#☪ ⎯ ❝ task

[theonxepialos]

the fallen heir.

[lady-ashfade]

New Coffee Run

Poly!Chenford x Assistant!Chubby!Fem!reader. Dabble. (slight bimbo)

╰･ﾟ✧☽ I binged like the first three-four seasons. And I am in love with both of them. (I haven’t made it to their relationship yet)

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 470

╰･ﾟ✧☽ I know the poll side secretary but assistant is better.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: poly relationships crushes, chubby reader description, flirting, short fic, having them obsessive over you, I’m such a sucker for them.

everyone knew to stay clear of you while you were on duty, but you were too bubbly to keep away from, especially in the dark workplace. but, Sergeant Gray made it clear to stay away from you until you had free time, which was hardly ever.

it wasn’t their fault that they couldn’t keep their eyes off of you; when you wore dresses that hugged you chubby belly and hips like that. while you talked to some other officers, or did tasks like running papers back and forth, walking around the place with a big smile on your face. every second you are in eye shot they are staring at you, taking you in.

it was brought up by Lucy sense she noticed his gaze, and is open to talk about things more then him. she knew he would never bring it up incase he hurt her feelings. the conversation ending up them just gushing about you and how precious you are. and how they wanted you to themselves.

being the sweetheart you are deciding to stroll over to them while they sat at a desk chatting on break in the office.

“hi guys,” you chirp and wave as if they aren’t in front of you, “I’m heading out to get some coffee, wanted to know if you guys wanted anything?” you smiled as bright as you could as your plush cheeks moved upwards. tom licked his lips while lucy was caught stuttering trying to find something to say, he straightened up and puffed out his chest.

“why us?” his question didn’t even make you crack a bit. he was trying to get something out of you, to see any sigh of you wanted them back.

“my way of saying thank you for helping me with those boxes the other day. is there anything I can get you? Coffee, muffins, or tea?” we’d like you to go out with us. is what they wanted to say.

they told you their coffee order and you bounced away happier then before to repay their kindness. they watched you leave with their eyes glued to your frame. a wave of relief washed over them when you were out of sight, taking their breath away, they couldn’t help but be nervous about you. one wrong move and they could scare you away.

“clearly she knows what she’s doing.” tim groaned softly to his girlfriend, who shook her head. “she just is that why, last week she brought smitty strawberry donuts because he tweeted about it.” that memory made tim’s nose scrunch and roll his eyes.

“we wait one week more like you wanted, but after that she’s getting a tim test.” he leaned back and crossed his arms.

“She’s can’t handle a tim test.” Lucy argued playfully.

“What about a Lucy and Tim test?”

☪︎ kinda making some yander content about them, have for a while but idk if people with enjoy.☪︎

[mwahs-stuff]

haiii!!! I hope you day or night is going well!! But I was wondering if you can do maybe an actor!dazai with singer!reader and they have a fake relationship? 😋😋

(Off topic but I’ve been loving your posts!! They’re such a joy to read!!!)

I love this. yes, of course. and thank you, sm dear. I'm glad you enjoy my posts<3

cw: womanizer dazai, super fluffy (no smut, sorry if that's what you wanted, but I'm absolutely down for a part two). confusing plot tbh, idk what else!

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡☪"I don't like anyone better than you, it's true" ☪

dazai osamu. a name that can make fangirls eyes light up. he was known for his acting, how sly he was on and off camera and that stupid smile of his. you've been in the music game for a while now so you've met him here and there, you quickly realized he's an actor on and off screen so you made your mind up about him quickly. you didn't like him. so that's why you're pissed to hear that you'll be posing as a couple for a few weeks. another stupid publicity stunt pulled by your producer.

"you'll be meeting for coffee tomorrow." your producer spoke, making you roll your eyes and take another drag of your cig. "got it." you murmured. "this is serious (name). you both need to get to know each other. dazai's producer is a good friend of mine. he's too well known as a womanizer, and he needs to settle down for a bit. you both need to convincingly show that you know each other well. so get to know him! it'll be good for you too sweetheart" you huffed a bit and nodded. "okay, I got it. tell him not to be late." you spoke in an annoyed tone as your producer headed out.

the next day, you heard a knock on the door, and after a moment, your producer brought in no other than dazai osamu. "I figured you can have coffee at your place, more comfortable, ya know?" your producer spoke with no care as they headed off. .."I guess," you gritted out. great. not only will you have to talk to him. you have to make coffee, not a hard task, but it annoyed you. dazai didn't seem to mind this whole thing. In fact, he stood there with a smirk. you rolled your eyes. "cmon on in dazai." you spoke in annoyance as you led him to the kitchen. "call me osamu. we'll be dating after all." you rolled your eyes once again, something you seem to be doing more often cause of this. "fine, osamu." you said through gritted teeth as you sat on the counter and started to heat up some coffee. he stood on the side. your producer had given you a list of questions to memorize to get to know him. seems he got the same list because at the same time, you both asked, "what's your favorite color?" you scoffed slightly. "guess you got the same list.. alright, we'll have to look convincing, and this can't look like some hook up, so we'll say we've been dating for.. hmmm, let's say three weeks so far? I'll go to some events with you and you can come to some of my shows. coming up in october, I have a tour so we can stage a break up then. so there we go. you get a relationship so your fans don't think your a man-whore and I guess I get to say I have a boyfriend." you spoke quickly and sternly. you rolled your eyes at the last part. you weren't getting much out of this. dazai's eyes seemed to widen a bit at how simple you wanted to make this. "woah woah woah.. slow down." he walked closer to you till he was standing in front of you. "and what if I actually wanted to get to know you?" ..you were slight caught of guard.. you couldn't help but feel your face heat up. yea no snap out of it. he's just some womanizer and a fake all around. "not a chance."

it's been a few weeks since then. you've gotten used to going in public to get pictures of you guys together, going to his red carpet walks, him being at your shows, pretending to be all sweet in public.. you've honestly grown quite used to him. he actually wasn't as much of a fake as you thought. he could be quite genuine when he wanted to show it. this was one of those times. you were freaked out. dazai was in your backstage room as you smoked a cigarette and tapped your foot fast. it was a big show, a lot of people.. you'd be lying if you said your heart wasn't racing. dazai had stepped behind you as you looked out the balcony smoking the cigarette. you weren't showing all the signs you were nervous, but dazai could hear your foot tapping and the way you bit your bottom lip and how quickly you were blinking. he paid attention. as he stood behind you, he brought his hand to your hips. he snaked his other hand around you to take the cigarette out of your mouth. "this won't help with how you're feeling, you know that, right?" you rolled your eyes. "there's no cameras, so stop touching." you muttered, but you couldn't hide how your face heated up from the touch. instead of replying, he rubbed soft circles in your hip. you leaned into the touch unconsciously. "you're going to do great. you have to know that you're going to be great out there." he whispered against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. you were at a loss of words as his hands moved to your waist and rubbed softly. you felt yourself calm down a bit.. he held you like that for a few minutes, telling you how he knew you were going to do well. until you had to go onstage.

you did indeed do well.. after what felt like all night, you tiredly made your way back to your backstage room and laid down on the bed. after a few minutes, dazai came in and laid on the bed next to you. you turned to him. "...thank you." you whispered to him. "no need to thank me.. that was all you pretty girl.." you felt your face heat up once again. you didn't realize how close his face was to yours until he said that. you reached out and ran your fingers softly over his face. "you're a lot more than what I thought of you.." you whispered before planting a soft kiss on his lips.

(I rlly like this.. I kinda wanna do a part two.. should i?? also I suck!! so sorry if this plot doesn't make sense)

[tell-me-a-tale-that-tells]

TATTOOS

┏━━━━ ☙ ☪ ☙ ━━━━┓

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie is your friend and your crush since childhood. On a hot summer day, you couldn't take away your eyes from his tattoos.

WARNINGS: none, no spoilers, no explicit sexual content, and no vulgar language, just mild nudity I guess?

┗━━━━ ☙ ☪ ☙ ━━━━┛

Chapter 1

It was a very cliche summer day in Hawkings, too hot to do anything and go somewhere.

You and your friend since kindergarten, Eddie Munson, were at your little yellow house in Lover's Lake.

Sitting under the shadow of the porch, you were reading a poetry book while he was on the pier, throwing stones on the flat surface of the lake, making them bounce.

It's better to say that you were pretending to read, a hard task since Eddie, due to the heat, has discarded his black t-shirt, remaining only in his torn jeans.

You couldn't help yourself to watch his pale back, the expanse of white skin in contrast with his dark curls and his muscles shifting and contracting with each throw.

If only you believed in God you would have thanked him for making Eddie Munson that way, you loved him since third grade but It was a secret only you knew, no whispered confessions at pajama parties or to the pages of your diary.

Your book was long forgotten as you tried to take a peek at your best friend's tattoos, sure, you saw them before, but closely only the ones on his right arm.

After a lucky throw, Eddie called you.

"Y/N! Did you see that? It bounced about seven times before sinking! Damn, I'm learning how to do this, sweetheart!" he said turning around.

You thanked your reflexes because, by the time he was fully turned, your volume was in front of your face.

"Oh, sorry Eddie! I was reading a poem" you responded trying to be believable and apologetic.

He melted in a kind smile, and ran a hand between his hair, combing some strands that were sticking to his forehead.

"I hate to ask you, Y/N-" he commenced "but there's a possibility that I could steal one of your father's beers? I'm dying of thirst and he made his best puppy eyes.

The truth is that he doesn't even have to try hard.

"If you're thirsty, drink some water," you said playfully, not raising your gaze from the pages.

"You know? you're no fun Y/L/N" Eddie said laughing.

You closed your book and stood up from the wooden stairs and gestured to him to follow you inside.

He entered your kitchen and leaned against the counter, arms crossed while you opened the fridge looking for a beer.

You couldn't see him, but he was peering at you, the way your tank top raised on your back when you leaned down, the curve of your waist, how those shorts were fitting you well.

Twisting around you found Eddie staring back at you, but your eyes were glued to the tattoos below his collarbone.

A sly smirk appeared on your friend's features.

"You just have to ask, if you want to see them" he teased you.

"I-I just... Sorry, it's that I don't know many people with tattoos and I was curious about yours since the day you got them" you blurted out, embarrassment colouring your cheeks.

"Hey, no need to apologize, come here" Eddie reached out for your free hand, took the beer from the other, and pulled you close to him, the heat of his metal rings made you gasp a little.

You had to restrain yourself from running your fingerprints on the inked skin, wanting to follow the black lines.

"The spider is beautiful" you confessed and it was his turn to blush a bit.

He could almost feel your breath on his heated face and decided he wanted more.

"It's a black widow, one of the most dangerous spiders in the world" he told you, lifting your hand to touch the arachnid legs, to you It was like being electrocuted by a loose wire.

"And this," he said moving your fingers lower "it's a demons head"

"Creepy' you commented, leaving out a chuckle and he followed.

You were about to step away when a question crawled into your mind, so you lifted your head, watching shyly Eddie in the eyes.

"Do you...have any others?" you wanted to know so badly.

You saw his face reddens and his pupils dilate, while a sly grin played on his face.

Still guiding your hand, he trailed down his chest and abdomen, stopping right at his belt.

"Yeah, but only pretty girls get to see 'em" he whispered placing your chin between his fingers.

"Oh" you said almost disappointed.

"So I guess it's your birthright to see them" he grinned before letting you go and taking a big gulp from the beer bottle, locking I'm his eyes with yours.

You remained frozen to the spot as he passed by you, heading from the stairs to the first floor.

"So? Are you coming or what, isn't your room upstairs?' he called.

"Hell, yes" you murmured before sprinting to him.

──────⊱⁜⊰──────

Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. If you have a request for a fic just drop me a private message and I'll write it for you.

[swxrxgini]

AHH UR LAST POST WAS SO ADORABLE I NEED BHALLADEVA FLUFFY NSFW HEADCANONS OR ILL GO CRAZY

|: The apasara in his arms...

Receiver....Author: "Hello, Yeah..due to popular wishes, I'm doing NSFW headcanons for this hot psycho. Again, this continues on from the last timeline of the last Bhalladeva post."

Receiver....Synopsis: "The apsara that was Bhalladeva's wife and one of the crown princess of Maheshmati, beloved by people, has an insatiable husband...just some moments with them.."

Receiver....Warnings: " Fingering, corruption kink (a little bit), mating press, size kink, unprotected sex (don't do it), nipple play, dacryphilia, bulge kink, finger fucking.| Fem! reader.||NSFW. ||Minors DNI.|| don't tell anyone I wrote this, I won't ask why you like this psycho, but I get it, he's hot|| Continuation from the last post.|| A bit OOC|| He's a bit tamer here and has a somewhat good relationship with Bahubali and doesn't like Devsena|| प्राचीन: ancient, for those who don't know Hindi."

☪ It was probably a bit before your wedding that he found his eyes wandering your body a bit too long nowadays, a bit too perverted thoughts in his mind, how he wanted to squeeze you so tight and something more...not that he would do anything you didn't want, that's no way into your heart, as Bahubali said....apparently, Bhallaldeva doesn't listen to Bahubali a lot...

☪ And he was a bit affectionate sure, holding your hands when you're both together and during, as you both watch over the empire or as he feeds you while staring at you hopelessly and disgustingly in love. Or he has you sleep in his room (if it's permitted) and snuggled against you so close.

☪ After the wedding, it was all hell loose, if you're there, he's there and either right beside you or under you as you sit on his lap or around five feet from you, because he refuses to be far...Something he realized he's a touch starved, of-course he won't know this, but if you catch on, pretty nice for him.

☪ Tell me in my eyes that you don't think he doesn't have a size kink...Like the mans the size of a bull, you saw that bull fighting scene! You don't think he doesn't get aroused when he sees your tiny self, cause no matter how tall, you're short to him.

☪ say, there was probably a period, he felt you against him as he held your hips to help you lift or something and he realized how light you are...? Well, compared to him, you are. He could so easily pick you and fold you and that sent some ideas in his head, while you innocently did your task. He feels bad for having a dirty mind while you weren't doing anything, but again..he thinks you'd look gorgeous in a position like that

☪ And let's admit, it won't be too long before he actually had you underneath him, he's charismatic in some areas, okay?? And being honest, it's probably a bit of his first time too...but he'll softly moving his fingers in and out of your cunt, his face showing he was slightly embarrassed, a bit shy..but very fascinated.

☪ You did have to direct him a bit, but it's like natural talent that he improves so much, your legs are shaking by him fingering you to orgasm 2 times...Before he actually hoped you'd be able to take him, even if he enjoy the sight of you struggling to take him, his fingers enjoying rubbing circles on your clit...he finds it cutely entertaining...

☪ He enjoys scanning you, taking his time in undressing you as he smirks and simply stares up and down, it's his natural habit...taking his time in drinking your appearance. When you are finally vulnerable and naked, he'll take his time even then to tease you a bit, while his hands softly held your hips or gently strokes your nipples, softly pulling at the buds at times, or gently touching your clit to feel the wetness gather there..

☪ He thinks it's fun to see the innocence go away from you, corrupting your innocent mind a bit, while he pressed his knee near your head and fucking you gently for the first two to three times, until he lets loose and it always ends with you not being able leave the bed for a day or two. He apologizes a bit after you're both done, but he genuinely feels proud of himself for being able to do that...he would rub it in Bahubali's face if not for Bahubali having Devsena...

☪ It's the cutest sight in his eyes, watching your cry, struggle to take him while you slowly and softly started loosing your innocence as he pressed himself in you, feeling the bulge in your stomach...Or one finger softly finger pressing on your tongue, down your throat, almost choking you, but it's mostly to quieten any noises from you both to not alert anyone.

☪ Though he tries to quieten you, it's no use, the sound of skin, slapping and squelching is loud enough to alert all the guards and the ladies and servants outside...most of you're regular maids not even being able to have eye contact with you..which makes for a funny, but extremely awkward atmosphere the next day as they get you ready and stuff..

☪ Speaking of, he has a breeding kink, which should be obvious, since most of the time sex is used for creating babies. So, being honest, sex only started as a way for you both to have kids, and then he just got hooked and couldn't stop the feeling...eventually did ask a doctor how to make sure you're not pregnant after doing it...got told to just pull out, something stressful in his head.. and quite devastating too...

☪ But again, rough sex is a way for him to also release anger, stress, jealousy or anything in between...it's also a good way to makeup after an argument. Bahubali talked to you for three seconds too long? Sex. Devena complain and argued wit him, even if he was the one in the wrong? Sex. His mum didn't give him enough presents? Sex. His mum took you away for too long? Sex. A guard stared at you for a .8 second too long? The guard is murdered and sex.

☪ I would say sex is like a glue, but actually it's more like a necessity at this point, like eating and breathing to Bhalladeva...which is just weird, his mum does eventually put him on a sex ban...And you do end up getting pregnant a bit too quickly after marriage...it's no surprise really, but if you don't? It's fine...Bhallaldeva does not care for kids, and certainly is not happy with having them..but for you it's different, but he likes being like a wine uncle...if wine uncle was a प्राचीन prince who was a bit of a nepo baby type guy.

© swxrxgini. This writing work belongs to me; Aurelia, Rosilabeth, Cerine, kiara. Reblogging is appreciated, but plagiarizing or copying my works is forbidden, thank you for reading this and if you like this check out my blog!

PS: SPECIAL MENTION!!

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE REQUESTS!!

[crow-stars]

❝WARMTH IN HAND❞

❦ summary; it's always cold, but how can such a gesture be so warm?

♪the characters in this story; idia shroud, gn!reader

✎word count; 984

☛the author's notes; apologises if this feels a bit awkward. i was getting a bit of that vibe, so please tell me if that's present here!

☪look at the catalogue?

Ignihyde has always been one of the colder dorms. Not because of its environment (there were literal fires burning brightly just outside the dorm), but more so because of how much tech that was in the dorm. As most would know, high functioning computers are prone to overheating if not cooled properly and, since most of Ignihyde has such computers, the AC in the dorm is always turned up high. 

Because of this, there have been multiple instances where you’re left shivering in the dorm while visiting Idia, teeth even chattering together on some occasions. He never seemed to give the temperature much thought, whether because he’s adapted to the cold or because his hair is made out of fire, it was up to a coin toss.

You’ve always seemed to manage, somehow, sometimes using one of Idia’s jackets or using Ortho as your portable heater. Multiple times, though, you do ask Idia if he’s cold when the biting freeze is a bit too much and he responds with an indifferent shrug. This doesn’t mean that you ignore the barely there shivers that wrack his body.

So, you’ve taken to knitting while hanging out with Idia, needles clacking together as you work. There were a few instances where Idia would turn in his swivel chair and question the reason behind the noise he kept hearing through his headphones. 

Holding up the mess of yarn and needles made him quick to understand and turn back around, feigning disinterest and calling it a ‘boring hobby’ before going back to his grinding. This only made you chuckle and continue knitting, Ortho sitting next to you and watching with great interest (and warming you up as well).

“Hey.” You raise your head hearing Idia’s call, seeing him pull his headphones down and rest them on his neck. “You’re still doing that boring task?” 

You smile with a small sigh, shifting a bit and tugging Idia’s jacket closer to your body. “It’s not boring, it’s fun!” 

Idia almost rolls his eyes and only sighs. “On a scale of one to ten, knitting is a mega zero.”

“Oh, shut up! You’re dying on screen right now.”

“W-Wha-?!” He’s quick to snap his head back to the screen, panic seizing him when seeing the red tinted screen. “Gah!”

It’s amusing to see the housewarden scrambling, giggling as Idia tries to salvage his character’s life. This gives you ample time to continue your little project, although a bit slower than before, lips pursed in thought as Idia’s panicked rambling serves as your background noise. You hope that, when you’re finished with this, it’ll go over well. 

It takes a few more weeks to finally finish what you were working on, messing up a few times and having to redo one of the rows or having to get more yarn from Sam’s. 

It’s a bit messy, a few crooked stitches here and there, some of the colors look a bit off, and it’s abnormally long, but it’s still a nice scarf. Ortho praises how it looks and it does give you a boost of confidence, but you’re still nervous. 

Three knocks on the door and Idia’s yelling “it’s open!” have you entering his room, finding the third year in his chair as usual, nimble fingers flying across his keyboard almost effortlessly as he maneuvered his character across the screen. 

You watch him play for a bit, seeing him being clearly engrossed with what was happening on screen and his headphones being firmly secured on his head. After a few silent minutes pass, you decide to make your presence known. 

With the scarf, you hold one end of the accessory in one hand and prepare yourself, a gleeful smirk curled on your lips as you imagine Idia’s reaction. You then use a bit of momentum to swing the scarf over the back of the chair and tug back a bit.

“Hrk! A-Ah!” Idia whips around, a pout on his lips at such an abrupt greeting. It only makes you giggle, grinning widely. “Wh-What the heck is wrong with you?!”

You only hold the scarf up, still smiling ever so widely. “Surprise~”

Idia huffs at you, tugging his headphones off. “What was up with that sneak attack?! You caught me while I was vulnerable.”

“I wasn’t that bad. Now hold still for a bit.”

Idia narrows his eyes a bit, though letting you lean in closer. You manage to wrap the scarf around Idia’s neck, although he still sulks at your sudden greeting. Once the cloth is around his neck, Idia raises a hand to the knitted wear, thumb running over the yarn slowly and trying not to catch on any gaps that he finds. 

“Why are you giving me this?”

You smile, bursting with excitement and the fact that he didn’t immediately express dislike of the gift. “Well, it gets cold in Ignihyde. I thought I could give you something to keep warm, y’know.” You shrug a bit, trying to relax your stiff posture with little success. 

Idia brings his hand back to the scarf, letting himself feel the yarn against his pale skin. At least he was finally able to realize what you were doing all those other times in his room. He didn’t exactly hate it. And it was made by you, after who knows how many weeks of work. It was... It was nice. He burrows his face a bit into the scarf, citrine eyes averting from your form anxiously waiting for his words. 

“I guess...” A small huff from Idia, feeling his cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I guess I can take this. It's got plus fifty warmth.”

You guess that’s good enough. You smile brightly and Idia thinks that smile is warmer than any scarf you could ever give.

The next time you visit, Idia’s wearing the scarf, lower half of his face burrowed into the yarn as he plays.

[artofdeductionbysholmes]

😐︎■︎ ♏︎❑︎⧫︎❒︎❑︎ ⬥︎□︎♍︎◻︎❑︎ ❒︎⬥︎⇩︎ ⧫︎♑︎◆︎🙵◆︎❖︎♑⧫♑︎ ♒︎🙵◻︎❑︎ ♍︎ 🗏︎ ♓︎🙵❑︎⧫︎◻︎🙵 ◆︎♑︎◻︎♌︎♍︎ ♍︎♏︎⬧︎⬥︎♍ ♑︎ ♒︎🙵◻︎❑︎ ♍︎ 📄︎📂︎ ♓︎🙵❑︎⧫︎◻︎🙵 ◆︎♑︎◻︎♌︎♍︎ ♏︎🙵♎︎❑︎📬︎ 😐︎◻︎❖︎♑︎⧫︎♑︎◆︎◆︎♍︎◻︎❖︎♑︎📪︎ ⌧︎♑︎⧫︎❑︎✍︎

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☺︎⬧︎❒︎⬥︎📪︎ ❖︎♍︎ ♑︎❑︎⬧⌘♒︎♍︎ ♓︎♌︎ ♌︎⬧︎♑︎♑︎♓︎♌♍︎📬︎ ✋︎♌︎ ♓︎♍︎♋︎♍︎ ❒︎⬥︎ ♌♍♋︎⬧︎ ☟︎❍︎⌘︎⬧︎♐ 🕆︎⬧︎♌︎♑︎♍♌︎📬︎ 👌︎♍︎♌︎ ❖︎□︎ □︎♋⬥❑︎⬥︎ ❑︎♍︎♌︎♍︎♑︎❑⬥♓︎♒︎⬥︎📪︎ ♌︎◻︎ ⧫︎□︎♋︎⬥︎◆︎⌘⬥□📪 ⬧︎❒︎ ➔︎ □︎♒︎♒︎♓︎□︎⌘︎♋⬧︎♌︎♒︎⬧︎ ❒︎⬥︎♑︎♍︎❑︎❑︎♓♎□♒︎♍︎📬︎ ☪︎🕯︎❖︎♍︎ ♑︎❑︎⬧︎⌘♒♍︎ ♎︎⬧︎♐︎❑︎❖◻︎ ❖︎□ ♓♌︎ ❖︎♍︎◻︎◻︎❍︎ ❒︎⬥︎♑︎◆︎♓︎♑︎♒♍︎♑︎♍︎📬︎ ☜︎♓︎⬧⌘⌘♍ ❒︎⬥︎ ❑︎♐︎⬧︎□︎♐︎⬧︎ ⧫︎□︎⌘︎♑︎⬥︎ ♎♐︎♍︎⧫︎⬥︎⌘︎⬥︎ ♍♌⌘⬥︎♌︎⬧︎ ♎︎⬧︎♐︎ ⬥︎♌︎◆︎□︎♌︎♌︎□︎♐︎⬧ ⌘⬧︎ ❒︎♍︎♌︎♌⬧📬 ✞︎□︎ □︎❑︎❑︎⬧︎♒︎♒︎□︎♒︎♍︎ ⌘︎□︎ ♋︎⬥︎□︎ ♍︎⧫︎⧫︎⬧︎♐♒□ ♎︎⬧︎♐❑︎❖︎◻︎ ❖︎□︎ ◻︎⬥︎♑︎♍︎◆︎♌︎♍︎ ❒︎⬥ ♑︎♍︎⌘︎❒⬥📬︎ 👌︎♍︎♌︎ ♑□︎📬︎

✠︎●︎ ■︎🕯︎➔︎ ♐︎⍓︎🕯︎⧫︎⍓︎♎⧫︎□︎⧫●✏︎ ✠︎♍︎ 👎︎⬧︎◻︎♍︎⬥︎⌘︎■︎❖︎ 💧︎⌘︎⬥︎⌧︎◻︎♎︎ □︎◻♑◻ ♏♍⌘︎♑︎●︎♍︎⬥︎⌘︎ ●︎❑︎❑⧫︎⍓︎■︎⬧︎◻︎ ⬥︎♐︎⧫︎ ♍︎⧫︎■︎◻♑● ⧫︎⬥︎ ♋︎●︎❒︎●︎⌧︎◻︎⍓︎♏⌘︎ ◻︎ ⬥︎●︎ ♎︎♐︎●︎ ⬥︎⧫︎❍︎◻♍♏◻︎📬︎ 🏱︎ ⬧︎⌘︎ ⬥︎●︎ ♎︎◻︎⍓︎♎︎●︎🙵⧫︎⌘︎⍓︎◻︎ ■︎⬧︎◻︎ ■⧫ ♑︎⌘︎♍︎♍︎◻︎ □︎◻︎⬥︎ ♏︎◻︎⌧︎♋⌘︎ ♋︎◻︎♍︎ ♍︎⧫︎♎︎⌘︎⬥♑◻︎♍◻ ♌︎♐︎◻︎♎︎♏︎⌘︎ ♋︎◻︎🙵🙵⌘︎ □︎◻︎⬥︎ ⌧︎⧫︎⌘︎ ♋︎♐︎🙵🙵⬥◻︎📬︎📬︎📬︎

I︎l︎ c︎o︎r︎p︎o︎ u︎m︎a︎n︎o︎ p︎u︎ò︎ r︎e︎s︎is︎t︎ere︎ f︎in︎o︎ a︎ 3︎ g︎io︎r︎n︎i s︎e︎n︎z︎a︎ a︎c︎q︎u︎a e︎ f︎in︎o︎ a︎ 2︎1︎ g︎io︎r︎n︎i s︎e︎n︎z︎a︎ c︎ib︎o︎.︎ I︎n︎t︎e︎r︎e︎s︎s︎a︎n︎t︎e︎,︎ v︎e︎r︎o︎?︎ The human body can survive up to 3 days without water and up to 21 days without food. Interesting, isn't it? P︎iani︎fico︎ di︎ t︎es︎t︎a︎r︎e q︎u︎el︎l︎a︎ t︎eo︎r︎i︎a.︎ V︎o︎g︎l︎i︎o︎ v︎eder︎e q︎u︎a︎n︎t︎o︎ t︎em︎p︎o︎ q︎u︎a︎lc︎u︎n︎o︎ p︎u︎ò︎ r︎es︎i︎s︎t︎er︎e c︎o︎n︎ p︎oc︎h︎i︎ss︎i︎m︎o︎ c︎i︎b︎o︎ e a︎c︎q︎u︎a︎.︎ S︎em︎pli︎c︎em︎en︎t︎e p︎er︎ v︎eder︎e c︎o︎s︎a︎ p︎u︎ò︎ a︎c︎c︎a︎der︎e. I plan to test that theory. I want to see how long someone can last with very little food and water. Simply to see what can happen. V︎e︎d︎i︎,︎ h︎o︎ s︎c︎elt︎o︎ u︎n︎ n︎e︎s︎s︎u︎no︎.︎ U︎n︎ u︎o︎m︎o︎ d︎i︎ nom︎e︎ T︎y︎l︎e︎r G︎e︎n︎s︎on︎.︎ N︎o︎n︎ h︎a︎ a︎mic︎i︎ c︎o︎n︎o︎s︎ciu︎t︎i︎,︎ n︎b︎ f︎a︎m︎i︎g︎lia, e︎d︎ è︎ a︎t︎t︎u︎a︎l︎me︎n︎t︎e︎ d︎i︎s︎o︎c︎c︎upat︎o︎.︎ L︎'︎h︎o︎ s︎c︎e︎lto︎ p︎e︎r︎c︎hb︎ h︎a un︎ h︎o You see, I chose a nobody. A man named Tyler Genson. He has no known friends, no family, and is currently unemployed. I chose him because he has a M︎a︎ c︎'︎è︎ u︎n︎'︎i︎n︎si︎d︎ia!︎ M︎r︎ S︎h︎e︎r︎l︎o︎c︎k︎ H︎o︎l︎m︎e︎s︎ d︎eve tro︎v︎a︎r︎l︎o︎ a︎f︎fi︎n︎c︎h︎e︎ l︎u︎i︎ r︎i︎c︎eva i︎l︎ p︎a︎g︎a︎m︎e︎n︎to︎ e︎ l︎a︎ s︎u︎a︎ l︎i︎b︎erte︎.︎ E︎ h︎o︎ l︎a︎ s︎e︎n︎s︎a︎zi︎o︎n︎e︎ c︎h︎e︎ ci v︎o︎r︎r︎e︎ d︎e︎l︎ t︎e︎m︎po︎ p︎e︎r︎ r︎i︎ But there's a catch! Mr. Sherlock Holmes must find him so that he receives the payment and his freedom. And I have a feeling that it will take some time to re

I see you slightly adjusted the difficulty of your little riddle. Still, easy enough to figure out. Did you forget that I am fluent in several languages? Additionally, the last two paragraphs appear to be missing certain symbols. What does Tyler possess, and what task will require some time to complete?

I assume we can pick up Tyler at 36 Stanley Road — what a clever clue you left in your video.

The only detail still eluding me is the significance of the incorrect postal codes: EC50 1CD and NW76 2WV. Could they possibly represent grid coordinates?

[ryndicate]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ  A Drop in Time

Don’t listen too closely to the silence. It whispers things you don’t want to hear.

Vampire!Megumi x reader (fem body/pronouns)

notes: this installment was proofread by a friend who deserves all my love and i could wax poetic about them all night.... but here’s the first chapter! A true introduction to the world we live in. Also, just because he’s a background character in JJK, just know that Shouta was the dbag that was mean to Junpei lol, no relation to any other character cause I definitely used some names from other shows to name my other minor characters. 

Warnings: non-sexual penetration, memories of physical assault, depictions of death/grief, descriptions of arranged marraige/misogyny, mentions of ye olde birth control, religious themes

By expanding, you are consenting to viewing adult/dark content, and all warnings listed above. 18+ Minors DNI

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⋆⁺₊⋆ Prologue ☪︎ Masterlist ☪︎ Series Warnings ☪︎ ch. ii. ⋆⁺₊⋆

Something bright irritates your eyes and a terrible stench greets you as you stir, movements leaden.

"She's awake! Call the priest, quick!"

Your eyes blink open slowly, a fierce ache in your head making them flutter closed almost immediately. Your body feels on fire as you curl in on yourself, feeling much too stiff, brittle like old bones.  You've never been in this much pain before, not even when you cut your leg on your father's tools as a child; the fever then almost killed you, according to your mother, but your memories of the time are broken at best. Sleep threatens your mind once more, blackness tinging on the edge of your vision.

"Little one, are you well enough to speak?"

Struggling, you look towards the familiar voice and make a final attempt to remain conscious. You've only met him a few times as he's the only priest for the few villages in this area. He makes time to visit for his duties once a fortnight. Everyone trusts him. 

The wariness in his eyes is enough to fill you with unease. This man was present at your birth, and has never given you more than a firm scolding in your life. The grim set of his jaw is unfamiliar, wrong. 

"Father?"

Your voice is small, dry and rasping, reminding you of the pain from the night before. Your throat burns, agony exploding across your senses as you wheeze and cough. Your hands immediately raise to cover the wounds on your neck, eyes growing hazy with tears. You can sense the others nearby looking on with curiosity, but too fearful to approach. Their wary stares fill you with panic.

"Dear child," An ounce of care filters into his tone, but it remains unyielding. "You must submit to an examination. You were bitten, do you understand?"

"Yes, Father." Your answer is swift and subdued. It is nothing short of a miracle that this opportunity is being offered. No one would have questioned the choice to dispose of you for the safety of the village. 

"Peace be with you." He bows his head. "We will move you to the church. Try to be still and send your prayers to above. We plead for the Lord's mercy today, should we be fortunate to receive it."

Father nods to two young men hovering nearby and they rush forward as if grateful for a task, bundling a sheet over you and carefully raising you between them. Through the gaps of the frayed fabric you catch sight of rising smoke, and realize with growing horror that the awful stench is that of burned bodies.

You close your eyes tight in hopes of erasing the horrifying image, wincing as their uncoordinated movements jostle your wounds, and try to gather your strength for whatever is coming. 

The church seems prepared for your arrival, several of the sisters who accompany the Father moving around to prepare a table with an assortment of items.

You try to be mindful as they hover, murmuring prayers, sprinkling waters and oils over you, clutching your fingers over the silver cross they’ve pressed into your hands, but your mind keeps drifting to the horrors of last night. It’s struggling to remember hazy details, but primarily in a daze over the fact that you’re somehow still alive.

It’s a short moment before you realize the sisters have shuffled out, the cross slack in your hands as your eyes refocus to see Father gazing at you, somber. Fear jumps to your throat at the shadow in his eyes, suddenly fearful to speak. Are you condemned?

His eyes avert from yours. "One last thing."

You jump uncomfortably as he steps closer, his fingers closing on the hem of your nightgown. 

Realization strikes you in an instant, paralyzing awareness.

"Father, please no," you beg him softly, panic lighting your eyes. "It did not, I swear on my life."

"Little one, I must." There's an air of discomfort surrounding the old priest now. "This is for your sake as well. We must clear your name of any rumor."

"I'm begging you," you whisper. Shame twists your features, hysteria bubbling hot in your chest as the heat of embarrassment is added to the brew of this nightmare. 

He pauses, solemnly reading your face. "It was Shouta?"

You nod, tears beginning to streak down your face to be acknowledging it. You wipe them away hastily, too overwhelmed to realize you’ve only wiped the soil of your gown down your cheeks. 

"As long as what you say is true, then I will tell no one."

"Do you promise, Father?" You daren't hope. Shouta and you both had known the damage that could be done to your image if your intimacy had gotten out. He'd persuaded you sweetly at first, then persistently. After a time, you'd reluctantly allowed him, in favor of earning his approval instead of his ire. He was to be your husband after all, ‘til death do you part. So you'd been careful, meeting him discreetly and taking the tonics the neighbor’s eldest daughter had gotten for you at the price of teaching her her letters. She wanted to attend school at the capital and now you’re wildly wondering if she’s even alive.

But for all the care you’d taken, you couldn't hide your shame from a priest. 

"You're safe with me, child. Vows taken or not, you are sworn to him. You are a good woman, and you will be a good wife for Shouta. He chose well in you, and this will not reflect on that. The Lord knows your heart; it is not my place to cast judgment." 

It had been your parents that chose him, but you remain silent. It would not serve you well to be any more honest now. Your father is away now, Shouta at his side, as they apply for a marriage certificate in the capital. Marriage… The man your father chose is a respected one, the village leader's son. You don't know if you will ever feel love for him, but you do know your life will be lived well at his side, lacking for nothing. You would never dishonor your father by rebuking the life he planned out for you.

Discomfort burns in both of your cheeks as the priest proceeds. As much as you know it to be necessary, it leaves a poor taste in your mouth. But if having the backing of the village's respected priest is what you need to return to your quiet life, then you can suffer this. The last thing you need is the hateful and fearful rumors that you might be with child by a monster.

"It is done. You are well, my dear. Let us see to your wounds."

"Thank you, Father." You can't help but slump in relief, weariness setting in now that your safety is assured. 

At his call a couple of sisters reenter the room and immediately begin fussing over you. Father bows and makes his exit, and they promptly strip you of your soiled nightgown. You are not sorry to see it go, the stiff fabric bloody and unsalvageable. As they dispose of your clothing in the hearth, you manage to voice some of the things you’ve been wondering about. They answer softly, informing you that it’s almost been two days since your attack. The priest has been monitoring you, afraid to move your body for fear of worsening your condition. It had been his call to leave you untouched, making no attempt to inspect your wound, to allow your wound to clot. The decision had been a risky one, but it had probably saved your life. 

There's profound relief on the women's' faces that eases some of the ordeal, and you allow your eyes to fall closed as they brush a warm, wet cloth over your wounds and skin, content to be in someone else's care even if just for the moment. Your body aches after nearly two days of sleeping on the bare ground. You want nothing more than to fall asleep somewhere comfortable after this. You can’t stop thinking about the blanket your mother had received from her relatives last winter. Thick, soft, and made from animal pelts you hadn’t seen before, it’s the softest thing you’ve ever touched. To fall asleep under that now would be bliss.

Thinking of that blanket has your thoughts wandering towards your mother. You wonder briefly if your parents and Shouta will hear of this incident before their return, or if you will have to tell them yourself. You don't look forward to reliving the experience for their sake. 

"Come, young miss. We drew an herbal bath out back. It will be cold, but twas the best we could do."

The water is bracing, but you're more than used to it. Whatever herbs they cast into it tingle along your skin pleasantly, relaxing you, and washing the grime from your skin helps you feel more clean. You can only hope it will help wash away the memory of the demon's touch. His hands were almost like fire. You shiver.

One of the sisters notices and tuts. "Oh poor dear, come now. Let's finish up and get you warm and dry. Father has asked us to accompany you to your home for the evening in case you have need of us."

"Thank you," you murmur softly, standing from the water and taking the clothes they offer you. Despite your wish to be alone, you have no doubt you'll be grateful for their presence. It will be much easier to brush off the old creaking of your home on them moving about instead of letting your fearful imagination run wild. 

You wrap the worn shawl around your shoulders more tightly as they accompany you towards your home. There are still men about, busy cleaning up the mess of the attack. Some glance at you warily; others nod and continue with their work. It seems news of your examination is traveling slowly, but the overall mood of the men you pass is enough to make you hopeful that all will be well soon. Everyone looks focused on rebuilding your quiet little village. 

"Of those attacked, were there any more survivors?" Beyond the loss of the baker's daughter, you know of no one else who had been lost. You're grateful all of your family had been away for the attack. 

The women look forlorn as they exchange glances. "Not many, we're afraid. Most had wounds too deep, others were in danger of turning. There are a fair few missing as well. You were very lucky, miss."

The words feel thin. Lucky is not how you would describe nearly dying, held down and helpless at the hands of a monster—but you suppose there are no good words to describe such a thing.

"I apologize for the mess, we were not expecting visitors." The etiquette slips from your lips automatically as you show them inside. Your home is humble, but well built. Your father works a steady trade, and he saw to it that the house is well-maintained. 

To distract yourself you help see to their accommodations, pulling out linens for their bedding. You fear if you remain idle…his voice will haunt your thoughts.��

You will not suffer needlessly.

You close the closet door more fiercely than you mean to, chills covering you from head to toe.

How dare that monster say something so horrific. How were you meant to not suffer when he drank from your flesh? The pain of that encounter very well may follow you to the afterlife. 

You make your way back to the sitting room to find that the women had made themselves busy stirring the hearth. The warmth is most inviting and you will yourself to relax.

"There isn't much here for now, but there is bread in the kitchen and enough to make a light stew. I can make enough for us all."

The appalled expressions on their faces is almost comical.

"Heavens no!"

"We're here to tend you, miss! You've suffered something terrible, you should be resting."

After their sharp demand, they wave you towards a chair near the fire until you sit, straining your ears to hear the hushed voices as they bustle about your kitchen. They seem to still be worrying for your health and the few others who are in recovery. Your fingers brush delicately against the bandage on your throat, wincing at the lingering pain. You're not used to being taken care of in such a manner, not since your mother had taught you to care for the house and how to prepare meals. 

She had gone with your father to the capital, ever the dutiful wife. Before she had left, she had told you to enjoy the few weeks of peace before Shouta's return. She seemed to recognize the lack of personal attachment you felt for the union. This small time for yourself has been a gift from her to you.

It's not long before the attendants return, placing a small bowl of stew in your hands. The vegetable broth is soothing, the added warmth in your stomach making your eyes droop as fatigue settles over you. As they help you to your room you're grateful for their assistance, but you find yourself longing to be alone once more. One of them refastens your window, the one you had climbed out of last night when you’d heard someone enter through your front door. Even after they leave the room, you cannot help yourself from tiptoeing over to the sill and making sure the latch is tight.

You would never be able to sleep without checking for yourself. 

The morning comes far more quickly than you'd like. You wake feeling unrested, moving slowly. You’re certain there are unsightly circles under your eyes, but when the ladies ask how you're feeling you fix on a smile and tell them you're feeling much better. There wasn’t much sleep to be had when the echoes of groans filled your ears, and every small shift sent your body aching.

Breakfast is not a big affair, just plain porridge before you send them on their way. Despite the fatigue of your body protesting every step of the way, you spend most of the morning tending the house, clearing out dust, washing the linens, and cleaning the floorboards. Afterwards you sit in the sun pouring through the open window as you eat a light lunch, more tired than usual from your affairs. Sweat beads across your brow from the exertion but you wipe it away without complaint, along with your tears. 

It feels like you've not stopped crying since you awoke yesterday afternoon. Any time you find yourself with what should be moments of peace, his groans fill your ears, his breath dusts on your neck and you feel the ghost of a body right behind you. Your wrists still ache from his crushing grip and your neck twinges with pain every other moment. Unable to bear the silence, you heave yourself to your feet and march to the front door with purpose in each step.

Even if you're tired and your chores have finished, surely with everything that's happened there's more work to be done. Wrapping a shawl around your shoulders, you push out the door.

The village is bustling with activity as you make your way toward the main street, but everyone is subdued. Grief is all but tangible in the air, eyes downcast and lips set in frowns. Even the children aren't running about, clinging to their mother's skirts or each other's hands. 

You make your way into the market and catch the eye of the young nephew to one of the farmers. He's stopping each passerby and offering something from the basket at his side. Curiously you make your way towards him. 

He turns to you as you approach. "Do you need any?" He tilts the basket towards you gently, showing you a mound of eggs. "Uncle said with everythin', folks’ chickens probably wouldn't lay, so he sent me out with the extra. You can have some."

"I don't need any, but thank you. I was actually looking to see if anyone needs my help."

"You could always ask the market marm, 'm sure she'd know," the boy says thoughtfully, "But I heard Mama say the weaver was killed, and the husband has his hands full with the kids and the shop. You could check on him." He pulls a cloth from his pocket and carefully places five eggs in it before tying it. "I was gonna go that way later but here, take these with you, 'm sure he'd 'preciate it."

Thanking him, you accept the makeshift package and your feet carry you towards the weaver's shop. You can hear the wail of an infant before you even open the shop door. 

Cautiously entering, you peek around to see the weaver's husband bouncing a toddler on his hip, another child tugging on his trousers as he tries to break up what appears to be an argument between his two eldest. The young boys are screaming at each other, faces ruddy and pinched with anger.

"It’s your turn—"

"I did it yesterday—"

"No you didn’t, you rotten little—"

"Boys!"

A small hand curls around two of your fingers, causing you to startle silently. You look down to see a young girl, no older than four, looking up at you tearfully. You recognize the weaver's youngest daughter and click your teeth in sympathy when she reaches for you, a silent but clear request to be picked up, and haul her into your arms. She clings to you, her soft curls brushing your cheek.

"It's okay, little one," you sigh, adjusting her weight and clearing your throat, making an attempt to make your presence known. Raising your voice is no longer a simple feat. "Excuse me—"

The beleaguered father finally notices you, his eyes filled with frustration at his children's behavior. "Toshi, Gin!" he snaps at last, loud and gruff in a manner that makes both boys freeze and hunch their shoulders. "You know better to behave like that in front of customers, apologize to the lady."

Both boys glance at you and duck their heads, muttering apologies that you don't quite hear as the toddler in the man's grasp begins to wail, frightened by his raised voice.

"I'm sorry, miss, but now might not be a good time. If you'd like to come back I'm sure I can help you find—"

"It's okay sir, I actually came by to see if you might need anything?"

Your words are timid, almost coming off as if you're making a request. His blank stare causes your cheeks to heat up, and you stutter, searching for something else to say. "One of the farmers also sent these eggs. They had some to spare."

A little awkwardly, you hold out the makeshift parcel until he readjusts his hold on the tyke in his arms and takes it from you, appearing just as awkward as you feel. After a short moment, he clears his throat. 

“Gin, take this and put it up in the kitchen.” He places a palm on the head of the girl still clinging to his clothing. “Hime, go help your brother. Toshi, take the little one and put him down for a nap please.”

The young girl nods silently and takes Gin’s hand as Toshi takes the youngest. They all trudge off, glancing back at you as they go before they disappear around a corner of the shop. 

“Here, I’ll take her,” he offers, but the girl clings to you tighter, whimpering into your neck. “Come now, Yachi.”

A look of consternation crosses his features when she doesn’t listen, tucking herself deeper into your neck. You wince as she presses into your bandages, but you’re quick to assure him. “It’s fine sir, I don’t mind holding her.”

He grunts at that, but relents, eyeing you cautiously. “You’re that girl from the other day, aren’t you? The one that—” he glances at Yachi, “—that the priest visited.”

“Yes, he said everything was well.” You duck your head nervously, but he only shrugs, looking off to the side. Apparently he trusts the word of Father as much as you do.

“What’s yer name?”

“Rumi, sir.”

“Hm. And what is it that you said you came for?”

“To see if there’s anything I might be able to help with. I heard in the market that…” You trail off, glancing down at the child in your arms. You’re not sure how much the little one would understand of what transpired during the attack. 

Grief glitters in his eyes, and he appears to be struggling to answer you when the eldest comes tramping back into the room. “We finished Pa. Gin and Hime are playin’ in the room with—”

“Toshi, can you take Yachi? I need to speak with the little miss.” There’s a small break in his voice that you think the elder man hides well, but the seriousness on the boy’s face makes you think twice. 

The boy might very well be less than half your age, but he appears to carry himself with responsibility. You assume he gained such a trait as the eldest of his siblings.

“Let’s go Yachi,” his voice is much softer when he speaks to her, “Gin’s telling that story you like. I bet he’d start over if ya asked nice.” 

Yachi peeks at him, her eyes still wet, but after a short glance at you, she nods and allows him take her from you. He only struggles with her weight for a second before his step bounces in playful exaggeration and her giggles at his antics carry throughout the shop even after they leave the shop floor.

“You have a very lively family. They seem to get along well.” It’s a paltry attempt to fill the silence that stretches between you, but he still gives a nod of thanks at your words.

“They’ll need to, to get through this,” he mutters gruffly, running a hand through black hair flecked with gray. He’s a well built man, who looks like he’s no stranger to the labor trades.

“I’m sure they’ll—”

“I haven’t told them about their Mama,” he interrupts you suddenly, looking you in the eye.

Your shoulders stiffen as you realize what he’s saying. 

“They didn’t see it,” he continues, speaking low in case the children might be trying to listen in. You step closer to help him in this, allowing him to speak even more softly. He unravels the bandage you hadn’t noticed on his forearm, showing you the wound that nearly matches your own. “I didn’t see it. The bastard got to me first, but it wanted her. Hit my head, and I was so out of it that I couldn’t… She got them all hidden away in the pantry before runnin’.”

“I’m so sorry.” Horror and nausea swirls in your gut as you picture the scene, the helplessness of it all. 

Shame and misery etch themselves to the lines of his face so deeply it was as if they’d always been there. “I found shreds of her clothing in the morning. Covered in blood. I c-couldn’t tell the little ones, I couldn’t. How do you tell a child their Mama was—” he inhales shakily. “I told them she’s helping the priest, but I think Toshi is beginning to realize what really happened. He’s old enough that I can't hide these things from him.”

"He's a strong boy, I can tell," you murmur softly. Your stomach heaves as you realize she met the end that you so narrowly escaped. That it could have been you, naught left but a puddle of blood for a loved one to discover. Swallowing tightly, you try to keep your voice steady and reassuring. "He'll help you take care of the little ones."

“He shouldn’t have to!” the man snaps fiercely, causing you to flinch noticeably, wincing as the sudden movement twinges in your neck. An awkward expression of regret paints his features. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t right of me—”

“No! It’s fine,” you murmur softly. This man has been through enough. Of course he’s on edge. “Just please, um…” You realize you can’t quite recall his name, though you’re certain you’ve heard it around the village before. 

He sighs, softening considerably, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as he makes an effort to pacify himself. “The name’s Shin, Miss Rumi.”

“Shin, sir, please just let me know what I can do to help you. I’ve nothing else to do with my time but sit at home. I’d rather be useful.”

Shin regards you carefully. “I suppose, if you’re offering… the shop.” He glances around wearily, and you belatedly notice there are half-packed crates and parcels everywhere. “I’m packing everything up, but it’s a lot to handle on my own. Toshi wanted to help but I need him with the littles ones.”

“Of course.”

Grateful for something to do you set to work, carefully folding textiles and lining boxes with spools of thread. Shin works beside you, mostly silent save for some sparse instruction when you lose track of where to start next, wrapping a series of tools and devices with purposes that escape you. He’s so delicate with them that you are certain of their importance to the weaver’s craft. There’s so much to be done, you’re not sure that he would ever have managed to do this without assistance. When the light begins fading, only half the shop has been put away. 

“Rumi.” Shin glances outside, his eyes shadowed as they fix on you. “You should get on home before it gets any darker.”

Anxiety prickles at your skin at the idea of being out after dark. Alongside the obtrusive fear of what creatures might still reside in the shadows of your little town, you also don’t wish to be caught by rumour, staying overnight with the now unbonded man, so you gather yourself to go. Hastily giving your goodbyes and promises to return, you dash out the shop door and hurry back down the streets toward your home. The shadows of the setting sun seem more imposing tonight, and the streets are already quiet despite the long lingering orange light. It leaves you unnerved, and the tension refuses to sink from your limbs until the front door is securely locked behind you. 

The house is too quiet now, and you find yourself wishing for the sisters’ company as you go about what has been your nightly routine since your parents and Shouta left for the capital. You make a sparse dinner for yourself, having neglected to go to the market this morning, clean up, and draw yourself a bath, spending the extra effort to heat the water. While the fire crackles you carefully unwrap the bandage from your neck, unable to look at the bruising of your throat, the redness of your wound. You’re quick to apply the salve the sisters left you, and cover it with a fresh wrap, tears threading your lashline at the persistent pain.

It’s an effort to distract yourself. You know it, as you spend extra time making sure you’re entirely clean, scrubbing as much grime from under your nails as you can until the water grows lukewarm, and eventually cold as you sit, pondering. Shin had kept a careful hold of his grief today, but such a deep emotion can never be completely buried. Your heart aches for the man, despite how little you knew him and his children. You wish there was something you could say that would soothe his heart, if even a little.

You wish your mother were here. She might know what to say to a grieving husband. You have such little experience with such a thing, but your mother knows more of the world than you, has lived much longer. Surely she’s comforted at least one grieving person. 

Sighing, you step from the basin, and begin to dry and dress yourself for bed. There’s nothing left to look forward to tonight, no warm wishes for your dreams from your mother, no kiss on the cheek from father—something you’d complained about every day since you became of age, but now you miss both terribly. As you settle in your bed for the night, tucking your covers more tightly around you, you’re grateful for the fatigue that now rests over your body more securely than any blanket. It numbs the ache of your healing wounds and carries you to sleep faster than any fairy.

a/n: next chapter we get to meet one of the support leads, i wonder who it will be? :3

Reblogs are appreciated!

© All rights reserved to @ryndicate. Do not modify, translate, or repost.

[crimsonsongbird]

EMI'S ENCHANTMENT

To embody the strength, courage, and willpower needed to complete a difficult task. Inspired by Emi Tsukino from the Naruto series.

What You Will Need:

Hair brush or comb

Mirror, any size

☪︎ Settle in a quiet place where you won’t be disturbed or distracted. Get into a comfortable position with all the spell components within reach. 

☪︎ Close your eyes and think of the task at hand. Why is it so important? Who are you completing the task for? What would it mean to succeed? What would it mean to fail?

☪︎ Grab the hair brush (or comb) with your dominant hand and hold it close to your chest. Think of an animal that embodies strength, one that you have a connection with. What makes them strong? What sort of connection do you have with this animal? Let the strength of the animal course through you and into the brush. 

☪︎ Next, think of someone you truly admire that repeatedly demonstrates courage. This person can be real or fictional. What makes them so courageous? Why do you admire them as much as you do? Allow their courage to pulse through your veins and flow into the brush. 

☪︎ Now think of a time you had the willpower to successfully complete a difficult task. What was the task? Why was it difficult? How did you feel after it was completed? Now focus on how capable you felt after it was done. Allow that power, and that pride, to fill up your body and the brush completely. 

☪︎ Once the brush is full of strength, courage, and willpower, set up the mirror so that you can gaze at your reflection.

☪︎ Slowly begin to brush (or comb) your hair as you say, “I am strong like [insert animal]. I am courageous like [insert character name]. I have the willpower to overcome anything that gets in my way.” Repeat as you continue to slowly and carefully brush through your hair. 

☪︎ After you have brushed or combed through all of your hair, the spell is complete. 

☪︎ Clean up your space and go take on that difficult task!

[fenicenera83]

☪︎New headcanons for my beloved Marius ☪︎

There had been countless words, over the centuries, that had accompanied the name of Marius. A marble god, an incarnate Christ, a legend who walked through the ages, a painter of embodied marvels in bewitching colors, a sage, a seeker of knowledge. The reality is that Marius had always heard a single word resonate within him: Keeper. He who cared for others, for centuries, others had fully experienced an immortality, in which he, had only been able to walk half. That had been his purpose and his burden, as well as his pride, to keep, to pay attention, all of that had been with him up to this modern age. So much had been silently asked of him, and Marius had always given, often, even renouncing his personal well-being. Not a martyr, far from him that word, but a defender, a bulwark for the continuity of their existence. Marius had always persevered, even in pain, even in anguish, even if many of his fears and questions and anguish came from that role of guardian. Until all that he had known and accepted was over. Everything, in a few moments, the goal, the effort, the pain and the honor. What was left was a numb soul, or rather, numb to his own pain.Much had happened and much had flown under the inexorable hourglass of time. Marius had loved again and suffered again, he had closed himself off again, and again he had let himself be tempered by the most austere part of himself. Everything had changed, with the desire and the realization of those laws that should have always marked the walking of blood drinkers through time. Marius had a purpose again, new acquaintances, new friends, always busy with something or someone. And finally, again, he felt his true self scratching insistently against the walls of his breastbone. The desire to be present had returned, to be a guardian of time. In all of this, Marius had realized that the little free time he had was precious. He had realized that the time had come to be his own keeper as well. Marius had started to take care of himself, aware that it was something he had never really done. He had pushed a lot under the mists of a 'not now' or 'there are much more important things'. Now, however, Marius, after dedicating himself with passion and attention to every task, or person who needed his attention, after, dedicated himself to that long hot bath, or to that book he had never read and always in his thoughts, to that text not translated into a language that all blood drinkers could consult, that museum to revisit, etc… Marius loved that little alcove of solitude, even if at times, he was forced to share it with his loved ones. Daniel and his films, Armand and his photos, Pandora and her studies, Bianca and her little eccentricities. And Thorne. A friendship born almost by chance, which had become authentic, generous and special. Strange to think how loving yourself can allow you to love even more those you already love deeply, yet this was what time, immortality, had brought to Marius.

Marius has never been a sleeper. Certainly not a lazy person. Never in any aspect of his life. But there was a part of him that loved the languor, the delicacy of being calm and satisfied. Those days when there was no need to be present or rush to do anything, those days when Marius opened the balcony door to let the rich spring area enter. Marius filled the large red velvet bed with every interest, books, sketchpads, notes and photos. He spent hours lying there enjoying those little things. And when the night got darker, Marius enjoyed the frivolous and perfumed breeze, dozing off, calm and serene. Those little naps were a source of great joy, often, Marius woke up from them with a smile, aware that he had walked in happy moments, with those who had been beside him, on his journey towards immortality. Satiated with all those colors that rubbed against his eyelashes, before returning to the world, a eulogy to his life. Marius was not lazy, but some things can only be appreciated with closed eyes, only with the mind of the heart. That happiness was the invitation to seek the future one.

Marius didn't like the cold, but he loved the snow. Was that division strange? Not for Marius. Marius had always been divided into extremes, everything about him held back and controlled on one side, while on the other everything screamed endless passion and abandon. But the snow, which had been tied to horrible memories, now brought joy and lightness to his soul. The snow had given him his dearest friend. The snow had brought him serenity, from a window, while a crackling fireplace took care of a delicate but joyful sharing. The snow in the present had given him, faces and aspects of the people dear to him, that he didn't think he could welcome. Like Louis who, just for once, plucked up the courage to play, throwing a snowball in Lestat's face. Smiles and precious. Thorne trying, over-gentlely, to convince Daniel, that no, the snowman they were building, couldn't hold Thorne's Viking war-axe. God only knew how Daniel had discovered it or how the idea had come to him! Pandora smiling ethereal, with snowflakes in her hair and on her face, framed by that effortless and luxurious smile that a young woman had centuries ago, when she walked like a goddess in the mortal world. And Armand. Armand who uncertain, but determined, with bright eyes and a delicate blush on his cheeks, caressed the front of Marius's red coat, trying to free it from the snowflakes. The snow didn't fall anymore, but those delicate caresses didn't stop. A delicious soft laugh left Marius's lips, a moment of stiffness touched Armand, then a frown, followed by an intensifying red in his cheeks and the sparkle in his eyes. Then the face resting on Marius' chest, and, the smile that told how, the sound of that laughter, and the beating of that heart, filled Armand with peace.

Thank you for reading!

[peacebewithpalestine]

Hello 👋🌸,

I hope you're well. Dr. Farhat's family urgently needs our help due to the ongoing violence. Please share and support the "Save Dr. Farhat's family from genocide in Gaza" campaign. Every share makes a difference.

Link: https://gofund.me/e9f9ce20

Thank you so much for any support you can provide 💖.

With gratitude,

Dr. Farhat's Family 🌹

Verified campaign #248 by @el-shab-hussein @nabulsi.

[ Verification Source (#248) ]

☪︎ ִ ֶ֢࣪⋆ Description

In the heart of war-torn Gaza, where destruction and loss are a daily reality, lies the deeply moving tale of Dr. Husam Farhat and his family. Amidst the relentless bombardment, Dr. Farhat faced an unthinkable tragedy: the martyrdom of his beloved sisters, Inas and Amal, along with their husbands and children, and his brother Mustafa. This devastating loss shattered not only their dreams but also their hopes for a peaceful future.

Life Before the War: Memories of a Beautiful Home Before the war, my life revolved around a beautiful home where I lived with my wife, our daughter Sham, and our sons Muhannad and Muhammad. This home was more than just a place to live; it was a sanctuary filled with love, warmth, and the joy of watching my children grow. Every corner of our home echoed with their laughter, turning it into a place where dreams for the future felt not only possible but inevitable, but then the war came, and in an instant, everything changed. The place where we once felt safe and secure was reduced to rubble. The life we had carefully built, the dreams we had nurtured, and the bright future we had planned were all torn apart. The war didn’t just destroy our home; it uprooted our entire existence, leaving us with nothing but the painful memories of what once was, Now, standing in the ruins of our former life, I'm left with fragments of a distant dream. The joy and security we once knew have been replaced by loss and uncertainty as we face a future overshadowed by harsh realities.

The Loss of My Professional Dream and Life After the War And it wasn’t just my home that was destroyed. My accounting office, one of the most renowned in Palestine, was also reduced to rubble. I had worked tirelessly to build this office, which wasn't just a place of business but a reflection of my passion and dedication to the field of accounting. It was our primary source of income, providing financial stability and security for my family, My office was well-known for its exceptional services and strong reputation among clients. Over the years, it had become a symbol of success and hard work in the accounting world. But the war took it all away in an instant. Everything I had worked so hard to achieve was destroyed, and years of effort and dedication were wiped out in moments, Now, I stand on the ruins of my office, just as I stand on the ruins of my life, trying to piece together the remnants of my dreams and memories. This office was a source of pride for me and my family, but the war has left us with nothing, facing an uncertain and difficult future.

War's Toll on My Dreams and Future The war didn’t just destroy my home and office; it shattered my dreams and future. As a PhD candidate in Accounting Information Systems at Universiti Utara Malaysia, I was in my final year, pursuing research that is a significant contribution to my field and valuable to entrepreneurs. With a master’s degree with distinction and a bachelor's degree, I also taught at several universities, sharing my knowledge and passion, But the war disrupted everything. Years of hard work, academic progress, and my contributions to the field have been torn apart, leaving me with an uncertain future. Now, I am faced with the daunting task of not only rebuilding my life but also reviving the dreams and ambitions that once drove me. The journey ahead is filled with challenges, but my resolve to continue remains strong.

Displacement and Uncertainty After the War Now, after all this devastation, my family and I are living as displaced people, homeless and jobless, with no clear future for ourselves or our children. Every day is a struggle to find food for my children, who have been robbed of every chance at a normal life by this war. Once, we lived in Shuja'iyya, in North Gaza, where we had a home, a life, and dreams. But now, after being displaced over nine times, we find ourselves in the refugee camps of Nuseirat, the war has stripped us of everything—our home, our security, and our future. Our daily life has become a constant search for basic necessities, a far cry from the life we once knew. The dreams I had for my children and myself now feel like distant memories, overshadowed by the relentless challenges of survival. Each day brings new uncertainties, as we navigate this harsh new reality, clinging to the hope that one day we might rebuild what was lost.

Rebuild Hope: A Call to Stand with Us We urgently call on all those who stand in solidarity with us, and every supporter, to help save what remains of our lives. Your assistance, even in small ways, can make a significant difference in helping us rebuild and restore our shattered world, rebuilding feels like an insurmountable task, but with your help, we can begin to piece together what was lost. Your contributions, no matter how small, can provide the foundation we need to start anew, offering hope and a chance at a better future for our family. Your solidarity means the world to us as we navigate these challenging times.

[theonxepialos]

heir of astoria;

The only Astorian heir is brought forth on the precipice of a truce, Iskaldrik and Astoria had long clashed upon the soil of Astorian land. Alcides, the King’s only son to survive the strain of adolescence, was a mark of a prosperous ideal; where once they were at the helm of successfully navigating the political ties of this world they’ve fallen short, infamous only for their golden fields and not the current legacy of the King’s notable foibles. Alcides understood swiftly that his father’s fatal flaw was likely his aloof benevolence; instead of leading with a heavy hand, squashing the wandering beliefs of others, King de Contreras was more enraptured with the spoils of leadership; gladiator competitions, the ruse of public executions, fanatical games that kept the Astorian people mindlessly contented with his lawless leadership, though not necessarily inspired.  Alcides was free spirited and perhaps as naive as his father was. Before the Vanguard, and those devoted to its cause, more prominently littered the streets, he often ventured to the more rural fields of Astoria, climbing the few trees which littered the countryside, venturing out until the sunset to merely take in what would one day be his to reign over. As a child, time felt limitless, his father’s reign felt eternal, and Alcides often felt untouchable. A child given free reign to explore; Alcides often held mindless activities; collecting leaves, rocks, annoying the farm animals which littered the fields outside of the city.

Inevitably he was loosely homeschooled; he’d learn to write, speak the other languages of the neighboring Queen/Kingdom’s, he’d paint and joust. He was void of arrogance in his youth, had a voracious wanton to learn and skated by upon the privilege his father’s monarchy bestowed to him. As tensions increased, Alcides was often barred from leaving the home in fear of retaliation from those who were pious to the One. His father often attempted to blindside the people with distractions but Alcides was kept inside to roam the castle as more flooded the city with their whispers of the One. For the next ten years of his life, Alcides was kept within the sanctity of the castle, could roam the yards with guards to ensure his safety, but it would all be for naught as the coup ensued to destroy all within. Tensions arose quickly as Alcides' father did little to support the Oner God fully, and a childhood spattered with the lounging ability to roam the Astorian streets soon grew more isolated, stationed safely within the castle as opposition of his father’s leadership grew. Advisors were the only reassurance granted through these tense times, false beliefs that this was merely another phase that Astoria had to be appropriately ushered through despite the Vanguard that loomed. Emil was his father’s advisor and assigned to protect Alcides as the tensions between those devoted to the One and their Kingdom grew. Emil was a witch of Lysaran blood and often advised on how best to mitigate tensions with the people; he was born into the role within the house as his father before him had also served and advised beneath the de Contreras family. Alcides was not raised outright by Emil, but as tensions bled further upon the monarch and his father fell blindly, and further, into his mindless benevolence of keeping the people distracted, Emil became a prominent presence within his life. Alcides was of mere mortal blood, but he was often ‘taught’, or merely soothed, by many spells that Emil often performed. Emil, being a political advisor, also taught Alcides the inner machinations of such work; where many thought it was tedious, the young heir merely felt it was beneficial and took upon it rapturously. Though his relationship with his father was close knit, Emil taught him how to rule more than his father ever could. His father’s influence bled into mindless fun; gladiator battles and shows meant to distract, whereas Emil often drove home the point of relating to those beneath him, rather than treating them as mindless fools at the mercy of a monarch. His father’s downfall was how often he disregarded Emil’s advice. Emil would inevitably meet his demise under such stalwart protection of the young heir, staying behind in an attempt to create distance between them and Alcides, despite knowing it would lead to his death. Alcides didn’t quite have a voice in opposition of his father, mindless benevolence was the King’s glorified personality trait and it was also his wretched demise.

[filmdesque]

@wildflay said: ( steamy windows ) + ( go downtown ) 👀

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ☪︎ . *. ⋆ HE HONESTLY HAD NO IDEA HOW THEY ENDED UP GETTING INTO THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE, but after a while, the thought became the very last thing on jonathan's mind. he had always found billy to be an interesting character, someone who he suspected got into this kind of thing on a regular basis, but he never expected he'd ever get the chance to be one of billy's subjects, LURED into his domain like a fish on a rod.

and that chance he had considered? it very quickly became more of an honor, the other's task of blowing his mind achieved quickly and with ease. through it all, jonathan was reminded how little experience he'd had with guys; he had no idea how AMAZING it was to be filled from behind, given thrust after ruthless thrust as stars danced behind his eyes, how much it could all make him completely fall apart the way that it did. he didn't know it was possible to feel this fucking good; perhaps he'd panic over the fact that he learned this from billy, of all people, but for now, the last thing he wanted was to remain in control.

and whatever COMPOSURE jonathan had managed to build up since the last round was quickly shattered at the feeling of billy's warm, wet mouth closing around his straining length, a high keen in his throat given to his demands being met. he lets his fingers find leverage in billy's thick, golden locks, balling the hair into a fist as he slowly rolls his hips up, flush against billy's swollen lips. ❝ f-fuck, billy ... ❞ he moans out, the SHAMELESS sounds of his pleasure beginning to fill the car once again. ❝ your mouth feels so good ... please, don't stop ... ❞

JUST FUCKING AROUND !

[crystaldivination]

Hey!🤗

Can I participate in the game?

My initials: A. K.

Pronoun: She

Sun: libra, moon: virgo, rising: scorpio

Thank you for hosting the game. 💛

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠! ♥︎

You’re like a proficient manager or a revision expert.

Your most beautiful attributes that others love about you are your diligence and neatness. Whatever you do, you do and complete it properly, quickly and prompt especially if someone asks you for it or a task is assigned to you. Without delay and immediately. You take all your responsibilities seriously. I feel like you don’t procrastinate often. You’re someone firm yet not rigid. You can adapt if needed and can be funny as well. Sometimes you might just say things just as honest as you think or in a direct manner but those seem to be so out of the blue and almost sarcastic to others which they find hilariously funny of you. You might unintentionally "entertain" people like that so that’s something people love about you. You might be quite psychic or intuitive at times whether you’re aware of it or not or you just know how to read people pretty well which oftentimes lead to people resonating with what you said and they feel like they could go to you for advices or whenever they need a good talk.

Bonus: You might be private but you’re quite hospitable and enjoy some good gathering. Be it work related, family or for a purpose of some sort. You might like to take care of others. People sense and love this maternal/nurturing energy from you through your acts. You’re someone others can depend and rely on for help. Pretty much a shoulder to cry and lean on whenever someone need. One of your love languages might include acts of service.

𝐀 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝.

𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲 ☘︎︎

✪ leave a tip 🍯 ☪︎·̩͙

© 2023 Crystaldivination | All rights reserved.

FEEDBACK IS MANDATORY!

[thehyunmemorial]

TASK #002, bloody christmas

❛There’s no such thing as beautiful goodbyes, so just begin now, woo take it easy, slowly cut out my heart, step on the pieces that were broken apart, so no other feelings will remain❜ BTS — OUTRO: Tear

“Natal. Uma época mágica, de se passar tempo com a família, celebrar o nascimento…” Hyun não acreditava naquilo. Ele era budista, então aquela data não tinha o mesmo significado para si, como tinha para outros semideuses. O inglês, no entanto, gostava das trocas de presente, tinha um fraco por agradar às pessoas de quem gostava e ser agradado, então assim que lembrou que teria de procurar um presente para Astória, ele quase cometeu o maior pecado de todos: o suicídio, pois nenhum era bom o bastante na sua visão, mesmo que suspeitasse que ela ficaria feliz apenas por ser seu. 

Apesar do desejo de caçar o presente da rainha ser maior, seu trabalho não parava. Afinal havia sempre um aumento no percentual de crimes no fim de ano, tanto na Califórnia, quanto em Nova York, os dois estados onde se licenciou para advogar nos EUA, após realizar os processos devidos, havia sido uma imensa conquista para si. Claro, ele tinha brechas breves, onde ficava até que as lojas da quinta avenida em Nova York, se fechassem, buscando o presente ideal, até que o achou: um conjunto de jóias da Harry Winston, composto por um colar, brincos e bracelete de prata, diamantes e safira. Era perfeito. 

A véspera de Natal logo chegou e foi o único dia em que o Jung tinha a quantidade de trabalho reduzida, para ele conseguir passar no Acampamento Meio Sangue e entregar o presente para Astória. Contudo, não ficou para ver a reação da mesma, tinha uma reunião inadiável na cidade e tinha de ir para não se atrasar. Era um pouco cansativo para Hyun a quantidade de trabalho que tinha, não negava, mas era feliz. Quando voltou para o acampamento tarde da noite, ele aproveitou o restante da comemoração da véspera do Natal. 

Na manhã do Natal, para seu azar, havia trabalho, mas não demorou para o Jung finalizar a papelada necessária para o dia, fazendo com que ele colocasse roupas mais confortáveis para poder seguir para as comemorações de Natal. Como um centurião, Hyun deveria estar lá, mesmo que preferisse passar aquela ocasião festiva, sozinho, como fazia anualmente, ou cercado dos pouquíssimos amigos que fez. A postura que ele exibia, era de poucos amigos e sem coração. Mas estavam errados, Jung Seung Hyun tinha um enorme coração.

O restante das festividades ocorrem bem, não havia graves problemas, o que permitiu que o advogado relaxasse, seus ombros pareciam livres de um fardo naquele momento e sendo um semideus, ele sabia: quando tudo está calmo e tranquilo demais, uma grande merda iria acontecer, era quase uma sina para semideuses. E como previu, uma garota ruiva, Ariel, apareceu com uma face preocupada, chamando todas as autoridades: gregas e romanas e Hyun como o centurião da IV Coorte, estava nesse círculo.

❛Holly está morta.❜ Sendo justo com Hyun, ele não sabia quem era a garota, mas aquela não era uma boa notícia.

Vários dos líderes de chalé e centuriões de maneira assustada, discutiam e falavam em simultâneo, mas o Jung apenas deixou os olhos escuros fixarem na figura de Astória, que estava presente naquela ocasião, como líder de chalé. Antes que pudesse até mesmo cumprimentar a outra, uma agitação tomou conta do Acampamento.

As barragens mágicas haviam sido violadas e uma figura que Hyun desconhecia, mas com os murmúrios dos semideuses, acabou descobrindo que se tratava de Lycaon, adentrava o Acampamento. Os olhos de Jung caíram novamente sobre a rainha espanhola, que mesmo não estando próxima de si no momento, era uma preocupação constante do britânico. Ela parecia se debater e ver aquilo, causou uma sensação de angústia no centurião.

— Astória! — A preocupação do centurião era notória quando gritou, correndo o máximo que conseguiu, para acolher a espanhola, pedindo licença e desculpas enquanto esbarrava em outras pessoas.

Entretanto, a preocupação logo foi tomada e a sua corrida parou, quando a surpresa invadiu sua face, no momento em que o advogado percebeu Astória indo até o invasor e se colocando ao lado dele.

Seung Hyun congelou. Não conseguia mover seu corpo, nem sequer pensar. Naquele momento, ele só desejava que aquilo fosse um pesadelo, que estivesse em sua cama. Como a jovem rainha com quem dividiu inúmeras xícaras de chá havia acabado naquela posição? Como uma inimiga? Uma lágrima dos olhos do centurião caiu, o que era difícil quando se tratava de Astória, dessa vez, magoado e com a sensação de traição, a mágoa era maior. Sentia-se decepcionado por procurar por dias e horas um presente para ela para isso ocorrer.

Todas as aulas de Lupa, os treinamentos que teve ao longo de sua vida, ou mesmo a luta contra Gaia e Cronos parecia ter sido feita por outra pessoa, pois o britânico ainda não conseguia se mover. Seu coração doía, sentia-se quebrado naquele momento. As lágrimas não cessaram e tornaram-se um choro silencioso, em que ele permaneceu por alguns minutos, só sendo retirado daquele frenesi quando um dos legionários da sua Coorte deu-lhe um tapa no rosto.

— Chore depois. Agora precisamos do nosso centurião, Hyun. — Aquela era uma dura verdade.

tw: sangue, morte, violência

Sem pensar muito, o britânico de imediato, sacou suas adagas, posicionando-se apropriadamente para poder iniciar os combates que fossem necessários naquele momento. À medida que se movimentava, ele era atacado com alguns lobos e ele buscava desviar dos ataques, especialmente dentes e garras em sua direção, mas claro que não seria sempre possível. Um lobo negro pulou em cima de si, fazendo com que seu corpo caísse sobre o chão, e os dentes vinham em sua direção, fazendo-lhe soltar as adagas. Aproveitando-se da força natural dos filhos de Belona, o Jung usou uma das mãos para tentar tirar os dentes de sua cara.

A mão livre tateou os arredores para que pegasse a adaga mais próxima, enquanto grunhidos de dor eram emitidos, pelos dentes do lobo em sua mão. Quando finalmente conseguiu achar a adaga, sentiu uma mordida em sua mão, o que fez Hyun gritar com dor. O sangue que escapava, não lhe permitiu se concentrar muito, mas com a adaga na mão, precisava matar aquele lobo antes que acabasse morto. Sem pensar, enfiou a arma na jugular do animal, com toda a força possível, cortando a região da garganta, com o sangue manchando suas roupas.

O inglês jogou o corpo do lobo para o lado, sentindo sua mão queimar com a dor e o sangramento ainda não havia cessado. Olhou para si mesmo, buscando um pedaço de tecido limpo para fazer um torniquete, mas não achou, estava bem manchado. Recolheu a adaga remanescente com a mão boa, colocando ambas sobre o cinto de sua calça. Perdido sobre o que devia fazer, sabia dever tratar para que sua mão parasse de sangrar. Em meio a seu trajeto que estava sem rumo certo, o centurião acabou achando um dos curandeiros de Esculápio, pedindo ajuda ao apontar sua mão. 

Alguns minutos se passaram até o curandeiro afirmar que sua mão estava inteira, não seria perdida e ficaria com a marca da mordida um tempo, devidamente enfaixada, o Jung poderia continuar lutando, desde que as feridas não fossem abertas. Ajeitando suas adagas em mãos, para ficarem confortáveis e não o fizessem sentir dor, Hyun voltou a andar para o meio do combate, quando sua visão captou algo que o assustou um pouco. 

Gwendolyn, a centuriã da II Coorte, teve sua cabeça arrancada, o corpo da outra não demorou a cair e a responsável nada mais era que Astória. 

Por mais que seus instintos lhe dissessem claramente para ir até à espanhola, vingar a companheira caída da legião, seu coração o impedia daquilo. Quando deu um passo na direção da rainha, seu coração doeu. 

Passou então, a olhar aos arredores, vendo um grupo de crianças sendo encurraladas por um lobo, o Jung seguiu em direção às crianças com as adagas prontas para atacar. Em passos cautelosos, aproximou-se do lobo, mas não conseguiu o atacar, pois, quando estava próximo o bastante, sua presença foi notada, o lobo virou a face em sua direção e começou a rosnar, para avançar com uma das patas em seu caminho, o que Hyun conseguiu desviar, mas foi acertado pelas costas da pata, sentindo a bochecha doer.

— Corram, agora! Saiam daqui! Achem um lugar seguro, vão para a Casa Grande. — O romano gritou para as crianças, tendo a atenção do animal focada em si. Daria tempo das crianças escaparem. 

Quando observou o grupo longe o bastante, o Jung respirou fundo, vendo que o lobo mudava de forma, era uma jovem ruiva, com os olhos azuis e logo se armou com uma espada.

— Normalmente eu não teria a coragem de agredir uma mulher, deuses, meu pai me mataria se eu agredir uma mulher, mas você estava ameaçando crianças, então acho que meu pai perdoaria. — Comentou, com um sorriso que deixou seus olhos parecendo uma fina linha.

— Você é irritante, eu adorarei matar você. — A ruiva sorriu sanguinária.

— Vem tentar, gracinha. — Provocou.

De imediato, a ruiva avançou contra si com a espada, girando em sua direção, mas Hyun sorriu apenas, usando das adagas para bloquear do ataque, entretanto, aquilo não o impediu de conseguir um corte superficial sobre seu braço. O inglês então usou de sua perna esquerda para chutar os pés da garota para a desestabilizar, usando do cotovelo esquerdo para acertar seu estômago. 

Contudo, não demorou para a outra revidar. Hyun foi acertado com uma cotovelada em seu queixo e um chute na região da virilha, o que o derrubou. Cuspiu um pouco de sangue, reprimindo um riso baixo, recuperando o fôlego, após girar o corpo quando a ruiva tentou lhe acertar com a espada, olhando-lhe com cuidado.

— Espero muito que você não seja uma amiga de Astória, eu darei o seu coração numa bandeja para ela, cadelinha. — O que o deixou irritado àquele ponto não era ser atingido em combate, isso era o de menos: era a covardia da ruiva de lhe atacar enquanto se recuperava do chute na virilha.

Brutalmente, o Jung desferiu inúmeros ataques contra a oponente, usando de golpes diversos, como girar as adagas, distrair a outra com areia nos olhos e um chute em seu estômago no final, a derrubando. Sem hesitar, o advogado olhou para a ruiva ensanguentada e caída, apontando as adagas sobre sua jugular.

— Mudei de ideia, quero sua cabeça. — E, Hyun passou as adagas sobre o pescoço da outra, cortando-lhe a garganta, a vendo gritar em agonia, até que o grito logo parou e o corpo sem vida, era visível para o britânico.

A espada caída da falecida estava em suas mãos, o advogado guardou as próprias adagas, pegando a espada e com ela, decapitou a outra. O sangue da ruiva estava sobre suas roupas e sua face, mas nem aquilo lhe deixou satisfeito, queria sair dali, ter seu momento para gritar de raiva, se sentir frustrado e decepcionado com Astória. Limpou o rosto, jogando a espada e a cabeça decepada no chão, com um suspiro. 

O caos ainda acontecia, mortes, corpos. Entretanto, seus olhos buscavam por Astória sobre os corpos, ou sobre aqueles que lutavam, particularmente, rezava pela segunda opção. Finalmente, quando a achou, a viu ajoelhada, naquele segundo, um golpe atingiu a cabeça do inglês, deixando-lhe inconsciente. 

Ao acordar horas depois na enfermaria do Acampamento, o inglês se levantou assustado, seu corpo estava com a atadura em sua mão trocada, sua cabeça enfaixada e alguns cortes estavam cobertos. Os olhos de Hyun caíram pelos arredores, buscando por ela. 

— Onde está Astória? — A preocupação do inglês era evidente. — Ela está presa em algum lugar? — Questionou o curandeiro que o tratava, que notou ser uma jovem de cabelos escuros.

— Ela desapareceu, desculpe. — A jovem informou.

E Hyun fez o que queria fazer há horas: chorou.

[anotherpirateprince]

task 002, now i'm on exile seein' you out

I think I've seen this film before so I'm leavin' out the side door so step right out, there is no amount of crying I can do for you all this time we always walked a very thin line — exile, taylor swift

Desde novembro, Sebastian encontrava-se a bordo do Ahreum, o barco que possuía e cuidava desde o século XVIII. O mar era como um segundo lar para si, assim como o Acampamento Júpiter também lhe era um lar. Com mais frequência que gostaria, ele mandava mensagens de Íris, que aprendeu com os semideuses gregos para Zoya, com desculpas aleatórias para ver Jinx, seu bichon frisé, para falar com Althea. Mas nunca assumiria que aquelas mensagens eram apenas para ver o sorriso da pretora em relação aos seus carinhos com sua criança e seu mascote.

Para sua sorte, nenhum grave incidente aconteceu durante as viagens, os tesouros que procurava e localizava atualmente, ele tinha algumas pistas e suspeitas de onde estavam, mas não passaria muito tempo naquilo. Odiava a ideia de se tornar tão obcecado por riquezas e não poder voltar para seu outro lar, pois sua sede por bens materiais era maior. Sebastian prometeu a si mesmo que nunca deixaria aquilo lhe acontecer em 1863, quando quase morreu em busca de um tesouro na região do Mar de Monstros, então tornou-se alguém mais que prudente.

Cantarolando uma das músicas de Moana, que aprendeu quando visitava Althea em Nova Roma, o coreano estudava as cartas náuticas que estavam dispostas sobre a mesa em sua cabine, em meio ao Mar Adriático onde se encontrava, buscando mais localizações sobre o tesouro que procurava. Não demorou para que uma névoa acabasse por aparecer em sua frente, exibindo uma face familiar para si, mas diferente do que esperava, não era Zoya. Era Seung Hyun, um dos centuriões do Acampamento Júpiter que era um dos amigos de consideração que tinha.

❝ — Hyung, onde você está? — ❞ O centurião questionou. ❝ — Você devia voltar para a Califórnia, tivemos um ataque no Acampamento Meio Sangue ontem. E… Astoria estava do lado do atacante. — ❞ O inglês murmurou e Sebastian pôde constatar a dor do amigo.

❝ — Estou no Mar Adriático, pela costa da Croácia, perto de Dubrovnik. E Zoya? Althea? Elas estão bem? — ❞ Questionou, preocupado.

❝ — Não consegui ficar sabendo, desculpe. Eu só te contei, porque você merece saber. Buscarei notícias, você vem para a Califórnia, não é? — ❞ O sorriso divertido do britânico era evidente.

❝ — É claro que vou e vá se foder, Seung Hyun. Você é tão fodido na vida amorosa quanto eu, já que pelo visto a Astória fodeu todo mundo se juntando ao inimigo. — ❞ Yeon Woo rebateu.

❝ — Nem me fale… — ❞ O britânico resmungou. ❝ — Vou indo, eu só vim te contar mesmo, estou atrasado para uma reunião. — ❞ Hyun avisou e a mensagem logo se dissipou.

Um ataque no Acampamento Meio Sangue? Com certeza aquilo tinha lhe deixado mais preocupado que o normal. O ex-príncipe massageou suas têmporas para tentar se acalmar, mas a possibilidade de algo ter acontecido com Zoya ou mesmo Althea, fez com que o pirata tivesse um sentimento de agonia e desespero lhe preenchendo, mas ele não podia ser irresponsável: havia vidas a bordo naquele barco e era responsável por elas e a sensação de sufocamento causado pela maldição de Hades era horrível.

Poucos minutos depois, seu imediato, um filho de Belona, apareceu em sua cabine e lhe informou dos ocorridos, pedindo para informar o resto da tripulação e deveriam traçar a rota para a Califórnia o mais rápido possível. Todos tinham família e pessoas com quem se importavam no Acampamento Júpiter e no Acampamento Meio Sangue, e sendo egoísta, Sebastian não se sentiria tranquilo para seguir suas viagens até que visse com os próprios olhos que Zoya estava bem.

A viagem de Dubrovnik até a Califórnia, por suas contas, duraria exatamente trinta dias e era um mês de agonia e preocupação para o Kwon que não podia se deixar abater, ao menos, na vista da tripulação que tinha. Vez ou outra, ele recebia alguma mensagem de Seung Hyun lhe atualizando sobre a situação dos semideuses do acampamento após os ataques. À medida que as atualizações aumentavam, o coreano sentia-se agoniado, pois o amigo não tinha notícias sobre quem ele esperava e não podia transparecer seu desespero, fazia-o sozinho em sua cabine.

Um mês depois de uma longa viagem e alguns encontros com monstros marinhos, o barco foi finalmente atracado na marina de Los Angeles. Ainda teriam de viajar um pouco para chegar a São Francisco e ao Acampamento Júpiter, mas não era problema. A van do acampamento estava na marina e para ser justo, Sebastian sabia que aquilo devia ser obra do amigo. Respirou profundamente, andando para o veículo e assim que o adentrou, após colocar seus pertences no porta malas, acabou se sentando no fundo, sua cabeça foi apoiada sobre a janela e dormiu durante todo o trajeto.

Quando Sebastian finalmente acordou, ele estava sendo sacudido pela face daquele que reconheceu como seu imediato, o olhando com uma expressão irritada. Entretanto, quando finalmente se acalmou e passou as mãos sobre os olhos para despertar, olhou pela janela, percebeu estarem no acampamento. Suspirou aliviado, saindo da van e pegou seus pertences, seguindo para Nova Roma. Suas preocupações com Zoya eram muito maiores que qualquer formalidade que ele precisasse resolver.

Os passos do ex-príncipe estavam apressados e a mochila em suas costas, pesada, então quando parou nas fronteiras de Nova Roma, onde Término, o deus das fronteiras começou a lhe questionar e interrogar sobre armamentos. Apesar da pressa, o Kwon até agradeceu, por poder tirar a mochila das costas por alguns minutos. Após a revista e ouvir novamente as regras da cidade, foi liberado pelo deus para continuar seu trajeto, sem hesitar para continuar até a casa da atual pretora, já tendo decorado aquele caminho.

A primeira coisa que notou quando chegou ao local, foi um latido. Era Jinx, seu cachorro estava bem e aquilo lhe fez suspirar aliviado. Adentrando o ambiente gradualmente, de imediato, viu uma criança correr em sua direção com os olhos brilhando em alegria e o coreano sentiu uma leveza em seu coração. Althea estava bem. Abriu o armário que ficava na entrada da casa, onde deixou sua mochila, para pegar a menina no colo, sorrindo para a garotinha.

❝ — Althea, onde está sua mãe? — ❞ Indagou, um tanto nervoso.

A menina apontava para a cozinha, onde o pirata via uma figura feminina de costas, com um avental totalmente ocupado com algo. O pesar que tinha em seu peito finalmente cessou, quando adentrou o ambiente, colocando Althea sobre o chão. O cheiro da comida preparada ali, deixava-lhe com fome. Quanto tempo tinha que não fazia uma refeição decente? Mesmo a bordo do Ahreum com um chefe decente, às vezes a comida acabava sem um gosto de familiaridade e de lar. Esperou que a mulher desligasse o forno e virasse, antes de falar qualquer coisa.

❝ — Dessa vez voltei mais rápido. — ❞ O coreano murmurou, com um sorriso. ❝ — É bom ver você, Zoya. — ❞ Admitiu. Não demorou para que Belikova viesse em sua direção e lhe abraçasse, o que retribuiu de imediato, deixando a cabeça sobre o ombro da mesma por alguns segundos, para olhar-lhe fixamente. ❝ — Hyun me resumiu o que aconteceu no Natal. Você pode me dizer exatamente o que aconteceu e, porque você, pabo, não me mandou um simples “Oi Bash, eu estou viva e Althea está bem”? — ❞ Arqueou a sobrancelha, de modo inquisidor.

❝ — Pabo? Do que você me ofendeu, Kwon? — ❞ A russa cruzou os braços e um “idiota”, escapou dos lábios do pirata. ❝ — Eu estive ocupada, Sebastian. Tive outras prioridades e uma delas, era minha filha. Mas isso não é desculpa, eu poderia ter parado cinco minutos para isso, me desculpe. — ❞ A pretora admitiu.

❝ — Fiquei preocupado, eu estava na Croácia, atrás de um tesouro, mas empacamos nas buscas. Quando fiquei sabendo dos acontecimentos, mandei traçar o curso para cá de imediato. — ❞ O príncipe passou os dedos sobre seus cabelos em nervosismo. ❝ — E… Vim direto para cá, sem resolver a papelada no senado, posso ficar aqui alguns dias? — ❞ Pediu, com um sorriso constrangido, ouvindo uma risada da dona da casa, que assentiu.

O decorrer da noite foi tranquilo para Sebastian, que no sofá de Zoya Belikova ouvia as histórias de Althea do que ele havia perdido, narradas pela mãe da menina. Jinx, seu bichon frisé, estava sobre seu colo, recebendo carinho de sua parte, para que quando desse a hora da criança dormir, a genitora se levantou e levou a filha para o quarto. Alguns minutos se passaram, quando finalmente o coreano viu a semideusa retornando com uma garrafa de vinho e duas taças em mãos. Assim que ela se sentou, a conversa leve e feliz que tinham sobre a criança há minutos atrás, deu uma guinada.

Passou a ser uma conversa não só sobre os últimos acontecimentos, os ataques, mas também sobre a vida particular da pretora. E apesar de certos aspectos o deixarem desconfortável, ele ouvia todos os detalhes das histórias e quando as primeiras lágrimas da russa caíram àquela noite, o pirata a abraçou e limpou cada uma delas com um suspiro, beijando o topo de sua cabeça. No momento em que um bocejo escapou dos lábios da mulher, o coreano levou as taças para a pia e a garrafa pela metade, para a geladeira, seguindo até Zoya e pegando-lhe sobre os braços e a levou para seu quarto, para ela poder dormir, apenas removendo os sapatos usados por ela, fechando a porta do espaço.

Após tomar um banho, o filho de Salácia secou os cabelos, jogando a toalha molhada em um cesto, seguindo para o quarto de hóspedes, onde Jinx já se encontrava ao pé da cama dormindo e aquilo lhe arrancou um sorriso. O coreano entrou nas cobertas e dormiu pacificamente por algumas horas, quando um barulho interrompeu seu sono e coçando os olhos para não só despertar um pouco, mas adaptar os olhos para a pouca luz, acabou acendendo a luz do abajur, vendo que Zoya estava parada na porta.

❝ — Eu… Tive um pesadelo, posso dormir aqui com você? — ❞ A única resposta de Sebastian foi de arrastar o corpo para criar espaço e erguer a coberta, onde a romana poderia se deitar. ❝ — Obrigada… Desculpe te acordar. — ❞ Murmurou, preocupada.

❝ — Durma. Amanhã conversamos. — ❞ O coreano resmungou sonolento, abraçando o corpo da mulher que veio em direção ao seu, repousando a cabeça sobre seu peito.

No decorrer dos dias, Sebastian caiu numa rotina, após regular sua situação com o senado, depois de umas broncas da pretora: pela parte da manhã, ele cuidava de Althea, à tarde, ele treinava e à noite, voltava para a casa da Belikova, onde suas noites eram regadas a filmes da Disney e vinho. Até que em um dia, a semideusa acabou entrando em casa agitada, falando algumas coisas que o Kwon não entendia, mas só entendeu que deviam ir ao Acampamento Meio Sangue. Com a filha no colo de sua mãe, ele apenas as seguiu em silêncio, após pegar seu arco e flecha, e sua alijava.

Após atravessarem o portal, o coreano seguia a filha de Psiquê, como um protetor silencioso se algo acontecesse novamente. O amontoado de semideuses no anfiteatro chamou a atenção. Sebastian encostou seu corpo sobre uma das árvores próximas, permitindo que observasse à distância o grupo e ainda assim, ouvisse o que estava sendo debatido, a causa da agitação. Um garoto que parecia levemente desnutrido e ferido era visível de seu campo de visão, parecia que ele havia sido torturado.

Quando o nome do garoto foi mencionado, ele não prestou muita atenção, não fazia ideia de quem era, mas só captou a atenção do pirata, quando o nome de uma divindade em específico, foi mencionado: Psiquê, a mãe de Zoya. O príncipe desencostou da parede e aproximou-se mais da multidão, ouvindo melhor: a deusa da mente era uma das responsáveis pelos ataques do Natal e por manipular alguns semideuses e havia traidores entre eles, alguns nomes foram citados, mas não conhecia metade das pessoas, porém aquilo mudou quando o nome de Zoya foi mencionado.

Ele saiu do Anfiteatro antes que a pretora pudesse ter a oportunidade de lhe procurar ou qualquer coisa parecida. Os passos do rapaz de imediato e instintivamente, levaram-lhe para a praia que estava completamente vazia, onde soltou o grito mais alto que conseguiu, completamente irritado.

❝ — Porra, merda, caralho. — ❞ Gritou os xingamentos, xingando em seu idioma nativo, o coreano, bagunçando seus cabelos e chutando areia para o nada. ❝ — Isso só pode ser brincadeira… — ❞ A irritação do pirata apenas crescia.

❝ — Não é, Sebastian. — ❞ A voz de Zoya se fez presente e quando se virou, observou a figura da pretora.

❝ — Eu não agrido mulheres, Zoya, mas me deixe sozinho agora, ou juro que farei algo que me arrepender amargamente o resto da minha patética vida. — ❞ Advertiu, sem sequer olhar para a mulher.

Olhando para o mar, o príncipe não se preocupou em virar novamente para saber se seu pedido foi acatado ou não, não se importava com aquilo mais. Não se importou se sujaria suas roupas, sentando-se sobre a areia, respirando fundo. Seus joelhos estavam dobrados, encostou sua cabeça naquela elevação, sem conseguir se acalmar e raciocinar naquele momento. Não estava preocupado com o aspecto de Zoya ter traído os acampamentos, aquilo apesar de ser importante, não era sua prioridade. O que lhe interessava era o porquê.

Por que ela fez aquilo?

Por que ela não confiou em si para lhe dizer a verdade e lhe esconder?

Qual o motivo que ela tinha para não confiar em si?

Mesmo que quisesse chorar, o pirata respirou fundo. Observando o mar, conseguiu clarear a mente e acalmar a raiva que sentia. Ele queria voltar para o mar, voltar a viajar, desaparecer e não ser localizado por algum tempo, mas sabia que não conseguiria se concentrar se não tivesse algumas respostas básicas de Zoya. Após se limpar, começou a caminhar em busca da pretora. Alguns lhe davam respostas básicas como não saber e outros não se importavam com aquilo e lhe ignoravam, a única resposta concreta que teve, foi de uma garota que sabia ser romana, por já ter lhe visto com Hyun, a filha de Psiquê havia retornado para a Califórnia.

Minutos depois, o pirata havia atravessado o portal que o levaria de volta.

No Acampamento Júpiter, os murmúrios sobre a pretora e sua traição, eram ouvidos e por mais que Sebastian quisesse calar a todos, ele tinha outras prioridades. Em busca de informações, questionava alguns dos semideuses por ali, duas das opções segundo os comentários, era a casa da Belikova e a Principia, mas pelo fato de Althea estar com a mãe, decidiu apostar na casa. Após a burocracia do deus das fronteiras, em Nova Roma, não hesitou em seguir o trajeto familiar. Viu Zoya sentada em frente à casa, com uma garrafa de vinho ao lado. O coreano respirou fundo.

❝ — Fui babaca, mianhae, me desculpe. — ❞ Um “você foi mesmo”, o fez rir baixinho. ❝ — Você me deve respostas, Belikova. — ❞ Arqueou a sobrancelha, sentando-se ao seu lado.

❝ — Minha mãe ameaçou Althea, Sebastian, e se eu tiver de explodir essa merda de acampamento, às ordens dela, para manter minha filha segura, eu faço sem hesitar e sem arrependimentos. — ❞ O murmúrio de Zoya foi o suficiente para o coreano suspirar.

❝ — Eu não ligo para o porquê como o resto deste acampamento liga, Zoya. — ❞ Cortou, com uma expressão impassível. ❝ — Sei o que é fazer tudo por quem se ama, você se esqueceu de como eu consegui minha maldição por acaso? O que quero saber, de verdade, é o porquê você não confiou em mim e não me contou o motivo disso antes. Se você tivesse me dito… — ❞ Uma risada dolorida escapou de seus lábios.

❝ — O que você teria feito, Sebastian? Teria ido enfrentar minha mãe e, nessa altura, aí sim, morrer de verdade? — ❞ A mulher gritou, irritada. ❝ — Sei minhas escolhas, Sebastian e não me arrependo delas. Você não estava aqui. Você estava no seu maldito barco quando precisei de você. — ❞ A dor de Zoya era visível para si.

❝ — Zoya, eu sempre voltei quando precisou de mim. Quem estava segurando sua mão quando Althea nasceu? Quem estava naquela merda de sala de parto com você? Como ousa dizer que nunca estava quando precisou de mim? — ❞ Devolveu, com os olhos lacrimejando de raiva. ❝ — Eu sempre te acolhi e limpei todas as lágrimas que chorou nos últimos anos, Zoya. Você não tem o direito de dizer que nunca estive com você quando precisava. — ❞ Soltou, irritado.

❝ — Não, Sebastian, você não esteve. Quando eu mais precisei, você não estava. — ❞ A dor que ele sentia exalar da filha de Psiquê era profunda e aquilo lhe confundiu. Em sua mente, não se lembrava de outras ocasiões que ela poderia ter precisado de si e não estar.

❝ — Se eu não estava, Zoya, foi porque você não me contou, ou me pediu para voltar. Você sabe que eu volto sempre que precisa de mim e me pede. — ❞ O ressentimento apenas aumentava e seu coração doía. Maldita hora que se apaixonou por ela anos atrás, a odiar seria mais fácil e tolerável. Mas Sebastian não odiava e sabia que nunca conseguiria.

Apenas respirou fundo, entrando na casa para buscar seus pertences, jogando sua mochila nas costas, andando para longe da pretora.

❝ — Você vai embora de novo, Sebastian, como um covarde? — ❞ O riso cínico da Belikova foi ouvido. ❝ — Covarde. — ❞ O tom de desprezo era perceptível.

❝ — Sou, Zoya, sou covarde. Sabe o que eu teria feito se fosse corajoso? Matar todos que lhe fizeram chorar. Só que eu sou a porra de um covarde. E eu ficar não vai ser bom, vamos brigar de novo e eu cansei. Eu não sei quando volto. — ❞ Avisou.

E assim, Sebastian se afastou da Belikova, retornando para seu alojamento, onde por alguns dias, organizava os preparativos para seu barco zarpar. Uma semana depois, o coreano apenas teve o vislumbre da pretora com Althea em seu colo, antes de adentrar o Túnel Caldecott.