#might have to ask my sticker guy if he can maybe print off the sheets for me and I’d obviously make the rest

[voidthewanderer]

I’m so close to finishing this art but my BATTERY IS AT 32% 😭😭😭

I guess it gives me time to look up some procreate tips and tricks for their text feature, but I legit just need to add the words and sign it and it’ll be done! I just hope what I need to do with the writing is actually a feature that already exists in the program and not gonna be some annoying process.

Also gotta hope that my printer doesn’t muck up the colors. I know it’s a lot more saturated than I probably should have done, but I really like how it looks.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

love letter, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook gets love letters shoved in his mailbox and under his apartment door all the damn time. You, too, get love letters shoved in your mailbox and under your door. All the time. It could be a sweet gesture, but this is the twenty-first century. Love letters aren't all they're cracked up to be. 

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; short graphic descriptions of sex acts; smut (fem reader, a very intense make-out session including some wild tongue and too much saliva, nipple play, a bit of m-receiving oral, cowgirl, handjob); non-idol!BTS – technically university, blond, softsub!Jungkook x working, softdom!reader; slightly desperate and needy JK

yes, yes, it’s MTV Unplugged ‘Telepathy’JK

--

"I'm so tired of people thinking they have a chance with me."

Was the exasperated declaration as you backed up into your apartment, only to turn around and witness Jeon Jungkook dumping a waterfall of colorful envelopes from his giant black backpack onto your hardwood floor. 

"At least remove your shoes before you start flaunting how hot you are," you replied dryly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes as he kicked off his large white sneakers. "Look at this shit! It's relentless! It's annoying! I just want to live my life!"

You vaguely recalled Jungkook being excited about his first love letter upon reaching university, and then the second, the third... and now you were staring at pile number five hundred on your doormat. "I don't know, put a sign on your door? 'Please stop, the answer is no?'"

Jungkook winced. "I can't do that. How many hearts am I going to break?"

"Uh, I dunno, you already broke half the campus by existing in general."

He bonked you on the head lightly with his denim jacket sleeve. "I have not. I've only slept with a couple people and that was supposed to be no strings attached."

You shrugged. "People can't understand that. Especially women."

He puffed his cheeks and stepped over the pile. You noticed the small stickers and nice handwriting on the colorful pastel paper. You almost felt bad, seeing all the effort put into them.

"At least they're cute. I only get torn notebook pages with scribbles."

"Stop lying. You get girls' letters too," Jungkook grumbled. "Can I borrow your computer? One of my professors assigned an online quiz and the internet at my place is down, again."

"You gotta move," you commented, kneeling down to collect the mess Jungkook made. You noticed Jungkook flit his eyes about before throwing up his hands and bending down to help you. 

"I'm trying to get out of the lease, but I have a couple more months left," he complained childishly.

"What about your other friends? Can't you go bother them?"

Jungkook frowned, sticking out his lower lip. The tiny mole underneath winked at you. "You hate me now or something?"

You laughed, standing up with a stacked pile of confessions to Jeon Jungkook. "No, I'm just curious as to why you always come here."

He shoved the rest in your arms, his pile slightly messier than yours. "You live the closest and you're usually home. Plus, you have two computers."

"A laptop and a desktop," you corrected. "Don't you have a laptop?"

"It's easier to borrow yours."

"Lazy."

Jungkook ignored your remark and ticked his silvery-blond head further into the apartment. "Can I borrow it or not?"

You laughed. "Of course. Laptop's on the bed."

He turned and followed the hallway to your bedroom. "Same password?" he yelled, not looking back.

"Obviously."

"Why is it my birth date?" he shouted.

"Because, one, no one will guess it, and, two, you're a dumbass and always forget it."

"I do not!"

"How many times did you ask when the password was Klingon?"

"I don't know your nerdy shit!"

"Do your fucking assignment," you belted down the hall. 

Jungkook stuck his head out of your bedroom door and scrunched his nose to make a hideous face at you, holding your gunmetal-colored laptop. You rolled your eyes as he disappeared again. This crackhead. You let out a sigh, walking past the acrylic painting of a blue sky with pink-purple clouds hanging in your living room, flicking through at all the letters addressed to Jungkook.

Surprisingly, you knew what he felt like. With you, it started with inviting one guy over to your place, sucking his dick, and then suddenly a letter appeared. Well, letter was putting it nicely. Dirty napkin with words scrawled with smeared ballpoint pen shoved under your door, explicitly asking for more. Then another, wanting it. Then another, begging for it. You ignored them. At some point, you invited a girl over, ate her out, and then the colorful envelopes started appearing, with cute stickers and neat handwriting.

Mmmhmm.

Why did Jungkook bring them here anyway? To brag? For you to peruse? You spread them out them on your coffee table and tore one open. Read it. Simple confession of love, no name. You were kind of jealous. Jungkook always got nicer ones than you did. Something about being a sexually uninhibited woman seemed to translate to others that you were down to fuck anyone, anytime, anything. You tossed the letter aside, ripped open a folded card closed with lilac tape. Another, 'I love you, please go out with me', no name. Toss. And you opened another one, reading out loud. 

"I want to cram all one hundred and seventy-nine centimeters of you into me?”

Uh.

Huh.

Still no name.

Cute peach stationery though. 

Was it a euphemism? Symbolic? Thinly veiled code? Hm. In any case, this was more along the lines of shamelessness you encountered yourself. 

By all conventions, Jeon Jungkook was attractive as fuck. Pretty pink lips, big brown eyes, manly sharp jawline. He kept his hair on the longer side, around ear length, now silvery-blond compared to the usual black. You heard he dyed it a couple times, but now it had since faded to the original blond.

Oh, yeah, also he had nice hands and a body to die for. 

You could see why Jungkook got all these love letters. You? Well, similar reasons, except less muscles. Also, yours weren't really love letters. More like vulgar remarks on the backs of grubby receipts. 

Probably just as heartfelt.

The only reason you knew of Jungkook was because you were friends with one of his close friends. Alright, maybe you sucked his friend's dick. More than once. But anyway, not the point. The point was that the topic of love letters came up one night when everyone was hanging out and you voiced your predicament. It was the summer before Jungkook entered university. He had burst out laughing, thinking it was a hilarious situation.

"Haha, that would never happen to me!"

Jokes on you, Jungkook, karma's a bitch. 

You thought about moving, but the location was close to your work and the internet service was great here. At least you always recycled the paper. What were you supposed to do? Keep an album of Starbucks napkins of people asking if your tongue was good or not?

You opened another envelope addressed to 'sweet, adorable Jungkookie'.

Their words, not yours. 

"Shove your dick down my throat and make me gag? Smiley face?"

Well, that's a contrast. 

Jungkook didn't start contacting you on his own until the letters started coming and then they didn’t stop coming, flooding his mailbox and underneath his door, overwhelming and confusing him. He didn't think he would get much attention, although perhaps it might be your fault, since you seemed to have set the precedence for this type of thing at this particular university. There was at least one person in every year that got this treatment, and it all started with one dirty napkin with smeared ink. Rumor caught on and then bam! It became a thing. 

So, yeah. 

Maybe kind of your fault.

You shouldn't have told so many people about that napkin. 

You fished out a pizza receipt from the pile, inspecting it. You couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Then you noticed it had Jungkook's phone number and an order of three pizzas. Not a confession, just trash from Jungkook's backpack. Did he really eat three pizzas? Hopefully not by himself and in one sitting. You noticed the timestamp. Mmm, three in the morning. Okay. Maybe he did eat three pizzas by himself in one sitting. 

You filed through the rest, removing trash from the recyclable paper. Paused when you found a scrap of paper that said, "Put your dick in my ass." You recognized this curvy, narrow handwriting, slightly heavy-handed. Same person wrote you the same note this week. 

This was why you didn't take the messages too seriously.

You saw a particularly thick purple envelope and picked it up, tearing it open. It was several pages, with tiny, crammed handwriting on paper with cute bunnies on it. Several pages detailing straight up porn with Jungkook as the leading role. 

You almost burst out laughing. 

Who the fuck would write this?

And send it to him?

Not you, that's for fucking sure. 

Still, it wasn't the worst thing you've ever read. Had some spelling mistakes and poor grammar. Instant turn-off. Needed a good proofread. You settled onto your brown leather couch, highly entertained as you read it. Then you actually burst out laughing, because said person wanted Jungkook to lift them and fuck them at the same time and that kinda shit just wasn't possible. You would know, because you’ve tried. It sounded good, but in practice, the dick ended up falling out pretty quickly if the pussy was any sort of wet.

If you weren’t wet, then, eh, not sure why you're fucking. 

"What is so fucking funny?" Jungkook grumbled, poking his head around the corner, still holding your laptop. 

You held up the sheets of bunny-printed paper, still laughing. "Someone sent you their written erotica and you're the star!"

Jungkook grimaced. "Oh yeah, that person. They write something new every week. It's weird." He frowned. "I try to take it out so you don't have to read that shit. I must have missed it."

"It's hilarious," you chuckled. "You should publish them into a book."

"You know I can't do that," Jungkook sighed, putting your laptop on the coffee table and snatching the pages from you. "I throw them away like everything else."

"Did you finish your assignment?" you chortled, leaning over to look at the laptop screen. Submission successful. "80%?! When you could easily cheat?"

"I read a question wrong," Jungkook whined, balling up the paper and throwing it down. "Ack."

You looked up at him and he was looking upset at the pile on the table. 

"What's wrong?"

"What if one of them is real?" 

"Huh?"

"I mean... I just throw them away now. But what if one of them is real?" Jungkook wondered out loud. 

You shrugged. "Does it matter? They'll tell you in person if it's that important."

Jungkook tilted his head at you doubtfully. "Will they?"

You sat back into your couch, with your legs wide open. You were wearing sleek black leggings and a cropped pink sweatshirt. Not the most ladylike pose, but you didn't really care. You gestured to the stack of letters on your wooden coffee table. 

"They should. If they actually like you and it's not a joke, then they should tell you in person and accept that they might be rejected."

Jungkook frowned and slumped down next to you. His light-wash denim jacket made a loud floof as his ass hit the brown leather cushions. The wash of his jeans matched his jacket. He wore a white graphic t-shirt under. It looked vintage, but it probably wasn’t. 

"What if they're nervous?" he questioned, twisting his pink lips around.

"So what? Everyone's nervous. We all live in a perpetual state of terror."

Jungkook rolled his eyes. 

You leaned forward and plucked a sky-blue memo note from the table, reading it out loud. "I love you. Marry me." You held it out to him. "See? You get nice ones. I get, ‘choke me like you hate me’ and 'shove your tongue into my asshole, please'. Rarely do I get is that please at the end," you finished with a dry laugh. You looked up to see Jungkook staring back at you. Your laugh died a little seeing his serious expression. 

"Yes."

You blinked at him. "What?"

Jungkook ticked his chin to the note, then shifted his eyes to you.

You pointed to the memo sheet and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't write this."

"I did."

He was so serious that you couldn't laugh. You just blinked at him rapidly and turned your head to look at the sky-blue memo sheet, finally recognizing the clean, block-like handwriting and spotting the bottom right corner. English letters. A J and a K fused together, the way Jungkook usually signed his paintings.

You dropped the note like it was on fire.

Jerked your head up, not to him, but to the painting across from you in the living room, the one with the blue sky and pink-purple clouds, with a tiny JK signature in black at the bottom right corner. The painting you asked Jungkook to make you a while back. 

"You paint, right? I want something calm for my living room. I bought a canvas, so about this size. It's that cool?"

Jungkook had squinted his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I could draw a pretty big dick on it."

"This is for my living room, dumbass. And I said I wanted something calm."

"A flaccid dick then."

You turned your head back to Jungkook of now, who was wringing his hands on his thighs, wiping off his palms. He noticed you watching him and puffed one cheek before letting out a big sigh. 

"I was... gonna leave it on your laptop," Jungkook mumbled, flapping a hand to the sky-blue note. "But I couldn't find it in my backpack, and then I realized one of the pockets was open, the one where I keep receipts... anyway I had put the note there, so I came out to see if it was in the pile... yup, there it is."

He sucked in his cheek and fell back against the leather sofa.

"Was a joke."

Jungkook's voice sounded hollow. Empty. 

"... Ah." You tucked the tip of your tongue in your cheek.

"Not the greatest joke," he added flatly.

“No, it’s not,” you agreed. "Jokes that are insincere are bad jokes."

The black words glared back up at you, contrasting the pale azure paper. You picked up the memo sheet again. Turned to face him, holding it up next to Jungkook's head of silvery-blond hair. He pursed his lips and looked away from you, jaw clenched in nervousness. 

"Just say it."

He puffed one cheek again. "It was a joke."

"Then why are you saying it in past tense?"

His brown orbs shifted from side to side before Jungkook tried to bolt out of his seat, only for you to slam a hand down on his shoulder and throw a leg over him, straddling his lap before pinning the note to his chest. He yelped sharply and looked up at you with huge, shaking irises. 

In all your time knowing him, you never tried to sleep with Jungkook.

Never. 

You jabbed the note into his white shirt and he gave you a terrified squeak in response. 

You scrutinized his face, jaw slack, eyes wide, blond curls framing his chiseled cheekbones. One of your eyebrows raised, your voice calm and unfazed.

"Say it."

"You say it," Jungkook finally shot back, furrowing his brows, biting on his lip and mustering up the most indignant look he could produce at this very second. You didn’t react. He seemed to have forgotten you did, in fact, say it, although perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he meant.

You never tried to fuck Jungkook because he didn’t treat you as anything more than his primary source of internet when his own was down. Ah, and also his outlet for complaining about his love letter problem. And then there was that other little wrinkle, the unwritten societal rule one of sucking a guy's dick you're still friends with - don't suck his friends' dicks. Surefire way to fuck up a friendship, especially if the dude’s ego was fragile.

Jungkook’s friend was dating someone else now though. His ego couldn’t be that fragile.

You leaned forward and Jungkook's annoyed gaze faltered. He gulped and tried to shrink into your brown leather couch, as if he could somehow disappear under you.

"I love you," you stated clearly and firmly. You glanced at the slightly crumpled piece of blue paper before your eyes flickered back to his face. "Marry me."

Hah, the thing about rules with you was...

Fuck 'em.

Not actually. 

Eh, not the point.

"Really?" Jungkook squeaked, voice cracking slightly.

Ah, right, the other reason you never tried to sex up Jungkook because he was a little bit of an idiot around you. But maybe this sky-blue note detailed the reason for it. 

"Say it," you repeated crossly, poking him in the pecs. "Stop avoiding it."

You observed Jungkook swallow hard again, Adam’s apple bobbing. You furrowed your brows, tipping your head down so that your forehead was hovering over his, eyebrow cocked, gazing into trembling brown orbs. Why was he taking so long? He wrote the damn words. Were they really just a joke? Hmph, why were you even trying then?

That’s how everyone was.

Not putting any stock or thought into their fucking words.

You lifted your finger but Jungkook’s right hand, the one with tiny tattoos, suddenly darted in your view, grabbing your hand back and jamming your finger onto his chest again. His heartbeat raced under your fingertip, thud-thud-thud, rapid bass accenting the moment. Electrifying it.

“Don’t.”

Whisper so faint you frowned and closed even more distance between you two, picking up the scent of vanilla fabric softener and lush cotton. A little different than you, who used a blackberry and spiced vanilla perfume.

“I like this,” Jungkook breathed under you, chewing his lip anxiously. You could feel his warm breath tickling your lips and chin with how close you were. You could count his individual eyebrow hairs, even though the eyebrow product he used.

“I… really like this.”

He let go of your hand.

Now you raised both eyebrows.

You slowly uncurled your middle finger, landing it on his chest next to the index. You felt him shiver a little, lips parting. Straightened your ring finger, planting it down. His lashes lowered a little, brown orbs on your face, watching your reaction to him. You could count the moles on his face. The one on his nose. The one on his cheek. The one under his lower lip. The one on his neck. Your pinky slid onto his chest. A wispy moan left his lips, eyelids fluttering, blond strands floating around his head with the little rise and fall of his heavy, tense exhale.

Why is it your birth date?

Take a wild guess, dumbass.

Your fingers abruptly dug into his white t-shirt, crumpling the note and scrunching the graphic up in your fist. He inhaled sharply, head tipping back and lips nearing yours, a whine escaping his throat. You quirked an eyebrow, drawing back slightly, taking in the rich depth of his tan skin, the sensual line of his neck, up to his angular chin and his dangling silver earrings. All of it. His hands immediately came up to grab your wrist and forearm, ensuring you and himself that you wouldn’t let go, the tendons in your flexed wrist right against his large palm.

“Say it, Jungkook,” you demanded. “Say those words with your pretty pink tongue hanging out your mouth for me.”

You watched him obey immediately, tongue sliding out and touching his lower lip, brown eyes framed by his long lashes and hazy with lust.

“I love you,” Jungkook breathed, a little gargled with his tongue out. “Fucking marry me, please.”

Ah, you couldn't help it. 

You smirked.

"What about all your admirers?" you murmured, twisting your fingers in his shirt, digging your nails into his chest. "You'll break all those poor hearts you’re worried about."

Those dark brown eyes told you they didn't give a single fuck. 

"What about you?" he countered, closing his mouth a little to speak more clearly.

"Me?"

The definition of trouble?

Well, if you looked that up in a dictionary, there would definitely be a picture of you. 

Jungkook’s lips parted once more, keen to submit to your wickedness, pink tongue slipping out again, shiny and glistening with saliva. Breathing shallowly, rubbing your wrist with his thumb, encouraging you to keep going. 

Your lips curved into a treacherous smile.

"I'll break all the hearts to get to yours, Jungkook."

And then you licked his tongue. 

A low moan bubbled from Jungkook's chest, his eyes rolling back and his hips bucking up, desperate for friction as the tip of your wet muscle glided over his warm softness, your spit dripping down his throat, listening to his moans turn into messy garbles of your name, begging you, pleading you, more, more, kiss me, please, and you hooked your tongue around his, gently nudging his jaw with your other hand. Knuckle to chin, tilting your head as your lips closed onto Jungkook's. 

It was not a neat kiss.

There was spit running down his chin, dripping onto his neck and your skin, your lips roughly working his, tongues intertwined and making even more of a mess, you sucking forcefully to earn pained, delicious whines. Jungkook was far too turned on to attempt to glamorize it, cries a jumbled mess under your greedy mouth, but none of that mattered. The moment was sensual and dark, bodies speaking to each other through dopamine and adrenaline. Your hand released his shirt, breaking his grip, switching to burrowing your fingers into his soft blond hair and running your nails over his scalp, leaving lines of prickling pain to enhance your kiss. 

"F-Fuck, oh fuck, yes..."

Your teeth caught his tongue, pulling back and forcing his head to follow. Jungkook made a pained noise, trapped in your embrace, whining as you took him to the brink. You released him swiftly and he snapped backward, blinking hard, trying to reorient himself, but it was impossible, your lips crashing down again, thrusting your tongue into his mouth aggressively, one eye open to witness his fucked-out state, pupils unfocused, long lashes quivering, moaning into your mouth and you inhaling it all, literally taking his breath away. 

It started out with a kiss. 

How did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss. 

It was only a kiss. 

You dropped your lower half onto his crotch and Jungkook gasped, breaking the kiss, strings of spit breaking between you two. You smirked wickedly as you felt his hardness trying to escape its clothing jail, his large hands already on your thighs and hips, sinking his fingers into the soft fabric of your leggings, rocking you into him, desperately trying to get some stimulation.

"Please," he croaked, panting for breath, pulling himself up to sitting position, so easy and smooth, fuck, so sexy, and now Jungkook was in your face, pleas on the tip of his tongue pouring out, tempting you, wanting it. 

"Please, wanna be yours so fucking bad, seeing all those fucking letters and notes you get, and it pisses me off, it's me, I want it to be me, I want to be yours and I'm telling you to your face." 

Whisper achingly hot, deep voice soaked with longing, staring into your eyes with those shaking brown orbs, spinning with emotion like an unstable top, barely enough torque holding it in place and all it took was another spin to encourage it or a gust of rejection to topple it over. 

"And you don't even care about mine, you think they're fucking funny, fuck, I can't stand it, let it be me, please..."

His hands running up your sides, grazing against your breasts, and now his hands were in your hair and yours were in his, bringing your face close, the crumpled sky-blue note right between your joined crotches, forgotten, witnessing the agonizing lust wound tightly in this embrace. 

"Let it be me," Jungkook begged.

You licked your lips slowly, scarcely swiping against his. He shuddered, leaning into it, taking whatever crumbs you gave. His long fingers tensed in your hair, yours buried in the dark roots of his. 

"You'll have to skip the marriage bit for now," you teased lightly. "I don't think my parents will appreciate you slapping down papers before you finish school."

Jungkook snickered, tucking his tongue in his cheek roguishly. "Can't they understand I have to snatch this ass as soon as possible to make people back off?"

Your hands slipped down to his jaw, fitting it in your palms, his silvery-blond stands wrapped around your fingertips. "They'll back off my door once they hear you screaming my name." 

You leaned in, but Jungkook stopped you, brown orbs glittering with mischief to get in one more quip. 

"I doubt it," he purred. 

Yeah. 

Jungkook was right. 

Ah, well. 

You seized his face and kissed him again, fuck, such malleable lips just pleading to be bitten by you, gazing up his nose and to his beautiful eyes, his soft skin in your hands, clenching his jaw under your power, letting you have it, letting you control it and him. You felt him scramble and throw his denim jacket off, dumping it onto your couch to cup your cheeks with his hands, sighing in satisfaction as you inhaled him. Your tongue lazily traced the outskirts of his lips, hearing the rattle of his beaded bracelets by your ears, amused, knowing they were his good luck charms. 

"They bring good luck," he had answered when you saw them for the first time.

You remembered tilting your head at the wooden beads on his slim wrists. "You trying to get your dick sucked or something?"

He had broken out in a loud guffaw. Nudged you with his elbow, cheeky smile on his lips. 

"Never gonna say no to getting my dick sucked."

"Mhm, cool, where's my painting of the flaccid dick?"

From then on, you noticed he wore the same wooden, beaded bracelets every time he came to your apartment.

Hmm. 

Now, your hands falling from his face, yanking his shirt from his pants, annoyed it was getting caught, and then Jungkook fitted his hands around your ass and lifted you easily, breaking the kiss, a moment for you to bear witness to his arms flexing – holy fuck, that’s sexy – right one covered in tattoos. Images and script, with one catching your eye, a string of words running up the inside of his upper arm. One you recognized because you had those words written on your bedroom wall, on a canvas hanging above your bed. A canvas you made, background a chaotic mess of varying dark red brushstrokes, the black script in the center, written by your hand. 

The exact black script with your flourishes and ticks, now tattooed on the inside of his right arm. 

Your eyes drifted to Jungkook's face and his naughty smirk, pleased to be found out. Your lips formed the sentence slowly, in awe of his audacity.

"The devil knows my name."

the devil knows my name. 

Hung above your bed, where all manner of marvelous sinful acts were performed. 

Jungkook grinned deviously. "I saw it. I wanted it on me."

Wanted it on him. 

Oh, fuck. 

Did he know? Could he guess?

"Who's the devil?" you whispered, smile widening, matching his. 

Jungkook reached down, yanking his t-shirt out of his jeans and pulling it up and over his head, revealing the body he sculpted himself, tan skin taut over hard muscle, toned and...

"You're the devil, of course," he snickered. 

Yours. 

"Ding dong daeng," you sing-songed.

How many people have been on your bed, head pulled back by your hand, blinking hard, trying to read the words on your wall through waves of forced ecstasy? Gasping them out, ending with a question, inquiring for an answer.

The devil knows my name?

And you, leaning forward, haunting whisper in their ears, yes, she does, before pushing their face down into the sheets.

"All those love letters not good enough for you, Jungkook?" you breathed, running your hands over his bare chest, spreading your fingers, letting your exhale out through your teeth. His eyes on you, torso trembling, hairs raising, feeling your nails dance up, up, raking over his collarbones and neck, leaving little pink lines of intensity.

"They're not you," he whispered. His hands brushing over yours, outlining your fingers, eyes darkening as you pushed him back into your sofa, lowering your head. "You, the one they talk about..." Your lips on his hot skin, kissing softly, tongue so slight that it made him whimper. "You, the one they look for..." His voice, deep and rumbling, vibrating your lips, pitching as you bit and sucked, leaving small hickeys. "You, the one whose bed I sit on, wondering who else has been there, wondering why it's not me, when I make myself available to you, so easy to prey on, but you let me be..." Your lips closing around his dark brown nipple, scraping your teeth against it, making him squirm and look down at you, you and your self-satisfied, ravenous smirk. 

"I let you read them," Jungkook whimpered, blond strands curled around his cheeks, chest shuddering at your nail flicking his other nipple while your mouth worked the other. "Let you see everything they want to do to me and you still didn't know."

You chuckled darkly. "What's there to know?" you mused, sticking your tongue out and pressing it against the now hard pink-tinged nub, receiving small whines of pleasure as your reward. "It's obvious what you wanted. I was right in front of you. All you had to do was say something."

Jungkook frowned as you sat up, tongue in cheek, half-grinning.

"Look at you."

You crossed your arms and pulled your pink cropped sweatshirt up and over your head, dropping it to the floor. Casually running a hand through the top of your hair to pull it away from your face, gazing down at shirtless Jungkook covered in your red bites, cocking your head with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow, eyes roaming over your figure and the curve of your breasts molded to smooth black satin. 

"You look like you eat hearts for breakfast," he murmured, admiration in his tone.

The side of your lips quirked further upwards.

"And yet you wanna love me."

Jungkook grinned. "I don't want to. I already do."

And then he was the one to pull you to him, kissing you hungrily, you immediately turning it into your favor, your pace, his tongue commanded by yours as he unhooked your bra, moaning into your mouth, rubbing your exposed nipples with his palms, unable to do much as you pushed him into the couch again, guiding his tongue down with your teeth and running the tip of yours over his wet muscle once more, trickling saliva into his throat and onto his chin and neck, messy and lewd. 

"The devil knows your name," you sighed into his mouth, feeling him knead your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hard nipples, tendrils of pleasure making your skin tingle. "And now the devil takes what she wants."

You saw the sides of his lips curve upwards as you backed up to strip the rest of your clothes, amused at Jungkook eagerly following suit and unbuttoning his jeans.

"Can't wait to flaunt how hot you are?" you laughed, reaching down to the shelf under the side table where a ceramic R2-D2 cookie jar sat.

"Do you think I'm hot?" Jungkook haughtily accused before gawking at your waist to ass ratio, his hands slowing, pants stopped to his knees in his distraction.

You gently took off the head of R2-D2 and plucked a condom from it. Some guy told you once that you couldn't like Star Trek and Star Wars at the same time and you told him to shut the fuck up as you slapped his nuts. He begged you to do it again. You fondly patted R2-D2's head after you fitted it back.

You straightened to see Jungkook on your couch with his hard dick on display.

You looked him dead in the eye. "You think I'd let you borrow my laptop if I thought you were ugly?"

Jungkook broke out of his trance and shrugged, finally yanking his calves – holy shit, his calves and thighs were muscular as fuck – out of his jeans, underwear and socks gone with them.

"Maybe you pitied my grades."

"I'd just pay for you to go to the library and fuck off, dumbass," you muttered, pushing his hands aside and ripping the condom open, drinking in the delicious sight of his throbbing red cock dripping pre-cum, his balls just waiting for – fuck it, you got down on your knees and wrapped your tongue around his length, Jungkook sputtering and gasping at your suddenness. Fuck, he smelled and tasted fucking good, clean and velvety to your lips enclosing around the head and sliding down, using one hand to scoop up his balls. Made eye contact with him again.

Jungkook breathed your name hesitantly.

Your tongue slid out of your lips and you jammed his cock all the way down your throat, slathering his balls wetly with your whisking tongue, circling around one and then the other, long expansive strokes that went past the girth of his cock, your pink tongue visible to him. Jungkook's pupils blew wide with shock, moans catching in his throat, whole body shivering, trying desperately not to look away even through you could tell he wanted to throw himself into your sofa and fucking lose it.

"Oooooooh, fuck, that's amazing.... Holy shit, your tongue is everything...."

You chuckled and pulled your head back, satisfied with his reaction. He seemed slightly disappointed until you rolled down the condom, cracking your neck.

"I think I've given enough." You stood up, getting back on top of him and his glorious thighs. "Time for you to be taken."

Jungkook smirked.

You smirked wider and more wickedly.

The sky-blue memo was crumpled into a ball, fallen to your hardwood floor.

Held him with two fingers, ugh, the weight of his cock, fuck yes, and those beautiful dark chocolate eyes, Jungkook, you dumbass, cursing that he didn't tell you sooner so that you could watch him groan and throw his head back like he was right now, gasping at your tightness, your name torn from his throat as you took in every centimeter of him, every pulsing vein and contour of his wonderful cock, stupid Jungkook and his attractive self not using his damn words so you could ride him like you were right now, setting up a fast, bruising pace. Your fingers dug into the back of the couch as you bucked your hips into his violently, keeping yourself tight because you were so fucking wet, fuck, so wet for Jeon Jungkook and his idiotic self, asking for internet to do his school assignments and not asking for his dick to be used as your fucking joystick. 

Dumbass.

"Oh fuck," Jungkook gasped. "Oh, fuck, you're so wet and tight, shit, shit, shit..."

"Tell me something I haven't heard before," you chuckled, only half-meaning it, waving your entire body to deliver a particularly hard smack to his crotch, Jungkook whimpering under you, his hands flying to your upper arms and clutching them, trying to hold on to your wildness.

"Holy fuck, you have some hard biceps," he blurted out, startled at the prominent muscle.

Well, you haven't heard that one before.

"Guess that's what happens when you jack off a lot of dick," you mused nonchalantly.

You ticked your head to Jungkook's arms – delicious – and he frowned at you, opening his mouth to protest and you cut him off by shoving two fingers into his lips, pressing them down into the wet warmth, grinning maniacally as you watched him struggle with your fingers rubbing his tongue and his cock getting assaulted by you aggressively slamming your hips down and clamping around his stiffness, tighter, faster, whines of your name in his throat, head falling back onto the couch with a flump. You were careful not to push your fingers too far. 

Getting vomited on wasn't really on your sexual activities bingo card.

Jungkook was, however, drooling down his chin and neck, and you pulled back to grab his shoulder with your wet hand – oh, fuck, his shoulder, what a lovely shape – and Jungkook wheezed for breath, you ignoring it as you focused all your energy on fucking the life out of him, dirty squelches and smacks of hips on hips, staring down at his abs and v-line, all his hard work at the gym on display, his hands still on your upper arms as he raised his hips to meet yours, needily moaning for you to destroy him with your pace.

Damn, maybe you would have sent him a love letter if you had seen him naked at least once.

"A-Ask me to cum for you," Jungkook finally got out, voice hoarse from breathing so hard for so long.

"You're going to anyway," you taunted.

"Want you to ask," he whined, almost pouting. "Tell me to do it."

You gazed into his eyes, into those brown irises overtaken by black pupils, him a top spinning by your hand, your plaything commanded by your body, pussy clenching around his twitching cock, spurred on from his pleading tone, giving him a devious and wicked grin, speaking to his swollen lips, the devil knows your name, Jungkook, and him moaning back, fuck yes she does, so close, so fucking close, unashamedly barreling towards your release, power in your veins and under you, his muscles rippling as he fucked you back, amplifying every thrust.

"Jungkook."

"Y-Yes?"

"Say it."

Brown eyes locked with yours.

"I love you. Marry me."

You smirked.

"Cum for me."

A half-second and then you let go, letting the feeling rush in and envelop you, the moment held back to torture him, and now you felt it all, already at the tipping point, strained moan as your orgasm crashed into you, shudders all over and falling, sitting all the way down in his lap to experience the throbbing ache of your core giving out and spilling onto his cock and balls in rapid bursts, viscous and sweet. The scent of sex mixing with blackberry and spiced vanilla, his length jerking inside you, and only then did you hear Jungkook crying out your name over and over, the roar in your ears fading out to his shivering moans, hands sliding up and down your arms, eyes closing and lost in the pleasure of your pussy squeezing out his cum. His touch travelling down to your waist, pulling you to him.

Messy, soft kisses, your name and curses mixed together.

"It's me, right?"

You smiled into his mouth that was still asking questions.

"Please let it be me. You'll let me love you for real, right?"

Pushing your hair back, his sweaty blond locks sticking to your face.

"Because I already do, can't stop, won't stop–"

"Yeah, Jungkook, funnily enough I figured that from the first kiss already," you chuckled, running your fingers through his ash blond hair and pulling his head back lightly, seeing him pout, the mole underneath his lower lip peeking out.

"But..."

"Hm?"

His voice suddenly small, vulnerable, his semi-hard dick still inside you.

"Do you love me?"

You lifted a brow. "What kind of dumbass question is that?" You grabbed his arm and pressed your nail into his tattoo of your words, drawing a pink scratch under them, making him gasp. "How can I not love you? Fuck, that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, my handwriting tattooed onto you. Yes, I love you, Jungkook."

Jungkook's jaw dropped.

This fool is still shocked after all this?

You reached down and held the condom down as you lifted yourself off, yanking him to his feet, pushing Jungkook to your coffee table, right in front of the pile of letters with his name all over them. You picked up your laptop and pushed it onto his chest, forcing him to hold it, him still confused, mildly stunned, not knowing what the fuck was happening.

Then you made him half-straddle your coffee table and yanked off the condom.

"Um–"

Grabbed his cock and started furiously jacking him off.

"Oh, f-fuck!"'

And then he realized what you were doing, the sheer wrongness of it, getting harder and harder with every second, throbbing in your hand.

"You're just like them," you chuckled through exerted breath.

Faster, rougher, tighter, Jungkook clutching your laptop, his larger frame leaning against yours, head thrown back so far that his blond hair was brushing your shoulder, moaning lustfully as he thrusted his hips into your grip. White pooled onto the purple-red tip of his abused cock, far too sensitive to be jacked off this hard right after orgasm, but Jungkook begged you not to stop, streams of residual cum running down your slicked fingers.

"Always looking for your fix from the addiction that's me," you whispered into his ear, laced with an authoritative growl. 

You saw Jungkook's head lower out of your periphery, eyes opening, staring at the colorful envelopes with his name printed on them, the cute stickers and neat handwriting, panting your name, tendons and veins standing out on his neck, sweat beading on his tan skin. 

A low, dangerous chuckle rising in his throat. 

"There's a difference between them and me."

You felt his cock twitch in your hand, ridiculously hard at what you two were about to do. 

"They're not going to get their fix."

Jungkook shuddered against you, jerking his hips forward, thick white strings splattering all over the pastel paper as you watched, fascinated, the scent of his cum saturating the air and the envelopes, drops soaking and smearing the carefully written ink, time wasted and defiled. 

"I am," he moaned, twisting his body on your arms, leaning down to kiss you hungrily as you squeezed his cock, draining it all out, all over your coffee table and coating your hand, stained with Jeon Jungkook's love letter to you. 

--

masterpost

[cryoculus]

More love for Semi please? Anything will do, your writing is exquisite in any form anyway :D

» Word Count: 1,857 wordsCross-posted on AO3

SORRY THIS IS SO LATE :(( I actually wrote three chapters’ worth of content for him already and you can read the whole thing on the ao3 link.(NOTE: This is based on the current events of the final arc of the Haikyuu manga. I tagged it as a spoiler but I won’t really go into the specifics of what’s going on. Semi is our main focus here ^__^)

—

“Please?”

“No,” was your flat reply.

Semi heaved a long sigh, mouth twitching into an irritated grimace. You returned his reaction with a sassy look of your own—one, finely penciled brow quirked as bright, red lips rivalled the adamance that Semi brought about. While you were in no position to tell him to just go back to his cubicle and get today’s work done (you, sadly, held the same position in office), you at least had the right to turn him down. Your department had a monthly financial report coming up. Why on Earth did he want your help writing a song?

“Come on,” he groaned. “You know I’d eat my fist first before asking for your help, but our manager really digs your old pieces from college.”

Your eye twitched.

“Way to beg for someone’s aid in a time of dire need,” you bit back sarcastically. “Go do it then.”

“What?”

“Eat your whole fist.” You gave him a pointed look, even making a show of paying attention by putting your pen down.

Your co-worker let out a frustrated groan, fingers carding through his messy, ashen hair. The gesture made the tattoos on his chest visible for a second, before disappearing again behind his barely done button-up. It was a mystery, how a man like him made it as a public servant—with his flamboyant piercings and tip-dyed hair—but you supposed you should learn to look past physical appearances. The agency allowed it, so why should you make a fuss?

Ah, right. Semi Eita was the most hot-headed man in your department, and he had a knack for picking fights with you.

“If you get the balance sheet done by five o'clock, I might reconsider,” you told him, not really meaning the words, as you directed your attention back at the paperwork on your desk. Balance sheets are the toughest to fill out, since the data needed had to be collated from different sectors of the city. You highly doubted that Semi, with his thinner-than-a-strand-of-hair patience, could finish it in one sitting.

“Deal.”

Your gaze hardened as you looked back up at him. “Come again?”

“Are you deaf?” he asked, folding lean arms across his chest. “I said it’s a deal.”

You couldn’t help the snort that made its way past your lips. Whatever his reasons may be, it was painfully obvious that he was desperate. But still. You knew that he wouldn’t be able to carry out the deed in your given deadline, but instead of talking him out of his own agreement, you merely shook your head in acceptance.

Semi eventually stalked off to his cubicle; the one just in front of yours. There was a divider that separated each employee’s workspace from the others, and it at least granted some semblance of privacy from outside gazes. You’ve been to Semi’s cubicle a couple of times—more to coordinate paperwork than engage in conversation, really—and he decorated his personal space exactly how a part-time rock band vocalist would. Though he didn’t exactly put up posters and painted the walls black, he added his own flair to his desk with guitar figurines, neon stickers on his desktop, and a photo of his bandmates enclosed in a sparkly picture frame.

The only reason you bothered looking so closely was the fact that you also went to the same university together (under the same degree, too!) You’ve always been keen around him, with his loud way of living, as opposed to you, who’s always chosen to live simply and without pretentiousness. Sure, the disparity between your lifestyles had caused you to be at each other’s throats since freshman year, but it was still a surprise that your synergy was top notch. You would, as Semi put it so delicately, eat your fist first before admitting to the fact, but it’s a given that you preferred to work with him instead of other, unfamiliar people.

You sighed, brandishing a bored look at the bleak document in front of you. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to help him out…

But when you recalled every time he’s talked over you during board meetings, sneered at you when he got a higher score during exams, and his distateful behavior in general, you steeled your resolve.

Either he’s going to get that balance sheet over with or he’ll keel over. If he wanted your help, he’s going to have to work for it.

—

You were in the middle of fixing your belongings when the sound of a stack of papers hitting your desk rang in your ears.

“There,” Semi said breathlessly, making you look up at him in surprise. He even tossed a flash drive on top of the papers he deposited, where you saw the city hall’s heading printed in full color. You reluctantly checked your phone for the time. 16:57, it said, in a mockingly bold typeface before shoving it in your pocket.

The damn guy really did get it done before five.

“The electronic document is saved in there, in case you lose the print.” He was panting at this point, and you had a vague idea as to why he looked like he just ran a marathon. The one printer in your department (this year’s budget was cut) broke down a few days ago, and the nearest functional one was at the Logistics office three floors down.

Still refusing to believe it, you peered at the documents he just brought in. You scanned each of the entries printed on each page. That’s when you realized that Sendai City’s expenses have skyrocketed since the new year because the list of expenses occupied a whole page alone. A worried sigh made its way past your lips, but at least the liabilities were cut down to a minimum. You heard that the governor of Miyagi was going to pledge a few hundred thousand yen for the city’s founding anniversary, too.

You paused. Blinking, you rearranged the papers neatly back into its pile—biting back the urge to clutch your wounded pride. Semi was looking at you expectantly, like he wanted you to praise his flawless bookkeeping.

In actuality, his determination was beginning to freak you out.

“Why do you want me to help you so badly?” you asked, voice almost trembling. “Seriously, dude. I thought we hated each other. Quit acting out of character.”

“I told you, our manager really liked the songs you composed back in senior year,” he drawled, tired of having to repeat himself.

Your face twisted in confusion. “Who even is this manager of yours?”

There was a half-second delay in his response, but before you could paint a reason for his hesitation, he immediately replied with, “Saito. Saito Makoto.”

You stiffened, gaze going rigid at the mention of that name. “Oh.”

“Yeah. If I manage to give him a piece by the end of the month, he’ll help us sign a contract with a big-shot record label,” Semi explained, oblivious to your discomfort.

“But haven’t you been writing songs since high school?” you wondered aloud. “That’s what you said during our Pol-Gov class ice breaker.”

He frowned. “You still remember that?”

Okay. You kept forgetting that your sharp memory wasn’t always a praiseworthy thing. You gulped, feeling the heat creep up your face. “Um, anyway, the point still stands. You’ve been writing songs for God-knows-how-long, and while I’m not one to dish out compliments especially to you, I’m pretty sure they’re okay if you managed to gather a decent fanbase.”

He rolled his eyes, leaning against the divider of your cubicle. “We’re a rock band. I write rock songs, but Saito wants me to write a goddamn love song.”

Typical Saito. Though he looked like a rugged high school delinquent, he was awfully sentimental when it came to music. He was the one who inspired you to write the songs Semi was pestering you about all day after all…

“Fine,” you relented. “I never go back on my word and since you did a…good job with this, I’ll help you out.”

His light brown eyes lit up for a moment, but Semi managed to mask his relief in a split second—containing his excitement in a single nod. “Are you free this Saturday? You can come by my place and we could start getting to work.”

Well, that was forward of him. You expected to work on the song in a coffee shop or something, but he went on ahead and invited you to his own humble abode anyway. You parsed through your weekend plans in your mind, and once you confirmed that you were free, you scribbled down your phone number on a sticky note. Almost five years of acquaintance and you’d never bothered giving it to him. Huh.

“Just text me the time and place,” you told him, pocketing the flash drive as you slipped the balance sheet in one of the empty folders in your organizer. “You better not pull anything funny and lead me to a secluded alley or something.”

Semi scoffed, folding the piece of paper and sticking it inside his trousers. “As if.”

You then slung your bag across your shoulders, grinning insincerely. “Glad we’re on the same page, then.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

With that, Semi exited your cubicle, leaving you no room to wonder why he didn’t even spare a quick ‘thank you’.

Just as you were smoothing out the creases on your pencil skirt, your phone began buzzing in the pocket of your blazer. Brows raised, you fished it out and unlocked it.

From: Makohey, wanna grab some dinner? its on me :3

Speak of the devil. You swallowed the lump in your throat, fingers shakily managing to type a coherent reply.

To: MakoYeah sure. Where to tho

From: Makocan we get some italian? ik u love the udon place across the street but akane’s having dinner w her friends there

From: Makocant have her seeing us together now do we

The way he put that so casually made your chest constrict with a too-familiar sensation. You heaved a deep breath, pursing your lips into a thin line as you sent a quick “Ok” text to end your conversation. Saito replied with those iffy heart-eyed emojis that he only ever used when he wanted something from you, and you had to compose yourself so you wouldn’t burst into tears right there.

“Oi.”

You almost jumped at the sound of Semi’s voice as he peered inside your cubicle once more. He clutched his suitcase in one hand, eyeing you curiously.

“What do you want?”

“You’re headed uptown, too, right?” he asked, and you nodded reluctantly. “Thought you’d want a lift.”

“Semi, just because I’m helping you achieve your dreams, doesn’t mean you have to be nice to me.” You laughed softly, tension easing from his uncalled for kindness.

He, however, looked unconvinced. “Do you want a ride or not?”

You raised your hands in defeat, managing a genuine smile. “Alright, fine. It’ll be a hellish commute anyway.”

You liked to think that that’s how you started becoming friends with your odd, hot-headed co-worker.

[strvwberryblcnde]

👫 lana & dom

send a 👫 and I’ll write four headcanons i have about our muses’ relationship.

lana buys lots of things on random whims n i feel like smthn she wld have bought the summer her n dom started properly seeing each other is a polaroid camera. probably one of those fujifilm mini ones in pink w stickers on of holographic mermaids n butterflies. n all her friends wld be subject to hving their photos taken on this at 447294734 parties but fr the most part like 50% of the film wld be spent on dom esp considering how often they’d see each other. i cn imagine her being annoying abt it e.g. bursting in unannounced when he ws showering n flinging the curtain bk n shrieking in delight as she tkes a pic of him in there. penis NOT in shot (lana ws very disappointed when she realised altho inevitably dom ws relieved). it ws probably rly blurry too from her springing out of nowhere n running away after she’d dazed him w the flash bt lana wld never dream of throwing it away she’s probably like ugh cole sprouse WISHES he ws me tht stupid i’m weird i’m a weirdo bitch i’m taking his photographer crown n i’m loving it..... another time if she ws wearing his tshirt or smthn jst to laze around in she wld have tried to convince dom to wear her cropped bowie t-shirt she usually lounges in she’d b like OUTFIT SWAP!!!! like it ws a reality show segment. she’d do his hair w her strawberry clips n everything n wna take a polaroid of tht as well. a majority of these polaroids wld b taken w her sat on top of him in bed peeping thru the viewfinder n grinning sickeningly wide after. she’s bad at organisation bt she wld keep very close track of these polaroids n treasure them a lot bc they’d document a summer where she was rly rly happy. probably took them with her to la too she jst has them hidden somewhere.... idk if she’d ever b able to bring herself to throw them away to b honest

i jst had this vision of lana n dom taking franklin to the park n i already told u abt how she’d tell franklin tht she gives the flowers all their own names n say he shld come up w his own names fr them too bc it’s more fun tht way bt. i cn imagine if they saw two bees trying to pollinate the same flower n like buzzing close to each other if franklin pointed it out lana wld gasp n be like OMG they’re in love. they’re married bees. u can tell frm how bright their stripes r they’re extra yellow n glowing like the sun tht’s what happens. tht means they’re in love franklin. n idk if franklin wld say this or not bt if he asked what loves like lana wld b like hmMMM well. love’s kind of like being first in the queue fr the best rollercoaster. or licking the sugar off ur fingers when they’re all sticky frm candy floss. going to the zoo n getting to see all ur favourite animals on a day tht’s sunny but not TOO hot. enough to give ur nose freckles bt not burn ur shoulders. make u feel toasty like ur inside a cocoon. n love’s like........ she’d pause here. she’s crouched dwn on his lvl as she says this mayb dom hs walked off to get them ice creams n she briefly lks at him in the distance as he’s paying before lking bk at franklin. scrunching her nose playfully as she tries to stall. when she hesitantly continues she’s like. n love’s like getting home after tht perfect day at the zoo n finally getting into bed w fresh sheets when ur sleepy n ur eyes r all droopy n heavy. the pillows r fluffy n it’s safe n warm n all of the gd in the world at once. i think love’s like tht. it’s jst.... nice n stuff. n she’d jst be like :) afterwards realising she’d rambled on n change the subject like hey lk at that BUTTERFLY franklin............. bt i jst think this is. particularly heartwarming to me bc not only wld she have been basing tht on hw she feels abt dom bt. in the past love ws always a thing w barbs tht hurt her whenever she tried to hold it n.... he jst rly transformed her idea of being loved by someone into smthn safe n reliable n consistent......... smthn she cld actually make a home out of instead of constantly hving an eye on the door in case they leave / she needs an escape route..... a relationship isn’t a scary concept w him

lana n dom r like. opposites when it comes to social media esp instagram...... dom jst nt even knowing hw to use it n lana posting so regularly hving a small following fr her fashion n whtever.......... i feel like lana wld try to teach him how to use it bt it wld consist of a lot of her being like no that’s--.... dom that’s--.... that’s not ri--.... n jst throwing her head bk n cackling so much she wld b rly endeared by him being clueless abt it she’d be like ommmmmmmmmg it’s ok i’ll b steve jobs n u can be my sexy assistant tht just has to strut besides me like a car dealership model whenever i go on stage to debut the nxt technological advancement. dom wld have to be like... isn’t he dead? lana wld gasp so suddenly n be like omfggggggggg tht explains why me calling this tech nerd wearing a turtleneck steve jobs lst week bombed so hard mayb he thought i ws telling him to die..... dom’s probably like... i doubt he thought tht lana..... she wld laugh at the thought of this anyway n change topics jst the worst attention span already over it. ALSO this is instagram related bt.... bev.kingston wld rly centralise her hate crusade onto dom when it became clear they were dating / things gt mre official n serious. mostly lana wld b like this is so funny n dumb bt.... i think she wld dm bev.kingston one time being like. ok all jokes aside can u cool it a little on the dom hate not to b gross bt he makes me rly happy n i dnt want him to b sad if he ever advances beyond a technological grandpa n sees all this stuff. bev.kingston wld literally screenshot this n post it on her insta like LANA AND I HAVE BEEN IN CLOSE CONTACT I HAVE DECIDED EVANS BOY IS ON TRIAL BASIS EVEN IF I HATE IN MY HEART AND KNOW FREYA IS ONE FOR HER  n she’d update her page like 21/08/2020 LANA DM’D ME ABOUT EVANS BOY (or whtever the date ws) n it’d be sm. lana wld b embarrassed she’d try to get her to delete it she’d b like fk my fking life ur sick bev ur lit rally sick.....

lana treats halloween as a week long celebration she goes to sm parties tht she literally hs to have like..... 482759872 costumes planned each yr. n fr one of them. she’d b like let’s go as each other :) n she’d dress as an angel n he’d dress as a devil. she’d put on red lipstick before they went purely to “help w his costume” n it’d jst consist of her leaving lipstick prints on his cheek n neck n hip even if. his hip wsnt visible w the top he ws wearing she’d b like dom listen.... listen. it’s literally part of the vision n it’s necessary......... it doesn’t matter if ppl can’t see it we’ll both kno it’s there n it’ll elevate the look so mch...... w that attention to detail u cld even b in the running fr winning a prize...... then she wld take the lipstick off like it wldnt even be part of her outfit she only put it on to do this specifically. she’d insist on them getting a photo tgether n it’d b a bit gross it’d b a whole thing she jst.... wld b very proud to b seen w him she’d show him off a lot.... if anyone complimented her outfit she’d b like ya n have u seen dom he’s a devil we match :) n if there ws another pair tht had worn the same which i mean there probably might it isn’t a hugely original concept bt lana wld be like......... ummmmm tht guy is the most pathetic devil i hv literally ever seen..... if she ws drunk she might even b like ummm.... hw does it feel fr dom to be a sexier devil than u............... does it sting? jealous i bet....... n dom wld have to b like lana please.... im sry abt her.... u lk gd haha...... cushioning the blow. taking her hand n leading her away. n lana is jst tittering n murmurs in his ear like. he knew it ws true u cld see it in his eyes. he knew u lkd better than him. 

[2-for-a-penny]

A Train and A Tumble pt.1

New multichapter Fic! ButtonsxTommy Boy moden au, they work in a train store warehouse! 

Masterlist Archive

ENJOY!!!

Buttons pulled open the backdoor to the warehouse and entered. He laid down his stuff and waved to everyone already at work at their stations. He clocked in as his manager, Finch, was walking over.

“Hey Buttons, how were classes today?”

Buttons looked up from the computer and smiled at the guy asking. “Same old same old, they talked I listened, I may or may not have learned stuff. The usual.”

Finch smiled at the sarcasm and handed him a stack of papers. “Once you clock in I need you to pick these orders, shits about to get crazy soon with the holidays coming up.”

Buttons took the papers and began to file through them as he walked away towards the shelves. “Got it.” He called over his shoulder. Finch nodded and went back to processing orders.

Buttons glided through the warehouse, his feet taking him where he needed to go without thinking. Buttons knew this place like the back of his hand. A small warehouse with sixty or so shelves, jam packed with model trains, rails, and tiny houses alike. The smell of cardboard filled the musty room. Buttons continued along his path, scanning the paper in his hands, and expertly dodging the boxes half hanging off of the shelves around him. When he found the shelf he was searching for, he glanced down at the paper, and picked up the box with the correct label. Double checking himself, like the perfectionist he is, he carried the train over to the next open cart with the order form.

“Are you sure that’s the right train?” Buttons heard a voice call from the side. He turned to see a redhead calling from her computer in the corner of the warehouse.

“Yes, I’m positive Katherine. That was the only Railking on that shelf.” He called back to her. He walked over to her work station, she was dressed in the average warehouse clothes; a t-shirt, shorts, tennis shoes, and her long red locks were in a loose bun atop of her head. She smiled teasingly at him while she continued printing out the shipping labels for the boxes sitting in front of her. There was an entire full cart waiting to be processed, this was unusual for Katherine as she was normally a very fast worker and liked to stay ahead of the packers.

“Forget about me, looks like you’re a little behind there Kathy, something wrong?” Buttons asked jokingly. Katherine sighed dramatically and flopped her head down onto her head on the desk.

“Everything is wrong my dear Buttons! When is life ever right?” She exclaimed loudly, causing Mike and Ike to look up from the boxes they were packing, and give her a shake of their heads as they resumed their tasks.

“Awe what’s wrong Kathy?” Buttons asked consolingly.

“There is a temptress, she haunts my dreams! Everytime I close my eyes, there she stands, beckoning me! I feel her gaze, and she draws me in. Those eyes, those lips, I shant look away!” Buttons let out a small laugh at her elizabethan monologue and lightly pat her on the back. Buttons thought she was ridiculous. Katherine had been in love with the girl from inventory since she walked by to get a cupcake from the breakroom about a month prior. Katherine since then, had refused to go back into the inventory section, for fear she might make a fool of herself falling of a stool or something. This left Buttons to do all of the work that occured in that section of the warehouse.

“It’s the girl from inventory isn’t it.”

“Yes! How dare she just walk around like that!” Katherine declared.

“Walk around like what?”

“All pretty, and sweet, and perfect and stuff. Ya know?” Katherine looked up at Buttons hopelessly. He took pity on her poor soul. She was just a tired lesbian trying to make her way through life. He could relate...sort of.

“Yeah Kathy, I know.” She just continued to look at Buttons with her puppy dog eyes and finally he huffed.

“How about I talk to Medda and Nunzio and see if I can find out anything about her?” Katherine’s eyes lit up as she hugged Buttons tightly around the waist.

“Thank you! Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Not nearly enough.” She released him from her death grip, and quickly got back to processing the boxes on the cart, at a much faster pace now. Buttons rolled his eyes and grabbed an empty supply box, and made his way back to inventory.

Walls of rolly carts filled with stacks and stacks of trains and tracks waiting to be put into the system surrounded Buttons. He fluidly walked through the dangerous rows, careful not to break anything, and arrived at the first desk located in the very back. An old man with glasses and a rather fantastic mustache sat at the computer, staring at the pile of small matchbox cars laying on the desk. He let out a thoughtful noise, then quickly rose and grabbed a small cardboard container, and swiftly fit all of the cars neatly inside. He grabbed the sticker with the item ID and placed it onto the box, then moved it onto the cart next to the desk.

Buttons cleared his throat and the old man turned his head.

“Buttons! Long time no see!” The man said cheerfully. Buttons smiled at his enthusiasm and offered the man the empty container in his hands.

“I worked full time three days last week. I didn’t see you.” The man accepted the box and carefully balanced it on the stack that was currently taller than Buttons.

“Oh, I was on vacation last week, that explains it.” The two stood in comfortable silence before the man spoke again.

“So what brings you back here?” Buttons shook his head and smiled, “Can’t a guy just want to see you Nunzio?” Nunzio had been nice to Buttons since day one. He was the one that checked on Buttons every night. Making sure David knew if Buttons was working later that night, and getting him secret snacks, and showing him around the warehouse. Nunzio was sort of like Buttons and Katherine’s work father. They both loved him, and his semi elderly ways.

“They can.” He answered back, “But I know you have a purpose. You don’t normally come back here until the end of the day.”

Buttons put his hands up and let out a small laugh. “You caught me. I had a few questions, and maybe a favor to ask.”

“Shoot.”

“Okay, so you know the girl in inventory?”

“The one with the long hair, and also the only one back here under 40?”

“Yeah her.”

“Go on.”

“Well, our dearest friend Katherine, has a little crush on said girl.” Buttons explained.

“Ahhhh, so she sent you back here to find out more information and such on her.”

“Precisely.” Buttons responds with a curt nod of his head.

“Well, I can tell you, she and Katherine are probably soulmates.” Buttons laughed at this strange proclamation.

“What makes you say that?”

“They are the same person; twins in a different life if you believe in that sort of thing. They have the same attitude, and spunk. I think they would be good for each other.” Buttons grinned.

“I’m sure Katherine will be glad to hear that.” Nunzio smiled and shooed him off.

“Now get going, we both have work to do.” Buttons waved as he walked off, back to his station. He grabbed more sheets, getting ready to go on the hunt when Finch walked up to his station.

“Hey Finch.” Finch smiled in response and looked down at the clipboard in front of him.

“Hi Buttons. So quick question. With the holiday season coming up, are you still okay to work nights? I know school is going to start getting a little tougher with finals and everything. But you’re still okay with your normal hours?”

“Absolutely, if I ever need a day off I will let you know.” Buttons replied happily. Finch wrote something on his clipboard and focused on the paper in front of him, scrutinizing the words as he read them.

“Good, because we have a new guy that’s going to start here tomorrow. He’s a packer and he’s going to be working the late shifts with you. I think he actually attends the same school as you.” Buttons took in what was being said to him. He couldn’t help but feel a little sad. He really liked working the late shifts. He could play his music as loud as he wanted and charge across the warehouse without a worry for bumping into someone, or someone catching him mouthing the tune playing in his ear. It was also just more peaceful later. The whole place has a comforting silence about it. As much as he was going to miss being able to dance around while walking to the pickups, he was pretty sure the new person wouldn’t change much else. He probably wouldn’t even want to talk to Buttons anyway.

“Sounds cool. What’s his name?”

“Tommy Boy.” Buttons frowned. That’s a weird name.

Finch let out a small laugh. “Yeah, sure, go ahead and judge someone’s name, Buttons.”

Buttons scowled at the man in front of him. “Isn’t it time for you to go home Finch?” Finch checked the watch in his wrist and his eyes lit up.

“Thank God, you’re right.” He turned to address the full time workers of the warehouse. “Let’s wrap it up ya’ll!” He turned to head back to his station and Buttons plugged his headphones in. He walked around as the other workers filtered out around him. He could faintly hear “bye Buttons” and “See ya later”. He nodded in acknowledgement and continued the task at hand. When the warehouse was finally empty, save for him of course, Buttons took a deep breath and smiled softly, taking in his last day of peace in the small, dusty, dirty warehouse that he wouldn’t trade for the world.

Taglist (ask to be added)

@insane-tomato

@madiwest00

@thatpoorguysheadisspinning

@auspicioustarantula

[chestnutpost]

What's next for the Kenya Ice Lions after viral fame?

7:30 AM ET

Emily KaplanESPN

In October, we were introduced to the Ice Lions, Kenya’s only ice hockey team. They play at what is believed to be the only ice rink in East Africa; the sheet at the Panari Hotel is typically used for recreational skating, a tad smaller than North American ice, and enclosed by square corners.

Due to numbers (and a lack of a goaltender), the Ice Lions had nobody to play but themselves. Over the summer, Tim Horton’s flew the Ice Lions to Canada, outfitted them in fresh gear, and organized a game with NHL superstars Sidney Crosby and Nathan MacKinnon. The produced video, “The Away Game,” quickly went viral. In late October, Tim Horton’s flew the Ice Lions’ captain, Ben Azegere, back to Toronto to watch his first NHL game and reunite with Crosby. When asked what it meant to him at the time, Azegere said, “Anything is possible. And every dream is valid.”

It was a heartwarming story underscoring the universal language of sport. It was also an acute reminder of hockey’s cost prohibitions and aspirations for inclusivity.

The Ice Lions returned to Kenya, their normal jobs, their normal routines, but not their normal practices. Tim Colby, a Canadian living in Nairobi who serves as the Ice Lions’ coach and adviser, noticed something different about the players after their North American exposure.

“The energy level they came back with — they were flying, throwing their bodies around like crazy,” Colby says. “I don’t wear equipment when I play, and now I’m telling myself, I might need to.”

The regular players — who were resourceful with limited gear, often taping pieces of couch cushions to themselves — now have donated full CCM sets, perhaps giving them more security. But they still lack what so many established teams take for granted.

There has been talk of a full face-mask rule being enacted, to help curb the number of injuries sustained as sticks and pucks come up high. Robert Opiyo/Kenya Ice Lions

When pucks and sticks inevitably get to the face? That’s a problem. A few weeks ago, a player sustained a cut; Colby was applying antibiotic cream when he realized, he didn’t have medical gloves to properly apply it. When you have players at varying levels, checking from behind is a concern. Colby might institute a full face-mask rule. He’s also working to send players to a Red Cross training course, or at least some online video training.

There’s no defibrillator at the rink, nor a trainer. The hotel has a doctor and nurse on call, but the team is still working out a protocol for how and when to call them. In Kenya, if you have a serious injury, you don’t necessarily wait for an ambulance. You get in the car and go yourself. Not everyone is covered by insurance. What hospital do you go to? Who has a credit card? Now Colby and the other team leaders are figuring out procedures. They might require players to have insurance if they get on the ice, and if they can’t afford it, they’ll work out how to subsidize it.

In 2016, Azegere approached Colby and asked if he would help them establish a program and get them to the next level.

“I was sitting on the bench thinking, ‘No F’ing way,'” Colby says. “I knew the amount of administration that it takes. It’s not just getting the guys ready on the ice. I tried explaining, every team has more off-ice people than on-ice people.”

But Colby, whose day job is with the United Nations Development Programme, couldn’t resist. He saw how much hockey meant to these players; many traveled hours just to get to the rink, or were spending their last dime to get there. So he said yes. He and a group of four or five meet after they play hockey and go over things. They’re getting started and, thanks to the publicity boost with the Tim Horton’s campaign, have a better foundation. But there’s still much work to be done.

The Ice Lions host two main shinny games a week, plus four different training sessions, partially broken up by age. There’s enough donated equipment now for the regular players, but not at the youth level yet. In all, there’s about 30 Kenyan regulars who come.

Tim Horton’s donated $30,000 in Canadian dollar to the Ice Lions, and Alibaba, a Chinese conglomerate, also donated $30,000 (USD). But the program hasn’t dipped into that money yet, partially because they can’t access it.

Catch more than 180 NHL games streaming live this season on ESPN+. Click here for the upcoming schedule and to learn how to subscribe.

Corporations can’t just give individuals money, and the Ice Lions are dealing with the bureaucracy of setting up a federation. They hope to reach affiliate status by the end of 2019 (or maybe sometime in 2020), but in the meantime, can’t set up a bank account.

After the Tim Horton’s campaign, there was a huge demand for jerseys. A man in Toronto volunteered to set up a web page, print them and ship them, all for free. They looked sharp: the same kelly green with red striped trimming that Crosby & Co. wore in the game, featuring a regal lion holding a hockey stick in the center. They weren’t cheap ($169 USD) but sold out immediately. So far, there have been about 300 sold, and the Ice Lions receive $100 for every sale.

That’s given them the largest chunk of accessible cash, plus the GoFundMe, which Colby describes as their “financial lifeline.” They’ve raised more than $7,000 on the page, although after an initial surge this fall, momentum has slowed.

Canadian Tim Colby is helping the Ice Lions with some of the administrative hurdles in setting up a federation, but knows that the team must develop its own coaching program organically. Robert Opiyo/Kenya Ice Lions

“We haven’t really spent any of our money yet,” Colby says. “And we’re about to have to.”

The Ice Lions have a wish list, and topping it is a new skate sharpening machine (their current one has long been on the fritz). But the first tangible goal is to send a handful of Ice Lions out to Canada for coaching clinics to earn certification. While there, the Kenyans would spend every evening at a youth hockey practice, then study during the day, and leave with a first level coaching certificate. Colby lined up some people who can host as billets, and they have enough money to give per diems.

The big cost is airfare. Because most of the players work and have families, they’re also trying to figure out their schedules before they can book. Ultimately, Colby wants to hand everything over to the Kenyans. As someone who specializes in intercultural relations, he understands that for long-term sustainability, the Kenyans “need to own” the coaching aspect.

“I understand that it will take a bit longer for them on the administrative and operational side, which I’m doing a lot of,” Colby says. “But I want them to own the coaching for many reasons. In my business, you learn that different cultures have different ways of doing things. It’s not like going from IBM to Ford and finding an organization of cultural differences compared to the West. It’s much better if they take on all of the coaching, and they take care of everything they can, down to the theories of how to run a practice better to make it more efficient, the progression of drills, how to manage, et cetera. If they own that, it will be much better for them, and much more sustainable.”

The buzz around the Ice Lions has been global. A Swiss photo journalist recently visited. A Finnish reporter swung by last week. A visiting tourist from somewhere in the midwestern United States brought three bags of equipment for the female players. A Mississauga (Canada) man who owns a trucking company offered warehouse space in Toronto in which the Ice Lions can store donated equipment before it is shipped over. In March, the Ice Lions will host Slava Fetisov and Mike Richter as part of their version of “The Last Game,” an initiative to raise awareness on climate change.

Rick Lipsey, a former Sports Illustrated writer, coaches his son’s 10-and-under squirt team in Manhattan. Looking to inspire his players, Lipsey arranged a Skype call between his players and the Ice Lions.

Postgame analysis and highlight show airing each night throughout the season from Barry Melrose and Linda Cohn. Watch on ESPN+

“They made it clear on the call how hard they work just to get to the rink, and they appreciate just the ability to play hockey,” Lipsey says. “I think that really struck some of our players.” So the North Park Hockey Squirt Green team wears Kenya Ice Lion stickers on their helmets and the boys participate in a program where they solicit donations and pledges for the Ice Lions: small things, like a dollar for a goal, or 50 cents for a win. Every dollar counts.

As for the Ice Lions themselves, Colby has seen continued interest. They’re seeing more regular practice attendance. After Azegere’s last trip to Canada, he brought back goalie equipment. Ice Lions player George Gachara happily volunteered to give it a go in net; after his first few sessions, it turns out, he was a natural. Gachara barely flinched.

George Gachara was a natural once he put on the goaltending equipment. Tim Colby

Colby usually skates with his family on Sundays at the rink from 11-12 a.m., and noticed that some Ice Lions players are getting there an hour and a half earlier than their scheduled practice time to set up drills. Colby recently had a breakfast meeting with the GM, and again, even in darkness, saw some players sneaking in ice time.

The hotel has been a great partner, offering more free ice time and space in a storage facility that can be turned into a locker room. But Colby knows they can’t abuse the relationship. The rink costs roughly $8,000 USD to operate per month. Some developers have expressed intrigue about building another rink in Nairobi — it probably would have to be a multipurpose facility — but as of now, there are no concrete plans.

By this time next year, Colby would like to have a youth team ready to go to a tournament either in the U.S. or Canada; they’ve eyed the Bell Capital Cup in Ottawa as a great fit. Colby is also reaching out to players from South Africa, Egypt, Morocco and Tunisia to see if they could arrange an African Cup. As of now, it would have to be a 3-on-3 tournament because the ice is so small.

CCM just came through with another 30 full sets of equipment, and the Ice Lions decided it would all go to the youth.

“The older guys, like Ben and them, know this is all about the next generation,” Colby says. “Their time in the limelight was in Canada. We’ll have some 3-on-3 tournaments here and there, but the big stuff, the international stuff, will all be for the younger guys.”

This is just the start. The Ice Lions plan to be around for generations to come.

The post What's next for the Kenya Ice Lions after viral fame? appeared first on The Chestnut Post.

from The Chestnut Post https://www.thechestnutpost.com/news/what039s-next-for-the-kenya-ice-lions-after-viral-fame/

[thejourneyblog]

Day 1 in a mental inpatient hospital:

11/25/17

I didn't see this coming. I mean I did a few times but I was usually able

to get back on my feet. But I don't even know what happened, that day,

yesterday. I had cracked. Over something small. I gave up. I realized I

didn't want to do it anymore. Live. Watch funny youtube videos, laugh

with friends, follow my dreams, run adult errands, write poetry. I'm

amazed I'm writing this at all right now. And this was such a deep

bottomless feeling out of no where that I had a panic attack.

I could not stop. I started spinning out. I couldn't stop crying all day or hyperventilating.

I was out to pick up a desk that I never picked up because they were all out.

So I went back to my drive way and tried to figure out how I could come back

to my senses. Maybe I should eat, play a game, walk my dog, rest, go to my

bffs house.. but I was repulsed by every idea. I didn't want to go back to living.

I tried to think about something that could make me happy. But I didn't want anything...

anymore and that is when I couldn't return. I was so scared. I didn't know what

was happpening. Nothing calmed me down. I didnt know what I was supposed to

do. do I run away? What would be the easiest way to die. But I didnt have the energy

to even do those. Then I rememberes, theres a hotline.

I wasn't able to talk much since I was trying to stop hyperventilating. But the responder was smart. She asked questions slowly and paced. We talked for an hour and I told her that I wanted to

donate all of my organs somewhere and that I was done. She helped me get to an ER

to get help. At that point I looked like I had been to 10 funerals and was scaring

everyone. My eyes still hadnt stopped crying. They assigned a nurse to stay at my side

at all times. Probably because I kept saying “IDK” when they asked if I was a danger

to myself. I was in the ER for 4 hours sleeping and crying as they put stickers on

my boobs and took blood and urine samples. I finally decided to answer my sisters

calls and she told me she loved me and that I was perfect. And I was so upset with

the universe at that moment. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I kept trying to make normal decisions, see if there was still some way out of this.

Back to old me. Sane me. But I couldnt. I was done.

Finally they told me about a wonderful place where we do group/art/single therapy sessions and I was admitted.They wheeled me to a room with security gaurds to collect my belongings and scan

me for metal. A nice lady asked me about my thanksgiving while she took me to the

mental health floor. I sat in the hallway while I waited for a nurse to bring me to my

room, with bare feet which didn't bother me. “Shame on INOVA” A nurse yelled giving

me socks and dinner. In the dining room I met some of the other patients right away. Watching tv and having their dinner. Fish with rice and sweet potato and cranberry juice. The fish

was great. I traded my brownie for a raspberry foam thing the other girl wanted. I

didn't care. I hadn't eaten all day. I didn't have a need to. After eating, I was showed to

my room. I didn't see a tv. That was disappointing. I wanted my phone back. But not really.

I thought I'd just sleep and cry some more. But then a girl appeared.

Sibila

“Hi!”

I jumped “hi”

“Are you new here! Let me show you around”

I agreed surprisingly.

“She showed me all the rooms, the game room, the lounge, kitchen, dining, snack room (locked)

Art room (also locked), pay phones, tv room and her room.

She gave me jolly ranchers and seemed super happy. So I did not under stand

why she was here. After that I went back to my room.

But she popped back up.

“My mom brought gyros! Lets eat!”

She dragged me to the kitchen and got me some coffee.

The coffee was perfect. Just what I needed. Which I proceeded to chug black for the next few days,

though it did not increase my energy what so ever.

Her mom was really sweet. Reminded me of my mom:

“sleep helps with depression”

yet I sleep like a baby

I tried to go back to my room but sibila was one step ahead of me

“Art class is starting!”

Art Class

Sibila picked a table in the corner for Victoria and I. A college looking girl with

the same circle as the rest of us, but sweet. But this place was no ordinary art class.

This place looked like a fukin AC Moore. There were lots of templates and wood crafts we could decorate. I didn't feel like doing much so I chose stained glass. I was the quickest

one in the group. The only one to finish a project. It would just give me anxiety to leave

something unfinished. After that we went to the end of the hall and sang pop songs for the rest of

the night. I joined along. Her spirit was so infectious. I tried not to be so low. But when we were alone

eating graham crackers I couldn't help it

“I dont want to live anymore. I cant”

She gave me a pat and scrambled. That was the end of that.

I slept with the lights on that night.

I remember

(hours before admission)

As I was trying to calm down about my problems

Inner voice: your sister will be okay, you just have to

Me: shut up ( monotone)

just stop

I dont want you to fix this

I dont want anything anymore

Im done

Voice: thats not true

Me: maybe I just need to run away for a bit. Take a long vacation

V: nothing will be here when you get back

Me: shhhh

I told you

I dont care

Im sure this has been an interesting study in human defeat

that is all

Break fast

was awful. Watery scrambled eggs. Super moist muffin. Potatoes were decent. Atleast I got to talk to vikki. Shes actually a lot more normal than I thought. Just some mild postpartum psychosis. But it seems like a lot of people come here to get back on track.. I don't know what I want... but I still don't want to go back. To anything. So thats not good..

The Characters

There are surprisingly not many people here. So far everyone has been super inviting and made me feel welcomed. There are the nurses who sit at a desk blocking the elevators. The whiteboard with each hall wing class schedule like school.

People I've met so far:

-Frail lady with a blanket shawl

-The angry boy always yelling at his mom on the phone with an ice pack on his head

- the pregnant lady who loves everyone

-The cute guys who thinks hes a celebrity

-the cute guy who doesn't talk

Sibila of course and our trio Vikki <3

and my room mate who sleeps all day, Doris.

I don't blame her

How are you?

A different nurse or doctor asks every 2 hours

I don't mean to be rude but I'm not going to answer that

I will gladly talk to a therapist about it. I could actually

really use that right about now.

But currently the outcome is uncertain

FOR SOME REASONFSJAODNASODSDMKA

Coping mechanism sheet

Take a time out in room – I slept with the lights on

imagine myself at the beach- no

talk with a peer- call Roslyn

write in journal

write a list of my strengths

write a letter

call a family member

have some tea or coffee

exercise

stretch

stress balls

draw

soft music- not helpfuldnjsadsnadjasdomk

play a game- boring/no energy

tv room – too bright/uncomfortable chairs

meditate-makes me angry

talk with your therapist-where?

Read- ummmmm

count to 10-NO

positive thoughts-try again

walk-what else is there to do

write a schedule for week after discharged- already have a schedule?

Comb hair/freshen up- sibila made me shower

My room mate

Doris has become a bit more talkative. She has the sweetest voice.

She invited me to bingo but I was still knocked out by the meds. She seems

worried about me. After I told the nurse I didn't want to live she asked to switch rooms.

Probably a coincidence.

The head poppers

: Nurses or doctors who pop their head from behind your curtain for a split second

to see where you are like a weirdo

every                     fucking                  hour

Bathrooms

are a fucking joke. Island printed yoga mats with Velcro make up for the doors.

Meaning you can smell and hear everything. One time I walked in on a full toilet.

I thought it was rude until I flushed and realized I probably woke up my room mate.

Oh well

The Bands

Wrist bands, we all wear. Get scanned about 15 times a day. For what? There aren't that many of us. They do it every time we go to a class, have a meal, need meds, get our vitals checked. I just ripped

mine off today because it is so uncomfortable and now all they do is ask for my name.

The more you know

How are you: Update

Today I yelled: “BAAAAAAADDDD jesus...”

but atleast he finally asked something different

“Do you have anything to live for”

“Yes, but I don't care”

I should probably stop acting like this. I think its triggering doris

Sibila made me a belated birthday card. It was super random, but also the sweetest

most important thing right now.

Lights

Ive been sleeping with them on every night so far. She likes them off but hasnt

said anything about it. Im just surprised the nurses allow it. I dont know why I do it.

I just sleep better. But maybe for tonight, just for doris, Ill turn them off.

Strengths

Believing in things I can not do

Visits

Mom brought me some fresh clothes and friends brought me candy

I managed to change into a fresh top and leggings and started to feel a bit better.

Might attend group tonight.

Update: group was boring and unhelpful

Doris

Apparently hates me

Fights

Atleast when you fight with someone here, they forget, and you can be friends again

The Suitcase

Today in art class I chose a wooden project. A suitcase. I decorated it like the night sky since stars calm me. Inside I placed a folded piece of fabric and some bead charms that would represent everything I would leave behind if I go:

Sunflowers- My family and friends

Stars and moon- nature

Korean symbols- knowledge

Buddhist hand- my wonders for the universe

teddy bear- my future possibilities

gold bracelet- material loves

Spiral- myself

blue diamond- hope

totem- values

colorful ball- passions

I still could not feel anything about it but I hope this is the old me trying to tell me something

Sibila

Has an eating disorder. She gave me a paper of her schedule and every hour said diet underneath

I notice that she doesn't really eat. Unless her mom brings her something.

Quotes

When you are a child, you have hopes and dreams of everything you want your future to be.

When you get older, you have plans for what you think will make you happy: A home, a job, love. But we all know that the future is unpredictable. We are not supposed to know what is going to happen anyways. Because if we did, that would be boring, or scarier, if possible. But you see, I had a moment, where I could see where my future was heading, and it was horrifying, and I just.. gave up.

Something positive

I decided to read the quotes in the dining hall.

“maybe the biggest opportunity is where you are standing right now”

A letter

Dear world,

I dont know if there is anything you could have done to prevent this outcome.  You didnt do anything that great or that horrible to me. None that I can think of at this moment

that I care to blame anything on. You just did, you just are. And we just live. And we just die.

But to my understandning,

ive enjoyed the beauties

and the perfect uglies

and im good

so lets wrap this up. Some might think I should be stronger

but nope. Its my choice.

Everyone here

says the same things

“when can I leave”

“gimme my stuff back”

Nurse james

is really fucking cute

I think he likes me because

he took my vitals even though mine was already taken today

did not object

Update: Never mind. All the nurses do this.

Doris

Likes old british rock music

Look up “the smiths”

Limbo

This morning I woke up and did not know anything. I did not know who I was or where I was

I had not a single thought. I felt like a newborn baby. I had forgotten that I was alive, ever alive,

or that there was even a life to live.

This did not break my heart as much as it should have.

And you want to know what happened next?

I got out of bed and used the bathroom when a nurse walked in and saw my face

and seemed annoyed at my unwelcoming presence

“Are you ever happy! Smile! You are beautiful and will be out of here in no time!”

My room mate applauded and agreed.

Hello

My name is priscilla and I am suicidal. I still can not imagine myself outside of this place. Even though I do not want to be here for long. Every time I try to tell myself that I owe my mom and sis, that I need to work harder, itll be okay, try to find love, I have to stop. Those things usually motivate me. But everyting short circuits me right now, and I do not know why.

I said good bye

On the last day, I decided to go to group

There was a young teacher asking ice breaker questions and only a few people this time. The old man who hears voices, Doris, Indian girl with translator, Taiwanese man with translator and me. I talked about my dad. That out of anything, the only thing that hurt or really mattered, was him not being there. I was the only one who cried that session. I left on good terms though. I wanted to talk and I finally got to. I thanked her genuinely. I left a note for nurse james. I said goodbye to cute billy, the one who talks to celebrities. Sibila, vikki and I got discharged together and we are now friends. The last days have felt like months and I can still taste the watery eggs, which I only tried once. But at least the worst is over.