#Best Venetian blinds

[xdecorsblog]

Stunning Interior Design Trends in Dubai refers to the services that specialize in creating aesthetically pleasing and functional spaces in homes, offices, and commercial buildings across Dubai. These services include furniture arrangement, color schemes, lighting, and customization to meet the client's preferences. Dubai's interior design firms offer innovative, luxurious, and modern designs that reflect the city's unique blend of tradition and contemporary style.

[sureshade]

 Enhance Your Home Aesthetics with External Venetian Blinds

Discover the perfect blend of style and functionality with External Venetian Blinds. These versatile window treatments offer excellent light control and privacy and enhance your home's exterior appearance. Ideal for modern and traditional settings alike, External Venetian Blinds are a must-have for any homeowner looking to elevate their home's curb appeal.

[thoughtfulenemyking]

[deaddovedecadence]

Title: First Meeting (The Sunshine Verse)

Summary: You come face to face with the leader of the Batclan mob

Warning(s): Possesive behavior, scarring, kidnapping

You don’t remember being drugged, you don’t remember losing track of Lyre, you don’t remember going anywhere and yet you’re here, stuck in an unfamiliar room, a chain on your ankle. You’re unsafe, you know this, and there’s nothing you can do about it. The room is clean, not a speck of dust anywhere, and it smells like lemons, not lemon scented cleaner but real, fresh lemons. You hate it. It's not your first time being kidnapped but usually you’re confined to a dark room or messy, dirty basements that make you want to throw up. This is your first time being kidnapped since joining the force (you had a really unique childhood okay)  and you can’t help but wonder why you've been taken, if someone thinks you'll have real information for that.

Soft, well muffled sounds start up next to the door but quickly fade to silence. You hate it here, the thick silence, the not knowing where your best friend (brother) is, the chain that rests on your ankle. Speaking of the chain, you haven’t tried to walk yet and you can’t help but be curious. Slowly, carefully,, you get yourself out of bed and walk to one of the doors, letting it creak open. It;s only a bathroom. There’s one other door in the room and you’re pretty sure that you know where it leads. Out of here. You start walking towards that door but the chain stops you before you can get too close. Going back a few steps, you make a few loops in the area that seems safe and attempt to run towards the door. Immediately the chains are pulling you back and you slam to the floor. Well whoever has you certainly isn’t an idiot, which makes your job all that much harder. 

Eventually you pull yourself off of the floor and crawl to the bed. As soon as you’ve arranged yourself in a manner that doesn’t hurt too much, you’re asleep. 

“Lyre,” you call, listening to the echoing chirps of the birds, trying to ignore the sounds of “lyre, lyre, not lyre,” to themselves, loud as can be. It’s foggy out today, but not so much that you can’t see in front of you. The walk to work is weird without your best friend, but peaceful, even though the birds are chirping loudly, mocking birds calling Lyre’s name. As you’re approaching the police station, you note the crowd of people, how their murmurs grow and change. They’re all saying his name. You get closer and your best friend (brother) is just laying there, spread out on the pavement, his blood staining everything a terrible shade of red. You kneel down, staring at him. Lyre’s eyes are wide open, unseeing and you can’t help closing them. Your hands are red now. 

You wake up screaming. 

It takes a minute of blind panic for you to calm down and become aware of your surroundings again. You’re in the same room as yesterday and still sore as fuck. The only real change is that there’s a chair in the middle of the room, well more like a throne (you may or may not role your eyes) and a man sitting on the throne. He’s wearing a venetian carnival mask, black with a white bat around each eye. Every gothamite knows it as Sire’s mask. 

You’ve been kidnapped by the fucking bats. Shit! 

“May I help you?” You ask politely as you can manage. Sire’s mask, cold and porcelain keeps smiling,golden even as the man takes off his fucking mask. You’re going to die, you’re going to fucking die. You look down so you can’t see his face. The man sighs.

“You can look up. I have no plans to kill you. Rather I’d like to thank you. You took care of my son while he wouldn’t allow me to.” Now you’re confused. You chance a look up and meet the eyes of bruce fucking wayne, gotham’s biggest  philanthropist. You don’t even know what to say, because the man who’s been credited for saving Gotham is the one keeping it in order as the cruelest man on the east coast.  “I don’t understand Mr.Wayne. I don’t know any of your children.” 

Bruce Wayne smiles faintly, “Not even Jason?” Every single person born and bred in Gotham knows the tragedy of Jason. It’s said that a mobster went after him and killed him, and in revenge Mr. Wayne swore to oust the mob from Gotham city. Knowing what  you know now makes you wonder what really happened. “No offense but I’m pretty sure that Jason is dead.” Wayne laughs bitterly. “We thought so but when your friend Lyre had to go to the hospital,, my doctors found something pretty interesting. A blood match. Would you like to guess who exactly is the match” everything starts to fade out and go dizzy. You were the one that made Lyre go to the hospital because he’s always hated hospitals. “Was it Jason?” 

“It was Jason.” Wayne unless his legs, neatly rearranging himself. “I’d like to tell you a story.” You shrug, looking away. “When my son was a child, he lived on the streets. One day I had a meeting in Crime alley and he was crazy enough to try and steal the tires off my car. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. It’s so much like the Lyre you know that you know, mischievous and carefully reckless, always doing something that he shouldn’t be. What was real? “And when I came back to my car, there was this tiny vicious little boy fighting my guards and fucking winning. I’ve always been fond of stubbornness and there was something about Jason’s desperate desire to survive that stuck me so I brought him home with me. He’s been a member of the family ever since.” 

When Wayne talks about Jason, you’re reminded of a Pet owner talking about their best show animal or something. He’s not talking about them like they’re humans but as if they’re prizes to be won. He sounds like a collector, marveling over his trophies. You can’t help but want to upset this man, can’t help but dislike him. 

“If he was a member of your family, why did he leave you?” Maybe he’ll hurt you, maybe he’ll kill you but either way you’re going to mouth off for lyre. Wayne’s expression doesn’t even change.  “I have six other children,” he explains, “and half of them have anger issues. Do you really think that you’re going to phase me?” 

Your logical mind reminds you to be polite, your desire to live tells you to go apeshit. “That doesn’t answer my question,” you snap, ignoring his question all together. He doesn’t even blink. “Jason left because he didn’t agree with our methods. He did not understand the reasons I allowed my youngest to work in the basement at twelve nor did he appreciate our love. “ You’ve heard the stories from Lyre about his family, about the scars he carries from their love. Now that you've met Wayne you can’t help but wonder how many of those scars are physical. There’s a scars on Lyre’s back, tally marks, five of them to be exact. Are those from here? Are his tattoos from here? 

“When do I get to see Lyre again?” 

Wayne smiles Serenely, and for a moment he doesn’t look like a monster, instead he looks soft, and almost genuine. “When Jason calms down enough to be safe to be around again.” You tilt your head, wonder what he means and carefully do not ask. “Am I stuck in here permanently?” Wayne shakes his head politely. “No you’ll be coming to dinner tonight and Alfred will help you order anything that you might need.” That’s not what you mean. You want to go home. “Can I go home?” “This is your home.” You scoff and bear teeth. “My home is a little apartment by the wharf, not a mansion full of crazy people.” 

Wayne’s smile turns sharp, vicious. “I’d like to remind you that your privileges hedge on your good behavior. It’d be very easy to lock you away until you’re feeling more polite.” You get the feeling that wayne isn’t making a threat. He’s making a promise. 

[two-white-butterflies]

peaches - am. targaryen

Description: Your father decided to marry you to the elusive, Aemond Targaryen. After a year of marriage, he still refuses to acknowledge your existence - that is until after Criston Cole becomes his son's teaching instructor. Cole isn't only interested in teaching your son. (MODERN AU) Rating: Mature 18+ (breast play, jealousy sex, desk sex, slight breeding kink, size kink, spit kink because it wouldn't be an aemond fic without it.)

There was nothing to love - no personality or show of appreciation. He kept to himself and expected you to do the same. "Aegon, please calm down." you mumble aware of Aemond's gaze from inside his office. "I wanna go swimming!" the child demands staring at the pool with his adorable purple eyes.

Aemond has shown no interest in helping you raise his son. He's there for parties and events - there when the child has a nightmare, but when it comes to Aegon's day-to-day activities - he's absent. You sigh. Aemond is a great father, but he's occupied with his work.

"We have to wait for the instructor, ñuha tresy." you smile, adjusting the skimpy swimsuit that you wore. It was revealing - it exaggerated the best parts of your body, while hiding the parts that you hated. Any husband wouldn't be able to keep his hands off you - but he was able to. Aemond has never touched you before - not even a strand of your hair. "Please, I won't go in the deep parts." he promised, jumping up and down with excitement.

A laugh escapes your lips, not trusting the little boy.

You lean down to his body - pushing a strand of his hair away from his face. "Have patience, little one." you answered firmly, prompting the boy to give you his best puppy eyes. You were about to allow him down the pool but someone clears their throat from behind you.

Criston Cole was staring at you - specifically your endowments. Your posture shifts as your body regains it's full height. He had that porno look in his eyes. The one that a man has before fucking a girl in a pornhub video. You didn't like it - you felt disgusted.

"Well, Mr. Cole will take care of you now." you walked to the side - gathering the robe on the daybed. You walk away from the pool - trusting the maids to supervise your step-son.

Completely unaware of Aemond's gaze.

He tried to focus on the mountains of paperwork on his desk - but he couldn't. His mind was elsewhere. He imagines you wearing that red swimsuit. The fucking swimsuit that you bought for him - the swimsuit that he should be the only one looking when you wore. He sees the way Criston Cole stares at you.

He places his pen down, opening his venetian blind slightly to watch his son learning to swim. You were standing there again - hovering over them with a blue-towel on your hands.

His son wasn't learning to swim - he was on top of a fucking floater while the instructor ogled at your breasts. His grip on his fountain pen tightens, spilling ink on his brand new pants.

He'll fucking gouge that man's eyes.

He reaches for his telephone, dialing his sister. "Helaena, are you there?" he pauses waiting for his sister's reply.

"Yeah?" she questioned.

"Can you escort Mr. Cole to his car? We won't be needing his services any longer." he commands, earning a snort from his older sister. "Is this because of his wandering eye?" she inquired, and he could hear the faint sound of someone slurping milkshake on the other line.

"If you have a problem with him staring at (your name)'s body, then you should fire all of your house-staff." she taunted, not telling the full truth - but also wanting to see how the situation would turn out. You were a pretty little thing - the eye-candy inside the Targaryen manor.

Everyone but Aemond seemed to be engrossed with you.

"What?" he interrogated, voice suddenly raising with anger. He could imagine all of his servants staring at you, watching you strut like a model on fashion-week.

"Fire Mr. Cole, right? I'm on it." she promised, ignoring his outburst and hanging up on him.

You were annoyed with everything.

Annoyed with Aegon singing his favorite nursery rhyme while underwater. Annoyed by your husband's lack of emotion and annoyed with Cole trying to talk to you.

Helaena comes to save you.

"Mr. Cole." she looks down with her sweet voice. "Yes?" he asked, pretending to hold little Aegon. "The maids have prepared your towels and the shower that you will be using. We do not need your lessons anymore." she announced and his face falls flat on the ground. "What? That's impossible - Aeg doesn't know how to swim yet." he defended but Helaena's thin-lipped smile proved that he wasn't doing shit.

"We can have that arranged, but as of the moment we have no need of you." the woman added, one of the maids held unto the boy while Criston emerged from the pool - mumbling strings of insults.

There were three rules before your marriage to him. One, don't do anything that would ruin his reputation. Two, remain loyal to him. And three, never go inside his rooms.

This was your first time stepping on the carpet that was outside his office door.

"Aemond." you call out.

The door opens automatically and you welcome yourself inside.

He doesn't stare at you - or even acknowledges your existence. He keeps on jotting down his notebook. "Did you have to fire Mr. Criston? I don't like him but Aegon adores him." you ask in a soft tone, careful to not offend him.

It was impossible to offend him - no matter how hard you tried, he always kept his cool.

"He's incompetent. There's no room for that in my household." he replies in a cold tone, continuing to sign a few bands of contracts. "I suppose," you look around the room - scanning around his decor. There were pictures of history around the walls - the beginning of industrialism and the decline of tradition.

He was a man of the arts - and you didn't know that.

You knew nothing about your husband. How fucking stupid.

" - and don't wear that swimsuit again." he added after a deep breath. Your eyebrows merged into each other. He wasn't going to tell you what you could and couldn't wear. "I beg your pardon?" you inquire.

He looks up from his paper - and unto you. The girl who was still wearing the said swimsuit.

"It's not appropriate." he asserted through gritted teeth. He couldn't understand why he was riled up at the thought of other man staring at you - and your round and perfect peaches. "What is appropriate to you? I cannot wear my pajamas around the pool." you responded in a brash manner, his eye widens at your show of rebellion.

"You can wear a bikini but not around men." he tried to reason, navigating himself around the labyrinth of his own reasoning. He didn't make sense. "Not around you, then?" you take a step forward, dominating over him in front of his desk.

He stands up, reaching for the collar of the bathrobe that you wore - he pulls your body closer, merging his lips with yours.

What is his is yours.

His money, his empire, even his son - but you were only his.

His to fuck. His to breed.

A moan escapes your mouth as you began climbing over the desk. Kneeling but you weren't able to reach his height. Your head only reached his eyebrows. "He was staring at you, huh?" he asked, slowly untangling the strings that held your top.

With a tug of a string, your breasts were revealed to him. Taut and bouncy, like he imagined them. His hands fondled your breasts, playing and teasing them. He lowers his head, sniffing your neck and placing a nipple inside of his mouth.

He was sucking you - like a newborn babe searching for milk.

"Aemond." you moaned, pulling his head closer.

His right hand trails down to your mound, teasing it through the cloth. "You are mine." he announced, pressing kisses on both of your breast - alternating between the two of them. "Yours." you replied, his hands untangling the string that held your bottom - letting it loose.

He frees himself from your grasp, reaching down to unbuckle his belt. He lowers his boxers - freeing his cock that stood tall and proud. Your eyes widened at his length - it was going to fit, but it was going to hurt.

You sit properly on his desk, legs wide open as you welcomed him. "Do it." you demanded earning an amused chuckle from the business magnate. He places a hand on your face - cupping your cheeks. He inserts a finger inside your mouth, allowing you to suck on it as his cock enters your hole.

It was pleasure - breath taking pleasure.

Your grip on his shoulder tightens, telling him to go deeper.

"Harder." you moaned.

He complies with your order, lifting your leg to reach the top of his elbows. "Fuck - shit." you cursed, entering a new realm of pleasure. There were stars in your eyes. You hold unto his shoulder, eyes gazing up to interlock with his.

His eye was beautiful.

It was a deep shade of lavender.

"Keep moaning and I'll cum." he threatened, pulling your body closer and rocking his desk. The paperwork was forgotten - all in favor of his beautiful girl. "Cum inside of me." you moaned again, feeling his length prod inside your cervix. "You want to give our son a sibling?" he chuckled darkly.

"Yes!" you moan. His cock was reaching places you didn't believe was possible.

You hear the desk rock loudly - like an earthquake. Your leg falls on his side, and he raises the other one over his shoulder - slightly tipping your body to be lying down. "Oh - Aemond!" you scream feeling otherworldly bliss.

His hands squeeze around your cheeks, staring at your face - mouth wide open with lust. "Who owns you?" he asks, squeezing it tightly. "You do!" you answer, and he smiles.

Rocking on a steady rhythm.

"Open your mouth, princess." he commands and you follow him, opening wider. He closes his mouth - gathering the spit on his tongue, releasing it on your mouth. "Swallow." he ordered and you obeyed him - the faint taste of whiskey lathering inside your mouth.

"I love you," you confess feeling a hot sensation in the bottom of your stomach. "I love you to, princess." he replies, merging your lips together as thick ropes of cum populate your ovaries.

[ironandglass]

The Descent - Chapter 1

Silco x female reader dark slow burn modern au. Stalker Silco.

A strange man moves into the apartment across from yours, he likes to watch and you start to like him watching. What could go wrong?

Warnings: stalking, violence, trauma, home invasion, sexual assault, threats, fear, panic, robbery, weapons, gun, romanticised toxic behaviour, toxic relationships, power dynamics, mental health probably, sex mention, swearing, bad editing (notsorry), evil silco, dark Silco, cold Silco. He’s not gentle and sweet ya feel? No jinx in this storyline bc I don’t know how to share. 🤷‍♀️

Chapter one

Second Circle

You peek out through the cheap venetian blinds to see him, leaning on his balcony railing, in the building directly opposite yours. Smoking cigarettes and watching.

He was always watching your apartment. You'd noticed it a few weeks after he had moved in. He made no effort to hide his blatant voyeurism. It seemed you had captured his attention somehow and that unsettled you. Living in the city for as long as you had meant you were no stranger to such things but something about his boldness made you especially uneasy. Some instinct in your gut warning you that this creep was not a typical window licking, peeping tom.

Yet, as the months pass you start to ignore that instinct. He makes no move other than to passively watch, so you try to keep your curtains closed and ignore him as best you can.

--

Sometimes your thoughts would turn to the bizarreness of the situation. This stranger who watched you. You had recently, and playfully started to consider that it was quite flattering actually. Saying to yourself that this was an admission of your value that anybody should pay you that much interest in you.

Joking about it made you feel more in control, it took away the sting of fear and unsureness.

"My good lookin guy, very good at looking." you would mutter when you noticed him.

Despite all the jokes, In a strange way, it did make you feel special.

--

One night you were too drunk to notice that your windows and curtains were wide open as you rolled your hips on top of the nameless man that you'd procured from a nearby dive bar to satisfy your needs for the night.

You opened your eyes as you got close, relishing the rising anticipation of your hard earned, imminent orgasm. Bliss rises up your spine as you look out at the city lights panting and moaning shamelessly in a drunken haze.

Then you notice him, watching intently from his balcony through the large glass window of your modern apartment.

His eyes meet yours and you climax hard. Your orgasm ripping across your being with a quaking intensity you hadn't experienced for a long, long time.

--

After that, you dress and undress each morning and each evening, letting him see, going out of your way even to make sure he had a good view.

You start buying lingerie and sexy pyjamas to wear around the house.

If anyone ever asked you, you could never explain why you encouraged this. Other than admitting that you simply enjoyed the attention. There was something about being watched that seemed so harmless, a safe way to tease and taunt the man. His desire seemed to give you a strange confidence. You enjoyed ignoring him, pretending that you never even noticed he was there. That was part of the game for you.

He stood dutifully on his balcony for the show each morning, knowing your routine, chaining cigarettes, eyes like a wolf. Sometimes he missed the afternoon showing, you were always secretly disappointed.

--

You’re out of your usual routine one morning, running late. You walk out onto the street just as he is walking out of his apartment at the same time. You both freeze, like two mirrors across the road from each other. His considering gaze catches your own for a long moment before you panic, breaking the spell as you turn away down the street.

He doesn't follow.

--

In bed.

Your eyes snap open.

CCCCCRRUNCHHH

You're up.

You run towards the sound.

Splintering wood.

Your front door - It's being kicked in.

You scream but it's cut short as a massive man, unfamiliar, bursts inside, gun trained on you. Your heart beats a frantic rhythm as you look down the barrel of the weapon, frozen in terror, blubbering appeasingly.

Everything becomes a blur, suddenly, finding yourself giving any answers asked of you.

Briefly, over the muscular shoulder of the intruder you see your watcher across the way, holding a phone to his ear. Is he seeing all this? You hope he's calling the police. Who knew your sick games with this pervert would pay off. You would be more amazed if you weren't so absolutely afraid for your life.

The large invader riffles through your valuables. He drags you roughly by your upper arm like a rag doll from room to room, taking your laptop, jewellery and your purse.

He pushes you away demanding you stand against the back wall while he does a final sweep, roughly tearing cabinets open and swiping through your cupboards. You pray he will just leave but when he finishes his quick search instead of the door he wheels towards you. Eyes gleaming as if he just noticed that you are in fact worthy of his consideration.

Something in his eyes makes you step back into the picture frame behind you as he approaches.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, pinning you against the wall with his body. Running the tip of the cold metal gun slowly from your temple, down your neck, to rest just in between your cleavage.

"If I had more time I'd steal a lot more from you sweetness." The threat trailing his warm breath over your face.

With a gut wrenching start you realise you can feel his hard cock pressed against you through his pants.

He grabs your face with one hand, thick fingers holding your jaw as he forces your eyes up to his. "Too bad." He says as if you are missing out on a special treat. He pulls away from you smirking and backs out of the room, gun still trained on you.

"Next time" he says blowing a kiss before striding out the front door.

—

After the burglar leaves you wait, frozen in place for a short while, shaken and gently sobbing before running out into the street. You look left and right and who should be leaning against the bricks on the sidewalk out the front but your ever vigilant watcher.

You run across the road towards him and he looks shocked momentarily, taking a step back away from your rapid frantic approach before you shamelessly wrap your arms around him hugging him and crying. Needing support from someone, anyone.

Hadn't he always been there?

Slowly, unsurely he wraps his arms around you, reciprocating.

"Its okay" he says, his voice is pleasant. A low vibrating rumble against you.

"I called the Police, I'll wait with you."

He keeps one arm wrapped around you, rubbing patterns along your back soothingly as he receives a call with the other. It sounds like he's talking to police, here he was just handling this for you. Taking care of it as if it were his own problem.

When the police arrive you are still crying gently in his arms.

"Is this your... girlfriend Sir?"

"Yes." He says not skipping a beat. Okay that was strange, maybe he’s just trying to make it seem … not as strange as it actually is?

When he gives a statement he gives his name as Silco. You realise then, you are just now learning his name, he already seems to know yours which gives you pause, you had never spoken to him. But you weren't really in any position to worry about that having already thrown yourself at the man.

—

Police pour into your home, taking fingerprints and photographs. Its not long before one of the forensic team approaches you on the street and explains it might be a while before you could return home, definitely not till tomorrow morning at the earliest.

"Oh, thank you." You say, still quite shocked.

At this news you finally unwrap yourself from the stranger now known as Silco. Starring blankly out in the street you stifle a yawn feeling exhausted now that all of the adrenalin had worn off.

Embarrassment starts to sneak in, should you apologise to him? You wonder, turning your eyes up to his.

He looks down at you thoughtfully, as if you are a problem he needs to solve.

"Would you like to come in for a warm drink while you wait?" He asks gesturing towards his apartment across the road. His manner is cold and calculating but his actions had been nothing but generous and kind. It was a confounding combination.

You look up towards his apartment, probably not the best idea but you agree with a nod.

The thrill of the situation and the shock of the home invasion made everything seem less insane and more reasonable.

"I'd like that... thank you." You admit gratefully.

--

In his nice, high end apartment he stands across from you behind the kitchen island where you sit perched on a high stool.

He meticulously prepares you a warm drink before making some coffee for himself.

"It's a shame that we're finally meeting under such unsavoury circumstances." He says gently, pouring steaming liquid into a glass coffee mug.

You smile gently pushing a marshmallow around in your hot chocolate.

"As opposed to our usual unsavoury circumstances?" You laugh gently before sighing and resting your cheek against your hand.

"I like our thing." You confess keeping your eyes low.

"Me too." He replies softly before bringing the cup to his lips.

It felt good, to hear him say that.

Still, you knew how dangerous this was. Despite how comfortable you felt right now, there was something not right about this man, an air of malevolence (but that was thrilling too).

“Do you… “ you falter, unsure if you should continue but when you raise your eyes up to his one eyebrow quirks up, as if waiting patiently.

You clear your throat trying to rally your courage.

“Do you… watch other people?” You ask, almost instantly regretting it.

He takes another sip of his coffee, calm, unhurried.

His eyes never leave you. You struggle against the urge to squirm in the silence.

His focus on you was always so intense. Of course you enjoyed it, but being in a room together now, up close. It was something else, hot, fierce, like standing too close to the fire.

“I think that you want me to say no.” He murmers, eyes gleaming as he steps back away from you. Slowly, deliberately making his way around the long marble kitchen island that separates you both.

“I think, you enjoy my attention.” He continues, his lazy gait, unhurried on the tiled floor.

“I think you crave it.” his shoe clicks on the tiles, closer now.

He places a hand next to your hot cocoa, palm flat on the counter and leans in.

His other hand stays at his side, controlled.

“I think you enjoy being… just, out of reach.” He says closing in on you.

He leans in slowly, inch by inch, his breath brushes your cheek. Your heartbeat stutters. His lips near your ear.

“Just you.”

You stop breathing, the words settle on your skin, like ash. Hot, final, branded.

You don't move, his breath is still warm on your cheek.

Then he turns away, without a word. He walks towards the coat rack shrugging on a dark winter coat, it looks custom, fitted, clean.

You watch in silence as he walks back over towards you and grabs some of his personal items from a bowl on the counter.

He slides a key over the marble towards you with a shhhk.

“This is a spare key, you may come and go as you please.”

You stare at it.

“Are you… leaving?” the question feels louder than expected.

He doesn't answer at first, checking his phone.

”I have work.” he says simply.

“The spare room at the end of the hall is made up as a guest room. You’re welcome to stay while I'm out”

You nod slowly, processing this before asking.

“What … time do you usually come home?”

He pauses.

“Five ... Maybe six”

“AM?” You ask.

His eyes flick up.

“Yes"

That's all, Just one syllable. Heavy as stone.

He turns towards the door.

“Wait!” You call after him, stepping forward and reaching out, catching his coat sleeve.

“Thank you.” You say, meaning it, trying to show it with your eyes.

“It is nothing.” He says looking away and gently, but firmly pulling his arm away from you.

You watch his back disappear through the door. It closes slowly with a click.

Silence.

—

The spare room is immaculate, almost clinical, clean, comfortable and impersonal. Like a hotel room.

You go to the ensuite bathroom and splash water on your face, wincing when you see the large dark bruise blooming on your arm where you'd been dragged from room to room like a ragdoll. Helpless.

You quickly turn away from the mirror, and lay on top of the bed instead. You stare at the ceiling, mind racing, a deep sigh deflates you.

After about fifteen minutes, tossing and turning, you give in.

Of course you need to look in his room. Just in case there is some kind of creepy shrine dedicated to you, surrounded by candles or something.

You push the large door open, walking in to see black silk sheets on a large bed. You scrunch your nose at how typical it was of a wealthy strange man. His large walk in robe is filled only with fine clothing, all in shades of black and red. No shrine. You pick a discarded business shirt up off the edge of a laundry hamper and for some reason, you bring it to your face and inhale.

It smelled like cigarettes and aftershave and a subtle, spicy body odour. You knew this was weird of you but you were staying in your stalkers house after someone just threatened your life so you also felt like if there was a time you deserved a pass, it was now.

Through the long hallway of his walk in robe was the entrance to his bathroom, refined, spacious, stylish.

You’re pretty impressed by this point, and smile as you make your merry way back through to his bedroom. Now fully committed to disrespectful hedonism, you climb on to his bed and lay down with your head on the pillows. Sprawled out on top of the silk sheets you’re annoyed to admit they feel really nice.

Then you accidentally take a moment to let yourself think about everything that had happened in the last few hours. How blindsided you had felt, how helpless.

This time the tears well up in your eyes and you start to cry uncontrollably. The sadness and fear of what you had experienced pour out of you in shuddering, loud, uncontrollable weeping. You cry for a long long time, curled up on the black silk sheets, trembling as you weep. Staining them with your salted tears and smothering yourself in the scent of the strange man that watched you undress from across the road.

—

Silco comes home early, having delegated out as much work as feasible. It had been a long night, despite finally having held the woman of his desires in his arms for the first time. He sighs as he shrugs his slender shoulders out of his fitted coat, hanging it up on the rack before striding over to empty his pockets into the bowl on the kitchen counter. Noticing the half empty hot chocolate mug you had left in place, he pauses thoughtfully.

Turning his gaze up towards the hall where the spare room was.

He hesitates for a second before quietly and slowly padding up the hallway, he places a hand carefully on the doorknob and turns it, opening the door just enough to see...

Ah. It’s empty, she’s gone.

Of course, it was sensible and probably even polite for her to be gone.

Silco runs his fingers up through his hair and makes his way back out into the kitchen, reaching for his cigarette case and lighter, he strolls out through one of the large glass sliding doors onto the balcony, leaning on the railing and lighting his cigarette.

He looks out towards your apartment. The curtains are wide open as usual, the place was a mess but the police had all left at least. Silco glanced at the bed, empty. The couch, also empty.

Hmmmm, he didn’t like not knowing where you were. He also didn’t like not knowing things about you. He would resolve that, if you had family members or friends nearby that you had gone to stay with, he wanted to know.

He stubbs out the cigarette and strolls back inside, swinging the door to his bedroom open he starts unbuttoning his shirt, getting ready for bed.

A small noise makes him freeze, whipping his head to finally notice you, curled up delicately in the centre of his bed.

His breath catches for a moment at the sight and he wonders at it.

How your small soft form is so vulnerable, the gentle rise and fall of your breaths.

Hand curled towards your chest.

The slight parting of your lips, so peaceful.

So close.

Then your eyes flick open.

—

Your eyes snap open to see Silco, standing across from you, unbuttoning his shirt. You panic, realising that you’d slept in his bed, and now he was undressing as he approached you?

Oh no no no he was a creep, you knew it and you shouldn’t be surprised by it but this was too much. This was crossing the line, well further over the line. A new line?

You sprang up backing out of the bed and standing with your hands raised.

“I don’t want to sleep with you!” You blurt out defensively.

“Why are you in my bed?” He asks calmly, lowering his hands, leaving the top few buttons of his shirt open.

You falter.

“I offered you the spare room, at the end of the hall.” He says sternly pointing in that direction.

“I… I” You have no defence for this. Maybe you are the creep here?

He waits for a moment tilting his head.

“You what?” He asks. “Was there a pea under the mattress?” Taunting you now.

Your mouth snaps shut with your frown and you storm past him, making your way out of the bedroom door. In times like these, the best defence was a strong offence.

He turns cooly, watching you as you pass.

“Glad I could help.” He quips, following you at a measured distance.

His words still you briefly.

You turn to him, expression angry.

“Thank you for your help.” you bark awkwardly.

He gives a slight incline of the head. No more than that.

Then you storm out the door doing your best not to slam it like a child.

Definitely not your best work.

--

After the door shuts, Silco exhales through his nose in amusement.

"Her pride has teeth" he thinks, "but no aim."

Retreating into his room, he lays down, fully clothed on his bed, inhaling deeply.

It smells like her.

End.

——

Thanks for reading ���📖🖤

I have been really enjoying writing this so I hope you dig it!

Also- there’s A LOT more of it already written, so if you want more, let me know and I’ll try and make time to edit it sooner.

—

Continue on …next Chapter 1.5 short

[omegaversereloaded]

Youtube link for the music video version of the song from ElCexar, which is slightly different. I like the album version a little more :)

The Frozen Autumn is a darkwave/coldwave band from Italy and one of my favorite bands of all time! Their music is so moody and atmospheric and really get you into the goffik mindset. They're still active and you can support their newest release on their Bandcamp here! It's a really good album~

If this one's not for you, don't stop now – a lot of sounds fall under the goth umbrella and I'm trying to post different stuff every day. No repeats allowed~

If you like this song, I highly recommend these other songs by them, including one of my favorite songs ever:

one of the best songs ever ^^

[vamp-rin]

okay i wrote this whole rant about rowan and i dont think it was appreciated enough with the couple of people i sent it to (i was ignored) so. feast. i should also mention this was sent to people who have listened to a very minimal amount of chnt so mhm yeah you know (im losing it)

okay so so so i usually dont do much but just fawn over rowan (RIGHTFULLY SO) but i have to give my baby boy some actual love so i have to yap about his backstory

so, in episode three, sydney talks over the intercom about how rowan has developed something that makes it so the sky gives him visions. and that he is currently curled into a ball in the corner of the nurses office sobbing. (can i hug him chnt season two rowan and i become canon). the agent log in the description talks about him developing "celestial powers"? which i think is very interesting

we don't see much of his powers explained, but what we do get is that the sky gives him visions of meteorological events, most of them being stuff like the camp burning down n shit. because of this, he has a fucking panic attack every time he looks at the sky. sounds like hell.

in a mediation session between juniper and him, he talks about "90% of the time i can feel myself having a panic attack because of the fucking sky." i have listened to that episode so many times i have it memorized. moving on. he also talks about how no one seems to care or even check in on him during these or because of these.

in a later episode, sydney talks about how they added nightmare powder to the bonfire smoke. what a genius fucking idea???? /sar. he talks about how if you are prone/sensitive to terror, its best to stay inside for the day. he also talks about how rowan is in such a state that he cant do anything throughout the day. when i tell you my heart hurt.

i saw this on the fandom wiki (which is not a good source of knowledge. they have juniper listed as a former member of the backstreet boys.) and it said that sydney got him a hat to help with the visions.

this leaves a lot of things questioned. how can he get rid of the powers? is there anything or anyway at all to avoid them or lessen the visions?

and i have more to say about his focus song. venetian blind man. venetian blinds are the type of blinds that flip closed, which is a reference to him being afraid of the sky, so he stays indoors and closes the blinds so the sky "cant see him" as he says. theres also the lines "he says, 'oh whoa, it's only an omen / oh whoa, stay in the moment.'" which i really like in terms of him trying to ground himself from the breakdowns caused by the sky.

theres also a verse whatever thing in that song that goes "lord knows i've said awful things round this house" and a bit more (I HATE HOW I CANT REMEMBER IT), which is curious. what awful things has he said? was it to someone? or was it to the sky, which in turn cursed him with those powers?

ive been meaning to do a full analysis of venetian blind man sometime, so uuhhh yeah let me know if yall wanna see that

[gard3nias]

26| Open stage

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wc: 9.78k

date: 31/01/2025

mdi // masterlist // playlist

Please read the note at the end because it's a deep dive into how the school system works for more clarity.

—Now playing: Anche Se Non Trovi Le Parole by Elisa ✫

A delicate interplay of warm hues and the cool tones of dawn filled the room as Adrielle moved the Venetian blinds. The cold tones of the early morning crept in, seamlessly blending into the scene and creating the quintessential late autumn atmosphere—blue hour.

Adrielle would wholeheartedly and openly admit to loving summer mornings if given the option to choose. The golden hues resonated with her personality and her overall being. Cold tones were off-putting for her, the key to eternal sadness. The only exception was navy blue, which she preferred in blouses and shoes.

Even her house seemed carved to thrive under the summer golden shades. Its crisp white walls, light-brown flooring, and abundant potted greenery came alive in the warmer months. The colder season consumed that vibrancy, leaving her yearning for sunnier days for half a year.

The sheer curtains, adorned with intricate hand-sewn floral designs, framed her window. As the dull light of the sky shone into the room, the curtains filtered it, casting unique shadows across the walls, the bed, and her face. 

Had she been in the attic, she’d have had a better view of the country, observing how the fog draped the neighbourhood like a quilt. 

But the view from her room window was limited. On her left, she could only glimpse the modest houses in her neighbourhood, while her tennis court was on her right. In the background were rows of half-naked trees. 

She could tell that the day didn’t have the best weather for the townspeople.

Adrielle had woken up forty minutes before her alarm as she had noticed when she had checked her phone. Refusing to turn the lights on, she slumped on her bed and scrolled through her notifications. This left her in the ocean-blue darkness of the early morning with the only light coming from the device in her hands.

Having showered the previous night, her morning routine was a streamlined process. She placed her phone on the bedside table to fix her bed. 

Firstly, she fluffed the pillows. Then she smoothened the slightly messy bedsheets before throwing her thick blanket and watching it slowly fall onto the bed. The soft rustling sounds of fabric were a rhythmic backdrop to her thoughts. 

She couldn’t see how the room changed when she turned on the bathroom lights. The warm lighting reflected off the caramel-brown walls, casting a cosy glow on the black-and-tan tiles beneath her feet. Once she brushed her teeth and washed her face, she opened the window, welcoming the crisp gust of the morning breeze.

When she turned the bathroom lights off, the warm glow in her room vanished, returning her to the blue darkness. Moving with purpose, but still not turning on the lights, she opened the windows fully to chase away the lingering heat of the night.

Finally, with her phone in hand and her feet in her slippers, she left the room, closing the door behind herself. 

According to the house layout, her chamber was the first bedroom on the first floor, right after the studio. Then came the guest room, the bathroom, a nook, and, finally, her parents’ bedroom. 

The hallway was dimly lit, but she could tell her parents were awake because a thin line of light shone from underneath their bedroom door.

Adrielle’s eyes didn’t linger for long and she proceeded downstairs for breakfast. As she did so, she caught someone’s movement in the corner of her eye and noticed Yvette’s presence in the kitchen.

“Bonjour, Adrielle,” she greeted.

“Bonjour.”

Yvette, a family friend, was a cornerstone of Adrielle’s life, a tangible connection to her roots. With her Parisian–accented French, she was the only person addressing her name with the right accent—A-dri-el. 

Yvette was born into the family because her mother, Gisèle, was Elodie's, Adrielle’s mom, close friend. Gisèle was the housekeeper and the cook while Yvette sometimes helped around.

Yvette met Adrielle for the first time a day after she was born. 

Elodie’s water burst two days before the birth. Gisèle was with her every step of the way and Yvette was right back at them. 

She was only seventeen at the time and, despite the fear she had felt when everyone was running around the house to get Elodie to the hospital, she had been excited to welcome the baby girl once she’d been born. 

Gisèle had promised she’d take her to the hospital the following day and Yvette couldn’t sleep all night. She woke up earlier than usual, had a shower, and prepared breakfast for her mother and herself. 

She didn’t want to disturb the woman and sat in the dining room, hoping she’d wake up on her own, but, after fifteen minutes, the excitement forced her to enter Gisèle’s room and wake her up herself. 

“Mom, come on. We have to go see Adrielle.” Despite the tiredness, Gisèle got up, smiling.

Around nine in the morning, they had reached the hospital and, luckily for them, Elodie wasn’t asleep, breastfeeding the newborn. 

Seventeen-year-old Yvette’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets in amazement. Pupils dilated, smile across her face, and glitters in her eyes.

Elodie had seen it so, smiling and guiding the young girl, Yvette was allowed to carry Adrielle in her arms for the first time.

The little one weighed as much as a feather and Yvette feared the girl would have gotten hurt if she had moved too abruptly. Unconsciously, her voice became tiny as she welcomed Adrielle into the world, and, ever since that day, she’d been taking care of her not like a sister but like a mother would.

Now, she was in her mid-thirties while Adrielle was in her first year as an adult and, every time she laid eyes on the girl, she felt proud. She was the one who spent the most time with her and couldn’t help but be happy at the results of her nursing.

Nothing would stop her from pronouncing ‘Adrielle’ as ‘A-dri-el’ or randomly throwing in some French words when she spoke with the girl. She loved the name, especially when pronounced with the right accent.

Her mother Gisèle had gotten used to calling the girl ‘E-dri-el’ and Elodie ‘E-lo-dee’ without the accent on the last syllable, the same way the girl’s father did, but Yvette was bent on not changing her ways. 

Besides, Adrielle admitted she preferred the original pronunciation and Yvette would do anything to make her happy.

“How was your night?” Yvette had settled into the habit of waking up early, especially after Adrielle came along. Little did she know, the youngest had been doing the same thing to steal more moments with her.

It was kind of sweet when thinking about it. Yvette’s mornings had become a routine, filled with the usual rush of tidying up the house and getting ready for the day. But Adrielle, in her own little way, echoed the same early bird vibe, just to catch some extra time with one of her favourite people before the world kicked in. 

These small, unspoken details between them were the foundation of their bond. 

“Nothing too out of the ordinary, but it was nice.” Adrielle knew that because of what happened on Wednesday and throughout the weekend, this question held a different meaning. 

After the shenanigans at Jimin’s restaurant last Wednesday, she went home because the stress had caught up with her and there she remained throughout the rest of the week.

Yvette grew deeply worried and attended to her every day until she got better the same way her friends bombarded her with text messages and Taehyung came to her place to catch her up on what she’d missed in school.

“What would you like for breakfast, chérie?” 

Yvette wasn’t in charge of the cooking. In fact, the kitchen was a no-go area for her because Gisèle, her mother, was the cook. But, despite her beginner’s skills, Yvette had learned a few recipes and would cook for Adrielle if the girl ever needed something.

However, she wouldn’t give up if the request exceeded her knowledge. Looking for a recipe book and following every line and word, she would prepare the meal regardless.

“Nothing too heavy. Just a few biscuits and tea, please.” On cue, Yvette ran around the kitchen from cupboard to cupboard to get the ingredients while spurring Adrielle to sit back and do nothing.

“What do you have in store for today?” she asked, working on the tea.

Behind her, Adrielle sat on a stool and thought about the answer. “Nothing really. Today is chill. You won’t believe it but some of my teachers still haven’t told us the date for their tests. I know they’ll wake up at the last minute and leave us cramming seven tests in five consecutive days. How insensitive.”

Yvette chuckled, reminiscing her own school days. “Some teachers plan ahead and tell you when all the tests would be at the beginning of the season. Others do not trust themselves and don’t know if they’ll be able to teach certain topics within a restricted timeframe so they wait until they are actually done before releasing the dates. I know it’s frustrating. When do you think they’ll tell you?”

Two ticking sounds and the stove was turned on. While the tea got ready, Yvette moved to look for biscuits.

“I want to have at least the last week before winter break free, so, hopefully, they will tell us early enough and place them within the first two weeks of December.”

Things were different now. Last Friday, the election results were finally released. She was sleeping when she received the email, but there was no better notification than her friends barging into her bedroom screaming and celebrating.

“We won!”“Let’s go!”“Told you!”

She was still half asleep but didn’t hold her smile back. 

It was perfect. Everything they worked on would eventually come to life. The stress they went through had been worth it, and, thinking about it, Adrielle felt bad for the team that didn’t win. 

Other than that, their popularity had just reached its peak. From casual rich and stunning kids since middle school to school representatives in high school. What a résumé.

“Do you think that now that you’re one of the school representatives you’ll be able to change that?”

Adrielle gasped before laughing. “Oh, no absolutely not. I’d have to be their employer to do that. I can’t dictate how they do their job. I can judge it, being a student, but I can’t do much about it. For them to change it, I  think the principal would have to give them an ultimatum or something—”

“An ultimatum?” Yvette laughed, placing the biscuits into two small plates—one for Adrielle and one for herself.

“Oh, yeah! Some teachers there pay their ears deaf and, unless you threaten their source of income, they won’t move a finger. Their excuse is always ‘Are you dying? No, you’re not, so you’re fine!’ I hate it.” 

Yvette was all ears and laughed with the girl as she turned off the stove and poured the hot tea into two mugs. “Like, I mean… I am dying but their messed-up schedules make me die faster.”

Laughing, they finally settled for breakfast, passing the time with chit-chatters. Minutes into it and right before Adrielle returned upstairs to get dressed, the clicking sounds of slippers echoed through the wide space of the floor. Elodie was going down the stairs with a magazine in hand.

“Good morning, there!” she greeted. 

“Good morning, Maman,” Adrielle replied softly as she walked past her mother. 

The woman froze for a split second, sending a knowing look in Yvette's direction. The latter shrugged and chuckled before dipping her biscuit in the tea.

She’d never understand why the woman despised her roots. Whenever Adrielle said even the simplest thing in French, Elodie always wanted to skin her alive with her eyes. It left Yvette perplexed.

Reaching her destination, Adrielle met the room as cold and fresh as she wanted—no more lingering heat.

To match the cool tones of the morning, she smiled at the idea of wearing a blue sweater over her black top. As for the bottoms, she wore a simple pair of slightly flared jeans, which would frame the top of her deep blue Adidas Samba.

Having naturally straight her, the most she could do was comb out the strands to remove any knots. The process was similar even when doing her makeup, which wasn’t extraordinary—concealer, mascara, a warm tint on her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and lips. 

With time still on her side, she reached for her phone to check the schedule for the day and prepare her bag. She even managed to study briefly before heading downstairs again.

From the top of the stairs, she could hear the plates clattering and, once at the bottom, she discovered Yvette was busy doing the dishes.

Her mother was still sitting at the table with the magazine in one hand and a mug in the other. Her short hair was separated into strands and rolled in curlers, face masks covered her eye bags, and the light reflected off her silk nightgown. 

It was only a matter of minutes before her father would rush behind them to drive off to work and, as predicted, a sound came from the top floor followed by her father’s hurried movements down the stairs.

“Good morning and bye.” Yvette raised her brows before chuckling, and so did Adrielle’s mom. Instead, the daughter slowly turned to watch as the man exited the house, leaving the trio in disbelief.

“Erm, good morning and bye, I guess,” Adrielle replied a bit puzzled while the two women behind her started laughing.

Her father’s expression didn’t change. He simply waved and closed the front door. Moments later, the car engine roared and he was off to work only to return for dinner.

“You are all ready. Do you still have things to do for the school presidentship to be here at this hour?” Her mother recalled her attention, taking the mug in her hands again. 

“No, Mom. That is done. We’ve won the elections, remember? Jungkook, Taehyung, Jimin, and Avyanna broke into our home last Friday to tell me.” 

Yvette, from behind the woman, had a blank expression. Elodie had forgotten again and she knew Adrielle would get a bit annoyed. What she’d forgotten wasn’t a little detail. Even the walls on the house knew how excited and nervous Adrielle was throughout the campaign.

The daughter didn’t spare her mother any more seconds and moved to the anteroom where her coat and scarf were. 

“Oh, true. You told me. How stupid of me to forget about it. You were so happy when you discovered it.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Adrielle bitterly whispered through gritted teeth, but her mother didn’t hear or see it. All she could see was her daughter’s back. Gisèle did though, having just come out of her bedroom. She smiled, and Adrielle sighed, caught red-handed. 

“Good morning, Gisèle.” The middle-aged woman’s smile didn’t fade and, caressing the girl’s shoulder as she walked by, she replied with a warm tone.

“Good morning, Maman!” Yvette chirped from the kitchen. 

Coat on and scarf well-wrapped around her neck, Adrielle bid her greetings and left for school, fifteen minutes earlier than usual. Behind her, Leodie was still perplexed about why her daughter left so early.

“I messed up, didn’t I?” she asked Gisèle and Yvette, suspecting that Adrielle was offended by her forgetfulness. 

Yvette smiled tightly, and Gisèle gave her a knowing look. The woman sighed and dropped the magazine on the table. “Is she going to kill me?”

As Adrielle walked out, the cold breeze of the morning bellowed at her to cover up more, so she grabbed her scarf with one hand and put the other in her pocket. Moments later, the small gate was closed behind her and she proceeded on the road of her neighbourhood with one destination in mind: Taehyung’s home.

—Now playing: Home by Gabrielle Aplin ✫

She didn’t want to let the morning get to her because it was still just the beginning of the day. She had almost ten hours to spend with other people. The last thing she wanted to do was act bitchy with everyone.

Her father was as cold and hard to comprehend as an iceberg. His life consisted of very few steps: waking up, eating, going to work, returning home, eating, sparing some time for his family if he felt like it before retiring to bed and restarting the monotonous cycle the following day.

Her mother followed a similar routine, although she tried harder to focus on the family and still failed. The positive thing about her was that Adrielle could talk to her even about normal topics, which meant nothing about school. Her father could only speak with her about school. He considered her academic performance the same way he regarded his job.

Her parents weren’t stingy though; being their only child, they were always elated to spoil her with gifts upon gifts. One would think that the gifts in question would be material, but, to Adrielle, spending some time with them like a family does was the same as a very expensive gift—no money spent, though.

She crossed the road to the one leading to Taehyung’s house, seeing the terminal in the distance with a few buses parked.

An Airpod was plugged in and music played through. Unconsciously, her pace matched the rhythm.

As she walked along the road, she saw a few people already leaving their homes to go to work and she knew it not just because they were visibly full-grown adults but because it was still early that no student would be leaving just yet. She was the exception for the day.

Two songs and a half later, she was in front of Taehyung’s gates and after ringing the bell, the small gate and the front door were opened for her, revealing a smiley Nana.

“Oh, my dear darling. Here you are!” Her happy tone rang from the entrance and Adrielle couldn’t help but smile as she closed the gate and rushed up to her.

After sharing a warm hug with the woman, she was welcomed inside and offered breakfast, which she didn’t refuse—Nana had made cookies the previous day and she loved them. 

As she removed her shoes and kept them by the front door, Taehyung came rushing downstairs having understood who could have Nana so jolly this early in the morning.

“Hey, there,” his soft voice greeted her while he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to drag her with him to the dining room.

Just like that, the discomfort she woke up to meet at home faded into the background as she had her second breakfast with the people she cherished—and cherished her. Taehyung, his mom, and Nana. 

Given the time, the four of them sat together at the table but couldn’t linger as much as they wanted because the young ones had to leave for school. 

Taehyung and Adrielle couldn’t help laughing as they listened to Nana telling them to take care and watch the road like they were six-graders and it was their first time going to school alone.

The greetings stopped only after they had walked a few steps away from the small gate of Taehyung’s home. 

When Nana finally closed the front door, Adrielle laughed, both because of the woman and because Taehyung sighed in relief. He was finally able to bring out his pack of cigarettes and smoke one.

“Tae,” she began, “You’ve been smoking since— How long have you been smoking?”

Taehyung could not properly reply to her as he had a cigarette between his lips but he thought about her question and hummed.

“You had your first try like… what? 9th grade?” She voiced his thoughts, so he nodded and removed the cigarette from his mouth to add.

“I started really smoking in 10th grade. In 9th grade, I barely did anything.” As he spoke, his free hand reached into the small pocket of his backpack to get a lighter.

“Yeah, exactly. And you think that since then, they have not discovered it yet? Or they didn’t notice it, at least?” Taehyung shrugged and Adrielle chuckled in disbelief.

“Elle,” he spoke after lighting the cigarette, “I like to play it safe, you never know. Maybe they haven’t yet, so I’m playing my cards right and if they did… well, what can I say?”

Adrielle gave him a knowing look and he smirked in pride. “Okay, I give that to you ‘cause you’re not an avid smoker so, yeah, understandable.” His smirk widened into a full smile and she rolled her eyes.

Between gist, jokes, and giggles, they reached the bus stop at the usual time to meet the usual faces. 

The group of people was divided into uneven subgroups. The biggest subgroup included students within their age, who could go to school alone. A smaller subgroup was formed by students who were too young to be alone and were accompanied by an adult figure—parent, grandparent, uncle or aunt. The last and smallest subgroup comprised fully grown adults, who were most likely headed for work.

The bench at the bus stop was freezing-cold and only one person had enough resistance to sit on it. The other people remained on their feet just like Adrielle and Taehyung as they had a light-hearted conversation.

Minutes later, Taehyung crushed his cigarette underneath his shoes, seeing the bus ride down to their stop.

Since their destination called for the bus to ride away from their bus stop to the left, Adrielle and Taehyung turned left as well once they boarded the vehicle and sat on their usual seats in the front.

“Anna kept me up late last night because she wanted advice on how to go about with the cheerleading team she wants to create.” Taehyung groaned causing Adrielle to laugh. 

He had signed up to do this with her the same way the rest of their friends did because they didn’t want to leave her alone in it, but, once they won the elections, they realised how serious and tasking the consequences were. 

“What? We added it in our presentation that we would open a cheerleading team and Avyanna is eager to do it. Who am I to tell her and all the girls who could be interested no? Anyway—” Taehyung groaned again and rolled his eyes, although his smile gave off the opposite vibes.

She laughed and said, “Anyway, she needs advice on that, and I need your opinion on organising an end-of-year Christmas party.” 

Suddenly, Taehyung was all ears, and despite the silence, his expression showed interest.

“I was thinking about organising a joint party with the high school from the neighbouring town, which would mean the party wouldn’t be here because we don’t have a hall big enough for it and Jungkook’s home can’t welcome the amount of people.” Taehyung’s nod spurred her to continue.

“Also, the party will be open for everyone, from freshman to senior year, so it’s better if we’re not the sole hosts. What do you think about it?” Adrielle asked, her tone filled with optimism and anticipation.

Taehyung pursued his lips thoughtfully. “What could I not think about it? It’s a great idea. No one has ever done it before, so heck yeah. Will we collaborate with the representatives of their school?”

His reassuring words and curiosity eased the nervousness within her. She smiled and nodded before resuming again. 

Taehyung wouldn’t say he wasn’t listening to her friend, but the bus drew closer to Daphne’s bus stop, so, naturally, his attention started to falter. 

He was still all ears, nodding, and commenting where he felt like commenting. All the while, his eyes bounced back and forth from Adrielle to the doors.

Usually, his well-mastered skills would allow him to do this without anyone noticing, especially Adrielle, but things had changed and he didn’t know it. Just as he was attentive whenever Daphne’s name was mentioned so was Adrielle with him.

Adrielle noticed the subtle shift in his demeanour. She knew Taehyung well enough to catch the fleeting glances and the slight edge of anticipation in his expression. His mind was elsewhere, but she kept talking, pretending not to notice.

She knew when Daphne would board the bus. She’d seen Taehyung greet her whenever she got on and off the vehicle enough to learn it herself. 

Just as Taehyung’s attention started wavering, so did hers, leaving the both of them on the edge of their seats,  awaiting Daphne’s entrance.

The bus had taken off and was just meters from the next stop. Adrielle’s voice had switched to autopilot like in situations like this, so Taehyung didn’t notice the change within her as she spoke to him. Also, he couldn’t see that Adrielle was glaring holes in the side of his face whenever, for a split second, he looked at the doors.

—Now playing: Everything I Wanted  by Billie Eilish ✫

Eventually, the bus stopped and the doors slid open. They couldn’t see who came in from the front doors because they were back-facing them but they had a perfect view of the ones in the centre and the back.

Whenever the doors opened, a hissing sound was released before the crackling sounds of the vehicle returned. Since they were still far from meeting a huge crowd of passengers, as the bus was boarded, there wasn’t much noise—nor was there Daphne.

Taehyung’s sneaky looks changed when he saw that nobody followed behind Cleo. The curly-headed girl had wrapped her head with her scarf in the form of a hood and, after watching her steps, she returned her focus to her phone, feet proceeding to the back of the bus.

“You said all this but you didn’t talk about the date. When do you intend to put it?” Taehyung asked, looking at Adrielle, although his mind was bothered. 

Her tone was still the same—autopilot mode—but her mood wasn’t and there was no way he could find out. Not when the leading actress in the play was Adrielle. 

“Possibly after the last day of school, on Saturday.” 

Adrielle noticed how, despite keeping his eyes on her, his hand reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone and she already had an idea about what he wanted to do with it. Just like that, a sudden wave of irritation washed over her.

To not seem impolite, he excused himself to text someone quickly. She knew who this ‘someone’ was even though she had no confirmation when, feigning to stretch her body, she read the contact name on his phone. 

Lauri? Who’s Lauri? Isn’t he texting Daphne? 

She blinked away, moving her eyes to the window at the possibility of them being so close they now have nicknames for each other.

She recalled seeing a full chat. She couldn’t tell when they last texted because there were so many messages, and the chat date was probably far up. However, knowing he worked on her questions the previous day, they most likely texted very recently.

Taehyung didn’t notice Adrielle’s sneaky behaviour, being too preoccupied with Daphne’s absence. Once he sent the message, he looked up at Cleo, who was already looking in his direction aware that her friend’s absence would trigger him.

From his eyes, she got the question and answered him mouthing that Daphne was sick. Gesturing, she explained that her friend was probably sleeping as they spoke.

The information didn’t seem to ease him much. Adrielle could tell by the way his fingers hovered over his phone, as if unsure whether to send another message.

That was the confirmation she needed. Lauri was Daphne.

Taehyung was already expecting it. There had been signs throughout last week. It first began with a soft sore throat, but Daphne had a runny nose and hints of an intense cough. Evidently, it had gotten worse.

“What happened?” Adrielle casually asked, assuming her silence would weird him out. 

He had a crush on the girl, so his reaction was completely normal, but this reminder did her no good. 

“From what I understood, she’s sick and right now, she’s sleeping.”

Adrielle raised an eyebrow, keeping her voice light. “Sick? She seemed fine yesterday. Maybe it’s just a cold?”

Yeah, truly, Adrielle didn’t care. Not because she wished Daphne would die in her sick bed—that would have Taehyung not even on the edge of his seat but straight into the brunette’s home—but because she didn’t ask the question out of curiosity. She just had to. She was his friend after all. 

“I guess. She’s been sick the whole week and it only worsened,” he replied, thinking he was casually replying to a friend. 

Really, beside him, Adrielle’s irritation grew stronger at the thought of how much time he’d spent with Daphne for him to speak like that.

She smiled politely, thoughts churning in her restless mind. She hated how much weight Daphne’s name seemed to carry with Taehyung. It wasn’t jealousy—or at least that was what she told herself. She was frustrated to see him so preoccupied when they were supposed to discuss something important.

Almost without noticing, her hand reached into her bag to grab her book and, after sending a few texts, Taehyung turned his phone off only to find his friend unavailable: Adrielle’s eyes were on the book, so she didn’t see him furrow his brows, confused. Underneath his facial expression, he tried to make sense of her behaviour. 

Yes, tried because his phone vibrated in his pocket and, hoping it would be Daphne, his attention had relocated again.

It was indeed Daphne, and she confirmed to him that she was too sick to go to school.

Lauri: I fucking hate my life

Lauri: why right now

Lauri: the test is on Monday

Taehyung: there you go again, focusing on the wrong things

Taehyung: you’re sick Daphne. I think you have something to be more worried about rn

Lauri: Tae, my health will deteriorate faster if I don’t also focus on physics

Sighing and rubbing his face, Taehyung refused to believe what he had read. He didn’t know how sick she was, but, to him, even the slightest cold was enough for her to have to lock out everything and focus on her health.

Taehyung: you can’t be fr

Lauri: sadly, I am TT

Lauri: I’ll do some exercises and send you a text if I have any doubts or do you have a better idea

Taehyung: yeah, how about you focus on getting better?

Lauri: wow, nice one. I’ll take it into consideration 

Lauri: next time :)

Unwillingly, Taehyung chuckled, although he was still annoyed she didn’t want to see reasons with him. 

Beside him, the subtle movement of his body as he reacted to the text caused Adrielle to read the same sentence repeatedly.

In front of him, at the back of the bus, Cleo briefly watched his actions, smiling and thinking he was texting her friend. “Freaking lovebirds,” she muttered, hands busy crocheting.

Taehyung: how sick are you?

Lauri: a tad more than a normal cold

Taehyung: oh God

Taehyung: you can’t even go out then

Lauri: yeah, no I can’t. My parents wouldn’t even let me

Taehyung: as they should

Taehyung: you have a stomach ache as well?

Lauri: no, thankfully

Lauri: throwing up is scary

The bus stopped again, the doors slid open, and a gust of fresh air hit them from behind as people boarded the vehicle. 

Taehyung stopped texting, thinking about what to send to her. Adrielle saw how he rummaged through his mind and saw that he was thinking. About what she didn’t know, she just hoped he’d be done soon.

After the three dancing dots stopped, two messages came through.

Lauri: am I too greedy if I ask you to come around after school?

Lauri: omg, I think I am

His eyes slightly bulged out, but he had to maintain his composure. Surely, the speed at which he replied didn’t show much self-control but rather extreme excitement.

Taehyung: no problem

Taehyung: and no, you don’t sound greedy

Taehyung: I fear you would get sicker if I didn’t 

He looked up from the device again, checking his surroundings to see if anyone could see the truth behind his eyes. He was losing it, yes, but could others see it? Hopefully not.

Lauri: perfect. I’ll just have to tell my parents

—Now playing: Jealousy, Jealousy by Olivia Rodrigo ✫

Adrielle saw Taehyung smiling in the corner of her eye. How could such a small and harmless thing bother her so much?

Did he not notice her take her book? 

She hated seeing him constantly thinking about Daphne. Hated the way nothing she said was strong enough to distract him. Hated how their conversation melted like salt in water as soon as Daphne’s bus stop was closer. Hated how quickly he brought out his phone to text her. She even hated the fact that they texted at all and, now, she hated how engrossed he was on the phone, smiling and chuckling like she wasn’t right there, right next to him.

Was he this inconsiderate and wasn’t Daphne supposed to be asleep?

Adrielle’s frustration simmered as she tried to focus on her book, but the situation had thrown her rhythm completely off. Despite the number of pages left, she knew she could’ve finished it by now under normal circumstances. But her mind was elsewhere, racing with thoughts she couldn’t silence. She repeatedly read sentences, the letters shuffling and creating more confusion.

Despite the fogged-up windows, she saw how the empty fields along the road blurred past, and the early morning sun was invisible behind the clouds. A gloomy day—yeah, cold tones were not for her.

They spent the rest of the ride in silence until Jimin got on the bus. This wasn’t unusual. Their friendship was based on enjoying each other’s presence without necessarily having to interact. But, knowing what he was doing on the phone, especially who he was texting, the silence suddenly had a different meaning.

She was used to reading and studying, and Taehyung usually listened to music next to her—their many years of friendship turned them into somewhat siblings, so there was no problem. But now, everything was different. Adrielle felt left out and ignored.

She wanted to release her frustration and crumble the strong and thick corners of the book with her hands, but that would only hurt her and draw unnecessary attention. Still, once they were at school, she resented her choice.

Jimin had dragged her so they would join Jungkook, Avyanna, and their siblings, who had tagged along that day. But the thought of leaving Taehyung behind at the bus stop while he was on the phone made her brain experience a stronger discomfort and pain than lobotomy could ever produce.

Taehyung was in the corner, phone to his ear and his free hand in his pocket. Adrielle didn’t have confirmation but was any needed? She was certain the person on the other end was Daphne. 

How the girl had managed to monopolise so much of his time was a mystery Adrielle wanted to solve so she’d practice the skill herself.

Worse of it all was her friends' lack of awareness. They didn’t seem bothered by Daphne’s intrusion into Taehyung’s life. 

First, she had taken over his afternoons, and he was barely available for lunch at Jimin’s. Second, she took the spotlight on Wednesday at the practice matches, shifting Taehyung's focus from basketball to her. Then, she took up even his private study time, forcing him to prioritise her over his responsibilities. Now, despite her absence, Daphne was also taking away valuable time he could have spent with his friends.

How come Adrielle was the only person seeing this? Was she overreacting, or was everyone else blind?

When Taehyung finally returned, he didn’t utter a word about the call. Adrielle didn’t know whether to be happy or annoyed.

Who was the caller? Nana? His mom? Or Lauri? What did they talk about? Why did it take them so long?

She didn’t know what to do with all these unanswered questions. It gnawed at her brain, but she convinced herself it was better if she didn’t know anything. At least this way, she could enjoy the day without Daphne’s presence looming over them.

For a while, things returned to their default settings. Taehyung didn’t scurry away during breaks nor did anyone talk about his supposed crush. It was like the old days before Daphne had arrived.

Adrielle relished the familiar dynamics, feeling a sense of contentment she thought had abandoned her. That was why, at the end of the day, she didn’t hesitate to ask Taehyung if he’d come over to study together. She wanted him to finish teaching her what she’d missed out on last week due to her absence.

But, once she received the answer, the world around her faded into the cold shades she hated so dearly. The tones weren’t even blue—there was still a bit of life to sadness. The hues were grey. Lifeless. Dead. Just like the silence that followed his answer. It was like a party pooper had broken into a celebration to turn the music off abruptly. Time slowed down, and his words echoed in her brain.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t,” he began in a casual tone, almost dismissive. “Daphne’s very sick. Her test is on Monday, so I’ll go over to her place to help her.”

When the final explanation came, if possible, the bus windows would’ve shattered just like her hopes. Was this how betrayal felt?

Even the timing was awful. She’d asked him this question a couple of stops before Daphne’s, so as he replied, his hands worked to adjust his bag and jacket. He was getting ready to leave. In moments, she’d be riding alone with her thoughts.

“Oh, how nice of you.” Adrielle nodded at his excuse, with a tight-lipped smile and her voice on autopilot. Her words conveyed a double meaning. 

They were as genuine as anyone would want them to be: your friend offered to help their crush study because they’re sick; that is so sweet and any good friend would applaud that. 

Yet, the other meaning was its stark contrast. How nice of him to choose her over their almost two-decade friendship. Just how lovely, really and he simply smiled, oblivious to the turmoil behind her light-blue eyes. 

Following the script, her hand reached into her bag and pulled out her book. As she did so, her soul lost years of its life when Taehyung didn’t react, getting up from his seat. 

How could he anyway? Her face was a mask, hiding her true feelings better than Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak.

He bid her goodbye and headed to the back door, where Cleo was already waiting, finger hovering over the red button. As he did so, he left cold air in his wake.

“Hello, there!” She cheerfully acknowledged his presence. He waved and, once the expected question was dropped, explained his plans for the day without a second thought. Little did he know, Cleo was screaming inside.

Once Daphne was healthy and without a headache, she’d holler in her ear that she was indeed bagging the dude. And no, she wasn’t exaggerating.

The doors slid open and they stepped off the bus, walking toward the neighbourhood. Cleo’s mind couldn’t help but wonder how Daphne felt throughout the day. Surely, she hadn’t been calm either.

Exactly, when Daphne sent Taehyung the special message earlier that morning, she facepalmed herself so hard that it restored her headache. 

“What have I done?” she muttered to herself before her heart raced out of her chest when she read his reply. It had come so quickly that she hadn’t even had the time to rethink her decisions.

—Now playing: She by Harry Styles ✫

“Oh, my—” Her words caught in her throat as she quickly replied before tossing her phone onto the bed. 

She stood up too quickly, doing her body no justice. Her iron deficiency almost kicked in, but luckily she didn’t lose her balance, eyes wandering around the room, inspecting every corner.

“Where the fuck are we going to study?” she yelled to herself in whispering tones. 

She’d woken up thirty minutes later than usual because of her sickness and, having not an ounce of strength in her body, she remained in bed, moaning and groaning from the discomfort.

Her heart had relocated to her head, pounding mercilessly. 

Her nose had gone on holiday, hanging the ‘closed’ banner on the door, and forcing her to breathe from her mouth. This warranted the uncomfortably dry feeling in her throat. The Sahara desert was soaked next to her throat. 

Meanwhile, all the moisture in her body seemed to have migrated to her eyes, making her unwillingly cry. 

She wore wool socks, but her feet refused to welcome the warmth, pushing her to the brink of madness—worse than psychosis.

As she moved a foot after the other to check the bedroom, she wondered if she had done something wrong. Had she opened an ancient artefact and summoned an old spirit? Had she unknowingly said something out loud that the universe had decided to manifest? Because why the fuck was this cold treating her like this?

Her mother had come to check her up minutes ago, wondering why she wasn’t already awake and when Daphne tried to talk to her, all she emitted were disconnected breathy sounds. Good Lord.

Like she had contracted a deadly virus, her mother got all worked up, complaining because she had a long shift that day and wouldn’t be back until late in the evening.

Her father heard the commotion and remained at the door, checking his daughter from a distance, compassion etched on his face. He couldn’t even say anything—his shifts were always long.

Within minutes, everything was at her disposal and close reach. She had an extra blanket on, a mug of warm tea on the bedside table, and tissue rolls.

“Darling, I’ll inform Granny and Grandpa, so they’ll check on you, okay? You have your phone. If you need anything, hit me up. I won’t leave my phone on DND so I’ll immediately pick up, don’t worry.” 

The woman sounded distressed, and Daphne wanted to roll her eyes and tell her it wasn’t that serious but, now, where would she find the voice to tell her that? 

“Mom?” Her voice was almost inaudible. She cleared her voice, regretting it the following moment when it burned her throat. “A friend of mine…” She struggled, “Will come over to help me study—”

“Daphne, are you serious?” Lacking the requirements to reply properly—a healthy voice and no headaches—Daphne left her eyes to do the job for her.

Fortunately, her mother read through them and she tilted her head, with a knowing look across her face.

“Please?” It hurt hearing her daughter’s voice so thin and, knowing Daphne was an anxious student—but unaware of the extent—she eventually gave in, agreeing and urging Daphne to sleep until then.

Did she listen? You take a guess.

As soon as Daphne heard the front door closing followed by a whole minute of silence, she got out of the covers, sitting up and grabbing her phone.

Looking at the clock, Taehyung was supposed to be already at school, but there was still a chance he was outside, especially knowing the people he hung around with, so she texted him.

Daphne: can I call you?

As if he’d set a notification in his head, he replied seconds later, and the call began.

It was simple. She would sleep for a bit, hoping her headache would subside. Then, she’d revise and do exercises, preparing material for questions. Once school was dismissed, he’d just have to come over and they’d have lunch together before spending the afternoon studying. All this was to be done before her parents would be back to avoid any teasing from her mother.

He agreed, voice casual and nonchalant as usual. Little did she know that he would’ve been jumping around like one who’d won the lottery if he hadn't been in public.

Daphne was someone who thrived in routines. She loved them. Following the same process, step by step every day gave her a sense of stability. Yet, she failed the first thing they had agreed on: sleeping.

As she worked, the noise was so loud she didn’t hear when her grandfather came over to give her some drugs and a few treatments Granny had prepared for her.

“My dear, how are you feeling? Granny told me to give you this—” The words died in his throat. 

There, standing in the hallway upstairs, was his granddaughter struggling to move a desk from one room to the other.

With a red nose and glittering eyes, Daphne awkwardly smiled, caught red-handed.

“I, erm—” She cleared her voice. “I’m trying to move this into my room,” she finally said with the little voice left in her.

Her grandfather was beyond perplexed as he watched with furrowed brows. “Darling, why do you—”

“A friend of mine is coming over to help me study because I have a test on Monday.” That was the most she’d spoken that morning and it strained her thin voice so much her grandfather almost laughed in her face because of the sound.

Pouting and feigning anger, Daphne pleaded with him not to laugh, although she herself was laughing with him.

“Oh, I’m sorry. My bad. Want some help?” She nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes.

Daphne collected the drugs and the treatments while he took over the task, letting her rush inside her room to drop them on the bedside table.

Moments later, they had replaced her desk with Dayanne’s old and bigger one and, only once they were done, did the old man wish to satisfy his curiosity.

“So… this friend… is it a boy or a girl?”

Daphne snapped her head in his direction, shocked by the words she just heard. “Why would that matter—” She coughed, a direct consequence of trying to raise her voice a little bit above what she could afford.

He laughed. She laughed. Then they returned to seriousness. “So, who is it?”

“Why would I tell you? You’ve mocked me enough.” Grandpa laughed harder, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulder to comfort her and express his deepest apologies.

“I’m sorry, darling but, you see, an old man like me lives a very boring and monotonous life. Don’t you think some gossip could, you know, spice it up a little?”

“And why am I supposed to be the main topic in the gossip?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him and struggling to withhold her smile.

“You’re my lovely granddaughter. You’ll always be the main topic—”

“In gossip?” The old man laughed, denying her claims before reminding her of his question while she dramatically gasped.

“So?” He didn’t give up and it surprised her. She didn’t immediately answer, looking into his eyes to see if he would stop, but seconds passed and nothing changed. 

So, seeing that he wouldn’t back down until she let it out, she finally admitted defeat. “A boy.” 

As soon as she dropped the answer, the old man whistled and his brows danced. Just a quick glimpse of it was enough for Daphne to free herself from his grip and run away, cringing really hard.

“Ooh, a boy, huh?” he teased her, and she covered her ears with both hands. He didn’t stop until she threw him a final glaring look.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop,” he began, retreating to exit her room. “But don’t forget to update me about how today goes!” 

With that, he rushed out of the room and left the house, screaming his greetings as he went down the stairs. “Granny will come to see you once she’s back from Opes Nostras, okay?”

Daphne sighed hard, dropping on the blankets on her bed and enjoying the soft air that blew as they deflated underneath her weight.

What just happened?

Knowing that her grandparents would be coming in and leaving the house a lot because of her condition, she didn’t want to study in the dining or living room—especially because she wanted to keep herself warm without moving the numerous blankets on her bed downstairs.

That was when she realised that her desk was too small to welcome two people simultaneously. So she borrowed Dayanne’s desk since it caught dust in the room next door. Getting caught by Grandpa wasn’t according to the plan.

She spent the following minutes moving her stuff onto the new desk, occasionally sipping from her tea cup to ease the burn in her throat.

Then she went to the bathroom to get all the supplies to clean. She swept every corner of the room, dusted every surface, and removed any trashed paper or space-taking object.

In forty minutes of working and occasionally dropping dead on the bed from tiredness, Daphne finished the self-assigned task right on time before Granny entered the home.

“Daphne?” she chanted from the bottom floor. With her face against the covers, Daphne’s reply was muffled, but she could hear her grandmother walking up the stairs and eventually making it to her room.

“Ooh, darling why aren’t you under the covers? Come on—”

“I invited Taehyung over to help me with physics so I was just tidying up the place.” Her voice was muffled but she went straight to the point without hesitation or delay. It caught Granny off-guard.

“Tae— What?— Who’s Taehyung?” 

Rolling on her back and, against her body’s wish, Daphne sat up to face the woman. “The nice and pretty boy from senior year, who offered to tutor me in physics.” 

Just as Grandpa, Granny whistled and giggled, acknowledging only the first part of Daphne’s reply. “A nice and pretty boy from senior year?”

“Granny!” Daphne whined, throwing herself back onto the bed and regretting it the following moment. Groaning from the pain, she held her boiling forehead and slowly moved her head on the bed, hoping it would soothe the ache.

“Ooh, take it easy, yeah?” Granny’s soft voice spoke as she caressed the girl. “Grandpa brought you the drugs?” Daphne’s hum was incredibly tiny because she feared speaking a decibel higher would break her skull— she was voiceless anyway.

Following Granny’s lead, Daphne had something to eat and took her medicine, before getting tucked back into bed, under the warmth she desperately needed. 

“So, this boy… does he have a name?” The woman whispered to ease her granddaughter’s pain and make her fall asleep faster.

Daphne nodded, blinking slowly, and replied. “Yes, I said it before. His name’s Taehyung. He lives around here.” Voice a slim bit above a whisper.

Granny carefully adjusted herself on the bed so she wouldn’t alter Daphne’s falling-asleep process. “Oh, I think I know him”.

Another soft hum from the girl. “Yeah, you said it last time.”

“Is he coming after school?”

This time, Daphne didn’t hum but nodded, blinking slowly again. “Yes, right after school—”

“That means he’ll be having lunch here.” Granny couldn’t help smiling because the girl was already falling asleep without even noticing.

Opening her eyes and turning to face Granny, Daphne asked. “Can he eat here with us?”

The woman grinned and, caressing her granddaughter’s forehead, she nodded, promising to prepare lunch for Taehyung as well.

Daphne nodded, smiling with contentment. “Now, focus on sleeping, okay? I’ll make lunch,” Granny whispered before pecking her granddaughter’s forehead and leaving the room. 

Her heart ached seeing how unfazed her absence was to Daphne. The little one fell asleep moments after getting under the covers.

Turning off the lights, the room fell into a gloom with cold undertones as the blue sky reflected inside through the windows. 

—Now playing: Dreams by Fleetwood Mac ✫

Daphne’s state when she woke spoke volumes—she even laughed at herself in the mirror. 

She’d styled her hair into two braids the previous night, but now they looked like fur balls. She had only one sock on because the other was lost under the covers. The trousers of her pyjamas were messed up, going up to her knee on one leg and full of wrinkles on the other, while the top button of her top had popped off. How? She had no idea.

“Jeez, what happened?” Daphne giggled, adjusting her attire without any effort. She wanted to shower anyway.

She didn’t know the exact time she’d woken up but, seeing that the room was brighter without any artificial lights on, she guessed it was midday if not later. 

It was her first time being home at this hour on a day like this. She rarely skipped school and if it weren’t for her parents, she would’ve gone to school anyway, but she was thankful to have stayed home. Her headache was so strong that she thought WWIII was taking place there.

The sky was light blue, brighter than in the morning, and rid of many clouds it initially welcomed. Her neighbourhood was silent and desolate when she opened the window. Even the breeze wasn’t as cold as expected.

Letting the room change air, she opened her wardrobe to get new clothes. Once she’d gathered all her necessities, she closed the window and went to the bathroom.

As she showered, revelling under the warm water, Granny had lunch downstairs while watching some TV. When she heard noise from the top floor, she deducted Daphne had woken up. After almost twenty minutes of giggling and eating, Granny checked the time and hopped off the couch, rushing to wash her plate.

She chugged down some water, rinsed the cup, and ran upstairs to her granddaughter. Knocking twice on the door but to no avail, she entered the room after saying: “I’m coming in!”

Her granddaughter’s bedroom was empty, but the answer to her confusion was the sound of rushing water from the bathroom.

The room was still the same, the only difference was the clothes on her bed. She proceeded to the bathroom and, knocking on the door, called for the girl’s attention.

“Daphne?” Being under the showerhead, Granny’s voice was muffled to Daphne’s ears, but she heard her.

“Yes?” she replied without turning the water off. The last thing she wanted was to feel cold.

“I think the boy will be around soon. It’s almost half past two.” Just like that, Daphne shut the water and darted out of the shower.

“Are you serious?” She called for more confirmation as she wrapped herself in a towel, trying to move fast but not slip and fall like a fish out of water.

Granny agreed, telling her to hurry up and that she was leaving. “If you need anything, you can call me. I’m next door anyway.”

As Daphne replied, she was thankful her voice was partially restored and she didn’t sound like a dying cat anymore. 

Hurriedly, she applied her lotion and sped through her self-care routine. This wasn’t how it had to go. This shower had to be that type of shower, the one where she’d do everything in slow motion, without missing a step. 

Turning the lights off, she ran into her bedroom dressed only in her underwear and basically jumped into her pants—thankfully, they weren’t jeans. She almost tore her tank top as she wore so, to prevent creating holes in her wool sweater, she slowed down a bit only to speed up again as she put her socks on.

Her hair was still wet and flew everywhere as she blow-dried it. Her wrists were on the edge of snapping because of how fast she moved them to quickly dry her hair, regretting having them long. 

Finishing in record time, Daphne left the bathroom once and for all. She wore her slippers and before rushing downstairs, she went to her window to check if he was already coming. 

Totally deserted. Perfect.

But also imperfect because she spent the whole time moving from one window to another, filled with anticipation, excitement, and nervousness. She even tried to behave nonchalantly as if being watched, but her body betrayed her whenever she purposely walked past a window and checked outside from the corner of her eye.

Daphne didn’t want to have lunch, wishing to eat with Taehyung. So she remained restless in the now empty house. Her only companions were Loki and Luke, who barked reading her body language.

She had to shush them at some point because she eventually saw him. Taehyung was outside, walking next to Cleo and entering her neighbourhood. The sight made her gasp and the dogs bark.

“Hey, shh shh,” she begged, index to her lips while her other hand gestured for them to calm down.

“Y’all have to behave today, okay? He’s not just a random person,” she gossiped with the dogs, who wagged their tails, looking up at her like they understood what she said.

Daphne crouched to caress them a bit and continued. “I like him, okay? He’s special but you must not scare him away, okay?” She spoke to them but also indirectly to herself. The dogs were silent as she rubbed their fur.

Finally, she got up and almost gasped again when she saw he’d just gone his separate way while Cleo proceeded to her home.

“Aah, he’s here!” she shrieked, telling the dogs to move aside as she calmly went down the stairs, one foot after the other. She almost tripped on air when the bell rang.

“Holy shit!” Her squeal was high-pitched but almost silent as well. 

Naturally, Loki and Luke rushed past her to the front door, barking. With a hand on the railing, she gestured with gritted teeth so the dogs would stop, but, obviously, they weren’t listening.

Snapping back to reality, she finally reached the ground floor. Begging the walking fur balls to calm down, she adjusted herself in the little mirror in the anteroom. A deep breath, one hand opened the gate while the other reached for the door handle.

There he was. He turned around after closing the gate and smiled as he approached her. 

“Hey, Lauri.”

⋅author's corner⋅

As requested and promised, I'm going to deeply dive into the school system depicted in the book. 

I was born and raised in Italy, and, having to write what I know, the school system in the story follows the Italian one. 

❀ The school system.

First of all, we have l'asilo nido, which is basically like a daycare for toddlers. Then there are three years of scuola materna, kindergarten. Following, we have five years of elementary school (1st to 5th grade), three of middle school (6th to 8th grade), and five of high school (9th to 13th grade, basically).

Now, I didn't completely follow the Italian school system because there are also different types of high schools. There is liceo, istituto tecnico and istituto professionale. I think I put them in order of difficulty. Some licei are focused on science, liceo scientifico, others are focused on classic literature, liceo classico or arts, liceo artistico. I didn't specify this because I'm treating the school the same as a normal random high school.

❀ My experience.

How the school in the book specifically works follows my school and my experience. 

The school year is divided into a three-month season, from September to December, and a five-month period, from January to June basically.

During the first season, the students, mostly from 11th to 13th grade, so from 16 years onward, are allowed to run in a campaign to become school representatives. This year, there were four different teams running. Then we had a day of presentations when all the classes, at various hours of the day, had to go to the auditorium to assist and eventually make up their mind for the votes. I don't remember exactly when but the students voted for the team they preferred and eventually there was a winner.

Once the team is elected, they can organise various activities and projects for the students, obviously with the consent of the principal, and they can also host end-year parties.

An extra, which will come up in the book as well, is the so-called week of the "deserving/worthy" students, which is a week, precisely the last week of January, when students who passed all their classes, so all the subjects, get to pick an activity to do throughout the week, so basically lessons are interrupted. On the contrary, those who didn't pass all their classes will have to attend school regardless of that week, although they don't stay from eight to two but from eight to one.

Note that when I say 'classes', it means various things. In Italian, it refers to the classrooms. In Italy, in high school, teachers don't have a classroom, and students don't go to the teachers. It's the other way around: teachers go to the students. The students form a class and they have specific teachers for each subject. Second note. I use the term 'classes' when referring to the subjects and if I want to refer to the classrooms, I always use 'classroom', just to differentiate it and cause no confusion in case y'all are not used to it.

❀ The grading system. 

The grades in Italy are not in letters but in numbers. The lowest grade, the typical F, is 2 in high school (but usually teachers give you such a bad score if they catch you cheating during a test, else they usually go for 3). The highest grade, the typical A, is 10, but teachers feel like they would get a stroke giving 10s so they always give like 9 or 8.5 (eight-and-a-half). 

You pass the test only if you take a 6. Taking a 5 is insufficient and you have to retake the test somehow or study harder to pass the next one.

Each subject has a total grade, so if in philosophy you took a 6 in October's oral test and a 7 in December's oral test, your final grade in philosophy is 6 + 7 = 13 divided by 2 (which is the number of grades you have), so for a total of 6.5. In the same way, if you've taken three different maths tests on three different dates and on a different topic, you do the addition and then divide everything for the total amount of grade to know how you're performing in maths.

The same way it works for tests, it goes for the subjects, so if you have a 5.5 in a subject, you have failed the class. But if you have a 6, you passed it.

Grades differ by 0.25, so if you take a 7-, it means your grade is 6.75 (7 - 0.25). If you take an 8+, your grade is 8.25 (8 + 0.25). And so on.

Currently, Daphne's total grade in physics is insufficient because she took a 5 and a 5.5. Her total grade in physics is 5 + 5.5 = 10.5/2 = 5.25. To pass the subject, she'll have to take 7.5 upwards to get 5 + 5.5 + 7.5 = 18/3 = 6. Six means she passed the subject.

❀ The hours.

The day starts at eight o'clock for a total of six hours, which ends at two PM. Each class lasts an hour except for some: since there are two ten-minute breaks, some hours last fifty-five minutes.

Like that, the schedule is. first hour, 8 AM to 9 AM; second hour, 9 AM to 9:55 AM; third hour, 10:05 AM to 11 AM; fourth hour, 11 AM to 11:55 AM; fifth hour, 12:05 PM to 1 PM; sixth hour, 1 PM to 2 PM.

Sometimes, depending on the school year or the class (as in a classroom of students and not the subject), the day might end by half past four in the afternoon, with a break from 2 to 2:30 PM.

Sometimes it's because of an extracurricular activity else because of an extra class, which is usually civics/civic education once a week.

❀ School trips.

Obviously, there are also school trips, which can be days long or hours long. The trips are different: some are quick and within the day; they're called uscite didattiche, educational outings I believe. Any type that is longer than an outing is called a trip. 

I think I'm done. If y'all have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me.

⤎ previous page | ❃ | next page ⤏

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Good ones with Santana and/or Finn Friendship?

Here are some recommendations. ~Jen

Also try our Santana tag. Here are some recent fics with Santana featuring:

Fire Island Follies by @bitbybitwrites

From a Tumblr Friday Ficlet prompt from bowtiesandboatshoes : "We're going to Fire Island.  It's like gay Disney World."

~~~~~

Running Interference by @RockItMan

Kurt and Blaine don't want to get set up on a blind date. But when their friends get involved, what they want doesn't really matter.

~~~~~

Cause and Effect by @heartsmadeofbooks

Sometimes heartbreak and betrayal can lead you down a road you never imagined, can make you do things you never thought you'd do, and can take you straight to the love of your life... even though you're already married to someone else. Here's how Kurt and Blaine find each other, a little later than they should have.

~~~~~

And some older fics:

Drunk on You by flaming_muse

It takes Kurt three times to fit his key in the lock of the apartment’s door, partly because Blaine is swaying heavily against his side, a warm, drunk weight keeping him off-balance, and partly because the alcohol in his own system is making the lock swim just enough in the plane of the door that he can’t quite catch it.

~~~~~

Bushwick Game Night by flaming_muse

Pictionary in the Bushwick loft is serious business.

~~~~~

One fine day by botaboxed

Kurt witnessed many moments in his life as a bridal designer – he moment a bride found her dress, saw herself in it for the first time, the one where she could see herself standing up in front of her family and friends and saying 'I do.' Working as he did in that industry, he hardly expected to have a moment of his own while he was at work, but that was exactly what happened.

~~~~~

Alliance verse by rainjoyswriting

A glee fic based on the fact that a united!Kurt and Santana could take on the world.

Summary: "Kurt," she yells again. "I need some of your homo-wisdom, okay?"

~~~~~

Until Further Notice verse by lostinfictionalworlds

Money can't buy happiness. Businessman Kurt is still trying to figure that one out, and performer Blaine thought he knew what he wanted, until he came across a Personal Assistant Ad. A story of acceptance and love, from one's self and that of others, more specifically, one other.

~~~~~

The Seduction by @hkvoyage

Venetian Blaine arrives at Carnival’s masquerade ball, looking for his next conquest. His reputation as a lover is legendary, and no one can resist him. Virgin Kurt captures his attention, but seducing him will require careful planning. As they spend time together, will Blaine be able to carry out his plan successfully? A historical Klaine AU set in 18th-century Venice.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Our Finn tag

Not Exclusive by nellie12

Finn happens to be doing well for himself in the University of Florida. He is starting QB for the Gators, and he’s a member of Phi Beta Kappa, and his grades aren’t terrible. He also has his favorite step-brother coming to visit from New York, and Kurt has no idea he’s about to have the Spring Break of a lifetime until he meets Finn’s best friend and frat mate- Blaine Anderson.

~~~~~ Not another ghost story by @sunshineoptimismandangels

When Kurt Hummel began an online ghost investigation show with his best friend and his step-brother he never expected to find himself alone in an abandoned and reportedly haunted hotel, but one stormy night Kurt finds more than he ever expected in the derelict and chilling Whispering Wolf Hotel. In fact, Kurt may have found exactly what he’s has been looking for. A story of romance, comedy, and sinister plots.

~~~~~

Island Adventure by doeswhatever

“That guy has been following us around the city for the past hour. I'm sort of freaking out.”

“He’s our tour guide you moron”

~~~~~

Best Summer Ever verse by tonks42

AU Klaine. During the summer between his junior and senior years, Kurt returns to camp as a Junior Counselor. His plans for having his best summer ever change when Kurt becomes a friend and mentor to a hurting new guy, Blaine.

~~~~~

There from the start By @blurglesmurfklaine

What if Blaine had been the 12th member of the New Directions instead of Matt? (bc lbr he had like two lines the whole season and had zero storylines) Set in Season One canon, same(ish?) storyline, but with Blaine and Klaine. Not too sure what I’ll change yet ;) Football Player!Blaine

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

TF2 Mercs and The Will Wood Songs I Think Fit Best.

————————————————————

What can I say, I'm a huge Will Wood fan lmao

————————————————————

Also, slight warnings most of these are sad. One are two aren't, but a lot of the reasons why these songs resonate with the Mercs will be sad.

————————————————————

Demo- Half A Decade Hangover and The First Step. I genuinely think this man hates being an alcoholic. He loves it when he can be fun and have a good time, but he hates the fact that he depends on it so hard.

Engie- Um, It's Kind Of A Lot. Okay, so this ties back into one of my first headcanons, I think. So I genuinely think the reason Engie is so close with Pyro and the other Mercs is because this man didn't have a family that really cared for him. Like not abusive but just not present. He. Is. Scared. Of. Love. He's scared the people he cares about will be taken from him. He's scared that he cares too much and that he'll never feel that in return.

Heavy- (When I tell you I struggled on this one) Venetian Blind Man. Okay, I'm not going to lie. This one is more of the style and music than the lyrics. I just think it fits, I really can't explain it.

Medic- Your Body, My Temple, and Yes to Err is Human, So Don't Be One. I think Your Body, My Temple fits him well because this man literally loves the human anatomy. He views the body as a temple, but not in the way like gym bros and fitness bloggers do. No, like this man thinks the human body is something to worship (nonsexual). Also, a lot of connections to people, which is shown in the song and i also think the religious aspect just fits some how. Yes to Err is Human, So Don't Be One is definitely a song that for me captures a sense of eerieness and almost inhumanity in a person, not saying that Medic isn't human or doesn't have humanity but I definitely think he has moments where he forgets about that. He always catches himself, tho. EDIT- JevTheJester let me know that BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA also fits Medic, and I agree. I think the upbeat tempo is a great fit, and it fits insanely well! ( The longest description goes to my wife, of course 😮‍💨)

Scout- Tomcat Disposables and Love, Me Normally. Oh boy. Tomcat Disposables just fits him so well. Like I think this man loves his family and home so much and just wants to provide that for a future family. I think he's also just really scared of dying (again)? Because I definitely think on the outside, he's all like cocky and chill about it but on the inside he's so fucking scared. Another mix of being confident and cool on the outside while also being really scared on the inside, but this time it's about getting close to people! Abandonment issues and all that wacky stuff. Give this man a hug pls.

Sniper- Becoming Lastnames. Let's be real. This man has family trauma. He loves his mom to death, but I definitely think his dad was distant, and when he was present, he was very strict and cold. He definitely wants a family he can be a good father/husband to, but he also knows that's probably not possible.

Spy- Cicada Days and I/Me/Myself. Commitment issues and genderfluid? He's just like me fr. (Jokes) I think Cicada Days can represent the times he's actually felt love, but he got scared and left. Specifically with Scout and his mom. I/Me/Myself, I don't think this man knows how he feels about his gender identity and hates it. Like def has internalized a lot of shit, being queer being one of the major ones. (all people who can change appearances at will in media are genderfluid come at me).

Soldier- (I struggled with this one too, ngl.). Morning Announcements. I think it just matches him and upbeat vibe with no really idea behind it.

Pyro- 2econd 2ight 2eer and Memento Mori: the most important thing in the world. This dude definitely has high energy, and I can picture them singing 2econd 2ight 2eer and like really getting into it (if they could actually be understood). Okay, a thought. I can vividly imagine Pyro (if they could be understood). Singing this song with Medic. Both of them actually like the concept of death.

————————————————————

Ugh, that was a lot. I'm sorry 😭 I really like Will Wood, as I am mentally ill. Thanks again to all of you who make me actually want to post things I think you guys will like <3

[soggytapeworm]

Round 1 - 26th Battle

REMEMBER: VOTE FOR THE SONG YOU THINK IS THE WORST, NOT THE BEST! WHICHEVER SONG HAS MORE VOTES IS GOING TO BE COUNTED AS THE WORST. so like consider that.

last battle of this round‼️‼️

Venetian Blind Man

“No, not like this, any but this breakdown”

Yes, To Err Is Human, So Don’t Be One

“Drain you of your love until you hate me”

[chnt-confessions]

i love will wood but HOW DID THEY GET HIM ON THE PODCAST??? i mean regardless the songs he made for it are GENUINELY THE BEST amd ughghjg (but if im honsst i dont really listen to venetian blind man much) OH ALSO INCLUDING THE TRANSITION MUSIC TOO evening announcments is seriously amazing and just all of it

I'M PRETTY SURE M&B TALKED ABOUT IT ON A STREAM 😊

[whump-me]

Obscure: Chapter 2

Chapter 2 of Obscure, novel-length interrogation whump about a rebel leader who can erase memories with a thought, an interrogator who can see inside his subjects’ minds… and the connection they share that neither of them suspects.

Masterpost | the Mind Games universe | Read the completed novel on Patreon

---

Kirill

Kirill and Camille woke slowly together, crawling toward consciousness inch by cozy inch. They tugged each other unwillingly upward toward the lazy Saturday morning waiting for them. Kirill surfaced from dreams of fire. He gratefully emerged into the softness of her vanilla-scented hair against his nose and the arm she had draped possessively over his chest in her sleep.

Soft cotton sheets draped over the two of them like a lighter caress. They smelled like fresh laundry. Kirill eased his eyes open a little at a time. The first thing he saw was Camille’s expanse of long blond hair. Then, beyond her, the ferns he had brought a few weeks ago.

The ferns hadn’t died yet. Sunlight lay across their leaves in stripes formed by the Venetian blinds. The fronds drifted back and forth in the breeze from the air-conditioning vent. Like Kirill and Camille, they looked in no hurry to move fast on this long, lazy morning.

Camille opened her eyes with a groan that was half happiness, half reluctance. She blinked up at him and smiled. “I never knew your apartment was so comfortable,” she said, her voice thick with a half-asleep haze. The warm notes thrummed in his bones, threatening to send him drifting off again.

He smiled at her and tapped the tip of her nose. “It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen it.”

“No, but it’s the first time I’ve stayed over,” she said. “And I wasn’t really paying attention last night.” She gave him a teasing grin. Then the grin turned into a soft smile of pure pleasure. She flopped off him, onto her back, and moved her arms up and down like she was making snow angels. “It’s so… soft,” she said, with the tone in her voice that people normally reserved for a beautiful sunset or a sublime bowl of ice cream.

“What can I say?” he said, making a couple of snow angels of his own. “I like soft and comfortable.” And for now, that was true, because that was what Camille liked, and he liked Camille. Loved her, even—if love was the word for discovering someone whose company could fill the hole inside you for a few blissful months.

The silky sheets were as new as the ferns. The ferns had come after he had visited Camille’s apartment and seen the explosion of greenery she kept there. He had asked her what kind of plant she liked best. She had said ferns.

It wasn’t manipulation. Not in anything but the most benign sense. He wasn’t trying to get anything more from her than she already wanted to give. Someday, maybe six or twelve months from now, they would be done with each other, with no hard feelings on either end. Kirill had long years of practice at keeping his breakups amicable. And when that day came, the soft sheets and the ferns would find their way to the trash bin outside.

But while she was here, he would give her what she liked. Because what he liked, more than any sheets or plants or long lazy mornings, was making her happy.

Her, or whoever took her place once she was gone.

“I’m going to make a pot of coffee,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“No, don’t leave,” she said in a playful groan, grabbing his wrist.

He tensed without meaning to. The hand around his wrist felt like a cuff holding him down to a hospital bed. Back before they had known they could trust him. Back before he had shown them they could take him at his word.

Back when they hadn’t known what effect their injections would have on him—and how dangerous he might be once the drugs did their work.

But that had been a long time ago. He had no need of old memories. Not his own, at least. And Camille’s skin was soft as her finger traced the vein on the underside of his wrist. It was nothing like the cold metal of his memory.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. Camille, mistaking it for a sigh, answered with one of her own.

“Go,” she said with theatrical resignation, loosening her grip. “Someone has to take one for the team and leave this slice of heaven so we can both have coffee. I’m just glad it doesn’t have to be me.” She screeched to the middle of the bed and lay back with an angelic smile. She closed her eyes. “Wake me when the coffee is ready.”

He stood and looked down at her with a soft smile and basked in the glow of being exactly what she needed.

He unplugged his phone, slipped it into his pocket, and padded toward the kitchen on bare feet. In the hallway, to his left, was a blank spot on the wall where his running medals had hung. His last girlfriend, Amanda, had been into races. She liked the exertion, and she liked the competition. They had run a race together almost every weekend.

Back then, he had genuinely enjoyed rising at the crack of dawn to sweat his way through the morning. It had made Amanda happy, and that was what had made him happy. Now, with the lazy weekend glow of Camille settling over the apartment like a pleasant scent in the air, the thought of all that running sounded impossibly exhausting.

His phone rang as he stepped into the kitchen. It was the ring that meant work—not the soothing buzz he had assigned to Camille, but a shrill sound that cut through the air like a freshly sharpened blade. A little of his weekend haze drifted away. He frowned as he pulled the phone from his pocket.

“Kirill Catallo,” he said. He said nothing else. He knew better than to complain about it being a weekend. PERI called him whenever they needed him.

“We have a job for you.” The voice on the other end didn’t bother with pleasantries. Sandhya Ramachandra, his assigned handler, never did. Not since Kirill had shown up in PERI headquarters almost thirty years ago in shoes with holes in the bottoms and pants that didn’t reach his ankles.

He poured water into the coffee machine by rote. “Where am I going this time?” It wouldn’t be hard to explain the sudden trip to Camille. He always told his girlfriends he had some job or other that involved large amounts of travel, to cover situations like this. Camille thought he was a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company. But he wasn’t ready to end his lazy weekend just yet.

“No travel,” said Ramachandra. “This one is at headquarters. Convenient for you.”

He frowned, even though Ramachandra was right about the convenience. He lived near headquarters because he needed to go in for his mandated checkups every three months, and because PERI didn’t want to let him too far out of their sight. But he stepped inside headquarters every four months, as required, and that was it.

He never accepted jobs at headquarters. They knew that. They had stopped asking.

He knew what a job at headquarters meant.

“No,” he said as the last of the lazy weekend haze burned off. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know. But we need you.” Ramachandra’s voice was devoid of sympathy.

“You need me to get information from terrorists trained to resist interrogation, and to find where any but the most emotionless serial killers have buried their bodies. You have people for PERI business. People who aren’t me.”

“For this,” said Ramachandra, “we need you. And this is important enough that you can’t play the waste-of-your-talents card. This prisoner has been poaching talent from PERI for fifteen years. He has an entire network set up to change the identities of candidates and relocate them. We need that network located and shut down. We need you.”

“I don’t work with Enhanced prisoners.”

“Why not?” Ramachandra’s voice remained perfectly even, but Kirill read the challenge there. “You can’t say it’s beneath you this time. So what is it really about?”

Kirill understood the question underneath the question. Ramachandra had never outright accused him of having residual loyalties to his fellow Enhanced, but the insinuation was there every time he refused another headquarters job.

“I’m not trying to protect this person,” Kirill said, in a voice every bit as cold as Ramachandra had trained him to be. “You know better than that.”

“Then get in here,” Ramachandra said, and hung up.

Kirill shoved his phone back into his pocket.

His shoes were wet. Water ran in wide rivulets off the counter and onto the floor. He had filled the coffeemaker with twice as much water as he needed to make a pot of coffee. He was still filling it.

He stopped pouring. He blinked down at the puddle on the floor.

Then he softened his shoulders and his jaw. The lazy weekend smile returned effortlessly to his face as he walked back toward the bedroom to make his excuses to Camille. With any luck, she wouldn’t ask about the wet footprints.

---

Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @suspicious-whumping-egg

Ask to be added or removed from taglist.

[some-pers0n]

Hello im. Sorry to bother you but I see you on my dash as "the will wood person"(well also the tf2 person and the wof person but that doesn't pertain to this) and was thinking about listening to his stuff but idk where to start do you got any recommendations?

Yippee!! I managed to be so Demented about William Woodard that it made me the "Will Wood person" to somebody :))) That's so silly

Okay, so recommendations. It's...really quite difficult to recommend stuff from Will because a lot of his music is quite varied and it kinda just depends on what music you've already listened to. If you've gone down the Jack Stauber, Tally Hall, or Lemon Demon path, chances are you're going to be somewhat on board with his music.

Will Wood is an experimental music artist who never exactly sticks to one sound. He said he doesn't quite like it. Self-Ish, his second album, he considers a concept album due to the fact that it's mostly grungy and rough vocals with frantic and wild instrumentals all with lyrics spouting stuff relating to a singular theme. However, if you ask me there are some things about him that stick out as being "Will Wood".

Piano. A lot of his songs have piano. In some places, what other songs would have as a guitar riff, is a piano bit. Piano (along with the baritone ukulele and also occasionally glockenspiel) is his main instrument.

Jazzy instruments. Saxophones, trumpets, all that. In his latest main album, In Case I Make It, Will forgos that sort of jazzy tunes a lot in favour of more calm and folk songs, but they still linger.

Tons and tons of lyrics. Will's lyricism is one of the main draws of his music to me. He often writes about his own experiences with his mental health and struggles in his songs. Themes of mental illness, being loved despite being human, and generally just being a person trying to get through this messy, cold world.

Yeah that's about goes for the constants.

Okay, so, depending on your music taste, I don't know how to quite recommend stuff. His newer album, In Case I Make It, is a lot more folksy and softer than his previous work. It still has that Will Wood flare, but just with less loud screaming matches between Will and an alto sax. His earliest albums (Everything is a Lot and Self-Ish) are more edgy and dark with those grungy and gravely vocals. The Normal Album is a middle ground.

I personally believe the best way to experience Will Wood is to listen to the albums, but for individual songs? Here's some ordered from softer to more intense.

Skeleton Appreciation Day (Bones), Everything is a Lot

When Somebody Needs You [Song], Camp Here & There

That's Enough, Let's Get You Home., In Case I Make It

White Noise, In Case I Make It

Venetian Blind Man, Camp Here & There

...well, better than the alternative, The Normal Album

Falling Up, In Case I Make It

Against the Kitchen Floor, In Case I Make It

The Main Character, In Case I Make It

Memento Mori, The Normal Album

Laplace's Angel (Hurt People? Hurt People!), The Normal Album

I/Me/Myself, The Normal Album

Marsha, Thankk You for the Dialects, but I Need You To Leave, The Normal Album

BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA, The Normal Album

Suburbia Overture, The Normal Album

The Song With Five Names, Self-Ish

Mr. Capgras, Self-Ish

6up 5oh Cop-Out (Pro/Con), Everything is a Lot

Dr. Sunshine is Dead, Self-Ish

Hand Me My Shovel, I'm Going In!, Self-Ish

Aaannnddd if we're giving song recommendations, I also highly, HIGHLY recommend checking out his live stuff. Not just his live albums (those are fantastic though), but live performances recorded of him. They range from in-studio and professionally done recordings to somebody with a phone. I love them.

Here are some performances I recommended for one reason or another.

The entire BBQ show, as it shows off Will's character a lot as well as being fairly charming and fun (also good music)

Marsha Live in the Studio

Mr. Capgras (this one's I think something he did with patreon people)

Mr. Capgras/White Knuckle Jerk (WFMU radio)

Yeah that's about everything off the top of my head. See ya.

[mymovingfingerwrites]

A Father at His Son’s Baptism

Cutlet carved from our larger carcasses: thus were you made — from a spit and a hug. The scratchy stuff you’re lying on is wool. You recognize the pressure of your mother’s hand. That white moon with a bluish cast is a priest’s face, frowning over a water bowl. Whatever befalls you now, you’ve been blessed, in a most picturesque and ineffective ceremony dating from the Middle Ages. Outdoors, the church lawn radiates a lethal green. A gas truck thunders down the street. Why, at emotional moments, do the placid trees and landscape look overexposed, almost ready to bleach away, and reveal the workings of “the Real” machine underneath? All bundled up on such a hot day: whose whelp, pray tell, or mutton chop are you? — tail-less, your cloudy gaze a vague accusation, not of the sins of my history, but ignorance to come, future cruelty. You’re getting red in the face, blotchy, ready to wail. Good. From now on protest and remember everything. Your cries assail even the indigent dead, buried in charity plots right outside, slowly releasing their heat, while you, born out of the blue into a wheezing spring, watch a chaotic mosaic assemble itself. You tune up. My love for you is half-adrenaline, half gibberish. More Latin and the priest splatters you. He’s got one good eye, and a black patch, like a pirate. Now, smiling as if he knows something I don’t, he hands you to me. If I drop you, loudmouth, will you bounce or fly? You were chalky and bloody at first, in the doctor’s grip, looking skinned and inside-out. Boyhood, a dangling carrot. I stare at you and experience the embarrassment of riches. I need to loosen my tie or I’ll faint. Outside a rake scrapes, sprinklers hiss. It might be best to set you down in one of these squares of light on the floor, striped by venetian blinds, and leave you safe in that bright cage. I could go have coffee, and come back when we can carry on a conversation. Men and women are afraid of each other. It’s true. Whisper and drool of my flesh, I’m terrified of you.

— Amy Gerstler, from Bitter Angel, Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1990