SYNOPSIS: when the workplace tension gets a little too thick, heeseung just has to have you one way or another
GENRE: smut??, very suggestive
m.list
this ones a bit short sorry
the endless flirting, the silly little mind games, eye fucking eachother from across the room, all simply explains the workplace relationship you and heeseung have. the tension in the air always growing thick whenever your in the same room, the way he glances and smirks at you, biting his lip at the way you sway by his desk, dropping him off a coffee with a sly wink before moving onto the next desk.
he just has to have you
you and heeseung have always had a flirty friendship in the office, working on projects together is a norm but this project was something else for the both of you, knowing the effects you have on him your using it to your advantage this time. wearing short skirts and blouses occasionally 'accidentally' forgetting to do up a button or two when your alone with him in the meeting rooms. your not one to deceive, it is unprofessional, but this is also lee heeseung.
"for your own sake fix your skirt" heeseung is leaning back in the chair, manspreading at the end of the table. you turn around from the white board to look at him "how about you come fix it for me if you have such a big issue with it" you turn back to face the whiteboard, hiding your smirk. heeseung bites the inside of his cheek , springing to his feet as he slowly makes his way toward you "oh yeah?"
you feel one of his hands snake around your waist, the other rubbing circles on your ass as he presses up against you pulling your skirt up higher "thought you came to pull it down" you laugh at your own bratty remark which earns heeseung to bring his hand to your neck, you melt at the feeling and whine lightly. "whered all that attitude go huh?" you can hear the smirk in his voice "fuck up" you snicker, spinning around to face him.
looking into those pretty brown eyes of his as you grab his tie, using it to pull him in for a kiss, pressing your soft lips together as he pushes up against you again as you softly moan into his mouth, fighting against eachothers tounges, the neediness of the both of you echoing in the kiss. the sound of wet and messy kissing fills the room, heeseung grabs a handfull of your ass and gives it a squeeze.
carresing your ass , squeezing and groping it causually as your whines and soft moans are muffled into his mouth, hands tangled in his hair tugging softly at his locks. one of your hands falls from his hair to palm him through his pants, he bucks his hips into your touch as he pulls away from the kiss.
"lets clock out, we're going back to my apartment"
Guys, you gotta atleast check out this awesome indie game™ character. HHDHDHDHSHHSH
This is Dr. Edega, he is a character from the rhythm game "Rhythm Doctor." He's one of my favourite characters in the entire game.
He's the most repressed gay divorced dilf twink (fanart agrees with me) contrevesial medical malpratice doctor, and hes still an interesting, yet complex character. (Hes also tumblr sexyman material.)
Hes a perfectionist, overworker, achiever, repressed, closeted, and has so much angst potential that could drive a fanfic writer insane.
Also. Hes faceless. And his fanart is crazy.
I recommend you watch/play Rhythm Doctor. (Acts 6-7 is his main acts) seriously this man needs help...
Fic summary: [set in s4] Five is forced to go into mandatory active therapy in order to ensure that he can perform well at the CIA, he finds himself opposite a young lady (21+ ish) who's taken him on as her first client. Five is resistant at first but soon begins to develop ALL kinds of feelings for this woman.
Warnings/tags: ptsd related traumas, flashbacks, self harm, self loathing, resistance to help, attitude, scandalous age gap (five is mentally 60+, body of a 21 year old), developing feelings, inappropriate relationship, unprofessional relationship, anguish, angst, sexually explicit content, mdni, stalker!five, reader should really contact the authorities in all honesty.
you have been warned
Masterlist
CHAPTER TWO
[4.3k words]
Five hadn’t slept a wink.
Not one.
Nothing.
He’d got home and angrily jerked off in the shower over a woman he’d seen for all of maybe seventy minutes. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t rest his mind... hell, he didn’t even pick his suit up from the floor after he’d carelessly stripped on the trip to the bathroom – and it was his favourite.
Five did absolutely nothing that night besides get himself off. Over and over again. Dusk til (almost) dawn. He jerked himself so hard it hurt, taking himself in hand or grinding against tables and countertops in a pitiful attempt to tame his treacherous cock. Usually, he’d at least grind into a pillow or onto the edge of his mattress to get himself off, allowing him at least a semblance of comfort and relaxation…but not that night.
Five was rough with himself. He did everything but make himself bleed. He all but humped holes into his bathroom counter as he shouted expletives at himself for being so entranced by such a young woman. She was a third of his age for fucks sake – and she’d got the better of him.
He fucked himself until he was red raw, feeling his left hand ache and his right one take over – only, that felt worse because it felt foreign…felt like it could have been her. He tired grasping the base of his cock tightly in hopes that in doing so he'd block some blood flow and stop him spilling over her yet again…but it just prolonged his agonised pleasure and made him want to last longer for her. He was rough with his tip and abused his slit until it stung – hoping that somehow he’d associate her with pain and suffering instead of endless reeling pleasure.
It didn’t work.
No matter how many times Five assaulted himself, he’d be hard again in a further fifteen minutes and his self-inflicted torment would begin all over again. He continued until he couldn’t stand, couldn’t thrust himself against anything well enough to climax again, and left himself belly down on his mattress, weakly grinding himself into overstimulation as tears stained painful trails of anguish down his face and his dick was wrung dry.
He wanted nothing more than to be scooped up and held by her…to apologise for disgracing her good image…for defiling her…but he didn’t deserve that; he was covered in the evidence.
He hated himself.
He spent the early hours of the morning sobbing into his sheets as he scratched his skin until he bled, deliberately denying himself a pillow or covers as to reinforce his hatred for finding pleasure in his own discomfort. This is what he deserved. He’d spent all night sexually punishing himself over an uncertain storm of feelings for a young woman he’d met less than twenty four hours ago.
He should be shot.
Five’s body eventually gave out on him and he passed out on his sheets as his tears mixed themselves in with the already cum-soaked mess below him. Salt finding salt, eroding the miserable limestone of his existence. He didn’t care that he had to get up for work in a few short hours. He didn’t even remember that this was the first day of his promotion. He just stayed there, unmoving…until the panic set in.
He was trapped in his nightmares again, worlds burning around him, no escape – no one around. The ground crumbled at his feet as he buried the bodies of his siblings, beckoning him into an early grave just the same, and he was about ready to subject himself to that same fate - until he heard her.
Her honey-like chirps were in his ears again, filling him with equal amounts of comfort and dread. How the hell had she got trapped here with him? Had he brought her here? Had he doomed her to his fate as if he were some ancient vengeful demon clawing youthful innocents down with him? He had to find her and push her out of this. He would not be the reason for her demise.
He couldn’t see her; she was far away – but he could hear her.
“You’re running late, Five.”
He ran around the ruins surrounding him, feeling his feet finally standing on solid ground as he got closer and closer to the sound of her voice. He looked in every room of every house that was still standing, pulling the rubble up from those that weren’t. This was the most strength he’d had in years.
“Let me know when you find me, I’ll be waiting.”
Five woke feeling as though he’d had the wind knocked out of him. He’d kicked away every sheet and pillow on the bed even though he was no where near them when he passed out – he must have thrashed around more than usual. In accounting for his surroundings, he found himself looking for her just as he was a few moments ago. She was nowhere to be seen.
He had to find her – to make sure she was okay. For all he knew, the ground could have swallowed her whole as it intended to do to him. It was his moral duty to ensure her safety, especially from him.
With his resolve steadied and his mind set, Five tried to stand, finding that his body failed him as he dropped to the floor with a rather comedic thud. He hadn’t eaten, he’d barely rested, and he expected to have the energy of a competent detective as opposed to Bambi? Imbecile.
Looking at the clock on his wall, he could see that it was about six in the morning, dawn hadn’t even broken yet. Meaning he had a few moments to compose himself and make himself presentable before facing a city and tracking down some innocent therapist.
He crawled his way over to the small kitchen of his apartment and managed to get himself a protein bar from off the side, figuring that it would be the only thing palatable that would help him retain his muscle mass in this situation. The second he could stand, he chugged a full glass of water and sprung (rather haphazardly) into action – stepping over his discarded laundry to find himself a newly pressed suit.
He was off like a greyhound.
Only, he had no clue where she lived.
Though, he was a detective and could technically just abuse what little power he had to find that out…he didn’t think of that, instead he stood outside the CIA offices – waiting to see if she’d be in today and which direction she would come from.
He hid himself for what felt like years, hanging out by a cleaning kart, adorning a stupid flat-cap and moustache as to ensure his disguise, as if that hid his easily-identifiable suit. In the time it took for even the caretakers to open the main building, she hadn’t arrived; Five was left alone with his thoughts – a dangerous situation to say the least.
He waited there thinking of how much of an inconvenience this was – ensuring the safety of a woman he’d love to say he cared nothing about. Five was well aware of the fine line between love and hate; it took too much energy to hate anyone, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to give this perky little graduate the satisfaction of his energy. His self-aware mind chose to ignore the blatant irony before it hit him between the eyes.
As the minutes crawled on, Five allowed his mind to dwindle ever so slightly into a depressive episode. Maybe it was the drop in hormones from his self-fuck-athon last night or maybe it was just the ordinary self-loathing that he was used to, but it felt familiar, comfortable even.
He wondered why the hell he gave two living shits about this woman and why he was going out of his way to seemingly destroy himself over her. Was it because she’s basically untouched - as if he’d put her in a sealed glass museum case so she could remain on display for him? Was it because she put him in his place as no one had done before - as if he were in the case? Or was it because she was his mirror image - and perhaps the case didn't even exist? He didn’t know. All he knew was that this was exhilarating and liberating – putting his skills to use once again for the ‘greater good’…and, after all, she had asked him to find her.
That’s when she turned the corner. Twenty-nine minutes past seven. Exactly. The way in which her feet carried her would mean she’d be buzzing her ID at precisely half past the hour - and she did, so he followed her.
She walked across the foyer and immediately summoned a lift. Fuck. He couldn’t go through that again; last time nearly killed him. He had to wait downstairs until she returned. He waited a full twenty minutes for her to return, ignoring how his heart raced as she exited the lift and headed to reserve her spot in the café line – noticeably sans her jacket and bag, carrying the precise amount of cash she needed.
She was a creature of habit…
…every deranged stalker’s wet dream.
She wore almost the same outfit as yesterday but had opted for a stronger hairclip. Her heels beckoned Five to cross the open marble floors with her, pulling him into a hypnotic trance as the sounds of her clacky footsteps sunk him into mental submission once again.
He was enthralled.
It took all his might not to follow her; he was still wearing his stupid disguise. Although, he did consider that he only had ten minutes before starting work himself and he did need coffee. Having made the decision rather quickly, he disposed of his disguise behind a plant pot and straightened up before walking over to the café himself.
He tried to act aloof as he stood himself a few places behind her in the queue, feeling as though it was safer to observe her than it was to interact with her. She ordered the same drink as yesterday and waited in precisely the same spot, looking at the same menu she looked at the day before. Did she know he was watching? Was she putting on a seemingly boring show on purpose? Still, he couldn’t look away.
Five ordered his own coffee but slunk immediately into the corner as it was being prepared, knowing that she’d take the lift back up to her office after she’d collected the steamy cup. He knew all these things about her and yet couldn’t pull his eyes from her, finding a relief in knowing that she was living and breathing…in close proximity to him…where he could keep an eye on her.
She, as expected, collected her coffee and crossed the marble floor of the foyer again…only, this time, she opted to take the stairs. Seven floors worth of stairs. Why the hell..?
Five let his curiosity get the better of him and he followed her into the stairwell after collecting his own coffee, counting the steps she took as her kitten heels ascended the staircase. She only went up six floors. Six, not seven. He began to take the steps one by one and find out what had happened. What if she’d been hurt or had an emergency? No one would have known bar him. He had to know.
Why the ever loving fuck did he have to know?
He was in his sixties for fucks sake!
Spiting himself yet again, he tiptoed up the stairs until he got to the fourth floor, finally hearing her heels ascend to the seventh platform of the building – hearing the stairwell door open and drop shut.
Why did she wait?
Five didn’t have time to find out; he was now actually running late for his first assignment. Fuuuuuuck. First day on the job and he was already late, it was times like this that made him miss his powers. He’d done a similar thing when he had to present his thesis back in university, only there he’d got delayed at the tailors and wasn’t stuck obsessing over some frilly young filly in a tight skirt.
Racing up the remainder of the stairs to the tenth floor to receive his first instruction, Five managed to spill coffee on his tie. Great, new job, late, and a scruff.
He wanted to chop his dick off then and there – at least then he’d be on time.
His first meeting went okay after getting a bollocking about his timekeeping - oh, how blatant the irony. He was given his first solo-case, which was an honour coming from that specific supervisor. He’d also been given new authorities around the building. Finally, something worthy of his time and effort. Everything was going swimmingly until his supervisor pulled his therapy permission notes – the very same ones that she’d signed yesterday.
His dick twitched in his pants.
His breath was short.
He needed to see her.
He couldn’t finish the discussion on those notes quick enough, subduing himself to regular meetings with her and admitting that the help was useful. The help was anything but useful. In fact, it screwed him up and he hated it…but fuck, did he need screwing up. After being dismissed, he was told not to waste time on his case, taking himself under the advisement to go and read up on the suspects before doing any field work.
Yeahhhhh, no.
He went straight to the seventh floor, and hid in the stairwell.
He watched as clients turned the corner into her office and came out an hour later, taking note of which ones carried permission slips and which didn’t. He also listened as closely as he could for the shutting of her office door each time, but he never heard it. She never shut it. Neither did her clients. He did when he had an appointment.
Her clients were all older than her too, and not specified by gender. None of which seemed to leave in the state that he had left in only yesterday. Did she hate him? She should have hated him.
He wanted an appointment today. Seeing her weekly wasn’t enough. Though, it seemed to be too much for Five altogether. He wanted her, but he also wanted her dead. She was the only interesting thing about this new world, and she wasn’t even that special. This had to be his hormones ruling his brain. Oh, how he loathed his body.
He watched her intensely throughout the remainder of the day, doing his own research in corridors and stairwells just to catch glimpses of her…to follow the breadcrumb trail of her perfume as it lingered in the hallways. He rationalised this as though he were a zookeeper and she were merely a captive animal; he was on observation duty to ensure that she didn’t go off the rails.
Finding himself distraught when his office hours neared their end, Five gathered the waning remainder of his composure and submitted his findings for the day – careful not to mix up his notes. Couldn’t have his superior thinking that he was some creepy bastard.
He followed the young woman out of the building, she took the lift down this time and he nearly fell down the stairs, he watched as she removed her ID and placed it inside her coat pocket before walking back from whence she appeared this morning. It would be too much to follow her…
…but he did it anyway.
He stuck closely to her as she took herself about a ten minute walk from the offices and into a subway station. He didn’t follow her onto the train itself but he did notice precisely which line and which service she took. That was enough; he wasn’t crazy.
He didn’t care about this woman at all.
He took himself home buying only one item on the journey: pushpins.
He pinned her notes to the wall above his bed in hopes that these rhythmic actions of hers may instil enough routine in him to enforce sleep. She never needed to know about this, nor would she. He was just clinging to whatever predator-like urges he had from lives past. He was never going to hurt her. This way, at least he’d survive until Monday.
Which he did…only through stalking her through the offices and following her to and from her commute every morning… the actions of a completely sane mental patient.
However, he’d struggled at the weekend – finding himself in the same old, ritualistic fuck-athon that he did only a few days prior. Although now, he had the proof of her existence. She was now a constant variable; he’d never need to eliminate her.
By the time Monday came, Five was grateful that his suit hid his self-inflicted bruises. She’d definitely have something to say if she saw them and Five couldn't think of any valuable excuses. though he had made one achievement: he'd managed to keep his body alive and his dick down before running back to her office bright and early Monday morning, this time allowing himself the privilege of standing behind her in the café queue.
He was fucked.
They took the lift together again and not a single word was uttered until they broke the threshold of her office door. He didn’t need to hear her – it was probably best that he didn’t. He’d already been reprimanded for his behaviour in this office once, he didn’t need to be told again.
This time she broke the silence.
“Welcome back, Five. How was your week?” she said as she gestured for him to take a seat.
Ah - well actually, I’ve been fine thanks. No need to tell me how you’ve been; I stalked you round this office all last week and fucked myself over you when it was closed because my weak brain can’t comprehend your absence, you sick fuck.
“It was good, thank you, and yours?”
“Brilliant.”
She was toying with him. Already. He’d only been over the threshold for thirty seconds and she’d already sunk her teeth into his neck and was draining his life force straight out of his veins.
Ohhhhh fuck, he wanted her to drain him.
“I spoke to your supervisor the other day, he says you’re doing well. He thinks you’re ready for field work” she smiled out at him as she scribbled her one word on the top of a new page in her notebook.
“Do you?” were the only words that Five could muster – he hated himself for seeking her approval.
“You tell me.” She retorted, rather smugly.
How the fuck was he meant to know what she thought? Arrogant bitch. If he wanted to play this game he’d have done it the night previous in the confines of his bedroom. Not here, in the claustrophobic enclosure of her office.
God, she was truly useless as a therapist.
In protest, Five remained silent…for the remainder of the appointment.
As did she.
Though, she seemed rather more relaxed about it than he did – sipping her coffee with no lid, flicking back in the pages of her notebook. Five was sure that his heart must have stopped when she got up to crack open the window…sitting back down after her heels met the floor with that signature clack as his heart clung to the sound as it were seemingly the only one in the room save for his own laboured breaths.
She was going to send him into cardiac arrest.
Five soon realised that he found comfort within her silence, feeling his body relax into her own soft breaths and movements. He could have actually fallen asleep if it had been appropriate…and if his dick had him alone for even a millisecond. The angry twitching in his pants brought him closer and closer to the edge with every minute that passed. He could have quite easily cum untouched in that office and given himself a whole new Freudian complex to worry about.
Five couldn’t speak, nor did he want to. He had to hold his ground against her, to prove that he wasn’t the ‘easy case’. He wanted her to be offput enough to stay away, to reassign him to another therapist, to run away.
His skin was molten lava and she was blades of grass; he’d destroy her beauty at a moment’s notice with no capacity for remorse.
He'd turn her into the very same ash that clouded his brain and forced him to remember what he'd done to get himself here, the same one that invaded his lungs all those years ago. He'd end up making himself her fatal issue.
He stood as she did, reaching to shake her hand and signal the appointment over. He’d won, only – he hadn’t…again.
He didn’t let go of her hand…and she didn’t let go of his. Neither of them moved an inch. Five’s breathing was heavy and his jaw clenched tight. She was looking right at him, embedding herself into the prison of his soul – trapping herself there for all eternity, locking the cell door herself. Her lashes were long, her lips as sultry as he’d remembered, and her grip on him was firm. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Five couldn’t hold his breath any longer, the tension becoming too much for his brain and his dick to handle. If she’d have known what he’d been doing over the past week, she wouldn’t be holding him like this. The very act of him omitting that from her was the hellish and blatant proof as to why he didn’t deserve her or her endless patience.
He finally broke free, and bolted.
Five tried his best to steer clear of her after that, insisting that he didn’t follow her as she took her lunch break…though his will power didn’t last him long at all; he still ensured she made her train home.
The next few days showed Five himself as a predictable creature of habit. He continued to stalk the young woman, following her every move and then jerking off over it the second he got home. She was etched into him, and he’d chiselled her image there. His own hands had been the reason for this pathetic end, he'd allowed her to kill him.
Five's tension grew worse as the week went on, finding himself insatiable by the time Friday came around. He couldn’t have another episode this weekend…he needed something of hers – something to keep him sane. So, as any normal person would do, he intruded her office in her lunch break – finding her door open as it usually was.
He rummaged through her papers and sat in her desk chair, wondering how the hell she managed to find anything in this mess whilst also wondering if she’d accept him into it. He’d happily become part of her furniture.
That way she’d be able to make use of him.
He finally settled himself in the chair she takes their appointments in, practically melting into it, looking around lazily for her notebook. He couldn’t ignore his cock this time, feeling as though he’d cum dry if he didn’t do something now. After checking his watch, Five began to palm himself through the fabric of his trousers, feeling as though her eyes were on him as he closed his own.
He wanted her to watch him, to tell him what to do and how to do it, to force him to cum from her words alone.
He was grateful that she was on lunch or else she’d have heard his breathy moans of (dis)satisfaction and may have deemed him an injured bird that needed saving. He imagined her walking in and catching him, seeing her own dove in its chosen cage, getting off on the fact that its master has accepted it fully – knowing precisely what kind of deviant he is. Perhaps he was the zoo animal in need of observation.
He heard her again. She was in his ear as she always was, she sounded closer and even more pornographic than he’d remembered his imagination forming her.
“Having fun are we?”
Five felt himself nod in response as he imagined her arms snake over his shoulders, gripping the base of his neck as he palmed himself harder.
“Words, Five.”
“Yes…” he breathed out, allowing his head to drop back into her chest.
She was there.
Five panicked, jumping out of her chair as quickly as he could and turning to face her in absolute shame.
She’d caught him.
He’d miscalculated.
He’d just been touching himself in her office whilst trying to swipe her things…so that he could get off over her later on, and she’d seen it. He was doomed.
He wanted to bolt again, to change timelines and begin again…he wanted to kill himself and end their collective suffering. No amount of self-inflicted harm would ever atone for this shame; he had to die. His feet wouldn’t move as he waited to be reprimanded, feeling as though he deserved to feel hurt by her, wanting to be hurt by her. He’d just crossed an un-crossable boundary. Forget professionalism; he’d essentially just assaulted her.
She didn’t say a word, which left Five wondering if her seductive chirps had glued his ears shut, she just patted her chair and invited him to sit back down…
…so he did.
She moved across from him and perched herself on the coffee table, searching for his eyes. He couldn’t look at her but he also couldn’t look away from her. He was at her mercy now. She took his left hand again - the offending one, holding it in hers as she leaned over to drip honey into his ear once again:
The most maddening part of my job is how many general practice vet clinics will refer a patient out to a veterinary dentist due to something they found on X-ray, then make it almost impossible for us to get the x-rays.
Every week I wind up calling clinics repeatedly, begging them to send us dental radiographs they took which prompted a dental referral. “I don’t have access to those” “I don’t know how to send those” “They’re really hard and slow to access” or just saying they’ll send them and then blowing me off completely. How are ANY of those things my problem? Figure. It. Out.
Today’s special fun was brought to me by Banfield and a cat with stomatitis. I called the Banfield where kitty had the x-rays taken, and was told that since the owner has moved, all of kitty’s records are now at this other Banfield. I called Banfield #2 who told me to call #1 back because the rads were taken there and are stored there.
This was the FIFTH set of rads (out of twelve patients) that I had to chase down this week so I am afraid I lost my patience a bit and demanded that both clinics send me the rads or I would reach out to corporate.
Trump crashed out, as the kids say nowadays, and had a full on meltdown during an interview with Kristin Welker.
What's hilariously ironic is that the interview went for about 38 minutes and most of it was that soft fascism enabling the Press does nowadays with Trump. But then, about 30 minutes in, Welker apparently just ran out of fornications to give, maybe she got tired of the smell, because she suddenly started acting like an actual journalist.
Welker put Trump on the defensive by questioning his illegal weaponization slush fund and then pivoted to Trump's claims of election fraud. Trump grew visibly angrier and more unhinged as Welker demanded evidence for Trump's endless claims of rigged elections, until he lost control of his emotions, raged at Welker calling her "crooked and stupid," attacked NBC and CNN and the Press, and then abruptly stood up and quit the interview.
As he desperately wobbled away, Trump patted Welker on the shoulder in a dismissive condescending gesture that tells me the CEO of NBC will be getting a threatening phone call from Brendan Carr tomorrow morning.
Now, I've seen a few people describing Trump's abrupt departure from the Welker interview as "running away," but that's wrong. Watch the video. Trump can barely walk. Lurched, reeled, stumbled, staggered, careened, tottered, pitched, swayed, waddled away at the speed of a confused vapor-locked Mitch McConnell maybe, but he didn't run. There was no running.
The worst part of this is that it wasn't even that tough of an interview. Like I said, most of it was softball questions. The usual weak sauce American press, who are far more concerned with shareholder value and book deals (That's right, I'm talking to you, Jake Tapper) instead of their duty to the Republic.
And really, Trump WASN'T prepared to answer questions about his Weaponization Fund? Trump WASN'T prepared to defend his election fraud claims with hard proof? Really? He somehow DIDN'T know that would be the questions? How is that even possible? And what's THAT tell you? Because it tells me he's surrounded by toadies and fops and ass-kissing sycophants who not only tell him only what he wants to hear, but leave him utterly unprepared to face any but the most favorable situation. And this is just some mid interview, something any politician should be able to handle hungover and half awake. If he can't handle Kristin Welker, how's he going to face down Putin or Kim Jong Un or even Chuck Schumer?
That bit as the end, where Welker suddenly starts acting like a pitbull, THAT should be every interview on every channel every time.
THAT should be every shouted question in front of Marine One or on the golf course, on the White House lawn, or anywhere, every time.
THAT should be what The Press does EVERY TIME, with EVERY politician, not just Trump -- but especially with Trump.
The Press is the ONLY private enterprise given an enumerated right in the Constitution. That was done for one specific reason.
hi. i think we all noticed the out-of-nowhere revival of the jack/oswald pair that happened this year... here are some stats to highlight how insane that was:
a total of 61 Jack/Oswald fics were written and shared last year, which represents 31,8% of the Pandora Hearts fanfics of 2025 (35% if we exclude crossovers)
that is a HUGE number: it means that 35,6% of the Jack/Oswald fanfics alviable on AO3 were posted through 2025.
so. what the fuck caused this to happen????
a year of jack-and-walding
a total of 866 664 words over 61 fics, by 17 different authors as well as 2 anons.
that is so much!!!! those 61 fics occupied over 30% of the AO3 tag when, previously, that pair only once went above 10% of the fanfics' posted over a year.
(btw most of that 2025 wordcount is due to the work of NeahCampbell54. if you see this, hi: you're a beast)
here were the most used additionnal tags over 2025:
what was jackwald 2025 about, if not canon compliant angst in which they mournfully take it up the ass...
the timeline of this mess
as often, it all starts with a bit: "jackwald january". except, said bit is not shared anywhere outside of my private circle dfgdj it just so happens that other AO3 users have been posting jackwald fics in january as well. dumb luck, really.
but then, the bit continues: "jackwald june" followed immediately by "jackwald july". this is when shit starts to pick up and gets really out of my hands, as you can see, leading to that one "osjack october" you've perhaps heard about.
i couldn't tell you why this worked as well as it did. genuinely. i'm as confused as you are. where did all of you people come from. i love you all.
taking responsibility (it's not actually my fault)
what happened at first, basically, was that i got very very insane.
what i never expected, however, was that so many others would join in the fun. some did because i rambled about this ship until their eardrums exploded and they were kind enough to humour me but, to my surprise, most of did out of totally unrelated reasons. i got to meet so many great people, artists and writers thanks to this shared enthusiasm, and i'm so grateful for it!!
(still, if you hated seeing your dash and AO3 tag getting flooded with jackwald, i'd really want to apologise. i'm only one jackwald poster out of many, and many would have been jackwald posting had i existed or not, but i guess i still threw a big ass brick into the pond with uh. this. yea... that one did some damage, didn't it)
okay, but why are you making a fuss about it?
that much would be because i think it's super exciting to see that by being annoying enough and posting about what you love, just putting it out there, not only you can see it grow and form communities, but you can also just have the time of your life seeing others get reminded of their own love for it.
basically: if we managed to get a random jackwald invasion in 2025, why couldn't be 2026 the time for your own underappreciated pair to shine?
> love things, make art unapologetically, and stay annoying about it forever.
