#&o imagie
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Imagine yoyr f/o smiling at you. They smile and itâs becausr of you, and they live you. Their smule is so bo5idul â€ïžă
Edit: i wrote this half asleep, I have no idea why i even switched into the Japanese keyboard or why I didnât use the automatic tags đ
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Imagine!~
Your F/O(s) tapping their foot to the beat of a love song as a nonverbal way of saying they love you<3
#maybe reply with what song :3#self ship community#selfship#selfship community#self ship#f/o#selfshipper#self shipper#selfship imagie#self ship imagine#proship dni
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Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 9
A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!đș, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER!!!
one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight.
Nine. äč
You wake up the next day certain you will be fired. But when the axe does not fall, you relax slightly, going about your tasks. It occurs to you that maybe you should leaveâbut you donât really want to, and only part of that has to do with your fascination with Donaka himself. The coming weeks seem almost normal, and you begin to think that Mr. Mark decided to be a gentleman about it all, and pretend it never happened.
What a fool you are.Â
Your first inkling of your idiocy comes when you are called into Mr. Markâs office, after dinner, when usually you are hanging up your apron and calling it quits for the day.Â
You approach his massive carved ebony desk with folded hands, feeling all for like a naughty school girl. Donaka Mark sits behind it, every bit the lord and master of the house. He has discarded his suit jacket, the top buttons of his black dress shirt undone, so handsome it hurts. His eyes are sharp as obsidian knives upon you, and a cold chill runs down your spine as you come to stand beside him, as he directs.Â
That is when he produces the colorfully-covered journal you usually keep secreted in your underwear drawer, the little book dwarfed in his hands. Your heart does a swan diveâyou hadnât even realized it was missing.Â
He does not seem amused.Â
Maybe you canât blame him. In that book, amidst your more pedestrian musings and accounts of your day, you have detailed every torrid little fantasy your rotten brain ever concocted about this man. Scorching alternate endings to all your encounters in which you were too smart, or too much of a coward to actually see through. Not to mention, the completely fictional bonus scenes too. Itâs like an X rated love letter that rambles on for pages and pages and dear lord, itâs in his hands.
He throws the book down on his desk with a clap that makes you jump out of your skin. With narrowed eyes he looks up at you, his voice low and dangerous. "Care to explain this?"
Your mouth makes a perfect âoâ of surprise, your blood turning to ice in your veins. A flood of unbearable embarrassment washes through you, and you begin to shake like a leaf. Never in your life have you ever been so mortified, or, so angry, that he has that obviously private book in his hand.Â
"How dare you read that?"
Rage flares in Donaka's dark eyes, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he grinds his teeth.Â
"How dare I read this filth, written about me, in my house? I have every right."
You are quaking, tears in your eyes. The things you wrote about him in that diary...itâs not all filth. Some of itâŠis foolishly sweet. And he read it all. Your chest feels like it's pressed in a vice. You feel like you want to throw up...or just die, there on the rug of his office, rather than speak to him further about this. A timely earthquake would be most appreciated; a fissure in the floor to jump into, quite ideal.Â
Donaka takes in your reaction to his intrusion of your privacy with secret pleasure; he knows he's got you right where he wants you, completely at his mercy, humiliated and vulnerable.
He leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on your face, drinking in your misery. "I read every single word," he delights in telling you.
You look away, utterly unable to meet his eyes. "Congratulations, Sir," you rasp past the lump of sand in your throat.
Donaka can't help the cold smirk that appears on his face as he watches you look away, unable to meet his eyes. The way you address him as "sir" makes a shiver of satisfaction run down his spine.
âI've got to say, I'm impressed. I never would have guessed your imagination was so...vivid. You seem like such a nice girl.â
A shuddering breath escapes you. Youâve resisted him all this time, taking solace instead in writing in your journal. It was better that way. Safer. But this man is not the type to be satisfied with just words on a page. That's why...he runs a billion dollar corporation, and you...sweep floors.
Donaka watches your defeated gesture, savoring it like a fine dessert.Â
âJust what did you intend to do with all this?â he asks.Â
âNothing,â you defend immediately. Dear god, you think. Please donât let this man think I was planning a âTell Allâ.Â
âThis is a lot of energy gone into nothing?âÂ
He doesnât have to tell you. âItâs justâŠmy journal. To clear my head.â
âYour journal. Of things that never actually happened?â It sounds pretty stupid when he puts it that wayâyou feel every pound of pressure he puts in that statement, and you think you really just might faint right there beside his desk. âDo you actually get satisfaction out of that?â He sounds genuinely curious.
You close your eyes, so you donât have to look at his blazing dark stare boring into you as you nod.
âJust give it back, and you never have to see me again.â
He laughs at you, a cruel little chuckle that pierces you to the core. âNo, this little treasure is never leaving this house. And youâre not going anywhere.âÂ
You can do nothing but shake your head, trembling in your very bones.Â
âYouâre brave in many ways, y/n,â he tells you, fingering the cover of your damning treatise on The Art of Being Creepy About Your Boss. âBut in others? Such a coward.âÂ
Itâs the understatement of the century, and you canât stand it anymore. You turn on your heel to leaveâand a grip like iron encircles your wrist, so tight the bones creak. You get your first real taste of how strong this man is, when he jerks you down into his lap like you are a ragdoll made of straw. A yip of a scream escapes you, as he manhandles you like he owns you.
You feel so small, enveloped by his massive frame, his long arms wrapped around you.
"Let's have story time, shall we?" he says with a wicked chuckle, cracking the journal to a random page, and he begins to read the explicit scene you wrote starring the two of you, against the bookshelves, in the library. You can feel his deep, baritone voice vibrating against your skin as he recites, his arm around your waist holding you tight, preventing you from escaping.
âThe strength in his hands makes me weak, those veritable paws gripping my thighs and lifting me, the desperate fury of his kiss pressing me back into the shelves so hard there will be linear bruises imprinted upon my skin. Perhaps I will look upon the souvenir tomorrow with equal parts pride and horror, still unsure if I am a victim, or if I welcomed the beastâs ravishment with open arms. Both feel true. The lush wetness between my legs suggests the latter, and as he explores my center with those long, blunt fingers I embrace the prospect of my ruin, bewitched by his skillful touch⊠Sweetheart, Iâm flattered!â
You are dying in your mortification, your face on fire, your every nerve ending aware of this man. You physically cannot stand it, going feral in his arms, squirming in his lap like a fish on a hook, desperate to get away from this hell of your own making. Itâs like pushing on a steel wall; he does not give a millimeter up to you.Â
"Forget travel writing, I think your calling is the x-rated romance novel," he congratulates you cruelly when you finally go still with exhaustion. And maybe itâs trueâyou can feel the bulge of his erection pressing into your behind, and fuck if despite your desperation, you start to ache between your thighs, your unhelpful lady parts casting their usual vote for what is undoubtedly a form of suicide. Â
He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Look how youâre trembling. Youâve tried to deny it all along, but you want me."
"I want you to let me go." You push at his muscle-corded arm around you again, fruitlessly. You havenât resorted to nails or teeth yetâsomehow, you suspect you would not like the result of such an escalation.Â
Donaka's grip on you just tightens even more, squeezing the breath from you. âYou knowâŠsomething about reading this makes me think thatâs not what you really want.âÂ
Suddenly he stands, dropping you on his desk hard, tossing the little book away so that he can use two hands to pin you down. You might have screamed, had it not knocked the breath out of you. "I liked your ideas about this desk," he growls, taking your mouth in a punishing kiss, pressing you down into the wooden surface with his full bodyweight, his slender hips wedged between your legs. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole, starting with your mouth.Â
This. This is what you expected all along.Â
"Please, Donakaâ" you plead when you are allowed to draw a breath. But his fingers in your hair control your head, pulling your lips to his again. His kiss is fueled by a fierce, primal hunger, his tongue delving deep into your mouth, seeking and claiming every inch of you as his own. His free hand moves over your body, exploring and caressing every curve and contour, squeezing the soft meat of your bare thigh, sliding under your panties to cup your ass.
"I'm not angry that you wrote the words," he snarls against your cheek. "I'm angry that you dared to deny me, lying to my face while you wanted me all along." His eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense. "Your charade ends tonight."
âBut Iââ
You whimper as he tugs at your hair, forcing you to meet his eyes again. "No more excuses, you little coward," he snarls. "Did you think you were going to tame me with a potato chip?â
"I wasn't playing with you," you protest, on the edge of tears. "I never meant to hurt you!"Â
âHurt me?â His tone is incredulous, but in that moment it dawns on you that that is indeed the root of his fury. Heâd offered you sweetness, at least his version of it, such a rare and unheard of thing for him, damn near showing vulnerabilityâand youâd denied him. So nowâŠyou were getting the stick, and despite the flood of arousal between your legs, you werenât really sure you liked it all that much. There were no straight lines with this man. Everything was a jagged edge, or a shade of grey.Â
"You didnât hurt me, you infuriated me,â he insists, his lips on your neck. âYou knew what I wanted, what I needed, and yet you still dared deny me." He returns to your mouth, his lips hovering just above yours. "You wanted the thrill of bedding the bad man, but none of the blame. Thatâs fine, bunny. Iâll be your villain.â
At hearing that you renew your struggle, trying to worm out of his grasp.
Donaka's grip on you tightens even more as you writhe, his weight crushing the breath from you, his hips pinning you like a butterfly on a board. There truly is no escaping him like this. âGive it up," he admonishes, his voice a low, dark rumble. "You wanted me to make you. I read all about it, and Iâll give it to you, sweetheart. I'm not letting you go. Fight me, I like it. Or submit, I like that too. Either way, you're mine tonight."
Youâve known all along that he is a dangerous enigma, and that was why you tried to exorcise your desire for him in words on a page, and not play with fire, not taunt the beast and offer him your tender flesh because you knew you would get bitten.Â
But deep down...God, youâd wanted it anyway. Youâd wanted to know, just once, what it would be like to bare your throat to a man like Donaka Mark, wondering if he might find you enticing enough, worthy enough, to kiss rather than kill simply because he could.Â
âI hate you,â you hiss through your tears, but all you win is his dark laughter.Â
âYou wish that you hated me, baby. I read all about that too.â He kisses you again, almost tenderly this time, though his hold on you is still bruising. He kisses your cheeks, savoring the wet tracks of your tears. âDon't cry. Iâm going to make your wicked little fantasies come true.âÂ
He kisses you, a deep, punishing lock of lips, and his hand disappears beneath your skirt. When he touches your soaking wet center he smiles against your mouth. You know it is not a nice smile, but still you moan as his thumb circles your clit confidently, as though he knows exactly how to handle youâas though you already belong to him. When he withdraws you watch with horror as he licks his thumb clean, his eyes all for you.Â
âTastes like little liar,â he sighs with narrowed eyes. âBut weâre going to fix that.âÂ
You scream, when he savagely tears open the front of your dress, the black buttons flying to every corner of the room. He ducks to kiss your freshly bared skin, impatiently pulling down the cup of your bra, presenting your mounded flesh for his delectation. When his lips close on your nipple, his tongue flicking, you feel it simultaneously in your throbbing clit. An involuntary moan escapes you, and you know this is the beginning of the end.
âThatâs my good girl,â he encourages between ravishing your sensitive flesh, his hips locked against yours. âTell me all about it.â
âI do hate you.âÂ
He laughs, a short bark of mirth before kissing you again. You feel him reach down to work his buckle and buttons and zipper, taking himself out with one hand, the other still holding you down. Heâs so impatient he simply pushes your panties to the side, his thick tip sinking past your entrance with embarrassingly little resistance, youâre so wet. He growls as he bullies himself inside, lost in the sensation of you, drunk on the heady high of triumph at last.
When you open your mouth to protest he makes the final thrust that fills you completely, tearing a sound from your throat instead that sounds suspiciously like enjoyment. Your head rocks back against the desk as your body adjusts to this delicious invasion.
This is bad. Very bad. But it feels so very good.Â
He pauses for a moment to savor it, looking down at you with a smirk, and maybe you invent it out of desperationâbut a smoldering warmth in his eyes.
You are so fucked.
âI just knew youâd have the sweetest little pussy.â
He kisses you, moaning in your mouth as he thrusts, losing himself as he wrecks you with his unfairly endowed cock. When his tip hits your cervix you flinch, your body still trying to get away, even while the rest of you has accepted the inevitable. âToo much?â
âYes,â you hiss, still writhing beneath him.
âBe good then,â he warns you, his voice rough in your ear. âOr Iâll have to punish you.âÂ
He ducks to your breast again, his tongue wreaking havoc as his thumb slips between you, moving in time with his manhood stretching you to perfection, hitting just the right spot like he was made for youâŠ
âFuck,â you pant, out of frustration and need and worst of allâŠthe knowledge of absolute defeat.Â
You feel him smile against your skin, surrendering to pleasure while he works inside you once more. âSomeoneâs finally catching onâŠâÂ
You let out a growlâŠbut youâre not fighting him anymore, your back arched as you strain for the release that is building in your hips, that maddening promise of euphoria coiled in your loins, the gratification youâve craved from this man since day one. The tightening of your walls around him wins you another ragged groan, his forehead pressed to your breastbone as he concentrates on making you cum first. A part of you wishes heâd just get off and leave you aloneâbut heâs not going to do that. Thereâs no way in hell, youâre in his claws and so you might as well wring every little bit of enjoyment out of it that you can, before you meet your inevitable demiseâŠ
âCome on baby,â he coaxes. âGive me whatâs mine. From now on, this is where your pleasure comes from, and I intend to keep your schedule full.âÂ
âThis is notâbecoming a thing,â you insist, short of breath, because it feels like heâs in your lungs.
He laughs at you, a wicked chuckle that raises your every hair follicle. âNo? Do I have to keep you on the edge until you beg me for it, pretty girl? We could do this for days.â
Is it possible, to cum out of spite? You think it might be, as you wrap your legs around his narrow hips in a bid to control the timing of his thrusts. He lets you, caught up in the moment you start participating rather than fighting. You clench upon his perfect cock buried inside you, desperate to indulge yourself before he can torture you by withholding it.Â
Your orgasm takes mercy on you, rising to the occasion valiantly. The rapture of it destroys you like a chain explosion, filling your loins before ripping up your spine, hitting so hard you arch and lift him from desk for a few, beautiful moments of ruin. He moans with you, fucking you hard as your needy, turncoat of a cunt milks him, sending him over the edge to spill inside you. He fills you with hot spurts of his essence, his powerful body locked against yours as though to make sure you get every drop.Â
For a few long moments he collapses on you, his breathing heavy in the bend of your neck, his lips gentle behind your ear.
âWas that so terrible?â he asks you smugly, sitting up on his elbows to sweep the wisps of your sweat-plastered hair from your forehead. You close your eyes, lulled by the unexpected tenderness in his touch.
âI still hate you,â you sigh unconvincingly.
âMmm hmm. I can tell. Are you on birth control?â
âShouldnât you have asked that beforehand?â
âDonât be smart, just answer the question.â
You growl, winning that smirk that quickens your heart. He just thinks youâre cute, goddamn him.
âNo, Iâm not going bear your demon spawn,â you grumble with an eye roll.
âHmm.â He smirks down at you, his eyes sweeping your face, then lower, and for a terrifying moment you canât tell if heâs pleased by your preparedness, or contemplating the thought of filling you with his child. The latter scares you more than anything else heâs done so far tonight.
Spitefully you muse, âI kinda wish I had a venereal disease to give you though.âÂ
Now he narrows his eyes. âVery funny.â
âYouâll find out, I guess...â
He puts his hand over your mouth; it's so big it envelopes the whole lower half of your face.
âLetâs have silence now.â You glareâand you lick his hand, though you donât make a sound. He looks at it with a frown, then wipes it on your cheek.
âCome on.â He withdraws, righting himself, then you, papers fluttering to the ground as you make your dismount from the desk. Whatever he was working on is surely ruined by sweatâŠand other bodily fluids. He doesnât seem to care, for the smug way he smiles at you.Â
You might have fallen, if not for his strong arm steadying your shaking limbs. He gives you a moment to find your legs, and as you rest against the solid warmth of his chest, enveloped by the spice of his cologne, you are consumed by the warring urges to kiss him and to hit him. This man. This man could prove to be the death of you through confusion alone.Â
He tilts your face up to his, surprisingly gentle now. Itâs hard to believe this is the same man from five minutes ago, when he presses his lips to yours.Â
You try to button your dress, but it's a lost cause. Maybe it doesnât matter, because he is pulling you away, towards the door. In the hallway you try to break off in the direction of your room, but he snorts at you, guiding you in the opposite direction with a hand on the back of your neck.Â
âIâm not done with you yet, bunnyâŠâ
âDonakaâŠâ You only narrowly resist the urge to sob. âYou won. Just let me goâŠâ All you want to do is be alone to lick your wounds, and reflect on what the fuck just happened to you. Your thoughts are a complete jumble; you are a walking well-fucked vessel filled with shame and confusion and you hate to admitâtotal gratification. It all went by so fast and maybe deep down you wanted it but he just took you and youâÂ
As though he knows you are trying to pick all this apart and doesnât intend to give you the chance, Donaka jerks you to him, pulling you into a punishing kiss that melts your bones all over again. You make a small, kittenish sound that betrays your begrudging enjoyment. You swear you feel his smug satisfaction emanating from his pores.
âDonât you get it yet?â he asks you darkly, a dangerous sparkle in his midnight black eyes. âYouâre mine now.â
#donaka mark#donaka mark x reader#donaka mark x you#donaka mark x y/n#keanu reeves x reader#keanu reeves#dark romance#plz be warned#have you noticed how much donaka mark laughs?#he is a very bad man#and he is having a very good time doing it
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como eles seriam com a namorada tendo a primeira vez dela? sla acho mto romĂąntico esse bglh de primeira vezđ
olĂĄ anonyđ„ acho mt lindo tbm esse tĂłpico minha queenâšïž
começar com o nosso rei delas, Enzo Vogrincic, que tem a paciĂȘncia de um santo apesar do tesĂŁo de 90 freiras, ele te respeita muito e mesmo quando vocĂȘs fazem outras coisas antes da penetração, ele sempre pergunta toda hora se vocĂȘ estĂĄ bem e se estĂĄ sentindo prazer de uma maneira bem tesuda com a voz grave no seu ouvido. No dia que vocĂȘ diz que estĂĄ pronta, ele se empolga um pouco e acaba colocando força demais nas mĂŁos, sĂł que depois se lembra e volta a ser bem calminho. NĂŁo faz grande caso da ocasiĂŁo, te faz gozar duas vezes nos dedos grossos, e no off tem um tesĂŁo mt grande em ser seu primeiro (e Ășnico bb), quase goza na primeira estocada com o aperto e a forma que vocĂȘ gemia o nome dele.
Em seguida trago o maior dos amorzinhos, sr felipe otaño, ele fica meio nervoso, porque nem Ă© tĂŁo experiente e tem medo de te machucar, faz vc prometer que vai avisar sobre qualquer desconforto, alĂ©m de orientar ele sobre onde vocĂȘ sente mais prazer e o que mais gostaria que ele fizesse. quando vocĂȘ manda mensagem dizendo que tĂĄ pronta, ele faz um jantar romĂąntico com uma musiquinha suave no fundo, tudo para te acalmar e se sentir amada. Termina com vocĂȘ por sentando nele, porque Pipe queria que tudo fosse no seu ritmođȘ»
O Esteban Ă© o Ășltimo romĂąntico, clĂŁ. O homem tava doido pra te comer no segundo encontro de vocĂȘs, chegou atĂ© a te chupar, mas quando vc diz que Ă© virgem, o loiro trava e decide que vcs deveriam esperar atĂ© ter certeza de que ele era bom o suficiente pra vocĂȘ (rei da coitadolandia). Vcs vĂŁo em inĂșmeros encontros atĂ© que um dia depois de vc pedir muito, ele cede, entao arruma a casa inteira com luzes baixas e te dĂĄ um buque de flores com o tanto de dias que vcs se conhecemđ« Ele primeiro pede para vc sentar na cara dele, depois te deda atĂ© gozar umas 3 vezes pra depois te comer em um papai e mamĂŁe gostosinhođ„°đ„°đ„°
O Fran me passa uma vibe que se vc disser eu quero perder minha virgindade, com certeza ele vai na hora te apoiar e ajudar. como sĂŁo amigos hĂĄ mt tempo, ele nĂŁo hesita em ficar Ăntimo contigo na hora, porque sabe que sua confiança nele Ă© indubitĂĄvel. Ele te dĂĄ o primeiro oral da vida com aquela boca habilidosa engolindo cada cantinho da sua buceta e te fodendo com dois dedos, na hora de meter te. mts piadinhas e risadas, mas que nĂŁo tiram o tesĂŁo de todo o acontecimento.
Pra mim nĂŁo hĂĄ dĂșvidas que o Simon tem tesĂŁo em virgem. Esse homem Ă© o maior dos cachorros e se torna um fetiche entre vocĂȘs ele tirar sua virgindade. Toda vez que vocĂȘ faz um boquete nele, simon te provoca em um dirty talk mt tesonico com degradação, peguntando como uma virgem gosta tanto de chupar pau ou quando ele te deda fica brincando que sua buceta virgenzinha nĂŁo aguenta nem os dedos dele qm dirĂĄ a pica grossa. No dia que acontece o simon se transforma totalmente, vira o maior dos romĂąnticos, fazendo um amor lentinho cheio de elogios e declaraçÔes.
O MatĂas nosso mulecote, tem a msm vibe do SimĂłn, mas se quer contar com alguĂ©m para nĂŁo sentir vergonha Ă© ele, te deixa totalmente a vontade que vc atĂ© esquece o que estĂŁo fazendo de fato, te fode muito gostoso na posição que vocĂȘ pedir, ele tenta nĂŁo comandar muito o momento para ser mais especial para ti. Faz piada atĂ© o fim da vida sobre como vc gemeu desesperada ao sentir o pau entrando pela primeira vez.
o fernando filhas... me desculpem, mas o que esse homem ia virar o seu cachorro com isso nĂŁo estĂĄ escrito em lugar nenhum. Te trata como se fosse quebrar a qualquer momento, tem atĂ© medo de colocar tudo quando ve um pouco de sangue sair, mas quando vocĂȘ geme o nome dele se esquece de tudo ao redor e mete em um ritmo alucinado, gemendo no seu ouvido como era apertadinha e quente. Esse homem realmente serĂĄ seu primeiro e Ășnico pq nunca vai te deixar ir embora depois de dar o maior chĂĄ de buceta do mundo. (eu me divirto imaginando ele se apaixonando na primeira sentadađ«Š)
Rafael Federman, nosso menino de ouro, te trata como uma princesa a semana inteira, tudo o que vc quiser ele vai te dar. No dia que vai tirar sua virgindade, faz tudo devagarinho, querendo memorizar cada partezinha desse momento especial. Ele Ă© mt paciente, mas depois que mete tudo vira o rei do dirty talk e te fode tĂŁo forte que a cama balança, no aftercare te prepara um banho e tinha comprado vĂĄrios docinhos para te relaxarđ«đ«đ«
Ă unĂąnime que todos se sentem os homens mais sortudos do mundo por serem alvo da sua confiança e atraçãođ©·
#enzo vogrincic#felipe otaño#pipe otaño#esteban kukuriczka#fernando contigiani#francisco romero#fran romero#simon hempe#matias recalt#rafa federman#ask đ
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DemĂłnio Gato Fantasma
Casal: Hoshina Soshiro x Leitor Fem.
Aviso: ConteĂșdo +18, protagonista com vocabulĂĄrio de baixo calĂŁo.
CapĂtulo III
O quarto compartilhado para Mayoi era a maior tortura. Era comum todo ser humano acordar vez ou outra com extrema fome e para alguém que passou a ter de sua alimentação parte do consumo carne ainda crua...
Ela jogou suas coisas na cama do segundo andar da beliche, as meninas que ficariam juntas no mesmo quarto encarando enquanto a garota tĂŁo pĂĄlida desaparecia em segundos. Caminhar sem rumo entre os corredores foi bom para mapear a regiĂŁo, vezes passando por ela membros mais experientes que a cumprimentavam.
Assim que sua mapeação foi realizada, abriu a porta dando de cara com um terraço vazio. Esse seria o local onde iria se abrigar em momentos de surto, seria bom não sentir o cheiro humano e desejar os morder, era repugnante ter aquilo em si.
Se sentando na beirada, olhos focados no horizonte agora pacĂfico daquela populosa cidade, tudo o que poderia se questionar era o dia em que sua vida faria sentido, o dia que seu coração pararia de bater e ela poderia ter uma morte digna. Era egoĂsta que sua mente pudesse se fixar em pensamentos como escolher a forma que desejaria morrer?
Suas pernas estavam rentes a seu corpo e escondendo o rosto entre os joelhos, pode abafar um grito ansioso. Ela havia pagado uma enorme vergonha na frente de quem admirava tanto, seria estranho o encarar agora... Na verdade, sempre foi estranho.
â Mayoi, podemos conversar? â Kafka disse junto de Kikoru e Ichikawaâ Ă algo importante...
â Eu vou te matarâ Disse encarando o mais velho do trio sabendo que algo havia escapado deles.
â Mas a gente precisa falar em outro lugar... â Continuou fazendo a careta de Mayoi se tornar ainda mais evidente.
â VocĂȘ comeu um Kaiju e aĂ se tornou um deles? â Kikoru disse o que a mulher pĂĄlida mais temia, um suspiro escapando de seus lĂĄbios entre aquele tumultuoâ NĂŁo acredito! Tem que ter muita fome...
â Eu nĂŁo queria comer!
â VocĂȘs dois falam muito alto! â Leno era o mais sĂĄbio daquele trio, Mayoi nĂŁo falava nada, seus dedos estavam ocupados demais massageando suas tĂȘmporas.
â Eu estava pensando que a gente podia contar para a força de defesaâ Kafka começou, mas foi interrompido por um soco na mesa. Os fios platinados voando com o movimento rĂĄpido de sua donaâ Ok... Sem falar pra força de defesa.
â Pode esquecer. Mesmo que nĂŁo o matem na hora, vocĂȘ vai passar todos os dias por testes e experimentos â Kikoru encarou a mulher sentada ao lado â Os dois, no caso. Kafka, vocĂȘ nunca vai chegar a se tornar um oficial.
â Verdade? â Aquele velhote era burro?
â E quando um Kaiju Ă© forte o suficiente para ganhar um nĂșmero, ouvi dizer que usam partes de seu corpo em armas especiais, depois que o derrotam. Pode ser que aconteça com vocĂȘs...â Eu sequer sei por que ele disse sobre eu ser um Kaiju â Mayoi finalmente falou, sua cabeça doendo enquanto ela esperava que o chĂĄ a sua frente, com as trĂȘs sagradas colheres cheias de açĂșcar, pudesse a curar dessa dor.
â Kikoru! Por favor, guarde esse segredo! â Disse Kafka roubando o espaço pessoal da mais nova enquanto agarrava seus ombros â Salve a vida desse idoso!
â Ele Ă© um incompetente assim, Leno? â A platinada ignorou o caos questionando o amigo pessoal daquele velho homemâ Eu ainda quero entender por que fui desmascarada assim?
Mesmo que ela falasse, sua voz era escondida por todo aquele barulho, o jovem ocupado demais contendo seu amigo. Suspirando, finalmente começou a tomar seu chå tentando não surtar ainda mais.
â VocĂȘ salvou minha vida, entĂŁo nĂŁo vou falar nada por enquanto. Por outro lado, se eu descobrir que os dois sĂŁo um Kaiju que ameaçam a humanidade, eu mesma mato vocĂȘs!
â Pode esquecer essa promessaâ Sua voz finalmente se levantou o suficienteâ Apenas uma pessoa pode me matar, nĂŁo vai ser vocĂȘ, loirinha. Esqueça.
A noite era novamente sua pior inimiga, era a primeira vez dividindo o quarto em dois anos e, como poderia imaginar, os cheiros estavam a deixando louca.
Descendo as escadas de seu beliche com cuidado, engoliu seco quando migrou para a porta a abrindo. Os corredores eram um contĂnuo silĂȘncio, no entanto, pequenas fontes de luz eram o suficiente para a guiar atĂ© seu lugar de descanso.
O terraço era vazio, nĂŁo teria uma alma viva para tirar sua concentração da paz que ela buscava naquele momento. Estava começando a ficar com fome, seus lĂĄbios salivando enquanto seu coração aumentava e diminuĂa os batimentos entre o controle e descontrole de sua outra parte.
Sentada, olhou para o horizonte escuro daquela madrugada, tĂŁo perdida em pensamentos e contando segundos para inspirar, prender o ar e expirar. Era um bom exercĂcio, sua fome tambĂ©m era ansiedade do que lhe guardava o futuro.
â Eu nĂŁo sabia que jĂĄ tinha alguĂ©m aquiâ A voz masculina soou nĂŁo muito longe dela, preparada para mandar aquela pessoa a merda, encarou o rosto antes de dar um pulo assustado, como um gatoâ Opa! Eu te assustei tanto assim!
â Senhor.... Vice capitĂŁo Soshiro! â Ela disse antes de bater continĂȘncia, rosto vermelho fogoâ Eu estou pegando o seu lugar?
â Calma ai! Relaxaâ Ele riu da forma tĂŁo ansiosa da mais novaâ VocĂȘ Ă© a Mayoi Onryo, nĂ©?
â Sim, sim, simâ Sua voz nĂŁo parava de escapar o fazendo gargalhar novamente.
â VocĂȘ Ă© engraçada pra caramba. Me fala, jĂĄ conhecia o Kafka?
â NĂŁo senhor! Eu conheci ele no dia do exame.
â Eu achei bem engraçado que vocĂȘ os seguiu. Ă por ele ser um 0%?
â NĂŁo... Eu tambĂ©m nĂŁo me destaquei na liberação total do trajeâ Hoshina continuava a sorrir vendo as expressĂ”es mais ansiosas de Mayoiâ Eu sĂł achei que era o certo a se fazer.
Ele ficou em silĂȘncio, Mayoi questionava o que havia dito de errado para o fazer se silenciar por tantos segundos, mas logo seu sorriso voltou ao rostoâ Espero que se dedique assim no restante do treinamento.
A voz de Soshiro Hoshina inundava sua mente tantas vezes durante o primeiro dia de treinamento que Mayoi foi obrigada a dar o seu mĂĄximo. Naquele momento que ficaram sozinhos depois de poucas trocas de palavras ela finalmente pode o ver se tornar mais pensativo enquanto encarava o mesmo horizonte que a garota.
Se pudesse livremente conversar com o mais velho, agradeceria por ele ter salvo sua vida, no entanto, sua voz havia se tornado um nó tão grande que assim que ele saiu do terraço a deixando sozinha novamente, um choramingo infantil saiu. Ela queria saber expressar melhor sua admiração, não agir como uma idiota.
E agora descontava essa frustração na aula de tiro. Suas balas por pouco nĂŁo passavam a camada mais grossa do alvo, porĂ©m, quando ela se afastava mais e mirava sentindo o ar escapar de seus lĂĄbios como um fio, os tiros exatos faziam um rombo no cĂrculo vermelho deixando um caminho de fumaça quente sair do buraco formado.
Os tiros parados eram tediosos, sĂł serviam para descontar sua raiva, mas era o primeiro treinamento da semana e logo teriam exames de tiro em movimento. Mayoi pareceu uma frequentadora viciada na primeira semana, sempre presente no estande de tiro, escolhia os alvos mais distantes e os metralhavam como se fossem Yojus perversos.
Vezes parava, deixava sua arma na mesa e se sentava escondendo o rosto entre as pernas, era a fome â o desejo mais sanguinĂĄrioâ que a fez desistir de fingir ter interesse em uma vida social.
A porta foi aberta revelando Kafka, olhos curiosos se entreolhavam enquanto o outro Kaiju humano entrava no estande de tiro vazio.
â O que tĂĄ fazendo aqui essa hora? â Ele questionou, era madrugada, ele havia estudado algumas boas horas e estava para voltar ao quartoâ Vai acabar pegando um resfriado.
â Eu nĂŁo fico doente.
â Nem piriri?
â NĂŁo, velho idiotaâ Se levantando, bateu a poeira invisĂvel de sua roupa de combateâ E vocĂȘ? O que tĂĄ fazendo acordado? Velhos dormem cedo.
â Fui estudar.
â Ainda tentando ficar do lado da Mina? â Sim, vocĂȘ nĂŁo? â Mayoi fez que nĂŁo com a cabeça antes de pegar novamente a armaâ E tĂĄ fazendo o que aqui?
â Controlando a fomeâ Disse entre uma sequĂȘncia de tiros.
â NĂŁo se faça de desentendida, estou falando da unidade. Por que exatamente a trĂȘs?
Mayoi atirou novamente em silĂȘncio, atĂ© que o carregador se esvaziasseâ Eu tenho uma dĂvidaâ disse fazendo a troca antes de voltar a atirar.
â DĂvida?
â Ă, velhote. Eu tĂŽ pagando a pessoa que me salvou.Â
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JOIE*
Comme tendrement rit la terre quand la neige s'Ă©veille sur elle!
Jour sur jour, gisante embrassée, elle pleure et rit.
Le feu qui la fuyait l'Ă©pouse, Ă peine a disparu la neige.
S'il te faut repartir, prends appui contre une maison sĂšche.
N'aie point souci de l'arbre grĂące auquel, de trĂšs loin, tu la reconnaĂźtras.
Ses propres fruits le désaltéreront.
Levé avant son sens, un mot nous éveille, nous prodigue la clarté du jour, un mot qui n'a pas rivé.
Espace couleur de pomme.
Espace, brûlant compo-
tier.
Aujourd'hui est un
Jouve.
Demain verra son bond.
Mets-toi Ă la place des dieux et regarde-toi.
Une seule fois en naissant Ă©changĂ©, corps sarclĂ© oĂč l'usure Ă©choue, tu es plus invisible qu'eux.
Et tu te répÚtes moins.
La terre a des mains, la lune n'en a pas.
La terre est meurtriÚre, la lune désolée.
La liberté c'est ensuite le vide, un vide à désespérément recenser.
AprÚs, chers emmurés éminentis-simes, c'est la forte odeur de votre dénouement.
Comment vous surprendrait-elle?
Faut-il l'aimer ce nu altérant, lustre d'une vérité au caur sec, au sang convulsif!
Avenir déjà raturé!
Monde plaintif!
Quand le masque de l'homme s'applique au visage de terre, elle a les yeux crevés.
Sommes-nous hors de nos gonds pour toujours?
Repeints d'une beauté sauve?
J'aurais pu prendre la nature comme partenaire et danser avec elle Ă tous les bals.
Je l'aimais.
Mais deux ne s'Ă©pousent pas aux vendanges.
Mon amour préférait le fruit à son fantÎme.
J'unissais l'un à l'autre, insoumis et courbé.
Trois cent soixante-cinq nuits sans les jours, bien massives, c'est ce que je souhaite aux kaĂźsseurs de la nuit.
Ils vont nous faire souffrir, mais nous les ferons souffrir.
Il faudrait dire à l'or qui roule : «
Venge-toi. »
Au temps qui désunit : «
Serai-je avec qui j'aime?
O, ne pas qu'entrevoir! »
Sont venus des tranche-montagnes qui n'ont que ce que leurs yeux saisissent pour eux.
Individus prompts Ă terroriser.
N'Ă©monde pas la flamme, n'Ă©courte pas la braise en son printemps.
Les migrations, par les nuits froides, ne s'arrĂȘteraient pas Ă ta vue.
Nous Ă©prouvons les insomnies du
Niagara et cherchons des terres émues, des terres propres à émouvoir une nature à nouveau enragée.
Le peintre de
Lascaux,
Giotto,
Van
Eyck,
Uccello,
Fouquet,
Mantegna,
Cranach,
Carpaccio,
Georges de
La
Tour,
Poussin,
Rembrandt, laines de mon nid rocheux.
Nos orages nous sont essentiels.
Dans l'ordre des douleurs la société n'est pas fatalement fautive, malgré ses étroites places, ses murs, leur écroulement et leur restauration alternés.
On ne peut se mesurer avec l'image qu'autrui se fait de nous, l'analogie bientĂŽt se perdrait.
Nous passerons de la mort imaginée aux roseaux de la mort vécue nûment.
La vie, par abrasion, se distrait Ă travers nous.
La mort ne se trouve ni en deçà , ni au-delà .
Elle est à cÎté, industrieuse, infime.
Je suis né et j'ai grandi parmi des contraires tangibles à tout moment, malgré leurs exactions spacieuses et les coups qu'ils se portaient.
Je courus les gares.
CĆur luisant n'Ă©claire pas que sa propre nuit.
Il redresse le peu agile Ă©pi.
Il en est qui laissent des poisons, d'autres des remĂšdes.
Difficiles à déchiffrer.
Il faut goûter.
Le oui, le non immédiats, c'est salubre en dépit des corrections qui vont suivre.
Au séjour supérieur, nul invité, nul partage : l'urne fondamentale.
L'éclair trace le présent, en balafre le jardin, poursuit, sans assaillir, son extension, ne cessera de paraßtre comme d'avoir été.
Les favorisés de l'instant n'ont pas vécu comme nous avons osé vivre, sans crainte du voilement de notre imagi' nation, par tendresse d'imagination.
Nous ne sommes tués que par la vie.
La mort est l'hĂŽte.
Elle délivre la maison de son enclos et la pousse à l'orée du bois.
Soleil jouvenceau, je te vois ; mais lĂ oĂč tu n'es plus.
Qui croit renouvelable l'Ă©nigme, la devient.
Escaladant librement l'érosion béante, tantÎt lumineux, tantÎt obscur, savoir sans fonder sera sa loi.
Loi qu'il observera mais qui aura raison de lui; fondation dont il ne voudra pas mais qu'il mettra en Ćuvre.
On doit sans cesse en revenir Ă l'Ă©rosion.
La douleur contre la perfection *.
René CHAR
"Le Nu perdu et autres poĂšmes"
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not enough to count all the jotxs that died for this No structure imme nse enough to do t he job of holding th e legacy the xtrava ganzas left for us We take the challe nge To heart We gi ve ourselves a plac e to mourn Empty graves are still gra ves to tend We hav e no leaders they w ere all killed We ha ve exploitative doc umentaries produc ed by white women with something to prove We have wha t little a google sea rch can restore to u s No way to bring t hem back We can c hant and chant We will will them back & be here to greet Paris is burning & queens are dying st ill Iâm afraid of bei ng killed If iâm hon est iâve been afraid of being killed ever since i realized i ha ve a target on my b ack Do you see it? When i was a little girl i learned to ext inguish the urge to say anything out lo ud for people to he ar This is wrong thi s is wrong so wron g so fucking wrong iâd yell inside my girl head for only me All the jotxs that di ed for this will nev er be here to experi ence it Theyâre d ead Were killed Th ey, honestly, didnât even die for this Th ey just died & now there is a this they missed out on All t he jotxs that died f or this, i hope they were able to imagi ne it And i hope we have imagined the m with us as best we can But who kn ows Theyâre dead & they died Nuestr xs abuelxs donât ev en know our name s Or that we exist I imagine one day w will meet, say mira âŠâŠ.. lo que nos dejaste fue magia o la sciencia o el poder de los jotxs pero si, aqui estas puedes dormĂr en paz
"xtravaganza cenotaph", Roda Avelar
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El tema con los tarot temĂĄticos no son los artistas, sino las editoriales mercenarias: no es lo mismo encontrarse un tarot sin chiste pero honesto, que el mazo del James Bond de Daniel Craig. Hay arte y hamparte a donde quiera que miremos; el tarot es, ante todo, arte, y como en toda creaciĂłn encontramos capillas sixtinas y bananas con cinta pegadas en paredes de mucho copete.
ElegĂ cuatro El Loco de distintos mazos modernos para ilustrar mi punto. La imagen tĂpica nos presenta El Loco como un joven a merced de las circunstancias, ingenuo, despreocupado, ignorante de los peligros que le esperan. La imagen mental que tenemos ha cambiado desde el bufĂłn o payaso medieval, conforme han pasado los siglos, a imĂĄgenes positivas como alguien inocente, desprejuiciado y abierto a nuevas experiencias.
1 Basado en el Marsella, este El Loco es un muy lindo rediseño del Tarot de Oswald Wirth â alumno de Eliphas Levi- que apareciĂł originalmente en el libro Imagiers du Moyen Ăge de 1889 2 Robert Wang presenta El Loco ochentoso de su Tarot Junguiano; rodeado de vegetaciĂłn, tiene una rosa en llamas en la mano mientras la serpiente Ofis envuelve el mundo; no es un viajero despreocupado o engañado por las apariencias, sino una figura segura de sĂ misma y dueña del mandala de doce rayos, o todas las fuerzas planetarias 3 Mi opiniĂłn es que el librito que acompaña al Tarot DÂŽor â en realidad, son sĂłlo Arcanos Mayores por ahora- puede irse a la volqueta sin picar en el estante, pero como obra de arte es todo una preciosidad; como verĂĄn en la foto, el tĂtulo que la artista Joelle Balle dio a esta carta es â La bĂșsqueda alquĂmicaâ, que nos presenta El Loco lleno de movimiento entre motivos marinos, urbanos y atributos propios del viajero soñador 4 QuĂ© carta mĂĄs loca; aquĂ sĂ vemos un simbolismo prĂłximo al usual con un vibrante loco de las pampas, de Napo, el muy conocido artista argentino; desconozco cuĂĄl el rol exacto de Betty LĂłpez en esta obra, pero si alguien sabe, me cuenta.
#lectura de tarot#tarot tumblr#tarotcards#tarotista uruguay#montevideo#uruguay#magick#witches of tumblr#major arcana
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#vogelfrei #palletten #how #s #criminalgovernance #a ccomplices #sgerman #beforesystems #s #thetruth #sfraudwest #sgerman #yoursystem #experiments #utmosttheycou ldtheydiduntiltheycouldnt #securitypolicy #them clown #necessity #preciseconsequence #precision #intelrule #p ornedtoddler #russianmethod #makesyouto #aretheyshxit #dumpster #sgerman #andor #usually (((@judge))) .@judge s @law @all @world @bbc_whys @france24 @haaretzcom @bild .@bild @phoenix_de @dw .@dwnews .@law @deutschland .@deutschland @hamburg @berlin .@berlin .@hamburg @muenchen @stuttgart #basics_and_necessities #ommelette #n orthko_ea #systemcaused #luck #judges #intel #default # fourhemispheres #itisgermany #fact #yoursystem #7does11 #judge #judges #breakthrough_point #default #ugh #bu t_the_hideous_sssexxx_cola_then #fact #notfacr #sgerma n #aeh #ai #witness #selfevidence #ignore #demand #typical #24_7 #then #lawyerspin _vs_one_two_three #evenmore #itis .@law @law @harvar d_law @all @bbc_whys @world mercyalways moreprevention serotolerance with the fact s witnessprotect misguided too misguided minors will p ingpong the framing ofgerman crimes as true then how they frame and not understanding each deed a german cri me whosthevictim who ruled their dumpster with criminal intel control methods cri minal governance criminal securitypolicy all in efforts as enemy of state harm tar getted individual extra medivalfreeforall vogelfrei //// ihad luck with goodpeople and bravepeople checkif 20 11pm was throat harm repair personsofinterest evenmoremykids thinktopic experiment drugs ofgermans p a l e t t e s palletten was theword a pharma technical word german paletten of experiment drugs damaged something not too visible that. p l u s intelcoma made repetition effects ihadluck with good people that repaired what germ ans committed crimes and me as zombi not even know t o d a y they refreame it as: //// getting someone clue less onase is a blessing and a curse usually ononehand they displace the murderous scums and intensity whenallmust play nothinghappen ed then t h a t guy ontheotherhand they shuffle them until something sticks and n oone says what whobefore hadto overlook that newclown imminently but this change d to all actors from courts to intel he e n d a n g e rs security charging what we do tohim quell it find something nut it criminalise it quellit sssexxxfool it something anything there on the shuffle brainmelt alibis tobrainmelt and drug whatthey want that is the none trick until they must sth else //// while their crimes are good selfevidence of being an inert zombi a s precondition from howthey get to the zombi and prepare and return and do whattt hey do tothe civillians thanks to govt intel drugs thi s doesnot keepthem to later reframe their crimes allthey want whatthey imagined during may be interesting but seriously serotolerance withthe facts witnessprote ct misguided too and mercyalways but thatdoesnot mean their twist is correct itm eans they map yet another german trick assumption dur ing their govt caused crimes with inert zombi as preco ndition each of their imagied shitballs youmust survi ve the eachoftheir twist reframes later then too this is howitworks ingermany makesuremykidsareok //// rep air personsofinterest evenmoremykids germany isnot ni ce or just itis which trick works whichtrick works th istime ie intel #reframed howmany wounds you overtape were from rightthen where a theme name of theirs set the =?ISO-8859-1?Q?batshitnuts_
#vogelfrei #paletten #how #s #criminalgovernance #accomplices #sgerman #beforesystem #s #thetruth #sfraudwest #sgerman #yoursystem #experimental #utmosttheycouldtheydiduntiltheycouldnt #securitypolicy #them #clown #necessity #preciseconsequence #precision #intelrule #pornedtoddler #russianmethod #makesyouto #aretheyshxit #dumpster #sgerman #andor #usually #basics_and_necessities (((@judge)))âŠ
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Continho. Um conto de horror ou amor
Os avĂŽs, em geral, sĂŁo aqueles q contam as histĂłrias fofinhas para os netos. No meu caso, nĂŁo foi bem assim.
Quando eu tinha idade para ser neta- antes dos cinquenta, portanto.
A partir desta idade, na régua da longevidade, vc estå perto de ser avó. Mas, deixemos de digressão. Quando eu tinha idade para ser neta, minha avó contou-me, pela primeira vez, uma história que nunca esqueci.
Hj é o aniversårio de sua morte - sempre achei estranho este negócio "aniversariar" perda, mas, vamos deixar de encher linguiça. Hoje é o aniversårio da morte da minha avó, Lena.
Contava ela q morou um ano na Inglaterra. NĂŁo era casada ainda. Namorava Ă distĂąncia aquele que seria meu avĂŽ. ApĂłs se formar em jornalismo, ela resolveu tirar um ano sabĂĄtico, mochilando pela Europa.
Enquanto o namorado concluĂa o curso de direito, ela juntou os trocados, que amealhou trabalhando meio expediente durante o curso, e entrou no aviĂŁo. Aperfeiçoar o inglĂȘs foi o argumento perfeito para receber ok e ajuda financeira dos pais. Ainda assim, a grana era pouca, era preciso se virar.
Minha avĂł sempre foi muito trabalhadora e determinada. Em pouco tempo se desdobrava entre faxinas e atendimento nos pubs da vida.
Depois de algumas semanas em Londres, conseguiu alugar quarto no terceiro andar de uma casa inglesa tĂpica. Na real, era um sĂłtĂŁo adaptado, mas pra ela foi uma conquista. A cozinha era compartilhada com donos da casa, um casal de velhinhos fofos que alugavam o sĂłtĂŁo para ela e outro quarto, no segundo andar para um indiano muito calado. SĂł assim o casal idoso conseguia continuar naquela casa enorme e cheirando a naftalina.
No mais perfeito estilo inglĂȘs, os quatro moradores nunca se encontravam. Seja porque as rotinas eram desconectadas, seja porque os quatro personagens assim preferissem. Ou seja por qualquer outro motivo q, por enquanto, nĂŁo serĂĄ mencionado.
O que mais incomodava a minha avĂł naquela moradia era a necessidade de pisar "como um ladrĂŁo furtivo", assim orientou o casal inglĂȘs na ocasiĂŁo de aceitĂĄ-la como inquilina. Subir os degraus, equilibrando o peso do corpo cuidadosamente era exaustivo, mas ela estava satisfeita em morar em local privilegiado em Londres.
JĂĄ tinha mais de mĂȘs q havia aportado em Richmond quando ela notou que, ao retornar do trabalho Ă noite deu por falta da sua escova de dente. Bateu todos os cantos e nĂŁo achou. E nada. NinguĂ©m entrava ali, ou nĂŁo devia. Afinal cabia a ela a manutenção do ambiente e a ela havia sido assegurado privacidade total no acordo de locação.
Era só uma escova, deixa pra lå. Não iria se desgastar com os velhinhos por tão pouco. Mas q isto não se repetisse. Resolveu armar arapuca para o caso do ladrão de escova de dente voltar ao local do crime. Era prender na maçaneta fio de cabelo- nada original, mas funcionava nos filmes. Se o fio fosse rompido, seria sinal do invasor. Ela tinha cabelo curto, à época, não funcionou. Acabou usando um fio fininho de lã que se soltou do cachecol.
Quando voltou a noite, sorriu ao perceber q o fio permanecia ali, intocado. E pensou: vamos seguir. Entrou. Primeiro desembrulhou a nova escova de dente e foi guardar no armĂĄrio do banheiro. Eis que a imponente desaparecida descansava lĂĄ. A fujona,posta na prateleira, como se nada tivesse acontecido.
Como era possĂvel? NĂŁo, nĂŁo era possĂvel. NinguĂ©m entrara. Como aquela escova simplesmente se materializou novamente.
O dia seguinte seria longo com duas faxinas por fazer. Resolver esquecer o contratempo e dormir. Haveria alguma explicação, seja lå qual fosse.
Voltou pra casa, à noite. Tudo permaneceu tranquilo e assim foi por mais alguns dias. Até q mais um ser inanimado se animou.
Minha avo que tinha certas obsessÔes, por exemplo, deixar as duas esponjas da pia de lavar pratos uma em cima da outra. E assim o fez naquele dia, mas,depois de escovar os dentes e voltar à cozinha para tomar um copo de ågua, observou que as esponjas estavam arrumadas na forma de um L.
A princĂpio imaginou q talvez ela tivesse deixado assim, mas quanto mais forçava a memĂłria, tinha certeza, que nĂŁo. Havia colocado uma sobre a outra.
Aquilo começou a assustå-la. Talvez devesse superar o seu receio de incomodar os outros e se aventurasse a conversar com o taciturno indiano. Quem sabe ele também estivesse às voltas com acontecimentos estranhos.
Eles nunca tinham, de fato, trocado palavras. Só ouvia as pisadas - nada leves, diga-se até - dele na escada de acesso ao segundo andar. De longe viu, certa vez, uma silhueta, e só. Estava escuro e quase nada se enxergava. Ela, quando chegava, subia a escada com a lanterna do celular para não incomodar os outros. O indiano, por sua vez, galgava os degraus na penumbra. Era tão discreto que nem parecia que existia de fato.
Ele era um indiano de rotinas. Sempre por voltas das 23h chegava. Minha avĂł nĂŁo fazia ideia no que ele trabalhava e nunca o vira sair para trabalhar.
Resolveu, em atitude arrojada emboscĂĄ-lo no segundo andar, fingindo que precisara o usar o banheiro. Seria um encontro casual. Apesar de ter o prĂłprio toilette, ela diria que a descarga estava quebrada, mas q , no dia seguinte, acionaria o casal para consertar. Pronto.
Pouco antes da 23h, ela empoleirou-se no banheiro. Não demorou para os degraus rangerem diante das pisadas firmes. Ela abriu a porta devagar e, na escuridão do rol da escada só pode ver o vulto entrando apressado no quarto e a porta batendo estrondosamente. Ela se assustou, mas conteve o grito. Acendeu a lanterna do celular e pensou: bom, deixa pra lå. Melhor ir dormir. Mas, ao apontar a lanterna para o chão, na tentativa de se reencontrar com a escada, ela viu pingos de sangue que seguiam na direção da porta do indiano.
O primeiro instinto foi bater na porta, pensando que ele talvez precisasse de ajuda. Porém, o medo venceu a solidariedade: se ele quisesse ajuda, era só pedir. Vou dormir.
Dormir que nada. Passou a noite virando de um lado para o outro da cama. Serå que ele sofrera um acidente?! E se sentiu péssima por não ter oferecido ajuda.
E pensou, talvez para acalmar a consciĂȘncia pesada, e se ele fosse um assassino e se tivesse acabado de perpetrar um crime bĂĄrbaro nos becos de Londres?! Um novo Jack the Ripper?!
Ainda assim a culpa lhe tomou. Talvez ela pudesse tĂȘ-lo acossado, feito ele confessar a violĂȘncia e dizer onde estava a vĂtima e , talvez, sĂł talvez, ela pudesse chegar a tempo de evitar que a vĂtima se esvaĂsse em sangue.
Deixa disso e vai dormir que o dia amanhã tem muito trabalho e começa cedo. Disse pra si. Em algum momento caiu num sono pesado, como se tudo não tivesse passado de um pesadelo. De uma armação ficcional dos seus neurÎnios inquietos.
Acordou cedo e, pela primeira vez, embora nunca antes o encontrara durante o dia, desejou fortemente que nĂŁo se esbarrassem. No trabalho, esqueceu o indiano, mas os desaparecimentos/reaparecimentos voltaram a ocupar seu pensamento ao final do dia.
Tomou a firme decisĂŁo de encarar os anfitriĂ”es ingleses sobre os incidentes. Quem sabe aquela casa antiga guardasse memĂłrias soturnas. Ă verdade que se, houvesse histĂłrias mal assombradas ali, nĂŁo teria sido de bom tom alugar o imĂłvel sem prevenir o inquilino quanto ao passado lĂșgubre.
Conseguiu chegar cedo em casa, queimou o primeiro compromisso da noite. O objetivo era encontrar os velhinhos e se antecipar a chegada do indiano. A entrada da minha avó era pela porta dos fundos. Cruzava a cozinha e jå caia na escada q acessava o sótão. Nestes poucos dias ali, ela jamais havia se encontrado com o casal. Como ela quase não cozinhava em casa e tomava o café da manhã no quarto, aquele cÎmodo era praticamente apenas um acesso.
Entrou na cozinha e aguardou distraidamente q o casal viesse preparar o jantar ou um chĂĄ que fosse. Espero muito e nada. Que incomum. SerĂĄ que foram jantar fora? Duvido, pensou minha avĂł.
A inquietação tomou conta dela. Partiu para o ataque. Dirigiu-se para um cĂŽmodo que pela disposição normal das casas inglesas deveria ser a biblioteca. Na cabeça dela, ĂĄvida leitora de histĂłrias de detetives metidos, ingleses idosos, chĂĄ e biblioteca sempre caminhavam juntos. Bateu na porta. NinguĂ©m respondeu. Nada. Notou q a porta, na verdade, nĂŁo estava vedada. Botou a mĂŁo na maçaneta e na mesma hora teve a vontade de virar de costas e sair correndo. E se encontrasse o casal de velhinhos de mĂŁos dadas, mortos, no sofĂĄ, como se fossem duas mĂșmias?! E se um deles tivesse enfiado uma tesoura no outro?! E se, pior de tudo, flagrasse o exato instante em que o indiano os eviscerava?!
Mas não pÎde. Abriu a porta. Nada além de muita poeira, teias de aranha e poltronas cobertas por lonas, como se ali estivessem por décadas. Ninguém estava lå e, para dizer a verdade, parecia que aquela biblioteca não via gente de carne e osso jå fazia muito tempo.
Aquilo não fazia sentido algum. A minha avó contou que naquele momento começou a duvidar da própria lucidez. Os velhinhos fofos. Onde estavam? Busca a imagem mental deles. Curioso. Ela não conseguia lembrar bem deles. Se esforçou e só vinha um esboço de memória. Nada de material para se apegar.
Naquela altura, contou minha vĂł, ela estava enlouquecida de enxaqueca. Nada fazia sentido, mas tudo q pensou foi: vou para o meu quarto, tomarei um diazepam e dormi.
No outro dia minha avĂł acordou com a sineta da porta da cozinha sendo tocada, esperou q os velhinhos atendessem, em vĂŁo. Desceu e abriu.
Um senhor a olhou, escancarou um sorriso latino e disse: finalmente, conseguimos vender a casa. Agradeço por ter tomado conta do imĂłvel neste perĂodo. Acho que estamos quites. VocĂȘ nĂŁo pagou aluguel e nĂŁo tive q contratar vigilĂąncia para evitar depredação da casa. Agora, vc precisa desocupar o sĂłtĂŁo em trĂȘs dias, quando o novo proprietĂĄrio assume o imĂłvel.
Ouvindo aquele homenzinho bigodudo de óculos de aro preto e nariz atrevido falar aquilo tudo, ela ficou atordoada. E o casal de velhinhos, seriam expulsos também? E o indiano assassino! Ah, dane-se ele.
Pensou em bater o pé, resmungar, dizer que não lembrava nada daquilo. Que tinha tratado com o casal de velhinhos. Que nem sequer tinha pagado ainda porque os velhinhos aceitaram receber os dois primeiros meses só no fim da estada, mas desistiu.
Quer saber, pensou, vou aproveitar a deixa e largar esta casa velha e seus segredos. Chega de rangidos, sumiço de escova, pingos de sangue.
Ela subiu, arrumou os pertences em duas malas e desceu pela Ășltima vez aquela escada. Minha avĂł confessou q, atĂ© perder de vista a silhueta da casa, ainda acreditou que veria o casal de velhinhos acenando alegres, ou a sombra do indiano estripador na janela do quarto do segundo andar. Nada. Sua Ășltima lembrança disso tudo foi encoberta pelo fog londrino.
Pois bem, vovó me contou esta história em vårios momentos da vida. E em cada qual a história ganhava contornos diferentes e acréscimos ou supressÔes de informação. Quando criança, admito, cheguei a perder noites de sono assombrada pelo fantasma do indiano, dos velhinhos.
Na versĂŁo da adolescĂȘncia, ouvi a histĂłria com a indulgĂȘncia arrogante de quem faz um favor. JĂĄ adulta, adorei juntar todas as histĂłrias em uma sĂł, na minha cabeça. Ao fim, acredito q jĂĄ escreviĂĄmos a quatro mĂŁos.
Alguns dĂ©cadas antes de falecer, minha avĂł manifestou sinais agudos de demĂȘncia. No final , foi o corpo e a alma, mas a lucidez jĂĄ havia a abandonado.
Quando lembro dos velhinhos, do indiano e, principalmente, do estranho desaparecimento da escova de dente e da mudança de posição das esponjas, me perguntou se jå não tinha sido, - para usar o que se diz por aà do jeito reverso- se jå não tinha sido uma visita da doença.
Fim
31 de agosto de 3023.
Valentina Pinheiro
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I was gonna steal @i-remove-color-from-postsâs gimmick but then I realized I have no idea how
So instead I recolored them
Enjoy >:)
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IMAGI-NATION{University} first O Week Imagination Lecture
Reflections on the making of from Xavier Masson-Leach
youtube
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I posted 141 times in 2022
31 posts created (22%)
110 posts reblogged (78%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@ask-a-meister
@the-i-d-f-l-hq
@enter-the-new-multiverse
@multi-muse-transect
@bridgyrose
I tagged 21 of my posts in 2022
#personality origin - 6 posts
#plush - 3 posts
#alpha - 2 posts
#imagi - 2 posts
#personalities - 2 posts
#open rp - 1 post
#thanksgiving - 1 post
#story - 1 post
#origins - 1 post
#power rangers - 1 post
Longest Tag: 27 characters
#for a upcoming personality.
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Remnant
A young one was badly injured as she felt herself dying, in her imagination world her mind was racing.
âWhat am I going to doâŠI donât want to dieâŠI need to do somethingâŠâ, was some of many of words racing in her mind as she tried to think until a voice was heard.
âSo you want to live?â, a male voice was heard that stop the young oneâs thoughts
âW-who are you?â, the young one asked in confusion
âWho I am doesnât matter, but do you want to live.â
ââŠYes yes I doâŠâ
âThen I need something from you.â
She wondered what he wanted, she felt something being pulled out of her⊠a piece of her soul as it was mixing with molten metal as it changed into something glowingâŠ
âWhat is it?â
âProto-Remnant, something that will save you. You just need to inject yourself, I suggest your thigh. You might want to hurry, your world is falling apart.â
The man filled a syringe up and gave it to her as she saw her imagination world crumbling, her eyes widened, she quickly jabbed the syringe into her thigh and injected it in.
In the real worldâŠ
The young one was just laying there as other personalities trying to revive her as suddenly she took a deep breath as her eyes snapped open as the whites of her eyes turned Black as her pupils turned white, her heart kickstarted as she coughed as she panted as she looked at her sisters, âO-oh, HeyâŠâ
2 notes - Posted April 4, 2022
#4
Rip Jason David FrankâŠ
May the power protect youâŠ
3 notes - Posted November 20, 2022
#3
https://youtu.be/rHWdHHdRvK0
youtube
I definitely think Addyâs voice claim would be Princess Daisy.
5 notes - Posted February 25, 2022
#2
R.I.P Kevin Conroy
You were THE BatmanâŠ
7 notes - Posted November 11, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Cryptic imagination (Closed rp with @multi-muse-transect )
In the sky, everything seems as normal as the sky should be until a spot was distorting a bit as a portal suddenly opened in the air, screaming was heard coming out of the portal as someone fell out⊠A girl?âŠ
âAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!â, the girl screamed as she was falling as she was understandably unaware of an orange airship underneath her, she fell past in front of the cockpit window still screaming.
13 notes - Posted September 3, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review â
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Tagging @pitiful-anonymous-vampire @lostboysluvr @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic @jezabella8 @lostboysbringinmulletsback
@peakyrogers @flysafepapi
The boys have never left Santa Carla, they always stayed put, and now they wanted to travel, Marko found this News Article in the newspaper when he was on board, it was all about the murders and how everyone moved into the house they surprisingly went missing. Thankful for the boys they were already dead, David was agents this he did not want to travel to a place he didn't know and people he didn't like maybe for dinner but that was about it. Paul and Marko, we're over the moon running up and down like rapid dogs just wanting to get to the house, but same with Dwayne he didn't want to go but like always he got dragged by Paul and Marko. "You two serious Dragged me from the cave to see this old house?" David groaned as Paul walked closer to David swinging an arm around him a Charming grin on his face. " oh come on it gonna be fun!" He tries pushing the gate open but it was a lock, Dwayne looked at Paul with annoyance had Marko smirked: " we're vampires dudes let's just jump it!" The boys all looked at Marko like that was a pretty good plan, the four boys fly over the fence has the house was abandoned like there was no one there but all the boys knew there was plenty of people there. David pushed Paul away from has he landed right next to him and Marko grabbed Paul's hand laughing at how Clumsy he is. "The door unlocked" Dwayne whisper, David opened the door The house was old and maybe even older than them, windows like you see at the church a big chandelier in the front of the house, Marko walked around it was abandoned he looked around has David and Paul went to the Kitchen, for Dwayne sanity he walked over to Marko so he wouldn't cause any trouble.
Marko turned around hearing something break into the Kitchen, "What happen!" Marko yelled as Dwayne and he ran to the kitchen and they were shocked by what they saw. A young Female was right next to the kitchen table she stand there like she saw a ghost "what are you doing in my house?" The boy's mouth was open, there was no car there? No mess of someone living there and she looked older maybe in her early Twenties. "Are you gonna answer me?" You ask tilting your head. David spook first " we're not gonna murder you darling, we thought this house was abandoned." You nodded with a chuckle "it is this house is just special to me" you announced has Paul vomited this out " she kinda hot tho" "Oww!" Paul wined making you chuckle as the Dark brunette hit him on the shoulder " I haven't seen you around here where are you guys from?" You smiled at them they still seem a bit freak out but you nodded " Santa Carla" David said making you smile " I am Y/n it nice to meet you guys."
It's been weeks since the boys have been visiting you from their town you still wonder why? Why were you so interesting you were dead for fuck's sake, and these boys think you're interesting. You were laying on your bed, looking up at the roof a cigarette hanging from you're lips like that can kill you, you chuckled to your self standing up, and went to the record player, which you picked up the Vinyl disc placing a new one in when you heard a bunch of noises from your window. What the heck? You asked yourself and walked to the window and open it but when You saw the blond fly up to your window you were shocked. " what the hell!" You gasped and swore you could hear the other ghost talking.
"You idiot" David cussed as they all fly up to your bed, well if you were not dead to you would be in utter shock, but you took a guessed that they were vampires some undead creatures. After they all got up into your room with some comments and pushed you to pinch your nose chuckling "Your vampires are you?" Dwayne nodded has Paul and Marko nodded David smirked: "You I know your not human Princess". You raised an eyebrow and it connected the smell, they could smell you not in a creepy way but in a vampire way. " no I am not, I am kinda bound to this house after all I did get murder in here" the lost boys were bit lost but you set them down telling you about your murder " so you still wanna stay?"
David smirked, " of course you are something special to us now pet."
#american horror story#murder house#the lost boys 1987#imagies#x reader#female s/o#small account#y/n#fanfic#for fun#tate langdon
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