🅻🅰 🅳🅸 🅳🅸🅴

[maledictaria]

〃 in the cracks between the maps, there are places they don’t speak of ( . . . ) crossroads where shadows lean too far, and the air tastes of something you can’t name. 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐄 — tangled, half-remembered, stitched together with truth and invention alike. step inside, and you may not leave as you were.〃

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 & 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐎𝐎𝐂 ✦ ☽ ✦

Highly affiliated with @botrusanimarum ⸺ & ⸺  @fyrtarn

a private & highly selective multi-muse writing account for canon & original characters spanning modern grit, quiet ruin, and the shadows between. muses are built from layered backstories & tangled loyalties, each explored through slow-burn, character-driven storytelling. tone ranges from intimate realism to darker, morally complex narratives, with an emphasis on consequence, connection, and the cost of survival. this is a low activity blog.

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒: 21+ | 𝐌𝐔𝐍: 30

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 — if you are under 18, do not interact, do not follow, you will be blocked.

this blog will contain dark themes including but not limited to grief, trauma, violence, criminal activity, and complex relationships that explore both vulnerability and destruction. if you are seeking comfort-only or lighthearted narratives, this will not be the right space.

trigger warning policy — i rarely tag content consistently, and many posts may be left untagged entirely. if you have triggers that require regular tagging for your comfort, please do not follow. your safety matters more than interaction.

curated by — ARIA.

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐄𝐕𝐘 ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐋𝐘𝐃𝐈𝐀 ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐀 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐒 ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂 ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐀𝐖𝐘𝐄𝐑 ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐔𝐒 ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐂𝐀 ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐑𝐇𝐄𝐀 ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐀𝐄 ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍-𝐊𝐈 “𝐊𝐀𝐈” ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐔𝐑𝐀 ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐘𝐀 ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐊𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑 ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐒𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍 ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍-𝐊𝐈 ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐀 ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐇𝐍 ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐍𝐈𝐀 ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐔𝐑𝐀 ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐀𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐀 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐈 ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐀 ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 ⸺ ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐌𝐄𝐈 ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 ⸺ ✦ ☽ ✦

✦ ☽ ✦ 𝐉𝐈-𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍 "𝐉𝐈𝐍" ⸺ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 ⸺ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 ⸺ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⸺ 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 ⸺ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎 ⸺ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐇 ✦ ☽ ✦

[fyrtarn-deactivated20260110]

@maledictaria – alexander & valeria.

The afterparty was too loud for his taste, the bass rattled through the polished floorboards of the rented penthouse, glasses clinking and laughter spilling from clusters of models, influencers, and whatever assortment of wealthy and known strangers had managed to talk their way past security. Alexander had been here long enough to memorize exits, catalog familiar faces, and note which guests had too much to drink to be a threat. It was routine by now, the constant observation, the still mask of charm he wore when someone drifted close.

Still, he hated the spotlight. Even under the dim chandeliers and hazy purple lights, eyes followed him. It wasn’t admiration he was worried about, it was recognition. Every second, he fought the itch to loosen the tie around his throat, to disappear into the shadows where he belonged, instead of playing the role of untouchable, smirking mannequin for the cameras.

That’s when he saw her.

Not across a crowded runway this time, not brushing past him in a hotel lobby or murmuring a hello at some mutual acquaintance’s table. No, she was here, too close, weaving through the haze of perfume and spilled champagne like she belonged to this scene. A little too tipsy, maybe. Or acting tipsy. Alexander’s gut tightened as soon as her gaze found him, as if she’d been searching all night.

He set his glass down on a side table, fingers drumming once against the rim before he straightened. ❝ ..You again - ❞ his voice was low, casual, but there was tension in the way his jaw flexed. ❝ you’ve got good timing — or terrible, depending on how you look at it. ❞ she hovered closer, and he let his eyes flick over her quickly, reading her body language, the gleam in her eyes, the slant of her smile. ❝ what is it this time.. autograph, selfie, or do i just look like I need company? ❞ his tone was sardonic, but the question had weight, his suspicion bleeding through.

The crowd ebbed and swelled around them, swallowing both in, yet for the first time that evening, he felt pinned. Watched. And he wasn’t sure if it was more dangerous that she was playing the fan, or that she wasn’t.

[maledictaria]

@fyrtarn · / · 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀 & 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 · * 

Valeria moved through the crowd like smoke slipping between cracks in the floorboards — glass in hand, laughter caught on her mouth as though it belonged to the room and not to her. Everyone saw the tipsy girl, the hanger-on who never seemed to leave when the lights came up. What no one saw was the way she counted the faces, stitched them together night after night, and always found him standing apart — too sharp for the haze, too steady for the chaos. If the girls kept vanishing, and the parties kept blurring together, maybe the only thread binding them was him. Hmm? Maybe.

She nearly tripped into his space, tilting her head back with a hiccup so theatrical it could have been rehearsed, and let her smile unravel, lazy and bright. ❝ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡 ❞ she said, holding out her hand before letting it sway away again. ❝ 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐞 — 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 — 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲. 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞? ❞ The words slurred just enough to disarm: sweet and silly, though behind them her eyes flickered sharp, catching how his jaw tightened. How he seemed to bristle even in the half-dark.

Valeria leaned in as if confessing, hair brushing against his shoulder, perfume and smoke carried on her breath. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ❞ she teased, breaking it with another hiccup, hiding her grin in the crook of her hand like she couldn’t help herself.

Her balance wavered on her heels, and she let it — one careless sway forward, another back, like she couldn’t decide which way to fall. ❝ 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞? ❞ she asked, voice light as confetti, though her smile curled sly when she pulled a brass key from the small beaded clutch at her side, holding it between two fingers like treasure she’d stolen from the night. ❝ 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧. 𝐍𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐧𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐬. ❞

She hiccupped again, louder this time, dissolving into laughter that bent her almost double, as if the idea of slipping away was nothing but a drunk whim. But her gaze lingered on him as she straightened, hazel-green gleaming beneath the haze, sharp and alive, the look of a woman circling closer to something she had no business touching.

[fyrtarn-deactivated20260110]

       yura  had  meant  the  park  as  a  lifeline,  something  simple  and  harmless  to  pull  them  both  out  of  the  heaviness  that  always  seemed  to  hang  around  lately.  she  thought  nia  would  take  it,  like  she  always  had,  swooping  in  and  saving  yura  from  her  own  storms  the  way  she’d  done  a  hundred  times  before.  but  the  second  the  words  <  i  can’t  >  left  nia’s  mouth,  yura  felt  the  tightness  in  her  posture,  the  catch  in  her  voice,  the  kind  of  silence  that  wasn’t  about  being  polite,  but  about  something  breaking  inside.


       it  wasn’t  about  her  anymore,  yura  knew  that  immediately.  she  wrapped  her  hands  tighter  around  her  mug,  grounding  herself  against  the  cool  ceramic  as  if  it  could  anchor  her,  her  ribs  pressing  too  close  to  the  table  until  the  sharp  ache  forced  her  to  pull  back.  she  didn’t  say  a  thing,  not  when  nia’s  voice  faltered,  not  when  her  laugh  cut  itself  short,  not  even  when  the  words  finally  came  out  and  split  the  air  between  them.

       <  they’ve  arranged  a  marriage  for  me.  >  the  words  slammed  into  yura  harder  than  she  thought  possible.

       ❝  they’ve  what?!  ❞  the  outburst  ripped  out  of  her  before  she  could  even  think,  her  voice  too  loud,  her  chest  too  tight,  her  eyes  wide  like  the  room  had  tilted  on  its  axis.  she  searched  nia’s  face  for  any  sign  it  was  a  mistake,  some  cruel  joke  she’d  never  actually  make,  but  no.  nia’s  expression  was  far  too  raw,  too  unflinching  in  its  truth.


       ❝  no,  no,  wait  -  ❞  yura’s  words  tumbled  over  each  other,  frantic,  messy,  not  under  her  control.  ❝  they  can’t..  they  can’t  do  that,  right?  that’s  not..  nia,  that’s  not  even  legal,  is  it?  we’ll  look  it  up,  we’ll  figure  it  out.  you’re  not  some  medieval  princess  they  can  just  marry  off,  what  the  hell?  i  swear,  i’ll  call  my  friend,  she’s  a  lawyer,  she’ll  know,  she’ll  -  ❞  her  voice  cracked,  the  rambling  cut  short  like  she’d  tripped  over  her  own  panic.  her  shoulders  gave  out,  sinking  under  the  weight  of  it  all,  and  suddenly  her  chest  ached  with  something  heavier:  pity,  grief,  helpless  anger  all  twisted  together.

       ❝  oh,  nia..  ❞  the  words  came  low,  almost  broken,  her  eyes  burning  as  she  reached  across  the  table.  she  found  nia’s  hand,  brushed  her  thumb  gently  over  the  back  of  it,  like  maybe  she  could  press  comfort  into  her  skin.  then  she  couldn’t  take  the  space  between  them  anymore,  sliding  out  of  her  side  of  the  booth,  she  slipped  in  next  to  her,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  wrapping  an  arm  around  her  in  a  side  hug  that  clung  tighter  than  usual.

       her  voice  was  steadier  when  she  spoke  again,  but  only  because  it  was  laced  with  every  ounce  of  care  she  had.  ❝  i’m  here,  okay?  you  don’t  have  to  do  this.  i  don’t  care  what  they’ve  decided,  they  don’t  get  to  decide  for  you.  we’ll  find  a  way  out.  i’m  not  letting  you  go  through  this  alone.  ❞

[maledictaria]

@fyrtarn · / · 𝐍𝐈𝐀 & 𝐘𝐔𝐑𝐀 · * 

Nia felt Yura’s arms pull her closer, the warmth of her best friend’s body pressed into her side, but it didn’t calm the shudder beneath her skin — if anything, it made the storm inside sharper, because here was the proof of what she would lose, what was being carved away from her without her permission, here was her anchor in flesh and heat and heartbeat, and even that would not be enough to keep her from drowning in what her family had already signed in her name. Her breath came jagged, not quite sobs, not quite words, her mouth dry and salt-tanged as though she had swallowed the sea itself, brine sticking to her tongue, lungs aching with the weight of everything she couldn’t spit out fast enough.

Her head tilted, hair brushing Yura’s shoulder, and she could taste the closeness of her own confession before she gave it, bitter as iron, trembling with the fever of someone speaking against the collar pulled tight around her throat. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝, ❞ she whispered, the syllables fraying on her lips like fabric too worn to hold, ❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 — 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 — 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦; 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐚 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. ❞ Her voice didn’t rise, it fell, lower and lower, intimate in its ruin, as though the world might collapse if anyone else overheard.

Her fingers curled against the table, useless claws trying to grip something that would hold, nails biting into her palm as though the pain might tether her, but she couldn’t stop the shake that bled down her arms. ❝ 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭 — 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞. 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝, 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 — 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭, 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬. ❞ Her breath broke, a ragged inhale, the sound more animal than human, and when she let it go the words tumbled out with it, fevered and bitter. ❝ 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨𝐨. ❞

Her gaze finally lifted to Yura’s, the fever bright in her eyes, glassy with something that wasn’t tears but burned the same. ❝ 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐘𝐮𝐫𝐚. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐤’𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫. ❞ She let out a laugh that startled even herself, a crooked sound that tasted sour at the back of her throat. ❝ 𝐈’𝐦 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤, 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲. ❞ The words spilled faster, reckless, her chest rising and falling too quick, until finally they cracked into quiet, the quiet of someone too tired to mask the raw truth anymore.

Her forehead dipped against Yura’s shoulder, the soft press of fabric against her lips catching the words that came last, words so thin they nearly dissolved in the air. ❝ 𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝, ❞ she said, and it wasn’t a plea, it wasn’t an admission, it was a collapse, a breaking open, a fevered confession pressed into her friend’s skin because there was nowhere else left for it to live.

[xkatebishop]

endless alba 21/∞

[botrusanimarum]

                        ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ◌ ·𖥸· ◌ ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

               ･ﾟ° ☾ ✧ △ 𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔, 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚. Games meant performance, letting others close enough to see cracks in the veneer. Yet here she was, lips curved into something between a smile and a challenge, pulse steady but not calm.

Nikolina leaned back slightly as Lydia’s laughter rang against the walls, a bright, unrestrained sound that seemed to make the room itself warmer. The lamplight caught in the dark red of the tequila bottle at her feet, its glass glimmering as if it held something more dangerous than liquor. Niko let her hand trail along the rim of her own glass, the cool edge grounding her against the undercurrent of heat rising in her chest.

Her gaze drifted over Evy. There was something in the other woman’s stillness that Niko recognized—restraint, armor carefully in place. The kind of armor that begged to be tested. And perhaps that was what unsettled her: the quiet thrill of seeing what lay beneath, when she herself feared what might be asked of her in turn.

❛Juicy,❜ she repeated, the single word tasting faintly of smoke and citrus on her tongue. The syllables slipped into the air slowly, deliberately, her voice pitched lower than usual. She rested her elbows against her knees, shoulders curving forward, as though confiding something rather than provoking.

❛ Tell me ❜. she said, eyes fixed on Evy’s, unblinking. ❛ Did Henry finally sealed the deal and sexed you up good? ❜. The question hung heavy, like the faint sweetness of spilled tequila seeping into the wood grain of the table. For a moment, she heard only the muted hum of the city beyond the windows, the faint tick of Lydia’s impatient foot beside her.

Niko’s fingers drummed once against the glass, betraying the tautness beneath her calm. She knew she was pushing—the kind of question that could unravel laughter into silence, or worse, honesty. Violence had always been easier for her than this—than watching someone hesitate, than risking vulnerability disguised as a game.

Still, she tilted her head, blonde strands sliding loose over her cheek, a small smirk flickering at the corner of her mouth to soften the sharpness. ❛ Careful, Evy ❜. she added, tone warmer now, teasing but no less intent. ❛ If you don’t answer, tequila will ❜.

[maledictaria]

@botrusanimarum · / ·  𝐋𝐘𝐃𝐒 & 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎 & 𝐄𝐕𝐘 · * 

Lydia’s jaw dropped. She blinked once, twice, then sat bolt upright like the tequila had just physically electrocuted her. ❝ 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐄?! ❞ she yelped, voice pitching high enough to make the glass on the table tremble. ❝ 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 — 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐩 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝?! 𝐎𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐝. ❞ Her laughter burst out in wild, incredulous waves, spilling over the couch cushions as she kicked her legs like a child. ❝ 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 — 𝐍𝐢𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝-𝐑 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥. ❞

Evy made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a groan, burying her face in her pillow so hard it muffled half her body. ❝ 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞, ❞ came her muffled protest, soft and horrified and so red her blush could’ve lit the room on its own.

Lydia leaned forward, eyes glittering, grinning like a cat who’d just found cream. ❝ 𝐎𝐡𝐡𝐡, 𝐨𝐡𝐡𝐡𝐡𝐡𝐡, ❞ she sang out, wagging a finger at Evy. ❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞? 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡? 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧. ❞

Evy peeked out just far enough for her wide eyes to meet Lydia’s, then immediately hid again, voice cracking. ❝ 𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭! 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭! 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐰𝐟𝐮𝐥! ❞

Lydia cackled, reaching over to tug gently at Evy’s pillow until just a fraction of her face was visible. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 — ❞ she paused dramatically, hand to her chest scandalized at her own words, ❝ — 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥? ❞

Evy let out a scandalized laugh, soft and broken, tossing the pillow at her with a helpless shake of her head. ❝ 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭! ❞

Lydia leaned forward, grinning like a cat with a cornered mouse. ❝ 𝐎𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤. 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. ❞

Evy tried for a whisper of denial, but the wine in her blood betrayed her with a helpless giggle. ❝ 𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚, 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩— ❞

❝ 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬! ❞ Lydia crowed, bouncing slightly on the cushions, practically vibrating with tipsy mischief.❝ 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 — ❞ she threw her hands up, quoting Niko’s phrasing with exaggerated drama, ❝ — 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥?! ❞

Silence. Evy’s blush deepened until her entire face was glowing crimson. She pressed her hands to her cheeks as if she could hold the heat in. And then, with a tiny, breathless laugh, she nodded. Just once.

Lydia shrieked like someone had just handed her the crown jewels. ❝ 𝐇𝐀! 𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐈𝐓! ❞ She flung the pillow into the air in victory before collapsing back into the couch, kicking her legs and laughing so hard her stomach hurt. ❝ 𝐎𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐝, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲! 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥?! ❞

Evy groaned, burying her face in her hands again, though laughter tumbled out between her fingers, soft and mortified. ❝ 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐚. ❞

❝ 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬, ❞ Lydia shot back, smug and radiant. She reached over to tug playfully at Evy’s wrist until she peeked out again, her grin still buzzing with glee. Lydia shot back, smug and radiant. She reached over to tug playfully at Evy’s wrist until she peeked out again, her grin still buzzing with glee. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐒𝐎 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰. ❞

Evy laughed helplessly, cheeks still scarlet, shaking her head in disbelief. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮? ❞ ❝𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬, ❞ Lydia promised, raising her shot glass like a toast. ❝ 𝐓𝐨 𝐄𝐯𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲: 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭. 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥. ❞

She clinked her glass against Evy’s, smug as sin, and downed the shot with practiced flair. The burn made her grin wider, cheeks pink and eyes glittering. She leaned forward on her elbows, gaze pinning Evy like a spotlight. ❝ 𝐒𝐨… ❞ Lydia dragged out the word, voice low and sing-song, ❝ 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝? ❞

Evy nearly choked on her own sip, setting her glass down too quickly. ❝ 𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚! ❞ she squeaked, her entire face exploding crimson. ❝ 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 — ❞

❝ 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬, ❞ Lydia cut in, grinning wolfishly. She leaned closer, green eyes glinting, clearly enjoying every second of Evy’s suffering. ❝ 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰. 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐀 𝐘𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. ❞

Evy buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with laughter that came out strangled and horrified all at once. ❝ 𝐎𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥. ❞

❝ 𝐓𝐢𝐩𝐬𝐲, ❞ Lydia corrected, tapping the rim of her empty glass like a gavel. ❝ 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥. ❞

Evy peeked through her fingers, eyes wide and helpless. ❝ 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?! ❞

❝ 𝐓𝐨 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲, ❞ Lydia said sweetly, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. She nudged Evy’s knee with her own, leaning in until their foreheads almost touched. ❝ 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥. ❞

Evy peeked through her fingers, voice barely above a whisper. ❝ ...𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞. ❞

Lydia froze for half a beat — then howled. She slapped the table so hard the glasses rattled, collapsing sideways against the couch like she’d been shot. ❝ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞?! 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐢𝐭? 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰? 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦’𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞?! ❞

Evy groaned, pillow flying at Lydia’s head, but her laughter cracked through anyway. ❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲?! 𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲-𝐛𝐲-𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲! ❞

Lydia caught the pillow, hugged it to her chest like stolen loot, and leaned in with wicked delight. ❝ 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲-𝐛𝐲-𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲. 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦. 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥? 𝐎𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐠𝐚𝐬-𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢? ❞

Evy’s jaw dropped as she dissolved into helpless giggles, face glowing red. ❝ 𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐞! 𝐍𝐢𝐤𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐞. ❞

[botrusanimarum]

                          ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ◌ ·𖥸· ◌ ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

               ･ﾟ° ☾ ✧ △  𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒖𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏, laughing as her arms flung wide, hair whipping around her like fire. The waves slapped at their legs, cold and insistent, and she squealed, salt stinging her skin, but he held her close, tilting her backward just enough that the spray kissed her face, clinging in droplets that glittered like tiny stars in the moonlight.

His hands roamed the familiar curves of her back and waist, steady, claiming, yet teasing, as if testing how much chaos she could throw at him before she surrendered completely. ❛ I think you’re enjoying this entirely too much ❜. he murmured, voice warm and playful, pressing his lips to the shell of her ear. She shivered, laughter vibrating against him, body arching into his hold, and he grinned, catching the tremor and letting it roll into his own delight.

The sand shifted beneath their feet, grains clinging to wet skin, and he felt her toes dig in instinctively, gripping him like a lifeline. ❛ I wouldn't have done any of it if it weren't for you ❜. Gentle croon spoke sincerely, dipping his head to kiss her jawline, letting his lips trail down to the curve of her neck, tasting salt and champagne and breathless laughter. ❛ I wouldn't have done it if it were for anyone else ❜.

Her laugh was wild and untamed, and he let it fill the night, twisting them just enough that her cardigan slipped further, water dripping from the hem, cold against his chest, and still she clung to him like gravity had no say here—because it didn’t. He spun them into the shallow surge of a wave, water washing over their ankles and calves, and she gasped, eyes wide, hair plastered to her cheeks, and he laughed with her, that reckless, untamed sound that made the ocean itself seem to pause.

He leaned close, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face with his thumb, thumb lingering along the line of her jaw, and whispered. ❛ You were my beginning... and you will be my end… I learned to breathe again because of you, to feel again because you taught how, you love me so completely… so unconditional, and god, I want to give it all to you… all I am and ever will be... ❜.

The emerald on her finger caught the moon again, sparkling shards of green fire over his chest as he pressed her closer, forehead against hers, nose brushing hers in a slow, dizzying dance of heat and salt. ❛ And tonight, little Red…❜. His grin turned playful, feral, and utterly hers. ❛…we own this ocean. And we own one another ❜.

He held her close, laughing low and rough, letting it roll over the crash of the waves and the hiss of sand beneath their feet. His hands pressed along her back, thumbs tracing the small of her spine, feeling the tremor of her grip and the heat of her skin against the chill of the night. The salt in her hair tangled with his fingers, and the faint tang of champagne clung to her, dizzying him with the perfect chaos of her.

❛ You said deliriously insufferable, huh, Little Red? ❜. he murmured, voice rough but tender, forehead brushing hers. ❛ I’ve been trying to survive chaos my whole life, and somehow, you are the one that still leaves me breathless ❜. He spun her in the sand, laughing as the waves slapped at their legs, cold and insistent, but nothing could compare to the fire coursing between them.

He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear, along her jaw, letting the tremor of her body beneath his hands ignite a thrill that made his chest ache. Every shiver, every gasp, every heartbeat against his own made him grin, wide and feral and utterly hers. ❛ I love you, Lydia. All of you, every impossible, reckless, beautiful part of you ❜. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair, feeling the damp weight of her hair against his cheek, the salt and chill of the ocean brushing their skin, and the sand grinding between their feet like the world itself had conspired to hold them in place.

He tilted her toward him again, laughing, chest pressing to hers, forehead brushing, thumbs stroking her shoulders, memorizing every small shiver and tremor. ❛ Let´s stay like this, right here…There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, Little Red, holding you, hearing your laugh ❜.

Leaning closer, he pressed a trail of kisses along her jaw, down suple curve of her neck, feeling the tremor of her joy in the way her body arched to him. ❛ Being deliriously insufferable should be a crime ❜ he whispered, grinning, playful and warm. ❛ You are so beautiful ❜. He dipped his forehead to hers again, heart hammering in perfect rhythm with hers, letting the waves mingle around their ankles while both immerse in this moment. ❛ I’m not letting go. Not ever.❜

He pressed her closer, chest to chest, nose brushing hers, thumbs brushing damp strands from her cheeks, watching the emerald on her finger catch the moonlight in shards of green fire. Her hair plastered to his chest in damp tangles, and he let his fingers comb through it absentmindedly, brushing wet strands from her cheeks, tracing the curve of her jaw, memorizing the weight of her body against his. He pressed a kiss to the curve of her temple, then along the line of her jaw, slow and lingering, just enough to make her shiver against him without needing words.

His hand settled on the small of her back, holding her still as the tide receded fully, leaving only the crash of distant waves and the soft hiss of sand beneath them. He exhaled slowly, a low, satisfied rumble in his chest, letting the quiet of the night wrap around them, salt and starlight pressing close. ❛ I want to marry you over and again… I want you to have everything, the grand ceremony, our friends… travel the world with you, make memories... I want to start a family, with you red... I want it all ❜.

[maledictaria]

@botrusanimarum · / · 𝐋𝐘𝐃𝐈𝐀 & 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐀 · *

The waves swallowed her ankles like a thousand small mouths, tugging and pulling but never quite managing to take her from him, because his hands were everywhere, steady and insistent, orbit and anchor in a night already tipping sideways under the champagne blur. The sea hissed like an audience desperate to be part of the chaos, spray clinging to her lips so when she laughed it tasted of salt and bubbles, sharp and effervescent, and when his mouth found her jaw she thought she might dissolve entirely, bones unthreading, body nothing more than fever bent toward the gravity of his touch. Her cardigan slid further, heavy and sodden, plastering chill against heat, and she thought of how every brush of skin, every accidental graze, tilted the entire sky into his keeping — as if the moon itself had crawled inside the emerald burning on her finger, shards of green fire breaking over his chest like a promise hammered into starlight.

She clung harder when he spun her, graceless and reckless and glorious, laughter slurring from her throat, the kind of sound that felt stolen, feral, too alive to belong to anything but this moment, and when his forehead pressed against hers she caught his words like incantation, whisper burnt into the cracks of her ribs. Beginning, end, breath, love. Each syllable burned down her throat like she’d swallowed fire disguised as air, and she thought perhaps this was what ruin truly meant — not broken, but remade, every piece of herself carried raw and glittering in his hands. Her hair clung to his cheeks, her lips brushed salt from his skin, and she wanted to brand him with her teeth, mark constellations into his flesh, proof for the gods or the gulls or the blind sea itself that he was hers alone, in this life and the hundred still waiting.

❝ 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐚… 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐧. ❞ she told him, words half laughter, half confession, the kind of truth only loosened by champagne and the way his thumbs traced scripture into her spine.

Her legs tangled with his, sand gritting between them like a third conspirator, and the sea retreated only to come back harder, foam surging at her calves, her skirt and cardigan clinging like second skin, and still she leaned into him, chest to chest, breath to breath, reckless enough to let the ocean drown them because nothing compared to the suffocation of his lips on her throat. His talk of families, of ceremonies, of impossible futures glittering like cities she could barely imagine, broke her open in ways no saltwater could, and she whispered into the damp curve of his jaw, ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 — 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 — 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬. ❞

Her fingers curled in his shirt, nails grazing the heat of his chest beneath, dragging him closer as if there could ever be such a thing as too close, as if skin could ever merge enough, and she kissed him, wild and unmeasured, champagne fizzing between their mouths. The ocean watched. The stars conspired. And when she pulled back she was laughing, breathless, a laugh that tasted like surrender and war both. ❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭, 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐚… 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 — 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚. ❞

The waves snarled higher, greedy and jealous, trying to pry them apart, but she clung tighter and he let her drag him down, both of them crashing into the surf, a heap of wet limbs and laughter, incandescent with ridiculous joy. It felt untouchable. The night was theirs. Nothing could intrude.

Until a voice did.

❝ Uh… you two alright there? ❞

It cracked through the surf like a hymn mis-sung, sharp and awkward, and they froze mid-breath, tangled and panting, hair plastered, clothes turned transparent by salt and dark. Slowly, with the unhurried disbelief of the drunk, Lydia turned her head. A fisherman stood only yards away, lantern swinging like an uncertain star, a bucket of crab traps dragging at his arm. His expression was a study in horror — not the grand, operatic kind, but the small human horror of realizing you had stumbled into a ritual that wanted nothing of you, and yet had chosen you all the same.

The silence thickened, oppressive. And then Lydia broke it, laughter shattering from her chest so violently she nearly doubled over, tears streaking her salt-stung cheeks. ❝ 𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞… ❞ she gasped, hiccupping on champagne and seawater, ❝ 𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞… 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚. ❞

The fisherman recoiled as though she had struck him. “Christ alive,” he muttered. Then louder, with the indignation of a man who had only meant to check his traps, ❝ you people need help. Proper help. ❞ He half-turned, as if he might flee.

But Lydia lurched forward, dripping and radiant, hair a tangle of drowned fire, eyes flashing green where the emerald burned, and she pointed straight at him with a prophet’s certainty. ❝ 𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭 ❞ she commanded, her voice splitting itself on certainty and champagne alike. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 — 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞… ❞ she staggered on the word, swaying dangerously against Luca’s chest before throwing her arms wide with unholy triumph, ❝ …𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭. ❞

The fisherman blinked. The bucket in his hand creaked. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. ❝ …you’re bloody lunatics, ❞ he said at last, low and horrified, as though naming them might keep their madness from spreading.

Lydia cut him off, triumphant, raising her ring-hand into the lantern light like a relic dredged from the sea. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐢𝐭, ❞ she told the fisherman, voice drunk with certainty. ❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐰𝐬. 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐰. ❞

The fisherman made a small, strangled noise, somewhere between a prayer and a whimper. ❝ I’m calling someone, ❞ he said finally, eyes wide and glassy, ❝ coast guard, priest, exorcist, I don’t care which — ❞ Then he turned and vanished into the dark, his lantern bobbing like a terrified star retreating to a safer sky.

Lydia collapsed against Luca, laughter tearing through her until their ribs hurt, salt and champagne bitter on her tongue, and she pressed her forehead to his with feverish glee, whispering through the laughter still cracking her apart: ❝ ...𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐚, 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 ❞.

[botrusanimarum]

                          ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ◌ ·𖥸· ◌ ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

               ･ﾟ° ☾ ✧ △  𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 sizzling pancakes, and roasted coffee beans, warm and comforting. Steam curled from her coffee cup, carrying the scent to him, and he realized how aware he was of her every micro-movement, the way her fingers curved around the menu, how her chocolate-brown eyes flicked up briefly, and the way a few strands of hair had escaped her bun, brushing her jaw with careless precision. Beautiful, he thought.

You’re awfully quiet this morning, her voice soft but carrying that little nudge, like she’d just thrown a pebble into a pond and was waiting for the ripples. Minjae let out a small, lopsided grin, leaning back against the vinyl of the booth. ❛ Quiet is my default mode before breakfast ❜. he admitted, voice low and teasing. ❛ I’m surprised I even managed to function outside the motel without coffee. But… for you ❜. he added with a wink. ❛ I’ll make an exception ❜.

Minjae sank slightly into the booth, the vinyl cool against his palms, the diner’s warmth wrapping around him like a soft, indulgent blanket. Sunlight sliced through the windows, brightening the table and catching in stray curls of her hair. He couldn’t stop himself from admiring — the subtle arc of her shoulders as she leaned over the table, the quiet movements of her fingers against surface, the faint lift of her lashes as she blinked. ❛ I gotta say something... I don’t know if it’s the morning light or… what ❜. he murmured under his breath, grinning to himself. ❛ but you look kind of radiant today ❜.

Broad smile was hidden away behind his glass. He sipped from his water, letting the cold liquid cut the lingering traces of the storm off his tongue, then, something jumped into mind... he thought about his siblings for a moment — Da Hyun’s constant whirlwind of ideas and mischief, Seong Woo’s quiet calm and protective presence, Soo Jin’s meticulous, steadying hand, and little Ro Mi with her endless curiosity and optimism. They all kept him tethered in ways he didn’t always notice until he was alone.

❛ I'm supposed to check in with my siblings ❜ he murmured, mostly to himself but loud enough for her to hear. ❛ The twins... they’d be thrilled to see a place like this. Da Hyun would somehow turn the syrup bottle into an experiment, Seong Woo would sketch the chaos, and Romi… well, she’d probably read the menu like it was a novel before actually ordering ❜. He chuckled, shaking his head, imagining the scene vividly, letting her watch the way his expression softened at the thought.

He glanced at her then, catching her eyes briefly, and tilted his head with a smirk. ❛ I usually call home before noon, make sure everyone’s… surviving my absence ❜. he added lightly. ❛ My family’s big on check-ins. Dahyun would send a thousand questions if I didn’t ❜. He shrugged, letting the vulnerability slip in like an unnoticed shadow beneath the playful surface. ❛ They keep me on my toes… and honestly, I’d be lost without them ❜.

He leaned back, exhaling slowly, taking in the hum of the diner — the clatter of plates, laughter from a table near the window, the hiss of the grill behind the counter — and let the space stretch comfortably between them. His eyes kept wandering to her, noting the way she traced condensation on her glass absentmindedly, the faint lift of her eyebrows as she considered him, the tiny movements that made her so… alive, in that way that made him want to freeze the moment and keep it just like this.

Finally, he leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table with a casual ease. ❛ So… after breakfast we get to your car, I'll get it fixed up... and then, what's next for you ? ❜. he said lightly, letting the words float in the air. Not as a question, exactly, but a gentle curiosity. The playful, easy rhythm between them didn’t need to be pushed. For now, it was enough — pancakes pending, coffee soon to arrive, and the quiet warmth of being here together.

[maledictaria]

@botrusanimarum · / · 𝐑𝐇𝐄𝐀 & 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐄𝐀 · * 

Her hands curved around the porcelain cup as though the heat inside could fuse itself into her bones, the steam climbing into the space between them with the slow curl of incense carrying bitter notes of roasted beans that hooked themselves into her throat until she felt the weight of them trembling behind her ribs. She should have laughed at his teasing, should have let the words glance off her like stones skipping over water, but instead they struck too deep, sank too far, and left her sitting there with a pulse that no longer felt like her own. His grin had split the quiet like lightning across dark water, sudden and uninvited, and she hated the way her body leaned toward it, hated the betraying twitch of her lips as though they longed to echo the shape of his. Radiant, he had said, and the syllable lodged itself beneath her skin like glass, beautiful in its cut, impossible to ignore, making her wonder if the storm had carved something visible into her she could not yet see.

She traced condensation down her glass as though following rain across a windowpane, droplets racing each other to oblivion, and she listened as Minjae spun his family into the room, each sibling summoned like a constellation strung across his words. The names tangled in her ears, strange and intimate, alive with laughter and warmth, and she found herself undone by the shift in his face when he spoke them — the softening of lines, the brightening of his gaze, the reverence that poured unguarded from his mouth. It felt almost indecent to watch him like that, to witness the part of him. For all she knew, her life was storms and motel rooms and nights where emptiness and loneliness leaned into each other because there was nothing else to hold. She wanted to look away but couldn’t, wanted to stop listening but drank him down like wine, each detail spilling into her until she was swollen with envy for a belonging she had never touched.

The diner’s hum blurred into something mythic, plates clattering like cymbals, laughter folding over itself like chants, the hiss of butter on the griddle echoing like rainfall on a tin roof, and for a moment she felt as though they had been caught in another kind of storm, not wild with thunder but relentless in its warmth, a storm that pressed against her with all the suffocating insistence of gentleness she did not know how to survive. She let it swallow her, fork heavy in her hand, syrup gleaming in ribbons across pancakes she did not taste, because all her senses were pinned to the cadence of his voice and the way it shook something loose inside her. The thought of his siblings waiting, of him tethered to them by invisible threads, made her restless — it made her feel like a ghost at the table, someone who could only ever haunt the edges of belonging, never anchor herself in its center.

When he asked the question — what came next — her body stiffened as though the words themselves had weight, as though they had landed against her collarbones and dragged her downward. Next was a word that always threatened her, next was a promise she had never been able to keep, next was the horizon she had been running toward and away from in the same breath her entire life. She raised her eyes slowly, let them catch his without flinching, and the air seemed to splinter, thick with the unspoken storm pressing against her lungs. ❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞? ❞ she repeated, her voice coated in something heavier than smoke, slower than honey, as though the syllables had been dragged up from the bottom of her chest.

Her hair fell loose as she tilted her head, strands slipping down like dark water to frame her jaw, brushing the skin she could no longer keep cool. ❝ 𝐓𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝. ❞ The words cracked through her like a confession, not shouted but whispered with the inevitability of thunder rolling far away, soft enough to unsettle, strong enough to change the air. She did not smile as she said it, did not soften the edges — the storm had always been hers, had always claimed her bones before warmth or tether could. She belonged to the chaos that left streets gleaming and skin drenched, belonged to the ruin that could not be held in syrup bottles or menus or family anecdotes.

Her coffee cup rose again, her lips finding the rim with something like defiance, steam blurring her face so only her eyes remained visible, and she fixed them on him as though daring him to follow. Through the haze she searched his features, waiting to see if he would flinch, if he would hold the gaze or let it drop. ❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬? ❞

[botrusanimarum]

@maledictaria

                          ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ◌ ·𖥸· ◌ ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

               ･ﾟ° ☾ ✧ △ 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆. Years of homicide had made sure of that—kitchen floors slick with it, alleys painted in it, hotel rooms soaked to the grout. But the Moretti scene stuck in his head longer than most. Maybe it was the contrast… an entire estate that reeked of wealth, marble floors, silk curtains, the kind of quiet money that whispered instead of shouted. And then, right there in the heart of it, Matteo Moretti slumped in his own study, throat opened with the kind of precision that conveyed a message rather than rage, close range bullet wound straight to the heart.

The cameras had been cut. The guards bought off. Everything about it was too clean, too rehearsed. Holder had walked those halls, eyes cataloging details others missed—the half-drunk glass of scotch on the desk, the cigar stubbed out halfway, as though the man hadn’t believed death could walk right into his home. On the far end of the room, though, he’d noticed something else. A scuff on the floor, near the curtains. Small, slight. Not a man’s shoe.

That had been the first sign. The girl had been there.

Witnesses whispered her name like it was cursed—Isabella. Daughter of a titan. Heiress to an empire of steel and glass. Holder pieced it together through reports, through hushed interviews, she’d been close enough to see the Farinelli boss himself pull the trigger. Close enough to hear the words he left behind. Close enough that, if she lived long enough to testify, she could bury him.

The Farinellis weren’t just any family. Holder had traced their fingerprints across half a dozen corpses in three states. Smuggling, weapons, extortion. But their real weapon wasn’t just violence—it was the rot they left in people. Judges, businessmen, politicians. Men who smiled for cameras while signing their souls away. Holder had learned that one of Moretti’s closest associates, a man who’d practically raised Isabella at his table, had already rolled over and pointed her out like a pawn on a chessboard. Family friend turned Judas.

That’s when she’d run. Straight to the cops. Straight into Holder’s case. He hadn’t expected the captain to sideline him. When the file dropped on his desk, his first instinct was to argue. He wasn’t the type to play bodyguard—his job was chasing killers, not holding hands. But then the captain said it plain 'You’re too close to this, Holder. And you’re too stubborn to walk away. Better you carry her shadow than end up face-down in some alley'.

Now here he was, behind the wheel of a government sedan with her file sitting heavy in the passenger seat. The picture inside showed a young woman with dark hair, shoulders drawn tight, wide umber eyes in the flash. Holder had stared at it longer than he meant to. Heiress or not, she looked like anyone else who’d had their world ripped out from under them. Terrified. Alone.

He flexed his hands on the wheel. The city bled away into quieter streets, dusk leaning against the horizon, traffic thinning. He could feel eyes on him even when there weren’t any—paranoia came with the badge, but with the Farinellis, it wasn’t paranoia. It was survival.

The safe house was one of the department’s cleaner setups, tucked in an ordinary neighborhood where nobody asked questions. Two-story, blinds shut, reinforced locks. Holder pulled up across the street first, scanned the block—mailbox stuffed on one porch, kids’ bikes leaning against another fence, one old man smoking by a window but not watching too close. Normal. As normal as it got.

He parked, killed the engine, and let the silence settle. He reached for the file one more time, flipping to the crime scene notes. Her statement was redacted for security, but the margins carried his own scrawl, witnessed entire event / saw shooter’s face / ran. Simple words, but the weight of them pressed heavy.

Boots hit gravel as he stepped out. The air smelled faintly of cut grass and oil. He adjusted his jacket, checked the street again. The captain’s order rang in his ears—she lives because of you.

The front door loomed quiet, curtain pulled tight behind the glass. Holder raised a fist and knocked once, firm, the sound echoing through the stillness. This was his life now. Not chasing leads, not pinning suspects to walls. Guard duty. Watching a stranger’s back like it was his own blood. Babysitting duty, some might sneer. But Holder knew better. Babysitting meant someone was coming for the kid. And if the Farinellis wanted Isabella Moretti gone, they’d keep coming until someone stopped them.

He squared his shoulders. The lock clicked from the other side. Whatever stood behind that door, heiress or orphan, princess or pawn—it was his responsibility going forth. The door opened a crack first, chain still latched, just enough for one wary umber eye to sweep the porch. Holder caught a flash of pale knuckles gripping the frame tight before the chain slid back and the door widened.

She looked smaller in person than her photo suggested. Hair pulled back in a hurry, clothes wrinkled from too many hours on the run. There was a stiffness to her posture, like every muscle braced for the sound of gunfire that hadn’t come yet. Holder didn’t comment. He never did. Instead, he gave a curt nod, the kind that stood in for I’m not here to make you feel better. I’m here to make sure you breathe tomorrow.

He stepped past her into the foyer, eyes sweeping the interior as though he hadn’t just spent a decade doing this with crime scenes. Habits never changed. Corners first, windows second, back door latch checked with a flick of his fingers.

The house smelled like fresh paint and stale air, the kind of ready-to-rent neutral that gave nothing away. No photographs, no knickknacks, nothing to suggest a life. Just space and silence, four walls meant to hold back the wolves. ❛ You lock this behind me every time ❜. Holder muttered, jerking his chin toward the door. His voice was gravel, low and clipped. ❛ No exceptions ❜.

He dropped his duffel on the couch, unzipped it, and started pulling out the bones of his ritual. Glock checked, slide back, chamber clear. Notebook, pen, spare badge. A battered paperback wedged between spare clips—old habit from stakeouts. He set each piece down like he was building a perimeter out of objects.

From the corner of his eye, he caught her standing where he’d left her, arms crossed tight against her chest, gaze flicking between him and the door like she was still deciding which was more dangerous.

Holder ignored the weight of it, moving to the blinds. He tugged each one flat, peered through narrow slats at the street. The old man across the way still smoked his cigarette, still not watching. The bikes were still tipped over in the neighbor’s yard. No headlights lingering too long. For now, clean.

He exhaled through his nose and let the blinds fall. ❛ Safe house rule number one—if it looks normal, we keep it that way. You don’t draw attention. Groceries, walks, phone calls—all go through me ❜. He didn’t bother softening the tone. He’d learned long ago that truth went down easier blunt.

Holder straightened, finally giving her his full attention. Umber hues, shadowed and restless, locked on him like she was measuring how much faith she could afford to place in a stranger with a badge.

He let the silence breathe for a beat before speaking. ❛ know you didn’t ask for any of this. And I know you lost more than anyone deserves to in one night ❜. His jaw flexed, words measured. ❛ But the truth is simple. Right now, you’re the only witness who can put a man like Farinelli in a box. My job—the only job I’ve got—is to keep you alive long enough to do that ❜.

It wasn’t sharp, not quite soft either—somewhere in the middle, where his instincts warred with his empathy. He thought of Sawyer then, just a baby at home, tiny fists curling around his finger. If the world ever turned on her the way it had on Isabella, he wouldn’t want someone treating her like a burden.

Holder’s gaze held hers, unflinching. ❛ You’re not alone in this, not anymore. That’s the deal. You breathe, I watch the door ❜.

He dropped into the armchair nearest the entry, posture rigid, gun within reach. His stance said what his words didn’t—he wasn’t here to comfort, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her fall.

[maledictaria]

@botrusanimarum · / · 𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 & 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 · *

The silence after Holder’s knock still rattled inside Isabella’s bones echoing long after the chain slipped free. She had known it would come — some inevitable moment where hiding would no longer feel like safety. Where the outside world pressed its fist against her door. But knowing hadn’t steadied her. Her hand shook on the lock, her breath trembled as she pulled it open just enough to see him. Holder. His presence filled the doorway like a shadow might, heavy and certain, carrying with it the promise of both protection and doom. Isabella thought, fleetingly, that perhaps she would have preferred another night alone in her coffin of a house, alone with her ghosts. At least she knew the shape of those. She looked as though sleep had abandoned her the night her father’s blood spilled across polished marble and had never once returned. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, knotted and tangled in places where frantic hands had pulled through it without care, strands catching the light like broken threads. Her eyes were rimmed red, glassy and unfocused, carrying the hollow weight of nights spent awake in fear. Her face was pale, drained of anything but exhaustion, lips cracked and pressed tight as if holding back words that would never come. She looked less like an heiress than a ghost draped in human skin, her posture brittle, every inch of her body carrying the tremor of someone who had run too far and found no safe place to stop.

When he stepped inside, she felt smaller. Not only because of the way his shoulders brushed the air or the gravel of his voice when he set down rules in tones that made no space for questions. No exceptions, he had said, and she had nodded, though her chest had folded in on itself. What little strength she had gathered in the days of running — the fragile scaffolding of survival, creaked under the weight of him. Isabella wanted to speak, to tell him she could follow his orders, that she understood, that she wasn’t reckless. But her throat was a locked door. Fear had turned her tongue into stone. So she crossed her arms instead, pressed her own warmth close as though it could stitch her back together.

She flinched when Holder closed the blinds, one after the other, as if every snap were a gunshot. In her mind, the blinds weren’t falling —they were curtains drawing back on the same terrible scene she could never unsee. Matteo slumped in his chair, the smell of scotch and smoke clinging to the velvet air, the sudden hot bloom of blood spreading too quickly for her to stop. Isabella still felt the slick of it on her palms when she had tried, uselessly, to hold the wound closed. The silence that followed that night had been louder than any scream she could make, and it still rang in her ears now, here, with Holder’s shadow moving through the house.

Isabella remained standing, stiff as the walls themselves, because sitting meant letting go. And she could not let go, not yet, not when she knew the Farinellis had long memories and sharper knives. She wanted to tell Holder that no safe house could hold back the hunger of wolves. That every lock was only a promise waiting to be broken. She wanted to say it, but the words trembled and fell apart before they ever left her. Better to keep them pressed down, where only her bones could hear them.

Her eyes caught on the duffel Holder had set down, the neat ritual of his belongings spilling onto the couch. Gun. Clips. Notebook. And then, absurdly, a battered book, its spine tired from too many nights. She thought there was something human in that, something softer hidden between all the steel. For a moment, Isabella wondered if Holder read to forget, to replace the faces that haunted his memory with words on a page. It made her want to ask him if stories ever helped. But questions felt dangerous, and she did not want to risk even the smallest crack in her fragile defenses.

The house smelled of paint and absence. A place meant for hiding, not for living. Isabella had known places like this before, rooms dressed in neutrality where people played at safety. She could already feel the weight of silence pressing against her lungs, could already imagine her thoughts turning sharp enough to cut her from the inside. Safe house — such a lie, she thought. Safety did not exist. Not anymore. Not for her.

Betrayal burned sharper than the fear. She thought of the family friend, one she ran to first for help, the man who had smiled at her across candlelit tables, who had whispered kindnesses into her childhood like secrets. A man who had given her away with the ease of setting down a wine glass, if not her overhearing him and running to the police instead. Isabella knew now what trust cost. It costs blood. It costs breath. It cost her name being spoken like a curse in rooms where death was currency. That knowledge made her tremble more than Holder’s gun ever could.

And yet — Holder spoke with a kind of finality that made her pause. You’re not alone. The words landed like stones in her chest, heavy, impossible. Isabella wanted to tell him she didn’t believe in such things anymore. That alone was safer, because it meant no one else could be taken from her, no one else could leave her hollow. And yet the way he said it — without flourish, without softness — made her wonder if he meant it as truth, not comfort. Holder sat there, and she wondered if he would bleed for her before he let the wolves through the door, and that thought terrified her more than anything else.

Her gaze slid to the window, to the faint glow of lamplight beyond, to the small signs of life still spinning outside — bicycles tipped in grass, smoke curling up from a neighbor’s hand. Normal life. Ordinary life. Life she no longer belonged to. Isabella felt like a ghost walking through her own skin, already half faded, watching others breathe what she could no longer claim. Did Holder see it? Did he see how much of her had already been stolen?

Her arms loosened, almost without her willing them. Her hands fell, pale and useless, as if surrendering to the inevitability of this moment. ❝ 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞… 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨… ❞ she said softly, her voice like glass about to break, ❝ …𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞. 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞. ❞ The words came gentle, not sharp, but the ache in them was deeper than any blade. She kept her gaze lowered, unable to meet his eyes as the truth left her. If she looked at him, she thought she might collapse under the weight of it, and she could not afford to collapse. Not yet.

Still, the words lingered between them, fragile and irreversible. Isabella stood with them heavy in her chest, her body wrapped in shadow, her fear coiled like a second skin. Holder’s presence filled the room, rigid and unyielding, the sentinel she had been given, the stranger who now carried her survival in his tired, steady hands. And Isabella—terrified, fractured, trembling—wondered if survival meant anything at all when all she could taste in her mouth was the metallic ghost of blood.

[digitalmp3]

Visit Original Link

[maledictaria]

@fyrtarn

[soluksuret-deactivated20260516]

[maledictaria]

@fyrtarn

[milaeditsss]

Byeon Woo-Seok x Go Youn-Jung

[botrusanimarum]

@maledictaria

[specerhastings]

Alba Baptista as Ava Silva in Warrion Nun

[botrusanimarum]

@maledictaria The bachelorette.

[04k96]

[fyrtarn-deactivated20260110]

@maledictaria

[botrusanimarum]

                        ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ◌ ·𖥸· ◌ ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

               ･ﾟ° ☾ ✧ △   𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕𝒍𝒚, the sound warm and unhurried, slipping out before she could stop it. He had thrust both into her palms as though they might anchor him, and she looked down at the mismatched offering — rice roll in one hand, sandwich in the other — with a smile that curved wider by the second. Not at the food itself, but at him. At the way he tried to mask his care with busyness, his retreat to the basket a flimsy shield she could see straight through.

❛ You packed for an army ❜. she murmured, her tone gentle, amused without mockery. She lifted the rice roll first, brushing her fingers against his as she accepted it. The contact was fleeting, accidental, but it lingered in her awareness even as she took her first bite. Crisp nori broke softly against her teeth, the familiar tang of vinegar and sweetness blooming across her tongue. Hunger rushed forward so fast it made her hum with quiet relief, her body remembering how much it had given the sea. She glanced at him, her eyes softened by the simplicity of the gesture. ❛ It’s perfect... everything... more than I could’ve imagined ❜.

The tea steamed gently between them, curling its warmth into the salt-heavy air, and she cradled the paper cup in both hands. The contrast of heat against her damp skin felt almost indulgent. Yet the warmth she felt did not come only from the tea or the sun soaking into her shoulders, it came from him, seated close enough that she could sense the quiet steadiness of his presence.

When he spoke again, when the words then don’t… stay as long as you want reached her, Minah felt the tide shift inside her. For a beat, she only looked at him, the sunlight bending across his damp hair, droplets still sliding from his jaw. His gaze was steady, unguarded in a way that startled her.

Her chest tightened, a breath catching before she let it out slowly. The warmth in her cheeks deepened, and she smiled — not bright, not playful, but serene, almost reverent. ❛ I’d like that ❜. she said quietly, as though the sea itself might carry her words away if she raised them louder. ❛ More than you know ❜.

She stretched her legs out across the dock, tilting her face toward the sun, letting it dry the salt from her skin. After a while, her gaze returned to him, drawn by something she couldn’t frame with a lens or explain with words. Something about the way his presence steadied the world, even when he fumbled. Especially then.

And yet, beneath the calm, the thought surfaced, unwelcome but persistent, you weren’t meant to stay. She had come for an assignment, another fleeting stop in her wandering — no different, she had told herself, than all the others. But the longer she sat here, warmed by the sun and by the unassuming care in every detail he offered, the less she believed it. Her hand brushed lightly against his when she set her empty cup aside, and though the touch was small, it startled her with its quiet intimacy. She drew back slowly, but the echo of it remained, a pulse at the edge of her composure.

❛ You make it feel… simple ❜. she admitted after a moment, her voice carrying the weight of confession more than casual remark. Her fingers traced the rim of her cup, though her eyes sought his. ❛ To just… be here... not as someone passing through, but as if this could be… ❜. She hesitated, the last word hovering at the edge of her lips, almost too revealing. But the truth pressed forward anyway, fragile yet undeniable. ❛ …home ❜.

The word lingered between them, tentative as a tide pooling in the quiet. A part of her wanted to pull it back, tuck it away before it betrayed more than she meant. But another part — deeper, quieter — let it stay. Let the silence afterward hold them both, filled with the hush of waves, the warmth of tea, and the quiet certainty that something unspoken was beginning to take root.

[maledictaria]

@botrusanimarum · / · 𝐉𝐈-𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍 & 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐇 ·

Ji-hwan sat there for a moment without answering, the boards of the dock warm beneath his palms, the air still heavy with the salt they had carried up from the sea. He had learned long ago that some words didn’t need to be rushed — the tide never was, and neither was he. So he let home linger between them, rolling over in his mind like a smooth stone, simple but heavier the longer he held it.

His gaze dropped to the basket, to the rice rolls neatly wrapped, the flask of tea still steaming faintly in the air between them. He’d packed them without thought of anything beyond habit. He always packed too much — better to have more than less, better to be prepared when the day stretched longer than expected. But now, seeing her cradling the food in her hands, smiling at him like he had given her something rare, he realized how little he understood the weight of his own rituals until she reflected them back to him.

Leaning back slightly and watching the sunlight scatter across the water’s skin. It was easier to talk to the horizon sometimes. It didn’t press. Didn’t ask for more than he was ready to give. Still, the truth worked its way out of him slowly, unpolished, but honest. ❝ 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. ❞ His eyes found hers then, steady and holding. ❝ 𝐈𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞… 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬. ❞

The gulls wheeled overhead, their cries breaking the stillness, and the dock shifted faintly with the pulse of the tide. Ji-hwan reached for the flask and poured into the cup again, passing it back to her. This time, when his fingers brushed hers, he didn’t withdraw as quickly as before.

He watched her take the cup, saw the way the warmth curled into her hands, and a rare smile slipped onto his face, unforced and unhidden. ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐭, ❞ he said simply, nodding toward the basket. ❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞. 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. ❞ There was care in his tone, but no fuss. Just the same plain truth he gave to everything that mattered. ❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲? ❞

He unwrapped one of the rice rolls for himself, taking a slow bite, chewing with quiet patience as though there were nothing else in the world to demand his attention. For Ji-hwan, that was true. Right now, there wasn’t. Only the hush of the waves, the warmth of the boards beneath them, and Minah sitting close enough that he could feel the sunlight and the salt clinging to her skin as if it belonged there.

[hiraethid]

[esotericsnobdeux]

"Welcome home..."

[botrusanimarum]

@maledictaria