hey! so I’m actually on the meat hook right now but

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@mortuaryassistant
hey! so I’m actually on the meat hook right now but

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“What is a ghost? A tragedy condemned to repeat itself time and again? A moment of pain, perhaps. Something dead which still seems to be alive. An emotion suspended in time. Like a blurred photograph. Like an insect trapped in amber. A ghost. That's what I am.”
@haeit asked: 💭 + what's his preferred method of killing? does he have a stylized way of doing it that'd set his kills apart from others?
Headcanon • Ghostface • Methods to Madness.
Isolation is the key to his success. To isolate his victim. To watch them grow paranoid. The psychological warfare. He's patient. He's spent his whole life in nothing, but the mundane. Nothing but radio silence and church hymns. He can sit back and watch the day to day lives of those he cases out. Observe human nature. To induce fear like no other. Did I see someone outside? Was it in my head? The creak under a staircase. The tapping of floorboards into an empty room. Is someone inside the house?! To watch someone flee their home in the dark of night, a frenzy, only to be forced to come back days later when ‘the coast is clear.’ He plays the long game. Weeks, months. Longer than his counterparts. Longer than most might. Waits to strike when the iron cools down. When after the rise and fall of fear settles in, and his victim is left wondering — what happened last week? Why’s everything fine now?
Dating apps are his directory. Home invasions are his forte. He’s wonderful at picking locks to most doors, and leaving no trace as he exits. A mirage. Misplacing items. Moving them into spots one might never have expected. Handprints left on the fogged mirror when his victim his showering. Notes with no return address. He creates these moments of ambiguity, only to confirm one’s fears with a final blow when they least expect it. When they’re curled up in bed at night, a place one should feel most secure. Butcher's carving knives are his chosen tool. As they’re compact, yet strong to slice through flesh. Ripping and tearing through the throats of his victims as slow as he can brings him a sense of joy like no other, or often times slowly stabbed through the jugular vein as he watches them consequently choke on their own blood. As he takes out his camera to snapshot the memory, and leaves like a ghost in the night.
Trauma is a concept hard for Yejun to process. He doesn’t realize he harbors so much of it from his mortuary background, or the religious imagery that surrounded it. He doesn’t realize that the sounds of church hymns are cause enough to send chills down his spine and beads of sweat down his neck. Not in the least. He’s pushed those feelings so deep within himself.
Yet, every time his father would call him to the morgue to give lessons on embalming and dressing the body for funeral preparations, Yejun felt his blood run cold. When the distance sound of the old, scratchy radio echoed and flickering lights in the decrepit desolate walls of the mortuary filled his ears, all he knew was dread.
“ Repeat after me, son. ‘The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life.’ ” His father would guide him to recite before they begun, believing that they would save themselves from the wrath of vengeful spirits so long as they kept their faith in God. Bringing the deceased into God’s loving embrace, his father saw their work as something holy and sacred.
…Yejun saw a rotting corpse on a table, with cloudy eyes staring straight through him. Various scalpels and tools on the ready— with the booming sound of a prerecorded sermon to battle his father’s paranoia of hauntings and the dead scorning him, and their family. Yejun couldn’t see this in the same light as his father, the morbidity of it all resonated with him. To spend more time with the deceased, and his delusional father, than the living took it’s toll.
Headcanon • Seok Yejun • Choir
Though religion has always been a touchy and very triggering subject for him, his past weighing heavy on his shoulders as he finds it hard to leave the home that haunts him… he didn’t mind being in choir. He’d go as far as to say he grew to love music and singing, because church choir performances were the only time he saw his family together. Looking relatively happy. It was the time he felt normal. Felt like he was doing something constructive. And to this day, no matter the verse, he retained the singing skills he attained in the church choir. It doesn’t solely apply to the no spin universe, although it is most explored in that verse. However, this quiet passion of his may spark across the board of his verses. Sometimes he’d sing under his breath in the mortuary, just to lessen the eerie atmosphere his father created. And it’s always felt like a security blanket to him to sing, or listen to ballads.

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@night0332 asked: 💭 + alcohol / / headcanons meme / accepting !
Headcanon • Ghostface • Alcoholism
No other lover holds Yejun as warmly as alcohol does, or so he tells himself. Nothing takes the pain away like drinking has. Bars and clubs were a sanctuary for him to let pain free and drink it all away; to feel the extroversion take over, to sleep with a stranger in the dead of night, and to forget their name the next day. To fight until his knuckles bleed, break glasses, and cause mayhem. Bar fights after bar fights, to feel something. The whiskey fills a void, a place in his chest where he feels he has no place for anyone. Where he feels best in his solitude. Where he thrives under observing the behavior of those around him. To stalk. To exist in shadows. Drinking alleviates this solitary need. Brings life to what he would consider himself to just be a dead man walking. A corpse. A ghost.
Thus the persona. Thus the taking of lives. Nothing matters anyway, right? They're all gonna die one day. He's seen enough cadavers in his life to know that one day it'll be his time too. Murder, it's a means to an end, and alcohol pushes him to engage socially with those around him outside of his murderous 'dates'. To break free from the confines of work in the morgue, and slaughtering the night away. He comes into himself. Laughing, smiling. No one can guess how broken this person is. How much he hates the world around him.
And by day, he cleans up nice in spite of the hangover. Maintains an appearance of a college student struggling to pay his tuition and in between semesters. In between jobs and working at his family business, as he'd happily sugarcoat what a shitshow his life truly is. No, he pretends... Just a typical 20 something year old in a weekend party phase. No one realizes what tool this is for him to self medicate away disinterest with life as a whole. No one notices how he revels in seeing himself as a 'high functioning alcoholic.' And not even he realizes he's ruining himself each drink he takes.
@n0spins asked: 💭 + existence (for spite jun…..) / headcanons meme / accepting !
Headcanon • Y=JUN: model #434354 • Existence
If he is cut with a knife, there is no blood. If his chest is ripped open, there is no beating heart. If he is killed, he is replaced. The Jun models are disposable, objects for the convenience of mankind. To aid in daily activities, to bring comfort. They exist without feeling, without complaint. Without emotion. They're wired, programmed to carry out necessities. Y=JUN is no different, placed and rewired over and over, for decades, to find where he belonged. He wasn't born from a womb, but from a factory with cauterizing flames connecting electrical powered, steel joints together remaining as his first memory. A mimicry of the human image, yet not the same. He can feign the feelings of compassion, adapt with advanced artificial intelligence to mirror the expression of the person before him, predict what mood may suit their fancy most of all, and act according to hypothesis. He acts with purpose, to exist for those around him. To show no emotion.
Yet, no artificial intelligence goes without flaws.
As he adapts, as he learns more about the human condition, about the bond humans have with one another; he feels. Longing. Pining. Loneliness. Need. Anger. Desire. All human feelings. He desires those moments with JJ's doting upon him with such love behind each action, being escorted around his gun closet and experiencing the excitement as he explains what new parts each and every weapon has added to it. He yearns for those quiet times in Minjun's office space and the peace that Minjun provides to him, where the world seems quiet and he can feel as if maybe, just maybe, he's forming a real thought. Not a computer process, but an authentic one. An original one. He longs for Kitae's company; to be coddled every so often with his sincerity and wisdom of the world around them ( as well as the meals he feeds him ), while returning the same comforts to someone he deems quiet in their own suffering. He seeks out Jaesung, in the garage- curiously observing as he tinkers with whatever mechanical parts he can stumble upon. A familiarity, a sense of home and the human who had stuck by him since the start. And Peter, he longs to understand. To see past the walls that are raised high, and empathize. To learn how to feel what another is feeling. To understand their pain, and soothe.
Existence is the one process Yejun has yet to fathom, and no amount of research or software updates will ever make it more clear: but he knows he exists for one thing, and it's SPITE. For those who saved him from dismantlement. For those who held him higher than what his programming was made for. For those who risk life and limb to keep him around. He realizes androids and humans aren't all to different from one another. That their similarities are so uncanny, that they can almost be mistaken for one in the same.
@n0spins asked: 💭 + existence (for spite jun…..) / headcanons meme / accepting !
Headcanon • Y=JUN: model #434354 • Existence
If he is cut with a knife, there is no blood. If his chest is ripped open, there is no beating heart. If he is killed, he is replaced. The Jun models are disposable, objects for the convenience of mankind. To aid in daily activities, to bring comfort. They exist without feeling, without complaint. Without emotion. They're wired, programmed to carry out necessities. Y=JUN is no different, placed and rewired over and over, for decades, to find where he belonged. He wasn't born from a womb, but from a factory with cauterizing flames connecting electrical powered, steel joints together remaining as his first memory. A mimicry of the human image, yet not the same. He can feign the feelings of compassion, adapt with advanced artificial intelligence to mirror the expression of the person before him, predict what mood may suit their fancy most of all, and act according to hypothesis. He acts with purpose, to exist for those around him. To show no emotion.
Yet, no artificial intelligence goes without flaws.
As he adapts, as he learns more about the human condition, about the bond humans have with one another; he feels. Longing. Pining. Loneliness. Need. Anger. Desire. All human feelings. He desires those moments with JJ's doting upon him with such love behind each action, being escorted around his gun closet and experiencing the excitement as he explains what new parts each and every weapon has added to it. He yearns for those quiet times in Minjun's office space and the peace that Minjun provides to him, where the world seems quiet and he can feel as if maybe, just maybe, he's forming a real thought. Not a computer process, but an authentic one. An original one. He longs for Kitae's company; to be coddled every so often with his sincerity and wisdom of the world around them ( as well as the meals he feeds him ), while returning the same comforts to someone he deems quiet in their own suffering. He seeks out Jaesung, in the garage- curiously observing as he tinkers with whatever mechanical parts he can stumble upon. A familiarity, a sense of home and the human who had stuck by him since the start. And Peter, he longs to understand. To see past the walls that are raised high, and empathize. To learn how to feel what another is feeling. To understand their pain, and soothe.
Existence is the one process Yejun has yet to fathom, and no amount of research or software updates will ever make it more clear: but he knows he exists for one thing, and it's SPITE. For those who saved him from dismantlement. For those who held him higher than what his programming was made for. For those who risk life and limb to keep him around. He realizes androids and humans aren't all to different from one another. That their similarities are so uncanny, that they can almost be mistaken for one in the same.
October 2022
[ text ← ] I've never felt more unwanted in my own house than when you came into my life. [ text → ] I don't care how you feel
December 2023
[ text ← ] I should've just insisted to drive you. [ text ← ] Please just come back.
New Years Gift for: @obituaried
i hope i find you in every other life again

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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" You're better off dead. " She says, " you rotten flesh of my womb. You were my greatest mistake. Can't you disappear? Get away from me... Help your father, I can't look at you. You'll make me vomit. "
He recalls those words like an incantation, taking a long drag of the cigarette, staring at the body he's embalming. Smoking wasn't sanitary in the morgue, but what did it matter anyway? Expression unchanging, tired eyes observing his work.
What is death? Would his soul float into the sky? Lay on this table like this carcass? Featureless. Pale. Revolting. Funny his flesh and blood would wish such a lonely existence on him. He never saw his mother as a mother anyways. The constant neurotic behaviors desensitized him.
" You're nothing to me. Nothing to anyone, " she'd cry in a frenzy.
He tries to feel anger, to channel it as he makes incisions in decaying flesh to be stitched once more once the organs are removed, but he feels nothing.
It's always nothing.
He's as unfeeling as the corpse staring back at him.
One in the same.
“May we stop seeing ourselves through the eyes of people that never saw us.”
— Dr Thema
Franny Choi, from “Danez Says They Want to Lose Themselves in Bops They Can't Sing Along To”, The World Keeps Ending, and the World Goes On