Post by JAGGER BRIGHTON SEXTON on Apr 10, 2010 17:41:38 GMT -5
JAGGER BRIGHTON SEXTON,
[/size][/color]they don't know about us[/i][/b]
twenty-six, jag, fashion designer, pete wentz[/font][/color][/i]
ITS TOO LATE TO GO,[/size][/color]
it's getting light out[/i][/b]
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QUESTIONS ANSWERED ON FORMSPRING
STEVE HOLT.
jagger sexton! don’t ask “can i?”, ask “i can!” no blood, no oil. you can control your bladder when you're dead! there's no "i" in "win"!
are you hiding an oil refinery in your hair?
no, but when the boats has spills, they use my hair to soak it all up. i’m saving the fucking environment here and all you can do is bitch at me.
jagger is a fat virgin
fuck you, who told you that, that was supposed to be a secret.
i hear you’re gaga’s numero uno fan.
let’s make a sandwich
SO DID YOUR MOM FUCK A HORSE OR SOMETHING? BECAUSE YOU LOOK AN AWFUL LOT LIKE MR ED.
yeah, but don’t tell anyone. we don’t know for sure, the dna tests haven’t come through yet. but sometimes, i let the guys put a saddle on my back and i give them a ride in exchange for sugar cubes.
YOUR CLOTHING IS UGLY
yeah, i was thinking the same thing too!
A HORSE IS A HORSE, OF COURSE OF COURSE, AND NO ONE CAN TALK TO A HORSE OF COURSE, THAT IS OF COURSE, UNLESS THE HORSE, IS THE FAMOUS MR JAGGER!
oh my god, fuck you, i take offense in that. D:
OH LOOK, THIS ISNT DONE.
JUST TAKE IT EASY,[/size][/color]
it's too late to go[/i][/b]
hi, my name is laur. i'm sixteen years old, respect it. i live in a pretty sweet place, but that puts me in the eastern timezone. you might know me as no other crazy bitches, or not. but you can always contact me though @tampabaylaur, or pm. that's enough of that. sample time![/size][/blockquote][/color]
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more and more of his nights in hotels or on the road seemed to end this way. not with him going to knock on the poor foreigners door because he was bored and half out of his mind, but with him just causing problems for the staff of the hotels. it was some miracle he hadn’t been reported and fired yet. he never dared to drink and kill his brain cells back at home, when he had work the next day. even when he was drunk, his priorities were usually in order. even now, alone in the quiet calm of the hallway, dead and silent because ordinary people were all sleeping, his mind was still racing with a million thoughts. thoughts about how he probably wouldn’t get finished by his next deadline at this rate, about whether or not tomorrow he had enough time to lock himself away to fester and poorly attempt to work while fighting off another migraine, about maybe how mad wilhelm would be by this surprise visit at ass o’clock in the morning. those were the normal thoughts he had while drunk, already trying to fix his own problems, trying to stay one step ahead. usually. there were times when he just lost inhabitations and his old habits came back up, causing destruction and chaos with everything he touched. that’s how he saw it anyways. when he drank, it was when the self-deprecating and honest side of him came out. it was those moments he could be completely sincere with people, word vomiting his jargon up about his opinions or feelings. they usually all lead him to get into fights, which he lost because he was approximately three foot four and didn’t throw a very good punch when there was seven reflections of the person swimming in the air.
but right now, he felt more or less safe, leaned up against the solid door, empty hallway with only himself and his thoughts ticking off like bullets in his head. while in any other situation, he would have been patient and calm, right now, holland felt jittery. safe but on edge. it might have been the adrenaline from having nearly tripped to his death earlier trying to get out of his own hotel room or it night have been because he hadn’t taken his zoloft, his own body’s chemicals on hyper drive, ready for anything to happen. he tried to clamp his hand on his arm and dig his nails in slightly, to try and get his body to focus on pain instead of just thrumming with energy. when he didn’t work, he just tried to concentrate on using the energy to trace the lines of ink on his arm, albeit they were wobbly and shaky from lack of glasses and the drunken effect. but he managed to keep himself mindlessly occupied, pushing his blunt nail into the straight edge tattoo for fun, figuring sober him would enjoy the effect. he’d been trying to multitask; first with his tracing and second with the side of his head pressed to the wood of the door, straining his hearing to try and sense movement inside. he was beginning to think no one was home inside, that maybe wilhelm had left early, checked out and took his bags or that he wasn’t even inside, maybe being the life of the party somewhere else.
holland was entertaining the idea of camping outside of his door all night to try and catch him leaving or coming back in when suddenly the door wasn’t even there anymore. his stomach clenched and felt like it was flipped upside down as he stumbled forward, letting out an embarrassingly high pitched noise, grasping blindly for something to keep himself up. he’d had too many experiences tumbling down to know that falling face first into the floor would result in bad things, like a nose bleed and maybe a broken bone. it was why he was so thankful that wilhelm was there to catch him, wilhelm who he hadn’t even noticed until he was being steadied, as if some ghost force had just opened the door. he let out the breath of air he didn’t even know he had been holding in, goose bumps rising over his skin, letting himself be manhandled into the room, his hands clutching tightly in front from of wilhelm’s shirt. his legs felt like they were going to give out again, weak and useless, and when his knees buckled, he just slumped himself against the other man, pressing his face against his neck. he registered being spoken to, but he was too busy trying to get his vision to focus in the new darkness compared to the hallway. he stayed quiet until he could almost see again, breathing hotly against wilhelm’s neck. “m’fine. don’t be mad.” he breathed out, finally unleashing his hard grip on his shirt, pushing himself into a proper standing position. well, as proper as it was going to get. “m’fine.” he repeated again, stomach still tight. “just a little tipsy. and i wanted to see my favorite dutchian.” he managed to slur out in all one breath grinning at him before taking on a concerned look. he cupped wilhelm’s cheek with a sweaty hand, thumb probably pressing too hard in too close to his nose. “you weren’t sleeping were you? i’m sorry.” dropping his hand from his cheek, he rested it on his shoulder, still trying to stay in one place and not sway.
but right now, he felt more or less safe, leaned up against the solid door, empty hallway with only himself and his thoughts ticking off like bullets in his head. while in any other situation, he would have been patient and calm, right now, holland felt jittery. safe but on edge. it might have been the adrenaline from having nearly tripped to his death earlier trying to get out of his own hotel room or it night have been because he hadn’t taken his zoloft, his own body’s chemicals on hyper drive, ready for anything to happen. he tried to clamp his hand on his arm and dig his nails in slightly, to try and get his body to focus on pain instead of just thrumming with energy. when he didn’t work, he just tried to concentrate on using the energy to trace the lines of ink on his arm, albeit they were wobbly and shaky from lack of glasses and the drunken effect. but he managed to keep himself mindlessly occupied, pushing his blunt nail into the straight edge tattoo for fun, figuring sober him would enjoy the effect. he’d been trying to multitask; first with his tracing and second with the side of his head pressed to the wood of the door, straining his hearing to try and sense movement inside. he was beginning to think no one was home inside, that maybe wilhelm had left early, checked out and took his bags or that he wasn’t even inside, maybe being the life of the party somewhere else.
holland was entertaining the idea of camping outside of his door all night to try and catch him leaving or coming back in when suddenly the door wasn’t even there anymore. his stomach clenched and felt like it was flipped upside down as he stumbled forward, letting out an embarrassingly high pitched noise, grasping blindly for something to keep himself up. he’d had too many experiences tumbling down to know that falling face first into the floor would result in bad things, like a nose bleed and maybe a broken bone. it was why he was so thankful that wilhelm was there to catch him, wilhelm who he hadn’t even noticed until he was being steadied, as if some ghost force had just opened the door. he let out the breath of air he didn’t even know he had been holding in, goose bumps rising over his skin, letting himself be manhandled into the room, his hands clutching tightly in front from of wilhelm’s shirt. his legs felt like they were going to give out again, weak and useless, and when his knees buckled, he just slumped himself against the other man, pressing his face against his neck. he registered being spoken to, but he was too busy trying to get his vision to focus in the new darkness compared to the hallway. he stayed quiet until he could almost see again, breathing hotly against wilhelm’s neck. “m’fine. don’t be mad.” he breathed out, finally unleashing his hard grip on his shirt, pushing himself into a proper standing position. well, as proper as it was going to get. “m’fine.” he repeated again, stomach still tight. “just a little tipsy. and i wanted to see my favorite dutchian.” he managed to slur out in all one breath grinning at him before taking on a concerned look. he cupped wilhelm’s cheek with a sweaty hand, thumb probably pressing too hard in too close to his nose. “you weren’t sleeping were you? i’m sorry.” dropping his hand from his cheek, he rested it on his shoulder, still trying to stay in one place and not sway.
