#people are less scared to talk to the machine than real people

[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 slit, 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.

“And 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 your cum to 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 oblivion for what it seem endless eternity, 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,” you 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 reassured, 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.”

[starkeyslibrary]

FALLING OUT OF FRAME | Part 8

pairing: you x drew starkey

The café smells of freshly ground coffee beans and warm pastries, a cozy refuge in the heart of downtown. It’s quiet, save for the hum of conversation and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. You hadn’t wanted to come—your instinct had been to ignore Odessa’s message and pretend it didn’t exist. But something about the vulnerability in her words, the quiet plea buried in her request, had made you pause.

Now, sitting across from her, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Odessa looks different than she did in the tabloid photos. Less polished, more real. Her hair is tied back in a loose braid, and her sweater is soft and worn.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Odessa begins, her voice hesitant but sincere. She wraps her hands around her coffee cup, as though it might anchor her.

You offer a curt nod, your guard firmly in place. “Why am I here, Odessa? What do you want from me?”

Odessa flinches, but she doesn’t shy away. “I don’t blame you for being sceptical,” she says carefully. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to. But… I wanted to set the record straight.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Set the record straight? Why now? Why not months ago when all of this was happening?”

“Because I was scared,” Odessa admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of what people would say, scared of making things worse. But I’ve seen how much this has hurt Drew. And… how much it’s hurt you.”

Your jaw tightens. “So, what? You’re here to tell me it was all just a big misunderstanding? That it didn’t mean anything?”

Before Odessa can respond, movement at the corner of your vision catches your attention. A man at a nearby table has his phone angled toward you, snapping pictures. Your stomach twists.

“Great,” you mutter under your breath.

Odessa follows your gaze, her expression hardening. “Ignore it.”

She hesitates, then nods. “That’s exactly what I’m here to tell you. The PR thing—it was fake. Every smile, every photo, every headline. It wasn’t real. Drew and I were never together. We were never anything more than friends.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. You stare down at your coffee, the steam curling up like a ghost of something you can’t quite grasp.

“I know that now,” you say finally, your voice tight. “But it doesn’t change what it felt like at the time. It doesn’t erase the months I spent watching you two plastered across every magazine, every social media post. It doesn’t erase how small it made me feel.”

Odessa looks stricken, guilt flashing across her face. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice trembling. “I didn’t think about how it would affect you. I didn’t think about how much it would hurt.”

Your eyes flick up to meet hers, sharp and unyielding. “No, you didn’t.”

The tension between you is palpable, a chasm filled with pain and regret. For a moment, it seems like the conversation will end there, the silence stretching too wide to bridge.

But then you speak, your voice steady. “You don’t need to apologize to me, Odessa. You weren’t the one who broke my trust.”

Odessa’s brow furrows, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“You don’t owe me loyalty,” you continue, your gaze unwavering. “You don’t owe me anything. Drew does.”

Odessa’s breath hitches at that, and you see the recognition in her eyes—the realization that the problem was never about her, but about Drew’s choices.

“I get it,” Odessa says softly, her voice strained. “I’m not trying to make excuses. I just thought you should know that Drew… he’s not the person he was back then. He’s been struggling with everything. With you, with me, with what happened. He’s really trying.”

You shift in your seat, your posture tightening. You don’t want to hear about Drew’s struggles—not from her. “That’s between me and him,” you reply, your tone firm. “I didn’t need to hear about Drew from you. What I needed was for him to be honest with me. To not lie, to not play games.”

Odessa opens her mouth to respond, but you hold up your hand, silencing her. “I’m not angry at you, Odessa. You don’t owe me any kind of apology. But Drew? He owes me everything. He’s the one who promised me something real and then shattered it with lies.”

Odessa lowers her gaze, nodding as she absorbs your words. There’s a quiet understanding between you now—no more apologies, no more empty explanations. The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of everything that has happened.

Odessa’s eyes grow glassy, as though the weight of her own guilt has finally caught up with her. She nods again, a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says quietly, standing up to leave. “But I just want you to know that I never meant for this to hurt you. I don’t know if you’ll ever believe that, but… it’s the truth.”

You don’t say anything, watching as Odessa walks away, her shoulders heavy with her own regrets. It’s not your job to absolve her, but there’s a small part of you that feels lighter after the conversation. It’s done. You’re not the one who has to bear this burden any longer.

But as you leave the café, the unease you’ve been feeling for weeks doesn’t dissipate. It follows you out into the crisp evening air, a constant reminder that, despite the conversation with Odessa, the real battle is still ahead.

The photos hit the internet that evening.

“Odessa A’ Zion spotted with Drew Starkey’s rumored ex, Y/N! Are they teaming up or hashing it out?”

The headlines are relentless, the comments even worse. Your phone buzzes incessantly with texts and notifications, each one a reminder that your life is once again under a microscope.

By the time the party rolls around—a casual gathering at Jonathan’s place—you’re emotionally spent. The music thrums softly through Jonathan’s house, blending with the hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter.

You arrive an hour early, feeling a mix of anticipation and dread. Jonathan’s gatherings are always lively, drawing a mix of familiar faces and a few strangers. You don’t know what you’re hoping for—maybe just a distraction from the chaos your emotions have been in lately.

You nurse a drink as you make your way through the room, exchanging pleasantries with people you haven’t seen in months. But your focus is scattered, your mind drifting to places you’ve sworn not to go.

And then, like a gravitational pull, you spot him.

Drew stands on the far side of the room, laughing with Chase, his head tilted back in a way that’s achingly familiar. The sight hits you like a punch to the chest, your breath catching as memories flood you—the sound of his laughter, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

Your first instinct is to look away, to retreat before he notices you. But your feet refuse to move. Instead, you stay rooted to the spot, watching him like he’s some untouchable star in a galaxy you no longer belong to.

Chase says something that makes Drew laugh again, but then his gaze shifts, scanning the room. When his eyes land on you, the smile falters, replaced by something you can’t quite name. Surprise? Hope?

Whatever it is, it makes your heart race.

He hesitates for a moment, as if deciding whether to approach you. Before he can make a move, Jonathan appears at your side, his grin as wide as ever. “You made it!” he says, his voice warm.

You force a smile, grateful for the distraction. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Jonathan glances over his shoulder, following your gaze to Drew. His smile falters briefly, but he recovers quickly, his tone casual. “You two talked yet?”

“Not really,” you reply, your voice tight.

Jonathan studies you for a moment, then sighs. “You know, he’s been asking about you. A lot.”

Your eyes dart back to Drew, who is now watching you with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. “That doesn’t mean anything,” you say quietly.

“Maybe,” Jonathan says. “But maybe it does.”

Before you can respond, Jonathan claps a hand on your shoulder. “Look, whatever you decide, just know that it’s okay to take your time. No pressure. And hey, if you need a distraction, there’s beer pong in the back.”

You manage a laugh, nodding as Jonathan walks away. But your gaze drifts back to Drew, who is still standing there, as if waiting for a sign from you.

You’re not sure what possesses you to do it—maybe it’s the weight of his stare, or the way your heart seems to pull toward him despite everything. But you start walking, your steps slow and hesitant, until you’re standing in front of him.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice equally quiet.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The world around you seems to fade, the noise and chatter becoming a distant hum.

“You look… good,” Drew says finally, his gaze flickering over you before settling on your eyes.

“Thanks,” you say, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You too.”

He smiles faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same,” you admit.

There’s an awkward pause, heavy with all the things left unsaid. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the way he seems to be searching your face for something—what, you don’t know.

“I’m glad you came,” he says suddenly, his voice soft but earnest.

You look up at him, your heart pounding. “Why?”

“Because…” He hesitates, running a hand through his hair. “Because I miss you. I miss us. And I know I don’t have the right to say that, not after everything, but it’s the truth.”

Your breath catches, the rawness in his voice cutting through your defenses. “Drew…”

“I know I messed up,” he says quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I know I hurt you in ways I can’t take back. But I’ve been trying. I’ve been trying so hard to be better, for you. And I know it might be too late, but I just need you to know that I’m not giving up.”

You stare at him, your emotions warring between anger, sadness, and a longing you can’t quite suppress. “You can’t just say these things and expect everything to be okay,” you say, your voice trembling. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer, his eyes locked on yours. “I don’t expect it to be okay overnight. But I need you to know that I’m not the same guy who let you down before. I’m not perfect, but I’m trying. And I’ll keep trying, for as long as it takes.”

The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming, and for a moment, you feel like you can’t breathe. You want to believe him, want to let yourself fall into the warmth of his words. But the scars he left are still too fresh.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“You don’t have to decide now,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “Take your time. Take all the time you need. Just… don’t shut me out completely.”

Your eyes fill with tears, and you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. “I don’t know if I can believe you,” you say honestly.

“Then let me prove it to you,” he says, his voice unwavering.

The moment stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Finally, you nod, your movements slow and hesitant. “Okay.”

A small, hopeful smile tugs at his lips. “Okay.”

And for the first time that night, you feel a flicker of something you haven’t felt in months—a spark of hope.

Your breaking point comes days later, when new photos of Drew and Odessa surface—old promotional shots from their PR arrangement that had been planned weeks ago.

Furious and fed up, you drive to Drew’s house, your emotions bubbling over in a storm of anger and heartbreak.

When he opens the door, his eyes widen in surprise. “Y/N—”

“You’re unbelievable,” you spat, shoving your phone toward him. “You said it was over! That you ended this PR nonsense with Odessa! Was that just another lie?”

Drew blinks, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“These pictures, Drew!” you say, your voice rising. “How could you do this to me? How could you—”

“Y/N, stop,” he interrupts, his tone firm but gentle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me see.”

You hesitate, then hand him the phone. His brows furrow as he scrolls through the images. “These are from weeks ago,” he says finally. “I didn’t even know they were coming out.”

Your anger falters, replaced by uncertainty. “You… didn’t?”

“No,” he says, his voice softening. “And I’m sorry you had to see them. But I swear to you, they don’t mean anything. I ended that for a reason—you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache, unraveling the tight coil of rage you’d held onto since the moment the photos surfaced. “I just—” you start, your voice trembling. “I can’t keep doing this, Drew. The public spectacle, the headlines, the constant reminder of everything I’m trying so hard to move past. I don’t know if I can take it anymore.”

His eyes soften, his voice steady but filled with quiet desperation. “I know I’ve made this so hard for you, Y/N. But I swear to you, I’ve changed. I ended things with Odessa, I’ve been doing everything I can to prove myself, and still—it’s not enough. I don’t know what else to do, but I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep trying until you believe me, even if it takes the rest of my life.”

You freeze at his words, your breath hitching in your throat. The rawness in his voice, the way his eyes search yours, as if you hold the answer to all his pain—it undoes you.

“You think you can just say the right things, and it’ll fix everything?” you whisper, your voice cracking. “It’s not that simple, Drew.”

“I know it’s not,” he says, stepping closer, his presence filling the small entryway like a tidal wave. “I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight, or even at all. But I need you to know that I’m not giving up. Not on you. Not on us.”

The vulnerability in his eyes—the way he stands before you, utterly exposed—is too much. Something inside you snaps, the months of pent-up anger, longing, and heartbreak crashing together in a wave you can’t fight anymore.

Without thinking, without weighing the consequences, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him down to you, your lips crashing against his with a force that surprises even you.

For a moment, Drew freezes, his breath hitching in shock. But then his hands find your waist, tentative at first, as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. When you don’t pull away, his grip tightens, drawing you closer, his body pressing against yours like he’s afraid to let go.

The kiss is messy, frantic, and unrelenting—a collision of every emotion you’ve both kept bottled up for too long. Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer as if you can erase all the distance between you. His fingers curl into the fabric of your jacket, his touch grounding you even as your head spins.

You can taste the salt of your own tears on your lips, feel the way his breath shudders against your cheek, and it’s all too much—not enough. He kisses you like you’re air, like he’s been suffocating for months and you’re the only thing keeping him alive. And in that moment, you feel it too—the way your broken pieces still fit together, jagged edges and all.

When you finally break apart, it isn’t because either of you wants to. You pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his as you stand there, tangled in each other’s space. Your chest heaves, your fingers still clutching his shirt like a lifeline.

Drew’s eyes flutter open, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your knees weak. “Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I—I don’t deserve you. But I swear to you, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you don’t pull away. “You broke me, Drew,” you say softly, your voice shaking. “You broke me in ways I didn’t even know were possible. I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole again.”

His hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. “Then let me help you put the pieces back together,” he murmurs. “Even if it takes the rest of my life, I’ll do whatever it takes. Just don’t shut me out.”

You close your eyes, letting his words sink in, letting yourself feel the weight of them. For the first time in months, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—they aren’t beyond saving.

But you aren’t ready to say it out loud, not yet. Instead, you lean into him, letting the warmth of his embrace speak for you.

For now, it’s enough.

TAGLIST: @princesspeach124 @idiotussupremus @eitaababe @13tter @drewsephrry @drewstarkeyzwhore @cooper8224 @maybankslover @elyseesarchive @ietss @esquivelbianca @josephandrewstarkey @willowpains @wtfdudesblog @purplerose291 @rafegf-real @matthewswifeyy @fangirl-magic @snowtargaryen @slut-era @leather-n-velvet

[itsabouttimex2]

Fizzling Neon

“…can I tell you something that bothers me?”

There’s not quite a sneer on your coworker’s face, but the expression he wears while turning to you is regardless unhappy. The man’s never much cared for your rambles, and especially not while the two of you were on kitchen duty.

Then, he’s never much cared for you in general.

But if he has to choose between his own thoughts (centering mostly on his ex-wife, if you had to guess) your awkward ramblings, or a droning and dead silence that was cut only by Chica’s muffled gorging, the gray-haired man would probably pick you, though he would do so reluctantly.

Very reluctantly.

“Well?” the aged man finally grunts, arms crossed as he leans back against the counter. His tense posture screams impatience, but at least he’s waiting for you to say something instead of outright ignoring you. “What is it?”

You hesitate, unsure if you should bother, even with his explicit approval. Your coworker doesn’t like you- he’s made that clear enough over the past four months. Still, there’s something gnawing at you, something you need to get off your chest before it eats you alive. A rattling clatter of pots and pans kicks up in the washing area, accompanied by incessant crunching noises- the avian animatronic must’ve gotten into an unfinished dish.

You don’t want to sound like some manic conspiracy theorist, of course- that type pops up on the premises of the Pizzaplex constantly, filming themselves as they harangue the workers and scare the children- only to scurry away when you pleaded with Monty to scare them off- the kids always got a kick out of that, at least.

Still, all antics aside… maybe talking about it would do you some good.

“…it doesn’t make any sense for them to be animatronics.”

He turns to you, sporting an expression that implies you may well have grown a second head, utterly dumbfounded by such an out of pocket (to him) statement.

His brows knit together tightly, lips twisting into a grimace that makes him look even less pleasant than he already does. “What in the blazing hell are you even talking about?” he finally asks, his voice a low growl that barely carries over the distant clang of metal on tile as Chica shuffles around.

You squirm for a moment, then spill in a hurried rush of words built around cobbled knowledge from your childhood.

“It’s just… these are… they’re robots. And, animatronics are, well, they�� animatronics- real animatronics, I mean, they’re- they’re puppets! Animatronics are supposed to be puppets hooked to machinery hidden in the ground, machines that host the puppet’s programming for the routines they perform! They’re supposed to be fragile, breakable! You’re supposed to be able to shatter them, shove them around, pick them up and throw them- in case they break down and block people in an emergency! Or, or like… the design specs, in general, they’re- so like, if an animatronic closes around a kid’s hands, the design specs of these things are specifically built to be fragile enough to never exert enough force to hurt the kid! They’re not supposed to be able to move arcade machines, or jostle vending machines, or pick up kids! And-“

“You know what, kid? And I’m gonna be real level with you, just cause I don’t think the management bothers doing it when they really should- nobody gives half a damn about your autist bullshit. They were always called animatronics. From the first fucking pizzeria to the last pissing pizzaplex, they were animatronics, puppets, machines, and no one except for you gives a shit about the name they use. And look, you wanna obsess over this crap, fine. Just don’t bring it up with me again. Got enough on my plate without babysitting your paranoia about trivial corpo branding bullshit.”

He throws his soiled dishrag against the metal interior of the sink before him, then stomps off towards the staff room in order to punch out and head home, probably hoping to down a fifth of whiskey and pass out.

You stand there in shocked silence for a moment, throat tight and eyes growing wet, trying to compose yourself as the angry pounding of his footsteps fades away.

It hurts. You wish it didn’t hurt so bad, especially when the scorn comes from someone you don’t particularly know or care for, someone you know doesn’t particularly care for you.

You want to shove those painful feelings away, because you know if you dwell on it too long, you’ll start spiraling, and there’s no one here who wants to listen- not without mocking you or brushing you off.

Except- the sound of metal footsteps breaks your train of thought, and those steps are heavy and deliberate, echoing through the empty kitchen. You freeze, pulse quickening, because it’s late, nearly time to close, and you’re very certainly the last person in the pizzaplex.

“Oh, Superstar…”

His voice, as always, is smooth and warm, carrying an affectionate tone that he usually reserves for children. You don’t need to turn around to know who that soothing voicebox belongs to.

You swallow, hard, gripping the edge of the kitchen countertop as the sound of metal feet against porcelain grows louder. He’s close now, just behind you, and you feel the subtle hum of his mechanical frame, a strange, ever-present vibration that seems to radiate from him, and you are awash in the cyan hue that drifts from his mechanical body.

Glamrock Freddy.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out at first. There’s a lump buried deep in your throat, and with it there’s a fear that if you try to explain yourself, you might break down entirely.

Freddy waits, a patience so unshakable it mirrors the steel he’s built from.

And he waits a little longer still, right up until there are tears brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill, and then one of his large paws reaches to bundle around the back of your head, holding it there as though he’s cradling something fragile, something precious.

At his gentle, synthetic touch your lips press tightly together, unwilling to speak for risk of breaking a dam that spills regardless, and as the first of many tears trickle down your cheek, Freddy’s thumb; soft with synthetic padding, swipes it from your face.

“That was very unkind of him, Superstar. I will be sure to report his behavior to management, for it is in violation of the rules of the Mega Pizzaplex.”

“N-no, Freddy, it’s fine. Really… really, it’s fine, and I don’t want to cause any trouble.

The ursine machine, so many warmth welling behind his eyes that the kitchen feels cold in comparison, he tilts his head, his illuminated blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly, not in anger but in something softer- concern, and to some degree even disbelief. He doesn’t move the heft of his hand, still cradling your head with the care of someone holding glass. “It is not fine,” he insists gently, voicebox unwavering. “Everyone within the Pizzaplec must treat one another with respect. The rules are very clear.”

A bitter laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “Yeah, well, rules don’t really stop people from being jerks, do they? Just… just please let it go, Freddy. It’s not worth it.”

There is a long, lingering moment where he continues to stare, eye lights drooped at your insistence on allowing things to be. But, finally, he lowers his hand, though his frame remains close, looming like a shield against the sterile, fluorescent lights kitchen. “Your feelings are worth it, Superstar,” he says after a beat. “But I will not push.”

Then he pauses, awkward and almost ashamed, then kneels to level his gaze to your own, and quietly speaks. “And I did not mean to eavesdrop on the staff, but I did overhear the management speaking to one another about the weather.

Oh. Oh no.

“So I wanted to tell you that a snowstorm is predicted, and, on behalf of the Pizzaplex, I wanted to extend you an invitation to stay overnight, since you do not have a way to get home if the bus is out.”

Oh, Cassie was going to be devastated.

Freddy straightens up at your lack of apparent response, his hulking frame towering over you once more, though his demeanor remains calm. “I spoke to the daycare attendant about preparing a bed for you- his residence has many cozy spots, and I believe you will find it suitable.”

You cringe when he mentions the daycare, snapping your thoughts from the soon to be birthday girl.

The attendant's dual personalities were a lot to handle during even just the day- but Moon's presence at night, especially, would be downright unnerving. But Freddy, gentle and unyielding, he turns you around with his big paws and nudges you towards the kitchen’s entrance.

The white doors swing open as Freddy pushes you past them, and the sounds of the nearly silent Pizzaplex greet you. The faint hum of machines powering down for the night drifts through the air, and the glittering lights of arcade machines flicker in the distance, while the mascots painted on the walls seem to grin down at you with their smiles.

It dawns on you now, staring up at the acrylic likeness of the lead animatronic that you hadn’t said yes to his offer, hadn’t quite stuck yourself through with the promise of a full night with the daycare attendant… and with Freddy going in the opposite direction, no doubt heading to his own room for the night… well, there wasn’t exactly anyone around to ensure that your footfall led you to the ever-unnerving nursery.

And, for that matter, a revelation dawning quickly upon you- you didn’t even know if the weather had started turning for the worse. If the storm was so bad that it would put out the local bus, sure, then you might not have a choice. But a light sprinkle wouldn’t kill you, and the lost and found wouldn’t mind you “borrowing” a jacket or scarf.

You turn toward the far end of the Pizzaplex, where the staff exit looms. You could just… check for yourself. There’s a strange, dread pang in your chest like the bite of an icicle, the notion that you might be caught going off-course, then returned to your path like an errant child.

Freddy surely wouldn’t mind you only checking out the window, would he?

Definitely not.

But still you step lightly, shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor as the exit grew nearer and nearer. The Pizzaplex, as well as you've grown to know it, comes to feel unnaturally large when it’s this quiet- without at least a dozen children to draw your attention from the winding halls and the sprawling white floor, sometimes the place feels more like a labyrinth than a glorified daycare.

Though the twin doors come into reach without obstruction, there's still a prickling sense of unease that crawls the length of your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you reach for the silver handles.

Just a peek isn't going to hurt anyone, you tell yourself with a measure of false confidence.

It does not stop the trembling chill that races your heart to pump erratically as you make the move to push the doors open, and your skin grows colder still at the sight before you.

Snowflakes.

Fluffy, chunky snowflakes, cascading from the sky in a relentless flurry, the parking lot and roads already blanketed in white. The wind howls, biting and sharp. The city looks almost like a desolate tundra, smeared in thick strokes of white. The last bus is nowhere to be seen, likely sent back to the station early to avoid the storm.

You pull harshly on the doors, snapping them shut to prevent a gale wind from blowing through, to prevent snow from spilling onto the tile, and then you turn back, resigning yourself to a long night in the daycare, and then there’s a flicker of movement in the reflection of the chilled glass. You freeze, breath hitching sharply.

Slowly, you turn around, expecting to see Freddy or perhaps one of the staff bots patrolling the area.

And there is no one around.

Not that you can see, at least.

But the sound -faint, metallic clicking- tells you something is near. It’s sharply deliberate, like the tapping of long nails against glass.

And then a gangly shadow falls over you, dragging half of a shriek out of your lips right before you slap your hands over them.

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and there, in a fluid arc of motion, leaping from the ceiling, is Moon, his painted grin wide and unsettlingly toothy in the dim lighting. He cast an eerie silhouette across the room as he lands upright with barely a thud, tilting his head to regard you.

“Why are you out of bed?”

“I was just…”, you start to say, but the words catch in your throat as he draws nearer. “I was only…”

“You know it’s against the rules to wander, don’t you?”

Your heart races as you stumble back, desperate to put distance between yourself and the unsettling animatronic. For all that you (and perhaps none but you and Cassie shared this feeling) had a soft spot for Sun, there was no denying that Moon had grown strange of late, often over-bolstering his “child-caring protocols”, to the terror of his many, many charges. Too often you had to step in and watch over them in his place just to ensure the kids would get some measure of sleep.

“I-I… no, i was just… just checking the weather,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Oh, checking the weather!” he repeats, his tone exaggeratedly bright and overly cheerful, though there’s an unmistakable edge beneath it. “But the rules are very clear- no wandering after hours! And you wouldn’t want to break the rules, would you, Starlight?”

That nickname doesn’t feel the same way that “Superstar” feels, not as warm or bright or genuine.

…but it’s still nice (admittedly less so under these circumstances) to have someone care enough to give you a moniker- and unlike Freddy, who simply maintained that everyone he liked was his special “Superstar”, the lunar half of the daycare attendant was far more reserved with his affections.

If he had let that feeling grow a little longer, that slow drift of bubbling warmth rising around your heart, maybe you wouldn’t have screamed out even past the barriers of your hands as he lunged forward and snagged his thin fingers around each side of your waist.

Instead, you simply shriek and kick.

That doesn’t stop Moon from lifting you slowly, his grip more than firm enough to make escape impossible. He tilts his head, his painted grin never wavering, though there’s something unsettling about the way his glowing red eyes seem to scan every inch of you, as if gauging your intent.

“No screaming,” he chides softly, his voice lowering to a whisper that echoes unnaturally in the empty Pizzaplex. “You’ll wake everyone up. Naughty, naughty.”

Your breath hitches as you struggle against his unyielding grip, your hands clawing uselessly at his smooth, cold arms. Moon holds you aloft effortlessly, his glowing red eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“Please,” you manage to croak, weak voice trembling. “I- I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to cause trouble! I just… I just wanted to see if the storm was bad.”

His metal grin remains fixed, the crescent of his face gleaming faintly in the low light. “Storms are dangerous, Starlight,” he murmurs, his voice mechanical but almost sing-song, and still dripping with a strange condescension. “You could get lost. Hurt. It’s better to stay where things are safe.”

There is an unsteady pulse pounding through your chest now, a staccato rhythm that you’re certain he can sense. His glowing red eyes narrow, and his rictus grin; for all that it is fixed in place by steel, seems to grow wider.

He cradles you closer, the warmth of his metallic hands seeping through your uniform. The hum of his inner workings vibrate faintly, a reminder of the sheer difference between your anatomies. His voice drops lower, head leaning in to hiss lowly in your ear.

“And safe,” he whispers, “means staying close to me, Starlight.”

[rarilight]

Been having a rough go of it, as always, but keep coming back to thinking about writing and my career choice

I’m too deep in to quit now, I think I definitely spent too much time working on it as my career and livelihood to try and start over now (or maybe I’m just too scared) but

If someone handed me a Time Machine and told me I could go back in time and stop myself from becoming a writer, or go back and talk myself out of an artistic career and study something that might actually give me real financial stability and job prospects

I would do it. I think. I think I would if I could because some days it’s hard not to stare up at the ceiling at night, living paycheck to paycheck, and wonder if not selling my soul was even worth it at all

Maybe I could have settled. Maybe I should have settled, married a life that wouldn’t ever make my soul sing but at least I wouldn’t be staring vacantly out the window, wondering how long I’ll be able to save up money before I need to use it all, or how long before I’m suffocated again by thoughts of “is this it? Is this life? Sacrificing my soul or my stability? Pick one and live and die with the choice”, or feeling guilt every time I try and be nice to myself because struggling people do not deserve nice things, and especially less so when I struggle because I had the audacity to try and be a creative

Or maybe I’d be broken regardless. A broken computer scientist. A broken lawyer, a broken doctor, a broken insert-profession-here, swapping writing for literally anything else only to find the hate remains

That no matter what I do, I will always demand perfection, damned if I do, damned if I don’t, and with horror I’ll realize that crying in a Mercedes Benz is in fact not nicer than crying in a broken down Chevy

Someone recently asked me if I even enjoyed writing. It seems to make me miserable, they said, I seem to agonize over it at all times, bleeding to death with every word

I love to write. Or maybe I don’t. There is no loving or hating, there is just doing. It is like breathing, in that respect. I don’t love breathing and I don’t hate breathing, just like I wouldn’t suddenly hate it if I’m sick and breathing is difficult for months on end.

I write because I must, an instinct I have had for as long as I remember, but it is difficult to do when I am chronically sick with a disease I don’t know how to cure, even though I have tried and tried and tried, and sometimes it all feels so daunting, and it all feels so hopeless, that the only solution feels like closing my eyes, breathing in, breathing out, and then taking a long walk on a short pier.

But I won’t, because I can’t, so instead I open Google Docs as I do every day, the blank page staring back, and hope for the day I don’t feel like a breathing mistake.

[commsroom]

how would the characters do working in a public service job, such as retail? I'm particularly curious about hilbert, kepler, and minkowski.

you know, you can really tell that nobody in wolf 359 other than eiffel has ever worked retail. it explains a lot about them.

it's impossible to imagine hilbert working retail in any context that isn't just. a joke for how out of place he would be. everything hilbert does is for his research, and he considers anything else a pointless distraction. he thinks that "bedside manner is like anesthetic: it just gets in the way of what needs to be done." honestly, i wish i could make hilbert work customer service. it would be torture for him, and he would say the kinds of things to customers that most people can only fantasize about. if you put him in a retail job, somehow, he would still just disappear into a dark storage room to do god knows what. i think hilbert would let people shoplift. he doesn't care.

kepler... could thrive in retail, actually. that's really scary. not that he would like it, but that he's got that kind of personality type and work ethic. the version of kepler who hollowed himself to become the manager of a dick's sporting goods might be worse than regular kepler, for the limited power it would offer him. but stagnation would drive him crazy. kepler really values progress - always working harder, doing more. he doesn't mind being a cog in the corporate machine, but that would be a much less. complex machine, compared to his real ambitions. he would still tell the exact same stories.

minkowski would be very, very frustrated by a job like that, but she would take it very seriously. she would enforce every nonsensical, nit-picky little policy to the letter. she would want to run that place like the navy, for sure, but people wouldn't be scared of her the way they'd be scared of someone like kepler. she's a tryhard people pleaser, and she tries to come across as strict and no-nonsense, but i think minkowski really takes people at their word and it wouldn't be hard for both customers & her employees to walk all over her once they figured out how she operates, and which of her threats are empty. that's what eiffel did. if she wasn't in a management position, it would be even worse for her. she would grit her teeth, and try very, very hard, and she would hate every moment of it.

characters you didn't ask about, but i have to talk about anyway:

i think lovelace would be a relatively cool manager who would take your side if a customer was a jerk to you, and she wouldn't really care about the rules as long as things got done. but it would be difficult for her to hold a lower-level position, unless she had a cool manager.

eiffel is the only one of them who's canonically worked food service (and a whole assortment of dead-end jobs he got fired from within a few months) and he approaches his current job pretty much the same as i imagine he approached his job at pizza hut. he complains about his boss, zones out, maybe even falls asleep. if he could wander outside and smoke, he would. eiffel and hera are really the only two people here who don't have career ambitions. almost everyone else wants something more, in their own ways, but eiffel just wants to clock out, go home, and relax. doesn't really matter what the job is, he just doesn't want to be at work. respectable.

and hera is already doing the equivalent of putting on a customer service voice, seething with contempt, and then going to cry in the bathroom, like, every day of her life. so...

[mynameisnotthepoint]

Ossan no pantsu EP 6

Disclaimer: I had already watched this drama with subs that were mostly machine translated, so this is less of a first time reaction and more of an "i finally have the whole picture now". This will contain spoilers, so be warned!

As always: thank you to @isaksbestpillow for continuing to provide us with excellent subs to this drama!!

Quotes

"They tried to look like they were having a blast. But I don't think they did it for you. Daichi-san did it for Madoka-san, Madoka-san did it for Daichi-san." (Moe to Makoto, translation by isaksbestpillow)

"You finish university, desperately look for a job and when you finally achieve your dream[,] your parents get ill and you have to take over the shop. You say you want to take the job since you got hired, so your parents say: 'The company doesn't expect anything from a mere woman.' It was that kind of time. However, now you can do what you like, so you must not stop looking for what you want to do. I only know my parents' shop and my part-time job, but I do housework. I like cooking and I am good at it. I don't like cleaning. Maintaining relationships with the neighbors is hard. Sorting waste is such a bother. But when I think it's a job that only takes three minutes, I feel pathetic for not being able to do it. We're a family but everyone has their own schedule, so I'm not saying we should eat dinner together every day. But when you take it for granted that you can come to the table whenever you feel like it, I don't like it." (Mika to Moe and Makoto, translation by isaksbestpillow)

My long jumbled thoughts/recap

Carlos is me after that first scene, which was basically a repetition of the last scene of episode 5.

Mika and Makoto are basically wearing the same colors (blue and orange) but in reverse, with Mika having much more blue on her than Makoto orange. This really reflects how considerate they are of each other at this point: Mika apologizes to her friend on behalf of her husband, while he isn't even helping with cleaning up after the party that he derailed. (Makoto's shirt has a little dog on it tho!!)

"I'm not interested in real-life romance," Moe says (translation by isaksbestpillow). She will draw the wildest fanart and wants her ship to be together forever, but she doesn't want that for herself. And yet she isn't repulsed by people in real-life being (cute) together. I love her so so much, she deserves the world. Also, I agree with @bengiyo's interpretation that she had this conversation with her dad in the upstairs hallway so Kakeru could hear it too.

I dislike this man with all my heart. He is despicable with how he treats his juniors, especially women. Also the way he talks about his wife *shudders*. He is the kind of person you want to write completely off, to ignore and yet you will always encounter them. And Shimura-san is so strong: she serves him, NOT because she is scared, but because she finds him so beneath her that he's not even worth arguing with. Makoto is more bumbling and likeable, but in the beginning he truly warranted the same treatment. I truly like how Furuike is used as a sort of mirror, or even a magnifying glass for Makoto: because of witnessing an even worse man in the same environment, does he realise truly how much he fucked up.

I love Kakeru's outfits, and this is one of my favourites. I also love that he isn't the only male person there! In old fashion cupcake, there were always ONLY women in the spaces the two mains visited, which is a tad unrealistic.

I also noticed he does wear different shades of nailpolish and his make-up and hairstyles differ too, although he does seem to have his preferences. It doesn't look professional, which is normal, he is still learning!

Mika is so proud of her lunchboxes. They look so so good. She is a part-timer and she takes pride in her work. This is contrasted immediately with Moe canceling her part-time job at the bookshop because of her period cramps (very valid!) but Moe frames it like it's OK because it's "just" a part-time job. She sees it as not as important/serious as a full-time job.

As an aside, it resonates so much with me, Moe thinking you have to endure the menstrual cramps once you start working full-time. It's what I thought too... and still I go to work, with the caveat that I also work part-time, and thus don't have to go in every single day.

Mika tries to give her daughter some advice, and see Mika's smile leave her eyes after Moe tells her that her advice is not really from experience (and thus a bit hollow). But Mika swallows the jab at her authority/respectability, and keeps on smiling. When she puts the food she happily cooked in front of Kakeru's door, and then knocks on Moe's door for dinner and Moe answers she'd rather not right now, you see her smile slowly slipping away. Anger and sadness replace it.

My heart breaks for her. She keeps this family together, told them she wanted to talk about something and sent a picture of food. She hints and hints at it "how is the chicken?", "It's delicious even when cold". And yet no-one picks up on it. Her hopes are on Moe, but Moe is in pain and too absorbed with her own problems - Mika doesn't even expect much of Makoto. Yet her husband talking about how Moe is a girl and can take it easy on the job hunt, finally cracks the tension that has been building up. I included her whole monologue in the quote section, because I felt like it was so poignant. This is a self-actualised woman, who wanted to work in publishing but had to go home to her parents. She had to give up on her dream, found a new thing she excels at, cooking. And yet, because she is a homemaker (as expected of her by society), her prowess in the kitchen goes unnoticed at home, while at work she is lauded with an award. The "I'm not saying we should eat dinner together every day. But when you take it for granted that you can come to the table whenever you feel like it, I don't like it" hit me so hard. She does so much and gets nothing in return. Dejected, she retreats to the room she shares with her oblivious husband, and watches videos of the idols she adores, getting lost in their world, where hard work gets rewarded.

The scene between Moe and Mika in the parents' room truly brought me to tears every time I watched it. I, like Moe, have probably said things that inadvertedly hurt my mother. I, like Moe, have also disregarded my mom's advice. Moe and Mika are the closest, so it feels earned that Moe is the one to deliver the praise. And finally, Mika's forced/barely there smile becomes more real again. That hug between them was WONDERFUL.

Makoto acknowledging the thing he left up to superstition - his repair of the tanuki statue curing his daughter - was actually solved through hard work and decision making from Mika. As @twig-tea pointed out, this makes her the hero of the story, not Makoto! It fucking hurts that Makoto only realises years later what his wife has endured and continues to endure for the sake of the family. Daichi said in EP 1 that Makoto's hobby was his family, for Mika the family is her work, her life work.

Makoto, Moe and Kakeru getting the tickets of Mika's favourite idol group for her is also what finally unites them and gets them to have dinner together. Her hesitation is heartbreaking, and will be in the next episode. But I love this first instance of the family being a unit in the series.

I agree 100%, Makoto. Daichi and Madoka are indeed precious. @bengiyo and @twig-tea have both written very good posts/thoughts about the scene Makoto has with Madoka and Daichi (I also really like the way twig-tea describes Carlos as an "almost [...] non-verbal narrator").

I know this post is already super long (these keep getting longer), but this episode truly made me think of my mom. She, in many ways, is just like Mika. She works part-time (80%), does and has done most of the house work as well as the cooking, keeps up with everyone's schedules etc. After watchin this episode for the first time, I talked about it with her. She also escapes, but she does into fantasy/sci-fi middle grade and YA novels, which have clear heroes and villains and also end happily, are a nice pace to read and have huge series she can get lost in. She has been reading e-books ever since I renewed her library card. I feel like I owe her so much and live at home, yet can't help her completely because she has her set ways of doing things and I can't always just disrupt them. But I do side-eye my stepfather for not helping out more, too. Having a full-time job does not give you the power to just do the odd jobs around the house that you wish to do.

[iwonderwh0]

What characters you didn't like or was indifferent about at first but now they are your favourites (or you just like them now) and what was the thing that changed your opinion?

For me it was

Amanda. Opinion changed when I finally decided to stop and think about her and then discovered beautiful exploration of her character and role by konami-code-ao3, especially the one with how her relationships with Connor are romantically coded by the game itself implying how close they actually are, which is something I missed myself and therefore thought of her as far less important. And so I was converted

Alice. I hated the twist SO much, I hated how she and Kara aren't allowed to express anything but constant fear and worry and Alice isn't allowed to be anything but a scared kid. I wished she was human. But then I thought about their story from Alice's pov and it was so much more tragic than if she were human, so nuanced (if only it was given attention to actually explore) that I realised that no, I don't actually hate her character, just the absolutely terrible way her story is written and sacrificed for the sake of a twist.

Perkins. In game it was just a punchable face that barely appears, but thinking about how important he actually is for the story to show human's side of the conflict made me appreciate his character a lot more and wishing we could get more of him in game, because it makes it more interesting. I think it was once again konami-code's notion on how it'd be cool to see him and machine Connor working together and DAMN yes, absolutely.

North. I'll get shit for it but I really much disliked her after my first play-through but mostly due to inevitable romance that occurs if only Markus doesn't act like a total asshole towards her. I am not fond of romances that seem to appear out of the blue (and in that specific play-through it wasn't making much sense, just looked like a token get-couple), and I was really betrayed by how game doesn't give you an option to actually pick it yourself or refuse, but fandom's love for her character and this whole "north as a companion" changed where I stand.

Emma. Now here I never disliked her (of course) just haven't really thought about her at all. When I finally did, it somehow grew into an interest where I now think about her often and really like how it becomes more of a distinctive character in my head. I like thinking about her prior to canon, what she was like, what she believed it and things like that, but what made me first start this chain of thoughts was overthinking the fact of her apparently being some kind of child video blogger. I won't talk about how things like that can be harmful for kids in real life, but it's an interesting detail about her character that just allows me to extrapolate from. Also, thinking about her living and growing post canon with such a tremendous trauma in a world where androids are becoming recognised as people, making them unavoidable. It's just...damn, her pov is just so fascinating to me.

[theferalgremlin]

I FINALLY FINISHED IT 🙌 Matchup for @hannibalwritesstuff

I 100% ship you with Rhaenyra and Daemon!!

You were first friends with Rhaenyra, having been friends since young and visiting each others kingdoms. She adores your humor and loyalty most. You'd would both often make snide comments and remarks to each other  at parties or events you both didn't want to attend and end up spending the night laughing. You absolutely tease her when anyone calls her cruel or mean because while she is sassy you find people who think she's "evil" are absurd so you'll sarcastically call her "Rhaenyra the meanie" which just makes her cackle.

Besides Alicent you were Rhaenyras closest friend and she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life eating cake and flying her dragon with you 🥰. She always had a romantic interest in you and would often playfully flirt with you.

Unfortunately contact comes to a slow when she marries Laenor and starts having kids and you eventually take over your kingdom as king. You both start talking a lot more during the weeks leading up to Viserys death. She would write to you about her worries of becoming queen and everytime you always know just what to say to make her feel more confident in her abilities. 

Daemon knew of you and how close you are with his wife and honestly feels a bit intimidated. He wants desperately to hate you but everytime he meets you in person hes blown away with how clever and badass you are. For real your army prowess gets him going 😤. Daemons never been the one to be “swept off his feet” but you do it with such ease he barely even notices until he's already fallen for you.

When Rhaenyras father dies and her claim to the throne is challenged you instantly make your way to Dragonstone to help assist her in her court without her even having to ask. (Don't worry about your kingdom you left your best sibling/cousin in charge. Which by the way they completely made fun of you and they way you scrambled to get a ship together and go help your girl). 

It doesn't take long until Daemon insists you have the chambers next to his and Rhaenyras room. And takes even less time for both Daemon and Rhaenyra to move you into their room since they already have you spending most of your time in there. Especially at night. 

Since you don't have a dragon Daemon often takes you on flights on Caraxes and teaches you how to fly and give commands in Valyrian. Hes very impressed with how fast you pick up the language. When you start teasing him in Valyrian is when he really loses it.

You absolutely take over Rhaenyras wardrobe and give her the fashion and style she deserves (i want my decked out book Rhaenyra who wears dresses that scream “IM BETTER THAN YOU”) You also gift her jewelry and it makes her melt. She wears the things you give her with such pride.

Speaking of giving jewelry- Daemon gets you a necklace to match the one he got Rhaenyra after his win on Stepstones. You can always see him looking smug with that typical arrogant smirk of his when he sees you wearing it (while literally admiring you).

Daemon and Rhaenyra love how much you get along with their children. You are a great role model for Jacaerys and Baela loves taking you on Moondancer to watch for the enemy (and scare the crap out of any you see). You happily help Rhaena practice dancing (which you always end up inviting Rhaenyra to join you both). And it absolutely makes Daemons heart skip a beat when he sees you playing with his and Rhaenyras two young boys who adore you.

The three of you plan to get married after the war when Rhaenyra was rightfully on the throne (Of course tragically that doesn't happen but we'll be optimistic till then 🥲). Until then Rhaenyra and Daemon have had a ring made for you to match their wedding rings 🥰.

Love song with Daemon: (just replace Girl with Boy and its perfect)

Love song with Rhaenyra:

[mariacallous]

The alarm calls are coming thick and fast. War could be coming for us. One after another, military chiefs from across Europe are urging publics to get ready. Political leaders, from Britain to the Nordic countries and Baltic States, increasingly emphasize that Europeans need to be prepared for a major war with Russia.

Yet Germany continues its sleepy way along the same path as if nothing is wrong and nothing needs to change. Remarkably, German Chancellor Olaf Scholz still hasn’t said that Ukraine should win its war. Though he knows and talks about the consequences that a Russian victory in Ukraine would have for Europe, he will only say that Ukraine should not lose. That’s a big difference and it shows in Germany’s policy.

Instead of announcing bold new steps to ensure that Moscow’s triumph doesn’t become a reality, Scholz points repeatedly and complacently to the actions his government has already taken, which fall far short of what is needed. Instead of proactively organizing the rapid increase of European support, he passes the buck to the United States.

German Defense Minister Boris Pistorius has tried to shake Germany’s elite from its slumbers by asserting that society needs to be kriegstüchtig—war ready. Yet, rather than awakening to the danger and rising to the task, Germans see self-satisfaction at finger pointing at other Europeans.

Germans need to be honest with themselves—and put national and European security above partisan politics. The country needs to change course, but this will only be possible by truthfully assessing Germany and Europe’s vulnerabilities, properly linking them to the evolving situation in Ukraine and in the United States, and then acting boldly, swiftly, and decisively to genuinely address the threat we all face.

The warnings from across Europe are coming more loudly and frequently for four interconnected reasons: the way Europeans are allowing the war in Ukraine to play out, the continent’s lack of key military capabilities, uncertainty about the future of U.S. security guarantees and, crucially, how Europeans are collectively signaling their weakness instead of demonstrating resolve.

Kyiv is not yet losing the war, but it is no longer winning. Russia has long been ahead in the ammunition battle and currently outfires Ukraine by a ratio of 5 to 1 in artillery shells, making attack nearly impossible and defense difficult for Kyiv. Moreover, after a slow and bungling start, Russia is now also winning the “adaption battle” and so has begun to turn the tide of the war in its favor.

Europe is still giving Kyiv just enough to not lose (so far) rather than getting Ukrainians what they need to win. This wrongheaded approach has cost Ukraine dearly, and, now that underprovision and the impasse in the United States have made defeat a real possibility, it stands to cost Europeans, too. Defeating Russia in Ukraine would be the best way to deter the threat posed by an aggressive and hostile Moscow—especially given European states’ weaknesses in both capabilities and doctrine.

NATO’s use of precision strike weapons to defeat larger yet less sophisticated opposing forces relied on the possibility of conceding territory to give the time needed to hit multiple targets and cripple the enemy’s war machine. As Ukraine’s experience shows, it’s what happens on that territory, in that time, that is the problem. No free society could expose its people to Russia’s barbaric occupation.

NATO has therefore switched its plan to defend all of the alliance’s territory. But as Ukraine has again shown, doing so in a state-to-state conflict requires a huge amount of equipment, ammunition, and soldiers as well as key enablers like intelligence, communication, and coordination, cutting edge electronic warfare and far-reaching logistics.

European capability gaps could, most obviously, create local overmatches in front-line states. Nonetheless, Germans should feel no false sense of security from the relative physical distance. They would be drawn into any conflict there via NATO’s mutual defense guarantee, and, as Europe’s key economic power, Germany can expect to be tested by Russia’s deep strike missiles. Simply put, without heeding the current wake-up call, the Russian missiles hitting Kyiv today could well hit Munich tomorrow.

It’s true that Germany, like several other allies, has increased its defense spending, but the response to the Zeitenwende, the epochal geopolitical shift, hasn’t gone anywhere near far enough or fast enough. The 100 billion euro “special fund” only addresses the most basic capability gaps and doesn’t compensate for decades of mismanagement. Germany still needs a “quantum leap” in capabilities in order to be ready to defend itself and play its proper role in NATO.

The underlying problem is that Germany, like other large European states—except Poland—is not rearming in a way that would leave the country ready to defend itself. Former NATO assistant secretary-general Antonio Missiroli is right that “progress has been made, but if you compare what has been done so far with what probably needs to be done, we’re still talking peanuts.”

The EU broke its promise to deliver Ukraine a “million shells by March” of 2024. They will now only come by the end of this year—and would, in total, only be enough to match Russia’s current rate of fire for just over three months. As the chair of the NATO military committee put it in late 2023, Europeans need to urgently ramp up production because “the bottom of the barrel is now visible.”

This is not only a German problem, but it is also a German problem. In 2022, the Bundeswehr had approximately two days’ worth of 155 mm artillery ammunition at current Russian rates of fire—a mere 20,000 shells. This had not significantly improved by mid-2023, and Germany substantially underspent on an already low amount of planned ammunition production last year. More is planned, but this is all going far too slowly given the current and medium-term threat and is not yet guaranteed to reach the levels needed to deter or defeat a resurgent Russia.

Yet isn’t there a contradiction here? To say that because Europeans have effective deterrence, they shouldn’t have worried about escalation and thus supplied more and better weapons to Ukraine earlier—but to now say that they should worry about the Russian threat to them because of their capability gaps?

This is due to the changing situation in the United States. While at present European states can rely on the Biden administration to live up to its Article 5 responsibilities, there are increasing concerns that Donald Trump will win the presidency—which would put this guarantee in serious doubt, critically affecting European deterrence.

It would be difficult for Trump to formally withdraw from NATO, including because Congress supports the alliance. But warfighting goes through the White House, and, as Missiroli has said, there is a real danger from the U.S. commitment being “softened or made more uncertain.”

Trump could sow doubt over Article 5 with a tweet. Moreover, he has made clear that far from being able to rely on the mutual defense clause, he could even encourage Russia to attack European allies. Russian President Vladimir Putin is ruthless at exploiting uncertainty, especially when he detects weakness, yet, rather than preparing for a potential worst-case scenario, Germany is pursuing a recklessly complacent “wait and see” approach.

Germany—and Europe—thus faces a potentially perfect storm. Not only do Europeans risk rewarding and emboldening Russia by failing to defeat it in Ukraine, but they lack key capabilities and have clear vulnerabilities that remain unaddressed, at a time when the future of the security guarantee looks uncertain. But it’s not yet too late. Here are five key things that can be done to get back on the right track.

First, Europeans need to collectively—and immediately—get Ukraine what it needs to switch to “active defense.” This would allow Kyiv to hold the line in 2024 while building the capabilities and training enough troops to go on the offensive in 2025. Instead of waiting for the United States, Europeans should proactively step up. Instead of protesting they have done enough, all European allies need to find what they can send or buy to achieve this aim from wherever it is available. For Germany, this should include sending a large number of Taurus cruise missiles as soon as possible.

Germany and its European allies need to follow the lead of Canada and others in asserting the political will to find ways to legally seize Russia’s state assets frozen in European countries. Ukraine’s fight is about European security too, so it’s right that Europeans should contribute. But European taxpayers should not foot the whole bill and should make Russia pay for its own defeat.

Ukraine must receive both a clear invitation to join NATO at the Washington summit and a clear path to actual membership. For this to happen, Europeans need to show they are serious about shifting the burden for European security to ourselves. This is the best way of keeping the United States involved in European security, but it’s also the best way for Europeans to make sure they’re insured in case the U.S. commitment wavers.

Real burden-shifting requires a step change in defense production and procurement. Europe needs to close capability deficits, remove vulnerabilities—and supply Ukraine. And it has the potential to do so, if it can muster the will. In return for large, guaranteed orders for years to come, Europe’s defense industry needs to quickly expand and accelerate production. Government procurement systems need to deliver quickly or be scrapped and replaced.

Germany, the EU country with the largest population and the strongest economy, must take the lead to enable better cooperation among the EU member states for the production and procurement of weapons. Scholz could, for example, initiate an incentive fund that finances fast European investments in security.

While this rearmament should focus on making Europe a formidable foe, capable of fighting a long, high-intensity conventional war, European leaders also need to prepare their societies—by being honest with them about the danger the nations face and how they plan to address it. Europeans also need to reach credible agreement about how they arrange—or construct—extended nuclear deterrence among European NATO states to ensure that they are not exposed to nuclear blackmail.

The last step—which is easiest to achieve and has the greatest immediate impact—is for the German government to finally, clearly, and unequivocally state that Ukraine should win the war. The goal defines the means and publicly avowing Ukrainian victory would force the government to find a way to achieve it, including by taking the measures outlined above. It would also provide the clarity the public needs—and which they would rally behind.

In combination, these measures would signal Europeans’ resolve to defend themselves, their interests, and their values. There is no certainty that Russia will attack the rest of Europe in the future, even if there are signs that it might, but if it does, Europeans must be ready—and possibly in as little as two to three years’ time.

Readying Europe greatly reduces the risk of war happening at all. Deterrence works by drastically increasing the costs of aggression and reducing Moscow’s likelihood of defeating or subduing us.

There is also no tension between Europe arming itself and arming Ukraine. The logical sequencing of this bold approach would buy Ukraine time to hold out and then go on the attack, which would in turn buy the rest of Europe the time to properly rearm. And if Ukraine is well armed enough to achieve the common aim of victory, it would also remove the single largest threat Europeans would otherwise face in the near future. But for that to happen, Germany’s leaders need to wake up.

[autobot-ratchet]

MTMTE 7-8 (plus the 2012 Annual)

MTMTE 7

oh it's fucking cringelord time lmfAO I know we saw Tarn in the Hoist spotlight but here he is for the first time for real and I am going to roast this man alive every time I see him

oh my gooooOOOD, bro, I am immediately rolling my eyes just at the way he talks, this dude thinks he's a fuckin Bond villain, wine glass in one hand, petting his fancy cat with the other. I cannot believe how many people wanted to fuck this, could not POSSIBLY be me I could never be that embarrassing

aww poor Swerve, he never meant for Rung to get hurt

eeyyy it's the Scavengers, hell of a way for them to meet Fulcrum lmAO

I like how the person who's taking the thumb drive Red Alert left with Rung's body is definitely Drift but they made his shadow look more generic and didn't give it his giant thighs because then it would be too recognizable

I wonder, are all the weird, organic/machine hybrid experiments on this symbol ship, like, prototypes of Skorponok's organic decepticon he ends up making? I don't remember if that's ever explicitly stated but like. What else could all this weird shit be

eyyyyy it's Grimlock, I forgot that the Scavengers pick him up this early

MTMTE 8

honestly, good for the Scavengers for deciding “fuck the DJD, let's fight 'em” they're right and they should say it

first thing Grimlock does upon waking up is punch Tarn in the dick, attaboy lmAO

ooouughfgg I forgot that Chomedome learns what Skids's traumatic memory is this early in the story. Honestly, I forgot that a ton of things get set up way early in the story, hell, Skids starts asking people if they like music almost immediately after showing up

fucking GOOD for Fulcrum, telling Tarn to shut up and listen to his speech, god knows we've had to sit through at least two of Tarn's pretentious speeches so far, one per the two issues he's been in

ngl I kinda forgot about Flywheels entirely lmAO when he first showed up, I was like “I don't remember this guy being one of the Scavengers” but now I know it's because he fucking dies after one issue

MTMTE Annual 2012

I love how casually we're just shrinking down and fighting microscopic bad guys in Ultra Magnus's mouth. I also love how he has to smile to save himself from death. We're less than 10 pages in

aww Tailgate... he tries so hard to be friends with Cyclonus

poor Drift is so excited to see the Circle of Light again... he really does just never see any of them again, save for Axe's body way later on

fgdsjks and poor Magnus getting bullied by the crew, leave him alone he's sensitive

Poor Tailgate too, his little graduation ceremony gets all fucked. At least Cyclonus was there in secret

and poor Swerve as well, he feels so bad about accidentally shooting Rung

honestly I love this insight on Ore, I love when this comic gets to delve into characters who aren't part of the main squad, especially posthumously, it always makes me wonder what could've been if they got to stick around

ah yes, this was the issue that got me genuinely interested in Drift lmAO straight up, him getting angry enough to punch out Whirl had me like “Ooh? Spicy? Pretty boy's got some spice to him? Tell me more” and then he went on to become my favorite lmfAO

“Primus- Warrior God!” lol. Lmao even

oof oh Skids don't say those things..... it's so fucked how even though he does not remember The Traumatic Event, it's still pretty clearly coloring his perception of things on a subconscious level

ooh, interesting that Drift's the one who stops Chromedome from finding proof of god. Because he believes faith is more important or because he's scared of there being a definitive answer?

“you don't have to believe in a higher power to be overawed by the world around you” I love that, that's how I feel about it too. More than any kind of god, I believe in nature, this world, and the people on it. I think there's definitely something out there that's beyond our comprehension that made us, that made the universe as we know it, but that thing being an old bearded white man??? not so much that lmAO I don't know what the fuck made us and neither does anyone else, and in the meantime, we're stuck here on this planet with each other so we should focus on making life not completely miserable and worry about what comes after later

fuckin good for Swerve, telling Rodimus “No”

god this annual is so good lmAO it's about humanity! Yeah, yeah, they're robots but you get it! It's about choosing kindness, despite everything! It's about understanding, or at least making the effort to understand! It's about faith, in god, in the people around you, in everything! FUCK!!!!!!!!

I gotta admit, I'd been a bit worried bc throughout this re-read I haven't felt much strong emotion. That was always something I was worried about before finally reading the comic again, that fandom had drained me so much that I was no longer capable of feeling genuine enthusiasm for things I used to love, especially once I started going through my MTMTE tag chronologically and seeing how intensely I used to feel about it. I was genuinely worried that those feelings were gone forever but nah, this issue made me feel at least a fraction of that passion again, and while I don't know if it'll ever get as strong as it used to be, at least it's not gone and I know it'll grow the more I re-read

[britcision]

Today feels like a good day for this

So there’s two main ways of playing your ttrpg characters that I’ve seen from my players and other people telling me about their games

1) protagonist - you want to be the main character. The most important, impressive one in the room, with all the good rolls and everything works all the time

Weirdly, I have also only seen this from the edgelords? And it’s definitely not a hard rule, but it’s a firm trend. So they also have to be the most tragic, with the angiest backstory, the biggest victims of every wrong but oh they’re never affected by it

They’re not scared of anything, they’ve always seen worse, they never show their real feelings and they’re always in total control

This can soooort of work? If you are playing the right game, with the right people? But it is inherently uncollaborative because one person can’t lead every scene all the time, and when the rolls don’t match the inner narrative people tend to get upset

It feels more personal when something doesn’t work out because your story becomes personal wish fulfilment, and it feels like you have failed rather than just an unlucky roll

2) feral toddler with barbies - your character is your sweet little bean and you Want To Fuck Them Up

This is the fandom whump style, putting the horse in the plinko machine, and every single time something bad happens it is a wonderful opportunity to mess up your baby

This is much less focused on the end result and much more focused on having the most fun in the journey, which tends to work really really well in bigger groups where crime can be committed

Other players have other barbies and you tell stories by smashing them together, making them kiss or fight or commit tax fraud, and sometimes one of the barbie’s heads flies off to a far corner and you need to improvise

Now, these are two ends of a spectrum, and neither of them have anything to do with the characters, the game, or the story being told

It’s about how you react to the little moments, to the pieces controlled by chance, or to when something doesn’t go the way you expected it to

You don’t control which one you start with, although newer players might find themselves leaning towards “protagonist”, especially if they play a lot of games or video games with a single Player Character

It’s familiar, it’s what we’re used to in single player, and it’s really fun for character creation to invent this super cool person you’re gonna run around and fight dragons (or space robots) with…

But it’s also more stressful in a multiplayer game where there is always more than one protagonist

Ensemble stories are hard (and trust me I write them enough to know). Not everyone is in every scene, and time is limited so you have to work together and give each other prompts to get the stories you want out

It’s still really important to pay attention to scenes your character isn’t in, and to remember that… yeah, you can ping another player out of game to say “hey ask about my Tragic Backstory/Cool Weapon/Long Lost Sibling”

And they can also tell you what to ask about to get to the cool bits of their character’s lore, which is Just As Good As Doing Yours! Everyone gets to be cool together!

It’s actually something we’ve butted up against as a full game of newbies a lot; people want to be asked about something, but in a natural way, so they can’t mention in game that they want to be asked. And of course, the dreaded “my character would never talk about this”

(They’d never want to, my darling. You, their player, both want to and Can Make Them by having fellow players or the dm apply stressors)

Or they focus on wanting their story told, and if someone else comes in with “oh I get it I also had a little brother” or “shit you also heard about that evil wizard? This is what I know” it feels like losing control of the scene

But it’s a multiplayer game. The scene’s still about you even if it’s not only about you, and if you find yourself playing in the protagonist style and getting frustrated… maybe what you actually want to do is write the story of this cool character

Writing is hard but you control the environment, the outcomes, and your special character is the center of the narrative in a way that doesn’t work for a multiplayer game

If you’re playing the game and getting frustrated a lot and writing doesn’t appeal, it might be time to look at your character through the fandom lens

Put them in silly situations for fun and profit

Make them uncomfortable and remember that the important thing isn’t what your character wants. It’s what you want

We don’t rotate the blorbo in our heads because it’s what the blorbo wants; if you love whumpy fan content, whump your heckin’ character

If you want to talk about something the character never would, fucking make them. Put them in a vulnerable spot and poke their weak points until it all comes spilling out

Because… yeah. There’s a line where “being in character” can very easily translate to “doing what the character wants to do”, and there is one critical problem when that line blurs:

If you always back away and close off from the parts of the story your character wouldn’t want to talk about, you don’t get to talk about those parts of the story

Because woe of woes, your fellow players might respect those boundaries! They might see that you’re backing away and assume it’s because you the player don’t wanna go there!

But you do, so bad, and it’s so hard to see how to break that cycle without breaking character once you’re inside

You need to open the doors that’ll put your character in the place they don’t want to be, but gets you those delicious vulnerable tragic scenes that lead to the real bonding

You will not roll the perfect crit every time for the perfect story, so the sooner you lean in the more fun failure is and the more you can work out your ideal balance of “well I rolled a one at intimidation and normally I’m very scary, but I guess I put my fist down on the table right in a blob of ketchup”

My earliest rule for our game was “I am not going to railroad your characters. You need to decide why they’re staying with the party because I will not force them to if they don’t want to, and you can roll a new one”

Cuz that’s the whole point: player agency matters so much more than character agency. It’s your character. You are their fandom baseline.

And you’re the one making the canon, so you can put everything you’ve ever wanted in it

Make that dramatic and edgy character who wants to be the center of attention, and then you the player subvert it to watch them flail

Make that stern and taciturn character who’s Hardened and Doesn’t Make Friends and then conspire with fellow party members for tiny scenes like them being handed a flower and staring at it for a minute, then keeping it

Make the silly, happy go lucky flirty character, and then wind them up until they crack and all the top secret Hidden Lore comes pouring out

Do bad things to your characters for fun and profit my loves

You aren’t the character, you’re the story teller, so work with everyone to tell the story you’ve always dreamed of

[tlacehualli]

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ meta + first person to die because of her work!!!

She'd never really been the type of person to be out in the field a lot. Los Muertos knew what they had in her and they were happy to let her remain inside, at a computer, breaking code apart as easily as she breathed (even before the modifications had been made to her, she'd taken to it like a fish to water). A lot of their success at the time was owed to her. Whether it was blueprints or information or the movements of federales and rival gangs with less justified modus operandi - whatever information they needed, she got it.

Talon wasn't like that, though. Sure, that aspect of her work was important, but they saw something in her, something more. By then she'd been fully modified and had already built the final versions of her translocators, her invisibility tech - after all, even the most well-prepared and well-defended of bases could be infiltrated. And by then, she knew even her own firewalls could be overrun by a sufficiently well-prepared enemy. Still, they wanted more.

So she'd learned to become something of an infiltrator, and armed with equal parts charisma, information, and her AI's unique ability to read people and situations, she was very effective. It had started out small at first; security systems that posed no real challenge, one or two guards as opposed to a veritable army. Shit she'd not really needed back up for. The difficulty ramped up from there - and at a certain point, there weren't very many missions when she didn't have the Widow's back up. Still, she'd learned to be quiet, to be deceitful, to predict - and to translocate or go invisible as needed. Like a shadow.

'Til one day, she'd just - gotten cocky, rounded a corner at full speed and knocked right into a security guard's back with a little yelp. Her fear had suddenly rooted her to the spot. This was bad, this was so bad, and she was looking up at this guy that had more than a foot on her and he looked really fucking mad too and she could translocate or do something, could have, should have, but she was so scared and she couldn't even talk -

- she barely registered the distant, distinct crack of the Widow's Kiss, and the bullet that hit him right in the temple is barely registered and he blinks and then he...just...crumples. He's nothing. He's...dead. She's cognizant of the fact the Widow's spoken and told her to fucking move, and that the AI in her spine is doing the same thing, and then she does move but it's not her doing the moving, it's the machine that's in her nervous system, propelling her away to the extraction point. The mission is fine - she had what she needed and no one would notice for fifteen minutes and they would be gone by then.

It's just her that's fucked up.

She's silent on the way back. So's the Widow. Back then, they didn't have the rapport they do now, and the Widow was quite incapable of understanding or realizing why Sombra was acting so different. She was just a kid, just 20, and his glassy eyes and that hole in his skull was swimming in her vision.

When they're home, she finally notices the blood in her palm - coming from crescent slashes where the nails of her circuit hand had dug into the flesh with the strength of her grip. She hadn't even noticed.

[heylinfanclub]

Me kickin my feet and thinking bout jack

Reasons I burnt out largely to do with the way tumblrs changed but also, self discovery. For a while Jack was my defensive bundle of ‘let out emotions of ugh and hrgh about the world, that need to destroy and disconnect’.

But now I’m becoming a more. Thoughtful bout my experiences person. Perhaps I am simply no longer a young-young adult. (More reasons to play adult jack).

But thinkin bout it I did go back, how I’d go about it.

No fancy blog decor anymore, I’d make a caard link to about/rules or somethin. Barely anyone goes to the blog page proper, and the effort felt like something that alienated people who couldn’t make the effort. I paid for my last blog set up. Paid. For a graphic designed background and basic coding. Stuff I coulda learned to do myself if I had the time and energy. But why should I feel I have to? It’s like makeup. Not for everyone. But nice and showy as a concept (Jack likes it. Jack doesn’t want his blog to be plain. But fuck em he’s just a character).

Goin back to him would be very. ‘Alright. Jack definitely audhd like me (and it’s played for laughs in the show. Some folks don’t like representational HCs bout characters who are treated poorly (usually cause they don’t wanna think of the other characters as BIGOTS but sometimes people r just bullies and don’t know why they’re bullying someone, they just Do It, especially teens). Jack definitely gender queer (also mocked in the show and makes him very jaded toward the heroes. Who, let’s not be surprised, were already sexist, and I won’t change that, cause it’s a fuckin Cowboy, a sheltered monk and a wannabe playboy. Ofc they’re fucking sexist). They can grow up but Jack will hold onto grudges. Kimiko the only Real One to him, and she still calls him a mamas boy (she’s not wrong).

The audhd lense is so much stronger than adhd alone to rationalize some of his behaviors. The startled screaming (I get scared of LEAVES FALLING IN MY PERIPHERAL VISION); the millions of hobbies but low maintenance for all but a couple of his special interests (machines, weapons, costumery); rigid moral values (not Justice, but EVIL, but he sees his evil as righteous [as in, he’s in the right to act out however he pleases], so that’s another part of the moral soup he feeds himself); HE STIMMY MY STIMMY BOY; Bad at basic socializing (intense, bad w personal space, doesn’t listen well, easily manipulated by strangers) but Talkative, Informative and Capable of Scripting (literal and metaphorical);

Ofc this means jack has a huge soup of ‘shit that’s ‘wrong’ with me’ now and wondering how much I wanna curb his internalized ableism as not to rp sadness always. Like he certainly fights himself on the mental health front, thinking he either doesn’t have problems or it’s OTHER PEOPLE WHO HAVE PROBLEMS. He’s very good at fixing up flexible workarounds for his issues as have his parents always been there to push him (past his limits or, rarely, in a way familiar to themselves (genetic audhd), that actually helps). So he doesn’t think he ‘struggles’ and shockingly, doesn’t moralize his failings (he turns them into physical health issues or just says he IS DOING IT ON PUROSE). Being Tired; Being Bored; Being Burnout. It’s all better excuses than ‘ah I have a developmental disability’.

Decidin to make him less self conscious of the albinism. Yes his parents encouraged him to dye his hair and wear contacts. But he’s the one who eventually took that to wearing Red contacts and dying his hair red too (it was already orangey at the roots by the time he was an adolescent. The white-white color was like, towhead childhood (it’s a bit of a bad beauty standard issue to assume all people with albinism are just this sheer flat white. Lots of freckly, red cheeks, reddish or brownish hair). Though the monkey fur still comes out white. Cause an albino monkey is still white).

Ofc his adult verse is my favorite so when he IS kicked out of his parents house, he DOES begin to struggle. Much like me. And I guess it was hard to write bout that MID STRUGGLES. Doubt Jack is gonna get therapy any time soon, but he does have a lot of ‘breakthroughs’ with himself. Bout how he’d prefer to do his crime. How he’d HAVE TO, without his parents dime. (Not counting all the wealth he saved up in his youth waitin for this day,,,). Gotta really budget now. His parents were already weaning him off the family bank card season 3ish.

Wanna write a couple sentences per character in the series bout how he feels bout them. But knowin me I cannot keep things short lmao.

[taxfraudhousewife]

hey toga

getting a job didn’t cure the depression

the new kind of depression

at least it’s not personal anymore

at least everyone doesn’t hate me for reasons no one can place but everyone can see

i don’t know what to do now

i have so many questions

i wish it didn’t take me so long to think of them

i’m sorry i took so long

i really wish you were here

my friends don’t want to do illegal shit

my mom thinks i’m brainwashed

maybe you are too

i can’t decide if it’s better or worse than regular brainwashing

what the fuck did you do

i haven’t even internalized your actual death how am i supposed to internalize the fucking concept of socialism without tearing myself inside out

how did you hold your outsides out

what kind of outside did you even have to grow

i think mine is bad

i know yours is worse

how did you just sit inside your own outside

i can’t keep it separate

maybe we’re not supposed to

but everyone else can

i can’t tell if you did

i assume not if you were abusing that many substances

but you weren’t as insufferable as i am

that extremely likeable disposition

i know it’s wrong to be jealous of you

it’ll never stop until i am you

i wouldn’t have to be become you if you were still here

if you took me with you or not i could’ve been something else

someone whose muslim jesus is alive and well

im so desperate to be the person you might’ve turned me into

but there is no one to do the turning

except for me

who still really misses you

me who can’t just let you go

maybe i’m just a woman who needs a man to follow and serve

so ready to throw the second brick that the first no longer crosses my mind

and boy have i seen my beloved men be strong and brave

but maybe that’s why i put too much faith in them

it could’ve been you

i will never get over that

a god i would fight to my death for

isn’t that dramatic from me of all people

id probably get you killed a lot sooner

you’d never let me come in the first place

you’d talk me out of it and i’d obey because that’s what religious freaks do

who knows how long i’d spend believing im meant to follow the rules

because you’d say what you need to say to keep me from becoming you

i’m not anything like you tho

i’m too scared to do anything alone

and jesus louisis i am so alone without you

and i’m so fuckin lost and i miss you

my friends say let it eat itself

but that would make you an accelerationist

and i have that same accelerationist demon inside

but he’s just as afraid to act alone as i am

it’s so lonely

that’s the point

and i could get over myself for the sake of actual human connection

i could let the world eat itself

maybe even be happy

and you wouldn’t blame me

you’d probably encourage it

i know you wouldn’t want me to throw away my undeserved place in the machine for ideologies and promises

i know you wouldn’t want me under the fireworks and orchestras

it must’ve been hard

the balance between keeping the teenagers safe and radicalizing them too far

teaching revolution without violence

when you know it’s not possible

i assume they weren’t as hardcore loyalist as me

i assume they know better than me that nothing is possible without violence

i imagine you desperately wrangling angry nineteen year olds

your incantations are only half as effective on them

i keep wondering if you were afraid that you’d set them up for death so young

wish you’d wrangle me

or choose not to

but an active choice rather than dead omission is all i really want

i could hate myself less if you carved away what you deemed excess

if i could keep everything in me that i learned from you

if the reactionary anger slathered over the grief could melt away in your light

if everything in me had your seal of approval

come on muslim jesus

you’re the closest thing i’ll have to a real prophet

i’m sorry i thought you were too smart for your religion

i get it now (in a way)

you showed me where to find fundamental truths about the universe

maybe in a way you were too smart for your religion

but your golden light didn’t come from your smarts

your light was fever hot and smelled like ketosis breath

damp like my gong gongs jungle and dehydrated like my grandmas sand storms

scaled like a dragon and sweetly sung like a bird

i felt like a cat laid in the sun

is it crazy how bad i wish i could curl up with you again

i used to fantasize about your angry nineteen year olds busting you out and sending you here

sometimes i still do

they were strong and able to pull it off because of what you gave them

sent you here swollen and bruised but with your organs intact

and you just needed to rest for a week and you voluntarily rested

because you believed those angry nineteen year olds had east turkistan in the bag

and i doted on you like you did me when we were both younger and more functional

and between the doting i curled up beside you and watched you write and after every word i’d ask

what’s that say

you’d respond in perfect russian

and i would say naxui and roll my eyes at you

and you would roll your eyes at me

and i would press my brow to yours and try not to cry

cause at this point in the maladaptive daydream i’ve remembered it’s not real

if i could cradle that giant asian head and just hold on for five more seconds

i don’t need enough time to confess my undying religious devotion

but enough for you to know that even tho i can’t say it to anybody i love you

and i believe you

[sobachyakukla]

they would give me respirdol & i would think i was a liar the whole time. i would call myself a liar the whole time. i would hate myself for being one, engaged in this neverending war with myself, caught between one perspective & the other perspective like two walls. one reality, another one & another one & another one. my mother looks at me walking away from my chair with my laptop open in front of it, this pulled up. she sneers at me & asks in THAT tone, "what are you doing? writing?" why yes i am. since im supposed to be, documenting everything i went through & saw, just like you said when you bought me my first diary at the dollar tree. now i thought since we sacrificed that one guy claiming to be behind q & a pedo in the white house all of this would have calmed down. but clearly not. its important that these things are still documented. i believe that we can all agree on that. no amount of laughter will stop me from writing either. i was given an order, i'm gonna carry it on out. i also get scared by the proposition that me documenting my psychosis is somehow being "transmitted back in time & being used as a script for your life so be careful with what you write & be sure to only write lies, i mean good things." yeah no im going to write what happened, not what happens. my days of writing what happens are long behind me. if this works out the right way i will be removed from certain positions & life entirely. given some sort of grace & peace for once in my life. once called the sprite queen, the real MOM, & the president, all by one kookie crazy Britney spears loving lady of the Colorado desert: The self proclaimed hermaphroditic dolphin mother. now reduced to something less than dust, bone decay & hidden meanings, unworthy of forgiveness on any & every count, no friends, reminded by mother every given opportunity (except not that often now because then she'd have to admit they were real people) & stalked, harassed, everything i own technology-wise just becomes someones play thing the moment it goes too far. but i'm digressing & undressing & its hot outside & its hot inside & im not in love yay yay yay when did the florida foilage become something that could grow in ohio its the strangest thing. i keep track of everything but its not going to matter or make a difference. it hasn't, it wouldn't. i dont want to preside over the dream machine anymore its all meta-meddlers & backpack peddlers & people who dont understand. the one-point return has gotten out of hand fuck this will indeed start to rhyme. i got up & ate a bunch of bread today in my sleep & it made me want to scream & stab myself. commit seppuku. & this reality-match of ellie is getting to me in ways i cant word or i will scream. i fucking hate it. i just want it to die. see because when i am allowed to imagine it & make it something in my imagination its fine. because then my imagination gets to use its new toy thats just gathering fucking dust at this point. but here we are, wasting time, effort, & energy. all because we really swore we were right. & ya weren't. ya just weren't right about me. it just wasn't the case. & the more you try to make it the case, the more evil you become. & i liked it better when i didn't think of you like that. i really did. i said no helping me. i meant no helping me imagine anything! & touching its head makes me want to throw mine into a brick wall. just get off of my things please. or be smart about how you access them. & stop talking about this in public. homeless people overheard you, tracked me down, & assaulted me. in columbus. i dont talk to anyone so i cant be at fault.

[jodybensonsharp]

Jody Benson Sharp  Don't Tell Anyone, But The Secrets About Lead Generation Are Here

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Try a fax campaign to increase your lead generation. Fax may seem very 1980s in terms of business communication, but most companies still rely on these machines. So many people have ignored the fax machine in the 21st century. But that only means that you have less clutter to battle. Your message will be more likely to hit!

Check out local events in order to maximize your leads. If you're allowed to have a table there, you could hand out pamphlets and hold a giveaway. Just ask people to leave their name and email in return for a ballot, but be sure to let them know if you'll be adding them to a mailing list.

Make sure that all of your leads are legit. Many people get so caught up when buying leads that they don't notice all of the duplicates. It is simple to overlook a lead that you have already gathered multiple times. The most effective campaigns do not continually target customers that have not shown an interest in your products or services.

Door knocking is always an option, so don't rule it out. This can even be true if your business is B2B. Visit businesses and ask them about who they're currently using for whatever it is you're selling, then let them know why you're the better option. Leave some materials behind and move on to the next location.

Search engine optimization, while organic, is all about lead generation as well. How? Your targeted customer base is searching niche specific keywords. If you're targeting the right keywords with all of your sites and content, then you're generating new leads. This does take time, but it's a process that should always be in the works.

Jody Benson Sharp Qualified tips provider. Don't be afraid to pick up the phone. A lot of people get scared of making a call to generate a lead. They think it's akin to annoying telemarketing. But if you've got a solution to a problem a company is having, you'll definitely get phone time with someone. Even if it's not a long call, pitch it and get a meeting to continue the conversation.

Find out if any local publications available for free fit within your niche. For example, real estate agents can get into the local "New Homes" guides found in boxes around the city. If you are a dentist, you could get an ad in a free kids' magazine which details local attractions.

One of the highest visitor to lead ratios you will find online is with LinkedIn. Therefore, this platform should be high on your list of tools for lead generation. Put together a polished and professional profile that includes links to all your landing pages and make LinkedIn a valuable part of your lead generation success.

Find ways to qualify leads that you've brought into the company. Yes, it's important to get as much data as you can, but leads are of different levels of quality. Some leads are more likely to be bigger customers than others. One way is to develop a survey to learn more about their buying habits.

Create a local reciprocal referral database for yourself and other local businesses. You can set it up on Google Documents and ask people you know to join it. If you know someone who needs dental work you can refer them to a dentist on the list and, if he knows someone who needs you he'll, do the same.

Take a class which would better your skills and talk to the other students. They might just be honing their skills because they aren't very good at what you're good at, and maybe they can use what you're selling to make up for the fact they can't do it on their own.

Jody Benson Sharp Expert tips provider. Remember that people respect honesty more than hype, so when you try to generate more leads, leave an open and honest offer on the table. Adding bells and whistles just makes you look like a generic salesperson who will do whatever it takes to get people to buy. Generate leads with a quality presentation and you gain permanent customers instead.

Make sure your website is full of high quality content. Mundane content can cause you to lose leads. You don't want any grammar errors or inaccuracies within your content. Doing this reduces the risks of losing prospective customers as soon as you've got their attention.

Consider publications which fit your niche and write for them. For example, real estate agents could write an article in New Homes Magazine about what to look for when checking out new homes, or what sort of fees one should expect when buying their first home, and then include a byline with a call to action.

As you consider who to exchange links with, think about your local status. If you are a landscaper, you have no interest in advertising yourself in another area. As a result, exchanging links with a landscaper who isn't within your geographic area means you both get SEO benefits and potential leads without competing with each other.

Consider an incentive program for referrals. Referrals can bring in a lot of business when people are properly motivated. Incentives could include free or heavily discounted product or an actual percentage of sales generated. Whatever the incentive, it must be something of value to the people bringing you the referrals.

Jody Benson Sharp Proficient tips provider. As you can see, lead generation is a necessary aspect of your business. Taking the time to learn about lead generation will pay off in the long run. The more successful you are in applying them, the greater your customer base will become. Start implementing all of these ideas today.