#Set 246

[gobs-o-dice]

Dice Set #246: Helix Nebula Galactic

[maybemoonbeams]

Park Gyeong-seok (246) x Cho Hyun-ju (120) | Squid Game (2024)

[theincrediblemoonchild]

yuma kuga in ch 247! and cookingmama.png

[suckishima]

😬😬😬 not him saying this immediately after the panel of hinata falling asleep in the bath too.......

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ ultraviolence ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, and a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? i hope you enjoy reading! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ choosing to take up arms and align yourself with player 456’s desperate plan was not so much a choice as it was an ultimatum. to do nothing, continue playing by their sadistic rules, meant walking the same path to inevitable death. but this? this rebellion, this gamble to strike at the heart of the operation. a blaze of defiance instead of the slow suffocation of compliance.

˚ ༘♡ the gunfire came fast and relentless, each crack like lightning splitting the air around you. the deafening staccato of bullets ricocheted off the metal structures, sharp and unforgiving. you pressed yourself hard against the crimson barrier, your heart a violent drumbeat in your chest. each near miss tore at your nerves, leaving behind the bitter taste of survival.

˚ ༘♡ the red structures were impractical shelter, offering only the facade of safety. around you, the others fought back with what little ammunition and courage they had. some fired blindly, their hands shaking, others aimed with accuracy, faces set with the resilience of people who knew they may never see another day.

˚ ༘♡ the air reeked of gunpowder and sweat, and your own breath came in short, uneven bursts as you tried to steady your hands. the ground beneath you was littered with shell casings and splintered debris, each piece a fragment of the chaos you had willingly stepped into. a thought crossed your mind, whether this was bravery or madness. but the thought vanished as quickly as it came, drowned out by the next thunderous racket of gunfire.

˚ ༘♡ you don’t have time to think, only to act. your fingers find the magazine release instinctively, pressing it hard. the spent magazine drops to the ground, clattering louder than you’d like. your other hand is already reaching for a fresh one, fumbling for a second before finding it.

˚ ༘♡ the cool metal feels heavy in your palm as you slot it into the magazine well. you shove it upward until it clicks into place, a sound that’s both satisfying and urgent. your hand moves to the slide, gripping the serrated edges. you pull it back sharply, feeling the resistance, and let it snap forward with a crisp, metallic clank.

˚ ༘♡ your heart is racing, but your hands are steady. you flick the safety off with your thumb without even thinking about it. the gun is ready again, its weight familiar in your grip. you take a breath that doesn’t seem deep enough, your focus narrowing as you lift the weapon and prepare to fire at the masked men who stand across in another block structure.

˚ ༘♡ player 001 had insisted you stay behind. his voice was grounded, almost gentle, as he took your hand, his rough fingers a stark contrast to the warmth in his tone. “this plan is reckless,” he said, his expression unreadable except for the glint of concern in his dark eyes. “we have enough people. you don’t need to put yourself in danger.” but his attempt at reassurance only fueled your resolve.

˚ ༘♡ “if you’re not staying behind, neither am i,” you replied, your voice firm, though your heart pounded like a war drum. his face darkened with vexation, but he didn’t argue further, young-il knew he could not change your mind.

˚ ༘♡ crouched behind the unforgiving cover of the red structure, your hands trembled as you clutched the empty weapon. “i’m out of ammo,” you called, your voice barely cutting through the raucous chaos around you.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun and jung-bae had disappeared minutes ago, slipping into the chaos to infiltrate the control room. every second they were gone stretching unbearably thin. around you, the others were panicking. shouts rose above the gunfire, “almost out!” player 246 hollered, “running low!” player 120 yelled out, desperation laced every shout.

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s radio crackled to life, gi-hun’s strained voice breaking through. “we’re running out of ammo here. there are more magazines on the guards, someone has to get them. hurry!”

˚ ༘♡ the moment the line went dead, young-il turned to the group. unlike the others, he was calm, his face as still as stone, his composure a striking contrast to the pandemonium. his eyes swept over each of you, calculating, deliberate. “four of us will move to back them up,” he said, his voice even, “but someone has to retrieve the magazines from the guards.”

˚ ༘♡ you felt the weight of his gaze settle on you for a moment longer than the others. your stomach tightened. the bodies of the masked men were out there, sprawled in the open, exposed under relentless gunfire. retrieving the magazines meant running into certain danger.

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll go!” dae-ho shouted, his voice quivering. his hands shook as he clutched his weapon, his knuckles white against the grip. before anyone could argue, he pushed himself to his feet and sprinted into the open, his silhouette a vulnerable target in the chaos. bullets ricocheted off nearby walls, sparks flying like tiny explosions. player 120 darted after him, crouching low and firing in short bursts to cover his reckless charge.

˚ ༘♡ young-il, player 047, and player 015 began moving toward the exit. you didn’t hesitate to follow, the worn soles of your shoes crunching against the debris-strewn ground. before you could take more than a few steps, young-il stopped abruptly, turning to face you. his stern gaze locked onto yours, “stay here,” he said, his voice low.

˚ ༘♡ your chest tightened with frustration, and you met his command with a sharp glare. “i can’t stay out here,” you hissed, your voice barely louder than the chaos around you. “how can i stand by knowing you’ll be in danger while i sit here, doing nothing? i can help.”

˚ ༘♡ his expression darkened, his face hardening as his jaw tightened. the faint lines around his eyes deepened into sharp creases, the wear of age etched into his skin. you could see the conflict inside him, his instinct to protect you clashing with the knowledge that he couldn’t stop you. his shoulders sagged ever so slightly, a reluctant surrender.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t argue further. instead, he turned sharply and continued toward the exit, his steps heavier than before. you followed close behind, the cold air biting at your face and your hands shaking.

˚ ༘♡ once inside, the oppressive silence of the corridors was shattered by the sharp crack of gunfire echoing through the narrow passageways. your boots slid against the blood-slick floors, the dark streaks smearing across the ground like grotesque markers guiding your way. shattered shell casings crunched underfoot, their metallic edges catching the dim light as you moved in tight formation behind the others.

˚ ༘♡ the sounds grew louder with every turn, each burst of gunfire sending a jolt through your chest. when you reached the source, your heart sank. gi-hun and jung-bae were pinned down behind a stack of crates, their weapons barking in quick bursts as masked men returned fire from the opposite end of the hall. “the control room is there!” gi-hun shouted, his voice strained as he gestured toward a guarded staircase. the veins in his neck stood out with the effort.

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s gaze darted between the staircase and gi-hun, his expression grim. “i’m nearly out of ammo,” he said, his voice undisturbed despite the chaos around him.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun didn’t hesitate. he reached into his pocket, retrieving a magazine with shaky fingers. “here,” he said, extending it toward young-il. “it’s my last one.”

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s eyes flicked to the magazine, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “are you sure?” he asked, his tone measured, though the tension in his voice was unmistakable.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun nodded. “dae-ho will be back with more. now go!”

˚ ༘♡ young-il looked as though he might argue, yet with a reluctant nod, he took the magazine. sliding it into his weapon, he jerked his head toward the opposite direction. “this way,” he commanded.

˚ ༘♡ you fell in step beside him, your shoulder brushing his as you moved. the air felt thick, you couldn’t help but glance at young-il, his face a mask of stable focus.

˚ ༘♡ arriving at another stairwell, the tension in the air felt suffocating, every step heavy with the weight of what might come next. player 047 and player 015 moved quickly, their rifles poised as they positioned themselves near the walls, peering toward the masked guards above.

˚ ༘♡ you and young-il lingered behind them. he reloaded his rifle with the magazine gi-hun had given him. your hands tightening around your weapon. the cold metal felt heavier than ever, slick with the sweat of your palms. you tried to calm your breathing, to ready yourself for the chaos that was certain to erupt. beside you, young-il raised his gun, his posture steady and unshaken. you followed his lead, preparing for the onslaught, waiting for the inevitable storm of bullets. the shots rang out, but they weren’t aimed at the guards.

˚ ༘♡ the first sharp crack reverberated through the stairwell, a deafening sound that seemed to shatter the air. player 047 jerked forward, his body crumpling to the ground like a discarded puppet. his rifle clattered away, the life drained from him in an instant.

˚ ༘♡ before the echo of the first shot faded, another followed, sharp and final. player 015 collapsed, his body writhing as blood began to trickle beneath him. he let out a guttural, choked gasp, his hands clawing weakly at the ground as he struggled to breathe. his voice, broken and trembling, was barely audible as he begged for mercy, his words dissolving into wet, rasping breaths.

˚ ༘♡ you stood paralyzed, the scene before you unspooling in a sickening blur. player 047’s body lay still, his eyes vacant, while player 015 twitched helplessly, his life draining away with each agonized second.

˚ ༘♡ your eyes went to young-il, who remained motionless, his gun still raised. his expression was cold, unreadable, as if the weight of what he had done didn’t touch him at all. there was no hesitation in his actions, no flicker of remorse in his eyes.

˚ ༘♡ the distant echoes of gunfire and screams drowned out by the discordant pounding of your own heartbeat. your mind raced, grasping for something, anything, to make sense of what was happening, but your body refused to move. your breath caught in your throat as young-il turned toward you, his weapon still raised, the barrel gleaming under the light.

˚ ༘♡ time seemed to stretch as the frigid metal pressed against your forehead, the faint scrape of the barrel against your skin sending a chill down your spine. his eyes, once a source of reassurance, now bore into you with an intensity that felt almost inhuman. they weren’t angry, but calculating. you opened your mouth to speak, to plead, to demand answers, but no sound came. the words were trapped, strangled by a fear that gripped your chest.

˚ ༘♡ for a vanishing moment, hope sparked when he lowered the gun. relief struck you so abruptly it nearly made your knees give out. that hope shattered as quickly as it came. he aimed the gun not at your chest, but lower. you barely registered what was happening before the deafening crack of the shot filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ the agony radiating from your shattered knee. it was as if every nerve in your body had been set ablaze, the pain so consuming it blurred your vision and stole the breath from your lungs. blood gushed from the wound, pooling rapidly beneath you.

˚ ༘♡ you clawed at the ground, desperate for anything to anchor you as your body convulsed with the shock of the injury. tears streamed down your face, hot and uncontrollable, as a strangled cry escaped your lips. the cold floor beneath you seemed to pull the heat from your body, leaving you trembling and vulnerable.

˚ ༘♡ through the haze of agony, you forced your gaze upward, meeting his cold, unflinching eyes. “why?” you rasped, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your ears. the word was a broken plea, filled with pain and betrayal, though deep down, you already knew no answer could justify what he had done.

˚ ༘♡ young-il stalked over to player 047’s lifeless body, his demeanor disturbingly composed despite the carnage surrounding you both. crouching beside the corpse, he grabbed the sleeve of the dead man’s jacket, his fingers curling around the fabric. with a deliberate pull, he tore a strip from the bloodied material.

˚ ༘♡ you writhed where you lay, the searing pain in your knee refusing to relent. blood continued to seep from the wound, its warmth pooling beneath you in thick, sticky smears. your breathing came in short, erratic gasps

˚ ༘♡ he returned to you, the strip of fabric clutched in his hand like a twisted tool of control. his presence loomed over you, suffocating in its quiet intensity. you flinched as he knelt beside you, the smell of blood and sweat clinging to him, a grotesque reminder of what he’d done.

˚ ༘♡ without warning, his hand shot out, his grip firm as he seized your chin. the sudden pressure forced your head off the cold, blood-slick floor, and you gasped, your lips trembling as you struggled to focus through the pain clouding your vision. his touch was rigid, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of your jaw.

˚ ༘♡ young-il worked methodically, winding the fabric around your mouth. you tried to jerk your head away, but his grip tightened, holding you in place as he secured the knot at the back of your head. the coarse material bit into the corners of your mouth, the taste of grime and death filling your senses as your cries were reduced to stifled, pitiful sounds.

˚ ༘♡ when he finally let go of your chin, your head hit the floor with a thud that seemed to echo inside your skull. the pain was sharp, but it paled in comparison to the turmoil raging within you. confusion clawed at your thoughts, tangled with disbelief so heavy it was suffocating. this was young-il, the man who had stood beside you, risked his life for you. you couldn’t reconcile the murderous figure before you with the person who had once seemed so kind, so loyal. why? the question screamed in your mind, louder than the agony in your leg or the blood pounding in your ears.

˚ ༘♡ he pulled the portable radio from his pocket, the cold efficiency of his actions cutting deeper than any bullet could. he walked over to where player 015 lay, choking on his own blood, the pitiful sound barely audible between gurgling gasps. kneeling down beside him, young-il’s voice changed, slipping into a grotesque mockery of grief and desperation.

˚ ༘♡ “i’m sorry, gi-hun,” he said, his voice uneven, laced with feigned exhaustion. “it’s over.”

˚ ༘♡ your eyes widened as the meaning of his words sank in. you thrashed against the bindings around your mouth, your muffled screams raw and desperate as you tried to drown out his lie. gi-hun needed to hear the truth, that young-il betrayed them, but the gag stifled every sound.

˚ ༘♡ young-il pressed the radio closer to player 015, holding it just inches from the man’s face. the wet, ragged gasps of the dying player filled the channel. you watched in horror as young-il’s hand rested on the radio. it was cruel, calculated, a performance designed to destroy any hope gi-hun might have left.

˚ ༘♡ with a flick of his finger, he silenced the radio. the stairwell was suddenly quiet except for your muted weeping and the faint rasp of player 015’s fading breaths. young-il stood over him, his gun raised once more. there was no hesitation, no emotion as he pulled the trigger. the crack of the shot was deafening, the sound of it reverberating off the concrete walls and leaving an emptiness in its wake.

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was unbearable. it pressed down on you, crushing your chest, as the weight of his betrayal settled fully in your mind. young-il turned, his face as calm as ever, and you felt your stomach twist. “i’m sorry,” young-il murmured. your heart sank as you convinced yourself this was it. he was going to kill you, finish what he started and tie up loose ends.

˚ ༘♡ instead, he turned and walked away, his footsteps unhurried. the sound of them faded into the distance. confusion churned in your chest, mingling with the pain that consumed your body. why leave you in such a pathetic state? surely, even he wouldn’t be so brutal as to condemn you to bleed out slowly, to suffer alone in agony until death finally claimed you.

˚ ༘♡ time became meaningless as you lay there. blood seeped from your shattered knee in hot, pulsing waves, the sticky warmth swarming beneath you, soaking into your clothes. the air grew colder, or maybe it was you, the life draining from your body, inch by inch. you couldn’t tell if a minute had passed or an hour.

˚ ༘♡ somewhere far away, gunshots cracked. a scream came, a piercing, gut-wrenching sound that sent a shiver crawling up your spine despite your weakening state, unmistakably gi-hun. you refused to consider what might have happened, it was far too devastating.

˚ ༘♡ and then, footsteps.

˚ ༘♡ as the figure emerged into view, a dreadful realization set in. it wasn’t anyone you recognized.

˚ ༘♡ tall and imposing, the stranger was clad in sleek black from head to toe. the fabric of their attire shimmered faintly under the dim light, perfectly fitted, without a single crease or flaw. their face was concealed by an angular black mask, its pristine surface reflecting nothing, revealing nothing, not even a hint of the eyes beneath.

˚ ༘♡ your mind, dulled by pain and blood loss, struggled to comprehend the sight. fear should have seized you, but your body was too weak, your thoughts too fractured to muster a response. when the figure crouched beside you, their movements swift and efficient, you didn’t resist as they ripped the gag from your mouth.

˚ ༘♡ “who… who are you?” you managed to slur, your voice barely audible.

˚ ༘♡ the figure didn’t answer. they didn’t hesitate. one gloved hand cradled the back of your head, tilting it upward with unsettling care, while the other hand brought a cloth to your face. the sharp, chemical scent hit you instantly, chloroform.

˚ ༘♡ panic flared, yet it was short-lived. the edges of your vision blurred, your body growing heavier, like you were sinking into a dark, bottomless pit. the last thing you saw was the smooth, featureless mask staring down at you, icy and unfeeling, before the world faded into black.

a/n: another hwang in-ho fanfiction! let me know your thoughts and if you have any requests! 🤍

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

baking a pie/cookies/sweet pastries for the boys!!! maybe even extra decorated or heart shaped!!! or wonky failures!!!

52 / 246 words / what i thought of lol

...

"Baked an absolute dogshit cake."

You rant and rave, bustling around with paper plates. Behind you, Ghost and Price stand where you've told them and wait to be served.

"Just completely fucked up. I can't believe I forgot the--" You turn around and see Ghost with his pointer finger conspicuously in his mouth, staring straight ahead into the middle distance. Price clears his throat. Then you notice the obvious smear right through the cake's lumpy frosting.

"Simon."

"Mm." Mumbled around finger still in mouth.

"Did you even see what I wrote on it?"

"Hm." He runs his tongue along the front of his teeth and cleans his hands matter-of-factly with a napkin. It does not help him save face. "Course I did."

"It's crooked. And I forgot to add butter. Do you even care? Did you even notice?"

"Course I didn't." He lifts the two plates and forks out of your hands, kisses your frown, and sets to work cutting himself an enormous slice. Price doesn't even bother with a knife, just scoops in with a spoon.

You grumble. But yeah, they probably couldn't give two shits about how it looks. They're guys, right? Don't they rarely notice that stuff? "I guess that's for the best--"

"You misspelled 'Task Force,' though," Price observes. He gestures down at what's left of the message--don't die --- 141, with a crooked smiley face at the end--written in frosting with the misspelled portion now smudged. "Not a word on the whole cake more than five letters and you almost got 'em all right. Impressive."

"Thanks a lot."

...

more Ghost / masterlist

[izzyfishie]

SQUID GAME 3 TEASER I -- A FULL IZZY ANALYSIS

hi guys! holy shit im shaking and trembling. but i insist on analyzing now DSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA im IN SHOCK.

i'll make a separate one for the images that squid game korea has posted on twitter. let's dive right into this.

SPOILERS BELOW!!

whichever one of you said gihun was in the coffin, CONGRATS!! i honestly lost faith in this theory. but it's good to know it's finally confirmed.

this game is scaring me. something to do with knives. this has to be the fifth game -- since we assume the dolls game is fourth. that means it'll likely rid of a lot of the contestants? i did a rough count, and it seems there's around 50 left?

i genuinely don't know what this game is. all the royal symbolism (swords and vests, and cobblestone blocks, like castles) is quite interesting to me. HOWEVER! this likely proves my wall theory as true! the walls are irrelevant to the games.

teams. fuck me. yong-sik is blue and geum-ja is red. AAAAAAHHHH nam-gyu's face has me scared he looks batshit.

this FUCKASS with a clear face. you're scaring me, sir.

gi-hun sad and lonely in the corner. the amount of X's to O's is overwhelming. i'm going to assume this will be in an earlier episode. gi-hun is genuiney so dispirited here.

hyun-ju fighting. i'm pretty sure that eye is seon-nyeo. min-su looks horrified.

cry harder hoe. in all seriousness. i do have a theory for this. it is said we get a glimpse into in-ho's past. there's images of the vip room (the image where yall thought it was gihun or junho as frontman) and i think that may be a flashback of sorts to the prior games, if not a previous time as frontman. i think he may be ruminating and realizing he's come too far to go back now. OR it could be something jun-ho related.

MY BABYGIRL DID IT. PACK IT UP. HES HERE. no more dora jokes

showing these shots consecutively before showing what's MEANT to be 246 is diabolical to me. he has to be the key to no-eul's arc.

KILL. YOUR. SELF. also this looks like the go vip room but much less vibrant lighting.

this is scary me WHAT is this lighting meant to mean. keyhole looking thing? is it a labyrinth?

we can see teams better. seon-nyeo's cult is blue.

that's the records room. why is she in there?? and why does she have fire? is she going to set the records on fire? could she possibly be teaming up with jun-ho in some way, as previously stated? why is she covered up in blood? too many questions.

that's seon-nyeo's hand. we can tell by the bracelets. i dearly wonder why she's smearing blood.

female vips. not that i give a shit they can all die.

WHERE THE FUCK IS HE???? is this some kind of vip room? he's alone. are the mercenaries dead?

why is myung-gi crying? i don't like him but this is raising confusions and suspicions. jun-hee related?

finally. FUCK MY LIFE. yong-sik has to be dead. what if geum-ja hangs herself, foreshadowing her earlier statement?

fuck me i'm so scared.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Writing Polls Notes #2

‼️Number of Submissions Received:‼️

246 submissions!

‼️Number of Submissions co/authored, co/directed, co/screenwritten or co/produced by Black creators:‼️

A whopping.... 17.

6.9% of creations that involved Black people at the narrative helm. Let's talk about it!

The submissions with Black creators involved: Addy (American Girl), The Woman King, Legendborn, Static Shock, Circle of Magic, Grey's Anatomy, Nope, Wendell and Wild, Dread Nation, The Residence, Wakanda Forever, Bridgerton (TV), The Old Guard, Moon Girl (TV), How to Get Away With Murder, and Lou's 2 Dimension 20 characters

*I am not perfect with numbers and given the amount received, I may have missed some, so please let me know!

(Bridgerton and The Residence are Shondaland like Grey's and HTGAWM, so I included them.)

It seems despite this being the fandom website, y'all don't.... there was a lot of not seen😅 Don't get me wrong, it checks that everyone doesn't watch the same things, so of course there'd be a large number, but...

Well, it means we REALLY don't consume media made by the very demographic we're discussing! Part of that is due to what's emphasized in media, what receives funding and advertisement and support, but... Still. So many white and nonblack creators of Black characters, and then we notice how the trend generally leans mid to negative in these polls 😅 That's something we might wanna consider, especially when I say "study Black creators if you want to learn how to write us well".

I spent a lot of time waiting and wondering if anyone was going to submit any media made by Black people, resisting the urge to submit things myself so as to prevent a bias or artificial push. There were so many characters from "Black movies" I would have posted... But it didn't really feel like anything y'all have watched was culturally ours 😅 So I decided to create another series of polls and... Well 😅

Can you guess which is which 😅

I see that I should have made them equivalent measurements now, to better see this, but like... 😬

And to be fair! I myself shocked myself at how little of my own media I had consumed versus mainstream media. It bothered me, especially because I knew of the movies and hadn't seen them yet. It's something I want to set about fixing. It is clear that we could all use some more Black movie nights!

I also noticed that there was a small pattern of self back patting when I posted the "how many of these have you seen" polls. This wasn't about you feeling good about yourself lol, it was about recognizing that there's an entire subgroup of movies that you culturally would have never had put in your face because they weren't centered on your identity. "I don't watch movies, I've only seen four ever in my life" and of those four, how many had well written Black characters? How many were movies written by Black people? The question remains! Just because you watch less TV, doesn't make the TV you watch any less lacking in diversity. As always, I think we need to get out of that mindset of "whew I checked the list, I'm not racist" and focus on "here's this pattern I never noticed and should start".

[power-handmaiden]

Day 246: Unionized In The Butt And Now Everyone Is Safer, Happier And Better Paid

To my fellow USAmericans, happy Labor Day! (I'm celebrating my first Labor Day with a job that actually let's me take the day off!) Ro commemorate the day, I'm skipping a little forward in my chronological reading order for one that's relevant to the day. And, best of all, if anyone reading this wants to read the whole tingler, it's available on a free post on Dr. Tingle's patreon!

I'm thrilled to see the return of buttholes as locations. One of the most fun surreal quirks of the Tingleverse in my opinion. Silly as it sounds, it also serves as an effective illustration of a good approach to making change- the best place to start is at a local level, even if most of us don't have a workforce in our own butts to worry about.

Sometimes, the pocket location inside the protagonist's butt is an escape from the outside world, but here, it's something that parallels the events of the world outside. Being involved in labor organizing in these two different settings allows for the protagonist to have a wide range of experiences within the span of the short story. The story shows that fighting for workers' rights can be difficult work, but is ultimately worthwhile.

[gnrswife]

izzy stradlin x fem!reader

warnings: smut

words:246

Izzy stradlin loves it when you go all dumb on him. that sweet spot after your second or third orgasm when your babbling nears incoherent, broken whimpers and whines falling from your mouth as your pretty eyes grow starry and dazed. the point of overstimulation where your mind goes fuzzy and you can’t distinct whether you want him to stop or keep going, so the only intelligible words coming out of you are ‘Izzy’ and ‘please’

oh, he’s so mean about it, too. all mocking pouts and teasing coos against the shell of your ear ‘thought this was what you wanted, sweetheart, hm?’ ‘what was that, baby? couldn’t hear you, you’re gonna need to speak up’

over and over, he’ll curl his fingers up against that spot that has you crying out and clawing at his back, thumb brushing your clit every so often as your shaky thighs close around his wrist. you’re not getting away that easy, though, and of course he parts them once more with a strong hand before clicking his tongue in disapproval.

it’s just something about seeing you like this that sets him off on a power trip— the feel of your wet cunt fluttering around his fingers, pink lips parted and glistening while your eyes roll back into your head. god, don’t get him started on the tear tracks that run down your flushed cheeks. the sight of you begging— no, crying for him has him harder than he’s been in his life.

he’d never admit it, but it’s better any line he could’ve done, satisfies him more than any high he’s been on. it may seem the other way around, but you have Izzy stradlin wrapped around your finger.

First izzy post how is it ? If you want me to write about anyone let me know and if you want fluff angst , or smut ill try my best to write

Thank you!

[foone]

Experiment #246: Test Subject "Foone B. Turing" was placed in a well lit room with a desk, ample writing implements, and paper. The subject was instructed to do whatever they felt like. A camera was placed to monitor the subject, and the subject was made aware of this fact.

After 4 hours in the experimental setting, the subject was released and interviewed about their actions during the experiment. They reported that they did some creative writing and then spent a while considering the implications of their work so far, so as to consider what could be written next. When asked to rank their enjoyment of the experience, they identified it as "SOMEWHAT POSITIVE", and explained while it was not an ideal situation, they enjoyed the distraction free writing environment and we're satisfied with the experiment.

When the camera footage was examined, it roughly corresponded to the subjects account.

They are seen to familiarize themselves with the writing implements and the environment for 0:45, writing for 0:37, and then the remaining time is filled with idle motions, looking into the distance, and occasional doodling.

When the notepad was examined after the completion of the experiment, it was found to contain assorted abstract shapes, spirals, grids, and a single line of text:

"a gun (made by a wizard) that shoots magic bullets that give you a new phobia"

[pursued-by-the-squid]

ix. caught up in the rip, pt 1

pairing: gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 9.3k

ao3 | masterlist

There’s blood everywhere. You’ve seen so much blood since these games began, but you’ve never gotten more than a bit of splatter on your ankles. Tonight, though, you’re covered in it. It’s caked into your pores, smeared all across the front, back, and sides of your shirt. Your bottoms aren’t as bad, but that’s only because the color is darker and the stains are harder to spot.

You slam into the bathroom door and leave a pair of smeared bloody handprints behind. You don’t care. You hunch over the sink, scrubbing furiously at your hands, then your arms, blood and soap and water dripping everywhere. You don’t care. When you catch a glimpse of your reflection, you see the red streaks across your cheekbones and you immediately shove your face under the faucet to rinse it off.

You want it all gone. You don’t ever want to see another human’s blood staining your skin. You know now how viscous it feels and you never want to feel it again. You want to tear off your skin and settle into a brand new body devoid of the horrors you’ve faced here, to strip yourself bare of everything that’s twisted up and broken inside your soul and burn it all so you never, ever have to think about the lifeless, glazed over look in that man’s eyes, or the consuming to desire to live, so strong that you very nearly shoved your own friend into the path of the firing squad.

Pinkish water swirls up and over the lip of the sink onto the floor. It splatters on the mirror. It doesn’t matter because the blood is still there. Your shirt gets pulled off and dunked into the water. You scrub it so vigorously that it rubs your palms raw, or very nearly.

People died today because of you. The first two games were easy to write off – you had followed the rules, performed well, and been rewarded with your life. It was awful that people were being slaughtered. You hated it. You wanted it to stop. But it wasn’t your fault. It had nothing to do with you.

400-something and his friend had everything to do with you. The blood under your fingernails may as well be theirs. Hell, maybe it is.

You return to the player room with a wet shirt and a body devoid of any desire to do anything more than simply exist. It takes you a moment to make sense of the chaos, or maybe it’s not chaos at all. Maybe it’s just you, dazed and confused in the middle of a world that actually makes perfect sense. Either way, you feel utterly lost.

The player count has dropped massively. Where once the room felt packed to the gills, it now feels empty and cold. Too many beds are left empty. Too many players sit huddled in packs, shaking or crying or gazing, unseeing, into nothingness. You catch a glimpse of Hyun-ju and her teammates perched on a small flight of stairs. A new player, number 246, sits with them. He fills up the space that Young-mi once occupied.

You think of the players you and Young-il helped to kill. Guilt pulls at your ankles until it becomes a challenge to walk. You’re left stranded in the middle of the room, arms clutched around your torso as the chill of your damp shirt starts to set in, and all you can see or hear is the memory of the Mingle rooms. Young-il’s empty eyes. The uncertainty on his face. The blood on your hands.

“[___]-ssi!”

It’s Dae-ho, you realize, though that too takes you longer than it should. He’s jogging over to your side with a smile. “[___]-ssi. Are you alright?”

You shake your head lightly, your mouth pressed into a tight-lipped smile. “You don’t have to call me that. Just [___] is fine.”

He laughs nervously. “Ah, I wouldn’t want to be rude,” he replies, rubbing his hand awkwardly up and down the back of his neck.

“It’s alright. No ssi, okay?” You don’t want this to turn into a whole thing. Just thinking about having a lengthy conversation with anyone right now is enough to make you feel violently angry, so instead you offer a comforting pat on Dae-ho’s arm. “Um, where are the others? I can’t see them.”

His face lights up, perhaps at the thought of being useful, perhaps because he’s a genuinely kind young man with a good heart. You wish you could say the same for yourself. “We’re over in the corner. I’ll show you,” he says. But when he reaches for your shoulder, his smile drops and his hand jerks back. “You’re wet.”

Your eyes clamp shut as the memories suddenly come rushing back. “I was covered in blood. I had to wash it off.”

“But aren’t you cold?”

“It’s fine, Dae-ho-ssi.” Even though you’re shivering. Even though your jacket is long gone and you’re chilled to the bone by your own stupidity, it’s fine.

Sure enough, Gi-hun and Young-il have gathered themselves in the farthest corner of the room, huddled behind a concentration of bed frames as they converse. You have no desire to join the discussion, which seems to be focused solely on the number of players left on each voting team, and are content enough to linger off to the side, out of mind, invisible, and as far from the impending conflict as possible.

You don’t miss the concerned looks Gi-hun passes your way, nor the unreadable expression that stains Young-il’s face when he glances at you, but you don’t address them either. You don’t know what you could possibly say to make them worry any less. “No, Gi-hun, I’m totally fine, I’m just still recovering from the shock of almost killing my friend and then watching him snap somebody’s neck.” He’d probably go ballistic. And Young-il, you have to assume, would be no better. “Why yes, I did indeed consider locking you out. Aren’t you glad I didn’t?” Maybe he’d try to break your neck for that, too.

You try not to think about that. Picturing the look in his eyes, dead and empty like they had been back in the Mingle room, only makes your apprehension worse. It’s better not to dwell on it, right? To pretend it never happened?

Only when you look at Young-il again, all you feel is agonizing, piercing shame for what you almost did. How can you pretend you never considered sacrificing him to save yourself? The memory of it haunts you even now.

You’re suddenly drawn from your thoughts as Gi-hun’s silhouette flares before you. He’s starting for the narrow exit that leads from this small, empty space you’ve gathered in, his face drawn tight in concentration.

“That’s too risky,” you hear Young-il say, and you watch as Gi-hun halts himself mid-step.

Okay, you’ve clearly missed something. Dammit, you should’ve been paying closer attention instead of wallowing in your own–

“Most of them will want to continue the games. If we make a move, they won't just sit back and watch.”

Move? What move?

Gi-hun’s entire body goes rigid. You can see his shoulders tensing from behind, can see his jaw tighten as he turns back to Young-il. “So you think we should just stand here and pray they change their minds?” He must be talking about the O players. You have to admit, leaving the next vote to chance sounds like a terrible idea. “What if we lose again? We march down hand in hand to play another game?”

Awkward silence stretches out between the four of you, but it’s heaviest between him and Young-il. There’s something there that you can’t quite grasp, some unspoken thing that has them at odds with each other despite the friendship they’ve managed to craft.

Young-il takes a moment before he replies. “I understand how you feel.” His voice is steady and solid, the complete opposite of the vibrant bursts of emotion you heard trembling in Gi-hun’s throat. “I also wish I could leave right now, but this is the moment to stay calm.”

“‘Stay calm’?” Gi-hun snaps, suddenly furious. You haven’t seen him like this since before the games began, since he grabbed you and shook an explanation out of you. “We've already taken a vote twice. If we can't convince them, we'll have to bring them over to our side by force.”

“Gi-hun!” The forcefulness of your exclamation takes you by surprise, but that’s not the only reason. You hadn’t meant to speak or even open your mouth, but to hear him say that… Taking things by force? That’s not the Gi-hun you know, or at least, not the Gi-hun you thought you knew. “What are you talking about?”

His face is as impassive as a stone when he looks at you, cold and hard and so unlike the man you’ve become accustomed to. Maybe it’s unfair of you to think that after everything he’s been through. But still, to imply violence against someone other than the game runners or the Captain feels wrong coming from him.

“Things are only going to get worse from here,” he says. “There are only 100 players left! If we lose the vote today, more people will die.”

“But if we provoke them now,” Young-il counters, “we may end up in a big fight before we even get to vote. Is that what you want, Gi-hun-ssi?”

Even a passing glance in the direction of the O players confirms his suspicions. They’re all on edge, eyes sharp and calculating as they survey the surviving X players. A fight wouldn’t be that far from the realm of possibility, you suppose, but Gi-hun has a decent point as well. If the X players don’t change their minds, more innocent lives will be lost.

You dare to step forward, bringing yourself closer to both Young-il and Gi-hun as your mind runs rampant with new ideas. The motion breaks the awkward tension simmering between them and draws both of their gazes toward you. It’s not ideal, but it can’t be avoided. You try not to look at either of them head-on. “What if we offer them money again? Before the vote?”

Both of their voices interlap as they jump to turn you down. “That would be interference–” “–give you that money so you could throw it a–” “–will only cause more unrest and put you in dang–” “–not safe to–”

“Okay, okay! It was a bad idea!” God forbid you try and think creatively to keep from either acting impassively or violently. “But trying to use force to change their minds isn’t going to work either, and I think we all know that. There has to be another way.”

“There might not be,” Young-il replies, his face and voice incredibly serious. “Whether we act or not, those players are hungry for blood and they will use whatever excuse they can to get it. That’s why we’ve been keeping watch at night, isn’t it?” There’s a moment of further quiet as his words begin to settle between your bones. “It’s safest for all of us if we stay calm and don’t approach.”

Whether he’s right or Gi-hun is, you never get the chance to know for sure. The doors at the front of the room open before anyone can say anything further, and the same handful of pink soldiers appear with the voting booth in tow.

Dread simmers low in your belly. Between this and the awful music you wake up to each morning, you’re starting to feel trapped in a recurring nightmare, and even beyond that, it all feels pointless to fight anymore. So many people are dead. Every vote has ended in a victory for the wrong side. Everyone you love is turning into something you no longer recognize – Gi-hun, Young-il, and even yourself. Fighting to live and for what, exactly?

You approach the podium. You press X, of course, because what other option is there? But your soul seems to drift somewhere outside of your body as you do. Casting your gaze over the small gathering of players that remain – only 100 of you now; 357 souls gone in a span of three days and still, the violence is unending – you pick out the familiar faces and wonder where fate will lead them.

Jun-hee and her baby. Will you be forced to watch her bleed out and die? Will the guards shoot her in the stomach to put the baby out of its misery? Dae-ho with his hopeful smile. He’s sweet; sad, since Jung-bae died, but still doing his best to be a shining light in the gathering dark. Will you have to watch a soldier put a bullet in his head? You look to Hyun-ju as you settle in place over the ominously glowing X on the floor. Young-mi’s death has clearly rattled her and it breaks your heart to see her like that when you compare it to the kind and gentle smile she gave you the first day. Will you be forced to watch her fall like all the rest? Will you be forced to kill her, maybe? And what of Young-il? What of Gi-hun?

You have to close your eyes against the sudden image of his lifeless body, even as he comes to stand beside you, so very alive. Sprawled out on an arena floor, bloodied, his limbs awkwardly contorted, a bullet hole between his eyes – is that the kind of end he’ll have? Is that the sort of thing you’ll be forced to witness before your own demise?

A similar image of Young-il comes to mind and you recoil at the horrific intensity of it. Imagining his body twisted and broken like that of the man he’d killed – for you? for himself? – is almost enough to make you sick. How can anyone in this room have witnessed the same things you have and still find it in themselves to vote O?

There are little victories along the way. Voting is faster this time by virtue of the number of slaughtered players. A few O voters change their minds, trading a blue patch for a red one, promising you the tiniest sliver of hope. Hyun-ju is one of them. It takes you by surprise and you’re so overwhelmed by it, and everything else that’s happened today, that you find yourself wrapping your arms around her when she comes over. She doesn’t speak and you don’t expect her to – you wouldn’t know what to say anyway – but she smiles at you in a ghostly sort of way and you smile back, and it’s enough.

There’s a similar flicker of joy, of hope, when one of her teammates switches sides. It’s the son who had voted O last time. He turns around when he has his new patch in hand and he raises it to the sky like he’s praising some distant deity, and you find yourself cheering with him despite yourself. He’s one of the last players and he was the only one left with an O, which means…

You look up in time to see scoreboard change – 49/49. Relief floods your body with enough force that it immediately brings tears to your eyes. You find yourself screaming with the rest of the players, leaping onto your toes, throwing an arm around the nearest warm body, and smiling because it’s finally, finally over! Young-il and one other player, a fellow X voter, are the only ones who remain. You’ve finally made it. You’ve won.

“Gi-hun!” you exclaim, and when you look at him, you see that he’s smiling too. For perhaps the first time since this whole ordeal began, he doesn’t look like a lifeless shell. And he doesn’t fight you when you embrace him, either. “We’re going home!”

He doesn’t say anything, but you see the relief in his eyes. You feel the relief in his body as his arm wraps around your shoulders. You sense the hope flooding back to him when he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

Already, you’re thinking of everything you can do. You want to get Jun-hee, Dae-ho, and Hyun-ju’s contact information so you can find them back in the real world. You’ll give them as much of your money as they need. Young-il, too. Maybe you can invite them all over to your place. The games here will be a thing of the past and things can go back to the way they were – school, Gi-hun, that kiss he gave you…

And then comes the pleasant, up-beat buzz of an O vote being cast. Then comes the shattering of your entire world as the players around you fall deathly silent and the O voters erupt into screams and cheers and declarations. The woman who just cast her vote… she betrayed you all. But why? Why would she do that? She was on your side just yesterday. What…? How? Why?

You catch a glimpse of Young-il as he approaches the booth and you think of all the strangely insightful things he’s ever said to you. The duality of man, the greed and the love and the desperation all clawing out of the same gaping hole inside every person’s chest. He’s never said it so harshly to you before, but you’re smart enough to put the pieces into place – between the loss of his wife, the snippets of his worldview that you’ve caught over shared cups of coffee, and the things he’s said and done here (the fight against Thanos, the murder, the empty eyes, the assured belief that the O voters would draw blood if they could), it’s not hard to understand where he’s coming from.

That’s why he’s hesitating, you think, you tell yourself. That’s why uncertainty weighs upon him like a burial shroud, you explain to the doubt whispering in the back of your mind. He’s as hopeless as you are, most likely. As afraid. As guilty. (Whatever you do, don’t think about the man in the Mingle room with the broken neck and lifeless, empty, dead dead dead eyes.) But that’s also why he votes correctly in the end, and that, at least, is some consolation.

A tie isn’t exactly ideal, but it isn’t damning either. It’s a second chance. It’s hope.

Dinner is a simple thing. The majority of your team is silent, and you can’t blame any of them for it. Mingle was brutal, people were lost, and then the O victory… It’s hard to find anything to be chatty about. Dae-ho tries a couple times. He makes Jun-hee laugh, and then Young-il joins in at one point, and things feel just shy of normal for a handful of heartbeats. You might almost pretend you’re out for dinner somewhere, if you ignore the blood on your shoes and the empty look in Hyun-ju’s eyes and the chill along your spine where your shirt is still wet. Yes, you could pretend, but it would be as empty as this room is, as cold as you are now.

Tomorrow will be better. You have to hope that’s true. You have to hope that you will wake up, take another vote, and find yourself back in your apartment by the time the sun sets again. There’s no other way to get through this hell with your sanity intact.

Young-il follows you when you get up to throw away your trash. He’s not exactly subtle about it, but then, you’ve not been very subtle in ignoring him during dinner. Or Gi-hun, for that matter, but Gi-hun’s too engrossed in his own problems to pay much attention to you anymore.

His footsteps are quiet, if hurried, behind you as you both approach the garbage cans near the front of the room. “You’re avoiding me,” he says, but his voice is soft, rounded at the edges to match the expression on his face, though you’re not entirely sure what the expression is trying to tell you.

Maybe it doesn’t matter what it’s trying to tell you. “No,” you lie.

Young-il doesn’t say anything further for a minute. His eyes are flickering – from your face to your hands to the floor beneath his feet, never resting on anything for more than a few fleeting seconds. And then, slowly, as if trying not to startle you, he takes the garbage from your hands and throws it away for you. He keeps both his fork and yours, slips them into his pocket as if it were the most normal thing he could do.

“I’m sorry I frightened you. During the game,” he clarifies when you furrow your brows at him.

You blink and you’re back there again, bullet holes and blood sprayed across the wall, a dead man on the outside and a dead man on the inside, and you’re struggling to make sense of something that you’re simply not equipped to handle. Because Young-il’s right, even if you don’t want to admit it. He did scare you. But you scare yourself more, somehow, and that’s the thing that you don’t know how to say.

You shake your head, finally. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No?”

“No.” Because I could’ve shoved that man outside. Because I could’ve let you die. And in the end, I couldn’t do either one. “It’s… It’s the games, the man running this whole thing. It gets inside your head and…” Your voice cracks there and you’re forced to look away to keep from breaking any further.

You’re so caught up in your own misery that you miss him moving closer. The sound of his shoes on the floor is swallowed up by the distant conversations and the echoes of death cries in the back of your mind. You don’t even realize he’s reaching for your wrist until you feel his fingers brush your bare skin.

“Don’t,” you start, and you start to tear yourself away before he can try again, but he’s fast. Fast like he was in that room, like on the Mingle floor. Fast and relentless like you couldn’t be, but almost were. Fast enough to grab instead at your elbow and hold you in place.

His voice is pitched strikingly low when he speaks. “Then what’s this?”

“Young-il-nim–”

“We’ve known each other long enough now, [___]. I think we’re well past formalities.”

Your throat goes dry. Your heart is pounding in your ears, in your chest. Everything hurts. Everything feels so close, so tight around you, it’s like you can’t breathe. You don’t want him touching you, you don’t want him looking at you, you don’t want the reminder of what you almost did to seep into your bones like it is now, but he’s too all-encompassing to escape.

“If you aren’t afraid of me, then why keep running?” he asks. He sounds different to you in this moment, like something inside of him has changed – more stern, more menacing, or maybe that’s just the panic and the regret and the soul-deep agony getting to you. “You won’t even look at me.”

“Because I can’t,” you gasp.

“Why?”

Because I see the look on that man’s face when I told him to leave. You close your eyes. Because I remember the disappointment of realizing you were still alive. You feel the agonizing sting of regret pierce your lungs. Because I feel like a monster.

“Say it,” he urges. “Why?”

“Because I can’t.” And no amount of struggling seems enough to make Young-il release you, or back down, or leave you be so you can run and hide somewhere no one will ever find you. And where your feet can’t run, your mouth decides to lead you instead. “I almost killed you. How can I look at you when I–? Young-il-nim, please.”

Please let me go. Please let me run. Please make it stop.

The grip on your arm tightens, as does the grip of despair currently clenching around your heart. “Explain,” he says, like he did before when he’d stepped over the body of that other player and tried to approach you. But when you protest as you did then, he stops you with a firm squeeze of your elbow. “Explain.”

You’re still stuck in that room, still watching the timer count down, still hearing people fighting and screaming, and you’re still debating throwing yourself against that door and locking Young-il out. You’re glad now that you didn’t, but in that single moment, it seemed like the only viable option – his life in exchange for yours.

But holding it in is starting to weigh on you. Even during the last round of the game, you couldn’t bear to be near Gi-hun. You didn’t want him touching you, not even to drag you to safety; that’s how you got caught with Dae-ho’s group in the first place. You felt too dirtied with the blood of your fellow players, both literal and metaphorical, to be allowed that kindness. You still feel too dirty for it and a part of you hates Young-il for trying to take that from you when all you want to do is bury yourself alive in your self-pity and regret. Yet simultaneously, you love him for trying to understand, for not allowing you to run like the coward you know you are.

He deserves to know. As your friend and as your teammate, he deserves to know that he can no longer trust you. And maybe, you tell yourself, if he knows, then he can be the one to break it to Gi-hun just how far you’ve fallen and spare you the distress of having to tell him yourself.

The words get stuck in your throat the first time you try. And the second time. Until finally the only thing you can do is force the words out and refuse to look at him when you do because that way, at least, you won’t have to see his horror and betrayal. “I saw the time was counting down and I realized that man was in there with me, and I… I knew if I just shut the door, it’d all be over and I’d be safe.”

Several frantic heartbeats later, you hear Young-il speak softer than you think you may have ever heard him before. “You would have closed the door on me?”

Yes. You don’t say it, but the confirmation is clear, nonetheless. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m not proud of it. I’m so glad I didn’t, but I–”

The sudden pull on your arm draws you directly into Young-il’s chest. Your eyes spring open as the world goes off-balance and you manage to catch a glimpse of Young-il’s dark and endless eyes before he’s embracing you, one hand flat against your shoulder blade and the other at the base of your neck where your hair meets your collar. “Did you really think,” he mutters, so very close to your ear, “I would hate you for that?”

You’re frozen in shock because yes, of course that’s what you thought. That’s what any sane person would think. If Gi-hun were to tell you he’d thought of sacrificing you to save himself during one of the earlier games, you’d be furious with him. Heartbroken. It would shatter every ounce of faith you’ve ever had in him. So why wouldn’t it be the same for Young-il?

His hands are gentle when they cup your face, too gentle for a place like this, for a person like you, yet he does it so naturally. It reminds you of the day Gi-hun ran off to get himself killed the first time and you begged Young-il to come see you. It reminds you of the way Young-il had held you and let you cry until you didn’t have any tears left. He swipes his thumbs over the tears that streak down your cheeks and looks at you like he’s never looked at you before, with a fondness that pins you in place and dares to unravel you.

It’s only when you tilt your face out of his grasp, frowning and sniffling, that he finally relents. You’re caught between mourning the contact – Gi-hun’s never been keen on physical affection, friendly or otherwise, but you miss his touch all the same – and feeling relieved that it’s over – because you still don’t feel right for accepting it.

“You’re right, you know,” he says, and his eyes seem brighter than before. “About the man behind these Games, about the Games themselves. It changes you into something you don’t recognize.”

“Maybe,” you reply. “But I still feel like a monster.”

Young-il studies you. His gaze is sure and steady, only faltering briefly when he notices the way your teeth worry at the inside of your cheek. “You give yourself too little credit. You might be the only person here who isn’t.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. You want to protest, but you don’t have the stomach for it, and you want to question him, to understand why he’s being so… strange, but you don’t have the stomach for that either. Young-il shifts as you both turn and head back for the beds, and you’re immediately struck by the way that Gi-hun is watching you unabashedly. Heat immediately flares out across your cheeks and you flounder strongly enough to nearly trip over your own feet.

Did Gi-hun see…? You can only imagine what he might be thinking if he did. If you’d seen another person trail him across the room and then take his face in their hands, you think you might have the same perplexed, hesitant, cautious expression that Gi-hun wears now. Still, you don’t like being on the receiving end of it. You don’t like the way it makes you feel, as if you’ve done something wrong.

Some of the others look your way, too. Jun-hee and the elderly mother glance over, studying you in that quiet way they have about them. Dae-ho’s head snaps in your direction so suddenly that it takes you entirely by surprise. He raises an arm and starts to speak, but it’s drowned out by the sound of a shout on the other side of the room.

“Hey, 457!” You falter mid-step, and Young-il lingers just beside you. It’s one of the O players – a friend of 100’s, you think – who’s risen to gesture at you. “Still got that 2 billion?”

Young-il moves in front of you with his own arm outstretched to shield you, but Dae-ho comes to your defense remarkably fast. “Hey, shithead! Mind your own business!” he shouts.

With the other players momentarily distracted, Young-il grabs you by the elbow and starts to maneuver you away. “Move,” he mutters. “Quickly.”

Already, the room has devolved into chaos. The elderly mother’s son is standing now, along with several other X players, as he points angrily at the other team. Dae-ho is posturing and shouting about being a Marine, puffing his chest out when the others laugh at him. And every time you try to tell Young-il that it’s fine, he can let go. Every time you feel the pull to go to Dae-ho’s defense as thanks for him coming so quickly to yours, you find yourself being drawn back and prodded onto the stairs. Probably where he deems it safest. At any other point in your life, you might find the gesture flattering.

Not today, though. Not right now. Not when everything feels so uncertain. Your head is still swimming from Mingle, from voting, from the confession of your deepest regret and the shame of being caught with another man’s hands on your face.

You’re overthinking, you tell yourself, settling onto your haunches in one of the empty spaces vacated by your fellow X players. After all, it’s easy to overthink in a place like this, and especially when Gi-hun now refuses to look you in the eyes. How did everything go so wrong so quickly?

Five more people are dead. Killed by human greed or fear or the very structure of the game itself, you have no clue, but they’re dead all the same. The survivors of the altercation look more like bloodied corpses than actual, living humans. Five people dead and rather than mourn them, you and everyone else in this God-forsaken place have added them to the equation that leads to survival. Your team lost fewer people, so therefore your team is more likely to win the morning vote. Your team lost fewer people, so that means you’ll survive another night.

“Lights out in 20 minutes,” announces the loudspeaker. “All players, please prepare for bedtime.”

You’ve never wanted to go to bed less than you do right now. One would think that with your victory (if survival can even be called that anymore) imminent, you’d be relieved enough to pass out the moment your head hits the pillow. But the mere thought of it is enough to make you feel sick all over again. How can you possibly sleep tonight knowing how much blood has been spilled to buy your freedom?

Luckily, or unluckily, Dae-ho snags you before you can force yourself into bed. He prompts you to follow him to the same corner of the room as he had before, only this time there are more than just Gi-hun and Young-il waiting for you. Hyun-ju, Jun-hee, the elderly woman and her son, and several other players have all gathered into a loose circle with Gi-hun at the head. You lower yourself into a cross-legged position, hesitantly trying and failing to catch his eyes as you do.

His face is more stern than you’ve seen in a while. “Once the lights go out, people on the other side will attack us.”

One of the other players shifts uncomfortably. “Really?”

“Because if they kill us, they'll be able to win the vote and increase the prize.”

“So what do we do?” asks the son, number 007, as he pushes his glasses further up his nose.

Young-il leans forward. “Let's attack them first.” Oh God. “They're probably thinking we'll just wait for the second vote. We can use it to our advantage. We'll attack them first once the lights go out.”

“That's right,” says Player 047. He looks like the most normal sort of man you might encounter on a walk through Seoul. How awful it is to have to see him in a place like this, forced to make bets with his own life, and for what? “It'd be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we'll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning.”

“We can't do that,” Gi-hun replies softly, his eyes dark and burning in the lowlight.

Young-il sighs. “But we have to get out of here. You said it yourself. Staying calm won't get us anywhere now.” And while you hate both the idea of staying and the idea of fighting, you know that he’s right. It’s just that neither option is a good one.

“That doesn't mean we should kill each other. That's exactly what they want us to do.”

Young-il frowns, then, tilting his head to one side in curiosity. “‘They’?”

“Those who created this game. Those who watch us play.” A chill runs up your spine at the thought, only to be followed by another when Gi-hun’s eyes finally meet yours for the briefest of moments. “If we're going to fight someone, it should be them.”

Young-il’s voice feels far away when he asks, “Where are they?”

Gi-hun tips his head back to gaze at the ceiling for a moment. “Up there. On the upper levels are the rooms they control the games from. The man in the black mask is their leader, their Captain. Once we capture him, we'll be able to win.”

He makes it sound so easy. Like, oh sure, we’ll all just break out of jail and swarm the citadel. That’ll go over real well.

Young-il shifts his foot a bit. “And how do you plan to do that?” he asks quietly.

“We’ll fight them.”

“Who, the guards?” Gi-hun glances at you, pausing for a moment before he finally nods. He must be out of his fucking mind. “Are you kidding me? They’ll kill us.”

“Not if we take their guns,” he says lowly. The voice is familiar, that same gravelly tone that he uses when he’s balancing on the edge of his sanity, but the face that stares back at you seems to belong to a stranger. His eyes are dangerous, sharp enough to draw blood, his body strung tighter than a bow.

The rest of the group chatters softly as the weight of his words begins to sink in. Honestly, you can’t believe what you’re hearing. This is suicide. Even if some of you were able to snag a few guns and take out a few guards along the way, it would put too many people at risk. What if they retaliate? What if they decide none of you are worth the trouble and the remaining player count gets slaughtered? How will that help anyone?

Young-il says as much, though with fewer words and more patience than you have. You just don’t expect the ferocity with which Gi-hun retaliates.

“What, then? Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive? Is that what you want, Young-il-ssi?”

“That’s not what any of us wants,” you snap, drawing the eye of every player in the circle, though Gi-hun’s are the blackest. You worry you’ll fall in and never come out if you look at them for too long. “You know that. But what you’re suggesting is suicide.”

“It’s the best shot we have at destroying these Games once and for all.”

Is it? Or is this just a desperate bid for control that’s going to get Gi-hun killed?

You shake your head. “It’s a bad idea. We have a better chance at fighting the other players than we do against the guards. At least they don’t have guns.” You don’t notice the way that Young-il turns to stare at you.

You do, however, notice the blatant disappointment that simmers in the creases of Gi-hun’s mouth. “Then you’ll condemn us all to another round of games, [___]. Is that what you want?”

“I want to live. And despite your determination to get yourself killed, Gi-hun, I want you to live too.” Leaning forward, you press one of your palms flat against the floor. “We have the upper hand here. If we know they’re planning to attack, we should work on defending ourselves instead of offering half our team as sacrificial lambs.”

Pointing to the nearest bunkbed, you continue, “We could move the beds so we have a fort. We can use the forks to unscrew some of the bars, make weapons so we can defend ourselves. Put the women and the older folks in the back, crowd them with mattresses to keep them safe. Then you go ahead and put yourself on the line. Then you fight. At least that way there’s a chance for all of us.”

The group falls silent, or at least, more silent than before. Where before you could hear the faint hums of agreement or disapproval, now you hear only the rush of air in your lungs and the pounding of your heart against your ribs. Gi-hun has shown so much of himself since the games began – you’ve seen him cry, you’ve seen him smile and leap for joy, you’ve seen him thrown to the very depths of his despair, but you’ve never seen him like this. You’ve never seen him look at you like this.

“What if they notice?” comes the still, small voice of Kang Dae-ho.

You’d almost forgotten he was there. For a moment, the world had seemed no larger than the breath between your atoms and Gi-hun’s. “What if who notices?”

Dae-ho nods his head in the general direction of the other team. “The O players. What if they see us moving things and decide to attack us ahead of time?”

“I think they’d be likely to try,” Young-il nods. He glances between you and Dae-ho with a certainty and confidence that you envy, as if he’s never been more at home in his own skin than he is in this moment. “It’s a good plan, but it would put us at a disadvantage.”

It’s disappointing, but you understand his argument. You might even agree with it. Each O player is a wild card and the more you think on it, the more you agree that it would be very likely for them to attack the moment they catch wind of something strange.

“So, what do you suggest?” you ask. “We can’t just sit back and let them kill us.”

“We fight,” says Gi-hun, eyes blazing. You can only watch in horror as he describes his plan in further detail. “Once the lights go out, we get under the bottom beds – quietly. Once the lights come on, the soldiers will come to settle the situation. They'll try to break up the fight first. They won't pay attention to the dead. They will scan our trackers to identify us. That'll be our window.”

You can already picture the carnage. The bodies of your fellow players strewn about the room like ragdolls in a child’s playpen. The guards will come. Gi-hun will jump to his feet with revenge as his only goal and he’ll be gunned down before he has a chance to fight. The others will be either slaughtered or subdued, possibly punished – Young-il, Dae-ho, Gyeon-seok, probably even Hyun-ju. All the strongest members of your team eliminated in one way or another while the weak are left to fend for themselves.

“It’ll be a massacre either way,” you tell him. Because if he refuses to see the truth, then you’ll ram it down his throat until he chokes on it. Because this isn’t right.

Young-il, to your great relief, seems to agree. “Hiding will put the players on our side at quite a disadvantage. Without us in the fight, they'll be outnumbered.” What he means, but doesn’t explicitly say, is that without men like Gi-hun or Young-il to defend them, they’ll all be dead.

And Seong Gi-hun – the man who once saved your life simply because he could, the man you’ve come to care more for in the past three years than you have anyone else you’ve met in Korea – accepts this loss, this sacrifice with little more than a shuddering breath and a sympathetic tilt to his lips. “I know. But if we fight with them and some of us end up dead or injured, it will ruin our entire plan. We can't beat those bastards with a lower headcount.”

Young-il’s eyes widen slightly. “Are you suggesting that we make a small sacrifice for the greater good?” You notice the ironic smile tugging at his lips, not fully manifesting but haunting his face until it shadows his gaze and darkens his features. You don’t like it.

Gi-hun takes another breath to steady himself. “If we miss this opportunity, the sacrifice will be even greater. Even if it takes a sacrifice, we must put an end to this Game now.”

It comes down to another vote. Five of you vote to fight, four of you vote to defend. Neither Gi-hun nor Young-il dares to meet your eyes.

You’re angry. He doesn’t blame you for it. In fact, he’s proud of you. You’ve been frightened since the Games began, clinging to him or to Gi-hun like a child, but tonight he can see you for what you really are – resilient, passionate, and so very, very angry. Your eyes are brighter than stars, alight with rage, and your body is taut, your shoulders held so they jut out from your torso like stakes lining a fort. A silent warning not to come too close, but In-ho isn’t afraid of you or your charming posturings. He knows exactly where to step so he doesn’t get cut on your blade.

“[___].”

Your body tenses even further when you hear his voice. With your back turned to him, he can’t see your face, but he can guess the expression easily enough – creased brows, a furrowed bottom lip, your cheeks likely flushed with the heat of your emotions. One of your elbows tilts into the air as you dig the blunted end of your fork into a screw and twist. It doesn’t shift until you try another three times.

“Are you really going to ignore me?” he asks once he sees that you aren’t going to budge.

You grunt in frustration as the screw finally comes loose and falls into your hand. “I have nothing to say to you.”

The thought occurs to him then that this is but a hint of your actual rage. If you are this upset over Gi-hun’s plan, a plan that In-ho himself would follow in a heartbeat if he actually cared for the man’s cause, how will you react when you discover who he truly is? If, he corrects himself, not when. Still, he finds himself intrigued by the idea. Glimpses of an almost-fantasy drift into his head – your wild, starry eyes tinted a dusky yellow in the light of his apartment, your teeth bared and your face stained with tears, the curses you would fling at him, the fragile arch of your throat when he finally gets his hands on you and–

He squeezes his eyes shut to force the image out. He doesn’t have the time to dwell on such things. So then, why is he here? Why attempt to mend things when he knows his time with you is running out? If Gi-hun’s plan succeeds, no matter how unlikely, there won’t be room for Young-il in these Games any longer.

It should be a relief to finally be within reach of freedom, to finally be able to shrug off the cloak of Young-il’s personality and embrace Hwang In-ho once more. After all, he got what he wanted, didn’t he? Seong Gi-hun has fallen from grace, his every weakness exposed and manipulated until he has become something unrecognizable, and you had abandoned all of your carefully contrived morals hardly mere hours ago for the chance to continue living. He did this. So why does the victory feel hollow?

“You can’t save them all,” he finds himself saying. Your silence, however, is haunting. He doesn’t like it. What happened to your fire? What happened to your unique brand of self-righteousness and naivety? “What makes you think you can?”

“Is it better not to try, then? To stand by and watch people die?”

The image of your righteous anger and pliant body transforms into something worse, something that exists far beyond In-ho’s control. Your hatred would come so easily if you knew the truth. It would, in some twisted way, be exactly the thing he’s been trying to do for the past two years. Your heart would break under the weight of his sins, the final victory in a long line of battles that have ended in stalemates, yet suddenly he finds that he doesn’t want that either.

He doesn’t know what he wants. He thought he did. But somewhere along the way, the things that Young-il wanted, the things that In-ho wanted, and the things that the Frontman wanted all became so inextricably tangled that they have merged into one writhing mass of desires that can neither be fulfilled nor ignored.

You turn to him then, vulnerable beneath the thin layer of upset you wrap yourself in, and frown. “I feel like I’m the only one who sees how fucked up this is.”

He tries to imagine what Young-il might say if he were real. The words are there, but they don’t feel right when he goes to speak them, so he allows the mask to slip. “This is the way of the world,” says In-ho, who thinks only of the man who came to these Games nine years ago and lost his soul somewhere along the way.

“What, to kill or be killed?”

“Yes.”

“It shouldn’t have to be that way,” you sigh.

Are you truly so naïve that you cannot see the truth? Even after three days of constant bloodshed, you still hold out the hope that humans can be anything other than cruel? He studies the tick above your eyebrow and the faded pink stains of blood on your shirt, and then he wonders if maybe this is your way of atoning for your own brutality.

“But it is.”

“But it doesn’t have to be.” In-ho studies the flare of your nostrils and the streak of irritation that crumples your mouth, and he feels something in his heart soften. “Whatever sick fuck is manipulating this whole thing, he clearly wants us to kill each other. Gi-hun’s plan plays right into his trap and it’s like none of you can see that!”

He sees the chip in your armor, the crack in the foundation stones that Gi-hun laid down himself, and he pounces, digging his teeth into the vulnerability until the crack becomes a canyon. “He sees it,” he assures you with all his honeyed sureness. He takes a step closer so his shoulders take up the breadth of your vision and you’re forced to look at him, only him. “But I don’t think he cares anymore. Losing Jung-bae…”

It broke him. Just like losing Gi-hun and Young-il will break you. And if In-ho cannot have a single thing that he wants, then he will have this instead.

“There’s no changing his mind now. We have to see this through.”

There’s more you wish to say, he sees it burning on your tongue even now, but you decide to keep it to yourself for the time being. It’s a shame, really. There is still so much that he could debate with you over, still so much left unspoken and unexplored, and time is running out.

His eyes trace empty patterns over the surface of your face. You’ve returned to extracting a metal bar from the bed, but your body is more open to him now than it was before. From this angle, he can see the curve of your neck where it disappears below your shirt. The rounded tip of your nose catches a bit of light when you scrunch your face under the effort of your task. What a curious thing you’ve turned out to be.

The temptation to lean in and kiss you strikes him now as it did when you admitted how you’d almost killed him earlier – fast and hard, cutting under his ribcage to knock the breath out of him. Would you even fight him, he wonders, or would you kiss him back? His eyes drop lower to your collar, damp with sweat and pulled low enough to expose a sliver of your collarbone. He could try. He could explain it away as a spontaneous moment driven by the fear of a looming battle and his possible death, and then he might finally rid himself of the desires eating away at him. He could kiss you now and leave you to the arena, and he would forget all about you by the time he strapped his mask into place.

The overhead lights buzz and flicker out, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the piggy bank – 30 minutes until the carnage begins – and In-ho thinks he just might do it. His fingers itch to grab you by the collar and shove you against the nearest viable surface, to press his mouth against yours until you give him everything he could ever want. Let this be the final weakness he indulges in before he embraces his fate with open arms once more.

The piece of bed frame you’ve been working so hard at falls freely into your hands with a metallic shriek, but its sudden weight very clearly surprises you. Both of his hands shoot out on instinct as your body curls in on itself to shoulder the brunt of it, and leaves you both grasping at the bar, limbs partially entangled, hearts pounding. He can hear his own pulse, yes, but more than that, he can see yours where it ticks along the side of your neck.

“I got it,” you mumble, “thanks.”

In-ho doesn’t let go.

“Young-il-ssi.”

That’s not my name, he thinks. You’ve remembered his request, but you still can’t speak his name, his true name, because of the web he’s trapped you both in. It is only now that he regrets the choice to hide his identity, however selfish and foolish it is now to wish otherwise. His eyes drop to the swell of your cheek, the flutter of your eyelashes, and then the bow of your lips, and he knows there is no going back. Not anymore. Say my name.

“Young-i–”

The metal bar drops when he pulls it right out of your fingers and tosses it onto the mattress. He doesn’t care to see where it lands, if it’s in the way – all he can see is you. Your face tilts down to follow the path of the bar, but his hand is quicker, cupping your jaw to gently direct your gaze back to him, and you blink at him. Your breath stutters in your chest. He almost laughs because it stutters in his too.

As it turns out, you don’t fight him when he kisses you. You certainly could if you felt so inclined; he isn’t restraining you, all your limbs are free, and the hold on your jaw is loose enough that you could withdraw without any effort. But you don’t withdraw. You stay.

He parts from you just long enough to draw a deep breath before pressing his mouth to yours again, tongue first this time, and he’s stunned to find you opening yourself to him without pause. Your breath is muffled and warm inside his mouth, your gentle note of surprise gradually shifting into something more the longer he kisses you.

The world goes colorless all around him. There is no world. There is only you and him – the taste and scent of you, the weight of your fingertips against his chest, the arch of your spine when he presses you into the bed frame and plunders you for everything you’re worth. He wasn’t aware he craved so deeply. He hadn’t realized until he’d known your touch just how much he cared, but now there is nothing he can do to deny it. He hates you for it and his fingers shake when they hover over your trachea, teasing himself with the idea of choking you unconscious as retribution, but he also knows he doesn’t hate you in the least. That sensation in his heart, pressing in on the chambers of the muscle until it aches, is far too familiar to be hatred alone. He recognizes the shape of it.

He's a fool for not seeing it sooner, for not noticing it the moment he saw Magritte’s book on your bedside table and putting an end to it right there. He should have killed you when he had the chance. But as In-ho feels you breathing new life into his atrophied lungs, he realizes that chance is long gone. He can’t kill you now, and no one else will ever be able to harm you from here on out. Not a single one of his soldiers. Not Gi-hun. Not you. Not even himself.

“Stay by my side,” he breathes when he finally finds the clarity of mind to withdraw, though he doesn’t stray far. He is more than content to rest his forehead against yours and linger in this fragile moment.

You blink lazily at him, dazed, confused, and so very enticing. “What?”

“When the fighting starts.” He rubs his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “Stay with me. I’ll protect you.”

[psychoticallykind]

Mice

'Mouse/Mice' - Rosekiller Microfic -@rosekillermicrofic - 246 words

NSFW - Language, cursing

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Barty."

"Barty."

"Barty, wake the fuck up," Evan whispered. "Barty."

"Mm?"

"Up, B. I need you awake."

Barty's eyes blinked open. "I'm awake. What?"

Evan's eyes were fixed on something across the room. "I need you to kill them."

Barty's eyebrows rose a bit. "Okay. Who?" He sat up, taking in the tense set of Evan's shoulders.

Evan was still whispering. "The mice."

"The -" Barty stopped, processing. "I'm sorry, what?"

Evan turned to look at him, eyes wide and voice low. "I need you to go kill the mice."

Barty burst out laughing, and Evan's eyes narrowed for half a second before he shoved him off of the bed.

"Hey -" Barty started to complain, and then froze as something touched his back. "What -"

The thing scurried over his stomach, up his shirt, and soon there was something pressing against his throat.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, what the hell -" Barty shot up, frantically slapping the thing away from his neck.

It hit the floor with a small thump and a squeak.

Barty climbed back on the bed, taking a shuddering breath. "Call Pandora."

Evan gave him an incredulous look. "And tell her what?"

"Tell her to come kill the fucking mouse!" Barty replied, a little frantic.

"Mice," Evan corrected. He glanced at the floor. "There's more than one."

Barty blinked. "Right." He grabbed his phone off the charger. "So, you call Pandora, and I'll call Reg."

Evan frowned. "Why Reg?"

Barty shuddered. "He can get us a snake."

[tifalikesart]

WK DemiGods AU🌊🌿

[How the brothers came to be.] (BACKSTORY)

[Chris Art!] [Martin Art!]

[BROTHERS REFERENCE SHEET]

[In the official style??] [More of them]

[The Girls!] (Aviva, Koki)

[Is anyone there? (Story)]

[Power Source]

(BASIC INFO)

[🌊 Martin Kratt 🌊]

DemiGod of the Sea/Water

Age - 250

Personality - Calm, but still a little silly, likes talking to humans and telling them facts about the Ocean

[🌿 Chris Kratt 🌿]

DemiGod of the Land/Plants

Age - 246

Personality - much more quiet compared to his Brother, still friendly to humans and tells them facts, but is more cautious and tries to spy on them in the tree tops to see if they're good or not..

(BACKSTORY)

[Fantasy esc setting, The Kratt Brothers are DemiGods after showing mother Nature that they would do anything to keep the earth and its inhabitants safe. They then got a part of the Earth infused within their souls (martin water) (Chris Land) and now they reside in some forest near a river which connects them to The sea!]

(POWERS)

[🌿🌊 - Both brothers can shape shift into any animal they wish (the only way to tell if it's them is to see if the creature as any Blue/Green details on them, and they can both feel animals and plants feelings around them, also like heightened awareness and senses]

[🌿 - Chris He can grow plants and manipulate vines (elemental powers)]

[🌊 - Martin can Manipulate Water/Ice]

That's pretty much all i got have fun!

I'll make the rest of the crew when i got ideas rn I don't rly know

[a-d-nox]

tarot hypothesis: major arcana and squid game player numbers

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

enjoy my work? help me continue creating by tipping on ko-fi or paypal. your support keeps the magic alive!

067 (0+6+7 = 13 -> death)

has a very transformative experience while playing the games especially when playing marbles. unfortunate for her, she has an unforgettable death moment where she's dying from her internal wounds only for 218 to "unexpectedly" kill her before she could succumb to the wound. like the mourners in the card, 456 is so devastated by her death that it changes his outlook on the final game.

218 (2+1+8 = 11 -> justice)

is the first person to mention the voting process to leave the game on the show. also kindly let ali borrow money and his phone... despite the final rounds, he began the games with a level of fairness kept in mind.

101 (1+0+1 = 2 -> high priestess)

perfect definition of reversed high priestess energy, he shows time and time again that his is disconnected from his own intuition - he doesn't know who to trust outside or even inside the games. he also relies too heavily on others when it comes down to it...

456 (4+5+6 = 15 -> devil)

gi-hun is like the terminator he just keeps coming back for more - but seriously homeslice literally comes back to the worst place he has ever been and where he has faced his own addiction with games... also he tends to make the same mistakes over and over like trusting people he thinks he knows...

333 (3+3+3 = 9 -> hermit)

myung-gi is a cryptocurrency influencer... its virgo male coded... but also i would like to predict him dying in darkness or being alone in some fashion during the final season's games. if not that then, i believe 222 is going to leave him in the dust.

388 (3+8+8 = 19 -> sun)

tell me dae-ho doesn't have hella youngful energy? also of naivety??? the sun is explorer so either he is a VIP or he could escape (by mere luck)... OR, which i think is most likely, he will end up being somewhere he shouldn't be and be killed for it.

246 (2+4+6 = 12 -> hanged man)

martyr coded... we just knew he was gonna die... and it's a horribly sad story because his sick daughter is all alone now...

120 (1+2+0 = 3 -> empress)

GET IT GET IT GET IT!!! i am sorry WHAT that is so on the nose. a trans woman as the empress is crazy spot on. i love it!! i saw that and was like *GASP*!!! also *gasp* because its park sung-hoon

007 (0+0+7 = 7 -> chariot)

oof more reversal energy... that man hesitated so hard when it came to getting his mother in my opinion and he hesitated when voting too... not to mention the lack of impulse control that he has...

149 (1+4+9 = 14 -> temperance)

i have seen a lot of people saying that she is a VIP and i disagree especially if this matrix numerology is still spot in s3. she is definitely a "friend" and not a foe.

390 (3+9+0 = 12 -> hanged man)

another martyr coded person. he was set up so the audience would love him and feel like he was a good person only for him to get swept away by someone who he just knew too much about.

222 (2+2+2 = 6 -> lovers)

bro please hear me out... front man's wife died carrying their baby - what if his empathy and projection of his history on to her is what ends up saving her life?? he did make a few comments (no i don't think he just has human decency lol) about taking it easy and to be careful because she is pregnant...

044 (0+4+4 = 8 -> strength)

when i was watching the show i was like i don't see it - i get moon (18) energy vibes but not strength (8) then she had her mini meltdown and i was like there it is... there is the vulnerability under that mask of "faith" in fate.

125 (1+2+5 = 8 -> strength)

then on the other hand... this is an extremely vulnerable character with zero back bone seriously reversed energy...

230 (2+3+0 = 5 -> heirophant)

thanos - tell me that man's ritual was not popping a pill and getting out there in the game.

001 (0+0+1 = 1 -> magician)

OBVIOUSLY no one can trust anyone what equals 1. its a duh moment (even in the 8 show - which i may do next if this does well) - the magician is a creator when upright and a manipulator when reversed...

have ideas for new content? please use my “suggest a post topic” button!

return to nox's guide to metaphysics

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© a-d-nox 2025 all rights reserved

[simdertalia]

🐟 🎁 ACNH Aquarium Set 3 🎁 🐟

Here is the third part of the aquarium stuff! With some extras added, as always, made with love by me - 💗💗💗 This set mainly focuses on gift shop items, and some Angler Fish exhibit items (but there are lots of things!)

Sims 4, Base game compatible. 45 items | Check item list below for swatch numbers, most items have multiple swatches | Many extra swatches on many items added by me

I hope you enjoy! 💗

Set contains: -Angler Exhibit Fish Display 1 (ACNH) | 1 swatch | 1177 poly -Angler Exhibit Fish Display 2 (EA) | 5 swatches | 1341 poly -Angler Exhibit Light: On & Off (2 items) | 7 swatches each for light color | 242 poly each -Angler Exhibit Sign 1 (cameras) | 9 swatches frame color | 118 poly -Angler Exhibit Sign 2 (main exhibit sign) | 3 swatches | 2 poly -Angler Fish (glowing ball) | 5 swatches | 1215 poly -Framed Map | 6 swatches frame color | 38 poly -Gift Shop Balloons 1 & 2 (2 items) | 5 swatches each | 1862 poly each -Gift Shop Chest | 3 swatches | 1904 poly -Gift Shop Enclosed Display | 12 swatches | 148 poly -Gift Shop Enclosed Display No Glass | 12 swatches | 98 poly -Gift Shop Enclosed Display with Tag | 12 swatches | 204 poly -Gift Shop Enclosed Display with Tag, No Glass | 12 swatches | 154 poly -Gift Shop Fish Pillow | 5 swatches | 218 poly -Gift Shop Folded Shirts 1 & 2 (2 items) | 19 swatches each | 202 & 162 poly -Gift Shop Mermaid Globe (mermaid item inside borrowed from srslysims!) | 14 swatches | 1273 poly -Gift Shop Octopus Plush | 9 swatches | 638 poly -Gift Shop Pet Sea Angel | 3 container colors, 2 fish colors, 6 total swatches | 622 poly -Gift Shop Shelf 1 (small, 3 shelf) | 13 swatches | 494 poly -Gift Shop Shelf 2 (corner) | 11 swatches | 366 poly -Gift Shop Shelf 3 (tall, 5 shelf) | 13 swatch each | 854 poly -Gift Shop Shelf 4 (large, multi-level) | 13 swatches | 782 poly -Gift Shop Shell Pillow | 6 swatches | 214 poly -Gift Shop Squid (hanging, glows) | 1 swatch | 580 poly -Gift Shop Squid Plush (glows) | 1 swatch | 562 poly -Gift Shop Squid Plush 2 (matches octopus) | 5 swatches | 542 poly -Gift Shop Squid Plush 3 (black & white) | 6 swatches | 2254 poly -Gift Shop Starfish Pillow | 9 swatches | 290 poly -Hanging Sign | 33 swatches | 342 poly -Pamphlet Holder | 10 swatches | 184 poly -Poster Sign (this object has 8 package files, one for each frame color) | 11 swatches for poster each | 174 poly each -Velvet Rope (3 posts, 2 rope) | 17 swatches | 1202 poly -Velvet Rope Post | 9 swatches | 238 poly -Velvet Rope Just Rope | 16 swatches | 246 poly -Velvet Rope Single | 16 swatches | 720 poly

Type “acnh aquarium 3" into the search query in build mode to find quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.

As always, please let me know if you have any issues!

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE

📁 Download on Patreon

Will be public on July 4th, 2024 💗 Midnight CET

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my sets are early access. If you like my work, please consider supporting me (all support helps me with managing my chronic pain/illness):

★ Patreon  🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi  ☕️  ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz  @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters  @coffee-cc-finds  @itsjessicaccfinds  @gamommypeach  @stargazer-sims-finds  @khelga68  @suricringe  @vaporwavesims  @mystictrance15 @moonglitchccfinds @xlost-in-wonderlandx @jbthedisabledvet

-Aquarium Set 1 (fish) -Aquarium Set 2 (fish) -Seashells, glass bottles & other from Mermaid Set -Sea Painting -Sea Globe -Puffer Fish Decor -Aquarium Diver Statue

The rest of my CC