#first appearance specter of the past

[swtechspecs]

Empire of the Hand Nssis-Class Clawcraft

Source: The New Essential Guide to Vehicles and Vessels (Del Rey, 2003)

[bitchlessdino]

boo-ty call 👻 (m)

Pairing: perverted ghost!jeonghan x cute neighbor!seungkwan x afab!reader Genre: supernatural comedy, smut Word count: 11.1k tags: a lot of puns, human body possession (con and dubcon), threesome by definition if you count a ghost, mention of food, cunnilingus, some degrading (slut), light spanking, unprotected sex Summary: As far as unwanted roommates go, your ghostly companion was one you never anticipated. But when this specter began to assert himself and meddle in your dating life—or lack thereof—you started to reconsider your stance; maybe having a roommate wasn’t so bad after all. Especially if he's helping you get laid. author note: it's sluttober! when did i last write anything and have it posted. that's crazy sorry about that yall, but i'm really trying my best to be more active, but ngl its hard. life really gets in the way and we have to remind ourselves to take a back sometimes, even from our hobbies. Thank you to @multi-kpop-fanfics and @seokgyuu for beta reading and helping me perfect this masterpiece and thank you to you guys for your patience. Enjoy! Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone

You should’ve known better than to find an apartment listing in the same place where people get lied to about the types of dogs they’re buying. To this day, your aunt is convinced her Chorkie is supposed to be pure Maltese.

Meanwhile, you’re about 99.999% sure your apartment is haunted, and whatever ghost this was, they really liked stealing your underwear. It should’ve scared you. It should’ve driven you away and rushed you out to find a newer, less haunted place to live. But it was cheap, fully furnished, and came with a walkable laundromat and a family-owned market with homegrown tomatoes. Nothing could beat that.

You could tolerate it. It was better than mooching off your parents, who ask every five minutes when you’ll get a 'real' job. Living away from your parents was necessary for your sanity and a dead pervert is much preferable to a live one.

“Can you fucking stop leaving the bathroom light on? I get that haunting is your job and all, but you’re not the one paying the electricity bill.”

If anyone could see you talking to thin air right now, they would’ve had you committed.

“And while we’re at it, could you stop stealing the lacy underwear? They’re gifts, and I don’t wear them, but I might someday, so leave me the option!”

The hallway light flickered before it finally stopped and swift air breezed past you in response, but no returning underwear. You let out a frustrated sigh and shove the rest of your dirty clothes into the hamper before proceeding with laundry day. 

You’ve never seen any part of them, yet you’re always aware of their presence. It was creepy at first, but that quickly turned into annoyance when you realized how limited their grasp on the living world truly was—just a bit of theft and light tinkering. It was manageable, but you still felt uneasy knowing you couldn’t change without feeling watched.

“I’ll be back. Don’t piss me off more when I do. It is not my week.”

Not a day had passed since you two became acquainted that he didn’t find some way to bother you, but there were definite perks to living in hell’s best apartment lease. As your feet scraped across the tiled floor, the afternoon sun briefly flushed your skin, and a familiar flutter stirred in your chest as the thought of something popped into your head. Instead of the usual contempt, longing filled your chest as you made your way to the machine.

“What do we have today, m’dear?”

Your ears perked up at the sound of his voice, and you pretended to nonchalantly turn around, as if you hadn’t just spent several minutes hoping for his appearance. “Oh, you know, the usual—interview clothes, some sweatpants, and a few coffee-stained rags.”

Seungkwan’s lips curled into a soft chuckle, his laugh warm as he tossed his own laundry into the machine beside yours. “Sounds spicy. Mrs. Whirlpool is in for a gourmet meal today.”

He said the weirdest, most ridiculous things, but the real mystery was how you still ended up wanting to kiss him anyway. There was something about his easy smile, the effortless way he tossed his dress shirt into the machine like it was some kind of party trick.

He had a knack for brightening the atmosphere as if he possessed a magnetic otherworldly charm. Whenever you arrived, you couldn't help but wish he would be there, transforming the ordinary task of laundry into an intimate little affair—just the two of you amidst a heap of dirty clothes.

You observed him from the side, noting that his stack of clothes was noticeably smaller than usual. This made you question why he would wash such a small load. “Today isn't your regular laundry day. It’s usually Fridays and Mondays, isn't it? Today’s Thursday.”

The second the words left your mouth, you cringed internally. Great. Way to sound like a total stalker. Creep much?

Seungkwan cocked a smile. “I’m flattered you’ve memorized my laundry schedule.”

You laughed awkwardly, scrambling for cover. “I pass by here and just happen to have a really great memory.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, this might sound kind of gross and embarrassing, but I found these abandoned at the back of my closet. They’ve been there forever, and I had some extra change, so I figured, why not? You know, especially since I’ll be gone at the end of October.”

“You’ll be gone for Halloween?” Well, don’t sound too disappointed.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan said with a soft chuckle, glancing your way. “Family traditions. Can’t miss them. You know, the usual—handing out candy, our neighborhood haunted house contest, all that.”

“That sounds like so much fun. Way better than my Halloween growing up.” 

“Aw, thanks, but trust me, it’s way more chaotic than it sounds. Kids screaming, neighbors going overboard with decorations—it’s a lot." He shrugged as he folded his laundry, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his tone. “What about you? Got any plans?”

“Um… I’m not sure yet. Still figuring it out, I guess,” you answered earnestly, suddenly feeling like a loser with no plans–which you were by definition.

Seungkwan hesitated, his hands stilling mid-fold, the fabric dangling loosely between his fingers. You could see something flickering in his eyes—a jumble of thoughts swirling in his mind like a muddled cloud, visible in the furrow of his brow. “Oh. Well, um…” His voice trailed off, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if he were battling whether or not to say what was really on his mind.

"What?" Your curiosity spiked, your heart quickening as you waited for him to continue. For a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, stretching the already lingering silence.

He quickly shook his head, offering a faint, almost apologetic smile before turning back to his laundry, his hands moving again, but less sure than before. “Nothing. Just—never mind.”

“Oh, okay.” The disappointment weighed on you, heavier than you wanted to admit. You glanced at the washing machines, trying to focus on the steady hum of the cycles, but your eyes kept drifting back to the numbers, slowly counting the seconds until the minutes ticked over, all while the silence between you grew louder.

You finished your load long before Seungkwan could wrap up his, the awkward tension of unfinished business hanging in the air like a thick fog. You glanced at him, hesitating for a moment before mustering a tight smile, trying to shake off the discomfort. “Well, that’s it for me. See you around, Seungkwan.”

He looked up from his laundry, the corners of his lips tugging down slightly. "See you, neighbor," he said, his tone laced with a hint of regret. The moment lingered in the air between you, thick with unspoken words, making it even harder to walk away.

With one last glance at his face, you stepped back, the soft chime of the door ringing behind you as you passed their glass doors.

As you walked  back toward your apartment, you couldn’t help but drop in confidence, thinking to yourself that maybe you didn’t deserve good things like cute laundromat boy. The hallway felt more confining than usual, the walls seeming to close in, echoing the insecure thoughts making rounds in your head.

You leaned against the cheaply painted walls of your cramped apartment, sliding down to sit on the floor with your head in your hands. It was just a childish crush—fleeting and meaningless—yet the thought of him going away scared you more than any real-life danger you'd ever faced. He was the only upside to moving to this part of town, the one thing that made the mundane feel even remotely worthwhile.

As you sat on the vinyl floor, you could still picture the sparkle in his eyes when he first opened those double doors, the warmth of his voice as he introduced himself. What had once been just laundry had turned into something to look forward to, a small break from the routine and a chance to brighten up your day in this sparse town. 

Maybe, if you were lucky, it could turn into a little small-town romance. But now, you couldn’t help but wonder if he even saw you beyond the casual pleasantries. Did he just see you as another neighbor, or maybe just a friendly face? 

The familiar flickering light in the kitchen pulled you back to the reality and up from the ground of your haunted apartment. With a frustrated sigh, you turned your attention to your unwanted roommate. “Yeah, yeah, I’m home,” you muttered, trying to shake off the feeling of melancholy.

As you walked toward the living room, the flickering lightbulbs in the lamps followed your path, their erratic dance a reminder of the presence that lingered in your space. Maybe getting rid of them wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. It could be a way to finally cut ties with the ghost that seemed determined to remind you of your solitude. You chuckled softly at the thought. Perhaps an exorcism could clear out both the ghost and all the pointless overthinking.

But that was a problem for another day. Rotting in bed sounded far more appealing right now. You shuffled into your room, the soft glow from the streetlamp spilling in through the window, casting faint shadows on the walls as the evening deepened. The coolness of the night crept in slowly, the faint hum of the city blending into the background.

As you sank into the familiar embrace of your blankets, the exhaustion in your limbs finally settled, but your mind lingered for a moment longer. You glanced outside, the dim light catching in the leaves of the trees below, and for a fleeting second were at peace. No ghosts, no old washers or dryers, no obsessive crush. Just sleep.

You sighed, pulling the covers tighter around you, letting the hum of old furnishing–and probably the old pervert ghost–as you drifted off into sleep.

Your rest was cut short by a full bladder, ready to burst. With heavy eyelids, you stumbled toward the bathroom, barely aware of your surroundings. As you relieved yourself, everything felt normal—the creaking of the bathroom door, the sporadic running of the faucet, and the occasional flickering of the lights above, indicating his restless presence.

You groaned, rubbing your eyes with your fists. “This wasn’t an invitation, Casper,” you muttered, irritation creeping into your voice.

As if to taunt you, the faucet suddenly turned on full blast, running wildly before shutting off completely, leaving you with nothing but the simmering annoyance bubbling inside of you. With a frustrated huff, you quickly flushed the toilet and turned to the mirror. The lone reflection staring back at you looked as tired as you felt.

With dark circles under your eyes and a complexion that could only be described as dull, it was starting to feel like you were one bad hair day away from getting "gave up" tattooed across your forehead. And suddenly you were wondering whether you looked more dead than the ghost.

Instead of wallowing more self-pity, you washed your hands under the running faucet. If the ghost wanted to bother you, it certainly wasn’t going to be about your hygiene. You kept that on lock.

You glanced back at the mirror and no longer were you alone. Instead, where your reflection should have been was the unsettling visage of your ghost, staring back at you with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine. His pale features were striking, almost ethereal, with an undeniable charm that twisted your gut. Those mischievous eyes sparkled with a playful malevolence.

Your ghost was attractive–strikingly so–and for some reason that made you dislike him even more.

You shot your shared reflection an unamused smile. “Was that supposed to scare me?”

His reflection chuckled, leaning over his sink to give you an unfiltered view of every extraordinary detail etched into his face like a sculpture. “What? I thought I could finally introduce myself.”

“After months of me already living here? I feel the moment has passed,” you shot back, crossing your arms in defiance.

“Well, I had to pass my own judgment, didn't I? Do you know how many coke-huffing, cheese puff-grubbing, athlete-foot-walking slobs I’ve encountered in my place of residence?” He leaned closer, his expression mockingly serious, the flickering light casting playful shadows across his sharp cheekbones.

“May I remind you that those people were renters? If they paid to be there, who were you to deny them that?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Like I didn’t pay when I was alive? Plus, Muriel definitely wasn’t paying, nor was Monty. They were beyond sketchy.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly relishing the chance to air his grievances from beyond the grave. “Now that I think about it, there was definitely some laundry going on around here—and I’m not just talking about your underwear strewn all over the place.”

“Thanks for the reminder. Would you please leave the undergarments alone?” you replied, trying to keep the irritation from creeping into your voice as if you didn’t sound crazy enough talking into a mirror.

He shrugged nonchalantly, the flickering light casting shadows across his smirking face. “I will once you learn to toss them in the hamper like a normal humie. Upside to being dead: no laundry.”

“I don’t have to take this from someone who can’t even wear underwear anymore.”

“So you assumed I died without any on? How morbidly perverted of you.” His playful smile widened.

You scoffed, incredulous at the absurdity of the conversation you were having—with a ghost of all people.

“You know I’m right…I could sense your heart racing the moment you laid eyes on me,” he teased, a playful grin dancing across his lips as his jaw hung slightly slack in intrigue. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the way your breath caught in your throat, as if he were drinking in every detail, alive in the way his eyes glowed with mischief despite their soulless depths.

His ghostly figure was lean and toned, the contours of his form faintly visible like a lingering shadow, brimming with an energy that felt both alluring and infuriating. The flickering light cast an ethereal glow around him, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaws and the way his seemingly wet hair fell carelessly over his forehead. He leaned closer, the air thickening with a mix of annoyance and something dangerously enticing as if he relished the effect he had on you.

“Are you…flirting with me?” You couldn’t believe you had to ask, but the glint in his eye was undeniable.

“It’s not illegal. Not in the afterlife, anyway. Anything goes here.” He leaned back against the sink, bloodless veins pulsing against his forearms, enjoying the encounter more than he should.

“I…need sleep.” 

You peeled yourself away from the mirror, shaking your head in disbelief, and headed to bed without looking back. You slipped through the sheets, found comfort in their familiarity, and sighed, thinking you escaped.

“You know—”

“Jesus!” you burst out, your heart racing as you instinctively clutched your chest. Opening your eyes, you found the ghost looming above you, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. “What now?”

“Walking to a different room isn’t exactly a proper goodnight,” he said, crossing his arms over his spectral chest as if he were the arbiter of etiquette in the afterlife. His expression was mock-serious, and the playful glint in his eyes suggested he found the whole situation amusing.

“As if ghosts even sleep?” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

“No, but it’s polite,” he replied, feigning indignation, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a barely contained grin.

“Is this going to keep happening? You annoy me until I scrape together enough money to move out, or, if I’m not fortunate, end up penniless and homeless,” you lamented, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you threw your hands up in frustration.

“You tell me.”

With a sigh, you shut your eyes again and threw the blanket over your head, seeking refuge. “At least save it for the morning.”

And the ghost did just that—he saved all of it for the morning, better yet the afternoon. Since that’s when you woke up anyways.

“Do people always eat breakfast past two p.m., or is that a recent trend from the last two decades?” his voice called, cutting through the haze of your half-sleep as you started to eat 

“How old are you even?” you mumbled, cereal gnashing between your teeth.

“Old enough to know that you need more than cereal to sustain a healthy human body.”

“Riveting,” you muttered sarcastically, sipping the milk from the bowl. “Next, you’ll tell me that ‘ghosting’ is a real thing in your realm, too.”

“Actually, it is,” he retorts, his presence somehow stronger than it was in front of a mirror, “Happen to be doing it right now. Having some fun.”

“Is that your idea of fun? Stalking me from beyond the grave?”

“Call it what you want, but I’m just trying to keep you company,” he replied, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping from a spoon. “Besides, who else is going to breathe some life into your dull existence other than someone who’s already checked out of theirs?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms with a playful huff. “Great. Just what I need—my own ghostly life coach. What’s next? A seminar on the benefits of double-scrubbing the bathtub?

It was meaningless stuff, really. The kind of chatter that filled the air like background noise, a gentle distraction from the world outside your walls. Yet, for someone who was supposed to be dead, he had an uncanny knack for conversation, it only made you assume the type of person he was alive. He could turn the mundane into clear images, painting vivid pictures with his stories about the afterlife—or, more accurately, his gripes about it. Not that you asked for it, but, it was like being told a grand story. Stories you could not for the life of you stop listening to for some reason.

“Okay, ghostie—”

“Jeonghan,” he corrected. “Say it with me slowly. Jeong. Han.”

“Mmh, ghostie! I’ll be back after the laundry is done.”

“No way you’re saving money with how often you—”

“Bye bye, poltergeist!” You cut him off with a wave, stepping out with a load full of laundry.

You had noticed how quickly the days were slipping by, how time seemed to blur when you shared your space with someone—or rather, something—that could actually respond to you in real-time. It was a strange kind of companionship, one that made you forget just how much solitude had weighed on you before.

The passing days also reminded you just how much you needed a breather, to clear your head from this bizarre living arrangement. And somehow, your laundry had piled up, more than it ever should have for someone unemployed who barely left the house. It was odd. Almost like time itself was moving faster, dragging the mess along with it.

“Hey, right on schedule—Thursdays and every other Monday and today’s Monday..”

You almost forgot about Seungkwan amidst all the supernatural nonsense swirling around you, but seeing him brought back memories of your last encounter, and you quickly put on a smile. “Hey there! Look at you, recognizing my laundry schedule too.”

“Thought I’d return the favor since you were kind enough to remember mine. Hope that’s okay,” he replied, his tone light.

You piled your laundry into the machine, carefully measuring out some freshly opened detergent. “It is.”

“Okay… I just want to apologize for being weird the last time we talked,” he said, shifting slightly as he leaned against the machine, his expression turning a bit more serious. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” you assured him.

“I just… I don’t know.” He glanced down at the floor, his brows furrowing slightly. “My mind went blank, if I’m being honest.”

You smiled reassuringly. “I get that. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

He looked up, a playful grin spreading across his face. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Fuck. “It’s… just an expression.”

He leaned against his machine, his gaze fixed on you. “Didn’t deny it, though.”

You chuckled, feigning exasperation and mirroring his posture against your own machine. “You’re a lot more cocky than I realized, Mr. Seungkwan.”

“Do you like that?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were left speechless. Your mouth dropped open in surprise as your thoughts bounced from one corner of your mind to the other until finally, they found themselves running down between your legs in a new form of discomfort. “Umm…” 

You turned away for a moment, breathing to steady yourself, gently patting away your very alive heart.

“I made it weird again, didn’t I?” he said, his voice laced with a hint of regret.

You spun back around, shaking your head. “No. No! It just took me by surprise.”

“Sorry about that.” Not sounding all that sorry.

“That’s…more than I’m used to,” you admitted, a slight heat creeping onto your cheeks.

“Thank you?” he replied, a grin tugging at his lips.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound brightening the air between you and making the moment feel lighter and more vibrant. Just then, the machine beeped, a sharp sound signaling that your clothes were done, pulling you away from the heated exchange.

A comfortable silence enveloped you both, but this time it felt different—like the crackling of kindling in the perfect moment when fireflies come out, illuminating the night as brightly as the stars in the sky. You exchanged a quiet glance, catching a glint reminiscent of those stars in his gaze, and for a second, it felt like the universe was telling you, ‘Hey, maybe there's something here.’

When you finally turned to leave, your smile was the biggest you’d ever had. And when he matched yours, it was like you had just won a bizarre lottery. You probably looked a bit unhinged, standing there grinning at nothing while swaying in the damp weather, but you didn’t care. The butterflies in your stomach danced happily, and you found yourself wishing you could hold on to this moment just a little longer, savoring the warmth it brought.

“You look happy.”

Not even the Ghostbusters’ final boss could ruin that for you.

“Cram it, Beetlejuice Lite,” you shot back, because although you’re in a good mood, you relished finding new names to call Jeonghan besides his own.

You hummed to yourself as you folded and neatly put away your clothes, feeling his cool, lingering presence behind you. He watched, like always—probably thinking up who put sugar in your cereal this morning for you to be in such an uppity mood.

“Well, I’ll be. You’re actually putting your clothes away like a functional human being?” His voice oozed mock surprise, but today, it just rolled right off you.

“Yep! Just felt like it,” you replied cheerfully, sliding the last of the shirts into your drawer with a satisfied nod.

“Strange. I thought laundry was your natural habitat now, seeing how often you’re in there… but I guess that’s thanks to a certain ‘living,’” 

You snapped your drawer shut, the sound echoing through the room as you whipped around to glare at him, immediately pulling you away from the happiness you felt not that long ago. “You—”

“Seungkwan, wasn’t it? Cute kid. Didn’t quite peg him as your type, though.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

Your eyes narrowed, heart doing an involuntary somersault. Of course, he’d noticed. He seemed to notice everything, like some twisted version of a nosy neighbor, only this one didn’t have the decency to keep his opinions to himself. You wanted to fire back, but your brain was moving a step too slow, still caught up on the casual way he dropped Seungkwan's name. How long had he been watching you both at the laundromat?

“You’re stalking me outside of the apartment now?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My spirit may be bound to this place,” he replied with an air of nonchalance, “but my soul can roam as it pleases.”

“Spirit? Soul? Aren’t they the same thing?”

He tilted his head, giving you a patronizing smile. “Not quite. My soul travels freely, observing everything within a reasonable distance—it’s not tethered to the apartment like my spirit is. My spirit stays here, out of my control.”

“So, you spied on me just because you could?”

"Call it research. Gathering intel." He shrugged. "Besides, it's not like you were doing anything interesting."

"Oh, I'm so glad I could provide you with such riveting entertainment.”

You shook your head, leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind you, only to have Jeonghan pass through it. "You know, for a ghost, you're surprisingly annoying."

"For a flesh-and-blood mortal, you're remarkably unfazed," he observes, his ethereal voice echoing slightly. "Most wouldn't last a day with my...unique brand of housekeeping."

You paused, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, well, I'm not most people."

“So,” he began, “about this Seungkwan guy…”

You stiffened, feeling your cheeks heat up. “What about him?”

“Just curious,” he replied casually, though there was a glint in his eyes. “He seems... nice.”

“He is,” you mumbled, suddenly finding your laundry far more interesting than the conversation again.

“And you like him?”

Your heart raced in your chest. “I don’t know,” you admitted, the words almost sticking in your throat. “Maybe.”

“Does he like you?”

You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “…I don’t know yet.”

There was a beat of silence before he offered, “Want some help with that?”

“No. What? How would you even do that?” You narrowed your eyes, already regretting entertaining this conversation.

He started circling you, wearing a grin that screamed trouble, like a cat ready to pounce. “The only time my soul and spirit are truly joined,” he began in a low, conspiratorial tone, “is when I possess a body and take control of their flesh.”

You rolled your eyes. “Where is this going, Bloody Maury? Skip to the part that makes sense.”

He stopped directly in front of you, arms crossed. “Well, if you’re interested in ‘skipping to the good parts,’ I could possess your body. Help you say what’ll win over Seungkwan in no time.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why in the hell would I be dumb enough to let you do that?”

He snickered, leaning in with a smug look. “Because you’re desperate and haven’t slept with anyone the entire time we’ve lived together.”

“…You talk too much.”

“Think about it,” he continued, unbothered by your glare. “You’ve already got a foot in the door with him. You just need a little boost. I can help.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “This sounds like some high-level scheme to take over my body. Then I’ll end up stuck sharing it with a ghost, screaming into the depths of my soul for eternity. Thanks, but no thanks.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve been watching too much supernatural TV. And besides, if I wanted to possess your body for good, I would’ve done it a long time ago. I do have some principles, you know. Consent and all.”

You shook your head, unimpressed. “Nope. I still can’t trust you, ghostie.”

Jeonghan, ever the persistent undead, didn’t know the meaning of giving up—and by now, you should’ve expected as much. And maybe, just maybe, his constant, incessant persuading was starting to wear you down. Sharing the same space day in and day out gave him the upper hand. He knew your quirks, your weak spots—the best and worst parts of you.

These past few days, you weren’t sure if you were going insane by agreeing with a ghost, or if he was actually starting to make some sense.

As you stared off at him, basking in the cool autumn air slipping through the balcony, you started to wonder if his intentions were not as venomous or malicious as you initially thought. There was a strange, quiet sadness in his eyes as if he longed for something he couldn’t put into words. Something that you couldn’t understand even if you tried.

“Am I really so pathetic that the ‘phantom reject’ is willing to help me with my love life?”

Jeonghan glanced at you with mild interest, noticing the way your curiosity had piqued. You sat comfortably on the couch, your elbow propped on the armrest, cheek nestled in your palm, as you observed him. He quietly approached, given that his feet were intangible and didn’t reach the ground, the silence was deafening and he lowered his head to level with you, staring back at you with so much intent it burned to feel his gaze.

He titled his head, brimming with pride. “Well, let’s just say I’ve never been rejected in my life. So.”

“You really think this’ll work for me?”you asked, skepticism lacing your tone.

“Of course,” he replied, with a grin. “You’ve got me.”

You were really considering it—letting a ghost help with your love life. Was this truly insane? Maybe. But it felt like it was worth a shot.

God, this was pathetic. And for once, you had something to be genuinely afraid of. And funny enough, it wasn’t possession. Until, well… maybe it was.

Life had never quite prepared you for this. Standing in your bedroom, surrounded by the overflowing pile of dirty clothes in the corner, you realized you’d put this off long enough—both the laundry and the body possession. You let out a shaky breath, glancing nervously from the mess to Jeonghan. 

His presence loomed, just as insistent as the neglected chores, and you had to steady yourself, mentally sorting through how you’d ended up in this bizarre situation. Laundry? Fine. Ghost possession? Not something you thought was possible. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to assess the ridiculousness of it all.

“Okay, Grim Peeper, let’s do this.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly as you tried, and failed, to shake off the nerves. His movements were deliberate as he approached, eyes narrowing in focus. He watched how the tension gripped your shoulders, the way your breath quickened despite your best efforts to stay calm. His presence felt heavier, and as he took his position in front of you, the air around him seemed to still. 

You could feel the weight of what was about to happen, the looming absurdity of it all. Jeonghan, who usually exuded a kind of careless charm, now looked oddly concentrated, as if he were preparing for something he rarely had the chance to do. His expression, though still smug, carried a certain gravity. But in all honesty, he wasn’t really sure what to expect.

“I’m about to make contact,” Jeonghan said, his tone unusually serious. “It’s going to feel a bit disorienting at first—like a cold shiver running down your spine. But after a few seconds, your mind will adjust, and it’ll feel like nothing ever happened. My voice will echo in your head, almost like it’s your own thoughts. I’ll let you know when it’s me taking control.”

His hands hovered over your shoulders, a ghostly chill brushing against your skin. For a split second, there was something oddly reassuring in his dead, sullen eyes. "You'll be okay. I promise, nothing will go wrong."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down. "Alright, I trust you." Then you glanced at him, a small smirk forming. "But seriously, what do you get out of all this? Helping me, I mean. I won’t judge... Boo-dini."

He let out a short laugh, tilting his head slightly as if considering how to answer. “I…want to remember what it’s like to feel alive again. See what I missed out on.”

“That’s fair,” you nodded, understandably.

“Expected more from me, humie?”

You shrugged. “Thought you’d have a deeper back story, but that’s fine.”

Jeonghan scoffed softly, giving you a teasing smirk before he began. In an instant, he was there—and then he wasn’t. The shift was so sudden it left you reeling. Just as he’d predicted, a shiver rippled down your spine, cold and unsettling. But what he hadn’t mentioned were the flashes of unfamiliar images that flickered behind your eyes, moments you’d never lived but somehow felt were real.

They came and went so fast, you couldn’t make sense of them—fleeting fragments of his past, perhaps, or echoes of something even older.

‘How are you?’ he voice said, interrupting your thoughts.

You quietly nodded, reassuring him.

‘Very well then. Your lead, dear host.’

You wandered into the laundromat with your overstuffed hamper, feeling a bit like a laundry pirate hauling treasure—or dirty socks—across the high seas. You’d made the executive–and rightfully cowardly–decision to skip your usual laundry day, and now it was leading up to this very moment. Jeonghan stayed mostly dormant in your body as you claimed an empty machine, the back of your head itchy knowing another being was sharing your body that has led you this far. And now it was going to lead you to get laid.

It was like clockwork. Any minute now, Seungkwan would stroll in, and Jeonghan would take over, handling all the nerve-wracking nonsense you'd rather avoid.

‘Don’t be nervous,’ his voice echoed, ‘I almost thought it was my own heart racing, then I remembered I’m dead.’

“Sorry,” you muttered softly under your breath, ignoring the supernatural’s attempt at a joke.

‘It’s fine. Everything will be fine.’

“I know,” you sighed.

“You know what?”

You spun around, facing Seungkwan, who’d entered with that casual, friendly energy you always admired. He smiled, raising an eyebrow at your startled expression.

"Seungkwan!" you blurted out, trying to push the embarrassment down as far as it would go.

“Hey, neighbor,” he greeted, already moving toward his machine, gently separating colors from whites. “How are you?”

“Good—Great! Why do you ask?”

He gave you a light shrug, glancing up with a playful grin. “Just sounded like you were talking to yourself.”

“Well, who doesn’t?” you quipped, trying to play it cool. “Sometimes thinking out loud helps clear the head noise, right?”

“Right,” he said, stretching with an amused smile, clearly entertained by your odd, jittery energy.

‘Wow, thank god you have me.’

You quietly cursed Jeonghan in your head for making this harder than it needed to be, before mustering up the nerve to approach Seungkwan, fingers nervously fidgeting.

"Hey, so... you mentioned you were going to be out of town for Halloween, right?"

Seungkwan looked up, surprised and then grinned. "You remembered! Yeah, what’s up?"

You hesitated for a second, feeling Jeonghan’s smug presence lingering somewhere in the back of your mind. "I thought..."

Seungkwan leaned casually against the now-humming washer, hands tucked in his pockets, his curious gaze fixed on you. "Yeah?"

You tried to keep your cool, but the moment the words "we could do something" left your mouth, your brain started to short-circuit. Seungkwan turned to you with that easygoing grin of his, waiting for you to elaborate, and you could already feel the awkwardness creeping in.

Jeonghan’s voice chimed in, ‘You’re fumbling. Let me take over.’

Before you could protest, the familiar shiver ran down your spine. Suddenly, everything felt distant—your limbs moved, but you weren't fully in control anymore.

Jeonghan’s smooth voice came out of your mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I was thinking, maybe we could hang out before you head out of town? You know, catch a movie, grab a drink, something low-key, say my place?"

Seungkwan's smile widened, surprised but clearly intrigued. "You want to hang out with me?”

Jeonghan, still in control of your voice, replied effortlessly, "Of course." Before you could even process what was happening, your feet began to move on their own, gliding across the floor like a spy on a secret mission. Jeonghan closed the distance between you and Seungkwan, and suddenly, your hands were fidgeting with the hem of Seungkwan's shirt. “I figure it’s a good excuse to steal some of your time before Halloween hits."

Your heart raced, and you mentally screamed at Jeonghan, Okay, okay, that’s enough! I can take it from here!

But he was on a roll. "Tomorrow?" Seungkwan asked, leaning casually against the washing machine, though the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot betrayed his nervousness. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

"Tomorrow’s perfect," Jeonghan responded smoothly, maintaining the effortless flow of the conversation. "I’ll text you the details."

With each word, your body felt like it was moving on autopilot, and while you were horrified by the lack of control, a part of you couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration. Jeonghan was nailing it, but the closeness to Seungkwan was almost too much to handle.

Suddenly, Seungkwan playfully entwined his fingers with yours, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through your hand, as his grin graced his face. Your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, savoring the warmth of the connection. When you opened them, you found an unreadable expression on his face—intense and smoldering. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, his voice slightly softer now. “Looking forward to it.”

The way he held your gaze made your heart skip a beat, and for a moment, the world around you faded into a soft blur. Even though Jeonghan was in control, your thoughts tangled with the heat of the moment, coursing through you like a fever. 

As soon as Seungkwan turned away to his laundry with a lingering grin, Jeonghan released control, and the reins were back in your hands. You blinked, still a bit disoriented from the possession.

‘See? Easy,’ Jeonghan’s voice echoed smugly in your mind.

‘You’re impossible,’ you shot back.

‘But effective.’

That night, you tackled all the prep work you knew you needed to get done. It had been a while since you’d done anything like this, and you definitely had some dust bunnies and spiderwebs in your attic.

“Humie–oh.”

“Jeonghan! What the hell?” Your eyes flew open as you scrambled to pull the shower curtain over your bare legs, the chill of the water sending a shiver up your spine from the products strewn haphazardly at the edge of the sink. “Do you fucking mind?”

“Well, well. Look at you, all cleaned up. At least yourself, anyway. Can’t say the same for the bathroom floor—or that mountain of grooming products over there.”

You gripped your makeshift cover-up a little tighter, groaning in frustration. “Privacy, please! I barely have any as it is.”

“I’m just saying, I’m proud of you. Now, if you manage to sweep up after, I might even give you a round of applause.”

“Out!” you snapped, glaring.

He shrugged, turning to leave with an impish grin. “Hey, roommates catch each other with their pants down one way or another.”

If you weren’t already a bundle of nerves, Jeonghan was getting far too comfortable for your liking. Leading up to that night and the big day, he had been dishing out advice on everything from what to wear to what movie to play, right down to critiquing the meager food stock in your fridge.

“That’s it, you need to go grocery shopping.”

“I can't afford that right now!”

“Just get Instacart. I don’t care. This apartment is as bare-bones as it gets.”

“I have popcorn, soda, and some chocolate for Halloween when I'm giving them out.”

“First of all, popcorn isn’t actually food. Second, prebiotic soda doesn’t count as real soda. And if you can get chocolate, then you can definitely manage to buy some real groceries.”  

But just as you were about to respond, luck decided to abandon you with a sharp knock at the door. “No time!” you hissed, “now scr—oh, you’re already gone.”  

One moment he was there, and the next, he had vanished. Now, it was all on you, and nothing felt more nerve-wracking. You tugged your shorts down just enough to cover the rest of your bottom, anxiety buzzing in your chest. Your hand hovered over the doorknob as you took a deep breath, trying to muster some confidence before swinging it open to reveal who was waiting outside.

“Seungkwan, hey!”  

“Hey!” he grinned, his Halloween-themed vest adding a playful touch to his outfit as he juggled a couple of bags in his arms. “You didn’t ask, but I thought I’d surprise you with some food. Pumpkin-spiced spaghetti and meatballs.”  

“Oh, uhhh…”  

He burst into laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m just messing with you! It’s actually butternut squash gnocchi and some stuffed peppers that look like pumpkins.”  

“Oh, thank God! That sounds amazing.”  

“Yeah, it’s festive without going overboard.”  

You nodded in agreement, feeling a warm rush of relief. “Come in.”  

As you stepped aside to let him in, you couldn’t help but notice how wholesomely he was dressed compared to your casual attire. Suddenly, you felt a pang of self-consciousness.  

“I like your sweater,” you said, trying to mask your growing insecurity.  

He looked down, a hint of modesty crossing his face. “Yeah, I think it’s just the right amount of festive, but—”  

“It’s festive but not overboard,” you responded, playfully tossing his words right back at him.  

He grinned, “Exactly!”  

You smiled back, feeling a wave of warmth as Seungkwan's presence began to calm your nerves. As he settled into the familiar space of your apartment, you couldn’t help but discreetly scan the room for any signs of your ghoulish roommate. Half-relieved to find nothing, half-disappointed that your spectral “backup” was nowhere in sight, you let out a quiet sigh. And now it was just you—and the human you actually invited in.

Hesitantly, you eased into the spot next to him on the couch, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. Your hands were jittery as you picked up the remote, scrolling through the movies you’d lined up, your mind racing to figure out what to do next. 

You glanced at him, hoping for some sort of sign or direction, but the words caught in your throat. The longer you scrolled, the more painfully aware you became of the silence, as if it only heightened the nervous tension taking over your body, weirdly missing Jeonghan and how flawlessly he executed what he did yesterday.

"So, movies," you said, aiming the remote at the TV.

"Movies," he echoed, mimicking your tone.

“I mean,” You raised a brow. "What do you have in mind? And there is a right answer."

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Alright, I love Halloween, but..."

"But?" you pressed, leaning in slightly.

"I... really can’t handle scary movies. Halloween Town is probably my limit."

"Halloween Town? The kids’ movie?"

"Hey, don’t knock it. They had great graphics!"

"They had awful graphics!" you shot back, incredulous.

He grinned, half-joking but clearly standing by his point. "Yeah, now. But for its time?”

You shook your head in playful disbelief, unable to hold back a smile. “You’re ridiculous. But fine, your choice.”

You were left with very few options. Seungkwan had suggested a few festive, family-friendly titles, but you managed to persuade him to consider a couple of mild thrillers—some stupid but perfectly on theme.

“The zombie version of Twilight? Seriously? Zombies?" he repeated, stressing the idea with disbelief.

You shrugged, smiling from his reaction. “You might like it.”

He dropped his head in defeat, cute little whines escaping his pursed lips. “Fine, but you’d better be my shield for this, okay, neighbor?” 

The movie began to play, the take-out boxes popped open, and your nerves were on high alert, vibrating like something else does on a normal Friday night for you. Except now, it was just you and the incredible realization that the man you're very much interested in was mere inches away. You were a fucking wreck.

Surprisingly, Seungkwan was genuinely enjoying the film, finding unexpected humor and charm in the cringeworthy blockbuster. His laughter was soothing and infectious, gradually easing your nerves until you started to feel normal again. Why were you like this?

Wait, you felt normal again, but what was normal?

Before you fully grasped what had happened in that fleeting moment of clarity, your hand made contact with Seungkwan, trailing lightly up his forearm. He immediately turned to face you, and your eyes locked, but suddenly they felt as if they belonged to someone else as if you were watching a different kind of film—a film where you were a separate character, experiencing everything from an alternate reality.

“Seungkwan,” your voice spoke, sounding foreign and distant as if someone else were taking control. Jeonghan? 

‘It was so painful to watch.’

Jeonghan guided your hand to brush against Seungkwan's ear, teasingly grazing the tip and relishing the warmth that bloomed between your fingers.

“Hey,” he replied, his nerves speaking for him. “Is something wrong?”

A low chuckle escaped from the depths of your throat, echoing Jeonghan’s playful menace. “You didn’t think we were just going to watch a movie, did you?”

Seungkwan audibly gulped, his eyes darting around as anxiety crept in. “We aren’t?”

“What’s the matter?” Jeonghan leaned in closer, your lips brushing against Seungkwan’s ear. “Where’s that confidence you had yesterday?”

Seungkwan suddenly tossed a pillow onto his lap, speechless and blushing fiercely. “Sorry,” he stammered, caught off guard. “I never anticipated—”

“Oh, really? You never expected to do something other than watching movies?” Your hand gently cupped his cheek, and you could feel Seungkwan melt into your touch with a gentle whimper.

A delighted sigh escaped you, fueled by Jeonghan’s newfound confidence coursing through your veins as your thumb traced the curve of Seungkwan’s Adam’s apple, feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse beneath your fingertips.

“You didn’t think for a second, I’d–you know–keep the night as is, did you?”

He softly groaned in his throat, feeling the tension seep inside him. “Are you suggesting?”

“I don’t want to just watch movies with you, Seungkwan. It’d be more fun to make our own. Isn’t that right?”

“...yes. God, yes.”

He leaned in, cradling your face in his hands, and pressed his lips to yours in a swift, hungry kiss, sending a surge of electricity through you as your tension unraveled in waves. His weight dipped against your body, pinning you against the rough tweed of the couch. His soft moans mingled with your breaths, muffled yet threatening, as if he were desperate to let loose and explore the desire in his heart while you were within reach.

‘That’s it.’

Your hand held the back of his head, catching strands between your fingers and tugged, ravaging his lips as if it’d be the last time you’d get a chance. You weren’t sure when Jeonghan gave you back your control, but in the heat of the moment, none of it mattered.

He tasted like a life force, fueling the fire burning in your loins and the fire kindling in your stomach; he had you wanting more with every passing second. His hands grabbed you recklessly, throwing his weight against you and squeezing your flesh until it was tender and malleable in his hands. This wasn’t something to unfold on the couch, you thought—not when a big, inviting bed lay just a few steps away, calling for you.

Your feet regained enough feeling to guide you off the couch, and before you knew it, you were stumbling toward your room, feverish and driven, with no thought of turning back. Your hands found his clothes, teasing beneath his holiday vest and up his torso, admiring the smooth flush of skin that graced your senses. He gasped, succumbing to your excitement and leaned into it, falling seamlessly into your rhythm.

“Didn’t want to stretch this, but,” he pulled the vest and shirt beneath over his head, tossing them aside in the corner. You let your hand linger longer on his body, running along the curve of his spine as he pulled you closer.

Seungkwan grasped your waist, savoring your lips with gentle strokes of his tongue before lifting you from the ground and onto the bed. Your bodies crushed against one another, peeling off articles of clothing one piece at a time until you were almost bare, expertly taking you apart to have you whole. All to himself as far as he knew.

“Seungkwan,” you called out in pleas, hands cradling the back of his neck as his hair fell over his eyes. “I want you so bad…”

“You’re telling me,” he managed to breathe out,  gripping your underwear at its hem and scrapping it over your hips as he pulled them down. “I’ve thought about you ever since I met you.”

Your heart bloomed in your chest, pleasantly startled by his confession. Your hands ran through his hand, pushing them over his forehead despite knowing they’d only fall back in place. “You were always so…friendly.”

He smiled, pressing it against the corner of your lips and decorating your cheeks and jaw with kisses. “Yeah. I always hoped that we’d be more than just friendly.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” You pulled him back into a lip lock, parting your legs to give him access.

‘Look at all the fun you’re having.’

Jeonghan was like a wandering whisper, weaving through your thoughts as Seungkwan enveloped your senses. Seungkwan’s hands were on your body, touching what’s yours and making it his, where Jeonghan could feel it as much as you could, and you knew it. He got off on this just as much as you did.

‘Feel him rubbing that pretty pussy of yours.’

“So wet…” Seungkwan said with ache, sounding like he was pleading.

His digits found your sensitivity and thumbed over your clit, stimulating you until your voice rang but the last thing you were doing was speaking. You became fluent in moans, fluid in body language, and perfect in Seungkwan. Your breath dragged on, panting against him as your leg hooked to his side, holding him with urgency.

‘So fucking horny…you were begging to be fucked, hmm?’

You couldn’t help but nod, hand lowering to find Seungkwan’s raging erection just within reach. He softly gasped, thrusting into your touch as you held his shaft, stroking his length that felt so full in your hands. So stiff, yet warm to the touch, almost tasting the tension on your tongue. 

‘Look at that size, huh? Imagine how that feels in you. Stretching your pussy and making you feel so full? Doesn’t that sound amazing?’

“I need you in me Seungkwan.” You begged in desperate pants, gripping him by the forearms. “I want to feel you inside me.”

There was a certain eagerness in his eyes, the kind that said he would do anything and everything for you in a heartbeat and succeed. You weren’t dealing with any average guy that wanted to get off. “Fuck,” he whispered, before lifting his upper body, putting himself on full display.

His physique was magnificent in every way, tantalizing and captivating like nothing you’ve ever encountered. You had an inkling of what he looked like under all his clothes, the veins always so prominent on his forearms and hands when he strained to reach something on a shelf, the line of his back when his lifted shirt revealed just a sliver of skin, or his wide hips, baring an ass so round and full they look like they came straight out of the oven. Never have you ever wanted to run your hands over something, nor have you ever wanted to sink your teeth into something. Yet, here was Seungkwan: utterly delectable.

Seungkwan dragged you by the ankles, moving you effortlessly as he angled himself between your legs, your molten heat practically dripping at the sight of him. His groan bounced off the walls, hand coming over your inner thighs and gently massaging your skin. As his kisses started to pepper over your legs, you felt your pussy physically throb, damned to eternal craving.

“You look like heaven,” He cried against your thighs. “Any protection?”

“It’s right–oh.” You picked up a rubber conveniently left at your nightstand, then handed it to Seungkwan. You‘re welcome.’

He set it aside with a smile and instead of putting it on, his face fell on your heat. He tasted you like it was worship; the dance of his tongue was his prayers, while your response flowed like a cascade of blessings. You whined when you felt him pursed around your clit, teeth barely grazing you as he sucked down like you’re the last bit of syrup in a dessert.

At the same time, his eyes glazed over to yours, a hand hovering over your chest, inaudibly asking permission, and when you gave him a wordless nod, he grabbed handfuls of your breasts. He kneaded you between his knuckles, rolling your buds between his fingers, and having you surrender to his chase.

“Seungkwan, please…”

Seungkwan’s eyes glimmered with pride, a sultry testament to the depth of his exploration. The longer he ventured, the more you found ogasmic relief, feeling every ounce of his efforts and every ounce of his pleasure. You held him by his hair, leg anchoring over his back, feeling his tongue massage your inner walls. His voice vibrates inside you, somehow stealing your breath, and filling you with utter euphoria. 

‘You feel that? How much he wants you? How much he craves you. He’s been waiting for this day. And you should reward him. Don’t you think?’

You tugged him up, watch him gasping for air, replace one pair of lips with another. You flipped him on his back, gaining momentum, and relishing in the power of control, and swallowing his gasps. You aligned the hilt of his cock towards you, ensuring you wrapped it protection before it sat between the slit of your folds. 

Seungkwan tilted his head back, his eyes glistening with desire as he admired you, his gaze revealing his thoughts like an open book.  "You're so sexy," he murmured, the words spilling out without hesitation. While his look said it all, hearing it felt like a heated rush of affirmation, and it made you want him more.

You pushed his length in you, feeling his size pulsate through you, and a moan managed to pass through your lips. Shivers ran down through you, goosebumps pebbling your skin, and you realized the raging presence of Seungkwan was going to be the death of you. As he rocked inside you, he held your hips in place, guiding your form up and down on lap, adjusting to your squeeze, and adjusting to how it contracts. “Oh my god, please, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Just like I wanted,” You teased. 

Your lips brushed against his neck, grazing your teeth over his skin before making passionate kisses to his neck, grinding down on his body until there isn’t a hint of space between your bodies. You were growing weary–albeit needy–chasing a high that was so close to be conquered. You felt it, Seungkwan felt it, and damn well Jeonghan felt it. You needed more, just a little more.

Suddenly, the air was knocked out of your lungs, as if something vital had escaped from within you, and your movements were put to a halt. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, pushing the hair way from your face. “Not sure what happened. I promise–”

“Don’t apologize to me, Humie.”

You heard his voice—or rather, an echo of Jeonghan’s voice—calling from below you, and as you met his gaze in Seungkwan’s eyes, your expression widened in shock. “Jeonghan,” you declared menacingly.

“In the flesh. Well, not my own, but you get the idea,” he quipped.

You nudged at the body beneath you, careful of not hurting the host. “Get out of this poor human’s body right now! What happened to consent?”

“Oh, he’s very much consenting to the thrill of this level of intimacy,” Jeonghan replied, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

“Not when it involves a literal ghost!”

“Relax, he won’t remember a thing. My spirit won’t let him. All he’ll recall is the good time he had,” the body thief winked playfully.

“Bullshit! Do what’s right and let the boy go.”

“But I am doing what’s right.” His grip tightened around your hips, pushing Seungkwan’s cock deeper in you as if it was possible and ebbing weak moans from as he pulled you closer, a wicked smile dancing on his lips. “So right.”

“J-Jeonghan,” you stammered, your pulse quickening.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore, Humie. You looked absolutely ravishing. I had to experience you for myself.”

Your head was screaming all kinds of denial, but your body thrived off his confidence, his energy was flowing through you, splitting through you and hitting a spot of pliancy. This was so wrong. “This…this is violating…for him…”

“But you love it, don’t you? It’s like a wicked thrill, a tantalizing pleasure that feeds your deepest, most tumultuous desires.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the pulsating cock rocking your very core. “And what kind of desires is that?”

“You want us both,” he answered plainly. “The human and me.”

You shook your head, fingers tightening around Seungkwan’s shoulders in a desperate bid for security as you fought against Jeonghan’s seductive temptations. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Then, why don’t you get off of me?”

“It’s Seungkwan I can’t get off of,” You clarified.

You could recognize Jeonghan’s smile, even though it was plastered on Seungkwan’s face—so conniving, so devilish. It exuded an intoxicating power that was inhumane, but irresistible. “But it's me you’re riding–and fucking hell–you look so good doing it.”

“Jeonghan…” You whimpered, pleading for release from his coercion, but as you feared, mercy eluded you entirely.

“Yes,” His palm rode up your body, his lips parting in haughty confidence. “Beg for me, beg for me to fuck you full.”

“...Fuck it. I want you to fuck me full.” You accepted him, feeling the tension of the cock inside you, ripple waves straight into your heat. 

Mindlessly, you accepted his domineering hand that landed on your mouth, feeling it travel past your lips, parting way with his thumb. You wrapped your lips around his digits, sucking them like candy, and the shame that once enveloped your paradoxical feelings dissipated, leaving only a deep hunger in its wake. 

Whether it was Jeonghan or Seungkwan beneath you, it was all true to its very core. You had an undeniable infatuation for your cute neighbor and a strange fascination with the handsome ghost. The connection you felt with both was more than palpable, leaving you with an unexplained frenzy of emotions that would require extensive therapy. You knew the logical choice was the one who was alive, but you had never considered that you could have both—especially not in such a chaotic, unorthodox three-way.

“Look at what a slut you are for us, your lips so perfect wrapped around these slender fingers of his.”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly muttered to yourself, grinding harder, sucking Seungkwan’s fingers deeper, and gradually succumbing to Jeonghan’s demands.

Jeonghan let out a deep, rolling laugh that resonated from Seungkwan’s core, a sound so rich and dark it sent a momentary unease through you. “You’re simply giving into your desires, why fight it?”

“You damn well know why,” you spat out his fingers and gritted your teeth.

“Now that’s not nice,” His hand covered the shape of your ass, cupping them in his palms, “Do I need to show you how to be nicer to me?”

“Jeonghan,” you groaned, feeling his digits dig into your flesh as he spread them apart. 

“What’s that, baby?” he experimented, “Looks like I have to make this a teaching opportunity after all? Because you can’t show your gratitude?”

“Jeonghan, please.”

“Well, if you insist.” With an unexplainable, arcane, supernatural force, the dynamics were switched and Jeonghan had you on your stomach, ass conveniently placed in from of him. 

“Jeonghan!”

"I always knew you looked good from every angle, but wow—this one is something else." His hand glided over your curves, Seungkwan’s cock splitting down your divide, you grasped your thirst.

Anticipation was wreaking havoc on your sanity, leaving you in a deafening silence as you waited for Jeonghan to make his move, impatience following. “Will you just–”

A hand clashed against your backside, your skin stinging from impact, and relieving you from a ched yelp. Jeonghan braced you against a groin, the erection nudging at your skin. “So needy,” he chuckled. You felt the tip tease along your slip, eventually filling you up in that familiar way.

You whimper, the size still enticingly foreign, and back into his weight, feel yourself travel all the way down to the base.

“An impatient,” Jeonghan softly groans, grounding himself to you in careful, yet sharp thrusts.

You balled your sheets into fists, your voice muffled as you buried your face in a pillow.

He chuckled against his skin. “That good?”

“Y-yes,” you helplessly whispered.

He slammed down on you, releasing a squeaky spring sound from the bed, both embarrassing and strangely arousing. “Even when I do that?”

“Yes…more please…”

Jeonghan repeated the move, finding a steady rhythm, and watched as your skin and flesh recoiled back against him. He could feel his host basking in the intensity of this pleasure, tears swelling his eyes as your moans echoed in his ears, memorizing from the decibels your voice reached, to the way you looked from behind, and even how the flesh of thighs spilled when you collapsed wearily on the mattress.

“Insane,” He said in hushed whispers.

“Stop it,” you whined.

“Stop what? Showing you how fucking perfect you are taking my cock?” He grunted.

You pressed your lips in a firm lip, clawing down on the bed as your core tightened, every pound drilling into you, giving into his indulgence and taking you along with him. He made every thrust count as the echo of skin slapping faded into the background.

“Oh please, help me cum.” You begged. “Please, please, please…”

His pace quickened, his rhythm erratic. “Yeah, you want you cum coat around my cock like a good little whore.”

“Yes, Jeonghan please, just give it to me.”

“You asked, and you shall receive.”

Finally, he bottomed out into you, unleashing the reins he held to prolong this moment and cut them lose. Your body was no longer yours, weakened by the spirit draining your energy. Your jaw fell slack, unable to close, a waning moaning stretching for miles, ecstasy coursing through your veins. 

You said one name, then another, and then again. This was really confusing but you were here, pounded into obvious for what it seems like endlessly, until you realized you were full and not with what you had initially anticipated. In the remenance of fatigue from the sex, you fail to notice the lack of protetction seeing as proof of you supernatural rendezvous was seeping out of you like a slow river.

“Jeonghan!” 

“What?” he drowsily answered as he claimed the side of the bed besides you, evidently using the extent of Seungkwan’s body.

“What the fuck happened to the condom?”

“Please, that’s my own cum.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ectoplasm, you know. Comes from all sorts of places.”

“I hate you so much—am I gonna get pregnant with ghost kids?”

“Relax, and no you aren’t. It’s as effective as…something really ineffective–fuck, I’m tired.”

“And Seungkwan. What about Seungkwan?”

“He’s fine and his release became as good as mine when I possessed his body. His soul is asleep right about now, having a catnap. Now come here.” he pulled you towards him, throwing your covers over you and keeping you away from the draft into to room, slipping you into his arms. “Stop tiring yourself out any further and rest. Everything will be fine when he wakes up like a man that got laid: amazing.”

“Fine,” muttered with heavy eye lids, “but only because im really tired.”

And from that moment sleep was easy.

You woke up to those same arms, now only asleep and less “ghost-like” and snuggled up closer to him, a newly acclaimed heat source. A soft chuckle escaped him, holding you tighter in his embrace as a kiss fell on the top of your forehead. “Hey there.”

You smile, cupping the side of his face in your hand. “Hi.”

“That was amazing, you’re amazing,” he said, planting another kiss on your nose. “Is it weird to say it felt so good I kinda blacked out?”

“Ha,” you shook your head, knowing the truth, “No, but thank you for the massive compliment.”

He grinned, a flush of red coating his cheeks, before pulling you into a deep and wonderful kiss, entanging his legs with yours. He seeped into realization when he found the mess between your legs, untouched since sex. “Oh shit, i did that, didn’t i?”

“It’s okay, I…have some sort of protection.”

“One moment.” Seungkwan came up naked from the bed, momentarily left the room, and with a noticeably wet hand towel. “I usually have an extra clean one on hand for after my workout. Glad I brought a backpack for no reason today.

As he inched closer, he sat between your legs, uncovering you from the blanket, and politely asked if he could help. When he received your consent, he brought it up to the mess, gently swiping between every crevice, ridding any remnants of cum that might have been left over. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” you reassure, visibly gushing.

“Of course, I do.” He insisted, a sincere smile gracing his features. “It's my pleasure taking care of you.”

It was so disorienting going from the original to Jeonghan’s version and back to the original Seungkwan. As if you were once looking through a window of an alternate reality. Still a lot to process what happened.

“I don’t usually do this,” you try explaining yourself, “I just…I’ve been into you for a long time and I just thought, maybe, you felt the same.”

“I do,” he pressed his lips to your inner thigh. “A lot.”

“So you wouldn’t mind seeing me again?”

“I wouldn’t object to the idea,” he grinned, “especially if we get to do what we did to make me black out in the first place.”

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗢𝗥

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Y/N and Matt are in a complicated relationship, where Matt is still stuck in the past with his ex. In an angsty pathway, Y/N suffers when she realizes that Matt will never love her as she wants.

WARNING: Crying, panic attack, comparison, ANGST.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 2

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N adjusted her stunning dress in front of the mirror. The bright red silk fabric hugged her curves in a way she knew would make heads turn that night. Her hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, meticulously styled by her curling iron, and her makeup highlighted her features impeccably.

There was a palpable excitement in the air, an expectation of Matt's reaction; she always expected to receive showers of praise from her boy, just as she did for him. The party they were about to go to - a fancy one that celebrated the launch of the new Space Camp line - would be the perfect opportunity to show everyone, and especially him, how hard she worked to be perfect.

The low sound of the bedroom door's handle turning sounded through the silence, Matt's figure appearing through the wooden frame, and all Y/N could feel as she watched him through the mirror's reflection was her racing heart. He looked stunning in his black suit, the crooked tie relaxing the seriousness of his attire.

She waited for the compliment, for the spark in his eyes that would confirm that all the effort had been worth it.

"You look beautiful, Y/N." Blue eyes traveled over her body for some seconds, but before she could absorb the joy of that moment, he finished. "Did you know that Amanda has a dress similar to yours?"

Y/N felt her stomach tighten painfully as her heart felt like it was being broken by a hammer three times its size. Amanda. Always Amanda. Matt's ex-girlfriend was a constant shadow between them, a specter that Y/N could never completely dispel.

She forced a smile, swallowing the anguish rising in her throat.

"Oh, really?" Was all she could say, trying to keep her voice steady, her hands shaking slightly at the side of her hips.

Later that day, the party continued with Y/N ​​by Matt's side, but her mind was far away. Every time someone praised her, she remembered Matt's comment. Even surrounded by people and with Matt by her side, she felt incredibly alone.

Her thoughts revolved around a single question: Why couldn't he see her for who she was instead of always comparing her to Amanda?

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A few weeks later, a new day brought a new blow. Matt was in his shared room with Y/N, sitting in his gaming chair with his upper body resting on the wooden surface, his hands on his Macbook, busy answering emails sent to the triplets' mail.

Y/N entered quietly, carrying two glasses full of fresh watermelon juice, knowing that Matt would definitely be thirsty and hungry after hours of sitting there. But as she got closer, she saw his computer screen. The messaging app was open, and the open window wasn't just any texts — it was old conversations between Matt and Amanda.

He read them with a melancholic smile, his eyes shining with a longing that Y/N knew all too well.

"Matt..." Her voice came out in an involuntary whisper, the broken tone sounding louder than it was expected.

The boy startled, closing the laptop quickly.

"Babe, hey, you scared me!" The boy turned around suddenly, clearing his throat and laughing awkwardly, trying to look casual. "I was just... clearing out some old stuff."

Y/N just nodded, the pain growing inside her chest.

"It's fine. Here, I made this for you." She raised her hand that held the fullest glass, smiling brokenly and keeping her eyes open, taking note on how Matt didn't notice the tears shining in her orbs or pretended not to.

She knew he was lying. She knew he was stuck in the past, that Amanda still dominated his thoughts and his heart. But once again, she chose to ignore it, to stifle her own suffering out of love for him.

Because losing Matt was a fear that outweighed any pain she might feel.

Right?

Right! Until things reached an unbearable point.

Y/N had an appointment at the beauty salon, something she did to feel a little more in control, a little more beautiful in a reality where she always felt insufficient. Matt said he couldn't accompany her, claiming he had videos to film with his brothers. She understood, or at least she tried.

It was Saturday, they didn't film on Saturday.

Sitting in the salon chair, while her nails were being done and her hair was treated, Y/N took out her phone to pass the time, holding the device awkwardly for fear of smudging her sparkling nail polish.

Scrolling through Instagram while her ears caught some conversations around the salon, her heart almost flew out of its place and up her mouth when she saw a photo that one of the celebrity gossip pages had just posted.

Matt was in a coffee shop with Amanda.

His smile was radiant, a kind of joy Y/N hadn't seen on his face in a long time. He looked so… complete, so genuinely happy.

Y/N felt the world come crashing down around her. Tears burned her eyes, but she held them back, looking around at all the other radiant women before turning her attention back to the news, clutching her cell between her left fingers, a low "sorry" scaping her lips when her right hand trembled against the manicurist ones.

She didn't give a shit that they were talking in a cafe, she didn't mind if they wanted to be friends again - even though she had destroyed Matt, and Y/N was the one to put him together again -, it was something else that bothered her.

Matt had lied to her. He said he was going to film. What the fuck was he doing out with Amanda?

But the truth was right there, raw and painful: Matt would never be fully hers. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she sacrificed, he would always be stuck in the past in the love he had for Amanda. He would always go back to her.

Y/N took a deep breath, forcing a smile as the manicurist applied red nail polish to her nails on her left hand. The color perfectly matched the feelings she felt at that moment; dark.

Every move by the salon professionals seemed like a desperate attempt to beautify her for someone who would never see her true beauty. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop her mind from going back to that image of Matt smiling with Amanda. It was a smile she could never get out of him.

"You look amazing, Y/N!" Cintia, the girl's hairdresser for years now, praised excitedly, straightening the last strands of hair just finished and turning the chair so that Y/N could see herself in the mirror. "Matt will love it."

Y/N looked at her reflection, but all she saw was an improved version of herself that, despite all her effort, would never be enough for Matt. She would always be just a shadow, a pale substitute.

"Thank you..." The girl tried to say, but her voice came out hoarse, almost a whisper, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

The room around her seemed like a golden prison, full of mirrors that only reflected her internal pain. Every compliment, every word of encouragement, sounded hollow, meaningless, because the person whose opinion mattered most was, at that very moment, laughing and smiling with another woman; the woman he truly loved.

When Y/N finally left the salon, she felt exhausted, as if she had run an emotional marathon. She walked slowly to her home, opting not to call an Uber.

Her hands fished her phone out of her half-open purse, and, with trembling fingers decorated in red, she sent a text to Diana, her best friend.

"Diana, are you home? Can I sleep there tonight?"

As she waited for the answer, her mind wandered through a whirlwind of thoughts. The pain was constant but mixed with a new resolve.

She needed to get out of there. She needed space to breathe, to think.

"Of course, babes!"

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Getting home was an automatic process. The house she shared with the triplets seemed colder and more hostile than ever.

Y/N walked past the living room where Chris and Nick were sprawled awkwardly on the gray couch playing video games, their excited laughter, and screams a cruel contrast to the pain she felt.

"Y/N!" Nick smiled brightly when he saw his best friend out of the corner of his eye. "Want to play a round with us?"

"No thanks, Nick. I'm tired." She murmured, smiling wide and fake - even though he wasn't looking at her directly -, trying to appear normal.

She walked slowly down the path between the living room and kitchen, each step a reminder of what she was about to do.

Her hands worked automatically on the door, entering her shared room with Matt, closing it behind her, the sound of the lock clicking echoing like a period in her mind. She looked around, taking in the details that made the space a home - the photos on the wall, the personal items, the memories. But now, it all felt empty.

She grabbed a suitcase stored at the back of their shared closet and began filling it with her necessities. The simple act of opening the suitcase caused a wave of despair to hit her.

Every piece of clothing and every object that her hands roughly touched and threw blindly into the suitcase was a small stab in her heart. The tears finally started to stream down her face, and she didn't try to stop them. Reality was imposing itself in a cruel way.

Her movements became slower and slower, while her thoughts became more chaotic.

"I'll never be enough for him."

"I'll never be her."

"He'll never love me the way I love him."

"I'm destroying myself for someone who cares little about me."

"What did I do wrong?"

These thoughts repeated like a cruel mantra in her mind. She felt her breathing quicken. Her lungs seemed unable to take in enough air. The room, which had always been a refuge, now felt like an oppressive cell. Panic began to set in. Her chest felt tight, her hands shook, and the air seemed to escape.

The tears flowed like hot, relentless waterfalls. The suitcase was open in front of her, half full, but it seemed like an insurmountable abyss. Y/N tried to take a deep breath, but each attempt only resulted in more despair.

The sobs came strong and uncontrollable. The girl stopped in front of the bed, standing, after throwing the last piece taken by her hands, bending her upper body over the suitcase, gripping the edge of the thick fabric with such strength that it made her fingers take on a whitish color, fully throwing her weight on her arms as if they were a lifeboat in the middle of a storm.

"Why am I not good enough?"

"What is wrong with me?"

"Why can’t he love me?"

She felt completely alone, drowning in her own pain. The panic attack took over, stealing any trace of control she still had.

The walls of the room seemed to close in on Y/N, the contours of the furniture becoming indistinct and threatening as her breathing became increasingly rapid and shallow. Her heart hammered in her chest with an almost painful force, each beat ringing in her ears like deafening thunder. The air felt thick, sticky, and impossible to inhale properly.

"Am I really that hard to be loved?"

"I wish I was her."

"He was never mine, right?"

Her hands shook uncontrollably, her fingers tingling over her suitcase as a feeling of numbness spread through her arms. Sweat dripped down her forehead, leaving her feeling sticky and uncomfortable, while the cold began to spread throughout her body, generating incessant chills.

Her vision blurred, the edges of the room distorting into restless shadows that danced and pulsed, transforming the room into a place strangely familiar and frighteningly alien at the same time. Each sound seemed amplified and distant, the ones of laughter and the clicks of long and simple kisses played in memories in her head like a record player at its highest volume, creating a surreal echo that only intensified the feeling of isolation and despair.

Exhausted, Y/N let herself sink to the floor, her sobs echoing in the empty room, an expression of the pain and loneliness that she felt suffocating herself relentlessly. Her legs folded in front of her body, the front of her thighs sticking firmly against her stomach as her arms served as a shield for her head, her hands involuntarily going up to her own hair, gripping the strands tightly, trying to ground herself.

Meanwhile, Nick ran towards her and Matt's room with quick, excited steps. He had just finished the last round of his video game with Chris and was looking forward to seeing the outcome of Y/N's salon day, hoping it would make her happier after noticing the inconsistency in her voice when she got home.

His closed fist lightly knocked on the door before opening it, the smile on his face instantly disappearing as his eyes met the scene before him.

Y/N was on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, her hands now grabbing her arms in a desperate hug. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes wide and fixed on a distant, indistinct point. Her breathing was ragged, labored, as if she were trying to pull air through a narrow, clogged straw. The sound of her panting was interspersed with heavy sobs, creating a symphony of anguish that made Nick's heart tighten in his chest.

"Y/N!" Nick called, his voice thick with panic. But to Y/N, his words were like distant whispers, drowned out by the deafening noise of her own frantically beating heart.

Her mind was in a whirlwind of chaotic, disorganized thoughts, each competing for attention and increasing the feeling of panic. She felt trapped in an endless cycle of terror, unable to escape the downward spiral that consumed her.

The feeling of suffocation was overwhelming, as if an invisible weight was pressing down on her chest, making every desperate attempt to breathe difficult. The seconds seemed to stretch into a torturous eternity, each second carrying a new wave of fear and despair.

Nick ran up to her, the panic on his face intensifying by the second. He knelt beside Y/N, trying to find a way to reach her, to bring her back from that abyss of despair. His hands shook as he gently pulled her close, enveloping her in a tight, protective hug.

"I’m here, Y/N, I’m here." He repeated, his voice choked with emotion, praying to whatever was watching them to make her listen to him. But she didn't seem to be able to do it, lost in her own spiral of panic.

Nick closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to stay calm. He knew he needed to be strong for her, and he needed to find a way to calm her.

"Y/N, look at me, please." He pleaded, voice softer, trying to break the invisible barrier that kept her trapped in her own fear. The brunette held her face with his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Breathe with me, okay? Breathe slowly."

He began to breathe deeply, exaggerating his movements so she could follow. He breathed in slowly and deeply through his nose, holding it for a moment before slowly exhaling through his mouth. He felt Y/N tremble in his arms, but he kept pace, trying to convey calmness through each breath.

"That's it, keep going, you can do it." Nick encouraged, feeling a small change in her breathing. Her panting began to synchronize with his, although it was still irregular. He continued to whisper words of comfort, repeating that he was there, that she wasn't alone.

Slowly, very slowly, he felt the stiffness in her body begin to ease. Y/N's breathing became a little steadier, although she was still shaking. Nick kept the hug tight, feeling her heart beat against his own chest. He knew she was still scared, still trapped in her mind, but she was starting to come back.

"You're safe, Y/N. I'm here." Nick said once again, his voice firm and reassuring. He didn't let go of her face, maintaining eye contact, grounding her to reality. "Let's get through this together, okay?"

Finally, after several minutes that felt like hours, Y/N began to breathe in a more controlled manner. Her sobs subsided, and her eyes, once wide with terror, began to focus on Nick's. Her blurred vision cleared a little, the walls of the room seeming less threatening.

Nick sighed in relief, still holding her tightly, feeling the tension gradually ease in her muscles.

His own heart was still beating fast, but now, for a different reason. He looked around, trying to understand the situation better, when his blue orbs stopped on the open suitcase above the bed. The sight of the packed suitcase made his heart sink. Confusion and fear settled in his chest. What was happening? Why was she packing her things? The thought of Y/N leaving caused him his own panic, an intense worry that he tried to suppress, deciding that the questions could wait.

With a conscious effort, he looked away from the suitcase and focused on the immediate task of taking care of Y/N. He stood up slowly, maintaining eye contact to ensure she didn't feel abandoned for even a moment. The boy grabbed the pink bottle of water from the bedside table on her side of the bed and quickly returned, sitting next to her on the cold floor again. The hard ground beneath him was a sharp contrast to the softness of concern he felt for Y/N.

"Here, drink some water." He asked softly, handing Y/N the bottle.

The fragile girl took the bottle with hands that were still shaking but managed to open the cap and take a few small sips, each one firmer than the last. Nick watched her every move, his mind still spinning around the suitcase. The silence in the room was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unasked questions. He waited patiently, without pressing, standing by her side like a pillar of support.

After long seconds of silence, Y/N took a deep breath, her gaze shifting from the bottle to the suitcase on the bed. She knew she needed to explain. Nick deserved to know what was going on, especially after helping her get through that panic attack. She straightened up a little, trying to find the strength to speak.

"Nick..." She began, her voice still trembling. "I... I'm packing because I need to get out of here for a while. I can't stay here any longer, the way things are between me and..." Her voice trailed off into the air before she could mention the name of the boy she loved most in the world.

Nick felt a lump form in his throat, but he remained calm, waiting for her to continue. Y/N took another sip of water before continuing, her words coming out in a halting, painful stream.

"I saw Matt with Amanda today, you know? They were together, and he looked so happy… happier than I've ever seen him with me." Her voice cracked again, but she took a deep breath and continued. "It made me realize that no matter how much I love him, he will never love me the same way. And I can't keep destroying myself like this. So, I'm going to spend the night at Diana's house. I need some time to think, to calm down. Get away from here. Get away from him. And maybe make him miss me... Or finally notice that I'm not what he wants." The last part came out in a broken whisper, her gaze lowering to her crossed legs.

Nick felt a wave of relief upon hearing that she wasn't leaving his life forever, but the worry and sadness over her situation still weighed heavily on him. He wanted to say something, anything to ease her pain, but the words seemed inadequate. Instead, he just nodded, offering silent support.

"And please, Nick, don't tell Matt anything yet." Y/N asked, her eyes pleading. "I need a little time to understand what I'm going to do. He really hurt me, but I can't act on impulse."

Nick held her hand firmly, offering her an expression of understanding and support.

"Of course, Y/N. I won't tell him. I promise." He murmured sincerely. "You can have all the time you need. And I'm here for you, no matter what. I love my little brother, but I won't defend him when he's in the wrong end. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are, Y/N. Someone who loves you completely, without shadows of the past."

They sat there for a few more minutes, sharing that moment of stillness and understanding. The cold of the ground seemed less intense with each other's comforting presence.

Eventually, Y/N stood up, with Nick helping her place her suitcase on the floor. She took one last look at the room she had shared with Matt, pain visible in her eyes but also a growing determination. She knew she needed to step away to heal, to find her own strength again.

"Let's go." Nick's voice woke her from her reverie, his hands picking up her suitcase and walking it to the door. "I'll uber you to Diana's house."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Matt returned home with a beaming smile on his face, his heart still racing with the joy of the friendly encounter he had had. He had spent the afternoon with Amanda, talking and laughing like old times, and the feeling of familiarity and happiness was undeniable.

The boy climbed the stairs of the house with quick steps, eager to see Y/N and share his good mood with her. He wanted to hold her close on their bed, bury his nose in the curve of her neck, and smell her soft and natural perfume as he told her about his day.

But when he opened the bedroom door, a strange feeling of tension in the air made him stop. The environment felt different, as if something had changed, but he couldn't identify what it was. He entered the space, leaving the door open behind him, turning his body and letting his eyes roam the four walls, trying to find what was wrong. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance: the bed was made, his clothes were in the same place, the books were on the shelf, and the computer was on the computer desk. But there was an absence he still couldn't understand.

It was when he opened the closet that reality began to form in his mind. Y/N's side was almost empty. Where her dresses, skirts, and t-shirts once hung, now there were just a few lonely hangers. The empty space where her suitcase sat now felt like a black hole, sucking in all the light and joy he had felt moments before.

Matt felt his heart stop for a second, a feeling of panic starting to take over his chest.

"Y/N? Hey, baby? Are you cleaning out the closet by any chance?" Matt's broken voice sounded through the room in an echo, seeming to escape out the door and travel the entire floor of the house, his blue eyes still fixed on the empty hangers as his mind created the expectation of hearing the sweet, melodious voice back.

But nothing came.

Nick appeared silently in the doorway, watching his younger brother with a serious expression. Matt was so absorbed in his desperate search for answers that he didn't notice Nick's presence until he heard his voice.

"She left."

Matt turned abruptly, his wide, confused eyes meeting Nick's. The older triplet's expression was one of deep sadness, mixed with calm determination. Matt felt a wave of despair rise up inside him, like an overwhelming tide ready to swallow him.

"What do you mean 'she left'?" Matt asked, his voice trembling accompanied by an expression of terror. "Where- Where did she go?"

Nick sighed, taking a step forward, eyes shining with suppressed anger.

"That doesn't matter now. What matters is that you need to decide what you really want, Matt. She saw you with Amanda today, you know?"

Matt felt the ground disappear beneath his feet. He looked around the room again, this time with a clear understanding of what was missing. Y/N, the constant, loving presence in his life, was gone.

"I don't understand..." Matt muttered almost to himself. "I thought we were fine."

"Only you saw this. Seeing you with Amanda was the last straw for her. She loves you, she really does, but she can't keep living like this, Matt, not when she knows that you still have feelings for your ex." Nick scoffed, a disgusted tone echoing with his words, shaking his head and rolling his eyes in suppressed anger. "And you can't continue like this, dividing your attention between Y/N and Amanda. This is destroying Y/N, and you don't even realize it."

"But I... I was just trying to be friends with Amanda again. I don't have feelings for her anymore." Matt spluttered, confusion and guilt beginning to mix in his chest.

"Then why do you keep seeing her?" Nick countered, with no softness in his words. "Y/N loves you, Matt. She loves you so much that she is destroying herself because you don't treat her like you should. She needs you, and you're here, acting like nothing's wrong. And if you continue like this, you will permanently lose the only girl who has truly stuck by your side through thick and thin."

Matt felt a lump tighten in his throat. He tried to speak, but words failed him. The image of Y/N, the woman he loved, suffering in silence because of her insensitivity, was unbearable.

He felt foolish and insensitive. How had he not realized how much Y/N ​​was suffering? All he wanted was to be able to hug her now, tell her that he loved her, and that she was the only person that mattered. But at that moment, he realized how late those words could be.

"I didn't cheat on her, Nick. I really was with Amanda, but I didn't… I didn't do anything wrong." Matt's voice sounded choked, tears beginning to well up in his eyes as anxiety rose through his body like rafters.

"You think you didn't, Matt. But sometimes, it's not about what you do but about how you make the other person feel. And honestly? Giving priority to your ex, the girl who broke you and made you suffer for days on end, over Y/N, who you say you love oh so much, is low blow. Right now, Y/N needs space to breathe to understand her own feelings. And you need to truly analyze what you did and recant with her when she is ready."

Matt walked with shaky steps towards the double bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress, burying his face in his hands. The weight of guilt and regret was crushing. All he could think about was how he wanted to turn back in time, do things differently, show Y/N that she was the center of his world. Never have lunch with Amanda.

"I need to talk to her." Matt tightened his fingers around the brown strands of her hair, sniffling. "I need to tell her that I'm sorry, that I love her. I really do, Nick."

"I know. But give her a little time, Matt. Forcing a conversation now might make things worse. Let her process everything, and then you can try talking to her." Nick advised, watching him closely before he turned, walking towards the door. "And next time, treat her like the wonderful woman she is, not like a replacement."

Matt nodded slowly, begrudgingly, knowing his brother was right, the despair turning into a silent, constant pain. The room around him, which had once been a haven of love and shared memories, now seemed like an empty, desolate space. The mattress beneath his body, where both of their bodies lay together just the day before, now felt like an icy surface, sending horrible shivers through his body.

His mind betrayed him by making him remember the moments when he had treated Y/N with indifference and neglect, moments that he now saw with painful clarity. Each memory was like a stab to the heart, revealing the depth of his callousness. Y/N's smiles that he had taken for granted, the nights she waited up for him while he lost himself in thoughts of the past, the comparisons...

He could now see the small changes in her expression, the way her eyes sparkled less, how her smile became rarer with each passing day. She was withdrawing, and he was blindly contributing to that withdrawal.

Sitting there, now alone in the room, Matt felt the weight of his own guilt and regret. He realized that he had never made Y/N feel like the most important woman in her life. Instead, he had relegated her to the background, allowing the shadows of his former relationship to contaminate the present. Y/N's love and dedication towards him contrasted painfully with his own indifference.

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[tenpintsof-sundrop]

[Excerpt from The Jaws of Life - Jason Todd x GN!Reader]

Now part of me has holes in it - and part of me is whole.  We’ve only begun.  But I’m having the time of my life - rotting in the sun. We’re inside The Jaws of Life.

(Sequel to Emergency Contact)

The unknown man had his back turned to you, bulked up and broad with some armored tactical gear on, topped off with a mop of curly dark hair that twinged familiarity in your gut. In the middle of your kitchen island, there was a bright red helmet with a full face covering mask. One he seemed to have taken off and placed there - almost as if he was relaxing and making himself at home. 

If he sensed your presence, he wasn’t eager to turn around and fight you. He didn’t seem like he was trying to attack you. 

“Listen here, asshole! I’ll give you two minutes to get the hell out before I’m calling for back-up!” You shouted, gripping onto your bat tighter now. 

The man shut off the tap, and then finally - turned to you. 

You felt your stomach swell up into your throat when you saw that face. Even beaten up and bruised, blood dripping down his brow, taking sharp gulps from a glass of water that he had clearly gotten himself from the sink - it was so startlingly him. 

“It’s nice to know that I’m still your asshole.” Jason said, throwing you a smirk past the glass before he continued chugging the water, finishing off the glass before he put it aside with a hollow ‘clink’.

It felt like an illusion - a hallucination. Your feet were numb and you were torn between racing across the room to pull him into your arms and screaming at him - perhaps yelling at him to leave so the specter, the ghost of his presence would be banished. 

With your chest heavy and your head light, you finally managed to choke out: 

“J-Jason?” 

He looked at you with terror dancing in his eyes then, as though realizing for the first time that this sudden break-in might have scared you. That his sudden appearance, back from the dead, wasn’t the beautiful reunion that he could have hoped for. 

Jason was alive. 

[typellblog]

Illyasviel von Einzbern: The Hole at the Center of Fate/Stay Night

Emiya Shirou is the beating heart of Fate/Stay Night. Every character radiates outwards from Shirou, shapes and is shaped by him. He fights against foils like Archer and Kirei while growing alongside the three main heroines in each route.

There's really only one character who precedes Shirou in influence, who shapes him near-completely but cannot himself be shaped.

Emiya Kiritsugu is already dead, after all.

It's his legacy that drives the novel - but something oft-undiscussed is that Shirou only has half of it. He inherits his father’s justice, and the one that inherits his ruthlessness is Illya. Thus, Illya’s relationship to Shirou is dictated from the start.

She is everything his father left behind, the first gatekeeper of the moonlit world of death and magecraft that Shirou now finds himself in. In this role she transcends routes, appearing at the end of the third day to deliver a near-lethal attack just as the story branches off.

She seems intent to deliver Kiritsugu’s baggage to Shirou, to make him reckon with the past that he himself never experienced; the truth that a hero can only help those he sides with while many others are left alone in the cold.

In this way her very existence is a far more fundamental challenge to Shirou’s ideals than that of any other character - and yet this challenge is met only indirectly. Much of the information regarding her true identity and relationship to Shirou is elided until the end of HF.

She functions similarly to Sakura, a character who totally changes the reader’s perception of the first two routes in retrospect. The reveals about Illya force us to reevaluate how positive her ending in the Fate route really is.

In the narrative of Heaven’s Feel, both Illya and Sakura are considered ‘doomed’ - able to be saved only by Shirou sacrificing his own life to Archer’s arm.

It’s the crux of their characterisation, in the same way that Saber’s pursuit of the Holy Grail leads her into timeless and uncountable doomed battles. In a route based around that character, you would expect fixing it to be the main thrust of the plot.

And so just as the Fate route is focused on Shirou clashing with Saber over her lack of regard for her safety, and Heaven’s Feel is focused on accepting even the ‘impure’ parts of Sakura, there is no route focused on showing Illya that she needn't give up on having a normal life.

Instead all of her scenes in Heaven’s Feel are about accepting that she cannot have one.

This is the hole in the center of FSN that I’m talking about. Its absence is felt keenly throughout the novel, because Illya has another role besides a specter of Shirou's past. She embodies the prize and object of the Holy Grail War itself - the very same wish-granting device.

Many of the characters in this story are not fighting for the Grail specifically, but nonetheless their strong personalities and desires cause them to clash with one another, in a process Kirei sees as comparable to everyday life.

Their wishes, both in the form of the dead’s regrets and victor’s will, enter the neutral, empty Grail in order to produce a miracle. The only one not allowed a will of their own is the vessel of the Grail, who, in absorbing these desires, must completely erase their humanity.

Illya is not intended to have a reason to pursue the Grail, nor any life beyond obtaining it. The war is premised on the sacrifice of the Servants, yes, but nonetheless they enter as contestants. Illya, like Justeaze before her, enters the ritual only as a sacrifice.

And yet an outside element is introduced. Illya being part-human, the product of an actual family rather than just a clone allows for her to have personal motivations. She holds on to her resentment of Kiritsugu, despite knowing that it’s pointless, because it’s all she has left.

A parallel can be made to the Grail itself. Supposedly a pure wish-granting device, it becomes corrupted through the influence of Angra Mainyu, one small, perverse wish colouring the whole thing black.

The desired salvation of the Einzberns, their thousand-year project relies on being able to reproduce the miracle, to understand every component part of their attempts in order to draw ever closer to the Third Magic, but Illya is a random factor, born to a human parent.

She’s also their greatest creation since Justeaze. Miracles, after all, exist because they are not understood.

The corruption of the Grail with the darkest desires of the world is just the inevitable result of any wish - the price of becoming a human instead of existing as a machine. Live long enough and anyone would turn into Zouken, higher goals suborned by a base desire to escape pain.

Like Illya the Grail is a failed project, a tool that can only provide salvation of a limited nature & only fulfill its purpose incompletely, proof positive that true perfection does not exist in the world of Fate/Stay Night.

In Illya’s case the bug in her programming comes fundamentally from a desire for family, for someone to be close to her. Despite her dysfunctional initial approaches she’s perfectly capable of living normally alongside Shirou.

The issue, then, is the Grail War itself.

Her two sides, two different origins, come into conflict here, and her role as the Holy Grail consistently wins. Not because she desires it in any real sense, but because she doesn’t believe that she can do anything else.

Consider how the Fate route ends with Saber and Shirou trying to live without regrets, accepting both the negative and positive aspects of the past without dwelling on that which cannot be changed.

Consider how Illya in the Fate route doesn’t say a single thing about her condition, refuses to burden others with that knowledge, accepting the fact of her death and instead choosing to live in the moment.

Consider how the Unlimited Blade Works route is about Shirou trying to live without regrets, accepting that he will not always succeed, that his self-sacrificing nature will hurt him, but nonetheless his pursuit of that goal is worthwhile.

Consider how Illya’s death is used to illustrate this, how she cannot be saved regardless of whether Shirou makes the choice to intervene or not, how his sorrow is used as proof of his brokenness and his ability to move forward regardless is used as proof of his strength.

Consider why the Heaven's Feel route is named after the ritual that materializes the soul, why this is identified with salvation and rebirth by the Einzberns. I would argue that the Third Magic is a metaphor for the process Shirou undergoes throughout the novel.

He evolves from a machine into a human, gaining his own desires and the will to live. And just as Heaven’s Feel, the ritual, requires a sacrifice: Justeaze’s blood forms the foundation, so too does Heaven’s Feel, the route: Illya spends her own life to fully realize Shirou’s.

In moving past Kiritsugu’s legacy, he moves past his belief that his life is worth less than others. He wants to live, wants to let Illya save him, wants to let her sacrifice herself for him. In moving past Kiritsugu’s legacy, he moves past Illya.

I don’t blame him. I just want to emphasize how significant to this novel the existence of suffering is, how important the figure of someone who cannot be saved, how necessary a single person’s sacrifice. And how this falls on Illya in every route.

In the latter parts of the Fate route she quickly disappears from story relevance. Her functions as a Grail offer a convenient excuse to have her sleeping for much of the day, as it does for Kirei’s kidnapping of her, stringing her up as a sacrifice to open the gate.

In UBW we have Gilgamesh brutally ripping out her heart. He values her purely for her core, which holds the Grail, tossing aside the rest of her body.

If her role as the Grail is what drives her doom, though, she is at least partially able to overcome this at the end of Heaven’s Feel.

For a brief moment, Illya escapes the bonds of fate by uniting her deeply personal wish with the impersonal functions of the Grail.

She also dies. She fucking dies, okay? I’m so tired of talking about this as though it’s supposed to be a good thing, as though we’re just supposed to accept it as the best possible option.

It works precisely because we know there is another, because we know for a fucking fact that an Illya route could have existed, that her salvation is possible not just from a meta perspective but directly implied in-universe.

Illya’s power is to grant wishes, but she is incapable of giving voice to her own. She needs someone there by her side to tell her that it’s okay to want to live, and yet- Shirou is so fucking broken that he needs her to do that for him instead.

Illya could have lived, but she doesn’t, and in not doing so she carries half the weight of this story’s tragedy on her back.

In a way this is an excuse for the lack of an Illya route. I really do think its blatant absence adds something to Fate/Stay Night, really sells the tragedy of HF, becomes even more beautiful precisely because of its unattainability.

It’s a comment on how the artistic process, materializing your soul on paper if you will, is an inherently restrictive one, rife with failure and things left on the chopping board.

But it does not, not for a second, mean that we should accept the lack of an Illya route. It doesn’t mean the desire for it is a bad thing. It doesn’t mean that its addition would make Fate/Stay Night worse.

It would, however, become a different game at that point, and here I want to pay respect to the one that has lived alongside me for twenty years.

Thanks for reading, and happy anniversary to my favourite story of all time.

[robin-evry]

Is dead yuu right with you?

Tbh, I was a little confused at first because since are you referring to yuu who is similar to a ghost or a zombie or are you referring to yuu who is literally dead.

So I decided to create this, I hope it will satisfy you.

𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃!𝐘𝐔𝐔 👻👻

a ghost is the soul or spirit of a dead person or non-human animal that is believed to be able to appear to the living. In ghostlore, descriptions of ghosts vary widely, from an invisible presence to translucent or barely visible wispy shapes to realistic, lifelike forms. The deliberate attempt to contact the spirit of a deceased person is known as necromancy, or in spiritism as a séance. Other terms associated with it are apparition, haunt, haint, phantom, poltergeist, shade, specter, spirit, spook, wraith, demon, and ghoul.

( English is not my first language )

In this scenario, yuu died during the dwarf mine cave arc, they died by having their head being pierced by the pick axe of the monster. After their death was announced Crowley decided to hide the death, because it will stain the reputation of the school and their body was buried in the forest near the cave or was cremated and spread around the forest.

The good thing is that they have returned as a ghost unfortunately because they don't want to leave their friends and grim.

Ghost!Yuu appears ethereal, with a translucent form that resembles how they looked in life, but with a faint, ghostly glow. They still look exactly the same as when they died, but they do have an left open wound from where the pickaxe pierce them in the head.

they can speak, but only in whispers or vague, fragmented sentences. Some students can hear them better than others, while others may not hear them at all.

They have the ability to influence the physical world in small ways—moving objects slightly, chilling a room, or writing messages with frost on windows.

People can still see them but it's very vague the next thing you were walking in the hallway and then ghost!yuu would appear to walk past them. They can disappear or reappear but they can't control this ability.

They cannot appear in photos only if the camera has some magic in it to detect them, or they will appear but it's very vague only showing their outline that they were there.

Whenever their spirit is near, the temperature drops significantly, and lights flicker or dim. Some of the more sensitive students feel chills down their spines or notice frost forming on windows. It’s an eerie reminder that they are always watching, even when they don’t make themselves known.

They tried to communicate with the living by subtly manipulating their surroundings. They write cryptic messages in the frost on mirrors or use objects to draw attention to clues related to the mystery of the mine collapse. Ace and Deuce are the first to notice these signs, though they’re not always sure if it’s truly their or just their imaginations.

Since dead!yuu is not originally from this world making their ghost form more different than the ghost in twst. Their ghost form is more vague and they have limited access to communicate in the physical world unlike the ghost of twst since they can interact normally

They can pass through walls and objects at will, and can turn invisible when they want to avoid detection. However, they struggle to interact with solid objects, meaning they can’t always physically participate in daily tasks. But soon after enough training they will start to get better at interacting in the physical world

They can float or fly short distances, which makes traveling through the school easy. Occasionally, they finds themselves unintentionally teleporting when emotional, appearing in unexpected places without warning.

Though they can’t directly touch most things, they can subtly manipulate their surroundings—flickering lights, cold drafts, or moving small objects with enough focus and they can lower the Temperature of the environment they're in.

They can only speak in whispers or faint echoes, and not everyone can hear them clearly. Over time, they learn to control this, becoming more audible to certain people, especially those attuned to the supernatural.

They attend classes like any other student, though they struggle with certain tasks that require physical interaction. Teachers treat them with a mix of curiosity and respect, often assigning special accommodations so Yuu can participate. For example, in potion-making, they must direct Grim or another classmate to handle the ingredients for them. Over time, they learns to manipulate objects enough to contribute, albeit in unique ways.

Most students are initially wary of them, especially because they are a ghost. Some believe they bring bad luck, while others are fascinated by their presence. However, their personality (whether warm, curious, or mischievous) eventually breaks through these barriers, and they form close friendships with students like Ace, Deuce, and others. They also becomes known for pranking students, using their ghostly abilities to spook the more gullible ones like Epel and Sebek.

Even though their personality stays the same, dead!yuu is slowly suffering from depression, since they died here in twst, they realized that their soul would not come back to their original world or will be able to taste delicious food. Which may cause them to overblot.

attacks or magic cannot literally damage it usually phases thru their body.

During their first encounter malleus was admiring the gargoyles in ramshackle when dead!yuu pop their heads out and introduce themselves.

They also scared idia, they pop out there thru his monitor during an important game and he literally jumps back and faints, this causes the attention of Ortho who rush over his room ready to attack, after some explanation, they introduce each other and they would usually watch idia play his game during their free time.

Their magic allows them to interact with objects and people in a spectral manner. They can move objects without touching them directly, using ghostly energy. For example, they can open doors, pick up light objects, or create gusts of wind by channeling their spectral form. This ability could grow stronger with time, allowing them to manipulate larger or more complex things as they practice.

They can project ghostly energy to create shields or barriers. This magic is translucent, appearing like shimmering mist or ethereal light, and can protect others from harm, though it might be less sturdy than a living person’s magic. Over time, they could develop this magic to create temporary ghostly constructs—like weapons or tools—though these would have a fleeting nature and eventually dissipate.

They could possess objects and, in rare cases, people. When possessing objects, Yuu can animate them for a short period—think of a book flying off a shelf, a pen writing on its own, or even a weapon moving as if it were wielded by an invisible hand. Possessing people, however, is more taxing and would likely only be used in extreme circumstances. When Yuu does possess someone, it’s for brief moments, and they cannot control someone fully; instead, they might influence their movements or speech slightly.

They can fade in and out of sight, turning invisible or making parts of their body intangible. This allows them to pass through walls, avoid physical attacks, or remain unseen when they wish to observe something in secret. However, while invisible, their presence still leaves a chill in the air, and those attuned to magic may still sense them nearby.

They also have the ability to create mini ghosts or hollows that they can manipulate in their will These Hollows can come in different sizes depending on what the user desires The Hollows are able to fly and, being intangible, are immune to physical attacks. These ghosts can work as their eyes and ears around NRC. This ghost could take the form on how they were made, some ghosts were created to explode, work as clones for dead!yuu, can help reganerate magical energy if their friends are running low on magic, This ability is very versatile.

Their magic weakens significantly the further they are from the grounds of Night Raven College. Since their soul is bound to the school, they lose strength if they wander too far from its magical energy, meaning they can only fully access their abilities within the school or areas closely tied to it.

They cannot perform magic that directly manipulates physical matter in the same way living students can. For example, they cannot create fire, water, or other solid elements. Their magic is limited to more spiritual or ghostly effects, like influencing dreams, moving objects, or creating phantom constructs.

Get along with the other ghosts in NRC, they teach them how to interact and maintain their physical form for long as well how to pull pranks and use their ability.

Have a disdain for Crowley for hiding the truth from the world, he will excuse himself saying it jeopardize the school reputation as well saying they should accept being expelled then they shouldn't be in this situation this angered dead!yuu which causes them to make Crowley living days hell, obeject thrown around and other.

The Adeuce as well grim blame themselves for dead!yuu turning into a ghost, even though they said they were fine about it and that it wasn't their fault they still blame themselves for their unfortunate fate.

Grim was the most devastated by their death, and when they comeback as a ghost he refused to believe it and said they were just an illusion, after calming him down and talk to each other grim cried and wanted to embrace them but soon phased thru their body and he become more overprotective over them saying that it won't happen again.

[novankenn]

What If...

Pyrrha was also under the sway of Salem Cinder and Pyrrha love each other (Pompeii)

Scene : Beach of the EverAfter / Paper Pleasers Village

==> @soundkiller0017 What if Pyrrha destroys the paper pleaser village in a anger attack (beacuse she realise that she traded a really good live for a one in survice to a Queen that disent care of her and a manipulative lover) and after destroying the village she is met by a ROYALY PISS, ANGRY AND MERCILLES Jaune, Neo and Team RWBY who would give her a fate worse than death.1Hide replies

==> @watcher-servant The betrayer Spartan had stayed there... left in thought of what just happened. So with strain, she picked up her spear and walked on as much as she could. Coming upon a village, one so fragile so peaceful it only raged her all of this felt like a slap to her choices. So what did she do..she raged the peaceful village she came upon she destroyed...only when she stopped when she realized what she done, she would see a familiar umbrella appear before and it's holder looking very disappointed as a loud and very familiar yell is heard.

==> A/N - No redemption for the Spartan? You all REALLY seem set on me offing this Pyrrha! ==> A/N - In this version... Only Jaune and Pyrrha "fell", though I will do an OMAKE with Neo and RWBY also "falling" in a later post.

She had no idea how much time had past since she found herself near death upon this small stretch of sandy beach. Weeks? Months? Days just ran into each other, as she attempted to heal, and regain her original strength. She felt alone, yet she wasn't. She found herself at odd times seeing things, most notably the wraith of Cinder standing in the shadows of the forest edge. Gesturing for her to follow.

Then there was the more heart breaking ones. The image of her mother standing in the surf, a heart broken look upon her teary face. The exact look she wore when Cinder helped Pyrrha remove her as an obstacle to Pyrrha's relationship with Cinder. Had she made a mistake listening to Cinder's whispered words?

At odd times she also saw Jaune. Kneeling on the sands, just at the limit of her vision. Impaled through the chest with Milo, though these rare visions were accompanied with her seeing the rusted armor clade knight. His sheathed sword held in his hand, standing as if watching her.

Her nights were filled with whispers and nightmares. Words of condemnation, accompanied the angered and hurt looks of her former team and friends. Yet the whispers didn't alone happen during the darkest parts of the night. They also began to happen during her other visions, as well.

"Why?" was all that the figment of her mother would say. Over and over, in a maddening rhythmic cadence.

"Join me. Let us take this place." Cinder's seductive voice would float past her ears, even when her image was unseen. "They are weak... powerless. Show them your strength."

"Why linger here? Why allow the weak celebrate and flourish?" were Cinder's other enticing words. "Why remain here? Rotting away alone with nothing? Honor me. Prove to me the strength that drew me to you, still exists."

Yet, Pyrrha continued. Eking out an existence, as her strength grew, and the voices continued their relentless assault. Slowly of the was it days? Weeks? Months? Her resolve and intention to seek redemption was worn away. An anger smoldered in her heart. Embers of hate aimed at those who had what she had always craved. Acceptance, joy and love. Everything Jaune had taken from her.

Finally feeling strong enough to venture into the forest, she walked away from the specters of her mother and Jaune, to join the wraith of Cinder in the shadows. She felt the touch of Cinder's searing kisses upon her cheek and lips, and with her cold emerald eyes closed she revealed and celebrated the tainted embraces, before opening her eyes and taking the first step on her new jounrey.

The residents and inhabitants of this strange, nonsensical place seemed to reflexively avoid her. Hiding as she passed by. Her burning eyes, and wild unkept mane of flowing crimson a promise of what would happen if they crossed her path. The isolation gnawed upon her, as Cinder's seductive, wanton words eroded any thoughts that did not focus on her injustice punishment and isolated imprisonment. Pyrrha's mind twisted by the ghost of Cinder's venom raged at the loss of her happiness. Of a future with the woman she had given her heart.

Days blurred into one another, and time seem to crawl as she stalked through twisted land. A cruel smile crossed her lips when she found them. A village, of star shaped people. Foolish and cumbersome. The sound of their happy voices, and the sight of the idyllic scene, fanned the flames of rage.

"Punish them. Take what has been taken from you, my love." was the whisper of Cinder's poisonous, tainted words in her ear. "Take, and show them what your pain is..."

It was a slaughter. The razor edge of her spear cleaved the fragile people asunder. Her brute strength, bolstered with absolute burning hateful rage, allowing her to lay waste to all in her path. Her eyes shined at the carnage, her lips twisted with cruel joy as she unleashed her true self upon them. Cinder's venomous laughter following her every step as she unleashed desolation upon the people before her.

"I am Pyrrha Nikos!" she screamed in putrid victory, as she stood in the middle of the razed village. "Hear me, and lament! This world is mine!"

The creak of armor, from her right caused her to turn. Her sick smile becoming cruel, her eyes shining in delight. There he was, one of her tormentors. The liar who promised absolution. He who left her to wallow in misery and suffering.

"Look upon what I am!" Pyrrha cackled. "I am death! I am destruction! Bow knee to me and serve!"

"Disgusting." was his hollow response. "You were given the chance to become more than this disease, hateful creature you are now."

"This is who I am! Why should I deny myself from that which was taken from me? Happiness, love, acceptance! I was robbed of all this!"

"You could have found that all and more if you had followed a true path." the knight replied, while reaching up with his free hand to take hold of his helmet. "Your sins are many in this life and the last. Look upon me... and know..."

"Know..." Pyrrha's words caught in her throat, as the knight's helm fell discarded upon the ground. After several long moments she was able to croak out, "Jaune?"

"Look upon the face or your accuser... your judge... your jury..." with perfect motion, he drew his sword from its sheath, tossing the empty vessel aside without a care. "and... executioner."

Pyrrha was given no chance to respond, as Jaune was upon her in an instant. His blows were precise, and without equal as he unleash impassive, cold, judgement upon her. She railed against his onslaught, but if he was a monster the last time she faced him... now he was akin to demon.

She used all her skills, ever tactic, trick and tool at her disposal, yet she was found wanting in all regards. With a missed attack, Jaune gave Pyrrha an opening, that she desperately took. It was a feint, a purposeful misdirection. His response to her spear thrust, was simple and effective. Twisting to the side, he changed the direction of his longsword chopping in down upon the haft of her weapon.

Over balanced, Pyrrha was unable to recover before the keen edge of his blade split her open just below her breasts. She screamed in pain, her hand relinquishing it's hold upon her spear as she stumbled and fell backwards to the battle torn ground. Her eyes grew wide with fear as Jaune turned, and chambered his sword for a final strike.

"Cinder! Help me!" Pyrrha screamed out in a voice filled with utter desperation. A voice that was chocked off, as the vision of her love that had walked at her side for so long, gave her a cruel smile and faded away. "Cinder!"

Jaune's blade bit deep into her flesh, causing her to scream and screech in agony, as he drove in deeper and deeper. reaching down her twisted his hand in her matted mass of crimson hair, and pulled her to a seat position, eliciting a agonized cry. tears filled her eyes, as she finally understood what she truly had and was loosing.

She felt Jaune's warm skin touch her forehead. He teary eyes focusing on his now remorse filled blues.

"I prayed you would choose the correct path." he whispered. "That you would find and become the woman you had been at Beacon."

"Jau..." Pyrrha tried to speak, blood trickling over his lips.

"It seems that woman, was nothing but an facade to hide the cancer you truly are." Jaune continued to whisper. "Goodbye Pyrrha, may you finally find peace in death."

With those final words, Jaune pushed forward, driving his aged blade completely through her. Impaling the tainted heart of one he would have considered a friend. He watched, with tearless but remorseful eyes as Pyrrha's grew wide with the pain, and then dull as the light of life finally left her.

Withdrawing his weapon, he stood, and then went to work. As the sun began to sink past the horizon, Jaune finished his work. A small pile of stones places upon freshly turned soil. A spear, driven blade first at the head of the pile. he said no words, but just looked upon the fresh grave, before turning. retrieving his cast aside belongs, he sheathed his blade, and then seated his rusted helm upon his head, hiding his face in shadow.

"Goodbye." were the last words he spoke, before walking away, never to return to this place again.

[bots-and-cons]

Could i request Hcs of bumblebee and soundwave with reader being a ghost? The reader keeps it a secret cuz they dont want to scare the other humans and not confuse the bots out too much... but as time passes they notice the reader rarely eats or sleeps and sometimes if they look REALLY close they see them floating ever-so-slightly from the floor? Their cover gets blown when a vehicon shoots directly at them but the bullet goes right through them.. buddy out of fear fades out but comes back later to the base. How would the bots react?

A/N: I totally forgot I had this request, because I’ve apparently just been scrolling past this while looking for something I want to write lol. I also realized after writing the Soundwave part that I didn’t really followed the plot you laid out, but at least I did it for Bee, mostly, sorry…

~Soundwave~

•Honestly, you don’t even remember when you died, and the how is even hazier

•You don’t really care though, you’re a ghost now, it’s not really any use crying after your previous life

•So after wandering the earth for who knows how long, you came upon the decepticons and decided to sneak onto their ship

•What’s the worst that could happen? You were already dead

•Also giant robots? Hell yeah, that sounds like fun

•So yeah, you kinda become the ghost of the Nemesis, as if it isn’t haunted enough already…

•You’ve got the ability to become just barely visible and your presence makes cameras act kinda funky

•You also have the ability to pass through things, and you float just a bit off the floor/ground

•Soundwave of course starts noticing all these weird glitches with the cameras around the Nemesis and starts tracking what the reason might be

•He starts noticing this human shape appearing around the Nemesis, and he decides to get to the bottom of what’s going on

•You’ve observed these big ass robots for about a week now, and you’ve noticed that you managed to accidentally scare them so many times, at least some of them, well mostly the red one

•Soundwave finally catches you, well sort of

•He makes it known that he knows you’re there and asks you to make yourself visible

•You’re not scared of Soundwave, he can’t really do anything to you, so you’re sure he just wants to kick you off the spaceship

•You’re kinda disappointed, because you wanted to see more and you weren’t totally done with your exploration of the ship

•Soundwave observes you for a moment and concludes that you’re not a threat and just some sort of specter that’s gotten very lost

•You’re of course surprised that he just sort of leaves, so you follow him and start asking him questions (some might say you start haunting him)

•Soundwave of course isn’t particularly excited about this, but he can’t really do anything to get rid of you, because he can’t touch you

•He later realizes he can actually touch you, but it takes some effort on your part to become solid 

•You’ve actually not shown yourself to anyone else on the Nemesis, except Knockout, whose name you learned from Soundwave, but that was an accident, and now he thinks there’s a human ghost haunting the Nemesis

•He’s not wrong

~Bumblebee~

•Bee first ran into you on a lonely stretch of road that was a part of his patrol, he also noticed there was a recent car wreck on that same road, and candles and flowers left at the accident site

•He kept running into you though, again and again, and eventually you saw him transform when some vehicons attacked him on that same stretch of road

•So of course he took you to the base, and you became a part of the team, just like the trouble trio would later on

•You were the first “human” to really join the team

•Bee doesn’t really pay attention to little things such as if you’ve eaten or slept, because he thinks you just do those things when he’s not around or during the times you disappear

•He does start noticing little things, like you seem to be sort of idling, moving up and down just a tiny, tiny bit when you stand still

•He doesn’t notice you’re actually floating until much later, but he thinks he’s just imagining it

•When you eventually end up in the middle of a fight after you went to look for the trouble trio and try to keep them safe, you end up at the wrong end of a blaster

•This of course doesn’t really matter, because the blaster shot just passes through you and hits the rock behind you

•Bee has already tackled the vehicon, and he was sure you’d gotten hurt

•But you’re just standing there, oddly transparent and the edges of your body seem sort of wavy and oddly moving

•Bee is confused, but you’re annoyed and upset, because you feel like he might be scared of you now

•You and Bee go back to the base with the rest of the team, and you talk with Bee, explaining the situation to him

•When you first came to the base, you didn’t actually know you were dead, your state only became apparent to you a few days later, when you realized you hadn’t eaten or slept, and you had a bit of a freak-out

•You decided to hide it, because you didn’t want to freak out the autobots or have to leave, because you couldn’t go home, you were dead

•Bee understood, and he felt bad that he hadn’t noticed, but the two of you actually came up with a lot of fun stuff with your ghost abilities

[unironicallytes]

Thoughts on the Wrath of Sithis*, Where It Comes From, and Why Mathieu Bellamont Did Not Receive One (Now Purified!**)

*For the purpose of this discussion, "Wrath" is used to refer specifically to the actual enemy specter/wraith encountered in ESO and Oblivion.

**ifykyk, a lot of this is copy-paste from an old post we no longer speak of nor circulate because it got toxic real quick and we never actually got to discuss the topic itself.

Imo, Sithis does not send the Wrath - it is instead conjured by the Black Hand themselves.

In this idea, the Hand disguises their conjured Wrath as Sithis himself enacting unholy retribution against a Tenet-Breaker - this lends credence to their authority in a way that also absolves them of responsibility for what happens to a member. Sithis works in mysterious ways, my brother! This could also explain the following:

Lucien straight up pardons the HoK for the Purification. That is apparently within his authority to do, yet breaking the Tenets is always said to be a surefire way to invoke the Wrath. You break Tenet Five like 8 whole times within a day, but Lucien has the power to just wave it off for you and carry on business-as-usual. There is something decidedly "mortal institution of laws" about that rather than sacred retribution.

Greywyn lasted for years in hiding without getting auto-Wrathed as punishment for leading an entire coup. A mortal assassin found him and doled out a punishment, not a Wrath of Sithis. This could be because the Hand was unaware he still lived, whereas if the Wrath was Sithis-sent, that dude would've been deleted pretty quick.

No one in the Skyrim DBh is ever sent a Wrath for breaking Tenet One, perhaps because there is no Hand at this time. Cicero is the only one who attempts to punish Astrid for what I presume was breaking a Tenet (large presumption, as we are never outright told). You could argue Astrid got her karmic comeuppance, and perhaps the Wrath was her crispy death, but that can also be explained by her simple hubris. But, like I said, for the purpose of this discussion, we're referring specifically to the physical Wrath here!

(Another new, additional thought) When you finally kill Mathieu at the end of the Oblivion DBh questline, there is no Wrath to come and claim him as in the case of the Black Dragon confrontation. No specter comes to aid you (save for Mother, who's only there to go "lol. lmao even.") This is also potentially because, as in Case #3, there's no longer a Hand to even conjure the Wrath - the only ones left are you and Arquen.

(New, additional thought) The ESO DBh and its traitor, the Black Dragon. The Wrath does appear later to take her ... but notably, it only appears once you have informed your Matron - and subsequently your Hand - who the traitor is and where she is hiding. You have now given the Listener the true identity of the traitor. When they send you and Green-Venom-Tongue to take her out, perhaps they quietly summon a Wrath too - not only as a back-up, but as reaffirmation of its existence to those who witness it.

Venom also remarked the following during your vision of the First Purification: "In the old stories, the Wrath of Sithis appeared to carry away the souls of traitors. If that's true, I wonder why purification was even necessary?"

So then, if it's the Black Hand sending the Wrath, and the Black Hand does not know Mathieu's identity, they cannot send him a Wrath throughout the entire questline. This would be extremely bothersome to them, because his continued activities undermine that faith-leverage they have. If a lower ranking member of the Family finds out that there's a traitor, but that traitor hasn't been punched in the face by a Wrath yet, then that lends itself to the same question we're asking here and the same questions Green-Venom-Tongue started asking. It lends itself to a member going "wait, so an all-knowing death god isn't enforcing these Tenets? so ... as long as no one in the organization finds out, I can break them." And I think Mathieu figured out that this was exactly the case.

Now then, encouragement of participation is always implied on tumblr dot com, but I'm saying it outright due to the history lol - please feel free to add on with your own thoughts! Even if you disagree and have a different idea! The only thing required for participation is respect.

[fujii-draws]

YOU JUST KEEP FEEDING ME MORE AND MORE THOUGHTS, HUH.

Thinking about @fujii-draws' eepies with mine again...except WorseTM. I've illustrated them as meeting after Eliana has made amends with Dusknoir (so like post-post-post game in my AU haha), but what if it were reversed?

Little Eevee!Eliana just dazzled by Sylveon!Ribbons and her bubbly nature despite the hardships that she hints she's gone through. Asking for advice in how to maneuver in such a tiny body, especially in dungeons, as well as for how to support and help Lu advance and grow. Feeling a bit silly being older still but able to piggy-back on Ribbons' back (although she does get taller when she evolves lol).

Baby Riolu!Lu still trying to find himself and his place in the world, still working hard to master his aura-sight, feeling so insecure about his limitations and combative abilities to keep Eliana safe since she's usually the one that takes the brunt of the fighting despite him being more suitable for it. Finding comfort in Aimilios' and Ribbons' unconditional encouragement and advice on how to be a better explorer and partner to help Eliana with her amnesia and Scream.

However, the heartache comes into play when Eliana starts telling Aimilios and Ribbons about her good friend the Great Dusknoir. Do they know him in their world? He's very wise and kind and such an excellent conversationalist. She has learned so much just listening to him and he's very patient and gentle with her despite how rude she was to him at first and she just really respects and admires him (and it's so painfully obvious how much she likes him despite her not saying as much).

Ribbons and Aimilios just Look at each other knowing they can't break the "temporal prime directive" but feeling just so much dread and sadness knowing, at least vaguely, what will happen and how it might impact Eliana. Them feeling so conflicted on whether they should at least say something to try to prepare her emotionally but knowing they can't really interfere. God help them if they witness the immediate aftermath.

(And God help Dadnoir if he's anywhere near her afterwards.)

[animehouse-moe]

Pride Month Manga Recommendations: Currently Releasing

It's the first day of Pride Month, so why not find some LGBTQ+ manga to read to kick off the start of June? Take a look through this thread of 10 currently releasing manga and light novels to find a new series to pick up, starting with-

The Summer Hikaru Died - Soon To Be an Anime!

Yoshiki and Hikaru were best friends, until Yoshiki notices a change in the boy and comes to find out that he's been replaced by some sort of monster that proclaims his love for Yoshiki.

A fittingly disturbing affair, The Summer Hikaru Died does wonderful work as a horror manga, and expertly intertwines Yoshiki and "Hikaru's" emotions and feelings for one another with the dark and foreboding tone of the series.

Whisper Me A Love Song - A Currently Airing Anime!

Yori Asanagi is a girl better at guitar than love, but what happens when underclassman Himari Kino falls in love with that guitar work? Well, a string of misunderstandings appears that sets in motion this love song of a story.

Whisper Me A Love Song is certainly a bit close to cliché or melodramatic, but with Takeshima Eku's art, it becomes quite the appealing series. Certainly for fans of a more typically-styled love story, Whisper Me A Love Song is a very fun read!

I Married My Female Friend - from the author of Doughnuts Under A Crescent Moon

One day at a festival, Kurumi and Ruriko made a "promise" to each other: in 5 years, if neither found a partner, they would get married. That period elapses, and Ruriko comes racing back to Kurumi with a marriage certificate in hand.

I Married My Female Friend is both a lighthearted yet emotionally aware manga that feels like a spiritual successor to Doughnuts Under a Crescent Moon, skipping the challenges of finding love & heading for the difficulty of being in love.

Seaside Stranger - Also A Major (Animated) Motion Picture

A story of two young men estranged from their parents, Seaside Stranger finds a difficult love blossom on a remote island that begins as confinement for the pair as they work through their challenging feelings and pasts.

Kii Kana's art is really something, and studio Hibari's adaptation is equally beautiful- extracting the most out of this dramatic (and steamy) romance. I might add though that it's not quite for those brand new to BL thanks to explicit content, but it's a great read nonetheless.

Otherside Picnic - Both An Anime And Manga

Sorawo Kamikoshi, a university student, spends her free time exploring a creepy pasta-esque dimension she calls the Otherside where she meets Toriko Nishina as the two narrowly escape the clutches of death, starting their journey.

While it's certainly quite the slow-burn of a romance, Iori Miyazawa's horror-filled world is bursting with passion and discomfort in equal amounts, making for a riveting read with a romance that feels impressively real. There's also an anime.... but it doesn't quite deliver.

Cinderella Closet

Haruka's a "plain jane" who left the countryside to live a bright and fashionable life in Tokyo- which she struggles with before meeting her "fairy godmother" Haruka- a young person with an incredible eye and interest for women's fashion and makeup.

In a sense, Cinderella Closet is a very loud depiction of romance in "the big city", throwing curve balls and both romantic & emotional challenges at every turn. In the end though, it remains a very positive and encouraging story with each turn, making for a great read.

The Contract Between a Specter and a Servant

On the worst- and final- day of Masamichi Adachi's life, he's hit by a car and left to die in the streets at night... until the enigmatic Shino offers him a contract to save his life.

While in the same genre as Otherside Picnic, this light novel certainly leans more into traditional horror as it explores a tense but intriguing relationship between Masamchi and Shino. A unique and engaging (re-released) light novel, it's an easy choice for fans of horror!

I Want To Be A Wall

Though Yuriko and Gakurouta are married, no love blossoms between them, as Yuriko is asexual (and a fan of BL) and Gakurouta stills holds feelings for his oblivious (male) childhood friend close to his heart.

Sporting a wonderfully unique concept, I Want To Be A Wall is a story that more so focuses on the wedded couple's humorous day-to-day lives than anything. A very light and enjoyable series, it's very easy to recommend to just about anyone.

Confessions of a Shy Baker

Toshimitsu Yamamura owns a real estate company and is a baking fanatic- spurred on by the sweet tooth of his boyfriend Gonta. One day however, Toshi gets pushed towards advertising his services as LGBTQ-friendly, forcing him to reconcile with how this move that would help others might out himself as gay.

A manga that delicately balances the societal struggles of being gay with a bright and heartwarming romance centered around baking, Confessions of a Shy Baker is a great jack all of trades manga.

Our Not-So-Lonely Planet Travel Guide

Overly serious Asahi Suzumura and equally laid-back Mitsuki Sayama made each other a promise: together, they'll travel around the world, and when they return to Japan they'll get married.

A beautiful story that throws readers out into the world through destinations and stories, this is a manga that does everything it can within its pages. A forbidden love, a forgotten partner, struggles with laws that forbid love- together they explore this world and each other.

And that's all the recommendations for today, if you have any more you'd like to add feel free to share them here!

[littlekandiclown]

My thoughts on what flowers symbolize in Nevermore

(There might be some grammar and spelling mistakes because i have dyslexia so i'm sorry in advance)

So I think that flowers represent the growth and loss of relationships as well as the hope that Lenore feels for the future within that relationship.

I’m going to start with how flowers show up in the flashbacks first, then how they show up at the academy and end with how they specifically connect to Annabel because that makes the most sense to me. I hope you enjoy this.

Flowers in the Flashbacks

When Lenore talks to her past self in the memory of Theo's funeral they are talking about a flower that fell off its stem. This flower represents Lenore losing her relationship with Theo, and the isolation that this loss will to bring into her life.

Then when Lenore takes off all of the floral wallpaper from her room in the attic this is showing Lenore at the most lonely. At this time she has basically no relships with anyone and believes that this is how her life is going to be forever. So she chooses to cut herself off more by accepting her fate in a way and has lost all of her hope.

When Annabel comes into Lenore’s life not only are there flowers in the house but she is literally wearing flowers on her hat. This is symbolizing the growth or bloom of a new relship for Lenore and the reintroduction of hope into Lenore’s life. She now sees a future where she is no longer alone.

This connection between flowers and Lenore’s relships is further seen in how she destroys the vase of flowers after Annabel levels her. I see a similarity in this action and her ripping off the wallpaper earlier because they are both showing Lenore’s complete despair and isolation.

I also think that how Lenore describes the flowers further fits into the symbolism of them and Lenore‘s relationships. All of these words you could also see in how Lenore thinks of her relationship with Annabel and as a hole at this moment.

Ok this one might be a stretch but, you can see remnants of the wallpaper Lenore took down remaining on the wall in her memory before she burns down the house. I think this is showing the small amount of hope that her plan to come back as Leo and propose to Annabel has given her. It’s only scraps of hope like the scraps of wallpaper left on the walls but that hope and that relship will grow like flowers do.

This symbol is seen again with Annabel wearing a dress full of flowers when she meets Leo (Lenore) for the first time again. The flowers still only take up a piece of the dress though because there is still uncertainty within the relationship. But there are more flowers than the scraps of them before showing Lenore’s growing hope.

I also think that the engagement ring looks like a flower showing more of this symbol coming up. A bit of theorizing here but when Annabel accepts Lenore‘s proposal this will bring even more certainty to their relationship shown by the ring just being a flower.

Flowers while they are at Nevermore

The first time flowers appear at Nevermore is when they make the promise to protect each other they are surrounded by flowers, roses specifically. This represents the new and old growth of their relationship in my opinion. These flowers are hole there are no petals on the ground or in the air showing how certain Lenore is in this relationship at the moment.

Next before the start of the entrance exam they are in this courtyard area full of roses again but this time the air is full of the petals of the flowers unlike earlier. This is impotent because flowers lose petals when they dying. In this scene Annabel tells Lenor that they aren’t actually friends and that she doesn’t care for her. Lenore’s perceived loss of this relship is shown by the roses from earlier losing their petals like her loss of hope.

flowers are seen agen with Annabel’s specter when they are planning to meet up after the exam finishes. In this sense there are both whole flowers and petals. I think this is showing the distance that is still present between them but that they have a relship which is growing.

Interestingly in the arboretum when they actually meet after the exam you can’t see any acshawal flowers or petals. I think this is because Lenor at this moment still feels unsteady in their relationship at the same level she did earlier.

When Annabel and Lenor are in the arboretum agen discussing their relship you can clearly see flowers. Especially At this moment where Lenore is reassuring Annabel you can clearly see flowers framing that moment showing the growth in their relship and the certainty that exists within it still.

Annabel Lee and Roses

So I think that flowers in general represent all of Lenore's relships but roses specifically only represent her and Annabel. In a lot of the examples I listed that involved Annabel the flowers present where roses.

Annabel’s specter design is full of flowers, I interpreted these to be roses as well. I think the petals specifically could be relating to the loneliness of her specter and how distant her and Lenore still are.

This further connection between roses and Annabel is seen in this panel, where there are roses in the background. Interestingly the thorns seem to be emphasized more than the flowers themselves, I think this is because this scene shows more of the dangerous side of Annabel instead of the beautiful one. I think the thorns are emphasized to show the dangers that Lenora is starting to realize in her relationship with, this could also be maybe a new sense of uncertainty within their relationship.

Conclusion

I think that flowers represent lenors feelings on her relships with others. I hope you enjoyed reading this. It's my first time doing anything like this outside of school so it’s probably not the best, hopefully it was understandable at least. Let me know your thoughts, or if you have a different take than me. Thanks for taking the time to read this.

[kiwibeanv]

Cockblocked by a Ghost

Summary: Who would have known a ghost would ruin a night with Dazai. Fem! Reader.

Notes: I've been playing fatal frame 5 (so there will be references). Sudden idea. Thanks to @monoclesnapple for the editing.

Ever since you went to the mountain, the spirits followed you home. These past nights, you saw their misty specters wander your home. The random door slamming shut when you know you live alone. Soft whispers that make you look where they came from. Their appearances look awfully like the ones you repelled with your camera. The shrine maiden with gouged out eyes, the girl who cut her neck, and the lost souls that died in the mountain. The ways they died still plagued your mind, despite trying not to ponder on it. Those negative thoughts mixed in your head and nightmares became more frequent for you.

You decided to take a break from investigating the mountain for the sake of your mental health. Your café was calm and quiet which eased your mind at the familiarity of the routine. Dazai came in and took a seat at the counter near you. Ever since you met him when the ADA requested your assistance, he always came to your café first. His gaze landed on your face and he could see how pale you looked in combination with the eyebags.

"(Name)," He looked up at you with concern as he leaned over the counter. "My, my you look awful."

You rested your cheek on your hand. "I'm aware."

"Not getting enough rest? You know investigating at night does take a toll," He brought his hand near your arm where you held your face up. His index finger landed on your wrist and he let it glide down to your elbow. He made circular motions on that spot. He studied your expression and he noticed your eyes didn't make direct contact with his.

"Something bothering you?" Dazai asked.

"No it's nothing," You shook your head.

"Really? You didn't look like this before investigating," he pointed out. You let your gaze connect with his. This man is too good at reading people. A sigh escaped your lips.

"It's just all these visions from the spirits," you began. "The causes of their death. The pain they felt before their last breath. But that's not the worst part. They followed me home and it's hard to sleep at night. You know that they are more active at that time."

Dazai nods and took his hand from your arm. He brought it to his face to think.

"Don't you have another place to stay? Or did you try a hotel?" He asked.

You shook your head. "I don't. Nor do I want to spend my money at the hotel."

"Then why don't you stay at my place?" He offered with a grin. "It's free from spirits. You might get a better night of rest."

"Are you sure?" You asked. You didn't really want to make an inconvenience for him. "And if those spirits follow me?"

"Oh relax," he waved his hand off. "I think your ghosts are comfortable here. What ghost doesn't like the aroma of coffee and tea with an elegant home of yours connected to it?"

"Well I really don't want to burden you if that comes to it," you warn as you lifted your head from your hand.

"It's no burden for me!" He assured, placing his hand on his chest. "Besides, I get to have a lovely, gifted woman at my home who can fight spirits."

He takes your hands and his eyes glimmered at you. "My home is absolutely safe and sound~ And you are welcome to stay more nights if you need."

"Uh…" His offer sounded appealing to you. A break from your haunted home to finally get a good night. If the spirits stayed at your home, you don't have to worry about those lingering memories. "Sure. I will take your offer," you replied.

Dazai's lips curled upwards as if proud. After that agreement, you went to pack your things. All the things you need to stay for several nights, while he went back to prepare a space for you.

For a few nights, you were getting accustomed to the arrangements. He allowed you to take the bed while he took the couch. You didn't have vivid nightmares anymore. You finally had a moment of peace. After you settled down, Dazai started getting touchy. You had an idea of his tendencies with women due to Chuuya letting you know one time during your investigation in finding the two ladies. Little does Dazai know, Chuuya gave his number to you first. Chuuya offered it in case you ever had questions about Dazai or, if he hurt you, he could hunt him down and give him a piece of his mind.

However, you felt a mutual connection with Dazai. His touches didn't bother you, his compliments made you feel better about yourself, and there was something attracting you to Dazai like a hummingbird to nectar. Slowly you started to reciprocate his gestures to hint your liking towards him.

On this night, this time you asked if Dazai would like to share the bed with you.

"Yes! I would love to accompany you!" He answered with excitement. You lead him to the dark room, not even bothering to turn on the lights. It was night time anyways so sleep will be inevitable. His hand held yours as you pulled him to bed. Dazai slipped under the covers with you. He felt so close to you. His hand squeezed yours and you reciprocated.

You both faced each other in this quiet moment. Your eyes never leaving his, almost trying to look at his soul. He scooted a little closer to you. Though he didn't want to invade your space. But, you wanted something to happen.

You cupped his cheek with you hand and leaned in to connect your lips with his. His heart raced at your move and he kissed you intensely. You adjust your positions so the two of you found a comfortable position for the kissing. Lips demanded more contact. Tongues danced in passion. A yearning for touch of skin. His hand went under the hem to feel your side. The heat was rising between the two of you. But just before he could move his hand up, a faint knock on the door was heard. Both of you stopped for the moment. Dazai got up to check the door. What puzzled him was that he thought he heard the knock on the bedroom door, not the front. Still, he went to check if there was a visitor. There was no one.

"Huh, could have been a kid," he sighed and went back to you. "Now, lets get that pretty little clothes off you. Will you~?" He smirked. The makeout session resumed with the addition of slowly getting the outer layers off. It felt too hot anyways. Dazai was taking it slow for you. The build up was too fun to let go. He got on top of you and met your lips again.

When your lips parted from his, you saw a faint white mist in the corner of your eye. It disappeared when you centered your gaze at it. Dazai raised his brow, concerned if you were hesitating now. "Everything okay? We don't have to continue if you don't want to," he asked.

"No, I just thought I saw something," you shook your head, placing your attention back on him. Before either of you could do anything, you had a feeling of being watched.

"You have all windows and doors closed and covered, right?" You asked.

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow. Dazai didn't like vague hints for moments like this. He wanted your full consent. "Yes? If you're trying to make excuses, don't bother. Just say you don't want-" A loud bang interrupted him.

This made him got off you to get on guard. As for you, you had a feeling that a spirit must have found its way here. The signs were all there. Mysterious sounds, the odd white thing, and the feeling of being monitored.

He crept to the door which was only opened slightly. He tried to see through the crack but he met eyes wide as saucers. He flinched back but the face disappeared.

"So uh… about your ghost problem…"

You let out a disappointed sigh. "I did warn you about this possibility."

"Oh yeah…" Dazai looked away. "So will it attack us in our sleep?"

"Maybe yes, maybe no. Though, I did bring my camera in case it does," you replied.

"Right… let's get whatever sleep we can get."

Dazai joined you in bed again but this time, he kept his hands mostly to himself. The only thing he did was wrap his arms around you. There was just too many cockblocks to kill the mood. It was awkward to sleep in the same bed with arousal running in both your veins, but you didn't want any more disturbances or audiences. The spirit was relatively active. A few bumps in the night, some chilling whispers, but nothing more.

The next day, Dazai was in a dejected mood after the events of the night prior. He still goofed around, but when he was sitting still, his vibe wasn't necessarily joyful or anything usual.

Eventually, Chuuya found out about what occurred, and he was just cackling at the thought. He came up to you and took a deep breath to compose himself.

"Listen- I can get you a good exorcist," he lets out a chuckle before calming down. "Whoever you want, I'll get, or I can just get a random priest to handle it. If ya don't wanna go back home yet, I can offer my place so you don't have to go to Dazai. It's so much better than that stinky mackerel's and I got better food."

He leans in close to you and mutters with a smirk on his face, "Besides, dogs are more fun to be with than fish."

[another-lost-mc]

Thinking about mc summoning the boys from their shadow. Like it stretches out either in front of them or behind them. Levi slowly surfacing from the shadow like it's water. Or Satan literally crawling his way out of it. Grasping at the edges and lifting himself up out of mc's shadow.

Also for Lucifer I feel like he'd just step outside of mc's shadow slowly, maybe parting it like a curtain. As for asmo I feel like he'd reach his hands out first (maybe to grab onto MC or Solomon) as he pulls himself out of their shadow. For mammon he'd rise up or maybe a bunch of crows would surround the shadow until he appeared in a flurry of feathers.

For belphie I feel like he'd slowly melt out of mc's shadow. Like a blanket that's covering him. As for beel I think it'd be funny if his accidentally hit his head on the edge of mc's shadow if they're shorter than him.

It's getting late and words are kind of failing me right now, but I had some ideas about this sort of thing that didn't make it in the other post! if I can spit them out I'll add them to it later. Lemme see.

Lucifer I kind of imagined appearing in like a gust of wind behind a flurry of black feathers. He's flying slightly, hovering just off the ground behind MC. Even though the shadow forms are dark and generally void of colour, his eyes and gloves are still noticeably red.

I didn't really picture anything special for Mammon, but since he's so fast I could almost see him spawning at MC's feet and then sprinting past whatever it is that raised MC's hackles. The demon or whoever turns around and there's Mammon, crouched low and grinning with his fangs on display before he pounces.

No lie, I almost see Levi's form slowly rising like the shadow is black inky water, like you said. And it's so dark and obscure he almost looks like a naga emerging from the shadow until he steps forward and his tail uncoils itself from around his body.

I like the idea of Satan crawling out of the shadow, and the wispy shape of his feathered boa and his tail curling around his body makes him look bestial and menacing.

For Asmo, I think the first thing you notice is a soft, condescending chuckle. It's distorted and deeper, like an old audio recording. The next thing you notice is a pair of hands trailing over MC's shoulders—or around their waist—as he slowly wraps his arms around them from behind. He pulls MC against his chest and hooks his chin over their shoulder, eyes flaring and mouth widening in deadly amusement while he assesses his target. (Even if they try to run away, it's too late.)

Beel I almost picture him leaping out of the shadow and then hovering higher off the ground while his wings flap rapidly behind him, and then he's like a comet plummeting to the ground when he goes in for the attack.

Belphie is so slow and lazy, I see his pulling itself up from the ground by grabbing at MC's clothes, and then he yawns and leans against MC's back. He summons the specter then nuzzles against MC's neck or shoulder while the thing just obliterates whatever the threat was. lol

[witch-hazels-musings]

HI! I would like to request an event for mah Boi wriothesley!

um wormwood, feverfew, and hellebore? If i did it wrong im sorry, it's my first time requesting

Wormwood (nightmares), Feverfew (sickness, accidents), Hellebore (anger, wrath) Wriothesley x gn reader | Curse Ritual warning: Wriothesley nightmares about his past (emotions: panic, discomfort, images: blood, dead bodies, hints at torture (this nightmare is dark**)), relationship angst - NO COMFORT -- This is my first time writing for Wriothesley. I asked people for help on this and it broke my friend T.T

"Mom? Dad? Where are you?" Wriothesley called into the darkness, his hands sliding along the slick walls of the dim hall. A steady drip of water echoed somewhere in the distance, like a leaking pipe or a faucet left on. "Mom?" He continued, eyes squinting to better see the blurry shapes that appeared from corners, through cracks in the foundation, but every time he approached they were gone. Like specters seeping from submerged shadows.

Ahead he heard voices. Pleasant, filled with a love he recognized. He picked up the pace but before the amber light touched his small hand, he tripped and slammed face-first into the soiled ground.

"Ouch," he mumbled, rubbed his wet nose, and blinked through the pain. The light illuminated the ground he lay on but it wasn't the color of polished wood or grey stone, it was red. Caked. Coated. He pulled back his hand and found the shade painted on his palm.

Wriothesley screamed, scrambling backward only to collide with something soft, fleshy. A soft bell jingled, one he had gifted to his sister on her last birthday. He knew that sound. It rang out through his house every time she ran to show him a drawing she had made, or a gift she had scrapped together from bits and pieces found around the house. So when he looked at the face of the girl lying in a pool or red, he knew it couldn't be her. She'd never look so lifeless.

"It's alright sweetie, everything will be okay. Mommy would never hurt you."

Wriothesley turned toward his mother's voice. It floated down the corridor like a song she used to sing to him when he woke up from a nightmare. "M-Mom," he said, fear coating his weak voice as he crawled to it.

"Sleep, little darling. Lay down your head. Sleep, little darling."

Blinking in the light, Wriothesley struggled to make sense of what he saw. His body trembled, and involuntary tears dropped like rain below him as he watched his mother, the woman who took him in, who held him when he cried, who cared for his wounds and tucked him in slowly caressing the hair of his older brother while his father, the man who taught him how to stand up for himself, the man who reminded him of rights and wrongs took apart a member of his family.

His world tilted. Flashes of contorted faces rushed by him. The bite of metal in his hand, the crash of Cryo exploding again and again, and again, the screams. The violent, rumbling screams of betrayal and lies tore through him while darkness and blood-stained hands shielded his eyes.

---

"Wriothesley!" you screamed and shielded your head as flecks of ice cascaded around you. Prying your eyes open, you stared at the blank expression of the Duke towering over you. His fist flush against the wall, his hand caging your own beside your head. Fire and rage burned deep in his eyes. "Look at me, look -" You reached for his chin but flinched when his gaze met yours.

He was breathing heavily, as if each one was agonizing. Whatever nightmare he was having, it seemed he had yet to be free of it.

"It's me. Can you see me?" you asked, unable to stop the brutal tremors commanding your body. "Wriothesley."

He blinked and jittered like a gear dislodging from rust.

"That's it. It's me, it's me."

The agitation in his eyes faded only to be replaced with horror. He stumbled backward, shaking uncontrollably as he stared in disbelief at his hands. "What have I -"

"It's okay, it's alright," you explained and held out your hands to him. When you took a step toward him he took one back.

"Step back."

The pain in his voice broke you. You weren't sure what was worse, the whimpers that alerted you to his distress, or the way he looked at you now.

Agony in human form.

A tear rolled down your face so you quickly wiped it away. "It's okay-"

"Did I do that?" he asked, pointing to the red mark on your wrist. The sweltering truth of his actions.

You covered your wrist and stepped toward him. "It's nothing, you were afraid. It was just a nightmare. It wasn't -"

"Stay back. I - I warned you. Nothing good will come of me."

"That's not true."

"Allowing you to be here was a mistake. You'll be happier on the surface, far from where I can touch -" He snapped his jaw closed and breathed before turning for the door. You chased after him and when heard your voice, he stalled, turned, and moved toward you until he was inches from your face. "I -" His brows furrowed, his lips curled downward while his eyes searched you.

"You can't chase me away," you said defiantly. "I won't run."

"And I won't be the reason you get hurt."

"You aren't."

He rolled his eyes and reached for your hand, you flinched. "Then what would you call that?"

You squeezed your hand but all he could do was look at the mark he had left on you. "It was an accident."

"I cannot live my life with accidents. They get people killed. They hurt - hurt people I love," he said through gritted teeth, with pain and strain as if the words forced their way through without his permission. He was tormented, you could see it in his muscles, his expression, his eyes.

"Wriothesley-" he cut you off with his lips. It made you jump but not out of fear, instead, you leaned into it, held onto his lapel as he slid his hand through your hair to bring you closer. The kiss was feverish, desperate, and ended far too quickly.

His boots echoed in his office, met the rhythm of your beating heart as you stood there speechless while he fussed with a set of nobs and levers by the door. When he returned to your side, you breathed in his scent and hummed at the feeling of his hands near your outer hip.

"I like signs of strength and hope," he began as he ran his fingers over your ear, his eyes dancing between your lips and the discoloration forming on your wrist. "They give me reassurance that tomorrow will be better than today. I have lived many days with that hope, and come hell or high water, I will ensure your days forever remain better."

His voice broke but before you had a chance to speak the metal doors to his office roared to life and he shepherded you toward two Gardemeks waiting for orders.

Wriothesley cleared his throat and composed himself. "Escort them to the surface. And commit to memory that they are never allowed to return."

"What? Wriothesley, no, take it back - wait, let go of me!" The Gademecks held your arms and hoisted you off the ground. You flailed and screamed but they didn't listen to you, they never would. "Please, don't do this!"

"Live your life in the sun," he said as he held up your access card and watched, silently, as you were taken from his sight for the last time.

Thaumaturgy Anthology (October 11-13, 2024)

This event is based on spells and rituals. Inspiration does not equal understanding; liberties have been taken. All content is owned by Witch Hazels Musings, theft of these images and stories will result in immediate action.

[librarycards]

Hello! Sorry if you’ve posted about this somewhere already/if it’s redundant, but I thought your coinage of “transMad” was very cool and I’m wondering what that term means to you? I’m really happy to see other people talking about madness being intertwined w their gender/transness and looking forward to checking out your reading lists :))

thank you so much for asking about one of my favorite things to infodump about!! rather than rehash a bunch of stuff, if it's okay, I'm going to borrow a few quotes from past!me that i've published in different places // offer you some things of mine to read.

broadly, though, i use transMadness as a way to explore the identificatory, epistemological, methodological, and theoretical implications of an orientation (to use Sara Ahmed's term) toward bodymind noncompliance and self/selves-determination. this orientation refuses to delineate diagnostically between Maddened / transed experiences of the world/our many worlds, and instead takes this shared/overlapping ground as a jumping off point for solidarity and speculation - that is, something that allows us to imagine otherwise worlds / make them manifest through creativity and collaboration.

(Ha, and I claimed i wouldn't talk too much...famous autistic last words)

ANYWAY. here are some clips that might help explain more dimensions of transMadness. note that, in my dissertation-in-progress, i'm focusing on xeno/neogender and/as self-diagnostic cultures among queercrip and transMad internet users. i'm interested in the anti-psych liberatory potential of this digital community work, especially as it centers forms of knowledge and scholarship devalued within Academia Proper, especially because so much of it is made by and for disabled, Mad, queer, trans people, esp. youth. Onward to quotes!

On transMad epistemologies: citation/power/knowledge:

I’ll spend most of this piece looking not at what transMad is, but what it does. First and foremost, transMad cites. Even its name alludes to other portmanteaus: neuroqueer and queercrip being the best-known among them. Many people have offered many different (ever-“working”!) definitions of these terms; today, I offer co-coiner Nick Walker’s (2021) definition of neuroqueer: a verb and an adjective “encompass[ing] the queering of neurocognitive norms as well as gender norms” (p. 196). In terms of queercrip, I also return to its coiner, Carrie Sandahl (2003), who for whom the queercrip (as person and as method/movement) confuses the diagnostic gaze, bears sociopolitical witness, and performs glitchful[4], incongruous, confusing in(ter)ventions into possible community. At base, “queer” and “crip” appear as analogous, reclaimed slurs signifying marginalized transgression. When combined, they describe a loop, perhaps a Möbius strip: crip (ani)mates queer, queer tells-on crip. The specter of crip haunts queer—and even more explicitly, as we will see, trans—and the crip(ped) bodymind holds, moves, and fucks queerly. Who knows where “queer” stops and “crip” and “neuro” begin? Likewise, transMad, whose citational style leaves little room for diagnostic clarity amidst a pastiche of noncompliant text.

On transMad epistemologies: multiplicity (h/t @materialisnt):

They encourage us to remove others’ names from our bodies, to reign in unruly citations, to set “boundaries” which violate Mad, crip ethics of care (see Fletcher, 2019). In truth, any framing of individual authorship in which the body text is “mine” and the citations gesture “elsewhere” belie the inherent interdependence of all intellectual life, and particularly of transMad intellectual life. transMad plural scholar mix. alan moss (2022) argues in relation to the pathologization of multiple systems: “all people, indeed all that exists, is a system that itself is constantly enmeshed in several overlapping and interconnected systems.” In short, I am full of Is, and will continue as many more. Just as disability justice helps us understand all life as interdependent and deserving of access, a transMad approach sees our selves as numerous and fuzzy. We have permission to dispense with the need for tidy texts, with our interlocutors, edits, and iterations either obfuscated entirely or exclusively relegated to a bibliography. transMad citation may thus be considered akin to visible mending[6], creating flamboyantly messy, multiplicitous work that does not seek to pass as objective or discrete.

On the value of (crip) failure and/as "virtuality":

Don’t get me wrong: Zoom PhD work is a failing enterprise. That is to say, it is a queercrip, transMad enterprise, which is to say, it is a beautiful, beautiful project. Mitchell, Snyder, and Ware describe such “fortunate failures” in the context of “curricular cripistemologies.”5 Coined by Merri Lisa Johnson, the term “cripistemologies,” refers to “embodied ways of knowing in relation, knowing-with, knowing-alongside, knowing-across-difference, and unknowing,” ways which frequently exist outside the purview of mainstream academia.6 Curricular cripistemologies, then, refer to an intentional, queercrip deviation from normative pedagogical approaches which trades the corrective impulse of “special ed” and other rehabilitative programs, and offers instead a generative noncompliance.7 That is, rather than trying to identify, isolate, and ameliorate difference, curricular cripistemologies lean into difference as it is experienced by disabled students ourselves, querying how atmospheres of in/accessibility shape normative approaches to education and how the embrace of “failure,” not as a last-resort but as a first choice, poses potentially transformative possibilities.

On transMadness and fat liberation: (for @trans-axolotl's Psych Survivor Zine)

A transMad, fat approach to disorderly eating requires making connections with humility and understanding, and, as I discussed above, engaging in compassionate, critical interrogation of our own anti-fatness.

[...]

A transMad, fat, abolitionist politic is one that makes room. We imagine beyond the cage, even if the details of that imagining are not yet clear. Just as we have carved micro-sites of support within violent digital and in-person contexts, just as we have learned to think about our lifeworlds beyond the paradigm of “recovery or death,” we can also reconceptualize fatness not as the enemy, but as another form of bodymind noncompliance in alliance and/or entanglement with disorderly eating practices. For thin disorderly eaters, this requires us to fundamentally challenge the way we view food and embodiment, even while maintaining a Mad respect for alternative ways of approaching reality.

On xenogenders, virtuality, and self-determination:

It is this very “irrationality” –– the “unrealness,” the “you’ve-got-to-be-kiddinghood,” that is most frequently weaponized against xenogenders, as well as their newly-coined sets of xenopronouns. The perceived and actual virtuality of xenogenders is often placed against the notion of “actuality,” in this case, of “real” (or “practical”) genders and pronouns to be used in one’s “real life.” Disabled activists have rightly resisted the distinction between online and (presumed-offline) “real life,” given that this categorically excludes homebound bodyminds, as well as those without IRL social and support circles. That said, I believe the virtual –– as almost, not-quite, proximite, making-do –– is incredibly useful in thinking about xenoidentities as transMad tools –– particularly, as transMad tools of underground collaboration / co-liberation.

[...]

What if gender was a project we wanted to fail? That is, what if trans- was a process not of getting better, not of moving-toward a bodymind more sane, more straight, and more cisheteropatriarchially desirable, but rather a line of flight on a longer trail to illegibility? Indeed, what if we replaced pathology’s narrow “path” with a trail lighted by the language of our comrades, whose linguistic interventions make and break gender in ways heretofore unimaginable? Xenoidentities, both individually and as a trans-gressive M.O., are fundamental to a broader transMad project of crafted, collective illegibility; intersubjective citation (imagine what it feels like for someone to be the gender that you coined!); and collective care that refuses a politics of cure. Crucially both virtual and digital, xenoidentities are furthermore a manifestation of the power of trans, predominantly disabled digital counterpublics, who overturn the hierarchy which places the IRL-real above the digital-unreal, making unruly, Mad space in which (with apologies to Donna Haraway) a hundred xenoselves might bloom.

On Maddening queer "diagnosis":

In her indictment of all “Kwik-Fix Drugs,” Gray further indicates the practice of forced treatment as in and of itself as a project of violent normalization, regardless of specific target or reason. The intentional ambiguity between her narrative of Madness and her narrative of asexuality disrupt mounting demands for a healthy (sanitized, neoliberal, and consumable) queerness. A Mad ace approach identifies these demands as, indeed, comparable with cis heteronormative notions of sexual maturity and responsibility – the idea that participation in culturally-normative sexual practices is a prerequisite for health (Kim, 2011, 481) and thus, personal autonomy (Meerai, Abdillahi, and Poole 2016, 21). By fusing the “lack of sexual appetite” attributed to her medications for bipolar disorder with her asexuality, Gray destabilizes the binary between healthy-sexual-diversity and unhealthy-psychopathology. She is once again disrupting contemporary queer impulses to dissociate from ongoing histories of pathologization. Here, Mad and queer/asexual activism are as inseparable in text as they are in Gray. Gray and her comrades collectively refuse both sexuality-as-“rehabilitation” (See Kim 2011, 486) and asexual acceptance predicated upon normative “health” (Kim 2010, 158) – that is, they Madden asexuality. Twoey, in her own voice, remixes the sources of her own pathologization, staggering the supposedly-divine pronouncement of the DSM across pages and bookending its extracts with her own writing and art. In this undermining of the DSM’s epistemological polish, Gray disrupts the domination of written prose over poetry and visual art, while also critiquing the role of the DSM in commercialized health “care.” Her zine opens with the lines “sex sells and sex is sold / sex was being sold and i didn’t buy” (Gray 2018, n.p.). Gray indicates a pathology perceived not only in a refusal to practice sex, but also in a refusal to buy (into) it. After all, a refusal to buy into existing sexual paradigms is for her also a refusal to buy into a feminized reproductive mandate.