"Time to end this, guys... Split Card!"

"He's almost down. Cover us, Yuu! Doodle Suit!"

"I summon forth... Cauldron!"

"Fnyaaaagh!"

A̭̦̫ͧ̎͘͜A̍ͧA̴̞͇ͫ̈́ͫͧͥ̀ͅÄ̵̼̮́ͩ̍A͖͢G̨̛͔̜̦̮̪̐̉̇̊̀̀͠G̷̟͍̳̭ͪ̈ͪͦHͬ̏̽̾͂H͚̘͍̾̒̇H̸̗̩͍̘̓̈ͦ̍͛͞!̢̈̕!̵̧̬͝!̨̨͖̦̩̱͑ ̺̰̺͛͗̈̾̃҉҉͞Ḙ͎͖͍͇̊̂̇ͥN̯̯̤̮͔̐̈́ͤ̎Ǫ̴̤̥̻̦ͦͭ͊̚͜U͎͋̑̀Gͩ̕H̛҉!̺͕̄̒̑̃̀͠҉͢͞!̢̢͉̃ͥ̀͡!̠̱̟̹͟͞͏ ͍ͣ͏Ǫ̼̫̺ͭͬ̎F̖̰̞͎̆ͣ̄̅F̛̮̳̩͉̦ͪ͘͘ ̼͉̯͊̏̊̄W̲̪͙I̴͔͈̙͓͌͒͂́͘͢͞T̞͈̪͢H̡̧̹͚̪ ̛̟͍̘̭͟A̎��̵̡̡̯́͘L̴͎̜̀Ļ̷͉̰̠̉͗ͅ ̸̙̙̣̤̦͒̏̿̕͜Ý̙̗̰ͥ̓͜͏̡̢͢O͇͚͖̩ͪͮ͑Ȕ̟̞͈͎̰̐̽ͪ̃͜͢͝͠R̷͞͝ ̘͎̒̑͊͞H̬ͯ̒̎́҉͏̨E̴̛͈͔̠Ẻ͓̦̘E̪̹ͣ͊͊͆͆Ȃ̶̢̛͖͚̹̙̄ͣ̄̉́A̛̝̤A̸̸̝̻̥̣ͣ̽͏Ą̡̘͢D̗̙̹̟̓̄̓̕͡S̴̥̟͎!͈̭͉̥͏̶̡̕͠!̢̢̠̜̌̒̾ͣ͆̕͟!̟̰̣ͤ҉

{NRC – Infirmary}

• Riddle woke up in the school infirmary. He sat up with a ringing noise in his head. He tries to recall the things that happened but the headache prevented him from doing so. The boy was surprised by Trey, Cater, and the rest of the troublemakers appearing by his side. They looked relieved, tears welled up in Trey's eyes and he says something...

• ... He can't hear him... Why can't he hear him? Is it because of the ringing? What is he saying?

"...Mnh?... Trey?... Cater?..."

"Riddle! You're okay! A-are you okay? Does your head hurt?"

"Dorm Leader Rosehearts! He's awake!"

"Ssshhhh! His head might still be ringing!"

"... H-huh?"

• Trey and Cater were right up beside him immediately, checking on him. The students behind them couldn't believe it but they were relieved to see him awake.

"Siren! Yuu's magic did quite a number on you, dorm leader... Maybe you should rest more-- Woah!"

"H-Hey, Riddle! Don't sit up yet, you just woke up. There, there, relax."

"Are you in any pain right now? You look a little pale..."

"I... I... Can't... You..."

• They're mouths were moving but no sounds came out no matter how hard Riddle strained his ears.

"What is it? Can you speak louder? What's wrong?"

"Trey.. I can't hear you."

"W-what?"

"I-i can't hear what you're saying, Trey. I can't hear all of you! I c-can't- I CAN'T HEAR ANYTHING!"

"Dorm Leader, calm down! Take deep breaths."

"It's alright, just look at us. Everything will be fine."

"He can't hear us?"

"His condition is worse than I thought. Did his Overblot perhaps took his ability to hear?"

"Everyone, please get out of the infirmary. He needs space."

• The students of Heartslabyul left the room but Ace, Deuce, Grim and you stayed behind. Riddle's hands cupped his tear stained face as his sobbing intensifies.

"We're so sorry, Riddle... Don't worry, the Infirmary Ghosts can help you. We'll be right here every second."

"Yeah, you'll get your hearing back in no time!"

"... I'm... sorry... I'm sorry..."

"E-eh?"

"I'm so sorry... *sob*.... *sob*... I've been so horrible to all of you.... *sob*...."

"Woah. Dorm Leader Riddle Rosehearts crying? Oh. My. Sevens."

"Cater."

"Sorry, Trey, it's just... I never see him cry his eyes out like this."

"... *sob*.... It's all my fault... it's my own fault...! ... *sob*... You were right... *sob*...!"

• Ace stepped closer to Riddle. The crying boy saw him and cried even harder.

"T-Trappola... I'm sorry... I did want that Mont Blanc tart! I really did... *sob*... I felt bad for tossing it away... But I had to follow the rules... *sob*... I'm so sorry...!"

• Riddle let out all of the pain, all of the guilt, all of the regret he bottled up throughout his life. Ace decided to forgive him for admitting his defeat but left his reasons of doing so for another day once Riddle is healed.

• Moments later, the Infirmary Ghosts appeared and checked on Riddle's vitals. Riddle finally stopped his crying, he still hopes to reconcile with Ace. He knows that his wrongdoings will not be forgiven... He does not deserve to be called a dorm leader if all he ever do is hurt his own dormmates.

"He's healthy now and the blot is all gone. There's nothing clogging his ear canals, no bleeding. In fact, his ears look fine."

"We don't know why he lost his hearing. Maybe it's because of a concussion?"

"The students did give him a beating but that's unlikely."

• A few hours passed by. The Ghosts became puzzled and made Riddle recite the 810 rules to check for brain damage, using a notebook and pen to communicate. Riddle perfectly recalled all of the rules. The Ghosts then asked Riddle to recall his dormmates' and classmates' names as well as their appearances. Riddle remembered all of them correctly. This made the Ghosts even more puzzled.

"Looks like Yuu's magic worked too well on him."

"This was caused by magic? If so by whom?"

"Siren! Yuu's Unique Magic."

"My Henchman's Unique Magic makes them scream very loud. They can hypnotize people with it and make them go crazy."

"Really? That's some frightening magic you got there, kid..."

"Suppose that they've used it to make him deaf?"

"To cover us when we subdued him. Riddle looked like he was in great pain the whole time."

"Ah, I see."

"Well, every mage's magic gotta have some kind of loophole or weakness around it, right?"

• The Ghosts turned to ask you if there's a cure, to which you nodded yes. You took a scalpel and pierced it across your palm. Everyone was taken aback when droplets of your blood dripped on the floor but you ignored them and grabbed a teacup by Riddle's bedside. Your blood soon filled half of the cup and you gave it to Riddle.

• Riddle looked at you with shocked eyes and rejected the gesture. You insisted to lift the cup to the boy's mouth.

"W-w-what? What are you...?"

"I think Henchman wants Riddle to drink it."

"Huh?!

"What?!"

"B-but that's...!"

"I dunno! It's what my Henchman is doin'!"

"What the hell?! Don't you think it's... I don't know... Weird and gross?!"

"Hmm... If it's the only way then we don't see why not."

• The Ghosts wrote on the notebook, instructing Riddle to drink the blood. Riddle, who literally saw you cut your own skin, closed his eyes and hesitantly gulped it all down. Coughing as the metallic taste of the red liquid lingered on his tongue.

• You bandaged your bleeding palm and left the room with a theatrical bow. This moment became a core memory of the group's earliest impression of you.

"Fnyagh... I think they're tired from all that screaming. I'm gonna go rest with them. A fight like that surely made me sleepy. Hey, Henchman! Wait for the Great Grim!"

• One day later, Riddle finally got back his hearing and the headache he had disappeared. He recovered with no complications. His dormmates' planned to throw an Unbirthday Party for him in his recovery. However, Riddle's guilt has not left his mind.

"Ace Trappola."

"Uh, yes?"

"I... heavily apologize for how I treated you... how I treated all of you with strict cruelty. I see now that not all can follow the rules like how I was raised to... And that I shouldn't enforce such rules and give harsh punishments because of one's trivial or small mistakes... From now on, I'll take time to reflect on my actions and the effects it has on others... From this day forward, I, Riddle Rosehearts, hereby back down as dorm leader of Heartslabyul--"

"Sorry, dorm leader but you can't."

"P-pardon?"

"The title of dorm leader sounds nice but I don't want the strings attached to it. No one can handle the responsibility like you can, no one puts more effort into the duty of the title like you do, no one is more suitable for a dorm leader like you are. Besides, I didn't ask you to a Mage's Duel to take your position. I want you to see how much of a heartless snob you were. You were at fault for mistreating your dormmates. Trey and Cater are also at fault for letting you mistreat them for a long time. That just isn't right."

"I'm sorry too for turning a blind eye all this time as vice dorm leader. I was too cowardly to face him."

"Me too. I should've looked out for you guys as your senior. Some friends we are, huh?..."

"But that's alright. I'm sure your dormmates can forgive you guys and give you a second chance."

"Y-You really think so?... Will they forgive me? After all I've done?"

"Of course, we forgive you, Riddle. As your friends, we're here to help you whenever you need."

"Yups! Totally vote for a second chance! Just don't overdo it next time and have some more mercy, dorm leader!"

"On behalf of the Heartslabyul dorm, we still want you as our dorm leader!"

"I... I-I'm...thank you, everyone... thank you all so mu--"

"BUT I STILL HAVEN'T FORGIVEN YOU!"

"E-eh?!"

"Ace!"

"NO, DON'T "ACE!" ME! AFTER ALL THE EFFORT WE PUT INTO THAT PERFECTLY GOOD MONT BLANC TART AND TOSSING IT OUT. IT'S NOT SOMETHING YOU CAN JUST CRY AND GET AWAY WITH IT!"

"What the hell's wrong with you!?"

"The poor guy's sorry isn't he?"

"Y-yes, I do feel terribly sorry for wasting the tart."

"WELL, IF YOU ARE SORRY AND YOU DO WANT TO EARN MY FORGIVENESS, AS A PUNISHMENT FROM ME, IT'S YOUR TURN TO MAKE THE TART!"

"Ace, stop talking!"

"No, he's right. I accept the punishment. I will make the tart."

"WITHOUT TREY'S HELP!"

"W-what?!"

"But Ace...! Isn't that a little...?"

"OH? IS IT TOO HARD FOR OUR DORM LEADER?"

"N-no! I can handle this. I'll do it by myself!"

"GOOD! NOW GET TO BAKING WHILE WE FIX UP THE PARTY!"

{Heartslabyul – Unbirthday Party}

• The rose bushes that were destroyed by blot were restored their original clean state. The branches that scattered the area were removed and more grass was planted to layer the bald ground. The light of the sun bounced off the shiny surface of the teapot and silver tableware. The ripped and tarnished table sheets were replaced by new white ones.

• Riddle seemed to have a hard time adjusting with his newfound leniency but he doesn't act like he has a stick up his behind anymore and is now more calm.

"Alright, let's see... The table sheets are white, tableware is at place, acceptable weather, it's nobody's birthday today... Is the mouse asleep inside the teapot? Actually, nevermind. It does not matter anymore."

"Hey there, Riddle. You don't have to be too lenient now. Take it easy."

"I second that, we wouldn't be able to recognize you without your habits of being prim and proper."

"Forgive me, it's just... I've never done this before... breaking a ru-- well... excluding ones for this occasion."

"Don't you worry your head about that, dorm leader! You'll get used to it. It's not so bad."

• As the three chatted, Ace approached them smugly, however, the sweat evident on his forehead from the work of cleaning up the dorm lessened the effectiveness of his smugness.

"So, you have the tart ready, dorm leader?"

"Ah yes, I have it prepared. And I wasn't assisted by Trey and followed the instructions for making it exactly the way down to every detail."

"What flavor is it?"

"Cherry."

"Did you remember to put enough chestnuts? Like, a ton of them?"

"Yes, I did. Just because I want to correct my faults does not mean you have the right to boss me around. I'm still your dorm leader."

"We'll see about that. Now you know what it's like to be in our place."

"Dorm Leader, Ace!"

"Spade. Are the flamingoes and hedgehogs ready?"

"Yes! I've also invited Grim and Siren! Yuu like you requested."

"That's good, thank you."

• Speaking of which, Riddle felt absolutely guilty about the insults he hurled at you during the previous Unbirthday Party. You looked uneasy when he aggressively pointed out your appearance. He guessed that he deserved to get screamed at by you. It's a better punishment than his mother's verbal abuse.

"Heya! We're here! Where's the food?"

"Sigh, Grim..."

"What? I'm hungry! Let's get this party started! Hey, Henchman, wanna dance later after eating?"

"☺️!"

• You nodded with a smile, it faltered when you faced Riddle. You simply stared at him like you're expecting him to do something. Luckily, the short boy find this awkward encounter as a good moment to apologize to you. He tells you to come with him to the Rose Maze.

{Heartslabyul – Rose Maze}

"Hello again...Siren! Yuu, was it?.... I want to speak with you for a moment... In private."

• Riddle sends the eavesdropping three a stern look, putting emphasis on the word private, and they read it as a signal to shoo, but they didn't. Instead, Ace, Deuce, and Grim proceeded to watch in silence at a corner, peeking at a nervous Riddle struggling to form words while under your laser-focused gaze.

"........"

"I-it's not about rule violation. It is just for a dorm leader to invite guests to get acquainted with them... Yes, it's to establish a... Well..."

".....😶?"

• Your gaze softened and your head tilted to the side, like you're both questioning and urging him to state his reasons more clearly. Riddle decided to not speak like a dorm leader but as a person who's grateful for your efforts.

"Oh, forget it. Siren! Yuu... I cannot apologize for the insults I've thrown at you... how I called you a magicless human who lacks discipline and manners... and I cannot thank you enough for saving me even after all that... But..."

"........."

"I do feel sorry, I do... I feel so ashamed of myself... Please give me a chance. A chance to give a new impression. A chance to make things right... This Unbirthday Party is now a welcoming gift and an offering of gratitude for saving me. Please, accept this apology."

"......."

"... And... I'm sorry about the Mont Blanc tart... I won't waste food for a trivial rule like that ever again."

• Your smile returned to your face and you bowed. The eavesdroppers took that as a positive sign to wait at the table for you.

"... 🙂‍↕️."

"Y-You... you forgive me?... Thank you... Thank you so much... You've no idea how relieved I am! I admit, I was worried there for a minute. Thank you."

• Riddle almost teared up from relief and joy but he wiped his eyes. This is a good sign after all, no need for more crying. He'll make the others worry.

"I, Dorm Leader of Hearstla- no... I, Riddle Rosehearts, am humbly grateful for your forgiveness. Now, shall we go back?"

• You and Riddle walked out of the Rose Maze, awaited by a hungry Grim and an impatient Ace.

"You done chatting with him?"

"☺️!"

"C'mon, c'mon! Don't just stand there. Sit here! I heard from Ace that Riddle made a Mont Blanc tart for us! I wanna taste it!"

"Grim, calm down. Your drool is soaking the table sheet!"

• In the end, the tart made by Riddle tasted terrible but you guys got a good laugh at it. Music filled the party and you danced with your new friends.

• Like I said, Riddle has a somewhat complicated friendship with you. You liked to feel free from restraint or control so you could freely express yourself however you want. Riddle is one of the others that keeps you at bay or from doing anything stupid.

• Riddle even made the effort to learn and decipher your movements. And in turn, you took time to learn some of the Queen of Hearts' rules.

• There are times where he hides behind you to scare away Floyd. There are times he lets you roam around Heartslabyul and dance within the Rose Maze (not without a warning to not break a rule). You cause less trouble now, however, he can't say the same for your idiots.

• He's also one of the individuals who protects your gold scales from watching eyes (read: Azul, Ruggie) and to provide the headmaster a list of reasons on why he can't just take it whenever Crowley asks. He warns you to stay away from others who want to monopolize you. He tries his best to threaten Azul to never strike a deal with you.

• He's seen you cure Overblot victims with your blood, amazed by its effectiveness to heal injuries and even some disabilities. For example, a student from Heartslabyul that were injured by the blot claimed that their blindness was gone. Another one from a different dorm used to have a paralyzed nerve in his leg, but now he can run with no difficulties thanks to your blood.

• He worries for your safety and well-being at this point. He knows that he cannot restrict you from every choice you make, whether selfless or foolish. Besides, you told him not to grow gray hairs for you as he has a lot on his plate as a dorm leader. You learned cautiousness from experience that there are individuals who revel in the despair of others.

• You know pain physically and emotionally all too well. It was under the guise of a person you thought who loved you. Only to stab you in the end and take everything you have dear away from you. Leaving you alone to lament in your miserable state.

• Riddle felt that pain too. It disguised itself not only as a loving figure, but as his own mother. A mother who inflicted strictness upon him like no other, caused him to Overblot and on the verge of dying. But he was saved by his friends who cared for him.

• But who saved you from your pain? It was just you. All the horrific things they did to you, yet... you let it all go, you learned to accept it and moved on your own. Riddle was astonished by your strength to let the painful past go. It gave him a deep thought that if you can do it, maybe he can too. You bared your scars to him and he bared his to you.

• Your carefree and cautious demeanor contrasts Riddle's strict and wrathful one. But overall, he thinks that you are a great and loyal friend. A friend that he didn't think he deserved, but one who needed to show him how to let hurtful things go. How to accept your mistakes and imperfections as a part of your journey.

• To dance with no fear on the stage full of pain and sorrow called life.

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banananutmuffin28 · 5 months ago

Text

HCs On Surviving Squid Game And Dating Kang Sae-Byeok & Ji-Yeong

A/N: I love them too much, your honor. @insane-hag, @eremikas-bby. Warnings: Very briefly and mildly suggestive

⋆You lucky, lucky bastard. Somehow, you managed to get not one, but two hot women after you?

⋆Even when they were supposed to be competing against you, they both always watched your back.

⋆One time, the three of you were squished into one mattress. It wasn’t exactly…comfortable, but hey, you got to have two pretty women pressed up against you, and that was a win in your book.

⋆Sae-Byeok keeps you away from Deok-Su and his gang.

⋆Ji-Yeong threatened Gi-Hun that if he let you get hurt, she’d be taking Sae-Byeok and you out of the team.

⋆The night before Marbles, a group of men in black uniforms had infiltrated Squid Game and knocked out some of the guards.

⋆Then, they took their outfits and pretended to be working for the game.

⋆Squid Game had always been under their radar, but they never had the clear, solid proof to truly prove that it was real. So, when Gi-Hun had ran to them in a fit of fear, their interests were peaked. They had to turn Gi-Hun away, pretending to not believe him so that they could track down where he would go.

⋆And now, they’re trying to be careful and aiming to shoot in such a way that it only looks like they killed the contestants. During the clean up, some of their moles will bring the “dead bodies” to a hospital.

⋆And, that’s how you, Sae-Byeok, and Ji-Yeong managed to all make it out alive.

⋆You had woken up on an unfamiliar bed, and demanded to know where Sae-Byeok and Ji-Yeong were.

⋆The nurse beside you had anticipated this reaction, seeing as the two women you were urging to see had woken up before you and demanded similar requests.

⋆She told you that they were safe, and ordered you to stay and rest.

⋆The first time you saw them both again outside of the games was in that very same hospital.

⋆You bolted toward them, completely tossing the nurse’s words out of the window.

⋆Fuck the gunshot wound on your head, you needed to make sure that they were okay.

⋆Sae-Byeok was holding back tears when you and Ji-Yeong fell into her arms.

⋆Ji-Yeong was openly crying though.

⋆Eventually, Sae-Byeok pressed her face into your neck, and you felt your collarbone grow wet. You tried to move your head, but Sae-Byeok’s gripe on you wouldn’t budge.

⋆Don’t worry though, you kept her secret.

⋆By the time you were released from the hospital (and the police station since you were all forced to give your testimonies), Sae-Byeok took you two to see her brother.

⋆Cheol was elated to see her, and it was adorable to see the normally stoic woman melt into her little brother’s embrace.

⋆But, when Cheol turned his gaze to you and Ji-Yeong (who Sae-Byeok had called her “very special friends”), you suddenly felt like you were under a microscope.

⋆Though he took kindly to Ji-Yeong, he gave you the stink eye.

⋆The kid looked you up and down, scrunched up his cute little face, and then simply walked away.

⋆Never had you felt so utterly roasted by a child. He didn’t even say anything!

⋆In an attempt to make you feel better, Sae-Byeok pats your back and tells you that he’ll warm up to you eventually.

—

⋆Since you’re dating two women who had been through hell and back, you’re extremely protected on both sides. Especially so if you’re a WLW (WLWLW?) throuple.

⋆They don’t want to ever risk losing you.

⋆Both Sae-Byeok AND Ji-Yeong will throw hands if someone gets your order wrong.

⋆Lord have mercy on the worker who does.

⋆We already know Sae-Byeok’s resting bitch face is terrifying, but when she uses it to its full potential?

⋆There’s a 50/50 percent chance the worker will collapse onto the floor.

⋆If Sae-Byeok’s death glare doesn’t do the job, then Ji-Yeong will.

⋆That girl may be short but MAN is she fierce.

⋆She will not stop demanding that they fix your order STAT.

⋆Think of her as an angry, deadly chihuahua (who may or may not sack someone in the face if the situation calls for it).

⋆Oh, and if someone purposefully tries to mess with you? Like, a random ass man stands up trying to intimidate you while also cussing you out?

⋆Don’t be surprised if Sae-Byeok and Ji-Yeong come home late that day.

⋆Shhh, don’t worry about it, they were just throwing away a dead body “taking out the trash.”

⋆Oh hey, look! Ji-Yeong bought fried chicken for dinner! Now hurry up and get some plates and don’t pay attention to the red stains on your girlfriends’ jacket.

⋆When you pressed for more information, Ji-Yeong just gave you a peck on your cheek and brushed you off.

⋆”It’s just ketchup!”

—

⋆When you guys sleep, you’re always sandwiched in the middle.

⋆Your face will be sandwiched in Sae-Byeok’s chest while Ji-Yeong will wrap her arms around your waist.

⋆Usually, Ji-Yeong’s hands will wander, her fingers dancing along the hem of your shirt.

⋆That little minx

⋆Her hands might caress your chest, or move down to rest on your thighs.

⋆When you inevitably blush, Ji-Yeong will simply pull away innocently.

⋆”What’s wrong, baby? I’m just trying to cuddle you.”

⋆(Sometimes Sae-Byeok notices the exchange and both your girlfriends will team up on you.)

⋆She would press one hand to the back of your head, keeping your head sandwiched between her breasts.

⋆The other will sink down to grab your ass.

⋆Might bite you once or twice. Or five.

⋆She’s just marking her territory.

—

⋆Sometimes, Sae-Byeok accidentally wakes you up at night by squeezing you tighter than necessary.

⋆Some part of her is scared that she’ll lose you two somehow, whether that be from her loan sharks or from enemies slinking back to enact vengeance.

⋆Sometimes, her mind will take her back to Squid Game, to when Ji-Yeong chose to sacrifice herself so that Sae-Byeok could live.

⋆Of course, you can’t have your girlfriend be so sad, so you kiss her nose and tell her that you and Ji-Yeong are right here.

⋆Your talking will wake up Ji-Yeong, who will crawl over to Sae-Byeok and flick her head affectionately.

⋆”You idiot, do you think you’ll lose us that easily? We all managed to survive Squid Game and our own personal hells. Don’t worry so much.”

⋆Then, before Sae-Byeok can retort, Ji-Yeong will wink at you and then pounce on Sae-Byeok, peppering her with kisses.

⋆You grin and join the dog pile.

⋆Sae-Byeok will grumble and try to weakly fight back.

⋆Her attempts are only half hearted though, because deep down she secretly loves it.

⋆(She’ll never admit it. But, that’s okay because you and Ji-Yeong already figured it out a long time ago).

⋆Eventually, your movements will die down and all three of you will lie down on top of each other.

⋆Ji-Yeong kisses you both on the lips and then ushers you to go back to sleep.

⋆You oblige, nuzzling into the crook of Sae-Byeok’s neck as you squeeze Ji-Yeong’s hand.

⋆You’re content.

#sae byeok/reader/ji yeong #sae byeok x reader #ji yeong x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game #kang sae byeok x reader

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 years ago

Note

I came back from the movie theaters (Fnaf Movie) My lord I FREAKING LOVED IT THE WHOLE THING IDC AHHH Ahem-

I saw that requests are open, SO a Platonic Headcanon Request if you don't mind, Fnaf (Movie) Animatronics with Gender-Neutral (17-soon to be 18) Reader as the new security guard? or maybe tags with Mike and possibly Abby? (Reader ain't tall just-idk 5'2 maybe I am projecting-)

(I know this request doesn't make sense because of the tiredness due to staying up late because of excitement. Feel free to delete this ask if its too complicated)

bonus: If you want to, You can also Include Chica's Cupcake

Have a nice day/night, From 📞 ☕ (PhoneCoffee) Anon

Oh I can definitely work with this ^^

......

When you started working at Freddy's overnight, you hoped this would be your last summer job ever before you turned 18.

"Steve" said it was all pretty straightforward: watch the cameras and make sure nobody broke in.

Easy as pizza pie, right?

Well, when you realized one of the animatronics very subtly moved from their usual spot, you wanted to check them out for yourself.

Plus, sitting in the office for six hours every night would def get boring as hell.

So you head to the main stage area, finding the whole gang mysteriously gone--Foxy included.

Then you get surprised by them emerging from different places in the pizzeria, eyes glowing a sinister yellow as they surround you, wary of your intentions.

"O-Oh hey..um..Fazgang?" You try your best not to look so terrified.

Surely someone was controlling them, right? They couldn't possibly hurt you.

Yet they stop and collectively realize "wait, isn't this a teenager? And why are they working this job??"

But since you're not wrecking anything in the pizzeria (or screaming bloody murder unlike the last guard), they spare you and are just very chill overall.

You now start to believe all the rumors of them being haunted by little children.....although not even that scares you.

On the second night, you learn that they can understand simple drawings--and that's how you pretty much communicate with them and build up trust.

While Bonnie is regarded as the "most aggressive", he was a real sweetheart who let you shine his guitar and hugged you tightly to express his thanks.

Alas you haven't found a way to stop it from constantly short-circuiting when he strums it...but you vow to figure something out.

Chica was equally as sweet, although for some reason Carl the Cupcake made you feel nervous.

The way he can be on the plate one moment and then disappear the next makes you worried that he'll sneak up on you and bite your ankles off.

But as long as Chica's around, that won't ever happen.

Although Foxy looks quite dangerous, you try your best to patch up the hole in his chest using some spare parts from backstage while being oblivious to the deadly Freddy mask saw trap in the corner, something he's grateful for.

He even sang you a little sea shanty as thanks!

Freddy was the first to be suspicious of you, but after seeing a drawing you made of him, he grows to like your presence, too. Especially after how nice you've been to his bandmates.

So you definitely survived more than five nights at this place--longer than anyone so far.

When Mike gets hired and comes in for his first shift with you, he's surprised that a teen is training him.

He suspects this was some lousy summer job you were forced to get and thinks you're gonna act miserable the entire time you work together and not actually teach him shit.

But as it turns out, you love your job!

You show him the Fazgang during their "showtime" performance and assure him that while they may look creepy, they're not bad at all.

And while you're not getting paid extra to do simple maintenance on them, you still enjoy trying to keep them in tip-top shape (especially Foxy, who needs repairs the most).

Mike seriously thinks you shouldn't be doing that as it's not in the job description AND it could be dangerous.

Even if you have expertise in robotics, he still thinks it's not worth losing a limb or finger to those complex contraptions.

Like he almost did after getting near a springlock suit.

But you just teasingly remind him who the trainer is..and he goes quiet.

Foxy overhears this, and you see him snickering from behind the Pirate's Cove curtain, amused by you basically schooling this 25-27 year old man.

Unfortunately he startled poor Mike, who looks over quickly.....only to find the fox standing in his usual position, acting completely normal.

"Was he just laughing at us...?"

"Nope." You play dumb, shrugging. "Must be his voice box malfunctioning....c'mon. Let's see if we can fix that."

Least to say, you're not gonna let him sleep on the job anytime soon.

#clanask #phone coffee anon #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's x reader #fnaf movie x reader #fnaf movie spoilers #platonic #teen reader #mike schmidt #freddy fazbear #bonnie the bunny #chica the chicken #foxy the pirate #headcanons

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starguardianniom · 9 months ago

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Billy and Lighter

I love their dynamic so much.

Freaking Lighter of all people sees Billy as his worthy rival.

Ngl but I legit think it's because Billy is the only one he can fight without being afraid of passing out.

Given Lighter faints at the sight of blood and that Billy is an android, if Billy gets hurt he will probably leak oil, but no blood, which is perfect for Lighter.

I honestly, half-seriously thinks that's the sole reason Lighter considers Billy is rival, because he won't risk embarassing himself if he manages to hurt Billy while fighting as Billy has no blood for him to faint to.

But he also does respect him given he thinks highly of him and actually likes him like a brother too.

They playfully tease one another but you can also clearly see that Lighter has a high opinion of Billy and is also happy for him to have found happiness somewhere else too, and that's so wholesome, my heart.

I was pratically screaming of joy in my head the entire time yesterday when I speedrun the chapter (I had the day off lucky me so I used it to clear out chapter 4 entirely yeah!).

I took so many pictures, will upload them this weekend, now I need to go do that certification exam to get my people to level 50, given I need to level up pretty much everyone I have right now (Billy, Anby, Nicole, Corin, Soukaku, Ben, Anton, Seth, Jane and Lucy are the characters I currently have the game refuses me Piper and just sended me a lil army of Corins, Anby and Soukaku, now I have Anby and Soukaku to M4 and Corin to M3, though it gave me Billy M2 and Seth M2 thank god) I'll be at it for a while.

But honestly I expected Lighter to be a bit more mean toward Billy and feeling superior to him but it seems like I was worried for nothing, Lighter loves Billy and Billy loves him back, though I'm pretty sure Billy also thinks that he wasn't able to escape Lighter entirely given he now has Anby around. XD Lighter keeps forgetting things and Anby keeps forgetting the line between fiction and reality, I imagine Billy must be used to Anby because he had to spend half his time reminding Lighter of stuff all the time. XD

I swear Billy had it better than Lighter back then, given he was the Champion that means he was the strongest of the Sons of Calydon, which means he's stronger than Big Daddy, and Big Daddy is most likely the one who raised and taught Caesar how to fight, so if she didn't get the title of Champion back then, then Billy was most likely strong enough to beat her too and Big Daddy. But then he left. But he also got to meet Lighter before that, but Lighter is weaker than Caesar but still has the title for some reason, so it's a bit murky there as to why they needed 2 champions.

I think Billy wanted to leave or something happened that made him leave and then Big Daddy brought in Lighter to pick up his title but Billy sticked around long enough to make sure Lighter was up for the job given they have a good brotherly friendly rivalry relationship together so once Billy thought Lighter was ready he gave him his title and left. And then Caesar got to be the new boss of the Sons of Calydon when Big Daddy retired, and was strong enough that she was able to beat Lighter apparently.

But the title of Champion is basically being the number 2 of the gang, so if the leader isn't around it's most likely the champion calling the shots and making sure everything is alright and settling disputes and what nots, but since Lighter is pretty scatterbrained, most of the duties went to Lucy while Lighter is just now extra muscles, since Lucy is pretty much the one making sure everything is alright and being the brains of the Sons, but she clearly doesn't have the strenght to be the Champion because Lighter is the one with that title.

So I imagine Billy used to handle negotiations and relations and other stuff with Big Daddy before he left and probably used to be deadly efficient, in some parts of the story he is a lot more aware and shrewd than he presents himself most of the time, such as asking us about the H.D.D and asking why we'd bother to be proxies when we could have done so much more and get a much more lucrative job, or when he was ready to sell us out to PubSec to save the Cunning Hares and himself pointing out that the Cunning Hares could get their record cleaned if they reported a proxy, which was a very smart way of thinking given their situation back then. He is also knowledgeable about the Outer Ring, so he is way much smarter than he acts too.

I do feel like Billy is seen as a superior predecessor to Lighter and while Lighter doesn't resent Billy at all for it he also feels the need to prove himself to him in some way to live up to his "brother's" legacy.

Lucy probably didn't have much to do until Billy left and Big Daddy retired. Then she basically became the second half of the Champion title in the Sons of Calydon, being the brain to Lighter's brawn, but Billy before them had the title on his own to the point that he is still feared today by other people in the Outer Ring.

It does beg the question of what was Billy like back then, probably less happy and more brutal and having the mindset of a weapon maybe, but he was still cared for a lot.

I also like to think that Big Daddy called him Billy Kid because he honestly saw Billy as "his" kid when he bought him from a group of drifters, now I really want the whole story, if they release Big Daddy and Lighter, give them more content with Billy, I need more, Hoyo!

#zzz #zenless zone zero #zzz billy #zzz lighter #zzz billy kid #billy kid #lighter zzz #zzz cunning hares #cunning hares #zzz sons of calydon #sons of calydon #big daddy #zzz big daddy #zzz caesar king #zzz caesar #caesar king #lighter

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nevadancitizen · 2 months ago

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-> CH. 6: CUP YOUR MOUTH & WHISPER YOUR SECRETS

synopsis: you confess something to charles, but you don't know how he'll take the truth.

word count: 2.6k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: sorry for how short it is but the chap kinda wrapped up on its own lul

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog , @photo1030 , @mavenhavenn , @its-yummi , @fatherbangboo , @shackspossum , @swedesfics , @literallyrousseau , @xprloki , @pedifero (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

One hard truth is staring you dead in the face: you don’t know how to survive on your own.

Bronya’s – your new horse (newly stolen, but who cares?) – saddlebags were filled with cured meat and other foodstuffs, but when that runs out, you’ll have to return to the gang. You’re embarrassed by your outburst… or was it a tantrum? You’re not sure how to classify it, but looking back at your actions makes you cringe.

You’re not sure why. It was a long time coming. And, honestly? Arthur Morgan could go fuck a cactus, for all you cared. You once hoped that his next cigarette would be laced with fent, then immediately scolded yourself for doing too much. You don’t even know if fentanyl exists yet.

But you do know nature exists. You know you exist. The river before you exists, and the pebbles in your hand exist. Bronya exists, and she’s grazing on grass that exists, too.

You throw a pebble into the water and immediately feel bad. It spent decades, maybe even centuries, getting to shore. And then you come along and toss it back in. A big, fat ‘fuck you’ to years of hard work.

The rest of the pebbles fall from your hand and you collapse onto the rocky shore. You’re a grown adult, but you want nothing more than to wail and kick and scream like a kid that didn’t get their way. No one pities you as you wish to be pitied.

Would I even accept their care? You ask yourself. No. I’d need an excuse. Maybe if I was sick… If I was sick, I’d be petted and comforted and doted on. But I’m not. I’m a grown adult – practically a parent to Sere. And I haven’t seen her in so long…

Your eyes burn with tears and there’s no one around to stop them or to shame you into finding an excuse for them. They flow down your face freely as you let out ugly, hiccuped sobs. You pull your knees up to your chest and grit your teeth and try to stay quiet.

You can’t catch your breath. You feel like you’re suffocating.

You were so angry yesterday. So angry and so, so violent. And what scares you the most is that it felt good.

You’re pretty sure you gauged that guy’s eye out while he had you in a headlock. If you didn’t, you sure as hell hurt him pretty bad. There was so much blood running down his face… And the man you hit with a chair? What if he’s paralyzed? That’s something you learned pretty damn early – never hit someone in the back unless you want to be sued.

Your own words echo in your head: “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? Yeah!”

You feel horrible. You were suffocating that man. You put him in a sleeper hold – yeah, a pretty boomer move when it comes to WWE, but fucking deadly in a street fight. You could’ve killed him.

That truth makes you want to throw up. But you don’t have the time to wallow in your own misery. You can’t afford to throw a little pity party because you’re a grown adult with grown adult responsibilities. You owe it to the gang to at least try.

But trying is so fucking hard, you think. Can’t I lay face-down in this puddle and pretend I’m drowning in an ocean for a little longer?

You’re startled by someone calling your name. You stand quickly, wiping your face before you turn around.

Charles is sitting atop Taima, one hand on the reins and a worried look on his face.

“Charles.” You clear your throat of the phlegm that comes with crying. “What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” he says. “Arthur said you just stormed off yesterday. Everyone’s worried sick.”

“Everyone?” You echo, then laugh. “I doubt that.”

Charles sighs through his nose and looks over at Bronya. “Whose horse is that?”

“Mine,” you say. “I just… stole her, I guess. Her name is Bronya.”

“Bronya?” He repeats back.

You click your tongue twice and Bronya trots over to you. You hold your hand out and she sniffs at it.

“Bronya, yeah,” you say. “It’s Russian – short for Bronislava. But Bronislava’s kinda long, so…”

“I’m not even sure I know where Russia is,” Charles says.

You laugh softly. “It’s a big country, on the other side of Europe. I’ve never been, but everything I’ve read says it’s very cold.”

Charles dismounts and takes a tiny little sugar cube from Tiama’s saddlebag. He moves over to Bronya and holds it out on a flat hand. She eagerly eats it up, licking and sniffing at his hand for more.

You smile and pat her neck. “Hey, she’s my horse. Don’t steal her from me.”

“I’m not trying to.” He smiles and scratches the corner of Bronya’s jaw.

A nice silence falls. Bronya seems to be very content with all the attention she’s getting from you and Charles. Hopefully you can give her a better life than the man you stole her from gave her.

Charles breaks the quiet with a simple question. “How’re you holding up?”

A rush of new emotion floods your system and you look away, biting the inside of your lip to keep it from trembling. You let out a shaky sigh.

“Honestly?” You laugh wetly. “I’m so confused. I don’t know what’s going on.”

He looks over at you. “How do you mean?”

You think for a moment, then hold out your pinkie. “You need to pinkie promise not to tell anyone else.”

Charles looks at you weirdly, then holds out his pinkie. You hook it with his and hold it.

“I think…” You swallow thickly.

Tell him! Your mind yells at you. Tell him. If he doesn’t believe you, you’ll have an excuse not to try anymore. If he says you’re a liar, you can give up and lay on the ground and let whatever powers that may be take you.

You say the words before you can stop yourself. “I think I’m from the future.”

Charles stares at you. He doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t unhook his pinkie from yours.

You break the connection and step back. “Or – or maybe I had a… a dream. A really realistic dream. I think, maybe – I ate something bad. Something rotted, with… with mold.”

“No. Stop.” Charles holds up a hand.

“No, it was stupid!” You force a laugh. “A… stupid prank. I got you good! You should’ve seen your face.”

Charles says your name with a sternness you haven’t heard from him before. It makes you stop and snap your jaw shut before you dig yourself deeper into this hole of… you don’t even know what to call it.

“Are you telling me the truth?”

Your face starts to turn hot, but you still nod. “I am. I – I thought this was a… dream, or a coma, or something. But I think it’s more than that.”

Charles thinks for a moment. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“I, um…” You pat your pockets. “I have things from the future. If you wanna see them.”

He nods, and you pull out your wallet. You open it and pull out a card.

“This is a credit card,” you say. “It has a wireless connection to my bank account. When I buy something, it automatically… gives money to whoever I’m buying something from. I don’t know – it’s way more complicated than that, but I don’t really get how it works.”

Charles gingerly takes your credit card and looks it over. He reads your name on the front, then flips it over and looks at the back and the string of numbers decorating it.

“It’s made out of plastic,” you say. “Just… in case you’re wondering. I don’t think it’s been invented yet.”

Charles looks up at you through his long eyelashes. “Do you want to go back?”

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come to you. Do you want to go back to the future? For all your fantasizing and hoping and wishing, you’re not so sure.

“I… don’t know,” you admit. “I love my family, and they’re in the future, but… it’s so chaotic. Everything’s concrete – which is just a boring grey rock. I hate it. But here, it’s so… beautiful. There’s so much nature.”

“There’s violence everywhere – Natives are being herded onto reservations, and every colorphobic makes it well-known that they hate Blacks,” he says. “How can the future be worse than what’s happening right now?”

You huff out a sarcastic-sounding laugh. “First, the planet’s on fire. There’s people going into schools and shooting children for… a fucking thrill, I guess. You have to take on debt to survive. Slavery’s back, but they just call it a prison system. And colorphobia is still just as rampant as it is back today – though it’s just called racism now. Do you really need to hear more?”

Charles’ lip curls back just the slightest bit in disgust. “The future sounds horrible.”

“It is,” you say. “Trust me, it is.”

You pause for a moment, then say softly: “You can’t even see the stars.”

An indescribable sadness washes over you. It’s as strong as a tidal wave and as potent as a toxin. You can’t even see the stars.

The intrinsic human right of being able to look up at the sky and wonder had been stripped of you. And you didn’t even know how bad it was until you were granted that right, wholly and freely. The right to see the night sky, beautiful and unabashed. A million silver nails driven into dark blue velvet…

“Here…” You blink back a fresh wave of tears. “Here, the night sky is so clear. It’s like I could reach out and grab a handful of stars. Maybe I could keep them in a jar like fireflies.”

“Why can’t you see them in the future?” Charles asks.

“A ton of things,” you say. “Smog, too many lights… you might just not have the time to look. There’s so much shit going on that you can’t even catch your breath.”

You swallow whatever sorrow is in your throat and push on like nothing’s wrong. “But it’s over a hundred years in the future. You don’t need to worry about that. Or, hopefully you don’t, because… well, it’s sounding like I hope you die, but, uh… I don’t want that. I don’t think anyone wants that.”

You let out a nervous laugh and glance over at Charles. He’s unaffected.

“I, uh… seriously.” You reach out and put a hand on his upper arm. Even through the fabric of his shirt, his bicep is big and warm. “Don’t die. You’re… I don’t know how to say it. You tell it how it is. And… and I appreciate you. Life with the rest of the gang would be… well, it’d be a lot harder without you.”

You pat his upper arm awkwardly, then pull away. You handled that with all the finesse of a parent giving “the birds and the bees” talk. Hopefully Charles thinks it’s endearing and not weird.

“Have you found anything out about Sean?” You ask, if only to dissipate the awkward air you’ve created.

“Trelawny was telling the truth,” Charles says. “Sean’s being held on a boat somewhere in Blackwater. He and Javier are following leads, trying to find it.”

“It sounds like they’ve narrowed it down.” You stroke Bronya’s mane absentmindedly. “That’s good.”

You glance over at Charles to see him still staring at your credit card. You suppose that’s a reasonable response to seeing something that you have no understanding of.

“Are you gonna tell anyone?” You ask quietly.

“You asked me not to,” Charles says. “Why would I?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble. “I feel like I’m lying by omission. But there’s also, um…”

You suddenly feel really worried, like you just know something bad is going to happen. You feel like you’re a twenty-watt bulb next to the lights of Broadway. Small, insignificant – maybe there’s something even wrong with you.

“But there’s what?” Charles prompts.

“Do you – do you believe in, like… I don’t know.” You let out a nervous laugh. “Do you believe in God? Or reincarnation?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “Do you?”

“I don’t know either,” you say. “But I know I’m not from here. And if I’m not from here, how am I physically here? Well… I think, maybe…”

You swallow thickly. “I think I’m someone else. I’m not myself, but I’m not them, either. I’ve never worked for Happy Trails Caravan, but I remember going to Zion Canyon and meeting with the tribes. I have memories of leading my mules down into the canyon… but I didn’t do that. Someone else did. It’s…”

You look over at Charles. He’s looking at you expectantly.

You whisper: “It’s like I’m inhabiting their body. Like a ghost. And I’m leeching off their memories – continuing a life that isn’t mine.”

A hot feeling of something between shame and anger overwhelms you the moment you finish speaking. It catches in your throat and makes it hard to breathe.

“But i-it doesn’t make sense,” you manage. “Because I look the same, and I have my wallet. I had the clothes I was wearing when I was… I was shot, and then I woke up in that cabin in the Grizzlies.”

You sigh heavily, like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders. As far as you’re concerned, you do. Grappling between what you know and what you can only speculate on is tough and time-consuming and might just lead you to spiral.

“Maybe going for a ride will get your mind off things,” Charles says. He hands you your card and gives your shoulder a single pat. “Mount up.”

You do as he says. Again, it’s easy, even though you only mounted a horse for the first time yesterday. That other person is bleeding into the now with all these little reminders, and it might just drive you crazy.

Charles spurs Taima, and you spur Bronya to match her pace. The air is clear, the sky is devoid of clouds, and the breeze is strong but not overpowering.

You’re not sure where you’re riding to – you’re just following Charles. But you don’t really pay any mind to that. The grasses around you are native and grow tall. The trees tower above you, the branches untamed and the leaves catching every bit of sunlight they can. The sound of the abundant wildlife is both alarming and soothing. You can hear coyotes yipping, but it’s far away. The sound of birdsong is much closer and clearer.

“You know,” you say after a while of silence. “There’s one thing I miss. Besides my family, I mean.”

“What’s that?” Charles asks.

“Music,” you say. “There was so much music everywhere. People played it while traveling, in their houses, in restaurants… And people even invented new instruments, like drum kits and electric guitars. But it’s so quiet here.”

“Sounds loud,” he says.

“I guess, yeah,” you say softly. “I still miss it, though.”

The conversation comes and goes, and you don’t feel like putting in more effort. Another nice quiet falls. The only sounds are Bronya and Taima’s hooves hitting the ground, the breeze through the leaves, and the chatter of animals hiding in the grasses.

Maybe Charles was right. The future is pretty horrible. This entire riding trail could be a parking lot a hundred years from now. And it’s not like you did anything to refute it – you just added on and talked about the atrocities that come with modernization.

Maybe you could put off trying to get back for a little while more. It’s not like the future’s going anywhere. Is it?

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deathbxnny · 8 months ago

Note

Have I watched/read JJBA kinda. Is it my new hyper fixation yes. Anyways Giorno Giovanna, Jotaro Kujo, & Jolyne Cujoh with a reader (platonic or romantic idc) that’s like Firefly and her stance is just Sam but it’s called Iron Maiden!

(＃＞＜)

JJBA characters with a Firefly-like! Fem! Reader | Jolyne Cujoh, Jotaro Kujo, Giorno Giovanna

As someone who can easily say that JJBA is their favorite anime, I absolutely love this idea, Anon!! I made this a romantic hc, so I hope you'll like it!<33

Content: Vague mentions of chronical illness, mentions of potential future death by illness, angst, hurt/comfort, sfw

Reader is fem/afab in this, but no pronouns are mentioned!

((Not proofread))

》JOLYNE CUJOH

Jolyne met you in jail as a cell mate, one she quickly found a lot in common with, especially regarding your rather special stand abilities. But your illness is what really drew her to you and made her determined to keep you safe after you became a couple. Her heart ached knowing you were stuck in a prison, when you should be out there experiencing life as much as you still could, but alas, you were here with her, and she tried to make things easier for you with her presence.

She was left stunned however, when you were attacked by some stand users and quickly found out that you perhaps didn't need the extensive help and care she had given you after all. Sam, your stand, was more than enough to destroy any enemy in sight, something she found absolutely awesome. Jolyne would absolutely cheer you on from the sidelines, completely forgetting that she had to fight too.

It makes her proud to see how strong you are despite your potential deadly fate and hopes to stay at your side until the end.

》JOTARO KUJO

You both were childhood friends turned lovers, and so he was very much aware of your condition from day one. He watched as your illness progressed to become worse and worse until you were left unable to walk properly anywhere. But what hurt the most deep down was that you always remind me so gentle and calm with him anyway, despite his rather aloof and indifferent personality. His mother often teased him playfully for being so soft with you and only you, but he'd just stubbornly deny it every time.

With that said, anyone that hurts you is practically dead before they know it. He doesn't play around when it comes to your health or well-being, and so it does come to some sort of relief that your stand is extremely powerful. It made protecting and keeping you safe a lot easier when you could just do it yourself, too. This doesn't mean he won't keep his eyes on you at all times anyway.

Jotaro is somewhat in denial about what's most likely going to be your early passing due to your sickness, despite his rational mind. He doesn't want to think or hear about it, as it hurts too much to lose you as well.

》GIORNO GIOVANNA

Giorno met you through Bucciarati, and whilst you weren't directly a part of the gang, you were still an important person in it due to your stands immense strength. You immideatly introduced him to it through a battle against an enemy stand user, which made him take interest in you initially. You were gentle and soft-spoken, so it was definitely a contrast he quickly became infatuated with over time. But what really got him about you was that you were able to do all these great things despite being gravely ill.

It served as a reminder that life was cruel, and yet Giorno wasn't phased by it. In fact, he hoped that once he was successful with the mission of overtaking the boss, he'd eventually be able to get you the medical care you needed. He was determined to find a way to stop the illness or at least make life better for you, so you became another goal for him to fight for.

You can always count on him for anything and everything, that's for sure. He loves you greatly and wants to show you that by staying by you even when things get worse. So if you inevitably die, then he'll be there until your last breath.

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edenesth · 6 months ago

Text

01. The Captain — By Order of the Black Pirates

An 'Ice On My Teeth' Comeback Special Series

Pairing: gang leader!Hongjoong x fem!reader

AU: gang au

Word Count: 18.1k

Summary: The Captain of the Black Pirates—respected, feared, and unmatched in strategy—lives by his sharp mind and unshakable resolve. But his carefully constructed world begins to crumble when a grave mistake leads him to torture an innocent suspect nearly to death. Haunted by guilt, his quest for redemption takes an unexpected turn, awakening a part of him he never thought existed: a desire to protect and care for someone.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Trigger Warnings: violence, torture, abuse, blood, scars, mentions of murder and SA, language, contains dark themes in general

SERIES MASTERLIST | ATEEZ MASTERLIST

The dim glow of lantern light flickered across the room as the gang leader held the letter between his fingers, turning it over with a scrutinising gaze. His brow arched slightly, the ivory wax seal bearing the unmistakable insignia of the White Serpents—a gang notorious for their cunning and deception, their pristine image masking venomous intent. Silent but deadly, serpents poised to strike. And Hongjoong knew them well.

"Well?" His voice was calm, almost amused, as he studied the coded message in his hand.

Yunho exhaled sharply with a shake of his head, frustration etched across his face. "She's stubborn. Won't admit to a thing. Twenty-four hours, and still nothing."

The Captain's smirk widened, dark amusement playing in his eyes. "Really? Even with this treacherous letter in her possession?" He tapped the envelope lightly. "Twenty-four hours… that's impressive. No dog has ever lasted that long." His tone was laced with mock intrigue. "Perhaps she's an especially loyal one. How interesting."

He leaned back, nodding toward the heavy iron doors leading to the basement, his voice low and confident. "A tough one to crack, no doubt. But they all crack… eventually." The distant echo of chains rattling and the creak of the doors opening sent a chill through the air. The game had only just begun.

Let's see just how long you can last.

The room was dim, suffocating in its silence, the air thick with tension and the metallic scent of damp stone. Your breath hitched as consciousness clawed its way back, and the cold, unforgiving chill bit at your drenched skin. You blinked through the sting of icy water clinging to your lashes, your trembling gaze rising to meet the source of the voice that shattered the oppressive stillness.

"Congratulations, miss!" The sudden, mocking boom made you flinch, fear coiling tighter around your chest. "You're the first to last a full day in these chambers. How very impressive!"

The man before you was smaller than the one who had been 'questioning' you earlier—a tall, lanky figure whose blows you could still feel—but this one's presence was far more terrifying. Cold authority radiated from him, his smile a twisted mockery of warmth. He stepped closer, his sharp eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "I trust my boys have treated you well."

A shiver tore through you, body wracked with uncontrollable tremors—whether from the bitter cold or the malice in his voice, you couldn't tell. His grin widened, and the false politeness only made it worse. "Fear not, my lady," he purred, his tone soft and deadly. "I'll treat you even better… until you decide to be honest, of course."

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach, despair crashing over you. You tried to shake your head, but your body was too weak and cold to offer feeble resistance. And yet, you knew—this was only the beginning.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you wished for the thousandth—no, the millionth—time that this was all a nightmare. The cold seeped into your bones, but it wasn't just the chill that made you tremble. It was the gnawing fear, the hopelessness that clung to you like a second skin.

How did it come to this?

You replayed the events over and over in your mind, searching for an answer, but all you found was confusion. Just a day or two ago, you had been weaving through the bustling port, arms laden with imported goods for your employer. The crowded streets were alive with noise—merchants shouting, sailors hauling cargo, smugglers slipping through the shadows. You had only wanted to return to work, unaware that fate had already marked you.

Then it happened. A sharp turn into an alley. The sudden grip of rough hands. Black-clothed men cornering you like wolves circling their prey, eyes sharp and merciless. Their accusations—espionage, treachery—made no sense. You tried to explain, voice trembling, but they didn't listen. Not until they tore through your belongings and fished out a letter—one you had never seen before.

The blow came swiftly, a fist to your face, and the world went dark.

Now, here you were. Broken. Bleeding. Trapped in a nightmare you couldn't escape.

"P-please… I d-don't know who the Wh-white Serpents are," you stammered, forcing your swollen eye open to meet the man who seemed to command the room, his presence suffocating. "I s-swear…"

Hongjoong's tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his irritation barely concealed behind a mask of feigned calm. "You know," he said, his voice laced with a dangerous softness, "I was really hoping you wouldn't say that again." He exhaled in a mock sigh, his patience wearing thin. "Now you've left me no choice."

With deliberate steps, he moved toward the glowing embers at the far side of the room. The fire crackled, and your breath hitched when he wrapped his hand around a hot branding iron, its tip glowing ominously.

No, please...

Panic surged through you, and tears spilt uncontrollably down your cheeks. You didn't even have the strength to sob anymore. You could only watch in frozen terror as he turned back, the iron in his grasp radiating heat and menace.

"Come on," he cooed, voice deceptively gentle. "I'd really hate to ruin such pretty skin. All you have to do is be a good girl—tell me what this blasted letter says. Tell me the name of your boss." His grin was sharp, dangerous, but beneath it, you sensed his patience was threadbare.

The White Serpents. The name alone ignited his fury. Their faces were always hidden, their identities a mystery. Even their leader remained a ghost, a phantom in white. And that infuriated him more than anything—an enemy he couldn't see, couldn't predict.

And now, you were his only lead.

The room seemed to shrink under the weight of his frustration. The dim light flickered over the cold stone walls, shadows dancing like spectres of every soul that had suffered here before you. His grip on the branding iron tightened, the metal searing hot in his hand, glowing with menace. He didn't want to take this step—truly, he didn't. But the memory of how they found you replayed in his mind, solidifying his certainty.

You were guilty. You had to be.

He clenched his jaw, recalling the chaos at the port. The Black Pirates were in the midst of a crucial covert operation, tensions strung taut like a wire. They had been waiting for the White Serpents to make a move, for the elusive spy to slip through their defences. The streets were crowded, the perfect cover for deception.

Then there was you.

A simple girl, or so it seemed, navigating the busy market with unsuspecting ease. Unbeknownst to you, the real spy—the one they had been hunting—moved silently through the crowd. In a calculated move, the informant slipped the coded letter into your bag and vanished into the sea of bodies before anyone could catch him.

Hongjoong's men, sharp-eyed and vigilant, saw the handoff. They reacted swiftly, believing they had caught the elusive spy. You were cornered in the alley, fear etched across your face as you begged for understanding, your confusion only cementing their suspicions. The letter was damning enough. Evidence was evidence, and the Captain trusted his crew's intelligence.

But now, staring at you—broken, trembling, tears staining your bruised cheeks—he felt the edges of his certainty fraying. You persisted in your pleas, clinging to innocence with a desperation that should have crumbled by now. And yet… you hadn't.

"Last chance, woman," he said coldly, his voice like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. The heat from the iron radiated, the threat palpable. "There will be no going back from here. I'm sure you know that."

He meant the words as a warning for you, a final offer before he left mercy behind. But deep down, perhaps they were a warning for himself, too—a foreshadowing he didn't yet grasp.

You shook your head weakly, trembling from exhaustion and terror. Still no confession. Still the same maddening persistence.

Hongjoong raised the branding iron, holding it close to your battered face. His eyes burned with something dangerous, something teetering between anger and frustration.

"Well then," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, the finality in his tone sealing your fate—or so he thought.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

The air in the torture chamber hung heavy with the acrid stench of scorched flesh, mingling with the damp chill of the stone walls. His cold, calculating gaze never wavered as he watched you, unconscious and crumpled on the floor, your body trembling even in unconsciousness. The mark of the Black Pirates seared into your back, raw and angry, a testament to the brutality you'd endured.

"That'll scar for life," one of his men muttered, a mix of awe and amusement in his voice.

Hongjoong let out a low, humourless chuckle, his eyes dark with unrelenting resolve. "For life?" he echoed, tilting his head slightly. "How optimistic. I doubt she'll live long enough to see the next sunrise if she continues to be this stubborn."

His voice was void of emotion, laced with a chilling indifference that sent a shiver through even the most hardened of his men. He didn't enjoy this—not exactly—but he had no patience for weakness. If you wouldn't talk, you were nothing but a liability, and liabilities were dealt with swiftly.

He turned away for a moment, tossing the branding iron back into the fire with a careless flick of his wrist. Embers exploded in every direction, but he paid them no mind. "We've wasted enough time on her," he said, voice cold and final. "If she doesn't confess after this, end it. Finish her."

The room fell silent, save for the crackling of the fire, the finality of his words hanging in the air like a death sentence. One of the guards nodded, his expression stoic. "Of course, boss."

Hongjoong motioned toward the bucket of dirty water beside you, its murky surface rippling with the slightest movement. "Wake her," he commanded, his voice devoid of mercy, anticipating the agony that would soon follow.

The guard lifted the bucket with ease, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim as he approached. Without hesitation, he tilted it, the filthy water cascading over your battered body. The moment the contaminated water hit your wounds, especially the fresh burn, your body convulsed violently.

A scream ripped from your throat, raw and guttural, piercing through the oppressive stillness. It wasn't the kind of scream that came from fear—it was the sound of pure, unfiltered agony.

The Captain didn't flinch. He stood tall, arms crossed, watching with a detached curiosity as you writhed on the floor. "That's better," he muttered, almost to himself. "Now, let's see if you're ready to talk."

He crouched down beside you, his face an unreadable mask. "Final chance," he said softly, almost tenderly, as if mocking your suffering. "Who sent you?" His voice dipped lower, dangerously calm. "Or would you prefer to die in this filth, unloved and forgotten?"

The only response was the ragged sound of your breath, broken sobs wracking your body. His patience was wearing thin, and though he was a man known for his control, he was ready to end this.

A shuddering breath escaped your lips, each gasp searing through your lungs like fire. The icy water clung to your battered body, every drop seeping into your open wounds, amplifying the unbearable pain. Your vision blurred, the dim room spinning into shadows and smoke, but you clung to the fragments of your thoughts, the last remnants of who you were.

This is it, you thought, the realisation settling over you with a strange, hollow calm. This is how it ends.

You didn't know why these monsters had dragged you into their nightmare, why they believed you were a spy. You didn't understand the cruel fate that had brought you here, only that it had. And now, there was no escape. The man before you, with his cold eyes and cruel smirk, had made that clear.

Your body trembled violently, not from the cold but from the acceptance creeping into your heart. Death will be a mercy, you thought. Better this than more agony.

Closing your eyes, you let the numbness wash over you, a strange kind of peace taking root beneath the layers of fear. You thought of your friends—the laughter shared over simple joys. You thought of your family, their faces blurred by memory but still holding warmth. And you thought of your employer, the one person who had seen worth in you when the world turned away. You prayed they would not grieve too long. You prayed they would find solace.

I'll watch over them, you promised silently. From wherever I'm going.

The wet, acrid air filled your lungs, heavy and suffocating. Every second stretched into eternity, and you waited for the final blow, the one that would release you. Your heartbeat slowed, the frantic rhythm giving way to a dull, distant echo.

And then, the room grew deathly quiet.

Hongjoong remained crouched, studying you, his iron grip on control unwavering. He didn't speak immediately, and that was almost worse. The silence pressed down, a suffocating weight, as if the world was holding its breath.

"Still nothing?" His voice was soft now, eerily gentle, like a predator savouring the last moments before the kill.

You didn't respond. Couldn't. There was nothing left to say. You were ready for the end.

And then, with a slow exhale, you heard him murmur almost to himself, "What a shame."

The gang leader let out a long, slow breath, his head shaking slightly, a humourless smile curving his lips. His eyes lingered on your broken form, slumped over, trembling and soaked, but utterly still, as if you had already crossed into death's grasp. Your eyes fluttered shut, the last spark of defiance extinguished. With a heavy sigh, he rose to his feet, dusting off his coat with deliberate care, and with a curt nod, gestured toward his men.

"Finish it."

The words were cold and final, slicing through the room like a blade. One of the guards stepped forward, the metallic click of his gun cocking echoing in the dim space, followed by the low scrape of his boot on the wet floor. Hongjoong turned his back on you, jaw tight, waiting for the shot to ring out, waiting for the moment to pass so he could move on from this wasted effort.

But then— footsteps. Quick and urgent, echoing down the stone stairway.

"Wait."

The voice was calm but firm, cutting through the tension like a sudden gust of wind. The room froze, the guard's finger hovering over the trigger as all eyes turned toward the stairs. Yeosang emerged from the shadows, his usual cool composure replaced by something unsettled. His sharp gaze darted toward your barely conscious form before locking onto his captain, his face unreadable, but his unease unmistakable.

Hongjoong's brow lifted in mild curiosity, though his patience was wearing thin. "What is it, Yeo?" he asked, voice clipped as the Phantom strode forward, his expression grave.

Yeosang leaned in close, his voice low but firm as he murmured something into the gang leader's ear, too quiet for the others to hear. Whatever he said, it landed like a blow. Hongjoong's entire posture shifted. His jaw clenched, his fists curling and uncurling at his sides as he processed the whispered words.

The room held its collective breath.

After what felt like an eternity, the Captain straightened, his eyes dark with a new kind of frustration, though there was no mistaking the glimmer of something else—regret? Anger? It was impossible to tell.

His voice, when it came, was sharp and decisive. "Release her."

The room erupted in a flurry of confusion, but no one dared question him. The guard with the gun hesitated for only a second before lowering it, stepping back. Another moved to untie the chains binding your wrists, the cold iron clattering to the floor as your limp body crumpled forward.

Hongjoong's gaze never wavered, his face carved from stone as he watched you collapse. His men obeyed without question, though their confusion was palpable, the tension still thick in the air.

As you slumped to the ground, barely conscious, he let out another breath, slow and controlled, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"Take her to the infirmary," he commanded, voice icy but steady. "And keep her alive."

His men exchanged uncertain glances but quickly moved to obey, lifting your frail body with care as they carried you out. He remained rooted, his eyes lingering on the bloodstained floor, his fists clenched once more as Yeosang watched him silently.

"I hope for your sake," Hongjoong muttered under his breath, "this wasn't a mistake."

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The heavy oak door to his office slammed shut behind him, the echo reverberating through the grand but cold space. Hongjoong paced across the dimly lit room, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls, but offering no warmth. His hand shook slightly as he poured another shot of whiskey, the amber liquid splashing over the rim. He didn't care. He downed it in one swift motion, the burn doing little to drown the bile rising in his throat.

Wrong person.

His brother's words replayed in his mind like a curse, each syllable a dagger to his pride.

"Hyung, we got the wrong person. She's not the spy—the real one escaped. This woman was just... there. A scapegoat."

He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The whiskey glass slammed down on the desk, the sharp crack of glass against wood making his men just outside the door flinch. But none dared to enter. They knew better.

His fists balled at his sides, trembling with suppressed rage—at Yeosang, at his crew, at himself. The sight of your bloodied form flashed in his mind, the raw agony in your voice as he pressed the searing iron into your skin. He could still hear the echoes of your pleas, the desperate, broken words you had whispered over and over: I'm not who you think I am... please...

He should have known.

How could he have missed it? The way you had looked at him, not with defiance or guilt but with pure, unfiltered fear and confusion. He was Kim Hongjoong, the Captain of the Black fuckin' Pirates—his instincts had never failed him before. Yet this time, he had been blinded by rage, by the need for control, and it had led him to commit an unforgivable mistake.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the desk, the polished surface groaning under the strain. No amount of wealth or power in this city could erase the image of your battered, broken body lying on the cold floor. The branded mark he had burned into your back would scar, not just on your skin but in his mind, forever.

The Black Pirates were ruthless, yes, but not reckless. Innocents were not meant to be collateral unless there was no other choice. This... this was different. It was unacceptable.

He let out a low, bitter laugh, hollow and laced with self-loathing. "How could this happen?" he muttered to no one, his voice cracking. "I'm the one who doesn't make mistakes."

But this was a mistake. A fatal one, if Yeosang hadn't intervened.

The storm inside him raged on, unrelenting. No amount of whiskey could drown it, no fire could warm the cold knot in his chest. For the first time in years, Kim Hongjoong felt something foreign and unwelcome searing through him.

Regret.

He sank into the leather chair behind his desk, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His hands covered his face, shaking as if he could scrub away the guilt, the shame. But it was branded on him now, just as deeply as the mark he had scorched into your skin.

After what felt like hours, he remained in his office, standing by the window, the golden light of the waning sun casting a sharp contrast against the deep shadows in the room. His gaze pierced through the glass, locking onto the tall, black gates of their mansion—gates that symbolised power, control, and security. Yet today, they felt like bars of a prison. He imagined how those gates must have looked to you, cold and foreboding, as you were dragged inside, far from the life you knew, thrust into a nightmare you hadn't earned.

He clenched his jaw, fists curling at his sides as the weight of his guilt continued to press down on him. One mistake. One mistake. That's all it had taken to bring you here. A mistake from his men, from him, and it had led to your torture. His throat tightened as those cruel memories clawed at him: your ragged pleas, your broken body, and worst of all, his voice—cold, detached, ruthless—demanding answers you didn't have.

Remorse surged through him, an agonising tide that refused to ebb. His own words echoed in his mind, venomous and unforgiving: "Be a good girl and tell us what this blasted letter says." His stomach twisted, the taste of bile bitter on his tongue.

He turned away from the window, squeezing his eyes shut as he clutched his head, fingers digging into his scalp as if the pain could drown out the memories. But it only intensified the haunting vision that consumed him: his mother's lifeless eyes, staring into nothingness, wide with fear and betrayal. She had died for nothing—used, discarded, and left to rot by men who saw her as collateral damage. All for debts that weren't hers to pay.

He had been just a boy—useless and powerless—as he watched her lifeblood seep into the dirt, all because of his degenerate father, who had left them behind with nothing but mountains of debt. The loan sharks had spared him, a mistake they didn't live to regret. Hongjoong had spent years rising from the ashes of that helpless child, becoming the monster who hunted monsters, the leader who swore to tear down anyone who preyed on the innocent.

Yet now, here he was, no different from the men who had taken his mother from him.

He slammed a fist onto the desk, the sharp crack splitting the heavy silence. His breathing was ragged, uneven, as his mind spiralled into the past. He had sworn not to harm the innocent.

But he had failed. He had repeated the very sin that had shaped him.

They weren't heroes. The Black Pirates were thieves, smugglers, outlaws. But they lived by one code: never harm those who didn't deserve it. They stole from the corrupt, the greedy, those who exploited the powerless. They were not saviours, but they were not supposed to be butchers either.

And now, because of his blindness, you lay broken and scarred—an innocent woman caught in the crossfire of his rage.

His hands trembled as he dragged them through his hair, staring blankly at the dark wood beneath him. His reflection in the glass across the room looked unfamiliar—haunted, lost, and consumed by a regret that would never fade.

How can I ever make this right?

The oppressive silence in the room was broken by a familiar deep voice, one he always sought when the weight of leadership became too much. "She's stable," Seonghwa said, his tone calm yet sombre.

Hongjoong exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, relief flooding through him like a tide that couldn't quite wash away the guilt. "Stable," he echoed, the word offering little solace.

His brother stepped closer, the soft creak of the floorboards the only sound between them. "They've patched her up... but I don't think some of the scars will ever go away." His voice dipped into something quieter, almost apologetic. "Especially not that mark."

The gang leader winced, his fingers tightening into trembling fists. The brand—his brand—seared into her back, a permanent testament to his cruelty. "The mark," he muttered, voice hoarse with regret. "She'll carry it because of me."

Seonghwa leaned against the edge of the desk, folding his arms, watching him with a measured gaze. "Because of us," he corrected, though the words offered no comfort. "But this isn't like you. You don't make mistakes like this."

Hongjoong let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "And yet, I did. I fucked up. She begged, Hwa." His voice cracked, raw and ragged. "She begged, and I didn't listen."

The eldest's face softened, but he didn't look away. "Regret is pointless if it doesn't drive change," he said quietly. "We can't undo what's been done. But maybe... maybe we can still make it right."

Hongjoong looked up, his eyes hollow but desperate. "How?"

Seonghwa met his gaze, steady and unwavering. "By giving her a choice. Her freedom. Protection if she wants it. You can't erase the scars, but you can make sure she's never harmed again."

The Captain's jaw clenched. "And if she wants nothing from us? If she wants nothing to do with the Black Pirates?"

"Then you let her go," Seonghwa replied simply, his voice steady. "With the assurance that she'll never have to fear us again."

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, tension coiling in his shoulders. "I don't deserve forgiveness."

"No," the Gentleman agreed softly, his voice firm but kind. "But it's not about what you deserve. It's about what she does."

The words hung in the air, heavier than any weapon, cutting deeper than any blade.

Hongjoong dragged his hands through his hair, the tremor in them betraying the turmoil within. "Tell them to keep her comfortable," he whispered, voice barely audible. "And... let me know when she wakes up."

Seonghwa inclined his head, moving toward the door but paused before stepping out. "You may never forgive yourself, Joong," he said, his voice softer now, "but that doesn't mean you can't try to do better."

As the door clicked shut behind him, the leader was left alone with the echoes of his guilt—and the faintest, most fragile glimmer of hope.

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The quiet hum of the infirmary filled the air, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets and the faint crackle of the oil lamp on the bedside table. Hongjoong stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes locked on your still form lying on the cot. The sight twisted something deep inside him, the sharp pang of guilt slicing through him once again.

"Hyung?" Jongho's voice pulled him from his reverie, soft but laced with surprise. "Why are you here?" His brows knitted together in confusion as he stepped closer. "Seonghwa hyung said to only inform you when she's awake. She's not—"

The gang leader cut him off with a subtle shake of his head. "I had to see if she's okay... for myself." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "You're dismissed. I'll take over."

Jongho hesitated, his eyes searching his leader's face, filled with concern and something unspoken. "Hyung..."

"I won't..." Hongjoong's voice faltered, his throat tightening. "I won't hurt her any further, Jongho."

The youngest sighed softly, the tension in the room heavy between them. "That's not what I—"

"I know," Hongjoong interrupted, closing his eyes and swallowing hard. "It's fine. Just... go thank the doctor for me."

Jongho lingered for a moment, his gaze lingering on the Captain's worn expression. Finally, he gave a respectful bow of his head. "I'll be nearby if you need me."

With that, the Anchor left, the door clicking softly shut behind him, leaving Hongjoong alone with the stillness once more.

He stepped forward, the floor creaking beneath his boots, and sank into the chair beside the bed. His hands trembled as he clasped them together, resting them on his knees. He could barely bring himself to look at you, the bandages wrapped around your body stark against your pale skin, the ghost of the agony he had inflicted still lingering in the air.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words breaking like fragile glass. "Fuck, I'm so sorry."

The apology felt hollow, inadequate, but it was all he had. He sat there, staring at you, hoping that somehow, even in sleep, you might hear him. But the only response was the steady rise and fall of your chest, the rhythmic proof that you were alive.

Alive, but not whole.

He leaned back, his head tipping against the wall, the weight of everything crushing down on him. For the first time in years, Kim Hongjoong—the feared Captain of the Black Pirates—felt utterly powerless.

His eyes, unwilling to linger any longer on the bandages covering your wounded body, drifted downward. There, beneath the cot, something caught his attention. A crumpled, dirt-streaked tote bag sat neglected, its once vibrant fabric marred by careless fingerprints—his men's fingerprints.

He furrowed his brows and leaned forward, retrieving the bag with careful hands as if it might break apart at any moment. The stitching was amateur but charming, the drawings simple yet endearing. Scrawled in bright, cheerful lettering at the centre were the words Marigold Gift Shop.

It looked so out of place here in the dim and sterile infirmary, like a splash of sunlight drowning in shadow.

He set the bag on his lap and gently pried it open. The contents were jumbled, chaotic, but it was clear that everything inside once held meaning. Trinkets, small souvenirs from the port—a handful of seashells, a hand-painted keychain, and a delicate glass charm in the shape of a flower. These were not the belongings of a spy.

He reached deeper and pulled out a tiny notebook, its edges worn from use. His fingers brushed over the cover before flipping it open. The pages were filled with neat, dainty handwriting—simple lists:

Small wooden carvings

Candles (lavender & sea breeze)

Handmade bookmarks

Seashell jewellery

It wasn't just a list of purchases—it was a routine, mundane, innocent.

Hongjoong's throat constricted, and his hands trembled as the realisation struck him anew: you had been working. You had been on an errand for your job at the Marigold Gift Shop when they dragged you into their nightmare.

His vision blurred, his breath catching in his chest.

You had no idea who they were. No idea what danger you had stumbled into. You were just there, in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it cost you everything.

Hongjoong squeezed the notebook shut, resting it against his forehead as though it could somehow absolve him of the crushing guilt. People must be looking for you—your friends, your family, your employer. The ones who had sent you on this errand, trusting you would return safely.

And now, what could he give them? A broken, scarred version of the vibrant soul they had lost. How could he face them? How could he return you to them like this?

He sat in silence, the only sound in the room the steady rhythm of your breathing and the occasional drip of water from the infirmary's ceiling. His gaze lingered on the crumpled tote bag resting on his lap, its cheerful colours muted beneath the grime. His fingers traced the fabric absentmindedly before he noticed the bucket of clean water and a spare rag near your cot.

For reasons he didn't fully understand, he stood and reached for the rag, dipping it into the water. The cloth came away damp and cool, and he squeezed out the excess with slow, deliberate movements. It was a strange sight—Kim Hongjoong, feared leader of the Black Pirates, bent over a bag, carefully wiping away the dirt and grime.

He worked in silence, the world narrowing to this singular task. Each stroke of the rag against the fabric felt like an apology he couldn't utter aloud. Slowly, painstakingly, he cleaned the tote, rubbing away the stains until the bright colours began to peek through again. The cheerful drawings and stitched patterns reemerged, fragile yet resilient beneath the care of his steady hands.

Piece by piece, he began to arrange your belongings. The trinkets were cleaned and carefully set back in place—each seashell, the delicate glass flower charm, the hand-painted keychain. He smoothed out the tiny notebook, the pages no longer crumpled but straightened with the same precision he reserved for the most critical of plans.

As he worked, he felt a strange lightness settle over him. He hadn't noticed the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips until it faded, replaced by the weight of reality as his gaze shifted back to you.

The bag, now pristine, sat neatly on the table beside you, a quiet testament to his care—a care no one, not even his brothers, had seen in years.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at you, at the bandages wrapped around your broken body, and the regret clawed at his chest again. His smile had vanished entirely, replaced by the grim determination that only guilt could bring.

How could he make this right? How could he even begin? Would you ever be able to forgive him, or himself, for what he had done?

The questions lingered unanswered in the stillness as he sat back down, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together.

He didn't know the answers. All he knew was that he had to try.

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The world swirled in an agonising haze as your consciousness began to claw its way back. Every inch of your body screamed in pain, each bruise, cut, and wound making itself known like fire crawling beneath your skin. It was almost impossible to grasp the full weight of the agony—how could anyone describe the sensation of pain this overwhelming? It was a deep, suffocating thing that made every breath feel like a battle.

You tried to open your eyes, but even that small movement was an assault on your senses. The brightness behind your eyelids was too much, the pressure of it sending a wave of dizziness crashing over you. When you managed to blink, your eyes watered uncontrollably, the effort alone nearly too much to bear. The burn on your back, the curse of that mark—his mark—lingered like a red-hot brand, the pain compounded by the memory of it being tainted with filthy, contaminated water. You couldn't even tell if the pain had dulled or if it was just the agony of everything else making it seem like the worst of it. Even if you didn't die from your injuries, you were certain that infection would claim you before long.

Slowly, with a whimper that barely escaped your cracked lips, you arched your back, instinctively trying to relieve the burning pain from the mark. The movement was weak, your body screaming in protest, but the sensation was a small reprieve. As you forced your eyes open again, blinking over and over to get your bearings, your vision began to sharpen, and the haze of confusion began to recede, bit by bit.

The white ceiling above you was a sharp contrast to the hellish basement you had been trapped in. A sterile smell filled the air, the kind that only came from a medical facility. You were no longer in that filthy, oppressive place. Were you safe now? Had someone rescued you? Was it the authorities? Or perhaps your friends, your family, or your employer had noticed you were missing and raised the alarm? Had they found you in time?

You desperately hoped for any answer that could bring you some sense of peace, but the sight before you shattered that hope in an instant.

Turning your head slightly, you froze. The tears that had started to retreat at the thought of safety now rushed back with full force. There, sitting in a chair beside your bed, was the man who had nearly ended your life.

His face was shadowed in exhaustion, his posture slumped slightly as if he'd nodded off in his seat. His presence hit you like a blow to the chest, a knot of raw fear twisting in your gut. The man who had tortured you, who had burned you, who had broken you was right there. The man who was responsible for every inch of pain you'd endured.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and despite your body's desperate need to remain still, the fear surged within you. You couldn't help but tremble, a silent cry of terror rising in your chest.

But even in your panic, something else stirred—a strange, foreign confusion. He was here. In this room. But he wasn't hurting you. Was he... watching over you? Was this some new kind of torment? A psychological game? The thought made your head spin.

Tears fell down your cheeks as you tried to shift, but your body refused to obey. You were broken in every sense of the word, and now, trapped by your own fear and pain, you couldn't make sense of anything. All you knew was that the man who had caused all of this—the man who had dragged you into this nightmare—was right there, inches away from you.

And you had no idea what it meant.

Your attempts to keep your sobs quiet failed, the soft, broken sounds escaping against your will. Each tremor in your chest seemed to echo in the sterile room, and despite the pain, your body recoiled in fear as you saw him stir. His brow furrowed, eyes fluttering open slowly, the grogginess of sleep fading as he registered the sound—and then, his gaze locked with yours.

Panic surged through you, your breath hitching violently as his dark eyes met your own, wide and trembling, your irises blown out with terror. You wanted to scream, to run, but your body betrayed you, too weak and broken to do anything but sink further into the thin blanket covering you. All you could do was shrink back, the ache in your body drowned out by the overwhelming fear coursing through your veins.

Hongjoong froze, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then, he sat up straighter, slowly, deliberately, as if trying not to startle you further. His jaw clenched, and for a second, the silence stretched unbearably between you. He raised his hands carefully, palms facing you in a universal gesture of peace, his movements measured and cautious, like one might approach a wounded animal.

"Hey," he began softly, his voice low and careful, as though it might shatter you further. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

You didn't believe him. How could you? The fear in your eyes deepened, your body curling instinctively beneath the covers, though every movement brought fresh waves of agony. Your eyes darted around the room, seeking escape, seeking anyone else—but it was only him.

He sighed, a heavy sound filled with something that almost resembled regret. He stayed seated, keeping his hands up, as if showing he was unarmed would make any difference to the scars he had already left on you. "Nobody will hurt you again," he said, and his voice trembled, just barely. "That... that includes me."

You watched him, breath ragged, your body trembling with the effort to stay still. He swallowed hard, the guilt written in every line of his face as he continued, his tone thick with something you couldn't name—shame? Guilt? Desperation? "I know this is all very confusing, and you have no reason to trust me, but we made a mistake. I made a mistake."

He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed again, struggling with the weight of the words. "You're not who we thought you were. And for that—for everything we... I put you through—I'm sorry."

His apology hung in the air, but it did nothing to ease the terror in your heart. It sounded sincere, but sincerity didn't erase the pain, the scars, the nightmare that still lingered in your mind. It didn't change the fact that this man, who now sat before you looking so remorseful, had been the one to destroy you.

Tears continued to stream down your face, and all you could do was stare at him, disbelieving and broken, the word sorry echoing hollowly in your mind. He had taken everything from you, and now he expected that word to make it right?

The silence stretched between you, fragile and suffocating, as you lay there—shattered, terrified, and unsure of what came next.

As if your body had decided to break the unbearable silence itself, your stomach let out a loud, insistent growl. The sound was jarring in the stillness, so absurdly out of place that it caught both of you off guard. You gasped, clutching the thin blanket tighter to your face, cheeks burning despite the pain radiating through your body. Humiliation and fear clashed within you. Would he be disgusted? Would he regret sparing you? Was this the moment he'd change his mind?

You couldn't help but brace yourself.

But instead of anger or disdain, he simply blinked in surprise before his lips parted, and he mumbled softly, "Oh, right. Stupid me. You must be starving." His voice carried a gentleness that was almost foreign, as if the words were meant more for himself than you.

The wooden chair scraped lightly against the floor as he pushed it back, the sound startling in the quiet room. He stood slowly, the motion casual, almost hesitant. "I'll bring you something to eat," he said, the words so ordinary, so kind, that they felt unreal.

And then, just like that, he walked out of the room, the door closing quietly behind him.

You lay frozen, staring at the spot where he'd been moments ago, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Your mind spun in confusion, trying to reconcile the man who had tortured you with the one who now spoke softly and promised food. Was this some twisted game? Was he really going to bring you food—or was it laced with poison, a final, cruel trick?

But if he wanted you dead, why not just finish it when he had the chance? Why tend to your wounds, only to kill you later? The questions swirled relentlessly.

You bit your trembling lip, tears pricking the corners of your eyes again. He could have killed you. You had seen it in his eyes that day—the moment he gave the final order. You had accepted it then, surrendering to fate, your body succumbing to the darkness.

Yet here you were. Alive.

Still shaking, you turned your head to the door, trying to comprehend the reality before you. Was this real? Was he truly changing—or was this a prelude to something worse?

The confusion and fear gnawed at you, but beneath it, a glimmer of something unfamiliar lingered.

Hope.

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"Here," he said softly, holding out a spoonful of chicken soup to your lips. The aroma was heavenly—rich and savoury, exactly what your starved body craved after days without food. Your stomach clenched painfully in response, desperate for sustenance. Yet, despite the temptation, you frowned and turned your face away.

He sighed, his hand lowering slightly but not withdrawing entirely. The bowl in his other hand trembled ever so slightly as if he wasn't sure what to do next. Finally, he set it gently on the table beside you, the warm liquid inside rippling quietly.

Eyes trailing after his movements, you caught sight of your bag resting there. It wasn't in the state you remembered—no longer a crumpled, filthy mess. It had been cleaned meticulously, every stitch visible and tidy, the fabric now free from dirt and grime.

His voice interrupted your thoughts, soft and almost hesitant. "Oh yeah, your bag. I... got busy while you were sleeping and cleaned it up."

You clutched the blanket tighter, sceptical. Him? Cleaning your bag? It was absurd.

"Everything inside too," he added, a small smile pulling at his lips. "You have some pretty cool stuff."

Your eyes widened, heart racing. He touched your things? Against your better judgement, you reached out, wanting to verify the state of your belongings, only to let out a sharp cry as pain flared through your body with the movement.

He was beside you instantly, his hands hovering, unsure whether to touch or retreat. His face twisted in something that looked suspiciously like hurt when you recoiled, sinking back into the bed to avoid him.

Clearing his throat, he asked, voice soft, "You want your bag?"

You nodded timidly, watching him closely. His small smile returned, gentle and relieved. "Let me help you," he murmured, pulling his chair closer. He placed the bag on the bed between you both, unzipping it carefully for you to see inside.

For the first time since waking up, your eyes softened. Everything was as he said—clean, neatly arranged. Trembling fingers reached out for the glass flower charm nestled inside, your favourite trinket. But before you could touch it, your stomach betrayed you again with a loud, desperate growl.

Humiliated, you drew your hand back, shrinking into yourself.

He chuckled softly, reaching for the bowl again. "I know you don't trust me, and you shouldn't," he admitted, his tone gentle and sincere, "but I can assure you, this is safe to consume." To prove it, he scooped a generous spoonful and took a bite himself, letting out an exaggerated hum of satisfaction.

You swallowed hard, the sight and smell tormenting you. Still, you hesitated when he held out another spoonful.

"If you won't eat it," he said with a sigh, "then I'll finish the rest." He raised the spoon toward his own mouth as if to follow through.

Before he could, you opened your mouth quickly, and his grin softened. Gently, he fed you, the warm broth sliding down your throat like liquid gold, soothing and comforting. The flavours were simple, yet after days of deprivation, it felt like the most luxurious meal you'd ever had.

He remained calm, every action slow and deliberate, offering care despite your fear and mistrust. His patience was unsettling, yet... somehow, in that moment, the terrifying man you had known felt like a distant memory.

But the pain in your body lingered. And so did the scars.

Hongjoong felt a warmth he couldn't explain swelling in his chest as you finished the final spoonful, the empty bowl resting between you both like a fragile truce. His eyes softened as he watched you, vulnerable yet still defiant, the faintest remnants of tears glistening on your lashes. He reached forward, hand poised to wipe the corner of your lips, but before he could, a sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

He blinked, and it was as if a mask fell into place. The softness in his gaze vanished, replaced by the cold, commanding demeanour you knew too well. He set the bowl on the table, the clink of ceramic against wood too loud in the heavy silence. Straightening in his seat, shoulders squared, he uttered a firm, "Come in."

You shrank back into the bed instinctively, your body curling as far from him as your injuries would allow. The door creaked open, and another man stepped inside—his brow raising slightly when he noticed you were awake.

"Hyung," he said, his tone both respectful and urgent, "you're needed at the meeting. To discuss our next steps, now that the..." He hesitated, casting a brief glance your way, as if unsure how much to say in your presence. "The actual spy remains at large."

Hongjoong nodded, the authority in his posture unwavering. "I'll be there. Thank you, Jongho." His voice was clipped, businesslike, a stark contrast to the gentle tone he'd used with you only moments before. "Summon the doctor. Have her checked thoroughly and ensure she's comfortable."

The man named Jongho gave a short nod and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a moment, the Captain remained seated, his back straight, tension radiating from him. Then, as if reminded of your presence, he turned to you once more. His expression softened, just for a second, as he offered the faintest smile—fleeting but genuine. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "No one will hurt you again. I won't let them."

Before you could react, the smile vanished, his face hardening once more as he rose to his feet. Without another glance, he strode to the door and exited, the soft thud of his boots fading into the distance.

You lay there, staring at the closed door, heart racing, mind spinning. The man who had nearly destroyed you had just promised your protection. And despite everything, a single, terrifying thought whispered through your mind:

I believe you.

The room felt unnervingly quiet after his departure, the air still heavy with the remnants of his presence. You stayed frozen for a moment, listening to the silence, your pulse still thundering in your ears. Slowly, cautiously, you shifted beneath the blanket, every movement sending fresh waves of pain rippling through your battered body.

But you endured it, your gaze locked on the bag resting beside you. Trembling fingers reached out, brushing against its fabric, now pristine compared to how you last remembered it—torn, dirtied, ruined. Carefully, you pulled it closer, clutching it to your chest like a lifeline, tears welling up as you stroked the surface. Your fingers traced over the familiar stitches and doodles, remnants of happier times, of days spent working, laughing, living.

Were your loved ones searching for you? How frantic must they be, wondering if you were still alive, hoping, praying for your return? The thought broke something inside you, and you wept silently, the tears streaming down your face as you reached inside the bag.

Piece by piece, your belongings greeted you, neatly arranged—your keychain, your tiny souvenirs, even the little trinkets you'd collected on that ill-fated day. None of them bore the grime and cruelty you had last seen, each one painstakingly cleaned, cared for. Despite yourself, a hollow sob escaped your lips, and you hated how much it affected you.

At the very bottom of the bag, your trembling hand closed around the familiar worn edges of your notebook. You pulled it out, your tears falling freely as you held it close, opening the cover with a sniffle. Flipping through the pages, you found the list you had written, the innocent to-do list that had led you into this nightmare. Your thumb traced the ink of your handwriting—dotted with tiny stars and hearts—and you almost smiled through the pain.

But it wasn't your handwriting on the newest page. You froze, blinking through your tears as you stared at the words, scrawled in a neat, unfamiliar script:

I'm sorry. I will make it right again, I promise.

Your breath caught in your throat, a sob escaping that you couldn't suppress. He had written it. The very man who had branded you, broken you. And yet here, in this quiet, fragile moment, his apology was inked into your most personal possession.

It wasn't enough. It could never be enough.

But it was something.

The notebook fell from your hands, landing on your lap as you curled around it, weeping not just from pain, but from the deep, agonising confusion that tangled with it. You didn't know what to feel anymore. Hatred? Grief? Or some terrible, unbidden hope that his words weren't just lies?

As the tears blurred your vision, you whispered brokenly to no one, "Why does it hurt more now?"

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The days stretched into a haze of silence and uncertainty. You hadn't seen him since that moment when he fed you soup and scribbled his apology into your notebook. In his absence, Jongho became a constant presence—a quiet sentinel, always bringing what you needed but never lingering too long. Aside from him, the kind doctor, with her gentle hands and soothing voice, tended to your wounds, her care meticulous and soft. But it was always just Jongho and her. Never the Captain.

At first, you felt like a prisoner, wondering what the end of this strange hospitality would bring. Would they let you go? Was this kindness a façade before some darker fate awaited? But as the days went on, your thoughts turned inward, your hands finding comfort in writing. You filled parchment after parchment with letters—letters to your parents, your best friend, your employer. They were full of reassurances you weren't even sure you believed. I'm alive. I'm safe. I will come back. But the ink soothed you, even if you knew they might never be sent.

Today was no different, except for the soft murmurs between you and the doctor as she changed your dressings. Her hands worked deftly, the cool air brushing against your skin as she peeled away the layers of gauze and replaced them with fresh, clean bandages. You let your mind drift, thinking of the promise he had scrawled in your notebook. He said he'd make it right. But how? Will I get to leave? Will I ever see my old life again? And if I do… will I ever be the same?

The faint creak of the door interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up instinctively, expecting Jongho's usual unhurried entrance. But it wasn't the Anchor.

It was him.

Your breath caught, and you froze, eyes wide as you met the gaze of Kim Hongjoong. He, too, stilled in the doorway, his expression unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps? Regret? His gaze fell to your back, to the horrid brand etched into your skin, and you saw the way he flinched.

He wasn't the only one.

Your body trembled involuntarily, an instinctive recoil from the man who had caused you so much pain. The doctor, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening the air, glanced up with a warm smile. "Oh, you're here! I'm almost done, just give me a minute."

The gang leader nodded stiffly, but he didn't speak. He quickly averted his gaze, turning away as if the sight of you was unbearable. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it should be.

But not for the same reasons as before.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, clutching the edge of the blanket as the doctor finished her work, her hands light on your skin. She hummed softly, her presence a soothing balm to your raw nerves. But your focus remained on him—on the way his shoulders tensed, on the way he refused to meet your eyes again. When he did chance a glance, he caught your gaze, and you saw it clearly: shame.

His lips parted, but no words came. You wanted to demand answers. Why are you here? What do you want from me? But your voice remained trapped in your throat.

The doctor stood, packing up her supplies with a satisfied smile. "There we are," she said brightly, glancing between the two of you. "I'll leave you to rest now." She nodded respectfully to Hongjoong before quietly excusing herself, leaving you alone with him.

The door clicked shut, and the silence between you thickened. You stared at him, your heart pounding, as he stood there, still and unsure. He finally spoke, his voice low and rough, as if it hurt to say the words.

"I didn't mean to... interrupt." He looked down, hands clenched at his sides. "I only came to see how you were."

You didn't know what to say. Under normal circumstances, perhaps a thank you would have been appropriate—but this wasn't normal, and he didn't deserve that. So you kept quiet, your lips pressed into a thin line, your hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

He sighed softly, the sound barely audible, before clearing his throat and moving to sit beside you, just as he had that day with the soup. He settled into the chair with a quiet grace, attempting a small, hesitant smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze flickered to the books, papers, and pens scattered across the nursing table beside your bed.

"I hope Jongho managed to get you everything you asked for," he said gently, his voice low and careful, as if afraid to startle you. You nodded, but kept your eyes downcast, focused on your wringing hands.

His gaze followed yours, landing on the letters you had written—the stack of parchment covered in your careful handwriting. For a moment, you tensed, waiting for the inevitable backlash. Would he order his men to burn them? Would he scold you for daring to think of leaving, for daring to hope?

But instead, his voice was soft. "Would you like me to deliver them?"

You froze, lifting your head slowly, your wide, disbelieving eyes meeting his earnest gaze. He gestured toward the letters with a slight movement of his hand. "The letters," he clarified. "I could send them for you."

Your disbelief must have shown on your face, the way your brow furrowed and your lips parted slightly in shock. He saw it. He felt it. And it cut deeper than he expected. Of course, you still saw him as a monster. Why wouldn't you? He had given you every reason to believe that. If he wanted to change that, he would need to do more—much more.

He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself, before looking at you again with an expression that was raw and unguarded. "Look," he began, voice heavy with something that felt dangerously close to regret. "You're not trapped here, in case you're wondering. You're free to leave whenever you want."

You blinked, your heart racing at the words. Could you believe him? Could you trust that freedom was within your reach?

"It's just that…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. "After everything we—I've done to you, the least I can do is help you heal. To nurse you back to health, to give you what you need. I need to make it right. That's all I want. For you to get better, to return to yourself. And if there's anything you need to make that happen… just say the word."

His voice dropped to an almost pleading tone. "So tell me—do you want those letters delivered? Is that it?"

You stared at him, searching his face for any trace of deception, any hint of insincerity. But all you saw was honesty. Whether or not it was real, you didn't know. But the sincerity in his tone, the earnestness in his eyes—it was undeniable.

And you couldn't lie to yourself. The letters were what you wanted. To set your mind and heart at ease. To reassure your loved ones that you were still alive, still here, even if only barely.

So you nodded.

He exhaled slowly, as if relieved, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a glimmer of something softer in his expression. "Okay," he said simply. "I'll make sure they're delivered."

You struggled, the words stuck in your throat like stubborn stones, not fear this time—but something else. Something unfamiliar and unsettling. You nodded again, the gesture small and hesitant, and to your surprise, he seemed to find it… endearing. His smile softened further, and though you wanted to resent him for it, there was something disarming about the warmth in his expression.

Noticing the way you hesitated, as if wanting to speak but unsure how, he shifted in his chair, intertwining his fingers and leaning forward, careful in his every movement. He stopped just short of your space, close enough to offer comfort but far enough to avoid overwhelming you. His eyes, soft and patient, held yours, and the corners of his lips tugged upward in that same gentle smile—a silent reassurance: I won't hurt you. It's okay.

He seemed aware of how much he was smiling, almost as if surprised by it himself. His eyes glimmered with something that felt out of place in a man like him—genuine kindness. It struck you then, how foreign that smile must have been on his face, as if it had gone unused for too long. You wondered who he had once been, before this life of cruelty hardened him. And you hated that part of you, the part desperate for softness, wanted to know.

"It's alright," he said softly, his voice gentle and warm. "You don't have to be afraid. Just tell me—what do you want?"

The tenderness in his tone felt unreal. This was the same man who had once stood over you, cold and unyielding, ready to snuff out your life. And yet here he was now, speaking to you as if you were fragile, precious even. It was maddening. Confusing. And yet, damn you for being nothing more than a frail human aching for kindness, your guard cracked, just a little.

You didn't know why you asked it, why this question had been sitting in the back of your mind, waiting for its chance to escape. But when you finally spoke, your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, trembling with vulnerability. "Your name."

He blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, silence stretched between you, his expression shifting from surprise to something softer, almost regretful. And then, in that quiet space, he realised the truth: from the very beginning, through everything he had put you through, he had never once told you his name.

He sat back slightly, exhaling a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "Hongjoong," he said, his voice steady but tender, as if offering you something sacred. "My name is Hongjoong."

Your lips parted, and though you had imagined feeling hatred for this name, it didn't come. Instead, all you felt was the raw ache of everything left unsaid.

"Hongjoong," you repeated, tasting the name on your tongue like a fragile thing, and the way you said it felt like the start of something neither of you could yet name.

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Hongjoong had made it a point to visit you every evening, just before the world outside your room fell silent for the night. At first, you dreaded those moments, unsure of his intentions or what he might say. But as the days turned into weeks, those visits became routine. He would sit beside your bed or across from you at the small table, his demeanour always calm, his tone soft and steady, and slowly, piece by piece, he unravelled the mystery of who he was, what this place meant, and how you had been drawn into their world.

His name, you learned, was more than just a name. He was the leader of this place, a sprawling mansion that served as the heart of a powerful syndicate—a gang, as you quickly realised. The people here, the ones who moved with deadly precision and cold efficiency, were his crew. Not just criminals, but men who had pledged their loyalty to him and each other in the face of a world that sought to destroy them.

You had been caught in the crossfire of a feud between two factions, mistaken for an enemy spy in a moment of chaos. It explained the brutality with which you had been treated, the mistrust that lingered until the truth emerged too late. "You weren't supposed to be hurt," he told you one night, voice thick with regret. "I didn't know who you were. If I had known..." He never finished those sentences, leaving the unsaid to hang in the air like a bitter aftertaste.

And now, the pieces fit. The puzzle you had struggled to solve finally made sense, but with that clarity came an unsettling reality: you were surrounded by criminals. Even if Hongjoong had promised safety, you were in a den of people capable of murder, of violence, of unspeakable acts committed in the name of survival and loyalty. It went against everything you believed in—your sense of morality, the honest life you had led until now.

Yet, despite your fear and discomfort, you knew you had no choice. What had happened could not be undone. The only hope you clung to was for a swift recovery, a chance to leave this world behind and return to the life you had once known.

As your injuries healed, you grew stronger. The sharp, constant pain dulled to a distant ache, and with the doctor's meticulous care, you were soon able to move around. Hongjoong had a proper room prepared for you—one more fitting, spacious, with large windows that let in the light. It was more comfortable than you dared to expect, but you knew better than to interpret it as anything more than a gesture of atonement.

Still, you couldn't deny the strange, unspoken connection that had formed between you and him. You wouldn't call it friendship—you couldn't. He was still the man who had brought you to the brink of death. But there was something. Something fragile, a bond woven through shared guilt and reluctant trust. You found yourself relying on him in ways that shamed you. You hated it, hated how you felt a strange sense of calm when he was near, as if the very person responsible for your suffering was now the anchor keeping you steady.

It was complicated. Confusing. And worst of all, it made you question whether the lines you thought were so clear—between captor and captive, between right and wrong—had begun to blur.

Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong wrestled with the same confusion—especially about the emotions that had begun to surface lately. He couldn't shake the persistent need to be near you. It gnawed at him like an unrelenting tide, wearing away the walls he had built over the years. He told himself it was duty, responsibility. After all, he was the reason you had nearly lost your life. If he hadn't acted so quickly on false information, none of this would have happened. He reasoned that it was only right to take full responsibility, to ensure your recovery—physically and otherwise.

That logic gave him something to hold on to, but it didn't explain everything. It didn't explain why his eyes instinctively sought you out whenever he walked the halls or the strange calm that washed over him when he saw you safe. It didn't explain the warmth that bloomed in his chest when he heard your voice or glimpsed your rare, hesitant smiles. No, it wasn't just responsibility anymore. It was something deeper, something he wasn't ready to name.

After another gruelling meeting filled with discussions of crisis management and strategies to track down the elusive spy, the Captain's head buzzed with tension. His face remained a mask of cold authority, his steps measured, his shoulders squared. He passed his men without sparing a glance, his thoughts elsewhere. Always on you. The dining hall was empty, your room vacant, and the painting room—where you often sat doodling, lost in thought—was deserted. A strange, unwelcome worry tightened in his chest.

Relief only came when he pushed open the heavy library doors and saw you standing there. You stood in a sunlit aisle, the golden light streaming through the tall windows, bathing you in a soft glow. The light illuminated your features—now mostly healed, the bruises reduced to faint shadows, the cuts mere whispers of what they had been. You were beautiful, he realised, and the realisation ached in a way he hadn't anticipated. He closed the door quietly behind him, the sound muted, careful not to startle you. His steps were slow and deliberate as he approached, his heart inexplicably racing.

You were focused on a pressed flower bookmark tucked between the pages of a book, your head tilted slightly as you admired it, your fingers gently brushing the fragile petals. The scene was simple, ordinary. Yet it stirred something in him, an unspoken truth he wasn't ready to confront.

"Marigold," he said softly, his voice low to not disturb the tranquillity. "That's my favourite flower."

You looked up, startled at first, but your expression softened when you saw him. "Really? It's mine too," you replied, your voice steady, though a hint of curiosity lingered in your tone.

A small smile tugged at his lips, softer than usual, though it carried the weight of everything left unsaid. "It is? Then you should keep it," he said, nodding toward the bookmark, surprising even himself with the offer.

"But—" you began, gesturing toward the marked page.

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "I never had time to finish the book anyway. Can't even remember what it's about. Just take it. It's yours now."

Anything you want, it's yours.

For a moment, the silence between you stretched, fragile yet profound, like a delicate thread holding more than either of you dared admit. Hongjoong didn't know what this feeling was, only that it was growing. And being near you eased a part of him he hadn't realised was broken.

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The evening air was still, and the faint glow of the lamp in your room cast a soft halo beneath the door, a beacon that drew him to check on you one last time before retiring. He knocked gently, expecting the usual soft response or even a brief acknowledgement, but there was only silence. His brows knitted in concern, and he knocked again, the sound a little firmer this time. Still, no answer.

Then he heard it—a muffled yelp.

Panic surged through him. He couldn't wait. "I'm coming in," he called, his voice urgent but not harsh, and without hesitation, he pushed open the door.

The sight that met him stopped him in his tracks. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, your shirt halfway unbuttoned, exposing your shoulder and part of your back. The fresh bandage you had been attempting to wrap around yourself lay unravelled on the floor, a tangle of gauze mocking your efforts. Your face was flushed with embarrassment, and the moment you realised he was there, you scrambled to pull your shirt back up, your movements frantic and clumsy.

He didn't look away, not out of disrespect, but because he couldn't ignore the mark on your back. That cursed brand. Every time he saw it, it felt like a punch to the gut, a cruel reminder of his failure. If he could change one thing in his life, it would be that—undoing the moment that left such a permanent scar on you. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, before finally speaking, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

"Do you need help?"

Your immediate response was a firm shake of your head. "I'm fine," you insisted, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you. He could see it all: the mess of your hair, the exhaustion etched into your face, the slight tremor in your hands. You had been at this for a while, stubbornly trying to do it alone, and it was clear that you were anything but fine.

Hongjoong sighed quietly, stepping closer, each movement deliberate and gentle, as if afraid he might scare you away. "You're not," he said softly, without accusation, without pity, only quiet understanding. He knelt in front of you, eyes level with yours, and held out his hand, palm up, an unspoken offer. "Let me help."

You hesitated, biting your lip, your pride warring with the exhaustion. But eventually, you let out a shaky breath and nodded, your eyes downcast. He reached for the discarded bandage on the floor, his movements slow, deliberate, as if trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

Carefully, he unbuttoned your shirt just enough to reveal your shoulder, his fingers never straying more than necessary. The moment felt intimate but not in the way that made you feel vulnerable. It was gentle. Respectful. As he wrapped the bandage around you with practised precision, his hands were steady, careful not to brush against your skin more than needed.

"You don't have to do everything alone," he murmured as he fastened the bandage, his voice like a balm. "I know you're strong, but you can let someone help you."

You didn't respond immediately, the warmth of his words sinking in as you sat in silence. Finally, you whispered, "Thank you."

He gave a faint smile, one you didn't see but could hear in the softness of his voice. "Anytime."

You finally turned to face him, your breath catching when you realised just how close he was. His face, so much softer now than the man who had once been your captor, was mere inches away. As if more modest than you, he quickly moved to help button your shirt, his fingers deft but gentle, avoiding your gaze as if giving you privacy in a moment that was anything but private. Your eyes, however, couldn't stop following the sincerity etched into his expression, hating the way it made your heart race. How could your body betray you like this, reacting to someone who had once been so cruel?

You swallowed hard, trying to banish those thoughts, and lowered your gaze. That's when you noticed his wrist peeking from the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. It was the first time you saw them, the scars that twisted from his elbows to his wrists like angry, jagged reminders. Your brows furrowed, curiosity—and something deeper—propelling you forward. Without thinking, your hand reached out and grasped his as he pulled away, holding it gently.

"H-how'd you get these?" your voice trembled, more from the vulnerability in the air than any fear.

Hongjoong stilled. The small smile on his face faded, replaced by a haunting stillness. He pulled his hands back gently, as if realising for the first time he had no right to be near you, no right to touch you. He placed your hands carefully back in your lap, almost reverently, and turned toward the window, the fading sunlight casting shadows across his face.

A humourless chuckle escaped him, low and bitter, as he glanced at the scars on his arms before shifting his gaze to the darkened horizon. "Let me tell you the story of a boy," he began, his voice void of emotion but heavy with pain, "who had everything taken from him. Not that he had much to begin with—only a mother who loved him more than anything." His voice cracked, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. "Even that wasn't enough for fate."

He didn't look at you, eyes fixed on the darkening sky, as if it held all the answers. "My father was a worthless drunk with a gambling problem. He left us with nothing but debts, and my mother… she worked herself to the bone, trying to keep us afloat. But it was never enough. The loan sharks came one night." His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I was too young to understand what they wanted, why they were shouting at her. But I remember… I remember watching them beat her to the ground."

His voice dropped to a whisper, but it cut like a blade. "I watched them strip her, violate her, and when they were done, they slit her throat as if she were nothing." He exhaled shakily, his jaw tightening. "They left me there with her body. Taunted me. If they had known what they created that night… maybe they wouldn't have left me alive."

You sat motionless, your heart aching at the raw truth of his confession. Suddenly, everything made sense—how he had become this way, hardened and cold. You could understand now, even though it hurt to. Perhaps you would have become the same if you had endured such horrors. No one is born evil. We are all blank canvases, shaped by what we experience, by the pain life forces us to endure.

His eyes fell to the scars on his arms, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips. "These," he murmured, flexing his fingers as if feeling the memory burn anew, "are souvenirs from that night." His voice grew colder, distant, as if reliving the moment. "I remember their nails clawing at my arms, desperate to cling to life. But it didn't matter. Those bastards were never going to escape."

Despite the chilling edge in his words, you felt no fear. Instead, you saw the boy hidden beneath the armour, a boy the world had broken too soon. He turned back to you, his eyes no longer cold but filled with a deep, aching regret. "And that's why," he said, voice trembling with emotion, "I wish I could undo what I did to you. I swore I'd never harm the innocent, never become what they were. But I failed." His voice cracked. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. Nothing I do will ever make this right."

To his surprise, you reached out, your hand resting gently on his shoulder, offering comfort where he expected none. He turned to you, his eyes glistening with tears he refused to let fall.

"It's okay, Hongjoong," you said softly, your voice unwavering yet gentle. "Everyone makes mistakes."

And then you smiled—a small, genuine smile, brimming with forgiveness. It shattered something within him, but it also healed something far deeper, a part of him he thought was long dead.

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Things had shifted significantly between you since that fateful night when he first bared his soul, revealing the shadows of his dark past. Your understanding unlocked something in him, and in turn, you also began to open up. Little by little, you spoke more, smiled more freely, and allowed yourself to be vulnerable in his presence. Hongjoong, too, had changed. What once were brief visits to check on you became shared meals, quiet conversations, and the gentle ritual of him changing your wound dressings daily. It had become a routine—a comforting rhythm filled with tender moments, lingering touches, deep gazes, and countless almosts.

Almost kisses. Almost confessions. Almost something more.

Just a little longer, he told himself, fighting the constant urge to feel your lips against his. He needed to earn your trust fully before daring to take that step. He knew he didn't deserve you—but the heart wants what it wants.

But of course, just as he allowed himself to believe things were finally settling, reality reminded him otherwise. He should have known better than to think peace could last in his world. You and he had grown closer, but the life he led was never one to offer tranquillity for long. Conflict loomed on the horizon. An important meeting was fast approaching—a meeting arranged long before you had entered his life.

The Black Pirates, an organisation that had always operated with an exclusively male force, had struck a delicate negotiation with the Red Room, a renowned spy training facility specialised in producing elite female operatives. Though both syndicates had thrived independently, they saw mutual benefit in an alliance, especially as the shadowy threat of the White Serpents continued to grow. A treaty was in the works and was supposed to be one of Hongjoong's top priorities.

Yet, things had changed. You were here now, and part of him refused to leave you. The thought of being away, of leaving you vulnerable even for a moment, gnawed at him. So he made a decision: Seonghwa would attend the meeting in his place. The eldest, the Gentleman, was their best negotiator, and if anyone could secure a favourable outcome, it was him.

"It's set then," he said, his tone final. "Seonghwa will represent me for this." He leaned back slightly, eager to conclude the meeting and return to you.

But he should have known better than to expect it would be accepted without protest.

The moment the words left his mouth, Mingi's hand slammed onto the table, the force reverberating through the room. "Really, hyung?" he spat, his voice heavy with frustration. "You're going to send someone else on your behalf for something this important? I was already fed up with this nonsense, but enough is enough!"

The screech of the temperamental member's chair echoed as he shoved it back, rising to his feet, the fire in his eyes blazing. Yunho reached out, gripping his arm in warning, but Mingi shook him off, his glare fixed on their leader.

"No!" he growled, his voice rising. "When will this madness stop?! I'm sick and tired of you being distracted by her. At first, I understood—you felt guilty, like you owed her something. But now? You're letting it go too far! You've been wasting precious time hovering around her, growing soft! And now you're putting our work at risk. When does it end, huh?"

The room fell into a tense silence, the air thick with the weight of Mingi's accusation. Hongjoong remained seated, his fingers interlocked on the table. He met the taller man's gaze with a cold, unwavering stare.

"Sit down, Mingi," he said quietly, his voice calm, but the authority in it was unmistakable.

Mingi didn't move, his jaw tight, defiance radiating from him. "Answer me," he demanded. "When does it end?"

The room seemed to hold its breath.

"You think I'm neglecting my responsibility," Hongjoong said, his voice low, even, and far colder than before. He rose slowly, pushing his chair back with a deliberate grace. "You think I'm growing soft. Maybe you're right." His eyes, sharp and cutting, bore into Mingi's. "But everything I do is for this gang's survival. Including ensuring her safety."

Mingi scoffed, disbelief written across his face. "Her? She's not one of us. She's a—"

"Enough," Hongjoong snapped, the steel in his voice cutting through the room like a blade. He stepped closer, towering over Mingi now. "You question my judgement again, and it won't be this quiet." His voice softened, but the danger in it was palpable. "I trust Seonghwa to handle this. And I trust you to remember your place."

For a moment, it seemed as if Mingi might push further, but his best friend, the Enforcer's hand tightened on his arm, a silent plea. He growled in frustration and, after a tense beat, finally sat down, seething but silent.

Seonghwa's calm voice broke the heavy quiet. "I'll handle it, Cap. You've made the right call." He shot a glance at Mingi. "We all want the same thing: to be stronger, united. Let's not lose sight of that."

Hongjoong's shoulders relaxed slightly, though his eyes never left Mingi. "Good," he said, his tone final. "Then it's settled."

As the others filed out, Mingi lingered near the door, shooting one last glare at his leader before leaving without another word. The Captain remained behind, letting out a long breath, the weight of the confrontation pressing on him.

He should have known peace wouldn't last. But as his thoughts turned to you, one question echoed in his mind.

How much more would he have to sacrifice to protect you before it all fell apart?

Fortunately—and unfortunately—you had already found the answer to his unspoken question.

"Hongjoong," you whispered, your voice trembling as it cut through the stillness of the dimly lit library.

The soft glow of the lamps cast gentle shadows over the shelves, wrapping the room in an intimate quiet. Across from you, he sat, his eyes warm and attentive, watching you with that familiar, close-lipped smile—the one that always made your heart stutter. His expression was gentle, full of a quiet tenderness that you both craved and feared.

But tonight, that smile felt like a dagger. It broke something inside you, making what you were about to say hurt even more.

"Yes?" he responded just as softly, his voice a soothing balm you didn't deserve. He leaned forward slightly, the care in his gaze evident, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as they clutched the delicate bookmark he had given you, your lifeline in this moment of unbearable heaviness. "I'm… I'm all better now," you began, the words sticking in your throat. "I wish to leave. I want to go home."

The change in him was immediate. His smile vanished, and his hand shot across the table, grasping yours before you could pull away. His touch was warm but trembling, desperate. "Wha—where is this coming from?" His voice cracked, panic threading through every word. He hadn't known how long he'd have you by his side, but he never imagined losing you this soon. He wasn't ready. "Was it Mingi? Did he say something to you? I swear to god, if he—"

"No," you interrupted, shaking your head firmly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. "He didn't do anything." You squeezed his hand, trying to draw strength from the contact. "I just… I think it's time. Time for both of us to return to our own lives."

His grip tightened, his eyes wide with disbelief. "No," he whispered, shaking his head as if refusing to believe your words could make them untrue. "You don't have to do this. You don't need to leave yet. The doctor—I'm having her work on something for the mark. You're not healed, not really."

You bit your lip, his raw emotion tearing through your resolve. You wanted to stay—God, how you wanted to stay—but the memory of that argument was too fresh. You had stood outside the meeting room earlier, waiting for him to finish, only to hear Mingi's voice raised in anger, accusing him of neglect, of weakness. And you had heard Hongjoong's silence—heavy, burdened. You couldn't be the reason for his pain. You couldn't be the weakness he couldn't afford.

"I heard it all," you confessed, voice trembling. "The argument. I know how much I'm complicating things for you." Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away. "It's not fair—to you, to them. We're from different worlds, Hongjoong. You and I… we were never going to work." Your voice softened as you finally named what had been unspoken: the feelings between you both.

His face crumpled, the pain etched into every line devastating to witness. "Don't do this," he begged, his voice breaking. "Please… don't."

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. "This is how we make things right," you whispered. "You wanted to fix what you did, to give me a chance at freedom. This is it."

Silence engulfed the room, thick and suffocating. Slowly, he let go of your hand, as if releasing it would break him entirely. His head bowed, shoulders slumping under the weight of your decision.

"Oh…" It was all he could manage, and the raw pain in that single word nearly undid you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The quiet of the library, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating. You had made your choice, and you believed it was the right one.

So why did it hurt so much?

"I'm sorry," you whispered, standing from your chair. You hesitated, wanting to offer some kind of solace, but knowing it would only prolong the pain. "Goodnight, Hongjoong."

With every step you took toward the door, it felt as though pieces of your heart were left behind. And when you reached the threshold, you heard it—his broken, whispered plea.

"Don't go."

But you didn't stop. You couldn't. Because sometimes, love wasn't enough.

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As if running from you could change the inevitable, Hongjoong buried himself in work, pouring over plans and strategies like a man determined to forget. Meetings stretched longer, tasks multiplied, and he worked late into the night, ignoring the hollow ache growing in his chest. But no amount of work could silence the truth—or erase the memory of your soft, breaking voice.

He could only run for so long.

One day, the quiet was broken by Jongho's hesitant knock on his office door. The youngest cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably under the Captain's tired gaze. "What is it?" he sighed, leaning back in his chair, trying to mask the weariness in his voice.

Jongho straightened, his eyes darting to the barely open door behind him. Hongjoong followed his gaze and froze. There, framed by the narrow gap, was the unmistakable outline of your back.

"It's her, hyung," Jongho said softly, his tone more hesitant than usual. "She... she asked the doctor to give her one final check. To make sure she's fully healed." He paused, as if reluctant to continue. "She expressed her desire to leave."

The words struck like a blade, sharp and final. For a long moment, Hongjoong said nothing, his eyes locked on the empty doorway as if he could will you to return. But deep down, he knew there was nowhere left to run.

He had been a fool to believe that anything could make you stay. He put himself in your shoes for a fleeting moment, imagining what it must be like. You had a life beyond these walls—a life waiting for you to return. And even if you chose to stay, how long could he truly keep you safe in his dangerous world? How long before the life he led consumed you, too?

And even if, by some miracle, you stayed—would your loved ones ever accept him? A gang leader with blood on his hands and sins too deep to cleanse?

No. The answer was clear.

As much as it tore him apart, he knew this was the mercy you deserved. He couldn't chain you to his darkness, couldn't selfishly hold on when letting go was the only way to truly love you.

"You're right," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "You have a life of your own. I can't ask you to stay."

The Anchor remained silent, watching his leader with a rare softness in his eyes.

Men like him were never meant to love. Not after all the sins he had committed, all the lives he had taken, all the wrongs he could never make right. He didn't deserve you—not your kindness, your laughter, or the warmth you so effortlessly gave.

No matter how much he wished otherwise.

With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the door, his voice steady but hollow. "Thank you, Jongho. I trust you to make the proper arrangements for her departure."

The youngest hesitated for a moment, but when he met the finality in Hongjoong's eyes, he nodded and left quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. Silence settled over the room again, heavy and oppressive—until the door creaked open once more. The gang leader's head snapped up, irritation flashing in his eyes, but it melted away the instant he saw who it was.

You stood hesitantly in the doorway, peeking in like you weren't sure you belonged there anymore.

He shot up from his seat, his movements hurried. "O-oh, it's you. Come in..." His voice softened, and you offered a small, tentative smile as you stepped inside. He gestured toward the worn leather couch. "Please, have a seat."

But you shook your head. "No, I shouldn't stay long. I just… came to thank you for respecting my decision."

He exhaled, a bitter sound escaping his lips. "Don't thank me for that." His voice was low, laced with frustration, though not at you. "It shouldn't have taken me this long to agree. You were right." His lips curved into a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. The pain there was unmistakable, and it clenched your heart painfully. "This… it has to end eventually. After all, I'm the one who did this to you. I can't possibly expect you to return my feelings—"

"Stop," you whispered, closing your eyes, shaking your head as if to ward off the self-loathing in his voice. Too late. You already had returned those feelings, and hearing him like this shattered you. "No, Hongjoong, don't say that. I just..."

He stilled, his gaze searching yours as you opened your eyes and met him, resisting the desperate urge to reach out and cup his face, to pull him into the comfort you knew he craved. But you couldn't. So instead, you smiled, soft but trembling, and extended a hand toward him.

"I'm feeling a little hungry," you said gently, your voice trembling just enough to betray your emotions. "Want to have dinner together?"

For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if unsure if he had heard correctly. But how could he possibly say no? Besides, this could very well be your last meal together. Everything else could wait—damn it all.

Until the moment you were safely returned home, you were all that mattered to him.

Just until tomorrow.

Jongho had arranged your ride back tomorrow.

Hongjoong couldn't pretend anymore. He knew this would likely be the last time he'd have you like this, in this fragile peace. So, tonight, he let the walls fall. He no longer resisted the urges that had haunted him for weeks. When he reached out to feed you, gently wiping a stray bit of food from the corner of your lips, you didn't flinch. When he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips brushing your skin with a tenderness that made his chest ache, you didn't pull away.

And you didn't say a word. You just let him.

By the end of the meal, when he saw the glimmer of hesitation in your eyes—knowing you were preparing to retreat to your room—he acted quickly, grasping your hand before you could leave. His touch was firm but not forceful, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, almost pleading.

"Would you like to… walk with me?"

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes searching his as if trying to memorise everything about this moment. Then, wordlessly, you nodded. He led you through the grand halls of the mansion, out to the sprawling, maze-like garden, where the soft glow of lanterns illuminated the paths.

Your hands remained entwined the entire time.

The garden was silent except for the rustle of leaves in the breeze. He guided you to the centre, where a marble fountain stood, the gentle sound of water trickling into the basin adding to the quiet serenity. Clearing a spot on the cold concrete, he shrugged off his blazer, laying it down carefully before gesturing for you to sit. You did, settling beside him as the horizon stretched before you, bathed in soft, silver moonlight.

"This is nice," you murmured, breaking the silence, your voice almost lost in the cool night air.

He smiled, his gaze softening. "It is, isn't it?"

For a while, neither of you spoke. The dim lanterns cast a golden glow, wrapping you both in a warmth that felt almost unreal. Slowly, as if afraid you might slip away, he placed his hand over yours once again. This time, your fingers intertwined naturally, effortlessly, as though they had always belonged that way.

No words were necessary. Every touch, every glance, spoke of everything you felt but couldn't say.

Your heart raced as you turned toward him, only to find he was already watching you. His eyes were dark, filled with emotions you didn't dare name. He leaned in, bit by bit, closing the space between you. Your breath hitched, trembling, but you didn't move away.

"Just for tonight," he whispered, his voice rough and raw. "Can we be together? Just for tonight."

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your heart aching with the weight of the unspoken goodbye. You nodded, your voice barely above a breath.

"Please."

And then, there was no more distance between you.

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The morning light streamed softly through the curtains, painting the room in golden hues. Hongjoong stirred awake, the weight of sleep heavier than usual, but a comforting warmth grounded him. Instinctively, he snuggled closer, burying his face into the inviting scent that had become his solace.

It took only a moment for the realisation to hit him. The feminine scent, delicate and intoxicating, filled his senses. His heart skipped a beat as he opened his eyes to find you still in his arms, your back pressed against his chest, your breathing soft and even.

For a long moment, he stayed still, simply taking you in—the way your hair spilt over the pillow, the peaceful rise and fall of your shoulders, the warmth that radiated from you. Leaning closer, he pressed a tender kiss to your bare shoulder, the memory of last night rushing back like a tidal wave.

Kisses. Endless, intoxicating kisses, your lips against his as if you were trying to fill every unspoken word between you. His fingers tangled in your hair, your hands gripping his shirt, neither of you willing to let go. The clumsy, desperate stumbling through those kisses until you landed on the expanse of his king-sized bed—so often feeling too big, too empty for just one.

Articles of clothing had been shed piece by piece, carelessly scattered across the floor. And then… pure, unrestrained bliss. The feel of your skin against his, the soft sighs and whispered names, the way your bodies moved together like they were meant to fit. It was a night he would never forget, and one he knew he could never have again.

He swallowed hard as reality settled in. It was bittersweet, finally knowing what it was like to have you this close, only to face the cruel truth that he would have to let it all go soon. His gaze fell on the mark on your soft skin, the one that started it all, and he sighed deeply.

It was the right thing to do.

He repeated the mantra in his head, clinging to it like a lifeline. You deserved more—someone who could give you the kind of life you were meant to have, one without fear, without shadows. Someone who wasn't him.

But for now, just for this fleeting moment, he allowed himself to be selfish. He tightened his hold on you, his arm curling around your waist as if he could stop time by keeping you close. He etched every detail into his mind: the way your warmth seeped into him, the way your presence calmed his restless heart, the way this morning felt like a fragile dream he never wanted to wake from.

Because soon, it would all be over.

And he would have nothing left but these memories.

His temporary haven shattered with a jarring intrusion. The door to his bedroom flew open, and Jongho rushed in, his expression a mix of concern and urgency. "Hyung, she's not in her room—"

The Anchor's voice faltered mid-sentence as his eyes landed on you, curled up in his leader's embrace. The man sat up quickly, pulling the blanket to cover you to your neck, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. Jongho froze like a deer caught in headlights, his usual composure obliterated by the scene before him.

You stirred at the commotion, blinking yourself awake. It didn't take long to realise what had happened. Your cheeks flushed a deep red as you scrambled to free yourself from the blanket and darted off to the attached bathroom. "Excuse me," you mumbled hastily, your voice barely above a whisper, before closing the door behind you.

Jongho stood awkwardly, visibly cringing under Hongjoong's icy glare. "I didn't mean to—"

"Out," the Captain growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The youngest didn't need to be told twice. With a quick bow, he fled the room, muttering apologies under his breath.

Hongjoong exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as the weight of the morning settled on his shoulders. Deciding to give you the privacy you needed, he rose from the bed, grabbed his robe, and slipped it on before leaving the room.

As he stepped into the hall, he was greeted by none other than the Firestarter, leaning casually against the wall with a smirk plastered across his face.

"Had fun, Cap?" Mingi drawled, his voice laced with mockery. "Hope that pussy was worth everything."

Hongjoong's expression darkened instantly, his eyes narrowing into a glare that could rival a storm. "Speak for yourself, Song," he shot back, his voice steady but laced with venom. "Come mock me when you don't need an exiled noblewoman to save your ass time and time again."

Mingi's smirk faltered as Hongjoong took a step closer, his words cutting like daggers. "Don't think I haven't heard about your multiple near-failures. At least I haven't fucked up anything critical. Also," he added, his tone dropping into something bitter and final, "she's leaving today. I hope you're happy."

The weight of Hongjoong's words left Mingi speechless, his cool façade crumbling. His jaw tightened as he struggled to muster a response, but nothing coherent came to mind.

Clearing his throat, he straightened and forced a shrug, attempting to reclaim his composure. "About damn time. Good riddance," he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual edge. Without another word, he turned and stalked off, leaving the gang leader standing there, his chest tight and his mind racing.

As much as he loathed the confrontation, he couldn't help but feel a bitter sense of satisfaction. At least now, Mingi might think twice before throwing careless words around. But the victory was hollow, his thoughts quickly returning to you.

With a deep sigh, he leaned against the wall, his fingers tracing the edge of his robe. The hours ahead loomed like a storm on the horizon, and he knew they would be some of the hardest he'd ever faced.

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The air was thick with the weight of unspoken emotions as the black car idled behind you, its engine a soft hum against the gloomy backdrop. The overcast sky seemed to mirror the heaviness in both your hearts, the grey clouds threatening rain at any moment. You stood before Hongjoong, your trusty tote bag slung over your shoulder, dressed simply but beautifully, your hair pulled into a messy yet endearing style. You tried to smile, but it trembled at the edges, betraying the storm within.

Neither of you spoke right away, the silence filled with everything you wanted to say but couldn't. Instead, you reached into your bag, pulling out the glass flower charm—the delicate token you had cherished for so long.

"Give me your hand," you murmured softly.

He stepped closer without hesitation, his hand extended between you. The roughness of his palm contrasted sharply with the fragility of the charm as you placed it gently into his hand. His fingers curled around it instinctively, the same hand that once had only known destruction now cradling something so delicate with utmost care.

"For you," you said, your voice steady but laden with emotion. "It's no marigold, but—"

He cut you off with a bittersweet smile, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. "I'll cherish it," he promised, his voice quiet but resolute, as though the words themselves were a vow.

He didn't let go of your hand, his grip warm and steady. You nodded, returning his smile. "Good. Treat it with care," you said, stepping closer, your proximity making his breath hitch.

The scent of his familiar cologne wrapped around you as you leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. Your lips brushed against his skin as you whispered, "You did it, Joong. You made it all right."

His eyes fluttered closed, savouring the moment, the warmth of your presence etching itself into his memory. But then, as much as he wanted to keep you there, you pulled away gently, slipping out of his grasp.

Your backward steps toward the waiting car felt like a slow unravelling, each step tugging at the threads of his heart. He fought every instinct to run to you, to pull you back into his arms and beg you to stay, but he knew he couldn't.

As you slid into the car and shut the door, he stood rooted to the spot, his chest tight, his fists clenched at his sides. He watched helplessly as the car began to roll forward, taking you further and further from him until you were nothing but a distant blur.

"It's for the best," he whispered to himself, though the words felt hollow. "You did the right thing."

The sound of approaching footsteps broke through his haze of sorrow. Turning, he found one of his men standing hesitantly nearby. "Boss," the man said carefully, "we received an update from Seonghwa. His visit to the Red Room is going to be extended due to... undisclosed circumstances."

And just like that, Hongjoong was thrust back into the chaos of his world. He nodded, his voice cold and detached. "Got it. I'll speak with the others."

He turned and strode back toward the mansion, his steps purposeful despite the turmoil inside him. His men watched him carefully, unsure if the heartbreak would erupt into anger, but he remained composed, his demeanour unreadable.

Once inside, he glanced down at the delicate charm still resting in his palm. It caught the dim light of the hall, glinting faintly like the remnants of a dream. His grip tightened around it, not enough to damage it, but enough to ground himself.

It hurt—god, it hurt—but he found solace in the fact that he had been able to love again, even if only briefly. He didn't know how long it would take for the ache to fade, perhaps it never would, but one thing was certain: he would never forget you.

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The dim light of the room cast long shadows across the walls, the flickering of a single desk lamp providing the only illumination. The figure leaned back in his chair, his gloved fingers tapping rhythmically against the polished wood of the table. Before him lay a folder, its contents an intricate web of intel painstakingly gathered. At the very top, clipped securely, was a photograph of the Black Pirates.

The leader's face was circled in white ink—a mark of vulnerability disguised as power.

"Seems we've secured the Captain's weakness right from the start," the figure murmured, a sinister grin spreading across his face. His tone carried a disturbing mixture of amusement and certainty as he flipped the folder shut, the sound of paper against paper breaking the tense silence.

A subordinate stood nearby, his posture stiff, his eyes darting to the file with barely concealed curiosity. "Should we proceed then, sir?" he asked, his voice low but eager.

The figure chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth, and shook his head. "There's no hurry," he replied, his gloved hand resting atop the closed file like a predator savouring its next move. "Time is what we've got. Let them believe they've found their footing. Let them think they're safe."

He pushed the file to the side, leaning forward, his grin widening as his eyes gleamed with cruel intent. "We'll gather them all, one by one. No need to rush—it's always better when the prey doesn't see the trap until it's too late."

The subordinate nodded, though a hint of unease flickered across his features. "Understood, sir."

The figure reached for a glass of whiskey sitting untouched on the desk, swirling the amber liquid as if it contained the answers to every question. "Patience," he said, almost to himself, his voice low and reverent. "Patience wins wars. Let's see how far the mighty gang can go when their carefully constructed world begins to crumble."

He raised the glass in a mock toast, the light catching the golden liquid. "To the Black Pirates. And to the beginning of their end."

The room fell silent again, the only sound the faint creak of the leather chair as the figure leaned back, eyes fixed on the file. Somewhere, far from the machinations of this dark plot, Hongjoong might have felt a shiver down his spine. But for now, he was blissfully unaware, the weight of his loss still fresh, the memory of your departure his only torment.

And so, the game began.

Would you believe it? About 90% of this was drafted in a sleep-deprived state HAHA the first thing I do as soon as I get home from work is write this, so I genuinely hope this met expectations!

Are you or are you not surprised by the lack of a happy ending? If you know me well (especially readers who have been here since TWTHH), you probably saw this coming🤠

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar

@bunny4yungi @zl-world @quailbagutte @astudyoftimeywimeystuff

By Order of the Black Pirates Tag list:

@bethelighthalazia @tsunchani @starboyyoongi @soulphoenix1618 @dimeb29

@naps-over-degree @uniq-tastic @baeksofty @hanoishere @star-my

@skteezcursed @soocore @mountiiny @londonbridges01 @lemon-sage17

@ffenjoyerdazme @frequentlykit @callmeagardengnome @side-angel @byeolttongbye0l

@cotton-candycloudz @foxinnie8 @atinyreads @iwishiwasrichasfuck @sansaurora9904

#edenesth #by order of the black pirates #the captain #ice on my teeth #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #gang au #kim hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #ateez fic

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 months ago

Text

Five Fics Friday: January 31/25

Happy Friday everyone! I hope your January was alright, and that you're going into the weekend ready to check out some awesome fics! Enjoy!

JOHNLOCK FIC CLUB SELECTION (Feb 2)

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWo rds (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Family Dynamics, Established Relationship, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

RECENT MFLs

Sherlock in Oz by ChrisCalledMeSweetie (T, 7,207 w., 8 Ch. || Mystrade and Johnlock, Post-S1, Illustrated, Friends to Lovers, Tornado, Humour, Lucid Dreaming, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers) –When Sherlock and John travel to Kansas to help Mrs. Hudson’s niece, the motel has only one room left — with a double bed. So far, everything is predictable. But not for long… Part 1 of No Place Like Home

Your Visible Ghost by anactoria (M, 22,142 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock/OMC & Johnlock || Rape/Non-Con, Rape Recovery, Gang Rape, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Awkward Conversations) – During an investigation, Sherlock runs off alone without telling anybody where he’s going. Nothing unusual there, and nobody bats an eyelid. But then John receives a video message that tells him things have gone very wrong indeed.

Unbreakable by Nymeria578 (E, 111,687 w., 18 Ch. || Omegaverse AU || Post-HLV, Omega Sherlock, Alpha John, Gender Issues, Bonding, Knotting, Mildly Dubious Consent, Slow Burn, Crime Scenes, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Prejudices, Romance, References to Murder-Suicide) – Sherlock lives in a changed world where Omegas has been declared extinct. Twenty years ago a deadly virus ravaged the globe, but only the rare gender was affected and, over the course of years, the world lost its most precious treasures. Only a few survived, living hidden and keeping the governments in the dark about their existence. Too many died in the hands of scientists in search of a cure, and their faith has been shattered. Sherlock is one of them, always looking out to not reveal his true gender when suddenly ghosts of his past catch up with him.

MYSTRADE FIC REC

Soul Mate by Mottlemoth (T, 4,068 w., 1 Ch. || Mystrade Soulmate AU || Fluff, Romance, True Love, Virgin Mycroft, First Meeting, First Kiss, Vulnerable Mycroft, Happy Ending) – The words appeared on Mycroft's arm aged fourteen, foretelling the first thing his soul mate would ever say to him—and horrifying his respectable parents. He's now lived with the unfortunate words all his life, not certain that he even wishes to meet his soul mate if that's how the man talks. But when Sherlock befriends a Scotland Yard inspector named Lestrade, Mycroft might just change his mind.

#johnlock fic recs #five fics friday #mystrade fic recs #my fic recs

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alittlebitofloveliness · 1 year ago

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Well since you said it…

Ponyboy Curtis head canons and, if possible, cherry head canons 😁

I'll do Cherry later this weekend, but for now here's some Ponyboy headcanons!

-Has tried to quit smoking multiple times, usually because Darry wants him to, and never succeeded. The second he gets even the tiniest bit stressed he’s got a cigarette lit and back in his mouth. At this point he's pretty much accepted he's locked in for life

-Had to get glasses and HATES them so Darry pulled some overtime and got him contacts

-Worries a lot about Darry, not just because he tries to carry too much roofing at once and regularly hurts his back, but also because he’s terrified of what could happen if Darry was to somehow slip off a roof

-His middle class school friends think he’s REALLY cool (like Pony, they’re all a bunch of nerds) and Pony loves it because the entire gang very much does not

-His school friends are also TERRIFIED of the gang, like they see Two-bit or Steve coming to talk to him and hightail it out of there. They’re even scared of Johnny which Ponyboy thinks is hilarious (he doesn’t realize that Johnny’s dark gaze and bruises are terrifying to someone who doesn’t know how he got them)

-Thinks Curly Shepard is the funniest person alive and is determined that Curly never find that out

-Cannot for the life of him figure out why Johnny and Curly don’t get along

-Tutored Two-bit in English so he could finally graduate

-The gang is split between those who are determined to be a good influence on Pony and those who aren’t. Dally and Two-bit are the bad influences, Johnny tries to be a good influence, and Steve claims to not give a fuck but is the best influence of all in that he’s never let/asked/encouraged Pony to take part in illegal activities

-Pony thinks Curly Shepard is good looking in a dangerous way. Real good looking in fact.

-Is NOT afraid of girls no matter what that Johnny Cade says (I mean it man I ain’t SCARED of them, they just don think like us, and quit you’re laughing, it ain’t like you have any luck with girls either-)

-Is TERRIFIED of Tim Shepard

-Is also terrified of Angela Shepard because even though she has the same eyes as Curly, her's are like a snakes, all cold, emotionless and deadly, whereas Curly’s are always twinkling with ether mischief or anger

-He’s actually really good at stealing things (Two-bit taught him well), he just doesn’t do it often because he feels bad about it. But if a shop employee is rude to him he’s no holds barred and could leave with like half the store under his coat

-Can get away with literally ANYTHING in his English class after he gave Mr. Simes his theme, and uses that fact to his advantage

-Regularly falls asleep in his math class but manages to talk his teacher out of calling Darry every time

-He and Darry have the same taste in literature and regularly share/discuss books. It bores Soda to the point where he jokingly tells them to go back to arguing all the time because it was at least more entertaining to listen to

-Steps on peoples heels when he walks behind them

-HATES country music so fucking much and if Johnny plays that goddamn country record ONE more time-

-Is determined to make sure neither of his older brothers find our just how much time he spends with Curly Shepard

-Cut the blond out of his hair as soon as he possibly could, even though it made his hair shorter than he liked because he hated the light colour more than he hated the short length

-Has the worst poker face known to man but is actually decent at poker (because he cheats, but unlike Sodapop he’s good at cheating so he rarely gets caught)

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #curly shepard #angela shepard #tim shepard #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #johnny cade #dallas winston #headcanon #two bit mathews #steve randle #the outsiders headcanons

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tbhimnoteasyonmyself · 1 year ago

Text

WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH PHEE?

(and other equally puzzling things)

An EXTREMELY EXTENSIVE Post-Episode 10 Analysis/Theory

So, okay. Episode 10 was A LOT. Like... A LOT, A LOT. And a lot of this lot seems... Weird as fuck. So many odd choices were made in the narrative.

Top's drugged manipulation; White pulling info about shrooms out of his ass; Fluke becoming a victim of involuntary drug abuse ghosts of his past and begging for mercy after "all he did to Non"... But nothing beats Phee's OOC moments in ep.10 while he's alone with Jin.

Which is what compels me to make this post. Because this series has been nothing but the richness of detail and now suddenly... It's all over the place? Call it wishful thinking (or Last Twilight trauma) but I don't think so. And it mostly comes down to: Phee. And whatever his "agenda" is.

PS: All screenshots of the show I use (and I will use a lot) will have been brightened because this show is FUCKING DARK, BOYYYYYY and I don't think y'all deserve to force your sight at 3AM to enjoy my posts.

WHAT HAPPENS AND WHY IT'S SUSPICIOUS

So? What does Phee say and do when he's alone with Jin in ep.10 and why am I suspicious of it?

It's hard to say for sure. But we can base ourselves off of 3 things: what we hear him say, what Jin replies to him and the flashbacks (no, they're not just there to fill in time for this very short episode, they serve a narrative purpose).

So let's do this analysis following the order in which things are shown to us, shall we?

First of all, we get a short flashback. The events are as follows:

Phee and New go to see the gang's film

New approaches Phee and they talk

New and Phee decide to try and figure out what happened to Non by infiltrating the group

New and Phee join the gang's school and start asking questions

Jin decides to leave Thailand

New suggests going to Por's mansion for the goodbye party

Phee questions New in the lab about his decisions

New suggests using their homemade drug on the group as a truth serum

Phee asks if the drug is deadly and New denies it

Although we don't hear Phee tell this to Jin, Jin does reply very angrily something along the lines of "and you just let him carry on with it? why didn't you stop him? what the fuck is wrong with y'all???", so we can assume we've been shown what Phee told him.

So far, it's very unsuspicious. We've been shown these events before in the actual flashbacks so we can be fairly sure all of that is true.

It starts to get suspicious, however, when Phee replies to him: "There's so much more that you don't understand. About Non, and Tan".

And I think Jin feels the vibe too because, the man standing on his tall pillar of morality and righteousness /s, says he'll give Phee another chance to cut the bullshit and tell him everything. And so Phee sighs and the dreaded narration of ✨New's Murderous Adventures✨ starts.

So Phee tells Jin (and consequently us) that:

Phee and New set up a bunch of cameras to spy on the gang

New drugged the drinks

It was supposed to end when everyone was high at the party but New didn't follow the plan

New deleted the camera files

Phee kept drugging the group

Por's injury wasn't an accident but a trap that he thinks New set

New's drug enhances people's inner fears

Phee "never thought New would be so cruel with Uncle Dang"

New drugged Top at the temple

New must've left the hard disk for White to find

By the time he figured New's plan, there was nothing he could do about it (and we see him looking distressed at New's arrival at the house)

Now, here we have some interesting things. Let me list them for you.

Why would Phee keep drugging the group after Por got hurt?? If, as he claims, he didn't mean for people to get hurt, why would he keep people on drugs while a man is dying on the couch? Especially when the guy you're on a revenge mission with is ELIMINATING THE CONTENT OF THE CAMERA RECORDINGS!! That sure isn't gonna help anyone survive!

How does Phee know about Top??? He and Jin never saw Top arrive at the house. For all they know, that bro is lost in the woods. Right??

HOW THE FUCK DOES HE KNOW WHITE GOT THE HARD DRIVE??? There's no signal in the woods. We've established that. When White tells Tee and New about his actions they're ALONE. The only other person there is LITERALLY THE MASKY (I'm calling the masked person that for convenience, it's shorter. besides, it seems the fandom has been calling them that anyways, so... yeah). So how does he know? How does he know???

And in that same fucking sequence: THE MASKY TRIES TO HURT NEW!!! But if New told Top to hurt everyone who hurt Non, why would he hurt him??? And why, my friends, WHY would he SAVE TEE, when he's the only witness of those events??? It would be so easy to just say the masky killed Tee and he couldn't save him... Is it 4D chess??? Is it a different masky??? Or, is it simply not true that New did that?

It's very confusing, weird and suspicious. But let's wait it out, guys, because there's more to PheeJin in the temple.

After this odd-ass narration, they're back to having a convo. Which goes as follows:

Jin (very validly) asks Phee what the fuck is wrong with him and New

Phee says he'd never allow them to go if he knew New was going for murder instead of just confessions ("you can hate me if you want but I never wanted anyone to get hurt, I swear" or whatever he said)

Jin asks if Tan is New and Phee is Non's boyfriend

Phee confirms Jin's suspicions and even adds that "p'New came back from England"

Jin asks if they ever saw the group as their friends

Phee says they wanted to infiltrate the group to find the truth because they didn't know shit about what happened to Non and it's haunting them (good choice of words there, very subtle /s)

Phee explains his motivation, stating he told Non to "get lost and die"

Jin confesses to recording the child grooming revenge porn tape and posting it on Twitter (-_-)

Jin explains his motivation, saying he respected Non's relationship (by constantly making moves on him?) but couldn't stand him cheating on Phee (so he one-upped him by committing not one but two actual severe crimes?)

Phee appears to be mad and disgusted so he says "Fuck. So we both were the ones who hurt Non?", gets up and starts pacing (oh no! the big boy is angy~~~ /s)

Jin gets up like a sad wet cat

Phee randomly finds an axe and takes some exposition out of his ass by stating "this must be Tan's axe that he keeps as a spare. But it's good"

Phee breaks the gate

So by this point Phee's whole speech sounds a bit insane, considering the type of person we've seen he is. Not to mention he just INSTANTLY calms down upon finding an axe and just decides to move on. Like ??? Excuse me??? If that ain't weird then idk what is. Like, sure, Phee is a very confusing and confused character (as better explored by @crysta1ized in this post). He seems to have his heart divided between many things and they could all be pulling at his strings there. HOWEVER, we have to remember Phee's also THIS guy:

Does this look like the kind of person who would just move on after a (perceived) treason? Does he??

And, the thing about this is that it gets worse.

After the scene cuts back from the house, Pheejin are lost in the damn woods (parallels to New and Tee? mayhaps, man, mayhaps...) These are the events there:

Phee is back to supporting Jin's weight with his body while they walk (which makes no fucking sense bc Jin hurt his SHOULDER which is a part of his UPPER BODY so there's no reason why he couldn't walk on his own but okay, sure)

They make no progress walking for a while, even despite trying to mark the places they've already been at

Jin is very upset that Phee's not very good at navigating through unknown forests at night

Phee, however, is very understanding and says: "Jin. I told you that I would be the one who would protect you. So I'll get you out of here" then PROCEEDS TO HOLD HANDS with him and continues with: "Right now, our friends are waiting for us to help them. So, you must stay strong. Believe in me"

Jin nods (because, despite trying to play the apathetic bitch, he's a softie and very much has feelings™)

PheeJin finally find the exit of the fucking forest

DO Y'ALL SEE HOW SOMETHING'S VERY WRONG WITH PHEE HERE??? Bro's not just acting weird (that would be fine, we love weirdos. *looks at New and winks* <3), he's abnormal. He's not acting like himself.

So, before I jump into trying to make some sense out of all of this, I'll just add the last scene of PheeJin alone in ep.10, last anyone come tell me I missed it:

They're arriving at the mansion

Jin falls down

Phee abandons the axe to help him

I don't think this one is particularly relevant to analyse Phee's character in this episode (although the axe is certainly relevant for other plots and our dear 9th person) but it's there. After this, they're back in the house with everyone and Por's rotting corpse.

PHEE IS HIDING THINGS

So what the fuck happened, really? Well, a lot. Some are easier, I think, to interpret, some aren't but regardless, there was a lot going on with Phee. To make this very complex thing a bit easier to understand, I'll start from the things I think are a bit easier to explain and/or are more solid and then I'll move from there towards the rest of this mess. Okay? Ok- (gets shot bc I hate John Green).

One thing for me that's nearly set in stone is that Phee, at the very least, isn't telling Jin everything. If he was, then the flashbacks would've started with PheeNon's falling love montage but they don't. They start at the cinema. Plus, Jin has to ask if Phee is Non's boyfriend and Tan is New, like he's piecing things by himself. If Phee had told him that, he wouldn't need to ask. AND Phee would've have referred to New as New during his whole monologue but he did not. He kept saying "Tan". He only started doing so after Jin asked the question and he confirmed Tan was New.

Curiously enough, he also never mentions the antidote he knows exists and KNOWS New brought along. And that neither of them ever used on the others.

The million-dollar question here is then, naturally: why? Various reasons, I believe.

1st of all I think we have to account for the feels. Phee is definitely in a weird ass zone with Jin but it's something. And he feels that something (whatever it is. believe me I could make an entire post about that shit, it's so fucking complex, man, and it only gets worse this episode). He likes Jin, even if he tries not to or if he dislikes that he likes him. It's undeniable. So yes, of course, he doesn't want Jin to hate his guts more than necessary.

But also... We cannot forget why Phee himself is there: to find out what happened to Non. And what does he get out of the conversation he has with Jin? That's right. A confession.

Now, I don't think it's the confession he expected if his reactions are anything to go by:

I mean... If this is not the face of a man thinking "well, shit", then idk what it is. And also because, idk if it's a subtitle error or not, but he seems to ask "what did you three do?" when he's inquiring about the events of the past, so...

Someone is being excluded.

Still, I think it's super possible he was hoping to get something out of it. After all, even if he assumes Jin is innocent in his actions, I don't think he's excluding him from having knowledge of what went down. That would make his positive bias even sillier.

So yeah, sure, I bet Phee feels genuinely guilty and it hurts him to be in the situation he's in and he definitely wants to be in a good place in terms of his relationship with Jin, especially because, as he said, he doesn't know if they can get out of the temple. But also... As Ta (Phee's actor) himself said in an interview: Phee can be really manipulative (I can't find the damn interview rn but, during my search, I found @raelle-writing had also mentioned it in this post, so I think it's enough to say I didn't dream that shit). You know... 2 things can be true at once.

Which brings me to the next part:

PHEE IS LYING

That whole talk of "I never thought he would hurt you", "if I had known I wouldn't have let you come", blah, blah, blah. That's some major BULLSHIT.

Phee knew exactly what New was capable of. At least, on a subconscious level. After all, if my friends started being murdered, my 1st assumption would not be that my best friend did it. Unless, of course, my best friend was spiralling down to madness, constantly using drugs to see his dead brother and answering shit like this:

With a smirk on, when I ask him if the absynthe is gonna kill our friends. Because yeah, sure, I guess the green won't kill them. But you can't tell me this motherfucker wouldn't. He definitely would. And if we can infer that, so does Phee, who has been living with him as his close friend for the last 3 years.

In fact, the very fact that he feels the need to ask whether or not the drugs will kill the gang is proof enough that he, to some extent and, whether or not he's aware of it, KNOWS that's, at least, a possibility. Knows that's something New would do.

So yeah, he's perhaps not just lying to Jin (but also to himself) or not intentionally lying, but he's lying nevertheless. Phee knew this was a possibility. He knew New was capable of stuff like that. And when he pieces the story together, that's him admitting, even if no one realizes, that he knew it. And that he let it happen, in fact, because he never tried to stop the drugging. Or talked to New about what was going on (you'd think if he had that he would've told Jin in that situation). His biggest weapon is his knowledge and he chose not to swing the sword sooner. How very Fluke of him, isn't it? Especially because now 2 people are dead and that's on New, right? Right???

Not necessarily.

NEW IS NOT A MURDERER (initially)

You see, for all we see New is fine with death and murder in episodes 9 and 10, he makes it clear his nº1 goal is to figure out what happened to Non when he gets in front of a fucking firearm to harass Tee into talking.

So why would he talk Top into murder? Why would Top attack him?? Why would he kill Uncle Dang?? And why, on the goddamn Earth, would he eliminate the recordings in the house when his whole motivation is

(Thank you, hallucination Non <3) to expose them??? Especially when the only other person who knew about the hidden cameras was Phee. It makes no sense! Sure, he might've contemplated the murder, but on a later phase of the plan, I think. The priority was, always, to get them to confess on camera so he could later use the recordings to expose them to the country and clear Non's image. 'Cause we cannot forget, while the people close to Non don't buy the bullshit TV news sensationalist story (and, therefore, are searching for the truth), the rest of the country thinks Non is a slut who ran away with mafia money and his teacher (because, like @delululover explains in this post: Asian culture tends to normalize grooming of older teens and even blame them for the situation).

So what are we seeing when Phee narrates the events? Well, probably just Phee's guesses.

He thinks New is deranged and has drugs and that Top is missing and now they're being attacked by this person, who is conveniently wearing a mask. So he guesses that's Top. Plus, he doesn't know New was attacked by Masky in the middle of the forest.

He knows, like everyone else, that New had the hard drive. And, when Top and New go out in the woods with the bike he remains in the house. So, it's possible he saw the hard drive there where New left it before he went out.

And, because the only 2 people remaining in the house, as far as Phee knows, are Fluke and White, and New DEFINITELY wouldn't want the drive to get into Fluke's hands, he must've assumed New wanted White to find it (which may or may not be true but it's irrelevant, I think).

And, yes, calm down, I can hear you scream: "But how did he know White watched the video???" And the answer I bring you is very simple: he didn't. He has no idea. And the best part is: you only think he knows because you know. But Phee never says that. He says New left the hard drive there for White to find. And that's it. He never mentions a video whatsoever.

Now, is it convoluted? Yes. Absolutely. But we have to think this is Phee we're talking about. He's the guy who always thinks he has the upper hand (a.k.a thinking he can save Non or that he's not falling in Love with Jin). It's almost impossible for him to think he's in the dark as to what is happening to them. After all, in his narrative of his life, he is the hero. And, I know, lots of people in the fandom see it that way as well, so... It's not impossible to imagine that's what the story is trying to sell us. It's trying to make us believe Phee knows. When in reality, I think, it's more likely that Phee's the embodiment of this meme:

Okay. But then if New didn't do it, then who did? Because something is obviously going on with Top, right? And Uncle Dang IS very much dead. So what the fuck is that all about?

THE SECRET 9TH PERSON? ENTITY? THING?

As discussed several times by several people in this fandom, there's a very high possibility that there's someone else with them in the woods.

@blmpff points out the existence of various versions of the mask here. @subtextsays points out the crutches in the bathroom scene with Top here. There's this shit:

Whatever it fucking means (besides the fact that it gives me the hibbie jibbies). Someone is also obviously taking care of the Janta cult because there's fresh food in the offerings.

@raelle-writing also points out here that New is also seeing stuff even though our favourite insane motherfucker has got (and has been using!) the antidote.

And, as of episode 10, as @babyangelsky pointed out in this post, when PheeJin are lost in the damn woods, the cuts on the wood Phee supposedly make keep changing.

Which makes both of us question if they're all the same cut or even all done by Phee.

So, I think this is enough to speculate Phee could very much just be misinterpreting the whole thing and attributing guilt to New when, in fact, someone else has been causing the deaths.

Now you may question who and that's all very fair. You should even. But that is not what this post is about and, frankly, thank god, because this is already a monstrous creation.

So let's pick these cuts in the wood and use it as a segway to the last part of this, shall we?

PHEE IS AS BENEVOLENT AS A GREEK GOD

So Phee's mad. Super mad. He's passing around and cursing.

Jin, the only person he probably genuinely thought didn't do anything, is the one who recorded and posted the video.

And then Phee finds an axe. And, suddenly, Phee changes. Why?

Well, we have to look at it with what urges Phee to talk in the first place (besides his feelings and his wants): Phee is losing hope. He states it himself that he doesn't think they're going to be able to get out of the temple. So, he talks. Sure, he doesn't say everything but it's the closest to being honest with Jin we've ever seen him be.

And then their whole reality changes. Because Phee found an axe. And it all comes down on him: they are going to get out of there. And what now?

As @yellingaboutkp states in this post Phee is not only hard to read for us or confusing to the other characters (Jin mainly). He's also hard to read and confusing to himself: "...is Phee still playing Jin? It seems like he's trying to, but the more time he spends with Jin, the harder it's getting to stick to the plan."

Thus, what we see at the end of their time in the temple and alone in the woods is a mix of things, I believe.

Phee needs to feel like he's in control again. And with the original plan being ruined and Jin knowing too much (and there's no way he's not gonna speak, in fact, it's the very first thing he does when they arrive at he house) he's simply not. So when he tells Jin everything is gonna be alright, he's also trying to tell that to himself. He's trying to reassure himself that they're gonna get out of that huge mess. And, perhaps, in saving Jin also finding some redemption because, according to his own narration of the events, he let New go too far (as Jin points out).

Phee also knows more now. And maybe, if he was able to get Jin to speak once, without even having to force anything out of him. who knows if he cannot do it a second time in front of the cameras they've set inside the house? So he's trying to follow the script and manipulate him into trusting him, like he always has been trying to do. Except this time he's more bitter about it. And this, alongside with reason 1, is why these two scenes feel so different:

And lastly: Phee knows the catastrophic effects his words and actions had on Non when they broke up. He knows the consequences of his rage. It's the entire reason why he's there. Because he failed at being a good boyfriend the 1st time. Does he really want that to happen again? Does he want to fail Jin too? There's a reason (besides the story itself and his need to justify himself to Jin) why we see that flashback of his break-up with Non in this episode. And I believe this is it. (so yeah, I understand it might be frustrating to see Phee be more benevolent to Jin who fucked up big time than Non who didn't do anything, it is EXACTLY because he wasn't benevolent to Non that Jin is getting princess treatment)

So, in conclusion: Phee is fucking confused. And it carries on being that way for the rest of the episode. Phee calls New out but he doesn't seem to care too much about Por being dead on the couch. He helps Jin on the ground, but he doesn't say a thing about Fluke pointing a gun at Tee. Sure, he does ask for the gun at a certain point but isn't that just more of Phee's desperate need to get control back?

And we see this all come down to the preview of the next episode and what it's probably going to mean:

Phee finally has got things under his control again. But this means, surprise, surprise, that Phee's gotta make a choice: to shoot (and stand on New's side) or not to shoot (and stand on the gang's side). Which, of course, metaphorically is a choice, in good romance and BL fashion, between 2 lovers: Non and Jin. But also, in good storytelling, as, once again, @raelle-writing (can't help myself, Rae's posts are FIRE 🔥🔥 sksksksksks) explores better in this post: a choice between the past and the present; continuing to drown in grief and a wish for revenge or choosing to move on and heal.

And, as I (YES, if I'm gonna tag a bunch of people and their works, YOU BET, I'm gonna link my own stuff) explore in this post about White's identity and role in the story (and other people in the fandom have commented as well), I'm inclined to believe he's gonna pick the gang, Jin, the present, healing. Because this is a story about the damage caused by cycles of violence and grief. And a story about how, the only way to stop them, is to choose not to participate in them by letting go.

(and also because we already have characters who represent different choices like Non, who was always stuck in the future because he kept getting deeper and deeper into shit, thinking tomorrow would be better; or New, who is very obviously stuck in the past, unable to let go of the things he didn't do, the things he didn't prevent and only ends up losing more and more as a consequence)

CONCLUSION

Thank you for your time and attention. Feel free to comment and discuss this with me. And I'll see you either on my next long-ass monologue or next Saturday as we watch episode 11!

All the love 💜💜💜

PS: Shout-out to the group chat, including, but not limited to: @ayansbff, @cyberstalking and @squishysquadstuff who have listened to me ranting about this post since Saturday and told me to eat when I was too focused on writing it. Your patience was fundamental in carrying me through this monstrous project (it took me 10 hours to write all this) 💜💜💜.

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