#and my god is he shaped like a drummer

[spevvy]

When people talk about the Dad Bod™ do they actually mean Dudley Moore in 1981's An Audience With... Dudley Moore?? Because ooooffffffff, there's something about that burgundy jumper and far too long hair that should come with its own government health warning.

[toomanythoughts2]

After thinking about fan artists drawing Murderface with curly hair, I've decided to also thank all of the fan artists that do the following (YOU ARE ALL RECIEVING KISSES IN THE MAIL, PLEASE BE PATIENT!):

People who draw Skwisgaar, Toki, or Nathan with their hair up in a claw clip or a ponytail. Especially Skwisgaar. You understand your power and you use it for love.

People who draw Toki and Nathan with fat, juicy tits pecs. You are doing the lords work and I love you.

People who draw Pickles with freckles. If the heavens saw the beauty that you bestowed onto our little midwestern Irish-American drummer, they would weep in joy.

People who draw the boys with detail eyelashes. I know what you are.

People who draw the boys with their HC-ed ethnics/races. (i.e. Nathan having Yaneemango features, Latino/Hispanic Murderface, Sámi Skwisgaar & Toki, very Irish Pickles.) The work that yall do is outstanding and I love to see it

SCARS! S.H. SCARS, TOP SURGERY SCARS, POSSESSION SCARS, POST-DSR & AOTD SCARS, TOKI'S CHILDHOOD SCARS! I'M FUCKING COMING FOR YOU! I LOVE YOU!

People who draw Murderface with distinctive clues that he is from the American South/Appalachians. I LOVE these HCs so much and I love the idea of him being from a very poor, southern town in America, it just fits him SO FUCKING WELL!

People who give Toki and Skwisgaar opposing eye shapes. I have seen them go both ways, and either one fits them so good. I am partial to downward turned eyes for Toki though, but either way, I eat it up every single time.

People who draw Murderface and Nathan as the fat men they are. Listen, it's a big girl winter every winter, but it's a big boy summer every summer. Ya gotta give the fat boys some love.

People who draw Skwisgaar in that damn speedo or in a bikini. He's got the confidence and you have the talent.

People who draw Toki in his roller skating outfit. Need I saw more?

People who draw one or more members of Dethklok as trans. I have yet to encounter a version of this HC/canon content that I do not love, adore, admire, respect, and obsess over.

People on tiktok that attempted to do a Metalocalypse version of the "Infected My Little Pony" trend. One of which where Nathan was the infected and the other where Toki was. Honestly, the artist that was doing the eldritch horror!Toki was fucking cooking. They had it where Murderface saw Toki in his true form and was terrorizing Murderface from keep him from revealing his secret.

People who draw Trindle. Listen, I understand Nathan. If I had a goth woman showing me her tits every second of every day, I too would look past the blatant psychopathic tendencies and mysterious disappearances.

People who are not afraid to make the boys look gross. You are all so fucking valid and your interpretations of the boys are so awesome to look at. Especially if it's a specific art style that is scratchy. LOVE!

People who draw Lady!Klok. Every single interpretation of what the boys would look like is so valid, whether they're cis or trans, their outfits and appearances are also so fucking spot on. And their HCs that are added on the side to explain how they're different from Dethklok is a fucking PLUS

People who draw Skwisgaar in lingerie. I want you to know, that I see you and I appreciate you in every single way.

People who draw Trans!Pickles content (NSFW & SFW) specifically. Yall were in the god damn trenches and you PREVAILED!

People who draw the boys with their interpretations of their nose shapes, ESPECIALLY MURDERFACE! HE'S GOT A BEAUTIFUL PUG NOSE, LET HIM HAVE IT! Double appreciate for Skwisgaar's beautifully crooked nose and Nathan's slanted nose. I love their faces so much and their noses and yall always know how to bring them to light.

People who draw Knubbler with no chin. Homeboy gave away his chin in order to accumulate all of the swagger he's got. He's a Mick Jagger type of guy.

People who draw Pickles dreads as independently floating tendrils like Medusas snakes. It is so perfect for him and it's so hard not to do it.

People who draw Pickles bald. Look...It's coming. He's just gonna have to own it.

People who draw Early!Klok ESPECIALLY TOKI! That fact that we don't have a lot of information about their past other than DSR is a SHAME! BUT ITS OK BECAUSE THE FANS KNOW WHAT TO DO AND THEY DO IT PREFECTLY EVERY TIME! Every time I see little DSR Toki with his short hair, I go fucking feral. I COULD BE A GOOD MOTHER!

People who draw the gore. The show would not exist without it, and some of yall are just cooking with the themes and context yall create. I am always so intrigued with what I will see next.

People who draw and make Dethklok lesbians. Of course Dethklok is lesbian. Why wouldn't they be?

People who draw the band in their "Dethfashion" clothes. WE NEEDED MORE TIME WITH THOSE OUTFITS! WE JUST DID!

People who have no clue how to draw a Fu Manchu. I had to look this up before I said anything but a Fu Manchu does not grow around the mouth, it's literally just hair from the top part of the mouth that continues to grow down. That's why in "Stare Down" Skwisgaar refers to Toki's mustache as an "extreme facial hairs". AND YET! I ADORE THE WAY SOME OF YALL DRAW IT, ITS VERY ATTRACTIVE AND CUTE!

People who draw the band members in their animal forms. YOU CAN TAKE THESE ANIMAL FORMS FROM MY COLD DEAD HANDS! PICKLES THE OCTOPUS IS SO SPECIAL TO ME, ESPECIALLY AFTER "Dethmom"! AND THE BUNNY/RABBIT SYMOLISM FOR TOKI AND WITH HIM BEING THE ANGEL OF DEATH, ITS SO GOD DAMN IMPORTANT!

People who draw Agere!Toki. Canon age regression is so rare and to have Toki being a canon and explicit example of an age regressor throughout the entire show is so special to me. JUST LET THE BOY REST!

People who draw Abigail. She's a girl boss. She's the moment. I will NOT tolerate hate on my woman, she did not deserve the shit she got.

People who draw Deaddy Bear. I want one so badly, it's not a joke.

People who draw Toki in skirts/dresses. One particular art work with Toki is in a long bohemian skirt and a band tee with a scarf is my all time favorite example of it.

The person who created Lasagna, Pickle's daughter, and then made her a bassist. I eat your shit up every single time I see new stuff from that AU.

People who draw the boys with more piercings. Especially the angel bites on Toki, the middle of the lip piercing for Murderface, and the gauges on Nathan and Skwisgaar.

People who draw Pickles during his Snakes N' Barrels era. THE HIGHER THE HAIR THE CLOSER TO GOD YOU ARE! AND PICKLES WAS CLIMBING THAT LADDER EVERY NIGHT!

People who draw Pickles pubes in the shape of his goatee like in "Rehabklok". That's one of the funniest visual gags in the entire show, I won't hear another word about it.

People who draw Charles. Every single one of you are invited to my Charles Offdensen themed birthday party.

People who give Toki the longest hair length but give Skwisgaar the most definition. Also, when they remember Nathan's little hair wisp in his face. Skwisgaar has the waves and Toki is afraid to getting a hair cut.

PEOPLE WHO DRAW GODKLOK! GOATED AS FUCK! THE COOLEST FUCKING PEOPLE EVER! I AM FOREVER IN YOUR DEBT! EVERY SINGLE ITERATION IS SO FUCKING GOOD!

People who draw Top/Dom!Toki. LISTEN HE'S A SADIST, HE JUST GETS NERVOUS! IF YOU GIVE HIM TIME, HE CAN PROVE TO BE GREAT!

People who draw Nathan as the bottom. You understand what this man needs and it's to get railed.

People who draw the boys in jeans. Listen. This one is really niche but for whatever reason, this fandom puts these boys in a pair or jeans and they are looking as fine a fucking WINE!

People who draw the cowboy Dethklok fan art. What is it like wielding the power that you have?

That's all that I think of at the moment, but I really do appreciate all of the different kinds of fan artists this fandom has. There is some absolutely beautiful pieces in this fandom.

[onsunnyside]

yet another prompt from my bestie’s ask: drum roll please (pun intended)… here’s drummer!Rafe

The road to stardom is wild and loud, full of flashing lights and cheering crowds in a new city every night. It's also full of distractions that come in various shapes and colours, whether that be liquor bottles, a white powdery substance, or the endless line of groupies. Rafe and his band are no strangers to indulging in those distractions, the rugged and crazy lifestyle quickly became a part of their rockstar image.

You have a dream to make it big, and to see your name on the silver screen with the generation's greatest. Unfortunately, Hollywood was beyond tough on those who weren't already born within the golden gates. You're a lucky one, with all your hard work and sleepless nights, you go from waitressing and living in a trailer park in L.A. to living comfortably in your dream home with a resume that just keeps getting longer and longer.

You meet Rafe at a mutual friend's party. You've been close with one of his bandmates for a little while, and finally got the opportunity to meet the rest of them.

Your first impressions are awful, to say the least: you were excited to meet the drummer of the famed rock band and have been staring at him all night, working up the courage one smidge at a time. When he slips out the balcony doors, you take your chance.

Rafe's leaning over the railing, cigarette hanging from between his fingers as he types on his phone. When you step beside him, he glances at you, blue eyes lazily dragging over your figure.

"I thought groupies weren't allowed in here."

You stand there dumbfounded, jaw on the floor as he blows the smoke.

"I'm not—"

He cuts you off with a heavy sigh, "don't tell me you're a friend of a friend, or a classmate from childhood, or someone's long-distance girlfriend. I've heard it all, trust me."

You cross your arms, heat filling your chest, "Do you talk to everyone like that?"

"Just those who deserve it." His voice is low, "Beat it, sweetheart. You don't want to get thrown out and risk ruining that pretty dress, now do you?"

You don't know what his problem was. For someone so loved and adored, he was a fucking asshole. You supposed that's the lovely work of PR teams, they can make even the cruellest monsters into angels. Hell, even your team worked tirelessly to maintain your image.

"You're still here? Don't you have a security guard to blow, or a tour bus to break into?" He asks condescendingly, hair falling over his forehead as he leans down, studying you with that stupid smirk. “Who are you fucking, huh? Is it one of the desperate socialites, or the wannabe models?”

His laugh breaks into a shout when your drink splashes on his face, the alcohol dripping down his chin to his chains and silk blue shirt, "what the fuck—"

You don't stay long enough to hear his curses and return to the penthouse, promising yourself to never speak to him again.

I'm sensing... hate fucking: his hand is over your mouth and you're pressed against the tiled wall, dress hiked up and legs around his waist. The party rages on inside the club, hopefully still lively enough that no one will notice your absence. Tonight was for you to celebrate your first big award win, you didn't know Rafe was coming with your mutual friend, and you'd die before admitting that you're glad he did.

You can't help your moans, his cock effortlessly hitting your sweet spot with every rock. He fills you so deeply, stretching your hole with his fat girth, and it pains you to know that he's ruined you for anyone else. You just know you'll be a limping mess.

"Shut up. God, you never fucking shut up." He grunts, his hand falling to your throat, "You wanna get caught? Want everyone to know you're fucking a... what is it you called me?"

He grinds into you and you gasp, gaze locked on his lips. He was a great kisser, the best you've ever had, but you'd never tell him that, just like how you refused to ask for another.

"A-An ungrateful prick."

His eyes gleamed dangerously, sweat brimming at his brow, "Yeah, that's it. I bet you're grateful I didn't leave when you told me to."

He keeps you pinned to the wall with his hips and his other hand slips where you meet. His skillful fingers toy with your needy bundle and your body convulses, your juices nearly dripping down his length.

"And you said I never shut up."

A harsh slap lands on your clit and your choked whimper turns into a loud whine when he repeats the action again, harder this time. The lewd sounds of your wetness bounce off the washroom walls. If you had any shame left, it was gone now, tucked in his pocket with your torn underwear.

"You'll be on your knees and thanking me by the end of the night. I can promise you that."

I can only imagine how nasty drummer!Rafe is 😮‍💨 the kinks, the spitting, the choking, the messy "let me fuck my cum back into you," the tasteful nude polaroids, and wiping your tears when you cum so hard you cry, "that's it. let it out, baby. such a good girl for daddy."

Can't forget about the disgusting lyrics he'd write about you (ofc there are sweet ones too but that's not until later), telling the whole world how much he loves the way you taste and feel, how you're his filthy little angel and that you bring him closer to heaven with your body.

Oh the sexting !! When he's on tour and you're working, it's hard to make time for each other. Sometimes he'll send you a picture of his hard bulge through his jeans with a cheeky "wish you were here." When you win another big award (and inevitably become a style icon overnight bc of your dress), he sends flowers, cute lil note, and ofc, a nut video with sound 😌 "the next time I see you, I'm fucking you in that dress."

[otherone12]

Backstage & Makeup

(the most uncreative title EVER, sorry.)

Gerard way x Drummer!Reader

->Masterlist

A/N: Hey!! I’ve been thinking about how to make a whole fic with a small scene I wrote a long ago. I imagine this in the Revenge era, but feel free to change it, btw, I hope you like it. Any ideas, just send them to me and I will write :D (i got another 5 fics plots that i'm working on, if school gets me some break i'll post this fics soon).

Summary: You’re MCR’s drummer, you and Gerard are dating and he's cute. (there's nothing more to say to describe this, just that he does your makeup).

- Word Count: 1.015

- Warnings: none ;)

- Ps: I'll not use y/n…

- Ps2: I'm brazilian, so english is not my first language ... sorry if i wrote something wrong.

___________________________________________

1st Person POV

Backstage is such a beautiful place, not because of the decoration, architecture or something like that, but the feeling of the need to get back on stage and make all those people experience a moment they won't forget. Being with my friends and laughing by nothing while we get dressed, this just makes backstage a special place. 

This time wasn’t different, except for the fact that now Gerard and I weren't just friends anymore. He never loses a chance to show how much he cares about me, giving unexpecting hugs, giving a lot of compliments and being the cutest person in this whole world.

This time was my turn to get out to buy some coffee for us. When I got back with the cups and distributed them among the five of us, Gerard was holding a little box. He looked at me with his shiny hazel eyes and an adorable smile.

- I got something for you. - He appeared to be extremely excited when he reached out to hand me the small box he was holding. - It’s not a special day, but I saw this and it instantly reminds me of you. 

I couldn’t help but smile ear to ear. Not because he buys me a gift, but because whatever it was, he thought of me. Without saying a thing, I opened the box and saw a silver necklace, with a pendant in my favorite color in the shape of a drop. It was a minimalist necklace and when I laid eyes on it, I decided that once I put it around my neck, I would never take it off.

I took a few seconds looking at that before saying something.

- Thanks, Gee! I love it!  - Excited, I threw myself into his arms and hugged him tight, careful not to spill the coffee all over us both. - Can you help me to…

I didn’t finish the sentence, and he fastened the necklace clasp around my neck.

- I’m glad you like it, sugar! 

Without turning around to face him, he laid his chin on my shoulder and kissed my neck, smoothly. 

After we all finished our coffees, it was time to get ready to get on stage. I grabbed my clothes and in less than ten minutes I was dressed with my black shirt and red tie. My hair was fixed, but not too much ‘cause I know it will get ruined after the first song we played. Now, the only thing missing was my make up. I looked to Gerard, and he was ready, somehow he does his make in like five fucking seconds.

Sitting in the chair in front of this god damn mirror, it was already the third time I tried to do my makeup, and just didn’t feel good enough to get on the stage. Gerard, by the other hand, was jumping around with the pre-show adrenaline, with his perfect eyeline and awesome eyeshadow.

- Can you help me with this, babe? - I sighed and said looking at him, with my eyeliner in hand.  

- With what? - He asked, moving to my way. - Are you okay?

- I'm fine, just my makeup… I don’t understand how you do it so easily.  

- Practice, I guess - He smiled, taking the eyeliner from my hand and getting closer to my body - Don't you already know how to do this?

- Yeah… but I want you to help me…. - I did my best puppy eyes and held his hips to get him even closer - Pretty please!

- Okay, babe, you don’t need to beg… - He chuckled; his smile turned a malicious grin on his face while he spoke the next sentence - at least, not now.

- shut up! 

laughing, I pushed him away, but not strong enough to make him back off, ‘cause it wasn’t the intention at all. Gerard sat on my lap and asked to open my eyes wide, so he could do my makeup. I tried not to blink, but I couldn't help, after some “sorrys” he finished this part of the makeup.

- Okay, now, close your eyes 

His soft voice reached my ears slowly and I obeyed. Waiting for the sensation of the brush on my eyelid, I get surprised when the only thing I felt was his warm lips pressed on mine, kindly. His cold hands touched my cheek and my neck, making me shiver while his lips remained glued to mine. 

Gerard pulled up, and I opened my eyes with a tiny smile on my face. 

- I thought I told you to close your eyes. - He tried to stay serious, but he wasn’t good at that - Didn’t i?

- Sorry - I immediately closed my eyes again, feeling now the brush. - I was hoping for another kiss… 

- If you play everything right in the show tonight, i’ll give you another kiss - His tone was soft as the brush on my eyelid, which was getting red with the makeup - And i know you will, you always do, sugar… aaand done!

Finally, he placed a kiss on my forehead and looked at my face, admiring the incredibly good job he did. Now, I was ready to get on stage with the guys, but I wanted to stay there with Gee a bit more.

- I don’t know if I can wait ‘till the show ends to kiss you again…

I tried to act the best way I could, pretending that I was about to cry or something like that. In answer to this,  he shook his head in some fake disappointment.

- You probably can’t. 

He sighed, looked deep in my eyes, then approached his face to mine. The tension in the room was getting strong, somehow, time got slow. The smell of coffee and cigarettes emanated from him, getting me tipsy and lost when my hands reached his hair, waiting to mess it all up. 

With our lips almost together again to this desired second kiss, he whispered:

- Maybe we could-

Before Gerard could finish, Frank hit the door and shouted as it opened, without waiting for permission to enter, he just said:

- Guys, it's time! You two can fuck after the show.

___________________________________________

~ This one was short, because i just had the makeup part in my mind, and didn't know how to start it. Lemme know if you like it!

[eyesxxyou]

Peeved (Hobie Brown (Spider-Punk) x transmasc!reader

Hobie Brown x transmasc!reader

Rating: mature

Word count: 2k

synopsis: Hobart Brown gets or your last nerve, with his "fuck all" attitude and disregard for your practice times. But you have to admit, you love his hands

warnings: fingering, some second hand embarrassment, hobie praising/teasing reader, hobie being a little shit as always, humping, kinda rushed but I did my best

Enjoy!

“He’s late…again.” You deadpan, checking the time for the third time in just under 20 minutes. “He always does this. Remind me why we haven’t kicked him out of the band yet?” You look to your drummer, who lays upside down off the side of your couch because she knew Hobie would be about an hour or so late like he always is. You could always count on him to never show up on time.

"Because," your drummer says, "no one can play the guitar like he can. You know he's killer at it." It's true and it annoys you that it is. You can't replace him, definitely not at a time like this. You have a gig a week away and even that won't whip him into shape and force him to get his act together, at least for this.

"I can play the guitar…good enough to do his part at least." You cross your arms, kicking a loose shirt you had on the floor under the couch before sitting down. Frustrated at your guitarist, you slouch into the mangy couch.

"You can sing, play the bass, and the lead at the same time." She glances at you from behind messy streaks of eyeliner and long lashes. "Why didn't you enlighten us with this information before? Who knew you were such a talent, Y/N?"

You rolled your eyes at her. "Oh, fuck you."

It was then that Hobie decided he would grace you with his presence, coming barreling through the window with his guitar swinging behind his back. "Yo." The nonchalant in his voice pisses you off. You stand up and once again, like you are every time, reminded by how much shorter you are than him. He's tall, thin, lean, lanky. Overall pretty but he'd probably knock someone's head off if they called him that. It was a shame, in different circumstances, he'd be just your type.

"And where the hell have you been?"

Hobie looks you right in the eyes with a smirk playing across his pierced lips. "Places." You know he's being vague on purpose to get a rise out of you and for a moment it works. "I told you what time to be here."

"I don't believe in consistency, love." He shrugged and for a moment you thought you might jump on him and try to tear his face off. "Well you better find your belief in it before I make you test your belief in whether God exists or not."

"Could you two get a room already. You're this–" she punched her fingers together, " close to vigorously making out with each other." You glare at her and she just smiles and blows you a kiss from her darkly lined lips.

"Let's not waste time then since you're so determined to get through practice." Hobie slips past you, his hands on your waist to put to the side before he swings his guitar to the front. You can't believe there was a time where you had a crush on him. A time where you would lavish over a touch like that, think about it late into the night, trace over where this skin touched yours.

Your drummer insists that you still have a crush on him, it just presents itself differently. "No, no, you definitely still want to fuck him, you just want to angry fuck him now." You'd brush her off, roll your eyes, but never deny. Because maybe a small part of you knows you still want him.

Of course, he plays his part perfectly but refuses to admit he practiced on his own time. "I don't need to practice, just natural talent is all." So cocky, but at least he could back it up you supposed.

His fingers played skillfully over the strings, long and slender, chipped black nail polish, nails always bitten short. Maybe you were staring at his fingers for too long because before you knew it, the music had stopped.

"You missed the queue."

You blink and the moment your eyes come up, they connect with Hobie's. He's got that look in his eyes you don't like. The ones where he knows something you don't. Or rather, he knows something that you don't want anyone else to know. It's mischievous, chaotic, and terrifying.

The rest of practice goes by without much of a hitch. Hobie liked being needlessly complicated but he knew you were seconds away from bashing his head in with his own guitar so he kept his antics to a minimum. But he could see it, the way your anger was burning with something else to fuel it, the way you glared at him that looked something more like longing than anything else, the way you moved away from him when he was close, not because you didn't want to be near him, but it you were close to him any longer, you might melt into him.

"I gotta head out early today." Your drummer was already packing up when she let you know.

"What? Why didn't you let me know sooner?" You're more upset that you'll be left alone with Hobie than anything else. She only shrugged and offered a teasing little smile. Liar. She had nowhere to be. The bastard.

"Why ain't you get on her like you got on me then?" Hobie was suddenly right beside you, nudging you with his elbow until you jumped away from him. You can't remember the last time you were left alone with him. Why was he looking at you like that?

"Because I like her more than you." Your murmur as you hang your guitar up on its stand and sigh. "I'm gonna make some tea, you can get the hell out."

Hobie doubled over in laughter. "No you're not. You and I both know you can't make tea for shit, love. It's gonna be water with milk. Get over here." He grabbed your hand, and brought you closer but you were already pulling away. "Stop, Hobie. You play too much."

"What's your deal? What's your problem with me? Because you've never been so aggressive until this past year." For the first time he seemed frustrated. His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed at you as he grew closer. Why did he seem even taller now? Why was he backing you into a corner? And why hasn't he caught on yet? You thought he had for a moment.

"You know why." You insist because there's no way he doesn't. He's too smart for that, too observant. And he confirms that with what he says next. "Then say it. Not a mind reader, love, tell me what's so wrong with me that you can't stand my very presence."

"Because you're so you, Hobie!" You didn't want to get into an argument today. The stress was already too much for you and now you had to confront all of this. "You don't care about anything at all, nothing bothers you and you definitely never bother with anything! You just let things go so easily and it pisses me off because I like that about you so fucking much!" Your finger was nearly jabbing holes through his chest. "You make me sick because I just want my lips on yours and to feel your fingers inside of me."

You didn't mean to say so much, especially not that last part. The worst part is that Hobie seemed completely and utterly unfazed by what you had said. His lips pinched to the side as he nodded and hummed softly. "Well then, if you're so sick of me–" he grabbed your waist and pulled you close. His lips were pressed against yours. He bit your lip and you let him, you moaned for him, you opened up for him, let him slip his tongue between your lips, only to find that it was pierced as well.

He placed his tongue directly against yours with all the intent to swap saliva, leave a bit of him in you. You tugged at his vest, a signal for him to remove it. Hobie slid it off his narrow shoulders and let it drop to the floor in a clatter of leather and metal.

When you pulled away, much your dismay, Hobie sat down on the couch, legs spread a comfortable amount. "Come show me how much. I'll be your punching bag for a little bit, love." He motioned you over and like he was pulling on invisible strings, you came over and straddled his lap.

Your lips connected again, sticky and sloppy with passion as you but his lip piercing once more as traced the angle of his jaw with your hand. You could feel his calloused fingertips against the waist of your shorts. They skillfully unbuttoned them before slipping his hand into your underwear. “You said you wanted my fingers, right?” Hobie murmured against your lips as the pads of two of his digits glide against your clit. You shudder softly, your fingers fisting at his shirt.

“Go ahead. Use them.” Hobie leaned back against the couch and simply watched, let you have your way with him since you’re so frustrated. You immediately began to rock against his hand, easing his fingers against your entrance. Inch by inch entered you knuckle deep. You bit your lip, staring at Hobie behind hooded eyes.

“Pretty boy. Take what you need.” Your hands are on his neck, fingers slipping beneath his choker while you rut against his hand. You let out the softest whimpers and moans, mewling with pleasure while you rubbed your clit against the palm of his hand. “Tell me what else is wrong with me, love? Go on.” Hobie curls his fingers against your silky walls that grapple him so well he might just say forget his fingers altogether and move on to bigger things. But you were enjoying yourself so much.

You bite your lip as words fail you and you whimper. “Y-you–” You’re too focused on riding his hand. If only you could see yourself. You’d be so embarrassed that you’re letting yourself go to such a degree. “You’re so cocky.” You shiver, pressing your pelvis down harder against his rough hand.

“You make…yourself too comfortable in my house.” Hobie chuckles at that one. You can feel him curling his fingers everytime you bounce. He massaged the small little place inside you that makes your vision go blurry and your eyes cross. “Fuck— Hobie.” You whine needily. “Right there.” You’re starting to feel hot in your clothes. You wanted them off. You wanted his clothes off. You wanted to feel his skin against yours.

“Saying my name all pretty like for someone who doesn’t like me, eh?” His other hand is on your waist, stroking your hips and thighs before setting in just the right position to control your hips. He can see you getting flustered, just the way you did when he called you a pretty girl. “You like that, love? You like it when I call you my pretty boy, love?” You cry out again for him.

“You’re right. I am cocky, aren’t I?” He forced you to move your hips faster and every muscle in your body trembled. “‘Cause I can really get used to a sight like this. Can’t you?” Hobie likes that way you’re completely falling apart just from his fingers. He couldn’t imagine what you would look like taking the rest of him. He could feel your walls pulsing, begging for release, to completely unravel and fall into pieces.

Your orgasm came like a tidal wave. So brutally you might as well have been torn apart and stitched back together like one of your late-night projects. It seizes your muscles, takes your over, makes you kiss him harder than ever before. Lips meet teeth, tongue, and metal all at the same time. You don’t notice Hobie slip his hand from your pants, digits coated in you.

“You still peeved with me?” He asks softly with a twinge of humor in his voice. There’s something horribly tender about his tone that isn’t usual for the Hobie you know. If you hadn’t known any better, you might have said that he liked you but he was far too inconsistent for something like a relationship. It wouldn’t last. You knew it.

"Just don't be late to practice tomorrow or I'll throw you out the damn window."

[ceilingfan5]

15 "Denim jacket with bleach-painted bone motif" & 11 "If they don’t smile at me today I’m going to eat an entire drum set" and taakitz 👀

“If he doesn’t smile at me today, I’m going to eat an entire drum set,” Taako rants, throwing his apron on the counter. He didn’t intend to get on this topic, and now the words won’t stop coming out of his mouth like a busted gumball machine shooting gumballs and quarters all over the floor. Watch out for some Looney Toons ass shenanigans, word listeners, because here comes a mess. “Like what the fuck? He’s too pretty to be allowed to live. He makes me want to hop in a peanut grinder and become Taako butter and live a better life between two slices of discount sliced bread, you know?”

“With jelly, or like-?” Ren grins at him, wiping down the counters, far too thorough. Taako’s got places to be. 

“Obviously with jelly, Ren, what the fuck do you take me for?” Taako grumps.

“Could be honey,” she shrugs pointedly, still looking very pleased with herself. “Maybe you two can become a sandwich together and ride off into a toaster sunset. Maybe you just need to say, hey, honey-”

“And just declare my intentions so boldly?” Taako puts a dramatic hand to his chest, scandalized as loudly as possible. “You can’t do this to me in the workplace, I’m calling HR.”

“Noooo, not again!” she giggles. “Seriously, though, Taako. If he’s cool enough to play in your band, and wear that sick jacket-”

“It’s got bleach-painted bones,” Taako moans, sliding down the counter and onto the floor. She daintly steps over him, and he briefly considers tugging on her apron strings. “And he plays the drums. And the bass guitar. And I think the cello?” Taako mimes playing a flute. “You know the one.”

“Yup,” Ren says, looking down at him as seriously as she can manage. “That one.” 

“And the guys–I can’t tell them. I shouldn’t even be telling you. No offense. I’m mysterious and private and I’m, I’m going to die alone, and,” he tips his head back, misjudges the distance, and hits the cabinet doors with a too-solid thunk that makes him yearn for the good old days, before stupid fucking phylum Chordata got any wise bone ideas. 

Now, wise bone ideas, he possesses a few. He snickers at his own head joke, and Ren gives him a generous half-smile. He sighs. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he slides further onto the floor. She keeps cleaning, bless her. “I worry I’m not- I mean, obviously I am cool enough, natch,”

“Natch,” she repeats, not looking at him. He wipes an imaginary tear from his cheek while she can’t see. He’s trained her so well. 

“But what if we’re different flavors of cool and he isn’t into Taako butter? What if he’s, I dunno, fuckin- sriracha, or, or, or,” Taako gestures emptily. “Cubed cheese you have to get at an art exhibition.”

“You’re as cool as cubed cheese, Taako.” Ren sighs, giving up and half-laying on the counter. 

“I know that,” Taako snaps, warmed in the soul or something stupid like that. 

“And he’s a nerd who plays in a band and wants you to like his sick jacket. Just go, hey, sick jacket, and he’ll be like oh my god thank you for noticing, everybody thought I was too cool to come say hey sick jacket and I’ve been vibrating myself to pieces wanting to tell everybody the fine details of the bleach painting process, did you know that human bones are whack-ass shapes? Ulnas don’t look right. Ever.”

“Yeah, what is up with those guys, anyway?” Taako has to rotate his arm this way and that a couple of times, chewing her advice in his head. “I’m gonna fuck my drummer,” he decides, in perhaps not the same breath but certainly a consecutive one.

“Good, I’m glad. Can we close already? I hate to tell you this, but I do have a life outside my hero worship of you. I’m like, my own whole interesting guy.” Ren smiles, straightens up, and offers him a hand. 

“That can’t be right,” Taako muses, and he lets her pull him up. “You don’t even have a last name.”

“Do you?” She cocks an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“That’s debatable,” Taako says airily, and blows her a kiss. “You’re driving dessert tomorrow, bring your A-game. Your A+ game! No, your- uh-”

“I’ll bring my super diamond special reserve game!” she shouts, bouncing excitedly. “Thanks Taako! I hope your drummer wants you!” And before he can even counter that one, she’s off to lock the doors and flip the sign.

Taako’s going home and changing before band practice. Yep.  

[romeoeatzkorn]

2024 Intro Post (Part 2: Electric Boogaloo)

Hey dildos!!! I decided I hated the first Intro post I made for 2024 so we're BACK AT IT!!!!

Basic Info

Name: Juno/Roxx/Romeo Age: 15 years old Birthday: Feb|16|2009 Gender: Nonbinary and Two spirit Sexuality: Butch Lesbian Pronouns: They/them (it/its works too) Nationality: Canadian, Quarter Native

DNI and Boundaries

Please Do NOT!

Sexualize my OCs who are younger than 20 years

Make sexual comments/jokes towards any of my personas or me

Using exclusively gendered pronouns such as She/her or He/him

Fetishizing any of my OCs in any shape or form

Using my legal name online; please solely use Juno, Roxx, or Romeo for me

Explicit NSFW being made of my characters below 24

Ask me before!

Creating AI bots of my OCs and/or AUs

Bringing up sexually suggestive conversation unless I have specified previously that I am comfortable and/or uncomfortable with it, (if you are older than me specifically)

Making sexually suggestive content featuring my OCs

I am absolutely fine with this!

Being tagged in art

Romantic/sexually suggestive comments made towards my (OF AGE) OCs

Being referred to with Masculine and/or Feminine adjectives

DMing

OC x OC content, (as long as it does not diverge too hard from canon, like for example one of my Lesbian characters being shipped with a man)

Do NOT interact;

Pro/comshippers

NSFW/NSFT blogs

Cishets (/lh /hj)

Fascists and Bigots

Wally x Julie shippers (this one is staying cuz fuck you /j)

Hammertooth shippers, SCRAM-A-ROONIE

MEN /j

Magnus Hammersmith /j

Dr. Rockso /j

Zionists

Lesbiphobes/Biphobes/Queerphobes

Thin Ice;

Skwistok shippers (No beef here dood dw)

Non Lesbians

Recovering Proshippers (So proud of you BTW!!! I hope your mental health flourishes and you find a lot of support with your recovery)

Wallaby Antis (haha comfort ship go BRRRRRRR-)

Christians

PLEASE FUCKING INTERACT OMFG PLEAAASEE (/pos);

Butches, Studs, Mascs, ETC.

Rayman lvrs

Murderface fans

Explosiontooth enjoyers

Faggots and Dykes

LESBIANS

Frylock shippers

Please lesbians come here 💔💔

people who think Skwisgaar and Murderface should smooch on the lips (Idr what the ship name is 💔)

Skwisface shippers 💪💪

Magnus Hammersmith haters

Dr. Rockso haters

Neurodivergent people!!!

LGBTQIA+ Folks

Neo pronoun users (Gimmie em!!! /pos)

Little weirdos who live under rocks like bugs

Down with cis bus kinnies /j

Stuffs :3

Fandoms I'm in;

KoRn (yes, the band.)

MHA/BNHA (yes I know im a cringe ass piss baby)

Rayman (Legends and Origins)

Metalocalpse

ATHF (Aqua Teen Hunger Force)

R + J 1996 (And just R + J in general)

WH (Welcome Home)

Unicorn Wars

TF2

ASTV/ISTV

SPTO

Stuff I like to do;

Draw

Do drag

Play Guitar (shittily)

Write

Hate the brits (/j)

Random shit about me;

I HATE tomatos

I fucking LOVE when people add little comments in the tags and shit when they reblog- even if it's just a keyboard smash lol

There is a possibility I kin William Murderface- dear god.

I am 5"8"

I have ADHD, and Maybe Autism

Kin list (newest to oldest);

Rayman

William Murderface

Pickles the Drummer, in the most CANADIAN way possible- he talks exactly like me (/j)

Barnaby B. Beagle

Wally Darling

Roxie Richter

Fell Sans

Queen Barb

Hobie Brown

Down with cis bus (/j)

Present Mic (MHA)

Eraserhead (MHA)

Mondo Owada (This is an OLD ass kin lol)

[feverinfeveroutfic]

Paradise | kinktober 2024 | “bridgeport”

prompt: corsets

pairing: alex/one of my many girls

word count: 3141

song: “danger! high voltage” by electric six

contains: drinking, daydreaming, corsets, and group sex

He ran his fingers through his black curls, and every time he did he always made sure that he had locked eyes with one of them. He hoped that none of them paid any attention whatsoever to him from where they were; he proved to be the one boy under drinking age there at the bar, but he always found a way to get his hands on the nectar of the forbidden gods, on some kind of liquor. A little bit of that and he’d be as loose as anything there in the rest of the bar or the party.

There were four of them over on the other side of the floor of L’Amour, and he could scarcely keep his eyes off of each of them. The one with the dyed hair. The one with long blonde hair and the bright smile. The one who worked at the label. And the one who was dating Cliff.

However, the longer he watched them over on the other side of the room, the more the doubt crept in over him like that old friend that would not leave him alone even for a second. He looked on at the bar next to him: an eighteen-year-old boy alone at the bar with a fake ID card in his pocket and nowhere to go.

He turned his attention to the other side of the room behind him.

There was Zelda. The little drummer girl and the underrated stud who could, who emanated from the gutters of Rhode Island. The way that she moved about on the floor of the bar with that short little bob of dark hair slicked back over the crown of her head as if she came from the beach.

He ran his fingers through his dark hair and thought of what to say to her once they had a moment alone together. But then again, he wondered if such a girl like her would even want to hang out with a boy like him, a nerdy uncool boy. Zelda had her eye on Louie, anyway: he lived with her over in Rhode Island and assisted her in paying her rent for her. No way that he could do that to one of his best friends and their drummer as well.

She wore that white shirt without a bra on underneath, either, and thus, he couldn’t help but look on at her. He couldn’t help but look on at the apex of her chest and the way that her nipples emerged from underneath that soft white fabric. He nibbled on his bottom lip and never lifted his gaze from her.

Zelda showed off a smile and a big bout of hearty laughter at something that Marla said right then. He never took his gaze off from the slim hourglass shape of her body. He let his eyes wander about the floor next to him, to which he spotted Marla over there with Charlie.

That head of shimmering pink orange and red hair, shimmering in such a way that it almost seemed metallic. He propped his chin up on the palm of his hand and watched her from clear across the room. It was almost unfair that she was with Charlie because he knew that he could treat her well. He was raised right, and thus, he knew that he could do it. But there was no way he could do that to Charlie, however, one of his best friends in the world.

Though he considered himself a nerd all the way down to the atomic level, he was a bastard, a dirty dog of a boy and yet one who never really had that much time on his hands, not enough time to give any girl what he so wished for them.

It was almost too much to even so much as think about for him, especially when the feeling never subsided for a second within him. No one else seemed to be paying any attention to him, either, as the rest of his band had gone out to the rest of the bar behind him. He returned to the bar before him and the little glass of stout. As long as he brought the glass back to the bar, it would be fine.

He may as well go off and fantasize about the two of them, and more so given the fact that he was under the drinking age. If he stayed in hiding, no one would have to see him there. But there never really was any place to hide out in there, either, not with all of the people running around them there. He sighed through his nose as he looked on at the glass and the bubbling dark beer right before him.

He peered over his shoulder to behold the sight of the room behind him, and then he held onto the glass with one hand and slid out of his seat. He towered over a fair number of people in there, but it seemed as though everyone in there paid no attention to him whatsoever. He bowed out of there and into the narrow hallway outside of that main room, where he was met with even more people, all of whom with big teased up hair and jeans more snug than Chuck’s black denim.

He sidled his way through the crowd towards the men’s room, but he kept on going towards the very end. All the while, he kept that glass of beer up close to his chest as if it was about to get away from him. The tiny plume of gray at the crown of his head acted as his own personal fake ID, and he knew no one would card him if he had it showing for all the world to see.

At least at the end of the corridor he could be alone for a while.

He rounded the corner and pressed his back to the wall. He held the glass close to his chest. He closed his eyes as he strove to think about those two girls back there. No way he could force a fantasy like that, especially when he was in such a noisy place and with only a beer to help him with the process.

He shook his head, and he realized that it was completely useless.

There had to be something else to help him with the fantasy.

He sipped on his stout and turned to the door next to him. As far as he knew, it was merely the janitor’s closet, but he knew to follow his nose if he so wished. He peered over his shoulder, and then he nudged a few stray locks of hair back from the crest of his collar bone, and he reached for the door panel before him. The door creaked open and he was met with the smell of cleaner and something else. After another peek over his shoulder, he inched over to the door for a better glimpse into the closet. He stuck his head in all the way, only to feel the watering to his eyes and the deep tickle to his throat. The smell inside of there was a bit too much as is, and thus, he leaned back against the wall with his nose close to the door. He tried to clear his throat at a low rate so as to not bring attention to himself.

The smell of chemicals to transform him and lead him into the darkened, otherwise inaccessible corners of his own mind.

He sipped on his stout some more, and then he closed his eyes. The chemical smell engulfed him like a blanket.

He could make out the hourglass shapes on the backs of his eyelids. The girls there at the bar, the sight of them there before him.

He was back at the bar, with no one else in the rest of the club. The entire place had been refurbished to the nines, with heavy dark wood lining walls and rich dark red lace draped off the insides of the corners. A plush, crushed black velvet couch and accompanying armchair stood in the place of the stage: in between them stood a long, large, intricate, colorful, soft-looking rug. He ran his fingers through his hair again, that time to nudge a few stray locks of curled hair away from his face and eyes. He was alone with them, that time with all five of those girls. Marla and Zelda sat closest to him; for a moment, he believed that they were completely naked with nothing more than the edge of the bar to block his line of sight.

He sidled over to the other side of the bar to see if they really were in the buff, and he was instead greeted by the sight of corsets strapped onto their bodies. Marla and Zelda in particular caught his attention: the former had on a fitted pearly white corset with a low neckline and thin lacy straps over her shoulders; Zelda meanwhile wore a magenta corset with fine laces on the back and no straps. He nibbled on his bottom lip as he thought about what he wanted to do and say to them right then: a nerdy boy with a slight penchant for getting high and drinking to his heart’s content and yet he could scarcely speak to girls, let alone girls whom he found attractive. But not this time. Something had lifted his barricade, and he soon found himself next to Zelda and the corset which pushed her breasts up and accentuated the hourglass shape of her body. 

She showed him a little smile, complete with a twinkle in her eye.

“Hey, dude,” she greeted him in that big New England accent.

“Hey, did I wake up in the Playboy mansion or some shit?” he asked her in a broken voice. “‘Cause you girls look like you could give me something good to eat.” And he sighed when he realized that he had messed up that analogy.

“We’ll be the proprietors of that,” she assured him, and she reached to the side of his head for a nudging of his hair back from his face. “I can tell you’re hungry.” A strange warmth swept over him, and more so when he showed her a smile in return. Zelda moved the end of his gray streak back over the crown of his head to the very back, but it was only about the size of a cherry tomato, and thus, it only reached the middle of his head.

Sam and Belinda turned their attention to him, both of them with mischievous smiles on their faces, and both of them in black leather corsets that shimmered and shone under the soft candlelight all around them. But it was Zelda’s hand on the side of his neck and down onto the crest of his shoulder that kept up his attention.

The feeling of her skin there. The fact that her breasts were nudged up just enough to show off her entire chest to him without his actually seeing her nipples. The fact the corset wrapped around her body so nicely and showed off every inch and every slight curve to her slender body.

“You wanna touch me, big fella?” she teased him.

“Oh, you know it,” he quipped in a low voice, and he sipped on his glass of stout some more. Zelda took advantage of that and lightly pressed her lips on the side of his neck. She touched his chest with nothing more than the tips of her fingers, and she slid them down to his stomach.

He let her take his shirt off for him, to which he put his arms up for her. She whipped off his shirt and kissed him down from his collar bones onto his chest.

He fell onto his back with his legs wide open and his hair disheveled out from his head.

That slicked back hair and that Rhode Island attitude were both enough to make his knees into jelly.

All four girls surrounded him into a tight spiral as if to gang up on him.

“Get onto our Cypriot rug, baby boy,” Marla commanded him, and he showed her a smile before he rolled over onto his hands and knees. He gave them a little shake of his ass before he crawled across the wood to the rug in question. He lay down on his back with his feet up onto the couch and his hands rested right across his bare chest.

From upside down, he could see them striding over to him with sways to their hips and a big spring in each of their steps.

Sam and Belinda stood over his head with their hands pressed to their hips; he noticed the spiral upon the ceiling, and before he could say to himself that it looked like the spiral inside of a seashell, Marla and Zelda hung over him as if they were about to do something particularly drastic.

“I am such a lucky boy,” he stammered, and he showed them the sideways little smile and the very tip of his tongue.

Marla took her spot down upon his chest, and she opened her legs all the while. His eyes wandered over the shape of the insides of her thighs as well as her lips, tucked back inside of her black lace panties. He could see that they were bright pink and bold, about to be in full bloom like the ripest orchid in the garden. He thought he wanted Zelda, but it was Marla with her dyed hair and big bright sunny smile that made his heart pound deep within his chest. She licked her lips and leaned in closer to him as if to kiss him on the full tip of his nose, but she never did. She instead sat back upright to show him her body, accentuated by that white lace.

Zelda meanwhile stood over his head with her legs spread open to show him the crotch of her shorts, that is before she unbuttoned them and let them fall down her legs to her bare feet. He wondered as to what Sam and Belinda were going to do back there when Zelda squatted down over his head to show him her lips, which were just beginning to turn bright pink from the feeling.

But he directed his attention to Marla, who stayed right before his face and chest.

“I think I’m always going to want to see you in something like this,” he confessed to her in a low voice. Marla shook her hair about so it shimmered under the delicate candlelight that cast down from overhead, and she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“Do you think you can have something to eat?” she asked him. “Take a donut and bridge the gap between your stomach to this—” She reached back to touch the crotch of his pants with the mere tips of her fingers, and then she returned to him. “—and get away with it?”

He raised his eyebrows as Zelda squatted down over his head with her legs wide open for him. He tilted his head back and slipped his tongue inside of those little lips. It was tricky given he lay upside down but he managed to touch the head of her clit. Zelda initially steadied herself on his shoulders, but then when he coughed and let his tongue relax, she reached down with one hand to touch herself.

He then lifted his head to be met with Marla’s lips, hidden back with nothing more than a small piece of lace. With his fingers, he nudged the lace out of the way and slipped one finger under her hood. She steadied herself on his chest. All he could see was the corset right before him. The shape of her body. The fact Zelda held right over him with her fingers up inside of her.

He could feel himself rising from the feeling.

Marla showed him her tongue as he caressed over the head of her clit with his fingertips.

All he could focus on was the sight of their lips around him. They surrounded him like a pair of flowers in full bloom. Full bloom despite the barren landscape around them.

Zelda stayed over his head with nothing more than her fingers at the helm.

He gazed up at her, at those darkening lips in place all for him. He reached up to touch her with his free hand.

He was touching two girls at the same time.

That is until Marla batted his hand away and helped him open his pants for him. He took a quick glimpse down to see his burgeoning erection right before his eyes. All it took was a slight bridging of the gap.

Marla straddled his hips and took her spot on top of him.

Meanwhile, Zelda lowered herself to her knees and opened her legs even more for the swipe of his tongue.

He was getting off to two girls, and he couldn’t help but cross that bridge.

Cross that bridge and erupt into the loudest moan he could deliver for them, such that he had no idea if he could give it to Sam and Belinda behind him, even with as much as he wanted it from them; Marla breathed harder while Zelda gasped and cackled like a madwoman from the feeling, to which she fell onto her side with her legs kicked out in the air. Marla closed her eyes and treated him to a gentle moan followed by a slightly louder one as she came right then and there.

But his body had been ravished.

He lay there, still flat on his back on the rug with his mouth open and a fine sheen upon his chest and the side of his neck. His eyes drooped closed and his lips were dry from the thirst. Through his blurry vision, he spotted Sam and Belinda’s figures over his head and shoulders.

“Ready for more?” Sam asked him, and he coughed and sputtered again.

He then opened his eyes, only to find that he was back in the little corridor with the closet door still slightly ajar, and the clean smell still wafted out from the shadows. He had fallen asleep and wandered into his own realm, and yet he still held onto his stout. Carefully, he stood to his feet and dusted himself off with his free hand. He then closed the door behind him and walked on back to the bar. The girls were still there at the bar, but he knew there was no way he could bring that dream out to the fold.

No way he could bridge the gap again.

[dichromaticdyke]

🗣 – What are your own personal HCs for HF!S and HM!T?

Also, what about the other girls? Murderface feels like another butch, almost try hardy, but I also see her as not having a label at all because she's trying to give herself as much as a chance to get laid by a pretty girl. Pickles feels more fem. Not Skwisgaar fem but definitely fem. She's a "Marlboro Reds and Whiskey" kind of gal, probably doesn't know the word shame. And Nathan, I feel like she's undecided, like she found an aesthetic that works for her but she wants to venture out but is too scared of being made fun of, so she's stuck in a comfortable place, but she wants to explore what else is out there.

ohhhhh my gosh so there’s a lot because. i have my own personal dykeklok headcanons, and this lipstick lesbian skwisgaar and hey mamas toki is kind of its own separate thing. i’ll put it all under the cut because there’s a LOT.

so in the hey mamas tokiverse that @god-impeaching-dj and i have been cooking, i’ve actually been imagining skwisgaar and toki as the only lesbians in the group. the rest of the band are men and they don’t know if whatever the fuck skwistok has going on is a lesbian thing or a scandinavian thing. toki calls skwisgaar her princess and skwisgaar calls toki her daddy because OF course they would, head in hands. we’ve narrowed down their aesthetics pretty well, skwis is kind of pastel goth inspired, she wears pink and black nails, she has heart-shaped nipple piercings, everything!! toki is. basketball shorts. grey sweatpants. sports bra. snapback. she still has her mustache though!!! and kandi has been using rhea ripley as a body ref for their art of toki 😍😍. they’re the worst most annoying tiktok lesbian couple of all time, totally cringe.

as for my dykeklok headcanons, they’re COMPLETELY different. i have them all written up somewhere, but i don’t wanna find them lmfao. the long and short of it is that in my dykeklok/dragklok universe (which is the universe i wrote in for dethentine’s wheeeeee), they’re all lesbians but they perform and make public appearances in drag as drag kings. but that’s a secret to the public!!! they do it because misogyny in the metal community RIP. but also then no one will recognize them when they’re just at food libraries or whatever. and i refer to them like this:

Natalie Explosion (transmasc, she/they/he, order of preference)

Pickles the Drummer (transmasc, he/she, no preference)

Wilamina Murderface (transfem, she/her/doesn’t care)

Skwisgaar Skwigelf (transmasc, any/all)

Toki Wartooth (transfem, he/she/they, order of preference)

nat started speaking in a death growl to avoid being clocked for her voice. pickles thought she was a trans man in the snb days but detransitioned just a bit afterwards (still kept the goatee). murderface didn’t figure out she was a trans woman for a while because she didn’t know you could be trans AND gay. skwisgaar is queen of the butch who gets mistaken for a twink by gay guys. toki went on E just to get top surgery. a lot of these are inspired by lesbians i’ve known in some way or another ✨ love the lesbian experience. and yknow it’s definitely hard for me to pin them down as butch or femme. because the butch/femme experience is SO unique and SO important to a lot of people (myself included) but it’s also not the only way to be a lesbian. there’s a reason that in the hey mamas tokiverse, i refer to skwisgaar as a lipstick lesbian and pillow princess instead of high femme. i reblogged a poem about the difference between the a lipstick lesbian and a femme lesbian at some point, it’s in my femme tag (as a butch i don’t feel totally comfortable trying to explain it, i’ll let the femmes speak for themselves 🩷). i do think they could all be different flavors of butch or masc though, even skwisgaar. i’d just really have to think about it and try to nail down my designs (I DON’T DRAW BUT I’M TRYING).

oh i forgot, every version of lesbian skwisgaar has a double venus tattoo on her hip. and her favorite thing to say is “don’ts dies wonderinks”. GOD. 🥰🥰🥰

[marvelobsessed134]

In my head

I would love to be those girls from the 80s and 70s who are known for being beautiful and married to rockstars. I don’t know why but, there’s something about pretty blonde women such as Pamela Anderson that inspire me and make me want to be like them. I wanna be an 80s bombshell so badly…maybe one that’s on the cover of playboy.

I think this stems from me not getting much attention for my looks. I’m not ugly at all but I don’t stand out like someone like Heather Locklear does, people don’t immediately turn their heads when I walk into a room.

I want that attention. I want people to look at me and think, “god damn she’s so sexy.” Maybe have older men look at me and go “she looks just like that playmate I used to have a crush on back in the day.” I lack in boobs (A cup, lol) and my butt isn’t that big but I do have a nice shape to my waist. I just wish to be like those playmates or rockstar wives. They’re all so beautiful and inspire me when it comes to fashion.

One of the main reasons I write fanfiction because it just makes me feel like I am those girls. Like yes, I am that model who’s married to that drummer. And yeah, it’s probably part of the fact I fantasize more than I do live in reality. In my head I’m this bombshell who makes everyone’s heads turn as she walks in the club with he tight cheetah print dress and high heels. Hair perfectly permed and teased with gorgeous red lips. The kind that would attract those rockstars who get married to any girl they find attractive. (Even though some of them end up cheating anyways).

In my head is my favorite place but also my worst nightmare. Some beautiful things come out of it while others are dark, intrusive thoughts that I can’t shake, the kind that haunt me in the middle of the night and make me shudder. The kind that make me sick to my stomach.

Anyways, I’d have a stage name too. Something more glamorous than my last name that’s not very Hollywood esq..

I’d live in a beautiful large house in LA maybe in Beverly Hills or Point Dune in Malibu. It be the style of the 80s and 90s mansions. Glamorous tiles, pilers, chandeliers, iron staircases and gates. A fountain in the front yard, an Olympic sized swimming pool.

But nothing could beat laying in satin sheets in bed that has a shell shaped headboard, with the rockstar husband of my dreams. Watching late night television and laughing at the stupid commercials (the weirdest commercials always come on in the middle of the night, why!?)

Maybe we have a dog laying at the foot of the bed, snoring loudly because dogs snore.

Or maybe I’m standing side stage at my husband’s show, cheering him on, head banging and singing along to the songs. Maybe I’m pregnant, too. With a little girl. I’d probably be fine with getting pregnant if I had this life.

Anyways, this just came to my head and I decided to ramble/write this little piece.

[randomvarious]

Spleen - "That Was My Head" Darque Fonque 1997 Illbient / Trip Hop

Plays: 1.4K+ on YouTube

Although his biggest successes have come via his partnership with UK alt-indie darling PJ Harvey as her producer, Bristol native Rob Ellis has also headed up a nebulous side project called Spleen, which was less of a band and more of a large collective. In their roughly ten years of work, Spleen managed to release a total of three albums and three singles, and PJ Harvey herself is considered to have been a member of the project.

The thing about Spleen though is that every single song in their catalog was made by an assortment of different people, meaning no song has the same exact lineup. And I guess that's what led to their sound being classified as a whole bunch of different things, from stoner rock, to art rock, to jazz-rock, to avant garde, to ambient, to experimental rock. But with this track that originated from their first 12-inch, 1996's Like a Watermelon, they appear to add illbient trip hop to that varied list of genres.

Illbient, for those that don't know, is this very eerie, unsettling, dark, and off-kilter form of instrumental hip hop or trip hop. Its foremost practitioner is a very talented guy who goes by the name of DJ Spooky (naturally), and he was part of this tight-knit scene that formed in Williamsburg, Brooklyn in the mid-90s. Illbient's biggest label, WordSound, is also responsible for releasing top-notch hip hop producer Prince Paul's long-awaited debut album, Psychoanalysis: What Is It?, in 1997, which got into some hip hop experimentalism as well.

Anyway, that Brooklyn-made illbient sound appears to have also seeped its way across the pond, as the duo of Techno Animal—Godflesh lead singer and former Napalm Death drummer Justin Broadrick and his constant collaborator Kevin Martin, aka The Bug—brought it forth in 1995 with a lengthy double-disc called Re-Entry, which was released on Virgin. Then the following year, Spleen went in a similar direction with a song called "That Was My Head," which first appeared on the Like a Watermelon 12-inch, and was then included on Middle Earth Recordings' Darque Fonque compilation in 1997.

But there's actually a common thread here between Spleen and Techno Animal: a drummer from Chicago named Lou Ciccotelli, who's played in some UK bands, including one called God, which also claimed the two guys from Techno Animal as its members. And Ciccotelli is also credited with co-writing this Spleen song with Rob Ellis, so maybe he's the one who brought the Techno Animal-God sound along with him to make this tune? Most other Spleen tracks don't sound like this one 🤔.

The overall eeriness of this over-eight-minute song comes through immediately, sounding like some kind of anxiety-inducing horror film score, with strewn-about, disconcerting sax phrases laid over ominous strings. But it's not until about 70 seconds in when this thing really starts to take shape and adopts its illbient sound, with what I'm guessing is Ciccotelli's contribution: a killer, booming drum track. Now, almost every drum track—whether it be hip hop, trip hop, or illbient—is made with either a drum machine or some kind of software. But there's a certain crispness, clarity, and depth to a live recorded drum track that you just can't replicate with any kind of electronics, and I think Ciccotelli's playing on this tune proves my point here.

Once it enters, Ciccotelli's beat holds steady, which then allows Ellis to get all this pent-up experimental avantgardism out of his system. He starts with the sax, gets to keys and an organ, and then he starts unveiling sounds that leave me scratching my head as to what he even used to create them ⁉ Maybe he literally banged his noggin on some things and that's why this song is called what it is?

Me: "Okay, so what did you use to make *this* sound?”

Rob Ellis: "Yeah, that was my head"

Me: 😮

Either way, I tend not to vibe much towards illbient, because a lot of it's just too weird and cold for my tastes, but Ciccotelli's live drums here are too nice for me to ignore, and it allows me the opportunity to get out of my comfort zone and experience whatever the hell it is that PJ Harvey's producer is conjuring up behind him.

Spleen was really ~something else~.

By the way, another terrific trip hop track that uses live drums is Red Snapper's original demo of "4 Dead Monks," which appears on Warp Records' We Are Reasonable People compilation. Check it out if you dig this too 👍.

[singeratlarge]

REMEMBERING RICK ANDERSON: HIS LIFE WAS HIS ART

Music Mentor, Artistic Visionary, Bassist and Co-Founder of The Tubes

As one of my music mentors and as a friend, Rick Anderson (1947-2022) played in the background of my life for many years. He co-founded The Tubes, the revolutionary art rock band that fused satire and theatre and drew comparisons to Alice Cooper and Frank Zappa. The Tubes entered my radar in 1975 with their breakout debut and their presence on hipster FM radio (including Fee Waybill’s witty radio PSA promoting birth control). However, the powerhouse musicality of The Tubes drew me the most, with their sophisticated progressive rock punctuated by pop music anthems, from “White Punks on Dope” and “What Do You Want From Life?” Through hard work, constant touring, and perpetual crafting on stage and in the studio, The Tubes created an astonishing resume (and they’re still on the road). Their careers intersected with David Bowie, ELO, Peter Gabriel, Olivia Newton-John, Cliff Richard, Todd Rundgren, Rick Wakeman, and other giants in the field. The Tubes commanded my respect then and now.

My big move to California in May 1977 was precipitated by a mix tape sent to me by a friend and also mentor, Jeff Lloyd. His tape included several Tubes tracks with a note saying, “We need to do something this good,” and that upped my urge to head to San Francisco. Imagine my thrill when, two years later, Rick Anderson walked into my rehearsal space. At the time I was in a band called The Mystery Dates with bassist/guitarist Dan Reilly with me on lead vocals, bass, guitar, and keyboards. We auditioned drummers and landed on Joyce, who brought in other singers and musicians, and that posse included Rick. He helped us knock the project into shape and re-named us The Band-Aids, suggesting we could be a parody of New Wave opening acts. We had fun doing covers like “Do Ya Wanna Dance?” and “Steppin’ Stone.”

The Band-Aids/Mystery Dates broke up in Spring 1980, but Rick and I kept up a rapport. He treated all my friends as his friends, and he had me over to his Twin Peaks apartment to record demos (he wanted to produce my song “Dancin’ So Hard”). We gabbed a lot about music, though I was more the beneficiary of Rick’s experience and wisdom. I was a brash, opinionated 22-year-old with a head full of stupid and naïve preconceptions about music and the entertainment industry. Rick patiently cut through with real-world mentoring, instructing me on the workings of major label record deals (The Tubes were signed to A&M at the time), pros and cons of musician’s unions, recording tips, and going for a pop music jugular while keeping one’s artistic integrity.

Musicians can get awfully territorial about music, letting likes and dislikes eclipse the true value of a musical work, and I was like that back then. Rick taught me to cope and get ahead in this business, I had to become more objective and accept irony. For example, Rick took me to a club to see Eddie Money, who I wasn’t a fan of, but Rick said, “Watch Eddie. He has great charisma onstage.” From Rick I learned the necessity of stage presence and to respect the craft of other professionals. 

Another example: I had a negative reaction to The Carpenters. They didn’t fit my image of hipsterism, but Rick asked, “What’s wrong with them? There’s good playing, singing, production, songwriting, and they make people happy.” I couldn’t argue with that, and it led me to a cardinal rule of working in music: Leave my opinions at the door. Don’t let my attitudes and personal tastes block my discovery process as a creator. I can flex my likes and dislikes in private, but ultimately, they don’t matter in God’s grand scheme of creation and collaboration.

Rick and I drifted apart socially but we kept crossing paths (I gave him my first LP in 1985). Then in the late 90s we reconnected and began a meaningful correspondence of emails and postcards. He was still a reliable voice of affirmation and encouragement, with his droll realism balanced by childlike awe. 

Recently we sat at Rick funeral and listened to his daughter, family, and friends talk about Rick’s life well-lived. He resided in the small farm belt town of Merced CA, where he was celebrated as a model neighbor, father, and husband. It was a touching report, with descriptions of Rick’s constant even temper and dependability as a man and as a musical force. Of course, I wish I could’ve spent more time in person with Rick, but he left us with quite an imprint, and I’m grateful that he inspired me to up my game in every way.

[flowersfallingdown]

What are some of your OCs? What are some of your favourites?

Okay so I have a bunch so I’m gonna only talk about five of them

Fí!

They’re a non-binary changeling Druid/warlock. They often take on the form of a Satyr. They love to learn about the world around them and they adventure frequently! Also, the mushroom hat they wear is what connects them to their undead patron thus they can never take it off :D! Very silly, but also very scary in the right situations.

(Art by AndrewTheMood on ArtFight)

Chit’al!

An agender thri-kreen monk/sorcerer! Also a reborn god of nature and beauty which is how they got their powers! They’re currently traveling around with a group of adventurers by the names of Lux, Kendell, Saint, and Addie. Chit’al is currently going by the name “The Eternal Lotus” to honor his power and make him seem more powerful than he actually is. The whole group has been through some stuff from becoming enemies of the church because the priestess is evil to getting eaten by a giant purple worm to Addie getting possessed. They’ve always come out on top though, and hopefully as his story continues that’ll stay true :D

(Art by me)

Polaris!

Originally born as Peter Parker, Polaris was bitten by a radioactive spider and for ten years has been the one and only Solar-Spider. They’re basically my spidersona and I adore them <3 Also unlike other spider people, Polaris is able to shape shift in a way. They’re able to change from a human form to a spider form and anywhere in between! Their spider form is like an anthro spider with hair covering their body, sharper teeth and claws, and, of course, organic webbing! They still wear a suit though because they like it and when they were first starting out they got knocked out while fighting one time and their identity almost got revealed because they weren’t wearing a suit.

Picrew:

Pixie Sticks!

My killjoy oc! He’s a drummer in a band called The Atom Bomb Kids. She’s also poly and dating the two other members, Rose Bombshell (the singer/bassist) and Astral Ammo (the guitarist). Huge sugar addict and always incredibly hyper. Also the resident hairdresser of the group. Love her.

Picrew:

Unnamed Hollow Knight OC

Secret OC I’ve been working on! Haven’t got a name for them yet but I know I want them to be a mantis in the Grimm troupe who’s partially infected!

(Art by me)

I also have characters I’ve made for stories, even more dnd characters, and other fandom ocs like star wars and toh! I have a bunch lmao

Sorry it took so ont to respond to this btw! Been slowly chipping at it throughout the day

[kylo-wrecked]

@nightmarefuele :// { cont'd from the glorious }

—☾—

Does he give a damn about a woman and a reputation. He laughs. The trailer dances with the echo of that laughter. Dances and dances. 

""George WT-fuck. Oh my God. You people," he slurs. "You fug...people. What do you think? No, what do you want? Why are you here? Why'm I interrogating you, fucksakes?"

And then, inevitably—

"Is—s—someone there?" 

Women. This woman, all clavicle and thighbone, bleach blonde with nappy roots coming in, was not his woman. Ben Solo neé Kylo Ren had never had a 'woman.' He'd had two flames ('beaus!' 'girlfriends!') immortalized in full-color tabloid spreads, and, rumor confirmed, he had fucked Ushar Ren, the band's first drummer, slept with a sound designer, ruined the professional livelihood of said sound designer. Ruined him utterly. 

"Yeah," Ben replies, as the woman tiptoes from behind the screen and into a scene someone as high as her can't tell from a movie. He probably looks just as insane as the guy in the bat suit, washboard frame sheening, surged with God knows what. "Gigantic bat, like I said. He's got legs. Great boots. Talks, too. Softest voice. Why don't you come hear for yourself?" 

Her small heart-shaped face peers out of the gloom and quails with a hiss and a cry. Ben chuffs as she shrinks behind him, flattening into one of his garment bags. At the woman, at the Bat. His short-fused laughter rises like smoke on the paneled light. The light just one gradient away from silt and blood. His brief smile the cold flash from a forensic lens. 

"I've done worse," he says to the Bat. "No clowning involved. No fun. No speed. That came after. The [indecipherable] came after. This stupid shit came after." 

He stops smiling and lowers the barrel. 

"I'm serious," another part of him interjects, insistent. Eyes shining as if, for an instant, the Bat had yanked the frontman off the carousel. Not for long. 

“Any-fucking-way.” Gesticulating with the gun again. Movement. Sound. Color. Any moment. "You're making a big stink about one little guy who's only… trying to avoid fentanyl, Mr. Cape. Listen, I'll put the gun down when one of you leaves. I don't do tthhree-ways." 

The heart-shape-faced woman whips around. If what Ben says seems weird, it is. 

"Ky-" She shuffles back toward the shoji screen. 

"No." Ben lifts his chin as though to hold off a firing squad. "Hang on, it's you. You need to go."

Heart-shaped face woman freezes—not at the shotgun. At being told to leave. Christ. Gotham. 

'What?'

"Fuck what!" Ben's scoff is more like another laugh. A hard, shiny, designer laugh. "Batman's in my trailer, and I have a set in twelve hours, and God damn, Pollyanna, I’ll need at least one hand. Leave. That's right. Go on. Put your kiddies on and get out. The road crew's around back; the guy in the Jets hat can take you home. You want trouble? Ride the El. Move."

Within seconds, she's gone. The entire time Ben speaks, the heart-shape-faced woman's whipping on one layer of mesh after another, sliding into her untied combat baby boots, edging around this massive wax figure of the Batman, with as much spacial awareness as a handful of Vicodin and five Mezcals and a coke crash can ever hope to offer. 

Once the door clicks shut after her, Ben finally, finally lowers the fire hazard onto the three or four feet of space grey floor between him and the Bat. He takes time rolling up to his magnificent length and turning. Keeps his hands where they can be seen. He surrenders with a long whistle. Ponders the Batman's architecture with a long gaze. 

"That's paint stick makeup under there if I ever saw it. Whatever you're doing, you put on one hell of a show." Shards of his eyes smiling for him. "Besides being wrong about several things, you were saying." 

[hislopchino]

HIGNFY's Guest Webterview: Al Murray

In the spirit of the recession this interview was conducted in a cold Woolworth's storeroom and recorded onto a wax tablet.

Q1. So, first time hosting the show. How are you feeling?

It's terribly exciting. I remember when I first came to London after leaving university, on Friday nights we'd watch this when it was on BBC 2 and it was this brand new exciting 'my-God-they-are-being-rude-about-the-news' programme. So to have ended up on it is pretty cool.

Q2. As the Pub Landlord, have you ever had to throw anybody out of a gig?

No, but I've had people leave in weird ways. I did a run in a theatre on Embankment years ago and there was a couple at the front. He'd obviously brought her to the show and it wasn't working out. And she didn't like it. So twenty minutes in they left and ten minutes later he came back, and they had broken up in the interim. He'd put her on the tube and sent her home and he'd come back on his own. So, not throwing someone out but breaking people up.

Q3. You've toured with Harry Hill and Frank Skinner. What's the most rock and roll thing you've ever done?

Touring is so boring. That's why people do rock and roll things, because it's so tedious. I remember we went to Alton Towers once on our way somewhere, that's about as good as it gets really... aside from a lot of drinking. Drinking and eating curry.

Q4. You did the pub landlord for a number of years before you broke through into TV. Do you think these days there's too short a gap between being discovered and getting on telly?

Well in my case no, obviously there was too long a gap. But what can happen to people is they get essentially over-promoted and they are not quite up to it and they get caught out. They can't write the material and they don't know how to trust writers and trust people with what they are doing. They think it has to be all them. The thing I've learnt over the years is that if you can get people to tune into what you are doing, you are much better off collaborating because being a standup is so solitary.

Q5. We've heard you're an avid drummer. Are you still at it?

Yes I am, I've just joined a band and we've got a gig next week. I play a lot and I'm really, really into it. I'm doing a thing the week after next which is a thing for a cymbal company honouring Ginger Baker. I hang out with drummers. One of the weird privileges of having become faintly famous is that I get asked to do things like that.

Q6. I'm sure you are excited by the fact this interview is going out online. How do you think the Internet will shape comedy in future?

The thing I've noticed is your stuff ends up on YouTube very quickly. It's like when TV first came along, all those comics who had 12 minutes for 15 years were caught out very quickly and it's like that but all over again. I can't slip an old joke in because they would have heard it. I've done 6 touring shows that are two hours long, so that's twelve hours of material in which I can't repeat myself. It's changing things enormously. What's great about it too is that people are making their own telly.

[dankusner]

QUEEN FOR A DAY

That time I interviewed Queen for a Day's GREGORY FINSLEY

King of Queen

TAKING HIS BOW AND CURTAIN CALL: Finsley says Queen for a Day's last performance is Saturday at Club Dada. [PHOTOS: KUSNER] 

Gregory Finsley keeps Freddie Mercury’s spirit alive and well with Queen for a Day.

But the phenomenal Dallas tribute band is calling it quits

By DANIEL KUSNER | Sept. 3, 2004

Dallas is losing a remarkable cultural asset, since Saturday marks Queen for a Day’s last performance.

And apparently, our gay community missed out.

A lack of quality-paying gigs, differences about the group’s direction and other career commitments has led singer Gregory Finsley to call it quits.

It was a bitter decision.

“We could have done much more damage, made a lot more money and played a lot of other places. Unfortunately, because everyone else is so tied down with families and other career commitments, there’s no way we could have done it. It really pisses me off,” Finsley says.

When it comes to the tribute band genre, Queen for a Day is arguably one of the best.

There was no room for mediocrity in Freddie Mercury’s supergroup.

And to emulate the band’s magic is no easy task.

Queen was pompous.

Cheesily overdriven.

Faux-operatic.

Full of hot air.

And that’s why they were so magnificent.

Finsley’s lifelong dream was to be just like Freddie Mercury.

At 12, he attended Queen’s “News of the World” tour on Dec. 10, 1977, at the Tarrant County Convention Center.

His world took shape as he watched Mercury from the lower balcony off stage-left.

“It blew my mind — my first concert ever. I had already been playing drums. I looked at Freddie and Roger [Taylor, drummer] and decided that’s exactly what I want to do,” Finsley remembers.

Through high school, Finsley stuck with drums.

He even dabbled in bisexuality.

But he was a full-on Queen addict and constantly sang his heart out to Mercury’s compositions.

The flamboyant rock god had a profound influence.

“I think Freddie caused me to be a little braver, livelier, more daring. Eventually people would say, ‘You sound just like that dude from Queen,”’ he explains.

“By listening to all the songs over and over, it was like brainwashing. I emulated all those inflections that Freddie gave off.”

Finsley learned piano and became an accomplished signer, performer and drum teacher.

He formed with various groups, but didn’t delve into the Queen catalog until fairly recently.

A few years ago — while living in New Orleans and playing with a band on Bourbon Street — Finsley rocked the house with a cover version of “Tie Your Mother Down.”

A spot-on crowd pleaser.

In December 2001, he returned to Dallas and was working as a salesman at Brook Mays Music Co.

Co-worker Brian Harris overheard Finsley at the piano performing a rendition of “Somebody to Love.”

A light bulb went off.

Queen for a Day was born.

It takes a lot of work to nail Queen's over- reaching pastiche rock.

Finsley and Harris (a supreme guitarist) rounded up a tight rhythm section — drummer Alan Mouradian and bassist Jimmy Cleaver.

This talented foursome could handle the complex arrangements and intricate hooks.

You can’t have Queen without the charisma of Freddie Mercury.

And you can’t be Freddie “the entertainer” (who had an easily forgettable career as a solo artist) without the balls-to-the-wall musicianship of Queen.

Seb Hunter, author of “Hell Bent for Leather: Confessions of a Heavy Metal Addict’ (Harper Collins, 2004), brilliantly summed up Queen’s essence in a recent e-mail.

“The usual rock star ‘credibility trappings’ didn’t apply. Freddie didn’t care what people thought of him. So he was free to take his vaudeville vision as far as he could — which ended up being rather a long way! He was also lucky in that the rest of the band were able to act as his ‘foil.’ They supplied the traditional meat-and-potatoes while Freddie whirled and danced over the top of it. The po-faced seriousness of the rest of the band served as both a counterweight to Freddie’s outrageousness as well as a solid musical platform. Their ‘straightness’ was also handy in that it deflected a significant amount of Freddie’s natural ‘gayness,’ making it acceptable for your average homophobic rock fan to like the band.”

Like contact sports, rock music is astoundingly conservative.

In their day, Queen earned its stripes as a respected rock group.

And anti-gay fans simply overlooked Mercury’s macho flamboyance.

Finsley confirms that only Freddie Mercury can get away with his brand of absurd, high camp in the face of serious rock.

When Queen for a Day started to take shape, “I got ecstatic. Ideas started flowing about songs we could play. But a lot of those got turned down by Brian [Harris] because he thought they were ‘too gay,”’ Finsley explains. “And of course that was head-butt city right there.”

Harris’ vision was to only cull songs from a portion of group’s catalog: 1973-1981.

“But Queen is not just one period. There’s 25 years of material,” Finsley says.

So a dream come true is coming to an end.

Finsley is moving back to New Orleans in less than two weeks.

Queen for a Day’s rare performances are usually packed with area musicians who have memorized every hardcore note in the Queen catalog.

Finsley says the gay community never embraced Queen for a Day.

Saturday will probably be the last time to do so. 

Sept. 4. at 10:30p.m. Club Dada, 2720 Elm St. 214-744-3232.

https://acrobat.adobe.com/id/urn:aaid:sc:US:9180f7f4-ad07-4a70-9e37-31dc04393af2