#windowside

[theclearblue]

Uhh is leaks night making everyone miss Kenjaku today or is something else going on lmao

[hopsonsdesignstudio]

Incorporating a Dining or Breakfast Nook: Enhancing the Functionality and Charm of Your Kitchen

A trendy and effective kitchen area is at the core of every home, and it's vital to craft a space that's both practical and aesthetically pleasing. One pattern that has actually gained appeal in recent years is incorporating a dining or breakfast nook into the kitchen style. Not just does it offer a relaxing area for meals, but it likewise adds a touch of character and heat to your cooking area. If you're thinking of refurbishing your kitchen area, here are some ideas on how to include a consuming or breakfast nook in your design. Maximizing Your Home's Corners One effective method to include an eating or breakfast nook into your kitchen area is by using corner areas. Corner nooks not just make the most of the use of area but also develop a cozy and intimate dining location. For a more modern appearance, consider using built-in benches with storage underneath. This not only adds functionality but likewise assists you take full advantage of using area for smaller cooking areas. To make the nook visually appealing, include cushions, toss pillows, and a small table to finish the appearance. "Dining Benches" Banquettes are an exceptional alternative for those who prefer a more open and noticeable eating area. They can be incorporated into one side of the kitchen island or placed versus a wall with a continuous bench together with the table. Banquettes offer a casual and relaxed seating location for family meals, a space to work or study, and even a cozy reading nook. To make it even more comfortable, think about including upholstered cushions and pillows to the bench. "Morning Munchies Hub" To include a dining or breakfast location in your kitchen, you can consider setting up a breakfast bar. This design option is ideal for smaller sized kitchen areas or open-concept living locations where you want to maximize the offered area. You can develop a breakfast bar by extending the countertop of your kitchen area island or peninsula, providing you a practical area for casual meals or socializing with liked ones. For a unified appearance, ensure the material and surfaces of the breakfast bar match those of your present kitchen cabinets and counter tops. Cozy Window Nook. For those who prefer natural light and a brilliant dining location, incorporating a windowside nook is an ideal option. Preferably placed beside a big window or glass moving door, this nook offers a spectacular deem you enjoy your early morning coffee or indulge in a delicious meal. You can utilize an integrated bench, chairs, or a mix of both to match your windowside nook. Additionally, think about including blinds or drapes to include personal privacy and control the quantity of sunlight going into the area. 5 Ways to Design a Versatile and Functional Room If you have a roomy kitchen area, consider producing a multi-functional space by including an eating or breakfast nook. This can be attained by integrating different aspects such as a kitchen area island with an integrated breakfast bar, a seating area with a little table, or perhaps an integrated desk for a home office. By combining these features, you produce a flexible space that can be utilized for numerous activities, such as cooking, eating, working, or entertaining visitors. This style principle not just optimizes making use of space but also includes functionality and convenience to your kitchen area. Including a dining or breakfast nook in your kitchen area design can enhance both the visual appeal and practicality of the area. By leveraging corner areas, installing banquettes, constructing a breakfast bar, placing a windowside nook, or developing a versatile zone, you can produce a warm and inviting dining location that matches your taste and requirements.

When renovating your cooking area, do not forget to account for the readily available area, natural light, and overall design to ensure a smooth combination of the consuming or breakfast nook. With deliberate preparation and informative style selections, you can transform your kitchen area into a charming and practical location that your enjoyed ones will delight in collecting in.

                                                                                                                                                   Get your Free Guide: The importance of kitchen design

[phoward89]

Masterlist

Jealous!Coryo x Reader, Odair!Ancestor x Reader.

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. That man is a walking blood red flag waving heavily in the wind! engagement (not reader), smut, infidelity, love triangle, manipulation, stalking?, gaslighting, fluff, Head Gamemaker!Coryo, District 4 Cruise Ship Heir!Odair OC. DarkCoriolanus, Jealous!Coriolanus

Chapter 2:

While Coriolanus is in his office, high up on the top floor of the Citadel, raging and having an internal meltdown about your relationship, you’re walking down a crowded downtown sidewalk, hand in hand with Odysseus. The two of you were heading to a cafe near the office for lunch.

“I'll cook you dinner tonight. How does that sound for a third date?” The bronze-haired man offered, his smile full of sunshine and dimples. Odysseus' smile was contagious: you couldn't help, but to smile widely back at him.

“Last time I had a man cook for me I was 18.” You honestly admitted as a fleeting memory of Coriolanus, all skin and bones, stirring a pot of cabbage popped into your mind.

“I know that it's rude to ask a woman her age, but I must know, how old are you?”

“I’m not offended, Odysseus.” You assured him before revealing your age. “I'm 24, by the way.”

Leaning in, as if he was going to tell you a big secret, he smiled- large and scandalously, and revealed, “I'm 28.” Bumping your shoulder lightly with his, Odysseus teasingly chuckled, “Guess it's time for me to bust out the wheelchair since I'm the Old Man of the Sea in this relationship and you're the youthful mermaid.”

You let out a laugh, a genuine laugh, at your boyfriend's words. You've only known him for a day, but so far he's proven to be nothing, but respectful and kind. He's unlike anyone you've ever met before.

Odysseus was very bubbly and it was refreshing. After being with someone so cold and calloused for so long, being with a warm soul was like a breath of fresh air.

“I don't know much about such things. Is it something common to District 4?”

Odysseus nodded, only to say. “The Old Man of the Sea is the water god, Triton.” instead of leaving it there, he decided to explain the legend of the sea god to you. “He's very wise and it's said that if you can manage to capture him and hold on as he changes into many forms that he can answer any questions that you have, about anything at all.”

“Had anyone ever caught him?” You curiously asked as the cafe came into view.

“Some claim to have caught him, no one really pays them any mind, now do they?” He chuckled.

Odysseus' smile brightly widened as he animatedly explained the lore of mermaids to you, “And a mermaid, according to folklore, is a mythological water spirit that's the most beautiful siren of a woman on the top half, while having a fish tail instead of legs for the bottom half.” Coming to a stop at the cafe, he held the door open for you while continuing his sea creature lecture with, “They can both wreak havoc by causing shipwrecks and can be benevolent by granting boons; some even forgo their own mermen and fall in love with human men.”

Guiding you to one of the bistro tables (since the cafe was on of those seat yourself and someone will be with you in a moment type places), he told you with a faraway look in his sea-green eyes. “My Pops says that my Ma was so beautiful that he's positive that she was a mermaid who struck a deal to gain human form.”

From the way his voice slightly quaked while mentioning his mother, you knew that she was most likely dead. How did you know? Because Coriolanus’ voice did the same thing if and when he ever mentioned his late mother (which was rare and far in-between).

“How old were you when she passed, if you don't mind me asking?” You tentatively asked, knowing that it might be a touchy subject, while taking your.seat at a windowside Odysseus brought you to.

“I don't mind you asking, honey.” The bronze haired man assured you, taking his seat across from you at the table. Grabbing the menus from the display rack on the edge table, near the window, and handing one over to you, he simply said, “I was about 9.” Opening his menu, he sadly explained, “There was a hurricane in 4 that completely flattened the beach side community her family's house was at. Even tho she was a strong swimmer, she drowned.” Staring a hole into his menu, he bitterly spat, “President Ravinstill refused to send help or aid, or to even evacuate that part of District 4 because Panem was in the early days of the war.”

“You and Poseidon were here, in the Capitol, while she was trapped in 4.” You concluded while scanning your own menu.

“Yes, that's how I ended up living a privileged life in Capitol City while my mother and her family’s beach house was swept off of its foundation; lost to the depths of Davy Jones' locker.”

“My father was an officer in 12 during the war. His commander helped him smuggle my mother, older brother, and me here, to the Capitol, during the Dark Days.”

“He was found swinging in the trees outside of 12 with General Snow, wasn't he?”

“Yea.” You nodded, only to change the subject by announcing what you thought looked appetizing on the menu.

Coriolanus was barely holding it together whenever he walked into his penthouse. As he went to hang up his coat and place his leather briefcase on the side table by the coat rack, he felt his Grandma'am’s eyes on him.

Her stare was scrutinizing, making him feel as if he was a little boy again- getting scolded. He hates that feeling. The feeling of not being perfect, of failing. He strives to be the best, at everything he does, so Grandma'am staring him down with thoughts of shame unnerved him.

Grandma'am didn't have to say it, he just knew that she was disappointed in him. But why? He's successful as the Head Gamemaker, he's going to announce his run for Senate, and he's engaged to be married to a young lady from a very prestigious banking family. He's well on his way to success.

On his way to becoming the President of Panem in a few years time. Something that Grandma'am has always wanted for Coriolanus. Shouldn't she be proud of him, not staring him down with shame?

“How have I disappointed you, Grandma’am?” Coriolanus asked the old woman, keeping his voice cold and even, as he shrugged out of his favorite maroon trench coat; hanging it up on the corner rack after placing his briefcase on the nearby sphere shaped side table. Made out of mahogany, of course. Only the best for the Snow family.

Which is why you feel like you're not a fixture in the penthouse anymore. You're not good enough to be a part of the Snow family; to be with Coriolanus. There's something better out there for him, but you've come to accept it and move on.

Coriolanus hasn't moved on, but he won't allow himself to admit that he's fucking up his life by listening to Strabo Plinth when it came to the affairs of his heart. Oh, yes, that's right, the platinum blonde man turned into a cold creature that destroyed his own heart; refuses to acknowledge love. All he knows now is hate, indifference, and lust.

Truthfully, he's in denial when it comes to you and his feelings. He just chalks it up to being possessive and lustful over you, but honestly it's love. A dark, twisted take on love since he's a broken man and doesn't know how to love, but it's love none the less that he feels for you.

“Your father would be ashamed of you, Coriolanus. I know that I am; so is your cousin, Tigris.” The white haired woman, dressed in all her fineries, told her grandson. “Most of all, your mother would be heartbroken knowing that her son turned his back on the love of his life.”

Grandma'am’s words cut Coriolanus deep as he walked over to the sitting area in the main room. Her words cut so deep, it felt like a long double edged sword piercing through the spot where his black, cold, dead heart is locked up in his chest.

His jaw clenched painfully as he stormed gracefully, thanks to his long legs, over to the open sitting chair across from his Grandma’am. He felt his soul bleeding in his chest as he sat down. The old Snow family matriarch’s words burned Coriolanus worse than if he bathed in gasoline and lit himself on fire with a match.

But Coriolanus Snow’s a very proud man; he won't admit that Grandma'am's words hurt him. That they rang true; made his conscious berate him. Made him feel a pang of self loathing and guilt.

No…

Coriolanus will act like he didn't do anything wrong, even tho he did.

“I didn't turn my back on the love of my life because I don't have one.” Coriolanus denied in a flat out lie.

Lie, lie, lie!

You're the love of his life and he knows it, but he's just too goddamn afraid to admit it. So fucking scared of being hurt, used, manipulated, and weakened by love. He’d rather deny his feelings for you then face them.

Coriolanus can face anything headon, except for his feelings. The man didn't do feelings. And that was such a shame, because he truly did love you.

Too bad he was too focused on his political ambitions; couldn't see how much you loved him and vice versa.

Grandma'am blanched at Coriolanus’ words. Those words hurt her deeply. She loves you, as if you were one of her own, and knew how large of a role you played in her grandson's life. And to hear Coriolanus write the love you too share so easily, as if it was nothing, made her wonder where she went wrong with him? Tigress turned out fine, so why was Coriolanus so…so cold and dead towards the girl that he's loved his entire life?

Watching Coriolanus as he reached forward to grab a piece of candy from the large 3-tier candy dish set in the middle of the glass coffee table, Grandma'am sadly wondered, “I didn't raise you to be like this, Coriolanus. How can you be so cold when it comes to Y/N, your sweetheart?”

“She was never my sweetheart, Grandma'am.” Coriolanus retorted coldly. The frostiness in his baritone even sent a chill down his own spine, but it was too late to take it back now. The glacial sharp sentence was now in the universe, floating around; sure to manifest and take hold.

The remark and the attitude that accompanied it would surely come back to bite Coriolanus in the ass; to haunt him. There's no way on earth, in heaven, or in hell those cruel and icy words won't find their way back to you. Because they will…

“I see.” Was Grandma’am’s clipped response. Those two words held so much sadness and disappointment in them. The old woman's wrinkled face turned sour as she informed her grandson, “I just hope that she didn't ruin her life sitting around; waiting for your love. She turned down quite a few wealthy suitors, even a General’s son, as I understand from Tigress- who felt that Y/N was wasting her time on you because you've changed- turned hateful and cold.”

What? You turned down opportunity after opportunity to get out of poverty; all because of your silly notion of being in love with him? Of wanting more than what he can offer you?

You willingly choose to work for scraps, having your ideas used by your boss- to be claimed by them as theirs instead- for advertisements and marketing plots, instead of being pampered on and made a socialite by a rich man. What’s wrong with you? Were you truly foolish enough to believe that love could pay the bills; could be more than enough for you? Were you foolish enough to want the insecurity of love over the security of wealth?

Coriolanus never took you for a foolish girl, but now…well he doesn't know what to think. Why would you hold out hope for him to love you, to pick you, to give you things he's incapable of if you weren't foolish. You knew as well as he did that he has to do certain things to climb to the top, to reach his political goals, and that entering a union of love with you isn't one of those things.

“Waiting around for me to love her; to propose a marriage that would only hinder my political aspirations, makes her one of the biggest fools in Panem, Grandma'am.” Heartlessly shot out of Coriolanus’ mouth before he could think twice. He didn't even recognize his voice, but it truly was his.

“I don't know what happened to you, grandson, to make you so hateful. That girl's loved you ever since the Dark Days and you seemed to love her back, but I now see that you were just using her. Using her like that little songbird of 12 used you up years ago during the 10th Hunger Games.” Grandma’am spat at Coriolanus, causing the hardened young man to just flash her a deadly look. A look that would make most people cower in fear. But, Grandma'am Snow wasn't like most people. She did raise General Crassus Snow after all and he had some of the most hateful pale blue eyes in the Capitol.

Coriolanus' face was cold as stone, his eyes flashing with fury, as he seethed, “Don't you bring up that dead district whore to me, you old bitch. I'll take any of your other ramblings, but not talk about that songbird.”

The disrespect and loathing in her grandson’s tone worried Grandma'am. She's never seen Coriolanus in such a light, but she didn't like it.

Her grandson was nothing like his father. No, Coriolanus was worse than Crassus. Despite being a strict man that believed in totalitarian rulership, Crassus Snow was capable of love. He loved his wife dearly and unconditionally. But his son, well, it seems like Coriolanus has closed himself off to love.

And that scares Grandma'am.

“I think, since you're newly engaged, that it's time for you to find your own penthouse to live in.” The Snow matriarch told her iciscle of a grandson while watching him lean forward to grab another piece of candy from the extravagant candy dish.

Popping the piece of candy into his mouth, Coriolanus simply said, “If that's what you want, then I'll move out.” Standing up, he said, “I'll go call the Plinths' realtor, see if there's any penthouses available in one of the new Luxe buildings downtown.”

No, Coriolanus wasn't going to see if there was a penthouse available in any of the new Luxe buildings, but in your specific building. Because, by living in your building, he'll be able to give you gifts without being stopped by that troublesome doorman with high morals. He'll also be able to fix things with you, get you to see his logic and agree to come back to him. Coriolanus will be able to break you and Odysseus Odair, the Capitol’s biggest manwhore, up before you become too enthralled by him. Before he loses you to him.

Despite denying his feelings for you and calling you a foolish girl for loving him, the thought of you possibly falling in love with somebody else terrifies him. It eats away at his soul, knowing that right know you're probably thinking about the date Odysseus took you on last night.

Coriolanus is jealous that you're moving on (after a damn month!) with somebody that he views unworthy of you. And he's going to put an end to things, make you return to his side.

And the perfect way to do that is living in your building. So, hopefully, Coriolanus can purchase the penthouse in your Luxe complex.

After a long day at work, you went home and got changed into something comfortable before going across the hall to Odysseus’. You felt a bit nervous knocking on his door. Yes, he did invite you over and said he'd cook dinner for a third date, but it's been a while since you've been invited to a man's apartment. In fact, the last time you went to a man's apartment was the night that you ended things with your ex.

When the door opened, revealing Odysseus in the doorway dressed in a simple tank and shorts, you felt your mouth go dry. His tan skin was glowing, bronze hair effortlessly framing his shoulders in waves. But it was the face splitting smile, brighter than the sun, that took your breath away.

How is it that he can always flash you that smile every time he's around you? Can he truly be that happy to see you? You last saw him a few hours ago for lunch, he couldn't have missed you that much- could he?

“Come on in.” Odysseus urged you, pulling you into the apartment with an excited look on dimples face. “I got shrimp and asparagus risotto on the stove.” He told you, gently closing the door as you walked into his place; taking in the decor.

The decor was nothing like how you expected a modern, upscale apartment to look like. The walls, instead of being the standard white, cream, or light grey that's standard in the building, were different shades of blue and green. Also, you noticed how a pair of hammock-like chairs made up entirely of rope and nets hung from the ceiling. Instead of a sofa, like most people had in their apartments, Odysseus had floor cushions that were shaped to resemble a couch. The coffee table was a chunk of driftwood with glass on it, while the TV was set on a table painted various shades of blue to resemble waves. And the wall decorations of various shells really set off the beachy vibe of the apartment.

“Is this how houses are decorated in District 4?” You asked, standing in the middle of the mainroom- taking everything in.

“Yea.” Odysseus nodded. “Wait until you see the kitchen, you'll love it.” He told you, only to grab your hand and drag you into the kitchen.

The kitchen, that was decorated with mounted fish all over the walls. The beautiful white cabinets had all of their doors taken off. The back walls of the cabinets were painted teal, creating a contrast with the white shelves and frame. And the once white marble countertops were painted (Yes, he painted over marble!) seafoam green. The kitchen island stools looked to be made out of a mix of driftwood and rope, which made you wonder how sturdy they were.

“Sit down, honey. The risotto’s almost done.” Your new boyfriend beamed, guiding you to sit down on one of the stools (that you were iffy about). “You're going to love this risotto; recipe’s a simple one from 4, but it's delicious.” Odysseus told yoy, going over to the stove and stirring the contents in the pan so it wouldn't burn.

“Do you eat anything other than seafood?” You asked, hoping that he did. Honestly, you didn't eat seafood religiously, so if Odysseus did then…well…guess you'll have to deal with it.

“Fish’s healthy for you, Y/N.” The heir to the largest luxury cruiseline out of District 4 told you while taking the risotto pan off of the stove and placing it onto the countertop.

Which was bad, because without a trivet to rest on the heat from the pan can ruin the counter. Does he not give a shit about ruining his counter? Hell, Coriolanus would be having a stroke if you pulled that shit- placing a hot pan on his marble counter without using a trivet.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a minute, wait a goddamn minute! Why the fuck are you thinking about Coriolanus, your ex, when you're about to have a nice home cooked meal with Odysseus, your current boyfriend? What the hell's wrong with you?

What? Are you going to be that girl that compares apples to oranges in bed too?

Odysseus’ warm hands skirt across your body as his mouth leaves feather soft kisses all over your skin, but it feels foreign to you. Honestly, you're not used to soft caresses and lightly peppered kisses. Of lips pressing against yours firmly, but faintly. You weren't used to a man swiping the tip of his tongue along your lower lip in a way that was both sensual and questioning all at the same time.

No.

You're used to hungry, sloppy butterfly kisses which turn into bruising bites all over your skin. You're used to cold, rough hands squeezing and grabbing at you. You're used to lips harshly clashing against yours in hungry desperate kisses. Kisses that seemed to be from a man starved and he shoved his tongue down your throat without warning. Desperate kisses that turned into opened mouth ones, complete with spit swallowing, tongue sucking, and bottom lip biting.

You're not used to softness. Instead, you're used to roughness. But perhaps you could get used to softness.

Or at least you tell yourself you'll get used to softness as you lay naked underneath Odysseus, splayed out on the floor cushions, as he languidly rolls his hips against yours. His movements are reminiscent of ocean waves crashing against the shore. His thrusts were slow, but powerful.

You felt like you're going to explode as Odysseus’ mellow movements slowly worked passion into you. Your pussy begged to be pounded, craved for his cock to bruise against the spongy spot inside of it. But instead of brute force, your cunt got gently caressed by Odysseus’ large cock (well, he had the length, but not the girth you're used too. Oh god, are you really comparing your boyfriend's cock to your ex’s cock? Yes, yes you are and you'll probably go to hell for it.) evertime he dragged it against your tight walls, only to push back into you again.

You bucked your hips, whining out, “Faster, Odysseus. Harder, please.”

Odysseus just smiled lazily, making his dimples protrude deeply in his cheeks. Bringing one of his hands up to stroke your cheek, he said, “I see you're not used to making love, honey. But, you'll get used to being worshiped like the goddess you are.”

His words were sweet and sent your heart fluttering a mile a minute. And the smoldering look he gave you as he snapped his hips just a little bit deeper, a little bit harder, for you and your head spinning.

And soon, before you knew it, your cunt’s clamping down around his cock and your nails (no longer crimson, but now a simple French manicure) are digging into his shoulder while you whimper, “Odysseus.” over and over as you cum.

Odysseus after feeling you cum around his cock, coating it in your stick juices, quickly pulled out of you. The feeling of emptiness crashed into you harder than any storm wave hitting a pier ever could as Odysseus knelt between your legs, quickly pumping his cock until he cum with your name on his lips. The feeling of his warm cum spurting out onto your belly made you twitch in surprise. 

You weren't used to having hot cum shoot onto your body, you were used to being filled up with it. Was there a reason why your boyfriend didn't want to cum inside of you?

But before you could ask him, he was pushing himself to stand while announcing, “I'll get you a towel so you can clean up.”

“Okay.” You simply nodded, laying on the floor cushions while spent with white pearl like seed slowly sliding down your stomach.

After a few minutes, Odysseus came back with a towel. He gave it to you, before collecting his shorts and pulling them on. As you cleaned his cum off of your stomach, he gathered your clothes- which you thought was odd.

Coriolanus never gathered your clothes for you after fucking you. No, he used to pull you into his arms; pressing you to lay into his side, while carding his fingers thru your hair. Some times, after a particularly rough and hard fucking, he'd draw a bath for the two of you or he'd hold you in bed while telling you that you did so well; that he was proud of you for not using the safeword- only to remind you that next time if you need to use the safe word (red) that you can and he won't think any less of you.

But you're not with the platinum blonde man (who doesn't give a shit about you, who's engaged to the heir of Panem's biggest bank now) anymore, you're now with a bronze haired man who’s habits you'll just have to learn. Have to get used to.

Flopping down on the seat cushions, Odysseus handed you over your clothes. “I thought you might want to get dressed so you won't be could while we watch tv.”

“You want to watch tv?” You asked, finding it strange that he brought up tv instead of cuddling.

“Yea, there's supposed to be a fishing documentary on soon and I don't wanna miss it.”

A fishing documentary…Of course, he wants to watch something about District 4. Well, you can't fault him for that. He has a tie in a way to the district and just wants to learn all he can about it, since he resides in the Capitol.

Plus, you suppose that you can cuddle with him while watching the documentary together.

Coriolanus walked behind the realtor (a middle-aged man that Strabo Plinth had on speed dial) as he opened the door to the penthouse suite of the Luxe apartment building that you reside in. “You're in luck, Mr. Snow, that nobody's applied for this unit; that I was able to fit you in for an after hours showing as well.”

“Yes, Mr. Grand, it seems that I'm very lucky that I'm the only one inquiring about this penthouse.” Coriolanus told the realtor, a calculating line of a smile on his face, as he took in the vast space of the main room. 

It was twice as big as the Corso penthouse; surely you'd be impressed by it. This was your building, even if you did live on a lower floor (where the working-poor of the Capitol were), so Coriolanus knew that you’d like his new penthouse once he convinced you to see it. And, despite just starting the tour with the realtor, it was his place.

The platinum blonde master manipulator was going to move in as soon as possible, because it was the only way to get you back. He had to get you away from that peacock Odair before you did something stupid, like let him seduce you and get knocked up. You're not allowed to get knocked up by anyone, other than Coriolanus that is.

Yes, Coriolanus feels that he's the only one that can give you children. Nobody else better put a baby in you, unless they have a death wish.

But unknown to Coriolanus, Odysseus isn't ready for children yet (He may or may not have a few baby mamas and paternity test disputes floating around that his rich daddy Poseidon’s taking care of) which is why he practiced the pull out method with you while ‘making love’ on his floor cushions.

If only Coriolanus knew…well…he'd be having a coronary.

Not about the pullout method (no, that's something he'd be thankful for cause he's the only one allowed to cum inside of you), but about you making love to Odysseus on the floor. That fact right there would make Coriolanus made enough to kill. He's already jealous that you went to dinner with Odair, but if he ever found out that you fucked him…oh boy…it'd be like a throat punch to his ego.

It'd also be a dagger through his cold, dead, black, too small heart that secretly holds love for you. 

But what Coriolanus doesn’t know won't hurt him. Besides, he's engaged to Livia Cardew and should be worried about her, not you. But, no matter what, he'll always worry about you because you're the one he wants in his life- despite driving you away by entering an arranged match for money, power, and glory.

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[bleachification]

trojan horse - dazai

+ dazai x reader (fantasy au)

+ this is ch. two of all that glitters is not gold (the prologue)

ch. one is here: dissonance

ch. three: in reverence

Golden armadas decorate the sea like jewels fastened upon a crystal hand, dotted plains of might and power—all at the behest of your nation’s adversary. The kingdom’s greatest foe… Prince Dazai Osamu. 

Princeling, as you used to call him. A nickname borne of affection and sullied by betrayal. 

Tonight, the royal fleet departs for its homeland with jewels, satins, and you aboard. In less than four hours, your vows will be cemented into your country’s history and the war shall halt—on paper, that is. The mere thought makes your head throb. 

Waving the useless deliberations away, you turn away from the window. A sweeping glance across the space before you elicits a tingle of discomfort that crawls up your spine and burrows its way into the back of your throat. Wooden chests and velvet cases filled with your most prized material possessions line the north-facing wall. The furniture, stripped of any and all embellishments, look like skeletons. Your room seems infinitely more spacious now that everything is packed up. Barren of comfort, you swallow at the sight. 

It is almost as if you are a stranger in your own home. 

“Is everything ready?” You ask. 

“Yes, your highness. As you requested, I have packed up all of the items written on your list,” the man behind you replies.

“Including…?”

“Yes,” he hesitates. “Although, if I may speak, your highness…”  

You turn towards the large window, gaze drifting across the sparkling cityscape wrought with peachy hues and sharp outlines. “You always do Chuuya. Go on, say what you intend.”

Chuuya runs a hand through his hair, huffing in irritation. “This is dangerous… foolish. Even for you.”

You crack a small smile at his bluntness. It is a comfort. “Did you just call me a fool?”

You’re teasing him. Just like you always have. Just like you did back when titles did not matter and your loved ones were not handpicked in favour of court politics. Back when things were much, much simpler.

Chuuya only scoffs. “You had to hear it. It may as well be from your childhood friend.”

You level your gaze at the ginger-haired man, the face you have known since birth only stares back at you, unfazed. “Ah, so you’re speaking as my friend, then? Not my personal aide?”

“And if I am?” He asks. 

“Then I appreciate your concern. But I will be fine. I have gone through much worse than that of a wedding, remember?” You raise a brow when he rolls his eyes so dramatically you fear they’ll fall out of that thick skull of his. When he doesn’t speak, you continue on, “I can handle this. I can handle him.”

“He is not the person we used to know! He never was,” Chuuya protests. 

A shooting star falls across the sky, leaving a glowing path in its wake. You make a silent wish and pray the heavens hear you. “I understand.”

“Do you really?” Skepticism coats his every word. 

You turn your head slightly, just enough so you can see him from the corner of your eye. Chuuya crosses his arms, impatiently tapping his fingers against his bicep as he expresses his disdain.

“Yes.”

Your answer only irritates him further. “If that was the case, you wouldn’t be packing belladonna in your bags and strapping daggers to your legs! If you insist on going down this path, Y/N, you could–”

“Die?” 

You are well aware of the consequences of your plans, death included. But if the cost of revenge is your life, you will gladly pay that price. 

Chuuya realizes this and his irritation fades to something softer. Something sadder—more fearful. “Yes. Precisely that. You could die.”

You step down from your windowside and make your way to Chuuya's side. Luggage litters the marble floor, causing a misstep or two. In what feels like a mere moment, the dying sunset casts the already lustrous room in a gorgeous light. Warm orange tones pour into the room like a golden tide, flooding out any and all dullness. 

You nudge his shoulder with your own, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. Chuuya looks like he’s about to go and strangle Dazai himself just to keep you from coming to harm. “You don’t believe I can do this? That I can hurt him? Bring him to his knees?”

Chuuya shuffles so that he is facing you, still scowling, still with arms crossed. “You know it’s not about that. He… Dazai is out of his mind. Who knows what he’ll do to you if he uncovers your true intentions.”

Chuuya says his name with such scorn you almost feel bad for Dazai. Almost.

“Do you really think that I’m unaware of how… cruel he is?” You pause, a distant memory floats around the back of your mind; a painful past you can never outrun, “I experienced that inhumanity firsthand, Chuuya… watched as it destroyed my family, and nearly my empire as well. I couldn’t burn the image out of my mind if I tried.” 

Your best friend falls silent. You do for a second as well, resolve hardening in the process.

“For that, he will pay. By no one’s hand but my own,” you vow. 

A hand that you have trained for years, all for the sole purpose of hurting him. To be able to bear the heavy weight of a blade—to lift it and apply just enough pressure that you are able to draw fear from his eyes and a line of red across his throat. The thought of having that much power over Dazai… it is addicting. Exhilarating. Terrifying. 

Chuuya stares at you in both irritation and concern, his nerves firing at every end as he paces the length of the room, muttering as he does so. “So damned stubborn… Cannot believe… Just like when…”

“Are you done cursing under your breath? I do still require your help with preparing for the ceremony,” you comment, rolling your eyes as his grumbles get louder. 

Chuuya practically stomps his way back to you, huffing in defiance. “If there ever was a record, let it be shown that I am vehemently against this moronic plan.”

You make a noise of agreement. “Duly noted. If that is all, will  you come help me with my cosmetics now?”

You stroll over to the cushioned seat tucked under the shimmering vanity hidden away in the corner of your room. A round mirror pebbled with milky pearls and brushed with diamond powder sits atop a glossy desk surface. The ornate piece was gifted by your father for your birthday many years before. For a second, you are glad for the marriage. For as long as it lasts, you will never have to see that sickening thing again—never to be done up on the whims of the Emperor. 

You sit down. The chair is soft—too soft—and you sink further into the cushion than desired. 

Chuuya grabs a few elaborate accessories, powders, and a shockingly large pile of fabric from the drawers and closet next to you. He drops them unceremoniously onto your empty bed and shifts through the mess before he finds what he is searching for; a small pot of safflower lotion. 

“Yeah, yeah. I still don’t understand the reasoning behind all this dress-up,” he mutters. He hands you the lotion and busies himself with the mountain of clothing on the bed. 

“It is something I hope you never come to understand, my dear friend,” you sigh. 

After all, there is no worth in a canvas without paint, much less a doll bare of face. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　  

Four days and four nights. That is how long you have been at sea, a prisoner of your father’s accord on the enemy prince’s ship—No Longer Human. You find the name a bit morose for your liking, but there’s no accounting for taste, you suppose. The others following aren’t much better. You spared the various liners a glance before boarding the capital ship. From memory, there was one called Twin Dark, and another painted with swirling red letters of: The Crystal Rose. You’d much prefer being on the latter—roses are your favourite flower. They have been ever since childhood. 

You wonder… 

No. You shake the inkling of a thought out of your head. The chance that that man would remember something so obscure about someone he so despises… laughable. 

But you don’t laugh. You don’t do much at all. You stare out of the floor-to-ceiling glass that is more akin to a wall than a window. Vast ocean greets you, sparkling like a veil of crushed gems under the setting sun, sitting snug below an infinite sky. 

Someone knocks on your door—three quick raps. You make a noise of confirmation and the door quietly opens to reveal a stranger. The man who walks into your room is tall and lean, with thin wired frames resting on the sharp bridge of his nose. His hair, long and so blonde it almost glows, falls across his shoulders and ends at the small of his back. There is a sternness to his expression—humourless and collected, but not cold. In fact, there isn’t anything antagonistic about him. 

Under normal circumstances, you would give him a friendly smile, say hello, maybe even compliment him on his clothes. Today is not a normal circumstance. He wears garments stitched of a gorgeous blue silk, reminiscent of the midnight sky. Layers of fabric pool off of him, white and grey, all covered by a traditional robe. The robe is lined with silver edges and tied together at his front with a matching sash. The patterns on the outerwear swirl together, falling lotus petals that almost come to life with his movements. From the looks of it, he must be a high-ranking official in Dazai’s court. 

The blonde man pushes his glasses up with his left hand and adjusts the box he holds in his right. It doesn’t exactly look impressive, a rectangular package wrapped in silver paper. It’s the size of a large book. The only thing out of the ordinary is the black lettering on the surface; a phrase written in glittering cursive. Your name. 

The blond man bows. “I greet Your Highness, heir to the Northern Empire. I am Doppo Kunikida, Chief Minister and personal aide to His Majesty.”

“His Majesty?” You raise a brow. Last you heard, which was only three days ago at your marriage ceremony, Dazai was only a prince.

“Yes,” Kunikida says. 

You wait. The Chief Minister stays silent, something  you are sure he does quite often. 

“I am in no mood for games,” you state plainly. 

Kunikida straightens and nods his head almost imperceptibly at your thinly-veiled irritation.  “Apologies. His Majesty, Dazai Osamu, has succeeded the throne as of two nights ago. The formal coronation is set for three days' time, the evening after our arrival.”

You blink. Dazai is… king? The little boy who used to pick out flowers and break down sobbing when a thorn pricked him is now the leader of an entire kingdom? The leader of the enemy kingdom, you remind yourself. As the king, his power has risen considerably, along with the stakes of your position and plans of revenge. 

Guess you really can't call him Princeling anymore. 

You swallow down the uneasiness in your throat and turn your attention to the silver box, hoping Kunikida doesn’t pick up on your anxiety. 

“What is it?”

Kunikida hands it to you before taking a step back. “A gift.”

“Let me guess, a gift from His Majesty?” 

If Kunikida notices the sarcasm in your tone (and it is quite difficult to not notice it), he doesn’t show it nor comment on it. “A wedding present, he said. A small offering of peace.”

You want to shove the new King of Yokohama’s peace offering down his throat until he takes the shape of a rectangle. Sadly, Dazai isn’t here for you to do so, and it would be quite the scandal; ‘Royal marriage ends after three days due to newly appointed King Dazai’s death by cardboard box.’’

You thank Kunikida for the gift and he quietly leaves with another bow. It might be your imagination, but the stony-faced Chief Minister seems relieved to be dismissed. You hadn’t let your annoyance show that clearly, had you? 

The box isn’t very heavy. You set it on the large four-poster bed in the center of the room. 

You haven’t seen Dazai since the wedding—if you can even call such a stifling event that. He disappeared right after and left you in the care of the soldiers and attendants of Yokohama Kingdom. They are the ones who brought you aboard the ship and showed you to your cabin. Though “cabin” isn’t quite the accurate description for your quarters. Aside from the huge bed laden with piles of silk and cotton and the seemingly never-ending glass wall to your left, the room has everything and anything you can possibly think of. 

The marbled tiles under your feet are cold to the touch, and the deep blue reminds you of the midnight sea. Rows and rows of clothing, shoes, and accessories line the walk-in closet in the back, right next to the silver-gilded fireplace that lights up the room with warmth.  Across from it sits a large loveseat tufted with silk and made of black velvet.

And yet… despite the glamour and luxury of your accommodations, the only thing that catches your attention right now is the gift. You pick it up and stare at the shining letters. You should throw it into the fireplace. Let it burn to ashes. Better yet, you should chuck it off the side of the ship and pray a shark eats it. 

Your fingers twitch. 

About all of three seconds pass before you rip open the outer wrapping of the package and uncover it. There is a folded note sitting atop a gently folded bundle of satin—a stunning article of clothing. The garment is noticeably traditional wear, and very formal. It shimmers with every little touch, every little breath. It is coloured a deep red, a shade not unlike blood, that is beyond flattering against your complexion. 

The sight of it makes you want to hurl. First it was your father, now it's Dazai who thinks he has the right to dress you up… to show you off like some sort of war prize. 

You won’t let him have the satisfaction. You toss the clothing aside and reach for the envelope that came with it. You open up the folded paper and immediately recognize Dazai’s handwriting. It hasn't changed much since he was young. Slightly more polished, and definitely less chicken-scratchy. 

Y/N,

I have drafted letters like this one every single night for the past ten years, only to throw them all into the fireplace out of frustration. Or perhaps it was out of cowardice and shame. Even now, I am nervous—no—terrified at the notion of you reading this. Even now, you have such a startling effect on me. 

You must hate me. I understand. Anyone would feel the same in your shoes. Although…regrettably, I cannot say the same for myself. But that is an indication of my own weak constitution more than anything else. 

No matter. You hate me and that is that. But we are married now and I am set to change things. Our countries require our amicability, despite any personal feelings you may harbour. I will not force you to care for me—but I will try, for as long as I am able. 

Please join me for dinner service tonight. In three hours time; southern side of the upper deck. 

We have much to discuss. 

P.S. After much deliberation and many sleepless hours, I decided that red would look best on you. Though I fear even a paper sack would leave me quite speechless as long as you were the one wearing it. 

Your (beloved) husband,

Dazai Osamu

Your first thought is to punch a wall. Your second thought is to punch a certain king right in his smug face. After so many years, he is still pretending to be on your side. Still pretending that there is anything left between you that isn’t the shattered remnants of a tragic history best left in the past. 

The fireplace flares as it swallows up the last of the note and garment, leaving nothing behind but charcoal dust and a soft warmth that rolls over the room. You sigh, both satisfied and exhausted; completely drained from the emotional turmoil of the past week.

The sun is long gone underneath the waves, dark midnight now settled in its place. The moon, in all its glory, lights up a path across the sea for the ship to follow and casts a silver sheen over your room. There is not a speck of land in sight. It is as if the world had been swallowed by the sea, with only the stars as companions. The sight makes you sleepy… and just a little bit homesick, which surprises you. 

Kunikida shows up a short time later, ready to bring you to Dazai. You insist on taking your dinner in your quarters, much to Kunikida’s protests, and lock the door behind the maid that brings it. Just in case. Though the lock didn’t do much to block the incessant knocking on your door that sounds just as you are about to fall asleep. 

Peeved and a little puzzled, you stumble out of bed in a daze, making your way to the door that is currently taking a beating from the other side. 

Is it Kunikida? The maid from earlier? Who the hell could need you at this ungodly hour?

The answer comes in the form of Dazai Osamu. His hair is tangled and sticking in all directions, like he was tossing and turning. His clothes are nothing but a cream cotton robe covering a pair of loose matching bottoms, wrinkled and creased. He is still as beautiful as ever. 

You slam the door in his face. Or at least, you try to, but Dazai anticipates it and sticks a foot out to block it. He winces, ever slightly, but gives no other indication of discomfort. 

You are positively irked. 

Before you are able to cuss him out and physically push him away, he speaks up.

“Apologies. I couldn’t sleep. It seems that even in the dreamland, you manage to plague my every thought,” he says with a slight frown. 

Confusion and irritation swirl in your chest as you take in… everything. Is he out of his damn mind? More than usual? 

You narrow your eyes at him, not buying this innocent act of his for even a moment. “What, pray tell, am I supposed to do with that information? You act as if this problem is one I can, or even want, to help you solve. Though I assure you that is not the case. Unless there is an emergency—a real one—leave me be, Your Majesty. You and I have nothing to speak of.”

His frown deepens. “Who…You don’t need to call me that.”

Your left eye twitches. “What?”

Dazai swallows, an air of nervous energy pours out from him, along with annoyance. That just makes you even more mad—if anyone should be annoyed, it should be you. It also puts you on edge—Dazai is rarely nervous. 

“There is no reason for you to call me by a title. My name—it is yours to use freely,” he says.

“I disagree. Now, Your Majesty, why are you here?” You reject him flatly. 

Dazai is clearly unsatisfied with your decision but decides to drop it. For now. He clears his throat. “You didn’t come to dinner.”

“I didn’t want to.”

If your reply hurts him, he doesn’t show it. He just nods like he expected that answer from you. “Right. Is it because of the clothes? Kunikida said that it would be a nice gesture, a way to show goodwill, and I thought it would look—”

“No, not because of the clothes,” you interject. Is he messing with you right now?

“So it was because of me.”

You cock your head. Your mind is on overdrive trying to work out his motive for being here—for bringing up all these strange, irrelevant things. “If you knew that, why come here at all?”

He smiles sadly. “Wishful thinking on my part. I thought…” He hesitates, clearly unsure if he should voice his feelings out loud. He tries anyway, “Well, let’s just say it is a treacherous thing to be stuck in a past that no longer exists. I was feeling… nostalgic. It will not happen again.”

A small lump forms in your throat at the finality in his tone. You swallow it down and make a noise of agreement. “A wise decision.” 

You expect him to leave, but Dazai lingers at the doorway. This entire time he has been nothing more than a foot away from you, yet the distance between you continues to grow into an insurmountable gap. You wonder how you ever loved him; how you ever looked at him and felt something other than heartache and hostility. Those memories feel like a mere figment of your imagination nowadays. Perhaps they are.

After a moment of silence, he says: “It was never my intention to hurt you, you must believe me on that.”

Your knuckles turn white from how hard you clench the doorknob. It takes all your willpower and patience not to put a blade through his head, right then and there. 

Not his intention to hurt you? Believe him? Such pretty words undeserving of being spoken by such an ugly liar. 

“It's a shame I am not the naive little kid that you used to know. Because if I was…” You lean into him, until your mouth is right next to his ear. 

Dazai stills. 

“I might actually believe you,” you hiss. 

You pull back and ignore his stricken expression. 

Dazai shakes the shock away and nods. He takes a step back, understanding his cue to leave. He turns and takes a few steps before stopping and looking back at you.

“Good night, Y/N,” he softly whispers.

You shut the door without another word. 

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

FLOWER RAIN!

the ability to touch others had been a fundamental thing you had been deprived of. yet things seemed to change when you stepped foot into eridia, moreso when you were able to take leander's hand. leander kindly brought you a temporary solution of flowers, but beyond the calm surface, maybe there was something more dangerous than your own curse lying in wait.

gender neutral reader

content warning(s): reader is mc, yandere, suggestive content

To touch was something holy. 

It became the pillar of human existence and human connection. Whether it be running a hand over a lover’s body or even the ability to huddle together with others during a meal, it was undeniable that the ability to touch and to feel and to connect defined an integral experience of what it meant to be a human.

It was something that you had been stripped of your entire life. It was only until just recently that the revelation that you might be able to be granted the privilege of touch. You could hardly believe it yourself, and on some days, you couldn’t help but think that maybe starving yourself of it entirely instead of entertaining a foolish hope might hurt you less in the long run. 

“Do you like them?” You jerked to life, thoughts shattered as if they were freshly frozen frost. A foreign weight in your hands reminded you of where you were and the man standing in front of you, observing you for your reaction. 

Leander’s voice remained quiet and warm, like the gentle light of a candle placed by the windowside on a cold evening. A bouquet of beautifully bloomed white lilies nestle themselves in your hands, and they weigh against your palms in a way that only a taken life would. 

The lilies weren’t heavy, but the clear markings of where they’ve been plucked by the stems seemed to add some kind of presence to them. You can’t imagine something as vibrant as these cloud-white lilies growing to fruition in the wasteland that Lowtown and its surrounding areas were, yet… These were real flowers. They weren’t the magical lilies that Leander would conjure up at the request of his team.

You glanced up at the smiling man. “They’re real. Where did you get these?”

He waved his hand, simply dismissing your curiosity. “I have my ways. You should already know that I have my own connections around these parts. Besides…”

You watched with widened eyes as Leander reached over, and with one big hand, his fingertips pinched the end of one of the flowers. The subtle white and the graceful curve of the lily petal looked like freshly fallen snow against Leander’s calloused hands and dark clothes, the contrast striking and lovely enough to render you almost breathless. 

“...It’s only fitting that a gentleman brings his beloved a gift of flowers, don’t you think?” He chuckled in the usual way he always did, and the mindful sound set you at ease somewhat. Gift or not, you’d be lying if you said that being gifted flowers wasn’t special.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.” You brought the bouquet to your face, and you were welcomed with the sweet scent of the lilies. Leander remained one of the very few people you could touch with your bare hands without any drastic consequences, and yet, you knew deep down that as desperate as you were to fulfill the incessant craving for human touch, it would be horrendously unfair of you to hoard so much of his time just so you can let your hands wander all over the human body that you had been deprived of your entire life.

Leander grinned, his green eyes sparkling with delight. “Seeing you like it makes it worth my time. Although I hope you don’t take too much of a preference for them. It would make me a little sad if my magic lost its place in your heart now that you’ve seen the real deal.”

You balked, whirling your head towards Leander. “I’d never! Your flowers are something special. I don’t think an infinite supply of actual lilies could replace yours. I still remember my first night in Eridia and how I felt when you offered your flowers to me for the first time. I thought my heart stopped right there and then.”

“Now you’re just flattering me,” Leander laughed again. “Not that I mind. Praise from you is something I cherish moreso than anything else.”

There certainly were moments where you wished you could see what exactly went behind Leander’s mind. You liked him dearly, maybe even bordering on the cusp of infatuation at times, yet like any experienced resident of Lowtown, Leander kept his secrets close only to himself. Even with his friendly facade and his insistence that you give him your trust, you had a hard time following his true intentions every now and then.

It wasn’t enough to make you doubt his loyalty to you. But it was enough to pique your morbid curiosity at times, to make you want to peel back the gentlemanly act he puts on for you to see what kind of man actually laid in wait underneath.

“Prettiness aside, I found out something interesting that I thought you’d appreciate.” His words shake you from your thoughts, and you find yourself face to face with Leander again. You wondered what kind of experiences he must have to develop the natural charisma that he possesses, every sentence of his ensnaring you like a siren’s song. He gestured towards the flowers. “I’ve heard that flower petals feel similar to human skin.”

Your heart skips a beat. Your breath weighed heavy in the back of your throat and on your tongue.

“They do?”

“Mhm. Why don’t you see for yourself?” He hummed. You’ve never been too good at hiding your emotions, even less so with Leander, who could read your true intentions as if you explicitly told them to him. You leaned the flowers into the crook of your elbow before you tugged cautiously at your bandages. 

The white strips bled away into the mangled flesh and golden cracks, and you held your breath. Carefully and cautiously, you brushed your knuckles against the underside of one of the lily flowers, and a sickening shiver ran down your spine.

The petals were soft. So, so, so insanely soft. Delicate, with minuscule veins crisscrossing the bottom, you swore your heart stopped in your chest.

Leander was right.

“They do,” you breathed, stunned. You turned to him with eyes bewitched and shock scribbled all over your face. 

Leander’s face melted into a fond smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I told you, didn’t I? Ever since you told me about your curse and touched me, I realized how little you must have touched others. How much trust it took for you to take that step with me. I know I’ve offered you the chance to touch me whenever you need it, but I get that that’s not an easy thing to ask for. So I figured that I would try to find the next best thing—something that won’t hurt anyone.”

“I-,” your voice caught in the back of your throat. Emotion bubbled up inside of your chest. You were no more than a stranger to Leander, an outsider who dragged their feet into Eridia with nothing but a single strand of hope towards solving your affliction, yet here he was, going out of his way to make sure that you could savor the same, trivial happiness that others took for granted. “You don’t need to do so much for me. I don’t know what to say… I mean, thank you, really.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” His voice dropped down to a low cadence. His gaze was fixed on you as you continued to stroke and pinch the petals the same way he did. 

Your fingers kept curling around and savoring the sensation of something so soft and welcoming against your own skin. It wasn’t anything compared to the actual feeling of flesh and bone underneath you, the same warmth and tension that came with brushing your fingers over Leander’s hands, but if this was the closest you could get without hurting others, you’d be a fool not to take the rare opportunity.

“They feel like you, kind of,” you said. It’s your turn to offer Leander a small grin, and your face lit up like that of a kid in a candy shop. Innocent and pure, a breath of fresh air in comparison to the muck and grime that Leander is used to being stifled by. 

“Do they?”

“Not as good, of course!” You blurted awkwardly, shaking your hands. “Nothing could feel better than actually touching you-”

-Leander raised a teasing eyebrow, and a tiny chuckle escaped the man. Heat flooded your cheeks, and you groaned, shaking your head and immediately backtracking.

“...Don’t take it the wrong way,” you grumbled. “Otherwise you’ll be just as bad as Vere.”

“I won’t push my luck then,” the man easily laughed, “But it’s good to hear that you have such a particular fondness for me. I really wish I could spend more time with you throughout the day. If only I could, I’d let you put your hands over me whenever and wherever you want—all in good faith, of course.”

“Just… forget I said anything,” you mumbled, wanting to bury your face into the bouquet of lilies. Leander laughed heartily again, and he turned on his heel, giving you a small wave in farewell before disappearing back to whatever he had been up to before he had come to you. Being the leader of the Bloodhounds must be no easy task. It was awfully kind of him to take time out of his busy day to accommodate you.

Not that Leander ever minded. Even as he walked away from you, his perfect facade working wonders at getting you to drop your guard around him, the man can’t help but let his mind run wild.

Your fingers wandered across the pretty lily petals. They’re his flowers, an extension of who he was. A perfect extension of him. His devotion, his sympathy, and his faith: all ephemeral suggestions of his love. Dignified and lethal. Your cluelessness was enough to drive him insane. You have no clue the influence you have over him, and yet, you kept stroking the flowers with the same tentativeness and visceral need that you did with him.

Leander could see the scene clearly in his head. Your fingertips followed the end of the petal towards the inside of the blossoms, from the broad curves of his chest and lower towards the hardened muscles of his abdomen. Would you touch him with the very admiration you showed the petals? Or would it be something more carnal, demanding that he reveal more of himself to sate you?

Or maybe it’d be something more romantic. His sultry eyes lowered into a more darkened look. You might raise the flowers to your face, and you’d take in the scent of the flowers, his presence embedded into the core of every single lily. The curved petals would brush against the tip of your nose and the graceful curve of your cheeks.

Maybe, just maybe, you might even press your lips against the flesh-like petals.

The thought made Leander want to go crazy with desire. Something deep and dark inside of him stirred dangerously. This world was determined to snuff you out without any fanfare, to the point that even the smallest sparks of joy were enough to tempt you out from the light and towards a fate far murkier than the one fate had in store for you. After having been deprived for what must be your entire life, the little things must taste that much sweeter to you.

But it was entirely alright.

Denial only makes the desire harder to stave off, and absence only makes the heart fonder. The flowers were nothing more than a temporary fix. Perhaps enough to get you hooked on the feeling of human touch, the same thing you’ve learned to live without out of sheer necessity. Now that you’ve had a sampling, it would only be natural that you’d follow the fleeting rapture like a starved madman. 

And Leander would gladly be waiting at the end of the descent, arms wide open, for you to accept.

For you to love.

For you to touch.

x

[owlespresso]

pink salt leander

tags: fem!reader, oracle bg, spice beneath cut

Your visions do not wait to come for you. They emerge suddenly and violently, kraken’s tendrils emerging from black waves to strike the weary hull of your mind. You witness horrible things. Things better off left unsaid and forgotten, but they stick in your memory like stubborn burrs. When you close your eyes, you still see that fleshy, pulsating red. You still taste the salt and smoke on the back of your tongue.

It's especially vicious tonight. persistent enough to drive you to distraction. When Leander walks you to your door, he tilts his head and furrows his lip, letting you know he’s about to ask a question you won’t like.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks. “You don’t look well—and I’m not talking about the seven pints you took down on an empty stomach.”

“You told me I was stunning and incredibly difficult to resist.” you grumble. He smiles.

“And you are. You just look… like you might not want to be alone, right now.” he says. There's a heavy sway of coy suggestion in his voice, smooth and light. 

“You can come in.” you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him, so you settle for the next best thing. You leave the door wide open behind you, light from the hallway shed onto the old planks. Your boots get kicked off by the door, landing in a heap somewhere close to it, and you throw your cloak over the chair that sits at the windowside desk. Leander’s gaze tracks every moment. It’s nearly a physical weight, pressing up against your skin as you flop onto the bed, head nearly hanging over the edge, frankly too buzzed to care. 

He’s a strange fellow. One might dare go so far as to call him a “weirdo”. You’ve come to take the eccentricities you can spot in stride, knowing he is far from the worst or most abnormal thing you’ve encountered since setting foot in this city.

You gaze at him for a long moment. The room falls still. his eyes are hooded, his lips curled with the slightest wisp of mischief. 

“You can tell me when something is wrong, you know.” He stands at the end of your bed like a demon crept from sleep’s paralysis, eyes bright and bags under his eyes dark. As horrifying as he is handsome, a visage you’d expect from a serial murderer. Haunted but haughty, with his gilded boots and winsome smile. He’s not smiling now, though. He looks concerned, or is trying to resemble a facsimile of it. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what needs fixing.”

“There’s nothing that needs fixing,” you reply monotonously, looking at him upside-down, head nearly dangling over the mattress’s edge. 

“Did someone downstairs say something to you?” he asks, tilting head to the side.

“Well, the most annoying fellow bothered me all night long. you might know him—dagger-shaped earring, tight leather pants.” you drawl, reaching a hand out. you pinch the slick fabric of his pants between thumb and forefinger, let it snap against his thigh. You ignore the stilted, giddy little breath he lets out. “Then he had the nerve to cut me off. and the bartender just let him.”

“You couldn’t have been too annoyed if you looked that closely at his pants,” Leander says, eyes crinkling with his smile. Always smiling. He bends the round of his knee to meet your palm, grins wider when you take your hand back like you’ve been scalded. “I'll be sure to have a strong word with him tomorrow, anyways. I can't have someone driving my favorite customer away.”

“You don’t own the bar,” you murmur, scuttling to the other side of the bed like a shrew underneath golden, bent grasses. 

“You're the boss's favorite, too,” Leander replies instantly. "Besides, the Bloodhounds keep this place going. We make up at least half their revenue." He glances down in silent question. You lay on your side, on the assortment of pillows, nestling your cheek into the palm of your hand. 

“You can.” you drop your head onto the pillows and turn away from him. you don't have to see him to know he moves immediately, heavy footfalls thudding against the floor before he’s all but crashing onto the mattress. you’re bounced with the impact, unable to hold in an outraged shout. The sound is smothered into a pillow. He laughs, the sound deep and rich and rumbling. it soothes the worst of your jitters. you give him a begrudging smack on the hip. His fingers wrap around your wrist, drawing your hand behind you. You twist to face him. His face is closer than you anticipated, his green eyes gleaming in the cool kiss of night’s shadows.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice quiet like a secret. The plush of his lips presses to the fat of your palm. You can’t help the way your breath catches.

“I didn’t think you’d be this shy,” he murmurs, lips wand’ring a path to your fingers. He idly plays with each one, his now ungloved hand fiddling with your thumb and pointer. He had them on, when he walked in. You’re not sure where they’ve gone, or when. He traces over the bumps of your knuckles, admires every centimeter of skin those greedy eyes can roam across.

“I—” you cut yourself off with a gasp as he pulls your ring finger into his mouth. He takes it deep, lets it fall across his hot, wet tongue. The steady strum of your thoughts gives way to sheer nothing at the velvet of his mouth. The sight of debauched. His eyelashes rest on his cheek as they shut, and your body, a traitor, burns hot for him. You want to squeeze the life out of him. You want to drink him dry, feel the giving plush of his chest underneath your hands, bury your teeth in his neck until he’s crying reedy and limp. 

the prick of his teeth around your ring finger, just enough to leave an impression. He pulls off your hand with a lewd pop, and has the nerve to lick his lips thereafter, meeting your wide eyes.

“You freak,” you nearly gasp, still aghast. He laughs, louder this time, and surges forward. Mouth to cheek and hip to thigh as he leverages himself halfway atop of you, squeezing you between the mattress and his broad body. His kisses are quick yet thorough, venturing down the line of your jaw and then to your neck.

His hand cups your side. It’s like your ribcage was made to slot with his palm and long fingers. 

“You seem to like it,” Leander muses, cupping the underside of your breast. His fingers stretch the length and squeeze, humming in contemplation as you wriggle and writhe despite yourself. He rubs light circles ‘round your areola, teasing the nub tight and hard. The smart reply you were going to snap dissolves with the rest of your words. And then your vowels. Until all you are is silly little sounds.

"You need someone right now and I'm the one that’s here, let me be what you need,” he croons, so terribly earnest that you almost believe him. You know better. For every act of love there is an expectation. and for every expectation not met there is a punishment waiting well in hand. You knew this before you allowed leander to slink into your bed. 

But the hour is late and you are trapped in some sort of gloaming bliss. The stars burn bright in the sky outside your window, a pool of moonlight casting everything in a dim, silvery glow. Kind of hazy, kind of sleep-drunk, yet unable to fully dip into that perfect, inky void. 

His gloved hand slides under your thin sleep shirt to rest over your stomach, soft tissue jumping under his touch. your pulse skitters back to life, eyes snapping open.

“We are not doing anything while you’re still in three different layers of leather,” you grumble.

“Asking me to strip, now? you’ve gotten pretty bold.” Leander flirts, like he doesn’t have his hand up your shirt. Regardless, he pulls away. He’s slow and languid, the very picture of leisure as he begins to slither from his skins. His tight shirt is left over a bedpost. He makes a show of it, much like everything else he does. He rolls his body and arches his spine to wriggle those lean hips from his trousers. He leans over your prone form to drop them on the floor next to the mattress. The hardened curvature of his abdomen is hardly an inch from your face.

You’re sweating.

“These are the most impressive things about you,” you squeeze his pecs, pinching a nipple between forefinger and thumb. He gives a noise dangerously close to a whine, cheeks flushing. The give of his chest is plush underneath your fingers, skin soft, broad space of his body too big to map with both your hands. “What are you so big for? You’re a mage.” He’s practically preening. You grope him again as a treat to yourself, this time pulling on those pink-brown buds. 

“Does it matter? You like them,” he says, just a little smug, even more breathless. “C’mon. You can touch me more. I’m all yours.”

And what are you to say to that? Nothing, because Leander kisses you. Again, and again, and again until you’re thoroughly on your back and light-headed. He’s stolen almost all of your air, swallowed your breaths and moans. He kisses you like he’s trying to become a part of you, trying to join into one synchronistic being.

You’re not even sure why you’re surprised when you feel his fingers, slender and slick with something cool, glide across your folds to circle around your entrance.

The calloused pads of his fingers draw figure eights across the soft walls of your cunt. Opening your eyes is a mistake. The keen green of his gaze rips away the steady shield of your ignorance, leaves you exposed and perceived. humiliation heats your cheeks and your belly, spine curling as pleasure licks up into your lower belly, blossoms thick and heavy through the rest of you. He perceives you, looks and feels into your depths with a clarity you can’t manage to wriggle away from.

“Don't,” you whimper, the sound rough and punched out. “Don’t look at me like that—” you can’t fucking stand him, can’t stand his smug smile, can’t stand the molten pleasure that sends your cunt spasming as he peaks you over the edge of yourself. You coat his fingers, release hot and sticky as it dribbles onto the sheets beneath you. You should have demanded a towel, you realize belatedly, as Leander draws a gentle path of kisses up the side of your head, pressing his nose above your ear. Unreservedly affectionate, undeniably the kind of attention you’d receive from a lover—not the friend Leander so ardently insists he is. You don’t read into it any further.

“Don’t look at you? How can I not? You’re so cute when you cry,” Leander chuckles into your temple, warm breath puffing against your skin. You turn your head, smothering a dread-filled groan against his collarbones. The fabric of his black shirt is cool against your cheek.

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” you find the energy to grouse at him, still.

“But it’s true. Your nose scrunches up like a little rabbit.” he intones, voice so low it’s almost a hum. The pad of his thumb presses in between your brows and he coos, even as you try and shake him off. The afterglow is hard to bask in when he’s so insistent on running his mouth. He shifts from your side, draws his first two fingers over your chest and stomach. The mattress creaks under the smooth shift of his body. He glides like a panther to settle off the edge, kneeling between your legs.

“Leander, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t,” he murmurs. His big palms and long fingers press along your inner thighs, holding you open. His eyelids dip, gaze prying, admiring as he looks over sodden folds, the sensitive bundle of nerves which sits open and vulnerable at your center. “But I want to.” He says, unabashed in his honesty. His gaze slowly roams up the length of your prone body before he meets your eyes. His grin is lazy, but you know plain the devious intention hiding behind those tired eyes.

It flays you open, how openly and honestly he wants. It’s all you can do to let your head fall back, breath heaved out in a sigh.

“Do what you’d like.” you say.

[lokislytherin]

NOW I SEE DAYLIGHT (and i can never walk away)

tags: lookism, jaeseok, alpha!jay x beta!dan, older dan, falling in love, pining, crush, childhood friends, age gap, heat/rut, obsessed younger top oblivious older bottom

summary:

"kitae-yah, your little brother's name is jaeyeol, right?"

jaeyeol gazes up at the boy his older brother had brought home, the boy looking down at him with a sunshine smile and rosy cheeks.

"jaeyeol-ah, you're so cute!"

at the tender age of five, hong jaeyeol falls in love.

a/n: i haven't posted any actual writing here in a long time and i need to transfer this from my work notes app to my private computer acc and what other way to do that than tossing all of it here? anyway enjoy!

on the third of october, hong kitae turns eleven, and for the first time, with his father's permission, he hosts a birthday party. he brings all his closest friends over - jang udong, baek hangyeol, lee jihoon, and his best friend, park hyungseok.

jaeyeol peeks out of his room, curious, but too scared to even walk over to say hello. "that's my little brother," kitae-hyung says, pointing to jaeyeol, "we can just leave him. he can entertain himself."

most of the boys offer him polite nods, except lee jihoon, who squints at him suspiciously, and park hyungseok, who waves with a bright smile that makes jaeyeol feel all warm and tingly inside.

jaeyeol retreats into his room and slams the door shut. the warmth inside him makes him feel like he'd just drank hot chocolate, but his throat is dry. he's not entirely sure what's going on, but he's scared, he doesn't like it.

he reads quietly as the older boys play rambunctiously outside in the living room. he reads through two books, gets bored, and just sits there by the windowside, watching the birds chirp.

he jumps when kitae-hyung kicks the door open. "you want cake?"

what cake?

"chocolate, you know it's my favorite."

here's a secret - jaeyeol doesn't really like chocolate. but he likes his brother, who is his closest friend, so he nods.

kitae-hyung lets jaeyeol sit with his friends, and jaeyeol sits himself down criss-cross-apple-sauce on the couch next to park hyungseok. hyungseok is on the chubbier side, unlike jaeyeol who's always been told to eat more because he's too thin, but he has kind eyes behind his thick glasses. he's already halfway through his cake, savouring it with a blissful smile.

"he's already so fat, he doesn't need the bigger slice," complains seongeun. 

jaeyeol glares at him as hard as he can through his bangs.

"what can i say," murmurs hyungseok, a little bit sadly, "i like cake, but it's expensive, so i don't get to eat it a lot."

when seongeun walks past to get a tissue, jaeyeol kicks him and makes it look like an accident.

kitae-hyung gives jaeyeol a little slice of cake to eat. there are no chocolate shavings, unlike everybody else's. jaeyeol is surprised - he didn't think kitae knew he didn't like chocolate. most of the time, kitae-hyung acts like jaeyeol is an annoying little bug that found its way into his house.

jaeyeol eats in careful little nibbles. he doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of his brother's friends, after all, even if they're too noisy and some of them are a bit mean.

"kitae-yah, your little brother's name is jaeyeol, right?"

jaeyeol gazes up at hyungseok curiously. hyungseok beams down at him, sunshine with rosy cheeks. 

"jaeyeol-ah, you're so cute! you eat like a little hamster, hehe~"

jaeyeol giggles when hyungseok ruffles his hair. hyungseok is much nicer than kitae-hyung. jaeyeol hopes hyungseok will come around again.

hyungseok visits for playdates a few times, sometimes with the other boys, sometimes by himself. the butler and the maids adore him - he's so well-mannered, so respectful, responsible enough to clean up after himself. even jaeyeol's father thinks he's been raised well. 

sometimes, he comes over to help babysit baby jaehye too, since the maids need a break from looking after a wailing infant (read: literal demon in disguise), and jaehye seems to like hyungseok an awful lot. she'll climb onto his lap and hold his fingers and refuse to let go, and jaeyeol wishes he was young enough to do the same without it looking odd. 

it feels strange for jaeyeol to be fighting his little sister for his older brother's best friend's attention, but the hongs have never really been a normal family. 

jaeyeol finds out not long later that hyungseok is poor.

kitae-hyung decides to host hyungseok's twelfth birthday at their house, since it's spacious enough for everyone hyungseok wants to invite. hyungseok tries to reject kitae-hyung's offer, but the two hong brothers gaze at him pleadingly until he crumbles.

"it's like you guys want a birthday party more than me," grumbles hyungseok half-heartedly, "isn't it almost jaeyeolie's birthday soon anyway?"

"i just want my best friend to have a nice birthday!" kitae-hyung says. neither of the two brothers mention that jaeyeol doesn't have any friends to invite to a birthday party, which is why the hong mansion has only had one birthday party since kitae-hyung's last one. 

jaeyeol asks one of the older maids to teach him how to knit, and for the two weeks before hyungseok's birthday, he shuts himself away in his room, concentrating hard so he can make row after row of stitches. he pricks himself a few times, but it's worth it, because he now has a completed scarf that looks relatively good, considering he only just learned to knit. it's a creamy white color, and jaeyeol thinks it'll look good on hyungseok.

he keeps it safe until the day of hyungseok's birthday, and when hyungseok finally arrives - yes, jaeyeol was waiting by the door - he instantly shoves the scarf into hyungseok's arms.

"oh!" 

hyungseok fumbles with it a little, almost drops it, and their fingers brush when jaeyeol catches the trailing ends of it and hands it back to hyungseok. jaeyeol flushes immediately, pulling his hand away because it tingles where he's been touched.

hyungseok doesn't seem to notice, instead cooing over the scarf. he wraps it around his neck, beaming. "thank you, jaeyeolie-ah, it's beautiful."

[dailydoseofsun]

this is just another funeral

something in me died today it is customary to wear black at funerals but today i wore a deep red and a garland of flowers around my neck  i suppose it will do, we lower our heads as the tassel turns and i hear goodbyes disguised as congratulations  eager whispers and promises of

i will see you again we will keep in touch 

i know some are not true, for they cannot all be but i hope you will take your ashes of me and sprinkle them around your new windowside and mourn our beautiful memory today don’t simply toss it away like the scatter of caps we tossed high next time we meet we will not be wearing red

[holespoles]

Yuka Osada, "Windowside and Petals"

"There and There" #13

長田結花「窓辺と花びら」／『そことかしこ』第13話

[rogerzsteven]

1, 25 & 52!

Hello user devirnis

1- whats your favorite thing in your room?

My bed by the windowside

25- whats your favorite holiday?

Contextwise it's probably new years because i love the decorations and all that, and we don't have halloween or christmas or stuff like that

52- whats your favorite book?

A little life by hanya yanagihara

Ask

[theclearblue]

now that you’ve gotten further into blue lock, what’re your current thoughts? (on whatever really) also, favorite characters? 👀

Ahsjsckd it's funny you ask that, I just finished reading the third selection and I'm going into the U-20 training camp and ya know left off on this...

I'm pretty sure I've seen the first panel from Najma but the gayness is off the charts here from all of these panels lmao 😭😭😭 Already can tell I'll love these two together, this is God x his feral dog. I wanna learn more about both of them and also Rin's clear brother issues so U-20 is bound to be interesting.

Aaanyways lmao third selection was fun! Love Rin and Isagi's dynamic together and getting to see more of them, good Reo content too with him becoming a "chameleon", truly the saddest girl in the world but he's starting to make progress ashjsjxjc. I'm by the windowside every day, waiting for Kunigami to come back from the war :(

Nagi is probably still my fav character, he is really just a little guy lol but I think his dynamic with Reo and really everyone is interesting, and his style of soccer is just fun to see. Isagi of course as well, and I'm really interested in Sae and Shidou, there still is quite some mystery around them.

[daye-dream]

Runaway Coward

Déjà vu is usually a funny thing, something that pokes and prods at us from a distance, trying to trick us into believing that something that hasn’t happened before has.

Unfortunately, déjà vu isn’t quite as kind to you.

This is part two! Check out part one here!

Maple Stories is a cute, picturesque bookstore that started off as something small and cozy, but has since grown out of its humble beginnings. Thankfully without losing its cozy vibes.

Rows and rows of tall shelving take up the majority of the space, with windowside chairs settled in pairs and beanbags all scattered in between. The loopy, handwritten signs meticulously and lovingly denote every genre displayed in every row, and bright, shiny stickers with the labelling “Staff Favourite!” stand out across the spines of books all throughout. Two glass doors opposite to each other lead to two wide, open rooms with long tables, one a dedicated space for kids’ activities and workshops, and the other filled with computers, typical classroom supplies and a printer for those hard at work.

It’s a space you’re well familiar with, and your love for the place is frankly the only reason you showed up to work today at all.

“Damn, you look like shit. Rough night?”

Well. Maybe not the only reason.

An arm slings heavily across your shoulder, and you allow yourself to sink sideways into the familiar hold with a listless, affirmative hum. You’d been doing your best not to seem dead on your feet this whole morning, but there’s no point now that your cover’s already been blown. Plus, you’ve never been able to lie to Ana.

“D’you want some tea?” She asks, then grunts when you put more weight into her side. It’s not nearly enough to unsteady her - she’s just being dramatic.

Still, a hand of hers reaches up to card through your hair, and you sigh comfortably. Her hand is rough, but the motions are soothing and it serves to firmly ground you. “Nah,” you manage to push out as your brain immediately turns to mush under the much-needed affection. Indulging yourself for a moment, you let your eyes slip shut. “I’ll be okay.” Equipped with your trusty water bottle, you’re all set to fight the faint, hazy headache nestled behind your forehead.

Ana isn’t convinced, you can tell, but there isn’t much she can contest you with unless she straight up sends you back home. And that’s not really an option for you right now. She knows it just as well as you do.

So, despite yourself, you gently peel off from your friend and flash her a smile. It’s a weak thing, you can just barely feel the corner of your lips pulling upwards, but it’s a genuine one all the same. Anything less (or anything more) would only stoke the flames of her concern. You don’t push your luck.

“Plus, it’s your turn to take care of the kids today, so that means I get to mainly do busywork. The most I’ll do is probably just have to answer a few questions or find a few books.” And what with it being the middle of the week, you don’t expect the place to get too filled up anyways.

For a moment, Ana is quiet, looking you over in an attempt to really judge the state you’re in, likely looking for any signs of you being worse for wear than you’re letting on. It wouldn’t be the first time (and it likely wouldn’t be the last time, either). You let her do as she pleases, feeling comfortable with her stoic but blatant show of care and the easily trackable nature of her sharp blue eyes. You follow the movement for the few seconds of silence that sit between you.

Eventually, she relents. You just had a hard night, one that still shakes you to your core to think about, but it’s thankfully the first of its kind since a while now. There’s a sore spot on your lip, a string of tension across your shoulders and a dull ache from your restless sleep, but there are no bags setting heavy on your face or a shakiness to your step. It’s not the worst day you’ve had by a long stretch. You’re delicate, but not in need of any repairs quite yet.

(Hopefully, if you distract yourself well enough and don’t go trying to look for what might’ve triggered the demons of your past to sneak back up on you, you won’t need to build yourself back up again at all.)

So, instead of pushing you any further, Ana dramatically groans. “Why do I have to be stuck with the gremlins anyways?” she grouses. “You know those little monsters respect me as far as they can throw me. Every time you tell them to settle down, they basically trip over themselves trying to please you. But me? Oh nooo, they’ll poke at each other or make jokes just to see who gets in trouble first.”

“And yet, they’ve never actually annoyed you, have they?” Taking the olive branch for what it’s worth, you don’t waste a beat in playfully calling her out. It’s less a question than it is a simple fact, and you both know it, so Ana doesn’t bother answering. Instead, she crosses her arms, frown pulling deeper, but for all she might huff and puff, you know she’s got a soft spot for the so-called ‘little monsters’ that pull at her pant legs, whining when it comes time for them to leave, and that stare starry-eyed at her spiky jewellery, later eagerly trying to convince their parents to get them something similar, much to their distaste.

There’s no defence Ana can give to prove you wrong, so she instead ruffles your hair, two notches below a noogie, and walks past you. “Yeah yeah. Go get your nametag on already. I don’t pay you to look pretty.”

You laugh freely, feeling the pit in your stomach lighten.

Yeah. You’re glad you came in today.

With that, the day finally feels like it begins, with patrons starting to filter in at a more reasonable time than 8 AM. You help an overwhelmed-looking university student with a computer issue - wincing sympathetically when you realise said ‘issue’ amounts to little else than the poor thing not realising the mouse wasn’t plugged in - and only just manage to finish changing the printer ink cartons before the tell-tale sound of today’s first-grade field trippers descend upon your best friend and boss. While the supervising teacher looks as embarrassed as always, you don’t share in his pity, and instead contentedly make your way to the back room to restock the display cases, leaving Ana to the ankle-biting wolves with a small smile on your face.

The familiarity is easy.

After that, it doesn’t take too long before your worries begin to drift. Maple Stories is relaxing, and the process of swapping out last week’s ‘Top Ten’ is muscle memory by now. You press new stickers onto the spine of each new winner, smooth through those belonging to two books still upholding their spots, and gently peel off the rest like they belong to old friends coming back from a long and arduous trip.

All the while, as you idly read through each synopsis, little details begin to surface in your mind. Traits, quotes, scenes, all of these come to you, inspired by the creative landscape all around you. It’s not the most riveting of work, but it’s yours and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You remind yourself of this as the sound of hushed, childish laughter passes you by.

It isn’t until you hear your name be called from somewhere behind you that the illusion of peace is suddenly broken, shattered into pieces, and you nearly jump right out of your skin. But it isn’t the prospect of social interaction nor the unexpected disruption that makes ice wash through your veins.

No.

It’s the tone. It’s the voice. It’s the memories that have you bolting forward and away, heart suddenly jack rabbiting in your chest. Fear is on you in an instant, gripping you like a vice that never really left, and horror clouds you as every muscle in your body tenses because all of you knows you’ve messed up.

You moved. You were found, you made a sound and you didn’t stay. The worst part is that it’s all useless, too, because you don’t even get far. Your back finds a bookshelf with a rough and hardy ‘thump’, edges digging into your spine, but you don’t dare keep your back turned for too long because you know that would only make things worse.

Your legs burn with phantom pain, last night’s terrors coming back to you, and your hands clench at your sides as you look up to face your fate all while your mind screams ‘How? HOW?’ so loudly that you can't hear anything else. It’s so cloying you can’t even manage to make a sound despite every nerve in your body crying for help.

But when your eyes finally manage to refocus on what's in front of you, it’s not to the sight of claws reaching for your shirt or gangly metal fingers eager to wrap around your throat.

Instead, there’s a hand.

There’s a fleshy, human hand frozen midair, and it takes all your other thoughts screeching to a stop to realise that that hand is attached to an arm. And that arm is attached to a body.

A human body.

Standing before you is a tall stranger in bright clothes - human clothes - with a full head of dark, curly hair - human hair - looking both decidedly confused, concerned, and something else that your brain can’t quite decipher at this moment. But what you can tell, above all else, is that the being in front of you now is clearly, undeniably human. Warm brown eyes are wide as he stares, shock-still.

Oh god.

Through the still-racing rhythm of your heart, shame floods your system and you begin to internally berate yourself for something entirely different than you had been before, though your internal monologue stays mostly the same.

Stupid, stupid!

You jolt upright so suddenly that the man in front of you flinches, but you don’t give him time to speak, words pushing through your throat unbound.

“I am so, so sorry!” You ignore the way your voice cracks and the way the heat rushing to your face makes you want to bolt away into the bathroom. This isn’t something you can run away from. (This isn’t something you need to run away from.) “I just– I startle easily and I was distracted and– Ohh, I didn’t mean to react like that, I promise!” Your hands clasp together in front of your chest, forcefully willing them to still as you pray that you didn’t just ruin this stranger’s day. You can’t imagine how anybody would feel getting that sort of reaction.

“...”

Unfortunately, your nerves only seem to build as you’re met with silence, but you can’t really blame him. With how volatile of a reaction you just showed, it must be hard for him to even think how to respond. Luckily, you’re not thinking enough for the two of you.

“Did you– Did you need something? I know this place like the back of my hand, spooked or not! NOT- Not that I’m scared of you! I just meant… despite having just gotten startled. Everything’s… Everything’s still in here.” You’re babbling, and when you knock against the side of your head for what you hope is a funny show of emphasis, maybe you do so a little more roughly than needed, as if that’d help build your communicative competence back up.

Unluckily for you, it doesn’t work to literally knock some sense back into you.

Luckily, though, it works well enough to snap the person in front of you into speaking.

“O-Oh! Please don’t worry about that!” He exclaims, voice pitched and startled, high and loud, and so unnervingly familiar that a new flash of goosebumps pass through you. Foolishly, you’d hoped you just misheard him the first time, but no. He really does just… sound like that. Discomfort flows through you all over again.

If you flinch, you hope he doesn’t notice.

“I should be the one apologising for scaring you! That’s not nice of me at all, no no no!” He speaks all while rapidly shaking his hands in front of him, and it’s all you can do to pretend that his attempts to reassure you do anything remotely positive at all. Every sound he makes feels grating in your mind, but you do your best to will down the bottomless pit threatening to pull you under.

Everything is fine. Everything is safe. You’re riling yourself up for no reason.

You shake your head, hoping the movement isn’t as robotic as it feels. “No, you did nothing wrong. If anybody was rude, it was me for acting that way with a customer!”

“But it’s because of me that you acted that way at all! You even hurt yourself! Are you okay? You sounded like you hit yourself super, duper hard and that’s just no good at all!”

“I’m fine! I just–”

“What is going on here?”

Both you and the stranger in front of you jolt to attention as Ana’s authoritative tone cuts you right off. Your neck hurts with the speed at which you swivel to look at her, breath catching in your throat once more, and you hope you don’t look nearly as panicked as you feel as her name leaves you, breathless.

It’s a relief to see her - so relieving you might cry, in fact - but that relief is quickly squandered with the way she all but glares at the tall patron a few steps in front of you. You don’t know when he cut off some of the space between you two, but you don’t have the time to wonder about that before Ana is stomping right up to him like a woman on a mission.

“What are you doing to my employee?” she accusingly questions the poor soul you dragged into this mess. Ana might not be the tallest person around, near dwarfed in comparison to this stranger who stands a full foot above her, but only a fool would think her to be unintimidating. She’s confident and stronger than she seems, and that’s saying something considering how sturdy her arms already look. You have no doubt in your mind that if she wanted, she could absolutely snap the lanky man in front of you if she wanted to.

And it definitely looks like she wants to.

His hands rise in an almost desperate show of peace, but whatever words he was going to say devolve into a pitiful whine as Ana almost jabs a finger into his chest. Before she can continue her tirade, however, you rush to push yourself between them with a strangled ‘Wait!’

This has spiralled so far out of control at this point that you feel dizzy, but by god, you’d really like to avoid a lawsuit and a fight.

“This is all just a misunderstanding!” One of your own design, at that, but that’s not important right now. Ana’s gaze flicks up at the stranger behind you, unconvinced, but you do your best to attract her attention back to you. “I was lost in my thoughts and got all jumpy when he came to ask for help! He didn’t do anything wrong or say anything bad, I promise. This is all on me.”

Ana says your name at the same time as you hear an almost offended ‘Hey now!’ from behind you, but whatever words the unfortunate soul behind you was gonna say dies with another glare from your boss. You don’t need to look behind you to guess that he’s all but cowering behind your form at this point.

Still… Ana doesn’t not seem convinced, at least.

She sighs, deep and heavy, and it’s only due to the sound that you release a shaky breath of your own, one you didn’t know you were holding, and let your shoulders sag.

“You mean it?” she asks, still suspicious, still so caring. It’d make your heart swell on any other occasion. As of right now though, you’re too hyped up on adrenaline to really feel the full force of her attempts at reassurance.

You nod as decisively as you can in this scenario. “I mean it.” You feel unnerved, like daggers are being pointed at you from behind, but you know that it’s all in your head. The man behind you shouldn’t suffer for your actions.

Thankfully enough, that seems to be enough for Ana to stand down at last, and the remaining vestiges of her righteous fury melts away into subtle sheepishness. She’s not ashamed, not by any stretch of the meaning, but she believes you. And that means that she has to come to terms with the fact that she all but yelled at a completely innocent patron for no reason.

Shuffling for a moment, Ana looks to the stranger, you, and back before her hand settles at the back of her neck, rubbing at the skin there with a twisted expression. “Guess I overreacted then…” she mumbles. “Sorry about that.”

It’s not the most heartfelt of apologies, despite you knowing it’s a genuine one, and for a moment, you’re afraid it won’t be enough. Your worries don’t last for very long though.

“Apology accepted!” the man behind you chirps, almost too cheery for someone that basically got threatened in every way except the words themselves, but when you look over your shoulder at him, his smile is bright and wide and so unbelievably warm that it’s hard to think it could be anything but perfectly real. “You were just trying to protect a friend, right? That’s very noble of you! Let’s just say nobody was at fault for this little misunderstanding…”

He must feel you staring, because suddenly, he looks at you, catching you red-handed. You almost jump again - emphasis on almost - but the way he tilts his head, ever smiling, is only kind. “Hmm?”

It takes you a moment to realise he’s looking for agreement from you and, dumbly, all you can do is nod.

Distantly, you hear one of the kids call Ana’s name, sounding both impatient and worried, and she winces minutely. Of course. She must’ve left the kids when she heard something was going on. A new lump of embarrassment and shame rises, but you don’t have the time to address it before she’s on the move.

Ana holds one edge of the bookshelf, and looks back to both of you, thoughtful and decisive at the same time. She hums. “We’ll leave it at that, then… If you do decide to get something, though, we’ll throw in a discount on the house. Actions speak louder than words for me.”

Before either one of you can argue - not that you ever would - Ana leaves and suddenly, the two of you are alone again. It’s silent for a moment.

The urge to apologise again rises within you, but the high sigh of relief from behind you cuts you off before you can.

“Hoo-ee! Well, wasn’t that a kerfuffle?”

Turning, you see the man with a hand over his heart, but with that same ol’ smile still plastered on his face. It’s only then that you notice you’re still standing just a bit too close for comfort, and scramble just a little to give him more room.

(Or maybe that’s just the excuse you tell yourself.)

“Yeah...” You just barely manage to bite back another apology. “At least… At least everything got cleared up in the end.” You can be grateful for that, if nothing else. If the stranger’s enthusiastic nod is anything to go by, he agrees. His curls bounce with the motion. You try to focus on that more than anything else, even if it still manages to remind you of something else.

“Absoposilutely!” That makes you stop for a moment.

You wonder if he’s trying to make you smile on purpose. Because it really, really feels like it. Or maybe he really is just that goofy.

(Don’t think any further than that. Don’t you dare.)

“What’s your name, anyways?” you ask, not willing to let your thoughts run away with you again. That doesn’t stop you from immediately regretting your word choice - why’d you have to ask it like that? - but thankfully, the kind stranger’s smile doesn’t budge even an inch.

With a flourishing display of jazz hands, the stranger finally gives you a name to put to his face. “You can call me Elio!” he excitedly introduces, and you return the favour while pushing down the seed of relaxation that passes through you. What did you expect him to say?

With introductions finally out of the way, Elio is more than happy to jump right into questions, asking about this book and that book, apparently having a little list in mind. The change of pace is enough to throw you off, but you adapt as best as you can. You lead him to where his newest little treasures lie, relishing in the smile you receive for a job well-done before moving on to the next. And then, when you finish getting him all of those books - stacked in a neat pile in the plastic basket you supplied him - he surprises you by asking you about your favourites.

He surprises you even more with how intently he listens to you describe some of your favourite books.

Elio isn’t the type to stand still for very long, you learn within mere minutes of his company, but he is rapt with attention whenever you speak. It makes it much too easy for you to blabber on for longer than expected, both due to the excitement of getting to promote your favourite stories and the underlying itch to distract yourself. His eyes aren’t particularly intense, per say, but you feel a touch unsteady all the same.

Your attempts at distraction work well enough for you to genuinely enjoy the time spent with him, but it doesn’t manage to make the approach to the cash register feel any less welcomed.

Elio, however, doesn’t seem to share the same opinion.

“But, but! I wanted to talk with you longer!” he whines, and he’s too endearingly disappointed for you to not feel some degree of bad. He’s pulling at your heart strings without knowing.

Your smile quirks slightly as you round your way around to the cash register, only still a touch stiff. “I mean… you could always come back, you know. The library is free of charge, after all.” Though you can’t exactly promise you’ll always be free to socialise… You don’t say that though, if only because you’re sure his frowny face might make you give a promise you can’t keep.

Still, Elio doesn’t seem fully convinced. He fiddles with his fingers, big brown eyes aimed downwards as you begin to scan his items. “I guess…”

You’re astounded as to how someone so tall can simultaneously look so small. You know you’ve done nothing wrong, and yet you still feel like you accidentally stepped on a puppy’s tail. It’s not lost on you that this isn’t the first time you come across a sentiment like this, but you push that thought aside because it’s different this time.

You’re startled out of your thoughts when, suddenly, Elio perks up. Before you can even ask what’s wrong - is something wrong? - his hand shoots quick as lightning to grab the last book you have yet to scan. Precisely, one of your favourite books that Elio had taken a shine to.

Your brows furrow, confusion mounting, but once again, you’re too slow.

“I don’t wanna buy this one!” he announces, but it’s almost a yell. You wince at the volume and he immediately recedes in on himself as another patron turns to him with a glower. He stage-whispers an apology their way, one they hardly seem to accept, before he turns back to you. “I… I don’t wanna buy this one,” he repeats, quieter this time. A bit too quiet, even, but that’s alright. 

“That… That’s okay, Elio,” you assure. Does he think you’d be mad at him for changing his mind? You don’t look that easy to offend, do you? “I can just put that back if you–”

“NO!”

“SHH!”

Elio squeaks. “Sorry!”

You really struggle not to laugh at the exchange, but end up giving up a snort when Elio looks back to you with a pout. For some reason, he seems to be in slightly better spirits after that though, so you can’t consider it a loss.

“I don’t wanna buy this one,” Elio reprises for the third time, but this time, he continues. “I wanna rent it instead. I can do that, right? Then I’d have to come back to return it, right? And maybe get another book?”

This guy… really does wear his heart on his sleeve, doesn’t he?

Endearment bubbles within you. “Yeah. If you rent it, you’ll have to come back in three weeks-”

“Three weeks?!”

This time, you can’t help the full-bodied laugh that leaves you. Maybe it’s mean to laugh at such an anguished cry… but come on.

“Or earlier, Elio. You can come as soon as you’re done with it if you want! I just mean that three weeks is the deadline. You can renew it if you want, too. We’ve just gotta make sure you don’t run away with it.”

Immediately, Elio’s hand finds its way back to his chest, and his back straightens fully. “I would never steal! Especially from such a wonderful establishment!” he half promises, half exclaims, and you’re surprised at how confidently you feel like you can believe him.

You really hope your gut is right this time.

“I don’t think you would, either. It’s just policy, okay?” Gently, you make a motion for him to pass you the book back. He only hesitates for a moment before sliding it back to you. “Then I’ll put this to rent and I’ll… see you some time in the next few weeks..?”

“Scout’s honour!”

You shake your head with a faint smile and begin to pack away his books. All but two of them - the book he’s renting and a very cute origami instruction manual - are gifts, so you go to add a little ribbon to each one, only pausing to check in and see if he wants to pick the colours instead.

You’re unsurprised by how quickly he jumps to the occasion.

All the while, as you make the last bits of small talk before Elio has to leave, you push back against your own brain. It’s making far too many connections than you’re comfortable with, and it takes everything in you not to rush this whole interaction to a close.

Maybe this is good for you, you try to reason. If you can get new, good memories, then maybe you won’t think about… about him anymore. There’s a term for that, you’re sure, but you’ll just have to Google that when you get home.

You apply Elio’s discount, despite him trying to weasel you into not using it, and with that, you say goodbye. Elio makes it incredibly hard to look away from him until he’s out the door in full, what with his big waves and promises to come back soon and tell you all about how much he liked your book, and in his final departure, he leaves behind a resonating silence.

A silence which is very fitting for a library… but it feels strange, too.

You still can’t really decide how you feel about that whole interaction, feeling muddled and drained and just a tad out of breath, but as Ana slides back up to your side, you make sure to only show her a smile.

— — — —

The bag of books swishes to and fro with every wide step. Every inch away from the bookstore feels like agony, building up an anxious energy that can only be relieved by picking up the pace. If it wasn’t for the fact that the bag might break, he might’ve just started running, but for now, he’s grounded, forced to quell his excitement.

‘… You need to think this through. We can’t— you can’t just go in like that. You saw how they were.’

“But think of the chances! This is like fate! If we weren’t meant to be friends again, then we wouldn’t meet like this, right? Right?” He can’t help himself. He starts to skip. “We can be friends again, isn’t that great? Then things can go right back to normal!”

Audibly, he stumbles.

“Or, well, n-not normal-normal since all of— oh, you know what I mean!”

He couldn't just ignore you. You had changed a little, sure, but you were still you. Plus! He’s changed a little, too! And you once called him your Forever Friend! That means he has to be your friend again. That’s in the name!

‘… Just… be careful.’

Petulantly, he whines, but a heavy sigh discourages him from saying anything. It’s filled with stress. Enough so as to dampen the energy behind his skipping.

‘Look, we just… we can’t do any more harm. We’ve already—‘

This time, he cuts himself off.

‘… I still think we should stay away.’

He frowns. It looks deeper than it is.

“Well… I think we deserve a little bit of normalcy back!”

He’s afraid to ask, but… “Don’t you?”

The silence he gets back is deafening.

… He liked it better when you were there to fill the noise.

[holohedral]

watching the sky turn black by the windowside

[talkthrupens]

Took the local bus to return home yesterday. Instead of plugging in the earphones, to delve into a world as I would, I chose to look at the actual world, through its inhabitants

The tranquility on their faces, very well camouflage the Commotion in their minds. The little boy, sitting on his mother's lap, lacks the basic awareness of this cruel world. He is on the periphery of acknowledging realism. There's a girl, on the windowside. She prefers to stare outside, while on the listening to songs, quietly. Although, depression might be another language she speaks; valiantly, silently- A language she did not learn, yet at comes to her quite fluently, more than the one she's been speaking since childhood.

Some unclear conversations, I cease to absorb, of those daily households, the complexity of which we all cease to highlight.

the old man, his head hanging. down as, he's asleep. The bus takes brakes while jerks wake him. Is it any sign or just another juncture of life? (He dozes off again..)

A woman in a sari, the worn colour of which suggest her economic standing. She carries the terrible weight of luggage in her hands, at contrast to the void in her mind. I lookk at these people, with never diminishing mystery, the unknown persists.

Thousands come and thousands go.

Oh, did I mention about the old wrinkled man, who drives a whole world of mystery, everyday in this vehicle termed as a bus?

[kontextmaschine]

Leaf colors aren't changing, but having sat in this windowside chair year round for a while I can tell you there's definitely more dry rattle in their rustling now

[sips-tea-cutely]

byee no sleep challenge i had a nightmare there was a mom out to kill me cause i was scared of her always being at my windowside and lockpicking it