just what i think they'll do in general, imma leave this chronologically too
044 (Seo Nyeo)
An astrological asshole at best.
She's Mi Nyeo level unhinged that can predict shit on other people, with the harshest truths too because she's super brash and is incredibly self-serving.
Nobody likes her, to where if there's a marble game in season 2 you bet her ass is gonna get dragged out too.
basically that one kid everyone warned you about and you know EXACTLY why
095 (Young-Mi)
She just wants to be left alone with Hyun-Ju honestly
just genuinely wholesome despite her traumas
Has permanent financial trauma after she got out, in a way she wants to restart her life and go from there
Will cook with Geum-Ja dinner for all :D except not even she knows if she's a good cook or not
120 (Hyun Ju)
Yes she fucking carried the whole show, yes she does not fuck around with guns
Reality is she just wants to be accepted and be left alone with that one ounce of validation to hold on, even if it's just Young-Mi giving her that
Bet she knows some gals in Thailand too via the internet and find solace in them, as much solace as she finds with her friends irl
149 (Geum Ja)
Great mom, but justifies her son way too much
Nobody can shit on her son BUT her
Very accepting somehow
Your classic asian grandma who happens to know every known korean recipe, but budgeted
196 (Kang Mi-Na)
she probably follows the whole floptropica shit on tiktok
probably was a tiktok livestreamer who failed, definitely pro-crypto
look if it aint that wasp's fault, you bet your ass she's gonna unseriously survive very long too
basically female thanos but instead of random raps you get like random yassified words
222 (Jun Hee)
When she gets out, she's straight up gonna file for a restraining order against Myung-Gi while getting her pregnancy stuff done
Does not care to whatever happened to Myung-Gi, they're so DONE.
Due to him she's probably incredibly anti-crypto as well.
Might get someone from her team (most likely Dae-Ho) to be her nanny since it's going to be overwhelming for her to handle literally everything, especially with the baby
380 (Se-Mi)
she is manipulative yet playful, but not in a way where she would lead one to be injured on purpose
lives in the present
makes too much edgy jokes based on her situation, one'll feel awkward for laughing
probably avidly smokes and drinks outside of the events
Guard 011 (No-Eul)
Just stressed the fuck out. She's only living for her newborn to be still alive at this point. Only then we'll see her smile.
fucking hates every single job she had in the past
needs about at least 3 therapists because she's that broken
Definitely secretly and slightly ripped. May not take out an entire gang kind tho
synopsis: in the days leading up to the meeting at sejong university, you and young-mi maintain a routine, unaware of each other's secret cards.
warnings: none
your job’s neon sign glows faintly above you, casting a flickering pink glow across the alley’s cracked pavement.
another eight hour shift of yours ended twenty minutes ago, but you’re still here, crouched against the rough brick wall, the chill of the concrete seeping through your jeans.
in your hand is the card from the man in the suit, its edges sharp against your fingers. it’s been five hours since he handed it to you, since that unsettling game of ddakji in the alley, since the sting of his slap and the weight of the 100,000 won you won…and the debt you almost paid with your body.
the card feels heavier than it should, a simple piece of paper with a phone number, but it’s like holding a live wire.
you’re terrified of it, of what it represents. it could be innocent…just games, like he said…but the man’s polished smile and cold eyes linger in your mind.
it was too calculated, too wrong for the grime of wanting someone who stays in sillim-dong to play.
you turn the card over, tracing the plain black shapes. a square, triangle, and a circle. they mean nothing to you, but they feel ominous, like a code you’re not meant to crack. you turn the card back over again to see the text: a phone number, and nothing else.
no name, no logo, just those stark details. your thumb hovers over the number, your heart thudding in your chest. the 100,000 won is still in your pocket, folded tight, a reminder of how easy it was to win…and how quickly it could’ve gone wrong.
you think of young-mi, waiting at home in your tiny studio, her soft smile and the way she clings onto you at all times.
you think of the loan sharks, the interest piling up faster than you can pay, and the fear that they’ll come knocking soon.
this card could be a way out, or it could be a trap.
you don’t know which scares you more.
the diner’s back door creaks open, and you flinch, shoving the card into your apron pocket. jen, your coworker, steps out, her ponytail swinging as she adjusts her backpack.
she’s a yapper, always filling the silence with stories, but she’s kind, and you’ve grown to like her chatter during long shifts. she spots you crouched against the wall, your knees drawn up, and her brow furrows.
“y/n, you okay?” she asks, her voice carrying that familiar mix of concern and curiosity.
you force a smile, the kind you’ve perfected for customers who tip poorly.
“yeah, just… winding down,” you lie, your voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. you shift slightly, hoping she doesn’t notice the card’s corner poking out of your black apron pocket.
jen’s eyes flick down, and you curse inwardly as she zeroes in on it.
“what’s that?” she asks, stepping closer, her sneakers crunching on the gravel. before you can stop her, she’s leaning over, squinting at the card’s back.
“triangle, circle, square,” she mutters, her brow creasing.
“wait, i’ve seen that before.”
your stomach drops.
“what?” you say, sharper than you mean to.
you pull the card closer, flipping it so the shapes are hidden against your palm.
“where?”
jen plops down beside you, oblivious to the tension in your voice.
“well, at first i thought a customer gave you one of those religious cards but anyways.. okay, so, like, a few years ago, my friend sae-byeok…she was this super intense girl, kinda like you but quieter… got a card just like that. same shapes, same vibe. some guy in a suit gave it to her after she got into some money trouble with her old gang.” jen’s hands wave as she talks, her words tumbling out fast, “she was all secretive about it, wouldn’t tell me much, just said it was for some game. i thought it was, like, a weird gambling thing or maybe one of those shady mlm schemes, you know?”
you stare at her, your grip tightening on the card.
“did she win? the money, i mean?” your voice is tight, the question slipping out before you can stop it.
jen shrugs, chewing on her lip.
“no idea. i haven’t talked to her in, like, three years. she just… dropped off after i saw her with the card. she never called, never showed up at our old spots. i figured she moved on with her life or something.” her expression softens, and she nudges your shoulder.
“you sure you’re okay? you look kinda spooked.”
“i’m fine,” you say quickly, standing up to brush the gravel off your jeans.
“just tired. long shift.” you force another smile, but it feels brittle.
jen doesn’t push, thankfully. she stands too, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.
“alright, well, don’t stay out here too long. it’s creepy back here at night,” she says, waving as she heads toward her beat-up scooter parked nearby.
“see you tomorrow!”
“yeah, see you,” you call back, watching as she drives off, the scooter’s engine buzzing into the distance. the alley falls quiet again, just you and the card and the weight of what jen said.
jen’s friend, gone after getting a card like this.
your mind spins, conjuring images of loan sharks and worse. you glance at your phone…8:27 p.m. you promised young-mi you’d be home by 8:30, and the apartment’s only a five-minute walk. you should go, but your feet won’t move.
the card feels like it’s burning a hole in your pocket.
you pull it out again, staring at the number.
your thumb hovers over your phone’s keypad, hesitation clawing at you.
this is stupid, you think. it’s just a game. but the man’s voice echoes in your head…“you have a lot of time on your hands, y/n” and the way he knew your name, your life, your debts. it wasn’t just a game, not with that kind of knowledge.
you take a deep breath, the night air sharp in your lungs, and dial the number before you can talk yourself out of it.
the line clicks after one ring, and an automated voice answers, cold feminine and mechanical.
“good evening. please state your full name and date of birth.”
your mouth goes dry.
“y/n l/n,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “january 1st, 2000.”
“thank you,” the voice replies, flat and emotionless, “please arrive at the designated location outside the medical complex of sejong university at midnight on october 30th.”
the call ends abruptly, leaving you staring at your phone. october 30th…three days from now.
your old college, of all places, a campus you haven’t set foot on in years. the irony stings. you shove the phone and the card into your pocket, your heart racing as you start the walk home.
the streets of sillim-dong are alive with street vendors calling out, the sizzle of meat on grills, the laughter of students spilling out of bars. you keep your head down, your boots scuffing against the pavement.
young-mi’s face flashes in your mind, her soft smile, the way she’d clung to your arm this morning by the tulips.
you haven’t told her about the man, the game, or the card.
how could you? she’d worry, her sensitive heart crumbling under the weight of it.
you’re supposed to protect her, not drag her into whatever this is.
unbeknownst to you, young-mi is sitting on the steps outside your apartment, her own card in her hands. she’d been out there this afternoon, sketching and feeding the stray cats that linger around the building, when a man in a suit approached her.
it was the same man that approached you. the man’s smile was the same…polished, cold…and he’d offered her a game, just like he did you.
she won after the first game, so he didn’t slap her; he only handed her the card and walked away after congratulating her, leaving her shaken but curious.
young-mi hasn’t told you either, afraid of how you’d react, afraid of the way you’d pull her closer, your protectiveness tightening like a vice.
the two of you, carrying the same secret, walk parallel paths without knowing it.
you reach the apartment at 8:32, a little late, but young-mi doesn’t mention it when you step inside.
she’s curled up on the futon, your sketchbook in her lap, her pencil moving in soft, deliberate strokes.
“hey sweetheart,” she says, looking up with a smile that makes your chest ache, “how was work?”
“busy,” you say, kicking off your boots and dropping your apron by the door. you want to tell her…about the man, the card, the automated voice…but the words stick in your throat.
instead, you sit beside her, pulling her into your side. she leans into you, her warmth a balm against the chaos in your head.
“you okay?” you ask, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“yeah,” she says softly, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes…hesitation, maybe fear. you don’t push, not tonight.
you just hold her, the card in your pocket a silent weight between you.
the night passes quietly, but your mind is restless.
you lie awake long after young-mi falls asleep, her head on your chest, her breathing soft and even. the card sits on the table across the room, glowing faintly in the moonlight that slips through the window.
three days until october 30th. you don’t know what’s waiting for you at sejong university, but you know it’s not just a game.
not anymore.
the next three days blur into a fragile routine, a delicate dance of normalcy you and young-mi cling to despite the weight of the cards you both carry, unspoken secrets tucked into your pockets.
you wake each morning to the same damp heat of your sillim-dong studio, the single window still propped open with that cracked chopstick, letting in the faint hum of the city. young-mi’s soft breathing beside you is a small comfort, her body curled against yours on the sagging futon.
you go to work at the diner, the clatter of plates and mrs. park’s kind smiles grounding you, while young-mi spends her days sketching or wandering the neighborhood, her job search still fruitless.
the 100,000 won from the ddajki game sits untouched in the tin on your shelf, a silent reminder of the man in the suit and the automated voice that haunts your thoughts.
you falled to see the second 100,000 that young-mi received as well.
every morning, you and young-mi walk to morning bloom. the red and orange tulips still stand tall, their leaves brushing against each other, and young-mi never fails to pause, her eyes lighting up with that quiet awe.
“they’re still holding on,” she says one morning, her fingers grazing your arm as she points to the flowers. you nod, your smile tight, your mind elsewhere.
the card in your pocket, sejong university, midnight, october 30th… burns into your memory. you want to tell her, to confess the encounter, the game, the fear, but her softness stops you.
she’s been through enough; you’re supposed to protect her, not burden her.
at night, you curl up together on the futon, young-mi’s old ipad propped against a pillow as you watch a drama she loves, some sappy romance about star-crossed lovers. she nestles into your side, her head on your shoulder, her laughter soft when the characters bicker.
you try to focus, to lose yourself in the glow of the screen and the warmth of her body, but your thoughts keep drifting to october 30th, to the man’s cold smile, to jen’s story about her friend disappearing. you glance at young-mi, her eyes fixed on the ipad, and wonder if she notices how distant you’ve been.
however, you don’t see the way her fingers fidget, the way her smiles don’t quite reach her eyes.
you don’t know she’s carrying her own card, her own secret, her own meeting scheduled for 1 a.m. on october 30th at yongsan family park, just an hour after yours.
on the second night, you ask her how she’s been feeling, your voice gentle but probing.
you’re lying on the futon, the ipad dark now, the room lit only by the faint streetlight filtering through the window.
“you’ve been quiet lately,” you say, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “everything okay?”
she hesitates, her eyes flickering to the ceiling before meeting yours.
“i… i don’t know,” she admits, her voice small.
“sometimes it feels like the world’s too heavy, you know? i’m carrying my parents’ absence, and the job rejections, and… everything.” she pauses, her fingers twisting the hem of her t-shirt, “but you’re here, so it’s better.”
she smiles, but it’s fragile, and you pull her closer, your arms wrapping around her protectively.
“i’m always here,” you say, your voice firm despite the storm in your chest.
“we’ll figure it out, okay? together.” she nods, burying her face in your neck, but you miss the way her breath hitches, the way she’s holding back her own fear about the card in her pocket, the automated voice that gave her a different time, a different place.
she’s as terrified as you are, but neither of you speaks the truth.
the days slip by, each one a mirror of the last.
you work your shifts, pocketing tips and dodging mrs. park’s worried glances when you zone out at the counter. young-mi sketches the tulips one afternoon, her pencil capturing their delicate curves, and you frame the drawing with a magnet on your tiny fridge, telling her it’s perfect.
young-mi blushes, her fingers finding yours, and for a moment, it’s just you and her, the world outside your apartment fading away. but the card is always there, in your pocket or on the table, its presence a shadow you can’t shake.
you catch yourself staring at it when young-mi’s not looking, memorizing the phone number, the address, the shapes on the back…triangle, circle, square.
october 29th passes in a haze of routine, but the weight of tomorrow presses on you. you and young-mi visit the tulips again, her hand in yours as she talks about how the red one seems brighter today.
you nod, your thoughts are already on midnight, on sejong university, on what waits there. that night, you barely sleep, your mind racing with possibilities…games, how much money you could receive.
young-mi sleeps fitfully beside you, her body twitching as if her dreams are as troubled as yours. you don’t know she’s thinking of yongsan family park, of the 1 am. meeting she hasn’t told you about.
on october 30th, the day feels heavier.. you go through the motions of getting coffee at morning bloom, a quick stop at the convenience store for ramyeon, a quiet dinner with young-mi on the futon.
she’s quieter than usual, her smiles fleeting, but you’re too wrapped up in your own dread to notice.
you keep checking your phone, the hours ticking down. by 10 p.m., you’re restless, your fingers drumming against your thigh as you sit beside young-mi, the ipad playing a drama neither of you is really watching.
you glance at the time…10:03 p.m. two hours until you need to be at sejong university, a thirty-minute walk from your apartment.
you need an excuse to leave, something that won’t make young-mi suspicious.
you clear your throat, shifting on the futon.
“i need to run to the store,” you say, keeping your voice casual, “we’re out of milk, and i might grab some snacks.”
young-mi looks up, her eyes flickering with something…hesitation, maybe relief?
“i can come with you,” she offers, but her voice wavers, like she’s hoping you’ll say no. she’s thinking of her own meeting, the card burning a hole in her bag across the room.
“no need,” you say quickly, standing and grabbing your hoodie from the chair, “it’s just a quick trip. you want anything?”
she shakes her head, her fingers twisting the edge of the blanket.
“no, thank you,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours. there’s a moment, there is a beat of silence, heavy with everything neither of you is saying.
you lean down, pressing a kiss to her lips, soft and lingering.
young-mi kisses you back, her hands gripping your hoodie like she doesn’t want to let go. when you pull away, her eyes are shiny, but she smiles, and you force yourself to smile back.
“i’ll be quick,” you say, grabbing your phone and the card from the table. you slip it into your pocket, your heart pounding as you head for the door.
young-mi watches you go, her own card hidden in her bag, her own secret weighing on her heart.
you step into the cool night air, the door clicking shut behind you.
the streets of sillim-dong are quiet, the neon lights flickering in the distance. you pull your hoodie tighter around you and start the thirty-minute walk to sejong university.
the night feels alive with possibility, and you can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change for you.
your intuition has always been a curse, a screaming feeling in your gut that’s too close to anxiety, too sharp to ignore.
as you walk through the quiet streets of sillim-dong, the card in your pocket feels like a ticking bomb, each step toward sejong university amplifying the dread that’s been building for three days.
you’re walking into an unknown, a shadowy promise of games and money that could either save you or make your life…a life already teetering on the edge…far worse. the neon signs of bars and karaoke joints flicker in your peripheral vision, their colors muted by the late-night chill. your boots scuff against the uneven pavement, and you pull your hoodie tighter, trying to shake the feeling that you’re being watched, that every alley you pass holds eyes you can’t see.
stopping into a small convenience store, the fluorescent lights harsh against your eyes that are used to the night.
the excuse you gave young-mi about needing milk was a lie, but you need something to ground you, to delay the inevitable. inside, the clerk barely looks up from his phone as you grab a cheap bottle of water from the cooler, the plastic cold against your palm.
you pay with a crumpled won, your hands unsteady, and step back outside, twisting the cap off and taking a sip.
the water does little to ease the tightness in your chest, but it buys you a moment to breathe, to pretend you’re just running an errand and not walking toward something that could swallow you whole.
the walk to sejong university takes you through familiar streets, each one layered with memories you’ve tried to bury.
you graduated here four years ago, your bachelor’s degree in art a bright spot in a life that’s since gone to shit.
those were the best years, when the world felt open, when you spent late nights in the studio, paint on your fingers, sketching ideas that felt like they could change everything.
you met young-mi at a campus party, back when she was all laughter and carefree energy, her life untouched by the accident that took her family.
she wasn’t a student, just a friend of a friend who showed up with a bottle of soju and a smile that made your heart skip. you fell for her that night, dancing under cheap string lights, her hand in yours as she teased you about your paint-stained jeans.
your own family was still in your life then, before their disapproval of your choices…your art, your love for young-mi…drove a wedge that became a chasm.
as you near the campus, the memories hit harder. the old art building looms on your left, its windows dark but familiar, where you spent hours perfecting your portfolio.
you pass the bench where you and young-mi used to sit between classes, sharing earbuds and stealing bites of each other’s kimbap. there’s a faded mural on a nearby wall, one you helped paint during your senior year…a swirl of blues and reds that feels like a lifetime ago.
your throat tightens, a sting of tears threatening to spill. you blink them back, forcing yourself to focus on the present, but the weight of what you’ve lost…your family, your dreams, the ease of those days…presses down on you.
a van across the street snaps you out of it. its sleek black exterior gleams under a streetlight, out of place in the quiet campus surroundings. your phone reads 11:59 p.m. as you approach, your heart pounding so loud you’re sure it echoes in the empty street.
it’s midnight. that van is for you.
you hesitate, your intuition screaming to turn back, to run home to young-mi and forget the card, the man, the games. however, you didn’t know that young-mi was not home.
your feet step closer, and the van’s side door slides open with a soft hiss.
the driver is already there, his face obscured by a black mask, a stark white circle shape printed on it. he’s wearing a pink suit, the color jarring against the night, like something out of a fever dream. your pulse races, your breath catching as you meet his eyes…or where his eyes should be, hidden behind the mask. he says nothing, just gestures to the back seat.
you swallow hard, your legs moving almost against your will as you climb in, settling into the far back, the only passenger in the empty van. the interior smells faintly of antiseptic, the seats cold and stiff under you.
the driver slides the door shut, the sound sharp in the silence. you glance at him, your nerves fraying, and see him reach for something…a gas mask, its sleek design glinting as he pulls it over his face.
“what?” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your eyes darting to the window.
outside, the campus fades into the darkness, the mural and the bench slipping away.
before you can process it, a faint hiss fills the air, and a fog begins to curl from the vents, thick and acrid. your heart lurches, your hands scrambling for the door handle, but it’s locked. you try to fight it, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your eyes burning as the fog envelops you.
you want to scream, to pound on the window, but your limbs grow heavy, your vision blurring. everything goes black, the world slipping away as the van’s hum fades into nothing.
a deafening noise jolts you awake, an orchestra blaring through your skull, all strings and horns clashing in a chaotic symphony.
what the fuck?
you blink hard, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands, trying to shake the fog of unconsciousness. the air feels thick, stale, and your fingers brush against unfamiliar fabric…green sleeves, stiff and slightly scratchy.
you weren’t wearing this before.
you sit up fast, heart pounding, barely registering the metal bars of the bunk above you that could’ve cracked your head open. your eyes dart down to your body: a green tracksuit, jacket and joggers, with the number 112 stamped in bold white on the left side of your chest.
huh? your mind scrambles, piecing together the last thing you remember…the van, the pink-suited driver, the gas mask, the fog that swallowed you whole.
you swing your legs over the edge of the bunk, the cold metal frame creaking under you, and take in your surroundings.
it’s a warehouse, vast and cavernous, with high ceilings and bare concrete walls. rows of bunk beds stretch across the room, each one filled with people in identical green tracksuits, their own numbers stamped on their chests.
a stage looms at the far end, empty but ominous, its polished surface catching the harsh fluorescent lights overhead.
the orchestra music loops, grating and relentless, piped in through unseen speakers. your pulse races, your intuition…that cursed gut feeling…screams that this place is wrong.
unfortunately, you do not know why.
a pair of eyes catches yours, sharp.
a woman stands a few bunks away, her gaze locked on you. she’s lean, with dark hair pulled back tight, and heavy eyeliner smudged beneath her lower waterline, giving her a fierce, almost predatory look.
the woman’s green tracksuit is marked with the number 044, and she smirks, lips curling like she already knows your secrets.
you frown, your voice rough from the gas.
“where are we?” you ask, your words cutting through the music’s din.
she steps down from the stairs near her bunk, her movements deliberate, almost catlike, and stops beside your bed.
up close, her smirk feels more like a challenge.
“no clue,” she says, her voice almost amused, “but you feel it, don’t you? that something’s completely wrong here.”
“what?” you snap, your confusion sharpening into irritation.
the woman’s vagueness grates on you, but her eyes hold yours like she’s peeling back your skin to see what’s underneath.
“your intuition,” she says, leaning in just enough to make you tense.
“it’s stronger than most. like mine.” she tilts her head while studying you, “you should’ve crumbled a long time ago but you’re still here. something’s keeping you standing, and i’d bet it’s waiting to meet you in this place.”
your eyebrows shoot up, your stomach twisting.
you shake your head, brushing her off, not ready to deal with her cryptic bullshit.
“whatever,” you mutter, turning away, but her smirk lingers in your peripheral vision as she saunters off, her steps light but purposeful. you watch her go, your mind churning. she’s right about one thing…your intuition is screaming, louder than the orchestra, telling you this warehouse is the start of something you might be able to handle.
you lean back, scanning the room.
hundreds of people mill about, some pacing, some sitting on their bunks, others whispering in tight clusters.
to your left, a digital screen mounted on the wall glows with the number 456.
that must be the number of players here…456 strangers, all in green tracksuits, all marked with numbers like livestock.
you glance down at your chest again:
112.
you were the 112th to sign up, to fall for whatever this is.
the thought makes your skin crawl.
you try to distract yourself, leaning back on the bunk, your hands clasped over your stomach. young-mi’s face flashes in your mind…her soft eyes, her nervous smile when you left the apartment, promising to be back with milk.
she must be losing it by now, pacing the tiny studio, maybe calling your phone, which you realize you don’t have.
it’s gone, probably taken by the pink-suited driver.
she might be out in sillim-dong, checking the convenience store, the coffee shop, anywhere you might’ve gone.
the thought of her searching for you, alone and scared, twists your heart. you should’ve told her about the card, the man, the game. but you didn’t, and now you’re here, trapped in a warehouse with no way to reach her.
the orchestra music cuts off abruptly, replaced by a loud buzzer that makes you flinch.
your head snaps toward the sound, and you see a set of double doors at the far end of the warehouse swing open.
a group of figures steps through, their pink suits and black masks unmistakable, each one marked with a shape…circle, triangle, square. the same shapes as on your card.
your breath catches, your body tensing as you sit up straighter.
the players around you go quiet, the air thick with confusion.
oh my goodness I think I just turned into the happiest sapphic ever 😝😝 thank you so much for accepting my weird love for player 044 but anywho once you have time and feel like it I desperately need you to write hc's about her w a easily manipulated reader who believes in everything player 044 says and is sooo blindly in love and how a relationship would basically be with my sexy evil old powerful shaman wife 😼
Synopsis: Seon-nyeo with an easily manipulated reader..
A/N: first time writing for this character.. hopefully i serve her right !! also, yes you can be 🐘anon!
Warnings: manipulation, NOT PROOFREAD..
➠ To you, Seon-Nyeo was your savior.
➠ Someone who could protect during these deadly games and you may have immediately started relying on her..
➠ Seon-Nyeo was very much on board with how easily you trust her and didn't waste a second to keep you by her side along with the other few that followed her around
➠ she's ALWAYS saying that it's your fate to stay as her ally and that, if you don't, you'll die here
➠ She's honestly a little surprised by how quickly you just trust her and blindly follow her
➠ (and a little bit concerned)
➠ However, she doesn't let that stop her lies and manipulation because she needs sacrificial pawns for her survival !!
➠ At first, you were more of a pawn that she thought she'd sacrifice if it came down to it but.. she may have changed her mind quite quickly
➠ Especially since you keep trying to give your life away for her and you've barely known her for long
➠ Because of your total trust in her and your willingness to die for her survival, she totally does fall in love with you
➠ Her love might also be because you were actually genuinely nice to her unlike some of the other players. You weren't just pretending to be nice for the sake of appeasing the gods and she liked that a lot.
➠ when she does fall in love with you, she gets more manipulative but, this time, it's to protect you from other players
➠ she knew very well that some of the other players had gladly sacrificed their allies or strangers and she didn't like the idea of that happening to you
she actually isn't really one to fall in love so falling in love with you was something she didn't want to let go of
➠ She's always keeping you by her side from then on and frequently begs the gods above to not let anything happen to you
➠ Every morning, before a new game, she'll immediately tell you the gods blessed the two of you with good luck today so you'll be less nervous about the game you play that day
➠ Also, always partners with you during group games (thank god season 2 didn't have the marble game)
➠ Whenever she's sitting on that one bed above everyone else when the players are voting, most of the time she's looking at you.
➠ Usually you notice her quite quickly and give her a wave which she will return with a smile
➠ If you actually make the decision to not continue the games despite what she tells you, she may be slightly upset about it tbh..
➠ She'll go to you immediately and talk to you about your decision
➠ If it was pure fear that drove your decision to discontinuing the games, she will promise to keep you safe and mention that the gods have promised nothing but fortune for you
➠ She knows she can't really guarantee that and that its a white lie but she really doesn't want the games to end in case she can't find you again
➠ On that note, it does make her a little possessive.
➠ If anyone gets too close to you, she'll slowly walk over and look at who's chatting to you up and down before smirking as if she knows something they don't
➠ She basically stares at them until they leave i'm not gonna lie
➠ Off topic but i could honestly see her wanting to wear some sort of matching jewelry..
➠ like a bracelet or a necklace..
➠ Anyway, back to what I was saying -
➠ she honestly gets jealous easily but she doesn't lash out or anything
➠ like she's not the kind of person to drag you away randomly or do some sort of public display of affection
➠ her aura just scares the person away
➠ I'd also say she doesn't do a lot of PDA
➠ Not because she doesn't like it, she just doesn't do it much
➠ If you ask for it though, then she gladly will.
➠ Overall, manipulative but for the right reasons when you're dating
"Good morning," Seon-Nyeo speaks as she's crouched next to your bed, watching you slowly stretch and come to life. You had gotten used to seeing her by your bedside, smiling at you as she waited for you to finally wake up. It was a wonder how she always woke up before the music blared over the speakers. Her eyes watched you carefully as you sat up and she quickly made herself comfortable on your bed - sitting with her legs crossed. She always enjoyed watching you sleep peacefully. Just like she enjoyed watching your face light up when she told a slight white lie about luck being on your side today. Sure, lying was bad but if it made you more confident, she'd lie a million times. She was glad you trusted her so much. It made her feel rather.. good inside. Once you seemed more awake, she smiled and looked at you directly in the eyes.
"The gods have once again promised nothing but good fortune for today so there's no need to worry,"
