psa:

my url is not, will not, and won’t ever be up for trade so please stop asking me for it lmao.

Oh yeah I’m a reaper man.                               (  every good thing, I kill it good ).

     Masaomi would kill for some rain; dry summer heat is the worst!

           “Is something wrong, Masaomi?”

“Don’t tell me -- it doesn’t bother you? The heat? I swear one day the air is like a blanket, and the next it’s like this! Do you think I’ve been cursed?”

     It wouldn’t be so bad if there were clouds for coverage, or some kind of breeze, but today was full-on, blaring, hot sun. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight!

(via adorkablelena)

Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God

David Levithan, “Your Temporary Santa”

Masaomi about Izaya. (via switchblades-and-stolenheads)

Ernest Hemingway, The Garden of Eden

Anne Rice, Blood and Gold

What a liar. “I could see you liked it though,” he commented.

Kissing Masaomi was starting to be a regular occurrence and Izaya was happy for that. Maybe the blond would get used to it soon. And crave it. That would be so sweet.

He could also feel that Masaomi was not so tense around him any more. Another things accomplished. And it was good because Izaya wanted Masaomi to feel more relaxed around him.That was surely quite hard after everything that had happened, but Izaya believed that it could be done with time and patience.

“When we catch the dog, I am stealing an even better kiss.”

     -- And liking it would ultimately be Masaomi’s downfall.

     The blond curses his heart under his breath as he turns to carefully eye the informant. ‘Relaxed’ wasn’t a word he would use to describe how he felt around Izaya, but neither was ‘guarded’, or ‘tense’ -- and that’s what irked him  the most. Even as he stands there with Izaya -- the very man who tore him apart, promising Masaomi a ‘better kiss’ after they capture their target, he’s calm and reserved. Compliant -- almost. “And then what?” he breathes out -- voice barely over a whisper.

     Masaomi refuses to acknowledge the way his heart flutters at the idea of sharing another touch -- be it a kiss, or a brush of the hand; he mistakes the missed beats for fear, and happily points fingers at Izaya for ‘conditioning’ him. Because that’s just what Izaya does to him, right?

     It’s easier than admitting he likes the attention -- the affection; the idea that maybe what’s going on between them is genuine -- because it’s wrong and disgusting and it makes his stomach hurt ( or ... it should --), but he can’t help but imagine a scenario where it is real -- and it makes him burn a light red.

“When’s this joke going to stop --? It - it’s been months.” Stammering, Masaomi does his damned best to steadily meet Izaya’s gaze despite the pain burrowing into his chest. Some masochistic part of him hopes it isn’t a game-- and he’s kicking himself for it. “Aren’t you tired of it?”

Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D’Urbervilles