#I guess if you don’t see the vision you don’t see the vision

[thequeenofneverland1]

Hwang In-ho/Frontman////The Frontman's Secret

Anonymous request: Hi can you write a imagine for Hwang In-ho thanks

Warnings: Violence, Deaths, Trauma, Betrayal, Paranoia, Pregnancy, Manipulation, Emotional Distress and spoiler alert 🚨 

You and the players are gathered around sitting down, sharing a rare moment of calm amid the chaos. The tension of survival has made every bite of food feel like a luxury. Laughter and hushed conversations weave through the air, but you’re mostly focused on Jung-bae. You’ve always respected him for his calm demeanor and resourcefulness, so when he leans in slightly, his tone quieter and more serious, your attention shifts entirely to him.

“Y/n,” Jung-bae begins, his voice soft but deliberate, his eyes carrying a weight that immediately makes your chest tighten. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately. You remind me of my own daughter. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve started seeing you as one, too. And because of that, I feel like I need to tell you something. About Young-il.”

At the mention of Young-il, your boyfriend, your heart skips a beat. The edges of your vision seem to blur as you focus entirely on Jung-bae’s expression. There’s something there hesitation, fear maybe, but mostly guilt. He lowers his voice even more, glancing around to ensure no one else is listening.

“You remember the Mingle game, right? When it came down to two players in each room?”

You nod, your mind racing as you recall the chaos of that day. The screams, the betrayals, the cold calculation it took to survive.

“Well…” Jung-bae exhales sharply, like he’s trying to summon the courage to say the words. “Me and him..Me and Young-il. we ended up in the same room. There was already another player in there when we got there, and…”

He falters, looking at you with an expression that’s equal parts regret and urgency. “Y/n, he—”

“Jung-bae,” a firm, familiar voice interrupts. You turn to see Young-il standing there, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed in that way that sends a chill down your spine. He’s always had a knack for commanding attention, but there’s something different about him now something darker.

“Am I interrupting something?” Young-il’s voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, like he knows exactly what Jung-bae was about to say. His gaze shifts between the two of you, lingering on Jung-bae just a little too long.

Jung-bae straightens, his expression carefully neutral. “No, we were just—”

“I don’t think Y/n needs to hear any unnecessary stories,” Young-il cuts him off, his tone final. He moves closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. The gesture feels possessive rather than protective, and it takes everything in you not to recoil.

You glance back at Jung-bae, whose jaw is clenched tight, his eyes darting between you and Young-il. There’s something he wants to say, you can see it in the way his lips part slightly, but he doesn’t. The room feels suffocating now, the earlier camaraderie all but gone.

“I think we should all get some rest,” Young-il says, his voice softer now, directed at you. “It’s been a long day.”

You nod slowly, even as unease twists in your stomach. Young-il hand lingers on your shoulder a moment too long before he turns and walks away.

As he disappears into the shadows, you look back at Jung-bae. He’s still sitting there, his eyes filled with frustration and a silent apology. You don’t know what he was going to say about Young-il, but now, more than ever, you feel like you need to find out.

Later that night, you find yourself sitting on one of the worn-out beds with Young-il. The dim light overhead casts long shadows across the room, and the silence is heavy, broken only by the faint sounds of other players shifting or murmuring in their sleep.

He sits next to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his presence, but his body language is off. His arms are crossed loosely, and his gaze is distant, staring at a spot on the floor as though it holds some deep secret.

You study him for a moment, your mind replaying Jung-bae’s unfinished words over and over again. You’ve tried to push it aside, tried to convince yourself that it was nothing, but the unease refuses to leave you. Finally, you can’t hold back any longer.

“Young-il,” you begin softly, your voice cutting through the quiet. He turns his head slightly, looking at you with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What is it?” he asks, his tone calm and gentle, but there’s something underneath it a tension you can’t ignore.

You hesitate, feeling a lump form in your throat, but you push through it. “Did… did something happen in that room? During the Mingle game?”

The question hangs in the air like a heavy cloud. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, his face unreadable. Then, he exhales a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Y/n, where is this coming from?” he asks, turning his body slightly to face you. “Why would you ask me something like that?”

You look down at your hands, twisting them nervously in your lap. “Jung-bae said something earlier. He started to tell me about what happened when you two were in the same room, but…” You glance up at him, searching his face for any sign of the truth. “He didn’t get to finish.”

Young-il leans back slightly, his expression softening, but his eyes remain sharp. “Jung-bae talks too much,” he says lightly, his tone laced with an edge of annoyance. “Nothing happened in that room, Y/n. You know how these games are people are always looking for someone to blame, always trying to stir up doubts.”

“But—”

“Y/n,” he interrupts, reaching out to take your hands in his. His grip is firm but not unkind, and his eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes it hard to look away. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I care about you more than anything. You know that, right?”

You nod slowly, but the knot in your stomach only tightens. His words should comfort you, but instead, they feel rehearsed, like he’s trying too hard to convince you.

“I just… I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” you say quietly, your voice trembling slightly.

He leans closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “There’s nothing to tell,” he whispers. “I promise you.”

For a moment, you let yourself believe him. You want to believe him. But as you sit there, his hands holding yours, the shadows in the room seem to grow darker, and the doubt in your heart refuses to fade.

The following morning, the air is heavy with unspoken tension as the group prepares for whatever the next challenge might bring. Everyone moves with a quiet urgency, the weight of the games pressing down on them. Jung-bae sits on the floor near Gi-hun, pretending to sharpen a makeshift tool. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if he’s buying himself time to gather his thoughts.

Gi-hun notices his demeanor and frowns slightly. “You’ve been quiet this morning,” he remarks, sitting down beside Jung-bae. “Something on your mind?”

Jung-bae doesn’t respond immediately. He keeps his focus on the tool in his hands, his expression distant. Finally, he exhales deeply and sets the tool aside, turning to face Gi-hun.

“Gi-hun,” Jung-bae begins, his tone unusually serious. “I need to ask you for a favor.”

Gi-hun’s brows furrow. “A favor? What kind of favor?”

Jung-bae leans in closer, lowering his voice so only Gi-hun can hear. “I want you to promise me something. If anything happens to me. if I don’t make it through this game. I need you to take care of Y/n. And not just her. everyone in our group. But especially Y/n.”

The words hit Gi-hun like a punch to the gut. He stares at Jung-bae, searching his face for an explanation. “What are you talking about? Why would you say that? Are you… are you planning something?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Jung-bae says quickly, shaking his head. “I just… I need to know that she’ll be safe. That someone will look out for her.”

Gi-hun narrows his eyes, his suspicion growing. “Why are you talking like this, Jung-bae? You’re not making sense. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jung-bae insists, though the tension in his voice betrays him. He looks away, his jaw tightening. “I just… I’ve been thinking a lot about what it takes to survive here. The things we’ve had to do. The things we might have to do.”

Gi-hun crosses his arms, still unconvinced. “This isn’t like you. What’s really going on?”

Jung-bae hesitates, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. For a brief moment, it looks like he might say something more, but then he shakes his head again. “It’s nothing. Just… promise me, okay? If I’m not here, you’ll look after her.”

“Jung-bae…”Gi-hun begins, but the older man cuts him off.

“Promise me,” Jung-bae repeats, his voice firm, his eyes pleading.

Gi-hun sighs, the weight of the request settling heavily on his shoulders. “Alright,” he says reluctantly. “I promise. But you’re going to have to tell me what this is really about sooner or later.”

Jung-bae gives him a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, Gi-hun. That means a lot.”

As Gi-hun watches Jung-bae stand and walk away, his concern only deepens. There’s something Jung-bae isn’t telling him, something important. And though he doesn’t press the issue now, he makes a silent vow to find out what it is.

Later that day, you’re sitting with Young-ll in the dimly lit at the dormitory, trying to distract yourself from the weight of the competition. The two of you exchange light conversation, your laughter quiet but genuine small moments of humanity in a place that feels anything but human.

“You know,” Young-ll says, leaning back against the wall, “I was never much of a team player before all this. Guess this place has a way of forcing you to see people differently.”

You nod, resting your chin on your knees. “Yeah. It’s funny how survival makes you care about people you probably wouldn’t even notice outside of here.”

Young-ll chuckles softly, but his smile fades as his gaze shifts to something or someone behind you. You follow his line of sight and see Gi-hun approaching, his expression as serious as ever. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Y/n, Young-ll,” Gi-hun greets, sitting down next to you. He glances between the two of you before settling his gaze on you. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Jung-bae’s been acting really weird lately.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Young-ll speaks first, his tone casual but with an edge of defensiveness. “He’s just nervous,” Young-ll says, shrugging. “The games are getting down to the wire, and everyone’s feeling the pressure. It’s normal.”

Gi-hun frowns, clearly not convinced. “It’s more than that. He’s been avoiding people, staying quiet, and the way he talks. it’s like he’s expecting something bad to happen. Like he’s preparing for it.”

Young-ll leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Can you blame him? These games mess with your head. Everyone’s scared, everyone’s paranoid. Jung-bae’s probably just dealing with it in his own way.”

You glance between the two men, sensing the tension in their voices. “Maybe we’re all just overthinking it,” you suggest cautiously, though you can’t ignore the knot of unease forming in your stomach.

Gi-hu looks at you, his brow furrowed. “Maybe. But if something’s going on, we need to know about it. We’re supposed to be a team, and if someone’s hiding something—”

“Gi-hun,” Young-ll interrupts, his tone firmer now. “Drop it, alright? Jung-bae’s fine. He’s been looking out for us since the beginning. Don’t start questioning him now just because he’s a little on edge.”

GI-hun opens his mouth to argue, but then he stops, exhaling sharply. “Fine,” he mutters, leaning back against the wall. “But I’m keeping an eye on him. Just in case.”

Young-ll shakes his head, giving you a quick glance and a reassuring smile. “He’s overthinking it,” he says softly, as if to put you at ease. “Jung-bae’s just nervous, like I said. No need to worry.”

But even as he says it, you can’t help but notice the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. It’s brief, barely noticeable, but it’s enough to make you wonder if Young-ll truly believes his own words or if he’s just trying to convince himself.

As Gi-hun stands, brushing off his knees and heading toward the rest of the group, you and Young-ll sit quietly, watching his retreating figure. His concern about Jung-bae lingers in your mind, intertwining with your own growing doubts. The atmosphere feels heavier than before, the unspoken questions filling the silence between you and Young-ll.

You glance over at him, studying his profile. His expression is calm, maybe too calm, as if he’s deliberately masking something. The way he dismissed Gi-hun concerns earlier had been convincing, but now, in the quiet, you wonder if there’s more to it.

“Young-ll,” you begin softly, breaking the silence. He turns his head slightly to look at you, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice casual, though his eyes betray a flicker of something guarded.

You hesitate for a moment, then press on. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on? Between you and Jung-bae, or… just in general? If there’s something you’re not telling me, I’d rather know.”

Young-ll’s expression hardens for a fraction of a second before he forces a smile, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re worrying too much, Y/n,” he says, his tone light but firm. “Jung-bae’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

You narrow your eyes at him, unwilling to let it drop. “Young-ll, please. I can tell when someone’s holding back. If there’s something I should know, just tell me. I can handle it.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze shifting past you as though he’s trying to find an escape. The silence stretches, heavy and uncertain, until he finally meets your eyes again. But instead of answering, he leans in without warning, his hand cupping the back of your neck as his lips press against yours.

The kiss is sudden, catching you completely off guard. Your heart pounds in your chest, and for a moment, the world seems to blur, the weight of the games and all your questions momentarily falling away. His touch is warm, his presence grounding, and yet there’s something desperate about the way he holds you. like he’s trying to distract you, to keep you from asking any more questions.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes search yours, his expression a mix of longing and something you can’t quite place fear, maybe, or regret.

“You don’t need to worry, Y/n,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just trust me.”

But as he pulls away completely, the doubt in your chest only deepens. His kiss may have silenced your questions for the moment, but it hasn’t erased them. If anything, it’s only made you more certain that Young-ll is hiding something. And you’re determined to find out what it is.

The tension in the air is palpable as you and Young-ll sit together in the dimly lit corner of the room, the quiet hum of the environment only accentuating the weight of the conversation unfolding between you two. The games have worn on you both, the stakes getting higher with every challenge, and despite the exhaustion weighing on your shoulders, there’s a shared silence that speaks volumes.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you ask the question that’s been gnawing at you. “What do you think happens if we actually make it out of here? If we survive and manage to get out of this hellhole… what happens then? Do you think we’ll be able to go back to some kind of normal life?”

Young-ll shifts next to you, his expression thoughtful. His eyes seem far away, almost like he’s not truly seeing you as he focuses on something in the distance. For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Part of me wants to believe we could go back to normal, that we could forget this place and pretend like none of it ever happened. But I think we both know it’s impossible. After everything we’ve been through, after the choices we’ve made, nothing can ever be the same again.”

You nod slowly, feeling the truth in his words. The games, the violence, the way everyone around you has changed. it’s left its mark. Even if you made it out alive, you wonder if you could ever truly find peace again.

“Yeah,” you murmur, looking at him, your voice tinged with uncertainty. “But even if everything’s different, I don’t want this to be the end of it. I don’t want this to be the last chapter. I want to rebuild something… whatever that might look like. After all this, I just want to try to find some kind of peace.”

Young-ll turns to you, his eyes softer now, more intense, and there’s a kind of vulnerability in them that you haven’t seen before. His gaze locks with yours, and suddenly, everything feels a little too close, too personal.

“You’re not hearing me, Y/n,” he says, his voice deep and firm, the words more urgent than before. “I don’t care about ‘normal.’ I don’t care about rebuilding a life that doesn’t make sense anymore. What I care about… is you. No matter what happens, no matter where this game leads us, no matter what we face once we get out of here, I need you to promise me something.”

Your breath catches at his intensity. Something in his words feels different, like there’s more hidden beneath the surface than he’s letting on. The air between you thickens, and you feel the weight of the moment press against your chest.

“What is it?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly.

Young-ll leans in just a little closer, his hand reaching for yours, fingers brushing softly against your skin. His eyes are full of something you can’t quite place something you don’t want to understand just yet.

“Promise me,” he says quietly, his voice barely a whisper, “that you’ll be with me. No matter what happens, wherever I go, I need you by my side. Promise me you’ll stay with me, Y/n.”

The sincerity in his voice hits you hard, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades into the background. His plea feels genuine, raw, and you find yourself drawn to him in a way that almost scares you. He’s asking for more than just companionship; he’s asking for loyalty, for a bond that might be impossible to break.

“I promise,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ll be with you. No matter what happens.”

What you don’t know, what he hasn’t told you, is that his request is not just a plea for partnership. It’s a plea for something darker, something far beyond the world you thought you understood. Young-ll isn’t just asking you to stay with him in the aftermath of the games. He’s asking you to join him in something much more dangerous something he’s already deeply entrenched in.

In the shadows of this twisted game, Young-ll is not just a player. He is the frontman the key figure in the organization behind the games. His role isn’t just to survive; it’s to control, to lead, to maintain the structure of the very system you’ve been fighting against. But this isn’t what he wants to offer you.

Deep down, he does care for you. Despite everything, despite the ruthless nature of his role, he loves you in a way he never thought he could love anyone. He’s seen the horrors of the game, the choices it’s forced him to make, but when it comes to you, he’s different. He wants to pull you into his world, but not just because it’s all he knows. He wants to protect you, to make you part of his life, part of the future he’s building one that, for better or worse, will never be ordinary again.

As you sit there, your hand in his, promising to stand by his side, he feels a surge of hope mixed with a deep sense of regret. The life he’s built, the world he’s a part of, isn’t one you can easily escape. But he’s determined to bring you into it, hoping against hope that love can somehow change things.

And as the promise hangs between you two, neither of you knows what the future holds, but for the first time in a long while, you both dare to believe that, together, you might just survive whatever comes next.

The night has grown quieter, the dim light casting long shadows across the room as you and Young-ll finally rejoin the rest of the group. You both had stepped away earlier to talk, the weight of the conversation still heavy on your shoulders, but now, you find yourself swept back into the rhythm of the group. Despite everything that’s happened the tension, the games, the unknown future there’s a strange comfort in being surrounded by familiar faces, even if only for a moment.

As you sit down, the laughter of your friends fills the air, the conversation shifting to lighter topics, even though the uncertainty of the situation looms in the background. Hyun-ju, ever the bubbly one, leans forward, a teasing smile on her face as she looks from you to Young-ll.

“So,” she says, her voice playful yet genuine. “When are you two getting married?” Her words hang in the air, and for a second, it feels like the room goes quiet, all eyes now on you and Young-ll.

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden question, and Young-ll chuckles lightly, looking a little more amused than you expected. “Marriage?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. “We’re not even out of here yet. Isn’t it a little early to be talking about that?”

Hyun-ju laughs, clearly not taking the question too seriously. “I mean, if you two end up making it out of here alive, it seems like a good reason to celebrate, right? Maybe it’s better to plan ahead in case we don’t make it. If you’re going to get married, though, you should invite everyone here. You can’t leave us out of it!”

The suggestion is lighthearted, almost playful, but there’s something in the way she says it that makes the conversation feel more real than it should. It’s as though, for just a moment, the horrors of the games and the looming danger that surrounds you all are forgotten in favor of something that resembles normalcy something that feels far away from this nightmarish reality.

You glance at Young-ll, unsure of how to respond, but before you can find your words, Jung-bae, who has been sitting quietly nearby, suddenly coughs loudly. His eyes flicker nervously toward the floor as he shifts uncomfortably on floor, as though the conversation had caught him off guard.

The atmosphere shifts almost imperceptibly, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. You can sense that something is off with Jung-bae, his unease palpable. His gaze lingers on the group for a moment longer than necessary, his hand gripping the edge of the table in a way that suggests he’s trying to stay calm, but there’s a tension in his posture.

Hyun-ju, unaware of the sudden shift in energy, continues to smile, waiting for a response, but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to Jung-bae’s discomfort. He hasn’t spoken much since you and Young-ll returned, and you can’t help but wonder if his reaction is tied to something deeper.

You glance back at Jung-bae, your mind racing as you recall his earlier words. He had tried to warn you about something involving Young-ll something that happened in that room but he never finished the conversation. He had been interrupted by Young-il, and you still haven’t gotten the full story. The anxiety building in his chest now seems to speak volumes.

The room, which had been filled with lighthearted chatter only moments before, suddenly feels heavy. The playful banter around marriage, which was supposed to lift your spirits, only makes everything seem more fragile more uncertain. Jung-bae’s cough had broken the moment, but it also revealed the thinly veiled tension between the group, the underlying secrets that have yet to come to light.

You exchange a glance with Young-ll, who seems unfazed by the playful teasing, but there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. his expression still relaxed, but you sense that, like you, he knows something isn’t quite right.

Hyun-ju, still waiting for an answer, leans forward, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Come on, you two. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. You could be the first to escape and get married. Maybe we could have a big celebration once we’re all out of here if you both want that, of course.”

The room goes quiet again as her words linger in the air. The awkwardness thickens, and you wonder if the playful remark has touched on something deeper that no one is ready to talk about. Jung-bae’s fidgeting only amplifies your suspicion. Something is clearly bothering him, but he doesn’t seem ready to share.

You turn your attention back to Young-ll, who’s still sitting beside you, a small, thoughtful smile playing at the edges of his lips. His calm demeanor is a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts in your head. But as you meet his gaze, you wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on if he’s hiding something from the group, something that ties back to Jung-bae’s strange behavior.

But before you can say anything more, Gi-hun, who’s been silent until now, clears his throat, looking at Jung-bae with a concerned frown. “You okay, Jung-bae?” he asks. “You’re looking a little off tonight. Did something happen?”

Jung-bae freezes, his eyes darting around the group as though looking for an escape. His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, he seems to hesitate before responding. But all he says is, “I’m fine. Just tired. I think we all need rest, that’s all.”

His words, though spoken with an air of finality, don’t seem to convince anyone. The tension is thick now, and though Hyun-ju tries to keep the mood light by continuing to joke about the hypothetical wedding, it’s clear that something deeper is at play something that none of you are ready to face.

As the conversation dies down, you sit back, quietly processing everything. The uncertainty of the future, the unease you feel from Jung-bae, and the unspoken tension between you and Young-ll. Despite the lightheartedness that’s returned to the group’s banter, you know that what’s truly happening beneath the surface is far more complicated, and it’s only a matter of time before the truth comes out.

The room is filled with the low murmur of conversation as everyone eats, the exhaustion from the day’s events hanging in the air. You sit at the table with the rest of the group, the food almost tasteless, but a necessary distraction from the overwhelming weight of everything around you. The tension is still palpable, but for a moment, it feels like you can breathe, even if just for a while.

As you glance around the dormitory, your eyes settle on Jun-hee, who’s sitting quietly, her hand resting lightly on her stomach. Despite her exhaustion, she’s doing her best to eat, though it’s clear that her mind is elsewhere. You notice the untouched milk beside her plate. She’s been struggling to keep enough food down lately, and you know it’s because of her pregnancy.

You nudge the carton of milk closer to her, your voice soft but insistent. “Here’s mine. You need it more than me.”

Jun-hee looks at the milk for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly as she shakes her head. “Thank you,” she says quietly, “but I don’t need it.”

You shake your head gently, not ready to let her off the hook so easily. “Just take it. You do need it,” you insist, your voice firm but caring. “You know, because of your baby. And besides, I can’t have white milk.”

Her eyes soften slightly at your words, but she hesitates, clearly reluctant. You can see the hesitation in her expression, but before she can respond, a familiar voice interrupts the moment, and you feel a slight shift in the air.

“I was about to give you my milk,” Young-ll says, his voice light with playful teasing. You look up, and there he is, standing by your side with a grin on his face and a carton of milk in his hand. “Now that I know that you can’t have white, what a coincidence we have. I can’t have white milk either.”

Your eyes widen at his words, a small laugh escaping your lips at the sheer coincidence. He’s always been one to bring humor to tense moments, and this is no exception. You shake your head, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile.

“You too?” you say with mock disbelief, eyeing him dramatically. “What is it with you and milk? I should’ve known, of course. You and I are basically the same person.”

Young-ll chuckles at your response, the playful glint in his eyes not entirely masking the underlying seriousness that’s always there. “What can I say?” he replies with a shrug. “Great minds think alike.”

You glance back at Jun-hee, who’s still holding the milk carton you offered her. The smile on your face fades for a moment as you turn your attention to her, noticing the concern in her eyes. The lighthearted exchange between you and Young-ll has offered some much-needed relief, but you know it doesn’t solve everything.

“You should take it, Jun-hee,” you say softly, your tone gentle but persistent. “We all need to stick together, especially now. We’re all in this mess together.”

She meets your gaze, her lips pressing into a tight line before she finally nods, taking the milk from your hands. “Thanks, Y/n,” she says quietly. “I’ll drink it.”

You watch her for a moment, relieved that she’s accepted, but you can’t shake the worry that continues to settle in the pit of your stomach. The games are far from over, and even in this small, quiet moment of connection, you all know that danger is never too far away.

As everyone continues to eat, you glance back at Young-ll, catching his eye. For a brief second, the world around you feels like it’s standing still, just the two of you in your own bubble. The fleeting moment of calm doesn’t last long, but for now, it’s enough.

The evening wears on, and the group begins to scatter after dinner, some retreating to their beds while others linger in small groups, talking in hushed tones. You find yourself standing by one of the walls, trying to collect your thoughts. The weight of everything happening around you the games, the tension, the unspoken secrets feels heavier than ever.

As you lean against the wall, lost in your thoughts, you hear footsteps approaching. You glance up to see Jung-bae walking toward you, his expression tense and hesitant. There’s something in his eyes, something heavy, like he’s carrying a burden too big to bear alone.

“Hey,” he says quietly, stopping a few feet away from you.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice just as soft. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looks around, as if checking to make sure no one else is nearby. His behavior is strange, almost paranoid, and it immediately puts you on edge.

“I need to talk to you,” he says finally, his voice low. “About something… important.”

You nod, stepping closer to him. “What is it?” you ask, your curiosity piqued. Jung-bae has been acting strangely for days now, and you’ve been waiting for him to open up. Maybe now you’ll finally get some answers.

Jung-bae hesitates, running a hand through his hair nervously. “It’s about Young-ll,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. “There’s something you need to know, something that happened during the Mingle game. I’ve been trying to tell you, but…”

His words trail off, and you can see the internal struggle playing out on his face. It’s clear that whatever he’s about to say isn’t easy for him. You step even closer, lowering your voice to match his.

“What is it, Jung-bae?” you ask, your heart beginning to race. “What happened?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say anything, the sound of laughter echoes across the room, cutting through the tension like a knife. You both turn to see Jun-hee and Hyun-ju walking toward you, their faces lit up with smiles, seemingly oblivious to the heaviness of the moment.

“There you two are!” Jun-hee says, her tone cheerful. “We were wondering where you disappeared to.”

Hyun-ju grins, her eyes darting between you and Jung-bae. “Are we interrupting something?” she teases, her voice light and playful.

You glance at Jung-bae, whose expression has shifted back to neutral, the tension in his face now replaced with a forced calmness. Whatever he was about to say, it’s clear that he’s not going to continue the conversation with Jun-hee and Hyun-ju here.

“No, you’re not interrupting,” you say quickly, trying to keep your tone casual. “We were just… talking.”

Hyun-ju raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she steps closer, linking her arm with Jun-hee’s. “Well, now that we’ve found you, why don’t we all sit together for a bit? It’s too depressing to be alone right now.”

You glance at Jung-bae again, hoping for some kind of signal that he’ll continue the conversation later, but he avoids your gaze. Instead, he nods at Hyun-ju, forcing a small smile. “Sure,” he says. “Why not?”

The four of you walk back toward the center of the room, but your mind is still spinning. What was Jung-bae about to tell you? What did he mean about Young-ll? The unanswered questions hang over you like a storm cloud, and as much as you try to focus on the present moment, you can’t shake the feeling that something big is about to come to light.

Jung-bae walks beside you, his shoulders tense, his gaze fixed straight ahead. You don’t say anything, but you make a mental note to talk to him again as soon as you get the chance. Whatever he’s hiding, you need to know. And deep down, you have a sinking feeling that whatever it is could change everything.

The room is dark and quiet, save for the faint sounds of steady breathing and the occasional creak of the old building settling. Everyone is sprawled out in their designated sleeping spots, exhausted from the day’s events. It’s a rare moment of peace, though it feels fragile, as if it could shatter at any second.

Jung-bae sits against the wall, his knees pulled up slightly, arms resting on them. His eyes scan the room, landing briefly on each sleeping figure, but they linger the longest on you. You’re curled up on your side, your face peaceful in sleep, though the faint furrow in your brow betrays the stress you’re carrying. Jung-bae’s heart aches as he watches over you.

“Can’t sleep?” a voice whispers nearby, pulling him from his thoughts. He looks over to see Gi-hun sitting up a few feet away, his sharp eyes catching Jung-bae’s. Gi-hun moves closer, careful not to disturb the others, and sits down beside him.

Jung-bae shakes his head, sighing deeply. “No. Too much on my mind.”

Gi-hun leans back against the wall, his expression thoughtful as he studies his friend. “You’ve been acting weird lately,” he says, keeping his voice low. “We all see it especially Y/n. Whatever it is you’re holding back, you need to tell her. Why haven’t you?”

Jung-bae’s shoulders tense, and he lets out another sigh, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple,” he says, his voice strained. “I want her to be happy. More than anything. But I also fear for her safety. What if what I tell her makes things worse? What if it puts her in danger?”

Gi-hun tilts his head slightly, his gaze softening. “You care about her,” he says quietly. “That’s clear to everyone. But keeping things from her isn’t protecting her. It’s only making her worry more. You’ve seen how she’s been looking at you lately she knows something’s wrong.”

Jung-bae closes his eyes for a moment, the weight of Gi-hun’s words sinking in. “I know,” he says finally. “And it kills me to see her like that. Just like I told you before, I see her as my daughter. She’s been through so much already. It would break my heart to see her hurt because of something I’ve done or something I’ve failed to do.”

Gi-hun nods slowly, his expression understanding. “I get it,” he says after a moment. “I really do. But keeping her in the dark isn’t the answer. She deserves to know the truth, whatever it is. And she deserves to hear it from you.”

Jung-bae looks down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting as he processes Gi-hun’s words. “I just don’t want her to think I don’t care about her happiness,” he says softly. “Because I do. More than anything.”

Gi-hun places a reassuring hand on Jung-bae’s shoulder. “She knows you care. Trust me, she does. But if you wait too long, it might be too late. You’ve got to tell her before that happens.”

Jung-bae glances at Gi-hun, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and anguish. “Thanks, Gi-hun,” he says quietly. “I’ll think about it. I just… I need to find the right moment.”

Gi-hun squeezes his shoulder gently before letting go. “I get it,” he says. “But don’t wait too long, okay? We don’t have the luxury of time in here.”

Jung-bae nods, his gaze drifting back to where you’re sleeping. His chest tightens as he watches the rise and fall of your breath, his mind racing with the weight of his decision. He knows Gi-hun is right, and deep down, he knows he can’t keep this from you much longer.

But even as he resolves to tell you the truth, a small voice in the back of his mind whispers fears of what might happen when he does. For now, he stays where he is, silently keeping watch over you, hoping that when the time comes, he’ll find the strength to do what’s right.

The quiet hum of the room seems to fade as you sit across from Young-il, the dim light casting soft shadows across his face. The tension of the games has been wearing on everyone, but here, in this moment, it feels like the rest of the world is far away. It’s just the two of you, stealing a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos.

Young-il has been unusually quiet tonight, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that’s both comforting and unnerving. You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You’re staring,” you tease lightly, trying to break the silence. “What’s on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his hand reaching into his pocket. Your brow furrows as you watch him, unsure of what he’s doing. When he finally pulls his hand back out, your breath catches in your throat. There, in his palm, is a small ring simple but beautiful, its understated design perfect in its elegance.

Your eyes widen as realization dawns. “Young-il…” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He shifts closer to you, his usually confident demeanor tinged with a rare vulnerability. “I know this isn’t the way I would’ve wanted to do this,” he begins, his voice soft but steady. “And it’s definitely not the perfect place or time. But nothing about this situation is perfect, is it?”

You shake your head slightly, unable to find the words as your heart races.

Young-il takes a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he continues. “About us, about what we’ve been through, and about what might come next. And no matter what happens—whether we make it out of this or not I know one thing for sure: I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your breath hitches as he holds the ring up, his voice trembling just slightly. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seems to stand still. The weight of his words, the depth of his feelings, and the sheer courage it must’ve taken for him to ask you this here, in the middle of all this madness, overwhelm you. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you nod, your voice thick with emotion. “Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

Relief washes over his face, and he slips the ring onto your finger with care, his hands steady despite the gravity of the moment. It feels warm and solid, a promise of hope in a place where hope is so hard to come by.

But before you can fully process the moment, his expression grows serious again. “Listen,” he says, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You can wear the ring, but you can’t tell anyone about this. Not yet.”

You blink, confused. “Why not?”

He hesitates, glancing around the room as if to make sure no one is listening. Then, he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Because I have a feeling,” he says. “A feeling that it’s only going to be us me and you that make it out of this alive. And until we know for sure, I don’t want anyone else to know. I don’t want this to become another target on your back.”

His words send a chill down your spine, the weight of his foresight sinking in. You nod slowly, understanding his reasoning even if it makes your heart ache. “Okay,” you say softly. “I won’t tell anyone.”

He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks as he gazes at you with a mix of love and determination. “I mean it, Y/n,” he says. “No matter what happens, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you survive. To make sure we survive.”

You swallow hard, the enormity of his promise and your own feelings threatening to overwhelm you. But you nod again, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. “We’ll survive,” you say firmly. “Together.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips grounding you. For a moment, it feels like nothing else matters not the games, not the danger, not the uncertainty of tomorrow. It’s just you and him, clinging to each other in a world that seems determined to tear you apart.

As he pulls back, his fingers brush over the ring on your hand, a small, secret smile tugging at his lips. “It looks good on you,” he murmurs.

You manage a small smile in return, your fingers curling around his. “Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything.”

The two of you sit there in silence, your hands intertwined, as the weight of your secret promise settles between you. It’s a risk, but it’s also a lifeline a reminder that even in the darkest of times, love can still find a way to shine through.

The room buzzes with quiet chatter, the tension momentarily eased as the group finds comfort in each other’s company. Young-il sits off to the side, his gaze sharp and calculating as he observes everyone. His role as the Frontman is a secret he’s mastered keeping, and every move he makes is careful, deliberate. He’s learned how to blend in perfectly, to mask his true intentions behind an easy smile or a well-placed joke. But tonight, his thoughts aren’t on strategy or the games. they’re on you.

His eyes flicker to where you’re sitting, laughing softly at something Hyun-ju said. For a brief moment, the corners of his lips lift in a small, genuine smile. Then his expression hardens again, the gravity of the situation pulling him back to reality. He knows the danger that lies ahead, knows how fragile life is in this twisted arena. And he knows he’ll do whatever it takes to ensure your safety.

He waits, watching the group closely. They’re distracted, deep in conversation, their guard lowered for just a moment. It’s the perfect time. Rising to his feet, he stretches casually, as if he’s simply restless, before moving quietly toward the shadows where a pink-suited guard stands near the corner of the room.

Young-il’s movements are subtle, his steps light as he approaches. The guard, who had been standing stiffly at attention, straightens even more as he notices Young-il. There’s a flicker of recognition in the guard’s stance, an unspoken acknowledgment of who he’s really dealing with.

Young-il leans in, his voice a low, commanding whisper. “Listen carefully,” he begins, his tone firm but quiet enough to avoid drawing attention. “I’ve got an order for you, and you better make sure it gets through to every single one of you.”

The guard doesn’t respond verbally, but the slight tilt of his head signals he’s listening intently. Young-il’s eyes narrow, his voice dropping even lower. “No matter what happens in these games, no one and I mean no one is to harm Y/n. Not a scratch, not a bullet, nothing. She’s off-limits.”

The guard shifts slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the directive, but he remains silent. Young-il takes a step closer, his presence looming, his voice carrying a sharper edge. “She’s going to be my wife once this is all over,” he continues, his tone filled with an intensity that brooks no argument. “And if any of you so much as think about touching her, you’ll answer to me. Personally.”

The guard finally nods, a quick, nervous motion that shows he understands the weight of what’s being said. But Young-il isn’t done. He straightens, his gaze piercing as he delivers his final warning. “If she’s hurt because of your incompetence or worse, your defiance you’ll wish for death before I’m through with you. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” the guard whispers, his voice trembling slightly.

Young-il holds his gaze for a moment longer, ensuring his message is crystal clear. Then, with a slight nod, he steps back, his expression unreadable. “Good,” he murmurs. “Make sure the others know.”

Without another word, he turns and walks away, his posture relaxed but his mind racing. As he moves back toward the group, he catches sight of you again, your laughter soft but bright in the dim room. For a moment, his chest tightens, the weight of what he’s doing and what he’s risking hitting him all at once. But he pushes it aside, steeling himself. He doesn’t regret his decision. You’re worth every risk, every sacrifice.

Sliding back into his seat near you, he meets your curious gaze with a small smile. “What did I miss?” he asks casually, his tone light.

“Not much,” you reply, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Where did you sneak off to?”

“Just stretching my legs,” he says smoothly, leaning back as if nothing happened. “You know how cramped it gets in here.”

You give him a skeptical look but let it go, turning back to the conversation. As the others continue talking, Young-il glances down at the ring on your finger, hidden from view but glinting faintly in the low light. His resolve hardens. No matter what it takes, he’ll make sure you’re safe. Because in this brutal world, you’re the only thing that truly matters to him.

The room is dimly lit, the faint hum of the fluorescent light overhead the only sound cutting through the heavy silence. Most of the players are sprawled out on their makeshift beds, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to them. The tension that normally lingers in the air is subdued for the moment, giving way to a rare and fragile stillness.

One player, however, can’t seem to settle. She tosses and turns on her thin mattress, frustration etched into her face as she glares at the locked steel door. After what feels like an eternity, she finally sits up, her movements abrupt and sharp. Muttering under her breath, she makes her way toward the door, the light clinking of her footsteps barely audible over the soft breathing of the sleeping players.

Reaching the door, she knocks firmly against the small window, startling the pink-suited guard stationed outside. He stiffens slightly before stepping closer, his expression hidden behind the eerie, faceless mask. He slides open the small metal window, his deep, distorted voice cutting through the stillness. “What do you need?”

The player folds her arms, her irritation clear. “I need to use the bathroom,” she says, her tone sharp and impatient. “I can’t sleep like this.”

The guard doesn’t respond right away, instead glancing into the room briefly, his posture stiff. “Go back to bed,” he says firmly. “You can wait until morning.”

The player’s eyes narrow, her frustration bubbling over. “Are you serious?” she snaps. “You’ve let people leave before! What makes this any different?”

The guard stands motionless, his silence only fueling her anger. She steps closer, her voice rising despite the risk of waking the others. “Then why did you let Y/n and Young-il go to the bathroom earlier?” she demands, her words laced with bitterness. “That’s not fair! You’re playing favorites, and we all know it!”

Inside the room, a few of the players stir at the commotion, mumbling sleepily as they shift in their beds. The guard tenses but doesn’t react to her accusations, his hand moving to the edge of the window.

“You can’t just ignore me!” the player hisses, her voice low but insistent. “I saw them leave. I know what I saw. You let them go, but you’re telling me to just hold it? What kind of crap is that?”

The guard leans forward slightly, his voice colder now, almost menacing. “Return to your bed,” he says slowly, enunciating each word with deliberate precision. “Do not cause trouble.”

The player glares at him, her fists clenching at her sides. “This is bullshit,” she mutters under her breath, but she doesn’t press further. The guard, clearly done with the conversation, slides the window shut with a decisive clang, cutting her off entirely.

Fuming, the player turns away from the door, her movements jerky as she stalks back toward her bed. She throws herself down onto the mattress, her frustration simmering as she glares at the ceiling.

Meanwhile, outside the door, the pink guard remains still, his posture tense. His mind races as he replays the front man’s words, her accusations hitting uncomfortably close to the truth. He glances down the hallway, his thoughts lingering on Young-il’s earlier command.

“She’s going to be my wife once this is over. No one touches her.”

The guard swallows hard, forcing himself to focus. He knows better than to question orders, especially when they come directly from the Frontman himself. Even so, the growing tension among the players doesn’t go unnoticed. He knows it’s only a matter of time before the carefully maintained façade of control begins to crack.

Back inside the room, the player lies awake, her mind racing as her frustration simmers. She glances over at you and Young-il, who are sound asleep on opposite sides of the room. A bitter sneer curls at her lips. “Favorites,” she mutters under her breath, her words a venomous whisper.

But for now, the room settles once more, the uneasy silence creeping back in as the tension lies dormant, waiting for the right moment to explode.

The next morning, the group gathers for breakfast, the mood subdued but focused as everyone eats in silence. The room is filled with the sound of utensils scraping against metal trays, the occasional murmur of conversation breaking the quiet. You and Young-il sit on one of the lower bunk beds, sharing your breakfast and quietly talking, stealing rare moments of calm amidst the chaos of the games.

As you’re mid-laugh at something Young-il says, the same player from the night before approaches you both, her expression sharp and accusatory. She plants herself directly in front of you, arms crossed, her gaze narrowing as she glares at the two of you.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” she sneers, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Must be nice being the favorites, huh?”

You and Young-il exchange a quick glance, confusion flickering across your faces. Before either of you can respond, the player presses on, her voice rising slightly. “You know what’s not fair? The fact that last night I wanted to go to the bathroom, but I got told no. Meanwhile, you two got to stroll out whenever you wanted! What were you even doing? Let me guess? fucking in the bathroom? Wasting the chance while the rest of us suffer?”

The accusation catches you off guard, your cheeks flushing slightly at her boldness. “What are you talking about?” you ask, your tone defensive.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” she snaps, pointing a finger at you. “I saw it with my own eyes. You and him sneaking out together like it’s some kind of date night while the rest of us are stuck here. It’s not fair! Some of us actually follow the rules, and you two just—”

Before she can finish, Hyun-ju, who’s been listening from a nearby bed, cuts in with a sharp laugh. “Oh, come on,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You expect us to believe that? Everyone was asleep last night. You probably imagined the whole thing.”

The player spins to face Hyun-ju, her frustration boiling over. “I know what I saw!” she insists. “They left the room! I heard the door open and close, and they weren’t here for a while. What were they doing, huh?”

Hyun-ju raises an eyebrow, unfazed by the player’s outburst. “Seriously, just let it go,” she says with a shrug. “Even if they did leave, who cares? It’s not like it’s your business. And besides, if the guards let them go, then maybe you’re the one who should think about why you didn’t get permission.”

The player’s face flushes with anger, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “This is bullshit,” she mutters. “They’re playing favorites, and you all just let it happen. No wonder they’re so cozy over there. they’ve got the guards wrapped around their little fingers.”

You feel Young-il tense beside you, his jaw tightening as he places the tiny tray down. He meets the player’s glare with a cold, measured look. “We didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “If you have a problem with the guards, take it up with them. Don’t come over here accusing us of things you can’t prove.”

The player scoffs, her eyes flickering between you and Young-il before turning away in frustration. “Whatever,” she mutters. “Favorites. That’s all you are.”

As she storms off, Hyun-ju chuckles softly, shaking her head. “She’s losing it,” she mutters, leaning back against the wall. “Honestly, the paranoia in here is getting ridiculous.”

You sigh, leaning into Young-il slightly as the tension settles. He places a reassuring hand on your knee, his expression softening as he looks at you. “Ignore her,” he murmurs. “She’s just trying to stir up trouble.”

You nod, though the accusation still lingers in your mind. The games have been wearing on everyone, and it’s becoming harder and harder to tell who’s really trustworthy. But as you glance at Young-il, his calm presence grounding you, you remind yourself that you’re not in this alone. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

The room begins to settle down after the tense meeting about the rebellion. The players quietly move to their respective beds, though the air is thick with anxiety and unspoken fears. Everyone knows the plan is risky, but there’s no turning back now. As people murmur their last goodnights and lie down to rest, Jung-bae approaches Young-il, his expression serious and heavy with concern.

He hesitates for a moment, glancing briefly at you sitting a few feet away, and then speaks in a low voice, keeping their conversation as private as possible. “Young-il,” he starts, his tone measured, but there’s a clear urgency behind his words. “Listen to me. When things go down later today, I don’t want Y/n out there with us. She needs to stay here ,where she’ll be safe. I don’t want her to get hurt or worse, shot.”

Young-il leans back slightly, his arms crossed. His expression is calm but unreadable, his dark eyes narrowing as he considers Jung-bae’s words. “I understand your concern,” he says slowly, his voice steady but firm. “But she’s coming with me. Wherever I go, she goes. That’s the way it is.”

Jung-bae frowns, his frustration evident. “Young-il, this isn’t a game. today not just another day. It’s going to be chaos out there. You can’t guarantee her safety. Do you even realize what you’re asking of her?”

Young-il leans forward, his voice dropping even lower, but his tone grows sharper. “I know exactly what I’m asking,” he says firmly. “But don’t you think I’ve thought about this? I’ve thought about her safety, her life, everything. And the truth is, I want her by my side. Not just because I can protect her, but because I need her with me. If something were to happen to me today or the next day… I want my time with her. I want her time with me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Jung-bae stares at him for a long moment, his expression conflicted. He glances over at you again, his protective instincts warring with the reality of the situation. “You’re asking for a lot,” he says finally, his voice tinged with frustration. “She’s not just another player to me. She’s… like a daughter. I don’t want her in harm’s way.”

“And you think I do?” Young-il retorts, his voice growing colder, though he keeps it low enough to avoid drawing attention. “You think I’d risk her life if I didn’t believe I could keep her safe? I’d rather die than let anything happen to her. That’s why she’s staying with me. No matter what happens today or after that I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

Jung-bae sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it, Young-il. You don’t know what it feels like to—”

“To care about someone so much that it hurts?” Young-il interrupts, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Trust me, I know. And that’s exactly why I’m not leaving her behind. Because if this is the end… I want her to know how much she means to me. I want to spend every possible moment with her, no matter what the risks are.”

Jung-bae looks away, his jaw tightening as he struggles to respond. He knows there’s no changing Young-il’s mind, but the thought of you being part of the rebellion still fills him with dread.

Finally, he exhales slowly, nodding once. “Fine,” he mutters. “But if anything happens to her… it’s on you. You’ll have to live with it.”

“I already live with more than you can imagine,” Young-il replies, his tone carrying a hint of something unspoken, something dark. “But this is one thing I won’t fail at. She’ll be safe. I promise you that.”

Jung-bae gives him one last, searching look before turning and walking away, leaving Young-il alone with his thoughts. He watches you from a distance, his gaze softening as you sit quietly, oblivious to the weight of the conversation that just took place.

As he approaches you, his expression shifts, the hard edges of his demeanor softening into something more tender. Whatever today brings, one thing is certain: he’ll do everything in his power to protect you, no matter the cost.

The air is thick with the deafening sound of gunfire and chaos. You cling tightly to Young-il’s hand, your heartbeat racing as adrenaline surges through your veins. You’ve never experienced anything like this, and the sheer terror of the moment makes your grip on him almost desperate.

Suddenly, Young-il raises his gun, and before you can even process what’s happening, he fires two precise shots. Player 047 lets out a sharp groan, followed quickly by Player 015 collapsing to the ground, a pained cry escaping his lips. The scene feels surreal, and you’re frozen in place, staring at the lifeless bodies in front of you.

“Young-il!” you gasp, your voice trembling with shock and disbelief. “Why did you—”

Before you can finish, the static crackle of a walkie-talkie cuts through the chaos. Gi-hun’s voice comes through, urgent and full of concern.

“Young-il, what’s going on? Have you guys made a move yet?”

Young-il, calm and composed despite the chaos around him, picks up the walkie-talkie and responds, his tone heavy with feigned despair. “I’m sorry, Gi-hun. It’s over. They got us… and they took Y/n with them.”

You look at him in disbelief, your mind reeling from the lie he just told. What is he doing?

Gi-hun’s voice crackles back through the device, more frantic this time. “Young-il, what’s going on? Are you still there?”

Young-il remains silent for a moment, his hand tightening around the walkie-talkie. The groans of the dying players nearby provide an eerie, convincing backdrop.

“Young-il! Say something!” Gi-hun shouts through the walkie-talkie. “Come on, Young-il! Young-il!”

Without a word, Young-il raises his gun again, silencing the groans of the injured players with two more shots. The sound of the gunfire reverberates in the air, sending a chill down your spine.

He then turns off the walkie-talkie, his expression unreadable as he speaks into the communication device meant for the guards. “Let’s wrap things up,” he says coldly, his tone commanding and final.

He turns to you, his dark eyes locking with yours. There’s something in his gaze a mix of determination and something you can’t quite place. You take a step back, your mind racing with questions.

“Why did you shoot them?” you ask, your voice shaky and barely above a whisper. “Why did you lie to Gi-hun?”

Young-il steps closer to you, his movements slow and deliberate. He holds out his hand, his expression softening slightly, though there’s still an intensity in his eyes. “Just come with me,” he says quietly. “I’ll explain everything. But not here, not now.”

You hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. Every instinct tells you to run, to demand answers, but something in his voice something raw and almost pleading stops you. You look at his outstretched hand, the same hand that just pulled the trigger moments ago, and then back at his face.

His gaze doesn’t waver, and for a moment, you see a flicker of vulnerability beneath his composed exterior. Slowly, reluctantly, you reach out and take his hand. His fingers close around yours, firm but not forceful, as he pulls you closer.

“We don’t have much time,” he says softly, his voice low and urgent. “I promise I’ll tell you everything. Just trust me.”

As he leads you away from the carnage, your mind races with questions, doubts, and fears. You don’t know what’s happening or why he’s done what he’s done, but for now, you follow him, hoping that his promise to explain everything will bring you some clarity in the chaos.

Hyun-ju had been pacing anxiously, clutching the walkie-talkie as she tried to reach Dae-ho. The cool night air was heavy with tension, her voice breaking through the silence as she called, “Dae-ho? Dae-ho, answer me!” The static crackled in response, but no words came. She tightened her grip, her heart pounding with unease. Something wasn’t right.

Deciding she couldn’t wait any longer, she hurried back toward the dorms. Her steps quickened, echoing in the empty hallways. “Dae-ho! Dae-ho!” she yelled, her voice carrying desperation. She pushed open the door to the dorm, her eyes darting around frantically. “Dae-ho, where are you? Has anyone seen—”

Her voice faltered as she spotted him, hunched over in a shadowy corner. She rushed toward him, her pulse racing. “Dae-ho!” she called again, her tone sharp with concern.

He gasped at her approach, his wide, teary eyes meeting hers. His shoulders were trembling, and he looked like a man on the verge of breaking.

“Dae-ho,” she asked, her voice softening as she knelt beside him, “what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His head hung low, and his hands were shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Where are they?” she demanded, her voice shaking now.

Hyun-ju’s eyes flickered with confusion and alarm. She glanced around and froze when her gaze landed on a bag nearby. Its contents spilled slightly open, revealing a stockpile of ammunition.

Dae-ho’s face crumpled as he shook his head, his voice cracking with each word. “Forgive me. I’m sorry. I didn’t want this. I’m sorry.”

Before she could finish, the shrill sound of an alarm cut through the air. It was deafening, echoing throughout the dorm and sending a chill down her spine. Gasps and screams erupted from the other players, who scrambled to make sense of the chaos.

The dorm lights flickered, and the metallic voice of a masked manager came through the speakers. “Everyone, face down on the ground immediately!”

The command was cold, final. Players froze in terror, dropping to the floor in submission. Hyun-ju instinctively tried to get up, her adrenaline surging. But a firm hand grabbed her arm.

She turned to see Geum-ja, her expression steely and calm despite the panic around them. “Don’t,” Geum-ja said quietly, shaking her head. Her grip was firm but not harsh. “This isn’t a good way to die.”

Hyun-ju hesitated, her heart thundering in her chest. She glanced at Dae-ho, who was now curled up, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over again, his words like a broken record. The weight of the situation pressed down on her like a crushing force, and all she could do was lower herself to the ground, her mind racing with fear and questions.

The masked guards stormed in moments later, their footsteps heavy and deliberate. The tension in the room was suffocating, and Hyun-ju’s eyes stayed fixed on Dae-ho, silently pleading for answers as chaos unfolded around them.

Over the speakers, the woman on the PA stated.“Attention, Players. The day has ended. It's time to turn in for the night. Please make your way back to your quarters immediately. If you do not comply with these orders, then you will be eliminated.”

“No, don't it!”

Once more, the woman repeats herself. “I will now repeat the instructions. Attention, players. The day has ended. It’s time to turn in for the night. Please make your way back to your quarters immediately. If you don’t comply..”

“Let’s put down our guns. If we surrender, they might not kill us.” Jung-bae tells Gi-hun since the both of them are out of ammunition. “Ah, shit.”

The player numbered 145 and the other player are trying to shoot down the pink guards who keeps coming, and the players notice that they no longer have ammunition, so they know that they’ll have to surrender. “The player numbered 145 talks over the walkie-talkie.”Advance team, do you copy? We're out of ammo over here. I'm gonna surrender.”

The guards quickly came and made their way, and they started shooting at the players, and the player 145 pulled his arms up.”Wait, please don’t shoot. I have a sick daughter at who—.”before he could finish he was shot.

Jung-bae gets down on his knees. “We surrender.” He tells the two guards, and he places down the gun, and as both Jung-bae and Gi-hun are kneeling down, footsteps can be heard, and they look up, and they see the frontman and lots of guards walking towards them. “Player 456 Did you have fun playing the hero?” The front man asks, breathing deeply. ”Now witness the consequence of your little game.” He shoots Jung-bae on the chest, and Jung-bae looks at his best friend. Hoping that Gi-hun will keep his promise of protecting you, “Gi-hun.” He said before hitting the floor

Gi-hun screams as he cries, trying to rush over to his best friend, ”Jung-bae!” But he gets pinned down to the floor by the guards who’s holding a gun at Gi-hun’s head as he cries again for his best friend.

The woman on the PA Informed that a another player has been eliminated. “Player 390, eliminated”

Young-il or should I say his real name Hwang In-ho made his way to his private quarters where you are waiting for him. Hopefully, you will forgive him and forget what he did because, in the end, all he did was to keep you safe and alive

[rinachains]

contents: drabble; villain!nanami x gn!curse user!reader; aftermath of nanami’s killing spree; inspired by gege’s sketch of villain!nanami

a/n: sth short to get out of my writing slump :P comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! divider credits: @/cafekitsune

A whistle cuts through the lingering, rapturous silence as you make your way through the now lifeless place, the heavy clacking of your boots leaving an echo, “You’ve made quite a mess, Nanami. Guess you were pretty pent up, huh?”

It’s a vision of red that greets you as you enter the office room  – piles upon piles of nameless, immobile bodies, adorned with deep slashes and dark colours, reminding you all too much of an obscure painting; done with raw, mechanical passion. You find the artist of this peculiar work slumped against a desk on the cold ground, appearing like a breathing corpse under the flickering, fluorescent light.

Tracing the tips of your fingers along one of the desks, collecting the sticky fluid staining it, you put your hands into the pockets of your jacket and stroll forward until you stand in front of him, staring down with a curl of your lips as you let your gaze wander over his limp form. Covered in blood, sweat and weariness; a pathetic yet sweet image, dissolving on the tip of your tongue. You crave it like a child.

Nanami looks up at you wordlessly, exhaustion dripping from his eyes; not an unusual sight, but this time you find something new making itself known in those hazel pools, a shivering spark that is more than familiar to you – one that you’ve seen before when you’ve met your own reflection.

The sunken shadows decorating his face slowly melt in the light that shines through. Nanami’s worn out; not from added weight, but from the relief sinking into his bones. His body feels light, tense limbs turned to cotton; as if he’s floating, not quite there, but rather stuck in another realm. Is this what it feels like to be reborn?

“I killed them.”

His futile confession raises your brow as you swiftly scan the the room before turning back to him, “You sure did.”

Nanami’s face pinches together as he groans, a guttural sound from the depths of his festered chest, his head falling back against the edge of the desk behind him with dimmed thud. He rubs the heel of his hand over his closed eyes, pressing into the lids, “I’m so tired.”

There’s a moment of quietness.

Your stare narrows and bores into Nanami with a scrutiny that allows you to unmask him, peel away each fragile layer that covers his decaying bones, and there you can see it; the utter helplessness radiating from him, ripe and desperate– a silent plea.

Something in your chest melts, once cold and heavy, and turns into goo, pouring over your body and covering each and every cell. Your smile widens, toothy and all sharp, stretching until your skin begins to tighten.  

You finally got him.

With golden honey in your mouth, you lower yourself carefully to the floor and get down on one knee in front of him, face to face, resting your arm on your propped leg. You can smell him; unscented soap and herbal tea overpowered by his rich cologne, now fused with a metallic scent, a new note. Not nauseating to him, not as expected; instead, it’s bizarrely welcoming, nearly soothing. His flared up nerves become numb and he wants to rest, just for a moment.

“Post-killing clarity can be harsh - not that I can necessarily relate, but for someone like you it’s a whole new experience. It will get better after some time, so don’t worry,” you try to reassure him, petting his knee.

Your expression then softens, cautious and deliberate, like an owner talking to their wounded pet, devoid of any judgement that would cause him to pull away, “How do you feel?” A small pause. “Do you regret it?”

A tilt of your head, lowered and evaluating, focused entirely on him – ignoring the impulsive massacre around you, as if it’s not of any grave importance to you, the background to a play. The object of your undivided attention is right in front of you; the reason you're here, why you've bothered to waste your energy.

The next words to come out of his mouth cause your back to straighten, spine prickling as your eyes brighten with a childlike gleam.

“I don’t.”

"Good."

You shift and cradle his face in your hand, leaving behind a maroon stain on his sunken cheekbone, bringing life to him, as you gently rub your thumb over his sickly pale skin. Nanami subconsciously leans into your touch, the hairs on his skin standing up and his eyelids fluttering like a newborn butterfly as he exhales brokenly. You revel in the shudder he releases; he really is just so tired.

Pulling away from his face, almost cooing as he chases after your touch, you hold out your hand, palm facing up, "C'mon then. Let's get you cleaned up, you're all dirty." His gaze drops to it, a contemplative hesitation freezing him as he sees the bloodstains on you. He has soiled you with the result of his sin, and yet there's no guilt to be found as he rummages through his insides, tearing through muscles, veins and arteries. It’s too late for that anyway, Nanami thinks as he reaches out for you.

The wavering warmth of his hand embraces yours - shared burdens, no longer untethered - sealing an unspoken bond between the two of you. Not something that can be easily undone – not something that can be undone at all.

You begin to stand up and he lowers his grip, fingers tightening around your wrist.

There’s a tremor in his lower lip, yet his voice is steady, as firm as a lighthouse hit by a storm and piercing through you with the pointed force of each syllable, “I don’t regret what I’ve done.”

Your head moves up and down, slowly, as you reply leisurely, “Yeah, I got that.” Letting out a light sigh, feigning empathy, you point at him with your chin, "I told you, didn’t I? That it would feel so much better to let loose and to listen to your instincts. Now you don’t have to carry that burden anymore – you’re free of it.”

Nanami bites the inside of his cheek, deepening the hollow line. "That’s right,” he eventually agrees. You want to laugh, heartfelt and soul-shaking; you knew he’d understand. He clears his throat, running a hand through his matted hair as his forehead creases, "…what do I do now?"

"Who knows?" You shrug. "But I'll be by your side. I guess I also have to take some responsibility in this case."  

Another pause. Less strained, more tranquilizing.

“I need a drink.”

“Then let’s get one.”

Finally, there’s a faint smile from him; one of relief, tinged with drops of gratitude, lasting only for a fleeting second, but it’s enough for you. This is what you've been longing for, what you've been attempting to bring forth.

He swallows, a stuttering bob of his prominent Adam’s apple, “I didn’t think,” he momentarily directs his stare towards one of the bodies, “I just moved. I saw their faces and I wanted them gone. Wipe those smiles away.”

“And you’ve done a great job at that,” you affirm. Your nose wrinkles, “Quite careless of you, though. You should be more careful next time, okay? You’re still responsible for your own actions, y’know.”

“I will,” Nanami says as he stands up on jellied legs, shakily regaining strength. “Be more careful, I mean.”

You squeeze his hand before letting it fall back to his side, “Alright, then. Better stay true to your word.”

Just as you're about to turn and lead him out, you stop abruptly as you hear a mumbled, "I'm sorry.”

You blink, “What?”

Nanami weakly points to your form, lips thinned as he frowns. You follow his hand and glance down your body - your suit is dirty.

“Don’t apologise,” you wave him off with a twitch of your mouth, “I don’t mind.”

[nomie-11]

Vi x Reader - I Love You, I'm Sorry

masterlist!

“Really, Vi?” You practically spat, face to face with a girl you thought you knew. “You’re running with the enforcers now? Since when were you a bluebelly?”

The grimace on her face was set in firm lines, hard and unyielding and so unlike the Vi you once knew. This was her—same powder blue eyes, same fiery pink hair, same cheekbones, same lip shape, but your Vi would never betray you like this. 

“This is for you, this is for Zaun,” god, even the words tasted like a lie on her tongue, but she wouldn’t admit it. “Jinx is a danger to us both topside and here in the undercity. You should know that!”

“Is that the lie you’re telling yourself to justify this!?” You were practically vibrating with anger, fists clenched tightly at your sides. “I loved you, Vi. What are you doing?” 

Vi’s face twisted, a crack of pain breaking through her tough facade. “I—” she started, but her words fell apart. 

The silence that stretched between you felt louder than the pounding of your heart. You could barely breathe, your chest heaving with rage, disbelief, and heartbreak. 

“You loved me? Don’t you dare use that in the same breath as selling me out,” you snapped, stepping closer to her. You didn’t care about the enforcer shadowing her, a step behind with one hand hovering near her weapon. All you could see was Vi, standing there with a badge at her hip and gilt in her eyes. “I trusted you. You swore you’d never betray us. Never betray me.” 

“This isn’t about betrayal!” Vi shot back, her voice trembling as she raised her hands, trying to calm you or herself—you couldn’t tell. “This is about stopping you before it’s too late. You’ve gone too far, Y/n. The arson, the—” she hesitated, jaw tightening. “The murders. Working with—”

“With Silco!?” You laughed, a dry, bitter sound. “That’s what she told you, isn't it?” You gestured sharply to the enforcer—Caitlyn—her perfect Piltover uniform untouched by the grime of Zaun. “Let me guess, she spun some story about me being a terrorist, and you just ate it up because she’s got a fancy accent and a badge.” 

“That’s not—” Vi started, but Caitlyn’s voice cut through her hesitation. 

“She’s dangerous, Vi. You know that.” Caitlyn’s tone was level, professional, but her gaze flicked to you with a mix of wariness and disdain. “We need to bring her in—now.” 

“Jinx and I have done more for this city than you ever could! We’ve brought hope back to Zaun and you’re trying to rip it to shreds! What about my parents? What about your parents!” Your heart cracked, splintering into sharp, jagged pieces. You took another step forward, daring Vi to stop you. “So, what’s it going to be, Vi? Do you believe her?” You pointed at Caitlyn. “Or me?” 

Vi hesitated, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. Her eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you saw the girl you fell in love with. The girl who once fought for Zaun, for her family, for you. But then she looked at Caitlyn, and everything shattered. 

“I love you,” Vi whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry.” 

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. Your vision blurred, not from tears—no, you wouldn’t cry—but from a red-hot fury that burned through your veins. “No,” you growled, voice low and venomous. “Don’t you dare say that to me. You don’t get to say you love me and choose a Piltie over me.” 

“Y/n,” Vi said, stepping toward you, but you backed away, shaking your head. 

“Stay the hell away from me,” you spat, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “You’re no better than the blue bellies who raided Zaun and tore our families apart. You’re just like them. You’re a traitor.”

The words cut deep—you saw it in the way Vi flinched, the way her hand wavered before falling uselessly to her side. But you didn’t care. Let her feel a fraction of th pain she had inflicted on you. 

Caitlyn stepped forward then, gun in hand. “Surrender peacefully, or this ends the hard way.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “You think I’m going down without a fight?” Your hands flexed at your sides, ready to grave the blade hidden beneath your coat. You knew it wasn’t a fair fight—two against one, with Caitlyn’s hextech rifle and Vi’s hextech fists—but you didn’t care. If this was how it ended, you’d make them work for it.

The fight erupted in a blur of movement. Caitlyn fired, but you ducked, the bullet ricocheting off a metal pipe. You lunged at Vi, and for a moment, your fists collided with hers—like old times, but with none of the playfulness, none of the love. 

“Y/n, stop!” VI shouted, blocking your strikes. Her voice was desperate, pleading. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Funny, because you already have,” You snarled, landing a blow that sent her stumbling back. But Caitlyn was there, quick and efficient, slamming the butt of her rifle into your side. Pain exposed in your ribs, but you didn’t falter. 

You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. 

It wasn’t long before they overwhelmed you. Caitlyn had you pinned, her knee digging into your back as she cuffed your hands. Vi stood over you, blood dripping from a cut above her eyebrow, her expression a mix of anguish and regret. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you hissed, struggling against the cuffs. “Don’t you dare look at me like that.” 

“I—” Vi started, but you cut her off. 

“You made your choice,” you spat. “You chose her. You chose Piltover. You chose everything you once swore to hate. And for what? A badge? A chance to play hero?” You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Screw you, Vi.” 

Her face crumpled, and for a moment, you thought you saw tears in her eyes. But you didn’t care. Let her cry. Let her feel the weight of what she’d done. 

As Caitlyn hauled you to your feet, you fixed Vi with a glare, your voice cold and unyielding. “You’re dead to me, Vi. Don’t ever forget that.” 

-------

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

lowk FUCKED up, butttttttttttttt would any of the comic book yanderes lobotomize their darling? we always talkin about willingness and shit saur... ya know!! just a lil off the top if ykwim

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒…

!!! GN reader, take a wild guess (lobotomies), neurological terms used, basic delusional behaviors, unethical uses of superpowers, unethical practices in general, mentions of brain dead/vegetative/mentally handicapped reader, Hal’s part briefly describes actual lobotomy procedures, Joker jumpscare in Harvey’s, gaslighting, a small history lesson here and there, themes of forced drug abuse, Tim Drake being a good candidate for the Saw franchise.

GRRRRAAAAAAAARRRRGGGHGHHHRRR. Anon, come over here so I can give you a lil forehead smooch. I’ve always wanted to write a yan lobotomy blurb, but… I didn’t really know what direction I wanted to go. Or who to write about. The idea is was legit, “hee hee, wouldn’t it be silly if there was a yandere lobotomy fic” and that’s about it. So I guess this is my chance to get some feelings out about that, yay!!

A few of these are a bit longer than usual cuz this type of shit is my jam. I also didn’t know if you wanted me to rank them on least to most likely, so shoot me a follow up ask if that’s what you wanted. Mwah!!

Bruce Wayne: Definitely not off the table. I’m willing to bet Thomas Wayne had at least one book on lobotomies; just an antique hardback that makes for an interesting read. I can see young Bruce sitting on his father’s lap in the study, tiny hands tracing over the book’s old diagrams as Thomas lovingly describes all of the morbid things they’d do to people (you know, classic father/son bonding activities). Who knew it would actually come in handy one day? Moral repercussions be damned, my man can pull off a sick lobotomy. There are of course factors he has no control over — such as your own brain plasticity and cognitive function — but that’s not exactly his fault, now is it? What your brain decides to do post-lobotomy has nothing to do with him (jokes aside, he’d be devastated if you were totally fucked up afterwards… though he’d easily adapt).

Bucky Barnes: I think he’s had enough mind-meddling of his own to give this a hard pass. It doesn’t matter how bad you are; he’s not doing anything to your brain. You’ll learn to behave on your own accord. And thank god, cuz bro would NOT make a good brain surgeon. He’d brick you so fast. Also, fun fact, the Soviets were actually the first to ban lobotomies (if memory serves correct; Google is backing me up, so… do with that what you will). I don’t know if this carries over to the KGB and their little secret evil organization side shenanigans, but yeah. Let it be known that the chances of lobotomized Bucky went down by… like… 3%.

Clark Kent: At first, I was about to say no, but then I remembered the Justice Lords from the JL cartoon, and… you know what? Maybe. It would be a very low chance, but if it’s gotten to the point where you’re a danger to yourself, Clark would have no other choice. What else can he do? Your safety always comes first and foremost. While the two dots singed into your forehead would raise a few brows, it’s not like he lets you out much anyway. He’d spend a long time trying to cope with the guilt. He did this to save you… he just had to save you from yourself. At least his heat vision is precise enough that he wouldn’t fuck it up. Now all that’s left to do is hope that you turn out okay. He’ll consider it a job well done if you can at least still smile at him.

Dick Grayson: He really isn’t that much different from Bruce, is he? Yeah, he’d do it. Maybe with a few more reservations, but he’d still do it. I think it’s in your best interest if you don’t let him spiral this far, because he’s not against the idea of you being in a completely vegetative state. Yeah, it would suck that you aren’t as active of a participant as he’d want you to be, but having complete control over your care is good enough for him. He’ll easily let his own delusions fill that void. Honestly, a part of him might even hope you turn out with a mental capacity of a toddler. It’s the best of both worlds; while you can still respond to your environment, you also rely heavily on his care. Perfectly pliable in his hands… a dream come true! Yay!

Hal Jordan: Nah. He’s good. Last he checked, he’s not the most qualified person in the world to quite literally poke around in someone’s brain. Hell, even the thought of it makes him sick. No drilling holes into skulls, no skewering needles through eye sockets, no thanks! He’ll leave that up to the people who can stomach the grosser shit. Now, is the thought of a quick operation that theoretically fixes your bratty behavior tempting? Sure. But Hal’s not an idiot; he knows the risks, and those risks just don’t seem worth it. There’s a reason lobotomies are unethical nowadays. Unless the topic comes up in some sort of show or movie, the thought wouldn’t even cross his mind.

Harvey Dent: Neither Harvey nor Two Face are all that keen on the idea. They might’ve done some fucked up shit to you (definitely Two Face more than Harvey), but a lobotomy? That’s just a new level of fucked up. A Joker level of fucked up, even (and the thought of being compared to that piece of shit makes both sides of Dent want to light up an entire room). Besides, there’s no one on the entire planet he’d trust to pull off a procedure like that on you. While he might know a guy or two who would totally do it in this day and age, he’d sooner put a bullet in their brain than let them fuck around with yours. That being said, don’t think you’re totally out of the woods. At the end of the day, it’s all up to the coin, remember?

Jaime Reyes: Would Jaime? No. Absolutely not. It’s unethical, it’s fucked, and it’s also just gross. Anything to do with surgery makes him feel extremely squeamish, and he might actually pass out if he thinks about it too hard. But would Khaji Da? Yeah. Probably. Though it would have to be an extreme scenario, where you’re just completely beyond controlling. Khaji Da knows the risks, and while he’ll execute the technical aspects flawlessly, the results are naturally unpredictable. It would be unfortunate if the scarab lost its host’s mate. Your poor little noggin is at the mercy of Jaime’s resolve. Is he in full control? Then don’t worry, his incoherent mutterings about severing connections in your prefrontal cortex are nothing but his weird intrusive thoughts. But… if he isn’t… uh-oh.

Peter Parker: Nope. No lobotomies here. He’s quite aware of the repercussions, both morally and practically. Honestly, he doesn’t even see most of your behaviors as something in need of correcting in the first place. Maybe if you were causing yourself any sort of harm, but other than that, he can put up with a lot of your bullshit. Talking back? Name calling? Hitting and kicking? Straight-up just being abusive? As long as you don’t leave him, he’ll work with it! Peter is the exact definition of a pushover yandere. You can get away with a lot, and that includes not getting lobotomy!

Reed Richards: I can see him pulling one off. Is it the most desirable outcome? Definitely not. But there’s only so much he can put up with before he finally puts his foot down. If you’re the insubordinate type, you’ve probably given him at least 17 heart attacks by now, and it’s only natural he’d come up with a way to curb those behaviors. See, me personally, if I were to get a lobotomy from any of these men, I’m calling up Reed. He’s no neurologist, but I’m sure he can whip up something to study your brain waves and accurately predict the outcome of a lobotomy. Plus, he’d probably have the safest environment and instruments for the operation. You won’t feel a thing, trust. Now let’s hope months of collecting data and trial runs on some less-than-willing test subjects pay off!

Remy LeBeau: Yeah, no… probably not. Thanks to Sinister, he knows first hand how invasive a lobotomy is. You’d have to be really unstable for him to even consider that idea. He definitely has the means to do it — all he has to do is put a finger up to your forehead and burn through your frontal lobe — but having the resolve to do it is a different story. While he might’ve turned out semi-okay post-lobotomy, there’s no telling what would happen after yours. Way too risky. Only something to consider as a totally nuclear option. So don’t make him do something he’d rather not, okay? It’d be better for you, better for him, better for everyone.

Scott Summers: Like Gambit, he’s a victim of Sinister’s fuckery but 10 times worse. I don’t think he’d be able to stomach the thought of doing anything surgical to you no matter how disobedient you are. But… maybe we can make this a little interesting. Scott’s attracted some hella weird attention over the years… who’s to say someone like Sinister wouldn’t get his hands on you and do a little fucking around? Maybe Goblin Queen? A particularly pissed off Phoenix? While Scott himself wouldn’t dare lobotomize you, I think there’s some people out there who would. Or, hear me out: mind controlled Cyclops almost crushing your skull with an optic blast. It would be more blunt force than an actual lobotomy, but I’m willing to bet it would fuck up your cognitive function all the same. Despite the immense horror and guilt he’d feel afterwards, a small part of him can see it as a blessing in disguise (depending on how you turn out, that is).

Steve Rogers: Honestly, Cap was frozen at the funniest point in history ever. The amount of lobotomies increased exponentially from the 40s to 50s (mind you, WWII ended in 1945), and then antipsychotics were introduced as a more ethical way to treat mental illness, which Steve wouldn’t know shit about. Unfortunately for all of my fellow sickos out there, lobotomies were probably never a thing Steve liked about the 40s, but allow me to offer an alternative. Steve thinks there’s clearly something wrong with your mental health; why else would you act like you hate him? Luckily for him, this is the 21st century, where people know much more about mental illnesses and disorders. He could easily pull some strings as Captain America and get you the help you so obviously need. So, I guess the question is, how many different prescriptions of antipsychotics can one take at once? Guess you’ll find out!

Tim Drake: So… uh… y’all better pray that he doesn’t get any intrusive thoughts about this shit. And if he does, PRAY that he snaps out of his weird fit before it’s too late. DO NOT LET BRO COOK. I don’t think he’d totally fuck it up or anything, but the chances of him spiraling and performing more than one are dangerously high. You might find the out hard way just how much poking and prodding a brain can take before it shuts down. Depending on how manic he is, he might actually lobotomize you while you’re conscious. No anesthesia, no painkillers, just him pouncing on you with a hammer and pick. You will be rawdogging this lobotomy like god intended. That’s when he’d fuck your shit up. Unless you want him to brick your brain, you better fight him off and wrestle those tools out of his hands. The post-manic episode clarity would be insane. “Uh… sorry I tried to give you a lobotomy.” Cool, man. Okay.

Wally West: Wally “if you need to give someone a lobotomy, that’s honestly a skill issue” West. Who needs that shit when you’re THE master manipulator? It would take some god-tier perception (or paranoia) to see through a fraction of his act, and even so, what good will any of that do when he’s got everyone else wrapped around his finger? Fighting against him is a dangerous game. If need be, he’ll play the loving caretaker while you’re the loony one. Poor Wally… he’s trying to help you through your issues, and this is the thanks he gets? Wow. Now, for the sake of a little exploration, I think it’s important to note that Wally could theoretically go through with it (by phasing his hand through your skull and solidifying at the right angle), but that sounds way too unstable to pull off. It would probably run the risk of turning your brain into a soup, and I’m pretty sure that kills people.

[emotionalhottiee]

Broken

Jimmy Uso/Jonathan Fatu

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise stated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events in this fanfic are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

just a quick oneshot until i get over this writers block. Hope you enjoy.

Heart Broken…

Doesn’t even begin to explain how i feel. How could he do this to us?

Thoughts of frustration and brokenness ran rampant through my mind as hot tears poured down my face. After all i had been through with Jonathan how could he throw away everything we had. My mind ran back to walking into his condo, opening his bedroom door to be met with an image of some ig thot, bent over while the love of my life was behind her. My heart shattered had into a million pieces.

Now the tears I’ve been crying out, for the past 30 minutes have blurred my vision. Thinking about that day against my will. But seeing him tonight made the memory pop up. Even though i knew there was a slight chance he would be at our friends birthday party. Actual seeing him, just felt like another knife being jammed right into my heart.

“Kenzi, are you alright in there?” “You’ve been in this bathroom a long time” my friend Kiara screamed through the door.

I hadn’t even realized i had been in here that long, but i just couldn’t stop crying. Watching Jon strut up in this party with some new girl on his arm. As if the last year and a half meant so little to him, he could move on within days. LITERALLY 5 days ago i caught him in bed with another woman.

And now it’s saturday, and he bought a whole other woman with him. Damn, How many others were there? I thought to myself as i wiped the tears from my bloodshot red eyes. Trying to cover up the fact that i been in the bathroom of a mutal friend of ours,sobbing over this man. What did i ever do to make him be so cold & callous towards me?

I have to pull myself together! I tried to tell myself encouragingly, i am not going to let him see me, so vulnerable. For what? He doesn’t seem to care in the least bit. Too busy fake laughing at the girl with her ass hanging out of her shorts.

He’s knows her ass ain’t that funny.

As i finish up wiping my face, one last time. Before i could even get myself all the way out of the bathroom Kiara yanked my ass into a tight hug. She knew i needed this that’s why she my friend.

“Girl don’t let him make you sad. Fuck him, you deserve so much better.” She calmly stated to me rocking us back & forth. This is exactly what will make my ass start crying again. But i am so thankful for my friend, trying to keep me from being sad.

Against Kiara’s advice i decided to stay at this party. This was one of Jon & I’s mutal friend, I’m not gonna let him feel like he has won (Even though he totally has won).

I put on my bravest face to go back and chill, before our friends pull out a game of taboo. We had split up into two teams and of course i end up on a team with Jon & his whore of the week. It was almost as if God was punishing me for still wanting to be around him. But truth be told i was obsessed with him. I loved him more than the air i breathed.

And as much as i can possibly lie to myself, i know he loves me too.

*some time later*

The party winded down, Kiara & I were helping our friends clean up. Jon’s little girlfriend ended up leaving. I thought they would’ve rode together but i guess not. And I’m honestly kinda happy about that. He’s been staring at me all night. Now that he’s alone i know where this night will take us. Especially since i rode with Kiara.

Jon asked me if i needed a ride home, knowing damn well i don’t like driving at night. I tried to act like i had to go back with Kiara, she gave us a shrug letting us know she didn’t mind. She knew me too well. As much as she wanted me to stand up for myself, she knew where my heart was. And wanting to be there for me she wasn’t gonna fight me on it. I appreciated that. Giving her a hug goodnight she gave me eyes of pleading, but with a hint of be careful. I rubbed her arms up & down letting her know i’d be okay.

The ride back to Jon’s house was quiet at first nothing but low 90s R&B playing. But he eventually turned the music off. He grabbed my hand while holding the steering with his other and apologized for his actions within the last week. My eyes filled up to the brim before a tear rolled down my cheek. I couldn’t even respond. I just held onto his hand, he bought my hand up to his mouth still holding it kissing it ever so gently. This is the soft, caring Jon i feel in love with. For a quick second he looked at me our eyes staring into one another. Until he turned his eyes back to the road.

This is going to be a great night.

[star-spacer]

You Don't Need to Try to Belong

Sorry if the tone near the end doesn't quite match the rest of the fic something happened in the middle of me writing it and like all good writers do I used this as an emotional outlet. But hey, who doesn't want Marco to hold them amirite? This was meant to be shorter, but the rest of the crew hijacked it like the pirates they were.

Phoenix Marco x Reader (fluff, near-death experiences, dash of sickfic & hurt/comfort)

As the unofficial ‘Fixer-Upper’, the jack-of-all-trades of the Whiteboard Pirates with a helpful Devil Fruit to boot, you tend to overwork yourself helping any issues that arises. Sometimes at the detriment of your own health.

You don’t think you’d ever get used to seeing the sun rise over the horizon from your vantage point up in the Moby’s crow’s nest. 

The gentle blush of pink peeking over the horizon, watercolor-soft as the veil of the night pulled back. Blackness faded away to reveal the glittering waves of the ocean stretched seemingly infinitely all around you. It was a freedom given to you by the Whitebeard Pirates, one you could never repay.

Sunrise also had the added bonus of signifying the end of your lookout ship, the promise of your bed waiting for you.

Below you, on the deck, the morning bell rang out, signifying the official end of the night shift’s work. The hubbub of the ship coming to life stirred up as you climbed down the mast, seeing the specks of the other lookouts doing the same at the other crow’s nests. A few members glanced your way as your feet hit the deck, and you returned the greetings thrown at you, albeit with slightly less energy.

Your stomach growled as the aroma of food from the galley drifted over when you entered the halls. However, you didn’t join the others for breakfast like normal and instead went deeper into the Moby’s bowels to where the crew’s quarters were. You’d been bothered by a persistent headache all night, and you knew that going into the noisy mess hall would no doubt make it worse.

The shared cabin was thankfully empty for the most part, and you made it over to your hammock before collapsing into it and tugging the blanket up to your chin before blacking out, looking forward to the long, uninterrupted rest you’d get.

“WAKE UP!”

You grunted in pain as you were upended from your hammock, bedding and all falling down with you. Blearily, you sat up and squinted at the pair of legs in front of you, smacking your dry lips. You didn’t know how long it was since you’d fallen asleep, but you knew it was not long enough.

A freckled face and messy black hair invaded your vision, the inquisitive expression of one Portgas D. Ace showing who exactly it was that woke you up.

“Hey! Got a moment?”

Even though it was phrased as a question, you still found yourself forcibly dragged to your feet, his grip on your wrist the sole thing that kept you moving as you stumbled through the halls and out into the deck. Sunlight pierced your half-closed eyes, and you winced, squeezing them shut as you trusted Ace not to run you both into something. You two finally paused and you cracked your eyes open to show that you’d stopped in front of Striker, in all her dripping glory as she hung hoisted up over the deck.

Ace finally released your wrist, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry to drag ya all the to fix up the Striker for me? I’d ask Blenheim, but he’s with the other fleet right now.”

At the request of a fixing, you forcefully shook off your sleepiness. Tiredness still lingered, and that damn headache still nipped at your temple, but you pushed it all back. Alert eyes assessed the damage in front of you as you tuned into Ace’s chattering.

“I got cornered by a few small Marine scout boats and had to take the Striker through some sorta reef. Thought I got through it fine, but I guess the coral—”

A sudden thud.

You paused in your observation to haul Ace out of the way of the crew and lay him out straight before returning to the Striker. True to his word, the bottom of Striker’s hull was deeply scratched when you bent down to take a look at it. The wood was gouged in a few points, areas where leaks would’ve no doubt let in water. It was a miracle Ace made it back. You hummed at the thought, making a note to get Pops to talk with the young man about his recklessness.

The Striker swayed gently from the lines holding her up as you pushed gently, tilting your head to catch the sound of sloshing water in her bowels. It wouldn’t do to mend everything only to have her rot from the inside out by trapped moisture. When nothing came back, you nodded approvingly and crouched down, hand reaching up to touch the largest of the holes. There was a dim glow before the wood seemed to seal up wherever you dragged your fingers over it, returning to its previous pristine state. You did the same for the others, each spark and glow only tugging at the tiredness in your bones. It was light work, but you were still exhausted by the time you finished, opting to take a seat by Ace where he lay. You were only beginning to blink off into sleep when the young man sat back up.

“—scratched ‘er up real bad and—Oh.”

Ace blinked at the newly repaired full before turning to you, sending a thousand-kilowatt smile your way.

“F’xed it,” you mumbled, shooting him a thumbs up. Your head tilted to the side and you dozed off. While your Devil Fruit, the Mend Mend Fruit was extremely useful, it did take a toll on you.

Strong arms once again wretched you to your feet, and you squawked as Ace bodily hauled you off, cheerful as ever.

“Thanks so much! Let’s go get some food. I’m starvin’’”

You went limp in the newly minted commander’s hold, resigning yourself to your fate as he dragged you along to the mess. There were a few others there who were the stragglers from lunchtime.

Ace shifted you to drape over his shoulder like a sack as he assembled a plate for the two of you. The world flipped around as he set you down at a table, and you murmured your thanks, dragging heavy limbs to your utensils to force a few bites down.

A call of your name and a harried-looking Thatch halted right by your table, relief on his face. “There you are. Glad I could catch you. Think you can get that pipe done for us now?”

Your eyes widened as you straightened. Right. You were supposed to have stopped by this morning after breakfast to help fix up the leak in the piping that the division didn’t have the supplies to replace. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry, Thatch.”

Shooting to your feet, you pushed your plate to Ace and quickly set towards the galley, Thatch on your tail. The Fourth Division greeted you, wrapping up post-meal duties as they avoided one particular section in specific. Someone already peeled away the wooden boards to expose the problematic pipe, and rags were stuffed along the spaces in the wall and sprawled on the floor. As you approached, you noticed that there was something on the pipe. You squinted at the stain and sniffed.

“Is this–Is this dried molasses?!?” 

Thatch whistled and adverted his eyes under your scrutinizing stare. “We had to make do.”

You exhaled despairingly, pressing your fingers into the sticky mess. It was concerning how often you all ran short on miscellaneous supplies, despite being an Emperor’s crew. A glow sparked up, and you sealed the gap.

The sticky, dark substance stuck to your fingers as you withdrew them, and your stomach suddenly churned. Rushing to an empty sink, you quickly washed it off as you called back, “I’m not cleaning that.”

“Fair,” Thatch said. He withdrew a rag from his chef apron. “Thanks for this.”

You hummed as you exited the galley.

Somehow, those two actions seemed to unleash a catalyst upon your peace. The promise of rest seemed further and further away as you were directed all over the ship, fixing this odd thing or that odd part. Your headache never went away, only getting worse as nausea was added to the list.

Skull called out his thanks as you bolted away from him, clapping a hand over your mouth as you beelined for the railing. You made it just in time to empty your stomach over the side. The only food in your stomach—the meager bits you managed to shovel down before Thatch interrupted—splashed sadly into the water.

Shivering, you closed your eyes to block out the sight of the swaying waters below you. The railing dug into your stomach as you slumped down into it. Everything felt hot and cold at once, and you admitted to yourself that maybe it was time to lie down. No more using your Devil Fruit for today.

As you were straightening up, a scuffle broke out from behind you. It was two recruits, roughhousing or fighting, you couldn’t care either way. But before you could move, one of them stumbled and slammed into you. Your eyes widened as your grip slipped, and because of the way you were leaning over the railing, you felt gravity tugging you to the wrong side as you pitched overboard.

Your wide eyes were fixed on the spot where you just were, too stunned to make a peep. There was a shout of alarm on board.

It was never fun falling from the Moby Dick. Its massive size meant nothing less than a painful impact, and even a few broken bones if you were unlucky.

But you wouldn’t call yourself lucky either way if you fell over the Moby in the first place.

You slammed into the waves.

The first thing that hit you was the pain. Like crashing into solid brick, your back ached from bearing the brunt of the impact. Then the insidious cold seeped in, past your clothes, past your skin, until everything went numb. Bubbles swirled past you in a dizzying spectacle, and it would’ve been pretty if not for the death grip of the weight pulling down on your limbs.

Motes of bubbles passed your lips, but you had the foresight to not open your mouth, to not breathe. But that was all you could do as you sunk deeper, black edging into your vision.

They always said that drowning was a horrible way to go, the choking of water in your lungs. But to you, it felt soft. Like the welcoming of the tiredness you’d carried around all day.

It’s so easy,

Your eyes fluttered, lips cracking open, allowing the saltwater to rush in.

You could get the rest you wanted.

You didn’t feel the arms clamping around your waist to drag you upward.

But you did notice as the two of you breached the surface, water spewing out of your mouth as you coughed. It burned going up, and you clung limply to the form you now identified to be Rakuyo as he stretched up his other arm. “Bring us up!”

He crushed you to his chest as the two of you shot up from the water, hauled up by his living flail. You both landed on the deck again, him on his feet while you were still in his hold. However, that quickly changed as your body spasmed.

“Woah there!” The man exclaimed, quickly crouching down so you wouldn’t meet a second painful impact if you spilled out of his arms.

“Someone grab Marco!”

Quickly, you were set on your side. Just in time as you retched. More seawater (seriously you don’t know how you swallowed so much) came up, through your nose, through your mouth. Warm hands rubbed your back as you gathered the strength to prop yourself up, as the spasms continued. It would’ve been mortifying to have the crew see you like this if you hadn’t seen these same full-grown men projectile vomit their dinner after a few too many drinks. As of right now, you were busy trying not to feel like death warmed over. Someone’s oversized sash fell around your shoulders as they used it to dry you off of the cold water.

“What’s going on, yoi?”

Marco’s voice was like a balm to your raw nerves as indistinct voices murmured over your head. Someone draped something soft over you (a towel?) and you sneezed.

Like the world’s most pathetic, bedraggled, wet cat, you were picked up from underneath your arms and passed over to warmer ones.

“H-Hol’ on,” you slurred, getting wrapped up in the fabric around your shoulders. Your head lolled against a warm chest. “Might throw—throw up.”

Marco shushed you. “Don’t worry about it, yoi.”

Blue and gold flames fluttered to life around you, your aches and coldness fading away. However, you still felt that bone-deep tiredness, and your lungs still rattled wetly. 

“I’m taking you to the infirmary. We have to monitor your lungs, just in case.”

Aw, man. You hated to be a bother.

Weakly wriggling in his grip, you voiced your protests, “‘M fine. L-Lemme jus’ go sleep it off.”

“You can rest in the infirmary. I healed your superficial injuries, but I can’t fix the drain your Devil Fruit already pulled from you or expel any potential water. Don’t fight me on this, yoi.”

You let out an unintelligible noise, sagging deeper into his hold. The hubbub of the ship fell away into muffled peace as he entered the infirmary, greeting the nurses there.

“Goodness! What happened?” Lisa asked as she pulled out more towels and a pair of spare clothes.

“We had a tumble off the deck,” Marco said, setting you down on a bed in the corner and stepping back for the nurse to let her set the clothes down by your side. He grabbed the privacy curtain, readying to pull it close as he asked you, “Think you can get changed, yoi? Lisa or another nurse can assist if you think you’ll need help.”

You looked down at your shaking hands, then to the set of folded clothes beside you. It was a simple enough shirt and pants, nondescript for their versatility. “I’ll be f-f-f-fine.”

The shiver that broke your words into a stutter wasn’t convincing, but Marco didn’t push it as he pulled the curtains closed around you to give you a bit of privacy. His voice came from the other side, “Let me know when you’re done, yoi.”

It took you much longer than you’d like to admit, wrangling yourself into the change of clothes, but just when Marco began shuffling on the other side of the curtain, you managed to pull the collar of the shirt over your head with your stiff limb and wrapped your hair in a towel.

“I’m d-do-done.”

The curtains were pulled open again and Marco stepped through. In the span of time it took for you to change, the man had collected equipment of his own. His stethoscope hung around his neck, and he carried a blanket rolled up under an arm and a thermometer.

“Just a precaution, yoi,” he said when he saw you eyeing his getup. You took the blanket when he handed it to you. The back of his hand came up to rest on your forehead and he hummed as he began putting on his stethoscope. “I want to listen to your lungs and keep you here to rest up.”

Letting out a put-upon sigh, you tilted your head back, staying still as Marco pressed the cold metal of the chest piece into your skin, expression calm as he focused on your breathing. After a few moments, he pulled away and tugged off the instrument.

“Your breathing sounds alright from what I could tell, yoi. But your temperature’s a little out of its normal range. How are you feeling, yoi?”

With the assessment done, you pulled away and curled up on the bed, tugging the blanket up. “Blegh, fine. I’m just gonna rest my eyes for a bit.”

“You do that, yoi,” Marco said, patting your shoulder. “I’ll watch over you.”

Letting out a huff, you allowed the lull of sleep to finally pull you under.

***

Warm hands on your forehead and cheek stirred you from the fretful slumber you were in, and you murmured, trying to pull away from the disturbance. Your breath whistled when you sighed, nose closed by a painful pressure and the rattle when you breathed seemed more prominent than ever.

There was a quiet tut before they came back with greater insistence, pulling you into a sitting position. You resisted, but your limbs felt leaden when you tried to lift them up. A slow, pounding pain pulsed in your temples on top of that, intensifying when you cracked your eyes open. You squeezed them shut again, but that peek was enough to see the slight chastisement on Marco’s expression as you identified him to be the one taking care of you.

His voice was low, kept to a manageable level that wouldn’t upset your head as he said, “Looks like you’re getting a fever, yoi. That’s strange.”

Blue flickered through your closed eyes as a gentle wash of his flames coursed through you. The pounding in your head lessened

“Tried my best to alleviate some of your symptoms, but since most of them aren’t physical injuries, I don’t think helped much.”

“It’s fine,” you rasped, blinking the crustiness from your eyes as you sat up. “Thanks for tryin’”

He hummed, pulling away. “What I’m surprised about is that you’re getting so sick from a dip in the waters. As far as I’m aware, the waters in this part of the Grand Line should be temperate enough to avoid that issue, yoi. Unless…” He narrowed his eyes at you, suspicion flashing in his gaze as he picked up on your guilty air. “You were on deck at a time where you would usually be asleep, yoi. Why weren’t you resting?” 

“Listen,” you began. “You’re not allowed to scold anybody involved in it…”

Marco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do I feel like I already know who it is, yoi?”

“Ace took me out to help fix Striker,” you agreed, ignoring Marco’s muttered ‘I knew it’. “Then we swung by the galley where there was something I forgot to fix for Thatch. Some of the crew caught me about, and it kind of escalated from there.”

The way the man tilted his head was distinctively avian. “Now, why would you do that, yoi? We’ve discussed using your Devil Fruit when you’re tired.”

You pursed your lips and adverted your eyes, shrugging. “I dunno. I couldn’t just say no.”

His eyes softened. “You know… You’re deserving of rest when you’re tired. You don’t need to bend over backward to please us. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Unbidden, you felt tears spring up in your eyes, and you blamed it on the mess running through your system, pulling away so you could wipe them.

However, Marco’s hands came up to hold your face, thumb wiping away the bit of saltiness that spilled over your lashes.

“Silly love,” Marco murmured as he tugged you into his chest and enveloped you.

Pliantly allowing it to happen, your face ended up buried in his chest. His hand rubbed your back comfortingly as he shifted to take a seat and pulled you into his lap. You sank deeper into him, instinctively relaxing at the soothing warmth he emitted.

“Nobody would think less of you for resting. There’s no payment to be on the crew beyond what you can safely provide. And you’ve done plenty, are doing plenty. Pops is not going to kick you out if you don’t repair Skull’s necklace or somebody’s sandals for the fiftieth time. You belong with us. We want you.”

You closed your eyes in embarrassment, hands coming up to cover your face. Marco’s chuckle jostled you a little bit, and the arm around your waist squeezed you, dragging you even closer to him. His flames flickered over you again, and you went boneless against him, hands dropping from your face. The ache in your chest that you didn’t even know you were carrying lightened with his presence.

“You just rest now, yoi. I’ll take care of you.”

You sighed, a trembling shaky thing. “Thank you, Marco.”

[sunnysidesevenup]

Moonlight Song: Chapter 1

“Hurry, henchman! I’m hungry!”

Yuichi sighs, readjusting his grip on his bag. Grim is tugging at his clothes, impatient as always, and honestly he just wants to skip dinner and go take a nap. Not that his silly dorm companion would ever allow something as heinous as skipping a meal. Maybe he can convince Grim to go by himself…?

Unlikely.

“I’m coming, just hold on a minute.” He says, Grim rushing ahead of him. He attempts to hurry after his dorm mate, but instead collides near instantly with someone coming around the corner. Both Yuichi and whoever he slammed into hit the floor, and Grim immediately appears near them.

“Hey! Watch where you’re—MWAH?! IT’S THE POMEFIORE LEECH TWIN!” Grim instantly cuts his scolding off the minute he sees the guy on the floor glaring at the two of them, and ducks behind Yuichi.

“Don’t compare me to the Leeches, we look nothing alike.” Arlo immediately scolds. “And we’re not related at all, this is why you’re failing your tests, isn’t it?”

“Wha… how does he know that…”

Yuichi deigns not to reveal to Grim that it’s probably just a reasonable guess.

Instead, he decides to defuse the oncoming fight, considering the Pomefiore second year has seemed to recover from his fall but is now looking more and more annoyed. He brushes off his clothes, standing back up. “Sorry for knocking you over, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He says.

Arlo looks him over, and then nods, seeming to find him genuine. “Sure. I wasn’t paying attention, either. Keep your… cat under control, though.”

“I’m not a cat!” Grim immediately yells, indignant.

“What are you, then? I see a cat.”

“Get your eyes checked!”

“Oh?” The mer tilts his head, tone lowering threateningly. “Do you think something is truly wrong with my vision? I’m not in the mood, so spit it out if you do.” His tone makes it very, very apparent that Grim should stop talking, so Yuichi, once again, is on damage control.

He scoops the cat back up into his arms, “He really doesn’t—sorry again.”

Arlo’s glare doesn’t fade. Instead, he just crosses his arms, staring at them with a piercing look and not saying anything.

“Uh…. We’ll get going, then?” Yuu says, attempting to leave before anything else happens.

“Do either of you sing?” The mer asks suddenly.

“What?! Why’re ya asking something like that, all of a sudden?” Grim questions, receiving another tilt of the head from the mer.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter… You’re not doing anything right now, are you? Great.” The shorter guy then darts forward, grabbing Yuichi by the arm and pulling him along down the hallway.

“No, no! Henchman, fight back! I want dinner!” Grim protests, struggling in his arms. A glare from the mer quickly stops the squirming, but not the complaining.

It’s not like Yuichi could pull away even if he wanted to. The guy is much stronger than he looks, and honestly kind of scary. He’d much rather just get whatever he wants over with and then return to his dorm.

Hopefully there’s food, wherever they’re going. He can’t put up with Grim’s whining for that long.

Arlo pulls them along all the way to the courtyard, and then over to a bench where, to Yuichi’s surprise, the Pomefiore housewarden is sitting. He’s scrolling on his phone, but looks up as they approach, raising an eyebrow.

“I found more people.” Arlo says, and the expression on Vil’s face sours.

“Grim and Yuu are not good candidates for a singing competition, Arlo. Go find someone else.” He tells his lowerclassman flatly.

“For a what?” Yuichi asks with mild panic. He’s ignored.

Arlo crosses his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. “I don’t need people to be good at it, I just need them to be distracting.”

“Then why did you ask me, exactly?”

“You’d get upset if I didn’t invite you!“

“Wait, wait, hold on!” Yuichi interrupts, finally getting a word in between the two boy’s arguing, although he regrets it a bit when two duel glares turn onto him. “What’s going on? Singing competition?”

Vil turns back to his dorm member. “You need to stop dragging people around with no explanation.”

Arlo shrugs. “It’s fine. They’re not busy.”

“Did you ask?”

He doesn’t respond, instead turning to Yuichi. “There’s a festival going on in my hometown, and I got signed up for a competition. I don’t want to participate, so I’m taking other people along with me. You’ll help out, right?” The question is less a question and more of a threat, from the low way he says it.

“…Can’t you just, uh, drop out?”

Arlo gets a pinched, complicated expression on his face. “I could, but then my siblings would call me a coward. Do I look like a coward to you?”

“…er, no?” Yuichi answers hesitantly.

“Exactly. But now I need more people… three or four, maybe…” He muses to himself, and then grimaces. “I don’t want to ask anyone else.”

“I, myself, would like to find good singers.” Vil tells him, offering no room for argument. “You might be content with this, but I’m not. You shouldn’t have told me about it if you weren’t intending to do your best. Frankly, I’m considering teaching you a lesson.”

“Who says I won’t do my best? I’m not worried about myself, but how other people perform isn’t my business.”

“As your housewarden, I don’t appreciate your attitude.”

“I’d love for you to attempt to teach me manners, then—“

“OKAY! Okay. Let’s just…” Yuichi raises a palm to his head, sighing. Why, why, is he always the one playing mediator? He’s not good at that! How did this happen to him?! “So, from what I’m hearing, we need a few more people, and they should at least be decent singers, and should have time to leave campus last minute…?”

Vil nods. “Correct.”

“How are we going to get anyone like that?” He asks, already committed to helping. Not like he would be able to get out of this now, anyways.

“Why, I think I can help with that!” A deep voice says from behind them.

[mangionebabymama]

On some real shit though, I want to put this out there:

Thank you so, so much for all of your love and support that you’ve given me and all that I’ve been able to give back to so many of you in return these last few days. I should have known once that I started seeing more Luigi memes and reels of all sorts of my social media a few weeks ago, it was a sign of something. I’m wholly invested in this case, for a multitude of reasons, across different approaches and, though I’ve said this so many times, it’s something about his story that reels me in like no other. I don’t know what the unforeseeable future will exactly hold this year, but my only wish that it brings Luigi closer to freedom and vindication, and the confirmation that he is loved and supported by many.

I’m kind of even surprised that I’d ever go out this far and make a dedicated blog on Tumblr, as I’ve had the app for many years but never actually attempted to create a functional space. I know it’s not about the numbers, but to reach a 100+ followers on both blogs and have active camaraderie on here? It’s crazy. Who knew that it wouldn’t be in honor of one of my fav artists, but some nice-looking, tall, curly-haired Italian frat boy that I wish I had a chance with. The odds, right?

On italianbabydaddy, I stated, word for word, that the purpose of the blog was a safe space for me to let the imagination run wild through posting my simp-fueled dreams and horny thoughts, and I guess now I’ve made that my trademark on here—and a lot of people are rallying behind me on that one. Thank you for engaging with me, interacting with me, talking to me about lore, fawning over the most precious visions/dreams/wishes you have about Luigi, and enjoying my little imagines and ideas that go on in my mind. But also, thank you for being vulnerable and comfortable enough to join me, along with many others, on a platform like this to stand in solidarity and show your support for him, too.

I am honored that some of you have reached out to me and said how my blog makes your day, teaches you something entirely new, or that my writing is entertaining—because that last part, along with everything, means a lot. I’m hoping maybe by joining this community, I’ll learn to develop a better relationship with self-reflecting on my skills of writing and stop putting myself so far down that I lose my love for it. I’m nowhere near a defense attorney or Luigi Mangione historian, but one of my main goals of this blog (beside all the simping) is to spread awareness, provide evidence, and bring knowledge about his story in all honesty. There’s a lot of stories about him going around that are lacking in truthfulness and sincerity right now, and it’s so important that we find spaces and talk about things in the correct way. We have to continue to say his name and keep talking.

I really planned for this post to just be a paragraph or two, but if you made it this far, then I really love you and appreciate you, beyond words that I possibly could ever come up with. Thank you thank you thank you 🥺

[mike-haters-dni]

Me when I’m a 13-year-old boy who watched the girl he fell deeply in love with die in front of him and then spent a year calling her everyday desperately trying to summon her back because he couldn’t go on without her when she miraculously shows up alive again and they finally get to be together: I’m sorry girl 😔 I love care for you 😔 but I had these friends first 😔 we can’t leave this get together even though we both want to 😔 I’ve objectively weighed my priorities and my friends have to be a little bit more important to me 😔 even though btw I’ve left you to go hang out with them before 😔 I hope you can understand 😔

Shit this is actually what y’all wanted him to act like isn’t it lmao

[cerealforkart]

Oakworthy but it’s that one issue of Teen Titans where Robin is losing his mind a little trying to clone Superboy after he died and Wondergirl comes in and says “even if you succeed you know it won’t actually be him” and Robin says “I know that but it would be something”

[mumblesplash]

getting better at drawing when you’re not trying for realism is kinda funny bc it’s like wow now my art looks even MORE like the exact midpoint between old-school disney and late 2010s anime. i didn’t think it was possible and yet i’ve done it again. inspiring

[fingertipsmp3]

I’m convinced Olympic shooters are superhuman actually

[yeyayeya]

What are your Gen 2 FE4 ships, I won't judge

Again, I have multiple ships, but these are the main ones I ship

1. Scáthach x Arthur (my ultimate rarepair, and Scáthach is one of my ultimate blorbos)

2. Seliph x Ares

3. Julia x Lana

4. Patty x Larcei

5. Lene x Fee

6. Febail x Tine

7. Diarmuid x Lester

8. Coirpre x Sara

9. Julius x Ishtar

10. Ced x Altena

11. Shannan x Oifey

12. Nanna x Leif

13. Iuchar x Dalvin

14. Iucharba x Muirne

15. Hawk x Laylea

16. Amid x Jeanne

17. Tristan x Asaello

18. Hermina x Linda

[wxywardsun]

Wildest thing supernatural ever pulled was the “two prophets can’t exist on earth at once” thing cause it results in a malformed prophet and..something something balance of the universe..something like that..I can’t remember. Like..what do you mean we can’t just have a cool prophet duo? We just deserved more prophets in general! They were so interesting and had layers to them,their whole entire concept was so cool to see and yet we saw so little of them in a sense. I just wish they were utilized a biiit more.

[octoooo]

Passing this along if you want to ~

Hello there! You've been tagged! You don't have to do anything if you don't want to, but if you'd like, list 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! Learn to know your mutuals and followers! 💖💖💖

This got long like the 10ft long super sub from Regular Show

Anyway

1) ART! Definitely any type of creative outlet but specifically drawing for me. Writing is yum too but seeing my finished product makes me happier than writing it lol. I had a love-hate relationship with almost all my fics as I wrote them <3

2) TUMBLR as odd as that may sound. I dunno how but it’s the site with the least amount of toxic people that I’ve seen* Of course toxicity exists here, but it’s not in my face (unlike TikTok and Twitter where it’s thrown in my face as soon as I log on) You ever read the comments on silly Sanegiyuu tiktoks? The creator & other fans of the ship get grilled alive, it’s awful.

(*specifically in my little demon slayer bubble. A good amount of ppl I interact with are 18+ but even those who aren’t seem mature)

Anyway Umblr is fun! And I love sharing everything my brain cooks up with cool people. 🫵🏾 🐙

3) Piggybacking off the last one, MUTUALS I LOVE YOU. We’re all a similar brand of Crazy when it comes to Demon Slayer & that’s pretty cool. Even if it’s not Demon Slayer related, I just like interacting.

Followers & mutuals I loaf you dearly <3

4) SPLATOON! Fucking love Splatoon I don’t think yall know just how much I adore this game. It’s fun to play, fun to draw, fun to think about lore-wise.

I think my favorite Splatoon fact is that the Octarians lost the Great Turf War only because their Octoweapons were unplugged.

Like

That’s hilarious. That’s genius. Weapon of mass Squid Destruction is stopped by their own plug. It’s like Dr. Doofenshmirtz putting a self destruct button on all his tech.

For all the devastating lore Splatoon has, it’s also very goofy.

5) DEVILMAN CRYBABYYYY! I watched it for the first time a few weeks ago and AAUGH IM HOOKED! All I can think about,,is the final scene with Ryo & Akira I—

Lmao anyway thanks for the ask! 10 people is a lot, but I’ll slip this sticky note ask into a few people’s lunchbox

[woodsteingirl]

the beautiful world is so beautiful but it’s mildly peeving because it currently exists predominantly unedited in a single google doc that’s vaguely chronological in order but it’s like. vignettes so it would be really hard to post anywhere because i don’t write it in any order….