#THE SIMPLE TRUTH IS THAT OTHER PEOPLE ARE STILL ALL THERE IS!

[evolutionsvoid]

As the lumberjacks of old times could tell you, the forest is full of mysteries and dangers. In some cases, though, there can also be mischief. Sometimes, the creatures in these woods aren't here to cause bodily harm, instead finding amusement in causing confusion and the occasional fisticuffs.

While most folk call this species "Toteroad Shagamaw," its original name was simply "Shagamaw." That is what the natives in this region used to refer to this odd creature, with the "toteroad" part only coming in when lumberjacks began to encounter it. To the first people of this land, the Shagamaw was a tracker's entry test, to see if one was skilled enough to follow the ever-changing footprints. At first they would look like bear tracks, but then later moose, when in truth it was neither of these beasts. Shagamaw were rarely hunted, but were kept away from settlements due to their taste for cloth. Due to their shifting bodies, changing tracks and thieving ways, they were seen as an embodiment of a trickster god. When settlers came to these lands, and the lumber industry began, these strangers were quick to learn why the Shagamaw earned such a reputation.

The arrival of outsiders to their woods must have been a joyous time for the Shagamaw, as they now had a new crop of ignorant folk to torment. The natives here had long figured out the Shagamaw's tricks and deceptions, even knowing that they walked 440 steps on one set of limbs before rotating. But this fresh batch was unaware, and had the tendency to ignore the locals. And as their industry moved in, so did a new supply of cloth and cotton for them to eat.

Thus the Shagamaws began to pop up around logging camps and travel the tote roads. They would swipe whatever clothing had been left out, and use trickery to make workers leave behind tasty pieces. Their tracks leaving camp would garner attention, and thus the lumberjacks would pursue. However, their efforts would inevitably fail, as the tracks shifted into different shapes. While this was meant to confuse their pursuers, it also caused quite a few fights when inebriated loggers would accuse one another of misidentifying tracks and following the wrong beast. Shagamaws would purposefully choose tracks that would best garner a response: be it a moose for eager hunters, or a bear's when looking to scare folk away. All of this was done to lure lumberjacks away from camp or their washings, and then the Shagamaw would swoop in for dinner.

While they had good times at the loggers' expense, they would not last forever, as even these folk would grow wise to these antics. Eventually they would identify the Shagamaw and learn how to spot their tracks. Lumberjacks refused to get baited by them, and they would instead start using traps to catch these buggers. While the meat on these creatures was a bit lacking, folk found amusement out of their strange pelts. To have the fur of both a moose and bear all in one! Trappers and hunters would catch them for these furs, selling them as wonderful oddities and quaint trophies. Even as the years went on, the strangeness of a Shagamaw's pelt still delighted folk, and their hunting continued. Thankfully, these creatures are smarter than most other woodland critters and knew when to make themselves scarce. They would eventually retreat deeper into the wilds to avoid hunting, and their populations spent quite a few years in hiding. However, the pressure would soon relent, and the Shagamaw's would start spreading back out again. Times had changed, which helped in some regard but infuriated in others. What were the Shagamaws to do when they found that humans no longer cared about simple tracks?

In modern times, the Shagamaw is an odd relic that earns an amused snort and that's about it. Man was no longer deceived by their baffling tracks, but mostly because they didn't track any more. A person walking the woods would only point at such markings and then move on, never taking the bait. Such deceptions were lost on the common folk, and thus the gimmick of the Shagamaw was ineffective. While the species is still appreciated in some regards, like two-in-one stuffed animals and hunting club mascots, the Shagamaw wound up slipping into unconcerned obscurity. Maybe you may hear the old tidbit about how there used to be the "Shagamaw" unit of distance. Be it "two legs of a Shagamaw" (that is 440 steps), or "one leg" (220 steps) or "four legs" (880 steps). But the most they do now is torment the occasional rookie camper, scaring them with bear tracks near their tent and making off with left out hiking socks.

--------------------------------

"Toteroad Shagamaw"

Okay, may have gone a liiiiittle nutty with the design on this one, but I really didn't want to draw a regular ol satyr for this. Oh hi, Buer!

[shallandavar613]

Following the post earlier this week from @dropoutdottv , I feel it necessary to speak out against their statement and add my voice to the many other Jewish fans that have raised issue with them. Their recent stance that has come out about "platforming zionists" is extremely antisemitic and problematic. As has been mentioned a few times relating to this post, the term ‘Zionist’ is very often used as a slur for Israelis and/or Jews. Responding to accusations of “platforming zionists” with what essentially boils down to “we checked with every Jew to see what their political stance is on a country they may or may not have any connection to, and made sure that they were a Good JewTM who agrees with us” is…troubling to say the least. According to a survey done in June by the AJC, 85% of American Jews feel that it’s important to support Israel in the aftermath of October 7th, not to mention Jews worldwide. To claim that they are “granting grace” for people to grow and educate themselves, heavily implying that Zionism is an outdated belief that Jews should discard is, again, hugely problematic. Additionally, as a streaming platform, coming out and making a claim of genocide is outrageous, especially given the lack of evidence and support of this claim. On the other hand, Hamas and other Palestinian authorities have been open and forthright about their genocidal values, which has gone completely unmentioned. Also unmentioned is every attack Hamas, Hebollah, and Iran have made against Israel, which, if not for the Iron Dome and other protective systems, would have decimated Israeli civilians (as well as the attack which started this war in the first place, which did target civilians, many of whom are still held hostage by Hamas). The truth is, as a comedy show, trying to get involved in or make grandiose statements on any international politics is beyond absurd - a fact dropout seems to understand given its lack of commentary on any other international conflict or affair. This is an obviously complex issue and giving full support to one side of the conflict while outright saying that they would never host Zionists on the platform is just plain and simple antisemitism. Making the situation worse, the wording of the post is highly inflammatory and exacerbates the conflict and current situation by encouraging those who initiated the conflict in the first place to continue trying to exterminate all Zionists rather than lay down their arms and negotiate for peace. Not only is Dropout encouraging this, they are actively supporting organizations that have ties to terrorist groups, such as the UNRWA, which has had multiple members investigated for actively participating in the October 7th massacre, as well as for keeping civilian hostages in their homes. And to tie it all up, there’s the claim of occupation. This is a blatant denial of history, as Jews, historically, have our roots tied to the ancient kingdom of Judea, located in modern day Israel. The Jewish calendar, as well as Jewish law, revolves around the farming seasons of Israel. So much so, that there are some laws that one is only allowed to keep within Israel (see shmita). To now cry “occupation” is to deny Jews the right to live peacefully in a land that we have always had a presence in, even throughout the long years of the Diaspora.

So dropout, I ask you to reconsider your statement. Please, listen to what your Jewish fanbase is telling you. We just need you to listen.

[mamaito]

People keep questioning the otome label towards Homicipher just because it does not have dates or kissing that is commonly expected in the genre. This is a misconception and is based on common dating games and romance focused visual novels.

Otome means female targeted game, as long as the player is a heroine who can pursue male characters and end up with him then it is an otome, how it goes about it does not matter. It can be any genre and should not be trapped on simply being just a dating game.

Love should not be about constant affirmation but rather a simple validation should be what is expected.

The entire game is about doing something out of love based on action rather than words.

The apparitions in question do in fact express interest, even outside of the 6 bachelors. It's just that people are placing human expectations on individuals who do not understand nor behave in the same manner.

Mr. Silvair for example expresses his interest and affection towards you in his own way but is being brushed aside and assumed that he only wants you for researching, that is half truth.

He doesn't understand the concept of love but is willing to understand it because he does care if you saw his other ending. If Mr. Silvair was a yandere, this way of thinking would've been seen as acceptable and considered 'romantic' but since he isn't, suddenly it's not an otome.

Mr. Hood and Mr. Machete are not considered as options because their spotlight in the game is minimal at best, which is what the game's shortcoming is. Does saying it out loud need to be stated when he's going through lengths to protect and stand by your side? What matters is that he chose you and that should be enough to be seen as affection.

Mr. Gap's entire existence gives insight on how these entities take things in a literal sense and never by it's secondary meaning. He want someone's heart but takes it literally when all this time what he wanted was someone's company. If you have reached his route, he declines your actual heart, he always asks for permission but in the return end, he didn't need to anymore because he found what he was seeking.

There other who think Mr. Chopped has no route when in fact most did not trigger it during Chapter 1.

Mr. Crawling is popular because he is the one with the most screen time, most interactions are with him and he has the optional romance endings and even a confession on chapter 4, which you can still continue onwards Chapter 5 with the info that the two of you are together regardless.

Mr. Scarletella is the main plot and the reason for MC's arrival in the world, everything he did stems from obsessions and misplaced affections towards you.

All of these are otome related, I don't know why people are struggling to accept this. It's right there in front of you.

[patroclusslivingass]

America carved out a place in international politics for its self.

Honestly, Trump's middle finger to the Paris Agreement is already a world level problem. He will fucking ruin this planet for us if does as promised.

His education program? If he can do it in the states what stops any other far right goverment from doing so. Would he not support them anyways? When america dips far right, and in this case outright fascist the world dips with him. If one can pull the rope so far, why can't us.

Here in Hungary one of the parties included special policing of romani people in their program. This is not only deeply racist, but this country has a history of Nacism and taking part in the holocaust. And still they went up a few precentages during the latest election. They also would ban legal immigration, aswell as international social media and create a Hungarian internet slowly such as China.

Now if anyone believes that USA Republican propaganda has no effect here, open your eyes please. What do you think these people will do if they see someone so simillar can win in the fucking States. They'll use his tactics, ask for support, and bumm.

In truth, conservativism doesn't make sense. The values it tries to enforce were never traditional or functional. The christianity they preach and force into the state was never one with the christianity Jesus tought, so what the fuck is it even? Modern conservativism is about ethnic supremacy, policing and systematic oppression in the name of patriotism.

People still vote for it because they are illiterate, because they don't care enough to listen. They only hear that taxes will go down for someone, more jobs omg, all that bullshit. And then there is the best tactic, get a monster under the bed of these morons. And its folk like us queers, immigrants, and poc people. Even if they were never the problem to begin with and no statistics ever said they are. And then there are the idiots who say a program can't be this outright bad and vote on a simple line they read on the internet that Trump will end wars or something. Bitch, one would think you'd atleast read the agenda of the fucking election candidates if you live in a country, but apperently that's too much effort.

For every american poc, queer and feminin presenting folk please stay safe!

For everyone who voted Trump, get lepra.

"You're not even American. Why do you care about the elections?"🇺🇸🌎

Being a queer refugee, I understand how policies and decisions from places far away can impact lives globally, including mine. U.S. elections may seem distant, but the choices made can influence aid, human rights protections, and international support for LGBTIQ refugees. For many of us, decisions made in powerful nations create ripples that reach the camps we call home. So yes, I care about the elections—not just for what they mean to Americans, but for what they could mean for all of us fighting for survival and dignity.

Reblog this if you like!🇺🇸🏳️‍⚧️🌈

Support link in the Bio.

[misstrashchan]

So. What's the opposite of a sacrifice?

With the final episode looming it's a question we've been turning in our heads, so I wanted to give my best guess/analysis as to what it might be before Jon and Muna come to tear our hearts out in the final episode.

This is the question Hayward asks Paige, and later Carpenter, and it seems to be the underlying thematic statement of the series, in response to Carpenter's exposition in the first episode of the Silt Verses that introduces us to the fundamentals of the world and system they live in:

CARPENTER:

A god must feed.

A god must be fed.

This is a fact agreed upon across every territory in the Peninsula. And so, really, the only difference between the people born to the water and the people born to the land...

...is the precise nature of the sacrifice we need to make.

There is a God for anything in their world as long as there is someone believing in it. But all Gods need human sacrifices. A god must feed. A god must be fed.

These simple rules have been used as fascinating and horrifying metaphors of our modern society, and to explore themes of faith and sacrifice throughout the story.

And so the final question the last season proposes is if we can find a way to make something better, that can exist outside of this ultimately unsustainable exploitative system and the harm it inflicts upon ourselves and the world, when it has come to define so much of the way we live and how we think. And that means figuring out the opposite of a sacrifice, if they want to kill the idea, the lie, that is at the heart of their world.

At first I thought the opposite of a sacrifice, of offering up to the gods, was about killing your gods. Starving them out. Refusing to offer up anything. And that is part of it, I think. I mean it's literally been a repeating mantra of multiple characters this season once they've reached they're breaking points. Violence in revolution as a tool to overthrow oppresive systems is sometimes needed and necessary. But what about after? What kind of future or vision for a better world can there be? There needs to be something at the heart of that movement that isn't just about violence against their opressors, because you then define yourself in relation to them.

This is even illustrated in the Many Below god Paige created having predator and prey emeshed together, a movement defined by their resistance against the predators of the world, the beasts, cannot seperate themselves to meaningfully create a better future that exists outside of that dichotomy. I think Hayward realises that even earlier in S2:

HAYWARD:

There’s a hare in the grass, half-buried and bloodied.

A barn owl has latched onto its back, its talons driving deep into the flesh of the hare.

Both animals are dead.

Familiar black stone veins protrude from the carcass of the victim, twisting like branches, driving upwards into the predator’s skin.

Hare and owl are locked together, inseparably.

The god must have struck just as the prey died.

White crocus is flowering up from the two entwined bodies.

(Unhappily)

And suddenly I begin to feel deeply afraid.

It all makes me think of a dormouse, dead in the dirt, its ribs showing. Of rabbits, teeth chattering, hungering from their cages

I kick dust up over the corpses. Nudge them aside into the long grass so they can’t be seen from the path.

Paige doesn’t need to know about this, I tell myself.

There’s no sense in worrying her. Not yet.

Which then makes sense why he's the one proposing the question of what the opposite of a sacrifice is to Paige (and Carpenter), for this very reason.

I think the answer is pretty simple and yet, like most simple truths in this world, it's forgotten and overlooked or twisted as naïve.

Preservation. The opposite of a sacrifice is preservation. To better explain this let me use an example:

If someone who cared about you tells you you're working too hard at your thankless job, sacrificing your sleep, your time, your personal relationships, your physical and mental wellbeing, far past the point considered sane, they'd tell you to stop. To make sure you take care of yourself. Instead of endlessly feeding yourself into a machine to justify your existence.

Applied to the world of the Silt Verses, it's not just self preservation and caring for yourself. It's about caring for, protecting, and preserving the lives of those around you, that is the ultimate act of rebellion and political warfare, the first steps forward towards a better world. Caring for humanity.

Whenever our characters reach a breaking point of turning against their gods, there's a common thread of wanting to save their fellow man, and realising the inadequacy of a god's ability to do that. Whether that's somebody close to them (like Faulkner and Paige):

Or humanity as a whole (VAL and Shrue):

SHRUE:

Use them, pass them on, do not forget the suffering that keeps the engines of this world turning, forget the name of your god and cherish the name of your neighbour that was swallowed up by it-

Cherish your neighbour. Be kinder to one another.

This can even go back to Carpenter's rejection of the Trawler-Man back in S1, her fury at the fact those she loved had been eaten (her family) and would continue to be eaten (Faulkner).

CARPENTER:

(Yelling to the river)

It's over between us, you twin mouthed prick!

Do you hear me?

Does that stir you from your torpor? Pry the barnacles loose from your sodden ears?

My father and mother were Gregory and Sandra Glass. My grandmother was Adalina Glass. My brother was Em.

They died for you.

Every single one of them died for you and they thought it meant something.

My name is Carpenter. And I am still alive!

I have loved you for so long. I have tried to know you for so, so much longer.

And I'm done with you. Here and now. I'm not laying down my life for you.

I'm not dying, do you hear?

The same breaking point for Faulkner at turning against his parish and finally snapping is the idea of Carpenter being offered as a sacrifice, an offering returned, begging for her to live.

I must clarify this is my own interpretation of the question and themes the story proposes. I'm

I'm not sure we'll actually get a hard answer so much as different characters offering their own answers and us as the audience encouraged to think for ourselves what it might be. I think this is what Hayward's answer might be at least, anyway, because like me he's a corny motherfucker:

If a sacrifice is the idea that the most meaningful and transformative thing you can do is to give up your life, your sense of self, to die, then the opposite of that would be to try to keep on living, and finding meaning and transformation in that, surely?

[hella1975]

tams azula is sooo fascinating bc while canon azula doesn't really show her age at all like she's completely desensitised to so much shit 'she is fourteen' is not a justification for ANYTHING both in her own mind and in other people's, in tams she has zuko. and yes the world has been abundantly cruel to her but zuko hasn't. he's basically raised azula and he's done so in a way that she's allowed to show her age, but she still only shows her age in very azula-esque ways. there's no reluctance to see violence like you'd expect from a fourteen-year-old, and like ive said before, that means zuko can't play on that reluctance in order to shield her, but he still wants to shield her from that violence because regardless of what SHE feels about it, as the eldest he knows fundamentally that she shouldn't be seeing certain things no matter how well she can handle them. and seeing zuko effectively PLAY azula in order to protect her is so interesting and complicated and fun

[minarcana]

answer some questions and i’ll give you a character arc

romance / friendship arc

you started this story a little hard, or awkward, or stubborn. that's okay. it's harder than it should be to admit, but what you really want is love. that's what your story is all about - not just the act of loving, but the allowance of it. the confession that you do not want to fight or bleed or save the world, but to simply feel the way two hands fit so easily together. you will have two chairs and a table and you will shut your blinds, and you will say the word love without faltering. this is a happy ending, and you do not need to feel guilty. it hurts our hands to fight - never to hold.

tagged by: @fxrtunas​ tagging: @bonmotx​ i want to see my little bei i want to see myyyy little bei

[themadknightuniverse]

Loustat short comics - There is nothing else until the storm is over - Interview with the Vampire TV Series

text transcription under the cut ⬇️

Fake magazine illustration

Page 1 Daniel : So, tell me... Did you see Lestat again?

Page 2 Louis : When he's not on Tour, he would occasionally visits.

Page 3 Daniel : So you're what, now? Friends?

Louis : [Hello Lestat.]

Lestat : [Hello Louis.]

It would be too simple. You know us.

Louis : [ That's new. Still enjoying the glitz and glamor?]

But there is this arrangement we are both fine with.

Page 4 When two people hurt each other so deeply, what is left afterwards?

Page 5 Things like that, it seals doors once still unlocked at the time. Can time really heal everything?

[Mets moi dans mon cercueil, Louis, Louis...]

Page 6 [Stay down chéri, I don't want to fight like this. I'll stay. I'll stay, I'll never leave you ever again. I promise. I'll be happy. For you. For her. Please please please please]

Some things were flipped over to show the truth. Others, I learned to see differently. I faced my wrongs.

[I'll be anything please please please please please please. I didn't know it was a gift. I wore it like a curse. I was selfish. I wanted you to suffer. Because I was. Suffering. I came to thank you.]

Page 7 Do we love each other still? Yes. Can we live under the same roof, share the same spaces, the same bed, for an extended period of time, again? No. But this raging, all devouring passion, it is now replaced by something that can never be altered. Is this the price we had to pay to finally be equals?

Page 8 We have never been more understanding of each other. A shadow of something that could have been from the start. Friendly jokes. Bickering I will never admit enjoying. Respect. And then, the always surprising softness. So eerie after all that happened. Yet, we always welcome it.

Page 9 Daniel : [How dramatic. Not ready to live together again, yet he's all over your coffee table.]

Louis: [I didn't buy these.]

Daniel : [Sure. Will you let me know the next time he passes by?]

Louis : [Well I can't. This is his safe place. You will have to find him by yourself I'm afraid.]

Daniel : [Of course. He can't make anything easy. As if he didn't have enough safe places with his ten properties.]

Page 10 Louis: [Nice chat. Bye, Daniel.]

Lestat : [Only when I'm not on Tour, hm?]

Louis [Approximately.]

Lestat : [Thanks.]

Louis : [Did you really just say thank-]

Lestat: *kisses Louis* [...too soon?]

Page 11 Louis : Almost a century is enough waiting.

[p4ranormaluv]

SOMETHING RED — 성훈

you thought when sunghoon finally found you he’d rip your guts out— but no! turns out he just wants to be in your guts.

PAIRING: ghostface!sunghoon x f!reader

GENRE: smut, thriller

CONTENTS: stalker ex!hoon, dom!hoon, sub!reader, autumn setting, murder, brief desc. of dead body, chase scene, dub-con, knife/fear play, blood/pain kink, injury, degradation/praise, petnames: bunny/sugar, rough sex, oral sex, hoon grips reader’s neck but no choking, hair pulling, spanking, size kink, orgasm control, fingering, squirting, over stim, creampie, one neck bite, passing out

WC: 5.1k

NOTE: spooktober fic #1 👻 yunah version of this fic here!

WARNING: i posted a yunah ver. of this fic under this account! so if it looks familiar that’s why! i don’t have any other accounts i post my works on currently, and if i do i will add them in my navigation or bio. if you see someone stealing my works please lmk.

you’re responsible for the media you consume! i tried to tag everything but there may have been things i missed.

COPYRIGHT OF @/P4RANORMALUV. IF YOU STEAL MY WORK I WILL FIND OUT & PUBLICLY CALL YOU OUT.

“i had a really good time tonight, y/n.” your date smiles as you stand at your front porch.

“yeah, me too.” you reply, and you’re telling the truth.

after almost 4 years since you fled away from your hometown, and your ex (sunghoon, or rather ghostface, as the civilians like to call him), you’ve finally gone on a date.

it honestly should have been perfect. it was a simple evening. you went for ice cream and afterwards walked around a nice park to talk and feed the ducks, appreciating the beautiful colors the trees are turning. your date is an absolute gentleman, he won’t stop smiling at you and laughs at all of your stupid jokes. he’s acted like nothing but an overall sweetheart the entire time.

and yet, that’s the very thing that was wrong with the date in your mind.

it was simple, perfect, sweet…

no tension or skip of your heart beat, no wondering what will happen next. there was just…no thrill.

you think sunghoon has really fucked you up. even after all this time you’re still comparing people to your ex. your crazy, obsessive, killer ex.

god, sometimes you even catch yourself wishing he’d pop up in your life again. but after you found out it was him who was killing all of the people in your life and town, anyone who he deemed as getting in the way of your relationship, you panicked and immediately called the police.

no one has seen him since, evidently. you certainly haven’t.

but do you really wish you would? if he saw you again he’d probably kill you.

“y/n?” your date says gently, breaking you out of your stupor as you blink at the man in front of you, noticing how he’s gotten significantly closer than when you last noticed.

your porch light’s obnoxious hum is the only other sound as he gazes at you, giving you a hopeful, prompting look— sort of like he’s expecting something. you think you know what it is, but you suddenly feel like you’ve turned to stone.

“we’ll go out again, right?” he whispers as his face inches closer and closer, smiling at you sweetly.

“i’ll— i’ll text you.” you vaguely answer.

your date laughs again even though you haven’t said anything funny, raising a single hand to gently hold your arm as he finally realizes he’s gonna have to take full initiative. puckering his lips, he leans into yours as he shuts his eyes. you don’t do anything except let your eyes bulge out of your skull, before at the last second turning your head, causing his kiss to land on your cheek instead.

he pulls away while blinking widely in surprise, before his cheeks bloom a pink blush and he laughs—…again. it’s starting to be less charming and more annoying.

“you’re so cute.” he says, thinking you’re just shy.

“goodnight, y/n. i’ll see you soon?”

“sure!” you lie. “goodnight!”

you wave before immediately shutting your door.

you sigh tiredly, appreciating the beautiful glow of the moonlight that gently illuminates your otherwise dark house.

flipping the switch that lights your stairs, wood creaking beneath your feet, you walk to your bedroom. the night’s air is fresh, and the soft sound of rustling leaves always helps you calm down. so you open your bedroom window, letting the gentle breeze spread goosebumps across your arms.

moving to your dresser, you grab a tank top and shorts along with some panties before going into the bathroom to take a shower. you sit your fresh clothes on the bathroom countertop, stripping off your dirty clothes and letting them pool at your feet.

when you get in the shower you feel your previous stress melt off of you with the warm water, all thoughts and worries forgotten— temporarily at least. after about twenty minutes you step out, quickly wrapping a towel around you as the water dripping off your body and the chill in the air makes you shiver.

you move to grab your dirty clothes left on the floor to put them in the hamper, but your underwear is missing.

“what the heck,” you mumble to yourself, shaking out the clothing in your hands, checking if the item wasn’t just tangled amongst them.

“looking for these?” a voice— his voice— asks.

you gasp as your body jolts, feeling your heart spike in your chest when you look up to see ghostface standing at the bathroom’s open door.

he’s wearing his mask, signature big butchers knife in his hand as he twirls around your panties from it’s sharp point.

and…blood.

blood is on his hands and dripping off the weapon’s edge.

“y’know, i expected you to still be anxiously locking all the entrances of your house for a while longer, but you stopped only a year into moving here…” he thinks aloud with sarcastic wonder, lifting up his mask to let his eyes drink in the image of you clutching your towel to your chest.

sunghoon lets your panties slip off the knife and drop back onto the floor before stepping closer to you.

he moves slowly, making your panic worsen as he corners you into the bathroom like prey. a small, frightened noise comes from your chest when your back hits the wall, sunghoon’s face closer than ever as you watch his lips raise into a smirk.

“can you tell me why that is, bunny?”

your body trembles at the nickname that hasn’t been directed to you in years.

sunghoon started calling you that after one of the first dates you went on, the two of you watched a scary movie and you criticized the characters who were so easily killed.

“do you think you could do any better?” sunghoon had asked, smiling at you patronizingly yet fond.

“well, yeah? they always get killed cus’ they do something stupid. like lock themselves in one room or crawl through a fucking cat door.”

“and what would you do?”

“run.” you had simply answered.

“well?” sunghoon drawls, hot breath puffing into your face as he stands practically against you.

his knife is still raised, gently grazing the tip over your cheek as his eyes follow the movement.

“who’s blood is that?” you struggle out, feeling the crimson liquid trickle down your neck.

“drop your towel.”

“w— what?”

“i said drop your fucking towel, y/n.” he grits, moving the knife to apply harmless pressure to your neck— but it’s there, and it’s threatening.

the damp fabric lands with a thump on the tile floor, leaving your nipples to harden from the bite in the air.

“should have left that window fucking shut…” you whisper, but sunghoon catches it with his close proximity.

he steps back just enough to run his perverted eyes all over your body, weapon moving from your neck down to your breasts.

you inhale shakily, sunghoon chuckling under his breath.

“yes, you should have. although it wouldn’t have mattered. i came in through the front door that you also conveniently forgot about.” he replies to your statement. “which brings me to my question that i asked first, why have you been leaving everything unlocked, y/n?”

you glare up into his eyes with wavering bravery, sunghoon finding you to look more like a scared, defenseless animal.

you don’t speak, trembling lips pressing into a thin line. sunghoon slides the flat of his knife over your nipple, spreading the leftover blood across your skin and causing you to flinch as a small moan escapes you.

“you missed me.” he states with suffocating confidence, seeing right through your facade— knowing how you really feel.

“you still love me. don’t you, bunny?”

he presses his chest against yours, the rough material of his shirt giving stimulation to your sensitive nipples as he moves the weapon back up towards your face. the steel blade swipes across your mouth, staining your lips red.

sunghoon tugs down your bottom lip with his thumb, rubbing slowly side to side before pushing inside your mouth. you take it without thinking, staring up into his eyes as you suck on his appendage, wincing at the steely taste of blood.

“still such a slut.” he marvels fondly, eyelids drooping as his breath gets a little heavier. you bob your head just slightly, like you would do to his cock, and sunghoon reacts with a groan. your pussy clenches at the sound.

“well, you didn’t exactly answer my question, bunny. but since you’re so cute and helpless right now, i’ll have some mercy and answer yours.”

he pulls his thumb back and you don’t release it until it comes out with a wet pop, sunghoon groaning lowly before slamming his lips onto yours. he swallows your moans as his empty hand roams your body, fingers feathering over your bare pussy, trailing up to grope roughly at your breast before firmly wrapping around your throat.

you squirm. any shame has left your mind as you try and rub your cunt up onto sunghoon.

he’s playing nice for now it seems, pressing his jean clad thigh between your legs and letting you hump against him. you whine into his kiss as the denim makes contact with your clit, biting on sunghoon’s bottom lip unconsciously in pleasure.

he grunts at the slight pain, slapping your ass before gripping it roughly and digging his nails into your flesh.

you lick his bottom lip and suck on his tongue in apology, sunghoon’s nails retracting to rub soothingly over the skin that is now littered with red crescent cuts.

“god, i love you, bunny.” he groans lowly. “it’s your date’s blood.”

“h— huh?” you gasp, eyes widening as sunghoon stares deeply into your eyes. “you…did you kill him?”

“do you care?” sunghoon quips back cockily, but you recognize the tinge of jealousy in his tone. “he was too soft for you anyway. you like it when someone is rough and makes you feel dominated, don’t you? someone big enough to overpower you?”

he speaks in a dark tone, hand gripping your hip with possessiveness that’s sure to leave a bruise.

your breathing picks up again, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with emotions— though you’re not sure what any of them are.

“fuck you, sunghoon.” you spit, the man maniacally laughing with clear amusement.

“sure, sugar, later. right now i think i’m in the mood for a chase.”

he says this as he steps away from you, leaving you confused as he stares at you expectantly.

“well?” sunghoon lifts a brow, lowering the mask to cover his face completely again, gripping his knife a little tighter. “run, bunny.”

fear settles its anchor in your stomach and you take off like a bullet, water and blood dripping from your naked body as you run down the stairs. there’s only the sound of your panicked gasps of breath before ghostface’s heavy footsteps creak down the steps, coming right after you.

your first thought is to go the front door, but when you open it you're greeted with the massacred body of your date sitting in a bloody, gutted heap of red and pink mush.

you scream, immediately slamming the door shut as you choke on a gag that tickles up your throat.

ghostface makes it down the stairs, taking large but calm steps towards you as his knife gleams in the moonlight, black plastic eyes staring blankly at you.

“stop!” you cry, suddenly thankful for the wrap around layout of your house as you run right, out of the livingroom and into the hallway.

you can go to the kitchen, bedroom, or second bathroom.

everything is a dead-end except the kitchen, which has two escape routes to the outside: a latch window and the back door.

you quickly open the bedroom door to throw ghostface off and quietly sneak into the kitchen.

risking taking the time to carefully open a drawer and take a knife out— just in case, you then hurry over to the back door and turn the knob.

there’s the sound of something slicing through air before you yelp as it cuts into your hand, forcing you to jump away from the door.

“i wouldn’t do that if i were you.” ghostface warns as he walks in, creepily melodic with how he speaks.

you look back at the doorknob, seeing his knife stabbed into the wood from the force ghostface threw it with, your blood splattered in a small area against the white paint.

“now look at that, you made me hurt you.” he says with mocking sympathy, his dangerous tone making your knees feel weak with fear.

you keep switching your eyes from looking at the window to ghostface.

he just stands, watching with undivided attention as he can practically see the cogs turning in your brain, waiting for what you’ll do next like he’s watching a mouse in a trap. (or a bunny in a snare.)

you suddenly run out of the kitchen’s second entry, ending up at the living room again and booking it up the stairs. you wouldn’t have had time to make it out the kitchen window with ghostface right there, but maybe you can escape through your bedroom window. it’s already open, and even though your house is two stories, there’s a tree right next to it that will shorten the drop— if you can reach a branch without falling off the roof.

when you get to your bedroom ghostface is hot on your trail. you try to slam the door shut and lock it, but he presses against it from the other side right at the same time.

you push as hard as you can to shut the door, but ghostface has always been much stronger than you.

busting the door open, your body is flung backward as you land on the floor, knife falling out of your hands and sliding away from you.

you scramble on the ground to get it back, just barely grasping it in your hand before ghostface grabs and flips you over onto your back, ripping his mask off and letting it clatter to the floor.

“s— stop it, sung— sunghoon.” you struggle to get out from how your body and voice shakes, pressing your legs together in fear and ignoring the wetness between them as sunghoon cages your body with his limbs.

“oh, are you going to make me?” he challenges with no fear, the smile on his face clearly expressing that he doesn’t take a word you say seriously.

“go on then, bunny. take a stab at me.”

sunghoon drops his own knife from his hands, baring himself to your mercy.

your eyes widen, hands shaking as you pathetically raise the knife.

you look from his eyes to his vulnerable stomach that you could easily plunge the weapon into, and back up to his eyes again.

sunghoon slenders his gaze at you, as if to say ‘you can’t do it, can you?’.

you burst into sobs, dropping the knife and hiding your face in your hands.

sunghoon leans down to coo at you, running his fingers through your hair and kissing your forehead.

“i knew you couldn’t do it, bunny. i’ve been watching you ever since you left town, and you know what i found out?”

you take watery gasps, wiping off your tears so you can look up at sunghoon.

you know the answer, even in your messy state. it’s apparent throughout everything in your life, after all these years and all the decisions you’ve made.

“i—…that i n— never stopped loving you.”

“that’s right, sugar. couldn’t even bear to kiss your date, could you?”

you shake your head, cries reducing to sniffles as sunghoon cups your face with his still bloodied hands, the liquid beginning to dry as it feels tacky on your skin.

“it’s okay, bunny. you were a good girl, so i won’t punish you…too much. as for him— well,”

he laughs, but it sounds hollow, devoid of anything other than hate and rage. “he got what he deserved.”

suddenly sunghoon is picking up his knife and hoisting you up, your waist thrown over his shoulder as you gasp in surprise while he walks over to the bed.

sunghoon takes a handful of your ass, admiring how it jiggles when he jostles it in his hand before giving it a hard spank. you whimper and push back into his palm, wordlessly asking for more.

“slut.” he chuckles under his breath, throwing you roughly on the mattress a second later.

sunghoon places his knife on your nightstand as you sit up on your elbows to look at him curiously. he practically devours your body with his eyes as he strips off his shirt, your mouth watering at the revealed expanse of his tapered waist and sculpted abs. you can’t help but whine when he slowly pushes the waistband of his pants and underwear down, hard, huge cock slapping against his stomach wetly.

“missed this, bunny?”

you only whine, feeling like the desparate whore that you are for sunghoon as you blatantly squeeze and rub your thighs together, trying to bring any sort of relief to your needy pussy. you practically feel edged by everything that’s transpired so far.

“come.” sunghoon orders, pointing at the floor in front of him.

you know what that means, quickly getting off the bed and on your knees, looking up at him with pathetically begging eyes. he only acknowledges you with a piercing stare, picking up his knife again as he moves it beneath your hairline, pressing the cold, flat side of its blade into the nape of your neck.

“now suck.”

you’re eager, enveloping his dick into your watering mouth and pushing yourself as far down the long shaft as you can muster. you gag, sunghoon’s salty pre-cum making you salivate for more as you don’t pull off, only trying to push his cock deeper down your throat.

even as your eyes squeeze shut, choking around him— you don’t stop.

not until sunghoon roughly pulls you off by the hair, a deep sound coming out of you as your mouth is suddenly empty, gasping and coughing while a string of saliva hangs from your lips.

“did i say swallow me whole? dumb whore. suck.”

you immediately do as he says, apologizing with your eyes and pliant little hums around him as you envelope just the tip in your mouth, sucking on it delicately like a lollipop.

sunghoon bares his teeth at the teasing pleasure, watching your lips that are glossy with your own spit prettily wrapped around his big dick. you look so small and helpless like this: kneeling, naked, someone else’s blood drying on your body— as well as a little of your own.

sunghoon thinks you’re most beautiful like this. his slutty little bunny trapped in the snare he’s made just for you.

grabbing a painfully tight fistful of your hair, he slams your face against his pelvis. you’re reduced to choking sounds and sputters as you struggle to take the sheer size of him into your mouth, sunghoon continuing to catch you off guard as he starts bobbing your head up and down his shaft like a cock sleeve.

you cry and moan at the feeling of him using you like a cheap whore, your pussy throbbing with the need to be touched but being ignored— and it only turns you on that much more.

your scalp burns as sunghoon keeps yanking you by the hair, spit seeping out of the corners of your stretched lips and running down your chin.

“almost forgot what a dirty slut you could be, bunny. f— fucking shit!”

hearing sunghoon’s hard resolve crack, you’re hit with another wave of enthusiasm.

you swallow around him, doing your best to lick and suck whenever you get the chance between the harsh movements he controls you with. then you have an idea, and without a second thought you’re executing it.

moving a hand down to your pussy, you smear the generous wetness on your fingers, lifting them up to cup sunghoon’s balls, fondling them with ease thanks to your slick.

“god— fuck! good girl! that’s a good little whore. choke on my dick while you make me messy.”

you feel like you could almost cum just from sunghoon’s words, the tingly pain at your scalp, and the full mouth of dick you’re taking. moans almost rhythmically come from your throat as your free hand goes down to rub desperately at your neglected clit, hips making trembling movements at the pleasure that’s not enough while at the same time being too much.

“bunny, oh— damn. you really like me fucking your mouth, don’t you sugar?”

“mm—hmm,” you moan around him, sunghoon starting to snap his hips more aggressively. you feel his dick pulse in your mouth, a deep growl coming from him a moment later, signaling his soon release.

“you ready for me, bunny? you ready for my cum?”

please, please, yes— you want to say, but it only comes out as whimpers as his cock bruises the back of your throat.

your thighs begin to tremble as you feel yourself getting closer. sunghoon moans out, pressing his hips flat against your face as his dick throbs, pumping a huge load down your throat. that paired with the feeling of his knife pressing harder into your neck sends you into white hot ecstasy, shaking like a leaf and thighs clenching around your own hand as you ride it out on your soaked fingers.

sunghoon’s dick is dripping with your spit and his cum when he pulls out, still hard as a rock and catching his breath as he slowly jerks himself off, wincing at the painful pleasure after just cumming— but not able to stop as he’s mesmerized by how much of the both of you there is, mixing all together with each movement of his hand.

sunghoon then looks over at you just as you’re pulling your hand away from yourself, groaning as he sees the wet webs between your fingers.

“get on the bed, bunny. ass up.”

your movements are clumsy as you’re still weak from the hard orgasm, but you want more, so you do as he says. sunghoon gives you a helping hand, making sure you don’t fall as the both of you get on the bed.

sunghoon sits up on his knees behind you. your ass looks amazing in this position, and your legs are spread, completely unable to hide your dripping pussy from sunghoon’s hungry eyes.

you turn your head, looking back at him with fucked out eyes that ask for more. he smirks, placing both hands on either side of your hips before stooping low to go down on your sloppy cunt.

“oh— fuck, su— sunghoon!”

you’re so turned on, and if you really think about it (which you’re trying not to), you probably shouldn’t be— not after what he’s done.

and yet, here you are, whining like a whore as the ghostface killer fucks your pussy with his tongue.

he can’t get enough of your taste. he’s went years without it after all, and sunghoon finds he’s going feral now that you’re finally in his mouth again. he delves his tongue as deeply as it can go, paying attention to what movements make you cry louder. sunghoon makes sure to pull out and suck your puffy clit between his lips, proud at himself with how it makes your legs quiver, before shoving his appendage back inside your core and fucking it in and out of you.

“hoonie, please,” you beg, already needing release as you’re sensitive from your previous orgasm.

“no,” he barks, annoyed that he even has to separate his mouth from your pussy to speak, reconnecting with you immediately after.

you dare to whine defiantly at him, and sunghoon reacts by reigning his hand down on your ass.

the hit is hard, making your eyes widen and taking your breath away as the strength he uses on you is unexpected. you can feel your skin tingling and hot from where the slap landed, and somehow it just makes you feel even more needy.

sunghoon knows you liked it, he can tell by how your pussy is contracting around his tongue, making him smirk against you as he keeps eating you out with no mercy.

you wiggle your hips just slightly, side to side, unable to keep still as you just need more.

you feel sunghoon’s annoyed growl, the vibrations of it sending a shock of pleasure straight to your core. he spanks you again, right on the same spot as before. this time a sob is ripped out of your chest at the pain, your face burying into the bed.

“you’re a bad fucking girl, can’t even do what i want you to.” sunghoon grits as he removes his mouth and shoves two merciless fingers inside you instead, roughly curving them as his thumb rubs at your clit. the amount of pain and pleasure is equal now, making you want to pull away while at the same time, push closer. the sounds your pussy makes as sunghoon quickly moves his fingers are loud and should be embarrassing— yet all you can think about is how good he’s making you feel and how badly you need to cum.

“hoon, i— really i can’t— can’t take it!”

“oh you’ll take it, bitch. if you want me to fuck you with my cock by the end of this.”

“no— yes! please, want your cock!” you blubber, the thought of not getting it making you feel as if you could cry at any moment, that paired with how meanly sunghoon treats your desperate little pussy, fucking it like he wants you to squirt all over the sheets— yet refusing to let you.

“i’ll be good, hoonie! i’ll let you do whatever you want, just— let me cum!”

the man doesn’t say anything, fingers not stopping as you feel his other hand’s nails dig into the flesh of your ass again, leaving more claiming cuts into your skin.

“fine, filthy slut. cum.”

the relief and pleasure of finally letting go is too much, your hearing is reduced to a high pitched ringing, and you’re not sure if your eyes are shut or if your vision has blacked out.

when you come back to, you’re on your back, sunghoon’s hands all over your body as the look in his eyes looks like he’s truly lost it.

“hoon, can’t,” you pant out as he starts lifting your limp leg to his shoulder.

but he doesn’t stop, his frantic movements continue, only looking up at you with pupils you swear are blown out.

“you’ll let me do whatever i want, remember?” he speaks out roughly, his throat scratchy either from eating you out so vigorously or from being so turned on.

“even if you didn’t let me, i’d still do whatever i want with you.” he cruelly chuckles, smirking down at you. the points of his teeth remind you of a wolf.

guess you really are the bunny.

you whimper— and you’re not sure if it’s from fear or twisted arousal.

tears fill your eyes as you watch sunghoon grab his huge cock, jerking it a few times to spread his cum. (not that he needs to— you literally just squirted.) you can only imagine how big the stretch will be inside your tiny little pussy to fit his huge girth. you’ve taken it before of course, but your insides are crying out in sensitivity, and your head feels foggy, like you could fall back out of consciousness again.

“please, hoonie, please—“

you’re words are cut off by your own agonized cry as sunghoon’s cock feels like it’s piercing your guts, pushing and pushing until he’s down to the hilt.

then he starts thrusting into you with enough power that it pushes your head against the headboard, your hands moving up to brace yourself as your hiked up leg tightens around his shoulder.

despite everything, you can’t help the delirious moan you let out, feeling your pussy ooze more fluids you didn’t think you had at this point.

“my slutty little bunny, huh, y/n?” sunghoon almost coos, if it wasn’t for how his teeth are harshly bared.

“missed my big dick abusing your insides, didn’t you, bunny?”

you sob, tears racing down your cheeks as your hole helplessly clenches and suffocates on sunghoon’s huge, unforgiving length.

“admit it. admit you’re a dirty whore for me.”

“i am— i am, hoonie!” you pant out breathlessly, each of his bruising thrusts feeling like they punch the breath right out of you. your chest aches from the big gulps of air you take. “m’a whore, such a dirty whore for you, sunghoon— fuck, please!”

sunghoon’s pants almost match up with your own, his body starting to tremble as he moves to lean down on his elbows against the bed, the new position forcing your leg to stretch even further— causing sunghoon’s cock to ram even deeper inside you.

“you’re mine. you hear me, bitch? you’re fucking mine! don’t ever think i’m gonna let you run away from me again.”

“oh god— i’m cumming!” you scream, unable to even ask for permission or try to hold back as your body convulses with the waves wracking over your body.

the only thing that keeps the darkened edges of your vision from completely taking over is sunghoon’s dick driving into you, chasing after his own high as your pussy spasms around him. you’re almost too tight, your core literally unable to take his huge size anymore as sunghoon forces his cock in again and again, balls slapping crudely against you.

when he finally busts inside, sunghoon clamps his teeth down on your neck, the sensations overwhelming him as he fucks you full of his cum.

he doesn’t pull out, even when your crying doesn’t stop, he keeps your poor abused pussy plugged up with his full load by his huge dick.

once sunghoon catches his breath, he glides his tongue across his teeth, curious at the taste of blood in his mouth.

“hoon, you bit me.” you whine, pouting at him as you try to look where his teeth left bloody marks into the junction of your shoulder.

sunghoon sighs, and you can tell by the noise and how his eyes flit over the wound excitedly that it turns him on.

his tongue licks over the bite in apology, cleaning up the blood before pressing little kisses all over it.

“you make me crazy, bunny.” he whispers lovingly, eventually pulling away from your shoulder to hover above your face.

you stare at each other silently, before you tilt your chin up, begging for a kiss with pouty lips and shiny eyes.

sunghoon smiles, those wolfish teeth still poking through slightly as he leans down to capture you in a slow, passionate kiss.

it tastes like blood and cum.

your blood and cum.

the realization frightens you only a little bit, the stronger emotion being some sort of sick arousal.

sunghoon might be crazy over you, but he’s definitely made you crazy as well.

REBLOG/COMMENT TO MAKE AUTHOR SMILE

NOTE: divs by adornedwithlight

[bettsfic]

one of the best decisions i've ever made was to stop arguing.

i'd always been an arguer. i was defensive about everything and mindlessly contrary. it wasn't all my fault; i was (and still am) talked down to and patronized a lot, and when you live your life that way, you become kind of a raw nerve and dedicate a lot of energy to trying to prove yourself. someone even told me once, "it's just fun messing with you. you get so upset."

at 23, i was working in an environment where about a half dozen middle aged conservative men were always telling me what to do and explaining things to me. i either argued with them when they said heinous things or stewed about it for hours or even days. and so my new year's resolution one year was simply: no arguing.

it felt a little like defeat at first, like i was no longer standing up for what i believed in, even though no matter how right i was or how much proof i had for my claims, no one had ever been swayed by anything i told them. part of that was because they had no respect for me and didn't take me seriously; the other part was the simple truth that arguments are almost never productive. when someone says something and you immediately reply with, "you're wrong and here's why," a wall goes up and nothing can go over it.

i couldn't just let these men talk at me though, so i started asking questions. not leading questions, not with an intention to prove a point or walk them into a corner. i genuinely wanted to understand how they came to shape the opinions they held. i realized that understanding and agreeing are two different things, and just because i seek to understand doesn't mean i condone.

a truly fascinating thing happened: these men walked into corners all by themselves. it turns out nobody had ever actually tasked them with speaking their opinions aloud to a neutral audience. no one had ever been sincerely curious about them and their views. sure, their loved ones probably asked, "how are you doing?" all the time as a show of affection, but that's much different than, "what do you think?"

knowing what i know now, i think that's true of everyone. how many people ask you for your opinion and listen to what you have to say without speaking their opinion back to you? without judging you? how many people actively and intentionally try to understand you?

it's been over ten years since my resolution and i think i can count the arguments i've gotten into on one hand. one finger, even. it's amazing what happens when someone tries to rile you up, pick a fight with you, and your only response is, "can you elaborate on that?"

you can work someone into a very open and vulnerable state when you ask questions. they eventually run out of their usual talking points and move into the personal. when i do this, it's not like therapy; i'm not trying to help anyone. and it's not like teaching; i'm not trying to educate anyone. i just want to understand how people reach the conclusions they've come to. even after all these years of asking questions and not arguing, it still amazes me how few people in this world feel understood, and how easy it is to get them to open up when you say, "i want to know what you think."

[arthurbarnes]

Though lucky was not the word that Arthur would have chosen to describe how he was feeling about how much he yearned to stay in Miss Winslow's presence, once she said it, he could see that she was entirely correct. He was incredibly fortunate to have found someone who made the simple act of saying goodbye so hard; especially because he had been certain that he would never meet someone who made him feel this way again.

"Well, I....I suppose that I should not keep the swarm of suitors wishing to offer you a dance waiting." Arthur said softly, though in truth, he desired nothing more than to make them wait until they lost interest. He knew, though, that to do such a thing was unfair to Miss Winslow, that if she was to choose his company over the company of others, than it needed to, in fact, be a choice. "It has...truly... been amongst the great pleasures of my life, meeting you, and spending time in your company tonight, Miss Winslow." He bowed and offered her a smile, his eyes full of adoration for her, and hope for the two of them. "I have little doubt in my mind that...that we will meet again soon. Please, keep an eye out for my correspondence." And with one final smile, and nearly all the willpower that he possessed, he left her.

Some time later....

The evening was spiraling fast towards a close, and though Arthur had tried his very best to put Miss Winslow from his mind, to return his focus to his sister and her activities, he had still found himself looking with yearning across the room to where Adelaide was far more often than he meant to. Over time, he found himself fantasizing of a scenario where he could steal one additional moment with her before the night ended, which gradually turned from fantasy into a plan he was determined to make into reality. In a moment wherein they were passing by one another, just as he had orchestrated they would be, Arthur reached and discreetly placed a folded piece of paper within her gloved palm, hoping that she would unfold it and read the message scrawled upon it in hasty and excited handwriting:

I have heard a rumor that the garden here is quite lovely to look upon under the glow of the moon. Indeed, I have seen a great many of the guests here heading outside to steal a look within the past hour. It is my intention of going out to look at the top of the next hour, so that I may see for myself if it as beautiful as they say. Please do me the honour of seeking out my company there, so that, should the gardens fail to live up to their reputation, I may still look upon something lovely once more before the night's end.

~ A

As he made his way outside, it was to find that there were several people admiring the garden and speaking in hushed tones to one another. All he could do now was wait, and hope that Miss Winslow would accept his invitation.

Adelaide was used to goodbyes, it was etiquette at balls and events such as this. Never had she had the sweet pleasure of a goodbye being so difficult. She had found herself breaking every rule that she usually maintained at balls. No second dances, escaping as quickly as she could. But as she stood on the dancefloor, the music coming to a conclusion, marking the end of the dance... she just wanted more time. Another song. For the string quartet to linger on the final notes just a little longer. Arthur's admission made her heart swell, an ignition of hope that perhaps he had felt the same way she did. That perhaps finding a match this season would not be as impossible as it once seemed. "I do not think there is a world in which I could forget," her words were earnest, yet vulnerable; in a way in which the redhead was not used to being. Vulnerability was foreign to her, it made her heart race and her mouth dry. "I do not wish to be impertinent towards other gentlemen, but, I have never enjoyed being in their company as much as I have enjoyed being in yours. Luck is on our side to make a simple departure of the night so unbearable."

[falesten-iw]

It's surreal to witness how easily some people can ignore the urgent situation in Gaza. They’re watching it unfold live: children and families in Gaza bombed, erased from their homes, but they still act like nothing’s happening. History will look back on this time, and it won't be forgiving. It won’t only remember those who supported the bombings; it will also remember those who sat back, shrugged, and scrolled past without a second thought. It will remember that we, as Palestinians, reached out for help but were met with indifference, silence, and passive inaction. There’s no difference between the Zionists and those who ignor our messages from Gaza. There’s no difference between the Zionists and those who witness our pain without acting. You are witnessing ethnic cleansing, and your reaction is ...... nothing. Blank faces, silence, a refusal to acknowledge the truth unfolding right in front of you. Are you really unable to spare $10, $15 or 20$ to save lives in Gaza? Are you too lazy to respond with even a word of support? Are we asking too much of your time?? Is 5 minutes of your time worth more than our lives in Gaza?? What are you going to tell your children, partner or loved ones when they ask what you did while all this was happening?? “Oh, I ignored their messages.” How will you justify staying silent when they flip through the history books in the future? A simple question for sharks: How do you think your followers will react when they realize you might turn a blind eye in their moments of need? What kind of influencer or artist chooses to ignore the pain of others? It’s been a year. More than 42,000 Palestinian civilians have been killed, and over 100,000 injured. Isn’t that enough? Or is the number still too small for you to care? Should we talk about the 10,000 missing or the countless unjustly imprisoned? Maybe you need to see every building in Gaza reduced to rubble before it finally “counts” for you. Do you feel a flicker of empathy? Of humanity? Or are you still waiting for the “right” moment to speak up and take action? History won’t just remember the silence. It will remember even you who ignored this post when your help and action were needed. My family in Gaza urgently needs your help, so please help us and donate now!

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead.

Note: There’s even a raffle for a handmade Palestinian thob if you want to participate : Link

@timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips @mazzikah @mahoushojoe

@sar-soor @rhubarbspring @pcktknife @dailyquests @sayruq

@sawasawako @feluka @appsa @anneemay @commissions4aid-international

@wellwaterhysteria @mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @7bitter @tortiefrancis

@watermotif @stuckinapril @mavigator @lacecap @determinate-negation

@socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @elbiotipo

@el-shab-hussein @heritageposts @communistkenobi @deepspaceboytoy

@mesetacadre @forevergulag @gazafunds @northgazaupdates2 @freepalestinneee

@komsomolka @nabulsi @fading-event-608 @buttercuparry

@prierepaiienne @interact-if @unified-multiversal-theory @inkstay

@socialjusticekitten-blog @socialgoodmoms @nowthisnews @socialgoofy @fightforhumanity-rpg-blog

@fightforhumanity-rp @queerandpresentdanger @90-ghost @timogsilangan @punkitt-is-here

@fox-guardian @hiveswap @valtsv @helppeople @ibtisams

@annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @vakarians-babe @plomegranate @queerstudiesnatural @tamamita

@apollos-boyfriend @akajustmerry @marnosc @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides

@belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @brutaliakent @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish

@communistchilchuck @fairuz @sarazucker @fairuzfan

@a-nautilus-as-pixel-art @baby-indie-blog

@vivisection-gf @brutaliakhoa @the-bastard-king @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness-blog

@neptunerings @malcriada @turian @girlinafairytale @abnormalicacid

@autisticmudkip @lesbianmaxevans

@nabulsi27 @palestinegenocide @orblesbian @palebluebutler

@riding-with-the-wild-hunt @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @morallyrainyday

@jonpertwee @flipton @bell-bones @ragingbullmode @envytherose

@rodent178 @tangledinourstrings @kraigerzz-blog @frogbrainedfool @the-ending-of-dramamine

@mossdeep @redsavesquare @uninvited-eon @glenbot @ultimateumbreon33

@disastersim @airsigh @cowboy-queer @lapastelr0sa @sharingresourcesforpalestine

@rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world @kropotkindersurprise @cruzwalters @la7ma-mafrooma @rosyish

@bookskittychad @streakoflavender @gabajoofs @miraclemaya @devilofthepit

@gay-yosuke @cometcrystal @corvidkusnos @nb-marceline @cicadaland

@manletwizard @2blushie @antiauteur @acnologia-is-best-dragon @bitchmael

@penelopiaad @hashiramashonkers @laughtracklesbian @legallymean @b0nkcreat

@crapscicle @uwu-pinata @syntheticspades @momxijinping @longlivepalestina

@saberboi-1 @martinmynster @nako-funky @trans-leek-cookie @vaticinatrix

@moomoobug @narwa @twilightobservationtower @estrellasrojas @knxfesck

@lakeeffectbitch @fatbitchneedsfoodbadly @no-thats-absurd @humanmorph @toesuckingoctober

@sandiwchirlinreal @tcda @misspiggyforvogueitalia @gamb0fficial @vincentspork

@gemstonedraws @frankendykes-monster @mizoguchi @kos-mos @ryoki-ph

@blackwoolncrown @nightwussy @freehologramreview @melancholy-hummingborb

@sister-lucifer @nonbinarymerbabe @raventhecoolestpersonever @ebenrosetaylor

@inkbomber @collectoroflovelythings @k00ldino @sundung @extrabitterbrain

@names-hard @killaltrock @thatdarngreenpixie-blog @angelsarecomputers

@secretgoths @cauli-flawa @faraliniste @adrowninggrip @thesavagesnakeplant

@g-l-a-s-s-h-e-a-r-t-s-s @illuminated-runas @silverstone-gp @saintverse @prisonhannibal

@emathyst9 @trasno-personal @turtles-on-turts

@readingsquotes @bellybuttonblue2 @bees-fart-too @andiv3r-reblogging @sillyseer

@cloudedcari @tachycardial @evileyeamulet @pompompotato @shamemp3

@jihaad @italofobia @stealthjet @pinnyy @sivavakkiyar

@chronicowboy @bi-worm @ydic74the @amorosebeing @golvio

[salemlunaa]

YOU’RE TRYING TOO HARD ꧂

burning yourself out over something so simple never ends well…

If you know me, have been following me for a while or frequent my posts, you might notice a pattern, I never use the word “enter” when it comes to the void/“I AM” state. I always use the words “tap in” or “induce”. Why? because you can’t enter something that IS you. It’s not possible,

you are the void,

you are I AM,

you are pure consciousness,

you are an awareness,

stop trying too hard, as soon as you think too hard about it, as soon as you look for “symptoms” as soon as you ask yourself if you’re “doing this right” youve fucked up. Why? because you are the operant power, let me ask you a question: who do you think you answer to? why are you asking if you’re doing this correctly when YOU’RE the god of your reality?

do you think you answer to these bloggers, including me, sitting back up after 5 minutes of “nothing happening” to go back to tumblr and double check the posts on here to see if you’re “doing it right”? do you think you answer to these success stories of people you don’t even know, copying what they did to the very detail so that you can shift? do you think you answer to the a million and one methods in this community, limiting yourself to thinking you cant shift if you dont do it like they did it, like that video said you should, like this specific blogger said you should? why are you answering to other people if YOU are the operant power, like you say in your affirmations? why are other people controlling you in YOUR reality? you are being sooo pathetic right now…

stop. trying. so. hard. this shit will always be as easy as breathing, this state of pure consciousness is owed to us

as a god you answer to no one, stop asking if you’re doing it right.

there’s nothing to do, just be

fuck methods and just be

get rid of this mindset that you have to work hard to shift/ tap into the void or “I AM”/ induce pure consciousness

get rid of this mindset that you have to put in any effort at all

get rid of this mindset that you need a method

although time is a concept, why are you putting hours of effort and energy into a routine to help you, what do YOU need help with? you’re a god, you don’t need a routine, just be.

As soon as you acknowledge that you are trying too hard to immerse yourself, take a step back for a second and remind yourself of the truth: no effort is needed!! Like i say, you can rack your brain so much that it drains you, trying to find the “cheat code”, and let me tell you, it won’t end well, and you will know that when in years time you are still here, still looking for “instant methods” all while living a life that you dread.

It should never be a chore, the second it feels that way or the second you feel that you’re draining yourself because you just “can’t seem to get it” take a step back, only for a moment, and calm yourself down because something that only takes you seconds is never that serious.

Relax, Deep breathing, Affirm “I AM”, Let go, that’s it. that’s all you need, nothing else, i PROMISE you

JUST BE, SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU CAN. NO EFFORT NEEDED!!🐆💋

also thank you to beyoncé for this gif and for letting me make this post (iykyk lmao)

[starmocha]

would you still love me if i was a worm? (and other thought-provoking questions) Sylus/Reader | 2100 words | AO3 In which Sylus answers many meaningful drunken questions at 2 AM. A/N: Why have I been clowning on this man 🗿 lowkey based on this post I made before his release lol

It was rather common for Sylus to be up at 2 AM, since in his particular line of work, businesses were best done in the dead of night when most people would be asleep. It didn’t help that the N109 Zone was shrouded in eternal darkness at all times, so the entire concept of time felt rather meaningless to most citizens.

What truly was uncommon for Sylus was receiving a call from you at this time in the middle of the night when you should be slumbering away like most normal citizens. He stared at his phone screen where “Kitten” was so affectionately featured prominently onscreen along with his favorite photo of you. He swiped his thumb across the screen to answer the curious call. Nothing, however, could have prepared the leader of Onychinus with your desperate plea: “Crow Man, come pick me up, pleasssseeee!”

Sylus raised a brow as he held his cellphone tighter in his hand. “Crow Man?”

“Is this not Ca-Caw Man?”

“…are you drunk, sweetie?”

“Mr. Big Ca-Cawk, please pick me upppp!”

Sylus set his phone down on his desk and leaned back in his seat, already massaging his temple in slow circles. He had lavished you with such sweet pet names, and in your darling little head, you had just affectionately bestowed upon him the nickname…Big Ca-Cawk.

Sylus inhaled sharply.

He knew he let you get away with a lot of mischievous things, but perhaps this might be the one time he needed to put his foot down. He held his phone next to his ear again, hearing you sniffled:

“Caw-Caw, do you not like me anymore?”

Damn. You were good.

Sylus huffed softly, finding your drunken speech pattern rather endearing now. With a soft smile on his face, he spoke low, “Far from the truth, sweetie. Now, give me your address.”

You relayed to him the address of a late-night restaurant you were at in Linkon City.

“Stay safe,” Sylus responded, “I’ll be there in twenty.”

The call ended and Sylus heaved another heavy sigh before he stood up. He walked pass where Mephisto was roosting on his perch, and Sylus mumbled thoughtfully to the mechanical crow, “Maybe I should just assign you to monitor her 24/7 from now on.”

Mephisto tilted his head to the side, clearly confused by his owner’s odd words. He cooed quietly in response, watching as Sylus left.

With no speed limit in the N109 Zone, Sylus breezed through the city on his motorcycle in a matter of less than fifteen minutes. Through Linkon City, the street was mostly vacant, and he managed to avoid many of the cop hiding spots. It took him roughly another ten minutes to finally pulled up to the restaurant you said you were at.

As he parked his motorcycle, he took his helmet off, eyes instantly narrowing in anger when he noticed you were backed into a wall by a couple of sober sleazebags. Sylus started to walk up to you, his temper flaring when he heard your feeble protests:

“No…I don’t like this. Go away...”

“Aww, come on, sweetcheeks, you look like you could use a rest at a motel with us.”

“Yeah, it’d be in bad conscious of us if we leave a cute girl like you hanging around on the street like this—”

Sylus had heard enough. His hand tightened into a fist, and thick, dark tendrils wrapped around the two men’s necks, easily lifting them up and sending them hurtling down the block. When they gotten up, ready to assault their attacker, they were instantly frozen with fear from just a simple sharp glare from Sylus. He merely snapped his fingers and new tendrils shot straight down the block at the two men, the sight enough to send them running away in terror.

How fortunate for them. Sylus had other important things on his mind this particular night, or otherwise, he would have felt no qualms with ridding the world of two lowlifes.

When Sylus turned to look at you, his gaze softened considerably, a look of exasperation settled on his handsome features. He approached you slowly, his voice soft and gentle, “Sweetheart…”

His eyes widened in shock when you flung yourself against him, arms wrapped around his waist tightly. You sniffled softly, “Sy-Sy…”

Sylus regained his composure and he smiled down at your head, his hand rubbing your back soothingly. “So I am Sy-Sy now?”

He waited for you to calm down, speaking gentle, comforting words to ease your fears. When he noticed you appeared calmer, he led you to where he had parked. After handing you a helmet, he made sure your arms were wrapped tightly around his waist again before he took off, heading to your apartment.

Once he had arrived to your apartment building, he led you upstairs to your floor. He watched in amusement as you attempted to open the door, unable to get your thumb aligned correctly with the biometrics.

“Here,” he murmured, grabbing your wrist and guiding your thumb to match up with the small screen.

There was a click.

The door opened.

You stared in absolute awe. “Sy-Sy is so amazing…”

Sylus chuckled as he led you inside. “Sweetie, how much did you drink tonight?”

You shrugged. “It was Tara’s birthday…and it was our 5000th wanderer kill…and it was also pay day…and—”

Sylus immediately cut you off, laughing. “I get it,” he said, leading you to your bathroom to help you wash up, “You had a lot to celebrate today.”

He watched you smiled happily as you splashed some cooling water on your face. He helped you removed your jewelry before leading you to your bedroom. Sylus crossed his arms over his chest as he eyed you up and down in your black bodycon dress.

“Now, while I do appreciate seeing you in this dress,” he said with a teasing lecherous smirk, “I don’t think it’ll be comfortable to wear to bed, right?”

You giggled. “Nope!”

Sylus’ eyes widened, completely unprepared when you decided to shamelessly take the dress off yourself and flung it at a chair in your room. You smiled sweetly at him as you stood there in just your bra and panties.

Sylus covered his face, groaning softly. “This girl…” He took another look at you happily smiling away at him with not a single sober thought in your head. He turned away, mumbling, “Stay put.”

He sighed and walked into your closet, muttering to himself as he searched for some sleepwear for you, “You suck at drinking, sweetheart, and yet you let yourself get this drunk…”

After spending about five minutes of searching for some decent sleepwear, Sylus came back out to find you on the bed laying on your side, half-asleep. Sylus sat down on the edge of the bed next to you. He gently shook your shoulder. “Come on, sweetie, as cute as you look like that, you need to get dressed.”

You mumbled sleepily, and Sylus took it upon himself to help you get dressed in an oversized shirt and some shorts. This task felt rather foreign to him, since he was honestly more used to doing the complete opposite. As if reading his mind, you fell against him giggling again once you were fully dressed. “Are you going to take my bra off, too, Sy-Sy?”

He groaned again, his brain about to explode. “Sweetie, you are testing me.”

You giggled again and batted your eyelashes at him.

He smirked, slipping his hands under your shirt from behind and expertly unhooked your bra, tossing it to the side with your earlier abandoned dress. “It’s a good thing I am such a gentleman who doesn’t like taking advantage of intoxicated women.”

“Sy-Sy is the sweetest,” you agreed solemnly. You leaned up and clumsily kissed him, catching him off-guard for just a few seconds before he chuckled against the kiss, pecking your lips lightly. He pulled away first, amused when he saw your look of disappointment at how quickly the kiss ended.

Sylus pinched your cheek, eliciting a pained yelp that stirred you fully awake. “Next time, you are not allowed to get yourself drunk without me around,” he scolded you firmly, though his facial expression was more gentle than angry.

“But it was pay day…”

One sharp look from Sylus had you clamming up. When he turned away, you let out a soft whine, “Wait…are you leaving me?”

He turned back just in time to see a pout forming on your face. He sighed for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night, giving you a slow shake of his head. He knew he was coddling you too much tonight, but he couldn’t bear to leave you alone in such a disoriented state. “Of course not, sweetie,” he answered with a smile, “I’m just going to turn off the lights.”

Once the lights were out, Sylus made his way back over to the bed. He chuckled in amusement as you scooted to the center, giving the empty space next to you an enthusiastic pat. Sylus climbed into bed, happy when you cuddled up to him.

“Caw-Caw, I have a question…”

“So it’s Caw-Caw again?” he asked bemused, and then muttered more to himself, “I think I’d rather you call me Sy-Sy instead… What is it, sweetie?”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

“Sweetie, I would feed you to Mephisto,” he answered, not missing a single beat.

“Noooo…” you whined at him with tears brimming in your eyes. You weakly pawed at his arm with little fists, pleading, “Don’t feed me to Mephie…”

“Mephie?” he laughed, astonished that now you had taken the liberty of nicknaming his mechanical crow.

“I won’t taste good,” you insisted with a sweet pout.

“Personally, I think you taste divine,” Sylus teased with the double-entendre, but in your drunken state, you didn’t catch the double meaning. You could only sniffle sadly at him. He rubbed your cheek affectionately with the back of his hand, his crimson eyes seemed so bright in the darkness.

“Sy-Sy…”

“Hmm?” Sylus propped himself up on his elbow, his chin cradled in his hand as he peered down at you snuggled up close to him again.

“Where does the light go when you close the fridge door?”

“Drunk you is just full of silly questions, huh?”

You continued, not caring that he didn’t give you an actual answer to your previous inquiry, “Why do we make round pizza, put it in a square box, just to eat it as a triangle?”

Sylus blinked, sighing, feeling at a complete loss for words. “When you are sober, I’ll make sure to look up the answer for you, sweetie.”

“Sy-Sy?”

“What now?”

“Life is soup.”

Sylus raised his brow in complete confusion, not understanding a single damn word out of your mouth now. He didn’t even know how to respond to the odd comment, so he just continued to stare at you, hoping for a follow-up.

“And I am a fork.”

Sylus pulled you into his arms, laying on his back with you on top of him. “Alright, sweetie, it’s time for bed now.”

You giggled, rubbing your face against his soft shirt, inhaling deeply the faint scent of cologne on him. You sighed happily, smelling the familiar comforting, warm and woodsy fragrance on him. “Would you…” You yawned and rubbed your drowsy eyes, “love me if I shrink down to the size of your thumb?”

“Sweetheart, I’ll just have to keep you safe in my pocket.” Sylus brushed the flyaway hair away from your face, his expression tender as he gazed at your sweet, sleepy face resting on top of his chest. Even though he knew by morning, you wouldn’t remember a single thing from this night, Sylus still couldn’t help but voiced his thoughts and feelings aloud.

“I adore you,” he said, hushed, the weight of his words hung heavy in the stillness of the bedroom, “More than you will ever know.”

You yawned again, burrowing deeper into his embrace. “I love you, too, Mr. Big Ca-Cawk.”

Sylus could do nothing but laughed resignedly, his arms wrapped securely around you, holding you close to his body, the soft warmth of you against him was calming. Sylus felt a strange mixture of both happiness and bemusement by your drunk words, knowing your intoxicated state was also your most honest side, revealing to him the depths of your feelings for him. He kissed the top of your head, letting his eyes closed to rest as well, as he murmured, “Sweet dreams, you silly girl.”

[igbylicious]

consumed [san x reader]

pairing: vampire ! San x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, angst, vampire au, darkfic

summary: After getting a taste of your blood, San dedicates himself entirely to you — whether you want him to or not.

wc: 5.6k

general warnings: non-con elements, pheromone-induced ‘consent’ but reader resists at first, blood drinking, reader’s blood literally drives San crazy, he is delusional and obsessed and thinks it’s love, abduction, mention of San killing a nameless stranger to feed on

smut warnings: somnophilia, praise kink, body worship, vaginal fingering / sex, creampie, spanking, cum feeding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting, scratching, petnames for reader (darling, sweet girl, angel, love)

a/n: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! reader is afab & she/her pronouns are used

“You’re not supposed to keep them around this long, San.”

Yunho does not speak the words unkindly, though his disapproval is plain to hear.

“She’s different,” San says quietly, shaking his head. He doesn’t understand why Yunho can’t see that.

They’re standing in the wide, spacious living room of San’s penthouse; decorated in an elegant, bare minimalism that leaves no doubt over the many digits in his bank account’s credit balance. Yunho hangs back by the exit to the foyer, like he already knows he’ll outstay his welcome with this topic of conversation.

San is not looking at him, staring out the floor-length window with his forearm leaned against the glass, tinted with a special filter for his safety during daylight. But the sun has not risen yet, though the city is already bustling with activity in the early morning. From this height, San can barely make out the specks of people on the sidewalks and in their cars; their minute size reflecting their significance.

No one else in this city matters. Only you.

“She’s already growing immune, isn’t she?” Yunho remarks, annoyingly astute.

The corner of San’s lips twitches.

Yunho’s objections are irrelevant, he tells himself, deafening his ears to the truth in that question. He has to, if the alternative is to give you up. He can’t.

Ever since San found you, a chance meeting at a hotel bar, he has been enamoured by you. Your tinkling laugh, the sway of your hips, that wicked glint in your eyes when you realised his interest. You made him work for it, to persuade you up to his room, but not too hard. Just a little game, both of you pretending that you hadn’t decided to fuck yourself senseless on his cock from the moment you laid eyes on him.

Yes, he’d been taken with you from the start — but it wasn’t until the elevator ride up to his hotel room that San realised you were more than just a simple, if particularly delectable, meal.

There San had gotten a proper whiff of you, undiluted by the smells of food and drinks and other patrons.

You’d moaned when he pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, nerves creeping into the edge of your voice. You had also finally realised that San was more than just a simple, if particularly delectable, one-night stand; some primal part of your brain warned you of danger.

It hadn’t mattered at that point. You mumbled something about having left your phone down at the bar, trying to untangle yourself from San’s grip — but all he had to do was grab your waist tighter, yanking you back against his body as he testingly lapped at your jugular. San’s hunger was growing, and you had been powerless against the push of his pheromones dousing your susceptible human brain. From then on, you were a willing banquet for him to feast on.

(Still, San was generous. He still let you fuck yourself senseless on his cock.)

The longer he’d fed on you, the more he was dizzied by your scent; like he was breathing in oxygen for the first time in over six-hundred years. Your voice, sweet in your cries, pleading for him like he was the only lifeline still binding you to this mortal coil. Your taste… San never tasted anyone like you before.

Like you are his lifeline, your blood hot in his gut, saturating his veins with essential nutrition. Liquid sunlight, warming him from the inside. No one else tastes like this. No one else feels like this.

All of his plans were thrown out the window; to wipe the questionable details from your mind and abandon you before morning light. Instead he had taken you with him, given you a home, devoted himself to you with every fibre of his being.

His dedication never wavered, even when you began to resist the haze of his subjugation; when you no longer understood that everything San does, he does out of love for you.

But it’s not your fault — and San is not so fickle as to abandon you now. His loyalty is stronger than your blindness to it.

So how dare Yunho tell him it’s time to let you go?

“For fuck’s sake, at least turn her if you’re so attached to your little toy,” Yunho continues, and San’s face twitches at the blatant disrespect of you. A toy? “It’d be a kindness, and not only to her. Sannie, I’m worried about you.”

“It’s time for you to go home, Yunho. The sun is about to rise,” San says coolly, not even taking his eyes off the city skyline to see his oldest friend off.

Yunho lets out a frustrated sigh, but concedes to San’s stubbornness — for now. “This isn’t the last we’ve spoken of this,” he warns, and with that, Yunho turns away and leaves. He does not take San’s bad mood with him though; he leaves that behind to fester in San’s cold, deficient blood like a rot.

San stands alone in his luxurious penthouse, resisting a sharp urge to put his fist through the filtered glass of his window. He settles for digging his nails into his palms, a low growl escaping past his gritted teeth.

He needs you. Now more than ever.

The thought is all-consuming, hunger blazing through him. But right now, his devotion is tainted by rage, and he cannot risk to have you touched by it. San did that once, mercilessly rough as he took you; not even to feed, just to know you are his. He still has not forgiven himself for it. He never will.

But Yunho’s incessant meddling is not the only thing that has soured San’s mood — and it only makes his need worse.

San knows he has to be mindful of your health, allowing you time to recover between feedings. And so he hunted fresh prey, just a few days ago. It had been a brutish affair, sloppy and violent. San had almost gagged on the young man’s blood, a vile and repugnant liquor compared to yours, and left a scene of savage destruction behind.

(Hongjoong had arranged a clean-up afterwards, for which he’d heatedly told San off. Come to think of it, Hongjoong probably sent Yunho today too. He needs to stop fucking coddling San just because he is a few centuries younger. San could’ve handled it himself.)

Days later, the taste of inferior blood still lingers on San’s tongue, streams through his veins, and his craving for you becomes too powerful to withstand. He yearns for a sustenance and a comfort only you can provide.

No, San cannot go back to an existence without you.

Restlessly he paces across his home, through the spacious living room past the gallery and the master bedroom, all the way to a wide terrace that looks over the bay. Sometimes he takes you there, at night when the stars are bright, but the sun is already out. San ignores the terrace, heading to a relatively modest bedroom tucked into the corner of the penthouse.

A small, delicate silver key hangs on an equally delicate silver chain around his neck, resting on his chest. He takes off the necklace and uses the key to unlock the door to your room.

With his hand resting on the doorknob, San takes a deep, grounding breath. Already he can smell you through the white-painted wood, and just a faint whiff is enough to blunt the edges of his frustrations, while sharpening his hunger.

He opens the door.

Inside, he finds you laying motionless on a large mahogany bed underneath a wide, open skylight. Your nude body is sprawled over the velvet sheets, bathed in the warmth of the morning sun. At peace in your sleep. There is a golden cuff fastened around your ankle, with a long narrow chain to the wall; sometimes your confused mind beckons you to flee, to make some misguided escape attempt, but the chain protects you from making such mistakes.

San closes the door behind him as quietly as he can, careful not to wake you. Reverently, he watches your sleeping form, drinking in the sight of your steady breathing, how your skin glows in the unfiltered sunlight. Light that is deadly to him, but nurturing to you.

His eyes find the three scabbed-over bite marks on your naked body; on your neck, your inner thigh, and your wrist. San is partial to your thigh, mingling the sweet flavours of arousal and blood as he feeds, but every single one of them sings to him right now — angelic temptation.

Still, he resists a moment longer. He likes watching you sleep; the slow rhythm of your chest as you draw breath, your steady heartbeat thumping through peaceful dreams. He hates watching you sleep; to see you in a state of blissful serenity that only the oblivion of unconsciousness brings. He tries to give you that same peace in the waking world, tries so hard, but you struggle against it more and more.

He yearns to touch you, to remind you of true bliss, but even a mere step forward would make him burn in the sun’s light.

Some days he wants to. Wants to burn for you. Perhaps if you saw the true depths of his devotion, you would finally stop forgetting.

“She’s already growing immune, isn’t she?”

Yunho’s words echo through him, mockingly. Now that Yunho is gone, San can begrudgingly admit their truth. Your body is instinctively building a harmful resistance to his pheromones, like a dangerous bacterial strain resisting antibiotics. All San wants to do is cure your hurts, but your own physiology is cruelly sabotaging your happiness.

San’s fingers itch as he gets antsy. He’ll fix it. He’ll fix you. He will find a way.

He flicks a switch on the wall and the solar blinds go down. You stir at the faint whirring noise, whimper instinctively when shade encroaches on your naked body. You do not wake. Not yet.

Soon the room is engulfed in darkness, but San sees you clearly. Still, for your sake he lights a few candles, bathing the room in a different warm glow. Then he slowly shucks his clothes, dark eyes pinned on your slumbering figure.

The mattress dips as San joins you, the sheets still warmed by the sun. It makes San’s skin itch, but all discomfort fades when he turns you onto your side and curls up behind you, finding refuge in your body heat. San groans as you envelop his senses, and he noses at the bite mark on your neck.

You belong to him. It’s time to remind you of that.

Peaceful dreams still have you in their clutches, so you do nothing except sigh softly when San runs his palm over your plush thigh, then hooks your leg over his to open you up for him. A sigh becomes a moan when his fingers part your lower lips; sleep renders you almost as pliant as San’s subjugation does — even if it does not taste as sweet.

By now, San has mapped out your body’s every pleasure-point through his thorough explorations. Knows exactly how to press down against your clit to have your muscles twitching under his insistent touch. He hums in satisfaction at how easily his devoted fingers coax forth the slick between your thighs. It gives him hope.

San’s breath picks up at your heightened arousal, his otherwise useless blood rushing down to his cock. How wonderful would it be, if you are already brought under his spell once you awaken? He groans at the thought, muffling his sounds with an open-mouthed kiss against your neck. You squirm against him; your body is starting to wake, even if your mind is not quite there yet.

He suckles at the precious scab on your neck, canines elongating as he grinds against your backside. His razor-sharp teeth scrape against the scar that he has reopened over and over again — but San hisses, somehow finding the strength to pull back.

He mustn’t feed on you, not yet. Only when you want him to.

Two of his thick fingers have moved down, now buried knuckle-deep into your sopping heat. The faint squelch of it threatens to drive San mad just as much as your scent does, his every sense overwhelmed by the existence of you. He whines, barely able to keep himself from rutting into you when your hips jerk involuntarily against his fingers.

San knows immediately when you wake.

He senses the jolt in your heartbeat, hears the sharp catch of breath, feels how you stiffen in his arms. A muted shock rushes through your body as your mind tries to process what is happening to it.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” San shushes immediately, pressing a soft kiss against your temple. “It’s just me. You’re safe with me.”

But San’s dreams that you would awaken safely under his influence are shattered when you let out a pained whimper. You weakly shake your head, trembling as awareness of your current situation swiftly dawns on you. Feeble hands push at his arms.

“No,” you croak out, voice hoarse from sleep. “Hm, n-no— hmm, hmgh—“

You gasp as San’s fingers return to your clit, rubbing slow circles intended to soothe. “Yes,” he purrs. “Just let it happen, my love.”

He grunts as your nails claw at his wrist, some strength flowing back into your body as your consciousness comes back to you. Your other hand reaches to push at his face — but San’s sharp teeth nip at your fingers in warning when you almost scratch at his eyes, and you flinch away to yank at his hair instead.

Irritation and heartache pang through San’s chest at your incomprehension, and he helplessly listens to your babbled, futile protests. Soon. It will all be better soon.

“Please, stop—”

You break on the word with a wretched sob, a tear escaping your lashes. San’s heart wrenches at the sight. He does not like to see you cry, not when it’s like this. “No no no, darling,” he murmurs gently, the glide of his fingers easy through your sodden folds. “It’s okay, it will be okay… Don’t cry, you feel good — aren’t I making you feel good?”

You merely sob again, twisting against his hold, but San has you pulled too tightly against his chest. He feels your body tense, smells the unwanted pleasure buzzing through your veins. You gnaw at your bottom lip to bite down the moans rising from your lungs, but San will not allow you to fight it. He leans over your shoulder, licking into your mouth until your jaw slackens and your moans spill free. (You dare not bite his tongue. That’s a lesson you did not forget.)

“That’s it, that’s my sweet girl,” San praises. “Let me hear you.”

Your protests have died down to nothing but hitched breaths and hiccups, unable to back away from the inevitable precipice that San pushes you towards. All your instincts contradict one another, wanting to escape, wanting to chase this bright, fiery thread of pleasure until you are unravelled into nothing but pure rapture.

You choke back a throttled cry, grinding back against San’s cock. He whines at the friction, but stays focused on you; you come first. You always do. It won’t be much longer now.

He can tell by the way your thighs tremble, how your legs try to lock around his fingers. Your scent is overwhelming now; dizzying San’s mind with no thoughts of anything but to shatter your existence into bite-sized pieces. Still you try to resist, but San overwhelms you in turn, mouthing at your neck and working your puffy clit. The pitch of your moans rise, chest heaving with shuddering gasps, until you seize up with a strangled sob. Fresh slick gushes onto his fingers and San does not stop, thrusting three glistening fingers inside you to fuck you through your unwilling release.

“Please, please stop,” you sob, mewling with every aftershock that jolts through you. You beg him endlessly, convulsing in his arms — but then your scent changes, and the nature of your pleas shifts into something else entirely. “S-Sannie… please…”

The fear and nausea in your scent make way for your natural sweetness, embracing San in warm welcome as you finally call his name. He whimpers in relief.

You’re here. You’ve come back to him.

“What is it, darling?” he hums, nosing at your cheek. “Tell me, what do you need?”

“San, please, n-need…” You grasp at his wrist again, keeping him firmly in place as you falter for words. Your brain is in a haze. What do you need? Why can’t you think? One moment, everything was all wrong, panic searing through your aching nerves, and now… now…

San.

You need San.

You turn your head to look at him with tearful eyes, and smile dazedly at the fondness in his gaze, filled with heated affection. The flickering candles cast a halo of light around his face, shadows dancing over his high cheekbones and chiselled jaw.

“You… Need you closer,” you whine, aching as he smiles at you with crinkled eyes and a faint dimple. “Inside, p-please, want you inside me, San…”

The desperate yet demure request pleases him, a low noise of approval rumbling in his chest. He presses a tender kiss on your cheek, then takes out his fingers and pulls away from you.

You let out a pained moan at San’s sudden absence; to be without him hurts, the mere thought bringing about an excruciating burn inside your head. There is a strange pressure inside your skull, like a deeply buried thought tries to claw to the surface. But the pain is replaced by equal heights of bliss when San gathers you into his arms again, wrapping around you like a protective blanket.

He only moved to sit up against the headboard, now guiding you into his lap. You come willingly, eagerly, sighing in relief as his hands run over your feverish skin.

“There you go, my angel,” San rasps, restlessly grabbing at your waist to rock you into his hard cock. “So sweet, so good to me. Come, take what you want. I’m all yours, love.”

You whine at his offer and San’s lips spread into a slow, satisfied smile at your neediness. This is how it is supposed to be.

His eyes are drawn downward to your hands, and he grunts as you stroke him slowly, as though testing the warmth and thickness of him in your palm. Already he is leaking from the tip, a primal frenzy nudging at the back of his skull. Hunger.

Thankfully, you don’t make him wait long before you lift your hips and finally sink down on him. San throws back his head with a low growl, the pulsing wet heat of your cunt threatening to tear his self-control to shreds. His fangs have protracted fully, itching to seek out your veins.

Not yet, he reminds himself again, straining against his own impatience. First he needs to watch as you ride him; to see you use him for your own pleasure. To know his all-encompassing desire for you is returned in kind.

You provide him exactly what he craves.

Within mere moments, the candle-lit room is filled with your unabashed whines and the lewd slap of skin-on-skin as you bury San’s thick cock in your tight heat over and over again. Your pace is frantic, shameless in your desperation as you cling onto San’s wide shoulders, your nails close to drawing blood. The irony of that is not lost on him.

San’s head has fallen back, his jaw slack as he draws heavy breaths, utterly entranced by your depravity.

He lovingly admires the glow of sweat on your skin, beads trickling down the valley of your breasts that bounce with every snap of your hips. San is of half a mind to add a fourth bite to his collection on your body, draining you right over your heart. He licks his lips, groaning tightly when you grab his hand and move it from your hip to your backside.

San gives it an appreciative squeeze, but you shake your head and whine loudly.

Ah… message received.

You don’t flinch when San’s lips spread into a wide grin, his fangs on full display. He loves you for that.

He also loves the way your entire body jolts when his palm sharply lands on your ass. Your rhythm falters when he strikes again, your arms trembling as you struggle to remain upright.

“Want more, my love?” San croons, and draws his tongue across his deadly canines. A hot wire thrums through him when you mewl in confirmation, though he can tell you are getting tired. Stamina is not your greatest strength, not with your necessary confinement — but you always give him everything, wearing yourself out on his thick cock until your muscles give in.

Every smack of San’s hand against your rear is received with your loud keening, eyes squeezing shut. Tears streak down your cheeks, and San’s cock twitches inside your throbbing cunt. The shimmering wetness on your skin is a thing of beauty to him now; so overwhelmed by pleasure that your body seeks release anywhere, even in your tears.

San bucks up at the same time that his hand connects with your ass again, and you wail at the impact, crumpling against his chest. Weakly you cling onto his shoulders, moaning pitifully when San continues to roll his hips.

“Good, feels so good… Sannie…” you babble against his collarbone, the words tripping over your clumsy tongue. “Want… want…”

Your tongue darts out against his neck and without further warning, your teeth sink into his skin.

San grunts in surprise at the sudden sting, but then he chuckles breathlessly at your precious attempt to bite him. Your canines are uselessly blunt compared to his, only capable of breaking skin with the greatest effort — and you are already far too fucked out for that.

“Oh darling,” he coos, tipping up your chin. “Is that what you want? Then show me, my love.”

You snivel adorably, tilting your head to offer up the mark on your neck to San’s hungry mouth. Your quiet submission sears through his body, down to his crotch and his stomach, and San presses his nose against the old bite, breathing in deeply.

You whimper as he drags the flat of his tongue over the half-healed scab. Just a faint scrape of his teeth first, not enough to break skin, only to revel in the anticipation. Your heartbeat quickens, blood pulsing under his lips. San can wait no longer.

His eyes roll back with an animalistic snarl as he descends, fangs piercing through flesh with ease. He growls at the first pull of blood, metallic sweetness coating his lips and tongue as your essence floods his senses.

“Yes, yes— Ah, ah, ahhh…” You arch your back into him, slowly rolling your hips in time with San’s noisy, messy slurps. Your fingers tangle into his hair, holding him in place as he drinks deep.

Euphoria.

Pure euphoria.

Drowning in you, in the sublime intoxication. San can barely feel his body anymore, only distantly aware of you rutting tiredly into him, of how he humps upward with increasing force as he loses himself in your taste.

He does hear your cries of delirious ecstasy, right by his ear when his hand slides between your bodies to find your clit on pure instinct. With his cock and fangs buried inside you, you reach your zenith with violent force, convulsing underneath his blood-stained mouth.

San grabs tighter onto you as you writhe, forcing you to stay in place as he drinks unrelentingly. He groans at how you clench around his cock, hips stuttering when he finds release — but even that is drowned out by the frenzy of his feed, mindlessly fucking his seed deeper into your cunt while he sucks at your wound, trying not to spill any of your precious liquor.

Slowly your whines die down and you start to go limp in San’s arms, just as he grows lethargic in the aftermath of his indulgence, his hunger finally sated.

You let out a weak moan when his fangs retract with a wet sound, and for a moment San thinks you passed out; but your eyes flutter open when he pulls out and manoeuvres you onto your back. A weak rivulet of blood drips down your shoulder, but you smile up at him with glassy eyes. He must look monstrous, redness smeared across his lips and chin, but there is nothing but want in your gaze, and San thinks that perhaps his hunger is not completely sated after all.

“Did so well, my love,” he murmurs, running his fingers up your inner thigh to catch the trickle of cum leaking out. “Always taking such good care of me.”

He offers up his glistening fingers to you, and you accept with no hesitation. Tiredly, your tongue swirls around the sticky digits, taking all that San feeds you. It only seems fair to him; exchanging one bodily essence for another. He cannot give you his blood, cannot risk accidentally turning you, but at least he can give you this.

Soon his fingers are sucked clean, but you whine as San pulls his hand back, your mouth chasing after him. “N-no, San…” Your eyes glitter with unspoken pleas, and a fond pride swells inside him at your insatiable urges.

“My sweet girl needs more, does she?” San asks, bearing down on you with a pleased smile. He drapes himself over you, humming in approval when your legs reflexively part to make room for him.

You giggle when his nose brushes against yours, his sweaty hair tickling at your face. “San, you’re a mess,” you tease, running your thumb across his lips. It comes back red.

San just moans in contentment, pressing a bloodied kiss against your cheek as he slowly grinds against your cunt. Your giggles quickly turn to gasps, wiggling underneath his persistent hips. His cock is so sensitive the friction almost hurts, but it’s all worth it when you grab onto his shoulders to pull him into a kiss, heedless of his tainted lips.

Your tongue slides against his, and San laughs into your mouth when your nose scrunches up in discontent at the strong taste of blood. As insatiable as you may be, only one of you is a true vampire. Instead San kisses a trail across your jaw, down your neck. He laps at the dried blood, the wound already closed, then suckles at the surrounding skin once you are clean. His hands wander over your body, relishing your heightened responses to his touch as he slowly works you up again.

You sigh at the soft squeeze of your breasts, back arching when his thumbs play across your nipples. San luxuriates in the curves of your body, sliding down to envelop a hardened nipple in the wet heat of his mouth. He takes his time, clever but unhurried fingers teasing deftly between your thighs.

Breathy moans echo through the quiet bedroom, languid pleasure gradually shifting to something more urgent. You start grasping at his shoulders, tell him to fill you up already, and San has never been one to deny you.

He hisses as he gives his cock a few more strokes, but ignores all sensitivity to please you, to plunge his thick length back inside your sopping cunt, drenched with seed and arousal. San bottoms out in one smooth thrust, knocking the air out of your lungs. You gasp for breath as he starts a steady rhythm, careful to find the exact angle he knows will have you seeing stars behind your eyelids.

The lethargy of his feed forces San to take it slow, settling for deep, intense thrusts to have your toes curl into the sheets. He cages you between his elbows, pressing shallow kisses on your lips; and the taste of blood has faded enough that you can happily accept his mouth, tongues gliding against each other in a sloppy tangle.

You moan as San’s pace picks up, wrapping your legs around his waist. The cuff on your ankle presses against his lower back, and a tinge of bittersweetness invades San’s palate at the reminder that it’s is not always like this. But he shakes it off, choosing to stay submerged in pure sweetness for now. Enjoy the moment. Enjoy you.

The slow roll of his hips turns to powerful thrusts as his sluggishness fades, his strength now boosted by the fresh, invigorating effect of your blood. Soon the bed is rattling at the onslaught of his force — he is fucking bruises into your hips, he is sure of it, but still you beg for more, for him. He gives it all.

“So good, fucking me so well,” you keen, and San glows at your praise, spurring him on harder.

He does not slow down when you seize up around him; fucking you through your orgasm, through your body’s attempts to clamp down on him. He hisses at the tightness of your cunt but does not stop, does not relent until you’re sobbing underneath him, your hands clutching at his sweat-slicked back. His muscles ripple with every merciless thrust, low grunts escaping him as his own release draws near, but San pushes through with gritted teeth, fixated on the unrestrained pleasure that contorts your face.

Sweat drips from his hair onto your cheeks, your body jostled helplessly by the rough snap of his hips. Your voice fails you, moans catching soundlessly in your throat as you tense around his cock again. San reaches down a hand to find your swollen clit, groans when it barely takes a touch for you to release a choked up cry — and this time San can’t fight the way you clench around him. He buries his face in your shoulder as he whines, filling you up just as you’d begged him to. He grabs onto your hips to hold your squirming body still as he bucks into you a few more times, his cum leaking past his cock and mingling with your juices, smeared across your thighs and his pelvis.

With a final whine, San pulls out and collapses by your side, his legs tangled with yours.

He recovers slowly, gasping for breath, and his heart clenches when you curl up into him, wiggling yourself between his arms for his embrace.

San is not sure how long you lay there like that, with him gently patting your hair, your quiet breaths falling on his chest. Your heartbeat steadies slowly, and it pains San when he decides it is time to pull away.

As he predicted, you babble tired protests at once, weakly clutching at his arm as you beg him not to go. He allows himself a contented smile, but shakes his head at your pleas.

“You need to eat,” he points out, though he can’t resist showering you with kisses. He smothers you in affection until you’re breathless and whining — which is one way to silence your protests, he supposes — but San cannot be so selfish to stay and do it all over again. He needs to take care of you. “I’ll be right back with some breakfast, alright? You need to regain your strength,” he soothes. “After, we can take a bath together, how does that sound?”

San’s tender kisses have put a dopey smile on your face, and you nod sluggishly at his proposal. “That sounds perfect,” you admit. “Just… come back soon, okay?”

“I will,” he promises, raising your hand to his lips to press a last kiss on the scab on your wrist.

San puts on a comfortable robe that he keeps in your room for just this sort of occasion, then exits, locking the door behind him out of habit. He tries not to rush himself, but still he can’t help but hurry his steps as he picks up an already prepared breakfast from the kitchen. He does not want to return to find you have abandoned him again already.

An uneasy sense of foreboding fills him as he returns to your room. The waft of sex and blood still hangs heavily in the corridor, masking your scent as he unlocks the door again in frustrated impatience. San swallows thickly, praying his bad feeling is just that; a feeling.

But the door swings open, and San knows at once. He does not even need to smell you; your freshly tear-stained, puffy cheeks already tell him that it is too late, your heartbeat spiking harshly at his return. Your arms tremble as you inch back on the bed, subtly as though you do not want to anger him, but still putting as much distance between you and San as possible.

It takes everything for San not to recoil from your sudden rejection of his gift. His fingers clench around the breakfast tray, grief burning behind his eyes. He swears, it did not used to wear off this fast.

“She’s already growing immune, isn’t she?”

Shut the fuck up, Yunho.

San shakes his head, collecting himself. It’s no matter. He sets the tray down on a side-table, and gently approaches your shaking form on the bed. He will drag you back to him again, as many times as he has to.

[reyalvr]

SHE’S MINE | 02

-SO I HOPE AND PRAY YOU MAKE IT WORTH IT.

synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers. 

genre ┊ fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, chaotic fluff, mild smut

pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan

word count ┊ 3.2k

author’s note ┊ YAPPEE! part two officially out- so sorry for the wait EUEUEU… hehe hope the things that happen in this chapter make up for it being a few days late :p also, i will not be accepting anymore tag list requests! this is due to the amount of users that i can tag per post T^T … nonetheless, i hope you guys enjoy the chap! happy reading :D 

p.s. i will be blocking the people who message me (rudely) to “hurry up” with the next chapters. i understand most, if not, all of you are excited to read the next chapters, but please do understand that i have my own schedule too :,)

prev. | next

YOU HELD YOUR HEAD IN YOUR HANDS, GROANING INTO YOUR PALMS. In front of you sat the thorn at your side, Ken Sato. He had just finished reading- or rather, skimming through the files you had stayed up compiling. You peeked at him through your fingers before standing up to erase yet another column of pros and cons from the board. 

Taking a swig from the energy drink he had brought you, you shake your head as you try to figure out what to do next. Truth be told, you were just eager to leave. You had two weeks left until you could finally let these burdensome tasks go, all you wanted was for Ken to go along with your last few instructions so as to make your exit easier. 

“I don’t get what’s so hard about this, Ken.” You say, turning back around to face him. “You pick a girl, you ‘date’ her for a bit, and then you ‘split up’ amicably. Simple as that.” 

He tilted his head at you, a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Oh sure, yeah. Let me just go out with a random girl and act like I’m head over heels in love with her.”

“Yes, exactly that.” You reply with the same tone, going back to your seat. “Now you’re getting it!”

He rolls his eyes, placing the stapled papers back on your desk. “I get it, I fucked up. But I still don’t get why you’re so…” He pauses, pressing his lips into a thin line and gesturing with his hands. “Persistent in actually trying to get me to date someone for the sake of my screw up.”

“And I don’t get why I have to keep reminding you of why I need to do this.” You lean back into your chair while pinching the bridge of your nose. “You were the one who-”

“-’Told the entire world you were in love’, yes I know! You’ve only said that like, what, a hundred times over?” He cuts you off, crossing his arms. “I know what I did. But I also know that I have a choice in this matter, don’t I?”

You go to reply but stop when you register his words. You knew that, obviously, which is why you had multiple plans. You were giving him the chance to choose, were you not? The various notes and drafted project plans were proof of that. They were all laid out right in front of him, what more could he possibly want? You look at him briefly, your eyes scanning his expression before darting back to the things scattered atop your desk. 

“I’m giving you choices.” You say flatly, slowly looking back up at him. 

“No, you’re giving me options and expecting me to choose.” He counters, his hand gesturing towards the papers. “I’m talking about my choice. My plan, suggestion, whatever you want to call it.”

“So what is your plan? Because as far as I’m concerned, you don’t seem to actually have one.” You reply, brows slightly furrowing at his stubbornness. 

“And that’s the point. I don’t need a plan,” He pauses, pointing his finger directly onto one of the outlines and it towards you. “I just need to ride it out.”

You let out a scoff, stunned at how Ken was still treating this so lightly. The corners of your lips tug up a bit, and you end up letting out a soft laugh in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Am I, though?” He leans back, maintaining eye contact with you. “It’s the choice that takes the least effort. And besides, I thought you liked it when I kept things private.”

“Oh, don’t circle this back to me.” You say, pointing a finger at him. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to address your little mishaps?” 

“Yes, I do. Which is why I’m trying to help you.” He says a-matter-of-factly, his eyebrows raising as if to emphasize how much he understands what your job entails. 

“No, you don’t.” You argue back, mimicking his crossed arms.

“Were you always this stubborn?” Ken says, catching you off guard. 

You feel your features scrunch up in confusion and annoyance, narrowed eyes slanting even more as this back-and-forth of yours keeps going. “You’re one to talk.” 

At that he smirks slightly, rolling his eyes as he pokes a tongue into his cheek. The audacity of this man to act annoyed. You think, all the while you continue to glare at him. You close your eyes for the umpteenth time that morning, taking in a deep breath as your nails dig into your palms. Despite wanting to calm yourself down, his words rang in your head like an unwanted mantra.

His choice.

Would it be so bad to give Ken free reign on this? Granted, he was the one who caused it. Why be the one to clean up his mess- again, for that matter? You pinch the bridge of your nose, shaking your head once more. You could never understand how his mind worked, and you figured you probably never would. You tapped against the desk with your pen, bouncing your leg as you pondered on what to do. 

Your plan? Everything sets sail smoothly, with only the liability being either party slips up. Which, in your defense, you could cover up in the blink of an eye. His plan? No plotline with room for spontaneous detail sharing whenever he pleased. More work for you, more freedom for him. You stopped tapping then, clicking your pen into place. In your moment of contemplation, you had realized then this entire thing was useless. His plan, your plan, all the plans. None of them mattered, not if the end result was going to be the same. 

Goddamnit, you hated Ken Sato. 

You flip one of the stapled pieces of paper over, drawing over the blank side. “The start of your first full season with the Giants is in less than fourteen days. By then we would need to have already released another press release- ideally before your conference.” 

Ken jumps slightly, caught off guard by your sudden return to work mode. He watches as you line up different keywords with boxy arrows, all of which lead up to the ‘end’ of his lie. “What exactly am I looking at?”

You flash him a smile, albeit a fake one, and slide the paper to him. “Your plan.” Leaning back in your chair, you make a show of stretching your arms. “You’re right, we should go with your plan.” 

He laughs then, noting the lingering hints of sarcasm in your tone. “[Y/N], what are you doing?”

“Giving you your choice.” You reply with a small shrug. 

“Yeah, I can see that.” He says, his smile slightly faltering. “But… why?”

“It’s your life, isn’t it?” You tilt your head to the side, your lips pressed into a thin line. 

Now it’s his turn to be confused and annoyed. The way he understood this, you were letting him win. You were waving a white flag, surrendering to his incessant pleading. He scrunched his brows, still trying to process your words. You continued to sit there, waiting eerily patiently for him to respond. 

“And you’re serious about this?” He questions once more, hesitant to believe that you of all people would back down so quickly. 

“Mhm,” You hum, fiddling with your thumbs. “I’m just your assistant. Well, for two more weeks, that is.” 

He felt like he was being played. He blinked at you, mouth slightly agape. The you that was sitting in front of him now was different from the you thirty-six hours ago. Yesterday, you were desperate for him to follow your plans. He recalled your words, ‘If you're actually as sorry as you say you are, you’ll do as I say.’ But now that you’re telling him to do exactly what he wants, he’s nervous. 

Nervous that he finally caused you to hate him for good. 

“If you’re done sitting there like I said something stupid, you can go. Coach wants to see the team, it’d be in your best favor not to be on his bad side two weeks before playoffs.” You say, not even looking at him directly. 

He clears his throat, licking his lips. “Right, well, okay.” He stands up, sliding himself into his jacket before walking towards the door. “See you, then.”

You only hum in response, still not looking at him as you continue fixing all of the papers on your desk. Just before he’s fully out of your office though, you call out to him. 

“Yeah?” He answers immediately, peeking his head through the door. 

“Have fun riding it out.” You say, flashing him a smile. A real one, this time.

A WEEK HAD GONE BY JUST LIKE THAT. Surprisingly, Ken had been able to keep things under control. Even his comments to street paparazzis were concise, almost as if you were the one who coached him his lines. While you had expected him to do nothing, just as he suggested, you hadn’t expected him to last this long without an intervention from you. 

You sat by your window as your body sunk into your armchair, your eyes threatening to close. The early blue hues of the morning had started to break through the night sky, the clouds slowly parting to clear the sky. You typed vigorously against the keys of your laptop, eyes following the blinking cursor to prevent yourself from falling asleep right then and there. 

You had been up for hours constructing your updated résumé, keeping all your needed information concise and in one page. Despite having a well-rounded history in regards to jobs, the lingering fear of keeping yourself afloat was an inevitable burden you were scared of accidentally fulfilling. You had family, yes, but relying on them did something to your pride. Most especially since you had been low-contact ever since you abruptly moved to the city. 

Seeking help from friends was another option that was off the table. In all your years of working in the entertainment industry, the amount of people you had let into your life dwindled as you realized people’s true intentions. You had merely three people left in your life, and that was by far more than enough to keep you sane throughout the rest of your life.

You sighed heavily, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. Truth be told, despite the factor of having to deal with Ken, this job has been the best in terms of your benefits. He was much like you- little circle, low-contact. Even his own team was a limited number, leaving you to deal with other jobs and tasks that would otherwise be done by different people. Yes, the workload was tiring, but the pay was enough to keep you alive ten times over. You could only say a silent prayer to whoever was listening to bless you once more once you let go of this for good. 

You sat back, finally satisfied with the way your page was laid out. You faced towards your window, closing your eyes as your breathing steadied. The birds were starting to chirp, the sun casting a foggy glow through the clouds. In this moment of solitude, you allowed yourself to relax; it was more than deserved. Not like anything could happen in your sleep, right?

WRONG, SO VERY WRONG. You groaned as you were awakened by the continuous buzzing of your phone. At first you had thought it was an alarm you had accidentally forgotten to shut off, but when it continued on, you eventually had to force yourself to wake up.

The sun was high up now, bright rays peeking through your blinds. You squinted, uncurling yourself from your chair as you got up and stretched. You yawned, scratching your head as you finally unlocked your phone. You were greeted with an endless stream of notifications, your mail app and other social media platforms pinging by the second. There was also the factor of the loud noise outside, though you made it out to be some kind of commotion or parade. 

Your screen then flashed the caller ID of an unknown number, followed by another sea of notifications. You blink yourself awake, now slightly worried at just how much texts and emails you had been receiving. Did Ken do something? Did someone die? Did Ken die?

Before you could even open any of the messages, you hear the familiar ringtone of one of your closest friends. You slide to answer, pressing your phone up to your ear. “Ami? What’s up, what’s wrong?”

She laughed, and you could practically see her shaking her head at you. “I’m guessing you just woke up? Check literally any news outlet right now, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

What the hell was going on? You mumbled something in reply, putting her on speaker as you did what she asked. 

You wished you hadn’t. In bold, bright red letters, the article’s headline read:

Extra Innings in the Press Box: Ken Sato’s Hidden Romance with Assistant Revealed! 

What you saw next nearly had you chucking your phone into the nearest wall. Attached right under the headline was you and Ken. You and Ken. You let out a curse, and you could hear the sighs coming from Ami on the other line. The picture was clearly shot from a hidden vantage point, the branches from the trees blocking the camera proof of it. Despite the distance, though, yours and Ken’s faces were clearly visible. 

“What the fuck!” You yell, now fully awake eyes wide in confusion. “When was this released? H-How did-”

“Two hours ago. Apparently some passerby sold the picture to the press, and said passerby just happened to be paparazzi.” Ami cuts you off, her tone serious yet concerned. “Trust me, if I had known something like this was going to be released, I would’ve done something about it.”

You left your phone on the kitchen counter as you paced back and forth, your hand glued to your forehead as you tried to wrap your mind around what was happening. Obviously it wasn’t true, you of all people knew that. But nobody else did, and that was the problem. 

“Ami what the hell is happening?” You manage to breathe out, still pacing. “This is all so-”

“Much? Yeah, I know.” She cuts you off again, and you can hear the bustling sounds from her office. “My own publisher is on my neck for this, God only knows what you’re going through. Are you okay? If you need help this could technically be classified as invasion of-”

“I do need help because this whole thing isn’t-” You start, but are ultimately cut off again when you hear the sounds grow louder outside. 

“[Y/N]? ‘You there?” Ami’s muffled voice calls out as you walk towards your window, peeking down to where the commotion was coming from. 

“Oh shit.” You gasp out, eyes widening even more as you realize the noises were coming from the sea of reporters and photographers waiting outside your townhouse. 

You swallowed hard, stepping back from the window with a hand to your mouth. This cannot be happening, this had to be some sick nightmare. Stumbling towards your phone, you mumbled some reply about needing to go before abruptly hanging up the call. Rude, perhaps, but Ami would understand. 

In the span of two hours of that damn article being released, eager and greedy gossip outlets had found your address and swarmed your only safe space. You held your phone close to your chest, running up to your room as you tried to catch your breath. You closed your eyes once more, breathing in and out heavily. The more you tried to convince yourself that this wasn’t happening, the more you slowly realized that it actually was. 

You opened your phone once more, muting all your socials and other messaging apps. You needed to think, and you needed to act fast. By memory, your fingers automatically scroll for Ken’s legal team. Having gotten him out of falsified defamations multiple times, acting during these types of situations was almost a second habit. But this didn’t involve just him, it involved you. You were a part of this mess, you couldn’t be the one to solve it.

A mantra of curses conjured up in your head, and you delete the previous number you had dialed in. Think, damnit. Think, think, think. You thought to yourself, nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you prayed for a solution to be presented to you. An alternative popped up into your brain then. Albeit that alternative was stupid, but it was something. 

You dialed his number, anxiously waiting as it rang. 

KEN WAS ON HIS BREAK, SITTING ON THE BENCH AS HE WIPED THE SWEAT OFF HIS FOREHEAD. Playoffs were about to start, and Shimura was working them to the bone to make sure everyone had their head in the game. He let out a deep breath through his nose, arms resting on his knees as tried to calm down after a few laps around the stadium. The rest of his teammates seemed to be reacting obnoxiously over something, though he didn’t have the energy to feign enthusiasm. 

One of his teammates teasingly nudged him then, giving him a playful grin. “Your secret’s out, huh? All this time you were with her.”

Ken laughed it off, still oblivious to the fact that nearly all of Japan now knew the face of his supposed girlfriend. He noted the specification in his tone, as if he were referring to a mutual friend of theirs. Which, again, was impossible- nobody but you knew the secret he was hiding. He gave them a nod before returning back to his own space. 

He felt his watch buzz against his wrist, and he was all but surprised to see you calling him on your day off. He sat up straight then, grabbing his phone to answer the call. He had to admit, he answered a little too excitedly. Or nervously. He couldn’t differentiate the two, not when it involved you. Ever since the start of this stunt, something in him shifts whenever you or anything related to you gets mentioned. He brushed it off as some sort of familiarity attachment, the weight of your sudden resignation still heavy on his shoulders.

Was he sad to let you go? Maybe, he wasn’t entirely sure. Aside from the fact that he had Mina, you did your job well. You knew the ins and outs of everything he liked and disliked, you kept him organized and on track. Sure, losing you would be another hurdle he would have to get over, but that doesn’t mean he would be… impotent without you. He clears his throat before he finally brings the phone up to his ear.

“Hey-” He starts, but stops when he notices the frantic panic in your voice. “Woah, hey slow down. What happened?”

“You happened.” You reply then, albeit through a shaky breath. 

“What?” He questions, brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s exactly as I said. You happened,” You paused, taking in a deep breath. “And now I need your help. Please.”

reyalvr © 2024 … do not repost, alter, or steal my work.

tags┊@mochminnie, @rreasonablydumbb, @sincerest-one, @fruticake, @lunaryasha, @lovingyeet, @sugacor3, @arrozyfrijoles23, @fennecspage, @mmeerraa, @azryaa, @akiradailylifes, @montybooks, @mmv-ymvm, @hore4ken, @greeniegreengreen, @meikoo, @random-3455, @todaywasafairytale07, @mythicalmoa, @imafangirlofeverything, @astylos, @vynwan-cbq, @rosegiyanabing, @icedberrytea, @ken-zah, @letharue, @chi222, @flooftoof, @c4ttheart, @ymrai, @stxrrielle, @alpha-mommy69, @ewitscat, @lightsinmycity, @furblrwurblr, @ayamago, @sugururawr, @secretlyapartofthisfandom @shellspider, @oh-kurva, @noraimp