Jan 27
(don’t hold me to it in case i don’t commit) but i lowkey wanna start writing for jordan huxhold if anyone would be interested
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(don’t hold me to it in case i don’t commit) but i lowkey wanna start writing for jordan huxhold if anyone would be interested
max, payton and jordan are some of the funniest people ever i cliterally can’t stop laughing when i watch their videos
i need to find more of their fans on here
₊˚‧︵‿꒰୨ Welcome to my blog ୧꒱‿︵‧˚₊
𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 ⦂
hi everyone! my name is sunny! I'm from Australia originally but moved to LA when I was 11!
𝚂𝙷𝙴!𝙷𝙴𝚁 ⋆ ENFP . libra . skater turned rugby player . matcha addicted . lemon sorbet . writer at heart . sunflower yellow pantone . LA . poetry & prose . dom fike on repeat . floyboy enthusiast . tate mcrae foreva . the kid LAROI . oversized hoodies . beach at sunset . bi . film camera . golden hour.
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"How many warnin' signs 'til it hits you, darling? Gravity's your friend" ✮
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People I write for: and writing boundaries (self explanatory so if you dont want to click on this then TLDR: dont be gross!)
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! PLEASE SEND THINGS IN!!
This is the first part of the Jordan Huxhold fanfic I promised. It's a YouTuber x OC trope and hurt/comfort, but my OC Zola, created just for this trope, can be your self-insert.
TW: includes sex, mentions of scars and abuse
Note: Zola isn’t a Mary Jane she is her own person so she makes choices that might conflict what you would do
Backstory: This is post hookup with Zola and Jordan has been a fuck buddy and has been for a month.
Thought: I’m wondering whether I should add smut to this since it is a hookup or have a prequel where they hook up. Please tell me
Song: Listen to Nothing’s going hurt you, baby. CAS and Sweet-CAS
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Scars-Part one
Jordan got closer to her. The early morning sun rays elevating the atmosphere they are in. Jordan’s bedroom. The green covers, posters on the walls and the books stacked on his nightstand, which he didn't bother to clean up when Zola (self-insert here) arrived. His filming cameras cuddled in a corner. Jordan whispered in her ear. What did he say? Something sly? Something funny? Something perverted? Whatever he said made Zola giggle and turn around to tease. "You don't mean that," she retorted teasingly.
"Oh come on, Zola, I meant what I said…" Jordan's eyes trailed down her back, which was facing him.
Scars
Scars old and new. The new ones probably came from their tango last night, but he never noticed the old ones. She turned to face him too quickly for him to register it. How come he never noticed that all over her back? Zola was talking to him, so he tried to forget it for the moment. When they got up to get dressed, Jordan noticed more scars on her thighs and arms, all looking like they were formed by belts and all faded into her tawny skin.
Once she was done dressing, she looked for her shoes and spotted him staring. "What are you looking at?" she teased. 'Zoli…' He wanted to say something; maybe it wasn't what he was thinking, but he couldn't form a complete sentence. Zola glanced at herself. "Were you checking me out?" she chirped. Jordan chuckled, not wanting to ruin her mood. It was early; it was sunny. Maybe it wasn't right to propose an idea like that right now. Her smile melted him like candles over steam, and she just seemed so happy. They talked for a moment longer before Jordan escorted her out of the apartment. At the front door, she turned abruptly, meeting his eyes.
'Love you…' she smirked. Jordan hesitated for a minute. "I love you," she repeated, obviously expecting a response. "I love you, Zola." Zola grinned and gave him a hug-kiss.
Soon she went down the stairs. Jordan sighed and closed the door. Payton was right behind him, startling him.
“Gah! Payton what the fuc-"
“So you're with your girlfriend again?” Payton teased.
“She’s not my girlfriend, Pay."
Payton didn’t say anything to respond to that, just a raised eyebrow.
“Are you okay, Jordan?” "Yeah…"
Payton went to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. Jordan couldn’t keep to himself anymore. “Payton…. I saw scars on Zol’s body,” he murmured. “What sort of scars?" Payton said, trying to keep his voice steady. Jordan groaned, "Uh, belt scars like she’s been abused.” Payton froze. “And you only notice this now?!” Jordan whined, leaning on the counter and putting his head in his hands. "There's no need to make me feel worse.”
Payton bit his lip. “You have to talk to her.”
⋆.˚✮🎧BORED❤️✮˚.⋆
Might delete later
As Larry McMurtry puts it, in his own excellent (and informative) memoir of life as a bookseller, “Books,” “the antiquarian book trade is an anecdotal culture,” rich with lore of the great and eccentric sellers and collectors who animate the trade. Kociejowski writes how “the multifariousness of human nature is more on show” in a bookstore than in any other place, adding, “I think it’s because of books, what they are, what they release in ourselves, and what they become when we make them magnets to our desires.”
Max Norman, What We Gain from a Good Bookstore
Wednesday, October 19: Savatage, “Washed Out”
R.I.P. Criss Oliva (1963-1993)
Power of the Night was Savatage’s major label debut, and as such balanced traditional ‘80s metal anthems like the mighty title track with the emerging hair metal of the hilariously ludicrous “Hard for Love”. But there was also “Washed Out” to remind everyone this was the same band that ripped through The Dungeons Are Calling: Jon Oliva’s vocals were commanding without resorting to cheap histrionics, Criss Oliva pulled out a straightforward charging riff and Steve “Doc” Wacholz pummeled his kit in classic Killdrums fashion, with all aided by a dry and precise Max Norman production that, in retrospect, sounded like a dry run for his work on Countdown to Extinction. The track was a brisk and fun headbanger that, while not entirely purposeful, reasserted Savatage’s metal bonafides during their uncertain early years on Atlantic.