#but that's like not the fun part of this story

[goldsbitch]

Blink Once

Lando thought taking care of his twin daughters would be the hard part. Turns out, he can manage. Now, figuring out which one is which - that's a whole different story.

2k word count warning: none - domestic, fluff, fun

The room is in a state one could describe as a battlefield. Tiny clothes, diapers, creams, powders and God knows what scattered everywhere. There is also an intense stare down happening between the two pairs of blue eyes and one set of greenish. The latter belong to Lando, the former to his dearest offspring. The most adorable duo of little girls that he had ever seen. Every since they were born, he's been getting random streaks of immense pride throughout the day. That is until now, when he is staring at the two little grinning demons, holding a green sock in one hand a purple one in the other. Normally, he'd be overjoyed that he had managed to keep the two happy and not crying for so long. Y/N has gone out to much needed and postponed catch up with another adult, that's not Lando or anyone they're related to. It was his first time alone with the kids. He needed to prove it to her, and himself, that he can do it.

One of their daughters was expected, the other one was a happy surprise. To say taking care of two, instead of one, was a challenge for the new parents would be an understatement. Sleep deprived Lando was begging silently for his daughters to give him at least a clue to solving his latest fuck up. Identical twins. Y/N was so terrified of mixing them up, that the color designated socks and clothes were established right from the beginning. Olivia has green, Maya purple. Right?

He sighs dramatically, standing in the middle of the nursery and trying to recall which one had which pairs of socks on.

"Oh, how great of you that you can sit on your own now," he proclaims to the two, who keep beaming back at him, blabbering and apparently finding this very amusing. "If you could just magically learn how to talk now and tell me which one is which, that would be a-mazing!"

Nothing. Obviously. They have a long way to go to be able to do that. He tries to retrace his steps one more time. He put one on the changing dresser, that must have been the one with the green socks and went on to grab the other one to put her -on the left? Or was it right? He curses himself in creative swear words for taking the socks off so mindlessly.

It might be humiliating, but Lando is self-aware enough to have somewhat expected something like this to happen. He checks the shared note he and Y/N have. Ok - so it's right, Olivia is green and Maya purple. Great. Now which one is which?

He decides to sit them down in the living room - most likely mixing them once again, but what difference does that make now, he thinks.

He holds the two socks in front of their faces. This works with dogs, it must work with children too. He tries to brush over the fact he just compared his heirs to an animal.

"So, which one do you like better? Hm? You must have developed some sort of notion of which colour is yours at this point, right?" he speaks is sarcastic baby voice as the girls keep on laughing. Lando frowns. "This is not some sort of game, ladies. For all I know this might be the grounds for a divorce and your villain origin story." Nothing. No reaction to the socks, they just keep looking at him. Adorably.

He starts to properly panic now. Calls himself a shit parent, immature dad and just plain stupid idiot. Y/N is gonna kill him. He has to fix it somehow.

He tries different approach. "Olivia? Olivia, is it you? Blink twice if you’re Olivia. I’ll settle for a burp!" he speaks to the one on the left. It's like this child has stopped needing to blink completely. "So you're Maya?" he asks and figures the response of her hand reaching up must be enough to confirm her identity. He turns to the daughter on the right. "So, you're Olivia? Does that sound familiar?"

He is going to explain this to them one day, it's going to be a very funny story of how their father fucked up their whole life. Mixed them up so much that they end up becoming drug addicts. Oh, God. He is truly spiraling. Were they born with a destiny he’s now sabotaging by switching them? Or not switching them?

"Okay, Team Chaos. Maya, blink once. Or just scream, because that’s your go-to answer for everything anyway." He watches them intently and finally sees a blink! And immediately another one from the other child. He groans and puts his head in his hands. After a moment spent in a pit of despair, he comes back to reality with new found determination. He is a father, their father. His instincts must work. He picks one up and in the air and examines her intently. Turning her left, right and upside down. And then the second one. He's got nothing. These kids are point to point exact copies of each other.

As a typical young parent, he turns to internet for help. And as per usual, he finds zero reliable advice to go with. No - there is no secret birthmark on one of them. No, they both have identical eye color. No, there is no difference in their teeth. In amidst of all of this, he panic buys a fingerprint kit and full on plans on preventing this from happening in the future.

He comes back to stare at his kids, who are uncharacteriscally quiet, calm and content. As if they know that for the first time in weeks, he does not need their help to achieve chaos in his mind.

He calls the one person who is smart, won't probably laugh too much in his face, won't tell Y/N on him and might understand his parent panic.

Max Verstappen picks up after third dial.

"Lando!" he greets him cheerfully. At least someone is having a good time. "What's up? How's the new parent life looking out for you?"

Lando gets to the point straight. He is after all running out of time. "I've mixed up the twins. Don't laugh. I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean, you’ve ‘mixed up’ the twins?" the Dutchman asks.

Lando rolls his eyes, how does one not understand the simple premise. "I mean, I was changing their diapers, I took their socks off, and now I don’t know which one is Olivia and which one is Maya. I’ve stared at them for an hour, and they’re just...Point to point the same."

Max bursts out laughing on the other end of the line, a loud, unfiltered laugh that makes Lando cringe. He waits for the inevitable to end and lets him speaks first.

"So I assume you're alone with them? Is Y/N out of the house?" Why is that important, Lando does not understand.

"Yes. I’m serious, Max! They’re identical. Identical! It’s like trying to tell apart two...marshmallows. Two tiny, giggling, adorable and judgmental marshmallows who know I’m losing it and find it hilarious."

It seems that Max is finally somewhat on board with the seriousness of it all. "Right. So what’s the plan? Are you just gonna call them ‘Baby One’ and ‘Baby Two’ until Y/N gets home?"

Lando pinches the top of his nose in frustration. "Max, I need to solve this. If I don’t figure this out, Y/N will kill me. She was already paranoid about this happening, and now I’ve gone and done it. I mean, what if I ruin their entire lives, Max? What if they grow up thinking they’re each other-"

Max is solution oriented. So he jumps into interrupting the young father, because he might have just got on forever.

"Okay, okay, calm down. Let’s think this through. Did you check for a birthmark? Sometimes one of them will have a birthmark or something small that’s different."

Lando groans loudly. "No birthmark, no physical difference, Max, my kids look identical and I can't recognize them apart at all!"

"Hm," he stops to think, Lando stops to think and hopefully the whole world stops for a moment so he can fix his cardinal mistake. "What about… I don’t know, their personalities? Isn’t one supposed to be louder than the other?"

Lando appreciates the idea, first good one. Sadly, not a helpful one. He keeps staring at menace his children are. "They’re both loud. And they both cry at the exact same time, like they’ve rehearsed it. I think they’re doing this on purpose to mess with me."

"At least you can be sure you're the father," Max rhetors and laughs again.

"Not funny," Lando gritts his teeth.

"Well, I’d mess with you too if you were my dad."

"MAX."

"Okay, fine, fine. Why don’t you just pick one, call her Olivia, and call the other one Maya, and just stick with it? What’s the worst that could happen?" he tries to calm Lando, but it backfires masivelly.

Lando is now pissed at Max as well. The guy has kids far apart in age to obviously not understand the gravity of the situation. And he's more that willing to make him understand. "The worst? The worst! I’ll tell you the worst. What if they figure it out when they’re older and I’ve been calling Olivia ‘Maya’ for years? What if Maya’s like, ‘Wow, Dad, you didn’t even know who I was?’ And Olivia’s like, ‘I always knew I was the favorite.’ And then they hate me forever and end up in therapy, and the therapist is like, ‘Your father was a moron who couldn’t even tell you apart."

"That… sounds like a lot of "future you" problems."

Lando start to pray silently to all the gods he's aware of. "Future seems pretty damn close, given Y/N probably comes home any minute now."

And that's when he hears the door open. Fuck.

"Just wait when they're teenagers and start switching on purpose," is the last he hears from Max before hanging up indefinitely. Lando freezes, the phone slipping from his hand and landing on the carpet with a soft thud. His eyes dart between the door and the two grinning culprits, who have now decided to crawl toward each other and share in their apparent victory. He whispers under his breath, “Traitors. Both of you.”

He gets up automatically, the plan now being wooving Y/N, the mother of his devil children, out by his adorableness. It worked when he was trying to get to agree to go on a first date with him, it has to work now. He wonders into the kitchen, where he sees her putting some box of pastries onto the counter.

"Hello, my love," he attacks and immediately steps all over to her personal space. Hand on her cheek, the other one on her hips and he locks them in a kiss. He's not fully certain it works, but it earns him a pleased smile. Baby steps - no pun intended. "So, what did you do?" He know already, coffee date with a bestie, bla bla bla, but he needs to buy himself some time. She tells him anyway and he is pleased to her happy, for the last time in their lives probably. Oh, what a nice journey this has been. He gets lost in the love-filled thoughts that he temporarily forgets about his predicament.

She kisses him gently one more time and flashes a look into the living room. "Look at them, so happy." Fuck, that was quick. It was foolish of him to rely on the fact Y/N might just forget about their kids. "How’s everything going? Did the girls behave?"

Behave. Right. The girls behaved perfectly. It was him who had descended into chaos.

"Yeah! All good on that front. We're a great team!" he responds, maybe too enthusiastically. He is certain this was the last time she's left him alone with the them, until they're able to identify themselves on their own. It was fun while it lasted. The pit of despair in his stomach is growing.

"It makes me so happy to see you all having fun," she says and it's the kind of relaxed smile he hasn't seen on her face for weeks now.

"Honey, do you wanna take a nap or some alone time in the bedroom?," he asks sincerely, casually tangling their hands together. "Looks like some time off suits you." This is not said as a part of his salvage plan. It is actually really nice to see her rested for once. She looks at him sheepishly.

"You're amazing, you know that?" she whispers, several positive emotions written all over her face.

"Keep focused on that," he says before he can stop himself. Fuck once again. He freezes. She winces, her spidey senses on. He glance is averted to the children now.

"Lando, did something happen?" she asks, suddenly worried.

This time Lando looks over at the girls, who are still preocuppied by themselves. "No, all good. Look at them, all content." And mixed up, he thinks, but does not add that.

Y/N does not look conviced and goes over to check up on them herself. He does not stop her. It was bound to happen anyway.

He's an adult. Knows well enough from his high demanding job that fessing up to a mistake is ultimately better than have someone find out. Deep breath in. Here goes everything.

"I don't know which one is which," he says and lets the reality of it sink in. Y/N looks at him with eyes wide out. He continues. "I was changing their diapers, took the socks of and then forgot which one is which. I'm sorry."

She stares at him, then at the girls and right back at him. To add some gravitas to it all, the kids are now playing with both socks. Lando is pretty sure the blood stopped flowing in his veins. He tries to calculate how long it's going to take him to pack his stuff up. Y/N kneels down to level with the girls and smiles at them. Lando's fighting the urge to take a photo, so that he can remember what having a family felt like. Then she picks up the child sitting on her left.

"Hi, Olivia," he mumbles and puts the sock on accordingly. Lando does not compherend. "Hello, Maya," she continues and repeats her action. Has his wife just decided which one is which and moved on? He could have done that minutes ago! He stays silent as he takes careful steps toward his family. Y/N stands up as well and looks at her disheweled husband.

"Olivia's got little tiny dimples," she says simply to provide some explanation.

"What?" is the only response Lando is capable of giving her. She waits with a sneaky smile as he comes over to them and examines the girls one more time. After a moment, he speaks again. "You're lying."

She laughs and dismisses that. "No, I'm not, look." Lando still can't see a damn difference, but decides on believing Y/N. "How do you-"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I guess it's mom instincts." Lando is stunned at how casual she is about this all. Just like that, she goes back to unloading her back to the kitchen. Lando's heartbeat slowly goes down to the normal a human is suppose to have and turn to watch Y/N. When he's sure that she in fact not being sarcastic, does not seem to be mad at him and confirms that he might just have survived this all and gets to keep access to his family, he walks over her to cherish her once again.

"I'm so sorry, I was really trying to avoid doing that," he apologizes, still not quite done being guilty. "I know you were afraid of this."

She turns to him with a smile. "It was bound to happen eventually. I was really worried about that when we came back from the hospital," she glances at the little girls lovingly. "I'm with them so much that I guess I started to see the tiny, miniscule differences. Don't feel bad not doing so," she walks over to him to be the one doing the comforting.

"If you want me to keep them straight, we’re gonna have to tattoo their names on their foreheads. I’m kidding. Kind of."

She chuckles. "Yeah, do that and you are dead."

He shakes his head. "Always dismissing my genius ideas."

"And always will be, honey," she leans over and kisses him. Just like that, the perfect moment is over. Sounds of crying creeping in from the living room. Y/N sighs into their kiss.

Lando looks at his two identical, mischievous daughters, he can’t help but smile. He may not have a clue what he’s doing, but one thing’s for sure. Life with these two is going to be anything but boring.

"Go lie down, honey. I got this," he notes and this time Y/N nods back at him.

[jadeshifting]

— SCRIPTING YOUR FAMILY. ( i swear it can work even if they’re not dead )

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— DISCLAIMER. script what you want !! this isn’t judgement or an attempt to convince you of anything. i still have ded family in some realities, don’t worry :^)

alright, so a lot of shifters skip right to scripting their DR families straight into the afterlife. gone, nonexistent, dead and buried. this is for a myriad of reasons, though for me and everyone i know, it has a lot to do with backstory, or the idea that family ties are going to cramp our style or get in the way of our dream life and the plot. but, for anyone who’s interested, let’s flip the script (pun intended) and talk about why creating an original, unique family for your desired reality can actually make your experience richer, more meaningful, and a whole lot more fun !!

WHY KEEP THE FAMILY DRAMA?

first off, let’s address the elephant in the room: family can be a lot. but scripting them out entirely can be like throwing the baby out with the bathwater !! there’s tons of potential to consider there. a family offers plenty of opportunities to add depth, lore, and a whole bunch of emotional layers to your DR. think about it—what’s a life without a little family drama, a bit of cozy love, or even a quirky aunt who always brings the laughs? it doesn’t have to be a big, happy family—it can be whatever you feel like you need, whatever fits

HOW TO BUILD YOUR DR FAMILY

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— SIZE MATTERS ( but not really ) .　　. 　 ˚　. when scripting your DR family, start with size. do you want a big, loud, chaotic family with siblings running around, or something closer to a small, tight-knit crew? maybe you’re an only child who’s the apple of your parents’ eyes, or perhaps you’re in the middle of a bustling household where everyone’s got a role to play. there’s no right or wrong—just what feels right for you, and what you feel like you need in that specific DR

— CHOOSE YOUR ROLES .　　. 　 ˚　. who’s in your family? a loving, supportive mom who’s your biggest cheerleader? a cool dad who’s kind of your best friend? maybe a set of grandparents who tell you the most insane stories about their youth, or a mouthy sibling who keeps you on your toes. think about the roles that would enrich your life in your DR. remember, these people are there to support your life, not unnecessarily complicate it

— CONNECTIONS .　　. 　 ˚　. now, here’s where it gets fun (in my opinion): your relationships. are you super close with your mom, the kind of close where you can endlessly gossip and have deep life talks? is your dad the type to give you space but always manages to have your back when it counts? maybe you have an insane sibling rivalry that spans over a decade. the relationships you script can add so much flavor to your DR—it’s all about creating connections that resonate with you, and support you in all the ways you want to be supported

FITTING INTO THE LORE ( making it make sense )

if your DR has a specific lore or world-building element ( Hogwarts, Marvel, etc. you know ), weave your family into it !! maybe your mom’s a legendary witch, or your dad’s a top Auror. perhaps your family runs a magical bakery, or you’re part of an ancient lineage with a complex magical or academic heritage. the point is, your family should feel at home in your DR, adding to the story rather than feeling like an afterthought that detracts from it

SOME IDEAS FOR YOUR DR FAMILY

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( just to get you started )

— MAGICAL LINEAGE .　　. 　 ˚　. your family has a rich history tied to your DR’s lore—maybe you’re descendants of a powerful wizard, or you’ve got a long-standing feud with another powerful family. drama

— ECCENTRIC GROUP .　　. 　 ˚　. a family full of eccentric or seemingly ridiculous people—a dad who invents magical gadgets, a mom who’s an expert potion maker, siblings who are always concocting some mischievous or downright strange plans

— TIGHT-KNIT TEAM .　　. 　 ˚　. quiet and likely unassuming—just a small, close family who’s been through everything together together. you lot might not be flashy, but their love and support are solid and you know you can always count on them

— CHAOTIC CLAN .　　. 　 ˚　. a massive, bustling family where everyone’s got their own unique role. maybe you’ve got siblings with vastly different personalities, parents that always have something insane to say, or aunts and uncles hailing from faraway places. family gatherings are always an ordeal

DON’T STRESS THE DETAILS

here’s the deal: scripting your DR family is about enhancing your experience, not stressing you out or detracting from all the things you wanna do. whether you want to create a sprawling family tree or just script a few key members, it’s all up to you. and remember—at the end of the day, your DR is personal to you. it’s about what makes you feel connected, supported, and ready to dive into the adventure of a lifetime

so, build that dream family !! whether they’re magical, mundane, or somewhere in between, totally supportive or bringing never-ending drama to spice things up, at the end of the day they’re there to add richness and depth to your DR. and trust me, it’ll make your journey all the more special if you let it !!

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[elexuscal]

It's been frustrating seeing this discourse ping pong back and forth, because as always I feel like it oscillates and missing nuance.

I saw that one post yesterday that's like, "Shipping ruins your ability to analyze media", "For YOU maybe for me I can do both".

And some in some situations, people absolutely can do both. Whether it's because:

The romance is textually an important part of the story, interwoven into the main themes and plot, and ignoring it entirely would be wild (and frankly bad analysis).

There is a really strong relationship at the heart of the series, and it's NOT canonical romantic/sexual, but the reasoning and context as to why it's not is frankly even more fascinating. (I'm thinking about a lot of shows that use heavy emphasis on queerbaiting, or other works that use queer-coding to get past the censors, or part of the tragedy is these characters Didn't get together, etc.)

Sometimes fandom is just fun! And you can sometimes take off your Analytics hat to put on the Fun Hat and go 'Wouldn't It Be Hot if My Blorbos Made Out'.

The problem of course starts to happen when large groups of fan refuse to take off the Fun Hat and put on the Analytics Hat. Or, worse, forget that the Fun Hat is what it is, and swear up and down it IS the Analytics Hat, and get angry at anyone who implies it isn't.

There's a difference in shipping as: 'i think these two characters are neat together' and shipping as: 'Which two characters I want together is the most important, or only, element of the work that matters'. And like OP says, for well-constructed stories that just... genuinely don't have that much focus on romance... if you're in that second headspace, you're genuinely gonna miss a LOT.

I think there's some medias that you just cannot meaningfully engage with if your main priority is shipping

[choccy-milky]

Ok long story short, I constantly hit my bed frame, and my husband thinks it's adorable until he sees the giant bruises it leaves. I was in my head and thought, would Sebastian do the same thing to Clora? Would he lovingly tease her, kiss the bruises, then at night when she's sleeping, dismantle the bed frame at the end of the bed?

im gonna be so real with you, i thought you meant hitting the HEADBOARD, so i just immediately thought of this LMAO

(..........but to properly answer your question, YES!! if there was a part of the bed frame that clora kept hitting herself/bruising herself on, seb would probably make fun of her and say something like 'how is it that even in your SLEEP you find new ways to hurt yourself???' but in the same breath he'd also work to clora-proof the bed so that she doesn't get hurt again🥰LMAO)

[icedbeverageenjoyer]

Dominator Mr. Puzzles!

I love the idea of each Puzzles having their own poster so much grrr!!

@alelathedragon

Story

While the name is kinda cringe, in this AU Puzzles is a much larger and more threatening villain. A big tech CEO who conqueres universes to make their inhabitants his loyal audience members. He comes from a dimension of shadow people, which he took over and brainwashed. Now they are his permanent audience, giving him approval in the form of 'stars'. ↓↓↓

Design

Puzzles' real body is severely damaged from all the body modifications he gave himself, so he built an undisclosed number of clones- vessels from which he can control every part of his empire.

His body stays in a special pocket dimension to keep himself safe, since he can barely move and needs around the clock care. If someone were to walk into his office, they'd think he was a long-dead corpse staring blankly at the monitors. But rest assured, he is very aware.

Fun facts

• Everything he touches turns grayscale. Probably has something to do with his home dimension.

• Many of his brand's home appliances managed to sneak into the showgrounds, but he failed to design these products with spyware. Damnit.

• He is very sensitive to temperature changes and keeps his dimension just above freezing.

• He can change his voice in pitch, timbre and everything else, so he can make very convincing impressions. Even his usual voice isn't his real one.

• The clones are like appendages to him. That being said, there are certain conditions under which a clone can go rouge and 'gain sentience', but they're usually very unstable and 'die' in a matter of hours.

• The Puzzles in the psych ward is a special case.

[solarsturniolo]

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: in which Matt is failing his classes and at risk of having to repeat the semester, and his tutor is the reason behind it.

𝕯𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗: This is a collaborative story that me and another person started on, but I am in charge of it now :) All characters in this story are of age. None of the characters are minors.

𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: cursing / smut / switch!matt / switch!fem reader / male masturbation / wet dreams / use of good boy / virgin!matt / p in v / oral (fem receiving) / oral (male receiving) / overstimulation / breeding kink / praise kink / mommy kink / scenes mentioning anxiety

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 3,700

Previous parts: Intro / One / Two /

He tossed and turned that night, unable to get the dream out of his head. It had all felt so real. He could smell her perfume, waves of vanilla surrounding him as he laid at her mercy. He could feel her touch, her soft fingers running along his skin, a trail of goosebumps following close behind, warmth encompassing him. He could hear her voice, soft praises and coos of adoration falling from her lips, her tone warm and sweet, flowing like maple syrup dripping from a stack of pancakes. He could taste her lips as she kissed him, her cherry chapstick driving him wild as he nipped at her bottom lip. He could see her electrifying gaze as they locked eyes, his orgasm rushing through his body like a lightning bolt striking a tree. It felt so real…

He tried to fall asleep again, really he did. He wanted to fall asleep again. He wanted to drift back into the heavenly dream he had previously found himself in. He prayed to whatever higher power would listen to him, begging to be transported back into his dream. After twenty minutes of tossing and turning, peeking over at his alarm clock, groaning in annoyance, and repeating the cycle, Matt found himself sitting up in his bed. He grabbed his phone from his nightstand, unplugging it from the charger that was barely holding itself together after years of use. He tried to distract himself, hoping that the incessant scrolling and non-stimulating content would lull him to sleep. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that lucky. Even after scrolling through and switching between apps, Matt only found himself wide awake, annoyed, and horny.

Undeniably, uncontrollably, unbelievably horny. 

Matt opened the Safari app on his phone, clicking the address bar. The all too familiar website popped up without him even needing to type anything, a clear sign that he had made this search far too many times. Matt made a mental note to clear his search history as he clicked on the site, waiting impatiently for it to load. 

He scrolled through page after page, briefly glimpsing at the exaggerated titles to each video, none of which captured his interest. He let out a frustrated grunt, his dick straining against the cotton fabric of his boxers. He wanted nothing more than to jerk off, to get rid of the incessant throbbing so that he could just sleep, but unfortunately for Matt, he was picky with the porn he watched. Chris made fun of him for it, but he didn’t care. Seeing a woman bent over on some AirBnB couch getting the shit railed out of her, filling the empty disconnected atmosphere with obnoxious sounds, feigning the one thing he truly craved; he just couldn’t bring himself to watch something so meaningless, nonetheless enjoy it. Nothing about it was appealing to him. It wasn’t real. He wanted something real. 

But he had no idea how he felt about actual sex. He’d kissed a few times, but never with tongue and nothing past that. The furthest he had ever gotten was the time he made out with a girl in ninth grade and creamed his pants when she straddled his lap.  Matt was always insecure about his inexperience, afraid that when the time finally came, he would disappoint. This was brand new territory for him…and it was all her fault.

His gaze flickered to the top of his phone, reading the time that was displayed on the screen. “Holy shit,” he muttered. It was much too late in the night for him to still be awake, and yet here he was, pulling on a pair of faded flannel pyjama pants before shuffling over to the door. His fingertips grazed over the handle, unlocking the door and slowly pushing it open. Matt looked down the dark hallway, and once he was sure everyone was asleep, he carefully tiptoed over to the stairs. 

Each step had Matt tensing up, the old wooden floorboards groaning and squeaking under the weight of his feet. He cringed at a particularly loud step, even pausing for a moment to ensure he hadn’t woken anyone up. After another painfully long three minutes, Matt finally reached the bottom of the steps and made a beeline for the kitchen. In seconds he found himself standing in front of Nick’s bedroom door, and Matt raised his hand to knock but he hesitated. He leaned closer, his ear ghosting over the old faded wood. The muffled sound of the tv could be heard, along with Nick’s agitated remarks. “Are you fucking kidding me? You don’t fucking deserve her and now you’re getting her voted off!?” Matt smiled to himself. Once he was sure that his brother was awake and not murmuring nonsense in his sleep, he knocked on the door.

“God fucking- Yeah! Come in!.”

 He opened the door to see the room bathed in lavender LED light, the television playing whatever show Nick had suddenly found interest in. Tonight, it just so happened to be one of those ridiculous dating reality TV shows. Nick sat in his bed, his back propped against pillows, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his stomach. He turned his head the second the door opened, half expecting Mary Lou to come lecture him for being too loud, but he relaxed upon seeing his brother in the doorway. “Jesus, you can’t sleep either?” Nick huffed. “Get in here.”

Matt furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, until he saw Chris’s head poke up from the other side of the bed. He was sitting on the floor, for whatever reason, and he flashed a cheesy grin when he saw his brother standing in the doorway. 

“Why are you on the floor.”

“Wow, nice to see you too Matthew,” Chris rolled his eyes. “Nice of you to show your face at-“ he held up his arm, looking at his bare wrist. “Two thirty in the morning.” 

“Ignore him,” Nick mumbled, rolling his eyes and grabbing the remote controller from his nightstand to pause his show. “He’s annoyed because Nate left him hanging-“

Chris huffed, an inaudible response following as he turned back around and sunk back down onto the floor. The other two shared a look of irritation at the sound of Chris typing on his phone, the younger of the trio completely unbothered by the incessant clicking. Rolling his eyes, Nick looked at Matt expectantly. “Well?” 

Matt sighed, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. He sulked over to Nick’s bed, collapsing onto the empty side as his brother moved over to make space for him. Matt wriggled under Nick’s blankets, keeping his face buried in the pillow. 

“What’s wrong,” Nick said, his tone changing the question to a demand. 

The keyboard sounds paused for a moment. “Yeah, your vibe is like…weird,” Chris added. He langered up from the ground and sat on the edge of his brother’s mattress. “You didn’t talk to us like all afternoon.” 

Matt sighed, questioning if he should say anything at all. But his brothers were his sanctuary. He always told them everything. It was eating him up inside, keeping this from them. He wasn’t good at keeping secrets, especially from the two people that could always read him like a book. He wanted to tell them everything; his grades, the tutoring, her. 

He decided to take one life crisis at a time. 

 “...There’s a girl,” He started. 

Nick shrieked. Chris looked at Nick, punching him in the upper arm as a proud smile formed on his face. “I fucking told you, you owe me lunch tomorrow.” 

Matt looked up from the pillow, furrowing his eyebrows yet again. “You knew?”

“Well no shit,” Chris laughed. “You? Willingly going to the library? I put the pieces together,” he smirked. “So what were you doing in the library with this girl?” he teased. 

Matt felt his face flush with heat, shooting a glare in Chris’s direction. “Nothing you’re thinking, pervert. We…” he trailed off. I can’t tell them I'm failing. I just can’t do it. “We were going over a project for English. That’s it.”

“Do we know her?” Nick asked as he opened instagram up on his phone. He wasn’t disinterested, but he knew how his brother was. Matt got embarrassed easily, so on the rare occasion that Nick did want to know more, he also knew that he had to be mindful of his reactions. Nonchalance was his best bet.

Matt huffed. Chris’s eyes widened and his smile grew. “No fucking way.”

“Chris-“

“Still?! It’s been four years, man!”

Nick looked back and forth between the two, confused by their exchange. Matt groaned, flopping back down face first into the pillow. “Matt liked this girl in our grade back when we started high school, but couldn’t grow the nuts to ask her out,” Chris filled Nick in. “We had her in our woodshop class last year and it was like I was partners with a brick wall,” Chris laughed, only making Matt all the more embarrassed. “I didn’t think you still liked her.”

“Shut up,” he groaned. 

Nick finally decided to chime in, dropping his phone onto his chest. “Wait a second, it’s not that girl from your weird baking class was it?” 

Matt’s face grew even more red, if that was even possible. “Nick, shut up-“

Now it was Chris’s turn to tilt his head quizzically, brow furrowed, looking at Nick expectantly for some context. “Baking class? The fuck-“

“Introduction to culinary,” Matt corrected them, hiding his face with the palms of his hands. 

“You were probably at practice or something,” Nick dismissed his younger brother with a wave of his hand before continuing. “Matt’s cooking class had some weird competition thing after school, me and mom went to it-“

“Nick, shut the fuck up,” Matt warned his brother, though his threat was open ended and held no real weight to it. He rolled onto his side, his back facing his brothers.

“Matt made this god awful chicken parmesan, but mom pretended to like it-“

Matt huffed, crossing his arms over his chest now. “It wasn’t that bad-“ he defended, remembering the way his mother cupped his face and kissed his forehead in the middle of the classroom, praising him for his hard work, all the while his brother discretely tossed his plate into the garbage bin out of sight. 

“Anyways, we all got to try everyone’s food and this girl made the BEST fucking coconut cream pie. Chris, it was actually unreal how fucking good it was-“

“Nick I swear to fuck-“

Chris smiled in amusement, criss-crossing his legs as he indulged himself in Nick’s story telling. It was rare for Chris to remain quiet like this, but at the expense of his brother’s ego, he remained engaged and attentive. Matt groaned, realizing there was no way to stop his brother from telling this embarrassingly awful story. He yanked the pillow out from behind his head, letting his head fall back onto the mattress before pulling the pillow over his face, wanting nothing more than to suffocate himself right then and there. 

“This motherfucker tries the pie, looks her dead in the eyes, and tells her he likes her cream-“

Matt flinched at the ferocity of Chris’s laughter thundering throughout the room, echoes of it bouncing off of the walls. The sound was followed by countless shushes from Nick, beckoning their brother to keep his voice down. “Mom and dad are sleeping you idiot,” Nick hissed, smacking Chris on the arm. Usually, Chris would retaliate and hit him back, but he was far too entertained by the story to even care about the sting he felt on his bicep. 

“You told her-“ he cut himself off, laughing again. Matt groaned and rolled over onto his back, pressing the pillow into his face with more force. Maybe if I press down hard enough, I’ll suffocate myself. “You told her you liked her cream?” Chris managed to force out between giggles. 

“No-“ Matt grunted, closing his eyes tightly as he felt the pillow being snatched from his grasp. “I told her I really liked her cream.”

This, of course, causes another fit of giggles to rise from Chris’s chest. Tears flooded his eyes as he leaned forward, doing everything within his power to keep his volume at a decent level. Nick rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t contain the toothy grin that snuck its way onto his face. “You guys suck,” Matt grumbled. “This is like middle school humor, grow up,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest once again. He tried to push the memory out of his mind, but it crept up on him and lingered, like a monster in the shadows. Her fingers grazing past his as she handed him a plate, her gaze locking with his as he eagerly tasted her homemade dessert, the words escaping him faster than he could even think.

Chris sniffled, grasping his shirt collar as he found himself finally settling after his laughing fit. He laid himself between his brothers, wrapping an arm over the front of Matt’s shoulders. “I love you, man. You crack me up,” he grinned, another string of giggles threatening to escape him as he replayed the moment in his head again. 

“I can’t ask her out, not after that-“ Matt mumbled, carefully uncrossing his arms so as to not disturb his brother’s comfortable resting position. He’d never admit it, but he quite enjoyed his brothers being touchy with him. Something about it made him feel safe and connected with them. It felt like home. 

“Maybe she found it flattering,” Nick suggested. “She probably knew you were talking about the pie-“

“Or were you?” Chris smirked, raising an eyebrow at Matt. 

In a swift motion, Matt walloped Chris in the bicep, shooting him a look that made Chris shiver. “Alright dude, my bad.”

Matt looked over at Nick, desperation clear in his eyes. “What the fuck do I do, man? I can barely fucking focus during our study sessions,” he sighed. 

Nick’s eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you were working on a project?”

Matt felt his heart drop, his mouth going dry. Fuck. He needed to lie, and he needed to do it fast. “Same thing, you know what I meant,” he mumbled. He pushed Chris’s arm off of his upper chest, rolling his eyes when Chris moved his arm right back to where it had been seconds prior. 

Nick dismissed Matt’s previous statement, not thinking too much of his slip up. “Tell her she’s pretty and ask her out. She is pretty, right?”

Matt’s eyes closed, his chest falling with a deep exhale. All he could think about was her. Her smile, her eyes, her laugh, her voice…Once he had started to feel his dick stiffen in his pyjama pants, he opened his eyes once more, staring at the ceiling. “I can’t even find the words, man.”

“Then it should be easy. Can we be done here? I’m trying to see who’s gonna get voted off next,” Nick mumbled, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, his focus shifting back to the television on his dresser. 

X O X O X O

Matt hadn't gotten much sleep that night. He watched with heavy eyes as the numbers on his alarm clock changed; every sixty seconds felt like an hour. His head spun, his imagination driving him crazy with fake scenario after fake scenario, conversations that would never happen, touches they would never share. His heart felt heavy. Matt huffed, rolling over onto his other side.  He winced, his hand moving to relieve the ache between his legs. Never in his life did Matt feel as sexually frustrated as he did now. Even when he went through puberty, it was never like this. The desire burning in him was a flame so ancient, yet so ripe at the same time. Foreign, yet familiar. A primal hunger for physical connection, a thirst for release. Diseased with lust. It felt wrong to feel this way, to crave any piece of her. Hell, he hardly knew her. But God, it felt so right at the same time. To crave her, to need her, to have her all to himself. It was enthralling. Perpetual. Addicting. 

The only downside to it was the sneaking around. He hated lying to his brothers, it made his stomach flip and his palms sweat, but he was far too embarrassed and ashamed to admit what was really going on. To admit that if he wasn’t nearly doomed to repeat senior year, she would have never even looked his way. 

Although it wasn’t ideal, being in this tutoring program gave him a newfound purpose. And, yes, there was a possibility that the program itself wasn’t the only aspect that had Matt leaping out of bed in the morning. 

It was strange. He had never spent so long trying to get ready in the mornings before school. Usually he’d throw on the nearest pair of sweats and whatever hoodie he had laying around in his room. But now it was different. He wanted to look good; he wanted to look good for her. He felt ridiculous, to say the least. Outfit after outfit, pulled on and quickly discarded into a pile on the floor. Matt huffed, going to his dresser and opting on a pair of cargo pants instead of his usual sweatpants. 

It would be worth noting that February in Somerville Massachusetts is cold. Very fucking cold. By deciding on the cargos, Matt was also sacrificing his comfort and warmth…but if she would even notice or say anything, it would be worth it. And so, Matt snatched a purple crewneck from his closet and turned, shutting the door with his heel as he pulled it on over his head. He finished off the outfit with his air forces that were falling apart at the seams and, before he left his bedroom, he went back to his dresser, opening the top drawer. He dug around through the plethora of socks, his fingers brushing over the cold glass bottle buried beneath them. 

He didn’t usually wear cologne. He couldn’t even remember how he had gotten this bottle in his possession. But none of that mattered to him now. All that mattered was making the best impression that he could. He was mindful; only one spritz on the neck and one on his wrists. He buried the bottle back into his sock drawer before rushing to his full length mirror. He fixed his necklace, ensuring that the clasp was at the back of his neck. Matt ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing it and fixing it, huffing in annoyance as it fell right back into place. Once he was satisfied with his look, he grabbed his favorite coat from where it hung on the back of his desk chair and snatched his backpack from the corner of the room. He closed his bedroom door behind him as he left, flicking the light to his room off, and began his descent to the kitchen where his brothers were already waiting. He pulled his coat on, taking the last step down the staircase. Matt rounded the corner, passing the family room and finally stepping foot into the kitchen.

Nick’s gaze was locked on his phone, though he still managed to greet Matt. “Do you have a fucking herd of elephants up in your room?” He mumbled. 

Matt’s face reddened. “Huh?”

“You-” Nick looked up, and immediately his brow furrowed with suspicion. “It’s nine degrees out and you chose today to not wear sweatpants?” He questioned. 

Chris looked over his shoulder from where he sat at the island, shoulders hunched, his mouth full of toast. He didn’t bother waiting to swallow his food before speaking, though that came as a shock to neither of his brothers. “The fuck…you’re gonna turn into an ice cube.” Chris’s eyes widened as he took his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Wait, now I wanna listen to Ice Cube-“

Matt pointed at Chris languidly. “Not happening, I’m getting aux.”

Chris huffed, dropping his phone face down onto the countertop. “Fuck you,” he mumbled under his breath, shoveling the remaining piece of toast into his mouth. Matt shuffled over to the fridge, eyeing the contents inside. His stomach growled, but nothing seemed appetizing. He checked the pantry next, snatching a granola bar and a bag of mini muffins, stuffing them into his coat pocket. He closed the pantry door with gentle intent. His brow furrowed at the feeling of his phone vibrating in his pocket, but once he pulled it out and checked the notification, his heart leapt into his throat. Matt’s ears glowed a bright red, his palms beginning to sweat as he typed his password in and opened Snapchat. 

Snapchat // New Message 

no tutoring today, extra curricular stuff (groan). keep working on your essay and i’ll check it tmrw :) 

Matt stared at the message, his heart sinking in his chest. All of the effort he put into his appearance today was for nothing. He exhaled, leaning against the wall as he thought of what to say. Something nonchalant, something cool…anything that didn’t scream desperation. 

Oh ok.

He had to admit, he was disappointed. He had really been looking forward to seeing her again. He thought for a moment before he opened his Snapchat again, clicking back into the chat. 

Yk I’m free after school if your still up for it.

He stared at the message for a long time; so long that her bitmoji had popped up in the bottom left corner, peeking out over the text bar. ‘Jesus Matt,’ he thought to himself. ‘For once in your life, grow some fucking balls.’

He clicked the send button and, with just as much haste, he fled the chat and locked his phone, shoving it back into his pocket. “If you’re not in the car in five minutes I’m leaving without you,” Matt announced, walking past Nick towards the stairs, making his way down to the mudroom to leave. Nick lifted his head again, looking towards the staircase with a furrowed brow.

“Are you fucking wearing cologne?!”

𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ Tags 𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹

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[robinade]

One of my favorite parts of these discussions is the explanation for the origin of the terms: the Sherlock Holmes stories. There are inconsistencies and errors in them and you have the in-universe explanation — that Watson is an unreliable narrator who could be forgetful or deliberately misleading the readers for a variety of reasons — or the real world explanation which is that Arthur Conan Doyle didn’t give a shit because he wanted people to read his histories and not his fiction stuff. The Doylist explanation may be more likely, but the Watsonian one tends to allow for more fun nuance-y things and queerness.

I feel like we need a refresher on Watsonian vs Doylist perspectives in media analysis. When you have a question about a piece of media - about a potential plot hole or error, about a dubious costuming decision, about a character suddenly acting out of character -

A Watsonian answer is one that positions itself within the fictional world.

A Doylist answer is one that positions itself within the real world.

Meaning: if Watson says something that isn't true, one explanation is that Watson made a mistake. Another explanation is that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle made a mistake.

Watsonian explanations are implicitly charitable. You are implicitly buying into the notion that there is a good in-world reason for what you're seeing on screen or on the page. ("The bunny girls in Final Fantasy wear lingerie all the time because they're from a desert culture!")

Doylist explanations are pragmatic. You are acknowledging that the fiction is shaped by real-world forces, like the creators' personal taste, their biases, the pressures they might be under from managers or editors, or the limits of their expertise. ("The bunny girls in Final Fantasy wear lingerie because somebody thought they'd sell more units that way.")

Watsonian explanations tend to be imaginative but naive. Seeking a Watsonian explanation for a problem within a narrative is inherently pleasure-seeking: you don't want your suspension of disbelief to be broken, and you're willing to put in the leg work to prevent it. Looking for a Watsonian answer can make for a fun game! But it can quickly stray into making excuses for lazy or biased storytelling, or cynical and greedy executives.

Doylist explanations are very often accurate, but they're not much fun. They should supersede efforts to provide a Watsonian explanation where actual harm is being done: "This character is being depicted in a racist way because the creators have a racist bias.'" Or: "The lore changed because management fired all of the writers from last season because they didn't want to pay then residuals."

Doylism also runs the risk of becoming trite, when applied to lower stakes discrepancies. Yes, it's possible that this character acted strangely in this episode because this episode had a different writer, but that isn't interesting, and it terminates conversation.

I think a lot of conversations about media would go a lot more smoothly, and everyone would have a lot more fun, if people were just clearer about whether they are looking to engage in Watsonian or Doylist analysis. How many arguments could be prevented by just saying, "No, Doylist you're probably right, but it's more fun to imagine there's a Watsonian reason for this, so that's what I'm doing." Or, "From a Watsonian POV that explanation makes sense, but I'm going with the Doylist view here because the creator's intentions leave a bad taste in my mouth that I can't ignore."

Idk, just keep those terms in your pocket? And if you start to get mad at somebody for their analysis, take a second to see if what they're saying makes more sense from the other side of the Watsonian/Doylist divide.

[fangdokja]

The sweetest kisses are often the most dangerous.

❤︎ Synopsis. Your best friend has always been your safe haven—until his touch lingers too long, his words drip with unspoken threats, and you realize too late that safety was never part of his plan.

♡ Book. World Ablaze (WA): For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Light Yagami x Reader

♡ Novella. In the Name of Love - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 7,794

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, abandonment issues, angst + tragedy, gaslighting

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

♡ A/N. This is a request, but I have not yet fulfilled the full request (hence the lack of proof of request). This turned out better than I thought it would. No explicit stuff yet, but the subtly of it? Yeahh.

Once you finally became of age, it brought with it a new set of challenges—and some old, familiar dynamics. Light Yagami, your self-proclaimed best friend and eternal tormentor, had somehow grown into the golden child of your school. Teachers adored him, parents praised him, and students—especially the girls—flocked to him like moths to a flame.

You, on the other hand, remained firmly in your lane. A slacker by nature and a ‘loser’ by reputation, you floated through school just barely scraping by. Your grades hovered just above the failing mark, your desk was perpetually cluttered, and your teachers sighed in resignation every time you turned in a half-finished worksheet.

“How are you two even friends?” became a question whispered in every corner of the school.

———

Light, of course, handled his popularity with the effortless charm he’d always had. Girls left love notes in his locker, baked him cookies, and blushed when he smiled their way. He’d already received more confessions than most people would in a lifetime.

“Another one?” you’d ask flatly whenever he showed you a new letter, scrawled in pink ink and dotted with hearts.

“They’re very persistent,” he’d say with a smirk, tucking the letter away. “You jealous?”

“Not even remotely,” you replied, your attention already back on the handheld game console in your lap. “Have fun with your fan club, Your Highness.”

———

For a while, Light balanced his new relationships with his time spent with you. He’d date the occasional girl, give her his full attention for a while, then inevitably move on when the novelty wore off.

“Why do you even bother?” you asked once, sprawled on the grass during one of your cloud-watching sessions.

“Because it’s good practice,” he replied matter-of-factly, hands tucked behind his head as he stared at the sky.

“Practice?”

“For social dynamics,” he explained. “Understanding how people think, what they want, and how to navigate their expectations. It’s useful.”

“You sound like a robot,” you said, unimpressed.

Light smirked. “You’re just mad I’m right.”

———

When the girls dragged him away, as they often did, you were left to your own devices. You didn’t mind—at least, that’s what you told yourself. It wasn’t like you’d ever been the center of attention, anyway. Loneliness wasn’t new to you; it was just an old companion that came and went as it pleased.

You filled the time with your usual distractions: gaming, reading, cloud watching, and sketching mindless doodles in the margins of your notebooks. Sometimes, you’d overhear whispers about Light and his admirers, but you tuned them out.

“Why don’t you go after him?” someone asked you once, their tone half-curious, half-mocking.

You didn’t even look up. “Because I’m not an idiot.”

———

Despite the distance his popularity sometimes created, Light always found his way back to you. When the crowds cleared and the noise died down, it was the two of you again—two opposites bound by years of shared history.

One evening, as you both sat in your room playing video games, he glanced over at you and said, “You’re not mad about the other girls, right?”

“Why would I be mad?” you replied, not taking your eyes off the screen. “You’re Light Yagami, the golden child. Go do your thing. I’m good.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, with a small smirk, he said, “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

No matter how far his orbit expanded, Light always seemed to come back to you. And though you’d never say it out loud, you were glad he did.

────────────

From Light Yagami’s perspective, life was predictable—and predictably successful. He was the golden child, the perfect student, the center of admiration. People hung on his every word, sought his approval, and envied his effortless excellence. For the most part, it was satisfying. Life unfolded as it should, meticulously planned and executed.

But then there was you.

His so-called best friend, the antithesis of everything he represented. Lazy, unmotivated, and perpetually on the fringes of mediocrity. Despite your differences, you were always there—silent, sarcastic, yet strangely dependable in a way he couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t something he thought about too often. You were just…you.

Until the day he noticed you staring.

———

It was during lunch, an ordinary afternoon where Light was half-listening to the chatter of his friends while methodically organizing his notes for the next class. His focus should’ve been on the conversation, but his gaze flickered to you, seated a few tables away as usual.

You were always in the corner, avoiding attention, engrossed in some book or game. But today, your attention wasn’t on the usual distractions. It was on him.

Not Light. Not one of his admirers. No, your focus was fixed on a scrawny, nervous wreck of a kid seated a few tables over.

The boy was all sharp angles and awkward movements, perpetually hunched over as though trying to shrink into himself. Light recognized him vaguely—a shy, nerdy kid who tripped over his own words whenever called upon. Nothing remarkable.

Yet, you watched him.

Not with mockery or disdain, but with something quieter, more intent. You weren’t laughing, whispering, or rolling your eyes like most people would. You just…observed.

It unsettled Light in a way he couldn’t immediately place.

———

Later, as he packed his bag and prepared for the next class, Light’s thoughts returned to that scene. He prided himself on his ability to read people, to predict their behavior and motivations. And yet, he had no explanation for your interest in that boy.

He brushed it off initially. What did it matter? You were free to stare at whoever you wanted.

But the image lingered, uninvited, in his mind: the distant look in your eyes, the way your usually indifferent demeanor softened just slightly.

He frowned, closing his notebook with a bit more force than necessary.

———

The following week, he started paying more attention. It was subtle—Light was nothing if not discreet—but he kept you in his peripheral vision whenever he could.

And there it was again.

That same quiet, almost contemplative look as you glanced at the boy in question.

Light found himself growing irritated, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. It wasn’t like he cared who you watched. You had your own life, and he had his.

So why did it bother him?

———

He thought back to the countless times he’d teased you about being jealous of his popularity, the playful smirk on his face as he’d waved off another confession or accepted a gift from yet another admirer. You never cared. Not once.

It had been mildly disappointing, in retrospect. He’d thought it might get a rise out of you, but you never so much as flinched.

Yet here you were, paying attention to some no-name boy like he was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Light’s fingers tightened around the strap of his bag. It didn’t make sense.

Not yet, at least. But Light Yagami didn’t like questions without answers.

He decided then and there that he’d find out what had caught your attention—and why it left him feeling so uncharacteristically unsettled.

────────────

Light never let himself get too attached to anything, at least not to the point where it would affect his plans. He had control over his emotions—he had to. And yet, as he watched you sit with Ethan, that crack in his composed facade began to form, slowly but surely.

It was subtle at first. The boy, Ethan, always seemed to be at the edges of Light's awareness, always there when Light was distracted by his admirers or lost in his own thoughts. But this was different.

You didn’t just sit with him. You spent time with him. You helped him with his homework. You joked around with him in the way you never did with anyone else. You went out of your way to keep him company at lunch, when no one else would. You, who had always kept your distance, kept your circle small—yet now you were investing time in him of all people.

And Light hated it.

There was no reason for it. It didn’t make sense. Ethan wasn’t even someone worth considering. He was shy, weak, and socially awkward. Everything about him screamed mediocrity, the kind of person who would never stand out, never make anything of themselves. So why? Why were you helping him? Why were you treating him like he mattered?

Light had always been the one to push you, to help you improve, to get you to rise above your own mediocrity. He'd worked tirelessly to shape you, to make you better. And now, here you were, giving that same attention—your valuable attention—to someone who didn’t even deserve it.

But then, as he continued to observe you two from the sidelines, the truth started to unfold, albeit in a way that made him recoil. He couldn’t stop it from clicking into place. You didn’t see Ethan for what he was now. You saw him for what you used to be.

He reminded you of yourself.

The realization hit Light like a wave. You hadn’t always been the person you were today—motivated, sharp, and at least somewhat capable. No, you’d been the same kind of outcast Ethan was now. Alone. Invisible.

And you saw a part of yourself in him, that small, quiet echo of who you used to be.

You wanted to help him. You had to help him.

Light would have expected a feeling of satisfaction, even a touch of flattery. After all, you cherished your experiences with Light enough to want to help someone like Ethan, someone who reminded you of the person Light had pulled you from. But it didn’t feel like that. It didn’t feel warm or appreciative. It felt... cold. It felt harsh and bitter, like the sting of jealousy he’d never fully acknowledged before.

Why? Why was it this way? Why didn’t he feel proud that you were helping someone who could never repay you?

He hated it. He hated how it made him feel, how his thoughts twisted and spiraled into something darker.

———

Light tried to keep himself composed, but it was becoming more difficult. As the days passed, and he saw more of you with Ethan, that unease continued to eat at him. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but it was growing harder to ignore.

If he confronted you about it, it would mean acknowledging something he wasn’t ready to face. Something he couldn’t process. He wanted to think it was just about Ethan. But deep down, Light knew it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t about the boy at all. It was about you—and the way you were slipping further away from him.

He was jealous.

It was ridiculous. He of all people, jealous of someone like Ethan?

But he couldn’t ignore it. It hurt.

So, he buried it. He buried it like everything else—like the ambition he’d always kept under wraps, like grand plans where he couldn’t afford to falter. He buried it deep down, pretending it didn’t bother him, pretending that you could still be his, that your attention was his, even as you drifted to someone else.

There were moments when he almost confronted you, asked you why you were so hell-bent on helping someone so insignificant, but he held back. Instead, he bit his tongue, letting the resentment simmer inside, like a serpent coiling around his thoughts.

It was a feeling he couldn’t quite place, but one he couldn’t escape. And for once in his life, he hated not having control over it.

────────────

It had been a month, a whole month, of Light trying his best to suppress the gnawing frustration and resentment. On the surface, life carried on as usual—he kept up his studies, dated other people, spent time with you, pretended everything was fine. It was routine. Everything was routine. But underneath, something had shifted. Something that made everything feel hollow.

He’d watched Ethan grow in confidence, all because of you. He couldn’t deny it. Ethan had improved significantly—he spoke up more, stood taller, even started getting more attention from others. And Light hated it. Hated how he had been replaced, how your attention, once reserved for him, was now shared with Ethan.

You didn’t even notice, though. You were too absorbed in your "little project," as you called it. You genuinely wanted to help Ethan, and it was clear to everyone, Light included, that you had. You were kind to him in a way you had never been with anyone else, and though it made Light’s stomach churn, he couldn’t argue with the results. Ethan had gone from an anxious, nervous wreck to someone who could hold a conversation, someone who felt like he had a place in the world.

But all of that—the improvement, the attention, the support—it was nothing compared to the point of no return.

The moment it all cracked open for Light was when he saw Ethan, of all people, trying to kiss you. Trying to confess to you. In that moment, every bit of control Light had over his emotions snapped. All of the jealousy, all of the uncertainty, the fear that he might lose you to someone else, came crashing down in a split second.

Ethan had moved closer to you, his hand reaching out toward your face. You were looking at him in that quiet, gentle way you always did when you were being supportive, completely unaware of how things had changed. Light’s heart raced, his chest tight, suffocating with a mix of jealousy and... something deeper. Something he couldn’t ignore anymore.

Without thinking, he moved. He didn’t care how it looked, didn’t care that it would make him seem possessive or irrational. He couldn’t let this go any further. Not now, not when he hadn’t even had the chance to process it himself.

“Hey,” Light’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension between you and Ethan. His hand shot out to grab Ethan’s wrist before it could get any closer. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Ethan recoiled slightly, a mix of confusion and disappointment flashing across his face. You looked between the two of them, still unaware of what had just happened.

“Light?” you said, voice confused. “What’s going on?”

Light forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He tried to maintain his usual cool demeanor, tried to act like nothing was wrong, but his mind was racing. His heart was pounding in his chest. “Nothing,” he said smoothly, his voice casual. “I just thought it was a little too soon. You don’t have to rush things with him, do you?”

He kept his gaze on Ethan, the mask of indifference slipping in place. It was all too easy to be the confident, charismatic Light Yagami in front of others, but inside, something was boiling. He wasn’t ready to admit it—not to you, not to himself—but it was there. A slow-burning ache. The realization that he might actually care more than he’d allowed himself to believe.

And he hated it. Hated how unstable it made him.

You seemed to brush it off, distracted by the sudden interruption, and shifted your focus back to the situation at hand, oblivious to the internal war happening inside him. Light gave Ethan one final look, sharp and piercing, before letting go of his wrist, silently warning him to back off.

“Let’s get back to work,” Light said, his voice cool and collected, as if nothing had happened. His smile was back, a perfect mask to hide what was really going on. “There’s no need for any of that, alright?”

Ethan nodded, visibly uncomfortable, and after a moment, he stepped away. Light watched him leave, his gaze lingering a little too long, as if to make sure Ethan didn’t try anything else.

When the two of you were alone again, Light tried to act normal. He even teased you lightly about it, making some comment about how you were apparently too irresistible for Ethan. But beneath it all, the feeling stayed with him, thick and suffocating. The truth was there, buried deep inside.

He wasn’t ready to face it. He wasn’t ready to admit it to you. But Light was starting to realize just how much you meant to him. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

So, he buried it again. He kept the mask in place. He pretended it was just a moment of concern, just a protective instinct over his best friend. He’d dealt with worse. He’d always dealt with worse.

But as the days went by, the pressure continued to mount. And no matter how hard he tried to push it down, that little crack inside him was only getting wider.

────────────

Light was a master of subtlety, an architect of unseen movements in the intricate game of social dynamics. He didn’t need to manipulate overtly—he understood that power wasn’t in direct control, but in the delicate nudging of events, in guiding people without them ever realizing they were being guided. And so, when it came to you and Ethan, he did what he did best: he bent the circumstances in his favor without ever leaving a trace.

It started with a casual observation. Light knew that Ethan’s new-found confidence, while refreshing, was also a weakness. The more he was validated by his peers and admired by the girls in school, the more distracted he became. He was no longer the shy, introverted kid, but a rising star in a social hierarchy that was just as demanding as it was fickle. And that, in Light’s mind, was his opportunity.

It wasn’t enough to push Ethan directly. That would have been too obvious, too aggressive, and would only serve to make Ethan wary, perhaps even resentful. Instead, Light did what he always did: he stayed in the background, gently adjusting things without ever touching them directly.

———

One afternoon, Light invited Ethan to study at his house, a seemingly innocuous gathering. It wasn’t that Light wanted to help him with his homework—he was smarter than that. No, he invited Ethan because he knew exactly who else would be there.

“You should join us,” Light had said, his tone casual but with a hidden undercurrent of suggestion. “I’ve got some friends coming over. A few people from our class, actually. I’m sure you’ll enjoy their company.”

Ethan, eager for approval, agreed without hesitation. And when he arrived, he was greeted by not just a group of classmates but also a few girls from your year—girls who Light had carefully cultivated an interest in Ethan. They were charming and confident, just the kind of people who would make Ethan feel special, like he was part of a social circle he’d only just begun to enter.

Light watched with quiet satisfaction as the evening unfolded. He knew that Ethan, although still somewhat socially awkward, would be swept up in the flattery, in the attention from the girls. He would find himself caught up in their world, a world that was fast and shallow and entirely separate from the quiet, introspective world you inhabited.

But Light wasn’t finished yet.

———

The next day, when Ethan and you were supposed to meet for a study session, Light intervened once more, subtly inserting himself into the equation. He casually mentioned that Ethan was already busy with other plans.

“I’m sure Ethan has his hands full,” Light had said with that same detached, almost apologetic tone. “He’s got a lot going on with his new... friends, after all. It’s good for him.”

You had simply nodded, the familiar pang of abandonment not even worth acknowledging. Light could see the slight drop in your expression, the way your shoulders slumped imperceptibly. But he didn’t act on it immediately. No, he needed you to feel like you had no other choice, that it was just a natural consequence of the circumstances.

And as the days passed, Light continued to keep Ethan distracted. More invitations, more group activities, more of those seemingly innocent social events. He made sure Ethan was always busy, always surrounded by people who pulled him in different directions. He could feel Ethan growing more distant, his once-deep friendship with you fading into the background as he became more absorbed in his new social circle.

———

On the surface, nothing changed. You two continued to hang out, study, talk. But Light knew. He knew that you were slowly becoming aware of the shift, of Ethan’s increasing distance. And that’s when Light did what he did best—he made sure you still felt like you had him.

One evening, after Ethan had canceled another plan with you, Light casually invited you over to his place, no agenda, no ulterior motive—just two friends spending time together. But Light’s manipulation wasn’t about grand gestures. It was in the small things.

He’d set up a video game session, one of your favorites, and while you played, he would drop little hints, reminders that you were the one he always came back to. He never let the topic of Ethan come up, choosing instead to distract you with conversations about your interests, your hobbies, things you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. Subtly, quietly, Light reminded you of your place in his life. You were the constant, the one who always remained, the one who didn’t leave.

———

When you finally admitted your inner thoughts to Light, he didn’t show much reaction at first. He kept his calm, his cold indifference.

“It’s a bit sad,” you’d said, your tone light, almost detached, as if you didn’t want to admit how much it stung. “But I’m not too sad. I’m used to it.”

Light, the ever-constant figure in your life, simply nodded. “Yeah. I get it.”

But it wasn’t just that. Not for you. You had always been prepared for this moment. Prepared for the day Ethan would outgrow you, for the day he would soar to greater heights. You had always been alone in that way, haven’t you? You knew how to let go.

And that’s when Light’s grip on you tightened, though you didn’t fully realize it. He was the only one who came back to you, the only one who had never truly left. He was the constant in your life, no matter what came and went. He was the one who always returned.

You couldn’t quite explain it, but something about that—the fact that no matter how many people came and went in your life, Light was always there—comforted you. And maybe that’s why, deep down, you never questioned his actions. You never thought to look at the situation from a different perspective, to wonder why Light was so intent on keeping you around, when you were used to being discarded so easily by others.

You saw the change in Ethan, sure. You saw the way his life had shifted, how he had grown. But that didn’t mean you resented him. You never did. You were prepared to let him go if it was what was best for him, just like you had done for everyone else.

But Light? He never let go. Not completely. And you never had to ask why.

────────────

The evening was peaceful, the kind of calm routine you had come to expect when it was just you and Light. The house was quiet save for the faint sounds of clicking buttons as you both battled through another video game session, your focus entirely on the screen. You didn’t need to speak much to him—nothing ever felt awkward when it was just the two of you. It was always comfortable, always predictable, until it wasn’t.

As you took a break to rest your fingers, Light leaned back against the couch, looking at you in a way that made your stomach tighten. His gaze was uncharacteristically serious, and there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. For a moment, you wondered if he was going to start one of his usual philosophical tangents or give one of his self-imposed lectures on some obscure topic. But when he finally spoke, his voice was steady, and there was no trace of teasing or sarcasm.

“Can I kiss you?” Light asked, his words blunt and direct.

You blinked, not immediately reacting. It was such an out-of-place comment that it took a few seconds for it to register. You raised an eyebrow, your fingers still hovering over the game controller. You were certain he couldn’t be serious—Light was always surrounded by a revolving door of girlfriends and admirers. He was practically a Casanova, after all.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” you asked, still unsure whether he was joking or not. You didn’t want to entertain it, but the sheer randomness of his question caught your attention.

Light didn’t miss a beat. “I broke up with her.”

You shook your head at the nonchalance in his voice, thinking about how many times you had seen him casually switch partners in the past. It was never a surprise. Light was always the one in control, always the one who seemed to be in charge of everyone and everything, and you had learned long ago that his romantic entanglements were always temporary distractions.

“You really are a Casanova, huh?” you muttered under your breath, continuing to focus on the game as your thumb pressed the button to start the next round.

Light smirked, but there was something different in his expression, something that made the usual cockiness feel almost forced. His eyes were still locked onto you, and there was an intensity there that you hadn’t noticed before.

“I’ve been saving my first kiss for you,” he said, the words so calm, so matter-of-fact, that it almost sounded rehearsed.

You paused mid-game, your thumb stilling on the controller. You turned to him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Why?”

“It’s simple,” he said, his voice softer now, but still carrying that logical, detached tone. “You’re the one who matters the most. You’ve always been there. Everyone else is just a distraction.”

His words hit you like a strange mix of sincerity and something else you couldn’t quite place. He had always been there for you, the constant in your life, the one person who had stuck by you through everything, despite all the weirdness of life. But as his gaze lingered on you, something felt different. There was a weight in the air, an expectation you hadn’t noticed before.

You didn’t immediately respond, unsure how to take his words. You glanced at him, brow furrowed. “Are you serious? You’re asking me this now?”

Light leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a softer tone, the edges of his usual confidence giving way to something quieter. “I know you don’t get caught up in emotions. You’ve never been the type to care about that kind of thing. But... I’ve been feeling things, and I think you should too.”

There was something almost... resigned in his words, as though he had been carrying a burden for a while. The way he spoke wasn’t forceful, but there was a subtle gravity to it, like he was simply revealing something long kept beneath the surface.

“You know,” he continued, his voice becoming even more subdued, “I’ve always been here for you. But you’ve been spending so much time with Ethan lately. Helping him out, giving him your attention...” He paused, just long enough to let the silence fill the space. “I couldn’t help but wonder why.”

You hadn’t realized how much he had been observing, how much he had noticed. You always thought things were just as they were—Light and you, close as ever. It had never seemed like there was more to it, never something to question. But hearing his words now, there was an unfamiliar sting that gnawed at you.

“You’ve always had me,” Light added, his gaze steady, though there was something new, something deeper in it now. “And I’ve always made sure to be there. I guess I just... I never thought you’d be so busy with other people.”

It wasn’t blame, exactly. It was just the way he said it—like an old truth suddenly reexamined. He never demanded your attention before, never pushed for it. But now, in this moment, it felt as if he was trying to help you see something you might have missed.

“I should’ve said something earlier, but... I guess I was too focused on being there for you.” His words hung in the air, as if he was unburdening himself of something that had long been kept quiet. “Maybe... maybe I didn’t want to admit that I’ve always been waiting for you to notice.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his quiet confession pressing on you. You had always been so focused on helping Ethan, on seeing his progress, that you hadn’t realized how much Light had been in the background, how much he had been giving without asking for anything in return. His presence had always felt constant, like a backdrop to your life, never demanding, always patient.

He shifted closer, his voice lowering even further. “So... can I kiss you? I’ve been waiting for this.”

———

As Light’s words lingered in the air, you felt a strange pull in your chest, a mix of confusion and guilt that twisted deeper with each passing second. His gaze was steady, unwavering, as if he had already anticipated your hesitation. You had always trusted him, relied on him, and the thought of disappointing him—of not recognizing what he had done for you—felt like an unbearable weight.

But still, you couldn’t shake the uncertainty that gnawed at you. Something didn’t sit right, not entirely. But when Light spoke again, his tone soft yet somehow firm, you couldn’t ignore it.

“You’ve always had me,” he repeated, his voice more intimate now, like a whispered confession. “I’ve always been here for you. And maybe that’s why... it’s so hard for me to see you with someone else, giving all your attention to Ethan, when I’ve given you everything. When I’ve always been here, waiting for you.”

There it was—the subtle shift in his words, the quiet insinuation. The way he made it seem like you owed him something, like you hadn’t truly appreciated everything he had done. And it worked. The guilt bubbled up inside you, slowly at first, but it soon filled every inch of your chest, clouding your thoughts.

His eyes softened, his voice quieter now. “I don’t want to make you feel bad... but I can’t help how I feel. And I’ve always been there for you, through everything.”

The logic, the gentle push—it was all so subtle, so carefully calculated that you barely even realized how much it was affecting you. You didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to make him feel neglected or unimportant. And the truth was, you hadn’t thought about him the way you should have, not in this sense.

The thought of him hurting, of him feeling left behind, sent a pang of guilt through you. Wasn’t he always there for you? Wasn’t he your best friend? And hadn’t he given you so much, asking for nothing in return? How could you not see that he needed something from you too?

You swallowed hard, feeling as if you were cornered, though he had never raised his voice. You met his gaze, and the weight of everything—his words, his feelings, the years of friendship—pressed down on you. Maybe, just maybe, you could give him this, just this once.

“Okay,” you muttered, almost too quietly, nodding in agreement, though you weren’t entirely sure why. “Okay, Light.”

His eyes brightened, as if he had been waiting for you to finally understand, to finally see what he had been trying to show you all along. And before you could think any further, before you could change your mind, he closed the distance between you, his lips pressing against yours with a fervor that surprised you.

The kiss was hard, intense—far more passionate than anything you had ever imagined from Light. His lips parted, and before you could react, his tongue slipped into your mouth, coaxing you deeper into the kiss. His hands, once casual and comforting, were now firm, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You tried to pull back, to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions that were suddenly flooding your senses, but he was relentless, his grip tightening around you as he deepened the kiss, pouring out all his hidden feelings in the act. There was a rawness to it that unsettled you, a sense of desperation that didn’t feel like the Light you knew.

“Don’t pull away,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he kissed you harder, more urgently. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

You struggled, your hands pressing against his chest in an attempt to create space between you. But his hold was unyielding, his mouth determined as he kissed you more forcefully, his body pressing you back into the couch. The more you tried to push him away, the more he responded, tightening his grip, kissing you with an intensity that left you breathless.

It was like he was trying to make you feel every ounce of what he had been holding back all this time—the possessiveness, the longing, the unspoken need. You couldn’t escape the feeling that this wasn’t just about a kiss. It was about something deeper, something he wasn’t willing to admit, and for some reason, you were caught in the middle of it all.

Your heart pounded, your breath quickening as you tried to regain control, but it felt impossible. Every time you thought you might push him away, his presence swallowed you whole, and you found yourself trapped in the moment, uncertain of where it was going or what it meant.

And in the chaos of it all, you couldn’t help but wonder: Had you just given in to something you weren’t ready for?

———

The kiss seemed to stretch on forever, the force of it stealing your breath and leaving you spinning. Light’s lips were desperate, hungry—each movement sending a storm of emotions through you, making it hard to think clearly. His hands were unrelenting, pulling you closer as if he needed you to be closer than ever before, and you couldn’t tell if you were suffocating or if it was just the intensity of the moment.

But just as you thought you might lose yourself entirely, Light finally broke the kiss. His lips lingered near yours, a soft breath escaping him as he pulled away slightly. His eyes were wide, almost unsteady, and there was a flush on his cheeks, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. He looked at you, a mix of guilt and something softer in his gaze, almost as if he had been holding something back for far too long.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Light’s voice was low, softer than you had ever heard it. The usual confidence was gone, replaced by something raw and apologetic. He reached up, his fingers brushing lightly over your cheek as if trying to make sure you were still there. “I just... I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you to know how I feel. But I didn’t want to push you, didn’t want to scare you off.”

You could barely breathe, the rush of emotions still flooding your chest. But his words, the way he spoke—so calm, so seemingly vulnerable—made it harder to argue with. He was always in control, always the one who seemed so certain about everything. But now, he seemed... different. More human. More real.

“I know you care about Ethan,” Light continued, his voice growing quieter, almost like he was confessing a long-hidden secret. “But you’ve always been my person. And I can’t just keep pretending that it’s okay to watch you give all your attention to someone else. I can’t do that anymore.” His gaze softened, and he let out a slow, shaky breath. “I’ve always been here for you, through everything, and I’ll always be here for you. But you need to know that I need you too.”

Your chest tightened, a mixture of guilt and confusion flooding you. You had always relied on Light, always seen him as the constant in your life—the one person who never faltered. But now, with him standing so close, his eyes filled with emotion, it felt like he was asking for something that you didn’t know how to give.

“It’s just hard, you know?” he went on, his voice softer, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I never wanted to make you feel pressured, never wanted you to think I needed something from you. But I’ve been waiting for you to see it... to see me. The way I see you.”

His words stung, a sharp reminder that maybe you had been blind to his feelings, had never really considered how deeply Light had been there for you. His presence, his care—it had always been so constant that you never thought of it as anything other than friendship. But now, hearing him speak so openly, it felt like you had missed something, like you had failed to notice the depth of his emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he added, his hand moving to cup your face gently. “I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me. How much I’ve been there for you. You’re my everything, you know that?”

You couldn’t help but soften, despite the overwhelming swirl of emotions inside you. He was right about one thing—he had always been there for you, through every up and down. He had given you so much without asking for anything in return. Couldn’t you just give him this? Couldn’t you show him the same loyalty, the same devotion he had shown you?

“I know I’ve been selfish,” Light continued, his voice thick with emotion now. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I’ve always needed you, and I can’t pretend that I don’t anymore.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. His words were so soft, so raw—something about the vulnerability in his tone made it hard to keep your walls up. He was your best friend. He had always been there, a steady force in your life. How could you not want to give him this?

“I’m not asking for anything big,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just want you to see me. To know how much I care. To know that... I’ve always cared.”

Your heart clenched as the weight of his words settled over you, and despite the uncertainty swirling in your mind, you nodded slowly. You could never refuse him. Not Light. Not when he had always been your constant, the one person who had never wavered in his loyalty.

“I... I do care about you, Light,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He smiled softly, almost sadly, as if he had expected something like that, as if he had known you would give in.

“I just needed you to understand,” he whispered, leaning in again, this time his touch gentler, more tender, as he kissed you once more.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself be swept away by the warmth of his lips, the tenderness of his touch. Even as doubt whispered in the back of your mind, telling you that something wasn’t quite right, you buried it deep. After all, Light was your best friend. The one person who had always been there for you. You couldn’t turn away from him now, not after everything he had done.

And so, despite the confusion, despite the overwhelming swirl of emotions, you let yourself fall into the kiss, letting the weight of his presence consume you. Because in the end, he was the one constant in your life. And to you, that meant everything.

────────────

As Light’s lips moved against yours, his touch became softer, more controlled, though the intensity beneath the surface didn’t waver. When he finally pulled away, he didn’t let go. Instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around you, drawing you into an embrace so firm it felt like he was trying to fuse your body with his. His chin rested against your shoulder, his face buried in the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply, almost reverently.

The scent of you—natural and subtle, like soft florals—flooded his senses, grounding him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. His grip tightened for just a moment, and though you couldn’t see his face, there was an unguarded smile stretching far too wide, twisted in its elation. Ah. Finally. This feels so good. So perfect.

He allowed himself one long, slow breath, savoring every second of having you in his arms. His face remained hidden, safely tucked away where you couldn’t see the mask slip, where you couldn’t catch the flicker of something far darker than the tenderness he pretended to offer. His voice, when it came, was warm and light, the perfect mimicry of someone lovestruck. “I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmured, pressing his lips lightly against your temple. “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

But inside, his thoughts were far from gentle.

Calm down, Light. Don’t ruin this. Not yet. She’s not ready. He had to physically restrain himself, fingers digging into your back to keep his hands steady. The urge to take, to claim, to make you entirely his surged like wildfire, burning away the edges of his composure. Not yet. You’ll ruin everything if you move too fast.

Your naivety was what made you so precious. You were brilliant in your own way—smarter than him in certain areas, even—but socially? Oh, you were practically a child, stumbling blindly through interactions while he played the perfect friend, the perfect protector. And you trusted him so implicitly. That’s your greatest weakness. You trust me.

His mind was a whirl of strategies and calculations, and all of them led to the same conclusion: you were his, and you always had been. It was simply a matter of time before you realized it too. If he had to break you, mold you, and piece you back together to make you understand, then so be it. He would do it slowly, carefully, ensuring you never saw the cracks in his façade.

You think you’re safe with me. The thought was almost laughable, sending a ripple of satisfaction through him as he tightened his embrace. You don’t realize how deep you’ve already fallen into this. How much I’ve shaped your life to keep you close. But that’s okay. You’ll understand soon enough.

He could feel the heat of your skin against his, hear the soft hitch in your breathing, and it made him drunk with control. He’d never felt calmer, never felt more in command of himself. Every step from here on out was carefully planned, meticulously crafted to lead you exactly where he wanted you. There was no need to rush.

I’ll break you, little by little. But you won’t even notice, will you? You’ll think I’m helping you, protecting you. And when there’s nothing left of the girl who thought she could exist without me, you’ll thank me for it.

You stirred slightly in his hold, and for a moment, he almost let his grip slip—almost let his hunger get the better of him. But he reined himself in, forcing his breathing to slow, forcing the wicked grin on his face to soften into something fond. His lips brushed against your neck, leaving a featherlight kiss that made you shiver, though you didn’t pull away.

“I won’t let you go,” he whispered, his voice so soft and tender that it sent a pang of guilt through you for even considering doubting him. “I’ll always take care of you. I promise.”

And he meant it. Oh, he meant it in every twisted sense of the word. You were his to care for, to cherish, to love. And if caring for you meant destroying every piece of independence you had, if cherishing you meant breaking you down until you couldn’t live without him, then that was exactly what he would do.

Because to him, you weren’t just the person he loved. You were his purpose, his possession, his world. And no one—not Ethan, not anyone—would take you from him.

As he pulled back slightly, his hands lingered on your shoulders, holding you at arm’s length as he gazed at you with eyes so warm, so sincere, you felt your heart twist. “Thank you,” he said softly, his lips curling into a gentle smile. “For trusting me. For letting me in.”

You didn’t have the words to respond, too overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, too consumed by the vulnerability you thought you saw in his expression. You nodded, offering him a small, shaky smile of your own.

And Light, ever the patient predator, smiled back.

Good girl.

────────────

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General TAG LIST of “World Ablaze”: @berry-berry-beam , @magica-ren , @hyakki-yosai , @esthelily , @zombeepuppy , @mololoteco , @whyamaris , @iciel , @songbirdgardensworld , @airangelaira , @illyanaillyana , @ninahorikoshifr , @yandere-daze

[le-monchou]

you wanted reqs? you're getting them.

secretly getting a Leona themed phonecase and waiting how long it takes him to notice w/ gender neutral reader

all i want is you(r merchandise)

when you first snuck out the hotel to look for cool merch, you didn't really expect to find knock-off but still good quality merchandise of your boyfriend in a short alleyway close to the main markets. "is this... merch of the second prince?" you'd asked somewhat dubiously with a little shock. when the 'merchant' responded enthusiastically, launching into a short anecdote of how the few policies leona was able to implement had helped her, your heart soared, and you offered to buy a phonecase off of her.

but now that you had it, the big question popped up in your head- how were you going to hide this from leona? given his abilities to read the changes in moods and situations, you weren't going to be able to hide- wait a damn minute. what if you never hid it at all? a smile that could only be called wicked appears on your face as you make your way to the fancy hotel under the royal family, and that's when your plan (conccocted within the span of time it took you to get back to your room) started with full effect.

heading to the dining area with kalim, who was telling you a random story about him and jamil visiting the sunset savannah a very long time ago, you greet leona with a raised hand, showing him the cover as you normally would, and with a roll of his eyes, leona waves you and kalim over to the table. "you took forever, herbivore," he complains as you pat his head in apology.

"yep, i went exploring for a bit, showered, and bumped into kalim who was already heading over here. fun story though, kalim. i hope you apologised to jamil for that." kalim nods affirmitively as you sigh pitifully, placing the phone downwards on the table as jack chokes and vil visibly swallows a cough.

leona ignores the choking and coughing, shifting the vegetables on his plate ruefully. "anyway, tomorrow's match is a crucial one, so i need you all to focus. [name], don't annoy anyone." you scoff, before snaking your hand with leona's. "of course i won't. i'll just annoy you." leona rolls his eyes at that comment, but doesn't bother removing his hand from your's. and yet somehow, the phone cover still goes ignored the entire night.

this is actually much longer but i got tired of ruminating like share and subscribe for a part 2 maybe || 388 words

[lizardsfromspace]

It's tempting to call out evangelicals on grounds of hypocrisy - on ignoring the teachings of their own religion - but to them, it all makes sense, because they've developed a framework that basically amounts to Jesus having no real philosophy

They acknowledge the many verses about caring for the poor etc, but take it either as a code or of lesser importance. It's not about changing society, it's about individual charity, but not about compelling people to be charitable, just that it's nice. When Jesus spoke of the "least" of society, that wasn't about helping marginalized people, that was either about Christians, or about what side to take in the war that happens after the rapture. Simple. You may think "wait, but right before that it mentions caring for the poor, sick, and imprisoned" and their answer is, as I understand it, that you can just read every verse of the Bible in isolation from every other verse and it still makes sense on its own, so it doesn't matter (for reference, the New Testament wasn't split into numbered verses until 1551, when they were decided on by a random Frenchman)

This doesn't make sense on many levels. Anyone outside the sphere would point out that, religion aside, it would be really weird to have a story about someone telling a bunch of people to help the poor and then reveal "actually, it was all about events that will happen thousands of years after everyone present was dead! Nothing that was said matters to you or most people reading this!" Like what's the point. But within the sphere they have so many rationalizations, like how it's taken as writ in evangelical circles that it's okay to be rich because the "Eye of the Needle" was a specific gate in Jerusalem that was merely difficult to get through. Meanwhile, outside their culture, no references to that gate exist, because it didn't exist

One fun strain of this thinking is this

The Good Samaritan is a parable that ends with the directive to "go and do likewise". So clearly, the real point of the story is that you can't do anything. Jesus told everyone to go and do likewise to prove that nobody can ever show the impossible love to...help a guy who got robbed? Because Jesus was perfect, all advice from Jesus can be disregarded, because nobody can follow it because they're not Jesus

This idea, that every story Jesus told was just about how nobody can ever be like Jesus, is a thing in those circles and it's such a baffling foundation for a religion. Follow our messiah, who told us to be nice to people, but we know all the secret messages about how all those stories meant we SHOULDN'T be nice to people. Their sacred text is not a guide to living, it's a textbook for the apocalypse and how to go to heaven disguised as a guide to how you should be nice to people and help poor people. But a bunch of well-off white people discovered the secret parts of the Bible absolving them of the responsibility to care about people, so

[twosignificantfigures]

remember coming across this tiktok screenshot on twitter and getting so annoyed that i fully channelled miranda priestly in that blue versus cerulean scene from devil wears prada (2006) because:

forcing actors/filmmakers to say 90s and 2000s romcoms instead of 60s or even earlier films has to be one of the most annoying things in general because it forgets to acknowledge the fact that romcoms from before 90s and 2000s have left an impact in how romcoms are made.

for example: the film "It Happened One Night" released in 1934 became the blueprint for most of the romcom films and romcom tropes we know and love and look for in films/books/fanfictions. one such trope from the film aka the enemies-to-lovers trope was even used in 10 Things I Hate About You

there are also so many other tropes from it happened one night that are used in other romcoms and allow me to enumerate the ones i have from memory (these are just some of the tropes and there is this article that discusses more tropes and other films that used these tropes!)

fake dating/fake married (also used in The Proposal)

character is a main journalist looking for a scoop and ends up falling in love (also used in other romcoms like 13 Going On 30 and How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days)

rich x poor/working class (also used in Pretty Woman, and Crazy Rich Asians)

2. let's take it even further because It Happened One Night was not the first art form to use the enemies-to-lovers trope. it actually goes as far as Mesopotamian mythology. and William Shakespeare definitely wasn't the first, but he also basically uses this trope in his play Much Ado About Nothing released in the 1500s. and fun fact!!! 10 Things I Hate About You is a modern retelling of Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew!

my point is!!! actors and filmmakers mentioning films from the 60s or even earlier is neither pretentious nor annoying because it acknowledges how far storytelling has come. it literally tells the story of humankind and how art has always been a part of our lives and will continue to do so for many generations to come. the fact that tales and stories that hail from ancient times have survived either through writing or fragmented from word of mouth is astonishing on its own. it means that we actually do leave a mark in this world from just existing and telling stories. i hope we start to appreciate that for what it is instead of having takes like this i really do 🙏

Been said before but many people on social media are so bothered when actors or filmmakers do those letterboxd top 4 interviews and choose art house films and films over fifty years old and international films and act like they’re lying or something. like this may surprise you but I think a lot of people who go to work in the film industry actually love film as an art form so of course they’re going to choose movies that show this 😭 nothing wrong with ur favourite movie being spider-man 3 or whatever but to act like people r lying because their favourite is quote-unquote pretentious…ur just insecure babs

[maretinelli]

A GREAT MOTHER TO BE

Oscar Piastri X Dentist!fem!reader

Summary: Y/n Piastri has a pediatric dentist office and this leads to many fun conversations with the children. Oscar overhears one of the genuine conversations and is sure that she will be a great mother in a few months.

Words: 1.7K+

Warnings: Cute, mention of Y/n's work, cute patients, Y/n's pregnancy, Husband and wife, and again, so cute

Author: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. And you can request stories on my profile❤️🇧🇷

MASTERLIST

Y/n always said her job was an adventure. Each child who entered her office brought a unique personality and stories that made them laugh, reflect and, often, be enchanted.

As a pediatric dentist, she knew it wasn't just about caring for children's teeth, but also about creating a safe and welcoming environment for little ones to feel comfortable.

At the end of each day, it was almost a ritual for her to come home and tell stories to Oscar, who listened attentively while caressing his wife's belly, which was already rounded by four months of pregnancy.

He loved listening to her describe the children's antics, laughing at their imitations or exaggerated expressions as he recounted how the unlikely conversations between her and her patients took place.

At the moment, Y/n was working another day at the office. Y/n gently adjusted her stool and leaned towards her little patient, a four-year-old girl named Emily. With golden curls tied with a blue ribbon, Emily was the definition of curiosity.

"Okay, Emily, I'm going to use this little mirror here to take a look at your teeth, okay?" Y/n said with a reassuring smile, turning the small dental mirror in her hand.

Emily nodded quietly, but as soon as Y/n took the mirror out of her mouth, the inevitable question came.

"Why is he so small?"

Y/n chuckled softly, keeping her tone calm and playful. "Because I need it to fit in your little mouth. If it were bigger, you wouldn't be able to see everything properly, right?"

"Ah... so he's like a princess mirror?" Emily concluded, her eyes shining.

"Exactly!" Y/n replied, finding the comparison amusing. "And with it, I can see all the hidden parts of your teeth castle." Y/n smiled at the girl and turned her amused gaze to Emily's mother, who was watching the procedure. "She's so sweet!" Y/n said smiling.

Emily's mother laughs in agreement. "And very curious, you see."

Satisfied with the explanation, Emily opened her mouth again. Y/n picked up an instrument to check for a small cavity, but as soon as she took it out, another question popped up.

"What is that? A paintbrush?"

"It's an instrument that helps me clean places where the brush can't reach" Y/n explained. "It's like a magic broom to keep everything clean."

"My mom will want one of these!" Emily responded excitedly, eliciting a laugh from Yin and her mother who was sitting in an armchair at the back of the office.

Outside, Oscar had parked his car in the parking lot and entered his wife's office. He smiles at the receptionist and she briefly says that Y/n was answering. Already knowing that he was her boss's husband.

Oscar smiles in agreement. "Oh sure, I was a little early, just..." He looks at his watch and smiles. "We have an appointment to see our baby in an hour."

The receptionist smiles and nods. And then the pilot walks down the hallway until he reaches the waiting room, which was in front of Y/n's office.

The environment was so colorful and full of life from the children passing by that Oscar felt more and more anxious to have his baby in his arms.

With the door to her office half open, Oscar could hear his wife talking calmly to the child she was treating, while the little one laughed and asked more questions about the dental equipment she used.

He couldn't stop smiling when he heard how Y/n handled the little girl with so much patience and affection, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

As Y/n explained each step to Emily, Oscar found himself thinking about what it would be like when it was their baby there, asking the same curious questions and seeking answers with the same sweetness.

Y/n adjusted the instruments on the tray beside her while little Emily lay there, waiting patiently.

"We're almost done, princess" Y/n said with a warm smile, standing up to get more gauze from the nearby cabinet. As she stood up, she instinctively placed a hand under her belly, the gesture so natural that she didn't even notice.

Emily, however, widened her eyes at the movement and pointed, with an innocent and curious smile.

"Ah, you have a baby with you!"

Y/n chuckled, turning to the little girl as she picked up the gauze. "Yes, I have a baby here with me."

"Do you take him everywhere?" Emily asked naively, her eyes shining with curiosity.

Y/n and the girl's mother laughed at the comment.

"Yes, I will. But only for nine months," Y/n replied, sitting back down in the chair next to the little girl. "Actually, after I'm done here with you, I also have an appointment to see how he's doing."

Emily opened her mouth, eager for Y/n to continue the procedure, but she couldn't hold back the questions. As soon as Y/n finished, Emily leaned forward in her chair and asked excitedly.

"And what is his name? Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

Y/n arranged the instruments and smiled. "My husband and I haven't decided on a name yet, but it's a little boy."

Emily smiled even wider. Y/n helped her down from the chair and the little girl ran to her mother. Before leaving, Y/n took out a 'certificate of courage' and a shiny star pin and handed them to Emily.

"There you go, you were a very brave patient today!" Y/n said, handing over the items.

Emily looked at the brooch and certificate as if they were treasures and, before leaving with her mother, she turned to Y/n with an unexpected request.

"Could... could you bring a picture of the baby for me to see at my next appointment?"

Y/n chuckled softly, bending down to her level. "Of course. Next time, I'll bring a picture of my boy for you to see. But only if you promise me you'll brush your teeth properly, okay?"

Emily smiled excitedly and nodded in agreement.

Meanwhile, Oscar, who was still watching everything from the half-open door, felt his heart tighten. He already knew that Y/n was special, but seeing her like this, so natural, so affectionate with the children, only reinforced how lucky he was to have her.

Y/n gave him a gentle smile as she opened the office door, before turning to Emily's mother.

"If you can avoid sweets for now and help her brush her teeth after meals, I believe she won't have any more pain. We look forward to seeing you next week."

Emily's mother thanked her, and the little girl gave Y/n a tight hug before running out of the office, she smiled excitedly and ran in front of her mother, stopping at the reception to show the brooch to the receptionist.

Oscar then approached his wife, smiling as she watched the girl walk away. He gave her a soft kiss on the forehead.

"How are you, love?"

Y/n sighed, a calm smile on her lips.

"I'm fine, I'm just going to pack up before we go to the appointment."

Oscar walked her back to the office, watching her as she organized the instruments. He knew their lives would change completely in the coming months, but at that moment, he knew for sure that Y/n would be an incredible mother.

"You have a gift, you know?"

"Why?" Y/n asked curiously as she sanitized the instruments.

"The way you deal with these children. The patience, the calm manner... You can see how safe they feel with you."

Y/n blushed slightly. "Ah, it's work, Osc. We adapt."

Oscar shook his head, approaching his wife. "No, it's you. And I have no doubt: in a few months, you're going to be an incredible mother."

His words took her by surprise, and Y/n felt her eyes well up. She smiled, moving closer to him and placing a hand on her belly.

"I hope you're right, because I'm counting on your help, Mr. Piastri."

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. "Always. Now let's go see how daddy's little boy is doing." He placed a hand on her back as he guided her to the office door.

She laughs. "No, he's definitely a mommy's boy. Isn't he, son?" She runs her hands over her belly and the baby moves. "Look, he moved. That means he agrees with me."

Oscar chuckled, bending down slightly to get closer to Y/n's belly. He gently ran his hand over the spot where the baby had moved.

"Little guy, listen to Daddy. You're my partner, right? You're going to help me with Mommy when she starts saying she's the boss around here."

Y/n gave a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Do you really think he'll take your side?"

Oscar looked up at her, a mischievous smile on his face. "I'm sure. We're already a team!"

"Of course they are..." Y/n replied, amused, running her hand through her husband's hair. "Until he's born, then he'll understand that, deep down, he's a mommy's little boy."

"We'll see!" Oscar teased and laced his fingers through hers as they walked down the hallway. "But in the meantime, let's see how our little champion is doing."

"Little champion?" Y/n raised an eyebrow. "Are you putting pressure on him already, Piastri?"

Oscar made an innocent gesture with his hands. "Not at all. I'm just saying that if he's half as good as you, he's already a champion."

Y/n stopped for a moment in the hallway, looking at him with a look full of tenderness. She leaned in and gave him a brief but meaningful kiss on the lips.

"You know how to make me emotional, you know?"

He smiled, squeezing her hand affectionately. "It's easy, you're everything to me."

And with that, Oscar opened the office door and led her to the car, as they laughed together about who the baby would choose as his favorite in the future.

That moment, so simple, yet so full of love and companionship, reinforced what Y/n already knew: They were not just a couple, they were a team, ready to face any challenge while anxiously awaiting the arrival of the baby that was already so loved.

[bloggerspam]

Fic of a Fic: Caroline meets Ellie

This is a direct homage to @clockwayswrites Caroline from their fic A Hill to Die on.

Ya'll can blame @deathlysilent13 for this.

Disclaimer: I am not super familiar with alters or systems, and in this AU Tim isn't thinking about it/stumbled into it--please do not take this an accurate experience in any way! It's just for fun :)

===

"You're pretty. Do you like boys?"

Caroline blinks. looking to her left and right, trying to find the source of the chipper voice.

It's 3am in the morning, she's just spent the last 5 hours dancing in heels—she can be forgiven for taking a little long to realize that the voice is coming from slightly below her sight line.

When she finally (blearily) looks down, a girl of maybe 7 or 8 is looking up at her with wide, bright blue eyes.

"Thank you." Caroline huffs a confused laugh, smiling as she leans down and braces on her knees to be a little closer and meet the little girls height. "You're quite the darling yourself you know."

"Thank you, I got it from my brother." The little girl blushes, apples of her cheeks truly working hard to turn the same shade as its namesake, but her wide-eyed curiosity is still not abated. "Do you like boys?"

"Yes, I do." Caroline tilts her head, biting her lip against a laugh. "But most boys don't like me."

"Well most boys are stupid." The little girl scrunches up her face in distaste, which is honestly too much cuteness for Caroline to handle right now. The Tim part of her is starting to wake up, albeit sluggishly, in the face of a possible lost child. "But my big brother isn't stupid! He's the best, actually."

"Oh?" Caroline looks around exaggeratedly, though she does scan the area the way Tim would. Nothing in particular to note. Weirdly empty for Gotham, but otherwise… "And where is this so-called best big brother? Little girl like you shouldn't be out and about so early."

The little girl looks shifty then, fiddling with her fingers and kicking up dust, mumbling. "He's still sleeping at his desk."

"His desk?" Caroline is a little worried now, truly. How far can a little kid walk? Caroline searches through her memories, but realizes that Tim's knowledge on such things would be heavily skewed and probably incorrect. Damian isn't the best example, and Tim used to stalk Batman. So.

"He fell asleep working." The little girl explains, before the beans truly spill out. "I'm supposed to be sleeping, but I wanted some milk, but Danny didn't have a blanket so I got him a blanket, and then I figured maybe he'd like some hot chocolate when he woke up, 'cause he always makes me hot chocolate when I can't sleep, or had a nightmare, but we didn't have any hot chocolate at home so I thought maybe I could get some hot chocolate, but the bodega's closed."

Caroline watches bemusedly as the little girl gesticulates her story, walking back and forth and presenting her case as if Caroline is the one who has the issue.

"And then I saw you, and you're like, really pretty, and I definitely think my brother would like you," The little girl beams up at her, as if she's done something great. "Jazzy said that Danny's been lonely, taking care of me all by himself. So I thought, if I can't give him hot chocolate, I can at least let him meet a pretty lady!"

Caroline laughs, she can't help it anymore, trying her best to stifle it in the echoes of the night. "Well now, that's very sweet of you!"

"Thank you!" The little girl wiggles in her happiness. "If you want to meet my brother, I think he'll be happy. We don't have to go if you don't want to though, Danny said consent is important."

"He's right." Caroline wipes a tear and smiles widely down at the little girl. "I'm also pretty sure he's going to be worried out of his mind when he wakes up and finds you gone, so how about we get you home, okay?"

"So you'll meet him???" The little girl jumps up and down in excitement, cheering, "He'll be soooo happy to meet a pretty lady like you!"

"That's very nice of you to say, darling." Caroline's eyes go half lidded in exhaustion, yawning as her smile quirks a little differently, Tim blinking a little more in the forefront. "But I'm afraid I'm not a lady most of the time. Most times, I'm a boy."

The little girl doesn't even hesitate. "Danny likes pretty boys too!" She reaches up a hand, as if waiting for Caroline, no, Tim? to take her hand and lead her home. "He'll be extra happy that you can be both!"

Tim doesn't know what to say to that—his skirt is starting to feel a little too tight, and his feet are killing him. Heels were a mistake, but at least his tights and sweater keeps him warm, even if it's off the shoulder and cropped. The sweater paws are appreciated at least.

"That's very equal opportunity of him." Tim decides to say, drawing it out as if unsure. It's very typical of Caroline to leaving Tim to clean up her messes. "But I'm not sure Danny wouldn't like a random stranger showing up on his doorstep with his little sister."

"Oh!" The little girl jolts, straightening up and putting her hand out for a handshake instead. "My name is Ellie Nightingale, I'm 8 years old, and I love my brothers and sister very much!"

"Hello, Ellie." Tim shakes her hand, deliberating before deciding fuck it. "My name is usually Caroline in this outfit."

Ellie eyes him up and down, scrutinizing him as she twists their clasped hands into a different hold and leading them seemingly towards her home. "But you're not Caroline now."

"I am not." Tim agrees, adjusting his gait into an awkward walk. His feet still hurt, but he's had worse as Red Robin. "Well, I am. But not. She went to…bed, I guess. So now I'm awake."

"What's your name now that you've woken up?" Ellie asks, stopping them at a crosswalk and looking both ways even though it's as empty as Gotham could ever get. Tim thinks on this for a moment, before again, deciding fuck it.

"It's Tim." He replies. "Caroline had a long night, and she thinks I'm better with children."

Ellie gives him a look for that. "I liked Caroline better."

Tim honks out a laugh, quickly covering it up with his free hand. "Sometimes I like Caroline better too."

"That's kind of sad." Ellie reaches up to pat Tim on his hip, the easiest place she can reach. "It's okay, Danny can like Tim better."

Tim feels his face hurt with how wide he's smiling. Kids are a riot. "Sometimes, when I'm a boy-boy, my name is Alvin."

Ellie shrugs. "Is he mean? If he's mean Dante might like him."

Tim, with a wobbly voice from holding in laughter, tries his best to answer. "He's sometimes a little mean."

"Dante can be mean with him. He's not as nice as Danny, but he's just as good of a brother." Ellie chirps, swinging their arms back and forth as she skips. "Do you have another name that Jazzy can like?"

"…I guess I was Todd Richards, once." Tim hums, swinging his arm with her and using his free hand to rub at his chin in thought. "Though he didn't stay long."

"Jazz doesn't like deadbeat men who leave." Ellie primly states, sticking her nose up. "Jazz deserves better."

"…Are you setting me up with all of your siblings?" Tim hesitantly asks, unsure how to explain that they're all monogamous, but like to share? He's never figured it out.

"No, just Danny." Ellie slants an offended look. "You have lotsa names but you're one person right?"

Tim feels lighter than a feather, and he's not sure how to explain that, so he settles for a nervous smile and nod. He's never actually sat down and thought through this whole identity thing in the first place—method acting gone wrong? Right?

Doesn't matter. Ellie's chill with it, so Tim's chill with it. Logic.

Take that, Dick. And Bruce. And Jason. And—

"It's okay to have a buncha names. I used to have a different name." Ellie continues over Tim's righteous thoughts, this time leading the way through a side alley. Tim is actually surprised how empty it is. "My creator was a dickbag though, and Jazzy said it's important for my i-den-ti-ty to have a proper one."

"Language." Tim bites his lip from snorting, noting the peculiar wording Ellie uses. "Creator?"

"Dante said it's okay if it's true." Ellie bites her lip, side-eyeing Tim as she pinches the fabric of her jeans. "And Danny says it's okay as long as Jazzy doesn't hear."

"Is that so?" Tim chuckles, subtly eyeing her fingers.

"It is so." Ellie sniffs, pinching the fabric of her jeans again. "Danny's the best like that." No pinching this time.

A tell. Tim hides his grin with a little cough. "Of course." Ellie seems to be pleased with Tim's agreeable actions.

They're just exiting the alley, coming around the bend, when the door to an apartment complex across the road swings forcefully open. A man, shirtless and NASA patterned pajama pants at barely cling to his hips shoots out, grabbing the before it slams against the wall, forcing it closed as gently as he can so that the security system locks engage. He's handsome even though his hair is a mess, with crease lines Tim can still see from all the way over here that indicate he was just asleep on possible pencil, maybe a screwdriver.

There are. Abs. And arms. Holy shit, those sure are arms.

Ellie perks up, zooming towards the man and dragging Tim with him. "Danny!"

"Ellie!" Danny's head whips up in their direction, the man running towards them with zero hesitation to scoop Ellie up into a hug. "Bug, you worried me, I woke up and you weren't there!"

Oh, shit, even his voice is nice, deep and raspy from sleep even through the sheer relief. Tim tries to focus on the conversation as Ellie recounts her obviously genius and completely founded (to her) reasoning on why she just had to leave the apartment, but ultimately fails.

Did he mention abs? And arms??

The man is taller than Tim by a good couple inches, and bulkier in the shoulders. He's robust, even with that shoulder to waist ratio that Tim (and Caroline) kind of want to aggressively bite at. Deliciously hunky, as Steph would say. He has a unique undercut that's all white, though the stop part of his hair is black as night.

His eyes almost glow green in the dinky streetlights, and Tim's kind of losing it at the soft helpless look the other man's giving his little sister once she's finished her explanation. He's got her sitting on one arm, holding her up so that their faces are level, with Ellie bracing her tiny hands on his shoulder and chest.

Tim kind of wants to cry.

"I know that—" Danny sighs, pinching his brow in a way only exasperated older brothers can. Tim knows, because Dick does it all the time. "I know that you're used to going out alone, but I thought we established that once you started living with me you'd tell me?"

Ellie purses her lips in what seems to be both guilt and indignation. "I did okay before. Nothing happened and I can take care of any bad guys!"

Danny's face crumples a bit for a flash of a moment, stabbing Tim in the heart like thirty million times. "Ellie, it's not that I don't trust you, it's that I care. What happened before…" Danny sighs looking a little distressed and at a loss for words.

Ellie reaches over, smooths a tiny hand over Danny's furrowed brow. "Ok. M'sorry Danny. I love you."

Danny smiles then, once more helpless, "I love you too squirt." Then, as if finally noticing Tim, Danny coughs and turns abruptly red. Like, super concernedly red, actually. Tim's worried he might feint.

"Oh, Ancients, sorry," Danny adjusts Ellie to put her down, but she clings to him, still a little upset. Danny smoothly straightens back up, patting her on the back as she nuzzles into his neck.

Seriously, Tim might die.

"Thanks for bringing her back to me." Danny reaches a hand out, "My name's Danny. Is there any way I can repay you for finding her?"

Tim almost says please date me but thankfully, Bat-training has him calm, collected, and in total control of his mouth.

"It's no problem," Tim smiles his best smile—a little awkward in Caroline's fit, but Tim's no stranger to women's clothing. "And I didn't exactly find her." Tim chuckles as he darts a glance at a now perked up Ellie.

"I found them Danny!" Ellie proudly pronounces, wiggling in place in her excitement again before scrunching her face. "Well. I found Caroline. For you!"

"For me?" Danny confusedly tilts his head, even pointing a finger at himself. "Why would you—"

"Jazzy said you're lonely." Ellie whispers loudly into his ear, Tim trying to stifle his laughter as he bites his lips. "And Dante said that you need to find a friend to have sleepovers with."

Danny's face goes alarmingly red again, slapping a hand to cover his eyes as he groans in embarrassment.

"I'm going to kill them—nosey older—" Danny grumbles, before huffing and smiling apologetically at Tim. "I'm really sorry about this Miss Caroline—"

"He's Tim right now!" Ellie interrupts, yanking at Danny's ear and causing him to yelp. "Caroline went to bed. I like Caroline more, 'cause she's so pretty, see?"

Ellie points at all of Tim, which causes him to smile shyly. He notices that Danny follows where Ellie points, gulping when he meets Tim's eyes again. "Y-yeah, I see that squirt but—"

"But Tim's been really nice, he treats me like a proper person! Most people just think I'm a dumb kid."

"You're not dumb." Tim and Danny say in unison, which makes both of them squeak embarrassingly. So much for Bat-training.

"See! So I thought Tim could be for you, and I could play with Caroline sometimes, and Dante could play with Alvin—"

"Alvin?" Danny asks quietly, to which Tim flashes three fingers, before pointing to his head. Danny nods understandingly before focusing back on Ellie. The quick understanding and no reaction makes all sorts of butterflies bloom in Tim's gut. Like a little mosh pit of bugs. Maybe he needs coffee.

"—and so I said that Jazz deserves better than that, right Danny?" Ellie smooshes Danny's cheeks, making him look all sorts of ridiculous and cute. "Maybe we can even share Caroline!"

"-at's right squirt. S-he does." Danny says through his squished face. He scrunches his nose up—which makes their relation seem so very clear, Ellie's the spitting image of him—before bopping his forehead onto hers and making her giggle as she lets go of his face.

"So, uh. this is all very nice of you, Ellie. I, uhm." Danny glances at Tim, wincing a little, "I love that you did something so nice for me, but you can't gift people, so we're gonna let uh, Tim get on their way okay?"

Ellie pouts, wriggling out of Danny's grip to hide behind Tim and grab at his skirt. "But, but you like pretty ladies! And pretty boys!"

"Where did you even get this information?" Danny's voice cracks, frantically looking back and forth between Tim and Ellie as if he's not sure whether to be embarrassed or indignant.

"Sam said you like pretty ladies that look like they can beat you up." Ellie ticks a finger up, looking up as she recalls this info, "and Tucker said you like guys who look like they need to be taked care of."

Danny groans, head in his hands and hunching his shoulders up to scrunch up as small as he can even as Ellie steamrolls over the noise, "And Jazzy and Dante said that you need somebody that can be weird with you."

Danny jolts up, straightening as if he's found some kind of salvation. "Hey, that's right, and I'm sure Tim is a perfectly awesome guy, uh, girl?" Danny looks at Tim in distress, making Tim chuckle.

"Right now I'm a guy." Tim tries to keep his voice soft and low, smiling a little shyly. Distantly, he wonders if he's smudged Caroline's lipstick.

"Right!" Danny coughs, red again, "Right, so he's a perfectly normal guy and totally not weird, Okay, Ellie? C'mon, let's not take up more of Tim's night, okay?"

"I like weird." Tim nonchalantly says, innocent as he lays a hand on Ellie's back. "I mean, I've got at least three people sharing space in my noggin. Sort of." She beams up at him and snuggles closer to his leg, a warm line of comfort and affection. "We can be weird together, I think."

Danny flaps his mouth open and closed, at a loss for words. Tim's not about to explain this whole method acting turned stress relief gender euphoria turned alternate identity thing, so he plows on.

"I'm sometimes a lady—" Ellie interrupts him with an adamant pretty! "—a pretty lady that can definitely put you in your place." Tim does a slow up and down, Caroline peeking through in body memory even if she's not fully forefront.

It makes Danny do that cute little squeak again—-That's three times now, and Tim wants to know if he can manage a fourth. It also makes Danny remember how shirtless he is, making the other man twitch as if he might cover his chest but doesn't want to bring more attention to this fact so he restrains himself.

Tim licks his lips, staring at his pecs and—there's that fourth squeak and arms crossing over that delicious chest.

"And y'know," Tim goes a little shy now, scratching at the back of his neck, "I sometimes forget to sleep and eat." He shrugs with a little moue of distaste as the words he's about to say, "My family says I'm kind of a workaholic and need taking care of."

"Oh!" Ellie bounces up and down, tugging at Tim's skirt again, flashing a little hip that makes Danny eep and slap his hands over his eyes. Big guy like him should not be this freaking cute, seriously. "Oh! Jazzy says Danny's a work-a-ho-lic too!"

"Yeah?" Tim says to Ellie, even as he keeps eye contact with Danny as he's peeking through his fingers, "Guess that means I gotta at least give it a shot, right?"

Tim's not sure where this confidence is coming from: remnants of Caroline, being so free with his other…roommates, Ellie, or Danny's reactions, but it's bolstering him up.

It makes him bold, and kinda reckless. Mr. Sarcastic would approve.

"Yeah!" Ellie agrees, tugging Tim's hand into hers. She pulls him towards Danny, who obliging gives her his hand when she asks for it wordlessly with her own. "You gotta at least try. Jazzy said you give up too much for me!" Ellie makes the saddest, most pathetic looking pout Tim's ever seen. "I don't wanna be the reason you're sad and alone Danny!"

Danny bites his lip, looking at Tim for a long moment. Tim tries to smile reassuredly, to convey that he's totally on board for at least one date. (For maybe many many dates?) His shoulders slump, but his blush is still rampant. It's crawling down his neck, up his cheeks and bleeding into his ears.

He's the cutest thing Tim's ever seen at 4am in the morning.

"O-okay, uhm." Danny fumbles with his phone, "I-I could give you my number?"

"Sounds great." Tim shyly smiles as they exchange numbers, Ellie keeping both their hands hostage as if they might run away the second she lets go. Good thing Tim's ambidextrous. "I'll call you, maybe set something up this weekend?"

"It's a date." Danny smiles, Ellie squealing in excitement and cheering as she finally lets go to jump around.

Just as they get ready to part ways, Ellie tugs at Tim's skirt again, cupping her hands in a bid for Tim to crouch down and lend an ear. He does so obligingly.

"Can Caroline wake up for a second so I can say goodbye?" She whispers loudly. Tim smirks a little, rummaging up the vestiges of Caroline and sort of—blinks.

"Goodnight darling." Caroline does a sly little smile, kissing Ellie on the cheek and winking up at Danny. "And you were right! Your brother is the best."

Ellie beams, giving her a kiss on the cheek back. "Good night, Caroline!"

[stalky-arsen]

it- kinda pisses me off ? honestly, after using DA, instagram and twitter, today using bluesky and cara, tumblr was and is still one of the most reliable social media I've used for years. except for some nsfw regulations, it didn't change their algorithms much. you just gotta put some tags and you get enough visibility.

You may be unhappy about tumblr being fandom oriented, but even if you promote original content, it would still take lots of time to build your own community in any other platforms. Plus, it's not even a problem at all since you can still put tags with key words related to your story.

as for the community you build, it is strangely nice ? I can't speak for sure since I didn't get to see the so-called toxic part of tumblr. The only time it was detrimental to me was when I actively engaged in toxic criticism until I stopped, not because of others. Plus, engaging with others via the ask box is actually fun.

Sure, there could be dangerous thing on this platform, but it's like any other platforms on the internet really.

and for fuck sake, Tumblr promotes artists ! AND YOU CAN OPT OUT FROM THIRD PARTY AI

I know it's just my own pov, and you're welcomed to actually inform me about how "bad" tumblr is, but personally for me, especially after all this ai bullshit going on, seeing one fun site that doesn't seem detrimental is relieving so much stress.

tumblrs cardinal sin is being tumblr

[luxerians]

The Last Mask (14)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 14 - Hide and Seek

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 15

PREV : Chapter 13

A pair of black shoes stopped just inches from your line of sight. Your chest tightened as you slowly lifted your gaze. First, you saw the polished shoes, then the neatly pressed pants, and finally the long, all-black outfit that draped elegantly yet ominously over the figure. Your eyes reached the mask: a geometric pattern of sharp angles that concealed any trace of humanity beneath it. You couldn’t see his eyes, couldn’t tell if he was looking directly at you, but the slight tilt of his head downwards spoke volumes. He was entirely focused on you.

From a side perspective, you were kneeling on the floor, one hand braced against the ground as if trying to anchor yourself while the other clutched your bleeding injury. Your shoulders were tense, your head tilted upward as you met the imposing figure’s gaze. He loomed above you, his posture perfectly controlled, exuding an authority that was both calculated and suffocating. The contrast between his unyielding stance and your vulnerable position added to the tension, the unspoken connection between captor and captive palpable in the air.

The corridor was silent, the tension in the air so thick it felt like it might suffocate you. The guards stood rigid as they waited for the next command from the black-masked man whom they called the Captain. None of them spared a glance at the dead guard whose body lay crumpled against the wall. No one dared risk invoking the Captain’s wrath.

Your wide, doe-like eyes were glued to the Captain’s expressionless, geometric mask. You felt small like a defenseless kitten staring down a jaguar. He radiated danger, a predator in every sense of the word. Fear clawed at your chest. You were a part of the rebellion, and now the leader of the guards had personally come down to corner you and your allies.

Gi-hun’s grand plan to overthrow the game management crumbled in that very moment.

The sound of a scuffle shattered the silence, pulling you from your thoughts. Behind you, there was movement, followed by Gi-hun’s voice. “Leave her alone! She’s not in on this!”

His shout cut through the heavy atmosphere like a knife, drawing everyone’s attention. But the Captain didn’t react. He remained perfectly still, his focus locked solely on you.

Your breath hitched, and you quickly lowered your gaze, unable to hold the intensity of his stare any longer. You cast your eyes to the floor, trying to collect yourself, but the unease didn’t fade. His unwavering attention was unnerving, and a small part of you couldn’t help but feel puzzled.

Why had he shot the guard who injured you? What did he mean by disobeyed?

A sharp wave of pain pulled you from your thoughts. You winced, clutching your injured arm. The wound throbbed relentlessly, and when you pressed lightly against it, you could feel the bullet lodged beneath your skin. The sensation made your stomach churn.

Though you’d looked away, the Captain hadn’t. His head remained tilted slightly in your direction, his attention fixed on you like a hawk watching prey. Then, he spoke in a commanding tone. “Check her.”

Two square guards stepped forward at his command, lowering their weapons as they approached. You stared at them in a mix of confusion and apprehension. One of them spoke in a flat tone. “Get up.”

“No!” Gi-hun shouted, trying to rise from his knees. But before he could, two guards pinned him down, holding him firmly in place. “Leave her alone!”

The Captain finally shifted his attention, lifting his gaze to Gi-hun and Jung-bae. A tense silence followed, every movement in the corridor stilled. It was as if the Captain held everyone’s fate in his hands, his authority absolute and unchallenged.

“Player 456,” the Captain’s deep, distorted voice filled the corridor, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Did you have fun playing the hero?”

The same square guard as before repeated to you. “Get up.”

You stayed kneeling, your heart pounding, as the Captain began to move. His steps were measured and calm as he circled you and headed toward Gi-hun and Jung-bae meters behind you. Concern for your friends twisted in your chest. Your mind raced as you tried to anticipate what the black-masked man might do. You turned your head to follow his movements, watching him intently as he approached them.

Stopping directly in front of Gi-hun and Jung-bae, the Captain raised his left arm. The stark white pistol in his hand caught the light as he aimed it squarely at Gi-hun’s face. The sudden gesture made you gasp, alarm flooding through you as fear for your friend overtook you.

“Look closely,” the Captain said, his tone ominous. “At the consequences of your little hero game.”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened, his teeth gritted as he stared directly into the barrel of the pistol. You could see the tension in his body, the way he held himself still to project bravery. He didn’t want to give the Captain the satisfaction of seeing his fear. Despite this, his defiance didn’t lessen your terror. You couldn’t stand by and let him die.

“No!” you shouted, your voice breaking through the silence. Desperation filled every word. You pushed yourself to your feet, your knees shaking as you took a step forward. Before you could get closer, a square guard moved quickly, blocking your path. Undeterred, you tilted your head, craning your neck to keep the Captain in view.

“Please, don’t shoot him!” you pleaded, your voice trembling. “This whole plan was my idea, so it’s my fault. I’ll do anything!”

The corridor fell into a heavy silence. The guards stood still. Gi-hun and Jung-bae stared at you in shock and disbelief. Even the Captain paused, though his grip on the pistol remained unwavering.

“What are you saying…?!” Gi-hun’s voice rose, anger and panic blending together.

The Captain’s mask turned toward you slowly, his attention now fully on you. Though his aim at Gi-hun didn’t falter, the weight of his gaze pressed down on you, making it harder to breathe. His silence spoke volumes, and it was enough to send Gi-hun into a spiral of worry, his expression shifting to one of alarm and helpless frustration.

“Hey!” Gi-hun shouted as he straightened his posture, still kneeling but clearly trying to draw the Captain’s attention back to himself. “It was my idea! She’s lying!”

“Y-yeah!” Jung-bae added, his voice shaky, his eyes wide with panic. “She was lying!”

But the Captain remained unmoved. He didn’t even glance at them. His masked face stayed locked on you. Slowly, he lowered the pistol from Gi-hun’s face. Without haste, he turned his entire body toward you, a deliberate motion that made it clear you now had his full, undivided attention.

Your heart raced, pounding so hard you thought it might burst. Fear and vulnerability coursed through you. His presence felt all-encompassing. It's as if the walls of the hallway had closed in, leaving you exposed and utterly at his mercy. You could feel the weight of every eye in the corridor, yet it was his attention that made the air thick and hard to breathe. You had wanted to divert his focus to protect Gi-hun, but now that you had it, it felt like standing in the path of an oncoming storm.

“Among the trashes in this world…” the Captain’s distorted voice broke the silence as he began to step toward you, “…blooms a single flower.”

You froze, his words twisting in your mind, their meaning unclear but unsettling. Gi-hun’s voice broke through the tension again as he tried to rise from his knees, his movements frantic.

“No!” he yelled, his tone laced with desperation. He lunged as if to intervene, but two square guards grabbed him immediately, dragging him back down. This time, his struggle was wild and unrelenting. The guards shoved him to the ground, pinning him on his side. One of them pressed his head to the floor with brutal force, but still, he screamed in resistance, his eyes wide with fear for you.

Jung-bae, pale and trembling, stayed where he was, his hands still raised in surrender. Two guards loomed behind him, their MP5s aimed squarely at his head, ready to fire at the slightest provocation. The tension in the air was unbearable.

Gi-hun’s shouts echoed through the purple hallways. The Captain, unfazed, continued his steady approach until he stopped directly in front of you. You couldn’t look away, your eyes locked onto his masked face. He stood tall, radiating authority, while you remained standing before him, powerless and exposed.

He was the embodiment of power and control. He alone dictated the rules of this twisted game. You, on the other hand, was stripped of any leverage, offering yourself up to protect those you cared for. The unspoken tension between you hung thick in the air, every second stretching endlessly as his masked gaze bore into you.

The Captain extended his left hand, gloved in sleek black, his palm facing upward. He held it steady, hovering in the air between you two. Your gaze flicked from his hand to his mask, trying to decipher the meaning behind the gesture.

Finally, his distorted voice broke the silence. “Come with me… and I will let your friends live.”

Your eyes widened, locking onto him in shock. The weight of his words sank into you like lead.

“Don’t!” Gi-hun shouted as he fought against the guards holding him down. “He’ll hurt you! You can’t trust him! Whatever he’s offering, it’s a lie! He’ll…”

His voice cracked, his frantic movements becoming more erratic. “He’ll break you apart!”

His words stabbed at your resolve, each one a reminder of the unknown danger you might be stepping into. You could feel the genuine care and anguish in his voice. Gi-hun was more than disappointed at his plan’s failure; he was terrified of losing those he considered friends. He’d rather take the consequences himself than watch them fall on you.

Your mouth felt heavy, unable to form a response to his pleading. Instead, your focus returned to the Captain. His gloved hand remained steady, a silent invitation that demanded a response. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t need to. He ruled this place. He could wait as long as it took for you to decide.

Your heart pounded as fear coursed through you. What would happen if you took his hand? What would he do to you? Would he hurt you? Strip you of your dignity? Hand you over to his guards to face whatever cruelty they had in mind? The questions swirled relentlessly in your head, each one more horrifying than the last.

Then, the sharp sting of your bullet wound brought you back to the moment. You winced as the pain flared, a reminder of the very real danger you were already in. Your left upper arm throbbed, the blood sticky beneath your fingers where you clutched the wound.

You were scared. Terrified. But you cared about your friends even more. Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and the others mattered to you. They had become your family in this cruel, twisted game. If you didn’t act, their lives might be forfeited. That thought was unbearable.

“I will have your wound treated right away,” the Captain said, his voice calm but commanding. The unexpected offer made your breath catch, and your eyes snapped back to his mask.

You stared at him for a long moment, blocking out the noise of Gi-hun’s struggles behind the masked leader. His screams faded into the background as you wrestled with the decision in front of you. Your arms began to tremble, a sign of the terror coursing through your body.

It was at that moment that despair took hold of you, its weight pressing heavily on your chest. If Young-il were here, he would have been livid with you for even entertaining this decision. But he wasn’t here.

Grief surged through you then and there. Tears brimmed in your eyes, blurring your vision until a single drop escaped, tracing a path down your cheek. A sob broke free from your throat. The thought of Young-il – his absence, his sacrifice – slammed into you like a physical blow. He was gone. The memory of his promise to meet you outside this nightmare, should you both survive, now felt like a cruel joke. He had risked everything to protect you, and now you two would never see that promise fulfilled.

The bullet wound on your upper arm throbbed with a dull ache, but it paled in comparison to the searing pain of your loss. You’d lost him. And it was only now, standing here in this twisted moment, that you realized you had fallen in love with him. The man who had risked his life time and time again for you, who had treated you with care and respect even in this unforgiving place, was gone.

Soft sniffles and quiet sobs echoed down the corridor. Gi-hun, who had been shouting moments ago, fell silent. He looked at you, his eyes wide with understanding. He knew. He knew that it was his plan, his gamble, that had led to Young-il’s death and the deaths of others. Now, with the Captain’s shadow looming over all of you, the weight of that guilt was palpable.

The Captain, on the other hand, remained still and patient. His hand hovered between you, waiting for your decision. This enigmatic figure, who had mercilessly shot his own guard moments earlier, stood there quietly as you sobbed, giving you space to grieve. His presence was unnerving yet he offered no words, no commands. He simply waited as if time itself bent to his will.

You withdrew your hand from your face and wiped away the tears staining your cheeks. With a shaky breath, you finally managed to steady yourself. Lifting your gaze, you looked back at the Captain. His hand was still extended, his posture unchanging, as though he had all the time in the world.

Your eyes shifted to Gi-hun and Jung-bae behind him. Both of them were watching you, their faces pale and filled with dread. The terror in their expressions only deepened your resolve. You knew that if you went with the Captain, the three of you wouldn’t be shot dead. This was the only way for the three of you to survive after instigating an uprising.

Slowly, you raised your trembling hand and placed it in the Captain’s gloved palm. The leather was cool against your skin. As soon as your hand settled in his, his fingers curled around yours like the closing of a steel trap. There was no escape now.

You raised your gaze, meeting the enigmatic Captain’s towering presence. His mask remained inscrutable, hiding whatever thoughts might be running through his mind. Without a word, he turned and began walking toward the hallway behind you, his grip on your hand firm but not forceful. You followed quietly, your steps heavy with uncertainty and fear.

Behind you, the square guards followed you two in formation, their boots echoing sharply against the corridor floor. The sound of Gi-hun’s scream suddenly broke through, raw and anguished. He was still pinned to the floor by two guards, but his struggle had only intensified.

The sound made you falter for a moment, but the Captain didn’t pause. He kept walking, pulling you along with him. You frowned, realizing that Gi-hun’s anger was more than just a protest against the Captain’s actions. Perhaps he had seen you in a different light. Maybe he cared for you more than you’d realized. He had told you once that you reminded him of his late friend. Protecting you must have felt like a way to redeem himself, to make up for his failure to save his friends in the past.

What you didn’t know was that Gi-hun clung to you for a deeper reason. You didn’t just remind him of his lost friend. You reminded him of himself. By protecting you, he felt he could protect the part of himself he had lost, the part that still believed in hope and redemption. In saving you, he believed he could save himself from the guilt that had haunted him for so long.

The Captain led you down a labyrinth of hallways. At one point, you tugged your hand free from his gloved grasp. He didn’t stop you, nor did he turn his head or say a word. You were grateful for that small mercy. The thought of his touch manipulating your already fragile resolve made your stomach churn.

Behind you, the square pink guards marched in two perfect lines. Their synchronized footsteps echoed through the corridors. The uniformity of their movements spoke volumes about the Captain’s control. It was clear that his authority reached deep, dictating not just their actions but the very rhythm of their existence. This was power on a level you had never seen before, and it left a dreadful weight in your chest.

As you rounded another corner, a new figure emerged from the hallway ahead. Several square pink guards followed closely behind him, but this man was different. His mask bore the same square symbol as the others, but the rest of his appearance set him apart. His uniform, while identical in design, was entirely black, accented with bold pink stripes and a matching pink belt. He carried himself with a stern, commanding presence that was almost as unsettling as the Captain’s.

The square black guard halted as soon as he saw your group, and the pink guards behind him followed suit, stopping in perfect formation.

“Captain,” the square black guard said respectfully. “One manager and twenty soldiers have been dispatched to the dormitory to subdue the rest of them. It appears there are no backup plans for the uprising.”

The Captain stopped walking just a few feet away from them. The square pink guards and you came to an immediate halt as well. You glanced sideways at the Captain, your suspicions reaffirmed. He was undoubtedly the highest authority here, and this new figure was likely his second-in-command.

The Captain’s voice broke the silence, low and solemn. “What’s the update on the rest of the players who rebelled?”

You blinked, your attention sharpening as the words registered. He was talking about Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, and the others you had managed to supply with ammo.

“We had shot most of them down,” the masked officer reported in a detached tone as if he wasn't discussing the loss of human lives. “One or two managed to retreat to the dormitory and hide among the players.”

Your gaze dropped, despair washing over you like a tidal wave. More players were dead. You didn’t know if Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok had survived, but the weight of the losses was suffocating. The uprising had failed spectacularly, leaving most of you dead.

Then another thought gripped you. All those who participated in the plan were X players. With most of them gone, combined with the losses during lights out, the Os would dominate the next vote. It was inevitable. The remaining players would be forced to continue into the next game, whether they wanted to or not.

Your thoughts shifted to your friends back in the dormitory: Jun-hee, Dae-ho, Yong-sik, and his mother. They must be terrified, anxiously waiting for news, hoping for the best but fearing the worst. What would they feel when they learned about Young-il’s death? The thought twisted your heart, and tears began to well in your eyes again.

Just as the first tear threatened to fall, the masked officer’s voice cut through the air. “Would you like us to single out those rebels and shoot them in front of the others as a lesson, Captain?”

Your eyes widened in horror. The idea was monstrous. To drag out the survivors of your team and execute them publicly for the remaining players to see? It was cruel beyond comprehension. It was an act designed to break what little spirit the players had left.

Ignoring the pain from your injury, you turned your terrified gaze to the Captain, who stood quietly, his posture as steady and unreadable as ever. His head remained slightly tilted toward the officer. The tension in the air was palpable as every guard waited in silence for his command.

Finally, in his deep, distorted voice, he said, “No. Let them. They will have their lessons by the players, the next vote, and the next games.”

You looked away, his words sinking in like a stone in water. You understood what he meant immediately. Those who had participated in the uprising would face judgment, not from the guards but from their fellow players. The X players, now devastated in numbers, would likely blame the rebels for their downfall. The bitterness would lead to harsh reprimands and isolation.

The O players would mock and deride the rebels. Their cruelty would aim especially at Gi-hun. With so few X players left, the Os might seize control of the dormitory entirely, leaving the remaining X players in an even more precarious position.

The weight of it all settled heavily in your chest. The rebellion hadn’t just failed; it had shattered any remaining hope for unity.

Suddenly, the Captain spoke, his deep, distorted voice cutting through the tense air. “Have one worker come to Room 147. Bring a medical kit.”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, the Captain began walking again, moving past the masked officer and the pink guards. The masked officer immediately fell into step beside him, though still slightly behind, a position that subtly acknowledged the Captain’s authority. Clueless, you followed behind the Captain. The rest of the pink guards fell into formation without being told.

In a matter of seconds, the Captain stopped outside an unmarked door, causing everyone else to halt as well. He turned to you and spoke directly. “Wait inside. A guard will tend to your wound.”

You stared at him, your gaze lingering for a moment before you lowered your head. Pushing the door open, you peered inside. The room was stark and simple, painted in the same monotonous purple as the hallways. It contained nothing more than a plain table and two chairs.

Before you could step in, the Captain spoke again, this time addressing the guards. “One manager will stand guard outside the door. Soldiers, arm up and prepare for the next vote.”

He paused, shifting his attention to the second-in-command. “Managers and you, head to the control room. I have a word with you.”

The underlying reprimand was clear.

With that, the Captain turned on his heel and strode away. You glanced at the masked officer, noticing the rigidity in his posture as he stared at the Captain’s retreating figure. The square guards fell in line behind the Captain, moving like disciplined soldiers toward what you assumed was the control room. For a brief moment, the masked officer stood frozen in silence before he, too, followed after them without a word.

One square guard remained by your side and said flatly, “Please wait inside for a worker to tend to your wound.”

You stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you. The room’s silence was almost oppressive, and you sat down on one of the two chairs, cradling your injured arm.

Now that you had nothing else to divert your attention to, the pain of your wound became all the more prominent. A sharper wave of pain shot through your arm. You winced. You adjusted your hold on the wound, trying to ease the pressure without worsening the pain.

It was barely two minutes before the door opened, revealing a circle guard carrying the familiar red medical kit. The guard stepped inside, setting the kit on the table before turning their masked face toward you.

“Sit still,” they instructed, their voice flat and emotionless. “Hold your arm steady.”

You nodded silently, holding your injured arm in place as the guard began laying out the contents of the kit. Antiseptic, gauze, tweezers, and a scalpel gleamed under the fluorescent light. The sight of the sharp instruments made your stomach churn, but you kept your face composed.

After you took off your jacket and lifted up the sleeve to expose the raw injury, the guard began to work on it methodically.

“This will sting,” they said before applying antiseptic. The sharp burn drew a hiss from your lips, and you gritted your teeth to keep from crying out.

As they continued, your thoughts wandered. What would your life look like now? The realization of having surrendered yourself to the Captain weighed heavily on you. Would this be your new reality? A nightmare on Earth where every action was dictated by a man who wielded absolute power? The thought chilled you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if escape was even possible.

You glanced around the room, your eyes flitting to the door, the walls, and finally the tools spread across the table. The scalpel caught your attention. It was small, but it could be a weapon. The idea lingered. Could you really fight back? Could you find a way out of this labyrinthine hell? The questions gnawed at you.

“Hold still,” the guard reminded. You snapped back to the present, focusing on the pain as they worked to extract the bullet. The tweezers dug into the wound, sending sharp, searing jolts up your arm. You clenched your jaw, your nails digging into the armrest of the chair.

After what felt like an eternity, the guard finally pulled the bullet free. The small piece of metal clinked against the tray. Next, they applied ointment to the wound. Then, they wrapped your arm in clean white bandages, securing them snugly.

“You’re done,” the guard said simply, beginning to pack up the kit.

You stared at the scalpel, your eyes darting back to the circle guard as they moved around the room. The thought lingered in your mind. You wanted to use it. You had a plan, a desperate one, but were you willing enough to act on it? To kill someone, who had done nothing wrong to you, in cold blood? The very idea made your stomach churn.

Yes, you had killed loan sharks and triangle guards before, but you did it to protect yourself. But to kill this circle guard who had tended to your wound and had been nothing but respectful to you? You were hesitant. But your will to survive burned stronger, too. You didn’t want to be violated by any guard, the Captain, or be trafficked. Surrendering didn’t mean you consented to anything, and the fear of what might come next only deepened your desperation.

But as you hesitated, the circle guard packed the scalpel into the medical kit and snapped the lid shut. It was done before you could muster the courage to act. The opportunity had slipped through your fingers. But you felt both relief and frustration. Relief that you hadn’t resorted to violence, but frustration at the loss of a potential lifeline.

The circle guard picked up the kit and left the room without a word, leaving you alone once more. You stayed seated, your arm throbbing with a dull ache under the bandages. But the pain was secondary. Your thoughts were consumed by what awaited you under the mysterious Captain’s rule. What would he do to you? Would he make you a pawn in his twisted games, or worse? You shuddered.

Your musings were interrupted by the sound of the door opening again. The square guard who had been stationed outside stepped inside. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Get up. I will bring you to another room for your next command.”

You stared at him, trying to decipher his tone. Was he implying that you were to become one of them? The phrasing of his words made you wonder if you were about to be inducted into their ranks, a thought that filled you with unease. What you didn’t know was that he was simply taking you to another holding room to wait for the Captain’s summons.

Slowly, you began to rise, your movements stiff as the pain in your arm flared up again. Before you could fully straighten, something slammed into the square guard’s back with a force that made him stumble forward. You flinched, stepping back instinctively as a single triangle guard burst into the room. The door shut with a loud thud, trapping the three of you inside.

The triangle guard attacked the square guard without hesitation, striking him with the butt of their MP5 gun again and again. The sounds of the struggle filled the small room, the square guard grunting in pain as he tried to fight back. But the triangle guard’s assault was relentless, leaving the square guard no chance to recover. Within moments, the square guard collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

You pressed yourself against the wall, your heart pounding in your chest. Your wide eyes locked onto the triangle guard as they turned their attention to you.

Who are they? Were they connected to the triangle guards who you had killed before? Those two who intended to violate you? The thought chilled you to the core. You couldn’t help but wonder if they had come to finish what the others had started. Your back pressed harder against the wall as if trying to disappear into it. You braced yourself, preparing to defend or attack if needed.

To your surprise, the triangle guard stepped backward, lowering their stance as if to show they meant no harm. “I mean you no harm. I’m here to save you.”

You frowned, your body still pressed against the wall as doubt flickered across your face.

“How can I trust you?” you asked, your voice laced with wariness. The memory of the two triangle guards who had threatened to violate you was still fresh, their words and intentions leaving scars deeper than your injury. What if this guard was just like them, luring you into a false sense of safety only to hurt you later?

They didn’t move closer. Instead, they stood their ground, hands at their sides in a gesture of peace. “Someone asked me to save you. It’s no secret to the guards that you’re here because of Captain's mercy and player 456’s plan.”

Your eyebrows furrowed further. “Who’s that someone?”

For a moment, the guard was silent, their gaze unreadable behind the mask. Then, finally, they said, “I can’t tell you who. But I can show you. You have to follow me first. They were injured during the uprising.”

Their words hung in the air, and realization dawned on you. That ‘someone’ had to be one of the players who had joined Gi-hun’s rebellion. Still, doubt and wariness still clung to you.

The guard reached into the pocket of their pink jacket and pulled out a revolver. Placing it on the table, they stepped back again.

“We don’t have much time,” they said, their tone insistent but calm. “If you don’t trust me, take this. Keep it pointed at me if you want. But we need to go. A manager or the Captain himself will come to fetch you soon enough.”

Your gaze darted between the guard and the revolver, uncertainty gnawing at you. Something about the way they spoke, their demeanor, seemed genuine. Why would they arm you if they meant to harm you? The sincerity in their actions nudged at your resolve, chipping away at your doubt.

Slowly, skeptically, you pushed yourself away from the wall. You stepped toward the table and picked up the revolver. Checking the cylinder, you saw it was fully loaded. With a small click, you snapped it shut and slipped it into your jacket pocket, keeping your hand wrapped tightly around the grip.

You looked at the guard, your expression tense. “Lead the way.”

The triangle guard stepped closer to the unconscious square guard and knelt down. They reached for the square guard’s mask and removed it, revealing a man beneath it. His face was obscured by a black headsock that left only his eyes visible.

Standing, the triangle guard moved to the door and cracked it open just enough to peek outside. After a moment of tense silence, they gestured for you to follow. Your grip tightened on the revolver hidden in your jacket pocket as you quietly followed their lead.

The two of you navigated the maze of hallways. You kept your eyes fixed on the triangle guard, observing every detail. Their figure seemed delicate, not the physique you’d expect from someone capable of taking down a square guard. It struck you then that they had used the butt of their MP5 to subdue the square guard, not their bare hands.

You noticed the guard kept glancing upward every time you two entered a new purple corridor. Following their line of sight, your eyes landed on a CCTV camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. That’s when it hit you. This guard was carefully navigating through hallways that were free of CCTVs, deliberately avoiding surveillance.

The hallways twisted and turned, each intersection making it harder to keep track of where you were. Finally, the triangle guard halted in front of an unmarked door. They scanned the surroundings, ensuring that the area was clear. They opened the door and gestured for you to enter.

You hesitated, peering inside before stepping through the threshold. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes landed on a familiar face.

Gyeong-seok was sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the wall. His jacket was on the floor beside him. He was only donning his shirt and pants. His hand clutched at his lower abdomen, and his face was contorted in pain. But when your eyes met, his expression changed entirely. A look of astonishment, almost disbelief, lit up his features.

He called your name with a breathy voice that was shaky but filled with relief. “You’re okay.”

Without thinking, you bounded into the room, closing the distance between you and Gyeong-seok in an instant. Dropping to your knees beside him, you reached out, your hands hovering uncertainly as you took in his condition. There was an opened medical kit next to him on the floor. The mysterious triangle guard promptly shut the door behind them.

“Gyeong-seok,” you said, your voice breaking with emotion. “Oh, God. What happened to you?”

He gave you a weak smile, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position. “It’s… a long story. But I’m glad you’re okay…”

The triangle guard quietly walked toward you and Gyeong-seok and kneeled on the other side of him. In a low voice, they said, “Let me see.”

You watched silently as Gyeong-seok withdrew his hand from his lower abdomen. There it was. A gunshot wound that had been hastily tended to, the makeshift bandages still faintly stained with blood.

“I’m okay,” Gyeong-seok said with a labored breath, his softening gaze fixed on the triangle guard. “Thank you…”

The guard didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, it seemed like they weren’t sure how to react to the gratitude. Instead, they remained silent, their body language unreadable.

“But why?” you asked, your curiosity breaking through your cautious demeanor. Your wide eyes locked onto the guard. “Why did you save us? Who are you?”

The triangle guard shifted their attention to you, their mask hiding any hint of emotion. They didn’t answer right away. Instead, they rose to their feet and turned toward the wall, their back facing both you and Gyeong-seok.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” they said solemnly. Then, turning back to face you, they took a few steps closer and extended their hand, holding out a square mask. “Keep this.”

You blinked, confusion etched across your face, but you took the mask from their hand without protest. The triangle guard stepped back toward the door.

“Stay here and keep quiet,” they instructed, their voice calm. “I will come back in a moment.”

They cracked the door open just enough to peek outside. After ensuring it was safe, they slipped out, leaving the door ajar for a brief moment before it clicked shut behind them.

Now alone with Gyeong-seok, you turned to him, your concern evident. “What happened? Were there any others who survived?”

Gyeong-seok let out a slow, pained exhale. “The guards… there were too many of them. Everyone else… they were shot dead.”

His eyes dropped to the floor as if the weight of the truth was too much to hold. “I don’t know about Hyun-ju, though. She might… she might still be out there.”

Gyeong-seok let out another strained breath, his hand pressing lightly against his bandaged abdomen. “The guards moved in on us and we were cornered. We surrendered and I was shot.”

He paused, his gaze flickering to the floor as if trying to piece together the fragmented memories. “When I woke up, I was here. That guard… they were tending to my wound. I don’t know why or how, but they saved me.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. The revelation only deepened the mystery surrounding the triangle guard. Why would they risk themselves to help? What was their motive? You glanced back at the square mask in your hands, its smooth, faceless surface offering no answers.

“Did they say anything to you?” you asked.

Gyeong-seok shook his head weakly. “Not much. Just told me to stay quiet and rest. Then there was a command through their radio. It was about you.”

Your eyebrows shot up, the sudden detail catching your full attention.

Gyeong-seok’s expression was serious despite his obvious fatigue. “Someone was giving orders through their radio. They said that player 423 should not be shot… at all costs.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Player 423. That was your number.

“They seemed really adamant about it. It made me wonder what they’d do to you instead. Through the radio, I overheard them saying you’d been taken to a room. That’s when I asked…” he paused, gesturing weakly toward the door, “…the guard to save you.”

His words hung in the air. You tried to process everything. Why would someone order that you not be harmed? And who and why gave such an order? Questions flooded your mind, each one more troubling than the last.

“So, they agreed?” you asked in disbelief, still wondering why the triangle guard saved you out of the blue.

Gyeong-seok grimaced slightly at the ache in his wound. “They didn’t say much, just nodded and left. When I woke up again, I was here. Then you showed up.”

You sat back slightly, clutching the square mask in your hands as your thoughts raced. The pieces didn’t fit together, but one thing was clear: someone out there had decided your fate, and it wasn’t entirely in your hands anymore.

“Do you have any idea who gave the order?” you pressed in a low voice as something crossed your mind.

Gyeong-seok shook his head weakly. “No clue. But whoever it was, they had authority. The guards followed the command without question.”

You pieced it together almost instantly. It had to be the Captain. He was the one who shot the guard who had accidentally harmed you. It made sense that he would be the one giving orders to keep you alive. But why? What reason could he possibly have for sparing you?

Before you could dwell on it further, the door creaked open. You and Gyeong-seok tensed, your bodies instinctively stiffening. Relief washed over you both when the triangle guard stepped into the room. To your surprise, they were carrying two sets of hot pink uniforms.

They shut the door behind them with a soft click and stepped forward.

“Put these on,” they instructed, their voice calm but firm.

***

Firm footsteps echoed through the endless maze of purple hallways. The Captain strode forward with purpose, his long, calculated strides never faltering despite the labyrinthine corridors. Behind him, four square guards flanked him in perfect formation, their movements synchronized as if pulled by invisible strings.

The Captain’s mask remained forward-facing, his body language exuding an unshakable authority over everything. Each turn of the hallways seemed to have been memorized, as he moved without hesitation, as though the twists and turns of the corridors were etched into his mind.

Finally, he reached a door. Without a moment’s pause, he pushed it open and stepped inside. His masked gaze scanned the room. The simple space contained a table and two chairs, but it was empty. His eyes moved, landing immediately on an unconscious pink guard slumped against the wall, his mask removed and gone.

The Captain’s entire focus fixed on the guard. The tension in the room thickened as the four square guards behind him surveyed the space, their heads turning slightly but never breaking their rigid stance. The Captain’s silence was deafening, his stillness radiating an almost tangible anger.

“Wake him up,” he commanded, his voice low and sharp, carrying an edge that made everyone’s posture stiffen further.

One of the square guards stepped forward and knelt beside the unconscious guard. They patted his cheeks firmly, the repeated motion bringing him back to consciousness. The pink guard’s eyes fluttered open, confusion etched into his features. As awareness returned, he instinctively brought his hands to his face, his fingers brushing against his exposed skin. Horror dawned on him as he realized his mask was missing.

His wide eyes darted upward, locking onto the imposing figure of the Captain. The room seemed to freeze as the Captain stood perfectly still, exuding a cold, silent fury. The unmasked guard began to stammer, his words spilling out in a jumbled mess of fear and panic. His trembling voice filled the air as he tried to explain himself, knowing full well the consequences that awaited him.

The Captain silenced the stammering guard with a single, cold question.

“What happened?” he asked, his deep voice cutting through the room like a blade.

The unmasked guard pushed himself back against the wall, trembling as he tried to muster a response. “I… I was… attacked. By a-a-another guard. I got… knocked out…”

The Captain raised his left hand, his white pistol steady and unflinching. He aimed it directly at the space between the guard’s eyebrows. Without a word, he pulled the trigger, the shot echoing through the room. The guard slumped over, lifeless, as the sound faded into silence.

The square guards standing beside and behind the Captain didn’t flinch. They remained perfectly still. The Captain lowered his pistol to his side, glancing around the room calculatively. His eyes moved and searched for any clues that might reveal what had transpired. Every detail was scrutinized, every corner of the room taken in.

After a long moment of silence, he turned on his heel, heading for the door. As he exited, his voice rang out with authority. “Begin a wide search for player 423.”

The square guards dispersed immediately, exiting the room in formation. The air filled with the sound of their boots echoing down the hallways.

Soon after, an announcement blared through the facility. “Attention. A wide search is now underway for player 423. All guards are to report any findings immediately. Repeat: begin search for player 423.”

The message repeated as guards across the compound mobilized. Pink uniforms flooded the hallways, their movements swift and synchronized. Each guard methodically checked rooms, peered into corridors, and examined every nook and cranny. The tension in the air grew heavier with every passing second.

In an hour, under the Captain’s absolute order, every guard – circle, triangle, and square – assembled in the control room. The circles stood at the far back near the walls, their presence more subdued but still important. The squares took their places in front of the circles, scattered around the room and stationed near the monitors that lined the walls. The triangles, armed with their MP5s, stood in perfect formation on the central floor. Beneath them, a massive screen displayed the remaining players in the game.

In front of all the triangle guards stood the Captain. His presence itself was commanding. Although his posture seemed rigid and calm, unspoken anger still radiated from him like invisible smokes. Every guard in the room could sense it. Despite his stillness, his fury was almost tangible.

The masked officer, the Captain’s second-in-command, approached him and stopped a respectful distance away. The officer delivered his report. “Captain, a wide search for player 423 has been conducted throughout the facility. Unfortunately, there has been no trace of them. The CCTVs have also failed to capture any sightings.”

The control room fell into a heavy silence. The Captain said nothing, his masked face angled downward as if he was lost in thought. Every guard seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his reaction. The sound of the monitors quietly buzzing was the only thing breaking the oppressive stillness.

Then, after a minute of agonizing silence, the Captain finally moved. Slowly, deliberately, he began to walk in a wide circle around the room, his footsteps echoing against the polished floor. He didn’t look at the triangle guards lined up at the center that he was circling around. Instead, his focus was on the square guards standing by the monitors. His masked face turned toward each one as he passed. It was impossible to tell where his thoughts lay. The weight of his presence pressed down on everyone in the room.

You swallowed hard in anxiety. Behind the square mask you wore, your eyes followed his every movement with laser focus. You were stationed beside a monitor in the second row starting from the center.

Your disguise was meticulously planned by the mysterious yet kind triangle guard who had helped you. Before the assembly, they had instructed you to take a position at any unmanned monitor. These monitors, now vacant, were left without operators due to the deaths of their original handlers during the uprising.

As the Captain’s slow, deliberate pacing brought him closer to you, the tension became unbearable. His movements were calm, but his presence was suffocating. Finally, his gaze seemed to finally land on you. His pace didn’t change, but his mask turned toward you, the pointed stare unmistakable even through the emotionless square of his mask.

Your breath hitched as realization struck. He knew. He knew you were there, disguising as one of them. But he didn’t know which one of the square guards in the room it was. But how does he know?

The Captain continued his walk around the room. His masked face turned toward each square guard he passed. When he completed his circuit, he returned to where he had initially stood and stopped. He cast his gaze downward, his posture rigid and commanding.

The silence in the control room was stifling. Every guard stood frozen, waiting for the Captain’s next move. No one dared to speak or even shift in place as the oppressive atmosphere pressed down on everyone present.

Finally, his second-in-command broke the silence. “Captain, would you like to conduct a second search?”

The Captain remained still, his silence stretching on for what felt like an eternity. His head remained angled downward, as though he was contemplating the suggestion. The room held its collective breath, the tension almost unbearable.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Captain lifted his head, his mask facing forward. “No.”

A wave of relief rushed through you, so sudden and overwhelming that you almost swayed where you stood. Behind your square mask, you felt a flicker of hope. He’d given up, you thought. He’d abandoned the search for you. You couldn’t let your relief show, but inwardly, you were delighted.

But the Captain wasn’t finished. His next words shattered your fleeting sense of safety.

“She wishes to play sumbakkogjil (hide and seek). Very well,” he said, his tone carrying a certainty that sent a chill down your spine.

Your relief gave way to a gnawing unease, the weight of his statement settling over you like a storm cloud. He wasn’t giving up. No. He was willing to play with you.

NEXT : Chapter 15

PREV : Chapter 13

Story Masterlist

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! So what do you think about the Captain and his overall character writing? Do you feel his dark and ruthless presence? Did I do a good job writing it? What do you think about "you" lying and offering yourself up to the Captain in exchange for Gi-hun and Jung-bae's life? Because of that, the Captain finally gave you his full attention. He then asked you to come with him. What do you think he would do to you once you accepted? And Gi-hun was so distraught about you being taken away. What do you think of it? Next, what about the conversation between the masked officer and the Captain? They talked about the update on what had happened to Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok and others. Then, what do you think about you considering to kill the circle guard but you were hesitant? Does that show what kind of person you are? Suddenly, a mysterious triangle guard appeared and attacked the square guard who was guarding you. Who was it and why did they save you and Gyeong-seok? Do you like this path of aftermath I took? What do you think about the the Captain being quietly pissed off and told everyone to do a wide search for you? Now, how does he know about you disguising as a square guard? Lastly, what do you think about the ending where you unknowingly started a hide and seek and it's just a special game between you and him?

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[eri-pl]

Please tell me your HCs for "what does Námo not know (or had not known before it happenned)".

(concrete events/questions, not the general definition)