#but you know what spite is as good a motivator as any so fuck you Adrian I’m getting this done

[saturdaynightghostclub]

“Hey Toady how’s it going lately”

It’s great thanks babe, I almost crashed an entire bus into a guardrail after sliding through an icy intersection, now I’m seated to see The Iron Claw by myself and after that I’ll probably have a sleepover at my mom’s because all of my roommates are out of town and I’m lonely. You?

[runningwithscizzorz]

(1)Learn the rules before you break them + Gather proper references

(2) Understand what you want to break and how

(3) Can't do it? Find someone who can

(4) It's going to look really bad for a while

(5) Have fun with it!

(1) -Yes, I am that kind of artist. Yet, not in the conventional way. I encourage people to go in guns blazing when it comes to drawing something new, then coming out analyzing what they know, and what they need to learn more of right away.

-Here, I broke down the anatomical pieces of Nour and Narinder's face with the same labels so you guys can understand this weird invisible pattern that I follow in my work. Doing this with any animal you're attempting to draw greatly improves your line confidence when drawing different face shapes. Also understanding the biological function for why animals look a certain way helps you keep consistency.

(3) Time to throw any artistic guilt you have for heavily referencing people's art OUT THE WINDOW and start ANALYZING PEOPLE'S WORK YOU WANT TO BE LIKE✨ I've always done this, having a reference of someone else's amazing work right next to my own drawing so I can try and understand how they make their magic work! No shame, no embarrassment, nada. Pure, unadulterated will and spite that I would be just as good as the artist who made me so motivated and happy with their work! I couldn't figure out how to make Nour's face both sheep-like, and humanly expressive, so I looked at a LOT of Zootopia and old Disney art for help!

(2) With how I draw narilamb, I'm still working on it (as you can see) but I wanted to break Narinder's face to be fluffier and slimmer, while Nour's face would be shorter and flatter. If you look at it for too long, it's absolutely going to look weird, in the way that if you look at Anna from Frozen for too long she starts looking really weird. The anatomy isn't meant to be correct or consistent, it's meant to convey the emotion and energy I want out of the characters in that moment. If you're able to properly get that across, then you don't need to think about how broken something looks, as long as your eye is happy enough to trick your brain into thinking what you're seeing is canny.

(4) Yeah, I hate this part too. It's going to look like shit at first. I can't even look at my art from a few months ago when I was figuring out their designs... God, so fucking ugly. If it weren't for the shittiness of those drawings, I would have never gotten here! Wading through the "trust the process" stage always really sucks, but it's absolutely worth the relief of when you finally get something to look right.

(5) Art is work, yes. It's stressful, it's long, it's straining, its draining, it's exclaiming, blah blah blah. But, I try to keep my art FUN. If I find my artwork becoming slow as I depressingly drag my pen over my tablet, I'm failing. You MUST keep spirit and life in your work. The spirit of emptiness or the life of sadness can have a very meaningful place in art, but those can only exist with keeping work light, easy, and fun! If you're stressing how a specific thing looks or how you can't get something to look right no matter what, FUCK IT. Draw something to bring the flavor back in your work! I'm kind of rambling, but just, HAVE FUN!✨️ Be messy, scream, laugh, slash canvases, throw paint, smash sculptures, tear apart books, GO CRAZY

[ivysangel]

fratboy!dick being your first fuck, he brags about to his buddies about it and sends a photo of you asleep beside him sporting a shit-eating grin, captioning it "winning" only to drop you hours later for a new girl the morning after.

fratboy!jason is your first suck/bj in a restroom after he asks you out on a milkshake date. to spite dick, he sends an update to the groupchat with a pic from his pov where you're on your knees, busy and oblivious to the camera aimed at you, and captions it with "milkshake no.2 tastes real good"

i'm tweaking over the fact that i missed this because this is literally just too good. i've literally BEEN obsessed with virgin chasing fratboy!dick like if you looked through me and kazz's you would see many a convo about that topic.

he's literally so manipulative; he purposely befriends you just to get in your pants, feigns interest in your hobbies just to gain your trust so he can fuck you then dump you. and he preys on your naivety, knows that you're apprehensive about losing your virginity to a fratboy especially dick because he's got such a messy track record, so he makes sure to reassure you constantly, telling you that you're "different" and that he's "never felt this way before." and every time you second guess the motive behind his actions he does something to make you feel like you're the only girl in the world, stealing your heart until you finally give in and let him fuck you, stealing your virginity.

the worst part is how loving he is during the whole process. he goes so slow, asking how you're feeling with every stroke, wipes away any tears that might escape from your eyes while you're getting used to the feeling. he keeps up the charade that he's in love with you the entire time that he's inside of you, and then he just leaves and pretends that he never even knew you and the only proof that he did is the pic he took of you while you were sleeping and the $50 he venmo'd you for plan b the next morning.

nonnie, i think we're so on the same wavelength because i have BEEN obsessed with the concept of fratboy!jason being a bj lover for ages. like i even briefly mentioned it in my fratboy headcanons post, and what i put wasn't even my original idea. i was originally gonna say that he held the record for most blowjobs received in closets and bathrooms in the entire frat's history. but anyway, back to what you said.

"milkshake no.2 tastes real good" is some crazy work, and i'm actually kind of upset that i didn't come up with it but whatever. fratboy!dick and fratboy!jason hooking up with the same girl just to get back at each other despite neither of them actually having feelings for her is actually so disgustingly real. and a bitch is gonna keep coming back because the dick is great!!! fantastic!!! phenomenal even!!!

the thing with jason is that despite being in a frat, he refuses to publicly associate with them and therefore has half the school thinking he's some sexy loner with no friends when he is, in fact, a legacy pledge and incredibly well respected amongst the brothers. so he's posted up in the university library, chatting you the fuck up with his knowledgable takes and dry-ass humor. convincing you to go on a date with him isn't hard at all, and somehow, despite you being freshly devirginized with approximately one body, neither is getting you to suck his dick in the dingy bathroom of the diner he took you to.

you're on the floor, dirty, offputtingly sticky tile pressing into your knees while you suck him off, really putting your neck into it because he's hot and you want him to come back for a round two in the near (hell, even distant) future. he snaps a pic of mostly the top of your head, features barely identifiable to absolutely anybody but dick who A) either calls him immediately (jason declines) or B) blocks him because even though he didn't actually like you this still somehow breaks bro code (dick is weirdly possessive over his virgin conquests).

jason never tells dick that it was one of the worst blowjobs he's received in his life and that you used way too much teeth because the ego boost from pissing dick off is way too good.

[calliesmemes]

YET ANOTHER ROUNDUP OF ASOLUTELY UNHINGED COMEDIC RELIEF

ASSORTED SENTENCE STARTERS FROM AROUND THE INTERNET, including quotes from Tumblr, Pinterest, TikTok, and X (formerly known as Twitter), for when a muse wants to be a bit silly <333

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

❛ I am not merely a clown; I’m the entire damn circus! ❜

❛ I will bite you if you continue this behavior. ❜

❛ Being a dramatic ass bitch isn’t a personality trait; it’s a lifestyle! ❜

❛ Trauma? Oh … you mean, my lore? ❜

❛ why must I cite sources? is it not enough to just say ‘trust me, bro’? ❜

❛ sorry for being a perfect sweetie and a genius it will likely happen again. ❜

❛ forget about touching grass; I need to touch WATER I NEED TO GO INTO THE OCEAN I NEED TO DIVE INTO THE SEA!!! ❜

❛ I’m attracted to men with muppet energy and no i will not be explaining. ❜

❛ you want me to make friends with people? the thing that killed julius caesar? ❜

❛ what’s your birthstone? mine is rock bottom. ❜

❛ I absolutely hate that I’m not bioluminescent. Pathetic. ❜

❛ ohhhhh my god i have got to stop mourning the past or whatever. ❜

❛ you expect me to act like a normal human being? I’m wearing a turtleneck! ❜

❛ i don’t struggle with same sex attraction I’m actually very good at it. ❜

❛ unfortunately i often find out without even getting the chance to fuck around. ❜

❛ I’m bisexual which means that I’m attracted to anybody who can defeat me in physical combat. ❜

❛ all anyone needs to know about me is that i’m a dumbass and i love women. ❜

❛ sorry but philosophers aren’t impressive i came up with stuff like that when i was 12. ❜

❛ I pay my own bills; I can cuss all I want! ❜

❛ I don’t have rizz; I have sad eyes and a weird presence. ❜

❛ my demons are chasing me and they’re doing the Naruto run. ❜

❛ honey we are ALL doomed by the narrative. it's not that serious. have some fun with it. ❜

❛ dating me is like interviewing a psych ward patient. ❜

❛ being a girl with very large brown eyes comes with great responsibility. ❜

❛ i’m autistic in ways that you can’t even begin to imagine. ❜

❛ being a loser may be a phase to you but its a lifestyle for me. ❜

❛ entering a magical portal in the woods would fix me. ❜

❛ I’m lonely but not in a hot mysterious way; more like in a pathetic way. ❜

❛ life is so unserious just say womp womp and move on! ❜

❛ you’re vibing? In this economy? ❜

❛ just because I’m small doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass. ❜

❛ my primary motivators are fear, spite, and aesthetic longing. ❜

❛ sorry about the chaos; I needed attention. ❜

❛ WHAT IS UP GIRL you look foreboding and malicious! ❜

❛ baby i can be your problematic bi wife. ❜

❛ i don’t think any of you understand how important i am to the plot. ❜

❛ what if we are both red flags? what then? ❜

❛ any dream can be a prophetic dream if you’re willing to do some really weird shit. ❜

❛ my hobbies include being right, being gay, and being a hater. ❜

❛ i have a phd in Loving The Color Pink And Also Glitter. ❜

❛ being a menace to society is a full time job and I am dedicated. ❜

❛ my life has been a bouquet of oopsie daisies. ❜

❛ i survive on spite, anxiety, and blasphemy. ❜

❛ if you’re not obsessed with me, why would I wanna be with you? ❜

❛ the hottest thing a man can be is a little afraid of me. ❜

❛ my love language is being a hater. ❜

❛ i don’t get enough credit for acting far less insane than i actually am. ❜

❛ the A in my name stands for always right. ❜

❛ Jesus is my homeboy but God has a lot to answer for and I will continue to be rebellious until he does so. ❜

❛ I’ll see a man with long hair and then remember that I’m not above temptations of the flesh. ❜

❛ i’m going to be honest with you I’m not going to be honest with you. ❜

❛ stop asking me if I’m ok I’ll literally make out with you. ❜

❛ part of my masculine charm is that I’m literally insane. ❜

❛ are you sure those are demons bro? or are they consequences from the choices you made? ❜

❛ i do not identify as a boy or a girl. i identify as a nuisance, an irritant, a fool, and a problem. ❜

❛ praying on someone’s downfall isn’t enough i need to participate in it. ❜

❛ we all need to chill. i won’t do it first but it’s something i noticed. ❜

❛ not to sound like a Victorian woman suffering from hysteria but going to the sea would fix me. ❜

❛ the silly goose convention called; they asked if you could be their keynote speaker. ❜

❛ i deserve unrestricted access to old castles and old churches i want to know all the secrets. ❜

❛ doesn’t matter if you’re cringe or based we’re all just here to suffer. ❜

❛ I’m no longer comedic relief I’m now serious panic. ❜

❛ this is getting difficult to romanticize. ❜

❛ done healing my inner child. next up is my inner teen. her highness needs a sword. ❜

❛ i am God’s silliest experiment. ❜

❛ i’m very vulnerable right now if anyone wants to take advantage of me. ❜

❛ sorry i overshared do you still think im hot? ❜

❛ I can yap for days and still maintain my air of mystery. ❜

❛ good luck sending me mixed signals; I don’t even understand normal ones. ❜

❛ not all of your life decisions have to be smart. some can be purely for cinematic value. ❜

[little-diable]

Commands - Draco Malfoy (smut)

A small Drabble I wrote at work lol. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Draco is reader’s step-brother, something he doesn’t seem to care about while asking her to put her mouth to work. Pwp

Warnings: 18+, oral (m), degrading, stepcest, dumbification, slight slapping

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!reader (1.1k words)

“Draco?” Her voice dripped with sleep, eyes burning in exhaustion as she looked at the dark frame. She had been woken by the sound of his feet stepping onto the one spot of the old wooden flooring creaking too loudly. “What are you doing?”

“Quiet!” Her breath instantly hitched in her chest, eyes zoning in on her step brother who stepped closer to her bed. She didn’t dare speak another word, too focused on the man who had always treated her with spite and anger, at least for most parts of the day. At night he behaved differently, as if his demons finally managed to get the upper hand, guiding his lust and longing for his step sister.

“I’m tired, Draco.” (Y/n) sighed her words before plopping back down on the mattress. She was about to cover her barely clothed body with her blanket, but Draco was faster. He ripped the fabric from her fingers, exposing the shirt of his she wore, managing to cover the lacy pair of panties she knew Draco loved.

Perhaps she had hoped for another visit, perhaps she had prayed that he’d find her again. Longings she didn’t dare put into words, at least not out loud.

“Don’t lie to me, we both know you’re a greedy fucking whore for your step brother, aren’t you?” He kneeled on the mattress, forcing her legs apart to settle between them. His cold fingers danced over her arms, moving up to her shoulders before one hand came down on her throat, letting his fingers grasp her. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” She only managed to press a whisper past her clenched teeth, trying not to give in all that easily. Draco had always managed to gain the upper hand, to guide her while she got lost in the waves of pleasure like a raft losing its path in the icy river it was sailing on.

“Good. I need those pretty lips wrapped around me.” He hadn’t been able to find any rest, unable to give in to sleep's quiet call. Draco’s mind had been too active, thinking of the woman sleeping only a few rooms down from his, wondering what she was dreaming of. (Y/n) was haunting his thoughts, had been ever since their parents had gotten married years ago. He had tried to stay away, all until her twenty-first birthday they had celebrated together, a night where he had claimed her for the first of many times.

(Y/n) rose to a sitting position before she put her weight onto her knees. Draco’s hand on her throat pulled her in for a kiss, momentarily distracting her while her hands rested on his chest. Her body was covered in goosebumps as if he was winter itself, embracing the biting cold that left marks on her body, burning straight through her system.

He was the darkness, the bleak midwinter she had eventually found enjoyment in.

Draco leaned back against the headrest of her bed after pulling off his shirt, exposing his abs to her wandering eyes. He watched her free his cock, watched her spit down on the red tip just like he had taught her to months ago. By now she was a natural, knowing what he was aching for, how he needed to feel her to get that push to clear his racing mind.

His ringed fingers found her head almost instantly, forcing her down on his cock with a satisfied groan clawing through him. With his eyes pressed shut, Draco sank into her touch, allowing (y/n) to bob her head fast enough to leave him moaning. Her sounds were almost as loud as his, clawing through her while she worked her mouth on him, a sinful, forbidden mixture both had fallen in love with.

“Atta girl, your mouth’s so perfect for me.” Heat flushed through her, set on gaining as much praise as possible. Draco wasn’t one for complimenting her, wasn’t one for showering her with attention, only in those secret moments where she touched him like that would he give in and tell her how much he adored her – her body at least.

With her eyes set on his features, on his closed eyes, on the teeth nibbling on his lower lip, she kept sucking him off. The corners of her mouth were still hurting from yesterday night, a strange deja-vu she couldn’t shake as she took as much of him as possible. She didn’t care much about her own pleasure, didn’t worry much about her own highs he’d give her either way. All (y/n) was focused on was Draco, his pleasure, his sounds, the praise his body would wordlessly share with her.

He twitched in her mouth, resting heavily on her tongue. (Y/n) knew that he’d cum soon, painting her tongue white with his release – a fulfilling taste she was already aching for. Seeing a man like Draco cum was an experience itself, a moment so raw, so intimate, she sometimes found herself wondering if she was only dreaming it.

“Tell me what you’ll do, tell me the rule.” Draco pulled her off his cock, watching her saliva drip from her chin while her hand kept pumping him. (Y/n) needed a second to collect herself, pondering over his command while her throat begged for a break. She heavily swallowed as his hand came down on her cheek, not hard enough to hurt her, just with enough pressure to refocus her. “Such a dumb slut, all because you have the privilege to suck me off.”

“I’ll swallow, swallow it all!” It seemed to be good enough for Draco. He nodded his head with a smirk tugging on his lips, head tilted back down to his cock to wordlessly guide her. Almost instantly, (y/n) got back to work, lips finding their way back to his tip to suck on the head. Another moan broke through Draco, a moan that slightly trembled as his orgasm started to build.

With excitement laced in her gaze, (y/n) watched him come undone. Sweat was pearling on his forehead, making a few bright strands of his hair stick to his skin, lips parted, cheeks rosy. A moan left him as he came, filling her cheeks with his cum as she kept pumping his cock with her aching fingers.

Draco pulled her off his cock once again, staring down at her as she exposed her empty tongue to him. His thumb wiped along her lower lip, collecting some saliva before bringing his digit up to his mouth. They held eye contact as he sucked his finger clean, gazes wandering over one another’s features.

“I want you on your hands and knees when I return. Don’t you dare move.”

[free-for-all-fics]

So I binge watched Squid Game season 2 a couple days ago and the brainrot is back in full force for The Recruiter and The Front Man. So here’s some more Squid Game prompts! Warning: These prompts are centered around Season 2 and contain spoilers! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of these and I’d love to read it! 🔴🔺🟥

1. You knew The Recruiter when he was younger, back before he worked in the games and was removing and burning up the bodies of countless people. He was like the game players and homeless people at one point in his life, having hit rock bottom. His actions in the park are an expression of self-hatred and an attempt to set himself apart from them. The Recruiter has nothing but contempt to people who choose the lottery and is more than happy to stomp the bread just to spite them, but he happens to at least approve the people who pick the bread.

“These things aren’t human. They’re just trash, uterrly useless in this world.” He kept telling himself that and worked hard for a few years. Then they gave him a gun. It felt pretty good. Like his existence was acknowledged for the first time in his life. He doesn’t know which year it was but one day he was about to shoot a man who had lost a game. The guy seemed familiar. His dad. His dad was suddenly standing right in front of him. He was in tears, desperately begging him to spare his life. He shot him right in the middle of his forehead, and realized, “Ah. I’m cut out for this job.”

He had absolutely no qualms about shooting his own father dead. He even admits that when he killed his father in the games, he realized he was totally the type for his job, mentioning no remorse or guilt. But what if him shooting his own father proved his loyalty to the people he worked for and so they rewarded him by making him a recruiter and letting him keep you, the love of his life or object of obsession from his past life in the outside world. Asking the Host and his higher ups for a companion is just one thing, but it’s a big thing, and he’s scared to death that he will never see you again once he asks. Most of the staff are ruthless killers motivated by profit, but out of all of them, The Recruiter is one of the few who seems genuinely psychopathic, his businesslike attitude masking a vicious sadist who revels in humiliation, torture, and murder.

Still, it’s nothing short of a miracle in his mind that he’s allowed to have you. You’re just living your life, but then you get kidnapped and brought to an undisclosed location and while the room you’re in is admittedly very nice, you’re terrified. Turns out your kidnapper is your childhood best friend or college sweetheart who you lost touch with years ago when he went into the games. To you, he ghosted you or went missing and you were never able to find him. His own family hadn’t heard from him and didn’t know where he was. He’d go so far to keep you that he’d fake your death. He spoils you rotten but he also punishes you if you misbehave or act out of line. Treats you like a princess, fucks you like a whore kind of thing. He doesn’t keep around those dog bone shaped gags and possibly even sex toys or buy you nice lingerie and jewelry for nothing. He doesn’t want to break you as you’re his favorite toy, but he’ll do what it takes to properly train you until you learn to accept your place as his lover. His amiable facade comes down and it turns out he's psychotic and it frightens you but a part of him gets off on your fear. You see yourself as a prisoner, but he insists it doesn’t have to be that way if you just relax and love him back and be a good girl. You loved him once, didn’t you? You were his only friend. The only woman he’s ever loved. How hard can it possibly be to love him again? He’s the only one who can protect you and love you now. Everyone else thinks you’re dead.

He’d go so far as to kill anyone who stands in his way of having you, even your significant other if you have one or your family and friends. The Recruiter absolutely enjoys what he does to his victims, especially during the Russian Roulette game. You have no one else to turn to for comfort or conversation besides him. A part of him hates it when you cry but the other part of him is turned on by your tears and the fear in your eyes. He doesn’t have a god complex, more like a death complex. He’s given himself over completely to his philosophy of death. He believes he’s Death incarnated into a man with how people’s lives are in his hands, and that includes yours. And aren’t there so many famous artworks of Death and His Maiden? Why shouldn’t he be able to keep you as his?

If he was your first ever sexual partner, he’d make for damn sure he’s the only one through silently and stealthily arranging for your other potential partners to die in tragic “accidents” or go missing with their bodies never found. Just like he’s dedicated himself to the games, he’s dedicated himself to proving he’s worthy of you everyday by protecting you and giving you everything you ask for - except real freedom, of course. He can only give you semblances of freedom by allowing you outside under heavy guard watch or his watch. You can’t go anywhere alone anymore. You can’t have a cell phone that connects to the internet (or if you are allowed the internet, you’re only given access to certain websites while the rest are blocked) or any phone numbers except his. He’s practically isolated you.

2. Going off the idea of what if you knew The Recruiter back when he was younger and working in the games: Alongside him, you’re also a pink guard. You’re one of, if not the only female guard. The Recruiter is the first to find out that you’re a woman despite the mask covering your face, the voice modulator, and the suit covering your body. You spend a lot of time together when you have to shoot the eliminated players and then remove and burn the bodies. You use a separate channel on your walkie-talkies to have private conversations while you’re on a job during the games or to talk from your separate dorms after the day’s work is done. When other male guards try to attack or sexually assault you in your room for getting in the way of their illegal organ harvesting side hustle due to you shooting the bodies in the heart or head to ensure the players die quickly and make the organs unusable, he comes to your rescue when he hears the struggle over the walkie when you manage to press the button. He practically breaks your door down and takes the guards out with his bare hands or a random object in your room. He’s so strong and skilled he doesn’t even need to use a gun or a knife (in the show he subdued two men just with his briefcase). You watch as he subdues both guards, knocking them out with ease. He would’ve loved to kill them in that moment, but he doesn’t have the right to do that. He can only report the incident to the Captain/In-Ho. Pink guards cannot kill other pink guards. They’re only permitted to kill players. Only the Captain can kill pink guards.

After interrogating them and reviewing the security footage, In-ho kills the guards who attacked you and puts an end to the organ harvesting for that year by killing all of the guards operating it. Whether they sell off organs from the dead or devour them, he doesn’t give a damn. However, the most crucial element of this place is equality. Everyone is equal in these games, including guards. Players compete in a fair game under the same conditions. Guards work under the same conditions. They are to follow the instructions they are given. There is a principle to these games. And those guards that attacked you for being a woman and doing your job and the guards operating the organ harvesting side hustle broke that principle.

Later, after work is done for the day and guards are ordered to return to their rooms, The Recruiter sneaks into yours so that the two of you can have sex. When he saw you getting attacked, he wanted more than anything to rush to your side and comfort you and hold your hand and ride his adrenaline-filled high by having sex with you after subduing the guards, but duty called so he couldn’t. When In-ho is overlooking the security cameras and notices The Recruiter in your room instead of his own with both of your masks off, locked in a heavy make out session while he has you lifted in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangling in and pulling his hair while his hands cup under your thighs to hold you up against the wall, your pink jumpsuits half way unzipped, he changes the cameras to play back earlier footage of both you and him so that it looks like you’re alone in your rooms so his higher ups won’t suspect anything while you inevitably do whatever it is you want to do. The Recruiter and you have proven your loyalty. You both deserve a reward. As long as you’re both back in your own rooms by morning call, he doesn’t care.

After that, The Recruiter shoots his own father dead after he fails a game. You and he work your way up to becoming the recruiters you are now, possibly even posing as a friendly married couple to get vulnerable people to trust you more (even better if you’re actually married as it makes the ruse more convincing). You do love each other in your own way, but you also are well aware that love makes people incredibly easy to manipulate and you use that to your advantage in your line of work. Together you prey on people who are hanging by a thread and are the best performing recruiters the games have ever had. In the privacy of your home, you listen to opera music, share drinks, and get down to all kinds of kinky shit when you find yourselves in the mood. You take turns when it comes to who’s dominant and who’s submissive, and your sex games often include bondage, roleplay, pain, and blood. And sometimes the blood isn’t even yours or his. When people get nosy for their too damn good, you and/or he have to take care of that.

3. Underneath the smiling facade, The Recruiter is little more than a small fry. When Gi-hun repeatedly calls him a lapdog and considers him nothing compared to whoever he works for, it gets under his skin, although he doesn't have a complete breakdown over it. Getting reminded of this repeatedly is part of why The Recruiter eventually shoots himself in the chin. But let’s pretend The Recruiter doesn’t commit suicide. Instead of being strictly dominant or strictly submissive, this man is a switch. While he loves to be in control sometimes and use your body however he wants, there’s also times when it’s you who’s the dominant one. You dress up and behave as a dominatrix while you put a mask over his face to blindfold him, gag him with the bone shaped gags and tie him up, doing to him whatever you want and calling him your dog. Your good boy. He runs, barks, wags his tail, does whatever you, his mistress, says and you reward him with praise, treats, etc. You do the same thing when it’s his turn to be the master and for you to be his good girl, his bitch. This man would probably be into puppy play whether it’s you who’s the puppy or him. And yeah that would probably include either of you being locked in a human sized cage or an actual dog kennel as punishment for whenever you misbehave. You’d take turns between who’s holding the leash and who’s on it on all fours, etc. The sex acts you do together, this dominatrix and roleplay arrangement you have, it’s like therapy for him in a way. A way for him to reclaim being called a dog when he was young and poor and turning it into something good. Even if it’s dehumanizing at times. The humiliation and the sadism is part of what turns you both on. Of course you’d have a safe word, aftercare, and all of that. But let’s be real: He’s just as skilled as you are at taking orders, deepthroating objects, and being penetrated.

4. Inspired by the film “The Odds”: You join an underground game of pain endurance, hoping to win the cash prize of one billion won. But it’s not the traditional squid games where you’re competing with other players in person. This is something different. This is the squid games before the squid games became what it is today. Instead, you’re isolated in a windowless room with little more than a table, a couple of chairs, a cot to sleep in and a toilet to shit in. It’s like a prison almost. Whenever you’re given a shower, if ever, you’re heavily sedated so you don’t lash out against the workers bathing you. The Recruiter is one of many who are assigned to players to keep them company, explain the rules of each game, and oversee their progress. Each player has their own recruiter assigned to them and The Recruiter we’re familiar with in the show is the one assigned to you. You have nobody else but him to keep you company. You don’t ever see anyone, don’t ever hear anyone except for him. He looks awfully familiar and you have a strong feeling you’ve met him before, that you know him from somewhere. Throughout the course of the week that you’re there, you’re determined to figure out how you know him. In the meantime, you flirt with each other, playfully talk about getting married and having a house and kids when you get out.

But at some point during the course of the games, the playfulness erodes and The Recruiter turns dead serious, revealing that he’s so in love with you that it’s like an unhinged obsession. Maybe you choosing to come here was in actuality you being lured into a trap, all a part of his elaborate plan to finally get you right where he wants you to fulfill his sick and twisted romantic and sexual fantasies. Maybe before that, he paid sex workers and strangers who looked like you to sleep with him, just to keep him satiated so he wouldn’t snap and kidnap you before the time was right. He might’ve gone so far as to call them by your name and become really scary real fast if they tried to correct him. The things he did to those women might’ve been so bad that they were unspeakable. But he paid good hush money to keep them quiet. And if that didn’t work, a bullet always did. But sleeping with all those women could never live up to the real thing. Nobody watching you now would be able to hear you nor would they care if he had sex with you in between games. He’s done it before with desperate female players who wanted to stay alive a little longer. And if they performed sexual favors for him as he asked - more like ordered them to do - Who is he to deny pretty women an extra five minutes of being allowed to breathe before he pulls the trigger? A deal is a deal and he’s a businessman.

He’s a man of do the wrong thing, yield rewards. To him, he’d feel like he’s entitled to your love and your body after all he went through in his life to get to this point. He’s worked his way up from a nobody who just disposed of and burned bodies, then they gave him a gun, then he became a recruiter. One of the best if not the best in the company. He’d kill for you. Even if you don’t ask him to. Even if you plead with him not to do anything and let it go. But he’s also so unhinged he might even hurt or kill you if you fail to live up to his deluded fantasies. If he does hurt you, he’d do the classic, “Look what you made me do! I didn’t want to have to do that. I didn’t want to hurt you but you gave me no choice so this is all your fault and not mine,” shtick.

You soon discover the game's rigged, and your real opponent is The Recruiter - a sadistic psychopath, who works for the Host and the organizers of the game and knows everything about you. He knows why you’re here and about your child, bringing them up to keep you motivated to continue before you ever mention them to him. He’s just one of many of a network of people ranging from VIPs to guards who are part of this game. The way you see it, you have three choices: Provoke The Recruiter into killing you if you don’t die from the games before then, give into The Recruiter’s sexual advances to survive without playing all of the games and join him, becoming his lover/wife and possibly a Recruiter yourself, or survive through all of the games and kill The Recruiter. He keeps saying you can leave at any point but you realize over time that this is a lie and if you try to leave, you’ll be shot dead either by him or one of the guards.

(Below is some dialogue from the movie with some minor changes to showcase how Recruiter coded this scenario is.)

~

“So, yes, it is necessary to keep the location a secret due to the legal technicalities of the game. You know the rules, right?”

“Yup, but you can tell me again, Mr...”

“No names. It works better for me if we keep things less personal, you know?”

“Right. Kind of like a manager-employee relationship. I get it.”

“If you like. Anyway, the game, there are 19 other players at 19 other locations just like this.”

“In this city?”

“All over the country. There's a clearing house that receives and broadcasts the signal to select clientele. The same clearing house acts as a broker for all wages concerning the game.” He puts in his earpiece and presses a button. “Receiving end, online? Okay. Yeah, just a couple minutes, we'll get started.” He sits across from you at the table.

“Have you done this a lot?”

“A few times, yeah. There are five preliminary rounds followed by the finalist round. If you leave at any point during the preliminary rounds, you will leave with zero prize money.”

“I won't quit.”

“All players who get to the finalist round are committed to the game and may not leave.”

“I said I won't quit.”

“Okay. Now, the finalists will continue to play until there's only one player left. That winner will receive the money.”

“Have you ever hosted a winner?”

“Let's not worry about that. You just stay focused.”

“It's weird that people would bet on something like this.”

“Do you know any real gamblers? Real gamblers will make odds on anything.”

“And the prize money, it's a lot?”

“Some people think so.”

“I heard it was a billion won.”

“Where'd you hear that?”

“Same place I heard about the game.”

“Hm. That's correct, and the funds will be deposited in the winner's account.”

“They must pay you a lot. That's why you're here, right?”

“I'm here for the same reason as you.”

“I doubt that.”

“Now it's almost time.” He takes a candle out of his briefcase and sets it on the table.

“I thought there was gonna be a gun.”

“Not yet.”

“Have I met you before?”

He listens to his device. “Congratulations, your drug test came back clean.”

“Of course it did.”

“I'm sorry, we have to check. Some players come in high, performance enhancing drugs, so to speak.”

“Well, drugs are where you go when you can't stand the pain anymore.”

“Where do you go, if you don't have drugs?”

“I guess we'll find out.”

He listens to his device. “Hm. Yes? We're good. You're good? Okay, standing by.”

“I know that they can see us, but can they...”

“Hear us? No. Say what you want. Your secrets are safe with me.”

“I don't have any secrets.”

“Everyone has secrets.”

“No, all my shit's pretty much out in the open.”

“All the shit you know about.”

“I think I know my shit pretty well.”

“This game has a way of illuminating a person.” He lights the candle.

“Oh, that's nice. You gonna put on some mood music? I'll take the Chardonnay.”

“So here's what's gonna happen, round one, on my signal, you, along with 19 other players, will hold your hand over the candle and keep it there. When three people have removed their hand, the round is over. Those players are out of the game. Everyone else will advance to the next round. Understand? Hello?”

“Yeah, I just... I heard it was different.”

“Used to be. They like to change things up, keep it exciting. You don't have to do this. It's still not too late to leave.”

“I've got nowhere else to be.”

“How about a home?”

“I messed that up.”

“You must have family somewhere. Everyone has family.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Kids?”

“No.”

“But if you did, how would you feel if someone took him or her away from you?”

“I guess I wouldn't like it.”

“And how would you feel knowing that he or she should've been taken away from you...that she...he, was better off...and that maybe now the only thing to do is to win a big pile of money so that he or she could have the kind of life that he or she deserves?”

“Hm. I don't think I'd ever risk my life over a pile of money.”

“Well, that's all mine's good for at this point.”

“Hey, listen. Look at me. We're in this together, you and me. I'm rooting for you, you understand? So just settle in. We'll do this. Word of advice, this is as much a mental game as anything else, so just keep that in mind if you really want to see this through to the end.”

“I'm gonna hear the words ‘you win’, or I'm not gonna hear anything at all.”

“That's it. Visualize success, that's good.”

“You say that to all your players?”

“Just the ones that seem to need it.”

“Have you ever played, from my side?”

“Let's get through round one, then we'll talk. We're about to begin. Last chance before the pain starts.”

“The pain started a long time ago.”

~

Round One

You hold your hand over the candle, while The Recruiter encourages you the whole time.

“That's it. Keep going. You can do this. Come on. Just breathe. Focus on breathing. You can do this. Come on. Just breathe. Okay, focus on breathing. Focus on breathing. Another player's out. Just one more player. Just one more player has to quit. Number three's out! You made it. You did it. Let me see. Come on.” He takes out a first aid kit from his briefcase and treats your wound. “So, we made a deal, and no, I haven't played the game from your side of the table.”

“How many?”

“How many what?”

“How many times have you done this?”

“14.”

“And how many of those players won?”

“You don't want to know.” A long pause before he finally answers, “None of them. Most players quit before the final round.”

“But some of them made it.”

“I've seen two men and three women blow their brains out.”

“You're just a little bad luck charm, aren't you? Did you ask the other players why they did it?”

“Same reason as you, the money.”

“Same reason as everyone I'm playing against now?”

“I wouldn't worry about the other players.”

“I just want to know who my competition is.”

“Most games, you're competing against someone, right? But in this game, you can't affect the other players. Can they make you leave this room? Who can?”

“You could try.”

“Okay, take me out. Who does that leave? That's right, you. And that's what they're betting on, how much you can take.”

“I'll take whatever you throw at me.”

“It won't be me throwing it at you.”

“So there is someone else here.”

“I'm a facilitator. The challenges for each round, they've been chosen by the organizers.”

“So it's not you. You're just doing their dirty work for them.”

“I didn't make you come here. I didn't make you sit there. I didn't force you to put your hand over a candle. You think I enjoy watching you do this? You think I like watching people hurt themselves? Man. Things I've seen, you don't forget it, you know?”

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

“You've never done something you knew wasn't good for you? Sit down. We're on the same side. That's the thing about this game, it...” He’s interrupted by information coming through his earpiece. “Round two, ready.”

“The thing about this game?”

“What?”

“You were just about to say ‘the thing about this game.’”

“The thing about this game is that it changes you.”

“Good?”

“I don't know how good it's been for me.”

“Maybe you've been playing from the wrong side of the table. Are you sure we haven't met before?”

“It's time.”

~

Round Two

“Round two. Players will put their bare right foot inside the box. The three that remove their feet lose. The rest move onto the next round.”

“And there's something in the box?”

“Yes.”

“And you don't know what it is?”

“No.”

Something from inside the box moves and makes a noise, causing you to jump.

“Hey, hey. It's okay.”

“What's in there?”

“I don't know.”

“That's bullshit.”

“They don't tell us.”

“You said that you have done this before.”

“It's different every time. It's probably not as bad as you think.”

“Fuck it, I'm out of here.”

“Now wait. What about your child?”

“Why do you care? You get paid anyway, I assume.”

He removes his ear piece so the organizers won’t hear what he says to you next. “Are you afraid of rats?”

“What?”

“Are you afraid of rats?” He puts his earpiece back in. “You need to decide, soon. One player just dropped out. That just leaves two for elimination.”

“This is insane.” You remove your shoe and sock. “So it's just in there waiting for me to put my foot in?”

“There's a separation barrier. When I get the signal, I remove it.”

“How fun for you.”

“I'm right here with you.”

“That's a comfort.”

“No, I mean it, okay? I'll help you.”

“You better.”

“It's almost time.”

“I must be crazy.”

You put your foot in the box.

“You got this.”

“I got this.”

“I mean, nothing's gonna happen. Oh, god, it's moving. It keeps moving.”

“Breathe. Mm-hm.”

“It's touching me, it's touching me. It's on me. It's off, it's off, it's off. Oh, fuck!”

“Think something else, okay? Don't think about this.”

“Oh, God, ow, ow, ow! It's back on me.”

“Think of something else. Okay, think of something else, don't think about this.”

“Oh, shit. I can't do this.”

“You can, yes, you can.”

“Ow, it's biting me! It's biting me.”

“No, it's not... One player's out, okay? That just leaves one more left.”

“Ow! Ow, it's eating me!”

“Look at me, look at me! I'm right here with you. Do it for me. Say it. Say it!”

“Do it for you. Do it for you.”

“Good. Again.”

“Do it for you.”

“Good. Again.”

“Do it for you. Do it for you. Do it for you. Do it for you. Do it for you. Do it for you. Do it for you.”

“That's it! It's over. It's over.”

You remove your bleeding foot from the box and cry in The Recruiter’s arms as he holds you.

~

He’s wrapping your foot with fresh white gauze. “Don't look. Okay.” He kisses your bandaged foot. “I kissed your boo-boo.”

You have some time to kill while you and he wait for the next game. He gives you a bottle of water. You need to stay hydrated. Lots of water.

“Gonna figure out where I know you from.”

“Well, good luck. Okay, let's say you don't quit.”

“I won't.”

“Right, you won't. Let's say you make it. You've already told me what you're gonna do for your child. What are you gonna do for you? If you really think you're gonna make it through, you should have a plan.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not really big on plans.”

“No, seriously, instead of giving your child the money, why don't you take them somewhere instead? Find a nice quiet place, bring along their daddy.”

“You had me going till you mentioned that asshole.”

“Okay, not him, a nice guy.”

“Why is it that everyone thinks that if a woman has problems, a man is somehow the answer?”

“You don't believe in love?”

“Maybe some people just aren't meant for it. Maybe they're just not built...for it.”

“Maybe some people haven't met the right guy.”

“And that's you? From bad luck charm to Mr. Right?”

“You could do worse.”

“Okay. All right. So say it is you, Prince Charming, man of my dreams, we're living together.”

“Mm-hm, married.”

“Really?”

“I don't do that cohabitation shit. You either commit or you get out.”

“And that's you? Mr. Commitment?”

“Damn straight.”

“So, is this a proposal?”

“I guess it is.”

“Well, either it is or it isn't.”

“It is.”

“Sweep me up my feet, why don't you?”

“You don't find this place romantic? So, we're in our home...”

“I didn't say yes.”

“You playing hard to get?”

“No. Yes. Maybe. A little. I mean, come on, we just started dating. How do I know you're not just marrying me for my money?”

“What if I don't need your money? What if I already have money?”

“Great, then let's get outta here. I don't have to do this anymore.”

“Well, then again, maybe I don't have that much money.”

“Okay, so, no money. Why should I say yes?”

“Because, deep down inside, you believe in love too. So, what's it gonna be?”

“How about we get through the next round, then I'll tell you.”

“You are playing hard to get. Ready for round three.”

~

Round Three

“What the fuck is it? Or should I ask what goes in it?”

“Your other foot. We go till three players drop out. You can do this.”

“Have you ever done this one before?”

“No. This is new territory for me. They're telling me we need to get ready.”

“Should I sit or stand?”

“Whatever you prefer. We're ready.”

“I don't suppose anybody's dropped out yet. Just wait.”

“Okay. Round three, turn one. I'm sorry.”

“That feels as bad as it looks.”

“All players are still in. Second turn. Hey, hey, hey, hey. Do it for me, remember?”

“Wait, wait for me. Wait.”

“Turn number three.”

You pass out from the pain. You wake up to his voice.

“Player three has quit.”

~

He wraps up your other foot. “There. All better.”

“You’re pretty good at that.”

“One of my many talents.”

“Nine players are out by my count.”

“You're knocking them down. So...what about the answer now?”

“The answer to what?”

“Are we gonna do it, when all this is over? Are we gonna tie the knot?”

“Sure.”

“Well, then. Well, then how about a kiss for your fiancé?”

He kisses you. While he does, he slips a pill into your hand. “It's for the pain. Don't let them see,” he whispers into your ear. “Well, passed the halfway point.”

“Yeah, after this, marriage should be easy.”

“Yeah. Maybe every couple should go through something like this.”

“It's a great story to tell the grandkids.”

“Grandkids? We haven't even gone on the honeymoon.”

“Please, honeymoon.”

“Why not? Must be somewhere you want to go. Vegas, Paris, Costa Rica?”

“Not really.”

“Come on, nothing? Nothing interests you? And afterwards, when we get back to our apartment in the city...”

“In our house in the country.”

“Country's boring.”

“Can't have horses in the city.”

“Horses? More than one?”

“You can't have just one horse.”

“I'm not shoveling horse shit.”

“Fine, I want a divorce.”

“On what grounds?”

“Irreconcilable differences.”

“Okay, fine. A house in the country with horses.”

“Wow, what a pushover.”

“What can I say? I'm in love.”

You lay down on the ground with him, side by side, staring up at the ceiling.

His hands are behind his head. “You know, you can rest in that house in the woods.”

“Then I'd sleep for a week.”

“And after you wake up?”

“I don't know, maybe plant a garden.”

“What do you know about gardens?”

“As much as I know about anything else, I guess.”

“You think you could keep a bunch of plants alive?”

“What about you, mister? You're just gonna live off my money?”

He sits up. “There's lots of stuff I can do.” He gets up off the ground.

“I didn't mean anything by it.”

“I know what you meant.”

“Come on, I was just joking.”

“Sounded like an insult.”

“Why would I insult you? You're the only friend that I have.”

“That's true. Standing by.”

“God, can't they just give it a minute?”

“I know, like, what are they in a hurry for? They'll make their money.”

“Have you met them, the people running this?”

“A couple. They're not like what you think.”

“I think they're a bunch of weirdos who get off watching sick shit.”

“That's not it, at all. They're more like researchers of human behavior, and this is the ultimate laboratory.”

“Come on.”

“No, seriously, how do you think they have the money to fund an operation like this? They get to bet on human behavior every day, and win. Of course they'd be interested in a game like this.”

“We're just pawns to them. I doubt they even see us as people at all.”

“But it doesn't really matter what they think though, does it? And anyway, you should be grateful they've even given you this opportunity. If you weren't here, where would you be?” He sits on the table and slides his body over to you. “On the street, in a crack house sucking dick for a fix until your looks rot away and your teeth fall out? Where would your child be? In a group home getting daily beat downs from all the other toss aways with fuck-ups for parents. You know, you should be thanking the people who created this game, and you should be thanking me. This is the best opportunity for someone who screwed up all their other options.”

“Well, I'll be sure to send them thank you notes later.”

He suddenly smiles. “Look at that, our first fight. Come on, I was just playing. Let's get back to our house.”

“Maybe later.”

“Time’s up.”

~

Round Four

“How long can you hold your breath? It's a simple question, really. How long can you hold your breath?”

“I don't know.”

“Round four is easy. You just have to hold your breath.”

“I just have to hold my breath?”

“Yeah, well, that is while I'm holding your head underwater. You don't have a fear of drowning, do you? Hydrophobia, I think it's called. 'Cause if you did, this will be pretty tough.” He takes a bullet out of his pocket. “Bite on this. I'm kidding, just hold onto it. Jeez. Here's what's gonna happen, you're gonna face the tank, and when the time comes, I'm gonna hold your head under the water. You... You hold your arm out. If you want me to let you up, you just let go of the bullet. See? First three players to let go are out. Everyone else stays. You trust me, right? Well, you should, we're married.”

“I guess.”

“You guess? What do you mean you guess? You wouldn't marry somebody you don't trust, would you? Good. You know, it's good that you trust me 'cause that way you know that when it's time when everyone drops out, I won't just keep your head under the water. Oh. Looks like we have someone afraid of drowning. Our first dropout. You're not gonna drop out, right?”

“Right.”

“Because you want that house in the country, and you trust me, right?”

“Right.”

“Say it.”

“I trust you.”

“And you love me. Say it.”

“I love you.”

“Oh.” He tucks your hair behind your ear. “Whoops. Looks like we got another dropout. Okay, we got to get this thing going before we lose any more. Deep breaths. When the third player quits, I'll let you up. Get ready. On the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

While your head is underwater, you dissociate and experience flashbacks of your life before this, of your child. “I love you.” You hear their voice say. That’s the last thing you see before The Recruiter pulls you back up as you cough and move your wet hair out of your face.

“I thought you were gone! Jesus, why didn't you let go of the bullet?”

“I swallowed it. Only way to make sure that I didn't drop it.”

The Recruiter gives you a towel, admittedly impressed.

~

“You know, with a little effort you could be a very attractive woman.”

“What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Well, when someone compliments you, it's polite to thank 'em.”

“Thank you.”

“How many guys have you dated?”

“How's that any of your business?”

“Well, if we're gonna be married, it's something a husband should know. Come on.”

“Come on, what?”

“How many?”

“I don't know.”

“That many?”

“Do you want to know how many I've dated, or how many I've fucked? Because I didn't keep count, but it was a lot. And sometimes I didn't even know their names.”

“Now why do I get the feeling that you're saying this just to hurt me?”

“You're sick in the head.”

“I bet you were a real looker. I bet the boys couldn't keep their hands off you. Hey, how old were you when you did it the first time? Sweet 16, 15? Yeah. You were an early bloomer.” He cups your breast and you instinctively slap him. He slaps you back, harder. “I'm sorry, but you should not have made me do that.”

“You know, you can't do whatever the fuck you want.”

“Come on, don't be like that. Let's get back to how it was before. And, you know, to tell you the truth, I've been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“You can't do whatever it is that you want.”

“Who are you kidding? Like you didn't want me to.”

“What?”

“Look, if you didn't want me to do that, why are you still here? You could've left at any time.”

“I’m here for the game, that's all.”

“Maybe this is part of it. You ever think about that?”

“No.”

“No? Well, of course it is. Why else would you be here?”

“For my child.”

“No!” He slams his hand on the table. “Don't give me that shit. No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We alone walk the path. The Buddha said that. He was a smart guy, everyone says so. You put yourself here. You decided to stay 'cause you know that we belong together.”

“I didn't ask for any of this.”

“Why else are you here? Look, you could've gone any time. There's the door. It's always been there. Go on. Go on if this is so wrong. Nobody's stopping you. You won't go, because you know you belong here. You deserve this. Your whole life has been a long, long path that's led you to me.” He grabs your face and forcefully kisses you while you sob. At that moment, a guard walks in with a long bag containing something for the next game, causing him to move away and break the kiss. “We're on a schedule. You might want to reconsider. This might be your last chance.”

“For what?”

“To make love as a whole person. Round five. Here's where you really start to leave some skin in the game, so to speak.” He opens the bag, revealing a red hot branding iron. “It's not that bad, really. The Yakuza, you know the Yakuza, right? Japanese mafia, they do this kind of thing all the time. When they've screwed up, they remove body parts. It’s how they apologize for... Oh, forget it. Just take my word for it, you're not the first, you won't be the last, unless you want to leave. You go through with this, you won't be the same. Some cultures would consider you heavily scarred. Personally, I think you'll be plenty serviceable, but, you know.... If you're afraid of the pain, I can give you another Oxy.”

You take the Oxy that he gave you out of your pocket and set it on the table. He quickly swipes it off the table and puts it in pocket so the organizers don’t see.

“Jesus! Suit yourself. After this round, you'll probably be a freak, probably have a limp, from your legs being burned so much. Who will want to fuck you then?”

“I’m sure as long as I have all my lady parts, any sick fuck like you will.”

He pulls out protective gloves from the bag and puts them on. He takes hold of the branding rod.

“We're ready. Scoot your chair forward and remove your pants.”

You do as instructed, not letting yourself feel embarrassed for being sat half naked in front of him.

~

Round Five

Your ears ring from all the pain you’ve suffered so far. The skin on your thighs is burning still, your once flawless skin now marred with dark patches. Luckily the brand isn’t engraved with anything, but you know The Recruiter still gets a sick joy out of branding you. Like he thinks doing so means he owns you. Still, The Recruiter admits to you that he’s impressed with how many burns you’ve been able to endure so far. Some turns he held the branding iron to your skin longer than others, making the coloration in your skin vary. As the rounds progressed, you moved up from your thighs to one of your arms.

“Well, it's about time now. Turn seven. After this, your wrist will hurt so bad you won't be able to pull the trigger with your left hand. That career in trick shooting, it's out. Go on, get ready. You know, think about it, you don't really use your left arm much anyway. It's a right-handed world, you know?”

You’re whimpering and sobbing from the pain. Despite how difficult it is, you get up from your chair and walk away. You stand in front of the door.

“You're about to lose. You go through that door, all of this would've been for nothing. Is that what you want?”

You knock on the door.

“Wait! Three players have all just dropped out. You made it. Don't do it.”

“I have to pee.”

A masked guard opens the door and escorts you to the bathroom. He’s standing there the whole time, watching you impassively while you wash your hands and have an emotional breakdown in the corner. You stare at yourself in the mirror and gradually calm down, your resolve hardening as you think about your child. You hold a middle finger up in the mirror and pretend you’re giving it to The Recruiter.

~

When you make it back to the room, The Recruiter is sat in a chair, holding your discarded underwear in his hand. At some point during the game, it was too painful to wear them when the fabric brushed against the burns on your upper thighs.

“You mind? I thought I'd hold onto these. You know, something to remind me of our time together. What? Like you're not gonna use 'em. I’ll buy you much nicer lingerie to wear for me when this is over.” He tucks your underwear into his inner suit jacket pocket. “Well, sit if you're gonna. You know, I'll tell you something. I knew from the moment I saw you that you'd go the distance.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm-hm. Damaged people are tough. Fire, temper, steel, and all that.”

“You could tell I was damaged, huh.”

“Honey, you shone like a lighthouse. I wish I could've bet on you.” He gestures to the revolver on the table in between you. “Ever use one of those before? Don't worry, they're pretty user-friendly. You just point and click. If you don't hear the click, you're already dead.”

“Have you been a dick to all the players you've done this with, or am I just special?”

“I mean, they're all special, really, but if it makes you feel any better, you're my favorite.” He winks at you.

It’s finally clicked for you who The Recruiter is. “I knew I'd met you before.”

“No. I’d remember you.”

“I've known you my whole life. See, I watched you get drunk and smash my older sister’s head into the front door when you were dating her. I dropped out of high school when you got jealous of my friends because you thought I was sleeping with them. I lied for you every time the neighbors called the cops because of the noise. I know you, very well.”

“You know, now that you mention it, you do look familiar. You look like every smartass bitch I've ever known. All the teachers who thought they were so clever, thought that they could just push around a kid. All the bitches in school who thought they could just lead a guy on, tease him. Those women at the jobs where they just wiggle their tits and their ass to get ahead of some poor son of a bitch who does the real work, who carries his load and hers too. You look like every stupid cunt who thinks the world should bow down and worship her because she was born with a pussy made of solid gold.”

“Nice. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I don't know what happened. You know, we started out so good. How did we end up like this?”

“I guess it was fate.”

“You think?”

“I think...I think…you know what I think?”

“Tell me.”

“I think that you found the perfect job to indulge in your sick fucked up fantasies.”

He slaps you, causing you to fall out of your chair and back up against the wall.

“You're right.” He slaps you again. “I can do anything I want to right now. You know what's funny? That's what you want me to do. You screwed your life up so bad, you'll take any punishment I dish out ‘cause you know you deserve it.”

“Don't touch me again.”

“I'm not finished.”

“You asshole. You have sat there and watched me do everything that I've done and you think that you can hurt me?!” You slap yourself.

“Oh, that's cute.”

You slap yourself again.

“Stop it.”

You slap yourself again and again and again and again and again. “You fucker. You wouldn't have the guts to do what I've done.”

Angry, he slams the camera face down on the table so the people watching can’t see as he grabs the gun off the table and wraps his arm around your neck, holding you in place and cutting off your oxygen. “You think you're some kind of hard bitch now?! Is this what you want, hard bitch?! You want to play?! Let's play.” He presses the gun to your head and pulls the trigger three times, all blanks as the gun clicks.

“What? What?!”

“You…don't…scare me.” You choke out.

He lets you go, slams the gun back on the table, and puts the camera back up. “That round’s a freebie.” He sits back down and combs his hands through his hair. “If you're gonna stay... It's time.”

You pull the chair back up off the floor and sit back down. “Just out of curiosity, later, if I decide to quit, what's gonna stop me?”

“You take that chair. If you try to leave the game, either me or my compatriots will shoot you dead.”

You sit down and scoot your chair up towards the table, getting ready.

~

Final Round

“There are five players in the final round. This will consist of as many turns as necessary to eliminate four players. All players will pull the trigger simultaneously.” He puts the bullet into the chamber and spins it, then places the revolver back on the table. “Wait for my signal. Take the position, please.”

You put the gun to your head.

“We're ready.”

He nods at you.

You pull the trigger. Blank.

“Thought you'd be disappointed.”

He laughs. “No. I'm glad you make it through the first round. I hope you last a long time. I want to see you break. That'll be fun, to watch you break down completely before you die.” He removes the bullet from the chamber and sets the gun aside. “Just waiting on the report. And one player has been eliminated. Down to you and three others. Relax. We'll give them a minute to place their bets. Is it everything you hoped for?”

“This is the easiest thing I've done all day.”

“Maybe so, but there's another asshole out there somewhere who went through everything you went through and now he's just a pile of meat, brain splattered everywhere. See, you think your pain buys you something, that you earn some kinda big cosmic karma where now you’ll get what you deserve. I got news for you, pain is just pain. It doesn't get you anything.”

“You're wrong.”

“We'll see, when it's your brains that are on the floor. Oh. Time for turn two. You know, if you die here...” he puts the bullet in the chamber and spins it. “…nobody will know. We'll just scoop up your body, throw it to an incinerator. It'll be like you never existed. Nobody will know you were ever here.”

“But I'll be dead, so I won't care.” You put the gun to your head and pull the trigger. Blank.

“Bang!” He yells, making you jump and drop the gun on the table as he laughs. “Oh. Oh, another one down. They're dropping like flies. The odds are catching up with you.”

“Yeah?”

“How many times you think you can beat this?”

“29.”

“That's a very specific number.”

“Well, it's as far as I ever got.”

“When?”

“When I practiced.”

“You practiced?”

“Oh, yeah. Bought a real gun, put an empty shell in the chamber, spun it around. It almost never came up, and I did it a lot.”

“What's the lowest number of times you went before it did come up?”

“3.”

“Hm. Well, just so happens we're coming up on turn number three.” He puts the bullet in the chamber and spins it.

“What part do you enjoy the most, watching all the pain, or this?”

“Darling, I like it all. Take your position, please.”

You take the gun from his hand and put it to your head. You pull the trigger. Blank. You slide the gun across the table at him so fast it nearly falls into his lap as he gasps.

“Why don't you take a turn?”

“Because I don't have to play.”

“That's a shame. I bet if you had to play, you'd see things a little differently.”

“Lucky for me, then, that I don't.”

“Lucky for you. So?”

“So, what?”

“What was the outcome of that round?”

“Oh. Nothing.”

“What?”

“No players were eliminated.” He tells you slowly, like you’re an idiot. “It happens, more often than you might think. Something wrong?”

“No.”

“Really? Because you look like every other dumb prick I've seen blow their brains out.”

“You ever see anybody win?”

“Not a one.”

“Then I'm due. See, it's kinda like the lottery, somebody's got to win.”

“Except when they don’t.”

“Every time you spin that cylinder, there are five chances out of six that that bullet won't come up.”

“That's true. Let's see if now is one of those times.” He puts the bullet in the chamber and spins it. “I think I got you on this one. No, seriously, I feel good about this. Go on. Do you feel it? This is it. Am I right? I think I have you. Come on, take the position. Yeah. This is the one. You ready to say goodbye? Say it. Say goodbye. Say it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Pull the fucking trigger.”

You pull the trigger. Blank.

“No players eliminated.”

“You think they're enjoying this as much as you are?”

“Maybe, probably more. You know, you last as long as you say you will, you're gonna make someone a lot of money.”

“And that's why they're doing this?”

“Sure, I told you, gamblers will bet on anything. This is the best game in town.”

“So they're putting money down on me right now?”

“Even as we speak, they're betting against you. Some are betting for you. They're betting to see how many rounds this will go on, whether we'll have a winner or not.”

“Whether what?”

“Sure, maybe one of these times, all the players are eliminated. It's possible.”

“But the odds of that happening...”

“Are 50/50, either it happens or it doesn't.”

“But that's not how odds work.”

“It's time.” He spins the chamber and sets the gun back on the table. “Pick it up.”

You hold the gun to your head and pull the trigger. Blank. You do it again. And again. And again. And again. You hold the gun to your head and pull the trigger 12 times. All blanks. You set the gun down again. The Recruiter takes the bullet out of the chamber and sets the gun off to the side.

“No players were eliminated. You know what I think? I think your child would be better off with no money and you dead than rich with a crazy bitch like you.”

“No.”

“No?”

“They need me. They need to know what love really is. They need to know what it looks like. They need someone to help them understand that they deserves it.”

“And that someone is you? You just figured this out?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well, then this wasn't a total waste.”

“Guess not.”

“You know what I'm gonna do after this?”

“Drown a puppy?”

“I think I'll go find your child. That one got you, didn't it?”

“Tell me, how have you made it this far without someone killing you?”

“Just my luck, I guess. Oh. There's been a change of plans. Seems the longevity of the current players has made the people upstairs change the rules around.” He adds a second bullet. “Now what do your odds look like?”

“It's not fair.”

“All the other players have the exact same challenge.”

“No one said...”

“Said what? You didn't practice for this? I'll be sure to tell your kid you said hi.” He puts the two bullets in the chamber and spins it. “Pick it up. Come on. You know the drill.”

You hold the gun to your head and pull the trigger. Blank.

“How many are left?”

“How many what?”

“Players. Someone has to have been eliminated.”

“Oh, yeah, that. One player was eliminated...as far as you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, as far as you know, it's just you and one other player.”

“I don't understand.”

“Then let me explain it to you. All that you know about this game is what I've been telling you, right? So, what if I told you I've been making up these last couple of rounds? What if I told you you've already won? Kinda funny if you think about it. What if you're the only one playing the game?”

“That wouldn't work. How would you bet on that?”

“Maybe the bet's not about who wins the game. Maybe you're the bet and it's simply how many times you'll keep pulling that trigger until you lose. Think about it. How would you know?” He suddenly laughs. “I'm kidding, yeah, of course. One of the other players really was eliminated. That leaves you and one more. And it's that time again.”

“So there really is another player?”

“I was just joking. Jeez, you got to learn how to lighten up. If the player could take their position please?”

“There really is another player?”

“Yes,” he says, highly annoyed.

“Prove it.”

“Hold on a sec. Assume the position!” He orders you.

“Prove that there's another player.”

“That's not how this game works. You got to trust me.”

You put the gun to your head.

“Ready.”

After staring at The Recruiter for a long moment, you remove the gun from your head, an idea coming to you.

“Pull. The. Trigger.”

You stare at him.

“Do it!”

You put the gun to your head and pull the trigger. Blank.

“I've been instructed that if you fail to comply again, you forfeit the game.”

You laugh. “Forfeit?”

He pulls up his shirt, showing the other gun tucked in his pants. “Then I'm instructed to shoot you.”

“Your bosses, money is just their excuse for playing. They don't really care about winning. They just want to see blood.”

“Now you're catching on. And they don't care whose it is. Oh. And we're upping the ante again.”

He adds a bullet.

“You forgot to say whether a player was eliminated.”

“Did I? What if I told you there wasn't really a game? What if I told you this whole thing was just made up? What if I told you it's been you and me this whole time?” He asks as he loads the bullets into the chamber.

“You're a liar.”

“Well, I guess we'll find out.” He spins the chamber. “It's time. Position. Please. Mm-hm. You got it.”

You grab the gun but don’t put it to your head. “Let me ask you this. What if there is just one bet? What if it's a 50/50 one?”

“That wouldn't make any sense.” He taps his temple to signal you to sssume the position.

You put the gun to your head. You don’t pull the trigger. “You know what? I think I have already won.” You point the gun at him. “I think the bet now is simply who walks out of this room.”

“That's not how this game is played.”

“You said it yourself, real gamblers will make odds on anything.”

“What if I told you that gun doesn't have any bullets?”

“I watched you.”

“Dummies, blanks. The real bet was to see how long you'd play before you quit.”

“Liar.”

“Okay. Okay, you're right. It wasn't fair, so just put the gun down, and we'll talk about changing the rules.”

“You're gonna change the rules?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Guys like you don't get to make the rules.” You pull back the hammer and stand up. “Do you know what your mistake was? You thought that the show was all about me, but you forgot that there are two animals in this cage.” You notice him sliding his hand back towards his gun. “You won't get it out before I pull the trigger.”

“If that chamber's empty, I got you.”

“I thought they were blanks.”

“You don't have the guts.”

You shoot. Blank. He flips the table up and makes a run for the door, failing to notice his gun has fallen out of his pocket as you keep shooting at him, firing off three live shots and then nothing but gun clicks. The door slides open to reveal a guard. You grab The Recruiter’s discarded gun off the ground and shoot at the the guards, killing some of them. You then play dead behind the upturned table. They let their guard down and when they get close, you shoot them dead too. The Recruiter comes from behind and tackles you to the ground and tries to strangle you to death. But you manage to get the upper hand.

Even though he could, he’s too proud to beg for your help as he lays on the ground, convulsing, dying. He just stares at you as he chokes on his own blood until he dies with his eyes wide open. A smile still on his face.

You pull his earpiece out of his ear and put it in your own, listening for the person on the other end to say something. And then you hear those two words:

“You win.”

5. What if The Recruiter faked his death like how Oh Il-nam did in season 1? He died with his eyes wide open and none of the other characters checked his pulse. This man is so unhinged and was always five steps ahead of the other characters, always knowing they were watching him and looking for him. He eluded them for two years. He got the jump on them and subdued two men with just his briefcase. So what if he had planned for every possible outcome during the Russian Roulette game too and had piping lined underneath his suit to spurt out fake blood at the right time and the bullet was a dummy or a blank? Squid game men love to fake their deaths. Gi-hun winning the Russian Roulette game and not giving into his mind games throws him into abject shock. That's the second time he loses his smug smile. Gi-hun throwing his words back in his face only makes it worse, to the point he's driven to suicide rather than admit Gi-hun is right. But what if his “suicide” was just a part of a contingency plan so he could lie low for a while and then eventually go back to recruiting players once Gi-hun wasn’t a problem anymore and it was deemed by the people he worked for that it was safe to do so?

After his fake death, he’s left alone in the room when the main characters leave. He gets up from the chair he was playing dead in, cleans himself up by changing his clothes and washing away the blood on his skin, and goes home to you, his wife, as if nothing happened. You’re kept in the dark about what he really does. (Or you’re in on it and help him get the bloodstains out of his clothes, though you work behind the scenes and use your computer and hacking skills to find potential players and learn everything about them. He has to get his information from somewhere, after all. But you don’t go “out into the field” so to speak like he does.) If you don’t know the truth, he explains that he’s been granted extended vacation time from his work and suggests a holiday outside of South Korea. What about Thailand? Or Italy might be nice. Anywhere you want to go, just say the word. He has plenty of money to sustain the both of you during said vacation so don’t worry if you can’t get the time off. You didn’t really like your job anyway, right? Or maybe you’re pregnant so you take advantage of maternity and paternity leave early. Either way, a months or years long holiday would sound heavenly, wouldn’t it? If you do know the truth, you’re prepared the second he gives you a call on your restricted phone and says just a few words. You’ve been prepared for this day for years.

6. A scenario very much like the Korean thriller movie “Addicted”. You’re the long time girlfriend of The Recruiter’s brother (Of course you know The Recruiter’s actual name but for simplicity’s sake, I’ll just call him The Recruiter so authors can choose whatever name they want to give him.) and get married. While he and his brother are very different as people, and the only thing they really have in common is the parents they share, they are very close despite having very different interests and personalities. You wonder if the only reason they get along so well is because of you since you’re the common link between them. The Recruiter decides to take part in a car race for money even though his brother, who is concerned for his safety, asks him not to do that particular race. With a heavy heart, your husband plans on attending the car race to support his brother. Running late, he has to hail a taxi. The speeding taxi crashes into a lorry, and your husband is seriously injured. At the same time as the taxi crashes, The Recruiter’s car overturns in the middle of the race and he is also badly injured. Both The Recruiter and your husband fall into comas.

A year later, The Recruiter wakes up but is unable to walk properly, due in part to his physical injuries. He is brought home by you, where you attempt to take care of him while he recovers. Over time, you realize that The Recruiter is behaving identically to your husband. He tries to convince you that he feels like he is actually his brother, your husband, unable to explain why. He agrees to go for a hypnosis test and his answers so reflect his brother's character, that the doctor concludes your husband’s spirit has entered his brother (The Recruiter’s) body. You’re devastated by this revelation. You, unable to accept The Recruiter as your husband, tell his girlfriend that you are unable to live with him. She offers to take The Recruiter away and he agrees to go with her for your sake. One rainy day, he appears to you just as your husband had before. You discuss memories together and you finally accept The Recruiter as the "possessed" spirit of your husband. The Recruiter and you then share a slow, emotional night together where you have sex after the tearful revelation. You start to live life together as a happy and loving couple. In time, you become pregnant with The Recruiter’s child. Meanwhile, your real husband is still on life support. The doctor suggests to you that there is no chance of your husband waking up and it may be best if he were allowed to die in peace. You agree, and watch with The Recruiter as your husband is taken off life support.

The Recruiter’s girlfriend returns and tells you that she has accepted the fact that her now ex-boyfriend is no longer himself, and that she can no longer love him. She decides to go abroad to study (she may or may not have been blackmailed or bribed by the Recruiter and the people he works for to keep quiet and get lost or else be shot dead and her body burned and never found). The Recruiter, living as your husband, continues life as normal. Recruiting players for the games and keeping you in the dark about what he does or who he really is. You’re not feeling well while you’re out and about with him, so you decide to go home to get some rest and let him stay as what he’s doing is too important for him to just leave with you. While you’re home, a weird looking package addressed to The Recruiter arrives. You open it and find a necklace which had been given to you by The Recruiter. It went missing one day. You thought you just misplaced it.

You read the accompanying note, from The Recruiter’s ex-girlfriend, saying that she cannot understand his crazy love for you and could never ever hope to be you, no matter how hard he tried to mold her into you. Frantic, you dig through The Recruiter’s workroom and find a number of hidden photos of yourself that were taken by The Recruiter. You realize that he had loved you before you married his brother. You also find a notebook that The Recruiter wrote about loving you and being happy because he is able to watch you and live with you through his brother. You cry sorrowfully. You drive back to The Recruiter. You take him aside and ask him various questions about something innocuous like works of art and comment that some pieces may look good in your home and he should consider bidding on them or buying them outright. You continue to pretend that your husband’s spirit is in The Recruiter’s body despite knowing the truth. The Recruiter scatters his brother’s ashes across the sea. He loved you even before his brother, and had for the entire time you were with him. He faked his leg injury so you’d take care of him for a few weeks before he could pretend it was all healed thanks to you. The Recruiter also confesses that he made use of all of his brother's secrets to "transform" himself into him, to the extent of sacrificing his own identity and behavior. He claims that it was he who died after the accident. He tells his brother that you will forever love him under the identity of your dead husband. He apologizes and asks his brother never to forgive him for his deeds.

7. Hear me out: A consensual non-consent/CNC roleplay fic with The Recruiter. While you’re not a loan shark yourself, you’re part of the team Gi-hun hires to help track down The Recruiter due to being an associate of sorts of theirs and being personally recommended to Gi-hun by them. You’re the only woman and the youngest amongst the many men you’ve worked with the past two or three years. Despite your gender and age, you’ve proven to them and to Gi-hun that you’re experienced and have had great success in finding people that don’t want to be found. You’re highly capable and confident that you can do this and you’re not just in it for the one billion won he promised to whoever finds The Recruiter. You’re with Kim Jeong-rae and Choi Woo-seok when they spot The Recruiter at Jonggak Station. The three of you are told to follow him carefully but avoid making contact and do not approach him. You watch him in Tapgol Park when he gives bread and lottery tickets to homeless people, but he doesn’t approach you, Choi, or Kim. Secretly, while Kim and Choi are shocked at The Recruiter’s behavior and think he’s a total nutcase when he stomps on all the bread after making a short speech to everyone, you think he’s so hot when he’s a little disheveled after all his stomping and combs his fingers through his hair, slicking it back and tucking his tie back into his suit blazer.

Despite Gi-hun’s order to not engage, you get the idea to follow The Recruiter down the alleyway and tell Mr. Kim and Mr. Choi that you might lose him if you wait and should just get him by yourselves. Before they can protest or tell you to wait, you’re running ahead, yelling for The Recruiter to stop. They don’t have time to argue and run after you to help you. When they get close, they witness The Recruiter hit you a couple times, so hard that the force of his hits causes you to stumble backwards and fall to the ground. You’re seemingly knocked out cold when your head makes impact with the hard cement. Despite Mr. Choi having a knife, The Recruiter easily subdues the two men with just his briefcase, knocking them unconscious for real. Once he tells you it’s okay to do so, you open your eyes. He grabs your hand and helps you up. You dust yourself off then help The Recruiter drag and carry Kim Jeong-rae and Choi Woo-seok’s bodies inside to finish setting up the room for Russian Roulette. Together, you stand on the roof of a building and watch Gi-hun from above. When he tells you, you take your place in a chair that’s in the middle so you’ll be in perfect view of both men when they wake up and you’ll have The Recruiter standing directly behind you the entire time, his body pressed against the back of your chair and hovering over you. You nearly moan and rub your thighs together while he fastens your wrists to the armchair and pulls the ropes extra tight. As he ties the gag around your mouth, he gives you a warning to behave or else he’ll make use of your mouth later. But all you can think is, “Mmm. Don’t threaten me with a good time, daddy.” You see the lust swimming in his deep brown irises underneath his faux irritation with you. You know that if he could, he’d fuck you right now. But like you, he’s sticking to the plan and is going to wait to start the game until the real players wake up. On command, you let out a few tears to make your acting all the more believable.

Kim Jeong-rae and Choi Woo-seok wake up and The Recruiter puts on opera music and explains the rules of Rock, Paper, Scissors, Minus One, and Russian Roulette, dramatically illustrating the penalty for the loser when he points the gun to his own head and pulls the trigger. But there’s another twist. They may have noticed you’re tied to your chair a little differently than they’re tied to theirs. That’s because, unlike them, you’re not playing. You’ll be an observer of sorts and won’t need the use of your hands. To their horror, The Recruiter then takes a knife or pair of scissors out of his pocket and violently cuts your clothes off your body. When you try to thrash and pull away from him, he slaps you and orders you to sit still unless you want him to cut your pretty skin. He grips your hair to keep you in place as he grazes the knife or scissors against your cheek, not cutting you, but coming very close. You sob harder and squeal in fear as you comply until you’re left in just your underwear, (because he is the only man allowed to look at your cunt) your shredded clothes in pieces around you. You don’t even have your bra or socks anymore. He explains to Mr. Kim and Mr. Choi that, for every time they tie and have to go again, he will touch you however he wants in front of them, seemingly without your consent. The first time they’ll tie, it’ll be for fifteen seconds. Then thirty. Then forty-five, and so on. And they’ll be forced to watch for the duration. He’ll point the gun and pull the trigger at whoever diverts their eyes before the time is up. He has so many fun toys he could use on you in his briefcase.

Your acting really sells it and adds to their fear and disgust. Whenever they tie, you pretend to cringe and sob every time The Recruiter touches you, letting out muffled screams as you beg him not to. He’d do all sorts of things to you, from fondling and squeezing your breasts, to sticking out his tongue and licking a long path on your skin from your wrist to your shoulder to your neck to your cheek before ending in biting your ear. He’d remove your gag for just a second, not giving you time to cry out before he’s tilting your head back to kiss your mouth, violating your lips with his own and the inside of your mouth with his tongue. He’d kiss you so hard that he’d bite down and your lower lip would bleed. After he’s done kissing you, he’d lick up the blood from your bleeding lip and immediately put the gag back in place. He’d drag the gun down between your breasts and to the inside of your underwear, rubbing it against your mound and teasing the possibility of inserting it inside your cunt, only to actually reach his other hand inside your underwear and finger you instead, using toys on you, etc. You’re such a pretty little actress, aren’t you? So good for him.

The exhibitionism, the humiliation, and Mr. Kim and Mr. Choi’s fear of death makes it all the more exciting for you and The Recruiter, especially when Choi and Mr. Kim beg him to stop, for you to be left alone. Though their pleas are just as muffled as yours. The shame and pity in their eyes as they’re forced to watch what they believe to be you being sexually assaulted by a sadistic stranger almost makes you want to laugh. But all games must end eventually. The time comes when The Recruiter puts five bullets into the chamber, increasing the chances of death to 5 in 6. When Mr. Kim refuses to take a hand away and sacrifices himself to spare Choi Woo-seok, The Recruiter shoots him dead. His blood splatters over the space between your breasts but only a little bit of it lands on The Recruiter’s cheek. As he passes by you, he strokes your hair with one hand, running his fingers through it and then letting it go as he bends down and congratulates a traumatized Choi on his win. He looks over his shoulder at your practically naked form, shivering and twitching with the aftershock of everything he did to you with just his tongue, hands, and toys thus far. He hasn’t even given you his cock yet and already you’re like this. He gloats that while Choi won the game, he’s the real winner who received the grand prize - you. He asks if they can have a talk. The Recruiter asks questions on Gi-hun’s location.

After the interrogation, The Recruiter knocks Choi out again and unties you so he can unbuckle his pants and manhandle you however he wants so he can have sex with you properly. Against the wall, on the table, on the floor, on the couch, it doesn’t matter. He’ll take you wherever and however he wants to take you. Rock, Paper, Scissors, Minus One and Russian Roulette was just a warmup. But this…this is even more intense. Even more passionate, primal, painful. When he inserts his fingers and/or cock inside you, it always hurts so damn good. He’s demanding, he’s high maintenance, but you always are able to keep up and know exactly what he wants without him even having to say a word. You read his body language so well. He’s the same way with you. He can tell exactly what you want just from the noises you make. Though he loves to hear you use your words and say it. He can be such a tease sometimes. He loves driving you to the precipice but withholding your orgasm from you until he believes you’ve earned it. He planted you within the Loan Sharks’ circle and tasked you with earning their and Gi-hun’s trust by using the information he fed you so you could pretend to be good at finding people. The ploy worked. Good girls deserve rewards and bad girls earn punishments. And while you’ve been bad at times over the past three or more years you’ve known him and have been punished by him accordingly, you were such a good girl for him in the game, so he’ll reward you by fucking you however you want and then giving you amazing aftercare. He hit you rather hard to make the act believable and your skin might be bruising, but you took it so well. He’ll get out the first aid kit and make you feel better in more ways than one. This plan was as much your idea as it was his. God, you’re so fucking brilliant, a perfect match for him in mind and body. He fucking loves you, even if he’s not the kind of man to say it often.

You change into the outfit he picked out and bought for you, including new lingerie to replace the set he half-destroyed. Could be a nice women’s dress suit similar to his. Something expensive but overall inconspicuous. When he goes to confront Gi-hun and play Russian Roulette again, you’re hidden in an alley nearby, waiting behind the wheel in the getaway car for after he either wins the game or fakes his suicide/death. Whether The Recruiter wins, loses, or Gi-hun breaks the rules and tries to shoot him, it doesn’t matter. You’ve planned ahead for every possible outcome, and they all end with the both of you getting away and lying low for a while, continuing your work for the games from behind the scenes. It’s not long before he opens the passenger door and has you drive, opening his briefcase where he has guns at the ready. He gives you the directions throughout the drive and you’re off. You’re like a professional stunt driver at the wheel, having no issues going high speeds, making smooth and fast turns, and weaving in and out of traffic to evade pursuers if you have to. He needs to keep his hands free in case you’re followed and he needs to lean out the window and shoot at anyone.

8. Going off of a previous thought I had now that season 2 revealed In-ho had a wife who died young from acute cirrhosis of the liver, and that he took bribes when he was a dirty cop because of her condition: What if In-ho went so far to save you from your illness that it turned into a Nora and Mr. Freeze situation? You were just a happily married couple but then you started feeling unwell. You didn’t think much of it at first, thinking your symptoms were from something else like the flu or food poisoning. It possibly got so bad that you fainted and hit your head on the way down. When he got home from work, your place was filled with smoke but no fire as the smoke alarms went off. Covering his mouth and nose, he was quick to open windows to let the smoke out. He found you unconscious in the kitchen, your hair matted by the pool of blood forming on the floor from your head wound. He’d never been so terrified until that moment. As much as he wanted to rush to you and make sure you weren’t dead, he had to secure the house first. He had to make sure you weren’t attacked and that, if you were, the attacker wasn’t still inside, hiding somewhere. With his gun pointed, he searched every room. All clear and nothing appeared to be stolen or out of place. He didn’t care about the burned dinner you were in the middle of making as he rushed you to the hospital. He was there with you, holding your hand during every doctor appointment, every test. And that was when you got the news. When he has a heart to heart with Gi-hun while undercover as Oh Young-il/Player 001, he tells him the truth. Not the whole truth, but some of it: That you’re very sick with acute cirrhosis and need a liver transplant (or any other disease and treatment of your choosing). But when you were going through the tests, you found out you were pregnant. The doctor suggested a termination, but you wouldn’t listen. You said you’d give birth even if it killed you. You’re stubborn. Your husband has never been able to change your mind about anything. You were struggling to find a donor and your condition was getting worse.

“Breathe. I'm right here. Look at me. Where's the formoterol?” He kneeled down next to you, wrapping his arm around you as you coughed violently (possibly coughing up blood) and struggled to inhale and exhale properly. He found the bottle and gave you the pill, helping you to drink by tipping the glass of water to your lips. The attack gradually subsided.

“That was the worst one yet.”

“That was the last pill. Why didn't you tell me?”

“I'm sorry. I forgot. There's so many. There's so many,” you cried.

“If you have another attack and you don't have this medication, you could die. You can't let this happen again.”

“Why? Does it matter?”

“It matters. I'll be back. I need to get this refilled.”

He went to the pharmacy, leaving you alone in your house.

“Next.”

“I need to get this refilled.”

“Do you have the prescription?”

“I have the bottle.”

“That's not the same thing, is it?”

“Please, I just need it refilled.”

“The original prescription doesn't have a refill order. If it doesn't have a refill order, I can't refill it.”

“This medication is for my wife. She's sick. She's in pain.”

“Everyone that comes in here is sick or in pain. Have your doctor write a new prescription. Then I can refill it.”

“Just give me the medication.”

“No.”

“You son of a bitch!” In-ho lunged at the man, trying to strangle him. He was pulled off and away by two other workers.

“Get out! Get him out of here! Get out of here before I call the cops, you kook!”

Call the cops? He was a fucking cop.

“You shouldn't have done that. I'll be back,” he warned, pointing a finger as he left.

You were admitted to the hospital though you could barely afford it and your husband visited every day until his visits suddenly stopped. You were worried but he never returned your phone calls. For an entire week, you didn’t hear from him. He borrowed as much money as he could, but it still wasn’t enough. He was desperate, then one of his oldest vendors heard about the situation and offered to help. So he borrowed money from them. But people saw it as a bribe and he got fired from his job. He had devoted his entire youth to it. The games were his last hope. He really needed that money even if it was blood money. He needed that money to save you and your child. That all happened in 2015 during the 28th annual squid games.

When he came back after he won a week later, he was all in black, including gloves and a mask that covered his entire face and changed his voice (not his Front Man outfit, but something similar). He was carrying a Heckler & Koch MP5A3 sub-machine gun and his Smith & Wesson Model 19 revolver from back when he was a cop. Though he’d gone against the protocol of leaving one chamber empty and another filled with a blank. He had five live bullets loaded in the chamber and ready to fire as he pointed it at the worker that denied him before.

“Formoterol. Now.” He demanded. Upon entering the pharmacy, he shot the only other worker and person in the building not to kill but to incapacitate him so he couldn’t call for help.

“Okay. Okay. Take it all. Please, don't kill me. Please. I’ll-I'll do anything you want.” The worker begged, holding his hands up. He wasn’t so smug now, was he?

In-ho took all of the medication you needed. “Thank you. You and your friend here...are helping to save my wife.”

He shot both men dead and left.

To make sure nobody would make a missing persons report or come looking for you when he inevitably kidnapped you from the hospital you were staying in and brought you to the island, he faked your death by doing something crazy like impersonating a doctor and drugging you with something that wouldn’t kill you, but make your heart rate so slow that it caused a Code Blue and set off the alarms, making it look like you were flatlining. He even forged legal documents making it look like you consented to a “Do Not Resuscitate” order so that medical staff wouldn’t accidentally kill you by shocking you or break your ribs from performing chest compressions. Once they disabled all the alarms and unhooked you from the IVs and monitors that were attached to your skin and moved you to the morgue, he kidnapped you and replaced your unconscious body with an unclaimed female corpse that was unrecognizable in the face and teeth but looked enough like you to pass by planting stuff on it so his family would false identify it as you after DNA tests matched with you. After whisking you away to the island to get you the treatments you needed to overcome your sickness, whenever you were awake, he smoothly lied to you to leave you oblivious and in the dark about where you really were and what was really going on, taking advantage of your confusion and disorientation and other side effects from your condition to gaslight you.

“In-ho...?”

“I'm here, darling. I brought you home,” he said, holding your hand.

The room you were in didn’t look familiar. It didn’t look like home. It looked more like a luxurious hotel room.

“I'm so tired.”

“I know. It'll all be over soon.”

“In-ho... I want you to let me go. Let me die,” you begged, cupping his face in your hands.

“Honey, you don't mean that. We can do this. A donor has been found. The surgery will work. I'll be there when you wake up. I'll be there.”

“Okay.” You nodded your head and he kissed you.

Just as you were about to be put under, you stopped him and who you assumed to be doctors standing nearby (though they were dressed rather strangely) from injecting you with the sedative or putting the mask with knockout gas over your nose and mouth by grabbing his hand. “In-ho, wait. My necklace. The one that you gave me on our first anniversary. I left it on the nightstand in my hospital room when I had to go in for scans. Did you get it for me? Please, dear, tell me you did.”

He hesitated, unsure if you were just stalling for the sake of stalling or not. He brought it with him. Of course he did. “I got it. I've got it,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket to show you.

“Can you put it on me? Please, honey. I know it’s silly, but it’d make me feel…less afraid.”

He complied with your wish, bending over you to put it around your neck, clasping it into place. You fiddled with it, the familiarity of the metal bringing you comfort under your fingers. Now that he was close enough, you put your other hand on his cheek, rubbing it as you ran your fingers through his hair. “In-ho. I love you. If I don’t make it off the table… Please don't blame yourself.”

“You’ll make it. I’ll see you soon.” He reassured you, giving you one last kiss. “I love you,” was one of the last things you heard. A few minutes later, you were unconscious.

It’d take months, possibly even years to even begin to get you back to where you were, though you’ve shown signs of improvement after undergoing treatment. You were often unconscious from the surgeries and operations during your pregnancy and he’d tell himself he wasn’t gaslighting you out of malice, but out of love. The less you knew, the safer you’d be. He’d go as far to make sure you didn’t find out that he keeps hidden cameras around his quarters and a tracker hidden in either a piece of jewelry he knows you always wear or possibly under your skin even, claiming it was part of your surgeries so you wouldn’t question the stitches or the healing scar. You don’t feel it so you don’t know it’s there. You spent most of your pregnancy on bedrest. He couldn’t drug or sedate you too much because of the risk to the baby’s health, but even when you were awake, he’d do his damnedest to keep you safe, healthy, and comfortable even while lying to you or expertly deflecting your questions. Where’s your cell phone? Deflect. Why can’t this Apple computer in his office connect to the internet? Deflect. When can you go home? Deflect. Where are you? Deflect. Even though the circumstances of your new living situation were unclear and left you unsettled, you were excited to give birth despite the somewhat shady doctors your husband brought to care for you. If he ever detected you trying to leave his quarters, an alarm beeped just loud enough for him to hear it, signaling to him to put his quarters on complete lockdown with a push of a button so you couldn’t wander off and he’d rush to check on you. He’d either sedate you again if he absolutely had to out of fear your lashing out at him would be a danger to yourself or the baby, or he’d otherwise distract or dissuade you from asking too many questions or wandering too far. If you asked questions, he’d tell you to think of it as a dream, that it isn’t a bad dream for you anyway since you’ll have your baby soon. When the time came for you to give birth, your husband was there with doctors that were hired for their discretion (or he’d just kill them afterwards) and you gave birth to a healthy baby and survived, though the birth was difficult and took a great toll on your body. That was in 2015 or 2016.

You thought you’d be able to go home eventually, but in reality, you’re still practically a prisoner on an unknown island. During the first couple years, you took care of your baby while your husband oversaw vulnerable people being driven to kill others or themselves out of desperation for blood money for the entertainment of bored rich people in sadistic death games. Whenever it was lights out for the players, he came back and gave you your much needed break, taking his turn to care for your baby while you rested. You’re not sure why you’re still here as you’re feeling much better, but your husband and doctors keep saying your condition isn’t stable yet, you’re not in the clear, a few more tests and treatments. It’s always something. He won’t let you leave. You can’t leave this place without his permission.

And even worse, when your child reached a certain age, maybe around three or four (old enough to walk and talk), he took them away from you, sent them to be raised and cared for by people he knew he could trust until the time was right for you to take them back. He couldn’t let your child grow up in this place and become old enough to have awareness of their surroundings or start asking questions. When children reach a certain age, they get curious. Too curious. He couldn’t risk that. And this is no place for a child anyway. They need proper socialization and a healthy environment to grow and learn. When you found out what he’d done, you yelled at him, screamed at him, hit him repeatedly. He took it all. Then you ignored him, gave him the silent treatment. He took that too. He’d understand if you never forgive him but he needs you to understand that he does all of this because he loves and cares about you and your child - his family - more than he does a bunch of strangers. He’ll kill however many he needs to if it means you both get to live. And that’s why when Thanos is talking shit while he’s undercover in the games, telling him to stop running his mouth and take care of his own damn kids, to save the lecture for his own children, he snaps and beats the shit out of him, nearly choking him to death in the middle of the dorms. But, unbeknownst to him, after your child was taken away from you, you became more proactive in discovering the truth and getting off this damn island. You weren’t just gonna lie down and blindly love and trust your husband anymore. You can play dual roles and keep secrets as well as he can. You know your husband would never kill you. He’s done everything to save you. And even if he does kill you for going behind his back, you’re not afraid of dying. Your resolve is strong, unwavering. You’ll either get off this damn island and get your child back or die trying, with or without your husband. It’ll be up to him what he wants to do, if he comes with you or not. You just have to bide your time and play your cards right.

9. You’re a player and while In-ho is undercover as player 001/Oh Young-il, you and he form some kind of connection and stick together during the games. You likely have a considerate age gap between you. He’s probably at least fifteen years older than you but despite that, you’re hot for each other. You have been ever since surviving the six legged relay race. You’re so thankful he and his team took pity on you and let you join and bonded with him in the dorms afterwards. He sticks by you during the Mingle game and saves your life by grabbing your wrist and running with you, keeping you close for every round so you’re always in a room with him, no matter how many people are needed. On the last round, he kills a man in ten seconds before your very eyes after he refuses to leave. After the game, he comes to you during lights out and asks if you want to go with him somewhere away from everybody else to have some “much needed alone time together”. You know, despite his use of euphemism or polite language, that he’s inviting you to have sex to blow off some steam and come down from the high that the combined stress of playing the latest game and left over adrenaline gave you.

You follow his lead when he knocks on the door and asks a guard to use the bathroom. Together you ditch the guard (unbeknownst to you, he used his authority as the Front Man and subtly signaled the guard to go away.) and he takes you back to the room where the Mingle game was played, now spotless from clean up. No blood or bodies anywhere. The lights are mostly off and the few that are on are low, making the lighting in the room look dark purple, almost black, with hints of red. He tells you to pick any door of your choosing. You pick a door that’s your favorite color and he grabs you by the hand or lifts you up to carry you bridal style or over his shoulder into the room, closing the door behind you. You barely pay attention to the sound of the lock clicking into place as In-ho/Young-il is instantly on you, his hands and mouth all over your body, touching and feeling everywhere he can before you even begin to take your clothes off. That comes soon enough as, finally alone, you have sex on the floor in the colored room, the light above reflecting off the painted walls and creating makeshift “mood lighting” as you meet his hot kisses and touches with equal fervor. The potential danger of being caught by the pink guards only further turns you on. Unbeknownst to you, there’s no danger at all since you’re having sex with the Front Man and Host of the games. You’d hate to admit it, but you thought he was so sexy when he was strangling that man to death. It almost turned you on when he didn’t break eye contact with you and you heard the player’s neck snap. While he’s thrusting in and out of you, you beg him to choke you. He asks if you’re sure, and you confirm your consent. He tells you to tap his shoulder or scratch down his back three times if you want him to let go. While he fucks you, he chokes you so hard that your vision begins to blur and you see stars as you struggle to breathe. He doesn’t apply enough pressure to kill you or knock you out, but it’s enough to make your orgasm that much sweeter of a high.

10. While In-ho is undercover as player 001/Oh Young-il, he becomes obsessed with you because you’re visibly pregnant and/or have a resemblance to his deceased wife somehow. Even if it’s just one thing like your smile, eyes, or personality. After his wife got sick and both she and their unborn child died, he was devastated at the loss of his family, believing he went through the games and won, but it was all for nothing as he got out only to find his family was already dead. He felt guilty for not spending time with his wife in the hospital and being there for her before she died. (“I should go and be with my wife at the hospital,” he said to Gi-hun.) He never really forgave himself for just abandoning her without a word. And with nothing to go back to in the outside world - no wife, no child, no job - he dedicated himself to the games as the Front Man. That’s why he snapped and beat the shit out of Thanos and nearly choked him to death after his insensitive comments about “save the lecture for your own damn kids”. He thought he lost his beloved wife and his baby forever, but seeing you makes him believe he can have both a wife and a child again.

He becomes immensely protective of you, so much so that it’s unnerving to the other players at times, possibly even you, but nobody would dare to say a thing to his face. He’s one of the most formidable players in the game. He kills several players in the games personally while telling you sweet and caring things when you’re given moments of respite during the games and when you’re back in the dorms after the games are over.

“When you get out of here, go see a doctor right away. You’ve been under a lot of stress. You need to get yourself checked out.”

He gives you his milk or shares his food with you, insisting on you taking it since you’re eating for two and need it more than he does. He lets you use his pillow or blanket during lights out. He’s always asking if you’re all right and cracking jokes to keep the mood light and make you smile despite the circumstances. He keeps you stuck to him during every game like velcro. During the six-legged race? Your arm is interlocked with his. During the Mingle game? He’s holding onto your arm or wrist so tightly when you run to gather enough players and get to a colored door in time that there’s no chance of other frantic players pushing you to the ground or separating you from him. When you need to go to the bathroom outside of hours and sneak out of bed, he’s awake and asks what you’re doing. When you sheepishly admit you need the bathroom, he’s there with you at the door demanding for you to be let out if the guards tell you no at first. Despite being a man, he’s in the women’s bathroom with you. You’re the only two people awake and using the bathroom, so who cares if he’s a man in the women’s bathroom? The guards definitely don’t care. (Because he’s their boss, but you don’t know that.) He’s leaning against the stall directly across from the one you go into or the sink and keeps you company, asking if you’re sick and if you need him to hold your hair back for you if you’re feeling nauseous when he notices you’ve been in there for a long time. If he hears you crying, he’s knocking on the stall before opening it and kneeling in front of you, immediately fretting over you, asking if it’s the baby and if you’re in any pain, are you in labor, is the baby coming? Then he’s holding you and comforting you when you admit you’re afraid. Same for if you have an emotional breakdown over not being allowed to go home after the vote doesn’t go the way you want it to. He’s there to hold you, stroke your hair and stomach (with your permission of course) and tell you you’re going to make it out of this and both you and your baby will be fine. You swear sometimes you hear him say “our” baby, or that he’s calling you pet names like darling, honey, and sweetheart, but he gaslights you and tells you that you must’ve misheard him whenever you call it out and ask him about it.

When he goes with the men to find the control room, you stay behind. While you’re not sure if you love him, you have grown to care for him and see him as a dear friend at least and are worried for him. After the game is over and he goes back to being the Front Man, the pink guards storm into the dorms, firing off two warning shots and ordering everyone to get down on the floor. The sight of the pink guards rushing forwards with their guns pointed and no sign of Young-il or any of the other players makes you fear for the worst. Curled up on your side on the floor, you panic when your water breaks at the exact moment you believe Young-il is dead. Other players might think you’ve peed your pants from fear, but you can feel the contractions already starting. Unbeknownst to you, the Front Man sees your water break on the cameras from the control room, the small puddle staining your sweatpants wet and forming on the floor under you as the women nearby try to comfort you. He orders some of the guards in the control room to escort you out of the dorm room and to his private quarters while the other pink guards are busy defusing the situation. He emphasizes to them to be gentle with you, meaning don’t walk too fast, make sure you don’t fall, and keep their guns pointed away from you at all times. You’re terrified when three or four pink guards approach you and two of them slowly lift you up by your arms and force you to follow them out of the dorms the second you get back on your feet. You’re the only player singled out and escorted away from the others. Your friends are yelling your name, asking the guards where they’re taking you, but they receive no answer. Once you’re in the hallways of many colorful stairs, they blindfold you so you can’t know where you’re going, making you more scared. Your arm is held the whole way to wherever it is you’re going. They don’t tell you anything or answer your questions. They only tell you when there are steps in front of you so you don’t trip and fall on them. But you think they’re holding onto you so you can’t run. You think for sure you’re going to be killed and your baby will be cut out of your dead body and sold to a black market along with your organs or something.

But when the blindfold is removed, you find yourself lying down on a plush bed in a very nice, almost luxurious room with the Front Man and who you think is a doctor of sorts. The Front Man orders the doctor to help you by giving you everything you need for a safe and healthy delivery. But while you’re given a clean and plain men’s t-shirt so you can change out of your ruined track suit, you’re unnerved that the Front Man won’t leave. He’s considerate enough to turn his back or let you change in his bathroom and doesn’t turn back around until you’re back in his bed with your lower half covered with the blankets and the men’s shirt, which is so big and long on you it’s like a nightgown almost. He stands either on your left or right side near your head so he can’t see between your legs. While a part of you is relieved you have that semblance of privacy, he just stands there, watching over you. And you can’t read his face since it’s covered by his black mask. And you can’t tell much emotion from his voice either. It unnerves you.

But the terror becomes confusion when he eventually asks if you need to hold his hand after watching you struggle through a few contractions despite the epidural you were given. What? He repeats the question. When you shakily say yes, he removes his black leather gloves to hold your hand in both of his, letting you squeeze as tightly as you can when the contractions are at their worst. Your strength is nothing compared to his so he barely feels it. His skin is so warm. This bed is warm too. Much warmer than the cot you were sleeping in. You hate to admit that it feels nice. He puts on some jazz music to help you relax. He tells you not to think and to just focus on the music, breathe, and push whenever the doctor tells you to. After who knows how many hours, you give one last push and hear a baby crying. Your baby. After the doctor cleans them up and does what needs to be done for aftercare for you including any stitches or disposing of the placenta, etc., the Front Man orders him to leave. Your baby is wrapped in a soft towel or sheet as a makeshift blanket and resting on your chest. For a moment, you’re too in awe of them to care about the Front Man or what’s happening around you.

But then you hear a soft click as he takes his mask off and reveals himself not as player 001, Oh Young-il - but Hwang In-ho, Captain and Host of the squid games following his predecessor’s death and, even more alarming, your husband and the father of your child. You can’t believe it. He joined Gi-hun's assault on the staff, dispatching several guards personally. He killed two players to effectively fake his death to resume his place amongst the staff. When you’re horrified and exclaim that all those players who went with him are dead because of him, he is quick to correct you that no, they’re all dead because of Gi-hun. Even worse for you, if the real father of your child is still alive, whether or not you have a relationship with him, he won’t be alive for much longer. Even if he’s in the outside world and not a part of the games, In-ho will still find a way to kill him discreetly and dispose of the body so he can have you and your child for himself. He effectively kidnaps you and keeps you and your baby captive in his quarters because he’s all kinds of fucked up after his wife and unborn child’s deaths. You thought the games made him so relentless, that the games changed him. What you don’t know is that this relentless drive to get what he wants was apparent even before becoming the Front Man, as there were many self-help books on achieving one's desires in his old apartment.

OR

If you’re not already pregnant when he meets you, he’d be determined to impregnate you and would go out of his way to seduce you through emotional and mental manipulation or bribes during downtime between the games. Even worse for you if it works and you sleep with him in a moment of clouded judgment due to your hormones and/or fragile mental and emotional state from the high stress of your near death experiences. Either in your bunk, a bathroom stall, the stairs, or inside one of the colored doors from the Mingle game. Whether or not you’re already pregnant, once you have sex with him, your fate is pretty much sealed. He’d be even more protective and possessive of you, as your consenting to have sex with him would affirm for him the delusion that you love him back and accept him as your husband and father of your child, whether or not he actually is the child’s father biologically.

Either way, it’d be like a Basement Wife trope but he keeps going back and forth between sweet and doting and cold and ruthless personalities so it’s like you’re dealing with a Jekyll and Hyde type situation while prisoner. He’d never hurt you, especially not while you’re in such a fragile condition. He doesn’t want to chain you to the bed or sedate you as it can’t be good for you or the baby, but he will if you persist in misbehaving and lashing out. Stress isn’t good for you or the baby. He has no fear about you harming him, he can easily overpower you without hurting you, but he won’t let you harm yourself or your baby in any way. He might strap a monitor on your wrist that you can’t take off because it has a very special lock only he has the key to. Kind of like a house arrest ankle monitor. But this monitor allows him to monitor your health, whereabouts, and call you if he’s away for any reason - like an Apple Watch. Either that or he’d implant a tracking chip under your skin somewhere on your body while you’re passed out from being sedated. If you wake up, he knows. If you get out of bed to get a glass of water, use the bathroom, take a shower, or otherwise move around his quarters, he knows. If you so much as get a goddamn paper cut from reading a book, he knows. He won’t let anything happen to you or your child. You should’ve known something was wrong with him when he strangled a man to death and broke his neck in front of you during the Mingle game just so you and he could be the only two people in the room needed to pass. He looked at you and you saw no remorse or horror in his eyes. Only pride at protecting you.

11. You’re pregnant during the games and go into labor at an inopportune moment, possibly during the games or during the “special game” of the lights out free for all when everybody was murdering each other. If it’s the special game, he’d hide under the bed on the bottom level with you and his “friends”, his arms wrapped around you and his body almost on top of yours like a human shield. His hand would clamp over your mouth to keep you quiet if you cried out from seeing a player get murdered right in front of your eyes. You’d cry out again and that’s when you’d both feel wetness coming from your sweatpants and you both know it’s not pee. However it happens, In-ho/Young-il is so fiercely protective of you, having a soft spot for you ever since you revealed you were pregnant when you approached him and his team for the six-legged race and since then giving you special treatment that you thought was just him being nice, like giving you extra food and milk or letting you use his pillow and blanket so you’d be more comfortable during lights out.

When pink guards burst in and the players enact their plan to steal the guards’ guns and infiltrate the control room to capture the Front Man, In-ho makes sure you stay down and out of the rain of fire as he shoots many pink guards dead. When enough guards are dead and the others have retreated, he gets ready to head out with Gi-hun and his team. He waits until everyone else in line is ahead of him before he helps you up and takes you out of the room with him, telling you that you can’t stay in the dorms and he knows a place where you’ll be safe to deliver your baby. While the others are being led by the pink guard they took hostage and aren’t looking at him and you at the very back of the line, he takes you down a different hallway. You’re confused as it appears to be a dead end. He looks up towards a camera and nods. You don’t have time to react or understand what’s happening when the wall behind you opens up and a couple of pink guards blindfold you and grab hold of you from behind, pulling you away as you scream Young-il’s name for help. The others are too far away and can’t hear you over the sounds of their own yelling and all the gunfire. The last thing you hear is gunfire and Young-il’s voice telling you to trust him and that you’re going to be fine before the wall slides shut again, cutting you off from him and everyone else. You have no choice but to go wherever the guards are leading you and hope you and your baby will be okay along with Young-il. That’s why when after In-ho shoots players 047 and 015 in the back, he tells the control room to start wrapping things up. The sooner Gi-hun’s failed attempt at playing the hero ends, the sooner he can drop the facade of being Young-il and be at your side while you give birth in his private quarters.

OR

In-ho arranges for you to be exempt from the game so you can be taken away and brought to a medical bay or his personal quarters quietly without the other players putting up too much of a fuss since you can’t compete while in labor. It wouldn’t be fair and the games are all about fairness, or so he likes to preach. (Just like how he exempted Mi-nyeo from the marbles game when nobody wanted to pair up with her.) Could be part of my previous ideas of you being pregnant or could be its own separate thing.

12. You’re his wife and you’re very sick with acute cirrhosis and need a liver transplant. (Or any other disease and treatment of your choosing.) But when you’re going through the tests, you find out you’re pregnant.

"What-what are you saying?" In-ho gasps out as panic and wishful thinking begin to battle in his mind.

You brush your hand against his and smile with teary eyes. "The doctor is saying I'm pregnant, In-ho. We're going to have a baby."

You’re happy about this. He can’t believe it. Under different circumstances, sure. He could understand you being happy then. But now? With you so sick? Being pregnant now is far too dangerous. Even the doctor suggests a termination, but you won’t listen. You tell your husband you’ll give birth even if it kills you. You’re stubborn. Your husband has never been able to change your mind about anything. But in the following weeks, you’re struggling to find a donor and your condition is getting worse. He borrows as much money as he can, but it still isn’t enough. Then one of his oldest vendors hears about the situation and offers to help. So he borrows money from them. But people see it as a bribe and he gets fired from his job. He had devoted his entire youth to it. He’s desperate. Desperate enough to do something terrible. An irrevocable betrayal.

The first scare is...relatively simple, in retrospect. That night, In-ho comes home to you, perfect and lovely, preparing a meal meant to be shared. He doesn’t have much time to stay before he has to leave for “work” once more, but just seeing you in your shared dingy little kitchen creating something with him in mind makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. It’s a wonderfully simple moment the two of you spend together, holding hands like lovestruck teenagers across the table while you eat. As he’s preparing to depart, you sit by the window and sip at a glass of your favorite non-alcoholic beverage, illuminated by the lights of the city. In-ho is certain he's never seen you more beautiful. You take another sip of your drink before a strange expression crosses your features. It’s mostly an unreadable expression, but there’s the undercurrent of something...sad. It’s something In-ho has never really seen before, and it makes the first tendrils of anxiety curl in his stomach.

"Darling? Is something wrong?" he asks, walking over to where you sit.

"No, no, not at all," you assure him. When you look up at him, the twinge of sadness is already gone. "I just had...a strange thought, that's all. I'm being silly." You reach over and place your hand on his cheek. He can’t help but nuzzle into the simple touch and press a kiss to your soft palm. "Go," you say comfortingly. "Work hard, do good."

In-ho manages a smile and places his hand over yours for a lingering moment before pulling away. "I’ll see you soon, my love."

The two of you share a smile before he turns to go. He’s halfway to the door when he hears your voice again. And what you say makes his blood run cold. To you, it’s something so innocent, so innocuous. But In-ho almost drops what he’s holding. Just from that one sentence, he can tell you’re worsening. He scrambles to remember when your last injection was, and his mind is already cataloguing the work he will need to do to prepare your next one. He curses himself internally for letting it go so long, for putting you in this position. You need your medicine and he’s going to get it for you.

In-ho almost forgets about that incident by the time something else happens.

You place his hand over your stomach, encouraging him to splay his fingers out as if you’re expecting something to happen from his touch. "Do you feel anything? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"Not at all." He tilts his head at you with confusion and a hint of worry. "Why? Are you feeling all right, is everything okay, darling?"

"No, In-ho, everything is fine!" You still hold his hand over your stomach, gently stroking over the skin on the back of it with your thumb to reassure him. "I feel great. You...didn't notice anything?"

He shakes his head, brows furrowed but relishing in the feel of your soft skin.

"Oh," you say with an edge of...disappointment? "I guess it must be too early, then. I thought I felt movement. Must’ve been phantom kicks.” The smile on your features steadily grows nevertheless.

His throat tightens and he feels the beginnings of hot tears prick behind his eyes, so he has to look away from you. All he can hear is the blood rushing through his ears, your words falling away somewhere behind him. Imagining you pregnant was one thing. It gave him a private thrill, the idea of having a family. With you. It was a beautiful fantasy he kept close to his heart, but he knows now that you’re getting further along, that you won’t survive childbirth even if you do manage to carry to term. In the forefront of his mind, he knows that his fantasies of having a child with you has to remain exactly that. Fantasies. At least until your disease is cured or, if it can’t be, then at the very least, he can get you treatment to pull you out of danger and make you healthy again. At a different time, perhaps, your pregnancy would be a joyous moment. How exuberant he would be were things different, to prepare to bring new life into the world. How beautiful you would look, growing with his child, your body undergoing glorious metamorphosis. His child.

But that is not the reality he can live in while you’re still sick. You’re in danger, a danger he helped perpetuate. The thought makes In-ho shudder almost violently. There is no way to guarantee your survival if you go through with this pregnancy, or even the child's survival if you do bring him or her into this world. The thought of you suffering hours of labor, of dying…only for your baby to die after a few feeble hours of breathing in the NICU… That shakes him down to his core, makes him sick to his stomach. It would be better, merciful even, to not introduce a child to this world at this time. It breaks In-ho’s heart to realize, but worse, he’ll have to break yours, too. He can’t just tell you why there’s so much danger in this joy. He tried that when the doctors first gave you the news and advised you to terminate. You wouldn’t listen to him then and it resulted in an argument that he worried would only add too much stress onto you. He pretended to acquiesce to you, telling you that you’re right and together you’ll find a way, you will. There's always hope. As long as you're alive, there's hope, right? And you told him yes. There's hope. And that was the end of the argument. If he brings it up again, what will you think? You definitely won’t change your mind now. Talking to you will get him nowhere. He knows that. He has to do what he has to do.

It isn’t hard to get the pill. It’s a simple thing, a beige color, unassuming overall. Yet, it seems to have the weight of a brick in In-ho’s coat pocket. Since your pregnancy reveal, you had managed to find books on prenatal care and baby names and were going through them religiously. It’s...painful for In-ho to reconcile your eagerness, your pure unadulterated excitement, with what he’s about to do. It’s necessary, he knows that, and he hopes you will understand that. Eventually. He trudges into the house and sure enough, there you are sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through the pages of one of your new baby name books with a highlighter. When you hear the door close, you smile up at In-ho and go to stand to greet him.

"Stay seated, darling, it's fine," he assures you, walking over and kissing your temple.

You giggle at him. "In-ho, I'm only three months along at most, I won't overexert myself by getting up to welcome my wonderful husband home."

"I know, I know." He plants another kiss on your forehead before he walks into the kitchen. "Hungry, my love?"

"I can make dinner, you've been working so hard lately. All that overtime at the precinct."

"Just tonight, honey. Let me do this for you. For...both of you."

Maybe it’s an underhanded manipulation tactic, but it works. You smile with a dreamy look in your eyes, turning back to your book.

In-ho isn’t much of a cook, but he grabbed a few fresh fruits and vegetables the last time he went out for groceries, purposefully so. With a blender he hasn't touched in years, he’s able to whip up a basic green smoothie. He hesitates when he reaches for the pill in his pocket. In that moment, he hears something from behind him: you begin humming to yourself. When he listens closer, he realizes the song is an easily recognizable lullaby. Nausea swirls in his gut and he has to fight the urge to look back at you. If he looks, he won’t be able to go through with it. He crushes the pill into powder and sprinkles it into the mixture, stirring it with a spoon before he can think about it anymore. It’s blended so much that you won’t feel or taste it at all. You won’t notice. When it’s finished, In-ho pushes a glass towards you and is greeted with a curious smile.

"Trying to keep me strong and healthy for the baby?" you tease. You smile warmly. "Thank you, honey. It looks great." You reach out and start to drink without hesitation.

It’s over. In-ho feels like he can breathe again, at least for the moment.

It doesn’t last long.

In-ho goes away to “work”, hoping you’ll be asleep while the pill works. He’s ready to be there for you once he returns, to be with you in any grief you feel.

The house is eerily silent and dark when he returns. In-ho climbs the stairs, eager to slip into bed with you for just a few moments of fitful rest. Just some time to be with you, before he has to face your hurt. The bedroom is empty when he walks in. The bedsheets on your side are haphazardly tossed aside, and you’re nowhere to be seen. He walks over and flips on the nightstand light, and notices out of the corner of his eye a discoloration in the sheets. A large stain rests in the middle of the bed, right where you would be lying, and when In-ho touches it, the tips of his fingers come back red. That’s when he notices the door to the master bathroom is closed, and a bit of light shines from underneath. If he focuses on the silence of the room, he can hear...something, from the other side. He makes his way over, slowly, a death march to the door. He reaches up to knock, but stops when he hears the faint sound again. Tiny gasps, hiccups. Sniffling. Muffled sobs. His heart shatters all over again.

"Darling?" He eventually calls, giving the door a strong but soft knock. "Darling, I'm coming in."

"In-ho?" You gasp out, your voice heavy with tears. "In-ho, no, please, don't-" you dissolve into more pronounced sobs, and In-ho hears something clatter to the floor.

"My love, please let me-"

"I said no!"

He freezes. He has never once heard you like this, the agonized sharpness turned to venom in your words. Not even when you were arguing with him in the doctor’s office over whether to terminate your pregnancy or not. He doesn’t try to knock or speak again, but he cannot bring his feet to drag his body from the door. He ends up sitting with his back against the door, listening to you cry. Alone. He doesn’t get any rest that night. Eventually, In-ho has to regretfully rise. Shady characters are in need of him once again and, in exchange, they’ll give him money he so desperately needs. It’s through such shady characters he was able to procure the medications that you needed so far. How he was able to get the pill to terminate your pregnancy. As he gathers his coat to go, he hears the door creak open, and turns to look at you. It’s like seeing a ghost. You’re pale, eyes red and ringed with dark circles, and even the way you hold yourself is as if you’re being dragged down to the earth. There’s a moment where the two of you simply exist in the same space. In-ho watches your features for even the most minuscule change, and it feels like hours pass as he waits. Eventually, you sigh in an attempt to speak, but your voice shakes with even the simple release of breath. In-ho takes a single step forward and waits again. This time, you meet him halfway, but keep your eyes firmly down and away from his own. Is it shame that motivates you to divert your gaze? The shame that rightfully only he should be feeling? The shame that is, in fact, burning in his core as he observes how much grief is weighing you down? You make an attempt to speak again, but just shake your head. You press your eyes closed to keep from outright sobbing but still stray tears escape. In-ho reaches up and brushes them away, letting his knuckles brush against your cheeks. The contact of his skin against yours shatters the tension and you walk forward into his arms, burying your face against his chest. He holds you close, knowing he’s wholly undeserving of the beautiful creature that is his wife seeking his arms for comfort. He allows himself a single tear that falls into your hair, not any more than that. How dare he compare his grief to yours, how dare he try and appropriate your sorrow? He can almost hear your voice in his head: How dare you? How dare you? Somehow, the embrace ends and he’s helping you into bed after stripping the bloodied sheets and putting on fresh ones. He pulls the blankets around your unmoving form, tucking you in and making sure you’re warm enough.

"I have to go," he whispers regretfully, not even sure if you’ll respond.

And you don’t. You don’t even look at him but, before he leaves, he kisses your lips and your hairline then steals a glance back at you. Your eyes fall closed, and silent tears are streaming down your cheeks as you cry yourself back to sleep.

But it doesn’t end there. You’re hospitalized shortly after and he’s driven to compete in the squid games after being recruited. The games are his last hope. He really needs that money even if it’s blood money. He needs that money to save you since he couldn’t save both you and your child. He could only save one. He wants to return home to you so he can get you the operation and medication you need to ensure you could one day have a healthy and safe pregnancy. He knows you still want a child despite the traumatic loss you suffered. You’ll never know what he did. After he won, you’re still in the hospital, waiting for him. As part of his reward for winning, a donor is found for you on top of the cash prize of 45.6 billion won. But he can’t go back to his old life after all the bridges that have been burned behind him. But he wants - no, needs to keep you. If there’s anyone or anything from his old life he will never let go of, it’s you. Bound by his duties as the Front Man for the games and his marriage vows to you, he has no other choice but to go undercover as a doctor and create a diversion to kidnap you from the hospital so he can whisk you away to an unknown and private island where you can receive the best medical attention for your condition. Somehow, police have already been notified of his activity and what he plans to do.

“He’s in the building, posing as a doctor. He’s armed and has already killed five people. Evacuation is underway. We have to go,” an attending physician says.

“No. An evacuation is exactly what he wants. The staff bailed when the alarms went off. This is a deliberate diversion to get everybody out and away from her. He’s here for her. We can't leave her alone in her room. She’ll die if we leave her alone here or if he takes her,” your personal doctor insists.

“So we take her with us. Come on. Careful.”

“Thank you,” you say weakly as your doctor helps you out of bed and into a wheelchair.

You don’t get very far when you’re stopped by your husband standing in the doorway to the ward you’re kept in, dressed in black scrubs, black gloves, and a medical face mask, just like the police said he’d be. He’s holding a Heckler & Koch MP5A3 sub-machine gun that’s strapped over his shoulder and across his body. “Ah... I'll take it from here.”

“In-ho… In-ho, listen to me. We're trying to help her.”

“You're killing her.”

“No. No, In-ho.”

“In-ho...” you rasp, your voice and body incredibly weak from your disease. Your eyes water when you look at him. Despite his black attire, you can still see the blood on him and you know it’s not his. You’re terrified.

“I understand why you're doing this,” your doctor tries to sympathize.

“I'm saving her life.”

“At the cost of how many other lives?”

“Too many to turn back now. As soon as I've done what I need to do, I'll give myself up. But now we have to leave.”

“In-ho, listen to me. I'm her doctor. I know her history. I’ve known her her entire adult life. If we move her now, she might die.”

“Her doctor. Good. You're coming with us to push the wheelchair. Let's go.”

“No. No way!” The attending physician tries to stop this from happening.

“I'm going. She's my patient,” your doctor insists.

“I can't let you do that. I'll go.”

“It's not your call. She needs me.”

“I'm not gonna hurt her. I don't want to hurt anyone, unless I have to.” Your husband insists.

“I'm going.”

“In-ho, please...don't do this. Please, she’s pregnant.” Pregnant just like I was, you want to say, but you don’t have the strength. Your voice shakes like a rattle as you struggle to breathe while you beg for him to not do this, to leave your doctor out of it, trying to get through to him, to get him to see reason.

“Honey, don't worry. It's all under control.”

“Help...” you beg, your body already feeling worse.

“We have to go. Now.”

You sob when you hear bullets go off, your husband having shot dead the attending physician left behind. He can’t afford to leave any extra witnesses.

“In-ho, please think about this. How will you take care of her if you're in prison?” Your doctor asks as she follows behind him and pushes your wheelchair.

“I won't. You will. The city will. It's the law. As long as she's legally alive, she's a ward of the city and the city has to keep her alive and safe.”

“So I shall undergo countless operations and spend days or weeks in medically-induced comas only to wake up one day with you in prison or dead? A life alone isn't one that I want. There must be another way. Please, In-ho,” you beg him again to reconsider, but he doesn’t listen.

Holding your doctor at gunpoint in her car, he gives her directions and orders her to drive exactly where he tells her to go. You reach docks where a speedboat is waiting for you with masked and armed guards on board. He orders your doctor out of the car and to board the boat at gunpoint, then carefully lifts you into his arms bridal style and carries you onto the boat himself. You’re unconscious for most of the voyage, unable to bear the stress of the situation anymore, though it doesn’t take too long to get to your destination. Against your will, you’re taken to the island. You’re given the surgeries you need, the treatments and medications you need, etc. but despite the success of your operations and treatments, recovery still takes months. Most of it is spent on bedrest and In-ho is still hovering over you whenever he returns to your shared personal quarters, asking both you and your doctor how you’re faring, if you’re eating well and sleeping well, etc. as he comes to your bedside and rests his hand on your head to pet your hair and rub your cheek. You feel guilty that your doctor has been held captive alongside you all these months, kept by your side to attend your every need whenever In-ho is called away and can’t do it himself. You’re terrified of what might happen to her if you were to suddenly take a turn for the worst. It’s not rational, but you have a horrible sinking feeling in your gut that if anything involving you were to go wrong, In-ho would blame her, even if it’s something out of her control. And that he’d kill her if you were to die under her watch.

One day, when you’re alone, you confess to your doctor that she may be able to escape.

“I heard In-ho talking when he thought I was asleep. There’s speedboats and oxygen tanks docked on the coast of the island not far from here. If you hurry, you can take one and make it out before he gets back,” you plead to her.

“I'm not leaving you,” she insists, holding your hand to comfort you.

“This must be very stressful for you and your baby. And you’re almost due.”

“We're fine.”

“Could I have some water?” You ask instead, and she walks away to grab a glass and fill it with water from the sink. She hands it to you. “Thank you. You’ve heard him all these months. He's not a bad man at heart. You’ll get out of here alive, I promise. I’ll talk to In-ho. I’ll do everything in my power to make it so. If I’m not standing on the shoreline and waving you off as I watch you board a boat headed for home, then I’m not breathing at all.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine. The surgeries have been successes so far and your body has accepted the new organ with minimal issues. There have been no signs of rejection.”

“When you’re sent home, you have to tell them that he’s not a bad man. That he only wanted to save me because he loves me. Please.”

“I will.”

“And please tell them that I'm very sorry for my part in this. I saw the man that he was becoming and I did nothing. Because I loved him. You know what that's like, don't you?”

“I do.”

“Thank you. You've been very kind. Can you…would you mind if I ask… Have you picked out any names for your baby?”

You’re desperate to talk about something else, to think about something else. Something happy for her even if it’s bittersweet for you. You need a distraction from your current predicament. When she tells you about the baby’s gender (if she knows it) and the names she likes and has been considering, you smile and tell her about the names you highlighted in the baby name book you had at home. You’re not sure if you would’ve wanted to know the gender or be surprised. You talk about the dreams for the future you once had, whether you wanted your first to be a boy or girl, if you had a preference or not, etc.

During your recovery, your husband still acts as the Front Man for subsequent annual games and you’re kept in the dark. He’s in deeper than he was when he won the games. He’s now taken to arranging the games and acting as the Host following the original mastermind's death. He has continuously run the games for several years. It’s now 2024. Your doctor was set free and sent back home before her due date after all the precautions were taken to ensure she couldn’t find or disclose the location of the island, including having her being closely monitored by the pink guards, ready to shoot her dead and dispose of her body if she ever spoke out. But she’s kept quiet and gone along with the story that you and In-ho are dead, because of you. Because of you, she’s still alive and got to have her baby. And you? You’re still on the island. You understand that recovery for your condition could sometimes take more than a year, but you’ve been here nearly ten years. You can’t leave without his permission. You’ve tried more than once. Rather than tell you there’s no life for you to go back to since the world thinks you’re both dead, he keeps you here for so long by lying to you over and over and over. If he told you the truth, how could he admit to any of it without losing you? It’s his duty to protect you, the love of his life. Even if it’s painful. This relentless drive to get what he wants was apparent even before becoming the Front Man, as there were many self-help books on achieving one's desires in his old apartment.

But disruptions to his facilitation of the 36th iteration of the games have forced his hand to resort toward more drastic measures. As retaliation for Gi-hun's continued defiance against him for three years, he repeatedly tries to break him by forcing him to participate in the game. He joins the games specifically to break Gi-hun's spirit, and intentionally works his way into his inner circle, with no indication that he truly sees him as a friend, all to successfully sabotage his efforts to bring the game down by force. When Gi-hun's rebellion is successfully suppressed, the Front Man spares his life while personally ordering the execution of Jung-bae in front of him and telling him it’s the consequence of trying to play the hero. At the same time he’s undercover as a player, he’s still fulfilling his duties as your husband through proxy, having the pink guards give you whatever you need and keeping an eye on you so you don’t learn too much. He’s hidden the remote control he uses to watch the games on the big screen so you won’t know. But what if you’re stronger, smarter, and more resilient than you let on and manage to gather very valuable information by eavesdropping on In-ho’s conversations by feigning being asleep whenever he checks on you, sneaking away and stealthing around the building, etc., all to slowly discover the horrific truth your husband so desperately has kept hidden from you for the last ten years?

13. Like above with The Recruiter, a scenario very much like the Korean thriller movie “Addicted”. You’re the long time girlfriend of Jun-ho and get married. While he and In-ho are very different as people, and the only thing they really have in common is that they’re both cops, they are very close despite only being stepbrothers. You’ve also been very close to In-ho, though you always thought of your relationship as strictly friendly due to him being your brother-in-law and himself having a wife that you believe he loves. You’re there for In-ho and his wife when she gets sick and she views you as a sister not just because of your relation as sister-in-laws but because you’re always there to support her and do what you can to care for her and comfort her, from little things to big things, especially whenever In-ho is away due to his job. He and his wife can always count on you. You visit her more in the hospital than her own husband does. You’re the only other person besides In-ho to learn of her pregnancy and when she confides in you about it, she swears you to secrecy in case the worst happens. She tells you that in case she dies, she doesn’t want Jun-ho or his parents to know and feel even worse. In-ho tries to get you to talk to his wife, to try to convince her to change her mind and terminate the pregnancy, but she’s stubborn and won’t listen to anyone, not even you, despite your pleads that In-ho is only worried for her health and she can always try again after she’s better. Sometime in 2015, In-ho goes missing for a week. Neither you, Jun-ho, or his wife can get a hold of him. You’re all worried. You were always concerned for his safety while on the job and even his wife asked him not to be away from home so much anymore, but he’s just as stubborn as she was. You can understand that he needed more money to help her, but you grew concerned that he was putting himself at risk. And when she worsens and later succumbs to her acute cirrhosis, you’re devastated. Even more so when In-ho returns home and you have to break the news to him. You’re there for In-ho, taking him through the worst of his grief. In subsequent years, he asks you to go with him when he visits his wife’s grave on her death day to bring her fresh flowers, etc.

But then he goes missing again. For real this time.

Your husband becomes so obsessed with finding In-ho that he neglects you. You don’t divorce, but your marriage is deteriorating and while a part of you still loves him, the spark is slowly flickering out. You feel less like a wife and more like a single woman as time goes on. With a heavy heart, you carry on with your life and try to move on and find ways to be happy despite all the loss you’ve suffered. But your depression worsens when your husband stops coming home and stops answering your calls. It’s like he’s also vanished into thin air, exactly like In-ho. You can barely stand to be in your house anymore and often spend time outside or in hotels. One night, you have to hail a taxi when your car breaks down. The speeding taxi crashes into a black van, and while the driver is seriously injured, possibly even killed on impact, you’re only knocked unconscious with minor injuries.

Unbeknownst to you, this is a deliberate and orchestrated car crash, part of a plan to kidnap you and bring you to an unknown island. Under the Front Man’s orders, you’re sedated during the whole transportation process. You later wake up in an unfamiliar room, strapped down to a bed. You freak out, but freeze in shock when In-ho enters the room and comes to your bedside. He looks older, which is to be expected since you haven’t seen him in over five years, but it’s definitely him. He calms you down from your lashing out and panic attack, explaining the situation in a way that’ll keep you in the dark about what’s really going on but also serve his ulterior motives for why he brought you here. He takes care of you while you recover from the minor injuries you suffered in the collision, nothing major besides a concussion and a minor head wound and other scrapes and bruises. He tells you a fabricated but believable story about why he went missing, which includes that Jun-ho is dead, that he was shot and fell into the sea while on a job. To “prove it” he shows you doctored but eerily convincing confidential police files and death records from when that random body was found with Jun-ho’s ID on him. It was so damaged it was unrecognizable in pictures. With evidence in front of you, you have no choice but to believe In-ho and everything he tells you. Still, you’re devastated by this revelation. But he swears to take you through the worst of your grief, just like you did for him when his wife was sick and died.

Years go by of you living on the island, still kept in the dark. Could be through the use of drugs to make you disoriented and confused and blurring that edge of reality, gaslighting, and other manipulation tactics. When he does take you outside his private quarters to get some fresh air, it’s always brief and he stealthily knocks you out so you don’t get a full grasp of where you really are. You never know how you got there or how you got back. It’s so subtle you hardly notice and think you just fell asleep. You and In-ho eventually share a slow, emotional night together and have sex after the tearful revelation that you’ve fallen in love. You didn’t confess to him your feelings sooner because you felt so guilty due to being married to his brother even if he’s dead and you’re a widow now, and because In-ho’s wife was like your best friend. You felt awful for “stealing” her husband even though she died and he’s a widower who suffered the same loss you did. He helps you to overcome that guilt and you start to live life together as a happy and loving couple, despite the strange and unusual circumstances. In time, you become pregnant with In-ho’s child. One day you’re not feeling well, so you decide to go back to your private quarters to get some rest after he takes you outside for fresh air. While you’re there, a package addressed to In-ho arrives. You open it and find a necklace which you remember In-ho had given to his wife. You read the accompanying note from her, saying that she cannot wear this necklace anymore as it wasn’t meant for her and she cannot understand In-ho’s crazy love for you.

Frantic, you snoop around the other doors and find an underground chamber. You dig through In-ho’s secret workroom and find a number of hidden photos of yourself that were taken by him. You realize that In-ho had loved you before you married his brother and before he married his wife. You also find a notebook that In-ho wrote about loving you and being happy because he is able to watch you and live with you through his brother, Jun-ho. Through these secret documents, you discover your husband is possibly alive, having only been shot in the shoulder by In-ho himself and fallen into the sea. He lied to you just so that he could have you to himself. You were talking about getting married because you’re so in love and you thought it’s what Jun-ho and In-ho’s wife would want, at least for the sake of your unborn child. You were so happy mere hours ago and now, you’re crying sorrowfully. You don’t know what to do with the new information you’ve uncovered. Luckily, through some miracle, you’re not caught by In-ho. You put back everything exactly the way you found it as you’ve spent enough time in his personal office at home and remembered how he organizes his things, even down to which direction he sets down the phone receiver.

Do you take him aside and ask him various questions about his wife and where you are and when you can go home? Every time you tried in the past, he’d change the subject after giving you non-definite answers. Do you continue to pretend that Jun-ho is dead and you’ve moved on despite knowing the truth? You love In-ho and you know he loves you but this…this is much more than you could’ve ever imagined. You couldn’t have ever expected this. It’s been revealed that In-ho loved you even before Jun-ho, and had for the entire time you were with his brother. In-ho also confessed in a secret letter to Jun-ho that he’d never send that he made use of all of yours and his brother's secrets to "transform" himself into the perfect man for you. He tells his brother that you will forever love him as your husband. He apologizes and asks his brother never to forgive him for his deeds.

14. In-ho’s wife managed to successfully give birth to a healthy baby girl despite dying in the process. That baby girl is you, born sometime in 2015. When In-ho returned home and went to the hospital his wife was staying in after winning the 28th annual squid games, he received the bittersweet news that his wife was dead, having died in childbirth, but that you, his baby daughter, was alive and would be fine. You were either being kept in the hospital still or staying with Jun-ho and his parents. When he saw you and held you for the first time, he almost didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to set you down or let you out of his sight. He gave you the name his wife picked. It’s now 2024 and you’re eight or nine years old. What would your life be like? Would In-ho take you with him to the island from infancy to keep you safe and under his watchful eye while he acts as Front Man/Host for the squid games because you’re the last living piece of his wife that he has and he doesn’t want to ever lose you or miss out on any milestone in your life? What would it be like, effectively being kept prisoner on the island but kept in the dark and oblivious about what he does? Having no real friends to play with except maybe the Pink Guards who are under strict orders to play with you or keep an eye on you? Or would he leave you to be raised by his parents and Jun-ho? Or would he keep your existence secret from Jun-ho and his parents and come up with a secret third option that entails you having a normal-ish life with other “family” of his that he personally arranged, but he visits you or sends you messages on a very special encrypted phone or through the mail through mysterious envelopes without return addresses on them whenever he can, even if it’s at the most random of times? Would you know he’s your father from the beginning or would you learn this fact later in life?

OR

For a darker and more fucked up version: What if Jun-hee isn’t the first heavily pregnant player to compete in the games? Sometime during his years working as the Front Man and overseeing the games, he kept a close eye on a heavily pregnant contestant. After she was shot and killed for failing a game (the guard responsible making sure to avoid her stomach and shoot her in the head), her body was quickly loaded up into a box and taken away. The guards working in the morgue only had about ten minutes if they wanted to save the baby growing inside her. And they were under clear and strict orders by The Front Man to do so. A post-mortem c-section was performed and, when they cut her open, they pulled out a crying and screaming baby girl. The baby was cleaned up and checked by the doctor stationed on the island, then wrapped in a blanket and handed over to the Front Man per his orders/request. And that’s how you came to be his daughter. He’s your father now. And as far as you’ll ever know, he’s your biological father who solely raised you after your mother, his wife, died in childbirth from complications of acute cirrhosis of the liver.

15. Being in a poly relationship with the Front Man and The Recruiter would include? I don’t know any specific plot ideas exactly or how you got to be their personal whore/toy, but just imagine being a sugar baby or lover to both of these men that are two different flavors of DILF. You’re given everything from clothes, lingerie, and jewelry to a car and a house, as well as all the money you could ever need to pay for whatever it is you need - college tuition, medical bills, etc., even if it’s not for you but for one of your loved ones. In exchange, you’re on call for whenever either or both of them are in need of you and your services. You do whatever they ask of you, no matter what it is. Doesn’t matter what time it is, you go to them whenever they call. (Or maybe The Recruiter would go so far as to having a key to your house and letting himself in through the door or through a window, without giving you prior warning he’s coming. He comes whenever he feels like it. Could be any time of the day. And if you’re not home when he gets there, he’ll call you and tell you to get your cute ass home. Now. Then he’ll make himself comfortable in your house while he’s waiting for you. But you know that the longer you make him wait, the worse your punishment will be. Maybe a stipulation to having the house is leaving the doors and windows unlocked. If it’s late at night, he’d just sneak into your bedroom while you’re asleep and rouse you awake by going down on you or something. Classic Somnophilia.)

You either drive to them yourself or a car and/or a boat is waiting for you to be picked up. Imagine being squeezed in between these men like a sandwich or being in an Eiffel Tower with them, whether or not either or both of them are covered in blood from shooting players. (They wouldn’t care if you were on your monthly cycle. If anything, your blood would turn them on even more.) Imagine getting fucked on the hood of or inside the white limousine. Imagine them taking turns to watch while the other one fucks you. Imagine them turning fucking you into all kinds of thrilling and borderline dangerous sex games along the same vein of the actual squid games. Like they tell you do something under a time limit and if you fail and the timer runs out, they won’t kill you, but they’ll punish you sexually. And sometimes their punishments are so intense they make you wish you were dead because being denied your orgasms over and over and over is a special kind of torture and the coiling in your gut from your building orgasm that’s unable to be released is almost unbearable. What if you’ve been at this “job” so long that it gets to a point where In-ho wants to give you a “raise” and get you pregnant because he wants a child after the death of his wife and their unborn child and he may or may not have a pregnancy kink?

That is all for now. Thank you for listening to my brainrot.

[goldeaglefire1]

so. played the Pristine Cut a few days ago (not the first time I've played Slay the Princess, for the record; I actually got into it like a month ago and have kinda just. lurked in the background, not making any posts about it. so uh. hi guys) and. GOD this game is good for so many reasons, with even more reasons being added by the Pristine Cut, and I know a lot of people have made posts about how good Happily Ever After is already, but, since I haven't seen anyone post about it from the angle I'm looking at it...y'all mind if I ramble about how good the Happily Ever After route is from a narrative perspective. trick question, I wasn't asking; I'm going to ramble about how good the Happily Ever After route is from a narrative perspective.

so! let's talk about the Damsel for a minute. this is all fairly obvious stuff but stick with me here; we need to lay the groundwork for the main discussion. the Damsel, from a purely Doylist perspective, is the archetypical "damsel in distress" trope - the girl at the end of the villain's lair who has no agency of her own and exists purely as a reward for the hero completing his journey and beating up the villain (before you get mad, I know the Damsel is not actually like this in-universe, and that fact is actually a surprise tool that will help us later, but, again, looking at this from a purely Doylist perspective: outside the world of Slay the Princess, not in it) - fundamentally, she's there to make you happy. the Shifting Mound changes based on perception, and by treating her as the archetypical damsel in distress in Chapter 1, she actually becomes one come Chapter 2, with all her hard, unconventional edges like, to pick a random example here, "the capacity to horrifically self-mutilate herself," being sanded away for a perfect storybook ending. that's what you wanted, after all.

and, if you take everything at face value, that's exactly what you get! if you follow the Voice of the Smitten's advice and completely ignore the Narrator's nonsense about how she'll "end the world" or something, you will get exactly what you asked for, because, well. that's all there is to it! there is no deeper story here, it's just "hero saves princess, the end," end scene, move on to the next princess. but that's the Damsel route, and we're here to talk about the Happily Ever After route. and in order to properly get the Happily Ever After route, you have to horribly fuck up the extremely simple narrative presented before you. so, how do you do that? two ways - either try to question the princess's character and see what underlying motives she has, or, the method I'm choosing to focus on (both because it's the one I got when I first got the Happily Ever After route and because it better illustrates my point) - when you get near the end of the Damsel's story, right as you're about to get your Happily Ever After...you listen to the Voice of the Hero. because while the Smitten may be ignoring literally everything the Narrator says, the Hero has not been doing that, and quite frankly has some concerns about the potential end of the world thing. if she really can end the world...well, she just wants to make us happy, right? so surely nothing will go wrong if you just decide to stay in the cabin forever! it's a perfect compromise!

spoiler alert: it is not a perfect compromise. it is in fact as far from a perfect compromise as you can possibly get. makes sense, really, as there are no real compromises in Slay the Princess - you can either choose to trust the Narrator in any given route, trust the Princess in any given route, or you can choose, to quote the Contrarian in the Apotheosis, the third option that nobody wants. and the only two times the third option is any good is, well, when you're very intentionally spiting both parties - hi Contrarian - and when there's an actual third party you can appeal to, as is the case at the end of the game. every other time? you will be massively punished by the narrative for trying to find another option. try the "let's keep the princess in the cabin" maneuver in chapter 1? you get the Nightmare. try to be a smartass and avoid the "slay the princess/save the princess" issue altogether? you get the Stranger.

hell, every chapter 3 is ultimately the result of you not playing the role you're supposed to in the narrative (aside from the Razor who forces you to go to a chapter 3 no matter what but she doesn't count). if you play the role you're given in chapter 2, you'll be fine! for example - did you get the Spectre? congratulations! you get the Voice of the Cold, a cold-blooded killer - except, hmm...the princess is already dead, so no one to kill there...but there is the Narrator, who you're fairly mad at for the frankly terrible reward for doing your damn job, so how do you kill him? easy - take the princess out into the world and let her world-destroying properties do the job for you. did you get the Beast? congratulations! you get the Voice of the Hunted, a meek prey animal trying to avoid a massive predator...except, well, bad news, boss - you're the only food around here, so you're going to have to get eaten. sorry man. did you get the Nightmare? congratulations! you get the Voice of the Paranoid, a nervous wreck who, frankly, does NOT want to be here, and, well. honestly, do you expect to be able to save the world? the fact that you're even managing to stand up next to this eldritch abomination is a miracle; you might as well just let her out, because, frankly, who would blame you? and so on and so forth.

the Damsel's narrative is extremely simple. you get the Voice of the Smitten, a classic, overly dramatic, simple hero to match the simple princess you're given. your job is to swoop in, sweep her off her feet, and leave. that's it. that is all there is to it. the Narrator's talk about her ending the world does not fit into this narrative, so you have to discard it. after all, why would the hero release a world-ending monster into the world? that's preposterous! he must be lying, obviously. but, by giving the Narrator the benefit of a doubt, or trying to dig deeper into the Damsel's narrative role and find depth when there is none, you expose the cracks in that narrative...and chief among those cracks is that the Damsel is not the simple character her narrative role wants her to be.

I'm not going to do a full character analysis on the Damsel because that's not the point of this post, but even on the most surface-level reading, the Damsel has two very clear desires - she wants to make you happy, and she wants to be free. and, yeah, that's fairly straightforward, but it's more than nothing, which, ah, doesn't exactly bode well. after all, the Damsel's narrative role is that of the damsel in distress, a role most known for, very notably, having no agency, and here you are, dangling her freedom right in front of her face and snatching it away, and quite frankly, that sucks! she wants to be free! she wants to be free a LOT more than she wants to make some stranger she barely knows happy, and while normally those two desires have no conflict with each other, now they do, and while the chapter 1 princess could have done something about this situation and gone Nightmare on your ass, being a blank slate as far as the narrative goes, that's not an option anymore - you've locked her into her narrative role, now, and as a damsel in distress, she can't do shit. the worst she can do is be mildly upset but otherwise have zero objections to your proposal

luckily (or, well, unluckily depending on your point of view), that's enough for you to get your proper comeuppance in the form of Smitten. poor, poor Smitten - unlike the Damsel, he really is as simple as he appears to be on the surface. even on other routes, he is always, always madly in love with the princess, no matter how she looks or acts, and all he wants is to make her happy. a simple character for a simple narrative, who, conveniently, is NEVER forced to question the Princess' role in that narrative...until now. until you forced the fact that she is NOT the simple damsel she's supposed to be directly in his face, and that she's unhappy with your decision, well. that can't be right. she can't be unhappy, we're supposed to make her happy no matter what! something's clearly wrong here - it can't be the princess, because blaming the princess for anything is inherently not an option for Smitten; it's not in his nature. it can't be us, or at least he can't figure out how it could be us, because he's a simple character for a simple narrative, and the thought of "dangling the princess's freedom in front of her and then taking it away is a massive dick move" doesn't even occur to him, because he doesn't realize that's what we were doing. so...it must be something else. maybe the Narrator, who's been describing her as this world-ending abomination when she's clearly a maiden in need of rescue, or this cabin, because, well, why would a princess be in a cabin? she need a proper castle, obviously! he can fix this, surely, there has to be some solution here, he can make this work again...and it all begins by bearing out his heart.

or, rather, YOUR heart. which, you know, kills us. everything goes dark, and we die, etc., onto the new chapter! or epilogue, if you want to go by the title card. welcome to Happily Ever After, the reward you deserve! you goddamn bastard. this route is effectively Smitten's attempt to fix the narrative you broke - and, in many ways, his efforts can be compared to the OTHER route you get by breaking the narrative of the Damsel, that being the Burning Grey. in that route, you kill the Damsel, and, well, that very obviously breaks the narrative, so when Smitten kills you in retaliation and a new world is formed, the Damsel, now the titular Burning Grey, tries to fix it. much like Smitten can't blame her, she can't blame you, because her narrative role doesn't allow it, and she doesn't blame herself, because she did literally nothing to deserve that (aside from like. the fact that she killed you that one time but frankly if you hold that against her that's a bit of a dick move), so she comes to the same conclusion that there must be an external force responsible for derailing the story. the difference between Smitten here and the Burning Grey is the solutions they come up with: the Burning Grey, fundamentally, is part the Shifting Mound, the embodiment of change, rebirth, and death. so, naturally, the solution she comes up with is to burn down the cabin with both herself and us inside, finally being together with her love forever. by melting together her and our flesh. which, you know, sucks, but at the very least the death is...relatively quick?

the Happily Ever After route does not give you or the Princess the luxury of death. after all, Smitten is not a part of the Shifting Mound, but a part of you - the Long Quiet, the embodiment of stasis and stagnation. killing you or the princess doesn't even occur to him as an option - at least, it doesn't now that he's outside of you. and while this allows him to get something much closer to what we would associate with a happy ending, it falls apart fast. the same feasts over and over again, growing more stale and bland with time, the same games over and over again, excitement dulling into boredom as you play repeatedly with no end in sight...it's not Happily Ever After, not even close, but it's the best he can manage. after all, isn't this what you wanted? you DID save the princess, and Smitten is a simple character for a simple narrative, so, this is the only option he can think of outside of riding off into the sunset with our beloved. so, this has to be what you wanted, right?

and as for the princess? well, if she was locked by the narrative before, it's even worse now with Smitten. after all, as far as she's concerned, Smitten is us, so all she knows is that, after we dangled her freedom in front of her and took it away, and she showed even the slightest bit of resistance in response, we proceeded to make her already bad situation into a living goddamn nightmare. so, yeah, she is terrified of what could possibly happen if she shows she isn't happy with this, so she's quick to smother any and all signs of dissatisfaction in the hopes that, as long as she seems happy with all this, you can't make this worse somehow. the MOST she does in terms of resistance is wear the Pristine Blade as a necklace, which is honestly more of a vague hope of "if you won't let me free from this cabin alive, then maybe at the very least you'll let me free from this cabin in death? please? on god?"

and, well, you could in fact do that. or, hell, if you REALLY feel like being an asshole, you could decide to NOT break the facade at all. but if you really want to make it up to the princess? if you realize how badly you've fucked up and want to actually make up for your mistakes? you have to let her actually express her discomfort. you have to give her back the agency she's been denied by the narrative - the agency you took away in the first place. and once she finally has that back...she cries. in relief, because she's finally free from the hell you put her in, in sorrow because, despite it all, the facade of a happy ending was nice while it lasted, in a mix of both with the tears she'd been unable to shed for so, so long...and, at the end of the day, despite having every right to hate you...she doesn't. because you DID set her free, in the end. you realized your mistakes, you learned and changed as a person, and you actually made things right, so even though you might have made her life a living nightmare...she's willing to give things a fresh start. and whether you decide to amicably part ways or start something new together, at long last, she'll finally have her chance to dance under the stars.

this is a love story.

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 27

satoru gojo x f!reader x suguru geto

plot: moving to the city from a small town was no easy feat, especially to start teaching as a jujutsu sorcerer — warning: this is a yandere story with many dark themes throughout.

summary: you confront suguru demanding to know why he did what he did, while yuki catches up to you both — cw: some upsetting topics discussed

masterlist • ao3 • chapter directory • previous chapter • next chapter >

Chapter 27. Revelation

You stared at Suguru for the longest time, taking note of the sleepless look he wore on his face and the crazed, almost manic glint in his eyes. He must have risked a lot to come and see you, but that didn’t mean a single thing, not until he gave you the answers you so desperately deserved.

It was never his right to do any of the horrible things he had done to you, but you finally started to see him for what he truly was from the second he got your family involved. You were late in your realisation and you knew it—too overwhelmed by everything else that was going on at the time to see it sooner.

However, now that you had time to actually process everything, you were all the more motivated than ever before to get away from him—from Satoru too—for good.

Suguru hesitated all the while, not having a single clue on how to start. He never prepared an answer for you. He should have known that Satoru spilled the news to you, likely to turn the tables on him and bring you over to his side. He took note of how much calmer you seemed, appearing to be more comfortable than you ever were when you were with him. Shit. How insulting. Satoru kept you locked up in a literal underground prison and Suguru never even went down that route. So why?

He took a deep breath either way, trying to find the right words to explain his reasoning. He told you before, way back in the late summer about how humanity is ugly and you agreed with him, right? Maybe if he spung it in the direction that when he saw red from everyone who had ever hurt him and those around him, he just took down the rest too. His parents, your parents. Had he not calmed down after, he might have taken more lives.

Though, he had an inkling that you wouldn’t buy such an excuse. Hell, had he been in your shoes, he wouldn’t even blame you.

“Why’d you do it, Suguru?” you repeated yourself, letting grief tinge your voice as tears welled up in your eyes, looking back at him with the same hatred that you once reserved just for Yui.

It stung.

Suguru froze again, feeling his composure waver. His usually calm and unbothered attitude was beginning to crumble. His jaw tightened and his fists tightened at his sides, all in an attempt to keep his demeanour from completely unraveling.

“Because,” he began, his voice cracking, “I…I couldn’t stand watching you suffer for any longer. It couldn’t end at Yui, you know that right? I had to go after them because they broke you down first. They wouldn’t have ever got it—what it means to be a sorcerer—the fucking burden we carry to keep ungrateful—” he paused, retracting what he was about to say before continuing, “listen, I did this for you.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “You did this for me?”

Suguru nodded. “Yes, [name]. Yes,” he took a step forward, his eyes searching yours for any hint of understanding, “I’m breaking the cycle, alright?”

You stared at him for a moment longer, pursing your lips in disapproval before letting go of a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down.

“Oh, I heard you, Suguru,” you replied calmly to him, “I��m just a little confused about something.”

He blinked at you, freezing at the implication. Your tone was spiteful—full of venom—entirely directed at him. For a moment he looked completely pathetic, with his eyes wide and his mouth left ajar like a fish gasping for water.

“...About what?” Suguru apprehensively asked.

“Just where you got the right to do any of that from?” you asked quietly. “Seriously?” you continued, your voice a little louder. “My parents? My fucking parents? You killed my parents for my sake? You… you don’t fucking get to decide what’s best for me.”

Suguru swallowed painfully. “I just wanted to protect you,” he tried to argue in his defense, “you’re the only thing in my life that has ever made sense, okay? You’re the only thing in my life that was ever worth saving. I threw so much away for you. All I wanted to do was take the pain away from you—right from the source.”

“No, no, no. You did this for yourself,” you spat back, “you did this because you wanted to regain control back in your life. You think I didn’t notice it when you tried to get me to block out and cut off ties with everyone I knew back then? You’re so fucking obvious, Suguru.”

He nodded hesitantly, supposing that he did deserve that one. Come to think of it, just what had he been doing with you the whole summer? When you put it like that—he didn’t like the sound of it—not one bit. Was that really him? If he was honest, a lot of it had been a blur. For a moment, he had nothing left to say, but then finally, he lifted his head, desperate to meet your gaze, his voice soft, and almost pleading, “Would you at least believe me when I say that I’m here to help you?”

You furrowed your brows at the claim. “Help me?” you scoffed, before repeating the question. “Help me?” you asked again, dropping your hands to rest on your hips. “After everything you’ve done to me, no, I don’t believe you in the slightest when you make that claim. I’d sooner believe that you were here to kill me.”

Your words hit him, hard, he couldn’t believe that you were seriously suggesting that out of all of the people that he could kill, it would be you. The very thought alone sickened him. There was simply no way. Never.

“I’m sorry, [name],” he spoke up again, “seriously, I’m so fucking sorry, I admit it. I was selfish, manipulative, abusive even. I never should have hurt you. I never should have done anything. You’re completely right.”

You flicked your eyes forward, not buying a single word that came out of his mouth, still certain that this was all a trick to get you to fold. He’d get you out of Satoru’s home and then lock you up next, or keep you so tucked under his wing that your escape would be completely lost.

“I… I can fix it though,” Suguru suddenly scrambled, taking a step forward, already forming a plan in his mind, “when I get you out of here, when we both leave this place, I… I’ll do better, okay? I swear. I swear on my girls. I’m serious. You deserve much better than what I’ve given you. Please. I just want to make things right.”

“Make things right?” you called out. “You can’t make this right, Suguru,” you dismissed his poorly put-together plans, surprised by the confidence in your voice, as you aired all of your once shelved away feelings out on display, “if you wanted to make things right, then you would have been decent from the start. That’s all I really needed – because, like, what? Did you see a naive small-town girl and think ‘oh yeah, score, she’s so lost and needs guidance - what a hero I’ll be to this one!’ Fuck off. Seriously. I just wanted friends. If I had known from the start that the very hell I tried to escape from would just follow me in a different suit, then I would never have left that place.”

Suguru blinked, unsure how to reply to your sudden defiance.

You continued all the while. “Don’t even get me started on Satoru. You could argue he was worse, but honestly? You’re both the same, don’t you think? Your response to my virginity being threatened was to fucking rape me,” you pointed out, “your solution to your best friend assaulting me was to make me relive it with you,” you added, “do you think getting me out of here is going to erase any of that? Do you think it’ll make me forgive you? That it’ll all be magically fixed?”

“[name]—” Suguru murmured, trying to calm you down, his voice almost pleading.

You cut him off, however, “No, be quiet. Don’t you get it? I don’t care about how sorry you are. What I want is my old life back. I want to go back to before I met you. I want to warn my old self to never even look in your direction,” you paused, choosing your next words carefully, fully intending to make him hurt with the next thing you said, “you ruined my life, Suguru, you made me hate myself. You made me wish that I could just die. I really considered it too. The only way you could make things right is if you’re six feet underground or behind bars.”

Suguru didn’t even recognise your voice anymore; it was rough and raw with emotions, yet so measured and calm. All he could do was simply stare at you with his eyes wide and his stance locked into place, unable to say anything or move at all. He wanted so desperately to just bring you over, to reel you in for a hug, to force your forgiveness, but even then he stopped himself, recognising that he was the problem. It wasn’t like he knew how to stop though, let alone how to mend the error of his ways. He supposed that he couldn’t. That’s why it hurt so much.

Just as he was about to grovel, a woman’s voice cut through the tension.

“Oh my, my—you never answered me back then, did you Geto?” Yuki asked in a tone that hinted at amusement, pushing herself from the wall outside and walking into the room. “When I asked you for your type, I never took you as the guy who was into women who you can push around,” she said, looking toward you, “so why are you wasting your time here, with someone who can just as easily punch back?”

Both you and Suguru snapped your heads toward the source of the voice. Suguru narrowed his eyes in annoyance, mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear, although if you had to guess, it was ‘oh, great’, while you didn’t recognise the person at all. She was a tall woman with a strong, broad build and long blonde hair, who despite her intense demeanour seemed to carry a casual air around her.

Suguru’s features twisted into irritation, not appreciating her interrupting so soon. “What are you doing here?”

However, Yuki simply ignored him, choosing to close the distance between you and her instead.

“Seriously, look at you go,” she praised, “it’s not easy to hold your ground against an asshole like him,” she added, looking down at you with sympathy reflecting in her stare. “Really. You’re too good for him.”

You blinked at her once more, feeling rather taken aback by the sudden intrusion as well as the mystery woman’s unfiltered words, having no idea who she was or what she wanted.

As if realising your confusion, Yuki suddenly broke away from her serious stance and waved her hands in surrender, laughing awkwardly to herself. “Ah, sorry! I guess we haven’t been acquainted yet, have we?” she added, trying to brush the awkward introduction aside, failing miserably, clearing her throat to continue onwards either way, “the name’s Yuki. Yuki Tsukumo. I’ve been working with Shoko to get you out of this mess - Suguru is technically a part of this too, but, his role was only ever to lead us to you and well… surprise…!”

Suguru immediately protested at the intrusion, “Hang on, you can’t just waltz inside and barge in here—

Yuki held up held up her hand, silencing him before he got too far.

“Don’t barge in here and what?” she asked him, her voice suddenly playful again. “Don’t waltz in here and call you out for this, if I’m being honest, very creepy obsession you have with her? You killed for her sake? Please. You’re going through some sort of moral crisis, I get it, I really do,” she sighed, thinking back to their first interaction together back in the day, “but this isn’t the way.”

You hadn’t replied yet, staring at her with an unreadable expression. If she was a friend of Shoko’s, then you trusted her right off the bat. She looked strong, too, so maybe she did have a chance at helping you out? Maybe? You couldn’t do much but hope for the best.

Yuki turned over to you, trying to keep her choice of words promising, “I’m going to get you out of here, okay? I’m sorry you had to go through all of this. Just know that I’m on your side.”

You tried to nod along with her, but you still hesitated even though your gut instinct told you that you could trust her all along.

“Can I really… trust you?” you asked.

Yuki didn’t seem too phased by the question, leaning back against the wall and smiling. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to—after what you’ve been through—I don’t blame ya,” she replied, validating your concerns, “but you can trust Shoko and Utahime, right? They’re the ones who have been holding out for your escape. All you have to do is say when.”

Suguru took a step back, holding out his hand to block your way. “[name], wait, don’t, she doesn’t care about you the way I do, nobody and I mean nobody loves you the way i do—”

Yuki swatted his hand away, feeling a tinge of annoyance surge. It was subtle, as she never truly showed her irritation, but it was there and it was starting to grow. “Love her? Oh, wow, that’s something,” she muttered, trying to think of a way to get him to back off; she was stronger than him, that much was for certain, but she would prefer to keep out of close-range combat in a residential area and with a weakened sorcerer to look after, “ever hear of the phrase, if you love something, then you should let it go?”

Suguru frowned at that. “Come on, Yuki, you know I can’t do that.”

“Seriously, just…” Yuki continued, trying to reign him in, “just think about what you’re trying to accomplish here, alright? You’ve killed your own parents because they don’t match your vision of a perfect world, but you’ve also killed the parents of the person you supposedly claim to love. Do you not see how that contradicts itself?”

“You don’t get it,” he tried to argue, something fading from his eyes, replacing itself with an eerily calm, bleak look, “I sacrificed everything. I left everyone behind. I left my old life behind. You think that’s something someone can just easily do if they weren’t in love with the person they’re doing this for?”

“No,” Yuki supposed, “because most people aren’t willing to destroy the lives of the person they claim to love,” she corrected him, “most people want to do everything they can to make the subject of their love have a better, easier life, which starts with helping them resolve the problem at their own pace, rather than making irreversible decisions on their behalf,” she paused, narrowing her eyes, “...you do see the difference, right? Or have your ideals really blinded you that much by now?” she asked, taking note of the monk robes he wore, finding the sight to be almost ridiculous.

Suguru wasn’t even sure why he was arguing at this point, he knew that both of you had a point, but for some reason, he wasn’t willing to let go of you. Too much had been sunk into you for you to just truly disappear from his sights forever.

“You get why I did it though, right?” he tried to get her to see his point of view, and for you to also see that he was truly doing it with you in mind. “I’m the only one who gets her, what it’s like to be cast aside and—”

Yuki shot back again, “Spare me,” she rolled her eyes, gesturing to you to unite with her, letting out an agreeable hum when you listened before turning back to him, “we’ve all suffered, it’s not just you, so yes, you were being selfish when you made that decision, because you reduced her suffering to be beneath your own while hurting her in the process. That’s not even love, that’s not even obsession. That’s just harm. That’s abuse.”

Suguru sighed, throwing his head down, finally getting it, but not quite yet giving it up, watching with a deflated glare as you positioned yourself behind Yuki, ready to up and leave. “But, if I let go now, what does that say about my efforts—what does that even make me?”

“If you’re lucky,” Yuki considered, feeling a bit apprehensive about talking on your behalf, “then you could be someone she forgets,” she then sucked at her teeth, glancing back at you, “so… if you really want to save her,” she added in a softer tone, “then let her be free.”

Suguru let out a breath of air, letting his shoulders finally sag. If he was being honest, he wasn’t sure what he was even feeling right now. For some reason, he thought that it would fall into place when he reunited with you, thinking that you’d run to him from the second he walked inside. Then, when he saw how you really looked at him after a summer of wilful ignorance, something within him hesitated and he didn’t feel so confident about it anymore.

He scoffed at himself as he realised it. He truly thought that he would put up more of a fight for you, but Yuki was also right. He didn’t actually want to hurt you again. He only wanted you back so he could try and make things better, but if it was something that you never wanted to begin with, then he would truly be no better than the people he tried to ‘save’ you from.

“I get it, I get it,” he murmured, “I just never wanted for it to end up like this…”

You gave Suguru one last look as Yuki turned towards the hallway, glancing at the man you thought you once could trust—who had hurt you in the worst possible way—more than once, only to be met with the sight of a pathetic, broken man who had at long, long last, finally had accepted defeat.

“[name], was it?” Yuki called out, extending her hand towards you once more. “You coming?”

You turned to face her, jogging towards your saviour and grabbing onto her hand, holding on tight.

For the first time in forever, you felt as though things were finally going right.

~~~

It was long dark by the time Suguru finally left the room upstairs, slowly making his way downstairs to sit on the floor against the kitchen island, his back pressing against the cool, hard marble. He had his knees brought up to his chest with his hands resting at his sides. His body was limp with exhaustion, but his mind was racing with overwhelming thoughts, unable to shut up.

You were gone. Yuki was gone. Nanako and Mimiko were… somewhere.

All of his efforts, all of his plans, all of the things he sought out to protect were hanging loose by a thread, and the string was way too close to snapping.

The ache that formed in his chest was unbearable, leaving him feeling close to empty, but then, he heard footsteps. Crunching snow just outside and the sound of the front door opening. At first, he thought it was Satoru, ready to brace himself against the possible confrontation, but then he heard the all too familiar clink of heels.

Shoko?

“I never thought I’d see you all curled up and feeling sorry for yourself,” Shoko’s voice echoed through the spacious landing, her eyes fixing on him sat on the floor in the dimly lit kitchen.

Slowly, she made her way over to him, sitting down beside him, taking a deep breath as she sank down. She reached into her pocket for a cigarette, offering him a stick, which he reluctantly took, unsure why he was even given such a luxury, the weight of what he did finally catching up to him.

“Thanks—”

However, as he spoke, Shoko smacked the back of his head. He didn’t reply, but he did give her a look that conveyed a flash of anger, but also confusion.

“Seriously, why are men such idiots?” Shoko said, lighting up her cigarette and then his, the flickering flame briefly lighting up the disgust written in her expression. “You couldn’t have just, I don’t know, talked this out with her from the moment it all started? You really had to turn into a stalker, creep, and abusive asshole all in one on the literal second day I try to introduce a new person into the rotation?” she scolded, taking a puff before continuing. “Shit. And men dare to call women the irrational ones.”

Suguru’s frown deepened as she spoke, but he couldn’t deny the truth in her words.

“It’s not that simple,” he muttered, turning his head away, choosing to bitterly sulk instead.

“Oh yeah?” she scoffed. “I think it is that simple, though. You could have probably asked her out after a month of getting to know her through this incredible thing known as communication. Seriously. It could have even worked out. You two could have been the brooding couple that everyone would look to and think, ‘those two really suit each other’, but no, you had to ruin it.”

His hands balled into fists as he strained, trying to keep his emotions under check. He didn’t like being called out for this a second time. It hurt even more to hear it from Shoko. “You don’t get it.”

Shoko simply laughed. “Oh, but I do get it. I understand it all perfectly well. You’re acting like I haven’t been dealing with your bullshit for years.”

Suguru didn’t answer, once again supposing that she had a point, before turning his mind to other matters. “Where are the girls, by the way?

“Dropped them off with Satoru’s sitter, they’re probably torturing Megumi as we speak.”

Suguru nodded. “They’re safe, right?”

Shoko nodded. “Yes, I promise. Also, from the bottom of my heart, I’m asking you gently, please, please forget about her – you cannot be raising two young and impressionable minds while showing them that such obsession is okay. If they’re going to make it in this world, then there has to be at least some normalcy in their lives.”

Suguru nodded, taking a huff of his cigarette.

“Also, quit smoking,” she scolded him.

His eyes widened in confusion. “You’re the one who—“

“—you’re honestly lucky that we’re all willing to even clean up this whole mess you made,” Shoko continued, cutting him off, “I mean, look, I get it. Losing Riko back then… it broke a lot of us. Especially you, because you were there right when she… but, you can’t keep living like this. You can’t keep dragging people down and forcing them to succumb to your bullshit. It’ll only end in hurt or worse.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ve been a real piece of shit,” Suguru admitted.

Shoko nodded but still pursed her lips. “True! But don’t use this as an opportunity to feel sorry for yourself. Use it instead to better yourself. You owe your daughters that much.”

“You’re not gonna put me behind bars?” he asked, remembering your conditions for forgiveness.

“You deserve it,” she considered, “but jujutsu society won’t settle at that. You killed civilians, right? They’re going to want your head. If you’re willing to become another name on a tombstone though, be my guest.”

Suguru was about to call her out on her harsh use of words but then Satoru tore through the door, his eyes wide and erratic as he clasped his blindfold in his hands. For a beat, Satoru ignored Suguru entirely, his mind entirely focused on Shoko, bridging the gap to her in just a couple of quickly measured strides.

“Shoko,” he began, his voice low and dangerous, full of accusation, “tell me you did not.”

She looked up at him, seeming bored. “What?”

Satoru scoffed at her indifference. “You know ‘what’. You abducted Megumi? You took him without my knowledge.”

“As if you’re one to speak about abduction,” she snarked, “besides, the kid’s fine – back at the sitter. I just had to distract you long enough to give [name] a window.”

For a moment, Satoru froze as he processed her words. His eyes drifted over to Suguru who sat on the floor with her, looking painfully deflated. “...What?”

Suguru could only shake his head as if to silently communicate that you were gone.

Satoru however, refused to believe it, needing to hear it, despite not picking up a signature of your cursed energy at all. “What is she talking about? Do you know something?” he suddenly asked Suguru, acknowledging him at last.

“She’s gone,” Suguru admitted, his face bearing a defeated look, mouthing the words more than expressing anything audible.

Satoru stilled even more, his entire body tensing, becoming rigid much like a statue. He couldn’t believe it. Seriously? His mouth parted slightly, but no sound followed. Finally, after clearing his throat, he managed to let out a strained, raw sound, “what?” through, although, it sounded closer to a whisper, fixing his sights on Shoko next, overcome by an anger he wasn’t familiar with. “Shoko. You did something, didn’t you?” he pressed, grabbing her by the shoulders, and bringing her to her feet.

Suguru hesitated, standing up and putting out both her fallen cigarette and his own by stomping at the sticks. He pushed his friend off of her, giving her a chance to explain herself. He wasn’t happy about hearing about his downfall a third time, but if he had to suffer, then Satoru did too.

Shoko brushed aside his touch as she narrowed her eyes in annoyance. “I gave her a window to get the fuck away from you both, that’s what I did. I wasn’t about to sit back and let this nightmare consume her.”

For a brief moment, time stood still. Satoru’s obsession with you perhaps didn’t exceed Suguru’s devotion, but he still cared about you in his own twisted way. For you to be gone entirely made him feel that that moment you both shared where he finally got through to you was all pointless—a foreign feeling to him—unused to the concept of failure.

“You did what?” he seethed. “Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?”

He moved quickly to grab her shoulders again, but Suguru restrained him a second time. “Stop,” he warned.

Satoru didn’t waver in his protest. He was angry. Of course, he was angry. “You’re telling me to stop? Really? You?”

Suguru sighed, fully expecting that reaction. “Yeah, yeah, let it all out, I guess,” he replied in a deflated tone, “but listen, I had some time to think, and maybe… just maybe… we were the problem.”

Satoru blinked and paused, scoffing out a bitter laugh. “Obviously I know we were the problem, but that doesn’t change the fact that letting someone like her go is a good idea. Do you have any idea what this could mean if any of this gets out?”

Suguru could only shrug, already having had this conversation with Shoko earlier on. “Yeah, I mean, there’s probably a bounty on my head. You’ll get a slap on the wrist though, right?” he added with some resentment, emphasising the point that the six eyes user was from an influential clan, hinting that history would just repeat itself, but then he had a thought, turning back to Shoko. “Where exactly is [name] headed, anyway?”

“Overseas,” Shoko mentioned, “unsure where—all I know is it’s gonna be far away from you both.”

Satoru wasn’t having it. He could barely listen to what the two of them were even saying. His mind was racing, overcome with the weight of what he had just lost, reeling at the suffocating sensation.

Suguru too, faltered slightly at the news.

Though, as if in unison, they both choked out the same question as soon as they processed her words.

“Overseas?”

Finally, it was all setting in.

The reality was apparent and it was devastating.

(You were potentially out of their reach and they couldn’t bring you back.)

(Unless one of them had the mind to act soon—and fast.)

[high-dragon-bait]

Taash asks my Rook invasive questions about her Zuko scar

This is Francesca de Riva, Cissy for short, my secondary Rook

It's pretty rare that I write fake banter between canon characters and my own OCs, but I did between Cissy and Taash for how Cissy got her scars. Enjoy!

____

(During recruitment)

Taash: Have any of you fought a dragon before? 

Cissy: How do you think I got these burns? 

Taash: Not from a dragon? 

Cissy: See that’s where you’re wrong- 

Taash: I’m not.  

Cissy: C’mon, let me tell the story! 

Taash: But your story’s bullshit. 

Cissy: I haven’t told it yet. 

Taash: Don’t need to. You get caught in dragon fire and you don’t have skin to scar.  

Cissy: Oh, so you’re the expert on dragon burns now? 

Taash: Yeah?

——

(From here on is post-recruitment)

Taash: So what actually happened to your face? 

(Second companion dependent) 

Neve: There are subtler ways of getting information. 

Emmrich: Taash!

Harding: Okay! Probably were nicer ways to say that. 

Lucanis: Up front. I like it. Saves time. 

Davrin: I’ve met Darkspawn with more tact than you, Taash. 

Bellara: You don’t actually have to say if you don’t want to, Rook! 

Cissy: I burned it. 

Taash: Yeah but how? 

Cissy: With fire. 

Taash: Is it embarrassing? Did you like slip and fall face first onto a stove? 

Cissy: No, that would’ve been funny. 

Taash: So it’s not funny? 

Cissy: No. 

——

Taash: Bellara said I should say sorry for asking about your face. So, sorry. 

Bellara, if present: You know, sorries don’t sound as good if you say someone else told you to say them first…

Cissy: It’s alright, I actually don’t mind talking about it. 

Taash: It kinda seemed like you did. 

Cissy: No, no, it just always makes people get weird. 

Taash: I won’t get weird. 

Cissy, through laughter: I’ll think about it. 

——

Cissy: Someone set me on fire. 

Taash: Shit was it me?

Cissy: No, Taash, I’m talking about my face. 

Taash: Oh! How? 

Cissy: A guy took me off the street, poured whiskey all over me, and then set me on fire. 

Taash: Wh- Why’d he do that? 

Cissy: I don’t know. I was seven. Thought I was minding my urchin business. Guess he was bored. 

Emmrich: Filth.

Neve: No motive. Just cruelty. Wish I could say it was rare. 

Davrin: Guy sets little girls on fire as a hobby, yeah, even the wardens wouldn’t want him. 

Spite: I’ll burn his face. Peel it off first!

Harding: Varric never… That’s what happened? 

Bellara: Wait- I didn’t- I’m so sorry. 

Cissy: See? People get weird! 

Taash: It’s a weird fucking thing to do! 

——

Taash: So how’d you get away? 

Cissy: Shit did I look that bad? Don’t tell Viago-

Taash: No from the fire asshole. 

Cissy: Oh! I ran. 

Taash: While you were on fire? 

Cissy: First thing I did was jump in the canal to put it out but then I nearly drowned. Didn’t obviously but then I got sepsis. 

Taash: Damn, you weren’t kidding. This story really isn’t funny.  

Cissy: I told you. 

Taash: So how’d you not die?

Cissy: Viago found me. 

——

Cissy: The way Viago found me is a little funny. 

Taash: Yeah?

Cissy: I’d been in the gutter for days at that point. Couldn’t move so I just marinated in my own filth and rot the whole time. 

Taash: That isn’t funny. 

Cissy: I’m not done! 

Taash: Okay. 

Cissy: I was lying on a little bit of stone by the water and its like a full storey down from the actual walkway. 

Cissy: The only reason he noticed me was because I smelled so bad he got a whiff from all the way up there and thought I was badly disposed a corpse. 

Taash: That… still isn’t funny. 

Cissy: Oh come on, it's a little funny. 

——

Taash: Whatever happened to the fire asshole? 

Cissy: I don’t actually know. I wanted him to be my first contract, cliche that that is, but Viago said no. 

Taash: Why’d he say no? 

Cissy: He said a man like that would be “An insult to my skill” and because he trained me that makes it an insult to his skill. 

Taash: Why’s that matter? Killing is killing. 

Cissy: Not if you’re a crow. 

[cinnamonest]

May I present to you... innocent playgirl reader x modern au incel scara??

Like reader is just a sweet gal that thinks this boy who she's in a project with is pretty and despite his weird and creepy behaviour, it's a good thing she's trying to make a move, because y'know! it's actually women's fault that men get so frustrated and depressed since they never give the short guys a chance! Only go for the top 1% and all that.

Unfortunately after scara naps her, noncons the absolute, living daylights out of her, and continues to terrorize her ass does she realize that being nice and sweet to the degenerate, sexist incel in hopes of fixing him wasn't the brightest idea 😔

(If you can't tell I love the idea of kind n sweet MC who doesn't know any better getting her shit wrecked for no good reason because incel scara is just that much of an asshole)

Ohhhh my God bless you for this

Precisely, it’s so unfair. It’s just extra inches of leg bone, it means nothing. And yet day in, day out, the oppressed class (sub-6-foot males) have to deal with unjust discrimination. All because you have the most superficial desires and can’t compromise on such a silly thing. No, you’d rather whore around with some guy that will just use you and cheat on you because your dumb girl brain seeks that out like every other. And in spite of being smarter and better than the neanderthals you choose to date, which should entitle him to pussy, he’s left with nothing but porn and his hand. The world is an unjust place.

He’s pessimistic as all hell, so he can’t take any kindness or attempts at getting closer from you at face value, there has to be an ulterior motive.

You’re only pleasant to him when you talk to him because you want something. You probably expect him to do work for you, or help you cheat on tests for you or fork over money. You think he’s the sort of loser that will salivate over any girl that gives him a shred of attention, don’t you. That he’ll run himself ragged doing whatever for you just to get your approval. Well. You’re not going to get that.

It goes along with this greater idea of you he’s crafted in his head, one that fits a similarly pessimistic image. It doesn’t matter how “innocent” you are, literally anything you say or do, he’s projecting this stereotype of a secretly not-so-innocent, ultra-promiscuous college girl onto you and using it as both justification for his disdain and as a means of rationalize not leaping at this rare chance for female interaction — it’s not that he’s too afraid of rejection, it’s just that he knows that talking to you is a waste of time anyway, you undoubtedly have guys lined up you're fucking on a regular basis.

Besides, even if he tried, you’re far too dull-brained, so any conversations you’re capable of aren’t going to be stimulating anyway. You’re in college, of course you’ve spent all this time racking up a body count because God knows girls only use college as a means to get dicked all the time, they don’t actually care for academics in any way.

And poor you, you're completely oblivious to his bitter seething. You just think he's just quiet. And surely he doesn’t come off as rude and cold on purpose, no, you tell yourself that he probably just is one of those guys that is naturally like that, it’s not malicious.

But then you have to start going out of your way to be actively nice. Trying to make conversation and say nice things — you must think he’s stupid, that he doesn’t know that it’s actually just fake niceness so you can lure him in and get him to say something you can then mock him for in that faux-sweet tone of yours. In the exact opposite of your assumptions on him, he assumes malice in everything you do and say. He won’t give you the satisfaction of giving you leverage, so, he stays quiet, gives you one-word answers and shrugs.

What plans do you have for the weekend?, you say, in your attempts to make conversation. Ugh.

Not only are you trying to jab at him by reminding him that he has no plans other than staying inside and wallowing, but clearly you do have plans, undoubtedly ones that end with you stumbling home in a walk-of-shame on a Sunday morning.

And the nicer you get, the more you irritate him. What makes you think you can just be like that? All smiley and sunshine-like, and for what? To mock him? Acting innocent and sweet as if you don't know what kind of power you inherently hold just by having a hole between your legs, as if you're not actively abusing that power when you're clearly trying to get him to be attracted to you.

Each and every class period, he ends up so infuriated by the few words you exchange that the only way he can even stay sane is by immediately going back to his apartment after class and releasing all the pent up frustrations via exceptionally violent porn. He's got a few specifics pages bookmarked now, girls that look just like you getting slapped around and choked and manhandled and skull-fucked and gaped… but it's just not satisfying enough, there's still this lingering irritation, a skin-crawling malice that won't go away.

It's not good enough to imagine. If anything, the post-orgasmic clarity just makes the whole thing feel pathetic — it's not really you, you get to be all happy and safe and sound when it should be you, you should be the one being brutalized and put in your place, you deserve it for being so damn nice. So pleasant and upbeat and kind and what gives you the right?

In the end, once the burning fury becomes too much and no one else is going to do it, the only option is to take matters into his own hands…

[plusvanity]

Yesterday, I wanted to say that people who blocked me did the wiser thing, but today, I want to touch on a recent issue, a hugely (intentionally) misinterpreted and degrading problem.

The controversies that people started to spread about me literally make me sick to the stomach.

They don't give a fuck about my countless explanations of how this ship is my comfort ship, designed to help me heal from severe abuse, self hatred, body dysmorphia, depression and anxiety.

I try to switch from unhealthy coping mechanisms to something that is both productive, helpful and most of all, harmless (because it's imaginary).

They felt the need to turn something that I created as my own personal fictive escape into a gross sadomasochistic, abusive and extremely toxic 'excuse' for 'why is this ship and not that?'. My guts twist for seeing such cruel assumptions when I have one thing that makes me happy (a story, a healthy narrative) viciously turned into a gruesome scenario that is not what it is at all.

The fact that they accuse me of shipping fair-skinned, blonde people is also the biggest hypocrisy that they could come up with when they themselves forget that Øystein's natural hair is blond and his eyes are blue in their own double-standard ship.

The fact that accuse me of romanticizing self-harm while they themselves 'like' (I have proofs) and approve art of EuroDead self-destructive romanticism shows their duplicitous and impostor nature. This is not to be taken as an insult, but an obvious fact concluded by their behavior.

My ship has little to do with physical looks and everything else to do with the in-depth psychology. It's not me, PlusVanity who says that there's a gigantic overlap between highly-autistic traits and trauma response (in personality disorders), it's Freud, Jung, Lacan's teachings and many other's scholars, neurologists and psychiatrists came to this conclusion many many years before you and I were even born. If you, dearly-opinionated friend, think that you can prove to these honorable psychoanalytical figures (and me, of course) otherwise with credible and well-documented research and not your 'I don't like that just because' synthetic opinion, I will gladly listen to what you have to bring up. I am well-versed in the philosophical and psychological domain, and I can provide solid arguments to everything I claim.

It's more than just unfair to point the finger at me, accusing me of a ludicrous sadomasochistic and 'subliminal racial element' in my art just to satisfy your late frustration with an ' good-enough explanation' for something that you never even bothered to look into because otherwise you would know that you are wrong. I'm not spiteful, I'm just pointing your flaws in logic as straightforwardly and inconsiderable as you seem to point mine, but it's not like you will actually try to understand what I'm saying because this must imply 'admitting defeat' and a kick in the ego, so you don't even bother with my transparent explanations. That's alright.

This message is for the people who are open and mature enough to read the motive behind my art and writing. This monologue is not for the ones who blindly accuse me of horrible things or a hidden agenda that I don't have or try to promote.

If you think that you know better than me, you simply don't. Why might that be? Because I am the author, because you don't think with my brain and you have no access to what I stand for, other than my words and actions and neither my words or actions stood for any type of abuse or political extremism.

You also put words into my mouth by calling me a fan of Varg, when I'm most certainly not, but I mean you hate me, of course you will say such things. Everyone who's following me knows that I not only hate Varg, but mock him daily for his spiteful persona.

I do not engage in any drama, I am not here to fight anyone.

I will only have civilized conversations (if openness exists). I am here to be and share with my friends the one thing that makes me happy. To subjugate me for simply having a different view than yours is tyranny and black and white extremism.

Pairing real people is morally bad, but this includes all real people. Not just Varg and Pelle, but Øystein and Pelle too. Doesn't sound fair now, does it? I understand why.

Anyone is free to believe anything, but a conspiratorial opinion will never compare to the ultimate truth that only the author can provide.

Please block me if you wish for. This is a far more mature approach than lurking here or sending hate. I hope this is constructive.

To sum it up, I'm beyond hate and ingoing frustration. I will gladly wish my late-proclaimed haters a wonderful day even if they roll their eyes. 🖤

You cannot change options, you can only provide your insight.

Be kind, be open, be alright 🖤

I wish this post can be shared so a lot of people can read this 🙏

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

You ever think about how in spite of knowing their exact locations, the game never gives any indication that templar Carver has reported his mage sibling, Merril (a blood mage) or Anders (an abomination) to his superiors?

I do think about that a lot, even though I tend to ignore the Templar Carver route because I know Warden Carver to be true in my heart and soul... but I totally get the appeal of Templar Carver within DA2's narrative, y'know?

It's so fascinating, really. I've never played a run with Templar Carver, I just can't bring myself to do it, so I know I'm missing out on smaller details of it. From what I do know, this drives me crazy in the best way possible.

Deciding whether to bring him or not to the Deep Roads is such an important choice, not only because it affects his fate, but how it affects his relationship to Hawke. He tells you that he wants to go, he makes it very clear that it's important to him that he goes, too... and Hawke can just leave him behind and it hurts him. I don't think that registers enough with some people just because of how Carver is, like it doesn't matter what Hawke's motivations are [staying behind for his safety, not wanting to bring him, thinking someone should stay with Leandra, etc] it still hurts him because it tells him that Hawke doesn't need him, and Carver wants to be needed.

And yes, there are other contributing factors to why he joins the templars, but it doesn't matter what your relationship is to him, it doesn't change the fact that he doesn't turn Hawke or his companions in.

Sure, the meta reason is it's a video game and you're playing the main character. You're never in any actual danger of being captured by templars, and you're not going to lose your companions to them that easy.

But if we look at it through the narrative and Carver's character, that's when it gets interesting. You can max out his rivalry and be an utter asshole to him [there's a point where you can call him a brat and mock him for being stuck in your shadow, like Hawke can be real cruel about it] but it doesn't matter, you're still his sibling. He even makes a remark about how you might not know what that means [referring to leaving him behind] but he does. He refuses to kill Hawke in the end when Meredith makes the order, too.

Which can I just point out that Hawke has the option to let Bethany die in the end if she's with the circle and they side with the templars? Just saying, Carver NEVER does that no matter what, but Hawke has the option to betray Bethany like that and it's fucked and interesting and it makes me want to eat my chair-

As for Merrill and Anders, I think he knows that if he turns either of them in, then the chances of Hawke being brought in as well skyrocket. They're all friends, they're in the same group... bring one in, and you'll probably get the other two.

I also think Carver just genuinely likes Merrill. Yes, I'm a Carver/Merrill shipper, so I have a bias, but even if you remove anything romantic from their dynamic I believe that's true. Of all the companions, Merrill is the only one who doesn't make fun of him, or find him annoying, in party banters. He never snaps back at her, like he's never defensive with her, he's just a little awkward and nice.

Like, HE'S SO NICE TO HER! He tries to find common ground with her! She asks him about "swording" and he's taken aback by her saying he's good at it, but you KNOW that if someone like Anders asked him the same question, he's be all, "shut up, you're stupid, stop talking to me >:["

Think back to that banter Carver can have with Aveline post-act 1 where they're talking about how the guard wasn't the right place for him [hard disagree with you there, Aveline] and Carver says he was a bit of a tit, wasn't he.... and every companion will agree except Merrill. She doesn't say anything, whereas other companions like Anders will be like "ugh maker YES" and if you have a purple Hawke, they'll go on to other ways Carver was a tit like?? I think Carver and Merrill got along and he doesn't want to turn her in because she was nice to him! And she's a blood mage! He knows what will happen to her if the templars get ahold of her! He doesn't want to see her made tranquil or killed!

At that point, he's witnessed what bad blood mages can do, assuming you've brought him along for those quests, but even so. He knows Merrill isn't like that and he likes her, so of course he's not going to turn her in despite that being his literal duty.

Then there's Anders who Carver doesn't like. If you're in a romance with him, Carver will tell him that's why he doesn't turn him in but c'mon Carver, you know that's not the only reason. My theory is Carver may not like Anders and he knows the man's got a spirit of justice inside of him... but Anders also runs a free clinic. If he's ever taken in by templars, then so many people [including a LOT of Fereldan refugees] will be without free health care and will suffer for it. I think in Carver's eyes, Anders might be irritating but he doesn't more good than harm. Carver knows first hand how shitty refugees and poorer people are treated in Kirkwall. Anders' clinic is the one place they can go for help and actually get it, and he's not going to be the one to take that away because the templars say "magic bad."

So yeah, I'm not as informed about the Templar Carver route, but I do think about how if I did do that route, he wouldn't betray Hawke or their companions no matter what and what that says about him.

[obsessive-disfuntion]

Gun-Slinging and Impressing the Literal Devil

Your favorite place to hang out was the constantly buzzing saloon owned by one of your acquaintances, Rosie. But after hearing too many men brag about how good they are with a gun, you grew tired of their egos and decided to shut them up. But in the process of showing off your skills you happened to impress a certain cowboy outlaw.

A/N: This is based off of the LOVELY art of cowboy Lucifer drawn by the incredibly talented and sweet @bat-boness so please go give them some love!! This fic is literally so outside of the Hazbin universe, Lucifer isn’t even the king of hell I just took his character and ran with it. Thank you all so much for all the love from my sneak peak for this fic, I barely had the motivation to finish it but you guys definitely helped me out with all the love so thank you ❤️

Warnings: Femme reader, AFAB terms and she/her pronouns used for reader, nsfw, 18+, not beta read!

You tilted your head back as you finished off your second glass of whiskey, letting out a groan from the burning in your throat. You pushed the glass back towards Rosie for a refill before tucking the stray hairs falling out of your braid behind your ears.

“Well sugar, I think you’ve had enough this afternoon… I want you to be able to walk out of here,” she grinned, taking the glass and starting to clean it. “Any particular reason you’re trying to drink yourself under the table today?”

“You know I got nothin’ better to do,” you chuckled, looking at Rosie. “And all these boys taking up air in this damned place are making me wish I was elsewhere.”

“They are rather… loud.”

“That’s an understatement,” you scoff. “I dunno how you put up with their bullshit, Rosie.”

A hush fell over the saloon, causing you to perk up and look towards the entrance.

“Shit,” you whisper, absolutely dumbfounded.

“My days… is that Lucifer?” Rosie gasped.

You nod your head, ensuring that your mouth was closed and not completely open in shock. What was he doing here in a place like this?

He walked in, completely ignoring the silence and heading towards the bar. His spurs clinked against the wood floor, and you quickly take in his appearance before looking away back towards Rosie. You only saw his eyes, which were narrowed in concentration. The rest of his face was covered by a white hat tilted over his brows and a red bandana hiding his mouth and nose that made his eyes nearly glow. Although the bandana wasn’t doing much, since the cut of his shirt was rather… low…

He stood to your left, leaning his arm against the bar counter causing him to nearly press against you he was so close. You couldn’t help but look up at him.

He smelled of barley and gunpowder… and his hair was unkempt from the wind that most-likely came from riding horseback.

“Well howdy,” he greeted Rosie, tipping his hat.

…What?

His voice was so… cheery. It didn’t match what he looked like at all. It contrasted his concentrated and unapproachable appearance.

“Well hey there, Lucifer… what can I get for ya this afternoon?” Rosie smiled as she grabbed a glass, being her usual charming self.

He pulled the bandana down to speak. “Strongest drink you have, if you please.”

Oh.

Oh fuck.

He was pretty… Smile that could make your knees buckle, rosy red cheeks, and… a surprising amount of manners for such a well-known outlaw.

“Of course… What brings you to our little town? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Just passin’ through. You know me. Well, not really. But I mean- I’m sure you’ve heard of me. Wait, that sounds awful full of myself, doesn’t it?”

“Just a little,” you butted in, causing you to widen your eyes in spite of yourself.

Why did you say that?

This brought his attention towards you, smile still on his face as he gave you a once over. You pretended not to notice, but it made you squirm in your seat and subtly adjust your ruffled skirt.

“Well hey there pretty lady. You come here often?”

You snort, which makes you flush in embarrassment. “Sure do. Rosie here is a close friend of mine.”

“Well, you both look absolutely lovely this afternoon,” he winked at the both of you, causing you to shrink in your seat and Rosie to let out a giggle.

“Why thank you,” Rosie smiled back, sliding over a glass of clear liquid to him. “Enjoy your stay here.”

“Thank ya, ma’am,” he tilted his hat once more and grabbed his glass, taking a sip before heading over to that damned group of men you’ve grown to hate and starting up a conversation.

“Well he was… surprisingly friendly,” you observed, looking to Rosie.

“Yeah… especially towards you,” Rosie smirked, propping her elbows on the bar counter and leaning her face into her palms. “He fancies you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head and dismissing the thought. Even if it was true, you couldn’t entertain the idea. He was an outlaw always on the run. You didn’t really want that life.

“Oh please, I could shoot circles around you.”

This caused you to glance behind you at one of the buffoons that was inflating his own ego earlier. Which he somehow had the audacity to say that to Lucifer, which caused your jaw to drop just slightly in disbelief.

But Lucifer didn’t even challenge the statement, for some reason. He just laughed and nodded.

“Oh, yeah, sure. I believe ya.”

“Damn… for a famous outlaw you don’t have a spine, now do ya?”

You slam your hands on the bar counter, causing the group of men to shut up for once.

“Y/N… I really don’t think-“

“Y’all sure are cocky for a bunch of bitches, aren’t ya?” you cut Rosie off, ignoring her warning and standing up out of your seat. 

You ignored the snickers coming from a few of the men, standing in front of them with your back straight and proud. You sure as hell weren’t gonna back down now that you’ve stepped in it. 

“Every goddamn day y’all come here and talk about your skills but I never see it.”

You lift your skirt, high enough to show your mid thigh, which caused almost all of the men to blush, wide-eyed as some stared and others looked away. You reveal your gun holster strapped to your thigh, pulling out your revolver and spinning it by the trigger guard with your pointer finger as you let your skirt fall back down.

“So how about you boys let me show you mine,” you smirk, tilting your dark brown hat back so they could all really get a look at you. 

“Why the fuck would we give you the time of day, little lady? Why don’t you go back to sittin’ and lookin’ pretty at the bar counter there-“

You pull back on the hammer spur of your revolver, lifting the gun up with one hand and narrowing one eye as you aim. You shot directly in the center of the cocky man’s hat, knocking it off of his thick skull before the bullet bounced into the wooden wall, it coming to a stop once it was wedged in between the boards. 

“Hey!” Rosie snapped, causing you to wince. “Not here, not inside- get out! All of you- you too Y/N!”

You shot her an apologetic look as you pushed forward on the hammer spur of your gun, walking outside with an anger bubbling in your chest. How dare those dumbs bastards speak to you that way…

You turn around when you hear the swinging doors open, watching with a smirk as the group of dumbs men get on their horses and ride away, not even sneaking a glance at you.

But then Lucifer walks out, and you look at the ground. Was he angry? But why would he be?

He called out your name, which he probably figured it out when Rosie yelled at you to get out, gaining your attention and causing you to look up.

“Ya still wanna show off your skills?” he asked, raising a brow and giving you a smile.

Your heart fluttered and you gave him a shrug. “Well if I have an audience.”

“Of course you do, couldn’t take my eyes off ya, sweetheart.”

He grabbed 3 empty food cans out of the bag hanging on the side of his horse, which he probably ate out of during his travels, leaving you to stare at him with wide eyes and blushing cheeks at his words. He set them up on different posts on the fence of a pasture that was next to the saloon. 

“Alright, show me what you got,” he shot you a toothy grin, stepping away from the cans as you scoffed.

“Please,” you laughed, making sure to take more steps back than what he was expecting. 

You shot the cans just like you shot the man’s hat from before, one eye slightly narrowed and gun raised with one hand. You shot one after the other, hitting them perfectly and knocking each one off of their posts with only a few seconds in between each shot.

Once they all hit the floor, you put the safety back on by pressing forward on the hammer spur.

“Damn…” Lucifer whistled, stepping towards you. “Haven’t seen someone shoot like that in a long time.”

“Glad I could impress someone like Lucifer himself,” you smiled, tipping your hat before lifting your skirt again and hooking your gun into the holster strapped around your thigh.

You tried to pretend you didn’t notice him staring at your skin as you let your skirt fall.

“Already was impressed when I saw you for the first time. Wasn’t kiddin’ when I called you a pretty lady.”

You blushed at the compliment but played it off, taking a stop towards him. “And you’re strikingly handsome for an outlaw… you’d think always being on the run would ruin one’s appearance.”

“Well, I suppose I’m criminally handsome as well.”

You snicker behind your hand. You really liked him…

“I’m not stayin’ here too long…”

“What a shame,” you frown at him, sticking out your bottom lip in a fake pout. 

“But I’d still like to have a pleasant stay. Any ideas on how I can make my visit a little more… fun?” he asked, stepping so close to you that his crossed arms nearly touched your chest.

Your eyes widened at his words. You looked at him, and his eyes were narrowed, honed in on you and only you and taking in your appearance.

Well shit. Who are you to deny someone like him?

“I might have a few… it wouldn’t be too bad of an idea to show a merciless outlaw to my own home, would it?”

“Well… I certainly don’t think so… at least, not this outlaw,” he smiled at you, placing a gentle hand on your hip, and you caught him staring down at your figure.

“Well, let’s get on your horse and I’ll show you the way.”

“You don’t have your own?” he asks, taking your hand and showing you to his horse, which was a beautiful dusty grey color with a black mane.

“Nah- everything ‘round here is walking distance. If I need one I usually use one of Rosie’s- that there is her pasture, she has a few animals she likes takin’ care of,” you explain, ignoring the hand he puts out to help you and mounting the horse by yourself.

Lucifer’s eyes were slightly widened in shock as you made it clear that you didn’t need his assistance, getting on the horse and sitting behind you. “I see,” he smiled, pressing himself against you and holding onto your waist. “Lead the way, darlin’. And take your time, I’m in no rush.”

Your lips part and your heart hammers at the sudden touch, gently snapping the reins of the horse to a soft trot as you guide it to your home.

But just after a few steps from the horse you felt Lucifer’s hands travel down your waist to your hips, and then they slowly made their way forward.

“Lucifer, just what do you think you’re doing?” you ask, breath falling short as you sneak a glance over your shoulder back at him.

“Just keep goin’ sweetheart. I’m just havin’ a little fun.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to concentrate on getting the two of you to your home, breath hitching as his hands travelled down towards the center of your thighs.

“Lucifer, I’m… I’m trying to concentrate here,” you try to scold, lungs sputtering for air out of nerves and excitement when his grip tightens on your thighs and teases the area where your pelvis meets your hip.

“I know, darlin’. You can still get us there, can’t you?”

“Well… yeah,” you sighed, placing one hand on the hand that was getting dangerously close to a place you DIDNT want him touching out here.

“Don’t try to hold me back, baby,” he teased, breath hitting your ear.

You pull on the reigns of the horse, getting him to stop.

“We’re here,” you sighed. “Thank god.”

Lucifer jumped off the horse and you quickly followed. “I have some fenced off land in the back. You can keep your horse there, if you’d like,” you offer, handing him the reigns and showing him to the land you had behind your house.

It was peaceful where you lived- just at the end of town but close enough to everything you needed.

Once Lucifer let his horse back, and made him comfortable, he turned to you with a smile. “Thank ya, darlin’.”

“Why, of course,” you teased with a smile, taking his hands and leading him inside your home.

As soon as the door closed behind the two of you, he grabbed onto your waist and you gripped onto his shoulders as he pulled you into a lip-bruising kiss. 

He pulled you close, hands lowering to your hips and slotting one of his legs in between yours to press his thigh against you.

“Lucifer…” you breathed, running your hands to his hair and gripping onto the roots, moving towards his neck and pressing soft kisses along the skin. 

“Baby, you are…”

“C’mon,” you interrupt him against his skin, pulling back and leading him to your bed. “You wanted some fun while you’re in town, right?”

“Right,” he nodded, pushing you atop the covers as soon as you got near the mattress, kicking his shoes off and getting on the bed.

He hovered over you on his knees, already beginning to hike up your skirt which made you laugh under your breath, slightly nervous. You reached for your ankles, sitting up slightly as you unlaced your shoes and threw them to the side as Lucifer removed his hat and serape and putting them to the side.

You watched carefully when he took off his shirt, pulling it off and placing it aside, immediately inviting you- whether he meant to or not- to touch all of his chest and stomach that you could. You sighed out a deep breath (of slight disappointment) when he pulled away from your hands and pushed up your skirt enough to see your bloomers and under-skirts which he quickly removed. “You alright?” he checked in, looking up at you, barely able to rip his eyes away from your body.

“Yeah,” you whispered, giving him a smile and reaching out to run a hand through his hair. “Of course I am.”

He gave you a cheeky smile, immediately ducking down and starting to kiss along your upper thigh. He didn’t even have the patience to take your skirt off first, he just lifted it up so it would be out of the way and pushing it back so he could still see you. Right after the skirts were out of the way, he unclipped the gun holster around your thigh and dropping it onto the floor.

“Damn, you’re impatient…” you teased as an attempt to keep your composure, letting out a small, nervous laugh as he looked back up at you.

“I said I wanted to have fun while I’m here… and I don’t play around. I get what I want, if ya didn’t notice, sweetheart.”

“Aw, but you don’t wanna take your time with me?” you teased, trying but failing to hide your smile.

“I think you and I both know you like it hard and fast too, darlin’. I don’t really think you care if I take off our clothes or not. Do you?”

You flushed at those words, unable to get yourself to answer, let alone decide what to say.

“That’s what I thought.”

He dives back into your thigh, immediately making his way to your pussy and spreading your folds before licking a stripe across your hole and to your clit. 

“Jesus- fucking christ, Lucifer,” you gasped, glancing down at him and placing your hands in his hair to brace yourself. 

He doubles down, chuckling against you causing to let out a breathy moan. You felt your whole core spasm against the sudden attention, tilting your head back and getting lost in the feeling as soon as he thrust his tongue into your hole. 

“Fucking shit, Lucifer!”

You let out a small cry when he holds your thighs open, causing them to shake. “Please, oh my god-“

He pulled away so that his lips were just barely against your clit, looking up at you through his eyelashes. “Please what, baby? What do you want?”

“You, you… please-“

“Already desperate for me?” he whispered, having the audacity to laugh at you.

“Shut your trap…”

He apparently didn’t like that response, so he gripped your thighs harder and started sucking on your clit with an unwavering vigour.

“What- Lucifer!” you cry out, one hand gripping onto his hair and the other slamming onto the mattress, gripping onto the sheets in a desperate attempt to keep your composure and not burst into tears right there. 

He moves one hand from your thigh up to intertwine his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly and still keeping his gaze on you.

He finally gave you a break, pulling away and giving you a smile. 

“You’re so beautiful…” he breathed, studying your face and tracing his fingertips along your thigh.

You blushed under his admiration, looking off to the side out of embarrassment from his intense gaze.

“Whatta ya say, darlin’?”

You look back at him, face warm and eyes wide. “Thank you…”

“Atta girl,” he chuckled, sitting up on his knees before leaning over you, his arms planted by your torso against the mattress to keep himself up.

He pressed his face against your neck, causing you to inhale a sharp breath and gripping onto his hair with one hand again as he peppered kisses along your neck. “Are you teasing me now?” you laughed under your breath, slowly lifting your bare hips to press against his.

He let out a gentle groan, nipping at your jawline. “What can I say? I wanna take my time with ya…”

You scoff, smile evident on your face as you trailed your hand down. It rested at the top of Lucifer’s pants, slowly undoing his belt. “But I thought you were here to have fun, sugar… where’s that needy attitude now?” you mutter back, placing the belt next to you two on the mattress and trailing your hands down again to push down his pants, just enough to…

“Well, you’re gonna take away my fun by rushing me,” Lucifer frowned, immediately grabbing you by your wrists and pushing your hands away. “Fun doesn’t mean quick, sugar,” he mocked. “Let me play a bit.”

He gently pressed your hands down against the mattress, a silent signal to keep them there, before trailing his hands along your chest. He grinned down at you, slowly unclasping the hooks from your corset and throwing it aside before beginning to undo your shirt. “Beautiful- best part of this town.”

You shudder at the touch to your breasts, letting out a small laugh. “Do you say that to all the girls you bed?”

He looked at you with a raised brow, unbuttoning your shirt all the way as he obviously began to lose his patience with you. “Haven’t done this in years, baby. You’re special, don’t you worry.” 

He tossed your shirt to the side, straddling your hips and running his hand along your jaw. He ducked down, kissing your lips and nipping them immediately. You opened your mouth, tentatively, which he took advantage of and invaded your mouth with his smooth tongue.

You gasped, his tongue working wonders as you were able to taste yourself, and you lifted a hand to place on his hip as an attempt to get him to not stop.

He pulled away, though, and stared down at you with narrowed eyes. “I thought it was obvious I wanted you to keep your hands to yourself, but apparently you didn’t pick up on that.”

You opened your mouth to complain, but he wasn’t having any of it. He grabbed his belt, which made your mouth go dry. “Gimme your hands, love.”

You stutter, tongue feeling as if it was swollen while your hands remain still. “Lucifer, you won’t-“

“C’mon baby,” he interrupted, gaze turning slightly cold which sent shivers down your spine. “Hands.”

Your eyes widen and you shakily hold up your hands, embarrassed at the feeling of your pussy already dripping onto the bedsheets.

“Don’t worry, angel. I’ll still treat you right. I’d never hurt you,” he reassured, slightly alarmed at your shaking, but he gave you a look that you knew was him telling you you could stop whenever.

There was the man that you saw at the bar. Bless his heart, he’s too kind.

“I’m…” you trail off, thighs nearly twitching when he pushes your hands against the bed frame. “I’m just fine.”

He wrapped the belt around your wrists and the headboard of the bed, finally fastening it which caused your thighs to press together.

“Goddamnit will you PLEASE get on with it,” you felt your voice betray you, causing Lucifer to pause as soon as the belt was fastened. 

He pulled away, going back to hovering above you with a smug grin. “Darlin’… you like the belt?”

“I didn’t fucking say that, did I?”

“Oh, touchy… you’re a brat, aren’t ya?” he laughed at you, situating himself so that he could reach back, pushing past your thighs and pressing against your clit in between your folds, before reaching down further and pressing one finger into your hole. 

Your eyes closed, body relieved at the attention as you slumped against the mattress and gently tugging against the belt around your wrists. 

“You do like it.”

“Perhaps,” you muttered, looking down at him. 

“Oh, no need to be shy… it’s alright, you can tell me anything,” he teased, slowly pulling his finger out of you, then slowly thrusting back in. 

You gasped, now realizing just how powerless you were at the fact that your wrists were completely restrained, looking at his face as he pressed barely-there kisses along your sternum.

He teased the pad of his second finger around your entrance, then slowly pushed it inside to join the finger that was already there. He was stretching you out.

“Lucifer… please go faster, I’m fine, y’know. Don’t need to worry about me.”

He looked down at you and smiled, pressing a quick and soft kiss to your lips before pulling back slightly to look at you as he rubbed against your walls with his fingers. “Ya sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He chuckled, pulling his fingers out of you before trailing them up to his face and licking his tongue along the two fingers slowly, savouring the taste. “You’re just perfect, love.”

You shrank under the praise, heart skipping a beat in your chest at his actions. He pulled away though, tugging down his pants. You watched, with hardly any shame at all, as he throws them to the floor, and he climbs closer to you again, leaning over you as he uses one hand to press himself against your entrance. He looks up at you with his hair slightly in his eyes and an excited grin stretched across his lips.

“You ready, angel?”

You smile, surprised that he checked in with you so suddenly, but it made your heart swell. “Yes… of course,” you nod. 

He gave you a soft smile which made your chest tighten, and he pushed himself into you slowly. Your breath got stuck somewhere in your throat, and once he noticed that your breathing stopped, he stopped too. “Breathe, sweetheart… breathe.”

You gasped for breath, probably louder than you realized, and your wrists slacked then tightened against the belt. “Keep going,” you whispered, words barely falling out of your lips.

“Okay, just… tell me when you need me to stop, alright? I don’t wanna hurt ya,” he soothed, leaning up and pressing careful kisses against your cheek as he pushed in further.

Tears welled in your eyes at the stretch, your back arching and your jaw nearly going slack. Lucifer tightened his grip on your hips, keeping you still.

But then he kept going, and your eyes squeezed shut at the lack of control. But you weren’t panicking. 

There was something about the smell of dust in his unkempt hair against your face, and the way his body slotted against yours, that just made you trust him completely. Which was… jarring, to say the least, since you just met him.

You grew used to the intrusion, even if it did just keep growing and growing. But then his hips slotted against yours, and you were finally able to breathe again. 

“Wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

“Easy for you to say…” you panted, smiling at him when he pulled back to look at you. 

“Mmm… not THAT easy. You have no idea how much it’s taking for me to not fuck you into this bed right now.”

It was then that you noticed that his arms were shaking, and you smiled a little to yourself. He felt this way just for you?

“You can go, baby… just go slow, please,” you instructed, holding back a laugh at the way his face lit up.

“God bless ya, darlin’,” he laughed breathily as an attempt to tease you, gently pulling out, which made your wrists unintentionally tug aggressively against the headboard. 

But once he slowly pushed back in, your vision went white and you let out an unfiltered, drawn-out whine. You didn’t want to say it out loud, but holy shit… he was huge.

“You’re so pretty like this, love. Look at you…”

You open your eyes a bit, peeking at him only for them to roll back when he pulls out and pushes back in again, this time a little faster.

“Sound so good, angel. And you feel so good, too. Easily best part of coming to town.”

You let out a breath, or at least tried to, since your lungs were absolutely fluttering at the feeling and his words.

“Lucifer, you can go… faster,” you muttered, looking at him with watering eyes and a wobbly smile.

He cursed under his breath, examining your face for a moment before pulling out again. The friction against you made you cry out, weak and soft, only for him to push back into you.

But this time he didn’t stop in between thrusts, he just kept going, which made your hips twitch.

“Fuck…”

He groaned, turning his head so that his lips pressed against your ear. His breath hit your skin, causing you to shiver against his hold.  He liked the reactions you were having, though, which made him double down and push your limits even more.

“I felt that, baby… You’re reacting like that just for me?”

Your eyes squeezed shut, nodding as an answer. He pulled back a bit to look at you, giving you a smug grin before lifting your hips slightly and deepening his angle.

“Oh- oh…! Lu-!”

“I bet you’d like me to come back every now and again, just for me to fuck you like this over and over. Ain’t that right?”

“Yeah-! Right, Lucifer!” your voice hiccuped with the way your body moved against the bed with each of his thrusts, eyes half-lidded.

“Lucifer, wait,” you gasped, jaw clenching. 

He stopped in his tracks, not moving as he looked down at you. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, of course not. I feel so good… just… please undo the belt. Please.”

He immediately nodded and reached over you to the headboard, quick to listen. As soon as the belt was unfastened he threw it off the bed and massaged along your wrists, trying to soothe the slight burn. 

Instead of letting him continue you grabbed his hands, pushing him away before sitting up, pulling him back so he was laying down. You straddled his hips, placing your against his chest to keep him there.

“What are you…?”

“You pick up on things easy, just wait.”

You reach back, lining him up with yourself before lowering down onto him. He let out a breath, instantly gripping onto your hips.

“Baby, sweetheart, I can’t keep this up that long if ya-“

“I know, that’s the point,” you smile down at him, raising yourself and lowering again.

He let out a noise. You’d never heard anything like it, it was soft and high pitched, but you’d do anything to hear it again. 

You looked down at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly open as you rose and fell again, then again, until you started consistently bouncing.

“Fuck, angel, you’re so goddamn tight.”

“Just for you, baby.”

Something in him shakes and he slams you down on his cock, forcing a near scream out of your throat. 

“Just for me?”

“Yes- yes, just for you!” you exclaimed in surprise, doubling down and speeding up your pace.

He tilted his head back in response, becoming lost to the feeling which just made you shudder all over.

“You’re so pretty, love… so gorgeous, I could watch you do this for hours,” he praised, tracing along your hips before tightening his grip again. 

Your face flushed and your body shuddered at the praise, the friction from your bounces starting to get to you. Lucifer noticed and trailed one of his hands down from your hip and immediately circled his thumb around your clit. 

“Ah! Lucifer, I’m close, are-“

“Right there with ya, angel,” he smiled at you, albeit a little wobbly since he was barely containing his own whimpers.

You clenched around him, bouncing stuttering only for Lucifer to help you out with the hand that was still on your hip.

“You’re such a good girl- so good you make me want to stay,” you heard his weak voice whisper in between his whines, causing your eyes to widen as you looked down at him.

You gasp, your back arching and your stomach fluttering as you climax. Your eyes just barely caught Lucifer’s expression while he finished himself, his eyelids nearly falling and his breath hitching before letting out a strained whimper while he finishes inside you.

You cried out at the feeling of him spilling into you in the middle of your peak, doubling over as your moans stutter and hiccup while you finally get over your peak.

“You did so good, love…”

He slowly sat up, breath still erratic as he gently and carefully pulled out of you which caused you to whimper from your own sensitivity. 

“That’s it… just breathe, you did so well, darlin’.”

He laid you back down, grabbing a quilt that was folded on the bottom of the bed and placing it over you so you’d stay warm. You smile at the soft fabric against your skin and watched his hand cup your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your face. He delicately took your hair out of its braid, massaging your scalp once your hair was down and splayed out along your shoulders. 

He moved to lay down behind you under the quilt, slotting his body against you from behind and hugging around your waist. “Can I stay the night?”

You decide to not let the reality that he has to leave hit you yet. With how his arms felt around you, with this new feeling in general, is presence just felt… right. Might as well pretend that the feeling doesn’t have to leave for a little bit longer.

“Of course you can.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading <3 sorry that it took me so long to write, I literally hate school with a passion :)

Taglist: @heavenlyraindrops

[calliesmemes]

EVEN MORE ABSOLUTELY UNHINGED COMEDIC RELIEF

ASSORTED SENTENCE STARTERS FROM AROUND THE INTERNET, including quotes from Tumblr, Pinterest, TikTok, and X (formerly known as Twitter), for when a muse wants to lighten up the situation at hand.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

“   It’s sea shanty time once again my fellow bastards of the ocean! ”

“   Partner, I reckon that I ain’t been feeling very yeehaw lately. ”

“   I don’t study; I consult the lore. ”

“   Yeah, I understand women — they all want daggers and swords. It’s all quite simple, really. ”

“   Lord forgive me but I may have to make a nonessential purchase. ”

“   Those are bold words for someone in stabbing range. ”

“   Yes I’m a gatekeeper and a hater. I’m also God’s most favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world. ”

“   My primary motivations are fear, spite, and aesthetic longing. ”

“   Man — if I had a sword, I wouldn’t be worried about shit. ”

“   It’s not blood that runs through these veins but glitter gel pen ink. ”

“   If I was in a Jane Austen novel, I would be the one sent to the seaside for my health. ”

“   Half of me is a hopeless romantic, and the other half of me is … well … an asshole. ”

“   I am the nicest, sweetest, most rage-filled person I know. ”

“   I hope I give off the vibe to all animals that I am their ally and their friend. ”

“   I see you’re paying attention to someone who is not me. Why is that? ”

“   Normalize letting me talk without making any sense. ”

“   Don’t care, didn’t ask, plus my psychic visions have predicted the outcome of this encounter. ”

“   I could be so much worse. For example, I could start acting like my father. ”

“   Sorry for acting so strange and irregular; It will happen again. ”

“   i love sitting in my room.....alone....a girl in her cave....scheming and plotting and drinking tea. ”

“   These man made horrors are beyond YOUR comprehension. I get it though. ”

“   I’m a goth girl on the inside. On the outside? A father figure. ”

“   I don’t need to face reality; I’m not just that type of girl. ”

“   DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A frickle-frackle? ”

“   I’m about to cha cha real smooth off a fucking cliff. ”

“   Sorry I told you about my trauma. Do you still think I’m hot? ”

“   My priorities aren’t straight and neither am I. ”

“   I have felt permanently guilty for no reason since I was like eight years old. ”

“   Of course I have a lot of pent up rage, you fool! I’ve been the same height since I was twelve years old! ”

“   I was born for shock value. ”

“   Good morning! God has let me live another day and I’m about to make it everyone’s problem. ”

“   Oh, I slept miserably because I was tormented by terrible visions all night. I hope none of them were prophetic! ”

“   Be the surreal nonsense that you want to see in the world. ”

“   Being smart has never stopped me from being a complete fucking idiot. ”

“   My hobbies include knowing things and being right. ”

“   This is good advice, but don’t tell me what to do. ”

“   I hate the idea of authority. What the fuck is someone being superior to me? Bitch I’m gonna take your kneecaps. ”

“   Stop forgiving my crimes! I worked so hard on those! ”

“   My hobbies? Uhhhh, symbolism mostly. Metaphors and implications and the like. ”

“   I may not have any braincells, but I make up for it by having many heart cells. ”

“   I can’t mansplain manipulate manwhore my way out of this one guys! ”

“   Not all your life decisions have to be smart. Some can be purely for cinematic value. ”

“   Sometimes I wish I looked more fragile and feminine like a dainty flower, but I do enjoy looking like I hate everyone. ”

“   Any dream can be a prophetic dream if you’re willing to do some really weird shit. ”

“   girl help there is not enough enrichment in my enclosure. ”

“   BRO, you NEED to stop SUMMONING DEMONS in the FRAT HOUSE. ”

“   I just gave your address to some spiders! ”

“   I disappoint my father as a hobby now. ”

“   I think that the dark circles under my eyes add to my aesthetic actually. ”

“   Good news! I’ve successfully replaced all of my emotions with jokes! ”

“   I have half a braincell left and I’m very scared to use it! ”

“   Listen, son — in this world, it’s either yeet or be yeeted. ”

“   I appreciate the advice, but I think that I’m old enough to make my own bad decisions. ”

“   I’m disappointed in me too. Y’all aren’t special. ”

“   Running from your demons is the best exercise! ”

“   Sorry; I can’t commit any crimes with you. My mom says that I have to study. ”

“   Time flies when you don’t know what the fuck is going on. ”

“   If I run out of tacos, I can no longer maintain my human form. ”

“   Bestie, I don’t think that I can girlboss under these conditions. ”

“   Yeah I’ve had combat training; I can do anxiety attacks! ”

“   Swag is earned, not learned. ”

“   Contrary to popular belief, violence solves a lot. ”

“   I CANNOT STAND YOU ALL so I will SIT DOWN. ”

“   Please God no … I don’t need any more character development right now! ”

“   If you can’t beat ‘em, yeet ‘em. ”

“   Do not put me in a situation. I’m at my limit and I am very tired. ”

“   I may be depressed, but at least I’m not basic. ”

“   It’s MY LIFE and I’ll sabotage it myself, thank you. ”

“   Think twice? Bold of you to assume that I think once. ”

“   At the next inconvenience, I will start biting people. ”

“   Oops I think that I just experienced an emotion. ”

“   Did you know that rats spelled backwards is star? ”

“   One day, I’ll be reincarnated as a pigeon, and I’ll shit on your head. ”

“   On the outside, I’m a baddie — but on the inside, I’m a saddie. ”

“   My grandma bullies me through the Ouija board. ”

“   I’m a cool person if you can just look past my personality. ”

“   Beetles don’t have to do taxes, and I think that is a beautiful way to live. ”

“   I hope that you get your character development arc soon. ”

“   Those are some nice kneecaps … It’d be a shame if someone stole them … ”

“   I’ve wanted to be a trophy wife ever since I was a little boy. ”

“   I’m done being baby; I want POWER ”

“   Wait, “Just Standing There Ominously” doesn’t count as socializing? ”

“   Yes I am smart, and yes, I am stupid. It’s called being flexible. ”

“   I am NOT delusional!!!!! I am OPTIMISTIC! ”

“   I deserve compensation for not being the menace to society that i could be, like i'm skipping out on a lot of fun here. ”

“   Do not ask me if you should or shouldn't do something !!! Before I am a friend I am an enabler !!! ”

“   i am the WORLDS PRETTYIST PINK PRINCESS and im gonna KILL YOU WITH MY HUGE FUCKING HAMMER ”

[farenmaddox]

saw the WIP challenge from @wanderingcas about posting a snippet from something you're working on and getting some motivation for it. I've gotten all in my head about my post-canon SPN fic and completely stalled out on it, so I thought I'd just... try this and see if it helps.

“You’re in heaven?” Sam speaks up, when Dean can’t seem to find any words.

“Oh. Yes. I suppose that would be news. To be fair, Jack having the power to bring me there was news to me.”

Dean is so, so fucking stupid. Obviously Jack came to get Cas, that would still be part of fixing all of the shit from before, not interfering in new stuff. Obviously Cas isn’t just suffering in the Empty for eternity, holy shit. It makes him so relieved that he kind of has to lean on one of the posts for a minute.

“Dean?” Cas asks, tensing up immediately.

“M’good,” he mumbles, waving him off. He just… needs to breathe.

Sam rushes in and pulls Cas into an absolutely crushing hug, saying, “Thanks for coming. Is… is Jack...?”

“He can’t visit without violating the rules. He asked me to say hello on his behalf, though.”

“Oh,” Sam says, deflating a little. “That’s okay. Glad you’re here, anyway. Are you, uh, do you have to go back right away? Does the interference thing include, you know, talking to us?”

“I’m not Jack. I am free to do as I wish,” Cas says.

“Man, it would be nice if you wished to help us get rid of some vamp bodies,” Dean mutters, because the enormity of what just happened is slamming into him like a truck, and he kind of wants to do the rest of this debrief somewhere that isn’t covered in his own blood, maybe after getting those kids home to their deeply traumatized mother.

Cas just looks at him for a long time, but that’s not new. Dean just looks back. He’s so, so tired and there’s work to do, and this is how they operate, right? Do the job until the job’s done, and then they do the celebrating. Cas knows that as well as anybody.

“Fine,” Cas says, short and clipped. And then the bodies are just gone, and so is the blood, from one blink to the next.

Dean chuckles in spite of himself. “You that eager to get to the part where you yell at me, ya big fuckin’ hypocrite?”

Read the rest (approx. 500 more words) under the cut

Cas flinches away from that, actually, and goes striding back out of the barn. “The children are hiding behind a large tree roughly fifteen yards that direction,” he says, waving vaguely. “I assume there wouldn’t be room in the car if you need to transport them, so I’ll meet you in town.”

Sam and Dean stare at each other.

“Jesus,” Dean mutters. “Well, it’s definitely Cas, huh?”

Sam’s face twitches. Dean’s twitches right back.

A few seconds later, they are fully busting-up, clutching-their-guts, howling-like-animals laughing. They collapse into each other’s arms, and yeah, there are a couple of tears thrown in there. Just like, a few. Because hell, Dean had been dying, literally and actually dying, and they had been having a fucking Moment, and it’s not that easy to shake off.

Eventually they get their shit together and find the boys, and they bring them to their mom, who is not great, but is obviously better for having her kids back. There’s a lot of crying going on when Sam and Dean retreat, but their job is done and the part with the tissues and trying to put lives back together doesn’t have anything to do with them.

Cas is waiting by the car when they come back out. Sam immediately rushes in and gives him another hug, the sap, saying, “Sorry, man, I just… it’s really good to see you.”

Cas gives him a huge smile and return hug. “You too, Sam,” he says.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Dean says, already making for the driver’s seat. “I can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Sam says immediately.

“What?”

“Dean, it’s a fourteen-hour drive to get home from here.”

“And?”

“And I’m not having this conversation in the car! And no, I’m not sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable silence for fourteen hours either! We’re taking our happy asses to a motel or something and finishing what we started in the barn, and it wouldn’t kill us to get some sleep, either.”

Dean stutters something that is trying to be a protest, but isn’t. Sam’s just scowling at him and still pitching a bitch-fit.

“And you’re talking to Cas, too, because you obviously need to!”

“Do I get a say in this?” Cas asks with his eyebrows raised.

“No!” Dean and Sam snap at him at the same time.

“The most recent person to do self-sacrificial bullshit in this family loses voting privileges until the next person screws up,” Dean adds. Cas opens his mouth, scowling, and Dean points a finger at him. “Just now in there does not count, because I did not fucking do that on purpose and you know it.”

Cas closes his mouth.

[finnbin]

You guys ever think about Quadron's obsessions with arms? It's his calling card: his entire thing is arms, despite not having any himself.

Then him dwelling in the Evirwinter woods, next to a village of elves who primarily use longbows - a two handed weapon - for everything. Hunting, fighting, defending each other. Sure, Kyborg has a long-sword and shield, but he practically never uses them. That boy is bow-dependent, through and through, probably like the rest of his village.

But Quadron takes arms whenever he can. He fights to kill, and if he can't kill, he maims. He fights these people - who are so dependent on their ability to use both arms - and rips their limbs off. Even if they're already dead, or if he thinks they're going to die in Kyborg's case, he takes them anyway.

Just thinking about this poor, alone child, who's lost his ability to do practically anything he was taught? Thinking his entire culture would die with him? He had no idea he'd find a dying automaton and be able to replace his arm, he had to accommodate to living one handed (he lost his dominant arm as well). He lived out of spite and an absurd amount of luck.

And Quadron shows no canonical remorse for these actions.

He literally does not give a shit. He's so absorbed by himself, and his own jealousy(?) of Kyborg and his family. Maybe reminiscing on his days with Ahem? He could have this internalised abilism of his own lack of arms. Who knows what his motive was, to be honest.

Quadron's such a fascinating villain, for one that probably was created as a joke by Blaine. His character needs a good analysis, probably not by me because I don't fully understand his motives.

Plus, that flashback episode in the dreamery? Fucking brutal man. Probably the goriest the intern's story got. I loved every second of it but damn.

Anyway idk what this was LOL