A/N: 11:08. I know, I just don’t want it anymore. Plus I’m tired of people asking for it, but at the same time, I enjoy talking to you all. It’s long AF, approx. 10 pages written. Idk wtf a paragraph is. Good luck, here you go.
“Fucking technicians,” Kylo mumbled. He hated how he couldn’t even be able to do this simple task. He couldn’t wait to get back to his quarters and actually do something productive for the first order. Fumbling with the wires, he didn’t even hear the stormtroopers sneak up on him. “Matt!” FN-8041 yelled. He froze and readied for an attack. “Oi, Matt we aren’t going to hurt you.” Seventies raised his hands up. The other troopers spread out creating a barrier between them and the wall. “What do you want?” he spat. “He does get a little temper on him!” JY-8342, also known as Bear, chuckled. 8041 leaned on the wall. “Well, yesterday was eventful.” The troopers laugh as Matt glared. “I see you truly don’t like Angel.” he smiled. Matt clenched his wrench.
“The Vine had no jukebox, but a real stereo continually playing tunes of alcoholic self-pity and sentimental divorce. “Nurse,” I sobbed. She poured doubles like an angel, right up to the lip of a cocktail glass, no measuring. “ You have a lovely pitching arm.” You had to go down on them like a hummingbird over a blossom. I saw her much later, not too many years ago, and when I smiled she seemed to believe I was making advances. But it was only that I remembered. I’ll never forgot you. Your husband will beat you with an extension cord and the bus will pull away leaving you standing there in tears, but you were my mother.”
― Denis Johnson (1949-2017)
god’s favorite tragedy, bubblegum locks and rose petal lips. she weeps like angels, bleeds sunshine, spits ichor. each limb is kissed in honey, smooth like silk, creamy like milk. you itch to touch her, itch to hold her, itch to devour her, yet she blooms in the distance like an unpickable rose, thorns to match. you can taste her skin in your teeth, like the sweetest of cotton candy or the ripest of cherries, yet little did you know that her flesh was poison and her presence was pure intoxication. she’ll eat you alive, hooked on the light of her love and the damnation of her fingertips. her flames scorch you, thick and imaginary, the way she moves and the way her dress whispers around her thighs is a vision from heaven, an idealistic paradise, it’s impossible for an angel to live on earth. / ind. moka akashiya.