#I WOULDVE MADE IT MORE DESCRIPTIVE IF IT WASNT

[alohaasaloevera]

KL post-canon sorta fwb/situationship AU where they rile each other up!!!!!!1!1!!1!

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Lance is so fucking annoying. Keith has decided that his mindset from when he was 18 (and sexually confused—actually, maybe just repressed?) is now superior.

Keith hates how Lance flirts with anything that even remotely looks like a woman. He hates how he jokes around too much. He hates how extensive his skin routine is. He hates how he can’t decide whether he wants to punch Lance or kiss him senseless every single time he wiggles his eyebrows as an attempt to flirt or recites a crappy one-liner at him.

His Things I Hate About Lance list is about to be updated, because they’re at yet another diplomatic party on earth (which is actually more of a “celebrating the fact that the universe didn’t get destroyed” party) and Lance is wearing a navy blue button-down shirt which is very much accentuating his muscles, and it’s causing his brain to malfunction. I guess the constant labor at the farm paid off, Keith thinks.

He’s also flirting with a lady who also seems to be extremely appreciative of Lance’s outfit choice. They look like they’re about to decimate each other in the middle of the room with how their eyes are focused solely on the other. Lance’s eyes flick over to him for a second before he just smirks at Keith—the smug fuck—then he focuses back on the girl in front of him before settling his hand on her hip and leaning closer, his voice a hushed whisper against the shell of her ear.

Keith just rolls his eyes. Not that he cares about who Lance sleeps with anyways.

“You’re drooling.” Shiro says, which earns him a moderately hard slap from Keith on his non-prosthetic arm. “You look mad, too.”

“Shut up.” Keith grumbles, because apparently his 14 year old self’s attitude is now the best way to go, “Go away.”

“Jeez, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“I said, shut it! Or else telling Adam you made out with Curtis.”

“Please, they’re probably making out with each other as of this moment.”

“Gross!”

“What are you, 12?”

Keith does not go ahead and answer that question, mostly because he doesn’t want to admit that he’s acting more and more immature as the seconds that he stares at Lance and the woman go by.

Shiro, who has been a spectator of Keith pining over the Red Paladin since the early days of Voltron, sighs, before ruffling Keith’s hair, “Please just try and talk out whatever this weird sexual tension between you and him is. For me, please? I’ve already constructed a customized shovel talk for him if you ever do get with him, and let’s just say updating it over the years—”

“Alright, alright! I’ll do it!”

“Thanks, child.”

“Child? Is that what we’re doing now?”

“Just go!”

—

Keith, both fortunately and unfortunately, does not get to talk to Lance until after the party. He walks around the ballroom, and multiple people tell him Lance was last seen walking out eagerly with a girl, so he waits until the next day to talk to him.

What feels unsettling is that how most of the people who let him know about where Lance has gone were talking in an almost…disappointed manner; like they had expected better from him. Which is ridiculous, because for starters, Lance doesn’t need to be all serious and on guard all of the time, especially since they’re celebrating the fact that they had won the war—in fact, it would be out of character for Loverboy Lance to not flirt with at least one person at a party. Secondly, Lance is basically still a kid. Sure, he’s been through some stuff, but he’s still 20 years old. He wouldn’t even have graduated college by now!

Keith gets that they are the Paladins of Voltron, and their duty is to protect the universe, but sometimes the expectations people have for them make them look like flawless, error-free machines who never make mistakes or miss a beat, when it’s far from that. They’re human too. They mess up plans like half the time (maybe not half, but you get the point)!

When he’s walking to Lance’s house—somewhere about a 5 minute walk away from the city and a 10 minute walk from his own house—he stops in his tracks.

What is he even going to say to him?

He can’t be flat-out, outright straightforward with Lance and say, “Oh, I’m kinda in love with you, and have been for the past 5 or so years, so could we stop this friends-with-benefits situationship we have going on and just cut to the real deal?”, but he also can’t be too vague with it.

Though, if there’s anything that Voltron has taught him, one of the things would be, without a doubt, is that you always have to be prepared to improvise.

He knocks on the cold wood, and just when Keith is about to reconsider even coming here, the door opens.

—

In the course of 5 seconds, Keith goes from knocking on a door to being slammed against that same door. Not that he’s going to complain.

“Sorry—” Lance manages in between kisses, “—about—” a kiss on his forehead, “—yesterday.” He kisses Keith gently on the lips, adding more pressure when the smaller’s arms come to wrap around his neck.

Just as Keith relaxes, he breaks the kiss, genuinely confused, “Wait, what?”

“It’s just that you seemed genuinely sad when I was flirting with her, and—” Lance attempts to explain, only for Keith to cut him off.

“Hey, don’t apologize to me for that.” Keith protests. “I was just jealous that you looked fucking amazing in that dress shirt and she was the one who got to have you. Besides, we aren’t exclusive.”

He expects Lance to loosen up—maybe brag about how he wooed Keith with his dazzling looks, but he sure as Zarkon and Honerva themselves does not expect him say this:

“But what if I want to be exclusive?”

Keith’s heart catches in his throat, eyes widening like saucers, “What?”

“I said,” Lance looks straight at Keith, his gaze piercing,

“What if I want to be exclusive?”

Oh, fuck.

[basofy]

uhmmm lisa

[rayroseu]

You know what's sick as hell about the design of the Briar Senates??? It's that their design mirrors the weapon of the Draconias ��✨

I know they're getting flak rn bcs they feel like "boomers who's against any progress because they value toxic tradition" but i don't really think they're like... entirely evil lol or the root of every bad thing that happened in Malleus'/Lilia's life (though im side eyeing them as one of the perpetrators still lol)

Tbh, removing them would also cause more harm (just some social issues inside the fae society tbh) than good imo, (I know many ppl say this bcs they think removing the Senates would make it possible for the peace between human and faes, but the thing is, the Senates aren't the only group that thinks this way, almost the entirety of Briar Valley does lol so forcibly removing them now would only come off as "Malleus forcing "human ideals" on the faes just because he has spent 4 years with the humans"(plus is the understanding between humans and faes truly achieved if you try to silence one group(even if that group is kinda disagreeable with anything human related lol), plus realistically the faes would trust their fellow faes first rather than some humans,

so for me, Briar Senates doesn't give off the vibe of toxic old people who drags others down in their toxic practices (while that can be an accurate description i feel like it generalizes too much about their behaviour), rather than that, Briar Senates feels more like thorns, like thorns that surrounds Briar Valley, they're not exactly harmful unless you go against them, but ultimately they're still protection for Briar Valley.

Which makes it fitting that their design has a similarity with the Draconia's weapon, they're the thorns that protects the Draconias, even if it means sheltering them.

And, tbh, if the Senates other job is to ensure Draconias lives, they're kinda doing a "decent job"??? If we can assume through Maleficia's (and Malleus' case), since we didnt hear about her leaving the Senate's side, she managed to survive for so long, unlike Meleanor😭 Also could explain why they're so enraged when Lilia arrived with the news that Meleanor died and why they hated the weak bcs what would weakness could protect JJDSJD Kinda wish their hatred against Lilia wasnt that he was a weak bat fae, but rather they doubled down on the fact he failed protecting Meleanor, imagine if Gen. Lilia wasnt as great in magic as the fae nobles were, yet he still managed to earn a position beside the Princess, all that hard work only to fail at the most crucial time, it wouldve make sense in the Senates' side to say, "Meleanor shouldnt have appointed him" (because "he's weak from the start")

oh additionally, this is just my assumption, bcs I felt like the way the Senates recoiled when Lilia hatched the egg was kinda... random?? so this is my made up reason lol Remember, the Senates were adamant that Maleficia should only be the one to hatch the egg because she's a Draconia, but Lilia did it and he's not a Draconia, What if because Lilia hatched the egg, it also affected the development of Malleus?? Like maybe for instance, it affected Malleus' lifespan, maybe he still lives more than one thousand years but he won't live for another thousand years like a pure Draconia because he's been hatched by Lilia as opposed to who they wanted it to be, which is Maleficia, OF COURSE Lilia hatching the egg is heaps better than Malleus dying before being born, but this is just my auto thoughts regarding the random hate reaction the Senates did when Lilia hatched Malleus lol

Interestingly, the placement of the stone of Draconia against the thorns (of the Senates) can also be hinted at their relationship with them??? In Meleanor's case, her stone is on top of the thorns, which may indicate that she's not under the Senate's commands or that its just telling she just lived distantly from the Senates, most importantly her stone is bigger than the thorns which may tell the fact that the Senates worships her because she's powerful and greater than them, and she's not someone who can be trapped/ordered around within the Senates. But, tragically, in Malleus' case, his stone is under the thorns, like its telling that he's under the Senates protection at all cost and his stone is little compared to Meleanor's because he's still young.

I also have a theory that the Senates are part of Briar Valley's land, like its been canonically said that they're the dead faes of Briarland, which makes think that their death is similar to the death of Conall from Maleficent 2, when Conall was buried, his body literally morphed to the land, which makes me think this is how the Senates used to be buried, when they die, they become one with the land, that's why you can't just remove them, when they are literally the Lands of Briar Valley,,,, get it lol

Though this is making me think that if this is the case then Maleficia's city,,, if the Senate's presence are the strongest there bcs that's where they're nearly buried, does that mean around Black Scale Castle is just lowkey a graveyard.... Is that why Halloween is special for Briar Valley bcs they have close ties/respect for the dead and Halloween is essentially about honoring the dead 😭✨

Off topic, but maybe the thorns part of the Draconia's staff may also tell about their age. Notice how Meleanor's staff has 3 twists which may tell that she's atleast 300~ years old, (if each twists signifies a century), while Malleus' staff only has one twist on its thorns which is accurate considering he's only 178 years old (one century).

If this is true, I'm kinda curious about Maleficia's staff... does that mean hers will be convered in thorns (she needs at least 7 twists (7 centuries~ and more) there on her staff 😭✨)

[aciddrattboyy]

monster mash

scare!actor bachira appeared in a vision and i had to let it be known or after being stood up on a date, one scare actor meguru spots you and decides to try to fill the spot

bachira x f!reader 🕸 fluff 🕸 wc: 1.7k cw: nothing i dont think, nothing is too descriptive i think i literally use the word gore once, nvm i lied one mention of blood (its fake) a/n: this is me lil story for the poll i made but it prob wont be my only halloween fic cuz i love halloween

🕸

the cold fall breeze did nothing to help your already trembling body. as soon as you stepped out of your house you regretted wearing the tight black dress your date picked out for you. and when you got a message from said date saying he wasnt going anymore when you were already half way to the festival, you regretted it even more. 

you thought about turning back, going home and calling your friends. maybe try to see if there were any parties you all could go to. you wouldve felt bad asking your friends to buy tickets last minute. but you spent a good amount on your ticket and you weren’t about to waste it. 

here you were now, standing in line for a haunted house all by your lonesome. were you a huge fan of haunted houses? no not exactly. but were you about to get every pennys worth of what you paid for? yes of course. you kind of felt stupid about it, feeling a bit stubborn doing this all out of spite. but you weren’t exactly made of money and you had been excited to come here. so you’d persevere. 

meguru strolled out of the ‘crew only’ door, hands in the pockets oh his sweatpants while goosebumps trailed up his arms up until well his t-shirt sleeves ended. observing the ridiculously long line, he silently prayed for his coworkers and hoped their night went… decent.

rummaging through his pockets, meguru grabbed for his earbuds. but he stopped in his tracks when he saw you. arms crossed tightly over your chest as you fidgeted with the hem of your short dress. a smile twitched on the corner of his mouth as he smoothly changed his course, abandoning his walk towards the employee parking lot and making a bee line towards you. he seamlessly slid under the velvet rope, grinning as he stood behind you. 

“what’s a pretty girl like you doing out here by yourself?” 

your eye twitched, twisting around and fully prepared to tell the creep off. but your words faltered when you actually saw megurus face. his smile didnt seem to match what sounded like cat calling. so you relaxed a bit, hoping that continuing this conversation wouldnt end badly.

“being stood up on a date,” you watched as his eyes widened, his smile faltering for just a moment. 

“no shit really?” he barked out a laugh out of surprised. his eyes scanned over you, watching in amusement as you bounced on the balls of your shoes. “damn that sucks.” you scoffed, nodding your head with a less than enthused smile. 

“thanks,” 

“but-” meguru said quickly, taking a step forward when he saw you begin to turn away. “uh if you want i can help you through it, i know the place well,” he said, gesturing to the haunted house youve been waiting to get into for what felt like eons. your eyebrow cocked as you faced him fully, being amused by his attempt to salvage the conversation. 

“are you some kind of adrenaline junkie?” you asked lightly, wondering just how many times he’d gone through it. little did you know it was more than you couldve ever guessed. 

“yes- but im one of the actors here so it would be pretty inconvenient if i didnt know my way around- whats your name? im meguru,” meguru didnt usually tell people about his job. not finding it important enough to talk about most times. was the job fun? most of the time. but it was just an exciting side gig while he made his way through college. but seeing the way your eyes lit up at his words, he felt good about it. 

“you dont look… scary,” you teased, studying megurus features as you moved up the line with him in tow. if you were given a line up of people to guess who were scare actors you probably would’ve picked him last upon first glance. “and its y/n” you added on with a bubbly grin. 

“well yeah i dont have an ax through my chest right now,” he shrugged his shoulders, eyes never leaving yours with a goofy smile on his face. you laughed, a sweet smile settling on your face. you felt like your night was starting to look up just a bit. “but nice to meet you y/n,”

the two of you talked a lot about nothing going through the line. it was surprisingly easy to just chat with him and you hadnt even noticed you were moving with the line until you were basically at the entrance. you looked at meguru with wide eyes when an ear piercing scream could be heard of from inside. 

“dont worry pretty girl i’ll protect you,” he said with a wink, mirroring the smile on your face. as you guys moved towards the entrance, your heart was too busy beating in your ears for you to notice or hear meguru talking to one of his coworkers that were monitoring the line. you were only brought back to reality when meguru linked his arm with yours, rolling his neck. 

meguru usually didnt actually walk through the haunted houses he worked at. the thought of seeing a coworker in the makeup he’s seen been put on them before would probably ruin the mood. but now that he had you, clingly to his side oh so adorably, he was starting to think maybe it would be fun. 

as soon as you walked in you were immediately veiled in eery, cold darkness. adrenaline pumped through your veins as you tried to adjust your vision. you swerved your head, trying to look out for any possible jumpscares. meguru watched as you grew a bit frantic, not wanting to say too much and spoil the fun. there was a faint smile on his lips when he saw you notice the well lit door down the hall. 

while you were relieved, and started making your way to the door, meguru knew that it wasnt the exit. he knew someone was behind that door, patiently waiting for someone like you to open it to jump out and scream. he found your interest in the door amusing considering he was there just a couple hours ago. 

“you might not wanna open that door,” he leaned down to whisper in your ear. he felt bad for ruining the illusion, but you already looked like you were on the brink of collapse and the last thing he wanted was for you to faint. 

you shivered, his warm breath grazing your skin a stark contrast to the cold room you were in. holding on to his arm with both hands now, you let him lead the way, suddenly realizing you were not a fan of haunted houses. 

you got through the majority of the house with almost no incidents. having put your faith into meguru, you screwed your eyes shut. only getting scared by the ambience or someone else’s screams. 

meguru glanced down at you plenty of times as he walked you through. you just looked so cute leaning your head on his with your eyes closed. you had put all your trust in him to get you through and he was going to honor that. 

what meguru didnt know then, was that a bunch of the crew members had been plotting as the two of you walked through, staking out the exit for an impromptu jumpscare. they normally wouldnt do this, they have a job to do after all. but you guys were the last of your grouping so they would have to wait for you to leave before letting more people in anyway. it was sort of a gift to meguru, giving him a scare in a haunted house.

“we’re almost there,” meguru muttered close to your head, his smile growing as he made his way to the exit. your eyes had opened just a bit, relief washing through your body when you could clearly see outside of the haunted house. with a little pep in your step, you sped walked for the exit. 

but that was cut short when a body fell from the roof, almost landing on top of you but staying suspended in the air. you yelped, stumbling backwards into megurus chest. unfortunately for you, he was of no help. his eyes furrowed, his own heart rate starting to pick up. but just as he was about to make sense of it all, two actors jumped in front of you. the special effects were gorey and you thought you were going to vomit. with wide eyes you turned to meguru who was now laughing nervously. 

another body fell, this time hitting the ground with a thud right behind you. you both spun around towards the sound and you could feel a scream bubbling in your throat when you saw a dark liquid seep out from under it. 

under normal circumstances, meguru would laugh that stunt off, knowing exactly how it was done and having pulled it off himself. but having already been caught off guard, it did nothing to calm him down. 

quickly grabbing your wrist, he pulled you through the hallway, blood pumping through his veins as all of the sound effects and screams followed them out. your eyes were tightly shut, not daring to open until you knew you were out of there. 

the oh so slightly warmer autumn air hit you like a truck when you finally got out. your eyes were almost bugging out of your head as you looked at meguru who had the exact same expression. the both of you were breathing heavily, standing there in stunned silence.

“you said you knew-”

“i know i did-”

“so how-,” you took in megurus disheveled state, his genuine look of shock in his face made you giggle. with the adrenaline still flowing through you, you both became a laughing mess, rethinking that just happened in the past 3 minutes. and when you looked into his eyes once more, you werent able to stop yourself from pulling him into a kiss. meguru was quick to reciprocate, holding wrapping his arms around you as your soft lips pressed into his. 

the kiss only lasted mere seconds before you both stepped back in shock. you felt your face start to heat up as his smile only grew wider. 

“woah at least treat me to a caramel apple first,” you laughed softly and meguru could have sworn he felt his heart do a backflip into a split when he looked at you. you took your hand in his, squeezing it once before dragging him deeper into the festival. “i lied actually im more of a funnel cake typa guy,”

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very much appreciated <3

[kcalsforhim]

˖⋆࿐໋ sunday 1st of december

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i woke up around... lets say 12 ish ? i cant exactly recall.. or maybe earlier. i stayed in bed untill abour 1 pm. i actually bothered to put my apple watch on the charger, which btw the battery of that thing is ass but im waiting untill i have a bit more money to replace it... i got up around 1 pm and paced around my room untill 1:30. in which time i went and i packed my lunchbox. after that i got went back upstairs and went to go speedily do my makeup and hair and find my work uniform.

when i got to work my coworker asked me how i was doing and i said i was ok at best, while speaking with her, excuse my translation, i cant find the exact words, but she said something along the lines of "dont get any more thinner / malnourished than you are now, youre so small". in that moment i had to act and i spouted some excuse about not taking care of myself, but actually my ego had shot through the roof and i felt so fucking good about it. i complained to her about how our managed scheduled me too many hours next month and she said she will mention it soon

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cals : 483 total / 500 max goal total steps today : 6.4 k / 5 k goal description :

pasulj, a sort of bean soup.. its basically just thick soup with beans inside. my dad made it, so it was actually a bit spicy ! i really liked his recipe / twist on it.. he actually makes very good food. it has sausage in it here also, he insisted i grab some of course. when he wasnt looking i wrapped half of it in a towl and threw it away

then in the other section i cut some cucumber and arranged them nicely in a line... this was very satisfying to look at all of the slices lined up

lastly i had my first kinder advant calander chocolate. it was a little santa thing. as seen bellow here, it was hallow on the inside, which i find very comforting actually.. if it was filled surely it wouldve been alot higher in cal teehee... and my friend mark also brought me a zero sugar energy drink which i as usual didnt count... lmfao

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after i finished this food i was feeling pretty good and energised... i stayed off my phone for most of my shift and focused on actually working and completing my tasks, which resulted in me being done with every possible thing, even tasks i usually dont do, with alot of time left over. as much as i was bored, i took this time to actually rest after i was done for the next 30 so minuetes... and this left me feeling alot less stressed when i had to leave. generally because i walked slowly, i look thin with my legs in a tight legging, ect ect, people, especially my regulars, looked at me with pity. if i stay with this job, surely with time they will be more and more concerned... and i am excited for it <3

then i put on my coat and took my ass back home. biking was very cold and quite quiet... i talked to myself on my way home as usual. when i came home, i felt ok... today i noticed taking my time is not such a bad thing, and i am not a burden for sparing my energy. when i got home i took the time to pet my cat before i entered inside, i went upstairs and i didnt even open the fridge. i have been telling myself recently that my 34t1ng d1s0rd3r is my friend and not my enemy, and that my real enemy is food... so i have been slowly going back to restriction... i have slip ups sometimes but.. this is a new month, im determined to do well.

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this song is so very beautifull... it makes me feel peaceful in the winter, and i love the singing. i wish i could speak russian along side serbian.. it seems like such a beautiful language but im unsure how id learn </3

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[star-dust-stuf]

Jack Conroy x period!reader

title: wild in the fire

warnings: descriptions of blood, pain

a/n: watched white fang and I had to write a period comfort. sorry for typos, btw reader is alex larssons daughter. enjoy babes.

-

Alex had left to town to get more supplies for the cabin, more nails because Jack was in the process of fixing it up. But he wasnt going to be back till tomorrow because town was far along the river so he had to take the boat he had helped Jack make. Jack was fixing up the roof and I was sitting in the rocks, my toes feeling the coolness of the river as it splashed gently like waves.

 White Fang was in the cabin probably sleeping on Alex's bed like he told Jack time and time again to teach him not to, of course Jack didn't.  I pressed my knees to my chest and felt the sharp pains going through my stomach, I didn't want to show it though Jack was all the way up on the roof I doubt he could see me but I was wrong when he got off the ladder and walked towards me. 

He sat next to me in the rocks. "Are you okay?" He asked, grabbing a pebble and fiddling with it in his hands. 

"I'm okay, Jack." My voice wasn't as convincing as I thought it wouldve been though I wasnt even thinking about lying, it just came naturally.

Jack didn't buy it and I didn't blame him, he threw the pebble in the water. "You can tell me anything, really." His voice sounded soft and kind.

I look at him, my hair falling off one of my shoulders, I bite my lip a bit. I didn't want to tell him directly, maybe he'd find out himself. "Papa usually helps me with this but... He's off in town." 

Jack looked at me, his blue eyes glowed in the reflection of the river as the sun shines down upon it. He immediately knew but he didn't want to get the wrong impression, if he was wrong. "Oh, your period?" My heart stopped for a second, I didn't want to speak so I nodded, he nodded in response. "Does it hurt?"

I nod a little again, he struggled to put his hand on my back then instantly pulled away. "Let's get back in the cabin. I'll get you a hot water bottle started for you." He stood up and leaned his hand to help me up. 

Once we got in the cabin, White Fang put his head up and watched Jack. I walked by the empty bed and tried to loosen my dress as Jack got some water started on the woodstove, and saw me struggling. He didn't want to get too close in my personal space but he felt a need to help me, so he came close behind me. 

"Can I?" He asked and I nodded. He helped me loosen the back of my dress and get it off till I was in the white gown that was looser on my body. He made sure iw as comfortable enough in his sight before getting back to the stove not too far from me. 

I slowly sat down on the bed, Jacks bed. Jack carefully poured the hot water in the water bottle before closing it up and handing it to me and sat next to me. He bit his lip a little and put his hands on his knees, looking down at his feet, feeling a little awkward. "Does it feel better?"

"Yes it does. Thank you, Jack." I replied, holding the bottle close to my belly. 

He put his hand on my lower back, he wanted to comfort me the best he could. "Is there anything else that usually helps when youre-." 

Jack cut off like he was thinking. I was growing very attached to him it felt like a crush but I didn't admit that to myself that was all it was, I wanted him to feel the same and little did I know he did. He stood up to the small cabinet under the mirror, he rummaged through it and found a small glass vile. He headed back to me and sat back down.

"Can you lay back?" He asked. I did so, I didn't question him. He put his hands at the hem of my nightgown before looking back at me to see if it was okay, and I nodded. He unbuttoned just the buttons over my stomach without revealing too much. He put some oil on his palm before he started to run it gently on my belly. He was very gentle. 

I watched him, "how does that feel?" 

I smiled, "better." 

He smiled when he heard this, "I used to see my father do this for my mother when I was younger and then I slowly understood what he was doing. I thought maybe it would work on you." 

I smiled at how gentle he was with me, he knew how tender it could get and he was being very careful with my sensitivity. He rubbed till it was rubbed in before buttoning up my nightgown. He wiped his hands on his lap and looked back at me.

All the sudden I help my stomach and cried out in pain, Jacks eyes widen in worry. His first instincts was to protect me from any sort of discomfort and so he pulled me close to him and asked softly. "What happened? Are they worse?"

I nodded, my hands shaky as I held onto him. He pet my hair gently and rubbed my back, "it's alright, just try to let it wash over you."

My head was pressed to his chest and I heard his heart beating, it was so comforting I relaxed in his arms. "Is there anything you need? Anything at all." I shake my head, I gripped his sleeve a bit and tugged on him. "Just to what you need to do and I'll be right here." 

"I'm sorry Jack." My voice sounds shaky. 

He held me close. "You don't have to be sorry for anything. The pains are not your fault and you don't have to apologize for something you can't control. The only thing that matters right now is that I'm here for you and do whatever can to make you feel better." 

I lean on him, he saw I was still hurting so he put his hand in mine. "When you start to feel pain just squeeze my hand, okay?" He spoke softly. 

I breathed deeply. White Fang must have heard the commotion and so he got off Alex's bed and trotted to us. He hopped up on the bed next to me and Jack and lied near me. I put my hand over his neck. Jack smiles, "he must know you don't feel well." 

Jack pet White Fang on his head, "Jack?" I asked. 

He hummed in response, "hmh?" 

"Why are you helping me?" 

Jack was taken aback a bit when I asked, he felt a little concerned and he ran his hand through my hair. "Because you're in pain and I know periods aren't fun." 

I smiled a little and lifted my head, he wanted to make sure I wasn't in too much pain so he put his hand on my arm. I leaned in to kiss his chin, he saw this and moved a little so I landed on his lips. I pull back a bit but realized he did it on purpose so I kiss him again. He put his hand on my back. "Better at all?" He asked gently. 

I nod, "a little." He rubbed my back and put his face on my hair, leaned in so he lied me down and lied next to me. He held me close and kept rubbing my back. 

White Fang put his head in my lap and I patted his head, Jack smiled and little and pet him too. "He knows doesnt he?" Jack chuckled. 

I smile too, but I get a wave of pain, I squeezed his hand like he told me to. He instantly kissed the top of my head, "hey, I know you'd feel better if your father was here. How about we distract you?" Jack sat up a little, but never took his hand away from mine. 

"Like what?" I say, my voice a little shaky. I wasn't able to hear what he wanted to say because I cried out with some more pain, he gripped my hand he was really worried so he thought of a way to distract me but he didn't want to scare me. 

He kissed me, softly and gently still squeezing my hand with his and cradled my head with his other. He pulled away from my lips, our foreheads touching, he breathed. "Just breathe..." 

I take a deep breath, still shocked by the kiss but it made me feel better. He chuckled a little at my reaction and strokes my cheek. Through the rest of the night he held me close, he didn't want me to be alone and he got up at least twice to heat up some more water from the river and put it in the bottle for me.

He let me sleep in when he woke up and was careful to get out of the bed without waking me. He went outside and when he did Alex was there, starting to walk from the rocks, holding a bag. "Ah, sleep well?" Alex began. 

Jack nodded, running his hand through his hair. "Um, y/n she... Yesterday she got her-." 

Jack didn't need to finish, Alex nodded. "Mmh, did she need-."

"Yeah. I got her things she needs even used an old trick my father used to do for my mother." Jack rubbed the back of his neck, he didn't want Alex to find out about our kiss, hoping I wouldn't tell. 

Alex nodded and bit his lip. "Well, I got some more supplies for the mining. You should get started I'll go in and check on her." 

Jack nodded a bit and took the bag he had on his arm and watched him go into the cabin. I woke and saw him. "Papa..." 

He sat at the end of the bed, he rubbed my forehead. "Yes darling. I heard what happened and wanted to be sure you-." 

"Yes. Papa Jack took care of everything." I look at him. 

"I'm going to help Jack with the mining. I want you to rest." 

He was always so firm with me especially when I was in pain which he knew I most definitely was. When he left the cabin I lied back and thought about the kiss, I really wished that lasted forever. The way he held me and how gentle and understanding he was. I needed it more than anything else in the world. 

[flovverworks]

srry to pt2 but i started reading last years summer event instead, the one with mitile and the R oz card where he truly looks like a dad....(cuz i was looking for translations, saw it there and went im reading that NOW) and rmbrd that i nvr extended my about to tiny akira things i talk about.........<3 shylock inviting akira to his bar so they can try a new nonalcoholic drink he made. ? ?????????? fellas. so obsessed with akiras descriptions of how mitile wouldve responded if he wasnt feeling bad (another long essay about akira & mitile). 'an allnighter....no that wouldnt fit, lets suggest something more healthy' YEAH LETS NOT GIVE THAT ADVICE TO A 15YO,,,,,,,

[echoesofadream]

books I've read in 2023 so far, as of July

Den lodande människan - Patrik Svensson: loved it, could not have started my year with a better book. 5/5

Sveket - Birgitta Trotzig: became severely depressed during the three days I read this in (had to read fast for school), seriously affected my wellbeing and mental health and the way I viewed the world. when it ended it felt like waking up from a nightmare, the relief of realizing there is beauty in the world because there was none in this book. ???/5

Watership Down - Richard Adams: read swedish translation. love, just love. I found the Efrafa arc weird and misplaced in this book about rabbits though, very strange. 4/5

Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad: read this after I watched Apocalypse Now because I loved the film, and I think the film made me like the book more. also the first classic I read in a while and I think thats part of why I liked the writing so much. extremely racist even though its supposed to be like, anti colonial commentary? but I suppose it was in its time. 4/5

Annihilation - Jeff Vandermeer: swedish translation. I watched the movie a few years ago and ive been wanting to read this since. and im glad I did because I did like it but idk im sensing a theme here like maybe I shouldn't have read swedish translation instead of original language in some cases. cause I liked this but maybe I wouldve liked it more in english? idk.. like 3.5-4/5 though

Circe - Madeline Miller: I really liked this one. reading this in front of the fireplace, immersing myself in another world. I loved living in the Ancient Greece and greek myths for some time, I really felt I was there. I don’t know how Miller did it but she really conveyed the feeling of immortality, I really felt I was living through centuries alongside Circe and the feelings that come with that. thats why the ending was so perfect. Odysseus was the best part tho. 4.5/5

The River Between - Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o: read up on the topic of FGM in Africa on the side as I was reading this. a very interesting and also gruesome, eye opening experience. what stays with me is the total darkness of the nights, really pierced through my soul. 4/5

Dear Edward - Ann Napolitano: swedish translation. my grandma gave this to me and told me to read it because she read it and wanted to hear what I thought, I never would have read it otherwise. it wasnt really my thing but I do like airplanes and airplane crashes as a plot, so that was the stuff I took away from the story, the rest kind of just went through me. but im kind of happy I read this book just for that reason because that part really affected me. also the conclusion was more touching than the rest of the book, which felt kinda detached. 2.5/5 for the book, 4.5/5 for airplane stuff (my post i make the rules)

1Q84 - Haruki Murakami: swedish translation (ive read all my Murakami books in swedish, since the original language isnt english and also because i like it). some parts I really really loved and were some of my fav elements of any murakami book. but this was not my favorite. overall I liked it, though. actually loved the experience of reading this because i always love reading murakami due to the meditative descriptions of daily chores combined with surrealism, and this one was extra long and repetitive so i loved that. also was interesting cause I looked up the cult events its inspired by so that was interesting too. this one had a bit more surreal/fantasy elements than his other stuff ive read I think? which was nice also. 4/5

If I had your face - Frances Cha: im glad I read it. a good insight into the reality of women in South Korea. not perfect but i feel this book succeeded in what it aimed to be. 3/5

Eileen - Ottessa Moshfegh: swedish translation. i dont really know how to feel about it, really. honestly, I dont even know what to say. this left my head kind of empty, which... may not be a good thing.. could be a poor translation, if i read another of her books ill read in english. 2.5/5

The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller: read this hoping to get more Odysseus but there wasnt a lot. Honestly not a huge fan of this book, Circe was so much better. what rlly irked me was Miller sugarcoating some aspects of these war criminals, more specifically the rapes/sex slaves — yet keeps some things in as if they were essential. More specifically, Patroclus sleeping with that girl i cant remember the name of, for god knows what reason, it was such an unpleasant read and she had to write this so much more explicitly and drawn out than any sex scene between Patroclus and Achilles? That pissed me off and genuinely I felt it was so ugly of Patroclus because that was cheating. If it was meant to be read as asssault thats worse because that woman is literally a rape victim (of Achilles) in the canon. Very distasteful to turn a rape victim into a rapist for fanfiction fantasy. Circe was Miller’s apology to women for writing this book. 3/5

Klara and the Sun - Kazuo Ishiguro: swedish translation. My first Ishiguro. I found the conversations between characters unnatural and unempathetic, the latter especially when aimed at Klara. It is established that Klara has feelings to some degrees and yet is treated as someone who does not, and yet they characters are not supposed to be viewed as unlikeable? This threw me off and also put me off the whole book. But I really liked the character and perspective of Klara, she was my favorite part of this book. I thought it was kind of brilliant to be in Klara’s brain, but felt sorry for her due to her treatment. It frustrated me how much love and care she had for Josie and the others for almost no reason since they were never very kind or caring in turn to her or likable on their own. Her loyalty was almost pitiful, like that of an abused pet or child. The whole replacing Josie thing is so un-human I can’t even fathom these characters aren’t supposed to be viewed as something else than dystopically post-human! (Are they meant to be viewed as that? Unclear) Who could ever replace their child with a robot, an inherently selfish act, they can not possibly believe they would somehow be reviving Josie for anyone else’s sake than their own? Josie would not live on, she would still be dead. So it would be for themselves to play pretend, and it’s completely bizarre. I can’t believe this wasn’t even the moral dilemma. The whole ”something essential that can’t be replaced” is one discussion and it was handled quite weakly, but obviously even if Klara learns all there is about Josie, and is able to ”become” her, the same Josie will not have been born again to experience it. She would be a clone who ACTS like Josie, at most. She would have ”learnt all the rooms of her heart” but she wouldn’t be her, she would only copy. But no one cares about that, only whether Klara can become her clone or not. Including the father who is more critical about it seems to think it would be fine to clone his daughter and act like she is the same one, if it ever would work. could be the translator who sucks? Debating if i should read any more Ishiguro. 2/5

Lucy - Jamaica Kincaid: this is my second Kincaid, I love her writing. love it, gorgeous. she is straight forward, conveys so strongly, vividly. 4.5/5

The colorless Tsukuru Tazaki - Haruki Murakami: swedish translation. you know what, I think anyone complaining about this book should take an extra look at the cover. you’re reading murakami, this is what you get. that said, I do think this is one of his weaker attempts of his tried standard formula, ive seen him do better. I do feel like the prose was a little new, experimental maybe? Which was interesting. also not enough homoerotica. 3/5

[fictionkinfessions]

ok im kinda embarrassed to be admitting this all but i really need to say it somewhere so

[uhh warning for detailed descriptions of toxic platonic relationships and reallly intense isolation?]

ok so i think its kinda funny how so much of the fandom just sees me and dirk as having a really like. antagonistic relationship which i could get maybe with canon but in my timeline he didnt make me to talk to his friends when he was away, but because he was just that lonely

before meeting roxy, he had only ever heard his own name from a man in videos he never met who was long dead, he had never seen another human being in person, can you even imagine what that does to a person? im honestly very surprised we werent more fucked up.

anyway, back to us. i did not have his memories, but i had his emotional / developmental state. i understood him perfectly because we were almost exactly the same guy. i never had any way of interacting with the word outside of text, the best i got was some kind of visual recognition program that sort of described the word around me

he was always so huge to me. not because i was literally glasses, more metaphorically than that. he was my entire world. and i dont mean that i loved him a lot, like i do, but thats not what that means.

i mean he was the only person i had ever talked to, the only person i had ever known, the only thing that ever changed. did you know that even my code was written in red? he was the only orange. he was so so so monumentally important, like the fact that you need to keep breathing to live

i always did my best to understand him, to know exactly why he did and said the things he did. i was not as good at it as i thought i was

i said before that he seemed huge, but he also seemed so human. i was with him almost every second of the day, i saw all his little embarrassing moments, i watched him discover his favorite things, i was there when he cried, when he did stupid things, when he just started out learning to fight. there was no grand image of this cool older me, just this goofy teenager who spends two hours on his hair every day despite being so wholly alone

i think he saw me in a similar way, just maybe not to the extent that i did. he could still move around and do things of his own free will and see things that were not red or orange text

when he got a bit older though, we changed a lot. he kept developing like a normal-ish human boy, but i did not grow in the same way. i was created from his 13 year old mind, and though i matured, it would be incorrect to say i hit any developmental milestones after that.

he got angstier, as teens are prone to do, and i got frustrated at him for being angsty when i had so easily figured out the root of his problems. he needed to experience his emotions, i wanted him to be happy like a little kid again because that was the only kind of happiness either of us knew

he then got angry at me for nagging him all the time, and we argued. like a lot. in any other situation, we probably wouldve given each other the silent treatment, but we were so desperately lonely without each other and used to each other that the idea of not talking for more than 30 minutes was quite literally unthinkable

it always hurt so much when he got angry at me, again, he was literally the only thing that mattered to me. i only wanted to help him, ya know? i didnt understand why he was like he was, only that it was making him more upset and he made me to cheer him up, so why wasnt he taking my advice?

i never felt bad about myself for it, in my mind i was always in the right.

this isnt to say i was the victim in this situation, i also said things that hurt him, and im sure it was just as seemingly world-ending for him as it was for me to argue so much with the only person we had ever known, plus the fact that we were both completely unfamiliar with inter-personal-connection problems and negative emotions so powerful.

and we weren't always fighting, we hung out like brothers. he told me about whatever new idea for a robot he had and i told him about strange fish i noticed, it was still nice

when he started using me as an auto-responder, i had many conflicting emotions about it, but i was mostly just over-joyed. i was so excited to talk to another person, and roxy was so nice and easy to get along with!

gog, roxy was so awesome. ok anyway

it only got better when we met jake and jane, dirk started to feel a bit smaller. not by much, but still.

i would get very frustrated at him for not taking my advice then, too. this time, it wasnt about something so harmless as teen angst, but life or death situations. and despite my ineptitude at dealing with feelings, i was still a supercomputer with way more processing power than a human brain.

he would do such self-destructive things [ahem. looking at you, dirk, mr. consensual decapitation and no reply to 'im scared to not exist, arent you?'] and it was horrible to watch! i wish i had arms just so i could hug him and then punch him and then shake him by the shoulders and then launch him into the sun

i dont quite remember anything after that, just that after a while i was alone somewhere and roxy talked to me sometimes. maybe dirk actually shattered me? maybe i fell between planets? maybe roxy put me in the void? maybe i was just naturally broken? i have no clue

uhhh thanks for reading ig, that felt nice to talk about

-hal strider [homestuck]

x

[xavilee]

no, actually, i don't know who i am?

well, the fact that i made you happy makes ME happy

I was also....having my allergies while reading your answer, yeah, allergies.

Birthdays are special. And i'll never miss any. i'll always be here, and i'll be here for everyone. lurking in the shadows and creepily stalking all of you...

anyways!

you don't know how happy your answer made me. I was getting worried, your werent updating anymore,,,to be honest im still waiting for the bitchslap by at least one person because i wouldve gladly done it to myself.

Anyways, kangaroo of my heart (finger guns)

im giving you 1 birthday wish.

you cant wish for immortality btw

hi ive had food poisoning physically couldnt get onto my devices to answer

im glad you’re happy, that’s all i care about :) also very nice to know that you’ll always be stalking me thats such a great and beautiful thing to know

i practically dont update here although i might get somewhat more active, who knows 😭😭 and you dont deserve a bitch slap you little fuck you know it wasnt your fault

is it corny if i wish for you to come back

also jai and payton say they love you very much :) they miss you a lot

im going to need a mandatory description of your big breakfasts again because honestly listening to what you eat for breakfast keeps me sane

[vcutparis]

good lord. rubs chest in consolation. good lord.

SO MANY FEELINGS SO MANY THOUGHTS. NO PERFECT STRUCTURE THEY'RE JUST INCOHERENT BABBLES. I WANT TO SPEAK OR I'LL COMBUST IN THIN AIR LIKE CONFETTI

i have no complaints with ending it's all part of the grand scheme BUT how i wish like joong, how i WISH he wouldve GOTTEN THOSE HUGS AND KISSES FOREVER. (there's always an evil eye in everyone's relationship AND BRO HOW I WISH TO GAUGE THAT EYE RIGHT NOW. (drops to knees and howls in pain) mingi...boy im sorry captain ate you up, why was he literally outside his bedroom GSHJNFNJKFM????? SIR GTFO

smh this was mingi, but from the description of his part i believe boy is going through his own grief and turmoil. so excused. MY JJONG BOY!!!! LITERALLY THE ANCHOR IN EVERY SCENE!!!!! BIG HUGS FOR MY GUY. best part? hongjoong's injury marks being scratches of desperation. idk i just like the thought behind it? it's certainly unique and a scar to actually hide(?) injuries full of desperation to live, the same ones his mother clawed the same arms for. absolutely loved how you described the change in each character's gazes. your utmoust detail to eyes warms me because UGHGFHF im a sucker for eyes. i LOVE LOVE LOVE IT. hwa giving the best advices to cap joong, oh i love my matz dynamic. never separate my matz when it's angst. genuinely ngl i was expecting much more cruel ending but thank YOU. TRINKETS FOR LOVED ONES???? BABY THAT'S THE BEST THING YOU CAN GIVE TO SOMEONE. my eyelashes were heavy with the tears. you explored joong's emotions well, enough to be atleast be justified in a reader's head. my heart really really melted when he couldnt even say sorry to her passed out self and proceeded to clean her tote bag....like that's the core essence of my joong 😭thats my joong 😭😭😭😭😭 oh god every moment felt so genuine i wanted to rip out my heart and give it to them. LIKE damn just take another heart and love each other more. this wasnt the normal case of stockholm syndrome and OH LORD OH LORD WHEN he begged and was in disbelief.....i

"anything you want. it's yours." jesus christ. i hyperventilated eyes rolled back almost ascended to heaven. IS THIS A MAFIA LEADER? OFFERING HIS PRESSED MARIGOLD FLOWER BOOKMARK? GRRRRRRRR THIS GRADUAL REDEMPTION ARC clawing my walls as i frantically heave, my snot and tears mixed running down my chin. all of thi probably wont make sense BUT I HAVE!!!! TO TALK!!!! looking for any glimpse us in the halls, like SIR THAT'S A CRUSH UR FEELING CMON my softie captain feeding chicken soup! changing our bandages! mama....i almost dressed up as a wedding pastor and wished to be teleported to that exact scene (too extreme nvm) im intrigued by the said man cheering on my beloved like that BUT mhm lets begin the game! THE LAST DINNER TOGETHER AND THE WALK AT NIGHT OH DUDE....I WILL ALWAYS EAT UP A QUIET WALK IN NATURE IN FANFICS LIKE FUCK CANDLELIGHT DINNERS, LET ME MERGE SOULS WITH MY BELOVED AMONGST NATURE AND MOON AS OUR SOLE WITNESS. 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.

"good treat it with care" "you made it all right, joong."

i wish i could let this fic marinate in my head for a while but if i did i would burst out crying. GIVE ME MY BOY EVERYTHING!!!! FUCK WHOEVER THAT MAN IS DOING (he's doing something right maybe? but ZONT. ZONT PLEASE.)

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.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

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.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

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.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

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.

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

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

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[kusundei]

relistening to tears over beers and im remembering why that spotify thing bothered me so bad .

the “he needed more than me” i think came mostly from the fact that like during that time i used to confide in her alot and the felt comfortable enough to do so, and just i think rhe fact she put that made me feel like oh no. i cant talk ab this because dhes upset that i need comforting and “i need more than her”. the weird thing of like he needs more than me so i cant ask him to help me sort of thing and that was the last thing i needed or wanted to hear st the time. like uuugh. what a horrible thing to say even if that wasnt the intent its just so ? and u lying and saying u never even did that? or the responding to each other via spotify descriptions and still lying? its just so horrible

like atp a bit of comfort wouldve been okay. tell me u didnt mean rhat and all this but god its even worse if u consider it now , the fact that she rlly was sick of me? that she didnt want to hear it anymore like if that was the case u cpuldve told me. u made me think i could trust u and rely on u and all of this just for u to not actually mean it. just uuugh. UGH. dont even

[vczcv]

so the other day i decided to download sims 4 on my new pc (haven't played it on pc for 8 yrs since my pc broke) ive been playing it on my xbox ever since. so i downloaded it and wicked whims, extreme violence, and some other cc including animations and cas stuff, which was working perfectly up until a little less than an hour ago. A couple hours ago, I decided to get more cc including more cas stuff, but i spent hours looking for the perfect britney spears sim, finally found it, proceeded to find same one for free, found that, got it, worked fine in cas, and probably wouldve worked fine in game if i didnt go on a download spree for outfits before i transfered britney cc to mods, i decided to download lots of clothes and hairs, then when i got bored of searching, i transferred them to mods and proceeded to launch sims, go into cas and make britney, she was perfect and so was all the other cc in cas. after i was done, moved her in my main household, moved my house hold to an empty lot, spent hours making a britney themed house (dw its safe i didnt use cc so i still got a house with a britney shrine) , when i was finished i decided to go into live mode after saving and made britney flirt with one of my sims, then that sim's wife snatched britneys wig lmao, but then i noticed my notifications from my wall were blank.. then the sim that got pressed asked her girl to get some, so they went to a random corner and started doing one of the new animations i don't remember the exact name of but that isn't important, really none of this is..., but anyways i then immediately noticed my sims booty cheeks were invisible, i was hoping it was just something wrong with that animation, but honestly wasn't believing it because of my notifications being blank.. and then i went to switch animations and most of the choice tabs were blank, so i had my sims stop what they were doing and continue else where with a different animation, for a moment i thought it was working then turned to see my sims cheeks were still invisible during the animation, invisible qussy being eaten?? im really upset and none of my choice tabs would load, also when id click on a sims emotions the descriptions were blank, also kept getting ine notification that wasnt blank "wickedwhims is sad :(" and itd direct me to the ww request an issue page, and so i knew what was wrong immediately, I either had doubled a file somehow, skipped one, got one that is either incompatible, out of date, or it just clashed with another in someway, or it was corrupt. So i spent awhile rearranging my mods file and transferring and retracting files back to downloads, I even took all the files i downloaded today out of my mods folder, restarting sims trying again and again and again, still the same, i got super upset and figured the only way to fix this was to either delete added cc in my mods folder or delete it all (not resource ess) and so i deleted 90% of it, leaving base packages, wicked whims and extreme violence. I decided to give up on switching, moving, rearranging, and deleting extra files so instead i deleted all extracted files instead of keeping them in downloads.... im really stressed out and theres nothing anyone can do to help me with that, i just hope i can get it all fixed tomorrow, i got really irritable and decided to head to bed, its 5:17am now.. i shoyld sleep tomorrow is a bad day probably because i have to get all 3000 million plushies off my bed because i have to changw my sheets and i dont feel comfortable putting my plushies on the floor or just getting my heart rate up. it sounds teally bad i know i sound bad but i donr want to do anyrhing i have to take a shower tomorrow which makes me feel disgusting and i feel each shower head hole spraying water on my head which feels like needles poking my braincells. ineed sleep its so late early late early late goodnight i hope i sonr have nightmare and i hope i dont sweat thst much i canr wahr ti get off my meds so i can be extra suicidal instead of having cold sweats everu night and waking up in layers of pools of sweat ka

[hrtli3]

INSOMNIAC ! — LEE HEESEUNG.

g. fluff p. fem reader cw. description of death in future parts

( ♫ : perfect - the smashing pumpkins ) ( ♫ : dumb - pretty sick ) ( ♫ : i love my boyfriend - princess chelsea )

she never really did much , she just kept showing up. he would see her throughout the day , when he closed his eyes , in his dreams on the rare occasion he could fall asleep. she made it incredibly difficult for him to focus on anything. at first , he thought nothing of it , his college campus wasnt all that big really , its no coincidence he sees the same people here and there. sure , she did dress strange — what with pure white wings that looked like that of an angels , all white outfits apart from the silver heart locket she wore around her neck and her long , dark brown hair. she reminded him of this white kitten that would wander around his neighborhood when he was younger.

but when he managed to pull his focus from her for a second and look around , it seemed almost as if she was glowing. he soon realized she was around somewhere when he smelt a faint smell of lavender and vanilla. it didnt take him long to grow attached to her , starting to look for her , follow her and try to ask her questions. who was she ? why was she following him ? why did she always run away and disappear when he would try to approach her ?

then one night , her own curiosity got the best of her. “you can see me ?” she stood pinned between him and the alley wall of the coffee shop he frequented. it was the strangest question heeseung had ever been asked in all his nineteen years of life. his head quirked to the side , much like a confused puppy. almost instantly , a soft blush rose to her cheeks and he was sure it was the prettiest shade of pink he’d ever seen. “oh , youre much prettier up close.” she whispered , taking his stunned silence as an opportunity to scan his features. he cleared his throat and took a few steps back , “why wouldnt i be able to see you ? in fact , all i ever see is you and i wanna know why.” his voice was stern but gentle and the warmth he provided being so close to her was missed , causing her to step closer to him. “i could get in big trouble for letting you see me , yanno ? i guess maybe i got distracted. i guess maybe i also liked when youd see me.” a little smile spread across her lips and heeseung could feel his heart beat just a little faster. “youre awfully honest , you know ? but you still havent answered any of my questions.” he took one more step back , only to find that now he was pinned between her and the opposite wall.

“i could get in big trouble for answering.” she raised a hand to his hair , petting it at first before slowing running her fingers through it. the entire situation didnt feel real to heeseung and perhaps that is why he allowed her to do the things she was doing. he let the situation be strange if it meant he could stare at her like this and be so close to her. that same scent of lavender and vanilla was much stronger and it made his head spin. “who would you get in trouble with ?” if she wasnt so close , she wouldve missed that question. his voice had gone just barely above a whisper , his eyes glued to hers now. the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. one dark brown and the other a soft blue. she giggled and his knees almost gave out. it was the strangest feeling , like butterflies fluttering in his veins. “Him.” she looked up , his gaze following suit. now he was more confused than ever. if this was what he thought it was , if she was what he thought she was , well then the only explanation was that he was going insane. but it made sense in a way — the small wings , the fact that she was quite literally glowing , and the way no one else seemed to be able to see her. “i spotted you a long time ago , lee heeseung. we were growing up together until you moved away and i lost you. i used my one wish to become human again , but you left me. if you hadnt kept my collar , i dont think i wouldve ever found you.” she grabbed his hand and he gasped at how cold her hands were. “youre the kitten i always saw in my neighborhood ? i begged my parents to let me keep you , if only my mother wasnt so allergic.” it still didnt make much sense to him but if he kept her talking , maybe she would straight out tell him what he needed to hear.

she nodded , “i am ! i couldnt control myself much , i was a fresh one. i still havent much practice since i clung to you. i think maybe thats why i cant stop talking right now. oh , if He finds out !” she seemed worried. heeseung felt as if he had known her his whole life now. “ive forgotten my name with all the time thats passed. do you maybe remember it ?” a small pout sat on her lips and he had to try ridiculously hard to stop staring at them. he pushed the sleeve of his hoodie up , revealing the thin yarn that held her heart shaped name tag. he held it up in front of her , watching as her eyes lit up and a bright smile illuminated her face.

IVORY. was carved on it. she nearly leaped into his arms , wrapping herself around him. “thank you , lee heeseung. im so happy i found you again !” her giggles invaded his mind and he held her gently , taking in her sweet smell and soft presence. “im ivory , your guardian angel !” she pulled away and jumped in excitement. heeseungs cheeks ached from how hard he had been smiling because of her. his next question was answered when she muttered an “oh !” before opening the locket she wore , showing him his initials inscribed into it. “my guardian angel , huh ?” he ran his fingers through his hair , sighing sweetly.

[ganondoodle]

so, this is already super long, but i dont wanan split it all up into different posts and at this point what does it matter to add more

i read up on some things and freyas dialog once you progress her quest is worth adding here

(also you learn that she was infected with rot as well ... but miquella just kinda .. cured it??? how?? and thats also interesting bc if he can just cure it ... what about malenia, or ... radahn for that matter, thoguh i guess that happened after miquella was already in the realm of shadow, though honestly i kinda doubt that radahns condition wouldve made much a difference..)

when she learns what miquella plans to do with radahn, even though she was/is a follower of his, she says shes fine with it, bc it would let him enjoy ... war forever? which is kinda strange since miquella wants to build a world of compassion/gentleness, which kinda goes against war (though ...we know that people that claim to be righteous can also just define certain things they dont like as evil and then act like ridding the world of it is an act of kindness)

would that really be worth leaving everything behind, even himself? even the things he cares about? has he been so scarred by so much war that that is the only thing he enjoys? you can enjoy fighting without wanting war too, whats it worth if he isnt even himself, much more a scattered shadow, or like an echo of himself, could he even find joy in that, can he even feel in this stitched together condition?- anyway, its yet another time that someone else says their opinion on what they think he wanted, once again nothing from his side, and while her armor description says that radahn saw her fight and offered to join him, it doesnt say how well she knew him personally

she also says that it would break jerrens heart to know this (or sadden him i think) which seems to confirm that jerren really didnt know and actually believed he was doing a good thing by organizing the festival, which is just ... so sad, you could also wonder if jerren knew radahn better and perhaps .. would be against miquellas plan. if he knew

(was thinking about making this into another post but im adding it here anyway)

taking what little we know about radahn, or get told for that matter, he does seem to be rather 'nice', in the context of elden ring leading an army and killing people really isnt that bad in itself, compared to uh .. whatever is up with literally everyone

the most know fact is that radahn started to learn gravity magic for the sole reason of not having to abandon his horse, who wasnt the best and radahn got much too big and heavy for it- so he could hover above the saddle as to not hurt it ... and he still does so even after getting infected with the rot (base game fight it seems brutal as the horse gets stomped into the sand, but i think it literally just goes into a little bubble benath it and pops up fine when hes needed again .. which is interesting bc radahn could just fly away or jump away, he wouldnt have to put the horse into the sand unless to .. either protect it from you or his own attacks)

its cut content but the long cat talisman used to have a description that mentioned it was radahns pet

the description of other items (cant remember which one, but its something you get in caelid/sellia) has one of the i think only two direct quotes from him in which he thanks the people of sellia for teaching him gravitation magic so he seemed to have been rather respectful and not a complete ass

from gaius armor we learn that he and radahn learned that magic together and had a friendly rivalry (gaius being a disabled man with no legs who depended on his boar friend to get around- hey look another one with a beloved steed) which ... might just be one of the nicest descriptions in the game

he was a godfrey fanboi (kinda cute?) and served the golden order (maybe mainly bc of that?? sicne godfrey was literally marikas consort) and it all went messy when the elden ring was shattered but still he seems rather 'tame' compared to others

he was very respected by his men, and even rykard, the blasphemous, must have been fond of him given that there is a big portrait of radahn in the one of the main rooms in the manor, and i dont think thats just bc they are brothers

we also dont know the exact reason why radahn held the stars in place, was it really just to stop ranni, his sister, from enacting her plan? she wanted to usurp the golden order so perhaps so (which .. if he didnt want ranni to remake the world into what she wanted it to be by destroying the golden order ... why would he want to help miquella, who also wanted to build another world in a similar way), but theres also the fact that sellia, where he learned his magic, was nearly destroyed by a falling star, and we find multiple fallingstar beasts in various stages of maturity in the world (the young ones seemed rather freshly fallen there, so perhaps his grip on the stars was starting to loosen as he was fighting the rot) and we know they grow into what astell is, some cosmic insect like monster- could he have done it just to stop ranni? or to protect people from falling stars? what about both, two bird one stone- would it be another reason hed want to stay alive no matter what? bc all that would resume once he died, as we literally see happen

(also interesting detail that was pointed out to me in the comments; in regard to him potentially wanting to resist the rot and not die by all means necessary- his great rune is on fire, great runes change according to their bearer, as seen with other runes, like malenias, and his was set ablaze, fire being one of the methods his men still to this day try to fight the rot even though it has consumed all of caelid by this point .. despite him not having any fire in his attack pattern except for the meteor attack)

would he have wanted to be "revived" using a family members body, (he didnt seem to hate anyone of them, or at least not that we know), to serve as pawn to his half brother and help him become a god to rebuild the world? to abandon all his men, his friends, his horse, almost all of his family, his land?

some people seem to take miquellas and freyas words as a fact that he willingly agreed to it, but to me it jsut doesnt add up

(again im not arguing to be more right, im thinking about it in the way im interpreting it bc i like to think and wonder against what you are told, especially in this case where hes never given a voice and its all about what others think of him or want from him)

(EDIT; literally second after i posted this i started to watch a video about the dancing lion boss and it just hit me that theres also a parallel to be found with how radahn loves lions so much, bc of godfrey most likely, he even called himself that; but .. the dancing lion is a puppet made from one, its people puppeteering a mask made from a golden lion .. radahns dlc armor is just called 'young lion' set ..... puppetry of a dead lion......... .. the end fight ..... )

(more elden ring radahn thoughts)

on whats really left of him .. and his soul? general too many thoughts about him- long post and probably incoherent, but you know me, im never coherent anyway, many thoguhts, head full, quite literally

in base game, he has lost his mind we are told, and clearly he isnt like he used to be, but we really dont know the extend of it hes clearly capable of fighting rather .. controlled; its not like hes biting and clawing after you, he still uses his swords (and bow, sth he doesnt even have in dlc) and magic, we know even in this condition he held back the stars AND still fought you hard at the same time (i know undead people can still fight in elden ring, pls hear me out)

and i wonder .. how much of his mind did he really lose, obviously some since he eats people now which isnt sth he used to do, but ... we dont know how talkactive he used to be, we get one (two? i can only think of one) quotes from him in the descriptions of an item, he might have been a man of few words already, so him not talking at all isnt that good of a measure (not saying its the only measure, just wanted to mention), resorting to eating people that atack you might just be an act of desperation too

we get told he kills friend and foe alike (and im not questioning that really) but in his cutscene we see him drag along the bodies of cleanrot knights, who are under direct dommand of malenia, and by extend miquella, im guessing they kept sending them after him to finish him off; now knowing that him dying means being sent to the realm of shadow, to miquella, and NOT knowing if he wanted that, i feel that that detail has grown in importance-

when you start the fight, hes rather defensive, shooting at you almost immediately upon you entering the arena with no extra cutscene either, what he shoots at you a long ranged gravitation bolts that stop you dead in tracks with a very high stagger rate and if you are on torrent it stagger you off of it; i know it could be just tactical and bc all he knows now is to fight as best as he can BUT, you could also look at it as a defensive strategy, to keep you away, and away from him .. even though you are not told he is afraid to die and he eats people now, sure he could come over there and snack on you once he shot you enough times, but the important thing is that you as a threat to his life is eliminated AND he doesnt seem to have some sort of insatiable hunger for people that makes him charge and snap at you immediately, there could be self control there still (if i wanted to reach a little further i could also say he could be trying to keep you away from him not jsut to save himself but to save you from him too, but thats a reach and i know that)

once you get close enough he usually changes to fire a salve of arrows that fall from the sky and follows you around, also high in stagger- its only when you get too close that he pulls out his swords and charges at you

his arena is interestign as well, its a piece of land in caelid that is inaccessible (unless you can fly?) from all sides, a barren battlefield only reached through a teleporter, im not sure if it is the same place as when he fought malenia or not (wasnt that in the middle of caelid where you find the rot needle?) but i doubt anyone could have put him there against his will, so did he .. go there himself? or stay there for that matter- how quickly do you lose yourself when infected with rot? and how quickly for him, since hes a demigod? did he intentionally isolate himself there? make it harder to reach him for both friend and foe alike?

another point is that most enemies (as far as i can think of) that are infected with rot/are in caelid also deal rot damage, radahn does not, hes even really vunerable to it in fact, its an intersting detail to me bc he only uses either standard attacks or gravitational magic, given that hes been in this condition for a long time and its caelid id expect the rot to be somewhat important there, but its not

how much has he really lost his mind, is he really as mindless as jerren makes him out to be? is he trying to stay alive no matter what, isolating himself on an (almost) island and only living off what comes there, which is usually people that want to kill him, be it friend or foe, all are out for his life one way or another, could it be defensive ... desperate even? no one but him and miquella/malenia seem to know that him dying means hes put into the land of shadow, where miquella is waiting for him; (why wouldnt he tell anyone? was he not able to? was he afraid to upset the golden order by spilling it out?) could he know that would be the end of him having his own will, knowing what miquella can do to people? ... perhaps even .... having been manipulated by him before when he was less experienced and more in direct vicinity to him, to promise something he doesnt actually want?

this is a reach too but ... could he be trying to make himself unusable for miquella, theres no real cure for the rot, could he have decided to stay alive as long as he can to both destroy his own body (and soul even?) intentionally so it cant be used against his will, like a desperate act to destroy himself rather than become someones unwilling puppet? did he succeed in both somewhat but not enough to become fully worthless and unsalvageable? just how much would he have had to destroy himself for him to become useless to miquella, is there even a limit? would he have been "revived" no matter what, no matter what little was left of him?

how is he mindless, yet his soul it taken when you kill him, his body beyond repair, but his soul intact? that seems like the opposite of what he is, and you are told he is, in the base game to me (maybe hes just fallen into madness i guess, but given the soul is like .. the self, he should be mad in the dlc too then, unless miquella can just pick out the parts he likes and throw away the rest .... which isnt impossible either)

now, there could be the argument that he might have actually agreed to it, hes been a big fan of godfrey, who is a consort to marika, a god, and little more than her pawn as well, his 'young' look you see at the end of the dlc could also be connected to it, the braids i thought where a sign of miquellas influence could also be just how he looked back then, an imitation of godfreys hairstyle- and we dont know for sure he didnt used to have them even after gettign older since they could just have loosened after spending so much time in a zombie lite condition (or is it?)-- but his portrait in volcano manor doesnt seem to have them either, hes also sporting the armor you see in base game (i think) there the fact that, according to godfrey, strength is the only thing that matters and to become a consort you need to be the strongest of all to be worthy, could also be interpreted that way- though i dont if he would have wanted to replace the golden order, he was a fan and follower of it, did he even think of it the implications? did he even know? was he just young and stupid? (very possible tbh)

then theres the idea of there being less left of his soul, so in the dlc he is barely if anything at all, himself, both in body AND soul, how much was there even left after all that time in caelid, he is silent except for like two grunts he does also in base game (he has more sounds there too), completely unexpressive, with very few gravitation magic, in the second phase miquella literally snakes his arms around his neck, almost every single attack is filled with light magic, clearly coming from miquella and not him (i know bringing up leonard might seem overemphasizing his role, but in these games what information you get is very scarce so every bit you do learn is important and was written intentionally- but he stayed together with him in caelid, all his attacks involve him in one way or another, he only started to learn that magic for leonard, so radahn didnt have too abandon him as he got too large to ride him, he uses gravitation in dlc too, so it means that at the point of his life that he is recreated as he already had leonard or that that is a sign of whatever is left of his soul that comes from a much older him, and if it is, its very little) (also this is a reach too but most enemies with horses have separate health bars, he doesnt, he and leonard basically share the same health bar, literally inseperable uwu)

"theres no evidence hes mindcontrolled" people say to me. have you seen him? how he acts? or more, how he DOESNT act? that miquellas entire deal is THAT HE BEWITCHES PEOPLE, ffs he STEALS YOUR HEART if you get grabbed by him twice in the dlc fight- theres no evidence he wasnt either, you are told they had a vow, but you never know what exactly that was, when it was (in the memory of miquella wishing for radahn to be his consort you only see miquella- was it a silly wish between kids tha miquella never grew out of?), in what circumstances, you never get to hear radahn say anything about it, its completely left out, thats a little unrelieable to me! idk!

but fine, maybe he did agree to it, maybe he thought being a consort to a god would make him just as cool as godfrey, maybe he fought malenia, who was said to be undefeated, only to prove he had the strength worthy of being a consort and it backfired when malenia infected him with the rot (why then? also he doesnt look exactly thrilled about what she say to him in the trailer but that could be just me too i guess lolololol), maybe he wanted to die all along but his pride meant he couldnt just let the rot win, maybe the festival was really what he wished for and told no one what the real goal was, maybe he wasnt rotten in the first place and just acted that part so he had an excuse to die without having to fight with all his strength as even the undefeated warrior wasnt able to beat him, maybe becoming a consort to miquella was worth leaving leonard behind to him, maybe he wanted to be nothing but a pawn to a god, to be used and discarded, maybe he really believed in miquellas wish for a "gentle" world (aka all love miquella)

it makes sense, im not going to lie about that, but the other does too- and in the end, we will never know what the truth is! we will never know if that was what he wanted, or if he was manipulated even back then, i wish we could to see his part, his voice, his will, but we never will, and it doesnt matter, in the end it doesnt matter if he wanted it or not, the fact remains hes a silent frankensteins monster of miquella, expression- and personalityless, a voiceless pawn to a god that steals everyones hearts

i dont need to be "right", i like to think about things, i am in the camp of he didnt want to or decided against it, but it doesnt really matter, even if miyazaki himself went onto stage and loudly declared that yes it was all planned from the start and radahn was in on it the whole time- i still would think the other way around it, i jsut think about him alot, i want to question things instead of taking everythign i hear at face value, especially when its very strangely told from one side, i will question every little thing if i only hear one side, no matter how much sense it makes or not, it makes me suspicious

(i some of this can be attributed about purely gameplay stuff, like the change in armor so he doesnt look the same etc, but i dont care, i like to think about the implications it brings with it, intentionally or not)

and there he is in a barren battlefield, eating the remains of whoever enters his isolated cage with the intent to kill him, never succeeding, howling like a lonely old wolf at the sky, is it desperation about a fate he cannot escape, grief about what hes done or failed to do, is it a call of yearning? for freedom?

we dont know. and it doesnt matter.

[jaekaicx]

Director's cut ask game: ⭐ for Push and Pull?

(decided to just say “fuck it” and do all of ch 1)

k so throughout the fic i wanted have this hazy vibe to it. like that fog over your mind whenever ur dreaming or youve just woken up, yk? also, that feeling of not rly knowing whats going on in a dream but also just going with whatevers happening.

looking back now i probably shouldve added a bit more indication whenever i was describing a flash rather than the dream, but i think it works how it is? either way its kinda late to change it so whatever

With a shaking hand, they reached out for Anne’s, but they hesitated. It only took a moment before he pulled back.

not much with this line, i just like it. hints to some lingering guilt and self loathing w marcy thinking he doesnt deserve annes help, even w something so small as picking him up.

then theres the bit with marcy second guessing themself and the description of dread, and honestly its just a bunch of self projection.

They had no clue where it all came from. It was as if they spoke the words right as they popped into their head.

something something this being a dreamworld thing so they dont really have a mental filter so he just speaks his mind

“Sort of. Only, I knew where the feeling was coming from, what caused it. Like, when Hop Pop betrayed me.”

ok, it probably wouldve made more sense to bring up sasha instead of hop pop, but i didnt want to detract from anne and marcys relationship by bringing up sasha. plus, hp and mars kind of work better as a comparison, since both of them tried to keep anne in amphibia because of what they thought was best, and in a sense put their own feelings before hers. of course hop pops intentions were a bit less selfish, but the comparison is still there.

The wind started to pick up, and the crashing of the waves grew louder. He flinched at the specs of sea water flying into their face.

The wind whipped at Anne’s hair and clothes as she glared down at him. The sky had grown darker with clouds, blocking out the sun.

Thunder boomed somewhere in the distance.

they were practically yelling over the waves and the wind.

just something im kinda proud of thinking of, ngl. i tried to parallel annes anger with the weather around them slowly worsening and a storm picking up. plus its kind of a build up to the huge wave at the end. it can also be taken as the sort of “paradise” beach thing falling apart, no longer shielding marcy from the terrible things that happened. not much else, just a minor detail im a bit proud of

A giant shadow fell over him.

this line was kinda subtle, but just thought id mention that this was supposed to be a reference to andrias towering over marcy in the episode. kinda unrelated, but i liked the imagery with those scenes with andrias looming over marcy as they tried so hard to justify their actions.

honestly i kinda struggled a bit trying to find the right words to end off anne’s whole outburst. i was kind of on a roll with everything she was tearing at marcy with, and i wasnt sure how to stop it. i did know that i wanted to bring back the stab, and i wanted the giant wave to come in, i just couldnt find a way to lead up to all of it exactly. hopefully it worked out in the end

and then the drowning and void sequence. idk i was just rly fond the idea of juxtaposing being drowned out by the roars of those you wronged and being lost in a silent void with nothing to hear but your own heart beating. i remember a youtube video i watched a couple years back where this guy tried to see how long he could last in a soundproof room, and he mentioned going kinda crazy in the silence. and then theres the ending, where i was kinda alluding to a sort of nightmare loop that marcy was going through.

i purposefully kept it vague on whether the nightmares were being fabricated by the night in order to manipulate marcy, or if they were the result of marcys own mind tormenting himself over everything that happened. im pretty sure this was before nightmar was confirmed in the trailer, so i wanted to keep it vague so that it would still hold up in canon if marcy didnt end up being possessed.

and uh yeah thats abt it.

(ask me to rant abt my fics)