#hippie highway

[jackalopegirlantlers]

perspectives of the terrible sublime: highways and storms in colonized and climate-changing landscapes, as seen by a 21st century settler from a petroleum-powered vehicle

from top to bottom:

Áak'w, Lingít Aaní, Tlingit lands, near Auke Bay, Alaska, February 2023

Tonkawa/Comanche/Lipan Apache lands, near Pflugerville, Texas, November 2021

Hécesniiciihéhe', Arapaho/Cheyenne/Tabeguache Ute lands, near Elizabeth, Colorado, October 2018

Chasmu, Ocheti Shakowin, Lakota/Arapaho/Cheyenne lands, near Genoa, Colorado, May 2017

#highways are liminal spaces #if i got any terms or anything wrong pls pls pls let me know !! #my ecocrit professor thinks thoreau and emerson are redeemable and he thinks sublime is redeemable #as if its the 1980s and we're all rich white hippies #but the class is all rich white hippies bc its j*neau !!! #so i've been having some ~feelings~ about sublime and emersonian environmentalism lately #so here it is here's my terrible sublime bc apparently we should still all believe in the masculinist/white supremacist environmentalism #of 1850s boston/1960s california #at least according to the people in that class

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Good Omens Musical Masterpost🎵❤

How it started :)

Some time before 2013: Vicki Larnach, the australian composer and lyricist, read the Good Omens book, imagined figures dancing on stage with brilliant music and thought, ‘Ah, I’m gonna ask Terry Pratchet and Neil Gaiman if I can turn it into a musical.’ and sent an email to the publishers. The next day she got an email saying, ‘We don’t want a musical but Terry’s coming to Australia, so come and say hello and tell us what you got.’

Rob Wilkins came down to meet Vicki and Jim Hare - Vicki's husband and writer - and took them to meet Terry. They spent an hour and a half with them where Terry asked ‘piercing questions’, had tea with them and they showed Terry a song that Vicki wrote (about the Chattering Nuns). Terry said to Rob, ‘Rob, write and email to Neil, “Dear Neil, this is Terry. I’m sitting in front of two hippies from Sydney and they want to make a musical out of Good Omens and I’m tempted to let them do it.”’ which was the best email they ever heard and then Terry said, ‘Okay, you have me curious.’ - it was because of the Nuns song which sounded like the book. ‘I’m gonna give you six months, come back with a first draft libretto and five songs.’

They then sent it to Terry who sent it to Neil. Terry said, ‘I really like it, you’re moving story, you’re doing all the right things, but where’s showstopper, where’s the toe-tapper, you know I need people to go to intermission just snapping their fingers with the song they just can’t get out of their head, and I haven’t heard that.’ - and they realized that they were so busy serving the story they forgot to do the wow-factor, but found it very encouraging from Terry that he wanted to make it better.

They went through the whole book again to find a centrepiece - and they found it  when Warlock is growing up and Aziraphale and Crowley are with him, and spent months working just on that one thing and called ‘All Living Things’ [the song at the start of this post :)] which is a line from the book.*’ Terry gave that song to a person he knew and asked him to play it to his wife with no context and when the next day the person said that his wife woke up still singing the song Terry said to Vicki and Jim: ‘Well, that’s what I asked you to do.’ 

* [“This here’s Brother Slug,” the gardener would tell him, “and this tiny little critter is Sister Potato Weevil. Remember, Warlock, as you walk your way through the highways and byways of life’s rich and fulsome path, to have love and reverence for all living things.” “Nanny says that wivving fings is fit onwy to be gwound under my heels, Mr. Fwancis,” said little Warlock, stroking Brother Slug, and then wiping his hand conscientiously on his Kermit the Frog overall.]

Vicki and Jim got the permission to being adapting it as a musical in 2013.

Vicki and Jim on it a couple of years ‘fumbling about’, took it as far as they could and decided to bring another person into it: Jay-James Moody

In 2015, Jay James-Moody joined the collaboration initially as a dramaturge and directorial eye, eventually evolving into co-book writer. Vicki, James and Jay have continued to evolve through countless more revisions and a number of private development readings with the support, time and talent of numerous wonderful Australian performers testing the material.

In November 2017, the musical was presented in its then-current form and entirety for the first time before an audience of over 500 eager attendees. The cast included Luke Joslin, Lachlan O’Brien, Nancye Hayes, Barry Quin, Brett O’Neill, Lauren McKenna, Nicholas Craddock, Paul Capsis, Rob Johnson, Amy Lehpamer, Debora Krizak, Blake Erickson, Nat Jobe, Ana Maria Belo, Jordan Hare, Bella Thomas, Anthony Abrakmanov and Samson Hyland.

Following a rapturous response to this reading it continued to be refined and developed.

In 2019, ten days before the show came out they did their last presentation, since then they’ve been to London and shown a videotape of that workshop to Neil and Rob which was ‘a pretty heartstopping experience’ but both Neil and Rob were ‘so lovely and very generous with their time’ and they were showing it to them and in the intermission Neil said ‘I wish Terry could have seen this.’ (see here :))

Differences between the musical and the book

The ending of the musical is a bit different, they were worried about it but Neil said, ‘I totally understand, the ending of the TV series is different, because I had something that was book-shaped and I needed to make it TV-shaped. And you had something that was book-shaped and you needed to make it stage-shaped.’

It opens with the burning of Agnes Nutter and Aziraphale and Crowley are introduced there. 

Act One ends with them ‘essentially breaking up’ because of a huge argument and they dissolve their friendship, Act Two starts with the first time they meet.

The Future?

What is the future for the musical: in 2021 they said that they need to work on some things and then they hope to do another run, initially in Australia.

There will be a CD of the soundtrack available when the show is produced in it’s full version.

Videos

Vicki, Jim and Jay talking 46min about the musical (this video was shown at the Ineffable Con 3 in 2021 :))

Sizzle Reel 6min

Anathema singing The Perfect Place

Crowley calling Dagon to check on the hellhound

Shadwell and Newt

Aziraphale vanishing Hastur 👀

Links

Webpage

Instagram - a lot of more bts videos and pics :)

How to support?

Subsribe to the instagram page and like and comment that you want the musical on posts :)❤. If you want to be a sponsor or donor, there is contact on their webpage.

#good omens #good omens musical #musical #masterposts #terry pratchett #neil gaiman #fun fact #:)

[firkinron]

Releases and Events - November 10th

Releases and Events – November 10th

Beer releases, music events, food happenings and so much more! Releases and Events – November 10th   Celebrate Veterans Day at Hangar 24 Photograph courtesy of Hangar 24. This weekend Hangar 24 Brewing Company celebrates and says thank you to our veterans.  Enjoy 50% off American Light, Alt Bier, Iconic Double IPA, and Aventura all weekend!  Join Hangar 24 and say thank you to our veterans.…

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#Barrel-Aged Old Rasputin #Black Butte Whiskey #Deschutes Brewery #Firestone Walker #Hangar 24 #Hippie Highway 2.0 #North Coast Brewing #Sonic Temple Art & Music Festival #Stone Brewing #Stone Enjoy By 01.01.23 #There Does Not Exist #Veteran&039;s Day

[mushroomates]

fellowship lisence plants

Frodo: B4GG1N5, bag3nd, theshre, very wholesome and personal license plates. has a custom license frame with elven scripture saying something vaguely offensive about the driving of other cars on the road.

Sam: worried he will offend someone and they will find him because of his vanity plate. alternatively, POT8035.

Merry: brndybck, brndybk, ppinsuks. has a baby on board sticker because he hopes people won’t hit him if they think he has a kid.

Pippin: keeps trying to get some version of ‘weed’ approved. they keep getting more creative, he keeps getting denied. some gems include: DEEW, b33M, ku$h, any iteration of 420. can not understand why this might get him pulled over.

Boromir: G0ND0R, obviously. odnswim (one does not simply walk into Mordor) has the tree of gondor sticker on his back bumper.

Aragorn: rvendll, r4ng3r, nmysword. loves to drive arwin around- she has her license, he just likes taking her places. <3

Legolas: anmybow, mrkw00d, has an army wife lisence plate in hopes it will get him pulled over less. several tree hugger hippie stickers and giant scratches adorned his car. looks like someone keyed it with an axe.

Gimli: galadriel. just, the whole thing. celebron is pissed. also WHOAXED, digdeep, moria. has taken out the muffler like an asshole and likes to rev the engine outside of legolas’s house.

Gandalf: Keeps tipping the cops off to Pippins license plates. 3AGL3S, shdwfax, mthrndr.

Gollum: preshus, pr3c10us, bdaygift. drives a golf cart on the highway. will tailgate. bites the cops that pull him over.

#lord of the rings #jrr tolkien #legolas #gandalf #lotr #pippin #samwise gamgee #legolas greenleaf #lotr headcanons #gimli #gimli son of gloin #boromir #boromir son of denethor #merry and pippin #merry brandybuck #pippin took #frodo baggins #aragorn #lotr shitposts #elves #rivendell #the shire #hobbits #dwarves #lotr imagine #gollum #jrrt #peregrin took #meridoc brandybuck #lord of the rings headcanons

[tobiasdrake]

The final fight between Obadiah and Tony is beautiful. It kinda sucks that they nerf Tony's suit in order to put him on an undeserved backfoot against Stane's more rudimentary armor. But, see, that's the thing.

At the end of the day, this isn't just about who can beat up who. A well-written fight is one that informs on the characters and themes. That tells a story through its action. And this is a very well-written fight.

We see Stane's cruelty and callousness through his disregard for civilian casualties on the highway. The moment where he tries to crush Tony with a car, only for Tony to catch the car and put it down safely? That's a statement on their respective values.

But moreover, the act of nerfing Tony creates a meaningful theme. Stane doesn't really care for the nitty-gritty of engineering and design. He's just a businessman. Sitting on a saleable stockpile of weapons designed by other people makes him feel powerful. Both his suit and the reactor powering it are stolen tech, but they're his now and that's all he cares about.

In this moment, Stane embodies Stark Industries itself as a defense contractor. Tony is fighting the shadow of weapons manufacturing. This wouldn't be a very meaningful confrontation if Tony could just shoot him with Tank Missiles and blow him up. Stane gets all the guns because the guns themselves are the true villains of this movie.

This leaves Tony on the back foot, as is typical of heroes when faced against their villains. But Tony has that one thing that Stane doesn't. The thing Stane covets. The thing Raza coveted. He has a brilliant mind, and that means more than any Tank Missile or Unibeam.

Stane has all the guns but lacks the knowledge or discipline that comes from understanding them. And Tony uses that to think his way around the problem of Stane's guns, outsmarting him at every turn with clever solutions. Tony's genius, not his weapons, ultimately triumph over the shadow of said weapons.

And. Like. It's literally the arc reactor that kills Stane. That is so poignant. The reactor he naysayed as a publicity stunt to appease hippies. That he refused to go along with developing, opting to keep making guns. That he resorted to stealing when none of his people could grasp the science of it.

The arc reactor, the ultimate embodiment of Stark ingenuity outside of weapons development, is ultimately what brings an end to Stane and by extension to Stark weapons development. It's perfect.

This is one of the best fights in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Hands down.

#iron man #tony stark #marvel cinematic universe #obadiah stane #marvel

[cyberneticnightmares]

okay listen.

i like to think that william inherited the purple car from his old man. you know how it was back in the 70s. cars lasted and often got passed down from father to son (SYMBOLISM). he hated the damn thing, but it's what first caught henry's attention one day while on campus. henry drove a much newer car.

while william went to college solely on scholarships courtesy of his smarts and obscenely high GPA, henry's parents footed their son's bill because they could afford it.

"how can a couple of hippies afford to send their kid to school for art?"

"double majoring, actually. dipping my toes into business too."

william hates him for it. it's just so unfair that henry can afford to dress nice but doesn't, because he much rather walk around in comfortable overalls covered in paint. he hates him even more when henry discovers a passion for computers and makes the jump to engineering, almost as a way to compliment william's knack for robotics. william hates him because no, why would you do that, you have no idea what i would've give to be allowed to simply do performance arts. he took after his mom, after all. would've been a professional dancer if his dad had allowed it.

but then one day, because they totally hate each other or whatever, and because their final round of finals before graduation are coming up, henry proposes they skip town. they already got all the technical know-how they needed. who needs a flimsy piece of paper to tell them what they achieved over the past four years?

william takes some convincing. there's a bunch of expectations on his shoulders now. fancy degree, a good paying job, a girl to bring home and follow in his father's wretched footsteps. he can't just... drop it all and run for the hills with his not-friend, right? the not-friend who's always covering his meals and getting him nice flamboyant jackets every birthday and christmas (most of them handmade, of course, really high quality stuff).

henry tells him it's better to ask for forgiveness than to ask permission. "just give it a try, man. imagine if we do get successful. imagine we make it." but what convinces william is the fervor with which henry speaks, the way he looks at him, as if it's just them against the world and they're winning the lottery and nothing could ever go wrong so long as they're side by side.

william abandons his father's car in a lot the following week, hitching a ride out west on henry's fancy car. it's a convertible, by the way. cherry red. some of the best memories william has, after it all goes to shit, is of henry lowering the hood in the middle of the night along a long stretch of dusty, deserted highway. a bug flies into his mouth at some point because he was too busy singing along to the 8-track, but the way henry laughed at his sputtering made it all worth it.

he keeps a polaroid from that roadtrip safe in his pocket, even after everything is said and done.

#willry #my last hurrah of 2023 and it was spent writing these two because why wouldn't my year end like this. #william afton #henry emily #helliam #miller writes #this basically takes place in the same universe as Deep Blue. #i should start keeping track of AU stuff i guess

[zmediaoutlet]

Sam’s not sleeping when Dean pulls off the road. “What,” Sam says, although without a lot of interest. State highway after midnight and exactly no one to see, but Dean coasts down the gravel shoulder to the pitted asphalt-and-dirt road that turns off into—sparse woods, a sign that says NO HUNTING. Sam snorts.

“Gotta take five,” Dean says. Sam nods, arms folded over his chest. Shadow-shapes in the dark, his eyes slanted away at some terrible inward thing. Out of the car there’s moonlight peeking through the tree-tops and Dean left the headlights on, so he doesn’t trip and break his neck on his way to water a patch of weeds. He zips up and then stands there, breathing. Dirt and mulch. Kinda acrid now but not any worse than the woods usually are. Not that different from where they’d buried the vampire kid—god, less than six hours ago. Soft dirt there and they’d made a good grave, burned him right, covered the charred bones. Sam hardly looking at him then, too. Like finishing the hunt hurt as much as sitting around thinking about the other dead kid had.

Dean hasn’t got much in his back pocket, when it comes to making Sam feel better. They’ve been doing this so long they’ve got rhythms they follow and he knows that he’s—tough, sometimes, and he can be a real pain, and Sam always seems to have some way to grip Dean by the wrist and pull him up and be solid as mountain rock for Dean to brace against. He doesn’t have a roadmap for when the rock starts to slide under his feet. He can say some of the dumb crap he’d offer to civilians but Sam’s too smart for it to work; he can offer work, or duty if work itself doesn’t do the trick, but Sam’s never felt the pull of that the same way Dean has, and if Dean’s honest he’d be freaked if Sam really bought it. With how Sam’s been talking Dean’d be willing to throw on Steel Magnolias and give him a foot massage if he thought it’d help, but it wouldn’t, and he doesn’t have much left to offer, to try to make it—not fixed. Fixing it isn’t something he’s been able to do since he was five years old and everything went wrong. But maybe it could be—

He comes back to the car and opens the trunk, instead. Then to the passenger side, where he opens Sam’s door, and Sam looks up at him narrow-eyed but not frowning. Tired. Sad, which makes Dean’s throat do something weird, and he clears it before he says, rougher than he means, “You gotta piss or anything?”

“No,” Sam says, tilting it like Dean’s the weird one. Well, fair enough.

Dean nods. He twists the cap on the bottle he fetched and takes a long burning swallow. Sam shakes his head when Dean holds it out but Dean waggles it at him, and Sam’s not yet so oatmeal-hippie-health conscious that he won’t have a drink with Dean on the wrong side of dawn. His lips pull back like it stings. “Good value for fifteen bucks,” Dean says, and Sam raises his eyebrows, and Dean crouches then in the open door, puts his hand on Sam’s leg. Curling his fingers around the inside of Sam’s knee.

They’ve been doing this so long, they’ve got rhythms. Sam’s chin tips down. “I don’t…” he starts, but he bites his lip and breathes in long and slow through his nose and Dean doesn’t know what he would say, anyway. That it was too fucked up, that he missed all the people they’d lost, that the dark was so heavy it had this velvet choking intensity, so bleak no light could ever get through. Pick a number.

But Dean’s left the headlights on. He pulls, and Sam swivels on the seat so his bootheels crunch in the gravel, and Dean settles down on his knees and reaches up and puts his hand on Sam’s face, and watches Sam close his eyes. His jaw clenching. Stubble thick and sharp and his face as hollow as it was when Jack—when—

Dean unbuckles Sam’s belt. The button, the zip, and once he smacks Sam’s hip he lifts up enough so Dean can yank everything down. He’s soft but so what. Dean’s worked with worse. He spreads his hands over Sam’s bare thighs, hair prickling in the autumn air, licks his mouth wet, and when he takes Sam in it’s—everything familiar, good. Gravel biting into his knees through his jeans. He tongues under the soft ridge of the head, breathes through his nose. The rarity of getting to go down to the base without choking, suckling soft, salt under his tongue and the bitter of a long day and Sam’s fingers sliding through his hair, holding the back of his neck so careful. Like Dean will get hurt, doing this thing he’s been doing as long as his life has been worth anything. Like Dean’s doing Sam a favor, here, when he’s split halfway between wanting Sam to stop thinking and wanting his own brain blank as a snowfield.

A weird strangled breath, above. Dean slurps back and kisses Sam’s hipbone, and drags his shirt up and kisses his belly, hair prickling his lips. “Let me,” he says, asking for—a lot, maybe—and Sam doesn’t say anything but his thumb drags up into the soft hollow at the top of Dean’s spine and his thighs tip wider. Dean presses his forehead to Sam’s stomach. Weirdly grateful, in a way he can’t ever say aloud. This one good thing. Then he pushes Sam to sprawl back across the bench seat, and holds Sam’s hips in his hands, and takes his brother into his throat.

#happy wincest wednesday #my writing #ww lottery #a random ficlet for episode 311 #o to give sam a sleep without nightmares #i realize s15 was not particularly interested in emotional continuity #but that shit is a rollercoaster #dead jack directly into dead teenager #(murdered by dean no less) #and sam's sad about rowena (??) but kinda just giving up generally #and you know what i think would help? #dean's dsl

[memobread]

𝕴'𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊 - 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖔𝖓𝖊 -- (𝕵𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝕯𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖘 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

=================================

Contents: 1994! Jonathan Davis x reader (tag empty asf), HEAVY mentions of s*xual and mental ab*se, smutty smut, friends to lovers, TONS of fluff, angst, insane amounts of GORE, very violent language, violence, drug and alcohol use, etc.

Honorable mention: @jonathandaviskisser

=================================

~~find my nest full of salt…everything's my fault…~~

Kurt Cobain soothed my weary mind as I lugged my last load down interstate 110, trying not to pass out at the steering wheel. I dreamed of starting my two-week winter break with a sweet night at Wes's, an underground bar below a gas station that sold inexpensive but effective products, my favorite kind. I was in desperate need of a cigarette, just like after any long busy day of trucking. Once I got to the designated location, I heaved off the supplies and signed a few papers. Once I got back in my truck, I sighed in relief. I would have the next two weeks off for winter break. All that was left to do was to go to Wes's and drink the night away. Once I arrived at Wes's through a rough, snowy highway, I filled my truck with gas, parked it in a safe spot, and stopped under the store's awning to look at the snowy night sky. It was strangely beautiful to me, even though it was pitch-black under the streetlamps. I suddenly remembered this was the weekly night that hillbilly Joe Singleton and his wife go on a frenzy of religious insanity. I wanted to kill them both, so I avoided them to keep myself from doing so. I quickly ran inside when I heard their radio blasting behind me. I grabbed a Heath bar from the shelf near me and made my way to the register, waving to the cashier, my best friend, Mikey.

"Damn y/n, you runnin' from the devil or sumn'?" Mikey asked, slightly concerned.

"Yeah, man. Joe and Monica came here to unleash hell." I whispered, keeping an eye out for them.

Mikey leaned forward on locked arms.

"Don't worry about it so much, Y/N. They dumber than rats on PCP."

Mikey knew about my anxiety. He never failed to help me calm down with his humor. He's always been my human antidepressant ever since we were teenagers.

"They came in here earlier today bitchin' at me because we sell pot here." Mikey laughed, putting on his red baseball cap.

Mikey did a typical redneck pose and stuck a rolled-up receipt in his mouth,

"And-And they was all like-"

Mikey slammed his fist down onto the table, a mocking look of disgust.

"YOUSE ALL GOIN' STRAIGHT TO HELL WITH YOUR DEVIL HIPPIE SHIT!!! GOD CAINT STAND FOLK LIKE YOU!!!"

I cracked up laughing, my nerves disappearing mostly.

"Man, when will they accept that the Aryan race isn't a thing anymore!" I laughed, leaning forward on the counter.

That's when Mikey burst out into laughter, playfully slapping me.

"Jesus Christ Y/N…" He wheezed, unable to keep a straight face for even a quarter of a second.

While our laughing fit was happening, we didn't notice Joe and his whore wife hearing our conversation. Joe threw a dime at me to get my attention. My smile instantly faded. Mikey cussed under his breath. We both turned to face the two cunts. They looked as aggravating as ever.

"You two won't be sayin' that shit in the lake of fire, imma tell you that!" Joe snapped, stepping towards us.

Mikey looked like he was about to commit mass homicide.

"Great! I'll see you two there, cocksuckers!" Mikey fumed, flipping Joe the bird.

Joe lunged at Mikey, to which I responded by kicking him in the stomach, making him fall to the floor. Mikey jumped over the counter and started beating the living hell out of Joe while the whore made a beeline for me. I tackled her down and repeatedly punched her with all my might, forcing an annoying squeal out of her. It was the best I had felt in a long time since she reminded me of my mother. It was like I was trying to kill my past. Mikey held off Joe while I got up and stomped on the whore's face repeatedly, blood starting to ooze from her annoying nose. I was laughing while the whore screamed in pain, unable to fight me off. I got back onto her and plunged my fingers down her throat, thrusting them in and out at an inhumane pace until she started vomiting on herself. Nearly screaming with maniacal laughter, I took my vomit-ridden fingers and plunged them back into her throat, making her swallow her vomit. My elbow plummeted to her face, her eye exploding into seeping red. All the memories of her groping Mikey, aiding my mom in assaulting me, stealing my cigarettes, and reminding me of my mother fueled my primal rage while I beat her senseless. I felt like I was taking revenge on my mother; a wave of utter bliss and satisfaction washed over me, causing me to burst out in shrieking laughter before plunging my fingers into her eyes. She burst into tears and screaming when I fingered her eye sockets like my mother did when my brother broke her glasses. Blood spurted out of her eyes and onto my cheek, my maniacal shrieks only getting louder.

"YEAH!!! YEAH!!! TAKE THESE FUCKING FINGERS IN YOUR BLOODY HOLES, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT SLUT!!!" I got up and stomped on her bloody, snot-and-vomit-ridden ugly face.

Tears streamed down her bloody face when she wailed;

"No! Please stop it now! I've d…done *cough* nothin-"

Already having enough of Monica's shit, I jumped up and plummeted back down, my elbow making a beeline for her face before it crashed through her thick skull with all my body weight. I swear I nearly peed myself with joy when I heard her skull crack and a pig-like squeal, followed by loud sobbing and thick, metallic blood soaking my sleeve. I dove onto her and slammed my tight, rock-solid fist into her bloody mess of a face multiple times, each punch getting more lethal. When I looked up, not noticing my surroundings, Mikey knocked Joe unconscious with a bottle of Busch and dragged him back to his car.

"Hold her down with me, Mike!"

Mike rushed over to me and the dying bitch on the floor and gleefully held her wrists above her head.

"Yeah, fuck her up!!" Mikey shouted, spitting on her face before getting up and stomping on it.

"P…Please…..Joe….Joe made me do it…."

"Bullshit!"

In a fit of blind rage, I grabbed Mikey's broken bottle and plunged into Monica's face, lacerating the soft, pink tissue under a chalky burlap sack, blood spurting onto my face. I gave the bottle to Mikey with a bloody grin. He snickered and shredded the bottle side to side in the bitch's torn face, a tent growing in his jeans.

"Wait, wait, Y/N, hold her down for a sec." Mikey panted before standing up and unzipping his fly.

Mikey groaned in pleasure and relief when he pulled out his unit and started pissing on Monica. He and I both laughed maniacally at the humiliation.

"Yo Y/N, you think we should string this bitch upside down from the roof and have folks have their way with her for tips?"

Before I could agree, I felt a thick rope fling around my neck from behind; Joe woke up.

"Shit!" Mikey shouted, trying to fight off Joe but getting kicked by him square in the bare nuts.

Mikey howled in pure agony, his gonads obliterated and his eyes watering.

"Nobody fuckin' touches my wife…" Joe snarled, too shellshocked by anger to yell.

I kicked helplessly against my oxygen restraint, trying to pull off the rope while not being able to reach any punching points on Joe. With merely a few factors of dying, I accepted my fate; I had always wanted this, but I didn't want it to be then. I was having too much fun. My vision started to blur, and my head started racing with memories as Mikey's cries became more distant and inaudible. I flailed in Joe's grip and heard him laugh amid my panic.

"This is what you fuckin' get, slut…"

When I felt like I was a few seconds away from dying, I suddenly heard a loud crack, and I felt glass tumbling down my face and into my lap. Joe's grip went limp instantly, and I started coughing.

"Fucking piece of shit…" I heard a familiar voice spit.

I felt Joe getting hauled out under me, and my head hit the floor, awakening me a bit. With my vision blurry, I could only make out a tall blurry figure with long, dark brown hair kneeling over me.

"…c'mon…" The figure murmured, seeing me struggle to clear my vision.

Once my vision started to clear up, the familiar features of the figure became evident. The pretty, deep inky eyes, the heart-wrenching dorky face, the frazzled long hair; it was none other than Jonathan Davis in the flesh. He was the cute boy I worked at the Fritz warehouse with in high school. He was always shy and never talked to anyone except me. The second we met each other, we hit it off instantly like we needed to be best friends. We would laugh together about the shit we saw in magazines or what we wanted to do when we got older. We would play video games together at the local arcade, and Jon would always beat me at Street Fighter, and I'd have to carry him home as a losing punishment. We would even hang out in a nearby alleyway and eat Chinese food while looking at the smoky sky and talking nonsense.

Yeah Y/N, I kinda wanna start a band, but this job doesn't pay shit for equipment… 

Eventually, I fell in love with him, MADLY in love with him. I haven't spent a living second without thinking about him since.

He's so fucking cute-

"Hey!"

I snapped out of my dream-like state, bursting into a coughing fit, aiming my spurting blood away from Jon.

"Shit!" I heard Jon's voice again.

I wasn't hallucinating.

"Agh…fuck…" Mikey's voice trailed closer to where Jon and I were.

Mikey ran to Jon and me once he saw me coughing.

"Oh my god, Y/N!"

Hacking out my last bit of blood, I turned to Jon, shit-and-blood-faced, drooling everywhere. Jon couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Is that…y-*cough*you, Jon?"

"Um…yeah… You look kinda familiar…"

Oh god, please don't fuck this up…

I prayed that he recognized me.

"It's Y/N from high school, remember?"

At that moment, Jon analyzed me, processing the two versions of me. When he realized who I was, his face lit up, morphing the prettiest, most heart-wrenching smile known to the universe. I flung my arms around him and buried my face in his shoulder. Just as shocked as I was, he squeezed me back, providing a comfort I had never received from anyone else.

"I missed you so much…" I whispered into his shoulder, rubbing his back.

Burying his face in my hair and running his fingers through it, Jon said,

"I missed you too, Y/N…a lot…"

Jon hugged me tighter, nuzzling into my hair and groping at my back, leaving no space between us. I swear I almost fell asleep in his warm embrace until Mikey said,

"Yo…uh… Jon?"

Jon lifted his head, all flushed and full of serotonin.

"…mm?"

"You uh… you know Joe?"

Jon chuckled and pulled back a little, still keeping his arm slung around my shoulders.

"Oh, that sister-fucking piece of shit? He narced me and a meth dealer and nearly got us thrown in jail. If his wife hadn't fucked up the evidence on accident."

"Jesus, man…"

"Y-Y'know I was trying to quit, I really was, and I did! I fucking-"

I found myself completely zoning out, only listening to Jon's attractive voice, staring at the veins in his hands, his side profile, his dorky smile, his adorable laugh… I wanted him.

I need him so badly. I need him to know about my feelings for him. I need to-

"Y/N!"

I jolted awake, still semi-conscious and dreaming of Jonathan.

"Shit-sorry…" I coughed, my spit slightly red.

"Oh no no no it's fine Y/N, take your time." Jon wiped my teary eyes with his thumbs.

"Nah you're good Y/N, I was jus' gonna ask if you and Jon're ready t' go to Wes's."

"Oh yeah, mmhmm…" I said.

Jon helped me up, keeping a hint of his cute smile.

"So uh… what's your name?" Jon asked Mikey as we walked to the secret entrance to Wes's.

"Oh, I'm Mikey; I'm a friend of Y/N's."

Jon hummed before Mikey led him and me into the storage cabinet behind the front counter. I entered the code into the number pad attached to the trapdoor on the floor; 110192837. I pried the door with the broomstick handle next to me; the only way to open it.

"Damn, guys! This is insane!" Jon exclaimed, impression dusting his pretty face.

"Yeah, the owner designed this; it's pretty fuckin' cool," I said before stepping aside to let Jon and Mikey go in.

The second Jon held my hips to help me down the ladder I nearly had a full-blown panic attack due to how completely and helplessly flustered I was by this man. Even one tiny touch can send me spiraling into insanity. His grip on my hips was so tight, but not to the point where it hurt, but to an extent when I felt protected.

"Oooooh Y/N's blushing!!!" Mikey jeered like a teenage girl.

"Pr-probably because I almost just got murked." I lied, a slight stutter and a hint of nervousness in my voice.

Mikey scoffed and led us down the dim tunnel to the venue. My mind raced, wondering if Jon noticed my mannerism and thought I didn't like him touching me. Once we reached the entrance to the venue Mikey knocked on the door. Jon looked a little distraught. With one overreaching thought came another, then another, and so goddamn forth.

I acted so fucking nervous around him before he left, does he think I hate him, or does he hate me now? Does he even-…No. He was happy to see me, but why is he-

"Hey, Mike, who's this zesty Raggedy Ann lookin-"

"He's a friend of Y/N's, calm the fuck down." Mikey interrupted the bouncer, stepping forward slightly.

The bouncer, Jim, pursed his lips and lowered his eyes to me with dangerous intentions.

"He a friend or what?"

Clearing my throat, I said calmly,

"Yes, he's with us, I promise."

Jim's nostrils flared, and he pursed his lips again.

"Come in."

We hurried inside, avoiding Jim's death glare. The place was just as I remembered; dimly lit, with a touch of gray in everything, a putrid odor of meth and piss in one particular spot, but the rest smelled like sandalwood and cigarettes.

"Wanna go to the bar?" I asked Jon.

Jon obliged, and we slinked to the bar while Mikey trailed off toward a leopard-print-clad chick. We awkwardly sat down, and I waved to the bartender.

"Oh hey, Y/N! Who's this guy?" The bartender, Sid, asked me.

"Oh I'm Jonathan; I'm Y/N's old friend," Jon said.

"Always nice to see newcomers who aren't pieces of shit! Anything you want, Jonny Boy?"

Jon chuckled.

"Just a rum and coke, please."

"Oh, Y/N, you want that too?"

"Oh yeah, thanks, man," I replied awkwardly.

Sid walked off, leaving Jon and me alone. I nervously shifted slightly in my chair before asking,

"So, uh…you're in a band now, huh? That's pretty cool!" I said, screaming at myself not to sound so awkward.

"Oh yeah I started Korn last year after Sexart broke up, and we're doing pretty great!"

"Oh, I saw you guys in concert, all of you are just so talented, I swear to god."

"Wait, what? Why didn't you come to say hi?"

My head hurt with negative anticipation.

"I…I didn't wanna intrude on anything or piss off security…"

Fuck.

I swear I nearly burst into tears when Jon looked slightly hurt. I felt god awful, but my misspeaking was hard to take back.

"I-I mean, I really wanted to, but-"

"Y/N, this whole 'band' thing hasn't made me into some posh asshole! You can come up and say hi to me after shows! There isn't even that much security!"

I froze, trying not to cry as I watched my world crumble around me. I hurt someone I loved more than anything else to ever exist like an incompetent piece of garbage. I couldn't speak, or else I would start crying.

Okay, why is Jon so pissed off and why am I such a FUCKING IDIOT?!

Jon scoffed and turned back away from me, taking his rum and coke from Sid, who slid a second one over to me.

"Whoa, whoa Y/N! Are you alright?" Sid noticed me trying with all my strength to hold back tears.

"I-……I'm okay…" I choked out, my voice cracking.

"No you're not Y/N, what's wrong?"

I needed to lie somehow.

"M…My pet cat needs to get surgery, and I'm just-"

I burst into loud sobs in front of Jon, even though I didn't have a cat. Sid rubbed my back and said,

"Aw, Y/N, the vets here are great, okay? Your cat's gonna be fine, promise."

I looked up at Sid, tears still streaming down my red face.

"Here, Y/N, just drink the worries away, and you and your cat will be alright…"

I nodded, taking a sip of my rum and coke and slipping Sid five dollars.

"Th…Thanks…"

Once Sid left, I turned back to Jonathan, who was rubbing his temples and running his fingers through his dreads.

I hate myself so much…

Jon turned back to me, a troubled look on his face.

"Y/N, please look at me."

Fuck.

Reluctantly, I slowly turned to face him, my face red and wet with tears and snot. Jon knit his brow and lowered his head when he saw what he did.

"I…I'm so sorry, Y/N…I just…This whole 'fame' thing, it just…"

Jon set his hands on my knees.

"*sniff* It's really okay, Jon. You don't need to apologize."

Jon clasped his hands around my face, cupping and caressing it.

"Y/N, look at yourself! Of course I need to apologize! I hurt my best friend!"

"Jon, it's *sniff* okay, I know what fame can do to someone…" I sniffled, wiping my tears.

Jon sighed, taking his hands off my face and sipping his drink.

"Yeah… it's been god-awful, but that doesn't mean I just get to bitch at everyone." Jon said, setting his drink down.

"I know… But I'll let you bitch at me just this once." I said, attempting to lighten the mood.

Jon snickered, turning back to me.

"You should drink that before it gets warm."

I nodded and took a giant sip, feeling the sting of alcohol rush into my sinuses, starting to cleanse them of horrible thoughts. Jon cleared his throat.

"Yeah, I have security on my ass 24/7, I can't fucking go anywhere without being bombarded by fuckin' fans, I got fuckin' bruises from being tossed around during concerts, and I just-…"

Jon trailed off and ran his fingers through his hair, his brow knitting again in frustration.

"I needa stop drinking, but nobody likes me when I'm sober…"

My heart dropped into my shoes.

This can't be happening…He deserves so much better…I need to get him out of this…

I scooched over to Jon and wrapped him in a big bear hug, cradling his head to my breast while he clenched his arms around my waist for dear life. Even though I hated seeing him like this, I loved holding him so much. The side of his face resting against my chest while he held my waist flooded my stomach with butterflies.

His hair, oh my god…

Even though it was in dreadlocks, it was still soft to the touch, and it was so satisfying to scratch at his scalp, making him hum through sobs.

He's so adorable it hurts…

Jon looked up at me with red, glossy eyes.

"Jeez, it's like you never left…"

I smiled and nuzzled his head before taking another sip of my rum and coke. I was starting to loosen up.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't get ahold of you. I tried, I really did…" I whispered into his dreads.

Jon pulled away and held my hands.

"I know, so did I, but this whole fucking-…"

Jon trailed off, realizing he was repeating himself.

"Well, you have me now, and I have you," I said, trying to calm the mood again.

Jon turned back to me.

"I'm so glad I do…"

Over the next few hours, we continued laughing with each other through drinks, catching up and talking about what was happening within the past few years.

"Hehe…Yeah, I remember one time; Head got so fucked up on stage he pulled down his pants and humped his guitar…"

"Whoa, what the hell? Did you guys get banned or something?"

Jon laughed.

"Oh no, no; it was a chill venue…The guys were mad though."

I finished my rum and coke, setting the glass down, my nerves relaxed.

"Y-You guys were so fucking good in concert, like…I was afraid you were having a seizure or something, just turns out you're really fucking talented…"

"Nah, we're alright; we're just really *chuckle*, we're just really fucked up in the head, that's all…" Jon laughed, flashing his pretty smile yet again.

We continued laughing and talking until the dancefloor lit up in the center of the venue. All of a sudden, "Loser" started playing.

"Oh my GOD, I love this song…" I said, turning around to get ready to leave.

"Oh man, me too…You wanna dance?" Jon asked, hopping off the stool and extending his hand for me to take it.

I happily obliged, taking Jon's sweet hand and traveling smoothly with him to the dancefloor. The song started with us swaying next to each other, grooving to the beat, but when the beat dropped, Jon and I threw our heads forward and started headbanging, swaying around like headless chickens. But then again, so was everyone else.

"SOYYYYYYYYYY UN PERDEDORRRRRRRRRRR IM A LOSER BABYYYYYYYY SO WHY DON’T YOU KILL MEEEEE…."

"GET CRAZY WITH THE CHEEZ WHIZZ!!!"

Jon and I nearly screamed the lyrics while getting fucked up on straight dopamine.

It feels so good to have this much fun without getting blackout drunk…"

We danced through "Fucking Hostile," "Pull the Plug," "Enjoy the Silence," and god-knows-what-else, and spun ourselves silly. During "Total Eclipse of the Heart," Jon motioned for me to come into his arms. Of course, I obliged, blushing profusely, and he took me into his arms, swaying me side to side with my arms around his torso and his on my upper back.

He's so pretty up close…

His vantablack eyes twinkled with the dim lights, as did his soft features.

Right here is the most kissable motherfucker alive.

Without thinking, I tightened my arms around Jon and laid my head on his chest. He was taken aback at first when he suddenly loosened his grip but held me tighter as if he was trying to keep me as his. I laid my head on his chest and listened to Jon's heartbeat, which ran faster than Bullet Bill on speedball and steroids.

Am I doing anything wrong, or does he want me too?

Suddenly, I heard a loud crash and glass shatter everywhere.

"Get the fuck out now!"

I swiveled around to see Joe and Monica, both mutilated to unrecognition. Monica had jumped behind the bar counter and knocked over all the alcohol on the shelves, and Joe stood beside her, holding a lighter. Monica saw Jon and I and lunged at us.

"Jesus!"

Monica smacked me down before swinging at me with floppy fists, clocking me square in the nose. Jon tried to help me, but Joe tackled him, socking him in the stomach. I threw Monica off me and tried to kick Joe off of Jon, crying out for backup.

"Hey! Someone help us!"

As soon as those words left my lips, a stampede of beefy men and angry intoxicated girls came to our aid. Joe got knocked down, instantly thrown against the wall and socked in the face hard. I could only watch in awe as Joe, a man I couldn't even look in the eye, was effortlessly shredded to pieces.

"You heretics!"

Those words were Joe's last words before a guy grabbed a spoon and started digging out Joe's eyeballs, turning his swears into breathy screams and sobs. Watching the scene unfold, I prompted myself to grab another old spoon and lunge at Monica, who was sitting on the floor screaming at the men to stop, not doing shit about her dying husband. I tackled her to the floor and took a broken bottle, contorting her squirming body before ripping off her shirt and piercing the flesh of her thin abdomen, a pocket of thick blood bursting from the laceration and making her vocal chords raspy with how much she screamed. A random guy pinning her down with me, I got up, got a running head start, and plummeted onto her face, the heels of my boots bursting her eyeballs and nose with red, slimy fluid.

"Y/N please just stop! This won't bring back the little pussy, Chris, you called a brother!"

She did not…

Monica had the nerve to put the name of my brother she drove to suicide into her mouth. She tormented him relentlessly, telling him nobody loved him, pretending to kill his imaginary friends, and used his autism to make him do whatever she wanted, including sexual favors.

C'mon Christopher, be a man and fuck me! You don't want Whizzy to be sad, do you? He would just LOVE to see your porn star dick before he DIES OF CANCER!! Now come on, you little fa-

The memories flooded back to me of Monica's abuse towards Chris and how I was too young to fight back against her. I didn't understand that he didn't want it.

And now Chris's bones are still hanging in his bedroom…

With tears pricking at my eyes I got up, allowing Monica to hobble to her feet, a smirk teasing at her face.

Now's my chance to show Chris I love him…

Stepping up closer to Monica, my nostrils flared slightly.

"I hate you."

Monica scoffed.

"Oh really? You weren't saying that when I bought you pizza after your brother ate my pussy like he was starving! I just know he liked it when I used a little…FORCE on him, is all!"

"Chris wanted you dead."

Monica cackled, slapping her thigh before getting all up in my face.

"Then why was he so eager to fuck me and give me ALL his money when I was the only one that could save his little imaginary friend? That motherfucker needed me!"

Monica stepped closer to me.

"And all you and Chris could say was 'we love you Monica!'"

At that moment, I lost all means of composure, adrenaline shooting through my veins and my eyes red and wide as saucers. My blood was searing through my skin; it needed to dart my hands at Monica.

She's gonna regret even LOOKING at Chris.

Using one-hundred percent of my strength effortlessly, I seized Monica by the throat and slammed her down WWE-style to the floor. One of the guys pinning her down, I grabbed my spoon.

"No! Please!"

I cackled, followed by a harsh smack to her face.

"You were talking so much shit just a minute ago, and now you're crying like a little FUCKING BITCH for me to stop?"

Monica loved using that line with Chris.

"I'm sorry!" Monica cried, trying to slap my hands away.

I got up and stomped on her throat.

"Bullshit!"

I got back down and positioned my spoon at Monica's left eye.

"Chris would be so fuckin' happy to see this…"

I spread apart Monica's cyan-pigmented eyelids and started wedging the rusty spoon into her cornea, earning another strained scream from her.

"Y-You don't have to do this!" Monica tried pushing me away again.

The guy holding her down landed a violent smack to her face.

"Shut up, bitch."

I shot him a friendly smile through all my anger before slowly digging my spoon into Monica's eye again.

"Hey y'all, come watch this!"

The people who killed came and watched me torture Monica.

"Fuuuck, this is gonna be so good…"

I jabbed my spoon behind her eye, more blood seeping into the well of the spoon. At that point, Monica couldn't even scream anymore; all I heard was the attendees cheering. Deep red hues pricked and teased into the whites of her eyes while I pushed the spoon deeper, her eyeball emerging from her socket and out from under her decorated eyelids. I yanked the spoon, dislodging her eye and earning loud cheers. I stood up on top of Monica's retching body.

"Alright, who wants to keep the eyeball?"

Almost everyone raised their hands excitedly.

"Alright, let's see here…"

I chose a short girl in the back because she and I both liked Cannibal Corpse.

"You, in the Cannibal Corpse shirt! Catch!"

The girl squealed with joy as I ripped the nerve and threw her the bloody eyeball. I dug out the other eye and threw it to a big guy wearing no shirt and covered in tattoos, to which he responded by laughing,

"You crazy as shit!"

He and a group of guys came up to Monica and I.

"May we?"

"Sure!"

I stepped back and watched the scene unfold, my body trembling with sheer dopamine. One guy had picked her up by the wrists with ONE hand and hung her from a ceiling beam like a piñata. I grabbed a half-drank Heineken left on the floor and looked for Jon when the men had their ways with Monica, violating her in every manner, from sexually to emotionally, to straight-up physically.

"Yeah, take this fucking knife in your saggy ass, you brother-fucking cow!"

"Tsk…making my bro fuck your fishy cunt when you can't even suck dick? What a fucking ingrate…"

"I bet you had your first time with your dad, you little pissy shit-whore slut!"

I took another sip of my beer, getting into the closet where the exit was.

I need to find Jon soon…

I was about to leave when I got called back to where the guys and Monica were.

"Yo! You in the closet! Come out here you crazy motherfucker!"

I opened the door to see every attendee, including Sid, forming an aisle leading me to Monica's now naked and mutilated body. She was barely holding onto life.

"Will you do the honors?" One of the men asked, holding out a dull, rusty box cutter.

I happily obliged, approaching Monica while drawing the box cutter.

"Monica…"

All she could do was cough up semen and blood.

"You may think you're hot shit and that all the poor men you manipulated are groveling at your feet…"

I stepped closer.

"But all you are is a fucking disease that they just happened to catch."

I angrily drew the blade to her throat.

"…and I'm the cure."

I jabbed the blade deep into Monica's jugular vein and ripped it through pale flesh all the way to the other side, almost completing a 360. The bar attendees cheered while they watched Monica choke and bleed pathetically down her face. I dropped the boxcutter like a microphone and stood in the crowd to watch Monica die, finishing my beer. I earned pats on the back and cheers of my name.

"Damn bro, you fucked her up!"

"MAD respect, dawg."

Turns out I wasn't the only one Monica messed with.

I want to see Jon.

Nudging my way through the crowd, I exited the bar through the closet. Once I reached the snowy surface, I saw Jon sitting in the alleyway where we used to hang out.

"Jon!"

He turned to me, flashing his pretty smile.

"Hi Y/N!"

I hurried over to him and sat down next to him.

"Why'd you leave?"

Jon sighed, his smile fading slightly.

"It was just…too much."

I immediately went to comfort him. I hated seeing Jon like this.

"Oh no I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry I didn't look for you or fu-"

Jon put a finger to my lips.

"It's okay, Y/N! You need to stop apologizing so damn much…"

Jon chuckled, putting his arm around me. I laid my head against his shoulder and looked up at the snow. It was strangely beautiful to me.

"Besides, it wasn't even your fault! That bitch had it coming." Jon said, snuggling into me a little more.

I chuckled.

"Couldn't've said it better myself…"

I yawned, and without thinking, I wrapped my arms around Jon and buried my face in his neck. He pulled away slightly, taken aback and flushed.

Fuck!

I pulled away as well, scrambling to give Jon space.

"Shit, I'm sorry…"

Jon immediately scrambled back to me.

"Oh no, no, no, no I didn’t-…I mean I-…I liked it!"

My heart jumped out of my throat and into his hands.

"Oh…uh..."

Y/N, you idiot…

Jon broke the awkward silence by asking,

"Y/N, I'm just gonna say this straight up because I need to know; Do you love me?"

I froze, shellshocked by what I heard. Without holding back, I drunkenly blurted,

"Yes, Jonathan! I love you so much. I can't even spend a living minute without thinking about you! You're the only thing giving me hope in life, and I hope I did too with yours. You know why? Because I fucking love you! I would go through a fate worse than hell for you! I would give up everything in my life just to see your…BEAUTIFUL smile! Every night I hug my pillow and pretend it's you, and it's the only way I can sleep! I would do anything for you! I would buy you anything and everything I can't afford! I love you, I love you, I LOVE YOU!"

Jon's face got burnt to a crisp. He never given that kind of dedication from anyone other than his mother.

"Y/N, I…" Jon stuttered, shifting in his place.

I scooched back, my eyes burning with tears.

I just ruined my relationship with him, like I ALWAYS FUCKING DO! I ruin everything!

"I'm really sorry, Jon. I'll leave you alone."

Before I could leave, Jon instantly grabbed me and pulled my face an inch from his, holding it in deep devotion.

"I love you too, Y/N."

He pulled me in and connected his soft lips to mine.

HOLY FUCK, WHAT?

My stomach jumped out of my anus, and my head raced.

Is it getting hot out here, in this snowy weather?

I hugged around his upper back and pulled myself in closer to Jon, deepening the kiss. He hummed, moving one of his hands to the back of my head, taking off my hat before scratching and massaging my scalp.

He's so perfect…

I moved my hand up to his head, letting go of all my nerves completely. I buried my fingers in his dreads and caressed his soft cheek with my thumb. Jon wrapped his legs around me to get closer, more blush spreading across my cheeks. I buried myself into him, wrapping my jacket inside his so there would be no space between us. Jon broke the kiss, still holding me in the cuddly position.

"You're a good kisser, Y/N."

I smiled, nuzzling his cute nose.

"So are you, Jonathan Howsmon Davis."

Jon giggled and pulled me in closer with his legs, shifting me over so my back was against the brick wall.

"I love you so much, Y/N. I always have…"

I pecked his lips.

"I love you more."

Jon kissed me again, this time a little more passionate, turning the kiss into a sweet makeout session.

I feel so safe under him…

Jon pulled away.

"You look so flustered, isn't this what you wanted?"

I stammered,

"Oh no, no, I want this, it's just…"

Jon cocked his head to the side.

"You're so fuckin pretty, it hurts." I finished my sentence, pulling him in for a harder kiss.

Jon kissed me back, grunting as he shifted more onto me, pinning me against the brick wall. He squished my face into his with his hands, starting to eat at my lips a little.

I need him so bad…

I moved my hands to his hair and face when he moved his to the small of my back, enveloping me into him and allowing me to bring him closer. His skin was softer than anything ever felt under my calloused fingertips. His hair was so long and frizzy; I could hold onto it for hours. EVERYTHING about this man was absolutely perfect in every way.

"I've been wanting this for so long…" I breathed in between kisses, lost in his pretty face up close.

Jon smiled again, nuzzling into me and pecking my red cheek.

"Me too."

We continued to lazily make out, snuggled in each other's jackets and making up for all the missed time we could have spent together. I felt like I could disappear into his arms and snuggle him forever. Jon's fuzzy hair surrounded my face while he straddled my lap and held my head sweetly. Our noses and eyelashes fluttered on each other under large snowflakes, more slow songs playing in the background. When we weren't kissing and nuzzling, we just gazed into each other's pretty eyes for a few seconds before kissing again.

He's so soft…

Jon pulled an unopened beer from his jacket pocket and cracked it open against the wall. He took a sip before offering me the bottle, to which I obliged to him feeding me like that. From then on, gentle beer kisses and sweet nothings got shared between us. As we finished the bottle, there was more tipsy shifting and growing lustful tension, both of us wanting more than just cuddles.

"My pretty baby…" Jon murmured before tilting my head backwards and planting sweet, open-mouthed kisses on my neck, making me gasp and bite my lip.

When Jon said those words and kissed my neck, my heart rate went from zero to infinity. Kissing Jon was every nightly desire come true; my fantasies had become realities. I felt my nether regions tingle in my thick, baggy jeans. I ran my fingers up and down his hot body under his jacket, raking my fingernails over his sensitive spots, making him whimper against my neck.

Fuck, his noises are so hot…

I could feel Jon's erection poking at my lower tummy as he started shifting on my lap.

He's so desperate, it's so cute…

Jon pulled away, crashing his lips back into mine while gripping the sides of my face again. My fingers trailed down to his waist, feeling all over his hot back.

"I want you bad, Y/N…" Jon husked between kisses, biting and tugging my bottom lip.

I slid my cold fingers under his shirt, making him yelp.

"I want you more, Jon…"

I latched my mouth onto his neck, feeling up his sides and hairy chest.

Now I'm in charge…

I snaked my hands down to his hips, dangerously close to his crotch.

"Oh fuck, Y/N, please…"

Jon was already at my mercy, begging me to touch him. I continued teasing around his throbbing cock, licking and sucking hickeys all over his neck. He was a moaning mess on my lap, like a little slut in heat. I snickered against his neck.

"You want me to touch you, baby?"

Jon buried his face in the crook of my neck and nodded frantically. I removed my hands from him and whispered in his ear,

"Use your words…"

Jon thrust hard into my hand and begged,

"Please, Y/N…make me cum all over your hand…or mouth…or pussy, I don't fucking care which…"

I got up, helping a whining Jonathan up with me.

"Let's go somewhere a bit more private…"

Jon followed me around the front of the building to my truck. He was practically shaking from my hands, making me shiver with anticipation at how he would take revenge on me later. I opened the back of my truck and turned on my lantern next to an old mattress.

"Shall we?" I asked, hopping inside.

Jon scrambled into the back of my truck, desperate to have my hands on him.

"Fuck yes…"

I stood up and closed the opening.

"Unzip your pants, babe."

Jon unbuckled his belt and pulled down his black khakis just past his ass, his erect cock stretching the fabric of his red boxers. He laid down, ready for me.

"C'mere…"

I slowly crept towards Jon, like a predator catching its prey, then I pounced on top of him, slamming my hips down onto his member.

"Oh fuck!"

Jon threw his head back and moaned helplessly, bucking his hips into my beaver. I bit my lip, holding my hips down for Jon to grind against, feeling powerful on top of him. I quietly whimpered when his bulge rubbed against my clit.

"You're so fucking hot…I need to go down on you…" I groaned, lifting up Jon's shirt and trailing hungry kisses down his hairy torso, him squealing when I nibbled at his nipple.

When I reached Jon's crotch area, it was warm and throbbing for me, a strangely comforting and cuddly feeling, even though it was a sexual situation. Jon whined when I cupped his clothed nuts and traced my tongue along his trapped length, placing kisses on his swollen tip through the elastic fabric. I teasingly nuzzled Jon's tip with my nose and kissed down his shaft to his balls, earning cute twitches from his cock. I slowly licked up between his nads and trailing lightly at the base of his cock with my fingers.

He's so cute, it hurts…

I turned my head to the side and put his shaft in my mouth corn-on-the-cob-style. I moved up and down, my tongue tracing the bulging muscle on the front.

"Oh, Y/N…" Jon keened, gripping my hair and humping into my face desperately.

I gripped Jon's erection and started slowly stroking him through his boxers, making his pretty little head fall back and making whimpers tumble from his cute lips. Continuing the teasing with my mouth while I stroked him, I cooed,

"You're so cute when you're all flustered like that…"

Finally gathering up enough strength to say something clearly, he replied with,

"Just imagine what you'll be like later…"

Feeling challenged, I yanked down Jon's underwear and sucked his tip hard, making him gasp and turning his cocky words into loud moans. Snickering at his duality, I slowed down again, sliding my wet tongue all over his tip sweetly while looking up into the prettiest eyes to ever exist. In between tingly licks, I pressed loving, gentle kisses to Jon's tip, precum sticking to my lips. When Jon bucked his hips into my face and groaned, I decided to stop teasing. I started pumping his wet shaft at a medium pace and sucking hard, twisting my neck different ways and putting my tongue on the bottom of his dick while I sucked his soul out, earning the sexiest moans and whimpers any ears could experience. Jon's grip on my hair pushed me down to deepthroat him, making me grip onto his feminine thighs for extra endurance.

"Oh my god, Y/N, you're so good at that…Oh shit!"

Jon yelped when I spread his legs out and started going faster, squeezing his nuts lightly. The saliva dripping from my occupied tongue trailed into the hand that squeezed Jon, lubing up his sensitive areas and making him lose his damn mind down my throat. Jon desperately fucked my face, rambling curses and praises while nearly ripping out my hair. I flicked my tongue wherever it could and went deeper, fitting Jon's whole shaft down my throat and increasing suction at the back of my throat.

"You're gonna make me bust twelve nuts at once, fuck…"

Already soaking wet, I ground my clothed pussy into the heel of my boot, needy for friction while I continued blowing Jon hard for the next several moments; I lost track of time in a fit of desire. I looked up at Jon again while he was nearing his orgasm, earning the view of a pretty head tilted back all the way and a spotted neck above a dark green heavy jacket.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, good god, Y/N you're so…" Jon stammered, my wet, tight mouth driving him to insanity.

Once I started gagging, I pulled off and slobbered all over his cock, pumping his squelching cock with a vice-grip. Jon's pretty unit glistened in the lantern's light, all red, throbbing, and tingly. I dived back down and continued my attack, arching my ass up in the air and going all the way down, more precum leaking down my throat. My tongue explored him, tasting his desire for me.

"Oh god, oh my-oh shit!!"

Warm, salty, delicious ribbons of semen shot down my throat for each one of Jon's strained moans as he tugged on the roots of my hair, making me whimper a bit. He desperately fucked into my face, drunk on both beer and his need to cum. I took every drop down my throat, like I had always fantasized. Once Jon was done, he shakily leaned forward and caressed my raised ass.

"That was the best…fucking head…I've ever gotten…even compared to my own hand…" He panted, giving my butt cheek a squeeze.

I hummed and licked the remaining cum up his shaft teasingly, planting more sweet kisses to the tip, making him twitch and groan.

"Fuckin' tease…" Jon growled, smacking my ass.

I gasped and whimpered on his cock, not used to him being all dominant like that. My time was over.

"C'mere…" Jon said again, trailing his hand up my back.

I sat up and straddled his lap, looking down at his cute face and caressing it.

"Hi…" I giggled tipsily.

"Hey…" Jon replied before suddenly whirling me around, throwing me down under him with my back hitting the thin mattress.

I could feel my panties overflowing as my dominant demeanor dropped. Jon was in control now.

"We might wanna go home for what I'm about to do…" He breathed, his teeth scraping against the shell of my ear.

I trembled underneath Jon, feeling up his body as I nodded, both of us leaving the truck. We took a tense bus ride to my apartment, and once we arrived, we ran out, throwing the driver a dollar. Once the bus was gone, Jon lunged at my lips, grabbing me by the face and pulling me into him. I hugged around his waist and raked my nails up his back again, groping and scratching wherever I could reach. Jon pushed me to the stairs, traveling with me on his lips the whole way up to my apartment.

"Fuck…"

I fumbled with my keys to find the right one, Jon leering behind me impatiently, needing to fuck my brains out. Once I found the key and unlocked the door, Jon grabbed me and pinned me up against the wall, slamming the door behind him with his foot. He crashed his lips into mine, gripping my face hard enough to break my jaw while I shifted into him as much as possible, raking my fingers under his shirt after he took off his jacket. I quickly put down my purse before pulling into Jon harder.

"Mmh-.…" Jon moaned into my mouth at the mercy of my cold fingers.

Jon gripped my hair, and his tongue slithered between my teeth into my mouth, challenging my tongue to a battle for dominance (his obviously won).

I've always wanted his sexy body pressed up against mine…

Still making out, Jon led me to my pullout couch bed I slept on and pushed me down onto it, crawling on top of me. After giving me one last peck, he removed his shirt and undid his belt, throwing both on the floor. He came back down and started kissing my neck again, sucking and harshly biting my throat while pulling my hair, drawing an erotic whimper between my lips. Jon did his signature chuckle against my neck.

"Told you…"

I wrapped my legs around Jon's waist and humped into his crotch, making him groan against my neck.

"So…so…desperate…"

He took off my jacket and shirt, throwing it with his clothes.

"So pretty…"

Pale hands and long fingers immediately latched to my breasts, squeezing the plump flesh through my bra in an insane and hungry manner, making me dizzy with arousal. I was helpless under Jonathan, so pathetic I couldn't even speak. All I could do was whine and whimper into his mouth as we ate each other's lips hungrily.

"Please…Please, Jon, let's fuck…" I keened, my face hot and flushed a deep red.

Jon bit his lip, wanting nothing more than to pound me open.

"…I'm gonna need to prep you first…"

Yanking off my bra, Jon lunged at my tits, not caring what they looked like enough to look at them first. He buried his face between them, enjoying my warm skin against the sides of his face and leaving purple hickeys. My breath hitched in my throat, stopped by his demanding mouth. I gasped when Jon's tongue glided to my nipple and started sliding around comfortably, the tiny tingles in my chest and cunt making me whimper more. I helplessly ran my fingers through his dreads roughly while he gently attacked my tits, making him hum at the feeling and crack a smirk against my nip. More hickeys were sucked and bitten onto my chest and neck, making sure to leave no bald spots. Jon pulled back to admire the number he did on my chest, now covered in deep purple and red blotches.

I love his biting love language…

While he was up, I took the ample time to admire how pretty Jonathan is, running my fingers around his thin waist, his soft chest and tummy, his body hair that was strangely comforting, like every other part of him.

He's nothing short of an angel…

Completely smitten, I sat up under Jon and started kissing his chest, feeling his warm skin under my lips while still feeling up his body. I tugged down his pants a little, signaling them to come off. He obliged and pulled them off, only wearing red boxers bearing a throbbing erection before flashing a sexy smirk and pushing me back down.

"Be patient, Y/N…"

Jon nuzzled between my ribs before trailing kisses down my tummy, stopping at my pelvis, the anticipation of my wet pussy on his lips making me shiver. He undid my belt and pulled down my pants, throwing them onto the pile on the floor. When I looked down, I swear Jon was drooling when he saw my panty-clad core.

What a great day to wear gray panties…

Jon could see every ounce of wetness caused by him for himself; he could see, feel, and taste what he did.

"Oh my god…" Jon groaned before tearing off my panties hungrily, needing my pussy like oxygen.

He took a second to look at his midnight snack, a string of drool dripping onto my throbbing clit, making me bite my lip. Jon dived down to nip at my inner thighs, trying with all his being not to immediately start eating me out. I whined, and my pussy twitched, needing Jon's mouth. Unable to contain himself, he swiftly attached his mouth to my soaking cunt, nudging his mouth between my red, puffy folds and tasting my wetness.

"Mmh…you taste…so good…"

Jon slowly started licking up and down with his long tongue, making me gasp every time his tongue flicked against my clit. He snickered against me when he heard my little noises, proud of his dizzying tongue skills. My poor cunny was engulfed between Jon's pretty lips as he suckled on my clit, circling it with his tongue.

"Ah…Jon…that feels so-…good……" I whimpered and moaned helplessly, pushing back the dreads in his angelic face.

Moving his head side to side, Jon snaked his long fingers to tease around my entrance before easing two into it. Tingly sensations shot up and down my spine, producing more wetness to coat Jon's mouth and chin.

"Oh god….tastes so fucking good….." Jon huffed into my messy cunny, pumping his fingers faster and slurping my whole pussy hungrily.

I could feel the knot in my tummy start to tighten to the point of unraveling while Jon pushed his mouth deeper, paying the most attention to my clit.

"Oh my god, Jon….please don't stop….I'm gonna cum…." I whined, followed by more pathetic inaudible moaning.

Jon's actions became desperate, him moaning into my pussy while he devoured me senseless and punched my g-spot swiftly.

"Ah, fuck!" I squealed, my pussy pulsating as I released in Jon's pretty mouth, my back arching almost ninety degrees and my pussy magnetically attached to Jon's mouth.

He moaned relentlessly and drank up all my juices, swallowing me whole and trying to get more like he was starving. With a loud pop, Jon released my quivering pussy from his mouth, crawling back up to my eye-level with a cum-coated grin.

"How was that?"

My face red, I replied shakily,

"Fucking crazy…"

I pulled him back down to kiss me, tasting my salty cum on his lips.

"Ew…" I giggled, nuzzling his cute nose.

Jon snickered and pecked my lips again.

"Yum."

I was oblivious to the party upstairs until "Closer" started playing right as Jon crawled back up to me.

Shit's going down…

I fired a Kubrick stare at Jon and started teasing his erect cock with my fingers again while taking off his boxers, a pretty cock springing out, ready to fuck.

"Oh god, Y/N…"

Jon violently shoved my legs over his shoulders, throwing me upside down and angling me so he could pile-drive me insane. Leering down at me, he slapped his tip on my wet entrance, triggering a quiet moan and a lip bite in both of us.

~~you let me violate you~~

Jon slowly pushed himself inside me, his teeth gritting when he hit contact with my tight insides.

"Shit…" I moaned, my eyes rolling back in my head while I squeezed his unit hard.

With that, Jon started moving in in and out slowly, leaning forward a bit to get closer to me. I could feel his cock breaking my pussy in, claiming it as its new home.

~~I broke apart my insides…~~

"You good?" Jon breathed, subdued by my vice grip.

I nodded, needing him to go faster. He leaned forward more to hold himself up on my shoulders at a dizzying angle that could have anyone screaming in no time. Jon changed his pace from slow to medium, both of us choking out heated whimpers and moans. It was like our genitals were becoming inseparable friends, like a magnetic field inside me.

The view is so beautiful…

Jon smeared his face with desperation, his chest hair, eyes, and forehead shining with sweat in my dimly-lit apartment, tints of dark orange and yellow saturating him into the dark, raggedy, peeling room. I felt up his skinny waist, him fitting easily in my hands while I trailed them all over his back and torso.

"Ahh…."

Jon's movements turned into thrusts as he held onto my leg for leverage, kissing it between loud moans.

I swear, his moans could kill god…they're so hot, holy fucking Christ…

"oh-Oh god, Jon, fuck!…." I cried when Jon snapped his hips into my g-spot.

~~help me get away from myself…~~

~~I wanna fuck you like an animal…~~

I cried out when Jon slammed himself forward to clasp his hand around my throat and pummel my g-spot repeatedly, groaning and pussydrunk.

"I'm using…this-oh fuck!- this pretty pussy tonight…"

With an erotic moan, I thrusted back into him and did a Kegel, causing a yelp to jump from Jon's chest before he fell down to me.

"Do that again…"

I squeezed another cock-crushing Kegel around Jon's throbbing cock, earning the hottest whimper known to this earth right in my ear.

"…so good to me…"

His groans becoming carnal, and dangerous, Jon gripped the roots of my hair and starting pounding me into oblivion, my g-spot crying from all the battery. It felt like we fused together, like a loud, sweaty, horny creature whimpering, moaning, and producing every bodily fluid possible.

~~you can have my everything…~~

I hooked my arms under Jon's lean shoulders, pulling his chest to mine and squishing my boobs under his.

Empty space isn't allowed between us…

Still gripping my hair, Jon scooched up, buried his face in the top of my head, and rammed into me harder, both of us groaning and shaking at the feeling of each other.

"Oh my god, Y/N…so….so…tight…..shit!"

I violently raked my nails down Jon's back, sending each other straight to paradise and desperate for more. Jon's growls turned into loud whimpers, pleas, and cries as he struck my g-spot even faster at the mercy of my fingernails.

"You feel s-so good, Jon…..I've b-been wanting th-this for so long…." I finally managed to choke out through erotic noises.

Jon crashed his lips into mine, gripping my throat and jaw with brute force and sloppily pounding my cunt open.

"I have too…but I didn't-…know you'd be…this crazy…"

Jon reached his hand down to flick my clit, making me squeak and dig my nails harder. He groaned loudly, and his head fell to the crook of my neck.

~~my existence is flawed...~~

~~you get me closer to god…~~

Jon choked out various whimpers and loud, desperate moans into my ear, holding me down and pounding my gushing pussy open.

"Fuck, Jon…!" I yelped when he deepened his thrusts to the maximum and flicked my clit faster.

With a slutty groan, Jon bit down harshly on my neck, moaning on the marked skin,

"You're so fucking good….dirty slut…"

I hooked my legs around his hips and buried my face in his shoulder. Sounds of clapping, pornographic cries, and the painfully erotic song in the background seeped into my dim, filthy apartment. If I had not been horny, I would have cried tears of joy.

I dreamed about being with Jon for so long…It's just as amazing as I imagined…

I needed this pretty boy in my life and I finally have him…I love him so much…

I smothered kisses wherever I could reach on Jon's hot, sweaty skin, addicted to every part of him and never wanting to let go. He cried out when I bit down on his chest. Taking the hint, I bit another part of his chest and left a dark red hickey, my g-spot being destroyed in the process, distracting me and making me nearly fall back in a fit of slutty moaning.

"Shit, Y/N, I'm close…." Jon choked into my ear, followed by a harsh bite on my neck.

The dizzying feeling of nirvana crept into my tummy, my walls twitching on Jon's throbbing cock.

"Oh god, yes! Right there…" My back arched, and my head craned backwards into my pillow.

Thank god Livvie's out on a business trip…

"Fuck, Y/N!" Jon cried out, grabbing my hips and leaning backwards, exposing his decorated neck.

~~you are the reason I stay alive…~~

Jon's pretty eyes were fixated on my pussy gripping him, my thighs clapping at an inhumane speed against his.

"Oh god, I'm cumming!!"

When the song ended, Jon released strings of hot cum into me, quickly followed by a euphoric wave crashing over me and my pussy coming undone with my cum while I rubbed my clit. Jon's signature growls and whimpers trailed to my buried ears, causing my pussy to squeeze more cum out of Jon. Once we finished, Jon collapsed onto me, panting heavily into my neck. I heaved hot breaths under Jon and rubbed his clawed back, planting a sweet kiss on his shoulder. We laid there for a few minutes, trying to comprehend how happy we were with each other.

"…you good?..." I breathed, feeling the back of his neck.

Jon nodded.

"…yeah…what about you?...you doin' alright?"

Jon raised himself up and caressed my red cheek. I smiled up at him and said,

"Never better."

Leaning back on his knees, Jon reached out for my hands, taking them and pulling me to him, catching me in his arms.

"Round two?" Jon asked, brushing a strand of hair out of my face.

I ran my hands up his thighs and obliged, desperate for more. Jon held my face sweetly and pecked my lips.

"Ride me?"

When I heard those words, I toppled on top of Jon and positioned his tip at my entrance.

"Anything for you, Jonathan Davis…"

Flashing a dangerous grin, Jon smacked my ass and grabbed my hips.

"Such an impatient little whore…"

With a bone-breaking grip on my hips, Jon started grinding my cunt against his shaft, his head falling back in tingly pleasure.

"So wet…feels so good…"

I instinctively tried to buck my hips forward, but Jon spanked me again, tightening his grip.

"My pace."

With that, I continued to let Jon get off on my pussy, biting my lip and moaning quietly at the feeling of his hard cock against my clit. When Jon let go of my hips a bit due to the pleasure, I leaned back and held myself up, my hands on his knees. I started shoving my pussy farther into Jon's shaft, making him groan and completely engulfing it with my folds, leaning my head back and splaying out my boobs. Shortly, Jon pushed me off and huffed,

"Alright, NOW you can ride me..."

I snickered, swinging a leg over his and wrapping my arm around his neck, using the other to position his tip at my entrance. As soon as the head entered me, my eyes rolled back into my head.

"Ohhh my fucking god…" I groaned, pushing myself deeper.

Jon craned his neck back and moaned loudly while my pussy swallowed his cock whole. I felt so powerfu, like I had him in the palm of my hand. I slowly started moving up and down, clenching his cock like Andre the Giant was squeezing it in a massive fist. In mere minutes, Jon changed from a cocky dickhead to a whimpering, pleading mess inside me.

"God, I love you…" Jon growled, weaving his fingers into my hair and grabbing my face before pulling my lips to his.

When I sank down, I moaned pathetically into his mouth, squeezing my thighs around his.

"I love you more… I pulled away and wrapped my arms around Jon's neck, angling my pussy better to fit his fat cock.

Resting my head against the wall behind Jon, I picked up the pace, arching my back for maximum ass-bouncing efficiency. My walls crushed his cock so hard it made his head spin like he was getting fucked senseless instead of me.

"Ahhh Y/N!!" Jon cried, so deep in euphoria that he was nearly overstimulated.

Feeling too powerful, I went faster, overstimulating him and making him squeal like a little girl. He twitched rapidly underneath me, gripping my hips so hard it nearly broke the thick skin down there. I kept going, enjoying seeing Jon writhe underneath me. Trying to get revenge, Jon started sucking my left nipple and flicking my clit hard, triggering a pornographic moan to fall from my lips and more wetness to gather on his cock.

His dick is so sensitive, it's so cute…

I looked at him while bouncing with a Kubrick stare through my shaggy, long black hair, resembling a sex gremlin with tits. This attribute turned him on to the maximum.

"Fuck, you're so hot, Y/N…I wanna fucking destroy you…"

Speeding up more until I hit my maximum speed and depth, I pounded myself onto Jon's dick hard, the moaning and clapping louder than ever in the heated room. I rode this man like I would never walk again, unable to get my hands or pussy off his hot body.

"Oh god! Right there!!"

"Shit, Y/N!"

Jon suddenly trapped me in a big bear hug and slammed up into me rapidly, needing to cum more than anything. I hugged my arms around his neck and squeaked and whimpered into his ear, making him growl various praises to me.

"Fuuuck, you're gonna be the death of me…"

"You're gonna make me cum again, baby…"

"You want me to make you squirt like a little dirty slut, huh?"

Jon rolled over on top again, positioned my ass was in the air, and pounded me fast and violent like a hungry animal catching its prey.

…the best way to die…

I could feel butterflies raving in my stomach as my climax neared its time. I could tell Jon was close too.

…shit, do I need to pee or am I gonna squirt?...

"Oh my god, Y/N I'm cumming!!"

"Me too, oh fuck!"

A harsh stream of wetness shot from me onto Jon's sexy pelvis, soaking his nuts and pubes.

"Oh my fucking god, Y/N…that was so hot…"

Jon flicked my clit with his fingers so fast it made my head spin while he kept fucking me, trying to cum again. The pleasure of him continuing with me after I came and him flicking my clit hard made me bury my face into the pillows and twitch violently, squeaking like a mouse and tears pricking at my eyes. I could hear him nearly screaming as he and I came close to our second orgasms.

"Oh god, oh my- fuck!!" Jon cried out as he fucked the living daylights out of my twitching cunny.

Once he finished, Jon lazily flipped me around and gently laid beside me. When I saw him, his eyes glistened, and he was panting. I turned on my side to face him and wrapped my arms and legs around him like a koala, burying my face in his shoulder.

"Awww." Jon beamed, turning to face me and wrapping me in his comfy arms.

I snuggled up into his chest, happier than ever before.

…I finally have him all to myself…

Jon kissed my head repeatedly, just as happy as I was. We lay there panting for a few minutes before Jon said,

"…glad I could get that off my chest…"

I hugged him tighter.

"…me too, honey bun…"

He chuckled and nuzzled my hair.

"…are you sleepy?..."

"…not really…just relaxed…" I replied, my eyes slowly fluttering.

Jon took a thick strand of my hair into his mouth.

"…i'm hungry…wanna order pizza and watch movies?..."

My stomach growled right as he said that. I hadn't eaten dinner yet and it was almost midnight.

"…mmh…yes please…"

Jon sat up groggily, bringing me up with him. He was strong despite his skinny frame. My head fell on his shoulder, still hugging him. He quietly laughed.

"Babyyy, I need to get the phone…"

I sighed, not wanting to let go.

"…ok, but i'm coming with you…"

Jon chuckled,

"Fiiine…"

Jon struggled to get up with my arms around him, but he finally managed to do so, butt-naked and dizzyingly happy. I shuffled with him to the telephone, hugging him from behind around his skinny waist.

"What kind do you want?"

"…pepperoni and onion…"

"Me too."

Jon dialed Tony's Pizzeria lazily, resting his tired head against the wall.

"Yeah, hi. One large pepperoni and onion pizza please…yeah thanks, see you…"

Jon hung up, turning around to give me a big bear hug.

"I love you."

I nuzzled into his chest.

"I love you more, Jonathan…"

Jon picked me up, straining a bit.

"Lies."

I wrapped my legs around his waist and kissed him.

"Truths."

Jon carried me back to the bed and laid me down, crawling onto me. He kissed my cheeks sweetly.

"Yeah, well I love you just as much…"

Before I could protest, Jon kissed my lips.

"You better not say shit…"

I laughed, pulling him into me. He giggled against my neck, pecking it softly.

"Okay, fine…you win…"

Jon laughed evilly and laid beside me, pulling me into his chest and stroking my hair. I koala-hugged him again, squishing my cheek against his chest.

…he's all mine now…he's my boyfriend…or at least he's acting like it…

I couldn't believe it; the boy I had loved since I was a freshman in high school was holding me tight in my bed, squeezing me and kissing me because he loved me.

He loves me…?

Even though Jon told me he loved me and fucked the dogshit out of me, I couldn't convince myself that he, let alone anyone, liked or loved me; I hated myself so much. In the time spent in silence cuddling, I had time to think.

I hate thinking so much.

 I felt stinging tears well in my eyes.

…he's too good for me…he's out of my league…i'm such a piece of shit…

Jon noticed my sniffling and immediately sat up, pulling me into another hug.

"Oh god, baby…what's wrong?"

Jon pulled away and held my face, wiping away my tears. When I saw his concerned expression, I sobbed, burying my face in his bare shoulder. He stroked my hair and rubbed my back, sweetly muttering words of comfort to me.

"It's okay Y/N, take your time, baby…"

Embarrassing sobs escaped my eyes, nose, and mouth as I tried to explain myself.

"I…I just…"

I broke down again, Jon humming and stroking my hair.

"I…I hate myself so much… and I keep thinking I'm forcing you into this…and that nobody actually loves me when they say they do; I think they're lying…"

I felt like I was talking out of my butt right to my high school crush.

"…baby…why would I say I love you if I didn't mean it?"

That contradicted all my illogical thinking, stumping me.

"I….I dunno…I-I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense…" I replied, feeling helpless.

Jon held my face, caressing my cheeks and gazing lovingly into my eyes.

"Y/N, You're my best friend, well, now you're more than that but you WERE my best friend all throughout high school. You loved me like no one else. Why would I think you weren't good enough for me?"

I hung my head in embarrassment.

"I…I dunno…I'm sorry Jon, I just-"

Jon cut me off by connecting his lips to mine for a long kiss. He held the small of my back, and I moved my hands to his hair and around his neck.

"Don't apologize, Y/N…There's no need to…I love you…

We continued sweetly making out, just like we did in the snow. My bare skin locked with his, and it felt so good; rough hands ran along my back tattoos, tracing my shoulder blades and my ribs. I played with his dreadlocks with one hand while trailing the other one all over his shoulders and chest, him humming at my gentle touch. It felt like I was in heaven, like an angel blessed me with Jon. We kept making out sweetly until we suddenly heard a loud knock, startling us both. When we realized we were completely naked, Jon panicked, quickly throwing on his boxers and a random hoodie while I got up and searched my purse for a five dollar bill. Once I found it, I passed it to Jon, and he opened the door, blushing profusely.

"H…Hey, what's up?" Jon stuttered when he opened the door.

The delivery guy chuckled and said,

"Nothin' much, thanks for the cash, you have a good one."

"You too."

Once the door closed, Jon set down the pizza on the kitchen counter and lunged back at me, tackling me in another big bear hug.

"Jonathan!" I squealed, caught off guard.

He laughed and kissed me again, resuming our makeout session. Jon set me on his lap, allowing me to envelop his neck in my arms and comfortably hold him while he gently held my waist, rubbing my back sweetly.

"…we should probably eat that before it gets cold..."

Jon's tummy growled.

"Agreed."

Putting on a pair of boxers, a comfy Aerosmith t-shirt, and a thick, fluffy hoodie, I snuggled up next to Jon, who had already turned on The X-Files and was waiting for me with pizza and open arms before I came to him. Engulfed in each other, we finished our pizza and binged countless episodes, our minds calmed and forgetting about the earlier events.

…I have him now…that's all that matters…

At around two in the morning, Jon flopped his head against my chest and asked me to turn off the TV. We were both unbearably sleepy.

"…can I turn on my fan?..."

"…i was just about to ask you that…i hate silence…"

I carefully laid sleeping beauty down and turned on my fan, taking my sleeping meds and brushing my teeth on the way back. Jon used my toothbrush after me, which I somehow found adorable. Once I got back, I nestled into Jon's chest under thick, fluffy blankets and held him close. He dragged his fingers through my scalp, creating the effect of a horse tranquilizer.

…he's magic…

Jon sleepily placed tiny kisses on my embraced head, nuzzling my scalp with his nose and fingers.

"…i love you so much, Jon…i wanna be your S/O…" I murmured, feeling his arms tighten around me.

"…i'm all yours, Y/N…i'm your boyfriend…i love you too; so, so, so, so much…"

My sleepy head lay in Jon's protective arms, under warm blankets as I drifted into a deep sleep, never having slept that peacefully since I was in a coma. I remember dreaming about some guy dressed as a celery stick and buying a house where Jim Carrey was my realtor. It was a nice dream, in sweet arms, in a comfy bed.

…i never had all three until now…

…i love him so much…

THE NEXT MORNING:

"…oh and in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and JESUS CHRIST WHAT IS THAT?!?!-"

…..fwoooosh…..

krkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkr…..

The rattling windows and snowstorm outside awoke me from my dream, groggy eyes still closed and my surroundings still unclear. I felt well-rested, like I had slept for several days. I huddled back in my blankets and lay with my eyes closed and a familiar essence surrounding me. It was a comforting essence, like one of a sleepy cat. Once I noticed the arms loosely draped around me, I slowly fluttered my eyes open, coming face-to-face with an adorable sleeping Jonathan. My heart immediately warmed when I remembered the night before; all the revenge, fighting, cuddling, kissing, and a nice hardcore fuck. I gave Jon a light kiss on his nose and closed my eyes again, too sleepy and cuddly to think about my internal struggles. Jon's soft embrace and warmth melted my troubles like an ice cube in hot tea, making me sleepy. I felt myself drifting in and out of sleep, Jim and the celery guy reappearing to try and sell me an inexpensive but great house. It was a one-story shack-like abode with a dirty, stone-floored basement and a couch and TV right in the middle of all the filth.

…perfect for me and jon… 

Once I woke up again, I huddled up to Jon as stealthily as possible, not wanting to disturb his peaceful sleep. However, soon after I cuddled him, he shifted semi-consciously and instinctively hugged me close to him, groaning a bit in his sleepy state. I hugged Jon tighter and kissed his nose again, humming in his warm embrace. The frigid, howling winds outside my apartment calmed me down as I fell asleep one more time, a warm snuggle engulfing me into another dream about Jim and the celery man. This time, it was a recap of the night before, the celery man sharpening a celery stick and slitting Monica's throat with it, then Jim Carrey delivering a cheesy one-liner, then chopping her in half with an axe.

"How you like them celery sticks?-"

FWOOOSH

When my eyes fluttered open, my face got buried in a Pantera hoodie, and my scalp massaged gently. Jon was awake. I hummed and wrapped my legs around him, holding him tight. He giggled, ruffling my hair.

"…g'morning…"

"…g'morning…" I murmured, snuggling him a little harder.

Jon rubbed my head a little more, still being gentle. I hummed against him at the relaxing feeling.

"you're making me sleepy…"

Jon giggled and kissed the top of my head.

"mmh…can't have that happening, It's already 2:35 p.m…"

"oh really?..."

"yeah."

Jon sat up, resting his head on the headboard, leaving my sleepy head in his lap. I huddled up into him like a sleepy dog, trying to get as close as possible to him.

"Babe, if you do that you're gonna give me morning wood." Jon laughed, pulling me up into his chest and stroking my hair.

"…mmh, sorry hon…" I murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"It's okay, baby…no need to apologize…"

I love Jon so much. He makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside, kills the alcoholic drug addict in me, and makes me a cuddly bastard…

After a few moments of warm cuddles and random conversation, Jon asked,

"You doing anything for Christmas?"

I shook my head.

"Nope. Ever since I moved out, my extended family never wants to see me again."

Jon hummed, nuzzling the top of my head.

"Wanna spend Christmas with me and my mom?" He asked.

My heart jumped out of my throat with that sentence. Fully awake now, I sat up and faced Jon.

"Wha- Really?! I mean-…Are they okay with it?"

"Of course, they're okay with it! They love you."

I almost started crying again.

"Jon….What did I do to deserve you?"

I held his pretty face in my hands and kissed his lips.

…pepperoni…

My heart wrenched at the offer. I wanted to turn it down in humility, but I wanted to be a part of the Davis family so badly.

"You were my best and only friend throughout high school and after; I should be asking that question…"

Overcome with insane amounts of serotonin, I threw my arms around Jon's neck and pulled him into a massive hug, burying my face into his shoulder.

"I can't believe this…"

"I can." Jon beamed, chewing on a strand of my hair.

He pulled me into his lips, kissing me passionately and holding my head against his, initiating another lazy makeout session. Jon spun us around and sat on my lap, holding my face while I hugged his tiny waist. He squished my cheeks and caressed them lovingly as if I was a five-foot-two teddy bear. After several minutes, Jon pulled away, still holding my face.

"Wanna get breakfast and play in the snow?"

I pecked his nose.

"I'd love nothing more…"

#jonathan davis #jon davis #jdevil #jd korn #jd #korn #korn band #james munky shaffer #munky korn #90s icons #90s rock #nu metal #adult world #cvm #fred durst #james shaffer #korn fandom #korn art #reginald fieldy arvizu #brian head welch #heavy metal #metal music #trashcore #fluff #x reader #smut #angst #oneshot #drabble #fanfic

[guess-that-ship]

S8 Round 1

Sing me to sleep

cw: major spoilers, murder

A and B are childhood best friends who, after A dropped out of college, start a band together and become roommates. But one day, after coming home, A inherits new powers and is thrust into a new world filled with other beings with godlike powers. A, due to the inheritance of her new powers, is planned to be executed, but after some bargaining, A is given one week to clear her name of a crime she didn't commit.

She immediately goes to B, and tells her everything. Though B doesn't believe her at first, when she is shown proof of her friend's new powers, she is quick to help her out in any way she can. Together, they go around the new magical realm they now know of and have access to, talking to suspects and following leads. But they get too close to the truth. While investigating, A and B end up in a sticky situation, and with no other way out, B ends up sacrificing her life in order for A to survive.

Desperate to bring B back, A ventures to the underworld with the help of an ally. There, she finds B, who tells A that she must go on without her, but A refuses, and gives her powers to B, in an attempt to bring her back, which works. B is slightly frustrated with A, having been at peace with her decision and not prepared to have so much power and pressure forced upon her. B then confesses that the reason she sacrificed herself was because she was in love with A and had been for a long time, to which A then reciprocates, saying that she also has loved B for a long time. B laments over how, after her death, they aren't the same, and how she's afraid that as her powers grow, and they both change more and more, they'll stop loving each other, and how she wishes they both knew of their reciprocated feelings beforehand.

A ends up going to her trial. B comes in and stands by A's side, and using her newfound powers, helps A in clearing her name. Afterwards, B tells A that she needs more time to accept everything. 2 months later, B has had enough time to get used to her new powers, and the two give each other a chance (plus, making the decision to finally go somewhere with their band and go on tour).

March meets December, full of Joy

March is a depressed young man, whose wealthy socialite mother only really cares about the illusion of giving two shits about him, rather than actually caring about him. Here March, free car! Now go be respectable. In retaliation, his primary hobby is faking his suicide in increasingly over the top tableaus, though he also enjoys going to funerals for strangers.

At one of these funerals, he meets December, a hippy dippy counter cultural type, an anti-cop old lady who lives in a lively little decommissioned boxcar. She is able to show March a certain joy de vivre, far removed from his dreary shallow life, as they get into hijinx like when they find a tree struggling to live on a concrete sidewalk, they dig it up and steal it and a cop's motorcycle at the same time to go plant it in forest. They plot to make sure March's mother's plan to make him join the military fails as well, putting March's death-faking skills to good use with a fake murder in front of his military uncle who deems him too unstable.

Eventually, March tells December about why he started the suicide thing (there's a specific incident, alongside general parental neglect) and she shows him the sunset whilst he sees her tattoo of numbers on her arm, heavily implying she's a holocaust survivor. She teaches him to want to live and he falls for her, but she knows she is old and dying. He plans on marrying her, but she has planned her own death. When she does pass, March throws his hearse off the highway and into the sea, with him not inside. The last we see of him is walking away from the cliffs, colorfully dressed, and playing music on his banjo as he faces away from the wreckage.

#s8 #tournament poll #s8 round 1 #spoilers

[seat-safety-switch]

It’s really difficult to design an intersection that everyone is happy with. I’m no civil planner, but I do understand the all-displeasing dance that is the gathering of requirements. There’s a lot of different people who have to use your average city four-way. Truckers. Commuters. Terrified grandmothers who are clutching a loaded .38 just out of sight of the window, ready to blast through the door card if they get pulled over again. Bicyclists. Snowmobilers. Me.

You simply can’t please all of these people simultaneously: one friendly choice pisses off another. There’s two things you can do to get out of this sort of situation. The first one is compromise, reducing your vision in every direction, bit by bit, like a coward until everyone grumbles about the pointless grey wasteland that they spend at least two minutes a day waiting for a little light to turn green at. And the other is saying: fuck it, take a risk. Pick a winner.

Sometimes a winner is obvious: on the highway there’s not a lot of room for horse-drawn carriages, whether or not those horses are in fact mice transformed and forced into indenture by witchcraft. Call me a hippie if you want, but I think the right choice in every circumstance is to optimize for the slowest vehicle. Not pedestrians, you freeloaders have enough sidewalks. No, I mean the weird guy down the street with a recumbent bicycle. He’s got money, he’s pretty vocal about his choice of transportation, and there’s a pretty good chance if we give him everything he wants he won’t set a homemade bomb underneath City Hall.

There’s other benefits to letting the slowest road user win, too. All of us are, at one time or another, the slowest. Maybe we’re looking for an address. Perhaps our shitty automatic transmission has lost first through second with that one raunchy upshift on the hill before. If the road is designed to coddle us, to take care of our momentary loss of performance competence, then things won’t be so bad. Build nice green shoulders of grass on the sides of that road, too, so I have something to drive on to get around your slow ass.

[cuuno-moved]

how i think different empires members would drive : season 2 edition!

season one version

gem: poorly. she's not reckless or anything, and she does her best, but she's just. not very good at it. she usually gets a ride with someone else

sausage: he is surprisingly a wonderful driver. he drives a sports car and he keeps pop tarts in the center console in case anyone is hungry and has a first aid kid (with a flare gun and a shock blanket) in the trunk, along with all of hermes' soccer equipment

fwhip: he is too small to see over the steering wheel

pixl: he drives a really old antique car that doesn't really work great anymore, but he insists on keeping it because it's "a piece of history". it probably smells like weed

joel: he drives a minivan, and has a car seat for hermes in the back, permanently. everyone makes fun of him for it and he always gets really embarrassed about it.

lizzie: she drives the biggest, dirtiest pastel pink jeep you've ever seen. it smells like wet dog and old takeout and she has to literally stand on the pedals to see over the dash. she has never once stopped for a red light or a stop sign and the numberous hit and run charges are plastered all over the news. she does not have a license. she is not allowed to take her dear step-son hermes anywhere

jimmy: he drives a beat up old pickup with rolls and rolls of barbed wire and fence poles in the back. he's not bad at driving on the highway, but he definitely excells at off-roading

katherine: she drives a slick black motorcycle with lavender flames painted on the side. she can do tricks and flips and stuff with it, although she usually prefers to just drive safely and normally.

shelby: she would own a really cute little car that is always splattered with mud. there are fries under the seats and she's absolutely spilled a couple magic potions in the carpet

scott: they have one of those old hippie vans where the inside is full of carpets and pillows. if they were to be pulled over, they'd be arrested for the copious amounts of hard drugs in the van, so they simply drive safely.

false: she'd own one of those old buggies that are all rounded and smooth looking. she's way too cautious and has never ever gotten in a wreck.

joey: look me in the eye here. this man does not drive. he always talks about how he's a good driver but he has literally never driven in his life. ever.

#empires smp #geminitay #fwhip #mythicalsausage #pixlriffs #joel smallishbeans #ldshadowlady #jimmy solidarity #katherine elizabeth #shubble #scott smajor #falsesymmetry #joey graceffa

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter 6. Revolution

How will communities decide to organize themselves at first?

All people are capable of self-organization, whether or not they are experienced in political work. Of course, taking control of our lives won’t be easy at first, but it is imminently possible. In most cases, people take the obvious approach, spontaneously holding large, open meetings with their neighbors, co-workers, or comrades on the barricades to figure out what needs to be done. In some cases, society is organized through pre-existing revolutionary organizations.

The 2001 popular rebellion in Argentina saw people take an unprecedented level of control over their lives. They formed neighborhood assemblies, took over factories and abandoned land, created barter networks, blockaded highways to compel the government to grant relief to the unemployed, held the streets against lethal police repression, and forced four presidents and multiple vice presidents and economic ministers to resign in quick succession. Through it all, they did not appoint leadership, and most of the neighborhood assemblies rejected political parties and trade unions trying to co-opt these spontaneous institutions. Within the assemblies, factory occupations, and other organizations, they practiced consensus and encouraged horizontal organizing. In the words of one activist involved in establishing alternative social structures in his neighborhood, where unemployment reached 80%: “We are building power, not taking it.”[101]

People formed over 200 neighborhood assemblies in Buenos Aires alone, involving thousands of people; according to one poll, one in three residents of the capital had attended an assembly. People began by meeting in their neighborhoods, often over a common meal, or olla popular. Next they would occupy a space to serve as a social center — in many cases, an abandoned bank. Soon the neighborhood assembly would be holding weekly meetings “on community issues but also on topics such as the external debt, war, and free trade” as well as “how they could work together and how they saw the future.” Many social centers would eventually offer:

an info space and perhaps computers, books, and various workshops on yoga, self defence, languages, and basic skills. Many also have community gardens, run after school kids’ clubs and adult education classes, put on social and cultural events, cook food collectively, and mobilise politically for themselves and in support of the piqueteros and reclaimed factories.[102]

The assemblies set up working groups, such as healthcare and alternative media committees, that held additional meetings involving the people most interested in those projects. According to visiting independent journalists:

Some assemblies have as many as 200 people participating, others are much smaller. One of the assemblies we attended had about 40 people present, ranging from two mothers sitting on the sidewalk while breast feeding, to a lawyer in a suit, to a skinny hippie in batik flares, to an elderly taxi driver, to a dreadlocked bike messenger, to a nursing student. It was a whole slice of Argentinean society standing in a circle on a street corner under the orange glow of sodium lights, passing around a brand new megaphone and discussing how to take back control of their lives. Every now and then a car would pass by and beep its horn in support, and this was all happening between 8 pm and midnight on a Wednesday evening![103]

Soon the neighborhood assemblies were coordinating at a city-wide level. Once a week the assemblies sent spokespeople to the interbarrio plenary, which brought together thousands of people from across the city to propose joint projects and protest plans. At the interbarrio, decisions were made with a majority vote, but the structure was non-coercive so the decisions were not binding — they were only carried out if people had the enthusiasm to carry them out. Accordingly, if a large number of people at the interbarrio voted to abstain on a specific proposal, the proposal was reworked so it would receive more support.

The asamblea structure quickly expanded to the provincial and national levels. Within two months of the beginning of the uprising, the national “Assembly of Assemblies” was calling for the government to be replaced by the assemblies. That did not occur, but in the end the government of Argentina was forced to make popular concessions — it announced it would default on its international debt, an unprecedented occurrence. The International Monetary Fund was so scared by the popular rebellion and its worldwide support in the anti-globalization movement, and so embarrassed by the collapse of its poster child, that it had to accept this stunning loss. The movement in Argentina played a pivotal role in accomplishing one of the major goals of the anti-globalization movement, which was the defeat of the IMF and World Bank. As of this writing, these institutions are discredited and facing bankruptcy. Meanwhile, the Argentine economy has stabilized and much of the popular outrage has subsided. Still, some of the assemblies that made a vital niche in the uprising continue to operate seven years later. The next time the conflict comes to the surface, these assemblies will remain in the collective memory as the seeds of a future society.

The city of Gwangju (or Kwangju), in South Korea, liberated itself for six days in May, 1980, after student and worker protests against the military dictatorship escalated in response to declarations of martial law. Protestors burned down the government television station and seized weapons, quickly organizing a “Citizen Army” that forced out the police and military. As in other urban rebellions, including those in Paris in 1848 and 1968, in Budapest in 1919, and in Beijing in 1989, students and workers in Gwangju quickly formed open assemblies to organize life in the city and communicate with the outside world. Participants in the uprising tell of a complex organizational system developed spontaneously in a short period of time — and without the leaders of the main student groups and protest organizations, who had already been arrested. Their system included a Citizen’s Army, a Situation Center, a Citizen-Student Committee, a Planning Board, and departments for local defense, investigation, information, public services, burial of the dead, and other services.[104] It took a full-scale invasion by special units of the Korean military with US support to crush the rebellion and prevent it from spreading. Several hundred people were killed in the process. Even its enemies described the armed resistance as “fierce and well-organized.” The combination of spontaneous organization, open assemblies, and committees with a specific organizational focus left a deep impression, showing how quickly a society can change itself once it breaks with the habit of obedience to the government.

In the Hungarian Revolution of 1956, state power collapsed after masses of student protestors armed themselves; much of the country fell into the hands of the people, who had to reorganize the economy and quickly form militias to repel Soviet invasion. Initially, each city organized itself spontaneously, but the forms of organization that arose were very similar, perhaps because they developed in the same cultural and political context. Hungarian anarchists were influential in the new Revolutionary Councils, which federated to coordinate defense, and they took part in the workers’ councils that took over the factories and mines. In Budapest old politicians formed a new government and tried to harness these autonomous councils into a multiparty democracy, but the influence of the government did not extend beyond the capital city in the days before the second Soviet invasion succeeded in crushing the uprising. Hungary did not have a large anarchist movement at the time, but the popularity of the various councils shows how contagious anarchistic ideas are once people decide to organize themselves. And their ability to keep the country running and defeat the first invasion of the Red Army shows the effectiveness of these organizational forms. There was no need for a complex institutional blueprint to be in place before people left their authoritarian government behind. All they needed was the determination to come together in open meetings to decide their futures, and the trust in themselves that they could make it work, even if at first it was unclear how.

#organization #revolution #anarchism #daily posts #communism #anti capitalist #anti capitalism #late stage capitalism #anarchy #anarchists #libraries #leftism #social issues #economy #economics #climate change #anarchy works #environmentalism #environment #solarpunk #anti colonialism #acab

[nat-seal-well]

It’s HC time! Under the cut is a growing list of the ones I have for Huxley’s moms because we really don’t know anything about them and I think that’s downright criminal. So I had a lot of fun coming up with these instead. Some of them have shown up in my fics (and they will appear again). 

In three cords, I gave them names: Elena and Lorie.

Elena is based on my mom and all of my aunts/older second and third cousins (who I also call aunts) which basically means she’s Hispanic, a little on the short side, plus-sized, and likes to give everyone cheek kisses. And tries to feed people the second they walk in the door. It’s like a way of welcoming newcomers into the family; if you turn down the offer, it’s almost an offence. When Damien went home with Huxley for New Year’s she made sure to sit him down with a bowl of pozole, which is one of the best meals ever. I based her name on one of my favorite Wheel of Time characters (Elayne, because I think it’s pretty). Out of the two of them, she’s the one with a green thumb. 

Lorie is based on the owner of a crystal shop I mention later in this post, and a family friend. If you take every stoner New Age hippie in the PNW and sprinkle a whole lot of love on top, that’s Lorie. She’s white, also short, keeps her hair tied back in a singular braid and wears a purple bandana, and likes to forage. And knit. A lot of Huxley’s favorite sweaters were made by her. She also spins yarn as a hobby and wire-wraps crystal pendants, which both sell extremely well. 

I know this is a pretty common one, but they have a house out in the woods. You know when you’re on a road trip and driving through the mountains, and sometimes a tiny dirt road breaks off of the highway and there’s a little mail box right there, so you know it leads to someone’s house? It’s like that. The woods are their backyard and Huxley spent a lot of his childhood exploring and running around in the trees. They practically had to drag him inside every evening. 

They own a little rock/crystal shop in town. This one is based on one of my favorite shops that used to be downtown, until they moved locations to the next city over. The one Huxley’s moms own is small and cozy and it smells like incense. They make their own teas too and send Huxley care packages full of new ones for him (and now Damien) to test. 

They have a dog. He’s a big boi. They adopted him when Huxley was little and he’s a black lab named Rocky. Rocky’s a senior citizen now, a tired old man with lots of white on his muzzle, and he likes to lay at their feet and nap. He and Huxley are besties and when he was younger he’d keep Hux company on his woodland adventures. 

Also mentioned in the fic I linked at the top: they aren’t legally married. Neither of them liked the idea that a relationship has to be recognized by any kind of government for it to be taken as legitimate. They did a handfasting ceremony just for themselves out in the woods and the cords are hanging on permanent display in the living room, above the fire place. 

Neither of them understand how video calls work. It doesn’t matter how many times Huxley (and Damien) call, which is once a week. They just don’t get it. They’ll try to flip the camera around so Huxley can see Rocky but like. Not actually flip it, so the view on the phone screen is just really close-up shots of their faces and they’re like “do you see him?? :D” 

At this point Hux just lies and says “yeah I love him <3″

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted huxley #redacted hc #redacted headcanons #looking at them now in one post #makes me realize just how much of these are either a) #based on my childhood #or b) based on people and things/places that i know and love irl #which basically means they're a collection of everything i find cozy and comfy

[nostalgicamerica]

True story:

Back some time ago - several lifetimes ago, it seems - I managed to scrape by and graduate high school and had the summer to kill before starting college in the fall.

Instead of finding a job and earning a few bucks like my more responsible classmates, I decided I would do a little traveling and see a bit of the world.  That sounds more romantic than it should when you consider my reluctance to exchange labor for legal tender, and the meager state of my finances.

One Friday morning, I stuffed a few articles of clothing in a backpack, raided my parent’s pantry for items that could be eaten without a heat source, and wouldn’t weigh me down too much, walked out to Highway 41 and stuck out my thumb heading south.

At the time I was sure I made a dashing figure.  Long hair, faded blue jeans, and my older brother’s tan leather jacket with fringes on the sleeves and the hem.  In retrospect, and as much as it pains me to say it today, I am pretty sure I looked like a scrawny granola-eating hippy.  

To those not familiar with the practice, I can assure you that hitchhiking is not at all glamorous, but on my limited budget it was the only way I was going to get out of town.  Most rides were to the next town eight miles down the road, or to the driver’s turnoff four miles yonder.  It was dusty, I got rained on, chased by stray dogs, and rousted by overly ambitious sheriff’s deputies.  

I am declining to regale you with some of the reprobates who picked me up.  Suffice it to say, if you are considering taking up hitchhiking, take my advice and just don’t do it. 

The ETA I set for myself was tossed after the first day.

I was headed to South Dakota to see Mt. Rushmore, and if things went well, I planned to swing down into northwest Wyoming to see Devil’s Tower.

I never made it to Devil’s Tower, and my fleeting glimpse of the presidents carved into the Black Hills was obscured by one of the worst rainstorms I have ever experienced, before or since.

Dejected, I crossed the highway and stuck out my thumb for home.

Some days later found me ambling up a street in southern Minnesota.  It was hot and humid, and, save for the almost daily rainstorms, I hadn’t bathed in weeks (my stench was so rancid stray dogs ceased chasing me), and my pilfered food had long run out.

All I could think of was home.  My nascent yearning for freedom was countered by the continuous rumbling in my stomach.

Then, like some sort of surreal dream, four little fuzzy raccoons crossed the road in front of me.  Mama wasn’t anywhere in sight.  The softball-sized little ringtails alerted to me and, undoubtedly doing what mama taught them, they climbed a tree on the side of the road.

Their training must have been cut short, because the tree they climbed was a bush not much taller than me.  Now, if I had been normal, I’d have sauntered on up the road in hopes that mama raccoon would put in an appearance, but my entire boyhood had been filled with dreams of having a raccoon for a pet and I did the natural thing.

I untied the leather jacket from around my waist and draped it over the raccoons intending to carry them in it until I could find something more practical with which to ferry them.  What happened next forever changed my perception that raccoons are cute and loveable.

Those four little bandits shredded my brother’s jacket lining in seconds and started in on the leather.  They hissed and spit and I think they used straight razors to significantly lengthen the fringes.  One or more evacuated his or her bowels.  I could swear they were swearing at me before escaping the coat and bush for a larger tree nearby.  I think the little bastards fuzzy vandals even stole my pack of cigarettes.  

Somewhat wiser, I gave up on the idea of a four-legged bandit for a pet and resumed my travels toward home.  The entire rest of my trip I hoped that mama made it back to her babies, to teach them a little respect and discipline, if nothing else.     

When I finally made it back home I told my brother that I had been mugged outside Pierre, and had put up a good fight.  His eyes were full of skepticism and I could tell he didn’t believe me because a.) I was about a buck ten and couldn’t fight to save my life, and b.) it was the inside of his jacket that had taken most of the damage, and a mugging couldn’t explain all the fecal matter in one of the inside pockets.

[titleknown]

HELLOWEEN #13: DIVAFFE

-DIVAFFE is a Lesser Propagandist-Engineer of Hell, with 44 new and innovative conceptual-schema and 26 steps. He may dispense any liquid the proprietor asks and is willing to provide conceptualization for any schema of art and science the conjuror may desire, though most is erroneous or lies. He appears as a bat with the horns of a bull and the body of a drinking cup.-

As with many in our worlds, the lowly status of imps in Hell leads to ambitions being heightened rather than lowered, though it is rare that they succeed, even if their insights and abilities warrant such. Or rather, especially if their insights and abilities warrant such.

For, also as in our world, the most petty-minded and lucky seem to be able to rise to the top if their incompetencies flatter the powerful, and thus so with Divaffe. The way Giobella puts it, he basically got lucky via working for a powerful torturer as a living beverage-dispenser and coming up with his one good idea "the caffine loop" that managed to succeed via pure luck and that was cynically utilized by those above him to make a "trendsetter" that would advance their views of hell. Not that he will admit this.

His ideas are regarded as trendy and tastemaking by the upper eschelons of Hell, but by the working class he is regarded as deluded, a reasoning that became clear to me as I spoke with him. He was able to speak with the most utmost, perfect and smug confidence about the absolute stupidest ideas.

What was remarkable is that, unlike many of those I spoke with, he seemed stubbornly uninterested in speaking of himself, and more about promoting his latest concept, the "Gassy Pudding Room," a torture superficially grotesque but conceptually incoherent. When I questioned him about this, my already flagging confidence further waned.

When I asked him about the failures of concepts Giobella had mentioned to me, in particular about the logistical failures of the "wine sharks" torture-mechanism or the catastrophic escalation of the "Caffine Highway," he deflected with criticism of the public, his superiors, his inferiors, anybody but himself. 

When I tried to ask if he had any friends outside of work, he paused for a moment, left the room, and I could hear profuse sobbing for about an hour until he came back in.

I may as well also mention, at the beginning of our conversation, he attempted to offer me coffee. I declined (Not for the reasons you would think as a book, I'm simply not fond of the taste), but then he followed up with no delay in offering me his "new patented crystal coffee-powder."

I analyzed it later, after taking it and surreptuously not imbibing it. I'm pretty sure it was just PCP.

-Xavier X. Xolomon , Monsterologist and Understudy to The Librarian Of Babel

You might correctly suspect I took inspiration from venture capital dipshits like Nathan Masri of Garfield Eats for this character, and you'd be correct, but the actual impetus was this very specific Frank Zappa bit about "the hippie that gets the coffee," hence the design.

Frankly, VC douches kind of are the direct ideological descendants of The Hippie That Gets The Coffee, but that's neither here nor there!

As per usual the whole descriptions, designs, ectcetera from this project are free to use as you see fit under a CC-BY 4.0 license so long as I; Thomas F. Johnson, am credited as their creator!

#my art #my writing #helloween #demon #demons #creature design #character design #coffee mug #frank zappa #venture capital

[impvrities]

・｡    [  jeong  jaehyun    .    cis  man  .    he/him  ]  -  HARLAN  “HARLEY”  BYUN  was    blasting    MORNING  BLUE BY  GIANT  ROOKS    on    the    sidewalk    in    austin  today  .    according    to    other    atx    residents    ,  the    TWENTY-FIVE    year    old      ILLUSTRATOR  +  FREELANCE  GRAPHIC  DESIGNER    has  been    given    a    reputation    of    being  -  JUDGMENTAL  ,    but  also      +  ERUDITE  .    [  SCATTERED  BLOTCHES  OF  INK  FOUND  DRIED  ACROSS  HIS  HANDS  AT  ANY  GIVEN  TIME,  THE  LINGERING  SCENT  OF  WARM  VANILLA  AND  LYCHEE,  &  THE  LIGHTENING  OF  COFFEE  WITH  ONE  TOO  MANY  CREAMERS  ADDED  ]

STATS

FULL  NAME:  harlan  byun

NICKNAMES:  harley

BIRTHDAY:  september  5th,  1998

BIRTHPLACE:  anchorage,  alaska

STAR  SIGN:  virgo

SEXUALITY:  bisexual  /  biromantic

HEIGHT:  5’11”

EYE  COLOR:  dark  brown

HAIR  COLOR:  black

BUILD:  lean  muscular

OCCUPATION: illustrator / freelance graphic designer

SPOKEN  LANGUAGES:  english,  korean,  &  russian

HOBBIES:  drawing,  reading,  collecting  special  editions  of  his  favorite  books,  playing  the  drums  &  knitting

BIO

his  parents  love  story  is  described  as  an  uneventful  one  by  his  mother  but  his  father  claims  the  contrary  since  he  was  the  one  who  ended  up  with  a  boiling  hot  cappuccino  spilled  across  his  dress  shirt

a  supposed  meet  cute  if  one  considers  having  to  take  the  man  they  spilled  their  coffee  on  to  the  nearby  emergency  room  to  make  sure  it  didn’t  leave  any  long  lasting  burns

his  mom  was  an  environmental  protections  specialist  who  valued  taking  care  of  the  ocean  and  the  vast  beauty  of  alaska’s  nature,  while  his  father  was  the  assistant  district  attorney  in  anchorage

harley  was  born  four  years  into  their  marriage,  the  middle  child  between  his  older  brother  and  his  younger  sister.  his  father,  lover  of  taking  trips  driving  his  harley  davidson  across  the  alaska-canada  highway  for  scenic  views,  played  the  long  game  by  planting  the  seed  of  the  name  harlan  as  an  option,  claiming  a  deep  appreciation  of  novelist  harlan  ellison,  but  really  wanting  to  have  a  kid  named  after  his  harley  motorcycle

to  this  day,  harley  is  well  aware  of  his  namesake  after  riding  behind  his  father  on  one  of  his  weekend  trips,  and  he  thinks  his  mom  has  caught  on  with  his  nickname  always  having  been  harley  and  never  called  harlan  (  only  when  he’s  in  trouble  )

his  family  was  an  eclectic  bunch,  a  mixture  of  hippie  like  attitudes  from  his  mother  and  the  odd  combo  of  his  by-the-books  father  who  could  flip  a  switch  to  the  spontaneous  man  he  became  once  he  left  work.  his  parents  encouraged  harley  and  his  siblings  to  find  their  passion  in  life  like  they  had  and  it  took  some  time  for  harley  to  realize  that  his  love  for  drawing  could  be  that

harley  in  school  was  known  as  the  class  clown  with  an  uncanny  ability  to  filter  in  and  out  of  friend  groups  with  an  ease.  to  harley,  there  wasn’t  anything  blocking  a  possible  friendship  or  connection  of  you  found  common  ground  in  a  conversation.  he  had  his  eye  on  rhode  island  school  of  design  for  college  and  what  better  way  then  rubbing  elbows  with  the  best  students  in  each  subject  to  make  up  a  study  group  and  have  their  fairy  dust  of  knowledge  sprinkle  down  on  him

for  someone  with  a  reputation  for  cracking  jokes  and  easy  going  nature,  harley  inherited  his  father’s  ability  to  flip  between  unserious  to  full  attention  at  the  drop  of  a  hat.  he  knows  how  to  have  fun  while  recognizing  when  a  situation  calls  for  something  more  serious

while  he  wasn’t  valedictorian  of  his  class,  he  did  manage  to  win  prom  king  and  secure  a  spot  at  his  dream  school  in  rhode  island  to  study  illustration.  college  passed  by  the  same  as  high  school,  semesters  blurring  by  in  a  mixture  of  parties  and  buckling  down  to  sharpen  his  craft

fast  forward  to  age  23  and  harley  finds  himself  in  austin,  texas  after  an  offer  from  a  small  publishing  company  to  take  him  on  as  a  children’s  book  illustrator  for  books  they  contract.  it  pays  good  enough  for  harley  to  support  himself  and  he’s  become  best  friends  with  the  middle  aged  woman  who’s  his  supervisor  so  it’s  a  win  win

while  in  college  harley  learned  how  to  use  adobe  suites  and  after  a  school  project  of  recreating  a  book  cover  for  a  famous  book,  harley  realized  how  fun  he  found  the  experience.  since  then  he’s  been  growing  his  portfolio  and  has  been  freelancing  his  skills  to  self-publishing  authors  and  publishing  houses  alike  to  help  create  book  covers  and  jackets.

he’s  been  in  austin  for  two  years  now  and  is  finally  feeling  like  he’s  comfortable  with  where  he  is  in  life  and  is  even  considering  maybe  later  on  moving  to  seattle  or  new  york  is  he’s  able  to  secure  a  full  time  position  as  a  book  cover  designer  at  one  of  the  major  publishing  houses

rn  harley  is  just  vibing  !!  here  to  have  fun  and  create  stories  for  him  to  yap  to  his  work  bestie  about  by  the  coffee  machine.  loves  to  go  to  estate  sales  and  buy  cool  (  useless  )  bits  and  bobs  for  his  apartment  and  collecting  special  editions  of  his  fave  books  so  you  may  catch  him  hunched  over  his  laptop  trying  to  outbid  some  other  loser  for  a  first  edition  book

#atxfm.intro #this was meant to be short but i cant shut up #so here we are <3