#ssi logic

[brokenhardies]

Virgil: The real reason Howl kept his house moving was tax evasion Logan: This sounds like a joke, but I read the book. This was the literal reason Roman: ...WHAT--

[pursued-by-the-squid]

viii. check your footing

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

word count: 13.9k

ao3 | masterlist

That could have been you. It should have been you. You glance over up Gi-hun as he shuffles inside the player room just ahead, his head and shoulders hanging unbearably low. You almost wish it had been you.

Fuck, that’s a lie, no you don’t. You’re so relieved to be alive that it clouds your vision and chokes your lungs. You want to drop onto your knees and praise the universe for allowing you to live. But then you remember how desperate you’d been to save Jun-hee’s life and the life of her child, the way you’d looked up at Gi-hun and told him without words that you were terrified to leave him because it might mean you’d die alone, without him. Jung-bae only left because of you.

You killed him. It’s your fault he’s dead.

You can’t help feeling like you’ve killed Gi-hun too. The man you see now is unlike anyone you’ve ever known before. Despair clings to him like a second skin. Every time you think he’s finally stopped crying, his shoulders ripple and he doubles over with another sob. He is shattered beyond belief and you don’t blame him for that, you never could, but you still feel like every gut-wrenching gasp and every tear is only there because you were selfish enough to put your life and the life of a stranger before Jung-bae’s.

No one speaks. What can they say? Any apologies or sympathies for Gi-hun’s sorrow will only come out hollow, a nicety without any real value because none of you knew Jung-bae like he does. Did. Because he’s dead. Oh God.

Young-il takes a seat immediately next to you, his leg pressed against yours with a shock of warmth. You can feel how heavy his gaze is without even looking at him, can feel him studying you and you don’t even know why. You don’t have the heart to ask.

Several long minutes go by. “Why don’t you go to him?” he murmurs.

A quick glance in Gi-hun’s direction tells you exactly why you shouldn’t. He’s huddled up against the nearest stable surface with a hand over his eyes as he cries, his body curling in on itself until he looks more like a child than the man you know. It’s heartbreaking. And it’s your fault.

Because I killed him, you think. Because it should’ve been me. Why would he want to even speak to me after what I’ve done?

You shake your head. “I don’t think it would help.”

“Don’t you?” Young-il rests a hand on your knee. “You’re his friend, [___]. Maybe he needs you.”

Guilt streaks across your soul and you wrench your leg away from him with a grimace. “I’m the reason he’s dead,” you growl, your voice rasping as you drop it as low it will go. “I-I can’t–.”

Sorrow wells up inside you until you’re choking on it. You were too shocked to cry before, too busy trying to keep Gi-hun from dragging the entire team across the arena or getting a gun to the head for disobeying orders to worry about crying. But now with the freedom of space and time, your guilt is bubbling over and threatening to spill down your cheeks.

There’s a beat of silence where you’re struggling to maintain your composure and Young-il just… sits there. His hand hovers uncertainly between you. Maybe he’s realizing you’re right, that you are the reason for Jung-bae’s death. Maybe he’s regretting now the choice to ever befriend you, just like you’re sure that Gi-hun is.

And then, finally, he’s wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a side embrace. “It wasn’t your fault,” he hums.

“It was.”

“It wasn’t.” He squeezes his arm a little tighter. “Jung-bae-ssi made his choice. He chose to find another team and… his team lost. It’s unfortunate, yes, but it isn’t your fault.”

You suppose that’s his way of trying to comfort you – find the logic in the situation and accept it – but it doesn’t work for you like it does for him. Because you can still see the shape of Jung-bae’s body on the floor. You can still see his blood. You can still hear Gi-hun screaming in the back of your mind.

You sniffle lightly into your hands. “Then why do I feel like it is?”

He’ll tell you something poetic and charming, you think, about how you’re a kind soul who cares too deeply. That’s what anyone else would say were they in his shoes. Whether he genuinely believes that or not, though, you have no real idea because Young-il decides instead to curve his hand over the shell of your ear, brushing some of your hair away from your face.

“Give Gi-hun-ssi the space to mourn, hm?” You’re so stunned by the gentle lilt of his voice and the vulnerability of the gesture that you can hardly breathe. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

His tenderness leaves you fluttering amid the swirling maelstrom of your emotions. It feels so out of place, so inherently wrong, to accept a kind word and gentle touch after all the death you’ve witnessed. Where was Jung-bae’s tenderness? Where was the mercy he deserved and what makes you worthy enough to live in his place?

You aren’t even afforded the chance to antagonize yourself on the matter further because the doors at the front of the room suddenly open, revealing several of the pink soldiers. 255 of the original 457 players remain, as reflected on the scoreboard above. More money is added to the pig’s belly – 20.1 billion won now and nearly 79 million won per person. The amount is staggering in your mind, even after years of receiving Gi-hun’s financial boons.

Yet so many players are unhappy with these results. It’s too little bloodshed, they complain, and not enough money. How are they meant to pay off their debts with such a small amount? How are they meant to survive in the cold, cruel world outside these games with only 79 million won?

Standing tall and unwavering beneath the scoreboard, Square Mask surveys the room. Cold and detached. “I completely understand your disappointment,” he says cooly. You wonder if he feels anything under that mask, if he feels any sympathy for the people he’s helped to slaughter or if he’s truly as soulless as he appears. “However, we always keep the door open for you to pursue new opportunities. You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not.”

Chatter starts among the players as they lean in and whisper to one another. You can see the greed in their eyes.

“Whether to continue the games for a bigger prize or to stop here is entirely your choice. Please feel free to exercise your right to choose in a democratic manner.”

Gi-hun is still shaking. His sobs have quieted until they’re nothing more than sharp inhalations, quickening and slowing unpredictably. It breaks your heart all over again. How can they force him to endure another tedious round of voting when he hasn’t even had the chance to recover from the shock of Jung-bae’s death? A single look is all it takes to tell you that the man can hardly stand on his own feet.

“Ah, Y-Young-il-ssi?” The sound of Dae-ho’s voice draws you from your thoughts. He’s approached the stair that you and Young-il are both perched upon, with his hands drawn together over his stomach as he fidgets. He nods his head politely. “Are you going to vote O again, sir?”

What remains of your little team – just you and Jun-hee now that Jung-bae is… – shifts its attention to Young-il, each of you curious to see his response. He’d said it was his business that was in trouble. Is he as desperate as the rest of these players? Is he willing to stay for another game even now?

He presses a hand flat over his breast where the blue O patch sits and he grimaces. “Don’t worry,” he sighs, “I want to stop here.”

And it’s such a relief to hear. If he were to choose to vote O again, the betrayal would be too much for you to bear. “We’re all agreed, then?” You glance between the four of you without drawing any further attention to Gi-hun. You think that Young-il might be right, space may be exactly what he needs right now.

Jun-hee nods with a hand rubbing over the swell of her belly. Dae-ho looks from her to you, his expression sweet but tinted with grief. And finally Young-il, his mouth drawn tight as he watches you.

“For Jung-bae, then?”

Dae-ho sticks out his hand, palm down. “For Jung-bae,” he agrees. Your hand claps softly atop Dae-ho’s, followed immediately by Jun-hee and a slightly hesitant Young-il. “Victory at all costs,” he murmurs, and it’s far from the battle cry it had once been on the rainbow track.

Victory. You’re not sure if that’s even possible anymore, but you have to try. For Jung-bae and Gi-hun, you must.

Last time, the vote had been considerably close. Young-il had been the one to tip the scales, but there had still been a decent chance of you and Gi-hun returning home. This time, there is no such chance. With so many players distraught over the low amount of money they’ll receive, a lot of them are opting to vote O. Vote after vote rolls in and the number for the O’s ticks higher and higher.

You keep expecting Gi-hun to do something, say something. He’d been so full of fire just yesterday. He had pleaded and shouted and explained until a soldier was forced to ram their gun into the back of his head just to shut him up. But there is no such fire tonight. You look into his eyes and find that nothing looks back. Even after his tears have dried, Gi-hun’s eyes are glassy and distant.

If he won’t speak up, then who will?

You catch Young-il’s gaze from across the room. Being the first to cast his vote has placed him in the very center of the allotted X space, which feels an entire galaxy away from you right now. You want desperately for someone to lean on, someone to make you feel safe amid the unknown and the chaos and the death, and putting that burden onto Gi-hun is simply inconceivable.

Have hope, you imagine him saying, though really you can’t be sure if that’s what he’s thinking or not. Maybe he’s laughing at you and your desperation for hope. Maybe he’s already accepted his fate, as Gi-hun seems to.

You don’t want to accept it, though. You’re not ready for another game, another opportunity to lose Gi-hun or your own life or even Young-il. And what of Dae-ho and Jun-hee? Hyun-ju? The sweet mother and her son? What will happen to all of them if another game is played and the odds aren’t in their favor? How many Jung-bae’s can you stomach before you lose yourself to the horror of it all?

“Gi-hun?” You take the seat beside him, careful to leave enough room between your bodies in case he feels overwhelmed by your presence. But you have to try. “Gi-hun, shouldn’t we do something?”

The next player is called up, Player 100, and you glance away from Gi-hun only long enough to cast a scowl in 100’s direction. He can’t see it, of course, but it’s the principal of the thing. The O vote ticks up by one.

Gi-hun is uncharacteristically silent. He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t move. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing, actually. He just sits there like a corpse that’s been arranged to look slightly alive. An ancient memory of the ddakji businessman sprawled out on Gi-hun’s chair, the very chair you’d sat in a hundred times until that night, comes to mind and you try not to hurl.

You place a hand on his arm, if only to prove to yourself that he’s still alive. “Gi-hun, I… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to-.” There’s a lump in your throat that won’t go down and it keeps choking you every time you speak more than a few words. “Please. We have to do something. I don’t want anyone else to die here.” I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to lose you.

There’s a moment where you think he might be moved to act because he blinks, and his eyes settle on you, and you think you see a moment of clarity peering out from behind the mist of his agony. But it’s only a passing thing.

“Player 120.”

Hyun-ju. You find yourself peering over the heads of other players to watch her cast her vote, hoping that someone as kind as her might finally be moved to act sensibly. She lingers before the podium, like so many before her, before finally voting 0 and you wonder what it is specifically that gives her pause. What is she facing in the real world that makes her think she has to endanger her life and yours just to survive?

It’s the money, you realize. Everyone here needs money but they’re so adamant that 79 million won each isn’t enough to live with. But what if… what if there was a way to add more money to the pot without anyone dying?

Player 124 is called forth – Thanos’ accomplice from last night’s fight. He has no qualms about voting to stay, which you suppose shouldn’t surprise you, but it’s what he does after the vote that does. He lingers near the podium and watches as Player 125 approaches. Player 125 who, if you’d seen correctly, bears an X patch. Player 125 who hesitates over his choices, who turns to see 124 staring at him through mock-binoculars. Player 125 who votes O with shaking hands and a shameful expression.

People are being coerced, whether they need the money or not, because the desperate players are just that desperate. So what if you eliminated that need? What if you contributed more money to the pot and convinced even a single player that voting O isn’t necessary to be saved?

Once last glance at Gi-hun’s sunken, tear-stained cheeks is enough to give you the courage you need. You stand so quickly that it nearly throws you off balance. As you push your way through the crowd, you try not to think of all those eyes – hundreds and hundreds of them – staring you down, judging you, praying for your downfall so that they might prosper. You try to think only of Jung-bae and the already festering wound his death has left behind.

Your feet have hardly touched the bottom step when Young-il suddenly bursts from the crowd of X voters with a shout. “Are you all out of your minds?” The red and blue lights cast him in a soft violet hue, entirely at odds with the incredulous despair that ravages his voice. “You still want to keep going after watching all those people die? Who's to say you won't die in the next game?”

For a long, long moment, you simply watch him. You’re almost transfixed. There’s something about him that’s catching you off-guard, something a little too similar to Gi-hun and still so entirely Young-il that gives you pause. Was Jung-bae’s death really enough to move him this deeply? To change his entire mindset?

He gestures angrily to the undecided voters you stand among. “We have to stop. We'll all die if we keep going! Come to your senses and leave with that money. You've got to survive first, or there won't be a next step.”

Player 100 breaks from his group and your immediate reaction is to gag because you hate him. You hate the way he spoke to Gi-hun before the game. You hate the way he holds all life in contempt except his own. You hate his pompous attitude and his stupid hair, and you hate the way that he looks at Young-il like he’s not even worth the air he breathes. “What do you think we can do with a mere 79 million?” he questions. “I don't know how much you owe, but for most people here that doesn't even cover 10% of their debt. Am I right?”

It's the overwhelming cry of agreement that has you finally daring to be bold, to raise your voice above the cacophony. For Gi-hun. For Jung-bae! “What if you had more than 79 million?” And this time, you’re sure most or all 255 sets of eyes are focused on you and only you. Player 100 and Young-il both look at you as if you’ve grown a second head. “Gi-hun and I… Player 456, I mean. Neither of us needs the money. We’d both be willing to forfeit our share and contribute it to the total if the rest of the players all vote X.”

Both his worth and yours would total to 200 million won. You’re not sure how much that would add to each player’s take home amount, but it has to be worth something, doesn’t it?

More players stop and look at you, while others start whispering to their neighbors. More and more eyes swivel and land on you, pinning you in place until you start to feel like a bug caught beneath a microscope. They’re pulling your legs off one by one, trying to see what interesting things you’ll do when the pain becomes too much.

Young-il is on you in an instant, grabbing you by the arm and yanking you to him so no one else can hear. “What are you doing?” he whispers, though there’s nothing soft about it. He’s all harsh lines and rippling confusion.

Isn’t it obvious? “I’m trying to save people.”

But before he can question you further, 100 interjects, drawing the focus back to him as he continues spouting greedy, inhumane nonsense. “Your money isn’t enough,” he sneers. “I have 10 billion in debt! What can you give me to take care of it, huh?”

Young-il’s teeth glisten in the violet-red light. “Step back,” he utters, his hand still tightly squeezed around your bicep.

“Young-il-nim.” You press a hand to his chest to calm him. Because you need to do this, you need to try. If Gi-hun can’t fight anymore, then who else will stand up for him? “It’s alright.”

“[___]–”

“I don’t have 10 billion won just lying around to give you, sir,” you explain to 100. He stands nearby with his chest puffed out and his mouth wrinkled into a frown, thoroughly unimpressed. “But I do have 2 billion won that I would be willing to share with everyone here. If the rest of us all vote X.”

“If you have so much money, then what are you here for? Are you a spy sent from the people who run this place, huh? Like your friend?”

Rage the likes you’ve never known before floods your system. How dare he drag Gi-hun into this after the way he treated him today. “It doesn’t matter why I have that money; it’s mine to do with as I please.”

A slightly younger player hanging just behind 100 smirks, though you can’t see his number clearly. “Trying to help your boyfriend?” he snorts, and several of his assorted cronies snicker in tandem.

“I’m trying to save innocent lives, but I wouldn’t expect a sick motherfucker like you to understand the concept.” And before 100 or his friend can retort further or press you for more answers you aren’t able to give, you turn your attention to the undecided players. Young-il’s hand falls away almost without notice. “I’m willing to forfeit all the money I’m worth in these games, plus my two billion, if all of you will vote X.”

The players devolve into scattered murmurs that ripple through the crowd, “two billion?” and “that’s at least seven million more a person” being the loudest and most distinct among them. Already you can tell that the shift in numbers has started to convince a few people. For players like 100, you know it won’t be enough, but you hope that for others it will be the push that they need to vote appropriately. No more people should have to die, not for something as soulless and brutal as cold, hard cash.

“Player 457.” Square Mask is staring at you from behind the podium. While several other players, including 100, have already taken to arguing in favor of an O vote, you can suddenly feel the weight of hidden eyes settling on your skin. “You are disrupting the democratic process of this vote.”

“Me?!” What about the others? What about Young-il and 100?

You’re already starting to gesture to the other players when you spot one of the guards at the far end of the room lift his gun. The pink suit and black mask cut easily through the crowd, quieting all dissenting voices until there is only silence, the sound of your labored, frantic breathing, and your feet slapping on the floor as you pinwheel backward.

“As was established during the previous vote, interruptions in each player’s right to express themselves democratically will not be tolerated.” You find yourself stumbling over other people’s feet and slamming into unknown bodies in your desperation to back away before the soldier can advance any further. “All requests to forfeit the Games will result in instant disqualification.”

So, death. They’re gonna shoot you because you tried to forfeit. Why the fuck didn’t you think of that before you went and opened your big mouth?

“I take it back, I take it back!” You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for a bullet that never comes.

The gun never fires, but even if it had, it would’ve had to go through both Young-il and Gi-hun to reach you. Young-il, you realize after several moments of terrifying silence, has stepped into the guard’s path. And Gi-hun… You’d thought he was still barricading himself in the far corner, drowning in his sorrows, but he isn’t. He’s here, standing as tall as his weary body can withstand as he shoulders his way directly in front of you.

He doesn’t move. The voting continues, albeit dotted with various attempted chants to play one more game, but Gi-hun remains steadfast. His shoulders quiver, but he stays. Players shove into you as they pass or they grant you a scowl when their number is called, yet Gi-hun is there, unfaltering and strong even in the rising defeat that marks itself on the scoreboard.

Your vote and his don’t even matter by the end. The O team is at least 20 votes ahead of you. You lost, and it feels like Jung-bae’s dying all over again.

You should’ve done more. There should have been some other way to change minds and win people over to your side, but you’d seen the barrel of the pink soldier’s gun and had cowered behind the first solid thing you could shield yourself with. You’d let them beat you down. It’s just that being brave is so much easier when you’re not staring down the very weapon that could end your life. Being brave is a bolder inclination when the moment has passed and all that’s left to do is torture yourself over what-if’s.

“That was very foolish of you.”

You and Gi-hun turn in tandem toward Young-il’s voice. The disappointment you hear creeping into the edges of his condemnation feels like a slap in the face. “I was trying to do the right thing,” you explain, though you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes when you do.

“And instead, you’ve put a target on your back.”

That hadn’t been your intention. It hadn’t even been a possibility in your mind. “I’m sorry, I… I was just trying to do what I thought Gi-hun would do.” And why does it feel like such an embarrassing thing to admit? “That’s why he’s here. To save people, so I thought–”

There’s a muscle along the bottom ridge of Young-il’s jaw that clenches before he speaks. “Gi-hun-ssi has played these Games before, [___]. You haven’t. And you very nearly got yourself shot because of it.”

Is that why he’s so upset? Because he’d felt the need to step in the path of a potential bullet in the hopes of protecting you? Because he’d risked his life for yours and he wishes now that he hadn’t?

Perhaps Young-il has a touch of telepathy about him, or perhaps you’re the most emotionally transparent person on the planet, but either way, Young-il seems to realize that you’re confused and wounded by his sudden flash of frustration. He seems to wrestle with himself for a bit before finally relenting, allowing his restraint to drift away with a heavy exhalation before he finally decides to approach you.

“What you did was admirable,” he admits, and he takes one of your hands as he does. “Foolish, yes, but admirable, and I don’t fault you for it. But it was also reckless.”

On that, you suppose you can agree. “I know.”

Young-il sighs again, lighter this time, but his body is still tense. “You aren’t a hero, [___]. That isn’t what you need to be.”

Gi-hun still lingers somewhere behind you, frozen in the same place he’d stood when you had cast your vote. Does he feel the same, you wonder, or does he wish you’d made a more decisive stand? Do your actions, however reckless and foolish they might have been, make up for Jung-bae’s death, or were they pointless from the start?

He lowers his voice suddenly and when you blink, Young-il is leaning in so his forehead nearly brushes against yours. “We have a Seong Gi-hun already,” he breathes, and is it your imagination, or does this feel more intimate than every moment shared with him over the past few years? “We don’t need another.”

Dinner has long since ended by the time Dae-ho and Young-il decide to depart for a bathroom break. You’re not comfortable leaving Gi-hun on his own and Jun-hee seems more inclined to curl up in her bed for a bit, rather than sit and stew in the awkward silence that Gi-hun carries with him, so it’s just the two of you now. It’s both familiar and foreign.

Mealtimes have always been special for you, at least when it comes to him. All those corner store stops, all the ramyeon cups stacked high in his trash bin and the take-out containers in the firing range, they’ve always meant security for you. They’ve always meant Gi-hun.

But it doesn’t feel like that anymore. Now, mealtime feels uncomfortable and sickening. It doesn’t help that the soldiers aren’t giving any of you enough food, and it doesn’t help that when you twist your feet just right, you catch a glimpse of blood on your soles and your appetite is gutted.

“You really should eat something,” you say, even though you know there’s no point. Gi-hun’s too far gone to do much of anything right now. Still, you have to at least try. A gentle prod against his shoulder draws his attention just long enough to display the remainder of your dinner. “Here. I saved some of mine, in case you get hungry later.”

You know you’re going to be hungry yourself later tonight, but you’re more worried about him. He’s mourning. He deserves something good to eat so that at least a part of him isn’t in constant agony. But there’s nothing. No “you’re wasting your time”, no “go fuck yourself”, not even a “I wish it had been you instead”. Not a single word.

Isn’t he angry? Doesn’t he want to hit you or something? You almost wish he would because surely enduring his rage would be less painful than staring into the empty, sunken eyes of the husk he’s become.

“Gi-hun, please. Talk to me?”

It feels like the birth, life, and death of galaxies takes place in the time it takes him to respond. His lips part – chapped, swollen, and indented where his teeth have worried at the same spot for too long – and he sighs. “What would you like me to say?”

And suddenly, you’re leaning in faster than you can stop yourself, your fingers curling loosely over his wrist so he can’t escape you. “Anything. Anything you want, it doesn’t matter.”

“He was my friend.”

You nod lightly. I know, you want to say. I wanted to know him better. But you know you shouldn’t. It wouldn’t feel right because this isn’t about you or your feelings, this is about him. This is about trying to fix something so irreparably damaged that you don’t actually know if anything you’re doing is a help or a hindrance.

Gi-hun pulls his hand away. “There’s nothing else to say.”

“Gi-hun.” He looks like a stranger when the lights hit his face. Even the way he stands has changed; he’s stiffer, less fluid, his movements sharp and jagged. But that’s not what worries you – it’s the fact that he’s trying to leave. “Gi-hun?”

The steps creak lightly beneath and behind you. You reach out as you stumble to your feet, eager to bring him back from the metaphorical edge, but are almost immediately cut off. “Hey, 457!”

You don’t recognize the voice and they clearly don’t know who you are, so you decide right then and there that you don’t care who it is. Gi-hun is more important. It would just be nice if he wasn’t trying to run away from you right now.

“Gi-hun, wait.” You nearly trip over your own foot trying to run up the steps after him. “Gi-hun!”

Footsteps fall heavy on the stairs behind you, followed by a hand on your elbow, and you whirl around with a glare. “Can I help you?” For once, you don’t give a single shit if you sound rude.

Player 124 stands on the step just below yours. “You’re the one with the two billion, aren’t you?”

God, seriously? You’re in the middle of trying to chase after your best friend to make sure he doesn’t do something reckless and this guy’s worrying about fucking money? You roll your eyes and you don’t bother to hide it. Fuck this guy and fuck every other player in here who bears the same poisonous O patch on their chests.

“The offer’s not on the table anymore, sorry.”

He yanks hard where he’s gripping your elbow when you attempt to free yourself and steers you around so you’re stumbling down to his level. At first, you think he’s just trying to detain you. Intimidate you, probably. Quite frankly, you don’t give a shit about that either. You’re not above throwing a smack or two after the day you’ve had. But when you try to tear yourself away, you find yourself backing into something tall, broad, and solid. The overwhelming scent of sweat and two or three-day old cologne floods your senses until you nearly choke.

“Woah, hey, where d’you think you’re going, man?”

Because of course. It isn’t bad enough that Jung-bae is dead and Gi-hun is utterly unrecognizable in his grief, oh no. No, you just had to go and open your stupid mouth, didn’t you? Had to go and say something idiotic like “I’ll give everyone free money if you let me go home”. You don’t even have the right to be surprised anymore.

The smile you force onto your face is more grimace than anything else, but again – you don’t really care. You’re not in the mood and you don’t have the time for this. “Thanos, right?”

A shock of purple hair comes into view as he steps out from behind you, grinning ear to ear. “The one and only.”

“Look guys, I’m not interested in… whatever this is. Your vote won, so I’m not feeling very generous anymore.”

But Thanos only shakes his head. “Oh, no, no, no, man, that’s not it at all!” He brushes you off like it’s nothing, like he doesn’t take you seriously – and he probably doesn’t, but that suits you just fine because you can’t take him seriously either. “We just want in on your little industry, or whatever the fuck.”

“I…” Industry? What, he thinks you run some kind of underground criminal empire? “What are you talking about?”

There’s a flash of color on his nails when he flutters his fingers at you, each one a perfect match for the fucking infinity stones. What a fucking joke. “You know, however you got that two billion.” He wiggles his eyebrows when he leans in to get a closer look at you. “You running a drug ring or something? Because I know a thing or two about that.”

You’re so massively dumbfounded by the accusation that it takes you several very long, very agonizing seconds to find your voice again. “What about me makes you think I run a fucking drug ring?”

“I dunno,” he drawls in a lazy attempt at English, “maybe ‘cause of all that money you were bragging about.”

“I wasn’t bragging–”

“Sure sounded like it to me.” Thanos snaps his fingers and 124 suddenly appears, nearly scaring the crap out of you. You’d kind of forgotten about him. “Nam-su–”

“Nam-gyu,” he corrects with a heavy roll of his eyes.

Thanos just rolls his eyes back, crinkling his mouth until he looks more like a toddler throwing faces across the playground than a grown man. “I said that, man,” he tsks. “Whatever. Nam-gyu, don’t you think 457 was bragging about having a fuckton of money?”

124 – Nam-gyu – juts his chin in your direction, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Yeah, I do. And I think you’re just being greedy now ‘cause you’re pissed you’re not going home yet.”

A dozen different retorts flash through your mind, ranging between “what are you gonna do about it?” and a more level-headed, albeit entirely sarcastic, “let me give you my number and we’ll talk if we all survive this”. You’re debating which one is least likely to get you beaten and bloodied and none of them are particularly encouraging when Nam-gyu suddenly smacks the back of his hand on Thanos’ chest.

“Uh, hey, isn’t that–?”

Thanos suddenly straightens as his eyes shift nervously over some unknown point behind you. His throat bobs noticeably. “Time to go.” To you, he purses his lips, nods, and then he and Nam-gyu are hurrying off like rats scattering in the dark. You don’t fully understand why until you see Young-il.

“Those two bothering you?” he asks. You can hear the unspoken implication, can read it in his face – if there’s a problem, he’ll fix it himself.

You duck your head, smiling just a bit and pretending that you are very much not flushing at his attentiveness. Because Young-il is nothing more than a good friend with a desire to keep you safe and reading into that any further is not only stupid, but entirely inappropriate. For multiple reasons.

“No,” you finally answer, “it’s alright. I’m fine.”

If the touch of his hand at your shoulder causes you to still, or the brush of his knuckles over the curve of your wrist, or the gentle hum of his breath does anything to make you fluster or stare or linger in a way entirely unlike yourself for the rest of the evening, then that’s your own business. You can only hope that no one else, and certainly not Gi-hun, notices it.

The torn-open plastic wrapper and scattered crumbs of bread are nothing compared to the usual offerings left at a funeral, but this is hardly a normal funeral. He supposes that he ought to be moved by it. In a place where people turn on one another like animals and food is scarce, Gi-hun knows that he should be grateful for a moment of peace to remember his last surviving friend. He should be grateful that you sacrificed part of your own meal (if a single round of bread can even be called that) for it. He should be grateful for you because if you hadn’t suggested a vigil, he would have been too lost in his grief to even consider it.

But all Gi-hun can feel is the merciless nothing that consumes him.

He’s vaguely aware of the others shuffling into their beds behind him. Each of them has chosen to believe him and listen to him, and for that he’s thankful. At least he can try to save another few lives. The only question is for how long, if the attempt is even worth trying anymore.

There’s the sound of feet then, and he sits up a little straighter because in that moment, Jung-bae is still alive and they’re back in Ssangmun-dong, sharing a glass of soju. And then he catches your scent and the shape of your silhouette, and reality comes crumbling down all around him. He tries not to be disappointed. He also tries not to feel guilty for being disappointed, but he fails at both. In the end, all he can do is hang his head in remorse.

“Hey,” you say softly.

You’ve been cagey around him since Jung-bae’s death. It’s only been a few hours, but the difference is blatant – your touches are hesitant and dramatically decreased, your body closed off from him, and even your voice sounds different. An attempt at kindness, he thinks. Then why does it grate him so?

Gi-hun doesn’t acknowledge you beyond the gentle huff of an exhalation. You seem to take that as all the permission you need. “You don’t have to take the first watch if you don’t want to. I don’t mind.”

He resigns himself to the fact that a conversation will apparently be necessary. “I’m not tired,” he tells you, drawing his legs to his chest so he can wrap his arms around them. It’s easier to ride each wave of sorrow when he’s compressed into something small like this, when the world can’t reach him.

“Me neither.” Your leg is bouncing – a nervous tick he’s not sure you’re even aware of. “I just thought I’d offer. If it would help.”

The only thing that would help him now is a gun in his hands and the Captain on his knees so he can shoot him through the skull. So he can tear this island down with his bare hands, brick by brick, until there’s nothing left. Only he lost the chance to do so two days ago when the tracker was ripped from his jaw and you were abducted, forced to play these Games simply because your very presence is a constant stab through his heart.

He'll find a way. If it kills him, he’ll find a way to exact the revenge he needs. For Sang-woo, for Jung-bae, and for all the ways you’ve died and been reborn since the Games have started.

Gi-hun takes a deep breath to open up his ribcage and release the tension that’s been coiling in his chest for the past hour. “Get some rest,” he says, and his tongue feels heavy when he does. “You need it.”

A month ago, you might have fought him on it and demanded he get some rest too. Maybe you would have looked at him in that special way, where the light catches your eyes and you smile differently and it leaves him feeling flayed apart, and he might have at last relented. A week ago, he might have asked you to stay the night – so he could keep you close, keep you safe – and you might have even said yes, and Gi-hun would’ve spent the entire night dreaming of possibilities and open-mouthed kisses, and he still would have gone to the club to meet the Captain because at least he would’ve died remembering you.

This time, there is no fight. This time there’s just quiet deference and a weary heart too bruised to beat any longer.

He glares at the crumpled piece of plastic on the step and the pathetic smattering of crumbs that serve as an offering to Jung-bae’s spirit, and he vows never to rest until the game runners and the Captain get exactly what they deserve.

Young-il greets you when you retreat. The lights have gone out by now, shrouding the entire room in darkness bar the glowing X and O on the floor, so he couldn’t turn and watch the interaction even if he wanted to. He doesn’t, of course. What you do in your own time with your own friends is none of his concern. Not even if your friend is rubbing a soothing hand into your shoulder. Not even if your friend is making you laugh. Not even if your friend is… Wait, he’s not urging you to join him, is he? Gi-hun’s misunderstanding him, surely.

He forces as much air into his lungs as he can, holding it in and suppressing the thundering beat of his pulse so he can hear better.

“I don’t want to …,” you whisper sweetly.

Young-il’s voice is similarly softened. “… insist.”

This is pointless. It doesn’t matter how quiet he is, he won’t be able to hear a thing, and since when does it matter? Why is this what he’s choosing to focus on? Where is his rage? Where is his hatred and his fight? Is he truly so fickle that his plans turn to dust the moment you elect to share a bed with another man who, might he remind himself, is married?

Jung-bae is dead, just like Sang-woo. He needs to plan. He needs to organize.

Gi-hun squeezes his eyes shut until they hurt and that, at last, is enough to snap him out of his strange reverie. The Games cannot continue like this. The voting is going horribly and the O players are winning by a higher majority each time, which means that when tomorrow comes and more X players die, the chances of returning home will be almost zero. Not even your naively offered 2 billion won will be enough to change the hearts and minds of the O players who remain.

Your 2 billion… He’d given it to you because he thought he was dying, because he wanted to ensure that you would be able to take care of yourself in his absence. The money is yours now with no strings attached, but he can’t help feeling frustrated that you would be so quick to relinquish it. And for people like these? Drug addicts and dirty tradesmen, gangsters, loan sharks, gamblers.

He feels his own fingernails digging into his palms.

The gambler who had first accepted a smack from the ddakji recruiter and the gambler who stands watch now feel like two very different people. Gi-hun sometimes wonders if he isn’t just a spirit left to wander the Earth in a foreign body, traveling aimlessly, fighting against the ongoing tide of hopelessness and violence that haunts him. He wonders if that’s what Jung-bae saw before he died.

He wonders a lot of things, really. He wonders how things might have gone if Jung-bae had stayed and you had gone. Would you have ended up on the same team? And the pregnant girl – what if she had never asked for help? What if you had never offered? Would his oldest and dearest friend still be alive? Would you be dead in his place?

What if he had never stopped to help you in the first place? Where might your life have led you? Jung-bae might still be alive, or perhaps he would have come to the Games anyway – he supposes he doesn’t know the full extent of Jung-bae’s financial problems and that’s his own fault. He never stuck around to ask. He didn’t want him to know.

He sighs and tilts his head to gaze at the empty space on his left. It’s difficult to articulate why, but he can’t help feeling like Jung-bae ought to be sitting there. They would talk, he thinks, and Gi-hun would try not to engage because he doesn’t want to be distracted, but Jung-bae would insist. And they’d probably laugh over something stupid, or share a tense moment remembering the past, and Gi-hun would remember what it felt like to have a friend who knows you inside and out. He supposes he’ll never know that feeling for the rest of his life, though he’s not certain it matters. He doesn’t expect to live much longer anyway.

If he tries very hard, Gi-hun thinks he can imagine Jung-bae’s face – not the face of a dead man, but of a living soul who always smiles and sometimes drinks too much. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Gi-hun-a, he might have said (though he isn’t entirely sure he’s gotten the inflection right). We’ll grab a soju when this is all done, huh? Just like old times.

Maybe he’ll ask you do it for him. Jung-bae liked you, from what little time he had to acquaint himself, and you clearly feel some amount of affection for him on behalf of their friendship. He stares, misty eyed, at the crinkled plastic wrap and breadcrumbs and he smiles. You’d be more than eager to drink a glass of soju in his honor. That’s one of the things he admires about you – your heart.

It keeps him going long into the night. When his eyelids are finally too tired to stay open, Gi-hun drags himself onto the nearest mattress. If he sees you half weaseled under the nearest bed frame and half exposed, he doesn’t think much of it. If he sees your arms folded under your chin and your face pressed into Young-il’s shoulder, he doesn’t dwell on it. He can’t. It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself.

But if he happens to nudge Young-il awake and ask him to take the next shift, then that’s entirely on purpose and Gi-hun isn’t afraid to admit that to himself. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t wake or stir you except to help maneuver you out of Young-il’s way so the other man can keep watch. You moan softly in your sleep, your face all scrunched up, but quickly fall back into your heavy slumber, and Gi-hun watches. He commits the shape of you to memory.

He's already lost Jung-bae and he’s already lost himself, but he refuses to lose you as well. Not the Captain, not the Games, and not even Young-il can take you from him, of that he is absolutely certain.

The set design is pretty, you suppose – whites and pastels, carousel horses atop a raised platform, and elegant curtains that rise up to the ceiling – but that’s all it is. It’s a design. It isn’t real. It’s a death arena made to look pretty and quaint, accompanied with charming music and a charming announcer, but it’s a death arena all the same.

“Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat: the game you will be playing is Mingle.”

You glance sideways at Dae-ho, who’s already starting to fidget. “What is it?”

“I think I remember playing this in school,” he frowns. “We’d form groups by hugging each other.”

The announcer seems to further the idea, following Dae-ho’s musings with a more intricate explanation. “When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds.”

A secondary look around fills you with more despair than hope. “This place is massive,” you say, more to yourself, but the rest of the team manages to catch it.

Dae-ho nods in agreement, but he doesn’t look as defeated as you feel. A little nervous, maybe, if the shaking hands he lays on Jun-hee’s shoulders are anything to go by, but still somewhat hopeful. “I believe in us. We all made it through the race, didn’t we?”

Not all of us.

“We just need a strategy,” he continues, surging forward with all the bravado you’ve come to expect from him. His fist shakes eagerly in Young-il and Gi-hun’s general direction. “What do you think? How should we play this?”

The most obvious answer is given first – a five person group won’t require anything more than to run as fast as you possibly can. That, at least, is a relief and you really hope they call five before anything else. Anything larger than that, everyone will work to find another player. Your eyes scan the crowd in search of the familiar 120 on the back of Hyun-ju’s jacket. Maybe you can snag her if you need to.

“No matter what happens,” Young-il says, “don't panic. Let's stay calm. Let's trust each other. We'll all make it out together.” You admire his tenacity and his ability to remain calm even now, before the game has even started.

He extends one arm into the center of the group, palm down. “Here.”

Your hand falls easily atop his, your fingers splaying out as they unconsciously seek the warmth of his skin. Dae-ho comes next, then Jun-hee, and finally Gi-hun. You choose to pretend that Jung-bae is with you all in spirit, too, piling his hand atop his friend’s. His memory lives on in the battle cry that Dae-ho exclaims at the top of his lungs: “Victory at all costs!”

There is a final request from the announcer that each player relocate to the platform, then a flashing of the lights, and then the entire world is turning. You’re nearly jolted off balance, but are caught by a strong hand and a quietly encouraging nod from the player to your left – Hyun-ju! You go to thank her, but find your voice immediately drowned out by the sound of singing as the world keeps spinning.

“Round and round we go! Round and round we go!”

Dread blossoms in the pit of your stomach. Not only are you already feeling lightheaded from the turning of the platform, but the sound of children singing gleefully while you’re dragged to your potential demise is enough to make you actually sick. Rainbow colored doors glide past, round and round, and you have to reach out for Hyun-ju’s arm to keep yourself steady.

The announcer had said to listen for a number. Is the number somewhere in the song? Do you have to listen for it and then run? Will the platform stop? What happens if you fall? It’s too many questions and too much uncertainty. What if this, what if that? How? Why? When?

“Round and round we–.”

The platform grates to a halt and the lights flash out. The announcer’s voice crackles somewhere overhead. “Nine.”

Nine. Nine people? Oh shit, holy shit.

You grab blindly at Hyun-ju’s wrist. “We have five!” you shout over the sudden, raging chaos.

She nods frantically with a flash of her other hand in your face – her fingers are interlocked with another player’s, a young girl who looks about as scared as you feel. “Four!” she calls back. She looks over your shoulder, presumably at Gi-hun and the others. “We have four!”

“That’s nine!” you hear Young-il say. “Everybody run!”

Hyun-ju’s fast. Like, really fast. She practically drags the other girl off the platform, but you’re close behind, following her blindly, desperately, your arms and legs pumping. You’re vaguely aware of Gi-hun shouting directions; “green door!” is really the only thing you hear before you, Hyun-ju, and her friend are all slamming into the wall and scrambling for the handle.

Someone’s shoving at your shoulder. Someone else is urging you to “go, go, go!”. There’s a blur of limbs and concrete and teal green tracksuits, and Hyun-ju rams into the far wall, and somebody’s feet get caught under yours, and then you’re dropping to the floor with a shout as people trip all over you. You curl in on yourself so all your vital organs are protected, your arms thrown over your head, and people are wheezing and whispering, and you can still hear others on the outside as they scream and slam their doors shut, and it’s awful.

“[___].” Your hands are gently pried away from your face to reveal Gi-hun as he bends over you, his face drawn tight with worry. “Come on,” he urges softly.

You go willingly, happily, into his arms and are soon back on your feet, though your legs are about as wobbly as a bowl of ramyeon noodles. He still has a hand on your shoulder when you hear the first round of gunfire. The entire room goes quiet.

You’d figured it would be this way. You’d figured that not finding a room in time would be a death sentence, but it’s a different feeling to actually see it happen, to know that you fought for your own life just a little bit harder than someone else and because of that, they’re being executed.

You think of Jung-bae. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from doing something stupid like screaming.

Someone gets shot directly in front of your door. You know not only because the sound is loud enough to make your ears hurt, but because Gi-hun’s entire body jolts as if he’s just been electrocuted. Did he have to witness things like this the last time, too? Was he locked inside a room and forced to watch while innocent people were slaughtered?

You reach for him on instinct while your own thoughts begin bubbling up within your chest, choking you to the point of desperation, but your hand never finds its mark. Young-il is there quite suddenly, his fingers closing around your wrist as he steps into your path. “Give him space,” he murmurs, as if his wisdom is a kindness he’s imparting to you.

“But–”

His voice drops a bit. “He needs it.” And before you can protest further, Young-il gathers you into his arms and presses his chin atop your head. “It’s alright, [___]. It’s alright.”

The shooting has long since ended by now, but something even worse has taken its place: the beeping of a forklift, the sound of caskets being unloaded and filled with bodies, the slick wetness of boots on fresh blood. It’s worse now than it was yesterday, somehow. Not being able to see makes the suspense weigh heavier on you, it encourages your imagination to run wild.

If you aren’t fast enough next time, that’s going to be you. You’re going to get a hole in your brain and you’re going to be packed up like a sardine in a can, carted away to be disposed of and forgotten about. Young-il hushes your weak little cries with a hand at the back of your head, and you freeze. What if he gets shot? What if something happens and you get separated? What about Gi-hun? And oh God, what about Jun-hee? If she dies, then her baby…

It hits you the moment you step outside. The blood. You don’t even know how many players were killed, you were too busy trying not to dissolve into a huddled, trembling mass of uselessness in Young-il’s arm, but you see at least a dozen separate pools of blood dotting the floor and platform. You know because you step in one almost right away. It’s wet underfoot, no different from stepping in a puddle of water after a rainstorm, but you know the difference. You know what it means.

You can’t let that become you. You can’t let it become any of your friends.

The platform jolts to one side as the music starts up again. “Round and round we go! Round and round we go!”

You can feel the blood squishing under your weight whenever you move. You can feel your knees locking. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears and feel the pulse in your fingertips. You can see each and every bloodstain marking the spot where another person has died so that you might live.

The song cuts off with a clear, concise, “Five”, and then the world narrows to only a single point – freedom.

“Three.”

He’d known the number even before it was announced, of course, but knowing cannot override instinct and his first instinct is to grab you by the collar and drag you into the nearest room. He wouldn’t even need to grab hold of Gi-hun; he already knows that man would follow you to the ends of the Earth and back. Yes, he knows.

But that isn’t what Gi-hun has in mind. “[___], Dae-ho, Jun-hee! Go!” he commands.

Dae-ho and Jun-hee acquiesce without a fight, each of them scrambling to grab one of your hands and pull you to safety, but you recoil before they can even touch you. “No!” You whirl on Gi-hun with a fire blazing in your eyes, bright and brilliant, and for a moment, In-ho finds himself adrift in an endless sea. “I’m not leaving you!”

He should have anticipated your obstinance, perhaps, but it had slipped his mind amid the chaos and the chaotic uncertainty of life versus death. “We don’t have time for this!” he shouts. The clock is counting down too quickly and now the entire team is at risk because you are too stubborn to abandon either of them. In-ho looks to Dae-ho, looks to Jun-hee and the baby growing in her belly, and he feels an uncomfortable prickle of uncertainty. “Both of you, go! Find a third!”

He doesn’t pause long enough to think about whether or not they will survive. “Run!” he bellows, and he propels you forward with a shove, pointing to one of the remaining open doors. He doesn’t wonder about Jun-hee. He doesn’t wonder about her baby. And he doesn’t think of his wife, not in the slightest. All he does is run.

Sharp eyes catalog the remaining players scrambling for life, then the timer counting down. 19 seconds. A trio of men goes tripping over themselves in an effort to push themselves into one of the open doors, the very door In-ho had chosen. It’s the nearest one and one of the last ones still open. Anger flares within his stomach at the audacity of these filthy, greedy trash heaps to take what belongs to him, to think that they could possibly beat him at his own game.

Abandoning you to Gi-hun’s capabilities is not something that worries him. Surging forward and slamming his body into these three players does not worry him either. If one of them escapes into your room, he could live with that. If he gets himself caught and Young-il ‘killed’, he could live with that too. But he cannot risk you, or even Gi-hun, dying because all his plans hinge upon your shared survival. Gi-hun will not die here today and neither will you. Later, perhaps, but not today. Not now.

“Young-il!” he hears you screaming, but he pays it no mind.

He slams his fist into one player’s face, then a brutal kick to another player’s groin.

“Young-il-ssi!”

A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. So, he’s managed to coax Gi-hun into trusting him, has he? Into caring for him? He body slams the third player with a growl before finally choosing to turn and run. The door flies open without him even touching it, and it slams shut behind him at Gi-hun’s insistence.

You’re on him in an instant, your arms wrapping around his neck as you breathe heavily into his ear, your chest heaving and your body pressed so firmly against his that In-ho is sensorily overwhelmed. A memory of your body pressed similarly to his from last night flickers to life in the forefront of his mind and his mouth goes dry.

“Don’t do that again,” you murmur through trembling lips.

Six mattresses in rows of three maneuvered beneath the canopy of bed frames, but only four of them in use. He had seen it on your face as clear as day – the two vacant beds bothered you. After all, one of them belonged to a dead man and the other belonged to a man you no longer recognized. In-ho knew he could fix that for you, or that he could at least distract you from it.

“Here,” he prompted with a palm flat on the mattress next to his.

“Oh, no, that’s alright.” You waved him off as politely as you could, but it did nothing to hide either your surprise or your blatant interest. “I don’t want to crowd you.”

And In-ho had smiled at you without a single hint of his true motives. “I insist.” Just a friend seeking to comfort a friend.

He hadn’t anticipated that keeping you close would make his blood boil and his body flush. It had been another chess piece carefully moved into the most advantageous position, another attempt to worm his way into the bloody gash that Gi-hun’s rejections and absence had carved into your heart, and yet it had left him feeling exposed and restless in an entirely foreign way.

His hands press firmly against your hips as he guides you away. Holding you at arms’ distance allows him the control he seeks, but it also lays bare the most embarrassing weakness he has ever encountered in the last nine years. He uses the blaring of the final few seconds as a distraction, carefully turning you away from the heat straining against his tracksuit pants so you’re none the wiser.

You wander towards Gi-hun, which In-ho can only consider to be a small mercy given the circumstances. “Do you see them?” There is a noticeable edge to your voice as you try pressing in beside him to peer out the window. “Jun-hee? Dae-ho?”

Gi-hun shakes his head, only to bodily flinch and recoil when the shooting starts. You cower like a frightened child with your eyes squeezed shut while Gi-hun remains frozen at the door, his gaze caught on the nameless bodies dropping to the ground. Punishing himself as he has the previous two rounds, impaling himself on a rusted old blade that has killed dozens before him and will likely kill hundreds more after. Doesn’t he ever grow tired of playing the sanctimonious victim?

“Oh God.” In-ho’s eyes flicker back to where you’ve braced yourself against the door, your legs shaking and your eyelids watery as you start to slide to the floor. “Oh God, I killed them, didn’t I?”

Perhaps you did. It would be intriguing, not to mention convenient, if you had because for all your compassion and eagerness to follow in Gi-hun’s footsteps, this round had been the one to break you. Or rather, the lingering memory of Jung-bae’s death and the possibility of losing your dearest friends in a similar fashion had urged you to place his and Gi-hun’s lives before the lives of anyone else. Fear has finally turned you selfish.

You collapse into a pile of limbs and shuddering, breathy noises that go straight to his gut, and suddenly, In-ho is struggling to keep his feet firmly planted in the present.

Sleep had taken its time coming for you. In-ho had offered what kindness he had – a comforting hand resting near your pillow, a soothing phrase, a fleeting smile – and had watched you until you finally drifted off. The camera he’d studied you through on your first night simply could not compare to the physical reality of sharing your breath or feeling your warmth soak into the mattress.

Is this what Gi-hun had witnessed the first night he brought you to his motel?

Grief cannot haunt you in your sleep, he’d soon discovered. Your expression lightened gradually – a twitching eyebrow here or a sigh there – until your entire body was pliant, entirely freed of the horror and shame you’d been clinging to. In-ho was surprised to find himself entranced once more, almost inexplicably so.

And then you’d moved. A subtle shift in your subconscious had urged a small sound from your lips, followed by the rustling of your blanket, and In-ho was left reeling from the weight of your arm pressing against his. It shouldn’t have affected him. Since you met, he’d been forced onto the receiving end of your affections more times than he could count and it had never bothered him before. It was simply the cost of his game, and a remarkably low one, at that.

This is different, he’d realized.

It takes him a moment to regain his bearings and, in that time, he catalogues Gi-hun’s reluctance and self-imposed distance and your trembling desire to be comforted. Both of you suffer from the same failure to hide your emotions in any meaningful way. He takes it as an opportunity, another freshly opened wound for him to press his infection into.

“It’s alright,” he assures you as he lowers himself into a crouch.

Bleary, tearful eyes gaze up at him in desperation. Another bolt of electricity lances through him, stealing his breath, his tongue, and every carefully laid plan until he is nothing more than a blank slate. It’s terrifying. It’s disgusting. He wants to wrap his hands around your throat and throttle you for daring to weaken him so thoroughly, and at the same time, he wants to slam Gi-hun’s skull into the concrete and bash him bloody for destroying his Games, his equalizer.

In-ho studies you for several impossibly long moments before he finally understands. He settles into the small space left between your body and the side wall and curls an arm around your shoulder to draw you close. He feels that same spark inside his chest, that same heat pooling beneath his stomach – the same things he’d felt last night when you mumbled incoherent dreams into his ear and curled into his chest like it’s what you were born to do.

It wasn’t the Games that made Gi-hun his equal. It wasn’t the 45.6 billion won or the innumerable deaths or the trauma that carved itself into both their souls. It was you.

You’ve all survived. You’re not sure how exactly because you were absolutely terrified that you’d lost Jun-hee and Dae-ho in the last round, but they made it and so have you. You would be overjoyed if your sanity wasn’t currently tearing itself apart at the seams. All this running, all the stress and the fear, it’s making your body overheat and your heart race, and the spinning platform is no help either. You tear wildly at the zip of your jacket and start whipping it back and forth, desperate for a moment of relief. Or some water. God, you would kill for some water right now.

“What do you think the next round will be?” you hear Dae-ho ask.

The numbers have been steadily counting down, so your first thought is to guess something small like one or two. Either option would be absolutely devastating because there are still so many players left alive and only 50 rooms to fit them into. But what if it’s a higher number? The Captain, or whoever it is that may have chosen these numbers, might be trying to lull everyone into a false sense of security, make them all plan for a smaller number only to be stuck in the chaos when the number ends up being something insane like 15.

“Everyone pick a partner,” Young-il suggests after several moments. He’s close enough that you can hear him clearly over the music. “If the number is higher, we stick together, and if not–”

The announcer’s voice cuts through it all, sharp and hot like a freshly forged blade. “Two.”

Everything happens in the blink of an eye, yet takes an eternity to live through. Young-il grabs your sleeve and drags you to the edge of the platform as he runs. Your legs are like gelatin, wobbly and uncertain, but there is still determination in your bones and life in your lungs. You’re not going to die here. You are not going to die here!

Another player trips and falls on your left. Someone screams on your right. You keep running. Young-il’s already picked out a door, his arms pumping furiously as he powers forward. He’s shouting too, you think, but it’s swallowed up by the surrounding chaos. Doesn’t matter. Just keep running. Don’t stop. You’re going to survive this.

There’s a flash of movement in the corner of your eye and you turn just in time to see someone with a 400-something number emblazoned on their chest reaching for you. They snag the corner of your jacket, pulling you back, but you’re faster, stronger, you have to be, because you have to live. One arm jerks free of the jacket, then the other, and then you’re tripping over your feet and tumbling through pools of half-dried blood. It smears over your palms, gets into the creases of your elbows, wets the ends of your hair as you skid to a halt.

“Get up!”

You’re already scrambling to your feet. Young-il is screaming so hard that his throat looks misshapen. The 400-something who tripped you is already yanking open the door of the room meant for you and Young-il.

You’re going to die.

Another player tries to run inside and you think for a moment that Young-il might just leave you both to your own devices and take that second spot for himself. You can see the ugly glint in his eye, the same one you know is in yours, that gut-deep, selfish desire to keep living no matter the cost. You run faster than you ever have before. He grabs the other player and throws him to the ground. Your hands slam into the doorframe.

There’s still someone inside. Oh God, there’s still someone in here, and you know what happens when there’s one too many people inside a room. The evidence of it is painted on the walls.

“Get out!” you scream.

The man shakes his head frantically as he crowds himself into the farthest corner. For a moment, it’s you who considers betrayal. You could slam the door shut and lock 400-something’s friend and Young-il outside, and you would be saved. You’d be condemning him to death, but you would live and isn’t that more important?

The timer near the ceiling flashes a gruesome 00:15, accompanied by the intercom, and you hear the door slam shut behind you. Is that it, did you make it?

Young-il’s shoulder bumps into yours and you feel a wave of disappointment. Coward. You’re glad that he’s alive, but if one of you doesn’t leave right now, then you’re all going to die! Murderer.

“Get out!” you scream again, this time lunging forward to grab the man by the arm and shove him in the direction of the door. “Go!”

His friend slams into him just as the door swings open. Young-il surges forward then, landing a punch on 400-something’s jaw that drops him to the floor. Just outside the door. His legs are kicked aside, the door slammed shut, and the lock clicks in place.

00:00

But there’s still three people locked in a two-person room, and that means you’re dead. No. It can’t end like this. You’re not ready. You don’t want to die, you’re not ready to die!

You’re halfway to the door, hoping against hope that if you wiggle the handle hard enough, the lock will give way and you can shove that man into the path of the firing squad, and you can live. Almost at the door, your gaze locked on the face of the man you’ve betrayed as he peers at you through the cut-out, begging to be saved. Hand on the door, pulling with all your strength when you know that it’s futile.

A round of bullets fires. The door jerks on its hinges as Player 400-something sags against it, then slumps to floor, dead. He’s dead. He’s dead and you’re the reason he’s dead, and the guard that shot him is looking at you through the cut-out, his gun still raised.

“No!” you screech.

You drop to your knees, hands on your head as if an extra layer of flesh will spare your skull from being blown wide open, but it’s not just the ground that meets you. Bones crack against hard cement, a wet slap following when your bloodied hands fly out to brace yourself, and the face of the player whose life you’d decided was worth less than yours is tilted unnaturally against the ground a few feet away. His neck bends in a way it shouldn’t. His body is slumped over as if he’s just been tossed aside like garbage. Unblinking. Unmoving.

Dead.

…

Dead?

You sit up, confused. You didn’t hear another round of gunshots. He’s not bleeding and you are still alive, so how is he dead? Why is he dead?

You find the answer sitting with his back against the wall, chest heaving, his eyes pitch-black and endless. The other man’s legs are still caught awkwardly between Young-il’s, almost as if… but no, that can’t be right. He wouldn’t be able to do something like that. Shouldn’t. Couldn’t.

You ask the only question you can find the strength to vocalize. “Is he…?”

Young-il nods with a heavy sigh. His legs are spread and bent at the knee, his elbows braced against his thighs, and his eyes… Deeper and darker than the blackest hole in the farthest reaches of the universe. You look at him, fresh off the murder of another man and utterly unremorseful, and you feel like you’re gazing into the galaxy itself – vast and terrifying and brutal.

There’s a knock at your door, then the flash of a black mesh mask, and you push yourself back into the nearest corner, folding in on yourself until you’re as small as physically possible. “No, don’t, he’s dead! He’s dead!” you cry. “There’s only two of us!”

The guard remains quiet, perhaps waiting for the order from his superior to gun you down like the selfish, cowardly, murdering bastard you are. Young-il nods almost imperceptibly and then, just like that, the guard is gone. And you’re alive. And you suddenly feel like you’re standing on the edge of a precipice with no way down except to jump.

“[___].”

You catch him trying to touch you from the corner of your eye and you recoil as if he were the one with the gun, not the guard. “Don’t touch me,” you gasp. You don’t deserve to be touched. You don’t deserve anything gentle.

It’s clear he doesn’t appreciate your bluntness. His fingers coil around empty air and his face turns hard as it morphs into something cold and distant. The mask of a killer, maybe, because he’s just as bad as you are, isn’t he? He killed that man with his bare hands. And you… you almost locked him out of the room because you wanted to survive so badly.

“I’m sorry,” you weep, your eyes unseeing and stinging as your tears finally overflow. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” To what, almost sacrifice him for your own good? To be so weak and pathetic that you couldn’t even shove that man out of the room yourself? “It’s my fault.”

That’s the only thing that makes sense, really. Jung-bae died because of you. Jun-hee and Dae-ho almost died because of you. And now Young-il. Now the dead man between his legs and the other one just outside the door. You did this.

The room is horrifyingly quiet for a long while, but when Young-il finally speaks, you find that he sounds like a total stranger. His voice is raw and agonizing. “What are you talking about?”

Your eyes flicker briefly over his face before focusing again on the body before you. You can’t seem to look away. “I should’ve pushed him out,” you whimper. If you had, maybe Young-il wouldn’t have his blood on his hands.

“What?”

He sounds so incredulous, it’s ridiculous. What part of this isn’t he understanding?

“I should’ve pushed him out!” you exclaim. “I was too scared and I wasn’t thinking. I-I just wanted to live and I almost…” I almost killed you.

Metal scrapes against concrete somewhere beyond the door as stacks of caskets are lowered to the ground. Young-il pushes himself onto one knee, his hands hovering non-threateningly around his waist as he studies you, watching you like a scientist might watch a cornered animal. The metaphor is surprisingly apt considering it was in your power to kill him only moments ago.

“[___],” he starts slowly, “take a breath.”

You know he wants to come closer. You know he wants to understand. “No.” You shake your head firmly. “Don’t.”

He pauses. “You’re afraid of me.”

What? “No.” It feels as if all the air has been punched out of you. “Why would I…? Y-You didn’t – I mean, it’s not…”

Young-il creeps forward until he’s close enough to touch you, and this time you don’t stop him. A murderer you both may be, but he is still your friend and you crave the normalcy of a friend right now more than you hate yourself.

His knuckles brush lightly over the back of your hand. “Explain,” he prompts, not unkindly or harshly, but with the gentle confusion of someone with no desire to judge or deride.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” you sob.

“I don’t.”

He’s still not understanding. “But you will.”

The door unlocks before you’re forced to reveal anything more, thank God. Small mercies. You accept Young-il’s offer to help you stand, but you don’t allow yourself to linger in his grasp. You have to get out of this room before you lose it.

“[___]!” Gi-hun’s face falls the instant he lays his eyes on you. You’re not sure where he appeared from so quickly, but you suppose it doesn’t matter when his hands trace wordlessly over your arms, over the blood, the blood, so much blood, and he ducks down to try and catch your eyes. “What happened?”

You’d been so focused on surviving that it hadn’t even occurred to you that his own life had been on the line as well. It hadn’t occurred to you that your dearest friend might actually be dead until you were being ushered out of that room and forced to confront the outside world.

Your brain feels kind of fuzzy right now, so you’re cautious when you shake your head. “’s not mine. I fell.” You’d lost your jacket, too. Is that why you suddenly feel so cold? You’re not sure.

Gi-hun is quick to draw you in, and you’re thankful for the sudden proximity because he’s really the only thing you’re sure of right now. You’re guided back to the platform. The world is off-kilter and strange to you, but you’re the only thing that’s changed. Well, you and Young-il. The two murderers.

You rotate your shoulder so Gi-hun’s hand slips away. You don’t want him to touch you either.

“Clapping our hands together! Singing along as well! La lala lala lala la la la la!”

“Six.”

You’re not sure how it happens. You had meant to grab Gi-hun or Young-il’s hand once the speaker announced the next number, but then the number had been too large to accommodate everyone and there were so many voices layered over each other that you couldn’t hear much of anything. And then you were running, only to realize that it was Dae-ho holding on to you, not Young-il. Not Gi-hun.

It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. Just run. Because you keep thinking about what happened the last time you hesitated and you don’t want to do that again. You can’t watch someone else die because of you.

The first room is already full, and you think you catch a glimpse of Player 100 in there, but Dae-ho pulls you away before you can get a proper look. He’s half dragging, half pushing, guiding you several doors down where Hyun-ju stands with her arms flailing. The mother and son go first, then Dae-ho, then you, until you’re all huddled in the far end of the room, panting.

“Young-mi-a.” You look up to see Hyun-ju at the door, her eyes frantic and wide. “Where’s Young-mi-a?”

A small, timid voice just outside cries out. “Unnie!”

Hyun-ju turns so fast, she’s practically a blur. She bolts past the door as the timer begins to count down, just three seconds from zero, only to be brutally shoved backwards as another player comes rushing in. He slams the door shut just in time for the lock to click into place while Hyun-ju crashes directly into you.

“Unnie!”

A face appears in the window – a pair of eyes and the tip of a nose, shaded by dark bangs. Young-mi. The younger girl on Hyun-ju’s team. The one with the sweet eyes who always seems to be trailing after her. All this time, you never knew her name. Now it doesn’t even matter.

She’s slamming her fists against the door, screaming Young-mi’s name, and it’s all too familiar because the way Hyun-ju screams reminds you too much of Gi-hun. The way Young-mi’s body slowly slides down the door reminds you too much of the man you helped to kill.

She screams and tears at the door until the shooting stops, and then she turns on the new player – 333 – with a snarl. Her fingers curl around the collar of his jacket, chipped black polish digging into the fabric. “It's your fault!”

333 practically spits at her. “Don't kid yourself. If I hadn't come in, you'd be dead too.”

“No!” she screams, and you’ve never seen someone so contorted with rage. Not even Gi-hun. “It's your fault! I could have saved her!”

“There was no time!” 333 grabs her by the wrists and pulls until he’s free, then shoves her hands aside. He has no care for the sorrow that carves itself into Hyun-ju’s face and shatters her spirit. He isn’t even being gentle about it. “The moment you went out to save her, you'd have died along with everyone else here for not having enough people!”

He turns on the rest of you then with a shout, even as Hyun-ju cowers in the corner, shaking and sobbing. “I saved your lives! All of you!”

No one says a thing because what is there to say? That you’re glad you’re alive and it’s a real shame that Young-mi is dead? That he’s right? That he’s wrong?

“Isn't that right?” he demands. “Am I wrong?! Well, say something!”

You don’t have anything to say. 333 did what you might have done and Young-mi paid the price for it. There is no consolation, no candied words to soothe a broken heart. There’s no way to turn back the clock and bring her back to life. But, you think, there is the chance to atone for your almost-mistake by offering Hyun-ju the kindness she needs.

You shoulder past 333 without sparing him even a passing glance and you throw your arms around her quivering shoulders. She falls into you without pause, sobbing into your shirt as you lightly pat her on the back.

It’s not okay. It’s not right. You can’t bring Young-mi back and you can’t fix this, but in this moment at least you’re not a monster. At least you’re not the killer this time.

[chronicbitchsyndrome]

i am majorly not a fan of how a bunch of disability tumblr is retiring "abled" in favor of "able-bodied," especially in contexts where it makes no logical sense. "able-bodied people have no idea how miserable it is to rely on SSI" for example. you are directly implying something about the lives of intellectually disabled people, people with downs, nonverbal people, etc, and i don't like it.

[ari16bri]

Political essay no one asked for from a white, middle class working mom with no qualifications.

Spoiler alert: I'm a socialist.

I was having a conversation with my left-leaning centrist father today. He was asking lots of questions, which he often does. He wants to understand everything, and he wants to have all the information possible so as to avoid alarmist narratives and unnecessary panic. It's a good way to live, in theory.

In my opinion, I told him, the grace that you afford certain groups in late-stage capitalism will be, and currently is being, used against you and your loved ones. When you ask the question, "but why would they want to ban transgender people if they didn't think they were a danger to society," "but why would they want to ban abortions federally if it will cause the deaths of women and children, if they don't truly see it as murder," "but why would they send undocumented migrants to concentration camps?"

My response was as follows.

"Because they are Nazis."

He doesn't like that response. He is concerned that it's drastic, not logical. And, in theory, it's not logical. He says he knows Nazis have existed before, so it makes sense that they would exist again at some point, but are the people in the American government Nazis? Really?"

I told him, very simply, "yes."

I believe that in a society like the one we exist in today, we all have our roles to play. All of them have their place in fascism. Fascists know that each of these roles exist, and they plan for each of them.

I think a very large percentage of American adults fall into the "uninformed" group. There are malicious uninformed individuals, and there are benign (in itself is malicious) uninformed individuals. There are also both sides of the "informed" group. Unlike the uninformed individuals, there also exists "progressive" informed individuals.

Today I posted on my facebook page,

"When capitalism destabilizes, fascists take over to protect their assets, à la oligarchy."

Unsurprisingly, I got a comment from someone I thought was a benign uninformed individual. Their comment was, "is this referring to the 150 year old people collecting SSI benefits?"

Now, obviously, she is a victim of disinformation.

But, that's not benign. That's malicious. That is her part to play in this fascist downspiral. It's a vital part to play, and they are counting on her to continue doing it. It's unfortunate, and perhaps she will live long enough to be able to regret the part she is playing, but she may also not even be capable of realizing it when it's all said and done.

My coworker couldn't give a shit about politics if she watched someone martyred in the street in front of her. Another vital part being played in favor of fascism, right there. "Benign" uninformed individuals who don't think any of this is "that deep," or they think it's funny, and want to see the world burn because they don't care about anything or anyone. They're not actively fighting the progressive cause, but the fascists don't need them to. They're perfectly content with them staying silent.

Silence = consent, in this case (and in this case only).

Back to my lovely father. I told him that part of understanding and adapting to this new society is to recognize that this society is new to us. It has been brewing under the surface for decades (and then some), yes, but it is quite literally the definition of a capitalistic society in collapse.

What happens when capitalism collapses?

Nazis.

He says he can't wrap his mind around the evil it takes to be that. He says, logically, he knows billionaires exist on the backs of wage workers (and, historically, slaves) and that there is essentially no moral way to be that rich, but how (HOW) could their goal to be even richer? How can the world's most rich and powerful want to be even more rich and more powerful?

I said, "because it is what it is."

Fascists want power and they want money.

They want women to get married and have babies and they want the mommies to read the Bible to the babies before bed every night so those babies grow up to be afraid of Hell and go to work and be good members of society, and buy shit, and get married, and have babies.

I said, "you think Trump gives a shit about babies? You think he believes in Jesus, or gives a shit what Jesus would do? He gives a shit about not going to prison. He wants money. He wants power. Elon, too. That's what Project 2025 is all about. It's not alarmist. It is happening. It's happening right in front of us."

The thing is, as of right now, he is playing his part in the fascist downspiral, too. He is grappling with the reality that the world truly is as insecure as our wildest nightmares, and the likelihood of greed to take control has always been there. It's not easy to grasp. We aren't meant to grasp that concept. We are also not meant to be paying to eat and shit and sleep.

We are living in a society and on an economy that is meant to collapse. That's why it happens time and again. We just happen to be living in the period of time that it's collapsing.

My dad is a good person. He is also a non-conformist. He doesn't want to be told what to do. He's an ally in all senses of the word. He just, unfortunately, is playing a part in their game; giving fascists the benefit of the doubt in hopes that no one can be that evil. But they are. And they're here. And it sucks.

In the 'market place of ideas' it is imperative, quite literally by definition, to exclude fucking fascism from the list of options worth considering. Fascism succeeding removes the 'market place of ideas,' and allowing it to be a fucking option will be the downfall of society.

I can't go to jail, I can't lose my kids, I can't do anything rash. Maybe it would be different if I had nothing to lose. So, my part to play is to be informed. I choose not to conform. I listen to my shitty punk music, and I dye my hair blue and purple, and I pierce my face, and I correct people who are saying stupid shit, and I political-post on facebook to piss my (maliciously informed) grandparents off, and I won't stop.

I was raised an anarchist by both parents. I have the privilege to be an anarchist with a lower likelihood of persecution because of my appearance and generational wealth (though I don't have direct, immediate access to it).

Now, imagine I didn't have rich white grandparents to help me buy my house and pay for my phone, or bail me out of jail if it came to that? Imagine I wasn't white and the trauma that is 'what has the world come to,' wasn't new to me? Imagine being black and knowing this was the case from the beginning- being afraid of cops, instead of actively rebelling them? Imagine I didn't have the privilege to talk back to cops when they stop me for stupid shit, or go out of my way to be loudly non-conformist for fear of being singled out and potentially hurt?

Lord, imagine knowing all of this to be true from the beginning only to be told by everyone with a shred of power in this country that I am over reacting, playing the victim, or that it is actually me who is ruining society, simply by existing?

If my white, wealthy conservative family members are playing the parts of the maliciously uninformed and maliciously informed, what part are those in higher risk communities playing? Cannon fodder? Trans people are in danger, actively. Anyone with a skin tone darker than peach is, too. That's been the case. But the danger has ramped up significantly, and we all see it. Anyone who is playing a part against the fascists, at least.

Those are my thoughts.

ACAB. BLM. Trans rights are human rights. Abortion is health care. Health care should be free.

FUCK Trump. FUCK Elon. FUCK fascists.

[wonyowonyo]

Straightforward - 𝐈𝐕

It was yet another busy day for every student as morning came which meant another day of classes. Chatters around the classroom filled the atmosphere, teens talking to their peers with diverse topics. Minju shortly arrived, opening the door and was greeted by the endless muttering and whispers of her classmates.

'ˢᵉʳᶦᵒᵘˢˡʸˀ ᵀʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᴵⁿˢᵃⁿᵉ'

'ˢʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵏᶦⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵍᶦʳˡ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ'

'ᵀʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᵃʷᶠᵘˡ ᶦᶠ ᶦᵗ'ˢ ᵗʳᵘᵉ'

Minju, who just arrived, was confused and unaware about what was going on. Her classmate shortly noticed her arrival as they shifted their focus into the girl, which caused more whispers to ensue.

'ᴼʰ, ᴹᶦⁿʲᵘ'ˢ ʰᵉʳᵉ'

'ᵂʰʸ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˢᵏ ʰᵉʳˀ '

Hearing the whispers from her classmates and the sudden shift of focus to her, Minju's confused expression turned into one of worry. What could be happening right now? Minju tried to recall if she ever did something bad recently, to which she failed as she can't recall doing anything negative.

'...What?'

"Minju!"

Minju heard the familiar husky voice calling out to her, causing her to turn her head to the direction of the voice. Her guess was right, It was none other than her best friend Yuri and next to her was their other friend named Yena. They seemed to be quite worried. Yuri then motioned Minju to come closer. Without hesitation, Minju walked her way to them . "What's wrong?"

Minju asked, noticing the facial expression of the two. It seems like they have a clue about what's going on.

"You haven't heard?"

Yuri whispered to Minju, causing Minju to be confused again. What is Yuri implying? "It seems like... there's a bad rumour about you." ...What?Minju was surprised by what Yuri said. Rumour? A bad one at that? What did she do? "It's like, Minju is a player and flirting with a lot of boys. Things like that. They even said you had another boyfriend while dating Hyunjin. Those sons of a bitches." Yuri said, anger evident in her voice. Who could've done something like this to Minju? On the other hand, Minju simply looked down while gripping the straps of her bag. Minju furrowed as she felt mixed emotions about her predicament. 'What the heck is that?... I'm sure Hyunjin spread the rumour about me.'

There couldn't have been any more logical perpetrator about the rumour circling around about her. Minju's guess was Hyunjin, her ex who played with her and cheated. He was probably butt-hurt about Minju dumping him. Feeling really annoyed about that, Minju raised her head. At that moment she catched Y/n looking at her. Oh.

Just like that, Minju's annoyance dissipated and her heart felt fluttery yet again as she remembered the events yesterday. Y/n, who was caught off guard by Minju catching him on the spot, jolted and quickly turned his head away from Minju and into his desk. ...Huh?

Minju felt the fluttering stop as she felt a hint of bitter feeling after Y/n broke eye contact with her. He didn't even greet him or acknowledge him. Brushing off the action, Minju excitedly walked over to Y/n's seat. "Um... Y/n-ssi, Good morning." "Good morning."

Y/n blankly replied, no excitement or happiness in his voice. It was a bland and formal greeting. He didn't even look into her eyes and remained looking at his seat with an empty stare. At this point, Minju was getting nervous about Y/n's sudden change in behaviour. "U-uh... Thank you for helping me with my studies yeste-" *RATTLE*"Excuse me. The teacher wants to see me, so I have to go."

The rattling sound came from Y/n's chair which was caused by him suddenly standing up, cutting Minju who was in the middle of thanking him. He'd firmly put his hand on the desk, still not looking Minju's way. Minju can only watch as Y/n turn and walk away from her, not even daring to look at her way. Y/n proceeds to leave the classroom, leaving a stunned Minju. Minju didn't know what to do, not only did a rumour about her suddenly appear and now suddenly Y/n is avoiding her. 'Has he heard the rumour? Y/n... does he hate me now?'

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Minju would open her locker, take the necessary things and store some stuff of hers. She really wasn't in the mood for anything today. Minju sighed as she closed the locker before locking it. "Oh. Minju, Long time no see." And as if Minju was thinking her day couldn't have gone worse, Fate decided to play with her. Just hearing his voice infuriated her so much. Minju turned and what greeted her was her ex-boyfriend and the boy who probably was the cause of the mess happening today. "What do you want Hyunjin?"

Minju said with a blank tone. She wasn't keen on talking to him right now.

"Oh nothing, I just heard a rumour about you going around."

Hyunjin was slightly smiling with a hint of smugness hidden. This really annoys Minju more.

"Anyway, you seem to be close to that nerd these days. Are you?"

Minju already knew who Hyunjin was talking to. She kept her composure and remained quiet, not giving Hyunjin any reaction as she kept her blank gaze on the clown that was talking in front of her.

"Are you dating him or something?"

Hyunjin said getting closer to Minju.

"I didn't know that was your type. You sure have bad taste, huh?"

Hyunjin was now not even trying to hide his mocking tone. Minju couldn't keep her composure anymore as she gripped the straps of her bag tightly, seething with anger. "You don't know anything..." "Don't say anything bad about Y/n!"

Minju angrily said to Hyunjin. Gone was her calm demeanour and instead was now full-on angry. "He's the complete opposite of you. He's honest, faithful, and cool. Unlike you, you're a half-assed monkey in heat who can't control himself!" Hyunjin was taken aback by Minju's sudden outburst but immediately snapped back as he too was now angry. "Huh?! Why are you getting upset?!"

It seems Minju's roasts clearly angered Hyunjin as in that moment, Hyunjin suddenly raised his hand clearly with the intention to hit Minju. Knowing what was about to happen, Minju closed her eyes and waited for the impact. The impact however never happened, causing Minju to open her eyes.

What greeted Minju was the sight of Y/n grasping Hyunjin's wrists so tightly which made Hyunjin grunt in pain.

"Yah. Are you trying to hit a woman?"

Y/n glared at Hyunjin which somewhat intimidated Hyunjin. He showed evident anger as he tugged Hyunjin's wrist tighter, causing Hyunjin to grunt even more.

"You should be ashamed as a man."

Noticing that they've attracted quite a bunch from the commotion, Hyunjin immediately pulled his wrist away from Y/n's grasp.

"Get off!"

Hyunjin immediately walked away in shame with Y/n and Minju just watching him.

"Are you alright?"

Y/n then turned his head to Minju and checked on her. Minju only nodded as she avoided eye contact with Y/n who seemed to return to normal. "I.. thought you hated me now. Aren't you staying away from me because of the rumours?"

Minju was obviously sad after saying that, after all, Y/n has been avoiding her all day. Y/n however was surprised by what Minju said.

"The rumours? No I was just...

... I was just playing hard to get."

Y/n meekly said while smiling as if he was proud to accomplish something. Minju however was shocked beyond belief. Here she was sulking and upset about Y/n avoiding her thinking it was because of the rumours. Instead it was because Y/n was trying to be hard to get... What the hell?!

"I read a magazine the other day... It said only showing how much you like the person isn't enough... And you have to play hard to get it once in a while... So I followed that advice."

Y/n explained innocently what his reason was and why he decided to avoid Minju. Turns out it wasn't even connected to the rumour but instead because he was trying to follow a love advice. Y/n truly know how to shock and surprise Minju in many ways possible. 'What?!'

Minju can only remain speechless while Y/n was explaining. She was really embarrassed because of the misunderstanding, though it was mostly Y/n's fault for abruptly ignoring her.

"Keeping away from you was a little hard for me too..."

Y/n confessed while slightly blushing. Minju was still silent as she was conflicted, it was as if she's trying to say something. In the end, she decided to push through.

"You don't have to do things like that...

... I'm already into you."

Now it was the time for Minju to catch Y/n in surprise. An awkward pause happened as Y/n remained still in his position, utterly shocked by Minju's sudden confession. Y/n however immediately realised what Minju said.

"What? That... Well... W..Wh...What do you mean...?"

Y/n asked, He wasn't sure if he just heard what Minju said just now. Is he finally going deaf?

"... I mean!"

Minju suddenly jumped straight into Y/n's body, her arms engulfing Y/n's torso, while her head was buried into him. Minju can smell Y/n's scent, it was sweet, just like Y/n. She then looked up and stared into Y/n's eyes.

"I already like you. That's what I'm saying!!"

Minju confessed yet another time. This time however, she and Y/n were looking at each other. Both teen's faces were deeply shaded in red. It seems like a new love has bloomed and fluttered.

Y/n would push Minju off, taking Minju by surprise. His hands were still on Minji's shoulders, while he looked at the floor, trying to hide his reddened face.

"I..."

Y/n mustered the courage to then look into Minju's face again.

"I promise I'll make you happy!!"

Y/n suddenly blurted out, his face was now redder than ever, his heart was thumping crazily, and he was mentally panicking as every second passed. Minju laughed at Y/n's actions.

"That sounds like a proposal."

Minju teased Y/n which earned a look of shock from the boy's face.

"No! I mean! I'll propose properly in the future!"

Y/n was now fumbling with his words, clearly panicking, and Minju's teasing wasn't helping any better.

"That's not gonna happen for quite some time."

'So he's really gonna do it...'

Minju was also blushing from what's happening while also laughing at Y/n's antics. He'd never seen this side of Y/n that much, and she hoped she'd see this more often in the future.

And so, they both walked out of the school grounds. With hands holding each other, hearts beating together, and their love getting larger every second. Their relationship may not be as romantic as other people, but it didn't matter. In the end, what really matters is their faith and love for each other.

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

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[vintagerpg]

The 1989 NES version of Shadowgate is one of my favorite videogames of that era. It’s a point-and-click dungeon crawl, and is perfect in a lot of ways. For the most part, it lacks the skewed logic of many point-and-click games, though its approach to magic can be tricksy in a way I appreciate. The monsters are interesting, but there is no real combat, it’s all just puzzles in a different form, and they must all be solved if you have any chance of defeating the Warlock Lord and stopping the raising of Behemoth. And boy does the game oozes atmosphere. Thanks to the timer of your torches burning out and the genuinely unsettling soundtrack, the game feels like it has real stakes, real danger.

I knew the NES version was a port/rework of an earlier computer game developed initially for Mac, but it wasn’t until last summer I saw the cover for it. I don’t know why I assumed it would have the same somewhat silly looking gargoyle as the NES release. It didn’t. This cover is so much coooooler. Having fiddled with emulations of the original, I do think the NES version is better — though slightly higher res, the Mac version is black and white and lacks the soundtrack, which is a key component of the game’s success.

Couple funny things. Until I bought the computer version (this one is actually for Atari computers), I didn’t realized that Déjà Vu and Uninvited preceded Shadowgate (the NES ports started with Shadowgate, then Uninvited, then finally Déjà Vu). And I only just learned as I prepared to write this that when SSI closed up in 1994, it was acquired by Mindscape, which had published Shadowgate. There’s no meaningful connection between Shadowgate and the Gold Box games beyond that purchase, but it tingled the back of my brain in a funny way.

[kanmom51]

JK 28 July live

I'm exhausted. Can't seem to catch up with the speed JK's doing these lives. And every single one is louder than the one before it.

So, this is me posting about the live on the 28th, all while I haven't yet for the previous live, and just after he had his latest one.

But I guess here it goes, cause better late than never.

So the 28th live. Well, truthfully it was 3 lives.

1st he ended after close to 3 minutes because of the angle of the camera.

2nd was lagging and he eventually turned off after around 4 minutes.

He did manage to tell us the ice creams he likes concluding he likes savory.

He likes savory and JM likes rabbit spit. Ok then.

Don't blame me for being like this. It's JK's fault. Well, actually, it's JK and JM's fault, cause man did they come on hard in that next third live that followed.

Peeps, this one was a doozy.

This short live, and even shorter Jikook interaction (started pretty much at the start of the live and ended at around the 15 min. mark) is up there as one of the best Jikook lives. And JM wasn't even in the room for it, lol.

If you would have asked me a couple of months back if this day was in the making pre-enlistment I would have said no. But hell, something has shifted in the past few weeks. Like really SHIFTED. When I compared Jikook's Silver day dinner in NY to Tainni's Parris stroll, I knew what I was talking about.

And now, I take you a Taenni stroll and raise you a frigging JK half naked in bed live just having a flirt fest with his bf.

Subs are out, I suggest you all go watch it. It's short and easy to follow and JK makes sure to read out JM's comments and he's flirty and cheeky and totally informal and forgets what the word honorific even is. The man is in his element.

And JK, he's pushing. Pushing hard for JM to do the live together. Again and again. Just showing us in real life what it means to pursue the person you want to be with, you know the "love of my life", whom he wants to go live with him. And JM, well JM he's being flirty and playful, and when he gets a little too flirty, he catches himself and deletes his comment, lol. But JK he catches on and he continues.

And after sending JK a photo to show him he's not in a state for a live, a photo that JK doesn't get to see just yet, JK is disappointed but accepts it. And then JM dips and tells JK to spend some time with us, cause when they are at it, it's only the two of them, lol.

That's it in an essence, but there is so much to unpack from that, I don't even know where to start.

Maybe not with Jikook. Maybe I'll start with JK, our super masculine manly man calling his new piercings pretty.

Ok then. Now that I got that out of the way how about we talk about JK showing us outright that their relationship, it ain't no usual hyung dongsaeng relationship. No way, no how.

In the more or less 15 minutes that JM stays on the live and the conversation between them JK mentions JM's name 18 times, out of which twice adding the ssi and only 7 times adding the hyung. And not only does he 'forget' the hyung, at some point in the live he calls JM by his name and uses his flirty Jimin-ssi, but he also dares to speak to him saying his name with an authoritive commanding tone. JK spares absolutely nothing to get JM do that live with him.

Also, out of those 7 times JK says JM hyung most are when he's talking about him and not to him?

Do we actually remember who the hyung is there? Cause it feels like those two have already forgotten it, lol.

JK tried it all. He tries asking then flirting, then going assertive.

JK tries the logical path - we are both bored.

He tries batting his eyelashes and he even goes down the emotional manipulation path with a little guilt tripping.

He even goes aego on JM. That lip pucker was not for us. Good cover up (or not so) with the "I'm checking out my face and need to lose weight".

He literally tries it all, lol.

JM, ma man, you are a much stronger soldier than I would ever be, lol.

Thing is this.

JM knows he has to be strong here, when he has JK at arms length, cause he also knows that the second JK is near him, that's when he will lose his composure.

I kind of think it goes back to JM once admitting to us that he couldn't do a live alone with JK because they would get lost in each other and forget we are there.

Well hell yeah, that's exactly what we're banking on. Let the Jikook live begin.

Maybe, just maybe if the live is pre-planned and on neutral ground. Maybe then he can manage to have some kind of control. But like this? Just out of nowhere? No preparation?

JM is a strong soldier, but when it comes to JK he loses that battle. And he knows it, lol. So that would be a big fat no on an unplanned live with JK for him, lol.

And let's go right back to the flirting that was going on right in front of our faces. Because I mean, how can we not? How can we not keep talking about this? This was friggin' wild.

JM with his "I can handle it", his "I'm scared of you" and "he's going to hit me", and should we mention his "I'm not easy" (will get to that one in a sec)? Yo, and what's up with that pic he sent him mid live and telling us all he just did?

And JK, omg JK, with his satoori and informal and just that tone. That tone he was using with JM. Because all those words, and the dropping of the hyung they are only a part of it. It's the tone. The bloody to die for tone he was using talking to JM.

And his reactions to JM's comments.

JK's reaction to JM's "I can handle it", omg, that giggle and the smile after saying it again...

See I can't help but wonder... was that JK giggling because:

a. he knows jm can handle it as he's quite familiar with his chesties besties; or

b. he knows that JM's lying cause he most definitley cannot handle his chesties besties.

But seriously, can JM handle it? Can he really? Handle his chestie besties??? Perhaps from afar off camera, lol. And that is just another reason why JM thought it better to not have that live.

Food for thought. LOL.

We were literally third wheeling the whole time.

Even DT Parker could see it.

He sees some of it, but unwilling to go the full mile.

And that's also why JM decided he had to put an end to it, dip and let JK have a little time with army (which was another 10 min. of which 5 were him telling his goodbyes), lol.

Oh, a few more points.

What about "I'm not easy", ok, let's talk about that one for a minute.

Ok, so it's not 100% sure who deleted that one. My money is on JM. He knew EXACTLY what it looked/sounded like, and realised that perhaps this was him taking it once step too far, lol. I doubt it was someone in the company that deleted it, because if you go to the live and press live chat you can actually see that both the comments that were deleted are still there, lol. So, seems to me that this wasn't a company move and more a JM one. Because adding this to the tone, the lack of honorifics, the totally thoroughly flirty conversation between the two of them, this could be a little bit of a deal sealer, and maybe JM thought it to be just a little too much.

Did we talk about the song JK sings right after JM joins the live?

JM, ma man, you are a much stronger soldier than I would ever be, lol.

Thing is this, again, JM knows he has to be strong here, when he has JK at arms length, cause he also knows that the second JK is near him, that's when he will lose his composure.

And a little more I noticed (I don't really think it's so little though):

JM, of course, knows JK's schedule.

I know there are a few translations on this, but the official ones are pretty clear, and they also align with what JK told us in the first live, having to wake up at 1:20 pm. And there is also this:

JM was calling JK - Jung kook. Which is not something he's done that often. And it feels like this might also have to do with JK's change to his Weverse account, changing his name to Jung kook, perhaps wanting to have a more mature/adult image.

Oh, and how is this not exploding on SM?????

Like wtf? How has this not been all over the place?

The ease in which this was said. He'll grab his toiletries and go over to do the live? Shower at JM's before? Shower at his after? Do the live, shower and sleep over? Whichever of these you go with it's god damn fucking loud.

The man lives what? A few minutes away from JM? And yet he needs to pop over to his place to shower? And again, how naturally this was said, kind of like it's A THING they just do. Like, let's get real here. First of all, yeah, it's a thing they do, and he just told us that live!!! and second, I'm not sure he needs a full bag of toiletries. He probably has most of them already there on his side of the sink, or if there is a his and his sink, then next to HIS sink.

Also, and this is a question I'm still asking myself - did JK say this intentionally? Was this a slip of the tongue or was there intent. Either or is loud, but intent means he wanted us to know this, while slip of the tongue was that he just let himself act naturally with JM, which included that "I'll come shower at yours".

And JM? I didn't hear a no to the "I'll come over and shower at yours". Just a not now to the live. So...

Ok, enough is enough.

We still had another what? 10 min. approx. after JM left.

Did anything really happen in those 10 min.? Nah.

Well, one thing maybe. JK said he'll try to go live during his breaks while recording, cause he's sad he only got to perform in front of 280 army only.

Which he did.

And me writing these lines after watching that live just sitting here and laughing my head off. Because BURN BITCHES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, that's it.

We might not have gotten an actual Jikook in same room and same frame live, but we sure did get a JIKOOK live. And it was as loud as (minors hands over your ears) FUCK!!!!

And everything I mentioned there, my friends, is why it's ALWAYS better to watch the live and not rely solely on the translation accounts. Translations accounts are great, but they don't convey the tone.

Oh, and did we see this?

Cause what the hell?🤣🤣

And for funsies:

Now JK has to stop. Just stop. Like take a couple of days off, go be with JM for a little and let me catch my breath goddamnit.🤣🤣

[bp-zb1fics]

can i req gyuvin x male reader where gyuvin wants to ask out the reader but protective YOUNGER brother gunwook blocks any chance he can get but right as gyuvin is about to give up reader asks gyuvin out? you can make this as funny as you like

The perils of asking you out

pairing: gyuvin x male reader ft. protective younger brother gunwook

genre: university au on some serious crack (same verse as sunbaenim), chaotic romcom vibes

tw/tags: love at first sight, protective brother, uni party, alcohol, getting drunk, flirting, junhyeon gives great advice, gunwook is 18 and can have a driver's license, hangovers, eating ramen, confessions, dates, gunwook isn’t trying to be scary — gyuvin’s just scared (and in love), a whole lot of chaos and comedic side comments

wc: 3068 😱

summary: gyuvin’s always wanted to ask you out but he has one big problem and it’s called park gunwook, your extremely protective little brother.

a/n this…hefty word count, srsly thought I wasn’t capable of going over 2k words when it came to requests but oh well. Perhaps it’s because anon (tysm for the req) said “make this as funny as you like” and so this is v much heavily infused w my brand of- err humor. This au was rlly fun to write as well~ Enjoy!

Check my pinned for more fics~

Gyuvin notices you on your first day of university freshman orientation. 

Now he won’t claim love at first sight. He found you interesting, is all. People are allowed to find other people interesting. He wanted to get to know you, which was fine. People should get to know other people. 

And okay, so what if he was in love, just a little, you know? People are allowed to fall in love with other people, goddamit. But it definitely isn’t love, probably.

People can also check the schedules of other people to see what classes they have together. Why? So Gyuvin would have opportunities to talk with you. 

And there’s nothing wrong with that. People should talk to other people. Social interaction is a basic need. The reason people have needs is so that they can function properly.

Right, proper, solid logic.

“Hi.”

You look up at the brunette boy who’s taken the seat beside you.

“I’m Kim Gyuvin.”

You smile, introduce yourself and say:

“Nice to meet you, Gyuvin-ssi.”

Gyuvin swears he can hear wedding bells. 

Which is okay. Totally fine. People are allowed to daydream about their wedding to-

Yeah fuck that.

It’s your first week of freshman year and Kim Gyuvin has a gigantic, humongous, big, fat crush on you. And that’s a fact.

__________________________________________

Gyuvin meets your younger brother when you two are about halfway through the first semester. 

Things are going well for you by all counts. While you don’t always run in the same circles, you’re always friendly in class and he’s more or less claimed the seat next to you for most of the ones you share. You’ve partnered up for a project and he’s offered to bring back the phone charger you forgot you lent him last time you worked together.

Eventually, you gave in, sending him your address after he repeatedly told you it wouldn’t be a bother. Unlike most first year students like him who lived in the dormitories, you stayed at an off-campus apartment building nearby. Gyuvin’s almost bouncing off the walls of the elevator at the chance to see you. Maybe he can even ask you out for dinner if you’re free tonight, he thinks giddily as he knocks on the door.

Unfortunately, all his daydreams die when the door swings open and he is greeted by someone who is definitely not you. They’re about the same height but the other boy still has about an inch on him and a whole lot more muscle, nearly bursting out of the door frame. Gyuvin’s about to apologise, turn around and look for the right apartment when he hears what he clearly knows is your voice calling out.

“Wookie! Who is it?”

Like an angel, you appear behind the boy, your face brightening up as you spot Gyuvin.

“Ah, hi Gyuvin-ssi. Thanks for coming all the way, you really didn’t have to.” You shoo the boy away although he manages to throw Gyuvin another dark look before shuffling back in.

“No, no, no worries at all, it’s really not a problem.” he reassures you weakly, still shaken from the encounter. You glance behind you and wave the other boy off once more.

“Don’t mind Gunwookie.” Gyuvin’s mind is definitely preoccupied by the soft white sweater you’re wearing and how cute and angelic you look in it. Yessir it is.

“He’s just staying with me for the weekend. Never thought my little brother would miss me that quickly, you know?” You laugh as Gyuvin’s mind finally processes what you’re saying.

Little. Brother. That unnervingly large, definitely intimidating boy that’s definitely glaring at him from where he’s seated on the couch was YOUR LITTLE BROTHER???

“I see.” Wow, real smooth Gyuvin.

“Are you alright, Gyuvin-ssi? Are you feeling well?” Your eyebrow furrow at his strange behaviour.

“No, no worries. I’m good.” Gyuvin replies hastily. Right! He’ll ask you if you want to have dinner. “I was actually wondering if you-”

“Hyung, what time are we going? I’m hungry.” And failed.

“Aish you brat, can’t you see that I’m having a conversation over here?” You scold before turning back to Gyuvin, apologetic.

“Really sorry about him Gyuvin-ssi, would you want to join us for dinner? There’s a good soondubu place just down the road that I’m taking Gunwookie to.”

“I, uh-” Gyuvin would have definitely leapt at a chance to have dinner for you if not for the 6-foot devil menacing at him, gaze promising death if he agreed.

“I actually had dinner already,” he said instead. You look even more confused.

“But it’s 4pm?” Right, way to go Gyuvin, so smart.

“I like having dinner early, it’s better for digestion.” He salvages with a total bald-faced lie.

“Huh, I should try that but I love my midnight snacks so-” God if Gyuvin could ever be more in love with you than this. Okay, come back to your senses, Kim Gyuvin.

“Oh, I hate to keep you from your dinner so I’ll get going now.”

You smile. Wedding bells- no, no, no stop it.

“I guess I’ll see you around, Gyuvin-ssi.”

Gyuvin smiles back dopily.

“Yeah, see you.”

The door closes and he walks back to his dormitory.

Asking you out is going to be harder than he expected. He thinks, shuddering at the memory of Gunwook’s dark glare when he opened the door.

As he rummages through his backpack, his hands pull out a very familiar cord and plug.

It’s your charger.

He might as well go die in a hole. Gunwook would definitely be happy to bury his body.

__________________________________________

Gyuvin eventually returns your charger. His dignity on the other hand? Well no one knows when that’s returning.

You’re not even annoyed about it. Laughing at him all good natured and teasing him about his very real fears but it's not like you know that (or Gyuvin’s ever admitting it).

“Did Gunwookie scare you off? He used to be like that when we were in highschool, challenged anyone that gave me trouble,” you chuckle while Gyuvin tries his best not to audibly gulp.

“You’re not going to give me trouble, are you Gyuvin-ssi?”

You’re trouble, he thought. Troubling my heart as we speak.

“I hope not.” he says instead, making you laugh even more.

The class settles down as your professor enters. You pat him lightly on the shoulder. His heart jumps traitorously.

“Don’t let my brother scare you off, Gyuvin-ssi, he might act all protective but really, he’s just a big teddy bear.”

Gyuvin definitely does not believe that but he appreciates the sentiment.

Love will have its challenges, he thinks as he watches you.

And no challenge, not even a terrifyingly overprotective younger brother who’s built like the hulk will stop him.

He’ll ask you out soon, he will.

Then Gyuvin realises the whole class is staring at him, even you.

“The answer to the question, Gyuvin-ssi?” The professor asks expectantly.

Shit.

You mutter the answer under your breath and he repeats it. The professor nods approvingly and moves on. You smile at him when he thanks you. 

Yep. He’s marrying you asking you out and nothing will stop him.

__________________________________________

The next time Gyuvin tries his chances is at a party.

Hosted by the university’s resident social butterfly, definitely in the running for Ms. Congeniality, senior Sung Hanbin, it’s one of the bigger events of the year for the second semester’s O-week. And Gyuvin was lucky enough to have received an invitation personally, having met the friendly senior at one of the uni organisations he joined. 

It was exciting. While he had attended his fair share of welcome parties during his own orientation, there had been rumours floating around about the party the seniors were planning to start their last semester with a bang.

It also just so happened that you were going as well, having been invited by a close friend of Hanbin. Gyuvin was confident. And a little liquid courage wasn’t going to hurt.

You arrived a bit later than he did, accompanied by your friend from the foreign student society of which you took part to improve your already excellent English skills. You’re greeted by Seok Matthew, a junior and another member of the society who happened to be Hanbin’s close friend and your invite to the party. 

Gyuvin was in deep, groaning to Junhyeon about how good you looked, your shirt cut low to show off your collarbones and multiple earrings adorning your ears. At that moment, you spot him and wave, making your way towards him. Gyuvin panics.

“Fuck, fuck, what do I do?”

“If you think he’s hot, you should shoot your shot.” Junhyeon offers, the very fountain of wisdom he is.

You greet Junhyeon before turning to the brunette and wow, your smile is dazzling.

“Gyuvin-ssi, how are you finding the party?”

“It’s great,” he replies by default, mind going blank. “Hanbin-hyung definitely exceeded expectations.” 

Come on, Gyuvin. You can do it. Summon some rizz.

“Do you wanna get a drink?” He manages, gesturing at his empty cup. You agree easily, and he leads you to the bar that's been put up. So far, so good.

Unfortunately for him, you recognize the blond bartender, immediately striking up a conversation.

“Ricky-ah!” Gyuvin reels back when you address him casually. “How’d you end up as the bartender?”

“Zhang Hao-hyung” the other says, naming another close friend of Hanbin’s. The blond’s eyes flick between you and Gyuvin as he polished one of the glasses. What for? No one knew. Most party goers seem to be holding plastic cups.

“So what can I get for you?”

Two drinks, six shots and three drinking games later and Gyuvin is holding on for dear life. Literally, he’s about to fall off his seat. 

The only good thing going for him is that apparently you’re a clingy drunk, latching onto his arm in a way that would definitely give him a heart attack if it wasn’t for all the alcohol he had in him.

“Gyuvinah…” you mumble sleepily as he struggles to keep you both upright. 

“Mmmmm?”

“You’re really handsome, you know?”

Gyuvin truly has no thoughts. He must be in some somaek induced hallucination or something.

“Seriously, the first time I saw you with your brown hair, you looked like a prince.” You continued on, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

Gyuvin suddenly felt way too flustered, his cheeks already flushed hot from the drinks.

“Would you wanna step outside? Get some air maybe.” He suggests.

“Okay!” You agree as you both stumble for the door, whistles and hoots following you.

“Get him, boy!” Someone, probably Haruto, your friend from earlier, yells. Gyuvin ‘s about to turn around and shush them when you groan and bury your face into the back of his shirt.

“They’re so loud, let’s goo.” 

You’re finally outside, sitting together on a bench outside the party venue. Gyuvin can’t get over the feeling of you leaning on his shoulder. Come on Gyuvin, say something to him.

“Did…did you mean what you said earlier?”

You lift your head up if only to squint at him suspiciously.

“Yeah…why?”

And then you smile, dazed, reaching out to pat his cheeks.

“So handsome Gyuvinah” you slur and Gyuvin finally has the nerve to take your hand in his. You stare at both of your hands.

“You’re holding my hand.” You say more of a statement, then a question.

“Yeah.” He swallows nervously, here it goes. “Hey, I was wondering maybe you’d like to go-“

HONK! You and Gyuvin nearly jump out of your skins as a car nearly scares the living daylight out of you. The headlights are bright and Gyuvin has to squint to see the driver as he gets out of the car. Oh no, it can’t be-

“Wookie?”

You say as your younger brother makes a beeline for you. You take a minute to look at him up and down and then look at the car behind him and gasp.

“You’re a baby!” You declare, shaking your head at him cutely. “Babies aren’t supposed to drive cars.”

“You texted me to come pick you up, hyung.”

You look adorably perplexed. “Did I?”

Gunwook’s ignoring you, glaring holes into Gyuvin’s hand still holding yours. Gyuvin drops your hand like a dead fish and you whine.

“Nevermind, Gyuvinah doesn’t like me anymore. Take me home, Wookie.” You say as Gyuvin’s mouth drops open and Gunwook hoists you up, half carrying you into the car.

His mouth remains open as the car drives off. Godammit. His stomach lurches. Gyuvin promptly decides to empty its contents onto the side of the bench. Classy. 

__________________________________________

After waking up with a raging hangover and a whole lot of regret, Gyuvin decides to regroup, maybe collect some of his dignity and self-respect again. If he can manage to find it, that is.

Thank god for the weekend, he thinks. One of his roommates decides to make ramyeon, all of them slurping silently and nursing their own hangovers.

And because Junhyeon is Junhyeon, he absolutely had to ask.

“So did you shoot your shot?”

Gyuvin groans. More like he shot himself. 

Junhyeon pats him on the back sympathetically.

“You’ll get there, bro. From what I saw, he seems pretty into you too, you know.”

A little ramen escapes his mouth and falls back into his makeshift bowl with a sad little plop. 

“You really think that?” Junhyeon steps back, clearly not ready for how intensely hopeful his roommate suddenly becomes.

“Okay hold up, woah there. I dunno what he thinks but I saw what I saw at that party. And you cute, bro, no cap.”

“But does he find me cute?” Gyuvin says forlorn again, shovelling noodles into his mouth.

“Well he gotta be finding something in you if he keeps hanging out with you.” Junhyeon offers because yes, he’s truly a well of knowledge.

Gyuvin tips his bowl back and finishes off the soup before staring at its empty state. So sad, truly a tragedy.

__________________________________________

There’s class the next day. And it happens to be one of the classes he has with you. God, how can he face you after that night.

“Hi Gyuvin-ssi,” you greet, back to formal speak much to his dismay.

“Hello,” he says and because he’s a simp little concerned, he asks.

“Are you feeling better after that other night?”

Your face falls. Immediate regret.

“Oh! Oh- um- yes I got home safely. Thanks for-“

And before you can finish, the professor enters and you start class. Now if Gyuvin wasn’t all nervous and fidgety, he would have noticed that you were in the exact same boat. 

When the professor wraps up and you begin to pack up your stuff, Gyuvin takes a chance to call your attention only for you to do it at the exact same time. You look at each other and laugh, the ice broken just a little.

“No, no you go first.” Gyuvin insists.

“Ah…” you hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “I just want to say I’m sorry for my behaviour the other night and I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner sometime? My treat, you know, for taking care of me.”

Gyuvin should assure you it’s fine. He should politely accept your invitation and say that taking care of you isn’t a bother. Instead, he sputters out.

“Like a date?”

You freeze. He freezes. You stand there for an incredibly long time (like 15 seconds, wow). Alarm bells start to go off in Gyuvin’s head. Finally-

“I mean…it can be a date if you want it to be a date?”

Alarm bells turn into wedding bells. Say it, Gyuvin, say I do.

“Totally…I mean, yes, I’d like it to be a date, very much.”

You smile softly before glancing at the time, your face falling again.

“Oh shit, I need to get to my next class, I’ll text you the details later, see you!”

Gyuvin watches as you rush out. It’s okay. He’s fine. Actually no, he’s not fine. But he did it. And it only took a whole semester and some but he’s finally going out with you.

__________________________________________

One blissful winter break later and Gyuvin’s practically skipping to your place. Maybe the chill bit at his skin and the wind whipped in his face but he didn’t care, he was finally going to see you, his boyfriend, again and the cold never bothered him anyway.

Your one date at the start of the last semester had turned into five, then ten dates until he was officially your boyfriend. Walking each other to their next class, holding hands, carrying your bag for you, all that good stuff. 

He’s even met your family over the holidays and you met his. Gyuvin would like to think that even Gunwook was warming up to him, just a little bit. He had come with you to support the younger boy during the CSAT exams and Gunwook actually thanked him once the exam was done. Still, he thought as he knocked on your door enthusiastically, that boy still intimidated him and he’ll definitely need to work on not flinching-

The door swings open and Gyuvin flinches. It’s like deja vu. 

“Hi hyung,” Gunwook greets him wearing what looks like a letterman jacket from their university. Gyuvin must be dreaming, definitely.

He’s about to pinch himself when you appear behind your brother.

“Gyuvinie!”

“Hello my aein~” 

No he’s definitely not dreaming and your brother is still there.

“Hi Gunwook!” He nearly squeaks out before you’re shoving the younger boy away to wrap your arms around your boyfriend.

Gyuvin’s brain promptly malfunctions but the next part of what you say brings him back online.

“Can’t you believe Wookie got accepted into our uni? He’ll be staying with me until we can find a bigger unit to rent, maybe you can live there too!”

“Sure…” Gyuvin said numbly, imagining all the ways Gunwook could fake his death after he dared to defile you. You frown.

“Don’t tell me Wookie still scares you?”

“No! No, what are you talking about?”

He definitely does. So sure, Gyuvin’s managed to make you his. But will your brother accept that? Well, that’s for him to find out. Because yes, it will be a long time before Kim Gyuvin realises that Park Gunwook isn’t as intimidating as he appears to be.

In the end, they’re both just big softies and they’re especially soft for you.

[bakafox]

Considering how I've been treated and seen people treated by their close communities- sorry if I just do not understand anarchism etc, but I would much rather fight for reforms where there is an institution/government that takes human rights into account, fight for reforms where the rich are taxed and that money then goes to UBI for all, subsidized healthcare for all, and better handled social security and other safety nets, where right now the problems are lack of funding and unfair gatekeeping as to who gets any help at all and a lot of people falling through the cracks based on race, gender, age, location, perceived income or ability etc-

Than fight for, what is it exactly? Hoping that my immediate community of people don't find reasons to gatekeep and refuse to help or can't afford to help so that people are falling through the cracks based on race, gender, age, perceived income or ability, but it's also more individually networked so that location also becomes even more of a dire reason that folks may fall through the cracks because their local groups just don't have the same resources as the local group down the road- having to pray that the local groups will play nicely when there's no real set of guidelines or rules agreed upon on how to spread the wealth and all the various needs that are rights?

Like, the more territory an agreement/social contract can cover, the more that is distributed, the more people it will help, but by the time you've got social contracts set up so that people in New York City are also seeing to it that there's help for people in Las Cruces and there's an even distribution of what's needed to all, and it's even over time and not just a week by week thing- doesn't that just mean it's basically laws and government?

Like, community action and goodwill towards others is super important, there is NO substitute for it- but it feels like there logically are some serious limitations on what can be done through community action.

In absolutely no universe would UBI at a federal level and probably even reformed medicaid for all and disability payments additional to UBI mean there's no need for volunteers or community, and no room for charity, but I can't see how people who focus solely on direct community action and say no one can depend on institutions and government at all can make up for the stable platform that a larger organization or institution/government can do if directed properly.

Like, current SSI sucks, it isn't really enough with today's cost of living, makes me jump through hoops to keep getting it every year or two, and a lot of people who need it are left out. But once approved for the current cycle, I don't have to go to church, I don't have to limit what types of food I eat beyond what I can afford on it, I don't have to be straight or otherwise seem 'normal', and in theory I could get the same $900 a month if I were black, or if I were older or younger than I am.

It also doesn't matter to SSI that my yard looks like a mess, I don't have to leave my house or stand in lines for it on any regular basis, I can be unshowered and sweaty and be in my worst mental state ever and I'm getting $900 a month even if no one outside of the computers at the SSA know I exist. I don't have to keep networking or be likeable in any way, shape, or form like trying to rely on people's kindness, on private charities or gofundmes.

The hoops I'm forced to jump through for SSI need to be gotten rid of, but even while they're here- they're... more able to be understood and countered and are well known, compared to knowing what it will take to get help elsewhere.

What replaces something like SSI better if it gets torn down, than trying to hammer out the dents, keep it functioning/standing, and making it work more fairly for even more people?

[kabutoraiger]

squid game s2 thoughts now that i've made it through...

i'm not exactly up on my behind the scenes lore here but regardless of actual events there is the prevailing vibe of. oh fuck we accidentally made the most successful show in the world so now we have to make more of it even though nobody really planned to?

the quality of writing & framing just seems to have taken something of a hit here imo. the events in and around the games lack impact. the circumstances of most of those involved feel melodramatic or overly shallow in turn. logic re: who's brought in as a player seems to have been thrown out the window in the pursuit of having more larger than life personalities in the mix.

but otoh. if the planning wasn't there how did they manage to construct the ideal space in advance in which to play a cover based shooter? 🤔 checkmate nonbelievers

none of that really matters though bc i'll give almost anything a pass in the name of toxic ahjussi romance and it is pretty good. 👍 i enjoyed watching mr frontman do his freaky little nice guy "i'll do anything you want me to gihun-ssi 🥰" roleplay very much. excited to see what kind of lab experiments/gay and stupid maze/jar with leafs and sticks he's putting gihun in next season so he can watch him hornily.

actually on the topic of squid game romance they only interacted like twice but i kept thinking the cute dad to the sick little girl & hyunju kind of had smth appealing going on but fuck me on that one, huh. they did get my ass there bc i really thought he had plot armor with a possible sniper guardian angel on his side. truly No One Is Safe...

[brokenhardies]

Remus: *eating deoderant* Oh, hello again. We need to stop meeting like this. Logan: Maybe we would, if you would stop breaking into my house. Remus: Remus: But this is Thomas's house, so...

[kim-deadja]

Dokja-ssi, is the situation with the blocky anon resolved now? If it isn’t, I’m more than glad to show them a lesson….

@sword-of-judgement

It’s fine, Jung Heewon-ssi. I doubt you’d get through to them anyway. They seem immune to logic and threats (referencing the essay constellation 'Observer of Lifetimes' submitted).

... Thanks for looking out for me though.

[posttexasstressdisorder]

This "Turning 65" bullshit...

Fuck this. It's insane. It's obtuse as fuck.

So there's no real "opting out" of this process, on a govermnent, SSA, State level, there is an intentional shifting of your entire life and resources over which you have no real control.

So far, it's been nothing but a clusterfuck of garbled mis-, dis-, and non- info that has resulted in a roller-coaster of emotions and fears and outright disbelief at the levels of fuckery.

As y'all know, I'm a broke-ass old hippie on SSI who occasionally makes a sale on eBay. That's all I get, and that is like $1,200/mo now. That's all. It's part USG and part State of California. It really doesn't make any sense to my logical brain how it's figured, but then they never consulted me. lulz.

So imagine my surprise and shock and panic spiral when I open two letters from SSA telling me that they're going to start taking $174/mo out of that $1,200 for Medi-Care Premiums.

This was after the official "case-worker" told me not to worry. Yeah, right. Which was right after I got mail saying I was signed up to Cigna's "Medicare Drug Plan" and would have to start paying for every prescription, with nothing free. That sent me into spasms, too.

Sat on hold for 25 mins at the generic "local office" in Oakland number, then a lady came on and I was explaining it out, after awhile she asked for info, I gave it, so she knew it was me...after she looked it up she confirmed it, and I just lost it again, like, lady, my whole life is structured around this Medi-CAL thing being free! I can't pay for SHIT!

Then she says "I see a letter that went out January 11th, which was...tomorrow!" ~chuckle~so here I am leaping fucking timelines again~ "It says the State of California will be paying your Medi-Care Premiums, so that $174/mo will not be being charged to your account after all."

Now here's the thing about it: there's (of course) that rush of relief, but then there is also that built-up STRESS CHEMICAL RESERVE that this bullshit triggered in the first fucking place.

It still needs to get processed through before you can really take in what's going on. After a couple of chuckles we bid each other a nice day and that was it. And I'm sitting here in hyper-vigilance and on the lookout for The Next Horrible Fucking Thing that's bound to drop.

Fuck the entire thing. It's borderline psychotic abusive behavior by a fucking beaurocracy! There is no dignity in living like this, after a lifetime of barely getting by, then a short time of comfort followed by destitution Yet Fucking Again.

There is no dignity in being an old person unless you have money. There is no dignity in SSI.

There is no dignity in SNAP.

There is no dignity in being unable to rent a place without roommates.

There is no dignity in not being able to GO ANYWHERE. Can't afford gas, truck still not officially legal due to smog test failure, can't afford even an oil change in order to get it tested again, then re-registered all over again from the top because it's been two fucking years.

Everybody talks about how "these are your golden years" when you're a kid, and throughout your life to bait you into thinking it'll be easy-street once you are sucked dry by your job and spat out, too old to enjoy these "golden years".

Do they have to make the transition so goddamn difficult?

[nomorepixels]

Alien Logic

©️ Ceridus Software, Inc. / SSI 1994

Image sourced from mobygames.com

[thetownwecallhome]

OOC: My biggest regrets regarding this webcomic. And, what's to come.

(( bad grammar intended.

In case you're worried I'm being badged by bad reviews and/or "focusing too much on the bad"--- no. These are self-criticisms I've always had about this comic. It's always a joy to see you guys like it so much and there are some comics I love more than others and return to reread just for myself; but I think it's fine to have a healthy self-critical lens about your work sometimes. Just as long as you don't go 2000s-era Lucas and try retconning everything. So without further ado:

>Dislike the earliest gag where Jack complains about being 'fat'.

>Keeping art consistent and low-effort so it wouldn't take so much work.

>Introducing the Holiday leaders like I did. So underwhelming.

>"Mothball" [*sideshow bob grumble of pain*]

>While we're on it that earlier depiction of Clown being a jerk to Sally and Sally needing to be pepped-up by Jack to feel good about herself. Like 'Mothball' is needs a serious rewriting of dialogue to make it bearable ((to me)).

>"Packing Up" for reasons that should be painfully obvious later when I finish making Halloween Town comics. (it goes against current continuity in my headcanon)

>Really I regret how I wrote Sally and Jack a lot throughout the years. You can tell I was battling different takes about the characters and rationalizing them. I made Sally way too demur and Fluttershy-ish when she's not that kind of shrinking violet meanwhile Jack's either too kind and mature or too wrapped in guilt. For Sally I think I was operating on the logic that og-Carolyn-Thompson-script-softspoken-Sally > better then how she is in the movie because someone in my life was trying to convince me Sally was underdeveloped, and with Jack it's being hit w people saying he's an absolute incel or got away with everything in the film* and my coping by giving him more obvious guilt. Though, in fairness, Oogies Revenge, Kingdom Hearts and the fanbase didn't help that disparity by claiming Jack's just a cinnamon roll. Half of the reason "Ask Jack Skellington" prompts ever existed is so I could have an excuse to make Jack the spooky-doofy manchild of terror he is. I neglected that part of him for so long and he and Sally would be so upset with me. I failed you my babies.

>I think the joke of Jack being way too naive about how violent the other holidays actually are and/or oblivious to what adults use Halloween for is overdone in my work. I've done that gag like four times now I think.

>Unnecessarily hating on Lock, Shock, and Barrel for no reason. I think it shows just how much I didn't care for the characters before Zero's Journey came out.

>The Beetlejuice ask/reply comic from like 2015 or 16 whatever is not canon.

>Jack and Sally were too smexual in my earlier gags. Good god I REALLY hadn't figured out my asexuality, or theirs, for that matter.

>Like Jack suffering more +being too riddled by guilt, I think I made Oogie way too OP in my Oogie's Revenge (the prequel story to the entire comic) outline.

>This is a problem I have with all of my work but I hate the walls of text and run-ons all the characters do. It takes me out of my own fanfiction when it's just so obvious when I'm talking vs when the characters are. "Sally and the Doctor suffers from this a LOT".

>So many decisions made regarding plotpoints and plotlines that I think I muddled along the way or did way too quickly as it's obvious I don't have an exact outline for any of this fan stuff I'm throwing out. I really wanted to emphasize Harley and Mayor's blooming romance more than I did. They deserved so much better.

>AUGHTHEAWFULSELF-EDITED TEXT I DID IN 2015-2016 WAS TORTURE WHY DID I EVER THINK THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA???!

---

All of this is to say, one day, if Oddities or my patreon makes enough dough and my SSI sitch isn't so fragile or fluctuating- I really wanna hire a beta editor/artist to be my extra pair of hands in sprucing this comic up and making it more articulate, readable and complete for my liking. And yes, it HAS to be a hired job. I can't promise big bucks but I refuse to hand that kind of responsibility to someone without compensation. This comic's too big.

As far as what to expect from the comic after this year, here's all I can tell you for my endgame plan:

I plan to go until 2027, when this blog will be 13 years old.

I want to make next year special as it'll be 31 years of Nightmare Before Christmas then.

You're gonna get a new character soon. Don't worry; they won't distract from the og cast too much. In fact they literally go to jail.

More of Halloween Town in the human world to come.

More Wolfman and Vampire brothers shenanigans.

Jack and Sally past tyme.

One of these final years Ima do something really special with the other holiday worlds and leaders. You'll see.

None of the characters will double die but I will be basically ripping off a spongebob episode.

No one from Halloween Town is ever going to meet anyone from New Holland. You are going to get a Beetlejuice character, but not a full blown crossover.

))

[learning-code-ficusoft]

Understanding Data Movement in Azure Data Factory: Key Concepts and Best Practices

Introduction

Azure Data Factory (ADF) is a fully managed, cloud-based data integration service that enables organizations to move and transform data efficiently. Understanding how data movement works in ADF is crucial for building optimized, secure, and cost-effective data pipelines.

In this blog, we will explore:  ✔ Core concepts of data movement in ADF  ✔ Data flow types (ETL vs. ELT, batch vs. real-time)  ✔ Best practices for performance, security, and cost efficiency  ✔ Common pitfalls and how to avoid them

1. Key Concepts of Data Movement in Azure Data Factory

1.1 Data Movement Overview

ADF moves data between various sources and destinations, such as on-premises databases, cloud storage, SaaS applications, and big data platforms. The service relies on integration runtimes (IRs) to facilitate this movement.

1.2 Integration Runtimes (IRs) in Data Movement

ADF supports three types of integration runtimes:

Azure Integration Runtime (for cloud-based data movement)

Self-hosted Integration Runtime (for on-premises and hybrid data movement)

SSIS Integration Runtime (for lifting and shifting SSIS packages to Azure)

Choosing the right IR is critical for performance, security, and connectivity.

1.3 Data Transfer Mechanisms

ADF primarily uses Copy Activity for data movement, leveraging different connectors and optimizations:

Binary Copy (for direct file transfers)

Delimited Text & JSON (for structured data)

Table-based Movement (for databases like SQL Server, Snowflake, etc.)

2. Data Flow Types in ADF

2.1 ETL vs. ELT Approach

ETL (Extract, Transform, Load): Data is extracted, transformed in a staging area, then loaded into the target system.

ELT (Extract, Load, Transform): Data is extracted, loaded into the target system first, then transformed in-place.

ADF supports both ETL and ELT, but ELT is more scalable for large datasets when combined with services like Azure Synapse Analytics.

2.2 Batch vs. Real-Time Data Movement

Batch Processing: Scheduled or triggered executions of data movement (e.g., nightly ETL jobs).

Real-Time Streaming: Continuous data movement (e.g., IoT, event-driven architectures).

ADF primarily supports batch processing, but for real-time processing, it integrates with Azure Stream Analytics or Event Hub.

3. Best Practices for Data Movement in ADF

3.1 Performance Optimization

✅ Optimize Data Partitioning — Use parallelism and partitioning in Copy Activity to speed up large transfers.  ✅ Choose the Right Integration Runtime — Use self-hosted IR for on-prem data and Azure IR for cloud-native sources.  ✅ Enable Compression — Compress data during transfer to reduce latency and costs.  ✅ Use Staging for Large Data — Store intermediate results in Azure Blob or ADLS Gen2 for faster processing.

3.2 Security Best Practices

🔒 Use Managed Identities & Service Principals — Avoid using credentials in linked services.  🔒 Encrypt Data in Transit & at Rest — Use TLS for transfers and Azure Key Vault for secrets.  🔒 Restrict Network Access — Use Private Endpoints and VNet Integration to prevent data exposure.

3.3 Cost Optimization

💰 Monitor & Optimize Data Transfers — Use Azure Monitor to track pipeline costs and adjust accordingly.  💰 Leverage Data Flow Debugging — Reduce unnecessary runs by debugging pipelines before full execution.  💰 Use Incremental Data Loads — Avoid full data reloads by moving only changed records.

4. Common Pitfalls & How to Avoid Them

❌ Overusing Copy Activity without Parallelism — Always enable parallel copy for large datasets.  ❌ Ignoring Data Skew in Partitioning — Ensure even data distribution when using partitioned copy.  ❌ Not Handling Failures with Retry Logic — Use error handling mechanisms in ADF for automatic retries.  ❌ Lack of Logging & Monitoring — Enable Activity Runs, Alerts, and Diagnostics Logs to track performance.

Conclusion

Data movement in Azure Data Factory is a key component of modern data engineering, enabling seamless integration between cloud, on-premises, and hybrid environments. By understanding the core concepts, data flow types, and best practices, you can design efficient, secure, and cost-effective pipelines.

Want to dive deeper into advanced ADF techniques? Stay tuned for upcoming blogs on metadata-driven pipelines, ADF REST APIs, and integrating ADF with Azure Synapse Analytics!

WEBSITE: https://www.ficusoft.in/azure-data-factory-training-in-chennai/