#ignore the notes on the first one I just wrote down the doughnuts we have to do every day

[froggychair05]

So, I get a lot of free time at work… :)

[pixiescriptures]

We Can Be Freaks Together

Chapter 4 ;

For You, Daily Dawn

There was only one thing that Hyunjoon loved more than his computer and that was the Daily Dawn. And it was his, all his. Of course, he shared the show with a few co-hosts, but he started it. He created it, he perfected it. A proud smile was on display as he walked towards the AV room, listening to the whispers about his show.

"Felix! Did you hear yesterday's Bloom Bloom segment?" "Hyung! Did you hear the Gossip King segment?" "Noona, the Uni News segment was so satisfying!"

Hyunjoon shivered at the praise, even if he didn't host the segments, he hand picked each and every host. He hand picked each and every topic that was brought up. His show.

Stepping into the AV room, he wasn't at all surprised to see that he was the first one there. It was still only 9:00 AM and the Daily Dawn started at 10:00 AM, but he had things to do. Starting with checking to see that everyone had their segment ready.

Hyunjoon opened the group chat with a small smile, proud of the people he'd chosen for his show. He couldn't stop himself from praising them, so he did.

// A/N: ignore the time stamp at the top pls!!

Hyunjoon sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Another bully on campus," he grumbled as the door opened, revealing Kevin with bags under his eyes. "Hey Joon-ah," he hummed, walking to the table and sitting down. "Can my segment be second to last? I need to finalize the script I wrote up."

Hyunjoon nodded, "sure little moonlight boy," he teased. Kevin grinned brightly up at Hyunjoon, "thanks,"

The door opened to reveal Chanhee and Sunwoo, each sporting a box of doughnuts. "We texted Hak to get coffees," Chanhee spoke, setting the doughnuts on the table. "Hyung," Sunwoo spoke quickly, looking at Hyunjoon. "Could I use you as a guest speaker since no one knows Hwall's real identity?"

Hyunjoon thought for a moment before nodding, "Sure, sunshine."

One by one the rest of the crew filed in and around 9:45 they were ready to go. "Okay so, the intro song is 3 minutes long so sunshine, turn us on at 9:57, okay?" A slight nod was exchanged between Hwall and Sunwoo as everyone moved to sit around the table, setting up their microphones.

At 9:57 AM, Sunwoo flipped a switch and the 'On Air' sign turned red. The soft acoustic guitar ( played by our very own Jacob Bae ) was accompanied by a soft voice, Kevin's voice, and sang the sweet intro to the show.

Hwall smiled at his co-hosts, took a breath and then began, "Welcome back to Daily Dawn! It's Hwall here, ready to send you into the sunrise! Today's show might run a little longer than intended because, well, we have every segment running today! I hope you enjoy today's show as much as I do."

Then Younghoon spoke, "Hi guys, its Hoon! The first segment we'll be starting with is..." he glanced around the room, spotting Sangyeon's hand, "University News!"

Sangyeon cleared his throat, "welcome back to Uni News with your host, Sangie! I'm very pleased to say that most of the news I have today is good! Mrs. Min just delivered her baby and will be back to the Arts department in a little under a year!"

A chorus of applause came from, well, somewhere when Sunwoo pressed a small button. "Culture Night is coming up, so remember to stop by the office to sign up! And finally, congratulations to Mr. Kim for his engagement! This is Sangie, signing off."

Hwall smiled before he spoke, "and next, our resident flower boy, New, with the Bloom Bloom segment!"

New grinned, "Bloom Bloom pow! I hope you're listening, today's Bloom Bloom arrangements are sure to give you a cavity! I'm your host, New!" A soft giggle left the pink-haired boy's lips as he glanced down at his notebook. "First off, we have a bouquet of carnations, which typically mean either women or love, but in this case, I assume it's both! The recipient is none other than our gorgeous Tzuyu! Looks like someone's got a secret admirer!"

"Next, a bouquet of an assortment of flowers. Let's start off with the white clovers which mean think of me! The next flower is a blue salvia, these flowers are quite rare to see in a bouquet but they're so pretty and they mean 'I think of you,' which is such a cute message! And finally, red roses, which I'm sure everyone knows mean love! Ah! To Felix, love Chan! How sweet! Aren't they cute together? Chanlix for the win!" He laughed, biting his lower lip. "And I believe that's all for today!"

Younghoon hummed, "and now we go to a song break, courtesy of our resident moonlight boy! What's the song, Moonie?"

"Our first song of the day is a throwback song for me and is dedicated to someone I met a few days ago! It's Mean by Taylor Swift. Enjoy!"

As the song came on, each member turned off their microphones and began to chat, but Kevin's eyes were glued to his phone where he was texting with Jacob.

As the song ended, everyone got back to their seats and turned on their microphones. "And we're back! The next segment is Gossip King!"

Haknyeon took this as his cue to begin, scrolling through the Gossip King twitter page and humming. "Welcome back to Gossip King, your daily tea fix! So, let's sit back, relax and spill some tea!" He chewed on his lower lip, stopping suddenly when he read a comment, "oh my~ how utterly gossip worthy. My fellow students, did you know H.J got caught sucking L.M's dick in the bathroom? Quite hot, if you ask me."

And if everyone saw Haknyeon look at Sangyeon, well, no one said a word.

"Oh wait! This is cute! Canada boy, Kevin Moon, spotted saving several kittens from the rain! How sweet!" Haknyeon giggled as he looked over at his co-host who was currently hiding his face which was, undoubtedly, bright red.

"Hmm.." Haknyeon hummed, letting out a little gasp, "No way! Fuckin' finally! Jennie and Lisa, we all knew you'd end up together!"

Everyone rolled their eyes at Haknyeon's antics, knowing he truly loved the gossip, even when he tried to tone it down. Chanhee had glanced at the twitter page, flinching when he saw one about himself. 'Choi Chanhee, gay or straight?'

Haknyeon simply deleted the comment with a glare at the screen, knowing Chanhee wouldnt like to be outed. "Looks like we got another sinister deed to report. Silent Report time. Oh! It's one of our regular anons, Moon. Hello Moon, hope you're okay! Moon says that Kim Daichi, the son of CEO Kim of Kim Inc. has taken it upon himself to beat the absolute shit out of a sophomore! How dare he!"

"Well, on that note," Haknyeon sighed, "I'll have to sign off. Quite frankly, I'm appalled. I didn't know bullies still existed in college. I thought people would've matured by now, but I guess idiots truly don't. Bye, y'all!"

"And finally, Moonlight Boy, play us a few songs!"

And with that, and the three songs Kevin played, the show was over, and everyone turned off their microphones, settling in and talking about God knows what.

The only person who seemed off was Chanhee, staring blankly out of the window as tears pooled in his eyes, but, well, that's a story for another day.

[sex-storytime]

Under My Skin

It had been months since I last spoke to Jeff, last I'd heard he was having some difficulty with his life, and it just so happened that it coincided with one of the worst times of my life, too. In hindsight, we really could've been a great help to each other at that time, but it just seemed easier to not even try. We had always been great friends, and at times it seemed like we were just getting too close to each other, and honestly, that scarred the hell out of me. I wasn't ready for something serious, I knew it, so I kept getting with guys that I knew at heart were going to let me down. I always knew that Jeff never would, but like I said, I just wasn't ready for him yet. I guess I couldn't accept the fact that maybe, just maybe, the feeling I had about him from the beginning was right, that he was the one.

Now, I'm not proud of doing this, and to this day I still regret every time it happened, but I ghosted him again. I stopped talking, texting, everything, and it really hurt him. It hurt me, too, but it hurt him more, and I can't blame him for giving up and washing his hands of me. At that time, I really was a shitty friend, and after thinking about it, he was right, he deserved much better than my seemingly flaky bullshit. I had resigned myself to never start that horrible cycle again, the same one we'd been through many, many times over in the previous years.

A mutual friend of ours had just died, and Jeff was the last thing on my mind at the time. Even seeing him at family night and the funeral didn't make me think of him in anyway, until the night after. I just couldn't stop thinking about him after that. I laid awake all that night, wondering how he was doing, and I was actually worried that he'd found himself a girlfriend, and that I was too late, that I'd wasted every last chance I had to be with him, and now I was left to wander the rest of my life, bouncing from one failed attempt at happiness to another, never settling, never finding true love. Never having Jeff.

That part scared me even worse then, and I knew that despite the initial awkwardness, and the embarrassing apology, I had to find a way back into his life again. Hell, even just as friends if it had to be that way, I knew I needed him, and I hoped that he would be just as patient and forgiving with me as he'd been all the years prior. It turns out, he wasn't, he really had moved on without me, and now I had to really work at it to get him back.

I called him once, on a Friday night, but chickened out when I got his voicemail and hung up. I started to hope that he wouldn't recognise my number on his phone. It was a silly thing to hope for though, as there was no way he'd actually forgotten it after seeing it everyday for months, and even years on end over the past decade. I dreaded what might happen next, no matter what it would be. Either he'd call me back eventually, and I'd have to admit my feelings to him, or he'd just ignore it, and I'd be crushed just like he was when I ignored him. That waiting time was the worst, because between my call and his, both were very real possibilities.

Then, the next morning, just as I was waking up, it happened, he called me back. In the time between me seeing the caller-id, and actually answering the phone, millions of things ran through my head. Everything from what we could be, to what we might not have the chance to be anymore, to everything we'd been through so far. I decided that if he gave me another chance to be in his life, I wasn't going to throw this one away. It was time for me to grow up, I was 24 after all, and he'd been so great to me in the past, it wouldn't be fair of me to go at it with any other attitude.

On the third ring, I finally answered. "Hey, Jeff. I'm glad you called me back."

There were a few moments of silence as he formulated his response. I was terrified of what he would say, or wouldn't, and I must have turned as pale as the sheet I was sleeping on. "I'm on my way home from work. I'm about an hour away right now, why don't you get out of bed and come to the house for coffee. We need to talk."

This was it, this was the critical point where it could all go wrong if I wasn't brave about it. He'd already texted me months ago with his last coffee offer, and of course I just ignored it. I couldn't say no now, not that I wanted to, this was exactly what I was hoping he'd say.

"Absolutely!" I managed to blurt out finally, "I'd love to, I'll get dressed and meet you there."

"Okay, good. You can't stay for long though, I just got off a twelve hour night shift, and I'm exhausted. Work was ridiculous." With that, he just hung up, he didn't wait for me to say goodbye, didn't wait for me to ask where he was working, or what he was doing these days, he just ended the call right then and there. I'm not going to lie, it stung, and it didn't make the conversation ahead of us seem very promising. It was almost like he just wanted to get it over with and be done with me, once and for all this time, like I'd finally run to the absolute end of his patience. 

Maybe though, I thought to myself, maybe if I show him that I won't hurt him again, he'll let his guard down and let me back in. I mean, the coffee offer was a good start, and the fact that he actually called me back and invited me over to his house was almost promising. I knew I didn't deserve it though, and I knew that if the only words he said to me when we got there were "fuck you, Rachel," that it'd be fair. 

I jumped out of bed and put on my sexiest pair of underwear, a black thong with matching push-up bra, my favourite blouse, and my most revealing miniskirt. I paired all that with my favourite boots and looked at myself in the mirror. This was stupid, he knew I only had A-cup breasts but to be honest, I needed to feel good, I needed the confidence boost, because at the time, although hopeful, I felt like the lowest person on the face of the planet, and to him, I might be, considering everything I'd put him through.

I took everything back off again, laid it all out on my bed, and jumped in the shower to get cleaned up and fix my hair and makeup. After I got cleaned up and got my hair in order, I decided to skip the makeup in lieu of the natural look. I knew that he liked that better because every time he'd woken me up with a cup of coffee in his hand, it seemed like it would make his face brighten ten fold to get to see me that way. God, I really missed living with him. Nobody else ever looked at me like he did when we'd wake up, and here I'd just taken it for granted all this time. Hell, none of the guys I'd ever dated even bothered to make coffee for me before waking me up; most of them either asked me to do it, or didn't mention it at all and I'd have to ask. That was usually met with, "Yeah, get me a cup, too while your out. And how about doughnuts?" Jeff never even dared to try getting me up in the morning without making coffee first, even if it meant getting up early when he didn't have to, because I had to work and he wanted to make sure I was up on time.

When I realised that, I felt like an idiot. Here he was this whole time, and I'd just come to expect him to always be there, even when I wasn't. I'd really just made everything all about me, and rarely, if ever gave him even close to the same amount of consideration. It'd be a damned miracle if he took me back as a friend, much less put any kind of trust in me ever again.

I had to just stop thinking about it or I'd go hide under the covers, and we'd be right back to where we were before, with no future at all. I splashed some cold water on my face, got dressed, and walked downstairs to my parents kitchen. I left them a note by the coffee maker that I was going to see someone, then crossed it out and wrote that I was going to see Jeff instead. Mom and Dad always liked him, I could tell, but they never dared to suggest we date because, as I figured out later, they knew that would make me disregard the idea forever, just to spite them. I signed my name to the note and headed out the door to my car.

It was hot and humid that morning, almost sticky as I walked across the yard to the tree I'd parked under the night before after work. I checked my watch before climbing in, shit. He was probably home at that point, waiting on me, and it was going to take me half an hour at least to get there. Suddenly, for the first time ever, I felt guilty for making him wait. I pulled out my phone and texted him that I was on my way, and I'd be there in 30.

I didn't expect a text back, but almost immediately my phone buzzed in my hand. "Be careful," was all his reply said, and it felt like my heart was going to melt through my feet like the core of an overheated nuclear reactor. I totally threw the speed limit out the window as I drove the twenty five miles to his house. I was just ten miles out when I looked at my speedometer, 85. So much for careful I thought.

When I pulled up in the driveway it felt like time had frozen solid, and all the feeling had drained from my body. There was his house, his car, all as I had left them all that time ago. For the first time ever, I felt like I was looking at home, not because it was familiar though, but because Jeff was there.

I finally snapped myself out of it and began the walk to his front door. As I climbed the steps I noticed that he'd left the front door open for me, like he usually did, inviting me to let myself inside. Just as I had a thousand times before, I did so, closing it behind me to look around for him. I took a few steps inside and heard the shower running in the bathroom. I walked up to the door and knocked. "I'm here," I announced to him as I heard him rinsing the soap off his body, then shutting the water off and grabbing his towel.

"You know the drill, make yourself at home, the coffee should be ready any second now." Just then that familiar sound of his coffee maker beeping came from the kitchen, signalling that it was done brewing, and ready to serve the always wonderful coffee he loved to make for us. I walked in and grabbed a cup from the cabinet, and got his favourite cup from the counter to rinse it out. I poured both cups full, emptying the pot. He always knew exactly how much to make for the both of us, only making a cup each at a time so that it didn't burn in the pot, even though we'd both be ready for another sooner than that could happen.

He walked out of the bathroom wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. Holy shit he looked good. Had he been working out? It certainly looked like it. His hair was much shorter now, and he'd shaved all the usual stubble from his face. Before I could catch myself my jaw dropped a little, he looked so grown up now, though he'd hardly changed, I saw him a lot differently than I ever had before. Gone was the guy from high school, and in his place stood this man of the dreams I never knew I'd had.

A few beads of water rolled down his neck and onto his chest, getting wicked up by the sparse patch of hair in between his pecs. I picked my jaw up off the floor and swallowed loudly before licking my lips. I probably looked stupid just standing there, but he didn't seem to notice. "I'll be right back, just going to put some clothes on," he said as he turned back towards the bedroom.

Damn, I thought to myself as I put his cup down on the table next to his spot on the couch, then taking mine before I decided to subtly scoot closer to the centre of it. As soon as I saw him I was hoping that he'd sit around in his towel for a little while like he used to, but no, he was going to cover up that incredible body of his, just as I wanted to actually pay attention to it. Served me right I suppose, I'd payed no mind to it before, why shouldn't he cover it up if it was going to go unappreciated. 

A few minutes later, after I'd calmed myself down a little, he emerged from his room wearing a t-shirt and jeans looking somehow hotter than before. I looked him over shamelessly, drinking in every detail from his black trainers, faded bluejeans, to his forearms, then back to the jeans to eye the bulge that I'd tried so hard to ignore in years past. I really had been missing out on a lot, and I mentally kicked myself for not seeing it sooner.

As he walked into the living room with his usual, cool, Gary Cooper walk, I got the insatiable urge to, forgive the French, fuck the ever loving brains out of his head. He smirked at me with his knowing half smile as he moved towards me. Oh God, I was biting my lip and staring right at him! I hadn't had an orgasm in months, and I guess I wanted one more than I thought I did. I had to ease off of it before I made an ass out of myself again. I blushed and looked down at the floor, then scooted myself closer to my side of the couch.

I realised what I was doing, I was trying to take my mind off of him sitting next to me. I think Jeff knew what was going on, but he didn't let on that he knew. Damn him for always being so good at reading me. He never made a move though, because I was stupid and used my words to contradict what I really wanted, but only out of embarrassment and nervousness. Then he really surprised me. 

"Look," he started out as he took a sip of his coffee, then lighting one of his own cigarettes. "I know why you're here."

"I want us to be friends again, Jeff." Why did that sound so weird to me? Oh, it's because I've avoided at all costs calling him by his name. Why? Because I was a stupid, power hungry asshole that got off on psychologically torturing people, probably because I wanted to hurt them before they got the chance to hurt me.

"We can't be friends, Rachel." I shuddered when he said my name. We've tried it time, and time, and time again over the years, and it just doesn't work." His deep blue eyes were piercing what felt like the bare fabric of my soul. It hurt, and I wanted to cry and run away then and there, but he continued. "We get close, but not close enough to get past each others walls, and when we hit those walls, that's when the bad shit happens."

"I know," I said, defeated as I looked down at my feet. It was like the entire world was being pulled out from under me. Why did I have to come here, why couldn't we have just done this on the phone? Oh yeah, I deserved it. Honestly I probably deserved a lot worse, but this was bad enough.

"Look, if we become friends again, we're just going to destroy the friendship once more, and the cycle will continue where you burn the bridge, then expect me to rebuild it. Why not light the motherfucker from both ends this time?" The question shocked me, what did he mean?

"What are you saying?" I asked, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

"I'm saying that if we're going to destroy it again, why not do it in the most spectacular fashion possible? That fits both of our personalities, doesn't it? You know, go out with a bang."

I was still confused, did he mean that he wanted to try one last time? Did he mean that we should hash out everything that was wrong between us right there so that we'd hate each other? What was he getting at?

"Be my girlfriend," he said bluntly. "Be the girlfriend I've seen you be, with everyone else you've dated. Honestly, when I saw you with them, I thought to myself, 'that's the Rachel I want. That's the Rachel I've always wanted,' plus every damn time you'd come to me complaining that they didn't love you the way you wanted, I realised that what you were describing to me was exactly how I've always wanted to love you, but haven't been able to because you wouldn't let me. Think about it." His eyes were still on me, cutting so deeply into my soul that I thought he'd look right through me.

"I-I-I don't know what to say." I muttered to myself, no doubt having lost every ounce of self confidence I'd built up that morning.

"Go home." He said sharply, "go home and think about it tonight. If you decide that I'm worth having in your life, call me. You can come back tomorrow and I'll cook diner." Something none of my other boyfriends ever liked doing for me. "I'll make you dinner and we can have our first date." There it was. It was all real now, and I had to face it. No longer could I run away and pretend that the chemistry between us never existed, it was right here, plain as the sun in the sky, staring me right in my eyes. 

My brain went into self preservation mode and I said the dumbest thing I could've said next. "What if I decide not to?"

Jeff just smiled at me, only now his smile had a little fire behind it and I was really feeling the heat. "Then don't bother calling at all." Damn. That turned the flame up to eleven and I was starting to sweat. "Here," he said, motioning to the door as he stood up from the couch, "I'll walk you to your car."

I was numb. There was my chance and I blew it. He knew I wasn't going to call him, not because I didn't want us to be together, but because he knew that I was actually just a coward wearing the mask of a bad-ass. He was calling my bluff. I couldn't even begin to think about what to do next, I just got up and let him lead me outside to the harsh light of the morning, illuminating what my reality now was, and what it had always been. "Okay," I managed to say while holding back a torrent of tears and self pity. I was going to get so drunk that night, hell, I might not even wait until nighttime, I might just jump in the bottle when I got home. To my parents house. In the middle of nowhere. Alone. No! I had to fix this, now.

Without even knowing what was happening, I turned on my heels and faced him, taking a step so that we were face to face, breathing the same air, and mustering all the fire I could into my eyes, fighting the fire he already had in his.

I kissed him. I kissed him right on his lips as I put my arms around him and stepped even closer. Suddenly the earth fell again, and I felt myself being wrapped around him like he was the only thing keeping me from floating off into the air. His hands lifted the hem of my short skirt above my hips, as my legs crossed behind him and I felt my back being slammed into the front of my car. My God, this was the hottest thing I'd ever felt, and I wanted more.

Suddenly he pulled away from me, and I slid my now almost bare ass down to the bumper of my car as my feet fell to the ground under me. Jeff had his hands on my face, and his eyes still firmly locked on mine. I couldn't let this end here. "Can I use your bathroom before I go? It's a long drive back," I said, hoping desperately to get back in that house.

"Sure," he said in almost a whisper, and followed me as I pulled my skirt back down and walked back to his house. Once inside I walked in the bathroom and heard him sit on the couch before I closed the door. I looked in the mirror and couldn't believe what I was about to do. I was never the bold one, never the one to initiate, and certainly never the one to do this. I pulled my shirt over my head, then unzipped my skirt and let both fall to the mat in front of the sink. I reached behind me and unhooked my bra, freeing my perky little tits from that awful push-up bra that made them look so much bigger and better. I then slid my fingers into the elastic string of my panties and pushed them down to join the skirt, bra, and shirt on the ground. I stepped out of them, kicking my shoes off as I did.

They fell to the floor with a clomp, and that was it. I was naked, about to waltz out of the room and into the future that I was so close to losing. Better to lose my dignity than my best friend I thought to myself as I adjusted my hair, and opened the door, feeling the cool air rush across my bare body and between my shaved legs and pussy.

I walked as confidently as I could with my hands by my side, around the corner into the view of Jeff. Now it was his turn to pick his jaw up off the floor. I felt a rush of energy race through me like a bolt of lightning, cursing myself for stepping so far out of my comfort zone, and being even half as bold as I was being right now. The kiss worked out amazingly though, so this just might work, too.

I walked right up to the surprised fool, sitting on his couch, and put my feet on either side of his legs, giving him a full, uninterrupted view of everything I had to offer. He still just stared at me, until he finally lowered his gaze from my eyes, and I could feel his attention crawl slowly down my neck and chest, then down my stomach, hips, and my now soaking wet crotch. His nostrils flared as he took in my scent, and the fire in his eyes turned from an angry red, to the most passionate blue I'd ever seen in my life. 

He reached behind me and grabbed my ass with both hands as he leaned me back and pulled me on top of him. His body slouched so that I was kneeling on the couch, with his face under my hot, naked, dripping wet pussy. He breathed deeply, his hot breath warming my pussy even more as chills ran throughout the rest of me, causing my perky little nipples to stiffen instantly.

Finally, he kissed me on my most sacred set of lips, and then his tongue went to work around the edges of my sex before finding and teasing my clit. My legs went weak and I pressed myself down harder on his face, the breath from his nose now where my pubic hair would be, while my hands explored the back of his head and neck. I was in complete shock that he could ever feel this good, and I wondered what else I had been missing all this time.

He just kept going with his tongue, his fingers soon joining the fun from behind me, teasing my asshole a little before spreading my lips and plunging slowly, deeply, satisfyingly into me. It's like he could feel what he was doing to me, because his long, strong digits knew exactly where to go, and exactly what to do to bring me to the strongest orgasm I'd had up to that point. Unbeknownst to me at the time, but this was only the beginning, and there was even better to be had after that.

I was leaned forward over the back of the couch, Jeff still underneath me, face between my legs, lightly teasing my clit with his tongue and lips as I struggled to keep my shaking, almost limp body from falling over. Suddenly, he grabs my hips and brings me back down on his lap, still facing him. He looks up at me with my juices all over his face, eyes that were even more intense than before, and says, almost growling, "let's get you into bed now." 

He stands up, holding me close as he walks back towards his bedroom, but stops halfway down the hall to pin me against the wall and kisses me with what I thought at the time, to be all the passion and fury he could gather. Damn, was I in for a treat. He puts a hand under my naked butt and lifts me over his shoulder, giving my ass a nice, solid slap, sending yet more shock waves throughout my slender little body. Before I knew it, I was thrown onto his queen size bed in the middle of the room. I sat up and grabbed his arms, slowly working my hands around him to take his shirt off.

I looked up at him, shirtless, panting above me almost like a wild animal. The look in his eyes almost scared me until his hands gently caressed my face, neck, and shoulders. I reached down and unbuckled his belt, pushing his jeans down to the floor, exposing a long, thick cock, with veins pulsing with his now rapid heartbeat. 

He slid his hands down the sides of my body and then lifted me back, further onto the bed where he spread my legs and climbed on top of me. I could feel his abs pushing against my clit as he kissed my lips, then my cheek, then my neck as I moaned with pleasure. Jeff then moved down and bit me on my shoulder, causing me to inhale sharply, his scent hit me all at once. I'd never smelled him before, other than his shampoo when he'd come out of the shower, but damn was it intoxicating.

He then moved himself up, and I could feel the head of his thick cock against my soaking wet hole. He reached down and teased me with it until I couldn't take anymore waiting. I reached down and grabbed his hand and his dick, the heat begging me to plunge it deep inside of me. He resisted and slowly let me guide him in. The sensation was overwhelming, and as he pushed himself deeper and deeper inside my aching pussy, I could tell it was going to be hitting all the right spots.

He gradually picked up the pace as he rode me, each push in and pull out bringing me new levels of pleasure, as I raked my nails down his exposed back, each time digging in deeper and deeper willing him to go faster and harder. It seemed to work, but I quickly found that sinking my teeth into his shoulder worked even better. Soon, I was getting close to climax again, and I couldn't believe it, I had never before gotten off from insertion alone. Jeff could tell that I was close, and he slowed his pace considerably, teasing me away from my orgasm.

I couldn't take the waiting any longer, so I grabbed him and threw him off next to me, where I rolled over onto him and then I took control. I slowly mounted his dick again, and began to rock back and forth against him. Once again I was so, so close to finishing, but I decided to hold off just a little longer. I wanted him to cum too, I wanted him to explode inside of me, and I wanted him to feel as good as I was feeling at that moment.

I tried and tried to hold back, but my body betrayed me by keeping pace with his hips bucking in time with mine. Soon, I was at the point of no return, and without even thinking about it, dug my fingertips into his chest, dragging them down his body to his ribs and stomach. I threw my head back as I came again, my pelvic muscles contracting and releasing around his thick shaft as I moved. Apparently this was what he needed, because when I was in the middle of what can only be described as the best ride of my life, he'd had enough, and shot into me with such great force and volume, it shot out around him, and I could feel the warm, sticky, cum being pushed out of me around his dick.

I looked down and saw the blood that I drew with my nails, trailing in ten staggered streaks, down his chest and abdomen. I smiled at the sight, then laughed at the unbelievable ecstasy we were both feeling. As his last shot of cum came shooting out of him, I had another wave hit me. We called out in unison as we slowed down, and I carefully laid down on top of him. He wrapped his arms around me and held me there, his chest heaving with each breath, his hips still bucking against me, in and out, in and out until I could feel his stiff member begin to soften.

I stretched my legs out, intertwining with his as we both finally relaxed. He moved a hand up to the back of my neck, and the other down my body, resting just above my ass. I looked over and whispered in his ear, "That was Amazing, Jeff," and before I could think twice to stop myself, "I love you."

My eyes bolted open and my heart began to race with the crazy, stupid thing I just said. I was certain he wouldn't say anything back, that he'd just ignore it and keep holding me, but I was wrong. "I love you, too Rachel," he said softly, his deep voice vibrating through his chest and into mine. I rolled off of him and lay next to him in his arms as he rolled to face me and kissed me again, softly this time, letting me know that he meant it.

It was done, we'd finally given in to our deepest desires, and what an amazing experience it was. Soon I was falling asleep, holding the most amazing person I've even known, and he held me until we both woke up later that afternoon. He kissed me again before letting go of me and getting out of bed. I drifted back off again until he walked back in the room, still naked, holding two cups of fresh, hot coffee. "Good morning," he said with that same old, bright and tired smile, only with a new little twinkle in his eyes. "I thought you might like a cup of coffee to wake up with."

"I'd love one," I smiled back, as I sat up to take it and watched him turn around to sit next to me. The scratches on his back and chest had scabbed over. I smiled to myself knowing that I'd finally marked him as mine, finally after all these years, waking up next to someone just felt right. We sat there naked, drinking our coffee, occasionally looking over to each other as if confirming that the hours before weren't just a dream, and was in fact reality. It was real, it was amazing, and it was exactly where I always wanted to be. He'd seen it all along, and I still kick myself for taking so long to figure it out, but I'm glad I did before it was too late.

That day I learned how much I loved him looking over my naked body, how hot it made me, feeling his eyes on my exposed flesh, and what great things happened when I just took off my clothes. It became a rare sight for me to be clothed around him, because I felt so wonderful when I saw how he looked at me. He made me love being naked, and I know that he loved it, too.

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

One Shot: The Pond (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: Recovery isn’t easy, that’s the first thing Bucky noted. Healing was a tough road to cross, especially when all you knew was gone and the road was water. This takes place roughly after endgame. 

Warnings: Small mention of not wanting to continue. 

A/N: I wrote this in like 10-15 mins so I’m sorry this is trash. 

----

“Hey,” a hesitant greeting.

“Hey, Buck, come on. You should get up.” a suggestion. 

A suggestion he could either go through or ignore. An option that wasn’t even an option when he worked under HYDRA. 

“You know,” Sam-one of his only close friends- began, “Bruce’s girl brought these mini doughnuts. They’re great man. They’ve got sprinkles and everything. Maybe you should come down and have some,” 

Maybe, the word rang in Bucky’s ears. 

He ignored his friend who was now leaning against the doorframe. 

“You don’t have to act like you did before, you know?” said Sam after a long time. 

“What you did- what you didn’t do, was that. That wasn’t you Buck. You have a fresh start now, friends, and a team that-”

Bucky snarled.

“How can you act like this is all okay?’’ he said with a look of bewilderment. 

“This isn’t okay,” he began. “Lots of people are dead. I-I don’t even know where to begin but this,” he motioned to everything in a circle with his own index finger, “This isn’t okay. Steve’s gone. He’s gone. And none of us can bring him back after all of this.” he shook his head down. 

“I know what you mean,” Sam said, “It’s just like Riley. I can’t bring him back either but it’s just life Buck, we gotta live on with-”

“What if I don’t wanna?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Bucky swallowed, “What if I don’t want to continue? What if it doesn’t get better?”

His friend shook his head, “Why would you- can you just quit it? Don’t say that. You’ve got us,” 

Us. The word tastes bland on Buck’s tongue. Ineffective. 

“Sure,” 

“I’m serious Buck,” Sam said. “You’ve got me. I’ve got you. We work on this even though it doesn’t seem like much, okay?”

There was no response after that. No response except a small ‘okay’ in the back of Bucky’s head. 

=======

The park wasn’t as much as it used to be, thought Bucky. The trees felt bigger-maybe they grew. Who knows. Do trees grow much in under 100 years? He asked himself. 

A small pond stood before him. It almost felt poetic. Some trees decorated the sides, and others, it’s reflections you could see. 

He squeezed the brown paper bag between his metal and flesh hand.

A small action that sent millions of thoughts and questions racing in his mind. 

What if I didn’t fall off that train? 

What if I survived that fall? Could things have been better if I fell under a bush? What if Steve didn’t sign up for the war. 

What if I, didn’t sign up. Would I have still made it alive? Would I have had a family? Kids? Something normal? 

He scoffed to himself. 

Reaching in towards the bag, he felt bread. Soft in the inside, hard on the outside. Out in the pond, he noticed a family of ducks. The mother led the way as it’s little ducklings followed her in a straight line. The father followed back ensuring that each would stay in their place and not side track. 

Kind of like him. 

A voice behind him interrupted his thoughts.

“You know you’re not supposed to feed them bread, right?”

-------

(let me know if you’d like a pt. 2)

[rosyredlipstick]

for the writers ask meme: 1 and 18 if you dont mind?:)

18. Tell us about that one book you’ll never let anyone read.

I’m gonna combine these two with my shame project of the month you can find me working on late at night with a few shots in me ~~

So anyone who’s followed me for awhile knows how just…..not good I am at writing smut. And that’s fine! My talents lie elsewhere. But….there’s a certain fic I wrote one night when I was tipsy. It’s unfinished and messy and was a result of me binge watching the entire yuri on ice season in one sitting. 

I’ll never, ever post it. But here’s the summary drunk-me wrote out in the notes tab on my phone 

-

“We’re not friends. We don’t even speak the same language. All we do is send dog pictures and emojis to each other sometimes. Hardly a friendship.”

Phichit clicked his tongue. “And nudes.”

Yuuri flushed a dark color. “And nudes.”

-

Basically it was a language barrier fic, with the banquet still happening AKA with Vikki still falling madly in love with drunk Japanese boy who can only stop dancing long enough to scrawl his snapchat username on Victor’s arm (Phichit kept telling him needed to use it more okay?????) 

Yuuri wakes up the next day with a headache, a not unreasonable amount of regret, and a new snapchat contact who looks to be as big of a fan of Viktor as he is (Yuuri’s still the bigger fan, he reassures himself as he adds the strange contact, if only because of the several Myspace accounts dedicated to the older skater with not-limited connection to Yuuri himself) 

SO YEAH THAT’S WHERE THE STORY WOULD BEGIN. Viktor, under the impression that Yuuri is always that bold and confident and Eros, makes the first move via snapchat. 

Which happens to be a very, very tasteful mirror ass shot, as Viktor grins over his shoulder, his team Russia jacket hanging down his back, his back arched, his foot pointed out.

(he had facetimed chris in order to get the angle just right, and chris - ever the good friend - complied with helpful tips and an order to put on some mascara before you even think about sending a photo)

AND YUURI’S SOUL PROMPTLY LEAVES HIS BODY AND ASCENDS TO THE HEAVENS AS HE PRESSES THAT DAMN RED BUBBLE 

He’s in public, it’s important to note, waiting in line for his daily post-training cup of decaf tea. There’s a lot of panic, a slight freak out in the line at the downtown detroit dunkin doughnuts, and he exits the app and turns off his phone and cant look at the little square device for a day and a half without blushing. 

he also….can’t stop thinking about the picture. Which he’s almost, almost very certain wasn’t a fake. or an upload because….because yuuri would have seen that before. 

but he doesn’t respond, even as the account send him a mess of Cyrillic and emojis and even another picture of piles and piles of snow at the local park. and he still doesn’t respond BC YUURI DOESNT LIKE CONFRONTATION OKAY. 

Cue viktor feel like he’s being ignored oR MAYBE CHRIS THE PHOTO JUST WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH TO CATCH EROS’S ATTENTION WE ~~MUST~~ RESHOOT IT AND TAKE ANOTHER 

and chris, who hasn’t seen viktor this excited about something in awhile, agrees to help. even if viktor is this excited about sending 

i predict at least, hmm, four yakov rages in this fic? mostly due to viktor’s complete nonchalance about the matter. 

“where do you think you’re going?” yakov demands as viktor slids on his skate guards. it is in the middle of practice and it is no where near the time for lunch. viktor usually has to be dragged off the ice. yakov shows concern by yelling and both of them know this. “No breaks until you skate it clean!” 

“I have to go take a sexy picture of myself to capture Japanese Yuuri’s heart,” Viktor throws out over his shoulder, already unzipping his jacket as he heads towards the locker room, “he seems to particularly respond to shirtless pics!” 

if you watch closely, as Mila and Georgi happened to be, you could actually see the last tuffs of hair slowly fall to yakov’s shoulders. 

Across the globe, Yuuri’s phone will ding, and he’ll know exactly what that small notification means. 

He responds, nowadays, even with a few of his own (as Viktor seemed??? to want them???? at least from his emojis????? and from the delighted paragraphs of heart eyes and kisses, viktor didn’t seem to….hate what he saw???? what????????)

anyways yuuri has no shame and immediately saves a portion of the photos to his phone. Usually just the selfies, and shirtless pics. 

it’s because of his eyes, Yuuri will later reflect on, that’s what gets him, every time

they eventually kiss kiss fall in love, meet up at a competition and go on a romantic candlelit dinner (not really - they get street meat that’s seasoned with garlic salt so now both of their breathes smell horrible, but they laugh and giggle the entire time even though they’re both having trouble getting by in their stilled english. viktor almost chokes on his tongue when yuuri and him share a single soft serve ice cream and yuuri is enjoying it immensely. they fuck and wake up in each other arms and the next season viktor comes to onsen AND IT’S PERFECT)

anyways this is the fic i’ll never finish but it’s fun to write nonetheless. god i love yuri on ice. 

[anecdotal-tales]

Oh.

✿  Alternate Universe: Soulmate AU | The one where you can’t see colour till you meet your soulmate ✿  Genre: Angst ✿  Word Count: 2952 ✿  Warnings: Suicide, Profanity, Drinking

✿  Summary:

Oh. I made a mistake. Not the one an eraser can fix. Oh. You're crying. Oh. I'm sorry. I don't know how to fix it.

The amazing story starts off with our protagonist, making a complicated omelette.

She opened the fridge and grabbed the peppers. Too bad they're in blacks, greys, and whites. Peppers are so vibrant and pretty don't you think?

Her name is Saria, her last name doesn't matter.

Chop chop, the peppers got sprinkled into the egg mix. A dull gray instead of a bright yellow.

She had a cat named 'Chalk' and a baby cactus named 'Ed' she talked to both when she gets lonely or needs advice.

Flip! Professional cooking mastery is where she was at.

She has a best friend, her name is Marceline, she plays guitar and likes science. She's also crazily in love with macarons (chocolate specifically).

Served up with two slices of toast, buttered with shreds of cheese. Dull. Grey. Cheese.

Both have yet to meet their soulmates, therefore they have yet to see colour.

She got a call, from Marceline, Saria answered as she fills Chalk's food bowl for the morning.

"Hey! Do you wanna go get dinner tonight? Tis on me!"

"McFadden's?" Saria asked, before taking a giant bite of her bread and omelette combo.

"Are you judging my eating habits?" Marceline asked you could hear the furious wiggling of questionable eyebrows.

"I was just asking." She huffed out, and stared at her wall, torn up posters from that festival in the dessert (ripped from the hands of several teens with the help of Marceline); posters from old cartoons she adored; her own old paintings from art classes she took; and several works impulse bought at art shows (probably a waste of money in hindsight).

She felt complete, and content looking at them, because they were hers, and they were for her eyes.

If she didn't stare at them who else would?

Too bad they were all in dull greys, whites, and blacks.

"I most definitely heard judgement in your tone," Mars teased sarcastically. "But I'll take your judgement as a yes! I'll meet you there at seven tonight! You better show up!" Without giving any time to respond, Marceline hung up, with a sigh Saria took the last bite of her sandwich.

She washed her dishes, her cat jumped up onto the counter, they had a staring contest.

She lost.

"Well damn." She sighed once more, and walked back to her room, jumped into bed and loaded up a cute visual novel she'd bought recently.

But her laptop wasn't working, after rapid typing trying to get it to work she gave up.

She decided to go out, to the mall. Maybe buy a dress so she could look cute for her little date with Mars.

As she walked into the mall, she saw the common occurrence.

Soulmates meeting.

It's so obvious to tell when it happens, two people in the crowd will suddenly make eye contact and-

Gasp! It's you!

They look around in wonder at how colourful this world is, then they look at each other, start giggling or crying- Maybe both. Then they run to each other 'Chariots of Fire' Style, hugging and kissing like they will die if they don't do it immediately.

Saria rolled her eyes, she'd become jaded after seeing this scene so many times, she headed into the nearest clothing store ignoring the scene play out unlike the other bystanders.

There was a dress, though she didn't know it, it was a navy blue. I bet it'd be her favourite colour if she could've see it. It went just above her knees, flaring out, with frills all over.

She got a cardigan and a necklace with it, she wore it out of the store with confidence.

She then pigged out at the food court, with poutine and a milkshake. Her favourite food and drink, both jumbo sized. Many walked by disgusted, but she was having her moment and did not give a damn.

She'd found a comic book at the mall's bookstore, This One Summer, an odd but lovely one by Jillian Tamaki, her view of the world was lovely yet confusing, and she adored it.

Since she spent all her money on clothes and food, she headed to the back of the store to their reading section, sitting down in the giant beanbag chair on the ground.

GET YOUR INSTAGRAM WORTHY ASS TO MCFADDENS BEFORE I MCFEED YOU A CAN OF WHOOP ASS.

- Mars Bars

Seen at 6:30

It was only 6:30 but Saria tended to fuck up her perception of time resulting in a very, very pissed off Marceline.

She got up from the beanbag (which happened to be quite the struggle). And started to head out of the store so she could be on time for her date (for once).

"Uh... You gonna buy that?"

Saria turned around, seeing the cashier lazily point at her hand from behind the counter. She looked to her hand to see she was still holding the book.

She looked back up at the cashier, embarrassed. "Whoops..." She slid the book onto the counter before running out in shame.

She left for McFadden's, showing up at 7 pm on the dot.

Marceline was seated in a booth, scoping out the perimeter to find Saria, and once she did she waved furiously, possibly on the verge of breaking her arm with each wave.

"Heyo, my sweet Saria! ~ Aw man, I should've brought my Ocarina and played a beautiful melody for you again." Marceline said as Saria sat across from her in the booth.

"No way, that shit's embarrassing. I got enough of that crap for my name in high school. If I ever see your Ocarina again, I will break it in half." Saria said half bitterly and half jokingly.

"So- "Marceline stopped quick as the waitress walked by, she was always the type to stop talking around waiters.

"What would you like to order?" The waitress spoke sweetly.

Saria looked at Marceline and shrugged. "Well, I ate earlier—I'll just get a chocolate malt."

Mars smiled, bright as usual, "Two glazed doughnuts for me, if you could."

"Alright, I'll be right back sweethearts." The waitress had an almost too sweet of a smile as she walked away. As soon as she was out of ear shot Marceline got back to talking.

"So, I suspect from the lack of wonder on your face you didn't meet the love of your life today?" Mars asked, creating the common chat the two had.

Saria snorted, "Oh yeah, I totally met my soulmate, we banged and I saw all the goddamn colours of the rainbow." She shook her head and hit her back to the booth.

Mars sighed and leant over, staring deeply into the table. "I swear we're fucking soulmates. It's just broken... You and I were totally meant to be together. We just have to wait this out."

"I want to believe that but-"

"But nothing, it's broken!" Marceline interrupted.

"There has never been a single report of a 'broken' soulmate," Saria argued.

"Well, there's a first time for everything!" Mars retorted, slamming her hand on the table.

Saria sighed, "I didn't come to argue about this Mars, I came to get type two diabetes and hate the world with my best friend." A second after a waitress came by with their orders.

"Calm down now, ya break the table, ya buy the table." The waitress gave Marceline a light smack to the back of the head, smiled teasingly and walked away.

"Sometimes....I think that maybe I wasn't meant to have a soulmate, that maybe I'll just spend the rest of my life independent, I do like the sound of it but... I just wish I could see in fucking colour for once." Saria spoke, sounding breathy.

"Hey, don't lose hope on me okay?" Mars reached for Saria's hands, cupping them lovingly. "We're gonna get through this-soulmates or not, we're in this together."

Oh, even in her darkest moments, Marceline could make Saria smile.

"Don't break out the high school musical on me all right?" Saria joked, they both had their small giggle fest.

But Saria still had a distant look to her, so Marceline requested something of her.

"Don't kill yourself."

"Heh, I'd never, there's too much shit left for me to do," Saria replied with an ounce of comedy, obviously to distract from the heavy situation.

"And you have to be here for me?" Marceline tried to clarify.

"Of course, don't want you fucking up - without me of course," Saria said with a smile before taking a sip of her malt.

And then their dinner went on, they talked about happy things, funny things, etc.

Until of course they got kicked out for trying to stay after closing, they headed into a nearby 24/7 convenience store, Marceline grabbed Saria's hand as she headed straight to the back, to the freezers.

Marceline looked through each freezer before stopping at the fourth one she looks at, opened it and pulled out a box of cheap wine, looking to Saria with a grin.

Saria simply laughs and shook her head, pulling out a second box of wine. "Now we're good." She said with a giggle.

They walked over to the counter and bought the wine, along with a pack of gum. As they walked out Saria spots a shopping cart outside the convenience store- that's from a completely different store mind you. She grinned at Mars with an obvious idea in mind, Mars simply sighed.

Mars ended up pushing Saria in the cart, Saria holding the mediocre wine in her lap, laughing and screaming her heart out.

They rode to the nearest bridge, which also happened to be their favourite bridge. It had an amazing view- whether it was in colour or not. Though they always fantasized about how pretty it may look in colour.

And as they drank wine, they knew they might not be the happiest- but they were content with where they were.

But because of some fucking idiot, this isn't the end of the story.

A few years later, Saria was watching- well listening really- to her old graduation video, her parents recorded it - noting the faded cries of pride in the background that much seemed obvious. She listened as she wrote down a note, piles of other similar notes were crumpled and thrown around her apartment.

Saria was the valedictorian of her graduating year.

"Beauties and Gentlebeauties of my class, we made it!"

Dear, everyone that cares.

"Give yourself a pat on the back because we survived!"

Chalk died of old age and I overwatered Ed, so they're dead too. But I think you all know that 'cause I cried about it forever.

"I've had the pleasure of getting to know this class by the back of my hand. Pretty much every teacher has a good reason to hate us- and some of us have a good reason to strongly dislike them."

I know you must hate me for this, I know that you'd beat the living fuck out of me if you could. I would too.

"I remember when one of my middle school classes had a teacher- who had taught for 15 years prior, tell us we were the worst students she'd ever had, and from then I thought - these are the people I'm gonna spend the next eight years with!"

But I can't do this anymore. I'm panicking too much, I'm not happy. And I swear to God I've tried fucking everything.

"We're all a bunch of scrappy, hard-headed individuals is what I've learned, we're all so strong at persevering. We're able to fight the toughest of adversities, that's why, I have no doubt, that all of you will grow to do great things."

I'm not what anyone hoped I would be, I know you're all disappointed, but I just can't find it in me to care.

"But in the end, I think what was the most significant thing about my time about this place, was of all the love everyone had to give, no matter what state they were in. We were all there for each other- even the people that were on opposite sides of the spectrum."

Don't do that thing where you blame yourself- please- nothing you could do would stop me. So, don't do that to yourself, and don't follow my path, grow up to be as happy as you possibly can, please.

"So, remember everyone, as cliché as it sounds, you can do anything, so long as you set your mind to it. Be the best at what you love, be happy."

I want you to be happy, I want you to know that I love you, I want you to live- as hypocritical as it sounds coming from a bitch like me, I want that for you.

"Sincerely, from yours truly..."

From yours truly,

"Saria Bloomingfield."

Saria Bloomingfield.

"WOO! That's my baby!

MARS! Shush!"

P.S Mars, I'm at the bridge.

She put down her pen, finally the note was how she 'liked'. She grabbed her phone, ear buds, and wallet, quickly playing music to distract her brain.

She taped the note to her front door, not even bothering to lock it behind her- it's not like she needed too.

She decided to treat herself to a classy last meal, heading into the fanciest restaurant she could think of.

As she walked up to the front desk in her favourite skinny jeans and a shirt that says ごみ袋 (garbage bag), the concierge looks her up to down, "I'm sorry, we have a black tie only—"

Saria cut her off, threw a 20-dollar bill onto her table, giving her the eye.

"Oh—Ah, table for one?" The concierge, quick to comply, Saria nodded and was led off to the innards of the classy place.

She sat at a single person table, a waitress came by and handed Saria a menu— she started to walk away to give Saria time to think about her choices, but Saria was quick to grab at the sleeve of her uniform.

She already knew what she wanted.

It's not very fancy though.

"Can I get a poutine? And a chocolate malt? Do you have macarons or glazed doughnuts too?" Saria asked.

The waitress looked confused before bowing her head slightly, "Ma'am we aren't a diner— "

"Please."

The way Saria looked at the waitress must've been awfully convincing, because the waitress just smiled in response.

"What type of macarons?"

With a sad smile, Saria answered. "Chocolate, obviously."

After finishing her last meal, the waitress quickly came back to pick up Saria's empty dishes. Saria took the bill book out of the Waitress's other hand, sticking in a wad of cash, leaving a 20-dollar bill on top of the book as a tip.

Without giving the waitress time to react, Saria got up, "Thanks for the food." She mumbled as she walked out.

All the waitress could do was stare at the train wreck.

Saria shrugged, no longer caring as she left the restaurant, looking at the lit-up neon sign of a nearby club, having nothing to lose she headed in.

"YO! Drinks are on me! Whole house!"

Kissing a few people here and there, taking random shots with people that would forget her, before getting kicked out for being to rowdy.

The smile she had on in there faded quickly, reality setting back in.

Saria turned on the sidewalk, headed there.

She stopped mid step, seeing a homeless woman, Saria took out her wallet, throwing it over to the woman.

"Pin's 6765, go wild." She quickly walked away before the woman could respond.

Anything to distract her plans.

But it wouldn't work.

She kept walking.

To the bridge.

So many memories at that bridge.

Her first kiss at that bridge.

Her first confession.

Her first heart to heart.

And she is going to ruin them all, for herself and all the people she loves.

She climbed up on the ledge.

Oh, she's so fucking sorry.

I'm so fucking sorry.

And she's trying so hard, I'm trying to hard to come up with reasons why I - why she shouldn't.

And yet my mind is going blank, all I can think of is all the negatives.

Why would I want to live if I can't live it to my fullest potential, with the person that can make me the happiest?

I don't want to see in black and white anymore, and if it means that I then can't see at all so be it.

Oh, but there's Marceline.

But she will get over me, and she will find her soulmate, she doesn't deserve to have some hopeless fuck like me.

So, I take the slightest step forward.

No- no I just have to hold on- just a little longer- just a little.

I hear running.

"NO WAIT!" I hear someone scream, it's no one I know, I turn and-

Fuck.

Fuck!

They're my soulmate.

I can see in colour; the world is so pretty.

The bridge view really is as beautiful as we fantasized.

They see it too, they stumble in shock and wonder.

Oh.

I can't see more than this view.

Oh.

The event startled me, and now I'm falling.

Oh.

They've seemed to have lost their care for the colour, they're running for me now.

Oh.

I'm crying. This will be the last time.

Oh.

They've so quickly caught up to where I fell off.

Oh.

They're looking down at me.

Oh.

They're crying too, their face shouldn't be sullied like that.

Oh.

They've jumped after me. This is not what I want.

Oh.

They practically fly to me, and a moment before we hit the water.

One last kiss before I go.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

thank for reading gimme a like for that shitty edit lmao tried to do a white outline glow and it was not happening hun

disclaimer header image is an edit i create but the artwork in it ain’t mine and this story has been posted to my wattpad by me so it ain’t stealing if you see it round yonder. 

suicide is a serious problem and if you are dealing with those feelings right now i want you to know it’s going to be okay and that if it’s possible, contacting help will help you. 

[theraroth]

Death Awaits Us All (from 2016)

I wrote this around August 3-4 2016, for a lit blog that rejected it outright for its brutal honesty and horrific accuracy concerning what we were soon to see as the presidency of Donald (BAAAAARRRRRFFFF) Trump. Presented with minimal edits, I give you:

DEATH AWAITS US ALL...enjoy (or not, it’s your choice):

The rust monsters have sacked my brain. Writing anything creative is a near-impossible hateful sojourn through corridors of frustration. I was recently accosted by the corrosive evil of reorganizing a college level class in order to conform, at least in spirit, with the format of a dreadful textbook thrust upon me, like skin rot contracted from an outhouse in a leper colony. There’s no task as phony and unfulfilling and soulless as revising lecture notes. You can feel your creative juices drying up like a sun-blasted desert oasis. There goes another part of me I can never recapture. Pandora’s Box fits into the analogy somehow, but I am unable to weave it into the narrative adequately so I instead rely on brutal confessions of academically induced impotence, if there is such a condition, and if not let me self-diagnose as Patient Zero for a heretofore undiscovered malady.

Where was I?

Somewhere, out in the desert watching heatwaves rise up from boiling sands…painting a picture with a broken brush is no mean feat, but I think I have risen to the challenge. Rise…risen. Nope, still hopelessly ossified and amberized. I coined that word, I believe. Or I’d like to believe I coined it.

Pointless!

So I’ll conjure a point from nowhere: I was rereading Kurt Vonnegut’s A Man Without a Country, his last published work before succumbing to a head injury at the gruffly tender age of 84 (it was his opinion that old farts like himself had “just gotten here,” so he was therefore little more than a pup, and who am I to contradict a master?). The book, a glib examination of George W. Bush’s America, has aged more rapidly than Vonnegut’s cantankerous literary turns, hobbled in part by the limited scope of the subject, but in spite of that limitation, it ventures into less dated territory or at a minimum more open territory free of political intrigues anchored to that desolate era, and one of these vistas for free range thoughts was in the author’s note at the end in which Kurt mentions that he had recently bonded in a friendly manner, not a love interest mind you, with Ralph Steadman, the artist indelibly linked to Hunter S. Thompson, the late gonzo journalist who, in the context of this aside, had recently taken his life in 2005. And where in the fuck, you ask and rightfully so, is all this digressive bullshit headed? It’s headed toward one of those strange coincidences which plant the idea that perhaps coincidence is a term of art humans created to dismiss the only tangible proof of a higher power manipulating the strings of the world, for I had just received in the mail a copy of Ralph Steadman’s The Joke’s Over, with a forward by, of all people, Kurt Vonnegut. So when I read the passage about Steadman and Vonnegut acquainting, a series of events whose connective tissues were dark to me suddenly coalesced into a definitive line of causality. Kurt met Ralph, Ralph wrote a book, Kurt wrote the forward for the book.

Isn’t it amazing that two people I have admired from afar somehow interacted out of the blue and “cross-pollinated,” so to speak? How does that shit happen? It’s a small world doesn’t do it justice. Nor does that hideously saccharine shit of a song do justice to my ears, real or the virtual stereo in my head that blares it as punishment for writing this, or possibly for writing, period, why-oh-why did I ever travel down that path? it yells at me in a chorus of squeaky castrati frantic to know the whereabouts of their balls…sorry boys, but, snip, snip, all gone but for the empty skin pouch.

If any of this makes sense, I apologize. It was never my intention to impart wisdom. There are more than enough shit-bird seers and visionary with all the answers in the world for a million lifetimes. So I guess one more can’t hurt or at the worst can’t inflict more harm than has already been inflicted. Death by a million papercuts…which cut was the killing stroke, the first or the last or one of the ones somewhere in the middle? Don’t answer that. Only a real asshole thinks he can answer the unanswerable.

Trump.

Balls, I’ve been tap dancing around the proverbial elephant in the room, tap dancing around heaping mounds of elephant shit so pervasive and voluminous I am drowning it in. We all are. Fuck. I need respite from the ugliness or I’ll goddamn well explode. And we can’t have that, can we?

But beware! If you speak of the devil, he shall come forth to heed your call. And in line with that warning, just as I was resigned to submerging and drowning in the muddy trenches of the Trump travesty, some blasted interloper knocked on the rustic steel door I rely on as a barrier between myself and the cruel world beyond. A wave of dread crept up my spine. Dusk time visitations never go well. Could be the authorities paying a call to impart bad news or some Jesus hustler at the end of his shift off-loading surplus pamphlets on the house closest to the tax dodge. God, I hate those fuckers. They have a habit of ignoring the NO SOLICITORS sign taped to the glass. Perhaps a large billboard broadcasting I EXTERMINATE FUCKING JESUS FREAKS might get their attention. When I opened, I came face to face with a fresh brand of trouble: the new neighbors were stopping by, not to say hi, how’s it hangin’? boy it sure is hot and whatnot, but to raise unholy hell (vs holy hell) about ground ivy, a common broadleaf, encroaching on their newly sodded lawn.

My inner cynic lives for these moments, affirmations that people are the real hell on Earth, as they clearly intended to start a territorial dispute over a goddamn plant native to every square mile of land in the world’s innumerable temperate zones, which, as far as they were concerned, excluded their yard. My only recourse? Consult the local ordinances online. Damn them straight to hell, I thought, for I’d sworn to on everything that is holy in the ecumenical sense that I would NEVER EVER consult the local ordinances, out of respect for the fact that I don’t give a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut about local ordinances or other petty nonsense crafted by bureaucrats with measuring sticks, prepared to issue citations for overgrown lawns or minute infringements of sacred lot lines. This is the kind of meaningless tripe that sucks your life down the fucking drain, pisses away the hours and scours your nerves to raw fucking bloody pulpy scum. So it was with utter disdain that I broke this promise to the Powers That Don’t Give a Fuck and combed the local ordinance site, state of the art for 2008, and tracked down the arcane passage detailing what manner of flora presented a nuisance to the neighborhood and would bring the wrath of the gods down upon my head, and lo and behold ground ivy was not among the offending species of plants.

But the neighbors more or less told me as much when it was mentioned in passing that they had consulted the ordinances and were at a loss to find a passage with the clout to enforce their milquetoast suburban pursuit of a simplified, unstable, monochromatic, aesthetically drab and understated ecosystem aching to wither and die if a fucking drop of acrid dog piss falls on its tender shoots. I’m not eager to engage in a death struggle over botanical differences. However, people have died for lesser causes.

Trump.

Darkness descends. Evil abounds. Feet itch. Is there no one who can save us? Okay, there’s Hillary. I have confidence in her ability to topple the tyrannical Trumpenstein “turd tornado” (tip of the cap to Ben Shapiro for helping fulfill my alliteration quota for the month). But I cannot shake the creeping doom. It skulks the hallways of my mind. I hear the thundering hoof beats of the Apocalypse fast approaching.  I see other horrifying apparitions that defy description. Lots of wriggling tentacles, gnarly horns shiny with the blood of the innocent, severed nipples—a bowl of them, sitting out like Halloween candy as demonic children (well, children) paw through them seeking the tastiest morsel of nipple flesh. Michael Phelps’s perfect swimmer-nipples figure into the picture, adding a certain glistering, chilling symmetry to an otherwise asymmetric tableau involving hell spawn hungry for nipples, and even more macabre, Halloween was EIGHT DAYS ago.

November 8th promises to be the premiere of a new mediocre, bound-to-disappoint horror flop from M. Night Shyamalan, THE TRUMPENING. Okay, that scared the shit of me. You see, a word I’m 99.9% sure I just made up was ALREADY IN MY GODDAMN SPELLCHECKER. Relax, damn it. There is a logical explanation. Right. Spellcheck for all capital letters, by default, is turned off, and I tend to eschew tinkering with default settings unless they really piss me off, which is harder than it seems. But ’tis the season for rampant, unchecked, unabated, relentless paranoia, and what concerns me most is that the second my new novella arrives on the scene in the fall, there won’t be anybody to buy it. Apocalyptic settings dampen book sales almost as much as the very concept of a book does. Past authors and critics have predicted the end of the novel as an art form, and they were wrong, but their inaccuracy was a matter of poor timing not poor judgment. It is dead, and we killed it, and I cannot envision a novella, even a competently written one with an occasional dash of brilliance, resurrecting the dust and bones of the theater of the imagination. We are adrift in the briny wastes of instant entertainment gratification, and never again shall we touch the shores of useless art made beautiful by intense admiration.

I only wax poetically against my own interests because I am congenitally unable to believe in karmic justice. Karmic injustices proliferate with the ease of ground ivy, and unlike a relatively innocuous plant they swallow everything in their path. Take the savagely unjust conviction of five boys (four African Americans and one Hispanic) railroaded in 1990 for raping, beating, and sodomizing a female jogger in Central Park. After languishing in prison for 6-13 years as sex offenders, exculpatory evidence exonerated The Five of any wrongdoing (a serial rapist serving life in prison confessed to the crime, which led to a round of DNA tests, and none of The Five’s DNA was extant at the crime scene). And who shelled out an estimated $85,000 for full page ads in all four major New York newspapers urging the reinstatement of the death penalty, citing the Central Park assault as just cause and inflaming prejudice against the defendants before the case had been tried?

Trump.

Karma is officially deader than Vaudeville, deader than Caesar, deader than analogies in the “deader than” form. For a “law and order” candidate, Trump has a penchant for viewing mob rule as a functional arm of the Constitution. Deferring to the wisdom of “2nd Amendment people” to prevent Hillary from appointing judges belongs to the white-lighting-fueled ruminations of Tennessee moonshiners vigilant and on the eye for “revenuers” and “guvment men” and cannot be tolerated as just a bit of harmless bluster on the campaign trail, even if the candidate in question is a bloviating armchair politician with the discipline of a baboon wildly masturbating between salvos of shit-flinging.

I could go on and on about the other five billion instances in which Trump comported himself with the aplomb of a one-legged, one-armed, one-eyed lemur performing open heart surgery with a broken whiskey bottle. But when for the love of Zod does it fucking come to a satisfactory conclusion?

November 8th.

I hope?

No, hope doesn’t factor into it. Or faith. Or other invisible forces of the universe. It all teeters on the electorate getting off its asses and voting for Hillary. Every stay at home vote is a vote for Trump. Every vote for Lexus-liberal, vaccine-doubter Jill Stein is a vote for Trump. Every disgruntled Millennial write-in vote for Bernie Sanders is a vote for Trump. But it’s possible every vote for Gary Johnson is a vote for Hillary. Libertarians exist in a kind of pseudo-Republican limbo populated with potheads who bawl for small guvment between bong hits. Trump’s xenophobic, bigoted rhetoric loses its shine once the pot haze clears a skosh and it dawns on them that their dealer, Raul, is a Cuban/Mexican cross-dresser with a lapsed green card, and their backup plan, Timmy the Titwillow, is a gay bartender at a nightclub six blocks from the Pulse massacre.

Never underestimate the influence of self-interest in the electorate. Or for that matter self-deceit.

For as long as Trump is in the race he has a chance of winning, however remote, and we could be living the last fruitful days before a literal madman takes control of the world’s largest nuclear arsenal. If things should take a turn for the worst on Election Day, our only chance for a temporary reprieve from utter annihilation is to pray that that twisted septuagenarian imbecile can come to some kind of arrangement with Ivanka to stick his thrombosis-savaged pecker insider her every Sunday on an onyx altar carved in the image of the Great Old Ones. But given the obviously degenerated state of his body, it’s doubtful even an overdose of boner pills could conjure anything remotely resembling an erection, perhaps a tiny bubble filled with pus and blood and shattered pieces of dick vein floating around in the mucosal soup.

But I kid our future overlord. All in good fun and jest. Lucky for me, the dark, dank confines of a North Dakota gulag are a rich source of inspiration. Besides, I could use a change of setting. A place where I can write the last and greatest Great American novel before the steepening decline of the written word smashes into history’s wall. And upon that wall there is inscribed but a single word:

TRUMP

For the record: damn, was I spot on to worry! And I nailed the culprits of this fucking nightmare, less the Russian collusion, Who could have seen that coming, besides

HILLARY?

Right?