#𖤝. —tasks

[shadowvelkan]

𖤝. — memórias centrais: o parapeito

got something to live for I know that I won't surrender (x)

tw: menções de descaso e abandono parental, e breve agressão infantil.

Ela não se arrependia de ser quem era, tampouco de estar onde estava. Orgulhava-se do sangue changeling que carregava e em Wülfhere encontrou seu pai; encontrou pertencimento, propósito. Tinha feito do grande castelo de pedra seu lar e saber que suas paredes eram agora ruínas trazia dor ao seu coração, mas isso não era o suficiente para impedir que os pesadelos continuassem fazendo-a reviver aquela noite e ela acreditava que nada jamais seria.

Pois sua mente, seu insconsciente, sempre voltava para lá.

Sua mãe estava de frente para ela, expressão impassível. Os dois militares que a seguravam a levavam para longe dela, mas Soren se debatia, chorando, implorando. — Mamãe! Não deixe que me levem! Por favor! Eu quero ficar com você, por favor! — Mas de nada adiantava. Nem mesmo suas promessas de que seria uma boa menina, de que melhoraria puderam evitar que a mulher lhe virasse as costas e deixasse que eles a levassem até o barco. Nele, junto a outras crianças, ela era levada até a ilha que ela sabia ser Eldrathor, pois ouvira falar sobre em Sommerset, com sua grande população de changelings. Escalar não foi um problema para ela, embora ela ouvisse outras crianças reclamando ou chorando. O verdadeiro terror se apossou dela quando avistou o parapeito. "Atravesse." Ordenou um dos militares. — Atravesse você. — Ela atirou, sem pensar, e de repente estava no chão. A ardência em seu rosto e o gosto de sangue em sua boca deixavam claro que tinha sido atingida. Rapidamente foi colocada de pé e então empurrada na direção do parapeito. "Atravesse ou eu mesmo jogo você." O changeling com quem havia conversado no navio a puxou para o parapeito antes que cuspisse aos pés do militar e se condenasse de vez, e ela decidiu que, talvez, não olhar para baixo fosse a saída. Talvez, ela pensou, se fingisse não sentir a umidade da pedra sobre seus pés descalços, se focasse seus olhos apenas bem a frente, no seu destino e não nas crianças que caíam bem diante dos seus olhos, não nos gritos que ecoavam e sumiam ao seu redor, nos soluços que escapavam de sua garganta, nas lágrimas que molhavam seu rosto, no terror que a dominava, na certeza de que sua mãe a tinha entregue à morte, então ela chegaria do outro lado sã e salva e chorar não faria dela uma changeling patética, pois ela seria merecedora; seria digna de estar ali e sentir medo da morte não faria dela menos do que qualquer outro que tinha conseguido completar a travessia. O alívio ao chegar do outro lado foi tanto, que ela vomitou, mas a mão acalentadora em suas costas fez com que o momento não fosse tão ruim e ela se sentiu sorrir ao erguer o rosto. Estava viva.

to: @aldanrae

[itgirlgyu]

lover's disdain. choi yeonjun.

︶ ༘choi yeonjun x f! reader....W0RD C♡UNT/0669 !

#SUMMARY ᜴ yeonjun is in love with you, and you were in love with him, now each time the world drapes itself in the gloomy cerulean shroud, you begin a cruel game to drive him an inch closer to the edge.

𖤝 GENRE: ANGST. warnings. reader is kinda mean, mind games, obsessive love (yeonjun), yeonjun kind of shows yandere behaviour, suggestive content.

🕸️ THIS WAS REQUESTED BY MY B3LOVED YERIN!

At every nightfall spent with you, Yeonjun witnesses the cruel game begin.

You've loved him, and Yeonjun? He still loves you; and for that single difference, he is the inevitable loser.

Gossamer cracks that envelop the world you two had built begins to appear before Yeonjun's eyes. His fragile flesh tending onto them; doing all he could to save the splintering relationship all by himself, but all that was left in the end—in his own hands was the shards of what you two had once treasured. The debris of a beautiful bond that was nothing but trash you wanted to toss away, despite being colored by the crimson of your lover.

You've loved him once didn't you?

Yeonjun often wondered as he stood by his window sill when you were avoiding his calls, refused to meet him—pretended that he never existed at all. The dull moonlight reflected onto all the ways your "so called" relationship pulled itself by its carmine thread—so close to breaking off. Completely sending the two of you to your respective fated ends, to never be reunited again.

All it required was one simple—

'Do you love me anymore?' Yeonjun meant to ask you, as you avoided his gaze. Preoccupied by the task at hand, you turned your back towards him. Yeonjun remained where he had been as you moved further, and further away from him. The lit cigarette situated between his index and finger burned away, the remaining ashes staying still on the paper roll—all it would take was a simple nudge for it to fall off. It reminded Yeonjun of the two of you.

"Are you going to stay the night?" Yeonjun asked, finally giving a tap to his cigarettes, letting the stray ashes fall off. The wisps of his black hair falling into eyes as he watched your back carefully, the strums of his heartbeats playing into a devious rhythm; waiting for your reply, for you to turn back, for you to nod—just acknowledging him somehow.

Of course you wouldn't provide him with satisfaction. He realized that something that deific doomed night as the sound of the slammed door rang in his ear long after you were already gone.

"I'm waiting for you to end it."

You didn't need to say it out loud. Yeonjun could see it in your empyrean eyes. He's aware of your conniving ways; he had found himself the devotee of wicked nature once. The acidic taste of your words burned his tongue just the way he liked it, but now it only seemed to rot his flesh and nothing more. The two of you had outgrown each other, to put it simply.

Maybe Yeonjun was just as much fault as you were. He noticed you suffocating from his love, and he let that happen. At one point, it had started to prickl you to the extent you couldn't look past, but Yeonjun just assumed you would learn to love him like the way he loves you; deeply, and dyspnoeic. How could love ever be ugly?

Yeonjun would continue to love you even if you cut into him each and every night, and brought him back to life each time the sun had risen—you should be able to accept his love even if it smothered you. He wasn't going to be the one to set you free.

"Just end it."

Yeonjun challenges you each night before he kisses you. The sweetness of his lips contradict the aim it harbors; the acrid savour entangles into the corrupt schemes that lies underneath his saccharine tongue. You dance barefoot with him to the macabre harmony on the shards of your broken relationship, the knife pressed to each other's neck as your eyes tell lies to each other, whispering sweet nothings—driving one another to the end of the cliff.

Amongst those many deceitful gloam, Yeonjun had decided—if you were the one to begin the crude game, you should as well be the sadistic one to end it.

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[shadowvelkan]

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